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Imported from the other forums, brought here from a musty hibernation of a few months... the saga of my Chaos Lord, Arcannyx, and his Thousand Son strike force... and then the transition to his new force, now posted in the army lists.

The great doors to the chamber opened. Black iron, fifteen feet tall, carved in ancient runes that held potent defenses against any one not marked by the Changer of Ways. They swung open soundlessly, allowing the newcomer to enter the chamber.

He was massive, nearly ten feet tall; a perfect exemplar of Space Marine genetics. He was dressed from neck down in armor made of some unknown metal drawn straight out of the warp, the color of raw iron that was still orange from the forge. He had forgone his helm, as it was inappropriate in such an audience. Had he worn it, it would have easily added another two feet to his height, as it was stylized as a jagged crown. Also missing were his weapons; a runeblade, said to have had a powerful Changer bound into it, and his staff, the focus for his terrible power.

As he walked down the chamber, a long cloak billowed behind him, not quite running across the polished black marble. The hallway was purposefully long, almost obscenely so, but it gave the audience chamber's owner plenty of time to inspect, and prepare defenses if somehow those iron doors were breached.

After all, Ahriman was not in the position he was in because he was foolhardy.

The great sorcerer-lord sat upon a massive throne, here within a special warded audience chamber within his Grand Cruiser. The vessel was soaring through the warp even as the other Marine was making his slow walk, en route to one of the hidden strongholds that the Thousand Sons had created. As the armored figure approached, Ahriman gazed upon him with eyes that saw the universe through raw Chaos; saw the strands of power that clung to the lord, and saw the glory of Tzeentch that flowed through not only them both, but most of the ship and it's crew.

"Arcannyx... welcome to my chamber."

Arcannyx, the armored lord, quickly fell to one knee as soon as he was addressed. he bowed his head, letting the shoulder-length silver hair spill foward from beneath a black circlet. "You summoned me, my liege. What do you command of me?"

Ahriman smiled. This one was one of his greatest sorcerers, one who assisted in the original Rubric ritual. Since then his power had only grown. He was a good choice for what was to come... and now to inform him. "Yes Arcannyx. I have asked you here to tell you something very important. To relay my wants, my desires... and my rewards."

Arcannyx did his best to hide his curiosity; Ahriman's rewards were often great, but he did not enjoy the overeager, either. He said nothing, and instead waited for the Favored of Tzeentch to continue speaking.

He did not have to wait long. "I have decided to grant you the command of one of my cruisers. As well as this, you shall have a regiment of marines. And a small holding of my... Chosen."

From the shadows stepped three space marines, to judge by their builds. Each one was dressed in black robes over dark metal armor. Large helmets, much like the style that Ahriman himself wore, golden in color, hide whatever faces they might have. Each one held in their hand a staff covered in arcane runes, and each glowed with a flaming red Eye of Chaos at it's crown. They radiated power just by standing near the two sorcerers; clearly powerful psychics in their own right.

"These are my Chosen. Call them what you will when you have assembled your forces, but remember that they are mine, first and foremost. The blood of Tzeentch runs through them, and they wield potent magic; they have within them the power to traverse the warp without need of any vessel. They are yours to command, as my emmisaries.

"Your mission is simple, Arcannyx. You are one of my most powerful sorcerers, and now you have my most potent servants as well. I task you with finding what was lost. The hidden knowledge; what the thrice-damned Imperium might call the Dark Ages. How you do so is not my concern - you know the rituals for demons if that is your want, or use only the marines I have given you. I will even grant you one of the great Engines... provided you can control the demon within.

"Do this, and you will have my favor, and through me Tzeentch's. And I will know as you do, for my Chosen will be with you to see all that happens. Now go, my Exalted Sorcerer."

The dismissal seemed for both Arcannyx, and the Chosen, as the trio suddenly stepped backwards... and seemed to melt into the shadows again. Arcannyx knew instantly that the three were gone, demonstrating that power of slipping into the warp. The newly-promoted sorcerer stood again, and gave Ahriman as deep a bow as his girth and armor would allow. "Thank you my liege. I shall not fail you." His steps back out of the chamber were faster, as now he knew that his long walk was not his final one. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, the great iron closed behind him. Ahriman smiled to himself, glancing into the shadows, where a ball of fire, courscating in all the colors of human perception, seemed to float in the ether.

"It begins, my Master."

 

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Beneath his feet, Arcannyx felt the familiar cold that always radiated from the Disc. A creation of metal and flame, bound with a minor demon from the Warp, the Disc served him as an adequate mode of transportation; far faster than some pathetic jetpack or hideous wings that some of the other Legions used to move about. As he glided across the barren wasteland of Auron VII, He adjusted the massive greathelm that he wore, reaching out with his senses to view the threads of the warp gathering about his runic staff. At his hip, the demon in his blade strained to escape, to cause havoc, but it wasn't it's time yet.

Far behind him, three squads of Rubrics slowly advanced through the sands. Their black and golden armor, refinished after being assigned to the Sorcerer Lord, glinted under the light of the planet's reddish sun, soon to die and take this system with it in a nova. Before that could happen, Arcannyx had to steal its secrets. The three squads, organized into nines in hommage of Tzeentch's teachings, marched as only the sturdy automaton Rubrics could, their bolters in hand, and their focus and gaze unwaveringly forward towards the ancient tombs rising up in the distance.

Near those three squads walked Ahriman's Chosen. Arcannyx called them Illuminated, in regard to the knowledge that he hoped they would help bring to light. Their staves glowed with the flaming red eyes at their crowns. They stopped up short before the still marching Rubrics, and at some unspoken word to each other, they began to shimmer like a heat mirage. Moments late, all the troops shimmered and were gone as well. Arcannyx turned back to infront of him as his Disc continued hovering... and then suddenly all three squads, and the three Illuminated, shimmered back into existance in front of him.

Behind him now was only one thing; the massive black iron Defiler, a terrible war machine with the soul of a beast hidden within it. His strongest demon locked within it's core.

Suddenly the sands shifted... and from them rose dozens of bodies. Each one was made of tarnished silver metal, in the vague outline of a human skeleton. Arcannyx quickly counted close to sixty of the constructs. "Ironic... Rubrics against machines... a pity they don't have the favor of the warp on their side." There was no one close to hear Arcannyx speak, but that was fine; he didn't care if anyone was listening. He drew his dark blade from its sheath, and let the terrible wail of the demon within act as a battle cry, as the flaming disc sped foward.

