Kabal of the Rancid Blade

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 37. The Genius

2011-01-31T13:43:00.000-08:00

Jungle vines hung through the blasted window that had once looked out across the stars. Its wide oval was about thirty feet across and where it once it held a view of dark stars it now held the prospect of an overgrown jungle. Green vines spilled forth into the command chamber of the Tau battleship. Leaves and plants hanging down over command consoles. The power had been off for about a month and so the edges of once white chamber were hidden in shadows. Dark control panels were quiet and where once the chatter of Air Caste pilots had sounded, now the chatter of exotic birds called out.

Anemos walked cautiously into the chamber. Its silence and her witness to the remnant of what this place once was, made her shiver. There were parts of the ship that still buzzed with activity. She had made sure of it. Despite the rough landing and the destruction of the main viewing chamber, the ship was still intact and she had been running the war from the tactical alcoves several decks below. Hundreds of Fire Warriors worked and planned from other parts of the ship in full confidence of eventual victory. Anemos was not as confident. She returned to this place knowing that this was at the heart of the campaign. She swallowed hard facing the reality that at the core of her command was this room and madness of the jungle crowding around. She looked toward the shadows. She was looking for her god. She knew he was here. She knew he was lurking in the shadows.

“My lord” she called to the darkness “we need to speak of the war”. There was no response. “It goes poorly”.

“I see it” the voice came from one of the dark corners. She looked closer and saw the shape of her Ethereal. “I see it in you. I see your desire”. The voice was ghostly and lonesome. She started toward the dark form and saw that he was dressed in little but rags. “You want me dead. You want me gone”

“I do not. I seek your council.”

“You seek to blame me for your failure.”

She breathed out slowly measuring her temper. He was right. She did want him dead. He had lead their forces into an evil alliance with the Dark Eldar and and their wytches and the Cemephon expansion had become their playground. Their wanton destruction and torture had become her daily observations. They all had been lead to their doom.

“I've seen the horror. Horrors that you've seen.” The voice came from the blackness.

"The field is lost. Our forces are in retreat. The northern front has collapsed and the hives cities are overrun with Imperials.” She paused. Her anger was building. “Obolis is missing. Tranthus’ break through assault on the dark gate has failed. And he is dead!” She paused letting her words sink into the darkness. They also sank into her mind. She thought of Obolis’ warning all those months ago... “Whatever walks through that gate will destroy us” he had said. She now came to see that he had said was right. The call of a Jimjok bird sounded in the jungle outside and brought her back. She could feel her own contempt. “What is your wisdom?” she spat. Her words were soaked in malice.

“You have a right to kill me” the voice from the darkness was slow and seemed to slide across the room like a filthy oil. “You have a right to do that, but you have no right to judge me. I am your god and I have lead you to this point of glory”

“Glory!?”

“Glory indeed. The inky, bloody revelry of what we have made is glorious. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what glory means.”

“How are we glorious? How?” Her face was twisted in a snarl.

“Glorious in death”.

Anemos eyes grew wide. She now knew what Obolis had seen all those months ago at the start of this war was true. The Ethereal was mad. She loosed her sidearm from its holster and drew it up to fire but her finger never made it to the trigger. A ghostly shadow from behind darted over her striking her and lodging a needle through her neck. It protruded from one side through to the other. She dropped to her knees gurgling as a poison strode through her body. Her face contorted as she twisted against the toxin. She was trying to see the face of her attacker.

The voice from the inky blackness sounded again as calm and slow as cold tar. . “Horror. Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and mortal terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.” She hit the cold deck still writhing against the poison. Her eyes could only see the long black heeled boot of her assassin standing before her. She heard the rasp of her own breath. “The genius of it. The genius. The will to unleash mortal terror on your foes and love it. If I had ten divisions of those dark eldar kin, then our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have warriors who are moral and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill with feeling, with passion, with judgment--with Passion! Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure.”

The Ethereal had stepped from the darkness and walked toward her. She could see his tattooed body. From head to toe it was covered in the insane etches that now covered her warrior’s suits in tribute to this insanity. He carried a halberd in his hand. It was the once proud and now defiled symbol of his office.

“I realized what they could stand was so much beyond what we could do.” He came to stand before her looking down at her. He stood beside the Lady Hosphel, the assassin, and they both looked down at Anemos’s prostrate body. The fire warrior was now still. Her breathing was a labored panting. “These were not monsters, these were warriors, trained cadres, these who fought with their hearts. Our kin, Anemos, the Tau, have no passion. Passion is what is needed.” And with that the Ethereal raised the long blade of the halberd. And with a swift ease he inserted it into the soft flesh of Anemos’ stomach. It easily slid through to the floor with a dull sounding. She gasped with the last of her strength and her fingers spread wide in agony.

“The genius” the Ethereal said again, repeating himself as a widening pool of Anemos’ blood neared their feet.

The Dolgath Legacy Part 18: The war is done

2011-01-31T12:12:00.000-08:00

Dolgath sat unnoticed in a dark corner on the seventh tier of the tactical command center. It was a tall, circular chamber located in the most secure core of his battle cruiser, the Subjugator. He had never used it himself, preferring to conduct operations from his private audience chamber. Shortly after taking command of the campaign, Nelthas had moved her operations here – systems dark for centuries suddenly flickered to life, servitors long dormant slowly twitched into motion, fitful glow-globes cast reluctant amber illumination upon ancient heroes carved millennia before in immutable bronze and immaculate marble standing in silent vigilance.

The tactical command center was designed to provide full situational awareness. At the center of it was a holographic sphere that displayed an incredibly detailed, three-dimensional representation of the battle zone. One morning, after not meeting with Nelthas for their customary breakfast, Dolgath discovered her in the newly awakened command center standing at the nexus of the holographic sphere like some towering avatar of war.

Dolgath was at first surprised, not pegging Nelthas as a war-monger, yet she had never before been given full command of a campaign. She seemed to embrace it with frightening force and efficiency. Her victories were quick, efficient and brutal. She wasted nothing. Every asset at her disposal was utilized to its utmost; every advantage was exploited for maximum effect. Although the xenos invaders possessed superior resources and technological capabilities, Nelthas outmaneuvered them at every turn. Her victory was almost frightening in its speed and ruthlessness. Inquisitor Welch was sent packing back to Ordos command even before he was fully settled into his new quarters.

At the dawn of the twenty-seventh day of the campaign, Dolgath entered the main floor of the tactical command center. The guards did not challenge him; they were his own men after all. Nelthas still hovered at the center of the holographic sphere – she had not left it since the beginning of the campaign. She was like a dark god, her arms outstretched, and her eyes like faintly glowing emerald embers. Only a few tiny red indicators remained in the entirety of the battle zone – a few last pockets of feeble resistance…

“Nelthas,” Dolgath said tentatively. She did not respond.

“Nelthas!” Dolgath shouted.

The god’s eyes flickered uncertainly and then focused on Dolgath.

“Come, the war is done,” Dolgath said with his arms outstretched.

Nelthas descended from the battle sphere like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She literally fell into Dolgath’s arms. He bore her back to his private chambers; a tiny slight bundle. It was fourteen days before Nelthas was well enough to join him once again for their customary morning breakfast meeting.

On the fifteenth day, Nelthas glided into his audience chamber, all slight of stature and demure, adorned in cream and sea-foam. Dolgath glanced up with a lopsided smile.

“It seams the Ordo Hereticus congress has recommended you for consideration for Lord Status for your work in this campaign…” Dolgath commented casually.

Dolgath watched as Nelthas carefully picked up her customary liquid nutrient glass, inserted the straw between the succulent full lips of her psychomorphic mask, and took a long drink…

“Swell…” she replied noncommittally.

Dolgath lowered his head and began to laugh – slightly at first and then growing in volume…

Nelthas watched him for a moment, and then began laughing herself…

Reverse image

2011-01-18T17:27:00.001-08:00

Guncam

2011-01-18T17:23:00.001-08:00

Cemephon Campaign Turn 3.3

2011-01-12T13:19:00.000-08:00

Cemephon Campaign Turn 3.0

2011-01-09T08:27:00.000-08:00

Nelthas Ascendant

2011-01-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

The Aquilla-pattern shuttle was configured for command and control, as such; it was heavily shielded and outfitted with the best systems the Adeptus Mechanicus could cram into her small frame. Other than its crew of three, it held five individuals whose positions were critical to the Imperium for the prosecution of the war. Had the xenos invaders been aware of it, they would most certainly have sent every resource available to destroy it. As it was, the small craft drifted like an insignificant speck in low orbit, providing its passengers a brilliantly panoramic overview of the territory over which the coming conflict would be fought.

Standing at the pinnacle of the observation dome was Inquisitor Nelthas outfitted in a sleek and severe garment of glistening black and crimson leather. Her psychomorphic mask bore more resemblance to a helmet crafted in the most elaborate Imperial fashion, the face a fierce blending of a beautiful woman and a raptor, surmounted by feathered wings carved of white-lacquered adamantine. From her position she had a commanding panorama through the hemispherical view-ports around her, as well as of the various pict-screens and com-relays arrayed around the dome.

To her right stood the hulking form of Captain Jeremiah of the 9th company of the Imperial Dragons chapter of the space marines, representing the primary force at her disposal. His youthful face surmounted by golden curls seemed incongruous set as it was atop the gleaming suit of green and ivory power armor. To her left was Major Raker of the 3rd Company of the 77th Kelten Rifles Imperial Guard Regiment. He represented the secondary force at Nelthas command, which were actually the remnants of Dolgath’s original battle force who secured New Boston. He was dressed in the trademark black, white and grey striped camo pattern uniform of the White Tigers company, with a dark grey cape resting over his shoulders. His face was broad and lantern-jawed; his eyes peered from beneath the brim of his peaked cap like a surly predator. Behind him stood a woman shrouded in a voluminous white cloak trimmed in luxurious fur from which peeked a high-cheekboned face of porcelain perfection with dark eyes as inscrutable as a statue. This deadly raven-haired beauty was Palatine Quallar representing the Ordo Hereticus force left behind by Inquisitor Treyquill. Lastly, there was a figure who sat inconspicuously in a dark corner, seemingly oblivious to the important personages standing before him; instead, his attention was focused on a well-worn leather book. He was dressed in a simple dark grey overcoat with a black felt collar and lapels upon which was pined a tiny golden Ordo Maleus seal. Inquisitor Lord Dolgath’s face was a lean stony mask, his eyes as deeply green and unfathomable as the sea.

Beneath her impenetrable mask, Nelthas was concerned about Dolgath. He was special to her. Ever since she first constructed the entity that was, Nelthas, she knew that most would avoid her, and a small few twisted individuals might be attracted to her. Never before had she encountered someone who was so accepting of her. Dolgath had become increasingly quiet and withdrawn since control of the campaign had been transferred to her. At first she assumed it represented a certain amount of petulance on his part; which was understandable considering he lost command of the campaign which he had so far successfully prosecuted. Yet, his relief at ceding control of the campaign was palpable. He performed the required transfer functions almost happily. Once all his duties were done he offered up his audience chamber to her and retreated to his inner-sanctum. He would join her at every morning and evening meal and discuss the latest developments in the campaign, but inevitably as soon as the meal was over; his nose would be buried in a book once more. Nelthas had grown to suspect that Dolgath, the inspiring battle commander, was as much a façade as her own, and she was just now beginning to see the real Dolgath; the introspective delver into forbidden secrets...

“Inquisitor, we have a Dark Eldar signature on the scan,” one of the crew stated.

The four commanders focused on the pict-screen, all accept for Dolgath who seemed oblivious, engrossed in his book.

The pict-screen resolved on the territory within which the defense missile silo resided. Nelthas quickly evaluated the associated data; it was an automated facility manned by servitor drones that had been entirely ineffective at striking the invading forces. A second pict-screen showed the xenos forces descending on the facility and quickly taking control of the command center and fuel bunkers. A third pict-screen showed Imperial Guard forces moving into position to assault the xenos-controlled areas. Nelthas summed up the situation and made her decision instantly. She turned to Major Raker.

“Withdraw your troops, Major,” she said confidently.

“What?” his heavy jaw dropped in surprise.

“You heard me. Have them retreat in good order and establish defensive positions around the Starport.”

“Inquisitor, with all due respect…” Raker began to say with something less than a respectful tone.

Nelthas raised one of her tiny delicate hands and pointed a dainty finger at him; the gold ring upon her finger emitted a ruby targeting beam that formed a conspicuous red dot between his eyes. “Now, Major,” she said darkly.

Everyone’s eyes, including Dolgath’s, focused on Raker. He stood transfixed for a brief moment and then bowed slightly. “As you wish, Inquisitor,” Raker replied as he moved to a com-panel to relay his orders. Through her restrained fury, Nelthas noticed as the faint hint of a smile ghosted across Dolgath’s face.

###

The next morning, Dolgath appeared in the audience chamber for his customary morning meal, only to see servitors and functionaries scurrying about. Nelthas, arrayed in flowing garment the color of sea-foam, her psychomorphic mask like fine jade, had activated the holographic display above his desk and was engrossed in reviewing a stream of battle reports coming in. Dolgath sat inconspicuously down opposite her and observed the controlled chaos with a faintly bemused expression. After a few moments she finally noticed him. Her mask smiled with barely repressed satisfaction.

“I take it, the Dark Eldar took your bait,” Dolgath said.

“They could not resist. The servitors manning the defense facility would be naught but straw men to them; they could not leave the field without drawing blood and pain,” Nelthas replied. “They still control the defense silo, but they have been crippled with negligible losses on our part.”

“Well played,” Dolgath chuckled.

A servitor brought them trays of coffee and pastries. As Nelthas turned back to the battle reports, Dolgath pulled out his well-worn book and settled back to read.

The Dolgath Legacy Part 17: Never show emotion

2011-01-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

They both turned at the sound of strong rapid footsteps advancing into the chamber. A Space Marine officer in full regalia marched toward them – his green and white power armor gleaming, his feather-crested helmet held in the crook of one arm, his opposite armored fist gripping the pommel of an ornate power sword. A second figure trailed in his wake, endeavoring rather comically, to keep up with the massive stride of the Astartes. His attire was suitably impressive in the Ordo Maleus style, yet his flushed face and labored breathing defeated his attempts at dignity.

The Space Marine snapped to attention at the foot of Dolgath’s desk, his youthful, clean-cut face belied the fact that he was likely significantly older than Dolgath’s advanced years… The second figure stumbled up to his desk standing red-faced and breathing heavily.

“Captain Jeremiah, 9th Company, Imperial Dragons Chapter, Legions Astartes,” the space marine stated smartly.

“Inquisitor Welch, Ordo Maleus, Segmentum Obscurus,” the second figure said breathlessly.

Dolgath didn’t recognize either of them. Although had had worked with the Imperial Dragons chapter on numerous occasions over the years, he expected that he might not know some of their officers. Conversely, the Inquisitor was a member of his own order, yet he was young – probably hadn’t even been born yet the last time Dolgath had attended an Ordos congress. As Dolgath walked slowly to his desk, Nethas moved behind him rising up to twice her former height creating an effect both intimidating and comforting that Dolgath was growing quite fond of…

“Captain Jeremiah, the Inquisition acknowledges the past service of the Imperial Dragons as exemplary. In fact, I personally stand in your debt,” Dolgath bowed deeply. For a moment the space marine seemed taken-aback, but saluted smartly in return.

Dolgath turned toward Welch. “Why are you here?” Dolgath said in a strikingly icy tone. The space marine’s eyes shifted sideways, but his stony face showed no other signs of emotion. Welch blinked in surprise, but quickly produced a sealed message scroll and responded in a tone that seamed well-rehearsed.

“By order of High Lord Veridian of Ultima Segmentum Ordos Command and Lord Inquisitor Sarc of Charadon Sector, authority and command of all forces engaged in the prosecution of the subsequent campaign against the Tau invaders has been transferred to Inquisitor Nelthas of the Ordo Xenos. The services of Inquisitor Lord Dolgath shall henceforth be retained in an advisory capacity only.”

Dolgath took the offered scroll without expression; however, Nelthas suddenly rose up like a towering storm cloud her voice booming link thunder: “What!” The space marine actually tilted his head backward to gaze up at the enraged apparition. Welch cowered like a frightened animal.

Dolgath’s calm voice quickly diffused the situation. “Our thanks, Captain Jeremiah; Inquisitor Nelthas shall convene a tactical briefing of all campaign forces at the earliest opportunity. Inquisitor Welch, accommodations shall be made available to you immediately.”

The space marine captain turned on his heel smartly and marched out of the chamber, leaving Welch to stand blinking up at Nelthas stupidly.

“Was their something more, Inquisitor?” Dolgath asked.

“Um, I was instructed to remain as an observer for the subsequent operations,” Welch replied focusing with difficulty on Dolgath.

“Very good, you shall be included in all subsequent briefings. Good day, Inquisitor,” Dolgath said with finality. A servitor came to escort Welch out. He departed with a rather bewildered expression. The moment the door sealed behind him, Dolgath turned on Nelthas and pointed a harsh finger up at her.

“That was unwise! Never show emotion, especially in front of an Astartes!” Dolgath growled.

Nelthas shrank like a deflated Emperor’s Day float. She seemed to vanish into a billowing pool of black and cream fabric, making Dolgath wonder just how tiny she really was inside all that façade. Her psychomorphic mask lay in the center of it, upturned; deathly pale, the mouth a tiny crimson pout, the eyes wept blood-red tears. Slowly, a tiny figure rose in the center of it all, hardly taller than a child. Dolgath moved to put his arm around those tiny shoulders, his iron-hard visage cracking for a moment.

“It makes sense, does it not? The elements of Chaos have left this particular engagement. This is now truly an Ordo Xenos matter…” Dolgath opinioned.

Nelthas rose up to stand at equal height. “Yes, you are correct,” she said with an overly harsh tone.

Dolgath looked at her and smiled. “Your outburst was unwise, but very much appreciated!” He smiled at her.

The eyes of her psychomorphic mask opened wider than he had ever seen. He almost though he caught a glimpse of the amethyst orbs that lay beneath. He reached out and touched it, brushing his fingers across the mask’s lips; they were surprisingly warm and yielding…

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part thirty six: Static

2011-01-02T18:34:00.001-08:00

Loose static. Images in digital green came together and became clearer. Obolis’ looked at the communication screen within his suit. A communications signal was forming. He couldn’t see what it was yet. The data stream was struggling to form a clear link. The tau commander looked for his tap bar. He tried to boost the reception. While in his suit it was as if he were floating in a warm darkness. When inside the suit a warrior had the distinct feeling of levitation. The grasp of the motion actuators, that sent signals to the suit itself, was so slight that he couldn’t feel them~ even though they held him firmly. He just felt the sensation of floating. All about him, or so it appeared to him, were digital screens and monitors and control pads. They too were suspended in the warm darkness as if floating and as he needed them he would draw them in close or conversely move them to a less direct view when they were less important. He had dimmed the circular view screen that surrounded his head. Normally it showed the perspective he might have seen had he been able to see through his armor to the outside. It was background now.

He had been focusing on several incoming data feeds from the many Pathfinder and Stealth teams in the field. Three video images played in the background. He brought them to the fore and shuffled them like pieces of paper, viewing them each in time. The first was an image of several Devilfish APCs advancing on a burned out agricultural dormitory in the middle of a field. There was little opposition. The next image was from an advance stealth team. The grainy strange image of an eldrich gate. He could see its dark spires guarded by the cold forms of Space Marines. He looked closer at this one and pondered it. He had sent the stealth team to that remote location at the request of the Etherial himself. He dared not question the Etherial’s orders again. The partnership between the Dark Eldar of the Rancid Blade and the Etherial (and therefore him), forged at New Boston last year, persisted. The idea that the noble fire warriors were risking their lives in aid of the Dark Eldar was abhorrent to him. However, his words stating such had relegated him to obscurity (for now). He frowned, noting the data feeds from the Southern front. The dark warriors’ (as they called themselves) lightning attacks had opened an entirely new front in the southern part of the country. There was some good, he guessed, in their razor sharp speed sweeping across miles of territory while teams of Fire Warriors followed behind securing the critical assets. Perhaps the Etherial had been right, he pondered. The southern front had pulled away many of the vast resources that the Spaces Marines were directing to halting the Cemephon Expansion. He shuffled the image to the back. The third picture was an image of a large Imperial transport landing at the city sized space port close to the eldar advance. He could see the huge insignia of an Imperial Guard regiment on the side of the lander. He checked the scale. The lander was eight city blocks long. More Imperial reinforcements. He frowned again. Perhaps another foe for the Dark Eldar to deal with.

He set the vids to repeat and then pushed them to the background. Several scrolls of text passed by to his left. He kept an eye on them also. They were repeating data feeds from the two fonts of this war. He pulled close another screen that had been pushed to one side. It was a medical report. His friend Maturn had been in critical condition for several days. The real time report showed his condition unchanged.

He looked again to the incoming data feed. It was slowly taking shape. It became clearer and solidified. It was another video feed. This one was live. The Imperials were advancing again on the Garison on the northern front. The outer pathfinders were relaying the images from their hidden positions. Several weeks ago, in the opening stages of the war, he had moved to secure an old Imperial Garrison on the outskirts of the Maximilian Hive city. He had been concerned at having such a large Imperial garrison on the doorstep of the hives cities that he controlled. The Garrison was yielded with virtually no resistance. The troops within had apparently been neglected by their masters because they had not put up any sort of a fight. He had secured the humans in their bunkers and the Water Caste had begun the process of indoctrination to the greater way. They reported similarly light resistance from the humans in this matter. Like the populations of the hive cities, the humans in the garrisons seemed to welcome the hope that the Water Caste presented to them. Hope seemed like a commodity the humans rarely saw. The Water Caste had it in ample supply.

The garrison had become a key asset in the war. Perhaps because of the efforts of the Water Caste the Space Marines seemed intent on securing it. Last week Anemos, the leader of the Cemephon expansion, had lead the successful defence of the Imperial Garrison when the Space Marines had sought to retake it. Now it appeared that the Marines were moving in to try again. He noted from the data feeds that gave narrative to the videos that a second advance into the dry hills to the west of the garrison and the hive was also occurring. The humans were widening the front of the war. They were trying to stretch and then break his lines. He looked toward a tactical display that showed his deployment of resources surrounding the massive city of Hive Maximillian. There were few resources to the west. He considered the twin advancing columns of the human forces. Repelling both the columns at the same time would be difficult. He tapped a control pad and selected several options. It sent a signal to the other commanders in the field and to Anemos seeking a council of war to discus the widening front. As the signal was sent he saw that several others of the commanders had requested the conference also.

A second video feed arrived from the same Pathfinder team as the first image. Obolis’ eyes grew wide as he saw the image. At the heart of the Imperial advance on the Garrison was the form of a massive war machine. A gigantic tracked weapon moved slowly along with the squads of Space Marines. It’s massive gun barrels swayed and turned as though the heads of a massive beast looking for targets. The scale of this machine dwarfed any resources he had. It’s presence could change the fortunes of the war. He zoomed into the image, concern showing on his brow. The widening font and the presence of this machine was cause for concern indeed. The Imperials had upped the anti. He closed out several of the other screens clearing the palate so he could focus on the changes of the northern front. This machine had to be stopped.

Then, like the turn of a ship on a tack his mind changed direction. He considered an opportunity. If this war machine broke through the tau lines at the Garrison it would roll right into Hive Maximillion with little resistance. The front would collapse. He considered the forces available to him. Many of his Fire Warriors were spread out securing a wide area of the region. Perhaps, however, there was a tool that he might use. He would have to pick well the location and his forces well to blunt this attack. He might even have to cede ground to the humans as he mustered his defences. The key would be stopping this behemoth and then moving the bolster the rest of the lines. He also considered that were he to stop this advance, were he to repel or even destroy this war machine he would at the same time be repelling the criticism that had been leveled against him. It would be difficult for Anemos and Tanthus to criticize him given such an achievement. He noted that several of the others were responding to his request for audience~ they too had seen the video feeds. He hit the key and immediately the images of the other commanders arrived, their faces seemingly in the warm dark with him. He saw that they had seen the video... but had they seen the opportunity?

Cemephon Campaign Turn 2

2011-01-02T08:15:00.000-08:00

Characters of the Rancid Blade: The Lady Hosphel

2010-12-21T16:13:00.000-08:00

The Lady Hosphel

The Lady Hosphel is often known as the Mistress of the Dragons. She is the leader of the Screaming Dragon Wych Cult which makes it home in the many arenas of the Cabal of the Rancid Blade. She and the Archon Actev Nu have had a long and profitable relationship through the years. She and her wyches are happy to entertain and provide a never ending parade of victims for the amusement of the cabal. In turn the wyches are sheltered and honored amongst the minions of the Rancid Blade.

The lady first rose to prominence in the arenas of The Cymbel. As one could imagine she became used to the finer things in life while fighting in the arenas of the most privileged. Cymbel is a small arena circuit reserved for only the most powerful and wealthy of Commoragh’s denizens. It was in this most elite circle that she came to be noticed. When she struck out to form her own cult she did not want for wealthy patrons to support her and her clan. The Archon Actev Nu was the most wealthy.

None would call the lady a servant of the Rancid Blade because it if often unclear who in fact is in charge of the cabal. Her and Actev vie for ultimate control. Some years he is undisputed and others she is of clear prominence. One of the closest warriors to Actev once said that the Lady and the Archon lead the cabal as though they were in a constant knife fight with each other. The Lady is amongst the most powerful of leaders, especially in these dark days when for several years it was rumored that Actev had been slain. The lady is a highly skilled martial artist and performer favoring an Agonizer as her weapon of choice. Often she rides to war bare breasted on a reaver jet cycle. However, recently she has been seen with a phalanx of Incubi. Her fortunes must have increased indeed to have such assistants at her side.

Lady Hosphel is an Archon. She is an HQ choice and an independent character. She carries an Agonizer, a Shadow Field, a close combat weapon, and takes combat drugs.

Lady of Speed Special Rule

Lady Hosphel is an ace at fighting at speed from the seat of her reaver jet bike. She may ride a Reaver Jetbike into battle for a cost of an additional 25 points. She benefits from the following Special Rules: power through pain, acute senses, fleet (if on foot) or skilled rider if mounted.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part thirty six: His primary creditor

2010-12-20T20:41:00.000-08:00

Burgoful had seen the body. His crew had carried it, dripping, from the streets of the old city back to the oubliettes of Archimedes. It was here that the old Homunculus had begun his cruel work. His lonesome work. It was here that the old Archon was reborn. There were so many deals that the old one had made. So many plans and schemes and bargains. None of the partners on the other end of the deals, and the plans, and the schemes were prepared to let Actev Nu get away from their bargains through something as easily as being shot through the skull and having his heart cut out and stolen. They paid in saves and in dark favors to make sure the old Homunculus brought the Archon back from the dead. Despite what Burgoful knew about the dark ways he was still amazed when watched the Archon walk through the crescent door into the dank light of the antechamber. It was him. It was the man grown young.

The Grand Archon, as he was known, had been the lord of the Chalice Pit, the Nightmare of the Chill Worlds, and the curse of a thousand million brothers. He who had once been the old Archon of the once mighty Cabal Rancid Blade and lord of the Screaming Dragon Cult, now stood before Burgoful as a young man. His head was shaved clean and the fine princely features of one of the sculpted class now only held a shadow of the old man’s face~ but a shadow was enough. He wore a long dark robe, a dank green, and held a white cloth in his hand. His eyes were the color of a glacier~ cold and blue. They met the Sybarite’s and Burgoful saw the old man deep down. Behind the Archon shuffled the form of Archimedes. His long leathery head moved mechanically as the horror merchant stepped into view. His hand curling out, from within long blue robes, two of the six fingers were scalpels.

“My old steward” Actev said revealing a grim of evil energy “I see you are surprised. You should not be. Death and time have made me stronger. Stronger than I have felt in an age.”

The Sybarite nodded. “You look young”.

“I feel it. I feel as though a metal grip were released from me. I feel as though I am as young as when I was in the elder days.”

“You are younger...” Hissed the Haemonculi “Your body and heart is that of a Trueborn who sacrificed himself for his master. The form of your old body has been...” the creature thought of an adequate term. “... retired”. Actev held out his hand, stretching his fingers, inspecting his nails.

“It feels as though these are my own fingers. My own hands.”

“It should. The body hasn’t changed. Just the brain. All that remains of your old self is your brain”

“Then why does he look so similar to the man he was? I mean his foes will know it’s him”. Burgoful asked. The horror merchant turned away snarling at the question.

“Do not ask of that which you choose not to experience”. The sybarite was silenced. “The lord of the Rancid Blade has many friends... and they have paid well to see he has been restored to his former greatness.”

Actev looked into the crimson darkness the surrounded them. He knew he had no friends. There were none who had friends in the dark city.

“Tell me Archimedes, what to I owe thee for this service?”

