Getting Loud Now “Come, little cousins, come with open minds to the melodious harmony of the Lord of Dark Delights. Dance, dance in time with the beat of creation and madness, for the eyes of sheer ascendant perfection are upon us, and upon my stage, all shall bend to the will of my orchestration.” The Cacophonist calls out, the multiple mutilated faces upon him buzzing with a discordant meshing of tones and voices, from man, woman, and far darker things. The forcefully synthesized speech of their foe, leading into an inhuman howl of ecstacy, would only harbour a further crescendo in the baleful tune that had the entirely of the young Dawnbringers engulfed in it’s dark rapture. Within the ranks of the debauched cultists, both willingly and forced servants to the song, a growing sense of deranged pleasure rose within all. Drums, perhaps the size of a predator tank, formed from a fusion of taut flesh and glowing iron, would begin beating, a quick patter from their players, before rising in volume, in bass, in pressure. The very air around the scouts and their marine allies would feel thick with the force of this new strand in the symphony, the beating notes of the many drums sounding as a heart, pumping hard, filled with narcotics and other more vile concoctions, forced to pound faster and faster, harder and harder. And as with any heart, consumed by such excessive and unrelenting pressure, a burst would boom out, the growing tension released all in one impact Thunder deafened around the mortals, several of the orchestral players crying out in pain, as a wave of force simply slammed into squad Kenemon, knocking even the mighty transhumans from their feet. Ever one to lead from the front, Captain Akar would be the first to feel this blow, an instant to brace himself against the rush, before ceremite plating would be slammed with all the force of a cannon. Sent rocketing back, the marine would find himself crashing into Tiro. The man, who in his eagerness to set the Orchestra ablaze, would not only be beaten by the shockwave of music, but from the sheer weight of his superior officer landing atop him. However, bad as Tiro’s situation was, his pain was only physical, and his brother, Garrick, would find his own plight growing dire in it’s own way. Attempting to find himself a more suitable route to flank, and surprise their quarry, Garrick had like all others, been battered down by the all encompassing wave from the Orchestra. Yet, as he rose up, he’d find his ears ringing, and his mind blaring with the tune, amplified beyond all sense of belief, blotting out thought and self. Garrick would be unable to pursue his attempt to hide himself, for he was in a battle to pull his very consciousness free from the song that had taken root in his mind. Akar would be the first to rise, shattered eye lense of his helm revealed a very irritated glare aimed at the Orchestra. Paying little heed to the scout that had cushioned his fall, for what good was an astartes that couldn’t catch their fellow soldiers, the captain would grip his weapon in hand, as a crack would be heard. A bolt round scratching upon the surface of his pauldron, Akar would turn his gaze towards The Cacophonist, would now clenched a bolt pistol in a clawed hand. Giving the order, all his forces recovering from the blast, Dawnbringer Scout Captain would return to the fray with a fresh drive to bury this degenerate. Seeing his foes drawing up to do battle, the Cacophonist would cackle, a dozen different voices, distorted and hellish in their revelry, before shrieking out. “Yes! YES! Sing to me cousins, sing to me the song of iron and steel, of bitter resolve, and undying, relentless, determination!” As the loyal sons of man would raise arms against such a depraved assembly of corruption, all would find, with chilling realization, that the opening salvo of their weaponry would match, with almost supernatural harmony, the notes bursting from the song of The Orchestra before them. Twincracks from Aurrath’s sniper rifle would accent a swift succession of sinewed strings, both rounds being flicked away off course with a wave of the Cacophonist’s fingers, the swaying being clearly enjoying the addition to his performance. However, joyous laughter is interrupted by the barking of bolter fire, a burst of fire from Aridan, Koroush and Charon, in the sorcerer’s lapse in vigilance, striking home. A scream sounds out, as one of the many built in speakers is destroyed, and blood, almost black in colour, sprays out from the sorcerer’s clawed hand, now lacking three of it’s fingers, among other penetrations in his armor. Eyes, one as black as the void, the other now bloodied and torn open, widen, as the discipline of a legionary rises from the sea of debased corruption, and The Cacophonist redirects incoming grenade, avoiding further damage, anger rising within. As this occurs, the Orchestra, literally now planted to the room around them, is unable to do anything but fire haphazardly in time with their song at approaching astartes. The main threat of Kenemon and Akar, fully armoured astartes, would be kept at bay with an overwhelming salvo of fire. Pinned down, the two full battle brothers would take quick shots in return, as the scouts moved up to engage the assembled heretics. Tiro, having dusted himself off from his earlier fall, wades through the cracking notes of amethyst lighting, and bullets of bloody bone, armour weathering the storm of noise, as his brother moves up with a growling song of his own. The swordsman weaves through the barrage of the mortals, yet, even with their numbers, even enlightened to the song of She Who Thirsts, they prove their mortal limitations, with transhuman speed and reactions seeing Barron reach the enemy without so much as a scratch upon his flesh. Whirling teeth of the chainblade roar, engine gunned as the marine delivers a swift slash with his weapon, bisecting a creature that played a harp formed from extended right arm, and extended tendons stretching down into his thigh. A soft moan, unclear whether in pain or release, sounds out as the creature dies, yet by then Barron has moved on, hacking and slashing further into the line of abominations. Fire washes out, a broad gout of heat in comparison to Barron’s more personal touch, yet that didn’t matter to Tiro, only that all burned. Howling, to the levels where any normal human’s own vocal chords would have ached, sounded out, as masses within the Orchestra died, yet, even with this all, the song continued. Even more worrying, it’s tempo was growing. The lighting in the room would shift, pulsating and shifting into hues and colours, one extreme to another. Darkening, and brightening, flashing about, all about them, it seemed the song was building up, growing to something vile, as the air about them seemed to grow thinner. Cacophonist would join his howling to that of his dying cultists, as in one instant, the world itself screamed. It started as a tearing, a sound like that of metal being ripped apart, yet bearing hints of wet meat cut, and other sounds that only further defied the mind and reason. All about the room, a warping of perceptions would occur, as marines, and traitors alike would feel their balance shake. Like a ripple, a strange colour would spread about the vast orchestral chamber, defying that of the shining lights, for it seemed like reality itself had taken on a different tint. In a moment that spanned only seconds, yet to those who bore witness, felt as though watching in slowed motion, a rip would appear in the air. Wind rushed, out, as the hole grew, and from this tear in the universe, the song would emerge, just as the song being played since they’d arrived above this accursed world, yet even louder, if that could be believed. From this tear, something pulled itself free, something that should not exist. Rippling musculature across a lithe body, elongated head with twirling, slick appendage, it forced itself free of it’s damned realm, into that which belonged to mortals. Eternal, unending, and terrible, the daemon of Slaanesh had been drawn to the symphony here, and it’s passage would not be denied, as with a final push of it’s will, it dropped free from the tear, and fell to the floor with a wet smack. Coating in a slime, a moist coating from it’s birth into the materium, the fiend of Slaanesh would rise up, raising claw and tail, lethal grace in it’s every movement. An allure was in it’s very being, alien, exotic, and terrible to behold, yet an allure nonetheless. As this crime against nature would make itself known to all within the chamber, the scouts would get their first contact with one of the neverborn, an event that would most likely be remembered for the rest of their lives. Some few, whether through a inborn mental fortitude, or a mighty faith, would gaze upon this abomination and remained uncowed, Aridan, Tiro, and Koroush facing down the enemy with the same hatred they felt for all the enemies of mankind. For the others, this would be a distressing encounter, as their very beliefs of the universe and how it worked would be challenged, Barron, Charon, and Aurrath, for the first time since completing their trials, feeling the brush of fear upon them. For Garrick, already fighting the consumption of the song in his mind, it would be worse, as the Fiend would be drawn towards him most of all, it’s gaze falling upon the scout. Meeting the beast eye to eye, the pulsating music still filling his thoughts, Garrick would feel more then confusion, or fear. Garrick would feel temptation. Squad Kenemon: Kenemon: 15 Tiro: 8 Garrick: 10 Kourosh: 10 Charon: 10 Aridan: 10 Arrauth: 10 Barron: 10 Akar: 20 Conditions: Barron: Health Kit (6 Charges). Arrauth may set his Deadly Field's traps as usual, or attempt to sabotage the Orchestra creating a chance for one of the Cacophanist's orders to fail. Garrick, Barron, Arrauth, and Charon all suffer -2 to all actions for the remainder of the fight as their minds struggle to deal with the daemon's existence. Garrick is Stunned by the sight of the Fiend for 1 turn. Emperor’s Children: The Cacophanist: 28 The Orchestra: 69Fiend of Slaanesh: 23 Conditions: Each turn that the Cacophanist is alive he will use a free action to conduct his 'orchestra'.
