Summer Campaign Teaser! (2)
May 29, 2010 22:58:33 GMT -5
Post by sionnach19 on May 29, 2010 22:58:33 GMT -5
Here's the next in our series of campaign teasers... the plot thickens!!!
___________________
“The God-Emperor will damn your soul, traitor!” the Imperial Guard colonel spat as the crackling power blade slid up into his chest. The obsidian blade moved effortlessly through flesh and bone, arcane technology sending sparks of blue electricity dancing into the air. As the Guardsman choked on blood, the power sword emerging from his back, the hulking form of the Chaos Space Marine replied.
“Let me assure you, your Corpse-Emperor is no god,” the renegade snarled back, his voice a grim and horrifying crackle through the vox grill of his helmet. He twisted the sword suddenly and yanked it from the body, the dead colonel falling to the ground. The man’s lifeblood splashed onto the crimson and black armor of the Red Corsair.
“The right flank is clear, Lord Garlon,” the traitor; Daedalus, sergeant of what was once the 3rd Company of the Astral Claws, voxed over the intra-squad frequency.
“So I see, sergeant,” Garlon replied from directly behind the traitor, the serpentine whisper of his voice punctuated by the brief thump of his impact. Daedalus whirled around to see Garlon stand completely upright, his blue daemonic wings stretched out behind him. Wisps of smoke constantly followed the sorcerer; leader of Huron Blackheart’s psyker cabal. Daedalus hated him; Garlon wasn’t a true Astral Claw. He was just another renegade Marine that had fallen under Blackheart’s banner after he was betrayed by the Imperium he once so foolishly served.
To be fair, Garlon was a notch higher than the usual rabble and riff raff that Daedalus had the displeasure of fighting alongside. Garlon was a veteran of the Ekstrafar campaign, though on the wrong side: he had fought as a valiant Dark Angel Librarian till the final days of the campaign, when Huron’s fleet was poised to take the entire system. Garlon abandoned his brothers and forsook his bonds of fellowship, promising his Warp powers instead to Huron Blackheart. Fifty years had passed since the glorious Ekstrafar campaign, though some days it felt like millennia and others it felt like only weeks. The shifting tides of the Warp made time a fickle thing, and Daedalus had given up trying to keep track of it. But after only 50 years, Garlon had rose to a place of prominence in the Blood Reaver’s fleet, commanding great power. For that, Daedalus resented him. He cared not how blessed or strong this treacherous Dark Angel was, regardless of that Garlon was still an inferior outsider compared to the pure Astral Claws which he now led.
The ruins around the decimated Guard company were like many of the others found on this planet, Larex IV. Heavily forested, the planet was dotted with mysterious ruins that spoke of an alien civilization from a time long forgotten. "I will search for the Talisman. Wait here," Garlon ordered as he stalked into the ruined temple where the guardsmen had made their last stand, the ominous smoke trailing behind him. Daedalus ignored the sorcerer and rallied his squad. Together, they searched the bodies for equipment and weapons that could be salvaged for future wars.
The Corsairs talked amongst themselves. “An Iron Warriors warfleet arrived in the Abyss two days ago.” “And that’s on top of the Worshippers of Midas last week…” “Do not forget the Daemon legion, brothers. Their emissary came with the Death Guard.” “You mean in the Death Guard. That poor bastard sure exploded when the daemon herald manifested!”
The Chaos Space Marines laughed amongst themselves. Another day, another slaughter. And the talk of reinforcements was exciting. So many factions of Chaos had arrived in the Abyss, prepared for the Summoning. Each fleet had brought with them an artifact, one of many symbols of vast power that had been scattered across the Galaxy by the Ordo Malleus. Huron Blackheart was compelled to join them, and that was the only reason Garlon and his detachment of Corsairs were wasting their time on this backwater planet. They were called together by a mysterious entity known as the Bleak Prophet, lured in by promises of great power and riches. It didn’t take much convincing for Blackheart to mobilize his warriors after hearing of such rewards, and he joined the great Chaos coalition that now met in the Abyss. The Bleak Prophet said he would meet them there, when all the symbols were gathered.
The idle chatter ceased when Garlon returned from his foray into the ruins, the still bleeding head of an Imperial Guardsman in his hand. “You missed one,” he chuckled with dark amusement as he dropped the head to the ground. He lifted his other hand high into the air, holding a dark talisman in it. It was a twisted knot of black iron, forming an obscene and terrible symbol of Chaos. In its center was a pale green gem that pulsed with a sickly glow. “We have the Talisman.”
The Corsairs bowed down before the symbol, its immense power bathing the ruins in that green light. Daedalus quietly voxed for their drop ship to pick the squad up. They had everything they needed for Huron to join the other prestigious Chaos forces in the Abyss. Now, they could make the Imperium weep.
“With this, we shall take our place amongst the warriors of the Abyss! With this, we shall win the favor of the Bleak Prophet! With this, we shall reap a great tally of skulls, torn from the heads of cowardly Imperial lapdogs! And when we pile those skulls high, we will initiate… the Summoning!” Garlon roared.
