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Path to Glory [Casual Chaos RP]

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Colapse, Jun 26, 2017.

  1. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    Path to Glory

    Dramatis Personae

    (in alphabetic order)

    Attelus, Speaker of Truth


    Ausarius, Thousand Sons Sorcerer


    Bo'kar, Iron Warriors Warpsmith, Quartermaster aboard Nightfall


    Corbulus, former leader of the Wolves of Horus warband


    Delilah, Mistress Navigator


    Emily Augustine, former Admiral of the Imperial Navy, serving as Captain of the "Nightfall"


    Fera Tarsinis, fallen Sister of Battle


    Konrad Curze, The Night Haunter


    Nero, Former Ultramarine, member of the Wolves of Horus


    Orghast, Death Guard Plague Marine


    Phocron, Alpha Legion Chaos Marine


    Quor Gallek, Word Bearers Dark Apostle


    Satharn Tem, Night Lords Legionary


    Sobek, Cyrabor Mystic


    Ukris, Plaguebringer, Death Guard Apothecary


    Valeforia, Renegade Mechanicum Tech-Priestess


    Valu the Shapeshifter, Lacrymole Medic


    Viator, Traveler upon the road of Thousand Excesses, Scion of Slaanesh


    Xaviera, human rogue psyker



    Prologue

    "Know ye now that the time of mortals has come to an end. In the darkness stirs a power unlike any other. The hand of Chaos has cast a vast, impenetrable shadow upon the world, and it cannot be banished or defeated. The puny heroes and lords of the world will gather their pitiful armies - but it will avail them not. The Chosen of Chaos will fall upon them and crush them utterly."

    "The moment of dark glory fast approaches, and there is nothing you can do save kneel before the Chaos Gods while there is still time. But be quick, for time itself fades away and the stars fade from the sky. The bitter spawn of night crawl from the darkness to possess the world, and with their final triumph, all life will descend into a seething mass of lost and screaming souls. Fools take refuge in faith or madness, for no other hiding place remains."

    "Mortals despair! The reign of Chaos has began!"


    Broken, crushed and utterly annihilated, the unnamed landscape burned and alongside it, everyone who were unfortunate enough to survive the initial explosion. Screams of dying soldiers were answered by the things on the other side while the Veil itself, being hardly a thing you could touch, was spread thin here, so thin you could lose your soul just by staring at the myriad of colors dancing on the red sky above. There was no hope here and in such hellish landscape, death was one of the more welcoming fates one might had in the end.

    It was all Abaddon's fault.

    The Despoiler, Favored Son of Chaos, Warmaster of the Legions, had left them all here to die. At the height of the recent Chaos invasion or what the Imperials called a Black Crusade, 12th in its number, a mighty fleet under Abaddon's personal command assaulted planet called Schindlegeist, world turned into a fortress to repel the Archenemy's invaders. While a great number of vessels fought in the orbit of the Imperial world, a sizeable amount of ground forces were sent below to try and crack the world open and win the day completely in the name of the Warmaster. Alas, that never came to be. In a valiant effort, the defenders of Imperium have pushed the traitors back and denied them their prize, a Blackstone Fortress held in the atmosphere above. Not an easy man to accept defeat, Abaddon retaliated and before he pulled back his forces, the planet below was bombarded with the most potent weaponry the Chaos fleet had at its disposal while multiple ships, too damaged to flee, either attempted suicidal ramming runs or simply headed straight for the planet and caused explosions of cataclysmic proportions to the fortresses dotting the surface.

    More than a half of Imperial troops on the ground were lost, dead or buried under the rubble, while a ninety percent of Chaos ground forces suffered similar fate, the Warmaster not turning a single glance to their fate for in his eyes they failed him...him and the Dark Gods. Archenemy's fleet left the system and while the Imperials fought to establish some kind of an order within their fleet, those on the planet below were left to fend for themselves, at least for a time being. However such was the fickle nature of Chaos that the moment their leadership broke, every tendril of their force, every separate warband, even the lowliest servant, all looked up and understood that the Gods have abandoned them and there was no better way to return to the fold by killing those who served the rival powers. So once again, all across this brazen wasteland that was once called Schindlegeist, a war began anew. But this time, there would be no survivors.


    <Fortress Theta - ramparts> @DeranVendar @Vulpas @Uriel1339 @Jorimel

    First thing Orghast saw after the explosion and his journey into the dreamland (which was filled with horrifying images of Nurglings running away from him in disgust) was that somebody else desired to get himself familiar with all the beauty of his inner being. Opening his eyes he found himself in a sitting position, his back placed against a hull of a destroyed Predator tank, a terrible headache threatening to overcome his senses. He absently remembered how he and the rest of his plague brothers were holding the right flank of the Black Legion's assault at the fortress and just as they broke open the gates by a shot guided by Plaguebringer Ukris, the entire land in front of the ramparts was blown to Warp by orbital bombardment.

    Even without looking he could tell that none of his comrades survived, their runes a flat line for quite some time now apparently, and the same could be said for their armored support. So much for that. The sound of something gurgling once again disturbed Orghast's thoughts and he looked down to see a dog, a blood hound like those Khornate madmen used for hunting, currently busying itself by eating the ingredients of his stomach. However that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was the fact he felt actual pain at the critter's actions. Pain, proper, sweet, cursed, treacherous pain, after all these years, once again it enveloped his body and the Plague Marine became aware that he was a bit more "Marine" than he was "Plague". Gifts of the Grandfather have left him, but thankfully his old bolter didn't as it lay couple of feet away from him...he could now see more of those hounds around, like vultures feasting upon the dead cultists and Astartes alike.

    Like every time when a combined Chaos force did war, servants of the Blood God were usually in the vanguard. It was pretty much the same now, World Eaters under a warchief called Ragnar Bloodaxe led the charge against the Imperial fortress and were first inside after its gates fell, beating everyone else for the honor of first blood. They got it but sadly right as they pushed through the world exploded in flames and the World Eaters were no more. Of course, they weren't the only servants of Khorne on the field today; a myriad of cultists and other scum followed in Astartes' wake, most of them suffering similar fate. Most, but not all.

