BotL - Monthly fluff challenge

[MikhalLeNoir]

Second vote for the warmasters sons

[simison]

That's two votes for the Halcyon Wardens. (Though I'm still not sure why anyone is interested.)

[Jagus Kumkani]

From the Deep

 

The hold of the submersible was cramped to say the least. Sergeant Berudes sat surrounded on all sides by his brothers. Brother Merec on his left, his second, and Brother Gagiel his weapon specialist to his right. The other two warriors across from him were Sckalca and Hestys. They sat in silence as they awaited their deployment to the beachhead. The only thing that could be heard was the creaks and groans of the structure as the craft moved through the water. If the compact space enclosing the shoal wasn't bad enough, the stifling acidic air in the compartment didn't help. The water, if it could be called that, was slowly eating away the adamantium of the submersible. The chemical slush that equated to the ocean of Mordeh IV had long been a means for the hive cities to dump the toxic waste of their factorums. It now ate at the very thing that spirited them to their target. "I'll be surprised if this bucket gets us their in one piece." said Merec. "Look, it erodes away as we speak" Merec added. Sergeant Berdus looked at the dull gray metal all around him, a clean fissure of metal riveted together down the middle of the craft and the faint outline of the Legion symbol on the opposite wall of him. The Kraken, in all of its majesty, the keeper of the deep. Now but a faint echo of its former glory. Sickly black liquid dripped from the bulbous rivets and ran down the walls on the Kraken. Turning it black, destroying what it once was. Berudes pondered this revelation...the Legion had strode a dark path, and Berudes believed he had made the right decision to follow his brothers and his Primarch into that darkness. + We are the Keepers of the Deep. The darkness has always been in us +. But he had made his decision, he was one of the Drowned, a Copper Mouthed Reaper.

 

"60 seconds until we reach our target." the vox cracked in Berudes ear. "Aye, brother" Merec replied before Berudes could speak again. "Weapons ready brothers, we hit the beach hard and fast." said Merec. Berudes grinned behind his copper-mawed helm at Merec's display of leadership. The shoal leader cut Merec off before he could speak again. "Gagiel, you're with me, we will need to knock out the heavy bolter emplacements once we're on the beach. Sckalca and Hestys, you're with Merec...bring the fury of the Kraken." The brothers in the tracked submersible made ready for their disembarkation. "10 seconds" the vox crackled. Already Berudes could feel his hearts hammering in his chest like drums. He looked at his brothers and saw too that they were ready to enact their terrible violence on the defenders of Modeh IV. The submersible powered up the last bit of slick ground to deliver its living payload. The forward ramp slammed into the ground, Berudes' display compensated immediately at the change in light. Him and his warriors sprang from the hold, firing before they were up from their seats. The nose mounted heavy bolter of the Kraken-V Submersible spat its rounds over the heads of the shoal, eating at the barricades of the defenders. Berudes and his men made headway up the beach with the covering fire of the guns. "Gagiel, target front, 30 meters." Berudes said coolly. "Aye, Brother-Sergeant" was all the weapon specialist replied with. A jet of super heated atoms shot from the muzzle of Gagiel's weapon. The beam of energy completely destroyed the heavy bolter and then met the breast plate of a Halcyon Warden before it dissipated into the wall behind him. "Ones to always put themselves before those weaklings they call soldiers." said Sckalca. "If they wish to die first, I will gladly grant them that." Hestys rasped over the vox to his brothers statement. "Keep moving, I don't to get stuck on this beach, we still have more brothers behind us." said Berudes.

 

As far as the Brother-Sergeant could see down both ends of the 4km beachfront, there were cyan clad warriors killing and dying as they made to take the beach. The shoal continued to move up the beach, moving to the emplacement Gagiel had destroyed. "Grenades on my mark." said Berudes. The warriors with brother Merec along with Berudes himself primed their grenades, itching to let them fly into the bunker. The grenades were thrown into the ragged man-sized hole, clinking off the walls before there were screams of agony from the defenders inside. The Drowned-Men shouldered their way into the emplacement, seeing the aftermath of their fury pasted to the floors and the walls. The unarmored mortals lay in piles of meat while the remaining Halcyon Wardens were dispatched by the remainder of the shoal. But there was one Warden that clung to life. The shoal took up defensive positions before they continued to move on. The Drowned that continued to move up the beach would fill the gap. "This one yet lives Brother-Sergeant" said Gagiel. Berudes looked at the maimed form of the warrior. His legs were bloody stumps at the knee, and his right arm was missing. He must of tried to take the brunt of a grenade from the looks of it. His deep violet colored armor was tarnished and bloody, none of the glamour remained that Berudes remembered of the Halcyon Wardens. There were honor markings across his armor and he possessed a golden faced helm, a Veteran-Sergeant by the looks of it. "Bring him over here." Berudes said to his warriors. Skaclca and Hestys grabbed the Warden by the paldrons and heaved him to their Brother-Sergeant. The warrior attempted to struggle, but it was futile. His injuries were beyond that of his physiology. "Get your filthy hands off of me traitors!" the Warden bellowed.