Silence for a moment and then: “Nothing great one... nothing today... ”

Nothing today. The Archon nodded. He mentally added this item to a new list he was forming in his head. Nothing to be paid to the Homunculus Archimedes. He was sure that he would find out what compound interest would be paid to his creditors. Those who would not let him be slain by a human’s pistol. Those who would not let deals be undone and plans unravel so easily. He nodded to himself in confidence.

“Burgoful, what of my domains?” he asked as he began walking confidently from the Homunculus’ door. Their footfalls echoing through the dark passageway before them. The old leather face watched them leave with an evil smile on his maw. He listened to their footfalls. “What of the Lady Hosphel?”

“She has been watching over your domains my lord.” The Sybarite replied “She has secured your realms during your... convalensence”

Actev Nu nodded again considering the wych. For a moment he was glad of her loyalty and then he reconsidered. She, it seemed, was now his primary creditor.

Cemephon Campaign Turn 1.7

2010-12-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part thirty five: The Silvery Hand

2010-12-19T20:18:00.000-08:00

There are many who can claim the mantle of greatness amongst these stars. Many who can be called heroic, or gigantic, or even mighty. The heroes of the Space Marines live to fight a thousand wars and that is heroic. The ageless lords of the Eldar strive for the remnant of their race and that is timeless. Even the flicker of greatness can be seen in an Imperial officer or a Tau colonist for the moment of his life. But there are some beings who cast a longer shadow than those. There is one who casts a shadow that the ages can not measure and time is fearful of. The Silvery Hand is his name and he is bringing his children together.

The mighty Actev Nu was not the first of his minions. One of the greatest Archons of the fallen Eldar kin. Perhaps the greatest. Actev's greatness was born, like so many others, out of the fall. But unlike his dark brothers something changed him as he fell. When the birth scream of the Thirsting God occurred all those millenia ago Actev was but an Eldar. At the moment he slipped toward the vortex of Slanessh, pulled into the horror, a silvery hand stretched out from the cosmos and caught him. A molten dream captured him and carried him away. He fled from the horrors of that moment and as he did a living silver crept into his eyes, crept into his mind and hid there. It hid there and helped him carry his domains to the great crimson city of the webway. The Silver Hand hid there and through its shiny influence Actev became a mighty master of the dark streets, an overlord of the horrible neighborhoods. Through the millenia the Silvery Hand secreted away... waiting... growing.

When the great Confessor Sylax was but a preacher he was lead by the Silvery Hand across the blasted sands of Mordia. His trek brought him renown and took him to the Sororatas that were cloistered in the mission there. As Sylax marched across that furnace landscape he was sustained and changed by the melted glass and molten that existed there. The spirit that lead him was the same that guided Actev Nu, unknown, for the millenia. Unknown it sustained Sylax through his pilgrimage across the wastes and through the decades of war and conspiracy and tricks and schemes. Sylax, guided by the Hand manipulated the 27th Mordian Iron Guard for two hundred years advancing schemes, unknown even to himself, but known by the Silvery Hand. When the Inquisitor Gulofil learned and revealed Sylax’s true nature the Confessor fled. Few believed the claims of Gulofil or his minions but Sylax was driven out, stripped of his titles. He fled to and hid in Commoragh. He was sheltered by the same Silvery Hand that had brought ActevNu to power so many millenia ago. The Silvery Hand protected its own.

Sylax returned to the real world hundreds of years later. The Mordian 27th regiment was long destroyed but the Sisters of the Cloistered Heart were yet to be unleashed. Sylax continued the schemes of the Silvery Hand with the sisters at his side and none as faithful as The Nurse. She stood by his side, bore his child, Sylvie and raised her to be a sister of the Adeptus Saroratas. The Silvery Hand was at work in the universe through Sylax, preparing the way... Getting ready.

Through the generations Actev Nu was also working the will of the Hand. Though he only knew a faction of what he did. His actions and the actions of the Confessor built the path the Silvery Hand needed. Actev Nu’s eldar pirates disrupted trade fleets and delayed colonial settlers so they would not reach the Sleeping Worlds. Sylax destroyed the moon of Palthanx so that the gravitational vacuum would activate long lost technology, technology frozen by those who once moved the stars and moons at will. The minions of the Actev Nu included the corrupted Etherial Ari’Ashi who is but now leading a vast invasion on the Cemephon System to divert Imperial resources from discovering hidden worlds. The attention of Inquisitor Nelthas was diverted so easily by the Tau invasion fleet. She had been so close to finding the long hidden tomb of the Cyiontyr and all it’s secrets. But the Silvery Hand knew best and it had for bllions of years before any of these character’s races had been born. It’s manipulations had stretched though the eons, protecting, working, nurturing those who slumbered.

Until one night both Sylax and Actev Nu were struck down on the field of battle~ the same field of battle. Thrice wagered schemes played themselves out to that moment. Sylax and his companions fled the field of battle with his broken body. They cut the Archon's heart from its corpse and carried it in the bloody helmet of the Archon. Sylvie, the daughter of Sylax, and her lover, Yanaloo, a minion of Actev Nu’s arena, carried the servants of the Silvery Hand back to the dry sands of Mordia. They were lead down the winding stair by the Nurse, the last and most faithful of the sisters that dwelt in the old Mission.

Down down down into darkness they ran. Their feet falling on old stone. Flaming torches held aloft they strode through dark passages carrying the bodies past watching eyes inscribed on anchant walls. In the oval Chamber of the Eclipse The Nurse took a vial from the dusty shelf and as Sylax drank the universe groaned in horror. The silver flowed into Sylax. His old eyes expanded while the channels of his brain filled with quicksilver. He grasped the dead heart of the old Archon and absorbed it's evil core into his new body. It seemed to melt into his chest. As the silver engulfed him he rose from the arms of his daughter, floating above the ground, lifting to center of the oval chamber. His body expanded. A dark green light flowed from his eyes while face reveled in the power of his new form. His body expanded and his mind awoke. The Silvery Hand was born into the world. It lifted up and placed the old Archon's helmet atop it's head. It swept the Nurse aloft with a broad long arm capturing her and cursing her to live with him forever.

Sylvie and Yanaloo fled the chamber. As they ran they saw the dark metal eyes of the newly awoken, the long sleeping, the Nercontyr reborn as the Necrons. They stood and came to life. The Silvery Hand was their lord of long ago, a son of the Star Gods, and imbued with their power. His millenia of plans and works, orders, machinations, and schemes was almost fulfilled. His minions were almost ready. His silver tide would sweep through the universe. His carefully laid schemes would now unfold. He would prepare the way for the horror of the Necrons. Few were left to stand in his way.

The Dolgath Legacy Part 15: despite the doom

2010-12-19T19:22:00.000-08:00

The Adeptus Astartes fleet dropped out of the warp right on top of them. Every alarm on his battle cruiser seemed to go off at once. Dolgath sat down heavily in his chair and pressed his palms over his ears. A flurry of functionaries swarmed his audience chamber, all babbling incoherently. He turned away and gazed through his expansive viewport at the arriving fleet. The looming bulk of the newly arrived strike cruiser – like some massive shark with its fins spread wide and its jaws gaping – dominated the vista, surrounded by multiple escort craft like remoras swarming, he watch as a shuttle instantly launched from the strike cruiser’s black maw and headed for the docking bay of his ship. He turned back to the gibbering mass gathering in front of his desk.

“Cancel the alarms! Receive our guest promptly and courteously, and show them here at their convenience,” Dolgath said with and effort at calmness.

The functionaries receded, taking their cacophony with them, leaving only a tall, solitary, silent figure shrouded in shadow. Dolgath seemingly ignored the figure as he rose, walked to the viewport and stood gazing at the newly arrived fleet.

“I have a feeling our lives just got a bit more complicated…” Dolgath spoke, as if to himself.

“You did not expect the Tau to give up so easily?” The shadowy figure spoke.

“They are annoyingly optimistic, aren’t they?” Dolgath chuckled.

He turned as Nelthas glided forward and simultaneously reduced her height; the sight was strangely disconcerting as if she was racing toward him from a great distance. She was attired in black underlain in creamy lace; her psychomorphic mask was rosy ping with lips as darkly crimson as newly shed blood. He felt a great surge of happiness at the sight of her despite the doom the fleet’s arrival brought with it.

“They expected this planet to fall easily. When it did not and the rest of their advance thrust past it, they realized they had a glaring weakness in their flank. They are turning now to address it,” Nelthas analyzed.

“Makes perfect sense,” Dolgath nodded. “I just didn’t expect reinforcements so soon.”

“Treyquil...” Nelthas offered.

Dolgath rubbed his temples. “Could be, although I heard a remnant Imperial Dragon force struck the Tau as a target of opportunity with some success several months ago. Perhaps the Astartes have taken a personal interest in the prosecution of this campaign?”

Nelthas glided up to the viewport to stand close to him. “They have arrived in force to be sure…”

Cemephon Campaign Turn 1.5

2010-12-10T22:16:00.000-08:00

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 34: Fragments

2010-12-10T21:28:00.000-08:00

Fragments. Wood shards. Stone chips. They floated in the air before him. Slowly. Light reflected off plaster dust as it splayed through the air. It had been punched from the wall beside him. The wall had erupted in a riot of noise and fragments and pain. But he watched it move in slow motion. As he must have been moving. Moving through the air. What once had been an abandoned room in a derelict building now became like the contents of a snow globe, swirling moving, rearranging. As his body moved through the air his mind flashed thoughts through his head.

He saw the recent arrival of two drop pods, Space Marine assault vehicles that plunged from the sky, delivering a monstrous payload. Maturn remembered watching a mechanical coffin lumber from the pod, gout's of flame issuing from its arms. He was embarrassed to recall that he was relieved the monster had moved off to focus on a team of Crisis Suits rather than toward his fellow Pathfinders. His relief hadn’t lasted long. The stationary Drop Pod’s auto sensors detected his team immediately and began launching shells into his position. The wall beside him dematerialized, blowing outward and knocking him off his feet. As his body crescented though the air his mind cast about trying to catch something familiar.

Analop stood in a field. It was a long time ago and the red Holhok grasses waved in the slight wind. Trees and their yellow foliage waved and caught her attention. She looked up in slow motion. A long dark pony tail curved as underwater. Her spring dress frolicked about her long body. He watched the curve of her neck. The skin, a slight blue, was dotted with the finest freckles. It had been one of the first things he had noticed about her. He had thought that they were like tiny river rocks amongst the stream of her skin. Her attention was drawn back toward him now. Her large dark eyes widened to see him approach. It was Millliltan, the festival of the dry season. He was meeting her to picnic in the field. Six years ago. As he approached her face brightened and her glands blossomed. A roar swept over them and at first he thought it was a wind in the field... but the fragments drew together and he was back in that building. What remained of that building.

He crashed to the floor and felt fragments in his shoulder snap apart. Pain seared into him. He genuinely thought his life had been flashing before him. The sound roared back and he heard the punching of shell impacts. He looked around and saw the bodies of several of his team mates. He saw a pulse carbine, his, some distance off laying on the floor. Then, he felt a presence nearby. He looked up and saw the huge form of a Broadside Suit standing above him. Its massive arms, supporting railguns, faced away from him out the blown windows of the building. It's dominant white form hadn't been touched by the impacts from the drop pod at all. He followed the barrels to where they pointed. The yellow of the morning light was still on the building across the street.

Bolts ricocheted from the street below and another explosion threw debris and fragments across the room. Maturn flinched at the concussion and tasted the thick of blood in his mouth. His eye glanced back at the Broadside. It’s relatively small head had turned to look down at him. He saw the green of the optic lens looking at him from the tower of it's body. Just as he thought the robot might say something it’s shoulder mounted smart missile pods opened. Blunt missiles spewed from the pods, screeching and creating clouds of snaking exhaust that curled and twisted, following the missiles as their instinctive programming sought a target. The suit looked on at him as though it were ignoring the fusillade that it was creating. The missiles were gone in an instant, the smoke swept after them. And the raucous detonations could be heard a moment later. He could imagine what the recipients were going through.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirty Three: For the greater good

2010-12-09T21:38:00.000-08:00

The crest of the hill was rocky and strewn with brooms of brown tall grass. The sandy dirt was a dull yellow color. A brilliant blue sky reached from horizon to horizon interrupted only by the occasional dry rise in the land in the distance. If one were to have cast an eye at the hilltop without a detailed inspection or the assistance of a view enhancer one would have missed the two small figures crouched amongst the rocks at the hem of the bluff. A shelter field masked and distorted the colors of their uniforms so that they appeared yellow and brown as the surrounding landscape. They had been crawling about on the bluff for a few hours now that so much of their clothing was the same dusty yellow of the earth. Maturn sat amongst the Rockey outcroppings with a scope that he’d detached from his weapon held up to one of his large dark eyes. His view carried him down into a slight sloped valley before them. Nearby, Atticus, another Pathfinder in his team, cradled his pulse carbine in his arms while keeping an eye out for movement close at hand. He would occasionally look through his scope toward the valley below and then shift back to the surrounding area.

Through the scope Maturn watched a column of Imperial tanks advancing. He pondered the many behemoths as they churned up the yellow earth. The column was lead by three large battle tanks. They were followed by six or so armored personnel tanks and then several dozen humans on foot. He watched them march. There was a spring in their step. It was a confidence that he hadn't seen on a human’s face since the start of the war on this world. They were advancing on an enemy position. Also something that hadn’t happened for them in a long while. He tapped the top of his scope with a stubby blue finger as he considered the column. He noted several preachers walking along behind the foot soldiers chanting as they went. One of them held a censor. The smoke of their faith could be seen wafting from its innards as the holy-man swung it. He could see some of the foot soldiers chanting along with the priests, their mouths moving. They were too far away to hear a sound. He also observed several artillery pieces moving along behind the foot soldiers. Large tracked guns.

“If this is a typical column their advance will be slow” Atticus noted while viewing the slow progress of the foot march.

“Yes” Maturn said slowly not taking his eye from his scope. “A giant can move slowly and blunder about and still wreak havoc all around”. They both sat in silence for some time as the column passed them by. The sound of a stutter bird’s call echoed in the distance. Shhhii, shhhi, shii. They ignored it.

After some time Atticus turned quickly to the east. He pulled his weapon into an aiming stance. Matrun lowered the scope from his eye slowly and turned his head to observe an approaching human. He was a soldier from the column. The tau had been waiting for him. Maturn rose from his seated position and walked toward the human under the watchful eye (and barrel) of Atticus’ weapon. The man wore a camo green grey uniform and a green cap. The insignia of an Imperial infantryman, standard barer class, hung at the man’s shoulder. Maturn nodded as the human approached.

“Maxwell, it is good to see you again” Matun spoke in the human language of this man’s homeworld with barely a trace of an accent.

Maxwell nodded casting a nervous glance around. “Maturn” he said in acknowledgement.

“I am happy that we can bridge the gap between our two races once again. The peace that we force here will soon spread...”

“You talk too much” the human cut off the tau.

Maturn attempted as close to a grin as his alien face could manage. “You’re right. Maxwell, brief as always. I like that.”

“Sure” the human muffled and then coughed. “Did you bring the beans?”

“Yes” he said. At this the man’s hand shot out. Maturn observed a quiver in the man’s hand and it sought the ‘beans’. Maturn hesitated. “A partnership is always a trade” said the Water Caste member. The man’s hand slowly withdrew to his pocket. The human reached down into his fatigues and pulled a small datacard. He presented it to the tau.

“Troop deployment plans” he said.

“Are the Marines included?” Maturn asked taking the card from the man.

“Yes. I also got the communication transcripts like you asked.”

Maturn nodded. Maturn liked to read the conversations between the human generals. Their petty bickering conveyed so much information. He imagined himself and his prying into their arguments as a thick viscous liquid closing about them. He knew so much about these men who opposed him, yet they didn’t even perceive him. The arguments between them were like the cracks in the massive wall. He saw the cracks so clearly, so well. Any monument can crumble with enough cracks he thought to himself. All he needed to do was flow into the cracks and wider and wider they would become.

Maturn took from his pocket a blister of pills. Small plastic enclosed capsules in a bean shape. They had a light blue color. He handed over the blister and the man’s eyes focused on the pills. “There are always more ‘beans’” Matrun said. The man looked up at the tau. A small laugh of self doubt issued from the human. “I need the communication codes next time. I need to be able to intercept and modify the transmissions”. The man rubbed his chin as if pondering the words. “I need them soon” he said. “Once this war heats up again there will be few times for us to meet. You’ll have to make the beans last much longer.”

The man nodded. “It can be done”

“I know”.

Maxwell started to back away slowly. Maturn looked past him. The light had begun to fade into the early evening. Maturn raised his three fingered hand in a wave.

“I think you’re forgetting something my friend” he said. The human paused and swallowed hard. Maxwell raised his hand in a similar fashion to the alien but in the human it seemed like a hand raised in surrender. Maxwell spoke as a defeated man.

“For the greater good” he said

“Yes” said Maturn “For the greater good”.

The Dolgath Legacy Part 14: A voice that would haunt him for years to come

2010-12-09T21:31:00.000-08:00

Inquisitor Trequill was feeling somewhat more charitable towards that Ordo Xenos spook, Nelthas, since she had loaned him her ship and Navigator to speed him on his journey. The ship, the Nostramus, was a spartan thing, barely light cruiser class, but he had to admit; it had it where it counted. His stateroom was as plush as anything he could want, but more importantly, the ship was outfitted with the most advanced Mechanicus systems available. In fact, much of it was entirely unfamiliar to him; reverse-engineered Xenos tech, he assumed. The command deck was a wedge-shaped structure three stories tall lined with matt-black cogitator stations each connected by a snaking mass of cables to a silent and immobile servitor dressed in the crimson and brass of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Some of these stations would light up at unpredictable intervals as their particular functions were activated, the servitors suddenly twitching to life. At the crux of it all was the navigator fulcrum, a transparent sphere of greenish fluid held in place by arcane field generators.

The Navigator in question, Dom Hellaith of house Sennesh-Constantine-Matsumishi, was a horror to behold. Yet despite the flapping gills, translucent skin, protruding eyes, bulging forehead and purplish veins; she was apparently considered quite the catch amongst the young eligible males of the great houses of the Navis Noblite. She came with a host of suitors and sycophants – hideous unrepentant mutants all. The worst part was she was apparently in the midst of some sort of extended copulation ritual, evidenced by the obscenely throbbing device that attached her and several of her suitors together at the nether regions. This device, he was told, ensured that only the finest seed would be the source of the next scion of the Navis Noblite. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl. Never-the-less, Dom Hellaith was supremely proficient at her job. They had made the transit from Schindelghiest to Cypra Mundi in merely six weeks, traversing nearly the full breadth of the galaxy, loosing only 22 days Imperial standard time. Dropping out of warp after a seemingly endless stretch of boredom, Trequill was absolutely stunned to see the grand spindles of the massive space station of Cypra Mundi filling the view ports. Not as stunned has his quarry would be, he was thinking…

The stop at Cypra Mundi was unfortunately necessary as he needed to check in with the Segmentum Obscurus Ordos command. The wait in the foyer of the Ordos sanctum was interminable. The chamber was vast and cold; but owing to the fact that it was limited by the confines of a space station, it was not nearly as excessive as similar Ordos edifices he had visited in his travels. Never-the-less, the expanse of glossy black marble and towering ornate statuary was clearly designed to impart insignificance to those who waited. No less than seven other Inquisitors loitered here waiting their turn for an audience with the High Lord. Each was a singular presence, some surround by a host of exotic henchmen. He recognized only one by reputation. The massive suit of golden baroque terminator armor was an image widely circulated on the pictcasts and could only mean he stood in the presence of the Witchunter Borros.

The hard-line puritan was flanked by a squad of stormtroopers in immaculate white carapace, arrayed in perfect formation. Borros stood stone still reciting scripture as he patiently waited, making no effort to engage anyone in conversation. Treyquill was extremely thankful for that. None of the dogma Borros would inevitably spew was of any interest to him what-so-ever. In his opinion, Borros was the embodiment of the worst the Ordo Hereticus had to offer. That kind of blind adherence to doctrine was everything his master, Onrholt, had preached against his entire life. Unfortunately, Borros’ aloofness was not shared by everyone…

The wizened Ordo Xenos Inquisitor, Glaxx, endeavored to engage him in conversation nearly the moment he walked into the room. The ancient and invalid inquisitor was held erect by a spindly brass apparatus and maintained by a host of support servitors. He obviously had a wealth of experience to impart, unfortunately, his conversation consisted of a stream of disconnected trivialities interrupted constantly by inane contributions from his sycophantic hangers-on Trequill heaved a huge sigh of relief when the nuncio called Glaxx into the audience chamber.

Free at last. Treyquill spotted a refreshment servitor and immediately snatched a glass of something and downed it in one gulp. Absinth – and a good vintage, he grabbed another glass in each hand before the servitor scurried off. He made a bee-line away from the rest of his fellow inquisitors and stood looking up at an ornate tapestry depicting some bloody event in Imperial history – just which one he wasn’t quite sure... He took another drink and noticed an individual who sat silently in a shadowed corner nearby surrounded by four intimidating Grey Knights. At that moment, Trequill realized he stood alone. Strangely, he had brought no entourage, he was traveling light these days and he was beginning to like it.

“Grace,” a breathy and cultured voice said from the shadows.

Treyquill wasn’t quite sure what that comment referred too. He let it hang in the air for a moment before he replied.

“Indeed…” he said neutrally.

“Nocturne, the Enigma Cabal, I remember thee,” the shadowed voice said.

A host of memories flooded through his mind, mostly consisting of death, darkness, and desperation, yet he could not place that exquisite voice.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he finally admitted trying to get a glimpse of the speaker between the hulking forms of the Grey Knights.

“We have not met, yet greatly thou have aided me, though you knew it not. I offer my thanks,” the shadowy speaker said.

Just then the nuncio came into the chamber and rapped his staff loudly three times on the marble floor. “Inquisitor Treyquill, the High Lord will receive you now!”

“Fare well in your endeavors,” the breathy voice said.

“Until we meet again,” Trequill replied with more conviction than he felt. He doubted if they would ever meet again or if he would even recognize her if they did.

As the massively tall doors parted Treyquill ventured one last look into the shadows and saw the figure stand. Long raven hair and a finely sculpted porcelain face were the last impressions of her that he took with him; along with that voice that would haunt him for years to come…

The audience chamber of High Lord Melphas was as ostentatious and obnoxious as anything he might have imagined; and Trequill could imagine quite a bit. It was vast and designed to be awe-inspiring; at least forty stories tall and twice that distance long, decorated with massive gilded sculpture and impossibly tall marble columns. Surprisingly, it was not a singular audience chamber; in fact at least two other Inquisitor Lords and a half-dozen Adeptus Arbite Judges were simultaneously conducting proceedings in this chamber. The general din drowned out most of what was going on in adjacent venues, not to mention a good portion of the critical information imparted in the individual sections. The High Lord’s dais was somewhere several stories up, Treyquill could only vaguely glimpse it.

Trequill knew High Lord Melphas from his youth. While still at schoolagem, Melphas was an occasional and dynamic lecturer emphasizing the importance of deductive reasoning. Even then, he was a morbidly obese individual. As the years passed he grew into a nearly unrecognizable grotesque mass of bloated flesh made marginally mobile by the resources of the Adeptus Mechanicus. On this day, only his voice bore any resemblance to the man he once knew.

“Oliver!” That deep, rich, jolly voice resonated in the chamber. “I remember you well, those bright eyes, that sharp tongue…”

“My Lord, I am honored,” Trequill bowed deeply.

“Nonsense, let us speak intimately,” Melphas said.

Suddenly, Treyquill found himself rising smoothly and rapidly from the floor. When he reached the dais level he glimpsed copious amounts of Imperial splendor, but his attention was focused on the High Lord’s seat. Melphas was far less the man than he was expecting. His once corpulent bulk was now a pile of pale flaccid skin. The skeletal structure of his face was actually visible beneath the sagging folds.

Treyquill bowed once again. “My lord, you look… thinner…”

Melphas gave a low liquid chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I do. Cenobite parasites will do that for you,” he chuckled one again. “You look… dangerous…”

Treyquill snorted in surprise.

“No, really, you have cultivated an aura since I saw you last, what, fifty years ago?” Melphas said.

“Perhaps, or maybe it is merely the fact that I’ve been spending too much time in the company truly dangerous individuals…” Treyquill offered.

“Hardly, I have always recognized your dangerous intellect, I think it is only now just starting to shine through,” Melphas said. “What’s the word from the Charadon Sector?”

“The Tau have been acting up,” Treyquill said.

Melphas sniffed. “Better than a Tyranid invasion or Chaos incursion, I suppose.”

“Such an appraisal would be unwise. The Tau are a more significant threat than most suspect, but then that is a matter for the Ordo Xenos. “More importantly for us, Inquisitor Lord Dolgath has identified a considerably more insidious threat,” Treyquill offered.

“Dolgath… Your old schollagem mate, yes?” Melphas frowned. “As I recall, at the last congress, Inquisitor Yerth forwarded a motion of Excomunicatus against him. No others backed that motion, but it stands as a serious matter none the less.”

“Yerth is a twit!” Treyquill spat.

Melphas chuckled, “Yerth is but a tool, to be sure.” He took a long moment before he continued. “However, you may be certain other, more dangerous, individuals proposed that motion…”

“As you know, I am a true student of Onrholt,” Trequill shot Melphas a long significant stare. “Dolgath has become a radical, that much is clear, yet his record of service is exemplary. For nearly twenty years he has been in exile, but when the call to service came he answered the challenge without hesitation. New Boston would have fallen by now without him. Moreover, he has thwarted two significant threats to the Imperium – at least one of which was a truly ancient evil…”

“Yes, I read the reports. And now they are here, all the way across the galaxy in Segmentum Obscurus, on Mordian in fact!” Melphas exclaimed.

“They are merely husks now; they cannot harm anyone unless they are reconstituted… Yet, this cannot be allowed to happen. It is my purpose to snuff out whatever remains of this evil so that their shadows never again darken the galaxy,” Treyquill said.

“This is a worthy mission,” Melphas nodded without hesitation. “You have authorization to access whatever resources necessary to accomplish this goal.”

“My thanks…” Treyquill started to bow.

“You realize the success of this mission will likely vindicate Lord Dolgath in the eyes of the congress?” Melphas asked.

“I do,” Treyquill finished his bow.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirty Two: An opportunity to redeem yourself

2010-11-30T08:18:00.000-08:00

Obolis reviewed the tactical data in front of him. He shook his head slowly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful. It wasn’t that he wasn’t relieved. It was that he wasn’t sure where this fortune was coming from. He had finally been assigned the forces from the Sphere that he had been requesting. After six months of feign and retreat, advance and scatter, his forces had been ground down and now he was being resupplied from the homeworlds with enough resources to push the Imperials back to New Boston and off this world for good. The main advance of the Cemephon expansion had moved on from this world months ago and he had been left on mop up duty. Once his place at the right hand of Anemos, leader of the Cemephon Expansion, had been assured. His public criticism of the Etherial had relegated the proud (some would say haughty) Fire Warrior to back world duty. He had to rely on his friend Maturm, a peculiar Water Caste member who chose to join ranks with a Pathfinder unit, to bring news from the front~ light years away.

From his seated position in his command gunship, Devilfish class, a fast moving dry landscape outside, he read the information over again. He had removed himself and his quick escort from the front line, if it could be called that, to meet the advance force of his resupply column arriving from a transport ship in orbit. He looked up at his tell screen in the command console. Several feeds were coming in from the rendezvous point. He could see large Orca dropships landing en masse. He noted their payloads in detail notes on the screen. His grin showed itself in a rare performance.

The three devilfish that transported the commander and his team arrived at the large landing zone deep in secure ground. It was a large open field, once a farm, surrounded by low hills that could be seen off in the distance. The lead craft dropped toward the ground and landing props lowered. The side doors of the well worn drop craft slid aside. The other two gunships took up a circular patrol orbit around the drop site. Obolis leaped from his transport before it finished touching down. He looked into the sky, his two escorts moving off. Beyond them he could see several of the large drop ships lowering from above. Several were already on the ground. He began his walk toward what appeared to be the command post for the drop location. Two of his lieutenants ran after him from the transport. As Obolis approached the command post he was met by another officer. The grim faced officer nodded and met Obolis’ eye.

“Welcome” Obolis said. “I am Obolis, commander of all Cardres on this world.”

“Indeed” the officer spoke “I am Tanthus of the Second Flame Cardre. I bring messages from Anemos and greetings from your master.”

Obolis nodded. The newcomer referred to the Etherial. It was clearly a reminder to Obolis of his mistake in criticizing the sacred one. The Firewarrior took from his belt a scroll case and quickly removed the cap. From within he pulled a shaft of paper and proceeded to read it.

“You are directed to hereby pull all your forces back to the points described in the data manifest. This planet is being resupplied with seven battle groups and their heavy transports. Lady Anemos and the Etherial are returning from the front lines at the edge of the expansion to address the situation.”

