Battle Report: Space Wolves vs. Thousand Sons

Hakr Varghoss and his crushing wave approached the castle ruins with a single battle tank across the valley covering the left flank. Scores of horribly stoic rubric marines were moving amidst the rubble now, driven onward by various mutated mystics and accompanied by a large contingent of tactical dreadnought marines, many of them bristling with heavy weapons. Hakr and his Sea Wolves had no real tactical mission on Kriegsmie save the outright extermination of the corrupted witches and their nightmarish charges. Death to the traitors! Death to the Thousand Sons, in the name of Russ!

As the Space Wolves rhinos approached the enemy line, the traitor terminators fired a volley of plasma beams, blowing apart their mounted storm bolters. In response, each rhino launched a series of smoke charges, obscuring their position as they shifted to the right in formation. The Land Speeders hovered over the wolves' battle group and opened fire with their multimeltas, one of them hitting their mark. To their left, the wolves battle tanks and attack bike squadron found targets amongst a far tower and began to fire on them.

As the wolves rhinos passed a section of ruined wall, they slowed to a halt, pulling up tight behind one another to give cover to their disembarking passengers. Grey Hunters and Blood Claws stepped onto the low grass behind their pack leaders. The rune priest's hunter pack emerged on the enemy side of their transport, opening fire on a nearby squad of rubric marines. A mixture of haste and animosity sent their deadliest shots astray, as only a single enemy marine fell from concentrated bolter fire. The rune priest himself emerged on the other side and began to chant, bringing an obscuring cloud of smoke from the ground to slowly enravel the his grey hunter squad. It was too late, however, as enchanted bolts from the rubric marines found every last grey hunter, each screaming impact a horrible reminder to the other wolves of the arcane power of their enemy. Corrupted terminators charged into the sides of their transports, pounding and cutting with assault weapons to no avail; the armor held, praise Russ! The rune priest sensed a disturbance nearby and quickly turned to his left to see a pair of mutated warp witches approach, one of them slithering unnaturally fast into a rubble heap next to Hakr Varghoss and his hunter pack. When the witch with wings raised his arms and prepared to curse Varghoss' squad, the rune priest fell to his knees into deep concentration, chanting even louder, the power of his wolf totem barely able to keep whatever magicks the traitor sorceror was using at bay. Before the battle leader could react, the multiple-breasted serpentine monstrosity pounced and felled Varghoss with one sweep of his demon weapon. Displaying little surprise at the sudden attack, the pack responded in trained unison, their power fists finding purchase and crushing the terrible thing into violet chunks.

On the other side of the battlefield, a space wolves drop pod descended to the planet's surface just behind the enemy line. Clouds of smoke obscured the enormous venerable dreadnought as he stepped from the rocket pod and prepared to fire. Heavy bolter fire from the battle tanks and bike pack dropped several rubric marines nearby as their attendant sorcerors turned their horrible magics on the shrouded dreadnought.

Despite the loss of their leader, the Sea Wolves prepared to counter-attack. They would need to close the distance between them and the enemy in order to avoid the deadly magical bolter fire now so thick in the air. As a land speeder flew overhead bathing the enemy in flame, the blood claws squad and the rune priest waded into the traitor terminators, destroying several of them and sending the enemy into disarray. In mere moments the confused survivors had been cut down and the victorious wolves stepped back behind their rhino to regroup. Meltagun fire from the surviving grey hunters and a second landspeeder cut down the last slaaneshi witch. In the distance, the venerable dreadnought smashed into a squad of rubric marines, killing several. An enormous warp construct slowly approached the melee, its arms already forming cutting torches and saws in anticipation, the dreadnought whirled and sent the beast flying with a single hit from its oversized claw. The tanks and bikes continued to fire into a squad of rubric marines that were now crossing the battlefield to assist in the fight against the grey hunters and blood claws. Suddenly a pack of wolf scouts emerged from cover behind a third unit of thousand sons and charged into them. Though their sorceror leader downed two of the scouts with his warp weapon, the scouts continued their ferocious assault and destroyed several rubric marines.

