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Perfect Warriors

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

  1. dx144 dx144 Well-Known Member

    "We seem to have culled them the flyers, brothers." Pholax spoke, brushing off some shards in his armour, noticing a bit more blood than before, it didn't matter, they were breaking with their numbers down to just a few.

    "Feel free to take your last couple of kills, I shall move to assist with the monsters." Pholax shouted as he moved ignoring the pain of his wounds to assist with the Grotesques and if need be that Haemonculus.

    Sighting the Grotesques, one of then looked broken and the other being charged by Extrovious, the risk of friendly fire was too great but then he heard the Magician's screams, if this was the cause of the Xenos or his own magical powers he was unsure, but he knew that his brother was in pain.

    If anything wanted to touch him, it'd need to get through a hail of bolt rounds.

    OOC

    Defence on myself and Elymas.
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  2. Brother_Draconion Draconion Well-Known Member

    As Vitaly staggers from splinter strikes to the legs, he retains presence of mind to throw the Soundstrike aside. In the imminent close-quarters battle, the heavy weapon would only be an encumbrance. His world erupts in bright flashes of pain, a searing heat erupting in his chest as the wickedly sharp bayonet pierces his armour and impales him, perforating his stomach and narrowly missing his hearts and lungs. Even as his body flushes with the heat of healing systems kicking into overdrive, he cracks a bloody grin beneath his helmet. Thumb to eye, knife to ribs. All scavvies were sons of the knife, and he'd been taught to fight by Salvationers who had done time in the fortress-factory prisons - perhaps the only places on Chemos more brutally violent than the wastes. In the words of one scar-faced former ganger who had taught him how bleed a man out faster than he could blink:

    It's a' aboot attitude, laddy-boy. Y'see, y'cannae hae any doot aer fear - no' a wee bit - when ye're tha smallest scunner in tha block, ye ken? Nae, they'll eat ye alive, sure enow. But wi' *attitude*, now - tha' turns tha wee dog intae tha boss o' tha big howse. Ye gotta be tha scunner wot 'as 'is back tae tha wall an' says wi' a grin, "Ah ent locked in 'ere wi' youse cunts. Youse cunts is locked in 'ere wi' me."

    As twin drums accelerate their beat to match the rhythm of close combat, driving adrenaline through his system, Vitaly allows his vision to turn red, lets slip the inner beast that every scavenger learns to befriend from an early age if they don't want to wind up a dessicated corpse before their first decade is up.

    With a wet bellow of fury, he seizes the end of the splinter rifle barrel closest to him with posthuman strength. A shearing sweep of an armoured forearm snaps the weapon clean in two, leaving the surprised Scourge holding a suddenly-free half in its hands. Without giving the slippery alien time to gather its wits, Vitaly seizes a spindly ankle in one hand, bones grinding to gravel in his ceramite fist. His other hand pulls the blade from his chest and thrusts - up, up, up between the winged fiend's legs.

    A horrid shriek of transcendant avian pain startles birds from the canopy some distance away from the fighting. Vitaly continues to drive upwards with the bayonet, even as his powerful, yanking throttle drags the Scourge further down onto the blade, impaling it in a most intimate place indeed. The spatter of foul alien ichor on his helmet becomes a deluge as he churns the blade around, seeking arteries and nerves to sever. The shrieking becomes a series of wet gurgles as Vitaly drags the wretch further down onto the blade, wrenching up to split the disgusting thing clear up the middle with nasty wet tearing noises. Rising up to one knee, he raises the Scourge up above his head, impaled on the bayonet like a gruesome banner, even as he drags it towards its doom by the leg it made the grave mistake of planting on his shoulder. A cascade of guts and other, less-identifiable viscera tumbles out of the unzipped carcass, smearing his regal purple-and-gold plate red. Vitaly does not allow the final death throes to play themselves out, instead reaching out to tear the Scourge's head from its shoulders with a snarl of vengeful hatred.

    "Humanitas omnia vincit, xenos filth. These stars are ours."

