++Inspirational Friday - 19/06/2015++

[Teetengee]

Drehzrhe

     Drehzrhe stepped over the dead kaballites at her feet. <I was right in this,> she thought to herself, <none should question my killing of them.> She shook away the whisper of more at the back of her mind. Tipping her head back, she feasted on the waves of pain emanating from the survivors still crawling and screaming about her bedroom on stumps, their limbs strewn over the alabaster floor. She focused down to the slightest sounds, shutting them out, only letting herself know the drip of gore slowly slipping from her axeblade.

     <But my sisters will ask.> Drehzrhe knew they would wonder how she received forewarning. She couldn’t tell them that the axe woke her long before. That she had lain in wait to ambush them, blood pumping with combat drugs even as they conceived of the final stages of their plan. That she hadn’t killed them to save herself, but just to see them die.

     “Who sent you?” her voice calm, there was no need to intimidate them now. Drehzrhe reached down and stroked the forehead of one of her victims, quickly dying from the four stumps where his limbs used to be. “Hush now, answer me quickly and I shall ease your passing.”
     The pitiful creature looked up at her not with hate as she expected, nor even fear, but awe. Eventually he started in ragged tones, “Your sisters feared you. They were wrong, fear is pointless.”

     “Thank you,” she took the curved blade from his waist, a blade meant for her throat. Drehzrhe appreciated that irony for a moment and then drew the blade down and through his neck, severing it at the base. The rest she left in their suffering, none would save them now that they had failed in their task and their skulls were not worthy.

http://heretherebemonsters40k.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-chaos-eldar-project-khornate.html

[TDF]

Load File: 2G58F90EW-ΩΨΣ

Accessing...

Accessing...

Load Complete

Time Stamp: 002873.42

Initial phase complete. Signal jammers worked according to predictions. Subject 9872 “Lord” successfully captured intact by IV Legiones Astartes. Astartes casualties exceed projections. Subject 102 “Warsmith Gerrontus” vocally expressed disappointment with incorrect projections but reaffirmed support for Operation Orwull. Subject 9872 removed to Facility ΛE-7Φ.

Time Stamp: 002914.78

Subject 9872 “Lord” secured in containment unit. Weapons tests successfully completed and self-repair function observed. Consensus that self-repair function appears undamaged by capture and containment.

Time Stamp: 002919.93

Subject 7800 “Obliterator Virus” administered to Subject 9872 “Lord” via physical contamination to exterior shell.

Time Stamp: 003183.07

Subject 9872 “Lord” visually unchanged. Weapons tests successfully completed and self-repair function observed. Consensus that self-repair function appears unchanged from Time Stamp: 002919.93.

Time Stamp: 003257.60

Subject 7800 “Obliterator Virus” administered to Subject 9872 “Lord” via physical contamination to interior of laser-drilled cavity.

Time Stamp: 003258.01

Laser-drilled cavity visually non-existent.

Time Stamp: 003707.56

Subject 9872 “Lord” visually unchanged. Weapons tests successfully completed and self-repair function observed. Consensus that self-repair function appears unchanged from Time Stamp: 002919.93. Subject 102 “Warsmith Gerrontus” vocally expressed disappointment in apparent failure of Operation Orwull. Review of alternate methods of administering Subject 7800 “Obliterator Virus” to Subject 9872 ongoing.

Time Stamp: 003732.23

Subject 9125 “Xxsiquz... {{ERROR}}” vocally expressed that Operation Orwull is fundamentally flawed due to Subject 9872 “Lord” lacking a soul. Consensus that Subject 9125’s comment should be disregarded. Review of alternate methods of administering Subject 7800 “Obliterator Virus” to Subject 9872 ongoing.

Time Stamp: 003746.09

Subject 9872 “Lord” engaged Protocol 109 “Phase-out”. Flaws in containment unit under review. Subject 102 “Warsmith Gerrontus” physically expressed displeasure at events. Subject 9125 “Xxsiquz... {{ERROR}}” did not make vocal comment but emotion detectors read positive for “smugness”.

Time Stamp: 003930.68

Facility ΛE-7Φ under assault by Necrons led by Subject 9872 “Lord”. Subject 102 “Warsmith Gerrontus” leading IV Legiones Astartes in defence of facility. Subject 9125 “Xxsiquz... {{ERROR}}” vocally expressed desire to “devour [our] souls when the soulless hordes flay [us] alive”. Engaged Protocol 001 “Self-preservation”.

[Aspiringchaoschampion]

Argabaroth

RAWWWWR roared the Keeper of Secrets as Kayiv raised his 2 plasma rifles and fired them into the daemons face. >you foolish weakling how dare you defy the power of the Dark Prince weakling< suddenly to the left Kayiv saw a glittering sword which warped reality around it or so it. Dodging left to right in quick succession the Battle Suit commander knew he wouldnt be able to keep this up for kuch longer. Deciding to take the risk he put his jetpack to full ppwer and boosted towards the sword knly just managing to dodge the whip the beast was carrying until it hit him in the back slamming him to the ground in front of the sword.

 

Kayiv thoughts his back was broken but he felt the sword call to him. He heard the sound of his brothers in the fire cadre fire wave after wave of pulse fire into the beast to keep it distracted. As he reached for the blade his body was aching but he knew this sword would give him a great strength a power beyond all others. He didnt know how he knew this he just did almost like a sixth sense.