Most of the enemy witches had been destroyed, but the wolves continued their attack, desperate to destroy any trace of their ancient nemeses. The blood claws, grey hunters, and wolf scouts brought down the last rubric marine squad and sorceror, as the dreadnought continued to send enemies flying, including a unit of obliterators that teleported in nearby. The incursion on Kriegsmie had been stopped for now, and the Sea Wolves returned to their transports.

Thanks to Robert for bringing his beautiful army up to BFG for a fun 2k annihilation game Thursday night. He had some bad luck at several crucial moments, and the space wolves were able to grab and hold on as only they can, wiping out the thousand sons to the very last dusty zombie. I think they would have had a much harder time against his usual 'ard list, what with all the obliterators and lascannon havocs. Anyways, good game, it's always fun to send two fully painted armies against one another no matter the outcome.

The Treachery of the Legio VIII

“Praetor Tomas, there are men here from the borderlands that urgently wish to speak with you. The colony at Vilneus has been laid to waste, sometime in the night! One of them swears it was the work of the legions - had a look at them himself, he says!” Getting no response, Nicodemus licked his lips and collected himself. “They await you in the Epistolary, Praetor.” He retreated backwards through the reliquarium door with a deep bow, closing it behind him. The Praetor did not look after his assistant, but remained apparently motionless on his meditational slip. A closer look might have revealed that the aging magistrate was shaking in his robes. He was, in fact, terrified.

Skar! Praetor Tomas cursed quietly in the old tongue. The Astartes commander had assured him not three days ago that he would have the rest of the month to deliver the regular tithes. Now it appeared their time was up, and they would all likely be dead come next nightfall.

The audacity of it all! Why, there were none so loyal in this sector as the Priory Scarlet! Had this very mission not reclaimed scores of human worlds in the past 300 years? In their glorious history, had they not overthrown vast hordes of defiant militiamen, scourged forgotten tribes of mutants, and pushed back the cursed xenos time and time again? Why, the Emperor himself had recognized the Priory specially, granting them the blessed armor that had so protected their faithful in the countless battles of their crusade. And now one of his trusted legions was attacking them over what amounted to nothing more than a slightly late harvest?

Bah! The outriders of the Priory Scarlet had been wielding boltgun and flame in their righteous quests long before these arrogant goliaths, these overgrown psychopaths, started roaming the stars, dispensing their cruel and twisted sense of justice with no fear of retribution. If he and his fellow crusaders were destined to die, it would be in glorious battle! They would raise such a din as to wake the sleeping Emperor, perhaps make him realize the imminent danger inherent in loosing such powerful madmen upon his kingdom. True, the angels of death had earned fearsome reputations as merciless deathbringers, but the Praetor’s own ranks were filled with fearless devotees, lunatic martyrs, and arcane machines of death that had successfully purged three death cults in the past month alone! Well, perhaps not so much purged as absorbed, but it was all really a matter of perspective in the end, was it not? The most dire fanatics were easily brought from one cause over to another, and he would surely need their special talents in the hours to come if they were to have any chance of surviving.

He stood up with a speed belying his age, gathered his robes, and strode to the door. There were many preparations to be made, and time was of the essence – they would soon have guests to entertain!

Task Force Quaesus, Ultramarines

The following was written by Frank J., a.k.a. Capt. Tyranus, as background for his Ultramarines army for the citywide tournament. I just wanted to post it because it's awesome, especially for Austinites...

Upon the Great Sundering, Captain Sicarius had his men relocate from Mjolnir to the newly founded forge world of KrigSmie in order to establish a new base of operations. Reinforced with the heavier firepower needed to meet the challenges of the new reality within the Travis subsector, Task Force Tachyon beame Task Force Quaesus.

