NationStates Jolt Archive

Beneath the red dust coating the surface, beneath the giant Cathedral-Refineries, beneath the very structure from which the Adeptus Mechanicus governed their world, a being walked a path that had not been traveled in over a century.

To call it a man would have been folly, for the being had ascended far beyond the petty weaknesses of the flesh, his head adorned with mecha-dendrites, his spine interfaced with the arcane machinery of a servo-harness, his hands removed and replaced with fine manipulators and micro-tools, his body adorned with a red robe, surgically grafted to his body along with armor plating rivaling that of the mighty Terminators. No longer was he a slave to biological evolution, but subject only to the limits of his mind. And his mind was vast indeed...

Striding through the labyrinthine, he turned his attention to the silvery hulks lining the walls. A glowing green mechanism sat by each skeletal figure, pulsing with strange energy. Soon, my brethren. Soon you shall walk again. Proceeding downwards, ever downwards, he passed endless legions of the beings, some larger, some smaller, some studded with blades, some spider-like constructs twitching fitfully. Finally, the being reached his destination.

In front of him stood a massive sarcophagus, inscribed with eldrich runes, glowing with the same evil green light of the guardians. Walking forwards, the being knelt, and touched the sarcophagus gently.

“Deus ex Mechanicus. I have done your bidding, all is prepared.”

THEN YOU HAVE SERVED YOUR PURPOSE THUS FAR. YOU MAY REMAIN, ARCH-MAGOS MECHANICUS, AND SERVE ME FURTHER. FOR THE TIME OF MY ASCENDANCY IS UPON US, AND I HUNGER. NOW THIS WORLD SHALL TREMBLE, AND I SHALL FEED UPON THE STARS AGAIN. ARISE, MY CHILDREN, ARISE TO SERVE THE DRAGON!

Behind the red-robed Magos, the silvery shells of the Necrontyr were infused with that sinister green light, and began to move for the first time in aeons. Soon, Sol would quake in fear, and Terra itself would succumb to the Void Dragon's endless thirst...

Madness was in the air; a bitter and ingrained insanity that flitted from world to world, tearing at the fabric of reality itself. Worlds shifted and changed under the capricious wills of Daemon Princes; the Immaterium rent and shuddered, the focussed energy of the warp enveloping these black orbs in the centre of the most malevolent eye. The Eye of Terror.

The great Talon of Horus carressed the holographic image of ruined and defiled Cadia, caught in the endless tumult of war; trapped in the clutches of the Despoiler. He let the crackling claw close about it; smirking softly, a black glee filling Abaddon. The hour draws late; the end draws near...

Ygethmor had shown him the signs, the augurs of approaching doom. A dark power rose; the mist pushed aside, the gleaming steel legions revealed; the doom of men, the death of Terra. This was the chance they had been waiting for, the final sundering moment. The climax of this grand guignol that had played out for 10,000 years...The end of the Long War.

"Gather the Legions...The time comes. We shall move against the Imperium; and burn all before us to ashes and cinders..."

Mars. The seat of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the largest Forge World in the Imperium, home of the Titan Legions. And now, Mars would serve. In a single moment, every servitor rose, and turned its sightless eyes towards the Cathedral of the Deus Mechanicus. Acknowledging some arcane order, thousands of defense weapons came on line, thousands of lances, precision melta torpedoes, and plasma bores, each targeting one of the few who either would not or could not serve the true master of Mars. In one instant, all Traitors to the divine glory of the Machine God were extinguished, their bodies burnt away. Now, the true reign of the Machine God would begin.

Across the planet, silvery scarabs swarmed over machinery, using delicate manipulators to access machinery, changing select parts, introducing new programming. God Machines were altered, their armaments replaced with huge green-glowing contraptions. Praetorian battle-servitors were augmented, their crushing claws humming with strange energies and their assault cannons loaded with arcanely phosphorescent rounds. Skitarii legions prostrated themselves before the silvery minions of their gods, all the while preparing their deadly weaponry for the coming battle. Great transports of the Imperial Navy were loaded, their pilots and crew suborned by the will of the Machine God. And deep under the Cathedral of the Machine God, the Arch-Magus Mechanicus stood before the sarcophagus of his lord and master.

