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post #11 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-26-13, 05:25 AM
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Before the Hammer of Dorn had the chance to give his name, the interaction was interrupted by those moving to prevent violence. A rare sight, noted Conric, seeing Astartes move to prevent violence.

Two taloned, golden claws each gripped the back of a neck of the Hammers standing to his side. The Lion had gotten there first, and the Fist came up second. Conric found his surprising momentary calm fade away at an awful rate.

Each of these warriors chastised the Hammers of Dorn as Conric had expected. The grating of his teeth back and forth like rabid tectonic plates was beginning to ground his jaw numb. It was all he could do to keep his stature still. His mind's voice was yelling at him to remain still, knowing the consequences of any other action. He hadn't gotten the name yet.

His thumb was pulsing over the activation switches of his chainaxe. He still held it in one hand, just above the skull of his former brother in arms. The headstock leaning towards the floor in front of him at the far end of the metallic blue pole that was its length. Memories of its ignition, and of its revving sounds came to him. Its grumbling murmur for death. It went against the code of his very soul to not take immediate vengeance on every soldier in front of him. The Hammers for their insults, the Lion and Fist for making him look like a baby.

He wasn't getting a name.

“This isn’t the last you will hear about such a blatant breach of the Codex.”

He wasn't getting a name and now they were leaving with another insult unaccounted for.

"Solomon Feunand" Hearing a name snapped him back to attention a bit. It wasn't the name he was looking for and so frankly, he didn't care about it. He saw the Celestial Lion's hand raise up in front of him to be shaken. Conric stared at it for a moment and in an attempt to continue keeping up appearances, took it, and tested its strength. He noted the lion's mouth detail over the warrior's vox unit before the Marine turned and walked away.

He stared at the backs of the Hammers of Dorn with a glint in his eyes until the voice of Vladimir Pugh rang out around them. Ordered to the Arena-auditorium, Conric began walking with the others. The stomping of a hundred ceramite boots in an enclosed, ceremonial area made his beat heavy. He felt the Fire Lord's approach, and readied himself to be called out on seeming soft toward the Hammers of Dorn.

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

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post #12 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-26-13, 11:45 PM
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Caderyn watched the situation apprehensively. His eyes were narrowed and distasteful - These Marines, these Hammers of Dorn - Were a bunch of belligerent upstarts. And they were, Caderyn noted with a wolfish smile, picking the wrong bull to bait. Conric was a fierce warrior; capable and cunning, his skill with the axe unmatched, the ferocity of Stygia-Aquilon forever burning in his veins. The Hammers of Dorn didn't look like much - Neither impressive or worthy of note - But, still, Caderyn would not underestimate them. Besides; Conric was outnumbered, surrounded by the Marines, could tremendous skill truly save him from a beating, if the situation deteriorated? Perhaps, perhaps not.

The Fire Lord didn't want to find out. He was oath-bound to the Executioner. Conric and Caderyn were kin; their brotherhood birthed from blood. Their companionship, their friendship, meant more to Caderyn than the geneseed that held their genetic relation. The situation between Conric and the Hammers of Dorn was defused by the claw-bearing Celestial Lion and a gruff, dangerous-looking Imperial Fist. The Hammers of Dorn moved off, their leader spitting something to Conric - Caderyn did not hear, nor did he desire to - And a momentary calm overcame the room.

No blood. Not yet. Soon, soon heads would be taken. Blood spilt. Corpses-made.

A proud, age-weary voice echoed throughout the chambers. Caderyn recognised it immediately - It belonged to a man whose reputation alone was monumental; a great tactician, warrior and diplomat, respected amongst all of Dorn's lineage - Vladimir Pugh. The Chapter Master of the Imperial Fists, Lord of the Phalanx and thus, through extension, senior Chapter Master of Dorn's bloodline. Caderyn stiffened, licked his lips, and listened. It was a summoning; to the arena-auditorium, where Caderyn suspected the Feast of Blades would be held.