    Glancing about the battlefield, he sees that the fight against the chaff is mostly well in hand, his brothers poised to take out the sole remaining Scourge. The Haemonculus and its retinue are firmly on their back foot, but still fighting back. Elymas is currently on his knees, screaming and babbling what sounds like nonsense to Vitaly. There wasn't much that could be done to help him directly, but he could at least help end the battle swiftly, the better to get dedicated help to the psyker. As Pholax lays down covering fire for Elymas, Vitaly dives for the Soundstrike, coming up in a roll to a low-kneeling firing position. Bracketing the Haemonculus in his sights, he chooses a Krak warhead - the better to keep his brothers safe with its very small blast radius, and punch through any hidden defences with sheer output.

    "Krak away!"

    OOC

    Action Summary

    - All-Out attack @ Haemonculus w/Krak missile
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  3. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    After being tossed around like a rag doll, vengeance felt all the sweeter. Sinking the knife into the Xenos' leg, Martyn grinned behind his helmet as he looped the very chain used to drag him around the scrawny alien's neck, before snapping it in half like a twig. Quickly freeing himself from his bondage, the line brother ducked as the other reaver jetbike chased him around. Of course, the vile machine under his legs contained exactly no instructions as to how to pilot the damn thing.

    Though small, the alien pilot's body would serve the Emperor in death. Tossing it over his back, what little the xenos' corpse covered of the power armour underneath managed absorb some of the shrapnel from the enemy fire. Doing a quick assessment of the situation, even as Martyn sped through the trees at breakneck speed, chased by an equally fast pursuer. While he couldn't make heads or tails of most of the controls, steering the jetbike was thankfully simple.

    Making an assessment on his options, Martyn scraped together a roughshod plan when he took notice of what was happening on the ground. Turning the vehicle around, he pointed it directly at the remaining grotesque, while opening a vox to Extrovious. "Incoming! Get clear brother!" The enemy jetbiker was too intent on killing the young astartes to realize what was happening, pursuing and shooting up the young astartes' commandeered ride even as they dive bombed at the xeno forces on the ground.

    At the very last moments, Martyn turned around first, one hand with his bolt pistol. Firing a single round, the projectile smashed into the other xeno pilot's skull, detonating the entire head off of his shoulder. At the same time, he threw himself off of his jetbike, even as it shot like an arrow at the grotesque on the ground. Aiming to absorb most of the impact in a roll that started with the alien remains on his back, the line brother hoped that his educated guess of his own altitude along with the corpse cushion on his power armour would spare him any major injuries.

    Indeed, if the second jetbike with its now dead rider crash into the grotesque as well, all the better.


    @DeranVendar

    OOC: Attack with jetbike on grotesque, defense on self.
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  4. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    "I am with you, Brother!" Aleph called out in response to Jendon's words. Above the din of battle, he knew that they needed to finish this swiftly and with as much force as possible. The vile xenos were an infection, a plague to be wiped out and cleansed from this world. If not with fire, then with bolts and blades. He had wounded the monster, but like the canker in a bud it remained. Let it be stricken root and branch.

    "The only screams you will hear, xenos filth, are the last echoes of your own damnation into oblivion!"

    Alephoros cursed. His shot was true, but a scattering shot of alien rounds sparked and whined off his armour, scarring the royal purple. He felt his anger rising. It was as if they had insulted the Primarch himself by so much as nicking the livery of the Emperor's Children! The pain that bloomed was a wild scatter of fleeting agony all along his arms, between the ports that joined him to his armour. Chips of paint and ceramite flew off like hail in a storm. Sidon had his back, taking out the sleek, fast alien riders on their attack skimmer overhead with a focus Aleph could only envy. He needed to get his anger under control. He could not risk it making him imprecise. Careless. Less than perfect. Envious eyes were always watching the Third: the mutant, the recidivist, the alien all jealous of their meteoric ascent, covetous of their skill and seeking to inflame their pride. He had to centre himself.

    It wasn't happening. It was all he could do not to hurl himself bodily at the foe with his knife, his hands, his teeth. But he was a true Son of the Phoenix and he could do better. His cover had gone. His anger might not be banished but it could serve him still. Taking a deep breath, he flung himself up onto the teetering platform and leaped towards the thrashing psyker and the leering Haemonculus. He sought to bring down the alien monster - like his brothers congregating around the fallen witch - and to protect his squad from the remaining xenos as they regrouped. Aleph waited for an opening and timed his flamer bursts to avoid hitting his own.

