An Ancient Game

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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An Ancient Game

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Fri Sep 25, 2009 12:52 am

A look into the realm of Warhammer 40k.
I happen to love the vast majority of the lore surrounding the Tabletop game but have since fallen FAR from grace in the realm of actually playing the thrice-damned thing. The books are the meat of the realm in my opinion, far greater than anything else they could hope to achieve. They wrote themselves out once the Necrons came anyway >.>
In any case, maybe someone will enjoy...I might take on additional people at a later date. ~The Deathand
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ACT I
The House of Dust and Ash
As usual, he had done his bookwork.
Omniprophet Isar Vruss ({E-czar}) was not one to go into a killing field without understanding the basic weaknesses of a common foe given the time and opportunity to study up. As such, those that stood before him registered very little on a level of threat. They were more akin to an annoyance, a nuisance that would cost him when the time came to put in for more ammunition. As if something so mundane like money was of any importance to him anyway.
He leveled his weapon, a craft of master forge and workmanship given form in a taker of life. The pistol would be heavy for a man, a mere human, and the kick would be horrendous without months of getting used to or vat grown muscle layered on. Isar Vruss was not a mere human and had things far greater than cheap pig fat under the remnants of his skin. The weapon coughed twice, sending thick dimantium tipped .75 caliber projectiles ripping a void through the air in two fine cones. His arm barely lifted with the recoil, blessed machine enhanced limbs auto-adjusting for the weapons fire. The bolts found their mark, hitting dead center on the sternum of two targets, the contents of the bolts spilling out in an expanding pool of chemical fire that consumed the flesh in mere seconds.
The air hissed to fill the void left by the bolts path and cracked under the intense heat given off by the inferno rounds.
Isar Vruss ignored both, his senses auto-dampening the crescendo of the bolts and his lungs purifying the air with each and every breath he took. So defiant in the dancing flames, that even the hem of his robes barely got hot from the fire.
Again he took careful aim, and again twin bolts cracked and hammered through the air, finding homes in more of his foes, washing away their presence in the chemical fires of their potent payloads.

Movement brought his attention over to his right.
So close were they that he could take in their pathetic forms in vivid detail.
Their withered bodies were covered in grayish skin, casting deep shadows across their forms in the dancing light. They looked on with white unblinking eyes and gnashed their cracked lipless teeth at him. What hair they had was very little and quite on par with the amount of clothes they were wearing. Their naked forms reeked of embalming fluid and slow putrefaction, hands outstretched in a not so welcoming embrace.
Vruss made a single slash with the weapon in his right hand and watched with the same interest he had displayed time and time again as their bodies withered away into flakes of ash. The bodies falling apart at the seem and burning away all at the same time. Vruss held the weapon ready for another attack. The blade was drenched in flame the color of jet, yet the grip was cool to the touch, cold...cold as the Void. The blade hungered for more and was upset that there was so little to kill in the room. Vruss ignored the whining weapon and scanned through the smoke for more of the ghoulish savants.

Fire greeted his vision.
Fire that ate the walls, fire that ate the ceiling, fire that ate the ground.
So much fire, in place so fitting to be burned.

Isar Vruss stalked the flaming halls of the crematorium with intent.
He would find what he was looking for.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Fri Sep 25, 2009 5:47 pm

Deeper into the burning lair Isar Vruss delved.
Again and again he was beset by the withered form of walking cadavers stalking his every move. Though he himself was annoyed at the minor setback and inconvenience each attack brought, he gained a little respite from the hungry blade in his hand. At the very least it wasn't whining anymore. A brutal cross-slash brought the final foe to it's second death and marked the end of yet another failed attempt to stop the Omniprophet from his goal. The blade hummed its delight at the relative sport it was getting as of late. Vruss took in the room, matching it up with the layout he had in his mind. The walls had yet to catch from the wildfire above, but that would only be a matter of time. The heat index was rising at a steady rate and explosions could be heard, muffled by the thick stone walls. The heat and smoke would not trouble him, not for a few tens more degrees at any rate.
The sound of screams broke his rite of pure thought and sharpened his mind to his surroundings.
Vruss stormed off down the corridor, his boots and weight making an immense ruckus that echoed down the stone hall. More screams, followed by sick twisted laughter assaulted his keen hearing. Wood splintered under his tread as he moved through the frame of a once secure door. Twisted mangled bodies, burnt and barely bleeding, lay in heaps about the wide circular room. Piles of ash, kicked up in a draft lead the near-magos to look skyward, up up, into the dismal smoke filled air. The crematorium was awash in flames, the false dawn of the fire stark against the smokey sky.
The screaming was louder, just across from him.
His heavy gait made short work of underfoot bones, cracking and crunching them into dust beneath his boot heels. His shoulder made short work of a door, his immense form filling the frail frame. Blood greeted his sight. Bright arterial spray layered against the walls and floor. A shadow of a man, a form resembling a black clad humanoid with wicked curving talons...or was it the light in the room? Was it not a man in tattered robes holding a knife?
Isar leveled his gun at the man-thing and was about to ask.
It shrieked and screamed, charging him in a futile attempt at surviving the encounter.