With the founding of KrigSmie, instability around Travis grew as Mjolnir attempted to maintain its preeminent position in the subsector, Wyrmshaven tried to reassert its previous dominance, and KrigSmie encroached into both of their territories. The initial skirmishes quickly escalated as each planet called on supporters and allies in an effort to establish dominance over its rivals. The time for all-out battle to establish the dominant power in the subsector is now at hand.

In response to ancient debts, the Ultramarines have entered into a formal alliance with the upstart Fabricators who now control KrigSmie. Captain Sicarius will lead the men of the 2nd into battle with the coalition that will face off against the enemies of the Tech Adepts.

Conscious of the importance of this mission, the Ultramarines have granted Sicarius the use of Epistolary Ptolemaius of the Chapter's Librarium. This mighty warrior will be accompanied by a bodyguard of picked men from the 9th who have sworn to die in his defense. As usual, the Captain has also attached a sizeable group of neophytes approaching elevation into the ranks of battle brethren into his force.

Appropriately reinforced, Sicarius and the men of Quaesus are now ready to smite their foes with fire and blade.

Death to the Enemies of Ultramar!

Courage and Honour!

The Purging of Tartaron

"Then I say the planet is lost! The Emperor's grace must be granted to those pitiful souls, and the heretics responsible for this debacle should be destroyed, vanquished before their filth can taint the system's citizenry any further."

Murmurs of agreement echoed from the darkened cells spaced evenly along both walls of the council chamber. Princep Franco looked obviously satisfied with his colleagues' positive response as he folded his arms and retreated backwards into his own recess. For a short time, each council member conversed quietly with his immediate neighbors. Finally, a slow, deep stocatto counted five beats as the council speaker signaled for attention with his gnarled staff on the ancient wooden floor.

"Bring to order, brothers. If there are no counterpositions, and we have not heard one yet, I believe we should draw the debate to a close. The resolution for martial response to the so-called Usurpers of Tartaron is hereby passed, let the Emperor be praised. Call end of session."

"Here, here," the council answered, before the members began to quietly shuffle from their stations. Tradition demanded total silence until the last man had left the chamber.

As Speaker Wendell passed through the outside doors, he began to move more briskly, his posture straightened, and his demeanor darkened substantially. The humble and wise personality of the council elder gave way to the cynical distrust of the inquisitor. He gestured to a servant waiting nearby in the chamber wing and spoke low and tersely as they walked.

"Fetch ye to Sister Belandra, and tell her our hands are become free on Tartaron. The mercy of His flame will be granted. Also, instruct Captain Braun to muster a small force of his best men and equipment. Several platoons with support elements. Our adversaries will have the advantage of defending their own homes, and I shall want a diverse set of tools if I truly intend to excise this sickness."

"Of course, Lord. I'll arrange it at once." The attendant bowed and turned to deliver the inquisitor's orders. Belandra and the Sisters of Banon could be depended on to accomplish their righeous task and inspire the men of the local garrison to their fullest potential on the battlefield. Still, with so much lost and so much left to lose on Tartaron, it was not enough to be highly prepared, highly capable. Tasks like these required a stacked deck. He would need just one more tool for this job.

Unwitting Foes

Sergeant Ackerman and his squad crept through the silent forest, the snow dampening the sound of their progress to a muted rolling crunch. To his left, Lilienthal and Stryker carried a rocket launcher, broken down into manageable sections. The rest of his squad, including Yager and his plasma rifle, extended off to his right in a tight, even line. Tiefwalders fought shoulder to shoulder, ready to fill any gaps left by falling brethren. Suddenly, he called for a stop. The men quickly took cover behind rotten trees and snowdrifts, readied their weapons, and waited. As the snow continued to fall, their forms melded with the terrain and became indistinct. The trap was set.