Obolis shook his head. “What situation?” he asked “this world is a backwater. We’ve been pushing the humans around this ball of rock for weeks”.

Tanthus looked at Obolis with unhalting contempt. “Space Marines have landed on the far side of Palthna river two days ago. They are now striking at will and securing the the hive cities you were unable to capture.” Obolis swallowed at the stabbing words. The newcomer continued “The Imperials have made this world a priority again, we had left in your hands to secure. That has clearly not occurred". Obolis bristled at the insinuation that the world had been all but secured. "Fire Warrior, you have an opportunity to redeem yourself in the eyes of your brothers and your master. I hope you have the will to recognize it”.

The Bitterness of War

2010-08-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

Captain Rexus, commander of the 3rd Company of the Imperial Dragons Chapter of the Legion Astartes, sat alone at the vox station. The glowing greenish vectors of the display were the only illumination in the dark and silent chamber. The reports from the Cemephon Theater were bleak. Xenos incursions were rapidly advancing on every front. Only New Boston had been secured thanks to the efforts of a certain shadowy Inquisitor. Captain Rexus flexed his fingers as if reaching for a weapon. Dealing with the Ordos always made him feel this way. They were a valuable asset, and yet, the price inevitably seemed too high... Despite this, the larger campaign was failing and the xenos were advancing with contemptuous ease. They struck where they wilt, driving the Imperials before them like cattle. This did not sit well with Captain Rexus. Although he was enroute back to his chapter command following a successful mission with only a remnant
force at his disposal, he saw the opportunity to strike the alien scum and give them a lesson in the steadfastness of the Imperium.

Yet, his force was weak. He had only three tactical squads at full strength. His own command squad was completely depleted and he would need to indoctrinate new members from the veterans at hand. However, he had one asset at his disposal at full strength, but which he was loath to commit – the Ancient Brothers. The Phalanx of Thermopile was a strike cruiser fitted for stealth operations. Her load-out bulk was significantly reduced to make way for fast engines and stealth capabilities. Consequently, she was outfitted to hold only a single space marine company. Captain Rexus was returning with significantly less than half of the company he had departed
with…

To be a Space Marine Captain was to be decisive. Captain Rexus saw the opportunity and he took it. Three of his ancient brothers were chosen and mated with the Ironclad Dreadnought chassis available. Captain Rexus stood in the Honored Chamber as they were each awoken in turn. The rectangular sarcophagi were strangely blank and anonymous considering the glorious heroes who resided within. Ancient brother Ulthus was the first to awake. Ulthus, the captain of the 7th company who lead the crusade against the Ork Waagh of Krull the Hammer on Julius Four nine centuries ago, was a notorious firebrand. The moment he had registered his surroundings, he has pacing about the chamber his heavy footfalls shaking the decking, his massive hydraulic limbs flexing with repressed violence…

Lucien the Lost was the next to awaken. He was slow to register his surroundings, his limbs moving sluggishly. Lucien was once a Techmarine, one who had served for over seventeen centuries; he was a literal archive of the chapter. Yet his mind seemed to be drifting, slow to grasp his current state… Rexus doubted his ability to serve and would send him in with the first wave to draw the fire of the enemy. Lastly, Bellus the Bellicose rose as if he had just woken form a short nap. He stomped around the chamber briefly, elbowing Lucien and Ulthus aside and making his way straight to the tactical display. In life, he was the leader of the Vanguard Assault squad of the 3rd Company for nearly three centuries. Rexus himself had been a member of his squad in his youth. Consequently, he knew to be sure so assign Bellus to the initial assault drop or there would be hell to pay…

The resulting battle was brief and brutal. As the thunderhawk pulled away, the xenos were in disarray. Captain Rexus stood upon the extended assault ramp and inhaled the smoke of the battlefield like the finest incense. Their losses were negligent. The sarcophagus of Lucien, who had so bravely initially assaulted the xenos, and whose dreadnought chassis was destroyed, was quickly recovered from the battlefield. Every other unit had sustained minimal casualties. They had captured two critical objectives, but in the larger scheme of things, it was merely the fact that the humans could strike at will with overwhelming force that mattered. From this day forward, the xenos would advance with caution, giving the Imperial forces critical time to retreat and consolidate.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirty One: Deep in Tau space

2010-08-16T21:46:00.000-07:00

Dry scrub lands were all about. A grand mound of tan earth dotted with brown and green scrubby plants rose before them. A vast blue sky was above with flecks of yellow clouds. A calm heat rose from the earth and its shimmer made the distances of seem farther. The broad scrubby rise was punctuated by blasts and explosions. The earth kicked up like water under pressure and blue fire rippled through the plants and sent rocks scattering. From Obolis’ stationary transport he watched the humans in full route. Their tracked vehicles were moving slowly backwards up the slope away from his position kicking earth and dust up from their tracks. As they moved away they occasionally fired light weapons to little effect. For a moment he observed one of the transports that had thrown a track. It’s bare wheels spun ineffectually casting earth and dry dust into the air while the remaining track bit into the earth and tilted the vehicle around. This only lasted for a moment before the vehicle was rendered apart by a shot from the Hammerheads along side him. His three heavy tanks, stationary, fired over and over at the retreating humans. Their massive cannons moved quietly, fired with a mechanical growl, and then repeated the process. The slope that was some distance off was quickly becoming a field of debris of wrecked vehicles.

Obolis sank back from the top hatch into the cabin of his skimmer. He stepped down from the portal and walked toward the drop down rear door past equipment racks and several seated Tau. A few of his officers were monitoring screens and checking read outs in the cabin. They seemed oblivious to the demonstration of the Tau heavy firepower outside. He walked out the back door. As he walked he wiped the sweat from his neck with a light blue cloth. The heat was impenetrable even to the Tau. As he left the back door of his transport he observed several other smooth bodied Devilfish cruise past his position.They were heading toward the last of the humans on the ridge line. One of the fish, a observation unit, slowed to a stop before him. It threw dust as it settled on the dry earth. It’s engines powered down. The side door flashed an energy pulse as it depressurised. The circular door opened and swung to one side. Sitting in the portal was Matuim. The two Tau greeted each other as old friends would with a brotherly but brief chin salute. The Water Caste stepped down from the door of the gunship wearing the fatigues of a Pathfinder. He carried his carbine slung over his shoulder and distance goggles atop his forehead. As Maturim approached Obolis the other pathfinders dismounted behind him.

“The tail end of the Hadras settlement?” enquired the Pathfinder of the retreating forces.
Obolis nodded. As he did a stray round from the human tanks impacted not twenty feet from the pair. It showered dry earth over the area. Most of the Pathfinders ignored the round, some ducked, Obolis didn’t flinch. “Your negotiations with this settlement failed also” the Fire Warrior said.

“Your brutal campaign has made it impossible for the me to convince these humans to concede. Sometimes Water can not flow where the Fire has been. It is too hot” Maturm shook his head in vague frustration.

“Perhaps you just don’t make a good argument countered Obolis”

“Perhaps” Maturm said “and what’s more likely is that the Imperials are gathering at Roths Head and these humans know they are about to be the beneficiaries of a counter attack. The main columns of Imperial Troops have pulled back all along this front. The locals are offering this weak counter attack to slow you down.” Obolis knew this to be true. The Imperials seemed to be fighting a long fight. They would hold a position until the last moment and then would fall back. They fought an effective rearguard maneuver with few troops and by the time it failed (which was occurring on the ridge before them), the main forces had regrouped. This had taken months and months and was wearing his forces down. Even though he gained ground it was though he were grinding into the sea. Another round flew overhead crashing some distance off. It made a screech as it flew past.

“What news from the Expansion” Obolis asked of the wider war.

“Well” his friend said “As you know the fleet has passed beyond this world and on to the Sphere. They look to the Human industrial worlds to conquer and provide munitions for the wider war. We are left here to rid this world of resistance”. Obolis new this well. As punishment for loosing New Boston, or at least not securing it well enough, he had been assigned to finish the job he hard started. He had been given supreme command of taking this world. This campaign would probably take years and all the while the vast Exploratator Armada was moving past this world and deep into Imperial space~ and glory. Anemos and the heathen Ethetrial had left this world and left it to him. Even if victory occurred here, it would be a long forgotten victory, a sub paragraph in the record of the Cemephon Sphere Expansion. He cursed as he thought of it. He was expected to forget the fact that this was one of the most well secured border worlds, forget the fact that it was Anemos that had agreed to bring the heathen kin to New Boston, and forget the fact that she had left him with a shadow of the forces that had once been here... And now he suffered on this lonely backwater world~ his only compensation to be a forgotten victory.

“The Imperial fleet has not been so easy to dispatch as those humans on the hill” Maturn said. “My reports tell me that the expansion is languishing. Things do not progress as the Etherial had predicted. It is as though some evil saps our youth. Ships have been lost to warp storms or blasted apart by the large guns of the Imperials.”

“We’ll they may be clumsy, but when they hit they hit hard.”

“They do”. The two Tau sat on the stop of the rear ramp of the Devilfish, now clearly relaxing.

“What of your networks? What do they tell of our campaign here?” asked Obolis.

“Well, there are some who believe that this world is already won.”

“What?” Obolis gestured toward the human tanks “The Imperials are still fighting”.

“Well, the Water Caste believes that were we to withdraw the humans on this world would look around and realize that they’re deep in Tau space.”

Obolis looked oddly at his friend.

“Look” said Maturm scratching his head and taking off his earpiece “The war is long gone. Our fleets have passed this world by and the real war is far off. You’re fighting a mopping up campaign. If you withdraw the Water Caste could start working with these humans and bring them into our greater good. Right now they fight you because you’re attacking them. If you withdraw they’ll realise that they’re so disconnected from the Imperium that they’ll have little choice but to work with us”.

Obolis breathed a sigh but with some optimism in his voice he said “and I’ll be reassigned to the front~ the actual front”.

“True enough” his friend said. “I think this battle is over. All it will take is for one side or the other to realise it.”

The Dolgath Legacy Part 13: Behind it all there is always a heretic…

2010-06-02T19:24:00.000-07:00

Dolgath reclined in his chair and watched Nelthas as she glided back and forth in front of the vast view port of his audience chamber aboard the Subjugator. She wore all black on this day, a complex and severely structured garment jeweled with rubies like glistening drops of blood. Her psychomorphic mask held a faint bluish tinge like glacial ice its support apparatus dense and spiky like a nest of black thorns. Through the view port behind her the silvery mass of the moon, Alpha Prime, loomed like a soothsayer’s orb, but Nelthas was not looking at the moon at all, her gaze seemed to stare off into the void of space beyond. Although any display of her true feelings were obscured by her elaborate façade, Dolgath could clearly tell she was agitated. The presence of two of her mysterious robed guardians lurking in the shadows confirmed it.

“Cardinal to Regent’s three,” Dolgath challenged, trying to draw her attention away from her preoccupation. His antique regicide set, the beautifully carved pieces representing historic Imperial figures, was laid out on one side of his massive desk. She had defeated him in their last three encounters and he was determined to break the trend.

“Primarch takes Cardinal, check” Nelthas replied absently without looking at the board.

Dolgath moved the pieces and then quickly moved a ephemera into a bridge position, “Crusader to Inquisitor four.”

Just then a light appeared through the view port. Dolgath rose to stand at Nelthas’s side. As always, he was amazed by the rippling effect of space/time as a ship penetrated the veil of reality. The ship that emerged was the sleekest, newest pattern cruiser Dolgath had ever seen. It bore no battle scars or discontinuities from major structural rebuilds as was common with most Imperial ships that had seen service for untold millennia. It was flawless and beautiful in its traditional blue and white Adeptus Arbites color pattern. Indeed, clearly it was purpose built for the Arbite’s mission; massive bombard cannons protruded from the hull vectored downward oriented for planetary targetting. Launch bays, exclusively designed for the Arbites Justice-pattern dropships, lined the bottom of the hull. This was a ship with only one purpose: planetary pacification.

Nelthas turned her mask toward him. In the last few months she had become nearly his constant companion, almost his consort – if he ever dared to penetrate the layers of façade draped around her… The posture she assumed was diminutive, barely coming up to his shoulder, yet he sensed the intensity emanating from her. Finally she turned away from the view port and glided over to gaze at the regicide board.

“You know this Witch Hunter?” Nelthas asked from across the room.

“Treyquill? Yes, I do,” he replied as he gazed at the approaching cruiser. “We worked together on several operations during the Black Crusade.”

“Which Black Crusade?” Nelthas’s porcelain mask grinned ever-so-suggestively. “Primarch takes Crusader,” Nelthas moved the respective pieces with a delicate hand gloved in black silk.

“Don’t be obtuse,” Dolgath said with humor as he walked back over to sit down. He moved his Magos into a crux position. “We were just young bucks then, but together we broke the grip of corruption on three worlds.”

Nelthas quickly moved to intercept him. “Primarch takes Magos, check.” She turned to gaze out the viewport at the cruiser. “I know him as well, although we’ve never met. He interfered with my work infiltrating the Kyjax infestation on Galleron, resulting in six years of civil war and hundreds of thousands of lives lost!”

Dolgath clumsily blocked her Primarch with a Servitor. “Witch Hunters operate with a different imperative than you or I.”

Nelthas quickly took the Servitor with her Primarch. “Do you trust him?”

Dolgath snorted. “He is an odd bird and no mistake, but Treyquill possesses one trait different from any other Witch Hunter I’ve ever encountered…” Dolgath made a quick minor advance with a Sentinel and looked up at her.

Nelthas looked quizzically back at him, her psychomorphic mask almost seemed human to him. “Which is what?” She asked as she took his Sentinel with her Primarch.

“Unpredictability,” Dolgath moved his final piece ever so slowly. “Astropath takes Primarch, checkmate!”

Her defeat registered at almost precisely the same moment as the chamber doors abruptly parted to admit a chaotic mass of assorted functionaries, cyber-notaries, recording servoskulls and skeletal scribe-servitors trailing reams of parchment. The mass was accompanied by an equally chaotic babble of noise as voices vied to be heard above the nonsense.

Dolgath eased himself back into his chair and steepled his fingers as if expecting just such an assault. Nelthas, on the other hand, retreated behind him rising up to three times her former height like a cat bristling, her mask assuming an icy, forbidding aspect.

The mass rolled forward until it stopped before his desk, none of them seeming to notice his presence, each intent on imparting its bit of information to the particular individual at the center or the mass in the noisiest way possible. After a moment a voice began to cut through the babble.

“Psst! Bzzz! Shush!” After a moment the babble faded. “Begone! Away with you! I have important Inquisitorial business to attend!” Slowly the mass parted and shuffled back out of the room leaving only a single figure standing silently looking at them. His face was ageless and androgynous crowned by an elaborate coif that dangled a sheaf of black hair over his eyes. He was dressed in a panoply of varying attire consisting of an ecclesiarchical samite half-cape, an Arbites officer’s uniform jacket with senior commandant rank cord on the epaulets, a frilly laced undershirt, flared britches and high black boots, a dueling power-rapier was at his hip and an elaborate Inquisitor Rosette affixed to a gorget was at his throat. He promptly plopped down in exhaustion in the chair in front of Dolgath’s desk. “I’m parched…”

Dolgath pulled a fluted decanter and a set of crystal from his desk. “Zhianna, Fifty Seven?” Dolgath poured them each a drink.

“Ian, you evil little man!” The figure took the drink with a slightly trembling hand and sipped it with eyes closed like a man in ecstasy. After a moment he slowly opened his eyes and looked askance behind Dolgath. “What is this apparition? It frightens me…”

“Inquisitor Treyquill, meet Inquisitor Nelthas,” Dolgath said as he gestured toward Nelthas.

“Nelthas?” Treyquill gazed warily up at her. “You mean, The Nelthas, Scourge of the Necrons?”

Dolgath glanced inquisitively up at her. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Someone good to have at your back, or your front,” Treyquill grinned.

Nelthas reduced her height somewhat and moved to stand at Dolgath’s side.

Treyquill poured himself another drink and sat back to savor it. “Ah, I fondly recall the days we sat sipping Fifty Seven, playing regicide and pondering the machinations of the ruinous powers…” Suddenly he seemed to notice the Regicide board at the side of the desk. “Oh, did he pull that Astropath move on you? He did that to me five times; then I got wise!”

Dolgath looked at Nelthas and noticed her mask had turned slightly pink. Treyquill looked at Dolgath then winked at Nelthas.

“Don’t trust this one, he’s all kinds of devious,” Treyquill said to Nelthas. “Unless it comes to your life, then there’s no one better to trust!”

It was Dolgath then who turned slightly pink as he sat back in his chair. “Why are you here, my old friend?”

“Don’t ask me, they just send me places!” Treyquill replied innocently.

Dolgath just gazed blankly at Treyquill for a long moment. “Okay, I lied,” Treyquill responded. He turned back and uttered a shrill whistle over his shoulder. After a moment a skeletal scribe servitor shuffled up to him. He rustled through the reams of parchment trailing around it.

“Some heretic named, Sylax,” Treyquill said as he examined the minute scribbling on the parchment.

“Then you’ve come all the way out here for nothing. He died in the fighting for New Boston,” Dolgath said.

“Really,” Treyquill sorted through the long scroll of parchment. “Is this the sixth or seventh time that you’ve killed him?”

Dolgath glanced sheepishly at Nelthas. “Seventh, I think. I have a reliable report of his demise from the Adeptus Astartes.”

“Do you have his body?” Treyquill asked.

“Um… No,” Dolgath replied frankly.

“Well then,” Treyquill said. “I’ve got a whole detachment of Sororitas with me whose only purpose is to immolate Sylax body and soul; seems they are somewhat sensitive about a high ranking member of the ecclesiarchy turning foul.”

“Heretics are not the problem here, xenos are,” Nelthas spoke up.

Treyquill took a long drink and then sat peering at her from beneath his shock of dark hair.

“Heretics are always the problem. Behind it all there is always a heretic…”

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirty: Death Bed

2010-05-26T21:38:00.000-07:00

There are vaults in places where darkness has never strayed from. These vaults are secured in the dark by wards and hexes and locks and keys. Barred by the curses and traps of those who have lost the will to do anything but curse and trap. To enter here one must pass through a knot of old wood and down the passages of the Eldar. One must walk in the ways of long dead races. The names of those Old Ones are long lost. Those that knew the names wanted nothing else but to loose the names and they cast their minds out so that the names might be gone too. Most, but not all.

Some called him Confessor (those who have confessed). Some called him a Missionary (they whom he has lead). Others called him father (she whom he had sired). She knows his names. His daughter, Sylvie, knows these places too. She knows who made these walls. She had once been an Acolyte of the Sisters of the Cloistered Heart. In her youth She had toiled in the sands on Mordia along side her sisters. Bringing grapes from the dry earth. Making the wine. Then, as she had come of age, she had fled with her lover. A dark vixen of the dark cults. A vixen that had been brought via the schemes of Sylax. That had been long ago. There had been many years and many battles since. Her sisters, she had joined them then, had fought with the armies of the Imperium. The Confessor had lead the Mordian regiments in war, their crimson uniforms like dark gore against the mud of a hundred battlefields. Their long war against the Tyranids. And she had been there, the Rhinos carrying her through the fields toward the foes of Sylax. SYlax's long struggle with the fool Dolgoth~ the last in a long line of hunters. All this time her lover had lived in the dark passageways with her dark father waiting, visiting. All this time he had been planning and plotting. Sometimes he knew what his purpose was for but other times it was as though he were driven toward a purpose he did not know. It was as though some hand were at work within him. Some dark hand.

She now stood at his bedside and sought to rescue him from the peril that all mortals must eventually meet. Sylax lay on his death bed. He had been struck by a human's blade on the field of conflict and laid low. Sylax had schemed that Ozzymadius would fall but had not foreseen his own fate. She fled the field with his body. The dark vixen Yanaloo had taken Ozzymadius' body through another way. Sylvie fled through the knot of wood, past the traps, opening the locks, and she spoke the riddles that untied the hexes. As she carried him through the webway, his life dripping on the cobblestones of those passages, all his plans ground to a halt. His plans had come to a halt at the end of soldier's bayonet. As she carried him he spoke, clinging to life, he spoke of all his plans. He spoke of all his machinations. He told her of the twelve keys and six dreams. He spoke about the great Maw of the Unknowing and the Great Scheme that he had started all those years ago when he had set out across the great deserts of Mordia. The scheme that had driven him across that world. The scheme that had driven him to find the sisters cloistered there. To find her mother. It had driven him and drove him now. The great scheme that had lead him to bring together the Dark Eldar, and the Tau, and his old foe in the forge of battle... She had laid him on his bed. His very heart cloven in two. He spoke to her of things that she must do. He grasped her hand tightly. His broken and torn face gnashing. "Take me back to Mordia!"

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 29: Gifts

2010-05-23T12:15:00.000-07:00

Anemos walked into the seeing chamber. It was a broad circular room with sloped and curving walls. It was perched high above the body of the ship and a wide viewing window gave an aspect of the planet below. She was dressed in the robes of her office. Long red and orange vestments. She walked cautiously across the chamber. The lights were dim and only lit by the illumination of a thousand star that cast their will into the room. Standing to one side, in the shadows, stood the form of Ari'Ashi. He wore a hood and his face seemed to shrink inside the vale. His wide dull eyes peered from the gloom that seemed to surround him. As she approached she could hear the sound of her bare feet padding on the cool surface of the floor. She swallowed hard as she approached. She had faced down the guns of the Humans and stared down their most evil perversions dragged from the warp. She had shown little fear to them but now as she approached her god she felt hesitation. When she saw his dark and lonesome eyes she became afraid. She saw his face was now littered with tattoos. Curved lines and bizarre features. She had seen many of the same illustrations appearing in blue throughout her fleet. Painted onto gunships and the Crisis suits. The Fire Warriors and Earth Cast brethren had begun mimicking their god. As he drew tattoos on his skin so too did they adorn the weapons of war. He spoke.
"You look at me with fear, my beloved" his voice seemed frail "Are you afraid?"
"I fear disrespecting you my master. Beyond your will there can only be chaos". She knelt before the hooded figure.
"This is true". The Etherial's hand arrived on her shoulder "I have gifts for you". He spoke in an almost imperceptible tone. He walked past her and she turned to see the form of a battle suit illuminated in the opposite corner of the room. She rose and followed her god professor to the suit. It was much smaller than her Crisis Suit. Much more like the stealth suits. It had a harness behind it that held a variety of weapon options that could be fitted to the suit depending on the occasion. The harness hovered over the suit ready to deploy support systems and weapons at a moment's notice. "It is a newly crafted suit of my own concept. I made it for you. You are my warrior, my strong arm, my devotee". She stepped forward approaching the suit as if it were someone new she were meeting for the first time. As she neared the breastplate arched up and opened, ready to receive her. She could see that within the suit the same intuitive system was ready to read her intentions.
"It is beautiful" she said.
"With it you will lead the Fire to victory on the planet below". She nodded in silence.
A new voice came from the silence. It intruded from the dark "I have a gift for you too".
Anemos cursed herself as she turned toward a silky shadow that we emerging. She too reliant on her suit's sensors and had missed a third presence in the room. It was unlike her to have missed something so simple. Now that it approached she felt the malice and evil consume her. She heard the footfalls of long heels. The slow creek of leather. The saunter of evil. The Lady Hosphel approached. The Wych Queen of the Rancid Blade drew near and with her the darkness followed.
Anemos gasped at the appearance of one so evil in the presence of her god. She had witnessed something so foul on the planet below, when the Archon had walked from the web portal. To see this horror here now aboard the flagship of the fleet was almost too much for. She glared at the fiend as it approached. Hosphel was dressed in the combat armor of the Dark Eldar. Orange and black and sickly crimson. Blades and brabs and hateful whips. For a moment Anemos thought she would have to fight this thing. She was totally unprepared.
"I too bring you a beautiful gift" the eldar said. Anemos looked to the Etherial.
"Take it" he said. The Eldar held out along silver blade with gold and red symbols etched into the edges. It was large. Almost as tall as Anemos herself. Yet it looked small in the hands of the elf. She obeyed. Her first thought when taking it was that it was so light in her hands. So light. He second thought was that of someone else. It was a thought on far off wind. Like someone calling through the windy passes of Fre'Ash. She couldn't hear what it was saying.
"Is this of your making?" she asked of the Wyche "Did you craft this for me?"
"No." The dark one spoke. "It was forged a long time ago. When the Eldar themselves were young. Forged in the fires of the night. When your world didn't even exist".
"Why do you give it to me?"
"Because you do not believe that we are now kin".
"You must welcome this gift" Ari'Ashi said in the slow silence. "It too will drive the humans before us. It will hew them as wheat is cast by the Scythe.
"I do welcome it, if you command me" she said watching the light play on the symbols. Hosphel grinned slowly.
"It will strengthen your arm in combat as never before. It will guide you in your path" said the wyche. "Take this gift from your new friends". Anemos held the blade and it felt good in her hand.

THE BATTLE FOR MOON BASE ALPHA

2010-05-10T12:55:00.000-07:00

THE BATTLE FOR MOON BASE ALPHA

INTRODUCTION

The Tao, having lost their beach-head in New Boston, retreated in well order to their expeditionary ships which had been deftly dodging the Imperial naval forces in the system, refusing to engage their foe until the bulk of the Tao fleet arrived. Unfortunately, the Tao vanguard now found themselves in a rather more difficult situation. Without a secure landing zone the Tao could not execute an invasion without risk of significant losses; however, their Ethereal leader did not lack foresight and had a contingency plan. The Imperials, on the other hand, having won the battle for New Boston were still largely unprepared for the alien assault, as reinforcements were not due for several months, long after the anticipated Tao main force was expected to arrive. Although Inquisitor Lord Dolgath, the de-facto Imperial commander of the Trachis defense, had expended the majority of his resources in the battle for New Boston, his ally Inquisitor Nelthas of the Ordo Xenos, had only begun to reveal the resources at her command. Furthermore, Arch Confessor Sylax and his Dark Eldar allies still lurked in the system, capable of attacking anywhere at anytime… Indeed, the succulent Dark Eldar Witch Queen who had taken Archon Actev Nu’s place whispered the secrets of an ancient warp gate, hidden on the nearby Trachis moon, into the Tao Ethereal’s ear (among other things…). And Inquisitor Nelthas revealed to Dolgath the presence of the Horrus-era emplacements held in stasis concealed on the Trachis moon of Alpha Prime. The second great battle for the control of the Trachis system would be fought for Moon Base Alpha.

CAMPAIGN RULES

Limited Resources

Each force has a pool of 5000 points for their core army.

The points for any destroyed vehicles or troop units taking 75% casualties are lost.

Each force can call upon 2000 points of allies made up of units from a codex other than that of the core army.

The points lost for destroyed allied units or vehicles cannot be recovered.

Space Superiority

Each force has a 2000 point BFG fleet.

Half the points for destroyed ships are recovered.

Any force wishing to assault the moon base must fight a BFG battle.
The winner of a BFG battle has the choice of hexes to attack as well as deployment zones for the subsequent 40k battle.
Once a force has control of a moon hex they no longer need to fight a BFG battle if assaulting an adjacent hex although they have the option to do so.

Escalation

The campaign lasts 5 turns plus a D3 turns rolled at the end of turn 5.
The first 40k battle starts at 1500 points. Each subsequent battle increases by 500 points.

Assets

Each force starts with 4+D3 stratagems for the campaign.
Each hex has a specific stratagem associated with it that can be utilized for any battle by the force controlling that hex.
Each hex controlled by a force generates a 2D6X10 point resource bonus per turn (not to exceed 5000 points).

Missions

Each hex has a specific mission associated with it. (See the Territories section).

Victory Conditions

Each hex controlled by a player is worth 1 VP.
Hidden Garrison/Warp Gate

The locations of the hidden Imperial Garrison and Warp Gate are unknown. At the end of each battle for control of a hex, a D6 is rolled, on a 1 the hex contains the hidden Garrison and on a 6 the hex contains the Warp Gate.
The Garrison is worth 3 VP if controlled by the Imperial forces, but only 1 if controlled by Xenos.
The Warp Gate is worth 3 VP is controlled by Xenos forces, but only 1 if controlled by Imperials.

TERATORIES

Refinery – This facility tapped subterranean pools of liquid methane as a hydrocarbon source for producing promethium. Some of the rusting storage tanks still contain small quantities of usable fuel.

This area has numerous active gas geyser wellheads erupting from the liquid methane pools deep underground. Although an important source of fuel, these wellheads often spontaneously erupt in flame, or smolder with noxious fumes. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Scorched Earth Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Fuel Dump Stratagem.

Power Station – The power for Moon Base Alpha was provided by a simple yet reliable thermo-core reactor. However, many of the remote outposts were not connected to central grid and utilized portable micro-fusion generators for their power. Some of those generators are stored here and are still in working condition.

