Heresy Fiction Comp 2010: [For the Emperor]
For the Emperor!
Cyrus nodded and kicked the door down, firing his shotgun. The near point blank blast threw the mutilated remains of a recently dead man against the wall. Cyrus turned around just in time to bring his shotgun up to block a blade from a cultist that stood beside the door. He lashed out with a kick that threw the cultist back, and he brought his shotgun down and gave him the good news from his shotgun. Again, the point blank blast transmogrified the cultist into a mess of blood, bone and flesh.
“Clear.” Cyrus reported, racking his shotgun and reloading it.
The Guardsmen pulled out of the house, and the team moved onto the next house. The Guardsmen had been sent to clear out the cultist rabble that had been staging terrorist attacks on the population.
“Jenner. You’re up.” Sergeant Varl ordered, scanning the street for a potential target. The newbie Guardsmen nodded and assumed position for the breach and clear. “Go!”
Jenner kicked the door down and was perforated by a burst from a autogun.
“Cover!” Varl yelled, firing his lasgun through the doorway blindly. The other Guardsmen huddled around the doorway, waiting for a break for the firing so that they could storm the house. “Stay still, Jenner! You’re only going to draw their fire!”
Jenner was screaming in pain, clutching his perforated stomach.
Varl was firing his lasrifle blindly into the room, and the firing stopped. Varl took the opportunity and stormed into the room, quickly bayoneting the cultist guarding the room. He scanned the rest of the room, firing a few shots into a large locker. A dead cultist fell out, and Varl called out the all clear.
“Get the Chimera up here!” Varl voxed, walking out of the house. Jenner was already dead, and the medics were carrying the body onto the Chimera. The Guardsmen squad continued down the street, carefully scanning for targets. There was a snap-crack! And the medic that was carrying Jenner fell, a clean hole in his throat. The other Guardsmen got into cover behind the Chimera, returning fire at the snipers that were displacing across the roof.
“Command. We’ve encountered heavy resistance here.” Varl voxed, snapping off shots at the figures on the roof. “Get that multi-laser up and firing!”
“More of them, on the left, lower levels, windows!” a trooper cried out, changing targets.
“Shit! There’s more of them, street level!” Varl warned, emptying his lasrifle at the squad sized culists that appeared on the streets, armed with autoguns and captured lasrifles.
The multi-laser sprayed at the cultists, and several of them dropped dead. Varl fell to the ground as a solid round flattened itself on his chest plate of his flak armor. He was winded, but was glad to find that his dog tags had stopped the round.
“Varl! You ok?” Trooper Dak asked, flinching as more solid rounds pinged off the APC.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Varl replied, slumping against the rear of the Chimera. He fumbled for his vox bead. “Command, requesting reinforcements. Resistance is getting stronger, and I have at least three men down!”
“Negative on the reinforcements, Sergeant. Our hands are tied.”
“Fuck that, I need fire support now!” Varl yelled, as another of his trooper fell to the ground. The others dragged him into cover as the fire from the cultists intensified.
“Ammo report!” Varl cursed, cutting the link.
As the other Guardsmen called out their ammo status, a cultist had managed to sneak up to the tank and attached a jury rigged rocket to the Chimera’s treads. The IED detonated, destroying the Chimera’s treads, but barely scratched the Chimera’s paintwork. Varl took out the offending cultist with a single round.
“There goes our ticket out of here.” A Guardsman said, and the others laughed. “Orders, sir?”
“Ok. We storm the enemy positions. The Chimera provides fire support with the multi-laser and the storm bolter. How’s that? Samson! Man the storm bolter! The rest of you, be prepared to move!”
The troopers loaded fresh magazines into their lasrifles and shedded anything they didn’t need. Varl strapped his lasrifle to his back and drew his auto-pistol and he made sure that his ammo and grenades were easy to reach. Samson hammered away at the enemy with the storm bolter.
“Go! Stay low!”
The Guardsmen stormed out from cover and fire from the cultists intensified, but the answering fire from the multilaser and the storm bolter replied in kind, suppressing the cultists. Varl stormed up the stairs of the building where the cultists had holed up. He tried the door. It was locked. Varl nodded to Cyrus, who kicked the door down. Varl tossed the frag into the room. The sergeant waited for the explosion before charging into the room. He fired his auto-pistol point blank into one of the surviving cultist who tried to fire a lasrifle at him. Varl quickly cleaned the bodies of any ammunition and lasrifles.
