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+++The Mark of the Liber: an ETL VII story+++

ETL VII

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#51
Spyros

Spyros

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OVERWHELMED

 

He was tired. No, that’s not true. He was disappointed. Incarael hadn’t been on a campaign for a long time now. In the last century of M41 the Blood Angels had been endlessly toiling in the fields of battle to uphold the light of the Emperor and that meant that there was no rest for the Armoury. His work however, and that of his subordinate Techmarines had always been flawless, accurately crafted to Omnissiah granted specifications, repaired parts indistinguishable from new.
But now… now the battlefield was his own fortress-monastery, and the repairs were functional yet disgustingly crude. Disappointing…
We are losing the Arx Angelicum!

He heard running from his left, half human half machine. The ammo servitors had finally arrived at the makeshift bunker at the entrance of the Undying Light chapel. He had asked for replenishment thirty minutes ago, the delay meant that the swarm had probably blocked the junctions from the Observatory!
By the Blood, we are totally overwhelmed!
“Reload Tarantulas 236, 237 and 239, mark 238 as destroyed!”, he shouted at them, his wireless binaric transmitter missing along with portions of his helmet and skull bone. Thankfully the scar tissue from Larraman's cells was protecting the small exposed part of his human brain well enough.
“Complying master, ammo store 36 depleted”, came the reply.
“Use Training Range 2 stores for next run!”, if you can get there… he thought.
Incarael lifted Tarantula 236 with his one servo-arm to horizontal position, placed a metal beam fallen from the ceiling to replace acid-melted ground bracing, and set his flamer to fusion mode to weld the beam. Pathetic…

The one reloaded Tarantula started turning and elevating its heavy Bolter barrels for anti-aircraft fire, a Harpy was diving on their position from a hole of the damaged dome above. Without stopping the welding Incarael set his plasma cutter to spread fire and almost without looking begun firing his Boltgun in full auto to the direction the Tarantula was aiming.
“Stop it you old fool! You will end me before my time!”, the comm screamed in his ear.

The Harpy crashed on the floor with force and Incarael had to stop its crawl with his pollaxe before it toppled him over. A red figure lifted from the back of the creature, releasing a power fist from the monster’s crushed skull.
“Lieutenant Orim, as I live and breathe! Your manners haven’t improved since you left my tutelage, nor has your flying!”, responded the surprised Master of the Blade, happy nevertheless to see his former student alive.
“Well someone has to offend the enemy!”
“I still don’t understand what Captain Aphael sees in you and keeps you as his Sword.”
“I ‘m good at crash landing on my opponents.”
“I know, Techmarine Arestos always complains about the state you bring your jump-pack at his forge!”, Incarael laughed hard, but the pain at the back of his skull was returning. He got serious quickly. “Why are you here?”
“The captain send me to reinforce you.” was Orim’s reply.
“Just you?”
“Me and sergeant Levantin’s assault squad, they are now with the Angel. That Harpy was not alone.” Orim looked Incarael closer, “How’s your head?”
“Functional! So, you think us two will hold this position now?”
“No. If it was up to me I would order a withdrawal and consolidation to the captain’s defensive perimeter. Higher ground and an Aegis line, not that my crash landing skills are needed there…”
Incarael couldn’t stop a snort escape.
“However,” Orim continued, “the captain and you seem hell-bent on defending this chapel, there’s probably more to it that I ‘m initiated in. Thus my taciturn brother, lieutenant Mateus is on his way already.”
“Captain Aphael is wise, but now he‘s being reckless, spreading the company too thin,” Incarael said.

At that moment the buzzing noise of the Tyranid swarm around Arx Angelicum intensified and lieutenant Mateus appeared on the eastern corridor running furiously towards them and throwing his last grenade behind his back on the small tsunami of Hormagaunts that followed him.
Incarael passed his Boltgun to Orim as his mechadendrite plugged in the three operational Tarantulas, “Don’t go crashing!” he warned him and the reloaded heavy Bolters burst to life. Over sixty gaunts were exterminated by the unerring accuracy of the two veterans when Mateus joined their small gun line. One more mechadendrite launched from Incarael’s master-crafted servo-harness, frost all over it from leaking coolant, and attached on Mateus’ combi-plasma’s auxiliary port just as he leveled it to fire.
“Full auto brother!” screamed the venerable Techmarine and dozens of blinding miniature suns joined the onslaught of exploding Bolt rounds.

It was pointless. They would never kill enough before the got on top of them. Orim clenched his power fist, Incarael lifted his pollaxe with both hands and Mateus went for his chainsword. The swarm never reached them. Anticlimactically, the swarm of Hormagaunts lost momentum and vitality, and only reached within 5 meters of the trio of stunned Astartes that kept firing mechanically.
“What’s this?” Incarael asked as his slaved Tarantulas went on firing on the now randomly moving mindless gaunts.
“Something happened,” Mateus replied, “Something big. I can’t contact the captain. Company comm frequencies are overwhelmed with signals and so is the chapter-wide net.”
“You‘re stating the obvious Mateus, I build and manage the communications equipment in case you forgot. I know that already!”, the pain from the back of his skull intensifying.
Orim launched himself, going through one of the huge holes on the high dome above. As soon as he landed he removed his helmet and looked down towards his brother Astartes to tell them what he saw. He couldn’t. He was overwhelmed.

 

ETL7 vow1 complete A

Edited by Spyros, 28 June 2019 - 08:18 PM.

