Jump to content

Welcome to The Bolter and Chainsword
Register now to gain access to all of our features. Once registered and logged in, you will be able to create topics, post replies to existing threads, give reputation to your fellow members, get your own private messenger, post status updates, manage your profile and so much more. If you already have an account, login here - otherwise create an account for free today!
Photo

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

Inspirational Friday

This topic has been archived. This means that you cannot reply to this topic.
267 replies to this topic

#51
Son of Carnelian

Son of Carnelian

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 3,674 posts

The blood soaked ground had hid it when the scavengers first came. Submerged in carrion-filled mud, the serfs of the Iron Hands legion had never found Brother Archelaus' bolter. There it lay, in the cold ground of Medusa V, a relic of an earlier war that the Imperium would forget forever. The Heresy erupted, the galaxy spun in its endless mad dance, and still the bolter rested beneath the ground. 

 

But the ground itself would not remain still. The Warp storm that isolated the system with alarming regularity changed the surface of Medusa V in subtle ways that only the most ancient landsmen would see. But change it did, remaking the planet at a distance that most Inquisitorial experts on the subject would have found alarming. The bolter's will shaped the soil around it, fueled by the power of the Warp. Where it had once laid motionless, a dead relic of an earlier time, now it corrupted outwards like a cancer. Crops in the surrounding fields died, animals would not graze on the black grass that grew above it, and all the water of the nearby streams cackled ever so softly when unknowing shepherds drew their water there.   

 

Eventually, the land had become so fallow that no one could live there. The eye of the Imperium, ever watchful for a loss in productivity, turned its efforts on that section of Medusa to mining ventures. The Geyron Strip Mine came into being, digging deeper and deeper into the surface of Medusa and ever closer to the corrupted bolter. As they unwittingly neared it, the accidents began. Whole tunnels would collapse in bursts of ash and dust. Men would go missing for days, only found again when their fellows discovered them wandering the lower tunnels with tears in their eyes. Superstitions began forming. The workers of the Geyron Mines began offering drops of their blood before entering, letting it sink into the black earth and unwittingly fueling the powers of the bolter. 

 

But the bolter's secret nature would not stay hidden forever. When Ygethmor and his Black Legion came to Medusa V, the sorcerer could immediately sense the power of a malign Warp entity beneath the surface of the world. He ordered whole squads of his warband into the tunnels of the Geyron Mine, commanding that they return either with his prize or not at all. For weeks they searched the labyrinthine tunnels below the surface, butchering the few miners that had taken refuge there rather than defend the planet at the governor's orders. With every crime the black-armored warriors committed in that hellish place, the bolter's call drew stronger until it at last filled the minds of the Legionaries. It was then that they ceased all contact with their forces above. 

 

Of course, history shows that death would continue soaking the earth of Medusa. At the very close of the campaign, when all forces made their retreat whether in victory or ignominious defeat, one member of the Black Legion finally found the bolter. It had called to him since the start, choosing him as its worthy disciple. But only now did he discover it. Spat up from the ground as the planet rocked in its death throes, it no longer resembled the proud legion weapon it had once been. Crude sigils of hate crossed it, it leaked a black fluid constantly from between its plates, and when it fired, it either laughed maniacally or screamed its name into the minds of all around it.  

 

KANTUS! THE BLACK SOUL OF MEDUSA!

 

​And in the hands of this Black Legionnaire, the story of Kantus would truly begin.  



#52
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

gallery2900410383202531.png

 

And back again for another Inspirational Friday. First thing first, I apologize for the late hour but I was delayed at work, February is a big thing in the office, so well someone has to bring home bread and beans. The past week we were writing about the sword of the angels, of the first and the last roar on a Warhammer 40k battlefield, we were writing about a bolter. I am surprised of how many of you contributed this week and I am happy so see some quality penwork. This week's winner is right in the above post, Son of Carnelian, and this victory goes to his awesome daemonic bolter hidden in the depths of Medusa. I know, I know, the theme was not a daemonic weapon but we can all agree that Son of Carnelian did an amazing job with his post. 

 

 

Step forth Son of Carnelian and claim your reward!

 

friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 13/02/2015 - Chaos Assassin

 

 

For this Inspirational Friday we will venture in the realm of the bizarre, the sinister and the vicious, this week we will write about a Chaos Assassin. The art of murder is one of the most ancient arts of mankind, while mighty warriors fight each other on the blood soaked battlefields, behind their backs, lurking in the shadows the true hunters stalk. Mankind created its fair share of monsters but none are more lethal than the assassins employed by the legions of Chaos. 

 

The Imperium left a legacy for the traitor legions and the Dark Mechanicus to learn, the legacy of a clean kill, of absolute precision and art in the death dealing blow, the legacy of death and its myriad of applications and ministrations. Assassins were employed by the human societies throughout the history of mankind and in the past ten thousand years this art was perfected to a nigh superhuman degree. 

 

The infamous assassins of the Officio Assassinorum have been the bane of the lords of chaos time and again. It is rumored that even the mighty primarch of the VIIIth legion fell to an assassin's blade but it is also widespread knowledge that Horus himself employed assassins for his own gain. In the centuries that followed the exile of the traitors within the Eye of Terror countless forms of killer agents were developed. Of this agents, of this chaos assassins I want you to write. 

 

The assassins employed by the Chaos warbands come in many shapes and forms. Some are humans broken upon the altar of death and reforged into the specimens which equal the skill of an Officio Assassinorum operative, while on the other hand the Dark Mechanicus is infamous for its use of killer drones. Unbound by law or edict and free to explore the art of death to its wildest extent the Chaos Assassins are as much product of their warband culture as well as the creation of the countless warrior cults withing the Realm of the Eye, yet marked above all they are by the genius of the Chaos Lord which commissioned their creation. 

 

I want you to explore this agents of death, to try to express how do you envision a "Chaos Assassin" or how would you forge one of your own operatives into an instrument of death. Whether be it daemonic or organic, technological or psychic, the Chaos Assassin is the very pinnacle of the art of the killing blow. Each one of this operatives is the very sum of the sinister knowledge passed onto mankind, the knowledge of shadows, of death, of precision. Each one of this Chaos Assassins is an unique creature created for a single task, the delivery of the killing blow, the elimination of a target. I want you to tell us what manner of horror do you employ as your instrument of death, what creature is the one you call a Chaos Assassin. 

 

Let us be inspired!

 

Tenebris


Edited by Tenebris, 13 February 2015 - 07:56 PM.

There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#53
Son of Carnelian

Son of Carnelian

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 3,674 posts

Aw shucks. Thanks gang! Glad you all liked it! I'll keep more strictly to the theme this time around though, I promise. Great entries by everyone and I cannot wait to see your takes on the assassins theme!



#54
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts
Congratulations, Son of (Zephro?) Carnelian.

I got started on my next entry this morning. Some familiar faces appearing, and some new.

#55
Carrack

Carrack

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 1,247 posts
Creation of the Kleftiszoi

Spoiler

Edited by Carrack, 15 February 2015 - 11:19 PM.


#56
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

Report fragment 274.12 C by Inquisitor Acolyte Sevin Denah

 

The subject is kept under sedatives though the Magos had to double the dose since it was observed that the assassin is highly resistant to the standard chemical treatments used for an interrogation. 

 

Subject Delta is the last of the so called "Tears" that we have managed to capture but the capture came at a great cost to the Inquisition. No less than two acolytes lie dead and the crew of "The Vigilant Son" had to be neutralized due to the side effects of the genophage unleashed by this servant of the Ruinous Powers. 

 

The method of infiltration aboard our frigate was achieved by using the so called "Sleeper Protocol", the agent was preconditioned and trained to operational standards before he was processed in order to become a "Slate Agent", his persona was of Midshipman Warwick Julen which later allowed to operative to bypass our security net and place himself on the bridge of the ship. Of his previous personas or of his past life the operative has no working knowledge, even advanced psychoharmonic probing did not achieve the desired results.

