The Targinis Uprising - Bellicose and The Cult of The Spoiled Hand (part 3)

+++ Targinis III - Residential Sector 'Lillian City' - Present date+++

The morning rays of crisp sunlight crept upon the industrial sectors as per natural routine, this morning however would seem to be painted far differently upon the surface of Targinis. The day would not begin in order; many labor machines had been damaged or stolen, the very street itself was fragmented in sporratic spots - a reminder of the patchwork explosives thrown at local law enforcement the eve before, crates of supplies and stations of respective work had been burned or shot to pieces. Work would be lost today, and not just due to the destroyed materials of Imperium substantiality. For many lives had also been lost; not only would less work get accomplished, but the number of casualties among local Guardsmen were catostrophic... people were even LESS safe now in Lillian City. If the Bellicose cultists were to attack again in the evening hours to come... there would be even LESS of a chance of repelling them now.

-------------------------------------------------

An officer of Cadian brandishing peers out the docking bay window of the local Guardsman Barracks within Lillian. As all true Veterans are in nature, so was this one who bore his inner scars of war as if they were literally etched into his exeterior. The fires and screams of war were worn upon him as conspicuously as his medals of valor and the golden bar upon his left breast pocket - "Saul" was the name upon it.

The door to Saul's office slid open patiently and a young Cadian seargent stepped in and saluted his superior... regardless of the fact that Saul did not turn and acknowledge his prescence. At least not with his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Sir, I'm afraid I have some more bad news..." Said the messenger.

"Let me guess..." Saul began with hopeless sarcasm. "Sewer freaks are attacking at random again."

It was Saul's job to oversee the local security of Lillian's working sector. A job that for the first time in his career (even during his career of galactic Imperial warfare), left him in a situation where he did not possess the manpower to stand and protect those in his care. So strange that this incompetance would come at the hands of fanatical, subhuman, untrained maniacs.

"Sir we checked the Armory this morning... a number of partially constructed Ordinance Batteries have been stolen. And...." The seargent swallowed hard before continuing. "And... a handful of the prisoners being held in the military holding cells were... released, sir."

Saul turned at last and faced the young messenged, taking a few steps toward him with a naturally displeased expression on his scarred, worn face.

"I see, seargent. Well, how fortunate for our enemies!" Saul barked at the youth. "What's the matter? Your men forget to lock the damn Armory doors?".

"N-no, sir. A detachment of Guardsmen were stationed there, along with the mechanics. But they were relieved... by one of the Lord Commisars that arrived here earlier this week, sir." Sputtered the messenger.

"What... Commisar... seargent...?!" Saul gritted his teeth and closed his eyes in agitation. His tone was no less threatening than a loaded las pistol aimed at the seargents forehead. No Lord Commissar had been registered for arrival. Lord Commissars were notoriously despised probably the most by their own brothers in arms; one of them arriving in a small sector would have caused considerable commotion. After a few long moments in a dumbfounded silence, the young Guardsmen scratched his head in embarassment.

"Well.... I guess that explains how the um... tanks and... prisoners were... taken, sir." Spoke the shameful seargent. "Shall we phone the big guys in the sky and ask for reinforcements, sir?"

"I doubt it would do any good, seargent. There's no chance they could get here by nightfall. And besides... we can't afford to make ourselves look weak." Saul regained himself from his anger, but hardly lost his demeanor.

"The Imperium is at war with the entire galaxy... and this isn't a war zone. We're on our own, seargent."

Suddenly, an unpleasant voice surprised Saul and his underling from within the still-ajar sliding door or Saul's quarters.

"As it were, Commander, yes - the Imperium has no intention of aiding your ailing planet." A Lord Commissar stepped forward into the room; his attire was almost entirely black, save the few bits of guilded trim and a flowing purple cape upon his back. "The Chapters of the Emperor will encircle this system with their warships and Orbitally bombard Tanaris to dust."

Saul thought twice before speaking his careful words to the Commissar, men such as those give no second thought to cutting down men such as Saul simply to make an example out of him.