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"Whatever the Blood Angels' flaws, nowhere in the Imperium can truer servants of the Emperor be found." , Blood Angels Codex 5th ed.
"Although feared and mistrusted by those they protect, the Blood Angels continue to smash the Imperium's foes, compiling a battle history second to none.", Dark Millenium 7th ed.

"You underestimate our cousins, skald. Their gold and jewels mask a killer’s soul, and we would do well to remember that.", Helik Redknife, VI Legion ‘Vlka FenrykaCaptain

gallery_93095_13980_653.gifgallery_93095_13980_1591.gifgallery_93095_13980_3726.gifgallery_93095_13980_27776.jpggallery_93095_13980_3107.jpggallery_93095_13980_5444.jpggallery_93095_13980_1407.jpggallery_93095_13980_564.jpggallery_93095_13980_19304.png


#52
Spyros

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OVERWHELMED

 

After credits scene

 

"Lieutenant Mateus, you came alone! How did the captain expect to reinforce the defense of the chapel?"

"With all due respect Master Incarael, go have that head of yours checked!"


Edited by Spyros, 28 June 2019 - 05:50 PM.

"Whatever the Blood Angels' flaws, nowhere in the Imperium can truer servants of the Emperor be found." , Blood Angels Codex 5th ed.
"Although feared and mistrusted by those they protect, the Blood Angels continue to smash the Imperium's foes, compiling a battle history second to none.", Dark Millenium 7th ed.

"You underestimate our cousins, skald. Their gold and jewels mask a killer’s soul, and we would do well to remember that.", Helik Redknife, VI Legion ‘Vlka FenrykaCaptain

gallery_93095_13980_653.gifgallery_93095_13980_1591.gifgallery_93095_13980_3726.gifgallery_93095_13980_27776.jpggallery_93095_13980_3107.jpggallery_93095_13980_5444.jpggallery_93095_13980_1407.jpggallery_93095_13980_564.jpggallery_93095_13980_19304.png


#53
Machine God

Machine God

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Here is my Vow:

 

I Machine God rise to the challenge of E Tenebrae Lux VII as a Renegade and vow to complete:

 

1x Chaos Lord with Thunder Hammer and Plasma Pistol.

 

For a total of 100 pts on or before 01 Sep 19. Success will bring me eternal glory and failure will doom me to wear the Badge of the Oathbreaker until the year's end.

 

med_gallery_42404_15640_490241.jpg

 

Now to paint it and think of fluff.

 

Edit: Added picture.


Edited by Machine God, 29 June 2019 - 08:01 PM.

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"Borg to the Max!" "Destroy All Flesh!"
 
gallery_29004_6198_9307.png sml_gallery_29004_10691_1994.png gallery_29004_10383_6245.pnggallery_48988_6285_18080.pngETL_2016_Medal_01_Custos_Fidei02.gifgallery_48988_15465_6032.png

 

The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that English is about as pure as a cribhouse whore. We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.

-James Nicoll


#54
Aqui

Aqui

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I, Aquilanus of the Order of the Dauntless Spirit, vow to paint Canoness Verydian and Celestine with two Geminae for a total of 259pts. Failure to do so will bring shame to my Order.

My apologies for not entering far, far sooner. I recently got a new job and almost all the effort I have has been focused to that end. I've made a small vow here, just so that I can at least ensure I don't miss the cut off point for this year's ETL.

"THEIR DEFENSES ARE BROKEN! LET THE SLAUGHTER BEGIN!"

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, it's bass growl could not be swallowed up by the noise made by the Traitor Knight finally smashing it's way through the ceiling of the Chapel Maximus of the Order of the Dauntless Spirit. Frescoes of the God-Emperor in all of his glory atomised in an instant. Canoness Sera turned to face it, her eyes furious at the weakness of the building she had defended against the foe for nearly a full month. Hour after painful hour she and her Sisters had repelled attack after attack, the enemy wisely using their spineless followers to whittle down their defenses. Yonder, she could see the Legendary Canoness Veridyan charging a group of the worthless even now. Her power sword cut down a dozen before they could enter the Chapel proper. On her comrades heals, she brought her own weapon,
Lucia, Tempered, a Chainsword that was the equal of a Repentia's evicerator and more so. Behind her, Agatha, Æthelfleda, Motoko and others drew their own blades, their determination to let not one of the Chaotic scum cast their eyes on the secrets within. An explosion to the right hit Sera and threw her against a pillar, a sickening crunch told her that she had yet more broken ribs. Her armour was barely functional, but she allowed not one hour to attempt any kind of significant repair. All resources they had left, she was adamant, went to those who needed it. The hole left from the bombardment was filled with the form of a being she hated above all others. Getting to her feet, she hissed, a precursor to expressing pure white hot rage. All the pain she felt at that moment became strength, and uttering a cry of wrath ran towards him, her weapon raided above her head. The bare faced foe laughed, his earlier declaration a sneer of contempt to the Sisterhood he now plundered. Minions behind formed a meat shield, ripped apart by a heavy bolter, its blessed shells tearing into corrupted flesh and burning it within seconds. Screams of pain defended her as she closed in, but the Enemy had his hand around her neck, choking the life force, enjoying its ebb. Sera struggled, kicking and screaming as she fought desperately to gain an inch, anything to forestall the inevitable, before blackness enveloped her...

...A voice. It seemed so far away. Struggling to comprehend those words uttered, Saffron Sera could not move, her limbs heavier than they've ever felt.