The entirety of the Marines, escorted by the golden-bronze Imperial Fists, soon filed out into the hallways. Once again, Caderyn found himself alone, surrounded by strangers. Friend or foe, brother or bastard, he knew not. That was, he remembered, except for the blue-black armoured Conric. He was ahead, bristling, holding in that brutish temper of his. Caderyn nodded, to no-one, and pushed his way through the throng.

'You tremble,' He transmitted, over a private channel, to Conric. 'Like a newborn.'

He placed a hand on his friend's pauldron, pointing a finger at the fiery combat-blade worn at Conric's hip. 'That belongs to me,' His voice was warm, the ghost-smile audible in his words. 'You have grown complacent with age, Conric. Your axe is still unblooded. Have you been playing wet nurse on Stygia-Aquilon?'

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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post #13 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-27-13, 11:07 AM
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And as if on cue, it came, following a click in his earpiece denoting a private channel being opened to his personal designation.

"You tremble... like a newborn."

Unlike his reaction to the insults given by the Hammers of Dorn, Conric chuckled lightly at this one, just before the emblazoned gauntlet of the Fire Lord landed on his shadowed shoulder guard. Caderyn pointed to the gift at his hip, given to him by the Fire Lord upon the completion of the Golan campaign. After months of fighting together they both felt it was the least they could do. The Fire Lord's combat blade, in Conric's opinion, was much more ornate in detail than the the blade he gave in return. The handle made of the finest gold and ruby, and every centimeter of the blade imprinted with flame detail. Such metalwork. The blade was as sharp as his own tongue, he liked to joke.

Caderyn continued his verbal horseplay.

"I could return the blade by shoving it in your neck."

He took a deep breath and looked high up ahead.

"Turns out I don't feel much more than a day older since we parted ways. Probably just the advanced physiology again more than anything else if I had to guess. And, though slaughtering the enemies of mankind may sound a lot like wet nursing, I did do this recently..."

He pointed at the brand new painting on the side of his chainaxe, lifting it up closer so Caderyn could see the scene.

"That's how we decided who would attend this." Conric trailed off very slightly at the end of this sentence, as if, just maybe a bit embarrassed by this fact. The possibility of this embarrassment likely striking him as peculiar and thus, the softening of volume.

He recovered, "All threats aside, I am glad you are here Caderyn." he finally turned his head towards the Fire Lord, his dark eyes piercing.

With his head now turned he finally found himself gazing further up toward the magnificent statues of legendary Imperial Fists, saying further, "At any rate, I was only going to kill the apparent leader of the group. But since the coward didn't give me his name I will just have to kill them all. Maybe I have grown soft, but I will have to excuse the Fist. I know he was doing his duties. The Lion...I still haven't decided."

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

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post #14 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-27-13, 12:01 PM
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Isaiah relaxes his grip on his whip, the Celestial Lion and the commanding Imperial Fist had the situation handled. He wasn't surprised by the situation, not all sons of Dorn maintained the strict adherence to the teachings or Dorn, focusing on but parts of his words, so the idea some will treat the codex with as much respect is not beyond expectation.

For the most part Isaiah believed himself to be pretty diverse in his views compared to other astartes. He despised anyone who thought the Emperor a god, even praying to him was an annoyance, he was a great man, the best of mankind even, but he was not a god.

He appreciated the idea of the Codex Astartes but believed that when it came down to it retreat was not an option if it meant sacrificing himself or his men then so be, such was the way the Excoriators fought, its what saw him face countless foes of mankind with barely any ammunition left, it was exactly that reason for why he now represents his chapter and carries a whip, a weapon many would say deviates from the codex, for him it represented the very teachings of Dorn, and be damned those who seek to lecture him for using it.

