NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: As the title says, this is very much so open, as at the moment there is only three RP'ers including myself. As such I include a link to the sign-up thread http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=556387.

IC: Deep in unexplored space, there is a small planet explorers know as Methual, a name derived from a garbled transmission recieved by a passing Eldar ship. After the transmission was received, they attempted to explore this unknown planet, but it was completely uninhabited, and no trace could be found of whomever sent the transmission. The Eldar left the planet then, confused but not interested enough to do a more thorough search. Not even the Eldar Farseers could forsee the conflict that would suround this small planet in days to come.

Atheris Lekra, leader of the World eaters on the planet, stared lovingly at the minutare figure he had in his hand. It was shaped as a howling wolf. Such a small thing to have such power, and to inspire such amazing bloodshed. He thought. So small, yet with this I doubt even a Daemon Prince could defeat me. I am sure Khorne would reward me with my own Ascenscion for giving this to him, but why, when I could become one of the Dark Gods myself. They say that the Chaos Gods we're born of hatred and malice, and bloodshed and war. I say, why can't I have the same happen to me, with the coinflict that will surely erupt around it. "Yes," he said aloud, "I shall continue with my plan. Surely the Blood God won't miss this mere trinket." And with that, he left the camp, to carry out part one of his plan. He was fairly certain there was an Ork encampment nearby. Surely there was one there whom could help with his plot.

OOC: Orks speak in a very garbled Cockney accent, so try to imagine how the orks would sound.

"Oye, you git, therez someone cumin' to da gate" grunted Grabnitz angrily as he noticed his fellow sentry was asleep. "Get up you git" Grabnitz roared again as his companion refused to wake. Korgor, the other ork sentry, sprung to life after being hit by Grabnitz's hard black boots. "Oye, why'd youz just wake me up" grumbled Korgor as he grabbed his shoota and rose to his feet clumsily. "Look you git!" shouted Grabnitz as he shoved Korgor.

In the almost impenetrable darkness, Korgor managed to make out the silhouette of an approaching figure. "Hey, wot youz doin' down dere?" roared Grabnitz as he pointed his shoota at the shadow. "I'm here to see your Boss, greenskin filth" spoke the figure angrily, almost frightening the orks. After a few shouts and roars, Boss Kurkitz began to approach the gate to see what all the commotion was about. "Hey, why'z you gits makin' so much noiz?!" roared Kurkitz as he shot wildly into the air.

One of the ork sentries on top of the tower pointed nervously to a figure standing beside the palisade wall. "Oye, sneaky git, wots do you wont?!" grunted Kurkitz as he approached him.

There was much bustle inside what was soon to become the Fortress Monestary of the Blood Angels Chapter. A group of scouts had just returned from scouting out the camp of the Fallen Angels. The leader of the Scout Marine squad, one by the name of Joseph Alexander, knocked on the door of where Micheal Rayton, the leader of the forces on Methual. As the door opened, Joseph bowed down. "My lord, the Traitors are encamped some distance to the North of us. I managed to spot what looked like one of the Lords leaving the camp, in the direction of the Ork encampment. What does it mean, my Lord?"

Micheal Rayton considered this for a moment. "This Chaos Lord porbably has the intention of using the savages as pawns in his conquest of this world. It has been done before, yet this surprises me. Usually the World Eaters lack such subtelty. They often prefer to drown the enemy in waves of beserkers. Ah well, I'm sure it will turn out for the best. Orks are tricky creatures at the best of times, always willing to bite the hand that feeds."

OOC: Orks speak in a very garbled Cockney accent, so try to imagine how the orks would sound.

"Oye, you git, therez someone cumin' to da gate" grunted Grabnitz angrily as he noticed his fellow sentry was asleep. "Get up you git" Grabnitz roared again as his companion refused to wake. Korgor, the other ork sentry, sprung to life after being hit by Grabnitz's hard black boots. "Oye, why'd youz just wake me up" grumbled Korgor as he grabbed his shoota and rose to his feet clumsily. "Look you git!" shouted Grabnitz as he shoved Korgor.

