Guilliman and Dorn repel Daemon incursion and Magnus the red

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++PRIMARCH'S CLASH ON AKRUS+++

+++MAJOR DAEMONIC INCURSIONF+++

+++LOYALISTS VICTORIOUS IN MAJOR ENGAGEMENT+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES INFLICTED ON THE TRAITORS+++

Word Bearers blunt Tempest Wardens Attack

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++WORD BEARERS HALT IMPERIAL FISTS ATTACK+++

+++DRAKKAS ASSAULT CALLED OFF+++

+++WORD BEARERS VICTORIOUS+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES INFLICTED ON THE LOYALISTS+++

Thousand Sons held by Imperial Fists

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++THOUSAND SONS AND IMPERIAL FISTS IN HEAVY FIGHTING +++

+++MAJOR ENGAGEMENT+++

+++RESULTS INCONCLUSIVE+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES ON BOTH SIDES +++

Imperial Fists defeat Thousand Sons

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++THOUSAND SONS ARMY DEFEATED AT COTÁN SPACEPORT+++

+++MAJOR ENGAGEMENT+++

+++IMPERIAL FISTS VICTORIOUS+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES INFLICTED ON THE ENEMY+++

Thousand Sons vs Imperial Fists – The Stone Gauntlet prevails 

Ahriman stared into the holotable, the buzz of the ship’s crew surrounded him as they went about their business on the bridge of The Sehkemra, a frigate void ship and the second of its name.

The frigate seemed to defy the laws of nature as it hovered in the atmosphere above the Drada outpost. Lightning arced from the exhausts of its massive void engines and the air around it hummed with energy. The Xiphon pattern fighters it carried had fought hard against the loyalist interceptors to open a window for their mother ship to descent down towards the surface, a hazardous but necessary manoeuvre. Point defence guns across the surface of the Sehkmera clattered away at the few fighters that breached the perimeter, ending their attempts at glory with bursts of autocannon fire and globes of flame. 

Back at the holotable Ahriman took notice of the situation. He absorbed the data at a rate that would give most men a severe headache. He took a sharp breath in; things were not going well.  

“There seems to be a pattern forming with this campaign” he thought to himself bitterly, “We had planned this so well”. 

He made a mental note to bring up the idea of virus bombardment when he next spoke with his Sire, Magnus. With a campaign of this scale going this badly at such an early stage perhaps such a drastic measure would need to be taken. 

Just minutes prior, while still in orbit he had seen a slate with several data bursts from his forces across the planet and their words painted a grim picture. He had seen his fellow officers, Magistus Amon of the Thousand Sons, Marek Seth of the Word Bearers and Eidolon of the Emperor’s Children all shatter when faced with the Imperial lines. While they claimed to have inflicted massive casualties on the loyalists this mattered little, Loyalist Astartes could still be dropped from orbit and Magnus himself told his inner circle of his visions of another legion arriving, soon to enter the fray. 

Amon entered the bridge behind Ahriman, the huge blast doors sliding open silently on well oiled rails. Amon looked resplendent in his crimson armour, the blue gemstones set into the plates glowed in the twilight of the bridge at combat stations, the noise of his armour clad feet impacting the deck drew Ahriman’s attention. 

“I presume we are needed” said Amon as if he already knew the answer “Captain Tolbek is struggling”.

While the great ocean had clouded the foresight of the Corvidae Cult from just before the Razing of Prospero, the storm was now waning, and the future was once again becoming readable. The latest attack on the Armorium at Drada had stalled. Earlier battles there had resulted in a clear advantage for the Imperial Fists, who had already begun to fortify their gains. 

“indeed” replied Ahriman, turning on his heel and beckoning Amon to follow him. the door swung open once again and in the corridor were the Scarab Occult, clad in their crimson red Cataphractii pattern terminator armour standing unflinching as the two captains strode past. The Guard turned and followed. The group snaked their way through the cavernous halls of the Sehkmera before they arrived in the Teleportarium. Quick weapons checks followed as the capacitors finished charging before they materialised in the salty mist at Drada. 

