# Action: The Seige of Kasry Fortis



## Warsmith40 (Feb 8, 2010)

_The hatch to Warsmith Iacon's chamber irised open, and the Iron Warriors lord marched briskly to the pyre-lit landing bay. He had completed his pre-battle meditations, and the portents seemed to favor him. The planet below was still unsuspecting of a full-fledged invasion by an entire Grand Company of Iron Warriors. This thought brought a sinister smile to the scarred face of the ancient warsmith.

He reached the assemby hall in the heart of the battle barge in time to see his warriors fall into ranks. Each champion stood proudly at the head of his followers. 

Ezkaton stood with the warsmith's chosen warriors, their armor gleaming from the ministrations of the slave-helots, their weapons' thirst for war almost tangible in the air. 

Roland Harkriss kept his warriors in rigid formation, their bolters all held across thier chests in devotion. The champion stood with barely contained contempt, waiting for one of his warriors to grow slack.

Tagarius and his warriors stood at rough attention with barely concealed battle lust plain in their posture. Their silence was deafening.

Severn's Havocs stood with their heavy weapons braced, their devotion to their champion and the warsmith plain. Even at attention, their keen eyes saw all.

Standing apart from the main bulk of the brethren was Alran Sicarius. His charges were unworthy of entering the great hall, so he stood with the other Iron Warriors chosen to lead the masses of slaves to battle. He stood apart from even them however, for he was Taskmaster. He would see that supplies were maintained to all the brethren during the seige, and that no slave faltered in the assault.

Iacon crossed the space with patient, weighty steps, stopping only when he reached the pulpit. He turned and the vox-amp in the lectern brodacast his speech to the whole of the _ Sledge of Olympia. _

"Iron Warriors, the time has come to once more bring the lapdogs of the corpse-god to their knees." The next line with contempt: "The Great Despoiler has given us the task of taking this world to pave the way for his Black Crusade." At this he smiled menacingly. "And we shall indeed pave the way, pave it with the trampled stone, blood, and bones of the foe. We were the battering ram of the Great Crusade; so too will we now be the battering ram of the Black Crusades! For the Despoiler has promised us this world and its manufactorums should we succeed, that we might strike further toward Terra." He paused here. "I spare myself no illusions that you hold much faith in the Despoiler's schemes. But I have seen portents of greater successes should we lead the front as we always have. I call on your strength now to crack the walls of this fortess world!"

With that, a hololith appeared over his head, a crimson simulacra of the planet below. "Today, we break Kasyr Fortis, and claim it in the name of Perturabo and the dark gods!" He flung out his hands at this, his claw arm gleaming in the firelight of the great hall, the servo arm on his back flexing in anticipation. As he dropped his arms back to his side with a whir of ancient servos, he continued: "My champions will lead the assault and establish a beachhead via Stormbirds, that we might bring our greatest tools of war to the foe. Go now, champions, glory awaits!" _

As you move with your squads to your stations in the drop hangar, the _Sledge of Olympia_ begins the first phase of the assault. Great melta and lance batteries blast away orbital defenses and the few precious Thunderhawks at the warsmith's desposal swat interceptors from the sky. As the battle barge and its escorts gird for an impending supernaval counterattack, you are inserted via Stormbird to the primary drop zone several kilometers from the largest fortress city on Kasyr Fortis: Imperius Magnus.

Several stormbirds take anti-aircraft fire on the descent, yet yours miraculously touches down unscathed, favored by the gods, and deploy your warriors with all alacrity.

The terrain consists of vast stretches of run down habs and a few scattered agri-plots. You are in one of these plots along with the other champions and their squads, with the stormbirds returning to orbit to load the next wave of troops. There are no weakling civilians, so they must have been taken behind the great city wall. You must make your way through the Imperial-infested habs and clear the area so demoliton of the habs and seigeworks for the outer wall can commence.

There are three routes through the hab districts: south, north, and east directly toward the walls. Expect Imperial resistance at any juncture. You may split up or go as one large contigent, but remember one thing: the warsmith does not accept failure! 

Desribe the hab district in detail in your posts, and don't forget to incorporate your squads. Name those your champion favors, maybe set some rivalries. Get creative, but nothing extreme... yet. The dark gods plans will be enacted only too soon...


----------



## Therizza (Jul 29, 2010)

Roland Harkriss, Champion of the Siege, awaited his Warsmith's arrival with much zeal. He had instructed his warriors to not break formation, to not even flinch in the Warsmith's presence. They would be like the machine, a coiled spring ready to be loosed on the weak flesh of the planet below. Sighting Warsmith Iacon's approach, he fell in at the front of his unit. His squad was flanked by those of Ezkaton, Tagarius and Severn with Alran across from them. They worked like clockwork, each squad with its own role, each vital to the engine of destruction that was the Iron Warriors. 

Many were the times they had brought the unstoppable might of the Iron Warriors siege to bear, but this conquest would hold much more than the others. The Warsmith roused the gathered troops, with words of victories past and those to come. Abbadon's promise of the manufactorum facilities on this world were indeed weighty, but Roland was more intrigued at the prospect of the Iron Warriors establishing the foothold for a final Black Crusade to purge Terra of all life.

