Warhammer 40,000: Necrontyr

[Fellguarde]

In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war

This RPG is set in the Warhammer:40,000 universe.
For people who dont know what warhammer 40,000 is, it is a tabletop battlegame set in the future. When joining this thread it is not a necessity know the game, but it is recommended. Again for the people who have never heard of the game, a shortened introduction of it:

In the nightmare future of the 41st millenium, mankind teeters upon the brink of extinction. The galaxy-spanning Imperium of man is beset on all sides by ravening aliens, and threatened from within by heretic rebels. Only the strength of the immortal Emperor stands between humanity and its annihilation. Dedicated to his service are countless warriors.
Everywhere, soulless spectres and slavering monsters are poised to extinguish the life of humanity.

Ok that paints a pretty grim picture. On to the races. (Only the playable ones).

Space Marines
Space Marines are the most powerful and dreaded of all the human warriors in Warhammer 40,000. They are not Human at all but superhuman, having been made superior, in all respects, to a normal man by a harsh regime of genetic modification, psycho-conditioning and rigourous training. Being few in number compared to the uncounted billions of Humanity, Space Marines are organised into small independent armies called Chapters. Each Chapter is responsible for its own recruitment, training, equipment, organisation and strategy. Their unswerving loyalty is to the Emperor of Mankind and no other. Their standard weapon is the bolgun, an automatic, semi-explosive rifle.

Eldar
The Eldar are an incredibly ancient alien race, who once ruled a vast empire across the stars. Then came the hideous times of the Fall, when the Eldar fell from power. Though they are now few in number, the Eldar are one of the most technologically advanced races in the galaxy. An Eldar army is unique in that almost every squad in the force is specialized in some way. Eldar Aspect Warriors select a certain facet of warfare such a close combat or long-distance firepower and then focus their abilities to near-perfection. Additionally, the Eldar are powerful psykers whose Warlocks and Farseers use their mental abilities to sway the battle in their favor. The intentions of the enigmatic Eldar are as unreadable and unpredictable as their battle tactics, but only a fool would ignore any warnings of doom they may foretell.

Chaos
At the very birth of the Imperium of Man, fully half of the Emperor's most trusted Space Marines Legions turned against him in a bitter civil war. Brother fought brother, and Mankind stood upon the very brink of extinction. Ten thousand years after their defeat, those same traitors still launch their Black Crusades out of the Eye of Terror, intent upon nothing less than the utter destruction of the Imperium and the death of its weakling Emperor.
Now and forever they had become Chaos Space Marines, despised and feared as traitors and heretics throughout the galaxy.
Worse still, the path to immortality offered by the Chaos gods led through a hell of death, mutation and madness. Daemonhood awaited them at the end of the road, followed by an eternity as slaves to darkness.

Dark Eldar
The Dark Eldar are corrupt and twisted in every sense. Distorted by evil, these vile cousins to the Craftworld Eldar delight in nothing but pain, suffering and death. Striking without warning, these piratical raiders ravage colonies and even entire planets in their search for fresh prey. It is rumored that being captured by these twisted aliens is a fate worse than death as they feed upon the very souls of their victims. Heartless, cruel and inhumanly fast in combat, the Dark Eldar live to bring misery and despair to the 41st Millennium.

Tau
The Tau are a relatively new force in the galaxy, but their technology is already far more advanced than the Imperuim of Man. They are an honourable, almost tribal society that is divided into five Casts: Fire, Wind, Water, Earth and The Ethereals. On the battlefield the Tau use long ranged weaponry to bring death from afar, but they are generally unskilled close combatants. Commonly, they make use of the Kroot, a vicious mercenery race.

Space Orks: (Couldn't find a good pic) Orks are the most widespread and warlike race of aliens in the bloodstained galaxy of the 41st millennium. They only live for one thing and that's war. They are constantly fighting anything that gets in the way, even themselves! In fact the only thing keeping the Orks from uniting and bringing down the end of the galaxy is their inability to get along. Were they to organize and unify, they would quickly overwhelm and crush all opposition.



Rules: Normal, no godmodding etc.
At the start you can be something around the level of a warlock or a aspiring champion or a chaplain, but not more powerful.

A brief overview of recent events:
On the edges of the galaxy, an ancient force has been stirring. After countless millenia of sleep, the soulless reapers of the galaxy have awakened. They are the necrontyr, and their coming brings doom. Mysterious and advanced even beyond the eldar, these terrible creatures are driven by their malevolent Star-gods to harvest the living for unknown reasons. The older races were the first to feel their influence. Many eldar and chaos worlds destroyed by their soulless armies. Then they began to attack the young races such as mankind. At first these attacks were quick raids on specific sectors. Now they are changing into full-scale invasions. The necrontyr seem poised to purge the galaxy of life.

My char sheet will show you what you need:

Name: Ilythen
Race: Eldar
Age: 200
Occupation: Warlock
Gear: Wraithbone armour, Witchblade.
Abilities: Psychic push, mind war.

I'll post a character post when someone has joined.

[Switchblade]

OOC: Dude, although you've neatly captured the basic fluff background of the 40K universe, a thread cannot live without a specific plot. Why is this thread called "Necrontyr?" please provide some specific background.

anyway... IC post and background.

+++MESSAGE RECEIVED 3/562998.M41+++
+ASTROPATHIC DUCT: 974-38R/DELTA+
+WARNING! VERMILLION LEVEL CLEARANCE REQUIRED+
+*********+
+CLEARANCE ACCEPTED+
+THIS DOCUMENT IS FOR THE SOLE ATTENTION OF INQUISITOR KERL ANTONIUS. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS IS PUNISHABLE BY MIND-SCRUBBING OR EXECUTION+
+PLEASE ENTER IDENTIFICATION AND DISPLAY ELECTRO-TATOO: ORDO XENOS+
+
+PROCESSING+
+
+IDENTIFICATION VERIFIED. WELCOME INQUISITOR+
+
+MESSAGE AUTHOR: GARL HARGEN, INQUISITOR PRIMUS, ULTIMA SEGMENTUM+
+RECIPIENT: KERL ANTONIUS, INQUISITOR ORDINARY, ORDO XENOS+
+THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: FAITH, FEALTY AND SERVITUDE+
+MESSAGE BEGINS...
+
+Before I get straight to the point, I would take this opportunity to congratulate you on your handling of the situation on Barris Secundus. The Lacrimole filth are a step closer to extinction thanks to your efforts.
+
+Now, on to the purpose of this communication. You have, no doubt, been made aware of the string of attacks that have been plaguing the Dominion sector over the last three years. It is with heavy heart that I must report that the research station on Kavariss was attacked and destroyed last month, with no survivors. Our noble comrade, Inquisitor Traegon, has been slain. There are three surviving pict-recordings of the incident, and there can be no doubt that the Necrontyr are responsible.
+
+I need not describe to you the importance of the Dominion sector. Thus far, none of the Necron attacks have been against important targets, but we cannot expect that to last, nor can we expect any attacks upon the more major facilities, such as Port Russ, or the planet Diomedes, to be anything less than bloody and costly to the imperium. We feel that much could be accomplished if the necropolis at the heart of these attacks were uncovered, but Traegon's findings remain inconclusive. I have included them with this letter for your persual nonetheless.
+
+We need that tomb world, Antonius. Once it is found, spare nothing in seeking it's obliteration. There are three chapters of space marines in proximity that would be capable of offering help: The Black Paladins, the Blade Angels, and the Emperor's Vengeance. do not hesitate to requisition their skills should the need arise.
+
+Be also aware that the vile Eldar are at large within the sector, although, as ever, their motives remain inscrutable. Although wisdom dictates maintaining a watchful eye over their activites, your primary concern is the Necron threat, and nothing should distract you from your goal. Tread lightly, but surely in this matter, Antonius, and bring the light of the Emperor with you unto dark places.
+
+In Nomis Sanctus Imperator
+
+Hargen+
+MESSAGE ENDS. REPLAY/SAVE/EXPUNGE?+

