Paths of the Damned - WH40K

[Ghost Rider]

As always, nice atmosphere.

I'll leave other to determine whether it is 40K in what is done, but the atmosphere is still dark grim and forbodding, something that 40K does excel at.

I also enjoyed how you gave the little story of the last Waagh from Jinn, definitly gives the right feel of how large those things get.

[Kuja]

WAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

[Shroom Man 777]

SHATTER THEIR SKY!

[Feil]

Another enjoyable chapter.

Lasgun, lasfire, las, etc are all short forms of the word laser, and should therefore be written L-A-S, not L-A-Z.

[Vehrec]

I can never remember if it's the Burtally Cunning or the Cunningly Brutal orcs who smash things harder in the back of the head. Either way, Morn seems to be a big believer in just plain old smashing. Throw more boyz on and watch them croak it. And anybody who runs is un-orky. Everyone knows that the orks never run away!
Here's hoping that the belt of steel can hold until the Space Marines show up to give Morn what's comming to him. Strike of the head of the beast, and three will grow and begin fighting each other.

[Stravo]

Late night entry but it was one of those nights where I just felt like I had to finish this. Let me know what you think in particular about the setting details. Still learning this and I have a feeling I will be for some time to come.



Chapter 13: Dancing to the Tune




“Not what I expected…if you don’t mind me saying Inquisitor.”

“And what did you expect, Dorian?” Malagaunt asked quietly as they descended another winding stair of stone deeper into the bowels of the mountain. It appeared they had descended the last of the stairs and the walls were more eerie wraithbone than stone now. As if the very bowels of the mountain had been infected and decayed into this deathly matter.

“Something more….I don’t know….”

“Demonic?” Cassandra whispered into Dorian’s ear, wispy white mist spilling forth from her lips with every breath.

Dorian whirled around holding his heavy bolter mounted on his hip and swinging it towards her.

“I told you not to do that, witch.” Dorian spat.

“Would both of you stop acting like children.” Narcis sighed heavily as the lenses of his spectacles clicked and whirred focusing on symbols etched into the walls of the gloomy interior of the mountain.

“She started it.” Dorian grumbled as he stepped aside making a rough motion for her to step in front of him. Cassandra smiled slyly and glided by him. Dorian watched her intently with an angry glower.

Malagaunt ignored the bickering and focused on the uneasy feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. The evil here was ancient. It had stalked the universe long before man had become sentient. When the sun was but a condensing ball of gas formed at the birth of this galaxy this evil was ancient.

It sank into his bones like a biting winter chill and refused to let him go.

He glanced back at Ivan and Calabos. Ivan was twitching more noticeably now and mumbling at the shadows gathered around them like conspirators. Calabos was walking slowly and methodically, but his fists were clenched tightly as if holding onto something for dear life. In this instance Malagaunt suspected it was Calabos’ sanity that he was attempting to hold on to.

Cassandra glided silently like a ghost, her hands were now firmly clenching the furs she was wrapped in to her body as the steady cold most coming with each breath became more voluminous. A hazy fog seemed to gather around her if she remained still for any length of time. Her long exquisite alabaster fingers were nearly drained of all color they were so firmly clasped around her shoulders.

Malagaunt was a blank, his psi potential non existent but his mind was closed to all but the most potent psychic phenomena. Some in the Inquisition questioned whether a tabula rasa like Malagaunt could ever be an effective agent against chaos if they were blind to the more subtle workings of the enemy. Malagaunt sneered at such talk, all one needed to do was look at the human wreckage of those with psi potential exposed to the taint of chaos to know that it was no blessing to be a psyker in this vocation.

He saw it now in his own people. They were all laboring under the cold shadow that even his fortress of a mind was beginning to feel.

“There is true evil here.” Malagaunt whispered. He was surprised by how loudly his voice sounded in the cavernous guts of the mountain. Shadows danced out of the corner of his eye like frantic lovers but he ignored them.

“I never understood this ridiculous failing in all the enemies of Chaos.” Dorian sighed.

“And what failing is that?” Narcis asked. His fingers were tracing along runes etched into the walls of the stairs they descended. The runes were all warnings, pleading and in many cases plaintive and they grew more urgent the deeper they delved. Something in his guts twisted like a thing alive. Fear. It was settling into the pit of his stomach like a bloated insect easing into its burrow.

Whoever carved these was now begging for anyone that could read to return up into the light or never see the light again.

“They never destroy these artifacts of evil. I mean it just doesn’t make sense. They know it is evil and beyond redemption. They know that the enemy will continue to seek it out and attempt to use it so why play these games of hiding it in mountains or in long dead planets or whatever emperor forsaken wasteland we end up touching down on. Why don’t they just destroy it?” Dorian replied.

Malagaunt smiled softly.

Ivan giggled nervously and shook his head as if at some dark private joke.

“You are assuming, of course, that such items would allow themselves to be destroyed.” Malagaunt explained.

Dorian frowned.

“Inquisitor, you speak as if these things have some sort of life of their own. What we’re looking for some sort of ancient mask. Tainted by evil, crafted by demons, adored by Chaos and coveted by Horus himself but a mask nonetheless. Just drop it into a Promethium pit and call it a day I say.”

“Sometimes your ignorance is truly staggering for one who has traveled with us these many years.” Narcis snorted.

Malagaunt paused and turned to face the hulking ex-Space Marine candidate. The Inquisitor eyed him critically for several heartbeats then laughed softly and clapped the huge man on his shoulder.

“Emperor bless you, Dorian. Bless your ignorance in the face of this evil.”

Dorian blinked in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“It is a compliment old friend. I am actually a bit jealous of you in that regard.” Malagaunt replied. “Now let us see what lies beyond this last corner.” Malagaunt began as he turned.

“Tell me, Inquisitor, when did you decide to betray the Emperor?” A cold low raspy voice asked.

The group turned to face the speaker as one. Dorian swung his heavy bolter into firing position while Malagaunt took a step forward without hesitation or fear.

The ragged figure swaying on its feet before them watched them with cold empty eyes. The hair was raised in spiky patches as if an electric current were running through the person. Its skin was grey and lifeless, gaunt and tightly drawn across a face with sunken features. The chest was a patchwork of recent bloody scarification rites that depicted sometimes blasphemous runes or simply indecipherable gibberish. The uniform of the Imperial Guard hung off the scarecrow figure in bloody rags. It stood on bare feet and the very rock underfoot crackled and warped with its touch.

When Malagaunt looked into the soulless eyes that regarded them with cold malice there was no doubt that this was an altogether alien intelligence that masqueraded in this human flesh.

“You are what is left of Fredrick Byblos, I presume.” Malagaunt noted with some distaste.

The thing that was once the Sanctioned Psyker for the doomed 79th Cadian smiled. More like a parody of a smile as muscles were jerked and lips curled back clumsily to reveal grey teeth, grey as the parchment like skin of the meat puppet.

It never failed to disturb Malagaunt to see an alien presence inhabiting a human body. It only emphasized just how different the powers that he dealt with were. Inhuman was just a word to most people in the Imperium but Malagaunt was only too familiar with what the word truly meant in the flesh.

“Malagaunt.” It hissed as air escaped between its lips like a cold wind through a cracked window.

“Inquisitor?” Dorian snapped emphatically and held his heavy bolter at the ready. He was ready to blast this abomination to pieces.

Malagaunt carefully held up his hand in a hold order and continued examining the foul creature. Cassandra glided over to his side her eyes fixed on the thing and slightly widened with fear and apprehension. As a powerful Psyker Malagaunt knew she could see the abomination for what it truly was. She placed a fragile alabaster hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“I am with you, Ezekiel. Until the end.” She whispered, and her breath was a chilled fog.