    Hidden in a small rock crevice created by broken earth was Valu. Remaining out of sight the Lacrymole mimicking a World Eater's serf was watching other cultists having fun not too far away from his position, right in the middle of a battleground. Mixed with dozen of vehicles of all kinds - tanks, transports, artillery pieces (now all gone to scrap) was a small band of Khornates, dancing around a pile of skulls. Not more than a dozen of them really, with couple of ugly hounds that tagged along which Valu was quite familiar with as they multiple times sniffed him and looked at him quizzically in the past (most likely suspecting something was wrong with him), the cultists having no goal or purpose in life ran around, took heads of those dead soldiers they could find and tried to erect some kind of a primitive shrine to the Blood God. What good would that do was a serious question, not to mention that things might turn sour at the sound of heavier footprints coming from somewhere to Valu's left. He was well hidden in his small spot and there was no way that the newcomer could spot him, so perhaps this was a good time to grab some snacks and enjoy the show.

    Stepping around a hull of a Manticore tank turned upside down was Fera, from her position above a small rising she could also spot the cultists trying to appease her Patron. Or at least, former Patron, given how Khorne suddenly decided to withdraw all his favors and leave the Sister in the gutter alongside the rest of the lost and the damned. She was also part of the attack, her own a bit unique position within the Chaos force gave her the chance of leading a squad of human berzerkers and led them she did. Right before the orbital bombardment hit them they crossed the trenches, killing the defenders in their dozens and the fortress was right in her sights, the prize ripe for the taking before all was torn asunder. Fera was buried under a pile of debris and after she managed to crawl out, she found out that every human in her squad was dead, like pretty much the rest of their attacking force, and now she had to somehow find what was going on - maybe those cultists were a sign sent by Khorne himself, sent her to test her?

    While all of this was happening outside the only actual member of the attacking force that made it and stayed at the fortress, more precisely its now broken ramparts, was a Night Lord that went by the name Satharn Tem. He was also one of those tasked with being in the vanguard, due to his ability to infiltrate the defenses he was put in charge of a small band of Raptors from his own Legion, every one of them a murderous son of Nostramo. They did what they were told and while the fighting raged below, they managed to go around the defensive line, climb the walls and take out the anti aircraft guns before the Imperials even knew what hit them. Maybe Satharn could've actually asked for a promotion or a chance to even lead a bigger amount of troops due to his success but then the damned world exploded in fire and whatever dreams he had of leading warriors of this horde burned with it.

    None except him survived the destruction of the fortress and now he was free to look upon the wasteland below. Ramparts were devoid of life and so was the interior of the Imperial fortress, however outside amidst the broken machinery of the Chaos vanguard the Night Lord could spot movement. It would seem that somebody actually survived this disaster and perhaps there was a way to link back with the HQ further behind the lines and maybe get off this cursed rock before it was too late...

    Lost and the Damned: Khornate Cultists: 15, Blood Hounds: 3/3/3/3

    Orghast:8 Valu:6 Fera:7 Satharn:9


    <Trenches of doom> @Skarboy @Maleth @Kalle

    Couple of miles west from the main battle at the fortress Theta were a kilometers long lines of trench after trench after trench. Imperials made the similar defenses throughout the area that spread for quite a bit; hundreds of miles of kill ground, bunkers filled with anti-armor and anti-infantry weapons and rows stacked with Guardsmen from some of Gods-know what Regiment. At least that was the case at the start before the Chaos vanguard rolled over them and headed straight for the fortress where it eventually met its doom. Those who were not ordered (or mad enough to follow on their own) remained back to guard the flanks and fight the remaining defenders, which were still in their thousands. And right during the fiercest fighting did the world go to hell.

    Trench was filled with bodies of slain Chaos Marines, their servants and the Imperial Guardsmen. Most of them were dead, most but not all. Lying amidst the bodies was Attelus, his mind quiet as of late. Ever since the bombing, the firestorm that followed the crashing of a ship somewhere behind their lines and the death of his fellow brothers that belong to the Scourged warband that aligned itself with Abaddon's forces, Attelus' world was silent. There were no more whispers given to him by the Changer of Ways, no more lies that he could discern from the truth. It was as if Tzeentch abandoned him, which was not a pleasant thought, especially now when he felt the enemies approaching. Squad of Guardsmen, ten of them in total, and backed by a long-striding Sentinel walker, carefully moved above the trenches, using two flamers they had to set the bodies aflame. Whatever remained of the Imperial command in this sector obviously tried to reign it back in and they used the familiar tactics of burning corpses within the conquered territory in order to stop the possible diseases from spreading. Little did they know that not every body lying around was of a dead servant of the Dark Gods.

    "We should attack them now! And skin them alive! For the Prince of Pleasure!" Geln said, cutting his own thumb with a short knife and sighing in ecstasy. Xaviera could only sigh, from all the cultists of the Brotherhood of the Knife she was stuck with Geln and his two damned "bodyguards". Most of their warband was wiped out even before the orbital bombardment and the chaos that ensued afterwards, the Slaaneshi cultists throwing themselves straight into Imperial guns - and screaming in satisfaction as their bodies were ripped apart. Those who survived the fighting were a bit smarter than that, but not tough enough to survive what came next. Now, out of two hundred and thirty devotees only four remained. How Geln acted, they were about to drop to three.

    "We can take them, rip them, kiss them, slaughter them, give their souls to the Dark Prince!" he pointed at the squad of Guardsmen, not looking too convincing armed with only a small caliber stub pistol and a knife. His two friends carried laspistols and dressed in ragtag pieces of clothing, they didn't look like they could take on a shopkeeper, yet alone a squad of trained soldiers. However the fire burned in Geln's eyes and he looked as if he would charge at the Guardsmen the moment they approached their hiding spot in the followup trench.

    Between the Slaaneshi cultists, hidden Astartes and the Imperials lied a single bunker. Before the catastrophe it was just one of dozens arrayed in a perfect line, but now it was the only one left standing. Barely. And it wasn't empty. Within its shadow a living person lurked, peering out and spotting the patrol slowly moving her way. Valeforia was in quite a predicament, finding shelter inside of this concrete husk after surviving the initial fighting didn't let her go undamaged as most of her systems and augmentations were either damaged or not working properly. She was sent here to support the Chaos advance by pulling up defensive systems in their wake in order to protect the taken territory and she did just that. Series of gun emplacements, robotized sentries and all kinds of booby traps were spread all over the trenches before all the work she put up was for naught (as if a darker power was having a cruel prank on her); the bombardment pretty much annihilated all of that and left her bleeding and half-broken in one of the bunkers, now most likely soon to be dead as well.

