Paths of the Damned - WH40K

[Setzer]

There is one case of a man being a psyker, and the rest of his Imperial Guard Regiment not knowing.

Agun Soric, of the Tanith First and Only, was a psyker. He recieved supernatural warning of the attack on a girl who was believed to be the reincarnation of the Sabbat World's patron saint. He was successful in warning Gaunt, but he had to tell them he was a psyker to be believed. At the end of the book, he was hauled away by the Inquisition. No on'es heard of him since.

[Pcm979]

To be more precise, a number of people under his command suspected it, but saw his ability as more of a good luck charm and thus discreetly forgot to mention it to anyone important.

[Stravo]

A new chapter and I have to give a word of thanks to Grand Admiral Ancaris who has been feeding me some very useful information from the fluff on the combat aspect of Imperial units and such. He is a primary source for alot of the action that we will see in the coming chapters. Thanks again Ancaris.




Chapter 10: The Blade that was Broken



The techpriest approached reverently and genuflected deeply before the great machine. Behind him acolytes were humming softly and one began to gently sway an incense burner towards the baneblade. The clank of the metal chain on the lip of the burner rang out and echoed off the walls of the artificial cavern where a regiment of the Fighting 79th Cadian Armored Division was slaughtered to a man where they stood.

Bodies were quickly being carried out on litters by concerned guardsmen, the medical teams were quickly covering the faces of the dead not out of reverence or sensitivity to the state of the bodies but because the screams and expressions of horror frozen on the faces of the corpses was disconcerting to those charged with clearing the bodies.

Narcis, Malagaunt’s personal assistant, stood at the entrance of the cavern writing into a data plate as each body went by. Imperial guardsmen milled about like ants clearing away rubble and not being too proud about salvaging whatever weapons and equipment was still usable for the defense of their positions. A lasgatling cannon was being hauled away by a Chimera as several heavy bolters were recovered beneath a boulder that had squeezed a vehicle into a pancake. The remains of the men inside were jelly.

Piles of las rifles and spare power packs were quietly growing around the quarter master as he took a meticulous tally of what was being salvaged from the corpse of the Fighting 79th. It was a grim duty but one that needed to be done.

Malagaunt stood respective fully behind the tech priest as he watched the ceremony with a hawk like gaze.

Dorian trotted over to Narcis.

“Here it is, the duty roster for the 79th. We managed to recover it from one of the command tracks. Unfortunately, aside from that fabulous beast over there much of their heavy armor is in no condition to fight.” Dorian lamented.

Narcis nodded.

“Still, considering that we now have a Baneblade where before we had none it is still a blessing.” Narcis noted while plugging the duty roster slate into his reader.

“A blessing?” Dorian snorted. He eyed one of the stretchers as it passed him by. “I don’t think any of those poor bastards think of this as a blessing.”

Narcis said nothing as he began scrolling down the list on his data plate. His lips pursed as he came to a name.

“Can you check to see if this person has been recovered by the honor guard?” Narcis asked Dorian handing him a piece of paper that he had scribbled in neat tall script a single name.

Dorian took the sheet and glanced down.

“What’s special about him?”

“He was the Regiment’s Sanctioned Psyker.” Narcis explained nonchalantly.

“Ok.” Dorian replied hesitantly and walked back down into the killing field.

Malagaunt watched the techpriest examine the vehicle humming softly to himself a chant and gently stroking the armor plate. He touched a pad behind one of the panels and it obediently flipped open. He examined the readings.

“This machine spirit is hurt badly. It has suffered grievous injuries in combat.” The techpriest announced.

“We hear you machine spirit, we hear you.” The acolytes intoned like a chorus.

“It is known as Warp Spite of Mars.” The techpriest was clearly reading off the plate.

“We hear you Warp Spite of Mars. We here you.”

“It has served in 689 Campaigns for Cadia alone.”

“Thank you for your service, Warp Spite of Mars.”

“I will attempt to return this machine spirit to its most awesome majesty today.”

“Please listen to our entreaties.”

The techpriest touched several other panels and was rewarded with a series of pings and electronic warbling sounds as more liquid crystal displays hummed to life, some were covered in angry bright white static snow.

Malagaunt glanced over to his left. General Jinn stood with Lazar watching the ritual. He must have only just arrived because he had not been there before. Jinn was most interested in the state of the behemoth. Standing behind them looking like a school child about to watch one of his saints come to life was Colonel Donneghan. His eyes were alight with unrestrained joy. He was watching the ultimate personification of the tank before him being coaxed back to life.

Malagaunt was certain this was a religious experience for the flamboyant tanker. He envied him for the ability to still be awed by all of this. Simple minds for simple ideas. He was unfortunately much deeper than that and it gnawed at him sometimes. The pomp and ceremony of this process was merely another step in the progression of what he wanted and needed to accomplish his goals.

He wondered how soon it would be before doubt began to eat away at him as it did the others. Alsbereth. Harken. How long?

Such thoughts were too dark to dwell on for long and he suddenly looked around sharply. Such thoughts also came quite suddenly and unbidden. As if sent to him, projected into his subconscious. And that was not all.

He felt as if he were being watched.

Malagaunt drifted away from the proceedings as the tech priest and his acolytes closed in around the divine machine and began to examine it more closely. Strange devices and wands that crackled and glowed with purple electrical tendrils dancing along the heads probed and prodded the interior of Warp Spite of Mars.

Right now there was a more pressing concern. The eyes on him were most certainly following his movements. He was sure of it. They were ancient eyes with a malevolent intent. And a terrible aching hunger that sang in the air and chilled his soul.

Dorian was relaying something to Narcis.

“What is it?” he asked peremptorily.

Narcis glanced over at Malagaunt and frowned.

“Unfortunately, Ezekiel, you, as always, are one step ahead of all of us. Your hunch was correct.”

Malagaunt wished he wasn’t right this time.

“The sanctioned psyker on their roster, a Fredrick Byblos, is not to be found.” Dorian explained darkly. Although he was not sure what Malagaunt suspected, the fact that it involved a psyker already concerned him.

“I believe that some of the guardsmen found the epicenter of this mess without knowing it.” Narcis added mysteriously. “Come with me and I’ll show you.” Narcis indicated that he wished them to follow with a nod of his head as he walked quickly past the stacks of salvaged parts and equipment.

Dorian fell in stride right behind Malagaunt. The Inquisitor looked uneasy. His normally angelic face was creased with concern.

“Is something the matter, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked.

Malagaunt nodded.

“This mountain watches us with awful intent, Dorian. I fear that what I had hoped would be slumbering here has stirred. Our job will be much harder than I imagined. Keep an eye out for any oddities. In particular psychic phenomena.”

“I have been trained by the best.” Dorian assured him as they came upon a clean area around the haphazardly strewn debris from the mountainside.

A corpse was curled up in a fetal position by their feet, all the flesh had been flayed away as if by a thousand sharp knives save for his face, frozen in the same horrific scream stamped on the faces of all the others. A sentinel, or what was once a sentinel stood over the scene like a silent witness to the atrocities that occurred here. The twin mechanical chicken like legs of the sentinel were twisted and burnt as if it had stood in the center of an inferno. The upper body/cabin of the sentinel was warped and stretched backwards, the metal seemed to be blasted into the consistency of clay, splintering pieces jutting up and out in crazy angles and there were dried crimson stains running throughout the upper portions of the ruined sentinel.

It was only upon closer inspection that one saw not only metal warped and ruined by the unholy might of whatever exploded in this cavern but there was flesh, bone and sinew worked into the metal. The driver’s body had obviously been fused with the cabin of his sentinel as it was transformed.

The trio stood silently for a moment contemplating this sight. There was another figure crumpled down at the foot of the Sentinel. Wearing the sharp crimson of the Imperial Commissar save that the uniform was shredded and buried under layers of flesh and gore. The body did not exist in a whole state.

“By the Emperor, the poor bastard was peeled away like the layers of an onion.” Dorian growled in disgust and anger.

“The way this metal is warped it could not have occurred by use of any standard or even experimental explosives that I am aware of.” Narcis reported with some concern as he peered over his spectacles at the ruined Sentinel.

“Warped is a very apropos statement, Narcis.” Malagaunt noted as he stepped over closer to inspect the peeled Commissar’s corpse. Next to where the body lay there were a pair of footprints melted into the stone floor of the cavern. Emanating from around the footprints in a starburst pattern the stone had been shorn clean revealing crystalline white surface beneath the plain rock ground of the rest of the cavern. Several shapes were burned into the white ground. The shapes were obviously shadows. Shadows burned right into the ground. One shadow was a silhouette of someone holding a weapon pointed in the direction of the foot prints.

“I see our Commissar was a shade too late in his duty.” Malagaunt remarked grimly. “I guess one cannot be expected to be faster than the speed of thought.”

“What are you saying?” Dorian pressed uncertain what to make of this mess. He had never seen anything like this before.

“Narcis, in your professional opinion, do you think an Alpha Plus level psyker could have done all of this?” Malagaunt asked intently and waved his arms to encompass the field of slaughter around them.

Narcis pursed his lips in thought. Dorian’s eyes narrowed.

