NationStates Jolt Archive

“Something troubles you Brother-Sergeant Orteel?”

Rolan Orteel’s gaze shifted upwards from the vibrating deck plates of the Thunderhawk gunship to take in the massive armored form of his company commander, Brother-Captain Verruc. Orteel’s piercing blue eyes focused briefly on the Imperial Aquila emblazoned in gold on the other Space Marine’s chest plate before finally settling on Captain Verruc’s craggy features.

“No sir. Nothing troubles me. I am simply contemplating the task set before us. Considering the strengths of my squad and how best to employ them against the enemy,” Orteel replied, his rumbling baritone carrying easily over the howl of gunship’s laboring engines. Captain Verruc nodded thoughtfully.

“Look to the Codex brother-sergeant and trust in the Emperor for it is His Truth we bring to this benighted world,” the captain intoned, motioning towards one of the reinforced viewing ports and onwards towards the world below. A world that until today had known only the darkness of ignorance. The people of this world had cast the opportunity for peaceful integration aside when they had imprisoned or killed so many members of the Adeptus Missionaria that had been arriving in droves over the past several months. Now the Space Marines of the Storm Bringers Chapter and the Imperial Guard regiments accompanying them would force compliance upon them. Sergeant Orteel nodded once.

“Of course Captain. The Emperor will provide,” returned Sergeant Orteel. Around him, the nine marines of his squad shifted in their crash couches as the screaming pitch of the engines changed in tone. They had begun their final decent. Both the 4th and 6th Companies of the Chapter had been tasked with spearheading the assault that would bring this world to heel. Forty full regiments, numbering nearly fifteen thousand men apiece, had also been sent to enforce compliance. This world of Bellias III would accept the glory of the Emperor’s Truth or would perish in the cleansing fire of His wrath.

OOC:Just a note for any and all who might wish to join. This particular RP takes place within a small cluster of about 100 star systems known as the Charybdis Cluster. As my nation is based on the Imperium of Man of Warhammer 40k fame, this Rp represents my first attempt at expansion beyond my home system. If you have some viable reason for being in the Charybdis Cluster or nearby to the planet of Bellias III, by all means make a small ;) appearance. Otherwise, TG me and we'll see what we can work out. I'm just looking to branch out a bit and maybe meet some neighbors.

The delicate creature landed upon Joraen's finger, an inner glow illuminated the tiny winged humanoid as it lingered for a moment before leaping off to join its fellows. A chanting song emanated from the barren landscape, a nursery rhyme with versions known in a thousand languages upon hundreds of worlds, each unaware of its origins.

Ring a ring o' Roses...

Dozens of the minute creatures were sky-dancing in a circle around the hilltop, while beneath them danced others of the Lesser Kin, creatures that were impossible combinations of height and weight, of colour and features, cavorting in the twilight.

A pocket full of Posies...

Joraen's brother, Joruin, breathed in deeply, inhaling the scents of the small flowers sprouting around the base of the hill.

"The Young Rose will be here soon."

The dancing creatures surrounding them spun and wove and ducked faster, ever faster, forming patterns within patterns, chanting in a perfect sing-song unison.

Titania! Titania!

The two brothers walked forward, almost to the innermost edge of the dancers, across green grass and blooming posies where a moment ago had been desolate earth. They turned, and waited for the last line.

We all...bow...down.

With the final word the dancers stopped, bowing, curtseying or genuflecting. The two brothers dropped to one knee with the grace that comes with their race, bowing their heads and raising arms in supplication as music sifted into their ears.

Harps there were, and trumpets, instruments of string and of brass, and drums, always the drums in the background. The hilltop glowed with the power of She Who Went Before and from it emerged a number of beings, tall and slender, a few more graceful even than Joraen and Joruin.

The foremost stopped before them as the light died.

"Joraen and Joruin nai'Leithandere sie'lor'Posy. A beautiful dance. One enquires as to the day's joys or sorrows, the sun and the rain, and would know of your health. Messages of your House are with the Court, to be read in due time and leisure. Now, I apologise for such unseemly haste...show us your progress, and grant us your counsel of what comes above this hill."

The glowing creatures gathered around the newly arrived Court, frolicking amongst gleaming armour, shimmering cloth and delicate weaponry that seemed at once archaic and beyond the dreams of most artificers. The one that had rested upon the finger of the young scion of Posy House settled itself atop a streaming banner, whose sigil bore a complex twist of thorny stem and at its heart a rose as crimson as sunset.

As the hosts of the short-lived blasted through the atmosphere, far above and a quarter of a world away, the life sprouting upon a solitary hillside sank back into the ground, flowers vanishing with the fading light. The only sign of the dancers, or those that they called to, were three banners flying proudly upon the hilltop. The thorned banner of the Young Rose, and the two almost identical standards of the Leithandere Posy brothers.

[[OOC: Basic premise is that the Onarrim are doing something on this world, and at some point the Imperial and Rosean/Posine forces will clash/meet. If you don't like, I'll delete the post.]]

