planet-sized Bloodthirsters chopping ships apart, etc.
Can't resist.. Must nitpick!.
The example you're thinking of is a Bloodthirster batting a planet around with the base of it's axe.
In the Eye Daemons are exponentially more powerful, a Daemonette can resist a Multi-Meltagun, with the benefits increasing massively.
(Greater daemons can create bridges between worlds, spell out their names with planets or stars or create gargantuan roses)
GeneralTacticus wrote: The laws of physics need not apply. For instance, I recall seeing references to worlds shaped like discs, or stacked like wedding cakes,
That too, along with the other examples.
Photography Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
GeneralTacticus wrote:And on a completely different note, which Ordo does Malagaunt belong to?
Ordo Malleus. I haven't really focussed on that aspect of his character unfortunately getting caught in other details.
I read up on these elite Imperial Guardsmen known as Stormtroopers. Any info on them that might be handy in case I want to work them into a future battle? I read that they're sort of looked on negatively by your standard Imperial guardsmen as "toy soldiers".
Also is it out of character for an Order Malleus Inquisitor not to be using Grey Knights instead of Ultramarines? Is this something Mordred can grill Malagaunt on or be suspicious of?
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Grey Knights are called upon only in the most dire of circumstances, on the scale of galactic cataclysm; where hordes of daemons threaten to pour forth in something that might as well be called the Apocalypse. In any lesser situation, and Inquisitor will use whatever resources are on hand; Space Marines, Guardsmen, Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, and so on.
And speaking of Stormtroopers, there are many different kinds that are all roughly equivalent:
Imperial Guard Stormtroopers - "Glory Boys," "Big Toy Soldiers," these guys are trained at the Schola Progenium alongside Commissars and such. They're harder and better than most Guardsmen and are attached to regiments temporarily or operate alone. They're essentially special forces.
Naval Stormtroopers - These function as high-end marines (with a lower-case "m") on Naval ships, performing and defending against boarding actions as well as having security duties.
Grenadiers - These are Imperial Guardsmen indigenous to a specific regiment who have training and equipment roughly equivalent to Schola Stormtroopers. Again, they function largely as crack special forces troops, but they are a native element of their regiment, e.g., Kasrkin Grenadiers will always fight alongside their Cadian Shocktrooper brothers-in-arms.
Inquisitorial Stormtroopers - These are the absolute top-notch human troops available. They are largely formed of the (IIRC) top 5% of Schola classes and further screened for mental stability and purity. They are in the direct service of the Inquisitorial Ordos and do not belong to any branch of the Imperial military.
All Stormtroopers are generally equipped with carapace armor and hellguns, among all sorts of special forces toys and other special-issue gear.
EDIT: I should add that the existence of the Grey Knights is relatively secret. A high-up Ultramarine in good standing and with good connections might have heard of them or maybe even run into some before, but outside of the Inquisition almost no one is even going to know that they exist, much less what they are and what they do.
Agitated asshole | (Ex)40K Nut | Metalhead The vision never dies; life's a never-ending wheel
1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
"'He or she' is an agenderphobic microaggression, Sharon. You are a bigot." ― Randy Marsh
I think something that needs to be said, or at least that I've gleaned from 40k, is that the layman does not know about Chaos. If they know about Chaos, it can take them in and take them over. If they don't, then there are no problems, hence the reason why people don't really know about Chaos, or the Inquisitors, or anything else.
They know something about chaos, or at the very least they know there are cults linked to the dark things that live in the warp and people who join them get mutated. Also, The Imperial Infantrymans Uplifting Primer mentions that psykers are susceptible to the things that live in the warp, so even if they don't really know about demonic possession then they know there are nasty things in the warp that will eat you.
And people know that the Inquisition exists, they just don't really know anything beyond that.
Post Number 1066 achieved Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:19 pm(board time, 8:19GMT)
Batman: What do these guys want anyway?
Superman: Take over the world... Or rob banks, I'm not sure.
Another chapter. This one a quicky just to get some exposition out of the way so we can lay into some action ASAP in the coming chapters.
Chapter 6: The Man with the Plan
The bustle and noise of the assembled officers and noncoms was no where near what it would have been if all the men were to be assembled of course but it was still loud and boisterous. In particular with the brash tankers trying their best to make their presence known in the briefing room while the artillerymen were staking their own claims and the 502nd making both companies know that they were glorified hitchhikers on board the Cerberus it made the noise level much louder than usual.
General Jinn glanced down at his notes while Commissar Lazar watched the men like a hawk ready to bring them to order the moment Jinn needed it.
They were both waiting for their honored guest.
Sergeant Sejanus sat down quickly beside Lieutenant Logray who was busily sketching in his note plate. The likeness of General Jinn looking grim and determined was clearly coming into focus under the precise long strokes of Logray’s stylus.
“You know, Lieutenant, I bet you have a future ahead of you as an artist. Who knows, maybe you can even sell some of your works throughout the Segmentum as the first Imperial Guard’s master artist.” Sejanus commented looking over the young Lieutenant’s shoulder.
Logray smirked sparing the older sergeant a glance.
“You and I both know that this is where I belong and where I’ll die, Sergeant.” Logray explained simply. “Though I appreciate the complement.” He added with a smile.
Sejanus shrugged.
“It doesn’t always have to be about dying.”
Logray chuckled softly.
“You’re in love.” He noted with a deep sigh.
“What?” Sejanus shook his head and acted shocked and confused. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about si—”
“Lazar let me know under no uncertain terms that if I were to witness any inappropriate behavior between you and the gorgeous one over there.” Logray indicated Kilraven who slid into her seat beside her other pilots. She smiled and the other women smirked or winked at her as she whispered something to them. “I was to let him know and arrest both of you on the spot.”
Sejanus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I won’t have to do that will I, sarge?” Logray asked suddenly serious.
“No, sir, you won’t.” Sejanus replied.
Logray looked at his sergeant for a long moment then nodded.
“Good. I wouldn’t want to lose the best sergeant in the Guard.”
It was Sejanus’ turn to smirk.
“I figure one good compliment deserves another.” Logray added with a shrug.
“Thanks, sir.” Sejanus replied then looked up at the podium. “I wonder what the big boys have planned for us now.”
“After we bugged out of Ephesus I figured we’d either get back to our mission or head home.”
"Look, it's the man with the plan." Sejanus commented to Logray.
Malagaunt strode into the room accompanied by the silent threatening bulk of a man who could easily have been mistaken for a space marine with his size. The bulk stood quietly, hands behind his back like a shadow beside Malagaunt. The Inquisitor wore a simple black tunic and a blood red cloak with its cowl down. The cloak was worked with gold embroidery and his Inquisitorial brand was stamped at the collar in a brilliant jade and yellow. He was in no uncertain terms beautiful. High cheek bones, brilliant white teeth shone like ivory as he smiled at the officers and men. Stormy grey eyes observed everything and seemed to strip you to your soul with but a glance.
All the men in the room instantly turned their attention to the women. There was no doubt that his beauty was appreciated by the pilots of the 502nd. One of the pilots wolf whistled and another made an obscene gesture to a fellow pilot.