Charon grunted as he felt his senses assaulted and fell to the ground one of his hands let go of his heavy bolter as he fell the other gripping it as hard as he could not to let go, Trying to grab something his fist gripped a step of the stairs leading down and hanging on as he was assaulted mind, body and spirit by the orchestra, The horrid smells the horrible noise, and then that gaze that horrible gaze, He could hear it as it began to rip through it, Through the air its self a combination of a simple rip of paper and ripping metal was what he heard as it slowly pushed through, looking up as he finally fell back down he spotted the horrid creature a mistake as it only looked at him for a moment causing a old primal feeling over take him as he saw the horrid thing. A voice in his mind told him to run to flee to escape this place and never look back, Another told him to destroy it where it stands and another more unholy thing he could only image was something getting through the mental blockade of his mind. A famine voice whispered. "join it.... serve it... little pet..." Charon shook his head only for a moment as he tried to gather himself, Charon felt a emotion take hold that he knew as well as anyone... Fear.. Shame.... he felt it well in his soul as he tried to get up.. as he head he heard another voice. this one was not of his own or of the other foul voice but another. "I cannot stress enough that this will be the most sinister of them all. We are Astartes, we know no fear, but upon this fell planet, there will be those among you who, upon contact with this breach in reality, will falter, if only for a moment."This is to be expected. " Charon's mind remembered the Chapter master's speech He was right.. oh so right... for he had faltered... "I bring another blade to use against the never born and the foul powers they represent. They may not be mortal, but they bleed all the same. They may be foul and completely alien, but they will perish in the face of our might. They may be formed from a hellish realm beyond mankind's nightmares, but they can know fear. " It was then that Charon remembered Diokletious other words he began to stand, Charon looked up to the beast now as he slowly got up putting both hands on the heavy bolter. Gathering himself he began attempting to control his fear. His heart beat rapidly as he saw the demons gaze no longer on him but on Garrick as it slowly began moving towards him. "We are astarte.... we know no fear.... no we do know fear but must control it...." Charon said to himself as he tried to control his fear, anxiety and all the emotions that were human of him and steel them with the raw heart of the Astarte he was. "So fight well brothers, show our allies the might I know lies within each of your, slay the heretic and the daemon, banish the Traitorous Cur, proving his false perfection. And remember, even the blackest night must give way to dawn." Working himself up once more he focused on the situation the thing wanted Garrick he could see it as it gazed at him the stench of the monster as it flicked its tongue out only for a moment at Garrick. Charon had to protect his brother, If just to make sure Garrick avoided a worst fate of being attacked by this thing. Charon's hand shook as he looked at the beast a plan in mind to have the ground itself burst from under its feet burst above and skewer the thing and possibly block its path to Garrick Charon gathered his power as he did he could still feel the taint all around him causing him troubles as he tried to gather his mental strength and try to summon up the power and control for the spell Alexander taught him. it was for a moment he did this he spotted something odd from Garrick he could see the taint around him almost surrounding him and assaulting him, not only him, Barron, Arrauth and himself were being all assaulted by this, Charon could only guess it was the place itself or the damned noise from the sorcerer. Pushing it aside he attempted to push through with his spell to push through and get the fiends attention away from his brother, so they could help destroy it. "Brothers! together we can destroy it, Remember our chapter master words it knows fear, So LET US MAKE IT FEAR!" Charon yelled out attempting to rallying himself and his brothers. Pushing the fear to the back of his mind pushing through with his spell as soon as it would finish he would put himself into a defense stance with his combat knife and bolt pistol having both out and ready to tango encase the beast charged him in his brothers. "Such bravado little one... it shall be fun to watch!" The voice at the edge of his mind spoke trying to scratch at the walls of his confidence OOC Earthen rage at beast trying to skewer it and block its path to Garrick one defense on Charon
Kourosh stays stock-still for a couple seconds, watching the fall of his shot while taking cover behind one of the revolting instruments of the Cacophonist's 'orchestra'. There is no time to take satisfaction as his rounds land home, however, as a Fiend of the Dark Prince makes its appearance through a tear in reality. As waves of mind-bending terror and whispered temptations wash over the battlefield, he finds himself cast back for a moment into an event from his childhood... It was a night such as happened every once in a while in the coastal jungles. A night punctuated by running feet, , flickering torches, and panic disguised as shrill outrage. A night accentuated by pounding hearts and sour fear-sweat. His heart and his fear-sweat. A pontianak - known elsewhere as a wendigo - had arisen from the unhallowed places in the deep swamps where people went to dispose of unwanted bodies - their own, or other people's. Several people had been taken already, and now, the village was in an uproar. Several of the braver menfolk had come out into the swamps to beg help from Bapak - as a hermit Pendekar, he straddled the divide between worlds, and held great power in both. Or so they believed. As Bapak had taught him, things were never that simple, but it was true that he had power to intervene, and so, with great reluctance and after a great deal of persuading, he had agreed to help. Bapak had taught him to never give anything away for free, or easily, lest unrealistic expectations be created, leading to an imbalance in the world. In life, there always had to be an exchange of energy. The universe was transactional in nature. And so it had fallen to him, the Pendekar's apprentice, the strange, quiet, witch's orphan whom no one had wanted, to form the entirety of the cut-off party. With great care and exacting precision, Bapak had crafted charms and fetishes to ward off the paths in and out of the village, leaving only one way for the creature to flee. With an angry mob on the warpath, even an unhallowed aberration such as this had to avoid direct confrontation, and it would go where self-preservation dictated - straight down the dark, tree-lined path that was a highway to the swamps where it took refuge. It was on this path, now, that Kourosh lay in ambush, controlling his breathing, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief to catch the sound and smell of his breath, reciting mantras to calm his pounding heart lest the beast hear him. In each hand, he clutched a six-inch nail of cold iron, with several more in a pouch at his belt. Picked as the last line of offence should the beast evade its hunters within the village, it was his job to spring upon it as it fled down the path and strike at its only weakness, piercing its neck with nails of cold iron as it blundered past his hiding place. As far as the villagers were concerned, whether the beast died or he did, it was a win-win situation. The child of a witch was sure to be a witch also, even though Kourosh himself had never displayed anything more than an uncanny but otherwise perfectly natural knack for negotiating the deep wilderness. Perhaps it was his watchful stillness that unnerved them, a