The Battlecruiser had been screaming through the warp for 9 weeks, eager to reach its destination. Just as eager, the battle brothers of the Black Templars inside it were preparing for war. Fervent prayers to the Emperor echoed out through the corridors, contrasting with the ring of steel as warrior sparred against warrior.
Brother Dietrich of the Crusader Squad Demies stalked through the corridors of the Battlecruiser lost in thought. He and his fellow Initiates had just attended the daily sermon of their company chaplain after which Brother Dietrich felt the need to walk the halls. Soon the sounds of his brothers died away and without realizing it, he had made his way to areas of the bowels of the ship where his brothers rarely tread. The warrior passed terrified serfs, caught by surprise by the towering Initiate. Many of them cowered in the corners as the warrior passed, some whimpering, some whispering prayers to the Emperor, some just stared in awe. The soldier paid them no mind, they being beneath his notice.
Thoughts raced through his mind. It had been several months since The Barbarossa Crusade had been fought, and he and his brothers were hungry for meting out the justice of the Holy Emperor. The Cruxis Crusade was just outside of their grasp, the physics of space and time delaying the slaying of witch and hated xenos.
He closed another air lock and stopped, resting the butt of his battle axe on a storage container. The cramped corridor felt oppressive to his colossal bulk. The incense from his censers rose to his nose, calming him and silencing the turmoil of his mind.
Just then klaxon alarms rose and the overhead lights turned a sharp red. Brother Dietrich raised his head, a fervent smile across his face. His power fist clenched involuntarily. At last, he thought. The Black Templars were going to war.
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Skaven Warrior
The Skaven warrior stalks across a stinking trickle of thick sludge leaking out of the depths of a sewer pipe.
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The First Angel
The angel of the First looked on at what his brothers had wrought. Desolation as far as his genetically enhanced eyes could see. A wisp of smoke drifted lazily across his vision. It’s meandering tendrils a stark contrast to the swift violence that was carried out just hours before. The angel turned his head to watch a building crumble under it’s own weight, it’s structure riddled with battle wounds. Dust splayed out from the devastation as the rockcrete grinded against itself in its descent.
He and his brothers had laid waste to this forsaken planet in the name of the Emperor. Their duty had been performed with precision and an unwavering determination. The cursed enemy were defiant to the end, those known as The Brethren of the Golden Strain. Tainted by the insidious xenos genestealers.
There was no hope for this planet. Once its defense systems fired on the angel’s vessel the planet’s fate was sealed. No mercy was expected and certainly not given. Control of the defense systems meant all levels of the planet had been corrupted by the xenos plague. Therefore all had to be purged. An attempt to preserve industry and infrastructure would be made but the priority was eradication of the cancer that infested this planet.
Eventually the angels had made their way to the governor’s palace to execute those in power. Twisted abominations had met them. Hulking monsters with crude weapons. All had been slain. The governor himself, riddled with mutations was executed without ceremony, despite his pleading and protests. At the last he cursed the Emperor and the angels. He was cut short as the angel stomped on his head, spraying brain matter and skull fragments across the rich carpet.
And so the angel stood and contemplated as explosions rained down from above, destroying the last of the buildings. None would be left living here. In the centuries to come this place would be rebuilt to become a productive member of the Imperium once more.
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Ork Painboy Wazgrom Bonestompah
The ork stumbled out of the Painboy’s makeshift surgery rubbing his freshly attached arm, blood still leaking from the stitches. Wazgrom Bonestompah looked on, satisfied with his work. “Dat dar iz some lovely work i fink”, he thought to himself. “Oi ya lazy little git, get back ta work!” Wazgrom kicked the gretchin at his feet who yelped and scampered away, picking up bloodied tools up off the floor hurriedly.
The orks had been camped here for several weeks and were starting to get rowdy with inactivity. Several fights had broken out with today being the worst of the injuries. Wazgrom had reattached several limbs, a head and in one instance had to fit a kustom claw to one of the Nobs. Needless to say once he came to he was right back into the fight with his new toy.
Wazgrom thought back to the last time he had this much trouble with the boyz. He remembered the time several years ago when Da Big Boss came in hollering about his arm, smashing heads of his boyz that couldn’t find it anywhere. He had finally given up in a rage and came to the Painboy for assistance.
It took several boys to hold him down with leather straps whilst Wazgrom attached a right proper Klaw with down right nasty flamer attached. The teef flowed that night, and Wazgrom became rich overnight the Boss was so happy with it.
The noise of fighting grew louder and one of the gretchin jumped up on Wazgrom’s back holding a needle sticker in anticipation. Wazgrom looked up at his trusty Kustom Klaw, stretching out each digit making sure everything was working before the boyz turned up. One of the knifes was a bit stiff. “Might haf ta get da Mekboy ta hav a peek later”, he thought.