Ackerman squinted to see through the fog hanging at the edge of the forest. Dawn was breaking, and he was just beginning to make out a line of figures extending as far as his eyes could see, widely spaced, approaching their woods at a slow pace. Normally the sight of Ultramarines on patrol would fill him with pride and awe; in this case, however, he had good reason to fear this awesome spectacle of arms. Ackerman just happened to be connected enough to know that the governing council of this particular planet was using his outfit for political cat-and-mouse, trying to entice a space marine chapter into breaching a contract the governors no longer wished to honor. They were pawns in the game, but there was nothing unusual about that. It was the same job it always was.

Slowly, he brought his arm over and tapped Yager’s shoulder. One traced circle and a quick tap signaled that he had acquired a target for the plasma gunner. He turned his head and beckoned the soldier to follow his gaze. One marine in particular stood out from the formation, his immense shoulder pads covered in bright gold, wearing on his back a personal jump pack capable of launching him great distances into the air in the blink of an eye. It would only be a few more moments before their position was overrun by other similarly equipped skirmishers emerging from the marines’ line. The larger mass of supermen was slowing its approach and spreading out, surrounding the woods. They had a very small chance of successfully holding out against the angels of death today, but perhaps bringing down one of their seasoned commanders would shift the momentum to their side, if only for a little while.

Ackerman raised his hand, flicking two fingers forward, and Yager tightened his grip, disengaged the trigger lock, and took careful aim at the marine officer.

Two white hot bursts issued from his weapon and exploded into the power-armored captain a short distance away. He flew backwards several meters, coal black smoke issuing from the giant holes in his chestplate. Almost immediately his battle brothers reacted; tactical marines leveled their bolters and began firing as assault troopers leapt over them and sprinted towards their position.

A short time later, a fatally wounded Sergeant Ackerman watched as the downed marine captain passed by his ruined body. The grim figure stopped briefly to administer the emperor’s mercy before engaging his jump pack and taking off through the sparse winter canopy.

Stormrunners

As the mass of dark figures approached, their corrupted weapons snarling with increasing fury, Trefain the Elder spoke quietly to himself in the ancient tongue. In his mind he recalled once again the darkest storm he had ever seen – one of the six-year typhoons that had come to his old home at Caer Nyss, the one that had taken his entire family – and felt the sudden buildup and release of pressure in his skull that always followed the invocation. Wisps of fog issued from the earth, the atmosphere thickening and expressing depth with moisture, and the wind began to scream as it wove paths around his armored frame and those of his battle brothers. Just as the storm became distinctly visible, taking the form of a swirling gray column amongst them, it whipped and pulsed outwards, towards their oncoming foe. They would need whatever advantage they could take against hardened savages such as these – Trefain had encountered such berzerkers before, and he knew they could be quite persistent in their endless pursuit of skulls for their patron. Through the fog and rain came several small objects, and though Trefain and his Wolf Guard identified them immediately, it was too late to substantively react. The fragmentation grenades exploded, scattering shards of fire and metal into the group, giving them pause ever so slightly, negating the precious few moments they might have otherwise stolen before the cresting wave of deadly madness descended and drowned them all.

Gazak's Ruse

Captain Josias nervously thumbed the camera control stick as the grim scene unfolded on the vidscreen. He had already dismissed his orderlies; they didn’t need to see this. With rank came responsibility. Josias wasn’t himself eager to watch the inevitable massacre, but he had to follow SOP and collect as much information as possible about the invading forces. They had repulsed three such raids in the last month and Josias was confident that with good intel, they could withstand many more. The camera’s point of view looked out past their eastern perimeter, towards the dust-shrouded Ghogan desert. It didn’t hurt matters that they always came from the Ghogan, he thought with a smirk. It was the only place left on the planet where landers could descend without being detected – the old radiation storms still blew through the Ghogan and on any given day they created a blind spot 500 kilometers wide and twice as long. Good cover for an assault, but anything that made it to the outpost gates had been whittled down by the elements, not to mention their forward guns. And yet here they were again.