The weapon barked in his hand.
Fire washed the room.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Wed Sep 30, 2009 4:57 pm

Like a shadow, passing through the dying light of day, the form of man gave way to a black mist.
Isar Vruss scanned the room with intent, but was unable to find a single trace of the cloaked figure on any of his sensor arrays. Even his built in Auspex gave no indication that anything other than himself walked the room. With careful guarded steps Isar Vruss moved into the Altar room, orange light drifting down from above as more of the complex gave way to the fire raging against it. He crossed the point where his bolt shell dissipated the figure, slight scorch marks on the floor the only testament to the eruption of the inferno round. Small flames danced on tatters of clothing or the lingering flesh of the once living girl on the alter. Though he was proof against such small details like the loss of a bystanders life, he did feel a single pang of disappointment that he at least could not have questioned her before the passing. The thought drifted as soon as it had come.
The air was impure in the room, vile, stinking of corrosion and chemicals.
Vruss turned his back on the altar, taking in the rest of the room. That rituals of an unsavory sort were done here seemed obvious, the purpose...escaping him for the moment, but sinister no doubt. A soft sliding sound came from the altar and Vruss knew without looking that what had infected the others of the city had seeped into the fresh corpse and bade it rise. There came a subtle hiss before the corpse lunged for the near-magos. Vruss didn't bother turning to meet the threat, simply taking a slight step back with his right leg and lashing out with the sword in his hand, bring the blade up and down in a smooth motion. Ash drifted from behind him, caught in the breeze that drifted through the crematorium. Crossing the threshold, Isar Vruss moved with renewed purpose, heading deeper into the facility with a simple check of his HUD.
Another door gave way to his strength and its occupants rose up in a single howl against the intrusion.
Not here the simply dead, but rather those that still wore the cloak of the living. Some drew weapons, others turned their attention to the immense form of a bronze beast wrapped in the tattered garb of human skin. Isar Vruss flinched at the sight of the creature, the sheer perversion of it's existence sending a crawling, prickling sensation on the remnants of his skin. He had fallen far the past decades from the path he once began, but the sight of the beast stirred old memories, things drilled into flesh and machine with equal intensity. The sensation passed and he sighed, relishing the taste of the bitterness it had briefly given. Holstering his pistol, Vruss activated his Potentia Coil deep within his Cyber-mantle and initiated a light screen as the cultists before him opened up with their weapons. Cheaply made las pistols, old models, in horrible condition, were no match against the dominating technological might of the Mechanicus Adept.
Las bolts flowed around Isar's form as he took a step further into the room.
An ancient groan of gears, the turn of a giant key in some impossibly huge lock, sounded over the one-sided firefight. The beast of bronze rose, allowing Isar Vruss to distinguish it from other Heretek constructions. The fools had a Bronze Malifect and made double fools for activating it. As it rose to it's hulking height one of the cultists screamed out over the fire being laid down.

"DO YOU SEE?!" he screamed. "YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR OUR POWER!"
He cackled with warp spawned insanity, thrusting a finger at the Tech-priests direction.
"YOUR FLESH SHALL BE FOOD FOR THE BEAST!"

Isar Vruss took steps further into the room, his light shield flaring with the multiple impacts hammering it.
He mumbled a short phrase under his breath before his vox system overcompensated and his voice came booming over the room.

"My true flesh is impervious to your monsters appetite! I strike against thee as a blade of pure intent! Abjuras Contu Sancti Kole Kontos Epsa Moor! Dia Siskin Mato in Vratas Tubin Vor!" Energy crackled as his vox system empowered his words with sheer volume, cultists crashing to the stone floor, clutching bleeding ears and writhing in skull pounding pain. Vruss pressed his advantage, the energy of his shield flaring at the arcane verses he intoned. He stood before the steps leading to the stone Dias and broke off the Rite of Fear switching with perfect synchronization into a stream of pure numerical plot. He spoke the sacred and ancient tongue of Binary with booming clarity, making the room echo with the sound of his voice.
Once, twice the Bronze beast flinched.
Vruss repeated the stream again until his vox system cut out from overheat, the machine grill self-cycling to restore speech to the tech-priest. It would not matter if it could, for Isar Vruss had gambled and he would find out soon enough if that gamble had cost him his life.

