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Inspiration Friday 2016: Thousand Sons (until 1/13)

- - - - - Inspiration Friday Inspiration Friday 2016 fanfiction Chaos Writing

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#426
Kierdale

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Only two entries so far (and one is by this week's judge)! I nearly have mine done but if another week would bear fruit I'm fine with an extension...
What say you?

Plus I have something special for December for you...

#427
The Pariah

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Took a bit of time coming up with the idea for it but here's a little story which is an introduction of the small Black legion Warband I'm working on at the moment

 

Oathsworn

 

Spoiler

Edited by Dizzyeye, 20 November 2016 - 01:28 PM.

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Click here to see my WIP log.

 

New Blog coming soon.

 

 

Formerly Dizzyeye


#428
Warsmith Aznable

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I will put one in later tonight.

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.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#429
MyD4rkPassenger

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I've been toying with doing something besides the Night Lords in IF, and today's video gave me the incentive I needed.  Just a fun little tale I came up with in my excitement.

 

The Serpent Encircles the Wolf

Spoiler


Edited by MyD4rkPassenger, 18 November 2016 - 06:15 PM.

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#430
Warsmith Aznable

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A side story from my ongoing campaign story-line.

 

I hope you like it.

 

Hidden Content


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.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#431
Kierdale

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I thank you for your entries in Inspirational Friday: Tales of Vengeance over the last two weeks.
Aaaaaand Warsmith Aznable gets his in just in time!
I’m still finishing up mine so will post it out-of-competition later, then I can read everyone else’s entries.

Here begins our thirty-third challenge of Inspirational Friday 2016:
Unit Champion
Choose one member of one squad in your legion or warband. Who is this champion? Was he the original leader of the squad before the legion/chapter’s fall? How did he obtain his position? How does he keep it? How does he run the squad and how does he view his squad members? What are his ambitions and flaws? Tell us of his arms and armour, his trophies, grudges, beliefs and glories won.
Photos of the miniature of this individual are optional but are most appreciated msn-wink.gif

Inspirational Friday: Unit Champion runs until the 25th of November. An exercise in keeping it concise.

Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: Carrack.
To the chosen victor: step forward and claim your Octed Amulet:
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#432
Kierdale

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My (out of competition) entry for Tales of Vengeance
A continuance, in a way, of the 5th part of my interview with a Dark Apostle entry .

Faceoff
Part One - A Performance
Hidden Content


Part Two - Bondage
Hidden Content


Part Three - Vengeance
Hidden Content


Epilogue
Hidden Content


#433
Carrack

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Here is my feedback with two disclaimers. The first is my usual one, I'm no expert. I'm not educated. I'm not published, I'm not a publisher, I'm not in this for anything other than enjoyment. So if you disagree with my assessment, your opinion is at worse, just as valid as my own, don't get sore about it. I'm probably wrong.

The second disclaimer is that I'm going to tell one thing I liked about each story, and one thing I felt could be improved. In each story I had plenty of things to choose from for positive feedback, and had a lot harder time finding anything to improve on.


Dizzeye - Oathsworn
Spoiler


MyD4rkPassenger - The Serpent Encircles the Wolf
Spoiler


Warsmith Aznabel - Enusat
Spoiler


Barbatos - Drang
Spoiler


Me - Rain Brings Flowers
Spoiler


The Winner.
Spoiler

Edited by Carrack, 19 November 2016 - 10:48 PM.


#434
Kierdale

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Congratulations to MyD4rkPassenger! You're the judge of the current challenge. :)
I finally got around to reading the entries. Good stuff!

As we have no entries yet - I must admit I haven't had chance to start myself - I'd like to push the deadline back to the 2nd of December if that's okay?

#435
The Pariah

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I'm working on mine as I type. Got the ideas nailed out just needing to get all the words out really. Either way I don't mind it getting pushed back but then we might get another bunch of last minute entries :)


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Click here to see my WIP log.

 

New Blog coming soon.

 

 

Formerly Dizzyeye


#436
Warsmith Aznable

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I've got one in my head, going to put it down tonight after I get back from Thanksgiving with the folks.


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.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#437
Kierdale

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Deadline shifted to the second of December. :)

#438
Warsmith Aznable

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Another side story from my ongoing campaign series.

 

It's a bit long, 3,764 words, so I apologise, but I hope you like it anyway.

 

The final disposition of the champion will not be revealed until the campaign's epilogue, as it would spoiler the overall campaign story were it to be written about here.

