Personalities of Ordur IV
Commander Farrakhan
Rumours of a genetic flaw have prevented Farrakhan
from rising any higher than Commander of the 3rd company, although even so he is still
fourth in line to become Chapter Commander. Farrakhan has fought with great bravery in
many campaigns, including the cleansing of Armaggedon and the Battle of Orion103.
Due to his incredible feats of valour , Farrakhan has earned the use of
one of the Chapter's few power fists (the forge world which supplied them to the Saracens
was overrun by Eldar pirates) and the Chapter's only bolter-melta combi-weapon. For some
reason Farrakhan has always opted out of Terminator training, and as such has never
recieved terminator honours, adding to the mystery surrounding this great leader.
by Matthew Poulsom, thepouls@hotmail.com
Dante
Dei Feidakin, Apothecary
+++Marines Saracen Long Range Patrol Company
+++Apothecary Trainee Datafax
+++
+++KJIE00+++UMJKWP+++###############+++####SigHup
+++
Begin Encrypted Transmission(RSAIIIIIDES:Tiberius)-->
+
+
+
Officio Medico, Neuropathicum.
...
Through the void of dark night we have molded this once useless progenii into a hardenned
Apothecary. Like the cool, methodic psychic guidance of our exalted emperor, let this
adeptus medico illuminate the horrific carnage that follows our holy crusade, and
incinerate that which ails you.
Our bonded word marks this new addition to your force
as worthy of the honorary office of Apothecary. His name is Dante Dei Feidakin.
Battle brothers honour the Healing Fist of our savior the mighty Emperor.
...
+
+
+
End Encrypted Transmission
(Perdete Ogni Sperenza, voi ch'entrate.)==#
by hrdware@sympatico.ca
Cannabus, Praetorian Command Melta Gunner
I, Cannabus, I see death around me. I have been under the command of our lieutenant for a
man's age... Well, come to think about it, a man's age isn't worth our Emperors cold spit.
This is the third lieutenant I have saved the ass of - twice. I couldn't care less. I
don't even know his name. I was sort of promoted to guard his ass because his father is a
important person somewhere. That's right. They put me on babysitting-- and only because I
was so lucky to pick up my lighter just at the same moment as my old squad was ventilated
with those damned alien shards, cutting them to pieces. One even took a piece of my
ceramite helmet... ... So now I've got ventilation on a warm day. Heh heh...
Praise the emperor that I just had cleaned my melta. I had it on full
power-- Blam! I fried those arrogant aliens. They didn't even manage to make a sound. I
actually think I could see fear through those pesky masks. The dusk is the worst time. You
just can't se them coming, moving round in the shadows. Thank the light of the Emperor
that they were only three. Only three, and they shot ten of my friends dead.
Well. So in gratitude of showing the alien scum the emperors light, I
have been made a babysitter for a fresh kid, who actually think he knows how to kill those
Eldars. Yeah right. I bet his hands will be hanging from an alien belt later tonight.
Since I came to this place, damned beyond chaos, I have fought every
night, walked every day. And now the night is setting again... You can't hear them, nobody
can. I look at those other bastards around me. All fresh meat. Every single one of them...
laughing, sleeping. They are fresh. They can't feel their absence... I can. They are just
as many as us. They have been watching us all day. I can see it now. This willbe the night
I die...
by Bjørn-Erik Holsæter, bjorn-erik.holsaeter@sveg.se.sykes.com
Foe
Hammer - Leman Russ Demolisher
The Crew of the Demolisher worked with practiced percission as it checked the tank's
weapons and systems. Already Ordur's sky was beginning take on a pre-dawn glow, and battle
would soon follow. The tank was ready to kill in the name of the Emperor thought the crew
commander as he watched his crew in silence. "Mount up ladies the enemy won't wait
for ever" barked commander Higgs as he strapped on his command head-set. "just
one more second commander I have to finish up" drawled gunner Bosek as he stepped
back to reveal freshly painted letters on the hull. The commander grinned as he read the
gunner's handy work. "Foe-Hammer indeed gunner Bosek, Foe-Hammer indeed!"