“It is possible but doubtful. Even an Alpha level psyker would have difficulty annihilating an entire Guard regiment as effortlessly as it seemed to have occurred here not to mention reducing a baneblade to the wreck we saw back there would take much concentration, concentration the psyker would need to fend off the rest of the regiment.”

“Besides, this Byblos fellow was hardly Alpha plus level. He was middle of the road, a Theta according to his records. Hardly capable of this even if his life depended on it.” Dorian added.

“Were most of the wounds self inflicted?” Malagaunt asked undeterred by their responses.

“Indeed.” Narcis nodded.

“I didn’t know that. And besides I hardly think you could self inflict this.” Dorian toed the remains of the peeled Commissar.

“No, the wounds closest to the epicenter were all caused by the psyker as he was made into a pawn. The rest were simply possessed into killing themselves.” Malagaunt calmly explained.

“Now hold a moment, Inquisitor. Even Alpha psykers can’t just mindfuck an entire regiment of guardsmen to kill themselves and then tear apart a Baneblade for kicks. That just doesn’t happen. They’re dangerous, yes, but not unstoppable.”

“Possessed by the spirit of this place I have no doubt that is precisely what happened.” Malagaunt explained calmly.

“Narcis? Are you buying this?” Dorian asked surprised by where the Inquisitor was going with this. Sanctioned Psykers were not just the kind of people that could rip apart regiments at will.

“The artifact would be extremely powerful. An unprepared psyker’s mind would be a conduit for its might.” Narcis admitted warily.

“More to the point, look at these soldiers. Their bodies were mutilated in creative ways yet did you notice?” Malagaunt asked tersely while pointing to one corpse waiting on a stretcher to be carried out of the cavern.

“Their faces?” Dorian suggested.

“Indeed.” Malagaunt nodded. “Indeed. Their bodies mutilated but their faces, the seats of the Caul’s power were untouched. Unblemished as it must be for the ritual. This was not a slaughter. This was not a battle. This was not some senseless blood bath.” Malagaunt concluded as he strode around the outer ring of the whitish stone circle emanating from the foot prints. He shook his head sadly.

“This was a sacrifice.”

“Oh dear Emperor. It has had a blood sacrifice.” Narcis gasped.

“Shit.” Dorian added and spat.

“Dorian, I want you to keep an eye on our own psykers. Ivan especially, the Warp has already tainted his mind beyond repair and don’t underestimate Calabos. He is more empathic and less offensive in his capabilities but obviously this thing can take a lowly Theta and make him into a whirlwind of death.”

“And Cassandra?” Dorian asked pointedly.

Malagaunt sighed softly and glanced over at the beautiful psyker wrapped in white furs standing at the edge of the cavern. She was clutching her furs to her and occasionally shivering when a body passed particularly close to her.

“She has lived her life in the Eye of Terror. I doubt that this thing could seize her mind as readily as the others.” Malagaunt concluded and then looked back at Dorian and smiled grimly. “Besides at her power level if it did seize her I doubt any of us would live long enough to even know it. There would be nothing we could to stop her so let us have faith in her strength of will.”

“The will of a slave of Slaneesh?” Dorian smirked but there was real worry in his eyed. Malagaunt was absolutely right. Cassandra was powerful, the most powerful psyker Dorian had ever had to deal with and if she turned on them…he glanced down at the peeled Commissar.

“Nevertheless, one thing is clear. Our job has become that much more difficult. It is stirring and it has prepared itself with a blood sacrifice.” Malagaunt looked over at the mountainside and the concealed entrance that was beyond this artificial cavern. “It knows we’re coming and it’s ready for us.”





The fighters attached to the 502nd Cadian – the 4th squadron of the 127th Wing or the Witch’s Brew – were in perfect geosynchronous orbit over the Imperial Guard position. Composed of strike and combat fighters the Witches were not to be trifled with. However a lack of airfields that could be secured close to the combat zone mandated that they have to spend their entire time in orbit.

The fighter jocks were accustomed to long stretches in their fighters, sometimes an air battle could last many hours, sometimes it took many hours to reach your target but days at a time was a virtually unknown situation.

And like any good soldiers that were experiencing discomfort and long periods of boredom they had taken to complaining bitterly.

Unfortunately, their commanding officer Commander Kilraven was receiving the brunt of the abuse. She ran a loose ship. Her fighter jocks were given far more leeway than was the norm in the Navy but she had the results to back up her management choices. This current bitch session however was the price to be paid for her lack of discipline.

Kilraven sighed deeply to herself as another round began after a brief respite of radio silence.

“Has anyone ever tried taking a shit in a bag before?”

“I don’t know about that but I can tell you this – catheters suck ass.”

“By the Emperor I’m ripe.”

“That’s blasphemous you know.”

“The real blasphemy is being stuck up here with you bitches when I can be in a nice warm bunk.”

“I’ve always said this and I’ll say it again. These suits were designed for men. There’s no way it should be riding up my crotch like this.”

“Right now I think I’ll take anything riding up my crotch it’s been so long.”

Kilraven cleared her throat.

“Ladies.”

“Ma’am.” They all replied like sullen school girls.

“Has the concept of radio silence lost all meaning to all of you?”

“I’m going to get laid.” A pilot suddenly announced as her fighter broke formation and eased into a holding pattern above the fighter wing. A large oblong object floated serenely above them, several long spidery nozzles came away from the tank at right angles and the fighter gingerly lined up with one of the nozzles.

Getting laid had become the euphemism of the moment for the in-flight refueling process. All the fighters and the bombers were running on minimum power while in orbit to conserve fuel but the combination of constant fighter patrols sent by Kilraven to the surface to over fly the combat zone and the time spent in constant service was still taking its toll on the internal fuel supplies. In anticipation of this they had rigged a fuel storage depot to take up geo orbit with the rest of the wing when they deployed.

Kilraven mandated that all fighters maintain at least half a tank of fuel at all times and the alert fighters were to be constantly topped off.

Even the danger of in-flight refueling hundreds of miles above the planet had eventually become another step of drudgery for the pilots so now they were entertaining themselves as best they could when having to perform even this task.

“Mmm…its so big. Are you sure you can take it all?”

“Oh come to mama, big boy.” The pilot refueling her fighter chuckled.

“Why is it always sex with you ladies?” Jalissa snapped angrily. She was a puritan and she certainly lived up to that ideal every day. How she lasted in the squadron full of the most foul mouthed and minded women Kilraven had ever met was beyond her but she was glad to have her. One of the best dog fighters she had under her command. Jalissa had splashed four chaos fighters over a battle in the Vandacar system in one sortie. All by herself.

“We’re sorry Miss Priss.”

“I mean really, I’ve heard the Emperor’s name invoked over bodily functions for the love of Terra. It’s insufferable in the mess hall and bunks but now that I’m stuck up here with all of you for a day now its grown intolerable.”

“Well you can ---” One pilot began hotly.

“Did anyone else happen to notice the airfields on the Southern tip of the continent?” Kilraven interjected calmly.

“Yeah, and they’re clear. We could be based out of there brewing a nice cup of Kanar.”

“While Orks kill us in our sleep. No thanks.” Another replied sardonically.

“Why do you think the Orks haven’t trashed those airfields? In fact, I’d say they’re maintaining them.” Kilraven continued glancing down at some auspex readings on her scope. She adjusted them with the touch of several runes.

“Are you suggesting we may have Ork fighters to worry about?” Greta asked sharply. She was the smart one of this wild bunch.

“Indeed I am. Anyone ever tussle with the green skins in the air?”

There was silence on the radio save for Jalissa.

“I had to intercept some Ork bombers on their way to take out a city in Messina. Tough bastards and you wouldn’t know it from looking at them but their crates are pretty good.”

“Their planes are as tough and ornery as they are.” Kilraven added. “When I flew as a merc in Tau space we regularly had to take on the Orks in the air and it was not a joy. At first you laugh because their crates look like shit and they are literally held together by spit and bailing wire but when they splash your wingman on the first pass and shrug off a cannon hit to keep on flying after you, well, then you begin to understand that even though they may not look like much they can fly and fight with the best of us. We can’t underestimate them. It may look like a flying garbage truck is coming your way but rest assured that truck is sporting air to air missiles, las cannons and god knows what else and can take three times the hits our fighters can in a fight.”

“Guess things might get a little more interesting.”

“Let’s try to remember.” Kilraven continued. “that our boys are down there and they’ll need our help soon enough. We’re not going to let them down.”

“We know the drill milady.” Another pilot chimed in using the mock honorific the squadron had chosen for her. “Behind every good Guard Division is a fighter wing of women that kick ass and take names.”

“Boys will be boys but girls will be bad ass.” Another added drawing laughter from the squadron.

Kilraven’s vox chimed. She immediately switched to the squadron net.

“Fury leader here.”

“Fury leader this is Fury 8. Emerald tide approaching the shores of the Promised land.”

“Fury 8 do you have ETA for landfall?” Kilraven replied. She was simultaneously keying in her auspex scanners to track her flight of scouts reporting in as she spoke.

“Four to Six hours Fury Leader. Emerald Tide is titanic. Repeat. Promised Land will be flooded.”

“Roger that Fury 8, return to station and top up. We will begin interdiction of Emerald Tide to give the Promised Land a few more hours.”

“Acknowledged Fury leader. Fury 8 inbound for a good lay.”