“My God, your armies have been prepared: the Titans march, the Praetorians have been awakened and the Adeptus Mechanicus are at your command. In addition, may I present to you Chapter Master Idoras Melarch of the Iron Hands.”

An imposing figure, clad in black power armor stepped forward, bowing deeply to the sarcophagus.

RISE, IDORAS. YOUR CHAPTER HAS BEEN DEEMED WORTHY TO SERVE. YOU SHALL RETURN TO YOUR CHAPTER, AND GIVE THEM TIDINGS OF THEIR TRUE MASTER. WHEN THE TIME IS RIPE, I SHALL SEND YOU YOUR INSTRUCTIONS. THOSE ARE YOUR ORDERS. THE FLESH IS WEAK.

The Chapter Master nodded, and pressed a button on his belt. In an instant, he vanished into the Warp, following the guiding pull of his battle-barges teleporter.

Aboard the barge, Idoras’ marines greeted him with awe.

“My lord, what news?”

Smiling gently, Idoras turned towards his assembled Marines.
“It is just as we have prayed, my brethren.”

His smile breaking into a full grin, he bellowed.
“WE GO TO WAR!”

OOC Tag, wonderful, why did I go for the Imperium again?

OOC: Not to nitpick; but the motto of the iron hands is "The Flesh is Weak"

"Iron Within, Iron Without" is the Iron Warriors

bump

OOC: Problem? I see no problem. ;)

The C'tan attack would have been brillient, their plans would have brought death to the Planet of Terra when they least suspected it. That would have happened, if the C'tan did not have their hatred for the warp. On the moment that the Dragon had taken Mars, the entire Astropaths had been killed, every psyker had died, and immidietly with no one to talk within the surface, immidietly problems began.

There was no reason yet to launch a full scale attack on mars, but there would need to be mesures taken. The fleet, which was already highly strung, got ready from a strike from mars which might or might not come. A ship was sent, under an Inquisitors control, to force the population to answer as to why there was no contact.

So it had begun.

As the Inquisitorial craft dived through the atmosphere, vox-systems directed it to a proper landing place. Touching down, the ramp opened, disgorging its passengers. The inquisitor stared out, greeted by a vast legion of Skitarii, all standing at attention in the bright, red tinted sun. The light gleamed off their augmetic armor, their red tabards nearly black under the crimson rays.

Stepping forward, a single Skitarius presented himself.

"Lord Inquisitor, I am Colonel Arcturus Catheria. I have been assigned by the Fabricator General to escort you during your stay on Mars. Due to the current situation, I regret to inform you that you will not be allowed to travel from this citadel. Even with your Inquisitorial mandate, it is too dangerous for you to travel beyond the perimeter until the clean-up is complete."

"Clean up?" his voice seemed to crackle, as he screamed at the man. "You will give me a full report, and will give me the problem, Or I will kill you where you stand. Your cheek has already been noted, and I shall see wheather you are usful alive."

OOC Any Ideas what Ordo would be in charge of checking this out?

OOC: Probably the Ordo Hereticus Solar.

IC: The Skitarius, in prime form for a Mechanicus officer, ignored the emotional outburst of the Inquisitor.

"I am sorry, my lord, but I was under the impression that you had been briefed properly. There has been an unfortunate mistake made by the Adeptus Biologicus. They were working on a virus that would infiltrate the specific parts of the brain that allow the Psyker his unique abilities, and destroy it, leaving them powerless. Essentially a better version of their psyk-out grenades. Unfortunately, they succeeded, and the virus escaped. Contamination was planet-wide, and all psykers have been rendered powerless. Unfortunately, this included our astropaths, so we have not been able to communicate efficiently with the rest of the Imperium."

"So far, clean-up has been successful, but slow. The only safe area at the moment is this citadel, and we cannot allow anyone out for fear of spreading the agent. Now, if you'll follow me, I will escort you to your quarters."

The Inquisitor looked at the man with a sceptic eye, before speaking once more.

"Then we will go inspect it from the air. A thunderhawk would be at our disposle, thus we will inspect the clean up. This order will be agreed, or by the emperor you will be flayed alive." He smiled, his hand drawing a whip.

