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The Long War ((Chaos RP))

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Vlayden, Mar 10, 2018.

  1. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Lezan stood there, black ichor from the now destroyed servitor covering his damaged power armour as well as dripping from the chainsword at his side. He ignored the would-be berserker's comment, who decided to now pick up the chainaxe, once the fighting was over. When Nykton spoke to him directly, however, that prompted a shrug from the Lion's Son. "I would be dead. Likely, I should be dead but that's beside the point at this moment." At the raven's thanks, he turned to Nykton.

    "When I say that I'll do something, I do it. I knew the risk when I agreed to your suggestion, there's no need for thanks." Lezan replied, though more with a neutral tone than anything else. He took the hand, shaking it firmly before letting go again. "We had a disadvantageous situation. Best to avoid such a confrontation in the future instead, but you held up your end of the agreement to a reasonable degree. For that, you have my appreciation."


    @Jorimel
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  2. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    To a reasonable degree. Nykton didn't disagree with that, partly because he wasn't sure that he believed it. He would have been happier with a more agile, more effective performance from himself; but the Raven was more a practical bird than a rara avis. Walking away from a fight intact was more important than making a show of oneself, as was avoiding becoming an exhibition. It would do.

    "I will bear it in mind for the future," he said, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. Nykton wasn't sure if he should avoid making such suggestions - on the one hand, they had certainly driven the point home to Terix. On the other, Terix had responded by driving home several points of his own. It was, he reflected, all part of the process of getting to know the rest of the embryonic warband. Rule One: don't involve the Lion's honour unless you intend to be in it for the long haul. But at the same time as he made the dry observation, Nykton was glad to know that there might, at least, be some solid ground in the group. In so far as a first fight could show.

    He turned in to walk beside the rest of the group if they were going back to their room to rest and repair. He wanted to bathe and assess his wounds, though he knew that they would heal soon enough. He waited to fall into step with Dyromedes, nodding to him by way of greeting. Perhaps the Son of Horus would be another point of solidity. And with three firm points, one can establish a base. Not that he was discounting the other two, of course, but the Raven Guard were taught to strike and fade, not to be everywhere at once.

    "Chimera," said the Raven of few words, "a choice with old roots. I would hazard that you're a well-read man?"
  3. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    Dyromedes was overfilled with joy and pride. Indeed, his mere suggestion to gain full backing by all of them. Maybe they did get off the wrong footing but what has changed? Was one simulated battle really so... Life changing? It was an awkward, welcome feeling. He thirsted for more of it, until he would drown in it.

    He made note of the conversation between Nykton and Lezan and instead of feeling happy there was... Pain. His eyes narrowed a bit, analyzing them, interacting together. The warrior's handshake and everything. But Dyromedes did refrain himself from interfering. That was their bond, their brotherhood within a brotherhood. There was no place for him in that, and maybe he would indeed find someone he could swear his life and fealty easily, too. Someone he had not to look up or down to, but was on even level.

    His gaze became empty and unfocused as he imagined what that man, or even woman, might be like. As he heard the word of the mythical beast aimed at him, he snapped back into the here and now, trying not to make himself look like he was distracted by thought.

    "I would not say well-read. Maybe, no offense, I paid more attention to the hypnotherapy that regarded non-combat elements. Or maybe I overheard it in a conversation amongst older Astartes?" Dyromedes mused, putting a finger on his chin and looking upwards as if the ceiling could reignite his memory, he looked back at Nykton. "I do not recall. I only know that I'm fascinated of such beast. For it is the very metaphor of the Imperium of Mankind, except that we will work in cohesion, whereas they bite at each other, not realizing they spawn out of the same body." The Son of Horus nodded, to emphasize his statement.

    @Jorimel
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  4. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    "I think it a good choice, however you came to know about it," Nykton said, not disagreeing but rather understanding that knowledge comes from many sources. "Back - where I was raised, we did have a library, actual paper books. They were old and smelled musty to most people. But to me ..." the quietly-spoken Astartes was, for a moment, taken right back as the sense-memory broke through like the spar from an ancient shipwreck in heaving seas. "To me that scent was like ambrosia. Once there with the old books I could go anywhere and learn anything, all without leaving my chair."

    He smiled, a little embarrassed at so worldly and unmartial a memory. "So ... I guess it was like the memory-engram training, in a way."

    "Less painful, mind you, and not as immediate to recall. But I guess some particles remain."