by Nurgle23@aol.com
Peraximus,
Reaver Titan
Princeps: Adam "Trigger Happy" Smith
Tactical officer: Graham "G-man" Perry
Engineering: Ash "Freakshow" Mansfield
Weapons: Nicky "Creek" Dawson
A new prototype Titan, with shoulders less broad than the current model and less heavilly
armoured for greater and more controlled mobility. Fitted with plasma blast gun,
multi-launcher, and power fist. Completely untested in battle, but in test drives the
Peraximus destroyed all simulated targets in record time.
by Brian Smith, Baj.Smith@tesco.net
Penal Trooper #8675309 and "The Flying Circus"
Sure, he started out his military career in a fairly standard way. The
friendly local Imperial Guard recruiter stopped by his highschool on graduation day.
#8675309 (or Bob as he used to be called) declined the smiling offer of glory on distant
planets, saying something about conscientious objection. The recruiting officer offered a
persuasive argument, and when that failed, the butt of a bolt pistol. Bob later woke up in
the hold of a troop carrier, headed towards basic training and the rest of his life.
Military service was not something new to Bob Johnson’s family.
His illustrious relative Lieutenant Danius served in the battle of Yussef’s plains.
Unfortunately, Lt. Danius was fleeing for the safety of the Baneblade when the Stompa sent
it up in flames. Most of him survived, but his legs were fused to the tank’s armor.
Mr. Bob Q. Johnson became #8675309 and prepared to follow in the
footsteps of heroes past. His first battle was against Tyranids in the dead of night. His
unit was trying to race into a fortified position held by the Emporer’s finest. The
bugs got there first. As he came upon the mutilated remains of mankind’s finest
warriors in the Universe’s most protective armor, he rethought his position, and
decided to follow in the footsteps of his unit, which was running like a whipped dog.
Much to his dismay, he was found by the body disposal crew the very
next day. The sight of an inert prisoner sucking his thumb next to a wrecked Chimera was
so laughable, he was sentenced to be summarily executed. But, due to an Administrative
foul-up, he was made sergeant of the penal troopers instead. "Oh well,", he
thought to himself, "at least I’m not bug chow." In commemoration of his
survival and abrupt promotion, Bob decided to give his squad a name. Thus, the Flying
Circus was born.
by jct01@home.com
"A
Futility of Ratlings"
At the Imperial camp, soldiers tromped about, doing the tasks the
commanders had earlier sent down, be it polishing the Iron Chimera, digging trenches,
running messages, or simply drilling with precision, knowing full well that, at any time,
the call might be made. Off towards the corner of the camp, in the back, by the mess tent,
was a cozy little bit of carefully tended canvas forming less of a tent and more a large
burrow, using a hillside as one wall. Within the tent, there was a sound of quiet
merriment, until...
"Ateeeeen-SHUN!", said one Ratling, snapping into a fast
salute after stepping inside the flap. "Hush it!" came the reply, followed by
well-hurled dice, cards, a smoking pipe, and half a sticky bun. The brief food skirmish
settled as 2nd Lt Puddings waddled into view. A few mumbles broke out, then, including one
swallowed swear, but, reluctantly, the haggard band of oft-wounded mutants struggled to
something vaguely resembling attention. Lt Puddings, a chubby Ratling of middle years,
hitched up his belt, pulling with it an ample gut, both of which flopped back down once
released.
"Men," he said, voice
breaking. He ahemed, motioning his aide for a canteen, unable to lower it quickly enough
to catch exactly which of the Ratlings was giggling at him. He rubbed his lips dry on the
handkerchief his aide was quick to present, then waved the brown-nosed one aside.
"Men," he began again, adressing the dozen or so Ratlings
before him, "We have deployment orders." A general groan began, with Pip, living
up to his name, piping up.
"But, sir, we're in no condition to shoot..." Lt Puddings cut
him off with a look.
"No need for that men..." he stated, watching everyone's eyes
brighten and cheer as the universal dream assignment, Kitchen Patrol, swept through their
minds, "... as you'll be bodyguarding the new Vindicare when he arrives."
As one, the snipers sagged. With a quirked brow, Lt Puddings asked,
"What's wrong, lads?"