watchful stillness made all the moreso by constant ostracism. The shouts and torchlight grew closer now, and then a piercing cackle split the night - the ngilai, the heart-freezing laughter of the daemon. The scent of cempaka flowers grew on the night air, stronger now, as the thing drew closer. All of a sudden, the sickly-sweet floral scent gave way to a charnel stench, and he knew the thing was almost upon him. There it was, coming round the corner in a gauzy billow of graveclothes, lank, black hair floating about its head in a surreal halo, obscuring its face. The breath froze in his throat, and he very nearly cried out, so great was the supernatural terror. But Bapak's terrifying training in the dark watches of the night had paid off, and he managed to compose himself enough to stay so utterly still that the daemon - wearing the decaying, mutated corpse of a young woman - never noticed him, so intent was it on escaping its persecutors. As it floated under the leafy boughs in whose shadows he perched, Kourosh timed its pace, chose his moment and, like the death that prowled the canopies on silent paws he so admired, leapt down onto the thing's shoulders. A soft hiss of breath escaped his lips as he plunged both nails into the back of the daemon's neck, forming the words of the first war-cry he ever uttered: "There is no god but the Emperor, and he is my sword and my shield!" Now, over a decade later, as he confronts a daemon of the Archenemy upon a field of war, he finds himself drawing strength from the memory. The terror and the temptations of the Great Corruptor are burned away by a pure and sanctifying hatred that fills him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, sharpening his focus to a needle point. It was only when the Chapter took him that he realised at last his life's purpose, the reason for the harshness, injustice and loneliness of his early life - to shape him through adversity to be a defender of all humanity, to be the chosen of the Emperor Himself. He didn't like most individual human beings. He liked groups even less. But, for whatever reason, he had always gone above and beyond to help them. The Brother-Chaplains had told him this was because he had the heart of a defender, that he had it in him to become one of a chosen few - to be a shield against the night, a shining spear against the darkness for all mankind. Darting out from his cover, he runs to another point of cover to flank the wounded Sorcerer, showing no consideration to members of the 'orchestra' as he barges his way past them, 'accidentally' tagging more than a few with an elbow or a barrel-stroke to the body or head. Tucking into cover after a three-count run, he takes aim once again at the corrupt Astartes' centre-mass, and lets fly with another four-round burst. "Kourosh to all points. Observation - enemy sorcerer appears vulnerable to massed, coordinated fire. We should take advantage," comes his terse message on the company vox. [OOC: All-out attack w/Bolter on Sorcerer.]
Aridan tucked himself behind the cover as the orchestra blared its offensive sounds, no doubt sounding like music to their depraved ears. He hadn't bothered trying to fire during it, knowing that the shockwave would merely force him into the ground should he even peek out behind the massive drum he stood behind. The drum head had long been cut by his astartes combat knife, else his organs would likely ruptured from a blast at close proximity to the massive, semi organic instrument. Counting the amount of time it took between each blasts, the scout tapped his fingers against the plasma gun he wielded. If any of the debauched inhabitants of the room and their appearance bothered Aridan, he didn't show it. He felt emotions like all other beings, his love for the Emperor, the Imperium and his brothers above the rest, he was, at his core nature, a being of cold logic. Where others might see disgusted sights to warn their successors of the dangers of the warp, the scout saw targets requiring destruction. Where the sounds blasting through air might worry others about their own auditory functions, he just saw enemy fire to take cover from. Where an enemy champion might seemed a chance at glory for his brothers, he just saw their primary objective. As the music died, however momentarily, Aridan immediately turned out from behind the drum and lined the sights of his weapon up to their target. Almost subconsciously his senses told him that two other brothers did the same, and a volley of bolts and superheated plasma showered the Emperor's Child's position. A mental note with a tinge of satisfaction formed in the scout's mind as one of his superheated shots collided with the twisted power armour around the target, and burned through as though it had been paper. Power Armour had no doubt been one of the greatest piece of technology every implemented in the galaxy, and even twisted would served to protect its inhabitant better than most other worn armour could, but that was the thing with plasma weaponry: it might kill you just as easily as the enemy, but against armour any less than a blast door of a vehicle, you might as well be naked. Indeed, a plasma cannon could make short work of nearly any armour vehicles in a few shots. Suddenly, a rip in reality appeared at the crescendo of the 'music' and an abomination, both pleasing and revolting to the eye at once, stepped forth. To most, a threat not to be taken lightly. To others, the first chance to test themselves up against a neverborn. To Aridan, just another deadly enemy on the chessboard. Albeit, he was basically a pawn on the same board currently compared to it being a rook, or even the queen. Yet, it paled in significance compared to the enemy king, not to mention the hand that moved them. Hearing Charon's battle cry, then Kourosh's suggestion, the scout analysed the situation quickly. Within a second, Aridan's voice shot back to Kourosh. "Noted, launching attack against primary target now." The daemon was a problem, but if they killed it, the sorcerer would merely summon another one. The source of the issue must be cut off. Captain Akar and Sergeant Kennemon were closer as well, so he must trust the veterans to handle the primordial enemy. Spotting Tiro's advanced, an image of him collapsing under their Captain's weight before lapsed in his mind. Opening up a link to his flamer wielding brother, the scout spoke. "Tiro, providing covering fire for you. Bath them in holy promethium." With that, the plasma gun shifted and launched a few shots against anyone targeting the pyromanic scout. What the plasma gun lacked in rate of fire, it made up for in lethality. Therefore, Aridan hoped killing several attackers against Tiro would divert their attention elsewhere, if only to eliminate a more pressing concern. The distraction would hopefully allow Tiro to close the distance and incinerate the distracted enemies where they stood, especially when cover would do them no good against such a weapon. Once fired, he shifted back to his original target, and unleashed another torrent of plasma shots against their primary target, knowing that any shot that collided with the target would chew away his armour, and the warped flesh beneath and around him. OOC: All out attack on the Cacophanist, Overwatch on Tiro. @Draconion @BruticusTheGoreHound
