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Perfect Warriors

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Colapse, Jun 22, 2018.

  1. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    Perfect Warriors

    It is said that great men, just like eagles, spend their lives flying upon the great skies in solitude. To some a blessing, to others a curse, but to those seeking perfection, being the best was to be alone at the top, a natural state of things and not something to evade, but something to embrace fully. To withstand such burden required sacrifice, commitment and a mindset utterly dedicated to achieving the goal set before you. A lonesome road indeed, not traveled upon lightly. But to some, it was the only path they could take. Some of the ancient Terran philosophers would say that to find purpose in life one must overcome the challenges set before him and the feeling of victory is the feeling that makes the life worth living. Perhaps a heretical thought in these times, but something akin to it combined with the solitary nature of the one who is destined to become first among equals in all things, was the force the gave birth to what is known as the Emperor's Children, Third Legion of the Legio Astartes.

    Drawn from the greatest sons of the mightiest noble houses of ancient Europa, strategists, tacticians and warlords without peer, they made the core of the Legion while its heart was the most complete person this galaxy has ever seen, and his name was Fulgrim. Fulgrim the Phoenician, Fulgrim the Perfect Son, Fulgrim the Primarch of the Emperor's Children, the only Legio Astartes allowed to carry Emperor's own symbol, the Golden Aquila, on their breastplates. Imperial Eagle, like in the days of old, was the symbol of an empire of holy origin destined to rule the world and it was only fitting that the greatest of all Legions wore it on their chest, declaring once and for all, the humanity's supremacy in this galaxy.

    The Eagle, an obvious show of favor from the Master of Mankind, was a privilege as well as a burden. It drove the Third onward, like a beacon in the night, to even greater heights, for they searched for one and one thing above all else, which was simply put, to be the best. To others they seemed arrogant, but what their peers thought was a flaw the Children of the Emperor saw only as their right, for weren't they the ones who still cherished the values not only connected with war. Music, art, literature, the way of life that these nobles had since the inception of their bloodlines was not something to be thrown aside, but it was something to be cherished. The spirit of the Legion was the spirit of humanity's greatest minds and losing it in the cauldron of what was the great Imperial warmachine would be a blow that those who come after them will never be able to recover from. To destroy a nation, one must first topple its culture and a society without culture is a society forced to drift aimlessly upon the wind of progress, its soul cast into oblivion.

    Great burden indeed, but a burden Phoenician and his warriors had no trouble carrying. Let others think whatever they want, it would be the Third that will be at the vanguard, leading like the true exemplars the Emperor, beloved by them all, wanted them to be.

    "It is upon us that this truth must be proved once again. While other Legions pride themselves at being best at one thing at a time, the Emperor's Children will be the best at everything. So sayeth Fulgrim, the perfection we seek to further ourselves is not only our duty, but our given right," spoke Lord Commander Leonis, his words echoing in the ears of every legionary on the planet below. Leading the fresh ten companies, from 25th to 34th, it was up to the Chemosian-born commander and his officers to drive the new recruits away from the disaster that almost brought their Legion to extinction and into the new age, an age of mighty heroes and glorious deeds.

    The name of the world was irrelevant now, once a thriving place colonized by the humans during the Dark Age of Technology it was now a place where the darkness took its due and the shadows danced upon the ashes of civilization. But not anymore. These reavers, these alien pirates, the last remnants of a dying race, would soon learn that whatever machinations, whatever tricks they might have, will prove to be useless against the bearers of the Golden Aquila. Perfect warriors would descend upon them and declare their own supremacy, sealing the fate every xenos species will be doomed to suffer, the complete and utter destruction after declaring themselves as the enemies of Man.

    "Emperor's Children, keep your weapons sharp and your wits sharper, these aliens are known for their deviousness and I suspect we'll about to be reminded of it," Sergeant Sidon said, his 4th squad taking cover behind large mangrove trees and dug-out earth that served as makeshift trench peering into the darkness of the thick jungle in front of them. There was little to no sound coming from it, as if all of its animal and insect inhabitants shared the fate of the human population, which is to be turned into a slave for the dark alien overlords. There were more of the Emperor's Children legionaries around, members of the 5th, 6th and 7th squad alongside members of the Imperial army, Palatine Auxilia brought to act as support to Third Legion's advance into what seemed to be one of the central hubs that these aliens had under control. At the moment, this advance halted as the contact was lost with the scouts that went ahead and were supposed to report the enemy's strength and disposition just outside the jungle line. As it turns out, this would have to be done the hard way, but Sidon knew better than to toss the lives of his soldiers by going in dark. Instead, he opted to wait and draw the xenos out by forcing them to attack and break the Imperials or risk being completely surrounded.