The Bronze Malifect raised one of its many clawed hands and brought it crashing down.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Wed Oct 07, 2009 7:59 pm

A voice broke over the vox-caster comm links.

"Nearly a thousand or so, Sir, but numbers are rapidly declining."

The transmission originated from the guardsman holding an auspex scanner towards the group of facilities in front of the group. Although they stood within mere yards of each other, the combination of their gas masks and head gear would prevent them from communicating with each other out right.

"He must be here."

The leader of the small militant pack raised a targeter scope in order to get a more detailed view of the crematorium. Like the others he too wore a face mask too survive the harsh poisons which made the atmosphere around them, the only difference was their's were all standard from the equipment of the legions they had once been a part of, while his was a simple modified bionic respirator. Other than the immediate masks, tattered insignia of rank and certain uniform articles were the only real evidence of their former lives. They had at one point all been part of one of two regiments, the Armageddon Steel Legions or the Death Korps of Krieg. Though after all they'd been through, all the changes of themselves,their attire, it was barely apparent that they were even still human.

It had been nearly a decade since they turned their backs on the Emperor, or rather since the Emperor turned his back on them. On the planet Verius III in the Plato Galaxy, they had been sent in along with several Space Marine Chapters to eliminate a growing chaos threat. Of the twenty planets in the galaxy, nineteen contained harmful atmosphere's, which is why the Steel Legions and Death Korps were mainly used,both specialized with enduring such harsh environments. As far as their leader, all Imperial Guardsmen were expendable, so why not send in additional regiments, even if they were ill-equipped. His name was Sharpe, and he had gained fame, annihilating the presence of orks from a dozen planets early in his career. He was a loyal servant of the Emperor and more than willing to accept the mission to take his unit into the heart of this new threat.

He was positioned to maintain the drop port of Bastialin, a secondary point leading to the mouth of the planet's main caverns. For two years, the operation held, everyday more Space Marines landing and pushing through. Reports flowing back of gaining more and more ground with minimal casualties. Sharpe woke one night only mere moments after finally getting some sleep, as all hell was breaking loose. The skies were red and no matter where you looked there were explosions and splatter of blood. All contact from the hundreds of troops in the caves had been cut from the guardsmen, as had any link with the ships in orbit. His unit was alone as from all directions heretics light bolter fire rained down upon the port. The outer wall was quickly over run and what few of his men were left he led to the reinforced communications bunker. They tried and tried again to reach anyone, while explosions and gun fire shook the walls around them. Smoke and dust clouded the already densely foggy air, though as much as it limited their sight, one thing was clearly apparent.

From the sky a bright white light beam shot straight into the ground. The light grew until it was the only thing, and then there was darkness. When Sharpe awoke, all he could see was black, though after some shaking around he was able to move enough of the smaller pieces of rubble to see some light coming through. He was buried under piles of rock which had once been the fortification of the bunker. After clawing his way through, for what seemed to be hours, he emerged on the outside. The entire compound had been leveled, and already decaying corpses littered the rubble, though many further out were now only ash after being vaporized so close to the blast. Sharpe was alone, the ship's above had withdrawn their troops, leaving the guardsmen to simply act as a distraction while they readied to blast the planet's surface. The Emperor had abandoned him. Sharpe scavenged for any supplies he could before setting out in the direction of the next closest drop port.

"Kommissar, the numbers are dropping faster, we need to move."

"Very well."

Sharpe lowered his scope and reattached it to the hand cannon at his side. Upon his shoulder bore the barely visible remains of the Commissar insignia above the symbol representing the Emperor's own Canadian Shock Troops.

"Let's move."
Last edited by Jericho Veronus on Mon Oct 19, 2009 7:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Kaome Sky Deathand
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Thu Oct 08, 2009 11:13 pm

The cultist demagogue was turned into a pillar of blood.