Two Sehkmet of Amon’s group fell immediately, their kine-shields ripped apart by two beams from the Imperial Fist lascannons squad in a building to their left. The advanced technology in their Augry scanners had allowed the Fists to predict the location where the Sehkmet would arrive and they had been anticipated their arrival. As the first two fell another pair were struck by autocannon shells from a pair of Imperial fist dreadnaughts that had turned to face these new arrivals. 

On the other side of the battlefield Ahriman looked around, their arrival had been more of a surprise and they had already gunned down a squad of Imperial Fist seekers. In the far corner he saw a squad of 9th Fellowship Recon marines being cut down by a giant of an Astartes in golden armour. He had seen this figure once before during the triumph at Ullanor. It was none other than Rogal Dorn. 

A quad beam laser Destroyer shot out from a smoking Vindicator in the back lines aimed at Dorn. It impacted a wall next to the Primarch who barely flinched as he cut down another two of the recon marines before looking over and motioning for his squad to advance. 

Ahriman looked over to the Fist’s lascannons as they charged for another volley into Amon’s Sehkmet. In their focus they had failed to notice a team of XVth Veterans pile out of their transport until they were amongst them. These veterans were adepts of the Pavoni Cult, Biomancers. Loyalist marines were butchered as they struggled to turn their bulky weapons to face this new threat, several dropped to their knees as their bones were shattered and blood boiled by the sorcerers of the XVth legion. The Fists tried their best to put up a resistance but it mattered little as the remainder of the squad were cut down by the force axes of the veterans. 

Simultaneously the twin dreadnaughts had made it into combat with Amon and his men. Ceramite cracked beneath the blows of the Leviathan’s Siege Drill and the Kheres autocannon of the Contemptor spat death into the Honour Guard. As more of his men fell a fog seemed to build until nothing save the muzzle flashes of bolters and shards of armour and limbs could be seen. As Dorn and his Breachers assaulted the Vindicator the fog dispersed in an instant. All that remained were the scattered bodies of the Sehkmet and the two bemused dreadnaughts looking round for more opponents. In the confusion Amon had utterly vanished. Ahriman allowed himself a smile at this realisation. Amon was old but one did not survive that long without knowing a few tricks. 

A deafening roar drowned out the sounds of battle as Astartes from both sides looked to the heavens. A flight of several loyalist strike craft and their smaller escorts had flown overhead, their wings heavy with their payload. They flew over the battlefield and began their climb up towards the Sehkmera, the craft hanging low in the sky. Missiles shot out from the Marauder bombers of the Loyalist Navy. Black smoke trailed behind them as they streaked across the sky. Several were intercepted by the point defence turrets of the Sehkmera and they detonated early with several blinding flashes of light as their nuclear warheads exploded. The point defence was not enough however and several warheads struck home. Their ceramite capped tips piercing the void hardened hull of the frigate before detonating inside. Spouts of flame lept from the frigate as it was wracked by internal explosions, turrets flew from their housings as the overpressure burst them from their mounts. Debris rained down across the battlefield impacting around the shocked Astartes. The Raptora cult sorcerors among them raised kineshields which crackled and spat as they diverted the falling material away from the XVth Positions. Meanwhile the Fists hunkered down in their fortifications, confident their ferrocrete coverings would protect them. 

The Sehkmera had been severely crippled but had not been downed, its propulsion roared and the giant ship started to limp back up to orbit and the relative safety of space. Flights of XVth legion fighters streaked in from other ships in higher orbits and the Imperial Marauder bombers were downed in short order. 

This had been a gamble and again it had not paid off. The thousand sons had taken heavy losses for very little gain. They had come no closer to securing the access points to the caverns beneath their feet and a frigate had been crippled. The idea of Virus Bombardment returned to Ahriman’s mind.

“Maybe…” he though.

Imperial Fists defeat Emperors Children

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++EMPERORS CHILDREN COMPANY DEFEATED AT COTÁN SPACEPORT+++

+++IMPERIAL FISTS VICTORIOUS+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES INFLICTED ON THE ENEMY+++

Emperor’s Children vs Imperial Fists – The beginning of the rout? 

Eidolon was in a foul mood. He, with a small skirmish force, had been ordered by the Crimson King into the peaks of the mountains to scout the Cottan Spaceport. While the verticality of the terrain presented no problems to the Astartes, carrying their wargear up and over cliffs was not a challenge due to their power armour and enhancements, it was not the hills that Eidolon resented. 