Getting Ugly NowBeneath the effigies of the counter-ritual made manifest Captain Maximillian watches the creed of two very different legions mingle into something great and terrible. His old guard, the First Company and eldest of the Third and Fourth meet the enemy in the depths of their hastily formed earthworks; point blank fire fights and bloody assaults that the bastard sons of Perturabo are all too familiar with. Supporting them he sees the younger, yet no less fearsome, sons of the Dawnbringers fighting all the world like the Ultramarines they believe themselves to be. Codex pattern counter-attacks, combat retreats, and feints being pulled straight from Guilliman's own writings and swung like fists at the enemy by Gario and Menelaus. His own Kerberos Company has yet to sustain a single casualty, playing their part with an enthusiasm that betrays just how well the former Corpse Grinders have embraced a doctrine of swift and violent action. At the head of it all Maximillian commands them like the old faith of Olympia, his word delivering lightning strikes of veteran Astartes onto the head of their foes. Oh the glory when the big guns arrive! The Forge Master himself at last blesses the field with his presence: a pair of Thunderhawk transporters touching down and delivering a fire team of Whirlwinds, Vilhelm, and a sizable fleet of Servitors outfitted in an sixty-forty split for support and combat roles. Apparently the Forge Master had been cooking up some form of modification to aid in their crusade against the traitors, Considering the swell of power armored bodies on the horizon they were going to need it, sooner rather than later. "Loud and clear Captain, Squad Encio flying out." From the steaming aftermath of another massacre of mutants pressing the trenches rise ten more killing machines of Kerberos Company. "Tutelus, get that melta-bomb ready! We'll distract ugly there while you slap it on whatever that thing has for a spine!" Whatever discord the Fiend might be sowing in the hearts of the Dawnbringers did not grip the Vanguard Veterans, each a survivor of Terra and thus having paid witness to at least a thousand such horrors and many more greater terrors both during and since. Earth splinters beneath their feet as they land a few meters back from another trench, using natural strength to leap the gap and charge towards the dual-headed daemon. Sergeant Encio locks eyes with the creature through his helmet and raises a power fist in challenge. A quiet chuckle manifests in the back of his head before his sight is stolen and the world plunges into darkness. "Captain, something is wrong with Vanguard Squad Encio, they're scattering!" Indeed, six of the ten strong squad seemed to of lost their bearings: either sprinting off blindly into different sectors, firing up assault packs in an attempt to fall back, or in the case of those who still had their wits about them, charging straight towards the daemons as ordered. A warrior, Tutelus as Maximillian recalls, attempts to round the fiend on its Deprived side. Daemon's nimble fingers pluck him from the ground by a leg and hoist him upwards. Veteran activates his jump pack while trying to wrangle himself free. Opposing forces see leg wrenched free and rest of Tutelus briefly flying off- until Slaanesh's pet slaps him back to the ground with its whip like tails. Flicking off armored leg the daemon retrieves its toy and uses one arm to hold Tutelus face to face with the caged head denied sensation. With ease the other set of claws pluck his eyes and tongue before slipping into ear canals and piercing ear drums. Struck deaf and dumb the marine lets out a gurgled wail, fingers clawing at the melta-bomb. Both the tank sized daemon and battle brother are lost in the blast. Bitter cries of triumph catch in several throats as The Deprived and the Depraved both emerge from the aftermath, charred but still more than intact enough to mutilate more of the loyalist. A righteous riff of rock rises above the chaos, the Brother-Herald and attached Sternguard steeling the hearts of all those in earshot. Vanguard Squad Marco roar overhead to reinforce their brothers under Encio. Bolt pistols scour a chariot full of hunters from the Materium, and a frag grenade falls from above to blow over the Seekers drawing it. Vanguard squad's shadows vanish as awesome blasts of plasma splash the area, Sicarian Omega surging along the backside of the trenches closest to the enemy and using its up-gunned Omega Plasma Array to vaporize half a dozen daemons and leave the Fiend deprived of its Depraved half. Hunters break formation and scatter, harried the whole way by bolter fire from Gario's Half-Steel company. Larger of the Neverborn thrashes its mute head around violently, neck bending in ways that simply should be possible. Rearing up on hind legs it ignores several pangs of bolt fire and gallops at full speed towards the Dawnbringers' lines. A glint of light rises from the distant palace like the torch of a las-cutter erupting to life. A single beam of incandescent energies shoots out, angled towards one of the titanic guardians pushing back the conversion pulse from Fulgrim's ritual. Not one to be outdone in theatrics, the Phoenician donates an actor of his own to the grand stage being fought over. Four Imperial Guardians are drive back a step as the chaotic magics they war against take on the form of a serpentine body. Ring of featureless scales writhes where the ethereal champions stand, plates splitting apart to allow four separate avatars of the Daemon Primarch to emerge; glorious manes of silver hairs that ripple like fire appearing first, of course. "You did not think me so ungracious a host that I would not entertain you personally, did you?" Maximillian feels the death of a Librarian, as if someone had just latched onto his soul as an anchor, a point of clarity in the madness that was defying such a being as post-apotheosis Fulgrim. Maybe they blamed him, maybe it had been one of their Dawnbringers, maybe a distant cousin. There would be no telling unless they survived this battle. Of course even if he did everything in his power and kept them safe from enemy fire to the last, what if they failed to stand against the madman himself? Thoughts are interrupted by free falling flame: azure fire flaring around the transparent brimstone drooled by the avatar of Kerberos rain down upon the traitors. Psy-flame sears the very souls from a number of unfortunate traitors, such is the danger of even fighting near a duel of psykers on such a scale. Flickering flames linger for a blink before turning violet and bursting outwards, a shower of embers riding towards the Dawnbringers of The Torch Bearers. The owner of both a burning heart and throat take notice: the Grandmaster, Lord of Dawn, He Who Sits On The Throne of a Thousand Suns, Chapter Master Diokletious. The cloak of dying sparks and ash peel back before the filters of master crafted visuals installed in his helm, and before him come the charging forms of the Emperor's Children, each one wielding some form of melee weapon as their primary armament. A squad of his own Tacticals sit right in their path, an Apothecary lingers nearby seeing to one with a wounded shoulder. One of the former rises up to fire over cover, one of the charging traitor legionnaires steps around the first series of shots, then runs straight through the following spray of mass reactives, cackling as they detonate upon Warp forged armor. Elsewhere Maximillian receives a request for anti-armor support from Captain Gario. The bullish commander has run afoul of an armored spearhead lodging itself in the neck of his line. Predators clad in plates wearing monstrous faces, cloaks of scale, and entirely inhuman flesh are firing rounds charged with Warp energy. Worse yet a Fellblade, equally mutated in appearance and probably ammunition, was moving into position against his front line, whom were already making a fighting retreat to their first fallback. Of course the good Captain had laced the sit-rep with some very unbecoming obscenities punctuated by the sound of dying traitors. Capping it all off Maximillian needed lift his head only a little to see the aurora of twisted energies pouring off of Fulgrim's avatars starting to swell. In a matter of moments what were mere curtains of shimmering pearl became full blown breaches in reality from which winged serpent beasts and more of the dreadfully attractive Harpies began to emerge, effectively tying up any hopes of deploying his assault units with any degree of efficiency. Tides of War: Dawnbringers (87) VS. The Scions of Slaanesh (Infinite) – Neutral Action Layout: Dawnbringers – 3 of Max’s choosing +1 A/ Scions – 3 Attacks Command Options: (2 picks) + Deploy Super Heavy – Maximillian may order the Gladius ad Solis (Sicarian Omega) to engage a specific target in the enemy line in an attempt to remove an enemy event. While deployed the Gladius ad Solis does not provide any other beneficial effects. 