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They Cometh From Iron

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by DeranVendar, Mar 11, 2017.

  1. Redthirst Redthirst Eternal Battles Moderator

    Shaken by what just happened, Arrauth nonetheless realizes the danger of staying alone in this building. Placing his Sniper Rifle into its rightful place on his back, Scout begins his descent until he comes outside. At first he thinks that his brothers must have move on until he takes a look at a built-in chrono that tells him that only 20 minutes have passed since he first encountered the Traitor Assault Marine. Further proof quickly comes when Arrauth hears gunfire coming from his brother's last known position. Hoping that he won't encounter any more trouble, Scout sprints to rejoin his brothers.
  2. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    A Days Work
    Shotgun muzzle crams itself up underneath the chin of fallen heretic's helmet and Alexander unceremoniously pulls the trigger, no time to waste while a veritable killing machine still drew breath. Helmet rockets off and through a doorway, thrown clear with a tailwind of gore and skull fragments. On opposite side of core room Kenemon runs both knives into vulnerable joints in the traitor's armor and twists the marine around, exposing him to both Charon and Aridan whom pump the struggling legionary full of bolts. When chest is a cratered waste of ruined trans-human organs Kenemon dumps him on the ground and moves over to Tiro's side, watching the data transfer from over his shoulder...

    What Writhes Beneath
    "They are certain of this?" Soul Smith Epimonos weighs heavily on the polished marble table separating himself from the Chapter Master, First Captain, and Chief Librarian. The Astra Drakon and Dawnbringers with their comrades from the Doom Eagles already plied the stars once more. Yuka-Rie had been scourged of the traitor presence in record time, though occult elements remained they were mere scraps that the PDF would be charged with mopping up; the Emperor's Angels had graver matters to attend. Charting a course towards Ultramar, Kerberos Company and the chapter youths steeled themselves for a reckoning as even now Fulgrim and the vast majority of his sons prepared something profane and previously unthinkable. "It sounds like something only the likes of Magnus, the half-blind abomination, could bring about."

    " We all saw or heard what has become of the Sons' Primarch. The pict captures from Terra, the reports of the White Scars and Imperial Fists. Fulgrim is an entirely new beast from a Primarch, much like Angron, Mortarion, and Emperor knows who else. The scale is most certainly grandiose enough for the Phoenician." Akar grinds two finger tips against his left temple, eyes closed as he speaks. Chief Librarian speaks up quickly, displeased to repeat himself, but eager to silence the disbelief.

    "The Third Legion are pillaging Ultramar, and while the broadest extent of their activities have been kept in check by Guilliman's sons, the violence has still been feeding into something. The Warp itself trembles in Ultramar. I have been communicating at length with the Librarius elements present both within and without our own fleet and we are not the only ones to notice. A cancer grows behind the veil, a tumor waiting to burst into real space. Currently the Emperor's Children center their efforts upon Saramanth. Saramanth is located in an area of space where the divide between Warp and real space is tenuous at best, a quirk courtesy of the Word Bearers and the Shadow Crusade. While we cannot grasp exactly what Fulgrim intends to do with this planet we can certainly make guesses. The most popular hypothesis at the moment is that the Daemon Primarch intends to open a rift, a new Eye of Terror within Ultramar; to twist the blade in a sense and kill his brother's empire along with him."

    While the Dawbringers' best and brightest wrestle with the dire tidings from their foremost psyker, the youngest and most ambitious find themselves in various states of repair. Neither Kenemon or Akar had betrayed even an ounce of pride in the young men, despite, or perhaps in spite of, their first engagement off world being against other Astartes. Their only reward had been a minimal amount of RnR in the Apothecarion before being ground face first into relentless combat drills that were as familiar as the backs of their hands by now.
  3. "What reports come from our allies? What is the will of The XIIIth?"

    Diokletious asks, leaning his chin upon hand, as he gazes towards the stream of information on display before him. This development was shocking but not all together unsurprising, for the cur of the IIIrd had fallen harder into depravity and foul worship then most others of their traitorous kin. Embracing the Dark Powers of Chaos, it would not be too hard to believe that their ill-begotten father would use the favour he curried laying The Avenging Son low, to enact an even graver sentence upon all that was pure. With that in mind, The Chapter Master of The Dawnbringers would know that an operations was no doubt in formation, if not by them, then by their comrades in the other chapters.

    "This affront to Ultramar will not be tolerated, and once the planning comes about on how to disrupt this foul ritual, we must be ready to lend our strength to the cause."

