The Astartes barely hesitated at the forest's edge. A few quick orders deployed them in a spear point with the Guard on the flanks. Missle launchers lashed out at weapon emplacements as the other Astartes fired frag grenades from their bolters into anything resembling a strong point. As their battle brothers laid down a hail of murderous fire, a score advanced at a run towards the enemy lines.
Guard forced poured more fire in. "Charge," yelled an officer or commissar, Hethor couldn't tell which. His men stormed foreward. The Space Marines had first targeted the few anti-armour weapons and they had more than succeeded. Shattered multilasers and heavy stubbers gave mute testimony to the deadly effectiveness of the Space Marine gunners. The Astartes in the lead drew most of the remaining fire, but it was spotty and inaccurate. Anyone taking a shot at the Astartes risked a lethal return volley from his battle brothers.
The charging Marines hurled grenades with all the might of their augmented arms. They landed in fox holes and gun pits, shredding flesh. They landed in front of the firing slits of bunkers, blocking them with billowing smoke. They were followed up by a hail of deadly bolter fire and charging Astartes. Nothing survived.
As the first battle brother hit the line, the other half advanced. Imperial Guard fire teams remained, supressing what little pockets of resistance remained. The charging Marines fired from the hip at anyone who dared to target them. That any of their shots hit at all was testimony to their accuracy. More than a few rounds hit. The Astartes had killed more than five times their number and had yet to loose a man.
Hethor hit the line just ahead of the Marine second wave. The bulk of their armour did nothing to hinder their speed. Hethor's platoon stormed through the gunnery pits, finishing the dead and the dying, and securing the area for reinforcements.
The Astartes continued their advance. Ahead lay the artillery batteries, unprotected by the shattered defensive line. The line had been broken, but the Marines had yet to rip through the exposed units. Hethor moved up to support the Astartes. There was a lot of killing to be done and the Astartes could only carry so much ammo.
W40K RPG, Line of Damnation- Memoria
Moderator: Thanas
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Imperial Overlord
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Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2005-01-11 03:49am, edited 1 time in total.
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NecronLord
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The Saran Xenocide Campaign, M40.972
The Space Marines moved through the enclosed corridors and open, spacious rooms of the craftworld with calm professionalism. Occasionally the cough of a bolter firing could be heard as one of the xenos was shot down, their armour offering insufficient protection against the adamantine tipped rounds of the Raptors. Explicator Vonrilyental walked along calmly behind them, occasionally snapping a shot off with his bolt pistol himself.
Hearing a cry off to a side room, two of the Raptors paused and a power armoured foot smacked the door open. There were figures beyond, slender, alien. A female and several children, quite obviously terrified. Regardless of their difference, abhorrent deviance in itself, they posed no threat to him, or the space marines. The female screamed something in terror, and tried to put herself in front of the huddling mass of children.
Taran did nothing, of course, they were abhorrent aliens after all, but he stood rooted to the spot, watching as the Astartes drew their long bladed combat knives, not willing to waste ammunition. One stood in front of him, blocking the exit, as the other waded into the strange, alien figures. The screams were chilling, not because they were alien, as those of the warriors were, but because they were exactly like those he had heard in his youth, of his child brother, as he had been removed by the Black Ships, and their terrible guardians.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Waking with the same cry of remorse as he always did, Inquisitor Vonrilyental clawed at the wet sheets of the spacious bed he had commandeered. Calming, he thought of the leniency he had shown since then, his hand wrapped around the grip of an autopistol. “I am a heretic,” he whispered.
Hatred for the heretic was one of the key tenets of the imperial faith, and he was tempted to put the gun to his head and end his own ‘miserable and wretched’ existence. But for all its good intentions, he knew the teachings of the Ministorum for what they were. Flawed. He dropped the autopistol, “and there’s nothing wrong with that…”
The Space Marines moved through the enclosed corridors and open, spacious rooms of the craftworld with calm professionalism. Occasionally the cough of a bolter firing could be heard as one of the xenos was shot down, their armour offering insufficient protection against the adamantine tipped rounds of the Raptors. Explicator Vonrilyental walked along calmly behind them, occasionally snapping a shot off with his bolt pistol himself.
Hearing a cry off to a side room, two of the Raptors paused and a power armoured foot smacked the door open. There were figures beyond, slender, alien. A female and several children, quite obviously terrified. Regardless of their difference, abhorrent deviance in itself, they posed no threat to him, or the space marines. The female screamed something in terror, and tried to put herself in front of the huddling mass of children.
Taran did nothing, of course, they were abhorrent aliens after all, but he stood rooted to the spot, watching as the Astartes drew their long bladed combat knives, not willing to waste ammunition. One stood in front of him, blocking the exit, as the other waded into the strange, alien figures. The screams were chilling, not because they were alien, as those of the warriors were, but because they were exactly like those he had heard in his youth, of his child brother, as he had been removed by the Black Ships, and their terrible guardians.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Waking with the same cry of remorse as he always did, Inquisitor Vonrilyental clawed at the wet sheets of the spacious bed he had commandeered. Calming, he thought of the leniency he had shown since then, his hand wrapped around the grip of an autopistol. “I am a heretic,” he whispered.
Hatred for the heretic was one of the key tenets of the imperial faith, and he was tempted to put the gun to his head and end his own ‘miserable and wretched’ existence. But for all its good intentions, he knew the teachings of the Ministorum for what they were. Flawed. He dropped the autopistol, “and there’s nothing wrong with that…”
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"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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GeneralTacticus
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Raul Adivan was twelve years old now, and tough and strong and skilled enough to defeat a grown man without much trouble, but he had never felt so much like a small child as he did now. A small child awaiting punishment.
He should have seen this coming, he supposed. He had, in fact; for years now, he had been dreaming of this moment, kneeling in a cold stone cell, awaiting... something. Something terrible. He had never known what it was, but he did now.
It had been coming for years, Raul supposed. The Schola Progenium had taken him as an infant, the child of a Commissar killed fighting Eldar pirates on some backwater world, and his earliest memories were of the Scholas classes; the litanies, the chants, the prayers, and the training. He had never seemed to pay much attention, and he had been frequently reprimanded, but it never seemed to affect his performance; he always knew the right answer, though he could not say exactly why. In the past, he had always assumed he was jsut a good listener. In the past.
Then there had been the fight, two weeks ago. Kareem Pachter and some of his cronies had been mocking, he couldn't remember how; something about his father's death. They had done such things before, many, many times, and he had never had trouble ignoring it, but this time, something in him snapped, and he went for Kareem with a fury. It had been an insane thing to do - Raul was strong, but Kareem was built like a tank and twice as tough. By rights, Raul should have been reduced to pulp. And yet, before the first punch had landed, Raul had seen in his mind precisely how the fight could go, clear as crystal. The fight itself was just going through the motions; Kareem never had a chance. His blows were dodged effortlessly, and the return strikes hit home with brutal accuracy. Within thirty seconds, the other student had been spawled on the stone floor, whimpering and gasping for breath, while Raul pumelled him.
And then the guards had been there, as if by magic, dragging him away from the fallen student and subduing him with rifle butts. Since then, he had been confined to this cell, fed little, and left to await judgement. Raul knew what that meant. Thinking back, it was clear what had happened. Witchcraft. Some tendril of the Warp had entered his mind, had spent his life worming it's way in, and given him fragments of knowledge derived from who knew what vile source. Before, it had never beene nough to be noticeable; now, though...
He felt filthy, and more terrified than he ever had in his life, both for what punishment might await him, and for the fate of his eternal soul. He had spent the past two weeks praying fervently to the Emperor, begging for some way to cleanse the taint from himself. He had received no answer, beyond a few whispers in his mind promising relief soon. He had pushed them away. They had the same feel as his premonitions had.... the feel of the Warp. Are they mocking me? Answering my prayers for redemption with reminders of my corruption?
As he knelt there, praying, as he had almost non-stop since he was put here, Raul heard footsteps outside the cell, and muffled voices. The footsteps stopped outside his cell door, and he heard the last fragments of the conversation.
"This is the one, Lord Inquisitor. Will you require any assistance?"
That was a voice he knew... one of the Schola's administrators. The voice that replied was entirely unfamiliar; a deep, melodious voice with ana ccent he could not place.
"No. When I leave, I will summon you. Until then, remain out of earshot. Better for you if you do not hear what we say."
He should have seen this coming, he supposed. He had, in fact; for years now, he had been dreaming of this moment, kneeling in a cold stone cell, awaiting... something. Something terrible. He had never known what it was, but he did now.