He and his men, the self-proclaimed “finest warriors of the Warmaster’s Forces” had been ordered to march on foot far from the bulk of the fighting at the Manufactorum and Armorium to merely scout for other, more inferior, forces. Eidolon’s second in command, Primus Medicae Peliel was equally displeased though neither were voicing their anger openly. 

The roar of void-craft entering the atmosphere interrupted Eidolon’s internal monologue of loathing. They were easily identifiable as an Imperial Fist Sokar Pattern Stormbird and Thunderhawk Transporter as they roared overhead. Grav-chutes bloomed as the Stormbird disgorged its cargo over Eidolon’s position, two imperial fist veteran squads hurled themselves from the side access hatches, their chutes blooming as they fell clear from the monstrous craft. Simultaneously two Legion ancients made their descent from the rear of the Stormbird, a contemptor pattern and a Leviathan siege dreadnought stepped from their transport. A shimmering haze surrounded them as they fell, streaking across the cold blue sky like earthbound meteorites, the thin atmosphere offering little resistance to their fall. Their chutes flared as they impacted, dust and snow bloomed out around them. 

Eidolon and his men launched themselves forwards, their jump packs igniting, belching flame and smoke as their armoured frames flew towards the yellow lines of the Imperial Fists. Medicae Peliel brought up the left flank of their line with his squad of Kakophoni, the audible static buzz of their Sonic Weaponry carrying through the thin atmosphere as their capacitors charged.

The buzz was drowned out as the missile launcher armed support squad on their right opened up. 9 krak missiles arced lazily across the open ground between the two opposing forces, impacting on the armour of several of the Imperial Fists. A pink mist bloomed out from where several of the Fists stood, their armour offered little protection to the anti-tank missiles. As their remains crumpled, the Kakophoni opened fire. A crescendo of noise rang out from their sonic weapons, a low hum building up to a blood boiling wail as visible pulses of soundwaves rang out. Eidolon allowed himself a smile, the noise of battle was upon them. As the soundwaves impacted, marines dropped. Those in front were torn limb from limb by the percussive waves of noise, those near them faired little better. Some dropped to their knees as blood seeped from the seals of their armour. The power of the sonic weapons ruptured blood vessels and tore arteries within their bodies. Blood gushed through every orifice of those affected, a flood too great to be stemmed by the biological augments of the Astartes until they bled dry or drowned in their own fluid as their lungs filled. 

Unaffected by the audiological assault of the kakophoni, The armour of the fists moved forward to meet the infantry of the IIIrd legion. A golden yellow Land Raider rumbled forwards accompanied by the Contemptor and Leviathan Dreadnoughts. They in kind to the opening shots of the Emperor's children, autocannon rounds, lascannons and volkite beams spat from their weapons dealing death with every hit. 

Around Eidolon men fell, claret blood leaking out into the pale white snow from their wounds as they breathed their last. One man triggered his jump pack as he fell, jets of ice blue flame propelled his lifeless corpse tumbling across the battlefield head over heels until he impacted against a building with a wet crunch as his thrusters died out. Eidolon bit his tongue as he continued his bounding leaps forwards, cursing himself for being drawn into such a fruitless engagement. His Sire, Fulgrim, would be most displeased at the imperfection he had shown. He knew he had to continue with their assault, either to save face or to ensure no one was left to relay this tale to his Primarch.

Eidolon ordered his men onward and they clashed with the Fists’ Contemptor. Ancient Lukus, it's pilot, was a veteran of the purging of the Thunder Warriors and his experience was unmatched by any of brethren. The weapons of the assault marines had little impact of the armoured shell of Ancient Lukus as their chain swords did little but scratch at the paint, their teeth failing to find purchase. Eidolon’s second-in-command, sergeant Berik lept forward in an attempt to place a melta bomb on Lukus’ sarcophagus but was caught mid-air by the veteran Contemptor. Eidolon looked away as the dreadnought closed his fist but could not escape the bionically-enhanced scream that followed as the Sergeant was crushed. The scream rose in volume and pitch as Lukus squeezed his fist until it was abruptly cut off. Berik’s severed legs fell to the ground followed by his mangled torso. Plates of purple ceramite and entrails were left hanging from Lukus’ fist as he swung again. Three more marines died as they were sent flying by the dreadnought. 

