NationStates Jolt Archive

"And so I say unto thee, may the clan of the Twilight's Hammer be thy hand on the ocean. Greatest of the shipbuilders, may they be blessed with fair weather and glorious battle."
-Shaman progenitor Drakkas to his successor


Koobi system
The Outer Rim

Warlord Aggro'gosh stroked his long, thin beard. Around him, the mor'ghull technicians worked diligently - their webbed and tiny hands more agile - on the various war machines used by the Horde. Legions of troops scrambled towards their transports as pilots prepped their fighters for launch.

The epitome of Horde efficiency, this new Graaghoul was. Aggro'gosh had chosen the carrier as his flagship over one of the larger and more powerful Hellscream cruisers for a reason - he wanted to be overseeing the battle, and the enemy would go for the cruisers first. Once the Fourth Expeditionary Fleet had engaged the enemy orbitals, it would be up to the Graaghouls and their cargo to take the world.

"TWENTY KOH UNTIL NETHER EXIT, ALL CREWS TO BATTLESTATIONS!" roared the loudspeakers over the immense bay. It was a moot point, this klaaxon, but one that High Warlord Mug'thol insisted upon. Horde crews were always at battlestations. They lived for battle.

Aggro'gosh noted a cluster of tauren huddled around one of their shamans, who was blessing the bovine creatures. The tauren were fierce warriors - as strong and as honorable as any orc - but Aggro'gosh had no love for their customs. They seemed...wasteful.

"Warlord to the command deck!" that klaaxon was for him. He needed to be on the front, commanding his Generals as they flew to their likely deaths.

---

The Koobi system played host to only one habitable planet: the low-gravity and frozen planet Nelvaan. Used during the Clone Wars as a Techno Union outpost, it had been liberated and since nearly forgotten about. The Empire only had a relatively small garrison there, and only a small fleet in orbit. The fate of the Nelvaanians, a quiet shamanistic race, was unknown. It did not matter, for where there was blackness, suddenly light blinded all. Reality imploded as the Nether broke through, sucking a few threads of existence itself into the wormhole.

A full assault fleet emerged from the tunnel, instantly activating their numerous and deadly weapons. They cruised at maximum speed towards Nelvaan and the Imperials that lived there.

"Warlord!" shouted one of the orc helmsmen aboard the Daegor Gamma. "Daegor Omega squadron reports all weapons hot, enemy vessels in range."

Aggro'gosh peered at the 2-dimensional image of the Star Destroyer. It was crude, no form whatsoever. Such was to be expected of the primitive pinklings. He opened a channel to the fleet.

"LOK'TAR OGAR! FOR DOOMHAMMER!"

And thus, the second front was opened.

While the Empire was in fact seeking peace from the more civilised members of the Rebels; it had come under assault from these barbarians of the void; these magic-worshipping fools from the void. These green-skinned Xenos.

The world slumbered, and as the fleet turned it's weapons towards the attacking Orcs; it was already being re-mapped and re-traced; trajectories plotted and charted. The ion cannons crackled and seethed; hurling their deadly energies forth to disable the Horde ships; turbo-lazer batteries pounded at the foe; while high-yield strategic weapons were deployed; the areas about the assaulting fleet saturated by fusion bombs and gravitational weaponry; some kept in reserve for their fel purpose.

Enemy fleet, identify yourself. You are violating the soverignty of the Galactic Empire. If you do not withdraw from Imperial territory, you shall now our wrath. You have one minute to comply; before you are met with further force.

"Death to the demons! Death to Neltharion's brood!" was the only response the inquiry got.

Energy crackled over the prow of Daegor Gamma Prime. It'd taken a stray ion burst, but no essential systems were affected. Aggro'gosh watched with mild amusement as the pinkling vessels pounded away with their weapons. A pair of Hellscream cruisers were on fire, and a Vul'jin frigate or two lay in pieces, but they pressed on. Orcish phase disruptors - roughly the bigger brother to the standard turbolaser - returned fire, spraying silvery comets of energy and death down upon the enemies of the Horde.

The first Grimtotem destroyer came within polaron range of a Star Destroyer, and opened up with the hellish beam weapon designed to litterally tear an enemy vessel apart by its molecules.

Talon fighters and their bigger brothers - the Raider bombers (basically a spaceframe with a pair of light laser cannons and one phase disruptor strapped on the bottom) swooped down upon the smaller fleet. Rotary torpedo racks fired their munitions from the Talons as more silvery comets rocketed down from the Raiders.

Yes. These Imperials fought well. They had some semblance of honor for warlocks.

A pity it would not save them.

Star Destroyers fell, flaming into the void; embracing death even as TIE fighters rocketted forth from the flaming hulk; weapons roaring in the hungry abyss; tearing at the enemy that dodged and dove about them. Larger vessels had turned to the deployment of full strategics; firing their high yield weapons directly into the midst of the enemy fleet; while their fighters and bombers made offensive runs; far below; the garrisoning troops readied the Planetary defence cannons; and put in motion plans for the final Gambit of Nelvaan. The icy world shuddered and mewled with the roaring of the mighty cannons; even as distress calls went out; and essential data on the enemy was sent forth; relayed to the Imperial centre; to Coruscant and Chronosia Prime.

Word had been sent forth. A Xeno incursion...A pathetic little assault. Prey making itself known.

Xeno filth! You shall taste Imperial Fury! For the Emperor! And the Empire!

Weapons roared in delightful bombardment; fighters dove and parried in white-knuckle aerial combat; their lazers hurtling forth; some dropping bombs; others plunging in self-destructive fury against their foes. These beings had honor and strength; but they would find only death over this cold world...

Aggro'gosh laughed heartily even as cruisers were speared by planetary fire and thrown apart by the enemy's expolsives. All part of his grand plan. The escape pods from the dying vessels rocketed down towards the planet, undoubtedly some of the brave soldiers would make it to the surface and aid the invasion force. However, he just had to wait until...

"Warlord! Enemy has just broadcasted a coded signal towards the galactic core!"

"Excellent!" crowed the warlord. "Shut down that transmission, and send word to the rest of the fleet. The party has begun."

A squadron of stealthed Grimtotems materialized on the other side of the planet far out of range of the enemy guns, broadcasting a widebeam distortion signal and shutting down any form of faster-than-light transmission. Only the K-band transmissions used by the Horde were left unscrambled, and they were put to use.

Wormholes tore open space across the system. Vast fleets emerged, filling the heavens with orcish capital ships as their numbers increased exponentially. This was no paltry assault, this was an invasion fleet.

"Daegor Gamma Prime to Stonehoof Alpha Prime," came the transmission from Aggro'gosh's vessel. "Daegor squadron is withdrawing for repairs. Enemy transmissions have been jammed, but recommend you move some more ships to reinforce. Clean them up for us, old friend. Set the table for our guests."

The ships turned their mighty weapons against the world itself; choosing honorable death over loss and capture at the hands of their Xeno enemy. This was one world; one single outpost; and now that the messages and data had been sent; the rest of the Empire could prepare. Cyclonic torpedoes slammed into the cold earth; while the ships ejected every single boarding pod against the enemy; Stormtroopers and Clonetroopers, shoulder to shoulder with Guardsmen and Space Marines; a mixed assault force.

Since the sucession of Lord Remiel Chronosian military regulars had been posted to aid the Imperial troops; now, as the pods slammed forth; this aid would be critical. Chainswords and power Weapons hissed and howled; bolters and lasguns were checked; combi-weapons and Blaster's were readied and double checked; as the pods hurtled forth; the ships plunging; weapons roaring at full assault against the enemy; waiting till they were dieing, or close enough, to finally detonate.

Though they would cleanse this useless world; they would also cleanse their pitiful foes. Psyker's weaved their magics in the pods; casting forth the horrifying powers of Chaos; the manipulations of Tzeentch pouring forth. When the pods finally shattered the defences of their enemies; they would seem as demons; as the worst fears of their foes; the brood of Neltharion, the Fel Orcs riven by Bloodlust, the Death Knights of the Shadow Council, even the roaring corruption of Gul'dan or Blackhand would howl forth against them; even as the sons of Chaos and the New Order lashed out against them.

OOC-Might I say, nice touch with the Warcraft Lore.
But I must retire for the night. Alterac Valley has taken its toll on me.

Daegor Gamma Two, Graaghoul-class carrier, Daegor squadron
High orbit over Nelvan

The enemy poured through the ship like a flood through a burst dam. Even as the enemy boarded the mighty carrier, the ship's weapons continued to spear the pods and send the charred pieces hurtling back towards the world.