"Of course, my lord, though I'm sure you realize that we'll have to improve the runes of sealing on your Thunderhawk before it is allowed to leave this area. Otherwise, we risk contamination of you and your crew, as well as the rest of the Imperium. Better yet, we shall take one of the Mechanicus 'Hawks."

Motioning to one of his Skitarius, the Colonel rattled off instructions to call in one of the sealed transports. The Skitarius moved quickly away, presumably to find a vox-caster.

OOC just get in the air and describe what I see, no idea what to post

High above the Martian surface, the Thunderhawk made its way towards the infected zones. Looking out from the portholes, the Inquisitor could see green flashes of light playing across the landscape.

"What are those?"

The Skitarius turned.

"The flashes? Those are the devices being used to cleanse the planet of the disease. The light illuminates the blasphemies of the agent, exposing and eradicating its deviancy."

OOC: That would be his understanding of irradiating surfaces here. Of course, we both OOC know what's going on down there.

The augurs spoke and rang with Daemon voice; man should stand by Daemon kin. If Men they could be called. The legions gathered; an outpouring of warriors, crazed for battle. The Eye was in turmoil; the Eldar had carved a swathe from their heart; but that mattered not. Not now; not at the moment of victory absolute.

Scions hissed in conceited whispers; the heart of men was rank with cankor; ripe for taking. They spoke of the Machine in all its horrors; the false God came, to claim the False Emperor. Yet Abaddon knew that they must strike; that the slumbering thing on Mars would not take 10,000 years of war from him in an instant. Zaraphistron had shown him it so long ago; and now, that name dead in his heart; he surmised Ygethmor could show him more.

"The Metal Legions shall fight their war; the slumbering God; and his true servants shall descend like Locusts upon Terra. From Vaul shall come the doom of Men, just as Vaul shall sow the doom of the Gods."

"Vaul" Abaddon hissed, the Forge God of the Eldar. "What does he have to do with this..."

"My Lord, patience; the signs still play themselves out"

Whirling, rage and lust for war fuelling him, Abaddon gazed out at the tormented space of the Eye.
"Quickly Deciever, We have no time to waste. The Corpse God shall fall. It shall be my hand alone that strikes the blow."

OOC: Alright, Chronosia told me to check this out. Anyone care to help me jump in, Space Marines is my game.

OOC: This thread might help; and serves as a kind of OOC thread
http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=422992

OOC Then give the damn position to him, I have other things I need to do, like redesigning my entire society from the ground up.

bump

The Black Angels. The Adeptus Astartes' dark little secret. Forged on Terra itself, they were the attempt of the Space Marines to reclaim what some saw as their former glory, before the traitor Legions had escaped from the righteous fury of the Immortal Emperor. The death of his beloved son, Sanguinius, had driven the Blood Angels, previously the most pure of all the Legions, into near insanity. This was only one of the defects that was aimed to be hammered out with the formation of the Black Angels.

Over the centuries, the Adeptus Mechanius had tried, largely in vain, to create a functioning geneseed, combining all the best traits from the highest Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes. The fierce loyalty and devotion of the Ultramarines, the close combat fury of the Blood Angels and Space Wolves, the seige wars of the Imperial Fists, the tenacity of the Dark Angels, the speed of the Raven Claws... the list went on and on. After centuries, a stable batch was finally created. All it needed was a batch of willing subjects...

And they found them. A Chapter, built from scratch, in greatest secrecy. Some whispered that the Emperor himself did not know of their existence. Eventually, a Chapter of one thousand strong stood before the first Chapter Master of the Black Angels. Their armour was jet-black, the shoulder plates of the power armour rimmed with the blue of the Ultramarines. Emblazoned upon each was his squad markings, and also the mark of the Black Angels. An inverted Omega sign, coupled with the winged tear of blood seen on the Blood Angels. Upon his chest, each bore the Imperial Eagle in the starkest white. The eye sockets of their helmets were a deep crimson. The Chapter was ready for war. Fully equipped and trained, they were sent first to the Eastern Fringe, where they won some renown fighting the Tyranid hordes. Next, they were re-located closer to the Eye of Terror, a force to fight Chaos. They participated heavily in repelling Abaddon's 13th Black Crusade, holding up his forces long enough for the attack upon the Cadian Gate to falter, and then eliminated piecemeal.

