The Catachans was stealthily taking up positions in the Freudakian jungle. The hunt for the dreaded warboss Draznob had gone on for quite a while. The losses had been astonishing on both sides, yet they knew even as they sat up their position they were likely doing their last ambush as they were low on anything. Many of the heavy weapons were without ammunition or had simply gotten overused and had malfunctioned. Even their simple lasguns was starting to show an immense wear and tear.

Even so the battle in the jungle was imminent, a huge horde of Orks were swarming in on their position. Colonel James Stremm gave his last commands. The Ogryn-sized big-jawed fellow with greyish crew-cut and huge muscles even for a Catachan retrieved his Bolter Big Bertha for the final time.

The Orks came swarming at the thin Imperial line, booby-traps and precise lasgun-fire leveled the first wave. The second wave was of tougher more heavily armed Orks. They shrugged off any but the best placed lasgun-shots. Even Big Bertha had problems whittling down the members of the Warboss’ retinue that slowly was charging towards his squad, having already cut a platoon to ribbons.

Two of the creatures were remaining charging towards Stremm and his bodyguards. He resigned himself to his fate looking at the immense Warboss, yet a shadow intervened. The head of the closest Ork Nob came flying off, the body just ran off in a random direction. Before it came to rest as a part of the sandbags. While the head continued to insult Stremm who merely stomped on it to shut it up.

The shadow revealed itself. It was a fine looking young commissar, clad all in blackish, the suit blended so well in with the shadows even the Catachans hadn’t seen him until now. Yet he was in serious trouble because right behind him towered an Ork Warboss of epic proportions. “Another scumsucker bites the dust.” The commissar voiced it with gratification like he weren’t aware of the threat right behind him.

“How but me ooomie!?” A snarling gurgling voice said behind the man, who miraculously managed to deflect the Power Klaw-blow with his chainsword, and managed to make it whistle past him, just barely grazing the black armour. The commissar immediately pounced striking at the Power Klaw, disabling it. Yet the freed ork-hand slammed the commissar into the nearest Freudakian hardwood.

“That you shouldn’t have done!” The commissar roared just as the ork tried to raise his kombi-flamer to him. He was faster, the hissing meltagun immediately disabled the weapon and vaporized the arm of the ork. Yet the commissar made his first mistake in the duel buoyed up by seeing aneasy kill, he ran closer to the Warboss roaring: “Now you die you beast!” He pulled the trigger but a forcefield erupted around the Warboss neutralizing the blast.

The one-armed bandit didn’t let an opportunity go from him and pounced at the commissar who for once reacted too slow and got bodyslammed. He grabbed the meltagun of the struggling human and tore it off the chains, but as he did he felt a sting in his arm. The commissar had from his jacket-sleeves brandished two monofilament-knives. Reacting quickly Draznob kicked away the flailing man before the second arm was taken away.

He saw the man smash into a large pine making it sway. A spider-monkey immediately landed at his right shoulder, he tossed it straight at Draznob, who caught and squashed it mid-air. Next he felt a burning pain in his remaining shoulder and saw two poisoned knives the commissar doubtless had hidden in his black eupalets. Just as he sped towards the huge ork, brandishing two new knives. The commissar jumped on Draznob with cat-like grace, all intent on finishing the job despite substantial injuries inside of him.

The knives slashed at the throat of the Ork as the commissar tried to avoid the huge fist of Draznob. It got him. It clenched hard around the struggling human. It was not enough for Draznob he was intent to finish this man once and for all, he bit after him, but a surprising head-butt from the human brought the buldging eye of Draznob into biting-distance of him. He bit it hard, hard human teeth tore into the soft tissue of the eyes. The pain made Draznob ease his hold of the commissar who then got up his Uplifting Primer.

That he brutally showed into the other eye, then came the las-chisel up, it was ignited. Draznob stopped. He stood there as a statue just leaning, with a burning small book inside his skull.

The commissar was anything but graceful now as he with a big goofy grin stumbled towards the Catachans, knowing full and well they likely would just butcher him for his trouble of saving the command-squad. He giggled like a small boy watching an Ogryn firing a Heavy Bolter in the distance, he knew his wounds were mortal.

He finally fell stumbling at an exposed root he dead-drunk wouldn’t hit. He now tried to think about the Emperor. Instead visions of his life flashed before him. He saw his proud tutors at the Schola, how he himself advanced to become one, he saw his friends, he saw the good times and most of all he saw his fiancé.

Infact he saw only her as he landed face down in a puddle of mud, no more than an inch or two deep. He laid there dreaming letting go of life just seeing her sweet face. He knew he should focus on the Emperor yet her lure were stronger. He passed out trying to whisper her name with his last breath. http://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...ttons/edit.gif

So, it's basically my plan to write some sort of origin to all of my units in my new Empire army. It's actually a tilean army using the Empire book, and I'm using a lot of Dogs of War minis. Especially the lost legion caught my attention, even though they are estalian. So I bring you my first story. Hopefully there will be more, so all constructive criticism is more than welcome.