Something in his heart stirred for a moment. The touch was like electricity and he could feel a surge of emotion, a deep primal connection at the very moment she spoke her words.

He ignored it.

“I expect no less.” He replied sternly.

Cassandra smiled softly to herself.

“It will be thus in the end, Ezekiel. Just you and I at the end of things. I promise you.”

Malagaunt could not allow himself to be distracted.

“I know what you are.” Malagaunt stated simply.

The thing that was Byblos let out a gurgling sound like stagnant water flowing through a muddy channel. After a moment Malagaunt realized it was laughter.

“You amuse me, Inquisitor. You stand here and tell me that you know what I am yet you have no conception of what you speak.” It replied coldly. The legs jerked spastically as it took a step forward and the stone crackled and warped where it stepped. The wraithbone where it set foot bled a thick black as if wounded.

“If you truly knew what I was you would be gibbering on the floor in adoration and devotion, maddened to know you have been serving a corpse propped on a golden throne while the likes of I prowled the universe before your entire species evolved from single celled organisms.”

The thing smiled again.

“Allow me to introduce myself and weave a bloody tale of power and terror. I am older than your Emperor and far more powerful. My masters crafted me when your star was just a cooling ball of gas, I served my masters for untold millennia in constant wars and sundered the ancients so that all that remains are a parody of their greatness battling against your hapless Imperial Guard above us. How they would have wept to see the monument left to their greatness in those foul green skinned animals, Malagaunt.” The once Byblos smiled with such predatory glee. It raised its hands in a mockery of innocent supplication.

“Then I fell into the hands of the dark powers and they used me as well, when Horus turned on his vain father and cut a bloody swath through human space they whispered to him to take me, use me as I had always been used. But the Eldar, foul thankless children of fallen gods, stole me away in a bloody conflict that sundered three worlds and buried me in this forgotten place on the rim of then unknown space. Horus, ever impatient, refused to spare the time to recover me and instead rushed to Earth and to his inevitable defeat at the hands of your corpse emperor.” The once Byblos chuckled again and it sounded like ichor bubbling up from the deep dark places of the earth.

“But now my guardians are all but dead, my secrets all but forgotten, when the Black Crusade burst forth from the Eye to take Cadia the few Eldar that remained that knew of me were lost. So I lay here, quiet and sleeping and dreaming. My dreams were fitful these last few years, the Ork Waagh stirred me as I felt the humming noise of the ancients in their sinews that stung me like a swarm of gnats and then…” the thing that was once Byblos cocked its head and smiled a mechanical rictus smile at Malagaunt. “I began to dream of you, Malagaunt.”

Malagaunt stood his ground stoically but Calabos was biting his lip and squeezing his fists so hard that he cut small half moons into his palms with his nails. His empathic senses were awash with the foul malevolence that oozed forth from the fetid half corpse.

Ivan was giggling to himself and slowly pulling a fist full of hair from his head. Narcis was praying softly under his breath as he tried to place a comforting hand on the disturbed young psyker.

Dorian’s fingers hovered over the trigger of his heavy bolter.

“Just say the word, Inquisitor.” He whispered sternly.

Before Malagaunt could reply the once Byblos spoke again, jaws snapping shut awkwardly as if it were still learning to use the body and the subtleties were escaping it, “But you already know this Malagaunt, you know all of this. My tale is one you have studied throughout your life. In my dreams you come to me seeking power and knowledge that only I could provide you. You have plans that will span whole star systems and they all center around Holy Terra do they not?”

Malagaunt’s jaw tightened slightly and they could see the chords in his neck standing out against his flesh.

“So I ask you, Inquisitor, you come seeking knowledge and power from a chaos tainted device of xenos manufacture that your faith cannot provide.” The thing that was once Byblos leaned in closely, jaws moving out of time with the words it spoke and black spittle flecking the lower parts of its lips as soulless eyes bore into the Inquisitor. “When did you decide to betray the Emperor of Man, Inquisitor?”







The airfield was littered with the wrecks of dozens of aircraft. Tools lay scattered around each hulk in a haphazard array. A pump was slowly oozing fuel onto the packed earth at the edge of the long tarmac. A banner fluttered in the weak breeze over the control tower, its windows all punched out and graffiti scrawled along the plain grey permacrete walls. The red banner very crudely depicted a choppa cutting an Imperial fighter in two.

Some of the defensive emplacements around the airfield still had what was left of their crews slumped over their weapons. A wrecked imperial fighter at the end of one of the runaways had become a nest for gretchin who scampered about the ruin like rats alert to the possibility of one of their larger brethren walking by.

Another fighter stood near the barracks and fires burned within the fuselage. Upon closer inspection the fuselage had been hastily converted into an oven and unrecognizable carcasses were still cooking within, a flagpole with a stained almost beyond recognition Imperial banner was stuck through the center of the ruined fighter acting like a spit for the food.

An Ork was slowly turning the spit and humming a drinking song to itself while waiting impatiently for his eats to be done.

A series of sonic booms followed by high pitched squeals drew the Ork’s attention up into the sky. Five contrails were descending rapidly on the tarmac from the cloudless sky above. One of the contrails started to enter a flat spin on final approach and finally crashed into a stack of crates and sundry equipment that wasn’t quite Orky enough to use near the first permacrete bunker that housed the Imperial fighter. Now it was known as “Da Dumpin Place” and by dumping it did not mean useless equipment. As every Ork with his first teef knew, boyz have needs and those needs need a place for dumpin’ otherwise you have a very nasty base camp.

The other four contrails landed at the center of the tarmac. The contrails turned out to be Stormboyz and their jetpacks were sputtering and back firing in a loud cacophony as they tried to shut down. Three of them resorted to giving their jet pack a good wack and were rewarded with a coughing wheezing sputter and then the packs shut down.

“Wat youz want?” the Ork turning the spit shouted at the approaching Stormboyz.

“We wants ta talk to yer boss.”

“Oh yeah? Wat about, eh?”

The stormboyz smirked and held up a blood stained parchment like scroll. There was a stamp on it. A single hand print sat in the center.

“We ‘ave a message from da boss.”

“We wants ta see your boss.”

The Ork inspected the parchment, which turned out to be a requisition form for parts but it was paper and it made do for the boss.

“Hold on.” He replied and stalked off to the barracks. The stormboyz glanced around at the former Guard airbase and nodded to themselves with approval.

“It’s lookin’ right and proper Orky it is.”

“Dey say dis boss is an wyrdboy so watch it.” Another noted with a shake of his head.

“Watch wot?”

“It.”

“Wot?”

“You know.”

The Ork scratched its head and looked pensive for a moment.

“I don’t know.”

“Too late.”

The boss came striding out of his barracks heralded by three Orks who came somersaulting out of the swinging double doors. His head was surrounded by a nimbus of green fire. His nostrils flared as he regarded each of the stormboyz.

“Wat youz want ‘ere? Dis ‘ere is my place. I took it, I ownz it.”

“Ain’t no one owns anyting on Tyrial. This ‘ere is warboss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn’s planet.”

The green nimbus flared up around the Ork’s head.

“Grokmar didn’t send enough men. I sez you all died on your way in.” The Ork leader hissed with a cold smile.

“Der’s Imperial fighters in this fight.” One of the stormboyz snapped quickly.

“Imperials?” the boss’s bloodshot eyes narrowed hungrily.

“Yeah, they’ve been bombing us all the way into the fight. Grokmar said if you don’t want to come inta the fight then maybe youz not Orky enough. Maybe you like not fightin’, not getting stuck in.” the stormboy leader added meaningfully.

“He said dat did he?” The Ork boss snarled.

“Are you comin?”

“Yeah.” The green nimbus around his head flared up into a blazing wreath and the leader of the Stormboyz gurgled as his head suddenly swelled up and exploded messily with an almost comical pop. “Now let’s get going. Bring out my baby!” The boss shouted.