He panned the view downward, twisting the top of the stick to zoom. A Rhino-frame transport vehicle and several armored warriors on bikes had smashed through the outer gate just minutes earlier. Once inside, the Rhino had disgorged a full squad of traitor marines, and now they were running rampant inside the outer perimeter, taking his men apart for their own sadistic pleasure. As he watched, some of them could be clearly seen removing and collecting the heads of their victims. Only followers of Khorne were bloodthirsty enough to brave the Ghogan radstorms. While they were extremely dangerous up close, they were too small in number and could be quickly surrounded. A judicious application of fire supremacy and it would be over. It had been the same story three times already. With his eyes still glued to the horrific images on the monitor, his other hand calmly reached for the nearby commlink.

“Sergeant Gregory, Sergeant Tooms, prepare to counterattack on my signal.” The speakerbox crackled with static for a moment before he heard the two answer in affirmatives. “Captain Yueh, keep your armor on standby until my order.” He waited, and after thirty seconds with no response he repeated his message. Then, after thirty more seconds, “Yueh, pull your head out of your ass and come back already. What the hell is going on down there?”

Suddenly, the shielded port windows to his left side shattered inward, and a shockwave threw him out of his chair. Josias opened his eyes groggily and found himself on the floor. He blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear that familiar cotton-stuffing feeling he knew signaled a concussion. All sound had been reduced to a thin whine. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to his feet. Looking in the direction from whence the explosion had come, he saw that the large armored company complex was bulging on all sides, with flame and smoke billowing from the bay doors, themselves blown open. Suddenly, his hearing was restored.

“Captain!” Someone was calling him on the comlink. Yueh? What was happening? He felt like he was moving through molasses. Some of it was dripping down his face, he noticed absently.

“Captain – saboteurs in the hangar and foundry – all units destroyed. I don’t know where my crews are, I don’t…”

The comlink connection was dropped and the speaker went silent. Josias could hear the pop and boom of boltgun fire from somewhere below his command tower. He limped over to the shattered window frame and peered down through the cracks of the viewshield. Space marines in black armor were crouching near the base of the tower, affixing something to the side. Stylized yellow eyes on their hulking shoulder pads stared back up at him. Black Legion! Where could they have come from? This sector wasn’t even a…

He watched, confused, as the infiltrators finished with their task and scattered backwards, away from the tower. “Oh hell,” Josias had time to mutter, before the meltacharge exploded and brought the command spindle down in a shower of fire and plascrete. It was going to be a long day for the Imperial forces stationed at Jaswin. A very long day.

Tournament Fluff for Guard

The Walder System lies in the Segmentum Obscurus and comprises of several inhabited planets orbiting a single sun. The largest and most heavily populated of these is Tiefwald. Despite its greater distance from the Eye of Terror than other Obscurus systems such as Cadia or Mordia, its peoples are nonetheless faced with Chaos incursions on a regular basis, due in large part to the energy-generating capacity of the planet’s massive thermal core reactors. Fortunately these same reactors provide the Tiefwalder military access to an almost unlimited supply of plasma for use in munitions and fuel.

Trained amongst the densely forested terrain of their homeworld, all Tiefwalder regiments specialize in large-scale infantry ambushes. Each soldier is a rifleman first and foremost and receives lifelong training in accuracy and fire control. The Tiefwalder company commander typically exercises direct control prerogative for each unit. This has two main effects on their style of fighting. First, the platoon command elements are freed up to intercept skirmishers or conduct raids behind enemy lines with devastating short-range anti-armor weaponry. To be able to participate in such a raid is considered the highest (and probably last) honor that a Tiefwalder can earn. Second, the commander can more easily coordinate the various elements of the main ambush, collapsing sections of the front line at precisely the best moment to create new firing lanes and trap targets in the open. When an enemy charges in for close-quarters fighting, they will often find the Tiefwalder position abandoned and themselves caught in a new crossfire!

