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Death Watch [non-pnp]

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by DeranVendar, Mar 11, 2014.

  1. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Hot Drop
    Nunc's landscape speeds by beneath the Thunderhawk like a tapestry of vomit colored stone. Craft skims low to the surface, maneuvering through a winding web of canyons the Kill Team's chariot rapidly closes on the embattled Squats and the orkish horde. Final scans before departure had outlined a massive horde of ramshackle vehicles approaching the field; under Eraklion's orders a course was plotted to intercept at the same time the enemy reached the Squat lines. A dramatic show of force to woo their hopeful allies, and to hammer home that the Orks were most assuredly no longer welcome on Nunc. That is the theory anyways.

    Mobs of green bodies broken up by rust colored armor and smouldering vehicles mark the field of battle from its perimeter, over lost trenches, and all the way up to the last line of assembled Squat guardians gathered in front of the hill cluster that made up World Thane's Landing. Scores of greenskin dead carpet the field and scores more continue pushing the assault. Motor brigade consists of two parts at this stage: the forward elements of the horde consisting of trukks, buggies and a fully stocked Cult of Speed's worth of bikerz, and the heavier, slower elements trundling up with heavy kannons, tracked units and thick armor. What remains of the abhuman defenders are forced to deal with the Orks already on their hands, firing slits cut into the stone hills in their dozens using everything from heavy ordinance to small arms to hold the tide. Xeno return the favor with clouds of solid shot and munitions both meaner and greener.

    Eraklion, and soon Craven and Julius, recognize the streaks of atomizing green lightning tearing at the landscape as much as the Squats: Gauss fire. Considering Nunc's history the revelation is anything but surprising, but the effectiveness and scope of how well it has been utilized is equal parts shocking and worrisome. At horde's head a number of fat tired bikes harness tubes of the mysterious Necron weaponry, including a trike decked in the skulls of Squigs, Squats and rivals and carrying a greenskin large enough to be nothing less than a warboss. This same Ork gives the order to fire, doing the unthinkable and turning his head from the closing prey ahead to acknowledge the gunship sweeping up the flanks of the warband.

    Thunderhawk looses a single missile into a cloud of smog large enough to consume a Warhound Titan. Explosion rips through a cart plastered with metal plates all around, a looted rotary gun consisting of five welded together gauss flayers, and screaming Grot crew. Heavy bolters chew into the densest knots of visible footsloggers or punch through the flimsy engine compartments of transports, all the while las-cannon sponsons skewer heavier targets through rooftops. Battlecannon swivels towards the warboss and his ilk, before it fires the transport suffers no less than seven direct hits from assorted AP and gauss weapons. To the Squat defenders it looks as if the hand of Mork himself reaches up in snapping, crackling fury to slap the aircraft. Thunderhawk veers sharply towards the Squat bunkers, several of its lesser weapons vaporized and streaks of armor punched out of the hull.

    Craven and Eraklion strike the field first: short range teleportation facilitated by their vaunted plate seeing they arrive in flashes of light among the Squat warrior brotherhoods manning barricades buried by green bodies. Asvald arrives next, released from the bird's clamps and dropped a short distance to anchor a flagging flank by his lonesome. Mighty iron form a force multiplier unto itself, to say nothing of the veteran housed within. Then comes Julius, Kormak, Aldric and Mathius. Power armor allows them to drop out the side doors and straight to the field during the lowest part of the Thunderhawk's pass. Craven, striking deep into the front lines, is joined by several shorter figures in armor no less heavy as his own. Hearthguard in Exo-armor part just enough to fold the marine into their line.

    "Welcome to Nunc, Astartes! Arrived just in time tae go see the ancestors."​

    "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHH!"
    Warboss, swarm of bikers, and a fresh wave of footslogging gitz arrive with the thunder of orkish vochal chords, roaring engines and throaty guns being fired wildly both into the air and at the team and their stout allies.


