# VII: Great Crusade



## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

_Space, vast and unforgiving; for a ship, for a man, a single mistake can lead to the end. Many hundreds of years ago man reached out to the stars and spread forth. In time man came across other beings, warred and made peace, and made home far from Terra where life began. But then, travel became impossible and Old Night descended upon the faraway colonies of humanity. Those who had been considered friend jumped at this, wiping out or enslaving those very humans they had long since harboured a silent hatred against. On Terra itself, cut off and alone, man devolved into barbaric nations each vying for power. Then, like a creature of old he came, taking only the title of Emperor as he united man on Earth and then turned his attention to Mars and then the rest of the Sol system._

_With his allies at his side, men and women willing, weapons and ships at his command, the Emperor set forth on a Great Crusade to unite the lost colonies of Old under one empire. It is to be an Imperium of man, guided by the might Emperor; with truth and science his means of illumination and things far worse should it come to that. For while man is out there, so too are those who had betrayed man, and those who might think they know better than the Emperor. But he has an answer for them, his Legionnes Astartes, spread throughout dozens of fleets to lead those men and women brave enough to take to the stars once again._


All; it is silent within the assault boat, barring the hum of power from the five dozen suits of power armour throughout the vessel. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like lifetimes unto themselves. _“Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!”_ Captain Torquil Alistair called down the twin lines of bodies to his sides. Nearly sixty all in all, the twenty five of Hobestus and the thirty of Dedon, locked in place by crash harnesses. 

Looking through the forward pict feed, you see a monstrous vessel of rust red and patchwork refits. A single word races through your mind: greenskin. The fifteenth expeditionary fleet had been fighting them in this system for two weeks now, chancing upon trace emissions of one of the main raiding fleets. The opportunity to wipe such a thing out and damage the ork strength in this area had been far too good to pass up, but a straight fight would only have resulted in the deaths of the fifteenth, destruction of the orks would be no guarantee. Instead it had been put forward for the warriors of the VII to fly forward and take out a number of the largest ships in order to weaken the enemy fleet enough for the ships to win. You know this, and the thought that the second had been given the honour of taking out the largest of the ork ships filled you with pride. For it was your very own leader who had thought of this and acted upon the courage to step forward with it; young sergeant Camba-Diaz.

_“Sixty seconds to breach! Dedon, let us see if we can leave something for Hobestus to kill!”_ Camba-Diaz roared out to you and the rest of the squad, quickly followed by shouts from all of the assault boat. *“A bold statement, but I fear it shall be Hobestus that leaves Dedon in our wake!” Sergeant Caustus* of Hobestus retorted before clamping his helmet on.

_“Five seconds to breach,”_ Alistair called out amidst the calls and then there was a massive pull forward. The armoured prow of the assault boat connected with the hull of the ork ship, breaching charges rending open a hole and allowing the boat to unleash its deadly cargo. With a shriek of metal on metal, the forward pull comes to an end and the front of the boat blows open.

[Fair amount you can do with this one, but once you reach the end and rush out of the assault boat you come out upon a large chamber. Your pod is one of three that broke through to a massive hanger filled with various greenskins and all manner of space craft. There are some thirty greenskins near you, enough for two or three kills a person. Main thing to keep in mind is the surprise of all this, though it will not last forever once the warriors of the seventh get to killing and destruction. Good luck. From this point you and the other squads must cause as much damage as possible to this ship, your squad having the honour of its final objective being the bridge to ensure its destruction alongside whoever commands this vessel.]


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

Areem was silent for the better part of the trip, content to listen and learn what he could from the chatter going on between the commanding officers. For the most part, it seemed to be repeating incessantly the time to impact.

It was all taking too damn long! Areem was impatient, he had waited too long for a real fight, now one was finally at hand and it felt like he was spending it stuck in a damn boarding vessel! Stuck in place thanks to his harness, he could only pan his helmet around, to take in the similarly blank stares of the other astartes on board.

'Are we there yet?' He muttered quietly, his boredom growing palpable. The battle brother next to him shot him a glance, as well as several others adjacent to him before he realized that all their helmets had built in vox units. This wasn`t the first time he`d made this mistake...

'Nervous, Brother?' Someone whose name he couldn`t be arsed to find out asked. 

'Anxious more like.' Areem replied. 'I`ve been training for decades, fighting little more skirmishes and raids. Now a chance for a real fight and it`s taking forever!' 

The other astartes only chuckled in response. Areem snorted and looked away. He didn`t know who the marine was, but by his tone one would think he was a sergeant or-

Wait, was he? Areem blanched at the thought of possible pennance to come. Still, there was little to be done now...

- - - 

The forward pict feed was the new focus of Areem`s attention, reasoning that he wasn`t the most popular guy here to engage in banter with them, an act his training repressed regardless. The enemy vessel could be seen before them, an ugly crude piece of junk that by rights should have fallen to pieces under the strain of its own engines.

'What a piece of junk.' Areem shook his head in disbelief that any race could travel in such an abomination.

'Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!' Captain Torquil Alistair called. Alistair was the one astartes Areem was able to recognise by sight in fresh armour, his suit a little more elaborate than anyone else`s and he held an authority that Areem dare not question.

He checked his bolter as instructed, reaffirmed the clip and made sure all mechanisms were functioning smoothly. This was it, at last...

More banter, this time between two competing sergeants. Caustus, laughed at his friendly wager with his fellow sergeant before clasping his own helmet on. 

'Five seconds to breach!' Alistair called. 

'I`m ready.' Areem breathed to himself, adrenaline beginning to pump, his hearts beating faster.

The impact shook them all, but they wasted no time in standing. Pushing his harness up, Areem stood, wishing dearly he was at the front of the line. The sound of metal being blasted open rang in his ears and then the line was moving. Areem ran at the same pace, the astartes forming out before him and he did the same. 

A gutteral cry of aggression was the first thing he heard, but it was not alone. The bark of bolter fire followed almost immediately, the warriors of the VII Legion opening fire at their alien adversaries. 

Areem stepped into the open, taking up a position alongside a member of his squad. With a glance at his comrade and the readout in his visor display, Areem deduced that it was Brother Dante Emmanuel. A lascannon was on the marine`s shoulder. 

'Well, that flashy gun`s gonna do wonders!' Areem laughed, opening fire with his bolter. His aim was slightly wide, missing the ork he`d targeted by barely an inch. 

'Damn you!' Areem fumed, and fired again. This time he hit true, his shot like many others impacting and pulping the innards of a bellowing ork. The return fire was pitifully inaccurate, and succeeded in no more than a few chips of yellow paint.

But now the rest were that much closer, and Areem could see that their gunline would be reached. Not that he minded in the slightest. 

'Meet your fate!' Areem bellowed, dropping his bolter casually and drawing his paired knives in a run. The ork he had charged bellowed a savage warcry and swung its crude blade in a downward clumsy stroke. The astartes sidestepped the blow with ease before striking an uppercut into the ork`s side, severing several tendons just under its armpit. 

The creature`s arm dropped limply, and it brought its other limb to bear. Areem dodged this just as easily, before driving another bladestrike into the creature`s face. It fell backwards and landed heavily. Unwilling to take any chances, Areem leaned down and slit its throat. 

The distraction very nearly cost him his life. A third ork barrelled into him, sprawling him on the ground with a furious ork swinging a broken weapon against him. He rolled onto his back, dislodging the creature, but it jumped back onto him, scrabbling with clawed hands, Areem stabbed again and again, so caught up in reflected bloodlust that he continued to maim the corpse long after it had expired...