    Imperial survivors: Guardsmen: 10 (2F), Sentinel: 4

    Attelus: 9 Valeforia:7 Xaviera:6 Cultists:2 Geln:3
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  2. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    <Chaos HQ - or what was left of it> @High_Adept_Zeth @WanderingJester @Vlayden @Keidivh

    The main base of Chaos forces on the surface of Schindlegeist was built right around the main landing zone which was located in the steppes beneath the main Imperial fortifications, further to the west behind the trenches and Fortress Theta beyond. It was a fairly defensible area, protected by squadrons of Helldrakes in the air and slavering mutants on the ground the invaders had all the time in the world to land, built provisional structures, unload the troops and launch the assault. Under the stern gaze of Blue-Eye Ravash, Abaddon's pet Sorcerer, the forces of the Archenemy prepared themselves to make war on the weakling Imperials. Two thirds of their number was unleashed on the defenders of this world and many Imperials died, sacrificed in the name of the Dark Gods, before the sky itself darkened and began raining doom upon them.

    The base somewhat survived the initial bombardment, however when a Murder-class cruiser crashed straight on top of them, almost completely annihilating everything the traitors worked so much to build. Sorcerer leader perished in the flames and with him, every semblance of control and organization left those who somehow survived the destruction and in the ruins of the base (mixed with parts of the crashed ship), it was every man for himself.

    "They went inside Corbulus, shall we go after them?" Nero asked his former lord as they knelt behind what was once a slave pit, now just a charred mess of corpses and masonry, and peered towards the building couple of hundred meters in front of them. Everything was fine for Corbulus just couple of hours ago, he was on the hangar deck of his ship alongside his warriors, preparing to repel the boarders, so-called Sons of Orar Space Marines who dared to attack him and his vessel in this almost foolhardy maneuver. They could scarcely do anything and he knew it, there was no surviving the close combat encounter with him and his Wolves at his beck and call. Then the ship lurched to a side, the artificial gravity kicked in and next thing Corbulus knew, they were heading straight for the planet below, their shields cracked from behind by friendly fire. Not so friendly fire after all as various cultists surged in the hangar, attacking what before were their masters. Chaos Champion of course understood that he was betrayed by none other than the Despoiler himself, for many years they shared many disagreements and perhaps it was time for a final clash.

    Or not, since Abaddon didn't seem like he cared enough to give Corbulus a decent chance of a duel or something like that, instead as his forces started retreating he just opened fire on Wolves of Horus' flagship and annihilated its engines from behind, sealing their fate as the vessel was locked to planet's gravity well. Next thing he knew, Corbulus survived the following fighting as well as crash landing, but most of his brothers weren't so lucky. In fact, the only one who was in a decent shape was Nero, "young-blood" who joined his warband right before this Black Crusade and was a former Ultramarine gone rogue. They managed to get out of the broken vessel with only couple of items in one piece and from that point onward, they tried to find a way out of this mess. At the moment, they were looking at the only building that (somewhat) survived the explosion - a local motor pool. "Even if everything else is fucked up, there must be a working transport inside, a Rhino or something, that we can use to get the hell out of here," Nero said and pointed with his stalker bolter at the entrance, where four Chaos Marines with the insignia of the Black Legion on their shoulders entered and lost themselves in the darkness.

    Of course there was a working Rhino inside the motor pool, actually there were 4 Rhinos, 2 Predators, 12 bikes and 1 Land Speeder working within, at their 67% efficiency. Not bad concerning the entire situation surrounding them. Sobek was a man (or more precisely, so much more than a man) who kept track of these things, especially in his own "home". He was placed here by the Despoiler to organize the mechanical assets of the invasion force and he did just that, keeping everything working and after thoroughly preparing, sending everything to the battlezone where the Chaos forces could win the day by sheer provided firepower alone. Everything was fine until that damned bombardment and followup crashing of the ship that annihilated most of the inhabitants of the base, but kept his workshop intact. Most likely due to his own skill at building such things. It was located in the back of the motor pool and it came as no surprise that he was quite aware of the unwanted guests entering the place, although since most of his guardians died during the destruction (where he also suffered some damage to his form), there was no way to simply repel the invaders, although perhaps a different way was possible out of this situation. He was still in the back, hidden by various types of machinery used for repairs and the Chaos Marines haven't spotted him yet, but who knew when would that change. They were looking for something, approaching each vehicle and checking it if it worked, so perhaps they too wanted to get the hell out of here and fast.


    Black Legion GTA crew: 6/6/6/6 (bolters, chainswords)

    Sobek:7 Corbulus:9 Nero:8


    Outside the motor pool, a mile to the south was home to the main sacrificial area of the former Chaos base where the devotees brought those Imperials they managed to capture in the fighting for them to properly be sacrificed the the great powers. Now, in the aftermath of the explosion the prisons holding captives cracked open and they fled the area, but due to the torturing that erased most of their sanity away, they stuck around, busy fighting those cultists they could find so they could visit a bit of their own terror upon their former masters. However not every follower of the Dark Gods was attack, those in dire condition or unconscious were taken so they could too be tortured in turn.

    Waking up after going out during the destruction of the base, Endred found himself out of his armor and chained to a pole in the middle of a pit. Bodies of cultists, most of them familiar to him for it was he who introduced them with the Ruinous Powers, lied all around the place and he could even see couple of dead Chaos Marines, their bodies torn asunder (most likely by explosion) were even more mutilated in their death, all of them filling the area around. "This one woke up," a nearby voice said and Dark Apostle saw a scrawny human pointing at him, while another with a long serrated knife approached him and stabbed him in the biceps, drawing dark blood. "Yes, you like it scumbag?! You like it when you're the one who bleeds?! You gonna bleed now, I tell ya, there's no stopping the pain!"