“Here they come boys!” bellowed Sergeant Iskis, his pitted, scarred countenance turned skywards, keen eyes following the fiery contrails of the descending gunships. He twisted suddenly to glare down the trench at the men around him. “Hope ya changed your undergarments this morning ‘cause this is going to get hairy in a hurry.” The sudden concussive blast of a nearby flak battery opening up seemed to punctuate his words as the stink of smoke and fycelene washed over them like an errant wave. Up and down the line, men starred up into the sky, autoguns clutched in trembling hands as the blistering lights seemed to come straight for them. Over the crashing roar of the flak battery, Sergeant Iskis was yelling again, his right hand with the missing pinky finger slashing the air as he barked out instructions.

“Pick your targets and conserve your ammo and for feth’s sake, wait until they’re in range before you open fire,” he screamed as his faced reddened with the exertion of shouting over the anti-air artillery firing up into the clouds. “We have no idea what’s coming down but we do know that after today, they’ll wish they’d never come here with their stinking emperor and his religion. This is our world and we’re keeping it!”

‘Our world’ was known locally as Meneus and it was home to roughly two hundred million inhabitants of a polity called the Jorian Confederacy. Most of these people lived on the largest continent. This same continent housed what could nominally be called the Confederacy’s capital, a massive, sprawling metropolis called Landing City. It is around Landing that most of the Confederacy’s defenses had been situated for if Landing fell, the Jorian people would be without a government. Sure, local and regional governments would still exist but important government functions were handled in Landing. Defense, Treasury, and Interstellar Policy were all handled at the federal level and that meant they were all handled in Landing. Planetary Defense Forces knew this and assumed that the invaders knew this as well.

***** ***** ***** *****


“Like pebbles in a ration can!” quipped Brother Pison over the vox from his seat three spots down from Sergeant Orteel. Orteel glanced sideways at his squad’s heavy gunner and grinned behind the ceramite and plasteel of his helmet’s faceplate. Pison’s heavy bolter rattled against the knee guards of his Mk7 power armor, the weapon’s muzzle pointed towards the ceiling of the bucking gunship. Orteel’s own bolter was clutched in one massive gauntlet.

“Or between your ears maybe,” replied Brother Lapin over the same channel. A few throaty chuckles rattled over the hissing vox channel but they died suddenly as a new sound was heard. Like rain on a tin roof, the pinging sound of shrapnel striking the armored flanks of the Thunderhawk brought everyone’s thoughts back to the coming battle. Individually, the marines of Squad Orteel began to mutter the various litanies of protection and precision over their weapons and power armor. A green light suddenly blazed out into the dimly lit recesses of the squad bay and the tinny voice of the pilot filled their ears. ‘Sixty seconds! May the Emperor guide you.’

Almost as one, the marines disengaged their restraints and stood. Weapons were checked one last time. Sergeant Orteel began reciting the Litanies of Hate over the squad channel and the men of his squad joined him. 'While vile mutants still draw breath, there can be no peace. While obscene heretics' hearts still beat, there can be no respite. While faithless traitors still live, there can be no forgiveness.' Their righteous faith in the Emperor filled them with strength. Hard rounds could be heard impacting on the gunship in an almost continuous wave of sound and here and there, the larger explosions of mortar and rocket fire boomed in defiance.

“Remember your training and trust in the Emperor,” Orteel intoned, “for He will protect.” The words were barely out of his mouth before the Thunderhawk landed in a jarring, shrieking, explosion of sound and motion. Almost instantly, the rear hatch came down and the deafening orchestra of combat filled the interior of the ship. Sunlight blazed down upon them as Squad Orteel disembarked and fanned out. The Emperor’s wrath had come to Bellias III.

Bump if anyone is interested in some ground action. Maybe some aggressive diplomacy! ;)

OOC: Do you want an invader or an ally? Cause I got both. =P

OOC: Either way. I'm just branching out here and looking to bring this planet into the fold. The more complicated that gets, the more fun it is to write. As I don't have any player controlled allies right now, anyone you brought in could definitely be as much. Consider though that my nation does not suffer the alien, the heretic, or the daemon to live. ;) I've read a lot of your stuff Telros. I know there won't be any tech wank or godmoding so if you want to get involved here, just have fun!

BTW, I will be out of town until 08/08 but I will pick this right up when I get back.

OOC: Well, I have the Global Defense Initiative (another account), who could come in and defend the planet, as they are the good guys.

-or-

Have the Brotherhood of Nod (sharing said account) come in and aid you in return for an alliance, economic and military treaties, share technology and basically get an ally against the GDI.

I also have an alien race, also using Tiberium, who are slightly insane and treat war like a game, calling it the "Great Game". They care little for sides; they just like to fight, so, they could come in and cause chaos for both sides.

Pale shadows writhed across the dusty landscape as greasy smoke obscured the light of the sun. Brother-Sergeant Orteel squatted low behind a natural berm and focused briefly on the data-runes projected onto the visor of his helmet. His squad was intact according to the figures blinking across his vision although Brother Horvath’s rune flickered slightly. Orteel frowned behind the plasteel and ceramite of his helmet.

“Brother Horvath,” he voxed, “are you injured?” Such was the clinical disposition of the Astartes that a conversation such as this could take place during combat. Dirt and debris spewed into the sky from an explosion only two hundred meters away. Sergeant Orteel could feel the force of the impact vibrate through his power armor. That was something new. Was the enemy bringing heavy artillery to bear?