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## G0DSMACKED (Feb 12, 2010)

*The Breach*

Dante was savoring the quiet. He knew the mayhem and confusion that was to come. He had been in many battles before, and knew to stick together, listen to the Sergent. But even then he knew that getting lost in the blood lust was as bad as desertion when your brothers need you to be tactical and follow orders. But even more so against greenskins. Something about fighting them, their unorthodox methods, their sheer crazied blood-lust seems to spurn on rage and a brother marine can lose him self there even easier than with other foes. 

'Are we there yet?' the brother two seats to his left asked. Someone speaking out of turn, raised everyone's attention. H.U.D. said it was Brother Areem. Dante thought it was strange, but went back to his meditation. 

Dante turned to look forward seeing the classic dishuffeled ork design he sighed in disappointment at the thing knowing this would be a hard one to pop, as it was especially hadge-padged togther. “Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!” it was the Captian. Now Dante started his blood pumping faster, getting excited in spite himself. He had a personal hatred for green skins, but they were his favorite foe, hard to kill.

A last minute check of Lightbringer, and he was ready. He gripped it tightly, in these close quarters and while disembarking it was especially difficult to wield. He was ever mindful of this, as once he dropped his lascannon and caused a break in the line. He never forgave himself that and won't let it happen again. 

'Five seconds to breach!' Alistair called. 

Dante braced. Then the harness and he were up, the Disembark was smooth. and he immediately found cover and began searching for targets. in the far distance he saw some machinery, and began firing at it, he knew that if he could take out the power in this section it would give them a brief advantage. Orks could see in the dark as well as an astartes, but it took a few extra seconds for them to adjust, for an astartes it was instantaneous. 

Dante Fired.

One blast hit true, and the machine got white hot, it was large and had many wires attached to it, Dante was confident that this would do something good, perhaps explode and take out half the orks he hoped. Dante quickly ejected the power core and reloaded.

Dante Fired again. 

Then the orks did something un expected. The Lascannon is not a instantaneous pulse of energy but rather a sustained beam of heat an light that lasts more than half a second. The orks began throwing one another into the beam from Dante's Cannon fire. And while Dante killed three orks, this meant it had almost no impact on the machine in the distance. Dante hated this, popping the power core, and reloading. He could see the orks rallying now, and a group of them coming for him and his heavy weapon...."I'm always the target" Dante thought.

Dante fired again.

Again the orks sacificed each other to protect that machine... it was important, but he would not be able to get it from here. Looking about he saw a bolt gun on the floor. And then up a few feet away was Brother Areem laying amidst three ork bodies, stabbing a dead one over and over. Dante rose and scooped up the bolter. Rushed to The brother and rolled him over with one foot, then dodging a flailing knife swing, Dante thrust his bolter into his chest and shouted "ON YOUR FEET BROTHER. WE MOVE!" he hoped that would be enough to get through his blood lust and awaken the marine. 

Dante needed to get to higher ground, and he could use some back up. Moving behind the line he saw the others from his squad rapid firing and tearing up the orks, the surprise boarding ment easy kills, and that was enough for most of them, but Danted wanted something bigger. Reloading on the move was difficult, but he poped the power core and got a new one ready so all he would need do is load it when he found a spot. Just then he saw a large crate with smaller ones around it. Leaping from box to box, Dante found himself ontop of the large crate, and loaded Lightbringer. A slug bounced off his shoulder plate, and readied.... aimed... 

Dante Fired.

The large power-works lit up and exploded, and Dante was about to savor the explosion and witness what he had wrought, when he was simultaneously hit by a slug in the chest throwing him back, and the box he was on was hit by a rocket throwing him up. For a moment there was only pain and silence. Dante thought he was dead... then came the fall. He crashed backwards into a Medium sized crate and was actually stuck, his body folded and wedged into the crate. When his head cleared seconds later he still had the spent Lightbringer, but his other arm was pinned. He was defenseless. Just then he heard a dreaded sound of a Ork on the charge, then it Came into view.... Dante was the target of his rage. It ran full bore for Dante and had a Huge double handed blade in it's grip, and leapt into the air for the killing blow on Dante...


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## G0arr (Sep 20, 2010)

*Morgan Fleak: The Warrior*

The assault boat slid through the void. Even with the dampaners and artificial gravity Morgan felt like he was falling. He had no love of space flight. There was something about it that always felt wrong. In the air was almost nothing but the hum of power armour. Somehow it seemed to bring peace to Morgan. His eyes were closed as he replayed the briefing over and over in his head.

Then the voice came. “Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!” It was the strong voice of Captain Torquil Alistair. Morgan's eyes opened as he reached for the pistol on his hip. A shell was already primed and ready to fire. He slid the weapon back into the holster. Then he reached for the bolter secured beside his crash harness. As his eyes glanced over he saw the pict feed. 

The vessel appeared so small. It was almost like Morgan himself could reach out and crush the damn thing with his own fist. If it was only that easy. If only he could reach out there and shatter the rusted and patchworked hull. This would not be so easy. They had been told of the thing's size and the threat it posed. The second had been given the honor of taking this craft. It had been their own Sergeant who suggested this action. Morgan turned back to where Camba-Diaz sat. It was an honor to fight with that man. No, man was not the right word it was brother.

The bolter's breach snapped closed as Morgan turned back to it. One final check. Within the armored shell of his right hand a rune was activated. The power source on Morgan's back hummed slightly louder for a moment as it filled the capacitors in the power fist. A small crackle of energy ran across the armored hand and ozone could be smelt. Morgan turned his hand looking at the palm then rolling it back over. The words he had attached to the massive knuckles were easy to see, "Thou Shalt Kill." It was hard to say how many foes had those words imprinted upon their corpses.

Then came the wait again. The added activity of men checking equipment helped the time to pass far more quickly than before. Morgan checked his helment. Seal was tight, the few internal systems were operaring, information feeds were solid. Sergeant Camda-Diaz spoke “Sixty seconds to breach!...” The words he was waiting to hear. Morgan shouted out with the others. Then Sergeant Caustus replied. 
The seconds seemed to tick so slowly. Internal chronometers continued their count, but it felt so slow. After what felt like an eternity Morgan looked forward again. There was only a wall of steel in the pict feed. Morgan could have sworn he saw the rivets in the armour.

“Five seconds to breach.” The call went out. Then came the moment. The assault boat seemed to change. It felt like the floor was at the bow of the craft for a moment. Then came the blasts of the charges and the cry of metal on metal. Then there was nothing. The harnesses snapped open allowing the astartes to drop to their own weight. The suits servos and systems gave a second of protest as they took his weight, but quickly became fluid as his own movements.

Morgan stepped through the breach and heard the aliens roar as they realized what had happened. The astartes quickly formed into their ranks and began to fire. Morgan aimed into the mess of creatures and fired. Bolter casings clanked onto the deck as the firepower reached its mark. For all his fury in battle, and all his training Morgan still only killed one of the blasted greenskins, and after almost half a clip he had only wounded several others, but it would not be enough to stop them. As he glanced toward another line of foes something caught his eye. A lascannon blast. 

It was not only the sudden beam of light spearing into something but the reaction of the orks to it. They were trying to stop it. Then there was a distinct lack of it. Morgan turned toward his brother. The wielder of the heavy weapon tossed a bolter into another marine's chest, then began to move. The orks had reached the line, and whatever this man had done it would be important to guard him until his task was done.