“Fury Leader out.”

The squadron was quickly taking up combat positions as Kilraven called up a map of the zone that Fury 8 had reported from.

“They’re moving under cover of the big forest as we thought they would.” Kilraven noted.

“Cluster munitions will be the order of the day.”

“Ok, girls. Its time to show the green skins just what little girls are made of.”

“Cluster bombs and frags, promethium gel and las fire. That’s what these little girls are made of.” A pilot sang.

The Witch’s Brew prepared to enter combat against the Ork hordes of Warboss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn.




Lieutenant Logray stood silently watching the tree line of the mighty forest. He had been quietly sketching as his men finished the trench lines and the foxholes were being manned. The rumble of Leman Russ engines provided a counter point to the sound of spades impacting earth as the Guard feverishly tried to finish their fortifications.

The discovery of the wanton slaughter of the Fighting 79th was preying on many of their minds. The bodies stacked up out of sight behind the Cerberus seemed like an omen for them. Would another Guard division have to bury all of them as they would do for the 79th? Would they be found in a similar state of violent death?

The officers were doing their best to ease those fears but many of them were down in the cavern overseeing the rise of the great machine spirit that just might allay the fears of the men. Logray had no doubts that a Baneblade standing watch over their positions would do much to bring the heart back into these men.

“Freaky isn’t it?” Sejanus asked quietly as he took a break from the work to join Logray in his silent survey of the forest before them.

“Primeval you mean.” Logray added as his eyes scanned the darkness beneath the green canopy of leaves and branches. The sun had almost set and there were long shadows spreading from the forest into the clearing where the men were working. The mountain itself seemed to loom menacingly over them as well, like an angry stone god watching ants working at its feet.

“You can almost feel their eyes.” Sejanus hissed angrily. The men were edgy. They too could feel the Orks around them.

“They’ve been watching us since we landed here. They’re just a lot more of them now. Its like their anger and brutality comes off of them like waves.” Logray noted grimly.

“We’ll see this through. We have our men and the boy general himself. We haven’t lost a fight yet.”

“From your lips to the Emperor’s ears.” Logray added.

A sharp hiss ripped behind them and the first of the magnesium flares launched itself high into the rapidly darkening sky illuminating the tree line ahead of them. The long shadows became even longer and transformed into malicious and threatening shapes.

“You’ve issued night vision to the men?”

“Of course.”

“Tell the men to prepare for a night attack.” Logray ordered quietly. He could feel them edging closer. Their cold eyes sharp on his men like butchers waiting for the slaughter.

“You think?”

“If I were an Ork I’d want my first attack to be at night. Its already scary out here as it is.” Logray answered tersely.

“Right away, Lieu.” Sejanus snapped a quick salute and jumped back down into the trenches.

Logray returned to finishing his sketch of the forest. He’s be damned if the green skins would rob him of that simple pleasure.




The deep bass rumble sounded as if the mountain itself had come to life. Some of the men backed away quickly in fear but the jubilation from the officers at the front of the crowd signaled that there was nothing to fear.

Instead this was a moment of jubilation as the night came down over them plunging the cavern into deep darkness. It prompted several servitors to quickly light the magnesium torches and glow sticks that were hastily strung along the cavern.

The tech priest raised his head from deep within the Warp Spite of Mars and a great grin cracked his gnarled face. His rebreather and heavy black goggles were smeared with grease and all other manner of lubricant and essence of machine spirit.

“Celebrate my brothers! The great machine spirit has blessed us with its song. Though its powers of locomotion may never return, the Blade that was broken will fight once again for our cause and the Emperor of Mankind.”

The men began celebrating loudly now. General Jinn and Lazar exchanged broad grins and Lazar gripped the younger man’s forearm reassuringly. Their position would not be as untenable as they imagined. The machine spirit of the Warp Spite was with them.

The raucous shouts were suddenly interrupted by the deep rhythmic drumming that hummed through the air like an ancient heartbeat.

The shouts quickly died down as confusion spread among the ranks of the Guardsmen standing in the cavern.

Drums. Drums beating loudly and incessantly. Drums like the foot steps of doom. Drums made from the flesh of Guardsmen that fought here before them. Drums that signaled the coming of the Waaagh.

“Orks.” The word spread down the ranks like an infection. Fear followed with it.

“Get the men ready to repel the green skins.” Jinn ordered quietly as he nodded to Donnegan. The tank commander quickly motioned for a pair of Leman Russ tanks to approach the Warp Spite. It needed to be hauled into position from this cavern.

“They’re here much earlier than we hoped.” Lazar hissed.

“Such is war, old friend. Now go.” Jinn slapped the Commissar on the shoulder and Lazar was in motion, grabbing an errant guardsmen and dragging him along.

“TO YOUR BATTLE POSITIONS!!” Lazar roared.

The guardsmen despite their fear and trepidation did not hesitate and broke into runs towards their combat positions. They would meet this Waagh head on.

[That NOS Guy]

Demolisher cannon vs. Orks = Awesome.

A good build-up chapter Stravo.

[Vehrec]

Good chapter, good chapter. We've got plenty of ammo and armor, the question is will there be enough warm bodies to fire all those guns and keep the green tide at bay? Will Stormboyz soon be raining down like leaves? Or will they decide to just charge across the field of fire? Will they dig under the guardsmen? Or climb up the other side of the mountain and slide down into the camp?
The suspense is beautiful man. We need a 'bow down and worship' emote for this.

[Stravo]

I imagine Orks can pretty much can see in the dark? No need for night vision for them?

Also did I go a bit overboard with the ceremony for repairing Warp Spite? I'm always concerned I could be overdoing it with the machine spirit and religious overtones of the whole tech priest angle.

[Vehrec]

No, I think that this was rather more a case of them using the 'short' procedure for getting a baneblade up and running. I immagine that the full ritual would have involved not only the burning of about 100 pounds of incense, a ritual cleansing of the vehicle with an alcohol based solvent, and a few other steps that would each take about an hour. With the orks aproaching fast, they probably just intone how urgent things are and go right to the meat of the repairs.

[Singular Quartet]

Ah, yes, the rather apologetic "I'm sorry, we won't get you fully working, but we definately want to get you into the fighting. We apologize in advance for not fixing all of you."

Religions always have the method of making the short form. Pomp and Ceremony is only kept because there's time to do it.

[Kuja]

I imagine Orks can pretty much can see in the dark? No need for night vision for them?

Thier night vision ranges from somewhat better than humans to perfect.

Also did I go a bit overboard with the ceremony for repairing Warp Spite? I'm always concerned I could be overdoing it with the machine spirit and religious overtones of the whole tech priest angle.

Nah.

[Shroom Man 777]

This is great! Once more Stravo, you are awesome! Though my only critique is that you fixed your Squiggoth typo. I would've preferred it if the thing was still called a SLUGGOTH!

[Shroom Man 777]

Hey, I love this fanfic so much that I even made fanart.

Hopefully Stravo will post a new chapter soon. I'm still waiting eagerly.

[Kuja]

Hey, I love this fanfic so much that I even made fanart.

Hopefully Stravo will post a new chapter soon. I'm still waiting eagerly.

YOU BASTARD YOU MADE ME THINK THERE WAS AN UPDATE!!!!

*strangles Shroom*

[Shroom Man 777]

I knew I'd get that...

*punches Kuja*

I'm not trying to grab attention to my art, I'm just showing Stravo that some fans love his work so much that they'd even make artwork (or, in some cases, backstories for the characters). And by doing so, hopefully also tell him that a lot of fans want this fic continued and not abandoned...like his awesome Cain and Abel fic

[Stravo]

Thought everyone might enjoy an updated chapter after a long silence. Unfortunately my RL situation makes writing and posting rare indeed so please enjoy. As always any criticisms or comments regarding setting are greatly appreciated.




Chapter 11: A Place for the Damned



Malagaunt stood defiant before the entrance to the cave beyond the cavern. Finally uncovered by the engineers he had his goal before him.

“Can you feel the malevolence here?” Malagaunt asked no one in particular. The air was fetid and cold. Like the breath of the dead.

This was not a place meant for the living or even the dead. This was a place meant for the damned.

Narcis was quietly laying down chalk lines around the base of the cave entrance in precise geometric patterns. Cassandra stood uncomfortably close to Malagaunt while Calabos sprinkled a fine silver powder along the freshly drawn chalk lines. Ivan stood cowering near the back muttering darkly to himself and twitching as if his head were constantly being buzzed by insects.

Malagaunt quietly slipped on his robes, wardings were stitched into the fine spun cloth with a liquid silver substance that had an incandescent quality. The light from the silver wards gave him a ghostly aspect as he moved along the cave entrance touching the edges of the stone.

“Once you go inside –” Cassandra began, her voice quiet as if in reverent respect. Malagaunt turned his head slowly to regard her. “things will never be the same again.” She finished.

His stormy grey eyes bore into hers.

“Afraid?” He asked pointedly.

Cassandra smiled sweetly.

“I’ve seen things that would chill even your blood, Ezekiel. But I just felt that I needed to let you know now, that this is the moment. It is now that we embark upon the Path set before you. If you walk away now then all is as it was. If we enter this cave we will never be the same again.”