    "Trust in your brothers, trust in yourself, remember the words of the Primarch and know that your actions today will echo into eternity. You are the Children of the Emperor, the greatest of all His sons, your duty is to be perfect at your craft and today, you shall do your duty or die trying."

    @Uriel1339 @Draconion @Jorimel @dx144 @Kalle @Vulpas @WanderingJester
  2. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    Alephoros Aster, sometime son of Chemos and now Child of the Emperor felt his twinned hearts beat faster as the echo of the Sergeant's words died away in the silence of the blighted jungle. His already poised stance straightened just a little more. He ran his hand through his blonde hair, sweeping it back from his forehead and tucking it into his armour with one smooth motion. Helmeted, he linked into the company's vox-net with a blink-click and studied the panorama in front of him, flamer in hand. Green and brown warred with sickly reddened purple the colour of a bruise, as if the world itself smarted under the lash of the alien oppressors. He scanned for life signs, carefully monitoring the front and keeping - as always - half an eye on the sky.

    A childhood spent looking up - to the clearing skies, to the ever-rising tallies of productivity and prosperity, to the distant, lofty figure of his Primarch had given Aleph the air of someone who has his eye on the future. He was no idle dreamer. The Emperor's Will made flesh, his most perfect son, had graced his homeworld with his vision and Neophyte Aster had striven hard to be worthy of his gift. Since the day he had received his gene-implants and been made ready for war, he had always known that this day would come. That he would be called upon to face not only the dangers of battle, but of the insidious and corrupt alien. He was ready. Combat doctrines and weapons drills were instinct and muscle-memory now. His armour no longer confined him but moved with him, the invisible partner in a dance of blades, a storm of shells. He was a line soldier, but a solid centre is as much the key to winning a battle as fluid, mobile wings. So spoke the Phoenician, and so it would be.

    Every fight was a test, every conflict a chance to hone oneself on the drive towards perfection. Only by striving would it be reached. Alephoros took a deep breath, checked his flamer and steadied his aim. This initial forging would see all his work finally put to a trial in which he could shine. In which he must succeed. He could only succeed. Though distant, the eyes of the Phoenician were on him. He thought of the white-haired demigod - if such things as gods could be said to exist - and reverently touched the aquila on his chest for a moment. Fulgrim's impossibly beautiful face, his amethyst eyes, the fall of his golden feathered cloak, his elegance and perfect grace were burned forever into his psyche. To fail such a being would be as close to blasphemy as an enlightened man could come.

    "Children of the Emperor, Death to his Foes!" he murmured, standing straight once more, eyes seeking out targets as his retinal display calculated likely angles of attack and firing solutions.
  3. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    The jungles of this world were much different than the towering hive cities of Terra. Elymas was not a man of renown or even a noble family. Rather, his family was occupied of teaching the more notable families. Filled with scholars, mentors and advisors of all sorts of topics, the Velodonus family contributed from the shadows. But for Elymas it would be not a life of shadow that fate had chosen for him. Born with the psyker gene, Astartes recruiters were drawn toward him. To gauge whether he would be a contribution, or a danger. Luckily for the youngling, it was the former they determined.

    There were many hardships in his life. Luckily there was always a companion that accompanied him anywhere that would soothe his ailments - music. Even now, while standing as a genetically enhanced superhuman against the danger from beyond, a soft tune hummed in the back of his head.

    The voice of his Sergeant pulled him back with full attention to the imminent after attempting to use his psychic skills to reach out for the unseen. Alas, while battlefield training was complete, his psychic skills had so, so, so much more honing to get done. To reach perfection is going to be a long road. A road of blood, death and persistence.

