coolyo294
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Slayer of Demons
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Post by coolyo294 on Sept 23, 2014 16:01:49 GMT
Armageddon 69th Sergeant Mordecai Trayzer
After undergoing a final check by the company's tech-priest, the Iron Lady had rumbled to the advance staging ground. Surrounded by the two other tanks of its squadron, Hell's Belle and Queen for a Day, the Demolisher resembled an island of machinery in a sea of golden-carapaced Vostroyan infantry.
Their orders were simple enough, support the Vostroyans in their advance through the railhead terminus. When it was captured, it would serve the dual purpose of relieving the beleaguered 122nd and gaining the Imperials a foothold within the defensive wall. From there, and hopefully other points within the city, the Imperial Guard would be able to press home their charge and put the traitorous Sevran Dominate to the sword.
"I'd sure hate to be one of those guys," Gaius said. The driver was referring to the infantry that were assembling around them. "Poor bastards don't have anything but that shiny carapace between them and the bullets."
Jack was absently flipping through a tattered porn mag when he responded. "I'm sure they pity us too, Gaius. Roasting to death in a steel box? Hell of a way to go. War is shitty in a myriad of ways and none of us have it good."
"Still, I'd rather have a couple inches of good imperial armour between me and whatever's trying to murder us today." Gaius said.
The gunner shrugged. "Fair enough."
"Both of you, shut up. You'll scare the newb." Mordecai said. He glanced down at their greenhorn radio operator. The boy was no older than 19, pale as a ghost and trembling. His lips moved as he silently mouthed prayers. It didn't seem like he was paying attention to what any of them were saying. Mordecai got his attention by gently kicking his shoulder.
"Drake, no need to worry. Just do what we tell you to do and you'll be fine. I have no intention of letting any of us die on this run." he said with a reassuring smile.
Drake's panic seemed assuaged somewhat. "Thanks, sarge. I'll do my best!" he said.
Mordecai nodded. "I know you will."
Suddenly the vox crackled to life. Drake listened intently for a second before patching the transmission through to the other crewmen. It was Colonel Sisk. His deep voice resonated even through the vox network and filled each man with fiery courage.
"Men of the 69th." he started. "The Lord General has issued the general advance. You know your orders and I expect you will follow them to the utmost of your capabilities. Support the Vostroyans, take the terminus, and relieve the Cadian 122nd. Fight hard, and if you must, die well. With fire and blood we will drive the foul heretics from their holes and break them on the might of our tanks! In the Emperor's name, advance!"
With mighty roars the Leman Russes of the 69th Armoured fired into gear. And like ponderous giants they began to trundle forward, an inexorable reminder of the Imperial Guard's strength.
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Post by admiral9 on Sept 23, 2014 20:35:37 GMT
Vostroyan 55Th grenadier regiment Captain Mikhail Semyonovich Vorontsov
The endless stomping of boots, the shining chest plates, the proud banners flying in the air. This was a sight he had always loved and hence made sure to enjoy it every time he went to war, he had made sure his company was in perfect formation, their face was hidden by their gas masks, a precaution he took knowing that the Krieg forces were close to their front, he could recognize the banners of each of his platoons, carried by the platoons champion, next to each of the banners was the commander of his respective platoon, leading the formations. Mikhail and his command squad were on a small hill overseeing their forces advance, he could see the armored forces of the Armageddon 69th advance a couple hundred meters ahead together with what he identified as the 6th company, they would need their help if they wished to breach the forward fortifications and from there advance on the wall, their immediate orders were to advance towards the rail head terminus and establish a beachhead there while also sending reinforcements to the Cadian forces, when studying the maps Mikhail had identified that the first obstacles would be a collection of buildings centered around the railway, they were most likely held by screening forces but he should not underestimate them, they would have support from the artillery on the walls and would most likely be fortified inside the buildings. he had always had to weigh off honor to be the first in combat against the safety of his men, and this time was no other. And the choice was always the same too, honor to Vostroya, the emperor and most importantly his name were always the most important, and he trusted his men knew what they were fighting for and that they too would receive great honor if they survived the charge.
Mikhail turned towards his command squad and the first platoon, which was both his reserve and under his personal command, comprised of most of his veterans and experienced close quarters fighters, he had often led them in charges and had always triumphed. He smiled and opened his mouth "Men,today we move on yet another redoubt of corruption and insolence, filled with those who resent the Imperium, led by a faction of upstarts. They are besieging our comrades in arms inside the walls and are trying to keep the holy emperors light out by hiding under those very same walls, we will get into that wall and destroy any who oppose us. any non believer, upstart, rebel or any other kind of insurgent will be expunged by our might. So I order you, once again, as i have done many times, to follow me in battle and fight for Vostroya, and the emperor!" The men, riled up by the speech watched their leader expectantly, Mikhail unsheathed his sword pointed in the way they had to go and led them forward forming up with his main column, and marching towards combat.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2014 3:24:13 GMT
Vostroyan 55th Guardsmen Dmitry Avilov
The men of the 55th had formed up into their battle lines, they knew their duty, breach the gates, relieve the Cadians, take the city. Dmitry stood idle, mentally preparing for the coming assault, the Leman Russ battle tanks of the Armageddon 69th were the only cover between them and the enemy, the assault would cost the lives of many guardsmen today. Dmitry let out a sigh before hauling his Heavy Bolter off the ground. The thunder of an artillery barrage shook the ground, the impacting rounds blasting holes into the walls of the city Novus, the cry went out "Forwards! For the glory of the emperor!". The tanks slowly rumbled forwards followed closely by the guardsmen, he prayed a silent prayer as he marched towards the city, hoping against hope the tank in front of him survived.