Fuel components for the micro-fusion generators lay scattered throughout this area. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Pillage Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Power Generator Stratagem.

Manufactorum – One of the key industries for Moon Base Alpha was weapon production. The weapon production machinery was long ago decommissioned, yet a few small stockpiles of ammunition remain in dusty storerooms.

The manufactorum complex was built with defense in mind. Forces wishing to control this hex must first fight the Trench Warfare Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Ammunition Store Stratagem.

Com-tower – The central command station for Moon Base Alpha was long ago stripped of its cogitators and auspex engines, but a redundant automated monitoring system was left in place. Those with knowledge of such systems may tap into the semi-functioning sensor-net allowing them to anticipate and prepare for enemy attacks.

The Com-tower is a soaring reinforced adamantine structure that dominates the landscape. The force wishing to control this hex must fight the All-round Defense Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Fortifications Stratagem.

Research Facility – Reports deny that certain restricted biological experiments may have been conducted on Moon Base Alpha long ago. What is certain is that a triple-airlock clean-room laboratory still exists stocked with dormant surgical servitors.

The surgical servitors of facility require wounded, but living, subjects to dissect. No moral leader would subject one of his own troops for such a grisly duty, thus the force wishing to control this hex must fight the Slave Raid Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Medicae Facility Stratagem.

Defense Silo – Although the larger and more lethal defense laser and macro canon batteries were long ago destroyed or removed, a single sub-orbital weapons emplacement is known to still exists on Moon Base Alpha.

The automated tactical systems of the defense Silo sense the presence of enemies and launch strikes against them; unfortunately the cogitator systems have grown unstable. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Prepared Assault Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Preliminary Bombardment Stratagem.

Warehouse – Damaged by tectonic instability this old warehouse was abandoned long ago. It contains an assortment of expired dry goods, miscellaneous mechanical parts and random electronic components that never-the-less may prove useful.

This region is tectonically unstable making any terrain hazardous. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Infestation Mission.
The force controlling this hex gains the Booby Traps Stratagem.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 12: Checkmate!

2010-05-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

Relaxation, it was a strange concept to Inquisitor Lord Dolgath. Settled into the cushions of his ancient chair, seated before his equally ancient desk, he was beholden to the legacy of his masters who sat there before him. Yet seated opposite him, across the playing surface of his antique Regicide set, sat Inquisitor Nelthas. Strangely, she inspired relaxation. As always, “sitting” was a relative term for her. She assumed an aspect of sitting, having reduced her towering height to something more demure. On this day her pychomorphic mask was pink – nearly the pink of a human infant’s flesh. In contrast to the blacks and dark grays she usually wore, today she wore a billowing lace dress of off-white that in her current posture formed a mass of rumpled fabric around her, making her look like a babe floating in a shoal of sea foam. In one of her tinny lace-gloved hands she held a red rose, as dark and crimson as blood. Dolgath knew this rose, as he had plucked it himself from an abandoned garden on New Boston as he was preparing to depart from the last pivotal battle. He had given it to her as a passing fancy, yet she had flash-frozen it in a crystal matrix, a process that would have cost tens of thousands of credits.

He regarded the regicide table laid out before him. The pieces were arrayed in a classic Marcharious pattern. He leisurely moved a minor ephemera into a semi-dominant position. She immediately moved a major ephemera to a crux position. Dolgath feigned to take interest in the table, yet his thoughts were focused on Inquisitor Nelthas. He had to admit, he was quite smitten with her. His thoughts were often preoccupied with imaginings of what she looked like beneath her façade. His rational self informed him that the reality was likely something grotesque, yet even that was enticing to him…

“Your thoughts are not on the game,” Nelthas said as she moved her Count to take his Cardinal. Dolgath countered with a clumsy blocking gambit.

“These Tau perplex me,” Dolgath replied.

“Really,” Nelthas said as she moved her piece into a cornice formation. “The Tau are a simple race, their tactics are prescribe and immutable.”

Dolgath moved a major ephemera in a dispersal pattern. “It’s not the Tau in general that confound me, it’s these particular Tau… There is something aberrant about them, they move tangentially, non-geometrically… I suspect they have been influence by Sylax and his ilk!”

“I think you are overreacting,” she said as she moved a Royal piece into a trump configuration. “Check!” she said with enthusiasm.

Dolgath paused to observe the board, and then sat back to gaze upon Nelthas. She had moved forward, poised in excitement above the gaming table. A sliver of her pale flesh was visible behind her flushed mask… Smooth and immaculate like a baby’s…

“Checkmate!” He said as he moved a minor ephemera behind the cornice formation into a assassination crux.

Nelthas suddenly rose up like a towering thunderstorm her pink mask suddenly bleaching white. She hovered there for a moment like a vast mountain ready to fall, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed. Like the pure crystalline chimes of a waterfall, she laughed. If Dolgath was standing his legs would have broken beneath him, so pure and wonderful was that sound.

“Well done,” she said as she subsided once again to a frothy pool of foamy lace. “The Tau would have never taken such a gambit.”

“Indeed, we cannot assume they will retreat from this system, in fact I anticipate an offensive soon and from an entirely unexpected direction,” Dolgath replied.

Nelthas was silent for a long moment. “The next attack will be close, I think. A dagger in the dark,” she said as she brushed the crimson rose against her porcelain cheek.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part twenty eight: Comfort didn't enter into my mind

2010-05-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

The evening had drawn in close and as the last of the darkness lingered in the western sky the camp seemed so alone. The gathering consisted of a column of mounted Fire Warriors. Eight or nine Devilfish gunships were in a rock strewn field, their rear hatches open and casting teardrops of light into the dark. Gatherings of warriors could be seen sitting on makeshift chairs or on the ramps from the ships. The flickering glow of light bollards that had been scattered around the camp illuminated the faces of warriors as they moved about in the dark. Their faces portrayed a grim reality. A truth about the campaign that few could shake. Around the perimeter sentinel drones kept a vigilant watch over the camp. Their robotic green eyes scanned the darkness for movement. Their klaxons were poised and ready to sound. Their long range scanners sought out signs of infiltration.

Obolis sat within the confines of one of the Pathfinder team's Devilfish. His suit waited obediently outside like a faithful pet. He sat at a makeshift table. Across from him sat Maturm, of the Water Caste, his friend. Between them a table stood with an old Tau game. Play peices on triangular shaped board. This was one of their favorite pastimes during the quiet of a campaign. They were fairly equally matched, each utilizing their own skills, but something tipped the favor toward Maturm this night.

"It still eats at you doesn't it?" Maturn asked his old friend after a period of long silence.
"I admit that it does. I am torn." Obolis issued a sigh looking toward the door. "To have a god walk among us and show us the way is something few Tau ever benefit from." Obolis shook his head in disapproval as he spoke "I can't believe that now I have my mentor and my god showing me the way I do not want to follow. I fear the dark places Ari'Ashi will take us..." his voice trailed off into the silence.
Maturum moved one of his pieces breaking a stalemate on the board. "Do you believe our ill fortunes of late in this campaign are due to Ari'Ashi's faulted leadership?".
"No" Olbolis responded staring toward the game "I would have made the same choices as he has made. I would have taken the same steps. His strategy is sound."
"Then what?"
"It is almost as though fate is against us, the dice are not cast in our favor."
"You believe that Ari-Ashi is cursed? His plans are doomed to fail no matter how good they are?" This time Maturim shook his head as he continued "I don't believe in curses."
"Nor do I. But how shall I explain our decline?"
"You believe it began when we partnered ourselves with the Dark Kin?"
"Before that, the signal of tragedy was the Human and his dark retinue. They opened the door to the dark kin. I blame Ari-Ashi for letting them in."
"But the Eldar are dead. Slew by the very humans who have chased us around this world. Surely the Eldar out us on the back foot and damaged our advance but the Archon himself fell. How could they still be influencing us?" Maturm took another move. Obolis was off his game.
"I do not know. But it can not continue. We have to break this string of defeats or the Cemephon expansion will be over before it begins." With this sentence it seemed to Obolis had had an idea. "It all leads back to Ari-Ashi" he said.
Maturim looked to his friend. "What idea do you have?". Obolis was silent for a moment.
"I am going to reassign you".
Maturim raised his eyebrow. "alright?"
"You will be placed on advisory status to Ari-Ashi. You will provide him field data on the campaign. I think he has been secured in the fleet since we departed New Boston"
"That's right".
"You will provide him with information about the campaign and..." Maturm, perceiving the plan already, cut off his friend in mid sentence.
"...provide information about the Etherial to you" Obolis swallowed hard while nodding. He knew that spying on Ari'Ashi was tantamount to treason.
"Are you comfortable with that?" he asked.
"Comfort didn't enter into my mind."

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part twenty-seven: A warning light illuminated on her console

2010-04-15T13:11:00.001-07:00

One might imagine that when inside the crisis suit one felt constricted or "encased" but it was not like this at all. Within her suit she felt more free, less constricted, it was almost like floating. She was suspended as though above the ground in a network of actuators and fiber bundles that, connected to her arms and legs, supported her and sensed her intentions and movements. They suspended her as though she were in mid air. As she moved the fiber bundles reacted and moved the monstrous suit to match the movements of her arms and legs. The suit's programming was intuitive so it could divine which of her movements were instructions for the suit to mimic and which were her own casual movements. This way she could move her hands to tap the several consoles about her or manually engage with the touch screens without her suit itself performing a bizarre dance. A curved holo screen wrapped around her head like a halo of images. It showed the outside world all about her. It was as though the wrapped screen cut a view straight through the hard casing of the suit. If she turned her head to the back she saw what was behind her, to the right she saw her right shoulder and gun. Her view screen was also populated by information intuitively provided by the suit. Warnings would appear as flashing icons or info boxes on the wrapped screen. Video feeds would appear bringing information and data from her Pathfinders or Drones in the field. Also, if she wanted, with the glance of her eye or a swipe of her hand, she could rotate the view about her head without moving her head at all so that she and her suit would be facing forward while her view looked backward. She could command a sector wide engagement from this suit; assigning units to various conflicts or battles, recalling or deploying at will. Holo maps of the campaign swirled about her tied to videos and stats. It produced a symphony of information. It were as though she were literally juggling the war about her head.

For the most part it was dark within the suit and because of the wrapped view screen and her liberal and unrestricted range of movements the suit conveyed to the wearer the effect of an enormous range of motion. She could take massive strides across the battlefield, fly, leap over buildings and perform feats entirely beyond the range of most her foes. All this within the serene and warm environment of the suit. Her large weapon systems could be leveled at a target with no effort at all on her part. The Air-bursting Frag gun was almost fifteen feet long and could fire a continuous stream of explosives, and she fired it with as much effort as one might use a garden hose. Her twin plasma guns, when synced through her various hardwired systems, could split apart the hull of the toughest tank while the air-bursting gun tore into a platoon of enemy soldiers. Her various shield and watcher drones notified her of incoming threats and protected her from impacts. Recently she had marveled at a shield drone as it had absorbed several incoming missiles. Two of the three shots struck the energy shield conveyed by the drone, the second hit had overloaded the shield leaving her exposed to the final missile. A warning light illuminated on her console warning her of both the failure of the shield and of the expected hit. But the drone, in a final effort to fulfill it program's intent quickly moved into the path of the missile. Both missile and slave were destroyed with no harm to her in her dark cocoon.

The suit wasn't clunky or machine-like in its movements. It was fluid but purposeful. Gripping toes at the end of long armored legs, a broad breastplate and armored shoulders formed the bulk of the suit. Two large vented engines dominated the back of the suit. A small "head" protected several green eye peices that were really targeting devices. When the targeting lights from the "head" focused on a target it conveyed less what Anemos was looking at but rather what she was looking to destroy. Anemos knew that her Crisis Suit was the most sophisticated peice of weaponry in the 41st Millennium. Smarter than the prehistoric armor of the Space Marines, more versatile than the corrupted bulk of the cursed Terminators, and more utilitarian than the walking tombs of the Eldar.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 26: The fields beyond the city

2010-04-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

Her eye scanned over the dawn and the broken teeth of ruins that rose up before her. Black and dark against the dawning sky they were like the brutalized souls that had been cast down in this city. Her robotic hand gripped a wall and her clutching claw feet, like a birds', gripped the broken parapet. Her crisis suit crouched, lurked, atop the blasted ruin of what was once part of this city. Several stories above the street she looked out beyond the ruins, beyond the city walls. Her digital view cast out toward the fields beyond the city. The dawn was drawing golden shapes across the hills that lay beyond the city. Slow morning clouds countered the sun's expanse. Within her suit she could still appreciate the beauty of the dawn even while the optic processors scanned for threats. There were none located.

There had been four days of almost constant fighting for the blasted ruins that lay behind her. The marks of battle adorned her suit. A large cloud of black marked what had once been white. A crack along the jump engine on the right side had been growing since two days ago. She sighed thinking of all the events of the last few days. What a toll had been paid to simply align the balance of the scales. What a penalty in lives had been metered out in order to simply preserve the light against the dark. There had been days of fighting and little change in her fortunes. She pondered her contributions to the scales of fair and fey. Though she had respected the will of the Anu and admitted the Dark Eldar into the city she knew in her heart that this had contributed to the darkness as much as the humans themselves. Obolis had railed against admitting the Dark Eldar into the greater order and he had been right. The Kabal of the Rancid Blade had swept across the city butchering all in their path. Like a fleet of scythe crickets they had killed with wanton abandon. At the time she had leaped to stop them, but Ari'Arshi had held her back. He had nodded his approval as the pirates attacked the humans. She had reported the rumors that the Dark Eldar had begun attacking her own lines to Ari'Arsi and he had dismissed her. She had seen the evidence herself. But she could not turn against her God. She could not be like Obolis~ cursing the Etherial in the dark of the night. Only the death of Actev Nu, the leader of the fiendish host, had halted its rampage. She had been quietly relieved when the dark king had fallen. She had watched, from the eye of a hidden seeker drone, as the alien was cast down by the blade of a human. She sensed that Ari'Arsi had been relieved also. At first the Etherial had seemed renewed but then hours later he fell into a distraught pall and was evacuated to orbit. Her Fire Warriors despaired thinking the Etherial would die. The Dark Eldar had abandoned the fight too. They slipped away like blood down a drain. They left her lines exposed and she was unable to recover. Then again perhaps it was the will of the Fire Warriors~ gone like their God.

She turned toward the east again. The hills now had the sun in full. She added a polarized filter to her view screen as the sun cast its light onto her also. She had been unable to secure the city as a landing site for the Tau fleet. Right now the fleet was landing in the plains to the east under the great guns of the Imperial artillery. A landing under fire was not ideal. The initial battle reports that fed to her had not been good. She sighed thinking of the diminished force she would now lead to conquer this sector. It would be a longer war, a harder war. A smoldering war rather than a firestorm. She had lost her chance for the fury of fire. In a moment she flicked several switches within the suit and the engines shuddered into action lifting her from her perch. The suit rose above the broken city. The dark husk of the abandoned city dropped below. She could see on the long range scanners that the Imperials were abandoning the city also. She could see their lines moving to reinforce the battle at the Tau landing site via the Holdilco Pass. Her Devilfish had moved out under the cover of darkness hours ago. She was confident she would meet those Imperials again. Confident that, without so many distractions, she would best them. As she flew from the city she was joined by a couple of other suits as they cast through the sky. She thought of Sylax. What had become of him? Was he dead? No, she thought not. She was confident that she would see him again also. And when she did, she would kill him.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 12: The fall of Ozimandias

2010-04-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

Kannath Krom, the Kelten Primaris Psycher was old. The records Dolgath accessed for all the 5^th Kelten Rifles senior officers showed his age at 497 Imperial Standard. And he looked it, as crooked and hoary as an ancient oak tree, he leaned upon a massive sword, the blade sheathed in a scabbard of dark carved wood chased in bronze that had gone green with the verdigris of age. His mad green eyes glared from underneath bushy brows and he carried on a muttered conversation with invisible companions. He was given a wide berth by most, as strange things had a tendency to happen around him – like the lasgun that was hovering in mid-air nearby disassembling and reassembling itself… Yet most of the command staff, including Colonel Straus and the craggy iron-hard Lord Commissar Krull, seemed perfectly at ease in his presence. Despite this, the regimental HQ was a zimbee hive of activity, the officers engaged in issuing orders for deployment and rules of engagement for the coming battle.

Dolgath left the Keltens to their business as he saw a black Inquisitorial drop ship descending to the landing site. It deposited a huge cargo container on the ground with a heavy thud that he felt in his bones, and then it quickly dusted off and headed skyward. The loading door/ramp of the transport container slammed down sending up a billowing cloud of dust followed by the deep bass rumble of a massive set of engines firing up. Heads turned from every direction as the colossal tank rolled out into the light of day. Inquisitor Nelthas was true to her word, a Baneblade super-heavy tank. Such a thing was an uncommon sight even to the Keltens Rifles who were a line regiment. Most line regiments had a number of tanks of their own, but no super-heavies like this at their disposal. Yet, as Dolgath looked at the massive battle cannon and the bristling weapon emplacements of the oversized war engine, only one thought came to mind – Target. Every heavy gun in the enemy’s arsenal would be directed at this mass of metal and death. Never-the-less, perhaps that was its greatest value, it would draw huge amounts of fire as the rest of his army advanced unhindered to the objectives. Even so, if this massive behemoth was somehow destroyed, Dolgath knew he would owe substantial reparations to Inquisitor Nelthas – yet, somehow, that thought was not altogether unpleasant to ponder…

It was Colonel Straus who had conceived the master stroke, driving all Dolgath’s remaining forces to the heart of the Tao’s original drop zone. There he believed he could cut off all support to the invading elements where they could be subsequently isolated and destroyed piecemeal. Dolgath could not fault this strategy, yet the presence of Sylax and his Dark Eldar allies disturbed him. He did not know how Sylax had convinced the two disparate races to work together, but that somehow always proved to be Sylax’s particular brilliance… Their last battle, facing a combined force of Tao and Dark Eldar, had been fought to a stand-still. He guessed the alliance between the aliens was uneasy at best and he had no idea of the composition of the forces that would be arrayed against him this day. He had no choice but to proceed with every resource at his disposal.

The order had been given. His forces rolled forward toward the alien landing beacons with the goal to capture them and perhaps use their own signals to confound the enemy, or at the very least to destroy their safe landing zones. Dolgath himself, and his hand-picked retinue, charged on foot toward the central landing platform. He expected the sounds of engagement to reach him at any moment, but, save for the rumble of moving vehicles, all was quiet. He climbed to the top of the elevated landing pad and from this high vantage surveyed the battlefield… There was no sign of the enemy anywhere. Vox reports were coming in over the com-net, three beacons secured, two others within easy grasp. This was very strange. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up…

Suddenly, the vox chatter began to pick up, garbled reports coming in; hazy figures and fast flickering shapes was all he heard. Then he saw them, all sharp blades and speed, Dark Eldar raiders. They materialized behind his lines, as was their favored tactic, throwing his forces into confusion. A strong spearhead of the wicked aliens was aimed right for the heart of the Kelten command base. Dolgath realized he would need to act quickly and decisively to prevent the chaos, which the Dark Eldar engendered, running rampant through his forces. He executed his summons, where and when his Daemonhosts appeared was up to them, he could only hope they arrived in a time and place that would benefit the outcome of the battle. He also issued a command to his Callidus. No telling where she was lurking, but no doubt she was connected to the com-net and was listening in to the vox traffic guiding her to the best place for her to strike.

Just then, a shimmering appeared a scant fifty yards ahead near one of the alien beacons. A single scant squad of Penal Legionnaires lead by a Ministorum Priest was left to hold that objective as the rest of the armored column had moved toward a further uncontested objective. Dolgath instantly realized this beacon would surely fall into the enemy’s hands. As if on cue, a hoard of slavering beast of the warp appeared and charged howling ravenously toward the legionaries. A moment later a second shimmering appeared, what stepped through was as equally alien, yet this apparition was Carlostopheles, one of his Daemonhosts. It caught the Dark Eldar by surprise, flailing its inhuman tentacles in all directions.

The Dark Eldar spearhead driving toward the Kelten command was blunted somewhat by the hail of fire from the infantry platoon stationed there, as well as the hydra flak battery that redirected its fire at the Dark Eldar jet bikes screaming toward them. Much carnage ensued, but unfortunately, it was not enough, as Osimandias himself and his personal retinue rose form the wreckage and prepare to assault the hapless soldiers with their fell wickedness. Colonel Straus quickly realized he would need to make a stand in the face of this ancient evil. With a shout in praise of the Emperor, his HQ unit charged the sharp-bladed flickering death that was Osimandias.

Dolgath witnessed this assault only on the periphery as he suddenly found himself under the concerted assault of Dark Eldar witches and jet bikers. They carved through his henchmen in a matter of moments. Soon he found himself alone facing a hoard of drug-crazed svelte aliens intent on his unpleasant demise. He sent out a desperate summons as his ancient power blade parried the onslaught of poison-soaked Dark Eldar weapons. Suddenly a shimmering appeared behind the flailing aliens. One of his daemonhosts had answered his summons, but it was not Trellphegore as he was expecting, it was Gomezibub the one who had endured the violation by Trellphegore in his summoning chamber. At nearly the same moment, a dark shadow materialized behind the Dark Eldar bikers, the Callidus had arrived… The two of them carved through the aliens killing and dismembering the beautiful Eldar without pause. Dolgath was left standing in a circle of bodies covered in alien blood. He saluted his rescuers; he would not forget their service this day. Yet he quickly turned his attention toward the battle at the Kelten command.

Colonel Straus was old by human reckoning, 349 Imperial standard, yet he felt like an infant in the presence of the truly ancient alien standing before him. Strangely, the Dark Eldar looked young, his skin was supple and his frame was unbent, however the age in his eyes was something unfathomable. He moved with the kind of quickness and suppleness that surpassed any human youth, yet the countenance of his face portrayed a weariness that could only come from untold ages of bestowing death. Ozimandias cut through Straus’s command squad felling his bodyguards and his standard bearer. Only the desperate measures of his medic kept himself, Lord Commissar Krull and High Psycher Krom from falling. Both he and Krull had hued multiple times at Ozimandias with their glowing power blades, and yet somehow they failed to strike him. He seemed to flicker and be at multiple places at once. Each time they smote him his form would smile at them mockingly and dissipate into mist. Finally, Krom pulled his huge sword from its scabbard. The old man seamed to waver for a moment under its weight, too much for an elderly man. Then eldritch light began to form around the blade and seep into the man. Krom slowly stood to his full height like some ancient hero from the hoary old Kelten sagas, his long hair and beard seemed to flow in an unseen wind. He raised the massive sword and smote the alien once. For his part, Ozimandias seemed to almost be waiting for the blow. He stood unflinching watching for the strike as if he was judging its worthiness… The ancient force weapon, nearly as old as Ozimandias himself, blazed in emerald light as it struck him. The wound was almost superficial, yet the ancient eldar fell as if his spine had been severed. The power of the warp sucking out the remains of his twisted soul…

Dolgath watched the fall of Ozimandias. He knew a great evil had been cleansed from the universe, and yet, he wondered, if it merely opened the door to even greater evil…

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 25: The machinations of the Kabals

2010-03-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

If one were to observe the machinations of the Kabals in Commoragh one might think that chaos reined in that dark city. The few humans that arrive there see it as such. Raiders tear through the city striking at will, yet some walk through the streets unscathed. Few put locks on doors in Commoragh, yet the Sybarites and their warriors seem to plunder indiscriminately. There are no souls in that bloody city that show compassion, yet Kabals and clans gather for mutual protection. Commoragh is governed not by laws or codes as we might think of them, but rather by the record of guiles and the codex of schemes. Everyone in the dark city knows about the deals that Archons make. Everyone knows that to cross those schemes at the wrong time would be death to them (or worse). Doors are barred not by force but because of pacts between Dracons that none dare to cross. Some people walk in places with no armor, and because they are protected by an Archon and his wiles, they have a greater armor than could ever be found. Those that know how to survive in Commoragh know how to bide their time, when to strike, and when to mutually agree.

Over the years Brugoyle had watched hundreds of ploys and maneuvers, dozens of fakes and gestures . He would keep his eyes on the politics of the Kabals as one might watch embers in a fire. He would benefit from the warmth the embers generated while all the time seeking not to be burnt by them. The red glow of the political embers would dance about, sometimes flaring, sometimes smouldering. He knew how to maneuver the eddies and currents made by the smoke of those embers and knew what was out of line and what was an opportunity. He now turned his eyes to the body before him. He knew that the significance of that which he gazed upon wouldn't be an ember but a blaze.

He knelt in the middle of an open street. Its once polished flagstones were worn and beaten down. Buildings about him, in the heart of the busy Yelimeli District, were well maintained if dark and lonesome. This neighborhood was in the heart of Rancid Blade territory. Only blocks away the mighty spires of the Achon's towers rose to dominate the skyline. Before him on the street ley the body of one who was mighty and now had been cast low. It was the body of the old one, his master, the great Archon of the Rancid Blade. Actev Nu was dead. He had been killed on some nameless world that humans deem worthy to fight over. The great man was slain by the blade of some lucky nameless human. The human would never know the havoc that his luck would now unleash within the dark city. That human knew nothing of decades of pacts and years deals made in the dark long ago that would now be over turned. That human knew only of terror and a lucky blow that slew the mighty knight of the Rancid Blade.

Brugoyle drew in a quick breath looking to his warriors who stood about, splinter rifles in hand, securing the scene. Somebody knew. Somebody understood the significance. Somebody knew to the dump the mighty Archon's body here, deep in what was once his own territory. Someone was sending a message. Somebody had scooped up the body of the old Archon from the field of defeat and had dumped him here to send a message that that the rules were about to be re-written and Commorragh would never be the same. Somebody's plan for revenge was playing out. Brugoyle drew himself upto his full height. He looked about the darkness. He new that others watched. He knew that they that had done this now looked on from the shadows.

He felt change was coming. He felt that the rules were being rewritten. Soon the old bonds would be broken and the old agreements would be asunder. A new rulebook was coming.

The Dolgath Legacy part 11: Impervious and Cold

2010-03-21T11:01:00.000-07:00

The coming battle would be the crucial stroke that decided the doom of New Boston, the fate of the planet and the security of the entire sector. Dolgath had no choice but to activate his hidden assets, dangerous assets, assets that would demand a price…

He stood before a vault which he had never opened. The massive circular door bore the Inquisitorial Seal, but also the mobius serpent symbol of the Officio Assassinorum. To open this vault was death to anyone other than an Inquisitor. He did not hesitate as he pressed his rosarius into the receptacle and stood back. For a long moment nothing happened. Dolgath wondered if this vault might have been keyed to open only to Math’s personal cipher, but then he heard something faint, the sound of ancient cogitators coming to life. A red gem in the serpent’s eye began to blink and then fired an intense ruby beam that scanned Dolgath head to toe. As suddenly as the beam appeared it winked out, followed by a hiss like the intake of a long slow breath between clenched teeth. The massive half meter thick adamantium door opened like an iris so perfectly designed it made no sound. The chamber beyond was pitch black; a low throbbing came from somewhere within and after a moment cold florescent strips along the floor flickered fitfully to life.

Dolgath stepped forward, his breath steaming in the frigged air. The chamber was circular, empty save for four black capsules side-by-side in the center of the room. The capsules were suspended at a 45 degree angle several feet above the floor with no visible support. Each capsule was two and a half meters long and utterly featureless save for a single symbol centered on the upper side. Dolgath paced slowly down the line – Eversor, Culexus, Vindicare, Callidus… He paused for a long moment considering the skills of each of these deadly specialists, then touched his rosarius to one of the capsules. It split along a seam that was not visible before and slowly opened. Dolgath stepped back rather more hastily than he intended, but nothing happened immediately. It was several long minutes before he noticed signs of life. He moved forward to carefully peer inside – he saw the outline of a body, a human female, nude, upside-down, face obscured. Her legs came out first, slowly, revealing their long muscular perfection, then the rest of her glided out in an effortless back flip that ended with her standing in front of him facing away. She stretched – a long luxurious cat stretch – reaching for the ceiling elongating her impossibly perfect body. At the same moment, an iris opened in the ceiling and an apparatus descended in a spiral motion traveling the length of her body, applicators spraying a substance on her body that quickly solidified into a glossy black whole body suit. The applicators quickly withdrew, but were replaced by a rack of equipment and manipulator arms which rapidly attached various arcane devices to her body. Lastly she pulled a strange pistol-like weapon from the rack and holstered it to her hip, and finally fitted an outlandish sword-like weapon to one hand. At last she turned to face him. Her face was unrecognizable hidden behind the black mask and a set of enhanced optics. Her exquisite body was as erotic as he had first seen her, her nipples erect and jutting from her perfect full breasts, and yet the black skin that covered her now made her into something else, like a marble sculpture, impervious and cold.

