“You are hideously incompatible to be working with me,” Isoran droned, long robes whipping about as he hovered from one place to another within the ship. Tentacles appeared from his robes, all of them blessedly missing any of the mutations common in his brothers. The mechadendrites began to manipulate various devices within the Enginarium. “You have only had ten percent of an upgrade. This will never do to have such an inferior aiding me in my delicate work. Do you even know how to calibrate the Warp engines during an emergency storm breaking out within the Immaterium without upsetting the Gellar Field to cause catastrophic overload?” his head finally turned about to focus on Melissa with this last question. Melissa blinked a few times at the hypothetical set up, “I… n-no… my masters in the Mechanicus only trusted me with servitor maintenance and repair.” She mumbled, a bit surprised at just how similar this traitor was to the majority of the Martian Priesthood – mechanical arrogance at its finest. “Do you know how to create a servitor at least?” there almost seemed to be an edge of exasperation in Isoran’s voice – the mechadendrites continuing the work the heretek had began. “Well, yes, but I don’t have the proper -.” “Good. Once we dock in Hell’s Iris you will awaken the servitors you brought with you, and you and I shall venture out to see if we might be able to haggle with one of the flesh-merchants there. We’ll need to eliminate the mutations… but I’m sure with a bit of work we can create stable servitors,” Isoran interrupted, turning back to his work. “Wait, Hell’s Iris? But that’s in the Maelstrom,” Melissa muttered, part horror and part fascination. “Precisely, it’s also the best place for Captain Telemachus to get what supplies he requires and for his future missions, which I can only guess at,” he turned again. “I suppose I’ll have to teach you the process for implanting geneseed as well…” ~~ “Hell’s Iris? Telemachus – we have nothing to trade for supplies, we have nowhere near enough flesh to trade for ammunition, let alone parts for refitting,” Coryphaus spat, folding his arms over his chest and glowering at his Captain. Telemachus was just smiling at Coryphaus’ tirade – the image stretching burned flesh and showing off a varying assortment of needle fangs, the ragged slits of his nose wheezed with every breath he took. “It’s simple, witch. I chose the Maelstrom for a single reason – The Blackheart is not going to be at Hell’s Iris when we arrive,” Telemachus rose up, walking down the steps of his command throne and gestured for Coryphaus to follow. “You see, I had put this into plan as soon as we locked onto the ship bearing the future of our small warband. “Remember when we were on Sympathis V? You felt the astropathic message crying out, correct?” Telemachus glanced at Coryphaus who only nodded his head slightly. “Well, I forced the astropaths there to transmit a message – one that would have been received by the Blackheart and his forces just as we were materializing from the Warp in pursuit of our quarry. The message was simple, a bluff – but one the Tyrant would fall over himself for in his greed: a transportation of a Founding’s worth of geneseed.” The two Night Lords had walked into the ringing vault of the training room – Hapshan and Iaxus were stripped down to a pair of baggy, ragged pants and were dueling with knives. Hapshan’s large body was quivering and smeared in waterfalls of crimson whereas Iaxus was completely unharmed – the only blood on him from the gouting wounds inflicted on his enemy. Telemachus paused to watch, Coryphaus at his side as he digested his brother’s words, “At the same time, the sent out another message to the Imperium. The exact coordinates the Tyrant will find. This message was of an emergent Chaos battlefleet comprised of Traitor Astartes. The Tyrant will arrive near the same time as the Imperial fleet, to the Tyrant this will look like a heavily guarded shipment of precious geneseed – enough to swell his forces to a size and scope of nigh unrivaled proportions. To the Imperial fleet, well, they will find exactly what they expect to find. “The Tyrant will have left enough forces behind to maintain order in Hell’s Iris in the face of the few mutant and renegade lords who still live within his realm. Before we fully arrive I plan to incite those lords to rebellion – letting them marshal their wounded pride and anger and unleash themselves upon the Iris. Then we arrive, we offer our services to the forces of the Blackheart on the condition we get the supplies we need. The Tyrant has the seditious forces within his realm exposed, we have our supplies, his fleet and an Imperial fleet are severely wounded… it’s win-win-win for us,” Telemachus smiled at Coryphaus. “What do you think, sorcerer?” Coryphaus blinked, looking at Telemachus curiously, “I think you should have joined the Alpha Legion with a mind as twisted as that. “ Telemachus only barked with laughter, a fierce grin on his face. (( Short and no choices for today! Just some filler that I didn't want to have go overly long. 6/19 is the next update - that will probably be when you'll have choices to decide upon! ))