    _____

    Tiro didn't notice the lack of praise from his superiors, and it would be folly to believe he would care if he did. He'd come to the conclusion long ago that the Scout Staff were all miserable bastards who loved cultivating an image of disgruntled father figures who only barely opened up at even the most believable of times. Seeing such bitter pettiness, Tiro had responded in the most damning of methods to their tactic, and chose to ignore it entirely. So what if Akar didn't come and shake their hands, pat their heads, and say job well done, Tiro didn't need such approval to know he'd done well. The constant combat drills? Bah, he was Astartes, and the drills were basically a game to be played with his brothers. Let the staff keep trying to stroke their own persona of uncaring and 'oh so hard to please daddies', Tiro had better things to do anyway.

    In the time spent between drills and healing, Tiro would simply pursue other ways to keep himself occupied, taking apart his weapons and gear more times then he could recall. He'd enter into combat drills with equipment bearing a faulty element to it, of course implemented by his own hands, to add some challenge and spice to his training. He'd try more unorthodox strategies, tossing Barron through the air at a particularly surprised looking scout during a combat exercise being one of the highlights. He'd spend other times exercising, pushing himself further and further on his own physical level, to see just what the limitations of his physiology were. To summarize it, Tiro was bored, and he tried all sorts of ways to stave off boredom, while he waited for another chance to fight.​
  4. Talvisota RuinaImperii Active Member

    The days dripped drearily by. Each day brought nought but exhaustion and suffering. There were mutters. Jeers. Simmering discontentment gnawing at some of the young boys. They were heroes too. This was their time, and they shone. They got the job done, just the way it's supposed to be. Where was their recognition?

    Barron, though. Well, the boy was (as always) the grin countering his siblings' grim. Neither the apathy of his commanding officers, nor the rigors of the daily drills barely seemed to make a dent in his mood because by the Golden Throne, that fist-bump was FUCKING AWESOME. The Emperor would definitely approve of that. No, he was having the time of his life: the training was training. Hard. Tough. Tiring. The way things are supposed to be, and made infinitely more bearable by the high and exhilaration of a veteran's recognition. But the Apothecarion! A wonderful place. Filled to the brim with dazzling machines and methods, the boy found himself eagerly awaiting every opportunity to peer behind that veil--a rare feat, as he'd never considered himself as much of an academic or intellectual as the likes of, say, Charon. Perhaps, though, there was some logic in the mental connection, the scout reasoned. Chainsword. Scalpel. The two were close enough in nature, were they not?

    Speaking of which.

    His time with the hydra guns had been bright, but ultimately fleeting. It would probably best to leave the aiming to others. Following his return to more familiar grounds, Barron's infatuation with his blade would grow greater than ever. None of his squadmates would be spared the constant challenges of swordplay the boy set out whenever a free moment was at hand. Just a simple test of skill, one on one at the training grounds. What are you, chicken?

    @Redthirst
    @Vulpas
    @BruticusTheGoreHound
    @Vlayden
    @WanderingJester
  5. KnightReborned WanderingJester Well-Known Member

    Aridan found it strange that some of the scouts grumbled about not being recognized for doing their duty last mission. Does anyone thank the fish for swimming well? Or the bird for flying?

    Still, Aridan didn't go unrecognized, as he had been complemented by a particular sergeant during 1st Company's deployment last mission. When the light bruises from the 'pat on the back' faded, he found the memory a good encouragement but did not read into it. To expect thanks for doing one's duty was foolishness and pride led to arrogance, arrogance led to death, or worse, failing your brothers and the Emperor. So, like many of his immediate brothers, the scout poured himself into his training as soon as he got his arm fixed at the apothecarium.

    Aridan had been surprised they managed to save it at all, considering the time it had been nearly dismembered off of his torso from the bolter round. Still, the masters at the apothecarium proved themselves in restoring his arm to a 100 percent almost like child's play and shooed the scout out with annoyance even as he attempted to give a hasty thank you to the space marine and staff. So, seeing Barron not there, the scout surmised that his brother can only be in one other place.

    Of course, Aridan found the other scout challenging their brothers to another sparring match, his blade in hand. Walking up to Barron, he lifted his own axe, proportional to his current body the way a power or chain axe would for a full-fledged astartes in power armour, and spoke up. "Barron, I'll take you up on the offer. Could use more practice anyway." The scout knew that his brother out skilled him in the blade, which meant all the more reason to get some practice in. While he was far from the bottom, and indeed a bit over the average, in melee combat, one could always improve.


