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The shattered pine forests of Rindar stretch ahead of you endlessly as your men march along the muddy dirt track that serves as a main road for these regions. Aside from the slosh of a thousand boots and the steady patter of rain, the regiment marches mostly in silence. Here or there a soldier makes a wry comment or asks a question of his fellows. Their metal kit rattles against the matte gray of their flak armor.

You stand on the roadside and watch your men march past. Their eyes hollow, skin pale in the diffuse light from the overcast sky. They don’t meet your eyes as they march, lasrifles slung over their shoulders, heads down, beaded water dripping from the brims.

They are a line of grey-clad figures in a muddy grey landscape. These sad dregs are the 21st Texalar. A light infantry regiment from the Agriworld of Texalar. Most of these men had -- in their life before the Imperial Guard -- been laborers on their homeworld, servicing the endless horizons of thick vegetable growth that Texalar produced. Their lot in life was to toil and scrape, to shuffle through life, head down as they always had. Whether that was cutting fields of Broadleaf alongside reeking servitors or trudging forward, weapon in hand.

They were in stark contrast to the ruddy-faced men and women who served as their officer corps. Natives of Texalar’s hiveworlds, they were the children and retinues of the land-owning elite that ruled the planet, the AgriLords and Ladies that always ensured the biomass flowed off Texalar’s Creepvine and Broadleaf farms in exchange for the servitors and penal labor they needed to keep constantly replenished. As a world of wealth and poverty, this regiment shows this intense dichotomy of that place.

“Colonel? Colonel Winterbourne?”

You glance to the side and see Commissar Trisk arrive, the tails of his leather coat stained with mud.

Trisk is a hatchet-faced man who is much-feared in the unit, and rightly so. The bolt pistol he carries at his side, just beside an abridged copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus, isn’t simply for show. Such is his aura of intimidation that an autocannon gun crew coming up the road physically carries their heavy piece around the commissar rather ask Trisk to move.

“Major Mosby’s men are lagging again,” Trisk says with a confident ‘I told you so’ air.

Mosby was ostensibly your second in command but in practice he found little in common with you. Unlike your own noble birth, Mosby had climbed the ranks through old fashioned skill and experience. A talented leader, his common blood would glass ceiling him in a major’s braid.
>Isn’t handling such matters your job, Commissar?
>Mosby’s men suffered badly in that ambush yesterday, let them rest
>I’ll speak with Mosby myself
>Write in

Oh my god its tk creator of dark empire

>>4131362
>I’ll speak with Mosby myself

>>4131365
On one hand he completes his quests. On the other hand they're filthy waifuquests disguised as war quests. Very conflicted about this.

>I’ll speak with Mosby myself

>>4131362
>Isn’t handling such matters your job, Commissar

>>4131362
>I’ll speak with Mosby myself

>>4131365
I can't wait for the inevitable poorly written lewds

>Unlike your own noble birth, Mosby had climbed the ranks through old fashioned skill and experience.

Honestly like that we're that asshole who just got the job through connections rather than the grizzled commoner with experience and skills.

>>4131362
>>I’ll speak with Mosby myself

>>4131362

>I’ll speak with Mosby myself

This guy seems experienced and we probably will need that instead of letting the commissar bolt him

"I say Mosby old chap, I'd have thought working in the fields picking leaves would've given your lot more stamina ho ho ho"

>I’ll speak with Mosby myself
>>4131369
>>4131374
>>4131381
>>4131400
>>4131408

>Writing

You glance further along your column of slouching, grey-clad soldiery.

“Let me have a word with Major Mosby,” you say to Trisk. “Keep the boys moving up?”

Trisk nods before turning to reprimand a soldier for moving too slowly.

You set off down the column, passing your men as they march by and returning the occasional rushed salute from a sergeant or lieutenant. Most of the soldiers either don’t see you or pretend not to, wholly focused on the soggy ground ahead of them.

Within a few minutes you reach the tail end of the column where the men are more widely spaced. Most of them are breathing hard and struggling to keep their kits straight on their body.

You step through a crowd of dirt-streaked soldiers and spot Mosby marching forward.

Aside from the Majors pins on his shoulders he looks just like the others, dirty, tired, his helmet cocked to one side so he can better hear. Mosby glances up to see you waiting and adjusts his rifle before stepping forward.

“Commissar Trisk reports delay from your men, Major,” you say.

“Delay? Yes, sir. My men are tired, sir. My heavy weapons teams are still two minutes behind us, with the losses we took yesterday it’s been hell keepin the guns moving.”

>I’m sympathetic but this is a war. We can’t drag our feet.
>Sweat prevents blood, Major. Better get your men moving before Trisk does.
>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns
>Write in

>>4131459
>>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns

we need the guns

>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns

It's not favorable treatment since the only reason they're struggling just bc they're carrying the same number of guns w fewer people than normal due to losses.

>>4131459
>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns

>>4131459
>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns

>Pull some troops from another company to help move the guns
>>4131473
>>4131476
>>4131485
>>4131488


>Writing

You look down the column toward the struggling weapons teams. At this rate you’d be late to the assembly at Forges.

“Major, send a runner up to the next company and pull a detail to help you get these guns up.”

Mosby’s hard face seems to relax, slightly. “Yes, sir,” he says.

“We’re all in it together, Major,” you add, turning back to walk your way to the front of the column.

“Yes, sir,” Mosby repeats, calling over a trooper to act as a runner.

(1/2)

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The town of Forges was little more than a few leveled foundations encircling a muddy crossroad. It was to the outside eye a lifeless, worthless strip of land, but on your data-slate map it was the focal point for the Guard advance currently driving toward the shrine of Glory Falls.

Forges had been the unfortunate target of an earlier campaign to cleanse this world of heresy. What had once been a thriving trade hub was annihilated in the attempt to liberate it. The evidence of this struggle lay all around, from the splintered treeline north of the town to the craters in the farmland around the town, now starting to fill with putrid water.

While just a ruin, Forge was being transformed into a fortified depot, the next ladder rung in the guard advance on the Blood Coven that seized Glory Falls. All around, Imperial Guard were marching into the town and deploying out to mobile field kitchens and rest areas. Wooden duckboards made temporary dry spaces for soldiers to rest their aching legs.

Your own ankles are getting tired from the marching and you cast envious eyes on the Chimera command vehicles of the 2nd Texalar Armored Cavalry already emplaced around the ruined town. The Cavalry had captured this crossroads the day before with only light fighting. The Sisters of the Order of the Crimson Dagger had done their job in the weeks previous to rid this area of repugnant heretics. It still seems a second pass is necessary.

Lost in your thoughts, you nearly stumble into the platoon of troops ahead of you that has come to a halt in the roadway. Before you can reprimand them, the source of their hesitance to proceed becomes clear.

(2/3) whoops

On a crudely constructed stone plinth beside the roadway lies the body of one of the Adeptas Sororitas. A sister of the Crimson Dagger, her red armor faded to the color of rust from a thin layer of dust that has accumulated. Her face has been eaten away by carrion and putrefaction into a rictus grin, a bony deathmask. The smell of decay lingers just beneath a floral hint, likely the byproduct of the bed of flower petals she rests upon.

“Holy Throne,” one of your men swears, forming the sign of the Aquilla with his hands over his chest.

Why this sister was left here in this state to rot in the open is a mystery to you, but it is clear that she’d been placed here with care. The splintered fracture in the ceramite armor that covered her ribs was dressed with more withered petals in a vain attempt to hide her fatal wound. Was she a martyr? A saint? Had she committed some error that did not warrant she be brought on with the rest of her sisters when they advanced?

You see no other sign of fallen sisters or their enemy, only this body on its makeshift shrine.

Now that you’ve stopped, more and more men of your unit are halting the march into Forge to look on the body of this battle sister.
>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.
>Lead your men in prayer to the God-Emperor before continuing on.
>Order a detail to bury this sister, she should not have been left like this.
>Write in

>>4131537
>>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.
praying to a rotting corpse? I'll get right on that

>>4131537
>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.
An omen of what is to come I fear.

>>4131537
>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.

>>4131537
>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.

>>4131537
>>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.

"they left her here for a reason and it's not your job to figure out why, move out or join her in the open grave."

>Lead your men in prayer to the God-Emperor before continuing on.

Maybe we shouldn't bury her given that we know nothing of why she's out there.

>>4131540
Spotted the heretic

>Disperse your men, order them on into town. They’ll see many more bodies before this is over.
>>4131540
>>4131543
>>4131544
>>4131546
>>4131547

>writing

“Move along, boys,” you say, raising your voice to be heard. “They left her here for a reason and it's not your job to figure out why, move out or join her in the open grave."

The words set your column moving again, the men backing away from the grim display. They look away from you quickly but you still catch the resentful glare of a few men.

Trisk comes up beside you, his hard gaze scattering the men even faster. “I’ll inform a body cleanup detail of these remains, Colonel.”

You nod and glance at the Sister again. Her gauntleted hands are folded over her chest so peacefully, were it not for the yellowed skull staring up at the cloudy sky you might be forgiven for thinking she were asleep.

“We’ll pay her memory back by punishing the bastards who killed her,” you tell Trisk.

“That we will, colonel.”

++++++

Once inside Forges, your regiment breaks into platoons, falling out to either side of the road after a hard march, forming small queues for a hot meal from the kitchens or simply slumping against the side of one of the 2nd Cavalry’s Chimeras and Leman Russ battle tanks to rest weary legs. They join the soldiers and crews of a few other regiments already assembled in the town.

You have no such luxury as rest, continuing further into the town with your adjutant, Rickles, following closely at your heels.

“Where is General Moorlin?” you ask a trooper frocked in the horizon blue of the Grognards, the 15th Vendée.

“Command bunker,” the trooper responds, adjusting his ridged helmet to point further up. “Twenty meters up.” His low Gothic is thickly accented with clipped, nasally tones.

You return his hasty salute and press on past a pair of sentries in Texalar grey, you see they wear the spurs or the cavalry.