    Imperium:
    Eraklion: 40 Kormak: 22 Julius: 22 Craven: 40 Mathius: 22 Aldric: 22 Asvald:15 Warrior Brotherhoods: 37 Berzerkers: 25 Thudd Guns: 3/2 Gurnisson: 17 Hearthguard: 11/15/16 Hearthguard Modrin: 29
    Conditions: Thudd Guns attack a number of times equal to their health. While Hearthguard Modrin is alive the Squats are unbreakable. The Thunderhawk has been heavily damaged and will only provide fire support if ordered, doing so puts it at risk of destruction.

    Orks:
    Da Skull Trike: 6 Warboss Gruesomebam: 45 Butcha Bikerz: 15 (2)/15 (2)/15(2) Ork Bikerz: 25 Trukks: 3/3/3/3 Boyz Mob: 78 Big Guns: 2 (Zz)/2 (M) /2 (M)/ 2(M) Looted Tank: 8
    Conditions: Each Trukk alive next round will spawn Ork Infantry, The debris/smoke clouds generated by the fleet of vehicles grants Disadvantage to all ranged attacks against the Bikes and Trukks. M= Mortar Zz= Zzap Gun

    @matt23 @Draconion @Vlayden @Colapse @ADDeads
  2. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    The Iron Angel made his way to the armoury without much more than a pip on the vox to show his acknowledgement. Once there however, he looked about through the weapons & ammo, running his armoured hand along different weapons. Boltguns, stormbolters, bolt pistols, he saw plasma flasks, fuel canisters for Melta & flamer alike, heavy bolter belts. One room was full of explosives, enough that he was sure he could detonate an Imperial Titan into nothing but a few kilo's of slag.

    Though amazingly, Aldric set his own gear aside, his boltgun and power fist hidden away into his own compartment as he came over to one particular weapon: a black and silver weapon with gold streaks along its side. He slid his arm into the brace and held the handle with one hand, reaching for the forward one with the other and lifted the multi-barreled weapon. On closer inspection he noticed it had six barrels and a massive ammunition box on the rear end, looking as though it could be attached to an ammo backpack just as heavy bolters did.
    Squeezing on the handle, his UI lit up as it linked with the machine-spirit of his newly acquired armament of destruction. Amber letters spread across his screen as it gave a brief summary of its capabilities.
    Jerontus XI PATTERN
    ASSAULT CANNON
    RATE OF FIRE: 30,000 ROUNDS PER MINUTE
    WARNING - USAGE WITHOUT TACTICAL DREADNOUGHT ARMOUR IS INADVISABLE
    Shrugging, his shoulders, the armour whining as it replicated the subtle gesture, he lifted it up a bit more now, moving further in to find the Ammunition required. Though, he knew first & foremost that a secondary weapon would be required: a melee weapon, specifically. Aldric already carried a combat knife and bolt pistol, though that was atypical: however against the Greenskin hordes, he knew that something with a bit of, 'power' behind it would be best.
    A simple gladius would do, he knew, picking up a power weapon for himself: a short weapon that could still be used in proper combat, not as a last resort close quarters weapon.
    This will do, Aldric thought as he set to picking up a Demolition charge, and numerous specialist belts. With that, he set off to join the others, hoping that his choice of gear would not bite him in the ass, all things considered.
    Emperor, grant me strength. And my squadmates competence and teamwork.

    OOC: Assault Cannon, Power Gladius (sword), Bolt Pistol, Satchel Charge, X1 Kraken Rounds, X1 Dragon's Breath


    Upon the drop to Nunc, the Iron Angel raised his weapon and watched its reticule upon his HUD bring itself upon the Horde; numerous ideas came to mind, though he knew he was not in command, leaving it to little more than thoughts.
    Theoretical: incoming enemy reinforcements supplied with heavy armour.

    He went to find himself a vantage point, revving the rotary weapon's barrels into a high-pitched whine as he took aim.

    Practical: Eliminate reinforcements. Numbers are the Greenskin strength.