Part 1/3

"Myrmidia's long shaft I hate this place!" he cursed. Private Franco cut down another giant fern and rushed headlong into a clearing. Things had turned ****** when Captain "Old Man" Giuseppe had ordered the pursuit. After being hunted through the humid jungle for several days, they had finally reached some open ground. The company of some 200 men had turned around and met their pursuers. In formation the company had managed to fend off the reptilian monsters, but instead of taking the win and continued their trek towards the coast, the old man had ordered everybody back into the jungle to crush their foe completely. It was a disaster. Franco's regiment had to split up to get through the rough undergrowth, and their pikes were little to no use in most of this tightly packed terrain.
To make matters worse, one of the biggest of the locals he'd ever seen stood hulking in the middle of the clearing. It flexed its massive, blue scaled arms and hefted its giant club. If the beast wasn't terrifying enough in itself, the club would certainly make you nervous. Easily the length of Franco, ornate beyond reason and sculpted in bronze it caught a sliver of light and gleamed as the monster swung it around with ease. In a flash he tried to guess its weight and whether it was massive bronze. It might be worth a good deal if he could find a way to bring it home.
His thoughts were cut short as six from Franco's regiment followed right behind him. One had lost his helm and another two didn't have their pikes. With no one else to pick up the slack, Franco guessed it was up to him to make sure this monster in front of them didn't get to use that club on them, or perhaps more importantly, him.
"On me!" he snapped at the others "Pikes in formation! Swords on the flanks! NOW! you sons of donkeys, or Myrmidia's long dress I'll..." He didn't get to finish before the brute gave a roar that could probably be heard back home in Magritta. It bent its knees and prepared to charge.
The seven men, Franco in the middle, quickly formed up and lowered their pikes. The charge came all the same. Hardened veterans all, of the Lustria campaign nothing really prepared you for a close encounter on the monsters' own turf. Two pikes grazed it, and a third pike caught the left arm just under the shoulder but the brute came on. The two who'd lost their pikes stepped around and stabbed away at the massive legs, but the beast seemed impervious. Not able to use its left arm it simply swung the club one handed and caved in the skull of the pikeless pikeman on Franco's left. Roy or Rob or some such had been his name, not that it mattered now, and Franco rarely spent time learning names anyway.
"Stab this beast you sons of whores!" Franco didn't think as much about the value of the club as thoughts of survival started to get a hold of his mind, and orders spewed forth from his lips before he even realised it himself. To his own surprise the others followed his orders without a second thought. Robbed of the momentum of the charge the manlizard of a beast was quickly put at a disadvantage by the long pikes and the veterans wielding them.
First one pike caught it in the leg, then one in the chest, then one in the right arm, while the last two pikes stabbed away happily at the soft of its belly and the head. As the green liquid that substituted as blood for the brute started flowing in heavy streams, the fight seemed to die out it, its spirit broken. Something akin to regret and shame could probably be seen in its huge yellow reptilian eyes as it finally collapsed, if anybody had been looking. Franco and the others were already descending on its soon-to-be corpse, arguing over its trinkets and how to split the club into manageable sizes.
Franco quickly asserted his authority again, and the loot was split in to six piles of equal size as was the custom of the company. Mercenaries have nothing if not ritualised ways of dividing valuables.
"What about Rollo?" asked the man who'd lost his helmet staring sadly at the dead swordsman. So that had been his name.
"He won’t be needing his stuff, now will he? Get it in to the piles. Dips on his blanket!" Franco grinned to drive his point home. He knew it hadn't been Hatless' intention to scavenge the dead, but if mercenaries started weeping every god damn time some idiot got himself killed, they'd all be professional mourners rather than professional fighters. Hatless and two of the others started picking over Rollo's bloody corpse, with various degrees of enthusiasm. Didn't stop the values from getting in to the piles, though.
"Should we bury him?" Hatless' voice was full of concern, and it was getting on Franco's nerves
"You've just looted his corpse, and now you want to honour him? You're a strange man, pal." Franco said mockingly, to much amusement of the brownnosers among the remaining men who sensed that Franco was taking leadership. In truth, not that truth ever helped, he'd have liked to bury the dead, but weakness and compassion were the same, or so his father had taught him. Not that his father had said much that had helped Franco in his life. Not that he'd helped himself much either. Not that he needed... He was getting lost in his own thoughts.
"The longer we stay, the greater the risk of big guy's cousins coming along." He finished lamely when he saw Hatless' hurt eyes. It was a lousy excuse considering they had spent ages splitting the loot, but it was the best he could do, and it seemed to work well enough for Hatless. Mentioning that they were in a jungle full of enemies brought reality back to them all. They quickly packed their loot and hurried back to the open ground where the company had made its stand.
"Do you think the ships are still waiting for us?" asked one of the men while trying to avoid his pike getting caught in a tangle of vines hanging down from the trees. Louiz or Luca or whatever, Franco guessed.
He raised a fair question, and one Franco had been asking himself a lot lately. Their company had split from General Pirazzo and the rest of the legion, and not much news had reached the company since. Not surprising with the being chased through this ****** jungle and all. More than likely they were all dead, the locals' hospitality considered.
"Hey amigos!" a call sounded through the jungle. Franco silently ordered the men into something resembling a formation, in case the monsters had learned to mime their voices. Four soldiers walked lazily in to view between two huge tree trunks.
"Do you know where the rest are, capo?" the same voice, but this time with a face. A younger guy, Franco had seen with the company, in one of the other pike regiments.
"So far, we are the rest, son. But you are welcome to tag along if you'd like. We are heading back." Franco noticed they had some freshly looted gold, guessing from the not so dry blood on it. "Seen some action, have you?"
The young one smiled greedily and tapped his huge medallion with some affection. The rest of them looked nervously around though.
"Aye, we ran in to a dozen of those little ones. Took down five of us with those mouth blowers, before we reached 'em. Nothing we couldn't handle from there on, though, right boys?" He smiled at the other three, but only got a less than enthusiastic nod from each of them in return.
Franco waved them on, the little band now grown to ten. Similar encounters happened along their trek back to the open ground, and when they finally reached it, they were more than twenty; all seemingly content to let Franco lead them on.
By Morr, he didn't like it. In his long career as a mercenary, he had worked hard to avoid responsibility, and in one fell swoop of an idiotic charge in to the jungle, it had all been for naught. At least some of the officers should be back soon, and take command of them again.
"Settle down folks!" he called out "Management will be back soon, I'm sure. So just get comfy and repack your gear and get ready to march when they come." To his own surprise, they all just followed his orders, all content not having to deal with it all themselves. How he envied them. They waited for hours, and more soldiers poured out of the jungle, but not any with rank. Franco was getting increasingly worried. The newcomers were reporting to him for some reason! This was getting out of control, and much faster than he'd have liked. It wasn't that he hadn't had some basic understanding of military stratagem. Any child who had listened to a priestess of Myrmidia had, and his father had loved listening to those women. They were just short of fifty now! A curse on the Old Man, and his stupid charge! He had to do something. Hatless, the four remaining original men from his regiment and the young guy with the medallion helped him gather the men together. It annoyed Franco how easily they let him take the role, and how natural he felt in it. He took a deep breath. Nothing to do about it now he guessed.
"Get in groups of five, light some fires and sort night patrols among yourselves. We'll spend the night waiting for the rest. If Morr doesn't visit us tonight, we march towards the coast tomorrow." Agreements from the men were murmured and they easily sorted themselves into groups, all quite used to this night time ritual. The promise of heading home raised the spirits somewhat, but most were too exhausted to fully celebrate.