 

As his hand touched the swords handle he felt his wounds heal his strength return he felt hus strength go beyond what it was before. As he got up he stared at the beast and speed towards it. Seeing the blade in his hands it summoned its maidens to defend it. Each one that got in his way he cut down each one down with a simple blade strike. With each kill he felt something awaken in him something that he had never felt before it felt alien to him but it felt powerful. He felt like if he just gave in it would give him the strength needed to conquer all before him. He felt it speaking to him "What are you" he asked. "I am Argabaroth Greater Daemon of the Blood god i once was one of his guards until some lowly sorceror tricked me and bound me into this blade but if we work together i think we could help each other"

[Carrack]

Lord Commissar Dzoavits

 

Lord Commissar Targe woke to glaring lights and the smell of antiseptics. He was on an operating table, again. The Emperor knows that 41 years in the Guard had seen him "under the knife" numerous times, but this time was different. The aftereffects of the painkillers were noticeably different, even pleasant. The euphoric sensation brought back distant memories of smoking lho in the cellar beneath the scholam. The Lord Commissar resolved to have a serious discussion with the chirurgeons, maybe involving his bolt pistol. The chanting wasn't the High Gothic rendition of The Emperor's Succor, but some harsh parochial staccato. Did that cherub flitting about the lights have horns? Surely not, it must be some hallucination.

 

After taking stock of his surroundings, Targe began to assess his condition. He was restrained to the table with leather straps. One hand was loose enough to move at the elbow, so he tentatively raised it. The hand appeared normal except the veins in his wrist were glowing a sickly green, brighter closer to his heart. Seeing this caused an immediate sensation of wrongness that Targe had learnt to associate with the taint of Chaos. He started thrashing against his bindings, desperately trying to free himself.

 

Suddenly a creature loomed over him. Parts man, machine, and daemon, the monstrosity held an eight-chambered construct in a mass of tentacles. It slammed the device into Targe's chest and his soul was melded with an entity called Dzoavits. The Lord Commissar now hungered for human flesh.

.

 

I think I spent longer whittling the word count down than actually writing the story.

[Tenebris]

Chaos Crossover

 

Another Commissar: 

 

 

The fire, every time he closed his eyes he saw fire, fire and the smell of charred flesh. For weeks the 717th Galenar fought the encroaching forces of the Word Bearers, hundreds dying every day, thousands more poured into the meatgrinder at the whim of the regimental officers. The Chapter of the Burned King was true to its name, putting the entire world of Galenar to fire, burning down the shrines of the Emperor Ascendant and impaling civilians and soldiers alike on spikes or simply piling the countless dead in towering pyres.

Commissar Helvon had enough, this was the sixth time he and his men were ordered to stem the advance of the Archenemy, every charge has seen more and more of his soldiers dead, their officers killed, and their tanks burned to molten slag. He was above the guardsmen, he was above his charges, he was to be their hero and inspiration, but Helvon was tired, so very tired.

When the brass trumpets heralded once again the Word Bearers advance Helvon took the tattered colors of his company and threw them before the fallen astartes. Grateful, his men lowered their lasguns, the cannon of the last remaining Leman Russ tilted down, the battle for Precint 27 was over, as for the war for Galenar, Helvon could not care less, he was tired, his only wish to see the haunting fires gone. A lone Word Bearer moved toward the commissar and took the company colors. Kneel, he said.

 

[Lord Pariah]

So I may have been inspired so much that I created two sections... And i cannot promise them to be the only ones. 

same point as last time, will find mistakes blabla

 

 

 

 

In venerable crusade armor, the Shaman took cover from the hail of plasma bolts fired at the living around him. As he could no bring himself to curse his corporeal enemies, the souls of the Lost became agitated at the material pain.

 

The shaman looked again at the soulless, blue-skinned xenos: believing in their revolting techno-arcania... The Shaman was not know to be a petty or spiteful creatures, but even the Orks had some respect of the Lost, although they tended to ignore it.

 

Their battle suits drawed near like clockwork wolves. The Shaman decided, on a whim, to show these fools of the immaterial power that his Lost brothers now personified. With a few names spoken and plunging his daemon bone staff into the heart of one of their "auxilaries" what believed too much in his clockwork masters.

 

Blue-white light dances between him and his living brothers, drawing on their will to see this night through.. The Lost heeded the call to war.

 

With moonlight fire, Armored creatures appeared next to the mechanical monstrosities, firing ethereal bolters into the hides of the clockwork dreadnought, bypassing "advanced" materials and flaying the flesh within. 

Credit where credit is due, Their line infantry did not cease it's doomed last stand.

 

 

 

Lost and damned... why we don't have them, I will never know... perhaps in a chaos imperial armor?

 

 

 

The noble captain Ultramarine captain, whose name has been lost to the histories of ultramar, sensed weakness in the weakling Traitors. Traitors who dared to wear Luna so proudly... It mattered little as they were cornered with no escape within this insignificant hive. The captain had rallied a squad of his best to hunt them down, and now, charge them to ensure their heretical taint will spread no further.

 

"curage and honor!" he bellowed, encouraging his men forward for the honor of scouring these traitors from the face of the galaxy. He powered up his thunder hammer.

 

The next moment happened so fast, that the universe must have taken a double take, to ensure that all players were operating above the board (*)

Firstly, the last warriors of luna were ordered to cease firing and jolted to pitiful cover.

 

Secondly the squad and arrogant captain saw this as cowardliness and surged forward, completely unaware at the possibility that they bay be taking cover from something other than them.

 

Then, when all peaces in place,  an armored figure slammed into the captain from above .

What should be common knowledge, is that even the best armor crafted with imperial hands, does indeed have it's limitations. For example, If one was were to apply a force of sufficient magnitude and leverage, one can easily paralyze or even kill even the toughest of astartes.

 

when the dust -literally- settled, the once noble Captain lie slumped on the floor, with a power armored figure's ceramite boot lodged sickeningly deep into the back of his neck. The next moment occupied the same blinding flash as the first, causing the universe too much trouble to stop halfway though.