    @RuinaImperii
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  6. DeranVendar DeranVendar Subordinate

    Status Briefing
    "The Ultramarines as a chapter are... struggling. Right now Chapter Master Lucretious Corvo of the Novamarines has presumed command of the survivors, however there is a degree of friction among the other descendants as to who is in charge of the 'legion', as we have come to resemble, since mustering. I suspect any headbutting will have sorted itself out by the time we arrive in Ultramar proper, if not by then, certainly by the time Fulgrim begins enacting whatever it is he intends on Saramanth." Alexander dips his head a moment, using a finger to scrawl through a data pad. "On a brighter note: I have kept in contact with Om regarding the Enchirids and the Iron Reappers. Captain Kremnar has taken to the job with his usual enthusiasm." On the topic of distant forces, what of Fulgrim and his sons?

    Preparations
    A daemon twists warped form lazily to the quiet dirge of an inhuman band sheltered in darkened, incense choked alcoves within the Phoenician's throne room. Flesh bared to the Daemon Primarch, Daemonette paces to the Demi-God's ever mercurial moods. Fulgrim's long serpentine lower half snakes down gem laden steps and trails off into the shadows behind. In each hand lays a treat: drink, morsel, or maiden of Slaanesh, it matters not the form only that it is there. An attendant uses a crustaceans claw studded with short spines to comb through Fulgrim's long white mane. It is to such luxury that three sons of the ascendant patriarch walk in. At once the music becomes withdrawn and dims into near nothingness, dancer vanishing into the mists swallowing up the floors. ​

    "Progress slows, my sons."

    "Ultramar bleeds us, as it did the Bearers of the Word and Eaters of Worlds before us. Guilliman may not have been prepared, but his empire is. Every raid bleeds us, more than we bleed them admittedly." The reporting Captain dips his head apologetically, unable to face the beautiful monster that commands him. Warrior's helmet, indeed entire suit of armor, has fused with flesh and hung head hides lenses that shift hues with wearer's mood. A sorcerer cloaked in fine silks harvested from a White Scars vessel lulls head around, sighing inwardly at the fool whom took it upon himself to share the bad news. Towering over them both, yet still dwarfed by their lord, was a soldier engulfed in Cataphracti pattern armor.

    "Unfortunately the common guard and peoples refuse to acknowledge our superiority. The Pet General's sons are not alone in their resistance. What are we to do? Capture what remains of the Five Hundred while being harried by Ultra-sons?" Drums pound like low thunder in the background. A drone rises in the interim, mutant singers quashing their own silence with a chant.

    Hum. Hmmmm. Hum. Hmmmmm.

    "Precisely." Terminator cants his head, throne has been emptied and Fulgrim's voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at once. A heavy tail slips against the legs of all three astartes and swipes them to the floor. Drums are joined by the lighter tune of a xylophone. "I know that your sense of retention is wetter than a Grox's backside..." Jet black nails graze across helmets and faces as warriors rise once more. Captain visibly shivers at this. Humming chant fades, room only for the Phoenician's voice now. "But thick as you are...pay attention!" Man serpent erupts around them, circling in a loose coil about the trio looking on in awe. "My words are a matter of pride!"

    "It's clear from your vacant expressions, the lights are not all on upstairs." Sorcerer's partially opened mouth is closed by a satin claw dragging up lower jaw, leaving behind a thin cut. Dancer laughs soundlessly and cartwheels back into the fog. "But we're talking Emperors and successions. Even you cannot be caught unawares!" The monstrously beautiful face of legion father looms above the three, hovering from one legionary to the next. "So prepare for the chance of a millennium, be prepared for sensational news!" Daemon Primarch embraces himself and glides back to his throne. "A shining new era is slithering nearer."

    "And where do we feature?" Sorcerer musters enough sense to speak and seemingly without ever having flown away Fulgrim is back in his face. Chorus' voices interject once more, voices light and complimentary to the scion of the Dark Prince.

    "Just listen to father." Daemon opens his arms and shakes head, making for the heavily artificed doors that bar legion master from the rest of the rabble aboard the battle ship. "I know it sounds sordid, but you'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues, and injustice deliciously squared." Rounding like lightning Fulgrim's face alights with a brilliant pale light that lends mania to curving smile. "Be prepared!"

    "Of course my liege, my lord, my father! We'll be prepared... for what orders exactly?" Captain Banzalthas lifts his head, ceramite brow cracking and creasing.