[Fellguarde]

Ilythen was deep in meditation when someone requested entrance to his chambers. His mind reached out and the door opened.
"Come in".
His eyes flicked open. A guardian warrior stood before him. He bowed respectfully. Ilythen half returned the bow, rising to his feet.
"You bring a message, yes"?
The guardian nodded. "Yes Warlock. Exhalted Farseer Elrithar requests your presence at the ships bridge. He says it is a matter of utmost importance and it involves the planet we have been watching".
Ilythen moved to one of his hovering desks and picked up his helmet.
""You may leave guardian. May Kain and Asuryn watch over you".
With one last bow, the guardian swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him.

[Switchblade]

It seems incongruous to be standing on a garden world, looking at the sky, and seeing only the mismatched cross-hatch scarring of contrails, exhaust plumes and vapour trails.

Of course, all worlds need access to the endless void above, but it feels strange to find such a busy, bustling, and above all dirty, hive of industry mixed in amongst the fragile, almost gem-like beauty of this world.

Or perhaps a fruit would be a better analogy, as the beauty of this world stems from the verdant nature that envelopes it utterly, from the depths of the oceans, to the peaks of the most rocky, snow-shrouded mountains.

A world that, in all probability, I shall never see again.

There are a great many incongruities in my life really. Here am I, an agent of the highest order, with the authority to command any event that is within the power of the Imperium, from the formation of an army, to the total obliteration of a world, and the summary execution of all life thereof. And yet, here I stand, shaving in a cracked, stained mirror in a cheap hotel room not three miles from the landing fields of the primary planetary star port. With every launch and landing, the window rattles dismally within it's frame.

Technically, I could command the most expensive, lavish suite of rooms on the planet for myself, and not expect to pay, but that would be an abuse of my station, a contravention of my morals, and a lapse in the purity that I strive so hard to maintain.

Besides, it would also compromise my anonymity, and I wield anonymity like the most subtle of tools, a scalpel with which I can pierce the underbelly of even the most corrupt institutions, and root out infection wherever it may have spread. There are inquisitors who employ bombast and pomp as a weapon, spreading the fear of the God-Emperor wherever they go, walking testaments to the might of the imperium. They, too, can be effective. It is simply that their approach tends to grievously wound the patient during the hunt for the sickness.

I have to stop shaving at this point, as a shuttle launches. The hotel owner warned me that, during a launch, the mirror can be shaken off the wall, in which case I would be paying for the replacement. I pull the mirror from it's mount, and examine myself in it as the noise from the engine crescendoes into a scream of high-powered jet engines, which begins to subside as the shuttle gains altitude.

There are times that I consider myself to look something like a knife taken human form. I am slim, almost to the point of emaciation, and even the muscles that ripple the flesh of my torso and arms have a thin look to them that disguises their whipcord strength. Beneath the crown of dark hair, cropped short and unremarkable, my eyes are, very faintly, green, but their pigment is so sparingly applied that they look almost grey, the colour of a steel blade. Even my beard, the same shade of almost-black as my hair, is teased and drawn to a stiletto point.

Yes, I look like a weapon, and such I am. A weapon incarnate, the essence of the Emperor's hatred for all that is alien.

An Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos.

Who must finish shaving, before I pack my case, and board a shuttle of my own. Once I arrive in the Dominion sector, I will probably be forced to become a vocal, obvious inquisitor, to requisition men and supplies, ships and servitors to conduct my work.

For now, though, let me savour this time of walking amongst the ordinary people, of knowing the true beating lifeblood of the Imperium, and of being, at some level, just another cell in the greater whole.

Just for a while longer...

[Fellguarde]

Ilythen drifted down one of the Sword of Khain's wraithbone corridors. He had marvelled at its perfect and beutiful design many times. Although its purpose was ugly and horribly necissary, he could not help but feel attached to the ship. Stopping at a window, he peered outside for a moment. The war cruisers Eye of Isha, Warp Viper and Sirithalium orbited the nearby planet with them.
He continued his walk to the bridge. Eldar that passed him bowed their heads respectfully. At one point he returned the bow to a Warp Spider Exarch.
Upon reaching the bridge, he removed his helmet, allowing his long, night black hair to flow freely. It is tradition for warlocks to hold their helmets under their ams when addressing a Farseer. Of couse, on the battlefield, this tradition is set aside. He waved his hand and the door ahead of him opened with a hum of energy.
The bridge was an impressive sight. A stairway in the middle of the large room branched off into two walways that lead to a raised platform and a dais upon which sat Farseer Elrithar. Numerous floating discs carried eldar to higher levels of the bridge, where secondary weapons and navigational controls were.
Ilythen walked up the stairway slowely and knelt on one knee before the farseer. He heared a voice in his mind.
"Arise".
He stood slowely.
"Exhalted Farseer Elrithar, why have you summoned me to the bridge"?
The Farseer stood. He turned to face the huge viewscreen that currently showed a nearby sector. He flexed his fingers and the screen changed, focusing on the Dominion sector. It zoomed in on a small, seemingly barren planet.
"As you know this is the recently chaos controlled planet that we have been observing. You may know that what we recently learned is that its "inhabitants" call themselves the "Alpha legion. They are not there is large numbers, barely two hundred occupy the planet".
He moved his wrist. The screen rippled and then projected a hologram of the planet between Ilythen and the Farseer.
"Lately however, these points- two red dots appeared on its surface, not far apart -have begun to erupt in weaponfire".