    Endred, being the one who was in charge of the masses of this Chaos force and who was also at the head of priesthood concerned with converting the captives into slaves of the Dark Gods before everything went to hell recognized the man as one of the most recent captives, the one he didn't have too much time working on so probably that was the reason why this was happening. However after having a better look at his surrounding he understood that it wasn't the case. He wasn't tied to an actual pole, he was tied to a broken eight-pointed star, the symbol of Chaos Undivided laughing back at him at his inability to act. What was even worse, he spotted the handle of his own corrupted crozius somewhere amidst the bodies, its edge devoid of any light...

    Close to the sacrificial pit and outside a nearby building, once a focusing ground for a cabal of Sorcerers and now almost flattened to the ground by a lucky lance strike, in the middle of a broken masonry lied Ausarius with what remained of his injured body. Pieces of shrapnel, metal structure, even pieces of concrete riddled his wounded form, the former mighty Sorcerer not looking all that powerful now. He managed to survive the explosion by disconnecting himself with the rest of the cabal in time, however even that and his prodigal powers weren't enough to completely save him and now he was totally screwed. However simply being injured, as if that wasn't enough, was at the moment only one of his problems.

    He saw cultists, or at least what looked like cultists, running around the area and picking every body they could find, not really caring if it was in one or several pieces, and dragged it towards a nearby pit. He also saw one of the Chaos Marines he knew from before, an Iron Warrior by the name of Arcus, his body severed in half by a big chunk of metal, who was slowly dragged away right before he woke up. Terribly wounded by still alive the Astartes roared and squashed the leg of one of the humans before they were on him, stabbing the hell out of him with a mix of daggers, swords and other sharp objects, turning once proud warrior into a pile of goo. But the moment he stopped moving the humans continued dragging him away towards the pit so Ausarius pretty much knew now what kind of fate awaited him if he was found as well.

    Angry mob: Prisoners:16 M. Scofield:4

    Ausarius:7 Endred:7
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  3. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    "Forsaken wasp shit... Everytime the same with the Imperium. Somehow gaining the upper hand as if their God-Emperor was actual truly powerful. But he has learned better during his time with these insane berserkers. He was nothing but a lie. A damn good lie. Then again, perhaps these idiots just had no capable leader. After all look at those tribesmen, erecting shrines of skulls. All morons that are better of dead." Valu thought to himself, making sure to move as little as possible, squinting his eyes behind the sack that covered his head, imagining that his thoughts could detonate the heads of those idiots. The main problem was that if he was to show himself and not non-sensical rip skulls off and collect them, they might very well take his.

    This 'Khorne' didn't care where blood came from as long as it flowed. Quite ironic, considering that Valu had the same mentality. As long as he could get blood - be it voluntarily or taken - he would be able to hide amidst his enemies. His eyes went away from the insane chanters only to spot a hound, quickly spotting more of them. One of them might sniff him out this time, not worth the risk. He gritted his teeth at his own helplessness, clenching his las rifle tight.

    For now he remained in cover, waiting for them to either move away, or fall asleep, or something else to happen, before making his move. He had to get off this world. Which meant to get back to the base of these Anti-Imperials. He would die out in the wastelands by himself, but these cultists couldn't be reasoned with - and it seemed there was no intact vehicle around.

    OOC: Hide.
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  4. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    The Sorcerer gave off a muffled cough of blood as he shook his head free - the machine spirit linked to his HUD was blaring warnings within as his life support systems were screaming danger signs - he reached down at a piece of rebar and snapped it with his grip, before bringing himself up and pushing the rest of the rubble off of him, taking off what bits were stuck to his power armoured form and sliding to the side.
    His hand instinctively reached around at the ground for his Force Spear - a magnificently, beautifully crafted weapon that he'd seen to being made early on upon Prospero as he saw that the Great Crusade would need psychic skills, its blade having never dulled through the millennia. With some effort he finally grasped at it, though his moment of relief faded as he brought it up to bear.
    The power mechanism and runes along its blade were damaged; using his psychic powers to empower it would certainly be less than effective in this state, and even without that it was no functional power weapon, rendering it merely a blunt instrument like most were--

    He shook his head after a moment, ignoring his MK IV's life support warnings and the searing pains through his body as he got to his feet with the spear in hand. No, it wasn't a 'blunt instrument'. This was his treasured relic, an ancient memory. Meeting Nasha, the smith who had forged the blade and aiding in the implementation of the was power mechanism, had been a fond memory of his; he knew that this was something he had to keep safe.
    Still, looking around, the Prosperan couldn't help but feel a bit... Gloomy at the sight, pushing aside more rubble and reveling in how the servo's augmented his motions, yet again having been reminded of how such marvelously crafted power armour - MK IV at that, he knew of how such a thing was a treasure amongst even the better supplied loyalist Scum - was the reason for his being alive.
    Seeing how the man, Arcus, had been killed so... Casually was almost disheartening. He hadn't much of a pleasant relation with him, but he was one of those few who had at least a sane mind. Or, at least, one that he knew of. One of those who had joined these Chaos bunch not for the glory of warp spawn and selfishness, but for spite against the Imperium; they'd fought numerous times against one another, Ausarius knew this. But they'd fought alongside one another as well, and it was a pity to see him ended so casually, before even he could have done anything.

    At least you'll go down kicking and screaming in the Warp as well, old friend; give them Hell for me. He thought to himself, bringing his hand up and looking to his powered palm. Clenching and relaxing his muscles, he couldn't help but ponder to himself how he'd survive so long - and how the others amongst the Cabal were so~...
    Well.

    His moment of contemplation was cut short as he looked up to the Cultists that had killed his friend, a brief moment of hatred boiling up as he clenched his fist once more - his mind reaching out into the Warp for even a brief moment of power - the hate for these Cultists for killing those who earned respect just as Arcus had, for being so cowardly and selfish. The hate for the Loyalist Imperial forces for attacking so blindly and never attempting reason. The hate for Tzeentch for cursing his brothers, and hate for his damned treasure being ruined.

    Should he find it possible, The Thousand Sons Sorcerer would reach into the Warp and bring his hand forward, aiming to surge lightning through his fingertips - mentally imagining how he would empower himself and throw this death upon his foes, to feel the heat and raw energy in his chest surge forth through his arm and out his fingertips, how it would sear and annihilate his foes with even more ease than any well-aimed bolt round would manage.