 

Hidden Content


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.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#439
Carrack

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Eye Nevermore

Distemper screeched in pain as the body he infested was blinded in its right eye. He could have ducked the slashing claw and avoided the injury. He could have shown submission and snuck off, tail tucked beneath him. Instead, he took the painful and debilitating wound and sunk his body's teeth into his assailant's neck, biting through the fur and drawing blood, but not cutting the artery or crushing the windpipe of his assailant. Distemper's tabby furred assailant pulled his head back from the bite, and ran off to the alley from which he came, leaving distemper the prized hunting ground of the fountain for the night, and unknowingly taking with him the gift Distemper had given him in his blood. It was the season of estrus, and Distemper hoped that his assailant would share his gift with many before the the flood of hormones left the other cats of the Aspis Palace district. Distemper could feel the body of the cat he possessed weakening from the infestation he had blessed it with, and with the wound he had sustained, knew that his time of giving with this body was nearing its conclusion. Besides, a way was opening for Distemper to enter the realms of man in his own body, which was much more preferred than possessing a mere animal. Distemper took his weakening body into the fountain, to die, but hopefully bring the joy of his gifts to many in so doing.

How long Distemper spent in the warp, he did not know, an eon or an instant, neither had any meaning, all he knew was a path was opening back to reality. A pawn of his master was drawing the path through the kaleidoscope of suffering and screams with old words and an older ritual. Distemper's moved through the warp along the open path, stepping into reality and forming his unnatural body with the offerings of the ritual, decayed and forgotten corpses disinterred from profaned graves.

Distemper stood amongst opened mausoleums on the Requiem Level of Callebra Hive, some years past and a vast distance from the fountain in the Aspis Palace District. The differences in time and space did not matter. All that mattered was he was where and when his master had decided to shower the realms of man with joyous gifts. Distemper reached out and grabbed a bar of wrought ironwork from a nearby tomb, watching it as it twisted and rotted into his sword. He strode forth with his sword high, ready to bring his master's gifts to all who would receive them.

Distemper on far right.
Spoiler


The Eye Nevermore 
Spoiler


#440
Kierdale

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I thank you for your entries in Inspirational Friday: Unit Champion over the last two weeks.
Only two but I very much look forward to reading them. smile.png
Things have been so busy these last two weeks I couldn’t put anything together myself.

Here begins our thirty-fourth challenge of Inspirational Friday 2016:
Iron Warriors
The Iron Within – Iron Without Painting Contest finishes tomorrow, December 3rd, so this is a most fitting time for Inspiration Friday to focus upon the fourth legion Astartes. To those who took part in the IW Painting Contest I ask you to present your finished models here along with a piece of fluff written about them. To those who did not take part, show us your models and tell us tales of their battles.
Tell us of the brutal and unforgiving siege specialists, of their vast batteries of artillery, their armoured spearheads, their masses of slave-soldiers and their commanding warsmiths.

To those who do not model Iron Warriors (such as myself) let the blunt sons of Perturabo be your antagonists and give us a story of your renegades’ clashes with the remnants of the fourth legion.

Inspirational Friday: Iron Warriors runs until the 16th of December.

Iron Within. Iron Without. Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: MyD4rkPassenger.
To the chosen victor: step forward and claim your Octed Amulet:
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And let it be known that the winner of the thirty-fourth challenge of IF2016 shall not be awarded the Octed Amulet. Oh no. To one who pens the finest tale of Perturabo’s sons shall be awarded this…
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#441
MyD4rkPassenger

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Since we only got two entries (I was very busy as well) I may have a winner by tonight since I'm going to re-read them now. At the latest I'll have a decision by tomorrow
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#442
MyD4rkPassenger

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So finals pushed back my decision, but free time has arisen and I must deliver my verdict. I'll preface with again you all gave me fantastic stories to read!

Warsmith Aznable
I commend you on the detail you provide in describing the scene, I was able to perfectly picture the whole story. I particularly enjoyed the scene where your champion was in the bunker. His disdain of the mutation and the description of the word bearer were awesome. Additionally I simply enjoyed his journey back to the members of his warband. Great story!

Carrack
I'll begin by saying great model! The story of your daemon possessing the cat and then being summoned was fantastic, really good stuff. Additionally the summoning of the daemons in the rest was really cool, if felt menacing imagining the daemons swelling in the immaterium right on the edge of reality. Finally the descriptions of the hive levels were really cool. Again great story!

After reading these awesome tales I have decided that Warsmith Aznable's tale is the victor.