    "For the destruction of Ultramar!"

    "Of course! Of course! We shall lay waste to Ultramar, the False Emperor's Imperium deserves no such empire!"
    All three of the IIIrd cheer, pounding fists to breastplates and laughing boisterously.

    "FOOLS!" They wither as Fulgrim rises, four fists clenched and eyes ablaze with power. "There will be an Empire, MY EMPIRE! And then...my Imperium! I will be Emperor, stick with me and you'll never be starved for euphoria again!" Sons and music both are sucked into the fiend's incandescent gaze. Blindness lifts and Captain, Sorcerer, and Terminator stand upon one of Macragge's parade grounds where the might of the Emperor's Children is assembled. All three astartes have traded their armor and garb for panoply worthy of Primarchs. Below them the gathered subordinates cheer, stepping to the band's thunderous beat toward the open maws of transport ships waiting to ferry them all to conquest.

    "Hail the Tetrarchs of Perfecti Ultramar! It is great we have been connected with kings and an Emperor we adore!" A hundred million more voices sourced from the stretching crowds of mortals taken under the thrall of Chaos chant. Eyes are sucked into a brilliantly lit horizon and once more emerge from the illusion into the throne room.

    "The future is littered with prizes, and though Slaanesh deems me main addressee, you will not get even a slave without me!" Fulgrim rests a hand on a shoulder, one to each man and another over his plated scaled breast. Whether embraced by ambition or possessed by their Father the three raise their voice in unified song.

    "So prepare for the coup of the century! Be prepared for the most glorious conquest!"

    We'll have servants and slaves uncounted!

    "Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, CENTURIES OF DENIAL, is why I'll be Emperor undisputed!"

    We will be worshiped, exultant!

    "A galaxy devoted, perfectly courted, seeing me for the wonder I am!"

    Our blades and ambitions are bared!

    "BE PREPARED!"

    The din of song erupts from every vox-caster, laud hailer, the mouth of every psyker and countless cultists. Pride of the Emperor is swept up in the rapture of Fulgrim's excitement. In the black heart of the Warp tides roil and rush, somewhere Lorgar himself quirks a smirk as the Great Song gains a new reprise. Be prepared Ultramar, every world, every citizen, and every son of Guilliman, be prepared.







    (I'msosorry)
  7. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    In the meantime, Marcus himself would leave towards the Sanctum where he found himself resting the years - as well as the others interned in sarcophagi like he - uncaring for what may have been spoken of. Even with Dyzek - or 'Diokletious' as he oddly decided to call himself - demanding him to come, the Dreadnought would not do so. He had duties to perform, whether that was to answer questions given by the youth, to aid in heavy lifting (it was not everyday that the might of a contemptor dreadnought was at one's disposal for carrying or pushing objects), to give hope and motivation to those who's faith and morale was low, or as it was now...

    To help an old friend.

    The massive, sleek form of the Contemptor made his way towards the Sanctum where he dozed for many years - as did other veteran or heroic Astartes like he who were interred into Sarcophagi; there were some he remembered well, others he bristled at and most he had little more than a respect and mild acknowledgement over. There was one though he knew the best, and respected the most.

    He stopped in front of the familliar sarcophagus and stared into it , his helm upon the Dreadnought looking up and down in mimicry of his human form - he did not have to of course, but it was more habit than anything else, the pict-feeds being more than enough to get a full view.

    "Awaken him." He said - no, demanded - the techmarines that often maintained and looked after the sarcophagi and the chassis that they inhabited when awakened for War.

    "But, Brother Theodosius, he i--"

    "I did not come to be argued with."

    "He cannot b--"

    "He can."

    "But his memory! He is fragmented, his presence dims every--"

    "AND I SHALL SEE TO AIDING HIM!" The normally loud voice that was at 'speaking' level before turned to a shout, undoubtedly getting attention from others within the hangar-like room and perhaps those outside.

    A few moments of anxious looks - for Astartes - were shared before one finally succumbed, moving to the control panels and doing his work. Low chants started and servitors were awoken, their stiff bodies straightening and moving to the Sarcophagi. A long servo-arm came from the cieling, the servitors attaching it into the sarcophagus.
    Chants continued as it was lifted from where it hung, slowly being pulled over through the air towards a distant Casta Ferrum chassis - a far boxier, bulkier and more cumbersome chassis than the Contemptor, but certainly no less powerful a tool on the battlefield - opened and unoccupied; a techmarine made his way up beside it and with two servitors, helped the occupant in, the servo-arms now helping with more delicate tasks.