He turned away without saying a word and walked out. She followed him, or at least he guessed she did, he could hear no sound of her movements. The vault sealed behind them with a motion that Dolgath felt more than he heard. He had one more asset to activate, and this one was going to be a fair bit more unsettling. Having a Callidus at his back would give him at least a modicum more confidence for what he must face…

The summoning chamber was lit by five corpse candles that provided a somewhat more warming light than that in the Assassinorum vault. Yet the ice gripping Dolgath’s chest was far worse. Both his familiar Daemonhosts lurked at the periphery of the chamber. They were gruesome, frightening creatures to anyone else, yet they were a strangely comforting presence to Dolgath, particularly on this day. He imagined the presence of the Callidus did not go unnoticed; after all she could exterminate both of them utterly with one swipe of her arcane weapons, but they pretended to give no sign. The vessel, a Beta Level latent psycher, had already been prepared at the center of the summoning circle. Dolgath allowed himself to feel for the poor unfortunate for a moment; he told himself, when he no longer felt sorry for the victims of his machinations was when he knew his humanity was slipping…

The ritual was strangely foreign to his lips, even though he had performed similar rituals many times; he had never summoned this particular entity, even though he was more than casually familiar with this particular hellspawn. The screaming of the host subsided as his flesh took on the characteristic violet hue that Dolgath had come to recognize as belonging to Trellphegore the Thrice-Cursed. This particular entity was the favorite of Math, his master, yet Dolgath did not trust it for a moment, in fact he suspected it was responsible for his master’s death. Dolgath had prepared the vessel with three times the order of magnitude of restraints than he normally accorded his daemonhosts. To bind them in this way was to severely restrict their power, and hence their usefulness, yet it also provided greater constructs to control them, and Dolgath was taking no chances with this one. The corpse lights guttered until only the faintest violet hue lit the chamber. The vessel arched its back violently and then became quiescent, all seemed unremarkable… Dolgath knew better.

“Dolgath,” it said, its voice reverberating around the chamber. “The student becomes the master. I have been looking forward to this day. Many great things we will accomplish…”

Dolgath motioned to the heavily augmented servitor waiting silently nearby. It rolled forward on a tracked chassis its hydraulic-enhanced arms wielding a particular apparatus. It rammed a red-hot sanctified iron bolt up through the jaw of the daemonhost and swiftly rotated a similarly red-hot plate and nut down the threaded shaft and affixed a brass Inquisitorial sealed lock to it all. Trellphegore’s eyes bulged in indignation as he tried to open his sealed mouth, uttering nothing more than a few muffled groans. To his right, Dolgath’s other daemonhosts snickered mockingly, although he noticed their exclamations seemed muted. Behind him the Callidus was utterly silent. Suddenly, Gomezibub, the bulkier of his two daemonhost, began screaming in agony. Dolgath glanced in his direction and saw a bloody rift beginning to form in its massive chest.

“I forgive you, young one,” Trellphegore said from the mouth emerging for Gomezibub’s chest. “Math favored me over these rubes and I intend to demonstrate why, if you give me the chance…”

Dolgath considered this momentarily. The fact that it could do that to another of its kin revealed that it was an entity on another level all together. Dolgath replied. “There will be no parlay between us, no pleasant reminiscences. I give you one task and one task only: you will feed upon Dark Eldar, as bitter and unpalatable as they may be. That is your task and if you fail it, I will seal you into a crystal matrix and launch you into the next passing neutron star to await the rebirth of the universe in the next 20 billion years.”

Trellphegore’s eyes bulged once again, but the mouth in Gomezibub’s chest sealed over. Dolgath nodded. “Very well, I will soon provide you with a battlefield where you may indulge your appetites. Do not consider even the most insignificant rebellion.” Dolgath punctuated this comment with a brief glace over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if the Callidus was still there, but if she was, it would be suitably dramatic. Every bit helps, he thought…

Send forth all legions

2010-03-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

Ozzymandias: Send forth all legions. Do not stop the attack until the city is in ruin. Capture them all.
Lady Hosphel: What of the Inquisitor?
Ozzymandias: I will break him.

The Dolgath Legacy part 10: I still have a few tricks

2010-03-15T10:01:00.000-07:00

“Ozymandias, I had him!” Dolgath raged as he paced back and forth before the vast viewports of his audience chamber. Nelthas was a small, solitary huddled shape at the center of the chamber, watching him.

“Do you realize, this is the same Ozymandias who the Emperor met ten thousand years ago when he still walked among men… The same Ozymandias who foretold the betrayal of Horus and his kin, and who laughed in the Emperor’s face when he refused to accept his revelations…”

Dolgath drew his power sword in a dramatic sweeping gesture. “I hewed him, time and time again I hewed him, and yet never touched him…” Dolgath tossed the crackling power blade onto his desktop. “Exenthion, my faithful blade, forged five thousand years ago by the weapon masters of Mars – useless!” Dolgath spat.

Dolgath suddenly stopped his pacing and moved forward to rest his head against the cold, thick, armor-glass of the viewport. Nelthas moved then. She surged forward from a small huddled shape to a towering form that glided up behind Dolgath. She rested her delicate gloved hands upon his hunched shoulders. He glanced up at her.

“I have nothing left, I have dedicated all my reserves…” he said.

Her phsycomorphic mask looked down upon him with entirely more emotion than he could have imagined. “I have a Baneblade,” she whispered.

Dolgath squared his shoulders and stood to his full height as he looked up at her. “And I still have a few tricks up my sleeve...”

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 24: I remember when the stars were young

2010-03-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

A dark courtyard. Cobble below. Shapes of buildings in the night stood all around. The only lights were from the flicker of Obolis' suit. His large form stood in the darkness. Targeting lights blinked and watcher strobes slowly struck on and off. Obolis' Crisis Suit stood almost twenty feet tall. The ruins about him seemed to cower from the brilliant white of his form. Stars called their promise from above. His sophisticated targeting lights spotted the eldar before the Archon stepped from the darkness. Some called him Ozymandias, others named him Hateful, his own kin called him the Grand Actev Nu. The tall elf was dwarfed in size by the towering crisis suit, but not in stature. Ozymandias wore dark leather armor. The smell of the oiled leather penetrated the air. His long hair hung abut his shoulders and the majesty of a ten thousand years of night hung on his words. This elf was old. His eyes were old and though his flesh seemed infused with new life and energy, the ages of eons hung on him.

"I see in you a distrust of us." Ozymandias spoke in a language well familiar to Obolis, that of the Fire Cast. "Do not fear us. We have come to serve the greater good".

Obolis cast his robotic eye toward the eldar form, its green light scanning the long eldar face. Though Ozymandias knew it was there, the hate in Obolis' eyes did not show in the green orb of the crisis suit. Obolis hated how this elf twisted the words of the Tau. When Ari’Arshi, the Etherial that was a god to him, had walked through the warp portal with this creature, he could not believe his eyes. The teachings of Ari'Arshi had formed Obolis' path in the Fire Cast since his most young days. He had followed Ari'Ashi's teachings as a philosophy through his entire life. Move fast, strike hard, strike close. These were tenants, taught to him, and to Anemos long ago. The two leaders of the Cemiphon expansion had studied under the teachings together. Hundreds of other Fire Warriors had the tattoo of Ari'Ashi formed into their flesh and the marking of his teaching formed into their minds. How Ari'Ashi could now have walked through the gates of the accursed, flanked by merchants of the twilight house, was a horror to him. Only hours had passed since that event and now the dawn was drawing near. Obolis recalled that at first he had looked to his general, Anemos. He saw that her eyes were full of awe at the arrival of her teacher, philosopher king, and god. Then he looked to Sylax, the human preacher. Obolis' horror and hate had focused on the betrayal in that human.

"Do not pretend to me". The snarl in Obolis' voice was almost audible through the translation unit on the suit. "I know the ways of this universe. I know that you are cursed. You dwell in the crimson realm of blood and though Anemos won't acknowledge it, she knows it too". Anemos had accepted the word of her god. Ari’Arshi had spoken of peace with the the eldred kin. He had spoken of collaboration and the hope of salvation for these thrice cursed eldar. Ari'Ashi had asked Anemos and Obolis to see this as an opportunity. Both the Fire Warriors had nodded in consent to their master. But Obolis' anger continued to twist inside. There was nothing that could be done for these horrors and no salvation to be brought. Afterwards he had voiced his concern to Anemos. She had tried to soothe him. "Do not be fear the word of your king" she said. "These aliens will bend to the will of our dominion as all others have" she said in confidence.

Ozymandias grinned revealing etched teeth. He spoke in his own dark tongue now, relying on the suit's translation software. "You are brave, hidden in your mechanical suit. Very brave, cloaked in the metal of your new empire" all pretence had been replaced by sarcasm. "I remember when the stars were young." He began again. "I recall when the very stars that glitter through your realm of promise were as new as you appear to me today. I remember those days. They were not so long ago" the Archon looked toward the darkness as though looking to the past. "I have seen many civilizations grow on the ground that you now seek to conquer and I will look on this ground long after all your optimistic kin have toiled their lives away in my pits."

"I know that your pits were once the glory of the stars. Once your kind ruled in beauty and now all you rule is the hatred in your own heart" the speaker issued.

"This is true." The Archon nodded. "What you fail to know and that one day I will make you understand, is that the glory and beauty of the stars and the hated in my heart are one in the same." Supreme confidence carried his words. "You will understand, before the end, that my pits are beautiful."

Obolis shuddered within his suit. "I will cleanse your kind" he snarled in anger.

"Not today. Not while your god commands you otherwise" the eldar lord grinned while speaking. "Do not underestimate the fate of a heretic" the dark lord spoke "I know it well".

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 9: Activate the armored reserves

2010-03-12T08:53:00.000-08:00

Inquisitor Nelthas sat – or at least took a posture that resembled sitting – across from Dolgath in his private observation dome situated above the bridge of The Subjugator. From this vantage, they seemed to be soaring high above the vast battle cruiser its many gothic spires stabbing upward towards them. Nelthas had distained her normal entourage and it was just the two of them chatting and sipping the finest five hundred year old absinth. Or at least Dolgath sipped it. He watched Nelthas covertly out of his peripheral vision as he pretended to gaze out the viewports. She raised the glass with a delicate lace-gloved hand and carefully brought it up to the porcelain facade of her psychomorphic mask – the lips parted and a small amount of the emerald liquid drained from the glass. They spoke of many things, none of them having to do with Inquisitorial business or the battle raging bellow. It was quite the most pleasant time Dolgath could remember having in many decades…

“My Lord,” a pair of nearly identical voices said in unison.

Dolgath turned in annoyance as Nelthas took another sip from her glass. His twin sages stood silhouetted at the threshold of the chamber the cables interconnecting them starkly apparent.

“I left word that I was not to be disturbed,” he growled.

“We found something in Math’s diaries,” said one.

“Something about this planet,” said the other.

“Something ancient,” said the first.

“Something for…” the second started to say.

“What?” Dolgath snapped with mounting impatience.

“Ozymandias,” they whispered together.

Nelthas cocked her head slightly toward them.

“Here? Are you certain?” Dolgath asked in disbelief.

The nodded simultaneously.

“Sylax!” Dolgath stood up suddenly. “Activate the armored reserves and prepare to deploy to the planet!”

Dolgath Legacy Part Eight: A torch held aloft

2010-03-05T21:14:00.000-08:00

Rage. Like a torch held aloft burning too bright to gaze upon, the rage of Captain Rex ignited a fury in his space marines unlike anything Dolgath had seen before. The ancient Astartes hero led the remains of his forces personally, charging forward with a passion that verged on recklessness.

“You see,” the voice of Inquisitor Nelthas seemed to emanate from someplace other than her person. “Such passion is foreign to the Tau. Combat to them is laid down in formal doctrine to be conducted in the prescribed manner. When faced with such fury, they crumble…”

Dolgath glanced at Inquisitor Nelthas. Her means of locomotion had accommodated her normally lofty height into something that would fit into the passenger bay of his Vendetta. Yet even this close, her true face was still partially hidden behind the apparatus of her psychomorphic mask which held a beatific smile reminiscent of some ancient painting from old Terra that he could not quite recall, an expression as elusive as her voice. Nelthas distained her usual entourage as well, accompanied only by two of her mysterious cloaked guardians.

Dolgath had initially requested all the support the Ordo Xenos could provide, offering to cede authority of this operation to her. To his surprise, Nelthas declined, instead counseling patience. In any case, Captain Rex had refused all aid, gathering together nearly the entire remnants of his depleted company; he chose a bombed-out section of the city adjacent to the docks for his last stand. Dolgath was surprised the aliens turned to engage them there. Perhaps they had become overconfident with their recent successes… As Dolgath scanned the battlefield, something caught his eye: Imperial pattern vehicles.

“Look there,” Dolgath indicated several blocky shapes amid the sleek alien vehicles.

“The Tau are noted for their indoctrination of Imperial forces…” Nelthas commented.

Dolgath suddenly leaned forward to stare intently at the view-screen. “Not just imperial, Inquisitorial!” Nelthas craned her head forward sharply.

He was just an old man. His lined face, grey hair and long dark robes were most appropriate for the monastery, or the endless stacks of the Administratum, but the whirling adamantine teeth of the eviscerator in his hands marked him as something else entirely. Sergeant Ulysses did not hesitate, old man, priest, or savant, the fact that he was here, in opposition to Captain Rex, meant he was a target. The old man’s attack upon Corvis, his squad’s trusted rhino transport, sealed his fate. The spinning chain weapon carved easily through the side of Corvis into its volatile core, the resulting detonation of its sacred power plant killed at least four of his fellow Astartes brothers. His squad was devastated, yet Sergeant Ulysses charged the heretic with all his righteous fervor. He sidestepped a vertical cut that would most certainly have carved him in half and slammed the butt of his boltgun into the old man’s face, seeing clearly the collapse of the bones and watching as if in slow motion as the old man fell to the dirt his eviscerator clattering useless at his side. Ulysses was about to turn away to the battle at hand, but the faint appearance of something, as if ripples upon water, drew his attention. Over the old man’s body appeared something… a haze, a mist, he could not later describe it in detail, but hands appeared and took the old man. He considered for a moment attacking this apparition, but he thought: the enemy deserves to collect their dead. The sacred rites of the apothicarion demand it.

Honor had been satisfied. Dolgath released the Adeptus Astartes from his service. As much as he’d liked having such a formidable force at his disposal, the price was just too high, on too many levels, and keeping in the good graces of the space marines was always a wise option. Yet, the battle for New Boston was not done, by any stretch, he would have to prosecute it with his own forces from here on out. His Keltens had not yet been truly tested, but he had no doubt these Tau would put them to the ultimate test.

New Boston at 5.2

2010-03-05T16:58:00.000-08:00

My name is Ozymandias

2010-03-04T12:01:00.000-08:00

"I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

The Dolgath Legacy Part Seven: Beyond any pretence of ego

2010-03-04T07:03:00.000-08:00

The slaughter was unexpected, even unimaginable. The Adeptus Astartes were the finest the Imperium had to offer, yet they died… died en-mass, squad after squad. Dolgath, watching from the view screen of his personal Vendetta transport, had seldom been witness to such a waste. These Tau were clearly beyond anything he was prepared for. He had dismissed Inquisitor Nelthas’ offer of support cordially, yet he realized now he should have never sent her away at all, in fact, he should have seated control of this operation to her entirely. The recent revelations made it clear beyond a doubt that this was a matter for the Ordo Xenos.

Returning to the Subjugator, Dolgath was confronted by another unpleasant and yet unavoidable consequence of this action… the honor of the Space Marines. None other than Captain Rex himself awaited Dolgath in his chambers. Although he might have doubted it just days before, the full furry of a Space Marine Captain far outmatched that of even an Astartes Chaplain… There was no dissuading the course of events that were to come. Dolgath offered a few kernels of advice that were summarily disregarded. This was now an Adeptus Astartes matter – the one organization for which the Inquisition held no authority. Dolgath could do naught but watch as the space marines expended themselves to the last against the Tau. Sadly, it was the Tau who would ultimately pay the price. Even if they defeated the Space Marines totally on the morrow, the Astartes bore a long and bitter memory. They would write their defeat into stone, nay, into adamantine, a grudge to last for untold millennia only to be brutally avenged, Dolgath guessed, long years after the Tau had utterly forgotten about it…

As the massive, ancient Astartes warrior departed, Dolgath fell back in his chair with a sigh and activated the encrypted Ordos channel. Inquisitor Nelthas’ response was almost immediate, as if she was expecting just such a contact. At this point Dolgath was beyond any pretence of ego, he needed help, however and whatever that entailed…

New Boston at 5.1

2010-02-28T10:24:00.000-08:00

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 23: Whatever walks from that door will consume and destroy us all

2010-02-27T19:18:00.001-08:00

The five of them met in the silence of the lonesome tower. Where once there had been the raucous sound of battle there was now the lonesome sound of the dead. This room had been the fulcrum of yet another in a long line of skirmishes throughout this city. The Marines had fought to control this tower and it had seemed as they might hold it. But they had been driven back. Many bodies of their brothers were left, abandoned to the only residents of this city that befitted from the war, the rats. The room was old, as was the tower. It had been built when the city was young, one of the first watch towers of this city. The city had long ago out grown this tower, its wards and environs growing far beyond the benefit its observations might provide. Before this war it had been used to store municipal equipment~ traffic signs, cones, temporary idolatry bollards. Now, its stones were washed with blood illuminated by the light of the early morning outside. The five conspirators of the doom of New Boston were now gathered. Obris was an imposing Tau warrior, even without his Crisis suit. He was joined by his common companion, Maturm, a Water Caste Tau of slight frame. Maturm carried his pulse carbine, hoisted on his hip. Anemos joined them also, her suit outside, she now wore a formal uniform with her long brades hanging down to her waist and the patterns of rank on her shoulder. The two humans had arranged the meeting location and seemed most at ease. A tall muscular woman in a dark blue robe stood behind the form of an old man. His green robes obscured mysterious icons and jewery, they hung about his neck or from his wrists or seemed to peer from the folds in his robes. He was Confessor Sylax. Anemos confronted him.

"We meet, finally, I have sought this parley for several days and now that victory is at hand you summon us? Where have you been?" Her voice, translated through a logistics drone floating nearby, sounded angular and strange. Sylax could sense the anger. Anemos was the leader of a massive Tau invasion force which was poised only hours away from the planet. He could sense that she felt she was due some respect.

"Do not be concerned with my comings and goings. I have little influence here compared to the mighty breath of cleansing flame that you have issued onto this world" the old man said. "I thank you all for the solace you have given me. I thank you for the protection".

"And we thank you for the information you have given us" Maturm reported. "Though some may not recognise it..." he glanced at Anemos "it is appreciated". Anemos did appreciate it, she just wasn't eager to show her veins to this alien. She quietly snarled her disapproval of the Water. Her eyes recognised his remark by tilting his way. She said nothing to validate his comment.

Sylax did respond "I appreciate your words. The reason I brought you to this tower is three fold. I have moved among the enemy. I ministered to the men, I have consoled the loyal. All through the city they retreat. They a despondant. They are fearful. However, there is but one place where they push your lines back. One place where you retreat". Anemos looked to Obris with a knowing glance. "At the docks the Imperials fall back, on the Seventh Ward they fall back, and now..." He pointed toward the window, Bolson Common below "the commons are clear. However, at the Eighth and Ninth wards the enemy has advanced unmolested. You have no forces to turn them aside."

"We advance on three fronts and they will be cut off" Obris stated in hatered of the human, "That column can not survive alone".

"Indeed" Sylax said nodding "But I bring news to you now. The Imperials in the Eighth ward of the city are amassing a large force, bringing the remnances of all their armies together for a last break out attempt. They wish to confront you with their full and last strength".

"They are desperate. This isn't a break out". Obis retorted. "It's a final stand" .

"That may be" said Maturm "but the Narcat's last strike is often his most ferice. What numbers do they poses?"

"I can not say, but they also have been resupplied from the Halvat Machine Houses on the north shore of the city. Their engines of war will be mighty."

"Do we have time to redeploy to confront this force?" Anemos turned to Obis, her second in command.

"Probably not, and even if we did, it may not be enough. If that machine shops on the north shore are repaired it will be a tremendous force".

"I have a solution" Sylax said quietly as the Tau recognised the situation. They turned to the old man. He walked to the old brick wall of the tower speaking as he walked "Two hundred and fifty years ago I helped build this tower. Two hundred and fifty years ago I laid into this wall the seeds for my return to mighty times. Today those times have come." He took from his robes a small silver arrowhead and began scratching against a strange colored brick. As he scratched the shades of stone that were chipped away fell but seemed to sparkle with an unnatural light. As he scratched the light seemed to spread through the tower wall like unnatural cracks. "This tower is built from old stones. Older than this world. Older than the stars. Older than you and I and our races. This tower was built with stones from Commoragh". The etching of his arrowhead seemed to break apart the wall and the bricks. Not by cracks in the masonry but by dark cracks in the walls of the world, of the universe. The Tau looked in horror as a mighty gateway appeared in the wall. They saw somthing open, something older and possessed with more bitterness than all the energy in their new empire. The walls seemed to reform themselves, twisted statues formed on either side of the door, of Eldredge shapes, their eyes covered in dark masks.

"It is a portal to the festering realm" spoke Obolis. "It is a realm of horror and evil and night. Whatever walks from that door will consume and destroy us all". The Tau were agape. However, their horror turned to awe when they saw what walked from the portal.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 22: a fury rarely seen

2010-02-27T09:12:00.001-08:00

She watched it in slow motion. The view cams on her robotic armored suit had captured the entire event and it had been a massacre. After the battle, when the sun had risen, she had rewound and watched it several times, slowing it down. There was no good in this. No greater good. No long term benevolence to be found here. To see warriors, any warriors, cut down like that was a horror. Humans were a lost people and they fought for a lost and wasted empire, and they didn't even know it, but even these people didn't deserve this kind of slaughter levied against them.

She recalled that the drop pod had landed with a suddenness that had surprised her. It had appeared out of the night sky like a fireball from the heaven. Her memory saw the screech of engines and the impact. She was well used to the Marines sending this kind of distraction behind her main firing line. A strategy to throw off the Fire Warriors. But this one had been a surprise because the massive armored beast that had come from within the pod had come directly for her. It had ignored the lightly armored warriors. A massive robot, an entombed parody of itself, had lunged from the rapid deployment vehicle. It's massive flame thrower spewing gouts of liquid fire toward her. The warning alarms sounded in her head as she and her bodyguard pulled from the flames, their jet packs taking them above the beast of a machine. Their protection drone absorbed the flame into its shield, overloaded and exploded. She pitched into the sky and the tower of flame moved to follow her. The smoke from the flame trailed from her suit as she arched upward. She moved through the dark sky returning toward the walker below. However, as she decended she saw that this new strategy had not fully played out. Above her more more units were descending. She tapped orders on her console for all forces to converge on her position. She reassigned all available units. Returning toward the earth she saw the crackle of a teleport event. The air riped apart and the huge forms of heavily armoured marines began to appear. Blue fire seemed to surround them. And as they appeared they began firing. The forms from above quickly reached the ground. More of her enemies with jet packs. As they dropped their weapons began sounding also. She turned toward her body guard and saw that he was readying his plasma rifle. And she did the same.

The Tau pulse rifle fires a solid rod of adamantuim along a charged rail. The charge forces the rods to reach sub atomic speeds as they move along the rail. The speed of the rods when they leave the barrel is such that can punch through most armor with ease. There are few barriers that oppose might of the larger rail guns. The many marines had begun firing before they hit the ground, however, within moments, virtually all her Fire Warriors had heeded her redeployment call, deploying from Devilfsh gunships, they were returning fire with a fury rarely seen. Rank upon rank of pulse rifle fire slew into the Marines, the rods punching through their armor like egg shells or scattering across the cracked pavement. The sound of the rods clattering to the pavement sounded like unbroken bottles bouncing on the ground. The marines were clustered about the large drop pod and their only cover was the flesh of their battle brothers. She watched as the cavalcade of fire tore into the Marines. One shot hit the jet pack an assault marines. One of the jets exploded, the other jet, now unbalanced launched the Marine in a tight arch headlong into the side of the drop pod. She watched another shot slice through two Marines who stood beside each other. They both slumped sideways, dead but still standing. They lent against each other in a grim embrace their brothers falling all around. The large form of a Devilfish caught her attention. It floated just behind a band of warriors, moving sideways. Its nose mounted Burst Cannon fired a rapid stream of slugs at the Marines. The hail of fire was brutal and cold and in the watching of it she regretted it.

The moments it had taken to slaughter the marines had seemed like an age to her. She watched the last of them back toward the pod. A slug hit him under his jaw and the Marine dropped after the back of his head hit the side of the pod. She directed her Fire Warriors to resume the advance shedding her cares for her foes. She archived the video file and uploaded the battle recording to her off site logistics drone. It was not often that she agreed with her Water kin but in this case she did. These humans should have abandoned the city days ago.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part 21: A knife fight in the dark

2010-02-12T20:44:00.000-08:00

In an urban combat environment any basement or bombed out lobby can become a command center. Partially collapsed buildings transform to become barricades and churches become medical centers. Everything is in flux and everything is in transit as the liquid of battle redrafts the landscape. Armies make their will upon the remains of what once was a city. Obris had made the burnt out remains of a kitchen his temporary command post about six hours ago. Large tables were arranged about the room. They once had been used to prepair the most lavish dishes and now they were covered in the ingrediance to prepair for war. Vid screens and data lines were strewn about and the occasonal ladel that had'nt been cast aside gave the appearance of a kitchen still in use. Groups of Firewarriors were moving about the room checking information that came in through dataports and making sure the information was conveyed correctly. A sync drone hovered above all the screens and monitors coordinating a the stream of information and acting as a mobile field computer. Thin holo sheens also hung down from the base of the drone like tenrils on a mechanical jellyfish projecing reports from the field. Parts of the strange floating object glowed like phosperessence. A couple of Fire Warriors were working on establishing a backup sync drone.

Obris watched on the screen the advance of a large force of human soldiers. Mostly on foot, the human column approached his position moving from building to building. Several walkers and mobile artillery peices supported the column of soldiers. The images and movement came from a team of Pathfinders. They were hidden in the the ruins about ten blocks away. They had been advancing ahead of his main column to detect this very thing. He turned as one of his friends walked in. The Tau that approached was much smaller than Obris. Even without Obris' Crisis Suit, Maturim, the approaching Tau, was small. He was a member of the Tau Water Caste and so he stood almost a head smaller, and much more slight in frame, than the bulk of any from the Fire Caste. Obris made sure that in every Pathfinder team he worked with as assigned a member of the Water Caste. While they couldn't shoot for shit the Water Caste's skill in cunning and manipulation was renound. He wanted smart Pathfinders, not just scouts. Maturm was this but was also his friend. They greeted eachother with a traditional head bow. Though they could never be bonded by rite, and though many frownded on the kinship, their friendship was great. It was forged from dozens of battles and long hours spent on either side of a Ness games in transit to war zones.

"The human column is moving into the last of the unoccupied parts of the city. By nightfall they will be within striking distance." said the small figure as they both turned to the screen.

"I don't enjoy the prospect of hitting them in the dark. I would prefer a straight up fight" said Obris.

"I don't doubt it my friend, but their eyes see the darkness too. We will each be at an equal disadvantage".

"Small comfort" Obris grimmased. He touched an icon on the screen, directing his Crisis Suits to take to the air. The sound of their jets starting up could be herd from beyond the door. "These hab blocks will be our objective I think. It'll be a ground game, take as many buildings as possible and force them back" He paused, considering the screen. "Building by building."

Maturm nodded "My preference is a knife fight in the dark".

"With only one knife~ in your hand" Obris chimed in turnning with a grin toward his cunning friend.

"All the better". They were quiet again watching the humans pick their way along the streets. The video feed looked grainey as the last of the light left the sky and the night vison feature kicked in.

"Take your team to this location" he pointed to a map on a secondary screen. "I'm going to lead the main advance, along here" he moved his finger along the screen. "If we can capture this, we should be able to halt their advance." They were distracted for a moment as the second drone came online, it whirled out of the hands of the Fire Warrior who had been working on it, lights flickering on. Obris snapped orders to the warriors in the room "Get this cleaned up. Send the drones to secure location 72A and get to your transports, we'll be in grips with the Imperials within the hour". The warriors started disconnecting the drones and gathering their gear. Obris nodded to his friend as they both started toward the door. Obris' suit stood ready outside. The Fire Warriors abandoned most of the gear, they took the drones but left all the cables and screens. From here they would have to rely on the two sync drones exclusively.

In the street outside darkness had fallen and the broken shapes of the surrounding city began to loom in the darkness like horrible husks. The occasional flash from a distant battle could be seen, quickly followed by the rumble of a far off explosion. The warriors paid no heed. Several Devilfish transports were either preparing for lift off or pulling away from the ground like large flying beetles lifting from the ground. Obris turned to his suit, the font open, ready to recieve him. As he approached the suit, sencing him, crouched down and extended its arm. He pulled himself up and the suit automatically began to close.