The Rubrics wasted no time, raising bolters and opening firing into the closest of the machine-like Necrontyr... for the Warp whispered in Arcannyx's ear that this was indeed what they were. Suddenly, from off to one side, three massive machines flew in, their lower halves hovering above the ground like the uneducated Eldar might. From their large arm-mounted cannons spat bolts of green fire, and a handful of Tzeentch's precious Rubrics staggered back, armor smoking. Two even had noticable holes, where warp energy leaked out from the suit of possessed armor.

With each Rubric Squad was an Aspiring, a potent sorcerer in their own right. They held up their own staves, each one capped with a marked icon of Tzeentch. From their open hands flew terrible bolts of raw power strong enough to tear through tanks; when they hit the Necrontyr footsoldiers, nothing remained but molten metal.

Arcannyx turned towards the newest threat, the flying heavy machines, the Destroyers, he knew. He waved his staff towards them, and warp energy surged through his body. The spell was complete before he had even finished thinking of it, and a volley of blue fire tore through the first destroyer, tearing it apart, and the second fell right beside it.

But already the Necrontyr were recovering from the suddenness of Arcannyx's assault. Some of the machines were already standing agian, repairing their wounds. Bolts of green fire lashed out from their rifles, though most ended up bouncing off the enameled armor of the Rubrics, and those that did end up wounded continued foward, essence leaking from rents in the amor.

Behind the lines of the Warriors rose something else from the sand; a massive pyramid, obviously artificial, made of gleaming silver and capped with a glowing green crystal.

"Kill." The word was all he needed, as he guided his will back to the great demon engine behind him. The iron beast gave a terrible roar of fury, raised the muzzle of its terrible Battle Cannon, and bellowed fire as it launched a shell into the air. The blast struck the heavy armor of the pyramid and visibly shook the structure, cracking parts of its armor, but otherwise seemed to do nothing.

The Apsirings began chanting, and Arcannyx knew that they were summoning reinforcements from the warp itself. In front of the Rubrics appeared what could only be described as tears in reality... and from them came Flamers, demonic entities of destruction. They wasted no time; their forms still solidifying as each one unleashed part of their essence as powerful bolts of raw energy.

Reinforced such, the Rubrics resumed their fire, pouring bolter rounds into the Warriors as the Flamers added their doombolts. In the distance Arcannyx saw a lone Necrontyr in tattered robes and a glowing staff. His runeblade howling in challenge, the Exalted Sorcerer charged his disc foward, sword raised. From his staff he unleashed a terrible, twisting bolt of lightning that caused the Lord to stagger backwards, electricity arcing over its metal form.

Arcannyx screamed his own battle cry as he met the Lord...

"For the Change!"

The Disc thrumed beneath him as Arcannyx threw himself into the Lord of the Necrontyr's path. His demonic blade cried out, and then the two met, their weapons clashing. Arcannyx was the faster, and his blade lashed out, cutting a vicious swath through the lord. He parried a retaliating strike with his staff, but the strength of the blow made his arm tingle, and he drove the rune sword right through the ornamental chest plate of the Lord. It give a single gurgle, not human enough even for a cry of pain, and what little life remained in the Lord was drawn into the demon bound into the blade.

Of course, that only awakened the demon's hunger, and Arcannyx lost precious moments in forcing the essence of the demon back within the blade. He looked up, the Disc slowly rising from the remains of the Necrontyr leader, and he surveyed the battlefield.

Dozens of Warriors had fallen to Rubric bolters, but nearly half of them had stood back up again, bodies knitting together again. The summoned Flamers had retaliated with intense volleys of arcane fire, and so great were those casualties that entire groupings of the Warriors fell and never rose again.

But in response, many of the Flamers were quickly cut down as a second unit of Warriors seemed to realize the damage that the chaos demons could wreak on their forces. The green bolts of fire enveloped the demons, and with horrific shrieks echoed in the warp, half of them were gone in fire.

A terrible roar ripped from behind him, and the Defiler fired once again. It's shells had battered the monolith, but failed to do much more than crack the living armor that made up the pyramid, and it had reknit itself. This last shell fared little better, but he was rewarded in seeing the large crystal in the crown of the pyramid crack, and moments later, shatter.

As for the Rubrics themselves, many now sported rents and wounds, and the battlefield had a hazy feel from the chaotic energies leaking from them. A few of the animated suits had fallen completely, the essences within them failing and the amor collapsing to pieces.

Even as he watched, the ground erupted behind the largest squad of Rubrics. More Necrons appeared, unarmed except for long wicked claws for hands, and covered in bloody, rotted flesh in a mockery of clothing. They reached out for the Rubrics, their claws doing little more than scratching the enamel of their armor. In response, the marines turned their bolter fire upon them, and the Aspiring Champion waved his sword, releasing a spray of arcane lightning that caused half the flayed automatons to simply melt beneath it's power.

Even as some of those Necrons began to reform, they lunged forward, throwing themselves with claws flashing at the Rubrics. A few took wounds, leaking more essence from their armor, and a few of the Flayed Ones fell to the repeated crushes of bolter stocks. Without a word from Arcannyx, the Illuminated thumped the end of its staff against the barren landscape, and the Rubrics with him just shimmered out of existance... reappearing yards away, already firing into the disoriented necrons.

A pair of Destroyers flew past Arcannyx, and almost without thinking he unleashed a volley of fire at them; they exploded into shards, and he made sure to watch for the tell tale signs of repair, but none emerged.

It took only a few more minutes, but as the Rubrics concentrated firepower, more of the Warriors fell, taking too much damage to rise again. Just as Arcannyx was readying himself to unleash the demon in his blade and charge a squad of larger Necrontyr Immortals, there was a sound that he heard carried on the warp itself, and suddenly every Necron, whether standing or shattered, simply... dissapeared. They were gone, just like dust on the wind. Arcannyx lowered the Disc to only a few inches off the ground, and one of the Illuminated walked over to him.

Never had any of Ahriman's Chosen ever spoken to him, and he was almost relieved when the voice he heard was the great sorcerer himself, and not one of these lieutenants. "Good work, my Exalted. Now, go find me what's within those tombs."

With a thought of command to the Disc beneath his feet, Arcannyx hastened to do as his lord Ahriman commanded...
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 ·
The Devestation class Cruiser glided through the warp, it's mirrored black surfaces making it almost invisble against the twisted background of space. After the successful raid of the Necrontyr world, Ahriman left his orders through one of his Chosen, to head for an outpost world of one of the younger races, known as the Tau. The race itself, the great Sorcerer explained, was fairly insignifcant, though it had considerable technology... but it was nothing in the warp.