    A vengeful 'roar' was all that could be used to describe the Assault cannon as it opened fire upon the trukks, countless rounds being sent downrange in seconds, enough sent in so little a time that even Astartes hearing could not tell the difference from one round being fired from the next. Its inaccuracy was frustrating but not in the slightest unpleasant to the Tactical Marine, focusing his aim directly upon the vehicles, enjoying every second of the burning sensation in his arms from the maniacal vibrations coursing up his arms from the weapon, a creation that even Terminators had difficulty using.
    "Suggestion," He called through the vox, "Focus efforts on the guns. Thunderhawk assistance is crucial, and they will risk its destruction the longer they're around. Once the vehicles are dealt with, then we may bring our wrath upon the Horde. Courage & Honour, brothers!"

    OOC: Attack on Trukk #1 & #2
  3. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Sod Off
    Back aboard the Umbra Perpetua Feridoun and Alto set their efforts to discovering the fates of their Dawnbringer brethren, only for a voice thick with age and mangled Low Gothic to come battering into their minds like an unwanted relative letting themselves in for Sanguinalla.

    "The Council O the Living Founders and Forgotten Fathers be in session an dae nae have time fer ye or yer concerns. Stand by till session's end or see yerself off tae yer duties. Further disturbances shall bring shame eternal untae the name O ye an yer kin, and The Rite O Grudges Thousandfold shall be enacted upon ye an, if necessary, ye next O kin."

    The correspondence strikes like a strong drink scalds the throat, and the voice is undeniably that of one of their abhuman friends. Considering the intended finality of the message there was little reason not to continue pursuing any leads on their distant cousins. Setting back into their joined ritual, Feridoun and Alto plunge their minds into the maelstrom of radiation.

    Veil between worlds is no less ravaged than reality itself: distortions linger in the air like scars where the spirits of slain Orks were torn from the world of the living. Distant war cries etched into the fabric of limbo are occasionally interrupted by the memories of slain marines. The marks left by the passing of Dawnbringers are few and subdued compared to those left by the greenskins. Death had been of a mass scale on both sides, and many had seemingly died instantly. Of the hundreds of memories slain, a few soul fires still burned somewhere deeper into the outpost, the psychic minds of the Librarians able to divine what the ship's scanners and their Forgemaster could not. Less than a dozen clustered embers of life were lost in the halls, but one among them stood out; both fainter in strength than the others, but undeniably sturdy and ancient in a way that only Feridoun could fathom.

    @Draconion @Vulpas
  4. Brother_Draconion Draconion Well-Known Member

    Going to the Office

    Eraklion continues his work on the bridge till the last possible minute, overseeing the arming of the squad via remote presence, and his own by servitor.

    [Arming phase: x 2 Krak grenades]

    When he is certain that everyone is armed and standing by at the launch bay, he glances up and whistles piercingly through his teeth. A distant whir resounds down a corridor, growing rapidly closer before its origin becomes clear. The culprit skitters onto the bridge, performing several frantic circuits of the space before coming to a halt in front of the Forgemaster, bobbing excitedly up and down and wiggling in place, looking for all the world like an excited dog invited out for a walk.

    If dogs looked like a floating, roughly saucer-shaped disc of plasteel and composites, painted in Deathwatch black and silver, radiating a bizarre array of tools and electronic appendages.

    With a silver-coated skull incongruously attached to the apex of the saucer dome, wobbling perilously with each excited bob of the grav impulse engine - evidently the victim of a half-hearted, last-minute joinery.

    And the word, 'R.O.V.E.R.,' stenciled in various places on its chassis.

    "Well, hullo there, R.O.V.E.R.," says Eraklion, giving the strange construct a scratch on the dome, "Was wondering where you'd gotten off to. Come along, then - it's time for your first field test."

    The Salamander's lips quirk as he glances across the bridge at Avaless.

    "Hey honey - I'm off to the office again. Give us a big, wet kiss and hold down the fort till I get back, eh?"

