Forums: Z11.invisionfree.com?
Hey guys, Ethan here to deliver the fourth of July Blowout…
Well what can we say, its been a while… We have A LOT of new stuff for you guys, so hang on and listen to me wander about my thoughts for a bit more before we move on
The past few months have been….hectic, to say the least. Finals, Exams, and Family troubles for everyone! Yay. First off work WAS slowed down GREATLY by the finals for all of us in College and school, no more so than our very own Rob (were turnip) who Earned his Masters in Shakespearean Literature.
That’s right, were turnip has a masters in Friggin shakespearian literature. Lets recap, the Ex Welsh Marine who models and animates for DOW has a Masters in Shakespearian literature. My main concern is that he got a degree in literature in Kentucky, and area not famed for its use of the English language… To be or not to be, Ya’ll get off ma porch…
The sad part is that I’m proud of that joke… anyway Congrats Rob!
News on the forums: IF You join our forums and contribute at least 10 posts then you get access to the Alpha AND all of Georges maps created exclusively for the mod. So Sign up today and start building up posts! SPAM DOES NOT COUNT!!!!!!!!
Here’s a preview of what you get by joining the forums
Tinypic.com]http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=2qx8eqb&s=3
Tinypic.com]http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=2cfxpwp&s=3
These are some phenomenal maps guys, Hurry up and get posting!
Some sad news, Cadian has retired from his position as concept artist, wish him a fond farewell, if you still want to see his work check out the thread Cadians Comic in the fluff section of the forum.
In Firstborn Mod related news, Dan has reached the final stages of our alpha, and we should, within the next few days, have our first units in game. Yes I know we promised in game models a few months back, but things caught up with all of us, and it sort of got, well derailed. So stay tuned to the forums, an announcement will be made along with a screenshot in the news forum as soon as we get some of these models in game.
Speaking of the Vostroyans, we need some dedicated voice actors, if you can pull off a russian accent contact me at the forums or my email: Deathreapa11@yahoo.com
More DOW news, some of you may have heard of our partnership with the BFG mod, while we haven’t had much need to exercise our partnership yet, the bond still stands.
In less happy news, My sister was in a life threatening car crash a bout a month ago, luckily she’s alive, and walked (well figuratively) away with 2 broken legs. Lets all wish her a speedy recovery!
In more selfish whining, I also had major back surgery a while back, I’m recovering well though….
Lets see… that’s about it. Now I know maybe what, two of you actually read this so for those of you who did good for you. Now onto the things that you actually come here for… the pics.
Now first off, one of my personal favorite units in our Vostroyan Task force, is the 5th rifle veteran. These untis are going to be our Shock Troopers. Send em in will Hellguns blazing and a fire in their belly and they get da jub dun fahst.
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Everything on this guy was done by Rob
Another one of my favorites is the Battle Priest, once again, modeled, animated, and textured by Rob
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NOW the Vostroyan Infantry squad,. OUR first finished squad. They are fully textured, animated, modeled, and ready to go. If you see any in game, these guys are going to be the ones. First hers the sergeant. Done by you know who
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We also have our Lascannon Heavy weapon team finished. Now Im assuming many of you have played the SL mod, with wheeled heavy weapon teams. We decided to model our teams in that way, made things WAY easier to work with ingame. Here’s some pics.
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Another one of my favorite units is the rough riders. These units are really Wereturnips babies, the design and look were all made by em so give the lad a round of applause
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Now onto our armored section…
Tanks
Tanks
And more tanks
FIRST OFF is the Bombard, yes I know you’ve seen this like twice, but its finally finished, Textures coming soon! Modeled by Joe (death korpse of war)
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Another tank, the Siegfried, by Joe. Lookin good!
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Tank number 3 is the Ragnarok Battle tank, Done by Joe to replace Nethoras Model
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Tank Numero 4 is the updated malcador heavy battle tank, modeled by, surprise, Joe.
