Warhammer 40,000: The Fall of Domascus VII

[Liam]

++++ Incoming Transmission ++++

Recieved: Achron IV
Date: 24358765M41
Astrophathic Duct: Thule / Zara
Title: Imminent Distress
Thought for the Day: Faith is our shield.

++++++++++++++++++++++

This new dawn arises on a crest of righteous penitance.

We can not stop them - they fall upon us like wolves upon a wounded lamb. Our cries are bleak and pitiful, their hunger and fury mighty and unstoppable.

We brought this upon ourselves.

We should have listened.

+++ VARIOUS UNSALVAGEABLE NOISES +++

........

.........please, if there is anyone out there that recieves this message....Domascus VII. Planet, system, all before the scythe

......

They are here.

+++TRANSMISSION ENDS+++


(( There will be a post laying the setting of the major conflict soon, so please be patient. ))

[Liam]

The Domascus System was, for a lot of reasons, a system of little to no optimal value save that of it's Imperial Tithe, which was consistant and dutiful when demanded. There had never been any true rebellion of Imperial Law since it's inception into the Imperium of Man many years in the past, and since it's beginnings under the wing of the Emperor's watch there was little to indicate civil unrest. The System itself consisted of three outlaying gas giants, each having little to offer resource-wise other then each one's numerous moons which were the hub for hundreds of research facilities, intelligence satellites....and every possible concieved stellar weapons platform imagined. What was the crown jewel of the system had given that same system it's name; Domascus VII, a super-giant of it's own but close enough to the local star to provide the medium for comfortable human life.

Domascus VII - a planet which had been as true to the word of the Emperor as any could have imagined. The tithe of foodstuffs, Imperial Guardsmen and weapon caches were strictly monitored to ensure optimal performance, the law of the land was upheld with near-obsessive vehemence, the belief in Humanity's right to exist flowing into the ears and minds of 14 billion people whom called the crowded planet home. Various Hive cities were the focus for much of the development of the planet, a single one rising above all others for a simple reason, and a resource which marked out the planet as something unique. The Hive City had began it's meager life atop one of the largest deposits of slag prometheum that the Imperial Records had ever witnessed - an almost obscene amount of the core resourced required to refine and arm the billions of weapons that wielded the sacred flame of the Emperor's wrath. This brought more commerce to the land that had been originally planned, and in a matter of decades the Hive had grown from something akin to a run-of-the-mill habitat to near catastrophic proportions. 98% of the population of Domascus VII took up residence in the gargatuan living spaces, suckling from the income that came from the rich resource beneath their very feet. In time, this led to fervant belief that their planet was blessed - the citizens whom held devout faith to the Emperor's teachings crying out that their planet was a gift to the Emperor 'to hold the sacred flame that would light the torch of the pure, and cleanse the darkness of it's taint.' A vast following under this idealism swelled within the ranks of the citizenry, before beginning to spill into the beauracracy of the government. It was not long before nearly all those whom held a hand of power upon the planet, and by that the entire system, had taken to believing that theirs was a gifted life touched by the Emperor Himself.

It was then, that the Grail was found.

Gregori Manasthus, the young son of a grox farmer in the vast agricultural fields of the southern rim of the planet, was struck by visions that he deemed of a divine nature, proclaiming a mysterious 'cup of fire that burned everlasting, a beacon for the faithful to sip from it's cleansing depths, and be filled with the touch of the Emperor's Grace.' Such comments were considered a waste of breath and time, until the retrieval of such an artifact from deep within the earth during the digging of a budding prometheum-refinement facility gave the young man's manic ravings a sibilance of credit. He was declared a rogue psyker immediately after the flaming goblet was placed within the care of the governing parties of Domascus VII, and burned at the stake for the heresy of foresight without sanction. Nobody paid mind to the young boy's screams of the goblet being a tool of darker powers, having been touched by hands that were not divine and buried within earth that retched at the black touch of the damned. As when he has spoken of the Grail before, his ravings were given no mind.