Ilythen replied: "Farseer, are they fighting amongst themselves or have the humans come to drive them away"?

"Niether. Our scans indicate that much of the weaponfire is that of the Necrontyr. They have already gained much power very quickly. We cannot allow them to take another planet. Unlike the chaos, I doubt the human's ability to drive the necrons away. You and many other warlocks will drop in between these locations with a sizable force within five hours".

"As you command Farseer".

[PHLEG]

Brother-Captain Zarius stood in the middle of a huge, bloody battlefeild. The corpses were begining to rot, and a smell of burnt flesh was still in the air. "Chaos threat neutralized, the artifact is secure," he says into the radio in his helmet, "Myself and the remaining Gray Knights are returning to the ship now." Zarius was supprised how easy the demons fell under his Nemesis force sword.
"Brother-Captain, we have an update on the current situation," said the voice from the radio.
"Yes?" Zarius replied.
"It seems that the Chaos icon you have secured isnt the only one nearby."
"Where is it? We will collect it straight away..."
"There is a problem with that, Brother-Captain Zarius. It was last seen on a Chaos ship of the Alpha Legion, but now the ship has left our radar, and we have no idea where it is."
"That will be a problem. Still, we will head towards its last known location."

Suddenly, a huge ship comes down from the sky, gray in colour, with the Gray Knight symbol on the side. A huge gust, strong enough to make Zarius' terminator armour shake, blew as the ship landed on the ground, and the doorway opened. As he walked up, he remembers what he was told. He is a Gray Knight, said to be made from the Emperors gene-seed, part of the sacred order of warriors sworn to fight the scum that is chaos, and to fight in the name of the Emperor.

[Fellguarde]

Ilythen stood at the shuttle bay holding his witchblade sword and in full wraithbone armour. Already inside his shuttle was a squard of guardians and warpspiders. To his left, a unit of fire dragons entered another shuttle. After quickly inspecting the six ships under his control, he entered one.
He silently went to order the pilot to take off, when the reciever in his helmet beeped and the voice of Farseer Elrithar filled his mind.
"Warlock Ilythen. Unforeseen circumstances have forced me to change your mission. Very recently, a large amount of supposingly un-engaged chaos forces have dissapeared. Closer inspection has revealed it to have been the work of the human force called the grey knights. It appears that they came to take and probably destroy a chaos icon artifact that the foul ones must have brought to the planet.
Recently, four chaos ships, the smallest of which is generating a huge warp aura have left the planet. We must assume that this is the artifact and we must remove its taint from this existence. You and your unit will board this ship and destroy the icon. Sirithalium will provide you with support".

Ilythen replied with his mind, nodding slightly. "If it is your will Farseer".
Leaning over the pilot's chair, he told him to relay these orders to all other shuttles before taking off.

[Switchblade]

It is a strange fact of warptravel that time is mutable - A journey that, to the travellers, can appear to last mere hours can, in fact, have lasted decades, or even centuries in real time. Likewise, a joruney that, from within, seems to last for months, may well arrive to discover that scant seconds have passed within the blessed Imperium.

It has been, in real terms, some three weeks since I left the garden world of Geminar. From my perspective, it feels more like two weeks and a mere handful of hours, and most of those two weeks were spent in real space, as the Imperial Navy Cruiser Cardinal Sevoran hauled itself out of the gravity well of the system's star, out as far as the jump zone.

The ship was originally bound for Port Russ, it's decks populated by full three regiments of Imperial Guard - the Petrushkan 27th "Winterhammers", The Arqualian 3rd "Praetorians", and the Maradyne 18th "Hellcats".

All previously bound for the shipyards at Port Russ.

Now being briefed on their new mission, their services requisition by an Inquisitor.

In Nomis Sancta Imperator, of course.

And now... orbit. The planet Kavariss has long been declared Mundis Excommunicata: a forbidden world, where none may visit under the full penalty of Imperial Law.

Only an Inquisitor has the right or power to waive that rule, and thus I have done. In less than an hour, my troops will begin to deploy planetside.

We know that Kavariss is not the central tomb world for this region. It is a minor crypt, nothing more. But investigation of this smaller alien stronghold may provide clues as to the whereabouts of it's larger cousin.

The troops know nothing of the horrors they are about to face, of course. Ignorance is a tool, just as much so as knowledge. Both can be forged into potent weaponry.

However, this region of space seems to be crowded today. I cannot help but feel my stomach churn with disgust as the traitor vessel is displayed upon the forward screen on the bridge, it's once-proud flanks scarred and mutilated byt the brazen symbols of Chaos that have been scored and daubed to the side.

An Idolator class raider. No match for the raw might of my own Gothic class cruiser, not on it's own. presumably, there are other squadron members somewhere in the vicinity, but for now the traitors are alone, isolated. Vulnerable to the divine retribution that will soon fall upon them.

"Torpedoes."

Captain Gravier. A fine man, and deserving of his command. He stands taller even than I, and the praetorian lines of his face were designed for an aristocratic bearing. Despite all appearances, though, the man is amiable, and posseses a keen wit that complements his command abilities nicely.

"Munitions bay reports torpedoes loaded and armed, sir. Tubes are flooded."
"Then in the Emperor's name, fire."

The cruiser is a full three miles long, and the bridge is set high in the command tower, two-thirds of the way down her length. Nevertheless, the deck shakes and rumbles as the torpedoes scream from their tubes at the front of the ship, each one a sleek, lethal missile more than a hundred yards long.

"Torpedoes reach target vicinity in... five. four. three. two... one...

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a flash registers on the screen. Data scrolls across the screen.

"Confirm target well hit. Shields are down, multiple hull breaches, their engines are offline."

Gravier looks at me. I catch his gaze, and nod, indicating that he should proceed as he sees fit.

"Ahead one half, helm to two-niner-oh degrees. Bring us in close for the kill, Mister Lucas."

This time, I feel no extra termor to indicate the massive forces that must be forcing this massive vessel to accelerate, pushing her out towards the drifting, flaming wreckage of the Chaos vessel.

As we close, I can make out details. The Idolator is still quite large in it's own right, at more than half a mile from stem to stern. She has been gutted, her hull shattered and the internal structure laid bare, glowing like a log on a long-burning fire as flames roar throughout her decks, feeding off ruptured fuel and oxygen lines. A few guns still seem to be working, as they swivel and track us, launching a few shots, but thost few that do find their mark do nothing more impressive than to detonate harmlessly against the shell of our void shields.

"Hard-a-port! Starboard gun decks, prepare for full broadside. Take your time about it, gentlemen."

