The Commissar rubbed his chin. "Damnit, we will just have to hold out until reinforcements arrive....may the Emperor protect us," HE said, looking at Triandr. Then he sighed and looked at the Odessian "We need to finish preparations, we do not have long before they attack,"
The Space Marine groaned, checking to see if his bolter was properly loaded before sighing once more. His worst suspicions had finally been realized. The impending invasion of Chaos, the Royal Chaos spawn, and now this heretical raid. He couldn't even begin to guess what was happening in Caritaigne. The populace there had probably already fallen to heresy. Doros stood forward a moment, sharing his worries. "My fellows, I am beginning to fear that it is not the endless wars here attracting the touch of Chaos. The Commissar and I are also fresh from a battle with two Chaos Spawn, and I'd dread to think what is happening in Caritaigne, if I knew how to dread that is." Doros joked, but he knew that this was not the time for humour. "I believe that there is something else here on Triandr causing the unrest we have seen, something... Daemonic."
When he had explained himself, he turned his tarnished body to the Sergeant once more to reintroduce himself. "I am Veteran Sergeant Kragoth Doros of the now defunct Rainbow Warriors Chapter, at your service." The memories of the brothers he could not save had broke his heart, and so the marine placed his fist across his terribly damaged upper torso as he spoke. It was quite visible that the golden eagle most Astartes bore was missing completely. "My entire Chapter was wiped out during the Blood Star Campaign by a Daemon incusion. I am the only one that is left, and I have been trapped on this planet for nearly a generation, lacking the proper equipment to maintain my armour. It has not yet failed me however, and neither have my bolter and chainblade." His final sentence was laced with a little shade of optimism.
When he had explained himself, he turned his tarnished body to the Sergeant once more to reintroduce himself. "I am Veteran Sergeant Kragoth Doros of the now defunct Rainbow Warriors Chapter, at your service." The memories of the brothers he could not save had broke his heart, and so the marine placed his fist across his terribly damaged upper torso as he spoke. It was quite visible that the golden eagle most Astartes bore was missing completely. "My entire Chapter was wiped out during the Blood Star Campaign by a Daemon incusion. I am the only one that is left, and I have been trapped on this planet for nearly a generation, lacking the proper equipment to maintain my armour. It has not yet failed me however, and neither have my bolter and chainblade." His final sentence was laced with a little shade of optimism.
Amaury nodded, looking down at the tips of the chainsword. "A fine piece of machinery that must be then. However, I was going to meerly suggest that, if you wish, the tech priests and mechanicum personnel aboard the ship may be able to repair damaged pieces of your armor, and refill your ammunition supply. I think we may need it for the coming battle." He said, watching as the ship continued to smoke and burn, damage control teams working desperately to fight the fires. "Does your forces have a forward operations base nearbye? I find that i cannot abandon this ship, but if your base is nearbye, I might be able to support it, and vice versa."
"The caste we have occupied is not far, but the more I see, the more I feel as if this would be a better if we purged it and then cleared it. We can use our armor to move the bulwarks we have made and the fourteenth can rebuild our walls hre. However, the tactical advantage at the castle is much greater, clear line of sight for hundreds of kilometers and any force moving on that castle could be seen miles off. I am unsure what to do, Major?" The commissar asked the Commanding officer of their Regiment.
"I believe we can hold the keep given the men we have and it is naught but a few hundred meters away from the crash. It is also on high ground and well fortified for the most part. I say we hold the castle and fight our foes there. We can build a fortress here at the ship to operate as an artillery base for our basilisks,"
"I believe we can hold the keep given the men we have and it is naught but a few hundred meters away from the crash. It is also on high ground and well fortified for the most part. I say we hold the castle and fight our foes there. We can build a fortress here at the ship to operate as an artillery base for our basilisks,"
Meanwhile:
Location: Archaeological Dig Site - T-03-a
Approximately 50 miles North by North West of capital city Sipang.
Planets were full of life. A life that could, if given enough time, develop a consciousness. In effect, a sentient spirit, or ghost of the world. The concept of Gaia, as it applied to ancient Terra, was but one such spirit.
Triandr had also possessed such a spirit once. But a sickness had developed within it, and the physical planet had begun to mirror that disease. In short, the planet was dying.
The feudal inhabitants had understood this, relying on old warp sensitive individuals to discern the cause. They were known as Druids, witch doctors, and Mystics. They understood the problem, and had scrambled for a cure.
They devised a means to kill their planet's spirit, and replace it. They constructed 8 temples around the planet. Each housed a crystal ward, a spiritual tumbler in an arcane lock. A pact was struck with a denizen of the abyss, and it was sealed away, the lock closed.
The old Mystics knew not what deal they struck, or powers they dealt with. At first periodic sacrifices satisfied the imprisoned daemon. But the blood fed it's power, until it could make its will felt upon the planets inhabitants. The constant wars followed shortly after.
Sorcerer Lord Inaros stood within the central chamber of the long forgotten temple. His size, already giant due to his being astartes, was made more massive by his armor. The room by comparison seemed almost comically small.
To describe his armor as old was and understatement. It was an archaic relic, a still functional remnant of a time long past, and it was heavily modified to reflect his present status and title. It was colored a deep blue and trimmed with gold. The legions colors, coupled with the finely cast oriborous inlaid into his shoulder plate, declared him a member of the Thousand Sons. Long gone were the markings that once labeled him a slave to the imperium. In their place, etched carefully carved hieroglyphics, arcane symbols, and markings of Tzeentch.
White velvet robes, pristine in their condition, were worn over his plate. His helm was adorned with a set of black, gold trimmed, curved forward sweeping horns, reminiscent of a ram. The low stature of his helm, unique from the ancient Egyptian style most of his brethren preferred, allowed the use of the psychic hood of his robe.
Before him was the eighth and final key to releasing the blood daemon from its prison. He and his master cared little of the fate that befell it upon its release. Rather, the goal was in the replacement of this monster... One of subtlety and deception vice open slaughter. A true ghost that could haunt and corrupt the planet for generations without notice.
He had been at this for years... The longest step had been the first, creating a functioning ninth ward. Locating the others had been easy. Unlocking them only mildly more difficult.
Now before him was the next test... He had already secured a new spirit for the planet. It would take time to fasten the lock again, but the planet wouldn't die quick enough to prevent it.