    Without giving the Inquisitor a chance to reply, he blows her a big, vulgar kiss and strides out the bridge with a rude and particularly mephitic fart as his closing statement. The constant dance of flirtatious harrassment was a ritual he'd instituted during the Samech days, and renewed along with their recent contact. It helped him stay grounded in these dark days.

    "Oh, ah...R.O.V.E.R.? Stop humping the good Inquisitor and come along - we have work to do."

    With a disappointed electronic whine, the saucer-shaped construct ceases rubbing itself against Avaless' leg and slinks after Eraklion, managing to droop despite its rigid construction. As the bridge doors slide shut between them, Feridoun's eye is drawn to a rounded silver object rolling forlornly on the deck plating.

    "I think someone has lost their skull. Again," he comments evenly before bowing his head and turning back to his psychic reconnaissance duties.

    [R.O.V.E.R. mission load: 2 x plasma pistols]

    LZ is Hot

    @matt23 @Vlayden @Colapse @ADDeads @Grall_Stonefist


    "Well, that was a great start," mutters Eraklion acidly to himself as the Thunderhawk gets swatted good by Ork return fire.

    "Slight change of plans, lads," he yells to the others over the patter of fire on the hull and the scream of engines, "We deploy to the Squat front line and fight this out the old-fashioned way! Brother Craven, you're first up with me - tactical teleport to the centre front on my mark. Brother Asvald - you drop next and anchor that left flank before it folds. Brothers Julius, Kormak, Aldric, Mathius - last in at the centre front. In three...two...one...MARK!"

    Appearing on the Squat front line with a crackle of warp lightning and a boom of displaced air. As Craven and he are folded into the Hearthguard phalanx, he makes sure to take his place front and centre, levelling his myriad weapons at the foe.

    "Emperor protect, lads. My ancestors don't want me - I'm too ugly. That's why I'm here instead, so hopefully you won't be joining yours just yet."

    While the rest of the squad drops, he casts an analytical eye across the field. When Aldric makes his assessment known, Eraklion replies.

    "Agreed in broad strokes, Brother Aldric. Switch targets and give me fire on those Gauss-toting Bikerz. Venerable Brother Asvald - hold that flank, everything else at your discretion. Brother Craven - take charge of the melee fighters and secure the line. Make it rain greenskin blood!"

    Levelling his Lorentz autocannon at the Warboss' Trike, he brackets it with a target lock and lets his fire control software go to work. Simultaneously, a mental impulse causes R.O.V.E.R. to zip up and down the front line, triangulating the Warboss' position from multiple perspectives to give better targeting data to its owner.

    +++Engage Firing Protocol: Precision Armourkill+++
    +++Firing Protocol: Precision Armourkill Engaged+++
    +++Mode: Direct Fire+++
    +++Firing Rate: Double-tap+++
    +++Muzzle Velocity: Mach 20+++
    +++Shot Dispersion: 0%+++
    +++Select rounds: API+++

    "Die, you ugly sonofabitch," mutters Eraklion as he mentally triggers his weapon in a syncopated roar of thunder and burst of flame.

    OOC

    Orders

    Asvald: Hold the left flank.

    Aldric: Target the Gauss bikers.

    Craven, Kormak, Julius: BATHE THE EARTH IN XENOS BLOOD (but don't go too far, 'cause we need you to keep 'em off our backs).

    Action Summary


    1.) All-Out Action: All-Out Attack @ Da Skull Trike w/Lorentz Autocannon, API rounds

    2.) Standard Action: Defence @ Adjacent friendlies w/Flamer

    3.) Standard Action: Defence @ Adjacent friendlies w/Plasma Cutter

    4.) Standard Action: Defence @ Self w/Servo-Arm #1

    5.) Standard Action: Defence @ Self w/Servo-Arm #2

    R.O.V.E.R.: Fire spotting @ Da Skull Trike

    Explosives: 2 x Krak grenades
  5. Brother_Draconion Draconion Well-Known Member

    @Vulpas

    "At least we know who those contacts are now," comments Feridoun to Alto as he withdraws contact from the ornery Squat psykers, "No urgency at this point - we can wait till later to resume contact. Let us chase up on those signatures deep inside the remains of the Dawnbringers base instead."