Ryan spoke up first, unable to with-hold his whine anymore. "Sir,
with all due respect, you'd be better off assigning the assassin some bedroll padding to
roll around himself as a shield."
Lt Puddings tilted his head at that. "Pardon?"
Mitchell was next, noting, "It's not like we ever get to shoot
anything ... the few times we tried, he leans over and nudges our shots off, or else fires
before we can and takes out the target! He's a prog..."
Andrew followed right behind, pointing at his sling as he said,
"And he was a prog! We got the assignment when the Iron Chimera rolled out,
and what'd it get us? He grabbed Franklin and shoved him between himself and a Storm
Bolter! And me, I took a heavy bolter slug for him! And by no choice of mine, I'll tell
you..."
Lt Puddings harumphed, incredulously. "I assure you that the
assassins we are sent are of the finest in the Imperium, and..."
Quincy then perked up, saying, "What about the Callidus? I know
she mainly works with the Sisters, but, well, she's quite the nice one, sir. Always,
'Hello little fellow, how are you today,' and showing off her newest disguises ... even so
kind as to wear skirts when off duty..." The rest of the ratlings nodded in vigorous
agreement to this... "She's ever the angel, sir. We'd like well being assigned to
guard her."
Ryan, added, "As for that other one, he was always on about, 'Yer
my bodyguards, so, guard mah body!' and threw us around! Got drunk one night and started
shooting apples off our heads, he did! Didn't even have the decency to leave us a few
leftovers for a pie..."
Pip chimed in, then, noting, "That was the night before the
Tyrannid tried to Blitz us, sir. We were a little shaken before that one..."
Mitchel muttered, "More like trembling in bed, you wank--OW!"
Chuffed behind the ear, he shushed, shooting a baleful glance at Andrew.
Lt Puddings then asked, "But what about the Dark Eldar? Surely
when you went in as assassins..." The group laughed a pain-filled laugh, then.
Quincy took another turn, noting, "We buggered right out, sir. I
mean, he had us shooting at Reavers... we can't penetrate tanks, sir! But, no, he had us
doing it any way, wasting our time. Then out came that Talos, all shooty and crabby ...
well, the last thing I heard was him saying, 'Peace o' Cake...' before I run out of there,
then a mangle and a scream as that Talos blew everything up!"
Pip murmured, "Mmmmm, cake..." which was echo'd in turn by
the others, before the Lt brought them back to Earth.
Lt Puddings shook his head. "Nope, I don't believe it." The
snipers groaned together, having gone this road before. "Says here that you lot'll be
on assignment with the new Vindicare, Carl, and that's that." He paused, looking over
at the fresh batch of sticky buns set up to the side, and took the whole plate. While
biting into one, he noted, "Carry on, men," crumbs a-spitting, then trundled
back out towards the mess tent, aide crisply stepping behind.
The ratlings groaned, with some flopping back into their bedrolls.
"Cripes," muttered Andrew, who then rolled his head over to look at Ryan.
"Hey, think you could have a go at whipping up some straw dummies? Give them some
sticks and I'm sure the arrogant nutter wouldn't even notice. He just needs something to
chuck at incoming slugs, right?"
Ryan hrmed, looking back. "Dunno. I mean, they have to pay some
attention to us? Right?" A look around to the rest of the room showed no enthusiasm,
"Right?"
Quincy frowned, then stepped over the brewing dice game in the corner
to fetch his cap and walking stick. "Well, I'm going for a walk, to think it
through."
Mitchell snorted, "More like trying to sneak a peek at the
Callidus during her morning exercises..." which was, again, cut off by a cuff. Quincy
grinned, plopping his hat onto his head neatly, then tapping it down into place, once.
"It certainly couldn't hurt. Cheer up fellows! I'm sure we'll see
a proper good turn of fortune soon enough!"
After Quincy left, Ryan pulled a sheet of paper from beneath his bunk,
asking, "Right then ... Who wants to place the first bid on how long in battle before
the new guy pushes us in front of an Ork, Striking Scorpion, or other great rotting
thing?"