"And why would they just do that to us? It would be total overkill with casualties and supply losses, sir!"

The Lord Commissar turned his back to Saul and peered his eyes angrily into that of Saul's companion. "Your planet has been infected by a brand of Chaos they have never seen before. And this is how the Imperium must deal with the Cultist outbreak - they will destroy everything to avoid such a contagion to spread further."

Saul lost his respectful composure. "No! No... That's not going to happen! The Marines can't just do that to us!"

The Commissar turned to Saul again, as the Commander continued.

"Do they just expect us to stay here and just... and just die?! We defended this world, we still defend it!"

There was an unusually long moment of silence between the three Cadians. Saul's eyes were glued to the floor hopelessly contemplating such possibility in the Commissar's words; they were so real... so undeniable - yes, they certainly had to be truthful. If not, doom still loomed close by... so inevitablly close. And in that moment, as Saul thought to himself ever so briefly, 'I'd do anything to get off this planet and survive this...' the Lord Commisar spoke.

"Commander, the Empire has doomed us. It matters not now who we stand with... as long as we can get our forces off of Targinis." The Commissar finally came close enough to Saul for him to read the ledger upon his left breast - 'Bairn.'

"What do you propose, sir?" Saul somberly complied, reposing himself as best he could. "What is it that you require of me?"

The Lord Commissars gaze shifted slightly to one of the corners within Saul's quarters. There was much shadow within, but the darkness stirring within this particular corner became to Saul's human eyes unlike any darkness ever seen before. Saul's mortal ears began to hear strange hums and intangible whispers as he stared into it. It was a tear in the Warp! As soon as this final thought strayed across Saul's mind, the darkness within the corner formed a figure... as the figure came into formation, a frightful voice answered Saul's query.

"We require little more from you than an open mind and the will to survive, Commander."

There he stood before the bewildered Commander - he was Ka'Voth, the Warpspeaker. Saul stood, frozen in terror at the sight of the Slaaneshi Sorcerer, whose voice continued to fill the room.

"We have come here to destroy the foul Nurgle beings in Slaanesh's great name. We do not ask you to aid us in our fight against the Loyalists or against the cultists of Bellicose." A massive Force-Staff appeared in his grip as he continued to speak with conviction. "Your Emperor and his lapdogs have deemed you unworthy of saving, in light of your many years of service, Commander. Your only chance to save yourself and your men is with us. Your only chance of leaving this planet is with us."

"We do not have much time, Saul." Bairn finally began to speak and act as a true Commissar; a bitter expectionist. "It would be in your best interest to accept such a proposal."

Saul drew a deep breath and hung his head shamefully. He had no choice but to forsake his oaths and his Emperor.

"Yes, sir. My men are yours to command, Commissar." Saul agreed.

The Targinis Uprising - No Rest for the Wicked

+++ Cyr System, On the fringes of the Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscurus +++

Three moons orbit a mighty gas giant of twisting multi-colored clouds. The largest moon, Pethoris, harbors life, but life is hard earned on this jungle-filled death world and its human inhabitants are little more than feral warrior tribes eking out a existence in constant danger. Though it may seem the Imperium at large has forgotten this ancient colony, that is not exactly the truth. Nestled within a massive impact crater on one of its sister moons sits a small bastion carved into the crust itself.

A single stone icon of a winged sword, inlaid with ivory and trimmed in bronze, is the only distinguishing mark on the doors of a docking bay just now opening to accept the boxy form of a dark green Thunderhawk; flaring retro jets lighting up the crator walls. On its nose is the same winged sword motif marking them both out as part of the Dark Angel Space Marine Chapter. Pethoris, currently orbiting on the other side of the of the gas giant, was one of the Chapter's many recruiting worlds.

Marching down the assault ramp, Third Company Chaplain Errion, his jet black armor pitted and cracked with the fresh signs of battle, lead a procession of awestruck young natives from Pethoris. Following behind them trotted Sergeant Talib of the 3rd Company, nudging one of the youngsters who was busy taking in his surroundings instead of putting one foot in front of the other. As they neared the exit, the doors slid open and Epistolary Edzekiel stepped through, his gaze settling on the Chaplain. The Thunderhawk's engines roared as it left to the extract the rest of Talib's squad.