 

Berudes crouched down to the warrior’s prone form. The warrior looked up at Berudes defiantly. "I am son to Alexandros himself and servant of the Emperor, there is nothing you can do to me." the Warden said. His warriors issued genuine laughs out of their vox casters. Berudes grinned behind his mask once again. "Always so proud...aren't you Warden? Don't you know? The Emperor does not care for you. You are nothing but a tool to him." Berudes said with venom on his tongue. "We are everything you traitor!" spat the warrior. "We defend humanity from the xenos, from man himself...and now from you" said the warrior. The Brother-Sergeant mused on that statement for a moment before he reached up and removed his helm with a hiss. It seemed the dying Warden didn't expect the visage of Berudes because the warrior issued a faint gasp at his appearance. Berudes' flesh was water-logged leather close to peeling off of his skull. His eyes were milky pools of nothingness, devoid of any and all humanity. An old wound had opened up his mouth to the world long ago, giving him an eternal scowl on the right side of his face. The rest of his warriors walked surrounded the Warden. Removing their own helms in turn.

 

Berudes looked on at the horror in the eyes of the Warden. "You are all mad! How could you denounce your oath to the Emperor and your brothers?! You are nothing but monsters!" the Warden bellowed. His hatred for the Drowned was palpable. Again, Berudes thought on the words of the Warden for a moment. He thought of their glory before their fall, the clarity of purpose. To follow their gene-father across the stars to bring the light of the Emperor to the lost parts of humanity. Berudes felt a pang of sadness in his gut, though his face remained neutral. But what came from deep within him was darkness. He remembered the knowledge that they would not be apart of that golden age of humanity, after the crusade ended. That they were nothing more than killers and murders, and what place did they have in that role? "Because we are nothing more than the keepers on the deep. Killers and murderers." The Wardens visage hardened at those words. "Then there is no place for you traitor!" said the Warden. Berudes gave a gurgling laugh at the Warden. "But there is a place for you Warden." said Berudes.

 

Then Berudes removed his combat blade from its sheath and held it over the face of the Warden. "The darkness has always been in us." Berudes began to cut, removing the warriors gene-seed in his neck. The Warden began to choke on his own blood before the Drowned Sergeant pushed the blade underneath the Wardens forehead and began to remove his face. Berudes leaned in close so only the Warden could hear him. "And I intend to take you to the deep." Berudes finished his grizzly work, looking down at the now dead Warden. He expected to feel regret and sadness, but all that weld up in him was darkness. He put on his new face and stalked off to continue the battle...

Edited January 31, 2018 by Jagus Kumkani

[bluntblade]

Drowned Men

 

There was activity on the decks, a vast amount, but little of the frenzy Skerro had seen aboard the ships of other Legions. They let mortals infest their fleets; serfs, Army personnel, functionaries of a dozen kinds. Less so, the Drowned.

 

There were hundreds of figures of mortal stature, but most of these were servitors. The actual thralls were difficult enough to distinguish by mere complexion; theirs was the grey of the voidbound, rarely allowed and little inclined to mix with outsiders lest they betray the secrets of their masters. Even if the usual strictures were relaxed, the Styxian culture that the Drowned took into the void made their serfs taciturn and suspicious of outsiders. Even a campaign such as this did little to breed cameraderie, or even curiosity about one’s allies.

 

Then again, it wasn’t as if you could count on those allies to remain alive; a perennial complaint, but one that carried more weight with the Qarith inflicting such casualties. Multiple expeditionary fleets had reported losses that went far beyond mere decimation.

 

“So this is a truth-teller,” Hekkan had said, when the reports came in. To the Drowned, that meant a war which sifted weak from strong, revealed the savage truth of the Galaxy they fought to tame. Undid the lies that Mankind liked to tell itself about its worth. Let them try to keep their delusions now that regiments and taghmata had been swallowed whole by the alien armies.

 

Men knew better than to believe such on Styx and the worlds like it, from which the Drowned seized their thralls and aspirants. Always seized, not simply accepting youths into their ranks as other Legions did. With this they could make the first, simplest assessment of whether the boys they took were suitable stock for the Legion; whether they fought back. Those who failed this test could hope at best to join the ranks of thralls aboard the XVI’s ships. They would be made useful, that much was guaranteed.