 

the figure unfolded from it's landing position to fire a plasma pistol at a -understandably- contused veteran Sargent, and without skipping a beat, separated a recoiling battle brother from his hands in one slice and with another, his head. More figures fell upon the stunned battle brothers, each with a bolt pistol in each hand, all firing at weak points with the accuracy unfitting such a rapid entrance.

 

The Luna wolves peeked from cover to see if the carnage had stopped. their leader walked forward, trialed by a unassuming cat. The figure itself was to thin and feminine to be considered an astartes even the jump pack carried this same juxtaposition. While the armor held fleur de lis by the handful, the fact that the figure was adorned with more spikes and eight pointed stars of the undivided than a standard place of worship told of a different story.

 

"You're late." spoke a fatherly tone that threatened chastisement. The Lord Captain was greeted by a death mask, on which carried feminine features that should have been considered beautiful were it not for the twisted grin.

 

"Fashionably late" Trix corrected as her sisters finished what they had started.

 

 

*Checking it's BRB, if you will.... yes i know that it is a terrible joke, and i'm not even sorry.

 

I see your imperial Commissars and raise you seraphim sisters.

[Kol Saresk]

 

"Come my brethren! Let us gather at this appointed hour! Let the supplicants come forth, so that our Lord may look upon them!

 

"Tomorrow, we go into battle, for His glory! These anointed few will lead us into that glory!

 

"Tomorrow, we shall show the foul heathens their sins in not following the Glorious Emperor!

 

"Tomorrow, He shall look down upon us and what will He see? He shall see Warriors! Righteous Crusaders! The instruments of His will made manifest!

 

"So join me now brothers and sisters, as we anoint these chosen with the skull-rune of the Brazen Emperor in the blood of the sacrificed!"

 

[MaliGn]

Skivrat has always been a runt of a Boy, smaller than the other ladz, wiry, a scrawny kind of Ork, not much better than a filthy Grot, he was cunning though, he'd had to be. It was this cunning that saw a change in his fortunes, the Boss had gone and gotten them into a big old scrap with some red beakies, they were unlike any beakies they'd fought before, they had a Waagh! On and no mistake! Some of them had funny looking ears on the sides of their beaks and they were ferocious as any ork!

 

Skivrats mob has been cut down by one of the beakies, only Skivrat and his Nob had survived and the rampaging, armoured mad man was bearing down on them. He was carrying a right fancy Choppa, real big and dead choppy, it had some fancy glyphs on it, but it was heavy and cut things in half when he hit them with it. As he charged the Nob; screaming his rage, Skivrat (who had been playing dead) was able to stick out a leg and trip the bezerk beakie. Skivrat wasn't sure quite what happened next, but the space marine appeared to have pitched head long into the Nob, both of them went down in a mess of limbs, somehow the axe ended up in Skivrat's hands and, seeing an opportunity he smashed it into the melee.

 

Pandemonium reigned, briefly, and when the gore settled, Skivrat stood alone, clutching his new Choppa. His eyes, previously rheumy and pale glowed with an inner fire and a red tinge was darkening his pallid green flesh. He flung his head back, flung his arms wide and bellowed a Waagh! So loud and powerful that it resonated within not only every Work within the system, but also with the Butcher's Nails bored into the head of their assailants.

 

Khorne cared not from where the blood flowed, nor who spilled it.

[Lord Pariah]

I would like you to ignore my last post..

 

 

 

Under the starlight of the heavens, Nykm brought her guns to bare on her enemy. This was nothing personal. It was never personal when you sit in in a thunderbolt traveling at a decent multiple of the speed of sound.  at such speed that any target might seem like a blur past the windscreen. 

Nykm never really thought of her enemy, for she saw no color nor badges of allegiance, only the fiery death that all of her targets knew as her craft screeched past. She was told that Space Marines were some of the most feared warriors that galaxy had to offer. This must have been a lie as they died like the rest whenever they set foot off the ground... but she could not bring her self to care.

 

The niggling thought that she should be afraid soon vanished when she out ran their returning fire, and casually dodged the rest. the only thought that stayed lodged in the forefront of her mind was the fact that they were using clean equipment. It felt wrong to shoot down such magnificent aircraft, but she knew that enemy must have stole them as she did not receive any confirmation of them operating in her airspace. 

 

She shook her head and let another auto cannon burst tear a stolen storm talon asunder, and then another and another until their transport was exposed  for her lascannons. She made extra care to completely destroy the Aquila, as she could not entertain the thought of what the traitor would do to the noble symbols of His divinity.. There was death threats, as there always are, but these fell on deaf ears as this represented a breach in the vox network and to thus be ignored.

 

a shame that Nykm did not even care to record the kill, as a unseen hand had jammed the chronometer, with the came careful hand that kept fuel at a unnoticeable, never changing level

 

[Soldier of Dorn]

 

The beast roared.
 

Once it had been a Hive Tyrant, the will of the Tyranic race-mind incarnate, but now a greater power dominated its intellect. The power of the Daemon-God had mutated it into a creature of sanguinary red and brass, not unlike one of the mighty Juggernauts imprisoned in the corals of the Brazen Castle where the Skull Lord holds court over his uncounted armies. In one hand it held a mighty whip, in the other a sword of bone. The thing's face was a mess of bone and brass, bloody tears leaking from the sockets where the eyes should have been.

 

It flew at the Astartes, for it was fury incarnate and none could stand before its wrath. As it tore the Space Marine limb from limb again it roared. Ever droplet of blood spilled was an offering to the Throne, every skull taken was a tithe to Him. The beast knew this. And that was all it would ever know.

 

For it was called the Wrath of Khorne, and it was the will of the Blood God made corporeal flesh.