"Brother Chaplain," he said, raising his hand across his chest to form the sign of the aquila.

"Brother Librarian," Errion replied, returning the gesture. He frowned behind his death mask assuming something was amiss, "what brings you to the bay?" His voice resonant as it emitted from the grill set into the mouth of his skulled-faced helmet.

Edzekial cocked his head to look past the bulk of Errion, "You purge the last of the wretched Eldar and still have time to gather recruits," he asked with his brow raised.

Errion let a out short laugh, the sound more like a growl distorted as it was threw his voxcaster, "You give me more credit than I'm due." Only two days prior the Dark Angels had arrived in Cyr after they received word from the outpost that a band of Dark Eldar raiders had entered the system. When they arrived, they found the wicked xenos had been so bold as to set up a temporary base of operations on Pethoris where they could gather slaves.

The marine flotilla dealt with the their meager space forces easily enough, but not before a well coordinated Razorwing strike crippled the Angelic Fury, one of two Hunter-class Destroyers that escorted the Strike Cruiser, Salvation. As the void battle played out, ground forces were already being deployed to purge the xenos from the surface of Pethoris. Elements of the Deathwing, Ravenwing, and 3rd Company crushed their enemies under heel. A single cowardly corsair made a speedy retreat out system leaving it's ilk on the ground to meet their deaths by the will of the Angels of Death.

"No brother, there was no time for any trials. This band was among the survivors of a brave assault against the xenos. When we finally fell upon the the last holdout of the Eldar, their tribe had beaten us there en masse and was attempting to free the rest of their people who had been taken for slaves. They even fought on as we cleansed the filth ourselves, using the xeno's weapons against them. These acts warranted them the reward of joining us, if nothing else, at least as serfs or servitors."

The Librarian simply offered him a nod of understanding and Errion quickly continued, "But you did not answer my question, what brings you to the bay?"

"We've intercepted a communiqué of some interest that bares discussion. Malloc and Vallidus already await our arrival."

"Very well. Talib, show our recruits to their new quarters," he said with a sweeping gesture towards the twelve youths behind him. Their eyes widened, not fully hearing what the giant had just said. Errion smiled at their naiveté, though now having served the Chapter for nearly two hundreds years, he could not recall his own recruitment to draw any comparison.

--------

As they strode swiftly down the dimly lit corridors towards the command wing of the compound,  Edzekial launched into a brief explanation of the situation.

"While calling us here to Cyr, it appears the resident astropath intercepted a message of distress sent from Targinis bound for its subsector capital," Edzekial said interrupted by the hiss of recycled air as Errion removed his skeletal helm. The Chaplain's face was a ruin of scarred flesh with a portion of the right cheek and jaw replaced by mechanical implants.

Edzekial continued, "A call for reinforcements in response to a system-wide revolt."

Errion's brow furrowed deeply at the mention of Imperial defection. With a sneer, Errion growled, "Though it is withhin our duty to guide every dissident back to the Emperor's Light, surely the Imperial Guard can handle this rebellion. How does this concern us?"

The Librarian allowed a lone Chapter Serf, the servant's head bowed in reverence, to pass by out of earshot before he continued, "There is speculation of Traitor Marine involvement." A fire was alight behind Errion's eyes, but he stayed his tongue as they entered the strategium. Deathwing Sergeant Malloc stood in front of the holo-table resplendent in his bone-white terminator plate, the green glow of the projected star system playing across his hardened visage. Huntmaster Vallidus of the Ravenwing's elite Black Knights, stood to his left inspecting an Eldar blade which he promptly stowed as the Chaplain's stern gaze fell upon him.

"Targinis Star System, seven planets, two habitable," said Malloc with a nod to the holo-table as he launched into the a run down of the system details consisting of population totals, industrial and agricultural infrastructure as well as system defenses.

"Yes, yes, brother," Errion cut in, "and of the traitors?"