 

Attendants and forge-thralls had finished their work on Skerro’s stormbird, and backed away respectfully as his company approached. No grovelling, no trite attempt to elicit some kind of gesture from an Astartes. Just the understanding that they were beneath the notice of Drowned Men.

 

The tech-priest who oversaw them approached on rumbling tracks. She was ostensibly female, but far removed from biological gender now. Her mechanical parts were painted copper in places, vivid against what grey flesh showed. Her robes were the same sea-green as Skerro’s armour, marking her as part of a sect that diverged greatly from Mechanicum norms, obscured and shielded by the Copper Prince’s favour.

 

Her voice crackled and squawked. Unlovely, but the Drowned cared not for lovely noises. “Wing 348-N is at full readiness, captain.”

 

“Then I am satisfied with your work. I trust that the necessary combat-automata and servitors are likewise prepared?”

 

“Of course, sir. We would hardly allow ourselves to fall short in the sight of the Legio Mortis, let alone yourselves.”

 

Skerro understood this, to a point. These exiles had a reverence for Titans that went beyond their usual treatment of the machine. This made sense; a Titan was held to be the avatar of their Omnissiah. What was less easily explained was why the Legio Mortis in particular caused such fervour.

 

“Priest, let me understand this. The Legio we will fight beside represents the Red World and the personal authority of its tyrant. By his writ, explicit or tacit, you are cast out from your Forge World -” one of the lesser ones in her case; he neither knew or cared which “-and take shelter among us to escape worse consequences. I expected resentment for his favoured servants.”

 

She bowed low in instinctive apology. “The Legio Mortis represents glory we might achieve in time and rise beyond. Primaris: our cult unifies adepts from thirty-two Forge Worlds at the last count. Secundus: we have inducted individuals from many more worlds with the permission of the XVI Legion’s masters. Conclusion: by forging links within the Mechanicum and reaching without its usual bounds to expand, we can readily expect our return to favour when we grow to sufficient strength. Therefore the presence of the Legio Mortis spurs us on. That aside, we have no inclination to fall short in their sight and be diminished further in consequence.”

 

He nodded. “A satisfactory explanation. That will be all. Our war-machine thralls require attention.”

 

The priest and her retinue moved on to the combat-servitors and automata, standing arrayed behind the Astartes of the first wave. The XVI Legion’s battlefields often made it prohibitively difficult to retrieve wounded warriors and entomb them in Dreadnoughts, even more so than the Scions Hospitalier. Consequently the Drowned deployed these war machines to support their companies in actions where especially heavy resistance was likely.

 

It was not so much likely on the world below as guaranteed. The Hungering Pit’s hull had only ceased to shudder with enemy broadsides forty minutes ago as the Qarith fleet was beaten into wreckage.

 

Still, the big automata were perhaps less common than one might expect, certainly less so than among the Scions. The Drowned placed little trust in machines, and the proof of that was in the Terminator squads falling in behind Skerro. Two of them were clad in Cataphractii plate - Skerro’s company had risen high enough to earn it in recent years - but the remaining ten warriors wore suits which were even bulkier.

 

Their pauldrons almost disappeared into their hunched backs, each rising above the warrior’s head and capped by a fearsome heavy weapon. Lascannons for four, missile clusters for two more and assault cannons atop the rest. This was the fearsome Saturnine pattern of Tactical Dreadnought Armour, the warriors who bore it taking the place of Mortis Dreadnoughts in the line of battle.

 

Their sergeant, Shorecarver Krul, approached Skerro. He had plainly overheard something of the exchange with the priest.

 

“You disapprove, sergeant?” Skerro drawled.

 

Krul’s voice through his vox-grille was an ugly gurgle, seawater forcing its way down a corroded drain. “The cog-clutchers’ devotion is relevant only where it blunts or sharpens our blades. Why churn the waters with a question of their superstitions?”

 

Skerro waited until the priestess was out of her augmented hearing’s probable range. “We understand how they think, we gain leverage. Facts flow from inferior minds and like water, they widen the gap through which they flow. Wear away at their walls and we gain more that might strengthen our Legion. See what technology has been dragged from their jealous holding to be shared with our techmarines.”

 

He gave a sly, cold smile. “Perhaps one day we will learn something from them that will buy us favour with Mars. Herein lies the lesson, sergeant; advantage is to be sought in all corners if we are to get what is rightfully ours.”