 

We suspect that the operative was active for several months before his attempt at the murder of Inqusitor Ross and we were all surprised when the execution was perfect, flawless. A micro needle imbued with a highly mutagenic phage was shot at the Inquisitor in the exact moment when he was in the blind spot of his Cyberneticum bodyguard, the shot reached the target and the Inqusitor was already undergoing a severe and rapid mutation before we were able to reach him. 

 

We have observed that Subject Delta did use an advanced form of needle, forged from an unknown, almost liquid, living bone, which was as much organic as it was sorcerous in its nature. The needle was able to pierce the Refractor Field used by the Inquisitor and easily went though his power armor. The mutagenic element was revealed to be as much part of the needle itself as it was its bonelike structure. Inquisitor Albezana speculates that the needle is in fact a stasis imbued quill of a Lord of Change though only when the results from Watch Station Saragusta will be delivered we would learn the truth on the matter.

 

Subject Delta himself is clearly human though he underwent through several organic and technological augmentations. The organic augmentation is seen it its bulked muscles, clearly enhanced by training and biological serums as well as in the augmentation of the eyes, the cornea clearly of advanced capacity, enhanced with the use of what we refer as "Daemonflesh". The mechanical augmentations are subtle but very potent. The bones of the operative were drilled and imbued with a liquid gel of unknown nature, which appears to harden instantly when broken, also the gel acts as an advanced conduit for steroid particles which increase the strength and resilience of the subject. Layers of microfiber muscles were grafted to the subject's natural musculature and a sheen of cartilage sheets could be glimpsed under the subject's skin. We speculate that this augmentations when combined allowed the subject to operate at peak efficiency even when shot and mauled, as the report on the confrontation with Subject Delta states. This incredible resilience and bodily stamina were enhanced by the so called "genophage" a viral solution running in the veins of the subject instead of his blood. 

 

The "genophage" is considered a weapon of last resort but we have observed its efficiency in battle with Subject Delta. Once his target was dead Subject Delta went on a sabotage mission and when cornered he cut his veins, unleashing an aggressive and highly viral solution in the air. As the "genophage" is considered without color and smell we were unaware of its action but in less than two hours after the release hundreds of the crew were already vomiting only to die in extreme agony hours later. The use of such a vicious weapon is not unheard of the Archenemy but to use it even after their main target of the assassination is dead speaks of a clear desire to maul and hamstring our efforts. Magos Voruna speculates that should the operative be left undiscovered the entire crew of the frigate would be dead within days, leaving the ship vacant of its defenders.

 

The method used for the assassination was the delivery of the micro needle via a digital weapon disguised as an earring bearing the stylized Eye of Hours. The earring was made of simple iron but within we suspect it was a highly effective device. Subject Delta did ate the ring which then dissolved in his highly acidic stomach, leaving no traces of the weapon bar the stylized Eye of Horus and the accent of a mounting. 

 

For the nature of this report we will begin with the amputation of the lower brain cortex of Subject Delta in the hope that the Magos will be able to divine more form the tissue with the help of their neurocortex vacuum actuator... See Ref. 97 D.

 

It is my conclusion that the employment of such "assassins" by the Archenemy is the result of a new and much more subtle plan. Operatives like Subject Delta are indeed highly efficient killers and they are augmented in such a way that they easily pass for a human yet their souls reek of Chaos. The advanced augmentation is clearly of high quality and superb execution but the direst threat is the "genophage" virus imbued into such an operative. Effectively Subject Delta is a carrier of a virus which has the power to kill silently and efficiently yet the question is how could the operative remain immune to the effect of the virus. We have found no marks linking Subject Delta to the Plague God nor any signs of mutation but we assume that the gel which formed the bones of the operative might be the answer to this question. Unfortunately the moment that the genophage was released the gel liquefied, leaving Subject Delta into complete agony and forcing us to sedate him in order to question his body since his mind is nigh dead from the experience. 

 

I suggest to filter this report to the authorities of Sector Fleet Saragusta and the deployment of Ordo Sicaris operatives in the area. We need assassins to hunt assassins.

 

End Report. 


Edited by Tenebris, 18 February 2015 - 07:32 PM.

There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#57
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts
Two or three character returning from previous entries and not one but two chaos assassins.
It is, however, rather long...

I promise to keep future entries shorter biggrin.png
(Except when we get to 'Interview with a Dark Apostle')
Spoiler


#58
Zhaharek

Zhaharek

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 24 posts
Chaos Assassin

Something slender, cruel and sleek slithered through the shifting awful of The Warp. A daemon. Tethered as it was to a weapon of equal description, which rested in the material realm. A weapon that sat in the belt of an Acolyte selected exclusively for this purpose. Bred for this. Born for this. Trained for this. The Acolyte probably wouldn't survive the night. The mortal shivered in the rain, and slipped his hand around the daemon-knife in his belt. The daemon felt a pulling sensation, then...

The material world CRACKED into existence around the daemon. It was night. He sucked in a breath through the hosts mouth. His ethereal mind flowed through the mortal creature like ink into water. A liquid was hitting the hosts, (no, this body was his now), HIS skin. The daemon peeled open his new eyes, and found himself staring down at his Vessel. The knife sat in his new hand, black, serrated, with a wire wrapped hilt. The weapon to which he was truly bonded. This mortal was a puppet, and this knife was the set of strings that kept him dancing to the daemons tune.

It was raining. A tongue that was slowly turning black with taint crept from between his mouth. Tasted the rain. It was composed of hydrogen, oxygen, and hints of sulphur from smog stained its molecular makeup. The daemon observed its movement through his new digestive system: sustained ingestion by a human mortal would result in eventual failure of vital organs. The daemon toughened these organs to resist the pollution with an errant whim. He noticed his bodies bladder and bowels threatening to release The Acolytes last meal, and quickly tensed the surrounding muscle. Other mortals would notice that sort of thing.

The daemons influence reached The Acolytes brain exactly 4.283 seconds after the hilt had been touched. Mine, thought the daemon. A flash of identity crashed against it, loaded with regret. The remnants of The Acolyte. It shattered against the daemon. The warp spawned fiend revelled in the fools internal death, plundering the mortals memories. He flicked through days of life, like a book, searching for his objective. The last pieces of the mortal writhed and screamed. The daemon exploded his mid-brain and the mortal was gone. The mission objective was clear now. The daemon plucked a coveted little morsel from the catalogue. A name. Karai-bor. The daemon liked it. He'd never had a name before. "Karai-bor." spilled from his new mouth, lips and tongue twitching behind clacking teeth. "...Yes." Corruption turned speech into an awful whisper. That was unacceptable. The daemon, (no, Karai-bor was his name), Karai-bor, rebuilt the twisted parts of the mortal shell.

Then, craning his neck, Karai-bor lifted from the foetal position into which he had curled. His spine rippled with moist clicks and cracks. The assassin sighed. Rain slick marble stretched out around him. It stank, the moist earth smell of tin and dirt that accompanied this rain. His olfactory perception was functioning optimally. Excellent. He poured power into his senses. Olfactory increased. Auditory increased. Visual was at maximum capacity. Tactile increased.

He panned his head around to see mortals, mortals he recognised as servants of the cursed Imperium. Approximately 16 males, ranging from 32 to 67 of their years of age. Approximately 17 females, ranging from 19 to 39 of their years of age.
They were dressed in finery and many of the males, and a few of the females carried concealed weaponry. They laughed and talked as they walked through the rain, protected by primitive energy fields. The Acolyte, his body now slave to Karai-bor, the assassin, looked like them. They passed him, with a few odd looks in response to his piercing stare, and previous foetal position. But none had noticed the daemon within. They simply carried on to the building before them. A vast, baroque testament to Imperial architecture. The Estamen Rex.