In the almost impenetrable darkness, Korgor managed to make out the silhouette of an approaching figure. "Hey, wot youz doin' down dere?" roared Grabnitz as he pointed his shoota at the shadow. "I'm here to see your Boss, greenskin filth" spoke the figure angrily, almost frightening the orks. After a few shouts and roars, Boss Kurkitz began to approach the gate to see what all the commotion was about. "Hey, why'z you gits makin' so much noiz?!" roared Kurkitz as he shot wildly into the air.

One of the ork sentries on top of the tower pointed nervously to a figure standing beside the palisade wall. "Oye, sneaky git, wots do you wont?!" grunted Kurkitz as he approached him.

OOC: Please don't control my characters.

Ic: Atheris bowed before the Ork. Swallow your pride for know, the time will come to be rid of the insolent wretch he thought. "Ah, you must be the Warboss Kurkitz. Surely there is no fiercer Ork on this planet. Now, my Lord, I humbly beg that you assemble your Waaagh! I have something to show you all, something I'm sure you will quite enjoy." Hopefully this is not beyond the brutes comprehension

It almost sickened Artur to know of it. He had never held respect for the warriors of the World Eater's, Angron's little mongrels with their short-sighted creed. He had despised them at Istvaan, at Terra and especially upon Skalathrax. There they had been broken, shattered, and now a warband came here, intruding upon his work, despoiling the perfect gardens of flesh that Slaanesh desired.

But to see them treat with the lesser races? To watch them sully themselves by working alongside the Ork? Not only did it suggest a layer of strategy and thinking below their wretched bloodlust, but it spat upon their creeds, their place of dominance over the alien filth infesting the galaxy. This was a galaxy of Men, a galaxy of Mankind united under the Ruinous Powers...

"His time will come" He snarled, a sibillant whisper from his flawless lips. "We shall scour them all from this world and remake it as befits our Dark Prince." A cheer went up, surrounding him with their hopes, their dreams, their aspirations. Ambition drove the Legion, the eternal push for perfection in all things.

Soon they would...Educate the lesser races, and the servants of lesser Gods, that it was only through pain and pleasure, long and drawn out, that victory could be attained and understanding gained.

Soon he would educate them all...

The World Eaters camp was in an uproar. Their Lord had dissapeared, along with the artifact!! And whats more, the forces of the Emperors Children had been spotted. As often happened with the World Eaters, they had fallen to infighting, over whom would lead them. The beserkers of Khorne wanted to fall upon the Emperors Children. They mantained that this world was the prize of Khorne, not Slaneesh. The other, less bloodthirsty, of the warband said they should ally themselves with their Chaos Brethren, and attack the servants of the Emperor. And then betray them.

The latter group had united under one leader, by the name of Verezha. The beserkers were still infighting to see who would be their Champion, so they were at a slight disadvantage.

Bright light flared in the cold hard vacuum of space as the elegant spires of the Tzenichian supply ship were converted to energy by the mighty forward lances of the idolater class destroyer.

Lord Malagar watched the effect this had on the ships former master, who deprived of his ship,warriors,arcane staff and indeed a goodly proportion of his hypnotic color changing skin was not nearly so dangerous looking as he had been an hour ago.
When Malagar had led boarding parties aboard that disgustingly elegant ship they swept aside all resistance like an outbreak of carmine pox through a refugee camp, but when the battle on the command bridge had started the wizard captain had been in the process of blasting the navicomp with warp energy which could mean only one thing...... that the rumors were true!

after clearing his throat (a noisy lengthy process for one so deep in Nurgle's embrace) Malagar turned the milky white orbs of his eyes towards his prisoner

"A ship like yours is biult purely to range out from larger chaos craft seeking supllies spiols slaves and sacrifices" his gurgling scraping voice causing hatred so deep it was almost physical, just as his own hatred was lit by this foul wizard, so deep was the enmity thier gods felt for each other "it will take time to extract your navigational charts from your mind through torture and as a tzeenichian i would never be able to trust anything you said anyway" he mused.

the tzeenichian held his tounge he did not know how much this being knew of his mission and did not want to reveal anything to this gloating mound of putrescence

"however" gurgled Malagar "grandfather Nurgle's favor allows me other ................options"

as he spoke his personal retinue seven death guard terminators encysted with scum and filth bore a box on a palanquin before their master and knelt. opening the box before him he reached inside and with both hands withdrew a mass of rusted chains that squirmed and writhed like maggots.