 

A vox-drone rang out across the deck, signalling the assembled companies and their support elements to embark. Krul turned to the Stormbird. “I will endeavour to learn, that we will claim that right. In the meantime, captain, we may find something of it in bloodshed below.”

 

“Assuredly,” Skerro said. For that was the certainty in every Drowned heart: this was the war that would finally prove their worth. Faces that had turned from them in disregard would be bowed in reverence. This, the Sorrowsworn had decreed, and his Drowned Men would see it made so.

[helterskelter]

I'm down with doing some stuff for alexandros! Halcyon wardens from me too

[Jagus Kumkani]

@TheBlindPrimarch made it aware to me that my entry was unreadable, now I've reposted gentlemen. 

[simison]

Results are in. Here are this month's winners:

 

BL Narrative

 

"Drowned Men" by bluntblade

 

 

FW Rulebook

 

"Dedrego Fleshtwister" by TheBlindPrimarch

 

Newcomer

 

"Untitled" by Beren

 

Congrats, guys!

 

~~~

 

And by unanimous vote: the Halcyon Wardens will occupy the month of Feb. To preempt questions, I have three preferences. One, I'm always excited to see Primarchs interacting with each other. Two, a day-in-the-life piece featuring a common Fifth Legionary, a chance to explore the Legion from a ground view. Three, works featuring units within the Legion, like say focusing on a company or a century and detailing them.

[Jagus Kumkani]

Sounds good. I think I'll go for last two options seeing that my dialogue writing is horrendous.

[bluntblade]

Jagus, are you familiar with the Forge World books?

[Beren]

Refuge

 

The grains of sand whipped into the empty air. The curled and twisted across a barren landscape, scouring heraldry from it's armour. Aeschylus swept his gaze across his men as they strode onwards. They were weary, that he knew, yet held themselves rigid with pride and honour. They were ever alert, surveying their surroundings for threats. Beyond them he could see a teeming mass of mobile activity. A vehicle with the paint stripped away from it's hull, it's treads sunk into the dunes, was being unloaded of what supplies could be salvaged. Water mostly. Men, women, children. The elderly, infirm and the injured on what transports that could be spared. A scattering of weapons here or there. The occasional corpse left lying on the sand.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he watched a figure stride towards him. Some of his armour was of a hue not dissimilar to his own. The Dune Serpent. The marine drew up just a few strides short, halting with a stillness characteristic to his Legion.

 

“There are outrider detachments within a mile of your position.”

 

The Halycon Wardens captain did not so much as twitch at the Serpent's statement.

“Acknowledged.”

 

“You're going to lose more of them.”

 

He'd already lost more. The heat and sun claimed a constant toll. The convoy was some 20 percent smaller than when he had set out. But he knew it was the Legionaries his counterpart cared about, not the civilians. And he knew what he would ask next.

 

“The answer is still no.”

 

“They're slowing you down.”

 

“Then we are slowed.”

 

The campaign was a minor one. It shouldn't have required detachments from two Legions. But the Imperial settlements had been required intact, not a task left to the desert specialists, although not out of inability. That was why they were here. To protect, and that was what they had intended to do. The Serpents had for the most part paid little attention to them, and vice versa. Their shield walls had held firm against the raiding foes, staying their hands from slaughter whilst allies carried out a campaign of eradication. And now here they were, shepherding several hundred vulnerable, exposed non-combatants through miles of sandy wasteland to a city that may or may not be hostile. At least the Dune Serpents weren't.

 

“Tell me, how many Wardens did you abandon in your last rearguard?”

 

Aeschylus could not resist a grimace of distaste. They had chosen that duty. He did not take their sacrifice lightly.

 

“Your men should be able to tell you that. After all, how many did you send to exploit them as a distraction?"

 

“... The more pertinent query would be how many did we lose.”

 

He'd followed the Serpent's advice for the most part. Evacuated from the settlements, abandoned unsuitable vehicles and overburdening weapons. Yet they had protested most vehemently against the salvation of those they were supposed to protect. Those that it was their duty to protect. The Serpent's had wanted to murder them with flame and chemicals. To loot their supplies, to abandon them in the hope they might take some of the enemy with them. They said that if they tried to save them, they would never reach refuge. They couldn't seem to understand that for the mortals, the Halycon Wardens were their refuge. He would not countenance deserting them.

 

“Our duty here is to protect them.”

 

“That was before we were hunted by our kin.”

 

“All the more reason to hold to our principles, now that they have abandoned theirs.”

 