As a governing party that had fallen to utter idiolation of a cause would, the artifact was set for all to worship and draw faith from, seeing the clay-worked goblet that was set alight from within by means believed to be pious as a treasure given by a pleased God. Mass celebrations were carried out planet and system wide, their faith in the cause of the Imperium of Man swelling to it's greatest peak ever seen before. Hymnals, mass flagellations of the fanatical, devout speeches across multi-regional vox-casters, and other displays of faith became a common sight for 9 weeks and 9 days, stopping eight hours and 59 seconds after it had began. The closing second of that final minute was to be the death knell and a horrifying reality check for the entire system.

It had taken the collective psychic buildup of mismatched faith and misguided hope to thin the veils of reality to a near tears-veil, the nightmare realm of the Warp pressed against the skin of collective belief until at last it required the single breach to unleash the flood. The billions of souls placing their hopes and dreams in a fate that was not their own had been enough to draw the attention of two of the Great Chaos Gods; beings of unstoppable power and destruction that held kingdom within a realm that held no word for sanity. Of those two, their names were known by many in different tongues and different guises - the first being the Crow God, Nurgle. The second, whom had begun the wheels of fate an age and a millenia ago and placed the Grail upon land which burned at his presence was the Great Schemer, Tzeentch. Though their wars against eachother were petty and small within the depthless wastes of the nether-reality of the Warp, both had set aside differences for the moment in a common goal; the billions of innocents that cried out for salvation from a pleased Emperor.

In less then three days, 80% of the population of Domascus VII had been butchered as reality boiled away to let loose the daemons of the Warp upon the innocent.

A recent transmission, most likely from one of the larger sister-planet's satellites was all that reached the Inquisition, and in that the Ecclesiarchy. To them, this goblet was indeed a sacred artifact which the Chaos gods had sought out to capture for their own. For the Imperium, Domascus VII could not simply be bombarded via Exterminatus - the planet's crust was thinned by the sudden swell of people living atop it, and a missle strike would set alight the precious prometheum just below the surface of the world, a waste of resources more important then simple human life.

Thus it was a measure of an offensive was planned....

....what they would find when they reached the system, however, is unknown.

[Eric]

The whimpering brought a smile to the Sister's lips as silvery eyes, cold as ice, stared down at the heretic laying bloodied at her feet. "Please..." the filthy creature hissed, "Please... stop... I didn't do anything..." The Battle Sister cocked her head to the side, eyes squinting as she reached down, fingers caressing the witch's jawbone. "Please... let me go... I didn't do anything..." The heretic sobbed, the sound causing Veruka's spirit to rise in triumph. "Oh, but you have," Sister Grail cooed, and then with sudden violence she slapped the side of the heretic's face, the sickening snap of bone echoing through the blackened cell, mixed with the erupting screams of pain spewed forth from the witch's bloodied mouth.

"You are an abberation of the God-Emperor's will. Your stench and filth offends the very nature of order and life. Look at you, grovelling at my feet like a dog. You are unworthy to breath this very air. You are unworthy to stand on this planet." A gauntlet-encased fist gripped the witch's collar, yanking him up off the floor in order to force him to stare into her emotionless eyes. "Do you know where you are, witch?" Veruka questioned, "Do you know who you are stealing the air in your lungs from?" The man opened his mouth, but was unable to speak as he choked on his own blood. The sister growled, tossing him away onto the floor. "You are on Ophelia IV, the religious lighthouse of the universe. You are, right at this moment, defiling the earth under my very own convent. Do you see how I suffer from your existence? Do you see how you are wreaking your havoc upon the Daughters of the Emperor?" Veruka looked away, her eyes finding solace in the sight of the cells single burning torch.

"You have seen my scars." Veruka stated, her words leaving no room for question. "I have seen the way you recoil from them. That in itself displays your black nature. These burns upon my body are a religous icon, witch. They are the mark of cleansing." Those eyes flashed towards the rogue psyker. "They make me pure. They give me the knowledge that the Emperor loves me, just as he loves all his daughters. They make me whole." The man whimpered, fragile hands rising up as if to shield himself whilst he curled himself into a ball in the corner of the cell. "Please... don't hit me anymore... please... I didn't do anything wrong... I'm innocent..." Veruka laughed, the sound utterly devoid of mirth. "You are anything but, heretic. Your very essence stains the beauty of the Imperium. But, I am not without mercy. I will aid you."