5 turn CD. +Deploy Sternguard Veterans – Sternguard teams may be deployed in an attempt to remove an enemy event or create a random friendly event. 2 uses total. + Deploy Vanguard Veterans – Vanguard squads may be deployed to grant an extra attack action or counter certain enemy events. 1 use total. +Deploy Hoplikons - Hoplikons use their storm shields to grant a bonus Tides of War defense roll, and one more minor buff/event based on what unit they are assigned to guard. 2 uses. + Deploy Auxillia – Maximillian may order several units of allied PDF forwards to reduce enemy actions by 1 on the following turn. Chances are the men will die horribly though and certain allies may look unkindly on careless expenditure of mortals. 2 turn CD. +Personal Touch - Maximillian descends into the fray granting the Dawnbringers an extra Tides of War action. +Whirlwind Barrage - Maximillian calls in fire support from Forge Master Vilhelm's modified Whirlwinds. Forces the enemy to re-roll all successful attacks next turn. 3 turn CD. +Deploy Marcus - Deploying Marcus will make him an event that boosts friendly morale and can be used to attack other events. As an event Marcus is at risk of being damaged and crippled, if he is put out of commission he will cause morale to take a huge hit. Events: (F) - The Guardians - The counter-ritual has been established and four guardians have emerged to prevent Fulgrim from terra-forming Saramanth further. So long as the conclave is not disrupted they will continue to hold back, and attempt to undo Fulgrim's efforts. If disrupted the counter-ritual will need to be reinforced and during this time the pulses will reign unopposed. (F) - Brother-Herald Ozymandias – Kerberos Company’s Brother-Herald stands at the forefront of the fight against the enemy, fighting their warped tunes and smiting heretics with the power of glorious Imperial Rock. Prevents the Tides of War from dropping more than one stage a turn. Boosted by Sternguard veterans Ozzy now provides +2 to any attacks made by the loyalist for 1 turns. Presence: Strong (F) – The Undying First - Free re-roll of the first failed Tides of War Defense roll each turn. (F) – Gladius ad Solis – The Sicarian Omega provides fire support all across the front lines while not assigned to a specific task. Grants 1 free attack a turn. Presence: Strong (E) – Patriarch of the Emperor’s Children – Even sealed away in his lofty palace, Fulgrim emboldens his sons to fight with unfaltering skill and devotion. Imperial Advantage may not go higher than Minor, and will automatically be pushed back to Neutral if the advantage lasts for more than one turn. (E) - The Deprived and the Depraved - A daemon of terrible portent is charging the lines. So horrific a beast shakes the hearts of even the Astartes that look upon it. All successful actions are re-rolled. Presence: Weak (E) - The Wild Hunt - Elite Seekers of Slaanesh that are on the hunt for enemy champions and commanders. They will focus solely on countering Friendly events. Presence: Medium (E) - Line Breakers - A unit of Warp Tainted Predators and a Fellblade are rolling up on the front lines applying heavy pressure on the Dawnbringers. This event will reduce the likelihood of friendly events forming and attempt to remove other events. Presence: Strong (E) Dark Skies - Winged daemonettes and worse things swarm the skies, harrying assault troopers and skimmers alike. Vanguard Veterans may not be deployed while this event is active. Presence: Medium
Lost momentum - Dig in defense Maximillian grimished as he saw and heard the reports of Squad Encio breaking apart and the death of a few of there squad, Another name to be forged down and another one of the older ones lost, something that caused him to morn for a moment before focusing more on the battle at hand, Squad Marco had more success in there run and the Gladius sol had given hell to the beast that Encio had wounded, it just needed a killing blow along with those seekers. Maximilian sight was then flooded with a great blast of light at first him thinking it being the empoers children deploying some type of WMD or a lance strike from a allied force but for him only to to see something worst, and hear the corrupted voice of one of the foulest traitors, The Daemon primarch Fulgrim, now appeared fighting the guardians, and as he spoke Maximillian could only bear his teeth at the daemon primarchs remark, Feeling another blow Max put his hand upon to the command counsel feeling something tugging at his soul, It was like on Terra, and the battle long ago on the squats worlds, the death of a Libraian gripping onto anothers soul. He felt grief for the librarian and for a moment wondered if the Enemy had somehow broken or even snuck through there defenses, but even then there would have to have been a report for it or even a word from one of the soul smiths or squads at the last defense line or even those in the Liberian ritual room. Could it have been the traitor primarch himself battling against them that ended one of there lives there cousins or one of there own, and if he could do that could they ev- No They would succeed in this they would complete the ritual and stop fulgrim one way or another. Maximillian for a moment considered the strain the librarians had to be taking if they were taking on fulgrim himself with this riutal and felt a bit of grief for the lost one before reaffirming he would have to do everything in his power to make sure the lines weren't broken and there librarian buddies remained safe. Hearing a request from Captain Gario for anti armor support Maxmillian grimaced, taking away there sicarian would be a blow to the main lines, but if Fulgrims armor got through it would be even worst. the iron warrior and dawn bringer in him telling him to deploy that armor and give captain Gario the support. putting a finger to his helm Max responded. "Anti armor request heard Gario, I will send a little extra with it try to make sure Gladius sol doesn't get to many dents in her." Maxmillian responded sounding positive and upbeat. Knowing Gladius sol would need a escort force Max decided it was time to pull out the best of what they have for protection the Hoplkions and two predator ultras for some extra anti armor bite to them to help break fulgrims iron fist pattern. Hearing already and seeing from a distance Several thunder hawk transports land nearby and not only that with Villhelm's brand of artillery caused him to smile, that would defiantly help out in the long run, Though they would likely need it especially if they would want to make a counter attack after fending off these degenerates attacks against there lines, Getting a report from a tech marine in the field of Marcus arriving in a trench and was currently rearming and readying for another run caused him to grin, With gladius sol Gone Max knew he would defiantly be entering the field sooner then later. As light lit up the sky once more as purple blinks of light he grimaced as he saw something that would be the equivalent of like of a Hemorrhoids combined with piranhas, flying piranhas to be exact, As he saw the veil for the imperium to rip and out of it comes flying hussies, harlots and thots oh my. Looks like Maximillian was going to be getting back in the good old trench's sooner rather then later. As stomping out the enemy in a counter attack would need to be stomped out completely before they could return. OOC Two defense one attack Tides of war actions Deploy Super heavy Gladius ad Solis to take on Fell corrupt fell blade Deploying Hoplikon's to escort gladius ad solis and help protect her.