"once your body has been made into a deamonhost you will beg to tell me what i need to know" he whispered ,and as he spoke the chains began to flow questing tendrils bridging the gap between the two champions of chaos.

And Malagar was right when the chains had done their job and the soul of a plaugebearer had been tied to his newly sagging skin he did beg upon bended knees to tell his lord what he needed to know, the location of a planet where fate had drawn champions from powers both good and evil, the location of a planet where he could finally find enough souls to fulfill his debt to Nurgle, the location of a planet called ...........Methual!!!!!

The Space Marine Strike Cruiser Apostle slowly orbited the planet Nectaris IV. Below, clouds of flame and smoke rolled lazily from the towering chimneys of this industrial world, as below in the Manufactoriums vehicles were churned out for the Imperium forces. Not for the 85 Initiates and 7 Neophytes who slowly floated above, amongst countless servitor droids controlling and maintaining the ship. They had been called to this world briefly by the Ordos Astrates, after the craft was shown to have potentially serious imperfections in the warp drive. A few weeks of repair and blessings later, and the machine spirits were content, able again to power the craft onwards in its endless mission.

They had been ordered by the Marshall Thesnan to meet up with a gathering force of craft to prepare for the assault of a major heretic stronghold on Nubium XI, an ice world in the furthest reaches of the Nubium system, soon to become rather heated. As they broke orbit, the plasma drives changing tone, the servitors prepared the warp drive as the Initiates went about their daily routines. At their time of 2200 Ship Time, most of the Black Templars were in fighting practice, inside one of the ship's enourmous airlocks. The internal doors remained sealed whilst the local gravity and anti-acceleration fields were deactivated. Neophyte Aquilane sat behind one of the magnetic clamps, relaoding his combat shotgun. In this vacuum, he had forgotten to set the sights for striaght fire, with distant shots passing too high. As a result, the opposing force were rapidly approaching, as the fire from the Initiates either side of him decreased in volume.

"Neophyte, stop cowering behind there and get out into the open!"
Severus's voice cut through the vox system as he loaded the final round. Peering up, he saw an initiate wielding a chainsword flying at him from across the vast airlock. He let rip 6 shots, before moving backwards as he fired the remaining 4 shots.
"What are you doing Neophyte? What are your teachings?"
He quickly recited the teachings in his head, coming to the ones relevant to his purpose, if he was to become an initiate. Sling his shotgun over his shoulder, he lept upwards from where he had been standing, drawing a combat knife as he bounced from the ceiling down into the melee where the rest of his squad were, the occasional marine flying from the brawl as a heavy impact hit them. He looked up to see a pair of servitors bearing the seal of the Apothecarium watchly on grimly, before he hit Brother Marcus in the chest. He winded himself on the thick ceramic plate, whipping around as the fully armoured marine tried to swat him like a fly, boltgun swung towards him. He duck, before slashing the knife downwards through a power cord connected to the fission-battery backpack. There was a loud curse over the radios, before the marine's armour fell stiff. Struggling around with the 1 tonne carapcae weighing him down, he raised his bolter and fired, sening a shot into the Aquilane's chest. He went flying from the small explosion, wearing as he was wacked against the wall bleeding. Unpeturbed, he launched himself back as the gravity field came back online. he fell to the floor, leaving a small indent in the smooth metal panel as he picked his bruised body up. A craft was coming into land. A Thunderhawk gunship cruised into the bay, locking onto the clamps as it was held secure. A ramp came down as the marines automatically formed up into a long line, kneeling as the man passed. A few seconds later, as he passed into the inerior of the ship, the warp drive came on. That was when everything went wrong.

Micheal RAyton, decided he was in serious trouble. At the moment, there was a large camp of Orks, and to forces of heritics. He was hoping that the always bloodthirsty World Eaters would fall on the others, but to trust to such was folly. Not only that, but there were rumors of another heritic group, the Death Gaurds, on their way. The three componies he had under his command could have handled one group of traitors, maybe even two with planning, but there was no way he could stand against three.