The difficult part was in getting the blood gods servant out. At least with the arrival of the imperial forces, it had reason to want out. It had grown tired of the locals. It wanted fresh blood, warrior blood, blood spilled by its own hands. It just needed a vessel...
...a vessel which the imperium had almost destroyed by accident. His own cult members, expendable as they were, were relocating and readying the corpse of the fallen Berzerker. Living flesh would have been preferential, but compromises sometimes had to be made.
Location: Archaeological Dig Site - T-03-a
Approximately 50 miles North by North West of capital city Sipang.
Planets were full of life. A life that could, if given enough time, develop a consciousness. In effect, a sentient spirit, or ghost of the world. The concept of Gaia, as it applied to ancient Terra, was but one such spirit.
Triandr had also possessed such a spirit once. But a sickness had developed within it, and the physical planet had begun to mirror that disease. In short, the planet was dying.
The feudal inhabitants had understood this, relying on old warp sensitive individuals to discern the cause. They were known as Druids, witch doctors, and Mystics. They understood the problem, and had scrambled for a cure.
They devised a means to kill their planet's spirit, and replace it. They constructed 8 temples around the planet. Each housed a crystal ward, a spiritual tumbler in an arcane lock. A pact was struck with a denizen of the abyss, and it was sealed away, the lock closed.
The old Mystics knew not what deal they struck, or powers they dealt with. At first periodic sacrifices satisfied the imprisoned daemon. But the blood fed it's power, until it could make its will felt upon the planets inhabitants. The constant wars followed shortly after.
Sorcerer Lord Inaros stood within the central chamber of the long forgotten temple. His size, already giant due to his being astartes, was made more massive by his armor. The room by comparison seemed almost comically small.
To describe his armor as old was and understatement. It was an archaic relic, a still functional remnant of a time long past, and it was heavily modified to reflect his present status and title. It was colored a deep blue and trimmed with gold. The legions colors, coupled with the finely cast oriborous inlaid into his shoulder plate, declared him a member of the Thousand Sons. Long gone were the markings that once labeled him a slave to the imperium. In their place, etched carefully carved hieroglyphics, arcane symbols, and markings of Tzeentch.
White velvet robes, pristine in their condition, were worn over his plate. His helm was adorned with a set of black, gold trimmed, curved forward sweeping horns, reminiscent of a ram. The low stature of his helm, unique from the ancient Egyptian style most of his brethren preferred, allowed the use of the psychic hood of his robe.
Before him was the eighth and final key to releasing the blood daemon from its prison. He and his master cared little of the fate that befell it upon its release. Rather, the goal was in the replacement of this monster... One of subtlety and deception vice open slaughter. A true ghost that could haunt and corrupt the planet for generations without notice.
He had been at this for years... The longest step had been the first, creating a functioning ninth ward. Locating the others had been easy. Unlocking them only mildly more difficult.
Now before him was the next test... He had already secured a new spirit for the planet. It would take time to fasten the lock again, but the planet wouldn't die quick enough to prevent it.
The difficult part was in getting the blood gods servant out. At least with the arrival of the imperial forces, it had reason to want out. It had grown tired of the locals. It wanted fresh blood, warrior blood, blood spilled by its own hands. It just needed a vessel...
...a vessel which the imperium had almost destroyed by accident. His own cult members, expendable as they were, were relocating and readying the corpse of the fallen Berzerker. Living flesh would have been preferential, but compromises sometimes had to be made.
Doros nodded at the Major in agreement. "Should the enemy breach the castle walls, know that I will meet them on front line. I shall see to it that any heretic that dares scale those walls pay in blood...!" The veteran sergeant swore in assurance as he stomped toward the Odessian's ship. "...And I shall accept your offer with thanks Sergeant. Perhaps the repairs to my armour will invigorate my spirit moreover." He leered at the fires upon the ship and beyond, watching the damage control work tirelessly. "Am I allowed to enter the ship for repairs now, or must we wait until the flames have been tamed?" Doros asked as he turned his vast body back in the direction of the three men.
Amaury looked, and turned back to the space marine. "I believe you should be fine to enter now sir, the Mechanicus inside will most likely Keel over at the sight of an astares, as some have gone decades without seeing one, let alone working on one." He said with a suddle grin, turning back to the Commisar. "This ship also has several missile battery's, firing the same missiles commonly found on the manticore. We can use that to our advantage, and I will have my men immediately start entrenching around the ship."
The Major nodded and got on his Vox. The 14th have finished their entrenchment, so they were on their way to help the Odessian's prepare. Then the commissar looked to his brothers in arms and smiled. "A day spent in the Service of the Emperor is always a fine day to watch your life end, I will rally the men and prepare for battle,"
Doros scoffed at the idea of being knelt before. Such a thing would surely never happen now he was a renegade, or so he thought once upon a time. "In any case, I look forward to carrying the glorius light of the Emperor once more. I look forward to our next meeting, whether it is in the heat of battle or not." With the last of his words finished, the Veteran Sergeant left the three to their duties and walked slowly toward the ship's interior until eventually he disappeared into the darkness, where he would emerge a true chosen of the Emperor once more.
Meanwhile, as the Imperial forces of Triandr mobilize for war, the scourge of Chaos fast approaches. Above the dark side of Triandr's moon, more than two dozen vessels of varying class, sacked and looted from the Imperial navy and fresh from warp travel loom over the planet. Of course each ship was utterly debased and terrible to gaze at with the many marks of chaos littering the outer shell; alongside the warp flames that exuded from the engines of each. There was no doubt terror was headed for Triandr. However, one of the vessels, the largest in fact for it's size rivalled a Grand Cruiser, bore upon it's bridge an engorged putrid mass of Daemonic flesh that writhed upon the solar wind and somehow roared with it's booming and egregious voice within the vacuum of space. The cruiser's sides were horribly discoloured, it's appearance tarnished by heretical vandalism; it carried the name stained in flaming orange, painted by the slaves captured. 'Tartaros.' The greatest and most wicked vessel of the Chaos Warband of Rebirth.
The Daemonic tentacles that waved atop the Tartaros fleet swelled up, until it's limbs were shaped like a large spider, lunging at it's prey. Perhaps the possessed ship had sensed the life upon Triandr, or even the Daemonic presence within. The decrepit and rather unprofessional fleet were soon clear to land as they hovered like carrion birds above.