They broke out of the Warp only a few days later, the Cruor Redemptor hidden amongst the stars – a darker shape against the expanse of the void as it lurked just outside the range of the auspex of Hell’s Iris. The rusting hulk of the star fort was an impressive sight, Telemachus and Coryphaus stared at it through the viewscreen of the Redemptor. “I’m not seeing a fort locked in the grip of civil war, brother,” Coryphaus remarked after a few moments. Gritting his fangs, Telemachus jammed a finger onto a vox button. “Isoran!” he snapped, sending spittle flying. “Boost our array, see if you can pick up vox communications from the Iris,” Telemachus didn’t wait for a reply, glaring straight ahead. He was expecting fire bursting from destruction, corpses to be floating in space. Death and chaos. “There’s not enough ships in the docks for the Tyrant to be here…” “If he ever left, brother,” Coryphaus said softly. “It could be that he remained behind while entrusting the attack to one of his lieutenants.” Telemachus just glared at Coryphaus, fingers curling and uncurling – forming a fist as he struggled not to punch his brother. He couldn’t fault him for being right… but that logic didn’t factor into his anger over his plan apparently being foiled. “Why is that pitiful excuse for a servitor taking so-“ Gunshots suddenly crackled over the ship’s vox systems. Screams of pain and bestial roars of anger and hatred. Telemachus grinned fiercely as soon as he heard the sounds of war, “Well, this sounds promising.” Telemachus chuckled, leaning forward with his hands on the command railing around his throne. “… Tyrant’s Guards holding… Dark Gods… *bzzt*…” screaming ended the channel, a new one suddenly opening with a different speaker. “Krom is taking one of them on… I think he can hold the Marine, but we need more supporting fire!” Telemachus punched the button, “Isoran – lock on that last signal and prepare the Teleportarium.” With his customary lack of care, Telemachus switched the vox to contacting all units within the Redemptor. “Sons of Nostramo, serfs of the Redemptor, this is Captain Telemachus of 6th Claw, 10th Company speaking to all of you. We are preparing to go into battle, those who can fight make your way to the armoury – those who cannot remain behind with whatever weapons you can find. To my brothers… I hope you’ve wondered what it feels like to be an Atramentar. Ave Dominus Nox.” Telemachus cut the channel and started moving, Coryphaus following behind. “I hope you’re not too weak to wear the terminator armour.” “Well, we’ll see when we board Hell’s Iris,” Coryphaus said with a chuckle. “I hope my cloak is still intact,” he mused to himself. As Telemachus and Coryphaus arrived they found a gathering of nearly one hundred of the most fit looking mortal serfs standing near the unarmoured forms of the remainder of the 6th Claw. Telemachus swept his gaze across the gathering before nodding his head and stalking in, “You’ll pick from the Legion Cache to the right, mortals. The weapons will work, but take nothing you don’t think you can understand how to use. 6th Claw – armour up, we’ll be going against the remainder of the Red Corsairs and any mutants who can’t tell the difference from red and midnight blue. I want all of you to return from this so I don’t have to recruit a thin-blooded feral worlder in your stead. We Stand in Midnight Clad, brothers – let’s show these mewling whelps how the first Legions did it.” There were dark chuckles and a bellow of joy from Hapshan before 6th Claw began to aid each other in armouring themselves. When they had finished they were gathered around in their armour, towering above the mortal serfs who wore a hodgepodge of flak armour and carried weapons from the Great Crusade to more modern patterns. Coryphaus swept his cloak of skulls and helmets across his back, securing it in place before signaling over the vox, “I’m beginning to regret wearing this…” Telemachus just laughed darkly, “Think of it this way, I won’t be able to throw you in the way of bolt rounds, now.” Telemachus turned, addressing the mortal serfs, “You will be journeying to the deck of Hell’s Iris, your job is to kill those who attempt to attack us. Do not worry yourselves about the enemy Space Marines, unless you have a melta you won’t be doing anything to them. Stay behind us, cover us, and you’ll be rewarded – tonight you stand with the 8th Legion as warriors. So don’t mess this up.” With that heartwarming sentiment the mortal serfs and the terminator-clad marines left the armoury to the teleportarium. Isoran glanced up as they arrived, his single eye whirring and clicking before he waved to Melissa to move out of the way as he began setting everything he needed to in motion, “Captain Telemachus – there’s been a, ah, a shift in the battle.” Melissa mumbled, glaring at Isoran for forcing her to be the bearer of bad news. Telemachus turned to face her, and she flinched from the glare she could feel from beneath the lenses of his helm. “A small detachment of Corsairs have arrived to support those left behind, right now they’re in a deadlock. How should we proceed?” (( A bit late! Forgot that I had things to do yesterday that ate up my time. So here we are! Choices: A) Support the Corsairs, earn the favour of the Tyrant. B) Support the rebels and gain their aid in refitting the Redemptor. Voting will close on Tuesday 6/24 at 1pm EST ))