_"Today, we break Kasyr Fortis, and claim it in the name of Perturabo and the dark gods... Go now, champions, glory awaits!"_ Iacon roared. Roland's squad, somehow linked through mind and metal, responded in unison "IRON WITHIN! IRON WITHOUT!" and hastily proceeded to the launch bays. 

"Commence weapons checks and boarding. There will be no malfunctions upon our landing, is that understood?" Roland said to Drez and Largo, his two most promising warriors. "Yes, my liege" they responded in unison, metallic overtones in their voices. The warriors of his squad checked their kits, and everything being in order, boarded the Stormbird. All the while, Roland could hear, and feel, the great batteries of the _Sledge of Olympia_ firing on the planetary fortifications. They were at war, and would crush their enemies with iron heel and mechanical precision.

The doors of the Stormbird transport hissed shut, the darkness of the interior cut only by flashing red and green data readouts. Securing himself in his restraints, Roland began reciting the Iron Warriors Litany of Hate, as he had done a thousand times before. The transport disengaged from the _Sledge of Olympia_ and plummeted towards the surface...


----------



## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

Severn strode down the lowered ramp of the Stormbird, his eyes already scanning the landing zone, looking for possible fortifications, resistance, it seemed quiet for now. His havocs, responding to a silent, invisible signal, followed behind him, automatically taking up the firing positions he directed them to as the rest of the Iron Warriors disembarked. "Zakyr," he motioned the melta-gunner forward, Zakyr was his second, the most able of his havoc squad, but, surprisingly, the most loyal. Not like the heavy bolter marine to his right, a huge man named Jonak, he knew that the giant was far more intelligent than he wanted people to believe, but dangerously ambitious with it. Severn had no doubt that he would need to... discourage his ambitions sooner or later, probably sooner judging by the marines attitude. The last two out of the transport were twins, identical in aspect, but amazingly different in all other ways, one bore the squad's second multi-melta, while the other carried a heavy bolter. He wasn't worried about their ambitions for the time being, Xenath and Xiacon were too concerned with besting each other for now than challenging him. Still, he would keep an eye on them.

The other Iron Warrior's were disembarked by now, and Severn called across to the Champion of the Siege, Harkriss, "a wager Roland?" The huge marine was the same size as Jonak, but a far better warrior, that Severn knew. "The first to breach the walls?"


----------



## Therizza (Jul 29, 2010)

"We near our target! Prepare for landing!" cackled the Stormbird pilot. Several of the other transports had been vaporized on the journey to the surface, but theirs had managed to land unscathed. _This is a good omen_ Roland whispered from beneath his helm as he roused his troops. "Into the breach once more!" he said as he stood from his seat. Upon landing, he led his Iron Warriors down the ramp, issuing orders to find cover and set up interlocking lanes of fire. "Drez, take the right, Largo the left. Defensive formation three-two-five!" As his men ran to their positions, weapons were poised at the ruins before them.

Severn's warriors had already deployed, slightly irking Roland. The Havocs were indeed fierce, and Roland had what could be considered a friendly rivalry with Severn. Each the respective master of long and short range fires, they were kindred spirits to a degree. Just then, Severn called out, "a wager Roland... the first to breach the walls?" The prospect of being the first through the walls was intriguing, but Roland would only do so if tactically sound. 

"I accept, Severn! What is the purse, aside from glorious victory and favor in the Warsmith's eyes?"

In truth, Roland needed no more a prize than that. Turning his attention to the matter at hand, Roland surveyed the terrain, he surmised they were in the slums of this fortress. Run down habs, unkempt plots, no civilians or any defenders spotted as of yet. A shame, as Hellsbreath was hungry.

Opening his vox to two of his newest warriors, Pyrros and Dakkon, he gave them their orders. "You two will scout those outlying habs and report back. We here will cover you from our position. Move out!"

The two broke from cover and ran to the habs Roland had instructed, proceeding in a bounding assault pattern, one covering the other as he ran to a new position until they reached their objective. Sighting down his barrel, Roland watched for any movement in the hab complex, especially focusing on the higher windows. On occasion, Roland had lost the odd Marine to sniper fire in situations just like this, suicidal defenders electing to hide in the ruins as his warriors proceeded. Galling, to say the least, but easily dealt with.

"Champion, there are no civilians present. Signs of a hasty exit are evident throughout these habs. Conclusion: They have withdrawn behind the 'safety' of the walls. Pyrros out."

"Very good, return to our position on the double. Soon we begin our push."

_Safety_ It nearly made Roland laugh. There had never been a fortification that he could not breach. Kasyr Fortis would be no different. A plan was forming in his head as he saw the rest of the Grand Company deploy their forces around the landing site...


----------



## Alistor (Apr 19, 2011)

The Stormbird’s hatch hissed open after it’s thundering landing on the surface of Kasyr Fortis. Severn the Gate Keeper and his havoc squad and Roland Harkiss, the Champion of Siege had already departed from the shuttle, positioning themselves in all fear, as Ezkaton saw it, around the tattered shanty hab. 