Edited by MyD4rkPassenger, 06 December 2016 - 03:38 AM.

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#443
Warsmith Aznable

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Only two entries, but Carrack is a worthy competition all by himself.

 

I accept this victory in the name of Perturabo and the IV Legion!

 

And I look forward to sitting in judgment of Iron Warriors stories in the name of the Lord of Iron!

 

IRON WITHIN! IRON WITHOUT!


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.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."


#444
MyD4rkPassenger

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Here's my entry for is week, since I am a Son of the Eighth I pitt them against the might of the sons of Perturabo.

War is hell, and I'm the devil

Spoiler

Edited by MyD4rkPassenger, 08 December 2016 - 02:01 AM.

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#445
Teetengee

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Monsters (Halloween 2016) Part III is a bit NSFW, so pm if you want the uncensored version. I am going to figure out a tamer writeup to post here too.


My Chaos WIP Thread (Bigger Pics and Foul Xenos offsite) Hall of Honour, My Storm Reavers (DIY SM Chapter) Story, My Chaos 7.5 Homebrew Codex Thread
In us burns a fire for vengeance that will only be quenched when we stand triumphant over the smoldering ruins of Terra. Our laughter on that day will haunt their survivors till the end of time. We will stride forth victorious through the shattered gates of their fortress, holding high aloft the defiled corpse of their rotting god as our prize.
Wulfkry, on 02 Jul 2013 - 3:38 PM, said: So an inquisitor is receiving SM implants using GK geneseed stolen off the fields of armageddon interesting..
Captain Semper, on 29 May 2015 - 4:10 AM, said: There is crazy and there is Teetengee crazy... ph34r.pngnuke.gif

Warsmith Aznable, on 30 Jan 2016 - 01:16 AM, said: 13. Teetengee wrote "Warp Born" and I won't even go into how disturbing the subject matter was.
The Psycho, on 26 Apr 2016 - 10:50 PM, said: That's either really disturbing or really cute, I haven't quite made up my mind yet.

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I'm not dead, and I like 8th better than 7th.


#446
Carrack

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Crack
-Daemon World of Vassa, Eye of Terror-

Spoiler


#447
lokkorex

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It was beautiful.

The xeno-scum were pushed back metre by metre, their futile return-fire barely denting the supreme Cataphractii armour of Chief Apothecary Dawa and his Terminator brothers, as they marched on the ork filth, burning their presence off the face off the muddy battlefield with bolters and heavy flamers.

The xeno scum had tried to circle around the Iron Warriors flanks with a battalion-sized force off infantry, forsaking any mechanized support, in the hopes to avoid detection.

Their hopes had been brutally smashed when Dawa and his platoon of Terminator brethren had been dispatched to deal with the greenskins, after Master of Vox Matios had easily detected them.

The orks lack off heavy equipment had cost them dearly, as none of the Fourth Legions had fallen, and only superficial wounds had been inflicted on the Cataphractii, a destroyed eye-piece here, a ripped cable there.

But most beautiful off all was what was still visible in the battlefields muddy floor; here and there, sun-bleached yellow and reddish rust littered the battlefield, the remains off the Imperial Fist 437th Expedition Force.

The 7th legion force had arrived on the ork-infested world 8 months prior, believing the ork infestation to be easily surpassed by the Imperial Fists 300 strong force.

Their stubborn arrogance had cost them dearly, and barely fifty had managed to survive to return to their ships and call for aid against the xenos.

With the majority of the 7th legion forces being occupied elsewhere, the high command on Terra had ordered the Fourth Legion to deal with greenskins.

Lord Perturabo had jumped on the chance to prove his legion superior Dorns weaklings, and had dispatched a full Grand Battalion to the conflict, ensuring the annihilation of the orks.

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Dawa saw Brother-Chaplain Gogos, interred into a dreadnought chassis nearly two decades prior, ccontemptuously stepping onto the broken chassis off an Imperial Fists dreadnought, his immense weight pushing it deeper into the dirt, as he aimed his heavy flamers at a squad-size of orks, and cleansed the galaxy off their presence.

Dawa grinned at the sight, and went back into battle maul crushing and combi-bolter blasting, ridding the galaxy off the xenos, one shell at a time.


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"Loyalty is its own reward" Lion El'Johnson, Primarch of the Dark Angels legion.