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YET ANOTHER, the artemia hellhound, another brilliant model by, again surprise, Joe. You’ve already seen army of these tanks already, however these are updated, finished models. Slap some texs on em and we’re done!
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And finally the HellHammer. This model is friggin amazing if I do say so myself, we’re not quite sure what we’re gunna do with it yet though…
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Lastly we have a concept for Regimental Command By our mapper Georgerox. Enjoy!
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May I also now Include the LATD blowout! Enjoy guys
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LATD blowout
Hello there, this is Daniel Walton aka KealaMenshaKhaine (dowfiles) with news about the Lost and the Damned mod.
originally started by Fend the mod soon died after about a month or so. We have brought it back and combined it with the Firstborn mod.
Here are a few pictures to show you what I am talking about.
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here is a list of our team
Daniel Walton - Coder/minor fx
Khornekrusher - SCAR coder/Main fx
That's all for now be sure to visit out forum at
Z11.invisionfree.com
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NOW the past few blowouts we haven’t been able to include much of our fluff, due to the school year being a pain in the ass, HOWEVER we have several great contributions this time around, enjoy!
First off is Robs SUPERB short story about the rough riders. Seriously guys give it a read over, this is some of the best fluff I’ve read…ever
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Zhirkoff looked around taking in everything, every movement, every sound in the thick forest. His Vox-man and standard-bearer rode closely on each side of him. The clinking of the scale mail, and creaking of leather was the only noises. He saw the other horse mounted men spread in a line, a glimpse of deep red and the flash off a polished breastplate, reassured him they were still there. Eighty -one men including him, four full squadrons.
They had been on Varius 2 for two full years now, in response to one of the biggest Ork invasions that this sector had ever seen. That last remnants were being dealt with now. It had been hell, over a million of the green skinned beasts, the initial intelligence read. By the time any response arrived, they were firmly dug in. Leaving the 45th, 235th, 303rd and the 72nd Vostroyan rifles to dig them out.
Zhirkoff patted the horse’s neck beneath him. It was only two years ago that he, and his fellow Hussars rode different steeds into battle. The initial assault was costly on man and machine. Zhirkoff’s own Leman Russ had been destroyed early on. The tanks that weren’t destroyed, were quickly bogged down by the mud or unable to follow the Orks retreat into the dense forests that covered the majority of the continent.
Zhirkoff could not sit idly by, while brother Vostroyans fought and died around him. He had acquired horses from the local inhabitants, chose two hundred ex-tankers, and began their training. Over the months they had became a valuable scouting force, later with better armour and weapons they had become a rapid strike force.
Their first mission was to take three mountain passes that the Orks held. In the winter no vehicle could climb the narrow icy paths and artillery couldn’t get close enough. The Hussars came out victorious and opened the passes, leading to a major offensive and a crippling defeat for the Orks. The horsemen had been commissioned after that by the high command, which made them a permanent force in the Vostroyan regiment.
“Captain, Vox coming through from Sergeant Vladivich” Trooper Ellenost said. “Relay, trooper” Zhirkoff answered. Captain Zhirkoff heard the gravel voice of the sergeant coming through the speakers. “Visual contact, Sir, looks to be about 300 of the slimy things, coupla personnel carriers, no other vehicles, and fifteen of what you would call buildings…I guess.” The sergeant reported. “Can smell them from here, Orders sir?” he added. “ Hold your position sergeant we will be there momentarily.” Zhirkoff responded.
After two years and countless losses what had once been the largest invasion fleet was now a force of guerillas, striking from a deep woods base. Now they had it. “ Tell the men to rendezvous on sergeant Vladivich’s position.” Zhirkoff ordered. He heard his orders being relayed to the different squads and their affirmations
He turned his horse and saw trooper Braddock with his laspistol out already and white-knuckled grip on the companies covered standard. “A fine day for Ork slaying, wouldn’t you say son?” he asked the trooper trying to relieve some of the tension the trooper obviously felt. “ Yes, sir.” He replied forcing a brief smile.