 

 

 

[Tenebris]

http://shrani.si/f/1a/o3/bgHYhQ/2/gallery2900410383202531.png

 

Greetings and welcome to Inspirational Friday. Due to constrains at work I will be brief. The week goes to Lord Pariah and his three contributions, of which I liked the one about the navy wingman most. A honorable mention goes to Kol Saresk. 

 

Step forth Lord Pariah and claim your reward!

 

http://shrani.si/f/e/r4/KG83M5z/15/friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 24/04/2015 - Dark Mechanicus 

 

In line with the DIY Mechanicus event in the Liber section I invite you all to write something about the Dark Mechanicus. It can be about a Skitarii or a Techpriest, it can be about a Chaos Knight House or even about an entire Dark Mechanicus Daemon Forge. Feel free to explore the topic and use this IF to inspire you to compete in the Liber Challenge. 

 

Let us be inspired!

 

Tenebris

[Tenebris]

Dark Mechanicus

 

 

Unit 11-77 Delta-Rho Utran was one of the Dark Skitarii, a weapon construct of the Numerarchy, the Conclave of Dark Magi from the rad wasteland of Paleiopolis, a blighted world deep in the Eye of Terror. Unlike his loyalist counterparts Ultan knew that he was true to the design of the Omnissiah, his data core was one with the Warp cant and his body was consecrated to the Dark Gods, anointed in holy oil and sacrificial blood. Delta-Rho Ultran was just one among a legion of other units, a legion among hundred other legions and he was proud of it.

 

His eyes were not the crude bionics employed by the Mechanicus, his eyes were of the daemon, flesh torn from the immortal denizens of the Warp, cultivated into superior grafts which allowed him to not only see in a dozen normal spectra but also to sense the ebb and flow of the Immaterium.

His weapon, Ultran reckoned, was a mighty Ectoplasma culverin, an implement of destruction unrivaled by anything that the foolish priesthood of Mars could produce. Searing bolts of ectoplasma were the bane of flesh and machine alike but it most dire effect was the corruption of the body and soul.

His raiment was made from dark cloth, a silky fabric which was grown from xenos flesh. His limbs were the claws of a predatory beast. His lungs were thorn from still living slaves and upgraded to a fearsome degree.

Unit 11-77 Delta-Rho Ultran pitied the foe that stood before his legion. The Numerarchy wanted the resources of the imperial forge world for themselves and the Dark Skitarii obliged.

 

[Beachymike123]

Dark Mechanicus you say? I was tempted to write about the Cogs of Madness again, but then I thought I'd focus on my Arch-Magos himself, Chaapoza. That, and I didn't think it would be sporting to re-enter an old piece

Captain Altoth, Archeao-technologist of the Siege Makers, watched as the large steel slab doors rolled to one side. Flanked by eight Praetorians of the Dark Skitarii, Altoth knew their master, the Arch-Magos Chaapoza.

Chaapoza's face had no flesh that was human anymore. In it's place was a sheet of obsidian black, the jaw and cranial bones just barely concealed. In place of his left eye was an array of three occular devices, each tuned to see in a different spectral lights. His right side lacked any form of eye, although the recess for an eye socket was there. Chaapoza said this was in case he wanted a change in the future. On both sides of his neck were motorised rods. In hostile situations these elongated and gave him a slight height advantage.

The Arch-Magos wore deep shades of orange. His cloak was trimmed in white, and had three lines meeting in the middle. Many had theorised this was due to an obsession with melta or flamer based weapons. In fact, it was due to love of forges, the colour representative of the fires of the hearth, while his personal symbol was a set of bellows. His preferred way of warfare was to hit hard like a hammer hitting an anvil. All forces under his direct command wore orange and white,each armed appropriately to their role, and had a set of bellows as insignia.

"You have something for me, Captain?"

"I do, Arch-Magos. It is most intriguing..."

[Carrack]

Laying the Keel of Widowmaker

 

Magostar Cath reached Avern Forge with conta-grav boosted jumps. It was to be the keel laying of Widowmaker, an Idolator class raider commissioned for Chaos Lord, Carrack.

 

Ancient shipwrights held ceremonies for laying keels, this being a significant task in the early stages of shipbuilding. On Xana II, this ceremony involved the first rituals binding daemon with machine.

 

Cath's secret ritual in this ceremony was months in the working. He had carefully engraved, psi-dampening crystals, arranged in an arcane pattern concealed within Widowmaker's primary generator. Avern Forge's Arch-Magos was unaware of Calth's project.

 

When the other Magos began their rituals, Calth activated his multishroud and disappeared from sensors. Quickly, Calth made a bounding sprint to the engineerium, pausing only to ensnare a menial thrall with his cerebral disruptor. The befuddled menial followed until they reached the Primary Generator.

 

Calth's secondary voicebox began the stanzas of calling. A slash of Calth's power axe to the heel of the captive snapped him out of his confusion and elevated his heart-rate, while flooding his system with adrenaline. The second slash opened the jugular, and fast pumping blood sprayed the crystals. Calth completed the summoning, speaking the true name of the daemon called and a hellish glare flared into the binding crystals. "I will eat your soul!" It screamed. Calth responded, "No, but the energy you expend trying to escape will fuel this generator, proving the Nullbind School's credibility.

 

Even when completely shut down, screams of impotent rage are still heard from Widowmaker's generator.

 

 

 

[Aqui]

Oooo! I'm game!

"Tech Priest Mirosa." the words were harsh, grating and as ever accompanied by a burst of data-cant. Tech Priest Mirosa wanted to ignore the other, her mind occupied by other matters. She had spent decades loyally serving Magos Hernafso, her work speaking for itself. There was no one in the Cabal that could manipulate gene-matrices like her. More so, she could graft mechanical devices to said resultant flesh directly with no rejection.