#448
Phatsquirre1

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For the (true) IVth msn-wink.gif

 

Spoiler


The Salient Cluster, my WIP thread:

http://www.bolterand...-wip-update-44/

 

Echoes of Solitude: An Account of the 209th Co., XVth Legion Astartes:

http://www.bolterand...vth-legion-log/

 

Honor to the IVth!

http://www.bolterand...ow-with-titans/

 

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#449
Goreshed

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Here is my story. It is based off of one I had done ages ago but I have since lost the hard copy of it.

 

 

++++

 

Eons. It had seemed like eons had passed and yet that word did not seem to do the day justice. One battlefield looked like the last in the end when all of the gears and cogs of the Grand Company moved across the field of death like carrion birds to tally the butcher's bill. But that was ever their way; for war was in their blood just as it had shaped them and crafted them into the killers they are today. Where before their wars had brought glory, now they simply scratched a dull itch one that could only be scratched by the next conflict. The next fortress to be turned to rubble. As the tread of Titans sent minor shock waves through the ground one solitary figure stood upon the battlements he had spent the better part of four months trying to topple and watched history repeat itself once more.

 

++++

 

"Sire our men are..." With a gurgled cry the mortal was hefted from the ground where it had abased itself in front of a demi-god. One moment that demi-god had been standing before a large table looking over charts, the next moment the mortal meat sack was lifted into the air by another one of the demi-gods in the chamber, its vision now looking up towards the ceiling of the Leviathan mobile fortress. The figure in ancient terminator plate armour continued to look at the map while the mortal continued to gurgle loudly as it tried to force air through a ruptured throat. For a long moment no one moved or said anything within the large command center, all movement had stopped and all eyes were upon the figure at the table. With a slowness that echoed the age of the terminator plate the leader of the Great Company raised an arm clad in a power fist to silence the mortal slave.

 

"We are well aware of what your men are not doing Sub Commander. That will be all." The figure holding the mortal wore a smaller suit of armour compared to his Warsmith, yet it showed just as much age. With contemptuous ease the lesser lord of iron closed his mechanical fist completely and snuffed out the life of the mortal without a second thought. Tossing the slave's body at the door he let other mortals of a much wiser caliber drag the body out to be thrown over the side of the Leviathan. Turning back to his Warsmith he shook the mechanical claw of the remaining bits of mortal that were still stuck to it. Using his other hand he beckoned the now newly risen Sub Commander forward.

 

"Congratulations on your promotion slave. Carry out the Warsmith's orders." The slave who had been trying to not draw any attention to himself paled at his new promotion. All who served within the Grand Company knew the price of failure, this had not been the first time someone had disappointed the Warsmith. But the mortal tried to at least seem like it wanted the position in the first place and saluted the Warsmith before turning and leaving the Leviathan's Command Center. Orders and other such information would already be compiled and set before the new Sub Commander as it returned to the fighting front. The figure with the mechanical claw looked at his Warsmith as he cast his gaze to the map laid out before them, laying that same claw back onto the table. Centuries ago it would have been a hand but once the mutation had set in he had cut it off himself and crafted the claw that was the replacement. He would not be the first to have done so and wouldn't be the last. Inwardly he wondered how much of his own Warsmith was still gene enhanced human but filed it away for another time.

 

"Warsmith this fortress as well as the planet will be yours. We have suffered only small set backs and..." Once more the Warsmith raised a gloved hand for silence and wisely the lesser lord of iron obeyed. "Hush now Tarad. Our enemy is the enemy of old. We will conquer this planet because I will it. The outcome was never in question. The Sub Commander simply did not understand whom it was that we fight. We should expect these tactics from our ancient foe of old." The Warsmith continued to look at the constantly updating map. Though he would never say it outright the enemy commander was competent and would provide a worth while challenge, one that the Warsmith hadn't faced in years. The use of underground digging machines to transport Scout class Titans into the thick of his landing field was a brilliant stroke and had cost the Warsmith dearly in slave labor and machines. But with each Hive that fell those numbers were returned tenfold. Raids on his supply lines were starting to become a nuisance that he could no longer afford to delegate to mortals and instead had to send valuable members of his Grand Company out to protect the near constant supply of shells needed to feed his hungry guns. Not unforeseen, but still a nuisance all the same.

 

Tarad simply nodded to his Warsmith. They had fought together on thousands of battlefields over the millennia and not once had he doubted the word of the Warsmith. His word was as Iron, unyielding. "Shall we enact the next stage then?" Though the Warsmith was helmed Tarad would have sworn by the Gods of Chaos that the Warsmith was smiling but the words that came out of the ancient vox unit sounded just as dead as the forgotten world of Olympia. "Wake the sorcerers, tell them they may star their sacrifices now." With a sick smile that broke his war ravaged face apart Tarad saluted his Warsmith and went to carry out the order.