Okay, this is the first Chapter background I have written and posted up online, so please go easy on me: keep it constructive, and polite. Hope you enjoy it!


Chapter Name: Oracles of Wrath
Founding Chapter: Dark Angels (Angels of Absolution)
Founding: M41 – 26th Founding (latest founding)
Chapter Master: Ezdruas Purael
Homeworld: Behemoth Septimus
Fortress Monastery: Tor Apocryphon
Colours: Green and purple quartered
Specialty: Rapid-response strike forces
Strength: 1,000 marines approx.
Battle-cry: Your end has come!


Culture:

Being a relatively young chapter, the Oracles of Wrath do not have a long list of achievements as other Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes. Due to this, other Chapters see them as unblooded, and they are deployed in support capacities in military campaigns.

In truth, their battle record is almost double that of the other Chapters from the 26th founding, as a lot of their achievements have been in support of the other unforgiven chapters in the hunt for the fallen, and thus off record to those outside of the Scions of the Lion.

They strive to uphold the traditions of the Unforgiven, seeing themselves as a large family, with the successor chapters as bannermen to the Dark Angels. They are enthusiastic in the hunt for the fallen, and like their gene-sires the Angels of Absolution, they do not see themselves as inherently sinful. However, they see the stain of honour to the Dark Angels as being an insult in need of punishment and reprisal to their liege lords.

The Oracles are a chapter of soldier scholars, devoting time to studying ancient texts from all over the Imperium, be they historic or religious, for any scrap of information in finding the fallen, no matter how tenuous the information. Anything from Caliban of old or the original Legoin is highly prized and sought after, and they will seek these out eagerly as well as the fallen. Should they capture a fallen, they will confiscate their wargear and restore it if it is not corrupted beyond redemption. Such items are then stored and kept in the museum in the bowels of their fortress monastery, Tor Apocryphon. This behaviour has led to intense arguments which have nearly come to blows with other unforgiven chapters. However, when it comes to dealing with the Dark Angels or Angels of Absolution, the Oracles do as they are told without question.

The chapter, amongst the other Unforgien, has been polarizing. While the Dark Angels and others see them as being highly reliable and eager in the hunt for the fallen, others view them more negatively. To some, the Oracles of Wrath are eager to please and behave in an eccentric manner, which ranges from being scorned to tolerated amongst other Unforgiven. Their gene-sires, the Angels of Absolution, view them with fondness, and they are close brothers.