Meanwhile, as the Imperial forces of Triandr mobilize for war, the scourge of Chaos fast approaches. Above the dark side of Triandr's moon, more than two dozen vessels of varying class, sacked and looted from the Imperial navy and fresh from warp travel loom over the planet. Of course each ship was utterly debased and terrible to gaze at with the many marks of chaos littering the outer shell; alongside the warp flames that exuded from the engines of each. There was no doubt terror was headed for Triandr. However, one of the vessels, the largest in fact for it's size rivalled a Grand Cruiser, bore upon it's bridge an engorged putrid mass of Daemonic flesh that writhed upon the solar wind and somehow roared with it's booming and egregious voice within the vacuum of space. The cruiser's sides were horribly discoloured, it's appearance tarnished by heretical vandalism; it carried the name stained in flaming orange, painted by the slaves captured. 'Tartaros.' The greatest and most wicked vessel of the Chaos Warband of Rebirth.
The Daemonic tentacles that waved atop the Tartaros fleet swelled up, until it's limbs were shaped like a large spider, lunging at it's prey. Perhaps the possessed ship had sensed the life upon Triandr, or even the Daemonic presence within. The decrepit and rather unprofessional fleet were soon clear to land as they hovered like carrion birds above.
In this fleet of crafts from the Warband of Rebirth was a small ship adorned in the emblems of Slaanesh. Inside it was the Champion of Slaanesh known as Hana Varus and her personal guard, hand picked Noise Marines from the Emperor's children. The fallen Inquisitor stood up quickly, mildly satiated from her cultists who had attempted to appease her appetites, to no avail. slowly, she put her armor onto her flawless and well kept skin. It was colored a light purple, in contrast to her steel gray hair and silver piercing eyes. Slowly, as she pulled on her corrupted inquisitional armor, she smiled and ran her hands over her chest and down her body to her legs. The armor, wherever the Golden eagle of the Imperium belonged it had been replaced with the dark alluring emblems of Slaanesh. As she ran her hands down her body, she inspected herself in a mirror in the corrupted ship. It was an excellently crafted mirror and she had stolen it from an Imperial Hive city decades ago, "Mmm, I look perfect for a battle," she said in her seductive, almost whorish tone. Then she moved her hands and grabbed her pair of gilded corrupted power swords and placed them on her hips within their sheathes. Then she did the same with her bolt pistols. Their ship was coming in for the landing, so time for the finishing touches. She grabbed a hooked golden chain and proceeded to pierce a part of her body that was supposed to be covered, but however, due to the heresy involved it will not be mentioned. The portion of her body that had been pierced made the golden strip tight across her chest. Next off, she put on about 8 gold and silver chins, studded with Amethyst and they hummed with dark energy of the warp, the emblem of her God upon her neck. As she stood, it was time for her finishing touch, her hat. She grabbed it and with dramatic flair, put it on her head. As she was doing this, their craft had landed. Then she motioned for her Marines and cultists to follow her and they did with naught but reverence, at least the cultists did.
The Sorcerer continued to stand motionless lay before the ward stone. He was in a trance nearing on hibernation as his mind listened to the immaterial.
The fleet of chaos was arriving, an event he had foreseen. It was required almost. The forces of the false emperor would be engaging them soon. They would be most open to the fury of the daemon he was to release, as it would likely arrive behind the battle lines. Additionally, the combat would push the daemon, its freedom more important as its desire to join the slaughter grew.
His mind withdrew from the future, and focused on the present. The few agents he had were given explicit instructions. Stealth was key. The preparations were almost done.
His mind withdrew to his mortal body once more. His focus had shifted now to his vox unit. His personal ship's long range receiver relaying the imperial communications to him. It wasn't much, but he heard what he needed amongst the traffic of the 14th.
"- missing. Has anyone seen them?"
"-earching the trenches now."
"You too? We're down a man as well."
"No sign of them."
"-ow do we lose seven men from hole in the ground?"
"Eight, and It's a big hole."
"No signs of a fight."
"Probably snuck off for a drink. Send someone to check the cantinas."
"Cantinas? Who says tha-"
He clicked off his vox. No point in wasting mental prowess listening to guardsmen squabble. He heard what he needed. It wouldn't be long before they were actually missed, but by then it would be too late.
He raised his hand above the ward stone, and once again pushed his consciousness beyond his body, and into the immaterial realm, this time seeking to contact the planet daemon. The deal had to be struck before he released it.
The fleet of chaos was arriving, an event he had foreseen. It was required almost. The forces of the false emperor would be engaging them soon. They would be most open to the fury of the daemon he was to release, as it would likely arrive behind the battle lines. Additionally, the combat would push the daemon, its freedom more important as its desire to join the slaughter grew.
His mind withdrew from the future, and focused on the present. The few agents he had were given explicit instructions. Stealth was key. The preparations were almost done.
His mind withdrew to his mortal body once more. His focus had shifted now to his vox unit. His personal ship's long range receiver relaying the imperial communications to him. It wasn't much, but he heard what he needed amongst the traffic of the 14th.
"- missing. Has anyone seen them?"
"-earching the trenches now."
"You too? We're down a man as well."
"No sign of them."
"-ow do we lose seven men from hole in the ground?"
"Eight, and It's a big hole."
"No signs of a fight."
"Probably snuck off for a drink. Send someone to check the cantinas."
"Cantinas? Who says tha-"
He clicked off his vox. No point in wasting mental prowess listening to guardsmen squabble. He heard what he needed. It wouldn't be long before they were actually missed, but by then it would be too late.
He raised his hand above the ward stone, and once again pushed his consciousness beyond his body, and into the immaterial realm, this time seeking to contact the planet daemon. The deal had to be struck before he released it.
A few hours had passed since the meeting between the Imperials. Sergeant Doros had felt himself stuck in stasis as the techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus repaired his tarnished armour and refilled his ammunition stocks. He felt as though they had revered his presence slightly too much when he had entered the ship, bowing before the Marine and showering him with flattering praises as one of the Emperor's angels of death. They were none too happy with the dire state of his power armour however, and he had surely gotten an earful of a few too many lectures. Doros groaned as the Techpriests prepared to return his armour to it's past glory. Not that he did not appreciate it, but he knew too well this was going to take a while.
Now that time had finished his course, and Doros had found a release from this boredom. He emerged once more from the darkness of the ship's interior. Although the Sergeant's face was concealed by his rainbow striped helmet, the body language Doros showed had made it perfectly clear that he was invigorated anew. It felt as though the old glory days had returned; he was ready to bring death the Emperor's enemies.