    Ausarius took little enjoyment in this - he was one who perhaps despite ten millennia, was not one to take vengeance so lightly and so casually, and yet still did it all the same; the deaths of so many comrades for something so miniscule was to him, beyond disgusting: what had they gained by attacking this world? He'd aided in it yes, but he had no choice after all - it was a case of where he would be leaving his back open for a knife, or more likely, a force sword. And even so, his brethren had chosen to stay. Perhaps not for the petty Chaos views that many here had (the Dark Gods, he was sure, cared little about their lives anyway) but for individual goals; he knew that Arcus had plans regarding technology and to gather plans for a certain Warpsmith, for use against the Imperium in the future.
    Lorin, one of the Sorcerers, had been here so that he could complete a ritual he'd devised to sacrifice mortals - so that his own comrades would remain safe, and gain the knowledge necessary to find worse ways to wound the Imperium of Man.
    Even Pharihan, the Exalted Sorcerer who had undeniably followed the Architect of Fate, had other plans - ones that resolved around settling certain grudges against old loyalist Chapters, and he cared little on how he would accomplish this so long as he did.

    These men had, in Ausarius' eyes, deserved no death and yet here they are, amidst rubble or cut to pieces by little more than gnats. The Thousand Sons Sorcerer growled under his helmet as he let his fury unleash itself upon his enemies, the hand clenching his Force Spear tightening as he started to murmur unintelligible syllables; once more tapping into his power to try and enhance himself again.
    Forgive me Ahriman, old friend - perhaps taking you up on that offer would have been a better choice.




    OOC: Smiting the angry mob, and attempting to cast Iron Arm.
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  5. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Corbulus spat on the corpse of Black Legionnaire at his feet, the mixture of saliva, blood, and acid hit the warped breastplate of the dead chaos space marine, sizzling a little and letting out a wisp of smoke upwards.

    Putting on his Mk III Iron helmet back on, the now once again aspiring champion's body conveyed little in regards to Corbulus' thoughts and emotions. Yet he could practically feel the air around him seeth with rage. Millennia worth of work, countless boons earned and worlds dragged into the Malfactus, gone in an instant. Why? Because he had been fool enough to listen to Zhuthac, likely a spy for Abaddon now that he thought about it. The Word Bearer had been adamant in his warband joining the self-proclaimed 'Warmaster' of Chaos in his next invasion, and that with the victory and conversion of a dozen more worlds, the dark blessing Corbulu had been searching for would be his. Or so the dark gods supposedly said.

    Now, Corbulus stared at the ruined hanger of his battle cruiser, The Unbowed. His eyes scanned the bodies, whole and piecemeal, scattered around, along with the wrecks of his fighters and other vehicles. Had Zhuthac not eaten a rocket from those pathetic Sons of Orar, the Wolf of Horus would be feeding the Son of Lorgar his own intestines right now. He clutched his right fist tight as his eyes reached the ceiling of the hanger, his mind picturing the sky beyond it and the space above the world, where he had used every ounce of his willpower not to spit in Abaddon's face as the Failure addressed him mockingly, welcoming him back as his 'prodigal brother.' A distant feeling, what more than ten thousand years ago might have resembled regret, flickered once in his back of his mind.

    There, in the unforgiving void, the corpses of eleven other ships that had consisted of his warband's Navy floated lifelessly, shredded between the loyalist's and Abaddon's guns. His most able officer, Talomon, had sacrificed their largest vessel, The Fang of Lupercal, to save The Unbowed. In vain, Corbulus thought bitterly. The desolator class battleship had rammed headfirst into the capital ship of the Imperial battlegroup moving to blast the crippled Battle Cruiser into pieces as it crashed into the planet below. As it collided with the Emperor Class Battleship, it detonated its primary reactor, causing a chain reaction that spread to the enemy battleship, eventually causing a large enough explosion to eliminate enough of the ships near them, allowing the crash into the planet itself to kill them all instead.

    Yet, the failure of Abaddon spread to even this deed. His favored weapons destroyed, his custom artificer armor, which had last him well over the last ten millennia, was damaged to the point where even he doubted it could be fully functional again. His warband destroyed and he was stranded on this Warp forsaken planet. Still, Corbulus was alive. What else should he expect from a man who had failed not once, not three times, but twelve full Black Crusades. How Abaddon hadn't been reduced to a pile of mindless flesh by the dark gods, and him stranded and without their favor (as even he could see from the corpses around him) was beyond the chaos champion. As the subject of warp deities returned to the forefront of his mind, his already clutched fist tightened: this was to be the last world to be converted before he reached daemonhood.

    Corbulus began walking forward, his eyes scanning the area without moving much. He strolled past the husk of the loyalist dreadnought, the clinging of the empty trophy hooks to his armor by his waist a vivid reminder of the loss he had suffered here. For being supposedly the descendants of that idealistic fool Guilliman, the Sons of Orar surprised him with their unorthodox boarding method, at least with his flagship. They had launched a massive boarding torpedo, along with their standard one, that slammed into the hanger. From its bowls discharged a hellfire dreadnought that immediately provided covering fire for the infantry that followed. The thanks it received for killing Zhuthac was a quick death at the hands of the Alpha Wolf of Horus himself, as he plunged one of his prized custom lightning claws into the front of it. The armored walker immediate fell, but the claw remained lodged in its chest, and with the enemy encroaching upon his position, Corbulus had been forced to abandon it. The other had been crushed in the crash, its heavy armor doing executing its last service to him by saving his arm, but in the process rendered completely useless.

    Coming upon the corpse of an Iron Warrior who had joined in the betrayal by Abaddon, Corbulus managed to catch movement out of the corner of his eyes as he kneeled down to remove the corpse's gauntlets. The shifting body wore a gold painted suit of power armor, with black trim, a similar but less well-crafted version of his. The grunts of pain indicated that even if the newcomer wished to usurp the ownership of the Alpha Wolf's life, he would quickly pay for his hubris. Equipping the grey gauntlets onto his arm and watching the heads up display sync up, the aspiring champion turned to see the newcomer was none other than the actual newcomer of his warband, Nero. Ignoring the former Ultramarine, he walked over to where he had pinned the Khorne Beserker to the wall with his own axe before. The impalement had actually preserved the corpse quite well, as it didn't bounce around during the crash. The Khornate had chosen Abaddon's side over his and thus chosen poorly.

