Title: Flock of Crows
Description: The power of suggestion
Galeshi - December 30, 2005 09:25 PM (GMT)
This is the story behind the all bike chaos legion I'm making (inspired by Muttman). Hopefully you guys like it, it'll be given in 3-5 parts.
Flock of Crows
Commander Joraas surveyed the wreckage of the battle that had taken place just days before, looking over the field of dead with a mixture of anger and disgust. Once again, his specialized bike force had been ordered to take point in the assault, and once again, they had suffered all of the losses while the other legions took none, instead supporting from a safe distance. The tenacity of their foe couldn't be denied, for even though the World Eaters took wounds that would cripple a mature squiggoth, still they flung themselves upon his riders, tearing and howling with reckless abandon. Even more impressive were their demonic allies, summoned through the blood soaked banner of their leader; a frenzied man, constantly bleeding from his left eye, swinging a huge, pulsing weapon that howled out with every drop of blood it tasted, echoing the bellows of its master. The demons ripped holes in reality around him, pouring forth to feed their masters' endless hunger for slaughter. Only the daring charge of their Land Speeder crew took down the mighty warrior, ramming him at full speed and blowing their charges.
He looked away from the field angrily, outraged that his men had had to suffer so grieviously to protect such a minor outpost. His rage compounded when he thought of the smug face of Commander Torgar, once again coming out of the engagement without so much as a speck of dirt upon his armor. How he would have loved to have seen him face the World Eaters alone, watching the panicking dog lie in the dirt... But such thoughts were not becoming of one of his rank. Ever since the conflict, he had had fevered dreams of slaughter, promises of greater things for him, things long denied to him. He denied any of it, knowing he was beyond such manipulations. He and his men had been at this outpost for years, always beating the forces of Chaos back to their barren wasteland. How they survived on such an unforgiving ice planet was beyond him, but always they came back, year after year. Frustrated, he reved the engine of his bike, speeding back to his encampment before dusk swept to night, consuming everything not under cover in waves of unforgiving ice.
"Here he comes.", Kurya- one of Joraas's most trusted seargents- muttered, seeing their commander speeding across the broken terrain with practiced ease.
"He's still torn up about this last battle," replied Rillith, another seargent in the Raven Wing force stationed on the desolate outpost, "blames himself for the death of half our brothers over these long years."
"He's a damn fool for that, he knows he isn't to blame for that. If that useless Ork-inbred Torgar would actually get out from behind his-"
"I know" Rillith said soothingly, calming the quickly angered Kurya. "the Commander knows what he's doing. You know it, and I know it."
Kurya knew he couldn't argue with him, seeing their commander dismount from his bike and approach them. As he neared, they noticed the chill expression upon his face; calm and full of hate.
"We meet tonight. There's much to discuss."
TopBanana - January 1, 2006 04:10 PM (GMT)
Looking good. I can't wait till the Chaos bikers make their appearance.
Keep it up,
Galeshi - January 2, 2006 01:43 AM (GMT)
Throughout the entire force, everyone was murmuring and agitated, wondering what could have brought their Commander to call this meeting so suddenly, and in so strange a location. This cave had been purged of cultists almost as soon as they had arrived at this post, and was hardly used except by Joraas and his men in the rare instances they needed to be excluded from their allies, the Imperial Fists. It was a humungous cavern, roughly hewn by the cultists into a crude site of worship, with a dais and altar towards the back. When the site had been purged, flamers had been used to burn away all traces of the cultists, blackening the entire area in the process.
Every man turned suddenly as they heard their commander entering, slowly stalking towards his place in this assembly. Though their comrades' deaths still stung freshly in every man, the Joraas's rage could be visibly seen, radiating from his ancient armor in palpable waves. As he stood surveying his warriors, a cold glare in his eyes, most of his men either averted their gaze or shifted uncomfortably, unable to deal with the sudden terror inspired by their leader.
Suddenly Joraas brought his fist down on the altar, shattering the stone with sheer fury, bellowing, "WHY DO YOU COWER LIKE DOGS!?". Everyone in the room suddenly shot to their feet, some from anger at the insult, others from surprise at their commander's uncharacteristic loss of temper. He straightened slowly, walking calmly among the assembly, speaking as he went. "We have been stationed here for years, scouring this planet of the taint of Chaos. Always have we served loyally, always sacrificing ourselves so that Chaos cannot gain a foothold to assault neighboring planets. But what of Torgar? He and his Fists' have barely suffered a single casualty, shooting from afar, bombarding safely from a distance, relying on us to protect him! Why do we tolerate this insult, allowing ourselves to be cut down to nothing because of the cowardice of one man?" Men started nodding in agreement, some shouting their approval at their commander's words. He continued, "This must change, and I know how to change it."
