We Lonely Few

[Obscura]

"There are no facts, only interpretations." - Philosopharch Nietzsche circa M2

“I am listening.” Martiel, the chief apothecary continued to tap and study the salvaged Apothecarian vambrace from their last incursion into real space, the Black of the First Legion had changed to Green, ‘it seems’ he thought idly, ‘everyone is changing their colors these days.’

“We need more supplies.”

“We always need more supplies.” Martiel replied, testing the functionality of the drill and laser scalpel upon a nearby cadaver, the former owner of the armor salvaged and used to repair the gear of this motley crew of The Titana, a Strike Cruiser hailing from the days of the Great Crusade. Whatever was left would sit in stasis in one of the empty rearming chambers turned storage. The scent of burnt flesh lingered briefly in the air as Martiel removed the progenoid glands from the First Legionnaire, the hallmark of every Legionnaire falling into an icy blue preservation fluid held within a reinforced tube that would slide silently into the armored compartment of the Narthecium, “I need four more of these before I’m even considered combat effective.” He holds up the modular drill bit housed within the Narthecium, we all knew its purpose. “Assuming we still act within Legionary combat doctrine.” He said the last with a wicked smile, exposing a bottom row of iron teeth.

They were the bastard sons of a broken ideal, brought together out of necessity, out of survival. They stole a salvaged ship and its crew, picking up the remnants of the Emperor’s dream along their way through the realm of nightmares. Their Navigator, a handful of absconded Librarians and the Geller Field of The Titana allowed them some semblance of peace. “This world is at war.”

The logic engines of The Titana sorely required an update; they needed to tap into the nearest Imperial outpost and retrieve whatever communication codecs this era of the Imperium used. Reams of paper held intelligence intercepts that were barely legible, though they all pointed to a singular world, drawing all others to it. With that came the promise of new war material, be they armor, equipment or Neophytes that were capable of psychological reengineering after they were broken down and made pliable to their whims.

“The great ‘Imperium of Man’ is always at war.” Martiel was snide in his reply, “Fine, I will be part of your little excursion, when am I needed?”

“We’ll be transitioning back into real space in twelve hours, meet in First Squads arming chamber.”

“Understood, now please leave me alone. I have important business to attend too.” Mordekal left Martiel’s Apothecarian chamber, leaving the Apothecary to salvage from the rest of the corpses that they had dragged back from the Space Hulk. Their armor and weaponry already disseminated amongst the survivors.

Hours Later . . .

“What are they again?” Mordekal could almost hear Ventruv’s face contort into confusion as the heavy weapon Legionary spent half a second studying their new foes in the distance, “Why are they blue?”

“I don’t know.” Mordekal said in exasperation. “Why don’t you go over there and ask them?” He half expected Ventruv to get out of cover, cross the distance and introduce himself. Though to his surprise, he was instead greeted with Ventruv rising up with Bolter in hand, thumb on the selector for semi-automatic fire as one well placed round downed one of their foes trying to reach the catwalk overhead. Even Mordekal had to admire that shot, given the distance, angle and speed of the target trying to hide behind cover.

“CS-427, 521, and 954 are in position.” The combat servitors were running up the right flank, around the ruins of an old manufactorum, a distraction unit that had drawn the fire of their enemies, splitting their attention between the Legionnaires and their fodder. “It appears they are running away.”

“Save your ammunition. Move in groups of two to secure the AO. Salvage what you can, we’re out in five.” Mordekal keyed in the ten digit code for extraction.

“So, what are they?” Ventruv said dragging out a large rusted container of Promethium that they were all trying to converge upon, striking the locking mechanism with a clenched fist to reveal absolutely nothing, “Figures.”

“They’re called Tau.” If the reports are to be believed, when they were first encountered they were little more than feral creatures with a rudimentary language, nothing more than a footnote in the great crusades. To think they've grown this far almost numbs the mind given humanities propensity and thirst for progress.

“Well, they suck.”

“Ever the warrior poet.”

- - - -

Well, everyone at the LGS is playing Shadow War and they talked me into playing with them, since I have an idiotic amount of random bits and kit in storage from my other projects ( that I've taken a break from ), I decided to at least build a small KT for the LGS since we're doing a prolonged campaign.

I decided I was going to build a Black Shield force transported into the 40k millennium.

[hushrong]

Great to see more of your work! Definitely a great concept for a team!

[Obscura]

“Regarding life, the wisest men of all ages have judged alike; it is worthless.” – Philosopharch Nietzsche circa M2

Mordekal ensured the seal of the ramp against the bulkhead with a sound pounding of his fist, the orbital lifter they had stolen rattled because he, the others and what they were able to retrieve were the loose bolts bound within the scrap steel can. “If we die.” Ventruv yelled, even with the amplified comms of their Astartes helmets, the howling bellow of processed fossil fuel engines almost drowned him out even with the help of noise cancelation, “It’s because you decided to put our asses on a flying bomb.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mordekal moved through the cramped cargo compartment to the front, Askali was piloting the salvaged Arvus class lighter, the native clicks and guttural swearing grunts of a man possessed, Mordekal knew his brother well enough that there was no point in trying to talk to him until the turbulence abated.