Morgan broke into a run. Close combat began to swirl around him. The bolter fell to his side and then to his back as its strap went tight. Morgan drew his pistol. His brother, Dante Emmanuel he recalled, fired his last shot. There was an explosion of machinery as Dante lowered his weapon to see what destruction he had wrought. Something caused him to topple back, and a spear of smoke slammed into the crate at his feet. Instinctively Morgan went to cover his face, but his training caught up. Instead of covering his eyes he raised his pistol. As his brother fell he saw a foe move toward the stricken man.

The ork held a large two handed blade it raised it over its head with a roar. Morgan fired. The first shot caught the blade as it was hefted over the creature's head. The thing stumbled as it tried to recover. As it did Morgan formed a fist with his right hand. The ork roared in hate as the astartes ran past his brother and swung his mighty power fist. There was an audable crack as bone shattered in the orks chest. It looked confused for a split second as though it didn't understand why its own chest had sunk in several inches. 

The blade clanked to the deck as Morgan turned back to Dante. He grabed a handful of the broken crate and tore it clear. "Come on brother," Morgan said beginning to reach down, "Your weapon will do nothing with you on the ground." As he began to reach out there was a sudden shout of warning from his brother. An ork slammed into him. 

By the creature's reaction it appeared to be blinded by the sudden darkness. The thing pawed and gripped at the astartes armour roaring out its hate as it did. Morgan pressed back gripping its arm in his powerfist. The motors within the device whined as it crushed down on the things arm with a grinding of bone. It shouted in pain as the arm went limp and bent at a new elbow. As it tried to retaliate Morgan twisted his left arm into place and fired. The shell entered the greenskin at the base of the neck on its right shoulder. Blood quickly pored from its mouth and it spit a wad of it as it fell.

Morgan glanced toward the battle line as Dante retrieved his weapon. The orks were in disarray. "Come brother," Morgan said watching for foes, "Our work here has hardly started, and I believe those," he motioned toward several of the orkish vehicles on the deck, "are in need of your attention."


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*The Breach*

Quiet..... Terek lost himself in it. It was one of his favorite times, the lull before the storm of battle. He felt the quiet hum of the suits of power armor that surrounded him in the assault craft and felt at home with his brothers. He could feel their tension, their readiness. For a moment all he knew was the quiet hum of machinery, the pull of the anti-grav motors that propelled the craft forward, and the almost palpable feeling of anticipation that pressed in around him. 

"Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!” Captain Torquil Alistair called down the line of seated and waiting Astartes. The sound of his captain's voice brought Terek out of his reveree and he began to check his weapons and equipment in an almost automatic fashion. Focused by the familiar repetition of the task Terek couldn't help but smile... Time at last. Terek reached beside him and checked the breach and mechanisms of his bolter and found, unsurprisingly, everything was in order. The melta pistol slung at his hip a familiar weight and the quiet sound of its minute power source both a comfort and a joy. He lifted Ruin, his new toy, its weight and heft still new but enjoyable and thumbed the activation tab. The small powersource jumped to life and Terek smiled again behind his helm as the light of the energy field played over his right guantlet.... He could definitely get used to this weapon. 

Having completed his check, he looked toward the forward pict feed and saw their target. A rusted, cobbled-together, piece of floating space debris. Had he not learned much of the greenskins over the last few months he would have doubted that the thing could support life, let alone remain space worthy. He felt his anger rise and his pulse start to race. He hated the Orks. He hated everything about them. He touched the left side of his helmet, thinking of the eye he had lost in his last encouter with this menace. The bionics were still unfamiliar to him. 

Somewhere down the line a someone asked, "Are we there yet?" quietly over the inter-suit vox, putting voice the anxious anticipation they all felt. His suit's heads up display indicated that it was Brother Nikar. Terek knew little of Areem, but he had heard that he was hot-headed. "Peace brother," Terek said across the vox link," there will be enough for all of us." Terek didn't know how much of his traffic Nikar caught as at that moment Sergeant Camba-Diaz roared, "Sixty seconds to breach! Dedon, let us see if we can leave something for Hobestus to kill!” Terek smiled at his head strong squad leader. It was Camba-Diaz's bold plan and suggestion that they were attempting today. Terek felt a great amount of pride that the Second Company had been chosen for this action and that Dedon had been honored as one of the first squads to breach the aliens vessel. Terek joined the rest of his squad in cheering his sargeant's statement. Of course this was answered by some friendly banter from Sergeant Caustus of Hobestus Squad. Terek smiled as he thought of his brotherhood with these fine men. 

"Five seconds to breach,” Alistair called throught the chatter, and Terek felt the impact of the assault craft, heard the explosion of the breaching charges, and felt his harness fly open with a hiss of hydrolics. Grabbing his bolter Terek charged out through the breach with the rest of his squad, took his place in the firing line, and fired several rounds from the hip at the suprised and bewildered greenskins clogging the large room beyond. He watched as his first round took a large Ork in the hip blowing its leg out from under it. He saw the momentary look of suprise on its face as it began to fall, a look that was erased as its head exploded into bits of black blood and bone as his second round found its mark. 

The Orks recovered quickly and with a feral bellow of rage began to surge forward. Scanning his surroundings he heard the unmistakeable sound of lascannon fire and he felt the concussion of several explosions. He slung his bolter to his back, securing it with a sling, he drew his melta pistol and thumbed Ruin to life. To his right he saw Brother Nikar, standing over a mutilated ork, clutching his bolter to his chest. Terek's internal systems started feeding him targeting information and his bionic left eye picked up several large greenskins bearing down on Nikar's position. Terek rushed towards Nikar just as the orks began their assault. Striking out with Ruin Terek relieved one Ork of possession of its left arm and with a reverse swing of his power axe he split a second from groin to gullet as easily as a hot knife goes through butter. As he reached Nikar's side it was as if his brother was coming out of some sort of trance. Through his vox Terek goaded Areem to action by saying, "Really brother? You intend on leaving all of these pesky Orks for me?" He felt rather than saw Areem smile as he and Terek turned to meet an oncoming wall of ork bodies....


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The silence was comforting, it was rarely so quiet that Hardrya could take a moment to himself, and just himself, not The Other being present as well. The Other was resting, readying himself for the violence to come, he had been quite gleeful about the prospect of facing the greenskins and killing again, in his own words it had been far too long. Hardrya grimaced behind his helmet, he was grateful that nobody could see his face, he sighed in his thoughts and listened alertly as the Captain spoke. The pict-feed came alive in Hardrya's helmet and showed him a vessel borne of scrap and rusted junk, it was the greenskins alright, no other race made such poor-looking vessels.

"Don't underestimate that ship Hardrya, its stronger then it appears on the surface, just like you," the voice came through, cheerily adding the end of the sentence as a mocking insult. The Other was awake again, Hardrya could feel him in his thoughts and at the back of his mind. He was right in this case, the ship was fearsome despite its broken down appearance and underestimating it or its denizens would prove fatal. That the 2nd had been given the honour of first blood filled Hardrya with pride, and dread. He knew that soon it would be time for him to rest and The Other to take over, and he always dreaded that, the Other was impossible to predict and his actions no matter how bad or good they were, always ended the same way, they caused suffering and death. He swallowed his misgivings, he had no choice in the matter.