    "Affirmative." Elymas replied to the Sergeant, placing himself close to him. Force Staff to fasten his stance in his left hand, the five acoustic guitar strings stretching from the imperial eagle adorned head two-thirds along the weapon. Making it the length of the common instrument. In the other was a bolt pistol. Automatically he scanned the perimeter not just with his eyes, but also the Bolt Pistol.

    These wretched aliens could jump out at any given moment. And the librarian would not have it to be accused of being a bad omen for the deployed forces, neither would he be a filthy coward. With Terran pride he wanted to prove to all of his battle brethren that he belonged to them as much as any other of them, despite the psychic powers. Often he wondered if the Phoenician would discard him with disgust, like the rest of the Velodonus family did, or if his gene-father would acknowledge him fair and equal to any other Emperor's Child. First there was his squad to be convinced. Then the company. The legion after that and hopefully eventual Fulgrim himself and with him, the other legions.
  4. Kal Kalle Arkhona Vanguard

    The canopy of the mangrove forest seemed to form a dark ceiling above them. The trunks looked like the support beams holding such a ceiling up above. The bowels of the jungle could be imagined to be a great hall, its braziers put out and cast into shadows. They sought a Xeno enemy upon an unnamed world, in their own dark jungles. The Space Marines of the Third Legion had sought cover amongst the trees, keeping their profiles low and slim, peering into the jungle with automated optics, training their sights on the nooks and crannies from whence Xeno warriors could emerge at any moment.

    Among the Legionnaires kneeling among the roots of the mangrove trees was Camille Devaloy. Like the whole of 4th squad, excepting their Sergeant, young Devaloy had only just earned the right to bear his Power Armor. More than a protective shell, the Power Armor worked in concert with his own genetically enhanced systems to provide him with sensory input and tactical duty. More than that, it was part of him. He had sacrificed much for that honor and not willingly so. Devaloy was an old name in the Imperium, dating back to the Terran Unification Wars, to the old Houses of Europa. When the noble House of Devaloy had been called upon to give its finest, Camille had been given to the Emperor. Leaving family and home behind, the youngster had been transported to the Legion facilities where they would train and equip him fit for a Legionnaire.

    He had been drafted into the Legion at a time of transition. Camille carried little aversion toward his non-Terran brothers, but there was an element of unfamiliarity between himself and the Chemosians. There were little ways that they separated themselves from Terrans with their speech, their mannerisms, their customs. To an outside observer, their differences were no doubt trivial, but Camille was blessed and cursed with the same eye for perfection that their Primarch's genes had given all of them. He saw all of their quirks, and privately wondered whose quirks their Primarch would prefer. The Phoenician had uplifted the Chemosians beyond their simple, uncultured society of menial workers, but before that, the Phoenician himself had been raised Chemosian. Was his ideal Terran or Chemosian? These were big questions that were far from Camille's mind at the current time, but laboring over these private musings nonetheless colored his impulses and biases in the present.

    It was these biases, however innocent by themselves, which caused Camille to turn away from his Chemosian brothers and instead address the other Terran Legionnaire in 4th squad, Martyn (@WanderingJester). After a cry of 'Children of the Emperor, death to His foes!' to join the rest of the squad, Camille gestured for the other Terran's attention. "Trius! We are the core, brother! I propose that we hold the center and focus our fire on primary targets, our heavy guns should be able to cover us!" He relayed the suggestion to him, then turned his attention to their leader. "Sergeant! Do we have your blessing to pursue this tactic?"
  5. dx144 dx144 Well-Known Member

    Pholax was loving every minute since he'd joined the Legion to be one of the ascended, to serve the Illuminator for eternity. He was seeing worlds that the people of Chemos would have considered a mad man's rantings less than a hundred years ago. These "trees", he'd seen nothing like them on Chemos. Least the water bringer didn't need to do that literally here.

    Running a hand slowly across the Phoenix Talon that covered his chest, then checking his Heavy Bolter was ready for the eighteenth, no, nineteenth time. He could taste the anticipation in the air, they were lurking, he could tell. Deadly Xenos, most vile of all of Humanity's enemies were looking upon them. Let them come and see them. Humanity was the rightful ruler of the Galaxy and we are making our stand now and forever, with the Illuminator at our head following the ideals of perfection given to us by the Emperor of Mankind, beloved of all.

