Let us begin!
Wolfchild:
Around you is a bleak, sterile landscape, almost a certain majesty to the sheer bleakness of it. Only the heartiest of shrubs dare venture into these cold, wind-swept northlands, even the craggy mountains seem to be in retreat into the earth from the wind. You and your wolf are the only things of note alive here (at least, as far as you know), standing proudly upon a rock on the pot-marked face of a low mountain, the Thunderhawk wreak still smoldering behind you. You have already paid your respects to the ones who were not fortunate enough to survive, their Geneseed chained securely to your waist on a makeshift belt.
You look up at the sky, red-tinted by the small red sun burning feebly within it, and find that south is to your left, with west forward, north to your right, and east to your back. You remember from the decent and from maps provided in briefing that you had fallen onto a large, almost continent-sized island in the planet's northern hemisphere, just low enough to avoid being completely encased in ice but just high enough to remain in winter's grasp indefinitely. There is a small port with an associated fishing village to the west which may offer you passage over the ocean to one of the larger continents, a remote resort to the north west which may have communication equipment, or a remote arctic research station to the east which may have both, but may also be unoccupied.
Imperial Guard: (Too many, I need to thin the ranks!)
Despite a perfectly uneventful loading (which even managed to finish before-schedule), not a single problem in Warp jump plotting, and only minimal complaints from the troops, the Imperial Guard fleet still managed to maintain an unusually flawless record for this trip so far.
Maybe a thousand monkey bashing on keyboards can eventually produce a masterpiece.
Though, of course, they won't be able to do it again, nor for very long.
Roland looked over the group of men he had been assigned to. Not the worst group of misfits and outcasts he had seen, certainly, but there was still much to be desired. All of them were strapped into the Valkyrie, awaiting warp jump.
Like sardines packed into a pretty little tin can...
Well, if they did die in warpspace at least the Imperium won't be loosing much.
"Now remember, this is a very expensive craft. Very well-crafted-"
A piece of metal suddenly fell down from the ceiling behind him, causing Roland and the pilots to jump and look at it. After several moments, one of the pilots stated, "Unimportant." and resumed idly staring at the craft's various vitals. After a moment of hesitation, he turned back around to address his troop.
"Well, mostly well-crafted, and this is likely the last time any of you will be able to sit within one."
He realized how wrong that came out. He was not intending to scare them with thoughts of death just yet, but too late now.
"So let's be thankful for what the Emperor has given us and accomplish our mission quickly and cleanly."
One of the pilots then cut in with, "And if you feel like you're going to melt or turn into some unholy abomination from the Warp energies consuming you, please try to do so somewhere outside the vessel so I don't have to mop up another poor sap's guts from the floor!"
(Note: everyone in the Imperial Guard is on this Valkyrie. EVERYONE.)
RAM:
Come, My champions!
Come, the fall of the False Emperor begins today!
Come, Betrayers!
Come, your former master shall die this day!
Come, Heretics!
Come, those who call you blasphemous shall hear your say!
Come, Mutants and Daemons!
Come, the hour of your triumph comes today!
Come, step from the portal, my Champions! Come!
AJbdKLJDbnNBAllGEeuiBEmperosnjRAGEFIGHTKILPoswaNOmanclalandPlanETmoondeathBLOODDECAYrockfloor light space air oh my GOD WHAT IS THAT-
Clank
You fall from the portal and into the material realm, your senses and sanity blurred and confused.
What is up again? Is it important? Is this down? What is this, is this sight? Or is it smell? Yeah, I think I remember this... don't I do something with these things to move? Or do I do this?
As you writhe upon the floor gibbering madness, another plague marine clad in rotten ornate power armor drags you off into another room... or, did he? All these concepts are still rather new to you.
"Seems he was hit rather hard by the Warp. How long do you think it'll take him to recover?" says a gurgling, bubbling voice.
"I'd give him a week to recover to a somewhat functional state naturally, a day if he's properly treated." says a ragged, rasping voice.
"Well, best start on those rituals, then..."
Author
Topic: Roll to WAAAAGH! II, another 40K RTD Turn 3, NURGLE LOVES YOU THIS MUCH! (Read 16899 times)