The interior of the bunker is dim, lit by a handful of battery-powered glow-globes which cast fitful shadows around the edge of the room. The air here is stagnant, smelling of damp earth despite a thick layer of flakboard laid up on the outer walls and down on the floor.

In the center, a hololithic projector sits displaying a monochrome representation of your theater of operations centering on Forges. At the northernmost edge of the map sits your objective, the Glory Falls shrine. So close, but so far. You’ve seen it all before, you’re much more interested in your fellow regimental commanders for this operation.

“Colonel Winterbourne, Texalar 21st,” you say, delivering a tight salute to the knot of officers around the map projector.

(1/2)

“Winterbourne. Do come in.” The speaker is a barrel-chested man in a scarlet-fronted uniform decorated with tight coils of gold braid and a general's pins.

You step closer and take an empty space by the map table.

“I’ve heard about you, Winterbourne, you fought in the Cyberthrall Rebellion, didn’t you?”

“That’s right,” you say, “And we’ve been here on Rindar for the better part of a month. No serious combat though.”

“Good,” Moorlin says, “We could use more men of experience. Let me introduce you to the others, this is Colonel Brendamere of the Vendée-”

The man who nods in response wears the same horizon-blue of the sentries you passed, his face dominated by a drooping, black mustache.

“Colonel Custiss you know.”

“Winterbourne,” Custiss of the Texalar Armored Cavalry greets, reaching through the hololith, momentarily disrupting it to shake your hand. You know Custiss from the Cyberthrall Rebellion as well as Officer Academy back home. His youthful smile belies the tiredness in his eyes.

“And Colonel Kertt.”

Kertt wears the same scarlet-fronted tunic as Moorlin, the uniform of the Qyquester Guards. Both men have the same small skull tattooed just below their left eye, a marking of the death cult that dominates that world. Kertt gives you a short nod which you return.

“What state are you men in?” Moorlin asks.

If the way they slogged into Forges was any indicator, your men were exhausted. In war though this sometimes can’t be helped.


>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed
>We’re ready for whatever the enemy has in store
>I’d like to request time for my men to recover from earlier action
>Write in

>>4131590
>>We’re ready for whatever the enemy has in store

>>4131590
>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed

Be honest about this, but note that you'll have them back on their feet when needed.

>>4131590
>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed

>>4131590

>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed

Lying is not advisable

>>4131590

>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed

"But as always, we are ready for whatever the enemy has in store"

>Tired, it’s a long march from the badlands and some of my platoons were ambushed
>>4131598
>>4131613
>>4131616
>>4131619

>Writing

“Tired, General,” you say, seeing no reason to lie. “It’s been a long march up from the badlands and we had a few platoons shot up yesterday. We’re ready to act should you need us.”

Moorlin nods, “We’re all tired, Colonel. We do what we must. I’m afraid there will be no rest for your men here.”

Bitter words, but you nod your own understanding. The death and madness that claimed this world won’t stop until you stop it.

“Gentlemen,” Moorlin says, turning to address the group before clearing his throat and stabbing a finger at the top of the hololith, “Glory Falls is within our grasp. Our arch foe is falling back in the face of inevitability. The Battle Sisters have done most of the hard work, we’re dealing with a resurgent force, but one already savaged by fighting. Before we can reach the shrine however, we’ll need to press through this valley here-” Moorlin gestures lower on the map, a neck-like choke in the advance. “The ground is too poor for the cavalry so I’ll be leading up with my light infantry.” Moorlin looks between you and Brendamere of the 15th Vendée. “The Qyquester Guards are in reserve for the final push.”

You nod.

“There are parallel roads here we can take,” Moorlin continues, tracing the paths which run like jugular veins through the neck of the valley. “But each has a strongpoint on it. Colonel Winterbourne, your regiment is to advance along the easternmost road and secure this knoll here-” he indicates the small hill that overlooks the roadside. “We know the enemy are dug in here with a body of troops, I want your men to storm it come tomorrow morning. Advance north this afternoon and be in position for an attack tomorrow.”

“What sort of opposition can we expect?” you ask.

“Mostly dug in riflemen,” Custiss says, speaking up. “My boys reconned that hillside yesterday morning and saw nothin that posed a threat to our tanks, but we couldn’t move in closer without infantry support. That was before the rains came in.”

“It is possible the enemy is reinforced with heavy weapons emplacements by now,” Moorlin says, “But we’ve seen no evidence of armor or elite forces to contend with. Should be no trouble for your men.”

You nod.

“Afterward, we’ll consolidate and advance here-” he indicates a merger of the two main roads further up, just on the edge of the pine flats. “There, the Vendée and Texalar infantry will unite and advance to clear the town of Yprin. This is the last main obstacle before our final push on Glory Falls. I expect to have my morning recaf in Martyr Ash Square in three days time. Questions?”

>None, general.
>Write in

>>4131635
>None, general

>>4131635
Not so much a question for the general but for the QM

How are we on artillary? Can we shell that hill to hell and back before we take it?

>>4131655
You only have some mortar teams with you. The Cavalry has all the self propelled guns, but the muddy roads are hampering vehicle movement.

Are they going on the western road?

>>4131658
None then, mortars will have to be enough.

I imagine cover for the approach will be mimimal? Is this a full charge on open ground?

>>4131663
The Grognards are taking the other route.

>>4131670
The final few hundred meters will be, yes. When the time comes there will be choices about that.

>>4131635

>None, general.

>None, general.

>writing

“None,general,” You know fullwell the challenges before you and the tools at your disposal.

“See to it, Colonel,” Moorlin says, beginning to brief Brendamere.

You step from the dim bunker out into the cool outside air.

“Lieutenant,” you address your adjudant, “Find Trisk and Mosby and have them meet me to review our marching plans and plan of attack come tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir!”

You part from Rickles and walk through your regiment’s rest area, stepping around waiting troopers. The smell of instant-cook ration packs fills your nostrils and reminds you of how hungry you are, a thought you push aside. Not far away someone begins piping on a harmonic bar, the mournful buzzing whistle drifting through the campsite.

At the far side you find a low pile of rockcrete blocks that were once a part of a larger structure and sweep the top clear of debris before resting your data-slate on it.

Minutes later your command staff, such as it is, arrives. Commissar Trisk, Major Mosby, and your adjudant. Mosby and Trisk don’t react as you relay the orders you’ve received to them.


“The boys’ll do what they have to, sir.” Mosby says after a moment. “This aint good ground we’re moving on and takin a fortified hill without heavy fire support aint my idea of a good time.”

“As you said, we’ll do what we must,” you say.

“Sir.”

“Commissar? How are the men?” you ask.

“Pernicious whispers of ill-omens persist,” Trisk says through grit teeth. “You Texalarans are a superstitious bunch. I’ve been doling out discipline where it is needed and I will continue to do so. Once they have a fire before them I believe they will forget their fears and focus on the mission.”

You hope he’s right.

The knoll you’ve been tasked with clearing is surrounded on three sides by open ground, giving it clear fields of fire reaching down to the main road and beyond. The fourth side, on the opposite side from the road, is screened with dense evergreen trees. It may be possible to break a detachment of men off and circle the enemy position to launch a surprise attack from the rear, though any unit undertaking this operation would be cut off from the rest of the regiment, and therefore vulnerable.

An attack in the pre-dawn darkness may negate much of the enemies potential advantage in firepower from their prepared positions, but it would also mean sacrificing several hours of sleep for your already worn out men to ensure they are in positions in time.

Lastly, a more conventional attack might be the safest bet rather than gambling on surprise. Using regimental heavy weapons teams you could pin the defenders and close on foot to sweep them off the hill. This plan will be the simplest to carry out but risks heavy losses if the enemy are more prepared than is anticipated.

>Detach a few platoons to circle the enemy through the woods
>Attack in the predawn darkness
>Launched a carefully constructed conventional assault
>Write in

>>4131717
>Attack in the predawn darkness

if I were them, I would booby trap the shit out of those woods

>>4131717
>Attack in the predawn darkness

>>4131717
>>Attack in the predawn darkness

>>4131717
>Attack in the predawn darkness

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>Attack in the predawn darkness

I'm going to leave it here for the night. I have to be up early tomorrow so it will have to be short today.

Quest will continue Thursday, 7 EST / 11 UTC with the attack on the knoll.

If you want to follow for updates, here is my discord and twitter.

https://discord.gg/aV3WXT
https://twitter.com/TimeKillerQM

Thanks for playing guys!

>>4131717
>Launched a carefully constructed conventional assault

The Battle Sisters should've already softened them up for us.

>>4131756
Thanks for running man, good to see you're back. I was beginning to think you had stopped questing since Dark Empire ended

>>4131769
That is not dead which can eternal lie, my friend. And with strange aeons, even death may die.

>>4131781
Dark Empire 2 when?
I need my bad smut fix

this is a test

>>4132470
You know the answer to that.

>>4132511
INTERLOPER

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You know what I would like to see?

A Necron quest. We never see any good old fashioned Necrons.

>>4133902
Man it's almost like anybody can run there own quest on /qst/ who would've guessed.

>>4133902
Be the quest you want to see in the world.

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You march your column forward, under the fading daylight until your legs are just two aching pillars that seem to keep you falling along.

If any forces of Chaos lay in wait you’re certain your men would have stumbled blindly into another ambush, such was the state of their fatigue.


The slog continues on into the dark until your men can't walk any more. It takes cajoling and threats from you and Trisk to get them to the staging area. As your men fall out by the roadside, many sleeping in the open air where they lie on beds on pine needles, you press on to the edge of the woods.

It's too dark to see much, but the knoll is there ahead of you over a few hundred meters of open ground. A veritable killing field.

The only evidence of the enemy is the hint of a camp fire's glow on the distant hillside.

Tomorrow.

You turn and trudge back for the assembly point, passing a handful of sentries being deployed to screen your men.

You sit heavily against the rough bark of an evergreen tree and close your eyes.

Sleep claims you.

++++++

It's still dark when Trisk awakes you.

"It's time, Colonel."

Your regiment is assembling quietly in the dark. Your men's eyes are wide with fear, vividly white in the darkness. Bayonets click onto sockets and power packs are checked.

Sergeants check their platoons over and confirm the men are ready for action.

You join Trisk and Mosby at the end of the treeline.

"Commissar, you take the left flank, Mosby, you the right. I'll lead the center," you say.

You'll need to determine your use of heavy weapons. You believe you have the element of surprise now, a preliminary bombardment will sacrifice that but may also soften up the enemy before your attack.

Otherwise you can rely on speed and stealth to cross that open ground and attack at close range.

>Bombard with heavy weapons
>hold fire until fired upon
>write in

>>4134899
>hold fire until fired upon
gotta cross that field

afix bayonets

>>4134899
>hold fire until fired upon

>>4134899

>Bombard with heavy weapons

>>4134899
>hold fire until fired upon

>hold fire until fired upon
>>4134908
>>4134917
>>4134931

>writing

The element of surprise is all you have in your favor. If the enemy doesn’t know you’re coming you’ll be that much more ready to deal with them.

Creeping to the edge of the tree line, you look left and right at the men of Texalar, arrayed in line of battle and ready for action. You raise an arm. Then you let it drop.

The men go forward in knots, a strung out line sloshing through the mud in a shaky line.

You follow behind the first way, laspistol in hand, careful of your footing and all too aware of the squelching that your boots make in the thick mud.

This attack will work if the enemy doesn’t know you’re coming.

If.

You smell the scent of decaying spices and feel an electric charge in the air. Warp sorcery.

The sky above you lights up like a silent lightning storm, banishing the darkness and faltering your regiment’s advance. You’re in the open, halfway there, your men looking up with superstitious fear at the sky.

“Forward!” You shout, waving your free arm, “Men of Texalar-” Your next words are drowned out as an incandescent bolt from the sky strikes the squad ahead of you, arcing snakes of electricity jumping from man to man. For a split instant, you see them in silhouette, their bones and metal bits of their kit before they explode to ashes.

Another bolt incinerates another squad before your men snap from their stupor.

“Forward! Forward!” You shove a neighboring trooper on, “Don’t stop here!”

The cry is taken up by your sergeants and junior officers and the men of Texalar start to run forward in the strange nether light from the sky overhead.

The next sound is the shriek of mortar shells which begin to burst across the crest of the knoll, followed by the clatter and bang of autocannons, tracer shells flashing overhead.

The enemy isn’t content to let this go unanswered and soon dozens of lasbeams are slashing down from the top of the knoll, the servants of Chaos firing from prepared positions, cutting down your men in the open.

Here and there squads stop to give back sporadic fire at the unseen foes, but it’s paltry and weak. The hill, if it is to be cleared, will have to be done with the bayonet.

More witchfire streaks from the clouds and smites a flame trooper, the promethium tank on his back exploding in a white and orange fireball, igniting the uniforms of those closest to him, sending them screaming and staggering into the mud where the flames hiss out.


>Forward! Charge!
>Fall back! The enemy is waiting for us
>Go to ground, let the heavy weapons soften them up!
>Write in

>>4134970
>Forward! Charge!

No good options, but getting the fuck out of the killing field is best bet. The only way out is through. Better to be shot in the front figuring for the Emperor than in the back like a coward.

>>4134970

>Go to ground, let the heavy weapons soften them up!

>>4134970

>Forward! Charge

Order the ones back to provide covering fire for the charge and keep those shells coming until we hit the woods

>Forward! Charge!
>>4134974
>>4134990

>Writing

>>4134970
>>Forward! Charge!
[SLY MARBO NOISES]

“Keep moving!” You call, man handling another trooper ahead. “The only way out is through!”

Your heavy weapons teams keep bracketing the hill with fire but the effect is negligible without clear targets. The Blood Covens have perfect the art of concealment on this Emperor forsaken world.

The charge regains momentum and a desperate, shrill battle cry is raised. A hoarse wailing, like a shrieking of banshees as your men go forward and up the hill, scythed down by lasfire and stub rounds around you.

You barely have time to look up as you fight for footing on the slick ground, keeping pace with your men and scrambling over the bodies of the fallen.

The closer you get to the hill, the more the empyrionic fire tails off, perhaps the risk of friendly fire is too great.

You crest the hill just behind a fanned out platoon of guardsmen. They slash and plunge their bayonets into the traitors atop the hill, just dark shapes in the low light. You leap into a foxhole left by a cultist to catch your breath and get your first view of the enemy.

Clad in makeshift body armor painted with headache-inducing runes and sigils, he is clothed in a dirty crimson robe, his face hidden behind a strange, featureless face plate. Lying in a heap at the bottom of the muddy hole, clutching a worn lasrifle in emaciated, tattooed hands.

Almost against your will, you reach out to shift the mask, to see the man behind it. It doesn’t budge a centimeter. Then you see the staples securing it to his flesh and turn away, stomach reeling.

The sound of combat draws you back into the moment and you peer out of the hole. The top of the knoll is bare, ringed with scrub and small trees. Most of your men are content to take the positions of the enemy and blast away at the remaining cultists as they flee down the backside of the knoll and into the woods.

Trisk’s men are hung up on the left flank but you see Mosby’s company coming up strongly on the right, surging forward with the haunting Texalar battle yell and blasting away at the foe, bayoneting those who won’t budge.


>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter attack
>Press the attack, we have them on the run!
>Write in

>>4135014
>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter attack

>>4135014
>>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter-attack

that forest is a trap I tell you, it was before and it is now

>>4135014
>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter attack

Trees are Chaos.

>>4135014
>Press the attack, we have them on the run!

>>4135014
>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter attack

>Secure the hilltop and prepare for counter attack

>>4135026
>>4135033
>>4135060
>>4135062

>writing

File: Spoiler Image (171 KB, 1000x500)

171 KB JPG

As you watch the enemy cut down while they withdraw, you feel strangely uneasy. With a frantic gesture, you bring a vox operator over to your side. “All units,” you tell him, “Consolidate on the knoll and hold for counter attack.”

Nodding, the operator signals Mosby and Trisk.

You watch your men clear the top of the hill and assume their positions. Little is left but some muddy trenches and half-built fortifications and a few heavy weapons emplacements.

The lasfire is tailing off as there are fewer and fewer targets, but a new sound is coming to your attention. A metallic rattle and hissing. The sound of heavy footsteps. Lots of them.

“Holy Throne of Terra,” your vox operator says before a shell from a boltgun takes his head clean off his shoulders in a spray of blood that mists your face. You taste the copper tang as you turn around to face the woods and see them.

The hulking shapes of heretic astartes slouching out of the woods.

Eight in all, their battleplate is a mottled red and black. It’s impossible to tell what color it had been before, now all you see is grime, rust, and blood. That and the sickeningly vivid, golden icons of chaos they bear on themselves.

Above the thudding falls of their heavy feet you hear their blasphemous war cries, booming from spotty voxcasters. Their raspy, amplified voices cry out about the corpse emperor and the false god. It makes you almost as sick as the corpse you share a position with.

One of your troopers, caught in the open, freezes up and is caught by the astartes. With a heavy swing of a time-corroded ax, he’s split in two, the two halves lying in the soft earth.

The spell is broken and your men open fire, lasrounds striking armor with anti-climactic flashes or deflecting off harmlessly.

Beside you, a trip of troopers struggle to bring a heavy autocannon about before they are all hacked to pieces by bolter fire, exploding like blood-filled balloons.

“E-emperor protect me, Emperor protect me!” someone is screaming nearby.

A lucky lasbolt punctures the weak neck armor of one of the traitors and he collapses wordlessly. Another is struck in the side by a grenade which impact detonates and sends him staggering to the ground, his howling becoming animalistic.


>Call heavy weapons fire on the traitor marines, friendly fire be damned!
>Retreat! Fall back into the open!
>Hold ground and hope you have the fire power to deal with these monsters
>write in

>>4135089
>Call heavy weapons fire on the traitor marines, friendly fire be damned!

Honestly unless we're lowballing Marine power in this quest, this is the only way we have anything close to a chance.

>>4135089
>Call heavy weapons fire on the traitor marines, friendly fire be damned!

>>4135089
>>write in
man that autocannon, shoot the bastards with all the heavy weaponry we can

>>4135089
>Call heavy weapons fire on the traitor marines, friendly fire be damned!
and supporting >>4135108

>>4135108
Adding this onto my vote. Sure it makes us a priority target but a Guard quest with no suicidal risks is no fun.

>Call heavy weapons fire on the traitor marines, friendly fire be damned!
+
>man that autocannon!

>writing

>>4135132
support

You scramble for the vox horn with blood slick hands and hold it to your mouth, “Fire support!” you shout, “Drop everything on us! Heretic astartes coming from the treeline!”

Bolt fire pulps a squad of men trying to dive into a trench system. The traitor marines are marching forward, firing time-worn bolters as they do so, shrugging off lasbeams with impunity.

Behind them, mortar rounds burst across the treeline. Too little too late.

Your eyes go back to the autocannon. You have to give it a try.

With bolts and lasbeams flashing back and forth you climb from the foxhole and worm your way across the ground to the gun emplacement where you find two more guardsmen hiding in the trench.

“Help me turn this gun!” you say.

They stare up at you, wide-eyed with fright.

“The Emperor punishes us,” one of them says, voice wavering.

You point your pistol at his chest, “Help me turn this gun now or by the Emperor I will kill you both.”

Imminent death drives out the fear of potential death and the two men help you wrestle the heavy gun around. Just as the bore is coming into line with the traitors, you see how much closer to you they are now, close enough that you see the dozens of skulls hanging from rusted chains across their armor.

One of your assistants turns and flees, dropping his rifle and forgetting his sense.

He doesn’t worry about it long as a bolt round bursts his body open, scattering viscera across the hill.

With a rasping clack, you feed in the first round, trying to recall the basics of operation from distant primer training.

The nearest astartes turns his head to see you, curved horns flashing in the dark. A wordless roar comes from his mouth.

You squeeze the trigger and momentarily lose your hearing as the autocannon barks, belting out a string of shells that explode across the space marine’s armor, staggering him back and finally penetrating the thick battleplate, blowing his guts out of every gap in his armor.

You’re turning the gun to the next target when a fresh salvo of mortar rounds explode among the astartes, one of them taking a direct hit that nearly obliterates him.

The others come on heedless of the danger. Only through close range autocannon fire and a tremendous volume of lasbeams do you finally fell them all.

Your hands are shaking when you release the trigger of the gun.

Silence falls over the hill, the strange light in the sky fading away to a very normal darkness, lit at its eastern fringe by the first signs of daylight.

The 21st Texalar came to the world of Rindar with three companies of five platoons each. You lead first company, Mosby the second. Captain Felis commanded the third before his death in the ambush that saw Mosby’s men so badly shot up. It was Felis’s quick action that saved the company at the cost of his life. Now Trisk commands them.

Of the 15 platoons you came with, one was lost in the ambush and now, after your assault on the knoll, ten platoons remain fit for action. The other four dead or wounded.

All the same, the knoll is yours, and the pathway open to proceed to a rally point where you will meet up with the Grognards before assaulting the town of Yprin.

After a few hours of rest for your men, you proceed in a marching column northward toward Yprin. A low ridge line outside of the town is your current vantage point, your men deployed along it to look over the town before you. It is quiet ahead.

Yprin looks like what Forges must have once looked like. Handsome, white stone buildings with peaked roofs lining a grid of cobble streets. A small chapel in the town square is adorned with a golden aquilla and around it a scattering of grey stone farmhouses.

Distantly, you can just make out the spires of Glory Falls beyond the town.

“No sign of the enemy sir,” Mosby reports, favoring his left leg after his right caught a shard of shrapnel from the close-range mortar bombardment.

“We wouldn’t see them anyway,” Trisk says. “The heretics of this world are cowardly. Hiding is their way.”

“There’s also no sign of the Grognards,” you say, glancing back down the road you were expecting them along. Your orders were to unite and advance to the town together. You’re not sure what awaits you in this town but you’d rather face it with reinforcements than not.


>We’ll advance now and clear the town without the Grognards
>We’ll wait for an hour and then advance if there’s still no sign of them
>My orders are to advance together, I won’t move in without support
>Write in

>>4135160
We don't have vox link?

>>4135172
Negative. There is no vox uplink with the Grognards. No contingency was made for them not being here.

>>4135174
No vox link with command either? And how defensible is our current position on a scale from sitting ducks to Iron Fists fortress?

>>4135160
find a defensive position, dig in, send scouts with a vox caster to see what's the grognards condition.

no one predicted the astartes, everything changed

>>4135175
There is a Voxlink back to General Moorlin and overall command.

>Defensible
It's a low ridge line looking out over open ground. You won't (probably) be taken off guard here. But you are visible.

>>4135177
support

>>4135179
and I must say I'm very disappointed mister commander didn't take a trophy from the astartes he personally killed, that is hero stuff

>>4135160
>We’ll wait for an hour and then advance if there’s still no sign of them
let the men rest a bit?

>>4135160
>>We’ll wait for an hour and then advance if there’s still no sign of them

>>4135179
>call command and ask for orders given change of situation

>>4135183
Taking trophies from Chaos enemies is a spectacularly bad idea.

>Combo of
>>4135177
>>4135187
>>4135189
>>4135206


>>4135183
>Trophy
Do you want to carry arounda warp-rotted, chaos-infused hunk of metal? Why don't we just stick the enemy skulls on spikes and carry them around?

Commissar Trisk would like a word with you.

>writing

>>4135218
I DO!
TROPHY OVERTAKE ME!

This whole operation is going to hell.You curse General Moorlin’s lack of foresight to giving you and the Grognards a common vox frequency. Waiting here was useless, but you also weren’t going to jerk yourself around in a panic.

“Trisk, get the men comfortable here, we’re going to wait a bit.”

“Yes, colonel.”

You find Mosby, “Major, I want a team of your best scouts to move up and probe Yprin. Let’s see what sort of opposition we face.

“Yes, sir,” Mosby says, setting off to assemble a squad.

You find your new vox operator and dial up command.

“Transmit: taken knoll, at rendezvous point, no sign of the 15th. Request clarification or orders.”

“Yes, colonel!” The trooper begins to relay the message as you wait anxiously, staring out over the silent town.

In minutes you see your gray-armored scouts picking their way across the field for Yprin and your get your response. “Colonel Winterbourne, General Moorlin reports that the 15th has run into heavy resistance and are clearing it out. They’re expected to be here within the next few hours. Orders are to use your best judgement of the situation, sir.”

You grit your teeth. Next to useless. It was good to know that the Grognards didn’t meet a sorry fate, but you wish they’d hurry up and get here. Now for Moorlin to tell you to ‘use your best judgement. He was effectively hanging your ass out to dry if you screw up.

With nothing better to do for the moment, you sit in the grass and wait. A few minutes later you hear the distant crack of lasrifle fire. Not long later the vox report comes back.

“Colonel, Mosby’s men report Chaos forces in Yprin, appears to be light resistance. Riflemen. No sign of warpcraft sir.”

“That’s what they said about the knoll,” you say, resisting the urge to spit. You turn back to look over the town. It seems so quiet from here, but without a larger probing you just don't know what could be ahead.


>Advance on the town
>Hold position and wait for the Grognards
>Write in

>>4135250
>Advance on the town

Fuckit, they already sent Astartes at us, that was probably their moneyshot. Let's go for it and hope for the God Emperor's favor.

>>4135250
>>Advance on the town

at least until we can find somewhere where we are not in the open and sitting ducks

Gotta stop here, I'll leave this vote open over the weekend.

Thanks for playing guys! We'll continue this on Monday, 7 EST (11 UTC)

https://discord.gg/aV3WXT
https://twitter.com/TimeKillerQM

Thanks!

>>4135274
thanks for running

>>4135250
>Hold position and wait for the Grognards
It's only to be a few hours, and our men could use the rest.

>>4135250
For clarification which town?

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>>4135250
>>Advance on the town

>>4135250
>>Hold position and wait for the Grognards

Where there are some Heretic astartes, there are a fuck ton more waiting to strike.

>>4135250
>Advance on the town
We don't need to clear it, just take a foothold. We can then wait for the grognards.

>>4135297
Yprin, the town just before you.

File: 364035~2.jpg (1.47 MB, 3240x3239)

1.47 MB JPG

>>4135250
>>Advance on the town

>>4135274
So what do we know about the town? Is it worth saving? Because if our Scouts already report back that the town is corrupt as fuck and cant be salvaged, we might as well hit it with artillery.

>>4138334
It's a medium-sized town, only special because it sits on an important road.

You don't have the firepower you'd need to flatten the town and all you know is that there are some chaos cultists in it.

>>4140052

So it's more that we need to secure the road then the town itself, per say. So we're free to cause as much damage to the buildings as long as we can still drive a transport through it, one end to the other along the road, when we're done.

>>4140134
Absolutely correct.

“Let’s not make this easy for them.” You look to your sub commanders, “See to your companies. We’re going forward.” You look to the vox operator. “Order is to advance, on the double quick. We’ll bypass whatever resistance we can, move to defensive positions and intercept them.”

“It’s going to be a real bastard,” Mosby says, “If we run into trouble without the 15th.”

“We’ll do what we have to,” you say, not sure of a better way to tell your second that there was no better way. “Commissar Trisk, your company will follow up en echelon, clear out rear-area resistance.”

Preparations made, the regiment advances at a jog. 1st and 2nd companies abreast with 3rd company under Trisk bringing up the rear. You take scattered potshots from the Chaos forces already in the town.

These enemy positions are rapidly pinned down by las fire and flushed out with flamers and grenades as you move through Yprin.

You follow the rest of your men, darting from cover to cover in the old stone town. Here and there you see one of the Coven cultists laying dead in the street. A Texalar trooper with his hands shot off lies in the cover of a central fountain in the town square, shivering and crying while a medic patches his wounds.

Losses are light.

You only stop your advance when you reach the opposite side of the town. “Now,” you say “We wait.”

Defensive positions are prepared and heavy weapons brought into the town to provide overlapping fields of fire across the open ground leading to Glory Falls.

Mosby reports to you half an hour later. “twenty boys seriously wounded,” he says gravely. “We’ve got the doc to set up an aid station in the chapel. They’re gonna be stabilized until we get real doctors out here, they’re too bad to move.”

You nod and leave Mosby to his men to oversee the defenses of the town.

With almost an entire platoon’s worth of men out of the fight, you have nine platoons left to oversee the fight. You’ve kept them distributed between each of your officers, three platoons per company. Currently first and second companies hold the northern perimeter of the town with third company acting in reserve.

Your heavy weapons teams are spread among the defenses. Autocannon and lascannon muzzles poke from makeshift earthen bunkers and your mortar team is deployed in the town square ready to drop fire on any attack.

Another thirty minutes pass when you’re summoned to the chapel’s steeple by Mosby. Ascending the heavily worn steps carefully you wonder about the age of this place. How many centuries has Yprin stood unmolested before this moment?

“The Grognards?” you ask him.

“Better you see for yourself, sir.”

Emerging from a rickety wooden door at the walkway that lined the steeple’s edge, you step around a sniper, sighting his rifle north and immediately see the source of Mosby’s concern. A dust cloud to the north, moving south.

“Sun’s dried up the mud looks like,” Mosby says.

“Then the Armored Cavalry and Qyquester infantry will begin moving this way,” you say.

“Reckon we’re not the only one with that idea,” Mosby replies.

You raise your oculus and study the dust.

Movement catches your eye. Beyond the town of Yprin and onto the road leading into Glory Falls you see vehicles. A dozen armored vehicles covered in spikes and decayed bodies. On the lead unit, a Leman Russ, you see the familiar red armor of a Sister of the Crimson Dagger. Her body impaled on a gleaming metal lance on top of the turret. Wispy white hair floats around her face which is locked into a silent scream.

Behind the armor marches a sickening army of chaos, you see the dirty, maroon forms of the Coven’s cultists and acolytes and beyond that, stranger forms, chittering metal spiders the size of horses, bizarre, multi-tracked beasts that you’re not sure are biological or mechanical. Daemonic engines.

They march with banners and icons carried aloft on crudely hewn wooden poles and rusted metal pipes. Markings of chaos and symbols infused with hideous warp energy indicate their passage.

This was a regimental strength force moving in to reinforce Yprin, bearing down on your under-strength men.

“The enemy,” you say pointlessly on lowering the field glasses.

“And lots of them,” Mosby agrees.

Trisk arrives just a moment later.

“What’s our ability to withstand that attack?” you ask.

“Assumin they don’t have more behind that, we might stop the infantry. Tanks and . . . machines’ll be harder. We got the cannons on the front lines but past that we’re light on heavy weapons.”

“If we draw them into town we can prepare tank traps. Prometheum bombs and mines,” Trisk says.

You know these are close-range weapons of last resort. Casualties will be high. You glance back at the vox operator in the steeple doorway. “Any word from the Grognards?” you ask.

Last report was they’d cleared final resistance and were on the way. Maybe an hour out, sir.”

You may all be dead in an hour.

“Colonel, sir,” Mosby says with a shifty glance to Trisk, “I advocate that we booby trap this town and withdraw south back to the ridgeline where we can wait for the Grognards. It may buy us enough time that we can counter attack before they come on us.”

“You propose we surrender this town to the enemy?” Trisk asks.

“I propose we think about saving this damn regiment,” Mosby shoots back. “What’s left of it.”

“What about the wounded?” You ask.

Mosby looks away. “They’re dead men if we leave em here, sir.”

And they were dead if you brought them along. Granting them the Emperor’s mercy before you left might be the best thing you could do. If you left.
>Dig in and prepare to receive the attack
>Booby trap the town, kill the wounded, withdraw to the hills
>write in

>>4141912
>Booby trap the town, kill the wounded, withdraw to the hills

>>4141912

Is a fighting retreat possible? Booby trap the town to blow in stages as they advance with us harassing them the whole way?

>>4141928
Since they have armored vehicles and you have not there is a high chance of being overrun. You can't outrun them if they get close.

>>4141912
>>Dig in and prepare to receive the attack

we have the town, if we leave the town we will lose double the men to capture it back, if we leave now we might be even held accountable for the future losses we will take for retaking this heap

>>4141934
In that case I switch>>4141928 to
>Dig in and prepare to receive the attack

>>4141912
>Dig in and prepare to receive the attack
>Booby trap the town,

Not mutually exclusive options. Withdraw the wounded and rig buildings to be able to collapse on troops and form choke points.

Set the heavy weapons up to take advantage of said chokepoints.

>>4141939
>>4141968
>>4142011


>Writing

“Gentlemen,” you say, staring at the dust on the horizon. “Prepare to defend yourselves.”

There is precious little time before hell arrives. You spend it preparing defenses, forming firing positions and clearing firing lanes. With what few mines and explosives you have you establish rings of defenses and rig buildings to collapse and create choke points. The chapel is selected as the last bastion of defense should it come to it. The wounded moved carefully into the inner most chambers.

You watch with heavy heart as your troopers smash out ancient stained glass and stack finely-crafted pews and altars against the walls like common deadwood. Above the main altar of this place is a massive rose glass window, a depiction of the God-Emperor of Mankind himself, clad in golden armor and wreathed in holy flame descending to this world to free the people from their xenos overlords.

The setting sun spills crimson light through the panes that wash a reddish color pallet across the floor.

Outside, a mad blaring of a trumpet sounds. In a moment it is joined by a whole section of distorted brass and a chorus of howls. They’re here.

You climb to the top of the steeple again and observe the assembled Chaos host on the grasslands north of town. They stand in ranks, banners fluttering, engines revving, mindless chaos beasts braying in their restraints and prisons.

A gaggle of deformed musicians shambles to the forefront, their mad pipping beginning anew, joined now by the disjointed pounding of drums that seem to vibrate your teeth.

A multi-las crew perched up here with you and nestled behind several layers of flakboard all make the sign of the aquila as if to ward off this madness.

“Emperor protect us all,” you say. You look to your vox operator. “Commence mortar fire. Silence those infernal monsters.”

The wailing of chaos is overtaken by the shriek of mortars. The shells detonate in the air over the host, scattering the foot soldiers like insects. You see the misshapen musicians take a direct hit. Skin drums and hammered horns are hurled above with limbs and viscera.

They’re coming forward now, the infantry screaming blasphemies and nightmarish praise to their horrible profane gods while the armored vehicles clatter and roar behind them, already taking potshots at the town with their guns.


>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire
>Draw them into the town to engage them in close range fighting
>Write in

>>4142069
>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

Honestly these guys are hopped up on Chaos and God-Emperor knows what. Figure fighting up close would be like fighting a guy on PCP. Let's hold them off as long as possible.

>>4142069
>>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

>>4142069

>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

The game here is to buy time for the grognards to arrive, make them pay for every inch of soil to buy us enough time

>>4142069

>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

I want that Leeman Russ out, we bury the sister later.....or whatever is left of the corpse anyway lol

>>4142069

>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

>>4142069
>>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

>>4142069
>Hold them as long as possible at the outskirts of town with heavy weapons fire

Blast them back to the stone age

>>4142114
>>4142094
>>4142093
>>4142089
>>4142086
>>4142082

>writing

The word is passed to your platoon leaders to hold the enemy at the perimeter at all costs. You’d rather not let this chaos-tainted filth get any closer than is necessary.

“That Leman Russ, the one with the Sister, focus weapons on that,” you relay.

Mortars burst across advancing infantry, scything them down like ripe broadleaf. The red lances of lascannon fire stab out at the lead Leman Rus. The first shot goes high, igniting a Chaos banner mounted on the rear deck. Another shot strikes the sponson, burning armor. A third hits the left track and severs it, causing the tank to spin and stall out in the open.

Up and down the line las fire cracks as both sides infantry engages though this is drowned out by the roar of stubbers and autocannons. Superstitious your men may be, but in the face of horror they’re standing firm. Maybe that’s because they know what the alternative is.

Enemy shell fire strikes a building opposite the chapel and the roof of that structure catches fire, obscuring your view of the battle.

The sniper by you swears loudly and races down the steeple steps to reposition.

The battle is out of your hands now, all you can do at this point is encourage the defenders and feed your reserve platoons forward with stubborn reluctance.

After a bit, a fresh breeze comes in and you see that the initial wave of enemy forces has been thrown back, leaving them stalled in the open for your mortars.

Then the daemons come.

They’re lead by the mechanical monstrosities that lumber and clank over the battlefield, past the burning tanks and over the bodies of the fallen. They shriek and cry with unearthly voices full of hate and agony, belching warpfire and metallic death across your front lines.

Your perimeter is giving way at the center.

Snagging the vox horn from your voxman you signal Trisk, “Commissar, take three platoons forward and shore up that gap. Show them the Emperor’s wrath.”

“Yes, colonel!” Trisk leads his men from the front, going forward with chainsword revving and storm coat fluttering behind him. Armed with prometheium bombs and tube charges, his forces advance in squads, racing up close enough to these horrible engines to throw their explosives by hand. The daemon engines are dosed with fire and blasted to bits as they wriggle and squirm through the chokepoints you’ve established.

Your casualties are horrific, men torn to pieces and burned alive as they try to destroy these engines. Time and meters are bought with blood and lives. The front line is kept together long enough for your mortars to reposition further south and resume their barrage, just before your front gives way.

Platoons are streaming back into the town now with the enemy hot on their heels, slowed only by your traps and snipers brave enough to stay to slow them.

You see the Covenites mob into the town square where the multi-las in the steeple with you begins to cut them down in droves. Your command cohesion is in danger of falling apart. Units are becoming cut off and isolated throughout the town.


>All units are to fight their way to the chapel for a final defense no matter the cost
>Isolated units should stand and defend where they are
>Scatter the regiment and withdraw from the town in small groups before escape is impossible
>Write in

>>4142167
>All units are to fight their way to the chapel for a final defense no matter the cost

Many won't make it, but probably best to try having at least one area that stands a chance of resisting.

>>4142167
>>All units are to fight their way to the chapel for a final defense no matter the cost
Together we are strong

>>4142167
>All units are to fight their way to the chapel for a final defense no matter the cost

>>4142167

>Isolated units should stand and defend where they are

Hold where they are, moving now is suicide

>>4142167

>Isolated units should stand and defend where they are

>All units are to fight their way to the chapel for a final defense no matter the cost
>>4142178
>>4142181
>>4142184

>Writing

Your only hope is to draw in together. The order is given, all units are to make for the chapel at once. Burning buildings in the town have cut visibility to near zero and so you retire from the steeple down into the main atrium of the chapel. Final defenses are being frantically manned and prepared, every minute fresh platoons and scattered troopers arrive breathlessly.

Men from Trisk’s company are among the last to arrive, many of them walking wounded or carrying comrades who can’t move on their own.

You grab the sleeve of a man with a bloody patch of gauze on his forehead. “Where’s the commissar?”

The trooper’s eyes are glazed, far away. “Back there.”

“Back- doing what!?”

“Dead.”

The word hits you like a slap in the face and you release him.

A passing sergeant directs the wounded trooper to a firing hole dug in the flank of the building. Before you can dwell on Trisks’s passing, Mosby enters the chapel, directing two crews of men to deploy a stubber aiming from the front door.

“Colonel! Grab a weapon sir, every gun counts!” Mosby shouts.

Your hands feel a million miles away as you pick up and check the las rifle.

The chaos swarm is here. The chapel is peppered with las fire as the Covenites move forward in sprints and dashes, taking advantage of what cover there is. Fire and hell are all around you, heavy shells breaching the chapel walls at periodic intervals, filling the air with white-hot stone shrapnel. Something sharp slices across your cheek but you barely have time to flinch.

The wounded trooper you asked about Trisk has a sharpened metal spine driven through his head and slumps away from his firing hole, dead.

You take his spot automatically and start picking off targets as they emerge.

The multi-las on the steeple above rains death down on any Covenites moving in the open before a ramshackle armored vehicle creeps into the town square and blasts the steeple with a pair of shells.

Seconds blur into minutes as you fire until your rifle ammo is exhausted. With a glance around you see there is nothing else to do but fix bayonet. As you hear a disembodied drumming begin outside you wonder if it might not have been better if you saved a round for yourself.

Then you hear it, a fife and drums. Distant at first but growing louder, this one not played to a tune only the insane can follow but with a clear cadence.

“For the Emperor!” A cry from the town square. You see the Grognards come forward in neat waves, delivering precise lasfire to the heretics caught in the open. Their horizon blue tunics standing out against the flat grey walls of Yprin.

“The Grognards!” Your men call and a cheer goes up.

The 15th Vendée clears the town square with well-drilled precision, bayoneting those who won’t flee and finishing off the armored vehicles of the Covenites with rocket fire.

A command detachment of the Vendée comes forward under dual banners, one bearing the Aquila, the other bearing the flag of Vendée. You also see Colonel Brendamere and his musicians, fifing and drumming as his riflemen clear the town, driving Chaos away from your redoubt.

As the fighting moves beyond the chapel you meet the colonel at the entrance to the church.

“Colonel Winterbourne,” he says in accented Low Gothic. “Thank the Emperor you’re alive. Quite a battle here today.”

You nod, looking around at the death scattered throughout the square.

“My men will clear the town, are your soldiers fit to fight?”

“Low on ammo,” you say, “exhausted, but we’re fit enough.”

“I will have my spare power packs brought up for you,” Brendamere says, wiping a finger across his mustache. He turns to a major in a tall, bearskin hat. “Bring our supplies up for Colonel Winterbourn.”

As the major hurries off, Brendamere looks to you. “A miracle you saved anything,” he says.

“Yes,” you say, hoping this was not the makeup of a miracle.

++++++

That’s all the time I have for today. We’ll continue on Wednesday with the assault on Glory Falls.

Thanks for playing!

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>>4142257
The Emperor Protects

Convenite Genocide Best Day of My Life

>>4142257
Absolute gang shit. Thanks for running, QM!

>>4142281
>>4142290

any time guys, thanks for playing!

>>4142257
so how much of our regiment is left? i can't imagine there's too many.

>>4142650
we should probably go to the reserve for now, but unless their estimates were waaaaaay off I think we just killed a sizeable part of the garrison of the next city since they came here to wipe us out

>>4142650
Will be discussed next session. I believe five platoons combat effective out of the fifteen you came here with.

>>4142652
>Reserves
You'll be assigned as infantry support for the Texalar Armor Cavalry. There is no rest to be found here.

The thick mud of this world forms clumps around your boots as you slog out of the smoldering ruins of Yprin and into the fields to the north. The ground here was churned to sludge by tank tracks and running feet, the forces of Chaos on their deadly attack on your lines.

The air is smokey and smells of ash and decay. The lingering stale spicy smell of the warp holds here. You step over a crushed banner and the man that carried it and spot your target, a rusted Leman Russ defiled with the trappings of Chaos.

You stop and look at her, the broken body of a Sister of Battle. A victim of the earlier fighting here. With a nod and a glance over your shoulder you take in the burial detail you’ve brought along. Five strong-backed men and entrenching equipment, none of them look at you. “Let’s get to work, sergeant?”

The detail’s sergeant leads his men to carefully extricate the sister’s body from the wreck of the tank, the smell of singed flesh and putrefaction washes over all of you and one of your men reels away, gagging.

Once her body is free a hole is dug in the soft earth and she’s rolled inside, her ceramite armor rattling. Grizzly work done, the men look to you to say something.


>Emperor protect us all
>Emperor smite our enemies
>Emperor give this sister peace
>Write in

>>4144751
>>Emperor give this sister peace
Last time we encountered one of their corpses, we took note of it for burial later, instead of doing anything about it ourselves. It seemed to piss off the men. Seems like this is the best option, to save face.

>>4144751
>Emperor give this sister peace

>>4144751
>>Emperor give this sister peace

>>4144751

>>Emperor give this sister peace
Give her peace in His embrace

>>4144751
>>Emperor give this sister peace

>Emperor give this sister peace

>Writing

“Mighty God-Emperor,” you say, addressing the still air around you. “Please hear your humble servants, we put to rest the body of one of your most devout followers. A Sister of a holy order, a warrior, a believer, and a daughter of mankind. Take her to rest in your holy light so that her soul may be at peace.”

Your men bow their heads.

“Emperor protect her,” you say.

Your men murmur in response and you feel like a weight has been lifted from their shoulders, if only slightly. Your work done, you lead the procession back to the town.

Back in Yprin, the final attack force is assembling for the drive on Glory Falls whose spires are already wreathed in smoke brought on by long-range bombardment and aerial bombing.

Five platoons of men left to the name of your regiment. Five bands of scarred souls in service to the God-Emperor. It is approximately one third of your combat strength since arriving on this world. Your losses include most of your heavy weapons teams, leaving you a truly light infantry unit.

“Colonel,” General Moorlin calls to you when he sees your detail re-enter the town. “A word?”

You oblige him, moving aside to join the general in the shadow of the chapel, the despondent wails of the wounded and dying heard through its shot up stone walls.

“Your men have fought bravely here,” Moorlin says. “This is proud work for a green unit.”

“Yes sir,” you say.

“I’ll be glad to call on the Texalarians again in time of need. Unfortunately, that time is now. The fighting here seems to have sapped much of the enemy’s strength, especially their armor and special weapons. Unfortunately, they have turned the shrine of Glory Falls into a desecrated fortress. I had hoped to deplete them through siege action. A regiment of the Death Korps of Kreig is en route but now with word they are butchering the shrine’s populous . . . there’s no more room to delay.”

You’d begun to hear rumors of the barbarism taking place in Glory Falls after the rest of the army arrived but it seemed the rumors were true.

“The Armored Cavalry will be moving into the city with the Qyquesters and Grognards. I’d like your men to serve as armored infantry for them.”

“Tank riders, sir?”

“Yes, exactly that. Can they manage?”

“It’s new to them but they won’t shy from hard work.”

“Hard work ahead. Plenty of hard work. I’ll let you coordinate with Colonel Custiss. They’re his tanks but you have seniority over him in terms of combat experience so don’t be afraid to speak your mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I get you anything else? Our supplies are limited but I can see what we can do.”


>A platoon of Grognards to help out
>Anti-tank teams
>Demolition charges
>Write in

>>4144838
>Demolition charges

the tanks are the anti-tanks i guess. we will need to breach that fortress

>>4144838
>>Anti-tank teams
Our mortarmen did come in handy against the Daemon Russ. Worth replacing, I think.

>>4144838


>A platoon of Grognards to help out

>>4144838
>Demolition charges

Picking for the sake of picking

>>4144894
>>4144852

>writing

“More tube charges and demo packs would be Emperor-sent, sir.”

Moorlin nods. “I can arrange that. Brendamere can provide some of his. Meet up with Colonel Custiss at your first opportunity. Dismissed.”

Colonel Custiss is sitting on the deck of a Salamander command vehicle studying a map pict when you approach. His face lights up.

“Colonel Winterbourne, glad you’re still with us!”

“Good to be alive,” you say.

He offers a hand and pulls you up to sit beside him on the tank before showing you the map.

“Pilgrim’s path,” he says. “The main road into Glory Falls. Moorlin’s idea is to rush us up behind the Battle Sisters who are fighting there. We’ll drive on for the square, give the valkyries a safe landing zone in the heart of the city and a place to spread out from.”

You nod understanding.

“My plan was to ride your boys on our tank backs and do a running gun convoy straight to the square. We’ll pick up any battle sisters we can and leave the rest on foot. If we get in quick we maybe can save some lives.”

“What sort of resistance are we up against?” you ask.

Custiss grins back, still looking tired. “That’s the cavalry’s job to find out. We find traps by springing them. Initial reports are just infantry but we’ve also got rumors of witches.”

“Witches,” you frown, not caring to imagine what warp sorcery they might have at their disposal.”

“Well, we won’t know till we get there. What do you think of our plan?”

>It sounds solid
>We should advance more cautiously, my men accompanying your tanks on foot when we enter the city
>Let me men move in advance of your tanks to search for traps and the like
>Write in

>>4144918
Let your tanks act as a infantry screen for us!

Just kidding.
>Let me men move in advance of your tanks to search for traps and the like

>>4144918

>It sounds solid

>>4144918
>>It sounds solid

>>4144918

>We should advance more cautiously, my men accompanying your tanks on foot when we enter the city

>It sounds solid
>>4144933
>>4144937


>writing

>>4144918
>It sounds thick. Solid. Tight. Keep us all posted on your continued progress with any new progress pics or vid clips. Show us what you got man. Wanna see how freakn' huge, solid, thick and tight you can get this plan to be. Thanks for the motivation."

The distant towers of Glory Falls grow closer as your column of vehicles approaches. Here, away from the pine flats you landed in, you can see flat grasslands extending in all directions making the shrine’s steeples and spires even more impressive.

As you near the sounds of battle also increase. The rattle and bang of bolters to shrieking engines as aircraft conduct dive bombings on the perimeter of the town.

You ride atop the engine deck of a Leman Russ toward the front of the column, a handful of other guardsmen sharing it with you. One of them has a harmonic bar that he plays fitfully, the buzzing notes barely audible over the sound of the tank’s roaring engine.

Once you reach the outskirts of the city you see immediate signs of battle. Destroyed vehicles and broken bodies. Here and there teams of Battle Sisters roam, granting the Emperor’s mercy to those too far gone for salvation and cremating the still living bodies of the Covenites.

A choke point in the road caused by a collapsed hab forces the column to slow as it rumbles by.

You catch sight of a quartet of battle sisters, their faces unreadable behind their face plates, dragging a young girl away.

The girl is bound in thick, spiked chains, numerous heavy weights attached to the ends which drag through the dirt behind her. Her clothes are torn, her hair is disheveled, her feet are bare and dirty.

You’re initially appalled at this blatant mistreatment of an apparent civilian until you see the mind-rending sigils branded on her forehead and cheeks, the tattoos that run up her arms, and the blackness of her eyes.

A witch.

The moment you make that connection the psyker throws herself free of her captors, the sisters staggering backward under the weight of an unseen blow. An unearthly energy crackles around her and her feet lift from the ground.

“The Pillar of Blood quickens.”

The witch speaks with a voice that seems to come from around her and makes your hairs stand on end.

“The slaves of the corpse emperor will bow before us.”

One of the sisters rises to her feet, struggling to raise her bolter when one of the psyker’s chains, motivated by an unseen energy, whips through the air and severs her head at the neck.

“Strife is eternal. Long live carnage. The Deadlord comes.”

One of your men takes a shot with his lasrifle but the bolt is intercepted by a flying chunk of rockcrete debris, one of dozens starting to form a cloud around the witch.

The Sisters are too close to the Psyker to risk using heavy weapons. Or are they?


>Dismount and engage the witch to save the sisters
>Use the tank’s main gun, the sisters are already dead
>Full reverse, get out away from the witch, let the sisters handle her
>Write in

>>4145009
>>Dismount and engage the witch to save the sisters
Hoping we go 2 for 2 when it comes to taking down scary chaos enemies.
If it isn't too much trouble, what kind of loadout do we have, QM?

>>4145009
>>Dismount and engage the witch to save the sisters
time to kill a witch

>>4145009

>Dismount and engage the witch to save the sisters

>>4145019
Probably should have made that clear. Your kit is standard. Flak armor over an officer's uniform. You also have a chainsword, las pistol and las rifle.


>Dismount and burn the witch
>Writing

>>4145004
>Dismount and engage the witch to save the sisters

It's a TK quest, surely he wouldn't make saving the girls a trap option!?

>>4145043
It is a trap anon, the most likely outcome is they don't survive or scold us for not blowing them up with a tank, but the commander is green so its ok

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You’re leaping from the tank before you’re aware of it, reving your chainsword in your right hand while gripping your laspistol tight in your left.

Your men follow after you in a hurry, raising weapons and firing as they advance. Each shot finds only hurtling debris, none of them getting through.

One of the sister’s explodes in a gory eruption. Blood and viscera bubbling from gaps in her armor, the visor of her mask exploding outward with warp fire.

The debris cloud stops spinning, each chunk freezing midair, just long enough for you to notice before all of them are flying at your men.

A trooper’s head is impaled with a rusted length of rebar and he collapses. Another has his right arm and shoulder pulverized by a one ton stone block that throws him sideways. Men are dropping around you but you muscle through, smaller bits of stone striking off your helmet and armor hard enough to rattle your teeth.

One you make it through the stone hail you are face to face with the witch, her black eyes on yours.

In the moment you freeze, the spell only broken as one of your men dives for her, thrusting with bayonet and screaming a battle cry. The sound strangles off as his flesh boils away, washed over by warpfire.

Your resolve steeled, you rev your sword and swing it.

One of her loose restraints lashes up, wrapping your sword tight and stripping the teeth from the blade with unearthly toughness. You try to pull the useless weapon back but can’t, it’s locked as tightly as if it were set in stone.

She opens her mouth revealing needle sharp teeth, row after row of them endlessly going down her maw and a horrific keening comes forth before a bolter shell passes through her head which explodes messily across you, sending you staggering back.

The psysker’s presence fades away at once and you are left staring dumbfounded at her shredded corpse, and those of your men around the scene. The sister who killed the witch lowers her bolter and approaches you, extending a gauntleted hand.

You take it and stare into that pitiless visor.

“A witch’s true power is fear. Deny them this and you deny them everything.” Her words are stripped of all humanity by her suit’s vox.

“Y-yes, Sister.”

She looks up at the sky. “Temper your nerves, Colonel. There is much left to be done.”

You follow her gaze.

Overhead the sky begins to cloud dark, the billowing forms suddenly heavy with unreleased energy.

You find yourself transfixed, watching this roiling display, each cloud seeming to undulate northward, the direction of your travel, toward the central square. Glancing around, you see all the men around you are watching this strangeness unfold. Were Trisk here he would set them straight. Instead, it falls to you.

“Warp magic!” you shout to the onlookers, “Look away from Throne’s sake!”

Most do so, shaking the vision from their heads.

You clamber back up the tank, thump the top hatch and the commander pops it open, gawking upward at the brewing chaos storm before you draw his eyes back to you. “Get Colonel Custiss on the Vox and inform him that something very strange is happening. Then tell him we have to make best speed to the square. Get this column moving again.”

“Y-yes sir!”

The tank grinds forward and the convoy is moving again. Within minutes you’re handed a headset patched into the cavalry’s vox channel.

“There’s an increase in enemy attacks all along the front,” Custiss explains. We’re not going to be able to move very fast in one solid body. I’d like to break out into companies and proceed on parallel routes. We stand the best chance of finding a quick path that way.”

You look around at the dense cityscape. “We’ll be cut off from one another that way,” you say.

“It can’t be helped,” Custiss replies. “I take a column, you another.”


>We’ll proceed as one
>Break the column in two and find the fastest route
>write in

>>4145070
>>We’ll proceed as one

>>4145070
>>Break the column in two and find the fastest route

we gotta stop whatever they are doing

good luck

>>4145070

>Break the column in two and find the fastest route

deny them fear

Beter we take those words to heart, its what we will need to fight what's to come. It's the power up we need

>>4145070
>Break the column in two and find the fastest route

Yup, deny them fear.

>>4145082
>>4145091
>>4145094

>Split and advance

>Writing

“Alright,” you agree. “Whatever is going on has to be stopped.” You bury the fear you feel in your heart, you bury it deep. “We’ll split our approach.”

“Emperor protect you, Winterbourne,” Custiss says.

“And you, Colonel,” you reply. “Think of Texalar.”

“I always do.”

The convoy starts up again, your men riding the tanks alert for threats in the gaping windows around them. Nervous eyes constantly flick upward to the boiling sky. A storm is building.

A rocket flashes out from a window overhead and strikes the chimera behind you, brewing the vehicle up, flames leaping from the open turret.

Your men riding atop it scramble off in a hurry, peppering the enemy firing position with las bolts while others help work the Chimera’s hatches open so they can pull free any survivors.

The Leman Russ brings its main gun around and you clap your hands over your ears.

The boom of the shot thumps your chest and muffles your hearing, but the impact of the shell brings the front of the building down, killing anyone who may still be inside.

Vox horn in hand you quickly marshal your column back to motion, repeating the mantra to yourself. “The first with the most. Deny them fear. The first with the most. Deny them fear.”

More scattered ambushes come, but based on Vox chatter it seems you slipped through the enemy’s heaviest defenses before they could come to bear. It’s good news, but the frightful reports you hear of combat on the city’s edge are disheartening. The Covenites are striking with renewed vigor, this storm apparently spurring them to life. The Qyquester infantry are being decimated and the Sisters of the Crimson Dagger are kept at bay with heavy fire.

It seems your unit was the only one that made it through.

A sudden flurry of las cannon fire far to your left alerts you to trouble. These battle sounds break the pattern of sporadic ambushes you’re familiar with. This is an intense all or nothing battle.

The Vox confirms your fears.

“Warp beasts in the buildings,” Custiss says, “Winterbourne, do you copy?”

“I copy,” you reply, “I hear you! What’s your condition?”

“We’re penned in! They hit us at a chokepoint, we can’t maneuver!”

The vox is broken with the crack of las rifles and the screaming of me.

“Holy Throne they’re . . . eating them alive,” Custiss says, sounding dazed.

“No fear!” You shout into the vox, “Deny them fear, control your men and-”

“By the Emperor, they’re coming from every direction, Throne of Terra! Winterbourne, break your column left and get here, we can pin them in a crossfire! It’s the only way.”

You hesitate and you hate yourself for it. Custiss and his company are cut off, surrounded, along with a chunk of your men. Without aid they may not make it but . . . the square is almost within sight. If you help them you may lose your best chance to get to the center of town, the source of this psychic emanation. But if you don’t . . .

>We’re coming for you Custiss, hold tight
>We can’t divert from the mission. Emperor protect you
>Mosby, take half the column to assist Custiss, we’re proceeding on
>Write in

>>4145115
>>We can’t divert from the mission. Emperor protect you
Sending Mosby along seems like a good way to save them, or get him killed. We're already this close, we need to push forward with renewed vigor and strike at the heart. With luck, Custiss will be able to hold out.

>>4145115
>>Mosby, take half the column to assist Custiss, we’re proceeding on

link with us, you are our cavalry after we disrup whatever they are doing

>>4145115

>Mosby, take half the column to assist Custiss, we’re proceeding on

Good luck Mosby

>>4145115
>>We can’t divert from the mission. Emperor protect you

>>4145115
>>Mosby, take half the column to assist Custiss, we’re proceeding on

>>4145135
>>4145149
>>4145163

>Mosby, take half the column to assist Custiss, we’re proceeding on

>Writing

You swear. Twice. You can’t leave Custiss hanging but your objective is so close. “Custiss, I’m sending you half my column under Major Mosby. Be on the look out.”

“Affirm!”

“Mosby-”

“I copy,” Mosby said. “We’ll get my team rolling. That just leaves you with two platoons and the tanks in your team, colonel.”

You grimace. It was a skeleton force. Less than a company, but it was all you had. If you couldn’t get there with the most then you’d just have to get there first. “The Emperor protects,” you reply.

“That He does. Good luck, Colonel.”

You watch the front half of your column break away carrying Mosby and his men along narrow side streets as fast as his drivers would dare go. You forge ahead, mentally tallying your men. Maybe fifty troopers between two platoons, plus another platoon of cavalrymen and a dozen chimeras and handful of salamanders and Leman Russes.

As you look up at the unsettled sky, now beginning to crack and peel with silent lightning, you pray it’s enough.

Martyr’s Ash Square comes into sight, a broad concourse of carefully built mosaic tiles telling the story of this world’s liberation in the Great Crusade. You can’t appreciate the beauty of it though, you’re too busy staring at the blasphemous sculpture in the center of it.

The witch’s words run in your mind. The Pillar of Blood. This is it.

It’s a tall as a hab block and nearly as wide, a structure built from compressed flesh. It’s sickeningly wet and running with blood, an endless wellspring that sends streams and rivers of vitae washing over the pave stones in all directions. It’s the epicenter of the storm, and it’s somehow alive. Quivering and pulsating with awful currents.

“Sergeant,” you’re speaking the order to your Leman Russ crew, “Destroy that thing.”

“Aye sir, gunner! High explosive!”

The Leman Russ rocks on its tracks as the main gun fires, a shell streaking out to burst harmlessly on the side of the thing. A pitiful amount of firepower for what you suspect will be needed. A whole regiment of tanks firing might do it but this small force is not enough.

You toggle vox channels. “Mosby-” the words are lost in a human scream that comes over the channel. You yank your headphones off and still hear the screaming. It’s a chant in a language you don’t recognize.

Its the same on all channels. Either there’s no one left . . . or there’s no one that can hear you.

It begins to rain. Fat droplets striking the tile around your tanks and drumming the hulls themselves. A few droplets bead together on the brim of your helmet, strangely thick and sticky before dropping onto your hand. Red. Blood.

You look up into the sky now spewing a torrent of blood down on the Pillar.

The air feels alive, you smell the stink of the warp.

Something explodes at the rear of your column and you look back to see Chaos Marines boiling out of nearby buildings, firing bolters and plasma guns as they run forward.

You swear again before switching to the local vox. “All troops, dismount and engage. For the Emperor! For Texalar!”

The Texalarians comply, infantry and cavalrymen alike, dismounting to find cover in the shattered paving stones and debris piles that litter the edge of the square.

The Leman russ comes about a second after you jump clear and begins advancing on the marines, sponson guns blazing while the main gun tracks and fires with thunderclaps of sound.

A chimera explodes under sustained fire, the troops around it slaughtered wholesale by precise enemy fire. Your men won’t last long. There’s no hope.

You look back to the Pillar. It looms over you, crackling with energy. You have no idea what it’s going to do, but you know it will likely spell an end to the war here.

You have to bring it down.

“Sergeant,” you grab the man, “Take a team of men and rig that thing to explode!” you gesture at the pillar.

“S-sir I don’t reckon we can budge something like that.”

“Then ‘budge’ the stone beneath it! We have to take it down.”

The sergeant stammers a panicked reply, something nonsensical about the storm.


>Sergeant, you have your orders!
>I’ll do it myself! Give me the explosives
>We’ll buy time for Mosby and Custiss to back us up, hold the line!
>write in

>>4145210

>I’ll do it myself! Give me the explosives

Time to die gentlemen

Deny them fear, the poor sarge is not capable of that anymore.

>>4145210
>>I’ll do it myself! Give me the explosives

if we die, you cowards better bring a piece of me back to Texalar

Rig, clear and then boom!

>>4145210
>>We’ll buy time for Mosby and Custiss to back us up, hold the line!
I want this quest to go for just a bit longer. Charging a line of Khornate cultists with a large bomb and a sword will not facilitate that.

>>4145235
Holding out against marines won't do too, this is the end my friend, we die here, the question is, do we fuck chaos or let them fuck us unpunished?

>>4145238
Who knows, maybe we can play as the good commander's son or some other man of Texalar to carry his legacy.

>I’ll do it myself! Give me the explosives
>>4145222
>>4145234

A sort of fury comes over you and you snatch the satchel from the sergeant. “I’ll do it myself. You men, with me.” You don’t look back as you turn and dash for the Pillar. Staying low and zigging between craters and debris piles you are able to get cross the open without getting shot. A glance back shows carnage in your ranks as the traitor astartes wade into the fray with axes and chainswords.

You also note that of the squad, two men followed you, each carrying a satchel of explosives. Their faces are slick and red with the unnatural blood raining from above, your gray armor now a deep maroon, your uniforms heavy and sticky. When you open your mouth to speak you taste it.

“Circle the base,” you say “Set charges at ten meter intervals! Remote detonation on my signal.”

The men nod and you spit a stream of blood to the pavement. “Go!”

Up close you see now that the pillar is built from compressed blocks of humanity. Each block may contain a hundred individuals pressed and mashed to form an approximate geometric shape. The process was imperfect and here and there a stray limb juts out. You see a well manicured hand, splintered femurs, the booted foot of a PDF member. You see faces, contorted, stretched, smashed, screaming, pleading, eyes burst, blood running freely from their noses and mouths. The whole pillar bleeds, an unending flow of blood that slicks the stone around it. It’s warm.

It’s too much, you can’t look up. You can’t think about it.

Blood drips from the brim of your helmet onto the tube charges your setting. You wipe your face. Everything is red, everything is bleeding, the sound of a titanic heart beats in your ears.

Behind you, the killing is nearly done, a single platoon of survivors falling back in disarray to secure a new defense line.

It doesn’t matter, you can link up here and-

You hear a gunshot nearby.

Dropping your last charge, you draw your pistol and race around the Pillar, boots slipping in the crimson wash.

You find the body of one of your men, a bullet through his temple. You’re not alone.

Someone screams further on.

Hurrying your pace you see him, a Covenite cultist, his red robes now a natural bloody color, so wet the slop when they hit the ground. He’s driving a sharpened spike through your other troopers eye socket, grinding it into his head and making the man’s hands quake uncontrollably.

You raise your las pistol and put a round in his back.

He turns, the sutchered-on face plate now just a sheen of blood red, reflecting your on image back at you. You see a man, once the cream of the Texalarian crop, now a man on the edge, a man beyond fear. His uniform and face are lost in a torrent of blood, but his eyes are alive and angry.

You fire a second shot that punches through this face plat and drops the madman.

A look back at your last platoon tells you they won’t make it if you don’t act now. The 21st Texalar dies or you do. It’s no choice at all.

You hold the detonator to your chest and look back at the city, your eyes finding the golden aquila on the largest spire. It’s golden form is dripping red like everything else. You don’t feel fear.

You squeeze the detonator and-

++++++

You are Major James Mosby and you were too late.

The blood rain stopped minutes before you arrived.

When your men reached Custiss’s column the Colonel was already dead, his men on the verge of annihilation as slavering warp spawn swarmed over their column, tearing armored vehicles open and feast on the men inside.

You’d rallied what you’d saved and come to the square as fast as you could. It was not fast enough.

The horrible sculpture of carnage in the middle of the city had toppled in a tremendous blast, breaking apart into its separate elements, not just a hill of gore.

Its destruction spelled an end for the Covenite forces. The Blood Coven was broken, their resolve crushed. All that had remained for you to do was to exact revenge on the traitor astartes left behind, the ones busily slaughtering your brothers in arms.

What followed was a haze to you. Body recovery details and troop rallying. Just over four platoons of men of your regiment survived. Colonel Winterbourne among the casualties.

You were still so shocked about that that your meeting with General Moorlin some hours later didn’t phase you.

“The colonel was a good man,” Moorlin says. “Brave. Braver than most. A true servant of the Emperor.”

“Yes, General,” you say.

“I’m sad to say there’s not much of a Texalar regiment to return to. Both the 21st and the Armored Cavalry have taken catastrophic losses. What I will do however is recommend you for command of the next muster of men from your world, Major.”

You want to be pleased but . . . you can’t summon the energy.

“The men who survived here I believe will make a fine core of veterans for this new regiment. The 22nd.”

“Yes, General. I hope you’re right.”

Moorlin gives a tight smile. “The Sisters of the Crimson Dagger have taken Witnerborune’s body. He’ll be interred in the new shrine here, after the world is re-consecrated.”

You look down at your calloused, blood-caked hands.

“Something the matter, Major?”

“I just hope the colonel found peace, general.”

Moorlin claps a hand onto your shoulder and smiles confidently. “He’s in the Emperor’s light now. He can rest.”

++++++

Thanks for playing everyone! That’s concluding Blood Coven. I’m really glad I got to share my little sliver of the 40K universe with everyone. I don’t know if I’ll be continuing this story directly or not, but I do have other 40K ideas in the works.

If you want to keep up to speed on that please drop by my Discord, say hi. Also follow me on twitter.

https://discord.gg/ehFY2M
https://twitter.com/TimeKillerQM

>>4145305
Thanks for running, we all know that Witnerborune did not die there but was recruited by the inquisition, his "death" needs to be tje official story.

>>4145305
Blessed and Emperor pilled

>>4145316
You know that's REDACTED

>>4145305
Good shit QM, a shame it couldn't go on longer. Oh well, we won glory in the Emperor's name.
I also just read through all of Dark Empire. I'm gonna absolutely be on the lookout for anything else you run.

>>4145346
Thanks! Glad you enjoyed!

>>4145644
new thread when?!

>>4145663
I've got nothing for the forseeable future I'm afraid. I *do* have some big 40K ideas. Much bigger. But Dark Empire taught me how woefully unprepared I was for a setting that I (thought) I knew virtually everything about.

40K is bigger and I know much less.

Good show.

At least our death matter a tiny bit.

>>4145687
Wotr when?

>>4145687
The world of 40k is so big, there's a good bit of room for creative interpretation.

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I'm safe here right?