Suddenly the Chapter Master of the Imperial Fists enters the chamber, he gives a brief speech and his brothers in the chapel exit to hear what he says. Upon the end Chapter Master's speech and after the cheering had died down, they turn and salute him by kissing their right gauntlets, as is the traditional salute of the Excoriators. He switches to the squad channel;

"Move out, I don't want any further issues, our cousins seem to have enough for everyone to deal with"

Exiting the hall he follows the rest of the assembled astartes down a hall, he suddenly realises he's passing the statue of his chapters founder, Demetrius Katafalque, he raises his right gauntlets kissing it in salute to the man that exemplified everything his chapter stood for, before moving on, finding himself walking close to the Celestial Lion he spotted earlier, as he ordered he doesn't want to get involved in the affairs of his cousins but if they should impose themselves upon him, there's no much he can do...

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post #15 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-29-13, 12:04 AM
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As Inhuatli moved down the corridors of the Phalanx, his eyes both natural and augmetic caught sight of something that brought veneration to his twin hearts. A statue of Alexis Pollux, the first Chapter Master of the Crimson Fists, stood before him in all its magnificent glory. Out of all the depictions he ever saw back in Arx Tyrannus, he could not deny that this possibly outstripped them. Like his fellow Crimson Fists, the veteran made the sign of the Aquila, as best as his power fist would allow.

"Glory to the first who led us to in the Emperor's name, honour be done by those who carry on this legacy." He intoned.

Something manifested in the corner of Inhuatli's prosthetic eye. At first he bashed his unclad hand against it, believing it to be a malfunction, but it it remained. The Veteran Sergeant turned to see another Astartes staring at him; no doubt he was an impressive warrior. Three service studs adorned his forehead and his mouth, no doubt a result of battle damage, was locked in a sneer. Inhuatli recognised him to be a member of the Iron Knights; the Veteran remembered well a campaign the two Chapters spearheaded, bringing a smile to the old Crimson Fist's lips. He broke from his fellow Crimson Fists to converse with Iron Knight.

"Hail and well met cousin, I am Veteran Sergeant Inhuatli Esteban."

He pounded his fist to his chest in salutation.

"Honour to the Iron Knights with whom we brought the Emperor's justice to our traitorous brothers in the Cthonas system. T'was a campaign well executed on the part of your brothers."

When the sky falls down, The Dead sleep no more. Can you survive as your world slowly tears itself apart?

"When life gives you lemons...BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD"
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post #16 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-29-13, 08:18 PM
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"I am Marcus Alexander Helstrom, 1st company and Head of Security for the Feast." Marcus placed his hand on Solomon’s left shoulder guard. *Head of security?* Solomon thought to himself. He wasn’t aware that he had managed to find a man of such importance. If he could bend his ear, Solomon might be on the fast track to getting the Lion’s concerns about the Inquisition and Khattar heard. Marcus leaned in closer to Solomon. "Though to friends, I am simply 'Watcher'." Solomon smiled underneath his helmet.
“Well then Watcher…” Solomon said similarly leaning in and placing his hand on Watcher’s shoulder, mirroring the Imperial Fist’s gesture. “…I hope we can be friends.” In the background of his hearing, Solomon was certain he hear the click and whine of a vox, presumably Watcher’s.
"My apologies Solomon but duty demands I must take my leave, I trust you can find your way back."
“Of course, don’t let me distract you from your duties Watcher. I’m sure we will meet again soon.” Solomon inclined his head and the two went their separate ways, but Solomon felt far more satisfied after meeting Watcher than the mute Executioner.

Solomon had barely made it back into the thronging crowd before the austere voice sounded over the internal-vox. It was a voice which Solomon could rally behind and follow without question. He could guess the voice’s identity, but needed confirmation. "Welcome to the Phalanx my brothers of Dorn's own blood. I am Vladimir Pugh, Chapter Master of the Imperial Fists and Lord of the vessel whose hallowed halls you now stand in. In Dorn's name I welcome you to the Feast of Blades, and request that all in attendance make their way to the arena-auditorium where I shall address you personally." Squads of Imperial Fists appeared from the wood-work and directed squads of Astartes in a menagerie of colours down a single statue lined corridor. Solomon imagined Watcher was in some vantage point, directing them all like pieces on a regicide board.