Organisation:

The Oracles of Wrath roughly follow the Codex Astartes, but have modified their organisation based on input from their 1st Chapter Master, Lord Sorvan G’vorah, a veteran Captain of the Angels of Absolution. In the time since his death, this has been further modified by the chapters developing identity and experience in war.

The Chapter comprises of 10 Saboaths of 100 marines, as well as Company Command Staff, vehicles, and other support. Assault squads in the chapter, like other codex chapters, can deploy as jump pack or bike equipped, though the chapter has a favoured disposition to use of bikes.

The First Saboath, which is modelled after the Inner Circle of the Dark Angels, is known by the title ‘Keepers of Truth’, and led by the Master of Truth Captain Arton K’dar. They bear the same Bone White armour as the Dark Angels. It is, however, not known as the ‘Deathwing’. The company has access to full use of Terminator armour, though they can deploy in power armour when the need arises, but maintain the bone white armour of their company uniform.

The Second Saboath follows the model of the Ravenwing, black armour and all, and is known as the ‘Burning Chariots’, and is led by the Master of the Hunters, Captain Zarael K’mok. Like the Deathwing, their uniforms are black, and their formation is made up of fast and highly mobile units and armour.

Chapters three through seven inclusive are battle companies, following the codex Astartes structure. Each company has its own Captain and honorific title, as laid out below:

• 3rd Saboath, ‘The Scholars’, Captain Zakael V’nah
• 4th Saboath, ‘Heralds of the Storm’, Captain Dzaron K’Saed
• 5th Saboath, ‘Swords of Fire’, Captain Komael G’vorah
• 6th Saboath, ‘Prophets of the Tor’, Captain Arkael T’Phoros
• 7th Saboath, ‘Judges Vigilant’, Captain Jarael Zaenok

Chapters eight through ten inclusive are reserve companies, each consisting of 5 assault and 5 devastotr squads:

• 8th Saboath, ‘True Sons’, Captain Kae’l V’doth
• 9th Saboath, ‘Blessed Brothers’, Captain Havaer Aesod
• 10th Saboath, ‘Annointed’, Captain Zalvon Makrud

The Chapters Scouts are considered an auxiliary group outside the Chapter command structure, and are informally referred to as the ‘Outer Circle’, and are scattered amongst the third through tenth companies equally.

This is a fluff background of my personal army that I have called The Twin Fate Legion and may be changed by me at any time to make the story coherent to the warhammer 40k background feel free to comment on how the story progresses I will be updating it by chapter.

Prologue : Visits from warp

One moon a lonely aspiring chaos sorcerer was meditating in his chambers in the Chaotic Library's of The Thousand sons he started to hear a whisper from the warp. "Xaric... Xaric... *cracking laughter* Xaric... Oh so your the one my dark master has been watching over hmmmmm I wonder if its true that you have great Skill in the dark art's" Xaric spoke back "oh has he now so may I ask what does one of your kind want with me?" but no reply from the whisper.

Xaric woke up to see a figure in front of him in a robe the only thing Xaric could see is 3 arms under the robe. Xaric said "Who might you be to disturb my meditation" the figure just stood there Xaric started to grow inpatient and said it once again "Who might you be to disturb my meditation" wile charging one of his spells still no response from the figure as the spell fled from Xaric and hit the figure with a big cloud of purple and red smoke as it cleared he was still standing there but a sound came from him a laughter Xaric had heard that laugh from somewhere before then all of a sudden the figure turned to the door leading out the balconie and pointed that direction Xaric just followed to humor the figure and stepped outside.

To find that the twisting warp energy was forming a special type of storm out in the wastelands with a loud thundering sound a bright beam from the sky hit the ground Xaric turned around and the figure took his hood down and reviled his face Xaric was shocked to see a Herald of Tzeentch in his presence the figure spoke and said to Xaric "my dark master has a task for you go out to where that beam hit and recover a special part of a artifact it bears great power and may help you with your study's to become a great sorcerer" Xaric agreed willingly and set out in a Chaos Rhino with four of the Thousand sons men.

Chapter I : the Search for the Fragment's

Two moons have past and Xaric has finally arrived at the location of where the beam struck when they got out they heard a loud sound that sounded like a cannon they looked up and saw what looked to be another legion of chaos arriving by ships. A ship past overhead it was green and had the look of rot when Xaric looked to his left the Herald of tzeentch was there and whispered to Xaric "careful it looks like they too are in search of its power we must hurry" Xaric said to the others in his unit "damn looks like we are not the only one's I will not let this power be snatched away from me Let us hurry Thousand sons we must get to the artifact before the legion's of filth get there" then all of a sudden a loud bang with flickers of pink and red flames lunching all around when Xaric looked down the crater of where the artifact landed he saw what looked like horror's shooting at the other legion the herald whispered to Xaric "do not fear it looks like my master has sent you some help have you ever heard of the portalglyph?" Xaric has studied such things so all he did was nod in the direction of the herald with a pleasing smile.

All but one member of the other legion stood with the look of boils and rotting flesh Xaric approached him and said to the rotting soldier "why are you here?" the soldier replied "you... Are... A... Fool... This power... will shatter your mind..." The rotting soldier grabbed his bolter preparing to fire on Xaric but then all of a sudden one of the four thousand sons shot at him in the arm and legs with a hail of infernal bolts setting the soldier aflame. Xaric turned to the left the ask the herald about this but it looks like the herald vanished. In the center of the crater layed a staff shaft and on the floor what looked to a shattered head peace.


Chapter II Warning's best understood

Xaric went to pick the shatter fragments up but as soon as he touched them he found that everything around him looked as if it was frozen in time but at the top of the ridge of the crater he saw a figure slowly walking towards him it looked just like Xaric himself but the color of his cloths was as if backwards to what Xaric was wearing and as he got closer Xaric looked into his eyes and saw they was all red and black as if it was a daemon the copy said to Xaric "another fool wishes to use me again you do know that everything you do will fail in the end? And what you gain will always become useless so tell me fool why do you wish to possess my power oh but remember one thing if I am not happy with the answers it will be your undoing.

When Xaric finished his talk with the copy with a white flash Xaric found himself back in his chambers in the Chaotic Library's but something was different as Xaric looked down he found himself bound in what looked to be heavy form of armor Xaric did not know what was happening as Xaric got up a sorcerer was in the door way and turned to Xairc and said "ah your finally awake I see *laughing* you do know our deal right?" Xaric just stood there and shook his head because the sorcerer looked like Xaric.

Xaric said "what has happened and what is with this armor?" the copy said "well this is the price of power you see what you have found is the staff of twin fate's it has the power to make a copy of who looks into the eye and are blessed by its power but the cost is you will be bound to it's power if the staff is destroyed or damaged your mind will also be but if the armor you wear is damaged the staff will also be damaged and thus will affect you too but never worry to much as you use the staffs power on your ally's as long as they are how do we say balance of mind they too will be made into copy's but are not bound to the rules of the staff and after all you said you wanted more power" the copy laughs once again".

Chapter III coming soon
Chapter V coming soon
Final Chapter coming soon

Anyone know where i can find good 40k vehicle line art like from the Forgeworld books (black and white)?

Any help would be greatly appreciated

Chapter I.

It was a new day at Schola Freudakia. The monsoon of Freudakia had arrived. The impenetrable jungles around the Schola were full of dangerous life-forms of all forms and sizes. Feral Orks prowled there, so did insane human cannibals called the Roamers. They were known to be even more savage than the Feral Orks. Grox was also plentiful there along with barbaric Ogryns who ate anything. Yet the most dangerous animal by far is a chameleonic cat which was called the Night Tigers. It was a tiger-like creature with teeth and claws that could cut through anything but the toughest of armour, and was seen so rarely that some thought them to be demons (mostly the most superstitious inhabitants of Freudakia). Yet the animal was very real and even Matrovska the capital of Freudakia was plagued from time to time with some of them prowling the streets and lower reaches of that hive. Only the most insane and skilled warriors wore the fur of them as capes.

A slightly nervous-looking Schola-Guard knocked on the heavy dark oak-doors to the office of the Schola-Headmaster James Natrax. Natrax was a hulking dark-skinned well over 2 meters tall, his jade-green robes couldn’t by any means hide his muscular body. “Enter.” He growled with his commanding bass-full voice knowing fully well it was easy to scare a failed Storm-Trooper who often just became guards at the Schola Progenium to supplement any senior students in being guards there.

The Schola-Guard entered the office, his green-brownish Cadian-design patterned armour and helmet were a bit out of place on him and he had a slight limp. “Commissar-cadets Zachary Carrus and Michelle Ionza is here to see you Headmaster James Natrax.” He yelled out while the feet were stamped together. Natrax just looked into the ceiling rolling his eyes. He had no patience for the hyperbole of this man.

The two cadets had just stood outside the office they were dressed in the colorful garb of full commissars with one exception, no scarlet scarf adorning their waist. Natrax grinned at the couple, who just flashed quick smiles accompanied by nods back. He saw them walk towards the fine Grox-bone-chairs standing infront of his expensively Grox-Bone desk. All had the same blueish vax incarcerating them. The male cadet was of average height for a male, with a golden hair, a surprisingly unscarred face, gentle blue eyes, a mischievous grin played upon his lips. The girl was a tiny woman hardly more than 1.5 meter in length, her shapely body looked odd in the commissar-uniform. The grin of her was wicked, and her golden-hued brown eyes left no doubt of her dedication to the Emperor and the position she was poised to take very soon at the Imperial chain of command.

Both had lit lho-rods in their mouths, freshly ignited. Ionza walked past the Schola-Guard, without incident, Carrus on the other hand brushed past him, with a hoarse whisper of coward as he puffed smoke into the face of him. Natrax noticed that at once.

“Commissar Carrus any reason for this behavior?” Natrax laid his voice soft as Ionza leaned over the desk igniting a lho-rod which she patted on. Carrus shrugged. “Nothing new Headmaster.” The voice of the young man was pleasant, yet it was filled with defiance. He laughed softly, a soft uncaring laugh that worried most people.

“Sergeant Cixus, the chainsword-duel is still up on offer if you want for your remark about Michelle one year ago.” He smiled smugly as he patted the brutal-looking hilt of his large menacing black chainsword. The man just shook his head, while Carrus moved towards one of the chairs over the white finely polished marble-floor, before slumping down in the chair feeling the nicely cushions against his ass. While Cixus moved outside, closing the door.

Carrus on his side grinned like he had told a hilarious joke to Cixus, not just urineed on his manhood. Natrax was less amused. “What do you think we shall do with him?” He looked deliberately away from Carrus and straight at the young woman who just tapped her lho-rod at the ashtray. With a smug smile she retorted in her hoarse rasping voice. “Carrus want Cixus sent to a Penal Legion or facing him in a duel, I think you shall just find a position in a regiment not attached to this Schola and far away from a rather vengeful commissar.” She snickered a little. “On the other hand headmaster, maybe you should let Cixus prove himself at a jungle-patrol to Carrus, which is my opinion Master Natrax.” She sounded cheerful as she was commenting on something about sport or something similarly mundane, not her mate’s desire for just duel someone to death for having insulted her honor.

Natrax made a small smirk as he blew a smoke-ring sitting down at his office-chair. “Maybe, Ionza, maybe.” He sighed, enjoying the lho-rod, leaning back in the comfortable office-chair. “We have some serious business to attend to.” Natrax pull out a dataslate from a drawer in his desk, he placed the 3d-slate onto it. “Drill Abbott, Rimreig Ylsel.” Carrus spoke with a small smirk. The he took a good draw of his lho-rod. “Can’t you just eliminate him Headmaster?” Carrus had more on his heart but was interrupted by Natrax. “Excellent idea young commissar, but it’s not me that shall do it, it’s you.” Carrus swallowed the smoke from his lho-rod and then coughed heavily. “What Headmaster, I’m to take care of Drill-Abbott Ylsel?” He saw Natrax make a nod. “How and why?” Natrax looked up in the roof. “You two will supplant him, and I will not insult your intelligence giving you suggestions due to what you have been trained at.

“Carrus have a meltagun, we can let him execute Ylsel at a public spectacle as he has yet to pop his cherry executing an Imperial servant.” Ionza spoke as she looked at the shocked expression of Carrus. She made a rapid kiss on his cheek then laid a hand on his thigh, rapidly whispering. “Now my dear I know this shocks you but you still have to execute an Imperial servant.” Carrus looked insulted back then with an oddly high-pitched voice retorted. “I have done executions before…” Natrax snapped the fingers on his left hand. “Only heretics and other scum that have strayed from the light of the Emperor and as you also show deference to, the Omnissiah.” Seeing the young man’s sparkling eyes go darker, and his face change from a grin to a frown Natrax rapidly continued as he accessed the combat-record of commissar-cadet Zachary Carrus on the data-slate. "See, twenty-seven reports on conducts during battle, thirteen remarks about lacking executions.” He looked over to the man looking more humble now.

“I’I thought they could be turned….and they didn’t break from combat.” He got up his index-finger on his right hand. “I was close enough to put the fear of the Emperor into them without the need to shooting any cowards.” Both heard Ionza snicker a bit, and turned their heads. “Look Carrus is a budding commissar Headmaster Natrax. He has convinced boys dying to take a frag-grenade instead of the easy way out, same with the two cadets too injured to even do that when he mined their bodies.” The lho-rod of hers was tapped over the ashtray as she was talking making a small pile of ash there.
Natrax smiled a bit, tapping the lho-rod on his own ashtray. “I know Commissar Carrus, and you have no problem inciting the fear of the Emperor into anyone, but the issue we shall discuss is Drill-Abbott Ylsel.” The headmaster flicked a switch bringing up the file of Ylsel. “He has failed his sacred duty over the last four years.” The two cadets nodded, their lho-rods were resting in two separate ashtrays.

“Walk with me Carrus.” Natrax said calmly as he got up from his chair, Carrus followed immediately. They walked over to the window, heavy rain-drops hammered against it due to a nasty side-wind from the storm outside. “What do you see young commissar?” Natrax asked, Carrus looked down at the Schola, before answering. “The Schola Progenia Freudakia, most holy place for training-“ Natrax interrupted Carrus. “If I wanted the official version I wouldn’t have you summoned to quote the Imperial Creed to me!! Understood?” Carrus nodded. “I see the grey skies, the frakking monsoon, Drill-Abbotts running around with their charges Master.” Natrax laid his arm around the shoulder of Carrus. “What else?” Carrus was pushed towards the window by the hulking man leaning against the counter infront of the window.

“I see the place I was raised, but not born, the place I was forged and still am forged Headmaster.” The young man continued Natrax released his grip, before speaking himself. “Indeed this is where we forge the future of the Imperium of Mankind young commissar.” He then nodded over to Ionza to come over to them she did handing them the lho-rods as they peered outside. “There are three boys we both believe we can’t ever turn into warriors.” The tiny woman spoke up as she looked at the grey place infront of her out the window. Natrax gave a small nod. “First is…” She trailed off activating a dataslate then placing it on the counter just before the window. “Max Harris. Useless, terminate him.” Carrues immediately spoke up. “Headmaster, adept Harris shows…” The commissar-cadet trailed off watching the raised hand of Natrax. “You will execute him as soon as you leave the office Carrus. Go on Ionza.” Carrus nodded with a grim look.

“It’s Wayne Retgen, good at math, can’t even firing a lasgun straight.” Natrax looked at the profile as she spoke both cadets had made less than polite remarks about his ability to fire guns, nevermind the crass language Carrus had used about the boy’s courage. “Scribe.” Natrax just grunted the word, both the reports pointed that way. “Then it is, Ralf Dupree.” The woman continued. “Lucious has demanded him.” All three shrugged, even Carrus who was as much a servant to the Machine God as to the Emperor.

“What the Administrorum Mechanicus want with a twelve year old boy is beyond me, and hopefully no-one shall ever find out.” Carrus voiced as he laid his thumb-fingerprint to the file, barring it from view ever from anyone not a servant of the Omnissiah. “Sorry Headmaster Natrax, but Lucius gave me orders of terminating the file as soon as possible” Natrax nodded, he opened his mouth to reply, but instead the doors flew open with a blam.

A huge mountain of man strode forward. The bronzed, scarred and chiseled face was showing a certain strain. “I have been informed that Lord Commissar Nikolas Stravinski wants to visit the Schola Headmaster Natrax…” He paused glancing at Natrax standing with Carrus and Ionza. The woman spoke. “Shall I and Carrus leave Commissar-Headmaster?” Harken shook his head. “You two can just as well stay, it will concern you more than anyone else here at the Schola.” Carrus coffed. “Speak Carrus.” The young man went over to Harken. “I suspect Stravinski is coming back to his old stomping ground, but I have pressing business to discuss with you Commissar-Headmaster.” Carrus lowered his voice to a whisper. “I have been commanded to execute Max Harris, any thoughts of that?”

Harken immediately answered. “There is a bunch of heretics inbound for Drill-Abbess Mclandi and her snipers. Requisition on of them, and if he fails to shoot the heretic and then behead him I hate wasting potential soldiers like this.” Carrus standing next to his mentor, then spoke again. “Is that acceptable my liege?” His piercing eyes were set at the hulking Headmaster standing next to the small woman, towering over her. Only a slight nod was produced by Natrax.

While not exclusively GW related I thought I would share my fiction blog with you all. On it you will find a mix of stories from the 40k, Horus Heresy and Warhammer Fantasy universes as well as some original fantasy and sci-fi settings. If you have any comments or constructive feedback feel free to share it either here or on the blog.

For your enjoyment: Forgotten Chronicles

The Spawning of Bob is a generation of Lizardmen Warriors created by the Old Ones. Bob himself is a saurus warrior and keen tactician. He was spawned at the perfect time in history to teach us that neither might, nor skill alone will defeat the forces of disorder. Blind stupid luck is also required. This is the wisdom of the Old Ones.

Weapon Special Rules and Tips

This is the first of a planned series of guides to help the novice Warhammer player negotiate their way through the perilous maze which is the 8th edition rulebook.

The Golden Rule is, of course, to take some weapons...



... make sure they are in good repair ...
... and ensure that you know how to use them effectively.

Some weapons can be selected exploit weaknesses in an opposing force.



Many weapons are subject to restrictions of which type of unit can use them,


which units should not be allowed to use them,



and of course which units would equip particular weapons purely as a matter of style or preference. For example, the antipodean saurus warriors of Australustria eschew the use of the spear as a close combat weapon.


Spawning of Bob hopes that this guide has been useful and informative. Of course, the 8^th Edition Warhammer Rulebook is the definitive reference on all things related to weapon rules.

Remember: the BRB is authoritative and infallible.



Most of the time.

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So my friend is set on getting a warhammer tatto (i dont think i can talk him out of it lol) and its going to be some sort of the winds of magic symbols (http://hharbingers.files.wordpress.c...heelcolour.png). Not particular the whole wheel, but the lore symbols and maybe the one for vampire counts also.

Maybe this forum is wrong but couldent find anything fitting. And yes ive been googling a bit before i posted here.

So what would be good to know, is these symbols new to 8th edition or are the symbols a staple of the warhammer lores? Are there any other motif to have them all besides the wheel? All links to anykind of art on these would be very appreciated!.

Thanks for any help you can give

Fall of Angels

In the year of our Emperor 297M38, the Ecclesiarch declared a War of Faith against the apostate Adeptus Astartes chapter, the Brass Angels. All communication with the Brass Angels was lost 132 standard years prior, and the chapter was declared lost in the warp. Contact was re-established in the year 290M38 by the Ultus Rex, a Black Ship of the Adeptus Astra Telephathica, on a routine patrol to collect tithes of witches from outlying Imperial systems. It is unknown what befell the chapter in the long years of their absence, however upon their return the chapter set about carving out an empire, the self-styled Neo-Nexus. By the time the Ultus Rex arrived the Brass Angels had 13 systems under their command.

Preparations for War

Amongst the first to answer the call to war was the Order of the Sacred Rose of the Adepta Sororitas. It would take the Sisters of Battle several years to marshal their forces and gather their allies within the Imperial Navy. Ahead of the Sisters were ranged the forces of the Ecclesiarchy; Preachers and Confessors landed upon the worlds of the Neo-Nexus and begun to quietly stir up the long oppressed masses in preparation for the siege to come. The first of the Imperial vessels translated in system in 301M38, a spearhead of 4 capital ships and support vessels.

War of Faith

As the Imperial Navy fought its way deeper into the adopted home system of the Brass Angels uprisings broke out across the worlds of the Neo-Nexus. Billions of souls rose to strike down their oppressors, let by fanatical members of the Ecclesiarchy. Unfortunately for these Frateris Militia the Brass Angels had spent the previous 10 decades preparing for their defences and building legions of augmented warriors. Within the first hours of the conflict millions died, and by the time the Sisters made planetfall hundreds of millions lay dead for little or no gain. In total the Order of our Sacred Rose had committed approximately 19,000 Battle Sisters to the conflict, but due to horrendous casualties in the fleet action against the chapters three Battle Barges, as little as 8,000 made the surface of the planet. Unfortunately for both sides the naval battle resulted in mutual destruction.

Victory seemed certain for the forces of the Ecclesiarchy as the vast horde quickly swept through the outer provinces of the capital. The battle quickly turned however, as the Imperial forces advanced upon the Chapter’s Fortress Monastery. The Sororitas gathered about themselves some 15 million militia and threw them at the outer defences. After weeks of one sided fighting the defences still held, and millions of decomposing bodies lay around the Fortress. The Angels of Death had earned their name well.

When at last the Sisters engaged the defences of the Fortress Monastery the slaughter continued. The Sisters paid for every step forwards with a tide of blood. For every gate destroyed a hundred Sisters perished. For every Marine killed a dozen Sisters were put to the sword. After weeks of bitter urban combat the Sisters finally breached the inner sanctum of the Brass Angels. From an initial deployment of 19,000 Battle Sisters, less than 500 remained. However these 500 were to face their direst threat in the Astartes inner sanctum. Although the majority of the Chapter had gradually been defeated in the war of attrition for the Monastery walls, the majority of the veteran first company, clad in Tactical Dreadnought Armour, stood in wait. In the bloody, close range fire fight which followed Sororitas and Astartes were equally vulnerable to the Melta beams and Bolter shells. Several minutes of intense melee saw the remaining 50 or so Astartes withdraw through some unknown means. Following the siege of the Monastery 112 Battle Sisters remained standing, their faith and skills tested to the limit.

Consolidation

Although the War of Faith was universally declared a success in 301M38, the Order of the Sacred Rose was effectively defeated as a fighting force. It would take the Order a decade to recover from the losses in Battle Sisters and support forces.

Due to the complete destruction of the Naval fleet, the remnants of the Sororitas invasion were forced to settle upon the conquered system, which they renamed Angel’s Fall. Due to the loss of billions of civilians in the invasion across what was known as the Neo-Nexus famine, plague and civil war erupted across all 13 systems. The Imperium would not send reinforcement or resupply until 304M38. The only viable course of action available to the stranded Battle Sisters was to fortify Angel’s Fall in order to survive the coming ‘Short Night’.

In just a few short years after re-establishing contact with the Imperium the Sisters restored order across all systems, paving the way for the return of the Mechanicus, Ministorum and Administratum. In honour of the great sacrifices the Sisters made in the service of Him on Terra, the surviving Sisters were granted the status of Minor Order, and selected for themselves the Order of the Brazen Petal, honouring both their origins and the great foe they fought so hard to defeat.

Following a period of consolidation and building the Order of the Brazen Petal once again began to operate amongst the galaxy at large, seeking out heresy and witchcraft, and bringing the Emperor’s judgement to the enemies of the Church.

Estimated Casualties of the Naval Battle

Loyalists

• 4 Capital Ships, classification unknown
• 22 escorts, various classifications
• 3 bulk transporters vessels (including 11,000 Battle Sisters killed in transport)

Traitors

• 3 Astartes Battle Barge confirmed destroyed. However Mechanicum cleanup teams were only able to locate the wrecks of 2 vessels.

Estimated Casualties of the Ground War

Loyalists

• 800 million - 1.3 billion Frateris Militia
• 8,000 Battle Sisters
• Unknown number of Ecclesiarchal agents
• Unknown number of Ordo Hereticus kill teams

Traitors

• 250,000 - 350,000 Augmented Warriors
• 650 Astartes of the Brass Angels
• 2.8 million static gun emplacements

Unaccounted Traitor Forces

• Approx 150 Astartes either escaped or off world at the time of the invasion.
• 1 Battle Barge wreck mysteriously vanished.
• Notably the majority of the Tactical Dreadnought Armour equipped First Company vanished following the final battles.