The mission: Karai-bor was to infiltrate The Estamen Rex, where the Planetary Governor was holding an exuberant celebration of a recent victory against a Dark Eldar raiding party. The Chaos Dragon warband, Astartes all, had deigned that Planetary Governor Merea Tenjes would not see another morning. They had employed an agent of The White Hand assassin cult to make that a reality. Not for the first time, and Karai-bor heard that the warriors paid a handsome sum of squalling Eldar souls to successful assassins.
A sum that Karai-bor dearly desired.
The daemon had a sneaking suspicion that this... Would be fun. Karai-bor smiled.

One does not simply break into The Estamen Rex, as the saying goes. And how apt that saying is. The immense structure was at least 3 miles high, and three quarters that in width. Marble, identical to the plaza that surrounded it, coated its walls, as if it had grown from the ground, rather than being a structure made by mortal hands. The majority of construction was owed to rockrete and ceramite however, and it could survive the blows of mad Battle Titan. Teleport bafflers strutted from the roof and there were no external doors or windows, bar the main entrance: a 10 foot door ringed by gargoyles. The only way in or out.
The entire building bristled with heavily armed Arbites guards. One does not simply break into The Estamen Rex. So Karai-bor didn't.
He strolled right through the entrance.

Karai-bor walked up to the doors in the shadow of the others guest and socialites. His limited psychic abilities had allowed him determine that this was a celebration for the social elite exclusively, hence his hosts attire. Two intensely muscular Arbites were checking some sort of pass at the doors. Karai-bor didn't need his staggering intellect to determine what would happen when they realised he didn't have a pass. Autoguns gleamed, full of threat in impact toughened fists. The Arbites appeared to possess 150% the strength of his current host. Statistically, he could kill them easily, but would have to forgo the stealth element of the mission to do so, decreasing his chance of success by 32%.
May all of the curses of the warp fall upon the fool who chose this weakling as my host, thought Karai-bor.
He'd have to this the hard way.

Karai-bor reached the Arbiter. The glided name signet on the mortals chest reminded him that they called themselves Judges. The Judge had just assured a laughing couple in good and silver through the doors. Karai-bor could literally see the lust, pride and joy leaching off the two mortals, the emotion spilling into The Empyrean. Karai-bor knew a Herald of the Youngest God who would delight in the taste of the females soul.

"Pass!", more of a grunt than speech from the Judge. The mortal was a fair, unshaven thing, with a cruel resemblance to the human genetic ancestor.
Karai-bor turned to the Judge, pulling a grin across his face. "Ah, I do not have a pass, but I'm sure we can come to mutually beneficial agreement as long as you don't do..."
A gun barrel swept up to his face. "...that." He sighed. Well, it was worth the attempt.
Karai-bor blurred into motion before the other Judge had even released that his partner was in any danger. He struck the barrel of the gun away from his face, right hand, open palm, impact ringing up his arm. The Judge dropped his gun, deftly switching to hand to hand stance. Karai-bor ignored this. He flicked out his left hand, a curled fist. Remade the mortal bones in the hand to resist the impact. Sharpened them. And broke the Judges jaw. Shattered the mandible bone. An insult died on his bleeding lips.

A hand came up to the shattered jaw. Karai-bor pressed the knife handle into it and....

Seize the bowels and bladder, prevent voiding. Attain control of the heart muscle, hyperactivity invariably leads to mortal death. This mortals soul was not going The Empyrean yet. Karai-bor took an experimental breath, carrying the air to his new lungs. Yes, this will do. He reached the Judges brain in 3.657 seconds, record time. A flicker of bravery and will stood on his way. As the Judge assailed him valiantly, trying his hardest to cast out the invader, the daemon rooted around for his innermost thoughts, specifically those in relation to the bare neck, arms and back of the girl who had just walked past. He found them, ripped them from their place, and used them to show the Judge just what that Herald would do to a pretty little thing like that. The mortal blanched for a moment, and Karai-bor crushed him. The mid-brain ruptured.
The mortal shell was his now. He blinked a few times. The guests stood back agape, having seen the fight, but not the possession. Fortunately.

BANG.

The Acolytes vacant body hit the ground. The other Judges gun was smoking. Karai-bor smiled, and felt blood flow down his new mouth. The broken jaw. He quickly stowed the knife away in the his belt. The other Judge waved some more guests in as stepped over the corpse, as if it was a piece of debris, rather than the remains of a person.

Karai-bor failed to hear the start of the mortals sentence, (what was he saying?), and pushed his will into his shells hearing, and.... "-damn hive gangers, you need to get quicker on the draw mate. Go down to the med-bay, get your ugly mug patched up, would you." The other Judge was grinning, the badge announcing him as Judge Catin. "Go on, you're scaring the girls. You look worse than an Ogryn mate." Karai-bor gave him an awkward nod, and headed off towards the med-bay, picking its location from his hosts memory.

Karai-bor smiled and it sent blood trickling down the front of his carapace armour. He was in The Estamen Rex. He quick stepped through the main hall, filled as it was with guests. A man in red squawked at the sight of a Judge with a hideously broken jaw. The mortal hurried away, pulling his partner away with him. Karai-bor ignored them. The main hall was a vast space, filling the majority of The Estamen. The space expanded as it went up, in a reverse pyramid within the rectangular Estamen. Balconies lined the sloping walls, and the highest level, immense screens glared down at the amassed guests.

A glass and iron box sat among the screens, a pinprick of a thing from this distance, but it was, in reality, easily large enough to hold several people: that is where the Governor will be. At the apex of the celebration, Merea Tenjes would give a victorious speech. And then, she will die, thought Karai-bor. He could almost taste those Eldar souls.

The daemon rounded the corner to the med-bay, the pneumatic door hissing open automatically. He stepped through, manually shutting and locking the door behind him, the moment he was through, and stepped further into the room, panning his broken head around, taking in a clinical room, 4 beds lining the white wall opposite him, empty, a pair of shelves filled with medical supplies, syringes, bandages, and gleaming sharp edges. A red alarm button on the far wall. He was one of two occupants in the room, the other a male nurse, a white medical uniform encompassing a slight frame, topped by a youthful, unshaven face. The nurse turned to him. Opened his mouth to greet what he thought was an Adeptus Arbites Judge. A flicker of fear at the sight of the cracked smile.

Then the flesh began to twist. More teeth. Black tongue. A red-hot light at the back of the throat. Karai-bor rebuilt the mortal jaw in his own image, and it was horrific. The nurse stuttered with fear for a second. Then ran for the alarm. Karai-bor spurred into his own motion. Closed the distance. Closed his hand around the nurses wrist, skin discolouring at the tightness of his grip. Stopped. Inches from the alarm.

The nurse writhed and twisted. Struck Karai-bor across the face, to no avail. Sobbing: "Monster, heretic!" "Assassin" corrected Karai-bor. The nurse went for the daemons eyes. Karai-bor flicked him across the room by the wrist. He slammed into a bed, toppled over in a tangle of limbs. Karai-bor watched him straining to get up, and let him get to his knees. He waited until the nurse tensed his legs to dive away, then opened his mouth, and spoke in a language that he was more accustomed to. The language of daemons. The words inscribed in the earth of countless doomed worlds. Enuncia.

The words tasted of burnt sugar, rotten meat, blood and ozone on the mortal tongue. It was a relief for Karai-bor to speak his own language rather than mortal gargling sounds.

"Keoth'a'tol bar teth'a-gok, ki-arth li xem'ril'ath fngly'kfletg."

The first sentence felled the nurse, and blood began to beed at the corner of his eyes. The mortals neck craned he was forced to make eye contact with Karai-bor. The daemon assumed his eyes were glowing. He liked it when his eyes glowed.

"Bael'ftheth uil Mol'ftheth. Isk'ri'gllan kol Artor'wth."

Karai-bors voice was raising now, his shadow crawling up the wall opposite. One of the light strips popped. Static began to raise their hair. The nurse was convulsing. The blood was flowing freely from his eyes now, joined by streams from his nose and mouth. The hair and his temples started to crisp and curl, as if burning.

"Tael-batarwth mol Ytt'ri'gth. FYLGNLIA HU DAEL'GORATH...."