Solomon walked down the statue-lined corridor, glancing at the immortal faces of the great heroes who watched out from the walls. Sigismund and Alexis Polux were amongst the heroes on these great plinths. The Lion’s flagship had a similar display, but much less impressive this. The thoughts of the deeds of these great men who had proceeded him warmed his heart. As he entered the room, his over-sized golden hands picked up a glass of ceremonial wine from a nearby serf. Whilst the glasses were meant to be sized for Astartes, in the digits of his lightning claws it looked comically small. Solomon lifted his glass awkwardly to his lips, the rich aromatic wine leaving the lightest stain of crimson on his lips.

Solomon was staring into the heavens of this auditorium, admiring the architecture and reading some of the scrolls the trailed from the hands of floating cyber-cherubim when Vladamir Pugh entered the room and all conversations died. "Welcome brothers. It has been many years since we last gathered like this, since the blood of Rogal Dorn stood together in unity and brotherhood. Our duties across the galaxy make this a difficult task, but an easy task is not one worth performing. This sight before me, Astartes of different chapters united by a common blood standing together as one, is why Rogal Dorn first created the Feast of Blades. So that no Son of Dorn, no matter his chapter, would ever forget that he and his chapter are not alone, that there are brothers who may not bear your colours but who share your blood and gene-seed. And so with that in mind, I once again welcome you to the Feast of Blades in the name of Dorn and our shared brotherhood." A thunderous applause erupted in the room. Solomon’s voice was amongst them, and he was unashamed to be making such a ruckus.

Vladamir surveyed the crowd with only the slightest hint of enjoyment. Once the noise had died down the master of the Imperial Fists started to speak again. "Now we shall call the names of those who will compete and earn glory for their chapters, I..." Suddenly the Phalanx shook with great force, as if some violent deity had awoken from its slumber in bowels of the ship. Several serf toppled over and the glasses of ceremonial wine shattered on the floor, staining it a crimson colour. Several squads of Imperial Fists scrambled and started to disperse, presumably trying to find the source of the disturbance. Solomon looked around, noticing that the closest marine to him was a ritually scared Excoriator. Solomon had never understood the purpose of the self-flagellation which the Excoriators indulged in, but a chapter who had been formed from the men who had stood guard against the foulest horrors in humanities darkest days with one mission, to survive, could be expected to continue to mutilate themselves, if only to feel like they were equal to their predecessors. “What the hell do you think that was all about?” Solomon said, standing next to the Excoriator and taking another sip from his wine-glass…

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post #17 of 35 (permalink) Old 10-30-13, 06:53 PM
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'I could return the blade by shoving it in your neck,' Conric shot back. His voice, though monotonous and unfriendly, was a welcome sound. Caderyn's face cracked into a grin, snorted and clapped his brother across the back. The ceramite echoed as Caderyn's gauntlet struck home.

As Conric continued speaking, Caderyn found himself reminiscing of their past. When the Mechanicus of the Golan Reach had decried the Imperium as a corpse-tyranny, it had been the Executioners and Fire Lords who had spearheaded the retaliation. The Golan Reach was a vital area; supplying the forge world of Ryza with priceless minerals and supplies, and so, it was also heavily defended. The campaign had been long, bloody and bitter - Made all the worse by the presence of the treacherous Iron Warriors. They were hard memories, those. Proud, yes, but nonetheless hateful.

Conric's tone softened as he displayed his chain-axe. It was masterfully painted - Betraying Conric's more outward, brutish nature - And Caderyn found himself admiring the piece. It displayed the Executioner's past feats, and the Fire Lord smiled as he recognised the Golan Orbitals. The Executioner's conduct in the campaign had been exemplary; a blood-stained angel, delivering His Justice to the enemies of Mankind.