"Thank you brother, I would have never figured out how next to proceed without your insight." Tiro responded, stomping forward into battle, eyes glittering from the shine of the flames around him. Surrounded in the bathing glow of the pyre, the scout would meet the birth of the Fiend with the same confidence he displayed against all foes. Music didn't matter, the rippling distortion of reality didn't matter, even the pallid wrongness of the creature itself didn't matter, not to Tiro. He'd read the reports and stories of Terra and The Great Heresy, he recognized this foe, and he'd seen that they could be harmed by his own weapons. If it burned, he could kill it, and that was all the man needed to shake off any chance it had disturbing him. For the time being, he'd busy himself continuing the task he'd started upon, washing the remaining members of The Orchestra in holy promethium. Unable to flee, unable to do anything but spit back discordant notes at him, they were easy pickings, and while everyone seemed to focus on the Cacophonist, Tiro knew the conductor would be useless without his cult to direct. OOC: All-Out Attack on Orchestra with Flamer.
Everywhere across this world was charged with power, the very air rumbling with the tempo of a dark cacophony. The ground was polluted with a corruption, the skies ablaze with hues of unlight and colours that should not be, the ruins of what once was shifting into forms more befitting those that came from beyond the veils of reality. All around Chapter Master Diokletious, this planet was dying, the cancerous blight that was The Emperor’s Children a sickness upon the very fabric of it’s foundations. The man had little doubt that even here, upon a world where the stage of destiny was set, should Fulgrim fall, that this world would be allowed to remain. There could be no saving it, the only option would be complete destruction, the barrage of the loyalist fleet in orbit casting judgement upon the site of this dark ritual. Feeling a curse rising from his throat, it’s scarred flesh aflame and burning in the tainted atmosphere around him, Diokletious would return to his task at hand, the calls of war bringing him from reflection back into the grim reality that lay before. The screams of the coming foe would be heard before they were sighted, a mist of varying pink hues flowing toward loyalist lines, seemingly seeping from the avatar’s of Fulgrim’s delight, halting even enhanced auto sense’s from piercing their veil. Shapes would be seen, shifting and growing, behind the fog, before the first of the warped warriors would break free, coming forth in a drug fuelled charge. Muscles bursting with chemical enhancements would force forth a being that could barely contain it’s joyous screams and burning physique, plate shining like poorly melted candle wax gleaming in the sorcerous light that shone all about them. This was only the first, as more and more came, rushing into the frontal lines of marines, Dawnbringers firing at these men, who danced around shots with a velocity that could only be from their debased patron and it’s gifts. Diokletious watched as veterans that had withstood Terra’s fire alongside him, now fought against a foe that viewed them as little more than playthings, bolters booming, and disciplined fire proving no match for the crazed shifting movements of their foe. It would be only seconds before the first rune glowed red, and the first Dawnbringer perished, his head lopped off by the smooth slash of one damned legionnaire and his twin headed axe. This could not stand, he would not allow it. “Knights of Dawn! With me!” The call would go out over the vox, as in an instant, and a roar of fire, Diokletious would soar up into the skies, taking to the heavens once again. Yet, he did not fly alone, as to his sides, came The Knights of Dawn, their armour resplendent in it’s shining glory, their glowing blades singing to the same tune as the Chapter Master’s own claws. Axtor, Butes, Telamon, and Amphion, all veterans of Terra, all reforged warriors of The Dawnbringers, all paragons of martial discipline and an inspiration to their battle brothers. While Kremnar’s Reaper Knights marched under a dark gloom, striking from beyond sight, and Maximillian’s Knights of Kerberos lumbered forward with as a blatant shield against mankind’s enemies, The Knights of Dawn flew, their place on the battlefield one of clear, open challenge against their foes. Sixteen were their number, four squads of four, each assigned to the protection of Chapter Master and the first three company captains, and to this duty, they dedicated themselves wholly. Soaring down now, from the skies above, alongside Diokletious, their plate would be covered in the flowing white tabards of their brotherhood, edged in a golden trim, all but one swinging down with chain glaives of fine craft, an echo of a warrior from another era. All save the head of their squad, Axtor, as for each unit in the Knights of Dawn, their leader would go into battle with electrified lightning claws, a drakon’s skull upon their left pauldron, a fanged helm many veterans might recognize bared for all enemies to see, and fear. As Drakonslayer, Axtor would land first upon the grim of the world, among his embattled brothers, talons slashing out from his meteoric descent. His strike would be rewarded, with a cry of mixed pain and exuberant enjoyment, a traitor falling to the dirt, chest cavity open, steaming, and spraying putrid black blood into the air around him. The rest of the unit would be down an instant after, swirling slashes and slices from growling glaives, before Chapter Master himself would join the fray. The dance of their enemy would be halted for the time being, the squad of tacticals being forgotten at the sight of more enticing prey, as The Emperor’s Children Swordmasters would throw themselves without a thought of self preservation into the fray. Diokletious would pit his own legendary speed against that of the drug fuelled foes that lay before him, before barking a quick order into the vox towards his previously engaged brothers. “Fall back! This position is compromised, rally to the next entrenched line, we shall be with you soon!” A sweeping blade would interrupt any chance at protest, as Diokletious would swerve beneath a pair of strikes, returning them with his own. He stilled his mind, he focused his tempers, and engaged the foe, grim determination set into his hearts, as behind him, those of his brothers in the immediate area made for the next line to make their stand against the traitors. As the Chapter Master and his Honor Guard fought on, The Emperor’s Children before them would only continue to scream their praises above, cackling and taunting at prey they would see dead at all costs. He did not know how long it had been, when the first of his Knights had fallen. The tumult of battle was so vicious, so aggressive and unyielding, that Diokletious fought without thinking, his movements relying on pure instinctive drive, and centuries of training to drill him into the warrior he was today. His Knights of Dawn moved with their master like extensions of will, warriors moving to cover each other’s openings, take advantage of chances brought forth by the strikes of brothers, and above all, lash out at those who would see them dead. Yet, even deep in their depraved worship, The Slaaneshi astartes would prove deadly foes, who fought despite strikes that would incapacitate lesser enemies. Seemingly taking a pleasure in each laceration upon their flesh, each breaking of bone, their eyes would widen, scarred flesh turning into smiles, as they looked to thank the Dawnbringers, by showing them the true sensational bliss the agony brought. In a battle between martial masters, even a single mistake could prove fatal, and against