Here is the beginning to a story about my Iron Warriors force, The Sixteenth Company of the Iron Warriors, The Siegebreakers. Comments and Criticisms are welcomed.
Tarthel leaned against the wall of the trench, eagerly awaiting the signal from his Warsmith. For three days the shells of the artillery had blasted the walls of Altys Prime, slowly reducing them to rubble. Several small breaches had developed in the walls, but none were accessible enough to allow for a full frontal assault.
Now, today, the artillery were going to concentrate their firepower on the east wall, the defensive guns their already silenced by shelling. Today, he thought, was the day that he led his fellow warriors to victorious slaughter against the puppets of that false corpse god they call the Emperor. Tarthel spat on the ground in disgust. The mere thought of that name filled him with anger.
He glanced around at his assembled troops. They were the best of the best, wearing their ornate suits of terminator armor with pride. Also assembled were other Iron Warriors garbed in suits of power armor, checking and rechecking their bolters with a familiarity born out of millennia of use. These warriors were also specially trained in breaching techniques, earning them a place within his ranks. They were the Siegebreakers, and they were the first ones to engage their enemy through the rubble created by the constant shelling.
Looking to his left, he noticed the Warsmith approaching. Corghan, Warsmith of the Sixteenth Company, strode purposefully towards Tarthel. He radiated a palpable sense of power, those warriors he passed lowering their heads in obeisance. Behind him followed his personal guard, massive warriors in suits of terminator armor. They scanned the area around the Warsmith, searching for any signs of enemies, even among his loyal servants.
“We are almost ready” Corghan began as he stopped next to Tarthel. “The bombardment will soon cease, and you must be ready.”
“My warriors but await your command, Lord,” Tarthel replied, eyes lowered to the ground. “We stand ready to deliver your wrath and vengeance upon our enemies.”
“Very good, Tarthel,” Corghan replied, staring icily at his Commander. “Do not fail me.”
Turning, Corghan walked off back down the trenchline, his guard following.
It was late in the afternoon that the wall fell. Several direct hits to the base of the wall caused it to collapse, sending up a cloud of dust and rubble. Cries of terror were drowned out by the roar of the collapsing wall. Hundreds of soldiers, bravely manning the parapets, plunged to their deaths amid the rubble and debris.
With a roar, Tarthel and the rest of his forces surged from the trenches and raced towards the breach. Several support squads moved forward, providing cover fire as the warriors in terminator armor and those armed specifically for close combat ran forward across the open ground, eager to close with their foes.
A roar from behind signaled the approach of the dreadnoughts, huge machine constructs containing the remnants of long dead marines. These monster machines were barely controllable under the best of circumstances, but during breach attacks, they were released to unleash their full fury against the Iron Warriors enemies. They rumbled forwards, firing into the mass of guardsmen who stood at the top of the rubble, seeking to repel the invaders. Massive shells ripped through the tightly bunched ranks, delivering death to several troopers.
Tarthel grinned evilly behind his helmet. The enemy was faltering; even at this distance he could smell the fear emanating from them. He continued his climb to the top of the mountain of rubble, racing ahead of his warriors, eager to draw first blood. He ignored the numerous lasgun shots that impacted harmlessly off of his armor, continuing his climb.
With a final roar, he reached the crest of the rubble, and with a swing of his massive power mace, crushed the head of a trooper who stood in his way. He set about him with his mace, crushing everything in his path. He could hear the sounds of his men behind him, also delivering death and destruction to the hapless troopers who tried in vain to stem their advance.
Within minutes the breach had been cleared, and Tarthel and his siegebreakers continued their advance into the compound. As the fire support squads moved up and took up defensive positions along the top of the rubble, Tarthel and the rest of his warriors reached the floor of the compound. Pausing, champions from the various squads placed homing beacons onto the ground. Once in place, buttons were pressed, and they began to glow with an eerie green, pulsing light.
Seconds later, there was a flash of light, and several monstrous humanoids appeared. They were part human, part machine, and their arms shimmered as they cycled through various weapons configurations.
Tarthel glanced over at the new arrivals and smiled. He always appreciated the support that obliterators provided, especially during the close in fighting that was taking place here. He watched as one of the obliterators’ arms morphed into a heavy bolter, and the creature fired the weapon into a knot of guardsmen who were attempting to set up their own heavy bolter. With a cry, the guardsmen disappeared into a red mist of blood and gobbets of flesh.
Turning, Tarthel looked out over the battlefield. His armor, normally the color of dull iron, was covered in red blood and gore. His mace was also covered in the same blood and flesh from his enemies, it’s power glowing through the viscera. He watched as his warriors finished off the last pockets of resistance, mercilessly cutting down the opposition, ignoring pleas for mercy.
There was no mercy given from the Iron Warriors, he thought, only death.
Let me know what you think.
More to come soon.
Nicely done. Let all that appose us be reduces to a fine pink mist. :pwned
Thanks for the reply Dameion. I was kinda hoping for more comments/ views by now, but I guess things are slow here at the moment.
Yeah, it's very good.
It really shows what the Iron Warriors are like with the paranoia and such. Keep it up.