Unholy cow! it's good to be back online. i've been gone far to long.
so now without and preamble lets get right to it eh?

Part the first: Prelude


RISE OF A WARSMITH

Medrengard. Daemonworld. A fortress the size of a sun, to which Vicconious was summoned. The homeworld of the Iron Warriors. Factories churning out weapons and armour, belching smoke high into the sky wreathing the world in flame and ash. Titans of the Legio Mortis, battle on the killing fields, duelling for supremacy, armies clashing around their feet, cultists and beastmen vying to be noticed by the overlords watching high above.

On approach to the spaceport He glimpsed the Dies Irae the legendary Imperator class titan that breached the Palace walls on Terra. Gun batteries smoking from a recent firing cycle. Two smaller Warlord titans flanked the Dies Irae, the Pater Mortis, and a newer, as yet unnamed, titan.

“Looks like the rumours are true,” he muttered to himself. It had been rumoured that the Primarch himself had taken the field once again, at the head of the First Grand Company, to siege a magnificent Forgeworld said to construct titans. STC machines and materials, enough to rebuild the legions’ armour capabilities were rumoured to lie there. “Appears to have been successful.”

An explosion rocked his Stormbird from below. Turning to the window, Vic saw a cloud mushrooming outward from the Unnamed titan, a frown creasing his features.

“Or not.”
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The silence in the throne room was broken by arrival of the entourage. Thirty warriors in tactical dreadnaught armour fanned out in a cordon around the antechamber. At the final bootstep of the terminators getting into place, there was a flash of pure light and sound, the area around the throne was now occupied. Five Dreadnaught sized obliterators circled the dais, as they awaited the arrival of their lord.

The entire assemblage fell to a knee.

He had arrived.

They called him the Hammer of the Emperor. The irresistible force of the Imperium. Primarch. Now they say things like Daemon Prince, Master of the forge of Chaos, Scourge of Tallarn, he is: Perturabo. Primarch of the Iron Warriors. His unique view of the Gods of Chaos have left Him virtually untouched by Their “gifts”. The Hammer - Forge Breaker, a gift from Horus. The Mark - A rune of fantastic power that withers all but the strongest of weapons. His armour bears the Olympian Claw, a massive servo harness containing an ultra rare inferno rifle and a breeching drill that can ,it’s said, penetrate titan plate. The one true gift it can be said that was bestowed on the Lord of the Iron Warriors was: size. In the millennia following the heresy Perturabo had increased in stature by at least three fold. A being of no small size to begin with, now massive, barely gaining field cover from a battle tank. Of no consequence, the Primarchs armour cannot be easily breeched. Having struck the blows himself on the forges of Olympia, his armour has more to offer than even a terminator, without the bulk. Having found His throne Perturabo surveyed His Legion.

His Lieutenants spoke for him, their words carried his command. They spoke about ongoing campaigns, cultist support and actions yet to manifest. Lastly were the executions and promotions, one didn’t know where one stopped and the other started. Often the two were intermixed, as was the case this day.

“Godwin Blackfist!” The name was shouted across a dozen loudspeakers. “Godwin Blackfist, slayer of the Blood Angels Captain Lysander II, corruptor of the machine priests of Septemus Prime, Victor of the fields of Terra, come forth and receive your due!”

A shuffle within the throng signalled the approach of Vicconious‘ Battle Captain. A huge black-grey terminator moved through the assemblage, a massive servo-arm lolled over one shoulder, the blades of his lightning claws retracted in homage to his Lord. The Blackfist made his way to the seat of power in front of him, to the foot of Perturabo. Prostrating himself before his Master, in a manner most pleasing, he waited to receive his reward.

“Godwin Blackfist,” spoke a faceless terminator. “You have been judged, and been found to be wanting!”

The obliterators moved, flesh running as water, forming weapons readying to fire. Training their aim to the abased figure in their center, they waited for the command.

“The one called Blackfist, what have you to say for yourself?” Asked the same faceless voice.

“I have lived only to serve chaos, to bring the Imperium to heel. I have lived only to cast down the edifices of the false Emperor, I have…”

“ENOUGH!!”