Braddock was young, his mustache thin and patchy. He still wore the brown furred shako that was standard issue. The others who had been with him on the mountain campaign had taken it upon themselves to make their own from the indigenous mountain panthers that had slain so many of their horses. It became a status symbol, a warrior’s symbol. Kill a panther; on foot with a spear, you had the right to wear it. Zhirkoff had killed four personally after one of the beasts killed a horse he had grown quite fond of. He now wore them as a belt, gloves, cape and shako. Zhirkoff was a firm believer in leading by example.
Braddock had not been there he was still shiny. The Captain also believed in keeping the new men close to him \until he could see how they would react in combat. He would have his men’s lives in peril from a coward. Sergeant Vladivich told him many times that Zhirkoff’s life would be in peril if the trooper turned craven. Zhirkoff’s life in peril was fine; his men’s were not. The ride to the sergeant’s position was short. The scarred sergeant was standing in his stirrups looking through binocs. Zhirkoff wrinkled his nose at the stench from the camp, two kilometers away and it was overpowering. Many of the troopers strapped the rebreathers over their faces to get away from the noxious miasma. The sergeant turned to Zhirkoff with a smile of white even teeth behind a blacker than night thick mustache, “Pissbutt is there.” He said. Somewhere during the campaign the scuttlebutt had come down that the War bosses name was something sounding like, Grizzgrutt, the troopers promptly renamed the huge Ork pissbutt.
“Orders, Sir?” the sergeant asked. Zhirkoff looked away from the image in his own binocs to the sergeant. “ Have the artillery take the buildings and then we mow them down.” He stated. “Yes, Sir!” the sergeant replied obviously quite pleased. “bait them then burn them, my personal favorite.” Zhirkoff chuckled. ” I’m glad you approve, Igor.”
Sergeant Vladivich moved his horse quickly down the line “Company! Form up by squad and squadron!” He ordered. “As always wait on the Captain!”
Zhirkoff turned to his voxman , “Trooper relay orders to the Guns, I want a 25 second barrage on that location.” He looked through his binocs at the camp again, as he heard the trooper relaying the coordinates to the earthshaker guns kilometers away.
It was good ground, flat, even and treeless. The orks lazed around doing various tasks or squabbling. It would not be easy, but it would be possible and the odds were in there favor, even though they were outnumbered.
“Trooper Braddock, the captain said, unfurl the colours, I would have the orks know who it is that kills them today.” The deep red silk of the company’s standard flapped lazily in the breeze. Emblazoned upon it was a picture of a woman, in a gray cloak with her face hidden in shadows. In one hand she held the aquilas and the other the winged V of Vostroya. Every man there, including Zhirkoff made the sign of the aquilas over their hearts at the image of the saint. “ First sons of Vostroya!” Zhirkoff yelled, “ It ends today, here and now! Forward from the trees!” They rode as one from the tree line and then stopped. The orks seeing the troopers emerge went into a primal rage, howling and beating weapons on the ground, before running back into the forest. “ They are retreating!” said trooper Braddock. Those that heard chuckled. “No, Trooper, Zhirkoff said, they are merely becoming familiar with Hussar tactics.”
Zhirkoff heard the first shell screaming overhead, it hit the mass of buildings with the righteous fury of the God Emperor himself. Dirt and debris flew everywhere and he heard his voxman confirming the hit to the guns. Zhirkoff starting counting slowly to twenty-five. The air grew hot from the blasts, roaring sounds where nothing could be heard. The sun blotted out from hellfire and smoke. At 23 Zhirkoff stood in his stirrups, the power sword thrummed in his hand as depressed the activation rune. Then the silence seemed almost deafening as the barrage ceased. “ Sons of Vostroya! Follow me! For the Emperor and the Gray Lady!” He screamed. He heard Vladivich yell down the line, “C’mon ya khecking women! Pissbutt ain’t gonna kill himself!” They moved in perfect unity. They moved into the wedge formation automatically the drilling had become instinctual to every man. The Captain, as always was in the lead, the troopers with flamers brought up the wings. “Into the Darkness!” Zhirkoff screamed. “ To bring the light!” every trooper yelled back. Eighty lances dropped to killing position when the orks burst from the tree line. They roared defiantly at the horsemen and charged themselves.