Valhallen 442nd Guardsmen Nickolas Chenko
The soldiers of the 442nd were quiet, there was no banter, no boasting, only men, young and old, making their peace with the Emperor. Nickolas leaned carelessly against the tank before him, he was nervous, but he would die before he let it show. Sergeant Nicon stepped up, "Ready men?" He asked.
"We're as ready as we're going to be Sir." Chenko replied quietly.
"Buck up soldier." Nicon ordered, "I'll not have anyone from my squad shy away from their duty."
"Yes Sir!" Chenko barked snapping to attention. The ringing echos of cannon fire cut off Nicon's response as artillery hammered the city, Chenko whirled around to see the explosions of the first volley impacting the city walls. Vox Operators relied the order, "Soldiers of the Imperial Guard! Advance!"
Nicon turned to the young men under his command, "This is the time soldiers, follow me! To death and glory!"
"Death and Glory!" The squad yelled as they marched forwards.
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Post by AegisFate on Sept 24, 2014 4:08:23 GMT
Corporal Harold Genner, Elysian 44th
He hated these times, the mere moments before a drop. Not to mention the hangover and the half remembered camp follower bouncing on his lap plaguing his thoughts. The rebreather strapped around his mouth was also irritating, a memory of impact on the left side and the explosion of fire as a fuel cell was ruptured. He still heard her screams when he wasn't passed out or fucking to spend the time, but that didn't matter, only the duty at hand. The shudder of the Tauros as it was clamped down by the Sky Talon brought him back out of his memories, a second buggy just behind his.
He spoke through the comm bead placed close to his mouth to the driver in the other Tauros being prepared for its drop into hell, "Jerry, how's'abouts we start a nice running tally of how many traitor sons of bitches we cap." He chuckled, almost a facade put up, but still somewhat honest.
"You think your Vasilly can beat my Jackal?" a voice retorted, a deep throaty chuckle indicating the owner would become fat the second he was allowed to.
"Better believe it. First one to cap a tank gets rounds on me!" He sighed silently to himself after the statement, knowing few would come back from this drop, highly unsupported and in extremely hostile territory.
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coolyo294
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Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
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Post by coolyo294 on Sept 30, 2014 17:17:52 GMT
As the combined Armageddon and Vostroyan forces advanced, the fortifications guarding the railhead terminus came into view. Scattered collections of warehouses and depots were clustered around the massive railroad tracks that lead into the city, further guarded by trench lines and barricades. Crude pillboxes also sprouted amongst the other buildings, bristling with machine guns and cannons. They were still 2000 meters out at this point.
Mordecai felt his blood go cold. His grip on the tank's periscope tightened and a bead of sweat dripped beneath his gas mask. Although fear had no place in the heart of a guardsman, he could not help but feel a twinge at the idea of charging headlong into enemy fortifications.
An voice crackled across the vox. It was the company commander. "All tanks, hold fire until we're within range! Target the pillboxes, the infantry can deal with the trenches!" he ordered.
Eli slammed a shell into the demolisher cannon's breech. It closed with a clank.
"Gun's hot sir, just give us the word." Jack said.
2000 meters. With a horrible whine, artillery began to plunge down on the advancing imperials. Explosions tore through the lines, killing infantry and even a few tanks. But they continued forward.
1750 meters. Heretic infantry began to fire, pouring lasbolts and bolter shells into the imperials. A few scattered lascannon emplacements even destroyed a few of the tanks. The advance still did not slow.
1500 meters. The deluge of fire intensified. Many Vostroyan soldiers were protected by the armoured bulwarks of the Armageddon tanks, but a few still stumbled and fell as the bullets found them.
1250 meters. Friendly artillery began to speak, raining death upon the heretic lines. But the incoming fire did not slacken. 1000 meters. The tanks finally entered range.
"Open fire!" came the order.
With a thunderous report, the battle tanks of the Armageddon 69th opened fire. Even at max effective range and firing on the move, the devastating shots tore huge chunks from the defensive lines. One building even collapsed and Mordecai could make out the tiny, distant shapes of Sevran Dominate soldiers tossed high into the air like ragdolls. They continued to fire as they got closer. With the reduced distance came increased accuracy and soon none of the pillboxes remained to harass the infantry as they poured into the trenches and buildings.