The world that Arcannyx's carrier was heading for was supposingly an ancient ruin, littered with old artefacts. It seemed like a suitable place to continue the serach for knowledge for the Lord of Change, and so the vessel made it's best possible speed to that location.

Arcannyx stalked the decks of the cruiser, until finally he arrived on the command deck, stepping out to look over the crew of the vessel's bridge. Most of them were fairly mindless, members of the Imperial Navy long ago, and now little more than possessed presences, which his power gave him almost direct control over. He told the crew where he wanted to go or what to fight, and their training and expertise told them how to accomplish that goal to his desires.

Suddenly by his side shimmered one of the Illuminated, the Chosen of Ahriman. As always they never spoke, but one pointed his staff at the sensor array, to show it to Arcannyx. This worried the Exalted Sorcerer; if they sensed something beyond his senses, then they were that much more powerful. But they did have a measure of Ahriman's own mind... it was to be expected that they might have a few tricks. He put his thoughts to rest, and walked over to the sensor board, just in time to see a light filcker back out. "What was that?" His voice echoed in the somder quiet of the bridge. The command officer for the deck looked over, his words slow and sluggish. "Unknown. An annomoly, or a passing ship. It was hidden in our wake, and is gone again."

Arcannyx turned around again, but the Illuminated was gone, shimmering away again. "I want the sensors monitored... if another 'anomaly' exists, notify me immediately. Otherwise, make best speed to planet MX4711D."

The crewmen all nodded as his commands seemed to be soaked directly into their minds, an the Sorcerer turned to walk away. He reached out with his mind, touching all three of the Chosen. "Assemble your Rubrics, and bind whatever demons you have to their Icons... we should arrive in a few hours."

 

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As the landing craft began it's descent from the carrier to the planet's surface, Arcannyx reached out with his senses, into the warp to see what awaited them. He found nothing, of course. The Tau were a psychically null race, and so the Warp had only voids where they would be, rather than echos or footprints.

So instead, arcannyx used other methods of research. He reached into the strands of fate, the ever changing chaos of the warp. The Tau might be invisible, but his own self and his Rubrics weren't. A thousand possibilities appeared before him, but it gave him the images he needed. They were to be outgunned. The Tau technology was far beyond the blasphemous Imperium, and their firepower was impressive. But they were not a race bred for war like the Space Marines were... and so Arcannyx began formulating his strategy, even as the craft landed on the surface with a heavy crash.

The ramp opened, and only four came out; Arcannyx, the three Chosen, and behind them, the massive Demon Engine, the Defiler twisting out it's long pincer legs to get a foot hold in the rocky terrain. With but a glance from Arcannyx, the Illuminated, as Arcannyx called the Chosen, summoned the Rubrics and their appointed sorcerer lieutenants. In the reddish glow of the alien sun, the black armored Thousand Son warriors looked like they had appeared from the dark pits of Hell itself.

He knew that over the ridge before them were the Tau, and after seeing the landing craft touch down, he knew that they'd be assembling for battle. Sensor readings had put the ranks of the Tau at at close to three times the number he had gathered here. But the Tau didn't have the force of the warp as well. He didn't have to give the command; the Chosen knew as he summoned the Disc beneath his feet and began to speed off that the Rubrics should begin the slow march up the ridge, the Defiler echoing with every step as it moved with the rest.

They reached the peak of the rise, and arrayed before them was a large deployment of the aliens; squads of foot soldiers with long pulse rifles, two detachments of heavily armed and armored battlesuits, three hover tanks with different weapons configurations, and even a small group of winged aliens, flitting around the main bulk of the force. Even as Arcannyx was using his enhanced senses to see the make up of the Tau, their own recon occurred: a pair of two man speeders flew past, performing a fly-by of Arcannyx's small band of Rubrics.

"Bring them down." He was sure that the aliens already knew they were there; any race that sophisticated had linked comms or sensor arrays. The Defiler brought it's autocannons to bear and fired off a line of armor piercing rounds, while all three of the sorcerer lieutentants unleashed powerful bolts of warp energy. As both speeders exploded beneath all of the firepower, the Exalted smiled beneath his helm. "Now they know we're here. March."

Other than that, the Tau seemed willing to wait for the Sons to reach a good firing range. Even as his Rubrics made the last bit of the trek, one of the grav-tanks, the one with the large main cannon, took aim and fired a ranging shot. A heavy projectile flew threw the air...and then exploded into a rain of shrapnel. Most of the debris missed, while the rest bounced harmlessly off the enameled armor of the Rubrics. In response, without any command from Arcannyx, the Defiler planted it's legs, and from it's main battle cannon it belched fire. It's shot found the mark, causing a gout of flame to come from the tank. It hung in the air for a moment, and then it's nose fell, and the whole tank impacted with the ground, blowing up in a tower of flame and sending nearby soldiers scurrying for cover from the burning remains.

And once again, the two sides grew quiet as the distance was shortened. Finally, as the Rubrics stepped into the extreme range of the long-range Tau pulse rifles, the Fire Warriors opened fire. The strength of their rifles were impressive, each pulse of high-intensity energy that struck a Rubric forced it back a step. But the energy wasn't dense enough to break through the power armor, so only a few showed anything more than superficial damage. And those that did suffer injury continued on anyway.

But the firing from the Tau line was the signal predetermined; the Chosen swept their staves and shimmered away, taking the Rubrics with them. Before the Tau could get their bearings as to what happened, the squads appeared behind the line of Fire Warriors. It was a risky tactic that threatend to expose his entire force to deadly cross fire, but Arcannyx risked it. As soon as the Rubrics and the sorcerers faded back in, they unloaded full clips from their bolters. The sorcerers unleashed waves of disrupting warp energy; those that didn't melt under the twisting waves as reality changed within them ended up dying in a hail of rapid fire bolter shells.

Three squads of Rubrics reloaded their bolters. Three squads of the Tau were gone, cut down under simply too much firepower.