Joseph Alexander, a Scout Marine squad leader, though very close to earning his power armor and the honour of being a full Battle Brother. He was, along with his squad, scouting out the camp of the Emperors Children. He wasn't about to tell anyone this, but he was terrified they would be captured. He did not fear death, but was afraid they would put him in a prison. He absolutely detested close spaces, especielly when dark. He had woken up three days before his year was up in the Sarcophogi, and had been forced to spend those three days intombed in bloody darkness.

He could taste it. His fear, sibillant and sweet. The runting psykers that he kept as personal pets and playthings mewled to the skies like dogs. They could smell him, the raw taint of pain. The raw wounds of the psyche. These Blood Angels thought themselves so removed from mankind, the savior-kings of Baal.

How wrong they were to think that they were any better than the human cattle who they thought to lord over. They had sided with the Emperor, they had cast aside strength for weakness! They had ruined the paradise that blossomed in Slaanesh's name, the paradise of Signus! Now, he had a chance to repay them their follies. He knelt, brushing a hand over the shaven heads of the psykers, their whispers like the delicate tones of the Dark Prince himself. Slowly, he began to enlighten them of their agenda.

And slowly, they sunk their mental fangs into the mind of the interloper.

His squad was gone, utterly vanished into the all-enclosing darkness. Walls of cold steel and barbed wire had risen around him, forcing him into the face of a body long dead, it's flesh despoil by unspeakable tortures. Only as it regarded him with eyeless sockets and opened it's mouth to scream without a tongue, did he realise who it was. It was himself, long forgotten in the catacombs of Baal, given over to a universe that despised him and his race. Given to the Slaaneshi. It leant into his face and screamed, not in pain, not in fear, that would have been too simple...The corpse-self gave voice to the most terrible, keening cry of ecstacy. And lunged into it's own face, seeking more...

The first bolter rounds cracked and spat forth as the Emperor's Children readied to repel these invaders. Great prayer horns whined from the lips of servitor-things transformed into living instruments, blending with the desolate wails of sonic weaponry.

Anton spun on his heel, driving a spiked fist forward, pivoting in most glorious celebration. His enhanced senses rang with each glorious trigger of his weapon, searing blasts of pleasure-pain spiking across hyper-sensitive synapses.

"Brothers! Brothers! Brothers!" He directed his Orchestra of the Damned forth, howling throatily as the Noise Marines plunged towards the fray "We are brothers, and they are those who spat on us! Brothers, they are traitor-kin! Weakling-kin! Smash their forms, shatter their souls! Offer up their torments to Slaanesh!" By the Gods it felt incredible to give voice to His Name.

"Slay! Kill! Bring them on their knees for the Lord Commander! Come, lost-siblings, come! There are places here for you! There are glories for you to taste!"

Josephs squad covered their ears as the Noise Marines closed in, screaming from the pain of the unbearable sound. Joseph was the first to shake it off, and rallied his squad. They let loose a spray of bullets, then in the midst of the sound of battle, several sucumbed to the Black Rage, and rushed forward, now more insane and bloodthirsty than any the Legions of Khorne could muster. Joseph gasped as a bullet entered his shoulder, and another in his gut. He went down, and one of the few still sane scouts dragged him from the battle.

The whelp was broken. Anton snarled with glee as he ducked low, bringing an intricately bladed fist and arm into weaker armor of the berzerk scout, flipping him over before the bladed muzzle of his artificed-instrument-weapon slammed into his face, obliterating it in a flurry of sonic death. He spat on the corpse, for it's betrayal, for it's weakness, for it's embrace of quick death and madness rather than the scintillating gifts Slaanesh had bestowed. His vision was awash with flares of sensation, bursts of light and color that should not exist.

His Master had lain low the mind and body of the Leader. Now all that remained was to reap the tally of their sufferings...He snarled distastefully at those of the warband who had fallen, bloodied and rent by these...Lesser beings.

"Come, fledglings! Test your mettle against the blessed of glorious Slaanesh! This world is his! His to bleed! His to torment! We shall reap the fruits of your pain, we shall howl the canticles of suffering! Run, little Angels! Run to your Corpse-God and beg him for solace! We walked this galaxy when he turned from the Crusade, when he betrayed humanity for his selfish whims!