Some of the men frowned and found an instant dislike for the too beautiful man. How much action could he have seen, how much combat could he have graced with such a visage? The sea of scarred and pocked faces and bodies seated before him told their own tales. However, if any of these men could see into Malagaunt’s soul they may have sung a different tune. Some scars were never meant to see the light of day and the Inquisitor’s soul was a roadmap of such scars.
“One more word from any of you over there…” Lazar snapped at the pilots. He did not need to look at Jinn to know that the general’s face betrayed his anger and disgust with the women’s behavior. It would be that much harder to keep them assigned to the unit if they kept this behavior up, Lazar mused darkly. There was only so many beaurcratic tricks he could play with the general before he would have no choice but to reassign them.
“I appreciate your men’s enthusiasm, General.” Malagaunt stated politely.
“If only they were men, sir.” Jinn replied with a shake of his head. “Are we ready then?”
“Indeed. This is your command, general. Think of me merely as an interested observer.” Malagaunt replied with a bow of his head.
Jinn pursed his lips. Interested observer indeed. The sole reason they were out here was because of this man.
Jinn nodded to Lazar.
“Attention on deck.” Lazar announced.
The assembled officers and noncoms instantly fell silent. There was only so far bravado and boisterousness would go in the face of a Commissar like Lazar, especially with an Inquisitor present.
“Alright, men, I know many of you were wondering just what happened back on Ephesus and why we left as we did. We have come under a new command structure and are currently attached to the good Inquisitor Ezekiel Malagaunt from the Ordo Malleus. He has asked the Cadian 502nd and her attached armored company the Steel Kings to accompany him on a mission of great importance to the Emperor.”
The men tried not to make a sound or commentary and instead watched their young boy general as some had christened him, behind his back of course. He had led them out of too many battles where they should have all been planted for them to be too concerned about this. In fact many were relieved. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they had escaped a death trap back on Ephesus.
“As it stands now we have orders to proceed to the world of Tyrial.” Behind Jinn’s back one of the Techpriests immediately began waving his hands around a smoke filled glass orb. The smoke quickly parted to reveal the green world of Tyrial. Small oceans and endless seas of grassy plains were clearly evident from the image. The tankers all glanced at each other and Durhan Dunnegan smiled as he chewed on his cigar with satisfaction.
“That’s tank country if I ever saw it.” Dunnegan concluded with a satisfied chuckle.
“Indeed.” Jinn agreed. “We will be deploying in a suborbital insertion here.” He pointed back and the image of the planet was engulfed by the rolling thick clouds and then flashed closer in the roiling mist of the glass orb to view one of the continents exclusively. A mountain chain dominated the view now as the techpriest manipulated unseen runes on his controller.
“The air support wing will provide air cover while the Cerberus moves in an oblique approach from the far side of this moon.”
Mists rose again obscuring the image on the globe and then flashed back to a small rocky moon and the bright blue silhouettes of the Cerberus and the Iron Genesis coasted along side the moon hugging the shadows before leaping forward to the planet.
Some of the men were glancing around in confusion. This was standard procedure when inserting unseen on a hostile or contested world but Tyrial was obviously in Imperial space. What was the need for the secrecy? The veterans were all concerned now. They knew something was up. They were now waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“We will touch down in this sector here.” Jinn pointed back at the glass globe and the image was flooded by misty smoke and flashed again to the mountain range they saw before. The image wavered slightly and the mountain range focused into a single mountain and a hilly valley that rolled beneath it emptying into a forest and vast plain beyond. A river cut through the tree line leading up to the valley.
Each geographic feature glowed brightly for a moment, calling attention to itself for the guardsmen’s benefit.
“Once the LZ has been secured the guard will immediately deploy in a standard ringed defensive pattern, Adamantite Infernum class defenses.”
Some of the men groaned to themselves. It meant lots of digging. Lots.
“Colonel Dunnegan?”
“Sir?” The big man replied without hesitation but not bothering to take the cigar from his mouth.
“I will want your tanks deployed along the perimeter here and here.” As Jinn spoke small silhouettes of Leman Russ tanks sparked up on the screen in several zones around the base of the mountain.
Dunnegan frowned.
“Sir, if I may?”
“Please.” Jinn nodded to the tanker.
“My tanks should not be treated as mobile artillery pieces. You’re intending to dig us in on your flanks to simply blast into any incoming enemy. On this kind of terrain my tanks should be set free. We can roam the perimeter at will and react to any incursion far more quickly than simply dug into the ground – besides you’ve got the Basilisks for that job.” Dunnegan indicated the artillery officers with a jerk of his head.
“Basilisks are mobile artillery, Colonel.” The commander for the Basilisk artillery crew piped up. “We don’t get dug in either.” He protested.
“Be that as it may.” Dunnegan continued undeterred. “My men are hard chargers. We’re not going to sit there under a pile of earth or behind some ferocrete barricades firing into the enemy without using our best asset. Our mobility and speed will allow us to not only react to enemy incursions but also counterattack as well. All I’m saying is that the Steel Kings should be unleashed, not dug in like some random artillery piece.”
Jinn looked from Dunnegan to his own men for a moment. The Colonel was officially under his command and Jinn could force him to simply accept his standing orders. But the tanker had far more experience in his field of expertise. Jinn was an infantry man. Had always been and knew how to fight with men, dirt and the guns they held at the ready. To him, the Leman Russ’ were indeed simple artillery pieces that could be used add firepower to their defense.
He did not like the idea of the tanks roaming where he could not easily control them. When things got hot it would be damn near impossible to get in touch with Dunnegan and his men to coordinate the defense. At least dug in as he planned they would be far easier to control and coordinate with.
His instincts were telling him to listen to the tanker however. Instincts that preserved his men on half a dozen campaigns where they should have all been killed or worse.
“Colonel, I can respect your position and accept that your men should be set up as a mobile force, however I will request that you attach a platoon to be dug in and directly defend the objective and Inquisitor Malagaunt.” Jinn asked.
Dunnegan rubbed his chin and chewed on his cigar for a long moment. Lazar thought it was galling. Jinn had made an almost complete turn around from his previous position in front of his men and this strutting marionette was actually still holding out for a complete reversal.
“It would be a great ease on my mind to know I have the finest tanks in the Imperium at my back.” Malagaunt added diplomatically.
Jinn glanced back at Malagaunt and his expression read loud and clear. I did not need your help. Malagaunt continued smiling warmly at both men.
“Well, if you put it that way, Inquisitor,” Dunnegan smiled broadly and took the cigar from his mouth. “How can I possibly refuse?”
“You are too kind and a credit to your officer corps.” Malagaunt replied with a polite bow of his head. Jinn’s eyes narrowed on the Inquisitor. Why play so coy? Malagaunt was a totally different animal with he and Lazar not to mention the Adeptus Astartes.
Then it struck him as Malagaunt motioned for Jinn to continue.
Who in the name of the Emperor was Malagaunt? What sort of man was he - really? He could be anyone he wanted to be, from hard ass Inquisitor to coy unassuming servant of the Emperor. It made quantifying him that much harder, and as Jinn watched the man for a long moment he knew that it was precisely the effect the man was going for. Keep everyone off balance.