___________________
“The God-Emperor will damn your soul, traitor!” the Imperial Guard colonel spat as the crackling power blade slid up into his chest. The obsidian blade moved effortlessly through flesh and bone, arcane technology sending sparks of blue electricity dancing into the air. As the Guardsman choked on blood, the power sword emerging from his back, the hulking form of the Chaos Space Marine replied.
“Let me assure you, your Corpse-Emperor is no god,” the renegade snarled back, his voice a grim and horrifying crackle through the vox grill of his helmet. He twisted the sword suddenly and yanked it from the body, the dead colonel falling to the ground. The man’s lifeblood splashed onto the crimson and black armor of the Red Corsair.
“The right flank is clear, Lord Garlon,” the traitor; Daedalus, sergeant of what was once the 3rd Company of the Astral Claws, voxed over the intra-squad frequency.
“So I see, sergeant,” Garlon replied from directly behind the traitor, the serpentine whisper of his voice punctuated by the brief thump of his impact. Daedalus whirled around to see Garlon stand completely upright, his blue daemonic wings stretched out behind him. Wisps of smoke constantly followed the sorcerer; leader of Huron Blackheart’s psyker cabal. Daedalus hated him; Garlon wasn’t a true Astral Claw. He was just another renegade Marine that had fallen under Blackheart’s banner after he was betrayed by the Imperium he once so foolishly served.
To be fair, Garlon was a notch higher than the usual rabble and riff raff that Daedalus had the displeasure of fighting alongside. Garlon was a veteran of the Ekstrafar campaign, though on the wrong side: he had fought as a valiant Dark Angel Librarian till the final days of the campaign, when Huron’s fleet was poised to take the entire system. Garlon abandoned his brothers and forsook his bonds of fellowship, promising his Warp powers instead to Huron Blackheart. Fifty years had passed since the glorious Ekstrafar campaign, though some days it felt like millennia and others it felt like only weeks. The shifting tides of the Warp made time a fickle thing, and Daedalus had given up trying to keep track of it. But after only 50 years, Garlon had rose to a place of prominence in the Blood Reaver’s fleet, commanding great power. For that, Daedalus resented him. He cared not how blessed or strong this treacherous Dark Angel was, regardless of that Garlon was still an inferior outsider compared to the pure Astral Claws which he now led.
The ruins around the decimated Guard company were like many of the others found on this planet, Larex IV. Heavily forested, the planet was dotted with mysterious ruins that spoke of an alien civilization from a time long forgotten. "I will search for the Talisman. Wait here," Garlon ordered as he stalked into the ruined temple where the guardsmen had made their last stand, the ominous smoke trailing behind him. Daedalus ignored the sorcerer and rallied his squad. Together, they searched the bodies for equipment and weapons that could be salvaged for future wars.
The Corsairs talked amongst themselves. “An Iron Warriors warfleet arrived in the Abyss two days ago.” “And that’s on top of the Worshippers of Midas last week…” “Do not forget the Daemon legion, brothers. Their emissary came with the Death Guard.” “You mean in the Death Guard. That poor bastard sure exploded when the daemon herald manifested!”
The Chaos Space Marines laughed amongst themselves. Another day, another slaughter. And the talk of reinforcements was exciting. So many factions of Chaos had arrived in the Abyss, prepared for the Summoning. Each fleet had brought with them an artifact, one of many symbols of vast power that had been scattered across the Galaxy by the Ordo Malleus. Huron Blackheart was compelled to join them, and that was the only reason Garlon and his detachment of Corsairs were wasting their time on this backwater planet. They were called together by a mysterious entity known as the Bleak Prophet, lured in by promises of great power and riches. It didn’t take much convincing for Blackheart to mobilize his warriors after hearing of such rewards, and he joined the great Chaos coalition that now met in the Abyss. The Bleak Prophet said he would meet them there, when all the symbols were gathered.
The idle chatter ceased when Garlon returned from his foray into the ruins, the still bleeding head of an Imperial Guardsman in his hand. “You missed one,” he chuckled with dark amusement as he dropped the head to the ground. He lifted his other hand high into the air, holding a dark talisman in it. It was a twisted knot of black iron, forming an obscene and terrible symbol of Chaos. In its center was a pale green gem that pulsed with a sickly glow. “We have the Talisman.”
The Corsairs bowed down before the symbol, its immense power bathing the ruins in that green light. Daedalus quietly voxed for their drop ship to pick the squad up. They had everything they needed for Huron to join the other prestigious Chaos forces in the Abyss. Now, they could make the Imperium weep.
“With this, we shall take our place amongst the warriors of the Abyss! With this, we shall win the favor of the Bleak Prophet! With this, we shall reap a great tally of skulls, torn from the heads of cowardly Imperial lapdogs! And when we pile those skulls high, we will initiate… the Summoning!” Garlon roared.