    Reaching up, Corbulus pulled the chainaxe free, letting the fromer World Eater slide down to the ground, leaving a trail of blood from where he had died nearly three meters off the ground. Turning, he continued forward, even as Nero tried to wave him down from afar. After spotting some purple pieces of armor on the ground, the Alpha Wolf walked over and looked over the pieces of the rubric marines that remained. Evidently, either Abaddon wanted to be through, had given out a bounty for his head, or both, many attempts on his life during the betrayal came from various legions of the past. A certain Thousand Son sorcerer even brought his rubric marines with him. Too bad a burst from Corbulus custom lightning claws' mounted storm bolters removed the critin's head. A few well aimed shots from his despoiler squads' grenade launchers and the rubric marines were nothing but pieces of armor on the floor.

    Still, there was salvageable equipment to be found. After sliding a combat knife into an empty sheath on his armor, and picking up a bolt pistol, Corbulus finally turned as the ex-Ultramarine jogged up, holding a bolter in his hands and having not much else. Nero's almost enthusiasm tested his patience, though he reined in his anger. This was very much the last of his Warband, a cruel joke by the dark gods as the boy did not even share his gene-seed. Then again, much of the force that followed him consisted of those that turned after the defeat at Terra, drawn by the longing to serve with those still clinging on to the name of Horus Lupercal. While he personally never saw the mysticism of the primarch, the Alpha Wolf did respect the man, something not shared by many individuals, living or dead. It helped that it was also useful in gathering followers. So he took full advantage of that latter fact.

    "My Lord Corbulus, did you not hear me?" Nero asked, panting as he shook off the last of the effects from their crash.

    Corbulus replied with the briefest of glances before heading out of the hanger. "There is much to do. Follow." He began walking out, and after a moment of hesitation, Nero followed.

    "Shouldn't search for other survivors? Maybe someone-"

    "They're all dead, and if they're not and aren't soon will be, then they'll find us. If they can't, then they're of no use to me." Corbulus continued forward, formulating some sort of plan of action for the present situation. As they exited the hanger, Nero looked unsure but wisely did not give voice to his thoughts.

    Now they both watched the motor pool from their position, and Corbulus wondered if the boy in power armour next to him was going to piss himself in his excitement. For his own faculties, he had to use much of his willpower not to charge the Black Legionnaires like some damned Khornate Beserker and slaughtering the lot of them. One, given the state of his armour, they might actually be able to seriously injure him before the task was done. Second, he needed to rebuild his army, and what better than to recruit those of his own gene-seed? A part of him seriously hoped for them to stay loyal to the arch-failure so that his hatred for Abaddon might be sated slightly with their cooling corpse. Before that though, the Alpha Wolf could not let Nero's insolence go unpunished.

    Turning, the back of Corbulus' collided swiftly with the side of Nero's head, his helmet lost in the crash. The blow was just hard enough to rock the chaos space marine's vision, draw blood into his mouth and send him to the ground but did not do any effective damage. As the young marine look up, he would look down the barrel of the bolt pistol in the Alpha Wolf's hand. "As long as you draw breath, you shall call me 'Lord' or 'Master.' The next time you presume us equals, the correction will be more severe and," Corbulus paused, staring with his emotionless visor into Nero's wide eyes, "permanent. Am I understood?" Nero couldn't speak, but nodded his head quickly, almost attempting to get out of the pistol's way. Turning away and back to the half-collapsed building, the aspiring champion scanned the area and barked out his orders. "Find an overwatch point and provide supporting fire for me if needed. Stay ready until I tell you otherwise."

    Without waiting for a response, Corbulus stepped out towards the motor pool, hearing the scrambling of Nero behind him towards a better firing position. Moving and finally stopping at a spot in the open but very close to various covers. He had selected this spot because it was close enough for his voice to reach inside but far enough that those who would wish to take a shot at him from the building would have a difficult time. Taking a breath, the Alpha Wolf projected his voice towards the motor pool.

    "Sons of Horus! I know you are within! After another abysmal failure, Abaddon has abandoned you, just as he betrayed me. Such is his fate, to fail over and over while others like us pay the price. The so call 'Warmaster' couldn't even have one successful invasion of the Solar Segmentum after twelve attempts. If you'll recall, Horus Lupercal knocked down the very walls of the Imperium Palace and upon the very door of the throne room itself with one attack! My name is Corbulus, and I was a captain of the 36th company during the Great Crusade and our great war after. I helped bled our legion of its weaknesses upon the ruins of Istvaan III, then joined our primarch in annihilating the blind fools of Vulkan, Corvus, and Manus on Istvaan IV. I cast one of the many torches that burned the Throne World as our armies bore down the very doorsteps of the Emperor, and since then I've seized world after world, tossing them within the confines of the Malfactus and attained victory after victory. Furthermore, I have never fled while those that swore allegiance to me die!"

    Gripping the bolt pistol and chain axe in hand now, Corbulus spoke purposefully and clearly. "So, I offer you a choice now: an opportunity to fight under our true name and discard this pathetic failure that would dare to proclaim himself 'Warmaster.' Join the Wolves of Horus, and together, we will succeed where Abaddon has proven to be nothing but a failure. Swear your fealty to me, and watch the galaxy, rather than a sector, burn. Pledge yourselves into my service, or die clutching onto a master who has long since discarded you like scraps off of his plate!" With that, he braced himself and waited. Should the Black Legionnaires come out guns blazing, the Alpha Wolf would dive for cover nearby, and Nero's fire would distract them long enough for him to descend upon them with swift and terrible vengaence.


    OOC: Offered a chance to switch sides and took a defensive action.
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  6. Kal Kalle Arkhona Vanguard

    Xaviera had awakened with a dead man on top of her, his limp body bearing down on her chest and giving her lungs trouble breathing under the weight that crushed against them. It was a hefty guardsman whose failed charge had cost him his life, but in that same instant, the skies had burned in unholy conflagration and the earth had shook like a thrashing beast from the injury. A shock had rolled through the battlefield, its rumble like the death rattle of a world, of a cause, of a Black Crusade. She knew this in her heart, because in one horrible moment of absolute despair, she had felt the Dark Powers' favor withdraw from them all. They were abandoned and cast aside. What remained, as far as the priestess was concerned, was herself and a fallen guardsman.

