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post #1 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-27-11, 09:39 AM Thread Starter
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Default ...the Damned

They had fought for so much already, but still it was not enough. These brave warriors, these children of the Immortal Emperor of Mankind had come together once more to fight in His name. Not for them the rest of the grave, never would they see the peaceful tranquillity of death. Theirs was an eternity of war and suffering, but for their sins they shall walk that path with relish...

On a world shrouded in darkness, peace was sparse and battles were frequent. The darkness had come here only recently, carried by warp currents to a land rich in the energy it required.

It is often said that the Emperor sees all, though how could he act in a world where none of his servants dwelt?

From the flames of a recent battle, the answer arose.

--- --- ---

Voras, Matthias, Skarhn, Konrad: The three of you are flowing through the warp when a landscape resolves before you. You crawl, stride or simply rise from the flames like the spirits of vengeance that you are. You do not and cannot know why you are here. Describe your memories. Who were you? Do you remember dying? Did you see anything prior to coming here? Do you speak with the other two here? Almost immediately as you emerge, you come under attack from creatures of shadow. They are vaguely humanoid, some have vicious claws, some have wings, all seek your demise. Defend yourself. The enemy comes in their hundreds, but they are weak. You may slay any up to a dozen of them in short order.

Darnath, Thorn, Ares, Garviel: The four of you emerge like above into a flame and rubble strewn battlescape. Hakis and Demus also appear close by. As above, describe your memories. You may also converse with one another if you wish. After a minute, you hear bolter fire nearby and move to investigate. As you do, you come under attack from shadowy creature emerging from the dense jungle around you. Description as above, you will each kill a dozen quite easily before you reach the other three marines.

ooc: Damned generally aren`t known to speak, but I`ll let it slide for character development.

Nonsense is our Salvation

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post #2 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-27-11, 10:05 AM
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Voras, the Third Captain of the Ultramarines, awoke, and blinked. Where was he? One thing was for sure, the Ultramarine was no longer on Armaggeddon, no longer fighting the greenskin hordes.

Then, he remembered something more, the spear peircing his ribcage, blood coughing from his stomach as he had hit the ground. Then, the final echoes of life had rushed from him.

'God-Emperor, no!' Voras thought with a cry, realising that this was where he must be. Dead.

"If I am dead," Voras remarked aloud, questioning the very heavens themselves. "Then, where am I? How can I still live?"

He looked up, and realised that he was in a flaming landscape, not knowing where he was. Maybe, this was the Hel that the blasphemeres had spoken of. Maybe, this was what awaited all men when they died.

No. It couldn't be. If he was dead, he would know. He may have been speared in a battle with greenskins, but he was not dead. Voras, was not gone from the Emperor's light just yet. He could still feel it, flowing through him, like the fire. The fire that seeped around him ran through his flesh, yet he could feel nothing of what should have burnt him to ashes by now.

"Courage and Honour," Voras uttured, using the warcry of the Chapter. He still had his armour, although the colour was no longer a fine, dark blue of the Ultramarines. It was dark black, and he could see that just by glancing at it. Turning around, he found a Heavy Flamer lying next to him. That was not his original weapon, as that was his Power Sword, which was no longer with him, neither was his old, trusted bolt-pistol.

But seeing as there was nothing else in sight, the Captain reached for his new weapon, picking it up with a smile on his grim face. The Emperor had brought him back, and he was now in his debt.

With another glance around, Voras spotted two other astartes, also in the same black armour that he boasted, with weapons lying next to them. They had ovbiously not heard his warcry, so were either oblivious to his presence or just ignoring him.

Suddenly, there was another warcry, echoing from the space around them. Voras instinctivley checked that his heavy-flamer was still working, and gripped it firmly to meet the vaguley humaniod creatures that descended from the burning skies above, and some from below.

"Courage and Honour!" Voras bellowed again, and unleashed his heavy flamer, spitting death into the oncoming xenos, with all the fury that he could muster. Two were brought down, screeching as they collapsed to the floor, the Ultramarine claiming the first kills of the day.
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post #3 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-27-11, 04:11 PM
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Matthias woke screaming, the final echoes of his rage fading. Where was he? He remembered only the white blast of his demise. He was dead? But he couldn't be. He looked around, rising from flames as he snatched a plasma gun from the ground.