Malagaunt had grown far more dangerous than Jinn gave him credit for in the span of a few minutes. He could be anyone he wanted to be and you could never count on a certain reaction from him. Bastard. It was easier dealing with the hard ass than it was this smarmy near sycophant standing behind him.
Jinn returned his attention to his men.
“Artillery team, I’ll want your gun directly in the center of our position to provide as much support as possible from all angles. I assume you have ammunition enough for an extended engagement?”
“Sir! We made certain to embark with a full load out. We’re ready to shake whatever earth you need us to.” The young fresh faced lieutenant commander responded enthusiastically.
“What are you, like twelve?” someone asked from a far corner of the room.
“Belay that now.” Lazar spat and pointed his finger directly at the man who said it. Several guardsmen and the artillery officers were beginning to openly glare at each other and the youth of the artillery men was rapidly becoming evident to the others. These were raw conscripts from Ephesus. They were hardly in the same class as the 502nd and the Steel Kings.
“May I?” Malagaunt asked Jinn motioning to join him at the podium.
Jinn reluctantly stepped away and allowed the Inquisitor to step up to podium.
“My fellow citizens of the Imperium I know these are not ideal circumstances for any of us. But evil and heresy do not wait for us to be comfortable or provide us with circumstances that would be best for us.” The men were slowly paying full attention to him as he spoke. “We have a duty and a privilege to fight for the Imperium against all her foes. And none of those foes includes fellow guardsmen and soldiers. You must stand together, my brothers, because Chaos, mutants, xeno scum, they will not stand with you. They will not watch your back. They will not care a whit about whether you are old enough to serve or whether you are a veteran of a hundred campaigns. Either way they will take your soul if they can. And in the end the only thing that stands between you and the damnation of the warp is each other.” Malagaunt’s voice grew stronger as he spoke and he even seemed to grow taller. “And if there are those among you that cannot learn this lesson then I will make sure you learn the value of orthodoxy and the pain of confession because by the Emperor, in whose name I serve gladly, I will crush whomever endangers this mission with their small minded idiocy and you will know pain unlike any other.” Malagaunt seemed to be looking into each man’s eyes. “You will curse the day that bitch of a mother bore you before I am done. That is my vow to you should you place my mission in danger.”
Some of the men shifted uncomfortably. Gone was the warm diplomatic Inquisitor, like a dark cloud from a sunny sky.
“And my personal vow to each of you is this. I will guard your souls and your minds from the vile clutches of the forces of Chaos and heresy. I will stand in that breech when the time comes and I will smite what comes for you out of the dark. As long as you stand by me I will stand by you.”
The men were quiet for a long moment, no sound, even the nervous coughs and shuffling of moments before was gone.
Malagaunt nodded to the boyish artillery officer.
“You will stand by me, son and you will shake the earth in the Inquisition’s name. I place you under my personal command.”
“Sir…thank you sir.” The youth stammered nervously.
“Are you certain about this?” Jinn whispered harshly into the Inquisitor’s back.
“Oh, most certainly. He will do quiet nicely.” Malagaunt smiled. He turned serious again as he stepped away and waved Jinn to return to the podium.
Jinn took his place and cleared his throat.
“With that said I will now tell you that Tyrial fell to an Ork Waagh three years ago.” The men exchanged troubled glances but the veterans were not truly surprised. They had been expecting the other shoe for some time and it had just dropped with authority.
“The Waagh itself is quiet large and aggressive, controlling virtually the entire planet. They have repulsed three previous attempts by the Imperium to retake the planet and when they landed initially they inflicted heavy casualties on three guards divisions defending the world. Even the Space Marines in the form of a company of Black Templars tried to retake this planet in a raid on the Waagh’s war boss were repulsed with massive casualties to the company.” Jinn nodded back to the planet floating serenely in the smoky glass orb. “So make no mistake, these Orks are tough and are here to stay. They are not to be underestimated. The good news is that we are unexpected and will be landing unopposed in this relatively quiet sector. Ork activity has been focused on the other side of the continent where most of the Hives and centers of human resistance were located on Tyrial. The hope is that Inquisitor Malagaunt will be able to retrieve his objective quickly and we can dust off before the Orks even knew we were there.”
Some of the men hid their smirks. Nothing ever went according to plan, least of all best case scenarios.
“Unfortunately I will require at least three days for retrieval.” Malagaunt added. Jinn blinked. He never mentioned that in their briefing an hour ago. Three days. In the face of a massive Ork Waagh? Jinn quickly noted the concern sweeping among his men. The same concern that was in his heart the moment he heard that news.
“If on the fourth day I have not emerged from the crypt you have my authority to dust off immediately and return to Cadia where you can give the Inquisition news that Ezekiel Malagaunt is finally dead.”
“We generally don’t abandon our charges, Inquisitor.” Jinn countered.
Malagaunt shook his head sadly.
“General, you don’t understand. If I’m not out of there in four days I am most certainly dead – or worse. Staying behind would be a waste and even more dangerous considering what may lay in wait in that crypt so I am ordering you to leave on the fourth day should I not return.”
Jinn watched him closely. The Inquisitor was deadly serious. Just what in the hell are you trifling with in those catacombs? He wondered. Lazar eyed the Inquisitor with a hooded expression. His question was far more pointed. What happened to the others who went with you into The Eye? Their fate haunted the Commissar like a specter and he could not fathom why. Like a warning bell in the distance it sounded in his heart as a constant reminder.
“The good news of course is that we have reinforcements en route.” Malagaunt added breaking the somber silence.
Some of the men sat up in excitement.
“A company of Ultramarines is currently en route to Tyrial to rendezvous with us and help hold the line until Inquisitor Malagaunt can do what he has to do.” Jinn added. Many of them began pumping their fists in the air and slapping each other on the back. Space marines were coming. You couldn’t ask for better news.
He did not want to lie to his men. That would be worse than anything else he could think of for morale. Malagaunt urged that he not tell them the rest for their own sakes but as Jinn watched his men he knew that there was no way he could break the bond between he and his men in such a deceitful manner.
“The Ultramarines are not expected to be at Tyrial when we arrive. They are farther out than we are from the planet and even at best speed it is doubtful they will arrive in the first few days.”
The gleam of excitement vanished as quickly as it came.
“So in the end we will have to hold the line without the space marines for some time.” Jinn concluded grimly.
“And hold the line we shall sir. In His name and in the name of our general and the for the glory of Cadia we will hold that line.” Lazar suddenly shouted and banged his fist against the first row’s table.
“Do you hear me? In His name.” Lazar shouted again and some of the men began to shout with him as well.
“In His name we will what?”
“Hold the line.” Some of the men in the first row replied sheepishly. Lazar’s eyes narrowed dangerously on the assembled officers and noncoms. He stalked out from behind the table to walk amongst the men.
“In His name we will what you, maggots?” Lazar growled.
“Hold the line!” Many more shouted.
“In His name!”
“Hold the line!”
“In His name!”
“Hold the line!”
Jinn watched the growing enthusiasm of his officers and briefly wondered how they were going to filter this news back down to the men.
“Your men are very brave.” Malagaunt noted.
“Let us hope we do not have to test that bravery, Inquisitor.” Jinn replied evenly looking into those stormy grey eyes.
Malagaunt frowned slightly and looked over the young general’s shoulder.