"Scant evidence. However, the message does make a couple references to the possibility of traitor marines." Malloc reached out to the glowing orb that represented Targinis III, the system capital, and the projection reacted to his touch, zooming in on one of its many urban centers. Hazy green lines representing streets and boulevards crisscrossed their way to a cluster of massive hive cities built on the shores of one of the planets three large oceans.

"Lillian City," he said pointing to a particular nondescript area at mid level within one of the hives, lighting it up with a red glow, "a residential sector, it is noted as being where much of the civil unrest stemmed from. What little is recored from local law enforcement tell of attacks from the underhive into this area. It is said that these attacks were lead by a giant warlord in what appeared to be ancient power armor. As the insurrection grew and the local law enforcers were compromised, reports from the Adeptus Arbites confirm as much, adding that his armor is a sickly green and he and his lot bear the features of death and decay, spreading taint through the hives."

"The work of some zealot to the dark gods, indeed," Edzekial muttered sagely.

With a flick of the wrist, Malloc sent the holo-projection back out to system view. Rotating it, he brought the projection around so that he could tap a single dot to red. "Port Numidia, here, near mid system, has eyewitnesses that state the star port was assaulted by space marines and taken by force. No witnesses got close enough to describe them any further than that."

"They tarnish the reputation of all chapters," spat Vallidus speaking for the first time since the meeting convened. It was evident to him that survivors might not distinguish between one space marine to the next, especially if they had not gotten a good look at their wretched Chaos worshipping counterparts. The veteran punctuated his distaste by slamming his gauntleted fist into his palm with a clang. Malloc snorted his like-mindedness.

"Any traitor marine activity certainly warrants our attention," Errion pronounced, "yet we have orders to await here for the Third's rendezvous."

The whine of heavy servos spinning cut the silence as Malloc shifted uneasily at the mention of any sort of inaction. He tossed a glance at Vallidus who offered only a shrug in return, then turned Edzekial's way. Vallidus and his Ravenwing were assigned to the Third and thus under Errion's command, but Edzekial was appointed to lead Malloc's contingent of Deathwing, a different matter completely.

Edzekial finally spoke up after a short pause, "I will lead a reconnaissance force to Targinis to assess the situation," he said matter-of-factly eliciting nods of agreement from the rest of the assembled party.

"Very well," the Chaplain returned, "I will hold here with a small force myself, while the Angelic Fury is repaired, as proof against any further Eldar activity. We will await the rest of the Third Company and carry on to Targinis in your wake."

"I will need elements of the Ravenwing at my side brother," the Librarian said, sensing anxiety building in Vallidus.

"Of course, the Huntmaster can assist you with that," the Chaplain said as he motioned toward Vallidus," take Salvation and what forces you deem necessary. You will also have Veteran Sergeant Gabriel as the senior officer representing the Third. I will appraise him of the situation."

"Yes, the Salvation, what is its current status?" asked Edzekial.

"Finishing up a sweep of the system," Malloc answered.

"Perfect, let us get the orders out now and be on our way as soon as it returns to Pethoris. Targinis has already been in turmoil for too long and only the Emperor knows what kind of foothold the traitor marines may have by now," said Edzekial.

"Yes, Brothers. Let there be no rest for the wicked until you finally put them all to the blade. Hunt the traitor, for the Emperor and the Lion," Errion finished in typical Chaplain-like fashion. His comrades answering with the same pledge and pounding their hands against their chest to form the sign of the aquila.

The Targinis Uprising - Bellicose and the Cult of The Spoiled Hand (continued)

+++ Targinis III - Residential Sector 'Lillian City' - Present date+++

The streets of Lillian were as regular and uninteresting as any 'working class' sector within the Imperium. Each day of everyday toil was uniformal in almost every aspect. Someone walking amongst these simple, but essential, operations would experience the noisome loading, cutting and clanking of machines of every imaginable size and fashion. The workers were much like machines themselves; bred into their lives of work by their predecessors, who were of the same occupation. The thoughts of building machines and devices of war used by the Imperial Guard were inspiring enough for most to dedicate their lives to long hours of unending labor. It was a simple notion, but an honorable one... worthy of wanting to achieve for most citizens of the Empire.