As they entered the nitty gritty of the buildings surrounding the railhead depot, the tanks began to split off. A few squadrons remained together, but most attached themselves to squads and platoons as they advanced through the burning district, putting the scattered resistance to the sword.
The inside of the Iron Lady was hot, loud, and smelly, reeking of sweat and fyceline. Mordecai called out orders over the vox as the tank trundled forward with a platoon of infantry escorts. Drake Novus, the greenest member of the crew, claimed his first kills as he put the hull mounted heavy flamer to deadly use against an entrenched squad of militiamen. Slowly the sounds of battle began to slacken as the sledgehammer of the Imperial Guard pounded the resistance into dust.
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Post by admiral9 on Sept 30, 2014 22:23:09 GMT
"Take cover!" a platoon commander 20 meters away from Mikhail shouted, a 132mm shell impacted moments later, the shaking of the earth could be felt but luckily the shrapnel had ricocheted off of the armor of the escorting tanks meaning no one was directly hurt, Ivan was the first to stand up, proudly waving the banner of the Vostroyan second company, the rest of the men followed suit and continued their advance behind the tanks.
They would be approaching the trench lines soon and would need to commence the assault on the enemy positions, the pillboxes had thankfully already been under heavy fire and most of them were neutralized, Mikhail turned to his vox operator "Order the second and fourth company to continue escorting our armored support, have the third with support from the fifth commence the assault of the enemy trenches, order the mortars to be set up so a smoke screen can be deployed to cover our forces, order the first company to continue staying in reserve and take command of the logistics and fire support part of the advance for now." he nodded and started transmitting the orders, he also transmitted the vox codes of the specific platoons and the company itself to the tanks they were escorting, they were apparently escorting the third squadron of the second company from the Armageddon 69th, called "the wrecking crew", he instructed that they should transmit their movements to their escorts so to keep a proper screen around the armored forces.
Mikhail was looking across the battlefield, he could see the mortar squads firing smoke shells laying down a screen in front of the trenches, he could see his charging forces entering the smoke screen none retreating, he knew what was going on there know, his warriors from Vostroya were now mowing down the heretics, using their plasma weaponry, blades and bayonets none would survive, prisoners were not to be taken, as reports started to flood in and the first part of the long logistical tail comprised of the administrative assets and direct resupply started to arrive to take over the job of logistics and administration Mikhail decided it was time for them to advance too, he gave the orders for the first platoon to start moving up, with Mikhail at the front, bodyguards to his right and his flag bearer to his left they charged in approaching their first obstacle a large storage building, they prepared to charge it only to be surprised by the presence of allied troops, apparently with the combined might of the Armageddon armored forces and the Vostroyan grenadiers the resistance was quickly ground into dust and there wasn't much left for them to fight against, something that surprised him even more was a militiaman, gravely wounded who had managed to barely hide came out to him, not to ambush him and try to take his life but instead he tried to surrender, begging for his life, praying to the emperor for mercy. Mikhail didn't know what he saw, such cowardice, such a lack of power, he didn't even spare him a word but only impaled the mongrel with his sword before moving on to gather a status report.
He ordered a regrouping of the commanders and extended an offer to the tank commanders they had been escorting to join the planning as they would most likely be involved in said plan, in the meanwhile the troops starting digging in themselves preparing for a possible counterattack from the Novus forces.
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Post by Lord Harrab on Oct 1, 2014 12:41:43 GMT
White gloved hands, marked with an all seeing eye, Ivory backed cards worn smooth from use, fingers moving in rhythmic patterns as they shuffled the Tarot from hand to hand. "Don't look at them, never look directly at them." The sounds of War echoed around her, echoed in her head, she could feel the tugging of their emotions at her mind, little whispers between the neat stacks of her memory. beyond that was the warp, whispering in a thousand voices as she listen for the one she wanted, the one that filled her soul with light. The fingers stopped, they pulled out a Card. ALI, the Lord General's Psyker Advisor was sat on a storage locker at the back of the command center, the Lord General's Bodyguards knew of her and her... habits so let her be. She didn't like them, minds of steel and mud, all in perfect order. "The Card. look at the Card." She did so, the Skull face and scythe grinned back at her. Death. but whose? Fingers moved again, the click-clack of the cards audible over the chater and bustle of officers and serfs, the bare of voxes and the thunder of guns. Another Card. The Emperor, someone important, well that narrowed it down a bit click clack, click clack. Silence. Another Card. Horus. a Traitor. a spy or assassin, one close to the last. ALI closed her eyes and felt through the Super-heavy command tank, Frost formed on the metal surfaces around her physical form as she opened her mind and flew through the Corridors in search of a mind, the most important mind. Behind closed lids, her eyes burned blue. "There." ++ My Lord General? May I Speak with you?