 

++++

 

The first two months of the invasion had seen the planet bathed in a world wide conflict of blood. None were spared as hordes of soldier slaves as well as smaller operating units of Iron Warriors sated their need for raw materials, mortal slaves and blood lust. Every population center was scoured clear. Every industrial center was put to new uses to bring more glory to the Grand Company. Every newly conquered town, city and hive was turned to Chaos and the will of the Warsmith. Months prior all air and space superiority was won over by the baroque ships of the Iron Warriors and now those same ships were either patrolling the reaches around the planet or suckling from giant conveyors that had been raised to kiss the outer atmosphere and deliver thousands of tons of cargo to prepare the Grand Company for it's next conquest.

 

All the places on the planet bar one. On one of the smaller continents, nestled within a range of mountains on the coast a lone fortress hive had held out. Against all odds and against a number of different opponents it had held out, must to the frustration of the Warsmith. All the loyalist followers of the false god had fallen back to this ancient vastness and shut its many meters thick doors tightly behind them, seemingly impervious to all physical attacks. Now, well into the third month of the siege of the plane this one last outpost of the Imperium's false hope for humanity remained.

 

From the tower perched upon the back of the Leviathan the Warsmith stood with his inner council of warlords looking out across the wide plain in front of the gates to this last bastion of light. His mood was foul and those around him knew when to speak and when not to. This was one of the later times. As they watched another attack flounder against the walls one couldn't help but notice just how high the bodies reached up the sides of the wall. Once they might have been a hundred food high walls but now the dead were piled nearly three quarters of the way up it. Attempts had been made to burn and bring this undead slope down but each time an attempt was made it was repulsed by the pin point gunners of the Iron Warriors.

 

Still hordes of mortal slaves waited behind the various bunkers, redoubts, trenches and supply trenches, barracks and mobile factories, titan pens and pits of demonically possessed fighting machines. When the wave was reduced to nothing but scraps of flesh the next wave was sent. When the hordes of slaves were being prepared for the next charge or the next sap to be driven to towards the fortress the artillery would continue to bombard the shields and bastions. The fortress possessed a number of shielded sections but there just simply wasn't enough power to cover the entirety of it which meant many places went without and thus suffered the most. While it was true that the Orbital strike could have toppled the last fortress, it also meant that there could be survivors and that was something the Warsmith could not tolerate. 

 

The plague that had helped bring down other fortresses across the planet did not seem to take hold upon this last fortress and the reasoning continued to baffle the last of the sorcerers. Far to many failures had occurred for them to be at their full strength and even now slaves were being tested to refill the ranks of those that had fallen. For the most part the brunt of the attacks had been carried out by the meat fodder of the planet but such was the will of the Warsmith now the various warbands that made up the Grand Company were being called upon now that the rest of the planet was in their hands. Only token forces of Iron Warriors and their mortal soldiers were left behind at the key production camps as the rest of the world had been scoured clean. Now for the first time since setting foot upon the planet, all the leaders of the Grand Company were assembled before the last edifice of resistance.

 

As this last attempt by the slaves had been thrown back, with only little to gain but an inch or two higher up the walls with bodies, the Warsmith turned to his lesser commanders. Even spoken through the vox of his helmet and broadcasted beyond his ancient armour they could all sense his displeasure. "It is time to show these lap dogs of the Corpse Emperor what it means to feel pain. Deploy your cohorts, bring down those walls. Leave none alive!"

 

++++

 

The Warsmith had ridden into battle within the metal hide of a Spartan Assault tank that had at one point been known as "Death's Warcry". That noble beast, long since corrupted by the influence of the warp, now wallowed in a mire of broken bodies and its own demise when a lucky shot had penetrated it's inner housing and set fire to the driver. By the will of the Warsmith it had still driven on for another thousand feet before finally coming to a halt, assault ramp slamming down against cracked rockcrete. Now, well within the walls of the fortress, last ditch efforts by the defenders were being played out but the writing was already upon the walls. As soon as his first warriors had stepped foot outside of the now dead tank they had started taking shots upon their armour but there were few weapons in the galaxy that could penetrate terminator armour forged in the halls of ancient Olympian forges of the Great Crusade.