Karai-bor was shouting by now, leaving out the last command, letting the incantation go unfinished. Veins stood out like cables in the nurses neck, and he was pale from the amount of blood that flowed from his face. A pool of blood and waste had formed around the nurse. A moment of eerie silence, then...

The nurses name was Jaret, and his life was laid bare to Karai-bor, the Enuncia incantation allowing him to read the mortal like a book. He could see the boys smiling mother as he obtained a place on the medical schola, he could see the moments he had shared with the girl he loved and he could see the terror filled haze that the last few moments had been for Jaret, and more. The daemon plucked out what he needed. The quickest route to the Governors box and the guards he would find on the way. More Judges and... Something else. Something so bad the nurse didn't want to remember it. Karai-bor couldn't wait.

The daemon went for the door, his jaw returning to mortal shape, his path clear to him know. He decided to leave the nurse alive. Crippled, he wouldn't raise the alarm, but he'd tell stories of Karai-bor, and the daemon liked that. He was at the door when the mortal made a mistake. His voice wet with blood, the nurse whimpered: "God-Emperor protect me..."
Karai-bor snarled. That corpse, on his burning bright throne, was not a god. He turned, growling, and he knew his eyes were glowing with the heat. The words were difficult to form through the anger, "He... Is... Not... A... God!"
Karai-bor's hand snapped up, and he finished the incantation:

"Rael'tal'maktath!"

He spat the Enuncia with enough force that cracks spidered across the ground at his feet. The nurse twitched.

Then his heart exploded from his chest, staining his nice white medical uniform.

The organ drifted away from what was rapidly becoming a cadaver. Karai-bor let it float. The daemon turned back to the door, and it hissed open as he deactivated the lock.
The other Judge from the door stood there. Shock slowly seeped across his face. Karai-bor smiled.

********************

By the Throne on Terra, and all the Saints, did Judge Namus hate this job, all the standing in corridors, doing nothing, what was the point in having guards in an impenetrable fortress anyway, it was just a waste of time.

He clicked the safety on his autogun off and on again a few times, yeah, that's just how damn bored he was, what he'd give for some entertainment. Seriously, just one person to Throne damned shoot. One of the nobles downstairs was probably a little mutated. They were all inbred anyway, so it was likely, and if one of them was, he would actually have something to do with this autogun rather than fiddle with the safety. He missed las weapons. Literally the only thing that anyone would ever miss about the Guard, those weapons were the Swords of Angels compared to autoguns. But then, he'd seen an officer with a bolt pistol once, and that thing had made his lasgun look like a Throne damned flashlight in comparison, Holy Terra, had it been powerful. Yeah, to hell with his autogun and to hell with las-weapons, he wanted a bolt pistol!

Then there was the thing that was carried by the Governors personal guard.

The personal guard herself was bad enough, Throne was she a monster, you couldn't look at her without feeling guilty, the "repent or die" motif didn't help. But Holy God-Emperor her weapon made Namus want to cry, it was like hate made into a gun. He shivered. Best not not think about... Her. Especially since, at the end of the corridor, the corridor he was supposed to guarding, curse this job, was the entrance to the Governors quarters. And in there was, well the Governor, Miss Tenjes, and... Her. Namus shivered again.

He looked over at his partner, Tarek. The ginger, stoic, stubborn, Throne damned po-faced waste of skin was staring dead ahead into the middle distance, boring as ever. Let's mess with him, thought Namus. "Oi, Tarek." He was ignored. Try again.
"Tarek, why don't we shoot one of a' guests?"
The other Judge looked at him, slowly squinting in disbelief: "What?"
Namus grinned. "You heard me. Come on, tell me you ain't bored? They're all inbred, I reckon one of 'em has jus' gotta be a mutant. We go down an-"
"No, Throne, no, Namus." His partner was equally parts done with the Judge and disgusted. "You've got serious issues."
Namus snorted, "Oh I got issues 'ave I? I saw what you did to tha' hive ganger tart in the holdin' cells you freak." He grinned, pretty pleased with himself. Tarek just shook his head in disbelief, adding to the gesture with a tired and used: "Shut up, Namus."
Namus just grinned and turned away from his partner, the boring waste of skin, couldn't have fun if you handed to him.

As he turned away, looking down the damn boring corridor, with its flat marble walls, and boring grey floor, he saw Judge Catin, who should be stationed at the main doors, what was he doing here? Ah, well he's good for a laugh thought Namus, waving at him. Tarek rolled his eyes. Namus ignored him, the boring waste of skin. "Oi Catin!" He called out, and this guy would like the noble killing thing, Namus just knew it. Not that he'd actually shoot one of the prissy things, that'd get him free ticket to the other side, but it was still a funny idea. "Hello Namus." The other Judge waved back, a touch blocky, odd. "Tarek." Catin nodded at the Namus's partner. Tarek saluted, stuck up waste of skin. Namus wasn't going to salute anyone but an Imperial Guard officer again till the day he died. Tarek saw that Namus was about to start talking again, so took up the conversation, turning to Catin: "My partner here was just suggesting that we shoot one of the most important people on the planet. Now, I know that he's an idiot, but this, this is a new level of stupidity. Eh?"
"No. Actually, I think it's a great idea. In fact. Why not kill the Governor?" Catin looked blank as all hell as he said it, so he had to be joking, but for some reason it wasn't funny. Namus tried to lighten the tension, as Tarek's jaw started to drop, and started to laugh. "You know, Catin," Tarek joined in the nervous laughter. "You know, you are riot, but there a line." Namus continued. Catin stared at them, and said, vacant as ever: "Amazing."
"What's amazing?" Tarek asked, genuine fear creeping into his voice.

"It's amazing how blind you both are." There was something wrong with Catin's shadow. His smile seemed too wide. Namus realised that he hadn't blinked for the whole conversation. "But I suppose that's the thing about mortals." said the thing that wasn't Catin, oh Throne on Terra that's not Catin!

"That's not Catin!" Namus yelled, his autogun swinging up, safety clicked off.

Not-Catin smiled: "Clever boy."

They opened fire, the corridor lighting up. But Not-Catin wasn't there anymore. He was moving fast, too fast, much too fast for Namus too see. Marble exploded with stray shots. The autogun pumped in his hands.
"HHGURK"
Something red sailed past Namus. He flicked his head around. It was Tarek. Part of him. With a wordless cry Namus whipped his head at around to face...

CRACK.

The butt of a knife, broke his nose, a splinter right across the bridge, so much the pain. Shattered the nasal bone.

WHAM.

A boot, right in the centre of mass, broke two lower ribs. Sent Namus moaning to the floor.

The floor was wet with what could only be blood. Namus rolled rapidly. Something slammed into the ground next to him, bouncing him off the ground, Holy Throne, what could do that to marble?!? Namus kicked out and felt something solid. It staggered away. Namus scrambled back. Not-Catin was a foot away, a dent in the marble between them. The cruellest knife that Namus has ever seen was held in a hand that was quickly melting into a claw. It spilled fear into his heart to see his friends flesh twist. He picked himself up, took a step then ran at the Throne damned thing, autogun coming up and...

Karai-bor kicked the autogun out of the mortals hands. Grabbed him by his hair, the second he was in range. Slammed his knife into the jugular five times. On the first time he screamed, on the second, third and fourth he choked and spat. On the fifth stab, there was no sound, bar the wet slide of the blade going in and out. Dead. The guards in this place were either completely inept, or Karai-bor was better than he had previously thought. The daemon decided on the latter.

Karai-bor strode through the bloody corridor, the entire space stinking of weapon fire and the coppery tang of blood. He wasn't bothering with stealth anymore, there were no guards left to hear, and the guests were all far downstairs. He reached the door to the Governors box, and entered, the door hissing open.

The space within was dark. It's sole occupant was presently Karai-bor. One of the walls was glass, and through that he could see the main hall, far below. This is where the Governor should be. But she wasn't. A camera sat in the centre of the room, presumably to broadcast the Governor to the hall screens. Karai-bor snarled: "Where are you..." There was no reply. At first. Then something moved behind him.