++ ++What is it?++ ++The Tarot has spoken, There is an Assassin aboard++ ++I Suspected as much, do you have anything to offer?++ ++One close to the Last. Not New or Old. But near both. The Cards Know.++ ++Ah, As Clear as Mud, as per usual.++ ++ I am but a Vessel through which He Speaks. You Alone must Understand++ ++One of these days you are going to speak a normal sentence and The Eye will close in astonishment.++ ++Don't count on it, my Lord. Blunts are Boring++ ++Quite. Very well, I will take steps. Thank you Ali++ ++ To Serve the Throne is the Highest Honor. May i withdraw?++ ++You May.++ Ali opened her eyes and smirked to herself. Around her, officers were still directing their regiments and assets, but several were shivering in the now freezing command center and their breath came in clouds. Much more interesting. unbidden, her hands drew another card and held it up. The Aquila. Imperial Triumph. She smiled, and resumed shuffling the cards and around her the sounds of war grew louder still.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2014 5:47:26 GMT
Vostroyan 55th Guardsmen Dmitry Avilov
This was the easy part, just walking in a straight line, sheltered by the thick armor of the tank before them Dmitry and his squad were being careful to keep the tank in between them and the hail of gun fire and Las beams. One of the shinnies peaked his head around the side of the tank every few minutes, checking how much further they had to go. "Okay soldiers." Cpl Volkov spoke up, "When we reach the trenches it's me and the flamer up front, Everyone else lay down suppressing fire on anything that moves while Dmitry gets that Bolter set up. Secure a section of the trench and dig in."
"Yes Sir!" They shouted.
Dmitry stole a look around the side of the tank, "200 meters to the trench line." He called, and then all hell broke loose. An explosion ripped through the tanks underside as the mine detonated underneath it's treads, within seconds artillery bombarded the helpless vehicle. "Run for the trench line!" Volkov shouted before the tank was blown apart by the traitors cannons, Dmitry was dimly aware of something heavy on top of him, his ears ringing from the blast, something wet and sticky ran down his face, blood, he realized, "I'm bleeding." He muttered. He tried to sit up but something was on top of him, pinning him down. Straining to look down he saw a limp body in red armor laying on top of him, marshaling his wits he tried to push the body off him, another soldier weakly crawled over and helped push the dead man off. "We have to get to the trenches." Dmirty said, "It's the only cover between us and them."
"Gun, need gun." The soldier mummered, clearly in shock.
As a hail of bullets rained down on them Dmitry force himself to stand, picking up a discarded Lasgun he turned, pulling his fellow trooper to his feet, Dmirty practically dragged the soldier onward as he rushed, stumbling towards the enemy trenches. Bullets and Las beams ricocheted off his armor as he pressed on, getting closer and closer to the relative safety of the trench. Not ten meters from the enemy and one of them stood up, an officer judging by the pistol he was aiming at Dmitry, the traitor bastard was vastly over estimating the power of his auto-pistol Dmirty thought as he awkwardly aimed the Lasgun with one hand, the other holding his brother-in-arms. The traitor's bullet impacted harmlessly against Dmirty's armor, the Las beam from Dmitry's rifle practically vaporized the traitor's flak armor, burning a hole straight through his chest. Dmitry kept firing as he covered the last few meters between him and the cover of the trench, killing or wounding several enemy soldiers before he leaping into the trench. The stunned Vostroyan trooper slumped to the trench floor as Dmitry dropped him, before turning to face the traitors. "For Vostroya!" Dmitry yelled, firing the Lasgun more than a dozen times before he a shotgun blast torn through his armor, Dmitry fell backwards, slamming against the side of the tench. He looked down, saw blood leaking out of his midriff, his armor having finally given way.
"Die imperial!" The shotgun wielding traitor yelled as he slammed the pump open, as he shoved the pump forward to chamber the killing shell Dmitry was already raising the Lasgun squeezing the trigger as fast as he could, a half-dozen Las beams tore through the man in quick succession, he fell backwards as he fired sending his round high and wide. Dmitry slumped back, staring at the shell-shocked Vostroyan near him, his breathing was coming in short rasps, his hand weakly pressed against the gaping wound in his abdomen, the Lasgun slipped out of his hand. Dmitry was dimly aware of voices nearby, Vostroyans were filling the trenches, he weakly cried out for help, begging for someone to help the one man he had managed to save. Field medics rushed towards him as he fell to the floor of the trench, he thought of home, and then it all faded to darkness.
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Post by Warork on Oct 4, 2014 6:52:28 GMT
Day 1 The Eagle's Nest
Weylon was one of the many orderlies that served the Lord General's command staff aboard the Luminus Terra; The Lord General's own Captiol Imperialis, a massive Imperial construct that was a holdover from a time when humanity's crusade spanned the corners of their galaxy. No one knew how old the venerable machine was, or at least Weylon did not know. That kind of information was reserved for the strange and shadowy adepts of the machine god, some of which wandered the halls of the Luminus but mostly stayed confined to the engine and weapons decks from which they watched over their mechanical charges, communicating with the machine spirits in their archaic and unknown tongue.
