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post #1 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-16-13, 02:40 AM Thread Starter
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Default The Phaeron (Action)

Sixty million years had come close to destroying them. For a race that boasted immortality, the weight of ages had left their glorious empire in shambles. Not all had survived, far fewer than was hoped for, and of those that did they were mere shadows of their former glory. Yet even this was enough to begin with, and the rising kingdoms and dynasties had begun to stir once more. To set their long sleeping eyes upon the planets and stars that once were theirs...

*** *** ***

Twenty three years. It had seemed so insignificant a time frame. After sleeping for eons a few measly decades should not have been such an issue. But so much had been forgotten. Most important of all the impetuousness of the short lived mortal races. To them, two decades was a considerable amount of time, and they had turned all their efforts towards fulfilling their goal as quickly as possible. Mithrahc had set his goals to the long term, leaving much of his army to continue sleeping while he consolidated his new position, his new standing among his peers. In his and his court's ignorance, they had attracted the ire of a race known as humanity, and vastly underestimated their ability.

The humans had attacked in numbers that Mithrahc could not match, with weapons that, although crude, were undeniably effective. The sleeping masses were hastily awoken and deployed, being fed into a battlefield that reeked of death and destruction. While one side was out for no less than the total destruction of the other, the besieged would settle for mere survival and let vengeance come later.

It was humiliating for such a once glorious Dynasty to be taken unaware, and worse yet was the fact that the humans were seemingly winning. While downed necrons could be repaired, it took time and each Ghost Ark that was lost slowed the process further. The humans on the other hand seemed to have an endless amount of reinforcements, and every ship shot down was apparently readily replaceable. All had seemed lost...

And then they had arrived. Appearing like divine saviours from above, the armada of Anrakyr the Traveller had exited the system's hidden Dolmen Gate and set upon the human fleet with unrestrained rage. Contact had been established immediately and a sizeable ground force had been teleported down, linking up with Mithrahc's own forces and joining the fight.

The tables were beginning to take a very sudden turn in the necrons' favour...

All: You have been fighting for close to thirteen hours straight, the humans' endless reinforcements from orbit seemingly a strong counterbalance to the sheer resilience of you and your legion of minions. About an hour ago, forces led by Anrakyr the traveler had begun teleporting to the surface and landing via Night Scythe and Monolith. Only after this had any of you been able to predict an end to the fighting. Lights in the sky mark the battle in space and inbound status feeds via the tomb matrix seem to indicate that the unexpected arrival of the Traveler had caught the humans off guard. The battle will belong to the necrons, all that remains is for you to survive to see it.

Re'kyt+Amos: The two of you are better suited to a grueling close quarter battle, and as such you have fared better than your comrades. The trail of dead and dying left by you and hordes of lesser flayers is still growing, and the presence of Seprin since the last half hour has made things even easier for you. His psychotropic manipulations have enhanced the humans already great fear of you and your fellows, meaning that you now have little more to do than chase down your fleeing prey and end them... There are close to seventy humans steadily retreating or outright fleeing on the far western flank of the battlefield. You have perhaps half that number of flayers, as well as Seprin and the trio of canoptek spyders he has as his personal protection. There is no contest here, finish them.

Themis: You arrived mere hours before the attack began, and there was little time to explain your purpose. You took it upon yourself to stay as close as possible to Mithrahc for the duration of the battle and do your utmost to ensure his survival. At first it had been relatively easy, he flew above the battlefield atop his command barge flanked by annihilation barges and attacked from the air. After some time however it had been shot down, forcing him to continue on foot along the eastern flank. Now you are by his side along with Alkvar and a trio of other lychguard. You are besieged by a group of humans different to the majority; they wear enclosed suits of armour and carry much more powerful weapons than their fellows. In your travels you have encountered these before, they are Sisters of Battle and their determination could prove a danger even if their lack of true military finesse does not. Lead by example,and show the lychguard how to exploit the sisters' fanaticism to your advantage. For this update, You may issue commands to Mithrahc, Alkvar and the lychguard as well as your own actions, however their responses and actions will not be decided until the next update.

Thermopylae: You are at the forefront alongside Nemreth and Mahariae. While you lead a unit of immortals as they fire and counter-attack in response to the waning human assault, Nemreth is directing the fire of a squadron of deathmarks as they weave in and out of reality to strike at vulnerable points with rifle and blade. You realize this is a dangerous tactic especially with the presence of a Triarch Praetorian somewhere, but as Nemreth is the appointed Nemesor you have no authority to question him at this time. By chance you spot the banner and thus the presence of the human leader, he is flanked by a unit of well equipped soldiers, but surely they are nothing you cannot handle? While Nemreth is preoccupied elsewhere, this is your chance to play a deciding role and slay the enemy commander yourself. The Command Squad is equipped with two melta guns and a flamethrower. The commander himself carries a power fist and a bolt pistol. It is unlikely that you or your six immortals will come through this unscathed. Even so it is worth the risk. Kill him.

Mahariae: You were with Nemreth and Thermopylae for most of the battle, however as the end is in sight both of them have surged on ahead. Squads of necron warriors and immortals continue to advance steadily past you as you observe the current situation. The battle has been taxing for you and it is no surprise to yourself or those you fought beside that your participation has been limited. A swarm of canoptek scarabs surrounding you and your nearby units of warriors is perhaps the greatest contribution you have brought, as their insidious nature and sheer numbers have lent great weight to your survival so far. As your addled mind begins to process that victory is becoming a strong probability, you notice the advance of a human landing craft attempting to set down behind the human leader that Thermopylae has targeted. You realize immediately that whether this craft brings reinforcements or is intended for an evacuation, it is a threat to the victory of your forces. You have scarabs and lightning at your command and your fellow court members are preoccupied. Bring the ugly ship down and render it to subatomic dust.