"Courage and Honour"

He glanced around, seeing for the first time the thousands of half-imagined, shadowy creatures around them, twisted and malformed. In their midst he could see the figure of another astartes, black armoured and aflame as he was, but this was further enhanced by the sea of flame washing out from the heavy flamer he carried in his gauntleted hands. The shadows twisted and burned as they were immolated by the Space Marine.

"This must be some kind of hell, perhaps I did not make sufficent payment for my crimes", he paused, thinking back to those fateful years. then he snapped himself out of it, "well damn this hell, I intend to earn my repentance in this dark place, or forever be damned."

Raising his plasma gun he sent a searing beam into the enemy swarm, incinerating creatures with each blast, then taking advantage of the confusion he drew his knife and waded into the crowd, still firing the plasma gun in one hand, cutting his way towards the second marine. "Brother, you do not fight alone!"

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post #4 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-27-11, 04:25 PM
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The rubble grew hot as if set on fire, and ashes were coughed up from the earth. Suddenly, tongues of fire leapt up. First one at a time, but quickly dozens jumped here and there. They knotted together and took a humanoid shape. Abruptly, parts started to die back, leaving a solid mass of black coal. The coal took the shape of armour clad around a figure. Outlines appeared in the armour. An ancient aquilla, a claw attached to a wing. Finally the flames receded to lips of the armour, the base and tip of the knee plates, and a different fire kindled in the coal's eyes. The blackened figure looked around. More coals appeared, and this first coal remembered them. They were his brothers, and had been for ages past.

Children. They were children of a ruler. An Emperor. The Emperor's Children. The coal remembered more now. He was part of a legion of warriors, super-warriors sent forth to carry a message of unity across the stars. But something had gone wrong. Their commanders had turned on their fathers and lead their soldiers in rebellion. Some had followed, and some had refused. Thorn, Ares, Garviel, they were the names of these other figures. They had fought together against a brutal monstrosity that had lead them to rebellion. But he had initially joined it. He had hadn't he? He had followed it into the abyss in the name of what? Pride, loyalty, honour. He had been honourable. But it was all gone now. The dream, the legion, everything. All lost in the fires of battle and hate. But he still fought, still fought for this Imperium he had helped to build. The Imperium Darnath had helped to build. Darnath. That was his name. Darnath of the Emperor's Children, protector of the Imperium. He was part of a legion of Damned marines, and he had been offered a second chance.

Darnath had his bolter held across his chest. He had kept it for millenia, but every time he was transported to a new location, he checked it. He let the magazine fall into his hand, and then slotted it back in. He clicked the safety off, cocked it back and aimed down the sight. The sight was still true, and the bolter wasn't jammed yet. He looked over at the others, and briefly nodded in acknowledgement at each. Suddenly, bolter fire. Darnath's head snapped to the direction of the noise. He took a few steps towards the direction, and the ground burned under his steps. Yet, in the same instance, unearthly shrieks came from the forest around him. Instinctively, Darnath dropped to his knee's and spun around.

Shadowy xeno's jumped at them. Darnath shot. Short control bursts, just like back in the legion. Back then he would have been awarded an honour for perfection, but not anymore. Four empty shells clattered to the floor, and four of these shadows fell to the ground, parts of their body rent and torn from bolt shells. He looked over at Garviel. "Come on Garviel, pick up the pace" it was a joke, but Darnath's voice was flat, and it sounded like a genuine critique. Three more shots, three more dead. There was a whole swarm of these shadowed freaks. Two burst out from behind him. Darnath shot one at point blank range, but the other knocked into him. Darnath's feet skidded back, and the shadow growled at him. "Piss off" Darnath spat at the creature as his hand dived to his thigh. He grabbed his combat blade and plunged it into the creature's skull, if it had such a thing. It screeched and fell limp. Darnath pulled the slick blade and strapped it back to his thigh. He aimed down the sight again and squeezed the trigger. More shells, more death, more war. Nothing but bolts and blood and fire, for all eternity...
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post #5 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-28-11, 06:29 AM
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Skarhn awoke with a start. He immediately shot to his feet, his mind swimming with random thoughts and questions until he finally got a hold of himself and took in the sights around him. Fire. A burning landscape surrounded him, interesting...was this Istvaan? Or rather was this what was left of it? He checked his armor and it appeared that he was very much alive, but something felt different, he couldn't put a finger on it but there was something about himself that wasn't quite...normal?