It didn't help that her persistent inclination to refer to herself as her. Gender meant nothing to the Cabal of the Molten flow, but it disturbed the others greatly that she took great pleasure in their discomfort. She wanted full access to the knowledge the Magos had, was refused time and again. Her time would come though...

"Tech Priest Mirosa. The Lord of the Bahltimyr Reavers has arrived. You should have been awaiting upon him." The data-cant implied heavy irritation, his augmented vox as emotionless as ever. Mirosa would have smiled if she still had a mouth.

"I will attend Magos."

The cavern was already occupied by Rai Lurweiss, Lord of the Bahltimyr Reavers. His second, the former Chaplain turned Dark Apostle Hr'Boor stood behind him, attended by two hulking monstrosities. Mirosa gasped in awe. The creatures were formerly Marines, but had undergone extensive mutation. It wasn't Daemonic possession. It was far worse than that...

"Finally." Lurweiss spoke, his amusement making Magos Hernafso shudder. Lurweiss was not someone to trifle with.

"I take it you are ready to accept the terms of our arrangement?"

Hernafso stepped forward, "I am, Lord."

Lurweiss laughed, his voices echo amplified by the chamber. "I was not talking to you."

The Magos let out a squawk of confusion. "I don't under..." His words cut off as he felt the agony of being bereft of his main uplink to the rest of the Cabal members, the paltry Noosphere shutting down immediately. Slumped on the floor, his optical array tracking the figure floating over him. Mirosa.

Using one of her Mechadendrites, she located his main data node, her own eyes, locked upon his. "You are of no further use to me." she purred. And pulled.

Eying the beasts kept barely in check by Hr'Boor, she finally gave her reply.

"I accept Lord. I will reverse the affects of the Change." Hefting the data node, the entire and singular repository of her Cabals' knowledge. "I do this in the name of the Cabal of the Molten Flow..."

[Teetengee]

The Anvil:

In the center of Forgeshrine Sanctsang lies an anvil untouched by all the servoslaves and daemons milling about the echoing halls. It has neither port nor glyph marring its flat surface. Simple in its construction, the only change of its black surface is a dark stain that spills over the side into an equally stained red reflecting pool.

Several robed figures clanked their way toward the anvil, a struggling convict held in the talons of two cybenhanced daemons dragged behind. The two daemons slammed him down onto the anvil holding him tight by the arms. The lead figure rose up on eight slender pointed robotic legs, robe swinging wide as he took out a massive cogbladed axe in two thin arms. Raising the axe high above him he swung down sharply, separating the sacrifices skull in a single stroke. Picking up the skull, the figure handed it to an attendent to be brought deeper into the structure wherein it would find a home in some new weapon. The two daemons popped out several wickedly sharp tubes and pierced the remaining body all over, pipes extending from them to the reflecting pool which was already beginning to fill with the victim’s blood. What was empty became full, and what was now empty was messily dissected and devoured by the delighted daemonic servants standing now to the side. Further attendents arrayed themselves around the pool pressing glyphs at the various terminals and chanting as blood waspumped out to the rest of the forge.

[Aspiringchaoschampion]

Ok il bite

The infernum

"Grolgar, where in the name of the dark gods are you" screamed the Warpsmith Aekoldite. Shuffling forwards the dark skitari kmowm as Grolgar appeared. "I am sorry for the delay my lord" his voice sounding like a mixture of white noise and human voice. The dark robes he wore were covering his unaugmented body but it was clear to see he was shaking.

 

"Grolgor just let me into the Infernum" said Aekoldite a slight sense of irritation becoming clear in his voice. "I am sorry my lord but i cannot the magos has ordered you are not to be let in yet the inferum device isnt ready". the last thing he felt was a bolt shell hitting his face blowing it up

[Carrack]

I was inspired to submit another entry that completes the narrative of the "Doom of Red Siliquastrum". This will make a half dozen submissions based around a single 500 point skirmish versus Black Templars, that I regrettably lost. Forge the narrative. :)

 

Hellbomb

 

My Lord Inquisitor Tenebris,

 

In regards to the aftermath of incident 72, my findings are as follows.

 

1. As stated in the Acting Sub-Sector Commander's After Action Report, the objective of the Black Maw Warband was to insert a strike team into the lower levels of the Red Hive. The heretic's fleet maneuvers were designed to draw the forces of Marshall Clarence away from their objective. After three days of covert actions by the Enemy, the remaining Black Templar garrison force drove off the heretics. 13 days later, the "hellbomb" detonated, destroying the Red Hive, including the Sub-Sector Seat. The rest of the findings are rubbish.

 

2. Post-Blast analysis by Magos Hartonce of the "hellbomb", reveals that the device was a small, powerful, atomic warhead perverted by the Dark Mechanicus. A device he names a "slaughter siphon", was attached to the second stage detonator. This device captured the turmoil in the warp caused by the massacres of the heretic strike team, and released it at the time of explosion, causing the daemonic phenomena and amplifying the explosion.

 

3. Based on reports of Interrogator Phan, may he rest with the Emperor, the Black Maw were desperately searching for someone in the Red Hive. This contradicts Sub-Sector's findings that the emplacement of the "hellbomb" was the goal of the Black Maw. He also suspected that Ordos Heriticus Inquisitor Ignacio may be aware of who they were searching for.

 

Your Servant,

Acolyte Vallois

-------------------------------------------

 

"16 angels guide the path that dooms red Siliquastrum"

 

[Zhaharek]

(My thanks for my previous award, and apologies for the late response. I shall, once I've figured out how, wear it with pride.)

 

Lord Malos of The Iron Dust

 

+File... Malos.conc/status: active+ +File... Warp Algorithm.psych/status: primed+ +Program... Polycannon.kill/status: primed+ +Recording...