In the meantime, Arcannyx flew over the scene, seeking out one of the squads of heavy armored battle suits. He found a trio that hung back, so far having done nothing but looking for an opportune moment. As Arcannyx's disc came nearby, they decided it was the right time, and a volley of plasma bolts flew towards him. Two missed, but the lead unit struck his armor; only the twisting field of warp energy that protected his armor saved him from the blast. He drew the demon blade at his hip, and dived towards them, even as he unleashed a bolt of twisting black warp lightning into the suits. The bolt caught one suit full on with enough force to vaporize him, leaving only a few metal plates to clatter to the ground. Then the disc met the remaining two suits. The whirling blades struck the armored suits, causing sparks and tearing rents in the armor. The Tau weren't meant for close combat; they abhored it, but the battle suits were almost suited to the task. With his demon blade, Arcannyx tore through one of the suits, cutting him down like wheat from the chaff. His reverse stroke cut a rent through the leader's armor, and he staggered back, away from Arcannyx's deadly sword, only to fall a few moments later from a wound much worse than it seemed.

It took him a few moments, as always, to bind the demon back to its blade, keeping it from raging out of control. Behind the roar of the demon's cry, he hared other similiar shrieks; the insectoid aliens had tore apart half a squad of Rubrics, and in response they had summoned some of the Flamers, whose psychic bolts had all but destroyed the creatures. As his senses returned to him, he felt a vague feeling of wariness, and looked down at his chest to see four red pinpricks of light. Some sort of laser targeting system, he realized, and then his thoughts were confirmed as he saw another hover tank appear... and launch a quad of missiles, which arched high over the battlefield, and flew towards him. Arcannyx spared a moment to look for who had fired the markerlights, but couldn't see them in the din of battle, and he turned his attention to the incoming projectiles. They arced and veered straight towards him, ignoring all else. For a moment the Exalted Sorcerer felt fear, but he pushed it down; Tzeentch had greater things in store for him than this...

He steadied himself, and reached out into the warp for more strength to his warp field to protect him from the blast.

Around him, he heard the Defiler firing again, and his Rubrics continuing their steady onslaught against the Tau forces... and then his entire world turned into pain and fire.

.....

Someone lifted him up out of the crater. The Rubrics wouldn't do it, and the Flamers certainly couldn't consider such an act, so that meant it was either the Tau, or one of the Illuminated. Considering the way he had just been targeted for those missiles, he doubted it was the Tau giving him a hand up out of the debris. A Chosen, then. Or possibly one of the Aspiring, hoping for favor.

He hurt. Everywhere, all over. Even as he struggled to his feet, he strained within his head to remember what happened. Somehow, the first of the missiles missed, exploding behind him. The concussive force of the blast battered at him, but he kept standing. Then the next two hit. He assumed the forth did as well. Strangely, he thought that such powerful weapons would have hurt more on impact, but it felt more like a solid punch to the gut... before he had his genetic engineering done, thousands of years ago. Then all he felt was utter heat. Like he was being torn apart.

He looked down at himself; most of his armor was melted to slag, and he was left only wearing the tatters of his robes of office, and the molecular-bonded skin suit that interfaced with his armor. His helmet had been blown off, and his long silver hair was singed. He was bloody and battered, but alive, and he had a feeling that the only reason for that was the demonic gifts flowing through his blood thanks to the Changer of Ways.

He glances around slowly, and saw his demon blade driven into the ground a few feet away, and he pulled it free of the stone. It's blade was unmarked, as if nothing had happened. His rune-staff had been obliterated, that would take time and effort to recreate.

A second glance took in his surroundings. The Defiler stood still, while the missile tank that had fired at him was in flames. The few tanks that remained were firing light arms, and seemed fairly low on his troops' priority list. Most of the Flamers were gone, only a few still remaining in this dimension, but stil pouring their unholy energies into the large masses of Tau foot soliders.

At least one of his Rubric squads had been reduced to only the Chosen and the Sorcerer that accompanied them; it was these two that had recovered him from the missiles' blast sight. As one of the transports moved closer to try picking off the stray troops, the Aspiring raised his hand, and a bolt of black lightning tore through the armored shell of the tank, sending it flying away trailing black smoke from one of its engines.

Suddenly the Defiler gave a cry as it caught a blaze; flames trailed from the socket where its autocannons had been only moments ago. In the distance, a massive battle suit with a pair of heavy shoulder-mounted cannons was already turning, looking for another target.

They were losing. While there were still perhaps half the Rubrics that Arcannyx had brought with him, most of their reserves, the summoned Flamers, were gone, and the demon engine was wounded. Worse, he couldn't help this fight any more... his powers were still intact, but he would not risk himself in the heat of combat with no armor and only a fraction of his strength. He was certain that whatever had marked him as a target was still hiding out there, and it was nigh impossible to know if there were any more missile emplacements; it was only a matter of time before they lost the Defiler to such tactics.

He reached out with his senses quickly... and there it was. It couldn't be called a psychic impression... it made even the most weak of psykers seem like the sun beside a candle when compared to this faint impression. "There." He said, even before he had even looked in that direction. It was one of the Tau, but not dressed in the armor that the soldiers wore. Instead he was dressed in flowing robes, with a staff in hand, and a high-tech communications device on his back. Floating beside him were two small automated drones, generating energy fields.

As soon as he had said the word, the Chosen dissapeared. The Aspiring remained by Arcannyx's side to defend him, but at this point it didn't matter. The Tau leader, the one in the robes, was the key. He knew it as certain as he knew that Tzeentch's grace was what kept him alive, and his grace showed him this answer. With Space Marine enhanced senses, he watched as the Chosen shimmered into being a few yards from the Ethereal -where did that word come from? But Arcannyx knew it was who this one was- and raised his bolt pistol. The Chosen all carried ensorcelled ammo, and as he squeezed the trigger, a burst of bolter shells flew. The first tore through one of the drones, which exploded in a brilliant display of sparks and flame. The other drone immediately increased its shields, but the shots had already reached their mark; the instant they had hit the first target, they exploded into miniature warp storms, devestating the Ethereal, and the remaining drone.

As soon as what was left of the alien figurehead dropped, each and every Fire Warrior on the field seemed to know. The landscape grew quiet; after all, his men never said a word in combat. Then the first of the surviving Tau began to step back. Then the next squad. The heavy battlesuit. In a matter of moments, the entire alien force had turned into an organized retreat.

Arcannyx considered letting them go. He thought better of it. "Decimate them." The Defiler roared it's revenge, dropping a terrible shell onto the fleeing men, sending bodies everywhere. The Rubrics fired into their backs as the Tau broke finally, and began to run. The battlesuit fell to one of the Aspiring's lightning bolts.

Finally, it was over. While Arcannyx would be spending quite a deal of time recovering, and his powers would need to recover, he had survived, and so had Ahriman's three Chosen. The Rubrics could be bound into new suits of armor, and more Flamers could be summoned. The techpriests would need to graft a new autocannon to the Defiler, but even it would be whole again.