The activity on the bridge is busy, but disciplined. Gravier runs a tight ship.

"All decks report ready, sir."

That is first officer Listia Semper. The Semper family have a long and proud tradition of producing officers for the Navy. Flag-admiral Corin Semper, of the Dominis Ultra, Captain Leoten Semper, Commodore Solomon Semper. Listia Semper is one of the few women of the clan who have chosen to go into the Navy, but she is obviously an exemplary officer, and a proud addition to the fleet.

"Solution?"
"Locked and ready."
"All decks... fire."

This time, I definitely feel the lurch as the whole starboard battery - some ten or twelve macro-cannons - are fired. The crippled Idolator stands no chance against such overwhelming firepower, and is more or less torn to shreads, it's hull and superstructure ripped bodily apart in a series of massive detonations that send mangled wreckage flying in all directions.

As the firing continues, I feel a sudden, sharp stab of pain through my head. Across the bridge, the small entourage of Astropaths - living, telepathic communicators through whom all interstellar transmission must inevitably pass - Cry out in pain. One of them swoons, crumpling to the deck as blood erupts from his nostrils.

"Captain, withdraw." I order, extending a hand to balance myself as the pain intensifies. Gravier does not need a second telling.
"All ahead full, hard-a-port! break, break, break!"

The deck rumbles beenath me as I drop to my kness, struggling desperately against the agony within my skull. Across the deck, all of the astropaths have collapsed, although a few are still conscious, writhing in agony, their hands clamped to their temples as if to hold their brains in.

As the mighty ship's engines finally manage to put some significant distance between us and the chaos vessel, the pain subsides, and I let out a gasp of tension, and draw myself to my feet.

"Vortex torpedoes." I order, allowing the anger I feel to pervade my voice. "Send that Blasphemy back to where it belongs."

As Gravier begins to shout orders to the bridge crew, I turn to the colonels of the three regiments, who are waiting patiently to my side.

"Ready your men." I order them. "Kavariss will not wait a second longer."

[Fellguarde]

Ilythan sat in the confines of the Vampire , feeling the slow rhythem of the engines ripple from the ship and into him like a pulse discharge. Five other Vampire class heavy transports, each holding a Warlock and his detachment trailed behind them. The pilot shifted out of auto-pilot as they neared the foul chaos ship.
Suddenly the ship cartwheeled as a hail of torpedos streaked past, headed for the chaos ship. When they struck, the ship was almost completely destroyed. A piece of its weapons bay drifted past. The pilot checked the sensors.
"Humans".
They both looked up at the viewscreen, just in time to see a fild of debris right in front of them. The pilot pulled up at the last minute, burning an engine to escape fast enough.
Twice in one day, maybe this pilot should get a promotion, mused Ilythen.
The pilot addressed him.
"Warlock, shall I have the Sirithalium and Warp Viper open fire upon them"?
"No, guardian. They could be used to our advantage. No doubt they will destroy the ship but the artifact will be left unscathed. We can take it from the debris and properly remove its taint".
The pilot turned his attention back to the controls. "If that is your will, Warlock".
Then, there was pain. Every fibre in his body suddenly dripped with it and the eldar around him began to collapse. He clutched his head. I psychic flare! Being Eldar, he was naturally more sensitive to these kinds of things. If something wasn't done, the crew could be killed. The pain dimmed. He felt the mighty mind of Elrithar reaching out. The pain ceased. He blew a sigh of relief.
The pilot stood, still rubbing his head. Suddenly his eyes widened and he shot to the controls, turning the ship around.
Elythen watched as the vortex torpedos sped past.

[PHLEG]

Brother-Captain Zarius walks though the huge iron doors to the pilot room of the ship. "You called?" he asked the man in front of the radar.
"Yes, sir. We have reached the last known location of the chaos ship."
Zarius looked out the huge window at all the nearby planets and stars. He instantly recognised the Eye of Terror, and Cadia, which was where he first fought to prevent chaos from reaching Terra, home of the Emperor. There are also lots of other planets which could be the hideout for the chaos scum.
"Right, carry out a scan of all these planets from orbit," Zarius ordered, "one of these planets MUST be where the chaos are hiding..."
Zarius looked out the window again. He had the feeling that somewhere in the blackness, someone.....or something, was watching him.

[Digicowboy]

The walls scream. Faces form and scream and fade back into the structure that used to be an Imperial Guard bunker. And to the worshipper of the False Emperor, it still appears so.
For my God has blessed me with a fraction of his power, but a fraction is a mighty power indeed.

I sit, still, silent, my mind traversing the pathways of the warp, the space man uses but does not understand, the space the Eldar can feel, if imperfectly. My mind brushes over ships. The Idolater is gone, but it is no matter. Those on board had played their part in my master's great plan, and the phsychic flare they create in depth allows my own prescence to slip by undetected, probing, seeking.
The Eldar. The Servants of the False Emperor. The Necronytr. They are all here. The pieces are in place, and my master's games are subtle, and intricate.
For he is the Changer of Ways, and I am his faithfull servant of five thousand years.

[Fellguarde]

As the pilot turned the Vampire, Ilythen hastily tapped a control panel.
Outside, in the cold of space, a thin blue beam lanced out out of the Vampire, into the debris. It then retracted and the ships engines powered up fully. The torpedos detonated. Luckily, the initial blast threw them out of the implosions reach. Out of control, the ship hurtled towards the nearby planet, trailing Psi-energy. Clouds whipped past the viewscreen and the barren landscape reared up ahead of them like a wall of approaching death. Another Vampire soared past them, its crew having gained some slight control over it. The wraithbone structure of the ship wailed and groaned around him. He could feel a number of parts breaking off as they crashed towards the planet.
And so, like a dying pheonix they sped downwards in a trail of flame, facing their doom.
And then, salvation.
The controls came back to life with a hum, and the skilled pilot pulled up in the nick of time, skimming at massive speed, mere meters from the ground.
They briefly past a huge, black pyramid like structure and then, with a sound similiar to that of a dying breath, the engines failed, and with an almighty crash, the battered Vampire hit the ground.
Ilythen stood, shaking away a terrible dizziness. He reached for the pilot's chair and turned it, coming face to face with the brave Eldar's broken body. Ilythen smiled faintly. He had died saving them. Elrithar, Khain, Asuryn and Isha themselves would be proud of him. The crew began to stirr and he turned around to see what the beam had caught from the debris.
Well. It certainly was an artifact of some sort. And it cerainly generated a powerful, malevolent aura. But it was certainly not a Chaos artifact.
It wasn't spiky enough to be a chaos artifact.
Elrithars words echoed in his head.
"Necrontyr", he whispered to himself.
The object was large, around for ft across and five ft tall. It resembled a black diamond, made of an unrecognisable black metal. Ancient runes covered it and at its top was a small pyramid of green energy. On the side he determined to be its fron was a symbol that he had seen before, but could not define the origin of.