Isar Vruss took a few cautious steps back as the Bronze Malifect cut through the cultists too slow to stumble away from its elongated reach. The Deamon Machine thrashed about with reckless abandon, cutting a bloody path through the warm bodies surrounding it. Vruss kept his eyes on the machine, sidestepping across the room to reach the portal on the other side. Speech was restored with a single green rune that winked in and out of existence on his right iris. His incantation and override bug had woken the beast and set it against its masters, but there was nothing guaranteeing that it would not turn its ugly attention to his flesh once there were no more screams in the air. He reached the portal, only then daring to turn his back on the beast, entering the darkness of the crematorium inner sanctums.
The stone hallway panned out into a scene from some ancient book of damnations.
Flames lit both sides of the room, flaring at some madmans tempo, making shadows dance and leap as if they had actual life. His motion detector and inner auspex screamed that he was in the immediate presence of mobile forms, though his eyes saw nothing on multiple levels of the light spectrum. What hair remained on the near-magos stood on end and even though his palate was enhanced with poison sniffers and air scrubbers he could still 'taste' the metallic copperish sensation of warm human blood at the back of his throat. He keyed a memory gland of sensation of Peppermint schnapps...the copperish taste vanished almost instantly. He could hear whispers at the edge of his perception , causing him to flinch his head left and right to try and focus his hearing. People sobbing, whispered words, white noise. He could smell the color red and his weapons felt like warm wax in his hands.

The Omniprophet activated the Orthoproxy liturgical circuit buried in his skull.
His head filled with a tiny hum of silent psalms. He focused on the holy words of the mechanicus it spoke over and over again, letting go of the other sensations that tried their best to overpower him. In but a handful of steps he could no longer even hear the liturgical circuit, tuning out everything for a blissful moment of absolute quiet. A mental switched flipped and the circuit stopped. Once more heat and light registered, but the sensations did not repeat themselves. Isar Vruss approached an Iron-wrought gate and checked his weapons. As ever the blade was ready, it hummed in anticipation. His master crafted Bolt pistol, an articulate and ancient Imperitus IX model, slid into his waiting hand from the confines of his robes. It showed a small green rune for ammo and another for safety, the flick of a switch changed the latter to red, priming the seventy-five caliber weapon for destruction. Satisfied his weapons were in order, Isar Vruss opened the gates and entered the Inner Sanctum.

The thing stood across from him, surrounded by a dozen of its impish cultists.
It rose from the iron benchwork of the metal slabs around it and fixed the techpriest with a cold hard stare.
Isar Vruss met the glare in kind, bringing his sword up to his breathing apparatus and whispering.

"The Fleshmaster Daggon."

All Hell broke lose.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Oct 09, 2009 2:11 pm

As the Kommissar and his squad neared the compound he lowered his scope.

"That's our point of entry. Alpha and Bravo teams drop. Delta continue a perimeter sweep."

The teams jumped from the buggies, without them having even slowed down. A quick tuck and roll and they bounced back to their feet as they ran for the gate ahead of them. As Sharpe lead them through a hole in the outer wall that was big enough to send a land raider through, delta team drove the ork buggies around the outer reaches of the entire compound. The buggies weren't the most efficient vehicles, nor anywhere near the most reliable, but he chose them because they required the least amount of skill to operate and maintain, and in a pinch could easily be sacrificed.

Bounding through the narrow paths between buildings for several, they had yet to take contact, well of anything living anyway. Several bodies littered the way, either with missing chunks and limbs or containing multiple gaping holes, though for the amount of blood covering the walls and ground, there was a serious lack of corpses. This concerned the Kommissar, he'd rather be surrounded by bodies stacked higher than his head, at least then he have the knowledge of where they'd gone. It just didn't feel right.

"At the ready, boys."

The ground beneath their feet appeared to have begun to move, though Sharpe quickly realized it was because the blood was moving, a river of blood, and they were headed right to the source. He signaled to one of his sergeant's to take point towards the corner ahead of them. The sergeant knelt at the edge of the pathway, swinging his las-cannon around it. It was clear and the squad moved forward. The source of the river was now apparent, a double door way wide open, its doors blown off and laying on the ground several meters away.

"Alpha, set up a perimeter at the doorway, build some quick cover and watch our backs. Sergeant."

"Aye, sir"

Alpha began setting up make shift barriers, using anything they could find, the metal doors, bits of wreckage from surrounding buildings, even a corpse or two, whatever could absorb bullets in the event they needed it. Sharpe lead the others into the crematorium.

The main hall was dead, in more ways than one. There were no survivors apparent from an obvious slaughter that had only recently occurred. As they trekked through it, the only sound came from the air passing from vents on their masks and the thud of their boots against the bolted metal floor. About half way through, another sound joined in, a beeping coming from an auspex.

"Kommissar, targets incoming, north and east wings."