"Sister...", he could make out. "Time to rise, Sister..." that voice. She knew it, from a long time ago. It used to be full of jealousy, pride, arrogance, even hatred. But now, it was pure. No anger, no rage, merely calling, reassuring. She opened her eyes, and a light, blinding like the sun threatened to consume her. The voice called again.

"Sister. Rise. Rise up. Make your stand here. He is not done with you yet..." The light faded and a woman on pinions of feathers held herself aloft above.

"Anabelle..?" The woman smiled, pleased at the recognition. The formerly hateful, prideful Sister who Sera prevented becoming an unwilling Daemonhost opened her arms.

"It's not yet your time Sister. Rise. Rise!"

And the blackness loomed again. She felt the claw around her neck, constricting tighter and tighter. The opponent wanted to take his time, savour the moment. That was his first mistake. Surprised as his wrist exploded in gore, he reeled back, roaring in anger. Falling bodily to the floor, Saffron saw her Inferno Pistol The piety, and grabbed it. It seemed to weigh more than the universe itself, but she managed to aim. The shot missed by a lot, but enough to scatter the Cultists who had gathered around to watch their master take the life of a Canoness. Squealing in horror as the woman stood up to her imposing height, her face pulled I to a rictus of hatred, none were able to get out of the way as she made chase. The Warband leader had escaped, save for his hand. The twisted thing was pitiful to look at bereft of its owner. Turning, she could see that the tide had turned just enough to hold. The Chapel Maximus had not yet fallen.

The image of her fallen Sister was etched into her mind. She was right. No more hiding behind rockcrete, prayers and hope.

Time to rise...

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Once, a Novice Cantus came to me, troubled and uncertain. A slip of a girl, only a few strides down the eternal path leading her to the Golden Throne. She asked me a question. She asked me how we can ever truly understand what faith is. I told her that there is no coin to measure what we feel in our hearts. There are no scales upon which we might weigh the faith of one woman against another. There is only duty and blood. There are only deeds and words. There is only the service to the God-Emperor, and the price that demands from each Sister can only be known by Him. But know that whatever fears must be faced, whatever hardships endured, that price is forever worth its full cost.
- Sister Katherine Elysius,
Daughter of the Emperor (later Imperial Saint Katherine)


#55
Ace Debonair

Ace Debonair

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I am loving these stories, brothers. biggrin.png

 

Between the ETL and all these stories, my painting motivation is pretty much at maximum capacity. laugh.png

I just need to wait until payday so I can actually get some stuff together for another vow. sweat.gif


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#56
Ace Debonair

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The silence in here grows ever deeper, brothers.

There are still more tales to tell - let's see the Liber done proud!

...On which note:
 

I, Acemund Debonair of the Liber Astartes, rise to the challenge of E TENEBRAE LUX on the side of the most despicable Xenos Dark Eldar (But really still the Liber) and vow to complete One (1) Succubus with Archite Glaive and Agonizer, of total value 76 Points (if my maths is right sweat.gif) on or before September 1st, 2019. Success will bring me eternal glory and cement my ascension to the upper echelons of Commorragh, and failure (which is NEVER an option) will doom me to wear the Badge of the Oathbreaker until the year-end.

Here's the basecoated model, still on sprue:

gallery_46204_9220_46585.jpg



-- Prologue: A Challenge Made --

Weeks had passed since Ace's three serfs had read of the battle of Cironus. None of them had managed to work up the courage to mention it to Acemund, who had returned home from his last mission full of his usual cheer, boasting about the size and number of Tyranids he and his brothers had killed in their recent battles.

Ace being Ace, he'd brought home an arm, hacked from a particularly belligerent Tyranid warrior. He'd then spent a few days mixing paints until he could replicate the dull purple sheen of its' carapace plating exactly. Life continued as normal, and eventually the serfs put the events of Cironus at the back of their minds and largely forgot about it.

That is, until one morning, when the servitor SN-517 came bearing a handful of data-slates for Ace and his serfs. Most of them were platitudes from scribes and adminitorum staff who had received copies of the data-slates detailing the Kabal of the Shattered World, or notifications about various documents that Ace's work on heraldry had influenced.

One, however, was different. It began as a standard request for the Liber Heraldry Department to render a depiction of a Knight House's heraldry, but was interrupted partway through the message.

Mischa, who was reading the data-slate, hesitantly called out to her master.

"...Ace? I think you should see this."

Acemund turned, regarding her wide-eyed expression curiously. He strode over and plucked the data-slate from Mischa's grasp, flicking it around deftly so he could see the screen. His eyes immediately widened with shock, then quickly narrowed in anger.

The data-slate's message was short and simple.


--++ Looking for a rematch. Don't make me wait. Mephirion will be watching. ~ Idarileth ++--

Underneath that was a complicated list of galactic co-ordinates, doubtless where Ace was supposed to go for this rematch.

"Who is Idarileth?" Mischa asked, warily. "What do they mean, a 'rematch'?" Haydram and Irian had stopped in their tasks now, and were watching Ace and Mischa curiously.

A humourless smile spread across Ace's face. After a moment, he gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "Oh, I've been waiting for this day. To answer your question, Mischa, Idarileth is an old enemy of mine. She's someone I owe a great debt of violence to." The Hawk of Talhon handed the data slate back to his scribe.

"I'm sure I've heard the name before," Haydram mused aloud.