Keeper: Your abilities have allowed you to traverse the battlefield with ease and avoid the worst of battle damage. Even so it was apparent to you from the beginning that this was a losing battle. You could hardly have blamed Nemreth for reducing himself to the use of deathmarks, but surely now with the arrival of the great Anrakyr they are no longer needed? In any case, your concerns lie elsewhere as a squad of obviously veteran soldiers has somehow broken through the lines of necrons and is targeting the central monolith of the rearguard phalanx. The war machine, powerful though it is has not the firepower to spare to take out the entire squad and you are in the best position to lend aid. As the monolith continues to power the defense matrix, you must intercept this veteran squad before they can bring their meltabombs to bear. Though you are physically superior to them, keep in mind that they are experienced soldiers and have not survived to be so without being uncannily resourceful. Three of them will attempt to hold you at bay allowing the other five to slip past and place their charges. You must outwit them as well as outfight them to see that they do not succeed.

Nonsense is our Salvation

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post #2 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-16-13, 05:30 AM
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(This is amazing Serpion. I love how you have tailored each encounter to the character's skills instead of a random set of objectives. Onward!)

Decades in life. How many? Who knew now. Many more years after life, and during what came after.

That's how long Thermopylae had been fighting, killing, defending. The War in Heaven, the Great Rebellion, none of it came close to this. Never had she been caught so flat-footed.

High-rank channels were filled with data packets indicating the aid they were receiving was from Anrakyr the Traveler. She had heard the name Anrakyr. Packets also indicated that enemy command elements had taken the field as well.

Her job was not a glorious one, but a necessary one. Safeguard the firing lines and make sure nothing broke through, and issue commands. As important as the job was, it was somewhat unfulfilling; She longed to join the fight herself. She had yet to see a human even attempt a close-quarters confrontation, content to play a war of attrition from range. She continued guiding her Immortals, but their numbers were decreasing.

Where exactly WAS this Anrakyr?

A fluttering movement caught her attention, something distinctly out of place. She magnified, and discovered what appeared to be a command banner. Beneath it, she could clearly discern a highly decorated human surrounded by heavily armed guards. So the reports were accurate, she thought to herself.

Her orders were to guard the firing line, but the firing line was so thin it was almost broken anyway and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She pondered on an old saying; "Bravery makes both heroes and fools". The advancing tides of fleshy humans would slowly wear them down before proper aid could get to them, but she had this one chance to potentially disrupt or even break the enemy. To do so would technically break her orders, but if her bravery did in fact make a fool of her, she would likely not survive to see the repercussions anyway.

Besides, it was act, or wait to be shot once the firing line fell apart.

Nemreth and Mahariae could hold this section of the line. It was time to ply the skill that had earned her fame and position in the first place: Killing. With an electronic battlecry, she flung herself over the hastily erected fortifications. Her six Immortals charged behind her, their colossal crunching footsteps thudding to the ground, their long strides audible even over the din of battle. Standing between her and the commander was the firing line that had been whittling them away for hours; Now it was her turn.

Several humans panicked, and with a cry of terror, attempted to flee at the approach of the colossal metal warriors. They were shot in the back by the advancing Immortals, and Thermopylae had just enough time to register the fear and shock on the rest of their faces as she dove into them. Her blades flashed to life.

They were quick, but not quick enough; They attempted to scatter, but Thermopylae became a whirling storm of blades. She brought her fist down, impaling one human and pinning him to the ground, and pulled him back up. She grasped him by the foot with her other arm and flung him into his comrades. She whipped around and eviscerated another, who was fumbling with his weapon to get it pointed at her, and at this point the Immortals thudded into the trench with her. One landed on a terrified guardsman and crushed him instantly, and the slow, heavy arcs of their bayonets finished off the stragglers. They were slow and clumsy, but they got the job done.

She had done an excellent job of attracting attention; She spied the Commander's position, with many humans rushing to the location, suddenly sensing their vulnerability. If she was to act, it would be now, before they could set up a proper defense.

She rushed forward again, her immortals plodding along behind her, and despite the humans' appropriate reaction, it was not in time to form a defensive line and extract their commander. She spied a craft coming down behind them; She suspected it contained more reinforcements, or perhaps an extraction for their now-endangered commander. She did not have time to ponder on it long however, as she suddenly felt a searing heat and saw a blinding flash.

She dove to one side, and found the most remarkable thing about the entire thing is that she had not heard the shot. She looked behind, to see one Immortal almost completely melted, headless with half its torso a molten mess. Its sparking form collapsed forwards and the edges of its molten wounds twitched as it attempted to repair itself.

She looked back towards the defenders; One of them had an enormous rifle leveled at them, its barrel glowing brilliant orange and heat discharging. He pulled back to let his weapon recharge, but another replaced him, and attempted once more to shoot her.

She rolled to one side, and felt the ground next to her explode from the heat. Molten chunks of rock rained down on her; His rifle also spent, the human pulled back to let it recharge. She knew any normal Necron would have been completely unable to dodge and destroyed instantly, and reminded herself to thank Mithrahc once more if they survived for allowing her such a large allowance for customization.

She knew they only had two of those weapons, but was unsure what the other two did. Deciding they would likely spend their heaviest ordnance to stop her, she leapt forward and was instantly blinded.