"Your damn right you don't Hardrya. Its my turn soon, its been too long since we had a good spot of violence and im going to savour it," the Other chirped in sardonically, it enjoyed mocking Hardrya's lack of control and disgust at the Other any chance it got. As Sergeant Camba-Diaz rose Hardrya's attentions focused on him, as did the Other who was quiet at last. The sergeant was boasting that Dedon would be the driving force of this boarding, Hardrya allowed himself a brief chuckle that the Other echoed sarcastically, it despised the trivialities that these idiots considered important like honour and glory. As far as it was concerned whoever killed someone was a winner.

The breach countdown began, as the rest readied themselves for combat Hardrya did nothing. He didn't need to be ready for this, the Other was already prepared for what was coming. The sound of shrieking metal as the assault boat tore its way through the Ork vessel's hull echoed throughout the ship, it seemed to energize the Other. Suddenly the end of the pull came and the door blew open.

"Go now!" the Other shouted, Hardrya did as it ordered without hesitation. As he ran into the chamber, the other Astartes doing the same, he took a count of the Orks within the chamber, caught completely unaware by their rapid breaching of the ship. At least thirty greenskins within the chamber, and rapidly decreasing as bolters tore into them. Hardrya raised his bolter and took aim at an Ork wandering in a daze, it must have been close to the wall when it exploded, a quick shot ended its life in a burst of green blood. And then it happened.


The Other smiled as it raised the gun again and blasted another greenskin in its eye, its head popping like a miniature grenade and splattering the wall with its brains, or what passed for Orkish brains. He was in control at last and the pretender to the throne that was this body was safely locked away and he was in command again. It was always this way in combat, the rush of blood flowing and guns blasting somehow seemed to make them switch places every time. The Other wasn't complaining, it was better then being locked away forever or only being let out during the dull moments of day-to-day routines for these simpletons he was forced to call comrades. Another Ork fell to his bolter as he struck a blow across its neck, felling it and finishing with a quick execution round to its prominent forehead.

"Alien scum," was the last thing the animal heard before its head dropped to the deck with a thud.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Vitus Garvos sat pondering silently as the boarding ship headed straight towards the ork ship. He looked over all of his brothers, though he would trust them all with his life mistakes could be made, especially in the cramped quarters that would be experienced in this fight. Garvos felt his anger course through him, he had felt a burning hatred for the greenskin menace, one which had only been roused over the fact that one had taken from him his leg. He would not sit idly by while there was xeno's to be put to the blade.

_ “Target breach in two minutes my brothers; make the final checks and prepare to bring death to our enemy!” _ The voice ofCaptain Torquil Alistair called down the twin lines of bodies to either side of the legendary captain. Garvos turned with cold efficiency to the bolter at his side. He checked to see that there was a round in the chamber before placing it back by his side. He knew that he should use his bolter but he would tear into the greenskin with his chainsword, they would feel fear. They would feel pain. They would feel death.

Vitus stared forward once he had done this, he couldn't wait till he was in the thick of it, proving his combat prowress to all others. He stared at the pict feed, and wasn't impressed by what lay before him. An ugly vessel dominated the pict, the target. It was just like the orks a mess of patchy refits. He would relish the death that would be found inside this vessel. Vitus felt huge amounts of pride to the fact that the second company had this honour, this huge honour of taking the fight to the greenskins. They would soften it up for the rest of the fleet to destroy this huge fleet. He felt even more pride to the fact that it was their fairly young and enigmatic sergeant who had proposed the whole plan. Sergeant Camba-Diaz.

_“Sixty seconds to breach! Dedon, let us see if we can leave something for Hobestus to kill!”_ Camba-Diaz roared out to Vitus and the squad as a whole. Vitus pounded his fist against the chestplate of his armour bellowing his approval. _“A bold statement, but I fear it shall be Hobestus that leaves Dedon in our wake!”_ Sergeant Caustus of Hobestus retorted before clamping his helmet on. It was good that the brothers had this little friendly rivalry.

“Five seconds to breach,” Alistair called out amidst the calls and then there was a massive pull forward. The armoured prow of the assault boat connected with the hull of the ork ship, breaching charges rending open a hole and allowing the boat to unleash its deadly cargo. With a shriek of metal on metal, the forward pull comes to an end and the front of the boat blows open.

The Astartes charged out, bellowing their praise to the Emperor and their primach. Gavros bellowed his praise as he revved his chainsword and raised his bolt pistol. Orks stumbled around the large chamber. He had been behind some of his brothers and glanced at them while they had to correct each others mistakes. He rushed over towards them Dante, the lascannon totting marine was important and must be protected at all costs. He passed Terek and Areem, and he opened his vox* "Little wager brothers? I reckon that I can take down more orks than either of you, if not I will clean your wargear sound fair?"* He laughed over the vox. He felt the thrill of battle go through him as he raised his bolt pistol and fired off two shots at a charging ork. The first blew out its stomach while the second took its head from its shoulders.

He saw how suprised the orks were, still reeling from the unexpected action from the Adeptus Astartes. Vitus saw a small group steadying itself and readying their weapons before charging towards them, his chainsword revving all the way. He barrelled into two of them, lashing out with his leg to knock one off balance. He swung his chainsword and met the orks crude blade. Vitus slipped his bolt pistol in the moment before he smashed into the orks, and he drew his combat blade and activated its power field. He smashed his blade downwards towards the orks, which he found frustratingly caught the ork on the shoulder and digged into its muscles. The ork bellowed in pain as Vitus slashed with his chainsword across its stomach and Vitus watched in satisfaction as it desperately tried to hold in its innards and Vitus kciked in to its knees with his bionic leg. He slammed his chainsword down through the orks head, listening as it tore through the skull and breaking bones. He turned to the other ork, who had by this time got to its feet and opened fire on him with its own weapons. 

Vitus felt as the impacts tore into him, not quiet penetrating his armour but damaging it nevertheless. Vitus snarled as he charged straight towards it, both his combat weapons in hand. He swung his knife straight towards the ork, meeting its slugga and cracking the casing for it. It quickly launched a counter attack with its choppa and Vitus only just managed to get his chainsword in the way. He grunted underneath the strength of the ork. Vitus lashed out with his leg, only to meet the orks one as it seemed to have a similar idea to his of knocking him off his feet. The power of the bionic leg was more powerful than the orks, and knocked it back a bit, though it didn't fall. Vitus renewed his attack on it while he had a chance, sweeping high with his chainsword and hacking down. The ork couldn't block him, still trying to keep its balance. His chainsword cut through its chest, lumps if flesh and gore falling from its body, his chainsword slick with blood. It collapsed back and Vitus quickly ended it, slamming his heel down upon its head. He turned to his brothers, "Beat that." He thought to himself.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Melchior Draco sat silently, helm sealed, eyes twisted into a tight embrace. His lips were pursed with thought; of the upcoming battle; of those passed. His Boltgun, with the sickle-magazine set behind the trigger, gleamed upon his legs. It had been meticulously cleaned, and now its white-grey length had received a glossy sheen to it. His Squad-Brothers sat towards either side of him, stretching off in plated rows, partaking in their own pre-battle rituals. Melchior murmured something inaudible between his breath, in his native language. The Legionary Trainers had tried to stamp out the language, but still Melchior uttered it from time to time, uncaring for the flagellations which he risked.