Step forward did he, Ezkaton the Calculator, Chosen Champion of the Iron Warriors Legion and it’s heir apparent before the Warsmith Iacon. His body whirred and grinded in all of it's mechanical modifications with every heavy step he took.

He turned at once to face his finest warriors, the very embodiment of Perturabo’s great legacy.

First in front of him was Alcraizon Vrethan, largest of the squad. So devout was he to the dark gods that his body had shown signs of mutation. His left hand had warped in to a foul fleshy claw of blue and red muscular tissues and horrific tumours. This had itself become a deadly weapon for the towering Iron Warrior, perfect for tearing down the fortifications of Imperius Magnus with his bare hands.

Next was Vertithus Grule. Ezkaton was in a state of confusion regarding this aberration of a man. Vertithus took great lust and passion to what he perceived as ‘the art of destruction’. The universal fall of the Imperium was as beautiful poetry to this twisted individual, an idea altogether alien to Ezkaton. For the Chosen Champion cared only for victory. He cared nothing for it’s consequences nor the means of which he could achieve it.

Central to the ranks, standing ground behind and often beside Ezkaton himself, was his favoured soldier, Malfeitor the Black. So named because he decorated his armour with the soot and ash of the countless cities and even planets the Iron Warrior veterans had seen annihilated before this one. Malfeitor had served in the same squad as Ezkaton since the earliest days of the Imperium age of Apostasy. In many ways, Malfeitor had just as much chance of being the Warsmith’s chosen champion and Ezkaton treated him almost as a brother, being one of the only Iron Warriors he trully respected.

Next was Sulcaran Astramot, Ezkaton’s greatest admirer and aspirant to the art of the tactical warfare. Sulcaran would often speak with Ezkaton and Malfeitor regarding the situations of a battle and favoured the cold logic of his squad leader to Vertithus’ fanciful frivolities. 

Last of all was the fearless Daldramath Elcanhek. Daldramath knew no fear nor pause. No endless rain of bolter fire nor horrifying Tyranid roar could stop his endless warpath of destruction and merciless slaughter. He was often nicknamed ‘Daldramath the Rhino’ due to his apparent inability to keep still during a battle, ever progressing forward towards the front lines, a trait Ezkaton favoured.

“Iron Warriors…Aspirants of Khorne, Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh and of Perturabo. Today we will lay siege to the city of Imperius Magnus and the Imperial wildlife that makes settlement and craft behind it. Abaddon the Despoiler of the Black Legion has promised us the manufactorums and their use should we succeed…and it goes without doubt we will. We understand that failure is prohibited and punishable by termination…do we not?” Ezkaton hissed. His voice was altogether unnatural, it’s tone was distorted and reverberated through the chaotic madness and all-together malicious evil of the Machine Spirit fallen, a dark entity which spoke always to and through Ezkaton’s grim vox unit. His body was so reliant and enslaved almost to the devices and crafts of which he mostly comprised that little of what was once a mighty Space Marine could be seen of the Chosen Champion.

The other Iron Warriors nodded once, grunting through the steel helmets of their warped armour.

They stomped out on to the dry, desolate fields of the Imperium hab. Dotted around the shanty settlement were various dusty agro-plots. Small fields that seem to produce pitiful crops and shrubs from their grey, stony soil. The hab itself seemed made up of little more than the shrapnel and old remains of disused military vehicles and supply crates. 

Where the other Iron Warriors took position, Ezkaton and his squad marched wordlessly passed them. They were, as said, without fear or anxiety and felt such careful movement in to a clearly desolate zone foolish and a waste of time. Their power armour was surely strong enough to defend them from whatever puny lasrifle fire the Imperial Guard could shoot at them and time was of the essence.
Ezkaton and the Iron Warrior veterans marched slowly eastward towards the towering city of Imperius Magnus…


----------



## G0arr (Sep 20, 2010)

*Grand Champion Tagarius*

The stormbird shook and rattled as it broke through the atmosphere. Inside the Iron Warriors stood and waited. Almost every eye was locked on the hatches as they waited for the ramps to fall. Their Warsmith had called them to war and none wished to be found wanting. As so many waited and watched from their seats there was a single man on his feet. A pair of oversized maglocked boots secured him to the deck while mechanical servos and metal reinforced muscles locked him into place. 

Tagarius slowly looked at the others within the darkened hold. Over the years he had forged a relationship of fear and respect from his own men. 

Enrik and Cain were sitting the closest to Tagarius. The three had served together over the long centuries making them the closest of the entire squad. All three were covered in cybernetics and alterations. Enrik was a quiet man who had long ago had his neck pulverized by a bolter shell, and rebuilt. In melee he was a berserker tearing through his foes in an eerie silence. Cain made up for the silence with constant gibbering. His helmet was adorned with a pair of horns, and his armor was partly covered with a stitched tabard of human flesh and metal wire. 

Then there were Besahl and Santeus. These two were power hungry far beyond their stations. Their previous ambitions had been smashed when one of their ‘friends’ attempted to lead them against Tagarius. The now champion had taken his time tearing the man apart before them. Still the pair were prone to actions more fitting to the followers of Khorne. Tagarius often showed his displeasure in their actions.