She and her Immortals were engulfed in flame, gouts of raging fire being spewed forth from the weapon of the other guard. Fire was of little threat unless she was forced to remain in it. Though she could not see it, two of the immortals that remained were scrambled, their still-recovering holes from weapons fire being openings into sensitive equipment that the roiling flames made short work of.

There were only two options; Advance, or retreat. She had come too far and sacrificed too many soldiers to fall back now; Through the wall of flame was the only option. She charged forwards, simply moving in the direction that felt uphill.

The two humans with the powerful heat rifles were ready to fire once more. She could hear the commander barking orders to them, and the gouts of flame stopped. They had their weapons readied, but it was too late. The flames stopped, and four burning Necrons were now mere meters from their commander.

Thermopylae registered some minor damage; Certain parts were not meant to withstand such intense heat. Her phylactery would handle the damage; Her reinforced frame was satisfactorily resistant to their flame weapon.

Her immortals had not been so lucky. Of the three that survived, one was twitching erratically. They hurled themselves at the humans, and they fired their heat rifles in panic, both shots missing completely. They dropped their weapons and pulled metal knives from their jackets. Thermopylae briefly pondered how small they looked.

The Immortals threw themselves into the fray, the veteran human warriors quickly doding the heavy swings of the cumbersome Necron Immortals, but unable to inflict any real damage. One leapt onto an Immortal's back and was attempting to wedge his knife between its head and its neck; The Immortal shook itself back and forth, attempting to throw its attacker off.

Thermopylae concerned herself with the Commander. She could not discern his entire armament, but he appeared to only be armed with a pistol. Did these humans not even outfit their leaders with proper weaponry? She leapt towards him, and he reared back to punch her. Why would he opt for unarmed combat whilst holding a weapon?

The powerfist connected squarely in Thermopylae's chest, and she was flung backwards. Flashing lights and flickering panels filled Thermopylae's vision. What had just happened? She registered massive impact damage to her frontal armor; Did he possess some kind of inertial perpetuator that strengthened his attacks?

She quickly rolled to her feet, and the commander opened fire. The projectiles slammed into her with little effect, the small explosions not able to penetrate her thickened hull, and she advanced upon him. He reared back to swing once more, but she was prepared. She spun to one side, and the blow went straight past her. The commander stumbled forwards with the weight of the blow, and Thermopylae saw her opening. She brought her elbow down on his back and heard a sickening snap. The commander fell forward, his now inert legs unable to hold him.

He rolled onto his back, agony etched into his face, along with something else... Determination? Thermopylae had to give him credit; His will did not break, even when faced with impending death. If only will could save his life.

With a metallic roar, she brought her fist straight down into his chest. The blade sank into his rib cage, and he gasped. He sputtered, coughing droplets of blood, and brought his pistol up with one trembling arm. She watched as the life drained from his eyes, and the arm fell limply to the ground, the weapon clattering uselessly against the rocks.

Her immortals were finishing off the remaining bodyguards. Though they had admittedly impressive weapons, they were frail. She clutched her broken chestplate; She might have won, but the damage to her armor was severe. However, bravery had not made her a fool today; She stood scorched, dented, and pockmarked with the impacts of small arms fire, but she stood nonetheless. She rolled the commander onto his stomach, grabbed the back of his collar, and hoisted the lifeless corpse into the air for all to see. It was both a trophy, and a warning.

(Wanted to make a good first post. I promise they won't all be mini-novels Also, I have never been part of Serpion's roleplays before, so I have no idea what kind of ship he runs. If anything I have posted is forbidden I will gladly edit.)

Last edited by Iron Angel; 06-16-13 at 05:35 AM.
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post #3 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-16-13, 01:00 PM
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It was apparent the defense of the world was a hasty one at best. Under the conditions, Mithrahc had done a remarkable job of staving off the hordes of Imperial Forces. The Tomb World was facing one, or more, Regiments of the Imperial Guard, obviously one of some merit as it had warranted the use of the fanatical Sisters of Battle. The Guard were merely men in flimsy, primitive pieces of armour with weapons that were of no real value or worth particularly caring about. However, as many of the Necrons had found out, if enough are brought to bare on a single target, it can be somewhat devastating. But, they were still merely humans and abject to terror, fear and weak tendencies. Despite this, they could still be called honourable.

The Imperium's Holy Order, the Eccleshiarchy, he had observed, had order of these Sisters of Battle. They were different foes all together. Armed and armoured like that of the Space Marines, yet only possessing a human body and a somewhat tempered mind, they were easily the most pressing threat upon the battlefield. Their powered armour could withstand impacts that would rend men apart, and weapons that spat explosive rounds.

Some said their greatest strength was their conviction, yet Khemis believed it was their most exploitable weakness. When in battle, they became crazed, lacking finesse and merely going for a direct kill. They were strong, stronger than men, but they had a weakness that the Praetorian was keen to show to his brethren.

"Phaeron, " He started, still referring to Mithrahc by his rank, a sign of somewhat respect. " these warriors are zealous in ways you have not seen before. Fury guides their hand. Do not attempt to strike first, but merely strike when they are off balance." The Necron explained over the communication link.

As if in some theatrical performance, a female warrior burst from a knot of the Sisters, wielding a glowing, golden sword and a bolt pistol in the other hand.

She did not even bother to use her pistol, but simply let out a cry and slashed her sword in a diagonal strike, aiming to slice Khemis from shoulder to hip. He had seen the attack coming and merely moved to the side. She was reasonably surprised, the micro-expressions on her face hadn't expected him to dodge her. Unlike many of his other brethren, the time spent awake had not been for naught, and he had learned how to effectively use his form, as slow as it may be. The woman's momentum was not easily stopped, and she drew up not a foot away from his chest plate, leaning backwards to drag her sword through his side. The blow never connected.