This notion of duty, work and patronage to Humanity was not shared by all unfortunately. Not every life form upon Targinis III was born to thrive in such a way - where a sense of pride and a meager-but-honest pay wage constituted a satisfying existence. Wherever the light and goodness of the Emperor thrived so dilligently, there seemed to always be given rise to those of darkness... those who craved power... those who refused their roles as meaningless Empire servants. Like the primarchial gene-seeds of the Emperor himself, there were those willing to forsake their masters for any myriad of selfesh, vengeful reasons. And after the daylight sights and sounds of work and toil subsided, Targinis III became a much different place during the bitter reaches of the night.

Strange chanting could be heard coming from the waste-canals beneath the street, unfamiliar figures clad in daemonic runes and maniacal garb were seen coming and going from the access holes of the sewer underworks. Citizens began disappearing at night... and most who turned back up were often left gibbering about an army of xenos and mutant-men beneath the streets. At first, the victims often returned beaten or with strange runes carved crudely into their skins. The attacks became slowly more fatal with time and the ones who dwelled beneath the surface were becoming somehow, organized in their twisted efforts.

Perhaps it is the nature of the Imperium; to simply view the activities on Targinis III as a job for the local security. Perhaps it is their mentality that, in one small way or another, there will always be pockets of Chaos occultism waiting in the shadows, in the darkest corners of the galaxy. And perhaps it was their foolish decision to underestimate this particular 'pocket' of Chaos activity that led to the uprising on this peaceful world that has yieled so much power, rabblesome though it may be, to the dreaded cultists from beneath the surface... and their foul leader - Bellicose.

The number of loyalist Space Marine Captains, Chapter Masters, Company Seargents and Librians who forfeited themselves to become Chaos Lords and Sorcerers were beyond sheer count at this point in documented galactic history. But with the recent discoveries of these strange cultists armies gave way to an ever more troubling discovery; the ones leading these bands of cultists were once of the beloved Chaplain ranks of the Imperium... these benighted false-priests came to be known as the Dark Apostles.

It is unclear as to which Space Marine chapter that spawned the traitor-Chaplain Vicar Bellicose. But if one was to judge him purely on his decrepit green Power Armor, disease-ravaged facial features and by the company he chooses to lead, a decaying band of mutated freaks, one could easily recognize the fealty of Bellicose to the Chaos god, Nurgle. Normally, a local uprising of any sort could traiditionally be suppressed by local Guardsmen without issue. But the Spoiled Hand cultists were nearly as difficult to gun down as the fully armed Cadians. As the firing lines of the local guards emptied clip after clip of small arms fire, ripping limbs and riddling the plague-driven bodies of the Nurgle cultists to little avail. Imperial Guardsmen stood in awe as they could recognize some of their own within the foul cultists ranks; Catatchen traitors, military low-level Barracks workers that seemed to have provided Imperial contraband to his fellow worshippers... at least three pirated Flamer weapons per cultist squadron could be easily spotted.

Having to slowly and cruelly gun down their own kind was far from the worst of it. When the Spoiled Hand fanatics finally descended as a whole upon the local guard and all could finally hear the gurgled praise of Bellicose's offering of Imperial flesh to the Lord of Decay... when the local Guardsmen were forced to truly see the twisted, poxed visages of their new enemies up close and personal... watching good men, good soldiers become debased piles of gore and flesh... that was the worst of it for all to behold.

Strange all the more - it would have seemed as though Bellicose had control of the industrial docks sector... he and the Spoiled Hand crawled back into the crevices of society... back into the underworks... back into the nuturing embrace of darkness and filth. And so... the sun rose. And life in the Imperium reluctantly toddled onward on Targinis III.