“Next floor up. Lets go.” Varl ordered, heading up to the roof.
The Guardsmen carefully advanced up the stairs, but their progress was impended by a large metal door. Despite several kicks and strike from the butt of his lasrifle, the door held fast. Varl took one of the captured lasrifles, set its battery to overcharge, and wedge it against the door. The Guardsmen stormed back down the stairs, waiting for the impending explosion from the overcharged lasrifle. They were not disappointed. Before the smoke cleared, the Guardsmen stormed up the stairs, led by Cyrus, out into the open air roof. Immediately, Cyrus opened fire, taking down one of the Cultists before diving into cover as the other Cultists opened fire. Varl stormed through, his auto-pistol firing. He managed to drop two of the cultists and wing a third before forcing to take cover as his pistol clacked empty. The other Guardsmen cleared out the rest of the roof. Across the street, in a building directly opposite of them, more cultists appeared.
“Pick your targets, fire!” Varl ordered, shouldering his lasrifle, and dropping to the ground, laying down fire. The other Guardsmen laid down heavy fire at the cultists. “I want fire superiority! Make sure no shots are wasted!”
“Sergeant! Look! Enemy stubber!” one of the more sharp eyed troopers warned.
“Shit, they’ve got some serious hardware.” Varl muttered. “Samson, target the building to your left, upper levels!”
The storm bolter resumed firing, hammering the cultists that tried to bring the stubber to bear. The tirade of bolt shells tore chunks out of the building, and several rounds punched through the walls and exploded the cultists.
“We’ve got to flush out that position, lets go!” Varl ordered, standing up and heading downstairs. The Guardsmen crossed the street, and the Sergeant ordered Samson to cease fire. The Guardsmen advanced up the stairs carefully, making sure there weren’t any booby traps waiting for them. They made it to the top floor without any incidents. They stacked up on the doorway. Varl prepared a grenade. “Ready?”
Varl twisted the doorknob, and tossed the grenade in. The explosion shook the ground, and he stormed into the room, his lasrifle firing at the dazed enemies. He cursed and charged at the last enemy as his lasrifle went dry. He freed his bayonet and stabbed it upwards, but had missed, and a kick to his stomach sent him recoiling. Both warriors drew pistols, and Varl managed to fire first, the solid shell tearing a sizable chunk from the cultist’s throat. The cultist fell, choking, hands flying to his throat.
“Clear.” Varl called out, slowing his breath. He gathered up the lasrifles, and ordered Cyrus to grab the stubber. “Squad. Gather outside.”
The Guardsmen gathered out in the streets, joined by Samson and the Chimera crew. Samson had freed the storm bolter from the pintle mount and was carrying it with the assistance of a sling. Varl handed the vehicle crew the captured lasrifles, giving them a quick run through of how to operate them.
“Ok. We’re going to have to make it back on foot.” Varl said, unfurling a map. “We’re about five streets away from an outpost. We can see if we can grab a vehicle from there.”
“What if we don’t?” Ceglan asked.
Varl shrugged. “Then we think of another plan.”
The Guardsmen laughed, and they stood up, checking their weapons. Cyrus swapped his shotgun with a lasrifle. The Guardsmen moved out, advancing down the street carefully, scanning the windows for any signs of movement. The group of guardsmen dived into cover as several cultists on street level opened fire on them. Varl returned fire, sending a tirade of las at the enemy while Samson prepped the storm bolter. More cultists appeared from windows, firing down on the troopers. The storm bolter raked the upper floors, suppressing the Cultists within.
“Base of fire, right here!” Varl ordered. “Cyrus, with me!”
As the other Guardsmen laid down suppressing fire, Varl and Cyrus slipped forward, staying close to the shadows to avoid detection. The duo sneaked and prepped grenades when they were under the window where the cultists were firing out of. Varl nodded, and the two threw the grenades up into the window. There were several panicked cries, and the grenades exploded, throwing a body out of the window.
“Lets keep moving!” Varl ordered.
“We’re not getting far if they keep ambushing us every few metres.” Samson said, lugging the storm bolter with him as they moved on.
“Lets stick to the alleyways. Less likely that there are enemy there.” One of the Guardsmen suggested.