The Orks began to scramble quickly to get the fighters ready. An air raid siren sounded. Orks piled out of the barracks putting on goggles, flight helmets, and boots in a haphazard rush to their fighters.

“You stormboyz be on your way. You tell Grokmar weze comin and we’re gonna own dat sky. Weze gonna do it with my baby.” He motioned back to one of the bunkers where a team of Orks were pulling out a massive plane. It consisted of Tri-wings, chimera las cannons and crew manned heavy bolters were snapped on the hard points of the wings along with twin comically oversized jet engines but the most obvious and obnoxious feature was the Leman Russ turret welded onto the nose of the fighter. Painted in blazing crimson with crude green lettering on both sides “CLOUD KILLAH” adorned the enormity.

An Ork rushed up to his boss and handed him a mask and a black helmet. The boss slipped on his helmet and mask in a flourish. His breath became exaggerated and almost asthmatic behind his mask.

“You tell ‘em Parth Tader is on his way on the Cloud Killah and no one ever comes out alive.”

The stormboyz nodded and activated their jump packs. As they rocketed off the tarmac the stormboy that crash landed into the crates managed to emerge and shouted after his retreating mates.

“Wait fer me you gits!” He activated his jump pack and it exploded.

“Stupid git.” Tader shook his head and strode up to CLOUD KILLAH. Behind him more fighters gunned their engines and began taxing off the tarmac. Several of the boxy fighters had pieces vibrating off the body leaving remnants in glittering trails behind them as they slowly took off. CLOUD KILLAH’s jet engines started up and the sound was like caged banshees.

Tader sunk into his cockpit as gretchin scuttled around the inside of his plane, several settling in around the cockpit area to work the forest of knobs and levers randomly littered around the control.

“’Ere we go boyz!” He shouted into the mike a gretchin held up to his face.

The Ork fighters took off in packs from the airfield. A cloud of pipes, bolts, screws and one teddy bear billowed around the squadron as it ascended into the sky. One fighter immediately entered into a spin but followed the air group. Another fighter had an engine drop off the wing with a loud clang but it kept on flying without hesitation.








The stars were drowning in blood. The screams of the dying were like a chorus accompanying the swirling crimson tide that swept through the galaxy. Stars winked out like guttering candles in the wind and the worlds orbiting them grew cold and died, caught up in the vortex that was destroying everything in its path with a horrible finality.

She stood alone in the darkness watching the dance of death.

It was coming from the Eye of Terror. The blood vortex was spinning out from the birth place of the destroyer of her people. It passed through the void snuffing out stars and worlds without pause or remorse

Her craftworld stood in its path now and she could see the source here in the eye of the tempest. The Caul, the bloody artifact of the ancient foe, tainted by Chaos’ touch called forth this raging tempest. And it was not alone, for the Caul was but a tool, something to be used not a prime mover itself. There was someone in the center of the maelstrom and his was a bitterly familiar visage.

In the dim past of the Monkeigh it was the prize offered by Chaos to be used by the rebel son of the Emperor and her visions of that event were the same as now. Horus in possession of the Caul would have been impossible for even the Emperor of Man to defeat and his bloody empire would have fallen into the grip of the rebel son and oh what horrific atrocities would have been committed under the banner of Chaos.

The death of trillions of humans in a holocaust of victory to their dark gods was not what drove her and her people into action. No. That atrocity would have easily been stomached with barely a notice or a pang of guilt. No. The death of half of the craftworlds that could not fend off the ravening horde from Holy Terra was what stung them into action. The crystal clear dreams depicting the heroic yet utterly futile deaths of Ulthwe, Lugganath, Yme Loc and Lybraesil were simply too much to bear and so her people acted.

The Caul was stolen away with a heavy price to be paid in both Eldar dead and worlds sundered but the deed was done. The rebel was deprived of his prize and the battle went as foretold by Ulthorian.

But now here was the Caul returned to slay them again and the tool was now in the hand of another rebel son of the Emperor of Man. A human she had used for her own gain but in the bitterest of ironies it turned out she was the one used.

The shame burned like a sun but this was not the time for recriminations. Now was the time to act. Her vision faded away like smoke.

The web way portal suddenly flared to life in a mad rhapsody of white light that bathed them all in an otherworldly glow. The life circuits of their armor pulsed in time with the light and the wraithbone of their equipment hummed a welcome.

“The portal is open. The web way awaits. We are ready, Farseer.” An aspect warrior reported coolly.

“Are you certain of this? Your vision is not what it once was.” An ancient seer asked her in a deep whisper. Around her she could hear the anxious kiss of metal on metal as Howling Banshees danced on the balls of their feet the blood lust rising in their cold breasts.

“Fate has already sung this song my oldest friend. Now we merely need dance to her tune.” Farseer Mika replied with a soft smile beneath her witch helm.

The Eldar were on the move.

[Comosicus]

Nice to see this story resurrected. Looks like all forces are gathering up for a huge clusterfuck of a battle. Keep up the good work.

[Shroom Man 777]

DA CLOUD KILLAH! Fucking genius!

[Vehrec]

Why do I get the feeling that the Space Marines and Guardsmen who hate the inquisitor might just turn on him when the Eldar show up and explain things? I'm gonna guess that the Caul is both of Necron make and warp-posessed in it's nature, therefore one of the most dangerous artifacts in existance. I can not concieve of any greater evil.

[White Haven]

Hmm. If the Necrons get involved, and Malegaunt is a pariah... Ouch. That's gonna be some pain.

[Grand Admiral Ancaris]

Awesome stuff. The Caul is proving most interesting. I am definately looking forward to potential Necron involvement.

[Stravo]

Ok, it's been what? 2-3 years since I updated this story. Doesn't mean I can't. Sorry to all for leaving this (and other stories) hanging but it's been tough with the RL situation and all that so I have not had time to focus on writing. But hopefully this can be the start of a series of updates and yes I am planning on updating the big one (Starcrossed) in the future. But for now please enjoy a very long over due update. Again, you WH40K vets please feel free to point out issues, etc. I am still quite the fledgling when it comes to this universe so any input is always appreciated and welcome:



Chapter 14: The Green Tide



“I am the Emperor’s most humble and loyal servant, fell device, and I will not have you slander me so maliciously. Step aside.” Malagaunt ordered and imperiously swept his hammer before him.

Dorian slowly brought his heavy bolter to bear on the sickly stick figured man wrapped in the tattered remains of his Imperial Guard uniform. Grey gaunt skin stretched across his face crinkled like old paper as the thing that was once Frederick Byblos, Sanctioned Psyker for the Fighting 79th Cadian Division smiled. Teeth no longer white but slate grey peaked out behind the parchment thin lips as they curled up and around in a rictus grin that was a mockery of a human smile.

The thing living inside of the Once Byblos was clearly enjoying the show.

“Ah, Malagaunt.” It breathed and the voice was like branches scratching against glass driven by a dark wind. “You fool yourself into thinking you are loyal but I know you, sweet Inquisitor.” It leaned forward, awkwardly balanced on skeletal grey legs that seemed to fold in like a spider’s. “You have yearned for me Malagaunt. I tasted your covetous thoughts across the vast gulf of the materium like a lover’s fiery desire.”

Malagaunt’s face twisted into a scowl.

“You will not speak such blasphemies again, fell one. I have come here to –”

“Free me?” Once Byblos whispered like a willful harlot. It smiled at him again and the head snapped up to regard him with dead eyes and an empty smile. Malagaunt’s stomach turned.

“The Eldar were right to bury you here.” Malagaunt snapped.