Tzeentch would be pleased, and he would know better for next time he fought this 'young' race.

Next time, he would simply blast them from orbit.
 

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Discussion Starter · #5 ·
Recovery

He didn't realize just how much damage the Tau had done to him. He had known that the missile strike had nearly killed him, but what he hadn't realized was that it had killed him. Only the demonic gifts within his body had kept him alive. That, and a great many redundant systems that make up a Space Marine. Even the 'traitors'.

For a month he ended up in the medbay of his starship, in a deep trance as the medics worked on restoring his flesh, and various Aspirings came to work new binding rituals to reinstitute the demonic gifts that infused his blood.

Every morning he would awaken, and stretch out his senses to the bridge, reading in the crew's minds the status of the ship. Since leaving the Tau world, he had sent them nearly across the galaxy, to coordinates he provided telepathically. No one knew where they led.

While all this was happening, the artificers on board were hard at work manufacturing suits of power armor for new troops, additional bolters, and hundreds of clips of ammo for all of their weapons. A dedicated team also worked on the Defiler grafting a new autocannon to its shoulder, and reinforcing damaged armor plating and weakened servo motors. When they were finished, the three Chosen unwove the bindings that kept the demon within the war machine... only to rebind it tightly, to make sure it didn't slip its bonds.

Three weeks into his rehabilitation, Arcannyx reached out to the crew and found that they were readying a report for him. Once more the 'anomoly' had appeared in their wake, only to dissapear again. This time one of the navigators felt a warp presence, indicating that whatever it was was either alive, or carried the living. He thought it might have been a ship.

Most of all, Arcannyx thought. A month in hibernation gave a powerful psyker a great deal of time to think, even unconcious. While Ahriman had still be pleased by the defeat of the alien Tau, a great many resources had to be replaced afterwards. When he emerged, he would have to bind new essences to the power armor being made; he trusted no one with the Rubric ritual to create more. The damage to the Defiler, the creation of ammo and weapons, the locating and binding of more Flamers after their destruction...

Ahriman was displeased. The great sorcerer never said so, but Arcannyx knew that this was little better than failure. He needed to accomplish something great in order to win back Ahriman's favor. And so he had given the crew the coordinates to ruins that he had found himself nearly eight hundred years ago. He had kept tabs on them since, and knew that the thrice-damned Eldar, those that spawned the great god of Pleasure, had created an outpost there, but had barely started to scratch the surface of the ruins.

He intended to take them back. But before he could do that, he would need to ready himself. The Eldar were the only race alive that could match the powers that he possessed as a sorcerer of the warp. It was also the reason for the dedicated rebuilding efforts. He wanted his force in perfect condition to deal with these Eldar fools...

Finally, the medbay released him. His body was whole, and the demonic bindings and gifts through his body made him feel stronger than ever before. The artificers had built him a new suit of armor, with a new demon already straining and flexing it's power within the heavy, black iron shell. It glowed with an inner orange fire, as if it were still smoldering, even after he put it on. His sword remained whole, so he slipped that on as well, and then began the process of creating a new staff to focus his powers.

Soon, very soon, he would be ready.

The ruined world of Elexeus would shake with the forces unleashed between himself and the Eldar.

Ahriman would be pleased.
 

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Discussion Starter · #6 ·
He was certain Ahriman knew his plans, even though the great Sorcerer hadn't given the orders to go here. After all, if the Illuminated, the Chosen were here, Ahriman knew.

Arcannyx had no allusions that Ahriman didn't know. But he hadn't stopped the Exalted from stopping this mission, so if nothing else, that was already a sign of acceptance, perhaps even approval. He had landed on the surface of a planet so old it had no name. It was simply another lost world. Hundreds of years ago, Arcannyx had found it on an expedition, and since then, kept tabs on it for the day when he'd have enough strength to investigate the ruins that he had found deep beneath the surface.

Now he had that power. Only one thing was in his way. The Eldar, that 'old' race that had helped in the rise of one of the great Powers, had made an outpost not far from the ruins. Worse, they were connected to one of the 'craftworlds', what they used for large, floating planets. This particular offshoot were the Eldar equivlent of the Thousand Sons; they were the most powerful of their psykers and the wisest of their Seers.

As always, his force moved simply. The Defiler began it's slow walk, and he soared forward on his demonic Disc. Three full squads of Rubrics, and the three Chosen, marched forward. He wanted the Eldar obliterated, no tricks. He had given his orders to the Chosen before; wipe them all out. In the distance, he saw the Eldar beginning to scramble at their outpost. Dozens of eldar guardians scrambled to the front, weapons at the ready. A few manned floating gun platforms. Behind them, he saw a pair of large tanks floating forward on anti-grav units, guns moving to come to bare. And far in the distance, with his enhanced senses, he saw the large compound, as a dozen men in ornate robes started filing out of the compound and assembling.

The Rubrics moved forward, and dissapeared into the shimmering mode of transportation the Chosen possed, even as Arcannyx forced his disc forward into the frey. When the Rubrics reappeared, they began firing round after round of bolter fire into the black-clad Eldar footsolders, who in turn dropped in bloody heaps. The Aspiring Champions turned from the Rubrics, throwing out bolts of black lightning at the hovering tanks. One seemed to shrug off the blast, while the second exploding, falling to the ground in a flaming skid.

The Defiler stomped forward, and ignored it's heavy cannon. Instead, to targeted a vulnerable force of troopers, wearing green armor and charging forward with chain swords and pistols. It fired it's autocannons, shreading the first few troops, and then launched a pair of havoc missiles. The ammo was designed for this purpose: for decimating lightly armored troops.

The Chosen had similiar tasks; their firepower was rune-enchanted bolt pistols. When they spat fire, the shells exploded into tiny warp storms that tore at targets, killing handfulls with each shot fired.

The battle had only started, and half the Eldar's troops had fallen under a volley of fire. It seemed almost too easy.

It was. The powerful warlocks and seers that made up the core of the Eldar force started moving forward. The air above some of the rubrics turned suddenly turbulent, and Arcannyx could feel the warp twisting as a suddenly storm erupted, lightning lashing out, tearing apart a quartet of Rubrics before they could react. Another squad suddenly dissapeared in a volley of explosions as a squad of winged jet-pack-wearing Eldar swopped past. Arcannyx threw bolts of fire at them and a few dropped, but the damage was done on that front, his rubrics leaking essence from numerous 'wounds'.