 

Without fear or feeling the warriors that made up the Warsmith's retinue drove headfirst into the horde of defenders that were attempting to push back the tide of attackers. Mortal slaves were one thing. Iron Warriors in various marks of armour was one thing. But the terminator elite of the Warsmith's own retinue were an entirely different animal all together. Where they walked only death followed and soon bodies were building up against them like waves onto the very fortress walls they were assaulting. The symbolism was a sweet irony the Warsmith allowed distract him for a brief moment. A sudden and violent explosion landed in the midst of the group of walking tanks, sending many of them toppling over. Casting a glance around him at the devastation the Warsmith noted that a number of his warriors would not be rising again to fight the Long War. Searching for the source of the destruction he found it almost right in front of him behind the latest wave of defenders, a lone vindicator sat with it's barrel still smoking, a single figure standing beside it wearing the laurels of a Company Captain. The yellow of his armour was unmistakable, even with four months of war upon it and the Warsmith knew instantly this was his foe who had denied him the planet for so long. As if sensing the Warsmith's glare the Imperial Fist raised his power sword and let out a rallying cry to his fellow defenders.

 

What exactly was said was lost in the equally violent explosion that blew apart the vindicator in a pyrotechnic display to rival any explosion. Glancing behind him the Warsmith saw the scout class titan start to reload and a quick command gave him a link to the princeps of the ancient war machine. "He is -mine- Princeps. Reinforce those upon the right flank." Some sort of reply was given though exactly what was said boggled the mind of the Warsmith. Every year the Titan crews seemed to fall steeper and steeper into the grips of Nurgle and lost their ability to vocalize anything beyond a gurgling hiss. With diaphragm shaking tread the titan started to walk away from the combat, searching out other worthy targets to kill. Returning his attention to his prey the Warsmith started to run towards the Imperial Fists Captain who was even now getting to his feet, shaking off the sudden loss of his tank and picking up his sword once more.

 

Terminator armour was neigh unstoppable once set into motion and the Warsmith used this to his advantage. The Captain saw what was happening and a grim expression worked its way across his face as he squared up to the charging behemoth of iron. Bracing himself he adopted some sort of fighting stance that was very similar to something the Warsmith had seen in his past but he could not remember where he had seen it before. Just as he reached his prey, one power fist encased glove ready to strike, his other arm wielding a hammer that he had carried from his days of the Great Crusade, the loyalist captain struck out, intending to spear the Warsmith through his twin hearts. The power sword, forged in the great foundries of Terra by a master craftsman parted the armour as well as any designer could have hoped for, pushing its way deep into the body of the Warsmith and yet the momentum of the massive suit of armour carried them on. At the last moment the power fist deactivated to scoop up the Imperial Fist Captian by the chest while the hammer went limp by his side mere seconds before the terminator plate pinned the captain to the shell of the vindicator.

 

For a long moment nothing seemed to move on the battlefield playing out within the very walls of the fortress. All around the Imperial Fist Captain his soldiers were fighting on, some in the livery of the Imperial Fists while others wore the local garb of the PDF. Those who had seen what had happened started to cheer thinking that their Captain had at least given them some sort of victory in this inevitable defeat. But that moment did not last. With grinding gears the arm holding the Captain to the shell of the tank pushed the Captain further up, pinning him there. A deep chuckle sounded from the vox of the Warsmith as he looked at the Captain. The look of shock upon the face of the loyalist was too much for the Warsmith to bear and he allowed his laughter to boom out around him. Dropping his hammer to his side he removed his helmet to look upon the Captain with his own eyes. Not much of his real face was left and a mass of cybernetics and other dark machinery greeted the Captain.

 

In stunned silence the Captain looked down upon his doom. "Fool. You had one chance and you failed. Die knowing this world is mine and that Terra will fall again." Without another word the Warsmith activated his powerfist and slowly crushed the captain against the shell of the tank, savoring the look of pain as his victim screamed his denial into the death soaked air. All around the pair the forces of the Grand Company of the Warsmith were taking the fortress, slaughtering all who stood before them and offering up only pain to those who surrendered. Another world was lost for the Imperium and another stepping stone was taken towards Terra and vindication.


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#450
Canadian_F_H

Canadian_F_H

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Alright... y'all got me... I'll try to whip something up before friday... need a kick start for my iron warriors project anyhow since I'm now fithing them into my personal sub setting... the Acadian Crusade. They shall be fitting and formidable antagonists to my black templars, imperial fists and crimson fists "dornian crusade" mote sturdy and tenacious foes than the zealous word bearers with whome they have tenuously formed a pact of war.