“The Eldar are children who knew nothing of my potential. If they had the barest inkling of what I can do they would have used me against their great enemy.” The Once Byblos eased in closer looking like a scorpion about to strike. Dorian’s fingers tensed on the trigger of his heavy bolter. Once Byblos whispered again. “But you know, don’t you Malagaunt? You know what I can do and it stirred you to come here, to brave the Eye and lose your friends. They wait for you up there you know. Alsbereth. Harken. They wai---”

The hammer of the Inquisition was immediately thrust against the Once Byblos’ throat and Malagaunt’s face darkened and his eyes took on a murderous light.

“Say those names again and I will smite you, ancient chaos tainted artifact or not.” He growled and his party save for Cassandra surged forward to support him.

The Once Byblos smiled and it chilled everyone. The rictus like grin was wide and blackened twisted teeth as long as knives revealed themselves but Malagaunt was not deterred.

“My apologies, Ezekiel. Who am I too slow you from your doom?”

Malagaunt suddenly produced something from within his robes. He held it up to the Once Byblos’ face and its eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“Recognize it, don’t you foul one?” he snapped with a knowing sneer.

“Where…did you…get that…Ezekiel?” it asked in a reverent whisper.

“You know damn well where I got this, foul trickster. I braved the perils of the Eye for this bauble and now I brave you.”

“Why?” it hissed.

“Because the Emperor asked me to.” Malagaunt replied evenly. “Now, show me to your crypt.” He commanded and thrust the small silver half moon sliver as if to pluck out one of the Once Byblos’ eyes.

It cringed visibly but collected itself with terrible purpose. Adjusting its skeletal frame the Once Byblos began walking down the rocky path. It turned and motioned to Malagaunt.

“Come, Ezekiel. If you dare.”

Malagaunt still holding the small silver talisman nodded to his team and began to follow the wretched thing. Cassandra eased up to walk beside him, wrapped tight in her white furs.

“This is it, my love.”

“What is?” Malagaunt asked darkly.

“There is no turning back. Your path is set.”

Malagaunt was quiet for a long while as they followed the haggard thing and he suddenly replied with a quiet bitterness. “My path was set many years ago, on Holy Terra. Cassandra. All that remains is to follow it.”




“This is where we hold them.” General Jinn snapped tautly as he inspected his torn and mauled battle lines. The Forward OP’s had all been over run but one and that unit was being called back. He had to tighten his lines or all was lost. Unfortunately they were now so tight that a single breach could mean Orks in his rear areas before they could regroup. The bitterness of the solution was that there was no other choice. Clearly the Orks had come in numbers he had not anticipated.

His guardsmen had been repulsing these filthy animals for almost an entire day now and they were all showing the wear and teat of repulsing the seemingly endless number that would charge in at them on an almost hourly schedule but after the last assault, the weakest one of them all so far, the Orks had stopped coming for some time.

It did not stop the incessant drumming or the newest sounds that at first were distant and barely identifiable but had grown to their own cacophony of terror. A mechanical clanking and belching of some awful engines. But then there were several loud roars followed by still silence.

“The entire Waagh is here I wager, general.” Commissar Lazar noted grimly. He did not like what was obviously coming one bit. Orks were not subtle creatures, they thirsted for battle and a challenge so all this waiting and anticipation only meant that they were gearing up for an especially powerful assault.

Jinn spared a glance over at the tree line. The forward portions were blackened and gnarled into a ruined twisted landscape by the shells of the basilisk artillery units that had blasted the Ork assault back into the trees of the primordial forest that surrounded the front lines of their position at the foot of the mountain.

“There is no doubt that this is more than some roving war band, my friend. This is a major concentration of troops and after beating them back the war leader leading them will become more aggressive. These Orks for all their cunning and tenaciousness are as predictable as the sunrise and sunset commissar. Give them a good fight and they come back in larger numbers and more often.” Jinn replied shaking his head slowly.

After the first wave no one believed they could hold on against another such attack for the three days the Inquisitor had demanded. Lazar knew just as well as anyone that this battle was not going to last days. They had hours at best.

“Sometimes the Emperor sends his angels.” Jinn whispered.

“Sir?” Lazar asked in confusion.

Jinn shook his head ruefully.

“Something my father used to tell me when I was younger. He used to say ‘Son, if a subject of the Emperor is loyal and true all his life, when his hour is darkest and his need great, sometimes the Emperor sends his angels.’ I was just thinking that I have been loyal and true all my life. Perhaps it is time for us to see some angels.”

“Mayhap we may, general. There is always hope.” Lazar smiled.

Jinn managed a quiet laugh.

“We could use more optimists today, Commissar.”

Suddenly drums began beating again and they could hear the roar of engines and other loud machines splitting the stillness of the moment.

“Get the men to their fighting positions.” Jinn ordered without hesitation. He suddenly gripped Lazar’s shoulder before the burly commissar could turn to begin ordering his men into the trenches. “And Lazar, in the name of the Emperor we can’t let those animals past the main line or we will be overwhelmed. Hold the line no matter the cost and if any man’s morale should falter…”

“My job is a sacred duty, General. No one leaves this battle alive who lets fear overcome loyalty.” Lazar promised and his hand rested squarely on the butt of his bolter pistol.

“In the end we are simply doing our duty to the Emperor.”

“May we yet see his angels, general.” Lazar replied and both men parted for what they knew would be the last time.

Jinn strode to his command bunker and nodded to the artillery officers rushing to their guns.

“I expect another fine showing from our brothers from Pergamon.” Jinn called out.

“You shall have it, General. By the Golden Throne we’re going to make them bleed.” Apax the artillery captain vowed. His men cheered as they began loading the basilisks.

Jinn entered his bunker and noted the grim faces of his command staff. It was in the air. He could smell it on his men.

There was real electric fear here. They did not think they were getting out of this alive.

The worst part of it was that Jinn did not disagree. An entire Ork Waagh was going to descend on them and there were no tricks of war that could turn the tide. All they had left was stubborn human courage.

Maybe that would be enough.




“This is so bad.” Malicki moaned softly as the sound of roaring engines soon grew deafening and the very ground beneath their feet began to shake.

“Oh stow it, soldier. This isn’t the place for you to be mewling like a woman.” Sergeant Sejanus complained. He glared down his line of troops, concern and sometimes even fear was clearly etched on many but the sternest veteran’s face.

“This fight isn’t over!” Sejanus shouted. “We’re only just getting warmed up and when those Ork bastards come calling it will be Cadians that will be waiting for them not just some raw conscripts from the asshole of the galaxy.”

The men picked up on the enthusiasm and many began thumping their rifles to their chest. At the center of the trench line Cadmus took a big bite out of a field ration stick and loudly chewed it as he watched the trees with a sharp eye. Rodrigo, his young charge and fox hole mate who had survived the first Ork assault watched the massive older vet with a cautious gaze. He had quickly learned that Cadmus was his best way to survive this mess even if he did think the grizzled veteran was a little off.

“This will be grand my boy. This reminds me of that enormous battle on Navar. Nasty business that was, an entire hive city fallen to some crazed cultists and they sent all their women and children at us in waves in the hopes we’d use up our battery packs before they came on the field.”

Rodrigo grimaced.

“You killed women and children?” he asked softly.

Cadmus frowned as if the question were annoying and irrelevant.

“When women and children are trying to kill you, kid, you lose your moral compunctions right quick.” He snapped. “So, there we were facing off against the horde and our commanders know precisely what these cult bastards are trying to do. So they give the only order that makes sense when trying to conserve ammo and facing off against unarmed opponents.”

Rodrigo eyes remained fixed on Cadmus waiting for the rest of the tale to unfold though part of him honestly did not want to know the rest.

“We fixed bayonets.” Cadmus continued simply as he meticulously placed three spare power packs into the packed earth near the lip of the dug out trench in front of him. Once he was satisfied they were within easy reach he looked back at Rodrigo.