Zhirkoff heard only the trample of steel-shod hooves striking the ground, and the steady, thump, thump, of the grenade launchers firing, tearing large holes in the ork charge.
They came together with a sound that rivaled the barrage of a few seconds earlier. Lance points broke off into their targets as the horses pushed through using their weight and steel plates to do their own damage. Zhirkoff slashed left and right, he could feel the ork gore splashing upon him, would he be able to explain to his children one day that this was as alive as he ever felt? There were troopers down as they burst through, their spaces quickly being filled. The explosions of the lance tips signaled the next charge. They wheeled perfectly, now chain sword and laspistols replaced the lances. The exploding lances leaving even bigger holes in the line. The ground was becoming slick with ork blood as they crashed into the alien filth once more.
Zhirkoff chanced a glance at his standard bearer only to see him gripping the banner tightly with one hand, and trying to hold his guts inside, futilely with the other. Green, powerful arms reached up for him trying to unhorse the trooper. Braddock threw the banner to another trooper, pulled his long serrated knife and began hacking at the arms. The captain lashed out with the power sword giving the trooper quickly, what the orks would only give slowly and painfully.
A deep gravel voice rose above the howl of ork and scream of man, Zhirkoff looked for the sergeant. He was there on a small hillock, waving his chain sword in one hand splashing gore in all directions, and holding the head of Grizzgrutt the war boss in the other. His horse in almost as much of a killing frenzy as he, it spun and kicked, bit and stomped.
A few of the larger orks tried to rally the remaining but in the end they were slain to the last grot.
The smoke from the burning orks hung heavily in the air stinging Zhirkoff’s eyes. “Sir”, sergeant Vladivich said, “twenty five dead, 15 wounded, 4 won’t see the morning, 20 horses down.” “ Pack our dead sergeant, I will not have the pride of Vostroya lay with filth” Zhirkoff ordered. “ Yes, sir, the men did well today, Captain?” he ventured. Captain Zhirkoff looked at his friend and trusted sergeant “ The men did excellent today, Igor, they are Vostroyan they know nothing but excellence.”
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Next up is my contribution. Some of you may remember Kellen, my Vostroyans character and my earliest story in which Kellen and his comrades assaulted the Starport on Tescov. Well here’s part 3 of Reclamation, enjoy!
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Part 3: Holding the line
The capital had fallen, the PDF had fallen, nothing could stop the green tide that was slowly overwhelming his home. His father had been in the PDF, and his unit had apparently been annihilated… nothing was left, his home his family… gone… it was all gone. Even the lab he had spent so many years in as a youth and a teen was gone…billions were dead…. He was the only one left… they’re coming….
“Contact, left flank! Kellen what the frakking hell are you doing? SHOOT!” Grangad slammed slugged him, shattering the trance like calm he had felt. He snapped to, remembering where he was, pisshole that it was. A las-shot whizzed past his head, slamming into the trooper standing next him. The man was thrown off his feet into the back of the trench, but his carpace held, and he stood up again, Yelling and cursing his head off. He returned his attention to tide of flesh running at him, shouting something about maiming. Kellen raised his lasgun to his shoulder, aimed, and snapped off a shot into the head of one of the charging cultists, splattering the already gore drenched uniforms of the mad mans comrade in arms. Heavy bolters opened up along the trench, brought in by a few of the surviving Valkaries, ripping men in half and rending horrible casualties in the charge. But it wouldn’t be enough… there were just far too many, hundreds, no, thousands of cultists were streaming at the meager 150 some Vostroyans…. Kellen gripped his teeth and scrambled for the combat blade on this belt, all the while taking pot shots at the charging cultists. Las pistol shots darkned and melted the snow in front of him, luckily none found their mark. He rammed home the bayonet into the socket, and saw dozens of men do the same. Come hell or high water they better hold, else they’de loose the fragile hold they had on the star port… that might make conquering the planet…inconvenient, to say the least.