"Well boys, here comes the welcoming committee, let's go say hello."
Last edited by Jericho Veronus on Mon Oct 12, 2009 9:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Kaome Sky Deathand
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Sun Oct 11, 2009 12:11 pm

The twelve, they swarmed.
Isar Vruss took a breath and let his Logis Implant do the work for him. The analytical circuits in his brain brought up ballistic trajectories and target precedence with microseconds between them. His Bolt pistol was brought up and his finger squeezed the trigger. His machine enhanced reflexes swept the weapon across the room, sending bolt after bolt driving through each and every moving figure. The very last of them, a pair of the twisted cultists were so close the Omniprophet turned his weapon to the side and let the recoil carry the last shot into the hardly human man. Its body fell to the floor at the Techpriests feet, flames licking the air as the chemical fire washed over the black robes it wore.
Vruss stepped over the body, ejecting the clip from the spent weapon.
Just as it would clatter to the floor, a snaking mechadendrite caught the clip and brought it into the confines of the priests red robes. Isar Vruss held his left hand to the side, letting three more take the weapon from his hand. He pointed the blade at the ground for the moment, scanning the room for any hidden threats.

"We are alone..." the wretch at the other end croaked.
The Omniprophet turned his gaze toward the creature and felt a sense of vertigo for a moment.
"Your technology is feeble human..." The creature stepped around the work benches to face the Omniprophet.
"...it is but a poor mimicry of my own perfection." The creature smiled a crooked toothy smile, claws shining in the firelight.
Isar Vruss took in the room, every detail, every piece of furniture and hanging chain. Satisfied that he could see the majority of what there was to see, the Omniprophet spoke.

"Demon, what is it that you seek?"
"Demon?" it replied. "DEMON? Me? No." it shook its head. "I am far greater than any spirit like the one you have in that twig you carry. I have seen stars born and die. I have drowned worlds in blood. I have spoken to the Abyss and it has answered me." It suddenly seemed larger, seemed to fill the room, to tower over the Techpriest. "Now for your foolishness...I shall rend the flesh from your bones."
Isar Vruss let an odd sound escape from his vocal chords.
He chuckled.

"Then I'll cut your head from your shoulders and rip it out of your mind."
The Omniprophet opened his left hand, gripping the gun that was suddenly there from the confines of his robes. The creature snarled and moved to engage him, but the near-magos was blessed by the Machine God and he would not fight so conventionally. Activating the immense power of his Potentia Coil once more, Isar Vruss engaged his Maglev Transcendence and broke the gravities embrace, boosting into battle.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Mon Oct 12, 2009 10:00 pm

"Closest target!"

"There Kommissar. East wing, ten meters back."


Sharpe spun his hand cannon as he pulled it from the holster and aimed it at the entryway. The weapon buzzed to life as his thumb pulled back the charging hammer and the targeter scope began to rapidly slide back and forth looking for heat signatures.

"Five meters."


The hand cannon was at one point the standard bolt pistol issued to any officer, though with a little ingenuity and exposure to a vast variety of alien technologies it was now much more.


"Two meters."


It had been given an extended barrel, the clip assembly had been gutted and had a plasma loading, energy system from an Ultra-Marine plasma pistol installed. Not to replace the ammunition but to give an additional charge to the solid slugs.

"One meter."


The stock was lined with gravitic rods from an Eldar shuriken gun, increasing the accuracy by allowing the targeter scope to create a rail track of pure energy once the shot leaves the barrel, though it took many tries to even get that much from it. The failing attempts to modify Eldar technology had seriously drastic results, tapping into it even further was too much of a risk.

"There."


But even before the corporal had finished the word, the hand cannon screamed and a blue light shot from the end as the target turned the corner. It instantly flew in the opposite direction, this time with a gaping hole in its chest, though it didn't matter since the force of the impact against the back wall caused most of it to nearly explode altogether. As quickly as Sharpe had dispatched of the first, two more soon took his place, and heretics began to swam the main hall.

"Open fire."

The main hall lit up with flashes of fire. Bolter slugs, flamer shots, lighting rails, and even smaller impact missles filled the air, though not a single one being fired upon the Kommissar or his men. Few of the cultists and heretics even lived long enough to scream in terror as the ex-imperial group gave new meaning to the word over-kill. Clip after clip was emptied and replaced only to be emptied again, and the last heretic had fallen several minutes before the last shot had been fired. All that remained of the swarm was the blood and bits that coated the walls and slopped across the floors. Though Sharpe realized amongst the 'remains' lay several weapons, though even those that knew they had been running into a fire-fight never bothered to ready themselves. It was as if the swarm was not running towards the men, but rather running from something else.

"Bravo, ACE Reports."

"First, all green." "Second, all green." "Third, all green."


"Squad Column. Eastern Entry."