His Rod of the Covenant simply decapitated her. The headless form fell to the floor, motionless. "Amendment. Terminate the chest or the head. These warriors will fight through horrendous wounds." He added, before watching a firing line of Sisters arrange several meters away from the group of six.

"Shields wall advance formation!" He ordered, taking cover behind the Guard's dispersion shields. They would either absorb or reflect the bolt rounds of the Sisters of Battle. The plan was for Mithrahc and Khemis to take cover behind the Lychguard's shields and advance, before either breaking open to charge into their midst, or what was more likely was that the Imperials would just charge them when they were close enough regardless.

Several bolts spanked from his pitch black armour, causing minimal surface damage. Even the shield wall could not cover him and the Phaeron completely. As if to exemplify this point, a searing bolt of blue energy crashed into the Praetorian's shoulder, spinning him around in a ferocious arc.

Immediately checking his internal systems, he found none had been critically damaged, yet his left arm was blackened and nearly hanging off. Redirecting several systems within, the regenerative process begun. It merely took a dozen seconds, and the arm was back, yet he was having trouble regaining full motor control in it.

The wound would not slow him down, not even barely. Already he could feel the arcane wiring reconnecting together and sparking slightly, bringing back the use of the limb. Rejoining the Lychguard, he fired two searing green bolts from his Rod, each carving through a Sister with simply astounding simplicity. Even the strongest armour could not hold out against the ancient technologies within his small staff. It had slain many a foe, from Space Marine Terminators, Ork mammoth creatures, Eldar Witches and even other Necrons. Some did not wake up so well from their slumbers.

[Any problems, please do tell, hope it was all right.]

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post #4 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-16-13, 01:05 PM
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OOC: Re'kyt, you may want to read this before posting, seeing as we're in this together ;)

The humans had been dying in droves, satisfying Amos' lust for blood. The humans had been hosing them in organized fire until Amos, Re'kyt, another flayed champion, and the host of flayed ones had charged their lines with fury, enacting a murderous carnage. Faces painted with an expression of anguish and fear, they fought on at the command of their officer in a large coat before being decapitated by Amos' warscythe. The majority of them tried to flee, but still some fought on with bayonet and stray laser.

This was after Anarkyr's forces had arrived, though Amos took no notice. He was too consumed by the promise of new blood and merciless slaughter that he failed to see a new champion of the Necrons arrive. The humans before Amos trembled with even greater fear than before, some even dropping to the ground dead with nothing but a glance at him. Amos had already been fighting for nearly thirteen hours, but time did not affect him when he was set on battle and adrenaline is non-existant in a Necron construct.

Amos dashed between targets using his phase shifter, slicing and stabbing humans as he went. His great warscythe cut through flesh with little effort. Lasguns had targetted him, but he was too quick, teleporting out of the way or even dropping to all fours before pouncing on the threat and tearing him apart with claws and teeth. He slaughtered haplessly, though all in the name of the dynasty. With a great roar of devotion, he set upon his next victim, warscythe spinning in his hand.

Swiping the warscythe in large arcs, he cut down the last of the brave humans, alongside with the force of flayed ones. The survivors tried to run, but he got down on all fours and chased after them, urging the lesser flayed ones to follow. Coming upon them like a storm, he leapt onto the closest of them before taking its head off with a clawed hand. Warscythe ready, he teleported into position and swung at the fleeing humans, cutting them down like wheat before a combine. Pot shots were taken, but the humans' weapons would not cause significant harm to the Necrons. Their fear was so great and the number of the flayed set upon them was so, that he knew this would be an easy victory. It was only a matter of time now.

If someone lacks intelligence, than he is not stupid, because one cannot be stupid without intelligence.

If someone reverts to having to complain about your grammar, then you already won.

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post #5 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-18-13, 12:38 PM
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Cut. Blood flowed, red, bright. Claws scrabbled at the falling body, slicing through the skin. It -needed- the skin, needed the flesh, so warm..,Pause. Lucidity returned.

Rek'yt raised his head from the gory ruins of yet another human, so many. Endless swarms, droves that died. Weak things, but...he looked at his hands, his claws, one of them a heavily altered Gauntlet of Fire, its fingers articulated claws. Tarnished, scratched and gore soaked.

He let out a metallic snarl and threw himself back into the fray, rearing up with a squirming human impaled upon the Gauntlet, with nary an effort, he -flexed- it. Gore rained down upon him, entrails looping about Re'kyt's neck, he darted forward again, small impacts rattling off his dented carapace.

Fighting for so long was bound to leave marks, even on his tough carapace. he halts, hunkering his spindly frame behind some wreckage. Wait..wait.
A short lull, caused by his brief tempest of slaughter, an eye in the storm of gunfire and blood. Time. Not much of it, but enough to...think.

How long had it been? Hours, came the answer, hours of intense and constant battle against a seemingly endless foe.So many wearing flesh...
A sudden shift in the air molecules brought him hunching forward, head jerking too and fro as if scenting the stale breeze.
Heartbeats, pounding like drums, the humans were fleeing. Predatory behavior overthrew his brief repose and he flung himself over the wreckage of corpses and twisted metal. No more thoughts, hunt, kill, then move on. Repeat.

Loping run covered what ground Re'kyt had lost during his pause, he automatically noted the presence of another Flayer Lord, memorising its position. Competetion for the prey? Unacceptable. These were Re'kyts.