As Quincy strolled into the morning, he heard a small fluster behind
him as the ratlings went into motion, voices chattering excitedly. "Ah," he
thought to himself, "Good thing I got their spirits up, wot?" Thoughts drifting
towards that cute lil' leather number the Callidus often wore, he sauntered out, whistling
a merry tune as he went.
by Thomas Willoughby III, willoughby@cookeville.total-web.net
Mriahh Bielanna,
Pathfinder, Alaitoc Craftworld
My name is Mriahh Bielanna. I belong
to the Alaitoc Craftworld. I am no seer but you can feel it in the air-- the tension of
battle. Even now I can hear the roar of the Avatar as he wakes again...All too often. War
is inevitable, and I wish to fight-- not for my own honor, but for my Craftworld's.
Let us bathe in our enemies' blood. Many of us will fall-- but not as many as them...
by CoolFool64@AOL.com
Cuivienen, Swooping Hawk Exarch, and Swooping Hawks (MearNovas in
Eltharin)
After receiving word of his Temple Brothers' massacre at the hands of
the trecherous Mon-keigh, Cuivienen was eager to avenge their deaths. At first he only
wanted to take a small flock of his best trained MearNovas, but word spread quickly
throughout the temple and soon Cuivienen was faced with a hoard of volunteers. In the end,
he decided to take an additional flock of consisting of those most desperate for revenge
combined with those he considered most experienced.
Cuivienen planned to have the additional flock stay on the fringes of
battle using their Lasblasters to pick off vulnerable targets and their grenades to
disrupt the enemy flanks. He hoped that restraining them from close combat would prevent a
taint growing within them, but allowing them their retribution would satisfy their
desires. An Exarch had to constantly monitor those under his tutelage.
Cuivienen's most promising students had recently distinguished
themselves in a urban skirmish with Orcs in a nearby system. Every shot they fired killed.
Every grenade they dropped wounded. Every combat was perfectly executed. While circling
around after their initial pass, they had come under fire from a captured Rhino's Storm
Bolters - twice. They skillfully weaved their way through the air and avoided every
bullet. Cuivienen himself had performed admirably; his Web of Skulls claiming many more
and his particular ferocity in close combat dropping numerous Orcs. This was a very rare
group indeed. Cuivienen could already see that two-- yes, two-- would follow in his
footsteps one day and become Exarchs of the shrine. The rest would distinguish themselves
here on Ordur IV, but eventually move on to another Path.
by Cuivienen, cuivienen@frodo.net
Min
Fideah, Wraithlord Craftworld Eldar
Min Fideah is only freshly dead, her soul confined to the hard,
unfeeling spirit stone she wore at the time of her death. Her standing and prowess as a
warrior has ensured that she has recieved the honour of acompanying craftworld forces from
beyond the grave.
Early in her life, Min Fideah became attracted to the path of the
warrior, choosing the temple of the Howling Banshees as the optimum way to vent her rage.
Her career was undistinguished and after a relatively short period Min left to tend the
dome of crystal seers on board her craftworld, Biel Tann.
After many happy years, she came across the stone of Elthranos, a
Farseer who had fallen to one of the dreaded Culexus Assassins. Many an long hour was
spent conversing with the deseased farseer and Min Fideah learnd of how Elthranos had
acompanied her husband, Farseer Vaespir, in attempting to redeem an old exodite planet
whose world spirit was in peril. Although the world had been saved, much equipment had
been lost, with Elthranos acting as a rearguard in a stand to buy time for Vaespir to
escape with the souls of the exodites.
However, upon returning to Biel Tann, Vaespir was not hailed as a hero
for his actions, but instead chastised for the loss of so much equipment to the mon-keigh.
At the time of these conversations Vaespir was on trial by the seer council, and so when
the decision was made to exile Vaespir, Min Fideah, along with much of his original force,
elected to take up arms and acompany him. Hearing rumours of a possessed seer, Vaespir led
his forces to seek him out. Min Fideah served in a guardian storm squad, using what she
had learnt in her time as an aspect warrior. Early in the campaign, her squad leader was
mortally injured, and so Min Fideah recieved her first promotion.