The Marine caressed the newly fashioned bolter upon it's holster as he stared toward the oncoming dark clouds. It was midday in Sipang, soon the skies would yell with thunder, and unforgiving rain was fall down upon the open field. Doros scoffed with a somewhat macabre, yet humourous feeling. He knew that rain was not going to be the only thing that showered the fields of Triandr. The Rainbow Warrior returned the hillside where he had before spoken to his associates, ignoring the personell running back and forth beside the ship in urgency. He was unsure if they were still there, or if they had gone to man the defences with the rest of the Imperial army. He'd prefer it if they did, for he knew in his heart that the hour was far too late.
---MEANWHILE ABOVE TRIANDR'S ATMOSPHERE---
The Renegade fleet and it's twisted jewel the 'Tartaros' haunted ever closer the dark side of Triandr as the Daemonic parasite atop the bridge let out from it's gaping maw of teeth a thunderous sonic roar toward the planet, shaking the very skies of the world with a terrible noise. To the Imperial forces, the thunder had simply come early. The people of Caritaigne and Eokaroe however were shattered with panic from this booming force from the clouds. It was merely a signal as well as a warning to the cultist spies that lurked within the shadows of the three capitols. The Warband was here, the Rebirth would soon commence.
The interior of the control bridge had been utterly warped by the invading flesh of the Daemonic beast possessing Tartaros. Various reprogrammed servitors and hereteks scurried across the lanes of electronical equipment, operating the cameras out side of the vessel that had not yet been vandalized or had simply fallen into disrepair by the upstart crew. With their tampering of the equipment, they projected a massive image of the planet atop the Daemon's flesh. It had already completely closed off the bridge's viewing window with it's 'guts' (as the had crew called the monster's putrid growths).
Above the control platform stood a massive throne; a mockery of the Corpse-Emperor's own. Unlike the Emperor's however, this throne was a mixture of bronze and carrion flesh of the Chaos Champion's various enemies. Atop the throne's arms were a rack of heads of varying origin: Astartes, Ork, Tyranid Gaunts, including the helmet of a Saim Hann farseer that lay across the very centre. It was below that very head, Cicero sat in that debased seat. One hand impatiently stroking the chin of helmet, the other firmly grasping his looted Singing Spear, now renamed "Screaming Death." His terrible armour bore a coat of orange paint, and his breastplate bore the wings of a phoenix, marking that he was infact the Lord of Rebirth as he called himself. The thoughts of Daemonhood ran rampantly within his mind, soon he would be the master of unimaginable power. A Chosen of the Chaos Gods. His fantasies were soon interrupted however by the barking of his lieutenant and Berzerker Champion: Porthos.
"Champion Cicero!" The bloodthirsty warrior yelled from below. "That weakling servant of Tzeentch Hermes has responded to the signal. His group have given us a direct landing area for our fleet in case we decide to land over the vox."
"What of Arcadius and Uriel's groups? Did they not hear the signal." The Champion inquired with his hoarse and daunting voice.
"I... Don't know, my Champion. Hermes himself had told me that he'd lost contact with Arcadius a few days ago. He assumed Uriel never left Tartaros. Do you want us to send a few scouts back to Eokaroe and Sipang once we land?"
But the Champion merely shook his head. "The Warband of Rebirth has no use for cravens and absentees. I'd be better off assuming they were dead." Cicero objected. "Prepare to land near Capitol Caritaigne. We shall take the native's bastion of power as our very own bulwark of despair."
The Lieutenant nodded violently demanding the hereteks quickly descend upon the planet. He was a slight bit frustrated that one of his fellow berzerkers was now going to be simply assumed dead his leader. He had made sure that Uriel's incompetence did not derail his mission, it seemed that it had failed. Once he found that Slaaneshi worshipping deviant, he was going to a new excess in violence... and at his very expense!
'And what of that fallen whore and her band of Deviants that accompanied the fleet!?' Porthos asked himself. 'Would she be the same? Seeking her own vain excess over a real victory!?' Porthos would have objected, for he obviously did not trust the Slaaneshi Inquisitor. Objection would get him killed however, for Cicero was known aboard the fleet for choosing to eliminate those who sowed the seeds of discontent. But the Lieutenant was diligent, and had swore that by the time the Daemonic ritual had been complete, it would be he, not Cicero, that earned the ascension of Daemonhood. And when that time came, all of Triandr would break under the chosen of the Blood God!
But that time was not now, and Porthos knew that well as he trod over the rusted steel of the rotting hallways, back to his own chambers of blood.
Now that time had finished his course, and Doros had found a release from this boredom. He emerged once more from the darkness of the ship's interior. Although the Sergeant's face was concealed by his rainbow striped helmet, the body language Doros showed had made it perfectly clear that he was invigorated anew. It felt as though the old glory days had returned; he was ready to bring death the Emperor's enemies.
The Marine caressed the newly fashioned bolter upon it's holster as he stared toward the oncoming dark clouds. It was midday in Sipang, soon the skies would yell with thunder, and unforgiving rain was fall down upon the open field. Doros scoffed with a somewhat macabre, yet humourous feeling. He knew that rain was not going to be the only thing that showered the fields of Triandr. The Rainbow Warrior returned the hillside where he had before spoken to his associates, ignoring the personell running back and forth beside the ship in urgency. He was unsure if they were still there, or if they had gone to man the defences with the rest of the Imperial army. He'd prefer it if they did, for he knew in his heart that the hour was far too late.
---MEANWHILE ABOVE TRIANDR'S ATMOSPHERE---
The Renegade fleet and it's twisted jewel the 'Tartaros' haunted ever closer the dark side of Triandr as the Daemonic parasite atop the bridge let out from it's gaping maw of teeth a thunderous sonic roar toward the planet, shaking the very skies of the world with a terrible noise. To the Imperial forces, the thunder had simply come early. The people of Caritaigne and Eokaroe however were shattered with panic from this booming force from the clouds. It was merely a signal as well as a warning to the cultist spies that lurked within the shadows of the three capitols. The Warband was here, the Rebirth would soon commence.