 

Greetings. I am Warpsmith Malos Pyon-tah, of The Iron Dust. If you are one of my brothers, a Thousand Son, reading this log, know that my True Mechanicus warband, the Iron Dust will welcome you. If you are not a member of The Eighth or Fifteenth Legions, or The Chaos Dragon warband, then you hold the last testament of a member of The True Mechanicus, and The Thousand Sons, and you deserve death. In addition, if you are reading this, I am dead. If you are my killer, I offer my congratulations on achieving the impossible, and my condolences on the pain you will experience as I am avenged.

 

This is Section 678512 of my mental recordings. As detailed in Section 132, I exist as a psyker-computer program, contained by a series of cybernetic combat forms, all of which are vaguely modelled on Cataphractii Model Terminator Armour, with the notable exception of Form 96. If one such cybernetic form is located, specifically those emblazoned with my insignia (detailed in Section 01), install this program. There is 60.2379273929483920248% chance that I will be returned to life. I vow, on the name of my father, Magnus the Red, that you will be rewarded handsomely upon my return. If this fails, return my last will to any of the following (in no particular order):

 

1) My loyal brother Ahriman.

2) My friend, Zhaharek Hazamet of the Chaos Dragons.

3) My primarch, Magnus the Red.

 

 

The subject of today’s log shall be the update of my Warp Algorithm. The specifics of my Warp Algorithm were covered in Section 10, however I will reiterate here, in case of data corruption.

 

My Warp Algorithm is a data based system that allows me to analyse, record and store information appertaining to the manipulation of warp energy. In primitive terms, it enables me to assimilate and re-use any psychic powers I encounter in combat or otherwise. I have killed over 148593 creatures with it. Warp Algorithm updates have been featured in my log prior to this Section, and it would be logical for to focus on the unique events of the day, such as the revolutionary design of the greaves that are being produced in Factorum Delta, however, today’s update is unique. It involves a member of The Eighteenth Legion. My usage of The Word Bearer in my update is supposed to be symbolic of our recent declaration of war on the legion, which I covered in Section 678510. I do not care for power statements, so this log will focus on the update process.

 

1) Step one of the process is subduing the subject. The subject in this log, (henceforth referred to as Subject 16302) is a veteran astartes sorcerer. Armour features MKIII greaves and vambraces, highly damaged MKVIII breastplate and backpack and heavily customised MKIV helm. Subject 16302 displayed complete combative inferiority to me, achieving a total of 8 parries before I dismembered him. Subject 16302 may have lasted so long due to his use of a storm-field attachment on his power axe. His initial and terminal failure was due to his attempt to use his psychic abilities, by throwing his head back in the air, allowing me to attack with impunity.

2) Consume cerebral matter, and warp energy designated “soul”. Note to self: record screams next time.

3) Evaluate and analyse data. The steps involved in this are covered in Section 11.

 

Result: Positive. The psychic data absorbed shall allow for manipulation of approximately 10 warp intelligences. +Save/@/File... Daemonology+ This data will be invaluable. I will now conclude this-

 

+Error/Code Black+

 

New information: I am to fight The Eighteenth on Tamus 982. This will require usage of Form 96. This will be glorious.

 

+Upload/Malos.conc/@Form96/+ +Prime/Turbo-Laser-Destroyer.wep/ready+ +Prime/Titan-Power-Fist.wep/ready+

 

The details of the fleet mobilisation, and war preparations, in addition to my own experiences, shall be included in Section 678513-678600. I will now conclude this log. Death to the False Emperor.

 

Thought of the Day: The smell of promethium in the early hours of the sun cycle pleases my olfactory sensors.

[Aqui]

Zhaharek if you want the badge in your sig, then copy this into your sig settings (at the top where you name is. My settings/ Signature. Enter the code in the box and press save)

[img=http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/301953-inspirational-friday-10042015/?p=4004663]

[Tenebris]

http://shrani.si/f/1a/o3/bgHYhQ/2/gallery2900410383202531.png

 

Greetings and welcome to Inspirational Friday. This week was full with great posts and I find myself considering to reward two frater this time. The first one to make it to the top is Carrack since he really outdid himself with posting several contributions. The second reward goes to Zhaharek for his really inspiring Thousand Sons Techmarine fanfiction. A honorable mention goes to Aquilanus and to his Techpriest Mirosa. 

 

Step forth Carrack and Zhaharek and claim your reward!

 

http://shrani.si/f/e/r4/KG83M5z/15/friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 01/05/2015 - Daemon Forge 

 

We continue the theme of the Dark Mechanicus with the topic Daemon Forge. Now many such wondrous places exist both on the reality sphere as well as withing the swirling currents of the Warp. Places like Ghalmek and Medrengard are famous among the seekers of daemon tech but so are too many other daemon forges, the holds of the Dark Mechanicus and the more technically inclined Chaos warbands. 

 

This week I want you to write about a Daemon Forge. Describe what wonders are forged in its fires, how the priesthood trades with outsiders, how the Daemon Forge defends itself and what kind of daemon is bound within its nether core. Keep in mind that there is no need for a Daemon Forge to be a planet, for it could be a forge ship, a wondrous magic artifact, an unholy anvil or even the workings of a cursed abominable intelligence.

 

In short, write about a Daemon Forge, bring its fires to life and show the people of Liber that when Chaos writes it means business. Now my brothers, dip your quills in blood and spill your words on the flayed skin of your slaves. 

 

Let us be inspired!