The troll shaman, K'orthak, ducked and weaved as he led a team of grunts to shut down and cast off the enemy pod. His pair of energy claws had been ignited, and he weaved both the forces of nature and his own primal energies against the enemy. The grunts fought from desperation and terror - the enemy seeming like the black lizard-like creatures of Neltharion's Brood - but Korthak saw through the deception. He leapt back and said a quick blessing to his koa. Ligthning leapt from the ruptured power conduits in the narrow corridor and ran the enemy through, clearing a path for the grunts to charge in and slay the remainder.
"Hold dem!" shouted the shaman, as he concentrated on the Imperial pod. He saw the earth from which the Empire had gotten the metal, the metal that now forged that which was killing his kin. The troll clapped his two, blue, three-fingered hands together and asked that metal to break free of his vessel.

And so it did. What some would call "Force", the shamans saw to be the spirits within matter itself. The shaman crushed the windpipes of the enemy, breaking their illusion. No demon would dare stand against the Horde...again...

---

As the cruisers and frigates cleaned the enemy ships from the skies, the carriers moved in and began dispatching their landers. These transports - shaped like an egg that had been hit by a sledgehammer - skimmed through the atmosphere and bombarded enemy targets before touching down and disgorging their troops. The grunts did what they did best - spilling the enemy's blood with their energy weapons and forcefield-encased axes - as the shamans tried desperately to reign in the chaotic cyclones that ravaged the planet.

OOC: Is it alright if some small traders get caught in the firefight, or is this just a closed RP?

Countless fell onboard the enemy ships while the Marines fought on; Chainaxes whirred and howled; swung with mighty blows against their primitive foes; Sorcerors brought the energies of the Warp to bear; sundering flesh with abominable fire; as bolters howled all about them; haloing them in gunsmoke and exploding shells. Reality rent as the Sorceror's invoked their darkest prayers; rending asunder the void; bringing forth even the Daemons of the Warp to fight them...

These beings had a demonic fury within them also; subdued; tamed; a harnessed, caged beast; yet still stirring, like a serpent beneath flesh. An interesting observation...

Still they fought; with melee and ranged weapon; with body and mind and soul; the Sorceror's maintaining the illusions; spawning new ones once the Shamans torn them asunder. They were the very children of Archimonde; they were molten horrors of Sargeras' flesh; they were Draenor, aflame and in ashes; in ruin. They were the warriors of humanity proud and mighty; they were the Daemon and the Darkness....They were Fear Incarnate.

Hundreds of ships appeared in the system. The warships of the Vanguard of the Republic Fleet arrived and made their way into high orbit with the Horde ships. Flare Frigates burned ahead into the fray, pulse lasers firing wildly at TIE fighters and boarding pods alike. Monsoon Intelligence Cruisers hung back deploying their antennae and began monitoring and jamming enemy communication and targeting systems. The battle seemed mostly over, so the other frigates and destroyers not wanting to get damaged in a won fight stayed in the shadows of the MC90 Cruisers as they moved ahead to help finish off the damaged Star Destroyers.

On board the MC90 Flagship TRS Harbinger Tide, Admiral Rho surveyed the battle.

"Open a channel to the Orc Flagship." he ordered one of the bridge crew.

"Channel open, Sir."

Horde fleet, this is Admiral Rho of the Republic of Tidan. We have come to aid you in the fight against the Empire. The Hospital Carrier Regeneration is standing by to help your wounded when the battle is over.

Rho pressed the button to broadcast to his fleet. "Concentrate on their capital ships, keep them off the Flares. Carriers and cruisers launch fighters, I want control of the sky. Cruisers see if you can't get between some of the more damaged Orc ships and the enemy to shield them from more damage. Rho out."

OOC: Force sent from the Vanguard of the Republic Fleet to reinforce the Gaia Rodina fleet:
- 30 MC90 Cruisers
- 5 Monsoon Intelligence Cruisers
- 5 Horizon Carriers
- 1 Hospital Carrier
- 50 Sea Dragon Destroyers
- 20 Harpoon Destroyers
- 120 Narwal Frigates
- 90 Trident Frigates
- 100 Flare Frigates
- 20 Hammer Frigates
- 1800 Storm Rider Omnifighters
- 850 Hurricane Omnibombers

The Imperium forced its fleet forth against the enemy; even as countless more vessels were torn asunder by fire; fighters blazing amidst the wreckage of mighty vessels; bodies hewn by flame, littering the void in macabre testament to the ferocity of war. Yet the Imperials were not fools; they had let this insignificant world go for a reason; let it slide, let them have one paltry victory; for they would have the overall triumph; they would counter the enemies might; with decisive strikes of their own.

At the very edge of the Horde's inhibitor field; a Chronosian fleet, 1000 strong tore into being; ripping free from the warp; as they did, they initialised their Dimensional Arrays; sliding forth, their engines whirring as they powered towards the enemy fleet; weapons crackling. Long range missles slammed free from their mighty siloes; detonating amidst the enemy; fusion weapons marring the abyss like secondary suns; while graviton weapons exploded into ferocious blackholes; the Warp Cannons followed suit; energy screaming towards the hated enemy fleets.

Chronosian Doomfire Bombers and Swiftdeath fighters blotted outn the stars with their multitudes; christening the blackness with waves of seething, hissing energy.

Violators of Imperial Soverignty; you have rendered yourself exempt from any peace that shall be made with your kin; the GFFA will not aid you; merely leave you to the slaughter. Surrender and retreat now; or be destroyed utterly...

Onboard the flagship; Hakar stared out into the void, wings flexing; armor gleaming as he polished and prepared the rune-etched glaive that he wielded; both ends shimmering with crackling blades; rising as he watched them engage the Horde.

"The Green Skinned savages....Some will be taken; I want a few of them alive." Psychic force crackled about the Primarch's fingers "They shall give me what I need; if need be, we shall deploy the Uruks against them; these hated beings so like the common Ork"

Hate burned in the shaman's eyes as his comrades were cut down by the demons. Warlocks...warlocks all. It had been the warlocks that summoned the Legion, which enslaved the orcish people, that had almost conquered the troll empire, that had had their sights set on the peaceful tauren. Taaknar uttered forth a deep, gutteral roar. He outstretched his hand towards the magic users and demons alike. He pleaded with the spirit of fire within them, told the fire the evil deeds that they committed, and begged it for help. The spirit obliged, raising the very body heat of the enemy until they burst into flames.


Warlord Goretooth sent a brief message of thanks to the Tidan fleet which, he noted to himself, was just in time to do practically nothing. He then turned his attention to the planet.
"Report!" he ordered, sweeping his long cloak behind him.
"Artificial storms being controlled with difficulty, Warlord. Powerful technology powers them. Ground installations are being marked across the planet."
"Order the strike."
"Zug-zug."
"Order all ships to engage the newcomers! They've arrived far sooner than we thought possible!"

The Horde vessels tightened up their formations and charged the enemy lines. Phase disruptors flared forth, spraying death down upon the enemy war vessels. Hundreds of them. Tens of hundreds.

They would succeed. Victory was life. Defeat was death.

There were 40 Behemoths in the Khorhal Militia, hundreds of marines, thousands of fighters, and enough dropships to put every Marine in the Militia planetside. Now they were on their way towards the site of the most recent battle between the GFFA and the GE. Hopefully they would arrive in time to alter the outcome of the fight.

Violators of Imperial Soverignty; you have rendered yourself exempt from any peace that shall be made with your kin; the GFFA will not aid you; merely leave you to the slaughter. Surrender and retreat now; or be destroyed utterly...

Rho laughed.
There is no peace with the Empire. Only capitulation and slavery. We will not sleep with the devil even if it means death. Freedom belongs to those who defend it, and death to those who would take it for granted. Nav will be our judge.
He cut the feed and again hailed the fleet. "Regeneration get the hell out of here, we will need you later if we survive this. Alright everyone this is what we train for. You know your jobs, now do them. May Nav have mercy on our souls."

Fighters and bombers launched from every carrier and cruiser targeting the enemy capital ships. Flares charged at the enemy fighters pulse lasers blazing, doing what they were designed to do, devestate strike craft. Tridents stuck to their assigned Cruisers, four to each charging their massive pulse lasers. Narwals formed up in groups of three, they powered their engines and burned as fast as they could for the enemy formations. Once they reached the lines, they would punch through at full speed then spin around to bring their four rail guns to bare on the rear of the enemy. Sea Dragons and Harpoons grouped up, 2 and 1 respectively, the two destroyers guarding and covering the missile destroyer. Hammers and Monsoons hung back behind the MC90s, Hammers waiting while the Monsoons jammed enemy tracking. The MC90s charged forward to their fates, turbolasers, ion cannons, and torpedoes firing while the Hospital Carrier made full speed in the opposite direction. When Regeneration reached the other side of the planet it jumped to safety.

Godulan tag for a future post or twenty.

OOC
El bumpo

Gnats; insects; plankton envying the ocean that held them; little things. Spare parts; to be used as the Imperium willed; to be swatted aside as the Emperor desired. The ships blazed with righteous fury; intent on shattering the vessels that held the fields that blocked the holy Machine Spirits; intent on freeing the world from its captors; who struggled to save a thing already lost...