It, no she, towered over him. She was mortal, but by the Ruinous Powers, her armour was huge.
Ornate, curling thorny vines, each terminating in a viciously barbed Fleur du Lis, stretched across the trim, cast iron, over layers of ceramite. She was un-helmed, and her face was a mass of scar tissue. One of her eyes had been replaced by a gilded augmetic. Another Fleur du Lis was tattooed on her cheek.
A Melta-gun sat in her gauntleted fists. A chainsword across her back.

An Adeptus Sororitas, one who would appear to be the Governors personal guard.

Karai-bor, in a surprisingly mortal display, swore viciously.

They stood opposite each other, The Sororitas running a hand along the top of her Melta, snarling. She could wield it one handed if she wanted, Karai-bor had seen it before. But two-handed, at this range, she couldn't miss. That gun could rip a tank apart in a single shot. He was an assassin, it would turn him to ash, sending him screaming back to The Empyrean. He wouldn't win in a straight up fight. He was going to have to cheat.
He was, bar the knife, unarmed. She was encased in ceramite, and wielding a weapon with the power of a sun, and she hated every ounce of his existence. There was no hiding his daemon nature now, black tongue, glowing eyes, sharp claws.
"You're going to die here, you filthy creature." The Sororitas was grinning, the words coming out as a snarl from her rictus grin.
Karai-bor returned it with a smile of his own: "That's my line, mortal." The knife snapped out of his belt, spinning across the back of his right claw, before rolling into his grip. The Sororitas almost laughed, "There's a mortal expression, don't bring a knife-"
"-To a gunfight," Karai-bor finished, before adding, with a tilt of his head: "but I'm not mortal am I?"

His shell's heart beat once.

The Sororitas dropped her smile, and lifted her gun.

Karai-bor was already in motion by the time "mortal" had left his lips. His right arm stretched and distorted. Muscle split the skin. Veins stood out like cables. Levering his arm towards the Sororitas, the knife glinting in his claw.

White hot heat built up in the barrel of the gun.

He threw himself to the left, as he cast the knife forth.

The air screamed as the Melta spat impossible heat into the room.

Pain lanced through him. The Melta had glanced him. The pain was unbearable. His left hand was... Gone. The stump was cauterised, and black with heat. Molten fat ripped from the limb. The Sororitas laughed now. She unharmed. "You missed, daemon," she seemed surprised, "Looks like the forces of Chaos are lacking in assassins of quality." she said. Now that, though Karai-bor, is past the line. The Sororitas stalked forwards, recharging her Melta, preparing to finishing him. She began talking, but Karai-bor wasn't listening. "I am going to send you back to the unholy hell from whence you came, liberating the innocent that you have invaded, in The Emperor's Name, I shall enact this." Karai-bor stood, ignoring her sermon. She pointed the Melta right at his face. "Any last words, monster?"
"Just a few." He smiled, fangs twisting. "The Assassins of Chaos are fair better than you think. Why, you ask? Well..." He made a 'come here gesture' with his remaining claw.

And the tip of the knife punched through her mouth. The Sororitas gurgled, dropping her gun.

"Well... That would be because we always strike from behind." The knife pulled its way through her face, severing her head above the jaw, and sending her still warm corpse toppling to the ground. The weapon floated into his hand. He licked the blood from its edge, and saw, through the eyes of The Sororitas, the escape route the Governor was taking.
Karai-bor turned to the glass wall, broken by the Melta. The crowd below were parting to allow a running figure through. He could sense the panic.
He crooked his arm back.
Tensed the muscle.
And threw his knife.

He smiled as it sailed through the air. Those Eldar souls would be delicious. Oh, how he loved being an assassin.

He didn't miss.


+++ Request for Imperial Aid.+++
+++Tamus 892 has fallen into civil disorder, after The Planetary Governor was assassinated on the eve of celebrations. The culprit is believed to be a high ranking noble, and the planet has fallen into disorder as a result of the ensuing distrust. The murder weapon is currently in the possession of High Magos Katok, who has been reported to exhibit odd behaviour, but will be reliably safe-keeping the weapon for the foreseeable future. A Chaos Dragon fleet has been spotted at the far edge of the system. S.O.S. Send help ASAP.+++

[Extract found on the ruined world of Tamus 892]

gallery_63428_7083_6894.png gallery_63428_7083_6894.png gallery_63428_7083_6894.png gallery_63428_7083_6894.png


#59
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts
Carrack, I like how yours read as a manual for the creation of assassins. I also like that it recommends pitting the potential assassins against each other. :D

Tenebris, I liked the technical nature of yours, and particularly the genophage! Scary stuff.

Zhaharek, that was particularly good! I liked the body-hopping. I reminded me of an old Denzel Washington film with a demon that could hop by touch...only yours was better. The knife as its focus was a nice touch.

#60
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

gallery2900410383202531.png

 

Now what an Inspirational Friday that was. You people got me fair and square and I had to read for almost an entire hour your awesome contributions and I DO mean awesome, from the first word to the last. This Inspirational Friday will be a special one since all the posts from this week get the reward, THAT GOOD your contributions are. I have read about the creation of a Chaos assassin, then I have read about an infiltrator and assassin sent by the Alpha Legion and finally I was rewarded for my reading with a daemonic shapeshifter assassin. That is why I love my job here on the Chaos Boards, because I get to read great fan-fiction, and through it learn how many different interpretations are of Chaos. I think that the frater Carrack, Kierdale and the amazing new entry Zhaharek all deserve the reward. Great job people, I cant wait to see what you will cook up next week. Keep the good work!

 

 

Step forth brothers Carrack, Kierdale and Zhaharek and claim your reward!

 

friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 20/02/2015 - Chaos Recon Observation - Protocol 72-B

 

To the esteemed Ordo Malleus, Watch Station Arbalest, Inquisition eyes only. Our observation of the Chaos forces in the region has yielded a greater understanding of the Archenemy. We were able to determine the modus operandi of the Chaos forces present in the region and our strategos have formulated the first observations on the war disposition and capacity of the enemy. 

 

Under the scrutiny protocol 72-B our operatives have compiled the following document where the revelations of the recent covert operations will be disclosed and the provisional threat assessment is established. Herein you will find the compilation of the main traits and idiosyncrasies of the observed Chaos forces as well as the tactical preferences employed by their leading elements and most important than all their speculated weaknesses, all to be exploited by the Holy Ordos. With knowledge we prevail, with faith we triumph!

 

In the addendum you will find a presentation of the methods of infiltration used by our field agents and a brief summary of the tactics and strategies that the Inquisition should employ when facing the observed Chaos warbands.

 

In darkness, He is our light! Ave Imperator. 

 

Inspiratori Frater!

 

Inquisitor Tenebris


There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#61
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts
As much as Carrack, Zhaharek and/or myself deserve to wear the Octed, you too Tenebris deserve it.

#62
Carrack

Carrack

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 1,247 posts
Agreed

#63
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts
Here's my entry smile.png
Spoiler



EDIT: edited to add in OpFor estimates.

#64
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

Report 121 - Inquisitor Eyes Only - "The wolf is at his deadliest when he wears the skin of a sheep."

 

With much effort our enclave was able to infiltrate the "Black Tears" warband. This particular group of traitor astartes was not hard to infiltrate given their peculiar traits and modus operandi but while some information was filtered down from our agents and is considered credible we advise caution for it is the particularity of this Black Legion warband combined with their unusual activity which can easily lead to contradictory observations. 

 

The method of infiltration was achieved by using several Inquisition acolytes disguised as a medicus detachment aboard a lone listening station, the kind of target usually raided by the forces of the Archenemy. We suspected that sooner or later the observation post would be hit by the forces of Chaos, considering their heightened activity in the area, but when the Black Tears appeared we did our best to infiltrate as many our agents as we could, spreading them across the enemy fleet.

