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."
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Dolgath Legacy part 5: Inquisitor Nelthas has arrived
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.”
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.”
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Dolgath Legacy part 4: The Last Ride of Cicero
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…
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…
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 3: Strange Xenos
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…
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Ninteen: the Emperors Succor
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.
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.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Eighteen: Do not fear me my daughter
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.
"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
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.
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.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Campaign rules
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Seventeen: It was a far distance
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.
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.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Sixteen: I will make humans clean and proud once more.
"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.
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.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
The Dolgath Legacy ~ Part 1: self-imposed exile
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…”
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…”
Monday, July 16, 2007
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Fifteen: Hive Dweller to Commodity
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.
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.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Fourteen: A Commercial Attitude
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".
"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".
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Thirteen: Now you are ready
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".
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".
Monday, June 19, 2006
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Twelve: Far Away Objects
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.
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.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Ozymandias' Strike Breakers
My name is Ozymandias, King of the Slums: Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Eleven: Overdose
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.
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.
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