“Contacts Sergeant,” Trooper Dominik’s voice whispered through the Vox. “Looks like… a Demolisher and…. Hold.” voices echoed in the background of the vox, hurried whispers debating unit strength. “Estimates put ‘em at about a platoon worth of heretics…orders?” Stormtrooper Sergeant Sevastian Illarion thought a moment then glanced at the bronze Armored Storm Troopers of the Vostroyan 4th. He then toggled the com bead around his neck and replied, “Fallback to the refinery, at this rate they’ll come to us before long…we’ll be ready for then. Over.” The 30 some odd Stormtroopers around him grinned at each other in anticipation of the slaughter. Sevastion was pleased at their enthusiasm knowing that joy can be found in the serving of the emperor. “Mishal, Kornel, take cover the plaza with the plasma guns, and for the love of the gray lady take it easy on those triggers! The last thing I need is one of you melting your damn faces off in the middle of combat. Ondrej, Mathias, I need you to setup firing positions on the north tower. Make sure the enemies don’t make it through the north gate. Bronislov, take your gunners and watch the south gate with the meltas, it seems the Heretics are making a push there with armor. Everyone else take up positions on the walls, Ill leave it to your squad leaders to disperse you. Dismissed.” The soldiers went about their tasks, preparing for the traitor guard that had held this city for months to walk into their trap. Sevastion glanced to his right and saw the pickets trudging back through the snow towards the refinary, passing the troopers guarding the gates and approaching his command squad.
Sevastian pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, wishing that he had a bit more hair to protect against the cold. Back on Tarsur he had nearly had his head burned off by an overenthusiastic Ork, though the Emperor knew he had made the green bastard pay, he still missed the buzz cut he had sported. He surveyed the refinery taking in the large adept dues structure. The administrative tower in the north glowed a faint red, lights blinking at the top of the tower to warn off friendly air strikess. The gray lady knew his men would suffer enough from the enemy, no need for the frakking idiots manning the basilisks back at command to make things worse. The courtyard was cluttered with machinery, makeshift barricades, sandbags, and shouting men. Bronze plaited armor glinted in the snow, as men dug firing trenchs and fortified the bunkers set up by the Heretics prior to their arrival.
Suddenly a shriek erupted from the area north of the plaza. He spun in that direction, to see Trooper Yazin stumble away from an open metal door, a crowbar laying discarded in the snow next to it. He fell to his knees sobbing, crawling away from whatever foul evils had terrified this trooper. It was his first run with the Storm Sevastions Grenadiers, and he seemed like a solid soldier. But whatever he had seen had apparently shocked the man to tears…and anything that could crush a rock like yazin must have been absolutely horrible.
“Sweet Emperor… By…by….the throne,” Yazin muttered through gasping sobs, a group of men quickly gathering around him. Sevastion quickly ran towards the man…whatever had caused this must have been bad… to shatter a rock like Yazin is no small feet. His pycological exams showed that he had a strong willpower, and had stood fast in the face of his first encounter with renagade forces on Rahnksgrad. but something that could crush a rock like yazin must have been foul indeed… and it reeked of chaos….
“Sweet Emperor… By…by….the throne,” Yazin muttered through gasping sobs, a group of men quickly gathering around him. Sevastion quickly ran towards the man…whatever had caused this must have been bad… to shatter a bastion of willpower like Yazin was no small feet. His pycological exams showed that he had a strong willpower, and had stood fast in the face of his first encounter with renagade forces on Rahnksgrad. But apparently something had gone wrong….