But times had changed. They had come under investigation from the Inquistion for their methodolgy at times, and some even said that they were redeemed Chaos Marines, possibly some of the Fallen. But now, they stood on the brink of war once more. Ready to engage the traitors at will, they waited.

"Let them come"

OOC: To revitalise this thread and pass my boredom till I think of more Chaos quotes; I'll take over

IC:

"I see" The Inquisitor gazed down at the hallowed red surface of Mars, turning to gaze at the Skitarius. "You understand that I must have a comprehensive understanding of the situation, in order to file a report to the Ordo Hereticus Solar. Not even you are beyond the authority of the Throne. You gaze upon one of the truest servants of the God Emperor; his greatest servants"

His gaze tightened, watching the Skitarius. "I am not entirely to be convinced that this is the work of some psyker-killing agent; nor shall I allow it to contaminate off-world; the risks to the Astropathic Choirs of Terra are unthinkable! Take me to the Fabricator General; I would have words with him" He slid his rosette from the folds of his cloak. "By the authority of the God-Emperor of Mankind; you cannot refuse my request."

He let his psychic signal drift through the warp; seeking to communicate with the nearest regiment of Space Marines; the fabled 'Black Angels'. He was no astropath; his mental toils taking their toll; his only message, transmitted piecemeal, consisting of Mars, Orbit take. Something wrong; Inquisition

OOC: To revitalise this thread and pass my boredom till I think of more Chaos quotes; I'll take over

IC:

"I see" The Inquisitor gazed down at the hallowed red surface of Mars, turning to gaze at the Skitarius. "You understand that I must have a comprehensive understanding of the situation, in order to file a report to the Ordo Hereticus Solar. Not even you are beyond the authority of the Throne. You gaze upon one of the truest servants of the God Emperor; his greatest servants"

His gaze tightened, watching the Skitarius. "I am not entirely to be convinced that this is the work of some psyker-killing agent; nor shall I allow it to contaminate off-world; the risks to the Astropathic Choirs of Terra are unthinkable! Take me to the Fabricator General; I would have words with him" He slid his rosette from the folds of his cloak. "By the authority of the God-Emperor of Mankind; you cannot refuse my request."

He let his psychic signal drift through the warp; seeking to communicate with the nearest regiment of Space Marines; the fabled 'Black Angels'. He was no astropath; his mental toils taking their toll; his only message, transmitted piecemeal, consisting of Mars, Orbit take. Something wrong; Inquisition

The Chief Librarian, Brother Leontes long since blind from his extensive study of the Immaterium and it's power, 'looked' up from what he was doing. So advanced was his power, he no longer required the use of his eyes anyway, so it was no great handicap.

Something stirs near the Golden Throne... Mars, no less... but the signs here are that Abaddon is preparing for another war. So soon... I must consult.

He hurried from his seclusion in the Fortress, the only name by which the Chapter's home was referred to. Young Adepts, new Intiates and seasoned Battle Brothers all parted before him, as a gesture of respect to the centuries old physker. He reached the doors to the chambers of Chapter Master Romeas, a Battle-Brother who had fought in the name of the Emperor against the heinous Chaos legions, the Tyranid hordes and the ever growing Necron menace with great success. In his eyes, everything was possible to do. All enemies could be eliminated, given time and manpower. He firmly believed in the Codex, but also believed that it was flawed in some respects. Sometimes, working with aliens might be the only way to win a battle.

"What is it, Brother Leontes?"

"Brother, I have disturbing news"

*A few hours later"
"The Chapter will march. Deploy the first five companies to the Segmentum Solar with all due haste. I will travel with them. The remaining five companies will stay here, and watch Abaddon's movements. Should he move upon Terra, they shall join the battle."

"Of course, my Lord. Pilot, bring the Thunderhawk around. Set a course for the High Cathedral. Lord Inquisitor wishes an audience with the Fabricator General."

The massive aircraft swung around gracefully, spiraling down towards the docking bays of the High Cathedral. The great gates swung open, granting the Thunderhawk entry. Slowly descending to the floor of the great hall, the transport set down, its ramps opening, allowing the passengers to exit.