He pushed through a pack of lesser Flayed Ones, the 'leader' of the group turning to snarl at him, he did not slow, did not pause. A casual backhand of his Gauntlet tore into its arm, sending it sprawling as he passed. A few short bounds saw his right behind

the fleeing humans, one must have sensed his shadow; for it turned, bringing up its pathetic gun in a pitiful attempt to halt the talon scything towards it.

Flesh tore, bone cracked and Re'kyt hurled himself into the fray, always moving, always dealing a crippling or mortal blow. Most of the wounded would slowly bleed out, allowing for, if time permitted, for Re'kyt to return to them at his leisure. A cruel machine, why should they have such life, such bright sparks, taunting, always within reach. He slew, trying to sate the burning desire within his metal shell.

Then, suddenly. Nothing. Re'kyt lets the last human drop to the ground, death rattling in its throat. He turns, searching, on this side of the battle...Nothing. A few fading sparks, one of which was close to him, he prowls closer, joints clicking as he contorts almost double.
Metallic noises, soothing, issue from his throat as he hunches over the human. Footsteps dist rub him, head jerking up as he bristles and lets out a threatening hiss. The Flayed Ones that had been approaching back off, recognizing their superior. Re'kyt watches them balefully for a moment before turning to look at the dying human.

Claws stroked its face almost tenderly as Re'kyt gently gathered it up into his arms, robes, fresh and bloody, falling about them. He could not recall skinning the bodies for them nor donning them. That was not what concerned him right now, his attention entirely held by the fragile creature in his sharp embrace.

Slowly, its life leeched from it, the Lord Flayer's eyes never leaving its until the last light was gone. This is how he remained, a frozen ghoul, hunched over its prey, waiting.

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post #6 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-23-13, 03:33 PM
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Mahariae lumbered slowly behind the others. He intended to follow them and keep the momentum going but it no matter how he went about it Mahariae was never going to be able to keep up with an all out charge. This was an uncomforting thought to Mahariae but he was comforted by his scarabs swarming around them. This was when Mahariae realised how taxing the battle had been. It had been a shock to discover his bodies new state. Even walking took a lot more out of him than was acceptable to him.

Necrons streamed past him to join the final assault Mahariae sighed and sent some scarabs to assist. Even if Mahariae could be there physically he would not let the others have all the glory. So Mahariae set about the slow arduous task of slowly clanking his way over to the battle although he would not arrive until the battle was over. Mahariae let his mind go blank so that his body could make some repairs to his brain.

Just as he shut down he was woken back up by the wailing of danger sensors. A human landing craft was en route to the battle lines. Mahariae calculated its exact trajectory would land it near Thermopylae. The Cryptek did not doubt that Thermoplyae could handle it but Mahariae saw an opportunity to take some kills for himself.

The ship was going to pass right over Mahariae’s head meaning the Cryptek would be in range to target it with his lightning. Mahariae braced himself and begun charging his voltaic staff. He calculated that 256 cycles had to be completed before the bolt would be strong enough to pierce through the ships hull. The charge completed just in time for the Cryptek to unleash a fizzling bolt of green energy through the cockpit killing everything in there in seconds. The craft shook under the impact veering it into a downward spiral.

The front half of the craft plunged directly into the ground, most if not all of the humans on board would have perished from that impact. Mahariae smiled at the carnage, feeling the power he wielded made him erupt into laughter as he sent his scarabs to swarm over the wreck to snuff the life from any who survived. The lacerating claws of the innumerable scarab swarm would give the humans a very pain filled death indeed.

Mahariae made it over to survey the wrecked craft after a while. The scarabs had left many small holes in the hull. Mahariae looked through one with his good eye. He saw mostly scattered entrails and nothing but death in there. Mahariae wrenched the a loose piece of hull away to allow access. Mahariae ducked in to the ship just as he heard a weak cough from his left. Mahariae looked around to see a guardsman lying without the majority of his limbs and torso. He was seconds away from death. It gave Mahariae pleasure to know that those last moments would be filled with fear from seeing the green glow of the Cryptek’s claws descending towards him.

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post #7 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-24-13, 02:27 AM
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Keeper watched the battle unfold around him. Las beam and gauss danced too a fro, a chorus of energy as each crackled through the air, exciting the atmospheric atoms and molecules through which they passed.

In the distance he could see for short instances, green halos appear and dissappear; the short lived death marks contributing to the symphony of chaotic light and energy flashing across the battlefield.

Pulling his staff out of the chest of a fallen ogryn, his wraith circled upwards around him like a serpent. Surely with the arrival of Anrakyr, the deathmarks were no longer required, not only that, this race of humans was proving to be a worthy foe. Though such things were not his concern. They were for the debate of politicians.

An explosion then erupted from the lines not to far from his location. The humans had been pushing very hard at the nearby line for the last hour. Looking over, a tank \\Leman Russ\\Mars Pattern\\ was rolling over several necron warriors, crushing them beneath its treads and flanked by 8 human warriors.

He wondered if there was a plan in action.

The tank that had broken the line suddenly brightened in color with an icon appearing next to it in The Keeper's vision. The Monolith, a fair distance behind him and to the right, had designated and was preparing to fire on the tank.

The first gauss round crackled through the air, stripping away part of the right track and a considerable amount of the right side of the tank. The 8 infantry around it dodged outward in reaction as the tank, with the left tread still running and the right side almost completly gone, suddenly veered to the side, the momentum forcing it to tilt and almost topple before coming to a stop.