Asmodeus snarled, a thick and wet sound as he watched the Tyrant’s Guard, his Tyrant’s Guard, be forced into a standstill by the rebellious scum that swarmed over Hell’s Iris. The former Dark Angel prowled, thick tongue lapping at the fangs that dominated his mouth. “How are they losing?” he roared, causing the mutant mortal attendants to quail at the rage of the Steward. He turned, glaring amongst the quivering creatures before hoisting one up to send flying across the hall. The attendant shattered against one of the marble pillars that decked the room, a boneless heap crumpled on the ground. “Well?” he roared, turning to fix the remaining ones with his pure black eyes. One hesitated, before stepping forward meekly, “My… My Lord, the insurgents struck without warning and completely organized. We weren’t picking anything up, either through our astropaths or our vox thieves…” Asmodeus growled low again, black pinions snapping against his back as he turned away from them to flip through the holo picters, watching different scenes of war. He paused, staring at one intently as the air flickered wildly before there was a bright flash – then the screaming began. ~~ Telemachus drove his glaive through the back of a rather large beastman, lifting it on high and activating the roaring toothed chains of the weapon. It exploded in a welter of gore and screams of torment. He slashed the weapon, causing the beastman to spin through the air before bringing the roaring blades down onto the spot between the neck and shoulder of a bulbous mutant. Pus, bone and blood spurted from the wound. Hapshan grabbed one wiry mutant, grinning behind his mask. It was a weak thing, one he could have lifted easily without his armour. The spines that were crushed against its body would have been the only inconvenience. The brutish warrior magnified the noise from his vox, and shrieked. The mutant spasmed, blood gushing from its nose, eyes, and ears before its skull just exploded. He laughed, the sound still magnified, as he tossed the corpse aside. Armour bloody, the big marine stomped forward – his fists doing the work his gun could not. Iaxus moved behind the bigger warrior, power sword and chainsword held in either hand. The smallest of the Night Lords was carving a red ruin through the enemies that Hapshan’s fists ignored. He buried the roaring chainsword in the gut of one mutant, a former soldier, causing the man to spasm and writhe as he died. His power sword clove a woman in ragged robes in half, cauterizing the wound instantly. Coryphaus remained behind, motioning the mortal soldiers they had brought forward as he watched for enemy reinforcements from behind. The sorcerer threw his cloak of skulls, spines and helmets behind his back – the nearest enemies backing away from the scene of slaughter that followed the arrival of the Night Lords before breaking in fear. In two other insertion points Nemmox and Velcoran lead teams of two and three respectively to aid the larger forces of Corsairs. The fighting died down and the only sounds were the growl of power armour, the dripping of blood, and the soft purr of chainblades. The Night Lords and Tyrant’s Guard glared at each other across the carnage. Telemachus marched forward, activating his outer speakers, “Red Corsairs, this is Captain Telemachus of the Night Lords. We were passing by and thought you could use some help.” ~~ The Tyrant’s Guard didn’t respond, remaining impassive with weapons now trained on the Night Lords. “Orders, Lord Asmodeus?” the leader hissed softly, wanting nothing more than to unleash his stormbolters on the cluster of Night Lords and mortal soldiers. Asmodeus glared at the picture, the same scene played out in three other spots. “Stand down, Captain Tychus, they helped break the back of this rebellion. We might as well see what they want, bring this… Telemachus and his soldiers to the throne room. If we don’t like what we hear we can always kill them there.” “Are, Lord Asmodeus,” Tychus responded before acting out the will of the Steward. Asmodeus watched as Tychus waved Telemachus, Hapshan, Iaxus and Coryphaus to follow him. Asmodeus turned away from the screen, motioning for his attendants to follow him as he strode to the throne room to receive their guests. As the Night Lords entered both Asmodeus and Coryphaus paused, meeting each other’s gazes across the intervening distance – Asmodeus’ black eyes and the glowing red lenses of Coryphaus’ helm. Asmodeus just bared his fangs slightly and snapped the massive black pinions that spread from his back, scattering raven feathers to the floor. “I welcome you to the Tyrant’s Court on behalf of my master, Huron Blackheart. I am sure he would rather greet you personally, but he is away on a raid. Instead, you have the honour of dealing with myself, Asmodeus Lionkiller,” the Steward’s voice was strong, echoing in the court. Iaxus and Hapshan were chuckling at the grandiosity of the moment, Telemachus was rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to shake his head. Coryphaus remained silent, never removing his eyes from the other sorcerer. Telemachus strode forward, reaching hands up to remove his helmet – looking at Asmodeus with as much sincerity as he could fake, “We are honoured to be here, Lionkiller. We are also thankful that we arrived when we had.” Asmodeus nodded slightly, walking over to the towering terminator-clad marines, both Night Lord and Corsair. “Yes, your fortuitous arrival is most welcome… as thanks for your aid I extend the favour of the Tyrant to you on his behalf. You will, of course, remain to accept his own, personal, thanks – will you not?” (( Choices!: A) Try to get Asmodeus to agree to the refit and restock without the Tyrant. B) Wait for the Tyrant. C) Storm Asmodeus and the Tyrant's Guard, put them down in a vicious battle and commandeer Hell's Iris. Voting closes Friday 6/28 at 1 PM! ))