The Kommissar crushed what was left of a skull as he stepped off through the mush of remains that lay between him and his destination, his hand cannon still in hand.
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Mon Oct 19, 2009 9:30 pm

Dust and debris blew past all around limiting the Kommissar's visibility, to the point where he could hold his hand out at arm's length and not see it. During the day it was simply a cloud of brown, and at night pitch black. And for thirty-nine rotations of such Sharpe trekked through the wastelands of what was once Verius III, until on the last day he reached the remains of Port Dresdim. Although it was further from the initial blast than Bastialin, it still seemed to suffer the same effects. The outer walls completely crumbled and fallen, the Kommissar barely had to step up mere inches to pass over it. Once within the port base perimeter Sharpe saw something through the dust clouds, it was a bright green light, and it was headed his way, fast.

The same green glow illuminated the dark halls as Sharpe and his men followed the schematics on the auspex. The glow was ahead of them, slowly flowing out and upward from the end of a barrel. This particular barrel was of a necron gauss cannon that as of now resided in the hands, or rather hand, of the ex-gunners mate acting as bravo team's point man as they navigated the darkness. A slight incident on a tyranid hive world which resulted in the construction of bionic argumentation of his entire arm and part of his chest allowed him to more easily wield such a weapon.

"Number of heat sources up ahead, Sir."

"More cultists?"

"Negative, smaller numbers, but larger sensor emissions. And they seem to be standing still."


Sharpe moved next to one of the auspex scanners and took it, running his finger along the screen to move the layout schematics of the building. He saw the cluster of red dots on the screen were in a confined room at the end of the hall, though they seemed to be separated into two groupings and the numbers were slowly but surely dwindling. All he had were a computerized drawing of some lines and a few dots, but the Kommissar was no stranger to all kinds of fighting and he could more than just guess what was going on, or about to, in the room ahead of them.

"Well boys, looks like a fire fight."

Like clock work, as soon as he said this the Kommissar turned and pointed at the guardsman bringing up the rear, who on hearing the word 'fire', immediately dropping his dual bolt-pistols and ignited a heavy promethium-powered flamer. Although Sharpe couldn't see it, he knew that the a ridiculous grin on the pyro's face was fading as he lowered the flamer and the tip went out.

"Once we join in, it's gonna be tight quarters, ready yourself."

The Kommissar holstered his hand cannon and removed an injection frenzon from his pack, shoving the needle into his arm and allowing the cocktail of psychoactive drugs to flow into his system and take hold. The team followed suit, some keeping their previous weapons, some adding blade like attachments and others discarding their fire-arms completely and drawing a series of close quarters weapons. The Kommissar reached behind both shoulders removing a pair of chain swords, flicking the triggers and kicking the chain blades into life.

"Move it!"
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Mon Oct 19, 2009 10:59 pm

Time was not on the side of the Omniprophet.

Isar Vruss was thrice-blessed by the machine enhancements gracing his flesh and blood, but even with the power of archeotech at his fingertips the Techpriest had a limited window in which to battle his foe. The Potentia Coil could store vast amounts of energy, yet to break a planets gravity field required a large initial burst with a rapid decline in the remaining amount. That amount was falling on a small counter held in the upper right hand side of his Heads Up Display. Very little else occupied his attention as the Fleshmaster reached out to tear him in half.
The bolt pistol coughed thrice, Inferno rounds spinning into the air, finding homes in the muscle tissue of the Fleshmaster.
The creature howled in annoyance, chemical fire igniting small fickle flames across its hide. The impact hardly made any impression against the thing, the fire largely ignored. It lashed out at Vruss, wicked talons cutting through the air, catching the edge of the red robes the Techpriest wore as he ghosted by. Isar Vruss made a small slash across the beasts arm with the blade in his hand, carving a wicked gash in the tough hide that had defied a bolt round. Now it screamed in pain, recoiling from the blade, tearing away a good portion of the priests red robes.

Vruss squeezed the trigger, unloading bolt after bolt into the beast.
His robes were in tatters, revealing his Cyber Mantle, his 'true flesh' and the multiple mechadendrites that snaked out from their spinal cord docks, thrashing about like snakes uncovered. The Omniprophet was more machine than man, having long ago passed the point where he was classified as a man in the percentile of flesh enhanced. His gunmetal systems gleamed with a shiny slickness, like fresh stamped gears ready for service. Though his chassis was ancient, it looked as though it had just come off the line, hoses and cable lines still bearing the copper colored seals at both ends. His right side was still obscured by the red robes that hung there, his hood was still intact and the rest trailed behind him like a nobles cape as he swiftly moved about the room. Mere centimeters off the floor, Isar Vruss still moved at a hasty clip, like a man running for a fast lap at a track, gliding across the ground, his senses auto-adjusting for each and every shot. He knew without seeing the paths he could take, his photographic memory laying out the tables and chains in his minds eye.
The pistol fired its last round, ammo rune winking red.
A mechadendrite snatched the gun away as the Techpriest let go of the pistol, grabbing his sword in a two-handed grip, charging the Fleshmaster with fervor and hatred spilling from his form.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Wed Oct 21, 2009 8:39 pm

