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

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

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

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…

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

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

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

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

1. Limited Resources
1. Each force has a pool of 5000 points for their core army.
1. The points for any destroyed vehicles or troop units taking 75% casualties are lost.
2. Each force can call upon 2000 points of allies made up of units from a codex other than that of the core army.
1. The points lost for destroyed allied units or vehicles cannot be recovered.
2. Space Superiority
1. Each force has a 2000 point BFG fleet.
1. Half the points for destroyed ships are recovered.
2. Any force wishing to assault the moon base must fight a BFG battle.
3. The winner of a BFG battle has the choice of hexes to attack as well as deployment zones for the subsequent 40k battle.
4. 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.
3. Escalation
1. The campaign lasts 5 turns plus a D3 turns rolled at the end of turn 5.
2. The first 40k battle starts at 1500 points. Each subsequent battle increases by 500 points.

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

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

6. Victory Conditions
1. Each hex controlled by a player is worth 1 VP.
2. Hidden Garrison/Warp Gate
1. 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.
2. The Garrison is worth 3 VP if controlled by the Imperial forces, but only 1 if controlled by Xenos.
3. The Warp Gate is worth 3 VP is controlled by Xenos forces, but only 1 if controlled by Imperials.

TERATORIES

1. 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.
1. 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.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Fuel Dump Stratagem.

2. 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.
1. Fuel components for the micro-fusion generators lay scattered throughout this area. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Pillage Mission.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Power Generator Stratagem.

3. 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.
1. The manufactorum complex was built with defense in mind. Forces wishing to control this hex must first fight the Trench Warfare Mission.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Ammunition Store Stratagem.

4. 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.
1. 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.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Fortifications Stratagem.

5. 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.
1. 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.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Medicae Facility Stratagem.

6. 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.
1. 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.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Preliminary Bombardment Stratagem.

7. 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.
1. This region is tectonically unstable making any terrain hazardous. Forces wishing to control this hex must fight the Infestation Mission.
2. The force controlling this hex gains the Booby Traps Stratagem.

The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 12: Checkmate!

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

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

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

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

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…