# Crimson Tide - A Crimson Fist Role-play Action



## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

The Cassar, the silvery citadel of New Rynn city, now the fortress monastery of the Crimson Fist chapter, a beacon of hope to the inhabitants. The Cassar, protected by powerful Void shields, and tall walls, was now the most secure location on the planet since the destruction of Arx Tyrannus. 

Within its large and hallowed halls the few Crimson Fists that survived the ork WAAAGH! Snagrod, and the few marines that have been inducted into the Chapter since reside. 

Deep within the Cassar stood the command chamber, and it was here that five figures were assembled around a holograph of a planet, Corunus II. Sergeant Meron Daedalus stood fully armoured as were his brethren that were also in the room. Sergeant Alexis Tivonus, a devastator sergeant with almost a century’s worth of experience, and Sergeant Sophus Glavis, his fellow tactical marine sergeant stood still as they were briefed by a figure wearing the black, and iconography of the Chaplaincy, Chaplain Prometheus. The last figure stayed silent as the Chaplain gave the brief, sat upon his throne he studied his sergeants faces, the Lord Hellblade, Pedro Kantor chapter master of the Crimson Fists. 

"The orks that once violated our system threaten one of our brother chapters recruiting world. Corunus II. Our Imperial fist brethren have called for aid, orks from the WAAAAGH!Snagrod have made planetfall and hold most of the planet as it is. Our mission is to aid in the defence of the Capital as we are close to the affected area, and hold until reinforcements arrive. Our mission is clear brothers, we cannot allow ourselves to get distracted by vengence. For the Emperor!"

Pedro stood, each marine saluting to him with respect that his position demanded. “Our Imperial Fist brothers need our help brothers. It wasn’t long ago that they helped us rid this world of the xeno filth that they themselves find attacking them. We can’t spare a company, and as such this Task Force of 30 will go, bring honour to the chapter.” His voice boomed around the hall. The sergeants bowed low to him before leaving to tend to their respective squads, thoughts of vengeance burning in their souls.

Meron activates his comm unit to the rest of his squad. “Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers.”
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Amadis Covas Alexandros Vazquez, Dariel Lupus and Baldur Stragus:

You four are in one of the training halls of the Cassar, all of you are wearing your armour and are practising your bolter drills and maintaining your weaponry. You were to train with the Sergeant, but as he was called away by a chapter surf at the beginning of the session, giving you precise instructions on what to do, you have been left alone. While you go through reloading drills and practising shooting simulations of Orks at the end of the range you have an opportunity to talk about your rise to being full tactical marines. How do you feel about this? As you finish shooting at the targets you get the sergeants message. Are you excited by the prospect of going to war the first time as full tactical marines?

Jalecus Karan Xavier Petros Estrus Titanus and Ajak Kondro:

The four of you have been in one of the feasting halls in the Cassar, after a morning of sparring with each other in the cages. Xavier Petros you fought Ajak Kondro and were defeated by him with a blow to your chest. Estrus Titanus you fought Jalecus Karan and were beaten by him with a smart blow to your head. The fact that the victors benefit from experience helps carry the fights in their favour. You will get the sergeant’s message and will head to the armoury straight away. Veterans, how do you feel of going to war. Will you be excited by it like the newest members of your squad?

OOC: First update I am giving you a chance to interact with each other, fighting will come soon.


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## jonileth (Feb 1, 2012)

Estrus Titanus sat on a bench of the Feasting Hall, his mind replaying the events of his sparing match with Brother Karan over and over while performing the repair rights on his helmet. The blow to his head was the most unexpected of moves, something he hadn't anticipated. His mind attempted, rather vainly, to find some flaw in his form that had allowed such a thing to happen. The best he could fathom was that he was simply inexperienced, and it had been his downfall during the match. What was worse, his helmet had incurred a dent in it, something that disturbed the young Astartes more than the loss.

The voice of Sergeant Daedalus jolted him from his ritual of restoration, the order to prepare for war spurring him to his feet almost as soon as it came through. Estrus returned his helmet to its proper place and hurried to his chambers where his bolter awaited him. The young Crimson Fist passed many of his brethren, each of them heading for their own chambers to secure their battle gear and report to their own rally points. The trepidation inside his chest at the notion of venturing off to his first conflict as a full Brother of the chapter was palpable. He only hoped his nerves wouldn't spur mistakes akin to the one that had happened in training.