    "Speaking of particles - we managed not to get torn to shreds during that encounter, but I know we shall have more and considerably more serious. Do you favour hand to hand, or distance? I know we each have both, of course, but I am a better shot than a swordsman."
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  5. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    "...A bit of an anticlimactic name," Terix said with a sigh and a - rather admittedly amused - shake of his head, now making his way back up the ramparts, "though I suppose you Undaunted Chimeras would make for fine newbloods all the same. Dyromedes, Nykton; get your boltguns and move down the hall. Whoever wishes to accompany them do so, since from now on you'll all remain practicing. I wish your skills to be honed and shown as we move to our destination. And somebody practice their speaking voice."

    "We're going to have to 'acquisition' our own ship once we're done on that blasted world, after all. This ship is to remain under the Dusk Lords' ownership until us 'underlings' have sufficient men under us to make us what one could call a... 'Legion'."



    It wouldn't take long for The Hateful Storm to creak and groan as though it was an ancient beast crying out in pain, its hull points stressing with a hateful 'crack' as it broke through reality - the gellar fields activating - and beginning its Warp Travel. Immediate sensations of discomfort went through the ship, one's very bones feeling ticklish and everyone's teeth feeling off - whether tasting like aluminum briefly, or deathly cold. For the next three weeks the Newbloods of the Undaunted Chimeras would train. Whether with bolt round or chainsword, days would pass with their skills increasing against both dummy and target.

    Their arrival was not something they had been warned of - a few minutes of the hull's stress being apparent once more, and then another loud 'crack', and then they were in real space once more. The nightmares vanished, the whispers were gone and the hallucinations at the edge of one's vision never came back.
    "Squad Terix, please meet in Meeting Room A-32 Omega." a voice spoke through the intercom; presumably a human, with its lack of authority that one would expect from a Space Marine. Once there - through the labyrinthine hallways of the cruiser - they would come to see a table large enough to sit fifty marines on either side, and at the end of either longer length would sit one more. At its centre was a holographic display that showed a planet, what looked to be its 'capital' encircled by numerous cruisers and frigates both Imperial and heretical firing at one another in the rubble. At one chair stood a man. He looked to be in his early thirties with a faint brown stubble, his hair cut short. His eyes, dark lines under them, looked over at the Newbloods and gave a curt nod; it was only when Terix arrived that the man spoke up.
    "I see you've arrived quick enough; good. This may need some proper timing." He said, his eyes turning from the Newbloods back to the planet and gesturing with one hand. "As you can see, the warband's ships are taking a fair bit of the Imperium's attention; we've managed to time our exit with an Imperial relief force, and we'll be moving into position soon afterwards. There won't be any room for error, so the moment that we're in position, you will be launched groundside at our last estimated coordinates: the capital itself is their first target, and soon their artillery barrage will break through the outer walls."
    "Hopefully, you will land close enough that getting to your objective will be swift, but far enough that neither AA batteries will target you effectively. The Guards' air superiority should provide adequate distractions. I hope you enjoy drop pods, Sirs."

    That last comment made Terix raise his head, looking over from the hologram to the man in question. "Drop Pods? We aren't getting a Thunderhawk?"

    "N-No Sir; that was the original plan, however the extended combat seems to have bolstered their air defenses. Using it would be suicide." Little more than a groan came from Terix now, his hand lowering onto the power sword at his waist and turning himself around, exiting the meeting room without a word. "--Pod Hangar A, by the way!"

    Once there - a jog that would have taken a bit over an hour extra, time that would have gotten the ship nearly at their destination - the Newbloods would be met with a hangar that seemed specifically designed for the large, pentagonal pseudo-vehicles that would act as their quick transport to the ground. However, one in particular that Terix moved to, was octagonal in shape, between two sides having a long, metallic 'leg' that held it up for a total of four - the fabled Dreadclaws.
    Three other more pentagonal, non-legged drop pods were open, and in their transport bays were instead weapons; two with numerous rotary assault cannons, whilst the third had massive missile racks on each side, the payloads alone being as thick as guardsmen were wide.

    "I hope you enjoy feeling as though your bones break, because the impact in these damned things will make it feel as such: the pict-feeds should give adequate entertainment to you Newbloods as we descend." Terix spoke, moving to the Dreadclaw and hitting a switch above him, causing three ladders to descend for the squad to make their way to the numerous transport spots within, strapping himself in firmly.
    "Just don't puke, and I'll be happy to fight alongside you Chimeras. Deal?"