 

The initial reports, the most credible ones, are quite clear in their assessment of the Archenemy. The Black Tears are a Chaos warband, vassal to the Black Legion and composed of several minor warbands from different stripes and genotypes. This warbands are in turn bonded to a former Reserve Company of the traitorous XVIth legion. It is confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that the Black Tears are indeed the get of Horus the Archenemy. 

 

The Black Tears are a warband which is centered around a strong fleet composed by the great battleship Arrogance, supported by a battlecruiser and a squadron of escort ships. It is speculated that the ships predate the Horus Heresy and still bear the cursed iconography of the Warmaster. Agent 09 did manage to scan the rearmost section of the gun batteries and with much hatred in our heart the archives confirm that the Arrogance has indeed fired upon Holy Terra and the Imperial Palace. The Black Tears are thus confirmed traitoris extremis and are a true get of the Archenemy. The destruction of this warband is paramount for all loyal servants of the Imperium.

 

Agent 72 has managed to coerce several information from the gun clans employed by the Black Tears as fearsome auxiliaries and the findings are as dire as surprising. The Black Tears are indeed singular in their modus operandi, often plying with their fleet the remote and dangerous warp routes of the Imperium. It is speculated that the telepaths of the warband prey upon the dreams of our Astropaths, listening to the calls of distress and plight. This behavior is not unknown of the Archenemy but the revelation that the warband actively seeks the summons for Throne astartes is a surprise. 

 

Armed with the knowledge that imperial worlds are in such a distress that they require an astartes intervention, the warband of the Black Tears has often posed itself as the last hope for a populace of a beleaguered imperial world. This modus operandi is highly unusual yet the surprises do not stop here. The Black Tears have often shouldered many a defense of an imperial world, acting sometimes even as guardians, asking only a harvest of the world's youth and enough supplies to recover their losses. Given no other option, and often in clear ignorance of the devious Archenemy among them, many a populace has become an unknowing ally to the forces of Chaos, thus damning their soul for eternity. 

 

This tactic seems to have yielded many a result and the Black Tears have been observed to act as protectors for all those willing to sell their souls to Chaos. The wolf at its devious indeed, the Black Tears often wear the faces of angels and even play the part, but they are indeed servants of the Ruinous Powers. How many planetary governors owe allegiance to this Black Legion warband, or how many imperial worlds have been "rescued" by this traitors, we have no knowledge, but this is still quite a singular behavior for a Chaos warband, singular not because of the deceit in their actions, but singular because the Black Tears have been observed to honor the deal to the end. A most unusual aspect for a Chaos warband.

 

Agent 21 has managed to send a report on the battlefield capacity of the Black Tears warband before he was killed in a fire engulfing vast portions of the lower decks on the ship where he was stationed. The Black Tears are a motley collection of warbands, some formed by recent converts to Chaos or renegade astartes, but some also come from the first legions which have betrayed the Emperor. Agent 21 reports that during his service as a battlefield medicus he has observed a bewildering array of tactics and strategies employed by the Black Tears. The warband was seen practicing swift planetstrike missions, the hallmark of the astartes; wage a trench war with the Astra Militarum and winning it; fighting a tank battle with the Eldar and even conducting a deadly space hulk clearance mission. All the while the forces on the ground and in the void were supported by the warband's fleet in orbit. 

 

No clear preference for a method of war or strategy was observed, but Agent 21 reports that the majority of the missions undertaken by his gun clan have seen the Black Tears triumphant and their losses contained. Raids on lone observation post, like the one set as a lure, are considered "blooding" missions for newly inducted gun clans and as a training ground for the astartes. The important factor here, as Agent 21 stated in his last report, is that the Black Tears pursue their campaigns with a singular focus and favor a quick persecution of war, avoiding needless risks or staggering losses when they are confronted with a superior enemy. An aspect that recurred in the past three missions undertaken by the gun clans, was the daring strike by the warband's terminator elite which decapitated or badly mauled the enemy leadership. Of this decapitation strikes Agent 21 reports of a thorough elimination of all living force. No enemies are spared, no witnesses are left alive, the head is effectively cut off, leaving the enemy in doubt and panic as its leadership is dead. 

 

Said that it is clear that the Black Tears are a deadly foe and it must become the mission of this Inquisitorial enclave to eradicate this Chaos warband from existence. Our tactical advisers among the astartes suggested the use of a full battlefleet and an astartes chapter to hunt down and kill this singular foe yet every time we have tried to corner the Black Tears the warband managed to escape. One thing is certain, we speak of the get of Horus the Archenemy, there is no direst foe, and surely where the Black Tears walk, the Black Legion follows. Unfortunately most of our agents are confirmed to be dead, the last report from Agent 69 came with a dire admonishment: "We are the wolves of the moon, the sons of the eye, the tears of black. Weep for we are returned!"

 

We know not how the Black Tears have managed to discover our agents, but I have taken the liberty to call upon Watch Station Arbalest and the Chamber Militant of our Ordo. Unless we strike with our hammer first, we will indeed weep tears of black. There is no denying the nature of our foe. The get of Horus has returned to hound our dreams. This Black Tears were among the first betrayers of our species, they are not a mongrel breed, they are traitoris extremis, let there be no denial of this fact.

 

The Emperor protects!


Edited by Tenebris, 22 February 2015 - 08:20 PM.

There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#65
Carrack

Carrack

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 1,247 posts
Protocol 72B Inquisitorial Station Arbalest. Ave Imperitor.

Spoiler


#66
Dragonlover

Dragonlover

    ++ PATRIS ANGUIGENA ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 3,144 posts
I have been embedded amongst the work crews of the Bone Walkers for six years sidereal. They operate as most warbands dedicated to the Blood God, with a focus on trophy collection to stave off the bite of the Nails. Serjius himself has a truly blasphemous collection of Astartes skulls, and it is that which concerns me.

To honour his god, he is harvesting a skull from every Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes to have ever existed. This includes Chapters that have been wiped out before he gets to them. To this end, he has hired a sorcerer who claims to have power over the warp to such a degree he can choose when to emerge to within a ten year error margin. The warband has also stepped up raids on the necrontyr, in an effort to capture their blasphemous technology. Thus far they have been unsuccessful, but it is only a matter of time.

In addition to these more esoteric methods, the warband will salvage any data they find on captured ships and scrub it for any mention of the Chapters Adeptus Astartes, so that the hunt may continue.

Inquisitor Serafina Absalom, Ordo Chronus

#67
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

gallery2900410383202531.png

 

The Inquisition desperately sent its operatives to die, all to claim lost lore, knowledge and secrets of the Archenemy. This week's winner is Kierdale. His "Protocol 72B" is well written and quite illustrative of how a report should look like but I have especially liked the very last paragraph, the implication of the Eldar reading the report. That was an awesome twist for an already awesome report. A honorable mention goes also to Carrack and boy oh boy, the Tanari clans, you sir made my day (I am a D&D enthusiast). 

 

 

Step forth brother Kierdale and claim your reward!

 

friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 27/02/2015 - Betrayal!

 

Betrayal, the essence of the traitor, the nature of Chaos, the turning point for a loyal soul, now cast adrift, betrayer and betrayed both. This week's Inspirational Friday will be a deep one, we will write about betrayal. Each warband passed this turning point for it is the nature of the traitor to betray what he stood for, what he bled for. This turning point is the most pivotal event in the background of a Chaos warban, the moment that defines a Chaos Space Marine, the moment when the fate of the warband is sealed for eternity.

 

I want you to write of this moment, of this betrayal. What happened when your marines fired upon their loyalist brothers, when their oaths were broken, when their lot was cast with the traitors. This moment was a moment of great emotional upheaval, even for an astartes, more so for a brotherhood, now broken and reshaped by this vile act. Write about this act of betrayal, why it led to it, how it felt, what followed it. Betrayal, the betrayal perpetuated by your warband, touched every single marine in your brotherhood so explain what ramifications it had, what conflicts it revealed, who was the betrayed, who was the betrayer. 