The Tiefwalder 14th, a.k.a. the Red Rifles, is traditionally a dedicated PDF regiment, though they have been deployed off-world in rare instances. In fact, they earned their nickname after their commitment to the Hannover System conflict, when they painted their weapons red in order to intimidate the invading Ork army. Since the regiment’s inception, they have also participated in actions against Eldar and Tau forces. Reports of skirmishes with other imperial forces are largely speculative and have never been verified.

Tournament Fluff for Chaos

Inquisitor Aristobulus,

Since my last dispatch, I was forced to abandon my post on Tapel’s World. No doubt you are by now aware of the warp disruptions that destroyed Tristan; after my astropaths became too distressed from the aftershocks to perform their duties, my staff transported most of our mission assets to one of our alternate locations, which I provided to you when we last met. From here I shall continue my long-range observation of the Demon Prince Toggog and his nefarious associates.

Toggog still commands at the point of the spear, his strength and savagery augmented by each terrible victory. We have determined that Slyrrin Archfiend now leads the Black Legion contingent of Toggog’s marauders. The fate of his predecessor, Gazak the Merciless, is unknown. Survivors of the encounter at Nogodrial claimed that he was destroyed by heavy ordnance bombardment, but had no direct evidence to support the allegation. It is known that, just before they laid siege to Tristan, Slyrrin’s group attacked a secret arms repository on Byre and made off with the contents, including an ancient and powerful boltgun prototype. On this raid, as well as on Tristan, Slyrrin and his subordinates were accompanied by two hulking entities, each much larger than a space marine in tactical dreadnought armor, that could by all accounts produce a variety of weapons fire using only their warp-twisted bodies. Their descriptions match those of the rare and mysterious “obliterator cult.” These profane abominations may well have played some part in Slyrrin’s ascendancy.

I once again humbly request that you send your most able men to combat this horrible enemy before it lays the entire northern portion of the sector to waste.

Your modest servant,
Talus Valerius VII

Karel's Folly Narratives

In the wilderness surrounding Tristan's capital city of Gallioli, Toggog and his minions attempted to ambush and loot a heavily armored Tau hunting party but were fought off, the battle ending in a stalemate. Later, when the demon prince's army encountered a rival band of chaos raiders amongst the ruins of the city, his rage was too great to contain and they slaughtered the rivals to the last man. Skulls are skulls, after all, and Khorne must be appeased...

After their rok transports were caught in a sudden warp displacement, a marauding band of orks from Waagh! Mahkook found themselves stranded on the surface of Tristan. As they began to set up a staging area for later assaults on the nearby human settlement, they were detected and attacked by elements of the 14th Tiefwalder Armored Infantry Regiment, sending them fleeing into the urban wasteland. Unfortunately, this placed them directly in the path of the newly awakened necron juggernaught. The plucky greenskins put up a valiant fight against the silent robot phalanx but were defeated in the end.

A large group of chaos raiders traveled through a warp storm and descended upon the Tristan wilderness. As they went about scouring the planet's surface for valuable slaves and munitions, they unknowingly disturbed a Necron battle group from multimillenial slumber. Rising from their newly exposed tomb, the somber automatons repelled the chaos raiders and eventually sent them running for cover amidst the ruins of nearby Gallioli. As the chaos lord attempted to reorganize his battered company, they were suddenly set upon by another chaos faction and slaughtered to the last man.

A hunting party of Tau were pursuing a contingent of orks from Waagh! Mahkook when their ships were caught in a freak warp storm and sent hurtling halfway across the galaxy to the surface of Tristan. As they surveyed their new surroundings, they were suddenly attacked by the Demon Prince Toggog and his ruthless band of chaos veterans. After some heavy initial losses, the Tau managed to find their footing and repel the attacking psychotics long enough to get away. Eventually they picked up the trail of their original ork quarry, but it led them into an imperial guard encampment in the ruined city. Battle ensued, and the Tau were narrowly defeated.