The mighty cyclonic weapons were decimating the world; tearing it asunder with fully fledged fury. No more than the Kaldorei could have stopped the Sundering of the World; could these Shamans stop the ruinous vortexes that ripped buildings and flesh asunder; that turned verdant green and ice blue; into dull, muddied; rent and broken grey....

A ship burst, splitting like ripe fruit; disgorging its mortal seeds and fiery pulp into the void; life snuffed out in a moment; others following its dire example; even as the IMperium lashed out. Area Effect weapons like the graviton and fusion weapons shattered the void; while deadly effective weapons seethed and hissed; Warp Cannons and missles sought their mark; lance batteries gleamed and shook; bombardment cannons pounded like the very firey maws of Dragonkin themselves.

Onboard; the Chronosians continued to fight; some Obliterators or Terminators detonating themselves in violent expolsions; while Marines fought to the bitter death; the howl of bolters; the whine of Chainsword and Axe; the violent death preached by Khorne soaking them; bloodlust whetted on these Greenskins. Teleporter arrays deposited new troops; or sought to steal the enemy away, like phantoms and wraiths in the night. The Imperium desired specimans, alive or dead; from the wreckage strewing the abyss; or life ones that could be caputed. They would know this beast; even as they smote them and their allies; they would crush them like straw and dust...

A green hand, covered in the black-grey fur of the Draenorian Dire Wolf, moved in a deliberate pattern.

A cyclone dissipated, the energy that created it seemingly drawn away. The hand moved more rapidly now, as the deadly cyclones began vanishing across the planet. The ground crews had already suffered grievous losses, but the planetary weapons were already beginning to be turned...

So...you are the Hakar...intriguing... an old, wizened voice assailed the Chronosian leader. So similar to the demons we defeated in war, all those years ago. We have faced your kind before, and now they are all gone.

Amid the chaos aboard the Stonehoof Alpha Prime's bridge, a lone figure stood. He seemed to be unnoticed by the general command crew, almost as if he was not even there. The cowled, old orc had his eyes deadlocked on the vidscreen, showing the lead Chronosian vessel. The din did not phase the old one. Someone was screaming about matter-energy transmissions, another was screaming about adjusting the energy wards to compensate. The Warlord was shouting the order to fall back and provide cover fire to all capital ships, while simultaneously ordering all fighter squadrons to advance.

Amusing, isn't it? The way our companions fight. Even my subordinates know not the power we can wield. These technological terrors, they mean nothing. A weapon can destroy entire worlds, yet be meaningless.

Words are meaningless old ones. I know not who you are; but our daemons live. I know not your origins; only that you attack us for no sleight against yourselves. Are you craven whores of the Masaki's? Twisted allies of Thrashians? I mourn such a proud people being nothing but tools to fools and heretics

Hakar chuckled softly, raising his hand; warp-fire dancing his fingers, taunting the old one with his power; his voice booming in the void. A mighty roar; a bellowing of anger and wrath. At his silent psychic command, TIE fighters and many countless Chronosian fighters dove and whirled towards the enemy; most engaging their fighters with a cold, incalcuable logic; while others plunged towards the enemy Cap. Ships in scenes of sickening, twisted devotion.

Listen. You can hear it. The sound of madness; the rhythm of Chaos. I sense the blackness in your blood; I taste it on your very soul. Unspeakable things; horrible things; all in the name of a Cause that was not your own.

His mind was a sharpened dagger; he was no man; he was a Primarch. Beyond even the mightiest of Space Marines; he embodied the will of the Empire, the furies of his Gods. He was a power, a force of nature; an instrument of the Warp. And he let this power thrust forward; with all the might of Azeroth's sundering; with all the fury of Draenor's cataclysm.

Show me your Soul; Old One...Show me your Past....Let me taste your history....And everything of it.

((OOC-Just a bit of information - Draenor is whole, the tauren and trolls live on other planets in the same sector, Azeroth never came into the equation [Planets are Draenor, Kalimdor, and Lordaeron]. The orcs were demon-enslaved by an as-of-yet unclaimed or unseen FT empire known as the Burning Legion for about two centuries, until Durotan led a rebellion that crushed the occupation and drove the Legion from Draenor. They've been expanding into the galaxy using hijacked and reverse-engineered technology for the past half century.))

The demon's might hit a brick wall as the old orc summoned up his own power. The forces of fire, earth, wind, water, and the wilds came to aid the shaman as his focus turned from the secured world and towards the enemy fleet.

The Talon fighters engaged the TIEs and Chronosians with their own particle cannons and rotary missiles as the frigates moved in and pounded away with long-range cannon fire at the larger gunships and corvettes. Raiders swooped down under the line of point defenses, spraying condensed antimatter spheres upon the weapon mounts of the larger Chronosians.

The High Shaman gathered his might, charging forth like a great champion across the plains of the spirit realm - what some called the Force. His metal claws gleamed with righteous fire, aiming for the spirit form of the Hakar.

Hakar laughed; bellowing; the great war-axe he bore crackling with near palpable malice as he lashed out. The Spirit wilds convulsed and ached with corruption, cracking beneath his feet; the skies in turmoil. For a moment, it was as though the FireLord himself towerred over them; and with a bellow; his wrath was joined. Ashes filled the skies; Hakar bellowed as the ground seethed and the seas boiled; as he lunged forth to strike against his foe; tearing at his mind; finding images of Daemons and Power; of enslavement, and a Peculiar sort of bloodlust...Of Warlocks and Shamans and Weakness and Strength...He tasted the essences of the Lords of the Legion; savouring their power as he lashed out; becoming nightmare given form; malice given material strength.

Your entire race will burn before our power! We are Chaos; as moral as a Hurricane! We are the sons of Doom; the Warriors of Blood and Thunder! We who command the four Winds; the Gods' servants! Bow and Tremble, MORTAL!

I BOW FOR NONE BUT THE SPIRITS!

The shaman dodged the war-axe, leaping with great agility and bringing down upon the demon the very primal might of existence, that which the universe spawned from. Though the old one was crippled in physical stature, his spirit form oozed raw energy. Lightning crackled within his hands, dancing along the fingertips and finally arcing out towards Hakar.

I am the ally of the earth, friend of the fire, whisperer of the winds, walker of the water. I am nature incarnate! I am he who brings order to chaos!

The shaman's voice was not merely his own, but what seemed to be the chorus of thousands. Ghostly images of stags, wolves, elementals...all seemed to give strength to the shaman as they flashed in and out of the alternate reality.

And I am but one...

And so it was.

The first sign of something emerging at the edge of the system would have been the strange sickly green sparkling of multiple glowing things coming into existence. The second sign would have been the sudden emergence of many hundreds, possibly thousands of strange power signatures.

The glittering vanished, and they came.

Somewhere around twenty-five hundred of them appeared in two fronts around the bulk of the Chronosian fleet. Kython SlaughterKings, VERY different from when anybody had last seen them, and interspersed with larger members, the Kython DeathLords.

The green light emanated from their strange glassy hulls, and they charged forth, unleashing colossal volleys of Ion Cannon fire to disable the enemy's shielding. Smaller specks of light emerged as the SlayMaster fighters emerged from their hosts and surged forward with the greater bulks of their two forces. The larger DeathLords focused fire from their main cannons, fewer in number but far stronger than the Ion Cannons on their SlaughterKing compatriots. Fully the power of planetary ion cannons, they would deal horrendous strain to any enemy's shields.

They sent no transmission. They spoke no word. Their language was that of the kill, of the pain, of the death, and their eloquence was unmatched...

The thing that was neither Daemon nor Man shrugged off its blow; its armor gleaming and hissing with psychic pain; singing with energy; his blood seeped like lava from molten veins, encrusted with bitter hate as he laughed; his laughter a foul symphony to tear the world apart. He lashed out; a thousand blows striking as one; a million voices howling in contrived assault. He let his souls soar the psychic winds; even as the fleet turned towards the new threat; and somewhere, Khorne smiled.

Warp cannons and lances howled; Ion cannons screamed and turbolazers gave forth mighty sport against the Godulans. Shields flared and bucked; missles fired; and graviton weapons seemed to drown out the stars with their ravenous hunger; bearing down upon the Slaughterkings. There was death everywhere; blood stained the stars; blood stained the twisted metal of vessels; the sacrifice of battle and war fed him, fuelled him, as he intensified his assaults; Khorne was pleased with him; his dark father was proud....

So the opportunists arrive; I wondered how long it would take the whores of the Godulans to arrive and dispense their paltry justice. Even now, we negotiate a peace with the Triad Council; you will not fight with friends for long, little ones...The GFFA will end your paltry rebellion; and the peace the True Emperor desires shall be enforced. Till them; we shall take petty amusement in hurting you; as you hurt us before. Come, watch your accomplishments laid low beneath our boots

The Kythons did not respond. They did not care. It did not concern them. There was but one equation to follow.

Chronosians = Imperials = Kill, Kill, Kill...