He most certainly had to be dead, he remembered dying, he remembered being cut down by the Sons of Horus as he fought against the foul traitors and took as many heads as he could. Yet here he was standing amidst a burning landscape in somewhat different armor then what he had worn at the time of his supposed death. He heard gunfire and looked up from his thoughts to see two marines fighting off a horde of strange creatures and his foot kicked his old chainaxe at his feet. Picking the weapon up he turned it on, the guttural sound of the motor bringing a broad smile to his lips, maybe this was the afterlife that had been granted to him, a warrior's paradise where he could simply kill all those that tried to destroy him. His head was bare, his new helm already maglocked at his waist without him having to do it, his scared face twisted into a snarl of rage as he took in the creatures around him, his blue eyes showing nothing but surpressed anger. The thick cords of his nueral implants coming out of the back of his head and entering his armor making him look even more frightening then he already was.

Without another thought he let out a bellowing battlecry and charged into the horde of creatures assaulting the two other Astartes, hacking his axe left and right as his nueral implants heightened his anger and in turn his fighting abilities, his movements becoming quicker and his attacks stronger.

He had faintly registered the one of the marines yelling "Courage and Honor" which pegged him as a Son of Guilliman. Skarhn remembered the Ultramarines showing almost no emotion but having such an aura of arrogance about them that it had physically sickened him, yet that did not bely the fact that they were good in combat, executing every order and move perfectly. It was truly something to be admired but he had fought alongside the Sons of Guilliman only once in his long lifetime and they had been appalled at what he and his brothers were capable of, truly the World Eaters were the most efficient killers in the Galaxy. If a World Eater killed you there was no chance you were ever going to get back up, they were absolute in their killing, yet how they killed was simple.

Skarhn remembered his detachment fighting alongside the Wolves of Fenris once, now that had been a truly glorious campaign indeed for the enemy stood no chance of survival. They had been tasked with taking a human world that had attacked the representitives that had been sent for peaceful negotiations, the enemy's army was much larger than the Wolves had anticipated and so they had sent a request for aid, Skarhn and his brothers were more than happy to help. Two of the most brutal legions fighting alongside each other to slay a beast, he had made many good friends and even a few new blood brothers whilst annihilating the rogue humans, all of whom he no longer knew their fates.

The one part of the war that stood out the most was when the Imperium's forces had finally broken through to the last bastion of hope for their enemies and stormed their capitol, killing as they went. Many good men had died that day attempting to take the capitol for the Emperor, but it was Skarhn and a wolf named Njard Felltooth who were the first into the enemy leader's stronghold and it was they who fought side by side against his bodygaurd that resembled human/robot cyborgs. They were tall slim beings that appeared to have once been humans but were now outfitted with so much machinery that they resembled robots, they had made him sick just like the disgusting Mechanicus.

He and Njard had fought their way through the halls of the palace until coming out into an arena that resembled a Coloseum, the enemy leader waiting for them in the middle. He had known that he and his people were going to die and now he was going to meet his killers face to face in single combat, Skarhn had acknowledged it as an honorable decision yet Njard simply saw the man as a fool through and through because of how he had rejected the Imperium. Skarhn had told him that standing for one's beliefs no matter how different was honorable and the fact that this man knew he was going to die and still stood against he and Njard even when his world burned around him was very honorable.

Little did either of them know that this man had more cybernetic implants then his own bodyguard but they were so subtle that Skarhn and Njard had not been able to pick them out from a distance. The duel was horrendous and the leader soon had the two Astartes straining to keep up, each of them recieving grievous wounds until finally Skarhn's implants pushed him over the edge and he was engulfed in a red haze, his only true recollection being movements and sounds as he and Njard pushed the leader back into the defensive. The duel had been witnessed by their brothers and they had seen Skarhn's axe cut through the man's skull and Njard's sword pierce his chest and tear out the back in a shower of gore as he sputtered and died.

The duel had been so taxing that both warriors had collapsed from exhaustion afterwards and had to be carried out by their brothers. The Imperium had commissioned a piece of artwork to remember the taking of the planet and it now took up a wall in the Administratum building, it was a painting of the World Eaters and the Wolves storming the palace and off to the far right were Skarhn and Njard dueling the enemy leader.