None spoke. None even breathed. None interrupted the Lord of the Iron Warriors when he spoke.

“That is why you failed. You serve no one but ME!”

A chain whipped from the edge of sight. Followed by another and another, each ending in a cruel barbed hook. Hooks grappled flesh and armour alike. Pain and terror lanced through the Warrior Hall. All who bared witness to this knew they’d never forget. The price of failure, forever chained to the hull of a battle titan. Eventually being subsumed into the armour itself, a howling face screaming failure for eternity.

“Vicconious!”

He recoiled at the sound of his name. Just having witnessed the binding of his broken commander to the Pater Mortis, a titan of the Legio Mortis. Their probably doing a command cull, removing those who failed along with their commander.

Vicconious strode up the steps to stand, for the first time ever, at the foot of his liege. Unbowed he took in the surroundings. The perfect architecture of the fortress walls, the precise nature of the layout. Even here in the center of the vastness of Medrengard the killing grounds were laid out, precision fields of overlapping fire, room to manoeuvre tanks and hundreds of men. After a moment Vicconious realized the hall was silent, tensely hushed. With slow realization he became aware, the gaze of his Primarch was upon him. Maintaining inward composure he bowed to a knee.

“My Lord.”

“Rise my son. Bastard you are. My son none the less.” It was the Terminator that spoke.

Vicconious rising, with the bile in his throat. To be reminded of his accursed heritage, the only slight in a glory filled past. An Imperial Fist geneseed planted within his chest the only difference between him and any other Iron Warrior. Rising he took the insult in stride and awaited the reprimand that was surely coming. Seconds passed as though the cosmos had ceased, still he waited.

Still he drew breath, he lived. Knowing not why he looked to ask, but the Terminator cut him short.

“Vicconious! You have been judged, and been found not for wanting. We have seen your works, carried in great detail by your actions. In the Damocles sector your actions lead to the slaughter of nearly thirty thousand, and on Belerephon IV where your timely destruction of the planetary power supply let us totally secure the planet before the arrival of the accursed Space Wolves. Where on Cadia… ,” the list continued for some time. Until at last: “…where upon he directed the massed fire power of seven Land Raiders at the Warlord Titan Imperatus Dominus of the Legio Astorum. Co-ordinating them to bring low the void shields and render the beast defeated. These deeds and others have brought you to our attention. Thus it has been decreed you will be elevated to the rank of Battle Captain. You will join the ranks of Command within the Sixth Grand Company. You will name your Chosen and select your bodyguard. This must be done post haste, our Lord has an errand.”
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Well there it is the intro to "Rise". I really hope you enjoy this more will come very soon. As always comms and crits gladly accepted

ok getting right to it...Rise of a Warsmith

Part the Second: Vogen

Five months.

Five months of brutal street fighting, corner to corner killing grounds, fields of monomolecular razor wire, blocks of minefields. Bunkers and pillboxes every dozen paces. They said Vogen would be a simple smash and grab. Get in, get past the Guard holding the Hab-loc, get to the arena and grab the STC repair facility and get out. Simple. Five months of all out war. Eldar, Guardsmen, Orks, all manner of creatures were rampant on this world. Most plentiful were the Space Marines. Seven different Chapters were represented here on Vogen. Not the least of which were, The Blood Angels, The Salamanders, The Space Wolves and the hated Imperial Fists, were here in great numbers. Numbering near one thousand fighting men The Marines were a great threat. Imperial Marines were not the only marines on the planet, the Dark Powers had sent there own as well. The World Eaters arrived in strength, drop pod assaulting several locations at once. Winning some and losing others. Prince Shorgarr was at the head of the World Eaters. A fast and lethal killing machine, leading from what seamed like every front the Berserker army fought on. Taking a mountain of skulls for his god, Khorne. The Death Guard under The Traveller, Typhus, Herald of Nurgle were here also, waging a grinding war of attrition through the city streets. Typhus had his own agenda, and waged war on all who came to close. Spreading rot and disease at every step. Loathed above the rest, save the Fists’, were the Black Legion. Their interference had cost Vicconious His initial push into the arena. Bombarding the area with massed orbital fire, before sending waves of cultists and possessed marines in, to assault what was left.