“Brave men die, General. That part of the equation never changes.” Malagaunt replied coldly.
“We’s not movin’!” War Boss Grokmar roared in frustration and leapt off the command seat of the huge war truk that rumbled and spat a thick black cloud behind it.
“Da engines are all kaput boss!” a Mechboy announced gravely wiping thick grease across his forehead as he pulled his head out of the open engine block.
“Ya think I don’t know dat!” Grokmar snorted and casually slapped the Mekboy off his truk. The Mekboy let out a yelp and landed into the mud below.
More truks, war buggies, and assorted manner of patchwork vehicles were lining up in haphazard fashion around the mighty war truk of the war boss. The truk was several stories tall, great grey and red girders were jutting out in odd angles while empty cans, food rations, discharged energy packs and guardsmen helmets clattered loudly like wind chimes from the end of the exposed superstructure.
Gretchen could be seen scuttling underneath the armor plate slapped over whatever seemed delicate and fragile and sometimes simply where the mekboy grew tired of hauling it up the gargantuan frame the plate was welded in place, at an angle, to some random piece of equipment or hull frame.
A great big eye was painted at the top of the truk’s conning tower constructed out of the remains of some hive high rise building. The eye flashed on an off in a bright neon red and green, lights were strung around the eye and plugged directly into an exposed power conduit that was sparking dangerously and occasionally spewed a stream of bright white sparks down into the bowels of the truk. The shower was usually followed by the outraged shouts of pain from a random Gretchin working inside the moving siege engine.
Four Leman Russ tank turrets were mounted on the front of the Truk, one turret was slightly askew, another was mounted at an almost wild 90 degree angle. The unit insignia painted on the turrets were scratched out, on one of the turrets written in a bright emerald chalk “DIS ERE BELONGS TO DA ORKS” Another was scrawled with “EAT DIS HUMMIE GRETCHIN LOVER”
At odd intervals throughout the towering truk weapons were mounted, some not even reachable in any reasonable fashion or manner. The guns ranged from simple las pistols and rifles to heavy bolters and gatling las cannons. Grokmar stomped around a wooden gangplank wrapped around the main conning tower of the truk o’ doom and came to a halt by a harpoon cannon mounted next to a human hair dryer with forks and knives grafted onto its emitter.
“I want me truk o’ doom to run now!” Grokmar roared down at the veritable army of Mekboyz that were swarming around the base of the truk o’ doom like flies on a bloated carcass.
“We need more time boss! Dem space marine boyz musta hit somethin’ important.” His chief mekboy shouted up to the war boss. He was holding what resembled a carburetor in one hand and a jackhammer in the other.
“Dat was two months ago ya worthless hummie turd stain!” Grokmar shouted back down at the Mekboy in growing fury. His truk o’ doom had been his favorite vehicle since he started his Waagh long ago. He lovingly ran his hand over one of the hull plates. Every rivet and gadget was acquired in some way from the wreckage of his successes.
Now it was betraying him.
The engine back fired and a Gretchin shot out of one of the long aluminum pipes that fed out straight from the engine. It screamed long and loud as it rocketed trailing fire and melted flesh into the sky and vanished out of sight. Some of the Orks laughed loudly backslapping each other.
“Get me my Squigoth! Get me Peppa!”
“Get Peppa!”
“Da boss wants Peppa!”
The call went down the line of Boyz .
“We’s gonna hook the truk o’ doom ta Peppa and we’s gonna start movin’” Grokmar explained as he waited impatiently for his mighty Squiggoth pet. “Where’s me stormboyz!”
“Right here boss!” a group of Orks replied climbing into sight, several holding battered rocket engines under their arms.
“I ain’t got the patience fer dis. Youz boyz gonna go ahead and gather da boyz far and wide. We meet at the mountain I told yas about but no one. And I mean not one of you Gretchin Lovin’ whores attack da humies until I gets there!”
“But boss, what if---”
Grokmar suddenly spun the harpoon cannon he was leaning against and fired it. The harpoon punched straight through the stormboy questioning him and sent him spinning madly into a tree on the far side of the field where he flailed his green arms and legs before finally remaining still.
“Any more questionz?” Grokmar asked darkly.
“No boss.”
“Nope.”
“No questions here boss.”
“Good.” Grokmar nodded emphatically as a pair of Gretchin scuttled beneath his feet and began to reload his harpoon cannon.
“My Kult o’ speed boyz, yer gonna move a’ead o’ me with the Stormboyz and yer gonna lay in wait for the hummies. You watch ‘em. You watch ‘em real close like you watch nothin’ else before.”
“We watch ‘em more than we watch blood dryin’ on our choppas?” one shoota boy ventured.
Grokmar spun around again and this time took the humie hair dryer and fired. A fork sprang out like a flechette round and punched into an Ork’s eye. The Ork screamed in outrage and howled as he jumped up and down holding the silverware jutting out of his eye.
“But boss!! I didn’t ask the question!! It was him!” the wounded Ork protested bitterly jabbing a finger at the shoota boy in question.
“I don’t care! I said no more questionz! What? You all deaf?!”
“Sorry boss.”
“No more questions boss.”
“Righto Boss.”
Grokmar sighed heavily.
“It’s like I surrounded by oddboyz all the sudden.”
A deep bass roar shook the field and the metal decorations of the truk o’ doom rattled loudly.
A massive beast lumbered into view led by a herder and several shoota boyz who eyed the Squiggoth nervously. The beast was enormous, taller even than the truk o’ doom and armored with a jigsaw pattern of steel plate, guardsmen breastplates and rugs. Barbed spears long enough to impale an elephant dangled off the sides of the creature’s armor.
“Peppa my girl! Ya get over here. We have a job fer ya.”
The Squiggoth obediently let itself get hooked up to the truk o’ doom as Grokmar watched his nob Grishnak climb up to his position on the conning tower.
“Boss, even with Peppa haulin’ us we’s be weeks away from the mountain. Its all the way on the other side of this continent.” Grishnak explained.
“We gotz the time Grishnak and the boyz will be watchin’ fer the humies and when we arrive….” Grokmar chuckled deeply. “den we’s gonna have ourselves a proper Waagh fer dem and der Inquisitor.”
“Let’s go boyz!!!”
Peppa roared loudly and began to lumber forward, the truk o’ doom squealing for a moment as her treads began to move against their will and finally gave in, rumbling in submission behind the enormous giant.
Loud explosions began erupting along the path of the Truk o’ Doom as Stormboyz lit off their rocket packs and blasted themselves into the sky. Some simply exploded in place leaving behind smoldering boots that their Ork neighbor quickly snatched up for their own. Others took off soaring into the sky only to enter a mad spin and explode like roman candles over the procession as it got under way much to the oohs and ahhhs of their fellow Orks as the drum beats began.
“”Ere we go! ‘Ere we go! ‘Ere we go!”
“Orks Orks Orks Orks.”
The chanting was loud and boisterous as war boss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn’s Waagh got underway for the killin’ and da choppin’.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Bwahahaha! Man I love Orks. Stravo, I love how you are portraying these green psychos.
As for the Imperial Guard. It's interesting to see how Malagaunt is playing everybody to get what he wants. I eagerly await that bastards death.