    An bird-like chirrup from Serosch sees the little construct rearranging itself into something resembling a rotating dish antenna that slowly pans back and forth, seeking a lock on the signatures on the surface so it can beam its master's thoughts in focused and amplified fashion to them.

    ~Attention, Dawnbringers. This is Brother-Librarians Feridoun and Alto of the Deathwatch. Help is at hand. We have come to extract you, and recover the geneseed of your fallen brothers. Please appraise us of your situation.~
  6. Imperius matt23 Curator

    After a quick and abrupt entrance into the front lines of battle, Craven looked around to see that the lines were still some what intact. It was surprising to say the least as they were short handed against an overwhelming enemy such as the green horde. And looking out to the quick approaching new wave, Craven raised his badge if office over his skull helmet, "The Emperor's Angels of Death have arrived to exact his will upon the treacherous xeno filth that has infested this planet. Take heart faithful children of them Imperium, for today you take retribution into your own hands and help carry out vengeance for all the faithful whom have fallen. Let no xeno live to tell the tale of the day they faced the faithful of the Imperium! For the Emperor!" With that said, Craven wanted little time meeting the warboss leader at the frontline, lowering his heavy flamer and unleashing hell upon the xeno scum.

    OOC: Balanced action. One attack with heavy flamer on warboss. Defense action on self with Crozius.

    Mathius had long awaited a way in which to unleash his anger upon a target. Thankfully, this deployment gave no shortage of such willing targets for death. Drawing his chainsword and power sword from each side of his hips, Mathius let out a roar that showed he was about to have little restraint. Activating his jump pack, the Blood Angel was sent high into the air before readjusting and hurling himself at the frontline with the bikers in his sight. Knowing that their speed and dust were going to cause, Mathius quickly flew at the bikers unleashing his chainsword to defend himself while lashing out with his powersword.

    OOC: Balanced action. Attack w/ power sword on Butcha Biker 1. Defnese with chainsword on self.
  7. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    Whatever Eraklion ordered or Craven tried to convey with his fiery rhetorics was lost on Kormak. During the short trip to the surface the Blackshield lapsed into silence that was only broken with involuntary growls of his armor joints as the marine twitched in his seat. If there was an Apothecary aboard he would've seen his adrenaline levels rising beyond normal, even for an Astartes, as Kormak's mind slowly descended into another phase completely.

    Once the Thunderhawk's boarding ramp was open, the Blackshield rushed outside, his chainaxe roaring alongside the alien horde. Following Chaplain's flaming attack, Kormak saw the biggest creature on the field and made a beeline for it, ready to turn things messy. Warboss was still on his ride so he was definitely faster and while Kormak was in a certain state of mind, his instincts were still razor-sharp. One shot was fired from the plasma pistol that was aimed at trike's wheels as the marine charged in - if he managed to cripple it Warboss would see a chainaxe heading straight for his ugly face but if not and the trike is still operational, then Kormak would attempt to smash his axe into the Ork's side and climb on his back from which he would continue working his way to rip off the monster's spine.

    OOC 1 attack with plasma pistol on Da Skull Trike, 1 attack with chainaxe on Warboss Gruesomebam.
  8. Fox Vulpas Well-Known Member