Maturim called from the ground "Keep your head down". Obris didn't respond but instread fixed a confident and stern eye on his friend as the suit sealed itself. Maturn turned toward the rest of his team. The four of them, lightly armed, began jogging off together in a seemingly opposite direction than the rest of the force. Their forms melting into the night. Maturm flicked on his marker light. Its green light shot like a knife into the dark night.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part seven: Inquisitor Nelthas requests an audience

2010-02-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

In the thrice sealed vault of his secret summoning chamber, Dolgath awaited the appearance of his old minions. In the brooding darkness and oppressive silence of the frigid chamber, the throbbing pain of his newly grafted facial flesh was his only companion. A purplish flickering and the distant sound of agony preceded their arrival. They were twins, a pair entwined in corruption. One was large and brutish, a mass of knotted muscle and overt malevolence that might make one underestimate the malign intellect that lurked beneath. The other was supple and wiry; a thing of tentacles and piercing eyes, its slight build concealed a frightening strength.

“Curse you…You treat us disrespectfully… ” They exclaimed in clashing unison.

Dolgath paused in silence, a hooded shape in the darkness. His anger grew like a thunderstorm over the deserts of Thaxus in spring. Daemonhost were always a tricky proposition, but these two he was familiar with. Over the centuries he had treated with The Twins on numerous occasions, yet they could never be taken for granted. Evil to the very core, they were a tool, nothing more; useful, but perilous.

“Oh? After ten long years I finally bestow unto you a succulent offering of new souls and the best you can do is complain!” Dolgath replied in contempt. “If there is any disrespect it is your pitiful performance executing these pathetic xenos?”

“They are bland, lacking in any juices worthy of sucking…” One complained.

“Their technology is confounding…” The other quipped.

“Really? Bland? Have you become so picky, then?” Dolgath queried.

“Their souls are tepid, thin, lacking in psychic marrow…” The first stated.

“Robbed, manipulated, cursed, the most succulent ones were culled by the Star Vampires long ago…” They both concluded.

“Hmm… Interesting…” Dolgath said.

The wall-mounted vox link chirped. “Lord Dolgath, Inquisitor Nelthas requests an audience with you at your earliest convenience,” the synthesized voice of his adjutant Rykien spat. Dolgath paused in thought for a moment and then moved toward the door.

“You are free to remain or depart as you wish, but do not go far as I expect I may need your services in the near future…” Dolgath spoke to the Daemonhost as he started to exit the chamber.

“They perplex you, do they not?” They both commented in unison.

Dolgath pause only for a moment in the doorway. As he stepped through the massive lead-lined portals, they sealed behind him accompanied by the infernal snickering of the Daemonhosts...

Lost in thought, Dolgath made his way slowly through the dark and frigid corridors of the under-ship. The old battle cruiser was ancient even when his tutor had first taken mastery of her. As Math’s last apprentice, Dolgath took custody of the massive ship lacking any protest from Math’s other alumni. Of Math’s apprentices who achieved Inquisitor-ship, he knew positively that only three remained active besides himself. However, the existence of nine more were unconfirmed positively or negatively.

The Subjugator was a salvage that much he knew. She was heavily damaged and gutted sometime after the brutal struggle of the Horrus Heresy, but she had the spine and prow that marked her as a ship of the modern era. She was old, millennia old, and somehow her legacy remained mysterious. Yet she was solid, Dolgath felt it as he walked her decks. No taint of Chaos had ever touched her. He often admired the detail carved into nearly every railing and bulkhead. Her makers and crew had lavished untold lifetimes of love and dedication into every square centimeter of her. Brass, Ceramite, and Adamantine, that was the skin, muscles and bones of the old girl. Arriving at the main deck, Dolgath hopped aboard a shuttle lift that sped him down the central spine of the ship allowing him to oversee some of the vast launch and ordinance bays that occupied the bulk of the ship’s displacement.

As he arrived at his private quarters, he was caught somewhat unprepared for the amount of bad news he was to receive. Rykien stood by his desk, undoubtedly he was there to update him on the deportment of the battle that he was already personally very much aware of (he touched the raw new flesh of his skin grafts on his forehead). His old friend Techmarine Tullius was also present, for which he could only assume the Adeptus Astartes had failed in another mission… These, Tau, were becoming annoying indeed!

Dolgath slowly eased himself down behind his desk before accepting the reports of Rykien and Tullius. It was all old news. He knew he was on the defensive. When had he not been, in any dealing with his old nemesis, Sylax. Dolgath dismissed Tullius knowing the crack Techmarine would deport himself admirable in any circumstance. He also dismissed Ryrien knowing his adjutant relished any chance to demonstrate his usefulness. What remained for Dolgath were his trusted Sages and Mystics. They gathered around his desk offering various arcane possibilities, some of which he had considered, and some that were beyond consideration…

The appearance of Inquisitor Nelthas and her retinue resplendent in old time baroque Inquisition panorama was a somewhat expected event, yet in reality it was rather more than he was prepared for! Dolgath had served the Inquisition for over three centuries, in that time he had seen many strange things, few surpassed the entourage of Inquisitor Nelthas in its full glory. He was grateful for the substantial and intimidating bulk of his antique desk to shelter him from the full onslaught that faced him.

A small hoard of servitors preceded her, freakish amalgamations of the elegant and the grotesque, one might spy a gilded skull surmounted by golden wings, next to an aborted fetus half infiltrated by Mechanicus implants. Pale faced, zombie-looking, Imperial Guardsmen in antiquated issue uniforms marched stiffly into his chamber and stood at attention in prelude to the Inquisitor’s appearance.

Inquisitor Nelthas glided forward accompanied by a dozen enigmatic black-robed figures that moved with a notably inhuman grace. She was a spectacle unto herself. Three meters tall of rare fabrics, cybernetic apparatus, and Imperial grandeur all coming together in a towering display of excess. Dolgath eased himself slowly into his command chair with what he hoped was a display of unconcern. Nelthas literally floated forward, he could see no evidence of conventional feet actually touching the ground as she moved. She came to a halt in front of his desk, robed in multiple layers of the finest fabrics, what struck him the most was her face – obscured by a psychomorphic mask suspended by an intricate wire-frame support network, it was as pure and white as the finest porcelain, yet as he watched the surface would change ever so slightly… It smiled at him!

“Having trouble with the Tau,” she quipped in a voice resonating on multiple levels.

Oh, yes, she was going to be an interesting one… Dolgath thought.

New Boston Area Map at 4.1

2010-02-10T13:08:00.000-08:00

New Boston at 4.1

2010-02-10T13:03:00.001-08:00

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part six: Not be easily manipulated

2010-02-09T22:08:00.000-08:00

The recent battle report by the young commissar, Baddenbach, was terse and colorless, yet he felt much more lurked below the surface, restrained by ropes of self control taught and ready to snap. She was the commissar for D company of the 5th Kelten Rifles. The Keltens were a relatively new addition to his personal retinue. After the attrition of his trusted 99th Death Korps of Krieg Panzer Regiment over a decade ago, he had a need to replenish his fighting strength. The 5th Kelten Rifles first came to his attention after the siege of Zucklon Three. They were the only regiment that had detected the enemy’s counter offensive in time to form a viable defense. Despite the fact of taking the brunt of a full armored spearhead, the regiment deported itself admirably. Yet the Keltens had sustained heavy losses and were due to be rotated out of active service from the 7th Obscurus Expeditionary Brigade.

Dolgath was attending the siege of Zucklon Three in an advisory capacity by the request of one, Inquisitor Treyquill, of the Ordo Hereticus. Treyquill was a strange bird, an old acquaintance from his youth in university, recalling Treyquill’s excessive ways Dolgath could not imagine how he ended up in the Ordo Hereticus or in the Inquisition at all for that matter… Why he recommended Dolgath’s attendance at the siege of Zucklon Three was unclear; there were no traces of warp influence in the defection of the planetary government. Yet Dolgath’s presence was a boon to his reputation in the face of the puritans who might wish his removal, and his presence at the deactivation of the Keltens was extremely fortuitous – or perhaps ordained as Rykien suggested – in any case Dolgath agreed to steward the survivors of the regiment aboard his battle cruiser until they could receive reinforcements to return them to active battle strength. Through his influence, Dolgath insured that the 5th Kelten Rifles never returned to full combat status, thereby insuring that they would be available to aid ongoing Ordos operations while under Dolgath’s custody…

How this sat with the Kelten command or the troops in general was an open question. Regimental Commander, Colonel Strauss, was a cagy old campaigner. Dolgath had several formal diners and numerous less formal meetings with him and could still not gage the man. Distinguished, eloquent, unflappable, were a few adjectives he might throw at the old Colonel, yet they somehow were insufficient. Dolgath had the sense that the Colonel was one of the greats gone unrecognized; someone who could easily stand beside the likes of Macharious or Creed. Such a thing was both a boon and a curse; on the one hand, Dolgath had a brilliant commander at his disposal, on the other he had a man who could not be easily manipulated. In any case, the capture and defense of the Chapel of Fallen Heroes by the 5th Kelten Rifles was swift and certain. In fact the expertise and ease in which they deported themselves might even be considered superior to the performance of his old favored Krieg regiment. Watching commissar Baddenbach depart, he was as impressed by her backside as much as her front. He made a note at the next battle to deploy in person to asses the deportment of this new impressive Kelten regiment.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Twenty: I am of Water

2010-01-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

Colonel Strauss walked from the open door of his personal transport vehicle followed by his command team. His Executive Officer followed not far behind him murmuring suggestions and ideas as they walked. Several nervous foot soldiers followed,lasguns held high and at the ready, as the party crossed the blasted out square where Summerset and Beacon Streets met. This intersection was framed by smashed buildings, debris was scattered around the remains of a statue. And several burned out civilian vehicles still smoldered from the bombardment only days ago. Large columns of smoke rose beyond the square and in the distance the rattle of bolter fire could be heard. The Colonel seemed not to hear his Executive as he walked. This was not for the sound of war but the thoughts in his own head. His face was set hard and focused on the task before him. Behind him one could observe the turret of the command APC rotating, the crewman scanning the scene ahead.

Before the Colonel, on the other side of the square, stood several large shapes. Three massive robotic forms stood in the street ahead. Their white and orange carapaces towered three times the height of a man. Their shoulder mounted weapons scanned the street. Massive jetpacks formed the bulk of their mass and huge carapaces dominated their forms. Green robotic eyes scanned the Chimera APC and the approaching humans. In front of the large robotic forms stood a solitary Tau. He wore a simple garb. A tan jacket, fastened with silver buttons. He wore light close cropped leggings, in the Tau style. His head was exposed to the air and his dark hair was formed into several long tails that hung to his waist. His face seemed to be expressionless. When the Colonel neared the Tau's mouth approximated a human smile.

"Colonel, it is so good to finally meet you in person" the Tau spoke in flawless Imperial Gothic which startled the guardmen. "I have listened to your many patriotic broadcasts to your troops. Very stirring". The Colonel frowned. He was uncomfortable with this alien addressing him so casually.

"What is it that you want alien? You requested this meeting" he said through his teeth. Again the Tau appeared to smile.

"I appreciate you taking the time in the midst of war to parley with me." The alien's arms opened in a welcoming gesture. His hands, three fingers a piece, open, palm up. "You and I stand here at the beginning. When the flint in the tinder box is about to light a spark. At this moment we can douse that spark before it becomes a fire, an inferno." He paused for a moment. "I am of Water. It is my task to extinguish the Fire." The colonel looked puzzled. "They are of Fire" the Tau motioned to the behemoths behind him. "Sometimes Water extinguishes Fire and sometimes Fire destroys Water. This is as it should be and as it is in the greater good. The Casts vie for influence and respect the outcome. Are you of Water sir?" Strauss rubbed his chin and glanced at his Executive Officer.

"I am not of water or of fire but of the will of His most benevolence. The Immortal Emperor of guides my hand. I think you come to me and talk of water because of the Fire Warriors that lay dead at the Temple of St Aspira. You talk of water when only ten blocks to the east a host of your warriors pursue a retreating column." One could hear the anger in the officer's voice.

"Indeed, I talk of Water because I am of Water. I alone can not stop the fire. I am here to give you the opportunity to step from the flames. You should abandon this city. Abandon this world." The Colonel's eyes widened. "Tell your followers to withdraw from the city. You know that a Tau armada approaches and though you may win this day or tonight or tomorrow, you can not stand against the Fire that descends on you from above. Today, in this city, we are evenly matched, evenly supplied. But once the Air arrives you will be swept aside. Take this time now to evacuate. Take your families and leave now while you can. We will let you leave~ or at least the ones who wish to."

"You called me here to suggest retreat?" the Colonel snorted in disgust. "You think we would abandon the field?" He turned on his heel and strode back to the transport, his escort backing away.

The Tau called out to the Colonel in a calm and knowing voice. "I look forward to your next broadcast Colonel. I hope you will consider my offer. A white flag should be your symbol."

The Dolgath Legacy part 5: Inquisitor Nelthas has arrived

2010-01-24T08:06:00.001-08:00

Dolgath had nearly missed the arrival of Inquisitor Nelthas. He stood leaning forward, his face nearly pressed against the icy armor glass of the massive view port of his stateroom. Her ship was barely light cruiser-class, a sleek and stealthy transport of a type he had never seen before. Reverse-engineered Xenos technology, that’s what the Ordo Xenos were known for. Fast too, the arriving ship zipped into his ventral docking clamps so quickly he hardly had a chance to view it. Dagger-like, one might almost think Dark Eldar, yet it lacked the ostentatious sharp blades of the evil Eldar craft. A matt black hull like the space between stars, it had a shark-like appearance that even suggested the Tyranids, yet that was impossible…

Returning to his command chair, he eased himself down behind his huge, antique, ebony desk, an heirloom from his tutor, the legendary, Inquisitor Math. Whenever he sat behind it, Dolgath felt the weight of his old master and his unending drive for discovery. Math might very well have been better suited for the Ordo Xenos, Dolgath thought, his insatiable intellect craved mysteries, yet the ones he sought were blasphemy to the Inquisition at large. The mysteries of the warp were prescribed by their very nature to the bulk of the order, yet Math persevered in the face of constant opposition and frequent hostile antagonism from the Puritans. Math was truly ancient when Dolgath first came into his service. Over a thousand years old was the general claim whenever Dolgath asked about his master’s age. Math had trained hundreds of acolytes in his career, Dolgath had an ongoing project to track down all of Lord Math’s minions, this was clearly an extensive task, yet the one thing that he knew for certain was that he, Dolgath, was Math’s final apprentice.

Dolgath’s adjutant, Rykien, annoyingly appeared right when he was expected; only a young female in the black and crimson battle dress common to the commissariat, gave a hint that something else trailed in his wake.

“Inquisitor Nelthas has arrived. She and her retinue are being accorded our finest accommodations. Felicitations from Techmarine Tullius, fuel resources are now being shunted from the north-eastern port facilities to our troops in the all of the northern sectors. Also see Restricted Intelligence Report, codenamed: Iron Father. The Fifth Kelten Rifles have now been dispatched planet side and are engaged in entrenching positions in central New Boston,” Rykien stated flatly.

Dolgath stared at him blankly, then at the Commissar standing behind him. One of her arms was is a sling and an old bandage covered the right side of her face. In addition to that, her raven hair and piercing grey eyes demanded attention.

“Commissar…” Dolgath queried.

Both Rykien and the Commissar looked at him questioningly.

Dolgath looked pointedly at Rykien. “You are excused.”

The Dolgath Legacy part 4: The Last Ride of Cicero

2010-01-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

Cicero, Chaplain of the 7th Company of the Brass Dragons legion was furious. The first marine contingent allowing the Chapel of the Emperor’s Succor to fall into xenos hands was unconscionable. He demanded to lead a second lightning assault against the Tau invaders personally. Dolgath counseled patience, his hand-picked Imperial Guard forces would soon be entrenched in defensible positions in the heart of New Boston, but the indignant Chaplain would have none of it. He spat his distain for the common human soldiers into Dolgath’s face. Dolgath had personally faced bloodthirsty daemons of the warp that were less intimidating than Cicero was at that moment. Dolgath could do naught but concede to the Chaplain’s demands. The Adeptus Astartes were the one Imperial organization over which the Inquisition held no authority. Dealing with the space marines was always a tricky proposition; tasking was perhaps too strong a word, one could request their aid, but the Legion Astartes commanders decided were, when and in what strength they would deploy – if they deployed at all.

Dolgath watched from the observation dome as Cicero and his bike squadron roared up the ramp into the hold of their drop ship. He had a suspicion that this would be the last he would see of the hot-headed Chaplain or his brave bike marines. As the drop ship fell away, Dolgath caught a brief panoramic view of the planet Cheimon spinning below them with the sun cresting red on the verge of the horizon. As the drop hatch sealed once again with an echoing clang, the launch deck of his battle cruiser was surprisingly quite and empty, the bulk of his forces having already been dispatched planet-side. He was expending valuable resources on this operation, Dolgath only hoped it would pay dividends with any future Ordos conclaves he might find himself summoned to…

Dolgath’s brooding thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Rykien at his side. His adjutant handed him a data slate and proceeded to brief him, with his characteristic over-enthusiasm, before even allowing Dolgath to read it. “Ground intelligence has determined that the xenos gained control of the north-eastern port docking facilities without a struggle. This can only indicate insider complicity. We may now surmise that the Tau invaders have human supporters within New Boston.”

“Sylax,” grumbled Dolgath once again.

“Intelligence also indicates that the xenos will now use the port facilities to shunt fuel to their forces in the southern sectors. Tactical analysis indicates that an orbital strike on the port facilities will deny the fuel resources to the enemy,” Rykien stated.

Dolgath frowned sideways at his adjutant then pointed to the map of New Boston on the data slate. “Or, we could take control of the fuel distribution center here, thereby denying the fuel to the enemy without destroying the asset for our own use.” Dolgath shoved the data slate back into Rykien’s hands. “What we need now is someone with some good sense. Get Techmarine Tullius on the narrow-band encrypted-com and have him set up a firebase at this location.”

The only surviving witness to the last ride of Chaplain Cicero was the dreadnaught, Quintus. Even in the midst of launching his own assault against the port control facility, the remains of the 2000 year old space marine sealed into an adamantine support sarcophagus observed the charge of the bike squadron through his rear optics. With cold detachment he witnessed bike after bike brought down by the hail of xenos guns. Yet through the cloud of smoke and blood emerged Chaplain Cicero, his Crozius cracking with golden energy, single-handedly slaughtering an entire squad of xenos before being brought low by withering fire. The ancient marine recorded the event with no more feeling than registering the sudden loss of his seismic hammer from high-velocity fire as he lumbered toward the control tower. His mission, as always, was to destroy; crushing the enemy in his massive hydraulic grip was the only thing now that conferred a hint of being alive; and even that was fading with each passing century. After the battle, Quintus would ensure that the body of Chaplain Cicero was recovered for internment into his own adamantine sarcophagus.

Xenos bodies littered the ground surrounding the fortified fuel distribution center. Techmarine Tullius ignored them as he carefully sidestepped the arcing plasma discharges of the over-charged portable power generator and focused with keen interest on the smoking remains of the Tau battle suits. Their technology was intriguing, he thought. Excellent targeting systems, admirable mobility, more than adequate defensive capabilities, yet they were fragile. His conclusion was swift and certain, the underlying biological components were insufficient to match the mechanical structures. As a successor chapter to the revered Iron Hands Legion, the Brass Dragons shared some of their progenitor’s attitudes towards the flesh. Even the space marine’s fantastically enhanced physiology was considered by them to be inferior to cybernetics. This observation of the xenos technology merely confirmed it the techmarine’s augmented eyes. He would report his findings to the Iron Father.

In his luxurious stateroom aboard the Subjugator, Inquisitor Dolgath lounged in his command chair in front of the vast arched view-port basked in the ruddy sunlight reflected from the massive sphere of Cheimon below. He set aside the reports of the latest engagement and pressed the summoning key on the arm of his chair. Two curious wizened figures shuffled into the room pausing at a respectable distance awaiting Dolgath to speak. They were his sages, twins or clones he wasn’t sure which, both interconnected at the cranium by a snake’s nest of wires and cables.

“We have a conundrum, my old friends,” Dolgath said at last.

“The Tau are a mildly interesting species, yet hardly a conundrum,” the sages replied simultaneously.

Dolgath shook his head in annoyance. “Not the Tau, you silly ducks, Sylax. The xenos are merely a diversion, a tool to be used and then discarded by Sylax. Our old nemesis is here on this planet, New Boston to be specific.”

The sages looked at each other, their beady eyes brightening with the prospect of applying their combined intellect to a new puzzle. “There is something here that he wants.”

“Something old,” said one.

“Something hidden,” said the other.

“Something forgotten,” said the first.

“Something forbidden…” they both concluded.

Dolgath just smiled as he eased himself back into his chair. There was something good about being back on the hunt…

New Boston at the end of campaign 3.1

2010-01-18T16:28:00.000-08:00

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 3: Strange Xenos

2010-01-18T07:53:00.001-08:00

Sylax… grumbled Dolgath. Ever the master manipulator, the Confessor had a particular talent for twisting the motivations of others and coxing them to do his dirty work unknowingly. In an attempt to thwart the Tau invasion force that Sylax had duped into assaulting this planet, Dogath had hastily tasked an Adeptus Astartes spearhead to intercept them. Strange that the xenos would choose a chapel of the Emperor as their objective, thought Dolgath. Neither the Eldar nor the Orks would have given the sacred human edifice a second thought, but these Tau, they understood the psychological impact of such things. Or perhaps that was Sylax’s doing as well…

The account of the nighttime engagement given by the senior marine survivor, Venerable Dreadnaught Proxamo, revealed the superior capabilities of the xenos elite jump-units. Early success against the Tau heavy tanks was not sufficient to deny them the objective. Astartes tactics would need to be reevaluated before the next engagement. Hopefully the space marines would hold out until his trusted Imperial Guard forces could be moved into place. Why New Boston, Dolgath pondered. Sylax, my old friend, why are you here…

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Ninteen: the Emperors Succor

2010-01-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

Anemos' jump engines subsided. The whine of the engines cooled as the turbines slowed down. They sounded almost like the moan of a animal. In the darkness of the night the cloven 'toes' of her suits' feet hit the cement as the engines lowered her to the street. The massive bulk of her suit kicked up stones, scattering into the darkness. She had landed right outside the Chapel of the Emperors Succor. A tall tower dominated the surrounding city blocks. She paused for a second looking beyond the still intact tower. To one side of the tower gouts of fire erupted from beyond her field of vision. They lit up the ruins of the surrounding buildings like a brilliant truth when told lighting a barren mind. The burning wreck of a Devilfish reminded her that the first incursion with the defenders of New Boston was not going entirely as she would have liked. She glanced to her right spotting a clumsy Imperial tank, smoke billowing from a forward exhaust port. As she had crossed the square she had blasted one of the vehicle's exhaust ports. The smoke obscured her approach and though she knew the tank was only momentarily stunned, she too the opportunity to cross the square and force the old door of the chapel. Were one looking behind her, as the large bulk of her form crossed the threshold, striding through the doorway, one might have seen the large forms of Boradside suits crouching in the ruins across the square. Their targeting lights scanning the darkness seeking a target. All about the massive forms scoop helmeted Tau warriors picked through the darkness.

All was not dark within the church. As her massive form pushed through the doorway several human figures, in different places throughout the dimly lit worship chamber, turned from various tasks. One seemed to be praying, a couple more stood by a brazier burning documents, a third at the window with a rifle. They seemed almost oblivious to the battle outside. To them she must have seemed like a monster from the Dark Age of Technology. The white of her suit, its glowing green servo lights, the accented orange of her Sept made a stunning sight. The large rotating barrel of her Cyclic Ion gun sweeping the room might have killed everyone in it had she fired. As she strode into the chamber, her large form knocking over tables and splintering worship benches, one of the several human figures approached her. The sound of an explosion outside seemed to fill the room and from one of the narrow windows a clatter of light lit the room for a moment.

The green shrouded human drew itself up to its full height and flung back its hood. The woman who stood before Anemos had white hair, features befitting one of the Emperors most faithful, and beneath her robes could be seen the armor of a warrior. Her hand was on her pistol. The woman, in her dark robe, was like a shadow against the massive form of Anemos' Crisis Suit. The two woman confronted each other, each proud, one towering over the other, the battle raging outside.

"Are you Anemos?" asked the human. She didn't wait for an answer. "I am Sister Sylvie of the Order of the Cloistered Heart." There was an urgency punctuated by the sound ofBolter fire outside. "I represent Sylax and speak in his name." Anemos's translation unit converted the speech inside the cavity of the suit. Sylvie looked up at the massive suit, its green "eye" staring down. The robot seemed to be frozen. After a moment a small tune seemed to issue from the suit. It heralded the activation of the communication. AsAnemos spoke the suit translated her speech into a faulting Imperial Gothic.

"We express appreciation to your master for disabling the security grid. He will be witness to the greater good. Where is he?" The tone sounded again as the mic turned off.

"He is absent. We have been w..." She was cut off mid sentence by another explosion. A huge crack appeared in the wall. One of the statues toppled. Sylvie ducked, gaping at the fragility of the old chapel. The speaker tone sounded from the still motionless suit.

"Bring him to the Balls Pier. We have communication ships returning to orbit at any time. The greatness of the Tau can not protect him while he roams this city." Sylvie looked about. Her patriots were still busily burning documents. 'How could Dolgath have found us again?' she thought to herself. So distant from Mordia and their old paths.

Sylvie spoke again. "We will co..." her words were cut off. Within the suit Anemos had been watching her 'heads up' display. A maze of tangled and overlapping neon and computerized screens and information displays. The sensors on her Stealth teams were being relayed to her. She had been watching Jasti and Rethlian's teams move in and out of a building beyong the chapel. A video feed was relayed straight from the stealth team. They were laying down suppressing fire at several teams of Space Marines crouched in the cover of their destroyed vehicle right outside the door. A request for assistance had flashed over her com. In a instant, and Sylvie's mid sentence, Anemos activated the engines again. The suit burst up into the air, the heat haze shimmering beneath the angelic form. The suit went from inanimate statue to a whirl of arms and legs moving. Sylvie stepped back shielding her face, her cloak storming about her. The twin plasma guns on the suit flashed with a blue light as they powered up and rotated into position. The suit rose. The Ion gun's barrels started spinning. The legs and arms of the suit moved int an aerodynamic position. As Anemos powered up she sent a message to the Pathfinders and Fire Warriors holding the green line from where she had come. "Move up and secure the chapel". And then swiftly she veered forward and smashed through a window toward the top of the room head first. The stained glass head shattered easily. Sylvie watched the glass spin down like a thousand stars through the night.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Eighteen: Do not fear me my daughter

2010-01-02T22:38:00.001-08:00

Sylvie could remember it clearly. It was so long ago. So many years now. At the time, when she had awoken that morning, she never perceived that her life would change so much that day. There were so many days that she could have marked as the one that charted her new life. It could have been the day she fled her cloistered home with Yanaloo. Or perhaps it could have been the day she succumbed to the Dark Eldar's guile. Perhaps the day she made a pact with the master of this shanty town, Ozzymandus. But the day she began her path back to the Inquisition, that day in the heart of the underhive, the day that she began her aprentiship, began with Sylax.

She had lived in the slums of Modia Prime's spires for years now. She had fled with her lover, was cursed by her sisters, and pursued by her old mentors. As they walked past the old agitator mills, deep in the hive slums, on that day, about a half a mile from their hole, Yanaloo had noticed it first. Her dark eldar eyes saw the flash of gun metal first and like a cat sensing trouble she paused. Yanaloo wore a hooded robe to conceal her elvish features and pale skin. As soon as she sensed trouble her hood came off revealing her sickly beauty, dark coarse hair, and black eyes. Tattoos. She was looking up toward one of the towers alongside the mills. She could sense their stalker hiding in the tower above. Sylvie looked toward the tower also but was unable to see anything. A gunshot rang out from far above but the bullet was too slow for the wytch. Yanaloo deftly moved and with a strong arm nestled Sylvie out of the way of the incoming shot. The snipers bullet passed by. It kicked up dirt some distance from them.

They were both running, firing in to the darkness of the night city. Other shots rang out from the darkness as their hidden pursuer's cross hairs followed them. They took shelter between several pillars that held a combine tank above them. The shots fell silent. Sylvie's breathing came hard.

"I don't understand, we're deep in Ozzymandus' territory, we're protected here" she cast the words from her mouth as she drew breath.

"It seems the tretchery of the gangs is more pliable than we relied on." The dark wytch spoke, not appearing to be engaged by the labor of their flight at all. "Perhaps your Nurse has returned to claim you once again."

"Perhaps". Sylvie stole a look beyond the pylons that sheltered them. A shot rang out and she retreated. She cast her gaze about frantically. "Who else would send an assassin to us".