“Yeah. But a burst from a stubber or flamer could get all of us in one go.” Cyrus countered.
“Just keep moving on the streets. We’ll pull back into the alleys if we run into serious trouble.” Varl decided, and the Guardsmen continued their careful advance down the road. “And Samson wouldn’t be able to fit his bulk into the alley.”
The Guardsmen laughed at the age old joke, and Samson growled some profanity about Varl’s mother. Varl quickly replied, the banter a familiar one amongst the squad.
“Do you hear that?” Samson asked, cupping his ear, cutting the humor short.
A rumbling filled the air, and the ground seemed to shake a little. The Guardsmen looked around desperately for the source. Varl was the first one to understand it, and he shouted a warning, before running desperately into one of the alleys. Several Chimera and Hellhound tanks rolled down the street. They looked like they had been ravaged in battle, with several dead bodies hanging from harness on the tanks’ hull. The insignia of the Vendoland 52nd could be seen clearly.
“Stay in cover. We don’t have enough firepower to take them on.” Varl whispered.
“Where did they get the tanks?” Cyrus thought aloud.
“Prolly stole it. Notice the battle damage.” Varl said, turning around and the Sergeant stood up and the Guardsmen moved out through the alleyways, avoiding the main roads in case of any more enemy armor contact. “There’s a little ammo dump up ahead. Lets go if we can find something to deal with those tanks.”
“Some armor piercing rounds should be enough to punch through the weak section of the hull. “ Samson said, waving at the stubber that they had brought along.
“May take up to belt for that.” Cyrus replied.
“Not if you know where to hit.” One of the Chimera crew piped up. “Chimeras are great in terms of armor, but they’ve got several weak spots. I’ll show you where to hit.”
“Ok then. We’ve got a solution. “ Varl nodded. “Ok. Carefully now. We’re about a block away.”
The ammo dump turned out to only be slightly more than a small area enclosed with sandbags and a hastily constructed roof. Boxes were stacked neatly, well organized. There was an abandoned stubber nest, and there was nobody in sight. The Guardsmen quickly grabbed whatever they needed, and Varl snapped open a box of armor piercing rounds for the stubber. Dawson, swapped his lasrifle for the stubber, and wrapped several belts of ammunition around himself before making sure the stubber was ready to fire.
“Sergeant! Look what I found!” Cyrus called, standing over an open ammunition crate. Inside the box, tube charges lined the inside of the box, enough for it to put a serious dent in a Leman Russ tank.
“Ok. Distribute it. Make sure everyone knows how to use one.” Varl ordered, picking one up from the crate. It was a standard pattern tube charge, distributed amongst the Guard as a mean of demolition or sometimes for booby trapping. Varl had used a number of these with trip wires before. He stowed several in his harness and made sure it was easy to access. “Ok. Grab whatever you can, we leave in two.”
Samson was messing around with a vox kit, but it was clear that it was beyond fixing. Several point blank rounds had made sure it can’t be fixed either. But Samson was the closest thing that the squad had as an engineer, and so Varl ignored the fiddling trooper. The Chimera crew were sat on the sandbags, clearly not used to so much running and action, but it seemed that they’ve managed to keep a clear head during the battle.
“We’re gonna need some elevation if we are to take down the Chimeras.” One of the crew explained to Dawson. “Chimeras weren’t made for urban combat, and the top section, especially the section covering the engines is very thin, allowing for better cooling. However, we usually reinforce those sections with sandbags, but the rounds should punch through fine.”
“So aim for the rear section?” Dawson asked.
“For good measure, you should also rake the turret. There’s a chance the rounds would penetrate.” Another of the crew piped up.
“Got it.” Dawson said, resting the stubber on his shoulder in a reversed grip. He had the included bipod opened, and a belt hung from the feed, so that it was ready for contact.
“Ok. Back to the streets. Move!” Varl ordered.
The Guardsmen moved out, prepping for the ambush. Dawson and Samson stormed up a flight of stairs to gain the elevation for the ambush, while Varl primed and threw a tube charge at the middle of the street. It certainly drew the enemies attention. The ground rumbled as the Chimeras and Hellhounds made their way towards the explosion. The Guardsmen took cover amongst the street, prepping their weapons.
“Hit the Hellhound.” Varl voxed. “Now!”