    "Indeed brother." Alto said. keeping his mind out and probing he multitasked as he spoke his eyes shut as he began sensing soul fires. "there is something else down there, amoung the spirits of a catstrophe. I believe some type of weapon of mass destruciton was used." Alto spoke his eyes spotting the feint soul fires wondered if these were the scouts.
  9. As Asvald *jumped* into the battlefield, ofcause a place where the defenders where flagging and the foe advancing, nothing short of that would be a proper place for him to fight, and this was a fight he would relish, it had been much much too long since he had last battled the greenskins, the menace had eluided him for too long, replaced by other foes.
    "I will hold the flank, nothing will pass my blade in one piece," Asvald answered, as he strode in to close the gap, winding up to make a mighty sweeping strike into the greenskin horde, to kill as many as he could before he would be needed to employ his shield once the greenskins realised what stood before them now.
    He also scanned for a proper target to hit with his trusted harpoon gun, the weapon most often underestimated by his foes.
    Colapse, DeranVendar and Draconion like this.
  10. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Dat Killy Green Stuff
    Beneath the half-formed glares of Squat warriors carved into the cliff face on either side of the gate battle is joined anew. A lightning storm of green breaks upon the entrenched Squats and the Angels of Death: Gauss energies unknowable to humanity yet harnessed by mere greenskins punches the stone from earthen bunkers, disintegrates armor and flesh, and in some cases backfires in spectacular blasts of crackling energies that consume entire vehicles and surrounding mobs of Orks. Next to fire are the tremendous mortars lurking in the midst of the Ork horde, and the cycling Thudd guns behind the team and their Squat allies. Heavy blasts rock the field like the footfalls of the ogres of myth, great geysers of sand, stone and gore kicked up on the blasted winds of Nunc. Vision becomes a hellish quake out of an old Terran action pict: Orks blasted by the score charge on while the Squat defenders holding the line are forced to ground.

    Mid-range guns erupted over the bodies of those slain in the bombardment. Staples of the Imperium's countless armories poured plasma, fire, bolts and lasers into the mob of footsloggers and vehicles. They were in turn answered by weapons looted from Mankind and its xeno foes. Casualties mounted on both sides resulting in the inaudible thuds of dozens more bodies, casualties the Orks could easily afford whereas the Squats felt each one keenly on their shrinking line. Solid shot spanked off the ceramite and adamantine girded forms of the Adeptus Astartes, but the Gauss fire tore fistfuls from their armor and exposed the softer skin beneath. Now it was their turn to open fire.

    Aldric's assault cannon, already spooled and warm, opens fire at such a rate that the flames emerging from the weapon seem to be a constant stream. Shots rake across the trukks racing towards their position, shattering windshields and biting into engine blocks. Not a single Ork is deterred by this, indeed they are galvanized to roar as loud as their engines. Focusing in on one of the adrenaline fueled Speed Freaks, Aldric chews open the front hood and entire engine of the leading trukk. Vehicle is consumed by a belch of smoke and flame that broils forth from the ruined mechanics, and Iron Angel notes at least a dozen greenskins go up like torches in the secondary blast as the fuel tank ignites in a spray akin to an agitated volcano coughing.

    Eraklion's many arms splay out in a defensive posture, prepared to cover those abhumans holding in his spidery shadow. While they can do little to stop the carnage of saturation bombardment from the mortars further afield, he can at least make himself a bigger target. The armored trike festooned with the skulls of Squat and Ork alike angles toward him, Warboss raising a muffler wrapped in razor wire towards the Salamander, weapon standing at odds with the trio of cycling Gauss Flayers jutting just over the greenskin's head from a mount further back on the bike. Autocannon and Tri-Butcha exchange fire, Gauss shots grounding themselves in the terrain while the heavy shot of the marine skins the side of the light vehicle and rips an armored hood off the back wheel house. A figure in black and another half naked from the waist up blur past Eraklion seconds later...

    A jet of flame roars forth like dragon's breath from Craven's heavy flamer. Lesser Orks cook from mere proximity to the blessed flow, but the Warboss rides on through, becoming a black specter in the trail of fire before blasting free of it and outpacing the Chaplain's arm. Retinue of Gauss armed bikes with Nobs at the wheel make a game of ramping over the wrecked trukk Aldric decommissioned to vault the remaining burst of fire. One angles itself at Craven, flying straight towards him and losing a single crackling bolt of alien munitions at him. With a heavy step back Craven narrowly dodges it, another step taking him out of the bike's path. In the distance the battlefield darkens, a Zzap Gun misfiring its potent load and frying half its crew.