"There are many I can imagine, many foes walk this city" said the elf. As she spoke the two were startled to see a figure appear from the darkness within the same cover that sheltered them. Both women raised their stubguns but the figure spoke before they could fire them.

"Do not fear my children" the voice was old, yet familiar. "Yanaloo, Sylvie, you both a precious to me".

"Then state your name, who is it that hunts us today?" Sylvie asked. As the old man approached his bearded and deep lined face came into view. His silvery eyes inspected them. He wore a simple blue cloak and carried nothing save a simple walking stick.

"I am Sylax, a friend to both of you." he paused. "Yanaloo, I first met you deep in the goblin pits when you were cast low. I saved you and consoled you." The dark girls eyes cast a look of remembrance.

"I remember you Confessor. I remember you pulled me from the goblin pits." Yanaloo Snarled recalling the utter defeat of that day.

Sylax then continued her sentence. "All true. And you will recall that I took you to my cloistered sisters far out in the wastes of Mordian. There, as you know, you met Sylvie and the both of you cast away in rebellion. Cast away to the great city here. You must know that the great Archon Actev Nu cast you down. He thrown you out of his halls. Made you fight goblins for sport. It has been long since you carried the title of Succubi and walked the great arenas of Commoragh".

"It is true" she replied in hateful pitiful sorry.

"And you Sylvie, do you really believe that Ozzymandus gives you protection here because his eye favors you. No. It is I who hold back your pursuers. It is I who has given you the freedom to walk these shanty towns and grim cities." Sylvie's eyes became hard. She had known much of preachers and confessors and feared a return to the convent and the penance of the Nurse.

"If your words are true then who hunts us now? Who fires at us now?"

"Your pursuer works for one who is beyond my power to control. There are those that seek to unravel my plans and know your part in my designs more than yourselves". The confessor cast an eye toward the waiting assassin.

"Actev Nu?" gasped Yanaloo.

"No. The great Archon cares nothing for me and my designs. All our debts are settled. Though he has given me this key." The Confessor held out what appeared to be thin branches of a tree. Not more than twigs between his fingers. Three small silver buds held fast to the twigs. The Confessor broke one of the buds from the branch and cast it to the ground, muttering beneath his beard. The bud hit the stones and broke into petals that seemed to grow and swirl about. The petals grew and spun as if blown by a wind. Their color becoming a full white from budding green. As they swirled they revealed a magical stair down into the darkness. "The Actev Nu has taught me the ways through the webway. And when the mood strikes him or it suits his purposes he gives me the keys. Now, be quick, the agent that fires upon you will not wait long, he will swiftly descend to complete his grim assignment at close quarters." Without a hesitation Yanaloo lept from the shadows into the magical passageway that the petals had formed. Sylvie looked into the eyes of the Confessor with suspicion. "Do not fear me my daughter, for you sprung from my loins and while you breath I shall protect you with all the devices I have."

Sylvie's eyes widened and she swallowed her hesitation and entered into the gate.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 2: An unforeseen appearance

2010-01-02T21:03:00.000-08:00

The message delivered by the Vindicare assassin was as unexpected as his unforeseen appearance at Dolgath’s home base on the remote death world of Octalloron. Rather than a warrant of Excommunicatus as he was anticipating, the messenger bore an urgent formal Inquisition request for his services in thwarting a xenos incursion in a nearby sector. It seems the Ordo Xenos was caught unprepared with little to no resources in the region. Dolgath was a Daemonhunter and had little interest in matters Xenos, yet the fact that they had contacted him showed how desperate they were. And more telling, the fact that they had been aware of his location, but had made no attempt to apprehend or otherwise contact him over the years, he found perplexing. Either they had considered him too great a threat to confront, or too irrelevant to bother with…

In any case, Dolgath recognized an opportunity when he saw it. Solving the Ordo Xenos’ urgent problem would earn him dividends with the Inquisition in the long run. His contact would be Lord Nelthas, an Ordo Xenos Inquisitor he knew by reputation only; smart but unimaginative – as most of the Ordo Xenos tended to be. Thus Dolgath gave the order. His ship, the Subjugator, a converted Mars Class battle cruiser, which had been in hiding riding in antipode lunar orbit for the better part of twenty years, its systems and crew in hibernation mode, suddenly awoke.

It would take the Subjugator several weeks for its systems and crew to come fully on line. In the mean time, Dolgath turned his attention to his new objective. Two kilometers below the surface of Octalloron in the hidden inner sanctum of the temple of Arcana, Dolgath gathered his henchmen and turned his attention to the problem at hand. Rykien, his adjutant, had the Imperial data base on the Tau displayed on the central pictscreen. The Ordo Xenos classified them as an unenlightened, upstart race, yet they clearly possessed superior technological capabilities in several areas. Dolgath seldom made the mistake of underestimating his enemies. Despite their psychically dead status the Tau were never-the-less an interesting opponent. All sentient races were known to posses some latent psychic potential, this Dolgath knew, a race completely lacking in psychic potential suggested one thing – interference. Yet Dolgath needed more. After a moment of apprehension, he slotted his Rosarius into the cogitator and sent his coded access request to the Inquisition’s restricted data core…

The Cheimon Sphere Expansion, that’s what his new adversaries named it. Massitonia was the proper Imperial name for the region centered on the planet Trachis first settled in the great age of expansion, but since fallen into obscurity as a remote, unimportant outpost at the edge of Imperial space. Strange that it all of a sudden became a planet of importance to the Ordo Xenos, thought Dolgath. Stranger still that this planet was flagged in his own personal database as a planet marked as a possible location keyed to his old nemesis, Confessor Sylax. Two birds with one stone… Dolgath sent a second order: all Imperial forces at his command were designated to full combat status.

Objective: Cheimon Sector, Planet Trachis, New Boston.

Campaign rules

2009-12-24T17:16:00.000-08:00

Introduction.
This is a map campaign designed to be simple yet create an interesting narrative. The setting is New Boston. This is a city on the Imperial world of Trachis located on the edge of Tau Space. The latest Tau expansion, named Cheimon Sphere Expansion will begin here. This is in no small part because off the efforts of an Imperial Arch Confessor named Sylax. Shunned by many in the Imperium, and sought after by Inquisitor Dolgath, Sylax is known to make deals with alien races in order to secure his own survival. Since being cast out of the great pirate city of Commoragh, where he dwelt beyond time for many decades, he has recently concealed himself as a preacher in New Boston. Sensing his old foeDolgath closing in, Sylax has conspired with Tau agents, deactivating key defences systems, he has readied New Boston to become a foothold for the Tau invasion. The Tau seeSylax as yet another symptom of the Imperium's cancer. They care little for his machinations. However, they are prepared to partner with this human rouge in order to further their plans. As the Tau invasion force arrives in the sectorSylax and his adepts have organized for a expeditionary Cadre of Tau forces to take the City of New Boston. It will then become a safe landing ground for the massive invasion force which is baring down on the planet.

Dolgath, sensing a chance to finally capture his nemisis in the open, has assembled a task group of Marines and Imperial Guard to oppose the Tau forces and hopefully capture his foe. The campaign begins at dawn the morning after the initial bombardment of New Boston by the Tau expeditionary craft. The smoking city is in ruin. Both battle groups are poised to move into the city. If the city can be held byDolgath's Patriotic defenders then the Cheimon Sphere Expansion will stop before it has begun. If the City falls to the Tau and the heretic Sylax then the invasion force will have an easy beachhead from which to claim their first prize.

Campaign.
This campaign will be a street by street, block by block battle for New Boston. The full Tau invasion force arrives in three or four days. If the Tau expeditionary force (andSylax) hold a majority of the city when the invasion forces arrives then they will have established a landing zone for the forces. Dolgath and his task group must prevent this by holding onto the city so that when the Tau forces arrive they will have no safe and defend-able place to make landfall. Each Campaign Turn is represented by a 12 hour period. It is reasonable that if unopposed advancing forces will advance 1,000 feet into the shattered ruins of New Boston each turn.

Rules.
1. Each side shall have four armies (2000 points each) on the campaign map. Each army will be represented by an "arrow" that will grow 1,000 feet every campaign turn. The arrow will show the path of travel through the city for the army.
1.a. Army lists must be generated ahead of time.
1.b. Each army should begin where a bridge or shaded pier meets the land (not a rail line) on the map. Shaded piers to not count for victory points.
2. Each campaign turn players will alternate advancing each "arrow" 1000 feet (2/3s of an inch). At the end of each turn, once all arrows have been moved, an alternating player will write the campaign turn report for the campaign blog, provided a 40k battle occurred in that turn.
3. The map is divided into "City Blocks". He who controls of a majority of city blocks will be the victor of the campaign. The way to determine control of a city block is to draw a line that connects all the outer most points of the arrows (start and end) into a circuit. Any blocks that entirely fall within this closed circuit are said to be "controlled" by those forces. Each shaded block is worth one campaign victory point.
4. When two arrows come within an 500 feet of each other they will meet at a mid point between the two and a 40k battle will occur.
4.a. The player that moved their arrow into contact with another arrow is the "attacker".
4.b. Cityfight missions from Cities of Death will be used. Unless guided by proximity to special city blocks roll a random mission from Cities of Death mission 1 through 5.
4.c. At the start of each Campaign turn each player rolls D3 and may take that many stratagems for the campaign turn. They should chose their stratagems at the start of their 40k games before deployment. They may also take additional stratagems if the city blocks they hold allow it.
5. At the conclusion of the 40k battle a downtime will occur. At this time the defeated player must retreat d3x100 feet directly away from the Victor's arrow point.
5.a. Units that are wiped out are removed from the campaign. Units that are injured or falling back at the end of a game must roll their majority save to be retained for the next battle.
5.b. Experience rules listed in Warhammer 40k will be used.
6. As each turn represents a 12 hour period. The campaign begins at dawn and so each odd campaign turn should be played with nightfight rules. At the start of each "nighttime game" roll a d6. On a roll of one the first turn is of the 40k game is played during the day(dusk), on a roll of 6 the last turn is played during the day(dawn), and any other roll the entire game is played at night (so get some spotlights!).
7. City Blocks listed below yield benefits to campaign play and 40k play.

City Blocks.
Wards
The city of New Boston is divided into a number of wards. Each ward number fully enclosed within an army's territory is worth five points.

Places of Worship and Schools (C, P)
Places of worship are often seen to be the key to controlling the city. As with schools they are critical assembly and rallying points for the population. If you control the places of worship or schools indicated they are worth 2 victory points. If a 40k battle is fought within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: at least half the terrain features must be intact buildings, the defender may use Sacred Ground Stratagem.

Public buildings and Government houses (1,2,3,4,5)
The commerce and governance that was the lifeblood of New Boston was regulated and controlled from these various buildings. If you control government buildings they are worth two victory points. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of these City Blocks then the following rules apply: At least half the terrain features must be intact buildings, at the start of each game the defender may roll +D3 Building Stratagems. Defender may use Sewer Rats stratagem free in any battle if they hold a government building.

Theaters (6, 7)
Patronised by the wealthy members of New Boston's society and trade negotiators, the finest works of Imperial playwrights were performed here. The building’s enormousarmaglass dome was said to be the most magnificent example of imperial design. Actors once trod the boards here, re-enacting the heroic deeds of the Emperor and hisPrimarchs. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: a suitably impressive theatre building of 3 levels or higher much be placed in the center of the table. The Theatres are worth 3 victory points.

Green spaces (8, Boston Common, 15, 16, 17, 18)
This once fertile and pleasant parks were used for state functions and gala dinners. These events were said to be magnificent and only those members of mercantile cartels who currently enjoyed the Governor’s favour would be invited. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the location then the following rules apply: 30% of terrain features must be natural features or in the case of Boston Common 70%.

Hospital and Railroad Terminus(9)
The city's hospital still operates and is well stocked with medical supplies. Control of the City's rail system is critical in gaining reinforcements. While these blocks are in your possession campaign saves are made at +1. If both are held it is made at +2. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: while fighting over the blocks the defender has Medicae Facility stratagem and a large and suitable hospital or train station building must be represented. These locations are worth two victory points.

Prisons, courthouses, or jails (10, 11, 12, 19, 20)
The grim and imposing façade of the Judges headquarters, jails, and prisons are studded with pillboxes, loopholes and gun nests. They are fearsomely well-defended buildings and every approach is heavily mined and protected by yard upon yard of razorwire. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: Defender may take +D3 Dirty Tricks or Obstacles stratagems and a large and suitable jail or courthouse building must be represented. Those in possession of the Courthouses may take +3 Armoury Stratagems for any games they play while they are in possession of this building. Each are worth three victory points.

Markets (13, 14)
The main business of New Boston took place here, in the heaving, sweating floor of the trading house as the cartel’s representatives negotiated with off world buyers. Competition was fierce and fights common as the methods of sale frequently became little more than brawls. Each are worth two victory points. Those in possession of the markets may take +3 Armoury Stratagems for any 40k games they play.

Genatorium "Copp's Hill" (16)
Virtually all of New Boston's power comes from the gigantic generators on Cobb's Hill . From here, power is distributed throughout the city. The area around the Gentorium is a no-man’s land of automated underground turbines that pump out scalding hot water in man-killing steam geysers. Cobb's Hill is worth 2 victory points. The steam geysers follow the rules for Magma Vents outlined in Hostile Terrain, WD255, p36. There are D6+1 geysers on the battlefield. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: Power generator stratagem is free to defender and a large and dangerous power station with geysers must be represented on the table.

Hills (15, 16, 17, 18)
These are conspicuously tall hills with a commanding view of the and surrounding Habs. High ground is a vital objective for anybody wishing to control their immediate vicinity. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: The High Ground mission is always played in this location with hill as the objective, the Defender gains plunging fire stratagem and the high ground shall be a hill that must be clearly represented.

The Glass House gun emplacement.
Situated on an exposed and windswept rocky hill, the glass house has always had associations with death. Once, convicted murderers were hung by the neck until dead here, but now it is a fortified gun emplacement. It provides a crucial vantage point from which the attackers can be bombarded. It is worth five victory points. If you control the arsenal of laser silos on The Glass House you may use preliminary bombardment stratagem in every game you play. If a 40k battle is fought within within 500 feet of the City Block then the following rules apply: A large cannon or gun emplacement must be represented.

The City of New Boston

2009-12-24T11:16:00.000-08:00

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Seventeen: It was a far distance

2009-12-23T19:06:00.001-08:00

It was a far distance from the comforting alcoves of her home world. An even farther distance from the seat of their empire. Traveling so far beyond the protection of the empire's armies and casting oneself into the darkness of space, far from the common shipping lanes, is something that most of her kind dream to do but don't have the courage. Looking from the ports of her ship, toward the lights of distant stars, she knew that what she was truly looking at was her destiny. Anemos saw not the cold vacuum of space or the grim malice of the void. She wasn't witnessing the terror of the darkness or the horrors that lucked out there. Rather, her dark eyes, viewed the massive light of the future. She saw the obligation of destiny. Her majesty of what was to come. Soon the expanse of space before her, name the Cheimon Sphere Expansion by her masters, would be part of the great Tau Empire. Today she was poised to begin it. It was trusted to her to obtain it. Her's to achieve it. The chaotic wilderness before her, hundreds of worlds, would soon be ordered, soon be lit by the enlightenment of her face.

She cast her eyes from the stars toward the view screen before her. Blue icons flashed and silver glyphs twinkled. They were like those stars through the port. The strategic map displayed the opening efforts of the Cheimon Sphere Expansion. The Water Caste had focused their efforts for several decades to identify the bases of power in this realm. All they found were disjointed and disorganized governments that warred and feuded. Their disorganization proved that the human empire was nothing more than the density of humanity. Great Ethereal philosophers had long espoused that the Imperium of Man was an empire in name only. They called themselves an empire but one might just as well call the green Orcs an empire, the orks were as disorganized. The Water Caste had laid the ground work over the years to assist the humans in their natural state of disorder. Communications were easily distorted. Convoys waylaid without any effort at all. When Anemos arrived, with her Fire Caste warriors massing like a cleansing wind, she saw a vast new area ready for the Tau's benevolence. All that was required was for her to sweep the humans asunder.

She pushed a command key on the white console before her. It signaled the Tau warships to begin the Expansion. A orange symbol appeared on the screen. It showed the first Tau warships approaching the nearest human planet in the expansion. New Boston was the name of the city where she would establish a beach head. It is the city where the Expansion would begin. She turned to her suit. It stood in readiness, in an arched alcove, white with blue lights glowing. She was ready for her destiny.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Sixteen: I will make humans clean and proud once more.

2009-12-14T15:21:00.001-08:00

"I call to you who dwell in the dark places of the galaxy. You who are old and tortured, you who labor and you who are besieged, listen to me now. I know that your soul is broken and I know that your toil has no end. What you call glory is gilded indeed but the rock beneath the paint is rotten and crumbles in my hands. The blood beneath the skin is poisoned and is clotting while I speak. You, who desperately patch your broken and pointless empire, listen to me. Do you not see that as you apply the patches, feverishly repairing the leaks and holes, the foundations of your empire continue to crumble? It is a rot than can not be cleaned. There is no life in your eyes, no fire, no hope. Listen to me now.

Your cause is not served by continuing your toil. You should turn away from your labors, cast down the hammer, throw back the anvil, it can do nothing for you now. Those who command you are dead and those who protect you care only for themselves. Step from the grim darkness of your far future, step from the horror where there is only war. Step into the light of the Anu. I will embrace you against my bosom and you will be safe. I will make humans clean and proud once more. You have a place in our realm. It is a place of light and optimism and hope. It is ready for you now. Lower your weapons and I will show you."

Communications to the last of the Mordian 27th at the Siege of the Fifteenth Gate. All hands surrendered.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 1: self-imposed exile

2008-02-05T10:43:00.000-08:00

Like the lightest touch of a diaphanous Juill flower petal drifting down upon his head, Ian Dolgath felt the presence of death enter the sphere of Octalloron. For nineteen years he had sequestered himself upon this remote, unregistered planet. A planet long ignored due to the sheer inhospitability of its biosphere. Death World was the common term used for such places, but for those willing to put forth the effort to learn to navigate its hazards, Octalloron was quite tolerable for anyone desperate enough to try to reside there…

From the beginning of his self-imposed exile, scholarly pursuits and the training of his recently emergent latent psychic potential had been Dolgath’s focus; however, his primary purpose had always been one of obfuscation. He was a wanted man, that much he knew, but thankfully not formally Excommunicatus. Dolgath still had a few friends amongst the Xanthites who exercised veto power over the ravings of some of the worst of the moronic Monodominants. However, he had no wish to be dragged before the council to explain certain “events” of which he played a small part. Ultimately, he knew that a little judicious exercise in scarcity was often all that was needed to deflect the rabid attentions of his more puritanical brethren.

Fortunately, for him, there was also unrest aplenty to occupy his comrade’s attentions: the latest Black Crusade, the rousing of the long dormant Necron menace, the inscrutable Eldar raider insurgencies, the unforeseen Tao incursions, the inevitable Tyranid infestations, and the ever present Ork invasions. Oh yes, Dolgath remained aware of it all, indeed he still held the highest level shibboleths and key ciphers to the most restricted of Imperial intelligence networks. Even so, to have an agent of doom descend unbeknownst upon him after all this time he found somewhat disconcerting. Yet for just such an occurrence, he was not entirely unprepared.

“Rook to king’s bishop three, methinks the reaper’s pawn I see,” the psychic touch of Oosha Trejek, his Astropath, reached him before the thought to contact her had fully formed in his mind. Oosha was never far from his mind – like it or not. She was, quite simply, the most powerful psycher he had ever encountered, and one of his greatest assets. She was also his occasional consort, a circumstance that seemed even stranger to him than it did to her… For her, their moments of intimacy were a brief grounding time where she reconnected with her humanity and the reality of the physical world. For him, taking her true unguarded self into his mind during their lovemaking (or at least as much as he could bear) served as the catalyst for the release of his long dormant psychic abilities.

Frankly, Oosha’s Alpha level designation was quite inadequate for her. She was another classification all together. He recalled when he first encountered her case. The Adeptus Astrotelepathica had contacted him and demanded his help in transporting her to the ultra-secure execution facilities on Triton. His ship, the Subjugator, had null field prisons – as all black ships did – for the transport of latent psychers to the Lambda Pimaris psycho-processing facilities. She was a hive ganger from Necromunda, one of many. At the time, the sloppy practice of the Adeptus Astrotelepathica was to herd all Delta and above level psychers harvested from hive worlds into the mergence chambers for soul-bonding. Those that survived were deemed safe for Astropath training. Unfortunately, they never anticipated the consequences of soul-bonding a nascent Alpha level psycher. Oosha emerged from the soul-bonding ritual an order of magnitude more powerful than her already significant potential, and sadly, also completely insane by any common definition of the term. It would take decades to repair the damage she caused to the Lambda Primaris facilities… And nearly as long to repair her fragile psyche…

“Yes, I felt them,” was Dolgath’s dry thought-reply. “Proceed with plan mobius epsilon. Let the wildlife have its way with them for a bit…”

“Knight to queen’s pawn four, methinks fate has opened a door…” Oosha responded cryptically.

Dolgath snorted to himself, ruefully. Yes and when fate opens that door whom is the more foolish: those who blindly step through, or those who refuse such a fortuitous portal? Never the less, with a great sense of work uncompleted he ordered his servitors to shut down and pack up his excavation operation. His investigations into the archaeology of these ancient ruins had uncovered priceless relics of an ancient human civilization who had long ago defeated the ruinous powers through pure intellectual dedication and force of will.

Walking back along the concourse kept clear of strangle vines, miasma flowers, and blood nettle, by the constant efforts of servitors armed with las-cutters and heavy flamers, Dolgath pondered the statues that lined the way. When he had first arrived a score of years ago, they were strangers gazing down upon him with their stern faces. Now, he felt he almost knew some of them. There was Quintus Magus, tall and broad-shouldered, the warrior scholar who founded the first knightly order of Octalloron. His seminal works formed the core of the Antihedrex lore. And there was Roxalla Ruel, the statuesque Necrotrix of the ninth dynasty, whose mastery of the bindings of warp entities surpassed all others. From them, Dolgath had learned much of the nature and weaknesses of warp entities. He vowed to one day return and complete his work.

The inner sanctum of the temple of Arcana was where Dolgath had established his base of operations. It was the perfect bastion; located deep within the solid rock of the planet’s crust, it was impervious to bombardment, and completely inaccessible by any conventional means - it required traversing a sub-dimensional corridor whose entrance was undetectable by any known scanning technique. Oosha greeted him upon his arrival. As always he was struck by her fey beauty – tall and deceptively fragile, her ivory hair swept the floor like a silky cloak, and her narrow angular face was porcelain perfection, marred by the dark empty sockets of her eyes and the aquamarine eye tattoo of the Astrotelepathica glaring from her forehead. He smiled at her as the warmth of her mind filled his.

“Target identified and classified, response options codified and ready for implementation,” the enthusiastic declaration of Corl Rykien, his senior Interrogator, shattered the moment. Dolgath turned toward him with a pithy response on his tongue, but Oosha’s humor bubbling up in his mind, tempered him.
“He has been waiting for something like this for ages…” Oosha sent.

“Tactical,” was all Dolgath said. A holographic display, all red and green vectors, materialized in the center of the room. In one area a flashing icon drew his attention. He pointed. “Enhance.” The display focused on the flashing symbol and expanded into dazzling detail.

“An Imperial elite shuttle, hyper-fast, stealth-capable, quad-shielded… Very few have the capability to dispatch such a ship,” offered Corl.

“Occupants,” snapped Dolgath.

“One, humanoid, I’m having trouble defining that further…” muttered Corl.

“Position,” asked Dolgath.

“Quadrant forty five by sixty seven,” said Corl. “Seems to be having some difficulty in the Perdition Morass.”

Dolgath stared at the hololith for a long moment. “Asset status?”

“All Imperial Guard forces are in stasis aboard the Subjugator in antipode lunar orbit as you requested, twelve hour launch minimum at best. Adeptus Astartes Nova class frigates with one company of Imperial Dragon tactical troops in geosynchronous orbit with a Code Yellow status, two hour launch minimum. Planet-side, we have two Falcorian 1st regiment drop troop Stormtrooper squads with Valkyries on condition Orange standby, thirty minute launch minimum, and one Deathwatch killteam on immediate launch status,” replied Corl.

“Very good. Task the killteam to intercept, but hold on station until I arrive. Wake up the Falcorians and scramble me a Valkyrie, “said Dolgath.

The Perdition Morass was a decepively good landing zone – if you were not aware of the particular characteristics of the native Octalloron wildlife. In fact, the most lethal of native species staked out the relatively clear areas for their own particular hunting grounds. The killteam’s thunderhawk had preemptively launched a spread of plasma grenades in preparation for their landing. The Ordo Xenos marines were already deployed in ideal formation as Dolgath stepped off the Valkyrie’s landing ramp. The groggy Falcorian stormtroopers made a valiant effort to match the Space Marine’s esprit-de-corps, but sadly, they could not hope to compare on even their best day – today was not their best day…

Dolgath was followed closely by his hand-picked cadre of henchmen. They fanned out in efficient pattern and carried out their particular functions. He felt Oosha close by his side, and unfortunately, Corl was not much father away.

“Target assessing… Three hundred meters… Acquiring… ” Corl said as he zeroed in his auspex. “This way!” Corl was about to lead the way into the bush when Dolgath stopped him.

“Hold! Let’s check out the shuttle,” Dolgath suggested.

The Aquila-pattern shuttle sat askance on the ground, the numerous charred remains of strangle vines enveloping it. Although it appeared at first glance to be a standard shuttle, Dolgath could detect the various bulges and protuberances that marked it as a craft unusual. The hatch was closed, but opened swiftly to the presence of his Rosarius. He felt Oosha’s mind probing the ship intently, so without a warning form her, he stepped onboard without hesitation.

Completely stark and uninhabited, the only significant feature was the stasis chamber occupying the main hold. Plain and unremarkable, the chamber however exhibited characteristics of Ordos issue to those cognizant of such details – Aquila relief’s on the cryo-components, crimson-level purity seals on the housing…

“Target confirmed!” Corl shouted.

Dolgath and his retinue hurried out of the shuttle. Corl was standing with the killteam at the edge of the Death-verge.

“Target, one hundred and forty seven meters, confirmed!” Corl said with his characteristic enthusiasm.

“Capture him alive if you can.” Dolgath nodded to the killteam. Ten of the most deadly hand-picked, especially-trained space marines the Adeptus Astartes had to offer vanished into the foliage. Dolgath motioned to the Stormtroopers. “Flamers...”

The Falcorian’s burned a path through the deadly bush. It was slow going, but Dolgath knew the folly of traversing the jungles of Octalloron unprepared. The killteam was impervious to the majority of the dangers, and even for those that they were not, their training and equipment were adequate to deal with most situations.

The Falcorian’s finally burned their way through to the objective. The killteam stood inscrutable in their matt black power armor around a clearing dominated by a leprous green herbivorous mass. Doom-lichen. Dolgath had lost entire teams to it. Worse still, the reanimated victims of the accursed plant rose to fight for the malignant vegetable, infecting and corrupting any they came in contact with. The bulbous mass as the center of the monstrosity writhed with a recent capture.

“Shall we burn it?” Corl inquired eagerly.

Dolgath pondered for a moment, then turn to Oosha. “Can you free him without killing him?” He mind-sent.
“A dagger poised to strike, may not the assassin’s blade be like,” Oosha responded. She froze for a moment, her hair billowing around her in slow-motion.

Gradually the Doom-lichen plant began to turn white, at the tips first, then spreading with a crackling sound until the entire mass turned to powdered ash and fell away. At the center a glossy black mass remained. Slowly it unfurled to stand, a man, tall and perfectly formed, with a lethal black pistol at his hip.

“Vindicare!” Corl said in awe as he raised his own massive plasma pistol to fire.

The killteam’s weapons tracked the target in unison as it stood, remaining primed to fire at a split second. Dolgath motioned everyone to lower their weapons.

“The Emperor Protects,” Dolgath said simply.

“The Emperor Protects,” the Vindicare responded. “You are Inquisitor Lord Dolgath of the Ordo Maleus. Visual and auditory identification confirmed. A message I have been tasked to deliver unto you…”

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Fifteen: Hive Dweller to Commodity

2007-07-16T20:56:00.000-07:00

There are places amongst the stench and the half lives of the underworld where small lights illuminate safe places. A light hangs from a low ceiling. Several other light sources illuminate this safe place, but the majority of the workspace light comes from the hanging light in the middle of the room. Its light spreads over a workshop. The workshop is broad enough to hold three work tables, a buggy vehicle with over sized wheels is on a joist, and an large door that once swung open on its one side would enable the buggy to pass through. Each workstation table is covered in what appears to be all description of tools, implements, half machines, broken weapons, and forgotten mechanical projects. Around the room also were cabinets and drawers loaded with all type of bolt, screw and spring, of every size and shape. Some parts were new some were old most seemed to have been pulled from other machines.