The stubber and the storm bolter opened up, raking the lead flamer tank’s rear. At first nothing happened, then the rounds began to penetrate the thin steel covering the engine. The rounds must have found the fuel tank, as the lead Hellhound’s engine exploded, and the flames must have ignited the promethium tanks as well, as the tank exploded.
Varl and the Guardsmen on street level ducked into cover as the heat, flames and white hot shrapnel washed over them. The other Chimeras quickly located the source of shooting, and directed their fire towards the heavy weapons. Dawson and Samson quickly took cover as the barrage from the multilaser blasted their cover.
“We’re pinned down!” Samson voxed.
Varl freed a tube charge from his harness, and he tossed it. The tube charge sailed through the air, bouncing off the top of the turret before exploding. The shrapnel must have penetrated and killed the crew because the mutlilaser on that Chimera stopped firing. The last Chimera saw what happened to its companion, and it backed off, easing off the fire.
“Orders? Do we pursue?” Cyrus whispered.
“We pursue. Lets go!” Varl shouted, vaulting over the pile of rubble that he was taking cover behind. His blood was up, and his adrenalin was pumping. He wanted the third kill. The other Guardsmen followed quickly, storming after the Sergeant. Then Varl realized his mistake. The Chimera had drew them into a trap by retreating quickly. The Guardsmen were overly eager to claim the kill.
The Chimera was waiting for them as the Guardsmen turned the corner. The troopers scattered and dived for cover as the multilaser sprayed las at point blank. One of the Chimera crew had several fist-sized punched clean through his chest. Varl barely managed to get into cover, but he caught a spray of shrapnel in his leg, and he quickly stabbed a shot of painkillers into his leg. The situation looked like shit.
Then Samson and his stubber appeared. Holding the stubber with the assistance of his loader, the trooper pulled the trigger, letting loose with the heavy weapon. The recoil almost threw the two men back. The rounds managed to penetrate the thinner rear side of the Chimera, but it didn’t have much effect.
The multilaser fired, killing the loader, but Samson managed to drop in time. Then the Chimera exploded.
“Thank god we found those tube charges.” Cyrus said, standing up.
“Good throw.” Varl commended.
The other Guardsmen laughed out in relief, but they quickly sobered up as they went over to Samson’s loader. No chance that the loader could be saved. Varl quickly closed the dead man’s eyes, and they moved out.
“Where to now?”
“Well. This is sure to grab someone’s attention. Chances are, some of our guys see this, and they’ll investigate. Gather our troops.” Varl decided.
“Not bad. What if it attracted the wrong attention?” Samson asked.
“Dunno. Didn’t plan on that far.” Varl shrugged.
The Guardsmen laughed.
“We should set up. Roll out a welcome mat. Just in case.” Samson suggested. He pointed to a window with a clear field of fire. “Set up the stubber. Get some troops dug in.”
“Good idea.” Varl agreed. “Ok. Dig in. Wait for someone to appear.”
Samson clicked his vox bead once, giving the signal that there was a contact. Varl checked the safety on his lasrifle, and checked down his sights at the group that was approaching. At this range, it was hard to tell if the figures were cultists or guardsmen, and Varl made sure his crosshairs was centered on the squad.
“Anyone have a positive contact?” Varl voxed.
“Negative, sir.” Samson said, “Wait. They’re our own guys.”
“Roger that.” Varl replied. He stood up slowly, his lasrifle raised. “Halt! Imperial Guard. Day response code?”
“Charlie six four!” a Sergeant replied.
Varl lowered his lasrifle and waved to the other group. He quickly ran over to the group of Guardsmen.
“Did you guys create the mess?” Bane asked, gesturing at the burning wrecks of Chimeras and Hellhounds.
“Yeah.” Varl said, casually looking back. “So. This is your squad?”
“That’s right. We were ambushed, and we lost our vehicle, and comms were down, and we dug in and we held off quick a shedload of those cultists before seeing your little bonfire here.” Bane explained.
“So do you know what happened?” Varl asked.
Bane shrugged and tackled Varl to the ground. That was what saved both of them. Autogun fire raked the street, killing two of Bane’s troops. Varl and Bane returned fire, snapping off shots at the cultists that appeared on the rooftops.
“Get the stubber down here!” Varl shouted, dragging Bane into cover. He slapped a new clip into his lasrifle and ordered his squad to suppress the enemy.