those who’s senses and reactions were empowered by the corruption of the warp, one misstep was inevitable. Butes went down, his right arm spraying a torrent of blood, as forearm fell to the ground, gripped glaive dipping with it. Before freed limb even hit the earth, the barbed blades that had severed it lunged through the opening made, and pierced the twin hearts of Butes with exact precision. Twisting, the screech of tearing ceramite like music to the debased renegade, Butes’ killer would extend a long tongue to happily lap the sprayed ichor of his kill off his own face. Down one of their brothers, the tides began shifting against The Knights of Dawn, Diokletious gritting his teeth, as he forced himself to move all the faster. Twenty beats of his heart would pass, the Dawnbringers attempting to form a circle, before the next went down. Amphion thrust forward, glaive hacking through the shoulder of one such warrior, eating into it’s flesh. Yet, maddeningly, the dying creature would squeal, before dropping it’s weapon, and wrapping arms around the weapon that flensed it, as if embracing a lover. Held in place, Amphion would be unable to draw back his chain glaive, before the gleam of a curved blade slashed through his throat. The other three tried to intercept, to move their formation to injured brother, yet, like a wounded animal, the remaining nine chaos space marines would dive upon Amphion, clutching his bleeding throat, tearing him limb from limb with bare hands. Diokletious would give the order to pull back, warming up the engine of his jump pack, yet, it would be made clear that in the chaos of the fighting, Axtor’s own had been damaged beyond usage, and there would be no flight for the Drakonslayer. Giving a curse, Diokletious would brace himself, as the enemy astartes turned about, rising from their butchery, and ready to resume their assault. He would not simply abandon his brother, he would not reduce him to another simple statistic among the dead, he would not let cold logic cloud his own beliefs. With twin pairs of lightning claws rising, and chain glaive giving a snarling roar, the three surviving Dawnbringers would face the oncoming bladesmen with as much defiance as could be expected from the loyal sons of The Emperor. Yet, a thundering series of booms would sound out, being heard beyond the already all encompassing sounds of war around them, tremors running through the earth, as another shining warrior would join the fray. In a chapter that celebrated the fires of Dawn, The Exemplar was as a radiant sun, the champion of an entire chapter, a man that had not only survived Terra, but had faced down it’s challenges and proven more than worthy. Rushing forward, his cataphractii armour already bearing the scars of heavy combat, cracked and broken shield raised, ancient sword gleaming, banner waving proudly, defiantly, above, Nathiel would come crashing into the assembled Emperor’s Children like a freight train. Renewed with the appearance of The Exemplar, The Knights of Dawn would give a cry, before rushing in to aid their champion, and battle would resume in full once more. Diokletious would duck and weave around strikes, he’d lunge and slash, and shift, and jump, and move, and throw everything he had against the traitors. Nathiel’s sudden, heroic intervention had crushed three of the foe beneath it’s sheer tenacity, yet, let it not be said the Sons of Fulgrim took long to react. One of their number each faced down one of the Knights of Dawn, two came for Diokletious, and the remaining three would come up against The Exemplar. Nathiel moved with all the skill expected of one with his rank and veterency, belying the armoured impediments that came with his cataphractii plate, and yet, while he parried and redirected the barrage of blows that came at him, the duelists would simply dance out of reach. Each took turns, diving in, testing the guard, before retreating, like wolves baiting at a bear, Nathiel’s shield and superior plating proving an able defense against their gleaming power blades. Yet, it would not last. Diokletious saw the moment when one of their foe grew bored of Nathiel, his torn visage, a picture of hideous hedonism turning into a smile. As his brothers danced around The Exemplar, this warrior, this champion of his kind, would give an amused snort, before reaching down to his hip, drawing up a large, bloated object. Reaching out with a hand that moved almost to swift for Diokletious to follow, the champion would grab at one of his companions duelling the chapter master, dragging him back, comrade squirming and cooing with the pleasure of a favoured child. A swift, and precise slash of his blade would split the throat of the man in hand, as the champion took to lumpen metal object, and shoved it down into the body of his compatriot. So fuelled with Emperor only knew how many narcotics, the subject in question wouldn’t seemed bothered in the slightest, as he was propped up, bloody grin matching bleeding throat, and booted towards Nathiel, the bearer of a deadly payload. Exemplar had only a moment to turn towards the newcome traitor, before noticing this one did not strike, but merely rushed as close to him as he could, before…. BOOM The melta went off, it’s detonation sounding as the hammer of the gods, erupting out and consuming both Exemplar, and those traitors that battle around him. When the flash of light cleared, Diokletious would see what remained of Nathiel, his molten, glowing armor lying down in the dirt, his shield arm gone, his plate melting with residual heat, his banner vaporized. Sorrow would run through The Chapter Master, as remaining warrior barring his path would be cut down, Diokletious exchanging a piercing blow through his shoulder, for the destruction of the warrior’s skull with a fierce crashing of his helm. Charging towards the duelist who had laid The Exemplar low, Diokletious would find himself enraged and seeking only to kill this treasonous whoreson. Yet, as if seeing the Chapter Master for the first time, the remaining Emperor’s Child would lick his lips, before bring up a blade to parry the incoming series of strikes, edge of the sword moving to block and parry each attempt of the lightning claws to tear him apart. The swordsman would take up a combative stance, saying nothing, yet his visage speaking volume of just what he thought of the Dawnbringer before him, before he’d unleash an assault of his own. Diokletious would meet the barrage head on, forcing a tempo to his strikes, trying to embrace the style he’d dedicated himself towards all his life. Yet, with old friend brought low, burning agony upon his throat, and the very air around him reeking of corruption, he found himself only able to lash out with a rage more akin to another of his brothers. The exchange lasted perhaps ten seconds, a series of cuts and piercing blows landed upon each of the participants, yet, with a flourish, and feint, the traitor would lunge forth, hammering the pommel of his blade against Diokletious’ helm, before swiftly bringing back blade for a killing blow. It was never able to even take form. From behind, a hand would clamp down upon the slaaneshi’s wrist, it’s grip like cast iron, holding the warrior from lashing out against Chapter Master. Rising up from the earth, armour still glowing with the heat of molten metal, Nathiel defied death, despite missing an entire half of his body, and his armour no doubtedly being melted to his flesh beneath. Unable to talk, for his throat was a ruined mess, The Exemplar would look out with shattered helm towards Diokletious, a silent moment passing between both warriors, as Diokletious took this briefest of chances, and lunged forward, plunging his claws through the Traitor Champion, one more tally to The Exemplar’s list of bested foes.