    Coming to her senses, she felt more than the overbearing weight on her body; she felt the cuts and bruises she had sustained. She could only imagine her skin --- her smooth, fair skin --- marred by dark blotches spreading from the bruises. A stinging sensation on her brow told her that the dark liquid that dripped into her eye was her own blood, rather than the mud of the battlefield. The thought repulsed her. It was not vanity, but a mind for presentation, that caused her to mind her appearance so much. Though the wounds might lend some ruggedness to her appearance, there was always a degree of flawless flair to her leadership, the way she exuded an untouchable confidence. She had always wanted her flock to believe their shepherd to be invincible.

    She was too weak to do much about the hefty guardsman, but she strained and growled, pushing against him all the same. Suddenly, the weight eased, then entirely lifted, and she was greeted by familiar faces. The familiarity did nothing to soothe her frustration. Geln and his goons. Their fascination with the Prince of Pleasure was crude; their exclusive, mindless, unreflected devotion to single facet of the vast glory that was Chaos shamed her. Their service was required, however, and the priestess saw fit to accept it. She reached up to take hold of an extended hand, one of Geln's goons helped her to her feet.

    "Thank you, Brother," she said with all the gravitas she could muster after being saved from a guardsman's dead weight. She turned her eyes to Geln, addressing the brute wearily. "There are no others?" The cultists shook their heads. Xaviera felt something heavy sink in her chest, but she maintained her concentration. These fools needed her; it was her way to emulate the great Word Bearers. The misguided faithful needed a guide, and she took her exalted masters' example seriously. "Very good, then," she decided, to the cultists' surprise. "A small number has a better chance of reaching the headquarters unseen," she explained simply. The logic was not lost on them. "Others would only slow us down or risk our detection. Come now, Brothers, let us move."

    It did not take terribly long before their path crossed with a patrolling squad of guardsmen, accompanied by a single sentinel. It had been only a matter of time, and now Xaviera was confronted with a choice. Geln was agitated, frustrated, his behavior surrounding the prospect of bloodshed was like that of a horny stud smelling a fertile mare. Simple and pitiful. His eagerness could jeopardize them.

    Her choice was simple. She stepped forwards and she touched his shoulder, slid her hand up his neck. "Geln, my Brother, hush yourself," she crooned, her voice low and husky and soothing. She smiled to the cultist. "The path to glory requires more than enthusiasm," she whispered to him. A press of her hand against his neck, and a small stinger in her silver ring delivered the venom to his bloodstream. The momentary choke might have served to mask the venom's entry. It would work slowly, but if Geln survived their encounter with the guardsmen, then he would be removed from the equation.

    She watched the procession of guardsmen for a few moments longer, and then she addressed her followers once more. "By my command... Charge..." she told them. Her eyes rested on the guardsmen. Once, they had been clear blue. Now they were a stormy purple, reflecting the Warp's touch. She drew her knife, her blessed tool with which she cut through the Materium and into the Warp, and clutched it with both hands, before she thrusted it into the sky. Four pillars of silvery smoke struck down from the heavens in quick succession: their clouds spread like a sack of flour dropped amongst the guardsmen. "Slay them!" Xaviera cried out and aimed her laspistol into the guardsman squad, firing!

    OOC:

    Notable actions: Attempted to envenom Geln, ordered a charge
    Offensive action: Sensory overload
    Offensive action: Laspistol shot
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  7. Fox Vulpas Well-Known Member

    Fera as she raised herself from the pit of debris, let out a roar of defiance still alive and still fighting fighting just as the world wanted, another battle another test now was one of survival as all things went fubarred, her group gone and no sign of there bodys she hefted up her heavy bolter spotting it by its ammo fead luckily still intact if not a little damaged, "Well now back at the bottom of the pit now to work our way back to the top." She said to herself hefting her bolter and stopping as she came past a flipped maticore, Spotting a small group of tribes men all trying to erect a shrine to the blood god.


    "Pathetic..." Was all she said as she spotted them wasting there time there making a shrine instead of trying to make there way off this rock, Spotting something else moving around them she spotted a blood hound, and knowing she had no powers or gift she knew what would happen to her if she they ran into her. Looking over at the over turned manticore she began climbing it using mag locking on he boots to get a easier way up there and then to help hold her own own footing once she got up there. "Well if they want to appease Khorne, Lets do it it right and shed some blood." Deciding she was ready to vent some of her own rage and frustration she readied her heavy bolter.

    "IF ANYONE OF YOU SHODS THAT ARE STILL ALIVE OF HERE WANT TO GET OFF THIS ROCK AND BRING GLORY TO YOURSELF AND THE GOD OF WAR OR WHATEVER GOD YOU PRAISE, THEN LET US SLAY THESE HOUNDS THEN WORK TOGETHER TO MAKE A TRECK BACK TO HQ AND SLAY ANY WHO GET IN OUR WAY!" Fera shouted her voice being amplified by her Vox sure to get the attention of anything and possibly everything, Seeing she still had ammo she readied herself for the hounds and the tribes men to react violently and if either tried rushing her they would meet her suppressing fire or even better be splattered by a bolter round.

    OOC action, Trying to gather any sane members of the tribe to side with Fera or anyone in the surrounding area to aid her in clearing the area and forming up
    Two defense actions on Fera if any blood hounds or Tribes men charge her she will begin firing her heavy bolter at em.
  8. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Orghast was disturbed. Stomach lay wide open, the bloody muzzle of a Barbed Skull hunting hound rooting around inside of him. Marine reached a hand out, not a glove, but in fact a hand. Armor had been wrecked for centuries, covered in multiple craters where his pox ridden flesh had burst through like fat boils. A thinned hand still taut with muscle but lacking in sore carpeted flesh stroked back along the hound's neck, as if petting it affectionately. The fact it hadn't succumbed to any number of the terrible parasites or viruses that reproduced inside him was worrisome. Body tensed up and torso flexed, Orghast willing the distorted musculature of the mutant maw set into his stomach to snap close upon the mongrel's neck; so he had planned anyways. Mutt still chewed into him, likely inflicting nasty damage upon a collection of organs that were no coated in befouled serous fluids. So engaged in its gorging the hound hadn't even gone to snap at his hand. Thick Astartes digits closed around the neck and Orghast willed himself to stand, holding the snapping beast up and away from him.