Of the others there was little to say. They preformed satisfactory though many of them only had a few decades under his command. Overhead the pilot’s voice crackled over the internal vox speakers. “Landing zone is in sight. Prepare to disembark!” 

Tagarius locked his eyes on the Iron Warriors as they prepared for the ensuing carnage. “Stand,” the champion ordered through a cold monotone voice. Long ago his true voice had been silenced and replaced with a small vox unit. The squad removed their harnesses and heavy boots clanked as maglock systems engaged allowing the assault force to stand without being tossed. “The Warsmith has called us to this world. Here there only a few defenders standing against our force. They have called this a fortress world; ha let us show them what weak flesh is against a tide of iron.”“Iron Within, Iron Without!” the squad rumbled.

A heavy clank echoed through the ranks of warriors as dust and dirt was forced into the air. Tagarius lead the thunderous feet from the stormbird. His eyes quickly scanned across the landing zone. Others were already disembarked from another craft. It roared as the massive engines sent it skyward to bring more men to the battlefield. 

A pair of warriors were sprinting from the city. Scouts? Possibly, the Iron Warrior thought as he began to move again. Behind him the squad formed. His eyes moved from building to building in the habs. Finally his eyes locked on a single structure. It jutted skyward above the others toward the south. “There,” Tagarius said pointing with the oversized power weapon, “That is our objective. If they wish to resist that would be a logical vantage point.” He lowered the weapon and turned to the others. “By threes,” he said. It was one of the sacred numbers, but to his shame there was not enough to finish with four groups. Instead he looked at them, “Santeus you will come with me.” He said watching the two upstarts eyeing each other. “Champion,” the Iron warrior said questioningly. “You are with me,” he boomed, “is this an issue?” “No,” the reply came. “Then we move now,” he said taking the first steps toward the south end of the hab district, and his new objective.


----------



## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

"And the Legion Roland." He laughed, the Champion of Siege was a good warrior, one who had claimed many victories for Petuarbo. Severn looked ahead, east, towards the walls. They were mighty constructs, their destruction would be no mean feat. But then he didn't intend to go through the walls. "Form up, lets move out."

There would be gates further along the walls, far softer targets for his multi-melta's and far greater honour would be there. Defenses tended to be at their thickest around the entrances of fortresses. His squad hefted their weapons, then moved out in formation. "Lets find a door."


----------



## Therizza (Jul 29, 2010)

Tagarius had arrived, in all of the grandeur associated with the Grand Champion and his squad. More machine than man at this point, his figure stood head and shoulders above the rest of the Iron Warriors. He pointed with his massive powerclawed hand to the south, a massive spire in the heart of the deserted ruins. Silently, like some daemonic machine, his soldiers moved out.

Weighing his options, Roland accepted that he would fall in behind Tagarius' unit. If any targets of opportunity presented themselves to the west, he would vector his squad and crush the defenders at their weakest. Although he would be moving out of the protection of Severn's marksmen, it was a calculated risk and the probability of success was high.

He would let the Grand Champion's Marine's slog through the thickest defenders, lending what aid was needed or asked for, knowing full well that little could stem the march of Tagarius. 

Opening his vox, he gave his orders:

"Drez, Largo, fan formation, five meter spread."

They silently obeyed as the Marines moved into position.

"Pyrros, Dakkon, you are on point. Keep vigilant for any movement."

"As you wish, Champion" they responded in unison, rushing to the front of each squad.

Roland took his position in between the squads of Drez and Largo, anchoring the formation. This was his favored advance pattern, with the combination of Melta weaponry at the center, allowing for Roland to direct accurate and devastating firepower in all directions.

And so they marched forward, Roland Harkriss lending fire support to the unit of Tagarius the Grand Champion. Severn, his Havoks well known for their long range carnage, fell in behind the wake of Ezkaton and his Marines. Roland was ready for any and all contingencies, his mind calculating every avenue aided by the powers of Chaos and the mechanical augmentation that was the Iron Warriors style.

Opening a private vox, Roland spoke, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of insane glee and metallic construction, "Severn, we part ways, but do not for a moment think I shall let you win this wager! I will see you inside the walls, try not to make me wait too long! Iron within, Iron without." His comments were said in jest, as again the two could be called friends, or something close, but to any mortal listening in, it would have sounded like the ravings of a hate maddened soul confronting an enemy.


----------



## Epidemius (Nov 15, 2010)

Alran was impatient. his stormbird had been somewhat delayed and he felt he was missing out on the action. He was still waiting for the landing.
"How much longer will we wait?" he said.
no answer
"Now don't say that."
still no answer
"Yes, yes, i do look forward to it."
Alran stopped muttering as his favored champion, Balic, approached him. "Sir?"
Alran put away the mangled head of a guardsman and turned to address his champion. "What is it Balic?"
Balic was one of the few under his command who didn't have their face covered. he left his exposed to signify his favor. he had long scars running down his face and had armor lined with trophies.
"Nothing, sir." Balic said, realizing by his twitching this was not the time to talk with him.
Alran turned and faced the ramp of the stormbird.
_'Prepare for landing'_
The announcement was soon followed by the sounds of the troops readying their weapons.
Alran could feel a sudden bloodlust come over him.
Soon the sound of landing could be heard and the ramp slowly lowered.
"Alright men!" said Alran turning, his calm mood broken. "Today we will bring fear and death to the enemies of our Great Gods. We will slaughter in their name! We will destroy in their name! And we will conquer in their name!"
Shouts of anticipation and bloodlust rang through the enclosed space. 
"Iron within, iron without." said Alran, as he and his troops exited the stormbird into the habs beyond.