He broke himself out of the memory as he charged past the two Astartes and swung his axe down hacking one of the creatures in half before bringing it back around in a wide arc to cut two more in half at the waist. He roared loudly as he cut through the foul creatures, these beasts were weak and no true test of his skill, he was disgusted by their weak attempts to kill him. He was a Son of Angron the Red Angel, and he was truly death incarnate on the field of battle, he yelled his first words upon entering this world as he cut another creature in half, "I am the eater of worlds! For the Emperor!"

Here is the beginning of my fluff for my Iron Warriors Eighth Grand Company https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...ad.php?t=51842

"A fortress is a living thing: the commander its brain, the walls its bones, the sensors its eyes and ears, the troops its blood, their weapons its fists. This tells us two things: If one organ fails, the whole dies. And if the whole dies, no single organ can survive alone."

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post #6 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-28-11, 07:56 PM
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For the longest and yet at the same time the shortest time he hung there completley at peace as pure nothingness stretched out for eternity. Then awareness returned and with it came flames of what seemed to him as a soothing caress instead of the roaring inferno which it seemed.
Shadows moved through the flames, a giant mutated figure once a noble son of the Emperor and nine golden figures, shining like beacons of hope and salvation advanced. With this memory came others, crab-like xenos swarmed over him before being put to the torch with holy promethium, a noble Blood Angel sacrificing himself to save him...all of these and more suddenley snapped back into clarity and with a single step Garviel Nelko loyal Son of the Emperor and warrior of humanity emerged from the fires of the void and back into the world of the living.
'Whe...where am I?' He thought hazily as the death like slumber released its clutches on him, Garviel reached back for his flamer which was mag-locked to his back and for one of the chainswords he had crafted a long time ago, the power-cell was dead but the chain function still worked.

"Come on Garviel, pick up the pace" came a familiar voice which shook Garviel fully awake. Not ten feet away was Darnath fighting against a tide of black creatures, Garvi watched as Darnath killed several of the creatures but could see that without aid he would be quickly overrun.

"You want to see fast brother?!" Garviel roared over the din of the attackers "I'll show you fast!"

With that Garviel furiously revved up his chainsword, took a running start, and catapulted himself feet first into one of the largest Shadows. The crushing wait of a fully armoured Astartes crushed the Shadow beyond recognition but Garviel had already moved on lashing out with his sword with lightning fast strikes and sending waves of burning fire out with his flamer.
Through a gap between the Shadows Garviel caught sight of a figure who held his deepest respect.
"Brother-Sergeant Ares!" He yelled "Come, join us in the Emperors name!"
By this point Garviel had fought his way so that he was between the Shadows and Darnath knowing that his brothers bolter would be of more use if he had more time to aim. More black armoured figures emerged and began slaying many of the Shadow creatures.
"Hakis I don't care if we are Damned, our bet still stands and I intend to hold you to it!"

Originally Posted by Stella Cadente View Post
Originally Posted by xNoPityx View Post
The downside to a medium that allows the unlimited exchange of ideas, some people have some really stupid ideas.
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post #7 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-28-11, 08:06 PM
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Hyperion Thorn didn't know why he had been offered the chance the others had earned. Perhaps it was because he had been cheated; perhaps his corruption had been a mistake? No, there could be no denying it. Ge'lath'kor had only come on Thorn's consent.

The name repulsed him still. It clung to his outer-psyche, a name of a creature long-dead, but its memory lived on. The memory of the obscenities it had committed through Thorn's body... at least at the battle, it had ripped apart his body, and used its own. But before... the night on the ship, in his chambers... the acts he performed there horrified him. But what was worse was how much he had... enjoyed it. Those women, they all died for his pleasure, his depraved lust.

No. It was Ge'lath'kor that they died for. It was Ge'lath'kor that did what was done. Thorn had fought for 10,000 years to be redeemed, and now he had this chance. A special exception, perhaps, or just a lucky soul.

Thorn snapped to attention as he materialised in dense jungle. He looked around; Ares, Darnath, and Garviel stood around him, Emperor's Children to the last. Thorn looked at his armour, all blackened save for his purple gauntlets, still bearing the livery of the dead legion. Thorn would fight in their honour.

Gunshots echoed through the jungle. Thorn was immediately alert, scanning the undergrowth. Darnath opened fire, one shadow creature knocking him back before he quickly dealt with it. More gunfire echoed further ahead.

Thorn's battle instincts re-surfaced, and he assumed command immediately.