Units from the 14th Tiefwalder 3rd company were deployed as auxiliary planetary defense forces on Tristan. Just before the traitor Karel declared secession, he sent the loyalist Tiefwalders out into the Tristan wilderness to investigate a rather dubious account of xeno invaders. After being pummeled overnight by intense storms, they came upon a recently arrived party of orks from Waagh! Mahkook. After a day of pitched battle, the orks were routed and the guard pursued the surviving enemy back into Gallioli. Startled to find the capital city in ruins, destroyed by unknown forces, they made camp and evaluated their next course of action. It was then that a tau hunting party stumbled onto their position and battle was joined. Tanks fought tanks and losses were heavy for both sides but the tau were eventually defeated.

An age-old cell of necrons was reactivated when the monolith capping their tomb was exposed by violent warp storms and disturbed by marauding chaos looters. After annihilating the band of pirates, the necrons swept into ruined Gallioli. From afar they perceived a roving band of orks and moved to intercept them. After these new opponents were similarly defeated, the necrons simply resumed their pilgrimage through the desolated streets, following their ancient impulse to wander the planet until all usurpers were ground under their metal heels.

Somewhere Above the Battle for Gowrain...

“Developments to report, my lord,” spoke the ugly, metallic voice emanating from the swiftly descending servo skull. “Proceed to relay, little one.” Gazak stroked the rusted little object with a single extended talon. These older technologies required a gentle touch, even from a hulking champion of chaos such as himself. “Lord Bulgar’s forces have arrived at the outskirts of the city. The blood of the Emperor’s servants flows freely.” “Losses?” “Brother Ephaedrel is fallen.” The mighty Ephaedrel was long ago entombed in the corpus of an awesome dreadnought, his taste for devastation never faltering. Until, apparently, just now. These Imperials were such a nuisance.

Lord Bulgar was hopelessly addicted to carnage. Strategy was not his specialty, and he could squander valuable resources quite carelessly at times. They had worked the will of the dark Gods together for nearly a thousand years, and it had always been this way.

They had entered orbit two standard days prior, and rather than lay down a simple orbital barrage, Bulgar had led a small cadre of his most savage brethren planetside for a dawn attack on Gowrain's pitiful defenders. Still, the secrets of the ancient C’tan armory would soon be theirs for the taking. And if Bulgar were to fall at the last, Gazak could step forward and claim the prize along with the command. All that, and the prospect of slaughtering possibly thousands of mortals before nightfall… he could linger no longer.

He pulled himself free of the spindly, arachnoid limbs surrounding his command throne and turned to leave the forebridge. With five large strides he arrived at the sleepchamber entrance. It would take only a few moments to revive his brothers and arm for battle, and perhaps a moment more to teleport directly into the fight.

Splinter Fleet Vivax

The planet Vivax was once home to a thriving Imperial civilization, renowned for its highly sophisticated fabricator facilities that produced components of Emperor Class battleships. For all of the technological expertise and political capital at their disposal, however, the wealthy rulers of the system did not foresee the destruction that would come about with the quiet founding of a religious sect on Vivax called the Faith Crimson.