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"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source) shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN! Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people - PeZook Shroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
I've read on Wiki that some people complain that the Orks are out of place in the WH40Kverse because they're comic relief and don't fit into the dark apocalytpic atmosphere of the universe.
One, I think one of the strengths of this universe is that it doesn't take itself so damned seriously like say the old White Wolf WOD and its angst and punk goth feel. The Orks are a nice diversion to read and write from the usual "We're doomed, the Warp is going to eat you, etc" stuff.
Two, I'm not sure that a 2 meter tall homicidal killer that is clearly insane is all that funny to those that have to fight it.
What are your thoughts on Orks, unneccessary comic relief or fun to read?
Either way they are a blast to write I can tell you that.
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2) They are perhaps unique of all the 40k races in being the only society that is perfectly adapted to living in that universe. Everybody else in 40k is, ultimately, driven by the desire to change things in some way, whether by eradicating Chaos, spreading Chaos everywhere, destroying the Warp, creating new Warp Gods, etc, etc. They can't cope with the universe the way it currently is, and in order to make it tolerable for themselves, they need to alter something absolutely fundamental about the universe - which, of course, none of the other sides will ever let them do. So they get stuck in a stalemate in which they can't stand the universe, and neither can anybody else.
The Orks, on the other hand, have no such issues. As far as they're concerned, the universe is just about perfect; war everywhere, an endless supply of enemies to fight and kill, and no prospect of that changing any time soon, if ever. For that reason alone, quite apart from their role as comic relief, I think they have a valuable role in the 40k universe.
Stravo wrote:I've read on Wiki that some people complain that the Orks are out of place in the WH40Kverse because they're comic relief and don't fit into the dark apocalytpic atmosphere of the universe.
One, I think one of the strengths of this universe is that it doesn't take itself so damned seriously like say the old White Wolf WOD and its angst and punk goth feel. The Orks are a nice diversion to read and write from the usual "We're doomed, the Warp is going to eat you, etc" stuff.
Two, I'm not sure that a 2 meter tall homicidal killer that is clearly insane is all that funny to those that have to fight it.
What are your thoughts on Orks, unneccessary comic relief or fun to read?
Either way they are a blast to write I can tell you that.
A little from Colum A a Little from B.
I think you hit the nail on the head actually. Funny comic relief until your actually standing before them facing a mass horde of 2 Meter tall Homicidial killers, DESIGNED for war.... Then the humour rapidly falls away to be replaced by mind numbing terror for the first timers. As you pour Las-Bolt after Las-Bolt into them and they just keep coming screaming WAAGGHH as they go.
Thats the true terror of the Krork.
Then once the fighting is over the humour returns can't see why you can't have both. I love the Krorks, in all their crazy glory. I love their wacky Pre-battleness and I love what becomes of them during battle.
From a review of the two Towers.... 'As for Gimli being comic relief, what if your comic relief had a huge axe and fells dozens of Orcs? That's a pretty cool comic relief. '
There was an Eldar philosopher who theorized that the Orks had the perfect civilization, which really isn't that far off the mark, all things considered.
And as for what I think of them, well... GREEN IZ BEST!
Agitated asshole | (Ex)40K Nut | Metalhead The vision never dies; life's a never-ending wheel
1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
"'He or she' is an agenderphobic microaggression, Sharon. You are a bigot." ― Randy Marsh
Orks are good because they can be dones seriously or as comic relief. They're funny in the company of other orks going about their orky business and being massively, randomly violent to one another. When you see them through the eyes of some Imperial soldier, as towering, bellowing, lethal masses of green muscle that live only to kill, then they're not so funny.
It's all about perspective, personally I enjoy reading about them from both perspectives.
Post Number 1066 achieved Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:19 pm(board time, 8:19GMT)
Batman: What do these guys want anyway?
Superman: Take over the world... Or rob banks, I'm not sure.
Honestly, I don't see any signs of angsty gothy whatsits in 40k at all. If you ask me, its just pure AWESOME! Like watching Commando or any other Ahnuldian Masterpiece!
Come on, you've got tanks the size of buildings! And Titans the size of fucking Kaiju! And Orks! And batshit insane fanatic Space Marines who drop out of outerspace to EXPLODE everyone! And weirdo horrific Chaos guys with tentacles and orgies and electric guitars! And space bugs! And Imperial Guardsmen dying by the millions! And literature saying that tanks can actually run on the piss of sufficiently alchoholinated guardsmen!
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source) shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN! Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people - PeZook Shroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
Stravo wrote:IEither way they are a blast to write I can tell you that.
They're a blast to read, too! Not least of all when you write them.
I have yet to read any WH40K novels, but I'm wondering if I need to, as long as this forum is around.
I've only just started lurking in the FanFics forum (as of last week, in fact) but I'm already hooked. I had no idea we had such talented and entertaining writers at SDN!
WyrdNyrd wrote:I've only just started lurking in the FanFics forum (as of last week, in fact) but I'm already hooked. I had no idea we had such talented and entertaining writers at SDN!
I know precisely what you mean, for one of the main reasons I joined here was to read and possibly write it here.
Stravo, I know very little of Warhammer 40k, but I greatly enjoy reading this tale of yours. If Starcrossed is any indication, this should definitely be interesting.
However, just to familiarize myself, I think I will look up some Warhammer 40k stuff.
WyrdNyrd wrote:I've only just started lurking in the FanFics forum (as of last week, in fact) but I'm already hooked. I had no idea we had such talented and entertaining writers at SDN!
I know precisely what you mean, for one of the main reasons I joined here was to read and possibly write it here.
Stravo, I know very little of Warhammer 40k, but I greatly enjoy reading this tale of yours. If Starcrossed is any indication, this should definitely be interesting.
However, just to familiarize myself, I think I will look up some Warhammer 40k stuff.
I heartily recommend you check out Starcrossed. Those factions I know well inside out and there are tons of inside references, etc and the familiarity with the setting allows me to do things I can't do in the 40K setting because I know virtually nothing but the basics and what I've gleaned from comments here on the board.
I'm glad you're enjoying what you're reading and indeed our fanfic forum is replete with very talented folks. Browse around at your leisure.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Stravo wrote:I heartily recommend you check out Starcrossed. Those factions I know well inside out and there are tons of inside references, etc and the familiarity with the setting allows me to do things I can't do in the 40K setting because I know virtually nothing but the basics and what I've gleaned from comments here on the board.
Apologies for the misunderstanding - I've read Starcrossed, and I think it's excellent - apart from the cliffhanger.
Personally, I'm waiting to see what you do with the new golden Borg 2.0 - but enough about that here. Both stories are excellent; I've greatly enjoyed reading both so far.
Another chapter that virtually wrote itself as far as I'm concerned. I've learned to ride these waves of inspiration so please enjoy and once again any and all criticisms especially regarding setting and such is more than welcome.
One question I have is what exactly is the Space Marine attitude towards the Guard? Do they view them as cannon fodder, negatively, etc or as worthy allies in the struggle against Chaos?