 

Tenebris

[Beachymike123]

You can tell the ETL IV has launched when there isn't even a reply in a week. I appreciate the glory in all of our hearts, I do. But come on guys, Tenebris runs this in his own leisure time for the reward of bringing us together in fluff. What better an outlet than this weekly deluge of fan fiction of our favourite faction? Think 'small steps lead to corruption' and this is part of it. So without further ado here is my entry for this week's challenge. 

 

+Incoming Transmission+

Sender: Thiryas Aren

Designated to: Inquisitor Lady Ellana Lucial

Priority: Alpha Primaris

Location: Unknown, believed to be on the Cogs of Madness Forge World of the Dark Mechanicus

File: Trans-log of agent broadcast on emergency channel

My good Lady, this is my last transmission, for it pains me to report that my cover is compromised. I send this to you in the hope that the Emperor's Watch Chapter may be warned in time of an impending plan to invade their homeworld Mortrev. Allow me to expand. 

Both Manufactorums Diadris and Scalus have upped production rates, and thanks to intercepted communications I have learnt all Siege Makers are being recalled to the Cogs of Madness. Even the Nihilists are being recalled although the bulk of their forces are already here anyway. My Lady, there are foul works here at the best of times, but having seen files from both Warsmith Dushk Helslash and the Arch-Magos Chaapoza, I realise the full intent and goals this craven pair wish to inflict upon the galaxy. Included in this transmission are encrypted copies of said files, but be advised they are not for light viewing. 

As I speak, I can hear the area designated the Astartes District bustling with activity, ceramite suits of armour being prepared for war. The majority of Space Marines here from the IV Legion, Iron Warriors. But some make me cringe, as they are only recently turned from the Emperor's Light and still wear Imperial colours. Not far from the Astartes District is a place called Perturabo's Post,and I admit I have no knowledge of its interior. All I know is that relics and artifacts are stored here but it is exceptionally well guarded. It is also most often where the Champions of the warband meet, whether it be to talk to one another or when a wider briefing is called. It was when I tried to infiltrate into the inner areas of this reliquary that I was discovered, and have had to withdraw as my identity was flashed across the world's network. I managed to avoid the worst of the wrath of the Siege Makers, but Skitarii forces have doubled their patrols, and there are certain elements within the Nihilists that are literally baying for my blood.

I have gained a temporary shelter in the lower reaches of Manufactorum Diadris, where the shells of ancient engines of war have been sent to the depths to await assimilation of parts. But I can hear them coming for me, and I know my safety is long gone. For The Emperor I shall die, doing my duty. I only hope that my sacrifice allows a Chapter of Space Marines to live.

Yours Humbly, Thiryas Aren, faithful servant of the God Emperor.

Message received in due course. Inquisitorial force and all available Imperial forces sent to Mortrev when communications lost with the Emperor's Watch Chapter lost. Upon arrival, Mortrev discovered lost to the Forces of Chaos, and the Halls of Corona sacked along with valuable geneseed. May The Emperor protect us all if their plan comes to fruition. - Inquisitor Lady Ellana Lucial 

[Carrack]

Helvetti II

 

Lukis the Technomancer surveyed the thralls being herded off the orbital launch coming from Howler's Charn below. Malnourished, signs of dysentery and cold weather exposure, youths and the elderly, with a blurt of Binary Cant, Lukis consigned these wretches to the soulforge. Their poor quality an indication of how the large army of renegades and mutants that Lord Carrack had gathered from the Daemon World Vaska, were rapidly eating the world below out of supply. Equally pressuring was the scorched earth tactics of Marshal Clarence, and how they denied The Black Maw's raiders easy plunder. These factors did not affect the Technomancer as he ordered his cabal of witches to begin the Canticles of Calling and to prime and power the psy-amp at the mouth of the Helveti Daemonforge.

 

Lukis signaled vocal unit 113 to begin core refueling protocols with the Scalpella, a Black Maw frigate docked with the Helveti's refitting spar. Swarms of void hardened servitors began disengaging from the scoured hull of the warship fleeing potential disaster as the dangerous refueling sequence began.

 

The Helveti Forge was a gift to Lukis by Lord Carrack. A gift and a prison. Lukis had been exiled from Xana II for adhering to the Nullbind School. Lord Carrack was more than willing to accept the wayward Magos and provide him with a modest orbital Daemonforge, in return for Lukis's expertise in running a naval docking facility. Although Lukis was now free to continue his experiments, he was to remain cloistered in his forge to conceal his presence from spies and assassins from Xana II, and not cause any friction between the Lord Carrack and the powerful forge world.

 

 

However lamentable his current circumstances, Technomancer Lukis had a task at hand and began marking the stages of the ritual that would use a bound daemon to refuel the Scalpella's warp engines.

 

Stage 1: Canticles of Calling incanted, stimulants and electroshock administered to thrall sacrifices.

 

Stage 2: warp containment field erected and tested.

 

Stage 3: sacrificial offering to Barheghast the Painbringer. The trap is baited.

 

Stage 4: Warp containment field holding. Power level alpha Psy-amp deactivated and witches returned to stasis chambers.

 

Stage 5: Barheghast unleashes 122% of expected psychic force against containment field. Field is holding but subliminal fracturing beginning to present on dorsal plane. Power level Kappa. (Note: further research on warp entity Barheghast the Painbringer required before further summoning)

 

stage 6: transfer of power to Scalpella complete.

[Zhaharek]

My thanks for the award. And advice on placing it in my signature, which I will utilise, should I be able to access my PC any time soon. Other than merely my smartphone.