The interior of the control bridge had been utterly warped by the invading flesh of the Daemonic beast possessing Tartaros. Various reprogrammed servitors and hereteks scurried across the lanes of electronical equipment, operating the cameras out side of the vessel that had not yet been vandalized or had simply fallen into disrepair by the upstart crew. With their tampering of the equipment, they projected a massive image of the planet atop the Daemon's flesh. It had already completely closed off the bridge's viewing window with it's 'guts' (as the had crew called the monster's putrid growths).
Above the control platform stood a massive throne; a mockery of the Corpse-Emperor's own. Unlike the Emperor's however, this throne was a mixture of bronze and carrion flesh of the Chaos Champion's various enemies. Atop the throne's arms were a rack of heads of varying origin: Astartes, Ork, Tyranid Gaunts, including the helmet of a Saim Hann farseer that lay across the very centre. It was below that very head, Cicero sat in that debased seat. One hand impatiently stroking the chin of helmet, the other firmly grasping his looted Singing Spear, now renamed "Screaming Death." His terrible armour bore a coat of orange paint, and his breastplate bore the wings of a phoenix, marking that he was infact the Lord of Rebirth as he called himself. The thoughts of Daemonhood ran rampantly within his mind, soon he would be the master of unimaginable power. A Chosen of the Chaos Gods. His fantasies were soon interrupted however by the barking of his lieutenant and Berzerker Champion: Porthos.
"Champion Cicero!" The bloodthirsty warrior yelled from below. "That weakling servant of Tzeentch Hermes has responded to the signal. His group have given us a direct landing area for our fleet in case we decide to land over the vox."
"What of Arcadius and Uriel's groups? Did they not hear the signal." The Champion inquired with his hoarse and daunting voice.
"I... Don't know, my Champion. Hermes himself had told me that he'd lost contact with Arcadius a few days ago. He assumed Uriel never left Tartaros. Do you want us to send a few scouts back to Eokaroe and Sipang once we land?"
But the Champion merely shook his head. "The Warband of Rebirth has no use for cravens and absentees. I'd be better off assuming they were dead." Cicero objected. "Prepare to land near Capitol Caritaigne. We shall take the native's bastion of power as our very own bulwark of despair."
The Lieutenant nodded violently demanding the hereteks quickly descend upon the planet. He was a slight bit frustrated that one of his fellow berzerkers was now going to be simply assumed dead his leader. He had made sure that Uriel's incompetence did not derail his mission, it seemed that it had failed. Once he found that Slaaneshi worshipping deviant, he was going to a new excess in violence... and at his very expense!
'And what of that fallen whore and her band of Deviants that accompanied the fleet!?' Porthos asked himself. 'Would she be the same? Seeking her own vain excess over a real victory!?' Porthos would have objected, for he obviously did not trust the Slaaneshi Inquisitor. Objection would get him killed however, for Cicero was known aboard the fleet for choosing to eliminate those who sowed the seeds of discontent. But the Lieutenant was diligent, and had swore that by the time the Daemonic ritual had been complete, it would be he, not Cicero, that earned the ascension of Daemonhood. And when that time came, all of Triandr would break under the chosen of the Blood God!
But that time was not now, and Porthos knew that well as he trod over the rusted steel of the rotting hallways, back to his own chambers of blood.
The commissar was preparing his men to fire. Radio silence had been the new rule among them as the enemy had their own Voxs for the guardsmen to contend with. As the roar echoed through the skies and very essence of this planet, the men stayed steadfast. Those in the city, the 14th, had prepared to kill any cultists that may appear. Lasguns trained into the town form the walls. on the main bulwark of the castle wall however, was another layer of heavy bolters and Lascannons. They had single handedly turned this place from a fortress of a corrupted king into a wall of energy and steel for the enemy to confront. The commissar got over the loud speaker system that had been set up as well, it is how they will be passing orders for the rest of the fight. As of now, it will be used for inspiration.
"Men and women of the Imperium, hear me. As you may know, A warband of the Ruinous powers is about attack us. However, they do not know who we are, we are the people of our Immortal God Emperor's great Imperial guard. We are his hammer. With his guiding touch, Our lasers and rounds will hit true, with his guide, our blades will rend and cut their flesh. As we prepare this field of battle for death, remember. You are men and Women of Foruscia as well. When the Wretched greenskins attacked, you did not bend your knees, when the World Eater's struck, did we fall, no. We will act as the wall that will stop them. As long as you hold your ground and stand fast men, we will not falter and we will not fail. Prepare our air defenses to eliminate as many as we can before they land...once they break atmosphere, send them back to meet their masters." Silently, the Commissar prayed that the Cadian or Mordian fleet would arrive in time to assist them.
Varus called a meeting with Cicero and his cronies on the surface of the little hunk of all powerful rock known as Triandr. It coursed with natural energy, as her lord had mentioned breifly, but along with that were darker ones subverting and changing themselves to their whims. She also detected the presence of another of her breed, a psyker. As her ship began its landing procedures, she thought long about who it would have been.
"Men and women of the Imperium, hear me. As you may know, A warband of the Ruinous powers is about attack us. However, they do not know who we are, we are the people of our Immortal God Emperor's great Imperial guard. We are his hammer. With his guiding touch, Our lasers and rounds will hit true, with his guide, our blades will rend and cut their flesh. As we prepare this field of battle for death, remember. You are men and Women of Foruscia as well. When the Wretched greenskins attacked, you did not bend your knees, when the World Eater's struck, did we fall, no. We will act as the wall that will stop them. As long as you hold your ground and stand fast men, we will not falter and we will not fail. Prepare our air defenses to eliminate as many as we can before they land...once they break atmosphere, send them back to meet their masters." Silently, the Commissar prayed that the Cadian or Mordian fleet would arrive in time to assist them.
---In unnamed ship of the Fallen Inquisitor Varus---
Varus called a meeting with Cicero and his cronies on the surface of the little hunk of all powerful rock known as Triandr. It coursed with natural energy, as her lord had mentioned breifly, but along with that were darker ones subverting and changing themselves to their whims. She also detected the presence of another of her breed, a psyker. As her ship began its landing procedures, she thought long about who it would have been.
Within the empyrean his soul stood before the daemon world spirit.
"What is it you offer?"
"Freedom."
"And your demands?"
"Nothing, beyond non-interference with myself, and my Lord's plans. Direct, or indirect. Slaughter anyone else. Spill blood for who ever you wish... Or run back to the ether. As I said, I offer you freedom."