"No doubt," Ace shrugged. "It's a common enough name amongst the Drukhari, I'm told. But this one in particular is Idarileth Skinsplitter, a warrior chieftain of the Kabal of the Shattered World." Ace cracked his knuckles. "And she's about to become an example of why picking a fight with the White Hawks is a bad idea. Come with me, you three, and bring that data-slate. Oh, and that one," Ace pointed to the data-slate that contained the transcript of what had happened at Cironus. "Keep it sealed, though. The data in there is restricted." Ace missed the worried glance that passed between his scribes as he made his way towards the door.

"Come on, you three. We're going to go see the Moderati about another mission."


Edited by Ace Debonair, 16 July 2019 - 10:05 PM.

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#57
Grand Master Belial

Grand Master Belial

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Reading material!!! Must enjoy now!


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gallery_4664_5295_36672.pnggallery_4664_11830_5080.jpg

What is the terror of death? That we die, our work incomplete. But what is the joy of life? To die, knowing our task is done.

Differences of the Successors Update Project - AoA - AoR - AoV - Cons - DoC - GotC - AoVig

Brotherhood of the Angels 2012 - 2014 - 2015 - 2016 Legends of the Angels 2015 DA - LA 2016 DA - LA


#58
Ace Debonair

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So... I finished my third vow, and had typed up another story, but it was 1,400 words long and didn't even get into the part actually regarding the vow.

I'm going to need to re-think this idea. laugh.png

 

In the meanwhile, brothers, the halls of the Liber await your tales!



#59
Gederas

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INTRACTABLE

 

"That makes three sectors clear." The Primaris Lieutenant Isiah observes.

 

Arrayed surrounding the hololithic table, the commanding officers of this Hive clearance mission, members of the Dark Angels 5th company, examine the displays.

 

"However, we have lost contact with squad Uriah and Venerable Chaplain Cahethal. This bodes ill." The statement, uttered by the Interrogator-Chaplain Israfiel, makes clear his concern, despite the Terminator-armoured Astartes monotone manner of speaking.

 

"Vox communication is spotty at best in the area of the hive they are in, but you do have a point Chaplain." The lieutenant responds, nodding as he brings up the section of the hive Squad Uriah and Chaplain Cahethal were last observed.

 

"Company Master Dalquiel, if I may make a request, we should send a small force to find our brethren and find out what has happened with them." Says Israfiel.

 

"..." The Company Master, newly appointed and similarly mistrusted by the other, non-Primaris Dark Angels, continues to silently observe the displays. Despite his (relative for an Astartes) youth and inexperience with command, he has quickly proven himself apt and able for the role of command. In addition, Dalquiel has one thing that separates him from even the other Primaris Astartes of the Dark Angels: He was born of Caliban, one of the first Marines taken by Cawl for the Primaris project. Thereby making him, chronologically, the eldest of the gathered marines by a massive margin.

 

"Company Master?"

 

Nodding, Dalquiel looks to the gathered officers.

 

"The course is clear then. We shall send a small force to find our brothers. Isiah-" The Lieutenant looks up from the display. "Find where squads Vanael and Josiah are, they will be on this mission. And Apothecary Pathiel?"

The Apothecary looks up at the taller Primaris. "Yes Company Master?"

"If the worst has come to pass, you know what your duty is."

"Understood."

 

+++++

 

Deep in the hives, a vast majority of the vehicles of the Adeptus Astartes are far too cumbersome. Dreadnought ironforms however, while large and bulky, are able to move through the tight corridors of the underhives. Clearing out an uprising of Genestealer Cultists in the hives of a world is problematic at best, but to Venerable Chaplain Cahethal, there is no mission greater than destroying traitors not just to the Imperium, but to Humanity itself.

 

+Hold steady brothers, we do not know if we are being observed+

 

"Additionally, the vox appears to be jammed, I cannot send or receive messages outside of our immediate vicinity."  Replies Inias.

 

"Clever bastards. They think they can cut us off to make us easier targets." Sergeant Uriah says, grinning. "They'll soon learn how wrong that is."

"Contacts on the auspex, closing in 6 o'clock!" Mihael says, now stowing his auspex and pulling out his plasma gun.

 

"Then they show themselves. Ready yourselves brothers, stand firm!" Uriah says, readying his bolt pistol and chainsword.

 

Cultists begin charging from the nearby tunnels, firing their autoguns as they do so, the small caliber rounds bouncing harmlessly off of the Astartes' ceramite plating. The bolters, as well as the paired plasma weapons, of the squad return fire several of the cultists cut down as they near the mouth of the tunnel. The tactical squad stops firing as the lumbering form of Cahethal moves to the mouth of the tunnel.

 

+BY CLEANSING FLAMES, BE PURGED!+

 

Too late do the cultists realize they have run to the mouth of a tight corridor against a Dreadnought's inferno cannon and heavy flamer. The roiling flame incinerates the remaining cultists and aberrants.

 

"All contacts eliminated. No more observed on auspex." observes Mihael.

 

"This area is too large for the eleven of us to clear. We need to regroup." Uriah says plainly.

+I am in agreement brother. While purging the enemies of Humanity is our mission, it is wise to have allies in doing so+

 

+++++

 

Having neared the entrance of the hive where Cahethal and squad Uriah were last heard from, the team sent by Company Master Dalquiel has encountered heavy resistance. Of the twelve Astartes, only seven remain, with both squads Vanael and Josiah having taken casualties. The five fallen Primaris brothers lie where they fell, the Mark VI-armoured Pathiel having been unable to recover the gene-seed during the fighting.

 

"There's no end to them!" Vanael shouts, his bolt rifle barking as the mass reactive shells detonate, killing two more cultists.