His stark, white-silver hair was polluted with globules of water, each one a diamond amongst a forest. They ran along his face in cold streaks, slipping amongst weathered features, sliding along cracks and crevasses cut from his hide. Sergeant Camba-Diaz, blessed with strange handsomeness and a supernatural charm suddenly spoke out, boasting a challenge to the other Squad which shared the ram-transport. 

Melchior’s uncaring countenance twisted into a devilish smile, and his head swiveled towards the Sergeant. Melchior had fought with Camba-Diaz since his indoctrination; and heartily trusted the lucky bastard. Camba-Diaz had made his name amongst the VII Legion on many occasions, and each time, Melchior had been awed by Camba-Diaz’s ability to both fight and command. 

‘May the Emperor Live.’ Intoned Melchior, running one gauntleted finger across the inscription upon his chest plate. It had been carved by one of the many Artificers amongst the Angels of Death, when the set was still in production. 

The meaning was lost, but still, Melchior made a mental note to read it aloud before campaigns or skirmishes. It had brought him relatively good luck during his time amongst the Legiones Astartes (Or, so he told himself), and Melchior hoped that it would continue o do so. 

There was a sudden acceleration. The world erupted in a ear-stinging screeching, followed by a hiss of decompressing air. Hull crumpled outside of the transport, and Melchior was suddenly upon his feet, Boltgun clamped against his leg, fists bunched. 

The hatch dropped away, revealing the inside of a ramshackle vessel, swarming with various sub breeds of Ork. Fire from the Battle Brothers rained down into green flesh, sheering away great chunks, blood spraying into the air from torn arteries. Melchior, weapon still clamped to his leg, charged into the melee. 

A tusked Xeno howled a battlecry nearby, and Melchior’s enhanced instincts reacted instantly. He rolled away, rounds stitching the space which he had been standing in moments before. The Ork had little time to react, magazine exhausted, barrel boiling. The Astartes was thundering forwards, head lowered, fingers outstretched. 

He took the trunk-like neck in his hands. The Ork’s eyes widened suddenly, and it brought meaty fists high. A pair of punches were thrown, but both were eloquently dodged, and with one fluid movement, Melchior snapped the neck of the monstrosity. Bones crunched, and Melchior intensified his grip, despite the Ork being effectively dead. Ligaments popped and muscles squelched, before Melchior tossed away the corpse, ripping his Boltgun upwards.

He beheaded a nearby Ork with one shot, blood jetting upwards, soaking nearby, smaller beasts. Melchior prowled forwards once more, blink-clicking from targets. A black-skinned creature pounded closer nearby, releasing rounds into a pair of Brothers, who waded through the shots. Melchior holstered his Bolter once more, and yanked his gladius free. The blade whistled out of its scabbard, catching the overhead lights along its length. 

He pinpointed a primary vein in its neck, pulsing frequently beneath burnt skin. He pulled the blade back behind his head, grip tightening. Like a javelin, the gladius shot through the air. The Ork’s neck was lacerated as the tip bit deep, and in quick succession, Melchior drew his Boltgun and opened fire. The Ork collapsed, steaming holes punched through its torso, blade impaled in neck.

‘Three.’ He boasted over the Company Vox System. ‘I challenge you, Brethren!’


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

All; With a great explosion that rocked the very ship around you, the generator exploded in a ball of orange and yellow, raining shrapnel half the size of a man into the orks. With a shudder, light was robbed of the vast chamber, your eyes instantly adjusting while the orks were left dumbstruck for the moment. With a roar, sergeant Camba-Diaz unloaded his bolter into a swath of orks and you followed suit, muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness in time for your targets to see their death. In the space of a dozen seconds, the ork numbers had been thinned to half, with another boarding pod smashing into the side of the hull, a mere twenty meters to the left of your own, and disgorging another fifty marines. 
Then, like snapping out of a stupor, the fighting was over. The last sign of resistance from the orks was ended; some brothers went about dispatching any ork that might still cling to life. Camba-Diaz motioned for you to gather near his position while pulling an auspex from his side and scanning the surrounding area. _“Dedon,”_ he said while addressing the entire squad, _“our initial objective has been accomplished thanks to Dante. Captain Alistair has learned from the *Spirit* that the ork flank batteries have gone offline. The blasted aliens were foolish enough to have their main power source in this section of the ship and now they pay the price for it. We have been granted the right to lead the vanguard to our secondary objective: the bridge. We are to try and aim this ship either at another of their own or ensure that it can never be used again.”_ He informed you with a grim look.

_“Take up formation gamma for this; Fleak, Hardyra, Marlon, and Draco, Garvos, Nikar, and Dante at the fore.”_ Diaz said, ordering the rest of the squad into four man teams, joining with Garvos, Nikar, and Dante when he was finished.

[Much has been done here, once the lights had failed Camba-Diaz ordered for you to form up into a firing line; of the forty orks engaged by your line, none survived. Gamma is a rather simple formation; you’re in groups of four and essentially spread into two columns covering each other.]

All; As you advance from the hanger bay, the light gradually returns, not that you really noticed the change or cared about it. The greasy yellow light does little for the rusted corridors, exposed wiring sparking at random and the sound of some liquid dripping from somewhere echoing long down the way. You hear the incoming group of orks long before you see them, the metal grating of the floor doing nothing to mask the approach of their footfalls. You signal the rest of the squad, waiting for the first of the group to pass you by before springing upon them.

There are only fifteen or so, but each of these orks are far larger than the ones you encountered in the hanger bay and armed with an array of weaponry.

Fleak, Hardyra, Marlon, and Draco; As you attack the orks, one of them seemed to see it coming before it was too late, managing to rouse a few others to the trap as it was sprung. This leader, a darker skinned ork with a massive cleaver, shoulders into Hardyra and knocks his weapon from his grip. Another ork with a rusty three bladed claw lunges at Draco, only to swing at air as the marine barely dodges the attack. A third ork opens fire with a large gun in its hands, shredding one of its own before bringing the barrel down upon Fleak and Marlon and forcing them to move out of the way.

Hardyra; The ork collides with your chest, forcing the air from your lungs and visibly denting your armour in the process. It attempts to thrust its cleaver into your gut, but you catch the things arm and force it to the side; burying the blade in a metal panel and just missing your own side by mere centimeters. You ram the front of your helmet into the greenskins face, eliciting a roar of pain. Before you have a chance to follow up on the attack, the ork backhands you, throwing your body to the ground.

[Not an easy kill, but doable.]

Draco; The ork with the massive claw lunges at you, sparks leaping about the blades, but the swipe meets only air as you duck under the attack and rake the beasts side with your gladius. It rams a piston like elbow into your pouldron, forcing you back a step and giving the creature another chance to attack you.

[Take care with this one, that claw is rather deadly.]

Fleak and Marlon; Bullets ring off the sides of the corridor, ripping into another ork before it has a chance to react. A number of impacts explode off your armour, leaving dents and blowing some of the armour away but overall doing no lasting damage. You respond by pouring fire of your own at the creature, but it seemingly ignores your own fire and continues to blaze away. Another ork, rather gangly compared to the rest, jumps on Fleak from out of nowhere, trying to choke the life from him.

[Marlon, do you stop trying to kill this first ork to help Fleak? Or do you ignore the second one, knowing your brother will be able to deal with this threat on his own? Fleak, not as hard a decision for you as you reach for a weapon to kill this thing, or at least get it off of you.]