The Kythons seemed spurred on by the retaliatory fire, encouraged in fact by their brethren dying about them, and surged forth even faster. They fell upon the Chronosian fleet like a tsunami, and as they breached the edge of the fleet, their Ion Cannons fell silent.

It is however, a misconception to believe that their attack fell silent. As the Ion Cannons ceased, the Light-Discs pulsed to life, and the Kythons began pouring forth a strange new form of weaponry. Green crystal shards thundered from the Kythons with tremendous volume. As each shard struck shield or hull of fighter or battleship, it exploded with a crackling green glow of raw energy, leaving strange splotches upon shield and hull.

The Kythons fired, and weaved through the enemy vessels, zooming in close to bring their discs to bear against shield and hull, slicing away at the enemy with a strange glee.

Occasionally, several SlaughterKing would form up into a spur-of-the-moment formation, charge up a single massive crystal lozenge on each of themselves, then fire it at the nearest enemy ship.

SlayMaster fighters, in a previously undisplayed show of tenacity, actually landed upon enemy vessels, their monoblades suddenly developing some form of grappling capability as the fighters roamed about the hull of the enemy vessels, opening fire on weapons emplacements, seeking out fighter and torpedo bays, seeking out and ripping out engine components if such was to be found, and otherwise being a serious pestilence upon those vessels they boarded with their own massive amounts of ShardBolt fire.

The Tidani ships were being swatted from space by the fire from the Chronosian battleships. But these were no mere gnats bound to the throws of chaos. For chaos is blind and easily influenced into folly, but these gnats were organized and fought as one. For chaos is a force of nature, but order is the force of sentience. As their allies and brethren burst around them, giving back the light from which souls were forged, they pressed on.

120 Narwals had entered the chronosian formations, now 74 emerged dodging and evading, using their manuverability to survive. Now through they spun around, and regrouping, charged at the enemy's engines. They fired with coordinated precision, even as they themselves were pounded, railgun rounds and missiles battered the enemy for as long as they could from the rear.

The Flares forced their way through the enemy fighters by shear power of their focused pulse lasers. Most made it through alive, using their beams to protect themselves from missiles then turning them on the fighters while they smashed through the formations. Now they arced around to chase after the fighters.

The destroyers were being devestated. They were larger and slower than the frigates, and not as well armed as the cruisers. They were being picked off at an alarming rate. Harpoons released their payloads as they burned in last great strikes of their death throws. Sea Dragons lashed out with railguns and pulse lasers as the fell as well. A few formations managed to group together above the Chronosian fleet and using the one at the head of the line for cover, charged at the enemy flagship, all unleashed their staggered guns at one point on the shields. As the leader fell from fire it was pushed along by the others, a burning shield of twisted metal, until it broke apart and the next ship in line bore the fire. This repeated itself as the line burned straight for the ever weakening point in the shields. Their goal was sacrifice, and the destruction of the enemy leader, but their burden grew heavier as their target grew closer and their formation smaller.

Meanwhile Cruisers engaged the enemy battleships. Each Cruiser's four Trident frigates focused their heavy laser beams at one point on the enemy ship's shields and fired. The Cruiser then poured every turbolaser, ion cannon and torpedo into the hole. While the now 1000 odd fighters and bombers continued to swarm the enemy ships despite heavy casualties.

At this point the 20 Hammers made their move. They desperately made their way through the fray to the nearest battleship, and firing their afterburners, rammed the ship with their massive hammer hulls. Those that broke the through the hulls or could cut through opened their boarding doors, letting a flood of tonnes of water spill into the ship like a tidal wave. 500 Marines swam into the enemy ship, the last few carrying a thermo nuclear warhead. They would fight their way as far into the ships as they could and detonate the bomb.

Admiral Rho watched the battle unfold as tremors of battle shook his flagship. We will be lucky to make it through this day, he thought. But as more ships arrived and engaged the Chronosians things looked brighter. Who is likely to swat at a gnat, in the midst of a hornet's nest?

Goretooth crowed as the Chronosians were torn asunder by both his tactics and the vessels of his newfound allies.
"Ha!" he bellowed, laughing his throaty laugh. "Who'd have thought these shara'hai pinklings knew how to fight! All vessels, engage at will!"

The Hellscream cruisers once again looped around, like a giant lotus blooming in space, they came forth. They attacked the Chronosian left flank, spraying volatile condensed antimatter from their phase disruptors until, finally, the massive ships were in range of the dreaded polaron beams. The turrets screamed with fury as the blue energy litterally tore the molecules of the enemy ships asunder. Horde vessels burned brightly in the sky, pieces streaking through the Nelvaanian atmosphere like shards of a shattered glass.


The daemon's axe clanged with the shaman's claws, each combatant mustering cataclysmic powers to their aid. The old orc looked up into his assailant's face, panting.
You weaken. Your pride is your weakness. It grows, and you falter.

Weakness! HA! Little Greenskin; we have culled your kind since timer immemorial; you think having a mind will save you. You are no different from the Orks we have culled for generations; mindless little whores; twisted little savages He lashed out, again and again; this gnat would suffer; his psychic force would crush it out; shatter it like so much fragile crystal.

You are the weak ones; not enough to be little whores for them; but you cannot even take a backwater world by yourself; honestly...Your pathetic. You need the Godulans and their toys to back you up; three on one, where is your honor, do you even have it, craven bootlicks of the GFFA?

He laughed slightly; his maddening cackle bellowing over the spirit world; the waves of corrupt power pulsing and seething around him; coialescing as he lashed out again.

We have allies too; and we let you dally here till they can come and punish you...You think the Emperor will send only me? Legions will pursue you to your grave; there shall be peace for all the members of the GFFA but you; alone and freezing under our unknowable wrath; your souls forfeit to the Warp, to the daemons at the base of the Gods' thrones!

The fleet fought on; a maddenign dance of destruction and pain; shields flaring; hulls burning in twisted agonies; weapoons roaring and firing, purging their foes from the void; concentrating on the Godulan's, but dispensing justice here and there amongst the Tidan's and the Horde; not focussing; but firing in vast sweeping arcs that sought to vex the enemy to some deathly nightmare. Area effect weapons still hurtled forth to detonate between the folds of their enemies; to nestle like ticks before biting.

Come you fiends! More come to die! For the Emperor! For the Emperor Brothers! We shall purge them by the glories of Chaos; by pain and blood and thunder and damnation!

The Kythons kept close to the enemy vessels, using their speed to prevent the majority of point-blank defensive fire and great sweeps of their light-discs to slice great gashes into the Chronosians. Veritable clouds of ShardBolt fire surged throughout the fleet, mercilessly pummeling the enemy in all manners.

As each Kython SlaughterKing or DeathLord succumbed to retaliatory fire, it immediately turned in towards the nearest chronosian vessel and rammed it, shattering into millions of pieces and leaving a strange green glowing blotch upon the Chronosian vessel.

It would have quickly become apparent that something strange was beginning to happen with these odd blotches, particularly when the remnants began dissolving the hull of those Chronosian vessels afflicted by the strange malignancy, as well as siphoning power into themselves. The blotches slowly began to increase in size, gaining speed as they began to cover more surface area.

The Kythons, being the primary focus of Chronosian counterfire, fell with frequency, but their insistence on maintaining proximity with other Chronosian vessels assured that the Chronosians would feel the bite of their own weapons as much as would the Kythons.

Open statement to the international community from the Xanthalian Alphin:

The Socialist Republic of Xanthal wishes to hear justification for this attack upon the Galactic Empire by its allies.

The hoped for Miehmish Reinforcements had arrived, but they wre less than had been advertised. The Militia had been forced to return to Korhal. Instead a Carrier Squadron had appeared to aid the Horde. 50 Carriers, 100 Strike Cruisers, and 30 Arbiters entered the fray with a vengeance. The massive Carriers disgorged 40,000 tiny Robot Interceptors in total, and they quickly moved into the fray, firing their twin plasma guns at any target that presented itself and didn't register as friendly.

The Cruisers and Arbiters effect was less obvious. The Cruisers each mounted 4 powerful Particle Disruption Cannon, enough to shatter an ISD with ease, but they were reserved for later, when the Imperium noticed their presence, and tried to destroy them. Until then their only task was missile defense, generally involving sending missiles back at whoever had fired them.

"My Lord? Your Orders" The Commanders bowed before him; watching as he cackled, eyes half-closed; half in, half out of his strange spiritual stupor; focussing his powers; honing his mind; uniting body and soul and spirit and mind...

"KIll them; one and all; let them burn for all I care. A wide arc of fire; a focussed volley...Show them our power; show them our dedication"

The ships of the Imperium retreated slightly; keeping their distance; widening the distance between them and their foes; before the crackling hiss of weapons fire again stained the void. Ships infested by the Kython's detonated; or were destroyed; weapons hurtled forth into their midst; and towards the planet; waves of fusion and graviton weapons; detonating before their enemy, seeking to block their path; detonating amongst them, to maim; and detonating about the planet. They sought to sunder world and warriors in single swipes; like a bloodied brush across a canvas of pain.