It had been coming for years, Raul supposed. The Schola Progenium had taken him as an infant, the child of a Commissar killed fighting Eldar pirates on some backwater world, and his earliest memories were of the Scholas classes; the litanies, the chants, the prayers, and the training. He had never seemed to pay much attention, and he had been frequently reprimanded, but it never seemed to affect his performance; he always knew the right answer, though he could not say exactly why. In the past, he had always assumed he was jsut a good listener. In the past.
Then there had been the fight, two weeks ago. Kareem Pachter and some of his cronies had been mocking, he couldn't remember how; something about his father's death. They had done such things before, many, many times, and he had never had trouble ignoring it, but this time, something in him snapped, and he went for Kareem with a fury. It had been an insane thing to do - Raul was strong, but Kareem was built like a tank and twice as tough. By rights, Raul should have been reduced to pulp. And yet, before the first punch had landed, Raul had seen in his mind precisely how the fight could go, clear as crystal. The fight itself was just going through the motions; Kareem never had a chance. His blows were dodged effortlessly, and the return strikes hit home with brutal accuracy. Within thirty seconds, the other student had been spawled on the stone floor, whimpering and gasping for breath, while Raul pumelled him.
And then the guards had been there, as if by magic, dragging him away from the fallen student and subduing him with rifle butts. Since then, he had been confined to this cell, fed little, and left to await judgement. Raul knew what that meant. Thinking back, it was clear what had happened. Witchcraft. Some tendril of the Warp had entered his mind, had spent his life worming it's way in, and given him fragments of knowledge derived from who knew what vile source. Before, it had never beene nough to be noticeable; now, though...
He felt filthy, and more terrified than he ever had in his life, both for what punishment might await him, and for the fate of his eternal soul. He had spent the past two weeks praying fervently to the Emperor, begging for some way to cleanse the taint from himself. He had received no answer, beyond a few whispers in his mind promising relief soon. He had pushed them away. They had the same feel as his premonitions had.... the feel of the Warp. Are they mocking me? Answering my prayers for redemption with reminders of my corruption?
As he knelt there, praying, as he had almost non-stop since he was put here, Raul heard footsteps outside the cell, and muffled voices. The footsteps stopped outside his cell door, and he heard the last fragments of the conversation.
"This is the one, Lord Inquisitor. Will you require any assistance?"
That was a voice he knew... one of the Schola's administrators. The voice that replied was entirely unfamiliar; a deep, melodious voice with ana ccent he could not place.
"No. When I leave, I will summon you. Until then, remain out of earshot. Better for you if you do not hear what we say."
"The bird let out a slow chicken cackle. It sounded like a chicken, but in her heart she knew it wasn't. In that instant, she completely understood the concept of a chicken that was not a chicken. This looked like a chicken, like most of the Mud People's chickens. But this was no chicken.
"This was evil manifest."
- Terry "Not a fantasy author, honest" Goodkind, bringing unintentional comedy to a bookshop near you since 1994.
"This was evil manifest."
- Terry "Not a fantasy author, honest" Goodkind, bringing unintentional comedy to a bookshop near you since 1994.
The boot caught Prius in the side of the head, flipping him over and sending an explosion of stars through his vision, which dimmed and threatened to flicker out altogether.
"What the fething hell have I taught you, cadet?" Sergeant-instructor Sathin bellowed at him as she advanced toward him. He scrambled backwards on his rump and lashed out with a boot for her knee. Sathin dodged it easily enough, but it forestalled her advance.
Don't try to get up when the enemy is close enough to put you right back down, that was what she'd taught him, and of course in the heat of the fight it was the first thing he'd forgotten.
At this point, he couldn't even get up if he tried. He spun as she circled him, kick out with his feet desperately.
When you're on the ground, you get your opponent down there with you and finish the fether off, she'd said.
A nice theory that assumed the practicioner wasn't so groggy that his eyes were sliding out of focus and turning one opponent into two.
As she advanced once more, he whirled and turned toward the ground, lunging for her knees or ankles, whatever he could reach as he couldn't afford to be too choosy in this state. On the way though, both knees and ankles disappeared from his field of view. Where? he had time to think, only to find out when she landed on his back, arm sliding around his neck and locking in...
Failure. It didn't matter that she'd already defeated half his cadet squad in today's practice, it was failure. Darkness closed in as she cut off the flow of blood to his brain...
"What the fething hell have I taught you, cadet?" Sergeant-instructor Sathin bellowed at him as she advanced toward him. He scrambled backwards on his rump and lashed out with a boot for her knee. Sathin dodged it easily enough, but it forestalled her advance.
Don't try to get up when the enemy is close enough to put you right back down, that was what she'd taught him, and of course in the heat of the fight it was the first thing he'd forgotten.
At this point, he couldn't even get up if he tried. He spun as she circled him, kick out with his feet desperately.
When you're on the ground, you get your opponent down there with you and finish the fether off, she'd said.
A nice theory that assumed the practicioner wasn't so groggy that his eyes were sliding out of focus and turning one opponent into two.
As she advanced once more, he whirled and turned toward the ground, lunging for her knees or ankles, whatever he could reach as he couldn't afford to be too choosy in this state. On the way though, both knees and ankles disappeared from his field of view. Where? he had time to think, only to find out when she landed on his back, arm sliding around his neck and locking in...
Failure. It didn't matter that she'd already defeated half his cadet squad in today's practice, it was failure. Darkness closed in as she cut off the flow of blood to his brain...
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Hethor stroked the gorget he had earned all those years ago, fighting along side the Dark Angels. He had seen then and there what it was to be truely be a soldier of the Emperor. He had not forgotten.
He was almost jolted out of his seat by the bump. It was almost over here. His regiment had been chewed up again and again. They were down to fewer than half their numbers and the campaign was almost over. One last push, that was what the colonel said. One last push.
The Governor's palace had to be taken intact. Minimum damage. Hethor didn't know why and didn't care. He just knew that the job had to be done.
So here he was sitting in an advancing Chimera while artillery plastered the palace with blind and frag shells. It was the usual "full ahead charge" Guard assualt favored by far too many commanders. D'eckor knew better and held them in contempt. He was going to bring about victory regardless of the incompetence of his superiors.
"Sarge," said Krain. "Can I have your tabac?" D'eckor's face was impassive as he tossed the pack to Krain. Krain was a steady man, but he was weak. His indulged in a vice that weakened him on the field of battle. Hethor had no tolerance of those in himself, but knew that there was only so much his men would put up with.
The multilaser and heavy bolters were firing now. They were getting close now. The Chimera shook as something clanged off of its hull. Hethor checked his rifle again. He was using the Triplex model instead of the rapid fire Necromundia pattern carbine. He jacked the level to full power. Hethor favored one shot kills over spray and pray, at least with small arms. Of course, not very many people were as steady as he was in a fight.
The signal went off. The Chimera's hatch swung open a moment as the grenade launchers fired. Hethor ran into the smoke and chaos of battle.
He was almost jolted out of his seat by the bump. It was almost over here. His regiment had been chewed up again and again. They were down to fewer than half their numbers and the campaign was almost over. One last push, that was what the colonel said. One last push.
The Governor's palace had to be taken intact. Minimum damage. Hethor didn't know why and didn't care. He just knew that the job had to be done.
So here he was sitting in an advancing Chimera while artillery plastered the palace with blind and frag shells. It was the usual "full ahead charge" Guard assualt favored by far too many commanders. D'eckor knew better and held them in contempt. He was going to bring about victory regardless of the incompetence of his superiors.
"Sarge," said Krain. "Can I have your tabac?" D'eckor's face was impassive as he tossed the pack to Krain. Krain was a steady man, but he was weak. His indulged in a vice that weakened him on the field of battle. Hethor had no tolerance of those in himself, but knew that there was only so much his men would put up with.
The multilaser and heavy bolters were firing now. They were getting close now. The Chimera shook as something clanged off of its hull. Hethor checked his rifle again. He was using the Triplex model instead of the rapid fire Necromundia pattern carbine. He jacked the level to full power. Hethor favored one shot kills over spray and pray, at least with small arms. Of course, not very many people were as steady as he was in a fight.
The signal went off. The Chimera's hatch swung open a moment as the grenade launchers fired. Hethor ran into the smoke and chaos of battle.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2004-12-13 11:14pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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Hethor lead his men through the smoke accross the palace grounds. The thunder of battle raged all around them as the Chimeras and support teams tried to take out every enemy shooter. Fire came back from the windows and the gaps in the walls as the traitors resisted. Four of the Imperial tanks were already burning.