Dante, Garvos, and Nikar; For you the ambush fair well; each being able to single out an ork before it has a chance to counter like those engaged by the others. Nikar darts between two orks, shoving a blade into the chest of each one. Garvos manages to hack a portion of one orks arm off with his chainsword, the thing pushing through the pain to attack with a chainblade of its own. And Dante crushes the skull of one ork with the weight of his lascannon before tackling a second one.

Nikar; As the lifeblood drains from one ork, you notice nearly too late that the same cannot be said of the other one. It swipes at you with an axe, but you are faster, though the dodge forced you to leave a blade buried in the creatures chest.

[Time to get your second blade back methinks.]

Garvos; You bring your blade up in time to block the orks chop, sparks and metal flying as your two weapons meet. Orks may be crude in their technology, and the metal flying away is only from the orks weapon, but it does not break.

[Despite the damage done, or perhaps because of it, the ork throws attack after attack at you with you only able to make slight headway in killing the thing with your blade.]

Dante; You see the movement out of the corner of your eye and know that you will not have enough time to react fast enough. Instead you let the lascannon fall from your grasp, and barrel into the ork before it has a chance to fire its crude guns at you. The two of you smash into the side of the corridor, a crack resounding as you land a punch to the orks face and snap it into the rusted metal. But still it tried to fight on, unwilling to die so easily.

[It’ll try to grap at you, even smash your side with a chunk of metal framing it tears from the wall. Good thing you have a blade of your own to stop that.]



[It should be noted that while it will be possible to kill these orks in a single post, you are neither required to (might be a good idea to PM me should that be the case) nor will such a thing be an easy task.]


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

As he and Areem turned into combat a large explosion racked the cargo bay as several pieces of machinery exploded into a large ball of fire. Terek planted his feet and threw his weight into the shockwave to keep his feet. The display inside his helm made the minute adjustments required for him to see in the sudden darkness. The orks around him, those not smashed flat and riddled but pieces of shrapnel, were thrown into disarray. Terek heard the roars of his fellow marines as muzzle flashes erupted in the darkness finishing off the remainder of the Orks standing. 

With a loud grating noise and the pop of boarding charges a second boarding pod smashed through the hull of the Ork ship far to Tereks left and another fifty marines of the Seventh legion disembarked onto the cargo deck as the several brothers moved around the cargo bay finishing off the greenskins that refused to die on their own. 

"Filthy creatures,’ Terek said to himself. 

Terek caught sight of Sgt. Camba-Diaz as his sergeant motioned for Dedon to gather about him. “Dedon,” he said while addressing the entire squad and consulting his auspex, “our initial objective has been accomplished thanks to Dante.” Terek clapped Dante on the back and muttered a quick thanks to him as Camba-Diaz continued, “Captain Alistair has learned from the _Spirit_ that the ork flank batteries have gone offline. The blasted aliens were foolish enough to have their main power source in this section of the ship and now they pay the price for it. We have been granted the right to lead the vanguard to our secondary objective: the bridge. We are to try and aim this ship either at another of their own or ensure that it can never be used again.” 

“Take up formation gamma for this; Fleak, Hardyra, Marlon, and Draco, Garvos, Nikar, and Dante at the fore.” Diaz said. Terek clapped fist to his chest plate in salute and took his place in formation as ordered. Camba-Diaz continued breaking Dedon into four man teams and as he did Terek checked that his Bolter had a fresh magazine and secured Ruin in the to the special mount on his back that he had added by the Legions artificers. 

Camba-Diaz returned and joined Garvos, Nikar, and Dante and began to lead Dedon in an advance from the hanger bay. “So the fun begins Brothers!” Terek said to his fellows, “for the Emperor.” 

Dedon left the hangar bay in two colums, maneuvering down hallways with sparking exposed wires and rust covered and bent metal. Terek again wondered how this ‘ship’ managed to stay space worthy. After only a few hundered feet Terek heard the sound of Ork footfalls on the metal causeways of the hallway. 

"Up ahead Brothers,” he cautioned, “the enemy approaches." Terek ducked to the side and concealed himself behind a large jutting pillar with Fleak to his back and Hardyra and Draco to either side. He watched as the rest of Dedon prepared themselves to ambush the Orks. 

After a few seconds a group of Greenskins came into view. These, Terek observed, were far larger than the ones they had encountered in the hanger bay and they bristled with weaponry. 

Allowing several of the Orks to pass by their position first, Dedon sprung the ambush. Terek stepped from behind his concealment and leveled his bolter at a massive specimen. From somewhere in the line of orks came a guttural bellow and several of the orks managed to avoid the trap and the orks closed with the Warriors of the Dedon with wild abandon. 

Terek watched as a large ork with a massive cleaver barreled into Hardrya and another wielding a wicked looking claw went after Draco, but his attention was immediately drawn to the sound of machine gun fire. Down the hallway one of the Orks had opened fire with a weapon so large that it was barely able to control it. In its zeal to kill its foe it lost control and cut one of his own mob in half with the large caliber shells. Swinging its gun around the beast leveled a volley of fire directly at Terek. His felt the impact of the shells on his armor, but knew that none of the round penetrated the ceramite. Terek calmly raised his bolter, aimed, and returned fire. Several of his rounds went wide, but several impacted in the beasts right shoulder. Instead of seeing the spray of dark blood that he expected, he saw a thick dark oily substance leak from the wound and saw the gleam of metal and the sparking of wires. The beast opened fire again with wild abandon the damage to his robotic arm only serving to make the spray of fire more random. 

Twisting to the side, Terek avoided a spray of fire and his turn brought Fleak directly into his view. Somehow a greenskin had managed to sneak in behind his brother and had Fleak in a death grip around the throat. Knowing that leaving the ork spraying death down the hallway was going to cause more damage, Terek turned hoping that Fleak would be alright until he ended this threat. 

Switching his bolter to his left hand, Terek drew his melta-pistol, primed the power source to life, took careful aim at the ork, and fired twice. The first shot took the cybernetic arm from the orks body as the flesh, muscle, and metal turned to molten slag. The second took the beast center mass and blew a large hole in its chest with a loud pop. The large gun fell to the deck with a clang. Terek turned back to Fleak praying he hadn’t chosen poorly…..


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

*Areem Nikar*

Areem twisted his knife into the creature`s face with relish, all but oblivious to the fact that it was dead. A jolt to his shoulder and his boltgun was thrust in front of him.

'ON YOUR FEET BROTHER. WE MOVE!' Dante called. Areem took his bolter and inhaled deeply, scarred emotionally by the shame of what had happened. For a moment, he had regressed into the barbaric savage he used to be, so unbecoming of the astartes he was now...

Reinforcements were beginning to arrive, more landing craft hammering down and releasing further squads of astartes with each passing minute. Sergeant Camba-Diaz motioned the squad closer.

'Our initial objective has been accomplished thanks to Dante. Captain Alistair has learned from the Spirit that the ork flank batteries have gone offline. The blasted aliens were foolish enough to have their main power source in this section of the ship and now they pay the price for it. We have been granted the right to lead the vanguard to our secondary objective: the bridge. We are to try and aim this ship either at another of their own or ensure that it can never be used again.'

_Simple strategy._ Areem thought. _Should work, but not as fun as hunting them all down ourselves..._

The Sergeant ordered Formation Gamma, and took a place with Areem alongside Dante and Garvos. 