From one flank came a trio of lightly armored walkers, Eldar sitting in the command seats between the legs and heavy arms, and they began firing into Arcannyx's forces with heavy plasma weaponry. More Rubrics staggered under the weight of the firepower, a few suits of armor crumpling.

This was not turning out well. The Eldar had impressive numbers and firepower, while his own forces had similiar strength in the form of arcane strength. He needed something more decisive. He knew he wouldn't have as much luck as when the Chosen managed to destroy the Tau backbone with a single bolter shell, but he needed to cause more havoc, force the Eldar force to regroup. He urged the disc into a fast sweep, heading towards the knot of the Seer's Council.

They saw him coming, and three spears suddenly flew through the air at him. He knocked one aside with a sweep of his staff, and the second missed entirely. The last one struck his armor, and the glow of his sorcerous shields knocked the blow aside, leaving his ribs to ache just with the force. As he watched, the three Warlocks who threw the weapons summoned them back to their hands. The others carried similar weapons, though in sword form, and Arcannyx had a feeling he didn't want to get close enough to try his demon blade against all of those weapons.

He didn't get the chance, as suddenly he felt an intrusive presence in his head One of the Warlocks was touching the shoulder of a robed Farseer, who somehow was staring into him from yards away. Suddenly it felt like the farseer was in his head. He lashed back, gathering up all the will he had, as if he were trying to bind the warp to his will to unleash sorcery.

The pair struggled back and forth. He felt a second Farseer attempt to intrude into his mind as well. He screamed in agony as both started to rumage through his thoughts. Part of his rational though realized he was at the mercy of the Warlocks while he was staggering like this; the rest of him was too focused on the struggle for dominance within his own soul. They were powerful psykers, and there were two of them. Even if he had his Aspirings nearby, the warp was not nearly sutble enough for this... at least, not the magic that his men used for killing what stood in their way. He had magic to counter this, but even with the warp staff in his hand, he couldn't reach that range with such short-lived, potent magics.

He felt the disc starting to falter beneath his feet, a sure sign that he was losing control. He knew he was drifting closer, as in the back of the roar of his mind he heard the din of battle going away, and the Warlocks chanting in battle. One hurled a spear, and he felt it tear through his armor, pierce his side, and then go through. He clenched his teeth. He could not fall. He could not. He reached out, trying to find the two threads of power that connected him to the farseers... he strained... there. He didn't have the strength to fight them both off, and if he ignroed one the other would incinerate his synapses. He needed another tactic...

He smiled to himself as he felt the disc nearly crash into the ground. Of course.

He risked another fraction of thought to reach into the warp... and summoned the Flamers that had been kept back in reserves.

He felt his ears bleeding inside his helmet from the pressure of the attack. He saw spots in front of his eyes. And then, suddenly, it all stopped. The pressure was gone so fast it nearly hurt, and Arcannyx looked up at the Seer's council. Half of them were dead as the flamers manifested, throwing fire into their ranks before they could retaliate. The rest were suddenly fighting desperately against the demons that had appeared. The Farseers had to give up their assault, and were using their formidable powers against the demons instead.

His entire body in agony, bleeding from the wound in his side, he unleashed bolts of black fire into the ranks. Two Warlocks died protecting their leaders. Two more dropped from the Flamers. Soon only the Farseers remained.

Arcannyx floated over on his disc. He dismissed the Flamers; they turned and bounded towards the rest of the melee, throwing fire at any target that could burn.

The two Farseers drew their swords, and raised pistols. The shots were shirukens, too light to pierce the armor of his suit. Arcannyx ignored the shots, drawing his blade. He was angry. He was wounded. He would show them the true strength of Chaos.

But instead of cutting them down, he raised the staff. The runes on the arcane tool began to glow. Moments later one of the Eldar wise screamed, begining to spasm. He fell to his knees, and the other one turned to look, eyes widening in fear. The Farseer seemed to start to melt... shifting, twisting... until he turned into a horribly mutated creature, a spawn of Chaos. It shrieked in newborn agony, turned at the closest target... and tore the head right off of the other farseer.

Arcannyx cut it in half with his sword before it could turn on him.

As he turned to survey the rest of the battle, he smiled to himself. Most of the Eldar had weapons that couldn't harm the rubrics; it was only their heavy weapons and vehicles that gave threats. The Champions had taken care of most threats with bolts of lightning and waves of raw chaos. The only remaining tank and died to the shell of the defiler's cannon. All that remained were a few specialists troops, but they couldn't get a foot hold against the automaton rubrics.

But Arcannyx wanted no mercy for the aliens. "Back. Illuminated, take the Rubrics back. I tire of these games." Instead, he reached up into the minds of his followers, high in orbit.

"Target this location. Glass it."

He believed that the 'loyal' marines called it Exterminatus. It would work. Already his rubrics had faded away, and the Defiler was moving back to the launch craft. The Flamers were expendable, they threw themselves at the eldar that were trying to cut off a retreat.

In an hour, his ruins would be available to explore. He'd just have to step over the bodies.
 

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Discussion Starter · #7 ·
"Arcannyx... you have done well for yourself. The relics that you have found for me were truly impressive." The Chosen spoke, as always, with Ahriman's voice through the ornate helmet. "But I have a new mission for you now. The Chosen will be leaving you to bring these trinkets back to me. Take your cruiser and head towards Drayaex VII. Meet up with the vessel there. Take command of the troops on board... and I will contact you soon enough. Go now, my Exalted, with my blessing."

It was a strange turn of events for the Chaos Sorcerer. With one movement he was being rewarded with compliments from his master Ahriman... and with another being told he had lost favor by losing the services of the powerful Chosen... sorcerers that even he as an Exalted couldn't match.

But he was a willing servant, one of the originals that had helped Ahriman cast the Rubric. He would not falter now. Reaching out with his mind, he quickly told the crew the new coordinates. Then he headed to his own chambers. His new armor waited for him. After the destruction of his last suit, at the hands of those worthless Tau and their missiles, he had been working on something more impressive, something worthy of his stature. The Artificer's had done well. A large suit of powered armor, in an ornate style resembling the ancient Terran perchance for flourish, and carved all over in wards and prayers to Tzeentch. Black as midnight, the runes glowed with a golden light, the same black and gold color scheme that his trusted Rubric marines wore. In the same manner as them, he had taken to wearing a loin cloth of blue, the traditional color of the Thousand Sons... his tribute to the main force that he was operating independantly of. A new helmet with long curving horns marked his status.