The captain listened, and let the noise wash over him. Hopes, fears, dreams and concerns. Even petty gossip. Children calling for their parents. Complaints abounding everywhere. The occasional burst of alarm. Hope was the strongest though, singing out through the mass. All because his men stood between them and harm. Their counterparts held that the civilians would be of limited utility in the struggle to come. It was an opinion that jarred with his Legions view of their purpose. A purpose that he intended to fulfil.

 

“Can you not hear them, the essence of humanity laid bare before us?”

 

“If they wanted to live, they would be silent.”

 

For the first time, Aeschylus turned to face him. The Dune Serpent held his gaze unflinchingly. He was wearing a Mark II helm, the kind that lets you see the eyes of its bearer. Eyes that witnessed him dispassionately. He doubted his own visage was any more welcoming. They seemed to do it for an age. But within his sand scoured armour, even with the grey showing through the purple, he was unbowed. Then, in a brief move of urgency, the Serpent broke the lock, twisting away. His bolt weapon slid out of his holster as he faced in the opposite direction, sword in hand.

 

“We are out of time for this conversation.”

 

He could hear it now. A faint sound pressing itself upon his ears, growing louder by the second. He watched as the grav-vehicles cleared the dunes. The heraldry of the Eagle Warriors come forth. Then he turned back to the convoy. His warriors forming up in to defensive positions, weapons up. They stood in positions designed to optimise their charges chance of survival. There were even a scant few mortals, those who were armed, who sprinted away from the fleeing convoy and back towards the defensive line. Showing courage against a foe they could not hope to defeat. Some would die today. Some would live. If even a single one made their way to safety, it would be worth it. He could count his duty done.

 

He too drew his weapons, and stood beside the shield wall. If he died today, at least he would have tried.

Edited February 3, 2018 by Beren

[simison]

“...payed little...” [is this British spelling?]

 

Otherwise, I love it.

[Beren]

Nope. Although apparently that spelling is used when referring to ropes.

[Jagus Kumkani]

@Blunt: No I'm not, why?

 

@Beren: Nice short!

[bluntblade]

I was thinking that if you're not so comfortable doing dialogue, that might be an easier route.

[Jagus Kumkani]

I'll see what I can get my hands on Blunt. I still need some practice with dialogue.

[bluntblade]

Suggest you consult Kel

[Kelborn]

Suggest you consult Kel

 

[bluntblade]

On FW material

[Nomus Sardauk]

 

 

Suggest you consult Kel

You've learned well my student. ;)

[Jagus Kumkani]

Well Mr Kel?

[Kelborn]

It seems like I've missed something.

 

What do you need? :)

 

@Sangi: Learning from the best. :P

[Jagus Kumkani]

Forgeworld material

[simison]

So, I think I'm going to just do my usual thing. My first attempt is going to outline a unit, while my second attempt will be some bro time with Alex. In the latter case, I'm going to work more on my Nik-Alex intro piece. In the former case, I'm going to work on the Prefects.

[simison]

The 14^th Brigade "Conquerors of Ladakh"

 

The 14th Brigade of the Vth Legion was the most eastward Warden brigade on the eve of the Day of Revelation. Commanded by Brigadier Singh, the Fourteenth belonged to the Second Cohort and was active in expanding the Imperium's borders in the Galactic East. The Brigade paid host to an active branch of the Prefects with Brigadier Singh and a third of his officers being standing members. As such, the Fourteenth possessed several robust tank companies that formed the heart of the brigade.

 

These weighty weapons of war were necessary throughout the Ladakh campaign. Their foe was a renegade empire composed of a disturbing union between man and xenos. The Geluans were parasitic creatures, originally limited to the frigid ice ranges on Ladakh Prime. However, a human colony ship had landed on the planet thousands of years earlier and unwittingly allowed the xenos species to thrive and spread throughout the system.

 

When bonded to the Geluans, human hosts suffered from chemical addiction as the parasites manipulated human hormone systems once they had successfully attached to a human's nerve stem. Equipment and shelters that were originally designed to withstood the elements were repurposed to maintain cooler internal temperatures to better sustain the Geluans. This had the added effect of increasing the armour of their emplacements and their vehicles, requiring the heavier ordnance of the tank companies.

 

Singh was a controversial figure within the Legion. Although his service record was undeniably exemplary, he flouted his Primarch's idealism and maintained an aggressive philosophy of war better suited to the original Storm Riders rather than the Halcyon Wardens. This continued even after several personal encounters with Alexandros. 

Edited February 19, 2018 by simison

[Jagus Kumkani]

I think I'll do something in the FW context. Outline a unit or even do something about the day to day life of a Legionarrie that was proposed.