Much had been accomplished in the initial strike, and despite Areem`s earlier shameful display he was rather proud of what he and his brothers had accomplished so efficiently. As he understood it, casualties were virtually nonexistant and any wounds were superficial at best. The lights flickered as they advanced and there was an annoying dripping sound coming from somewhere.

Then the astartes could hear them. Foolish creatures, they were practically begging to be ambushed. Areem exchanged glances with the others and sent a silent vox signal. They all knew what to do...

Areem took shelter in an alcove, the rest of his unit doing likewise, and they waited. The orks strolled past them, and Areem took notice of how much bigger these ones were. They were clearly a more formiddable adversary. 

A gutteral cry was heard up ahead, and in an instant Areem knew the trap was sprung. He darted forward, a blade in each hand and thrust one at each of the orks he had charged. They were taken by surprise, each one giving barely a grunt of shock as Areem buried his blade into their foul hearts. 

'How was that?' He laughed boastfully, attempting to withdraw the blades. The one to his left came out easily enough, the ork dropping like a sack of manure, but the one on the right was pulling out of his grasp.

'What?' Areem turned, too late realising that the ork was not dead. He turned, catching sight of the brute`s massive weapon swinging for his head. Areem ducked just in time to avoid the crude machete, losing his grip in the process. He scrambled backwards, a single knife in his left hand before standing and glaring at the beast before him, knife pommel protruding from its chest. 

He raised his remaining blade in a challenge gesture, and the ork replied with a low growling laugh. Circling slowly, Areem feinted small strikes, trying to bait the creature into committing and overreaching. But it was infuriatingly more competent than Areem had given it credit for, and a full minute passed, the ork seemingly as content to play patience as Areem himself. 

_...Time for a new tactic._ Areem thought. He bellowed a warcry and charged, and as expected, the ork did the same. Areem dropped and rolled to the side letting the ork stumble past. He got to his feet as rapidly as he could and barrelled into the creature from behind. To his dismay, the brute was as heavy as a stone wall and Areem was jolted into a daze. Backing up and dodging three more ferocious swings, he finally lost patience. 

Areem hurled his knife at the creature, embefdding it beside the first, and drew his boltgun. 

'Now you`ll die, you little scumsucker!' He bellowed, and let loose a burst on full auto. Three bolt shells impacted the ork heavily, the first tore the thing`s right arm, the second disgorged a chunk of the beast`s torso and the last disintegrated the ork`s skull.

Areem panted, but grinned malevolently beneath his helmet. Rounding off a few potshots at the other orks, Areem kicked the corpse onto its back before leaning down and retrieving his favourite weapons.


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## G0arr (Sep 20, 2010)

*Morgan Fleak*

No more than Morgan had motioned toward the vehicles did the order come. Sergeant Camba-Diaz boomed over the vox for the formation of a bolter line. “Come on brother,” Morgan said to Dante as he glanced to the ranks forming a short distance away, “it’s best to be on the firing line, than in its way.” 

The pair quickly moved. Morgan spun as he reached the line. As the marine stopped his bolter flashed up with practiced precision. He aimed with his left arm and began to fire. Shell after shell slammed into the greenskins. As Morgan ejected his first magazine and slammed a new one in place there was a sudden slam of metal on metal. He snapped the breach to load his next shell. A quick series of explosions rang through the bay as a section of hull shot inward. The marine began fireing again as he heard the shout of other astartes charging into battle.

Then as suddenly as it all began the chaos died. Morgan moved toward one of the stricken creatures laying beneath another of its kind. The thing squirmed as it heard footsteps. Nearby there were shots giving it a random strobe. A pair of red eyes settled on the thing. It howled seeing the astartes raise a weapon. The metal barrel hovered several feet away. The last thing it saw was a creature of armor, covered in ork blood standing over the corpses of the fallen. “At least die with a little honor,” it said. There was a flash brighter than any star followed by darkness forever.

_When Morgan reached the rest of the squad Seargent _Camba-Diaz was already addressing them._“Dedon_, _our initial objective has been accomplished thanks to Dante. Captain Alistair has learned from the *Spirit* that the ork flank batteries have gone offline. The blasted aliens were foolish enough to have their main power source in this section of the ship and now they pay the price for it. We have been granted the right to lead the vanguard to our secondary objective: the bridge. We are to try and aim this ship either at another of their own or ensure that it can never be used again. Take up formation gamma for this; Fleak, Hardyra, Marlon, and Draco, Garvos, Nikar, and Dante at the fore.”_

Morgan nodded and saluted with _Malleus_. As he moved to the others one of them spoke, it was Brother Marlon. _“So the fun begins Brothers! For the Emperor.” _ “May his vision reach all of mankind, and swift deaths meet his foes,” Morgan said. Somewhere nearby he heard another reply. _“Look around brother, it appears we already have.”_ “Well then,” Morgan said with a smirk beneath his helment, “Best not keep them waiting!”

The marines advanced down rusted halls. It had to be a miracle that this thing was still in one piece. Several of the wall panels appeared to be simple timber, or be bent into place rather than secured. Something was leaking. What little light was there seemed to come from corroded or very aged fixtures, and the sparking of wires.

They halted. “Up ahead Brothers,” Morlon spoke. Morgan could hear the steps. Each man quickly disappeared from view preparing for an ambush. These creatures sounded relaxed. Their footsteps were not ordered or light, these things were almost begging to be killed.

Several of the orks moved past. Morgan flexed _Malleus_ as he waited to attack. These one were larger than the others they had fought before. Good, Morgan thought, a more worthy foe.

The signal did not come from an astartes. One of the orks bellowed out. As it did the marines reacted. Morgan stepped out into one of the orks who had passed with _Malleus_ in full swing. The mighty powerfist slammed into the things skull with a massive *crack*. Blood sprayed out of the creature’s mouth, nose, and ears as the skull was turned into little more than gravel. As it collapsed to the ground a new sound entered his ear, machine gun fire.

Several large caliber rounds pinged off the shoulder plate and ricochet into the corridor. Morgan quickly stepped back as the rounds pinged off his chest and legs. There was a spray of blood from nearby; the thing seemed to show no emotion that it had killed one of its own. As he stepped back Morgan raised his bolter. A short burst fired down the hallway. Most of the shells missed, though one or two managed to strike the ork. These seemed to be deflected by armor. Morgan slammed into the wall as he found himself in cover again. Terek was firing down the hallway as Morgan prepared to fire again.

Something suddenly filled his view as Morgan prepared to fire on the large creature. The thing clawed and grabbed around the astarte’s throat. Damn he cursed feeling the hands trying to choke him through the armored joints. Given enough time it might be able. Morgan hammered the grip of his bolter into the creature’s skull once before he lost his grip. 

The weapon clanged into the wall as it tried to swing to his back. His left hand wedged beneath the creature’s neck, and gripped its own throat. His purpose was not to strange the creature, but to press it back. The pair struggled for a moment as Morgan wedged his arm between them. They were both roaring loudly as they struggled. The thing’s grip was beginning to tighten again when the marine hammered it in the side with_ Malleus_. Bones crunched with an audible crack. It howled in pain as its grip wavered. Morgan forced it back to arms length. His own hand was still around its neck. With a single movement he twisted and slammed the thing into the wall beside him. His other hand followed and hammered the creature’s side. The wall dented under the impact as _Malleus_ crunched and slammed through the body leaving a bloody mess of the orks torso attached to the shocked head and shoulders, and the kicking legs. The thing thumped to the ground gurgling as it convulsed and sent blood spraying before it finally stopped.