Chapter 7: Brothers in Arms
The battle barge “Vigilance Eternus” was preparing to raise its gravitic anchors and make best speed for Tyrial. Ultramarines and their attendants were busily making last minute arrangements for equipment and supplies. Massive stacks of blessed ammunition were hauled into the bowels of the enormous vessel under the careful supervision of Chaplain Mortus who carefully sanctified each crate and pallet as it passed into the warship. Not a single bolter round or flame unit could be allowed to enter battle without a blessing from the Emperor of Man in this Company. This company of Ultramarines would not leave their fortunes up to the mercurial whims of fate. They would rely on their own courage and strength with blessing from the One whom they served without question.
Mordred strode imperiously through the central open air corridor that ran down the middle of the vessel. It allowed him to view the great open cargo bays and the crew quarters as space marines quickly and reverently stowed what little gear they owned into compartments and either prayed or marched down to the calisthenics yards that sprawled out below him.
The roar of bolter guns sporadically overwhelmed the heavy thumping of loader servitors carrying their cargo up to an open container. Target practice and live fire exercises were going on in one of the firing ranges beneath his feet. Off to his left a small group of Ultramarines were practicing their melee weapons skills, the deep bass hum of a power sword and the occasional chattering of a chain sword clashed with one another as a sergeant directed them with cool calm professionalism. Fighting was not just an occupation or a career for these Ultramarines, or any space marine for that matter. Fighting was life. It was religion. It was a matter of faith more than even courage or strength.
Emperor, Chapter, Company, Unit were the holy hierarchy of the space marine. None exemplified this more than the greatest of space marines. The Ultramarines.
Mordred was proud of his men, as he always was, while watching them prepare for battle. He stood for a moment, allowing himself the luxury of simply watching them perform below him, hands clasped behind his back.
The grates beneath his feet shook as amplified muscle coupled with power suit artificial augmenters clashed sword against sword, or feet that could crush ferocrete stomped loudly in unison as a unit of space marines executed their ritual exercises.
The grates also began to rattle louder and harder as something large approached. Mordred did not have to turn around to know who approached.
“Brother Godric, good morn to you.”
“Good morn to thee Brother Captain.” The Dreadnought replied as it towered over Mordred standing obediently behind him, the hydraulics in its piston like legs released in a high squeal and the dreadnought lowered itself down to a more appropriate height to converse with Mordred. Still, Godric easily stood at twice Mordred’s height.
Sergeant Jericho was walking with the dreadnought and he took his place by his Captain’s side. He reverently handed a data plate over to Mordred.
“All units are accounted for and Chaplain Mortus is almost complete with the blessing of the armaments. I estimate at most another hour before we are fully loaded and ready to launch.”
“See to it, brother sergeant that we can leave in 30 minutes. The more time we spend here the less time we have to close the distance with Inquisitor Malagaunt. I don’t want it to be said that the thrice damned fool died because the Ultramarines were too busy counting bolter rounds.” Mordred replied.
“Of course brother Captain. I will get right on it.”
“Hold a moment, Sergeant Jericho.” Mordred raised his hand. “I noticed that Brother Caspian is not listed as on board.”
Jericho shifted uncomfortably.
“Brother Caspian said that he has more pressing concerns and that Orks are not to his liking.” Jericho answered almost sheepishly.
“Brother Caspian is in need of reflection upon the Codex Astartes and verse 14. ‘Follow thy Captain’s orders as were they the words of the Emperor Himself on His blessed Golden Throne.’” Godric rumbled angrily, his electronically filtered voice easily conveying his anger.
“Orks are not to his liking, eh?” Mordred smiled grimly as he looked back down at the data plate and then over at the mighty dreadnought.
“Would you like me to…encourage him?” Godric asked hopefully.
“No.” Mordred replied. He handed the data plate back to Jericho. “There is an old saying amongst the first founding Ultramarines. ‘If the supplicant will not come to the Golden Throne then the Golden Throne sometimes must come to the supplicant.’ I will deal with him. You two make sure we are ready and secure in twenty eight minutes.” Mordred ordered and strode away.
“Caspian gets too much leeway for my tastes.” Jericho commented as he watched his Captain walking down the central walkway. Mordred paused for a moment, obviously coughing. Jericho began to walk over when one of Godric’s massive pincer arms interposed itself between Jericho and Mordred.
“Leave him be, young sergeant. He is as well as he can be considering and helping him every time he shows his illness will only make him feel worse, not better.” Godric cautioned.
“Do we stand idly by and watch a brother suffer in combat, venerated one?” Jericho countered.
“We are not in combat. He is not wounded by Tyranid razor bone, pincer or teeth. No bolter shot has severed an artery, no demon fire has burned his flesh. His wounds are more personal and he wishes to carry his burden on his own until the very end.” The giant machine paused and seem to be regarding their captain as he recovered from his coughing fit and started walking stridently away.
“Like an Ultramarine.” Godric finished with pride.
“Forgive me, venerated one.” Jericho replied bowing his head.
“There is never a need to ask for forgiveness when questioning the ethics and philosophies of our order, young one. That is why your brothers are here. We are a family, young Jericho. When I call you brother you are indeed my brother for within us we carry the gene seed of our founder and blessed be his name, and as such we are the closest beings to true brothers that we can be. It is not just an appellation as some space marines seem to treat it. We are more than simply brothers in arms. It is deeper than that.”
The dreadnought rose to its full height and began to walk (more like lumber) down the walkway. Jericho knew that he should immediately follow. The venerable Godric did not lecture often and when he did treatises could be written.
“What you see around you is not just an order of warriors dedicated to battle and the Emperor.” Godric explained as the Ultramarines continued to practice below them and servitors stowed away the blessed armaments above them. “That view we encourage for the narrow minded and the simple. We are a family descended directly from the God Emperor himself. We are his children brother Jericho. Ponder that in your prayers tonight. We are descended from the ancient and most holy primarchs who were themselves the Emperor’s children. So when we say we fight in His name we mean we are battling for our father, in the most visceral and direct sense. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Brother Godric, but Brother, was Horus not the Emperor’s most beloved child? What does that say about us as His children if we can fall so far.” Jericho asked curiously.
“Fall?” Godric asked rhetorically and chuckled. “Brother Sergeant, we were never elevated and this is the primary reason why such atrocities such as the Heresy of Horus may his name be damned for all time, occur. You see we are space marines, we are His children but we must EARN that right to be his children every moment of every day of our lives. We are constantly put to the test, our faith is assaulted, our senses flustered, our morals questioned our motives challenged and our bravery affronted. These make us strong, these forge us into those worthy of being His children but at no time, at no moment are we ever more than what we are. At no time does our heritage make us better or holier. We are men after all descended from the divine and we can never be as He. We can only stand in his shadow and hope to live up to our heritage but never rise because of it or as that bastard Horus attempted, rise above it.”
“I think I understand.” Jericho nodded.
“Meditate upon it during the next prayer session my brother. You will find it both comforting and intimidating.” Godric suggested gently.
“What I find troubling, Brother Godric, is Caspian’s attitude towards our captain.” Jericho replied in annoyance.
“Brother Caspian and the Brother Captain have a history. It predates the founding of this company. Let us remember that it was Captain De la Croix that chose most of us and Caspian was one of them.”
“That’s what I do not understand, venerable one. Why chose someone for such a vital role as the Company’s librarian if he is always going to test the Captain’s authority?” Jericho asked in frustration.