'The Celestial Lion?' Caderyn asked, when Conric was done. 'The big bastard with the claws,' He scanned the crowd, searching for the gold-armoured Astartes. He could not find him. 'No, there'll be no harm done to him. Not by you, at least, Executioner. My blade hungers for him - You can keep his body when I am done, however.'

He laughed, eyelenses matching Conric's dark, angry eyes.

'Were I you, I would not trouble myself over the Hammers of Dorn. Their reputation as sycophants and upstarts hangs heavily upon those shoulders. If you insist on worrying about anyone, brother, it should be me.'

Caderyn stiffened. If, Emperor be damned, the Executioner and the Fire Lord were to cross blades, what would happen? Would they give the duel their all, or hold back out of friendship and brotherhood? Would Caderyn fell Conric, or Conric fell Caderyn?

'We will see,' He muttered. 'Now, Conric. What are your first impressions of the Phalanx? Impressive, yes?'

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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post #18 of 35 (permalink) Old 11-02-13, 08:24 AM
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The filtered air was inhaled through his nostrils, and left through the same passages it arrived. The hairs of his nose were swamped by the unrelenting scents of polishes, lapping powders, and blessed oils that the warriors around him covered their prized suits of armor with.

He adored his armor, or the closest thing to adoration that Conric Alnun could feel. He glanced down at the mist of skulls he waded through, and again at his weapon, then to his helmet dangling at his side with its trophy blood streaks. When an individual looked upon him in his battle plate they immediately knew who he was, what he was capable of, and the deeds he had done. To this effect, the painting of his armor was a unique aspect to him entirely when it came to the subject of maintenance. He hadn't covered up his armor's scars, though, and had only ever allowed repairs for damages that were necessary to its proper function. This need to look brand new that so many of his peers had, he wasn't sure where it came from.

The sacred oils, the Holy part, had never mattered to him. He was a weapon, and weapons weren't holy. An act could be. A person could be, but not a weapon.

Much of the power armor in this vast hallway had to be read, or had to be explained. Friend and Foe alike would gather the same information about Conric when viewing him, other than the few campaign badges sewn into the black tabard cloth at his waist.

With heavy scents now resting their riding chemicals on the back of his tongue, his pupils made their way down to the gigantic boots of the statues before him and finally to staring straight ahead again at the backs of heads and power-packs. The marching of ceramite still filled his ears, now supplemented by conversation. Loud, boastful tones of Astartes as they began to review the great deeds of the heroes standing over them, who were pressing down their gazes.

"His name is Solomon Feunand," said Conric, bypassing Caderyn's last question for a moment. With a pause that indicated a miscommunication between the two Astartes he said again, "The Celestial Lion. He said his name was Solomon Feunand. He likes to make friends."

"Sure, I'll throw you the bone if you'd like, you deserve as much. Just leave me the meal."

He gestured with a slight tilt of both head and weapon in the direction of the group of Hammers of Dorn, as if not even hearing Caderyn's advice about dealing with them.

"I would be honored to face you and would enjoy doing so even if it came to my demise, but my intuition tells me that won't be happening anytime soon. Besides, you've got that great powerful sword you wield. Lots of you do," he said, scoping an arc across the wave of Space Marines. "All of your power weapons dangling from your hips or held about your hands," he was almost growling this as if not even speaking to Caderyn anymore, but to himself.

"Guess if it came to a fight I'd just have to make the first strike." His face warped into a vile grin as he turned his head back to his friend, rhetorically asking him, "Do you know how many idiots thought I wouldn't get the first strike?" He clapped the pole of his large weapon in his empty hand, emphasizing that with such an inelegant device the number was made ever higher.

He swiftly returned his calm demeanor, "As for the Phalanx, what are words compared to such a thing?"

Though he believed his skills to be more than ample, he acknowledged it in his head as a wise decision on Primarch Dorn's part to start everyone off in this competition on equal ground.

His footsteps ceased as they arrived in the arena auditorium.