From that day forth, Min was at the front of all major offensives, in
the thick of the fighting. Before long, her squad was so badly mauled that it was
no-longer an effective unit, and so Vaespir took them to be his bodyguard. So it was that
when Vaespir's troops managed to break through the enemy lines and strike at the heart of
the possessed seer's forces, Min Fideah acompanied her liege lord. Vaespir and his guards
were the first troops into the enemy command bunker, and it was Min Fideah who chanced
upon the enemy seer.
Enhanced by deamonic forces, the seer Martiel would have
slaughterd a lesser opponent, but Min Fideah traded blows with him for almost three
minutes, parrying the glowing blade desperately and staggering before an awesome psycic
assault, before finally she found a gap in his guard. Realising that he was outclassed,
and now badly injured, Martiel fled. This in turn caused his bodyguards to break, allowing
Vaespir to mow down the fleeing seer with a blast of pure energy. Such was the intensity
of this blast that daemons of the warp were attracted, dealing Vaespir a crippling injury.
Yet still the battle was not over, for Martiel had summoned a chaotic
host to aid him. Arriving too late to save their master, the daemonic host instead
attempted to reak revenge. Standing at the bunker door, Min Fideah led the other
bodyguards in a stand against the daemons. With the helpless Vaespir behind her, Min
Fideah fought against the hopeless odds until reinforcements swept in to save the day.
Bleeding from dozens of minor injuries, and with one arm rendered completely useless, Min
Fideah did not survive this final cleansing, falling before the hellblades of the foe in a
orgy of blood letting. Yet so stubborn was her defense that the deamons now had neither
time to finish Vaespir or to consume Min's spirit stone before the last of their kind was
banished.
Given this ultimate sacrifice it is little wonder that Min Fideah was
chosen for service as a Wraithlord. Vaespir himself long ago retreated into the dome of
crystal seers, but Min Fideah has chosen to follow and protect his protegee, a young
Farseer who now serves as high councillor to the forces at Ordur IV.
by Dan Seymour, djs77@cam.ac.uk
"Glide of Night" - Craftworld Eldar Ranger Squad
The "Glide of Night" Eldar ranger squad originated near the
Ulthwe craftworld and has since traveled to it's current home with the Crawftworld Eldar
on Ordur IV.
The three Eldar in the squad have fought Space Marines for a hundred
years, infiltrating deep behind the depraved Slaanesh and the pyschotic Khorne, everytime
executing their orders with supreme prescision.
They would sometimes spend months crawling in the filth left behind by
the chaos hordes, but they knew their time would come-- and it did in the Battle of
Tannalan Gate, when their whole squad stood up within three meters of the Chaos command
unit, and in a burst of fire eliminated the Warmaster and his two terminator bodyguards.
After that, they managed to rack up a number of Chaos kills until the end of the war on
Tannal II when something devastating happened to this threesome.
When the war had ended and the Eldar were pulling off Tannal with the
item they had been looking for, the "Glide of Night" stayed behind, and when the
forces of Chaos returned the only thing defending the planet were three eldar rangers...
For the next ten years, the rangers were delivered ammo and food once a
month, until the Eldar could muster a battlefleet to wipe the Chaos fleet out of the skies
and rescue them.
But they were never the same: Saraad couldn't take off his helment-- he
kept saying that if he took of his helment he would smell them... that he could never
escape the vile smell of chaos.
Dellanas constantly clenches his knife, always, and says if he ever
lets it go, his soul will escape. Dellanas had is soulstone ripped from his chest by a
screaming Bezerker before Kyann could blow it's head off, showering Dellanas with chunks
of gore he still hasn't washed off his armor.
And finally Kyann-- who came no more than a gnat's wing away from
becoming a howling banshee (her reason for leaving the craftworld)-- and who ripped the
chainsword from a charging Slaneeshi marine, then proceeded to gut and savage the whole
squad. Kyann's rifle barrel was sawn off, and now she uses it as a pistol along with the
chainsword of that unfortunate marine. The Shrine of the Banshee has twice asked her to
rejoin them, but she refuses to leave her longtime comrades in arms.