Fighters dove and whirled; dispensing their weapons with maximum efficiency; pure, honed carnage and sadistic pleasure. Bombs and missles flew; energy weapons howled and mewled and seethed; as they dance their macabre pattern across the bleeding stars and pestilant void; bringing their own brand of death forth, and cleansing all before them in a hissing, firey tide.

Xanthalians; the attack was without provocation. The Empire is seeking peace; a concept these craven whores of the GFFA do not understand. They are fools and tools who embrace violence over the new measures. Do they know nothing of the change in regime? Do they know nothing of democracy? No. They see everything in black and white; even though the Godulan's strut and pout and envy our evil and our power; the only reason they aid these rebellious curs is out of jealousy and hate.

OOC: The former version of this post contained OOC information used in an IC manner, and thus should be disregarded. This was my error and I apologize for any confusion or inconvenience it may have caused. The current version is correct.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Official Xanthalian release:

The Socialist Republic understands the position of our GFFA allies, but we cannot believe that this aggressive attack upon Chronosia is warranted. The attackers' bypass of negotiations speaks strongly to what we percieve to be irresponsible aggression. The Empire is not faultless in this matter, but by casting aside diplomatic option, any chance for peaceful resolution was eliminated.

Xanthal condemns this attack upon Imperial assets and calls for the cessation of hostilities so that civilized talks can proceed. The Republic will not participate in this ill-conceived conflict. The Alphin wishes to note that the attackers will be held liable for any harm to Xanthalian citizens or property resulting from Xanthalian association with the GFFA in this matter.

The Alphin of the Socialist Republic of Xanthal

Do not presume to judge us, spawn of Darkness.

Hundreds of Interceptors were destroyed before they could engage the enemy fighters, loosing their bolts of plasma in quick bursts as they swarmed the units that opposed them. Back on the Carriers manufacturies began to operate, rebuilding the destroyed Interceptors from stores of materials both onboard and gated in.

The Arbiters made their presence known in a most unpleasant manner. They first strengthened discrete pockets of space time around the enemy ships, trapping them away from the fighting, then they opened warp gates near the enemy fleet, which were quickly inundated with fire from the Strike Cruisers broadsides, lasers, plasma, Warp Torpedoes and Plasma missiles all flew through the gates, lashing the enemy with coherent light and energy, and ripping holes in the fabric of reality itself, before sucking anything in range into the void of Hyperspace. There were losses among the Cruisers, but they wre few, and it was more damage than destruction due to their shields and the random nature of the enemy fire.

The ships suffered; fighters drawn into the void; weapons rending ships and shields and bringing delightful sufferings; but they were not alone, as the Imperium lashed back. Missles hurtled forth; and ships let loose countless mines; mines hurtling througth the void; clumps and clusters splitting and sub-dividing; hurled far and wide against the enemy lines; Inhibitor systems activating to prevent any more Protoss trickery (a truly cowardly form of warfare to the proud and mighty Khornates); while their weapons reloaded and fired; and fired, and fired...

Fighters fell in droves; while others dove and ducked; continuing their barrage; weapons rotating madly, heating and seething; while the bombs and missles flew, madly traversing the void with trails of fire.

The Kythons did not relent. They did not part with the vessels that were to be their victims. With each death another blotch formed, dissolving the enemy vessels more and more quickly before being vaporized by self-destruct devices. However, for those vessels that met their end by the disintegrating blotches alone, a new threat emerged.

As the Kython blotches engulfed the enemy vessel, it began shaping strange buds of crystal. The victimized ship would shrink in size, and the mass, the energy, all of the components of the enemy vessel would be converted into material for more Kythons. The blotch itself vanished, and in its wake, more SlaughterKings, more SlayMasters. The Slaughterkings even bore misshapen crystal versions of the victimized vessels' nameplates, for all to see exactly how these Kythons were born...

It would not be enough to match those that were lost, but it would be plenty.

Missiles surged from the Chronosian vessels, and were intercepted by the billowing strings of eerie green energized crystal shardbolts slamming into enemy ships and fighters alike. Missiles came through, many Slaughterkings fell, shrugging off surprisingly large amounts of damage before collapsing under the strain and creating more disintegrating blotches on enemy vessels.

SlayMasters crawled about over almost every Chronosian vessel now, ripping with their claws and destroying with their guns. Weapons emplacements would be torn free or rendered useless. Missile bays and fighter bays would be torn asunder.

Other SlayMasters roared throughout the fleet, engaging enemy fighters with single-minded intensity unmatched by many. Shardbolt fire would kill the fighter from afar, and monoblade discs would cut them down at close range.

The Kythons would not relent. The Kythons would not back down. They would kill. They would bring swift justice to the Imperials in all their forms, and in doing so, their ranks would swell from the bodies of the fallen. As a plague. As a virus. As a Kython. Death was unimportant. With each loss, gain. With each death, life.

In the deadlock, the elder shaman felt the weapons flowing towards the world, and knew what he had to do. He shoved the demon backwards and stretched out his hand towards some invisible target within the spirit realm. The enemy fire streatched and wavered, passing around the planet harmlessly. Missiles twisted and detonated mid-flight. Every ounce of power the shaman had was devoted to this one task...

OOC:Bah, subscribe function being gay. Consider this a tag, then. Post deployments (in support of the Empire) soon.

OOC-Thing about attacking - highly doubtful you'd be able to get forces mobilized to defend the system within the few hours this has been going on.

The ships suffered; fighters drawn into the void; weapons rending ships and shields and bringing delightful sufferings; but they were not alone, as the Imperium lashed back. Missles hurtled forth; and ships let loose countless mines; mines hurtling througth the void; clumps and clusters splitting and sub-dividing; hurled far and wide against the enemy lines; Inhibitor systems activating to prevent any more Protoss trickery (a truly cowardly form of warfare to the proud and mighty Khornates); while their weapons reloaded and fired; and fired, and fired...

Fighters fell in droves; while others dove and ducked; continuing their barrage; weapons rotating madly, heating and seething; while the bombs and missles flew, madly traversing the void with trails of fire.

The Warp Gates faltered, flickered, gave one last spiteful brodside, and died. But that didn't mean it was over, now the masive Particle Disruption Cannonthemselves came into plas as the Cruisers charged into the ray, bolts of azure energy so bright it seemed almost white lashed the space between the opposing fleets. Missiles and torpedoes followed them, while streams of coherent light and plasma swarmed the enemy. There was no subtlety to this attack, just pure brute overwhelming firepower, masses of energy and ammunition formed and expended themselves in wves of suicidal fury against enemy hulls and shields.

Interceptors streamed towards the massive melee in an almost constant wave, pulsing from the carriers in flights as they were completed, eventually they would run out of parts, but that wouldn't be for many hours yet, unless something changed drastically they would win this fight with about half oftheir reserves intact.

OOC-Thing about attacking - highly doubtful you'd be able to get forces mobilized to defend the system within the few hours this has been going on.
OOC:Not nessessarily, all's I have to do is have one of my Crusader Fleets adjust course, they've got all they need aboard.

OOC:Not nessessarily, all's I have to do is have one of my Crusader Fleets adjust course, they've got all they need aboard.

OOC:

He can do it. Just like I did. I had a group mobile and nearby in time to respond toback you, let him try and stop us. He can't enter the system, Chron just put up FTLi, nobodie's gettin in for days. Especially when I put my FTLi up.

Somewhere Within Imperial Space

The only thing illuminating the darkness of the void were the distant stars, and even that did little to brighten up this place of blackness. At first glance the place appeared completely devoid of any life whatsoever, no activity, no hint of civilization. If one were to shine a beam of light into this void, one would be most surprised to find the light reflecting off of a rather large, gunmetal grey object.

Upon closer inspection, the structure's Gothic architectural influence becomes obvious. Of course, if one were to illuminate the void further, one would soon realize that there wasn't just one such structure. There were dozens of them.

Hundreds of ice-covered, rusting, abandoned monstrosities left to rot for a millennium.

Massive, forlorn structures, drifting in the darkness of space, waiting for...something to awaken them...

Suddenly, the darkness was interrupted. Firey red light burned through the dark hull of one of the vessels, coming from no visible source. The metal hull of the vessel seemed to be the source of light in and of itself. A second dark vessel came to life, a third, a forth, all in rapid succession. Within minutes, the entire fleet had awoken, the formerly dull texture of their hulls now appearing meticulously polished, eerily reflecting the light coming from within.

For the first time in over one thousand years the fleet awoke.

Many ages before; before the rise of the so-called GFFA, there had been a force that all had feared, even as much as they had feared the Chronosian hordes. It was a force that would convert or kill all life in the galaxy.

It was a dark army, crusading to a realm known to them as Necroverse. For a still unknown reason, their reign of terror had ended abruptly amidst internal strife within the Galactic Empire. This was a race that was feared and hated almost universally simply from their practices in conquest: this was conversion. When the Doomans took someone, they did not kill them. They took them and made them into…something else. This was how they reproduced. And if they could not convert you, they would kill you.