Within his chambers, Brother Titanus found his bolter resting reverently against the wall, his combat knife hanging from it with equal care. It took only moments for Estrus to grab them both before he made his way down the corridors that would take him to the armory.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The wine was refreshing, no doubt a poorer vintage than those that had been supped in the feasting halls of the Arx, yet no reason to allow his choler to fall. He lounged at his ease, eyes sliding across his squadmates fixing in particular upon the newbloods. Though they learned with increasing speed, keen to better their skills would they have earned the right to stand amongst the emperor's angels so quickly if not for the dire circumstance of the chapter?

His eyes fell upon the cropped black hair of his vanquished opponent even as he murmered litanies of repair as he worked with practiced strokes upon his helm. A helm that had such a short time ago been bobbing and weaving around him, testing him with the eagerness of a wolf pup as it worried its prey.

His strokes had been well aimed yet they seemed to slow even as they tore through the air. Preemptable, predictable, easy to respond and deflect. He had talked even as they dueled a constant babble of advice and priase even as they circled, several times his words almost costing him, quick feet or deft bladework allowing him to escape unharmed.

Yet as the duel wore on and his patience thinned the words had begun to slow, his strikes increasing, his focus growing as he changed from defence to attack with practiced ease. Silence par the clashing of blades enveloped him, peace as his strokes hastened to deadly flashes and suddenly a backhanded strike sent his opponent to the floor.

His reverie was broken by a growling voice in his ear

“Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers.”

He froze, poised upon the edge of his seat, the implications of the words, the triumph in his sergeant's voice seemed strained, torn by a deep set emotion, running with wounds that still oozed. His body was encased, surrounded unable to move as he listened to words that suggested so much more than any average mission. This had implication, they went to war not battle, could it mean, could it be?

Memories dredged from the very pit of his soul, of orks bawling and screaming howling in victory even as bolters ran dry and blades glittered in the blood red sun. Even as he rose his mouth opened to speak yet his eyes fixed upon Ajak's face and he found he had no words to say, no words were needed. 

They went to war, for revenge and honour

Even as he broke into a low trot, that pushed to a sprint two simple words slipped from his lips, a desperate desire for clarification, a dam against the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to engulf him.

"Are we?"


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

The wine was nothing, a dry and bitter ordeal that left a light tang at the back of his throat after swallowing. Where some might appreciate the aroma it gave off, Ajak smelled nothing but sweat and grease. It had been this way for weeks now, ever since his thoughts had been pervaded by images of the past. They were not dreams, for like many a space marine he was spared the distraction of such things, but memories from the past when much was lost and all that remained hung in the balance. At first he had trouble controlling these images, but over time had become the master of them when other, far more important, tasks came to the fore. He sat with several of the other members of Daedalus, the youths Petros and Titanus and the veteran Jalecus Kara n sitting Kondro’s opposite.

Titanus ignored his own drink, instead focusing on the damage wrought unto his helmet. He wanted to reprimand the youth; to have gone into training cages fully armoured and risk damaging another’s war-plate, it went against the teachings of the codex as laid down by the Ultramarines gene-sire. But he did not, for that had been the order of sergeant Daedalus, and he himself was guilty of such a thing. It had not been a challenging affair, his fight with Petros; and it had taken much for him to not continue on the youth after he had been felled. For Kondro had heard the rumours about the boy and Daedalus had confirmed them to be true; that he had been defeated as easily as he had, such a thing was little less than an outright travesty.

Kondro grimaced at that thought, which the likes of Petros and Titanus were to be the future of the Fists once people like he and Karan fell in battle. They had far to go these two, and though he would never give voice to the truth of things, he did acknowledge that they had some merit. They had earned their war-plate, it had not been given to them in haste to replenish their ranks._ “Tend to your wounds another time Petros, make good with your drink and you will prove your worth of the armour you wear.”_ Kondro growled out, part of his lip curling into a sneer from an uncontrolled nerve cluster firing off.