Fighting off the crazed cultists proved a three day battle, his men were all too ready to continue. Until the possessed arrived. Out of control, the berserk marines slammed into the wall of bolter fire Vicconious’ marines threw up in defence. Falling back under such an onslaught seemed prudent. Ordering his men to move the Iron Warriors fell back with a surgeons precision.

Once on the move Vicconious was better able to see the happenings around him. The Black Legion Possessed had encountered a patrol of Eldar Guardians, and were proceeding to enjoy the slaughter. The Marines under his command were taking up defensible positions, ready to fight once the possessed broke through the feeble Guardians.

“No! We make our way back to the trench line. There we take the bunkers and hold them against all who try to take them from us!” He shouted orders into his com-link. The trench line was only a few blocks away. Those few blocks would be an eternity of hell. Just taking them in the first place was a week of solid fighting, but pressing toward his objective he left them, all but abandoned.

When He arrived to the bunkers it was a nightmare. No less than three factions were fighting for the trench line. Apparently the bunkers formed a lynchpin for their commanders. Fortune smiled on Vicconious , for his force, the fourth to be fighting here, was the most numerous. To be at the furthest point from the fighting was divine to be sure. It was here at the end of the trench line he would attack. Taking the first few bunkers, then taking the battle.

The battle was fiercest near the center of the line. All three factions bringing their forces to bear at the most likely place to do the most harm to the enemy. Eldar grav tanks hovered gracefully dealing death at range. The crude Ork constructs lumbered along, killing the few they hit with their guns, running down scores with the tracks of their machines. Caught in the middle were the Imperial Guard, fighting a losing battle, but losing with style. Killing and killing. Anything that came near never lived to tell what it found. Out manned and out classed the Guard were doomed.

Seeing the Guard pummelled like this tugged sentimental on Vicconious. Crushing the though like a powerfist on a grape he gave the order.

“Attack! Take the close bunkers, hold for re-enforcements then move to the next. Let none survive. IRON WITHIN...”

“IRON WITHOUT!!” The attack mantra echoed by his warriors. A tide of dust grey metal surged out into the killing ground. The killing was brief, in the beginning. The first bunkers, falling like grain before the scythe, were manned. Heavy weapons brought to bare, their superior weapons and training telling from the start. Within moments a half dozen bunkers and redoubts had been cleared, then occupied by the Iron Warriors. Firing lanes were filled with shrapnel. The Orks were encountered first and obliterated. The flank falling fast, the rest routed by the Guardsmen.

The Eldar understanding the threat, quickly moved into action. Falcon Grav Tanks, disengaged the crude mon-keigh battle tanks and made for the Iron Warrior line. Elite assault troops in heavy green armour with yellow chevrons advanced at speed toward the bunkers. Wave Serpents and War Walkers flanked on the right of the enemy position. War was coming to their very door step. Not unexpectedly.

There was an ancient terran saying called, ‘having home field advantage’. It could be said the Iron Warriors had that here. Bunkers, trenches, pillboxes and razor-wire. That they were in their element, was beyond question. With a word, a dozen bunkers, five hundred meters of trench line, captured sentry guns, pillboxes and four hundred Space Marines opened fire.

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Part two done
let me know what you think

I really hope ya'll are enjoying this story as it progressess. So lets not waste anymore time and cut right to it eh?

Part the Third: Vogen Continued

“FIRE!!” Vicconious gave the order like a man having the ‘pleasures’ for the first time. The air erupted in death. Bolters killed. Las-cannons and missiles found the Falcons and Wave Serpents and brought ruin upon them. Auto-cannons, heavy bolters and the plasma weapons were brought to bear on the walkers and assault troops. Death reaped a large harvest.

Then they were gone. Vanished, like steam from a bolter. Leaving only the dead, the ruined tanks and the Imperial Guard.