    @Taec @Jorimel @Uriel1339 @WanderingJester @Grall_Stonefist
  6. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Lezan said little as he followed the Son of Horus and Raven's Son to the firing range. He preferred close combat, but the fight just now proved that every one of them would need to familiarise themselves with any and all weapons available, including their hands. He listened silently to the rest of Terix's speech before that, which as expected contained little that matter at the moment. When he got to the firing range, the Lion's son would pick up a practice bolt gun and pistol along with ammo, before beginning his training.

    Lezan kept to himself most of the time, though he continued to observe the more experienced and naturally talented in range combat. Taking note of various techniques, body postures and even breathing rhythm, he would try out each aspect himself, adjusting minute details to see which fit him the most. To those with less of a detail oriented mind, he seemed like any other astartes at the firing range, popping a few shots off before checking over his equipment and target, then repeating.

    The journey since their arrival on the strike crusier had been one of monotony, even with the suspect gellar field surrounding the vessel. Lezan would split his 'mandatory' training between close quarters combat in the fighting pits and range combat at the firing ranges. He never used the training blades again, though he did take up a training sword similar in reach and weight as his chainsword. The Lion's Son also didn't stick to one weapon, though he knew his preference was for the sword.

    Servitors fell, one day by a maul, another by the armoured gauntlets of Lezan. For most of his free time, he spent in the fighting pits, adding additional melee practice on top of what was required of everyone. Any remaining time went to the armoury, where he worked to maintain his equipment and learned about other common weaponry available. The first few days had been dedicated to repairing his power armour though; the episode of their first fight had left its mark, literally.

    If the voices of the warp along with their phenomena bothered Lezan, he bore it stoically like his gene-sire. One thing Terix would notice was that he never saw the Lion's Son during the journey, as he went around their commander in order to fulfil his routine; it was a big ship after all. Finally, they had arrived at their destination, and immediately a summon came for the astartes. Lezan arrived at Meeting Room A-32 Alpha, before taking a seat.

    Lezan absorbed all of the information silently, before getting up along with the others to head to the hangers. There was no need for him to arm up: his bolt pistol and chainsword never left his side, even when he rested. The Lion's Son said nothing as Terix informed them of the change in transport. However, he personally preferred the dread claw to thunder hawk himself. The visage of the dread claw then to inspire fear in their enemies, something to be exploited later.

    They were better suited for their task than the loyalist drop pods in any case. Therefore, Lezan ascended one of the ladders up the pod, before locking himself in one of the positions. He didn't respond to Terix's question, since it didn't directly address him, and went over the information from the briefing in his head once again. The Imperials had made it to the world, so they would likely fight both loyalists of the Imperium as well as members of the other war band.

    So much the better for him: it just meant that there was more loot to pick up. Useful should he survive the mission.
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  7. Uriel1339 Uriel1339 Lord of Posts

    Dyromedes would spend a relatively good time with any of his squad members whenever he could. Be it even as simple as taking the spot next to the silent Lezan on the firing range, or maybe sharing memories with Nykton. Tell him of the stories that the Son of Horus heard, and in return learn more about the books the well-read Raven Guard had gone through in his past.

    There were times he went into the fighting pit, despite hating melee combat. As much as it was a necessity, it was also one of the few times he could actually converse with the raging bull of a World Eater. To Dyromedes, he was not much of a social fellow but appreciated the shedding of blood in an... Interesting way. But so was the basic of brotherhood, the Horusian realized.

    He did do nothing extraordinary to improve his training regime, but took any advice offered or learn from whenever he was outdone by his peers. After all it was not perfection he aimed for, but to find his inner peace and satisfaction with his skill. In fact, he found himself a bit jealous when denied access to heavy weaponry like the Autocannon. Nonetheless, he watched the Havocs perform their art of destruction - one day such weapons would be readily handed to him.

    "Straight into the heart of combat." Dyromedes said with a smile to Terix and those around them, pulling his helmet over his head now. After the satisfying hissing of the lock being engaged, the Horusian gave their squad leader a confirming nod regards his question, and then ascended on any of the available ladders.