 

"I fear we'll run out of bolt shells before they run out of bodies." Josiah quips back, reloading his rifle before firing again, while he and the other remaining squad brother covering the opposite side of Vanael's squad.

 

"Less talking, more firing brothers." Isiah says, punctuating his point with another searing shot from his plasma pistol, the shot vaporizing one of the cultists.

 

The seven astartes continue firing, reloading and nearing empty on all but Isiah's plasma pistol. However, a familiar, and very much welcomed, voice cuts in over the vox.

 

+Brothers, do you need assistance?+

The ten-strong squad Uriah and the hulking dreadnought form of Cahethal now enter the fray, their bolters and plasma weapons firing as they enter the opening of the hive.

 

"Rally brothers! We are reinforced!" Isiah shouts, still firing his pistol before charging a squad of cultists to slay them with his sword and thereby allowing his pistol to cool down.

+++++

 

Three hours was how long squad Uriah and Venerable Chaplain Cahethal were unheard from when Company Master Dalquiel sent a recovery team. The cultists thought that by separating the Astartes and Dreadnought, they could break at least part of the siege by destroying the Dreadnought. Two more hours was how long it took for the fighting to stop. In the ensuing battle, a total of thirteen brothers fell under the massed fire of the Genestealer Cultists. However, their legacy was secured, as the attached Apothecary Pathiel was able to complete his duties.

 

 

Phew. The story was based on a game I did with a friend,with Genestealer Cults V Dark Angels.

 

It was one crazy game as you can tell laugh.png

 

And for those wondering, the models relevant to the story:

Primaris Lieutenant Isiah, Intercessor Squad Vanael and Tactical Squad Uriah:
w4n4N5Y.jpg

 

Chaplain Dreadnought Cahethal:

z3BRxij.jpg

 

Apothecary Pathiel (middle, kneeling)

PH9wfxx.jpg

 

Squad Josiah:
JgaG3Ql.jpg

 

And last but not least, Interrogator-Chaplain Israfiel on the right:

szJSxmu.jpg


Edited by Gederas, 01 August 2019 - 03:39 PM.

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#60
Ace Debonair

Ace Debonair

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Beautiful models, Gederas, and an excellent tale to boot! biggrin.png

I especially like the Apothecaries, they look great! happy.png

 

Which reminds me, it's time for me to actually finish my promised third story. sweat.gif

 

EDIT:

 

I've just remembered the data regarding what happened on Cironus was meant to be restricted. This is what comes of writing after Midnight, I'll have to address this with another edit once I've had some actual sleep.  wallbash.gif

 

EDIT EDIT:

It is done!

 

 

--== Hatred ==--

 

Ace and his serfs made their way through the Liber. The Officium Moderatus lay above Hall One, reached by a bridge that spanned most of the way across Hall Two. Access to the bridge was gained via an ornately carved spiral staircase at the far end of the Hall, numbering one thousand four hundred stairs, each one decorated with the colours and emblems of a Space Marine Chapter. Some were repeats or outdated heraldry, Mischa knew, but that didn't make the number of stairs any less staggering.
 
It was a long walk from the Workshop to even the base of the stairs, and so it was unfortunate that Haydram, whose reading skills were the worst of the four, only spotted an important detail as the party reached approximately the four hundredth stair. The serf came to a dead stop, suddenly. Mischa and Irian, on either side of him, turned to see Haydram looking at the data-slate he was carrying with a look of genuine worry.
 
"Uh... M'lord Acemund?"
 
"Yes, Haydram?" Ace didn't slow his pace, continuing up the broad stairs two at a time.
 
"You should... uh... probably see this." Haydram looked nervous, and Mischa wondered what he'd seen. Ace, for his part, spun on the spot, took two steps towards Haydram and plucked the data slate from Haydram's hands. After a long moment, Ace closed his eyes and cursed in what sounded like Talhonic to Mischa. For once, she was glad her grasp of the language was very limited. Still, since they weren't all running up the stairs, Mischa took the opportunity to catch her breath.
 
The deluge of muttered curse words petered out, finished by Ace giving the three serfs a wan smile.
 
"So... That challenge Idarileth made was dated for over ten years ago. She'll be long gone by now. Well spotted, Haydram." Ace shrugged. "Back to the workshop, then." He seemed to notice Mischa was out of breath, since he added in a more kindly tone, "There's no rush - take your time."
 
The party trudged on in silence for a little while, each with their own thoughts. After a while, Ace cleared his throat.
 
"I never told you about Idarileth and I, did I?"
 
"No, m'lord," Haydram replied, speaking for all three serfs. Mischa glanced at Irian, who shrugged. Ace grunted, as though suddenly remembering something.

 

"I shouldn't actually be telling you this. Captain Kaedric didn't want the story to spread, really. But... Well, I trust you three to keep this to yourselves."

 

Acemund turned the data slate to the three serfs, so they could see a pict-capture of the succubus herself, sprinting into a battle.

gallery_46204_9220_16876.jpg
 
"I fought her on Cironus." Acemund announced. "Idarileth attacked my squad, trying to keep us busy while her Archon, Mephirion the Bleak, killed Squad Beremont. This was a long time ago, you understand. I was barely even a Sergeant back then, and my squad..." Ace went quiet for a moment. "Young, all of us. Beremont too, but his squad was more accomplished.
 