Kommissar Sharpe lead his men down the winding halls towards the only room with living soul's, at least he hoped. Radical mixes of chemical steroids and mental enhancing drugs coursed through his veins as well as those of all his men, as they charged, yelling and roaring, banging blades against the walls as they went, cutting into the walls, sheering away huge chunks of the plascrete that make up the bunker structure around them. As the group charged they more closely resembled a grouping of the foul creatures they once swore to annihilate rather than servants of the Emperor. The frenzon injections were customized by each individual and so they presented somewhat different side effects while still maintaining the primary focus of enhancing strength, endurance, and speed. Several were foaming at the mouth, others began bleeding as the swelling of their bodies re-opened scars and tender or fresh wounds, some induced organ soakers, causing blood to rush from skin and less "vital" organs in order to be more heavily pumped to those that would be needed for battle, this resulted in pale skin and sometimes green tints to the face when the livers shut down and the poisons flowed without being properly processed. And on rare occasions the breakout of rashes, boils, and loss of hair.

Sharpe's heartbeat raced as they picked up the pace and charged into a full all out sprint towards the room. The whirling blades in his hands bounded up and down as he heaved forward. The door came into view as they rounded the final corner. One of the ex-guardsmen flipped up the auspex to check their direction and distance. The red sensor spots were fading, fast.

"Sir, the signals are dropping like flies."

"You heard em, double time, not point in gettin there if there's nothing left for us."

The squad gained even further speed, turning from a squad of solid super-accelerated soldiers into a blur of color passing in an instant. Even with speed that would rival that of the buggies they road in on, Sharpe began pulling away from the group, pushing his legs to the the brink of their use, partially to lead by example, charging into battle head on, but mostly simply because he had finally succumbed to his drug induced fury. He hungered for a fight, craved the spilling of blood and sawing of flesh. He wanted it. He needed it. He was gaining on the closed bolt doors, though he saw the lock was not activated. He leapt, flying through the air and crashing against the doors, throwing them open and he rolled into the room, and all in one stroke brought his forward blade into the closest thing to him. It was a large fleshy mass, larger them him, and his blade cut into it, only to be drawn back ready to strike again.
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Mon Nov 02, 2009 11:07 pm

The Kommissar prepared to plunge his other blade into the pulsating fleshy mass when he was lifted from his feet. For something of such great size, it had uncanny speed. Only split seconds after his first chain sword was thrust into the beast, it turned and smacked him with a huge limb, sending him flying back towards the wall. The force caused him to smack his head against the wall, hard enough to crack bits of the wall away.

Sharpe never expected to see another living soul on the planet, let alone several. He had set out from the rubble of his stationed port in order to find any still operational sky birds in the outer lying drop ports, instead he found what was left of a once proud Imperial Guard unit of Steel Legions. They had landed in the port of Gherit less than week before the planetary bombardment, and from the six full companies only eight men remained. Sharpe sat with them around a fire in the partially reconstructed barracks of the destroyed port. Prior to his assignment of the Port of Bastilian, the very remnants he sat in had been considered for his posting. Perhaps had he been here, it would have been the Kommissar assigned to the Steel Legions that would be alive that day instead of him. Then again, Sharpe wouldn't have been crushed from hiding beneath his bunk as the planet blew-up around him. Sharpe looked down the row of bunks to see the still, decaying hand poking from beneath the rubble, wearing the ring of a Kommissar. Even though he had managed to locate other survivors they still had no way of getting off that rock, and staying in port waiting for a rescue would get them no where. Sharpe knew that even through such chaos and disorder, maintaining his authority and taking command of these men was his only way out alive.

As he hit the floor, Sharpe managed to focus on where he was, so much flew through his mind in only a split second, and now he returned to the matter at hand. He could hear a crack from somewhere within his torso as he moved, though because of the drug induced fury he couldn't feel anything. It was best this way, in the heat of battle there wasn't time to care about the little things like broken ribs or cracked bones, the enemy was but a few meters from him and it needed to be put down. Regaining his footing Sharpe pulled his hand cannon from it's holster, unable to utilize his swords since one hand been knocked across the room while the other still remained protruding from the beast, he pulled the trigger. The first bolt left the barrel as around him, his men having finally caught up, flew past ready for battle as well.
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ACT I - The House of Dust and Ash

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Thu Nov 05, 2009 4:18 pm

The Omniprophet used the distraction to his advantage.
His machine enhanced arms delivered powerful blows, raining down a furious assault upon the Fleshmasters hide. The sword cut through the thick hide of the monster with ease, parting flesh and muscle with ease, slashing through bone and sinew. The fury of his blows splashed blood in almost perfect arcs as his Logis Implant adjusted for his each and every slash and counter back-slash. Twice the Omniprophet evaded an talon tipped limb with a quick side-slide, cloak billowing out with his rapid movement, Potentia Coil hissing its displeasure at being overworked.