    Melee mere moments away the remaining trukks slow down- or don't - and side doors, back ramps and roof bars are thrown open and clambered over/out through. Among the flood of twenty more sluggas joining the fray, followed by a single Mek and several Lootas armed with the deadly Tesla weaponry often carried by Necron Immortals. The Mek himself is missing his lower jaw, replaced instead by an old bronze cog with its central gap plugged up by an iron bolt. Trukks launch into suicide runs on the team, both missing their intended targets in Aldric and Eraklion, and driving straight into a line of tank traps that turn them into storms of twisted metal frames and fiery debris that crash on towards the looming gates behind the last line. A single Squat dies, gunned down by one of the Orks riding shotgun and manning the big shootas welded onto a transport's side door before xeno and vehicle go up in smoke.

    More mortars thunder down, a second wave coinciding with the joining of melee. Dirt showers Asvald's form as he wades forward, Dreadnought shielding those behind him while advancing into the first mob to meet him. 'Ard boyz coated in metal plates, scrapped machinery and carrying choppas in each hand crumple to a single slash of Asvald's great blade. Eight armored Orks fall apart in twos and threes, while primitive weapons merely nick the Wolf's paint job. Squats cheer and lend their fire to the effort, until a chain of blasts clustered where Asvald previously stood forced their heads back down into the earthworks. A blaring horn draws Asvald's attention to a looted Leman Russ trundling up the field. Its battle cannon calls next, scoring a direct hit before the Dreadnought can raise his shield to guard. Servos groan as the walker lists backwards before stabilizing. The fusillade of slugs spat from the sponson guns fail to hit, but the opening shot has already done notable damage to his frontal armor.

    A Thudd Gun flies off its carriage behind the Adeptus Astartes, a stray rokkit made from a krak grenade tearing all three barrels off their anchors and sending the crew running for cover. Advancing past the ruined mortar unit come Squats clad in shaped carapace plates and wielding axes swathed in snapping power fields. The Berzerkers charge forward to meet the attacking greenskins just as close combat is joined. Abhumans thrash against the swelling tide of green bodies, hacking limbs from torsos as often as heads. The eager brutes strike back, denting armor and drawing blood, but failing to claim any lives in the opening exchange of arms.

    Warboss locks into his murderous run on Eraklion, spraying him with big shoota fire and laying on even more rotary Gauss fire. Muffler weapon raised overhead, a Squig-skin sleeve still burning from Craven's attack, Warboss Gruesomebam cackles madly with spittle dragging in long strings from his open maw. Then Kormak slams into the front of his bike. Blackshield jumps, fueled by a battle lust few could ever truly know or appreciate (in loyal company anyways), and jumps off the moving bike's front mounted skull and lands in the Warboss' seat, slamming chainaxe into his chest. Surprise is as shared as their seat when suddenly a third wheel joins them on the trike: a half-naked Squat with an orange mohawk half as tall as himself, and a pair of plain hatchets that embed themselves in Gruesomebam's skull.

    Warboss wrenches his head to the side like a feral beast, the hatchets having only split flesh but failed to spill brain. With a headbutt he thumps the Squat into the steering bars, causing them to set into an especially violent donut.

    "Gon' teach yooz some RESPEKT AZTARTEEZ!" Muffler thumps down on Kormak's head hard enough that helmet cracks, lenses explode outwards and vision swims in spite of the Blackshield's fortified constitution. Butcha Bikers follow along, setting into their own wheeling hunts as they engage the other marines. Mathius cuts one joyride short, throwing himself into the path of the nearest Nob. Something savage in the depths of his soul wells up in his arm and attached power sword cleaves through a bike and its rider: Nob losing an arm and his ride. Greenskin abandons bike, its ruined front wheel allowing the spoke to spear the ground and send it cartwheeling off into the background.