Anyway. There were more than eighty Drukhari arranged against us, and they caught us by ambush. Idarileth tried to kill Garril, a member of my squad, and I took the attack for him. She was fast, but I figured out the rhythm of her attacks. Once I did, I sidestepped and kicked her over the edge of the landrise we were fighting on. From the sound of it, my kick broke at least two ribs, even before she fell the eighteen feet or so onto the rocks below. She was still alive, of course, but incapacitated."
Ace paused to let another marine carrying an armful of scrolls pass by, the two exchanging a solemn nod as greeting.
 
"So I turned my attention back to my brothers. Beremont was down. The Archon had cut his throat. Of his squad, Tumol and Olsius had fallen with him, knives drawn and ammo spent. The last two brothers, Runis and Macharan, cut down a dozen Drukhari with their Heavy Bolters. They tried to pull back towards my squad, but the Wych cult got between us. I saw Macharan die at the Archon's hands."
 
Mischa stole a backwards glance at Ace's face as the party made their way down a stone-floored corridor. His expression was distant, his eyes glazed over, clearly replaying events in his head.
 
"We were pushed back to the ridge I'd kicked Idarileth over. Runis joined us, his ammo dwindling fast. Garril put a missile into the wyches, scattering them. One jumped on my back and tried to stab me in the neck. I threw her down, struck her head from her body and watched it fall down towards Idarileth, who let out a scream of pure, primal anger. I later discovered that Wych had been Idarileth's own daughter."
 
Mischa almost tripped over her own feet in shock. Ace caught her arm, steadying her. The scribe turned to the Space Marine, her face betraying the horror she felt.
 
"You killed Idarileth's daughter?" Mischa asked, aghast.
 
"A centuries-old murderer who tried to kill me first, yes. A would-be assassin and a dirty xeno into the bargain. How many innocent lives do you think she'd taken before that day?" Ace shrugged. "Death is no great setback to the Drukhari, I've learned. They always seem to come back one way or another."
 
Mischa sought for a reply, but none came. Ace continued his story as the party moved on.
 
"My squad engaged the Archon. We were hopelessly outmatched. Idarileth recovered from her injuries and came after me. I lunged for the Archon, Mephirion knocked my attack aside, and Idarileth drove me back, keeping me from re-engaging the Archon. Yandir got one good hit in, his knife shattering a plate on Mephirion's leg. The Archon decapitated him in two strikes. Garril tried to bludgeon the Archon with his missile launcher after firing into what was left of the Wyches. Mephirion dodged, easily, and killed him. Morgamus died next - he was locked in combat with a kabalite warrior and didn't even see the Archon coming.

 

Jorcan, Runis and I were all that was left. Jorcan grabbed Yandir's knife and went at the Archon with two knives. Runis had only his empty Heavy Bolter, but went after the Archon's legs with it, knocking Mephirion to the ground. Immediately he did, a dozen or more Kabalite warriors leapt on my brothers. Runis managed to grab Morgamus' knife and threw it into one of the warriors on Jorcan's flank. They took down four or five more warriors each, but the Drukhari's poisoned knives wounded them enough that the Archon had no trouble finishing them off."
 
Ace stopped in his tracks, staring at nothing.
 
"Which just left me."
 
"What happened?" Irian asked, her voice a whisper. Ace closed his eyes, and Mischa could see him trying to put the battle into words.
 
"I failed," Ace said, at last. "I got free of Idarileth by hitting her broken ribs with my bolt pistol. I lunged at Mephirion with my chainaxe, my heart and mind full of rage, grief and fury. Had I struck him, I'm certain it would have been a killing blow. But the Archon avoided me. He cut me to pieces, and left me crawling on the floor. He had Idarileth restrained, so she wouldn't kill me, and the Kabal of the Shattered World fled before the rest of my Company arrived."
 
Ace opened his eyes at last and looked each of his serfs directly in the eyes for a moment before continuing.
 
"I shamed my brothers by failing that day. I shame them further every day that Mephirion and Idarileth still draw breath. Only once they are dead - truly dead - will I bring honour to their names once more. As for Idarileth, she seems to bear me a special hatred." Ace gave a grim smile. "Once news got out that I'd recovered and was looking for vengeance, she came after me herself. Unfortunately for her, she found me right next to Venerable Fulbrand, and his lascannon never cared much for grudges." Ace gave a dry chuckle. "Like I say, death doesn't seem to truly stop the Dark Eldar. I know not what fell magics sustain them so, but I will find a way to end Idarileth and Mephirion."

The party came to a stop outside of Acemund's Workshop. Irian gave her lord a questioning look. "But... if the challenge she made is a decade old, how do you know you'll ever get the chance to face Idarileth again?"

The Hawk of Talhon gave a weary sigh, a careless shrug of the shoulders, and pushed the door open.

"Simple. Because each of us hates the other enough to never stop looking for the chance."

 

Mischa, in spite of herself, shuddered as the door shut. Was that chill down her spine just a result of Acemund's words, or a premonition of things to come? She shook herself. Such superstitions surely had no place in the Liber.  She re-lit the lanterns and got ready to continue the day's scribing. A brief glance at Irian's worried expression suggested her fellow scribe had a similar sense of foreboding, but soon both of them were lost to their work, copying out treatises on effective storage of rations aboard Imperial ships.


Edited by Ace Debonair, 05 August 2019 - 07:08 AM.

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#61
Grand Master Belial

Grand Master Belial

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Love the completed stories! Let's see some more!


gallery_4664_5295_36672.pnggallery_4664_11830_5080.jpg

What is the terror of death? That we die, our work incomplete. But what is the joy of life? To die, knowing our task is done.