“Perhaps the Captain enjoys having someone on his side that will occasionally question him. He may find it refreshing or he may think it will keep his wits sharp.” Godric suggested.
“I will never understand that relationship.” Jericho sighed.
“Brother Caspian, as hard as you may find it to believe, has displayed his share of courage in the face of our foes, the Tyranids. He once was the sole survivor of an aborted counterattack on a Tyranid held moon. His entire squad wiped out, he struggled to survive deep in the heart of the Tyranid held moon for many months before being rescued. He does not speak of what he saw while down there but he returned to us dedicated solely to the extermination of the Tyranid menace. He has done well, after all it is his talents that help us track and find the Hive ships that we attack.”
“Brother may I ask you a question?” Jericho asked hesitantly as he walked in the shadow of the venerated giant.
“Please do, we only have 21 more minutes to make sure this vessel is loaded for battle.” Godric chided.
Jericho smiled in spite of himself.
“It is my understanding that only the greatest of us, the bravest most awesome warriors is ever given the privilege of wearing the blessed armor of the most holy dreadnought.”
Godric was silent as he stopped walking. Jericho stopped short as well and gathered his courage. He felt as if Dreadnought could peer right past his flesh into his very soul.
“The Brother Captain is braver than any man I know. I saw him slay a Hive Tyrant with naught but his hands, he once held off a Tyranid swarm with his power sword and nothing else just so that his men could retreat to the safety of the Thunderhawks heedless of his own fate. He descended into that Chaos tainted crypt even though he was warned that it would be fatal to us as it was dedicated to Nurgle. He purged those heretics ruthlessly and even though they cursed him with the disease that devours him from within and already has slain the squad that went in with him he does not complain.”
“Go on.”
“Surely one that has founded a Company of Ultramarines in the face of stiff opposition from other Company commanders and the Chapter itself despite all of that making us one of the most successful companies in the recent history of our Order and now discovering a series of tactics that virtually guarantees success at hunting Tyranids in deep space away from the Imperium, surely, Brother, a man such as this has more than earned a right to be given the honor of a Dreadnought blessing.”
There was silence between the two space marines. The only sound for a moment between them was the click whirrs of the many gears shifting inside the war suit.
“That right is rarely ever granted.”
“But your word as a fellow Dreadnought would add great weight for any such plea on our part.”
“Brother Sergeant, these matters are weightier than you know. And let me remind you that the Ultramarine chapter as a whole has no war suits to give at the moment.”
“But the one that we may recover –”
“The Iron Hands would have something to say about that I assure you.” Godric interrupted.
“Do they need to know?” Jericho replied without thinking.
“I will ignore what you just said Brother Sergeant as youthful enthusiasm. The machine spirit of the war suit itself would make such a desecration more than difficult I assure you and I would be the first to inform the Iron Hands of our find. If the positions were reversed, Jericho, and the Iron Hands stumbled upon a war suit of Ultramarine ownership we would soon make them learn a harsh lesson if they attempted to poach from our stores.”
“I know why your thoughts turn as they do.” Godric asserted.
“You do?” Jericho asked suddenly concerned. Had he been privy to the Inquisitor’s private missive?
“Your love for the Brother Captain is obvious, Jericho. It was from the moment you joined this chapter and stood by his side, as if you always belonged there.”
Jericho’s tension slowly drained. He did not know.
“Let me tell you a story and then you must attend to your mission as you only have 16 minutes to make sure this vessel is ready for launch. The Brother Captain came to my crypt long ago and awoke me. He asked me for my help, wanted me to be the core of a new Chapter he was to found dedicated to the extermination and destruction of the xeno filth Tyranids. I agreed and felt honored that a man such as Mordred would seek me out to be his second.”
“You?! Honored, venerated one?”
“I knew this man when he was but a young sergeant not unlike yourself stationed on Macragge. He was a member of the 1st Company and I with the 8th. His exploits were already known for one so young and his dedication to the Chapter was as solid as the mountains of Macragge themselves. One of the only reasons this Chapter was allowed to be founded was because of his exploits as a youth and his faith in our mission.”
“I didn’t know he was with the 1st Company. How is that possible if—”
“He was transferred to another company on the eve of the great battle. He never forgave himself for not dying alongside his brothers. This company is his deepest apologies and his monument to their sacrifice.”
Jericho’s eyes widened slightly. He never knew. All this time and he never knew this about the man he admired and worshipped.
“So, when I say I was honored this was truth. One such as he was meant to be followed. One such as he was destined for great glories and honors. And I will follow him until he leaves us.”
“And then will you sleep again?” Jericho asked curiously.
The machine paused for a moment.
“Perhaps.” He replied. “or perhaps there is another young sergeant not unlike our captain was long ago who may ascend to his post and would be worthy to battle alongside.” Godric added playfully. “Only the Emperor can know all our fates.”
Jericho laughed.
“Would that I could be a tenth of that man.” Jericho mused.
“And perhaps one day you will, young sergeant. But for now I follow the Brother Captain.”
“And I would do anything for him.” Jericho added. “Anything.” His thoughts were darker than he cared to admit.
Mordred pushed open the massive steel double doors. The Ultramarine Chapter symbol hung over a relief of the final stand of the 1st Company at the Battle of Macragge etched into the steel plate. He strode into the private chambers of the company’s Librarian. Behind him in the library itself numerous scrolls and tomes were neatly filed away in tall imposing shelves. Each shelf depicted individual moments from the Battle of Macragge all leading up to the relief on the doors.
“When Courage and Honor are not enough then seek Wisdom.” Was written across the top of the doors leading into the library.
The spartan chambers were immaculately kept. Tanks lined the walls filled with an iridescent blue fluid and floating within most of the tanks were Tyranids. All variety (save for the larger Hive Tyrants and their ilk) and sizes floated serenely in the fluid, their bodies expertly mutilated in some form or another. Whether their torsos were open revealing a variety of organs or their craniums carefully peeled back revealing the brain matter or solely limbs could be found in the tanks it was all here and clearly showed the intent of the keeper of these curiosities. The Tyranids were being studied quite closely.
To understand the enemy was one step closer to killing the enemy - so said the Codex Astartes.
Tyranid biotechnology like their weapons were collected and catalogued neatly in a precise script hanging on the far wall. Maps of the galaxy were clearly labeled with colored pencil etchings and the names of potential Tyranid Hive fleets on a table closest to the door.
A man stood stooped over the body of a termagaunt laid out on a dissection table. He was carefully jotting down notes onto a data plate with one hand and with the other he held up what resembled a human heart.
“Getting to the heart of the matter are we?” Mordred asked with a polite chuckle as he walked over to the table and regarded the older looking man in white smocks and a metallic collar with the Ultramarine symbol emblazoned on it. Three thick chords ran from the back of his scalp and plugged right into the collar. The chords all hummed and sometimes a green flash of St. Elmo’s fire danced down their length.
Caspian Nizerius looked up at his Brother Captain with a bemused smirk. One of his eyes was gargantuan as it reflected off the monocle that he wore to examine the body of his latest specimen. The other eye was gone, in its place lay thick white scar tissue.
“Have you come to berate me?” he asked simply. His voice was a quiet whisper like thunder in the distance.