Come and see those who serve True Gods!"

Joshua, even through the pain, screamed back at him. "Silence with your lies, Traitor!! Your False Gods will betray you in the end! You shall pay for your Betrayal!!" With that, every single one of the scouts, save Joseph, sucumbed to the Black Rage.

Joseph crawled his way out, as the now insane scouts grappled with the more experienced Chaos Marines. They were immune to the fact that they were outnumbered, the only thing in their mind was to tear their enemies apart, in the case of a few of them, quite literally.

Scouts, even those succumbed to the Black Rage, were no match against seasoned warriors of 10 millenia. They snarled and snapped, power-swords cleaving through the flesh and bone and armor of the weaker, yet berzerk, men. Some fell, true enough, but the battle was deliciously one sided. Artur strode through the fray, artfully dancing across the carnage, blade puncturing with indiscriminate ease.

"You think you are Sanguinius!? You think you stand at the fall of Terra? Foolish worms! Deluded fools! I am Fulgrim! I am Horus! I am the doom of loyalist filth and the purifier of the human race. I am the end and death!" He slunk slow, severing a frothing Angel's tendons with a single swipe.

"Bring the living...Bind them, and then sacrifice them as is fitting. Keep their skulls. We'll need them to appease the other savages who we share this world with."

"As you command, Lord Commander!" Anton shrieked with savage glee, driving a spiked boot into the fused rib-cage of the struggling Blood Angel. "Yours is to be a grand fate, traitor! You shall serve the will of the Gods!" They bound them with spiked chains, in some cases severing limbs rather than risking their furor; dragging them with chains back to the camp, where already the acolytes offered up praise to Slaanesh. The Marines were crucified, and slowly bled dry; exsanguinated by a hundred thousand cuts, as the cultists rutted in the dust like dogs, sating their own lusts in honor of divine Slaanesh.

"The hour draws near..." Artur smirked. "The hour of destiny is at hand. Blood shall pave the way to glory."

Aquilane woke up to a flashing light. Above him, one of the glow panels in the ceiling of the hanger was obviously trying to work on emergancy power and full power. What had just happened? A servitor had rushed to the Castillan who had stood up to what had just happened, as was now getting his bearings. The drive had malfunctioned, and was not allowing them control at all. The Astropath had tried locating them in the maelstom of energy he could now see just outside the powerful void shields, and had come up with their position far out in the galactic arm they were in. The nearest planet was an unexplored world referred to by the navigation charts as Methual. From the descriptions, it was a Phi-Lambda class Feral world, with what little civilisation existing there being of extremely primitive nature. However, there were unconfirmed reports of there being a Blood Angel outpost there. Not one to tolerate them that much, the Castellan after much deliberation agreed for them to pull out of the warp at that point. It was 4 days away, so still enough time to repair whatever damage had been done by the angry machine spirits.

In the ship-borne chapel, Aquilane kneeled alongside Severus to pray. He recited his vows to the Crusade, to the Chapter, and to the God-Emperor himself. He then began to repent for his sins that had brought upon them the wrath of the machine spirits, part of the long chant overseen by the Chaplain as they all knelt there: servitors crowded at the back, murmuring strange things to themselves in their mechanical tongues as they too prayed to the god emperor.

The Blood Angels camp was yet again in an uproar. A lon scout, Joseph Alexander, had dragged himself back to the camp. He was severely wounded, and he told of his entire squad falling to the Black Rage, then either being killed or captured by the Fallen Angels. Micheal decided that now was the time to assault the Heritics. He readied an entire company, as well as twenty of the Death Company. Unlike the scouts, these marines were seasoned veterans, and one of them in the Black Rage was extremely deadly. They would march at the next dawn.

The conflict in the World Eaters camp had finally been decided. The Beserkers had triumphed, and they were leading a hundred Chaos Marines, mostly beserkers of Khorne, to the Emperors Childrens camp, to claim this world for the Blood God.