Sevastion sprinted the last few meters towards the man, grabbed him by the collar. He was going to have to make an example of the poor lad… once the first seeds of fear were planted it would spread like wildfire, and he had to put a stop to it. Yazin was on the ground curled up in a ball, twitching muttering the first line of the emperors benevolence over and over again. He hauled the man up by the scruff of his neck and slugged him across the face. “YAZIN! What in bloody warp are you babbling about?!” He roared into the mans face. Perhaps he was being to rough on him, but he had to get to the bottom of this. “Sweet…sweet emperor…it…they….the voices…madness….no….reason….the blood…blood…..blood…” The mans eyes were rolling around in his head, foam bubbling at the corner of his mouth. Sevastion recognized the symptoms, and as he put two and two together his heart missed a beat. He knew immediately what had to be done, and quickly drew his hell pistol. With a fluid motion he flicked the firing stud to full auto and leveled the gun to Yazins forehead. He slammed down the firing stud, and a jet of hell bolts ripped into Yazins face at point blank. It collapsed and writhed underneath the tirade of fire, facial features being melted and ripped off his head. Bits of brain and gore flew out of the back of his head, splattering the snow behind him. Yet the remains of his body continued to writhe on the ground the carapace armor pulsating as if something was struggling to get out…
Sevastion drew his power sword, thumbed the activation rune, and slammed into the writhing corpse, hacking off huge chunks of flesh, steel, and bone. He continued to slash at the torso with his blade, blue enderich lightning lighting up the snow around him, in deep contrast to the blood and gore that splattered the snow. At last the body stopped moving, and Sevastion stood, breathing heavily, covered in blood.
Deamons… he thought. If one had just attempted to possess one of his own soldiers then then that means the ritual site that Yazin had stumbled over must be close…. He glanced at the door that had just been forced open. That must have been the site…. He shouted, “Flamers, on me! NOW!!” He roared the last word, making sure the men understood his will. He had faced Daemons before, but not like this….whatever evils lurked in that room, he would find, and he would eradicate.
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“Fall back! Fall back damnit! We cant hold the trench! Retreat to the north wall!” Yavule’s voice boomed over the vox unit to Kellens left, the trooper lying dead with a piece of rusted metal jammed in his face. Kellen spun as another Cultist vaulted over the top of the trench, and jammed is combat blade up between the troopers ribs and jammed the firing stud on his las pistol, blowing the troopers face off. To his left Yavule ripped a cultist in two with his power fist, gore splattering the trench. A band of about 20 firstborn remained from the 60 that had been defending the southern approach. Kellen Fought his way towards them, reflexes he didn’t even know he had kicking in and allowing him to duck ill aimed las shots and swinging blades. He countered another madman and slammed his las pistol between the mans teeth and fired. By the emperor he had slaughtered more cultists than he could count, and by the time the day was out he’ would have slaughtered dozens more. Whether or not he’d be still alive was up to the gray lady and the Emperor.
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The men behind Sevastion fanned out, Ulthra, Karton, and jarvitz covering his back as he approached the bunker. Whatever had caused Yazins death would pay dearly. As they reached the reinforced plascrete door Sevastion sensed a dark malevolent force radiating inside the refinery. Every fiber in his body screamed RUN! Get out of here! Yet he stood his ground and continued to approach the door.
“Whatever lies behind this gate stands against everything we stand for,” he told the troopers assumingly, “It is our duty as servents of the emperor to eradicate it. Watch the shadows, burn anything that moves. Maintain radio silence.” The radio silence statement wasn’t exactly needed, but in case anything capable of listening to radio waves was behind the door it didn’t hurt to take precautions. Sucking in a deep breath Sevastion lifted his leg and kicked open the door.
What struck him first was he vibrant red of the entire room, splattered across the walls ceiling and floor. With mounting horror he realized at once that it wasn’t paint but blood, hot steaming blood in random patterns and symbols that hurt his eyes to look at. Torsos limbs, and chunks of bottom parts littered the room, nailed to the walls and ceiling with the same symbols carved into their flesh. Severed heads with horrified expressions of horrified pain impaled on stakes. Ulthra fell to his knees, blood pooling in the visor of his carapace armor, scrambling at his helmet shrieking madness. .. It was all too much. And there was something else….