Weylon, however, was not just simply a servant. Over the years his attentive service has afforded him the good graces of the Lord General himself and several years ago he had been made the personal attendee of Lord General Oximar. Weylon served the General his meals, drew his baths, delivered his messages, and sometimes he helped the venerable old Lord General dress when the occasion called for it.
Weylon was also dead. His body had been dumped into one of the Luminus' enormous reactors and obliterated in order to cover up his replacement who now walked about the Luminus in Weylon's skin. Well, not his skin exactly, but the murderer had been able to make his skin identical to Weylon's own through the use of the rare and powerful drug known as polymorphine. It was a chemical that, paired with intense training that went along with preparing an individual to be an assassin, allowed him to change his body's appearance to become a man...or woman's...doppelganger. And so the not-Weylon strutted about in his new skin, waiting for his prey to unwittingly call him to be of service and perhaps only too late realize the extent of his doom. If all went according to plan, however, the mark would never understand his fate until he was already slain. Such was the perfect coup de grace that assassin's of the not-Weylon's caliber lived for.
Finally after a day of waiting the call had come. The call had come as a relief to the not-Weylon who was beginning to think he had been discovered, such was the nature of the dangerous game that he played and many did not survive it. But as he made his way up to his target he chided himself mentally. There was no reason to fear as there was absolutely no trace that he was not in fact the Lord General's servant; the perfect disguise for the perfect kill. Oh, how he yearned for that moment, to see the light fade from his mark's eyes and to know in that moment that the fate of thousands of souls and perhaps an entire world lay in his hands. Suddenly there was a soft "ding" that alerted him that the elevator he had entered with a trolley containing the Lord General's breakfast had finally reached its destination. The doors opened in front of him and he pushed the trolley out, walking into a short, carpeted hallway that ended abruptly in the form of a large adamantium plated door. Two guards stood still as statues on either side of the door; each one clad in black carapace armor and holding finely polished bolters at the ready across their chests. Each man wore dark grey trench-coats underneath their armor and their faces were hidden by their helmet's all encompassing visors which were painted whit to resemble skulls. A fearsome sight to any ordinary man to be sure; there were not many who did not know or whisper in hushed tones about the Lord General's personal guard; a band of Kriegsmen its was said, men with no fear who did not question orders and obeyed their master without question. They would no doubt not hesitate a millisecond to kill the not-Weylon if they suspected him of wishing to harm the General. Well, he thought, it was a good thing he wasn't going to give them that chance. He rolled the trolley forwards without hesitation, smiling as he approached the checkpoint.
"Good morning!" He said cheerily to the guards who did not respond in any way until he got all the way to the door. The assassin had observed the not-Weylon for days before killing him; watching his body language and mannerisms. Weylon had been a cheery fellow before he had died, piss poor regicide player though.
As he neared the door and halted one of the guards stepped forwards and held his hands out for him to hold in place. His partner turned to some sort of panel built into the side of the hallway and began pressing buttons.
"Is there...a problem?" The not-Weylon asked slightly apprehensively. The guard who had halted him turned to face him.
"Standard screening in line with protocol." He responded simply, his voice distorted by the vox grille in his helmet he spoke through. The other guard pressed one last button and another panel opened to reveal a small alcove within from which floated a servo skull, levitating in the air about the group.
"Ah, very good." The not-Weylon said once again cheerily. Apprehension threatened to fill the assassin's mind but he refused to succumb to it. This was just a routine scan which he had obviously taken precautions against as any good agent would. They would have to do better than that to uncover his carefully laid plan.
The servo skull floated around the trolley and the not-Weylon both, its red, glowing eyes sending out a red beam which passed over him and the trolley both. Every so often it beeped but other than that it continued on its path as if nothing was wrong. After about sixty seconds of this, the servo skull stopped and returned to the alcove from which it flew. The guard at the control panel read the results of the scan and turned to his twin, nodding. the twin in turn motioned for Weylon to go in.
"Everything checks out." He said simply, gruffly.
"Thank you." Weylon responded, relieved. The hard part was over, now all that was left was the deed to be done.
He entered the Lord General's personal chambers. Very few people within the Luminus actually had access to this room let alone this floor of the enormous vehicle. The first thing he noticed was the amount of outside light pouring in from outside the walls of the Luminus. He looked and saw that a large part of the far wall had been replaced with a single pane of glass that allowed all of those in the room to look out. Even from the doorway, the not-Weylon could see the outline of the city in the distance from the height that this deck was located. The land before it stretched out like a green and grey carpet and as he continued to come forward he noted that the carpet was covered with just visible ants in the distance. Lines and columns of the Imperial Guard were moving towards the city walls and the outline of the great buildings in the distance. The not-Weylon could see the shadowed outline of the Emperor's Basilica in the distance and the Palace of Peace, just an outline in the haze, beyond it. The room was well furnished and highly decorated, though the assassin expected no less. Electro torches lined the expensive looking wallpaper of the room, each one sitting beside a hung painting, several of them being portraits of different important looking officials. Who they were the not-Weylon hardly cared. What he was looking for was much more important to him. Already he spied an air vent but from a cursory glance it appeared that between that and the window there were very few ways besides the door to escape the room. He let his eyes pan around several wall covering book cases lined from ground to ceiling with ancient tomes and new printings alike. No, no other doors for him escape from; a sound construction defensively but it mattered little. In mere moments his mission would be complete and he would be prepared to make his escape.