Aquilane woke up to a flashing light. Above him, one of the glow panels in the ceiling of the hanger was obviously trying to work on emergancy power and full power. What had just happened? A servitor had rushed to the Castillan who had stood up to what had just happened, as was now getting his bearings. The drive had malfunctioned, and was not allowing them control at all. The Astropath had tried locating them in the maelstom of energy he could now see just outside the powerful void shields, and had come up with their position far out in the galactic arm they were in. The nearest planet was an unexplored world referred to by the navigation charts as Methual. From the descriptions, it was a Phi-Lambda class Feral world, with what little civilisation existing there being of extremely primitive nature. However, there were unconfirmed reports of there being a Blood Angel outpost there. Not one to tolerate them that much, the Castellan after much deliberation agreed for them to pull out of the warp at that point. It was 4 days away, so still enough time to repair whatever damage had been done by the angry machine spirits.

In the ship-borne chapel, Aquilane kneeled alongside Severus to pray. He recited his vows to the Crusade, to the Chapter, and to the God-Emperor himself. He then began to repent for his sins that had brought upon them the wrath of the machine spirits, part of the long chant overseen by the Chaplain as they all knelt there: servitors crowded at the back, murmuring strange things to themselves in their mechanical tongues as they too prayed to the god emperor.

A console exploded showering the rotting flesh tubes of the unfortunate spawn things crewing it with sparks and shrapnel.
"Hard to port you festering sons of syphilitic whores!!!" screamed Malagar droplets of foaming spittle etching deep scars in the deck

"Tactical,give me firing solution's ,strategium calculate possible insertion tactics,generium divert all auxiliary energy to the forward shields and accelerate to flank speed i swear by Nurgles boil wracked rectum i will set foot on that planet this day or we shall all dine in hell!!!"

with the more immediate tasks in hand Lord Malagar turned his attention back to the real time holo display and although it interfered dreadfully with his plans he could not help but be impressed despite himself.
It was absolute madness, at least twelve craft no two built by the same race ranging from hulks to battleships made a swirling chaotic war upon one another throughout the system some disgorging drop pods and assault craft others attempting to block new landings.

The vox caster encysted to the wall crackled to life "My lord captain" droned the flat buzzing monotone voice that spoke for the group warp entity that inhabited the strategium "If the warband attempts insertion in this crossfire we can expect casualties in the region of forty five percent and in addition we risk scattering our forces if we try to land too close to the action"

The whole ship seemed to hold its breath awaiting its masters choice "How much equipment can we bring down without presenting an undue target?" he barked.

the tactician daemon paused ,momentarily calculating "nothing larger than a dreadnought" it buzzed.

"then load the drop pods" he snarled through broken teeth "and target the hills about forty miles from the main fighting i shall teleport down with the terminators to secure a regroup foothold. once we are down find as quiet a pace as you can outside the elliptic and await my summons"

"aye my lord" chanted the bridge crew as one "we hear and obey"

He strode off the bridge and onto the personal elevator dais where his honor guard waited like rotting statue's to be borne into the bowls of the ship where even now titanic energies where gathering to fling them through the empearyan and towards his goal towards DESTINY !!!!!!!!!

The Necron lord gazed out across the landscape, a sinister green energy coming from his eyes and his chest cackling out around him. Behind him stands his force of Necrons standing in a dicomforting silence, only broken by the howling of the wind. Without a word the Necron Lord begins his slow and methodical walk towards the living to carry out its sole purpose, destruction. Its army follows, slowly making their way across the terrain. Three wraiths silently float ahead of the main body until they are but specks in the distance. Scarabs, numbering in the thousands quickly follow, their dark crimson and gold bodies glistening in the sun. Soon the living shall see their fate. Soon they shall look into the cold, empy eyes of death itself.

(OOC: hope you dont mind me posting so soon after signing up, I just couldnt wait.)

OOC: Not at all, feel free.

IC: The Necron forces were nearing where a group of World Eater cultists were performing their bloody rituals to Khorne. They had brought out a few of their few slaves, and were performing the most macabre and bloody rituals imaginable. One Berzerker in particular was apparently engaged in drinking the blood of the hearts of the slaves.