    With a feral scream the one armed brute, coming in at a sturdy eight feet, charges Mathius. A choppa, in this case an actual cleaver, slams his chainsword hard enough to dislodge a tooth, and leaves Blood Angel open for a headbutt that stuns him briefly. Cleaver hacks upward, cleaving through chest plate and rising on a tail of blood. Blunt back of the weapon then slams down on the damaged plate and hurls Mathius to the ground.

    Aldric turns assault cannon on the biker approaching him. Traded shots leave him with the upper hand, Gauss weapon dislodged and sent rolling along with the other battlefield debris. Just as he wrestles control of the weapon, Iron Angel is struck by the wildly driving bike, an odd series of zig-zagging turns becoming a dead on charge. It is a glancing hit, enough to stagger and crack a knee plate, but not floor him surprisingly.

    Third bike bound Nob flies at Craven with a stream of Gauss heralding its presence. Not a single arc touches him, but each shot carries the power to strip a tank of its hull, even a walking one like the Lamenter. Crozius in hand he meets another ramming attempt with the weapon, striking the bike and sending it off course. Nob whips him across the helm with a spiked chain, but neither party accomplishes much against the other: helm is nicked, and what scrap flies off the bike appeared to be superfluous bling.

    Hearthguard weigh into the fray next, the Exo-armored Squats still not as tall as even those in power armor, but carrying weapons of equally destructive ability. Power axes unlimbered and plasma guns raised they loose super heated shots at the swarming bikers, failing to strike but doing a good job of making the battlefield look that much more action packed. Short legs, weighed down by extremely heavy armor, fail to get the lot of them into close combat either. Bikers running amok in the lines make themselves marginally more useful, with sudden blindingly fast strafing runs with heavy dakka gunz showering the marines, Squats, and any engaged Orks in slugs. Battle line falls apart swiftly, suppressed warrior brotherhoods and small presence of melee dedicated infantry allow the Orks to close the gap with only the unreachable guns firing from the cliff built bunkers to harass them. Things were going to hell real fast- even for veterans like Craven and Eraklion.

    More explosives lobbed from afar blanket the field, sending sheets of rock crashing down atop the battlefield. Oily cloud is further murked by the dust erupting upwards. Even the powerful scanners and auto-senses of the Adeptus Astartes and Squats struggle to pierce it. Eraklion being perhaps the most perceptive living thing on the field, is the only one to immediately notice the six strong party of Killa Kans and a Deff Dredd mounted on tank tracks grinding towards the fray.

    Tides of War :​
    Squats and Death Watch (Modrin/Eraklion) VS. Warband Gruesomebam (Warboss Gruesomebam) - Major Ork Advantage - Mortar Bombardment + Ork Reinforcement Wave Inbound (Kill Fasta Kans + Trakk Dredd)

    Imperium:
    Eraklion: 34 Kormak: 17 Craven: 37 Mathius: 17 Aldric: 18 Asvald:12 Warrior Brotherhoods: 25 Berzerkers: 21 Thudd Guns: 3 Gurnisson: 17 Hearthguard: 11/15/16 Hearthguard Modrin: 29
    Conditions: Aldric has 4 charges of Urgency. While Hearthguard Modrin is alive the Squats are unbreakable. The Thunderhawk has been heavily damaged and will only provide fire support if ordered, doing so puts it at risk of destruction. Kormak has Disadvantage on attacks against Gruesomebam next turn. Warrior Brotherhoods have gone to ground and have half as many actions next turn.

    Orks:
    Da Skull Trike: 5 Warboss Gruesomebam: 34 Butcha Bikerz: 9 /13 (1)/15(2) Ork Bikerz: 25 Boyz Mob: 54 Big Guns: 1 (Zz)/2 (M) /2 (M) Looted Tank: 8 Lil Mek Gearjaw: 8 Zzap Lootas: 18
    Conditions: M= Mortar Zz= Zzap Gun. Butcha Biker 1 is engaged with Mathius and only has 1 action due to its missing arm, 2 attacked Aldric, 3 attacked Craven.

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