The men's eagerness suddenly fell as Joraas stalked back to where the broken altar was, shoving aside the cracked remains and pulling up the cover of a trap door. The room darkened slightly, the lights set up by the men dimming as he pulled up a hand crafted crate, chained and marked with arcane sigils, some of which seemed to be visibly writhing and twisting into new shapes. He broke the chains and removed the cover, pulling out a gigantic black sword- no, black was the wrong color, too light to describe this blade, devouring all light around it hungrily. Hanging from his other hand was a banner of the same color, with a crimson bird holding an eye in its beak, with a planet as the eyes pupil.
He raised the banner high, holding it for all to see, and slowly it began to pulse a faint reddish hue, casting waves across the assembled men. They began to back away slowly, but one by one, they all stood still, smiling and nodding with new understanding, basking in the crimson radiance of the banner. Each man's armor began to darken in color, shifting to match that of the banner, and highlighting the edges in red. Joraas grinned, howling and raising his new weapon, echoed tenfold by his men.
Galeshi - January 8, 2006 02:01 AM (GMT)
Sorry this took so long to get up, had a busy week. Anyways, on to Part 3.
Rillith looked out over the edge of the cliff, watching the Imperial Fists' encampment for signs of movement. It was still early, the sun barely causing the horizon to shift colors yet, but it was imperative that none noticed the disappearance of the entire Ravenwing force. All his brothers had returned to the battlefield in search of weaponry and artifacts to aid them in tommorow's battle. Scouts had detected a force of World Eaters approaching, but hadn't yet notified the Imperial Fists, waiting for word from Commander Joraas that everything was prepared. "No longer will we be slaughtered by your incompetence, Torgar. Now we'll show you what you've put us through." A lone figure caught Rillith's eye as he headed toward the Imperial Fist's encampment, scrambling from an adjacent mountainside. Apparently the Fists had their own scouts, and this one had found the World Eaters. He quickly leapt atop his bike, reving it into action and speeding down the mountain path to intercept the intruder.
He ran as a man possessed, stumbling and tripping as he went. He had to warn the others, warn them of the massive swarm of World Eaters bearing down on them. He wished suddenly that he had a bike to aid him, like the Ravenwing. He could have been back by now, helping assemble the defenses. Just as he finished completing the though, he saw one of the Ravenwing bikers bearing down on him, and began to wave to catch his attention. The bike began to accelerate, and he felt a wave of relief as he saw the man approach quickly. His relief turned to confusion when he noticed the activated powerfist the biker was brandishing, then his confusion ceased as his entire upper half was obliterated in a splash of gore by Rillith's devestating charge. Braking and sliding to look back at the Fist's encampment, he nodded in satisfaction, seeing no one stirring or taking notice of the brutal slaying. He sped back to his earlier lookout post, confident that the last hour before daylight would be uneventful.
Revamp - January 8, 2006 05:05 AM (GMT)
Good stuff, can not wait until those unobservant Imperial Fists encounter all that pent-up wrath...
Khargoth - January 8, 2006 11:42 AM (GMT)
Such is the way of Chaos, that even the most loyal of the Corpse-Emperor's servants can be taken in a matter of hours.
We may be driven back again and again on our Black Crusades, but eventually Time will take its toll...
Galeshi - January 15, 2006 12:57 AM (GMT)
"Move!" shouted Joraas empathically, waving men to different areas of the battlefield, "We dont have time to waste, even Torgar and his lapdogs can't sleep forever! We need to be in position before sunrise for this to work." They'd been at the battlefield for hours already, but there was much work to do; more than normal men would have been capable of. If it had been anyone else, the scavenging expedition would have taken days, possibly even weeks, but they'd been doing this for many long years. Supply ships didn't come often to the desolate planet, and when they did they never brought enough of one thing or another, meaning long months being short on something. Joraas countered this problem by looting the battlefields for what was needed, hoarding ammo, usable armor plating, weapons, anything that could possibly have a later use.
"Sir, we've checked everywhere, we didnt find him."
"A body doesn't just get up and walk away! Find him, he's-" Joraas stopped short, looking dumbly at the body of the World Eater's Lord they'd defeated. The body they'd been looking for while they acquired new weapons and upgrades for their bikes. The body walking straight towards him.
"Long time, Lord Joraas," He growled, stopping twenty feet away, "though when last we met, I lay dead on this field, and you weren't yet bestowed with the touch of Chaos that I see on you now." All his men had taken up positions around the World Eater, readying their weapons to eliminate him at the first indication of trouble.
"What is this? I saw you fall, killed by my own hand! No one recovers from that grievious a blow, no one! I should fix what I clearly failed to-"
"Enough, newly appointed Lord of Chaos! Though I would relish tearing out you and your mens' skulls with my bare hands and bathe in the remains, I have been instructed otherwise. Apparently the Chaos Gods see more potential in you than I do. You must learn how to use your new gifts to bolster your ranks, you won't be able to claim victory over the Fists with so few men at your disposal."
Joraas stopped, suddenly confused. He knew he was vastly more powerful, but men was clearly something he didnt have an infinite supply of. "Tell me more, Lord of Khorne."