Those who had encountered these creatures usually mistook them for foul, intelligent demons at first, simply from the way they looked: their thick, grey hides, firey red eyes, their cruel, fanged jaws, the spikes that jutted seemingly randomly from their back and shoulders, their muscular build, the aura of red that seemed to surround them. There was also something else that made one associate these creatures with demons. When a Dooman walks into a normal temperature room, the temperature often spikes several hundred degrees upwards. That, and the unbearable smell of sulfur.

Within the bowels of the structures, legions of these foul beings scurried about from their red-hot stasis chambers, scrambling on all fours through the tube-like corridors that ran the length of the ships towards their action stations. But those were merely the creatures that operated the ships themselves.

The warriors were already clad in their dark armor, red blood running through foul runes carved into the ancient plates of metal, the souls of the fallen screaming yet letting out no noise from within their prison in the warriors’ armor. They wielded a variety of sinister weapons: bladed plasma rifles, a melee weapon that seemed to be the cross between an axe and a hammer. These creatures assembled in grand formations within a single, mighty chamber at the heart of the structures, which seemed to be constructed of a dark marble-like material, hundreds of massive, cruel statues lining the walls, holding up the massive ceiling. From the ceilings hung massive, firey lanterns, illuminating the chambers.

The legions of these creatures seemed to act single-mindedly, as one massive creature with dark skin of steel. Their bloodied, tattered standards had rotted old skulls impaled upon them from some brutal, ancient campaign, told only of in children’s stories in more ‘civilized’ places.

The ships needed only half an hour to get fully operational and consolidate their positions. When they had fully charged and assembled, the ships, one by one, began to activate their FTL drives.

From within the mightiest ship in the fleet, a massive, thirty-five kilometer behemoth, was dispatched a single message to the Chronosians,

The Arbiter comes to your aid…

The Kythons did not acknowledge the arrival of the fleet. Instead continuing to focus their attacks on the Chronosians with ever increasing ferocity. Indeed, SlayMasters were beginning to peel the very hulls off of ships now, and even began rudimentary boarding attacks whenever a Slaughterking or Deathlord managed to slice off a chunk of Chronosian vessel that opened enough of the interior to vacuum.

The entire melee must have seemed as but one giant glittering green glow of death and slaughter.

The newcomer fleet was ignored. Any attacks upon the Kythons would endanger the Chronosians just as easily.

Their turn to die would come.

The Carrier Group managed to intercept a message to the enemy fleet, but the only word they could understand was "comes"... Whatever it was was apparently approaching with the intention of aiding the Chronosians, that could not be allowed. As one the mighty Carriers brought up their FTLi systems, each system had little power in and of itself, but they bolstered and reinforced each other, power doubling and redoubling, and before long the entire system was locked out. There would be no aid now until the Carrier Group in its entirety was destroyed, and the Chronosians didn't have the numbers to defeat them, not witrh the Kythons and Orcs assaulting them at the same time. No, this system was doomed, no matter the actions of outsiders...

OOC-

Bump

Bump

Mighty Arbiter, Hand of Doom! Hand of the Empire! Strike down the foes who threaten our sanctity; avenge the death wrought by these arrogant mongrels!

The bellowing roar of Lord Hakar echoed across space; his own ship shaking in the tumult all about them. Arcs of Chronosian fire stained the abyss with blood red flashes of energy; they hurled their weapons forward; always against their foes; always into the midst of them; even as mighty ships burst into flame; plunging towards the enemy; vengeful, dire husks, even in death. Around half the Chronosian fleet had fallen; but it knew that each death mirrored a death on the other side; a death of their hated foes; a death of these infidels who dared to defy them...

And now that the Doomans were here; now that the Iron Fist of the Empire had come to their aid; there would be a grand victory...This system was doomed; their weapons had assured to the death of the world but the tumult would ensure that both sides had their fleets resoundingly crippled.

Lance batteries and Warp cannons pounded against the enemy; fusion bombs and graviton warheads continued to rain down upon the enemy; fighters took their searing weapons against the enemy on every front; above; below; about; there was fire dancing in the skies; there was hell, resplendant above the world; beautiful desolation.

In the dreamscape; the land burning and cracking beneath the might of the Primarch; crumbling under his psychic strength; he lashed out against the Shaman; tasting his mind; tasting his soul; his past...

Legion....

Mighty Arbiter, Hand of Doom! Hand of the Empire! Strike down the foes who threaten our sanctity; avenge the death wrought by these arrogant mongrels!

The bellowing roar of Lord Hakar echoed across space; his own ship shaking in the tumult all about them. Arcs of Chronosian fire stained the abyss with blood red flashes of energy; they hurled their weapons forward; always against their foes; always into the midst of them; even as mighty ships burst into flame; plunging towards the enemy; vengeful, dire husks, even in death. Around half the Chronosian fleet had fallen; but it knew that each death mirrored a death on the other side; a death of their hated foes; a death of these infidels who dared to defy them...

And now that the Doomans were here; now that the Iron Fist of the Empire had come to their aid; there would be a grand victory...This system was doomed; their weapons had assured to the death of the world but the tumult would ensure that both sides had their fleets resoundingly crippled.

Lance batteries and Warp cannons pounded against the enemy; fusion bombs and graviton warheads continued to rain down upon the enemy; fighters took their searing weapons against the enemy on every front; above; below; about; there was fire dancing in the skies; there was hell, resplendant above the world; beautiful desolation.

In the dreamscape; the land burning and cracking beneath the might of the Primarch; crumbling under his psychic strength; he lashed out against the Shaman; tasting his mind; tasting his soul; his past...

Legion....

OOC: CHRON!!!! The Doomans cannot arrive, we both have FTLi in place, and mine isn't coming down until my fleet is destroyed. Now, play nice buddy. Until the Carriers are all destroyed you will have no reinforcements.

OOC: They can come to the edge of the system and conventional thrust in, attacking with conventional weapons; or simply use the Dimensional Array; which is the GE anti-FTLi according to Sith himself. You think I'm going to sit and let you guys cluster-fuck me 4-1? Ha, think again. The Empire fights as one; one way or another the Doomans are getting here.

It's all a matter of time.

OOC: They can come to the edge of the system and conventional thrust in, attacking with conventional weapons; or simply use the Dimensional Array; which is the GE anti-FTLi according to Sith himself. You think I'm going to sit and let you guys cluster-fuck me 4-1? Ha, think again. The Empire fights as one; one way or another the Doomans are getting here.

It's all a matter of time.
OOC: Fine. Bring it on then. Just a new set of trophies for my wall then...

OOC-I'll just have to make sure you don't have much of a fleet to save, wont I?

IC


The Warlord saw his opening. The Kythons were cutting a swath through the Chronosians. There...there was an opening.

"All ships, formation Delta! Attack the following coordinates! Helm, set course, oh-four-eight mark three-two-eight. All batteries, fire at will!"

The Horde fleet cruised a wedge into the Chronosian formation, engaging the demons at close range with full broadsides of Phase Disruptor and Polaron fire. Whenever a Horde vessel was critically damaged, it would fire grapples upon the demon ship and begin a boarding operation. Marine teams cut holes through the hulls and swarm the enemy positions, the ferocity and hatred of centuries of slavery fully showing upon their faces.


In the dreamscape, the shaman cried out as the axe penetrated his mental armor. He had been too focused in saving the planet. He watched as his lifeblood seeped away.

Mighty Arbiter, Hand of Doom! Hand of the Empire! Strike down the foes who threaten our sanctity; avenge the death wrought by these arrogant mongrels!

The bellowing roar of Lord Hakar echoed across space; his own ship shaking in the tumult all about them. Arcs of Chronosian fire stained the abyss with blood red flashes of energy; they hurled their weapons forward; always against their foes; always into the midst of them; even as mighty ships burst into flame; plunging towards the enemy; vengeful, dire husks, even in death. Around half the Chronosian fleet had fallen; but it knew that each death mirrored a death on the other side; a death of their hated foes; a death of these infidels who dared to defy them...

And now that the Doomans were here; now that the Iron Fist of the Empire had come to their aid; there would be a grand victory...This system was doomed; their weapons had assured to the death of the world but the tumult would ensure that both sides had their fleets resoundingly crippled.

Lance batteries and Warp cannons pounded against the enemy; fusion bombs and graviton warheads continued to rain down upon the enemy; fighters took their searing weapons against the enemy on every front; above; below; about; there was fire dancing in the skies; there was hell, resplendant above the world; beautiful desolation.

In the dreamscape; the land burning and cracking beneath the might of the Primarch; crumbling under his psychic strength; he lashed out against the Shaman; tasting his mind; tasting his soul; his past...

Legion....