----------



## Warsmith40 (Feb 8, 2010)

Update 1:

_Warsmith Iacon's first steps on the planet are heavy and patient. The warsmith is clad in full wargear, the servo arm on his back flexing with a life of its own, his ancient grilled helm upon his head, two amber smoulders glowing in place of his eyes. One of his personal Terminator guards reverently carried his ancient combi-melta behind him, the others forming a perimeter around their leader, combi-weapons trained on the habs ahead.

He was pleased to see that his warriors had deployed with alacrity. He watched as other landers began dropping further troops. Behind him a Thunderhawk in the colors of the Black Legion set down in a cloud of dust throw up by jetwash. Upon landing, the ramp dropped and a cabal of 8 Black Legion cultists wearing carapace armor walked down before the owner of the vehicle stepped down.

Venac Lectum, Chaos magos of the Despoiler, had arrived. After nodding to the warsmith, he proceeded to divine the proper course of action.

With that, the warsmith turned and marched toward an ancient Iron Warrior, once a Techmarine, and an adept of the Dark Mechanicus. He _would_ have the Legio Maledictum on the field..._

*Tagarius (G0arr):* You proceed south, and are disappointed when the enemy ambushes you from obvious locations. A platoon of thirty Guardsmen engages your own contingent. With them is a single missile launcher. However, a complication arises in the form of an Imperial sniper, whose first shot creases your helmet, four centimeters clear of a clean hit. The sniper knows you are a major threat and will attempt to end you. Slaughter the loyalists and end the irritating sniper's miserable life!

*Roland Harkriss (Therizza), Severn, the Gate Keeper (Jackinator), Alran Sicarius (Epidemius):* Proceeding directly toward the fortress-city's wall, you moved through dense hab-blocks. There are several locations which would provide excellent ambush points, but each end up abandoned. After closing in on the maximum range of the wall guns, you stop to take stock of the area. Severn's signum picks up active machinery, and upon doing so, two of the collapsed habs nearby explode into life, a Hellhound flame tank and Devil Dog melta tank engaging your squads. Two platoons of thirty guardsmen follow from "buried" trenches, obviously drilled in seige ambush. For every ten guardsmen there is one grenade launcher, for a total of six. Destroy the armor and butcher the Imperials, seigeworks must commence!

The Squad of Chosen proceed to the north and encounter a sniper unit of unknown size. Their Champion, ill-fated by the gods, falls first, his helmet cracked and broken. Eventually, they will have to break free and the warsmith will have to appoint them a new leader.


----------



## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Venac stepped down from the thunderhawk. He spoke directly into the mind of the pilot saying "Go, your work is done." The thunderhawk lifted from the ground and flew off into the sky. Venac walked on. He had been sent by the despoiler to assist the Iron Warriors in the taking of this fortress. He was not happy about it but the despoiler would have his head on a pole if he showed any insuboardination.

He nodded briefly to the Warsmith before proceeding to divine the proper course of action. He saw death and destruction and his lips twitched in a smile at the vision. He saw the weak Imperials fall at the hands of the Chaos Gods chosen and he rejoiced in it. He snapped back to reality, he knew what he must do.

The Warsmith turned and walked over to an ancient Iron Warrior who had obviously once been a techmarine. It seemed he was the one commanding the Legio Maledictum. Venac walked towards the city, his cultists following behind him. He raised a hand and reached his mind into the warp. In that hellish realm he created a sorcerous staff and it appeared in his grip.

He smiled. The Imperials would die...


----------



## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Severn, The Gatekeeper*

The Iron Warriors made swift progress through the abandoned habs, their armoured boots crunching down through the smooth rockcrete of the roadway and leaving cratered imprints behind. The journey had so far been disappointing, they had passed several likely points for an ambush, but had faced no resistance, as if the place was entirely uninhabited. But he was swiftly disabused of that notion.

His signum beeped, and he summoned the arm up with a thought, the screen halted before him and he took in it's readings. "Brothers, ambush", with that the two habs flanking them erupted with activity as a hellhound and devil dog appeared from behind them. Guardsmen swarmed out behind them, lasfire and grenades spitting from their ranks. "Firing positions" Severn roared, directing his men to cover at the edges of the roadway. "Xenath, Jonak!" He barked, "I want suppressive fire on the right", the Marines opened up, their tight bursts scything down ranks of guardsmen with explosive rounds. "Xiacon, Zakyr, with me, we'll take care of that tank."