"Is that you, Weylon?" A voice asked from the far side of the room with the window view. The not-Weylon saw a figure sitting in a lofty and expensive looking chair facing the window, a large lacquered wooden desk with papers and documents sitting in the corner closest to him. The voice was filled with age and authority and as the not-Weylon drew closer he was left in no doubt as to who it belonged to.
Lord General Oximar was no doubt a sturdy man. Even in his advanced age he was the picture of the ideal imperial noble; strong in body and with a face that managed to look both partican and aquiline at once. His hair was a steel grey and he bore a long scar across his left cheekbone where long ago a sinister blow had taken that eye though it had long been replaced with an augmetic counterpart, a very good quality one at that. He was arraigned in his dress uniform although he wore none of his many decorations or symbols of office unsurprisingly as he was in the privacy of his own chambers. With the wave of a hand, the Lord General beckoned his servant forwards.
The not Weylon came forwards and stopped the trolley next to the Lord General. He took a glass from it, and with the other hand opened a bottle of vintage amasec that had been put on the trolley next to the Lord General's breakfast for this special occasion.
"Good morning, milord." The not-Weylon said cheerily as the character dictated.
"Look at it Weylon." The Lord General responded, motioning to the window in front of him. The light-reactive nature of the glass ensured that the glare of the local star did not disturb the Lord General's view. In a movement the General stood and approached the window further.
"A million men prepared to go to war with but a word from me. Ten thousand tanks; the wrath of the Omnissiah, with but a wave they will do my bidding. The Emperor's own Navy, a force that would churn entire cities into dust will fall upon my enemies if I would only tell them to." He said softly, his hands coming together behind his back as he puffed out his chest.
"Milord?" The not-Weylon asked as he popped the cork on the amasec bottle. The inert chemicals hidden within the cork activated on release from the bottle and mixed within the liquid inside to form a scentless, tasteless poison that had managed to fool the servo skull in the hall outside. His superiors had assured him that the poison was impossible to trace and though he had been skeptical at first, the not-Weylon now saw that they certainly had resources far beyond what he could have originally imagined.
"The young pups downstairs dream of the day when they shall be in my shoes." Lord General Oximar said as he turned to his manservant without missing a beat. "One day they will. Though I fear that on that day they shall find that it is so much more than they had imagined." He sighed and was silent for a moment. The not-Weylon indulged him as a good manservant would, holding up the glass full of frothy amber liquid that had been poured from the bottle. He smiled sycophantically.
"To the young pups then, milord?" Oximar nodded with the barest hint of a smile of his own, taking the glass from his servant's hand.
"Ah, the first wine of a new victory." The Lord General intoned. "What year was this bottled then?"
"Nine twenty one I believe, milord." The not-Weylon responded devoutly. The Lord General's smile widened.
"The same year I was given station as Brigadier to Lord Militant Governor Ansley." He recited from memory. "At the Storming of Atmora. You do know me well, Weylon."
"It is my duty and privelige, milord." The not-Weylon intoned in reprise. This was it, he told himself. After the Lord General collapsed he would have to act fast.
The Lord General raised the glass, half turned towards the window as he was. "To the young pups then." He said and then raised his glass as if to drink. The assassin's body tensed as he waited for the moment to pass. The moment did pass but strangely the Lord General stopped halfway into his sip as if he had just remembered something. He lowered the glass.
"Oh yes, by the way, its 'my lord.'" He said simply, turning his blank gaze to the not-Weylon. The servant stood there confused for a moment.
"Lord General?" He asked, the wheels starting to turn in his head.
"Weylon always addressed me as 'my lord.'" He replied. "Sorry to disappoint." His gaze then shifted to something behind his servant. "Major, if you would be so kind?"
The assassin turned, his hidden weapon in his hand faster than any man had a right to be. This only served to ensure his face collided with something large, dark, and metallic though and the blow sent lightning bolts through the assassin's head and before he knew what had happened he was laying on his stomach on the ground, a pair of combat boots mere inches from his face. He was hauled by some force to his knees, the weapon in his hand knocked away, his arms uselessly held behind him. His vision swam from dizziness and throbbing as he watched the Lord General place the drink down and pick up something from the desk. It was a rod; about as thick as a man's thumb and two and a half feet long with a silver skull forming the crest at the top. The Lord general wielded his command baton as he approached the assassin. He sighed as if frustrated.