    "Cursed be the xenos, for they shall never know the Light of Reason! Taste the void and know death!"



    OOC: So that's attack on the Haemonculus, or any other xenos targets, and defence on Elymas.
  5. Colapse Colapse Forum Beta Tester

    Darkness falters as the sons of the Illuminator carry his torch

    As the screams of the fallen closed in, single moment lasted like an eternity for Elymas. And it was in this hour of need that he felt a familiar gaze falling on him, the one he knew intimately for it was the one that followed him ever since he joined the Legion. Salvation was here.

    Suddenly the shades of whatever horror the alien surgeon unleashed sang a different tune, a scream not of hatred but of terrible pain fleeing their unmoving lips. A bird of fire came down from the heavens and the shades evaporated almost instantly, having no darkness left to hide from the light of the Illuminator's symbol. "Rise Elymas. It is not appropriate for one of the Perfect Third to beg and grovel. You are not a child any more, but a brother of mine," the flame which was the bird spoke to Elymas, giving him strength to stand up and continue with the fighting.

    Turns out, by the time young Librarian regained his senses the battle was all but finished. Extrovious slashed even more parts from the stupified Grotesque but the final blow wasn't claimed by neither Pholax, who alongside Camille and Sidon riddled the monster with bolts. It was Martyn's ingenuity that destroyed the beast by turning his one-time ride into a huge missile which was enough to slay the thing once and for all.

    Haemonculus met similar fate as the other half of the squad went to claim his life. Jendon blew another pair of mechanical limbs from its body, Aleph then stepped forward and set the thing on fire, turning it into a fiery orb that acted as perhaps some kind of a vengenace for the suffering the alien caused on the humans and legionaries alike. But his actual death came from getting blow to hell by Vitaly's projectile, krak missile sealing the fate of the stricken xenos.

    There was little time for the 4th squad to rest as their attentions were turned towards what remained of the Dark Eldar forces, seeing that what they feared would happen indeed transpired. Most of the cages were now filled with only corpses, the slavers and Haemonculus's lackeys have done their job professionally. Even now they were gathering around the camp to try and assault the landing pad, apparently the modified wracks and semi-sentient scorpion machines having some sense of loyalty to try and avenge their master. Such thing never happened of course as the skies finally blazed in the colors of the Third Legion. Their reinforcements have arrived.

    Full wing of Fire Raptor gunships came in first, completely carpeting the Dark Eldar in a mix of heavy bolts and hellstrike missiles, the sheer firepower enough to destroy a tank squadron, not to mention a ragtag band of alien slavers. Those that survived the initial run were met with the might of five Stormbirds that while unleashing a devastating payload of their own, unleashed much more dangerous opponent than just lascannons and assault cannons. Around 200 Emperor's Children warriors disembarked, using jump packs to get to the ground faster, teaching those Dark Eldar that somehow lived through all the ordinance what will be the fate of all aliens which dare to stand against the sons of Fulgrim.

    One of the Stormbirds however landed near the damaged landing pad, simple trees and bushes no defense against the multi-tonned dropship. Squad of Terminators with master-crafted halberds exited first, followed by the most superlative warrior they've seen in their Legion so far, of course not counting the Primarch himself. He was armored in a beautiful rnate artificer armor of the brightest purple, a lion's head instead of one shoulder pad and a number III written in golden High Gothic on the other. Cape of purest silk and a golden mane that was partially tied into braids carried by heroes of old, face following similar description and could also be taken for one of the Angel's scions if not for the Emperor's Aquila adorning his chest. Trailing on the hip was a strange curved longsword of ancient Terran design, deadly and pristine as much as the man himself.

    "Sidon's Fourth, mightiest sons of Fulgrim on this planet today, I salute you," Lord Commander Leonis spoke, the Chemosian accent clear in his voice. Despite the wounds suffered, Sidon gestured for everyone to approach and pay their respects to the leader of this strikeforce. "Unclean aliens have been driven back and beaten, much thanks to your efforts. With their line broken here, the reports across all of the front are coming in, the Dark Eldar are in full retreat. Not only that, but their leader lies died as well! So tell me my brothers, how can I honor your success here today?"