Leman Russ Battle Tanks roared and the line advanced. The Guard, having seen what happened to the Eldar, chose to be more cautious. Coming under the fire of the big guns. Typical Guardsmen approach. Most possible men with, the most possible firepower.

“I’m just glad they don’t have access to the larger variant tanks.”

“Right, or even Basilisks. Those can do a number too. Remember…oh wait.”

“Sir! Reporting as ordered!” The two marines sounded off in unison.

Turning to face the new arrivals Vicconious took his gaze from the field of tanks. Addressing his Chosen Champions, He took stock of the battle. Xavier, leader of the Assault squad and Havoc teams. Machrius, or Mack, was a master of the armoured arts. Anywhere you could conceivably fit a tank, he could fit three. Arriving late was Stryker, who was a veteran of Terra and lead field commander behind Vicconious. The Warsmith, who decided to stay behind on Medrengard, had left the command rank open. The ‘Boys’ natural skill came through and none challenged him.

“Report.”

“Sir, my Havoc teams report contact, and are waiting instruction. The ones stationed here know what to do. I stand with my team ready to counter any assaults.” Xavier always spoke first as was the way. The assault teams went first, they didn’t have much to say, usually. Then the armoured division leaders, big guns and all. Then the ‘leader of men’ spoke last, for without his knowledge none of the rest mattered.

“Don’t have any tanks, save a few rhinos, not much to say here.” Mack was not used to having so little to say. Usually its formations and fire plans. With the tanks unable to land, thanks to the Black Legion. He didn’t have a lot to do.

“Xavier. Give him two las-cannon teams, his knowledge on anti-tank warfare will be invaluable. Stryker, report.”

“The men are ready. Co-ordination with all aspects is accomplished. You may proceed.” Strykers’ usual report. Bland, toneless, and very direct.

“Excellent! Join your men. Kill for the Warsmith . Kill for the Primarch.” After the Champions left He cued his trap.

That Sorcerer, Re’Kent, was a sly one. ‘All but abandoned’. Just as the idea came to him, that blasted wizard was two sentences into the telling. Seeking his approval of the plan, the Wizard abased himself and begged forgiveness. Prostrating nicely, begrudgingly it was given.

A buzz in his ear alerted Re’Kent to the com. The Sorcerer opened the com and received his orders. Looking out a porthole in one of the bunkers at the opposite end of the trench line, he saw a beautiful sight. The arse end of the Imperial Guard marching into the distance. The Sorcerer knew this to be a valuable holding place, even if Vicconious didn’t. Out of respect he brought himself to Vicconious and asked permission to garrison two bunkers. He received it, out of ill humour he supposed. He had a las-cannon Havoc squad and a squad with a missile launcher. Spreading out the men between the two occupied bunkers the Sorcerer was ready. The signal was given.

“Begin,” was the only word Re’Kent said. The Universe blinked, four las-cannons set it all on fire.

It was glorious to see, four Leman Russ Battle Tanks leaping into the air. Backs coming over fronts, and rolling to a stop in the dirt. A frag missile landed amongst the Guardsmen throwing ten men up into the air, to be shredded by bolter fire. Three seconds later it all started over.

Before the Guard could react seven tanks were destroyed, four crippled or weaponless, and an unknown number of Guard soldiers dead. The main line hadn’t fired. Not knowing what to do, the Guard kept coming. Fear driving them as more tanks exploded around them. Mack’s guns now finding their range . The longer range weapons started to find their mark, auto-cannons and missiles. Once the heavy bolters opened fire it was too much for the Guard. Now they turned and ran.

Right at Re’Kent.

Assessing what he sees, Re’Kent can see only one future. Death. His guns are not enough to finish the job. To many men, to much armour. To many. He had about a minute. His marines would fight to hold the bunkers to the last man. But why die needlessly. Live to fight again, he thought.

One minute. Lots of time.

“You. Come here and brace me while I commune with the Warp,” he commanded.