“I know not fear, milady. I only know the truth of my path and I walk upon it freely.” He replied without hesitation.

Cassandra bowed her head slightly and wrapped herself tightly in her flowing white furs.

“Then we are all set on the path.” She whispered to herself.

“It is finished, Ezekiel. The runes have been set. Calabos has prepared the wards.” Narcis reported.

“Excellent.” Malagaunt nodded. He walked slowly to the center of the wards drawn in perfect symmetry around the six pointed star of protection. He carefully inspected each ward, each syllable to make sure that it was perfect.

“Does this strike you as particularly…orthodox?” Dorian whispered to Narcis. The old dark skinned man glanced back at the towering brute and the lenses of his spectacles clicked and whirred quietly as they focused on him.

“There is nothing that we have done of late that can ever be considered orthodox. But the Inquisitor has enjoyed a sterling reputation for his results. Due to those results the Ordos has allowed him a certain…latitude when it comes to his tactics.”

Dorian nodded.

“I see.”

“If you’re concerned about heresy, good Dorian, I wouldn’t be. Malagaunt’s faith is unblemished and unwavering. He just takes certain shortcuts to achieve where other Inquisitors fail.” Narcis calmly explained. Malagaunt nodded in satisfaction with their work on the warding and he motioned for Cassandra to come closer to him.

“Shortcuts, eh? One man’s short cut can be another man’s heresy.” Dorian chided.

Narcis’ eyes narrowed on the warrior.

“Let us be clear about one thing, my friend, I have never met a man more singularly devoted to the cause of orthodoxy and our beloved Emperor than Inquisitor Malagaunt. The sacrifices that we have endured in the last decade alone to bring us to this point are a monument to his will and our faith.”

Dorian raised his hands in a playful warding gesture.

“Ease up old man. I am not criticizing him but you have to admit that the events of late have been greatly troubling to the more provincial of his staff. You may think me nothing more than glorified hired muscle but try to remember that during my tenure with the Blood Angels I was exposed to many teachings and articles of faith. I am not some idiot boy from the outer systems who follows tattered dogma handed down to me by some tired old priest or bored ecclesiastical. My faith was forged in fire and steel. I would have been a Space Marine and you should have some conception of what that would mean in regards to my views and faith in the God Emperor. With all that said, Malagaunt’s choices have been troubling. Starting with our mission into the Eye and bringing back that…thing.” Dorian indicated Cassandra.

The beautiful woman turned her head slightly as if she had heard his statement. She smiled softly to herself.

“What happened on Scarabus is certainly troubling, I agree my young friend. But I cannot tell you how many times I have been troubled by the choices made by the Inquisitor and in the end it all turned out for the best.”

“Best for whom, Narcis?” Dorian replied darkly. “Us or him?”

Narcis frowned and shook his head sadly. “You do not understand.”

“And you do?” Dorian demanded. “You were in the Eye with me. You saw the things we saw. You saw whom we treated with, whom we walked with in those dark places.”

“We will not speak of them.” Narcis snapped.

“And her? What in the name of the Emperor are we doing hauling that creature? Do you have any idea what the standard procedure is when dealing with a psyker tainted by Chaos? An Alpha Plus level psyker at that?! Yet she walks among us like an old trusted friend.” Dorian hissed.

“A problem?” Malagaunt asked quietly from behind them.

“None, Inquisitor.” Narcis replied swiftly.

“Just discussing staffing issues, Inquisitor.” Dorian added.

“Isn’t that sweet? Ezekial, Dorian is trying to alleviate some of your enormous strain and stress by attempting to take some of your responsibilities off your noble shoulders.” Cassandra interjected cheerily.

Malagaunt’s face darkened.

“Are you all finished? Do you have a single solitary idea of what we will be facing in there?” Malagaunt whispered. He looked at each of them with a withering gaze. “Your souls will be in dire peril and all that stands between you and eternal damnation is me. All that stands between me and the knives of the eternal foe is you. We are in this together. We have always stood together.” Malagaunt strode over between Dorian and Narcis. “We cannot win without each other. You need me. And damn your souls, you need me too. This bickering is pointless.”

Dorian’s eyes shot over to Cassandra for a brief moment.

“And I trust her with my life. Do you have any idea what she could have done to us by now?” Malagaunt added darkly as he faced Dorian.

“It is your will, Inquisitor.” Dorian acceded softly with a bow of his head.

Malagaunt watched the towering brute for a moment with a penetrating gaze before turning his attention to the others.

“In that chamber is the goal. The item we have sought since we began this bloody affair. We have traveled the length and breadth of the Imperium in his blessed name and we have even set foot in the Eye of Terror and walked upon Chaos corrupted soil. This is no longer a simple mission or duty. This is our life. We will never be whole again until this is completed and by the Emperor I will do so.” Malagaunt regarded each of his staff before continuing. “In His name.”

“His will be done.” Narcis added breathlessly.

“His will has nothing to do with what waits for us inside. It perceives we are here.” Cassandra whispered darkly, her breath coming in a thick white mist from her lips.

“Then let us not keep it waiting.” Malagaunt announced grimly.

A deep thunderous coughing exploded behind them followed by the high pitched roar of jet engines. A pair of fighters roared by overhead and vanished back into the night. Bright orange plumes of fire illuminated the night sky casting long shadows in the artificial cavern.

“The green skins are too damned close.” Dorian growled recognizing that the fighters were dropping their payloads almost on top of their leading positions.

“The orks will contend with our Imperial Guard.” Malagaunt replied as he swept his hammer out in front of him as if warding the party. “Let us deal with the corruption that gnaws the very bones of this mountain.” Malagaunt smiled wickedly at Dorian. “You may find the Guard’s assignment far easier than what we must endure.”

“I’m not much for intimidation or fear, Inquisitor.” Dorian replied and snapped his heavy bolter into place, resting on his hip the massive gun hummed hungrily as the first bolt slipped into the chamber with a sharp finality. “Let’s do this.”

“Do not worry, Dorian, I will protect you.” Cassandra added with a sweet smile.

“You can read my mind, can’t you?” Dorian asked nonchalantly but his eyes bore such malice and hatred that one did not need to be a psyker to know precisely what he was thinking.

“And so it begins.” Narcis whispered and immediately began reciting a prayer to the Emperor and the lost Primarchs for support in this their most blessed endeavor.

Ivan giggled softly to himself as if at a private joke.

Calabos nodded to Malagaunt.

The Inquisitor raised his hammer over his head and his thoughts briefly flashed back over a century to Holy Terra and that faithful night that set him upon this quest. Back to the angelic faced man whose sleep was tormented by the all manner of horrors and atrocity.

“What will you do for him?” The female voice whispered in his ear, thick with the Terran accent.

“Anything.” He replied aloud at this moment and Malagaunt brought his hammer down with all his pent up rage, fury, anger and devotion. The hammer struck the center of the pointed star and brilliant light flashed forth along the silver inlaid chalk lines and all wards were laid open.

The mountain shuddered and moaned as if struck with a mortal blow.

Malagaunt waited, listening intently as the silence grew thick and pregnant with possibilities.

Then the door way shuddered and the stone slipped away like rotting flesh from bone revealing a larger portal, one chiseled from ghostly wraithbone and adamant. The elegant flowing script of the Eldar melted into alien script or scrawl in increasing spirals all along the portal and floor.

“Will we ever be rid of the Eldar?” Dorian asked sourly.

“I asked you not to speak of them.” Narcis whispered sharply.

Malagaunt held up a hand and the bickering ceased. He glanced over at Cassandra who was shivering into her white furs but was watching the door as if it were waiting to swallow her whole.

“It is clear.”

“Then we proceed.”

Another series of explosions rippled behind them and this time it was accompanied by screams that were definitely not human.

“Emperor be with you, boys.” Dorian whispered as they strode without hesitation into open jaws of their destiny.




“Alright, stay frosty you apes!” Sejanus shouted down the line. The gathered Cadians shifted nervously on their feet as they could hear the drumming increasing to a near frenzy and the great fires from the cluster bombs and promethium airbursts illuminated the battlefield in an angry crimson orange glow. Great loping shapes could be seen dancing at the edges of the conflagration.

A sharp whistle followed by a low hiss prompted exclamations of surprise and agitation. Great luminescent balls of phosphorous sputtered up into the air transforming the leading edge of the forest from night into day.

“They’re at the wire!” someone exclaimed. The ork hordes were close enough to have tripped the early warning wires strung all along the edges of the tree line. The Orks were close enough to be seen and to see them.

“Remember boys, short controlled bursts. We’ve got to make every shot count but the green skins take more than most from our las rifles.” Lieutenant Logray reminded his men calmly. He slipped his data slate into one of utility pockets. In it was a beautiful sketch of the forest ahead of their base. He only hoped he would be able to look on it again once this was all over.

“With these rifle models and our body armor we might as well be armed with flashlights and wearing t-shirts.” One soldier grumbled. Others around him smirked or nodded.

At the front OP foxholes a pair of Cadians prepared for the onslaught.

“This is just lovely weather.” Cadmus sighed contentedly. His younger companion shook his head ruefully.