But his words had come out to soon, as sergeant Daedalus’s voiced filled his hearing from the vox bead built into his ear. _“Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers.”_ Meron Daedalus’s voice cut out as quickly as it had cut in, and the effect of those words was evident in the stances and expressions of the others. Titanus stood up without a word and simply left them for his own chambers, where his weapons had remained. Kondro shook his head at that, the youth had left everything in his chambers but a veteran brother would know well enough not to leave one-self completely unarmed.

Karan’s questioning words brought Kondro’s mind back to the here as he himself returned to his feet. _“You have fought beside Daedalus for as long as I, he reserves war for one enemy and one alone.”_ He says before turning to stare at Petros, his bionic eye whirring as it moves into focus on the youth. _“Looks like you will be getting a chance to show everyone the validity of the rumours.”_


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Xavier sat at the table in the feasting hall, his eyes low focusing on the wine in his goblet, his mind on the sparring session with Ajak. He vividly remembered the uncomfortable weight of the practice sword he had taken up for the duel, its feeling in his hands strange. His talents had never been for the gruesome embrace of close combat, all the same he thought himself proficient enough not to make a fool of himself. How wrong he had been. Ajak had bested him easily, almost shamefully. However it was not Xavier's way to look upon the incident in such a light. He knew that he still had much to learn. As if to punctuate the point he shrugged his shoulders, the heafty ceramite pauldrons a unfamiliar weight. Not uncomfortable, for the armor moved with him like a second skin, but the newness of the armor he bore something his body was still growing accustomed to. 

Looking up he saw that Ajak's gaze was boring into him, the veteran's visage a mix of disappointment and concern. Had he performed that poorly? The thought was enough to force him into action. At the next opportunity he would go to the cages and practice, he refused to let himself go about with an obvious deficiency if practice and dedication would solve the problem. He was about to rise and head back to the cages at that very moment, when Kondro growled_,"Tend to your wounds another time Petros, make good with your drink and you will prove your worthy of the armour you wear."_ Though he sneered as he said it, it was as if the veteran had conceded some point to himself, that there was some point that would be left unsaid. Though Xavier was resolved to improve, he took the veterans advice and settled back into his wine. The taste more pleasant now, his anxiety lessened. 

No sooner had he taken a long draught from his cup, the tension in his shoulders beginning to recede, did Sergeant Daedalus' voice come ringing across the vox. _"Squad Daedalus,"_ he began_,"report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers."_ A simple statement, but its effect on the squadmates was obvious. Titanus stood wordlessly and left, choosing to head to his chambers alone. Xavier however was taken with the reaction of the veteran memebers of the squad. The way they tensed and shared gazes was significant, that significance becoming clearer as they spoke in hushed tones to each other. Orks..... It must be. Only the green menace would inspire such a reaction. Xavier found himself grinning, a quiet desire to test his mettle against the Chapters most resilient foe finally coming to be. He, as Ajak had said, finally had the opportunity to prove his worth. 

It was as if thoughts of the man had drawn his attention, for the veteran's gaze settled on Xavier's face. _"Looks like you will be getting a chance to show everyone the validity of the rumours,"_ he said. The statement seemed strange to Xavier. He was unsure what he had done that would lead to rumors about him, but as he stood and followed Ajak and Jalecus fromt he hall to toward the armory, he could only assume that the older man meant his unexpected recovery. The more he thought on it, the more he found it likely that his story would have found its way out of the Apothecarion, its details bandied about, changing over each telling. Where others may have thought this leading to an unfair expectation of them, Xavier couldn't help but grin to himself. Here was a challenge worth facing and it was one that he would not fail in. He would earn the respect of these stoic veterans, he would live up to any expectation they had of him. He would prove to them he belonged next to them, fighting in the name of the Emperor.


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## DasOmen (Mar 10, 2011)

in his mind he saw a all encompassing flame erupt out of the end of his flamer as if time was being sped up. waiting until he'd hear the canister give off it's strained hiss he'd trigger the release and let the canister drop free. in the same moment Baldur would quickly grab one of the spare canisters and slap it in before pulling back and locking it into place. he'd keep doing this, waiting for a few seconds, triggering the release, and then swapping out as if everything in the world was gone and it was just him and his flamer. he wanted to get his reloading times down so that he could better support his brothers in the field and not be concerned with being caught off guard with nothing but a bolt pistol between him and his brother's doom, to this extent one almost did not want to count how many fuel canisters were at Baldur's feet right now. 