An Iron Warrior moved forward while a blue mist started to curl on the floor. The marine moved onward as if in a trance, stopping an arms length from the sorcerer. A flick of steel and a flash of light. The Chaos Marines’ head is removed so clean, the body stands for a moment before falling lifeless to the ground. The mist, thicker now, surrounds the legs to the knees of every marine in both bunkers. Ethereal hands dragging them into the floor.

Each marine tells a different story on what they saw, those that survived. Travelling through the empyrean anytime is dangerous. Unprotected, its deadly. That’s how Re’Kent managed to ‘save’ them. He opened a warp gate.
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Watching the tanks turning to flee, then explode was most amusing to Vicconious. Mack’s cannons were taking a huge toll. Chimeras, Hellhounds and Russ’ all falling before the laser scythes. Amidst the turmoil of destruction, a building, one of the few relatively unscathed, collapsed. No explosion or warning, the dust covering the Guards retreat. Sounds of fury, pain and death echoed through the dust cloud. Fresh sounds of battle reverberated for many moments, then it was still. The sound of dust settling and loose rubble falling were the only noise in the quiet.

Watching the building fall, Vicconious experienced an odd sensation.

This is wrong.

Something at the back of his head nagged at him.

Buildings that have not been shelled do not just fall over.

A thought flashed into Vic’s mind.

NO!

“Iron Warriors! Be ready! Something comes! Watch the build…”

A blood raging scream breaks the silence. The dust, barely a thin fog now, parts before the howl. Cleared by an aetheric wind. The Black Legion possessed had finished the Guard, and were seeking fresh prey.

What they found was anything but prey. Vicconious had managed his warning in time, to most. Re’Kents’ bunkers were overrun before words were even spoken. Vic didn’t care for the Sorcerer, it was the men. Four las-cannons and over twenty Iron Warriors. With the possessed flowing like water out of the building, Vicconious gave a quick look up and down the line. Fighting was intense. His Marines were holding. Mack’s bunker was under assault, and doing well. Xavier leading a counter attack into the flank supporting the bunker. The trench line opened fire, driving back scores of the Possessed.

But all was not skulls and smiles.

Stryker and his men were in the thick of it. Fighting to hold the center of the field. Surrounded and out numbered, it was a small, personal war. Stryker versus the Black Legion. He has never forgiven them for the betrayal of cowardice on Terra. Even with Horus dead, reinforcements en route and the Emperor off planet on a starship. Victory was still theirs. The breach in the Palace wall, the Thousand Sons striding the Palace halls, the Blood Angels all but broken. Victory was theirs. Abaddon, the coward, fled like a whipped grox. Stryker would make them pay, in blood, for every inch. He will not break, or bend. The powerfist he wore, the servo-arm dancing on his back, his ornate power armour all slick with Black Legion blood. Vicconious will remember him with envied honour, few get to die on their own terms. Stryker wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Commanding his own men to open fire, he joined the battle officially.

Possessed Marines with double bent legs were making astounding speed across the killing fields, engaging the first line of trenches. The line was holding, for now. At the other end of the trench, a cloud of black winged Marines landed atop a bunker, prying off great chunks of ferrocrete and armourplas. The Marines in the bunker were doomed. That was the least of the problems at hand. A wave of Rhino transports and an ornately wrought Land Raider, at the rear, were advancing right down the center. The possessed were just the first wave, the Black Legion had come.
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there ya go. enjoy :D

as always comms and crtis are welcome

more soon :yes:

Thanks for being patient. :D
so lets get right to it...Rise of a Warsmith

Part the Fourth: The Black Legion



The lightning claw tapped insistently at the console. The sword at his side hissed in rapt anticipation. His bodyguard of terminators waited, patient. His Land Raider lumbered at the back of the line. He watched as the last Guardsman was sacrificed in His name to the Gods. With the battle over, and no Guard left to slaughter. His Marines were hungry for more. The dust from the collapsed building dissipating rapidly, left little time for preparation.

“Advance!” Hissed the Lord of the Black Legion. “Kill the Iron Warriors. Bring me the head of their leader, Vicconious!”

The Rhinos’ surged forward, carrying the best the Black Legion had to offer.