Since that time the "Glide of Night" squad has performed
excellently in night raids, always finding their opponents and never missing a single
shot. They hate humans, and loathe the Adeptus Astartes-- not only for allowing some of
their greatest to fall to chaos, but for their failure to stop them utterly. They seek
only their own destruction, but only in a blaze of glory, taking as much of the Imperium
of man with them.
by Mike Prokhor, Prokhor@telus.net
Beast
Mistress Nenliif
The beast mistress agreed to play a part in the battle against the pathetic humans for a
subsequent price: she was to be given seven of any slaves that were taken from the battle.
The price was steep, but after all, she was one of the most sought after beast masters in
all of Commorragh. She had killed many a foe with her warp beasts, and they had yet to
turn on her, as they had done with so many other beast masters who had tried to keep their
beasts under their control, but failed and had been eaten as a result. She would fight
alongside the archon, taking her full pack of warp beasts. It would be a full test of what
she and her warp beasts could do-- or so they had told her. She could only laugh at such a
statement; did they not know who they were talking to?
by John Walker, walkerj@melbpc.org.au
Dz'rach Vermillax (Dark Lance
Scourges)
These Scourges are under the personal command of Dz'rach
Vermillax, who leads them into combat using his family's ancestral splinter pistol along
with a traditional Vermillax knife. Dz'rach is one of the few Scourge Sybarites who would
rather command a squad armed with Dark Lances than one armed with Splinter Cannons, as his
personality is much more suited to taking cover and raining death on his enemies from a
safe distance than swooping in and razing a squad of troops at point blank range.
Dz'rach's favorite tactic is to use his wings and optical magnifiers to view the battle
from the air miles away, then to land and begin firing only after he has seen that the
enemy has committed all of his reserves.
by Dracon Hai, melom@earthlink.net
Nikrin
Ko'hai - Exquisite Death - Ravager
Nan'lai smiled as he received his orders from this Archon. Almost as an
afterthought he remembered this Archon was new, a fresh replacement for the fools that had
led this Kabal in the past. But Nan'lai had stopped caring about all that a long, long
time ago. When he had assumed command and the Haemonoculi made him one with the Ravager,
he resisted at first as the new, alien feelings crept over him. Over time, though, he
began to love the feeling of moving faster then the wind, adored watching as the gunners
that had become part of the machine with him, felt, not heard his orders. And he watched
in ecstasy as the weapons that were in truth, him, caused death and agony to the Kabal's
foes. That was what mattered to him: the pleasure of battle, not some insignificant
changing of command, or being passed on from Kabal to Kabal like a possession. As long as
they were eternally in search of combat, it mattered little to him.
The gunners felt the same way, of course, for they were merely
extensions of him at this point. They shared his joy and he theirs and so their rapture
was magnified that much more when they were in the din of battle scything through the
enemies' pathetic soldiers and crude tanks with equal ease.
The coming campaign would allow Nan'lai to bring death to the weakling
Light-Kin as well, and the mere thought of the combat that would ensue with them was
enough to bring Nan'lai happiness and he looked forward to it, no matter what was gained
from it. As long as he was able to be in the rapture of combat and destruction, that was
all that mattered.
by Bomber, BBaII@aol.com
Talos
The musclespasms power the craft, silent and deadly, through the remains of bodies on the
battlefield. There is nothing left of me but pain. Gruelling pain shooting through me.
This hideous vehicle of death and agony lay dead in it's place when I crawled towards it.
I was a fool. I can't concentrate anymore, but this abomination keeps me alive. Alive--
that's a joke. Needles shoot into my back, filling me with hideous chemicals. I am dead,
and the machine constantly reminds me of that. When I saw the alien machinery of death, I
thought I would serve my Emperor with new technology for the techpriests. I was so wrong.
The machine, covered with skulls and other insane trophies, was suddenly activated by my
presence. Those claws... ...Those claws grabbed me by my feet, hauled me up into the
air... I was terrified. When that inhuman sound of knives started... I started to cry...
Those aliens know what pain is. The machine ejected the old corpse, and I could see what
was going to happen to me. The knives where about to flay me. That is the last i remember.
Now I am dead. I can only hear the agony of my former brothers-in-arms trying to survive
my coming. I shoot, I kill. I cry...
by Bjørn-Erik Holsæter, bjorn-erik.holsaeter@sveg.se.sykes.com