"Squad! Move up towards the gunshots, fire at will but choose your shots! There might be friendlies out here." breathed Thorn through the vox. Suddenly, one came at him: a hunched-over, shadow-swathed little monster. Thorn swiftly aimed his Bolt Pistol, and fired one shot. The bullet smashed through the weak creature, knocking it to the ground where it dissolved away.

"Keep it tight, marines," said Thorn, dispatching another two creatures with his pistol. Drawing his power sword, Raptora, Thorn made ready to repel a close-quarters attack. It was just in time, Thorn barely had a second to thumb the activation stud before a creature leapt at him from the shadows. Thorn performed a textbook lunge, skewering the monster through its chest. It faded away like cloud, and was gone, almost as soon as it appeared.

Thorn looked around warily, as he continued to move through the jungle. It was so dark underneath the canopy that it looked like night... or was it night? Thorn's advanced eyesight made neither a problem, but still he was curious. But for now, he had to focus on the battle. He had to find the source of the gunfire.

Give a man a match, and he's warm for a day.

Set a man on fire, and he's warm for the rest of his life!

Cato Marquand
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post #8 of 91 (permalink) Old 03-29-11, 12:08 AM
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Ares was held motionless in perfect nothingness for what seemed at once an eternity, reliving his battles in the name of the Emperor as he smote the xeno's that populated the Emperors realm. He had become what he had to be as an Astartes, slaughtering all the stood in the name of the Emperor's word. All that death and destruction at the Emperor's word. He had become a killing machine for him, burning his way through all those that had stood in front of him. All he could think about was the perfect deaths that he had inflicted, and how his men around him had fallen.

He had been a leader of the God Astartes, a Sergeant. He remembered the fateful excursion, the final time that he would fight as one with the rest of the company. He had respected Captain Thorn so much, being his brother and fighting to reclaim their old captain's body. Ares followed him through hell on the dead planet. Through absolute hell, but what he experienced when he got back was worse. Faced with execution his brothers became cowards, falling to Chaos and seeked pleasure. Only Ares and a few squads had remained clear of the taint.

Ares wasn't sure why his squad had followed him when he sought battle with Captain Thorn, the thing that had possessed Captain Thorn. He had led the charge on the beast and saw its final destruction at the vortex grenade. Since then he was sure he had ascended, was sure that he was free of the life of killing. Until he awoke once more to bring death in the Emperor's name.


He rose through fire and smoke to a world unfamiliar to him. His squad brothers rose around him, including Captain Thorn. Ares could not trust Thorn anymore though, and even as his other squad members looked around their new surroundings he kept his eyes on Thorn. He watched as creatures burst through from the undergrowth, snarling things that reminded him so much of what he had fought the last time he had respect for Hyperion Thorn. Immediately his men sprung into action, meeting these things with blade and bolt.

Ares however moved forward slowly, not speaking to anyone as he moved forward. He was not drawn into action by the jibe's by Garviel, or the command of Thorn. He slowly unsheathed his chainsword as he strode forward hitting the activation rune and listening to its roar as he moved at a jogging pace, getting closer and closer to the enemy. He was a marine without a chapter it appeared, the same fate that had befallen his company had hit the Legion as well as others.

Ares no longer cared about perfection, he no longer cared about the rank he had once held. Though he would do his damndest to ensure that he kept his brothers safe and still would lead them till he died or was replaced. All these thoughts boiled through him before he smashed into the first screaming creature, killing it with a lazy backhand with his chainsaw before ducking underneath the sharp claws of a second creature. He reversed his grip on his chainsword as he ducked and twisted out of the way of the smaller creature before counterattacking and cutting it in twain. In one fluid motion he drew his bolter and fired a trio of shots, blowing two creatures to the depths of hell that they had come from.

"That is how you do it brothers. This is how we purged the traitors in front of use, how we defeated the xeno menace. Let us finish our job brothers, forward! We will purge them, move towards the shots. Keep it tight."
Ares may have put more emphasis on traitor than he meant, but in his mind Thorn would have to re-earn his trust sooner or later, whether he knew that or not was another question.