The turret \\Mars Pattern\\Battle Cannon\\120mm Smoothbore, then began to turn, facing the direction the tank was heading, and firing into a group of warriors and an immortal that were moving to cut it off with a thundering blast.

As the rear guard warriors and immortal were blown backwards, a second gauss shot from the monolith arced across the turret; stripping away the front armor and firing mechanism, causing the barrel of the tank's cannon to fall to the ground.

As the damaged immortal began to stand back up, the 8 guardsman moved quickly around the now decimated tank. They moved with the precision of veterans, splitting apart in unison as the first fired a grenade launcher, hitting the immortal square in the chest.

Immediately two others opened up with plasma gun and bolter as a third maintained a steady stream of flamer fire, keeping the immortal from responding appropriately.

With the whole group still moving forward, the remaining three concentrated las gun fire as a second grenade hit the immortal in the chest, finally knocking it off balance. As the behometh fell, they maintained fire as they ran past, not wasting time to insure its death.

These beings had an objective in mind, and looking behind him to the right, the monolith had switched to firing into the hole the tank had punched in the necron line.

These humans definately had a plan. They even accounted for the monolith prioritizing the hole in the defenses over a single group of them charging in.

As they ran almost his direction, though more towards the monolith, each had a slight gate to their run. Zooming in, a large cylinder object was strapped to their backs and waists. \\Melta Bomb\\Unknown Pattern\\(Threat). Well that would do it.

Their objective was the monolith, clever little humans. Sending the Wraith to standby a distance away, and activating his chronometron, the keeper phased out of normal space time. From his perspective, he was shrouded by a rapid swirling dark grey cloud of smoke, able to see through it to normal space time, but to rest of the universe, he was microseconds out of phase, and no longer existed.

The Keeper walked in the direction of the 8 guardsman unknowingly running towards him, his robe flowing over his dark metal frame like a vampire clouded in darkness.

The Keeper tapped his staff on the ground, instantly appearing before the group of 8. At first they did not see him, their brains unable to acknowledge the sudden appearance of an object from outside normal space time. A delay not uncommon amongst most organic species due to their slower reaction time.

At only thirty meters, they all stopped, finally noticing the large cloaked figure before them; The Keeper's dark metal skeleton shimmering green and red from distant gauss and las gun fire.

Then The Keeper's eyes flared to life; twin emerald fires glaring at them from beneath his hood.

The Keeper registered a slight temperature change and sudden increase in pulse synonymous with the reaction of fear in most organic species.


He would have preferred to have just surprised them and phased in amidst the group, but such an act in this situation might have been against the rules of engagement, too close to the tactics of no warning the death marks used. Though it was probably also tactically in -advisable, as they still maintained their distance apart from each other. To phase into mellee range of one, left him open to ranged attack from the rest.

In the split second that had passed, they all opened fire as expected, but the Keeper's ability to activate his Chronometron was faster, seemingly disappearing as they fired.

After he disappeared, one of them barked out orders "Dammit! Wilkins, Hicks, Vanar, take care of that freakin thing, everyone else on me!"

Immediately, five of them took off towards the monolith. Keeper knew there wasn't much time, but time was relative.

Approaching them while phased, the three remaining guardsman formed a triangle, but maintained at least a seven foot distance from each other. Keeper was amused, the humans knew how frail they were in comparison to their enemy, and a foe who recognizes their own weaknesses is worthy indeed...

While out of phase he could have went after the five, but again the rules of engagement applied, though it was probably more the Keeper's desire to be thorough. Loose ends could be dangerous after all.

Now standing next to the guardsman with the grenade launcher while out of phase, he watched him through the dark grey fog swirling around him.

The three guardsmen were looking around quickly, obviously waiting for the menacing necron to appear. The Keeper waited himself, analyzing the patterns to their glances, waiting for the righ- there!

As the other two looked away at the right moment, The Keeper materialized, shoving his Aeon Stave through the guardsman's throat, the silent kill giving him a precious second and half to focus his sonic emitter in his right hand towards the one with the bolter, exciting the molecules of the softer metals and electronics within it as he approached him.

The guardsman with the bolter turned in time to aim and pull the trigger, but the excited soft metals in the bolter had expanded from the heat, and the electronics were in disaaray, rendering the bolter temporarily useless.

As the third guardsman with the las gun opened fire on The Keeper; the keeper reached out his right hand in a scooping motion; grabbing the human with the bolter's face while lifting him up and re-activating his chronometron. The human dropped the bolter as he struggled against The Keeper holding him up by the head, causing the bolster to return to normal space time.

Grabbing The Keeper's forearm while trying to reach for his knife, the human started to bleed through his skin. The exotic particles and radiation that kept them out of phase eating away at his organic tissue. He had to admire this human, even with such great pain he struggled.

However, unlike some of his brethren, he didn't believe in torturing mortal beings. As if in mercy, as the man finally reached his knife and swung, The Keeper flicked his right wrist joint, rending the man limp as his blade fell from his hand and reappeared before the other guardsman.

From the veil of space time around him, The Keeper heard the last guardsman of the three scream at him response, anger and fear heavy in his voice, "Come at me you son of a $%@!, by the Emperor you will die this day!"

The Keeper tossed the body of the now dead bolter wielding human to the side; his body reappearing in thin air in front the one with the lasgun that was still alive.

"COME ON! Come at-" The humans words were cut short as The Keeper phased back to reality, his Aeon Stave appearing in the last of the three human's chest.