[Switchblade]

"And you're certain?"

The drop ships have already been launched, and are now barreling thorugh the upper atmosphere of the planet Kivariss, burning down from high orbit in a controlled descent. Mine is just one of many hundred, ferrying the thousands of soldiers and hundreds of tanks that I have commandeered to the planet's surface, living testimony to Imperial might.

Right now, however, I have more pressing concerns. The comm-servitor in front of me has locked itself into place on the rolling deck of the drop ship with magnetic clamps, and is now standing patiently, relaying the image of Captain Gravier through the screen set in the space where it's chest and lower jaw used to be.

"There can be no doubt, lord inquisitor. Their stealth technologies shrouded them from our scanner's view, but the disruptions caused by the warp rifts of our torpedoes seem to have caused them damage. Auspices tracked them to a barely-controlled landing on the northern continent, some four miles south-east your LZ."

"What of the chaos vessel?"

"Obliterated. Only those fragments that were blown well clear of the wreck are still intact. The remainder is now lost on the tides of the Warp. however, we are reasonably certain that the Eldar succeeded in extracting something from the wreckage before our torpedoes found their mark. What they extracted is a mystery."

"Strange..."

"Yes, my lord. I have fought Eldar before, during the Gothic War. I doubt that they would be looking to take any artefact for selfish reasons."

"You need not remind me, Captain. I know a great deal more about the Eldar than you imagine exists."

"Of course, My lord. forgive me, It was not my place."

"It is not out of place to tend your duties, Captain. For now, you are to hold in geosynchronous orbit above the LZ. You are free to manouevre as you see fit in the event that you are attacked, but I will require your presence in orbit at all times."

"Aye, my lord Inquisitor. Gravier out."

The screen blinks to it's standby state, and the servitor comes to un-life, hauling itself, mechanically, back to it's alcove.

Subconsciously, I check the seals on my armour again. The atmosphere on Kavariss is quite hospitable for human life, although the planet is strangely divided. The northern continent is a wasteland, an endless basalt desert of dirty black grains that covers nearly a full half of the northern hemisphere, from which jut the pyramids and necropolis-cities of the Necron civilisation that once ruled here. The three southern continents, more of a super-archipelago, on the other hand, are rich and verdant, covered in lush green life in great variety and scope. In between the continents, the sea is deep and an unhealthy grey-green, as if whatever cataclysm blasted the land of the northern continent has likewise poisoned the waters of the ocean, and health has only returned to those waters amongst the southern landmass.

Nevertheles, I am fully expecting trouble down there, wether from the Eldar or from the Necrontyr, and it would not do to walk into that situation without ensuring that my power armour is in perfect working order. I chant a few prayers and benedictions over the machine spirits that cause my power armour to function.

The armour is elaborate, but also function, a testament to the art of war. Intricate scrollwork, litanies of hatred and purity, are engraved into the metal, disguising the emitters of my personal conversion force field. A purity seal adorns my left shoulder pad, and another my thigh. The armour is a dull yet gleaming gunmetal colour, with the =][= symbol of the inquisition embossed in gold and crimson upon the left shoulder pad, and the double-headed Aquila of the Imperium upon the right. A fine tool of protection and warfare.

My weapons, likewise, are works of lethal art. My force halberd is fully six inches taller than I am, and thrums gently at my touch, resonating to the psychic energy that I can channel through it's fabric for devastating effect. It is likewise bedecked with purity seals, and various holy writings - the sayings of St. Thor, the primarchs and of all the holy scriptures of the Imperium, carved in writing so fine that it is difficult to make out unaided.

My boltgun, by contrast, is functional and matt black. A weapon of raw death, a tool for killing, not for looking photogenic. Black and gunmetal, no more, no less. The contrast pleases me.

"Coming in on final approach, touchdown in thirty seconds."

The pilot sounds cool and unflustered over the vox-speakers, and, likewise, morale within the cabin seems high. The soldiers chat amiably and slap each other in silly little bonding rituals as they perform final equipment checks. A few offer quick prayers and make the sign of the Aquila.

Alone of all these men, I am the only one who really knows what we are about to face.

I've faced them before...

[PHLEG]

Brother-Captain Zarius saw an explosion out of the darkness.
"Whats going on out there?" he ordered.
"It seems like an Inquisitorial ship is fighting some sort of alien craft, most likely its Eldar," was the reply he got.
Zarius ran towards the radar, and looked for himself. He watched as small dots head towards the planet. "Those pods.....we will follow them to that planet."
"Yes sir."
Zarius entered the pod room. Several people in Terminator armour were getting prepared for battle, with Nemesis Force Weapons and built-in bolters. "Soldiers, we do not know what kind of welcome we will get when we reach the planet. We beleive that down there is where the remaining Chaos icon is. Down there, we may run into an Inquisitor, or the Eldar, or maybe even Chaos, so get ready to fire as soon as you get out your pod." And with that, the Terminators walked into their pods. Zarius got into the last remaining pod. Then, they were launched.

[Fellguarde]

The harsh light of the planet's sun stung his sensitive eyes as the landing hatch opened. A number of guardians poured out to take up defensive positions arond the fallen Vampire he had instructed a Warp Spider to try and contact the other ships using the half operational comm system, but now he could see that that would not be necissary. Due to them being in close formation at the time, most of the ships had crash-landned within sight of each other. Some however, including the closest one, had exploded on impact and was now little more than a fiery wreckage. The black pyramid they had spotted earlier loomed over the numerous crash sites like a grim omen.
Ilythen knew what would come out of that thing at night.
He ordered his Dark Reapers and Striking Scorpions out of the ship, and then retreated back into its shade. The Warp Spiders were still inside, waiting for their Exarch.
The warlock moved around the necron artifact and into the control room. He tapped the Exarch on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Contact the Sword Of Khain".

"Yes, Warlock".

There was a clicking noise as the ships systems struggled to start, and then a blurry picture of the Sword Of Khain's bridge appeared. Elrithar must be in his chambers, as he was nowhere to be seen on the screen. Instead, a guardian navigator stares back at them. When he spoke, his voice was slightly distorted my the ships malfunctioning systems.

"Yesssss Warrllloock".

Ilythen hoped he could hear him properly.
"The human ship has outlived its usefulness in this situation. Its presence may disrupt our escape. Destroy it. I have seen this kind of ship before, it is no match for a Void stalker such as the Sword Of Khain. However, the three cruisers should still accompany you, they may have reinforcements. That is all".