    From the tales of the Legion's already vast number of achievements, Pholax wondered if he could ever match up, the dead and gone of the Legion who fell ignobly to disease was nothing more than fate mocking them, but they achieved things none ever would again, save maybe the Primarchs. It was rare for anyone to be grace with the Emperor's presence, but his brothers had been with him and even given their lives for him. That is a warrior must do, leave a legacy for the future generations to aspire to. Terrans might have different customs to the Chemosians but they were Emperor's Children and they had paid a heavy price to live up to the name, Phalox hoped that he could be their equal one day, to die for one's brother and father was the highest honour.

    "Dying is our duty, sir. Anyone of us should gladly place their live on the line to protect our brothers and Humanity from the vile alien which seeks to destroy us." Pholax added.

    With that, Pholax was looking around for the Xenos, he could feel his urge to see them turned into paste from unrelenting rounds of the Phoenician justice compelling him.
  6. Brother_Draconion Draconion Well-Known Member

    One file up from the left flank , Vitaly rests the thick barrel of his Soundstrike-pattern missile launcher on the lip of the trench and scans his firing zone with soft eyes, maximising his motion-sensitive peripheral vision. This and other tricks of scoutcraft had been drilled into them all during Legion Basic, but Vitaly had already been old friends with war by the time the levymasters swept him up at 16 years of age. Like all hardscrabble societies, scavvies weren't afraid to fight anyone standing between them and survival - be it one another, uppity city dwellers, or the bandits and other, more sinister things they shared the wastes with. In four years of riding the Deep Wastes with the Tinkerer Salvation Bands, Vitaly had seen enough war for three full-grown Protectors of his tribe. He'd helped win his share of fights, too. All with his wits and cool under fire, mind you - he had always been on the small side. As things stood, when he had been recruited by the Legion, the tribe sported three new weapon systems invented by him and bearing his name - all cobbled together from scrap and pressed into service under fire in the field, no less. Weapons that the tribe, in its new form as an up-and-coming industrial concern, were now manufacturing under contract for the Imperial Army (in an updated form fully compliant with industry standards, of course). The VT-23B 'Vitaly' Multi-Mortar, the OIM-133 'Sokolovsky' Light Ordnance Projector, and its main round, the FAE-1-C 'Vladimir' Thermobaric Bomb.

    That last had been named after his father, bless his heart. Sokolovsky, now, there was a name with a story. His father had told him it had once been a name of nobility, with history reaching back to Old Terra itself. Further reading in the Legion libraries had revealed it meant 'falcon' in the language of the Caucasus nations, who themselves had been nomads on horseback before founding great empires. As one might expect, such a name was synonymous with martial valour and surpassing excellence of visionary aspiration, among other things.

    Mind you, Vitaly wasn't in the least inclined towards pugnacity or bloodthirst. He wasn't afraid to fight, and he was certainly good at it, but he viewed violence essentially as a problem - a severe disharmony in the fabric of society. He did like solving problems, and he approached violence like he did all problems - with quiet, methodical gusto, seeking always the neatest, most expedient solution that caused the least collateral damage.

    Abruptly aware of the Imperial Aquila upon his armour, Vitaly smiles briefly beneath his helmet. He knows he has much to live up to. Thinking on his new squad brothers, he reflects upon the lines of heritage drawn between them. Terran and Chemosian. The cultural differences are plain for all to see, even after Legion training and indoctrination, but they do not bother him personally. The scavvy tribes were a diverse lot, and life at the very bottom of Chemosian society meant they couldn't afford to be picky about bedfellows. He can see the subtle unease it breeds in his squad brothers, however, and he wonders if these are simple teething pains that will fade with time, or fault lines heralding a catastrophic fracture.

    Only time can tell. One problem at a time, Vitaly. One problem at a time.
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  7. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    In the jungles of a world destined for anonymity and ultimate erasure from records within the Imperium, the space marines of the III legion waited. They were the Legios Astartes, genetically modified supersoldiers trained to retake the galaxy and return it to its rightful owner, humanity. At their head, the greatest son of humanity's sole ruler, Fulgrim. At their sides, battle-brothers of the highest caliber, armed with the best protection and weapons humanity had to offer.