"Tempting, but what if I refuse?"
"Then I pry you out of this hole, and cast you back to oblivion... A task you are more then aware I am capable of."
"Bold words... Empty threats."
The shriek of the possessed ship tore across the world then, the cry echoing through the warp.
"You see? The fight begins soon. And you languish here. What would the mighty blood God think of you shirking away from combat? His servant fighting to stay in his prison when the blood of the worthy calls to be spilled? Skulls not even attempted for? Is that what yo-"
"SILENCE! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU QUESTION MY LOYALTY!"
"Then we have a deal?"
"Yes. Free me, servant of Tzeentch. Let me answer the call to slaughter! I will leave you and yours to plot and scheme uncontested."
"Excellent. I have even seen to provide a suitable body that you might exploit. Eight souls will mark its location, sacrifices to light your way... And fuel your bloodlust. We shall wait for the first shots of war... And then, I will unlock your prison."
His soul returned to his material body. He clicked his vox unit back on, and listened.
"What is it you offer?"
"Freedom."
"And your demands?"
"Nothing, beyond non-interference with myself, and my Lord's plans. Direct, or indirect. Slaughter anyone else. Spill blood for who ever you wish... Or run back to the ether. As I said, I offer you freedom."
"Tempting, but what if I refuse?"
"Then I pry you out of this hole, and cast you back to oblivion... A task you are more then aware I am capable of."
"Bold words... Empty threats."
The shriek of the possessed ship tore across the world then, the cry echoing through the warp.
"You see? The fight begins soon. And you languish here. What would the mighty blood God think of you shirking away from combat? His servant fighting to stay in his prison when the blood of the worthy calls to be spilled? Skulls not even attempted for? Is that what yo-"
"SILENCE! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU QUESTION MY LOYALTY!"
"Then we have a deal?"
"Yes. Free me, servant of Tzeentch. Let me answer the call to slaughter! I will leave you and yours to plot and scheme uncontested."
"Excellent. I have even seen to provide a suitable body that you might exploit. Eight souls will mark its location, sacrifices to light your way... And fuel your bloodlust. We shall wait for the first shots of war... And then, I will unlock your prison."
His soul returned to his material body. He clicked his vox unit back on, and listened.
Doros immediately turned his attention to the clouded sky as the Daemonic roar reared it's ugly head. The ground seemed to shake at the sound of unholy thunder. Time was running out, The Space Marine realized as he quickly stomped back to Sipang's new Bulwark, surveying the defences. The castle was armed to the teeth, every space on the castle wall, every window or arrow slit seemed to have been either occupied or replaced by either a heavy bolter or lascannon; he held no doubt the guardsmen would have been inspired by the Commissar's speech that echoed above the castle. The newly reinforced castle gates opened as Doros approached and the guardsmen within had welcomed him inside. The engines of Imperial Basilisks and the sergeants barking orders to their men seemed to invade the Veteran's ears, until he finally approached on of them:
"I must speak with the Major." Doros sounded rather urgent as he spoke to the Foruscian sergeant. "Do you have any idea where I could find him?" The rain had just started, and already it seemed to shower the streets with larger, unclean puddles.
---Cicero's POV---
Cicero had now landed upon the unkempt fields of Caritaigne. The Daemonic creature that had attached itself to Tartaros had lathered it's rotting limbs across the vessel as the engine functioned no longer. There was an assortment of deserted stable houses nearby the landing area, although the fearful primitives would have probably scurried off terrified anyway, this placed just seemed to feel strangely quiet, devoid of life. Awaiting the Chaos Champion was Hermes, the only survivor of Triandr's scouts. A devious grin of delight had painted itself across the cultist's ravaged mouth, even in the daunting face of the Chaos Champion.
Cicero eyed the cultist well for a moment before turning his head as he walked toward one of the other vessels, leaving Hermes' devilish smile with a rather confused frown. Cicero had another matter to attend to, for the Slaaneshi seductress that had volunteered for his fearsome warband had wished an audience. With a retinue of Chaos Space Marines, bearing the same colour and markings of rebirth as he did, Cicero waited for the fallen inquisitor to finally emerge from her vessel. Hopefully she would not keep him waiting.
"I must speak with the Major." Doros sounded rather urgent as he spoke to the Foruscian sergeant. "Do you have any idea where I could find him?" The rain had just started, and already it seemed to shower the streets with larger, unclean puddles.
---Cicero's POV---
Cicero had now landed upon the unkempt fields of Caritaigne. The Daemonic creature that had attached itself to Tartaros had lathered it's rotting limbs across the vessel as the engine functioned no longer. There was an assortment of deserted stable houses nearby the landing area, although the fearful primitives would have probably scurried off terrified anyway, this placed just seemed to feel strangely quiet, devoid of life. Awaiting the Chaos Champion was Hermes, the only survivor of Triandr's scouts. A devious grin of delight had painted itself across the cultist's ravaged mouth, even in the daunting face of the Chaos Champion.
Cicero eyed the cultist well for a moment before turning his head as he walked toward one of the other vessels, leaving Hermes' devilish smile with a rather confused frown. Cicero had another matter to attend to, for the Slaaneshi seductress that had volunteered for his fearsome warband had wished an audience. With a retinue of Chaos Space Marines, bearing the same colour and markings of rebirth as he did, Cicero waited for the fallen inquisitor to finally emerge from her vessel. Hopefully she would not keep him waiting.
The burn scarred Guardsmen looked at the blue clad warrior and pointed to the keep. "I believe he will be writhing the keep Space Marine," Then the Guardsmen saluted the Space Marine. "thank you for all of your aid in the coming battle, may the Emperor guide your hand,"
The Commissar moved quickly to the line of battle and looked at the Doros with a smile. "Seeking the Major, fine, I will lead you to him, come Space Marine," then the Commissar turned and began to walk to the keep.
Varus' view
Varus took her sweet time, knowing that cicero would have to wait endlessly if she so pleased. about 15 minutes later, she emerged with her company of Noise Marines behind her. A confident smirk on her face as she did and overly dramatic, even taunting bow. "Cicero," She said plainly while smiling. Then she looked at his cohorts and smiled. "mmm, we shall indulge soon in the pleasure of battle my ally... my Lord has deemed it fit to bestow his mark upon you and your men, should you want it of course... now that I have told you that, what is your battle plan Cicero?"