The wraiths and scarabs stopped when they neared the fallen humans, allowing the rest of the Necron forces to catch up. The Necron Lord walked to where the wraiths had stopped and looked out at the first of the living to be exterminated. With a wave of his hand, the Necrons began their assault, with the three wraiths floating into the midst of the cultists, their long scalpel like fingers ready. The Necron warriors followed behind, marching silently behind the Necron Lord, their eye sockets glowing with the same green energy as the lord.

The brzerker howled at the sight of the Necrons. "The C'tan attempt to take the world from the Blood God! Show them the fury of Khorne!" And so the cultist, in many cases still covered in blood from the slaves, fell upon the Necrons, despite being substantially outnumbered.

Lord Malagar was glad to feel solid ground beneath his feet once more, and the sight of his captives stacking the already distended bodies of their former friends and neighbors onto the summoning heaps made him feel positively jovial.

"Brother lieutenant Shethrik.....report" he barked

a plague marine in armor that had tightened and shrank with its emaciated owner who's thin lipless mouth and dry yellow eyes darted and twitched with feverish energy bowed before his master.

" The town is ours my lord , the mortals not killed are even now succumbing to to the rot" chuckled the thrice damned lieutenant "within hours the first of them will be crying out to our patron to spare them his blessing the rest will follow"

Lord Malagar made a gurgling rasping sound Shethrik assumed to be a laugh "yes" he rumbled "defocating away ones internal organs can give a unique perspective on matters spiritual.........once their conversion is complete send one out of every four out into the countryside and nearby towns to spread Nurgle's word split the rest into two groups the strong to fight the unworthy are to be worked to death fortifying this town"

"aye my lord" croaked his second and strode off to obey

Malagar turned to his new deamonhost "Extend your senses and check the near space of the planet..... is their still fighting?"

"yes my lord ...and i sense the mass shadows of more ships inbound" hummed the deamonhost its chains coiling and curling like leeches

"good then no-one will be leaving this planet anytime soon let the hotheaded khornate's and rash fruit of sanguinius wreck their armies on one another while we marshal our forces and proceed with an organized assault"

With this he turned and activated his armors vox amps to address his corrupt warband "In six hours we begin our march, already our envoy's go forth like viral cells to seed our lords most wonderful bubonic blessings among the mortals that dwell on this wold and soon a tide of cultists and mutants will march alongside us"

As he finished he surveyed his troops, no cheers or roars of approval greeted him no frenzied mob of Khorne was this just a thousand voices in unison "aye my lord"

Malagar raised his mace and kissed its dull corroded head crusted flakes of dried blood adhering to his lips as he whispered to the weapon " soon my beauty you will taste the blood of champions and i will buy my way from hell..........TO DEAMONHOOD!!!!!!!!!!"

The sound of metal on flesh filled the air as the three wraiths were swarmed by the cultists of the Blood God. Their scalpel like fingers slicing into any who came within their reach. Suddenly the ground below them was filled with the dark crimson carapaces of the scarabs swarming the cultists. As the scarabs began drawing the attention from the Wraiths, they quickly retreated back to the main force, which was now nearly within range of the Necron warriors’ Gauss Flayers. Several of the scarabs were destroyed by the cultists, their unmoving bodies littering the ground. Once the first shot of green energy shot into the group, the scarabs quickly retreated, clearing the way for the Necron Lord and his warriors. More and more flashes of green light filled the air, the discharge leaving a green haze lingering in the air. Those unfortunate enough to have been caught in the way of the bolts of energy were quickly finding that whatever the light hit was broken down to the molecular level. The warriors continued to march towards the cultists while firing growing closer and closer to them.

(ooc: sorry for the quality of these posts. Its a lot harder to write about a bunch of souless, personalityless machines, especially since Im more of a character writer.)

OOC: Quirwe alright.

IC: The bezerker laughed in delight. This was what he had been born for, the thrill of battle, blood glistening in the grass. He cared not that the blood was of his own soldiers, Khorne cared not from whom the blood spilled, as long as it spilled. Pulling hi axe from the metal of a scarab, he charge with his cultist at the Necron Warriors. Many of the cultist when down, but proppelled, by the Fury of the Blood God, they quickly reached melee range, and the bezerker laughed as he ran straight for the Necron Lord.