>>1283529
>>Anger. How dare they turn from the Emperor's light? How dare they turn against their people willingly?

>Detachment. My only forthright is to serve the God-Emperor. It does not matter my origin, for it is null in comparison to the Emperor. I live to destroy heretics whoever they maybe.

>>1283529
>>Anger. How dare they turn from the Emperor's light? How dare they turn against their people willingly?

>>1283529
>Pity. What you see is nothing but slaves to dark powers. Loyal sons and daughters being forced to commit sacrilege.

>>1283529
>Pity. What you see is nothing but slaves to dark powers. Loyal sons and daughters being forced to commit sacrilege.

>>1283567
>>1283557
>>1283552
>>1283543
>>1283547

Guess I can do both

Writan

You were born Caen Madenhaug. A son among seven others. A son of Carmentia. You have lived on this planet your whole life; you've farmed with your brothers, you've supped with the trainees of Lord Klellers' retinue, you've played on the streets of Cerroghost.

You wonder how many familiar faces are in that throng.

Anger stirs in your chest as you watch them continue their profane movement, sullying your memories, leaving a sour taste in your mouth and a want to spit.

"I... I'm conflicted, Lord."

"Speak, Squire."

"I feel anger. One unlike I have ever felt. How could they dare turn against the Emperor's light? But... But as I look upon them I can't help but feel pity. They're naught but puppets."

A cheer is given by the more detached mob as one of the Jesters is crushed by those around his drums. Their roused fury and madness feral like a wild Klímaka.

"You pity and hate your foe?" Jesaias inquires.

"I-" You catch yourself and look down. "I need more time in the scriptoriums."

"Nonsense. Your feeling is not unnatural. How could any faithful son of The Angel, The Emperor not feel anger as they watch those they're dedicated to protecting, stray from the light? How could they not feel sadness knowing the profane acts they shall commit while leaving further from their light? Know this Squire. The Emperor Judges as well. We are his messengers. We shall send them back to the Emperor so that he may judge their souls. So raise your Sword once more. Pity his straying sons. Hate the ones who willingly have turned them from his light."

A single Angel steps forth from your line. Covered in the Markings of the Vanguard Chamber. A pair of Purity seals hanging from his shoulder, his armor resplendent with prayers to the Emperor and his deeds, in his hands a Power Sword, in the other the Banner of the 5th Vanguard Chamber.

Master Denali. The commander of the 5th Vanguard Chamber.

He raises the banner high, your eyes following it, your heart steeling at sight of it flowing in the winds. The heretic mob is roused by the sight of him, angered and focused. They add speed to their march, intent on slaughter.

Knight Master Denali bellows...

>"FOR THE ANGEL! FOR THE EMPEROR!"
>"BLEED THEM DRY!"
>"IN THEIR NAME!"
>"BE REDEEMED IN BLOOD!
>Write-in

>>1283655
>>"IN THEIR NAME!"

>>1283655
>>"BE REDEEMED IN BLOOD!

>>1283655
>"FOR THE ANGEL! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

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425 KB JPG

>>1283729
>>1283726
>>1283673
Sorry for the delay internet died again

Roll 1d100 best of three

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>1283781

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267 KB PNG

>>1283796

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>1283781
s-surely I won't roll a crit fail here

File: d23d4ffedb05f26d41a774b82(...).jpg (74 KB, 490x700)

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"IN THEIR NAME!" His bellows carried upon the wind, a prayer, and a command.

"BE REDEEMED IN BLOOD!" You raise your voice alongside the Knights and your fellow Squires.

Knight Master Denali points his sword towards the surging mass of Heretics, banner still held high, his armor shining in the half-light of the overcast morning.

"FOR THE ANGEL! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

And you charge.

The Knights hold back, their pace matching their fellow squires. Everyone moves in a practice and drilled manner. The Knights in front with the Squires right on their heels. You know they can move faster, you've watched the combat drills between the Knights and were awestruck at the speed they traded blows.

You ready yourself for what comes next.

The Knights slow down, the brothers armed with Bolt Pistols taking aim and unleashing a hail of withering explosive fire. The hallowed weaponry of the Adeptus Astartes roars with the fury of the Emperor. Heretics explode en masse, the bolts finding their marks easily. Chests become cavernous, heads disappear in puffs of smoke, arms vanish alongside their weapons, legs are blown off, bodies torn in half.

The blood flows.

"IN THEIR NAME!"

You and the Squires shout as the battle is joined. The bolt fire becomes more precise as you and the Squires enter glorious melee with the heretics. Chainswords reave flesh and bone, gore splattering all over the fields.

A heretic lunges at you, a large shelled claw swinging towards you and knocking aside heretics in its path towards you. You hold the chain sword in both hands before bringing it down on the claw. Black ichor sprays from it as the adamantium teeth tear and break through it backed by your immense strength. The heretic screams in anguish is cut off as you grab him by the throat and slam him to the ground. Your plated boots crushing his neck as you move to the next.

You see a former Knight, his unnatural bulk bursting through his armor, showing skin covered in 8 pointed stars charging towards a squire as he fends off multiple enemies. You charge towards the man, feeling his power and making him as yours. Heretics fall battered aside by your charge or cleaved by the spinning teeth of your sword. The knight laughs as he unsheathes a two handed blade and prepares to slam down on your fellow squire.

You quickly intercept the blade, surprised by the fact that you nee dto use both hands to resist. But only for a moment. You grab his blade and pull him towards you, landing a headbutt square into his plated visage.

"DEATH TO THE FALSE GOD!" To his credit he recovers quickly and barks at you, swinging the large blade towards you.

>>1283818
>>1283796
Fury rises once more at his sacrilegious words, and you meet his bow. Again and again and again. Heretics beside you being blown by heading into the path of your weapons, trying to interview in this fight spelling death for them. The former Knight roars in frustration finding you a harder enemy than any he's ever had to fight. You keep your calm under the surface easily responding to his blows waiting for the perfect moment.

On the next exchange, his blade is snapped in twain, the teeth of your chain sword finally wearing away at the blade. It's now that you roar, no longer containing your wrath and you drive your chain sword straight through his sternum. The blade digging into his armor and tearing at his insides, spraying you in his blood. The cultists of Khorne falls and more cultists spring at you taking his place.

And falling all the same.

Besides you, more heretics are cleaved like grain. The might of your squires backed by the advancing fire of the Angels swiftly carving through their numbers. Your chainsword becoming slick with the remains of the heretics. Anger and Sadness mixing as you carves through their number.

They don't falter. They continue to plunge towards your spinning blades with no abandon, no self-preservation. You pulp a heretic's skull with the flat of your blade as you try to take stock in between the carnage.

You hear it before you see it. The drums rising in intensity, losing rhythm and flow. The tide of the heretics increasing yet still as the Knights of the Chapter enter the fray, becoming whirlwinds of death. Delivering slaughter upon your foes.

You stand in a ring of gore, separated by your duel with the follower of Khorne. The intensity of your blows killing stray heretics and causing them to redirect themselves to other Angels or the squires. Furious and Haughty Yeneric alongside four other squires carving swathes through the cultists while the dour Hrau holds a line alongside several squires. Through they chaos you see other squires separated like yourself but holding in small pockets of death.

>Carve a path towards the drums. You have to silence them.
>Continue slaughtering the cultists and await Lord-Knight Jesaias' orders
>Reunite with the rest of the squires
>Write-in

>>1284009
>Reunite with the rest of the squires
Leave no man behind.

>>1284009
>>Reunite with the rest of the squires
This should actually be

>Rally the separated Squires

and there should be

>Unite with Hrau
>Unite with Yeneric

Fuckan clipboard

>>1284009
>>Carve a path towards the drums. You have to silence them.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>1284027
>>1284037
Gib 1d100

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>1284182

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>1284182

File: 1489689003906.png (58 KB, 493x373)

58 KB PNG

>>1284211
>>1284203
>{Laughs in HIgh Gothic}

>>1284203
>>1284211
Stomping on a flailing cultist, you leave his shattered corpse as you sprint towards the drums. With the teeth of your chain sword, you cleave and tear into the cultists in your way. With the blunt side, you batter against the cultists that mark you, not wanting to waste the time it takes to free your sword and reorient yourself.

The drums rise in intensity once more, several more instruments lending their voice to the overall choir as you try to tear through the cultists leading to them. The impious noise causing the cultists to reach new heights of madness and fury. They swarm you like insects, clawing, biting, and pounding at you. Your cheek is opened by a sharp blade that quickly is lost as you cut the offender's hands away. Something slams into the back of your skull and you spin, slamming the flat of the chain sword into the cultist's head before rotating your hips and swinging with the chain sword held in both hands. Scores of cultist's fall, their blood soaking you and their gore choking your weapon's engine.

With the chainsword's spins momentarily silence you use the sword like an axe. Trying to hack and slash them apart, idly hoping the gore becomes dislodged in the process. What were once simple kill swings and slashes turn into maiming motions that require extra moves to kill.

All the while the drums continue to play, the bodies continue to come, and the blood continues to flow. You roar in frustration as you're dragged to the ground by several cultists. You quick and smash them away as you fall towards the ground. Gripping your blade tightly you turn the motion into a roll and back pedal.

With a lull in the combat, you take in your surroundings. The cultists have become nearly feral, ravening beasts who only seek to kill. The sound of the drums beat against your skull, your heart racing and your blood pulsing to the music. You clench your eyes shut and shake your head.

Opening them, you see a diseased cultist shambling towards you, their rotten organs spilling out. The rotted soul stands several heads taller than you, their immense bulk dripping with corruption and their falling flesh. Held in their bloated hands is a large maul bristling with spikes. Your sword still sputters trying to dislodge the gore stuck within it.

"Come, my child. Embrace eternity." It gurgles, with ichor spilling out after every word from it's scabbed mouth

>Retreat back to your brothers. This is a lost fight.
>No retreat. No Remorse. Slaughter him and push on.
>Radio your position and try to hold.
>write-In

>>1284433
>No retreat. No Remorse. Slaughter him and push on.
The Emperor protects.

Is it dead?

>>1284466
>>1285955
Not Intentionally my internet has a tendency to die and this time was a pretty bad outage

Will try to write tomorrow if I have time after work

Will need some 1d100's tho

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>1286522
Here's one, at least

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>1286522
Here's two.

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>1286522

>>1287502
>>1287497
>>1287225
Disgust paints your face as you lay eyes on this bloated figure. Worms and insects use its body as a hive and breeding ground, maggots hungrily eating away at flesh that appears just as it's consumed, ichor and gasses from every pore. The remains of what looks to be a doctor's clothes peel and falls off its pallid green and brown skin.

This thing is an offense to the Emperor. The way it rots the land beside it is an offense to life itself.

It must die.

You stand to your feet, still holding the throttle on your chain sword trying to clean it's insides of the cultist remains. A wet gurgling noise is heard followed by splashing to the ground yet, the chain sword's motors continue to sputter.

It's a start at least.

The former doctor laughs at some unknown joke and begins to approach you at a lumbering pace, waddling to and fro.

"Why must you resist? Father welcomes you. I don't understand." A cloud of noxious fumes emanates into the air, staining it green. Staining it with the promise of death.

A ring forms around you two as the cultist cheer and whoop on the bloated monster, others are barely managing to hold themselves from charging at you, while the rest yet surge towards your brothers. The gore and bodies flying into the air a sign of their relentless defense. All the while those damnable drums continue to beat their unclean rhythms, digging into your mind, battering at your consciousness.

You sprint towards the lumbering, laughing monster; sputtering sword held high and ready to hack it apart. Moments before you impact the cultist you find the Maul is flying towards your sword arm. Shocked by the swollen thing's speed you can only try to block the incoming attack, you quickly turn the blade over, protecting the teeth from the impact. You're pushed back as the Maul battles against the flat chain sword, your plated boots tearing furrows in the ground as you fight against the cultist's tremendous strength, flesh and bones trembling slightly from the impact.

Unable to keep your footing secured you're blasted back into the ring of surrounding cultists, the sound of the creatures giggling echoing after you. Thankfully enough the screaming, broken cultist beneath your body was there to break your fall. Before you're drowned by the incoherent, blasphemous screams and curses once again, you jump to your feet, quickly lashing out to give yourself space.

A backhand knocks away a frothing peasant, and you quickly dispatch an incoming warrior, tearing his face apart with your stalled blade. You dash straight out of the mob and back towards the bloated cultist. Near instantly you find the maul on a path back to you. Sliding underneath it, you bear your blade high, tearing the rotten section between its legs apart.

Guts and fumes drop wetly as you turn around ready to face it once more. The creature looks down at it's spilling inside, liquids burning a pit into the ground.

"That wasn't very nice." It sourly says.

Before you can blink, he's on you. The creature is relentless. You're just able to keep up with it's size defying speed, the blunt side of your sword bearing numerous strikes as you're only able to block and backpedal. Suddenly, it throws it's maul into its other hand. The break in its previous battle rhythm disrupts your own, leaving you unprepared for the swing barreling towards you. Jumping back you're graced with the misfortune the maul's tips digging into your face briefly, before tearing your left cheek off in a blood display.

Fire ignites on your face, and you curse in pain, the ring of heretics giving cheer and panting like hounds sighting wounded prey.

"See the power of Father, Mortal?"

Mortal?

You grit your teeth, fangs grinding together, the sweet copper taste of blood filling your mouth, blood dripping down your pale red skin, your blonde curls matted and dirtied by blood.

The sound of the drums relentlessly digs talons into your focus. The whooping of the heretics surrounding you mixing, becoming a dirge to the profane. You should have seen it coming! You should have acted! You should have been slaughtered this thing!
You keep squeezing the throttle to your blade, your weapon still yet sputtering, refusing to respond.

"HAHAHA! THIS IS THE POWER OF THE TRUE GODS! SUBMIT TO THE FOUR! AND BE SPARE-"

The heretic besides you is silenced as you grip his face. Throwing him to the ground, you beat him into the dirt. His breaking bones, his screams of anguish, his flying blood bringing you comfort and focus as you're able to think properly for once.

The cheers surrounding you quickly becomes angry, guttural shouts, growling, and the bashing of weapons against each other. The bloated cultist continue to laugh. But you stay "calm" too focused on utterly pulping the cultists beneath you, his blood coating your face, dripping down your fangs and then-

The sound of the motor within your chainsword is as comforting as the hymns of the serfs and the sermons of the Chaplains. What remains of the heretic sent flying as the teeth kick up half pulped flesh and blood.

You look up back at the grinding monstrosity and bear your screaming blade once more. Your rage holding steady against the beating of the drums.

"Come then little one. You had but a mere taste of our Father's power. Soon you shall sup at his table, dance in his bile, and sleep in his embrace."

>Roll 1d100

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>1288257

>>1288257
>tearing your left cheek off

This is BAD. Normal battle-wounds are liabilities even for a Space Marine, but getting wounded by a Nurglite's weapon is practically a death sentence via sepsis... or something much worse.

Better break out the field-dressing and Promethium fast, or the Apothecary is going to have to finish what Nurgle started. Calling for the Techmarine may also be necessary, if the reconstruction gets... complicated.

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>1288257
Might as well roll. There's no way I could critfail, right?

Rolled 66 (1d100)

Leeroy Jenkins

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>1288257

"IN THEIR NAME!"

Your response is furious, full of zeal, and worship. With the blood of the profane dripping from your form, you charge the cultist.

You know better than to test your chain sword against the maul proper, the weapon just coming back to full battle capacity yet bears the scars of your last exchange with the brute.

You can't match its strength

But maybe you can match its speed.

You focus less on blocking and parries as you duck beneath the brute's first swing. As you expected without losing momentum, the maul is tossed towards its other hand and is quickly sent back to you. This too you manage to just sidestep in time, the maul ripping your tabard and sullying the symbol of the chapter.

You hold back your rage at this and keep focusing on dodging. The two of you in a life or death dance as the laughing brute, several times your size jollily swings without a care, its feet pivoting and twirling in defiance of its mass. While you eschew finesse and for pure survival,

It's then you notice the Brute's movements are in synch with the drums. His swings follow the heavy tempo, seeking to overwhelm and crush you where you stand while it's size and speed flows along the uneven cadence of the other drums. Shifting from a lumbering gait to the movements of a trained dancer in all but a moment.

The drums are distracting and nauseating, too alien and chaotic to follow. But there lies a pattern in his movements. When you duck it hops to smash you with a downward swing, when you dodge the maul stays in the air for the exact same amount of time, and when you fall back he thrusts to impale you upon the spikes. Each short, deadly windows of opportunity.

But The Emperor Protects and in your veins courses the blood of The Angel himself.

Fortune favors the Faithful.

You duck underneath another swing, revving the blade even before the brute manages to hop. Once in the air instead of rolling away as you've done you charge into the fray, dragging your blade along the opened wound. Spilling, even more, ichor and cleaving its leg open. The creature stumbles but doesn't lose a step as it thrusts forward with its maul.

You sidestep the slower movement and weave into the brute's guard, chain sword held in both hands as you drive the screaming weapon into its arm. Greenish-black ichor immediately begins to spray as you dig the adamantium teeth through, bulbous flesh and muscles resisting futilely. A wet pop follows soon after as the arm holding the maul is cleaved at its bloated elbow. You're shocked as the falling forearm wiggles and twists with life, smashing the maul into your side, your entire frame vibrating.
(1/2)

>>1288849
>>1288881
>>1289023
>>1289600
>>1289762

Gritting your teeth, you plant your feet into the gore-slick ground and hold fast and against the maul. It isn't enough to penetrate your scout plate after being dismembered. The maul is tossed to it's still attached arm. Your secondary heart kicks in, your body automatically shifting gears as this battle rages on giving you a short burst of air and clarity.

You grip the remaining arm in an iron hold. Straining yourself to the limit to fight against the monstrous strength, a feat that would not have been possible had you not wounded it to this extent. Twisting the arm down and subsequently the maul.

You then drive the shrieking blade into the neck of the brute.

It's vile liquids spraying out behind it in an obscene shower, coating the heretics behind it who shout in dismay and some in pleasure. You keep pushing the blade through until it's thick neck is fully impaled by your chain sword, the motor finally stopping.

"Why do you deny us so?" It asks sounding genuinely confused, somehow still able to speak with a chain sword stuck in its throat. "We could have shielded you from the pains of this world. Again and again, you have denied them.

"My shield is Disgust, foul beast. You dare to attempt to turn his Angels against him!?"

The brute laughs at you, jowls quivering and flapping off from the wound and his uncontained mirth. The strength in his restrained arm still fighting against you.

"They already have you fool."

>"SILENCE YOUR BLASHPOMOUS TONGUE!"
>"YOU DARE?"
>"WHAT MANNER OF LIES DO YOU SPEW?!"
>"Be Redeemed in Blood." Slaughter him.
>Leave it here. Your hearts still beat, and so does the drums. Your task isn't finished.
>Radio the Vanguard Chamber

Wanted to get this out before I run to work as I passed out last night before anything happened. Gonna try to update again during my lunch if possible then start writing again around 6PM EST

>>1289023
Considering the likelihood of getting your head crushed in outright, torn apart by a rabid mob, or having your face slough off your skull and wasting away from infection, I'd say the potential for failure is pretty fucking high.

>>1290083
>Be Redeemed in Blood." Slaughter him.
Don't. Even. Fucking. Entertain. The. Notion.

>>1290083
>"Be Redeemed in Blood." Slaughter him.

>>1290083
Finish him, then radio for backup. We're going to need a lot more muscle to shut down those drums if even one more tough bastard like him is guarding it.

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>"SILENCE YOUR BLASHPOMOUS TONGUE!"
Kill him then go get those drums!

File: Spoiler Image (3.78 MB, 480x270)

3.78 MB GIF

Rolled 7 (1d100)

{RATTLES}

>>1290083
>"Be Redeemed in Blood." Slaughter him.

>>1290088
>>1290092
>>1290098
>>1290578
>>1291373
A feeling beyond anger surges through you.
The idea of any of your fellow suites, the knights, the masters, or even the younger neophytes and initiates straying from the Emperor's light repulses you.

It causes your mouth to twist, baring your fangs towards the offender.

"Be Redeemed in Blood." You grit and release it's arm.

The maul is near instantly sent towards you unprotected back. You grab tightly onto the hilt of the Chainsword and vault yourself up. The maul slams full force into the face of the cultist. His laughs dying in a wet gurgle.

The brute wobbles, the force from his own maul and his maimed foot disrupting what little equilibrium it had. You quickly brandish your Combat Knife and land on its head, driving the knife deep into it's face, a chit spraying on you.

The cultists finally falls, it's weight shaking the ground all around you. You withdraw your knife only to slam it back into a eye socket. Then it's nose, then it's, mouth, then it's remaining eye, them it's forehead. You continue this until it's face is a ruined mess of green flesh and flowing black liquids. You stand up and grab your chainsword once more.

Pressing the throttle you pull the blade out of its neck, simultaneously tearing it's neck apart and increasing the amount of fluids covering you. Taking the shrieking blade in both hands you roar and slam it back into it's body.

Flesh flies in all directions. Liberally covering your makeshift dueling grounds in gore and whatever constitutes this things blood. As your hacking through its rib cage a mass of tentacles shoot forward and grab your arms.

You let go off your blade and dive your hands into it's body. You roar as you dig deep, deep into this bloated things body. Hands searching around for something solid.

Something that'll hurt.

Your hands find a long stringy substance and you latch tightly onto it, the tentacles quivering.

Then you pull. With all your might and anger you pull, a brown sphere surfacing from the enormous pile of bile and gore. The tentcales wrapped aroind your hands connect to the sphere, losing strength every second it spends removed from the cultist.

You squeeze the thing in your hands, a slight resistance being met before eventually it pops.

The tentacles go slack and the laughter finally dies. Disgusted with what lies in your hands you toss it aside, breathing heavily after your ordeals. Suddenly being surrounded by silence. Looking to the crowd of heretics you see them in all manner of fear and dismay. The diseased and rotted cry while the rest seen torn between running and attacking you.
>(1/2)

"D-D-Dr. Nevir... Dr. Nevir is dead..." A woman with a face covered in blistered and pus leaking pores falls to her knees. "Father have mercy on us." Her sobs fills the silence as the others follow suit. Sobbing or falling to the ground where they stand.

Then the rout begins. With their champion dead this group of cultist immediately lose heart, the few who would dare to stand against your boiling rage trampled or pulled by the tide of cowards and the weak.

The sound of the drums breaking the monotony as always. Piercing, throbbing, relentless. Annoying, disturbing, angering. You reach towards your Chainsword, cleaning what gore you can out of it.

It's then that you realize all you hear is drums and sobbing. No sound of your brother's battle. You look back toward the lines, the fleeing flood of cultist obscuring your sight.

"Squire Caen, reporting to any in the 5th Vanguard." You press a hand to your head, activating your vox bead.

The sound of Drums fills your channel.

"SQUIRE CAEN REPORTING! IS ANYOME OUT THERE!?"

More drums.

You look around you. The fleeing heretics still obscuring your vision while the drums block out your hearing. You grit your teeth the sound and distortion coming back full force, the momentary adrenaline of your battle wearing off.

You scratch at your left cheek while trying to think of what to do next.

>Even if it kills you you'll finish those damnable drums!
>Retreat back to the line. Find your chapter.
>Write-In

Sorry. Family emergency that I'm still dealing with

>>1291697
>Retreat back to the line. Find your chapter.
We must rally what remains of our allies. One does not fight alone.

>>1291697
>Retreat back to the line. Find your chapter.
We've done enough heroing for one day. As much as we may want to keep pushing and prove ourselves more, we need to be at least a little bit prudent.

>>1291697
>Even if it kills you you'll finish those damnable drums!
We need to finish this, for all we know they've already gone to His hall and are waiting for us. If the wound wasn't infected to start with it certainly is now that we're covered in that unholy abomination's juices, and if the itching is anything to go by, it's already setting in.

>Sorry. Family emergency that I'm still dealing with
Don't worry OP, IRL always takes precedent. I can wait. The quest is fun, thanks for running, the way you're describing Chaos is amazing and I'm saving it for reference.

>>1291729
>>1291789
>>1291800
Writan

>>1291729
>>1291789
>>1291800
The sound of the drums gnaws at you incessantly. But the lack of communication with the rest of the Chapter digs even deeper.

You clear your blade one final time as you charge through the fleeing heretics.

The cultists try their hardest to stay away from you. They fall over and trample themselves into the ground as you sprint through the furrows created by your mere presence. The few unlucky ones who're unable to move end up receiving your chain sword, tearing them apart. What would usually be kill-stokes become maiming slashes or conscious shattering blows.

"NOW YOU DIE!" A woman screams.

Sparing her the briefest of looks you notice her to be the crying cultists from earlier. She opens her mouth beyond human proportions and a yellow bile of unidentifiable origin. You quickly grab a screaming cultist and use him as a shield.

His body begins to melt shockingly fast. Flesh sloughing, blood evaporating, and bones dissolving. Before your shield can be destroyed you toss him back at the woman.

Your body itches to lash out at each of them. Every screaming form, every prostrate body, every screaming soul here. You want to kill them all. They turned from the light. You scratch your cheek.

Another Knight leaps from the crowd. His ntent to duel written on his face. He slams his blade against his shield and roars at you. You simply vault over him, sending him sprawling to ground and quickly trampled by the routing mob.

Eventually, the crowd begins to slow. Ahead you see bodies begin to redirect themselves, the tide turning into a whirlpool of confusion and chaos.

Then you hear it.

The distinct sound of a bolter being fired.

The wet bang as a body is impacted and voided by the holy ammunition.

"IN THERE NAME!" You hear a modulated voice shout out.

Pushing forward with encouraged zeal, you rev your Chainsword once more and begin to cut a bloody path through the Heretics. At the end of your exhausting, bloody trail, you spot the golden armor of your Chapter. The Sunburst Sword on his right shoulder marking him as a member of the 5th Vanguard chamber. Knight Viggo. One of the fastest Knights in the 5th Vanguard. His speed a match for Denali's own and as he tells it surpasses it.

"Squire Caen?" He turns to bisect a charging knight, his chain sword revving at the final moments of the heretic's life. The entire motion barely perceptible to your eyes. "Where is the rest of the Chapter? Where are the Squires? WHAT IS THIS DAMNABLE NOISE!?" He fires out with his bolter once more, rounds leaving in quick succession.

>"I was hoping to find them here."
>Tell him about the drums
>Inform him that you routed this section
>Write-In.

I have routed that section followed by where is everyone

>>1292000
>Tell him about the drums
The only useful thing we can do. The first is pithy, and the third seems like gloryhounding.

>>1292000
>>1292023
This.

>>1292016
>>1292023
>>1292038
"The Cultists seem to have set up some kind of instruments." You tell him while digging into your cheek. "They're blocking out our communications somehow as well as augmenting the other cultists."

"Bah! Warp Sorcery and Tricks! Where have they set up this contraption?"

"Last I saw it was in the direction the cultists are fleeing from."

"You did well to return to here." He claps you on the shoulder. "I have no doubt we could give them more than what they can handle. But, we need to regroup. Who knows how this noise affects our brothers. With the rest of our Chapter still-" He catches himself before eviscerating another pair of cultists in a blink. "Nevermind. Come, let us be gone."

>Try to convince him to attack the Drums now.
>Fall in line.
>Write-In

>>1292117
>Fall in line.
We ain't no renegade.

>>1292117
>Fall in line.
In passing, ask him how bad our cheek looks, since we can't see what state it's in ourself.

>>1292117
>Fall in line.

On a side-note while we wait, this is a quality quest so far. Best setting, literate writing, neato descriptions, competent fight-writing. I like it.

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>>1292162
>>1292139
>>1292129
"Yes, M'lord." You bow before him, instinct overcoming you as you defer to his lead.

"I'm no lord, Caen. Maybe someday I'll take on a Squire of my own but for now, just refer to me as Brother-Knight or Viggo."

"Yes, Brother-Knight."

"I expect you to give me a good show, Caen. Show me what you've learned under that oaf Jesaias." His Chainsword screams back into flesh-rending life.

"Wait..." You scratch your cheek again. "Is there anything on my cheek?" He looks to you once.

"No, I don't see anything. Nice color, though! Maybe it'll get as red as mine someday!" He laughs before his bolt pistol fires once more, decapitating a dog snouted teen. "Why? Did something happen?"

>"No. It's nothing. Must be these drums."
>"I had an encounter with a Nurgilite"
>Write-in

>>1292181
pic related

>>1292196
>"I had an encounter with a Nurgilite."
No reason to hide it. We'll have to get it treated eventually, and earlier is generally better than later.

>>1292196
>"No. It's nothing. Must be these drums."

>>1292196
>"I had an encounter with a Nurgilite"
No reason to hide it. We won't get purged for it. I think.

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>>1292206
>>1292200
>>1292214
"Yes. I had an encounter with a Nurgilite."

"What!?" The surprise in his voice concerns you. He strides towards you and grabs your chin in his hand. His large gauntleted hand surprisingly gentle with you as he examines your face.

"It was called Dr. Nevir by the surrounding cultists."

"I am unfamiliar with that name. This was your homeworld, Caen. Does it ring any bells with you?"

The only doctor you knew was a traveling man named Lud. On his Equss, pulled cart he would stop by your farm every five years. The last time you saw him, he gave you a shining bill of health even as plague ravished the east.

You hope he's safe.

"No."

"How'd it go?"

"He came to me as I tried to hunt down the Drum players. We dueled, I thought I had the upper hand-"

"But?"

"But it was a lot sturdier than I expected. His maul tore a chunk out of my cheek. Then, I destroyed him."

"Don't move." He grimly says before his Chainsword revs up again.

Before you can object your cheek explodes in hot pain once again, the flesh on your face falling to the trampled dirt.

You pull away, training failing as the abrupt pain causes you to reel back and hiss in agony.

"It had to be done. The entire essence of Nurgilites are oft coated in malignant substances. Especially, their weapons. We definitely have to regroup with the Chapter now, the weapons of the profane spread poison of the mind and body. Come now, Caen. Speed is of the essence."

You bite back the pain, a task made harder by the incessant distored drums.

"Y-yes, Brother-Knight." You fall in line behind him trying to manage yourself while he cleaves swathes through the mobs.


Gonna be the last update for now dozing off at the moment, and I have work in the early AM. Will continue with the next part of the Raid. I intend for there to be three parts to it. See ya around 5PM EST If not I'll post in the thread when I can write again.

>>1292338
Goodnight, thanks for running!

>>1292338
Knight Viggo seems pretty based. Looking forward to next session of this thread.

>>1292196
>>1292338
Wait, so did we or did we not get our cheek wounded? Are there illusions at play here?

nice

Although I'm expecting an important call/meeting I still have time to write a bit and am back

>>1292849
I in my slepyness forgot to have him comment on the wound. He did see it and was going to say something along the lines of

"Ah. I see you've earned your first real Marks of Battle! You have much to learn however."

Or some such. He can see the wound is what I'm getting at

>>1293689
Ah, I see. Do feel free to get whatever you need done before continuing.

ded

F

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I'm not dead I just became a Uncle for the third time after two little scares sorry for the lack of communication

Anybody still interested in this train wreck?

>>1301335
You'd probably have to start a new thread, or at least start one soon, since this one's already autosaging and is halfway down the board.

>>1301342
Yeah I was planning to do it around 11 or 12 EST As I have to run to the doctor soon

>>1301602
Its up