The man blinked, his hands slowly coming down. "You'll what?" He asked, his voice shaking. "You're going to help me? But..." The man seemed to stop himself, as if fearing that he would incur the woman's wrath once more, that one chance at liberty gone forever. "Yes." Veruka replied, "I am going to aid you." She reached up, metal-clad fingers curling around the torch, lifting it from the metal holder in the wall.

"I am going to cleanse you."

++++++++++

"Sister Superior."

Veruka Grail rose from her task at the sound of her title, those silver hues flashing towards the doorway of the cell, taking in the sight of Sister Scythia Crom. Veruka always kept the door open while she was interrogating a prisoner, it always gave them a false sense of hope. "What is it?" Grail questioned, her cool even voice betraying nothing of the annoyance she felt for being interrupted. "We have recieved a transmission from the High Lords of Terra. We are to be deployed for Damascus VII. Something has happened there, and the High Lords believe that the planet shall require..." Scythia's gaze flickered to the bruised, bloody and burnt mass laying curled in the corner, "... cleansing."

The Sister Superior nodded, rising up from her knee. "Very well. Ensure that the Canoness is summoned on the matter, Sister Crom. I shall muster the Sisters." Scythia nodded her compliance, then turned and stalked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing through the dark and dank prison. "I fear that your purifying shall need to wait, heathen." Sister Grail spoke down to the lump at her feet. the Battle Sister was barely able to hear the faint moan of relief from the near-dead prisoner. "When I return, however, we shall continue our session. You shall see the error of your ways, and when you confess, I shall know that your words are true and are spoken from your heart." The psyker had confessed numerous times to various charges, his screaming claims of guilt doing nothing to cause Veruka to relent in her task. She had interrogated witches many times before, she knew the way their ilk thought.

"Until such a time as I return, I want you to think about the suffering you have caused. I want you to beg the Emperor for forgiveness for your transgressions, heretic, and I want you to accept the God-Emperor's will into your life." Veruka knew already, even as she spoke, that the witch would claim he had done as much. They were lies, Veruka knew. They were always lies. "Your penance shall resume when I have returned."

With that, the Sister Superior turned and stepped from the room, slamming shut the cell behind her. It was time to summon the Sisters from prayer. The Emperor's work needed doing, and there were none better skilled for the task than the Adepta Sororitas.

[Opalord]

ElSrenltean didn't like this. This was his first mission, and it was a doozy. He Had been sent out alone after the Etherals had intercepted a transmission from the Gash'la's empire. And it didn't sound good. The planet had been attacked by something terrible, And the planet was very close to Tau Space
So he had been sent to investigate.
He gazed up at the air caste pilot taking him to his destination. They did not talk
It wasn't neccesary. the pilots job was to get him to this hellhole. and what happened after was none of his business.
He looked back down and thought about his battle brothers. They had been sent on this mission already. 4 weeks ago. He was almost positive they were dead. he gripped his rail rifle tightly.
They were his family.
And he was going to avenge them

--hope you don't mind, but i play tau and orks, and i dont think orks would fit this rp --

[Liam]

The hills were alive with the sound of screaming.

For all intensive purposes, the city had retained much of it's former glory - the pristine wake of Humanity's prestige had retained it's make and sensability despite the hellish ravashing that had befallen upon all those whom dwelled upon the world. Light damage from warfare against those that dared to take a stand against the damned, moderate wreckage of the lower pits of the hive were any indication at first look of any true conflict...that was, until one looked past the surface, and saw the true horror of the world's fate.

As if scorched onto the walls of nearly every ediface within the lower channels all the way to the lofty peaks of the Hive's dwellings were faint images of humanoid shapes - clawed and hunchbacked as if lashed to within an inch of their lives, their cruel masters blackening their very souls upon the rockrete. The plasteel and simple ferrocrete of the slums and hovels had twisted like clay in the hands of a perverse artist, faces contorted in violent agony screaming silently out into the gloom. A perpetual night hung over the planet like a rank shadow, smothering all hope or faith in a cascade of despair and ruination. The feeling of perpetual surveillance surrounded any whom dared draw a mortal breath upon the planet, eyes staring into the souls of all that dare trespass like the shark would hungril stalk the wounded seal. The touch of those Powers that had worked in tandem was rife within the air, the waters, the very world itself.