The First Company, under Abaddons’ direct command, had come to Vogen to corrupt the populace to chaos. And failed. Miserably. Within three months on the planet the Inquisition had arrived. Within four, the war for Vogen had begun. The Black Legion did well for a time, daemonic support and the arrival of reinforcements from, His own Legion, the World Eaters and Death Guard, should have secured the planet.

With the arrival of the Orks and Eldar the whole thing dissolved into a fur ball. It was even rumoured there were sightings of Necrons and Tyranids within the city.

Then the Iron Warriors arrived. Some new upstart Battle Captain seeking approval, thought he could take the repair facility in the arena. He thought wrong. The Black Legion flotilla giving orbital support destroyed the arena and the repair facility. With the blockade in place, it made it near impossible for the Iron Warriors fleet to land their numerous tanks and formidable titans. Now here at the bunker line he’s victorious against Ork, Eldar and Human.

Your victory will be fleeting young one.
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“Xavier split your team and acquire more men. Counter on both flanks. Mack, arrange transports for the assault teams and myself, then begin firing on the Black Legion. ALL MARINES!! Pick your targets, fire at will. Repeat. Fire at will!” Vicconious’ voice cut through the fog of battle. His men responding immediately. Within moments many transports and more men were lost to the salvo of fire.

Realizing the folly of running into the guns of the siege specialists, the Rhinos began deploying smoke and their payloads. The marines finding what cover they could began to fire back. Long range weapons finding the softer targets in the trenches more appealing than the harder bunkers.

The Land Raider opened fire on the bunkers. Bringing the weight of its Godhammers into play.

It was a real fight now.

Mack was quick to respond, and well too. A Rhino bearing thick armour plates and a top mounted combi-flamer, ground to a halt behind him. With a dirge caster declaring the tenets of Perturabo, Vicconious and his bodyguard boarded the transport.

“Mack! Take out that Raider! Havocs! Clear the lines of the possessed! Xavier and assault team! On my signal! IRON WARRIORS!! Now is the time for our vengeance on the arena. Those bastards have the audacity to attack us, HERE IN OUR HOME!!” Destined for greatness the Warsmith said. “They think to drive us from here with force. Remember the lessons of The Ten, who held an entire world at bay. Do not yield! IRON WITHIN!!”

“IRON WITHOUT!!”

And the Beast took a breath, and proved it could breathe fire.
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“Why have we stopped?”

“The Iron Warriors have renewed their attack. The possessed have been driven from the trenches and the
assault has been sto…” the servitors response cut short by the snap of a Lightning Claw.

Abaddon brooded on his sepulchral throne within his Land Raider.

This young upstart who thought he could take the STC from him. Control the bunkers from him. Defeat the Guard and accursed Eldar. To steal glory from him. From HIM!! THE CHOSEN SON OF CHAOS!!

“ATTACK!! I….WANT….HIS….HEAD!!!”

The Land Raider lurched into motion. Supported by two Rhinos bearing the Mark of Khorne. Abaddon led the assault into hell.

“Ready the ramp. I want to take his head personally. Prepare…” Abaddon never finished his command.

The Land Raider exploded in a brilliant flash.

Having now a clear line of fire, Mack managed a kill in the first salvo from his two teams. After helping drive back the possessed with Xavier he prepped three Rhinos for assault duty. Having his orders, he had to manoeuvre the Raider into the killing zone. Destroy a transport here, break a squad there. Once the Land Raider was on the move, it was easy.

The Rhinos carrying the assault teams arrived at their designations and awaited instruction.

Vicconious was issuing orders to his team. They were going to reclaim the center of the line. By the time they arrive, the forward trench would most likely be overrun. Strykers’ men dead. The decisive battle.

They readied themselves to move out. Just to see the Raider explode. The personification of death striding from the wreck, and two blood soaked Rhinos emerged through the smoke.
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So this is how it ends. Not in valour. Not in honour. But not in vain.

The center of the line was falling. Stryker and his men were losing.

Chest deep in a REAL traitors blood. My vengeance will know no succour.