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His eyes ... his eyes were the last thing Konrad saw. The eyes of a traitor, of a man whom he'd called brother and who had turned his back upon his men. He could feel it even in this moment of absolute nothingness, he could feel Alexsyander's finger apply pressure to the bolt pistol's trigger, he could see the munitions within the barrel ignite in brillance, for the bolt within sought out the enemies of the God-Emperor. This time they found only his loyal subjects. The cracking pain was the last thing he'd felt, the bolt hitting his skull at point blank. It was a lie, so he found out, that you feel nothing in a quick death as that, that you simply awaken at the Emperor's side preparing for the Final War. No ... not even close, he could still feel the bolt shattering his forehead, his eyes burst and his brain become pulped in an instant. The pain was sharp and almost stripped him of his sanity but it was not the worst pain he felt. The feeling of failure, of betrayal, he had never felt it before being a demi-god of the Adeptus Astartes, a Grey Tusk no less, the ball of fury within his breast raged like a newly born star but he found it had no where to go. He knew he would not stand beside his God-Emperor, not now, not when he had killed his own Battle-Brothers and had allowed the enemy a key victory. If an Astartes could truly weep than he would have done so.

His memories of those last hours flooded over him once more. The shouts of commands from the Brother-Seargants, the roar of bolter fire, the screech of the dying xeno as the Emperor's holy wrath was brought down upon them. The images of the western appoarches, which had been left completely undefended rushed into his mind, his squad under the command of Battle-Seargant Noxi had seen the enemy from their view point high above and quickly adjusted to deal with the incursion. The rush he felt has he always did, the xenos screaming their gibberish, sending bolts of molten fire screaming past him and his brothers as the two species fought under an eternally grey sky. The xenos clashed with them just inside the citadel, and it was a battle that was won, but only just. His brothers were Tactical Marines, not meant for the brutal close combat that the xenos seemed to relish in. Their silver blades cut the very fabric of reality, doing no damage but ripping the souls for those that they touched. Only through strength of arms and the sacrifice of Brother-Seargant Noxi did the enemy finally flee. That was not nearly the last of his encounters with them, he still remembered the catacombs below the keep when Brother-Seargant Mydgar's men suddenly went dark, their position in the catacombs suddenly overwhelmed. The brutal fighting there was nothing but a battle of wits and tactics, his depleted sqaud having to constant assault, fall back, reposition, ambush, defend, and counter-attack; a constant process of rinse and repeat. Only after four days of this did the enemy finally cease all contention of the catacombs and instead destroyed the tunnels they had made into the vast network, to prevent the Grey Tusks from escaping. Those were the better days of that long and senseless seige, when Captain Alexsyander had not been corrupted by the foul xeno-psychics. When his mind became to crumble, it crumbled fast. His orders became paradox, defend positions that the enemy had no designs upon while leaving or abandoing whole sections of the defense, just letting the xenos have them. Once this happened, the war inside the citadel began in earnest for the Grey Tusks, once they lost their stoic defense, were hard pressed to keep the invaders out. Only the noble sacrifice of many a Battle-Brother held the parts of the keep still vital to their survival.

Even in those dark hours he did not loose hope, for he had seen many things in his years of service to the Imperium and the Emperor. He had been completely surronded by the savage Orks, with odds of a hundred to one, and he'd fought his way out. He'd seen the very worst the Tyranids had to offer, the Hive Tyrants, their various Warrior-variants, the endless hordes of the xeno swarming over everything -- and still he stood defiant of them, blasting into their ranks with utter contempt. Even the majestic Eldar, and their darker kin, had felt the wrath of the Emperor in the form of his bolter. This said nothing of the dozens of minor xeno races utterly extinguished by his Chapter that he was apart of. No, he did not loose hope in that dark time. Even as they lost the assumed old barracks, the makeshift armory, the various choke points to stem the tide of the enemy. The day finally came when they held on the outer command room, and the inner strategy room. Weather or not the xenos had every used them for such purposes was beyond him, but it was the names assigned to them during the seige. As the fighting in the outer command room became bloody and brutal he'd made a quick dash to the inner strategy room at the behest of several Battle-Brothers -- the end was coming for them, they wanted to die beside their Brother-Captain who had mysteriously been absent in the last weeks of the seige, sealed within the inner strategy sanctum contemplating a way for the company to escape this disaster. He rushed into the room in time to see his Battle-Brothers aiming their weapons at his captain, murder in their eyes. He hesitated not even for an instant, his bolter was up and firing away with almost reckless abandon. He never knew how he managed to kill all five of them without a single shot being fired back at him. All he remembered was at the end of it they lay upon the floor, dead, their life blood draining from them.