“We went to work on them as they came, human wave tactics against a line of Imperial guard ready for you is stupid, when your human wave is unarmed and comprised of civilian women and children with no military training it’s a damnable bloody slaughter.” Cadmus grimaced for a moment then spit over the lip of the trench. “It was down right butchery. Blood, limbs, sinew and bone cut away and our rifles got slick with the gore as we pushed and stabbed our way into the human wave that came at us without pause.”

Rodrigo could say nothing but his imagination took him where he did not want to go, urged on by his companion’s vivid storytelling.

“It will be more of the same here, too, I wager.” Cadmus chuckled softly. “Bloody butchery.”

“Cadmus, tell it to me straight.” Rodrigo asked sternly.

“Yeah?”

Rodrigo looked up into the burly soldier’s eyes for a long moment. The only sound was the damnable drumming and the clanking belching coughing of some Emperor forsaken engines approaching.

“Are we going to survive this?”

Cadmus quietly spat out of the corner of his mouth over the lip of the trench and eyed the young trooper up and down.

“Who knows these things, lad? Just hold onto your rifle, lead your target, fire center mass. Listen for the tell tale buzz of an empty power cell and reach for the next one while ejecting the empty with your other thumb. Rinse and repeat. Anything else is useless. We’re guardsmen and this is what we do. We fight and die for the Emperor.” Cadmus replied stonily. “Survival?” he added with a sad smirk. “Survival is something I haven’t thought about since my first tour of duty.”

Rodrigo’s shoulder slumped slightly and Cadmus noted this out of the corner of his eye as he turned to face the reports of movement at the wire.

“If it makes you feel any better, kid, I thought you and me was dead men for sure several hours ago and yet here we are.”

Rodrigo smiled softly.

“Movement!”

“Locked and loaded!”

“Give me a range!”

The reports were quickly called down the shortened lines as several loping apelike figures broke from the trees to start intently up at the assembled guardsmen. The unmistakable shape of Orks swayed for a moment as if trying to keep time with the almost deafening beat of drums then a massive figure strode out from the tree line. Clearly several meters tall and as broad as a tank the Ork raised an arm and the drums stopped and the clanking and sputtering ceased as if one cue.

Lazar’s eyes narrowed as he watched standing on the lip of the central trench. The Ork war boss. It had to be. An the size of the bastard told Lazar this was no ordinary war boss. This was one who had seen much action and dealt many deaths. It also hinted at the size of this Waagh and what waited for them beyond the trees.

He spared a glance back at the command bunker. He could not see Jinn from behind all the ferocrete and armored view ports but he imagined the young general was thinking the same thing.

What had Malagaunt led them into?

Lazar steadied himself and adjusted his cap. Now was not the time for worry and concern. The die was cast now they only had one choice. Fight or die. His power fist hummed eagerly.

“Ya hummies been putting up a good fight!!” War boss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn shouted out to the 502nd Cadians. “Weze like that! Too many timez you guardsmen go squish too easily and we getz bored but not you. You hummies making it a challenge for the boyz. So I says it’s time for us to get stuck in.” he chuckled darkly and suddenly the clanking and belching engines started up again and the drumbeat retuned save it sounded much louder than before.

“This is it boyz. It’s time for the choppin’ and fightin’! WWWAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!” Grokmar shouted and the war cry sent a shiver up the spines of the assembled guardsmen and seemed to shake the very earth itself until the more observant realized that it was not the war boss’ battle cry but something else. The assembled host that burst forth from the tree line was the answer.

Something new as well accompanied the green tide. Massive lumbering war suits, essentially great drums of metal with multiple arms ending in a variety of killing implements and two massive piston like legs propelling them forward as twin smoke stacks along the top belched out thick angry black clouds of smoke. Behind them clanking and sputtering on ruined tracks were Leman Russ tanks that had obviously been salvaged by the Orks for their own purposes. Green paint haphazardly dashed along the armor plates, some spelling out crude taunts and boasts decorated these desecrated war machines of the Imperium.

“Armor!!”

“The bastards have arm---” the first reports from the salvaged tanks were thunderous and the results murderous as guardsmen screamed in pain and horror. The trench lines were exploding all around them as shells impacted in a steady fusillade. Some of the packed earth that rained back down on the beleaguered guardsmen contained the bloody limbs and remains of their comrades.

Lazar knew that in a moment all could be lost.

“Fight men of Cadia!! Fight for Cadia, for the Imperial Guard and for the God Emperor on his Golden Throne!!” Lazar shouted passionately and fired his bolter into the oncoming onslaught.




Jinn blanched as his auspex viewer displayed the sudden torrent of armor plated horrors that were rushing towards his lines. He never imagined these Ork scum could have assembled such a spear head so quickly.

There was no hesitation however. There could not be or all of his men would be lost in a moment. He clicked on his command vox.

“Donneghan! Release your tanks and hit them hard now!” Jinn ordered loudly.

“By the Emperor it shall be done.” Donneghan replied excitedly.

“I want all fire support focused on our center. The Orks are making a mad dash straight for the heart of our fOrkes and where is my artillery?!” Jinn shouted over the din of battle. The bunker shook suddenly as a tank round skipped off one of the corners of the ferocrete barricade. Grey powdery dust filled the air and the automated compressors labored to clean out the air as men began to cough.

“The basilisks are preparing to fire!” one of his aides reported. “But sir, we are also getting reports of Ork stormtroopers landing in our flanks and someone is swearing these see Ork planes in the clouds over head.”

“Air cover? These beasts managed armor support and air cover?! What am I dealing with here?”

Again the bunker shuddered as if to punctuate his question and this time, the round hit squarely near the front of the bunker and one of the armored viewports cracked loudly from the impact.

Jinn heard the deep thunderous reports of his own basilisks and he sighed softly to himself. Now if only his men could recover and hold on. He could not imagine the hell that was unfurling out there.




Logray shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Noise and feeling were dulled and he felt as if he were moving through a thick syrup. The concussion had knocked him flat on his back and while he was getting back on his feet he turned to the trooper nearest to him for support and all his shock and disorientation vanished like so much smoke when he saw that all that remained of the trooper were his legs and buttocks, the rest was a red smear all along the back of the trench line and as he continues to look back he noticed the head was tucked up against the sad bags encasing a heavy bolter cannon that was in full auto fire mode. If the blast has been one meter to the left he would have been the one smeared all the way back to their support guns.

He violently shook his head and stood straight up, rifle snapped up and just as his vision focused through the grimy smoke a massive frame of an Ork topped the lip of the trench shouting something unintelligible but the mad frenzy in its eyes and the froth issuing from its mouth needed no interpretation. The almost comically large choppa it held over its head gleamed hungrily and in these last moments his senses were sharper than ever and he noticed the bits of viscera and gore dangling off the sharp end of the wicked Ork weapon. He tried to press the trigger but he knew he would be too late.

The thunderous roar of a heavy bolter cannon cut through this panic and fear and the Ork looming over him like a loathsome leering apparition evaporated before his eyes into a cloud of gore. Red tracer fire continued to lance right over his head and the heavy bolter chattered on to his left, the tracers pivoting quickly into a deadly arc.

Logray muttered a brief thanks to the Emperor and quickly scanned his lines. The men were in some disarray, but thank the Emperor they were holding their ground. He quickly strode over to a young guardsmen who was holding his rifle to his chest like a talisman squatting down with head buried in his chest.

Logray grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and stood him up.

“You fire your weapon private or by Jinn I will execute you right here!” Logray shouted over the din of battle.

The young soldier was crying and shouting gibberish. Logray slapped him across the face as hard as he could without wanting to seriously hurt him. The soldier blinked and looked around as if coming out of a reverie.

“Fire. Your. Weapon.” Logray snapped off each word like a grenade.