    Once inside and locked tightly inside, he looked at the others. "Let us try to not get lost in the excitement of battle and stick to the objectives." He did not direct it to anyone specifically, but maybe said it out loud to remind himself.
  8. Jorimel Jorimel Well-Known Member

    Nykton, being a quiet soul by inclination, endured the wait for deployment with efficient attention to practice and other duties. He didn't expect much in the way of fraternising by the nascent warband, but he was pleasantly surprised. Speaking with Dyromedes of legends and tales, he was happy to share some of his own stories. In the old accounts of heroes long past, he could sometimes find inspiration, at others ideas of strategy, albeit sometimes cloaked in allegory as tales of gods. One evening, as they sat polishing armour and checking over war-gear in the chamber that served as their headquarters, he even shared a story from Tales of the Ravens. This was not a manual of combat issued to the Raven Guard, but a children's book featuring stories about the tiny raven native to the forests of Deliverance. Nykton let not a peep of that slip, for he made sure to adapt the language suitably for grown Astartes, but he knew all the fables by heart. They were some of the few childhood memories that had stuck with him, perhaps because he'd effectively etched them into his mind by rote even before he knew such a thing existed.

    Elsewise, the Raven's Son didn't seek out much conversation with his fellows, but he was willing enough to answer if approached. The excitement of the time to come was always in the background - sometimes coloured by a mild apprehension, at others a building adrenal pulse. He practiced breathing deeply at such times and returning to the techniques taught by his indoctrination.

    Until the day came.

    The thought of deployment at last made his hearts ramp up their rhythm, a speedier tattoo under the background hum of his purring armour. Drop pods were something he was familiar with by simulation only. They were clearly quite a brutal means of soldier delivery, but efficient. He knew two things for their sucessful use: strap in, and don't get your tongue between your teeth. Astartes physiology might heal fast, but the best engagements do not start with a mouthful of one's own blood.

    Taking a seat between Dyromedes and Lezan, he nodded once to each and then made a slightly deeper nod of acknowledgement to Terix. The irascible Captain was with them. To Nykton this meant either that he wanted to make sure he got a good return on his investment, or that he didn't trust them. Possibly both. The Raven made sure that his weapons were secure and the straps likewise.

    Capital; materiel; men. If they weren't being given a Thunderhawk, they'd need a means off the planet with whatever they took. Nykton made a mental note of that.

    "Last one down's a Servitor," he murmured, looking to the other pods being loaded up at their bay, excitement making him just a little giddy.
  9. Shabran had Indeed spend most of his time in the training cages, Though he had Also learned of some ancient World eater traditions some still carried to this day, and Maybe it would help keep him closer to his heritage until he could be made complete. One was the victory line, for every combat won, and small But deep enough cut to scar was made, allways a contenuation forming a long red line. Though if combat was lost a diagonal cut would be made, and have some dirt rubbed in, so a clear black mark would break the line for every loss. The other was to stop the bullheadedness that could so easily come to his kind, No more than 3 victories in a row when fighting others, if 3 victories where had then you had to quit unless challenged by your very honer, just so things wouldent go to your head, and you would not be seen as gloating in victory.

    When time finally came for them to make planetfall, Shabran was actually very interested in the idea of using a drop pod, direct and quick insition into heavy combat, finally they could all have their firebirth.
    He heard Nyktons quip, "better be fast then, wouldent want to face Lezans wrath," he added with a smirk hidden beneath his helm as he Also made ready to be strapped into the drop pod
  10. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    With each of the Chimeras now secured in the Dreadclaw, Terix tapped at a command panel to close it, the drop pod sealing itself from the outside and suddenly 'lurching' down, its blade-legs retracting. In each of their helmets, the Newbloods got pict-feeds from the recorders set on the outside of the Dreadclaw viewing the other gun-equipped drop pods, watching as the assault cannons pulled back and turned to face upwards, before the bulkhead doors groaned as hydraulic systems pulled them up, soon sealing them as well.


    "Dreadclaw launch, in thirty. Seconds." A monotonous male voice said through the vox-caster within the drop pod; moments afterward, the floors beneath them in the hangar opened, and the Deathwind drop pods were launched at high speeds, gone from even Astartes-enhanced sight in moments.

    "Twenty. Seconds." It spoke up again, Terix now glancing between his squadmates with little more than a grumble. "Wish these things could just speed up to five seconds instead of the damned thirty."


    “Ten,

    Nine,

    Eight,

    Seven,

    Six,

    Five,

    Four,

    Three,

    Two,

    One,”​


    A sudden lurch in the drop pod told them of the doors opening beneath them, before being launched at supersonic speeds; had they been mortal they would have felt their innards be pulverized against their ribcage and their blood rushing to their heads at lethal speeds.