Hethor pointed. "Zash, hit it!" The trooper pumped a frag grenade into the gap in the palace's side. There was some kind of stubber emplaced there. The grenade landed just in fron, spraying shrapnel. Hethor pumped full strength laser shots in. Kal and Nerek pumped full auto volleys inside. The stubber fired back, chewing up Caldreth's legs. The emplacement exploded as Zash put another frag grenade in, this time directly on target. Ammo and something else exploded.
Hethor lunged foreward, Lenns coming just behind. Las fire continued to flash in and no enemy fire came out. Lenns closed the range and opened up with his flamer. Screams came from within. Hethor waited a moment and then chucked in another grenade. There was a dull whump as it went off. The guardsmen followed their sergeant inside.
Two traitors were still twitching. The wore a mix of metal and leather, remnants of some cult force. Hethor finished each one with a high power shot to the head and switched his power cell. "Take us foreward Kal," Hethor ordered.
Hethor pointed. "Zash, hit it!" The trooper pumped a frag grenade into the gap in the palace's side. There was some kind of stubber emplaced there. The grenade landed just in fron, spraying shrapnel. Hethor pumped full strength laser shots in. Kal and Nerek pumped full auto volleys inside. The stubber fired back, chewing up Caldreth's legs. The emplacement exploded as Zash put another frag grenade in, this time directly on target. Ammo and something else exploded.
Hethor lunged foreward, Lenns coming just behind. Las fire continued to flash in and no enemy fire came out. Lenns closed the range and opened up with his flamer. Screams came from within. Hethor waited a moment and then chucked in another grenade. There was a dull whump as it went off. The guardsmen followed their sergeant inside.
Two traitors were still twitching. The wore a mix of metal and leather, remnants of some cult force. Hethor finished each one with a high power shot to the head and switched his power cell. "Take us foreward Kal," Hethor ordered.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Location: The Tower at Charm
Kal stuck his head out the door and prompley fell back twitching with a hole in his head. "Fuck!" swore Hethor. He bounced a smoke out the door and down the corridor. For good measure he tossed one the other way. He ducked low and popped out.
It was a long corridor, at least a hundred meters as far as he could see. Several traitors were retreating from other rooms that faced the advancing guard, obviously pulling back in the face of the Guard assault. He could see the bright boy who punched Kal's ticket, one of the Scravian Elite. He was still very pretty with his shiny metal breatplate, vambraces, and greaves over flak armour and his fancy mirror faced helmet. He was also faster than D'eckor and a good shot. The bolt from the Scravian's carbine punched through Hethor's flak armour over his right shoulder.
Which is why Hethor was using a max powered Triplex. The Scravians wore good armour and favored a high cycle rate but low powered carbine for close quarters work. With their heavy armor there was less chance of serious friendly fire issues when they filled the air with lasbolts. The looted mesh tunic he was wearing under the flak jacket drank up most of the rest of shot, although it hurt like hell. Hethor's return shot blew a hole in his chest and Hethor put another one into the chest before he toppled, just to be sure.
The retreating traitors had an inclinging they were being flanked when Hethor's boys joined him in putting las rounds into them. Nerek pumped fire in the other direction. In moments the Eastern Promenard of the Grand Palace of Illizak, ancient home and headquarters to the Imperial Commander of the Tannezed System was empty of all life except for those who wore the emblems of the Imperial Guard.
It was a long corridor, at least a hundred meters as far as he could see. Several traitors were retreating from other rooms that faced the advancing guard, obviously pulling back in the face of the Guard assault. He could see the bright boy who punched Kal's ticket, one of the Scravian Elite. He was still very pretty with his shiny metal breatplate, vambraces, and greaves over flak armour and his fancy mirror faced helmet. He was also faster than D'eckor and a good shot. The bolt from the Scravian's carbine punched through Hethor's flak armour over his right shoulder.
Which is why Hethor was using a max powered Triplex. The Scravians wore good armour and favored a high cycle rate but low powered carbine for close quarters work. With their heavy armor there was less chance of serious friendly fire issues when they filled the air with lasbolts. The looted mesh tunic he was wearing under the flak jacket drank up most of the rest of shot, although it hurt like hell. Hethor's return shot blew a hole in his chest and Hethor put another one into the chest before he toppled, just to be sure.
The retreating traitors had an inclinging they were being flanked when Hethor's boys joined him in putting las rounds into them. Nerek pumped fire in the other direction. In moments the Eastern Promenard of the Grand Palace of Illizak, ancient home and headquarters to the Imperial Commander of the Tannezed System was empty of all life except for those who wore the emblems of the Imperial Guard.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
OOC: A taster of a project I'm working on. Comments welcome in OOC thread.
An annotated description on the history, politics, geography, current events and future possibities of the Calligulan Monarchy-Empire
Compiled by Rodet Nofash, 3rd deputy-notiriser of the Administratum Imperialis for Quadrant Pacifica.
Chapter I
Geography of the System Calligula
Star: 1, Pattern 20-K, Named Calligula Prime
Planets: 6,
Calligula Primaris, Uninhabited.
Calligula Secundus, Throne World, Population 3 billion
Calligula Tertia, Agri-World, Population 1 billion
Augustus, Colony Population 9 Million
Claudia Illuminatis, Industria-World, Population 20 billion
Erattor Primaris, Uninhabited.
An annotated description on the history, politics, geography, current events and future possibities of the Calligulan Monarchy-Empire
Compiled by Rodet Nofash, 3rd deputy-notiriser of the Administratum Imperialis for Quadrant Pacifica.
Chapter I
Geography of the System Calligula
Star: 1, Pattern 20-K, Named Calligula Prime
Planets: 6,
Calligula Primaris, Uninhabited.
Calligula Secundus, Throne World, Population 3 billion
Calligula Tertia, Agri-World, Population 1 billion
Augustus, Colony Population 9 Million
Claudia Illuminatis, Industria-World, Population 20 billion
Erattor Primaris, Uninhabited.
It could most likely be considered an irony that Secundus, now the centre of Calligulan society, was originally the least-developed of the planets during the pre-Dark Age era. Arguably, of course, it is that very quality that prevented it from falling any further, unlike Augustus, which was by all indications originally a Hive World of staggering industrial capacity.
The seeds of modern Calligulan society can be traced to the island of Arnor, which had escaped the collapse relatively intact due to it's seclusion. Upon these noble shores an expansionistic society took it's first steps out of barbaric fiefdom and into the territory of true nation-status.
The discovery of a cache of Archeotech allowed the quick and efficient capture and occupation of most of the mainland territories. The Arnorian Empire grew until it discovered competing nations of equal strength along its' Eastern borders, whereupon it stopped and looked to the stars.
The seeds of modern Calligulan society can be traced to the island of Arnor, which had escaped the collapse relatively intact due to it's seclusion. Upon these noble shores an expansionistic society took it's first steps out of barbaric fiefdom and into the territory of true nation-status.
The discovery of a cache of Archeotech allowed the quick and efficient capture and occupation of most of the mainland territories. The Arnorian Empire grew until it discovered competing nations of equal strength along its' Eastern borders, whereupon it stopped and looked to the stars.
In stark contrast to the landlocked supercontinent of Secundus, which looks almost as if it had been dropped on the planet from a great height, Tertia is a collection of varying sized islands not ideally suited to the construction of a large-scale settlement. what it is marvellous for, however, is rich-soiled farmland and the Quadrant-wide fame it's variety of sea life has earned on the dinner plates of the elite.
Augustus was severly ravaged by the explosive destruction of it's pre-collapse Hive structure and has repopulation was not attempted until almost a millenia ago.
Claudia Illuminatis, however is a different matter. The gas giant, so named for it's light-bearing properties, sustains a massive mining colony in it's asteroid field, based around a large number of space stations constructed out of the planet's moons.
These seperate yet codependent economies provided the impetus for a full-scale technological revoloution on Secundus and broke the deadlock between the 2 major military powers, the Arnorian Empire and the Kingdom of the Dragon. War raged across the planets for centuries, until the arrival of the Imperium.
Augustus was severly ravaged by the explosive destruction of it's pre-collapse Hive structure and has repopulation was not attempted until almost a millenia ago.
Claudia Illuminatis, however is a different matter. The gas giant, so named for it's light-bearing properties, sustains a massive mining colony in it's asteroid field, based around a large number of space stations constructed out of the planet's moons.