The Commissar moved quickly to the line of battle and looked at the Doros with a smile. "Seeking the Major, fine, I will lead you to him, come Space Marine," then the Commissar turned and began to walk to the keep.
Varus' view
Varus took her sweet time, knowing that cicero would have to wait endlessly if she so pleased. about 15 minutes later, she emerged with her company of Noise Marines behind her. A confident smirk on her face as she did and overly dramatic, even taunting bow. "Cicero," She said plainly while smiling. Then she looked at his cohorts and smiled. "mmm, we shall indulge soon in the pleasure of battle my ally... my Lord has deemed it fit to bestow his mark upon you and your men, should you want it of course... now that I have told you that, what is your battle plan Cicero?"
Inaros continued to stand in the ancient chamber. There was little to do at the moment, beyond waiting to unleash the monster. He could sense the daemon's rage and blood lust, and it's frustration at the delay.
The Sorcerer Lord drifted slowly into a loose meditative state, knowing once the fighting began that little time would be found for rest. He deliberately avoided delving into the warp, lest he tempt the daemon's wrath by accident.
Meanwhile, else where in the ruins:
Two of the planets residents were navigating the ancient stone halls. With them, a stone sarcophagus. The container was carried on a plain metal platform that hovered about a foot off the floor. Two hand held flashlights rested on the sarcophagus, illuminating the otherwise black halls. The ancient coffin was adorned with once intricate stone carvings. Time had scoured most of them into unrecognizable shapes and blobs, but their seemed a discernible repeating pattern of nine different blobs.
The two were members of the small cult Inaros had formed on the planet. The only other members were with the kidnapped imperials and Berzerker corpse. In truth, Inaros hadn't really bothered with learning any of their names. They were expendable labor. Of the two in the ruins, he thought one of them may have been named Stephen and the other Larry? Or Garry.
The two had been given explicit directions to have the sarcophagus in the room with the ward stone in one hour. That was two hours and 47 minutes ago.
MaybeStephen: "He's going to kill us."
LarryOrGarry: "I don't know..."
MS: "What unknown is there? He said one hour and it's been near three."
LOG: "We've been late before... And he didn't kill us then. In fact, we have never been on time delivering anything. But... You know it's like we don't show up after it was needed."
MS: "You know now that you mention it... We do seem to show up exactly when we were needed... If we'd shown up on time we'd have been way early. Plus it's not like we do it on purpose. Things just happen. Delays."
LOG: "You think the times are arbitrary? Or that he like plans for it? You know like here's a secret buffer time for just in case, or does he know how long each delay will take?"
MS: "Has to be the buffer time. Just adds like two hours to his needed time or something. I mean how could he possibly know those stupid or trivial little things would happen. I mean some weird things have held us up. You don't use mystic powers to precisely map out two guys getting lost... Its just such a waste."
LOG: "I guess... I mean he probably scouted out these halls, and realized we would need to physically alter some of the turns and door ways. Maybe just guessed at us getting lost..."
The power on the lift carrying the sarcophagus suddenly cut off, causing the entire thing to slam to the ground. The crash echoed into the dark passages. A flashlight, resting on top fell to the floor, bounced, then started rolling.
MS: "What the-?"
LarryOrGarry tried clicking the activation controls a few times. "Power ran out. Guess we were taking to long. You want to go back, or me?"
MS: "He knows. He knows it all."
LOG: "What? Of course he does. A deaf man would have heard that."
MaybeStephen shook his head. "No. Look. On the floor." The dislodged flashlight had finished moving. It's beam illuminating a replacement power cell for the cargo platform.
The Sorcerer Lord drifted slowly into a loose meditative state, knowing once the fighting began that little time would be found for rest. He deliberately avoided delving into the warp, lest he tempt the daemon's wrath by accident.
Meanwhile, else where in the ruins:
Two of the planets residents were navigating the ancient stone halls. With them, a stone sarcophagus. The container was carried on a plain metal platform that hovered about a foot off the floor. Two hand held flashlights rested on the sarcophagus, illuminating the otherwise black halls. The ancient coffin was adorned with once intricate stone carvings. Time had scoured most of them into unrecognizable shapes and blobs, but their seemed a discernible repeating pattern of nine different blobs.
The two were members of the small cult Inaros had formed on the planet. The only other members were with the kidnapped imperials and Berzerker corpse. In truth, Inaros hadn't really bothered with learning any of their names. They were expendable labor. Of the two in the ruins, he thought one of them may have been named Stephen and the other Larry? Or Garry.
The two had been given explicit directions to have the sarcophagus in the room with the ward stone in one hour. That was two hours and 47 minutes ago.
MaybeStephen: "He's going to kill us."
LarryOrGarry: "I don't know..."
MS: "What unknown is there? He said one hour and it's been near three."
LOG: "We've been late before... And he didn't kill us then. In fact, we have never been on time delivering anything. But... You know it's like we don't show up after it was needed."
MS: "You know now that you mention it... We do seem to show up exactly when we were needed... If we'd shown up on time we'd have been way early. Plus it's not like we do it on purpose. Things just happen. Delays."
LOG: "You think the times are arbitrary? Or that he like plans for it? You know like here's a secret buffer time for just in case, or does he know how long each delay will take?"
MS: "Has to be the buffer time. Just adds like two hours to his needed time or something. I mean how could he possibly know those stupid or trivial little things would happen. I mean some weird things have held us up. You don't use mystic powers to precisely map out two guys getting lost... Its just such a waste."
LOG: "I guess... I mean he probably scouted out these halls, and realized we would need to physically alter some of the turns and door ways. Maybe just guessed at us getting lost..."
The power on the lift carrying the sarcophagus suddenly cut off, causing the entire thing to slam to the ground. The crash echoed into the dark passages. A flashlight, resting on top fell to the floor, bounced, then started rolling.
MS: "What the-?"
LarryOrGarry tried clicking the activation controls a few times. "Power ran out. Guess we were taking to long. You want to go back, or me?"
MS: "He knows. He knows it all."
LOG: "What? Of course he does. A deaf man would have heard that."
MaybeStephen shook his head. "No. Look. On the floor." The dislodged flashlight had finished moving. It's beam illuminating a replacement power cell for the cargo platform.