The heavy stubber banged away at the enemy troops, and under the heavy covering fire, Varl sneaked a peak to check the enemy strength. “They’re gathering their forces. Keep firing! Don’t let them pin us down!” Varl ordered, firing his lasrifle on full auto. “Suppressing fire!”
The heavy stubber banged away at the enemies while the other Guardsmen took positions and returned fire. Varl sneaked a peek, and was rewarded with a face of shrapnel when a round nearly hit his head. The Sergeant cursed, firing his lasrifle blindly around the corner. “Watch out, they have snipers!” Varl cursed. The burning tanks had attracted unwanted attention, and now they would pay for it.
“Go! Flank them while I pin them down!” Samson cried, firing his stubber relentlessly at the cultists, his feeder desperately loading the gun with the last belt of ammunition. “Now!”
“Forward! Up and at them!” Varl screamed, charging up the street, where the enemies were gathering. “For the Emperor!”
The other members of his squad roared the warcry and charged the enemy, their lasrifles firing. Varl bayoneted the first cultist that he reached, clean through his throat. He kicked the body to free his blade, and he fired his lasrifle point blank into another cultists that tried to cut him down with an axe.
“Blood for the Blood God!” the cultists wailed as Varl gunned them down. His ears stung from the loud heretical warcry. He grinded his teeth and ran through the wailing cultist with his bayonet.
The other Guardsmen were also fighting hand to hand with the cultists, and Varl saw that Bane employed a chainaxe with great skill, and was cutting down the cultists with ease, the teeth of his chainsword grinding easily through the thin armor that the cultists had. Just as Bane hacked down another cultist, a point blank solid shell evacuated his skull, and the Sergeant fell to the ground. Varl ran over to the fallen chainaxe, and he quickly swooped it up. It was well balanced enough to be held in one hand, and it clearly was well crafted. He swung it, and sparks flew as the revolving teeth grinded against a piece of metal in lieu of armor on the cultist. The metal resisted for half a second, before the revolving edge sliced through flesh and bone.
“Sniper’s down.” Larkin muttered, the marksmen of the squad.
“Good shot, Larks.” Varl said, killing the last cultist with a round from his lasrifle. “All clear?”
“Clear up!” someone reported.
“Clear down.” Samson reported.
Varl reloaded and slung the chainaxe across his back on his harness. Like the other guardsmen, they quickly stripped ammunition off the dead bodies.
“We have to move.” Samson said, holding his lasrifle instead of the stubber, which he left, out of ammunition. “We don’t have enough ammunition to deal with anything larger than a patrol now.”
“Try the vox again. Maybe we can raise someone.” Varl suggested. And the vox-man laidd down the heavy machine and started speaking into the horn.
“Star four one. This is Delta two. Do you copy?” the vox man said clearly. “Star four one. Do you read?”
There was a faint reply, then a burst of static took it away. Smithison adjusted several dials on the vox machine. Then the words became clear again.
“To all remaining Imperial Guard units. Report back to your platoon leader. The hive is in full uprising. Report back to your platoon leaders and await deployment.” A few seconds later the message repeated itself.
“Damn. A full uprising. No wonder they were everywhere.” Varl mused aloud. “We better report to Lieutenant Xavier, or the Commissars might be waiting when we get back.”
Smithison quickly adjusted channels and tried to contact their platoon leader on the vox, but they got nothing but static. Smithison tried the other squad leaders, and they finally got an answer from Sergeant Drake’s squad.
“Varl! Where are you?” the Sergeant’s surprise was evident, even through the vox.
“We’re stuck in the streets with no transport! What the hell is happening?”
“Battalion is under attack, didn’t you receive the recall?”
“Negative. Vox was down.” Varl replied. “Battalion is under attack? What happened?”
“Throne knows. They knew to strike when the troops were out. We were caught flat-footed here, but we’re still holding them back, for the moment.”
“Roger that. We’re trying to find a way back.”
“I’ll scramble a Valkry to pick you up! Captain Drake, out.”
“Captain?” Varl echoed. Wow. The situation must be pretty bad if they had to promote Drake to take command of the defense. He thought to himself. “Ok. Deploy a beacon. Wait out for the Valkry.”
The Guardsmen didn’t have to wait long, as the Valkry arrived two minutes after the vox call ended. It was evident that the Valkry had been picking up other Guard patrols in the area. There was another squad, as well as several wounded troopers.