    As Leonis asked the question, Sidon nodded and turned to the squad, signaling them to speak up and share their own thoughts on what happened today.


    @Jorimel @WanderingJester @dx144 @DeranVendar @Draconion @Vulpas @Kalle @Uriel1339
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  6. Brother_Draconion Draconion Well-Known Member

    As the Haemonculus explodes in a shower of charred meat scraps, Vitaly follows Sergeant Sidon in bounding forwards to secure the landing pad. Riven inside with concern for the prisoners, he is about to raise the topic to the sergeant, when vox chatter draws him towards the location in question. He feels a bottomless pit open upon in his stomachs - both of them - when he looks towards the internment area. Blood runs from between the cage bars to flow and pool on the saturated soil outside. In some places, enough has gathered to form rivulets that gather into small streams, meandering lazily between the cages. In such cases, the blood is always rich, bright, and thick. Astartes blood.

    As the remaining Dark Eldar forces gather for a final push on the landing pad to avenge their leader, Vitaly feels a cold fury burn its icy trail from the base of his spine to the top of his skull. His face settles into a mask, only the glittering intensity of his eyes giving away his intent - the Cold Face every son of the wastes was taught to make in war, to give the enemy nothing, to take from him everything. Sprawling prone behind a low rise in the ground, he trains his missile sights on a dense knot of the enemy, and, with an eye on his dwindling ammunition supply, prepares to sell his life dearly.

    All that changes in the blink of an eye, as the Lord Commander arrives with heavy reinforcements, devastating the Drukhari in short order. Pointless as it may seem, Vitaly expends his remaining supply of missiles on the enemy out of sheer spite, along with a few snarled curses for good measure. When the Lord Commander himself accosts the squad, Vitaly springs up off the dirt and snaps smartly to attention, as he had been taught in Legion Basic. When the Lord Commander invites them to speak and Sidon confirms it, Vitaly can no longer restrain himself.

    "Sir! Astrotechnicus Candidate Vitaly Sokolovsky, Lord Commander, sir!" he barks, bringing his bolter sharply to his chest in a high-port salute.

    "Sir...," Vitaly begins, before trailing off, momentarily at a loss for words, "I think I speak for all my brothers when I say we have been glad simply to do our duty to the very best of our ability. But - and I speak for myself here - today, our best has simply not been enough."

    He half-turns to wave a hand at the streams of blood still flowing from the cages.

    "We have fulfilled the mission today, sir. See the cost for yourself, sir - Legion brothers and innocent citizens. We of the Legions all know the cost of duty done, sir - had it been us behind the bars, we would have told our brothers to forget us and get the mission done. There was no other way. But it doesn't sit any easier with us, especially with innocent blood - the blood of people we were supposed to be protecting - spilled. Sir, the Legion Father told us to always strive to be the very best we can be, in everything. And today, our best got far too many people killed. Innocent people whose only fault was to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And even our Legion brothers should never have been left behind - the Legion leaves no man behind, is what they told us on our first day, sir. But we had to leave many men behind today, simply so even more people wouldn't die. What I'm saying, sir, is that we need to be better. Much better. If a Legionnaire counts for a hundred ordinary men, then we each need to count for a thousand. Training, equipment, anything at all, sir. All so we can build a galaxy in which such sacrifices need never be made again."

    Vitaly blinks, realising he has just harangued the Lord Commander of a Legion millennial with a long, rambling outpouring of his troubled soul.

    "Sir," he concludes awkwardly with another high-port salute, before shutting up and wondering exactly how much censure this is going to pull.
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  7. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Martyn frowned as the other alien jetbike, without a living pilot to guide it, veered off course and crashed. Looking forward, he began a countdown in his head, even as he estimated the amount of distance needed to escape a possible explosion from the crash. Settling on as soon as possible, the young astartes waited until the assault marine got cleared, then jumped off of the ride himself. Crashing down on the xenos body strapped to his back, the corpse exploded on impact, what was left of it disintegrating into nothing from the weight of the power armor.