The two marines followed as he led them down into range of the Devil Dog, it was already firing on the other Iron Warriors, it's deadly weaponry melting their cover into molten slag. They dropped down into a trench, and moved along, crouched low so as not to be seen. They had not gone far before a group of guardsmen tumbled into the trench, there were five of them all told. They were gasping and panicked from their desperate escape from the heavy bolter's deadly sweep and it took a moment before they realised who they had just got in the way of. That realisation did not last long as Severn attacked, his combi-bolter spat death, downing two as a third fell to his fist, skull caved in. He turned and lashed out with his mechadendrites, felling another, and then pulling them back to wrap around the last. The man screamed and writhed, trying to escape their deadly grip, that soon stopped as they ripped him in half.

Zakyr and Xiacon had already moved ahead and were now in position to open fire upon the melta tank. Severn smiled grimly. "Kill it." The meltas played their energy over it's armoured hide, and then, without warning an explosion sounded at the rear of the vehicle, then another, travelling along it's length in a crippling chain reaction. The hatch opened and a desperate crewman tried to escape, only to be immolated as the entirety of the tank went up in flames...


----------



## Epidemius (Nov 15, 2010)

An explosion ripped through the air as an imperial tank went up in flames.
"Balic!" Alran roared.
"Take the gunners and move up onto that ridge, get some supressive fire on those guardsmen!"
"Yes, sir!" Balic and a group of cultists moved away and began setting up a heavy stubber. As soon as the sound of roaring gunfire could be heard he turned quickly to the others.
"Sel!" he pointed to a woman with a cowl over her face. "Take your squad and flank them from the left! bring me a captured sergeant, we need a sacrifice!"

Alran fired his bolt pistol at the attacking guardsmen. he smiled as a guardsman's head exploded in a shower of gore, his body slumping onto the open road.

Soon two cultist returned, dragging a bloody sergeant between them.
"Good! the gods will have an offering!"
The sergeant only showed a look of dread as he was quickly bound by rope onto a flat wall.
"DIE COWARD!!!" Alran yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of some of the guardsmen. all they could do was watch as Alran pulled out a knife and slit open the sergeant's midsection, spilling blood and gore all across the ground. in another quick motion his head was removed and hoisted into the air, followed by praises to the dark gods from all around.
"DEATH TO THE IMPERIUM!" yelled Alran as the head was lobbed at the guardsmen.
Many guardsmen were soon being caught off-gaurd by the flanking, the distraction had done its work. but there were many more guardsmen left on the field.


----------



## G0arr (Sep 20, 2010)

*Grand Champion Tagarius*

Progress through the ruined agri plots was quick. There was nothing in the ruined buildings, though that did not stop the Grand Champions men from sweeping through them. 


Tagarius let his eyes move from one building to another as they entered the habs. "*Stay spread*," he ordered through the vox, "*There are several buildings ahead that may hold our foe**.*" He motioned toward a large fronted building. As he lowered his arm the first shot fired. Tagarius growled. He had expected more than this. 

There were a mere thirty of them and they were only guardsmen. Compared to the ten chaos marines they were nothing. Tagarius spat the order, "*Slay them. Slay them all!*"


The Iron Warriors had already begun their charge when the heavy weapons team appeared. As the first frag missile detonated showering a pair of figures in dirt. There was a twinge of disappointment in the back of Tagarius’s mind. They had held back the weapon until it could have been effective, but had failed. “_Champion_,” a voice called through the squad’s vox, “_should we seek a more covered approach?_” Tagarius freed his weapon and pointed it toward the defenders. “*Press them*,” He rumbled increasing his stride. “_Their weapon can pierce our…_” “T*hen curl up like a beaten dog! Remember that their weapon may harm you, but mine will kill you. PRESS THEM*,” Tagarius shouted as he raised his left arm. His bolt pistol spat shells into the defenders line. Several of the shells impacted stone only one struck its true target. One of the guardsmen jerked hard to one side as a shell detonated in his left shoulder spraying blood onto the others.

Bolt pistols barked out against the sharp crack of guardsmen lasguns. Despite thirty guns firing there was little they could do to halt four separate charges. Panic began to set in as men spun to fire on the closest enemy. It was Enrik was the first to vault over the defenses with a screaming chainsword. To either side of him came the remainder of his squad of three. The guardsmen screamed as spinning blades tore and ripped into flesh. Blood sprayed across the walls as the Iron Warriors gave praise to the dark gods, not as much in words as in deeds.

Tagarius lashed out. Blood arched through the air. The guardsmen were weak. They relied on their faith and flesh, neither would save them today. The iron giant spun to a screaming man clutching his ruined shoulder. “_By the Emperor you shall fall,_” the man spat. Tagarius reached down and pulled the guardsman up by his neck. “*No*,” he said bringing the man to eye level, “*It is not by any corpse that I will fall*.” 

There was a flash from a nearby building barely visable behind the dying guard. A shell tinked against the Champions helmet. He reached up and felt the small mark. Had the shot been only a few centimeters to one side it could have done some damage. As Tagarius glared he flet rage begin to fill him. These things failed at their ambush, and still had the audacity to think they could kill him. 