Differences of the Successors Update Project - AoA - AoR - AoV - Cons - DoC - GotC - AoVig

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#62
Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch

Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch

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I finished my vow a little while ago but it was right before i went on vacay so I am just now getting around to crossposting it from the outpost.

 

It was the dark cycle on this side of Seranon, the icebound crownworld of the Naculan dynasty. For four hundred days, it would be cloaked in the darkness of space, with nought but the stars and the defense fleet to illuminate its surface.

Prowling in the inky black night was the Shadow Legion, the Phaeron’s answer to the night and all its dangers and opportunities. Assigned to the authority of the Deathmark Vizier Rezak the Executioner, they were responsible for patrolling the parts of the Crownworld that were undergoing the dark cycle, and were built specially for the task.

Those of the Shadow Legion—primarily Warriors and Immortals, though there were phalanxes of Deathmarks and Lychguard—were equipped with hardware that enabled them to move silently, see and hear perfectly in the night, and were provided with phalanx-level shadowlooms that twisted the darkness around them to obscure them from the vision of any who cared to look.

This hour saw First Phalanx on guard on the outskirts of the Forge Labs, where the Thunderseeker and his compatriots of the Crypteks experimented with new war machines. Silently they marched through the blizzard, caring not one whit for the argument that had exploded inside the labs.

Break

YOU DID WHAT!?!? thundered Sarnakh the Sunderer, Phaeron of the Naculan. His hand gripped dangerously around the hilt of his Warscythe, thumb dangerously close to the rune that would extend it to its full, deadly length.

Therek Thunderseeker, chief scientist and advisor to the Phaeron, however, was undeterred. Mood swings often struck his friend, and this one was no more dangerous than any other he had when confronted with new science.

That did not, however, mean he would be deliberately antagonistic to his friend and master.

“My Phaeron, please understand what I have been able to accomplish! This Magos, he willingly sought us out! When you kidnapped several of the Mechanicum from the Αυγή Λεπίδες, one wished to stay.

“The Αυγή Λεπίδες, sorry to say, forcibly removed him after you teleported them back to their camp, but he returned recently with his own warriors. Marvelous creations, I must say. Bound completely to his will, and not a one of them care where they are.” He snorted in amusement, and had he still been flesh his face would have contorted into a smirk. “They even believe us to be an aspect of their god.”

“Yes, and tell me what happened the last time a technologically-minded species found their gods made metal?” asked the Sunderer idly, though his tone was anything but.

Therek bowed his head slightly in deference. “Of course, my liege. However, please consider.” He gestured to the magos—now armed with a particle lance, transdimensional beamer, and a wicked pair of claws more oft found on Wraiths—and his men. “They are stronger than ever, and can handle our weaponry. This here is but one squad, and there are two more of them on guard duty that you surely saw. He has in orbit an entire warship filled with these men, ready and willing to become subservient to us and the Triarch.”

“Therek, they are human. Augmented, yes, upgraded, yes, but still human and weak. They cannot rise from lethal wounds as you and I would.” The Phaeron’s anger had cooled somewhat, he was not going to behead Therek as had occasionally been done in the past.

“Respectfully, my lord, I think you shall find that to be incorrect. Magos, would you demonstrate?”

A burst of binaric spat from the tech-priest’s robes and with one swift motion he snipped the head off of one of the skitarii, which rolled until it hit the leg of one of the Warriors patrolling the lab. It picked the head back up, setting its carbine aside, and handed it to Therek.

The Thunderseeker held out the head, which was taken from his hands by the decapitated techno-horror before being reattached.

“As you can see, they possess rudimentary reanimation protocols. They won’t survive a direct explosion like some more fortunate warriors have, but they’ll last far longer than mortal troops.”

“I must hand it to you, Therek. You have outdone yourself once more.” The Phaeron drew his blade to his throat in salute.

Therek placed his claws across his. “You flatter me, my friend.” The Thunderseeker did not mention that he had only been overseeing the project and that they would be assigned under another Cryptek with more experience handling converts and mindshackled enemies, and held theoretical ownership of the Triarch Striders.

The Sunderer turned and pointed at the Magos. “You. What is your designation?”

“My designation was Tuscon-Theta-Seven. However, I believe a new designation is in order to reflect my change in status and allegiance.”

“You may be right—“ Tuscon-Theta-Seven replied, but he was cut off by a howling wind, greater than had been heard in more than a standard Seranon orbit. It rattled in the thin wintery air, like the teeth of a chilled mammalian creature.

Therek’s eyes lit up in a poor facsimile of a smile. “I think the wind has given us an answer.”

“Tell me Tuscon. How does Coldhowl sound?”

A blurt of binaric filled the air. “I think that I shall enjoy that designation.”

And outside, the wind blustered and blew, disturbing only the snow, for nothing else was aware enough outside the lab to be bothered.

 

Coldhowl Front
 
Coldhowl himself, in all his mechanical glory. Snip snip, pew pew.
 
Coldhowl's Skitarii
 
His Skitarii, with the two lab assistant warriors.
 
First Phalanx, Shadow Leigon

 

Shadow Legion, First Phalanx. If requested I will provide a better photo but I felt this fit their character well.