"AaaaSz you willll, Warlock".

The image faded. Ilythen turned to the Exarch beside him and told him to relay a quick message to the other Vampires, telling them to meet at these co-ordinates. After quickly tapping the controls, the Warp spider declared that he had finished. He dismissed him and heard the sound of the 'Spiders telepoters powering up. Space bent around them, and with a noiseless flash, they dissapeared.
When Ilythen left the ship again, the sun was already hidden behind the ominous, black pyramid.

[Switchblade]

"My lord!"

This time a comms officer is addressing me. We've landed and dusted off, a full two regiments have been dropped succesfully, and the third is in transit.

"Yes?"

"The Cardinal Sevoran reports that it is being engaged. A Void Stalker class heavy cruiser and three lesser Eldar cruisers are set upon an intercept course, and are estimated to come into weapons range within the next five minutes."

"Relay the following message to Captian Gravier."

"Yes, sir!"

"Message begins: "Gravier: The Cardinal Sevoran is no match for the Eldar forces where you are. You must alter the situation to your advantage. Move from your present position, and take up a low orbit in the planetary shadow. Eldar ships rely on solar energy to manouevre, they will be slower and less efficient on the night side. Be advised that, although they possess no shields in the conventional sense, their holo-fields will confound your targetting scanners. Rely upon your weapon batteries to smash their vessels. The blessings of the Emperor go with you. Pro fides, pro Imperium, pro Imperator. Antonius." Message ends."

The comms trooper salutes, and sprints towards the command bunker that is being deployed by a small army of servitors as they scurry in and out of the cavernous maw of a gargantuan drop-ship.

To my right, a brigade's worth of chimeras are rolling down the ramp of a similarly huge ship, accompanied, here and there, by the lumbering, intimidating, tall-standing frame of Leman Russ battle tanks. The Praetorians favour the "Exterminator" pattern, with the twin autocannon turret and triple heavy bolters, a pattern of battle tank that will prove far more effective against the elusive Eldar vehicles than the standard pattern, although the big-bore battle cannons of the standard Leman Russ may well be more of a blessing should we actually encounter the Necrontyr. I press the "send" button on my micro-bead communicator.

"Praetorians, third brigade. Form up and board for recon detail."

"Yes, lord!"

A squadron of chimeras form up, and troops begin to climb inside with practised, well-drilled ease. I jog across the ebony sand and clamber aboard one of the lead platoons. The troops inside imemdiately cease their joking and assume alert, overly stiff stances of battle-readiness.

"You know, if we're to go into battle, I'd rather fight alongside troops who are in good spirits than alongside intimidated men." I tell them as I settle into a rear seat. "As you were."

There's a general air of relaxation, of tension dispelled. Further up the cabin, one of the men mutters something, another laughs, and pretty soon the cabin has erupted into the rowdy life of well-motivated soldiers psyching themselves up for a hostile warszone.

For myself, I pray. Pray that these men will be forced to fight Eldar. Compared to the Necrontyr, the Eldar are no form of challenge at all.

[PHLEG]

Zarius stares across the baron wastlands. Apart from the wind, it is silent. There is no sign of ally or enemy. This would be the perfect place to set up defences, Zarius thinks to himself. "Right, bring down the ship, we will be setting up base here," he says into his radio, which is built in into his helmet.
Suddenly, the winds get stronger as the ship lowers towards the ground.
The doors fall open, and Gray Knight soldiers carrying crates of supplies run out.
"Right, you know what to do," Zarius orders the soldiers, "set up a HQ bunker, a supplies bunker, a soldiers barracks, and several defence bunkers surrounding them all." And with that, the soldiers begin to build.
For when they have finished, Zarius thinks to himself, they will search for where the Imqusitor drop-pods have landed and find out more about the current situation.

[Fellguarde]

Ilythen sat, calmly watching the sky. The Eldar force had fully assembled at his crashed ship, but their numbers were less than he expected. Only six Wraithlords, two Prism tanks and five Falcons had survived the crash. Troop wise, there were many combat specialized aspect warriors. They would have been useful boarding the chaos vessel, but against he necrontyr he needed powerful long ranged weapons. He would have to make good use of his few Dark Reapers.To add to his worries, only five Warlocks were still alive. These problems and many more had arisen, and the sun was setting.
A message from the Sword Of Khain had told him that the human vessel
had tried to take advantage of the Eldar's solar powered engines and that although the battle was going well, Eye Of Isha is badly damaged and Elrithar has called upon the nearby cruiser Burning Spear. According to the voice message, the human ship's engines had been disabled but it was still putting up a fight worthy of rememberance.

Ilythen almost smiled. Humans really were an intersting race. If they were not so barbaric and Xenephobic, they would be potential allies of the Eldar race.

And then, the sun vanished, sinking beneath the horizon and plunging the surface into darkness. The air grew cold almost immediately, and Elythen found himself shivering despite his warm robe. He stood with his usual demiur of calmness, hefting his witchblade and rejoining his guardian squad. All around him, Eldar toops moved into fighting formations.

A wail pierced the silence, sending the cold, sharp knife that is fear plunging into Ilythen and his fellow troops. But they are Eldar. And they will stand fast against the horrors.

At the sids of the pyramid, something began to move. Even from this distance, Ilythen could make out the ranks of steel warriors that he had hoped not to fight.

[VictorCross]

Name: Commander Drake
Race: Legion of the damned Space marine
Age: Unknown Because the chapter was ex-communicated, no records are left about him
Occupation: Since there are a limited number of battle brothers in the Legions of the damned, there are not enough to hold proper company structure, but many of the battle brother think of him as some sort of leader and will follow him not matter what.
Gear: Combi-melta bolter, Bolt Pistol, Power weapon and Artificer Armor
Abilities: Apparition

Many thoughts ran through Drakes head as he and 300 hundred more of his fellow brothers used there gift. He was one of the many, one of the cursed, deserted by the Imperium but still loyal to the emperor they serve him even in death.

Even though there was not many members of the Legion of the damned, they’re a powerful force. One thing did have Drake worried though, the Grey knight were present. This always made Drake edgy; they appear on a planet they were all the same to him.

“Quick, scout the perimeter and give me a report.” Drake commanded. The men worked quick and rushed back to report. “Brother, There is a Eldar force not to far away, also there is a weird pyramid with Ranks of warriors coming from it.”

Drake nodded his head, “Ok Brothers, get ready to move out. That pyramid is our target, it threatens the emperor and we can’t allow it.” All 300 marines let out a cry that would send a chill down the spill of any normal person; it was loud enough for even to Eldar. “One more thing, I don’t wish to kill any Eldar, but if they fire at use we shall wipe them out as well as the warriors we are originally here to kill.”