Sensing the opportunity, the Imperial Fists pushed the assault. Their Leviathan charged down the Kakophoni, its volkites and storm cannon downing several of them. Medicae Peliel was knocked back by a falling warrior. Regaining his balance he began sawing through the stricken astartes’ armour with his bladed narthecium. Despite the augmentation the Kakophoni had undergone, their Progenoid glands were still valuable geneseed. The Leviathan Dreadnought pressed his attack, pushing through their lines towards Peliel. A crushing stomp ended his attempt at recovering geneseed as his patient was ground into the snow by the foot of the Leviathan as it turned to face him. “You are next” boomed a crackling voice from the vox-casters in the dreadnoughts casing as the drill arm swung towards him.

Peliel ducked this clumsy swipe and ran. He had to put distance between himself and this machine of death while some Kakophoni remained to hold the dreadnought’s attention. Storm cannon shells impacted the ground around him as he ran. He heard the noise of the sonic weapons die out and looked back as he fled. He saw the remainder of his squad massacred by the blood-stained dreadnought, its yellow plates tinted a mucky crimson as it stamped the life from any marines still able to move.

He ran and did not look back, only breaking stride to bound down slopes. Despite the blood pounding in his ears and the tinnitus from being near the Sonic Weaponry, Peliel heard a roar of jets and knew it was the end. He slowed to a jog and then to a shuffle as he heard his assassin land. He drew his weapon and took a calming breath. While he would run from certain death, he would not die without a fight. 

“I am Primus Medicae Peliel of the Third Legion, I will not kneel to an executioner’s bl..”

“Enough Peliel” Eidolon interrupted.

Peliel spun on his heel to see his captain standing behind him and dropped his chain sword to his side.

“You will never speak of this again” Eidolon warned, weighing his Thunder Hammer in his gauntlet.

Tempest Wardens defeat Word Bearers

+++DATA BURST INITIATED+++

+++WORD BEARERS SKIRMISH FORCE DEFEATED AT VOSCH MANUFACTORUM++

+++TEMPEST WARDENS VICTORIOUS+++

+++HEAVY LOSSES INFLICTED ON THE ENEMY+++

In the cavernous halls of the Vosch manufactorum, iridescent radioactive sludge covered every surface like a glistening morning frost on a grassy plain. Even the air seemed to shimmer from the radiation. 

Marek Seth, a Diabolist of Word Bearers expeditionary fleet 1302 could sense it. His face was hot and flushed as thousands of tiny pinpricks raked across his skin caused by the radiation, his cells fighting a loosing battle to replenish at a rate faster than their genetic code was being obliterated. Even Astartes could not linger in environments such as this, their battle-plate only affording them momentary protection from this silent killer. They had already lingered too long and he expected that he and his men would need some significant time with the apothecaries while their anatomy recovered from this damage. 

An Astartes next to him vomited, a thick black coffee grind paste spewing from his mouth, splattering down his crimson breastplate. The man dropped to his knees clawing at his throat as he began choking, his physiology failing to adapt. He looked to Marek for help, desperation in his eyes as clots in his trachea rendered him helpless. The Diabolist drew his combat knife. Marek took the fallen astartes’ hair in his off hand and drew the blade down from his larynx to his manubrium. More blood clots spilled from the wound as the Astartes slumped forwards and his chest heaved, his airway clear but his body useless. He gestured for an apothecary to collect him. Despite their reputation for being cold and dispassionate, there was no sense in loosing trained warriors in campaigns as this.

Seth blinked his eyes shut and extended out into the aether. His soul soared through the nothingness burning bright like a flaming hawk, high up above his position. He knew Astartes sensors struggled when bathed in such interference, but his psychic might was unaffected. A mere 300 yards away were the enemy, shielded by a number of machinery blocks from the manufactorum. It was the forces of the Tempest Wardens, a small faction of the Imperial fists. Their crimson heraldry differing from the yellow and black scheme laid out by Dorn many years before. The Tempest Wardens were new to the Aleph sector, this their first test of their mettle. 