BoomingGarrick stands, struck stupid by the sound and sight as the Fiend comes galloping closer. Approaching at a light trot the creature's mere presence does more to betray its intent than its glossy black eyes. Normally dour scout is caught mouth open and eyes glazed over by the strike, going down to the ground from a strike against the side of his head. Fiend rears back, coming up short of Garrick as Akar steps in the way and strikes scout across his head with a curious looking pistol. "Concentrated overwhelming firepower, Kourosh. You can mass a thousand las-guns against these things and they'll laugh it off, or bray, or scream, whatever it is they do." Curt delivery and lesson itself are underscored by the discharge of the Captain's inferno pistol and plasma component of combi-bolter, each weapon roaring from a hand and engulfing the beast in twin cascades of billowing white flame and blue-white plasma. Sting of burning light show and painful heat rolled off of bucking beast and over Garrick, snapping him to. "Plasma and melta weapons are an entirely different matter." A shadow stirred in the fire stream as both weapons began tapering off, combi-bolter drooling and inferno pistol wheezing. Lunging back a blackened carapace coated claw swipes past him, whole of the beast following behind with much of its skin and afterbirth mucus melted away. Inhuman musculature contracted in kaleidoscopic patterns that risked mesmerizing the younger onlookers if they tried to put a method to the madness of how its biology even worked. Stinger snaps past a naked shoulder, clipping Akar's left pauldron and staggering him, another pincer sweeps into an uppercut and punches through the gray of his breast plate and hooks between rib-plate and ceramite. Stinger punches into the thrashing marine's body several times, trying to catch his throat. Mustering grit teeth and a raised arm, Akar discharges several bolts into a bicep and gets flung off towards the orchestra. Lowering upper body it sprints off after him. Charon, having recovered his wits attempts to intervene. "No." Pain explodes in Charon's mind, mind locked down as if someone were squeezing it with his own skull. Trapped by suffering the world around goes quiet and the Orchestra invades. The finest draw of a violin string begins to rise in his head, soon others join and builds at an achingly slow pace, approaching a crescendo that twists his stomach as if he were a junkie denied his fix. "Dance with me brother, join me in this ecstasy! See what this freedom can do for you!" With one hand the Cacophanist directs Charon, and the other orchestrates with stave. A set of inflating stomachs compress and attached horns blare with force enough that the air itself wavers. Barron and Arrauth go to ground, driven onto their backs and sent skidding by the force. Akar joins them, floored and pinned with the fiend approaching unopposed. Several of Aridan's bolts are swatted from the air and Kourosh is interrupted mid-fire, spent shells pattering off him and bolter flung out of his hands and crashing into his face. Tiro's raised flamer dips, only long enough for him to turn around until he is down wind of the blast and can fire at an angle that'll carry his weapon's justice into a nearby wall. A gust of flame boils the flesh from an angelic figure whose fingers have grown into the arches of her harp. With a high pitched shriek she topples to the ground and becomes another bonfire in the room. Cacophonist twists free hand and Charon's both mirror it, bones in the scout's right grinding together until at last something gives and it rotates with the left without him having to twist elbow as well. Sweeping arms from side to side the pair coax the earth, Dawnbringer slave to the sorcerer as own spell is worked against his brother: now instead of guarding Garrik, earth ruptures to assail him. Curving spines of stone studded with splinters of teal crystals strike into the scout's legs, pinning him in place and rending flesh and scraping bone. "Aridan, fire now!" Kenemon pulls the trigger a half-second before order is given. The horns' mighty acoustics have tapered off and Sergeant intends to use the reprieve. Hypno-therapy and nearly a decade of drilling see Aridan pull the trigger in time with his leader, the pair of them lighting up both Emperor's Child and his podium. So enraptured with the power of sound and his control over Charon the witch is caught flat-footed and staggers, Neo-Librarian released and armor splintering while the already awful music hits a deeply sour note that momentarily deafens everyone, Imperial or Chaos, in the Orchestra's housing. Sorcerer briefly retreats from sight, ducking behind cover as the Orchestra becomes still. When he next emerges it is with arms open wide spread and dramatic riff from several different pianos announce his return. Whatever misshapen beats he had crafted before were gone and, the pianos retreated to make way for drums. Voices wailed out from faces stitched into the ceiling, clustered together like seeds in the pit of a fruit on a dark crimson wad of flesh-meat. "Back to the past, back to the height of ignorant-enlightment! When we worshiped without knowing who our real masters were!" Both traitor and pet daemon's bodies twitched in tune to the striking vocals. Another of Kenemon's bolts strikes melted-wax face of the legionnaire, blowing pale bloodless chunks away and revealing gun metal gray of a paint stripped helmet underneath. Leaping over podium the psyker lands, and with nary the tip of a boot on the ground, glides over to the veteran Dawnbringer and drives force staff into his chest. Several blasts of lightning strike Kenemon at point blank range, each one sparking to life in time with the voices. From the Orchestra itself a will-o-wisp of blue flame dances in the depths of a quiet organ. Ember bounces between the tubes before descending, at least a dozen others spilling out after it. Merging into one the wisps burst into a cloud of flame that ripples and snaps into the forms of horses and riders clad in knightly armor. Tearing a circuit around the room their infernal lances dip from above to strike at the very spirits of the invaders. Most go low or evade, limited number of foes in the room allowing the scouts to go unscathed for the most part. Kenemon is denied such luxury, sorcerer's own assault having left him open as a crackling lance strikes his chest and he goes stiff, falling on his back clutching a searing wound, face contorted in agony as the stabbing assaults both body and soul. Barron is bitten next, a tasseled lance searing a shallow ravine of black flesh into a shoulder and momentarily causing vision to darken from the unfamiliar horror of having his very spirit invaded and set aflame. Garrick, trapped in place, cannot weave away perfectly and left half of face is grazed by another skewer and skin blisters with third degree burns. At the last the knights begin homing in on the organ once more, their charge coming to an end. Only Tiro remains between them and the great tubes that jut out from the wall like a fan of spears. A rider with a half-mask fashioned in the likeness of a lion reins horse low and runs him through from behind. Pain beyond anything the young warrior had experienced to date coils about his spine and radiates through his being on both planes. As crusaders melt down into a single tendril of flame that floods through the organ, the burly scout is brought down to both knees. Squad Kenemon: Kenemon: 9 Tiro: 3 Garrick: 7 Kourosh: 9 Charon: 7 Aridan: 10 Arrauth: 8 Barron: 7 Akar: 12 Conditions: Barron: Health Kit (6 Charges). Garrick, Barron, Arrauth, and Charon all suffer -2 to all actions for the remainder of the fight as their minds struggle to deal with the daemon's existence. Garrick is pinned in place and cannot move to make melee attacks and attacks against him are at an advantage. He may use half-actions to make strength checks in an attempt to break free, with additional half-actions from allies boosting the roll. Emperor’s Children: The Cacophanist: 20 The Orchestra: 59 Fiend of Slaanesh: 13 Conditions: Each turn that the Cacophanist is alive he will use a free action to conduct his 'orchestra'. The Fiend and Cacophanist are boosted by Dark Tempo, doubling their action allotment.
Charons body moved to the tune of the Cacophanist the young down bringer screamed out in pain as his mind was taken over and his body becoming his prison, the feeling of the taint the violation of his body and his very soul being turned against him and his brothers, and the offer of freedom a dark temptation that would linger within the dark recesses of his mind. Charon felt agony and pain as his arm bent towards Garrick and his own power lash out at him, rage, and pain and sorrow would take over as he watched it what happened next as the flames of the cacophanist come in burning him and many of his brothers. Dispare, Rage, Hatred, self loathing, Remorse, all flooded him as he slowly regained control of his body, Regain controlled he clawed at his face for a moment cutting into it to make sure it was him, The pain would cause him to realize it was. Looking over to Garrick the scout looked to aid his brother he had forsaken when the sorcerer entered his mind. @Vlayden Attempting to move the earth that pinned his brother the scout would use his arms and legs in a attempt to free Garrick. "Be ready to move!" Charon said to Garrick as he pushed hard. Spotting the creature in the dsitance he kept himself ready in case it would attempt to attack him. "Quite a dance little toy, I look forward for your next one!" Charon heard at the edge his mind goading him on and causing his rage to fester further and more self doubt to begin to take hold of Charon's spirt about his own abilities. OOC Half action attempt at freeing Garrick One defensive action on charon.