 

As in all things no emotion is singular and pure. Conflicted emotions, orders, chaos, we can assume all those followed in the wake of the betrayal and in those few moments the fate of your warband was sealed, no longer loyal, but betrayers and betrayed in kind.

 

Let us be inspired!

 

 

Tenebris


Edited by Tenebris, 27 February 2015 - 04:38 PM.

There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#68
Carrack

Carrack

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 1,247 posts
Thanks for the mention. Tenebris, you must be a true enthusiast to catch that reference.
Congradulations Kierdale, I am continually blown away with your writing and modeling.

#69
Tenebris

Tenebris

    ++ SERVATOR FERINUS ++

  • +EXCOMMUNICATUS+
  • 2,548 posts

The 97th Reserve Company of the Sons of Horus were stationed on board the mighty battleship Arrogance, the flagship of their host. Consuls from three different cohorts were spread across the remaining ships seconded to the "Black Tears", tasked with the overseeing of the escort and cruiser squadron, securing or to better say, enforcing their loyalty to Horus, the Warmaster.

 

In the Hall of Recollection the host stood assembled, storm green armored legionaries divided in neat lines, the banners of the cohorts lowered, lowered in remembrance, lowered perhaps in the shame of the act that would follow.

 

Below the wracked skies of Istvaan III brothers were fighting against an uprising, a devious cult corrupted the imperial institutions on the planet and the might of four astartes legions was assembled to punish the rebels. An unprecedented might concentrated on a single planet, thousands of brothers and cousins were locked in deadly combat with the enemy, unaware of their own fleet moving into position to bombard the planet below.

 

The Arrogance sailed at the head of its fleet of escorts, the 97th Reserve Company was ordered to reach the predetermined coordinates for the bombing plan. Thousands of menials were toiling in the weapon decks, loading sinister looking containers in the missiles. Augurs where chiming, tech-adepts were singing the code cant, the whips of the taskmasters were crackling and a dozen of decks above the echo of the astartes lock step could be heard. As one more than five hundred ceramite boots stepped to attention as the words of Horus, the beloved primarch of the XVIth legion, of their father, could be heard from the loudhailers. The officers barked orders, the standards of the company were lowered, horns bellowed and a dirge begun to raise from the Chorus, the choir temple on the Arrogance.

 

The 97th was often called to act as a reserve for the battle companies, their warriors never given tasks worthy of glory, never deserving the attention of their father Horus, but now, all Sons of Horus felt a strange tingle in their two hearts. For some it was guilt, for some it felt like anger, for the 97th it was vindication. They were spared the purge, they were true sons of the XVIth, they were judged loyal, despite never being allowed to shine in the eyes of their primarch. The 97th will be vindicated, no more faceless grunts in a legion of heroes, but heroes themselves.

 

The speech of the primarch ended, the sirens were clarion in their judgement, the weapon hatches opened, revealing the mighty teeth of the Arrogance and her sister ships. Helmets adorned with a black tear under the left eye lenses raised, looking at the vast viewport in the Hall of Recollection, the standards lowered still. 

 

"Aebathan" the officers cried. "Aebathan" answered the gathered marines, in unison presenting their weapons. Warning klaxons blared and the first tongues of fire could be seen engulfing the maws of the fleet's cannons. What followed was a marvel of astartes coordination to behold. Screaming missiles poured down to the planet surface, blossoms of fire could be seen from Istvaan III and the ballet of the ships dancing at Horus's tune was marvelous. First fired the battleships, then followed the cruisers, finishing in a crescendo of incendiaries unleashed by the entire fleet, the last cannonade, the one which sealed the fate of the loyalists, the last word of the judgement orchestrated by Horus and his brothers, echoed and then silence fell. The silence of the guilty. 

 

For hours the 97th Company stood in grim silence, observing the deed, observing and judging, remembering, evaluating, crying. The Black Tears earned their name for they were said to be soulless, their spirit a grim one, their brotherhood undeserving of glory. But in truth every single Black Tear knew why they were spared and their brothers were not. Each of their battle brothers did not share a single drop of Terran blood, they never beheld the rays of Sol nor ever questioned their role in the legion. Every Black Tear knew that their primarch needed both warriors who fight for glory as well as the warriors who die for glory, the 97th was of the second stripe, expendable, disposable, unremarkable. Yet in the past century the Black Tears did indeed prove to their father that they were worthy sons, often by carrying the glorious dead on their shoulders, acting as the guardians of those who died in their service to the XVIth legion, and guarding their ships when the still living were fighting for Horus. 

 

As the skies of Istvaan III burned and the dirge echoed from the Chorus the 97th removed their helmets and begun to sing...

 

A'tlan, a'tlan, du val mal a'tlan

deru'van neru zar moran

karu dan jrek ler nan

zeran, aebathan

 

Dead, dead, forever and ever dead

remembered and never forgotten

a crown without a king, ashen note

emptied, a cut throat

 

A thousand voices picked the ancient Cthonian dirge, their eyes sunken, tears steaming down their faces as they prepared the legion for planetary invasion. Some dared to looked their astartes masters in the eye, a single word upon their minds, "betrayal". The 97th sung on as death's scythe fell upon Istvaan III. 


Edited by Tenebris, 01 March 2015 - 06:43 PM.

There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

#70
Lord Pariah

Lord Pariah

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 88 posts

hey, now is as good a time as any... may not be the grandest, may not be what your looking for... but I thought to cook it up In the time I had free, so expect rough edges

 

 

 

Captain Avaton crashed through the hulk, his mind set on the mongrel that over stepped his mark. Bearing a shield forged of adamantium with the wolf of Luna snarling ever so proudly, letting his power maul rest in his servo-assisted hands as sparks of starved-life dance.


His brothers hunted down the rest of the Jackals as he broke away, intent on finishing what should have ended so long ago. He should never had allowed the mongrel to live, never allowed them to even conceive of their treacheries…And yet here he was , ignoring his brothers, his fellow Outcast Wolves, chasing the one who was set on defying them and fracturing them in the name of some unknown nightmare.

He found the traitor in the only observation blister that remained aboard the hulk, staring out to the planet below… Deja Vu is seldom as pleasant as one would believe, as he stood exactly as the last traitor, the last one who would have sold his soul for the chance to rule.


Avaton was a different man in the great betrayal; younger, clearer and naive. Back in that lost time, he had approached the usurper in front of the whole rank and file that remained, he had believed it was simply a misunderstanding. The usurper had talked about corruption in the roots of the imperium, how entities from the beyond were our allies, and how the great Captain Alyxander was nothing but a bloody handed, weakling tyrant.


Avaton had drawn his sword, his lowly officer issue sword, with fear that a mind sickness had set in, but the company was too silent...

“Throne of Earth! you're talking about betrayal!” Avaton had once exclaimed. “You're talking about Betraying the Captain, the very man who has saved this company more times than I dare count, who took all of us in, who saw all of us as his sons!”. In this naive time, reason was believed to hold sway.


“You follow a dead man..” the Usurper had spoke cryptically.


Befor Avaton could have claimed madness, Isstvan III ignited with a brilliance that can only be matched by a star… The one man he would follow to hell and back now believed dead, he stayed, taking the radiance of the personification of death, stunned in both awe and grief.


“Now, we are free!” the usurper broke the silence, with a feral grin.


A great duel followed, while the company was divided, between those that saw the love of their surrogate father and commander, and those that saw only a bloody handed tyrant. That duel was the single most intense hour in Avaton’s life, with rage that burned brighter than the firestorm below--


“The oh-so-holy Captain holds us all in chains!” screamed the new usurper, the mongrel, the Jakyl. Eldritch lightning recided dark contracts that the fool had made, the same as the last usurper.


“You know nothing! He looks upon us as his beloved sons; saved us from our self-pity, but you, Jakyl, never saw that as you were the bastard and deserve none of his love.” Avaton spoke as his maul sparked to life, burning the air itself.