With a cough of blood the human then spoke with a wheeze, "check mate-"

It was then that The Keeper realized the human was holding one of the melta bombs...


The Keeper flew backwards from the outer percussive blast from the heat displacement of the melta bomb, having activated the chrono charge in time to contain most of the actual detonation.

Getting up, his sensor systems picked up a constant breeze emenating from the brightly glowing suspended blast. The massive amount of energy from a nearly instantaneous explosion was now being stretched out to over a minute.

Beautiful. The Keeper thought. That's how one would have described it.

Looking over, the humans had made some headway, but they had been fighting for hours, their "run" was barely above that of a brisk walk, and he was a machine, a tireless eternal machine.

Staring at the group, The Keeper noticed the pattern of armor of the one that had issued commands earlier.

\\Designate Target\\Sub Unit: Wraith\\Ghost Protocol

With that, he began running towards them. Without the heavy armor most Necrons employed and the larger size of his stride compared to the humans, he should catchup to them shortly. Additionaly his wraith would attack who he had deduced as their senior, slowing them down further.

Normally he would use his chronometron to step out phase with space and time, but he had used it several times already, and though using it to simply step of phase by a few milliseconds meant he could abuse it, to use it to completely step out of phase and move faster than the relative time meant a greater charge to trigger.

While chronometron would charge in time, he was a cryptek, contingency amongst contingency.

As the five guardsmen ran, they were haggard, but their objective was critical and there was not far to go now.

Suddenly their senior officer in front of them stopped, twitching in place as he dropped his plasma weapon. "Sir!?" one of them asked quizzically.

There was a metal clicking noise as something crawled up over his shoulder. Instinctively the remaining four raised their weapons as the head of the smaller canoptek looking wraith crawled over him, its finite blade like claws sinking into the flesh of their past senior officer as it did.

The remaining four opened fire with las gun and flamer as the wraith darted off, phasing out as it did.

"Anniston stay here and-" The Keeper phased in, swinging his Aeon stave next to the guardsmen that was speeking while triggering his chrono-charge.

Though it happened so fast the others didn't realize, that for an instant of a second, the man was trapped in a bubble of decelerated time. When the aeon stave hit him, to anyone else it was moving fast, but relatively to the one trapped in the bubble where seconds were taking minutes, the aeon stave was moving hundreds of times faster.

The Keeper dropped the bubble nanoseconds after impact, blowing the man apart from the pure relative force, while his Aeon stave created a minuture sonic boom that was released as the time field dropped.

The boom knocked one of the guardsman back as The Keeper then walked towards the human with the flamer, stepping on and crushing the chest of the human on the ground.

After a brief moment of shock, the human with the flamer opened fire, but it was too little too late. As The Keeper walked, appearing through the flames, the human screamed, "Die!!!Die!!!, Diieeee!!!!!!!"

The Keeper then leaned in, still on fire, his systems heating up, but within tolerance, speaking in a deep menacing metallic voice, "You first..." With that he slammed his right palm upwards into the humans chin, snapping his neck as the impact through him backwards several feet.

The humans had made a mistake without realizing it, they had bunched up when their senior officer was killed.

A few las gun beams suddenly shot by The Keeper. Turning, he saw the remaining guardsman firing at him, his face blank as he continued to pull the trigger, his mind obviously broken.

As The Keeper approached with his cloak still burning in spots from the napalm like substance of the flamer, the orange light kissed at his shimmering metallic skeleton, giving him an unholy look as his eyes burned emerald green from beneath the hood of the cloak.

"Ga-ga-ga-" The man fell backwards, his firing stopped, and as the keeper approached, he heard a communications from the human's helmet.

"Anniston, Anniston, come in, what happened?"

The Keeper then raised his right palm, utilizing his sonic emitter to send a message to them before slamming the end of his Aeon stave down on the broken warrior's head.

- ------------
The vox operator tapped his Mic, "Anniston, Anniston, come in, what happened?"

Suddenly there was a high pitched screech and the operators screen flashed, and it read only one thing in response to his question.


Last edited by Roy-o-Roma; 06-24-13 at 09:03 PM.
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post #8 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-30-13, 04:23 AM Thread Starter
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*** *** ***

As more and more humans fell to the ever increasing pressure exerted by the necron army, the flesh things seemed to emit first fear followed soon after by a fierce determination borne of desperation. But even this small hope, this fleeting elan would be crushed within minutes, as an ominous green glow began to manifest in the sky above. Bathed in the mysterious light that seemed to have no source, the necrons beneath seemed re-energized by the wave. It would not be long now...

*** *** ***

Re'kyt: You stay frozen immobile as the last of the humans on this flank are robbed of their lives. The eerie green glow that washes over the battlefield seems to trigger an overdrive in your inbuilt phylactery, causing all damage you had sustained to fade.

Amos: You were significantly further ahead in the battle lines compared to Re'kyt and the rest of your flayer brethren, stopping only as the last human on this platoon flank falls to your bladed talons. Your warscythe is on the ground some dozen metres behind you, forgotten in the final moments of bloodlust. As your clarity begins to return and you take the first steps towards retrieving it, you become aware of the glow in the sky, the telltale signs of impending reinforcements.

Themis: The lychguard form up as you have commanded, Alkvar taking the spearhead point after one narrow glance directly at you. Though he doesn't speak at this time, the message inherent is clear: I am entrusting my phaeron to you for this moment... As the advance proceeds, several of the lychguard are stalled, causing the rest of the formation to slow so as not to break. The death of the celestian leader seems to have had an impact on the women's bravado, as they are electing to hold ground rather than charge blindly. It seems they are not completely beyond logic after all... One of the lychguard speaks. A few moments more and the formation breaks, those on the flanks dashing forward to envelop the human squad and swiftly and brutally cutting them down. As they reform around you and Mithrahc, you can see that your instructions had been followed expertly with each sister being felled either by a thrust through her thorax or a swift decapitation.

