Crimson Fists- no real title yet...
“Sergeant!? Sergeant!” the voice called, “Sergeant, fall back, the Kine Lord is advancing, and we must escort the PDF forces to the parallel.” The voice was eerily familiar, but Brother-Sergeant Rorez couldn’t reply, as a chunk of the cathedral that his squad had been taking cover in had rendered him unconscious. Already, his body’s larraman cells were rushing to the wound, but the trauma had forced him into temporary Coma. “Aramez?” Rorez questioned, thinking that the marine was his Brother from the company’s 1st tactical squad. “No, sir. I’m no sergeant, at least not yet…” the marine could have finished his sentence, but his head exploded into a crimson mess as an Ork stubber’s stray bullet threw itself into the cathedral.
The Crimson Fists’ 2nd company had already fallen back to the parallel, leaving their dead behind after the Apothecaries tended to their gene-seeds. As the Apothecarion puts it, they must retrieve the “Chapter’s Due,” lest their priceless genetic code fall into the wrong hands. Rorez had managed to avoid being attacked by the now roaming Ork mobs in the cathedral, their foul stench tinging the air and shaming the holy place. When the green tide finally thinned out, Rorez searched the cathedral, avoiding small patrols, meanwhile salvaging ammunition and searching for any survivors. His search was not in vain, as his attempts found him two scouts, Neophytes Hamadrian and Tykus. Each were armed with a variety of weapons, proving that they had followed survival protocol.
The 2nd Company’s first Assault Squad was led by Brother-Sergeant Andres Rorez, a veteran of the undertaking on Rynn’s world; he had been one of the few marines that were not inside of the Fortress Monastery when the errant defense missile leveled the structure. His squad has been constantly coined as the “Crimson Martyrs,” as the squad has taken more losses than any other in the Chapter. The squad’s sergeant, however, has a tendency to be infamous for being indestructible, a reputation contested only by the 4th Company’s Captain, Alessio Cortez, who is currently missing, possibly captured by the Orks.
The scouts that Rorez had found would have been a burden if he were equipped with his jump pack, but luckily for both the Sergeant and the Neophytes, that would not be a problem. “Sir,” one of the scouts begged, “have we been abandoned by the chapter, are we to be left behind?” Rorez grimaced at the scout’s weakness. “We have been left by the Emperor’s Will to fend for our own, and for you to prove your worth to the chapter. Your weakness will only hinder your survival, and I choose not to serve with men who doubt themselves,” he then prodded his power fist at the scout’s chest, and continued, “do you truly, on your life, believe you will survive?”
The Neophytes both pondered this, all the while a steely look on the Sergeant’s face. The scouts nodded, one proudly pointing his chin out. Symbols on their scout armor indicated them as candidates in the chapter to become specialists; Hamadrian a Librarian, and Tykus a Chaplain. “To whose squad did you belong?” Rorez questioned, inquisitively. “Sergeant Nochtilan, sir. He was stationed with a ten man squad, us included, when a blast from an Ork battlewagon separated us from the squad. Hamadrian found you through a rift in the warp, so we came to find you.” Tykus elaborated.
A blast shook the ground beneath them, probably from an ork’s grenade. Tykus fell on his rear, but Hamadrian drew a shotgun from his pack, pumping a new shell into the chamber. “The kine,” Rorez whispered, raising his combat shield in preparation. Several greenskins rushed into the immediate area, makeshift pistols blazing in one hand, ramshackle close combat weapons in the other, and one Ork, much larger, probably their leader, stood above them all with a two-handed axe in his grubby little hands. Rorez reacted first, bashing one Ork’s head in with his combat shield, blocking another’s attack, then punching through his sternum with his power fist.
The human with the armor was proving to be more tough then Gorgrim made him seem. But clearly he’s not that tough, ‘cos he’s using a shield. No matter, Bludmaw would take his head, and mount it on his shoulder spikes. “WAAAAAGH!!!” he screamed, as he charged into the fray.
Rorez saw the Nob coming, and leveled his shield in preparation for a hard blow. Just seconds before they collided, as Tykus finished off the last of the Ork boys, Hamadrian sent a bolt of Psychic energy into the larger Ork’s skull. The bolts caused the Ork’s head to discharge, leaving the stump of his neck bare. “I swear, I’ve never done that before, or I’d have done it before!” Hamadrian shouted over the din of the dying. “Well, then maybe you will survive”, Rorez replied, grinning behind his helm.
Rorez armor hadn’t actually belonged to the Crimson Fists until it got to the Sergeant. The Imperial Fists had sent a large excess of arms and armor to their brothers on Rynn’s World after the Arch-Arsonist of Charadon assaulted the planet. His armor had been borne by a good twenty other marines before him, but the conditions on Rynn’s World after the Orks invaded had rendered the life support systems useless. The armour that he received from Terra was as ancient as the oldest of his chapter’s dreadnoughts, and was marked with countless names of marines whose lives were claimed in that one suit. Refusing to don a Mark 8 helmet, he refurbished the Mark 6 helmet that he held so beloved.
“Psyker,” Rorez said, addressing Hamadrian. “Yes, sir?” “How did they find us? Search the warp, find their psykers, but first try to find Brother Sergeant Aramez, we’ll need help getting back to the parallel.” The scout nodded hesitantly, then grimaced, “Sir, if I try to find their psykers, they might be able to zero in on our position, although since I’m just discovering my abilities, I might not have much of a signature in the warp.” At this, the Sergeant shared his expression, “Then contact the Librarian with Aramez’ tactical squad, address him as Epistolary Dengez.” Hamadrian nodded, then began searching the warp. “Pray that this doesn’t alert any of those big Orks…” said Rorez as he started down a corridor, making his way through the massive complex.
Aramez had been waiting for Rorez’ arrival for some time now, expecting his Brother to arrogantly walk through the outer defenses holding aloft the head of some dead Kine Warlord. That confrontation never happened. Aramez had already communicated to the residing leader of the 2nd company, Chaplain Salvatorian, who was replacing Drigo Alvez; second company's captain. Salvatorian had been coined “Kine-Father” by the 2nd company, due to his tendency to reprimand any brother who disrespects their green-skinned foes. This is the same man who once stared into the eyes of an Ork warboss and screamed, “I HATE YOU!!” over the comm until Lord Hellblade himself, Pedro Kantor, Chapter Master of the Crimson Fists, told him he was “behaving like a child.” At the time of the event, Salvatorian was ripping the heart out of the beasts chest.
Rorez had found a few more men on his way to the parallel, majority of them wounded, but all willing to fight, including Veteran-Sergeant Savir, who served both in the Imperium’s Deathwatch, and Pedro Kantor’s own Honour Guard with Rorez. The brotherhood between them was strong, but they saw each other as rivals above all else. In order to survive, they would need to settle these differences, if only temporarily. Until this point, Rorez had lost five men, all Battle-Brothers, and all permanent losses to the Chapter until an Apothecary could find them.
I will continue adding on to it, but for now, it remains the way it is. Don't you worry; there'll be some plot twists.
Last edited by Minizke1; 04-05-10 at 05:23 PM.