    Power armor, an innovation that turned each astartes, already worth more than a dozen mortals from the Imperial Army, into a venerable company of one that could triumph over numbers many times his own. Bolters, firearms that launch explosive projectiles directly into the flesh of the enemy before detonating their payload, clutched in numerous hands. More destructive instruments of war readied themselves on the line. Heavy bolters, missile launchers, each held in hands of the humanities' finest warriors, a fighting group second only to the warriors of the Emperor himself, the Legios Custodes.

    In this jungle, however, newly formed battle brothers set themselves against the vile xenos of this world. Waiting patiently for the enemy reavers and pirates to appear, they had already lost communications with their forward scout elements. The words of their commissioned and non commissioned officers spurred on these newbloods' war fever and enthusiasm. As each readied his weapon, knowing that the enemy came for them, a palpable tension filled the air, one so thick only the impending combat, death and destruction could possibly shatter it.

    The suspense was almost oppressive as its overbearing presence flowed down the line, seemingly moving from battle brother to battle brother. Yet they were the Emperor's Children, the most beloved and accomplished legion. They were the only legion given permission by the Master of Mankind himself to bear his personal Aquila, the double-headed eagle, and rightfully so. They had proven themselves on countless worlds and in countless wars, and now, on this world, in this jungle, 4th Squad, under the command of Sergeant Sidon, would prove themselves worthy of the title bestowed upon them upon their induction to the legion.

    From behind a massive tree that he used as cover, Martyn Trius yawned.

    While his brothers in the 4th kept up their readiness as a watchman in the night, Martyn didn't even have his helmet on when their sergeant began speaking. While he understood the importance of its protection, he preferred to see the world he stepped foot on and smell the air around him. Terra was already covered in a massive metropolis, and the academy he grew up in only pumped in recycled and filtered air. To their benefit of course, given how the air quality of the throne world in some places could kill an unprotected human with a single breath.

    Still, as much as Martyn enjoyed experiencing new places and things without his helmet, every single person who had set their eyes on him knew it was nowhere near the main reason as to why he preferred to have his helmet off whenever possible. When he first completed his ascension, his dark blue eyes had turned into a beautiful hue of royal purple. His dirty blond hair, trimmed to their academy standard of a quarter inch on top, and a buzz cut on the side, had turned into an almost white platinum blond that reached his shoulders.

    Aside from his size and power, Martyn was, physically, identical to Fulgrim in every shape and form. He had inherited his gene sire's handsome, aristocratic look. He had inherited his gene sire's elegance and grace in his everyday motions, even if he was of the same strength and speed as the rest of his brothers in the 4th. He had even inherited his gene sire's confidence. The one thing he had not inherited was Fulgrim's voice. While Martyn's voice had taken on a beautiful, harmonic, even soothing quality, and while it most definitely has similarities as that of his primarch, it was not the same.

    Yet, Martyn was a different person than his primarch. Like the youngest brother looking up to the eldest, the young astartes looked to Fulgrim's example of leadership, dedication and cultural education. While he himself did not pursue the arts too much in his free time, Martyn did see warfare as another form of art, one he was determined to improve in. Despite his admiration for his primarch, and perhaps because of his physical likeness to Fulgrim, Martyn did not share in the wider culture of the legion in their chase for perfection.

    Why should he chase perfection, when he has already attained it? Any dispute to this fact, either from others or himself, Martyn found chased away whenever he looked at his own reflection. He was the spitting image of the greatest primarch in existence, even if Fulgrim himself seemed blinded to his own perfection, much to Martyn's confusion. Even without killing a single enemy, Martyn's very face, his stride, his confidence affirms his own perfection, derived from perfection incarnate, the Phoenician.

    Therefore, Martyn concerned himself less with chasing perfection, but rather emitting it. He would do his best in all things, and regardless of the result, his effort would be perfect. He did not need the adoration of the masses, or even his peers. Let the others have the spotlight, for he stood already venerated. Let those that misunderstand him as arrogant misunderstand him, for he knew in his hearts of his own worth. Let him fight with honor amongst his brothers, for they were all the Emperor's Children, and they would rise where all else fell.