    The jetbike itself speared the grotesque right in its center of mass, impaling the enemy momentarily before it pushed itself into the ground behind it. The collision set off the power source of the alien vehicle, detonating it in an explosion that would make most melta charge manufactorum overseer proud. Having a few lit and hot pieces rained down on him, Martyn shrugged them off from his battered, but somehow still intact power armor.

    Getting up, Martyn gave a sigh at the approaching xenos force, even as he reloaded his bolt pistol. Of course, for maximum dramatic effect, their reinforcements arrived just then, slaying most of the enemies in front of them. Those that survived would undoubtedly be hunted down by their legion brothers, as vengeance demands. Just then, Lord Commander Leonis arrived in his exquisite power armor and weapon. Offering congratulations and offering favors, the young astartes was about to speak when Vitaly spoke up.

    Martyn closed his mouth, before taking off of his helmet and letting down his hair. The visage of Fulgrim remained pensive: had he forgotten the dead brothers on the field so quickly? The young line brother had not even given their losses a thought, only that they shall be avenged. The humans, they were a necessary sacrifice, the minimal toll to be paid in exchange for dominance of the galaxy, but what of the others from the III legion? All he could focus on was their objective, and it had been achieved.

    After Vitaly brought up his addresses, Martyn clipped his helmet to his side, and let his silver hair flowed down the exterior of his armor. Walking closer to the center of the gathering, he gave a half salute before saying, "Hey there, Lord Commander. Nothing to add to my brother here; he speaks for me in each of his words. I, for one, would certainly not mind access to more equipment than we've received for this mission. I love the boltguns as much as the next legionnaire, but I would not mind having a melee alternative at my side, maybe even a combi weapon."
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  8. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Stood up before the Lord Commander, Extrovious demonstrated all the decorum expected by himself and others. Sole remaining hand sat with palm on helmet's dome, armor piece mounted on the pommel of his chainsword, weapon's blood smeared teeth and head braced down on the platform itself. Pain tinged everything, the deluge of stimulants funneled through his veins during the fight lacked the added punch-up of adrenaline. Words refused to formulate in his mind, too many thoughts threatening to overwhelm him as they already overwrote one another. Speaking was decidedly easier in the midst of combat and among his squad. So too did combat make it easier to ignore the slaughter of prisoners.

    Beneath the platform a maze of cages and prisons had been transformed into a quagmire of blood and paling flesh. Extrovious hides his frown, internalizing his emotions before high command- perhaps more appropriately the lack thereof. Whatever compassion or outrage harbored earlier was curiously absent now, a small fragment of relief that their squad was without casualty comforted him somewhat.

    "Look at them all down there, dead as the foe. The xeno do not deserve to share the soil with them, and yet I cannot find my fullest contempt."
    Mind drifts to the Haemoculous laying dead behind them, and to the left of them, the right too, some scattered to the trees as well- that evokes more in both body and mind. There was peace in mission completion, even if it did not reach Extrovious' unquiet mind.

    "Clear the witch's earlier episode has disrupted my thoughts. I must steel myself against such treachery, intentional or no. I was warned of this, and I was not prepared."
    A cold comfort, but it was a pill far easier to swallow than the possibility that he might be a hypocrite. Eyes do not waver from their superior, but mind does one last time...

    "This was the right thing."
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  9. dx144 dx144 Well-Known Member

    Staring at the jet bike ramming and then exploding into the grotesque, Pholax couldn't help but laugh, killed by ones own side. There was no greater shame. Only shortly after did he see, Martyn moving over.

    "Amusing work, Brother. I liked how it exploded." Pholax roared with laughter looking at the dead beast.

    As he saw the others killing the Haemonculus he couldn't help but wonder why they were taken pleasure in shooting this and that. The monster deserved to suffer sure, but I care that little for the Xenos that a single bolt round to the head would have sufficed, a sweep from a blade. Showing your angry was a waste of rounds and effort.

    The dead would be avenged with a single bolt or a thousand, but he understood their anger at the monster.