"Better men than you have tried to kill me. My entire life has been a continuous line of battlefields on a thousand worlds and Commander Tiberius has the gall to attempt to dispatch me so bluntly?" His voice was full of soft anger now; the anger of a usually calm man. "I liked Weylon, he was a good friend of mine and he was loyal to a fault. He'll never have a proper burial because of you. I think that infuriates me the most."
"So kill me." The assassin wheezed as his head rolled lazily on his shoulders from the blow. The Lord General laughed once.
"I'm sure you'd prefer that to what fate awaits you. Still, it would be a shame to let the commissars have all the fun."
With that the Lord General jabbed the top of the baton into the assassin's gut, driving the wind from his chest. The man sagged forwards, now unconscious from the blow.
"That was for Weylon." Oximar intoned as he walked over to his desk and hit the panic button underneath, sending a silent alarm to his guards.
The Lord General's personal guard had breached and cleared the room in a mere handful of seconds. The response team, a special squad of stormtroopers that was assigned to respond to any alarms of intrusion aboard the Luminus, responded within thirty seconds of the alarm, their hellguns trained on potential targets until they were assured that there were no enemies to be fought. Two minutes after the alarm was sounded a tall form in a peaked cap and black stormcoat entered the Lord General's chambers. The woman walked with intent, ignoring idling troopers who quickly saw her and snapped to attention, saluting as she walked by. The Lord General was speaking to his guard and a few members of the response team as she walked up to him, uncaring that she was interrupting their conversation.
"Lord General." She said curtly, nodding her head. "Thank the Emperor that you are safe." She said, sounding quite relieved. "When I had heard the alarm I feared the worst."
"Thank you for your concern, Commissar General." Oximar said, nodding in turn. "But I assure you I am quite unharmed."
"Lord General I swear to you by the Light of the Throne that I will determine the source of this breach and have it fully exposed in my investigation. Meanwhile, we should really consider placing the Luminus on lockdown while--"
Her flow of words was halted by a single raised palm from the Lord General. "Please, Natasha." He said using her familiar name. "Both the Major and I were fully aware of the breach as I was just telling these other fellows here." He motioned to the members of the response team around him. The Commissar General's hand slid from her sidearm as her expression turned from one of alarm to one of confusion.
"You were...aware?" She asked slowly.
"Fully." The Lord General repeated. "We knew of his presence aboard the Luminus for about a day now. I assure you that I was never in any danger, though I also assure you that he will need an escort to whatever nasty hole you can find for him." He gestured with his baton to a figure off the the side, surrounded by the general's personal guard who was dressed in servant's clothes and restrained with several different devices while also having a black burlap sack tied over his head. The Commissar General didn't need to ask to know that it was their would be assassin.
"So allow me to understand this." She said, her confusion beginning to boil over into anger, or at least impatience. The Lord General found it hard to hide his amusement. "You were aware of a breach in security aboard this vital command vessel for an entire day and informed nobody?"
"That's correct." Oximar replied.
"Dare I ask why?"
"Because dear Natasha." The Lord General said in a tone of a schola teacher lecturing a student. "A mouse is annoyingly hard to catch in a trap if you show him the trap. Now, if you'd be so kind to escort this scum from my quarters I would much obliged."
"At once, sir." The Commissar General replied in a tone that indicated Oximar had not heard the last about this. He watched her storm off with the response team escorting the assassin in tow. Maybe it wouldn't be the last he heard about it but once again like it had so many times before the results spoke for themselves. The Lord General sighed as he went over to the trolley and picked up the half empty amasec bottle that was marked "921."
"Do you think I made the right call, Major?" He asked his bodyguard who was standing at ease until otherwise told to move by his superior.
"I think you captured a Sevran assassin alive, sir." The Major said bluntly after a moment. The Lord general chuckled.
"So I did." He looked back down at the bottle. "What a waste. Go see if you can find me a bottle that wont kill me."
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Post by Warork on Oct 12, 2014 10:57:18 GMT
Day 1 Over Objective Shrike
Colonel Van Meer sat in a dimly lit metal box which made up the inside of the Valkyrie dropship's troop cabin. The only real light came in from the door gunners' windows on either side of the cabin. Every few moments the cabin bumped and lurched as the turbulence outside affected the flight of the aircraft. The roar of the dual turbofan engines filled the dank air within the cabin with a dull roar that made normal conversation impossible. If the ten troopers inside wanted to communicate they had to gesture or yell in their neighbor's ear to be heard. Colonel Van Meer had been pleased to see that his troopers seemed to be completely unperturbed by the otherwise uncomfortable conditions. Each wore a body encompassing windsuit that insulated them from the atmospheric conditions of high altitude drops. In addition they each wore their gear, their weapons, extra gear in bags between their legs, their grav chutes and even a respirator system that functioned as their life support at high altitudes. Topping all of that off was their flak armor which each guardsman wore into combat. In short, a drop trooper's life was claustrophobic and dark punctuated by moments of extreme light, sound, and fury that often saw many of them dead before even hitting the ground.