Cadmus was tall and beefy, his neck was the size of most men’s thighs and tattoos criss crossed his chest which was bare, his body armor’s flaps were open and he moved with deliberate care as he checked his las rifle one last time and carefully and judicially placed three energy packs into the earth at the edge of his foxhole.

“Are you mad?” The young soldier protested.

“What? About the weather?” Cadmus snorted. “Hell, this is positively paradise. I’ve fought in sub zero weather, in driving rain, heat that could melt steel. I’ve fought under water, in space, and on mountaintops. I’ve seen some truly horrendous worlds, worlds, emperor bless him, that I would have gladly handed over to Chaos or the damned Orks if they wanted it so bad. This place…” He looked around and smiled softly. “this place will be a walk in the park.”

“We’re about to be over run.” The trooper pointed out.

Cadmus smirked and shook his head as he chuckled.

“Ain’t no green skins going to over run the 502nd, kid. We’re dug in the way a Cadian is supposed to be dug in, fighting against overwhelming odds the way we were born and raised. If you ask me, those Ork heathen xeno fuck heads oughta be worried about us.” He asserted ferociously.

“We’re in the first line fox holes.” The young trooper noted nervously as the loping shadows drew closer.

“Good.” Cadmus replied simply as he raised his las rifle to his chin and flicked a switch with his thumb and was rewarded by a thrumming hum. “That means we get to start killing them first.”

In General Jinn’s HQ the bustle of staff and troops was furious, like an anthill that had been kicked over, men hustled to and fro searching for or delivering vital information to the command staff. Jinn turned from his electronic ocular auspex sights that surveyed the battle field and switched on his command vox.

“Do you read me, Donneghan?” Jinn asked calmly.

“Loud and clear, General.”

“I’ll need your men to hold back until we have them bracketed. There’s no point in exposing our armor until they’re pinned on the points of our bayonets.”

“Your boys are going to be awfully exposed without our fire support.” Donneghan warned.

“It won’t be the first time.” Jinn replied. “May the machine spirits of your tracks be mighty.” He added.

“Emperor watch over you and your men in all the dark bloody places we walk today.” Donneghan replied without hesitation.

“Look alive all of you!” Lazar shouted from the front line trenches. The Commissar was an imposing figure strutting up and down the lines, standing clear as day out in the open without so much as ducking or flinching between bomb bursts from the near continuous fighter strikes over head.

Jinn’s vox chimed.

“Jinn here. Go ahead Furies.”

“Green Tide is imminent. We’ll be dropping our payloads right on top of the boys if we continue our attack runs.” Commander Kilraven reported tersely.

“Acknowledged. Switch targeting priority towards interdiction of follow on forces…and Commander?”

“Sir?”

Jinn’s voice dropped slightly as he leaned into the vox while his staff busily moved around him.

“I may order you to begin dropping on top of the men. Is that clear?”

“Sir—”

“I do not want hesitation or doubt. If the order, Broken Eagle, is uttered by this command you are to begin immediately dropping everything you have on our position.”

Silence on the vox for a long moment followed as the drumbeats became nearly deafening and they could hear laughter and shouts from the forest beyond.

“Understood.” Kilraven replied.

“Lieutenant Apax?” Jinn called over his shoulder.

The young artillery officer snapped to attention.

“I want you and your guns to pour murderous fire into those green skinned animals. Do what it takes but I want a belt of steel around my men.”

“We will do what it takes, general.”

“See to it, Lieutenant and we may be able to exchange tales about this day over drinks.” Jinn replied.

“Aye sir!” the Lieutenant snapped a salute and quickly retreated to his Basilisk gun crews. His men were busy loading the guns for their first salvo and calculating trajectories and programming them into the main gun’s auspex systems.

“Bizu.”

“Here sir.”

“I want you to calculate me a low flat trajectory strike right over there.” Lieutenant Apax ordered as he turned on his hip and indicated the flat grassland between the forest and the trenches with a jab of a closed fist.

Bizu’s eyes narrowed and he glanced back at his officer with concern.

“Sir, that’s right over the men’s heads. If the rounds fall short even by a few meters…”

“I understand that Bizu. That’s why you’ll make sure that they don’t.” Apax replied tightly.

“We’re not exactly geniuses on these guns, Apax.” Bizu whispered as he drew closer. “You and I were farmers just 6 months ago back home.”

“And now we are Imperial Guardsmen trained to shake the earth.” Apax replied. “We’re not letting these men or the Inquisitor down.”

“These men can’t stand us.” Bizu spat.

Apax nodded.

“After today, they’re going to love us.” Apax asserted. “Now get me those firing solutions now.”

The drumming suddenly stopped.

There was silence, blessed silence after hours of drumming and bombing runs only the sound of tree limbs gently drifting in the wind and the occasional cough from the assembled guardsmen.

The silence dragged on for minutes.

“That can’t be good.” Sejanus whispered.

“WWWAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

The war cry shattered the silence and drove a spike of fear into the hearts of many of the men, some even soiled themselves much to the disgust and dismay of their neighbors.

The emerald horde exploded from the forest like a leviathan.

Orks raced from the tree line sporting all manner of weapons, in particular brandishing their glistening crude choppas. Some fired round after round from rifles that looked as if they had been cobbled together from household appliances and refuse collection equipment. Yet despite the crudeness of their weapons the scream of pain and surprise from many troops struck by the opening salvo was a chilling testament to the effectiveness of the ork weapons.

“Hold your fire!” Sejanus and other officers ordered loudly hoping against all hope that their men would maintain their fire discipline against this horrific onslaught charging down on them. The 502nd were Cadians and they knew that they would be asked to fight against insurmountable odds and they had their boy general with them. They held their discipline and their fire as the orks were past the halfway point on the open ground between the trees and the trenches.

“NOW!!” Lazar boomed and immediately began pumping round after round from his bolter towards the Orks. A round zipped past his ear and another cracked over his head but the Commissar stood resolute at the lip of the first trench snapping his power fist for emphasis as he ordered the troops to unleash hell.

Bolts of angry crimson las beams lanced out as one from the trenches and sliced into the first wave of Orks, sizzling away green flesh and sinew like butter bubbling off the grill. Orks did not scream or exclaim in pain as their limbs were rent from them with a hellish jolt. Many simply shrugged off the loss of an arm or a leg and continued hobbling towards the human lines, eager to rend the humies in two and give them a good bashin’. Some Orks reveled in the predicament of their fellow Ork as one Ork had his arm severed at the elbow it whipped off and into the face of another oncoming Ork. The induced the wounded Ork to laugh heartily as the other Ork pried the arm from his face and shook his head in disgust at having his headlong charge into glorious battle interrupted by an errant limb.

Another Ork had both legs blasted out from under him at the thighs and he landed face first into the dirt. Two Orks paused long enough to grab him by each arm and haul him with them as he began firing a steady stream from his machine gun and grunting out curses at the humies that thought they had stopped him.

Many Orks were stopped cold as several bolts transected them in several places leaving bubbling pools of green molten Ork in the path of the second wave which did not hesitate or slow down. They simply wanted to get in those trenches and start choppin and no amount of hummie las fire was going to deter them.

A series of deep bass explosions sounded from deep within the forest and a stream of sparkling fire trails rocketed up from the trees and began to descend into the human lines.

It was only when the first of the stormboyz landed among the human troops that they realized the assault had taken on a new dimension.

“Look to the skies. Knock those xeno bastards out of the sky!!” Logray shouted as Stormboyz began landing among them and immediately wading into the hapless guardsmen wielding all manner of wicked choppas. Human screams soon joined the symphony of battle as their own limbs were rent from their bodies in a far crueler and brutal manner.

“Where’s our fire support!!”

“Get the bastard off of me!!”

Lazar turned as a stormboy landed beside him ready to take his head off. Lazar growled in anger as he put two rounds into the ork’s midsection and closed his power fist around its neck and squeezed. The Ork’s face darkened into emerald and then the head popped like a blister.

Lazar quickly discarded the corpse with a shove backwards and turned to bring order back into the lines as more Stormboyz launched themselves into the night sky, several blossoming into roman candle like displays as their rocket packs suffered catastrophic failures mid flight but far too many were landing where they needed to land.

There were Orks in the lines way before they were supposed to be. This was turning into a mess right from the start.

But you wouldn’t know it from Lazar’s exultations.

“That’s it boys!!! Kill the xeno scum in the Emperor’s name!”

“This reminds me of the time we were facing a horde of green skins back on Goradin.” Cadmus sighed wistfully as he emptied the last of his power pack into a hulking brute that reached the lip of their foxhole. It stared dumbly down at the huge hole burned through its midsection before toppling backwards. His younger associate was in an almost panic as he fumbled for a fresh power pack of his own. Three orks were on top of them.

Cadmus drove his bayonet into the nearest ork and jerked upwards with a grunt of effort and disemboweled it before jerking his bayonet clear and sweeping it in front of him severing the next ork’s hand as it brought a choppa down at Cadmus’ head.

“Orks everywhere, the stink of rotting flesh in your nose and not a power pack to be found.” He continued and jabbed his bayonet into the handless ork’s eye and twisted harshly.

The last ork dropped down into the foxhole and brought his choppa around for a swing at Cadmus’ exposed back. The young soldier drove his bayonet into the Ork’s thigh. It stopped short, looked down at the wound and back at the wide eyed youth.