    Pholax's musing was interrupted with the roar coming from new comers. The Fire Raptors unloading the Emperor's wrath upon the Xenos, he couldn't help but smile seeing such a display of force and destruction. Surely if any Xeno was left standing, it shrieked in fear and futility knowing its reign over this world was truly gone.

    Now was the age of Man, forever it will stand.

    The Stormbird landing and opening it's compartment, Pholax took off his helmet to reveal his torn flesh and missing hair, his physiology had already started to seal the wound and at least he wasn't bleeding any more.

    Immediately seeing the Lord Commander, Pholax shrunk to one knee, listening to him and then the Sidon and finally his brothers.

    "While I agree with you, that we can always do better, we were faced with a difficult decision and we avenged our brothers while achieving our objectives. If you ask me, we performed as expected. Perfect." Pholax mentioned looking at the battlefield, the camp and his brothers. "But as for anything I want to be rewarded with, I just want the fallen to be honoured and maybe some repairs done to my wargear." Pholax chuckled as he held his helmet in his hands, looking over it's damage.
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  10. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    When Elymas awoke to the peace of post-combat, he got back on his feet, using his staff as support. Sidon beckoned him and the others over to meet the invasion force leader. The Librarian glanced at him, before looking towards the sky. "Thank you, master." Albeit the apparent voice and symbol of Fulgrim himself, the young man of the meaningless serf family of Velodonus knew better than to imagine that their Primarch, their Gene-father himself would aid a random librarian on such a distant world. No, it made much more sense that the senior librarian sent a vision straight into the mind of Elymas. Nonetheless, it fulfilled its purpose as it was much needed relief of the eternal-like pain he just went through.

    The Lord Commander asked them what he could do. Elymas had to scoff a little, looking around at the massacre done to their people at the hands of the aliens. It was just as he predicted. And here they were, having earned the honor and glory of the Lord Commander. The others sucked up with the typical speech of a typical third legionnaire of seeking perfection.

    He scanned his memory for the right tune and surprisingly found it rather quick, playing a few accords on his guitar-weapon, eyes closed. After a short while, he began to sing, back turned towards Sidon, Lord Commander Leonis and the others, his face towards the cells which once inhabited the imprisoned legionnaires and their auxilia. Elymas kept his voice low, it was a song for the dead, not the living. It was not a concert, but a funeral.

    "I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone.
    All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity.
    All they are is dust in the wind.

    Just a drop of water in an endless sea.
    All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see.
    Now, don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.
    It slips away.

    Dust in the wind.
    All we are is dust in the wind."


    It was the short version of a much longer song, but it would be enough for now to appease the spirits of the fallen. "Seek not wrath. But rest in peace." He told them calmly, little more than a whisper. While he had overheard what his squadmates said, especially Vitaly, and he strongly disagreed - he decided that there were more important matters to stir up a petty discussion in front of the Lord Commander.

    With a heavy sigh and thoughts played out in his mind, only now he turned to face the Lord Commander and the others. "There is only one thing I could ask of you, Lord Commander." Elymas lowered himself on a knee before speaking. Not in submission, but in appropriate respect. Staff standing tall, held with his left hand, while his right lower arm rested on his knee. His head faced up towards Leonis.

    "As redundant as it may seem. I would like to see our brothers and the auxilia being taken proper aftercare of. No mass grave. Not bury them on this forsaken world. But bring them home. Allow us and our people to mourn them as the warriors they died. They shall rest in peace, not haunt our dreams." The Terran-born looked straight in the Lord Commander's gaze, awaiting judgment to his request. To Elymas it felt as common as asking for water after an intense training unit. Although just the fact he was a psyker, often turned the simplest request into a minor catastrophe.

    The other issue was that too often individuals in the third, if stereotypes was to be believed, that they tended to remember the good over the bad. Everyone would self-curate them, twist stories of how they really happened into something more grand, something far better executed. Like today. Elymas was sure that the future records would discard the fallen as common casualties, not slaughtered prisoners. Because if anyone outside of their battle force or even another legion would learn of such thing - it would put a stain on them, incapable of being washed off. That is why he made his request, so that those who lost a family member today could appropriately mourn in their own way, not simply receive a letter from high command that their brave son has fallen against the threat from beyond.
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