 


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Dosjeska: But then again we are Iron Hands, we will use a hammer as a scalpel. Ace Debonair: Loyalists bow to The Emperor, Heretics bow to their Dark Gods, but everybody bows to Captain Semper. Brian Blaire: Bolted for emphasis
There are 4 boxes to use in the defense of liberty: soap, ballot, jury, ammo. Use in that order. -anon [][] Laus Alit Artes-Praise Nourishes the Arts
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#63
Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch

Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch

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”Heiress Kani and the Vargard Chronozak,” announced the functionary standing guard at the doorway to the throne room. The Phaeron rose from his throne, warscythe in hand. They knelt, and he bid them rise.

"Greetings, Kani, Chronozak. We have an assignment for you."

"Is it regarding the message?" Kani questioned, intelligent enough to know not to speak out loud of the Triarch's dealings except in private.

The Phaeron only nodded gravely. "You are to take a ship to the Archive World. Collect the Cataloguer; he has data we require. Go swiftly, and do not fail us."

Kani bowed, then placed her claws at her throat. "We live to serve, my lord."

The Phaeron turned slightly towards Chronozak, and transmitted over interstitial command burst, *keep her safe*.

*You know I will* was the reply. It was the work of microseconds.

"Now go," the Sunderer spoke. "Tell the Cataloguer that his Phaeron has need of him."

I, Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch, rise once more to the challenge of E Tenebrae Lux for the glory of the Necrontyr Forum and the Liber! I vow to complete
- 1 Overlord with Voidscythe and Resurrection Orb
- 1 Overlord with Hyperphase Sword
- 6 Canoptek Wraiths with Whipcoils
- 3 Canoptek Scarabs
- 1 Cryptek with Chronometron
- 1 Heavy Destroyer
- And 1 Seraptek Heavy Construct armed with Synaptic Obliterators and Transdimensional Projectors
Worth a sum of one thousand, three hundred and seventy two (1,372) points, on or before the 1st of September, 2019. Success shall bring glory to myself, the Liber, and the Silent King; failure shall see me doomed to wear the badge of Oathbreaker till year’s end.


ETL 2019 Vow 2 start


As a challenge, now that a Necron superheavy is within the range of possibilities for this ETL.


I, Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch, issue a challenge to xenos of the Tau species. Resistance is futile, but if it is entertaining (I.e. if y’all have a higher final score at the end of ETL than the Necrontyr), than I shall paint one unit of Tau Stealth Suits. Alternatively, if am an Oathbreaker this ETL, regardless of which faction is above the other, I shall paint a squad of Pathfinders. Best of luck!

 

 

A flash of red light appeared in the air, and a lone Necron stepped forth from the glow.

 

She stood, and ignored the shouted hails in the T'au tongue. The Necron strode forward, and as she approached the chamber that held council for the T'au envoys, activated a hologram that bore in the T'au language a sign that said 'envoy'. The implicit promise of violence if she was attacked was evident in the ornate but lethal frame and weaponry she bore.

 

She stopped just before the door, though from her posture it was clear it was not meant to be in any way respectful, but rather one of annoyance.

 

After a hurried conversation that she could have understood if she had cared to, the door opened slowly, and the Necron diplomat stepped through the doorway.

 

She waited for no introduction, no call from any master-of-arms to announce her. She merely took the central podium and began to speak, the T'au language made harsh in her vocalizer.

 

"I am Diplomat-Secundus Aramka. I am authorized by my Phaeron, Sarnakh the Sunderer, ruler of Seranon, Shatterer of Dynasties, and Lord of the Naculan, to deliver to you, xenos of the T'au species, this message."

 

She stood straighter and a holo-projection appeared before her and the T'au council. The Phaeron Sarnakh stood before them, though it was but a facsimile made of light and forcefields.

 

"T'au Council. I am the Phaeron of the Naculan Dynasty, and I am here to issue you a warning."

"Do not interfere with our efforts. Our forces are mighty, and you would not survive direct confrontation."

He paused, and his posture softened a microfraction. "However, any valiant attempt made would be recognized. I would caution against it. But it would be recognized nonetheless."
 

"You have been warned, T'au. Resistance is futile," he growled. "I have no more to say."

 

The hologram faded, and Arakma relaxed slightly.

 

She bowed contemptuously in the manner that diplomats did. "You have heard my master's words."

 

And she vanished in a flash of red light as she teleported away, leaving the T'au to ponder what had been said.


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Dosjeska: But then again we are Iron Hands, we will use a hammer as a scalpel. Ace Debonair: Loyalists bow to The Emperor, Heretics bow to their Dark Gods, but everybody bows to Captain Semper. Brian Blaire: Bolted for emphasis
There are 4 boxes to use in the defense of liberty: soap, ballot, jury, ammo. Use in that order. -anon [][] Laus Alit Artes-Praise Nourishes the Arts
ETL_Medal_01.gifETL_VI_Banner_03_Custos_Fidei_03_.jpggallery_77459_13226_2824.pnggallery_4664_12529_16642.jpgDawn Blades Iron Gauntlet Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch's Workshop
Dawn Blades: W/L/D: 2/9/1 wh40k 8th 0/0/0 Kill Team
Naculan Dynasty: W/L/D: 0/0/0 wh40k 8th 1/1/0 Kill Team


#64
Ace Debonair

Ace Debonair

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That is one mighty vow to make in the last month of the ETL, brother. eek.gif

 

Truly, the might of the Naculan dynasty is considerable!

 

I'm digging the stories so far though - it's interesting to see glimpses into the life (or unlife, or whatever the correct term is) of a Phaeron and his underlings!happy.png



#65
Brother Argent

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Hmmm... Just realised I am onto vow three and still haven't written anything. This must be rectified asap





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