Mithrahc nods approvingly, both at your knowledge and his guards undiminished prowess and loyalty. At this point you will all have noticed the impending reinforcements, heralded by the increasing teleportation field in the sky. There are few war machines requiring a field that large, but whichever one of them it is will surely spell victory for the necrons here...

Thermopylae: The soldiers around you and your immortals have seen the death of their leader, and with the absence of any other officers in this section of the battlefield have begun to flee. The downed ship behind you was another blow to morale, and as you glanced over it was also a reminder to you of the power a cryptek wields, even a frail one like Mahariae...

More prudently however, Nemreth's tactic has changed. There is no further sign of any deathmarks, meaning he has obviously dismissed them from the battle. The reasoning for this is clear; as with less and less humans on the battlefield, the praetorian will not be distracted much longer. Further, the Traveller was a well known adherer to the Codes of Battle and would look sorely upon the use of assassins. The nemesor's gaze crosses yours for a moment as he retreats to take refuge within a squad of necron immortals a short distance from your own. Directing their fire as he had the deathmarks before, he joins you in eliminating the last of the humans in this section.

Mahariae: The landing craft is down and the few survivors dead at your feet. From this vantage point atop the wreckage you can see the last few pockets of human resistance. Explosions in orbit light up the clouds above and the encroaching teleportation of Anrakyr's war machine has dispelled any notion that the day might be lost. The battlefield no longer requires you, as such it might be best to keep yourself secure.

Keeper: No further human forces have been able to penetrate the lines again, and as you watch, the central and outer monoliths of the formation begin to advance. The remaining two, no longer needed, simply phase out, returning to the pocket dimensional hangar beneath the planet's surface. With no further priorities at this time, you follow the remainder in their advance.

*** *** ***

The light above the battlefield began to increase in intensity and slowly took a large pyramidal shape. With a flash reminiscent of a newborn star, the energy took form and the newly arrived Megalith began to descend to the battlefield. Its weapons lit up, directing beams of emerald energy into the last pockets of resistance and bringing a swift end. Less than ten minutes later the combined efforts of the Megalith and Mithrahc's own forces had ended the human threat, and all of the Phaeron's court had traversed the battlefield to stand before the glowing portal in the machine's forward facing.

Two at a time, hunched metal figures began to emerge. Immediately recognized as Immortals, the emergent necrons formed two phalanxes of twenty five each, flanking the arrival of a tall statuesque figure carrying an even taller polearm as he approached where Mithrahc waited directly in front of him. At Mithrahc's side, Alkvar and his fellow lychguard bowed to one knee out of courtesy, but it was plain to see that each of them was in a battle ready alertness even in this position.

Themis, Termopylae, Mahariae, Keeper: The three of you are standing to the left of Mithrahc by about a half a dozen metres. Alongside you are Nemreth and Seprin. As Anrakyr approaches the Phaeron, one of the kneeling lychguards silently turns its head towards you and emits a low hiss. The message is clear, and you can sense Nemreth's anger as he grudgingly steps forward and kneels. Seprin, being less bound by the Codes of the Court, remains standing. It is up to each of you to decide what you'd best do at this point.

Re'kyt, Amos: The two of you are aware of Anrakyr's arrival, but you were forbidden from approaching closer by the intervention of Lirac, her swarming nanoscarab body lashing out if you try to get too close. You cannot taint our image by letting the Traveler see you... She hisses. The surviving necrons of Mithrahc's tomb world have formed an orderly wall, but this is not without gaps. If you really wanted, either or both of you could slip past Lirac easily enough.

Nonsense is our Salvation

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post #9 of 48 (permalink) Old 06-30-13, 05:00 AM
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Foreign dignitaries were, in Thermopylae's opinion, untrustworthy. She trusted those within her House to look after its well being-- And those in other houses to look after their own. While Anrakyr had willingly foregone his status as Phaeron in the name of his star-spanning crusade (Which some would even consider mad), he HAD still come to the aid of their otherwise doomed situation, which warranted a degree of respect.

Her only concern was whether or not Mithrahc would be angered or upset that she would kneel before a foreigner, or whether he would be upset that she refused to show a guest that had likely just saved them all from certain destruction ample respect. She watched Nemreth begrudgingly kneel; Nemreth had only been cowed by the threat of certain destruction before, and he likely felt a debt of gratitude to Anrakyr for preventing it a second time.

Unlike him, however, Thermopylae was not interested in securing her own future; Her personal quest for glory was sated long ago and her interest was the house itself.

She remained standing, but bowed her head slightly to display that she at the very least was grateful for his assistance and was aware of his standing. However, she would have difficulty bending knee to a foreign Phaeron, much less bending knee to a foreigner with no real status. She carefully watched Mithrahc out of the corner of her eye to see his reaction to her decision.

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post #10 of 48 (permalink) Old 07-03-13, 07:37 PM
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Amos complied with the wishes of the being before him and backed off. His bloodlust had gotten the better of him and would not like to be seen this way by his peers. He knew the virus had turned him into a monster and wished no harm upon the pure, so he obediently took a step back and waited.

If someone lacks intelligence, than he is not stupid, because one cannot be stupid without intelligence.

If someone reverts to having to complain about your grammar, then you already won.
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