“You want some o’ this hummie? Well come get some den!” it shouted and whirled around to decapitate the stunned Cadian.

Cadmus turned quickly and placed three rounds from his service pistol in the back of the ork’s head. As it slumped down on top of the young soldier Cadmus picked up the discarded choppa and checked the weight. Nodding to himself he turned to face the next wave as they charged his foxhole.

“Do you mind setting off the mines, lad?” he asked calmly. “I’m not finished my story and these green bastards are interrupting me.”

The young soldier nodded dumbly and wondered if he would indeed hear the end of this tale. Cadmus certainly didn’t doubt it for a second. He smiled and made a welcoming gesture with his hand towards the approaching Orks.

“Come on you xeno filth, I have a welcoming present from Cadia that I’m gonna shove right up your asses!!” Cadmus roared enthusiastically.

The Orks swarmed from the forest and continued to hurl themselves against the Imperial Guardsmen. The Cadian banner of the 502nd fluttered defiantly in the night sky.





In the gun cutter Iron Genesis there was only silence. The entire crew was gone and the Inquisitor had sealed the vessel with more than standard security protocols. The small vessel was optimized for speed and firepower, sacrificing crew comfort and internal space. However the vessel had a small hold for cargo and supplies.

The hold also had a custom made vault in the back of the vessel. A large onyx block of a door was guarded by a seemingly simple palm lock.

Something moved against the door. There was a sound like shuffling of feet behind the thick vault.

“Someone.” The voice was that of a child, frail and weak. Timid and innocent. “Someone, please. Help me. I’m trapped in here. Please.”

The pleas continued for a moment and then there was the sound of sniffing, like some predatory animal along the bottom edges of the vault.

The voice that came next was not innocent at all. And certainly not human.

“Malagaunt. I know you’re out there somewhere Malagaunt. How long do you think you can keep us in here?”

More sniffing and then the tentative sound of claws scratching against the vault door.

“When I get out of here Malagaunt you will have wished that the bitch the bore you had been stillborn so you were never even conceived.” It promised hungrily.

The scratching stopped and then there was a long stretch of absolute silence.

“Someone. Please. I need to get out. I can’t breath. Please help me.” The young child pleaded again.

There was deep dark chuckle afterwards.

[Vehrec]

T-Shirts and flashlights? 'Where's Our Fire support?' Nice choice of referances. And I liked how the Guard are a nice mixture of green terrified troopers doing their duty, and grizzled veterens doing it AGAIN.
And the thing in the box was scarry. I don't know what it is, but you sent a chill up my spine. Please do it again.

[Kuja]

Three parts to the chapter and I have to say that all three of them kick ass.

[Shroom Man 777]

For every one of us they get, two more will take his place!

For every one of us they get, TEN more will take his place!!!!

Let's see them take on ALL of us!

Hah, they thought they broke our backs?

Can we see some Karskin stormtroopers? How about OGRYNS?!

[Stravo]

I was wondering. And no don't anticipate that this is part of the story, I'm just reading the Horus Heresy books and I figure all the WH40K experts come here eventually: Are there any surviving sites from the Heresy? For instance are the moons of Davin still around? Are there battlefields (aside from Terra) still around venerated or visited by people like Normandy or Gettysburg? Essentially are there any touch stones for visiting famous sites from the Heresy or have they been wiped clean by the Imperium? And how much of whats in the Heresy books is known in today's Imperium? Is it all just legend and mythic or are there surviving histories of the heresy?

This is story related. Eldar/human relations. Are they complicated or just outright hostile. And how are Eldar best described in terms of look, physiology, etc. Can a human view an Eldar as attractive or ugly and vice versa?

[Shroom Man 777]

I'm just a 40k neophyte, but I heard that even uttering Horus' name is very much a bad thing in the Imperium. I'm sure the layman (how much more the ignorant caveman git from a feral world conscripted into the Guard) won't know shit. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's mythic - as in "something really BAD happened long ago, fuck the xenos, heretics and witches and mutants!"

The Space Marines might remember a lot though, particularly the Ultramarines. They are required to memorize the Codex Astartes, a bigass book written by the Primarch Roboute Guilliman that encompasses everything from warfare to planetary affairs (I'm sure you already know this). I'm sure the Codex Astartes would cite shitloads of examples, like the chapter/section for siege warfare might refer to the Iron Hands' exploits during the Heresy of beforehand. While the how to deal with assymetrical warfare section would illustrate how the Ultras took on the Alpha Legion.

But I'm not too sure. I'm probably talking out of my ass.

Will we see Karskins? How about IN. BRED. OGRYNS?!

EDIT:

Isn't the average Imperial layman ignorant about Chaos?

[Kuja]

Isn't the average Imperial layman ignorant about Chaos?

They may not know certain details, like how there's four Chaos gods and how they all hate each other, but most folks seem to be brought up with Chaos as the boogeyman if nothing else.

[speaker-to-trolls]

I think you've got to be a space marine, inquisitor or sister of battle, or maybe someone really high up in the administratum, to even know about the Horus Heresy, I think everyone else gets a vague fall-from-grace legend.

Eldar are generally described as being very beautiful, but it's a disturbing, alien sort of beauty. I imagine you'd find them beautiful in an aesthetic sense but you wouldn't want to have sex with one, they're too graceful and too slender, obviously not human. As for relations I think it's shoot-to-kill generally, but if they help out against another enemy or someone high up starts talking to them they can be allies.

[Shinova]

Imperium and Eldar generally hate each other's guts and would shoot each other, ask questions later, but they'll work together if they have to.

[Kuja]

This is story related. Eldar/human relations. Are they complicated or just outright hostile. And how are Eldar best described in terms of look, physiology, etc. Can a human view an Eldar as attractive or ugly and vice versa?

Imagine a political race in the style of old America, where whoever garned the most votes became president and the runner-up became VP. Imagine that in this race, only two people ran.

One candidate, the winner, is a stodgy, conservative, middle-aged man. He's a fundamentalist Christian. He doesn't like women, homosexuals, or minorities. He has a short temper and is used to getting his way thanks to the force of his personality.

The second candidate, the runner-up, is a older woman of a heavy liberal bent. She is Hindu and a vegetarian. She is largely quiet, often speaking only when she needs. She doesn't particularly care for those who don't share her tastes in art or music, which she views as enlightened and intellectual. Given her age, she is used to being obeyed.

Normally, these two cannot stand to be in the same room and only stubborn pride keeps one from resigning their position. They bicker, argue, niggle, and fight over even the smallest points, though the man usually wins because of his superior office. Only the most drastic situations will get the two of them to quiet down and work together as a team, which they do surprisingly well. However, once the crisis has passed, they inevitably go back to their routine of bickering.

The man is the Imperium. The woman is the Eldar.

And how are Eldar best described in terms of look, physiology, etc.

Small and slender, 'lithe' is the term most often applied. Eldar wear their hair long and their facial features are typically sharper and more defined than a human's.

Can a human view an Eldar as attractive or ugly and vice versa?

Eldar are often described as being possessed of a haunting and terrible beauty and grace. Typically when a human describes one as 'ugly' the impression is almost invariably linked the the anti-alien bias of humanity. As for the other side of the looking glass, Eldar generally view humans as large, clumsy, bumbling dolts a step above apes.

[GeneralTacticus]

Isn't the average Imperial layman ignorant about Chaos?

They may not know certain details, like how there's four Chaos gods and how they all hate each other, but most folks seem to be brought up with Chaos as the boogeyman if nothing else.

Going by The Traitor's Hand, even fairly senior Imperial Guard officers seem to be unaware that Chaos is divided among four major powers - Commissar Cain had to explain it to them, and the only reason he knew it was because of his periodic contact with the Inquisition.

[Stravo]

Enjoy the latest installment of the Paths of the Damned. Its a wonderful thing when a writer's block clears up. As always I welcome any advice on setting and such since I'm still a relative 40K noob though I now have several novels under my belt so things are bound to get better.




Chapter 12: Belt of Steel



The screams of the Cadian 502nd fighting for their lives against the Waagh of Warlord Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn echoed across the verdant valley in the shadow of the grey lone mountain. Bright crimson las beams danced out into the darkness illuminating the veritable wall of emerald skin of the Ork horde that was assaulting the Imperial lines.

Explosions barked out in random bursts along the line as grenades or horribly malfunctioning Orkish weapons detonated with murderous fury. Battle cries, both human and Ork lent a harsh cadence to the slaughter being carried out with relish by the green horde and valiant effort by the Cadians.

Deep coughs announced the presence of antipersonnel cannons firing round after round of explosive bolter shells into the endless tide storming out from the tree line. A heavy weapons team impatiently waiting for their signal were rewarded with a quickly barked order on their voxes from the headquarters bunker.

The antipersonnel team immediately went into action and their guns clattered to life tearing through the green horde with hungry bright tracer rounds eviscerating enemy troops and reducing limbs to liquid. The gunners shouted for more ammunition as belts of bolter rounds zipped through the feeders. Loaders promptly slapped the next belt into place just as the last of the loaded ammunition vanished into the ever ravenous breech of the heavy bolters.

These teams had worked together for years, in hazardous conditions against all the implacable foes of the Imperium of Man. They carried out their jobs like automatons. Ammunition was loaded, gunners led their targets and not once did any of the guns silence for even a fraction of a second for want of ammunition.