"Likewise sergeant." Doros muttered with a kindly nod at the veteran guardsman. It was merely a moment then that the marine noticed the Commissar approach and show him the way. Without a word, Doros followed on behind; the rain spat and showered on his polished armour as he stomped through the thick puddles that seemed increase in size as the seconds passed. "What is the situation then, Commissar?" Doros' words were somewhat dampened by the sound of raindrops. "Do you perhaps know where the Major wants me stationed?" He asked as he looked up toward the gate of the Keep which had been completely remade and reinforced, similar to the castle entrance.
---Cicero's POV---
A battle plan? Cicero had not actually made plans for combat. In fact, before arriving in the system he expected have this ritual done by the day's end. This rabble, though a terror-inducing bunch indeed, were here only to fend off the local armies, which were no more than primitive peasants. Now from what he heard over the Vox that an Imperial army waited for him on the other side of the world, the Chaos Champion knew that he would have to come to a contingency. It took a moment for Cicero to think, and in that time Porthos had arrived at the informal meeting, eager to know the Champion's plans. Although he had slain a farseer in battle, he was not a genius.
The Champion hummed for a moment in thought to Varus' question, before mumbling his plan. "If the servants of the false-Emperor are here waiting for us to strike, then they would have likely set up a fortified defence." He stated whilst digging his spear 'Screaming Death' into the ground. His voice was calm and brooding, yet terribly hoarse and aged. "An all out charge will surely be disastrous, I believe we should thin out the ranks of the Imperials through a mixture of infiltration and attrition. We must use whatever remaining scouts we having among our ranks to find key chinks in the Imperial defence. Once these key points have been found, I will have Tartaros take flight and bombard this loyalist bulwark until it's defences have been severely weakened, then the slaughter will begin."
It was quite easy to note that Cicero was very sour as he explained his plans on the spot, for he knew that his desire for ascension would have to wait. If left unchecked, the Imperial defences would only grow.
---Cicero's POV---
A battle plan? Cicero had not actually made plans for combat. In fact, before arriving in the system he expected have this ritual done by the day's end. This rabble, though a terror-inducing bunch indeed, were here only to fend off the local armies, which were no more than primitive peasants. Now from what he heard over the Vox that an Imperial army waited for him on the other side of the world, the Chaos Champion knew that he would have to come to a contingency. It took a moment for Cicero to think, and in that time Porthos had arrived at the informal meeting, eager to know the Champion's plans. Although he had slain a farseer in battle, he was not a genius.
The Champion hummed for a moment in thought to Varus' question, before mumbling his plan. "If the servants of the false-Emperor are here waiting for us to strike, then they would have likely set up a fortified defence." He stated whilst digging his spear 'Screaming Death' into the ground. His voice was calm and brooding, yet terribly hoarse and aged. "An all out charge will surely be disastrous, I believe we should thin out the ranks of the Imperials through a mixture of infiltration and attrition. We must use whatever remaining scouts we having among our ranks to find key chinks in the Imperial defence. Once these key points have been found, I will have Tartaros take flight and bombard this loyalist bulwark until it's defences have been severely weakened, then the slaughter will begin."
It was quite easy to note that Cicero was very sour as he explained his plans on the spot, for he knew that his desire for ascension would have to wait. If left unchecked, the Imperial defences would only grow.
The Commissar looked at the man. "from what I understand, you will be used as a QRF, when there is a breach, you will be sent to reinforce the line and hold back any hostiles until it can be sealed... a dangerous assignment," The Commissar said while turning to look at Doros with a frown. then he looked up at the rain and smiled. "The Emperor is in the rain... the mud will slow their charge," he commented, looking at the battlefield.
Varus' View
HAna looked at the other corrupted warrior and smiled,. "Should be lovely, shall we start the sweet cacophony of War?" she asked him. "If we are, I can not wait to listen,"
Varus' View
HAna looked at the other corrupted warrior and smiled,. "Should be lovely, shall we start the sweet cacophony of War?" she asked him. "If we are, I can not wait to listen,"
The two... Cultists? Sure why not. They didn't exactly fit the typical description of the religious fanatics of the ruinous powers. But then on a planet dominated by the influence of a greater daemon of Khorn... You kind of had to take what you could.
MaybeStephen and LarryOrGarry had swapped the power cell on the cargo platform and resumed their journey. At present, they were using hammers and chisels to widen one of the ancient door ways.
MS: "You think he knows like every little detail? Like what we're saying?"
LOG: "I dunno. Maybe... I really don't want to think about it. Not just some one listening... But that these word were preordained?" He shuddered. "I just want to be done with this, so He can do whatever it is he wants to do, and then we can leave with him."
MS gassed stopped chipping away at the old stone, looking at the ceiling, contemplating his friends words. "Do you think we asked to little?"
LOG: "What?"
MS: "All the others. They went head first into the deep end. Screaming their loyalties and hoping to curry favor... They wanted power... And he has access to it. Maybe he can grant it."
LOG: "...83 members. You remember that? That's how many people originally were here. Us included. And we're down to what? 11? Seems to me we asked for just enough."
MS: "I suppose... You Don't think we're going to see those other nine guys, are we?"
LOG: "No."
MS started chiseling again. "I just hope he keeps his word. Gets us off this planet."
LOG: "It would be a nice change of pace. I think the chances are good. We're not dead yet..."
The sound of chiseling ended, and the two started on again.
MaybeStephen and LarryOrGarry had swapped the power cell on the cargo platform and resumed their journey. At present, they were using hammers and chisels to widen one of the ancient door ways.
MS: "You think he knows like every little detail? Like what we're saying?"
LOG: "I dunno. Maybe... I really don't want to think about it. Not just some one listening... But that these word were preordained?" He shuddered. "I just want to be done with this, so He can do whatever it is he wants to do, and then we can leave with him."
MS gassed stopped chipping away at the old stone, looking at the ceiling, contemplating his friends words. "Do you think we asked to little?"
LOG: "What?"
MS: "All the others. They went head first into the deep end. Screaming their loyalties and hoping to curry favor... They wanted power... And he has access to it. Maybe he can grant it."
LOG: "...83 members. You remember that? That's how many people originally were here. Us included. And we're down to what? 11? Seems to me we asked for just enough."
MS: "I suppose... You Don't think we're going to see those other nine guys, are we?"
LOG: "No."
MS started chiseling again. "I just hope he keeps his word. Gets us off this planet."
LOG: "It would be a nice change of pace. I think the chances are good. We're not dead yet..."
The sound of chiseling ended, and the two started on again.
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