There would be no help for the Chronosians. There were only 43 Carriers left, but they disengaged, taking their Interceptors and Strike Cruisers with them, and moved at full speed for the newest threat. They were battered, but whatever was arriving would be a shadow of itself by the time it broke the Protoss blockade.

The Miehmians thought that they could leave the battle so easily? The Horde throught they could defeat the Chronosians by exploiting a single tiny crack? Oh fools! Oh knaves! The rearmost guns opened fire against the retreating Miehmian's; firing into the midst of the Protoss with mighty fusion weapons, with searing blasts of Warp Cannon and Lance; with ranged cannons and missles; gravitational weapons and countless other assaults.

The forwardmost fleet was beign assaulted by the horde; returning their broadstrokes of cleansing fire with ernest. The Chronosian ships slammed their mighty girths towards the horde vessels; mighty spikes of armor ready to perforate; boarding teams and pods ready to assault the ships enmass in the meeting of metal.

A juggernaut of a vessel burst into flame along one side; forcing it's mighty weight towards the Horde vessels that assailed it; great cleansing missles of death; firing every weapon; detonating their plasma reactors and warp-cores as they smashed forth towards the enemy fleets. The ships behind them fired with insane glee; not caring as their weapons perforated friend and foe; the ships at the forefront were as good as doomed; might as well make sure the Horde went with them.

Fireships dove through the Chronosian fleet; plunging towards the enemy; docking bays and cargo holds opening to let loose countless tumbling mines and missles; before the ships themselves plunged forward in dark devotion; skeleton crews attending till the bitter end; ships pakced with plasma, explosives, warheads;l everything they could muster; to make sure that the death of the vessel was spectacular...In the midst of the enemy

The enemy weapons ripped into the rear of the Carrier Group, hammering the directed shields of the Cruisers and Carriers. They held, but they were hard pressed, shots would occasionally leak through, but the swiftly moving Cruisers quickly pulled past the Carriers, removing them from the direct fire of the enemy. Now the massively defended Carriers took the brunt of the enemy fire, and returned a bit of their own, lashing out with their PDCs, they held the rear as the faster ships moved ahead to delay the new enemy.

The trolls, those brave, brave trolls, that commanded the Vul'jin frigates began a desperate move. They maneuvered their vessels between the Chronosian ships and the move heavily armed and armoured Hellscream cruisers, ramming the demons at full speed. Six frigates did this, each one ramming a different ship. They kept the enemy at bay. Those Chronosians that did manage to board a Horde vessel met what was surely their own nightmare - swarms of savage, drooling, roaring creatures that wished for nothing but honorable death - and weren't afraid to leave a trail of bodies. The massive tauren were put into play, these twelve foot, normally peaceful creatures, roared and shouted battlecries in their native Taurahe as the brought plasma rifle, energy axe, and bare fist down upon the demon boarders.

The Horde ships, though smaller than the Chronosians, put their superior mobility into effect. They danced around the larger cruisers, continuously firing their cannons. Even the plasma lance grids - used primarily for fighter defense - struck out against the black ships of the Imperium. Any Chronosian that dared try to close with a cruiser or destroyer was quickly met with withering polaron fire, and they could but watch as their ships tore themselves apart.

Fighters and bombers swarmed down upon the largest of the ships like a hive of wasps upon honey. The bombers unleashed their hellish phase disruptors upon any vulnerable piece of armor or turret, crippling what ships they could.

If space could carry sound, the gathered fleets would surely have been deafened by the calls for blood. At last, the true strength of the Horde was being realized. The time for vengeance had come.

OOC: Problem with 'edge of the system' though is that that range would be around... 30-40 AU... say 35 AU for a normal system. At speed of light, that'd make it around 8 minutes per AU, times 35, 280 minutes... four hours and forty minutes to get there at absolute maximum speed under FTLi. About six hours for Battleships since a Star System can put in a lot of drag on big ships, since it ain't just the inky black of space.

It is indeed a matter of time. Too much time, in fact.

The Kythons took the opportunity provided by the sudden redirection of a goodly portion of Chronosian counterfire and momentarily shifted a significant portion of their shield energy to their weapons, increasing the strength of their ShardBolt barrages as well as their Light-Discs. They focused upon the Chronosians a startlingly sudden flurry of Melee and Shardbolt strikes, slicing away at the enemy with energized crystal and blades of death. The Kythons pummeled and pummeled and pummeled, heedless of their own pain.

Chronosian vessels self-destructing throughout the enemy fleet did not concern the Kythons. Some of their number would get caught in the massive detonations of warp energy, but the Kythons were fast enough and focused enough to know that their target was mortally wounded and would already have moved on towards other vessels, intensifying their fire against the Chronosians as more and more the Chaos Hounds fell, allowing the Kythons to continuously add to the fire against those that remained.

Their numbers were slowly replenishing, not enough to make up for their losses, but enough to dampen the blow. Those vessels that could not self-destruct in time only served to bring more SlaughterKings into the fray. Each new vessel instantly knew its purpose, to kill the enemy in the bloodiest manner possible.

The Kythons were the virus. The Kythons were the weapon. In death there was victory and in victory there was propagation and in propagation... Kythons.

The roaring beasts of the horde thought they would inspire reckless fear in their foes? They desired honorable death? Pathetic! They were fools; fools belonging to Khorne! The Marines lashed out with bolters and other weapons; Havocs and Devestator squads brought massive weapons to bear; rockets engaging; plasma and combi-weapons roaring; melta-guns seething with primal discharge. Chainaxes, Powerfists, Chainswords; all were brought to bear against the enemy; a helmet knocked asunder revealed these Space Marines; these greatest and chosen of Mankind, to be slavering monsters; crazed with bloodlust. Those that died accepted their fates; death was a natural progression; all that mattered was that blood flowed...

Though the horde vessels had speed; the Chronosians fought back with brute force; peppering their ranks with area of effect weapons; lashing out at the enemy with their mighty weapons; as the Hellscream's rammed the Chronosian ships; one or two amongst them found something rather odd, as malformed hull and seething, flesh-like energy began to lash out of them; a massive eye seemed to open amongst the ship's gleaming innards; as it bit and scratched and mauled at the cruiser that had rammed it; suckling like some immense eel; this Daemonship of the Imperium; this infested relic of the Warp..

Chronosian fighters and bombers counterattacked and parried at every opportunity; while countless fell like flies swatted from the skies; mines littered the battlefield; as maddened-half crazed and drug-fuelled Slaaneshi pilots screaming in rapturous ecstacy; death bringing them only closer to the ultimate pleasures.

The Kythons were focussed upon by the ships they attacked; energy hurled forth to sunder the Godulan monsters; these trickeries; these cowards weapons of war; the Godulan's evidently lacked the gall to face the Chronosian's on equal ground; a cowardly race hiding behind sorcery and subterfuge; a race of fools and jesters. They would pay dearly.

As the Godulan fi8re shredded smaller ships; the more maneuverable Idolator, Iconoclast and Infidel raiders swooped and dove; unleashing barrages of lance fire and plasma bombardments; while Hades and Styx Class Heavy Cruisers began their attack runs from the centre of the Chronosian formation. Though they knew that they were tenuously outnumbered; the Chronosians would make sure that countless members of the enemy fleet went with them to death in the depths of the abyss.

Though many vessels were maneuverable, there was nothing that could match the sheer speed and agility of the Kythons. They held a marked size disadvantage against their adversaries, the largest of them-- The DeathLord Battleships-- having main bodies less than half a kilometer in diameter, but they made up for it in the sheer volume of firepower they could pump out, and the ferocity with which they did so.

The Slaymaster fighters surged throughout the fleet, peppering anything that got in their way with massive amounts of glistening green explosive shards. Other Slaymasters swarmed over individual enemy vessels, picking them apart like Driver Ants ripping apart still-living prey layer by layer, roaring off to other victims when the present target was left vulnerable enough to the fire of the main capital ships.

It was truly a sight to behold. Though the Chronosians fought and flailed, and indeed took many Kythons with them, it only ended in more infectious disintegrating blotches, and with each fully absorbed enemy vessel, more Slaughterkings and more Slaymasters joined the fray.

As for the DeathLords, they seemed to take a different tack against the enemy. Though their numbers amongst the Kython scourge were few, they seemed to focus more on maintaining formation and letting their ion cannons do the work against enemy shields and weapons. With the power of each ion cannon on the Deathlord approaching that of a Planetary turret, even a single DeathLord was capable of dealing devastating debilitations upon those vessels that had as yet been untouched by the Slaughterkings, a condition that was very swiftly becoming scarce.

Indeed, though the Chronosians would have been loathe to admit it, the Kythons fought with as much, if not more ferocity and disregard for self-preservation than the Chaos hounds. They cared not for the fallen, they cared only of the killing, of the destroying, of the conquest.

Though the orcs screamed their hatred for all to hear, and the Chronosians screamed their defiance against all comers, the Kythons remained purely silent. They let the shrieking of metal rent asunder by their light-blades speak for them. They let the sound of thousands of shardbolt explosions speak for them. They let the devastation left in their wake sing the tales of woe to all who dared oppose the Kythons.