These seperate yet codependent economies provided the impetus for a full-scale technological revoloution on Secundus and broke the deadlock between the 2 major military powers, the Arnorian Empire and the Kingdom of the Dragon. War raged across the planets for centuries, until the arrival of the Imperium.
At this stage the Fleet Pacifica was mired in the heaviest fighting of the Pacific Crusade, and was seriously overstretched. Nevertheless upon the arrival of radio transmissions from Caligula a battleship was dispatched to assess the situation. Upon arrival it was set upon by both sides in the conflict and mercilessly destroyed them both. The Arnorian Empire immediately pledged it's support and within days the Kingdom of the Dragon was economically ans spiritually obliterated, the Arnorians the undisputed commanders of Caligula and the surrounding tri-star system area, and a new and honoured part of the Glorious Imperium of Man.
After considerable research it was determined by senior members of the Ecclesarchy that the Emperor had been acting through the Arnorian Kings for millenia, and a turbulent chapter of Caligulan history was brought to a close with the acceptance of the Arnorian (Now Caligulan) Empire into the greater structure of the Imperium.
The Draconic and Arnorian societies proved surprisingly compatable, with the Arnorian Senatorum meshing well with the enlightened and introspective Draconic elite.
Since then Secundus has remained relatively untouched by the galaxy at large, confining itself to administering to the Empire while the vast people-factories of Claudia became the strong-armed enforcement division.
Not having much to concern themselves in day-to-day life the citizens of Secundus dedicate themselves to artisitical, spiritual and mechanical advancements; Some of the finest weapons, ships and foods found in the Quadrant have been designed in the palaces of Arnor.
After considerable research it was determined by senior members of the Ecclesarchy that the Emperor had been acting through the Arnorian Kings for millenia, and a turbulent chapter of Caligulan history was brought to a close with the acceptance of the Arnorian (Now Caligulan) Empire into the greater structure of the Imperium.
The Draconic and Arnorian societies proved surprisingly compatable, with the Arnorian Senatorum meshing well with the enlightened and introspective Draconic elite.
Since then Secundus has remained relatively untouched by the galaxy at large, confining itself to administering to the Empire while the vast people-factories of Claudia became the strong-armed enforcement division.
Not having much to concern themselves in day-to-day life the citizens of Secundus dedicate themselves to artisitical, spiritual and mechanical advancements; Some of the finest weapons, ships and foods found in the Quadrant have been designed in the palaces of Arnor.
"So why should I take you on my crew, boy?" the old captain asked.
Engelier stared at him, then shrugged. "Because if you don't, somebody else will, and you'll spend the rest of your career kicking yourself at the missed opportunity."
Captain Zaldis had to work to maintain his air of stern condescension against a sudden wave of mirth. The boy had an endearing air about him, a natural charisma and confidence that was captivating.
"So you worked the guns on the Conquering Eagle, you say?" he asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.
"Prow battery seven-two," Engelier said proudly. "Put a round right into the bridge of an ork kroozer at Shasta VII."
"You ever try the old trick of hitting it with a cycled burst of coolant to bring it back down to spec temp faster?" Zaldis said, his eyes probing the young man's reaction to the idea.
"That's idiotic. You'll warp the linings to hell and back and increase your risks of a blowout," Engelier answered at once. "I don't know who told you that, but if you paid for the advice, they owe you a refund."
Zaldis hired him on the spot.
Engelier stared at him, then shrugged. "Because if you don't, somebody else will, and you'll spend the rest of your career kicking yourself at the missed opportunity."
Captain Zaldis had to work to maintain his air of stern condescension against a sudden wave of mirth. The boy had an endearing air about him, a natural charisma and confidence that was captivating.
"So you worked the guns on the Conquering Eagle, you say?" he asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.
"Prow battery seven-two," Engelier said proudly. "Put a round right into the bridge of an ork kroozer at Shasta VII."
"You ever try the old trick of hitting it with a cycled burst of coolant to bring it back down to spec temp faster?" Zaldis said, his eyes probing the young man's reaction to the idea.
"That's idiotic. You'll warp the linings to hell and back and increase your risks of a blowout," Engelier answered at once. "I don't know who told you that, but if you paid for the advice, they owe you a refund."
Zaldis hired him on the spot.
"Ensign Fulgenzio, please state for the court the first precept of training at the Primus Academy."
Engelier stood before the court. The presiding officer, Lord Admiral Vanchin, was actually a distant cousin of his, something like seven times removed. Not that he'd likely admit to it today.
His arms clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the wall above the heads of the presiding officers, he spoke in a clear, loud voice. "First precept of training... we train as we fight."
The Lord Admiral nodded. "Now, please demonstrate to the court your understanding of this precept by defining it."
And so it had gone. The court martial was nothing less than a farce; the outcome, predetermined. The presiding officers had their role to play, and he had his- scapegoat.
"It means that we approach every training exercise as if it were a live combat situation, and treat it with the appropriate gravity."
"So it was not a failure of understanding then, ensign, that led you to refuse an order to fire as communicated to you in the standard fashion from the bridge. It was indeed willful disobedience."
Yes, it was, and in the eyes of the court extenuating circumstances be damned. No matter that his gun chief had fallen from the gantry and was directly in the path of the recoil of the mighty cannon.
"I did not feel that the exercise justified the cost of the best chief gunner on the vessel, Lord Admiral. In a combat situation, I would have laid my gun upon the enemy and fired without hesitation."
"We train as we fight, ensign. This is not Battlefleet Scarus."
Yes, it was Battlefleet Gothic, and this was a FleetEx that the warmaster himself had personally witnessed. Engelier seriously doubted that the esteemed Warmaster had noticed a single prow gun not firing in the midst of all that ordinance being tossed around. But overall, the fleet had failed to meet the rigid Battlefleet Gothic standards in the exercise, and they'd done so right in front of the Warmaster. So heads had to roll. The scuttlebutt was that each ship had a mandatory number of court martials to execute, and for the Divine Eagle Engelier was the first and easiest choice.
At any other time, he likely would have received a blistering lecture from the captain and some form of punishment duty, but not this time.
"I believe we've heard enough here to render summary judgement," the lord admiral concluded.
Yes, strict adherence to procedure is mandatory, unless we're in a witch-hunt and have a full plate of court martials to attend, you pretentious old goat.
To an outsider, it might have seemed to be a point in his favor to have a member of his family sitting on the board. But the simple fact was that the naval families of the Battlefleet were so intertwined that one would have a hard time not being able to establish a relation to most eligible officers. Moreover, the internal codes of honor of the naval families tended to produce harsher punishments than those that would be levied by outsiders.
"Ensign, it is the judgement of the court that you have violated your oath of service, in that you have not followed 'all orders given, in all particulars, to the best of your ability'. You are a disgrace to the uniform you wear, the family you belong to, and the Emperor you claimed to serve."
What the frak did he have to lose? He pulled his eyes down, staring directly at Vanchin. "I never betrayed the Emperor," he snarled.
"SILENCE! You are the worst ensign I have ever seen in my career, you little wart. Guards, remove this man from the service and from my sight."
They broke his sword in front of him. They stripped the insignia from his uniform. As a final insult, they turned their backs on him en masse as the guards marched him out of the courtroom.
Engelier stood before the court. The presiding officer, Lord Admiral Vanchin, was actually a distant cousin of his, something like seven times removed. Not that he'd likely admit to it today.
His arms clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the wall above the heads of the presiding officers, he spoke in a clear, loud voice. "First precept of training... we train as we fight."
The Lord Admiral nodded. "Now, please demonstrate to the court your understanding of this precept by defining it."
And so it had gone. The court martial was nothing less than a farce; the outcome, predetermined. The presiding officers had their role to play, and he had his- scapegoat.
"It means that we approach every training exercise as if it were a live combat situation, and treat it with the appropriate gravity."
"So it was not a failure of understanding then, ensign, that led you to refuse an order to fire as communicated to you in the standard fashion from the bridge. It was indeed willful disobedience."
Yes, it was, and in the eyes of the court extenuating circumstances be damned. No matter that his gun chief had fallen from the gantry and was directly in the path of the recoil of the mighty cannon.
"I did not feel that the exercise justified the cost of the best chief gunner on the vessel, Lord Admiral. In a combat situation, I would have laid my gun upon the enemy and fired without hesitation."
"We train as we fight, ensign. This is not Battlefleet Scarus."