The reaction was direct and purposeful. Tagarius charged with the guardsman in hand. He lobbed the individual high as he charged the building. The screaming body shattered through a window as the Iron Warrior slammed into the lower floor. He could hear movement above as he halted. Using both hands he tore through the floor above. The would be assassin was trying to move from the body of its comrade as an iron gantlet pulled it through the hole. Tagarius swotted the rifle away as he changed his grip. It was a woman. She struggled against his vice like grip before turning her eyes up to him. "_The Emperor shall have you traitor!_" The champion thundered from the building after reaching up and finishing his projectile. In a nearby courtyard was his target.


“*Is this your Emperor*,” Tagarius bellowed standing before a statue. “_Yes_,” the assassin managed to say. “*Then maybe he can’t hear you. Why don’t I get you closer so he can heat you*,” With that the Iron Warrior’s Champion launched the human. There was a wet thud as the assassin’s face met the statue’s chest. Her spine broke under the impact leaving her broken body in a twisted heap. What was left of the face gurgled blood as the final breath escaped upon slamming into the ground.

“*Are we finished*,” the champion boomed turning to his men. “_Yes_,” Enrik replied. “*Then let us be rid of this failure. There must be battle worthy of us here.*” Tagarius said stomping toward the other champions his men close behind.


----------



## Therizza (Jul 29, 2010)

Roland’s squad picked its way through the debris of the city carefully, making sure to disarm or avoid any and all booby traps laid by the city’s defenders. _Petty mortals_ Roland laughed to himself. He used this as more of a discipline tool for the members of his squad, as well as a tool to learn how his opponents defended themselves. He locked the tendencies of all of his adversaries within his mind, just in case there should be a similar battle in the future.

Suddenly, the habs in front of the advance of the Champion’s burst to life. A clever trap, laid by the human defenders in a futile attempt to slow the advance of the Iron Warriors. More than a score of troops, with two vehicles, a Hellhound and a Devildog had laid in wait, how long no one could say. Roland had mused in the past how he wished the Warsmith would allow the capture of one of the latter vehicles, but the situation at hand precluded that eventuality. 

Severn’s unit had been in the center of the ambush zone, taking most of the guardsmen’s attention. Roland’s squad, having been picking through the debris out on the flank, for the most part were unknown to the enemy. Hearing Severn’s orders to his Marines to assault the Devildog, Roland quickly issued orders to his troops. The Hellhound would be his trophy. Time was of the essence, in order to both crush the Imperials on their flank and aid his fellow Iron Warriors in combat.

“Drez, Largo, firing line formation. I will assault the Hellhound. Fire on my signal.”

Having issued the order, Roland checked his bolter and took a meltabomb off of his hip. This strategy was a deadly gamble, but had paid off every time before. Nearing a tumbled wall, he gave the order to fire to his men. As the bolt rounds hissed by, detonating on flesh and steel, Roland grinned heinously beneath his helm. Launching himself from cover, he fired into the massed guardsmen. The speed of their flanking assault had caught them flat footed, and some fell without knowing what hit them.

Nearing the tank, still focused on the other Champion’s squads, its vision obscured from the destruction at the hands of Severn’s, Roland primed his melta bomb. Despite the withering fire from the guardsmen, their lasguns proved ineffective against his armor. Sliding low, he placed the explosive near the rear fuel tanks of the tank. Firing one last time before jumping into a nearby ditch, Roland heard, felt and saw the melta bomb complete its job. The tank exploded in gouts of fuel and ammunition, incinerating many of the nearby guardsmen. The remaining soldiers broke from formation, completely demoralized, only to be gunned down by the precision fire of the Iron Warriors on the field. 

This battle had been won, with mechanical precision and inhuman grit. Opening a line to Severn, Roland could not help but chuckle. “It seems we are tied so far, Brother. One tank a piece, as they are the only specimens of worth on this killing field, don’t you think?”

Regrouping with his squad, Roland awaited Severn’s response as he formed his men into a defensive perimeter, wary of a counter attack.


----------



## Epidemius (Nov 15, 2010)

"Look to the heavens, fool." said Alran as he tilted back the head of an incapacitated guardsman, causing his attention to be directed at the sky. "Your god is silent."
There was a sickening sound of crunching bone as his skull was destroyed and the headless body fell to the earth. Alran looked around. "The battle is over..." he said, a calmer tone in his voice. "Servitors!"
Two twisted and blood spattered servitors approached Alran.
"Ensure that Severn's and Roland's equipment is in working order, replenish their ammo as well. we need to be prepared in the case of another ambush."
as the servitors went off towards their assigned goal, Alran asked Balic for a casualty count.
"We have four dead, lord. Cael, Xaphar, Tlan, and Kaphas."
"All good soldiers. they made the gods proud today with the souls they took with them."
"Yes, sir." said Balic.
"Come, we must regroup with the others."


----------



## Warsmith40 (Feb 8, 2010)

(I sincerely apologize for the delay of this update. My internet has been incredibly fickle for a couple weeks now, but I've finally got my laptop reconnected.)