The Targinis Uprising - Bellicose and The Cult of the Spoiled Hand

+++ Targinis System - Outlying Orbit, Viewing Platform of unregistered, non-Imperium military vessel 52 Hour Earlier+++

A warp-infused vessel of erratic, blinding colors hangs patiently in orbit above Targinis III. All ships of the Chaos traitors have graced the Warp for some small measure of linear time, but this one looked as if it were birthed from the swelling, daemonic magics of the Warp itself.  Glittering runes sparked in deceit upon the lavish, golden hulls... those who gazed upon her runes of circles and half-moons forfeited their souls unwillingly to Slaanesh.

Upon the viewing platform of the main Bridge stood a Sorcerer of unfathomable power - Kah'Voth the Warpspeaker. Aside from the Daemon Princes of Slaanesh themselves, there is no greater Slaaneshi Psyker in all existence than this one. Once a loyalist of the Emperor and a Librarian of the Emperor's Children sect, Kah'Voth fled into the Warp with his personal escort as well as a legion of his most trusted warriors. Many of the priests and other Librarians that shared his vessel were instantly driven mad. When trying to administer a moderate spell technique to sooth the madness of the other defected Psykers, Kah'Voth unintentionally killed and absorbed the souls of his brethren. The act itself was a scarring and tragic business, but Kah'Voth's magical abilities were more than tripled. Drawing the ever whimsical gaze of the god Slaanesh was no easy task, and Kah'Voth's undoing was quite pleasing to the Lord of Pleasure. Slaanesh granted his promising Sorcerer a Tzentzch-like barrier of invulnerable magic as well as a pair of 'Warp Wings' that could materialize from Kah'Voth's power-armor and carry him through the air as an Assault Marine would. The Sorcerer grew to enjoy the impossible madness of the Warp; his long years spent there are quite evident by the strange appearance of his twisted attire and the daemonic flesh writing upon his terrifying warship.

Every last thing upon Kah'Voth's ship, be it living or daemon, were the unquestionable servants of the mighty Sorcerer. None upon the vessel rose above him, but there was one living being, save the god Slaanesh itself, that the Sorcerer bended knee to. That is why he stood, staring patiently upon the galaxy he wished to burn from his viewing platform... he was waiting for his master's call.

Finally, after hours of waiting, a hum generates from the holovid projection machine activating and a crude crackling of the transmission fixing it's audio playback receptors upon the deep, mechanical sounding voice speaking. After a few seconds, the audio and sound become perfectly clear. The individual upon the holo-transmission was truly a Lord of Chaos; his armor and weapons had seen more wars than any in the company of Kah'Voth's warship. There was a an insanity beyond words that burned within his eyes; it was a stare that could break even the most mighty and cruel of Chaos Marines or tame the very daemons of the Warp themselves.

“This is Xa’Oduun, the ascended one of Slaanesh. The time has nearly come for me to wipe the dull, colorless mortality from the face of this pathetic world. I shall tear this world asunder! Let the choirs of billions of dying screams be heard as an intoxicating symphony worthy of my lady and lover – Slaanesh, the true ruler of the galaxy!

Executor Kah’Voth, is all in readiness beneath the cities of Targinis? For your sake and the sake of your rabble-rousing pet, I hope Bellicose has prepared his ‘army’…”

And Kah’Voth: “Yes… Vicar Bellicose and his cultists number beyond the force of any local planetary guard. They are ready for war, my Lord.”

“Good. It will take at least two days for the Imperium to send reinforcements. When the Emperor’s spirituous weaklings do finally arrive armed to put down Nurgle garbage… they will not be prepared for the ecstatic death I intend to give to them. We will debase every inch of every street in Slaanesh’s name! Every man, woman and child will become subject to my every carnal whim…”

And Kah’Voth: “We have only to offer up the souls of the Emperor’s pawns to the Lord of Pleasure… let us take their bodies! Let us make Targinis our whore and cavort until this pathetic world has been broken!”

“Inform your pet servant to begin the invasion. And do not stop until every last one of them is dead; be it the local guard or Bellicose’s cultists! At long last... War!!!”

