Chronosia
16-03-2005, 17:49
The Imperium had come; not in slow trickles, but in a cleansing wave; a vast onslaught that had sundered planets with orbital fire and the sickly pallor of Warp Cannon. The populations slaughtered under the rain of flame and plague, or enslaved to the great Angel's of Death; the Adeptus Astartes, the Chaos Marines who served in the name of the undieing Daemon Emperor...
Now, consolidating power from the centre, the well linked system of Vordran; Imperial Commander Hawkins gazed out at all he had achieved. The vast fleets that moved between systems in war and trade, conquering, cleansing, making pure in the Emperor's name. The Adeptus Mechanicus, who would make this a place of industry and construction, of dark science and terrible production...
Soon this whole Quadrant would be theres, and what beyond that? A whole Galaxy awaited them, gifted by vast travel in the Warp, a lifetime of longing, finally rewarded. He smiled wryly, turning to the vast communications console. The Emperor would be awaiting his Report. He understood he was to recieve the highest honors, once this entire Quadrant was subsumed. The Emperor would bless him above all others, save his Dark Sons, the Primarchs. He was to be made an Admiral...
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Dharkyll 1
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The skies rained fire as the Basilisk and Whirlwind artillery smashed into enemy settlements, the whine of shellfire echoing before the raw, carnal joining of explosive and earth send men flying. Bolter fire singed the air, the Space Marines pouring forth, with the innumerable tide of Imperial Guard. Snow fell about them, ice clinging to their bodies as they pushed onward, relentless. The enemy fire was more telling here, closer to their secure fronts; but they would not last for long.
A vast roar echoed through the blizzard as a bunker shattered under the impact from a Lascannon, men tore in half as it advanced...A Dreadnought, ancient and terrible, decorated in dark splendor. It had been a warrior once; Arthas the Bloodgorged, and when he had felt the wrath of the False Emperor's servants, he had been remade thus. It lumbered forward, driving a spike embossed fist through yet another defender, as all around it, Guardsmen and Marines pushed forward; leaving the air rank with blood, death and gunfire.
As Chainswords cleaved the unbelievers, as the Flamer purified the enemy amongst pools of boiling blood and melting snow...As reality sundered where Sorcerors called forth Daemonic servants, sustained only by the perpetual bloodletting of this warzone...
This was but a taste of what was to come...
Now, consolidating power from the centre, the well linked system of Vordran; Imperial Commander Hawkins gazed out at all he had achieved. The vast fleets that moved between systems in war and trade, conquering, cleansing, making pure in the Emperor's name. The Adeptus Mechanicus, who would make this a place of industry and construction, of dark science and terrible production...
Soon this whole Quadrant would be theres, and what beyond that? A whole Galaxy awaited them, gifted by vast travel in the Warp, a lifetime of longing, finally rewarded. He smiled wryly, turning to the vast communications console. The Emperor would be awaiting his Report. He understood he was to recieve the highest honors, once this entire Quadrant was subsumed. The Emperor would bless him above all others, save his Dark Sons, the Primarchs. He was to be made an Admiral...
--------------------------
Dharkyll 1
-------------
The skies rained fire as the Basilisk and Whirlwind artillery smashed into enemy settlements, the whine of shellfire echoing before the raw, carnal joining of explosive and earth send men flying. Bolter fire singed the air, the Space Marines pouring forth, with the innumerable tide of Imperial Guard. Snow fell about them, ice clinging to their bodies as they pushed onward, relentless. The enemy fire was more telling here, closer to their secure fronts; but they would not last for long.
A vast roar echoed through the blizzard as a bunker shattered under the impact from a Lascannon, men tore in half as it advanced...A Dreadnought, ancient and terrible, decorated in dark splendor. It had been a warrior once; Arthas the Bloodgorged, and when he had felt the wrath of the False Emperor's servants, he had been remade thus. It lumbered forward, driving a spike embossed fist through yet another defender, as all around it, Guardsmen and Marines pushed forward; leaving the air rank with blood, death and gunfire.
As Chainswords cleaved the unbelievers, as the Flamer purified the enemy amongst pools of boiling blood and melting snow...As reality sundered where Sorcerors called forth Daemonic servants, sustained only by the perpetual bloodletting of this warzone...
This was but a taste of what was to come...