But they were Elysians...it was their Emperor given duty and privilege to leap into the open heavens and literally rain Terra's own retribution onto the heads of heretics and xenos alike...and they were damn good at it too.
A red light next to the rear ramp door flashed on, washing the cabin in an eerie red glow. Everyone aboard knew what it meant; the pilot was giving them the five minute warning until it was time for the drop. Colonel Van Meer stood up from his seat and took his spot next to the door, putting his hand on the release which would slide the cabin door back so he and his squad mates could make the jump and descend upon their foe. At about the same time the jolts in the cabin increased as outside of the aircraft loud bangs and pops began rocking it in the air. None of the drop troopers panicked, they all knew that the eruptions were no doubt anti aircraft artillery aimed at their craft from the ground and city below them.
"Stand up!" The Colonel yelled over the cacophony outside the cabin. Each drop trooper shakily got to his feet from the two rows of seats in the middle of the cabin.
"Equipment check!" The Colonel yelled again. Each man gave the gear pack and grav chute of the man next to him a once over for a few moments in order to ensure everything looked to be in working order. After a few moments the Colonel yelled again.
"Sound off for equipment check!"
"Ten okay!" The first trooper yelled.
"Nine okay!" The next one yelled. This went on until the second to last man sounded off and then the Colonel nodded at them yelling "One okay!"
Colonel Van Meer pulled the door release and the slab of armored metal lowered with a groan and filled with cabin with thunder and wind. Light from the day outside spilled in and beyond the armored box of the Valkyrie the troopers could see it all; tracer lines from guns on the ground licking up at them like the fiery breath of angry dragons, rocket smoke contrails from even more guided and unguided munitions, the blue sky and the grey earth below splitting at the horizon. They were at the head of the drop formation and so each man had a nice view of the legion of other Valkyrie ships following them, some even being hit by the lines of tracers or even one of the inevitable missile strikes which sent them plummeting in screaming fireball back towards the ground. Colonel Van Meer held on to the Valkyrie for dear life as he saw one of these stricken birds fall just behind them, its cockpit a blasted ruin and its nose pointed towards the ground as the men inside leapt into the air, a couple of them bringing the flames with them as they fell. Behind him Van Meer heard the door gunners open up with their heavy bolters for all the good it would do them. Looking to the ground below, Van Meer noted that it looked a bit different from the aerial map he had memorized for the drop. He walked a few paces over the Valkyrie crew chief who was standing on the other side of the opened door.
"Are you sure we're on course?!" He yelled into the wind. Whatever response the man was going to make, Van Meer would never know as the cabin was suddenly filled with the sound metal tearing into metal. Sparks flew as a line of tracers from below stitched the floor and walls of the troop cabin with holes. Van Meer fell aside as some liquid spurted onto his helmet. The craft lurched as one of the engines began screaming, sending each of the drop troopers in the cabin scrambling to stay upright as the pilot fought to keep the craft from a death dive. When Van Meer looked up the crew chief was gone and his gloved hand came away blood from his helmet. Had he been hit? Had the tracer fire missed him by inches and hit the man standing next to him instead? He didn't feel any pain and his helmet didn't seem to be leaking.
It was only when he tried to stand up did he feel the immense pain in his leg. He looked down and found a jagged shard of metal sticking out of his right thigh. Van Meer grunted with pain as he tried to rise. His troopers tried to help him up but he shrugged them off, grabbing the cabin wall for support. He looked at the door light, it changed from red to green.
"GO!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. "IF YOU WANNA LIVE, GET OFF THIS BIRD!"
The Elysians didn't need to be told twice. Even though they were descending at an alarming rate, each one of them leapt out of the open door into the slipstream of the blue sky with ease. Normally Van Meer would be the first to leap out of the bird but in the event of a stricken craft it was the commanding officer's duty to ensure that each man made the drop before him. Just as the last man disappeared into the blue, there was a tremendous screech of tortured metal once more in the cabin followed by gravity seemingly being turned off. Van Meer was lifted off his feet and thrown to the Valkyrie's ceiling as he slid towards the open door. His helmet cracked against the side of the bird as his body exited the cabin and he went into freefall.
His ears rang...he tumbled in over end towards the ground as his head swam from the blow and he struggled to get his breathing under control. The wind roared around him, drowning him with its howl. As he plummeted, Colonel Jethro Van Meer fought just to get to the battlefield in once piece. Finding his grav chute's control with his bloody hand, he hit the throttle and began slowing his screaming descent towards the ground. Whether it would be enough he did not know but he was an Elysian...it was his Emperor given duty and privilege to leap into the open heavens and literally rain Terra's own retribution onto the heads of heretics and xenos alike...and he was damn good at it too.
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