A full body swing sent the Techpriest flying through the air, sword flung from his grasp, back slamming against the wall.
Coming down to the stone floor, Isar Vruss discharged his Potentia Coil, hissing air leaked around him as it groaned to vent. Regaining his feet, the Omniprophet rerouted the energy leaking from his Potentia Coil into his Electoo conductors and with a blinding flash redirected the energy at the Fleshmaster in flickering beams of electric crackling energy.

Men charged into the room.
Isar Vruss engaged his Ferric Summons, bringing his sword into his open hand.
They would finish the beast quickly.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Thu Jan 21, 2010 9:20 pm

“Cut the beast down ta size, boys!”

Sharpe tossed his hand cannon back into its holster, not even bothering to lock it in as he joined his men in the fighting fury. The mix of drugs within his system had, at this point, most definitely taken control of his mental state. No longer concerned with the glory or honor of battle, he wanted only its bloodlust, as did they all. He jumped up onto the creature grabbed the hitl of the chainsword stuck in its back. Flipping the trigger he spurred it to life, ripping it from the fleshy mass only to jam it straight back in, inches from the wound it had just previously made. Sharpe repeated the process over and over again, as his men attacked as well.

The beast thrashed around, flailing its limbs and screaming to high hell. Sharpe held fast to the sword, riding the beast like a man taming a wild animal, only he would ride this one straight to its shallow grave. The wounds began to split wider and closer together, chunks of flesh were cut and ripped from the body; its blood and bodily fluids spilling onto the floor by the gallons. The practice continued until the beast, at least what remained of it, lay mutilated in a pulpy soup like pool of its own being. The Kommissar was breathing hard, though it was beginning to slow as he was once again regaining his posture and his sanity. Resheathing his sword, still dripping and covered in carnage, he buttoned up the top of his coat, as a proper officer should. Although standing erect, straightening his coat and equipment, he looked as though he had just been painted by the foul beast’s guts.

“Status report, First Sergeant!”

“No casualties, plenty ammo, and as always Sir, no prisoners.”

“Very well, hasty 180, I don’t want any surprises.”

As the squad set up security at the entrances to the room, the Kommissar walked over to the only other being still alive in the room. Sharpe stood before the tech priest, now holding his secondary chainsword, which in the heat of battle managed to crack its blade. He smiled switching his gaze between the sword and the techpriest, not announcing what it was he was requesting, but it didn’t have to be said. Realizing his rashness though, he held it down at his side temporarily to at least offer proper greetings of mutual respect before requesting for natural assistance.

“Kommissar Richter Sharpe of the Forgotten Chosen, figured we would find you hear, death toll was too high to suspect anyone else.”

The Kommissar didn’t know the techpriest personally but knew rather of the reputation that ran within certain circles. The type of circles that Sharpe would normally slaughter and hear rumors from the tip of the tongues of dying men as he forced a blade to finally finish them off. He valued himself and his men to be the things that nightmares were made of, at least the nightmares of those with hearts consumed by the black nothingness of evil and sin. And from what he heard, the Omniprophet worked along the same lines.
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Fri Jan 22, 2010 6:51 pm

Isar Vruss smote the head from the Fleshmaster.
His dancing mechadendrites funneled into the creatures skull, finding what it was Isar desired and ripping into from the base of the brain. The device he looked at, though covered in brain matter and gore was exactly what he had expected to find. He glanced over at the man who was speaking, tucking away the small artifact in a prepared case within his tattered robes. Vruss glanced over the man and made the semblance of a sigh.

"What took you so long Kommissar?"
Isar Vruss held his hand out, a snaking Mechadendrite lifting the broken blade in Sharps hand that Vruss might look at it better. Two fine construction dendrites snaked out and applied sacred machine oil, while a third applied a bit of pressure. The Omniprophet spoke a few words ending with 'Machine heal thyself' and the blade was as new. Vruss lowered his arm and sheathed his weapon.

"Shall we?" Vruss asked, motioning toward the door.
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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