“Love? This is about respect! the Black Legion would never give us the respect we deserve, you are nothing but fodder to them!” Jakyl yelled  as he moved around Avaton’s guard.


“And you think daemons will give you that ‘respect’?” Avaton spat. “No. Daemons will claim your soul, but you tried to kill Issac and for that, I will have your skull for that. You should never have been created, mongrel, and That is a mistake I intend to fix!”


Both had charged Avaton in the same way, both had screamed the same warcry for freedom, both had hunger in their eyes.

Thousands of years separate the Usurpers. Two bastards for different eras, two power hungry champions, two who commanded respect and love without once earning it.. Both tempered the Wolves of moonlight, First as the 19th company of the XVI, then as the traitor Pariah Wolves


lord-pariah.png


#71
Carrack

Carrack

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 1,247 posts
I was aboard the Vengeful Spirit, above Terra, when the so called Heresy reached me. These events that the bootlicks of the Corpsegod falsely lay down as their foundational myths changed everything for us, for me. I was late to the end, we all were, the companies that would form the Black Maw were not at Istavaan, or indeed any battle of the so called Heresy save the end one. We were brought in from campaign along the far reaches of Segmentum Obscuras, in order to bolster the Astartes forces aboard our father's flagship.

Our father always amazed me when he spoke. Some say other Primarchs could orate more eloquently, I find that unlikely. He had gathered his children to him as we were brought aboard and spoke to us in the landing bay. He spoke of the abandonment and betrayal by his father, he spoke of us righteous warriors paving the way for incompetent bureaucrats who would push us aside like obsolete tools. He spoke of the lies of secularity. He spoke of Gods. He spoke of true power. His words alone amazed me, but all the while he spoke he coordinated fleet movements, received and transmitted reports to his captains and seemed to be doing eight things at once. Yet we had his focus and seemed to have his undivided attention the entire time. My father was like that. He was that capable of a commander, that is why he was Warmaster. I marvel at how he failed.

I once saw a Night Lord and a World Eater fight to the death over whose Legion entered the palace first. That they fought was unsurprising, but fighting over pride in a battle that they lost confounded me. Our place in the defeat was to wait aboard the Vengeful Spirit until a breech in the walls was made, and then make the drop to the surface and secure a foothold inside the palace. For what little it is worth, we failed in this mission, requiring assistance from the Sons of the VX.

As for me, My ignoble defeat came when my drop pod was shot out from under me. That is what I remember of our first betrayal, failure. Our father's, our Legion's, our warband's, my own. But we will have vengeance for our loss, we will make the Galaxy burn!

-Aspiring Champion Vinno - During the Siege of Terra, Vinno was stationed aboard the Vengeful Spirit. His squad was held in reserve till a certain objective was secured and then sent to earth via drop pod. Unfortunately a grazing shot from an AA battery sent his pod wildly off course and caused a crash landing in the numerological data sinks of Western Anatolia. Vinno, the pod’s only survivor, enraged by his misfortune slaughtered as many numerologists as he could. Such was the atrocity that to this day the workers of these data sinks are forbidden from counting, recording, or otherwise using Vinno’s designated squad number which was painted across his chest plate and pauldron. This taboo has, over the millennia, lead to more deaths than Vinno’s initial mass killing. If Vinno was to find out about this he would at first be pleased, but then would be enraged at the reminder of his misfortune.

#72
Warsmith Aznable

Warsmith Aznable

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 3,713 posts

My entry for the "betrayal" theme, spoilered for length:
 

Spoiler


Edited by Warsmith Aznable, 05 March 2015 - 06:23 AM.

The Iron Hounds (CSM) project log here & IA here. | Our Martyred Lady (SoB) project log here  | Lamenters (BA) WIP thread here.

Index of Inspiration Friday entries here.

gallery_29004_9303_844.pnggallery_53134_9839_10377.jpggallery_53134_9839_46080.jpggallery_53134_9839_9398.jpggallery_29004_9303_844.png

"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#73
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,798 posts

I find myself out of Likes.
That was fantastic, Warsmith Aznable!
I'm glad to hear the four-armed snake mongrel did not die well. I have a soft spot for such types biggrin.png
 
Here's my entry for this week.

Spoiler



#74
TDF

TDF

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 515 posts
The floor of the training arena was covered in the dismembered remains of five or six combat-servitors. Only eleven remained intact in the storage niches around the room, leaving more than twenty unaccounted for.

“Must you always create such destruction?” asked Gar Nalen.

Mihaelo Antanus turned his head away from the control unit he was repairing and smiled ruefully. “You know I cannot help it, brother. I was made to kill and that is not something I can switch on and off. I’ve never possessed your control.”

“Perhaps that speaks of a great void in your spirit, brother. One that you must fill with violence.”

Mihaelo barked a laugh and turned back to the control unit. “You sound like the Chaplain when say that.”

Gar Nalen hesitated for a moment. “He sent me to speak to you,” he said.

There was a long pause. Mihaelo activated a rune on the control unit and it sputtered into mechanical life.

“He’s concerned that you are rejecting the truth. He thinks that your unbelief is unhealthy.”

Mihaelo sighed. “There have been so many truths, brother. As a child in the Pirrennians I was taught one truth. Then the Thunder Legions came and I was taught another truth, the Imperial Truth. I spread this truth across the stars until I finally met our father and he taught me another truth. I spread that truth also, until Monarchia came and that truth was exposed as a lie. And now Kanan Raam wants me to believe yet another truth. I am a weapon, Gar Nalen. The truth is not for me to know.”

“I understand your perspective, brother,” Gar Nalen said gently. “I only knew one truth until Monarchia, but even so I did not wish to learn another. When Kanan Raam showed me the new truth our father has uncovered I did not want to believe. But I cannot deny it.”

The control unit whirred and moaned as Mihaelo replaced the outer panelling. “I am content in my ignorance. Whatever this new truth is, I want no part in it,” he said.

Gar Nalen stared sadly at his brother’s back and then silently drew his blade from its sheath. “I am sorry you feel that way, brother,” he said.

Mihaelo typed a series of commands on the control unit’s keypad, his attention still firmly diverted away from Gar Nalen. “I wish things could be different. I am sorry that they cannot be.”

Gar Nalen raised the combat blade. He mouthed a silent prayer that Kanan Raam had taught him that very day. “Forgi–”

Mihaelo punched a rune on the control unit and four steel spears erupted from Gar Nalen’s chest. The Terran turned around with an expression of raw grief on his face.

“I suspected this, but I hoped they would send another. Thank you for giving me time to reprogram the combat servitors. I did not want to fight you.”

“You... would have... lost.” Gar Nalen tried to smile, but his mouth was filling with blood.

Mihaelo laughed once. “That is probably true.” He stooped and picked up the combat blade from where Gar Nalen had dropped it. “You were the greatest brother I could have wished for,” he said.

“Like... wise...”

The blade sank deep into Gar Nalen’s throat and out the other side. Mihaelo withdrew it and examined it distastefully, then he wiped it clean on Gar Nalen’s robe. He would need every weapon available if he was to escape the Light of Colchis alive.

Img_CH00_08Awards_06_ETL_2013A.gif  friday-award.png  friday-award.png gallery_51296_10593_8492.png


#75
Warsmith Aznable

Warsmith Aznable

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 3,713 posts

I find myself out of Likes.
That was fantastic, Warsmith Aznable!
I'm glad to hear the four-armed snake mongrel did not die well. I have a soft spot for such types biggrin.png


I will admit to that description being inspired by a certain Daemonic Pact conversion!

The Iron Hounds (CSM) project log here & IA here. | Our Martyred Lady (SoB) project log here  | Lamenters (BA) WIP thread here.

Index of Inspiration Friday entries here.

gallery_29004_9303_844.pnggallery_53134_9839_10377.jpggallery_53134_9839_46080.jpggallery_53134_9839_9398.jpggallery_29004_9303_844.png

"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."