The heavy weapons teams were in the zone as some liked to call it and the Ork hordes were receiving the full brunt of their unerring wrath.

But the assault did not give the boyz pause, in fact to many of the troops watching the carnage unfolding behind the beleaguered front lines it seemed to egg the boyz on.

“Let’s get stuck in boyz!!” One Nob roared with exuberant adulation as he picked up a hapless guardsmen with a pincered powered glove and promptly swung him around like a club, beating other guardsmen and laughing all the while as if at a private joke. Soon the Nob was no longer swinging around anything that remotely resembled a human being, only a jellied bloody smeared hunk of meat with a helmet and tattered guard uniform.

“Dese hummies break good don’t dey!” the Nob chuckled and let the greasy mess slide out of his pincered power glove and began to reach for another when two bolter rounds punched out his maddened eyes. The massive Ork Nob stumbled backwards, incredibly sputtering angry curses and trying to steady himself for another attack as if the wounds were merely a nuisance.

Commissar Lazar strode over to the stricken beast and aimed his bolter into its chest and emptied the pistol as he spit in its face.

“Defiance from the subjects of the God Emperor green skin scum!” Lazar exclaimed passionately as he watched the Ork fall to one knee clutching its chest, slick black ichor oozing out of each ruined eye.

“Your God Emperor licks the spittle off Mork’s ass hummie bast----” Lazar backhanded the Ork with his power gloved hand and the Ork’s head was shorn clean off and a fount of greenish blood accompanied its twitching death throes.

“This is the price we must make them pay for every step they take against us.” Lazar shouted as he contemptuously kicked over the corpse to roll down the lip of the trench into a growing pile of dead or dying Orks. “Are you with me, proud Cadians?” he asked.

The roar was deafening as the guardsmen rallied around their commissar. Lazar took a moment to glance down the line. Orks were everywhere, more stormboyz were dropping in around them like an obscene rain and another wave was breaking from the tree line towards the trenches.

Eyes narrowed in concern as he glanced back at the command bunker. Three stormboyz had landed on its roof and were trying to blast their way inside. General Jinn needed to do something or their lines were going to break. There were simply too many green skins hitting them all at once. Where were their tanks?

He had no more time to wonder as Orks charged up the embankment towards his men. Lazar held up his power gloved hand and snapped it for emphasis.

“Come and take the God Emperor’s blessing for you Ork scum – DEATH!!!”

The weapons of the Imperial guard opened up like a tempest behind the Commissar and illuminated him in an otherworldly glow as his cape billowed around him buffeted by the reports and recoils of dozens of weapons. Like an avenging angel Lazar roared and fell upon the lead Ork host with an awful resolute purpose.





“We must release the armor.” General Jinn’s aide shouted over the din of Ork weapons crashing against the roof of their bunker. Permacrete dust rained down on their heads as General Jinn surveyed his battle field through the pale green luminescence of his ocular auspex apparatus.

“By the Emperor, Jinn, I can clearly see their entire host in my sights, let me do something.” Colonel Dunneghan demanded over the vox adding emphasis to his aide’s request.

However the young general said nothing even when an apelike Ork face suddenly dropped down into view of one of the slanted armored view ports. The Ork peered inside with blood shot eyes and focused on Jinn. The Ork smiled and began cracking his choppa against the armored glass.

“We have Orks all along the wire.”

“OP’s 3 and 4 are overrun.”

“Reports of Orks landing in the rear areas.”

Jinn listened to the reports crashing in on him from all sides, a desperate urgency rising with each voice that chimed in but all he could see was the leering face of the Ork crashing his over sized choppa against his armored view port.

Jinn cleared his throat and the cacophony of noise and desperation subsided immediately. He slowly scanned the faces of his men. The only sound in the bunker at that moment was the deep rumble of explosives and heavy weapons and the tap tapping of the Ork’s choppa against the glass.

Jinn nodded over to the window.

“Can someone do me the favor of cleaning my headquarters of that green skin beast?” he asked coldly.

Immediately guardsmen snapped to attention and stalked out of the bunker’s command center.

“Now, I will not release the armor yet because then I have no reserve to hit these bastards with later. Let us be clear, this battle does not end now, not even tonight. This battle will last days.”

The aides exchanged nervous glances as more permacrete dust settled down in heavy clouds around their heads. Days of this?

“Instead we will rely on our artillery to protect our men.” Jinn asserted calmly.

“They’re nothing more than levies of warm bodies from a provincial backwater.” Another protested bitterly. “General, there are Cadian Cadet brigades with more training and ability.”

“Those basilisk units are crewed by children.” Another aide added darkly.

Jinn nodded grimly.

“Then it is time for them to become men.” He replied simply and turned his attention back to the sickly flickering green glow of his auspex scanner. The ork hanging over one of the armored windows suddenly jerked and let out a yelp before exploding into a thick cloud of blood and bone.




“Do you have the firing solution?” Lieutenant Apax snapped nervously. He brushed sweat off his brow as he watched the murderous horde swarming all over their lines while. He clenched and unclenched his right fist.

“Those animals are right on top of our men.” Bizu, his second observed with a warning tone.

“Earthshaker rounds.” Apax repeated his order sternly. “And I want that solution where I showed you.”

“We’ll kill our men.”

Apax frowned.

“Not if we calculated this correctly.” Apax replied and nodded his head as if convincing himself of the statement.

His loaders were reluctantly slapping the earthshaker rounds home into the Basilisk mobile artillery units stationed in a semi circle facing the front lines.

Bizu walked up quickly to him and leaned in so that only Apax could hear him even over the din of laz fire and screams.

“If we’re wrong, Lieutenant, if our firing solution is off by so much as a –”

“It won’t be.” Apax replied without hesitation. “We’re going to do this right, by the Emperor. We’re Guardsmen now, not farmers anymore old friend.” Apax looked into his young sergeant’s eyes. “Let’s show everyone we’re not clueless recruits.”

Bizu shook his head. Apax’s pride might cost many men their lives in a moment.

“We’re locked and loaded Lieutenant.” A young loader reported, his voice still cracking as he entered manhood. Bizu’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from the fresh faced boy to his commanding officer who was only several years older than the boy.

“Your orders?” Bizu asked.

Apax took a deep breath and looked back over to the front lines, a writhing mass of green flesh and Imperial guard armor and colors. He kept clenching and unclenching his fist and then suddenly his hand remained a clenched fist.

“Fire on target!”

The first Basilisk belched out its earthshaker round and seconds later the front line trenches were showered with earth and Orkish body parts as the Earthshaker round screeched over head on a low flat trajectory and impacted directly in the path of the oncoming swarm of Orks.

Apax whipped his head around to pin Bizu with a triumphant smile

“Fire for effect by the Emperor!” he barked.

The Basilisk guns roared to life, fire rippling down the line as barrels shuddered backwards hurling their deadly payload directly into the rushing Orkish horde. The earthshaker rounds burrowed deep into the earth and then detonated, a blast wave of intense power and light erupted and the earth shuddered like a thing alive and a cascade of earth and stone blotted out the stars as the earth rose up in one giant wave to crash down against the hapless Orks still charging into the ruined landscape.

Part of the tidal wave of dirt and stone were Orkish limbs and body parts as those unfortunate enough to be on top of the eruption were chewed up and dismembered by the earthshakers’ fury.

“Hey boss!”

“Wese getting’ all shot up!!”

Orks shouts of surprise or anger were drowned out by the savagery of the explosive charges that displaced hundreds of tons of earth and stone. The battleground itself seemed to be bucking and heaving like a thing alive.

“Switch out to standard rounds!” Apax shouted.

His crews feverishly began to swap out the heavier earthshaker rounds for the standard Imperial Guard munitions and the gunners continued pressing home their deadly cargo towards the green onslaught swamping the lines.

At the trenches the guardsmen nearest the combined earthshaker assault were groggily getting back to their feet, many had to help unearth comrades who were literally buried by the upturned soil and debris from the blasts. Others shook their heads to clear the dull roar in their ears and tried to regain their bearings.

The Orks fared worse since they were at the heart of the hell unleashed by the Basilisks. Many were scattered across the open field, some were errantly searching for missing limbs or weapons but most were grievously wounded and very vocal about that fact.

More shells whistled overhead and scattered the few Orks left standing closest to the trenches. The artillery began to walk their rounds backwards from the lips of the trenches into the no man’s land where the Ork forward waves were attempting to regroup.

Stormboyz catapulting their way over the lines suddenly met with unexpected resistance as bolter fire ripped through them in staccato bursts from all directions. The roar of jet engines filled the air and suddenly a squadron of fighters tore through the air above the battlefield like avenging angels, using their gun pods to rip stormboyz out of the sky. The assault of flying Orks suddenly ceased as the fighters reduced the incoming wave into a confetti of organs, rocket engine parts and clouds of blood and bone.

The guardsmen quickly took advantage in the pause of the Ork assault and began to lay down a thick volley of las and bolter fire. Sergeants urged their men on in furious exultations as it quickly became clear that the Orks were in disarray. For this precious moment the humans were completely in control of the momentum of this fight and they were not going to let the green skins have a moment to catch their breath.