Subsequent investigations have determined that the first recorded appearances of this denomination coincided with the arrival of a deep-space freighter bringing heavy ore from Ghent tithe planets beyond the eastern rim of the galaxy. The sect’s reinvigoration of the Imperial creed was extraordinarily popular, and as a result the Faith Crimson became tightly intertwined with Vivax culture. According to the new sect, every imperial citizen carried the blood of the Emperor in their veins, and loyal subjects were expected to regularly donate small amounts of it in symbolic return for his gifts to all of humanity. Iconography displayed by the planet’s defense forces now included small circles on either side of the imperial “I”, which the faithful believed represented the watchful eyes of the Emperor. Unfortunately, these subtle changes and apparently harmless fads had much more sinister implications. When isolated groups of more conservative citizenry refused to adopt this new “flavor” of worship, what might have otherwise remained a strictly theological disagreement flared suddenly into armed clashes. The planetary Governor declared Hullandose, one of the most conservative hive cities, a den of blood hoarders and heretics, and the city was subsequently occupied by his military. What truly came to pass in Hullandose is unknown, but after a matter of months all resistance to the Faith Crimson disappeared completely. Communication between Vivax and other planets in the system began to break down. Scheduled visits by representatives of the Administratum and Cult Mechanicus were either bribed off or rescheduled indefinitely. After a minor outbreak of a bacterial contagion in one of the smaller hive cities, all traffic from off-world was detoured to the planet’s main orbital station. Something strange was obviously happening on Vivax, but the other planetary governors were too distracted by their own political and economic challenges to effectively relay their concerns to higher authorities. They did not know that the citizenry of Vivax was entirely indoctrinated with a new faith, one that inspired them to construct elaborate temples with vast underground tunnel networks, and inured them to the increasing frequency of mutation in their newborns. And so it was too late when a splinter of Hive Fleet Kraken penetrated the defense cordon on the Eastern Fringe and made its way to Vivax. Greeting their long awaited masters with jubilant celebration, the “human” population went willingly aboard the enormous hive ships, along with the innumerable broods of genestealers they had been breeding below the planet’s surface. As most Imperial forces were committed to the fighting at Ichar IV, the other planets in the Ghent system could afford very little resistance.

Several of the worlds are now declared perdida, their mycetic infestation resistant to even the most devastating bombardment the Imperial navy can muster. Orbital scans show that Tyranid forms still survive deep underground on Vivax and several other nearby worlds in a state of suspended animation. The splinter fleet itself has since moved on to unknown locales.

Not Completely Insensible

As Lieutenant Parris regained consciousness, his eyes blinking uncontrollably in the daylight that was so quickly replacing the blackness of his concussion, he became aware of a deep hum resonating through the earth underneath his arm. Eventually sounds of higher frequency reached his ears, and he realized his teeth were chattering, cracking out a surprisingly loud cadence that matched the throbbing tempo of the tone. Slowly the strange hum softened and seemed to move away. He clenched his jaw and concentrated on his immediate surroundings. He swept his head around in a half-circle, his vision lagging behind, and saw his men lying scattered around a blackened crater. His arms tensed and he perceived his weapon, intact and ready in his hands. How had he come to this battle? It was battle, to be sure, evidenced by the distant sounds of las weaponry and krak explosions echoing off of the wide wall of the alien building to his ten o’clock. Suddenly, his eyes caught a glimpse of movement, directly ahead of the crater. As five sleek metallic forms glided around the far side of the building, answers came flooding back into memory. The archaeoforest. The magnetic signal. Necrons. And most recently, the destruction of his transport by a bloody enormous floating pyramid.

He crossed the crater to the far side, dropped to the scorched earth, and peeked over the rubble. The flying Necrons were approaching slowly, sweeping their heads from side to side, looking for survivors among the scattered wreckage of the Chimera. As Parris watched, a missile streaked out from behind him and exploded into one of the enemy, sending its smoking hulk smashing into a nearby pile of rubble. He whirled to behold trooper Tyus, apparently the only other survivor of the wreck, throw down his empty rocket launcher and dive to pick up an abandoned lasgun. The resolve of his subordinate filled him with pride, and he turned once more to the enemy, aiming and firing his boltgun at the flying Necrons. Already the mechanized horrors had quickened their pace and his shots either went wide or harmlessly ricocheted off their carriages. As they leveled their weapons in his direction, mesmerizing beams of green neon lanced through the air around him, tearing holes in the fine smoke rising lightly from the ground. As their impacts finally caught his body, his vision fell and he saw trooper Tyus sprinting away from the crater, back to the main battle line. He was a brave young man, but not completely insensible.