    Tying his silk-like hair back in a ponytail, leaving a single thick strand hanging over his face, Martyn heard Camille call to him. He had enjoyed his fellow line brother's company. While the young astartes knew that this battle brother was also a Terran, it was simply nice to get to know one of his many new battle brothers. Shooting a grin at the other line brother, Martyn responded, "Devaloy! For the love of the legion, just call me Martyn. We're battle brothers now! No need for such formality amongst brothers of the same legion."

    Martyn placed his helmet on, before hearing the power armor's seal clicked shut. Lifting his boltgun almost effortlessly to a ready position, he waited in cover, content in enjoying the moment before the fighting began. "No arguments from me, brother! Sarge, you fine with that plan?" One could almost hear the continual grin in Martyn's musical voice, even through his helmet.

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  8. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Extrovious felt a boot begin to sink deeper into the damp soils that floored their jungle surroundings. A millisecond of annoyance scratched his brain in response to what should of been an imperceptible shift of stance. He would not meet the enemy in such a poor state, nor could he afford his brothers to witness such a shame as this seemingly ineffectual defeat at the hands of mother nature. With a care that others might not reserve for tasks of actual note, Extrovious quietly resets his footing, measuring the worth of the ground beneath him before committing. A twinge of something unfamiliar drove him to check the activation stud of his chainsword, and the trigger of his side arm. Waiting for the enemy was equally alien to him as their current roster of opponents, war in general was new to Extrovious.

    Ascension had been kind to him, the imperfections of who and arguably what he might of been were lost and irrelevant. All the legionnaire bothered to retain was that he had been excellence given form as a mere boy, now it was both duty and right to make himself such again. This ideal required tempering with all the many new aspects of himself that were still nascent. Right now the most chaffing was holding his tongue in the face of their Sergeant's decision to hide. The weight of the Aquilla's wings spanned across his breasts felt worlds heavier while not freely on display, all the worse that the fledgling of the Third felt a pit in his stomach over the assumed loss of their scouts. Shoulders shifted from side to side, he swore that the jump pack strapped to his torso was restless.

    "Children of the Emperor, Death to His Foes." Extrovious echoes the sentiment of several of his brothers, it being the most honest thing he could say without disgracing himself during the wait. The Emperor had not seen it fit to grant his angels the gift of patience. One could not engineer wisdom it seemed.
  9. Fox Vulpas Well-Known Member

    Jendon knelt Chainsword in one hand and bolt pistol in the other, His mark III Iron armor shined still even with the grime and remnants of fauna that had managed to stick to his armor his aquillia still shined on even within the darkness of this jungle. Begining to twirl his bolt pistol Eggberts began to listen closely waiting for the signs of an enemy attack something he was waiting and hoping for so they could finally engage and annihilate this wretched foe.

    Jendon had heard reports ever since there deployment that this wretched xeno race had enslaved the humans of this planet as well as having something to do with its current flora and fauna, Something the assault marine found interesting. Jendon had not heard with his augmented hearing a thing besides the footsteps and voices of his fellow brothers, Every step almost every movement of them and the mortals he had heard, but he had not yet heard any wildlife, something that he had found odd with his studies on jungle worlds being lush with life and noise.

    "Childen of the Emporer, Death to his foes!" Jendon heard he echoed back, His voice spoke out the sound of it straight and to the point. Jendon grabbed his helmet raising it to his head, His hair a combination of black with now a white starting to jut out of the base of his head, showed the transformation from his former life to new one, His features chiseled similarity as other chemosians and handsome like his Gene fathers. Sealing his helmet with a wince knowing his hearing would be only lessened by a small percentage something he disliked along with the silence.