Lieutenant Logray pumped his fist into the air as he strode up to the lip of his trench position.

“For the Emperor and Cadia. Light their green asses afire and show them that we’re the Emperor’s own and we’re here to stay!”

“You heard the Lieutenant you apes. Let’s get back into this fight.” Sergeant Sejanus shouted eagerly and motioned with his las rifle for the men to attack.

Red laz fire blazed down in a storm towards the massed Orks before them and white streaking grenades followed in high lazy arcs to explode with devastating effect.

This was finally too much and the Ork vanguard broke. The boyz scrambled backwards towards their own lines as artillery rained down on those too brave or stupid to run and Imperial guardsmen las fire harried them all the way, severing limbs or reducing organs to a smoking jelly.

They broke back towards the tree line in the hopes of regrouping for a quick counterattack once they had a moment to recover under the thick green canopy. Unfortunately for the Orks of Warlord Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn’s Waagh the artillery men of the Cadian 502nd did not give them the pause they needed.

The shells that methodically walked backwards with the retreating horde paused for a moment and then a loud whistle overhead alerted the Orks gathering under the trees to the oncoming catastrophe.

“Oh….Dis ain’t good.” One of the Orks muttered while looking up shielding his eyes with a severed arm that may have been his but he was not sure. The incoming volley of shells burst in the tree tops splintering the large trunks into a million deadly splinters that ripped through the gathered Orks in a bloody whirlwind of wooden shrapnel driven by the explosive force of the Emperor’s finest explosive ordinance.

The Ork vanguard was reduced to a shredded pulsating mass of dead and dying.

The Imperial Guardsmen paused for a moment, silent in their steely anticipation.





Cadmus sighed loudly as he kicked off the body of a slain Ork slumped over his foxhole. His young associate lay in a pool of brackish green blood staring up at Cadmus with disbelieving wide eyes.

Cadmus snorted and shook his head in derision. He absently brushed blood off his shoulders.

“Fucking Green skins are all the same - Bloody awful animals with no sense of discipline or decency.” Cadmus glanced around the no man’s land, gaping smoking craters mixed with limbs and gore. “But damned brave bastards they are.” He added with a soft respectful sigh as he fished into his front pocket and found one of his cigars.

“I’m alive.” The young soldier stammered.

Cadmus smiled down at the young soldier.

“That you are lad that you are. And you should be thrilled.” Cadmus offered his hand and heaved the young man to his feet.

“I’m alive.” He stammered again and glanced around the foxhole covered with the corpses of Orks and a variety of limbs and remains burned beyond recognition.

“Thank the Emperor…uh…I didn’t get your name lad.”

“Rodrigo.” The young soldier replied in a daze. The last thing he remembered was a pair of Orks collapsing on top of him, one spilling it guts all over him as a bolter round tore its midsection open like an old sack.

“Rodrigo it is.” Cadmus laughed and slapped the young soldier on his shoulder. “Now get your head on straight because we have a lot to look forward to.”

“What?” Rodrigo blinked.

“The next wave, lad. The next wave of green skins coming out of those trees.” Cadmus laughed loudly and clapped his hands in anticipation.

“Next wave?!” Rodrigo exclaimed in horror.

“This is a Waagh boy. You think that pittance of a war band is even a tenth of what we’re facing out there?” Cadmus replied as he struck a match against his own thumb and lit his cigar. He puffed strongly while watching what remained of the color in the boy’s face drain away.

“How many?” the boy asked numbly.

“I’m pretty sure by the end of this we’ll be losing count of ‘em lad.” Cadmus promised with a wink. “Reminds me of that campaign on Pazgar, there we were facing a slobbering horde of Ork scum intent on killing every man, woman and child of the hive city. The boy general tells us to hold the line and by the Emperor we did.”

Rodrigo stared back at the trees in horror and cold realization.

“By the end of that fight there were green skins on every inch of dirt, you couldn’t fire and miss if you tried---” Cadmus continued wistfully as Rodrigo shook his head in disbelief.





“Looks like we’ve routed them, sir.” Commissar Lazar reported into his vox unit.

General Jinn nodded in satisfaction. He motioned for the doors to the bunker complex to open. The guards immediately cycled them open, an Ork corpse slumped into the doorway missing half its face and one leg. Jinn stepped on top of it and did not break stride as he exited the bunker and stood by the entrance. The pair of guardsmen that opened the door immediately walked over to the young general, clasped their hands together forming a stirrup that Jinn used as a ladder up to the top of his bunker.

He walked out on the permacrete surface, slick with Ork blood mixed with shrapnel and bone and faced his men.

“You did it boys, by the emperor, you sent the green skins running back to their filthy holes.”

The assembled guardsmen roared and jabbed their guns up in the air pumping their fists.

“And we couldn’t have done this without the bravery and skill of our artillery crews recently joining us from Pergamon.” He continued and motioned with a hand towards the basilisk units arrayed behind his bunker. The sweaty exhausted young men, in many cases boys, seemed to stiffen at the sudden attention.

There was silence for a long moment.

Then a single ragged voice called out. “Well boys, you certainly moved some earth today by the emperor!”

The men started cheering and calling out “Pergamon! Pergamon!”

The gunners and loaders exchanged incredulous expressions. Apax smiled drinking in the adulation with glee. Bizu walked up to his old friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Next time, my friend, I follow your orders without question.” Bizu shouted into Apax’s ear to be heard over the chants.

“No need, Bizu. I need you to be just the way you are.” Apax replied and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Jinn held up his hands after allowing the artillery teams to bask in the limelight they earned so well this morning. The guardsmen quickly quieted down.

“But this fight isn’t over men, not by a long shot. So clean your guns, recharge your ammo packs and smoke ‘em if you got ‘em because this Warboss is not going to take this ass kicking lying down and he’s going to come back with blood and murder on his mind. But what he will hear aside from the death knell of yet more of his men is the voice of Cadia’s children singing proudly “Cadia the Mighty Bastion.”” Jinn nodded to Lazar and the commissar immediately and without hesitation began singing loudly the war chant.

The men picked up the song after a moment and soon the entire army was singing loudly and proudly, many getting to work at rebuilding the trench lines and fortifications. Dead were cleared quickly and efficiently and the Cadian 502nd prepared themselves for the next wave.







Warboss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn snorted derisively at the sound of the Imperial guardsmen war chants.

“You call that a war chant? They sound like gretchen matin’.” He chuckled darkly.

One of the few whole Ork survivors of the failed assault stumbled back towards the second wave of boyz, a large tree limb driven through the huge Nob’s collar and exiting out of the small of his back trailing an oozing thick froth of green blood. The Nob found his audience and collapsed onto one knee and gasped, his breath wet with his own blood. Speckles of the green blood splashed against the armored boots of the Warlord looming over the Nob.

“Well, out wit it ya git!”

“De hummies…des tougher den we thought…”

“I can see that. Yous here aintcha?” Morn spat derisively.

“Des got mighty strong…artillery and they’re soldiers are tough.”

“Tougher than my boyz?” Morn glared down at the Nob.

“No, boss. But that artillery, it was everywhere, shot us up pretty bad.”

“And me stormboyz got cut up by their fancy fighters.” Morn added with a growl.

“We needz more boyz.”

“And we’ll get ‘em.” Morn vowed. “Cause now the boyz knows dese hummies are tough and will put up a good scrap. Dem guardsmen wanna brawl and wese wanna brawl so I sez we give em what we both want, a right and proper scrap.” Morn glanced back at his boyz and smiled, drool running down the corner of his mouth. “Why the long faces boyz?? Wese about to get stuck in we are!!”

The boyz roared their approval and the drum beats started up again.

Morn returned his attention back to the wounded Nob. Other survivors of the failed assault were limping, crawling or hobbling back into sight.

“As for you, the fact that you got here before the other boyz tells me one thing.”

The Nob looked confused.

“Wat?”

Morn grabbed the Nob by the throat with his pincered power glove and easily hefted him up with one arm.

“Dat you ran first.” Morn spat and squeezed until the Nob’s head popped clear off and rolled down into the forest’s underbrush. A fount of green blood spurted up all over the angry warlord’s arms.

“Grishnak!” he called for his second with a roar.

“Yes boss?” the Nob lumbered to his warlord’s side and watched with guarded trepidation as Morn tossed the body of the hapless headless Nob over his shoulder crushing several unfortunate Gretchen with a loud thud.

“Yer job just got simpler.”

“Boss?”

“First, ya call up that weirdboy that took the airfields down south and ya tell ‘em that if I don’t see some bloody air support for our next brawl I’m going to come down der personally and ‘splain ta him whose da boss of this stinkin’ planet and then I’m gonna feed ‘em to Peppa. Bit by bit and I’m leaving his head fer last.”

“Right boss.” Grishnak replied with a gleeful sneer.

“De hummies got themselves some mighty fine artillery. De Guard are hiding behind a belt o’ steel. Yer job is to find a way to get our boyz under or over that belt o’ steel so we can squeeze ‘em and chop ‘em but good.”

“How do you want me to do it, boss?”

“The same way wese Orks always do it – by any means necessary, even if it means I gotta send in the whole lot of you boyz until the hummies run out of ammo.” Morn replied coldly.