Stryker knew he was going to die. The incarnation walking from the wrecked Land Raider proved it.

With the object of his revenge at hand, Stryker was energized. Possessed if you will.

“IRON WITHIN!! IRON WITHOUT!!” And Stryker threw himself into the assaulting terminators. A curious blue mist trailing behind him.

Re’Kent and the survivors knew to expect anything, this however was not on the list. Back on the battle field now, watching Field Commander Stryker charge the retinue of Abaddon the Despoiler. Recovering his initial shock, Re’Kent focused his mind and unleashed a torrent of psychic force. Taking the form of a black and yellow mist, the winds of chaos washed over the squad of terminators. Without the protection of the Terminator Armour more of the squad would have fallen. With two of the bodyguard warping into mindless, useless spawn and Strykers servo-arm crushing the head of another. The last was given pause to continue, only to have its chest melted into oblivion by a rapid plasma burst from Re’Kents’ only surviving support weapon, his own plasma pistol.

“Assault teams engage those Rhinos! Get us to Strykers position, hard target deployment. NOW!” Vicconious gave his commands and addressed his troops. “Look to your wargear men. We cannot kill this beast, the powers protect him well. But we CAN send his ass packing, back to the warp! We are coming in hard and close for rapid fire. If we cannot drive him back now we are worse than dead.” Vic having a sudden flash of his former commander hanging from the Titan back on his ship. “Plasma weapons out first take close hatch position, begin fire immediately. The rest spread out and do not let up. This is it…”
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“You throw your life away!” A simple backhand strike from the Talon sends Stryker sailing.

Crashing through a ruined Chimera Stryker lands hard, not moving.

Abaddon draws his rightly feared daemon weapon and stepped into Re’Kents’ squad. Every move a Marine is sent screaming into the warp. A tremor is the only warning Abaddon receives before the Rhino skews to a stop.

Side hatch and access ramp opening, ten marines deploy firing. Plasma scoring great rents in the Tactical Dreadnaught Armour of the Beast. Mass reactive bolt shells holding the Tower of Hatred at bay. With a scream of jealous fury Abaddon is recalled by His Masters, and vanished in a blast of white noise.

The explosive recall sends Vicconious and his squad sprawling. The noise of the battle a dull hum behind the ringing in his ears. Getting to his feet and looking for fresh targets, he finds only the Sorcerer and seven marines holding the line. A ruined Land Raider and the corpses of the Terminators ring the blackened earth of Abaddons’ departure. It was over.

The Black Legion, now headless, retreats into the distance. Brief skirmishes highlight the withdrawal. A firefight between two bunkers ends with the collapse of the enemy occupied hard point. Numerous others are all punctuated in the death of a Black Legionnaire.

Vicconious moved over to Stryker. His body lying at a hard angle. Kneeling down He addressed the fallen Champion.

“That looks uncomfortable.” Unable to hold back the grin beneath his visor. “You should know that because of your vendetta, we are victorious. You killed a Chosen of the Black One. May the Halls of Olympia throw their doors wide for the Hero of the Killing Fields of Vogen.”

“Th…the…they must wait.”

“What?”

“They must wait to receive me. I yet live,” the broken servo-arm moving to adjust the position of its bearer. “My legs are gone.” Stryker’s armour nearly cut through just below the hip. Repositioning himself his right arm falls to the ground, severed at the shoulder. “My arm too, it seems.”

Laughing. Vicconious stands.

“Still have some fight in your old bones, eh? We’ll get you to the compound and repaired. Then we take the arena.”

Issuing commands to get the fallen and wounded moved, Vicconious moved through the killing field. He saw Xavier put an end to a Champion of The Blood God, Mack culling the Black Legion fallen making sure of the dead, and Re’Kent. The Sorcerer keeping counsel with the survivors of his little trip.

“You have Tzeentchs’ own luck, Wizard.”

“Chaos moves in mysterious ways, my Lord.”