Morgan turned as he reached for his boltgun. Blood dripped off his armor as he searched for another target. The thing had managed to catch him unaware. As he fired Morgan reminded himself there would be punishment, even if he had to impose it.


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## G0DSMACKED (Feb 12, 2010)

Dante does not like the close quarters of the hall way. the squad is moving quickly which is good. Dante has no trouble keeping the pace with the others. Up ahead the squad hears the orks coming. We all take defensive positions, and lie in wait. 

Dante waits till the last ork passes him by and lunges out from his spot at the large beast. Knocking the unsuspecting ork down. Then Dante proceeds in bashing it's head in with the blunt end of the las cannon. He is just about done bashing when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He lunges at it, leaving the lascannon behind. 

Combat knife drawn he tackles the ork. This one had guns trained on him, but Dante got to him before he could fire. Dante is caught in a desperate struggle with the stronger opponent. He wedges his combat knife between two ribbs of the ork, but that only seems to make it more angry. It head butts Dante and he is dazed for a moment, giving the ork a chance to wrap it's hands around Dante's Throat. Dante, choking, could not call out. Flailing and grasping about, Dante finds his combat knofe in the creature's side and pulls it from it's bloody sheath, and plunges it in the side of the Ork's head. 

The Ork goes limp..... still holding Dante's neck. 

Dante breaks the grip of the dead ork, stands, and recovers his Lascannon. in time to check on the others.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Garvos finished off his last few opponents before more and more space marines poured forward, destroying the green xeno filth. Camba-Diaz motioned for Garvos and the other members of Dedon to form up on him. “Dedon, our initial objective has been accomplished thanks to Dante. Captain Alistair has learned from the Spirit that the ork flank batteries have gone offline. The blasted aliens were foolish enough to have their main power source in this section of the ship and now they pay the price for it. We have been granted the right to lead the vanguard to our secondary objective: the bridge. We are to try and aim this ship either at another of their own or ensure that it can never be used again.”

Garvos just smiled at this, he was going to relish taking this bridge, he was going to enjoy the pain he caused the orks. He was going to enjoy bringing the Emperors justice to those that opposed his beautiful reign. “Take up formation gamma for this; Fleak, Hardyra, Marlon, and Draco, Garvos, Nikar, and Dante at the fore.” Diaz said, ordering the rest of the squad into four man teams, joining with Garvos, Nikar, and Dante when he was finished. Garvos nodded at Nikar and Dante before Diaz joined up to them. He nodded to Diaz before placing his bolter in its mag-locked position on his leg. His chainsword in his hand he moved forward.

Soon they heard the sounds of an ork patrol moving towards them, these sounded bigger than the others they had fought and Diaz moved them into ambush positions. Garvos waited as the first few orks moved past before the ambush was sprung. Garvos bellowed loudly his praise to the Emperor as he charged forward. His chainsword roared like an uncontrollable blaze and he swung it at the orks arm, hacking part of it off. The ork looked surprised but brought its axe down, his chainsword robbing it of its target.

Garvos pulled his chainsword back and struck again at the orks injured hand, severing it from the rest of its arm. The ork bellowed at him and shoulder barged him back. The ork was bigger than him and knocked Garvos back a few steps and he almost lost his balance. Garvos swung his chainsword round once again meeting the orks axe before he stepped it up a place. He ducked underneath a sloppy swipe from the axe and managed to cut the orks leg, though it would only serve to annoy it. In return he felt a leg smash into his armoured leg and he was knocked from his feet. Garvos went to stand before he felt a leg drive into his left pauldron, cracking it. He could feel the cremantine unable to hold the weight and power against the ork.

Garvos snarled and grabbed at his combat knife before plunging it into the orks foot. He pushed it off him and stood swinging his chainsword at its head. He took its head from its shoulder and laughed as its body hit the floor. He grabbed his combat knife and turned to see how the others fared against their opponents.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Melchior favoured the staleness of recycled air, when compared to the musk of the Orkish vessel. It sickened him, to a point where his hearts thumped and his stomach churned. The generator had exploded, shrouding the hanger in darkness. Melchior’s advanced ocular systems had compensated, however, and light returned gradually. Camba-Diaz had led the Squad by example, firing at the hip, roaring triumphantly as the odiferous, green apes were mowed down, robbed of life by explosive rounds. 

Bodies collapsed to the floor with wet thuds, organs spilling out around them, torn arteries squirting fountains of crimson into the air. It was a glorious sight, and one which Melchior reveled in. His tongue twisted upon his lips, moistening them with acidic phlegm. They were to penetrate further into the ship - The Emperor’s Blade, splitting through Orkish hide, headed to victory. Dedon and the remainder of the Company would sever the Xeno’s hold upon this system; they would emerge triumphant above all others; bring fame to themselves.

They advanced along, through ribbed hallways and cavernous hangers, encountering little to no resistance. Melchior took the time to wipe away any blood upon his armour, using a shred of clothe that he had pulled from an Ork’s corpse. He meticulously cleaned himself, taking unneeded time to restore his armour to a glassy sheen. Melchior strived for perfection, he needed it. It allowed him a goal in life - Even if it was one which he could not possibly hope to obtain. 

The thuds of approaching footsteps brought the entirety of Dedon to an halt. Melchior’s Bolter was quickly holstered, and he took his gladius in a two-handed grip, allowing for stronger swings. Melchior blink-clicked through communication frequencies, listening to the cries of his Brother’s, followed by purrs of Chainswords and barks of Bolters. Such animalistic weaponry, for equally as animalistic warriors.

There was no compassion in the Astartes’ actions; no sorrow felt for the massacres they indulged themselves in. Melchior particularly enjoyed the notion, his face parting into a smile.

And then, war was returned. The Orks had met the Marines, and furious slashes were traded between the two. An Ork, wielding a three-pronged claw that was malnourished with rust, lunged at Melchior. He ducked beneath the blow, hearing the thrum of electrified talons immediately above his head. Melchior’s gladius was thrust forth, licking the Orks side, cleaving away a great swathe of hide. Blood and flesh splattered. 

The Ork’s claw struck Melchior’s pauldron with a resonating clang, and he stumbled backwards, trying to regain his composure. The Ork, a pig-nosed thing with slit-thin eyes, laughed jovially. 

Melchior gripped a nearby pipe, and straightened himself out. Two of the Ork’s claws struck Melchior on either side of his head, while the third dove for his chest. Melchior’s eyes widened in horror, the tip of his opponents claw glinting menacingly. His gladius shot upwards, splitting away the third claw in a jet of hydraulic fluids. Melchior shrugged himself free, wheeling aside, and drove the gladius into the Ork’s elbows.

Cabling sparked as it was torn, and bone crunched audibly. Still, the Ork fought with its other hand, punching drunkenly at Melchior. The VII Legionnaire smiled, and pushed the gladius deeper. Armour and flesh was grinded, organs bursting within the Ork’s chest cavity. A trio of punches struck Melchior’s helm, warning runes dancing across his peripheral vision. Blood dribbled from the Ork’s gaping mouth as Melchior twisted his blade, causing further damage.

With a roar, Melchior brought the blade upwards. The Ork came apart, flopping forwards and backwards, opening like a petal. Knees gave way, and the Ork slumped against the deck, leaking bodily fluids.

‘Bastard.’ He simply said, and turned back towards the skirmish.


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