“Yes sir!” the trooper replied instantly and quickly took aim and began firing over the lip of the trench.

Logray continued running down his line, attending to those who were hit, calling for a medic, or trying to piece together whatever discipline remained of the battered and bruised Cadians on his line. He could hear Lazar calling out cadences as he ripped into the horde trying to over run his position. The old bastard was giving as good as he got and his courageous display was probably the only thing keeping the center from completely disintegrating under the armored assault. But how long could that last? How long could Lazar last?

He quickly banished those dark thoughts as he spied Sergeant Sejanus leap frogging over some wounded men and racing for a heavy lazcannon emplacement. Its men were dead, some lying sprawled out like bayonet practice dummies, lifeless with their limbs at odd unnatural angles and one poor soul was being manhandled by an Ork strapped to a sputtering rocket pack. It chuckled as it ran a jagged blade along the gunner’s chest.

Sejanus roared like a lion and blazed away with his rifle, the laz beams neatly severing the Ork’s arm that held the blade. The Ork grunted more in surprise than pain and quickly raised its remaining arm to aim its makeshift pistol that seemed to be cobbled together from common household items.

“Hummie scum.” It spat and fired.

Sejanus was already dropping down to the Ork’s waist and swung his rifle like a bat striking the Ork’s rocket pack. The clang of metal on metal was almost comical and the Ork pointed its gun down at the kneeling sergeant. A quick high pitched beep interrupted them and the stormboy blinked.

“Oh, Oh.”

The rocket pack ignited like a guttering roman candle and sent it spiraling up into the sky crying out in outrage and annoyance.

Logray vaulted over the trench and rapidly approached the gun emplacement.

“Need a hand?” he asked extending his own.

Sejanus smiled crookedly.

“Don’t mind if I do, Lieu, but shouldn’t you be with the boys?” Sejanus replied hauling himself onto his feet.

“The boys need fire support. Let’s get this bitch up and running.”

“Don’t insult the machine spirit, she’s having a bad day today.” Sejanus replied and quickly checked the gun status, he cleared the mechanism and flicked on the power intermix. Logray got down on one knee and made sure the power feeders were properly in place and nodded to Sejanus as he removed the auspex glasses from his neck and began sighting for the sergeant.

“There.” Logray snapped his hand up and pointed to Sejanus’ right. “Killer Kan at 25 degrees, azimuth 12.”

“Sighted, locked in…ranging fire!” Sejanus replied hotly and depressed the firing stud. The laz cannon gave a satisfying jolt and white hot hissing sound as dual linked guns spat forth a bright white beam that sliced right through one of the flailing arms of the rapidly approaching war machine.

“Adjusting fire.”

“Kill it, sergeant.” Logray ordered tersely as the war machine leapt over the trenches and continued its head long charge at the command bunker.

“Firing!”

The twin laz cannons spat out its brilliant white fire and transfixed the Ork machine, slicing it almost in half. The Killer Kan belched fire and smoke and shuddered to a halt.

“No time for celebration. Leman Russ coming right at us.” Logray shouted as a cannonade sailed meters over their heads.

“Guess we’re drawing some unwanted attention.” Sejanus smiled wildly and grunted as he swung the bulky cannon around to face the oncoming tank. A horde of Orks were riding on top like ticks and shouting outrageous insults and jibes as they approached waving their choppas and some firing guns into the air while screaming “Dakkadakkadakkka!!”

Sejanus grinned and fired the gun again and the laz beam swept the forward hull of the tank, ripping ork limbs and shredding those unlucky enough to have been riding on the front slope of the tank.

“No effect on the tank! It’s still coming.” Logray noted grimly as he raised his own laz rifle and took careful aim trying to land some hits through the armored view ports.

“Give me a sec and I’ll show those green skinned bast—” the laz cannon made an odd sound and suddenly half the lights on his gunnery winked out and alarming warning runes flashed on his screen.

“No! Damnit, No!” Sejanus cursed kicking at the cannon in frustration as the tank slowly rose above the trench line, tracks churning dirt and debris and landed with a loud thump on the other side. The main cannon was leveled right on their position.

“It was a good run, Lieu.” Sejanus sighed.

The Orkish Leman Russ rose a meter off the ground and the Orks still on top were sent scattering to the winds as a round pierced the body of the tank. A wild shout rose up from the men as a spear head of Leman Russ tanks surged out from behind the command bunker firing methodically down the line of Orks over running the position of the beleaguered Cadians.

Logray smiled softly as he heard the bugle accompanying the sound of the oncoming Steel Kings. Donneghan’s command track was appropriately distinguished from those of his men in crimson streamers and the command banner of the Steel Kings dramatically fluttered in the exhaust generated by the tank’s passage. A bugler was standing on the back of the tank blowing the battle cry of the company as Donneghan dressed in his full regalia, metals on his chest and sashes across his shoulders roared his orders while chomping down on his cigar.

“Sighted, mech at 125 meters!”

“Sabot round, up!”

“Fire!” Donneghan roared like priest extorting his flock to salvation.

The rippling fire of the Cadian’s armored support buoyed the troopers’ spirits and they redoubled their efforts at defense. What they did not expect was the Ork response.

A roar of joy and uncontained glee followed and the Ork Waagh surged forward, eager to press the offensive against the new human threat.

“I want that one! With the pretty flag!”

“Gettoutaa here ya gits! That one belongs ta me!” A Nob with an insanely oversized powerfist shouted as he shoved boyz out of his path in a mad dash for the tanks.

“Well, that’s not good.” Sejanus noted with an alarmed expression as the very forest seemed to sway as more Orks poured forth into the battlefield.




Jinn, at first pounding his first on his table with joy as he watched Donneghan’s masterful flanking attack was now aghast as he saw that the tanks’ appearance seemed to be precisely what the Orks were waiting for and the battlefield was now flooded with the green vermin who were rolling forward like an irresistible tsunami to swamp his men and his armor. The tankers, denied armored targets at the moment were fOrked to fire their rounds almost ineffectively into the onrushing horde.

“I want all suppressing fire to be brought down on that main spearhead. They’re bunching up perfectly for artillery! Where in the name of the emperor is my fire suppo—“ the door to Jinn’s bunker blasted its way into the command room, instantly reducing an aide and one of his body guards into a thick paste against the far fermacrete wall.

“Knock, knock” an Ork Nob chuckled darkly as he slapped the Gretchen’s who were manning the comically large cannon they just fired into the door aside and stooped to step into the stunned command bunker. It eyed the stunned humans with a leering hunger. “Da boss says he wants the general’s head on a pointy stick and I’m the Nob ta do da job right.”

“Kill it!” Jinn shouted as he raised his pistol and began firing at the behemoth.

“Waaaghh!!” the Nob rushed into the humans with a speed and grace that he had no right to possess and killed several man in the blink of an eye swinging a wicked barbed axe and snapping his power fist like a vise around one unfortunate trooper, severing him in half.

“Die green skin!” Jinn roared as he advanced firing unrelentingly and fighting down the panic that was threatening to grip his heart. How badly were they over run that these animals could directly assault his command bunker. In his peripheral vision he saw some of his men struggling with stormboyz who were trying to bull their way into the bunker.

The Nob whipped his axe out in a murderous arc and Jinn managed to duck under it – right into the open power fist of the Nob. He was immediately gripped in a vise that made his vision blur and he could only hear the roar of blood in his ears and the distant clatter of his pistol falling from rapidly numbing hands.

Not like this. He fervently wished though the pain.

The Nob burst out from the bunker holding Jinn up like a trophy and cackling with delight.

“Yer da hummie boss, eh?” he snarled and held Jinn right up to his emerald scarred face. “How does it feel, hummie scum? How does it feel to be in da grip of da Waaagh.” The Nob sneered and flung Jinn down into the dirt.