Update 2:

After engaging and essentially flooring the Imperial's first, weak line of defense, you mop up the remainder of their scattered ambush formations and prepare for the second phase of any good warsmith's plan: siegeworks.

_Warsmith Iacon proceeded forwards and immense landers deployed his vast army of slaves and guns. As he walked towards the now clear habs, he was followed by eight basilisk artillery tanks matching his pace. He raised his machine arm and planted his bionic leg, and the artillery came to a halt. A dozen helots carrying shells approached from behind. Iacon smiled, dropped his hand, and as eight desecrated artillery pieces fired the first shots against the wall, he muttered an unheard catechism._

Your objectice is to now establish defensive positions before the inevitable Imperial attempt to stop your siegeworks. Each of you is being assigned a basilisk, griffon, or medusa as you prefer with the objective of establishing fortifications for it, directing its fire, and defending it from counter-attack. You have all of the raw materials necessary to fulfill this task, and the warsmith has promised the gods the heads of any whose artillery piece falls.


----------



## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Venac raised his warp forged staff and the cultists chanted louder. He brought it down with a crash. He repeated this several times, the echoes of his spell echoing through the Warp. An outline appeared before him but it was hazy. "Speak quickly sorcerer for my patience is limited, what do you wish to be done," The apparition hissed. Venac smiled, revealing fang like teeth. "Do not presume to command me daemon," he thundered.

"I wish you to grant the Iron Warrior champions the ability to summon more of your kind for a brief time," Venac said, running his un-gauntleted hand along one of the spikes of his staff. The blood dripped onto the pentagram that held the daemon in place. The daemon snarled "powerful blood runs in your veins sorcerer."

Venac smiled "and you shall have more if you do what I wish." He waited for the daemon's response, although he already knew what it would answer. "I," it hissed "accept..."


----------



## G0arr (Sep 20, 2010)

*Grand Champion Tagarius*

Tagarius slowly turned toward the wall. His eyes scanned across the defenses. Thus far the defenders had put up a defense outside that made the Iron Warrior sick. They were weak, unable to understand that they were beaten.

The Warsmith had sent forward siege machines. The Grand Champion stared at the basilisk he had chosen with distain. It had been moved to a single story building with no roof. The outer walls had been reinforced to ensure its safety from the fortress ahead. This also limited any counterattack’s approaches to ones his men were watching. The crew worked away at the controls and prepared to open fire. “*Faster*” the Champion rumbled as the crew loaded the shell. 

This was not his true field of battle. These long sieges were something more fitting for the Champion of the Siege, or the Master Havoc. Even the Taskmaster was better prepared for this. The Grand Champion was more accustom to assaulting men instead of firing from afar, but for the Warsmith he would wait. The wall would have to collapse before his men could be properly utilized so he would wait, and prepare for that moment to show these followers of the corpse emperor the strength of iron.


----------



## Therizza (Jul 29, 2010)

Roland hissed with glee as the Warsmith had decided to bless him with a Medusa siege gun. This weapon was designed to breach the heaviest of walls through concentrated, unrelenting firepower. The sheer thought of the destruction about to be wrought upon the affront to engineering that were the enemy’s defenses sent Roland’s servos whirring.

Having surveyed the land, and run the calculations as to the most effective location for maximizing his body count, Roland ordered the Medusa and crew to set up in the front of what looked like an administrative building. This building had a wall surrounding it, and the Medusa drew right up to it. The order was given to fortify and dig in to his Marines and the gun crew. 

Opening a vox to Pyrros, Roland gave him his orders; “Pyrros, I want you to scale that building, and spot for our squad and the siege gun. Do not fail me.”

Pyrros acknowledged the order, and was quickly set up on the roof of the administratum building. It looked solid enough, by Roland’s reckoning, and would sustain a moderate amount of fire before it crumbled. Pyrros would have time to extricate himself if things went awry, and if he didn’t, he was not worthy of being in Roland’s squad.

Standing atop the rear of the Medusa, Roland issued orders to the rest of his squad members. 

“Drez you take the right with your squad, Largo the left. Kill anything that comes our way.” The two Marines began bellowing orders to their Marines who swiftly fell into firing positions behind the heavy cover of the wall.

Hopping down from the Medusa and striding towards the gunner, Roland fixed the crew with a look that could kill, half crazed and half exuberant. “I want that wall taken down. Concentrate your fire on the gate. Ignore anything coming out, for we will destroy it. If you fail me in this, I will take pleasure in skinning you alive.”

Walking towards the wall, petting Hellsbreath as he did, Roland could not wait to begin the carnage. Giving the command to commence bombardment, the first of the Chaos-blessed bastion breacher shells went flying. With a resounding crash, it hit it’s mark perfectly. All was going according to his plan, but Roland was still calculating for any and all conceivable contingencies. Just then, Pyrros came over the vox; “My liege, enemy sighted. Mechanized infantry are inbound, obscured by dust. I count no less than four chimeras. Pyrros out.”

“Very good”, Roland laughed to himself, “Come to me, mortals. Come like lambs to the slaughter!” As he said this, another siege round let fly, and Roland mused that today was a good day.


----------