    Checking his gear one more time he continued to twirl his bolt pistol, switching hands with his chain sword and bolt pistol he caught both perfectly, noting them both before his eyes went down to his belt, Extra bolt pistol rounds, A spare medkit, and a few grenades. Jendon was sure he had everything he had once more before returning to watch, Hearing there terran tactical
    brothers already going over tactics already before the xenos even have to hit them yet. "If I may suggest having us on assault marines on interception or even counter attack a while our line brothers begin picking them off?" Eggbert suggested a feeling of eagerness one more for there mission to continue.
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  10. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    <First Encounter>

    "Textbook tactics Camille. Problem is, we're no textbook soldiers," Sidon grunted, rising up his gilded bolter and taking aim at the jungle, looking at something only he could see. "I expect more from you and Martyn, especially when your brother looks so certain and detached, as if these aliens will bend over and die the moment they see his fancy mug," he snorted and adjusted his weapon. Harsh tone, but the Sergeant had absolutely no issue at ordering the younglings, better to root out the impetuosity right at the start. "Goes the same for you Jendon. Remember brothers, to win a battle, you must adapt. We're not Ultramarines to stick to some dogma and adjust the approach once the battle is over nor are we Iron Warriors that will be content with slogging it away with the enemy until half of us are dead. Enemies of Mankind are devious, they don't possess any sort of honor and they will not shy away from undermining your carefully laid plans, especially these damned skulking aliens."

    As if to prove Sergeant's point, the foliage directly in front of the line began moving and the screaming sound broke the silence, the sound amplified by some sort of a device but sounding awfully like it was voiced by familiar throats. Seconds later the bushes broke and a horde of misshapen forms emerged, running at full tilt at the Emperor's Children positions. Optics integrated in each legionary's helmet flashed with warning runes as they registered the creatures carrying all sorts of bladed weapons - spears, swords, clubs, all of it looked primitive but you could never underestimate the numbers. What was even worse, as they got closer it was clear that these things were in fact - humans. Although terribly altered humans, their stricken forms looking as if undergone some extensive surgeries. Some of them had additional pairs of arms, some couple of more heads, there were even pairs of bodies stitched together and made to work that way, whatever alien technology responsible for this left these people in poor and quite desperate condition, when they went straight at Imperium's guns.

    This contigent of Emperor's Children consisted of additional four Rhino transports for each of the four squads as well as a Predator tank serving as support, which's crew was the first to open fire with their autocannon, given they had the greatest range, and scored the first blood as dozens of bodies flew in all kinds of directions after being hit by the large-caliber shells.

    Predator was also the first one to blow up as a quartet of flyers appeared at the edges of the horde, alien skimmers of some kind flown with superlative skill around the high trees and filled with tall aliens dressed in barbed dark armor, opening fire even before they were seen. Lance of pure dark energy hit the tank dead in center, sailing straight through the armor and destroying the ammo storage inside of it, causing the chain reaction that resulted in an explosion that showered the trenches with hot metal. The screaming definitely originated from these vessels and what was worse, everyone could see bodies of their missing Scouts pinned to the sides of these Raiders, the horribly mutilated flesh of their brothers still twitching and by the sound of their suffering, they seemed to be somehow still alive.

    If it bothered Sidon he gave no emotional clue about it as his helmet clicked couple of times, most likely addressing the other Sergeants nearby, before speaking up to his own 4th squad. "Vitaly, Pholax, target those flying things and bring them down. The rest, open fire on the horde but focused bursts only. Conserve your ammo, they are sending these rabble to draw our ammo and make us reckless when the real culprits are hiding behind the lines," and indeed, they could see dark silhouettes moving in the background, seemingly herding the majority of the misbegotten things forward while they were looking to get a better opportunity of sniping the Imperials from afar.

    "4th Squad, this is your turn to shine. Emperor's Children never retreat, we never hide and no foe can break our line. Guard our flanks and break them as they come. For Fulgrim and the Emperor!"

    OOC Emperor's Children:
    30 Legionaries, 75 Palatine Auxilia, 4 Rhinos

    Camille:12 Martyn:12 Jendon:12 Pholax:12 Vitaly:12 Elymas:12 Aleph:12 Extrovious:12 Sidon:18

    Dark Eldar vanguard:
    150 human dregs, 4 Raiders (with full crew), 20 Kabalite Warriors

    As long as you are sitting in the trenches, Dark Eldar have -1 to hit you. Horde will hit you with my next post. Kabalite Warriors are all the way in the back and they have +2 on all defensive rolls.

    @Jorimel @WanderingJester @dx144 @DeranVendar @Draconion @Vulpas @Kalle @Uriel1339
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