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

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post #19 of 35 (permalink) Old 11-05-13, 08:41 PM
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Orison had been about to nod and move on when the Crimson Fist mentioned the Cthonas campaign, He paused and returned the Fists salute. Pounding his own fist to his chest.

" The Cthonas campaign was indeed a glorious one brother, I wet my blade with the blood of many a traitor in that war. The brethren of the 1st company, myself included owe your chapter a debt of blood. Had you not intervened at the Vorosh Rift many more would have lay dead. May Dorn grant me the opportunity to repay it soon"

Orison moved onwards, exchainging a few memories with the Fist Esteban. He seemed like someone Orison could like. That was rare outside his own brothers.

After listening to the adress of Chapter master Pugh, who seemed smaller than Orison would imagine he had been about to offer Esteban the honour of joining him in the sparring cages when the Phalanx shook.

Imperial fists began to scatter to reaction points. Orisons helmet was on his head within seconds as was Estebans he noticed. Instinctively targeting icons began to highlight the weak points of his Armour until he blink clicked them away.

A wordless growl escaped his throat, what was going on?

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All: The quake passes as quickly as it began, for a moment the only sound is silence. The silence stretches for an unnaturally long second, before a whining scream fills the room. Somehow it pierces your hearing and sounds as if it is coming from directly inside your head, everybody in the room is clearly affected but one or two are more affected than others. The few Imperial Fists Librarians are screaming themselves, blood pouring from their eyes, ears and noses as they fall to the floor, trying to still the scream. Many draw their bolters or combat knives, trying to see what is causing the chaos and stop it before it can get worse, but the cause becomes apparant as soon as a marine of the Celestial Lions looks up and shouts something at the top of his voice.


You all look up and see a creature floating in the ceiling underneath the plexiglass dome. It looks human in some places, but the bright multi-coloured and flaming group of four wings that erupt from her back, the clawed and feathered harpy feet that have replaced her legs and the great symbol of the Lord of Lies that is branded into her chest show her allegience clearly. A servant of Chaos has entered the Phalanx. Lord Pugh draws his twin blades and shouts her name, Morgatha the False-Tongued. This is the Chaos Champion that the Imperial Fists are battling in the system you are all in now, somehow she has boarded the Phalanx and is doing something to the air above you.

A fusillade of shots are fired at her by the Iron Knights and Crimson Fist marines but none find their mark, the bullets melting in midair before they can touch her. The screaming intensifies as Morgatha chants in a debased language, the air hazes with heat ripples as a bright light begins to leak through in a small part of the air above you all. Soon a tear forms and widens quickly, and as soon as it does all hell pours through it. A horde of monsters, each one distinct from it's twisted kindred, fall from the sky and land among the assembled Space Marines, the screaming has stopped but the damage is done. The Phalanx is under attack by Daemons! The Astartes quickly move to battle but the Daemons have made the first strike, and already several brothers lie dead on the ground, crushed by falling bodies or eviscerated by Daemonic talons or burnt alive by Warpfire hurled by Morgatha.

Fight back or see the Phalanx lost to the Great Enemy!

Inhuatli Esteban: Unslinging your weapons you move to join the battle immediately. Your fellow Crimson Fists rally around you as a horde of Daemons smashes into your Chapter's hastily assembled defense and try to penetrate the ranks to get at you, your heraldry marking you as a Veteran among your brothers and as a kill and soul of worth. One of your brothers falls from the defense with his chest torn open and his organs burning, allowing a creature covered in scales and feathers with the body of a snake and the head and arms of a dragon to slither through the gap and strike at you with a scythe made of razored-bone. It's maw spills black fire which it also attacks you with, alternating betweent the two to try and catch you off-guard.