Madness….blood…chaos….images of war, his friends family and home burning, dying bleeding….blood….killing…..burning…billions of people slaughtered upon the alter of Khorne…. Dead all dead….kill…..kill…. He must…. NO! He fought back, he had faced psychic assault before, and had been trained to fight it to some extent. The emperor is my shield… he is my sword…KILL…..
“NO!” He roared, seizing Karton and Jarvitz who were staring, eyes rolling at the scene of butchery, throwing them out of the room, back through the door away from the horrors of pure warm energy that emanated from the corpses, eyes still moving, rolling, staring at him, lifeless lips shrieking. He seized Ulthras flamer and, as he backed away, triggered the firing stud, sending hot jets of liquid promethium into the room.
“ I AM THE EMPORERS SWORD!” flesh melting off of bone, cement walls seared of the horrible runes that covered them
“HE IS MY SHIELD!” The smell of roasting flesh, a voice of pure anger roaring with pain in his head.
“I ENACT HIS WILL!” he was almost by the door, the corpses crawling towards him, moved with daemonic energy, flesh burning…melting off of bones…death…. Kill….
“I PURGE THIS UNHOLY SITE OF SACRALIGE! I DERSTROY THIS SITE OF UNHOLY SACRALIGE“ Reciting prayers taught to him in his early years of training in the Scholarum, trying anything to block out the shrieking voices in his head, he finally reached the door and slammed the door shut, breathing heavily. He fell to his knees, glanced up at the shocked storm troopers. He said
“Well that was…. Unexpected….” He then Vomited violently and passed out.
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“Hold the line! There is no retreat Firstborn of Vostroya! Make no mistake, this is our last stand, our last line of defense. We lose the barracks, we lose the port, and if we lose the port, then you lose your lives!” the last statement punctuated Yavules speech, not that it was needed. The Firstborn of Vostroya are bred brave and strong, and would die on their feet. He may not have been born or raised on the same planet, but Kellen had never felt more at home. The thirty-four men left of the original five hundred in the land force fought with the fury of men possessed, born of a fighting breed of man. Raised from birth to be warriors in the Emperors own Imperial Guard, they were raised with tales of noble warriors, of death in the name of the Imperium. Trained for years in the bombed out cities of ruined forge Cities, many would not survive the training process. But those who did emerged as the best warriors the guard had to offer in defense of its people. They were the Vostroyans, and the would hold the line or Die. Of course he had been informed of all this soon after his indoctrination into the Vostroyan 16th. At the time he just thought it was propaganda, but after a day of fighting alongside these warriors facing down thousands of bloody crazy madmen well…. They had proved their worth in his eyes that’s for damn sure. Of course the entire time his mind was philosophizing this his body was hard at work tearing through limbs with a chainsaw he picked off of a dead Cultist.
They had fallen back to the Arbites barracks, and had been fighting off waves and waves of Khornites when a sudden blast knocked a wall in the eastern barracks. Turns out that the Fanatics had gotten their hands on a few melta bombs and blew in the wall, where kellen had the luck to be stationed. The blast had blown him back a good dozen feet, and had killed the majority of the 15 men who had been stationed in this sector. Only 8 could still fight, and in the initial assault 3 of them had been killed. Kellen had joined in the slaughter quite happily along side his comrades in arms. But now they were fighting a losing battle, and carapace armor could only take so many las bolts. He didn’t even know if anyone else was still alive, all he could do was kill…
A quick searing jolt of pain snapped him out of his reverie, and glanced down to see a rusty piece of metal jammed in his abdomen. He paused staring at it, then glanced at the cultist who was staring between him and the metal in disbelief. He casually flicked out his chainsword and lopped the Bezerkers head off, feeling the gout of blood wash over him. He slowly drew out the makeshift blade, and gritted his teeth as he did so.