“Just had my bell rung from a near miss Sergeant. Those heavy stubber gunners are starting to find the range,” came the reply over the hissing vox channel. “No worries.” What the jovial Brother Horvath had not mentioned to his sergeant was that the near miss had cost him his two outermost fingers on his right hand. The scything rounds had stitched across Horvath’s position, chewing through the earthworks and pulverizing stone into dust and fragments. The Space Marine’s fingers had disappeared in a rending explosion of ceramite, flesh, and blood. Even as the blood had begun clotting and Horvath’s bioengineered physiology began damping the pain, the Marine had calmly switched his bolter to his left hand and put a single .75 caliber, explosive tipped bolt through the gunner’s right eye from nearly ninety meters away. The gunner’s head had exploded in a flash of pink mist and the body had been thrown back and out of sight. All in a days work as far as Brother Horvath was concerned.

“Very well,” murmured Orteel, “ keep up the suppressive fire on that position. Brother Sergeant Palchis’ Devastator squad is moving forward to bring down this emplacement here. Be ready to move when he does!” A single click on the vox channel sounded in acknowledgment. The ground shook again under another concussive blast. Again it spoke of heavier weapons than previously seen. The ruby death of lasrounds hissed and cracked as they tore at Orteel’s cover and he raised his head and body for a split second to loose a flurry of aimed bolter rounds at the winking firing slits of the ceramacrete reinforced gun emplacement sixty meters away. The firing stuttered for a moment before rising again in fury as the explosive rounds gouged chunks from the building’s façade. In the split second that his head and upper body had been above cover, Orteel had again seen the shredded, steaming remains of Brother Acutus. The ceramite of his power armor had been split open like a seed pod by the rending fire of no fewer than four crew served assault cannons firing from the emplacement. Those weapons had remained silent until the Marines had begun to move forward and then lashed out in a rain of steel and death. Orteel’s fury was a living thing now and his avenging vow was made manifest in his impatience to close with and destroy his squad mate’s killers.

It was in that moment that two Marines of the Devastator squad thundered down into his position. Both carried shoulder mounted missile launchers and the sergeant watched as both marines prepped their weapons to fire. The nearer of the two turned to Orteel and nodded and the sergeant spoke a single word in to the vox pickup of his helmet.

“Fire.”

Sudden, blinding bolter fire poured from the Marine’s position into the emplacement before them. Orteel’s bolter thundered and bucked in his hands as he loosed bolt after bolt. Without preamble, the two Devastator marines stood and shouldered their weapons. They fired in unison and twin trails of flame and exhaust drew a line unerringly to the target. A pair of krak missiles detonated just above and two the left of the center point of the main firing slit of the building. The ceramacrete and rebar ruptured like a boil in the killing blast. Smoke and dust filled the air and the firing from the building abruptly halted.

“Squad forward!” thundered Orteel and the remaining Marines of Squad Orteel, 4th Company, Storm Bringers Chapter vaulted up and over the cover behind which they had been sheltering and moved forward into the killing embrace of the enemy trench network.

OOC: I am just continuing the pacification of Bellias III. The thread is still open for anyone who would like to get involved. ;)

Bad luck. That and bad timing had doomed the Imperium this day. Long ago territory in the Charybdis Cluster had been claimed by a nation naming itself the Terran Dominion. Now their descendants had returned, in force. A trio of massive dreadnoughts, a quartet of battleships, a dozen battlecruisers, scores of cruisers , and some 200 destroyers. A further emergence shattered the peace of the system, and a further score of carriers emerged. Finally, massive beyond normal comprehension, but tiny in comparison to the vastness of the void, the Superdreadnought Megatherium headed a task force sent to reclaim the entire sector once belonging to the Terrans. First on the list, a planet once known as New Atlanta, known to the Imperium as Bellias III.

Flag Bridge, Superdreadnought Megatherium

The black uniformed admiral sat stiff in his command chair, his own skin nearly a deeper black than that on his uniform, his dark complexion and strong features made him stand out from the primarily Caucasian or latino crew under his command. "Captain Perez, direct Commodore Johnson and his squadron to support Belisarius and Midway in reclaiming Atlanta. Megatherium and the remainder of the task group will proceed on towards the Capitol, and see if any Colonial remnant survives." The deep voice and heavy New Virginia accent left the words thick and flowing like molasses, but the Captain was used to it.

"Aye aye, jefe. Johnson acknowledges, units are en route. ETA, 10 minutes for outer system jump, ETA the planet 30 minutes further, all units translated, fleet proceeding to former colonial capitol."

Former Terran System New Atlanta, Bellias III

Thirteen sun bright pinpricks shattered space at the edge of the system, and immediately translated to their intrasystem FTL drives for the relatively short burn towards the planet. Their appearance would register as nothing more than an unnerving blip on most sensors, though those with the proper equipment would have no difficulty tracking their path all the way in to the planet. The Terrans had no clue there might be hostiles awaiting them on the surface, but they would surely know, in 30 short minutes.