Ahead of you and behind the Daemon your brothers continue to fight, another has fallen with his head missing. But further ahead of them you see a knot of Iron Knights fighting against a pack of winged Daemons made of bone, you have seen Kathartes before and know how deadly they are. And at the centre of the Iron Knights is Krixus Orison, battling against a Karthate nearly twice his size. The Daemon battles against you and several Crimson Fists that stand by your side, you could leave them to slay this monstrosity while you move to support your cousin before he and his marines are lost to the shrieking Daemon flight, but if you do that you would be abandoning your Chapter brothers to an enemy that they may not be able to defeat on their own, but the Iron Knights may be mauled if someone does not come to their aid. Trust that the Iron Knights will be fine and kill this monster with your brothers? Or trust the skills of your brothers and go to support your cousins in battle?

Marcus Alexander Helstrom: The entire gathering breaks into bedlam as Chaos invades the holy ground of your home-vessel. The rage you feel is palpalble, the Great Enemy dares to soil the Phalanx with their unclean presence. Your Imperial Fists, being on the periphery of the room, are still in formation and are firing into the crowd, picking their shots. But they are separated from the larger group and some are being picked off, you see one Imperial Fist swung into the air by a creature with arms bigger than your body and ripped apart like an insect by the brute Daemon. Do you call back your Imperial Fists to your side, giving them protection but lowering the area that they can support their cousins, or do you leave them where they are and trust that they can handle themselves.

Whatever you decide the Daemons leave you little time to dally. A group of snarling red-skinned Daemons, hooved and horned and all carrying flaming blades that drip blood assault you and the Fists standing near the stage. Bloodletters. And leading them is a mightier specimen, his horns banded in bronze and twisted on themselves, and wearing infernal armour that smokes as the blood from his horns drips onto it. His blade burns black as he raises it towards you and spits a challenge in his guttural tongue, you do not need to understand it to know it is a challenge. You could meet this creature's challenge head on and show it that the Imperial Fist will not be cowed, but ahead you can see a knot of Celestial Lions fighting hard against a group of Daemons made of pure warpfire. Your acquaintance Solomon Feunand is there fighting against a Daemon whose very presence is melting the adamantium floor of the Phalanx. You could get to him, but if you fight this champion then the opportunity will be lost. Support your brother and snipe the Daemon with your stalker-bolter, or uphold the honour of the Fists and meet it with Xiphos in your hand?

Krixus Orison: Your sword rings clear of it's scabbard as you leap into the fight, your fellow Iron Knights bellowing war-cries into the vicious melee that has erupted in front of you. Several Daemons fall to your blade as your Chapter strike faster than any other, but still some Iron Knights fall with their limbs severed and their blood splattering all over their brothers armour. A brother in front of you decapitates a Daemon and in an instant is crushed as a great skeletal Daemon that looks like a cross between a bird and a dragon lands on him, it's bulk turning the Iron Knight into a broken corpse. It roars at you and attacks, it's brethren dropping from the sky to attack you and your brethren.

Before this creature can attack you it is smashed out of the way by another, much larger specimen. This Daemon is nearly twice your size and appears to want you for itself, it attacks without any hesitation, swiping it's razor-sharp claws at you and trying to pierce your defense. Your brothers create a circle to hold back any interlopers but few Daemons appear to be trying, the other skeletal Daemons seem just as eager to keep this duel between the two of you. Fight this monster and destroy him, before your brothers are overwhelmed by the increasingly bad odds arrayed against you.

Isaiah Melech: Your brothers hiss as the Daemons of Chaos erupt into existence all around you. One Daemon leaps at you but your whip takes it's head off before it can land a blow, but this does not deter the others who rush you and your brothers and quickly embroil you in a brutal close-quarters fight. A brother Excoriator tries to reach you but is skewered on the end of a talon attached to a great Daemonic spider creature, the human sticking out of it's neck from the waist up hisses at you and draws a sword made of chitin. Swarms of tinier spiders assault your brethren who valiant fight to hold them back from supporting their broodfather, who attacks you as soon as the eight eyes of the spider-thing narrow on you.