“Under optimal conditions, we have enough fuel to get there.” Ever since Horus fell to the voices in the darkness, consuming every waking moment of his cursed second life since the traitor’s dagger stole one of the Imperiums cherished sons, those who were self aware enough to live in the aftermath of the Emperor's dream knew well enough that optimal conditions were, at best, a pleasant lie.

Mordekal contemplated the seriousness of the situation, knowing full well that even in death Ventruv would follow him through whatever fresh hells they would find themselves in and blame him, “Find a suitable place that’ll allow for concealment, then we’ll set about finding enough fuel and if we’re lucky supplies to make this entire excursion worth a damn.”

Askali grunted, “Sure, why not.” He continued to mutter and mumble other derisive thoughts, most of which were lost beneath the rumble of choking engines. "Maybe I'll pull a miracle out of my. . ." The rest was lost to the howling turbines.

A gauss blast whistled overhead, striking a rusted metal beam, which was once an illumination pole for the derelict highway, its constituent compound dissolved and withered away in a bright green mist swept away by an unseen wind. Barthas laughed, totting his Heavy Bolter one handed. “Is every forsaken Xenos here or are we just lucky?”

“I think we’re just lucky.” Mordekal quipped, peaking over the rockcrete barrier, noticing the shimmering shadow shield of their enemies, cloaked in darkness as their metal bones moved forward like death incarnate. “And to think we’ve only been here for thirty minutes.” They had ascended a set of rusty maintenance stairs to the on ramp that lead to the highway which overlooked this portion of the hive city, what should have been a reconnaissance mission for Promethium and other essentials turned into another skirmish.

Below them in the rubble, CS-427, 521, and 954 along with their minder were getting into position, rushing through the open rubble corridors towards the Necrons, “Ten seconds from designated position.” A metallic voice echoed through the collective comms of a shared channel.

Sinon yelled, “Four o’clock, low. The Jagged Teeth.” They all knew what he meant, years, decades and centuries of service together meant were picked up and learned each others mannerisms, some of which were unique to their squad alone. They turned in unison, moving in a loose skein formation, the two Heavy Bolter gunners flanking, followed by two Bolters with Mordekal in the center.

In the distance, Sinon had sighted in two shimmering shifts in the material realm as two Necrons stepped through and into the lower floor of a nearby building, their attempts at flanking the squad had failed as their lighting quick reflexes allowed them to dodge two incoming shots, “Our lucks gotta improve.” Sinon rose above the rockcrete barrier, rifling off a round to distract the Necrons.

“There are three approaching beneath your position.” The metallic voice came forth once more, warning them of their approaching enemy.

“I got this.” Barthas would heft his Heavy Bolter, Mordekal could hear the smile in his laughter as round after round tore into the skeletal monstrosities, cutting them down where they stood as reactive rounds blew pieces of alien metal to the uncaring winds.

They didn’t stay to admire the carnage they had wrought, turning in place as Mordekal stomped upon a nearby access gate, breaking the rusted seal as the metal plate crashed into the shadowed darkness below. It would have been a leap of faith, but they already knew were this lead as they leapt into the void, rushing down another maintenance stairwell to the ground beneath to take up firing positions as CS-427, 521, and 954 ran forward through the rubble, their lobotomized brains intent upon one thing.

The squad laughed as their foes targeted them, revealing their positions as the combat servitors were knocked down and left bloody by their suicidal charge. “Kill them.” Mordekal sneered, the six in his charge opened fire to cut their foes down. Though their ornate leader shimmered out of existence and with that the other Necrons disappeared as well.

“That was a good fight.” Sinon said, “We only lost one Combat Servitor.” Somehow the one furthest from them had been taken away, a trail of blood and oil left in its wake, “Good luck trying to get any information out of that thing.”

“Search pattern Alpha protocol, move in groups of two. We’ll have AO extraction once we find some more damn fuel.” Mordekal wouldn’t have to wait long as the six of them found a sealed cache of Promethium, faded parchment upon the wall and other assorted loose sheaf of papers gave them a general idea as to where a nearby Promethium factorium was in relation to their current location.

"Retrieve what you can." He said to the others, "Askali and Sinon go to the lighter and prepare it for flight."

- - - - - - -

@hushrong - Thank you, it's been a pleasant distraction for me and I'm definitely enjoying the busy work between shifts at work and school.

I've started to magnetize more weapons/accessories for my KT. I'd like to make the majority of them modular, I still have to acquire a few more heavy weapons ( FW Lascannons and Autocannons ) to finish off this project. I am tempted to make a small 1000 point ZM force for more narrative games, especially if this new edition of 40k proves to be as worthwhile as all my friends are setting it up to be.

In so far, I'm just documenting my SW:A force through the LGS campaign. My second to last game only resulted in losing one Cultist/Combat Servitor, but I was able to snag four promethium barrels, so I call that a win!

Also, just magnetized weapon bits attached to my fridge.

[Lord_Ikka]

Very nice. Though my cats would have way too much fun with refrigerator arms...