Odd…. I don’t feel a thing. His chest was numb, as if someone had injected his blood with morphine.. The earlier jolt of pain lasted seconds… the difference was…. Discontenting to see the least. He felt light headed. I…what… I don’t…
He stumbled and fell onto his knees. Am I really going to die like this? He pondered. Lying on the ground…bleeding to death on some distant traitor planet…stabbed by some frothing blood crazed heretic…No…. No I’ve come too far…. I’ve survived too much… two years on Galern III, fighting every day against Orks for my own survival….EVERY DAY! Knowing that my entire family is dead, butchered… my life…everything I’d ever known… gone in a week…. NO! I will not be beaten by these… heathens! NO!
With a roar he stood, staggering to his feet, gripping the chainsword in both hands. His first swing came down on the top of a cultist preoccupied with shooting a wounded Vostroyans, cleaving the man in two, His second slamming into the head of charging Heretic. Gore and bone sputtered from the mans head as the Jittering teeth of the chain sword clove the man’s head in two. Kellen put his full strength behind the blows, his rage, his hate, his years of Isolation behind his strikes. He saw a horde of Cultists preparing to charge a heavy weapons teams, grenades and lasguns at the ready. He flung himself at them, moving faster then he ever thought he could. His first strike was a horizontal arch, ripping one Fanatics head off and slicing open the ribcage of the other. The headless torso fell to the ground, and the wounded Cultist tumbled to the rubble, hands scrabbling at torn entrails. He second strike was an upward blow that blocked a screaming Madman’s bayonet, the responding diagonal strike slicing through the mans torso. Before the Khornites upper half could slide to the ground, expression of stunned disbelief still on his face, he spun and aimed another diagonal two handed strike, tearing through two cultists and shearing them in half, such was the force of his blows. For the first time he saw a cultist backing away, bloodlust gone from his eyes and fear taking its place. He turned to pursue him, but stumbled, blood seeping from the wound in his stomach. He growled, and hurled his chainsword at the back of the Cultist. The sword impaled him like a javelin thrown from the fist of the Emperor himself, reaping harsh vengeance for the death toll of the loyal civilians on the planet. Huge chunks of clash were spat out by the whirring teeth, as the chainsword slowly cut up through the cultist, the weight of the handle driving it upward. The Fanatic fell apart, entrails organs and bone flying every which way. The cultist shrieked one last time and dissolved in a mist of blood. Kellen grinned, face flecked with blood. With a vengeful howl, he tumbled to the ground, chuckling. The world slowly started turned black, as if a moon had passed over the sun that was his life.
An eclipse.
Kheck… he thought.
And with that everything went dark.
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Yavule surveyed the corpses. He whistled. Even after 70 years of being a commissar, that’s still impressive. The bloodied and mangled corpses lay scattered in the rubble. He heard a soft purring sound and glanced to his left. Yavule stared at the corpse, a purring chainsaw still buzzing where it was embedded in flesh. He grinned, by the emperor that’s must have been a hell of a throw… he turned back to Kellen’s body, and walked over. He nudged him with his boot, and flipped it over. Blood pooled out on the ground on either side of Kellens body, and the huge gash in the center of the Carapace armor showed where the Cultists had delivered the killing wound. He glanced to his right and saw a bloody scrap of metal lying not 10 yards away from his body. Holy throne he must have been one hell of a fighter, to take a blow like that and keep going. He picked up the piece of metal and inspected it. Odd, he thought. That’s a strange shade of blood, haven’t seen that before. Ah well, he shrugged it off and walked over to Kellen, preparing to make sure the weapon fit the wound. He bent over to inspect the weapon and glanced back up at Kellens torso. Suddenly he dropped the metal, staggered to his feet and stumbled backwards.
“Holy throne, this…this cant be….”
For the first time in 40 years, Commissar Urian Yavule of the Imperil guard felt afraid.
End of part 3.
Part 4 coming soon!
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Cheers!
Ethan