Perched upon a taller mechanicum building, a Master of Ordinance of the Tempest Wardens crouched with Squad Fulgur, their Crimson plates mimicking the glow of their lascannon’s power units in the radiation. He opened a vox channel to his recon squad, who had been ordered to their position but one floor up. 

“Are the charges set, sergeant?” he asked as the Word Bearers triggered their ambush, his men opened fire on them with their bolt guns.

“Yes sir” he rasped back, the radiation cracking the vox channel, his voice barely audible over the static.

“Detonate them on my mark. Three, Two, One, Mark!” he ordered, as five breaching charges detonated above the heads of the Word Bearers tactical marines and Seth. At first nothing happened before the metal began to wail. 

Marek Seth looked up at the explosion above his head and laughed, his voice booming out through his vox-plate on his helmet, seeming to come from all directions. 

“It will take more than trickery to best me, Fist!” he howled as power surged through his limbs. He began to rise above the heads of his marines, sparks and forbidden lightning arcing from his stave towards the Tempest Wardens. 

The celling continued to creak and groan, a building crescendo of tearing metal and tortured cables. The man next to him pointed up as the ceiling began to give way. Dread took root in Marek’s gut, he had been utterly outplayed. While his powers allowed him foresight, they were not infallible.  

A sixth charge detonated, and the ceiling dropped. Vast chunks of metal, slurry and cable fell from above. The ground shook as the slabs impacted, throwing up vast clouds of fallout, dust reducing the visibility to next to nothing before their visors compensated. Men around Marek were utterly crushed, ceramite plates offering no resistance to the tremendous amount of energy imparted by the slabs of falling metal. His arms whirled and sparks arced as he threw his men into debris meant for him, their sacrifice would be appreciated later however all he cared for at present was survival. 18 of his men died as he launched them against the debris. Chaplain Karak Thall lay at his feet, his body mangled by a large angled wedge of ceramite. While survivable in normal conditions, the radiation was hampering the ability of his blood to clot, for him to survive he had to get out.

Marek gestured to another Astartes and together they heaved at the wedge of metal, their power armour enhancing their already abhuman strength. At first the metal did not budge, it was if it had been mag-locked to the floor. It shifted suddenly and Thall let out a piercing scream as the shattered ends of his femurs ground against each other. While Astartes were genetically superior to humans, pain is universal and Thall succumbed to shock, his eyes rolling back in his skull. His brain placed him in an induced coma, it would save his mind from any degradation if he were to loose all circulation despite his two hearts.  Dragging him from under the metal they saw the extent of his injuries. While his limbs were attached they were mangled almost beyond recognition. A severed artery in his thigh pulsed blood out of the many cracks in his armour, the blood swelling like a sea at high tide.  

Seth straightened to his full height and began a tirade of orders to his men through the vox network. He wanted revenge on the cowardly Tempest wardens and their vile deceit but today was not that day. Their Sicaran battle tank roared past, in support of the two rhinos, its accelerator autocannon and three heavy bolters firing on the massed ranks of a Tempest Warden tactical squad that had tasted blood and had advanced seeking a scalp to take. 

Seth did not see the rest of the battle. He scooped the limp body of Thall and ran, leaving his men to their fate. His overlords would not be pleased, nor would the being that had ordered them down into the depths of the manufactorum. The Crimson King would not take this well…

Imperial fists weather the storm at Drada

The gathering storm

A searing pain jolted him into consciousness. Ajax blinked open his heavy eyelids to see a medicae orderly looming over him examining a prosthesis held in one of its many arms while its many tendrils finished the operation. He looked down to see his left leg reduced to a stump, a wound he had suffered in the opening skirmishes on Akrus VII. He strained to remember…

Landing on the rocky tundra near the Drada outpost, the scouting force had spilled from their Stormbirds and secured the surrounding area meeting no resistance. Orbital scans had located several information nodes half a kilometre from their dropzone, securing these uplinks may provide them with vital information as to the location of the STC or how to enter the armorium beneath their feet. Ajax had joined this force just prior to launching, he and his bodyguard clad in the monstrous Cataphractii pattern Terminator Armour had thundered across the embarkation deck of the flagship, The Herald of Dorn, to lead this scouting party. A decision he would not regret despite the grievous injury he suffered. 