as soon as the intercom came on and the voice of an elder brother could be heard Baldur froze in his tracks, hand only just barely away from another canister as he stopped moving, intently listening to what was being said.  “Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armory. We are going to war brothers.” said one of Baldur's battle brothers... a image of a man lingering in the back of Baldur's mind, the image of their Sargent. it was at this point that Baldur darted from his position surrounded by empty fuel canisters... not that they were ever full anyway... and towards his chambers, he said nothing to his brothers beyond "Come brothers, let us treat the enemies of the emperor to a little barbeque! perhaps then in the glory of his fine flame they can taste his light"

Baldur ran at full tilt to the armory, surprisingly enough not smacking into any of his fellow brothers or even any of the human crew of the ship. reaching said armory Baldur's eyes darted around looking for his brothers, or anyone relay. eagerness for his first honors as a full space marine were not what drove him, nore was the desire to spill blood for the first time in his new armor, what drove him was the approaching bonfire and the chance to make it bigger so to speak.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

(Sorry for the delay)

I stood before a low bench. On it was my boltgun. I was blindfolded and yet my practised hands disassembled and reassembled the weapon with an ease born of long practice. As a scout I had frequently been without a Techmarine to attend to my weapons during long operations and so I knew the limits of my weapons probably as well as the Techmarines who had made them did. I knew precisely the amount of rounds would have to be fired before the gun would jam. I knew how long it would take to exhaust a clip. I even knew almost the exact maximum range I could reliably hit a target at.

I had calculated almost the exact explosive power of each individual bolt and discovered exactly where to aim on the human body to achieve maximum damage. With my blade I had spent hours at a time in the practice cages, learning every weak point in both humans and astartes plate. I could fight faster and strike harder than ever before. I had sharpened my combat blade so that it could cut through sinew as if it were parchment. I had trained and trained until I was the best close combat fighter of my generation of recruits, at least in my company. Yet still my life was empty and would be until I had avenged my sergeant’s death and earned absolution for my failure. Absolution had already been given, I would not possess a suit of power armour if it had not but still I would not grant myself absolution from my own guilt.

Then the intercom was activated and I froze for a moment before removing the blindfold. “Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers.” War, the word had so many meanings. Honourable combat, loss, victory, death. I flinched as I thought of the last word. The last campaign I had partaken in had left a great warrior dead and all because of my own arrogance. Was I worthy? Should I be partaking in this? If I was honest I would have said no. But then what transpired afterwards in my long life would not have come to pass.

I banished such thoughts and began to move. Baldur, Amadis and Alexandros fell into step beside me. Baldur was the first to speak and his tone was genial. "Come brothers; let us treat the enemies of the emperor to a little barbeque! Perhaps then in the glory of his fine flame they can taste his light." I smiled slightly. I had grown to like Baldur and the rest of my squad but if there was anyone in our group who I felt kinship beyond being warriors of the Emperor it was Amadis. We both knew what it was like to lose brothers. I suppose I could have included the older brothers, those who had survived Waaagh! Snagrod but they seemed so aloof and arrogant when I was younger, brushing us aside as if we were unworthy of the armour we wore.

For a time, I believed them to be right…


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

The training halls were a massive vaulted construction, great pointed arches supporting the walls and curving ceiling. He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on those arches, this was the bastion of the Crimson Fists, the shield of Rynn's World and a shining beacon of hope for a Chapter crippled by war. It was no Arx Tyrannus, if the stories were true, but to Alexandros, it was home.

He refocused onto the targets before him, savage, slavering orks. The barbaric pirates of the space lanes and the endless hordes that had so endangered the Chapter's future. They were pounding towards him, drool dripping from gaping, jutting jaws festooned with fangs and massive axes and guns waving wildly. He raised his bolter, sighting along it's length. He breathed in deeply, then let the breath out, as soon as his lungs were empty, he squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three times. Three orks vanished in a spray of static.

He turned away from the target simulator as the sergeant's voice came over the vox. "Squad Daedalus, report to your chambers and arm yourselves before meeting at the armoury. We are going to war brothers.”

At last, time for war. This was his prupose, why he had been created, trained, brought to this place. Finally he would get his chance to avenge the dead of the Crimson Fists for the first time as a true battle brother.


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