The Skitarius escorted the Inquisitor through the labrynthine halls of the massive structure, eventually coming to a halt before the doors of the Fabricator General's study.

"This is where I shall leave you, my Lord. If there is anything you require, please, merely call for me and I shall be there."

The Inquisitor walked into the room, marvelling at the multitude of devices decorating every surface. Gargoyles sneered down from the rafters, their glowing red eyes hinting at hidden sensors. Servo-skulls flitted about, carrying parchments too and fro. A servitor sat in the corner, busily recording some arcane formula. And in the midst of it all, like an insanely armoured octopus, sat the inhuman form of the Fabricator General.

The Inquisitor moved forward, bowing lightly as he did, his footfalls echoing in the vast chamber as he moved towards the ornate throne of the Fabricator General of Mars; one of the High Lords of Terra. "My Lord-" He bowed again, then straightened; rosette gleaming in the artificial light.

"I have been sent forth by the Ordo Hereticus Solar; to determine what the cause of astropathic interference on Mars is. You must understand that it is rather peculiar that all this is taking place; this 'engineered plague'. It almost reeks of heresy. I will, of course, have to examine all records pertaining to it." He turned "Savant! Bring me a data-slate!"

"Of course, Lord Inquisitor. But there is one thing you must do first."

A biting cold sank into the bones of the Inquisitor, a freezing blanket that seemed to drain all hope from him. With a start, he realized that he could no longer draw power from the Warp.

From alcoves around the room, from behind the many Gargoyles, twisted silver figures emerged. Holding their massive Warscythes, the silvery skin of the Psychic Nulls gleamed in the flickering green light. At least a dozen of them stood at attention across the chamber, silent testaments to the trechary of the Fabricator General.

"All you must do.... is die."

Hissing, waves of unease and impotence washing over him; he slumped to one knee; hand going instantly to his plasma pistol. He hissed, forcing himself up; opening fire as he ran towards the Fabricator General; biting back the insidious cold biting at his very being. He had worked with untouchables, he knew the discomofrt they generated; but this...This was the horror of a fully unleashed Culexus, Pariah....

He tossed his gun to one side; drawing his power sword in one swift motion as he plunged forth; shouting in fervent tones the ministrations of the God-Emperor; bellowing the Benediction of Terra.

"BY THE THRONE! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

The serpentine form of the Fabricator dodged agilely, several shots blowing limbs off the servitor, which continued to write to the best of its ability. A pair of shots went straight towards the body of the General, but with a flash of light vanished into thin air, stopped by a void shield.

"You poor, poor fool. You think that you could defeat one so highly ascended as I? You are not even worth my effort to kill. Instead, you shall serve to feed my master. Great Dragon! Grace us with Your Holy presence!"

The doors slammed open, a chill wind whipping the General's robes. In through the door stalked a figure, clad in the red of the Adeptus Skitarii. Arcturus Catheria smiled, his teeth gleaming silver in the pale green light.

"So Lord Inquisitor, we meet again. But this time," I AM THE LORD, AND YOU ARE THE VASSAL.

He hissed, snarling "You are Lord of nothing!" He lunged forward; lashing out with all his strength, his mental will sapped by the traitorous psyker-kiillers all about him; but his physical strength endured; attacking with his full mighty; power-blade crackling, energy dancing from hilt to tip.

"Your vile heresies shall be undone! You and your traitorous Order shall fall; as all the enemies of Man fall! You are Horus before the Emperor; you are Vandire before the Daughters of the Emperor! I declared you hereticus diabolus in extremis! I call down the wrath of the God-Emperor upon thee and all your wretched brood!"

The figure of the Skitarius laughed, a deep bellowing voice.

YOU SERIOUSLY THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I AM, MORTAL? I AM THE IMMORTAL FATHER OF MONSTERS. I AM THE ONE WHO DWELLS IN STEEL. I AM THE MASTER OF THIS ADEPTUS. I AM THE DEUS EX MACHINUS, A GOD INCARNATE! WHO ARE YOU TO STAND BEFORE ONE SUCH AS I?