All in all, the suit was simpler than the last that he wore... but he felt it suited him better. He looked more the warrior, less the fancy, shining target for the enemy. And something inside of him said that it would be better for him to seem more like his men. A unity that even the unholy powered armor could feel and respect. The armor was actually less protective than the first, though the sorcerous wards upon it would give him as much protection against stronger attacks... but while wearing it he felt stronger; the demon bound into this suit of armor was not meant for protection... it was the same daemonic energy that granted his Rubrics longer life.

The only thing that he had not chosen, and found waiting for him, was the cloak. It seemed to set and fuse to the shoulders of his armor... and was a long flowing metallic purple in color. Purple has no place in the pagentry of Tzeentch, or Ahriman... and while occasionally Horrors might appear from the warp in such a color, usually it was a color aligned with the God of Pleasure and Pain... Slaneesh.

This made Arcannyx wonder, exactly, what Ahriman had in store for him.

Hours later, the cruiser glided out of the warp. Dressed in his full regalia, his demon sword belted at his hip and his new staff of office in hand, he walked onto the bridge. Already waiting for him was a message, saved in the queue of his command console... which he rarely sat at, since he commanded the crew of the vessel like a puppet master at a show.

He sat down in his minature throne, and activated the console. He expected a message from his lord Ahriman... instead he was rewarded with a holographic image of a Chaos Marine, dressed in black and gold befitting his own forces... however instead of the high peaked helms of the Rubrics, theres were more in line with the normal marine helmets. Shoulder pads and armor plates had begun to warp into the shapes of ever-screaming faces, and then done in a dark purple color. They were Noise Marines; the chosen warriors of Slaneesh, members of the Emperor's Children legion.

"Greetings, Lord Arcannyx. It is an honor to finally meet you." The marine's voice was distorted by the perpetual noise of the screaming in the background... like the wail of a banshee far off in the distance... the sounds of the primal warp; an aspect more twisted and violent that the refined power of sorcery that he controlled. "We are servants of the great Master, the one you call Slaneesh. He has agreed to an alliance of sorts with your own master Tzeentch, and so we have been put at your disposal. Your Master has seen war coming, and while your magics and your armored men are perfect to hold a siege... we bring our own talents to your force, in order to help you wage war for Abaddon and the gods."

Arcannyx did not answer. After all, he couldn't; the hologram was a recorded message. Still, his anger instantly boiled inside of him; a navigator suddenly slumped, bleeding from his ears and nose. The nerve of this... peon, this trooper, to presume what help he needed! But far off in the distance he heard his master's voice. "They will assist you. Use them as you would your own demons... and use theirs as well. You are a controller and manipulator of the Warp, my Exalted. They are now your tools."

Suddenly it all made sense to Arcannyx. Disposable resources. He had heard of the Emperor's Children's like of strange and alien technology; their sonic weaponry was nearly as potent as his own sorcery, but could be used by most nay Marines. Firepower like that...

Arcannyx keyed a button to send a response message across to the cruiser waiting in orbit over the planet. "Shuttle your men over. Tomorrow we will go to war for the Gods."
 

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Discussion Starter · #8 ·
It was his first time that Arcannyx had been inside of a drop ship with live marines in a very long time. He had grown used to the dread silence of his Rubric Marines... when they didn't simply appear on the field with the Chosen and their power of teleportation. While his rubrics were still onboard, their bodies in rigid attention, not needing to move or speak for the entire descent... the Noise Marines of Slaneesh were another matter.

While most of the 'noise' came through their internal sound systems, there were too many of the Havocs -each one of them having been designated for their mission as heavy weapon crews- to ignore the twisting noises that they were always listening to. In a way, it was like focusing on the ever-shifting waves of the Warp that guided him as a sorcerer and seer... and in a way it was as different as fire and ice. Even through the helmets, yards away from the closest Havoc, their 'ritual noise' made his head ache.

As the vessel shook from tearing through the planet's atmosphere, Arcannyx closed his eyes... going through rituals to calm himself, clear his mind... and put the noise of Slaneesh away where he could ignore it. He needed to be in top form when his force hit the lines of the 'Loyalist' marines waiting for him on the planet's surface.

Upon touchdown, the landing craft opened, letting reddish light pour into the vessel. The planet was nothing more than a ball of reddish rock, a swirling sandstorm of dust that obscured the true color of the sun and made everything seem like an inferno hell world. Arcannyx didn't mind; a planet was not beauty. The knowledge of the inhabitants... that was another story. But Ahriman told him that there was nothing of value here. He simply wanted to test his new 'tools' against a worthy foe... and somehow, as he always did, Ahriman knew vast tactical knowledge... including the deployment of a Adeptus Astartes training facility not far from the Eye of Terror.

He stepped out of the dropship first, followed by the eerily silent squads of Rubric marines. Three squads of the Slaneeshi Havocs followed, and from each and every one came the high-pitched whines of their powerful sonic weaponry powered up. Three of the troopers had high banners strapped to their backs... icons that pulsed with energy from the warp, to focus in the summoning of demonic entities from the warp.

The ground shook as the Defiler came out of the rear section of the drop ship, through it's own hold. While he had lost many of his additional Rubrics in the transition to these new Havocs, he did keep the Demon engine; it's strength was invaluable.

As was usual, they left the drop ship back some ways, so that the enemy forces wouldn't scout for them and destroy their way back up to the cruiser. The two sorcerers still with him, the commanders of his rubric marines, they reached out with arcane senses, scouting ahead. The Havocs spoke amongst themselves, within the din of their internal cacophany of sounds.

Off in the distance, They could see the structures that made up the marine outpost. "We will let them come to us." Arcannyx decreed, his voice muffled through his heavy helmet. He glanced to the Havocs. "Take up positions. When they hit this ridge, melt their bones and show me how effective your 'Noise' is."

Instantly, the Havocs organized, moving into a three pronged setup to allow for crossfire wherever the marines might approach. The Rubrics and their champions formed ranks as well, bolters at the ready while the sorcerer began preparing their spells; powerful volleys of firebolts.

Arcannyx reached into the warp... and suddenly he was in the air, as beneath him his disc appeared to act as a personal form of transportation... flames licking at his feet behind him as he circled his forces. Finally, he glanced at the Defiler... and nods. "Fire."

The first shell fired by the Defiler incinerated one of the training facilities. The second detonated upon a large tank, one of the company's Land Raiders. All that remained from the explosion was a smoking crater.

"Keep firing."