“I’m gonna like killing you….slowly that is so you can see all yer boyz dyin’ while I have my way with ya.” The Nob looked pensive for a moment and Jinn tried to focus but his vision was still blurred and he could feel a sharp knife like pain in his side. He must have broken ribs. He crawled away from the leering thing desperately reaching for the laz rifle lying discarded (hand still attached to the trigger guard) just out of reach.

“Which leg do I pull off first. The right of da left?” it wondered and looked down at his helpless prey as Jinn coughed and sputtered trying to regain his breath and composure. Distantly he heard the first dull thumps like artillery shells landing in dirt. He smiled grimly through bloody lips. Now, his artillery decided to act. The thumps grew louder and more rhythmic. The earth actually heaved beneath him and his reach failed him as the rifle skidded away.

Earth shaker rounds?

The Nob shrugged absent mindedly.

“What does it matter anyways? I don’t know my left from my right anyways.” It barked out an insane laugh and hauled up its axe.

Jinn rolled onto his back ready to face his doom like an Imperial soldier. His eyes focused on his enemy and he spit at the leering Nob.

“I die for the Emperor.”

“Nah, you’re dying for me pleasure.” The Nob replied and then Jinn saw the crimson streaks in the sky behind the Ork and another sound drifted to his ears. The sharp report of artificial thunder. Bolters?

The earth erupted around Jinn and he was sent flying like a rag doll and sailed into a pile of debris and expended shell casings. He groaned loudly and swore he heard calls for the Emperor filtered through some electronic vox. How was the possible? His command bunker lay beyond in ruins. Who was using a vox on the battlefield. The unmistakable sound of bolters was clear now, fired in a precise deadly cadence.

He slowly cleared his vision as a shadow fell over him preceded by the pounding foot steps much like the Ork Nob’s.

“Have you come to finish me, Ork scum. You’ll find me ready to die like a man.”

“General Jinn?” the voice was filtered through a vox.

More impacts were coming down around him shaking the earth. Jinn blinked and the huge silhouette standing over him was brought into focus. The figure was an armored giant, no Ork at all however. It was human and the armor was unmistakable. An august blue, upside down Omega symbol proudly emblazoned on an oversized shoulder plate and a large bolter held in one hand. The other was outstretched towards Jinn.

Jinn hesitantly took the offered hand feeling as if he were in a dream.

“Rise child of the Emperor. Dispel your fear. The Ultramarines are here to dispense a harsh reckoning upon our emerald foe.” The space marine intoned and motioned back to the battlefield.

Drop pods. The earth shaking impacts were space marine drop pods crashing into the earth of the battlefield. The nearest drop pod was only meters away, blue armored skin still pulsing an angry crimson from the heat of re-entry through the planet’s atmosphere at unimaginable speeds. Beneath the drop pod a single green arm was visible holding the barbed axe that had been poised to kill Jinn. The drop pod had landed right on top of the beast.

The space marine paused to remove his helmet with a soft hiss and he regarded the young general with a critical eye.

“My name is Mordred de la Croix. Captain of the 14th Company. I need a SitRep now, General. We have no time to lose.”

Jinn dumbly watched for a moment as Space Marines disembarked from the drop pods without hesitation and methodically blasted a bloody path through the Ork hordes, bolters firing in rapid precise bursts. As squads linked up they began forming star shapes, back to back and firing their bolters creating vast swathes of cleared battlefield where before there had only been a sea of green.

“Sometimes the Emperor sends his angels.” Jinn muttered.

“Excuse me, General?” Mordred asked with a dark scowl.

“Space Marine boyz are here!!” An Ork shrieked out as bolter fire evaporated him a second later. Above them all crimson streaks cut the sky like a predator’s angry claws.

[Chris OFarrell]

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!

Awesome! Everything is going down here!

We all KNEW the Space Marines were going to crash the party, but damn if it still wasn't pulled off in an awesome way!

[Vehrec]

Brilliant. Simply brilliant. O teller of tales, you do fine work indeed.

[Chris OFarrell]

Although I will say I don't think it fits the Ultramarines to say 'rise Child of the Emperor', they are Space Marines, not Sisters of Battle. 'rise, Soldier of the Emperor' would be a bit more fitting IMHO, they would accord a General of the Guard at least a nominal amount of respect for his station.

[White Haven]

Woooo! Stravo's back!

Heh, I can see you wrote it with 'orcs' by accident and did a word replace for Ork, but that makes the word 'force' look distinctly...off as a result.

[speaker-to-trolls]

Praise be to the Emperor!

I'm extremely glad to see this back after so long, and I can't wait to see where this is all heading.
Just a quick question though; In total now you've got 3 sets of characters interested in this artefact, bringing another three sets along for the ride (though I guess the Orks don't really count, entertaining as they are) plus I get the feeling the Necrons and Tyranids might be back later on. Basically, is this planet (or this story) going to be big enough for that many forces?

That's for Stravo to know and us to find out, though, I'm really interested to see how this will pan out, will everything finish in the caves under Tyrial or will Inquisitor Malagaunts quest take him beyond this planet? In the meantime I'm just looking forward to the arrival of the CLOUD KILLAH!

[Mr. Coffee]

Ok, Stravo, that shit right their gets the Official Mushroom Stamp of the AWESOME. I knew the Space Marine would save their ass, you certainly foreshadowed it enough, but I didn't know which SM Chapter, and more importantly had no clue just how many of Jinn's troops would be alive (or even if Jinn would be alive for that matter, was kinda close for him). And the whole "sometimes He sends His Angels" thing was just a fucking AWESOME line. That should be like a prayer for the Imperial Guard.

Write more. Do it now and I'll mail you a Venerable Dread kit.

[Stravo]

Thanks for the awesome feedback folks. Let me address some of them in no particular order. In terms of "child of the emperor" I went back and forth on that one. While I agree the proper term should have been soldier or general of the emperor, I wanted to subtly highlight one of Mordred's character flaws. He is a paternal kind of guy, tends to view people from a familial aspect and outright views First Sergeant Jericho as the son he never had. The view is reciprocated by Jericho who sees his Captain more as a father than a commander. That is going to get both of them in trouble down the road.

The story is not going to be resolved here on this planet. This is the first stop in a small tour Malagaunt needs to make before completing his mission. One small hint - the story is a closed circle. Malagaunt ends where he began his journey so you can imagine its going to be a helluva ride

I did have some question for my learned friends of 40K. In terms of a dreadnought, how much leeway does it have in terms of the command structure? I realize this being ultramarines the chain of command is inviolate but for an ancient like Godric does he get some slack simply due to his status or by his very nature would he be loathe to do anything daring or out of the norm for a battle? And how wanked out can I get with a dread's combat abilities?

Eldar and Space marines. What sort of relationship is feasible that doesn't stretch credibility. By that I mean would Space marines shoot Eldar on sight or would a parlay be possible and what sort of tensions can I play up?

How far can Mordred and Malagaunt push each other? Where does Malagaunt's potential authority end with requesting aid from the Space Marines and where can a space marine tell an Inquisitor to go fuck himself?

Thanks for the advice and I'll try to get an update together as soon as I can but I'm also trying to get an update for Star crossed up. It's been a long time, you know?

[Singular Quartet]

On paper, the Space Marines can always tell the Inquisition to go fuck themselves, unless they're Grey Knights (In which case, only Inquisitor Lords can order them deployed, IIRC). A smart inquisitor can probably convince some Space Marines it'd be a good idea to listen to them, but it's up to the Space Marines whether they want to or not.

[Teleros]

In terms of a dreadnought, how much leeway does it have in terms of the command structure? I realize this being ultramarines the chain of command is inviolate but for an ancient like Godric does he get some slack simply due to his status or by his very nature would he be loathe to do anything daring or out of the norm for a battle?