Here's this month's entry from me:

 

 

Daemonforge

 

“Where am I?” It’s the first thing I think to ask. I know who I am, I am Kian Tahnor. I can remember… The Iron Dust, the warband I serve. But, where am I… and how did I get here? What else do I remember? I can remember…

 

+The Rhino transport sloughed aside, responding massively to my slight influence on the controls. Warp yeah; this thing handles like a beast. The Astartes in the back roar in anticipation of the battle ahead. I’m not like them. A mortal like me, driving their vehicles, my designs, should be a momentous honour, and I pretend it is, but in truth it’s merely a product of their depleted numbers. Most of the Astartes roar. Two of them are silent, like ghosts. The Rhino thunders on, while my hands fly over the controls, maintaining the machine. I’d been managing the designs of war engines for decades now. Someone had to design all the baroque patterns and eight-point stars after all. That was my job. More bullets were smacking off of the outer hull. I glimpse something red fly past the view-slit. One the Astartes bellows for me to stop, leaving my ears ringing, and I open the doors and….+

 

No… That’s not where I am. Whenever that happened, it was… so long ago. It feels like a thousand years ago… I try to open my eyes. For a second, everything flickers and I see withered, crippled hands, full of tubes and metal. Not mine. An untold million machine arms, also not mine. Then my real hands, blurry, unfocused. I'm standing in an empty, black walked room.

 

With a start, I notice a figure standing on my right. Silver skin, and... No face. Female, judging from the shape. She turns her blank head towards me. For some reason, she doesn't scare me. As if I know her. Something about her reminds me of a weapon. I like it.

I ask the obvious question: "Who are you?"

She tilts her head, and says, "You've lost your memory again." A clear, and synthesised voice. Mechanical, almost.

I raise an eyebrow. That makes certain parts my situation clear. Wherever I am, I've been here a while. And I'm prone to amnesia apparently. I can already feel another memory flickering into my mind. I ask, "Would you mind reminding me then?" She goes to respond, and a voice for my left cuts her off. I look over when....

 

+The guardsman drops like a broken doll. The las-round had taken him right in the eye, and he trips up one of his fellows as he goes down. I bellow for the men and women around me to focus their fire, on our foes leader. He lacks my intellect, he's standing on a ledge, a clear target. Something punctures his arm, and he falls. "Defend the Forge!" I cry, and draw my power-sword. I miss vehicles, and these Imperial rabble will not halt the construction of Lord Malos's Daemonforge. I begin to charge forward and.....+

 

The memory fades in vividness, but I can recall victory. The voice on my left... I turn.

And see a daemon. Again, I feel as if I know the creature. A beaked, bird head sits atop slender shoulders. Four arms, each terminating in claws. The pair of feathered wings on his back cast a shadow across the three of us.

The silver one looks at me, and I suddenly remember their names.

The silver one, I turn to her, and say, "Your name is R07A." She stands proud. "And you," I say, turning to the daemon, "are Khalta'ashet"

He smirks. "Your pronunciation is as bad as ever Kian."

I can feel it returning. More memories....

 

+I can see Azia standing over me. Her hands are held over her mouth, both of them, in shock. Two, short, hacking sobs are the only sound she are make. I tried to tell her "I'm alright.", but blood comes out instead. It tastes of metal, as always. It's cold though. And I can feel the breeze, humid, on... The inside if my stomach... Oh gods, how badly wounded am I....+

 

I come out of the memory breathless, to see the daemon and the machine staring at me. I look a t R07A and....

 

+My codes are functioning optimally. I begin running diagnostics, and aligning production patterns...+

 

No... Those aren't my memories, they're RO7A's. Slowly, I start to remember it all. The realisation must have dawned on my face, because Khalta'ashet grins. It's awful to look at and....

 

+Sweet flesh between my claws, this all as I had planned, the threads of fate, oh, how they align so neaaaaaa.....+

 

I practically yank myself out the monster's memories. I know where I am. I remember seeing Lord Zhaharek stand over me in the sickbay, talking about the forge. I volunteer. I remember thousands of years of designing war engines. Countless weapons of mass destruction, designed by me, actualised by RO7A, the abominable intelligence, and damned by Khalta'ashet.

 

They both look at me, as the final memory slots into place. Declaration of war with the Word Bearers. Then they, and the room vanish.

 

All that matters is the roaring, multicoloured fires, the burning forge. The untold number of assembly arms, the tiny little techpriests and magi, the fleshier workers too, all scrambling around within.

I'm dead. That's where I am. Kian is no more, all that is left is Daemonforge. Anger wells up within "me", and the forges burn even brighter.

 

Maulerfiends, armour, shells, Heldrakes, Defilers, all come screaming from my mind, brought into creation. I can feel R07A and Khalta'ashet bellowing their power into my creation. R07A engineers, Khalta'ashet enchants, and I design. I am the Artisan of War.

 

 

Somewhere, in a cradle of wires, tubes and pipes, a desiccated corpse smiles.

[Lord Pariah]

If I told you of a weapon that could disarm a foe with less than a glance, you would be curious to what it takes to wield such a weapon.

If i told you of a weapon that could incapacitate the most advanced of the false mechanicum's thralls, I would have your curiosity.

If i told you of a weapon to disable a squad of the corpse god's noble marines, I would have your attention.

If i told you of a weapon that could halt a regiment of mortals in their place, you would be weighing up a price.

If i told you of a weapon that grind the most defended manufactorum to a standstill, you would ask for the price.

If i told you of a weapon that could silence a ship with barely a shot, you would give a price in warrior's souls.

If i told you of a weapon that could yield a system, the more advanced the better, to your name without even entering said system... you will pay any price.

Yet, when i tell you what the weapon is, and how it is made in one forbidden cold forge on the northern fringe. You will get up and walk away, and may even curse your naivety. for even amongst the lost, the damned, the desperate and the monsters, then name of Artificial Intelligence is cursed.

I apologise for my lack of activity... my computer decided to sell itself to the inquisition without foresight (it died ) and i only now have access to anything with a useable keyboard... better late than never.