They walked along in perfect unison, Writhed with fire of the warp. It was a fearful sight to see, with unnatural stanima the marched at a running speed. It didn’t take long for them to make it to the Eldar’s location. The marched to right next to the Eldar, then Drake held up his hand and they all stopped.

“Here comes the test.” Drake thought to himself as he held his combi-melta bolter in one hand and rested his fist on his hip.

[Fellguarde]

When he had first seen the Humans headed their way, Ilythen had hoped that he would not have to fight them. With a battle against the Necrontyr so close (scouts reported that over a three thousand metallic warriors now stood outside the pyramid, and more were still coming), Ilythen could not afford to lose any troops. He had given the order to hold fire. The Humans had not changed their course, but instead had marched right up to his force without firing a single shot. This was not at all like the Humans he had fought against, who would attack any species on sight. His warriors, although obeying orders, were on edge, pointing their weapons at the humans. If this did end up in a confrontation, it would be a bloody one. These were what humans called Space Marines, their finest warriors.
Just as Ilythen prepared himself to find their leader, a Ranger whispered in his ear.
By Kaela Mesha Khain, six thousand already!

For a moment he wondered how the necrons numbers had swelled so quickly. His force numbered a mere seven hundred.

He then pushed his way through ranks of Eldar to come face to face with a space marine.
He shouted in slightly mispronounced, faltering Terran:
"Who is your eader. I will speak with him".

[Switchblade]

"By the Emperor's immortal grace..."

Similar oaths, prayers and minor adorations of fealty and faith are being played out throughout the brigade, the litany of faith common when all men confront a scene out of the worst tortured warp-nightmares.

The Praetorian patrol is currently encamped upon a ridge, overlooking a wide, shallow basin in the desert, from the centre of which judges the lethal spike form of a pyramid, jet black save for one gargantuan, alien rune carved into the fabric of each facet.

The pyramid is of minor concern, however, compared to the army encamped at it's base. A seemingly living sea of metal is forming about the colossal edifice, their leering silvery death's-head forms eerily underlit by the eldritch lights cast by their weaponry. Flying machines, unholy fusions of humanoid torso that blend into burnished, insectoid abdomens, roar back and forth across the horde. There are other nightmares in there - cohorts of gleaming white warriors, monstrous parodies of the human form, who wield their scythes with skill and grace. Packs of capering abominations, whose bladed limbs are bedecked with scraps of dried and tanned flesh, some of it quite obviously human. hives of lumbering metal beetles twice the height of a man, around whose legs swarms of lesser mechanical scarabs zip and scuttle.

It's an awe-inspring sight. I pray to the Emperor, my hands involuntarily forming the sign of the Aquila over my breast.

Comm chatter suddenly breaks out in my ear, and, moments later, I hear the sounds of gunfire. No explanation is immediately forthcoming, but after a few seconds, such is not needed. The sands erupt not fifty feet from us, and a squad of warriors lurch upright, the basalt granules cascading off their burnished flanks.

No sooner have the warriors arrived, than they begin to fire. The death-scream of the man to my right is a sound of raw agony, as the unearthly-energies of the gauss-flayer weaponry literally flays the flesh from his bones, dissolving him on the molecular level slowly, oh so unbearably slowly and painfully, so that skin gives way to muscle, to tendon and gut, until, for a second, a bare skeleton jerks a macabre dance where once a living man stood, before it too is rendered down to nothing.

Two beams are aimed at me, but the energies of my conversion field do their blessed work, and the gauss energy flares harmlessly across the bubble of protection, dissipating in a coruscating display of light and energy. The guardsmen, however, are recoiling, apalled by the horror of their foe's weaponry.

"STAND!" I yell at them, raising my bolter. "STAND AND BRING VENGEANCE UPON THE ENEMY!"

the bolter yackers a litany of death in my hand, spewing a hail of explosive bolts across the torso of the nearest warrior. It's steps falter, but for a moment, my shots seem not to have an effect. Then, seeming guided by the God on Earth himself, one round catches a sensitive spot, the crystal shard the monstrosity uses for an eye. The explosion is muffled and dull withing it's unliving cranium, but the unholy ocnstruct spasms, jerks, and collapses as whatever arcane internal systems it may possess are obliterated. Even before it has hit the floor, the warrior's body is beginning to become translucent. Seconds later, it is a mere shimmer on the air, and gone.

The death of the first warrior does more to rally the men than any words could have done, and they abruptly bring themselves up into disciplined firing patterns.

"Set your weapons to maximum!" I bark orders at them. "Concentrate your fire!"

The las-rounds, not real lasers, but rather high-energy packets of charged photons, begin to punch into the Necron warriors, knocking them off balance. At first, there is no discernible effect, but then one warrior falls, and then another, their gleaming metal flesh molten and ruined under the onslaught of energy. A few try to raise themselves back to their feet, whatever internal healing systems they possess working feverishly to maintain their ability to fight, but to no avail, as these individuals are swiftly re-targeted and blasted to slag.

A few, however, wade through the fire seemingly unscathed, their weapons spewing exruciating death into the ranks. One group of men recoils as the warrior they were targettingplays the energies of it's weapon across them like a flamer, dropping men to the ground in terrible agony, but not actually killing them. The fire against that warrior slackens, and rather than let this failure turn the tide against us, I step in, dropping my bolter to better wield the force halberd, which screams and sings in my hands as I lunge forward, chopping across the warrior's torso, hard.

Fuelled by my own psychic might, the blade carves through the alien metal of the creeature's hide with nary a tug of resistance. For a second, the warrior continues to walk, but then it jerks, stumbles, and falls into two neat, seperate halves, neatly bisected by the perfect diagonal line that runs from shoulder to pelvis. Both halves are barely visible by the time they hit the sand.

The next second, it is over. The remaining warriors phase out, leaving no trace of their presence, save the sizzle and stink of las-barrels, and the soft, moaning cries of the wounded.

"Vox Trooper!" I yell. A man with the enormous trademark comms box strapped firmly to his shoulders runs to join me. I grab the input cable and plug it into my own microbead transmitter.

"Inquisitor Antonius to all Imperial forces, have encountered hostile alien forces. We are falling back to regroup with you. All men prepare for combat."

I end the message, before dialling the comms gear to a different channel that will allow me to contact the Cardinal Sevoras

"Sevoras, Antonius. Report."

"Heavy damage to main engines, secondary thrusters and all manouevring thrusters still operational, shields and weapons intact, no significant damage. The Eldar are currently regrouping for another attack run. We expect to have main engines repaired in time to meet them."