Dreadnoughts typically contain heroic marines, and often once high-ranking ones too. I'd be surprised if he wasn't at least listened to, although I've not heard of a dreadnought, say, commanding a squad or two in battle. Inspiring maybe, but not formally leading or commanding. And of course marines will fight damn hard to recover the sarcophagus (and anything else in one piece) if a dreadnought does go down, which says something about how they view them.

And how wanked out can I get with a dread's combat abilities?

Very. The buggers can withstand plasma / melta fire and even Tau railguns (see the power suit combat threat in OSF), and they can tear each other apart, so they're pretty nasty. Dawn of War also has some lovely very gory close combat animations for them as well, what with grabbing orks in power fists, crushing them, spinning them around, and then chucking their corpse away several tens of metres .

Eldar and Space marines. What sort of relationship is feasible that doesn't stretch credibility. By that I mean would Space marines shoot Eldar on sight or would a parlay be possible and what sort of tensions can I play up?

The Imperium certainly has had dealings with the Eldar in the past, although it usually ends in tears in the end. The tensions should be pretty obvious ("filthy untrustworthy xenos" vs "primitive mon-keigh" and all that), and experienced Marines may well expect the Eldar to do something very devious. I can think of two basic ways in which they could co-operate: to face down a major common threat (look at the Gothic War) or if the Eldar decide to aid the Imperials without their knowledge, but without calling a truce. I imagine that the Eldar would be the ones to initiate anything though, given their love of manipulating the Imperium and their farseers and whatnot.

How far can Mordred and Malagaunt push each other? Where does Malagaunt's potential authority end with requesting aid from the Space Marines and where can a space marine tell an Inquisitor to go fuck himself?

The fluff's always been a bit iffy in this regard. Captain Garbriel Angelos in DoW was very definite that the inquisitor who arrived could not command his marines for example. It depends on just how well they get on, personalities, relative strengths, and so on. Politics, basically. Marines are also fairly notorious for being very independent of the rest of the Imperium, but you don't want to make an enemy of a powerful inquisitor, if only for the chapter's sake (although more renowned chapters would of course get more leeway here too).

[Vehrec]

The Ultramarines are one of the oldest chapters in the Imperium. They are certainly the most honored, most widely known, and most orthodox, although that last one is on the wane. They are also the most prolific-half of all existent space marine chapters are using Ultramarine geneseed. Most inquisitors can only ask for their aid, few demand it, and they are quick to learn that the Ultramarines are not pure warrior monks but also skilled politicians as well. Still, they're Heroes of the Imperium, and that reputation can be a trap as a certain Commissar would tell you. Heroes can't run away from Chaos, Dark Eldar or Tyranids threatening to overrun the children of the Emperor.

They would be strictly limited to the standard 10 chapter model unless something unusual or bad happened.The Tyranids fill that 'something' quite nicely. And as I noted above, the Ultramarines are prolific in their genseed and descendant chapters. Why create a 14th company? To serve as cadre for an upcoming founding, to give a new Tyranid hunting chapter tactics and traditions already founded in battle and the Codex Astardes. The Ultramarines have a lot of political credit, they can push for a founding specifically to create Tyranid fighters and get what they want, in time.

Dreadnaughts exist outside the normal 1000 marine structure, like Librarians, Tech Marines and other specialists. I have no doubt however, that they don't normally shoulder command for a very good reason-they sleep too much, sometimes for decades at a streach. Given that, they would make poor leaders, having to relearn each unit's composition every time they awoke. I would recommend using them as a semi-independent support or assault unit, depending on how they're set up. Missile pods, multi-meltas, assault cannons, close combat arms, lascannons, all are perfectly valid weapons to mix and match on your dread. Hell, he could switch out in the field, if there was a tech marine with some servitors around to assist.

[Chris OFarrell]

The Space marines both are and are *not* outside the Inquisistions control, and by extensions the Imperium.

They are exempt because they are the direct creations of the Emperor himself, led by his own Sons (or at least were). They are completly outside the control of the Commissariat, they openly ignore Imperial Creed and the religious crap that the ecclesiarchy preach (which does lead to tension between certian Sisters of Battle orders and Space Marine chapers at time).

The Ultramarines are even more 'untouchable', because;

1. They are a First Founding chapter and their Primarch wrote the Codex Arstartes, meaning they have 'cred'.

2. Their Primarch is still 'alive', albeit in a Statis field and mortally wounded, frozen in time.

3. They are not just a Chapter, but they are THE Chapter. Something like 70-80% of the current second founding Chapters and beyond draw from the Ultramarines genetics because they are the most stable with all their original upgrades intact, making them 'THE' Space Marine chapter the High Lords and AdaptMech use for founding new chapters, and new chapters in turn owe feility to their parent chapters Primarch and Chapter, to some extent.

4. They also don't exist like most other chapters as simply rapid response troops, but they actually *govern* a vast swath of the Imperium directly. I think that is mostly because Roboute Guilliman became the Lord and ruler of Macragge through his Foster Father. And he did such a damn good job of actually *Governining* the place and other systems around it by the time the Emperor found him that it simply stayed that way. Roboute remained Lord and Master of Macragge AND leader of the Ultra Marines, and so that has been continued, with the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines being the man in charge of the whole damn Segmentum in his name. And as Roboute was a brilliant leader and administartor, so they have followed his example, mostly hands off, but still working hard for their people. So Ultima is actually one of the better areas of the Imperium to live in...unless the Nids or Tau pop in anyway.


With that said, the Inquisition HAS exterminated Space Marine chapters in the past, quite openly, if they found a really REALLY good reason to. They don't do it at all lightly or often and mostly for reasons of purity and high risk of falling to chaos but they HAVE done it, albeit probably with only a very high level of authority and probably getting the nod from the High Lords. So you don't want to push them TOO far.

But the Ultramarines would really really REALLY have to do something spectacular to be declared Diabolus...like their entire order openly turning to Chaos and inviting Abbadon for a light lunch of their former Primarch, given how much power they weild and their strateigic importance. I mean the Dark Angels have made sure most Inquisitors that get too close to their secrets suffer tragic 'accidents', and even opened fire and destroyed another Chapters starship to get Cypher and to cover their crimes, but the Inquisition hasn't sent in a half dozen chapters and a half dozen Battlefleets to crack open 'The Rock' and see what comes venting out...yet...

[speaker-to-trolls]

The Inquisition wouldn't take on the Ultramarines as a whole under anything but the most dire of dire circumstances, obviously, but how uncomfortable could they make things for Mordred and his crew? I imagine since he's a decorated Tyrannic veteran and has (as someone rationalised) been trusted with setting up a new unit to lay the groundwork for a future anti-Tyranid chapter then the chapter as a whole must have his back, plus one of his best friends is a Dreadnought, which has to give him some extra credit. How bad would his conduct and that of his unit have to be for the Inquisition to get him, not necessarily killed, but to have him demoted or get his company shut down or something along those lines?

[Hawkwings]

Openly turning to Chaos and rubbing the Inquisitor's face in it would be pretty much the only way that higher powers would side with the Inquisition here, and not the Ultramarines. I don't think this can be emphasized enough: Ultramarines are THE Space Marine chapter. Space Marines just as a whole are inviolate enough, but Ultramarines are the most decorated, recognized, and honored Space Marine chapter. I'd go so far as to say that NOTHING Malagaunt does of his own accord could get the Ultramarines into trouble. But as someone said earlier, the greatest heroes of the Imperium cannot run from threats, so Malagaunt could potentially manipulate them this way. Still, Space Marines aren't stupid (Ultramarines at least), and they DO retreat sometimes (when the Codex Astartes says it's advisable to).