    "Stop. That." Eyes were open wider than they had in centuries. For so long a combination of swollen flesh and mucous had kept them narrowed and the periphery of his vision partially blocked. Working his lower jaw around the Death Guard slapped his tongue against his lips and over his teeth, no longer an uneven porthole of leech like incisors. Dipping over Orghast collected his bolter, still holding hound high. Actual armored fingers wrapped tightly around the grip of the weapon, at least that still felt familiar. "Come on pup." Frowning at the lack of rancid heat present in his breath Orghast carts the animal over toward another corpse. "Lets get you some more food buddy, taste the delicious decay." Voice little more than a deep whisper he tries to goad it into eating an as of yet unripened cultist, still freshly dead and sadly lacking in many flies. Orghast's dulled eyes fell on the pestilent pests, sighing through a nose frustratingly devoid of snot clogs. Mere hours ago they had flocked to his call, entire clouds the size of tanks sweeping over the fields of war and propagating prodigiously until reaching critical mass and falling upon the living with an entirely unnatural and effectively murderous hunger.

    Much as the changes saddened him and tugged at a heart that now beat strong with wakefulness and an urgent need to distribute mending Laramann cells, Orghast would not submit to despair and die right then. Nurgle was displeased and revoked his fecund bundle of blessings. It was an entirely different sort of blessing that he yet lived though, and if anything a change was not in order. Orghast needed to return, undo what had been done, defy fate and its master. Objectives would need time to develop though, Orghast needed information and he needed opportunities to glorify Nurgle; a poor follower he would be if he spat upon Grandfather's name over something so petulant as being punished for failure, no matter if it may not have been his directly. In the meantime he would seek companionship, and the legionnaire had always held a fondness for wildlife, so for now winning over the dog would be a fine goal.

    Actions: Attempting to befriend the dog by feeding it a corpse. Any other actions will be given over to defense for now.
  9. Skarboy Skarboy Well-Known Member

    The lies, the lies, the lies...

    His eyes opened to a barren horizon, the world's atmosphere in flux from the multiple cataclysmic collisions of Abaddon's fleet crashing into the surface. It wouldn't be long before the massive waves of air pressure saw sudden changes in weather, the potential for acid rain eating away at a land of the dead fairly high. His brothers lay dead around him, the squad of madmen having torn through the trenches with single-minded fury. Torn earth, the roar of cannons, screams of the dying.. All underlined by the frantic muttering of the Scourged, reciting each lie delivered their ears by the Changer of Ways. It had been all that had mattered, all that had inhabited the minds of the squad for decades. Insanity had taken them in the deceptions of Mankind, each whisper another fracture in broken hearts and abandoned honor.

    Yet it was quiet, now.

    Some ghost of what had once been Brother Attelus of the Seekers of Truth began to return, light returning to his wild eyes beneath the helmet. Then he heard the sounds of combat stir once more and he rose. Tzeentch may have abandoned him and given him a moment's clarity, but the need to lash out against the Imperium was still strong. His cracked lips moved of their own accord, reciting the most recent falsehoods that had tarnished his mind. Lies that had come from lips on this very battlefield. A beaten statue rose in that field of corpses, disrupting earth and bodies as he recovered his twinned blades. A pair of large swords even by Astartes standards, reinforced along their length with a killing point, the blunt sides had proved effective bludgeons over the years.

    Then Attelus was moving, superhuman legs eating up the distance as he spied the squad of Loyalists and their Sentinel support. The blades were held low with points forward, set to pierce a leg of the walker with a flying charge to knock it and it's pilot to the ground where the Astartes could make better work of them. And the lies poured forth.

    "We're going to make it.. Don't look to the skies, men. Focus on the fight and we'll make it through."

    Action: Attempting to immobilize the Sentinel with paired swords at knee or ankle joint.
    Action: Charge to knock over the walker.
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  10. High Adept Zeth High_Adept_Zeth Arkhona Vanguard

    Sobek the Cyrabor Mystic:
    [​IMG]

    Note: Ochre instead of black robe holding usually a shock whip instead of a staff that is depicted above;

    Obedience without question, compliance. Faith, ritual, perseverance, Many-Eyed God. Those are the paradigms that made difference between a slave and Cyrabor tech-wright. Principles that Abaddon broke faith with and all of them pay the price. Even the Great Raven abandoned them in the heresy of failure!

    Furious at everyone and everything, Sobek found for the first time in his life the difficulty of choice - or at least the illusion of one. Fussing with broken tools and shattered faith, Mystic worked hard to repair himself and the damaged vehicles in the depth of the greased and rubble strewned machine pit.

    As the flare of the plasma torch bathed his beaked mask in blue-white light, Sobek observed in occular-dimmed weld his own ambition and goals reforging. In the past couple of hours since the planetary disaster, he constantly reminisenced his life. Near death scenario of utter termination in this bounding realm of the Anathema and his empyric laws upon matter, can have one`s values and loyalties, .... modified.

    @WanderingJester

    Finishing repairs upon a particular Rhino, with plans of escape and remaking for the first time in the light of his own making, Sobek noticed his levitating servo-skull pinging with auger poximity-warnings, detecting the presence of nearby Black Legionnaires.

    Half-breed. What do they want? Was the loss of my mechanical charges, faith, comrades and almost life not enough? How much more must I sacrifice at the cruicible of their failure?

    Quite aware of current situation and unwilling to spend the rest of his existence as a slave to a local warlord or worse - as a sport, Sobek took refuge within the cavernous hull of the Rhino. Sealing the entry hatch behind, he navigated the interior of the driver`s compartment, its seats made for lifeforms much bigger then him. For a moment finding a temporae comfort he observed the glummed interior of his workship through the window slit of Rhino hearing a voice echoing against the myriad metal platforms around the workshop, its bass quality, resonating to those of a post-human.

    "Sons of Horus! I know you are within! ...
    ... Join the Wolves of Horus, and together, we will succeed where Abaddon has proven to be nothing but a failure. Swear your fealty to me, and watch the galaxy, rather than a sector, burn. Pledge yourselves into my service, or die clutching onto a master who has long since discarded you like scraps off of his plate!"

    Engaging the passive auspex he observed the situatuion from the small terminal far above his head, noticing two signature lifeforms outside, and three....no! - four signatures prowling around his workshop.

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