"Sevoras, I want you to transmit on all channels the following message: "There are more pressing issues. To continue to fight now is foolish." message ends. That done, you are to plot a firing solution on grid co-ordinates... thirty-one North by Seventy-two West, broad-pattern firing over an area of radius two kilometres. Begin firing ASAP, and do not cease until ordered otherwise."

"And the Eldar, my lord?"

"Ignore them, for now. If they prove foolhardy enough to attack, defend yourselves, but your primary mission is the orbital bombardment, do you copy?"

"Aye, my lord inquisitor. Firing begins in approximately three minutes. Recommend withdrawing your men to a safe distance of three kilometres. Gravier out."

The input chord whips from it's socket, and I thumb my microbead.

"Patrol, load up and fall back to beachead with all speed. Bring those wounded who can fight, grant those who cannot the Emperor's mercy."

Now, if only the damned arrogant Eldar can see enough sense to let the superior might of my warship's batteries do their work against the Necron army. Few forces in the galaxy can match the unsurpassed fury of an orbital bombardment from an Imperial cruiser. Normally, the elder race can be trusted to see the big picture, and act responsibly. Some, however, seem mptivated on whims that are almost chaotic in nature. As the brigade load up and the Chimeras gun their engines, I pray to the God-Emperor on Earth that the Eldar here are of the former kind.

I am about to get into my Chimera, when a flash of light high in the sky cathes my attention. A spark, falling earthwards, and another, and another, until suddenly the sky seems full of gleaming shards of light that drop towards the ground at unbearable speed until...

The first one strikes. I hear no sound, the impact is too far away, but it's effects are plain. A fireball the rough size of a drop ship blossoms amidst the Necron horde. Warriors and living weapons are blasted into shrapnel and cast to the wind as a tremendous shockwave rips away from the epicentre, felling or swaying the Necrons like wheat around a tornado. Then the shockwave has cleared the edge of the army, thunders across the plain in an expanding ring of grey dust as other explosions erupt into apocolyptic life amidst the Necron army. A direct hit to the pyramid punches into a wall, cracking and blasting it, but seemingly causing nothing more than superificial damage.

Then the blast front reaches me. Luckily, I had the sens to extend an arm and steady myself against the Chimera as the rush of abused air thunders past, causing the sand to leap into the air and swirl terribly and stingingly around me, even causing the chimera the shift on it's tracks, and then it is gone, blitzing across the sand to it's eventual dissipation as even more shockwaves come chasing in it's wake. There was no real sound, in the ordinary sense of the world, merely a concussive blast of hair that hammered the ear drums, seemingly squeezing at the matter of my brain itself before the front passed on.

I haul myself into the transport and haul the hatch shut. Even if the thrice-damned Eldar do the stupid thing and press their attack against the Cardinal Sevoras whilst it is distracted, the damage the mighty cruiser will do with this barrage should even the odds against my men and I.

If they do the wise thing and join in, then the Necron force may well be blasted down to a mere shade, a spectre of it's former self that cannot possibly offer any real resistance.

The chimeras roar and begin to haul themselves across the sand as their hulls continue to ring with the impacts of blast front after blast front, and, behind that apocolyptic noise, the rising wail of the first spread of plasma torpedoes as they hurtle groundwards...

[PHLEG]

Zarius stands above a table in the HQ bunker. He is looking down at a map of the planet which was made when the ship was oribiting the planet. "Lets see....now if we are here, there could be enemys over be this weird structure here," he says pointing to the map, making internal memos.
Suddenly, a message came though the radio,
"Inquisitor Antonius to all Imperial forces, have encountered hostile alien forces. We are falling back to regroup with you. All men prepare for combat."
"That Inquisitor...." Zarius thinks to himself, "if we are picking up his messages, that means he cant be far away." Zarius runs out of the HQ bunker, to see soldiers still carrying crates from the ship to the supply bunker. "EVERYONE," he shouts out, "Get ready for combat. It is beleived that hostile aliens are not far off, so upgrade the defences immediatly."
Soldiers rushed to the defence bunkers, getting ready to aim the las cannons. The soldiers in Terminator armour armed their weapons, ready for combat. And fineally, the ships door open up, and a Gray Knight Landraider came out, ready and loaded. "The best equiptment in the whole imperium," Zarius thought to himself, watching the soldiers getting ready, and a Gray Knight Dreadnaught comeing out of the ships doorway. "Id like the see those hostile aliens take us now."

[VictorCross]

The entire army of space marines stood in silence. Then Drake heard a noise and his head quickly turned in the direction of the noise, it was a Eldar warlock that addressed one of his marines. Drake made his way over to the warlock that was looking for the leader, he walked through row after row of marine until he finally made it to the Warlock. He looked down at the Warlock, Drake was large for a normal marine.

“Greetings, You wish to see the leader of this army. We are no normal marine army, We are the Legions of the Damned, we do not have any ranks, but I would come close enough to be called the leader..” Drake said to Ilythen.

“You are brave, not many can address my troops. Fear is the only weapon that we need to win most battles, but this one were against fear it self. That pyramid is are target.”

Suddenly the sounds of fighting could be heard and Drake turned abit, “Give me a report.” He commanded at his troops. Over the speaker he heard, “Sir the necron force have engaged the imperial guard forces and the imperial force are being pushed back.”

“Damn.” Drake muttered to himself, “Prepare me for battle.” Drake yelled out, then ten robed cursed knights circled around, then backed up away from Drake. Drake was in a hooded robe like the cursed knights, his combi-melta bolter hung by his side on his other side there was a bolt pistol and in his hands he held a large power scythe.

Drake turned around to face Ilythen again. “If we hold them off do you have anything to take that pyramid out?” Drake said holding out his hand in a sign of peace

[PHLEG]

((OOC)) Sorry to put down an OOC note, but there is a point that need to be made. Even if they have been allys a few times, Space Marines And Eldar dont get along and still fight each other. So, a Space Marine wouldnt just go up to an Eldar Walock and say Hi. Again, sorry for an OOC note, and have fun RPing.

[TheDemonInside]

Name: Aczay Oritay
Race: Human
Age: 26
Occupation: Vindicare assassin
Gear: Vindicare rifle, vindicare pistol, knife, hellfire rounds

Aczay strapped himself into his drop pod.
"Five minutes until launch..." blared the intercom naggingly.
Aczay rolled his eyes, unnoticed by the many security cameras, under his helmet. If the major caught any insubordination at all he'd probably be fired, there's the bloody space marines for you. He checked his weapons were secure in the pod, checked his stealth suit for chinks. He was ready.
"Ten seconds untill launch, nine... eight..."
A moment later Aczay was blasted into space, the jets on his pod steering him towards the set destination, near a Necron pyramid on the surace of the desolate, destroyed world.