    Pict-feeds to the outside void were full of action as well, leaving the several-minute drop to be substantially less than boring. Cruisers and Light-Cruisers criss-crossing in the battlezone, macro cannons firing their gargantuan payloads into energized void shields while lances cut through metres upon metres of hull plating. To the untrained eye, it would almost seem like a civil war with the similarity between ships, yet to the educated - even if naively young - Newbloods, it was night & day which ships belonged to whom. Many starships shot at their own brethren, yet they had symbols of hate and malice embedded into their hulls, weapons firing with a rage unheard of by normal men.

    One Grand-cruiser - a ship made considerably larger than seemed cracked and decrepit, as though they were about to fall apart at any moment, yet simultaneously bearing unnatural growths that somehow lived and ‘thrived’ within the Void, a gaseous cloud of decay surrounding it: whenever a ship entered it, lest it had the same ‘infections’, the damage done as was visible as the very metal started to rust and flake away. Its firepower was awesome as well, numerous lances all littering its hull and broadsides that cut through Imperial plate as though it was but stone.

    Two of the chaos cruisers were notably more angled as well, not holding massive cathedral-like protrusions yet still showing its similarities. Their firepower seemed more limited compared to the Imperial ships, yet nonetheless devastating enough to hold their own as massive hangars vomited countless spacecraft, almost like monstrous hives letting loose their swarms upon those that disturbed them.

    Even the Imperials had their own smaller ships, yet they were far fewer than the heretics, the swarm of hate moving closer and closer towards the Imperials.


    And then, they punched through the cloud layer, losing sight of the fight above and gaining that of that below: red. Orange. Black. Yellow. Colours that overwhelmed them, and that helped sink in the realization that much of the continent was set ablaze. Forests were gone, countless civilians dead, factories obliterated.

    “...I’m going to see about connecting briefly to the Imperial data-net, see what’s occuring.” Terix muttered, leaning his head back; a small feed popped up on the side of their helmet, slightly minimized so that they could see normally yet appear in the centre should they focus on it; different pict-feeds from groundside that came from Imperial sources. News nets speaking of the severe emergency or a pict-camera tossing frantically as its wielder ran through rubble, lasfire and autogun-fire going over their heads.

    “Get back here!” A voice yelled through the static of the pict-feed, turning it around towards a trio of Imperial Guardsmen; two of them were severely wounded, of which one was missing an arm. They both had lasguns in hand and fired over the pict’s view, whilst the third held a glowing plasma rifle, firing a single searing blast into something off-view. Soon, it turned back before being cut off, the split-second view being that of nightmares: A Chaos Space Marine.

    Unlike the Dusk Lord and more notably, the Undaunted Chimeras & Terix, they were not Space Marines with a dark coat of paint, but true monsters; the one in front of the feed was massive and coloured black as pitch, his armour trim being as gold as the rising dawn. A pony-tail of sorts came from the back of his helm above the crimson eyeslits, his boltgun and chestplate etched with sigils that seemed to waver and cause static before it had cut off entirely to a blinding light from the Bolter. Then, it turned back to other feeds, control now going independantly to them all, allowing them to filter to whichever they wished. Yet one thing remained at the top: casualty ratings.



    Civilian Deaths: 9,352,692

    Military Deaths: 921,127,50


    Worse, it rised with every passing moment by the dozens, sometimes spiking up by one or two hundred at a time. “...Terra..” Their defacto Sergeant muttered, his handle on the blade tightening. “What is their purpose, at this point? They’re demolishing materiel, not taking it. This is just… Slaughter.”

    While the education amongst the Mountain facility was clear & blunt, sometimes with picts of stationary Chaos forces or with the aftermath of their assaults, it was nothing in comparison to reality; to see the deaths and slaughter occur now, to see people killed en masse by traitorous cultists and those wearing defiled Guardsman equipment, people being tormented in unspeakable ways even while gunfire still erupted above them.


    “Landing in One. Minute.” The monotonous voice droned into the cabin, causing the Sergeant to look to them all. He did not speak, but even the gaze of a helmet was clear: he wished to know what they thought, to now see what their 'faction' does: and what their desires would be.


    @Taec @Grall_Stonefist @Uriel1339 @WanderingJester @Jorimel

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