The Chronosian's had begun to back away from the insanity of the fools assault; of these idiots left here to die; the planetary defences at a ground level no logner existed; scythed clean by the cyclonic bombardment, and the other crippling assaults that had been flung at the doomed world in the course of the perilous war. The ships left many to continue to fight the Kythons; locked in close-range combat to the death; detonating themselves at the first sign of insidious, cowardly infection.

Those ships that moved to the rear; kept their weapons pounding against the foe before them. That four fleets were needed to secure one imperial world was a symbol of the cowardice of the entire GFFA; that these greenskinned heretics had been unable to secure a victory alone against the might of the Empire; was a fitting moniker for victory.

"Whorish upstarts of the GFFA; in the name of the Emperor I demand you lay down your weapons and cease this offensive action. The world is yours, for what it is worth; your cowardly offensive, your reliance on trickery and cowardice-" He knew these words would inspire hatred in the hearts of the honor-ridden zealots that abounded "-shows your inability to fight us toe to toe. You rely on dragging manifold fleets against a defenceless world. You are no better than the 'evil' you proclaim to fight. I declare each of you Hereticus Diabolus; I call you coward and fool."

The comms ceased as Hakar turned "Open fire; full weapons batteries; target the command ships of the Tidan and Horde fleets; send them to the Abyss!"

The weapons of the remaining fleet; the ones distancing themselves from the Tidan fleet; numbering almost 500; the remains of a vast warfleet 2000 strong; opened fire; twin arcs of deadly fire surging straight towards the command ships of either fleet; while other batteries opened up against the relentless Kythons; waves of mines and missles littering the void; to form an almost defensive barrier while the fleet executed a strategic fall-back; they were not leaving the battle. Merely evening the playing field. They would cull each and every one of these craven whores.

The Chronosian boarders fought like whirling engines of destruction; weapons roaring and howling; blades sharp and ready to cleave flesh. Countless scarlet armored warriors forced themselves through the breach; from their pods; onwards into the belly of the beast; hurling themselves at the Horde Lines; as Commanders and Sorcerors towered over the common flock; snapping bodies and armor with flicks of their wrists; while Commanders smashed asunder those before them with mighty maces; and roaring gouts of plasma fire.

"WELCOME BROTHERS!" One howled over the cacophany of violence onboard the ridden ships "WELCOME TO THE FEAST!"

"Whorish upstarts of the GFFA; in the name of the Emperor I demand you lay down your weapons and cease this offensive action. The world is yours, for what it is worth; your cowardly offensive, your reliance on trickery and cowardice-" He knew these words would inspire hatred in the hearts of the honor-ridden zealots that abounded "-shows your inability to fight us toe to toe. You rely on dragging manifold fleets against a defenceless world.

Admiral Rho listened to the message as his ship came under heavy bombardment. You think you know our hearts? He thought. These zealots may surprise you yet.

You are no better than the 'evil' you proclaim to fight. I declare each of you Hereticus Diabolus; I call you coward and fool."

Rho responded with his own message. "Demon, you are very kind in defeat. Have you lost your tongue, or has your hate escaped you? From you such benign words are like sweet honey. I shall wear the title of Hereticus Diabolus as a medal, and display it proudly." The command bridge shook with the attack. "I, Hereticus Diabolus Rho, am most honored to have been part of your defeat damned one."

The Harbinger Tide took several direct hits from a nearby enemy battleship. The last one broke through the reinforced shields and ripped a gash along the bow. Weapons went offline. All power from weapons was shunted to shields to bring them back to strength. Another volley came right for the ship, but it smashed into the bow of another cruiser as it threw itself into the fire to protect the Command ship.

Now the remaining 22 cruisers grouped together surrounding the Harbinger Tide. They formed a shell around it showing their heavily armed dorsal plane, and combining their shield strengths. Their escort Tridents came together as well, 76 heavy pulse lasers opened concentrated fire on one point of an enemy's shield. The energy was disappated by the shields at first but when they broke, the deadly beams would carve the enemy's hull to pieces. The phalanx of cruisers too concentrated their fire on the nearest Battleship.

Meanwhile, the last of the charging column of destroyers was hit once again. Its captain slumped over from injury in the pilot's seat. The ship was void of life, but the AI kept it on course. It passed through the hole in the shields firing one of its pulse lasers and its two railgun turrets at the hull of the command ship as it prepared to crash.

Chronosian shields held for moments, before some of the blasts began to show through; marring the hulls; letting the mighty ships plunge towards the Tidan fleet; all weapons roaring. Ion cannons roared and howled; scything towards the enemy, intent on disabling the electronics of the enemy. Cannons and missles tore towards the enemy; surging waves of energy, even as advancing cruisers were cut down.

The Heavy Battleships; the mighty Despoiler and Defiler classes; moved like stoic juggernauts; unleashing tides of lashing energy; lance batteries firing; torpedoes and missles searing across the void as the five mighty vessels advanced; shields flaring; countless fighters and boarding pods unleashing against the Tidan fleet; the weapons roaring; the energy surging through space; as though the Universe itself bled.

Onboard countless Marines awaited; readied in their Dreadclaw boarding Pods; weapons readied; armor gleaming, adorned with runes and sigils; ready and waiting for war; as more waves of cleansing fire scythed across the void; intent on striking the key locations of the Tidan vessels.

There is death and destruction enough for you, Heretic. You shall suffer at the hands of the Servants of the True Gods. You shall be sundered by the Warp and all its denizens!

The Kythons let their victims die, and moved on. They swarmed now from those vessels that were being ripped apart by the Slaymasters, and roared forth into the remainder of the Chronosian fleet. They took the opportunity provided by yet another diversion of the Chronosians towards the Federation allies.

The Kythons set their sights now on the most massive of the enemy vessels, the most massive, the most... vulnerable.

Like a green glittering cloud of purest death, they fell upon the Chronosian vessels, their numbers were lessened, but nowhere near hindered. The Slaymasters struck first, landing upon the enemy vessels and continuing their craft of destruction. In unison, in instinctual simultaneity, the Slaughterkings came, lavishing their attention on capitol ship and fighter alike, shardbolt and light-disc... the Kythons would rend, the Kythons would slay, and the Kythons would kill...

The Chronosian fighters dove at stricken craft; slamming their clawed, spiked girth against the Kython's latched like parasites; detonating their weapons; firing right against them as they sought to drive the whorish parasites off with brute force. Onboard the ships, Mechanicus teams detonated sections of hull; to send them and the Kythons tumbling off into the void, while fighters and bombers swarmed and swooped and picked at them; the weapons of the mighty ships aiding in seeking their enemies utter destruction.

Warp cannon, Ion cannon, lance, missle, bomb, mine; the Chronosian's would counter-attack; the Chronosians would endure. No foolish cowards mechanical construct would lay them low; no childs toy would hinder them. As the mighty guns of the fleet unleashed against the largest of the Kython horde; the commanders grinned. Victory and death; damnation and destruction. Salvation through the fires of Hell. Was there any sweeter thing?

The enemy fighters slammed into the Slaymasters crawling and skittering along the surface of the Chronosian battleships. Slaymasters scattered at the soonest sign of such rammings, skittering away or realigning their monodiscs and flying off of their own accord, to take advantage of the wounds caused by the Chronosians' own suicidal flailings. As portions of hull detonated beneath them, sending them free, the Slaymasters likewise took flight and continued their ceaseless burrowing.

The Slaymasters also took to turning their weapons outward while they burrowed inward. When lack of resistance merited, Shardbolts sprayed forth from their crystal hides, targeting any and all enemy fighters that dared to get close to their own vessels.

Further, the Slaymasters showed a form of cooperation with their allies, massing and ripping into the hull around the various boarding points and supporting the orc horde with that of the Kython Scourge.

Those Kython capitol ships that found themselves stricken with the sheer weight of enemy fire, with their close proximity to the enemy vessels, simply turned towards the closest battleship and slammed into it, splashing against it like a glowing green crystal raindrop. Crystal filaments grabbed hold, and electric current surged forth, severing molecular bonds and feeding the great blotch.

Until then however, the Slaughterkings and Deathlords continued their macabre parade. Slicing with light-discs and destroying with Shardbolts, rocketing amongst the enemy vessels and tearing away at them with ever-increasing ferocity.

Allied fire was thickening now as well, and the Kythons reveled in the slaughter. As the Chronosians poured everything they could into the Kythons, the infernal creatures simply would not give up. The Chaos hounds had been beaten back. As green crystalline death engulfed them, they would burn... the Kythons would feast upon the dead and dying, making more, replenishing their numbers, increasing the plague...

After the Chronosians, the Doomans too would learn their folly. The Doomans would learn that the Kythons could convert THEM, whether they submitted or not...

OOC: Had this post ready a couple days ago, but apparently Jolt decided to be a gibbering wreck when I tried posting the first time.