Rushing to his captain he felt pride in his chest and contempt in his heart. That some of his brothers actually contemplated executing their commanding officer for their hopless situtation was beyond his understanding, he showed dire cracks in the Chapter's oaths -- something he did not want to think about. He remembered kneeling to his captain and apologising for the arrogance and treason of his brothers. As he rose he saw the bolt pistol aimed squarely at his forehead, the eyes of a real traitor staring back at him with a malicious grin. Then, and only for a few seconds, did he see the xenos that he'd not noticed, lingering in the dark corners of the room. Thanks only to his Astartes enhanced senses was he able to take the entire seen in before his demise -- dozens, if not a hundred of the xenos were in the inner strategy room. He never even got the chance to utter the word traitor before his brain was pulped and his soul ripped from his body.

He felt that rage building forth inside of him once again. He roared impotently into the air as the betrayal and unjustice done to him, so many xenos left unslain, so many worlds unliberated from the touch of the vile alien. He felt as though his body were in flames, they licked and splashed around him like molten liquid. In that instant he appeared once more into the realm of the living, bursting forth from the ground in a geyser of purple flames. He stepped through the flames and looked around -- how was this possible? This surely was not the citadel where he died, this world was far too different for it was licked with flames and smelled of molten earth. He heard the screams around him as his sense suddenly began to actually apply themselves. Battle-Brothers! They were fighting something, something vile ... something definately not human. He looked into his hands and saw the jet black bolter there, being grasped by equally black armor. For a moment he hesitated ... was this hell? Was this his punishment for failure -- to forever fight the xenos to make penance for his failure.

An enemy claw flashed by him, and only his subconcious saved him from the devistating blow. In a single movement, he stepped back, raised his bolter and fired a controlled burst into the creature, killing it instantly. He had no time to react, no time to consider the situtation, the enemy was upon them -- coming like a sea of darkness before his eyes. They were definately xeno, for not true human would strike the Emperor's Angels of Death. He continued to fired controlled bursts, ripping apart the enemies of the Emperor once more. He moved along side his Battle-Brothers, men who he obviously had never met and added his fire to their own.

Originally Posted by Oldman78 View Post
The chaos gods abandoned Horus most likely because they saw the can of whoop ass coming their way and wanted out of the way so as not to get fucked up!

Last edited by BlackGuard; 03-29-11 at 02:15 AM.
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post #10 of 91 (permalink) Old 04-01-11, 09:02 AM Thread Starter
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The dark creatures were unremitting and relentless, utterly unheeding of their own destruction as they attacked in droves. As the spirit astartes fought, the things seemed completely numberless.

Perhaps as a mark of his once leadership, Thorn had begun to spearhead an attack formation. Perhaps by instinct, others of the former Emperor`s Children had followed.

With seemingly nothing to lose, and more to gain, the newcomers stepped in as well, following this...

Leader? Did a rank of captain or sergeant truly hold weight anymore? All of them were doomed to fight for eternity, so what possible difference could it make?

--- --- ---

All: Following Thorn for a time, your party comes across a set of arcane ruins and obelisks. At a glance, they seem of xeno origin and for whatever reason, the shadows do not enter their peimeter. In this area, they also seem fewer in number. You have the decision to shelter inside the ruins, or stay outside and fight the things up close.

Thorn: I want you to describe your motivation at this point. You are back in realspace after millennia fighting through the warp, do you feel there is a purpose or are you simply glad for whatever respite this provides?

Ares: You are mistrustful of Thorn, and took a position further from him than most. Brother Japeth is the only one near you (not wanting to leave a brother isolated) and notices your disquiet. Will you share your views or keep quiet on the matter? You are to the east side of the formation from Thorn.

Darnath, Garviel: The two of you are in the western side of Thorn`s formation alongside Demus. You are the first to notice the ruins and beckon the others towards it.

Matthias, Konrad: The two of you task yourselves with the rearguard. The enemies are noticeably thinning as you near the alien ruins. However, due to your position in the formation, you may have more difficulty making it to within the shelter.

Skarhn, Arden: The two of you take up a position either side of Thorn. What do you make of him? As a World Earer and Ultramarine (at least formerly) what are your opinions of this astartes who has come among the damned? Do you strive to emulate him? Outdo him? Or simply accept his leadership for the moment?

Nonsense is our Salvation

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