With another roar from the demon engine's maw, a third shell fired. By now the marines had begun to mobilize; bikes and speeders already starting to move, while the tactical marines grabbed up bolters and were charging towards their position. The third shell ended up drifting on the swirling winds, and it exploded to the right of a squad of the superhuman soliders. A few were thrown to the ground, but quickly regained their footing. Off to the rear, two large armored walkers shambled out of a hanger bay. Dreadnoughts: ancient marines entombed within the walking armored tanks, controlling them even after death.

Arcannyx glanced from the dreadnoughts, to his Defiler, controlled by the spirit of a demon. "Not so different from us, are you?" he mused, and then turned back around. "The dreadnoughts must die. Let's see the strength of your weapons, Slaneeshi." He motioned to the Havoc squads, who immediately powered up the heavier weapons; those meant to crush vehicles and tear up enemies from afar. "The rest of you... break their charge."

The entire army quickly formed up as the Marines came into range. A few of the squads stopped short, opening fire with shoulder-mounted rockets. One detonated against the Defiler, whiel another exploded into the midst of the forward most Rubrics. One of his armored soldiers fell, not to stand again... but for the most part the Marines were out of range.

The landspeeders came up fast, and their heavy chain guns started spewing lead into one of the Havoc squads. Two dropped with screams, and immediately they turned, bringing all of their sonic weaponry to bare. In moments, both speeders exploded in flames.

Near the center of the line, a dozen marines suddenly appeared, dressed in heavy terminator armor. "Them." He said, calling out mentally to his forces. Suddenly two of the Noise Marines lowered the banner poles from their backs... and two hordes of demons appeared. Creatures of Slaneesh, the Daemonettes were all pleasure and pain; twisted barbed blades melded with beautiful women. They ran forward, shrieking like harpies, and Arcannyx spurred his disc to fly forward with them.

As he soared forward, he threw a bolt of raw power from his hand, instantly incinerating one of the terminators; their heavy armor simply couldn't handle the power of his spell. He waited for the daemonettes to crash into the terminator's ranks, their claws glancing off armor, but occasionally tearing through seams to rend limbs from bodies or heads from toros. Then he joined in as well, his demonic rune blade screaming for souls and tearing through the terminator armor like paper.

It was a bloody battle. After the initial shock of the Daemonettes' assault, the Terminators struck back. Every time one landed a blow against a Daemonette, they shudder and screeched in pain; more often than not it was enough to send them hurdling back into the warp. Arcannyx spun around, intent on cleaving through another, when suddenly his blade was stopped by another weapon. It looked like the long haft of a halberd, and it was held by a marine in archaic silver armor, festooned with symbols and holy insignia.

"Your time has come, Heretic. You will be purged."

And then he was gone... leaving Arcannyx to quickly counter the parry of a heavy hammer wielded by the Terminator captain. Suddenly he was in a duel... and he was not the master combatant that some of the other Chaos Lords were. He found himself relying on his other skills... every strike the captain made, he saw a split second ahead of time, parrying blow after blow with the half of his runestaff. His own sword slashed out, often striking against the shield strapped to the captain's forearm. Once he made a clean blow, stabbing through the terminator armor into the marine's gut... but in response he was struck hard by the hammer's head... and he felt that only the demonic energies of his warding kept him whole.

Around him, the battle raged, and he heard the screams of both space marine and daemon dying around him. Finally, he saw his opening; a flash of insight. The Terminator Captain, hoping to end the battle and get back to his troops, grabbed his hammer in a two handed grip, intent on simply crushing his skull. But the weapon was too slow, and in the opening made by the overhanded swing... he drove the dark blade of his sword straight through the center of his chest. The captain died without a sound... but the blade screamed as it tore the marine's soul from his body, and then raged out until Arcannyx could force the demon back inside it's cage.

The last of the terminators had fallen, and the daemonettes, only a handful left had run off to kill other marines. The marine bikes had died as they ran headfirst into volley after volley of bolter fire from his Rubric marines. The defiler had stopped shelling the field, instead using it's autocannons and missile launchers, tearing swaths through the marines.

His Rubrics, of course, all sported signs of battle; most had rents and damage to their armor, their animating essense glowing, smoking from the holes. A few more of the Slaneeshi havocs had fallen as well. Behind him, Arcannyx heard the rumble of one of the great armored Dreadnoughts; he spun around, just barely getting out of the way of a volley of bolter shells flying over his head. he raised his staff, and let power surge through it; another bolt of raw chaotic lightning tore through the dreadnought's sarcophagus... killing the operator... again. The hulk fell over, smoking from the hole in its back.

With the commander gone, and their dreadnoughts in disarray, the ranking officers were no more. Someone must have declared a retreat, because immediately the marines began to regroup. Another shoulder-mounted rocket was launched, impacting against the defiler and causing it to bellow in pain as one of it's legs cracked and smoked. Waves of raw sonic energy past by Arcannyx, and he turned to see a fleeing marine squad suddenly collapse, screaming and with blood leaking from cracks in their armor.

Finally, the Adeptus Astartes fled back to their base... and Arcannyx heard the psychic cry from orbit; a Marine Battle Barge had just appeared in system. "It is time for us to go. Back to the ship. Let us report our victory to Ahriman, and the greater powers of Chaos."

The Rubrics began walking back silently, while the Slaneeshi cheered and screamed to their strange, chaotic noise that filtered through their helmets. And all Arcannyx could do was think back to that fleeting image of the armored knight with the polearm, and the threat that was posed to him...
 

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Bravo. Very very nice indeed. I like how somehow you managed to include all the major armies i collect or usually fight against. makes me wish i had that good of a background for my eldar...
 

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Discussion Starter · #13 ·
Jez: I wrote up each post in different sittings, usually each one took me an hour or two while I was at work. on the other forums it was over the span of 2 months of random posts, basically... I just grabbed em all and put em together here in a string of posts. And no.... NO reference material was used beyond in game experience.

Dire: I stuck to any army I had experience with... the exception being Eldar, and that's why the battle was a little more creative and a little less 'hey, he rolled a 1 right there!'. Necrons wer emy old army, and Tau was my most common opponent. I also know Grey Knights, which is why I've been working up to t hem... I just never got around to it.
 

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very nice. best fluff ive read in my opinion, after reading it once again.

although i still wish the eldar had owned :)
 

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Discussion Starter · #16 ·
I realize this thread is VERY old... but I wanted to ressurect it, and get a few more people's thoughts on everything. It's time for me to drudge up this army, finish picking up models for it, etc, etc, and I thought the first thing I should do is ressurect the storyline....

So very much a BUMP.
 
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