The blight of Nurgle was a present thing to any and all the senses, and as perversely obvious as what could be possible. Humanity's fate, the decay of flesh and bone, was everywhere; those poor souls that could not save themselves from His touch rotting to a putrid sludge within moments of His gaze come over their essence, the filmy gruel of half-rotted organs and skin tissue coating the streets and abodes of many a living establishment. Every level of the Hive had been struck by His loving embrace, afflicting all in a different way, a different variety of poxes and sores to those not blessed enough to die upon contact with the attention of the Crow God; Red Pox, Nurgle's Rot, Blackfly Tandem, Emperor's Scorn, Yellow Rigor and many more had been proudly bestowed to the rich and poor alike; dying to the crippling effects of so much blight so fast, rotting in the open air to choke the skies with swarms of buzzing, bloated furry flies. The perpetual hum of those flies drowned out what could be considered an eerie calm amidst so much desecration of the Human spirit - a sonorous chanting bubbling out from the decaying throats of a thousand souls just on the edge of the senses, if one was to dwell on that quiet. The chanting of the plagued, the sickened, the disease....Nurgle's Tallymen taking inventory of all the wonders this world had provided to Him.

Tzeentch, like Tzeentch Himself, played a far subtler hand in the ways the world had shifted into the nightmare it was now. There was not but nothing to be considered odd amongst the portions of the land that were under the control of the Great Schener; a still calm, lacking a breeze or even a whisper of movement in all directions. Yet on the edge of the ear's sense an amused chuckle could be heard from a pleased being; a turn of the head would bring nothing to answer where this mirth came from, that chuckle growing as the paranoia blossomed like some wicked seed within the soul. Windows that had not been destroyed in conflict or hysteria of their inhabitants reflected not only the image of the viewer, but a facet of their personality- twisted, warped beyond reasoning, a dark stain of their soul that they may perhaps refuse to acknowledge existing. Those that had fallen to their Changer of Ways lay on the streets as if frozen in time; if they had gone insane during the posession of the world, they stood where their soul had left them, pulling at whitened hair with bloodshot eyes pointed towards an uncaring sky, a portrait of sheer terror in memory of the fallen. Whispers surrounded all of these surreal corpses-turned-statues, their souls shrieking in softly-murmured beggings to be relieved of their misery, the blasphemies they've seen screaming silently to be removed. It was not their destiny to change, for it had become the Weaver of Destinies and His alone...the power to change only for Change itself.

Upon a rusting, corroded industrial piping that had once served to bleed out the sacred promethium beneath the blighted soil, a single entity stood vigil - a proud and stoic figure despite the horrors that his body had been stricken with. Though tall and stoud of body and form as a healthy body coul, his flesh was the property of Nurgle; his internal organs hung freely in the open air, lungs that barely moved to intake breath slickened with putrid slime even as loose intestinal tract swayed and squelched with every shift of his rotten feet. Clad in a great ratty cloak of moldy fabric and simple steel-shod armour upon the exposed mildewy chest and arms of the being, it held a wicked scythe in it's bony hand whilst a single eye scanned the oily blackness above, the bloodshot iris looking over the single great horn that had punched out it the middle of it's once-human skull. A small grumble of assurance to itself, it's open throat jiggling softly as the sound ruffled through decaying body mass, before it tapped the end of it's scythe once.

"More." The simple word was enough for it, for it held His gaze and His approval of what it brought - the Herald of Nurgle tapped the scythe once more against the hollow oil piping, and in a flourish it's form dissapeared. In it's simple demand the disgusting shape it had taken had transformed into a cloud of buzzing black flies, each bearing the Mark of Nurgle, which buzzed noisily back into the decaying streets that had been claimed by it's patron.

If anyone still sane could hear it, the sound of that weapon tapping against hollow metal was a death's bell.

[Cass]

Many had thought that Sister Anna would be elevated into the position of Cannoness given both her bravery and stalwart composure during the recovery of various artifacts and subsequent withdrawal of troops from the area of that fateful mission, but it was not to be. Anna Berrans was tested by the Emperium for reasons she did not know, for a purpose that was unknown to all but he and she bore it as no other. Hers was not given to doubt and question, such things were the makings of a heretic. Her troops lay scattered and broken but they would again rise and submit to the leadings of yet another, to live another day, to fight another day.