Yes, it was Battlefleet Gothic, and this was a FleetEx that the warmaster himself had personally witnessed. Engelier seriously doubted that the esteemed Warmaster had noticed a single prow gun not firing in the midst of all that ordinance being tossed around. But overall, the fleet had failed to meet the rigid Battlefleet Gothic standards in the exercise, and they'd done so right in front of the Warmaster. So heads had to roll. The scuttlebutt was that each ship had a mandatory number of court martials to execute, and for the Divine Eagle Engelier was the first and easiest choice.
At any other time, he likely would have received a blistering lecture from the captain and some form of punishment duty, but not this time.
"I believe we've heard enough here to render summary judgement," the lord admiral concluded.
Yes, strict adherence to procedure is mandatory, unless we're in a witch-hunt and have a full plate of court martials to attend, you pretentious old goat.
To an outsider, it might have seemed to be a point in his favor to have a member of his family sitting on the board. But the simple fact was that the naval families of the Battlefleet were so intertwined that one would have a hard time not being able to establish a relation to most eligible officers. Moreover, the internal codes of honor of the naval families tended to produce harsher punishments than those that would be levied by outsiders.
"Ensign, it is the judgement of the court that you have violated your oath of service, in that you have not followed 'all orders given, in all particulars, to the best of your ability'. You are a disgrace to the uniform you wear, the family you belong to, and the Emperor you claimed to serve."
What the frak did he have to lose? He pulled his eyes down, staring directly at Vanchin. "I never betrayed the Emperor," he snarled.
"SILENCE! You are the worst ensign I have ever seen in my career, you little wart. Guards, remove this man from the service and from my sight."
They broke his sword in front of him. They stripped the insignia from his uniform. As a final insult, they turned their backs on him en masse as the guards marched him out of the courtroom.
"I don't wanna die on the ground," Engelier confessed with the straightforward sincerity of a drunk. "Wanna die in space, batteries firing away... boom, boom, boom," he said, clinking his glass on the table.
Uschi shook her head. "I'd rather not die at all, myself."
The two lieutenants were drinking away the profits of their first successful voyage on the Wager. Uschi handled the helm, while Engelier commanded the weapons batteries, though they'd both had little exciting work in what had turned out to be a blissfully peaceful run.
Engelier finished off his drink, clunking the glass down and waving for the waitress. "Can't think like that. Everybody dies, but damn few people die right. Fought in two battles, lost nineteen people in my battery with not a shot landing near us. Just..." he waved his fingers in the air. "Standard losses from operating heavy weapons, y'know. Dangerous shit. Last shot before stand down, gunner's mate pinned by the rec-piston, goes clean through him. So I go to pull it out, chief says no, pull it out and he dies on the spot. Guns stand down, so we got some time before we have to bring the battery online, time for the medicae to take a look... nope..." he accepted his next glass from the waitress, flashing her a winning smile that went unappreciated as the woman whirled to tend to her next customers. "No way. Just a matter of time. Man's screaming his head off, somebody's gotta do something. Officer's responsible for his men, right?" He made his fingers into a pistol.
Uschi shuddered. The relative calm and safety of the helm was far away from the whirling hell of the gun decks, and one could almost forget that people routinely died in training exercises down there, let alone in combat.
Engelier looked up, over her shoulder. "Whoa whoa whoa... I think my date's arrived."
Uschi glanced over her shoulder a the trio of joy girls who'd made their way into the room and were standing near the bar, displaying their 'virtues' for the appreciative patrons.
"Which one?" she asked, turning back to him.
"Red hair," he said, unabashedly staring. Obviously he'd gotten a look back, because he suddenly winked.
"All tits, no brains," she snorted.
"The perfect woman," he said with a grin, which flickered as she kicked him in the shin. Carefully, so as to not ruin the impression he was building, he lifted his leg and rubbed it. Around his grin, he mumbled "I signed on before you did, lieutenant, and that gives me seniority... y'know what we do to insubordinate officers?"
"We get them to carry our sodden asses back to their quarters on pre-trip binges?" Uschi answered sweetly, reminding him of their previous drunkathon.
"I think I'm going to go spend my evening in less abusive company," he said.
"What line are you going to use?" Uschi asked. It was interesting to watch him work- she'd lost ten creds on his bet that he could successfully segue a comment on combat boots into a sexual proposal, which he'd proven with a pair of Guard troopers from a Valkyrie regiment.
"I think... I think 'she's the woman I've been waiting for my entire life', don't you?" He started to rise from the table.
"Probably so..."
Uschi shook her head. "I'd rather not die at all, myself."
The two lieutenants were drinking away the profits of their first successful voyage on the Wager. Uschi handled the helm, while Engelier commanded the weapons batteries, though they'd both had little exciting work in what had turned out to be a blissfully peaceful run.
Engelier finished off his drink, clunking the glass down and waving for the waitress. "Can't think like that. Everybody dies, but damn few people die right. Fought in two battles, lost nineteen people in my battery with not a shot landing near us. Just..." he waved his fingers in the air. "Standard losses from operating heavy weapons, y'know. Dangerous shit. Last shot before stand down, gunner's mate pinned by the rec-piston, goes clean through him. So I go to pull it out, chief says no, pull it out and he dies on the spot. Guns stand down, so we got some time before we have to bring the battery online, time for the medicae to take a look... nope..." he accepted his next glass from the waitress, flashing her a winning smile that went unappreciated as the woman whirled to tend to her next customers. "No way. Just a matter of time. Man's screaming his head off, somebody's gotta do something. Officer's responsible for his men, right?" He made his fingers into a pistol.
Uschi shuddered. The relative calm and safety of the helm was far away from the whirling hell of the gun decks, and one could almost forget that people routinely died in training exercises down there, let alone in combat.
Engelier looked up, over her shoulder. "Whoa whoa whoa... I think my date's arrived."
Uschi glanced over her shoulder a the trio of joy girls who'd made their way into the room and were standing near the bar, displaying their 'virtues' for the appreciative patrons.
"Which one?" she asked, turning back to him.
"Red hair," he said, unabashedly staring. Obviously he'd gotten a look back, because he suddenly winked.
"All tits, no brains," she snorted.
"The perfect woman," he said with a grin, which flickered as she kicked him in the shin. Carefully, so as to not ruin the impression he was building, he lifted his leg and rubbed it. Around his grin, he mumbled "I signed on before you did, lieutenant, and that gives me seniority... y'know what we do to insubordinate officers?"
"We get them to carry our sodden asses back to their quarters on pre-trip binges?" Uschi answered sweetly, reminding him of their previous drunkathon.
"I think I'm going to go spend my evening in less abusive company," he said.
"What line are you going to use?" Uschi asked. It was interesting to watch him work- she'd lost ten creds on his bet that he could successfully segue a comment on combat boots into a sexual proposal, which he'd proven with a pair of Guard troopers from a Valkyrie regiment.
"I think... I think 'she's the woman I've been waiting for my entire life', don't you?" He started to rise from the table.
"Probably so..."
-
Typhonis 1
- Rabid Monkey Scientist
- Posts: 5791
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:07am
- Location: deep within a secret cloning lab hidden in the brotherhood of the monkey thread
It is time....I wish I could smile but that is impossible ...now ....I hope he can forgive me for doing that to him.Tearing him from all that he knew and setting him 10,000 years in the future but he is more needed there than he was then...He will forgive me I think.
Prius will be a suitable seed spreader....A warrior of mine from before the ...Herasy and a saint...together they will provide all that is needed.....Prius will spread the word soon a renewal of faith of believing that they can change things that they can fight against the darkness.
They say that these days a single man can do nothing .....they have forgotten the simple truth that a single pebble can start a massive avalanche....
The war will begin as soon as I leave this throne? HAH It began the first day my mortal body drew breath.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lena Novadlorian awoke with a start, her body covered in sweat as an alarm went off.She checked it and noted she had to report for duty within an hour.She idly mused about the dream she could never truly remeber
Prius will be a suitable seed spreader....A warrior of mine from before the ...Herasy and a saint...together they will provide all that is needed.....Prius will spread the word soon a renewal of faith of believing that they can change things that they can fight against the darkness.
They say that these days a single man can do nothing .....they have forgotten the simple truth that a single pebble can start a massive avalanche....
The war will begin as soon as I leave this throne? HAH It began the first day my mortal body drew breath.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lena Novadlorian awoke with a start, her body covered in sweat as an alarm went off.She checked it and noted she had to report for duty within an hour.She idly mused about the dream she could never truly remeber
Brotherhood of the Bear Monkey Clonemaster , Anti Care Bears League,
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
I AM BACK! let the SCIENCE commence!