    Minutes went by, silent except for the chants, murmurs and sounds of electronics and machinery being pieced together. Eventually, all that was left was to wait, to hope that the inhabitant would awaken as the prayers would be used for.

    "Leave us. You work is done, brothers."

    He didn't bother to explain himself with what he meant, a simple azure glare coming from the dreadnought's eyes being all the explanation they would need.

    Now, he would wait.

    "...Brother Brumdar, friend. Awaken - your presence is wanted. Your wisdom needed, and your strength required. Your leadership valued. Your pride, desired. It is Marcus, of Seventh Squad. Please, if there is any consciousness awake, answer."
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  8. "Inform Lucretious Corvo that we are ready to receive our orders, and stand with Ultramar in this time of darkness. Unity is the key at this point brothers, and a strong bond with our allies will see this threat thwarted."

    Diokletious decides that it is better to fall in line, then jockey about with other chapter masters over 'who has the right to lead', knowing that for every moment spent squabbling, the enemy further prepare themselves. Leaning back in his seat, one can hear the amusement in his tone as he responds to word of the Enchirids. Though it was clear Chapter Master did not approve of the esoteric and conservative beliefs of the 2nd's Captain, he did not seemed surprised to hear of their current status.

    "It is not shocking to see how they cut through the foe, as though they were a simple crop for the harvest. Send word to Om to relay that we celebrate their victory, and to tell Kremnar that I wish him all the best in his hunt."

    Placing his hands on the table, his tone grows more serious.

    "In the meantime, we must draw up some battle plans, and ensure we are properly prepared. Have the initiates prepared for the conflict ahead. They have faced our traitorous kin, but By The Throne, we will need to ensure they are prepared for The Neverborn. First Captain, Soul Smith, Chief Librarian, let us discuss how we shall thwart a Primarch's aspirations..."

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  9. Fox Vulpas Well-Known Member

    First captain Maximillian-
    Maximillian stood taking in the information, a usual grin on he had was replaced with a look of concern, hearing of the third strike and possible plans, If True they would need to bring everything they could to the table to stop the Third and there father Fuglrim. Hearing of Krem's own work bug hunting gave him a grin. "Good to here Krems having a good time and good work bug hunting." Maximillian said glad to hear of there brothers travels going as well as theirs. First company and the scout company did impressive work on there missions clearing objectives faster then most of them expected of the something he was glad of both there efficiency and work, He was sure to give praises to both Akar and his sergeants and individuals within his companys well as his own.

    Then there was this, To open up another eye of terror or warp storm and let the horrors spill of what was like on the eye or the warp monsters on Terra was something something so unacceptable, Max knew this would be likely be a brutal mission for all of them and they might require to send everything they have to stop the Thirds plans from happening. It made him wonder about the scouts and made him wonder if it was a good idea to bring em along and not send em with Kremmar, At least the horrors there would be something of the flesh they might understand, or at the basis know how to kill it.

    Looking to chapter master Diokeltious, Maximillian was ready to discuss a battle plans. "We have any records of Saramanth planets surface and what it may look like currently? Maximilian asked looking to there Alexander. First thing of any war would be to see what there environment maybe.

    Scout Charon- Study time
    Charon was currently sore in the Libraium, studying up on the enemy's of man, more precisely The Traitor legions and the one they fought, The emperors children. Curiosity and a hunger for wanting to know more about there enemy over came him which lead him here, studying once more after his there training drills, They had been running, A mission done and day survived he put himself into improving in a way that wasn't with a good old weapon, or a explosive, but with his mind to prepare himself mentally learning more about his enemy if he come in contact with him again, and to try to better his chances of survival against them once more.
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  10. Redthirst Redthirst Eternal Battles Moderator

    The first off-world combat experience was certainly humbling, and made Arrauth realize that he didn't change much since his days of being native. Sure, he was a lot stronger now, and his endurance could be described as inhuman, but he was not invincible by any stretch. He would probably find it easy to survive in Quiriq, but his new life had much tougher enemies, and he would require a lot more practice to feel comfortable enough.

    The days since their mission were spent mainly in constant trainings, with Arrauth splitting his attention between the Sniper Rifle and a host of other weapons, including the standard Bolt Pistols and Bolters that could really come in handy up close. He also tried to become closer to this brothers, but old habits die hard, even though it was clear that he will have to rely on them a lot in the future.
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