Advancing through the dusty plains amid rocks the size of a Mastodon, the fists moved quickly, their Astartes frames easily keeping pace with their mechanised elements. The sea fog had rolled in prior to landing and was severely disrupting their sensors. They had no idea what they were running into. Ajax opened a vox channel and ordered his force to halt. They had just stumbled on the first of the objectives when from the murk of the fog the first shot rang out. 

The hiss of boiling air followed swiftly behind the unmistakeable ruby beam of a Vindicator laser destroyer, piercing the fog and impacting the front of Ajax’s Spartan. The monstrous vehicle took the impact well, its foot thick ceramite assault ramp and flare shield dissipating the power of the beam across the rest of the tank. 

“To Cover!” he ordered across the Vox. Legion Breacher squads Druary & Scutum moved to secure the two nearest uplinks, their huge boarding shields making the need to cower behind terrain pointless. Squads Sagittarum and Pilus, his legion seekers and las cannon devastators heeded his advice, sprinting towards the nearest of the towering rock formations as bolter shell explosions pockmarked the dust surrounding them. However there was something strange about these bolters. They did not hit with the usual red flames and shrapnel, these had a green and purple hue about them. Ajax knew what this meant, the Sons of Magnus were here too. Manipulating the control for the commander’s cupola he scanned the terrain and yet saw nothing but fog and haze. There! Another volley of bolter shells rang out and impacted on squad Scutum to his left dropping some of their members, but the muzzle flashes had given their position away. 

“Forward” he ordered as a break in the fog revealed their adversary. In a crater just two hundred meters forward was Magistus Amon, equerry of Magnus, and a squad of veterans. Amon’s mastery of the Corvidae allowed him to weave a phantasmal aura around himself and his squad. Their image seemed to shimmer and shift like a mirage on a desert world making them near impossible to target, despite the superior bolter drills of the VIIth Legion. 

As the forces clashed and Astartes from both sides fell Ajax and his bodyguard stormed down their assault ramp into a different group of XVth legion Veterans. Their chainfists and experimental pattern storm shields making short work of the power armoured warriors. A lucky swing from a Kopesh axe had cleaved one of their number from neck to navel, laying him low leaving him to die a death in service of the Emperor. But their fury was too much for the veterans, the sole survivor of the XVth withdrew, leaving them standing in the open on and around the central objective.

 It was at that moment he heard it. A rumbling clatter of treads and the roar of engines. At first it had been disguised by the noise of his own transports but now it was undeniable. From the fog on his left flank burst a spartan of the Thousand sons. It disgorged its passengers into squads Scutum and Saggitarum. The Fists, caught utterly off guard, attempted to wheel their shields and bolters around to face the new threat but it was too late. The Sehkmet were upon them before they could react, force axes cleaved through their shields as if they were no more than fibreboard. Both squads fell in short order with the Sehkmet continuing their advance, this time towards Ajax. Combi-bolter shots rang out and felled more of his retinue until he was at the apex of their shield wall. That was when he fell. Time seemed to slow as he noticed the sponsons of the spartan turn to face him. He saw 8 dots of light as the lascannons charged their capacitors, then they fired. He did not even see the beams as they tore through the ceramite of his armour. Most either went wide or were absorbed by his Storm Shield, but it only took one. Aimed low, a beam glanced from his shield into his thigh. The anti tank weapon made short work of his ceramite plated leg and he fell instantly. Pain wracked his body as he convulsed, his advanced nervous system struggling to cope with his horrific injury until a wave of warmth and calm spread from his brainstem, his physiology finally catching up with his injuries. As he faded from consciousness he saw his lieutenant, Adriel, dragging him back towards the Stormbird, his leg left behind to the carrion birds. It was time to leave but they had got what they came for.

While the fists took significant casualties they had secured far more data than their opponents, who had been forced to withdraw back to their own lines. The adepts of their mechanicum detachment wasted no time in deciphering it. 

The Orderly handed Ajax a data slate. It showed a location on a map of Akrus near the manufactorum.

“With regards of Magos Legat, Sir” he barked, his voice harsh and robotic.

He blinked the data slate into focus and his mouth dropped agape slightly. It showed a schematic drawing of the long lost Indomitan Mantle, a relic of the chapter and the data suggested it was here on Akrus. Perhaps clues to the STC would be nearby such an important relic….