“Next stop, battalion command post.” The pilot declared on the intercom.
Varl fired his lasrifle at the massed crowd of cultist below him. The wind stopped as he drew back inside the hovering gunship to reload. Another trooper took his vacated place and resumed firing down at the enemies. There were no shortages of targets.
Battalion HQ, situated in a large field, was several pre-fabricated buildings, reinforced with sandbags, razorwire and several stubber nests. The defending Guardsmen held their ground against the enemy. Mortar positions hurled munitions at the enemy in an attempt to thin the crowd. Varl moved to the fore of the gunship.
“Pilot! Set us down! We need to get into the fight!” Varl declared, shouting to be heard.
“There’s too much fire, and there’s nowhere to set down!” the pilot protested, not bothering to look back from the windshield.
“Get us down, now!” Varl ordered. “Are you disobeying a direct order, pilot?”
Varl thought he overstepped himself this time, but the pilot hastily lowered the Valkry down onto an empty space behind the lines. The troopers cheered and they quickly disembarked. Before he left, however, he heard the pilot calling him a “Gak”
“And pilot, one last thing.” Varl said, before he stepped off the gunship.
“Sir?” the pilot replied, looking back fearfully.
“That’s Sergeant Gak to you.” Varl said, before joining the battle. The Valkry lifted, the downwash nearly pinning the Sergeant to the ground. “Lets move. Hold the line and deny the enemy!”
The Guardsmen charged into battle, screaming a formless warcry. The beleaguered defenders cheered at the sight of reinforcements, and Varl fired his lasrifle at the enemy.
“You guys looked like you needed some help, Drake.” Sergeant Varl laughed, as he dropped into cover beside the former Sergeant. Drake, an old friend, laughed and slapped Varl on his back.
The horde was gathering for a charge again, and the Guardsmen responded with a rain of lasfire. The ruby red shafts lashed off limbs and left smoking holes wherever they touched a target. The cultists, mostly armed with crude axes and blades, charged, screaming the blasphemous name of the Blood God over and over again. The din was unbearable, but the Guardsmen grinded their teeth and fought on, knowing that the Emperor was watching over them, or at least they hope that he was. Grenades and mortars sailed over the Guardsmen and detonated amongst the cultists throwing dead bodies into the air with each explosion.
Then the cultists clashed into the Guardsmen. Varl roared loudly as he drew his chainsaxe and embedded it into the first cultist that tried to do the same. He had his lasrifle in his left hand, and his axe in his right. He emptied his lasrifle in a wide arc before charging for the next cultist, taking a two handed grip on his chainaxe.
“For the Emperor!” Varl screamed, as his roaring chainaxe ripped through a cultist’s torso with a spectacular spray of blood and bone shards. Goggles. Now Varl knew why some of his fellow Guardsmen wear goggles. Chain weapons made a terrible mess. Messy weapon or not, it was definitely an effective weapon.
The Blood God was definitely having his fill of blood, and Varl was enjoying this bloodshed.
As the cultists wasted themselves against the defending Guardsmen, Sindrii stood apart from the attackers, scanning the Guardsmen for those who were suitable for his needs. His high, pronged helmet and ancient power armor lavished with sigils of Chaos and sorcery stood him apart from the other attackers, but he was shrouded from the Guardsmen with several simple incantations.
After marking those suitable, Sindrii pointed his dual pronged staff at the candidates. There was a faint buzzing in the air as the Sorcerer completed the rites of subjugation.
Varl howled with blood lust as he plowed through cultists and Guardsmen alike, all former vestiges of a guardsmen gone, and all that was left was a beast, filled with the lust for brawl and blood. Several other Guardsmen had also fallen to the psyker madness, and the Imperial Guard quickly broke under the assault from their former brethren.
With the lines broken by the subjugated troopers’ assault, the cultists quickly overran the base. The first of many to fall on this planet marked for assault from the Ruinous forces.
Sindrii opened his arms as if to embrace the bloodshed, reveling in the glory of death. He turned around and bowed to the approaching Chaos Lord.
“Report.” The Chaos Lord spat. Standing over two and a half metres tall, and armed with an ancient plasma pistol and a weapon resembling a scythe from ancient times.
“We are making good progress, Lord Bale…” Sindrii said, bowing low again.
Last edited by Scorch_II; 08-04-10 at 04:37 AM.