 

 

The Targinis Uprising - First Blood

+++ Targinis System, Helican Subsector, Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscurus +++

The system was in chaos. The dregs of society had risen up to throw off of the yoke of Imperial rule. Yet there was something more to this rebellion. Loyal Imperial citizens told stories of bands of mutants and xenos clawing their way from the deepest sewers of the hive cities. Increased reports of bloodshed and debauchery spread like wildfire in the six months since the fighting flared to life. Only in the last month and half had the Planetary Defense Forces even made any head way in putting the insurrection down.

The Argentum Fax sliced it's way swiftly towards the edge of the system for warp translation. An old Navy Freighter gifted to a Rogue Trader, the Argentum Fax routinely made shipment loops between the interior of the Helican Subsector and the backwater system of Targinis. With its shipment accepted  at a loyal space port, the freighter made haste to quit the system all together. Payment rendered; job complete.

"Captain, soon clear for warp jump," squawked the Kroot helmsman, his thick accent evident.

"Couldn't be soon enough, prepare..."

The helmsman cut him off with another chirp of low gothic, "Ship... no, no, ships. Three. Ahead, closing fast."

"Broadcasting any verification?" asked the Captain, his bionic eye scanning for a target to magnify in the view port ahead, "Perhaps the Imperium has sent reinforcements in a timely fashion for a change."

"Cruiser... two escorts. Trouble pulling clear identifications. Lots of distortion," answered the Kroot, "Wait, got it. Cruiser designated Blade of Chemos. Odd, nearly ten thousand years of service... can that be right?"

The Captain turned to his helmsman, "Bring them up on screen already will you," he barked, the magnification of his eye just barely picking out the plethora of garish insignia coating the hull of the leading cruiser.

Above their heads the three ships winked into life on a set of crackling monitors. Two of ships were simply offensive in their embellishments, with crude daubs of obnoxiously-colored paint crisscrossing their  hulls. Like a beacon in a storm of madness, the prowl of the Blade of Chemos was flanked by two massive clawed wings of shining gold. The third looked barely space worthy; rust and rot covered much of it's weathered husk and what appeared to be hideous cankers jettisoned sickly fluids into the void.

Unidentifiable geometric shapes strewn across all the ships made the helmsman uneasy and he diverted his gaze back to his control panel for more information. "Still not seeing... wait, got something... Excommincate Traitoris?"

The Captain blanched.

"Captain?"

The Blade of Chemos opened fire.

Proposed Campaign Guidelines

Just a few things I've been rattling around the ol brainpan today

1. Matches should be timed. Also, if everyone is unable to stay for the duration of the entire campaign, please tell us what time you need to jet .The first game took longer than the 2nd and 3rd combined and Rob was already trying to run out the door by turn 2 or 3 of the final game. . These games aren't for money or grudge matches, just play - don't overthink it let's just play please.

2. Since an ongoing Campaign is pretty much a fluff-based concept, it'd be nice to see diversity in our armies. I'm not saying we have to take bad units just for fluff's sake, but changing out one or two things and keeping the rest of your tournament or everyday list defeats the concept of a campaign completely. My idea of a fun campaign isn't coming up with test lists to send to their deaths against the same Decked out lists! Librarians, Lords, Captains, Chaplains, etc. Make it fluffy and interesting! Save your big guns and streamlined lists for when we play for blood!

3. I was pretty sure we all had an understanding as to the point system for our custom characters, but there are some things we need to iron out as a group. Here's what I propose
-Seargents, Aspiring Champions, Squad Leaders etc only get to roll on the chart. 
-No Independant Characters (or the Lone fucking Wolf - this guy already ruins enough playing experiences as is... you dont need to feed him new bonuses)
-When collectively selecting each person's MVP (if they have one), noteworthy things that make a squad leader eligable: destroying other units or vehicles, taking unusual/continuous punishment, accomplishing something epic/against the odds/hilarious/etc, SCORING (Linebreaker, First blood, Capture Objectives, etc)

This is just a start. And it's a friendly critique, I wanna make this game as fun as we can.

Deathwing Apothecary

This doctor uses a hammer to fix your ailments