Sylvie sat on a stool at one of the lesser used work stations looking around the workshop that she had been brought to. She thought it looked as though she had been eaten by and was was experiencing the innards of some machine eating monster. The beast, whose gullet was this room, had feasted so mightily that his mechanical indigestion would last for decades. She observed the work station before her. Some type of gun lay in several pieces on the counter. A greasy rag sat to one side. She could see that someone was in the middle of a repair. She straightened her gutter shirt, the coarse material still wore hard against her skin even after months living in the under hive. She looked at herself in a reflective piece of metal hanging. It had been polished to a shine for some purpose. She saw her face and now long hair. Her sisters had tended her appearance so finely and now she seemed ragged. Her loose pants torn in places. She had become as the pilgrims that had once sought out her former home.

Her captor returned. He was massive. He moved slowly as one might expect a massive object to move through the cosmos. He called himself Boomer but she had overhead someone say Boomsticks. He had come in through the large door and it had groaned as he secured it. He had locked her in. She had not justified his caution by investigating beyond what her eyes could view. She now viewed the form before her as a massive male. He only wore canvas black pants, a chain held his pats around his hips. Massive iron toed boots explained his weight with a sudden footfall. His drug fueled muscles were colored with a tan from exposure to fuel rods that lit this part of the under hive. The cavities between his pecs or biceps seemed large enough for her to climb into and hide. His massive hands, that had carried her from harm and placed her gently on the stool where she now sat, were nimble and able. He was the mechanic here.

"You're worth more than your gutter trash appearance" Boomer said as he approached. "Chopsui said he could smell it on you", he said referring to a comment one of the others in the gang had said.

"Smell what?" she said, her under hive slang still stunted by her out hive accent.
"Rich stink. You come from up there" he nodded his massive dome toward the ceiling "up hive. And people want to pay for you." She gritted her teeth beneath her closed lips.
She recalled her quick transition from resident of this town to captive. She and Yanaloo had settled two years ago in the Goliath hovel known as Stink Town. The ore smelters provided the source of the name for the town. They had paid the tariffs to the gilders and the clan and found a hole that they could stay in. Away from searching eyes they learn each others ways. Sylvie had been the face of the duo in relations with the underhive while Yanaloo disguised her true fiendish nature. Soon they had become just another couple of odd faces among a sea of strangers in the under hive. They had become lovers. Yanaloo tough Sylvie about her old city that had once been her home and the arts that they had practiced there. Sylvie had grown to love the ways of her partner. First they were painful and soon she came to love the pain. She also came to learn the Dark one's language. Yanaloo would never yearn the Imperial speach. For money they had taken to luring gangers in the watering holes back to their den. They would rob them and then Yanloo would have her way with them. After the first year it became clear that the murder and pain was more important to Yanaloo than the money or food that it brought.
They had spoken about the chance of people coming for Sylvie. Sylvie had suspected that Nurse might come. The dedication of the Sisters of Battle was unrelenting. It didn't matter how long they spent in Stink Town or how well they blended in Sylvie and her pale skinned companion were outsiders. Once the word was out that people were looking for Sylvie and had money to pay for her capture she moved from a hive dweller to commodity. When Ozymandias's' crew had snatched her Sylvie and her eldar companion she wasn't really surprised.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Fourteen: A Commercial Attitude

2006-10-16T21:06:00.000-07:00

It was a door. Solid. Grey metal. No exterior handle. A grey metal viewing slot was at eye level. Through the slot a panel slid to one side. As it did it issued a metal on metal sliding sound ending in a solid impact noise that echoed. Eyes could be seen peering through the viewing slot. They regarded a figure that stood on the outward side of the door. The figure was clothed in a heavy brown robe, with hood. The form stood in a dark alleyway, brick below its feet, and the twilight sky of a hive city behind. Dampness hung in the hot air, which was uncanny for this dark metropolis.

"Who comes here?" came a man's voice from behind the door.
"Silver swords only cross at night" a female's voice returned a code phrase from beneath the hood. Immediately the viewing portal closed with a similar metallic issuance. Behind the door the sound of a heavy locking system being drawn back occurred and the large door swung inward. The hooded figure proceeded into the doorway and into the secured room beyond.

Once inside the door the figure surveyed the room with a quick turn of the head. It was about fifty feet wide and slightly longer in depth. Several tables were placed under low lights. Figures huddled over drinks beneath the lights. A bar crowded with hivers was at the rear of the room. Several looked up at the newcomer. Some neon blinked. Some off world music played. The man who had been peering through the hole was large. Large stomach, arms, balding. He wore the colors of Ossymandis' Clan. The Clan was part of House Goliath and serviced this part of the hive smelting and reprocessing disused ore to be shipped up hive. Large protruding lips spoke "ID and Gun check". His hand was held out.

The figure handed over an auto gun with a repeater clip and then pulled back the hood revealing the head of a woman: The Nurse. Her white hair had grown out. It was no longer the close shoulder length favored by The Order of the Cloistered Heart but instead was long and tied back in a tail. She offered an ID card that displayed a House sanction and a fictional name. The fat bald man surveyed her ID and then looked at her scarred face. "Does Ossymadis know you're here? What business does the House want in a clan watering hole?”

"The House is looking someone ~ a girl. The House is prepared to pay" The Nurse said slowly.

The door guy responded, "I don't sell things" he handed her the ID back, "but he does" glancing in the direction of the bar. The Nurse walked across the floor, eyes followed her. She walked to a figure that wore a bright yellow suit of Nylex silk, he wore the sash of a guilder clan. He turned toward her as she approached. He was young. The kind of guilder who was out to prove something, always networking, always looking for a deal.

"A guilder alone at the bar? business must be slow” The Nurse said meeting his eyes.

"Quite the contrary" he responded, offering his hand "I am making a deal right now” She grinned out of the side over her mouth. "What can I do for a Sister of the Adeptus Sorority?"

The Nurse was taken aback, and visibly so. How could he have known her identity? "Don't be surprised,” the guilder said. "There isn't much that goes on in this part of the hive that I don't know about". The Nurse sat at the vacant stool next to the Gilder. How much did he know? "My name is Foilliam Ingram and I am pleased to meet you" he said. They shook hands. His unglove dhand against her crimson leather gloves.

Foilliam took a drink of his Snakebite and swallowed looking back toward the bar. The Nurse raised her hand to order a shot. "I figure commerce diffrently works down in the hive ithan in most of the Imperium" Foilliam said.

"How’s that?" The nurse responded "we're still on Mordian".

He nodded "My guess is that you are used to marching into anyplace you like and taking whatever you like. The power of the Sisters of Battle behind you".

"It is the power of faith that is behind us” the sister responded.

The gilder nodded again in his slow way. He looked about the bar as if he were looking for the faith she spoke about. "Well, down here, in the hive, I put my faith in numbers~ currency” The sister nodded. "You didn't have to kill Luther to find out where I was." Foilliam said as an example "You could have just paid him". The Nurse recalled the snapping sound the ganger’s neck. She had then forced him with his last breath to reveal the location of the watering hole.

"I guess you don't need to pay me either, you could just take me away to the local chapel and have your Excoriatiors pull whatever information I have directly from my mind." Pause. "That’s the one thing I can't figure out, sister, why haven't you already done that? Perhaps you don't need information at all. Perhaps you need something else from me". He joined her silence waiting for a response. The Nurse sipped the snakebite considering her responce. "I don't think you're here with the blessing of the matron." he said "I think you are here gunning solo".

He took her continued silence as acknowledgement. After a moment and the last of her snakebite she spoke. "I need to hire you to help me find a girl. I lost her. SHe is probably travling with an odd stranger. A woman with pale skin. Don't mistake me Guilder, I find your commercial attitude untrustworthy but I am willing to engage you. Not because I think you know where she is but rather because I think you know how I can find her".

"...Or who can find her?" he finished her sentence.

"Yes” pause "I also wish to keep my dealings quiet. And I am prepared to pay to keep it quiet. My sisters do not need to know this,” she said. Foilliam nodded and looked into The Nurses' face. He imagined her stealing away from the other Sisters in her order once she realized the girl was gone. His gaze traced the woman's age. He saw in her eyes war weariness and tragedy. He imagined her comming up with some excuse for the girls absence rather than kidnapping as he suspected. A scar arced down her face. She was well older than he by at least two decades. He had seen this girl. He had seen her with two others passing through the Bellowmarket. They walked past the Haspspa vendors, through the crowd. What had caught his attention was the pale sickly face of the stranger peering from a black hood. They were being led through the crowd by a Goliath that he didn't recognise.

He couldn't figure out why she had come to his watering hole when there were many other gilders who could have helped her. More experienced guilders. But he wasn't about to turn this opportunity down. Helping her, no matter what she was involved in, kidnapping or otherwise, would certainly elevate his standing with the guild. She could also pay ~ he knew that.

"Well, lets visit some friends of mine first” he said standing to leave.

She grabbed his arm "friends?"

"Yes ~ friends. The first rule of the hive is you don't get anything without friends." She let his arm go and followed him as he left the bar "And I know just where to buy them".

Battle by the Bay

2006-09-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirteen: Now you are ready

2006-09-08T22:05:00.000-07:00

Clean white canvas. A slight breeze did little to dull the staggering heat. Burnt sands supported the frame of the tent. Poles planted in the sands and ropes secured to stakes pushed deep. Within, with clean white all around, the Nurse and her charge stood. The Nurse was putting on her armor. The Nurse stood behind Sylvie. She was lacing the back of a deep crimson corset. The deep color contrasted with the white of Sylvie’s shoulders and arms. Front of the corset was a shiny crimson metal formed to fit her body. The back of the corset was a heavy leather material that the Nurse was lacing together. With a quick motion she pulled the laces tight. The adolescent jerked and drew in a quick breath in response.

Sylvie thought of the many times she had slipped away from her prayers and into the room of the Eldar. Sometimes just to watch the demon. Had the Nurse known she would have been furious.

"Its tight" Sylvie said swallowing and looking at the white of canvas before her.
"It is as the Emperor’s love" the Nurse said "painful, yet it will protect you". The Nurse took another part of the armor and placed it against Sylvie's back. "Raise your arms,” said the Nurse. Sylvie complied. The Nurse began attaching the armor. Metallic fasteners clicked along the side of her rib cage. Nurse clipped the back armor into the front breastplate. Sylvie’s small breasts did not come close to filling the volume the armor allowed. Sylvie could feel the actuators aligning themselves and then aligning themselves to her body. The power armor, over four hundred years old, would soon be completely aligned to her body. Once she was fully dressed the amour would robotically mimic her movements. This was the second time she had worn the amour of her order. She had spent many hours polishing the metal surfaces, cleaning the joints, preparing for when it would be fully hers. When the amour became alive, about her, she felt powerful, stronger. She knew it was the energy of the Emperor summoning her inner strength.

The Dark Eldar had quickly been able to learn how to speak and though she spoke with a broken accent she soon began to whisper to Sylvie of a blessed land beyond the heat of Mordian. A blessed land of sultry nights and mystery.

Once the armor was connected the Nurse produced the livery and garments that completed the uniform of the Cloistered Lady. The deep blue of the Cloistered Lady was brilliant against the white of the tent. The livery was like a long dress that was placed over Sylvie's head and hung down over her bulky amour. The Nurse pulled a crimson tunic over the amour and livery. It was dark and had rivets that made up a diamond pattern on her torso armor.

The Eldar whispered to her of Comorragh , her home. The Eldar described things that she would do to men and that men would do to her in that dark place. The nubile's eyes grew wide at the description. Sylvis was sure her battle sisters had never done those things. The Dark Eldar assured her they had. She whispered "they are keeping these things from you, they hide them from you” Sylvie looked deep into the eldar's dark eyes and swallowed hard. "I can show you".

The Nurse pulled the straps on the back of the tunic tight. The blue material of the livery was loose about her arms and legs; her leather tunic obscured the material about her torso.

"Now you are ready".

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Twelve: Far Away Objects

2006-06-19T10:18:00.000-07:00

If one were to perceive the stars as far away objects one would be illustrating a true misunderstanding of the universe. They are not far or near. The apparent vast distances between objects in the cosmos is a fiction just as the apparent reality of one's own existence. Within the mind one can imagine that the moons of Mordia exist atop each other ~ within the Warp they can. Within the warp it is possible to fly through time and space in an instant, and then with the right thoughts, return to the material universe, the distance that once separated things now traversed.

Within the warp silent ships skate through tunnels in reality. Where once nothing had been, they appear. The Hyphranthus is one such ship. By the gates and the passages crafted millennia ago the Pirate Princes now make a mockery of time and space and distance. The Hyphranthus can also make a fool of the human mind and the observation of an eye. The long shaft of the Dark Eldar coursar cuts through space, sliding through the darkness. It heads toward a flotilla of Imperial ships that make up the Cosso Sothan battle group. Several capital ships with smaller escorts were surrounded by a massive swarm of service tugs and transport cutters. As the Hyphranthus closed on the battle group and the massive towers and portals of the capital ships came into view, the sheer scope and majesty of the Imperial fleet was laid bare. The ships were massive and colossal. The tall spires and the bulk of their engine shafts confirmed that objects that exist in space are timeless and gigantic.

The miniscule form of The Hyphranthus drew closer and as it did its form appeared to change. Were one to observe its approach one would have seen it as a transport vessel, or a scanner drone, or whatever seemed natural and obvious to the observer. That is the way with the Mimic Engine. It does not fool the computers or the Machine God but rather the heart of the spectator. Those who see it see that which makes them safe, that which they know should be there. It is only the third eye of the Navigator himself that sees. When he sees the ship he will see its true form. He sees that of a devil craft or a bladed scalpel ship about to inflict torture.

The ship flew through the outer defense patrols, past row upon row of ancient defense turrets, past the Admiral Hogoth capital ship and its vast defense batteries and on toward a dark form shrouded in night. It flew toward a Black Ship of the Inquisition: the flagship of this fleet. This ship cast fear and nightmares into the hearts of humans. Its many interrogation chambers and examination hallways exacted the truth of the Emperor on humanity. At its core was a long held grudge. A long disputed hatred. Inquisitor Reithman had been seeking his nemesis for a decade now. And before Reithman had taken up the cause of hunting down The Heretic Sylax, Reithman's predecessor Inquisitor Gulofil had sought him.

The Hyphranthus flew above the dark form of the Black Ship and stopped. Still hidden as a shuttle or a maintenance pod or whatever made one comfortable. An unseen power transfer occurred and deep in the hold of Reithman's black ship several shadowy forms appeared. Mandrake's shallow hold on reality makes teleportation simple and undetectable since there is little there to teleport. The bazaar and shadow skinned forms scuttled away in search of their prize: The Warp Engines.

Several hours later Inquisitor Reithman would awake in his bedchamber. The traitorous form of Sister Natasha lay beside him. She was shrouded in loose sheets. Several days earlier she had revealed to her lover the location of Sylax's small flotilla of ships. She had vowed that Sylax would feel her humiliation. He would feel the pain he had caused her that one time at the Mission Del Mordia when the sun shone most harsh. She had planned to stand beside the Inquisitor later that day and watch as Sylax's fleet was pummeled into oblivion.

Her revenge, however, was not to be. Instead she stood on the bridge as her lover’s ship was destroyed while Sylax looked on via the Vox screen. Sylax was laughing as the sounds and impacts of exploding warp engines shuddered through her body. They had been sabotaged. A massive explosion had demolished half a mile of their ship in one moment and the hull continued to rip itself apart.

Sylax started speaking again but the audio was off. The screen flickered and a shot of static hit the image. His fleet was bombarding Reithman's larger battle group while it tried to reorganize. Rathman himself had been hit by falling debris and crew were abandoning the bridge. Servitors pathetically attempted to save the ship as compartments were blown out into space. Natasha’s knuckles went white on the desk she was holding onto. She looked into Sylax's triumphant digital eyes with hate. The screen failed and the lights went out. She screamed into the darkness as she felt the pressure of the bridge fail. As her body was flattened against the floor by the pressure she groaned not really in pain but in the knowledge that Sylax's last enemies had been vanquished and there were none left who knew his past deeds.

Ozymandias' Strike Breakers

2006-06-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

My name is Ozymandias, King of the Slums: Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Eleven: Overdose

2006-05-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

Gladiator Usanti looked down at her hands. They were white. Deep green blades of grass pushed up between her fingers. They were greener than anything she had seen before. Her hands were palm down against the grass. She was on her hands and knees in the middle of a field. The green of the grass seemed to be leaching into her fingers. To her she was becoming one with the green of the grass. Not one with the grass but with its color. Faces seemed to be hiding within the tendrils of the grass. A line of deep red blood rolled down her arm from an open gash in her shoulder. The faces in the grass moved to drink it. Red and green and white all mixing together and pulling her down.

Around her the bodies of many. Some moved as she did. Most were dead and still. Her torn robe and armor seemed to hang from her as a poorly dressed actor’s costume. Her black hair was matted with blood and bile. Today she was not a gladiator. Today she was a fool. She arched her back and vomited onto the grass. It was thick and chunky like a poorly digested soup. A long strand of yellowish spittle hung from her, once strong now trembling, lower lip. It hung down to the bile before her. She coughed and the earth rolled up before her. She spat.

Riding into battle with the elixirs brewed in the Pots of Night was a common enough thing. This time the cocktail had been bad. Combat drugs would always stream into her system as she piloted the Drachite's bike. Lady Hosphel herself would sit directly behind Usanti on the bike close enough so Usanti could see her master’s knees on either side of her hips. Usanti was under the influence most of the time. She had known it was a bad mix when her injection pack had first started pumping the liquids into her system. The fire hot concoction had driven her into a wild state of rage and ecstasy filling her eyes with red. She had felt the hot roll of energy through her arms and legs and then deep in her stomach and groin. She had gripped the handle bars of her masters jet bike white knuckle tight as the rage for battle had stormed through her. Images had raced before her as she sped the jet bike toward the Necron automatons. Strange colors seemed to race before her eyes. The front of the bike seemed to curve upward and the world seemed to shimmer with an unnatural light.

The bikes sped toward the well formed Necron line. However as they came closer the streams of color gave way to a bizarre force before her. Usanti peered toward the figures and saw rank upon rank of metal skeletons advancing. However they seemed not walk but instead they were dancing. Their grinning faces were surrounded by petals of mighty flowers. They seemed to dance like jerky puppets toward battle rather than the grim patrol they normally had. She turned, looking at her fellow riders weaving beside her. She could see that they saw the strangeness also. A flock of metallic machines the size of dinner plates flew past them racing away at an odd angle. They were colored with polka dots as strange lady bug beetles might be. In the background were massive Necron towers lowering themselves from the sky. Usually they were bathed in an odd green light. This time they were carried aloft on massive butterfly wings. They were covered with dots themselves, and smiling yellow faces. Now she could feel that the drugs were wrong.

As the wind pulled on her hair she could hear Drachite Hosphel screaming. The Drachite grabbed Usanti's black hair pulling it hard and while this wasn't uncommon, from her riders position Usanti was in close reach, the pilot could feel that the drugs were beyond her master’s control also.

With her head pulled back and the bike tearing toward the Necron line Usanti vomited over her console. Her blood was rushing now and streaming out her nostrel. With the wind over the bike's console bile and mucus sped back against her. One of the other bikes nearby lurched sideways and flew right into the side of their jet bike, shattering the guidance controls. Parts of her bike broke away, pelting her. With a final tug the Lady Hosfel flipped backward off the back of the jet bike her arms and legs spread wide in the air. She tumbled over and over still clutching a handful of Usanti's hair. Both the bikes plowed straight into the ground and the last thing Usanti could recall from that moment was Killiyan, the rider of the other bike, being crushed into the ground under the full weight of his vehicle.

Now, with the sun high in the sky she arched her head up. The Necrons were gone and scattered about were the bodies of her Wych kin. Because the Necrons take the bodies of their dead it appeared that the eldar had been fighting each other. Again she vomited onto the grass. Her head was spinning. The many dots still played in front of her eyes.

=][= Holy War =][=

2006-03-03T13:27:00.000-08:00

The loose thread of a conspiracy can be innocuous. It can weave its way into the heart of the great tapestry of our time. It can be woven through one of the Emperors brightest and mighty of banners. Few see it and none but us take notice of this loose strand. When it is pulled by those most vile it can break apart the fabric of our Imperium. It can break apart our security and our destiny. Few look upon loose threads as we do. Few see them for what they are. Accolade, what you have provided me is such a thread, such a conspiracy. We must seek it out, find it at its core. We must find those who conspire against us. We must tie this loose thread off before it undoes us all”

This is a narrative campaign by way of Clue!

Six rival Inquisitors are attempting to uncover a conspiracy that they have found clues for. Each clue in the conspiracy is represented by a card. There are three suits of cards: Places, Inquisitors, and Elements. There are six inquisitor cards (representing the rivals), eight places (representing the possible location of the conspiracy), and seven elements representing the tools of the conspiracy. At the start of the campaign all four suits are separated and a random unseen card from each suit is placed in the conspiracy envelope. This represents the conspiracy: the perpetrator, the location, and the means of the conspiracy.

The remainder of the cards are distributed randomly to the players. These represent the clues that the Inquisitors have already uncovered. Each turn the players fight a battle and the winner of that battle may randomly examine two of the three chosen cards in their opponent’s hand. In the case of a draw both players get to see one of the others cards. In the case of a loss the poor inquisitor leaves empty handed. In the first turn the player rolls off to determine the order of challenges in subsequent turns winning players may challenge other players first.

As the campaign progresses players must note down which cards they have seen. At the end of turn 5 all the players must announce what they believe the conspiracy to be. This must be done on a private note card and all will be revealed at the same time. The envelope is opened and the conspiracy is revealed. All those that successfully predicted the conspiracy may challenge the heretic in the sixth episode. The battle will be evenly divided by the forces of good and evil.

Each of the element cards reveals a special use. Players may elect to use their elements however using the benefits of the elements may reveal clues that may assist ones’ opponent in uncovering the conspiracy.

Turn order: Players challenge each other in order of dice roll.

Build your Inquistor and Ret to a fixed list but beyond that game size will be based on a mutually agreed point cost.

If your Inquistor is killed roll on the following wound table:

2 Head Wound: The Inquisitor is at 1 W for the remainder of the Campaign
3-4 Chest Wound: The Inquisitor is at -1 W for the next battle.
5-6 Leg Wound: -1 Initiative for the next battle.
7-8 Arm Wound: -1 BS and WS for the next battle.
9-11 Minor Wound: No effect
12 Bionic Replacement: The Inquisitor has Bionics for the rest of the Campaign.

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Ten: Hiding Places

2006-03-02T16:24:00.000-08:00

There are few real places to hide in this universe. Once they first spy what they believe to be treason, the eyes of the Inquisition never really leave you. When my closest confidant, Colonel Steib, was struck down by a Monodominant blade, and the command of the 27th Mordian Hammers was replaced, my disgrace was complete. Before I was aware of it my Inquisitorial rights had been stripped from me at the conclave of Haspax. I had only days to sow the seeds of my eventual return, board my ship, and escape. Fast behind me were the Black Ships that I had once proudly commanded. I prayed for them even as they chased me across the segmentum. Eventually, I came to hide in plain view ~ on Mordian itself. I set down with my comrades, The Sisters of the Cloistered Heart.

There I stayed for two years. Waiting. Waiting for times to change. Waiting for the era of the Monodominants to wane and for more progressive leaders to hold sway over the Inquisition. While I tended the grapes and irrigated the fields. I waited for the politics of the Imperium to change. While I gave sermons to the cloistered sisters and tended to their individual needs I hoped for my time to rise again. Perhaps one day they would reinstate me. I hoped.

But to wait out an Inquisitor is a fools task. To wait out Inquisitor Gulofil is the full breadth of insanity. However my faith in the Emperior is vastly more powerful than the symbol of the Inquisitor. When I heard news that those that sought me had returned to Mordian I knew I must leave lest the foul taint of the Monodominant find my cloistered ladies. As Inquisitor Gulofil and his followers set down and were bid welcome by the Mordian Tetriachs I bid my sisters fairwell. With me I took some of their sweet wines and cast away from Mordian to a place I knew that even the Inquisition would never find me. I cast away to Commorragh.

The Archon known as Actev Nu has spies across the universe and from these spies come his true power. His is the power of knowing things. Though I see myself to be only a small part of his machinery of knowledge, he has served my needs as I have served his. That is the way of the dark lords of the Eldar. As they use you and you use them. And so their society perpetuates. Woe to you when the use you provide becomes less valuable than the use you desire. I knew that when those sybarites took me, blind folded, through their secret gates, I would have debts to pay. I would rather pay those debts than have the Inquisitors land at the Mission Del Mordia and burn me and my ladies as heretics.

Commorragh is like any vast city. Some places are built well and polished to a high shine. Other places, falling apart and in ruin, are left over from the old times. Bathed in blood is a good description for that city. From the perpetual crimson sky to the literal bathhouses of blood Commoragh is soaked in it. Some cities sound with the call of traffic or songs of adoration. This city sings with the sounds of misery, murder, and horror. The Archon, always with deviousness in his mind, protected me from the horrors outside his walls ~ and within. I was not to be touched or harmed, unless I asked for it. My quarters were wide and sumptuous, with long curtains, lush pillows, and a vast balcony overlooking the city below. I could see creatures swooping on wings through the city but they daren’t approach my vantage point. They and I were under the watch fulleye of my minder, a Sybarite called Brugoyle.

Brugoyle was both my minder and guide to the dark city. As he approached Kabalites cowered and cultists smiled in false friendship. I could see the hate in their eyes for me. They would whisper hatred to me as I walked past. Soon I learned their language and it was filled with anger and hatred. Brugoyle instructed me in its use. As I grew to know him I grew to see his hatred of me also. Though he was powerful amongst the Eldar he also was a slave of the Actev Nu.

Brugoyle introduced me to the Murder Pits of Qyvank, the Temple of Mirrors, and even the great Arena of the Rancid Blade. It was here that I sat beside The Grand Actev Nu and watched his gladiators kill for sport. During my time in the dark city I was tempted by (and succumbed to) vixens. We bathed in the blood of the recent dead at the Kulux Blood Bathes. I drank vile liquids prepared by the Homunculi and then wandered the passageways of the citadel alone as my own fears and fantasies became real. I partook in the Orgy of Long Days. The things I saw in the Dark City were not outside the realm of my imagination. Any human is capable of these things. The difference is that here guile, trickery, abuse, butchery, and murder are all meaningful. Here they are currency.

Years had passed when the Grand Archon’s second personal concubine called me to my chamber. The mistress of the chamber wore the long orange robes of the Rancid Blade. Detailed tattoos covered her cheeks and back and her dark eyes guided me to an odd piece of furniture that had been placed in the center of the room. It was a simple torture chair. I had seen many before but it was the occupant that made my heart leap. In the chair sat Inquisitor Gulofil. He had been captured by the Rancid Blade.

He was an old man now. It seemed like a hundred years must have passed for the change in his appearance. He was naked and strapped to the chair. A Janjii mask held his face forward and eyes open. When I stepped in front of his field of vision I saw his eyes grow wide. I could hear the foot falls of the mistress' long heeled shoes receding into the background. This man had chased me across the galaxy. Through my years in Commorragh I had almost forgotten him. I knew that this was a message for me from my friend the Actev Nu. It was a message that my time in the Dark City was drawing to a close. Without Gulofil on my trail there was no reason I could not return to the Imperium.

As I approached I took my Dire Blade from its sheath. I had become versed in its more unique uses. Standing before him ready to begin working on his stomach I now saw that around his neck was one last gift for me. He was not entirely unclothed. He still wore his Inquitorial seal, his mantle of office. He whimpered as I took the icon from around his neck. I placed it around my own. I still remember thinking that he shouldn’t have concerned himself with the misery of my taking his title. Over the next several hours I gave him much more to whimper about.

~A section from Confessor Sylax's personal recollections.

Lady Hosphel's Raiding Party

2006-02-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

HQ
Archon 60
w/ Agonizer, CC wep, Shadow Field, Drugs, Vexatrope 81

Elites
Wyches 10 including 1 sybarite 135
w/ Wych weapons, Agonizer, plasma grandes42
Raider w/ Desintegrator 60

Wyches 10 including 1 sybarite 135
w/ Wych weapons, Agonizer, plasma grandes42
Raider w/ Desintegrator 60

Wyches 10 including 1 sybarite 135
w/ Wych weapons, Agonizer, plasma grandes42
Raider w/ Desintegrator 60

Troops
Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Warriors 10, Including 1 Sybarite 86
w/ 2 Dark Lance, Webway portal 70

Fast Attack
Reaver Jetbikes 6 with 1 succubus 166
w/ 2 blasters, 1 agonizer, T helm 45

1999