“Yes, maybe. Once the immediate area is secure, and the wounded tended to, we attack the Arena.” Vicconious told of his plan to Re’Kent. “If its occupied, I must know. The STC machine is the only prize for us on this stinking mud ball of a planet. If it is protected we will need our tanks for the battles ahead. If it’s unguarded our tanks will be essential in securing the area. Augur this for me, then contact the ship and begin the landings. If you are successful I will forgive your failure in the bunkers. You have one day.”

“Yes. My Lord. At once.” Bowing Re’Kent turned and left.

Returning to the field of battle Vicconious noted with pride the fortifications were already being rebuilt. The tanks being cleared, trenches re-manned and patrols being sent out on scouting duty. With a calm in the storm, the full realization of the event struck Vic with the force of a titan.

Heir of Horus. Scion of Chaos. Abaddon the Despoiler. An enemy like no other was made this day.
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there it is the confrontation with the Black Legion.

and before all the questions start this part of the story is essentialy a battle report from my participation in the Vogen campaign i was a part of. The player of the Black Legion remembers that battle to this day.

more seriously though i have a question: How do i get italics to work on the forums here? some parts of the story would read better in italics. any help would be appricatied :wave:

as always comments are most welcome :yes:

more soon.

Basiacaly your ideas are pretty cool, the action is tense and non-linear. But there are two things I strognly dislike in your works.

The names of the Iron Warriors. A thousands years old Chaos Space Marine responsible for deaths of thousands if not more (that is a usual Chaos Space Marine) cannot be called Mack. Makkeus the Infernal or something like this, but not Mack.

Plus, your Iron Warriors are... the good guys. Now I don't think I have to elaborate here, and repeat the 'deaths responsibility' part from above... Abaddon is as he should be, for example, why aren't the Iron Warriors? They sound like loyalists.

This thing has to re-done in my opinion, definately. Would give you 8/10 for the ideas, action and stuff basically, but it'll be a strong 5 because of the things abovementioned.

thank you for your honest opinion. in response i would like to say first that you hit the perverbial nail on the equally perverbial head by saying the IW are the good guys, because they are (IMO) so i thought a story from that perspective would be cool.
second: the names of my champions (I cant believe i'm defending this) are based off of some RPG characters of me and my friends i put in as homage (BTW Mack the master of tanks is my character-funny eh?) and Vicconious was pulled from an old, very old PS1 game called Space Hulk.

thanks again for the response and i hope the story improves to your satisfaction.

Well I completely don't understand how you can claim Iron Warriors being the good guys... Have you read the description in the Codex? Or any other sources? These guys are paranoid, arrogant enslavers caring only about themselves and the destruction of the Imperium. All other things, alliances, worlds, lives of billions, mean nothing to them. Plus they are driven into blood frenzy of messy killing every time they get into enemy trenches...

That's how I see it, basing on the official sources.

No, I can see how the IW's can be "good guys". My army is arrogant, paranoid, and extremely disdainful of pretty much everyone, especially the rest of the IW Legion, but amongst themselves they are a well oiled machine that works together to bring death to their enemies. Since they are all renegades, they either have to watch each other's asses or fall apart and be crushed by the rest of the legion.

thank you Rustygunz.

theres an old saying: "A beast never sees a beast in the mirror"
just apply that to this story and things should make sense

I think its a great story. Just because the IW were forced into the Eye and swore some felaty to chaos doesn't always make them bad guys. They might just be doing bad things for good reasons.

there is more to this. I have been insanely busy more will come soon

Sorry, but for now this story has to be postponed.
I'm :curse: insanely busy at work and do not have the time.
It will be finished. I don't know when :(

Nice work, nice choise of word, nice done.

Okay the names are not allways fitting, the destructive work of your IW are a bit too perfect - every shoot a hit,eh? (primary vs. Eldar, secondary vs. the Guard)

The encounter with the BL is a cool story, but a Warsmith among many vs. the Great Despoiler? Battle report or not, for me this is a number too big for your little Warsmith. The thing about the IF geneseed, is okay, but already known from SoI. But the line spoke by the primarch is well chosen (hows about BT seed, or BA?).

Overall - i like the story.

PS: IW are the good guys, thats for sure :praise: