Inquisitork

New Blog!

2012-01-24T03:36:00.000-08:00

This blog is being permanently moved over to http://maddeningwords.wordpress.com please feel free to update your links and tell your friends.

Christmas and Capes

2011-12-24T13:03:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't posted much in several months I have decided to give my followers a little Christmas present. I present, for your reading pleasure, a sort of prelude to Task Force Valkyrie, newly updated and refurbished. This story is the very first time the characters of Task Force Valkyrie ever appeared in print, from a collection of stories I wrote called "Hero's Club". I hope you enjoy it.

-Carrie

Hero's Club

Christmas and Capes

The tree was not officially a Christmas Tree, but rather a bit of Holiday Flora thanks to a few dissenting views with some of the club's senior membership. It did not detract from its beauty however, and despite the seven foot menorah glowing proudly in one corner of the massive hall, it was the massive pine that filled the gathered men and women with awe. Its needles were shining titanium, glistening with silver tinsel. Globes of every size and color hung from its branches, some simple plastic while others housed entire universes within their spheres. Each hero in the club had the right to add their own decoration to the tree, and every one of them had, despite religious barriers. The Valiant Hammer had placed a large anvil near the bottom of the tree, sprinkled with the flaking snow caused by the gentle storm that The Magician had summoned high in the dome. The Manhattan Project had an old paper gingerbread man that her daughter had made years ago sitting amongst a circle of multicolored dancing electrons that Snazzy Girl had used to light the tree this season. At the highest peak, above the snowstorm, was the pinnacle of the tree. A majestic bright star had been placed there by 1, the world's greatest hero, and was visible even through the snowing clouds. It shone its light down upon the gathered crowd of costumed people at its base, and enveloped all gathered in its brilliance.

Canopener was one of those staring up at the star as the Christmas party waited for its most important guest. She was short, with blonde hair down to her shoulders, and was dressed quite conservatively compared to her compatriots. Over two hundred heroes were gathered in the great hall of Hero's Club in the heart of downtown New Charles, the largest city on the eastern seaboard. There were flowing capes, expensive suits, ceremonial robes, powered armor and lavish dresses; but Canopener was the only one wearing jeans. Her shoes were Chuck Taylor, and her hair was done in a matter of minutes by herself. She heard a familiar voice, and turning, imagined she could hear the hissing of hydraulics when she waved her hand at the woman approaching.

"Cindy! I thought you said you weren't coming." The woman who spoke was taller thanks to the addition of steep stiletto heels, She wore a white dress that hung off of one shoulder and was slit high up her right leg. She was blonde, her hair pulled up in an elegant style that left rivulets of curls to trail down her neck. Her eyes were blue behind wire rimmed glasses, and her smile was warm and genuine. Ultimate Girl embraced the younger hero tightly, and Canopener felt the air being slowly crushed from her lungs before she was dropped back on her feet.

"Hey UG, I just thought I'd stop by for a little while. I didn't have anything else to do tonight."

Ultimate Girl shook her head, "Dressed like that?"

"Well, you know..." Canopener trailed off and raised her arms. She'd lost her real ones in a train accident, and her replacements were less than aesthetic, a skeletal set of upper arms that revealed her hydraulic muscles pushing and pulling with every movement she made expanding into a pair of solid forearms that were larger around than her waist. Her hands were small, with thick, rectangular fingers, and all of it a hue of deep crimson red. "I didn't really see the point."

"Those are what got you in here, remember? With those suckers you could blow a hole through that wall over there! You aught to flaunt them."

Canopener sighed, "Yeah? You could punch a hole in that wall over there and still model swimsuits that'd make a whore blush."

"It's not all positives, here comes a drawback now."

Approaching from the crowd of people was a tall, powerfully built man in perfectly tailored Army dress blues, grinning widely beneath a blue and white cowl that covered his entire head from the nose up. He carried a glass of scotch in one hand, and all of his medals were shined to gleaming perfection. "Well if it isn't my favorite generic looking absolutely ravishing in or out of costume. Are you wearing anything under that?"

Ultimate Girl sighed, "How much have you had to drink CJ? The party's barely even gotten started yet."

Captain Justice laughed and raised his drink, "These Christmas parties are the only time of year that a man can have two before 1 ever even shows up."

"Didn't I see you come in with a date?" Canopener asked.

"Huh? Yeah, that little furball. She just got in town from Spain, fiesty."

Ultimate Girl laughed, "You brought a furball? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

"Short fur," he replied. "More like fuzz really. Kinda sexy in an exotic way."

Canopener shook her head, "Next I'm gonna hear you're dating an alien."

"I'd stick a poke in that Malibu Maneater any day of the week." He said.

"Oh my God," Canopener said, "She's like, fifteen!"

"Yeah, in Malibu years. What's that in Earth years, like thirty?"

"No, it's like fifteen!"

"You're just jealous Can. I may do alien jailbait, but roboteens just aren't my style."

She glared at him, but Ultimate Girl stepped in, putting her hand on Captain Justice's shoulder. "Listen CJ, I know you're doing your best to be sweet and all, but I'm gonna ram my fist down your throat if you don't get the hell out of here."

Before the situation could escalate any further, a green woman in a strapless purple dress approached them. Her hair was a darker green than the rest of her, done in wild spikes atop her head. A pair of feline ears protruded from this mess on either side of her head. Dark makeup accentuated the predatory look of her dark eyes, and she immediately turned to Captain Justice. "Who are zese girlz CJ?"

Ultimate Girl removed her hand from his shoulder, and Captain Justice wrapped an arm around the green girl's waist. "Honey, these are some friends of mine. This is Ultimate Girl and this is The Canopener."

The woman's frown immediately turned into a beaming smile that showed sharp canines, and she hugged both women tightly. "Bonjour! My name iz Cactus Cat, I am new to ze city, but I have heard many things about both of you. It iz truly ze pleazure to meet you."

"Honey," Captain Justice said. "Could you go get some wine for the girls? 1's about to give a speech and they don't have anything to toast with."

"Oh! Of course, I will be right back." She walked away and Captain Justice gave her a slap on the ass, causing her to giggle and wink at him over her shoulder.

"That was fur?" Ultimate Girl asked.

"I told you, exotic."

"She was French you dumbass." Canopener glared and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Whatever, some pussy country."

A barrage of flashbulbs blinded Canopener, and she covered her eyes with one arm. Beyond the blue and purple spots in her eyes, voices goaded the heroes. "Ultimate Girl! Adrien Horn, Capes magazine. Who are you wearing tonight?" A crowd of paparazzi had made their way in, escorted by a guide who attempted to keep them from harassing the heroes too much.

"Oh this? I just pulled it out of the closet." Ultimate Girl had her public voice on, with a laugh in her speech and a smile she never showed anyone but the cameras. It was all teeth.

"Is this a preview of what we can expect on the red carpet?"

"Now why would I be on the red carpet?"

"Are you denying the rumors that you're romantically linked with movie star Richard Halbrock?" The reporter questioned.

Ultimate Girl just winked at the cameras, "I have no comment on that boys."

"Hey Canopener!" A man with a half day's beard and a large camera called out to her. "You ever gonna get those arms toned down? The Popeye look went out last season!"

Canopener tensed, "How about I shove that camera up your ass?"

Nobody heard her though, as at that moment Captain Justice stepped forward and bellowed a loud guffaw before picking up the newly returned Cactus Cat and sitting her up on his shoulder. "Guys, have I introduced you to my new girlfriend? She's just arrived in America to fight justice alongside all the great heroes of the red, white and blue!" The French girl covered her face with the wineglasses she'd brought back.

"Oh no CJ! Do not put me in front of zem! I look terrible!"

"Nonsense babe," he teased. "You're good enough to eat!" Then swung her swung her from his shoulders to cradle her and buried his face in her cleavage playfully. She shrieked and laughed while he made animal noises, and the cameras had a field day with it. Then he waved them to follow him, and led his date towards a group of heroes who had yet to be harassed by the press.

Canopener sighed and looked up at Ultimate Girl, "You see what I mean? You never get dickheads like that guy."

Ultimate Girl shrugged, "You're one of the dark brooding type of heroes. People love it when you threaten the press, it's part of your image."

"I don't have an image!" Canopener said, "I'm just some girl with metal arms."

"Just some girl with metal arms," Ultimate Girl replied, "Who participates in the most destructive kind of vigilante justice, beats up annoying reporters every once in a while and causes more collateral damage than any two of the rest of us heroes combined."

"No way, Mr. Explosions blows up way more crap than I do."

"Mr. Explosions never rammed an oil tanker into a skyscraper. Face it, you're a bad girl."

Canopener crossed her arms and looked away, "That doesn't count, there were extenuating circumstances."
"How did you do that anyway?"

"So," Canopener said, ignoring the question, "You're dating Richard Halbrock?"

"Ick," Ultimate Girl said. "God no. That guy gives me the creeps, did you see him in that movie about the serial killer?"

Canopener shuddered, "That rape scene, yeesh. Gave me nightmares for a week. So why'd didn't you tell them that?"

"Because," Ultimate Girl said, "A girl like me is expected to date movie stars and musicians. If I don't appease the tabloid gods then I'll have to deal with questions about whether or not my boobs are real." Canopener eyed her for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the other woman's chest. Ultimate Girl frowned, "You ask and I'm not your friend anymore."

Their chat was interrupted by the sudden silence that overtook the room. Both women turned to see 1's dramatic entrance into the party. There was a blue blur around the top of the tree, half hidden by the snowstorm, then the hero burst through the clouds. His costume was skin tight, showing off a strongly muscled body and wide shoulders, a huge yellow 1 emblazoned across his chest. His cape floated behind him, dark red like the domino mask around his face. His chin was cleft, his features perfect, his hair a deep, russet brown. He was the hero among heroes, the one everyone either hated or despised completely. There was only one name spoken of more highly than his, The Slacker Saint, the mysterious man who just appears during the most major of crises and somehow defuses the situation by doing nothing at all.

1 landed behind a prepared podium and adjusted the microphone in front of him, "I apologize for running late, I had a nuclear holocaust to avert." There were a few laughs, and he stood up straight to address the crowd. "My fellow heroes! We have had a trying year. Giant dirt worms tried to consume an area of downtown, but were averted by the brave actions of myself and others. When the terrors of the Sea Men rose up on our shores, I led the charge that beat them back into the waves. I have diverted meteors and destroyed doomsday devices. I have saved millions in China from flooding and earthquakes, and stopped an evil plan to melt the polar icecaps. All of us have had adventures, though probably not as large as mine."

A loud voice rose up from the crowd, and Canopener turned to see a teenage girl with dark green hair standing on top of the bar with a half empty champagne bottle in one hand. "Not that large, he pads his tights!"
This got much more laughs than 1's opening line.

1 swallowed and smiled at her, "Well, ignoring The Malibu Maneater's outburst-"

"So's your face!"

"I would like to say that of every glorious sight I have seen this year, nothing amounts to the pride and honor I feel at being here with all of you, in front of this beautiful Holiday Flora."

"It's a Christmas tree you fucking bastard!"

The cheers from the heroes quieted as the raucous, drunken cry overcame the din of the crowd. Every head turned to see Captain Justice standing in an ever widening circle of nervous onlookers, his brandy glass empty and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He took a step forward, obviously much drunker than when he had left Ultimate Girl and Canopener, and he pointed at 1 with a gloved finger. "It's fucking scum like you that are destroying our nation. Sure, you maybe stopped that nazi invasion a few years back, but you're taking the Christ outta Christmas! You got that fuckin' Jew-lamp over in the corner. You don't call that a December Lantern!"

As Cactus Cat started trying to apologize for him, The Flaming Liberal stepped out of the crowd. Tall and thin, he had the look of a coffee house scholar down to the peace sign necklace and the thin pseudo-intellectual glasses. He was flanked by a large Hispanic woman in blue and black leather, Blue State, his bodyguard. "You have to respect other cultures you totalitarian government prole! You want to talk about nazis, you and everyone like you are the reason the holocaust happened! You have got to grow up and learn to accept other cultures! DOWN WITH RACISTS! DOWN WITH RACISTS!"

His chant was silenced before he got to repeat it a third time as Captain Justice's fist came smashing into his gaunt face. Blue State was suddenly encased in ice as she activated her powers and hit Captain Justice in the midsection with a shoulder tackle. They both went down as The Flaming Liberal screeched in rage and tried to stop the blood flow from his nose. Most people backed off, but Ultimate Girl took a step towards the fray, popping her knuckles. Canopener grabbed her by the arm, "I thought you didn't like CJ."

"He's not too bad," She said. "Besides, that ice bitch called me a slut on live TV, so she's got it coming." With that she took off into mid air, then came down into the fray with a right hook that shattered the icy protection around Blue State's head.

The entire party descended into chaos as old grudges were suddenly given the opportunity to be settled with the help of alcohol and a topical moral conundrum. Canopener watched as 1 flew around the room, flailing wildly at The Malibu Maneater, who was apparently wrapped around his back with all her limbs and trying to beat him senseless with her champagne bottle. Canopener made for the exit, and slammed the door behind her, shaking her head.

"Tough night."

Canopener's head jerked up and she saw a man standing in front of her that she could have sworn wasn't there a few moments before. He was rather tall, with unkempt brown hair and a shaggy, unshaven face. He was wearing a fuzzy green bathrobe, light blue pajama pants, a grey tee shirt and fuzzy white slippers. He wasn't a remarkable looking man, and had he been anywhere but standing outside the emergency exit of Hero's Club she wouldn't have noticed him anywhere. "Yeah?" She said, "And how would you know?"

He smiled, and it was a friendly smile, like her father's. It set her at ease. "A lot of fighting going on in there, hope they don't break anything valuable."

Canopener smirked, "Yeah, right. With the power they're throwing around in there this whole place is gonna come down."

"That," he said, "Isn't really in the Christmas spirit is it?"

"You mean the holiday spirit right?" She said, sarcastically.

"Sure, whatever you wanna call it. Just doesn't seem right, ya know? Bunch of guys like that, upholders of truth and justice and everything, bickering around like spoiled kids."

She nodded, "Yeah, they're not acting much like heroes are they?"

He looked at her, and his eyes were the deepest green she had ever seen. "Neither are you." Then he was gone. Canopener blinked her eyes repeatedly. He hadn't disappeared; it was like he hadn't ever been there in the first place. Shaking her head, she tried to grasp onto the memory of the brief encounter, but it was like trying to hold onto mist.

She turned around and went back through the door into the violent chaos that was the main hall. Then she raised her arms and placed her wrists together in front of her, palms out. A familiar smell of ozone mixed with a humming sound from inside her massive forearms. The bright blue energy blast that slammed into the crowd sent dozens of heroes tumbling across the ground and through the air, and for a moment the fighting stopped. Canopener took this brief pause to speak.

"You stupid shitheads!" She screamed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? This isn't how heroes act, and you're gonna stop it before I have to drag another oil tanker three miles inland to drop on your God damn heads! This season isn't about fighting with each other. It's about giving presents to people you don't really like that well and getting blasted on egg nog. Fuck this stupid shit, I'm Snazzy Girl's secret santa and she's gonna get her ten dollar CD case, and she's gonna pretend she loves it because that's what we came here for."

People stared at her from all around the great hall. Ultimate Girl's heels were broken and her dress was torn across the stomach. Captain Justice had one of his medals pinned sideways onto his cowl. Blue State and The Flaming Liberal both had black eyes and were leaning against each other, somehow both charred and covered in frost at the same time. Cactus Cat had sprouted thorns and was caught up in The Valiant Hammer's cape. The only one still moving was The Malibu Maneater, who, oblivious to the whole room, had broken her bottle and was now chewing on 1's ear as he floated above the crowd.

Ultimate Girl was the first to move, straightening out her torn dress with her hands and saying, "Well then."
Captain Justice got to his feet, "Right."

The fighters slowly separated themselves and began going about pretending that none of that had ever happened, and Canopener finally let herself breathe again. She headed for the bar and sat down, looking up at the bartender, who had taken cover when the brawling had started. "Egg nog," she said. "Very very strong." The bartender nodded and served her, and in a room full of righteous protectors of the law, nobody dared to mention that she was underage.

Help Help Help!

2011-10-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

This is the end, my only friends, the end...

Or something to that effect, at least. After the release of the White Dwarf codex of Sisters of Battle I completely and utterly lost all interest in Warhammer 40k as a gaming platform. I know that sounds kind of whiny, but I honestly didn't mean for it to happen, it just did.

I played in the 3++ Ladder before the codex came out and managed an amazing 0 Wins, 3 Ties and 1 Loss. I never really claimed to be a tournament level player, and this event really proved it for me. Halfway through the ladder tournament players were allowed to restructure their armies and, since a new codex had come out for me, I had to use that one. The end result of this was me staring at the codex for a while, then just decided not to continue competing. I felt like I'd been abandoned, and I really didn't feel like trying to fight tooth and nail for draws anymore, especially with an update that would require me to completely relearn army tactics.

I liked the idea of switching over to Warmachine, as the aesthetics for Khador really made me giggle with glee, but a lack of local players and a lack of time and money to invest has put me off of it. I would love to be reinvigorated with Warhammer 40k, but I just can't think of anything I want out of the war game anymore. I still enjoy the setting, and the RPGs, but the actual game itself leaves me feeling apathetic.

So, I present here a chance for anyone still reading this to help me find that lost magic again! Comments are open to advice!

Things I like about Warhammer 40K:

Sisters of Battle: I love the Church Militant in all of its forms, I love badass chicks and I love FIRE!
Inquisitors: This is a bit of an extension on the Church Militant and the fires, but also investigations!
Protagonists: I can't get into an army or theme unless I have characters in mind and stories in my head.
Getting Stuck In: I love combat. I love rushing in and beating everyone to death with my axes!
Comedy: Sure, it's dark comedy, but it's there!
Tons of Infantry: I like moving bodies on the board and gigantic volleys of fire, or vast tides of guys.
A Solid Chance of Winning: Facing up against an army I literally have no chance against takes the wind out of my sails. I don't mind losing, I just hate getting completely wiped like a child.

Things I dislike about Warhammer 40K:

Space Marines: I just don't get them. They don't appeal to me. I have never given two hoots about space marine characters or space marine stories. The unbeatable genetically engineered badasses of the universe just seem bland to me. I don't like them in the fluff, I don't like them on the board.
Chaos: So much of it seems like angsty teenager power fantasy to me that I can't get into it. None of it scares me, it just kind of annoys me.
Coteaz: He just gets my goat and I dunno why. You could probably change this entry to the entirety of the Grey Knights codex, honestly.
Gimmicks: I like a good, solid army list with a few tricks, but I sincerely dislike most stuff like FOC Changes and List Building Shenanigans.
List Building: I think this one covers why I am no good at tournaments. I can't spend weeks or months tweaking lists. I just try to cover my bases with mixed forces and go, which is apparently a very bad idea.
Spam: I can't fill one slot with all the same units kitted the same way, I can't. It makes my head hurt and just feels really boring, no matter how good it is on the board.

So, any advice from my faithful fans? I'd really love some. Are any of you still there? Hello?

Secret Project REVEALED!

2011-09-16T04:30:00.001-07:00

TASK FORCE: VALKYRIE

Finally the secret project I have been ambiguous about is revealed after months and months (personal issues of the artist) not to mention all the other bits of quiet I am going through right now. The artist has been in a state of desperation about getting an American visa and moving, which has caused a lot of delays and hiatuses from her. My own issues, employment being the number one, have been affecting my ability to work closely with her as well. But anyway, enough excuses, let's hear about this secret project that's had me all tied up in knots.

Myself and Raylene, my good personal friend, have collaborated together to create something that I have wanted to do for a long time, a comic book. That up there is the working draft (unfinished) of the cover for "Task Force: Valkyrie" a superhero comic about an all female team of heroes sent out to scout and recruit newfound powers into the superhero community. I have, since I was a kid, been a comics nut. I started on the teeth gritting ambiguously fingered Rob Liefield work of the nineties with all the various X books and have moved on from them into the awe inspiring Gail Simone books, the beauty in the face of ruin tales of Warren Ellis and the eldritch screams of Alan Moore as he summons the snake god onto the comic page. They were my very first love (besides Henry James) and I still hold them close to my heart, as anyone who follows War Dolls can attest to.

"Task Force: Valkyrie" is the tale of four superheroic women of different backgrounds coming together to mutually dislike each other and be the absolute worst PR team in history. The team leader, Snazzy Girl, pictured front, is a no nonsense pretentious alpha bitch who comes off as more passive aggressive than actually effective. To the left is Bruiser, a smiling moron who gets by solely on the fact that she can punch a hole in a bank vault and walk through hails of gunfire without any apparent ill effects. In the back is The Canopener, an angsty, anti-social teenager with severe self-image issues and a bad temper and finally, in the glasses, is Ultimate Girl, a tabloid super heroine who shows up on more red carpets than crime scenes.

I don't want to give too much away at the moment since this comic is going to show up in full color on this very blog soon enough, but the first plotline involves the team trying to recruit a powerful alien being to the side of good while a menacing evil presence works from behind the scenes to make sure that the alien destroys the team instead. Please look forward to it. It's far from completion, but I will update here with different sketches and page concepts as the comic moves forward until everything is set for a full public release.

Radical: Remembrancer

2011-07-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part X. For more check the table of contents here.

I had never before laid eyes upon the Eldar, and immediately I could see how so many had fallen under their sway over the millenia. They stood before us in that clearing, tall and graceful, their armor all smooth lines and slow curves. There was something dreamlike about them. As their leader approached, Kane turned back to us, raising his hand. “Sisters, lay your weapons down. We have no quarrel with the Eldar today.”

He spoke in a manner I had never heard him use before. Usually Kane was a bit gruff and to the point with his speech, but in the presence of these xenos he seemed to have, for the first time, taken on a more respectful tone. I could understand that. There was something in the essence of the Eldar that seemed to command respect and awe. I think if I had been anyone other that a daughter of the Emperor himself I might have fallen into that trap myself. Instead I kept my bolter trained on the nearest of the Eldar, ready. Kora seemed conflicted for a moment, but knelt and laid her stormbolter down into the mud, though her eyes never left the Eldar themselves.

Kane smiled at her and turned to the Eldar. He opened his mouth to speak, but one of the xenos moved with a speed I had never seen before, and the butt of its rifle cracked across Kane's face and brought him staggering down to one knee. He gagged as he tried to rise, finding the barrel of the Eldar rifle shoved so far into his mouth that he gagged, bile spilling over his lips. Kora's reaction was instantaneous. She leapt forward to the inquisitor's aid, but faster than the eyes could see another of the Eldar brought her down. It crouched over her prone form, holding a knife to her throat. I could do nothing, the remaining three xenos had their rifles trained on me and I had no doubt that their reflexes would see me dead before I could even twitch my finger on the trigger of my bolter. Still, we are an order founded my martyrs and I was prepared to do my duty when a new voice broke into the clearing.

The words were in a language that was beyond the realms of humanity. It held none of the holy structure of Gothic, but instead rolled through the air like a symphony, all tones and crescendos mixed in with short, sharp syllables which seemed to exist more as percussion than language. The syllables kept time to the music of the language. The speaker emerged from the trees almost like a ghost. She was female, too eerily female and so close to human. Her armor seemed light, but was bejeweled and covered in alien runes that drew the eye in a disturbing fashion. She wore no helmet, and her features would have been considered beautiful on any human woman, even with her pointed ears and too sharp cheekbones. Her very presence sent chills down my spine and I silently recited a prayer of purity.

The eldar who held Kane hostage spoke back to the woman in that same language, and she raised her hand in an authoritative gesture. Reluctantly the xeno removed its gun from Kane's mouth and took a step backwards, leaving the Inquisitor. The one atop Kora didn't have the chance to release her. Kane's first action, before even rising, was to thrust his hand out towards it and a blast of light burst the xeno's torso like a balloon. As what was left of it collapsed to the side Kane moved. The bolt pistol he'd taken from Kora smashed into the elegant helmet of the Eldar who had taken him hostage. As it fell Kane's sword swung around and tucked itself under the xenos' chin. It was a credit to Eldar reflexes that its head was not split open at that moment, but it caught itself at the last moment, the disruption field of the power sword sizzling off the chin armor of the xeno's helmet. “Farseer,” Kane growled, the bolt pistol now trained on the female Eldar. “There are certain things I will not tolerate.”

Kora had gotten back to her feet and taken her stormbolter up, but neither of us fired. Something in Kane's tone told us that we were to do nothing until he gave the sign. The Farseer, as Kane had called her, seemed suddenly agitated, but she made no move except to draw a double bladed sword almost as tall as she was. “Inquisitor, I'm afraid that there are certain things that even we Eldar, in our infinite patience, have trouble tolerating as well. The genocide of our people and the murder of our families is one of those things.”

“Whatever grudge you have against me for what I did to your home does not extend to these sisters. They surrendered,” he said.

The Farseer raised her blade into a fighting stance and lightning crackled down the blade. I felt the telltale signs of the witch and immediately changed my aim. My first bolt would go through her head. “I will hear no talk of mercy from you, World Killer. I was there when you lead the charge up the steps of the nursery. I would tear the souls from the bodies of your women and send them to The Great Enemy if it would make you suffer.”

At this Kane seemed to crack the smallest of smiles, “But you won't. You're no assassin group, not here. You're here for the old ones. The metal men. And you need me.” His teeth flashed, almost predatory, and the Farseer took a step backwards. “I know how you work, Eldar. You never do anything without a reason. You know that I'm needed here, and you had to come and make sure that I do whatever it is that I need to do. So what is that, Terthia?”

“You speak my name as if you know some great secret, mon-keigh. I know your future, Inquisitor. I have seen it a dozen times. It's why I didn't kill you on those nursery steps, and it's why I don't kill you now.” She sheathed her sword then waved her hand at the other Eldar, who lowered their weapons. “So, Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, Daemon Slayer, World Killer, Traitor, Heretic. You have a task to complete.”

At this Kane faltered just slightly, and in his moment of distraction the Eldar poised at the edge of his sword leapt back a safe distance away. Kane ignored him. “So tell me then, wych. What do the fates have in store for me?”

The Farseer shook her head, “You will see, soon enough. What you must know right now is how the Ancient Enemy might be defeated. They can not be allowed to spread from this place.”

“What are they?” I turned as Kora spoke up, and Kane gave her a sharp look, but she continued. “I've never heard of anything like them.”

“They are worse than you can imagine, young sister,” the Farseer said. “You have devoted yourself to fighting chaos, the realm of emotion and the failings of us all. These are far worse than that. Chaos is all wrath and lust, sloth and envy. It is seductive and terrible, but it can be understood. Within us all lies the heart of chaos, and in knowing it, we can defeat it. The Ancient Enemy is nothing we can ever understand. It is death and the void. It is nothing. The metal men are soulless beings given life by their ever hungry gods. They eat life and leave nothing but death in their wake. Only oblivion follows in their wake.

In ages past we Eldar fought a great war against them, but we were not strong enough. We were on the verge of defeat when a new weapon was created. This weapon could find the Necrontyr wherever they hid and destroy them. Their ancient fortresses fell, their temples collapsed, and they were driven to their tombs where we sealed them for what we hoped would be eternity. Now their tombs are being discovered again, and the Necrontyr are rising from their crypts, ready to wage war on the galaxy once again.”

“A weapon against the Necrontyr?” Kane said, astonished. “I've never heard anything like that. None of the stories mention anything of the sort.”

“If you would have it,” the Farseer said, “Then I would give it unto your command, Inquisitor.” Something in her tone, alien as it was, gave me pause, but Kane didn't seem to have noticed it. There was something in his eyes, something crazed. “We have brought it to this world so that the Necrontyr might be once more driven underground, but only you may wield it properly. I have seen it. Go West from here, Inquisitor, and meet your destiny.” The Farseer bowed her head once, then gestured to the other Eldar. As one they began to fade back into the forest, and Kane let them go.

Kora stepped forward, finally wiping the xeno's blood from her armor, “What the hell were they talking about, Kane?”

He sheathed his power sword and led the way out of the clearing, heading the opposite way as the Eldar. “I'm not sure. But if they're right then we don't have any time to waste. Whatever weapon they've brought we need.”

“Can we trust them?” she asked.

“No,” Kane said matter of factly. “And yes. She wasn't lying to me, that I know for sure. The Eldar never lie when telling the truth serves their needs just as well.”

As I walked along behind them, trying to figure out what it was that the Farseer had meant, I noticed that the rain had finally stopped. I looked up towards the sky and saw an orange glow beyond the canopy of the jungle, as if the sky were on fire. Then a sound louder than anything I had ever heard before blasted the jungle. The trees shook and I was thrown to the ground as the very air hit me like a hammer blow at the base of my neck. Dazed, I climbed to my feet, and felt the rain once again falling down. A moment later I was tossed again, picked up like a doll and thrown through the jungle. Trees shattered and snapped all around me. I hit one, saved from breaking my back only by my power armor, but my helmet impacted hard, and everything went black.

I awoke later, not knowing how long I had been out, pinned underneath a fallen tree trunk. With a shove I managed to push it off of me, my power armor doing most of the heavy lifting, and I climbed to my feet, dazed. I pulled my helmet off and winced, seeing the deep crack in the ceramite from the impact with the tree, and I tossed it aside. The rain still fell, but that was the only thing recognizable about the terrain. As far as I could see in all directions the jungle was gone. Only fallen trees and torn up ground filled what I thought was a deep valley. It was only when I looked to the west that I realized I was not in a valley, but a crater. A meteor the size of a mountain stood in the very center of the impact zone, still smoking and on fire in places, molten rock pouring off of it in great waterfalls. Then came the sound. I was, at the time, astonished to find I could still hear, but that momentary relief faded away almost immediately. Things were moving on the meteor; thousands or tens of thousands of shapes, too far away for me to make out anything but their movement, but the noise they made, that traveled all the way out to me, clear as day.

“WAAAAAGH!”

So ends the ninth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

More updates on crap you have yet to see results for

2011-07-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

So, since I am once again unemployed, my last position being temporary, I have tons of free time once again and am cranking up my production to match the level of boredom I have sitting around the house playing video games all damned day. A girl can only play so much Fallout before she needs to actually accomplish things again. So, without further ado, here we go.

Project 1: The Adeptus Mechanicus FanDex COMPLETED
I've finally finished all of the writing I've been doing for it, and the actual book should be published pretty soon. According to inside sources they're doing some final playtesting tweaks, then the newest edition of the book will be released soon afterwards. The book will feature some original art and tons of original stories from myself and other amazing writers, so look forward to it. (I hear the rules kick a little ass too.)

Project 2: The War Dolls IN PROGRESS
Me and three other wonderful gaming bloggers are creating a girl gamers blog. You can see the chatbox for it just down there where the old 3++ one used to be. (Forgive me Kirby!) We're looking at kicking this thing off by either doing a gigantic 4 player Armageddon style stomp fest with our favorite armies or a 40k ladder where we all play each other. Either way, expect a series of battle reports and awesome from that. You can find the blog, which is currently blank, here.

Project 3: Radical IN PROGRESS

It's not dead! I have just been so busy at work that I haven't had time to throw down with Regina, Kora and the rest recently. In the meantime I have plotted out the rest of the story, made some editing choices and gotten everything all worked out. The newest chapter "Remembrancer" is being written as we speak and will be up and posted within the week.

Project 4: The Legend of Truslug IN PROGRESS

This is a story series I am writing specifically for War Dolls. This series will tell the story of Slug, an Ork Boy, and his rise through the ranks of his Waaagh. There aren't a lot of Ork point of view stories being published, and I always thought that was a shame, since Orks are so full of personality and possibility. Fans of my narrative battle reports about Orks should really look forward to The Legend of Truslug.

Project 5: SECRET PROJECT IN PROGRESS

Much ado about this thing, I know, but I promise it's there and all will be revealed the second my artist finishes up her work. I really love the idea of a big reveal with flashy color and everything, so I am still keeping a lid on this one, at least until some part of it is ready to be shown off in its completeness. We're right now working on adjusting the art just slightly and fixing some minor editing problems. It's under production right now though, and I promise it's gonna be fun.

Project 6: Edmund Filo Floating in the Aether

That old Edmund FIlo story that randomly appeared up here one late night was the result of whiskey and insomnia. I like the idea, and I enjoy the character a bunch, and I had a ton of fun writing it, but it's not a huge priority right now. This doesn't mean I won't get back to it, it just means that I have a ton of other stuff on my plate and this guy is definitely on the back burner. Popular opinion might change that though.

On the tactical and practical uses of explosions

2011-07-03T12:01:00.001-07:00

In honor of July 4th, Independence Day (America Fuck Yeah Day for my international audience) I have decided to talk about one of my very favorite American traditions, blowing shit up!

Whether explosions come in the form of blast templates, AoE markers, carefully measured pieces of string, counted out movement tiles or the ever popular Michael Bay style giant fireball, explosions exist for the specific reason of doing fucktons of damage to a large area, generally in the hopes of killing as many dudes as possible. In wargaming they hold a very important crowd control roll in many armies. One of the best ways to handle an IG blob or Ork Mob is to start dropping blast templates on it. Shrapnel saves lives, namely the lives of the people giving it away (Free gifts for everyone!).

I am notorious for my love of high explosives and things that go boom boom boom. There's a rule in my tabletop group that Carrie is not allowed to have anything explosive or flamable at any time. You see I've always been of the opinion that there's no kill like overkill and it's impossible to dodge a mushroom cloud. The fact that me or my allies might also be in the blast radius is usually a secondary concern. Just ask my poor Orks when the Boomgun and Shokk Attack Gun start going off. So obviously I am not the most efficient user of explosions there's ever been, but that's okay. I have fun. And fun is the whole point of explosions, look at the opening boxoffice for Transformers 3. People love things that go boom, and also possibly Shia LeBouef.

So, that being said, when is the best time to "give him the explodey?". Well, if you ask me, always, but we'll pretend I'm a rational person for now and look at what explosions do for you, the consumer. First, explosions kill dudes ded. When you need thirty goblins gone in a single turn, it's fireball time, ask any DnD player. Nothing kills large crowds like a good kaboom. Second, explosions and loud and bright. Want someone looking the other way? Blow up something and I promise all eyes will be on the giant ball of fire. If you start dropping bombs on the left, you've got a good chance of sneaking your guys on the left. Michael Bay's explosions are so good at distraction all that terrible acting and horrendous script goes almost unnoticed. Third, explosions knock stuff down. Not so great in a lot of wargames, where terrain is inviolate and sacred, but in RPGs somes and RPG is just what you need for getting through that pesky locked door (according to my DM having a high lockpick does not give me a bonus to demolitions. Nazi.)

Explosions are the swiss army knife of the gaming world. With proper and judicious use of explosives there is no problem that can't be solved, or at least turned into a different problem. So rejoice my friends, and let the booms out to play.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

Secret Project Update

2011-06-30T17:20:00.001-07:00

Due to some production delays the secret project as been slightly delayed in being revealed. It's nothing huge (the artist's desk is currently hidden under piles of her roommate's moving out boxes) and if anything it should only be a short delay.

Along with the minor delay comes a change in art style. After seeing the preliminary proofs I had the artist make a few changes. I felt art nouveau didn't properly capture the feeling I was trying to get across and so we switched to a slightly more modern style with hints of art deco to enhance the overall feel. We also went a bit bolder with the colors to create a more dynamic style.

This is feeling less like a secret project right now than a baby whose due date is rapidly approaching and I haven't told anyone the gender yet.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

A numbers game

2011-06-26T13:40:00.001-07:00

I told you quitting wasn't going to last long. Sundays are slow at work so I decided to run a numbers game as seen here: nike40k.blogspot.com/2011/96/40k-theory-its-all-about-the-numbers.html (excuse the lack of formatting I'm posting this on my phone while having lunch). This is basically a numerical measurement of my army's potential against a MEQ army in terms of being dead killy. I only ran the numbers for my standard 2k ork composition, but let's see how I did!

Marines shot per game: 84
Marines chopped per game: 208.35
Rhinos destroyed per game: 18.85
Land Raiders destroyed per game: 5.15

Now this is only the pure potential of my army and does not reflect an actual game, but its a good judge of raw firepower. Now let's compare it to the orks that won third at Nova.

Marines shot per game: 94.5
Marines chopped per game: 228.75
Rhinos destroyed per game: 80
Land Raiders destroyed per game: 31.04

Holy crap! I got owned! And I might be mistaken, but isn't Nova an 1850 tournament? Obviously my list is very far from optimised. Maybe I should rethink its structure... Nah. I'm pretty far from a competitive player, and I don't plan on entering any tournaments any time soon. Still, interesting to know how far behind I am in competitive list building.

PS: I have been informed my secret project will be ready to be revealed within the week!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2

That is not dead which can eternal procrastinate.

2011-06-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

Fear not my fine feathered friends, I'm not dead or in the hospital again or anything. I'm working on my secret project and also trying to come up with both a new design for this blog and also finishing up my work on the Adeptus Mechanicus codex. That last one is going kind of slow, with me being pulled in every direction and not really having time to flesh out a good idea for my last bit of the project. So very sorry Lantz, I promise I'm working on it.

In the mean time, my secret project looks like it aught to be revealed pretty soon as progress on that is going so much more swimmingly than everything else. Work is taking up a whole lot of my time, which is severely cutting into my writing and thinking time, and as many of you know I'm not exactly pleased with Games Workshop and officially "quit" 40k. This is mostly a tantrum and is quite likely to pass as I am not exactly known for holding grudges against people I never dated (or anyone who doesn't play for the Detroit Redwings). Still, it's taken a bit of the drive out of me. Radical is still going to continue, I promise.

One thing I have been looking at getting into is Warmachine. I played a little bitty battlebox game of it on Vassal the other day with Mistress of Minis, and had a lot of fun with it. What does everyone else think?

Format change and other quandries

2011-06-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

First off, I apologize for the lack of posting recently, I have been currently working on another project which I'm not quite ready to reveal to the world yet. It is something I have been looking forward to for years, and a dear friend is helping me out with it. I haven't wanted to say anything until it was almost ready to be revealed, which it is. Look here first for the big day!

Secondly, the format of my blog is going to change from a 40K blog to a more generalized format to meet with a new direction that will incorporate my new project along with some old ones I have been fiddling with. The new format will be a Fiction in Nerddom style, rather than focusing purely on 40K or even war gaming in general.

And finally, I am going to be hanging up my power armor spurs. As of this moment Commissar Carrie, delighted friend and happy lady in general, will no longer be a proud participator in Warhammer 40K. Shock and awe, I know! I have, very recently, been feeling rather lackluster about the game, and a recent announcement has pushed me over the edge. I am not a particular fan of the current metagame and gaming atmosphere of 40K, and with a wash of new releases for all of the third edition codexes coming out (GK, Necrons, DE) I feel slighted. Rather than whine and bitch (I am trying to get that all out of my system in this paragraph) I've just decided to move on from the game. I still thoroughly enjoy the universe and setting of the grim dark future, but the game itself I am quietly putting on the shelf along with my small horde of much loved and thoroughly unpainted models. Radical will still continue, but once it has finished that'll probably be done for me. Behold, I am become emo, destroyer of fun.

Creating Characters: Viewpoint

2011-05-29T01:41:00.000-07:00

While this is, nominally, a 40K blog, since I have been getting the most attention for my writing rather than my gaming, I thought this might be a good chance to go ahead and throw some good old fashioned advice column in here.

Now, as a tabletop gamer I know that creating a character is one of the most vital parts of the entire endeavor, and one that many people struggle with, whether they know it or not. This same struggle comes up when creating characters for fictional universes, whether they be in stories or games. Many gamers enjoy creating characters for their 40K armies, naming their Space Marine captains or Farseers or Crisis Commanders. This is colloquially known as fluff. But what makes good fluff characters and bad fluff characters? The same thing that makes good literary characters and bad literary characters.

Up above you see one of my favorite characters of all time, one Homer J Simpson. Homer is, to me, a wonderful example of a character. He exhibits all of the characteristics required to create an engaging and memorable character. He is multifaceted,relatable, goal oriented and, above all, terrifically human. Originally, The Simpsons focused on the antics of Bart, but as the series matured the focus moved on towards Homer as he was less one dimensional than his mischievous son and provided more options for storylines. His mixture of below average intelligence, determination to solve problems and general lack of foresight came together to create a character that is both alien and all too familiar. We, as humans, do not want to hear stories about the everyday lives of ourselves, we want to hear stories about the adventures of our exceptional neighbors.

Not every character has to be Homer Simpson. In fact, one of the reasons that Homer is so memorable is the fact that he has cast a unique mold for himself in our psyches, one which other shows in the same genre have tried to emulate with varying degrees of success. The key to a good character though is not in the external challenges or the superficial characteristics, but in the viewpoint of the character itself. Homer is constantly flabbergasted, bewildered and in over his head; his stories reflect this by making everything seem larger and more difficult than it is. Peter Griffin of Family Guy, however, is possessed more of a supreme and mislaid self confidence mixed with dramatic hyperactivity. This results in stories about relatively similar character archetypes, the dim witted husband and father, having entirely different styles and themes thanks entirely to the character's viewpoint.

Let's look at another example:


The Cross Counter: Dramatis Extremus

Everyone knows the man on the right, Superman, but his not quite as popular counterpart there is Captain Marvel. On the outside they are remarkably alike. Tall, muscular men with shining black hair, they are both impossibly strong, impossibly tough and impossibly fast. They can fly, they fight badguys, they're both in the same superhero organization, how are they different? While one could argue powers forever, the differences in the characters themselves is a matter of viewpoint. Superman is an alien, forever alone on the planet, the Last Son of Krypton, protecting his adopted home because he feels that it is right and just. He is a fully grown man with staunch convictions and experience who knows how to use his strength to achieve his goals. Captain Marvel, on the other hand, is a young boy with the power to become "Superman". He has not had time to grow into his convictions, but instead simply apes what he believes to be honest and true. He moves through life with the innocence of a child and the strength of a man. He does what is right not because of decisions he has made, but because of a childlike naivete that right is right and wrong is wrong. While Superman's actions are guided by reason, Captain Marvel's are guided by emotion. This results in characters with vastly different viewpoints and thus vastly different stories.

To bring this back around into 40K I'd like to contrast two more characters, one bad, one good.

There can be only one!

Why is one good and one bad? Because one is a person with a viewpoint and the other one is testosterone with weapons.

Edmund Filo, Brigand and Rogue

2011-05-28T02:31:00.000-07:00

Part the First

Edmund vs The Gladiators

Edmund Filo was not a man to be taken lightly. He had, in his time, been a liar, a thief, a cut-purse, an assassin, a naval commander and, once, a gourmet chef. It was this vast experience that made him such a success both in his chosen career, and his everyday life. Several years before he entered the gladitorial arena on Cumsaka V, Edmund had gotten into a tarot game with an Inquisitor, a Rogue Trader and a High Lord of Terra. How a man of his meager means had managed to gain entrance into such prestigious company would have remained a mystery of the ages had not subsequent investigations revealed that he had drugged all of the wine with hallucinogens and seduced the Inquisitor's mistress.

The result of this historic card game became legend as a man with no political standing whatsoever came away from the table with a Warrant of Trade, an Inquisitorial commission and a three legged dog named Vexillarius. Recordings of the game reveal that Edmund cheated unabashedly and poorly and touched none of the wine. For three years Sir Inquisitor Lord Captain Filo, as he liked to call himself when the actual Inquisition wasn't chasing him, robbed, pillaged and generally made a nuisance of himself throughout the Davoth Subsector in the cruiser he had won along with the Warrant of Trade.

He was, eventually, shot down by a combined armada of Inquisition, Imperial Navy and Tau vessels which caught him in orbit over Cumsaka V. It is rumored that he was considering whether or not to fire a vortex torpedo at the planet and hollow out its core, eradicating all life on the planet, just see what it would look like. As his cruiser burst into flames and crumpled under the stresses of the excessive firepower brought to bear upon it, Edmund escaped, along with his dog, in a life pod which crashed to the surface of the planet along with thousands of tons of debris.

The northern continent of Cumsaka V was devastated, four fifths of its population killed in a single day. Rescue efforts were minimal, and the refugees of the northern continent simply tried to live on. The feudal planet had been kept in the bronze age for millenia and was not up to the task of dealing with such widespread destruction. A few men and women tried to travel to the southern continent, and those that did were greeted warily. The only survivor of the destruction to truly flourish was, in fact, Edmund Filo himself. Leather shields and wooden spears proved little match for a man portable lascannon.

Eventually, as they are prone to do, the power pack of his lascannon was bled dry and Edmund was forced to flee the palace he had commandeered and the harem he had gathered in search of climates less prone to lynchings. Thus it was that he found himself on the southern continent when The Games were announced. It was widely known that the winners of the games were taken to the stars by the local clergy, an Imperial Cult which worshiped his angels. Seeing as Edmund was, by now, tired of relieving himself in cisterns, he decided to have a go at the games.

“These primitives should be easy pickings, eh Vexillairus?” His three legged dog looked at him in his normal state of timid confusion, and Edmund scratched him behind his ears. “Exactly right, my faithful companion. What kind of training have they had? Hack, slash? Child's play. They know nothing of riposte and parry! Come, let's see what they've got.”

As he approached the man taking tournament entries Edmund adjusted his necktie. While many fashionable people in the Imperium wore cravats or scarves, Edmund didn't consider himself a pompous ass, so a neck tie and sensible jacket worked just fine for him. “Excuse me, base primitive and awful smelling chap of questionable parentage, is this where I sign up to murder your kinsmen and gain passage off of this filthy rock you call a home?”

The foul smelling primitive wiped the sweat from under his armpit and eyed Edmund in a way that Edmund could only assume was some kind of pre-evolutionary thought process akin to that of a bacteria or possibly an upwardly mobile sea cucumber. Then the man said, “Ya.”

“Fantastic! Where do I sign? Wait, I forget, do you sign things here? Can you people even read? Perhaps I'm supposed to simply spit on the parchment.” So he did. The base primitive looked down at the puddle of saliva that now coated his papyrus and made a noise that sounded like a dying whale. Edmund took this to mean approval. “Excellent. I'll just see myself in, then. Have a beautiful day and pray that someone invents soap in the near future, my good man!” Edmund waved and headed into the colosseum, his three legged dog tailing along after him.

Inside he met yet another foul smelling proto-man and was handed a sword of terrible quality, a shield of questionable value and a stack of bronze armor which made Edmund frown in disgrace. After changing, Edmund looked down at himself approvingly. The bronze armor covered one shoulder and only one shoulder. The leather codpiece was absolutely vulgar and everything else was bare to the wind. Edmund thought he looked rather dashing. “The ladies will slip right off of their seats when they see this, eh Vexillarius?” His three legged dog cocked his head to the side and made a sort of sad, crooning noise.

“Don't worry boy, we'll find you something to spend the night with as well. Probably not a dog, I think they eat those here. What about some sort of large arachnid? That seems like the kind of thing that would live here.” Vexillarius wagged his tail and licked Edmund's outstretched palm. “Good boy, that's the spirit. Always stay positive, that's what I say.”

A while later the big bell rang and Edmund was ushered off into the colosseum along with a crowd of other, similarly dressed gladiators. Feeling that he wouldn't stand out quite enough, he tied his neck tie around his head. The heavy wooden portcullis lifted before him, and he was shoved out onto the battleground. He had never seen a stadium so big before. The sandy ground stretched a kilometer in diameter, and the stands housed millions of screaming people. There were trees on the colosseum floor far to the north, and a castle in the middle. Old ruins were staggered west and East of him, and bags of sand were piled high just to his right.

He waved to the crowd and the volume of their cheering went up several notches. “I told you they'd approve of the look,” he said to his dog, who seemed both excited and afraid at the same time. Immediately a much larger man in a terrifying bull headhelmet pushed Edmund out of the way and raised his massive axe above his head. The crowd got even louder, so Edmund stabbed him up between the ribs for stealing his spotlight. This seemed to be the cue for the games to start, as every other gladiator immediately drew their weapons and charged at him, so Edmund beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the castle, Vexillarius trailing behind, having quite a lot of fun in his favorite game, being chased.

“This whole thing is getting a bit ridiculous, isn't it, Vexillarius? I didn't know I was supposed to fight all of them at once.” Across the arena Edmund could see other warriors by other gates, thousands of them, all confused as to why his group was moving and theirs weren't. This resulted in dozens of massed melees as all of the primitives assumed the games had started without their knowledge. One of the gladiators chasing Edmund threw a spear and it whizzed by Edmund's head and stuck in the ground ahead of him. Without slowing down he plucked it up as he went by and tossed it casually over his shoulder. A scream of pain came from the group behind him and Edmund smiled. “Rather easy to hit when they're all grouped up like that. Like Orks to a slaughter, eh?”

As it turned out, the castle was rather a ways away and Edmund was starting to get tired. Luckily, the group behind him were even more tired, probably having less experience in running away from threats and more running towards them, which generally tended to be a much shorter trip. By the time Edmund crossed into the gates of the castle he had gained a good hundred meters on the frothing barbarians, which gave him time to catch his breath and look for something to bar the gate with. Seeing a large, curious looking lever, he pulled it, and a portcullis slammed down directly on top of the first of the gladiators, impaling him quite thoroughly. The rest of the group hit the portcullis hard and snarling, trying to bash their way in, so Edmund began sticking his sword into their faces until they stopped. At his feet, Vexillarius ran in circles, barking.

Feeling himself relatively secure, Edmund wandered off looking for something else to do about the barbarians at the gate. He found, to his surprise, some sort of ancient machine made of wooden beams and rope. It looked like a large lever, pulled all the way back, with a basket on one end that was filled with tiny round jugs full of some kind of liquid. Intrigued, Edmund poked a bronze switch with his sword, then leaped back as the entire device lurched, the basket flinging its contents directly at the portcullis. The jars broke across the wooden beams and a wave of fire washed over the gladiators trying to make their way inside. Burning like several dozen very pained candles, they died and made a nice flaming barricade for anyone trying to get into the castle.

“Well,” Edmund said, looking down at his dog. “That seems to have worked out quite nicely. Shall we see if there's anything to drink around here?”

Several hours and three bottles of cheap wine later, Edmund heard the great bell again and climbed up to the top of the castle walls to see what the big fuss was about. There were dead bodied everywhere. The forest was on fire, the ruins were ruined and all of those sandbags were now just dust. Ten men stood in the entire arena, Edmund included. All but Edmund were covered in blood, their armor torn and rent, their weapons destroyed. Edmund was just about to try to snipe one of them with a bow and arrow he'd found lying in the castle keep when a booming voice filled the whole colosseum, silencing the crowd.

“Proud men of Cumsaka V! You are the heroes of your people!” Edmund looked around to find the owner of the voice and spied a giant of a man standing in some kind of bulky ceremonial robes walking towards the center of the arena. He was flanked by a pair of emaciated servitors who were carrying speakers to amplify his voice. “You have been chosen to leave your people and your world behind now. You will come with us and become heroes of the Imperium!”

“About time,” Edmund said, leaning against the palisade at the top of the wall.

“To become the Emperor's own Space Marines!”

“Oh bloody hell.”

Liscensed Vulgarity

2011-05-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

Today's topic is one that I hold close to my heart, the use of the English language. English is a horrible bastardization of German, French, Latin and a half dozen other dialects that results in a wildly popular pidgin mess of beautiful chaos. We've got words that mean twelve things, we've got words that mean nothing (Deceptively is deceptively deceptive!) and we've got words we're absolutely positively no matter what not allowed to say in public otherwise our mothers will wash our mouths out with lye soap. But let's hold back for a moment and think about that. There are words we have been told all of our lives not to say, and so we don't say them. Is there anything wrong with that? I believe that it's a personal choice on whether or not you cuss like a sailor or have a tongue as pure as a virgin nun's wet dripping snowcone. Now the problem here is when whether or not you spout off like a woman giving birth is some elses' choice and not your own.

I'm talking, mainly, about Licensed Media, with Games Workshop's Black Library publications coming immediately to mind. No matter what else may happen in the story, not a single daemon or chaos cultist, rugged adventurer or dying space marine will ever mutter a four letter word. Why? Should I even have to ask? Honestly, it's obvious, isn't it?

For God's sake, Carrie, children read these books! You can't put vulgarity in there where children can read! Of course, how could I be so stupid? Obviously we wouldn't want the children reading these books to repeat language they read in a book written about a game. So absolutely no curse words. None. Instead include another scene where the protagonist skins a small child alive and hangs his body from a lamp post. Now that's a great idea!

Sarcasm much? I know, I know. I just find it weird that in a setting that exalts ultraviolence and genocide there can't be any naughty words, and any kind of sex better just be alluded to. Now it's true, some books might be a little bit more sexually oriented than others, but there's never anything explicit. Now while I'm not saying that there should be graphic sex in every novel, I do find it a little bit odd that death, murder and mayhem is more socially acceptable than tits.

So, I want to go back to that metaphor I left hanging in the air back in the first chapter. You say a curse word, and your mommy washes your mouth out with soap. Now, what would your mommy do if you showed everyone your private bits? She'd probably get very embarrassed and lock you up in your room while she sat in the kitchen drinking her life away and wondering where she went wrong. But what would she do if you tortured a man to death so brutally that his dying screams summoned an army of the damned from a thousand light years away? (That's Lord of Night again, I get a lot of mileage out of that one). Well, if she didn't pat you on the back and hand you a cookie with a friendly, "Good job, kid" then she's not Games Workshop.

It's a common thing in media that while graphic violence is ok, sex and cursing is not. Well, unless you're on Starz. And why is that? I think the answer is obvious.

PS: Up there where it says snowcone it should say cunt.

Radical: Reunion

2011-05-26T15:43:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part VI. For more check the table of contents here.

In the decade between the Invasion of Ulric and my next meeting with Isimbard Kane I had achieved some modicum of glory. I was recognized as a survivor of the fight with the daemon, an event which took the lives of several Grey Knights and an Imperial Inquisitor, along with my own sisters. I had been retained as a bodyguard for the Inquisitor Gibbius Vecht of the Ordo Hereticus, along with the remainder of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. During this service I fought in the purge of Scarran, I participated the destruction of a chaos cult on MacCragge itself, and I found myself alongside guardsmen once more when Inquisitor Vecht was called to assist in a particularly dangerous hunt for the rogue psyker Dasar. I was promoted from Battle Sister to Sister Superior. But my career, as prestigious as it might have been, was nothing compared to that of Isimbard Kane.

Kane gained fame for his defeat of the daemon on Ulric and was adopted into the Ordo Xenos as an Interrogator. While an Interrogator Kane personally put an end to a genestealer cult on the eastern rim and assassinated a Tau leader. Upon being promoted to Inquisitor, Kane halted an Ork Waaagh in the Davoth subsector by using Navigators and Astropaths to create a storm in the warp large enough to wipe out the entire greenskin fleet. Then he led an assault on an Eldar Craftworld, driving the foul race from it with flame, fire and a Deathwatch company. In the ten short years since he had come to the galaxy's attention he had become the stuff of legends. He never tried to hide his identity, instead preferring to operate in high profile conflicts, unerringly following an innate instinct which allowed him to emerge victorious from every conflict with the foul xeno.

I will be honest, I felt nervous as I waited for him to arrive. He'd contacted Vecht about rumors he had heard of a xenos cult on the backwater world of Ondine. The planet, a lush place of verdant green fields and thick forests, had been colonized only a few years before. Some xeno race must have attacked the colonists, or Kane never would have involved himself. Vecht, smelling glory in the air, had invited Kane onto our ship, Nolo Contende, and offered him the use of our forces in his mission. Our forces, at the time, consisted of Vecht himself and fifteen of us sisters, cut down from the original twenty-seven who had survived on Ulric by the previous decade's conflicts. While it was true that he could have mustered a few hundred men from the ship's security detail, Vecht generally considered his group of veteran Sororitas bodyguard to be enough to handle any conflict, and so far he'd been right. If only he had been this time as well.

We were gathered in the great dining room on the ship, a vast room over a hundred meters long, with a dark wooden table that ran the entire length of the room, surrounded by plush chairs in crimson. The table had been made, according to Vecht, from a single piece of wood, cut from a tree over a mile long on some obscure planet that I could never find in the databases. Most of we sisters stood at regular intervals around the perimeter of the room, standing statue still with our bolters, a show of power. I was not with them, being a Sister Superior had granted me the privilege of dining with the Inquisitor. Along with me were my friend Kora Halquin, now a Celestian along with Angelica Cross, who sat across from her; and Analyn Lafollet, our Palatine. I never liked Angelica, and I don't think I ever will. I can respect her in battle, but she has always had a tendency towards recklessness which was not even remotely suppressed in social situations. She also curses like a bilge rat from the bowels of a pirate ship.

“Is he fucking here yet? You'd think a fucking Inquisitor would own a chronograph.” Out of our armor, the three of us wore the black robes of our order, though Angelica's was decidedly haphazard and lacking in decorum. She was frighteningly tall, even when sitting, with stark white hair that I would swear that she dyed were it not for the fact that it matched her eyebrows so perfectly.

“I'm sure he's on his way. His shuttle parked over an hour ago. He probably just had some business to attend to.” Kora said diplomatically. She had her light red hair up in a tight bun and was wearing her pince nez glasses again. I never saw her wear those in combat, where they might have done the most good, and I think they're an affectation. She stills wears them, even now, and over the years I've become convinced that she doesn't actually need them. Her robe was perfectly maintained, as always, with everything in its place.

“Angelica, keep your opinions to yourself when he arrives or so help me I'll make you my twin.” That phrase had become Analyn's favorite threat, and it was a dreadful one indeed. Though her robe covered most of her life sustaining bionics, nothing could hide the extent of the replacements she'd needed. Half of her face was covered by the tubing which powered her augmetic eye and the plate that protected the delicate machinery. The lens zoomed in and out threateningly when she grew angry. Her right arm ended in a thin, skeletal hand made of steel which twitched in an unnerving manner at all times and kept her from using a pistol in it anymore, which was probably for the best considering that she'd lost that hand when her plasma pistol had exploded on Ulric.

Never one to suffer authority lightly, Angelica glared at Analyn, but said nothing further. At the far end of the table sat Gibbius Vecht, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, and our current patron and master. He was a tall man, and almost skeletally thing. His face was sallow and angular, his ears large and angled near the tops, his nose overly large and aquiline. He was dressed in the finest silk shirt with a cravat that tumbled from his neck in a cascade of lace; his jacket, long and black, was crushed velvet. Kora had described him as a man of refined elegance. Angelica just called him a useless fop. “Sisters,” he said, his voice somehow both melodic and grating, with a tenor harshness I could never quite place. “I would advise silence upon the arrival of our esteemed guest. Though you may feel personally connected to him in some way, due to your participation in the events on Ulric, I feel I must remind you that he is of The Emperor's own Inquisition now and likely cares little for your petty female squabbling.”

I believe that had the doors at the far end of the chamber not opened at that very moment Angelica would have likely ended her service to The Emperor that day with the blood of an Inquisitor on her hands. But the doors did open, and the man standing there was not what I had expected. When I had first met him, Inquisitor Kane was dressed in the armor of a crusader, made of polished silver and gleaming with honors and prayers inscribed in the minutest detail. Now before me stood a man in a ragged, tattered brown coat, stained all over and patched haphazardly in dozens of places. Underneath he wore black carapace armor, scarred and torn from battle. His hair, once close cut and tidy, now hung long and dark brown around a face too weathered for its age. But his eyes were still that intense blue that I remembered.

Vecht stood, as did we sisters, and our Inquisitor greeted the guest. “Inquisitor Kane, it is an honor to have you aboard my inadequate vessel. I welcome you and invite your to enjoy our hospitality. Allow me to introduce the senior members of my personal retinue. This is-”

“Palatine Analyn Lafollet,” Kane interrupted with a sly grin. “And Sisters Superior Angelica Cross, Kora Halquin and Regina Winterfield. We've met before, though it was quite a while ago.”

“Of course,” Vecht said. “I'm surprised you remember them.”

“I make a point of keeping abreast of comrades in arms.” He said, approaching the table. “In fact, they are why I contacted you in the first place, Vecht. I like having allies I know I can rely on, and the Cleansing Fire Commandery has proven itself to be exceptional in its service to the Inquisition.” he pulled out a chair and sat, slumping against the high back, then added, almost as an afterthought, “As have you, of course, Inquisitor.”

“Of course,” Vecht said, the sneer on his face leaking into his voice as he returned to his seat. We sat as well, and Angelica seemed quite pleased at the almost casual dismissal of Vecht by the great hero in the room.

“We've been told that you're investigating a xeno cult and would like our assistance,” Analyn said, cutting right to the chase. “Though I'm not sure why you contacted the Ordo hereticus about something like this.”

“Palatine, that's quite enough,” Vecht said. “I am sure that discussion of business can wait until after our meal. The business of Inquisitors shouldn't be discussed so openly.” The emphasis he put on the word Inquisitors made me sink down into my chair and pray he didn't look at me.

“No, it's fine.” Kane waved a hand dismissively. “My operations are very rarely subtle, and I like my allies to have as much information as possible.” He turned to Analyn, “To be honest, I need reliable people with me on this one, and my Deathwatch command has been drastically depleted after the assault on the Eldar Craftworld. I only have three marines with me at the moment, and I need more boots on the ground and bolters in hand.”

“This has nothing to do with my expertise then.” Vecht tugged absently at his cravat, and I sunk even lower into my chair. That was a sure sign of the Inquisitor's rising anger. I had only been on the receiving end of it once, and I didn't care to repeat it.

Kane gave Vecht a narrow, curious look, and said, “No. It doesn't. I need your resources, and if possible, your assistance. A sharp mind is as good as a sharp sword in the right circumstances, and to be honest, I don't know the circumstances we're facing.”

Before Vecht could respond Kora spoke up, obviously trying to diffuse this situation as diplomatically as possible. “This is about the disappearance of colonists on Ondine, isn't it? That's what we've been told. It seems like the cause could be anything, really. Are you certain that this mystery is Xenos in nature?”

“No, Sister, I'm not. It could be the influences of chaos, or simply traitors or accident, but I think it's of alien origin.” Kane pulled a dataslate out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table to Vecht. “This is the last report we received from the colony. They claim to have found some sort of structures in the forests around the equator. They couldn't immediately identify them, but sent teams to investigate them, which never returned. They discuss the age of the structures in their reports, which places them at the height of the Eldar Empire thousands of years ago, but the descriptions they give don't match Eldar architectural styles from any age. To be completely honest, I don't recognize them at all, and that intrigues me. I want to investigate, and I think we'll find them very well defended.”

“Fascinating,” Vecht said, examining the slate, his anger apparently lost in favor of curiosity. “I don't recognize this style either, and I'm well versed in this sort of thing.” He put the slate down and looked across the table at Kane. “I'm interested, Kane. Very interested. I'll have my navigator plot a course immediately.”

May The Emperor forgive us for being so eager to set foot on that cursed world.

So ends the sixth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, and the beginning of her account of the Investigation of Ondine.

Radical: Table of Contents

2011-05-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

In the effort to make an easier browsing experience for readers, I hereby institute the Radical Table of Contents. This means no one has to go sneaking around through my blog in terror, avoiding the foul xeno on the way to their goal. Ain't I nice? (And a bit overdue?)

The Invasion of Ulric
1) Hell
2) Healing
3) Heretics
4) Hymn
5) Hero

Inquisitor Null's Intermission Report

The Ondine Expedition
6) Reunion
7) Rain
8) Resurrection
9) Rest
10) Remembrancer

Radical: Rest

2011-05-26T15:20:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part IX. For more check the table of contents here.

We fled through the jungle for hours, Kane ranging ahead to clear a path while Kora pulled me along on my injured leg. I don't think any of us actually knew where we were going except away from that clearing. We had no idea what had happened to the rest of the group, or even if they'd survived. All we could do was pray that Vecht had gotten them out of there and was on his way to the shuttle, otherwise we were stuck in this Emperor forsaken jungle for the rest of what were about to be our very short lives.

During the battle I hadn't had time to pull that Necrontyr claw out of my leg, but at some point it had come loose, and now my boot was filling with blood. Somehow, I didn't think about bleeding to death, but rather about getting some kind of fungal infection from having wet feet. I'm sure that meant that I was already in pretty bad shape. Eventually Kora shouted ahead at Kane, calling for a stop so that she could see about doing something for my leg. Reluctantly, the Inquisitor came back to us and pointed out a sheltered hollow under a fallen tree that we could take shelter in. As we settled in, Kane kept a close eye on the jungle around us. “I don't hear anything.”

“It's impossible to hear anything with all of this rain,” Kora said, and she was right. The constant downpour had turned into an all out storm now, and the heavy drops hitting the canopy above us produced a deafening din that drowned out the ambient noises of the jungle. I propped my back up against the roots of the fallen tree and began unfastening my boot and greave. Kora helped me, and gasped as at least a liter of blood sloshed out of my boot onto the ground. “By the Emperor Regina, how are you still walking?” I just shrugged and laid my head back, glad for the rest.

Kane turned back, and took cover under the tree with us. “I guess we can stay here for a while. If they were chasing us we'd probably know about it by now.”

Kora had pulled her medical supplies out of one of the pouches on her belt and was trying to stitch my leg closed. By now the whole thing was numb, so I didn't really notice. “Kane,” she said, “What were those things?”

“Necrontyr,” he said. “A xeno race that makes the Imperium of Man look like backwater primitives hurling spears at each other.” When he caught Kora's sharp look from the mild blasphemy he put his hands up, “Sorry, what I mean is that they're incredibly technologically advanced.”

Kora bit the end of the thread she was using to stitch my injury and then started wrapping a bandage around my calf. “Where did they come from?”

“As far as anyone can tell, they've always been here. There are records of the Necrontyr scattered across the galaxy in xeno archeological sites. They're referred to as the Great Death or the Undying Ones usually. The Eldar call them The Ancient Enemy. Keeping them in hibernation is one of their most important goals.” He looked up into the jungle again, “The records of the Inquisition have a sort of piecemeal history of them. It seems that at some point the Necrontyr made some sort of sacrificial ritual to their gods and the entire race bound their own souls into metal bodies that would never age and could recover from any injury. Then they engaged in some galaxy spanning massacre that eradicated almost all life everywhere. Something finally defeated them though, and they went into hibernation underground on their stronghold worlds.”

“Then this...” Kora looked around at all of the jungle, and Kane nodded.

“Yeah. This must have been one of those worlds, and the colonists woke them up.”

“Fantastic,” She said, finishing up my bandages and slumping back against the tree. “So we're stuck on an enemy occupied world, waiting for evac that's probably never going to come.”

“That about sums it up,” Kane said with a sigh. “All we can do is make the best of it though.” He pulled a ration pack out of one of the pockets in his ragged old coat and offered it over to Kora. She took it with a gracious nod. “But you know that's not all we need to do.”

“Is it not?” She'd opened the pack and given me a slab of something that was, theoretically, dried grox meat, but I didn't really believe it. We just tended to refer to the food in ration packs by color, and this was definitely a slice of sundried yellow. I couldn't help but notice that Kora had kept the pleasing green to herself. Maybe she'd share the hard candy.

“No, we've still got to find those ruins,” he said. “That's the mission, and I'm not the type to abandon a mission just because we hit a little snag.”

“You call losing our Palatine and getting cut off from the rest of the unit in the middle of an ambush while behind enemy lines a snag?”

“If I remember correctly,” Kane said, grinning. “You're the woman who stumbled onto a bloodthirster in the middle of a mission, and instead of calling a retreat, broke your power sword across its knee.”

Kora blushed and looked away. “I'm also the one who got kicked across a room for the effort and woke up in a field hospital three days later with an artificial spine.”

Whatever Kane's response was, it was drowned out by a sudden roar that even the rain couldn't mask. He lunged forward, pressing Kora back into the hollow and raising his finger to his lips. Kora pulled me in close and the three of us huddled under the cover of the tree as the roar got louder. Then the entire tree shook and a skimmer shot over out hiding space and took off into the trees. At least, I had thought it was a skimmer at first glance. Five more of them followed after the first, and I could see they weren't skimmers, but Necrontyr. Their bodies had been fused to heavy anti-grav platforms, and their right arms all replaced with gigantic blasters that glowed with that same unclean green energy that seemed to be the source of the Necrontyr power.

None of them saw us, too intent on their own goals to be looking for us, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. Kane kept us quiet for another minute, then poked his head out and looked around. “Okay, we're clear. I think we should get moving again.”

Kora nodded and I was already putting my boot back on. I'd barely gotten to my feet when Kora called out and pointed over Kane's shoulder. With a blur of speed I could barely believe was human Kane had Kora's bolt pistol pointed out into the jungle, and his power sword was crackling with energy. But there was nothing there. “What? What is it?”

“I saw something,” Kora said, raising her stormbolter to her shoulder. “Out there, in the trees. It was something silver, like metal. I only saw it for a moment.”

I remembered the vision that had brought Vecht to the clearing and raised my own bolter warily. Kane scanned the trees, “Are you sure?”

“Positive. It was there for a moment, then gone. Like a ghost.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kane asked. “Don't you need glasses?”

“Only for reading!” Kora snapped. “I know what I saw.”

When it came, it was sheer luck that saved us. I took a step forward, but in my haste I hadn't fastened my boot properly, and I tripped, slamming into Kora's back and bringing us down into the mud. At that same moment it came out of the falled tree. It didn't explode or break through, it simply slipped through the tree as if it wasn't there, and its clawed hands snatched at the air where Kora's head had been a moment before. “Kane!” Kora screamed, and the Inquisitor spun, firing the bolt pistol in a rapid series of cracks.

The Necrontyr was all torso. It had a long, skeletal face and heavy, hunched shoulders that narrowed down to its waist, where, instead of legs, the thing had a long, sharp, serpentine tail that whipped around behind it. It was floating a meter above the ground, unsupported. The bolts slipped right through the creature as if it didn't exist, as effective as shooting at the air itself, and it spun on Kane, extending its taloned hands.

I got to my feet first and lunged forward, driving the sarissa on the end of my bolter into the thing's back, but accomplished nothing except stumbling completely through the intangible creature. I turned just in time to parry one of its claws with the sarissa and deflected it onto the shoulder of my armor. It still scored a deep gash in the ceramite and sent me tumbling back down to the ground.

From the ground Kora sprayed it with a blast from her stormbolter, but again, nothing. The bolts passed completely through and tore down a tree a few dozen meters away. The creature's tail whipped towards me and I rolled, barely dodging as its sharp tip slammed into the ground next to me. On impulse I rammed my sarissa into the tail and pinned it to the ground. The Necrontyr tried to yank free, but a bolt from Kane's pistol glanced its shoulder and spun it around. The serpentine tail was ripped free of my weapon, and twisted back, split at the end.

“It's solid when it attacks,” Kora shouted, coming to her feet and training her stormbolter on it. The thing looked cautious now, and backed away slowly, its broken tail raised up behind it, poised like a serpent about to strike. Now it knew we had it, and it seemed like it was trying to come up with a new plan. I really wish it hadn't.

Very slowly, it sank down into the ground, and Kane let out a vulgar curse. “Everybody off the ground,” He shouted, and sprinted straight for a tree. None of us had time to respond as Kane didn't even make it a meter before that serpentine tail came out of the ground and wrapped around his ankle, tripping him up. He hit the ground face first, and Kora fired at the ground around his feet, churning up the mud as the explosive bolts detonated. The thing appeared again, poised to pierce Kane through with its claws, but he swung his power sword wildly and the thing recoiled, struck in the face.

I charged forward and leaped onto its back. Remembering Kane's defeat of the daemon years earlier, I pulled a frag grenade from my belt and jammed it into the space between its shoulders and neck. As the thing's tail came back for me I threw myself off of its back and landed on top of Kane, covering my head with my gauntleted hands. The grenade blew, and my armor was showered with shrapnel. It hurt quite a lot, and the blast left my ears ringing, but the armor held. I rolled over off of Kane and looked around. Pieces of the Necrontyr were scattered everywhere.

“That was a little excessive, Regina. You probably could have just shot it,” Kora said, coming forward to give me a hand up. Kane got up on his own and walked towards a large chunk of the xeno which was embedded in the ground a few meters away. “That was impressive sword work, Kane. I've never seen anyone be that effective while lying face down in the mud.”

“What do you mean?” He said, wiping said mud from his face with the back of his sleeve. “I didn't hit it.” He picked up the chunk of Necrontyr, which appeared to be half of its head, and he pulled out something gleaming and white. He froze, and we came towards him, confused.

“We need to get out of here, Kane. This thing's friends probably heard that blast and will be here any second,” Kora said, leaning forward to see what Kane was holding.

He held it up so we could both see. “Don't make any sudden movements,” he said. The thing in his hand was a sharp, white shape with several sharp points. It had been buried directly in the center of the Necrontyr's forehead. “Put your weapons down very slowly.”

“What are you talking about?” Kora asked, and I turned around. My breath froze in my chest. A fern a few meters away stood up, no longer a fern but instead a tall, graceful figure wearing a cloak covered in false plants. It held a long, elegant rifle which was pointed directly at me. A moment later a half dozen more things which I had assumed to be simply another part of the jungle became menacing shapes with rifles trained at us.

“Greetings,” Kane said nervously, empty hands raised into the air. “I see we've come to fight the same enemy, noble Eldar.”

So ends the ninth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

Radical: Resurrection

2011-05-18T19:37:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part VIII. For more check the table of contents here.

They couldn't be alive. They had no organs, no muscles, no minds. The metal men were just that, metal formed into the vague shape of men. There were no engines powering them or motors making them move. The metal men were simply impossible. But they still came on, knife fingers snipping towards us, long, expressionless faces gazing at us with glowing green eyes. Janine hit them with the flamer again, but they ignored it, and why wouldn't they? There was no flesh to burn, no nerves to feel pain, just heartless metal intent on death. I dropped the clip out of my bolter and fumbled a new one into place, then fired. The explosive shells impacted into the oncoming mass. Here one would fall, there another would stumble, but they didn't slow down. To my horror the injured ones picked themselves back up, their bodies reforming right before my eyes. I think that, by then, I was screaming.

Kora saved us. She came out of nowhere, her stormbolter blazing, and the two creatures in the lead fell into twitching piles. “Regina, where's the Inquisitor?”

“Here!” Kane shouted, his power sword cleaving through the neck of a metal man who had come up behind Kora. Two more nimble flicks of his wrist sent the thing to the ground in several pieces. His bolt pistol barked twice, then empty, he threw it at one of the things with a growl. “Necrontyr,” he said, holding his sword in a low guard. “This was the last thing I was expecting. How could I be so stupid?”

“What in the name of Terra is a Necrontyr?” Kora sent another burst from her stormbolter into one of the monsters that had gotten too close.

“I will be glad to tell you more about them when we survive, sister,” Kane responded, then slipped next to Kora and wrapped his arm around her waist. He drew her bolt pistol from her hip and put a pair of bolts into another of these Necrontyr. “Let's just say they're bad. Where are the Deathwatch?”

“They were right behind me.” As if on cue the full force of our expedition burst into the clearing. Analyn had formed the sisters into a defensive firing line and were laying down a steady stream of bolt shells into the creatures. She lead, as always, from the front, her plasma pistol reducing the metal men to slag. The Deathwatch Marines came marching in from the left, two with bolters guarding the flanks of the third, who had his heavy bolter on some kind of suspensor rig that allowed him to fire it while moving. The sheer amount of muscle that must have taken, even with the mechanical assistance, was staggering. Angelica was with those marines, her eviscerator revving at high speed.

I heard a shout over all the fire and saw Inquisitor Vecht being encircled by several of the Necrontyr. Angelica charged forward to save him. Her eviscerator cleaved two of the creatures in twain with a single stroke, which created an opening for Vecht to dart out of danger. He was frantically trying to reload his inferno pistol while sprinting back behind the line the sisters had formed.

The Deathwatch were making their way towards us, slowly but surely blasting their way ahead, and for a moment I thought we might be able to break free and get back to the sisters like Vecht had, but I've never been quite that blessed. The Emperor, I believe, likes to show me his affection through challenges. As the marines closed, a sudden deep darkness began engulfing the clearing. It was like a cloud of the deepest black which fell upon us. Immediately all fire ceased, and there was no sound. It was as if all of my senses had been taken from me, and I might have thought I'd died if the sharp pain in my leg hadn't remained. Then, in an instant, the cloud was gone. And what had appeared in its place was much worse.

At least twenty of the metal men were now standing between us and the relative safety of the firing line. These Necrontyr were different from the others though. They each held large weapons of some kind, glowing with the same green energy that burned in their eyes. Amongst them, one stood out. It stood a full head taller than the rest and clutched in one hand a massive staff that flickered menacingly with crackling bursts of power. “No no no! That's a Lord!” As he spoke the Lord turned to us and somehow made a noise in my head that sounded almost like a voice, but incredibly wrong. It spoke inside of my head like the voice of a tomb, filling my senses with the smell of stale air and dust that hadn't moved for millenia. It was like death itself had invaded my mind, promising nothing but oblivion and an end to all things. Then something slammed down in my mind and a bright white light forced out the darkness. I saw the Lord recoil as the light of the Emperor filled me, so I emptied the clip of my bolter directly into its face.

It staggered back, then raised its staff. A moment later Janine simply disappeared, screaming, as she was torn apart by a blinding beam of energy. Unsupported, I fell to the ground, something that saved my life as more of the energy beams tore through the air around me. Kane tackled Kora to the ground, rolling on top of her to cover her. As the Lord targeted us, the rest of the things began firing at my sisters. I watched as one was torn to pieces by the coruscating green blasts. Her armor disappeared first, then her skin, muscle, bone and finally there was nothing left of her, swept away as easily as dust on a floor. Analyn shouted and the sisters began firing back. A meltagun caused one of the metal men to disappear as completely as that sister, and Vecht's inferno pistol, now reloaded, did the same for another.

The Lord came towards us and I struggled to reload my bolter again, but the muck of the ground had fouled the feed. Kora raised to one knee and began firing a steady stream from her stormbolter, but the Lord kept moving towards us, the bolt shells not even denting his metal body. Kane joined in with Kora's bolt pistol, but even together they couldn't even slow the creature down.

A Deathwatch marine, may he be held at a special place at The Emperor's side, slammed into the Lord at a full sprint, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. As it rose to its feet again the Marine spun and caught it in the chin with the butt of his bolter. The Lord staggered back, then jerked and danced as bolt shells slammed into it from all directions. The Marine was firing at point blank range, and behind the Lord the other two Marines were pouring fire into it. Its limbs came apart in a storm of shrapnel. Its head exploded and its body was torn to ribbons. Shattered and broken, the pieces of the Lord fell everywhere.

Kane grabbed me and hefted me up, groaning under the weight of my armor. While not as bulky or heavy as that of the Astartes, power armor of any type is exceedingly heavy for those without any kind of augmented strength. Kora raised her stormbolter to fire into the rest of the metal men from behind, but Kane slapped the weapon down. “No, we've got to get out of here. We're outmatched. Vecht! Vecht, can you hear me?” Kane lowered his head as he spoke into his microbead. “Fall back quickly, we're dead if we keep fighting. Get back to the shuttle and get airborne. Come pick us up, we'll be heading North. Understood?”

The Deathwatch marines were moving to join us when one suddenly staggered. I watched in horror as his massive body jerked and was pulled into the air, the Lord's staff punched straight through his chest, the ceramite armor as effective as paper. With a single gesture of its arms, the Lord tore the marine in half and sent the two halves of his body flying across the field. What was left of the Necrontyr Lord had pulled itself back to its feet and begun to repair. Its head was still gone, but was reforming, inch by inch, as I watched. The other two marines turned to engage it, only for the staff to again emit those blinding energy beams and disintegrate the marines where they stood. “We need to get out of here, now!” Kane shouted, hauling me away from the scene, but for some reason we seemed to be going too slow, like the air had become too thick to move in. Kora shouted and fired her stormbolter, and I could see the shells spin as they cut through the air so terribly slowly. The Lord easily dodged them, simply stepping aside, a blur of metal too fast for my eyes to keep track of. It was suddenly before me, staring into my eyes as its own reformed and began blazing once ore with the unholy green energy. It simply shoved Kane aside and caught me up by the throat in its cold grip. As it hoisted me into the air, I saw a vague black shape in the air behind it, moving as terribly slowly as I had been.

It plucked my helmet from my head and cast it aside, then began squeezing my neck. I gagged, trying to wrench myself free, but I couldn't gain any momentum in the cursed slowness which didn't seem to affect the Lord in the slightest. It stared at me with a cruel curiosity, watching me die. As my vision faded I prayed, commending my soul the Empror's safekeeping, then I heard the terrible sound of metal on metal, shrieking, and my eyes shot open wide. Angelica hung in mid-leap behind the Lord, her eviscerator rammed into the base of its neck, grinding down into its body with the same lethargic speed which had caught all of us. The Lord dropped me, and everything sped up again. It hit the ground hard, and Angleica tore the back of the Lord completely off as she wrenched her weapon free. “Did that hurt, fucker?” My sister was grinning in the way she did when she'd found something on the battlefield which had sparked her bloodlust.

As the Lord spun to face her a plasma shot sheared its arm off at the shoulder. Analyn was coming at it from the flank, plasma pistol in one hand, power sword in the other. “Emperor damn you, Angelica! I told you to fall back!”

“Falling back is for cowardly little pre-pubescent girls, Palatine!” Angelica swung her eviscerator again, but the Lord blocked with its staff and knocked her aside. Angelica rolled back up to her feet and charged again. “What's the matter, Analyn? Need me to buy you some sanitary pads for your first menstruation?”

Analyn came at the Lord from the side and her power sword cut a gouge across its torso. “That's it! When we get back I'm going to make you clean every toilet on the ship.” While the Lord recoiled Analyn put her boot to the Lord's chest and shoved it down to the ground. “Come on, we're going!”

“Not yet!” Angelica pounced on the fallen Lord and brought her eviscerator down towards its chest, but the Lord got its staff in the way and the chainsword's teeth tore into the alien metal. “It's still kicking! I want to finish it off!”

“We have to go,” Kora shouted, helping me to my feet again. “Let it go, Angelica!”

Some of the Necrontyr with the guns were turning back to face us, and Analyn shouted one more time. “Angelica stop! Stop!” The Palatine sighed and stared up at the sky, “Oh Holy Emperor, why won't she stop?” They were the last words Analyn ever said. One of the knife fingered Necrontyr stepped up behind her and flicked her head off of her shoulders. Her headless body collapsed just as Angelica finally cut through the Lord's staff and drove her blade into the thing's chest. She wrenched the blade left, then right, and the Lord lie still. A sideways glance showed her Analyn's fate, and Angelica screamed in unmitigated rage. She charged into the fray, her eviscerator roaring almost as loud as she was as she hit the Necrontyr formation from behind.

Kora almost followed her, but Kane grabbed us both and began dragging us towards the treeline. “Leave her! We have to go, now!” The three of us stumbled into the forest once more, me still being carried by Kora. As we disappeared amongst the trees and the sounds of battle fell far behind us I realized that until that shuttle came we were going to be alone in these woods with the Necrontyr.

So ends the eighth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

Upon being flabbergastingly drunk.

2011-05-16T01:38:00.000-07:00

This this is my blog and I can rant about what I want to, allow me to just say that I am rip roaringly flabbergastingly drunk and I appreciate each and everyone one of you fine fellows and ladies who read my blog. It is for you that I continue, and it is in your interests that I try to produce the highest quality material which I can. (Though it is true that I was spoiled by MS Word 07 a while back and now that I don't have it the lack of autocorrect is blatantly obvious sometimes.) While it is true that I am entirely and hugely drunk on many many shots of whiskey, I think that it is important to let all of you know how much I appreciate your continued patronage.

Without your support I could not continue, and I want nothing more than to make your experience here the absolute best it can be. I can speak candidly about this because my good friend Jackie D. is telling me it's okay. Because of this, I encourage each and every one of you to share your comments and opinions. They make my day. And in the event of emergency please break glass, fasten seat belts, move in an orderly fashion towards the nearest exits and tell your loved ones how much you love them (otherwise they would not be loved ones!).

I, again, thank everyone who showed concern for me during my time in the hospital and throughout my recovery, which is now officially over, thus the celebratory alcoholism. If there is anything I can do to make your visits here more enjoyable please let me know. Also tell your friends. I do so love an audience (Leo, ya know?).

Radical: Rain

2011-05-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part VII. For more check the table of contents here.

The rain never stopped, on Ondine. The entire planet was covered in perpetual cloud cover that made the equatorial forests a bog of mud and mists. Inquisitor Vecht had taken one look at the weather outside and begun a tirade that was still going on the third day of our expedition. We couldn't search for these ruins of Kane's from the air with the jungle canopy being so thick, and we had no vehicles that could make their way through the terrain without getting stuck or disabled. I would have given over my bolter for a squad of Catachan veterans. Instead what we had were all fifteen of we sisters, the two Inquisitors and a trio of Deathwatch marines which were considerably more impressive aboard the shuttle than they were here in the muck. Their large bodies and heavy armor proved to be more detriment than help in the jungle, and ore than once we had to haul one of them out of a swamp where he'd become completely stuck. This is not to besmirch the Astartes by any means, but they were not made for jungle fighting.

Our power armor kept us safe from the biting insects and barbed plants as we moved, Analyn having made it absolutely clear that we were all to wear our helmets on this trip. Still, the going was rough and unpleasant for all of us except Angelica, who seemed to take great relish in clearing the way for us with wild swings of her eviscerator. The great two handed chainsword made quick work of any vines and undergrowth in our way, not to mention several trees and one feline predator which had thought to ambush us. I don't exaggerate when I say that night we had our best meal of the trip. Field rations are no fit substitute for red meat on a forced march. It was on this third day of the expedition, when Vecht's eloquent rant cut short, that we finally found something.

“This Emperor forsaken mudpit of a planet has exterminatus written all over it. When I get back to the ship I am wiping this place out of the sky. And if another of these thrice cursed warpspawn insects bites me I am burning this entire forest to the ground. Do you hear me Sister Janine? You keep that flamer re- What in the nine daemonic realms of heretic cursed excrement is that?”

Angelica stopped chopping, and her eviscerator spun to a stop as she turned. “Did we finally fucking find something? My arms are getting tired.”

Kane came up from where he'd been at the back of the group, along with his Deathwatch, to see what was going on. “Vecht, what's going on?”

“I don't know,” he said, cutting off to the side and pushing through a mass of foliage and waving for Sister Janine and I to follow him. I took the lead, using the sarissa on the end of my bolter to cut away clinging vines and low hanging branches while Janine took to my shoulder, her flamer held ready in case of another attack by some jungle predator. A moment later Kane was at my side, hacking through the underbrush with his power sword. Vecht stayed at the back of the group, but shouted, “There, do you see it? Just to the left now.”

I sliced away some kind of fern and froze in my tracks. I heard Janine gasp, but Kane just stepped forward. “Good eye, Vecht. I think we've found those colonists.”

The rotted corpses of men hung from tree branches at the edge of a wide clearing in the jungle. The rain pattered off of their corpses and dropped to the ground where it pooled into stagnant puddles that filled the entire area with the stink of death. “Holy Throne, that's terrible,” Janine said, and I forgave her casual blasphemy. It was excusable under the circumstances. The bodies had been skinned and strung up by the ankles in a pattern, each body an equal distance from the two next to it, forming a perfect circle around the edge of the clearing. In the center of the space, the ground had been dug up to collect all of the rain water in a pool, and at the center of the pool was some kind of idol, made in the shape of a man, draped in the skins of the dead.

“By The Emperor,” Vecht said as he pushed forward to get a better look. “This is... This is unprecedented. Horrendous. I can... I can hardly believe this!”

“Believe it,” Kane said, stepping out into the clearing and drawing his bolt pistol. “Heretics, Vecht? Is this the work of Chaos?”

“No, no it isn't.” He pointed at the bodies, “There's too much order to this, and none of the signs. With heretics you see repetitions of the number eight, the number of chaos. You see sigils and signs to their dark gods; you see ritual sacrifices, piles of skulls, artwork done in blood.”

Kane pointed his sword at the totem of skins, “That's not artwork? Or an altar of some kind?”

Vecht shook his head, “No, look. These bodies have no death signs, see? No wounds. They were skinned alive, and with surgical precision. I think they were hung up here after they died and the skins were thrown up on that thing as a... A warning, maybe?”

“A warning, a warning away from what?” Kane asked. I was feeling nervous, standing here in this clearing, amidst all of this death, and I began walking the tree line, motioning for Janine to do the same in the opposite direction.

“I don't know, away from these ruins of yours? Away from this damned planet? How should I know?”

Kane edged closer to the pool, examining the totem. “It looks like a coat rack to me.” Then he turned to look back the way we came, “How did you spot this from where we were, anyway? There's a good thirty yards of thick jungle between there and here.”

“I didn't,” Vecht said, suddenly confused. “I saw something else.”

“Something else what?” Kane asked, his voice taking on an edge of irritation. “Something else like something that might have done this?”

“I don't know! I only saw it for a moment. It was something metallic, I think. Like a servo skull ,but larger. I looked at it was gone, like a ghost.”

Kane narrowed his eyes, “Like a ghost?”

“Like a ghost,” Vecht acknowledged, swallowing hard and pulling out his antique inferno pistol.

Janine and I met on the far side of the clearing, neither of us having seen anything. The clearing was as secure as we could make it with just us, but I wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Kane raised his hand to the microbead in his ear, “Brother Folthar, come to my location, an bring the Sororitas with you. Be prepared for hostiles, possibly xeno or daemon in origin. Double time.”

“What is that?!” I spun around at the sound of Vecht's voice, and my eyes went wide. The pool had begun bubbling behind Kane's back, and a figure was rising from the muddy water. A skeleton, caked in mud and filth came walking out of the water, dripping slime. I could only see it from behind, but its fingers terminated in claws half a meter long that flicked and twitched as it moved. Kane spun around and stared at the undead thing in shocked horror and stumbled backwards, tripping on the slick ground and sprawling over onto his back. The creature moved towards him and reached out for him with its claws, then it suddenly disappeared in a corona of flame. Its lower body, now all that was left of it, fell back into the pool, steaming.

Vecht lowered his inferno pistol and let out a breath I could hear from the other side of the clearing. “Well. I'd say that showed it. The dead stay dead when I'm around, right, Kane?”

Kane pulled himself to his feet, grabbing up his hat, which had fallen off during his tumble. “Yeah. I guess so. Thanks for that.”

Janine and I began to head back towards them when the ground started to rumble. All around us more of the skeletons were clawing their way out of the ground. A half dozen more began shambling out of the pool. I began to run back towards the Inquisitors when one of the things broke out of the ground right in front of me. It snatched at my armor and the flickering knives tore scores in the ceramite. Instinctively I lashed out with the butt of my bolter and caught it in the skull, knocking its arms away as it recoiled. On the backswing I scored it across the chest with my sarissa and hooked into its exposed ribcage. With a wrench I twisted the creature off balance and took a back, pulling my weapon free. As it tried to rise I put three bolt shells into its skull, and it lie still.

I heard the roar of Vecht's inferno pistol pistol again, accompanied by with crack of Kane's bolt pistol. Janine was just behind me, her flamer covering our backs. I began to move again, then felt a sudden tearing pain in my ankle. Looking down I saw the creature I had dispatched just a moment before had grabbed my leg, and one of its talons had punched clean through my armor and was buried in my leg. With a shout I fired again, taking the skeleton's arm off at the elbow, then I expended the rest of my clip into its chest, blowing it to pieces. Janine took my arm as I began to stumble and held me up. “Sister Superior, are you all right?” I nodded, then looked up at the wall of fire my sister had laid down to cover us. The things began to step out of the flames, completely unharmed, the mud burned off of their bodies, and I cried out in horror at the sight of the gleaming metal men.

So ends the seventh passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

Current Projects

2011-05-01T12:23:00.000-07:00

Hey kids, it's me, your ever loving friend and compatriot Commissar Carrie here to give you the lowdown on what's coming up from me in the near future.

First off is the next section/chapter/storyline/event in Radical. I really gotta figure out what to call these things other than parts... Anyway, yes, Radical is continuing, though the War on Ulric is over. It's going to shoot into the future about a decade, but it's still following Regina Winterfield's record of the fate of Isimbard Kane. Look forward to Necrons and surprises soon!

Second is my Waaagh Walka, which has been sitting unfinished on my desk for several weeks. I'll get pictures when I finally bother putting on the damn CCW. Pinning stuff is such a hassle.

Finally, I'm working on writing the fluff pieces for the Adeptus Mechanicus Fan Codex's newest iteration. I don't think I'm supposed to share them on my blog here, but I highly recommend checking it out once the whole thing is finished. You can download the current (Non-Carrified*) version here.

There are still going to be sporadic battle reports and a few other more gameplay oriented posts here and there, but that's the stuff currently in the pipeline. If there's anything anyone would like to see let me know in the comments section below. I'll see what I can do.

*Carrified: (adv) To have been altered or influenced by Commissar Carrie.

Radical: Intermission Report

2011-04-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

For more check the table of contents here.

While this ends Regina Winterfield's report of the Ulric Invasion, it is not, by any means, the end of the war. Official reports have the end of major conflicts at the time of Inquisitor Argus Fane's death, but sporadic contact with pockets of heretic resistance remained for years, and the planet was not cleansed of chaos taint for another decade when it was consecrated as holy ground by the Ecclesiarch Donald Horbradis as a shrine world. Even so the Selenium 472 Imperial Guard regiment has been stationed there ever since in lieu of a PDF.

It is unknown when or how the Chaos Space Marines arrived on Ulric, but reports from the battles indicate that at least 200 traitor marines were present on the world at the time of the conflict. Units from the Word Bearers and Night Lord legions are confirmed to have participated in the fighting. After the defeat of the daemon Daethlugh, which reports from the surviving Grey Knights indicate was a bloodthirster, the Chaos Marines disappeared from the planet. The corrupted techpriests apparently were wiped out by Inquisitor Fane and his retinue as no trace of them was ever found after that encounter.

The Cleansing Fire Commandery, originally consisting of over 200 Adepta Sororitas was all but wiped out by the conflict on Ulric. Less than thirty sisters survived, in total, the vast majority of which were undergoing medical care during the assault on the servitor manufactorum and were unable to join the Inquisitor on the mission. The survivors of the mission included Palatine Analyn LaFollet, who survived her injures and had much of her body replaced with bionics; Sister Superior Kora Halquin, whose injuries at the hands of the daemon were minimal except for a shattered vertebrae which required a ceramite replacement; Seraphim Angelica Cross, who escaped the conflict without injury and recorded a dozen kills of which half, she claims, were traitor marines; and Sister Regina Winterfield, who was treated for a compound fracture in her leg which apparently went unnoticed for most of the battle due to her power armor acting as a splint.

It took nearly a decade for the commandery to return to full strength, during which time the survivors of Ulric were seconded to Inquisitor Gibbius Vecht of the Ordo Hereticus as his personal bodyguard. The Cleansing Fire Commandery, even after being reestablished by The Order of Our Martyred Lady, it's parent order, remained stationed on Vecht's ship, Nolo Contende, as his own personal army.

Isimbard Kane, after the events on Ulric, was promoted from simple acolyte to Interrogator in my own service. Argus Fane had been a personal friend, and I suppressed much of his actions on Ulric until now, believing that while his methods were reprehensible, his goal was pure and guided by The Emperor's light. I took on his only surviving student willingly, and rapidly recommended him for promotion to full Inquisitor after being thoroughly impressed by his prodigious abilities. It is only now, with the sins of the son so apparent, that I have begun to see the sins of the father. Whatever taint led Argus Fane to his destruction was passed down to his student, Isimbard Kane, radical, heretic and traitor.

-Inquisitor Seren Null, Ordo Xenos.

Radical: Hero

2011-04-27T20:19:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part V. For more check the table of contents here.

I remember praying. As the denizens of the warp bore down upon us, teeth flashing and blades gleaming, I dropped to my knees and prayed. The words are lost in my memory. In fact, I'm not even sure if there were any words. I cast my faith into the heavens, full of desperation, and listened for an answer. Around me my sisters, defiant to the end, fired upon the daemon horde, refusing to fall until their duty was done. Amidst them all I was there, a tiny young thing, covered in the blood of my friends, armor dented and weapon empty, my eyes full of tears, begging for salvation. I believe that it is during our darkest moments, when the shadows of our enemies fall over us, that our light burns brightest. The sound that finally drowned out my sobs was like nothing I had ever heard before.

It was a staccato beat, a wordless prayer to The Emperor in the form He loves best. Dozens of stormbolters had raised their voices in response to the roar of the daemon and silenced it. I felt the flying shells whip past me, pulling my hair back from my face, and I looked up at my salvation. They stood well over two meters high, clad in plain, unpainted ceramite power armor. Each of them had their left hand raised, spitting fire into the daemons from stormbolters mounted on their wrists, and in their right hands they held burning swords. I don't know how long I watched them, dazed and staring as more and more of they grey figures appeared before that cogwheel door, appearing in flashes of light that left an ozone smell in the air. It was Sister Superior Halquin who snapped me out of my reverie, shouting, “Grey Knights! Fall back behind them!”

A hand grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me to my feet, drawing me into the midst of the figures as they moved forward in perfect unison, their boots shaking the ground with every step. The daemons fell back before them, shrieking in pain as the sanctified bolts hit them. In droves they exploded, only to disappear in a howling mass as they were driven back into the warp, one at a time. When the Knights reached them, their swords clove through the daemons. I could see more of the Knights now, appearing on walkways above us, firing down from above into the daemon, securing their flanks and setting up firing lanes. One of the Knights turned back to us, “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Through this door,” Halquin said, indicating the warpfouled brass door we had been defending for what seemed like an eternity. “He's setting the charges to blow this facility.”

The Grey Knight seemed to consider this for a moment, then gestured to some of his battle brothers, “We shall assist the Inquisitor; you will accompany us, sisters. The rest of my brothers are needed here.” With that simple order given, he moved past us and placed his hand on the door, which seemed to recoil from his touch, the disturbing reflections in its brass pulling away from his gauntleted hand. He pushed the door open, and four more Knights joined him.

“Okay, you heard him, let's go!” Halquin saw my empty hands and passed me her bolter, Samantha's bolter, then retrieved Analyn's power sword.

“What about the Palatine,” I asked, looking at our fallen leader, and Halquin shook her head.

“We can't take her with us, and she's probably better off here than where we're going. I have a feeling that we haven't finished here yet.” After that we set off after the Grey Knights. The bolter I had been given had only half a clip left in it, and I had run out of reloads fending off the chaos marines. At least it still had the sarissa on the end of it, and I took comfort in the fact that at least I'd be able to cut into my enemies if I couldn't shoot them.

Beyond the brass door, the manufactorum was completely tainted. The smooth stone had become spongy, and leaning against it caused it to ooze a sticky purple liquid that smelled like offal. Thick veins ran along the walls and the floor, pumping thick fluids in an irregular beat. The Grey Knights led the way, with we sisters following in their footsteps, taking the rear guard. The only light we had was the glow from the power sword in Halquin's hands, and it lit the place in a pale blue that cast shadows at odd angles before us.

Nothing in those twisted hallways tried to kill us. I had the feeling they were more than busy fighting the Grey Knights behind us, and had no time to spare for our small group. Eventually we came into a vast space, suddenly well lit, and my stomach churned. The walls were rotting meat, and the light came from horrible smelling purple flames, burning in torches made of bone that were growing out of the walls. The floor was yellowed human teeth, crunching under our feet. At the center of the room was the shrine of the Omnissiah, defaced and befouled. Unidentifiable bodies, flayed of skin, hung from iron hooks, posed upon it in a horrible mockery of a scene I had seen a thousand times in my lift, the defeat of Horus at the hands of The Emperor. Standing at the foot of this shrine was Inquisitor Argus Fane and what was left of his retinue, a single, battle weary storm trooper clutching a battered hellgun, and a crusader, the disruption field of his power sword gone out, leaning on his heavy ceramite shield. They were surrounded by the bodies of techpriests, more twisted than even the servitors we had fought before.

“Inquisitor,” the Grey Knight said, “We are holding the daemon incursion at the entrance to the inner sanctum. We have come to assist you.”

Fane turned then, and my heart froze in my chest. His hair, formerly a dark widow's peak, was now thinned and greyed; his gleaming gold power armor was rent and dented, covered in blood and ichor, a a ring of unused meltabombs circling his waist. Around his neck the shining red I of the Inquisition had been cleaved in two, and now only half of his symbol was left. The only thing left of him was his daemon hammer, undamaged and unbroken, its power field still crackling with energies waiting to be spent. “Yes,” he said, and his voice was hollow and shaken. “Yes, thank you. We must hurry then.” He turned back to the shrine, then in a single swift movement he brought his hammer around and smashed it into the face of the stormtrooper at his side. The man didn't even have time to scream, he simply flew back into the altar, smashing into the corpse meant to represent The Emperor in the gruesome tableau. There was an explosion of horrid light, and I had to look away. Something about the flayed bodies hit me then, and I shuddered at the realization.

The bodies had been unrecognizable because their mechanicus implants had been ripped out, and the bodies were fresh, their blood still ran freely. They had been there perhaps only minutes. The Inquisitor had put them there.

When I looked up again prayers began to issue from my lips unheeded. The stormtrooper, obviously dead, was beginning to move, his broken bones crackling and shifting under the influence of some great power. The Inquisitor slammed shouted, “Daethlugh! You foul warp spawn piece of shit! Come into this world so I can finish you off once and for all!”

The only response was a laughter that pounded in my mind with such force that I fell to my knees. I saw that everyone else had fallen then as well, including the Grey Knights. Only the Inquisitor stood upright and defiant, clutching his daemonhammer as the stormtrooper twisted and tore, ripping apart in a cloud of gore. What rose from the corpse was something whose very presence made my mind scream in protest. The daemon was half a dozen meters tall or more, and disturbingly human, but not. Great twisted horns rose from its feline skull. It had two arms and two legs, and a pair of great leathery wings rose up over its back, extending out wider than it was tall. Its legs ended in cloven hooves, and its taloned hands held a single great, blood stained axe that could kill a dozen with a single swing. From its fanged maw the laughter continued to issue, then it spoke, and its voice was even worse. It felt like my bones were trying to crawl out of my flesh. “Argus, are you still hunting me? After all this time?”

Fane hefted his hammer over his head, “That's right. And this is the end of it. I knew your foul taint was on this planet, and I'm going to finish it now. I'm not just going to banish you, I'm going to end your blasphemous existence right here.”

“Good,” the daemon said, and stepped forward, smashing the fouled shrine under one cloven hoof. “The fire in your blood will please my master greatly.” It began to laugh again, then recoiled as a stream of bolts impacted into its face. The Grey Knights had recovered. They spread out around the daemon, sprinting in their power armor as their hands spit death at the daemon. One, the leader, I think, leapt forward, catching onto the daemon's knee and driving his sword deep into its leg. The Daemon howled in anger and with a simple twitch of his arm dislodged the space marine and sent him spinning off into a wall where he hit so hard his body exploded in his power armor.

The Inquisitor shouted a warcry and swung his hammer into the daemon's ankle, bringing it collapsing to on knee as the powerful weapon discharged its energy at impact, but a backhanded swipe with the haft of the daemon's axe came so fast it was a blur. Only the Inquisitor's faithful acolyte, raising his shield at the last moment, kept the Inquisitor intact. The supression field on the shield flared one and went out, and the pair were sent sprawling across the floor in a heap.

“For The Emperor!” Halquin shouted, and rose to her feet, charging the daemon with her sword. The rest of we sisters rallied then and began firing into the daemon, expending out last ammunition to distact the daemon long enough for Halquin to strike at its legs. She swung the sword into the back of its ankle, and any mortal creature would have been crippled as its tendons were snapped, but this was a daemon. Halquin's sword shattered on the daemon's skin, and a kick from it tumbled her several meters across the floor.

The Grey Knights attacked again, this time en masse, seeming to come from all angles, their power weapons cutting and slashing at the daemon, but it simply swung its axe once and they scattered, two of them cut clean in half by the warp weapon, the other two crippled and unable to fight back. The daemon laughed again, our attacks proving to be completely useless against it. Then the Inquisitor shouted a challenge.

The daemon turned to him, apparently amused, and raised its axe over its head for a killing blow. The Inquisitor charged, leaping through the air, powered by the augmetic muscles in his power armor, and swung his hammer at the daemon's jaw. Then, as simple as anything, the daemon simply caught Argus Fane between two fingers, let him struggle for a moment, and bit him in half. The lower half of the Inquisitor's body fell just a few feet from me, and I stared in horror as the daemon chewed his powered armored torso with a series of cracks and crunches as the ceramite was destroyed. It spit the daemonhammer across the room, then turned to we sisters.

It swung its axe at us, and I dove to the ground. A moment later I felt the warm wet rain of my sisters' blood pouring over the back of my neck, and I rose to my feet. They were all dead. I stood alone in the room with the daemon, and it watched me, grinning. I knew my death was at hand, and I began to pray once more, commending my soul to The Emperor. Then the daemonhammer slammed into the daemon's hip, and it howled in pain, collapsing onto its hands and knees in pain and shock. The Inquisitor's crusader ran from across the room, unarmed now that he'd thrown his master's hammer.

His armor was rent and broken. His helmet had been discarded, and his face was covered in blood. The daemon swung its axe awkwardly at the man, but he leapt at the last minute, the blade passing just under his feet. The crusader caught the haft of the daemon's weapon and rode it through the backswing, letting go at the apex of the arc and letting the momentum send him flying through the air to land on the daemon's face. The daemon shrieked, and rose to its face, but the crusader held on, reaching into the daemon's mouth and yanking and pulling at something. The daemon swung its head, and the crusader lost his grip and flew threw the air. On instinct I ran to catch the man, and when he hit me we fell to the ground in a tangle. I heard him whisper something as he looked over his shoulder at the daemon. It roared and came at us, its hooves hitting the ground with such force the entire room shook, then its head exploded in a corona of fire as bright as the sun. Intense heat seared my eyes, and the daemon fell to its knees, decapitated. Warp fire engulfed its body, and with a sound like screaming children the daemon was sucked back into the warp.

The crusader rose to his feet, and extended his hand to me. As he did the pins from the half dozen meltabombs that had been hanging from his master's belt fell from his grip. “Thank you,” he said. “For the catch.”

“Of course,” I replied. “It's nothing.”

That was the first conversation I ever had with Isimbard Kane, and at the time I have to admit that I was too in awe of him to respond properly. Still, I should have said something to someone then about what I had heard him whisper. I never told anyone what he said, not until years after his death, and that is my sin in regards to his fate. As the daemon roared, and he lay atop me, moments before his victory, the words I heard him say were “Blood for the corpse god. Skulls for the golden throne.”

So ends the fifth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, and the end of her account of the war on Ulric.

Radical: Hymn

2011-04-23T20:09:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part IV. For more check the table of contents here.

The Manufactorum of the Adeptus Mechanicus reminded me of our cathedrals. Great vaulted ceilings rose above us so high that the guttering luminators interspersed around the hallways couldn't reach, and their peaks were shrouded in darkness. Sometimes skittering movement could be heard above us, up in the deep shadows, but there was nothing we could do about it, so we moved on. Moving through the facility took much longer than we had expected, with its twisting corridors and blind turns we had to move slowly, ever on the watch for an ambush.

At what seemed to be regular intervals we'd see signs of battle in the hallways, impacts of bolter shells in the masonry, gashes from chain weapons on the walls, splashes of blood on a luminator giving the entire area an eerie glow. We never found any bodies though, a fact which gave me some kind of odd hope, but which seemed to make Halquin even more nervous and dour. When I asked her about it she said, “Reclamation.” After that she refused to talk about it.

Once, we heard the distinct sound of battle ahead, and we charged forward to meet it, hoping to find our remaining sisters, but the echoes in the maze-like structure proved deceiving. While the battle sounded just around the next corner, we did not find its evidence for quite some time. Once again, there were no bodies, but here the blood still dripped, and warm chunks of ceramite lay scattered in the hallway, warm chunks of power armor blown apart by bolt shells. We were getting close. Halquin called out, “Regina, come here. What does this look like to you?”

My gaze followed Halquin's direction, and I suppressed a gasp. I had missed it in the darkness, but the wall where the Sister Superior was pointing had been caved in by a tremendous impact. All of the stonework had crumbled away from the crater, and something dark metallic lay hidden amongst the rubble. I reached in and pulled it free, grunting under the weight even with the enhanced strength my power armor gave me, then brought it into the light. It was a breastplate, too large for a normal man, cast in an incandescent dark blue and marked all over with runes and sigils that hurt my brain to look at. I knew what it was instantly, the power armor of a chaos space marine, and backed away, whispering prayers to The Emperor to protect me from the malediction of the tainted object. Then I noticed that the breastplate was not undamaged. Seared into the armor just above the heart was a stylized I with three bars crossing through it, burned there as if branded, and I recognized it immediately. “That's from the Inquisitor's Daemon Hammer! He's still alive!”

After that we moved forward more recklessly, less worried about ambush than we were about arriving too late to help Inquisitor Fane. During long corridors we would sprint, trusting in the Emperor and our power armor to protect us from any unforseen threats, but none came. The Inquisitor was clearing out the hallways ahead of us. Eventually we burst out of the maze of corridors and into a vast chamber of catwalks and pulleys, lit a blazing orange from below by great smelting fires. The cooling systems in my armor fired up immediately, and cool, stale air filled my nostrils. I was about to speak when the stone walkway we had appeared on began to shake and jutter under the impact of what I instantly recognized was bolter fire. Halquin dove back into the hallway, dragging me along just ahead of a stream of bolts that left smoking craters in the stonework. The doorway became a cloud of dust, disintegrating under the sustained fire, but it ebbed out as we heard a feminine voice shout out, “Cease fire! Cease fire! You, in the doorway, identify yourseleves!"

Halquin shouted back, “Sister Superior Kora Halquin, Redemption Squad!” She stepped out of the doorway, and I followed. At the far end of the room I finally saw them, our sisters. There were two dozen of them, barricaded behind arcane equipment and up a large flight of ceramite stairs. They were guarding a large cogwheel doorway of burnished brass that reflected the light of the fires below in a pattern of twisting wrongness that I couldn't see clearly.

“Halquin, The Emperor watches over you diligently, doesn't he? I saw your Rhino get hit. We didn't think there were any survivors.” The woman speaking was Palatine Analyn LaFollet, the head of our commandery. She was a short woman, only coming up to my shoulder, but a good commander and, I had heard, a fierce warrior. She stood in the open, at the top of the stairs, and the hopeful expression on her face fell as she saw us. “Where's the rest of your squad?”

“Fallen in service,” Halquin said, leading me across the twisting network of stone catwalks towards our sisters. “Most died with the Rhino, the rest in an ambush at the doors of the manufactorum. We are all that remain. Where are the rest of our sisters?”

Analyn just shook her head, “This is it. The damned traitor marines took their toll. We hadn't been expecting them. We were prepared for some servitors, not the full force of the traitor legions. Only by the light of The Emperor did we even make it this far.”

“Well damn,” Halquin said, “I was hoping to take some tea and leave the rest to you. I guess we'll have to help out then.”

“Where's the Inquisitor?' I asked, and my superiors turned to look at me. Analyn seemed to recognize me for the first time.

“By the Emperor, is that Regina? I barely recognized you through all that filth. The Inquisitor is inside with what's left of his retinue, setting the meltabombs. We're to hold this position until his return.”

I looked once more to the brass door , sealed closed behind Inquisitor Fane, and tried to ignore the way that the reflections of the flames below seemed to form screaming faces. The Warp's corruption was all around us, and I once more thought of the guardsmen gone mad outside, not protected from the forces of chaos by their faith as we were. A chill ran down my spine, and I turned away.

“Take your positions on the line,” Analyn said, and we moved to a section of machinery that looked like it would stop incoming bolter fire. It was all pipes and cogs, running in and out of thick black cases with yellowing prayer scrolls attached to it with red wax. We were in place next to a Retributor squad, and I took comfort in the two sisters beside me and their heavy weapons. Both had multimeltas, and I knew that the anti-tank weapons would reduce anything that came at us to steam, be it traitor marine or dreadnought.

From my vantage point I could see the entire chamber. The room was two hundred meters long and a hundred meters wide, with stone catwalks with heavy steel railings crisscrossing it at various heights and angles. Far below us were the furnaces and smelting vats, burning and boiling, filling the whole chamber with a hazy pallor of smoke that rose all the way up to the vast ceiling above us. It seemed like the enemy could come from any direction, above or below, and we sisters had simply put our backs to the wall in expectation of their arrival.

Halquin nudged me, “Regina, take your time, aim for the head. You're a blessed shot, don't waste ammunition trying to bring down the traitor marines with volume of fire.”

I nodded and risked a half smile, “Still, I wish I had my storm bolter.” She clapped me on the shoulder, then turned to the defense.

We did not wait long for the attack, though it was not what we expected. They sent the combat servitors after us first. They came sprinting down the catwalks, or leaping at us from overhead. Some rolled forward on heavy tracks while others nimbly skittered over the walls like insects on small, multijointed legs. As the battle was begun I finally understood what Halquin had meant when she said Reclamation. Many of the servitors were female, and some still wore the livery of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. This facility had taken the corpses of our fallen sisters and twisted them into abominations of machine and warpcraft. I imagine that if we'd not had Palatine Analyn's leadership we might have cracked then, but she rose from the ranks and stood at the top of the stairs, her plasma pistol taking a deadly toll on the corruption before us, and she began to sing a hymn for the fallen. We all joined her, our voices rising above the din of the battle. When one of our sisters fell, hit by an autocannon mounted on the body of a woman I recognized as poor Barbara, stripped of her armor, the chainaxe wound still a gaping hole between her naked breasts, the volume of our hymn only rose to compensate. I put the thing that used to be my sister down with a short burst that sent her reeling over the catwalk and into the cleansing fires below.

After the servitors came the traitor marines. Khorne Berserkers in their blood red armor charged at us across the catwalks, and for each we felled two more seemed to take his place. From above chaos Raptors fell, their jump packs flaring and their bolt pistols barking death down upon us. They drew our fire and fell in droves before they could land, but the few that dropped amongst us killed many. Analyn charged them, cleaving one in half with her power sword and ending another with a shot from her plasma pistol that burned a hole stright through his chest. When the Berserkers finally arrived Analyn fell amongst them like The Emperor's wrath made manifest. We fired into the melee, and the multimeltas beside me cut great furrows in their ranks as they piled in towards Analyn. Halquin shouted and vaulted over to the pipes we were taking cover behind, charging into the melee and lashing out with sarissa and the butt of her bolter. She and the Palatine managed to hold the line while the rest of us fired into the melee, mowing down the traitor marines as fast as we could.

A bolt exploded the head of the retributor beside me, covering me in her gore and fouling my vision. I wiped the blood from my eyes with the back of my gauntlet and raised my voice, screaming the hymn now rather than singing it, and dropped my bolter. I pried the multimelta from my sister's hands and braced it against the pipes, tears streaming down my eyes as I fired again and again. Halquin and Analyn were gone, hidden amongst the mass of blood red power armor that had surged forward to meet us, so I fired into the center of the group, over and over again until the pipe I'd propped the heavy weapon on began to drip onto the floor, melted from the heat.

And then, it was over. The last of the Berserkers fell, stumbling under a storm of bolter fire that tore him limb from limb. Halquin and Analyn still stood, surrounded by a pile of bodies, their armor sheared through and blood leaking from a dozen wounds each. Analyn had lost her arm at the shoulder, blown apart as her plasma pistol had finally overheated, but she was ignoring the cauterized wound and holding her power sword in her remaining hand. She started to collapse, but Halquin caught her nd dragged her back to the firing line. The hymn stopped, and we all crowded around our leader. There were only six of us now, out of the entire commandery. Analyn smiled, somehow, and said, “We have done our duty, sisters. The Inquisitor is safe, and these traitors are dead. Ave Imperator.”

“Ave Imperator,” we all repeated, bowing our heads and making the sign of the Aquila. Analyn tried, crossing one arm over her chest, only able to make half the sign, then fell unconscious. As another of the sisters knelt to take care of her, I turned to Halquin. “Now what do we do?”

She did not get a chance to answer. The air around us began to crackle with unleashed energies, and we spun back to face the stairs. I'm still not sure exactly what I saw that day, and I am glad for it. Man was not meant to witness warpcraft of that magnitude, and the blessed are quick to forget it, but I remember bits and pieces. Something tore open before us, leading to a place I can only see now in nightmares, and the legions of chaos spilled out into the chamber. Dozens, hundreds fell screaming into the furnace fires below, but some latched onto the catwalks with clawed hands and barbed talons, wielding twisted black swords. Daemons. How many of them I don't know, but they stared at we sisters with a lust for blood in their burning eyes, and with a shout that could issue from no mortal throat, they charged us.

So ends the fourth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

The Straight Dope

2011-04-19T09:14:00.000-07:00

So, since I'm home now and don't have to type on my phone I can give you guys a proper story on exactly where I've been for the past week. So, here's how it happened.

I was at the local university doing some paperwork, and was just on my way back to my car to go pick up some lunch when I started getting some really bad chest pains. I thought it was just some heartburn or maybe an anxiety attack or something, but I was sure it would pass. As I rode up the elevator to the top floor of the parking garage, which was where I had parked, the pain got steadily worse. Outside, on the roof of the garage I fell down and decided I should probably rest for a second until this whole thing passed. It did not, in fact, get better. A nice lady and a nice man found me leaned against a parking barrier trying to catch my breath and managed to convince me to go see a doctor, but not until I'd gotten back up and fallen over again in a grim defiance that is so typical of me.

The nice man took me to the university clinic, where I was thrown into a room, put on an EKG, poked prodded and told, under no uncertain terms, they had no idea what was wrong with me and wanted me the hell out of there since I was a liability and they weren't equipped to deal with emergencies. They called an ambulance for me, I waved goodbye to the nice man and I was transported VERY SLOWLY to the hospital by a pair of very nice EMTs who told me it sounded like I had some really bad chest cramps.

In the emergency room I was again poked prodded and hooked up to an EKG machine, then eventually I was x-rayed (they had to call the guys twice). by then my fabulous roommates were there holding my hand and telling me everything way okay and taking bets on what was wrong with me. One had "Anxiety Attack" the other had "Chest cramps". Then the doctor came in and said, "Well, you've got a collapsed lung." Oh the laughs that were had.

I had gotten a spontaneous pneumothorax, which apparently happens when you get a tiny hole in your lung, and your chest cavity fills with air, which forces your lung to collapse due to the pressure. If you ever saw Three Kings then you'll remember the guy who got shot and had to keep venting his chest, or he'd die. Well it was basically the same thing, except I didn't get shot, it happened for literally no discernible reason whatsoever. They kicked my roommates out of the room, and then a very terse surgeon rolled me onto my side, cut an incision between my ribs and rammed 12 inches of rubber tubing into my chest. He didn't even buy me dinner first.

I have since spent the last week in the hospital draining goop and air from my chest cavity and watching a weeklong NCIS marathon (I wanna be Ziva when I grow up!) while slowly recuperating. My roommates took shifts staying with me, and then my mom flew 1500 miles to come see me and stayed with me all week. I have recuperated fine and finally managed to make it home Monday evening, a bit sore, but very glad to be home.

In the week I was in the hospital my pageviews doubled, I got 5 new followers and I received tons of support from the gaming community when I managed to post on my phone in my horribly misspelled and uncapitalized posts uploaded from my phone. I want to especially thank Porky for pimping my Radical story on his blog and Mike (Who I don't have a link for because I am a terrible person) and my very good friend Camsy Wamsy for all the worry and concern she's been throwing at me for this week.

The Radical story will continue shortly (For anyone who wants to know how I got the last one up while sick, I borrowed a laptop and was up till 3:40 am that night writing it up) and I hope that everyone enjoys it. Thank you all again for being super awesome, and if there's any word of advice that I can give after my experiences this past week, it's this.

HEAVY FLAMER! It solves all problems.

PS (Just for C'nor): Radical actually takes place several decades before The Defense of Kornaria City and is something of a background piece on the Cleansing Fire Commandery and Inquisitor Isimbard Kane. This is before Kora Halquin developed her allergy and was just a Sister Superior in the commandery rather than one of its commanding officers. You'll notice that in the latest update everyone's favorite Cannoness (or at least mine) Angelica is still a Seraphim, though that doesn't seem to have improved her mood overly much.

Healthiest Update

2011-04-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

my lung is reinflated, the tube in my chest is gone and i will be home soon. everyone congratulate me and wish me well. i will be back home and making the world of grimdarkness a little brighter.

Radical: Heretics

2011-04-16T02:21:00.000-07:00

This is Radical part III. For more check the table of contents here..

My power armor had not been completely repaired by the time we were on our way, and I spent most of the trip shifting uncomfortably in the suit. The dents from the heavy bolter rounds that had hit me couldn’t be removed without a more extensive repair facility, so the warped ceramite dug into my ribs with every bump our transport hit. To go along with this, the knee joints that had been cut through were fixed in a rush job, leaving the articulating musculature inside the armor’s legs twitchy and unreliable. I walked with a limp, sometimes having to drag my left leg along behind me. Still, it was better to have malfunctioning armor than none at all, and though I would have gone into battle nude if I’d had to, the Adepta Sororitas are as much a symbol as a fighting force, and the power armor I wore served more purpose than simply bullet stopper and strength enhancer.

The Imperial Guard began shelling the enemy’s flank while we were on route, mostly to keep their heads down as we approached. From there Dominion squads would serve as spotters for the guard’s guns, lining up more accurate shots on the Mechanicus Facility’s defenses. Celestians were to get to the manufacotrium themselves and set the melta charges that would bring down the servitor production facility while the rest of the Commandery set up a defensive perimeter inside the facility to cover the Celestians. From there it was a simple evacuation plan of loading back up into the transports and heading home. Some of the Harbingers’ thunderhawks were to provide air cover and emergency extraction if necessary. This mission was expected to have very high casualties, but we were Sisters of Battle. If anyone was prepared for martyrdom, it was us.

“Listen up,” Halquin said, shouting over the roar of the rhino’s engine as it trundled along the landscape of the hell planet in a tight wedge formation. We were far on the right flank, while the Immolators which were carrying the Dominions made up the point of out spearhead. “We will be facing heavy resistance. The Guard might have scattered the defenders, or forced them into cover, but they probably haven’t reduced their numbers much. When you’re fighting the servitors aim for their weapons. The warp cursed machines only have vitals in the vaguest sense of the word, so shoot at the most dangerous parts that you can see, that means guns and power fists. We want suppressing fire on them until we can hit them with a melta weapon.”

Marise nodded her head and hefted her meltagun, clearly enjoying having the opportunity to use the antitank weapon. Near her Jessicia checked the ammunition feed on her multimelta. The twin barreled microwave gun was much bigger than the heavy flamer than Jessica usually carried, and she didn’t look completely confident in its use, but it was going to be our primary weapon against the servitors, having twice the range of the standard melta, which was only useful at near suicide ranges. The extreme heat produced by melta weapons dissipated quickly at range, but the multimelta Jessica had would be able to turn the servitors into smoking piles of scrap at almost as long a range as our bolters could fire.

Halquin continued. “If things start going bad, we hold the line as long as possible, then we fall back to the manufactorum itself and hold there. We don’t leave until the place goes up in smoke. If the Celestians can’t complete their job, then we have to go finish the job for them. Is everyone ready?” We shouted our acknowledgement, and Halquin smiled. “Then let us pray.”

The Battle Prayer of the Cleansing Fire commandery still fills my soul with a righteous fervor to this day. Though I am now a Palatine in command of my own Mission, and we have our own prayer, I sometimes find myself whispering the old verses in tense times. Our voices range out in unison, perfectly pitched through years of practice at the convents. “Would that I had been a flame, burning brightly in His name, to serve my purpose and then die, to have no will but His. Would that I had been a gale to scour the land of sins. Would that I had been a gun, dealing death without a thought. Woe that I am born of will, surrounded by temptation. Blessed are those with minds like iron. Blessed are we who have no doubts. Blessed by Him on Golden Throne. Blessed to be his fire.”

As we finished I raised my head, brimming with the confidence brought on by prayer, and I shouted, “Ave Imperator!” My sisters joined my call, and for one brief instant our voices drowned out the rumbling engine of the rhino, and our purity blew away the stink of the exhaust and oil and sweat and promethium around us. That was our brightest moment, and it was the last moment we were all alive. A lascannon punched through the crew compartment and vaporized fully half of our eight before we were even aware we were being fired upon. Jessica and her multimelta disappeared in a blinding azure flash of light, as did Patience and Lily. Beth was only winged, and lay one the floor of the vehicle, writhing and screaming, the entire left side of her body burned away in an instant. Halquin, Emperor bless her, put a bolt shell into what was left of her head before she could suffer more. “Everyone out!”

The entire right side of the rhino was reduced to molten slag by the powerful laser blast, and we had to wedge open the side door and fumble out of the rhino as best we could. The driver was dead, slumped over the steering column, smoke leaking from the seals in her armor, the flesh inside cooked alive. Halquin pulled Marise out of the wreckage, and the other surviving sister, Barbara, helped me out of the hatch and away from the rhino before it exploded in a ball of flaming promethium and munitions. Halquin was still shouting orders as we pulled ourselves into the cover of a nearby rock formation. “Marise, get your eyes up and get ready to return fire. Barbara, get eyes on command. Regina, figure out where we are.”

Marise raised her head over the rocks, resting her meltagun easily in a crevice between two of the stones. “I don’t see anything. I think we were hit at extreme range.”

“Command’s over there,” Barbara said, pointing towards the rest of the column. It had moved on ahead without us, but a second lascannon shot tore the turret off of the lead Immolator and the tank erupted into fire. “Holy Emperor, where did that come from?!”

“Marise, eyes!” Halquin ordered.

“I can’t see them, ma’am. I’m telling you, wherever they’re firing that from, it’s way too far out for visual comfirmation.”

I peered over the rocks myself, trying to figure out how far we were from the facility. Ahead of us, the column was breaking up, turning left and right in a defensive pattern designed to screen the tanks further back from incoming fire. More lascannon shots lit up the sky, and with each one one of our tanks exploded or went careening out of control. “They’re damn good shots, whoever they are,” Marise added. Far out, near the horizon, I could see the towering facility we were supposed to b assaulting. The Imperial Guard basilisks should have forced their defenses into cover, but I saw now that the lascannon shots were coming from there, a facility still several kilometers distant.

“Regina, call back. Tell command that we need that artillery fire suppressing the facility and we also need pickup from a thunderhawk at earliest convenience.” By now Halquin had spotted the fire coming from the facility as well. “It’s got to be some kind of servitor system targeting those guns. That’s the only way.”

“Not a chance, ma’am,” Marise said, pulling back into the cover of the outcropping. “There’s no way a servitor could be shooting those guns.”

“Explain,” Halquin said.

“Well, I grew up on a forge world, ma’am. I’ve got experience with servitors. They’re not exactly bright, you see. They can do simple stuff, even shoot guns, but there’s a reason you don’t see sniper servitors. They can’t process that kind of input. They can’t pick out priority targets and the like. They don’t have the feel for it, you know?”

Halquin sucked her lower lip into her mouth, a sign that she was agitated. I’d learned it well during my first days with the squad, and had tried to avoid it ever since. “Well, it must be those rogue mechanicus shooting them then. They’ve probably got the machine spirits so twisted that they’re doing most of the work for them.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Suddenly all eyes were on me. I swallowed hard, unable to explain myself. “I don’t know, I mean. I’ve got a hunch.” It pointed at the wreckage strewn around. “See? They aren’t targeting the most important units. We were on the far flank, in a damaged rhino. I think we were picked out because…”

“Because we were the weakest,” Halquin finished for me, then nodded gravely. “I don’t like where this is going.” Then we heard our return fire, and we all looked over the rocks at our column. Over a third of our tanks were gone now, smoking piles of ruin or sometimes just craters in the landscape, but one tank had pulled to the head of the pack, and my heart raced. A lascannon blast scored across its shining golden front armor, but hadn’t even slowed it down. The Inquisitorial Land Raider pushed ahead, drawing all of the incoming fire and weathering it like an armored beast in a hailstorm. Its own lascannons shot back, and their beams raked across the mechanicus facilty, causing bright plumes of flame to appear across its surface.

The incoming lascannons slowed down in their fire, and Marise slapped her gauntleted hand against the rock, grinning, “Ha! Suck on that you heretics!”

Halquin slapped me on the shoulder, “Come on sisters, let’s go. We’re going to be late to the party, but we can still make it. Double time!”

It took us several hours to reach the facility, and the entire time our voxes were jammed by some sort of heretic interference being broadcast from the facility. Despite all of the other wreckage we passed, we found no other survivors of our commandery and assumed that they must have gone on ahead of us. The facility itself was a gargantuan structure almost the size of a hive, but instead of being filled with people, it was filled with heretic technology. The hundred meter tall iron front gates of the facility had been blasted off of their hinges, and dozens of combat servitors were strewn about, mixed with the corpses of more of our sisters. We saw none of the red robed mechanicus whose heresy had brought this fate upon Ulric, but we assumed they were holed up in the most secure parts of the facility.

“We need to get to the manufactorum and join up with our forces there. Barbara, which way?” Barbara, a mousy woman with a thick jaw and stringy brown hair pointed farther into the twisting maze of destroyed machines and wrecked servitors, and we pushed on.

Further ahead, we could hear the sounds of battle, and we constantly found evidence of heavy fighting. Here there was a sister cut down by bolter fire, here one shorn in half by a chainfist, but we were seeing less and less of the servitors with every step until soon it was only the bodies of the sisters which lay before us.

“How many do you think we’ve seen,” Marise asked, avoiding looking at the mangled remains of what had once been a Celestian.

“I’ve counted over fifty,” Barbara said, keeping her bolter trained ahead of her, the sharp edged sarissa at the end of it quivering as her hands shook. Like me, this was her first war. “That’s most of the commandery down if you count all those people we didn’t find from the destroyed tanks on the way here.”

“Most, but not all,” Halquin agreed. She’d donned her little wire rimmed spectacles during our march here, saying that all of the smoke was straining her eyes. I think that her need to see finally overcame her vanity.

“Look!” Marise called out, and sprinted forward, over a pile of rubble and the ruins of another Immolator. We followed, Halquin cursing at her to stop, but what we found froze us where we stood. We were at the great doors of the manufactorum, emblazoned with the machine skull of the Cult Mechanicus, now horribly defaced and scarred with totems to the ruinous powers. At the foot of the stairs up to those huge brass doors, the Inquisitor’s Land Raider was dead. The assault ramp at the front of the great vehicle was open, belching out smoke over the corpses of a half dozen men. A great gaping hole, like that from a meltabomb, had replaced most of the vehicle’s side armor, and one of the lascannons had exploded, destroying the Land Raider’s machine spirit. It looked like the Inquisitor and his team had managed to get the front ramp open, but were slaughtered as they tried to leave. “Emperor preserve us, who could have done this?” Marise said.

“The Inquisitor’s not here,” Halquin said, examining the bodies. “That means he’s inside the manufactorum with the rest of the commandery completing the mission. We don’t have any time to waste, he’s going to need our help.”

“Our help? Shit. He’s going to need the Emperor’s help if he wants to succeed at this mission,” Marise said, shaking her head.

Halquin seemed about to respond, but there was a sudden clatter of stones to our right, and she held up a hand, bringing her bolter to bear. The four of us closed in, backs together to cover all angles, all of us crouched except for Marise, so that she could gain a clear line of shot with her meltagun at all angles. Barabara took point, moving forward to investigate the pile of rubble that had been the source of the noise. She never had a chance. The chain axe came out of nowhere, sailing through the air and slamming into her chest so hard it knocked her, broken, to the ground. She screamed, clawing at the handle, trying to wrench it free as the admantine teeth tore through her armor and ripped her apart, chunk by chunk.

“Blood for the blood god!” And they were upon us.

There are many horror tales about Khorne Berserkers, but none of them can do justice to the real thing. Over nine feet tall, in their blood red armor, hefting their chain axes and bolt pistols, screaming with voices all too close to human, but not, the traitor marines can invoke a primal terror in a person that is almost impossible to rival. Bolt shells bounced off of their armor like so many stones off of a tank. They moved with preternatural, lightning speed, bouncing over the wreckage in powerful leaps. Their bolt pistols barked like hounds at the leash, and they tore us to our knees so their masters could come in for the kill. Halquin emptied the clip of her bolter into one, to no effect, then only just managed to bring her weapon up in time to deflect a blow from a chainaxe that split her bolter in two and sent her sprawling away onto the pile of corpses in front of the Land Raider. Marise was more successful, frying another berserker where he stood with her meltagun. She turned, collapsing as one of the bolt pistols took off her left leg at the knee, and her second shot went wide, cutting a deadly swatch through the ruins around her. She managed one more scream of “Ave Imperator!” before the second berserker’s axe took her head from her shoulders.

I fell backwards, firing my bolter into the head of the nearest of the traitor marines, and was rewarded as the powerful shells punched through one of his eye slits and popped his head in his helmet. Blood leaked from the seals as the monster collapsed, but four more were coming. I fired again, missing wide, and scrambled away, only barely managing to dodge a chainaxe that carved a rift through the ground I had just been laying on. Back on my feet, I lashed out, catching one of the berserker’s in the chin with a solid right hook, but another raised his knee into my chest with so much force that I was catapulted across the manufactorum square and landed on my shoulders, skidding into the ruins of the Immolator.

As the monsters approached, howling glories to their false god, one of them suddenly stumbled, his head jerking to the side. He took a few more steps, as through confused, then fell, a gaping hole in his helmet. Angelica Cross scares me to this day. The Seraphim came screaming from the heavens, soaring on blazing wings of fire, emptying a pair of bolt pistols into the oncoming berserkers with such preceision that even their armor was no help. Here one fell, a bolt shell punching through his knee joint, another staggering as a shot pierced the weak spot in his armpit. Angelica was, and still is, an terrifyingly intimidating woman. Over two meters tall, with stark white hair and a vicious dueling scar across her left eye, she is never more frightening than when she is gifted with a jump pack. She charged the berserkers, bolt pistols still firing, and as they swung at her she pivoted, firing off her jump pack in mid twist, blowing one of the berserkers to the ground as she catapulted above them all, reloading her pistols. They began firing at her then, but she was a blue of speed and acrobatics. The Emperor himself was with her that day, protecting her from harm and guiding her shots to drop the traitors one by one.

I gathered my wits and reloaded my bolter, adding fire to the elegant flying dance of death that the Seraphim was performing, and across the square I could see Halquin gathering herself to do the same. The Sister Superior had grabbed Barbara’s bolter and charged the berserkers from behind, leaping onto the broad back of one of the traitor marines and burying the sarissa into his neck. He reached up to grab her, but she twisted and jerked, severing the heretic’s head from his body. My additional fire did no harm, but distracted the last remaining berserker, who turned to shoot at me, only to have the Seraphim slam into his chest at the full speed her jump pack would allow. They both went to the ground, and Angelica wrestled her way to the top, then pressed the barrels of both of her bolt pistols to the heretic’s face and emptied the clips.

Angelica rose, covered in the gore of her last kill, and spit upon the traitor’s corpse. Then she turned to Halquin, sneering. “Kora, you’re late. You missed the rendezvous by over an hour.”

“And I think you’re supposed to be with a squad,” Halquin said, checking to make sure none of the berserkers were going to get back up. “Or did you forget again?”

“Squad’s dead,” the Seraphim replied. “Pretty much everybody’s dead. The Inquisitor went inside with Rose and her squad of Celestians, but that was a while ago and I haven’t heard from them since.”

“So, what were you doing?”

“Hunting.” The grin that appeared on Angelica’s face when she said that reminded me of the howls of the berserkers, and I couldn’t help but shiver. “Lots of heretics around here. Looks like half a crusade.”

“What are the traitor legions doing here?”

“Dying,” Angelica replied, and spun her bolt pistols like some frontier gunslinger. “I’ve got to go assist with that. Try not to die, Kora.”

“You as well, Angelica.” The Seraphim nodded, then was gone in a blast of light from her jump pack, and I limped back to Halquin, suddenly very uncertain as to our next move. She didn’t give me much chance for that, though, instead simply turning and heading for the doors to the manufactorum. “Come on, Regina. We’ve got to meet up with the Inquisitor and complete this mission. If things are as bad as they appear, then he’s going to need every standing body he can to succeed.”

So ends the third passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

Ytet another health update

2011-04-15T14:33:00.000-07:00

the medicae really needs to leanr some bedside manner, or to at least come to my bedside at somepoint. xrays show that i am getting worse, not better, and that is all i know sineno one will freaking talk to me. more news later.

Even more health update.

2011-04-14T07:06:00.000-07:00

my current duty to the emperor has me performing breathing excercises specifically designed to shoot blood pud and who knows what out of my chest cavity and into a bucket. luckily the omnissiah in his great wisdom saw fit to connect a tube from my torso to the bucket or there would be a frightful mess.

Health Update

2011-04-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

to those who are wondering where i am right now, sorry cam, i had a spontaneous pneumothorax, which is doctor talk for my lung collapsed for no reason and left me collapsed in a parking garage. im currently in the hospital with a tube soved between my ribs draining the air from my chest cavity so my lung can reinflate. ill be out for a few days to a week, and am updating this from my phone, thus no capital letters.

Radical: Healing

2011-04-10T16:55:00.000-07:00

Radical, part II. For more check the table of contents here.

It was three days before I could return to the front line. The Sisters Hospitaler had reattached the tendons in my legs so that I could walk again, and I was returned to my squad as quickly as they could make me able. Our front line had been secured a few hours after I was pulled from the field by Inquisitor Fane's acolytes when the Harbingers arrived. Never in my life have I seen a sight as magnificent as the rain of steel that fell from the heavens that day. Space Marine drop pods are a marvel of technology whose secret resides rightfully only with the Astartes. Should radicals ever get their hands on them our forces would be hard pressed indeed to repel their attacks. The Harbingers emerged from their fallen pods, bolters screaming, tearing down the foul machines that had torn the Imperial guard to pieces. I believe that we owed our lives to the Astartes that day. Without their fearless presence holding the line we would have surely fallen.

Sister Superior Halquin welcomed me back to the squad with open arms and a warm smile. She was a pretty woman, with light red hair, and when not in combat she wore a pair of pince nez glasses. She'd told me once that she'd never intended to join the Order Militant of the Adpeta Sororitas, but wished instead to be a simple librarian of holy texts in one of our convents. I feel that while a library may have missed a fine tender in Kora Halquin, the Cleansing Fire commandery gained an irreplaceable warrior. Our squad had lost two sisters during the fighting, Sister Candice and Sister Delilah, two faces whom I still miss.

We were held off of the front lines for now while our rhino was being repaired and our armor tended to. My armor in particular needed great care from the enginseers, damaged as it was from the heavy bolter fire I had taken. While we rested and waited in the landing zone where the resupply ships touched down and unloaded with regularity, bringing new arms and equipment into the fight, we were asked by several of the reserve Guard units to give blessings over their platoons, a service we were happy to provide.

The Guard, more than anyone else, had suffered the most. Lightly armed and armored, they had been cut down in vast numbers by the corrupted servitors we had faced, and for every one of the tainted machines they had brought down they lost five or ten fighting men. As if that weren't enough, the taint of this planet drove many more insane. Some turned on their brothers, others collapsed on the field of battle, screaming and clawing at their eyes until they had to be put down, but the worst were the ones who simply turned their weapons on themselves and forsook their duty rather than face their enemies. Tanks were left uncrewed as their drivers or gunners went mad, and a full third of the mighty earthshaker cannons of the basilisks were silent, lacking the men to fire them.

I was tasked with giving last rites to those too badly wounded to fight on, and I walked the narrow rows between the beds of the medicae with soft words as comforting as I could find. It was there that I found the Sergeant. He was an older man, badly burned all across the right side of his body. One of his squad mates had been carrying a flamer when he'd been hit by a blast from a lascannon. The Sergeant was the only survivor. He spoke to me awkwardly, half of his mouth fused together, but his voice was still strong. “You're a pretty thing,” he had said. “A beautiful vision to see before I die.”

It was not the first time I had heard that from the lips of a dying man that day, and it would not be the last. “You've done your duty well,” I said, as I had been saying all day. He must have noticed the strain in my voice. The heat from the meltagun had left my throat still raw and hoarse.

“No tears for me, Sister. Save those for a hero, not just some old man doing his duty.” He reached out with a hand that had been cooked smooth, reminding me more of the fin from some aquatic animal than an human limb. “Save them for that Inquisitor.”

“You've met the Inquisitor?” I hadn't seen Argus Fane since the first day of the invasion. “He saved my life; swatted one of those servitors right off of me with that Daemonhammer of his. Why should I shed tears for him? The Emperor protects him, I'm sure of it.”

At that the old Sergeant laughed and shook his head. “Yes, I'm sure he does. But that man isn't going to walk away from this world, no ma'am. He'll be leaving this world in a black coffin, you mark my words.”

I was shocked at this horrific statement, and I hurt my sore throat when I snapped back, “You watch what you say about the Inquisitor. He serves the Emperor's will, and he won't fall so easily as you might think.”

“Calm down, pretty sister,” the Sergeant said, putting his hands up innocently. “The Emperor has plans for every man, and Argus Fane is going to die here. I've seen it.”

“Seen it? Seen it how?” I immediately suspected witchcraft, and was about to call for a weapon when he answered me.

“You're young yet, very young, so you haven't seen what I've seen. Men like the Inquisitor, they pass through like storms, pulling the rest of us into their wake. I saw it in his eyes, that look. It was the same look my old colonel, may he sit at the Emperor's side, had when we landed back on Jilika. He was coming to the end of his road, about to be forced to retire. He might have gone on to teach at some Schola somewhere, or an officer's academy, and that would be the end of him. He was a good man, and he'd done his duty well, but he'd never be remembered, nobody was going to write books about that old dog. So when we landed at Jilika he had that look in his eye. It was the look of a driven man, one who was going to die gloriously. The Inquisitor's got that same gaze, Sister. He's chosen his fate.”

“What happened to your colonel?' I was already enraptured with this old veteran's story. I was, after all, fighting in my first war, while this man had seen who knew how many conflicts. “Is that what happened? Did he die gloriously?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, laughing again despite his injuries. “Bayoneted a Lictor. Saved our entire artillery line in the process. I watched him do it, too. Stuck his blade so far into that thing's skull that when he pulled the trigger on his lasgun the whole damn thing exploded like a grenade. Flying bone fragments tore him to pieces. It was a good death.”

I smiled then, and placed my hand on his forehead. “May the light of the Emperor guide you wherever you travel, old warrior, that you may find peace at his side, your duty done.” He smiled at me then with the half of his mouth still capable of it, and I walked away.

When I returned my squad was arming themselves again, and Marise threw me a bolter as I approached. “Fasten up your boots, Regina. We've got a special mission.”

“What kind of special mission?” I asked, checking the clip on the bolter.

Sister Superior Halquin answered me as she fastened on her chainsword. “We're to press forwards towards the mechanicus facility along with the rest of the commandery. The Inquisitor's riding with us. We're going to hit the enemy's flank and try to disrupt their servitor manufacturing plant.”

“Are we getting any support?”

“Grey Knights,” Marise said, grinning like a school girl, and Halquin clicked at her.

“That's enough speculation from you, double check your melta. We've got enough to worry about without you getting everyone all worked up over hearsay.”

“Grey Knights? I thought they were just a myth!” I said, but a sharp gaze from the superior cut off any other questions I had.

As we loaded into our repaired rhino I was excited. The fabled Grey Knights and the Inquisitor himself! Soon I'd be fighting again, destroying the enemies of the Imperium alongside legendary warriors and the hero who'd saved my life. If I'd thought about what the old Sergeant had said instead of losing myself to the thrill of it all I would have fared much better over the next few hours. But Emperor I was young, so young.

So ends the second passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

Radical: Hell

2011-04-09T16:24:00.000-07:00

It's the screaming that I'll never forget. The Imperial Guard were not prepared for this kind of mission, and The Hammer of the Emperor, blessed be their mission, failed in their duty before we had even landed on that cursed rock the Cult Mechanicus had named Ulric. The guardsmen in the drop-ship were shouting blasphemies the second we breached the atmosphere, and despite the shaking and sudden lurches in all directions that the ship was taking, the platoon's priest and commissar were making the rounds with prayers and laspistol, attending to the lost.

This was my very first mission. I was still a novice in the order and had never fired my bolter in anger before. I can imagine how I must have looked then, too thin neck sticking out of my power armor, trembling as I watched each gibbering soldier cut down, reciting my prayers with a stammering voice as Sister Superior Halquin led us in benediction against the foul creatures we were about to face. I think I might have pissed myself, I'm not completely sure.

We'd been briefed by Inquisitor Argus Fane, may the Emperor keep his soul, on what we faced upon this blighted world. Apparently the Mechanicus had been running a research facility here and performed some heresy or other in one of their experiments. Within a week the facility had gone rogue, corrupted by the warp energies they had released, and within a month there was a full blown daemon incursion on the world. To this day I don't know why Fane didn't simply call exterminatus on the world and whatever reasons he had for mounting this assault died with him on Ulric. He'd called upon every resource he could muster to attack Ulric, and they were considerable. Three companies of Imperial Guard, the fourth and first companies of the Harbingers Astartes chapter and our own Cleansing Fire commandery landed on Ulric, and directly into hell.

When the drop-ship touched down fully half of the Imperial Guard with us had already fallen, and those that remained were doing little more than fleeing the wrath of their commissar when they left the drop-ship and hit the front lines. My sisters and I were the one of the last units to leave the drop ship, having loaded into our rhino, we followed in the wake of the Imperial Guard chimeras and the hundreds of ground troops that had set out to secure the landing zone. They'd failed. There were beasts on the ground that the guard, simply men with lasguns, were not prepared to face. When we heard the fighting Sister Halquin mounted the rhino's storm bolter and called me up to support her. I am not too modest to say that, even at that age, I was a remarkable shot.

I took my own storm bolter and climbed into the open top hatch next to Halquin and I got my first glimpse of what a daemonworld was. The sky was a sickly pink, devoid of clouds, but full of shimmering warplight that hurt my mind to look at. All of the ground was blood red and terrible, with great rifts that spewed green fire into the sky. The guard were being slaughtered around us in droves by what I assumed were servitors. Great inhuman beasts with mechanical limbs and heavy weaponry were massacring the men. I watched as a twisted mechanical form turned a heavy bolter onto the commissar I had seen before, and the man was reduced to a cloud of bloody mist before my very eyes. I took aim and sent a burst of bolter shells into the beast, but the impacted harmlessly against its mechanical parts, and it spun on our rhino. Heavy bolter rounds ricocheted off of the transport's heavy armor, and Halquin joined me in pouring fire into the monstrosity until it fell, the life pummeled out of it from our combined fire.

More of these battle servitors came marching across the blasted plains at us, and for each one we managed to bring down, more appeared. When my storm bolter ran dry, I called down for another weapon, and someone handed me a meltagun. I have never been comfortable with meltaguns, and I would have preferred a bolter, but the rhino was moving too fast for anything but inaccurate blasts at close range. I braced myself against the open hatch and took careful aim, firing the weapon at each servitor as they got close, reducing them to molten piles of slag. It was an effective weapon, no doubt, but each time I fired the weapon it burned my retinas, leaving blinding afterimages swimming in my vision, and the heat from the shots seared my lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Still the rhino traveled on. We were to make a beachhead a kilometer North of our landing zone so that the guard coming in behind us could set up their basilisks and other artillery to support our push towards the mechanicus facility. In truth, I have no idea how we made it to the line. By the time we reached the location we were supposed to hold, the Rhino was pitted with impact shells and was lurching along at half of its normal speed. A rocket had clipped the transport in the rear and jammed the tracks, resulting in a terrible grinding as our driver forced the machine to push on anyway. The rhino's storm bolter was empty, and I was on the third and last reload for the meltagun when Halquin pounded on the armor of the rhino and called for a stop. I climbed down from the hatch and returned the meltagun to Marise, the sister it had been originally assigned to. She wore a re-breather mask and tinted helmet that I hadn't had the luxury to be given.

After taking my storm bolter once more, the back hatch of the rhino opened, and my sisters and I poured out amidst a rain of bolter shells and lasblasts. I used the rhino as cover and leaned around the back side, firing a stream of bolt shells into yet another servitor, this one armed with a pain of buzzing chainfists. It took three concentrated bursts to bring the machine to its knees, and even then it continued to crawl towards us until Marise finished it off the the meltagun. We were faring better than anyone else around us. The guard were getting cut down all around us, and one chimera went up in flames as a shot from a lascannon punched through its armor and hit its ammunition stores. I leaned out to take a shot at a small, fast moving thing that was all legs and blades when I got hit by a stream of fire from a heavy bolter. The impact rolled me over, pitching me onto my back and sending me bouncing across the broken landscape like a discarded doll. My armor miraculously protected me, and none of the shells punched through, but I lost my storm bolter somewhere and came to my feet disoriented and confused. All I could hear were explosions and gunfire.

Dazed, I tried to regain my bearings, only to be pitched to the ground once more. The thing with the blades had found me, moving impossibly fast, dodging the fire of my sisters, coming to pounce upon the wounded prey. I saw it raised three of its blades, and shouted, bringing my arm up just in time to avoid having my face torn into. My ceramite gauntlet deflected one of the blades, and another bounced harmlessly off of the armor, but the third slipped by and slashed across the side of my head. The warm, wet feeling that ran down the side of my face and neck, seeping into my armor let me know that I'd lost my left ear.

With a shout of pain and a burst of adrenalin I managed to shove the thing off of me, and it fell away onto its back a meter away. I scrambled to my feet, searching for my lost weapon, but it was gone, lost somewhere in the chaos. I called to my sisters, but they didn't hear me, they were busy exchanging fire with something else that I couldn't see, blocked by the bulk of the rhino. I had been knocked a dozen meters back by the heavy bolter, and I couldn't each them. A shriek warned me just in time that the machine had recovered, and I threw myself to the ground blindly. It sailed over me, landing on the cracked ground as nimbly as an acrobat, and I got my first look at it. A half dozen human legs surrounded a mechanical center piece that had a dozen or more scything, needle-like blades suspended over it in small, articulating arms. Whoever had built such a thing was far gone from the light of the Emperor.

It leapt at me again, and I lashed out with my leg, catching the thing in mid flight. The augmented strength the power armor gave me sent the servitor sprawling once more, but it rose again, uninjured and undeterred. Without a weapon I was going to quickly lose this fight. If I could dodge it again I could run back towards my sisters and shout a warning. A single bolt from any of them would end this abomination instantly. So I prepared myself to dive out of the way of its next pounce, and as it charged I ducked, only to be knocked flat onto my face as the thing darted between my legs, flicking its blades out and cutting into the joints of my armor. The pain was unexpected, and I cried out as my boots filled with blood. Hamstrung, I couldn't rise again, and could only roll onto my back to meet my death head on.

The creature wasted no time, but instead leapt forward again, and I watched as it turned in mid air, bringing all of its terrible weapons to bear on my unarmored face, then a blast of light so bright it shook my brain inside of my skull took the thing out of mid air. It writhed in midair, lightning arcing from its metal parts while its blades flailed wildly, cutting its legs away in a storm of blood and oily fluids. It collapsed on the ground, twitching ineffectually.

At the time, I thought that the Emperor himself had protected me, and to this day I sometimes wonder if that wasn't exactly what had happened. A figure appeared in my vision, garbed in shimmering gold power armor and wielding a hammer almost as large as he was. He extended a hand down to me, and I took it in awe. As he pulled me to my feet I saw the Inquisitorial Rosette encased on plastisteel on the front of his armor. "Come," he said, and his voice booms with that heavy baritone in my memories still. "The Emperor requires too much of you for you to die today."

That was how I met Inquisitor Argus Fane, Martyr of Ulric.

So ends the first passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.

[Table of Contents]

Cleansing Fire Commandery: Force Organization

2011-04-02T13:38:00.000-07:00

Commander: Canoness Angelica Cross

Executive Officer: Palatine Kora Halquin

Inquisition Liasons: Inquisitor Lord Gibbius Vecht, Ordo Hereticus; Inquisitor Seren Null, Ordo Xenos

Elite Units:
20 Sisters Celestian led by Celestian Superior Andromeda Gray

2 Callidus Assassins

1 Eversor Assassin

Troops:
80 Battle Sisters

20 Inquisition Stormtroopers

Fast Attack Units:
15 Seraphim led by Seraphim Superior Gina White

15 Sisters Dominion led by Sister Superior Loraine Teal

Heavy Support Units:
7 Sisters Retributor led by Sister Superior Vera Brown

3 Immolator Flame Tanks (Twin Heavy Flamers Variant)

2 Excorcist Artillery Tanks

Ship: Inquisitorial Cruiser Nolo Contende.

Important Note: The Cleansing Fire Commandery includes no support staff of any kind due to Canoness Cross's insistence that she never wants to see or hear anyone who hasn't personally killed a heretic with their bare hands. As such all Enginseers, Sisters Hospitaler and other necessary but non-combat personnel are under the direct command of Inquisitor Null and are not technically part of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. This has kept friendly fire losses in the vicinity of the Canoness at a minimum.

Battle Report: Cleansing Machismo

2011-03-28T16:27:00.000-07:00

Report: The Cleansing of Taphyre Hive
Date: 128.M42
Logger: Palatine Kora Halquin, Order of Our Martyred Lady, Cleansing Fire Commandery
Location: Taphyre Hive, Golsorath, Davoth Subsector, Eastern Rim

To my dying day I shall never understand why the Grey Knights are such absolute tossers. Both the Cleansing Fire Commandery and a force of Grey Knights were to support Inquisitor Vecht of the Ordo Hereticus and Inquisitor Paulo of the Ordo Malleus with the cleansing of a chaos cult in the hive city of Taphrye on the planet Golsorath. Everything seemed to be going just fine until the leader of the Grey Knights, one Mordrak, started having fits and summoning ghosts and claiming heresy and diabolism in our general direction. After loudly professing the faith of the Cleansing Fire Commandery, Celestian Superior Michelle Gray voxed our mobile command center that something terrible was up. Canoness Cross suggested shooting Mordrak in the face to see if that would get him to stop. It did not.

The Grey Knights, who numbered 15 Terminators, 5 Paladins, 2 Dreadknights, a Librarian and the thrice damned Mordrak himself chose to attack us before Superior Gray could even get within bolter range. The foul witch marines must have known what was coming and opened fire first! Proving to be as absolutely useless as their namesake (White Knights are valorous heroes and Black Knights are bilious villains, so I must assume Grey Knights just stand about feeling conflicted) they failed to do so much as rattle a single one of our sisters. But then the Dreadknights appeared.

One appeared directly in front of our main force, ripping into reality atop a burning furnace. The machine was like nothing our sisters had ever seen. It towered over them, carrying massive weapons, protected by arcane technologies. It was the pinnacle of Grey Knight power. Then one of our Excorcists shot it and it blew apart quite nicely with no fuss. The other Dreadknight fared better, appearing on our left flnank and attacking a group of Retributors who rightly ran from its fearful weapons. This Dreadknight took a few more Excorcist rockets head on, then charged, tripped over the remains of the Retributors' Immolator and crushed its pilot. The Emperor Protects.

Our Dominions bravely gave their lives ending the vile lives of Terminators and the Grey Knights' Librarian, but eventually fell to nemesis Force Weapons and ghosts. How terrible is it that the Grey Knights must rely upon their dead to fight, as if the living aren't quite good enough. Still, after killing ten of our brave Sisters, Mordrak and his squad of Terminators (Of which only five remained, including Mordrak himself) found themselves suddenly face to face with 35 angry Sororitas and no cover. He wisely surrendered.

Our Cannoness was quite upset that the battle ended before she could arrive with her honor guard of Seraphim, and Inquisitor Vecht was forced to appease her by giving her full command over the Grey Knights for the rest of the cleansing of the Hive. It is my understanding that they were forced to sweep the sewers for mutant rats while our Commandery finished cleansing the Hive.

Coming Soon: The Waaaaagh Walka!

2011-03-27T11:56:00.000-07:00

I haven't actually done any conversions in a while (not since the infamous flying weirdboy) so I went to my gaming store with no plans in mind and decided to just loot the shit out of something, anything. So, coming soon, a Looted Eldar War Walker. Still have no actual plans for what exactly I'm gonna do with it yet except it's gonna count as a Killa Kan. Please leave suggestions in the box below.

Sisters of Battle Wargear Part 1: The Guns

2011-03-14T17:01:00.000-07:00

This is this first part of an overview of Sisters of Battle wargear, and so focuses on the guns since that's the most important part of a Sisters of Battle army. One thing to point out is that these weapons are scored subjectively based on being used by Sisters of Battle, rather than other armies that might be able to take them. So while a Multimelta is damned good for Space Marines, it's only an average choice for Sisters, who don't have the luxury of standing still within 24" of the enemy.

Bolter 2/5: It's a bolter. Bolt shit.

Bolt Pistol 1/5: Only Seraphim ever need bolt pistols. The only advantage they have over bolters is the extra attack in close combat, and the only units you have that should ever be in close combat can take inferno pistols.

Storm Bolter 2(3)/5: Flamers are better, meltas are much better. Why take it? This is your psycannon bolt platform. Given to an Inquisitor, this gun kills Eldar of either type dead, and does a good job against most other things as well. It also gives your Blessed Weapon/Eviscerator Heroine something to shoot with their BS5 too.

Heavy Bolter 3/5: Good for retributor squads. which is good since they're the only infantry that can take it. Sisters have problems with infantry at range, and this is their only answer. Putting it on an Immolator, which is the only other platform for it, is a waste.

Melta Gun 5/5: Your bread and butter anti-tank. Take them. Take them lots. They are especially good in dominion squads. Almost all special weapons in your army should be melta guns.

Multi-melta 2/5: How can a bigger, better melta be worse? Because it's heavy. Not good on Immolators, where it's a 20 point upgrade, unless you feel like fielding six Multi-melta Immos (don't). Sisters rely on mobility more than most other armies, so should never be given heavy weapons unless they have a lot of range.

Inferno Pistol 3/5: This gun depends on who is using it. NEVER GIVE IT TO SOMEONE WITHOUT A JUMP PACK. 6" range with a 3" Melta is unforgiving. Seraphim make good use of them, since they're twin linked in Seraphim squads, Not bad on heroines, but if you're taking an eviscerator it's a bit moot, and you don't get the extra pistol attack.

Flamer 3/5: OMG Flamer. Sisters' propensity for for mobile war loves the flamer. On dominion squads in an immolator it turns infantry of almost any type to mush. It's less effective against MEQ, but still okay.

Heavy Flamer 5/5 (6/5 on Immo!): Everything a flamer does, but better. Wounds most infantry on 2s or 3s, ignores cover and most armor (stupid beakies), and it's an assault weapon for your heavy weapons slot, essential for that mobile fire sisters need. On an Immolator it becomes the very deadliest gun in the army since it rerolls wounds and can be given Blessed Promethium.

Plasma Pistol 3/5: Not bad on a Seraphim Superior, a decent choice for your Heroine or Inquisitor. I usually ignore it in favor of something that's not gonna kill me.

Combi Weapons 2/5: Good for that one extra shot of Flame or Melta, but since only sister superiors can take them, not really worth it. The Combi-Stake Crossbow, however, is worth note for its ability to tear Hive Tyrants to pieces.

Hellgun 1/5: Only for Inquisitorial Stormtroopers and Warrior Retinue, and that's about the same as saying not good at all.

Laspistol 0/5: If your priest doesn't have an eviscerator he'll have this, as will most of your Inquisitor's retinue. Damn shame, really.

Why Play Sisters of Battle?

2011-03-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

In the current metagame, Sisters of Battle hold a rather low point in the competitive ladder of armies, it being generally accepted that they have only one competitive list. This, along with their old codex and expensive metal models, makes them an underplayed and rare army, but somehow their popularity persists anyway. Everyone knows Sisters of Battle, and whether they make fun of them for being outdated or respect them for their unique playstyle, everyone has an opinion on them. That's all well and good, but just being popular doesn't mean that Sisters get played. So, why should you play Sisters of Battle?

#1: They're Unique
While there are any number of Marine Equivalent armies out there (Space Wolves, Blood Angels, Dark Angels, Templars, Smurfs...), and Sisters at first look like an MEQ army, there's a distinct difference between the deadly Sororitas and the mighty Astartes. The first, and most obvious at a casual glance, is their statline. According to the stats, Sisters of Battle are simply Imperial Guard Veterans in Power Armor, with Bolters instead of lasguns. They fit somewhere in the middle of Guard and Marine, but stand out distinctly from both thanks to Faith.

Most people will agree that the shining point of a Sisters army are Acts of Faith. Whether they're making them stronger, faster, more durable or more deadly, Battle Sisters have a wide variety of options open to every squad (with the purchase of a veteran superior!) which allows a Sisters force to adapt and change as the needs of the battlefield demand, something not many other armies can boast. And who doesn't love 3++ saves and AP1 Bolter shots? Acts of Faith add an entire new dimension to the game.

#2: They're Aggressive
Sisters are, without a doubt, a shooting army. Their Strength, Toughness, Initiative and number of Attacks does not lead to assault at all, and yet, unlike other shooting mostly armies, the Sisters of Battle demand an aggressive style of play that would cause Tau to falter and collapse. This is because Sisters of Battle, almost regardless of squad, have a sweet spot in which they are extremely deadly.

Within 12" Sisters of Battle are one of the most dangerous armies in the entire game. Double Tapping Bolters, Meltaguns and Flamers of all sizes fill their ranks, and with their Acts of Faith all of these weapons can be treated as AP1 on To Wound rolls of 6. Marines cower, even Terminators shiver when a Rhino full of Battle Sisters pulls up in front of them at point blank range. Sisters of Battle reward aggressive movement and careful positioning, and their best anti-infantry weapons ignore the cover saves so prevalent in 5th edition, removing the safety of ruins or forests for most armies.

#3: They Look Cool
When you think of Marines, what do you see? Boxes with guns and tank treads and lots of aluminum cans with bolters, all identical, moving across the battlefield. Some armies manage to individualize troops a little (I'm looking at you Space Wolves) but generally speaking, appearancewise, A Marine is a Marine is a Marine. Sisters of Battle, however, have a very striking and unique appearance. Clothed in holy vestments with windblown hair, or wielding impossibly large eviscerators, Sisters of Battle stand out from every other army in their high gothic style.

Even their vehicles look different, despite being based on the same Rhino chassis as the Space Marines. Immolators have their huge bubble turrets and the mighty Excorcist is instantly recognizable thanks to the wrought iron pipe organ protruding from its back. Just look at a Penitent Engine or a Seraphim and compare it to a Dreanought or an Assault Marine and the difference becomes clear.

#4: Their Theme
Holy warriors beating face on the enemy with the power of their faith. That's the Sisters of Battle in a nutshell. They are an army that cleanses and purifies, bringing the holy light of the Emperor to all heretics and nonbelievers (that means everyone). Whether you think that idea's amazing or just wanna smash their faces in, everybody has a reaction to a holy crusade of Bolter Bitches rumbling through town lighting everything on fire in the name of God. It's just human nature.

So, in conclusion, I'd like to say that I personally love Sisters of Battle (Obviously) and while they may not be considered competitive right now, they're definitely fun to play. there's no standing around, there's no prolonged combats that go nowhere. It's brutal, it's in your face, and most importantly it's ON FIRE. Say it with me now, kids. Heavy Flamer. Love it. Cherish it. Bring it home to meet your parents. Use it to burn them as Hereticus Extremus.

Luckeez Wurlies

2011-03-06T23:20:00.000-08:00

It was the feel of the wind on his face that really made everything worthwhile for Luckee, ace pilot of the Inquisitorks. The blades of his kustom built Dethkopta whipped overhead with the sound of rattling metal and parts ready to fly off and explode from the immense torque provided by the terribly over sized jet engines located behind his head. It sounded like an Ork vehicle. It sounded fast.

Now any old Git could tell you that Luckee was the best pilot to ever put his teeth on the steering column of a Kopta. Any old git that wasn't part of the Roar of Mork, that other skwardon of Koptas that thought they was better than Luckees Wurlies, but those gits were off their rockers. Everybody knew Luckee's Wurlies flew faster, lower and more explodey than them Roar boyz could even dream of. Heck, Luckee had even made sure all of the boyz in his skwadron had extra large fuel tanks so that when they hit stuff the fireball was bigger. Yes sir, Luckee was the cream of the crop. The biggest squig in the pile. The top notch of all notches. heck, the only reason he wasn't a nob by now was because he couldn't fit in his chair if he got any bigger.

Today they were fighting something the boss called Pants Thieves. Apparently they snuck right up on you and stole your jeans, which was really a lot more sneaky than Luckee thought anything should be. After all, what' the point of going anywhere if everybody didn't know you were coming? It just made no sense. Nobody had a problem spotting Luckee's Wurlies coming. If the screaming of their engines and the huge, thick clouds of black smoke they trailed behind them weren't enough, Luckee had devised a way to make sure that everyone knew exactly who was coming to ruin their day. As Luckee and his wingmen Dimgutz and Fragga crested the top of the hill, Luckee spotted the enemy and hit the switch right next to the big red GO! button on his control panel. The speakers tucked right up under the Rokkit Launchas at the front of his Kopta blared out something the Madboyz back home called 'Flight uv da Orkyries' but which to Luckee had always just sounded like a couple dozen boyz being flung off a cliff. Still, it always had the desired effect. The enemy looked up to search for the suicidal orks falling from the sky and they saw Luckee and his boyz.

When he pointed this out to the boss the boss had said something about irony being lost on him, but no matter how hard Luckee searched he couldn't find it anywhere.

The enemy today was this big ugly bug thing that was floating in mid air like some idiot, not even going fast, so Luckee waved his arm to signal to the boyz and they swept in for an attack run. A cloud of rokkits filled the air, streaking towards the bug thing and impacting all around it, most missing horribly, but one catching the bug right in the face. it exploded big and bright, just like Luckee liked, but when the smoke cleared the bug was still there, unscatched, a crackling field of energy surrounding it. Luckee thought that was unfair, so as he flew by he cracked it across the face with the chain he kept tucked under his seat for just such instances, and tore its face clean off. Fragga cheered him, waving one arm wildly above his head, and losing three fingers in the kopta blades, and Luckee gave him a thumbs up. One more notch on the control stick for ace pilot Luckee.

The skwadron banked off and spotted more bugs in a building a little ways away, and Luckee brought his kopta in low for another attack run. More rockets flared and the ruin of a building blossomed into a half dozen fireballs before the koptas smashed through the windows of the first floor in what had to be, Luckee thought, the most awe inspiring sneak attack ever devised. Unfortunately Dimgutz missed a window and blasted straight through a wall, careening into the old building in a tailspin and bouncing off of hunks of rubble and more bugs. His kopta blades took the arm off of one of the bugs though, and Luckee's chain knocked another one flat. Fragga couldn't figure out how to fly and swing his choppa at the same time when only one of his hands had fingers, so mostly just hovered in the center of the ruin aimlessly.

They kept fighting the bugs for a whle, but then Luckee spotted the prize. A great big bug, bigger than any bug he had ever seen, and just flown down from the heavens and started shooting up more koptas from that Roar of Mork skwadron. Luckee let out a roar and took off out of the ruin, his boyz following him. He'd show those Roar gitz what real kopta pilots could do.

The big bug lifted off the ground with huge leathery wings and fired off some great big shoota at the Roar of Mork boyz, who mostly died. Gamgatsa, the skwadron leader of the Roar of Mork managed to dodge out of the way though, and flew off, shouting curses at the big bug. What a useless git. With his boyz formed up on him, Luckee came in tight and low, in perfect formation, then unleashed more rokkits. It was the most beautiful bombing pattern he'd ever seen. All six rokkits hit home, blowing great big chunks out of the huge bug's backside. Then Luckee's Wurlies flew in for the kill.

This bug was no pushover though, and that made it fun. it spun in mid air, terribly agile for its size, and swatted Fragga out of the air with a giant sword made of bone. Fragga howled as his kopta pirouetted into the ground, then erupted in a huge fireball, just like Luckee designed. It was beautiful. Luckee smashed his chain against the monster's face, and Dimgutz swung in, raking his kopta blade's across the thing's backside, but they just couldn't pierce its armor. It was a tough son of a squig, Luckee gave it that. He waved his arm, breaking off from the wickedly fast flying monster, ready to come about for another pass with the rokkits, but a blast from behind tore the tail rotor off of Dimgutz' kopta, and the ork went sailing into the side of a building below them. It was really pretty.

Spinning his Kopta around, Luckee saw even more bugs coming, led by the great big bug, so Luckee hit the throttle even harder and rushed right at them, the last of his rokkits firing away into the air, hitting nothing. He raised his chain, ready for the killing blow on the big buggie that was now engaged with some Nobs on the ground, when something sharp and biting wrapped his kopta up like a bondage squig on a Gorkmas Eve. The sharp, barbed, strangly thing wrenched up his gears and gubbins, and his kopta stalled. With a howl of sheer pleasure, Luckee plunged down to the ground, faster than he'd gone all day. The skids of the kopta hit the mud and slid, then upended as he hit the corpse of a nob. Luckee flew out of his seat, tumbling and rolling until he landed face first on the body of the boss himself. The big bug stood towering over him, glaring with big ugly glaring bug eyes.

Luckee stood up, wrapped his chain around one fist, raised his other and gave the bug the finger. Its bone sword came rushing down at his head, then stopped in mid motion. The big bug convulsed and twitched, then coughed, hacking up giant bug lungfulls of snotlings that rained down around Luckee in a crazed frenzy. He swatted a few away, then turned around to see hundreds of snotlings falling from the sky, landing on other flying bugs and bringing them down, or ripping out of the chests of walking bugs nearby. The big bug keeled over dead, and more snotlings swarmed out of every orifice, panicked and dying of fright the moment they were free. In the distance, Luckee could see a Big Mek loading more snotlings into his giant whirling gun, and Luckee whistled.

He had to get one of those on his kopta.

The New GK Codex and Codex Creep

2011-02-20T06:21:00.000-08:00

Looks like the new GK Codex is gonna be the go-to Inquisition codex, which means the Sisters codex rumored to be coming along the pipeline probably won't be. Lately it seems like GW has been avoiding crossover between codexes (the notable exception being Harlequins in the new DE) so it makes me wonder if the Sisters codex is going to be an Ecclesiarchy codex rather than an Inquisition one. This would provide opportunity for new unit types like confessors or missionaries, and new unit types means new models, and new models means $chaching$.

That's not really what I'm looking into here though, but rather the obvious concept of Codex Creep. Codex Creep is the name used to describe how each newly released codex is slightly more powerful than the last. Sometimes this can be very subtle or minimal, take for example Blood Angels and Space Wolves. And sometimes it's really really not. Example: Daemons and Imperial Guard. This exists as a way to draw interest into the new armies and as a way to slowly progress the metagame. Right now I want to look at a prime example of Codex creep by examining some identical units from Codex Witch Hunters and Codex Grey Knights.

Both of these are current codexes (GK isn't actually current, but enough of the leaked test codex has been passed around it's as good as for casual play) and both contain examples of the same units. For instance let's look at Inquisitor Lord Fyodor Karamazov.

Witch Hunters:
205 pts WS4 BS5 S6 T5 W4 I5 A3 Ld10 Sv2+/4++
He's got the ability to give all units within 2d6" of him +1 attack for a turn, can choose to pass or fail any morale check, all friendly units within 12" of him can re-roll failed morale checks, and he's a Monstrous Creature. He's got a Multi-melta that can fire even if he moves, and a master crafted power sword.

Grey Knights:
200 pts WS4 BS4 S5 T5 W4 I4 A3 Ld10 Sv2+
He loses the attack bonus power, and in its place is an Orbital Strike like a SM Chapter Master, except he can choose to center the blast marker on one of his own army's models, and if so, the blast doesn't scatter. He can still choose to pass or fail morale, and his buddies still get the morale rerolls. Instead of a Monstrous Creature he's now an IC, so can join a squad, though he can't embark in a vehicle. His Multimelta has become Master Crafted, and he's got Relentless now, and he's got every grenade type known to man, plus some. He's also still got his master crafted power sword.

So, let's look at the differences. He loses a point of BS, but his only gun is now Master Crafted. So he went from an 83% chance to hit to an... What's this? 83% chance to hit. Same result. Even Score.

His Strength has lowered by one, and he's no longer a monstrous creature, so his CC attacks are less effective against vehicles, but he now has Krak grenades to help make up for it, and Frag grenades to keep him in the game when he assaults units in cover. His initiative is lower now, but we'll call the addition of Frag grenades about even, but the old Karamazov has an advantage in CC thanks to his higher Strength and his ability to take out vehicles.

Survivability is always an issue, so we'll look at that next. While it seems obvious that the old Karamazov would have the advantage here with his 4++ thanks to a Rosarius, I'm actually going to give survivability to the new Karamazov for being an Independent Character. Surround him with a unit of 10 GK Terminators and he's a hell of a lot harder to kill than the old one who succumbs quite readily to a single Railgun shot or Power Klaw if his save misses. No wound allocation options means the new Karamazov is a definite winner.

Now, special abilities. Everyone around him gets +1 attack seems pretty potent, but when compared to a S10 AP1 Heavy Blast that doesn't scatter (slap the center marker on any one of the GK heroes who have Eternal Warrior, take your pick) and you've got a hell of a lot more reliable method of dealing wounds, especially if your target friendly model is in close combat after a pile in. Advantage New Guy.

So, in four categories: Shooting, Close Combat, Survivability and Special Abilities, we see that Karamazov has been outclassed by his new iteration two to one, despite the new fellow being five points cheaper. And if no sudden changes happen it means two codexes will have two versions of the same Unique Character, and one is markedly better than the other, despite being cheaper.

Welcome to Codex Creep. To be fair, it'll have been seven years to the month since Witch Hunters was printed when Grey Knights comes out, and currently Witch Hunters is the oldest codex in the game (Except Necrons, but who cares about those guys?). So, the Oldest vs the Newest? Definitely the newest wins.

And this is just one example of codex creep. Take, for instance, 70 pt Chimeras in Witch Hunters vs 55 in Grey Knights, and the Witch Hunters still have to pay for the weapons that the GK get for free on that transport. And the assassins... Well, that's a post for another day.

PS: Dear Fyodor also seems to have been demoted, as he is now simply Inquisitor Karamazov, rather than Inquisitor Lord. Maybe the extra points cost is for the title.

Battle prayer of the Cleansing Fire Commandery

2011-02-05T20:40:00.000-08:00

Would that I had been a flame

Burning brightly in His name

To serve my purpose and then die

To have no will but His

Would that I had been a gale

To scour the land of sins

Would that I had been a gun

Dealing death without a thought

Woe that I am born of will

Surrounded by temptation

Blessed are those with minds like Iron

Blessed are we who have no doubts

Blessed by He who sits apart

Blessed to be his fire.

Rejected Inquisitor Upgrades for the new GK Codex

2011-01-30T19:39:00.000-08:00

Wargear
Crate of Mongooses: Make 12d6 extra close combat attacks at S1 AP-. "DIE DEMON!" Skreeskreeskree!

Daemon Screwdriver: Functions as Daemon Hammer, but even more suggestive. "Pound or Screw? Choices choices..."

Psychic Condom: Functions as Psychic Hood, but only works against Slaanesh. "You don't know where she's been."

Big Black Coat: Provides no armor save but makes the Inquisitor even more Inquisitorial. "Screw armor, I'm an Inquisitor!"

Badass Hat: All units wishing to assault the Inquisitor's unit must pass a morale test or fall back. "Nobody messes with the hat."

Flying Circus: The Inquisitor and his retinue gain the Infiltrate universal special rule. "Nobody expects us!"

Signature Sidearm: S6 AP3 Bolt Pistol. "Then I blew the Space Marine's head off..."

Retinue
Untouchable: All Cullexus special abilities -and- cannot be specifically targeted by daemons or psykers. "You too can have a deus ex machina!"

Badass Bounty Hunter: All stats at 5, 3 Wounds, 3+ Armor, 2+ Invul. "Bald guys never go out of style."

Busty Redhead: All stats at 4, 2 Wounds, 4+ Invul. Starts with two one handed weapons of your choice, loses both after first turn. "We don't keep her around because she's particularly good at her job..."

Cannon Fodder: Statted as an Inquisitorial Stormtrooper. Give this model an intriguing backstory. All wounds must be assigned to this model first. "He'd been with me for years..."

Really Smart Guy: Allows a re-roll of any single dice per turn, but Ld must be tested each time or unit becomes Pinned. "Yes, that's very fascinating, but we're kind of busy here."

Rogue Trader: All stats at 4, 2 Wounds, Ld10. Can take any wargear from any codex. If Rogue Trader model comes within 12" of an objective model detatches from unit becoming an Independent Character and moves as fast as possible towards objective. Should he reach it, he and the objective are immediately removed from the game. "That bastard stole the MacGuffin!"

Celebrating the New Convent

2011-01-27T13:04:00.000-08:00

To All Loyal Subjects of The Imperium,

This notice hereby informs all residents of the Davoth Subsector that the Order of Our Martyred Lady has recently build a new cathedral on the recently christened planet of Autarch's Folly (formerly Hesperia IV). The Cathedral of the Impervious Celestian is built upon the site of the great battle in which Sisters of the Cleansing Fire Commandery drove off the defending Eldar forces of the once Xenos held world, and will serve as the new headquarters of the Cleansing Fire Commandery.

The cathedral is named after Celestian Jenna Falcone who, along with her sisters, dropped directly into the center of the Eldar stronghold and proceeded to give their lives distracting a Wraithlord, which gave the rest of the Commandery's forces the time they needed to assault the exterior of the Eldar fortifications. Falcone was the last of the Celestians to fall, after receiving blow after blow from the Wraithlord, protected only by the power of her faith.

Also participating in the battle was Inquisitor Harold M. Stansfield of the Ordo Hereticus who led his personal squad of Stormtroopers, the Hellboys, directly into the fray in order to kill an Eldar Farseer who was giving aid to the Wraithlord. Though the Farseer was torn apart by Psycannon Bolts and Plasma, the Inquisitor was too late to save the proud Celestians. Upon killing the Xeno Witch, Inquisitor Stansfield withdrew from the field along with the lone surviving Hellboy.

Victory was achieved when Canoness Angelica Cross, leader of the Cleansing Fire Commandery dropped into the enemy stronghold along with an honor guard of ten Seraphim. They destroyed one of the enemy's bastions, then engaged the Wraithlord. Though many Seraphim lost their lives to the Xeno beast, Canoness Cross scored it a vicious scar across the face that left it too dazed to further participate in the battle. The Canoness and her surviving Seraphim disengaged and continued to wreak havoc throughout the base until only the Canoness was left alive.

Canoness Cross then challenged and engaged the Eldar Autarch, high commander of the xenos forces, in single combat. Weilding her blessed weapon and garbed in holy relics of the Order, Canoness Cross cut down the Autarch, sapping the will of the Eldar host and forcing them to flee.

The planet was taken for the Imperium, but only at great cost. Eighteen Battle Sisters of the Cleansing Fire Commandery, nine Inquisitorial Stormtroopers and an Inquisition Assassin all died taking the site. Their blood has sanctified the land and insured the blessings of The Emperor upon the beautiful Paradise World.

-BBC Davoth

1k Witch Hunters : Holy Word Mission

2011-01-16T09:01:00.000-08:00

Having decided to help my dear friend test her 1k list for her tournament, I decided to make my own 1k list. After a few plays I found that at this points level taking an Inquisitor Lord with Retinue is kind of points intensive for little payoff, I cheesed it up and replaced him with Melta-Dommies in an Immolator. You know, the Mathamancy way. Check it.

Palatine: PW & Inferno Pistol
5x Celestian Retinue: Sacred Standard, Melta, Brazier of Holy Fire

10x Repentia w/Priest

10x Battle Sisters: Heavy Flamer, Melta

10x Battle Sisters: Heavy Flamer, Melta

5x Dominions: Melta x4, Immolator

Eversor Assassin

Results: Everyone has always told me that Repentia are not even remotely worth the points cost, and there aren't nearly enough vehicles to work with the metagame. Seeing as, with this list, I have now gone 4-0 against heavily mechanized lists I have discovered that people are made of stupid sometimes. This list has taught me that Repentia get better the lower the points cost and the later into the game they're introduced, so keeping them in reserve is a necessity. The Eversor, honestly, is pretty hit or miss, but when he hits he hits hard. I'd honestly like more than just the two faith points provided by the Pally and her retinue, but I haven't found myself really needing them.

Having anti-tank in every squad except the Eversor has really made the difference here, compared to my normal list where I ten to rely on Krak Grenades in all my squads and Meltas with Seraphim. What can I say? I like burny. The Heavy Flamers help a ton too, as at 1k they tend to annihilate everything that isn't a Space Marine since people tend to rely more on the free cover saves than Invuls or extra armor. Dominions always make up their points cost, no matter what they're armed with, especially when you drop them in an Immolator. My 2k list runs two squads of them with so much flamer. So much flamer......

I do miss my Excorcists (Der Uber Tank) but they're much too points intensive for this level of play. Without screening units, even with AV13 they're too vulnerable to anti-tank, most especially on a 4x4 board.

Happy Holiday Special

2010-12-27T00:37:00.000-08:00

The pict screen video cleared, revealing a warm, rustic room in what appeared to be a log cabin. In the hearth a rogue psyker's body burned with a pleasant crackle. Two large chairs dominated the center of the room, both black leather and very comfortable looking. In one sats a thin woman with light red hair pulled up into a fashionable bun. She wore a pair of pince nez glasses and was dressed in a simple black dress and robe with a white sash around her waist. She smiled pleasantly and raised a teacup in salute, "Hello friends, and happy Emperor's Day from the Cleansing Fire Commandery. As you no doubt know, this is something of a tradition of the commandery, bringing the light of The Emperor to everyone on this, the day of His birth. Isn't that right, Angelica?"

In the other chair slouched a more severe woman in battle worn power armor, her white hair cropped very close. Her face was almost pretty, except for the scar across her left eye and the look of tedious boredom on her features. "You got me on the fucking camera Kora. Don't expect me to fucking play along. I'll rip out your fucking windpipe and use it as a straw to suck your brains out through your eye sockets." Angelica picked up a flamer from beside her chair and shot it over her shoulder into the fire, catching most of the hearth alight and sending flames licking up along the walls. A moment later a trio of battle sisters rushed by, tossing buckets of water on the blaze.

"Right," Kora said, completely unflappable. "And what a wonderful Emperor's Day it is. It almost makes me want to break into song."

"Don't."

"Or not!" Kora said with a bright, if somewhat nervous smile. "As our Cannoness has rightly pointed out, this is no time for singing. There's a war on!"

"There's always a war on," Angelica said as she kicked her feet up onto the small table in front of them, splintering the wood. "Think I'd be doing this if there wasn't a fucking war on? God damned morale boosting piece of-"

"Oh look," Kora interjected suddenly, rising to her feet. "There's someone at the door!"

"There is?" Angelica craned her head around to look, and for a few awkward moments there was dead silence, then finally came a knocking.

"Oh look, there's someone at the door!" Kora said again in the exact same tone.

"You said that already," Angelica said, and Kora made several quick hand motions, as if trying to signal someone to change a cue card.

"Who is it?" She finally called out.

"By jove, it's bloody cold outside," came a deep, cultured voice from the other side of the door. "I say, might I take shelter in your humble cabin here?"
Kora skipped over to the door, her robe flying out behind her, and she swung open the door. A giant of a man in highly ornate tan and white ceramite power armor stepped through the door way, and had to turn sideways to squeeze his massive bulk through, only to have his jump pack get caught in the door frame and rip out half the wall. He wore no helmet, and sported a large brown handlebar mustache and a bionic monocle. “Praise the Emperor,” Kora cried out melodramatically. “It’s Chapter Master Gregorious Chase of the Burning Sands chapter of the Adeptus Astartes!”

There came the distinctive sound of power armored gauntlets applauding from somewhere off camera while Chase bowed in response. When it quieted down he straightened, “I say, is that Palatine Halquin, of the Cleansing Fire Commandery? What brings you out here?”

“Only some Emperor’s Day cheer,” Kora said with a giggle in her voice which caused Angelica to sink lower into her chair and groan. “What about you, Chapter Master?”

“I’m out hunting Orks,” Chase said, and put his hands on his hips. “The foul beasties infest these woods right proper. It’s a bloody farce.”

“Not just any Orks!” Kora and Chase looked around suddenly, shocked at the new voice, but Angelica simply put her hand on her forehead and sighed. A woman in a black body glove suddenly leapt out from behind Angelica’s chair. She was of average height and middling build, with nondescript gray hair the exact color everyone eventually gets as they age. Her features were plain, her posture unremarkable and her voice entirely forgettable.

Kora and Chase chimed in at exactly the same time, “Inquisitor Seren Null of the Ordo Xenos?! Where did you come from?”

There was more applause, and a polite curtsey from the Inquisitor. “The Inquisition is everywhere,” she said with a smile. “Everyone knows that!”

“Of course,” Kora said. “In fact, I know a song all about it!”

“I swear upon every sanctified thing in this entire fucking vessel,” Angelica growled. “If any one of you sings a single fucking note I’m putting all of you to the torch, then I’m putting a bolter round through the forehead of everyone you’ve ever loved and I’ll collect all of your pets and send them out the airlock. You fucking test me. Fucking do it.”

Another awkward silence followed that, then Chase cleared his throat. “I say, I do believe that she’s upon her female time. Quite vexing.”

A moment later Angelica had leapt over the chair she was sitting in and was slamming the butt of her flamer into Chase’s monocole while he protested with indignant words and polite requests to stop.

++Static erupted across the pict screen, and a commercial cut in. A thin, grave, bald man stared at the screen through a pair of dark glasses. “Need something delivered? Need someone killed? Just got business you don’t want anyone else knowing about? My name is Malazan Praxis, and I know the solution to all of your problems. Me.” The camera zoomed out to reveal the man standing in the center of a group. To his right were a striking woman with close cropped black hair in a beautifully expensive dress who stood in the shadow of a towering blonde woman in a black greatcoat and commissarial cap. To his left was a tech-priest holding a massive cog-wheel axe, a tittering servo-skull bobbing at his shoulder. Praxis spoke again, “With my crack crew there’s nothing we can’t get done.”

At that moment the tech-priest hissed out through his respirator, “Is that a Tran fundamental wave distributor?!” The pretty woman shouted, “Oh look, shoes!” The commissar screamed, “Heretic!” The crew scattered and bolter fire and screaming followed, leaving Praxis standing alone in front of the camera, “Hey! HEY! This is live! We only have one shot at- For the love of… Send an Astropathic message to the Rogue Trader vessel Acta Sanctorum. And know this,” he stepped forward, grabbing the camera. “I know who you are, where you live, and if you don’t hire us I will find you.”++

The picture returned with half the set fallen down, Chase’s armor blackened with scorch marks and Angelica sitting across the room, unarmed, her armored dented in several places from what looked to be bolter fire. Kora sat in between them, and Inquisitor Null was standing behind Angelica with a storm bolter trained on Angelica’s head.

“So,” Kora started, still powering through with a nervous smile. “You were saying, Inquisitor?”

Null glared at Angelica, “I was saying that if she starts attacking one of The Emperor’s own Space Marines again I’m going to exterminatus her brains all over the wall with this bolter.” Angelica rolled her eyes as if she’d heard that line a dozen times.

“Actually,” Kora pushed her glasses up her nose and picked up her tea cup in a shaking hand. “I meant about the Orks?”

“Jolly good tea,” Chase interjected for no apparent reason. “Reminds me of safari on Catachan. Bloody Devils romping about eating all of the native guides. Damned fine tea they had there, if I do say so.”

Null seemed very confused, but when Kora pointed emphatically at somewhere behind the camera Null seemed to get the point and leaned forward, squinting and speaking in the halting manner of someone reading aloud. “That’s right Palatine. These aren’t just any Orks, these are the Inquisitorks.”

“The Inquisitorks?!” Kora put her tea down, then slapped her palms to her cheeks in shock. “You mean the Orks supposedly lead by the renegade Inquisitor Isimbard Kane?!”

“The very same, Palatine,” Null said, resting her storm bolter over her shoulder.

“Inquisitor Kane,” Chase said, looking up. “You mean that bright chap who was bisected on Messia? Bloody Warboss got him with a power klaw, didn’t he? God awful mess. Saw it happen to one of my Captains once, the brave bugger. Took me a week to get his entrails out of my mustache. Rather impolite, all in all.”

There was yet more awkward silence as Kora and Null looked at him in confusion, then Kora finally spoke up. “Wasn’t Inquisitor Kane killed, bravely fighting Greenskins on Messia?”

Null stayed silent, then asked, “Are we still on the cue cards? I’m lost. What page of the- Oh. Okay. Right.” She nodded to someone off screen, “Why yes, Kora. Rumor has it that an Ork pain boy, that’s their foul, xenos doctors, placed the Inquisitor’s brain into the head of the Warboss he’d just bravely defeated. The xenos taint ruined his brain, and he has since been running rampant throughout the sector!”

“It’s true!” A gutteral, bellowing voice echoed through the cabin, and everyone looked stunned, except for Chase who kept sipping his tea. The remaining wall of the set fell over as a massive boot collided into it from the other side, and a towering green monster in a tall, wide brimmed hat stepped forward. “It’s me, Inquisitork Lord Isimbard Kane, Boss of da Inquisitork Horde!”

“Bloody hell,” Chase said.

“Oh my Emperor!” Kora shouted.

“How did that get on board?” Null questioned.

“Fucking shit cock!” Angelica cursed.

The Ork Warboss stepped fully into view. He was over nine feet tall, and wore a long brown coat to match his hat. One of his arms ended in a vicious power klaw that snicked together like a giant pair of scissors. In his other hand was a glimmering silver power sword emblazoned with the Imperial Eagle and the I of the Inquisition. Half of the Ork’s head was replaced with bionics. “I’m here at dispel any bad rumors about me to da good people of da Imperium.” He turned to the camera and pointed his klaw at the audience, “Nows lissen ‘ere loyal servants of da Emprah. I’m da-”

“Attack,” Null shouted, and unleaded a torrent of bolter shells at the beast. It blocked with one arm, most of the bolt shells impacting on thick muscle ineffectually as it screamed in outrage.

Chase charged forward, socking the Ork in the jaw with a gauntleted fist. “Have at thee, scoundrel! I’ll give you what for!” before the Ork could recover he was being beaten soundly about the head and shoulders by the flaming corpse of the rogue psyker that had once been in the hearth, but was now being wielded as a blunt instrument by Cannoness Angelica Cross. Sisters of Battle began to swarm the stage, and the Ork bellowed one last time before hurling one of the sisters at Chase and backhanding Angelica across the room. It turned and ran, Null’s storm bolter chewing up its backside as it did so. The entire group gave chase, except for Kora, who sat in the center of the burning, collapsed set, her bun unwound and tumbled about her shoulders, her robe stained with tea.

“Every bloody year!” She shouted, and slammed her fist into the overturned coffee table. The camera, jarred by the blow, tilted, then fell onto the floor, and the picture went blank.

Da Dark Eldar Menass

2010-12-24T08:40:00.000-08:00

Sender:+seren.null@xeno.inq+
Sub: ++Fwd: Intercepted Inquisitork Research Report++
CC: ++palatinehalquin@cleansingfire.ecl++

+Burning Sands Battle Barge Tea Time intercepted this transmission from an Ork held world in the Dresdiff system. Some kind of scientific report on the Dark Eldar by an Ork calling himself Interrogatork Snog. Could have link to Inquisitor Kane? Thought you'd want to see. Been translated to Gothic for convenience.+

Dis is da news on dem tiny little gitz what gots dem pointy ears and wear dem spikes all da time, right? Da Boss said I was da smartst ork he knew dat weren't himself so I'm supposed ta study dem. So 'ere I go.

Dem boyz da boss calls da Dark Eldar is made of Goes Fast. I seen dem do stuff dem Cult of Speed boyz couldn't do with all da teef in da verse. Dey gets up in da air with dese big sleds what gots guns on dem and dey flies around real fast goin' bang. Dey gots dese guns that shoot 'urty bits, and dey shoots 'em from da sky sleds like woosh. I dunno what dey's like on da ground cause da only time we ever sawed them on the ground was when we blewed up da flying bits theys on. Dats easy though. A one armed grot with a spanner could knock one outta da sky.

Anyway, dey flies around a lot, and they shoots a lot, and I heard deys right choppy when dey get stuck in, but good luck ever gettin' 'em ta do dat. It's all flyin for dem boys. Dey gots dese lasers what don't make no noise but dey's still deady shooty, which I thought was dumb. Who wants somethin' dead shooty if nobody knows you's shootin' it?

Dey also gots dese ugly beasts what run about bein ugly and chompin' but dey's no match for some good Nobs and choppas. I did once dee dis Dark Eldar git with a sword what killed stuff right proper, suckin' da water outta da boyz, but he went all chopped up too when da boss got to 'im.

So dat's all. Dey's fast, dey's choppy but don't chop, dey flies around a lot and are dead shooty but not too dead shooty and dey's really annoyin'. Dere, I did my brain bitz. Can I go shoot stuff now?

Interrogatork Snog of da Inquisitork Horde used ta be Big Mek Snog of da Bad Moon Clan.

The Burning Sands Chapter vs The Locke Kabal

2010-12-22T10:35:00.000-08:00

"Bugger all, does everyone have bloody transports but us? Dirty pool, I say!" Gregorious Chase picked up his cup of tea and started running, Chaplain Darnassus following behind and carrying the rest of the place setting. "You'd think the foul beasts were too cowardly to face us honorably on the field of battle."

"Can't count much on Xenos honor, sir," Darnassus said. "They haven't got the breeding for it."

"Quite right, Chaplain. Let's find ourselves some proper gentlemen to slaughter in the name of The Emperor, what do you say old boy?"

"Jolly good sir."

Battle Report: The Burning Sands Legion vs Tommy's Greenskin Menace

2010-12-20T11:43:00.000-08:00

Burning Sands Chapter

Chapter Master Gregorious Chase sat under his field tent, sipping tea and watching the battle through his field glasses. Far in the distance he saw his brave fighting marines staring down the approach of four Ork Battlewagons full of shoota boyz. He glanced to his second in command, Chaplain Darnassus and said, "I say, is that the entirety of their army?"

"I believe so," Darnassus said, refilling his master's tea cup. "Rather lacks finesse, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," Chase said, and looked at his reserves. A squad of scouts loading into their Landspeeder and his Vanguard veterans testing their jump packs in perparation for a deep strike, then he looked back to the battle. The wagons were much closer, and lascannon beams were bouncing off of them like lasguns off of terminators. "Bugger that then. Let's go home."

Profiles in Power: Canoness Angelica Cross

2010-12-18T13:54:00.000-08:00

Name: Angelica Cross
Position: Cannoness of the Cleansing Fire Commandery, Order of Our Martyred Lady
Age: "Fuck you."
Weight: "You fuck."
Height: "I'll rip your eyes out of your skull."
Favorite Food: "And I'll feed them to your mother."
Favorite Holo-Pict: "Anally."

Bio: Angelica Cross was raised on an unknown Hive World which she has only ever described as "A miserable hellhole full of scum and shit that needs an exterminatus more than a Farseer needs an anal stick extraction." Taken in by the church after having raised herself on the streets in a hive gang, Angelica took to the Ecclisiarchy "like a 'slaught junkie on a half naked twelve year old." Her local parish decided to hand her over to the Order of Our Martyred Lady after the third time the Arbites brought her home asking where she'd gotten hold of an autogun after they expressly forbid her from being near anything more dangerous than a plastic spoon and really this was getting quite tiring and Officer Brandt was finding replacement eyes to cut deeply into his savings account.

Angelica was accepted into the order with open arms, followed very quickly by shouts of pain as they'd been quite remiss in keeping their guard up during the hugs. Angelica became almost as adept at cleaning the kitchens in punishment as she was at combat, and very soon she was promoted to full Battle Sister. During her first battle she decided that her bolter didn't kill heretics fast enough and trained herself in the use of a fallen sister's flamethrower through trial and error. Trial being pulling the trigger, and error being burning down the entire hab block.

Upon her return she was promoted to a Dominion Squad, and over the course of several battles was given the rank of Sister Superior in the hopes that giving her a power sword instead of a flamer would result in less damage to valuable equipment when she inevitably used it to bash in the skulls of whatever she happened to be fighting at the time. From there she was given unto the Seraphim in an effort to keep collateral damage to a minimum by not letting her anywhere near the Order's tanks. After Meltabombs revealed the Order's terrible mistake in this decision she was made a Celestian, given a bolter again and asked to guard the Palatine in charge of her commandery.

The Investigation of Ondine proved to be a turning point in her career as it was discovered that Angelica, full of the Emperor's Holy Light, can not be expected to reign in her holy zeal during bodyguard duty. Her Palatine's unfortunate end, which culminated in the phrase, "Stop! Stop! Oh Holy Emperor why won't she stop?!" presented an opportunity for promotion, and she was given command of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. She has since been promoted to Canoness due to the fact that her commandery did not have one, and upon asking why not none of the upper echelon of the Ecclisiarchy felt safe in telling her that she couldn't be one.

She has led her commandery on numerous expeditions throughout the years, racking up an impressive amount of victories and more than a few losses, but she has always led her troops in horribly bloody massacres that whittle down the number of the Emperor's enemies by a considerable amount, win or lose.

"Don't you fucking judge me," she is fond of saying to her naysayers. "I'll shove a melta-bomb down your throat and use you as an anti-tank mine you skinny piece of shit."

The True Story of Stompa Killa, The Venerable Deffdread

2010-12-17T16:41:00.000-08:00

"Dey's gonna be comin' from ova dere, Thog. 'Kay?"

"'Kay Boss," Thog said. Thog looked out through the tiny slit in the heavy armor of his body and saw the approaching flying things that were fully of the little pointy eared things that danced when they fought and liked to go fast almost as much as the boyz in the red trukks.

In his time, Thog had fought many many things. He'd first fought what the Boss called Kayoss Boyz, and he'd chopped 'em up good. They were always screaming about Blood and Skulls and stuff, and Thog guessed it was because they were always bleeding and their heads were coming off. Then he'd fought against some more humies, and he ran right at them, but they shot him up good and he got stuck cause his legs stopped working and Ziggy, the Grot they gave him to fix him up got shot up so he had to wait for the Mek to come help him.

He'd fought against them tiny boyz with the flash guns, and he'd fought against them robot boyz with the glowy green bits and now he was fighting against the pointy eared thingies that liked to dance when they fought. They were coming now, in tiny little speedy things that flew through the air like flies, and Thog lifted up all four of his arms and roared.

When the Big Mek had told him, "Thog, you's da stupidest git I ever met, and you ain't good fer nuthin' but choppin'," Thog had been so proud. "You can't shoot nuffin' and yous can't think nuthin and yous gonna get blowed up good and big someday." Thog had puffed his chest out with pride. "Thog, I'm gonna puts you in a 'dread!"

"Wassa dead, boss?" Thog had said, and then the Big Mek had showed him the big stompy machine that was made out of killin' and choppin', and Thog had got very excited. The Big Mek plugged him in and gave him all wires and needles and stuff in his brain, and then he'd let him out out and stomp and kill and the Big Mek started calling him Stompa Killa, and Thog got even prouder.

The mob of Boyz to Thog's right started charging, so Thog did too, his Dread creaking and groaning around his body, arms flailing and legs pumping. Thog loved that sound, it was like smashing stuff together, which was always one of Thog's favorite hobbies.

Thog looked right and he saw the Boss, the one who'd told him where the pointy eared boys were coming from, and he was fighting hard will all the nobs and was cutting up them pointy eared boys but good. They were fighting next to a great big glowy thing, then a bunch of beastie things and a two huge monster things came out of the portal and got stuck in with the Nobs. Thog thought that looked like fun, and turned to go help.

The Boss killed one of the big monster things, but he got chopped to bits by it too. Then the nobs killed all the beasties, and a moment later everything was done and there was nothing left to kill, Thog hadn't even gotten close. he started to feel very disapointed, but then he felt a jerk and his entire metal body tipped to the side and almost fell. One of his arms was laying on the ground, and some of them pointy eared boys were real close, reloading one of their pointy guns. So Thog charged.

The pointy eared boys weren't really any fun to fight. They screamed a lot, and they jumped around and lost limbs and blood and their inside bits and pretty soon there was nothing left of them but little bits that couldn't fight back, and that was no fun, so he found some more and did the same thing to them. They ran away before Thog could kill more than a couple of them, and that was also no fun, so Thog looked for more things to fight. That's when he noticed the trouble.

All the nobs were dead, and he couldn't see any more of the boys. He tried to see the Big Mek, and when he turned all he saw was a swarm of beastie things ripping up the forest where he'd last seen him. Thog suddenly felt worried. He turned left and the mob he'd been supposed to protect was gone. he turned right and the only one of the boys he could see was one of them flash gitz running away, and getting shot up by the pointy eared boyz. Thog was alone.

He remembered something that the Big Mek had told him once, a long time ago. He'd said, "Thog, you dumb git, listen up and listen good, 'kay? Dem smarty boyz is gonna try and be sneaky, and dey's gonna shoot you in da back cause dey know yous dead killy in front. You don't let dat happen, 'kay? Yous my masterpiece, right? So yous don't go gettin' dead without my say-so, 'kay?"

Thog tried to make sure he could see everyone, that no one was behind him, but he couldn't see behind him so he had to keep turning around to make sure. That wasn't working at all, and he was starting to get worried when he saw a big metal building, and he came upon the most brilliant insight he'd ever had in all of his years. If he put his back against that, then nothing could shoot it.

Thog backed up against the building, and then the firing started. Big purple beams ripped through his armor, little sharp thingies bounced around off his armor and one of them slipped through his seeing slit and cut across his face inside his dread. Thog was getting real scared now. he didn't know what to do when he was alone. Another pruple beam ripped a big hole in his armor and burned some of the tubes that the Big Mek had put in his arm. Things were getting bad, real bad. What was he supposed to do? What would the Big Mek say?

"You ain't good fer nuthin' but choppin'."

So Thog chopped. He ran out there through the purple beams and the sharp pointy things and the pointy eared boys who danced when they fought, and he chopped. His arms came down and buzzaws chopped. His arms came down and pincers chopped. He chopped, and he chopped, and he stomped and he stomped and he killed and he killed and then the pointy eared boyz were running away, all away. They were disappearing through the big blue glowy thing, and the ones that were left were dying and screaming and bleeding everywhere. Thog looked around and everyone was gone. All the boyz were gone, and the Boss was gone, and the Big Mek was gone, and the pointy eared boys that danced when they fought were gone. The beastie things were gone, and the big monsters were gone, and the only thing left was Thog and the blood and the bits.

And it was good.

Battle Report: The Defense of Kornaria City

2010-11-30T19:21:00.000-08:00

Report: The Defense of Kornaria City
Date: 127.M42
Logger: Palatine Kora Halquin, Order of Our Martyred Lady, Cleansing Fire Commandery
Location: Kornaria City, Kornaria VII, Davoth Subsector, Eastern Rim

I awoke the morning of the battle with a supreme hunger for the smoking flesh of our enemies and also for a danish, which my aide Sabella had kindly placed next to my bed to help facilitate the glories I would bring to The Emperor on this day. As I have mentioned in my previous reports, I am not prone to taking to battle with my other sisters due to developing a terrible allergy to the inside of power armor which causes an unsightly and quite irritating rash only compounded more by the inability to scratch it due to atually being in power armor. As such, I have been relegated to logistics and bureacracy in the Commandery, a job in which I have disovered no inconsiderable skill.

We were warned of the advance of the devious Eldar by a spy we had planted in the midst of their upper echelon, one Filli Boton, late of the Callidus Temple of Assassins. It is not known what, exactly, she was doing to get the information from the Eldar Farseer Elorhha, but I trust it was something suitably unpleasant, such as discussing Eldar philosophy or history. No one who spends that much time around Xenos should have it easy. Whatever she had done, we were prepared for the attack on the city, but not for the terrible resilience of Eldar vehicles which we had been told were made of something akin to paper mache and thin strips of wire.

The walls of Kornaria City were breached as the Eldar came from their foul Webway gates just outside of the city's main defenses, and they surged ahead relentlessly. To the north they were met with our Seraphim, led by brave Seraphim Superior Tandy Brown, who met her end planting a meltabomb onto an Eldar Waveserpent. Though the transport was destroyed, it spewed forth a horde of incredibly ill mannered pointy eared females who reduced the Seraphim to small pieces with their power swords. The day was not theirs, however, as immediately they were consumed in the holy fires of the Emperor's judgement from one of our Immolators, and the remaining were blown to little prissy chunks by our retributor squad's heavy bolters. One of these Banshees survived, fleeeing back towards the webway portal screaming what I can only assume was a very sincere apology in her foul Xenos language.

As our forces advanced to clear the breached wall, another Waveserpent disgorged a unit of Dark Avengers or some such pompous nonsensical name who, combined with fire from approaching jetbikes, tore Sarah Black's unit to pieces. Of the original ten, only three survived, including Sarah herself, who rallied her troops through Faith in Him and burned the Xenos wussies into ash.

Just to the west of them a squad of Celestians became engaged with a unit of Wraithguard in a brutal melee that lasted much longer than anyone really expected, our brave Celestians fighting back against the bony scourge with sarissa and a few good socks to the jaw before finally being overwhelmed.

Farther south, at the other wall breach, our faces came under attack from a towering Wraithlord whom Cannoness Angelica dubbed, "That Big Ugly White Fuck." The Wraithlord destroyed an Immolator and an Excorcist before our other Excorcist reduced it to its component heretic parts with holy rocket propelled death. Just near to this terrible event was the dread Farseer who was caught quite unawares when her jetbike's saddlebag turned out to be a Callidus Assassin. There followed an intense close quarters battle which was joined by a squad of Eldar Pathfinders. The Farseer broke and ran, and Filli, well knowing her duty, followed, making a mockery of the fabled Eldar marksmanship through a series of backflips, handsprings, somersaults and rude gestures. She chased the fleeing Farseer through the woods, turning only once to wipe out the Pathfinders with a blast from her neural shredder before the Farseer finally stopped running like a sissy and turned to fight, popping Filli's head like a gava fruit through heretic psychic power. I believe that had Filli spent more time in church and less time pretending to be inanimate objects her faith might have protected her as it does us.

And where was our brave Cannoness in all of this? She was darting around the battlefield heedlessly attacking the biggest things she could find, namely Eldar Falcons. Meltabombs and Bolt pistol bringing her terrible anger to such foul machines as "Red Racer" and "Black Betty" Angelica finally charged the Wraithguard moments after they had finished the Celestians and killed two, one with her pistol and the other with her blessed greatsword "Ass Kicker" (It is rumored she named it herself).

In the end, however, the Eldar were victorious, forcing us to flee the field and bomb the city from orbit. The surviving member of the DOminion squad that had been mounted in the Immolator the Wraithlord destroyed was in visible range of the webway portal which was the sourceof Eldar reinforcements, but was called back at the last minute as Inquisitor Vecht aboard the Nolo Contende decided that Kornaria City wasn't really pretty enough to be saved anyway and shot the main battery at it.

In the end we consider this a phyrric victory as, after all, it is impossible to lose while The Empror is at your side. it is only a matter of winning in a surprisingly defeatest manner.