As the thing that had once been Colonel Catheria spoke, its form twisted, rending the armor and uniform of the Skitarius. Great wings broke forth from his back, a maw studded with great silver fangs replaced what once was the man's head. Thousands of tiny scales rippled across the beast's skin, whirling and changing like molten metal. The beast's coils wound about the room, surrounding the Inquisitor in a maze of quicksilver cables.

I AM THE MACHINE GOD, I AM THE DEUS EX MACHINUS. I AM THE BROTHER OF DEATH, SISTER TO MADNESS. I AM THE END OF THIS GALAXY, DEATH TO ALL THAT IS IMPERFECT. TREMBLE, MORTAL! TREMBLE BEFORE THE POWER OF THE DRAGON!

"You are nothing! Nothing before the God-Emperor! Nothing but filth, degenerate filth before the Throne of Terra!" He hissed, slipping to one knee; steadying himself as he watched this....Thing. He reached into his pocket, hands clasping about something; as he rose, slowly; intoning his words, every sound forced to carry meaning. He prayed, to all the Saints; to the God-Emperor himself, by Sebastian Thor, and to all the Primarchs; by the living-death of Gulliman, he would survive. Endure.

"Gracious Emperor of Mankind, hallowed be your majesty, bright be your light everlasting, vouchsafe your servant in this hour of peril..."

He withdrew his hands from his cloaks; in one hand he held a talisman, an effigy of the Emperor; stylised in gold and bone; in the other, he held a Grenade. "-So that I may continue to serve you, Great Lord, and purify your dominion of man, casting out all daemons and changelings of warpcraft..." He triggered it; tears seeping from his eyes, as he lunged forth, quick as a cat. "May the Emperor vouchsafe my Soul; may his mercy fall upon me; his wrath upon you...May he guide us all; even into the umbra of death"

3 Days Later

The Council of the High Lords had assembled: The Master of the Administratum, the Ecclesiarch of the Ministorum, the Fabricator General, the Provost Marshall of the Arbites, the Envoy of the Navigators, the gaunt Master of the Astronomicon, the black-garbed Master of the Officio Assassinorum, the blind Master of the Telepathica, the hulking majesty of the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, the Cardinal of the Holy Synod, and the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adepta Sororitas. All were present, save one.

The all-seeing Navigator was the first to notice the absence.

"Where is the representative of the Holy Inquisition? This council cannot begin without him, my Lords."

With what could have been a smile, the Serpentine form of the Fabricator General rose.

"Patience, my dear friend. The Inquisition comes and goes as it pleases. He shall be here soon."

With a low thud, the door of the chamber opened, admitting the final delegate to this meeting, the Inquisitor who had been sent to Mars in the recent viral crisis.

"My fellow Lords, I apologize for my tardiness. There were many follies that I was forced to address. However, I come here not to discuss those, but for a much greater purpose. I come here, fellow Lords, to ensure your fealty to the one true God in this galaxy."

The redfaced Ecclesiarch rose sputtering.

"What nonsense is this? The twelve of us were chosen for our faithfulness to the Emperor, for our undying zeal! And you come here and dare to accuse us of heresy?!"

The Inquisitor merely smirked.

"You fools... You assume I speak of your pathetic Corpse-God, the lowly worm that now sits on your tarnished Golden Throne? His power was waned from this realm, and has dwindled to nearly nothing. He is no God, and never has been."

The Lords were shocked, faces white with rage. All began to speak at once.

"BLASPHEMY! Heretic, you shall be purged from this world by the righteous fires of the Emperor himself!"

"Watch your words, Inquisitor. You are in the shadow of the Golden Throne, your words have been marked."

"Heretic! I shall cut your tongue from your skull myself!"

The sound of weapons sliding from their ornate sheaths filled the room. Power blades, shock maul, phase sword and Halberd, each was prepared to cut down the Inquisitor where he stood. Even the third eye of the Navigator was close to being revealed.

Still, all of them were halted by a mere gesture by the Inquisitor.

"I should have known that you mortal fools could not see the majesty of the true Gods of this universe. Thus, I declare your souls forfeit, fit only for consumption by their divine power."

Smiling, he exposed a lashing tongue dancing between long silver fangs.

"Gentlemen, I hereby declare you Excommunicatus Extremis. May your souls be devoured by the Ruinous Powers, and your bodies serve to feed the C'tan."

Bump