“I asked you to come with us.”
The librarian gingerly placed the heart like organ back in the Tyranids open chest cavity. “Take a look around at those tanks. Do you see Orks in there? Do you see any species of Orkoid perhaps? Any xeno scum other than Tyranids? No, you do not and there is a very simple reason for that. I don’t care about anything else. I said that Orks are a complete waste of my time. Surely that sycophant Jericho can at least relay my messages correctly.” Caspian replied acidly.
“That sycophant may very well one day be your Captain.” Mordred chided.
Caspian chuckled darkly.
“You see that data slate over there by the skull?” He asked motioning with a nod of his head towards an ornate wooden desk behind the dissection table. A bleached Tyranid skull sat on one corner of the desk as if staring at whoever took a seat at desk. A dull copper colored data slate sat neatly under the jaw bone of the hapless skull.
“Yes.”
“When you die, as soon as I return from attending your services and help Brother Mortus dispose of your gene seed instead of re-implanting it in a worthy space marine because of the contamination of your Chaos disease I will transmit the data slate to the Chapter. In it I request an immediate transfer to another Company.”
“What?” Mordred snapped angrily.
“I’m sure with my centuries of experience with the Tyranids the 1st Company would be happy to have me.” Caspian continued nonchalantly as he wheeled the dissection table to the side and removed the surgical gauntlets from his hands.
“Why would you do that?” Mordred demanded.
Caspian frowned.
“Because Jericho is a fool. I can understand why you like the boy. He admires you and in places you don’t want to admit to yourself you relish in his hero worship. He fawns over you as if you were Roboute Guilliman reborn.”
Mordred closed the distance between them in what seemed like a single stride and placed his face directly in the librarian’s.
“Such statements are heretical and blasphemous as far as I’m concerned, Caspian. I give you far more leeway than I should but it ends when you besmirch our Primarch.” Mordred growled darkly.
“Excuse me, Brother Captain.”
“What worries you so? What maddens you to the point where you say such things Caspian?” Mordred demanded, his eyes not leaving the Librarian’s.
“Why did you do it?” Caspian suddenly shouted angrily.
“What?” Mordred replied in confusion.
“Why in the name of the Emperor did you go in there, damn you.” Caspian hissed. He turned away angrily face growing red with fury. “I told you what to expect. I told you that I traced the plague victims back to that rotten nest of vermin - followers of Nurgle who showed far too much skill with the art of disease and infestation. You did not listen to me. I begged you to send Jericho, or Godric or even me.” Caspian turned back to regard his Captain. “But you looked at me with that damnable self assured smile and you said this was your job, your assignment.”
“What’s done is done.” Mordred replied softly, placing a hand on the stricken Librarian’s shoulder.
Caspian took his captain’s hand and closed his around it.
“You said the same blasted thing when you emerged from that nest.” He said quietly. “’What’s done is done.’ And I knew at that moment that they had fouled you. Six of you went in, five of you came back out and Nitram, he was the lucky one to be killed in that horrific darkness. Kuja, Gaius, O’Farrell and Cyran were not so lucky - consumed by the very foulness that eats at you now. I tended to them as they died. I helped Mortus dispose of their gene seed. I had to feel the anguish in their minds as they felt their bodies beginning to fail them.”
“I know, Caspian.”
“I do not wish to see you fall that way.” Caspian
“I know old friend. You forget that I was the one that pulled you out of that hell so long ago in that place that you still refuse to talk about. You went into the heart of that moon knowing you were going to die. Yet you did so because you are an Ultramarine.”
“I had no choice. You did.”
“That’s just it, my dear friend. I never had a choice. I am Mordred de la Croix and by my soul I will never suffer a Chaos fiend to live while I still have breath. I did not have a choice then nor do you have a choice now. I want you on the Battle Barge.”
Caspian frowned and shook his head.
“You won’t have need of my skills on this mission. They’re Ork vermin. Even Imperial Guard can handle them. I have work to do here.” He swept his hands over the dissection table at the cadaver. “I think I may have finally found the organs that are directly connected and manipulated by the hive mind.”
“For the last time, Caspian, this is an order. Get on the Vigilance Eternus.” Mordred stated firmly.
Caspian frowned. The silence in the chamber was palpable.
“As you wish, Brother Captain.” Caspian acceded and stepped away from the dissection table.
“Good.” Mordred took the two handed chain sword hanging off of a weapons rack by the double doors. He held it out for Caspian.
“Eight minutes.”
“You are joking.” Caspian replied in surprise.
Mordred smirked. “Is there anything else you need to pack?”
The silence in the stone chamber was broken only by the dripping water from a crack in the ancient ceiling above. A spiral staircase looped up from the center of the room to a pedestal framed by four glowing stones.
The altar itself was smooth and white like bone. A liquid silver object sat on the altar held up by unseen force. It resembled a mask of some sort, eye sockets and a nose guard clearly recognizable from the smooth polished surface that rippled softly like the surface of a lake on a cool summer evening.
Runes became visible with every ripple along the normally smooth surface and the timing of the rippling was not truly random or meaningless. It was as if something or someone were breathing underneath the mask. Every breath caused a subtle ripple on the liquid metal surface and every ripple exposing the runes beneath. Runes that when exposed to the damp fetid air of the chamber caused clouds of frost to fan out from the altar. The runes promised vile unspeakable things. The runes were written by a hand far more ancient than the Eldar race itself.
Similar writing was scrawled along the circular walls and even the floor of the chamber itself, writing that repeated over and over again in an almost desperate scrawl in the unforgiving stone. Upon closer inspection the runes blended one into the other merging with script and pictographic writing and they began to become recognizable as a variety of languages from all over the galaxy, the vast majority forgotten or lost, all repeating the same phrase like an incantation or a plea from the mouths of a trillion souls on a million worlds. Some of the writing near the top of the winding stairs was in High Gothic and the message repeated over and over through every square inch of the space available in the chamber was simple.
DO NOT AWAKEN. SLEEP THE SLEEP OF AGES. DO NOT STIR.
The breathing coming from the mask paused for a moment. And a word was whispered on the ether, almost lost by the resumption of the breathing. If a human were in the chamber at that very moment when the word was whispered as if in a half forgotten dream his heart would have frozen solid and his soul would have withered like autumn leaves.
“Malagaunt.”
Somewhere in the deepest abysses of the Eye of Terror a horror stirred from its sleep. A million demons danced, a fire was lit in the deep and the drum beat of the Despoiler’s armies paused as if to listen, or to worry.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Stravo wrote:One question I have is what exactly is the Space Marine attitude towards the Guard? Do they view them as cannon fodder, negatively, etc or as worthy allies in the struggle against Chaos?
Varies greatly by Chapter. Ultramarines tend to think of them as less-capable allies who have their uses, though they can get in the way. Dark Angels or Black Templar would likely view them as little more than war materiel, to be rationed and used like ammunition. And then to run the gamut, the Salamanders might think of the relationship as bigger brother or protective uncle to kid brother or nephew.
Agitated asshole | (Ex)40K Nut | Metalhead The vision never dies; life's a never-ending wheel
1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
"'He or she' is an agenderphobic microaggression, Sharon. You are a bigot." ― Randy Marsh
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