Monday 9 October 2017

Firefights over the Charadon Sector- Fiction

This weekend we had a campaign day down the hut. Nine of us gathered together and formed up to fight plenty of battles. My forces fought alongside the Deathguard against the Nai'Tzeleth Eldar forces and also faced off against the 1st Larissa Watch.  The battles were all at 500pts short but intense.


Firefights over the Charadon Sector

They were late to rendezvous with the allied forces. The warp was playing tricks with them as always, seeking to continually challenge and test their limits. Their anger made them stronger, it made more of them turn from the pull of defeat. They had been bound to fight the Mechanicus and instead ended up with their decaying brothers, fighting the forces of the Eldar. The Deathguard and their Lord were already there, already fighting, already claiming souls in the name of the Plague Lord. The sight of the battle filled their fetid bodies with excitement and anticipation. All at once they took in their surroundings and made their advance towards the xenos forces.

Crazed and tainted by the Jackals' entry, the Fire Dragons belched forth fire in all directions, screaming out in tongues setting fire to friend and foe alike. Quick to silence the tainted the Nai'Tzeleth forces tore down their own in a volley of gunfire, as the Deathguard trudged through the vibrant landscape. The ancient and keen eyed Eldar had no trouble following the path of decay that erupted beneath the Deathguard's tread, the green landscape withering at their feet. 

A stream of razor-sharp projectiles hit the advancing corrupted astartes. Spumes of filth bursting from the marine's ancient and bloated torsos. For a moment they were silent and still, the only sensation a slight vibration as one of the Jackals slumped to the ground. The Pestsjaler let their conscious thoughts drip from their minds, like a tallow of wax from ten-thousand candles in the Wolf Mother's Shrine. They could feel the beating of their bloated and festering primary hearts and the hum of insects from within. Outside the Pestsjaler's enhanced hearing detected the xenos threat readying themselves behind the rocks in the centre of the battlefield.  Without trepidation the plague marines broke their meditative state and bounded around the outcrop of rocks. The eldar within their sight, they opened fire. Well worn weaponry, encrusted in filth and dirt spat hellfire upon the fragile enemy, limbs exploded and torsos were burst asunder. Overhead the plagueburst crawler's fire detonated into the other xenos units forcing them to fall back.  Too slow to give chase, the Deathguard called to halt the advanced. 

Quick to claim their prize the Pestsjaler continued their advance collecting the spirit stones of the fallen for the Wolf Mother's plan. 


Across the Charadon Sector Cleaver sought to make a name for himself in the eyes of the Aureus renegades. He had been outcast even by his own kin, subject to the cure of the Wolves of Russ. It was an imbalance, some speculated a lack of willpower and strength to resist the makings of a true Astartes. With the Deathwatch in sight, Cleaver had led the renegades up through the Deathwatch's main line. Veteran marines guarding a supply drop of great worth.  Their commander stood outside of the cover to meet him and the Deathguard head on. 




"You are nothing but a monster in the skin of a warrior!" Goaded Gregarious Captain of the 1st Larissa watch.

The Aureus Champion lunged and cut only air, as a bolter round punctured his side. The detonation sent shrapnel and meat flying out of him in all directions. The air around him undulated and the realisation that the ground itself had begun to bleed pierced the pain that filled his mind. It ran in thick, crimson rivulets, streaking the chrome plasteel and pooling underfoot. Reality itself began to blink in and out, the faces of snarling slender faced monsters greeting him from a realm not his own. The sight of these xenos females awoke something primal within the wounded wulfen.  He shuddered as he landed two solid blows at the enemy Captain who effortlessly parried his hefty assault. Agony spiked through his body, blades in his skull, daggers in the back of his eyes. There was a crunch as he felt his biceps expand and the muscles and bone twist and crack. Blood poured into his mouth, choking his throat. Sweat broke out across his body as his secondary heart kicked in. 

With a deep, guttural snarl the feral warrior swung axe and claw at his target. Gregarious moved at a speed that his armour belied, dodging and deflecting every attack. Allowing the superior combatant to disengage, Cleaver raised his combi-bolter and spat at the Captain.

"Honour be damned," he roared as he pulled the trigger.

The shots tore through the Deathwatch veterans chest and leg. Falling to the ground he was wracked with rage that his opponent would fall to such underhanded tactics. 

"I should have expected such underhanded tactics from such Chaos scum, wolf. If we can have our supply drop then no one can."

Falling back to his razorback the Captain pulled out, setting off the demolition charges within the building. 

Unable to move Cleaver began to convulse and his skin and armour split, spraying everything with an oily mist of blood. The flesh beneath was discoloured, the pale flesh that came forth was coated in deep scarring that glittered with an oily sheen of blood and sweat. His skeleton snapped as it reformed, the bones in his arms elongating far beyond that of a normal man. Biceps and shoulders burst out from within his original skin, lumps of old muscle and flesh falling off onto the ground in wet, slick motions. From out of the gore and remains emerged a far taller beast than before. The Deathguard had left him some time ago and now he could see the advancing ork forces making their approach. 



"Oi oi gits, look at all dis loot!" said one eagerly as he approached.

"Datz mine zog off. Gork knowz datz mine," spoke another as he belted the first over the head with a large chain.

"I aint letting you 'av anyfink," interrupted another.

"Oi, look dat one still lives!" perked up a fourth

"He's big and naked. We can take him boyz!" Jostled in one eagerly from the back of the pack, waving his big choppa in the air.

Clenching his newly formed fists, Cleaver was keen to find a new and more appropriate weapon to test his new form. Once the greenskin tide had reached him, Cleaver savaged their flesh left and right, his new skin covered in the stink of ork musk and ichor. Dragging the big choppa from the eager ork he slammed the makeshift axe around into the sea of bodies in a blinding arc. The orks burst apart in a fountain of gore. From out of the shower came a face absent of any sane thought and filled with rage. With one swift blow the Chosen was knocked backwards, the choppa falling from his grasp. 

Before Cleaver could right himself a large hand pulled him upright. 

"You did good there. We 'av bigger fings to sort. More loot to grab," said the ork nob pointing to a vague location in the distance.

"I don't want your pity greenskin. Fight me!" Yelled the hulking chaos warrior.

"Keep da choppa he don't need it," said the greenskin gesticulating to the decapitated ork on the floor. "You are git now, wiv big hand and big choppa."

"I'm Cleaver and let you remember that name,"

"Cleaver the Choppa," the Nob said with a bow before leaving with his remaining warriors.

Before he could argue at his new title, Cleaver felt a hand on him again. Through its palm came power and energy. The air around him thick with the smell of burning coals and rancid meat. Turning he saw five xenos women each carrying armour, all from different sources, each one ancient and impressive in it's own right. Behind them leered a gigantic being, a daemon of countless age and experience.

"You did a great job with them shiny tin men boy. Keep it up and you will be rewarded handsomely by the Huntress. If you can stop the Gregory and his Larceny Watch then you will be given great rewards. No one likes thieves especially the ones of mankind." Rasped the daemon in hushed tones, mere centimetres from the Chosen's face.

"I will do as you command my Lord. I am glad I have been deemed worthy of such praise," replied Cleaver as he was adorned and fitted into his new armour by the scantily clad elven warriors, each timeless and blood-soaked.

"Cleaver the Choppa, don't make me regret my decision. Give me blood. Shed it wide and far, let the name Rognavaldr be heard."

As the greater daemon departed, Cleaver tried to decide whether the had been gifted or cursed. Either way he decided he didn't care, bloodshed was all that mattered and he knew some renegades that would be more than happy to help out.











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