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
I AM BACK! let the SCIENCE commence!
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Hethor checked around the corner with mirror. Several bolts flickered down the corridor, one of them hitting the mirror, causing it to explode. So much for shaving.
"Bad?" asked Gellmenn.
"Bad. Fucking Scravians. Improvised barracade. At least six of 'em. Maybe 30 meters back. Fuck the Governor's Grand fucking Promenade. And either they can shoot or worse, they're fucking lucky."
Hanto cracked a grin. "Hey sarge, too bad we can't borrow a Terminator with an assault cannon for, say ten seconds."
Hethor scowled. "One battle brother with a bolter, five seconds. Tops." He paused for a moment. "Okay, enough fucking around. Those fucking Scravians aren't going to kill themselves."
Hethor checked his weapons. Knife. Triplex Rifle. Frag grenades. Blind grenade. Two krak grenades. Stubber. Las pistol. Everything loaded and ready to go. Now he just needed a plan that wouldn't involve getting everyone killed. What would a Dark Angel do?
Direct frontal attack on such a well defended position? No, they were brave not stupid. Something to even the odds. Hethor looked up at the soot stained ceiling with it massive stained glass windows set in gilded, baroque frames. Most of the windows were shattered now, jagged chunks of glass clutching empty frames. He looked back down the long hall with generations of Imperial Commanders memorialized on pedestal mounted white marble busts, now scored the shrapnel and lasfire. Hethor smiled. He had an idea.
"Bad?" asked Gellmenn.
"Bad. Fucking Scravians. Improvised barracade. At least six of 'em. Maybe 30 meters back. Fuck the Governor's Grand fucking Promenade. And either they can shoot or worse, they're fucking lucky."
Hanto cracked a grin. "Hey sarge, too bad we can't borrow a Terminator with an assault cannon for, say ten seconds."
Hethor scowled. "One battle brother with a bolter, five seconds. Tops." He paused for a moment. "Okay, enough fucking around. Those fucking Scravians aren't going to kill themselves."
Hethor checked his weapons. Knife. Triplex Rifle. Frag grenades. Blind grenade. Two krak grenades. Stubber. Las pistol. Everything loaded and ready to go. Now he just needed a plan that wouldn't involve getting everyone killed. What would a Dark Angel do?
Direct frontal attack on such a well defended position? No, they were brave not stupid. Something to even the odds. Hethor looked up at the soot stained ceiling with it massive stained glass windows set in gilded, baroque frames. Most of the windows were shattered now, jagged chunks of glass clutching empty frames. He looked back down the long hall with generations of Imperial Commanders memorialized on pedestal mounted white marble busts, now scored the shrapnel and lasfire. Hethor smiled. He had an idea.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Nek attached the demo charge and backed away. The serg could always be relied upon to pull his boys and girls through any mess and this one was no exception. Standing to close to him could be hazardous. "Fire in the Hole!" he yelled. He backed behind the wall and triggered the explosive.
Debris blew through the doorway in a thunderous cloud of smoke. Damn that blast was loud. Nek and Gellmenn looked back in. Yep they had blasted through the wall. The grass was nice and green out there, because the Guard wasn't assaulting from this side. The shear cliff just beyond the palace grounds probably had something to do with that. Clutching their sacks, the two men exited and edged along the wall.
"Are we there?" Nek asked.
"About so," said Gellmenn. He looked up. "Hey the windows are still intact." Above him towered a eight meter high depiction of the Emperor vanquishing xenos.
"What do we do?" Nek asked.
"He'll expect us to do our duty," said Gellman as he raised his lasgun. He didn't feel good about this. God-Emperor, Master of Mankind, forgive me. He fired. Las bolts tore the beautiful image of the Emperor apart. For good measure Gellmenn cleared out the adjoining frames, bearing the images of Sebastian Thor and Rogal Dorn. Rainbow shards fell to earth.
"Let's do it," said Gellmenn retreating several steps. Both he and Nek reached into their bags and threw in a high arc. Inside, deadly flowers of steel shrapnel errupted around the barricade.
Debris blew through the doorway in a thunderous cloud of smoke. Damn that blast was loud. Nek and Gellmenn looked back in. Yep they had blasted through the wall. The grass was nice and green out there, because the Guard wasn't assaulting from this side. The shear cliff just beyond the palace grounds probably had something to do with that. Clutching their sacks, the two men exited and edged along the wall.
"Are we there?" Nek asked.
"About so," said Gellmenn. He looked up. "Hey the windows are still intact." Above him towered a eight meter high depiction of the Emperor vanquishing xenos.
"What do we do?" Nek asked.
"He'll expect us to do our duty," said Gellman as he raised his lasgun. He didn't feel good about this. God-Emperor, Master of Mankind, forgive me. He fired. Las bolts tore the beautiful image of the Emperor apart. For good measure Gellmenn cleared out the adjoining frames, bearing the images of Sebastian Thor and Rogal Dorn. Rainbow shards fell to earth.
"Let's do it," said Gellmenn retreating several steps. Both he and Nek reached into their bags and threw in a high arc. Inside, deadly flowers of steel shrapnel errupted around the barricade.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Typhonis 1
- Rabid Monkey Scientist
- Posts: 5791
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:07am
- Location: deep within a secret cloning lab hidden in the brotherhood of the monkey thread
Nathan looked at the engine once more and felt like swearing.Some damnfool idiot had once more managed to clog the intake valve by using unfiltered fuel 3 hours of effort had gon into cleaning it out once before.
He silently thought of finding the fool and dunking him in a pool .
He sighed and started to pulll the asembly out of the Rhino to clean it as part of his studies for the day....yeah right studies more like free work from himself and the 20 odd other 11 year olds in the regiments whiteshields.
He heard metal groan and looked up as a male voice scremed in pain.Another RH1N0 transport had had its brakes taken off and was now rolling down the slope twoards him.It had already claimed the arm of one whiteshield and looked to claim himself as another sacrifice.
He screamed no and threw his hand forward.The multi ton war machine stoped as if a wall held it there.
He knew deep down he would somehow be blamed for this.
He silently thought of finding the fool and dunking him in a pool .
He sighed and started to pulll the asembly out of the Rhino to clean it as part of his studies for the day....yeah right studies more like free work from himself and the 20 odd other 11 year olds in the regiments whiteshields.
He heard metal groan and looked up as a male voice scremed in pain.Another RH1N0 transport had had its brakes taken off and was now rolling down the slope twoards him.It had already claimed the arm of one whiteshield and looked to claim himself as another sacrifice.
He screamed no and threw his hand forward.The multi ton war machine stoped as if a wall held it there.
He knew deep down he would somehow be blamed for this.
Brotherhood of the Bear Monkey Clonemaster , Anti Care Bears League,
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
I AM BACK! let the SCIENCE commence!
Bureaucrat and BOFH of the HAB,
Skunk Works director of the Mecha Maniacs,
Black Mage,
I AM BACK! let the SCIENCE commence!
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Hethor rolled out and fired as the grenades burst around the Scravians. Little J poured out full auto on his carbine and charged. Hethor watched with awe. He's even crazier than I am! He sergeant hustled foreweard to the fucking inadequate cover provided the nearest niche. Inadequate was better than none.
Zash began to pump fire from his grenade launcher down towards the Scravians. Two of them were returning fire. Hethor shot one of them in the head. Krain had dashed to the other side of the corridor and was advancing that way. Fuck this was a mess!
Hethor hustled to the next niche, snapping off a shot as he ran. The return fire was still spotty and inaccurate. Several of Hethor's boys were pumping fire foreward, trying to supress the Scravians's fire. As Hethor closed he learned one thing: there was a lot more than six of the fuckers.
Zash began to pump fire from his grenade launcher down towards the Scravians. Two of them were returning fire. Hethor shot one of them in the head. Krain had dashed to the other side of the corridor and was advancing that way. Fuck this was a mess!
Hethor hustled to the next niche, snapping off a shot as he ran. The return fire was still spotty and inaccurate. Several of Hethor's boys were pumping fire foreward, trying to supress the Scravians's fire. As Hethor closed he learned one thing: there was a lot more than six of the fuckers.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2004-12-16 03:44am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
"We all know he hasn't been the same since he came back from that meeting," Engelier said firmly.
"What the warp are you suggesting, Fulgenzio? That he's been possessed?" Trinidge said derisively. "I've got half a mind to report you."
Engelier, who had been first mate for six years now, calmly looked across at the gunnery officer and spoke in a quiet, menacing tone. "If you try before we've finished this meeting, I'll kill you."
A ghastly silence fell across the room. All eyes turned toward Trinidge, a man known to not be easily intimidated. He glared at Engelier, who simply looked back at him with a blank expression. Finally, Trinidge relented, his features flushing. "This better be damned convincing. Because if it's just you trying to snake out the captain and steal the charter, I'll kill you."
"You don't have to believe me. Listen to the doctor. The captain skipped his post-con med-eval."
Post-contact medical evaluations were a rigorously enforced procedure that was a life and death necessity when dealing with xenos, especially new and unknown ones.
"Doctor, tell them what you told me. Tell them what the captain told you."
"What the warp are you suggesting, Fulgenzio? That he's been possessed?" Trinidge said derisively. "I've got half a mind to report you."
Engelier, who had been first mate for six years now, calmly looked across at the gunnery officer and spoke in a quiet, menacing tone. "If you try before we've finished this meeting, I'll kill you."
A ghastly silence fell across the room. All eyes turned toward Trinidge, a man known to not be easily intimidated. He glared at Engelier, who simply looked back at him with a blank expression. Finally, Trinidge relented, his features flushing. "This better be damned convincing. Because if it's just you trying to snake out the captain and steal the charter, I'll kill you."
"You don't have to believe me. Listen to the doctor. The captain skipped his post-con med-eval."
Post-contact medical evaluations were a rigorously enforced procedure that was a life and death necessity when dealing with xenos, especially new and unknown ones.
"Doctor, tell them what you told me. Tell them what the captain told you."
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
It went to hell in an instant. Just as the grenade from outside ceased, Zash scored a direct hit on a Scravian with his launcher. Good, another down and shrapnel in the area where Hethor wanted it to be. Then some Scravian fucker and stitched Krain up good when he was still in the open. Krain went down.
Little J put the fucker down but another Scravian had an underbarrel grenade launcher on his las. He sent a round back toward's Hethor's fire support. Then another Scravian hit little Little J. The shot caught him high in the chest and he staggered. Hethor put the shooter down hard with his Triplex. Two other Scravians stitched up J real bad. At least a half dozen hits to the torso. At close range. Little J went down hard. There was no way short of direct intervention by Lion El Johnson that Little J was going to get back up ever again.
Hethor burned down one of the Scravians. The other fired wildly. It was hard to shoot straight when your target was shooting back. It wasn't a big problem for everyone. Hethor, for example. He punched two shots into the Scravian, almost severing his right arm and blowing open his left lung. The Scravian spun and fell.
Hethor was close now. He fired low, just over the barricade as he charged. His shots kept their heads down as his power cell bled dry. He dropped the las and drew his pistol.
He shot the first one in the chest. And again and again and again. The fucker then decided to fall. Even at point blank, a laspistol only blasted small holes in flesh after burning through all that armour. He shot the next one in the neck and got a much more satisfying result. To bad that the Scravian shot him twice in the chest. Holy Emperor, it hurt. Both men fell.
There was only one left, a Scravian with an officer's red piping. He raised a beautiful curved sword over his head-
And was cut down by half a dozen shots from Hethor's boys. "You lose," Hethor snarled.
Little J put the fucker down but another Scravian had an underbarrel grenade launcher on his las. He sent a round back toward's Hethor's fire support. Then another Scravian hit little Little J. The shot caught him high in the chest and he staggered. Hethor put the shooter down hard with his Triplex. Two other Scravians stitched up J real bad. At least a half dozen hits to the torso. At close range. Little J went down hard. There was no way short of direct intervention by Lion El Johnson that Little J was going to get back up ever again.
Hethor burned down one of the Scravians. The other fired wildly. It was hard to shoot straight when your target was shooting back. It wasn't a big problem for everyone. Hethor, for example. He punched two shots into the Scravian, almost severing his right arm and blowing open his left lung. The Scravian spun and fell.
Hethor was close now. He fired low, just over the barricade as he charged. His shots kept their heads down as his power cell bled dry. He dropped the las and drew his pistol.
He shot the first one in the chest. And again and again and again. The fucker then decided to fall. Even at point blank, a laspistol only blasted small holes in flesh after burning through all that armour. He shot the next one in the neck and got a much more satisfying result. To bad that the Scravian shot him twice in the chest. Holy Emperor, it hurt. Both men fell.
There was only one left, a Scravian with an officer's red piping. He raised a beautiful curved sword over his head-
And was cut down by half a dozen shots from Hethor's boys. "You lose," Hethor snarled.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
"Eng, let's talk," Captain Zaldis said conversationally, taking him aside. Englier tried to hide his tension.
He and Zaldis had often had a stormy relationship. He appreciated the man, respected Zaldis' ability to conn a ship(though he thought himself a better shiphandler, to be blunt), and they were a good team, dynamic and conservative. They were both professional enough to keep their disagreements behind closed doors, and to the rest of the crew they always acted in harmony. But they had their moments...
They had screamed at each other until they were hoarse on occasion. Engelier had warned the captain that he would speak his mind if he made him his X.O., and the skipper had told him that he didn't want a rubber stamp, so long as he supported the captain's decisions in the end and kept his disagreements private.
But this was different. He wasn't entirely sure the captain was himself, and he'd managed to convince the rest of the officers that at the very least it was a situation they should keep their eyes on.
(He'd argued for detention and full examination, which would have been standard course in the navy and would have been ordered at once by the ship's commissar, but private vessels were tainted with some strains of vile democracy and consent of the ruled.)
"What can I do for you, skipper?" he asked cheerfully, putting on his best poker face.
"You can stop conspiring against me, you little bastard..." Zaldis growled, seizing him by the throat and slamming his head against the metal bulkhead.
He and Zaldis had often had a stormy relationship. He appreciated the man, respected Zaldis' ability to conn a ship(though he thought himself a better shiphandler, to be blunt), and they were a good team, dynamic and conservative. They were both professional enough to keep their disagreements behind closed doors, and to the rest of the crew they always acted in harmony. But they had their moments...
They had screamed at each other until they were hoarse on occasion. Engelier had warned the captain that he would speak his mind if he made him his X.O., and the skipper had told him that he didn't want a rubber stamp, so long as he supported the captain's decisions in the end and kept his disagreements private.
But this was different. He wasn't entirely sure the captain was himself, and he'd managed to convince the rest of the officers that at the very least it was a situation they should keep their eyes on.
(He'd argued for detention and full examination, which would have been standard course in the navy and would have been ordered at once by the ship's commissar, but private vessels were tainted with some strains of vile democracy and consent of the ruled.)
"What can I do for you, skipper?" he asked cheerfully, putting on his best poker face.
"You can stop conspiring against me, you little bastard..." Zaldis growled, seizing him by the throat and slamming his head against the metal bulkhead.
What a headache. According to the medicae, he was just lucky that the captain hadn't cracked his skull with that thumping.
"I can't believe you're doing this after everything I've done for you," Zaldis said sadly, staring at him through the pictcaster in the cell he occupied.
Engelier grimaced. They had no idea what had brought the aberrant behavior on, but if it was a biological agent of some form, the whole crew was screwed at this point. The damned doctor had gone along with the captain in bypassing the postcon medeval, and as a consequence they might all be dead. In the Navy, they both would've been shot for putting a whole vessel at such risk.
If a couple of crew members hadn't pulled the captain off of him earlier, Engelier himself probably would be dead with his brains decorating the floor grating.
"Captain, you violated xenos contact procedures, directly countermanding them."
"I have my reasons, and I have the authority," Zaldis fired back. "This isn't the navy, and on this ship my word is law!"
"Was law," Engelier said coldly. "And until you come clean about what happened down there, you're not leaving confinement."
"I can't believe you're doing this after everything I've done for you," Zaldis said sadly, staring at him through the pictcaster in the cell he occupied.
Engelier grimaced. They had no idea what had brought the aberrant behavior on, but if it was a biological agent of some form, the whole crew was screwed at this point. The damned doctor had gone along with the captain in bypassing the postcon medeval, and as a consequence they might all be dead. In the Navy, they both would've been shot for putting a whole vessel at such risk.
If a couple of crew members hadn't pulled the captain off of him earlier, Engelier himself probably would be dead with his brains decorating the floor grating.
"Captain, you violated xenos contact procedures, directly countermanding them."
"I have my reasons, and I have the authority," Zaldis fired back. "This isn't the navy, and on this ship my word is law!"
"Was law," Engelier said coldly. "And until you come clean about what happened down there, you're not leaving confinement."
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Hethor raised the glass and drank. The sweet orange juice mixed in meant that the grain alcohol actually tasted like something. He gulped half the glass and put it down. Praise the Emperor, he needed that.
A woman walked in. She was all wrong for this place. While not quite dirty, this place wasn't exactly clean either. It's customers had more than a few rough edges and the bouncers were big and earned their paychecks.
She was simply dressed, but their was something classy about her that didn't fit. Her dark hair was tied up with a short braid. There were grey strands here and there and crowfeet around her eyes. A slight smile on her lips. She was pretty good looking for a broad her age. She pulled out the chair on the other end of the table and spun it around. She sat down, leaning foreward over the chair's back.
"I didn't tell you you could sit here," said Hethor coldly. He didn't know what the fuck was going on, but there was no way he was going into it blindly.
"A little early for that," she said waving at his glass. She smiled, showing teeth that were way too good. She had to have serious juice to have teeth that good around here and most people of her age with that kind of juice had gotten scragged. The Arbites had spent three days shooting their prisoners. That meant she was probably from offworld.
"A man with responsibilities like yourself, getting drunk this early in the day. Might cost you your position as foreman if you keep going this way."
"Fuck you bitch," Hethor replied. He would have to get pretty ragged before they would fire him.
"Of course, with your sideline as a bonebreaker for a moneylender, you do have another job. You could do your drinking somewhere better."
"Fuck you twice, bitch" he answered. You didn't need to go to someplace fancy to get blitzed. And there you couldn't kick ass.
"How are the memories sergeant?" she asked. "Lot of dead you are carrying with you. Did a lot of service to the Imperium."
Hethor stood up, his face contorting in rage. She knew way too much about him. A the bar a weedy man stood up straight. He was with her, but too small to be muscle, unless he was really good muscle. She could afford really good muscle. She put something on the table, uncovered it for a moment, and then picked it up. It was an Inquisitional rosette. He was truly fucked.
"The campaign was over, the worlds retaken. They didn't bother with the smashed regiments, did they sergeant? How many hundred men left in yours? Two, three? Out of a founding of full strength of how many thousand? Not worth it to ship you somewhere you were needed and build you back to strength, so they discharged you. How many years did you serve sergeant?" She must have already known the answer.
"Eighteen."
"How many of the Emperor's enemies did you kill sergeant?"
"I lost count. After fifty three, I stoped counting." He had been at fifty three when he saw the Dark Angels.
"So here you are, a discarded piece of the mighty Imperial War Machine, fighting, drinking, gambling, and fucking yourself to death," she said.
"What do you want?" he asked
"I want you to serve the Imperium again sergeant. Very few men swept the basement levels."
"We didn't sweep 'em," his throat was dry. He didn't want to think about there again. "We just secured the entrance for a special purge team."
"Yes," she replied. "That's were things go wrong. They were suppossed to be swept before they were burned, but that didn't happen. The inquisitor who should have seen to it was killed by a booby trap earlier in the day and the monodominant fool told no one of what he wanted. So everything got burned, without it being investigated. The purge team's identity isn't even recorded. The disposition of the 322nd Menthian Strikers is."
"What do you want with me?" he rasped.
"Something is stirring and it has a foothold in the palace. It was exactingly rebuilt. A need a tough man who can show me the way and Hethor D'eckor, you are that man."
"Who are you?" Hethor asked.
"I am Kyra Neven and my companion is Jolan Gix. Welcome back into the Emperor's service."
A woman walked in. She was all wrong for this place. While not quite dirty, this place wasn't exactly clean either. It's customers had more than a few rough edges and the bouncers were big and earned their paychecks.
She was simply dressed, but their was something classy about her that didn't fit. Her dark hair was tied up with a short braid. There were grey strands here and there and crowfeet around her eyes. A slight smile on her lips. She was pretty good looking for a broad her age. She pulled out the chair on the other end of the table and spun it around. She sat down, leaning foreward over the chair's back.
"I didn't tell you you could sit here," said Hethor coldly. He didn't know what the fuck was going on, but there was no way he was going into it blindly.
"A little early for that," she said waving at his glass. She smiled, showing teeth that were way too good. She had to have serious juice to have teeth that good around here and most people of her age with that kind of juice had gotten scragged. The Arbites had spent three days shooting their prisoners. That meant she was probably from offworld.
"A man with responsibilities like yourself, getting drunk this early in the day. Might cost you your position as foreman if you keep going this way."
"Fuck you bitch," Hethor replied. He would have to get pretty ragged before they would fire him.
"Of course, with your sideline as a bonebreaker for a moneylender, you do have another job. You could do your drinking somewhere better."
"Fuck you twice, bitch" he answered. You didn't need to go to someplace fancy to get blitzed. And there you couldn't kick ass.
"How are the memories sergeant?" she asked. "Lot of dead you are carrying with you. Did a lot of service to the Imperium."
Hethor stood up, his face contorting in rage. She knew way too much about him. A the bar a weedy man stood up straight. He was with her, but too small to be muscle, unless he was really good muscle. She could afford really good muscle. She put something on the table, uncovered it for a moment, and then picked it up. It was an Inquisitional rosette. He was truly fucked.
"The campaign was over, the worlds retaken. They didn't bother with the smashed regiments, did they sergeant? How many hundred men left in yours? Two, three? Out of a founding of full strength of how many thousand? Not worth it to ship you somewhere you were needed and build you back to strength, so they discharged you. How many years did you serve sergeant?" She must have already known the answer.
"Eighteen."
"How many of the Emperor's enemies did you kill sergeant?"
"I lost count. After fifty three, I stoped counting." He had been at fifty three when he saw the Dark Angels.
"So here you are, a discarded piece of the mighty Imperial War Machine, fighting, drinking, gambling, and fucking yourself to death," she said.
"What do you want?" he asked
"I want you to serve the Imperium again sergeant. Very few men swept the basement levels."
"We didn't sweep 'em," his throat was dry. He didn't want to think about there again. "We just secured the entrance for a special purge team."
"Yes," she replied. "That's were things go wrong. They were suppossed to be swept before they were burned, but that didn't happen. The inquisitor who should have seen to it was killed by a booby trap earlier in the day and the monodominant fool told no one of what he wanted. So everything got burned, without it being investigated. The purge team's identity isn't even recorded. The disposition of the 322nd Menthian Strikers is."
"What do you want with me?" he rasped.
"Something is stirring and it has a foothold in the palace. It was exactingly rebuilt. A need a tough man who can show me the way and Hethor D'eckor, you are that man."
"Who are you?" Hethor asked.
"I am Kyra Neven and my companion is Jolan Gix. Welcome back into the Emperor's service."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
The temple was the biggest place he had ever seen. Even here, during dark cycle the holos on the ceiling were beautiful. It was kind of scary. All big and dark and empty. And he was still hungry.
"When are we going to eat mama?" he cried.
She hugged him. "Soon, Anjun, soon. Mama just has to do something to get us food. Now you stay here and I'll be back soon." She kissed him on the forehead and hustled down the isle. The priest in his shiny red robe with all the gold was there. He and mama talked for a little big and then went behind the altar.
Anjun figited. He had been told to stay put, but he was bored. He would go check on mama and asked. He crept up, being real careful. There were some strange noises coming from behind the altar. Anjun peaked around the side and saw the priest had his robe open and his mama was kneeling in front of him. What has going on?
His moma saw him and stopped what she was doing. The priest slapped mama and said, "I don't care. Finish if you want the food chit." A tear rolled down mama's cheek.
"When are we going to eat mama?" he cried.
She hugged him. "Soon, Anjun, soon. Mama just has to do something to get us food. Now you stay here and I'll be back soon." She kissed him on the forehead and hustled down the isle. The priest in his shiny red robe with all the gold was there. He and mama talked for a little big and then went behind the altar.
Anjun figited. He had been told to stay put, but he was bored. He would go check on mama and asked. He crept up, being real careful. There were some strange noises coming from behind the altar. Anjun peaked around the side and saw the priest had his robe open and his mama was kneeling in front of him. What has going on?
His moma saw him and stopped what she was doing. The priest slapped mama and said, "I don't care. Finish if you want the food chit." A tear rolled down mama's cheek.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.