The creature moves fast and in a jittery fashion, jinking from one spot to the next in quick leaps to try and make you miss with your whip, so it can strike once you have made your blow and it can dart in. It appears to want you to make the first move so that it can respond, a cowardly tactic fitting of a Daemon but it gives you the chance to score a strong blow right away, if you can figure out a way to battle such a creature. Your brothers are fighting and dying to give you this chance to slay this unholy champion, make sure their sacrifice is a worthy one and destroy this abomination.

Conric and Caderyn: The both of you quickly move back-to-back as the Daemons burst into the vast chamber. No Chapter brothers stand here to support or protect you, giving the Daemons a clear path to both of you, and your blades. Gibbering monsters assault the both of you but you both work together to fight, your differing combat styles supporting one-another as the Daemons try to break you both apart so that they can swarm each of you as an island among a sea of degenerates. Many Daemons fall before your blades, each one horrific and almost unique in features when compared to the rest of the forces arrayed against you both, but all of them emanate the same aura of suffering and sadism. Other Astartes are too busy fighting for their own lives to come to your aid, and even if they tried it is doubtful they would be able to get through the ranks of the Daemonic that have blocked you both off.

Suddenly the Daemons part like an ocean, allowing a behemoth the size of three Space Marines to step through. It's skin is scaled and covered in slime, the nest of tentacles that is growing from it's back and waving around behind it spray the slime all over the area you are both in. It's three eyes glare down at you from an almost bird like head, it's hooved feet leaving imprints in the floor and the spindly multi-jointed arms that fall to the floor tense, talons burst from the finger-stubs and covering the floor in light-blue blood. It howls and attacks the both of you, the Daemons surrounding you both content to simply watch as this Champion of the Warp murders the two of you and claims your souls for whichever of the Dark Pantheon it serves. End it and and make these Daemons realise their folly.

Solomon Feunand: The Daemonic attack on your brethren happens so quickly that it seems only a microsecond has passed between the creature above opening the tear and the furry monstrosity with four arms in front of you trying to open you up with a blood-soaked blade in each scaled hand. Your Celestial Lions battle ferociously at your side, killing Daemons with every strike of their weapons but each kill is a drop in the ocean, that is quickly replaced by two more. One of your brothers falls in front of you, his arms torn from their sockets and a dog-like Daemon savaging his throat. He is dead before anyone can do anything. The four-armed thing in front of you feels your rage as you hack it to pieces, but before you can move to support your brothers something much different steps in your way.

The Daemon is literally made of fire. Fire that changes colour every second and each part of the Daemon is another colour, a head that juts from a neckless body roars at you while it's arms split into flaming tendrils that lash at you. The floor, made of adamantium, is melting wherever this creature stands, and it's very presence makes the air hazy and clouds everything around you. The creature starts moving closer to you, it's tendrils lashing and reforming into claws which it slashes at you with, only for it's arms to break apart against as you try to counter. It is trying to back you against your brothers, where no doubt it's attacks will hit something if not you. You must find a way to kill this abomination before it is close enough for it's attacks to hit your brothers if it misses you.

[And the update is here. Apologies for the length of time but exams over the last week and revision over the last three meant I was busier than normal. But that's done with for njow and we can get back to the Blood of Dorn. Hope you all enjoy the chance to get some fighting in, you are all capable of killing your opponents in one post but i'd like it to be a detailed fight. Each of your opponents is unique so it should give you good material for the fight, especially those of you who can move to support another; so you've got to decide whether or not to help someone else or focus on the fight yourself, and if you do help then your all going to have to work together on your fights and discuss your posts so that you can avoid stepping on each other's toes here. Again hope you all enjoy this one.]


https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...red-souls.html - The Kabal of Shattered Souls Project Log
http://www.talkwargaming.com/search/...Book%20Reviews - Check out Talk Wargaming for reviews by Lord of the Night.

Last edited by Lord of the Night; 11-10-13 at 07:23 PM.
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