Time had passed since then, and battles had come and gone. The lessons learned were fierce and each one of them had been bathed in the holy flame of the emperor. Anna’s hand had itself ushered in cleansings of heresy wherever she had been, proving time and time again that she was among the faithful and true, if any such proof even needed to be offered.

Anna had done whatever those above her had deemed necessary over the years, as the leader of a celestian squad and now a leader of multiple squads set on a course to intercept the implementation of the new Cannoness Cordeizia. Anna closed her eyes, one hand folding over an emblem of faith bound by corded rope about her middle to concentrate upon the chant being broadcast over the intercom system of the ship. Preparations had been made and they were set for a rendevous in the midst of a warzone. Pods were prepared and ready for their descent into an unknown territory, their supply line as well as ready crew scrambling to make sure that nothing had been left undone. The squads of sisters awaiting their orders milled about, anticipation written upon their faces. No, they were not afraid to die, none of them was afraid of that.

Anna’s eyes opened slowly, skimming across them as if trying to discern something as she towered above them. This was a mixed lot. Two of the squads within her ranks were of the Adeptus Ebulum, an illusive race that typically bode containment in the shrine on Armegeddon unless they were assigned to fighting squads. Those assigned to Sister Berrans had been acquired at their last skirmish, in which their leader had perished and the order came down to assimilate them as a part of her crew.

The Ebulum were shorter and of a stockier nature, their weaponry and skill legendary. They were akin to dwarves, the marvels of engineering having modified traditional weaponry in the deadliest of senses. The strengths of this addition were unnerving, the Ebulum forces touting particular skill in ranged weaponry and able to blaze very meticulous paths into enemy territory for troops on foot to take advantage of.

Turning to face her troops head on, Anna’s voice carried out to each, “Heresy is like a tree, its roots lie in the darkness whilst its leaves wave in the sun and to those who suspect nought, it has an attractive and pleasing appearance. Truly, you can prune away its branches, or even cut the tree to the ground, but it will grow up again ever the stronger and ever more comely. Yet all awhile the root grows thick and black, gnawing at the bitter soil, drawing its nourishment from the darkness, and growing even greater and more deeply entrenched. Such is the nature of heresy, and this is why it is so hard to destroy, for it must be eradicated leaf, branch, trunk and root. It must be exorcised utterly or it will return all the stronger, time and time again, until it is too great to destroy. Then we are doomed." The women before her halted in their actions, some lowering prayer beads and adornments of faith, others stilling busy hands which ferverantly cleaned the vessels of cleansing in preparation. From the rear of the group, a small sound was made, the voice of one lifting up in a hymn of battle, soon joined by another until their voices were all one. This was the way of the Adepta Sororitas, this was their life, their call, their duty. “For the glory of the Emperor, we will bring justice in his name.“ one said. “For the glory of the Emperor, we will cleanse them by the flame eternal and spare no mercy.” Came the reply.

[Eric]

Those cold, emotionless eyes scaneed the faces of her squad, as Sister Veruka Grail triple-checked her weapons, ensuring they were in top order. Each one of those women wore the same solemn, grim look on her face. They were going to hunt down the enemies of the Emperor and they were going to cleanse them of their heresy. Veruka knew that deep within their breasts, each woman felt a tinge of sorrow at destroying life. They acted without hesitation when the time came, and Veruka knew they served the God-Emperor wholly and completely. Yet, a tiny, near insignificant portion of them felt empathy for those they brought to ruin. That meager fact caused Sister Grail to sneer. She felt nothing when she killed, the absence of all emotion and sensation was her blanket, her armour. Veruka did not understand any emotion save for anger and rage. The rest was but a silent calm, unable to even register in her consciousness. Veruka was born to do the Emperor's work, was born to purge the Imperium of it's foul heretics, wheresoever they might dwell. She was utterly and completely without empathy. The only thought that brought her any manner of solace was that, one day, when all of the Imperium's enemies had been slain, she would know the feeling of the God-Emperor's love.

"Sister Mae." Veruka's cold voice broke the silence. "What is that moisture around your eyes?"

Ishta Mae glanced up, her eyelids quickly blinking away the rising tears. "Nothing, Sister Superior Grail. It is nothing." In a flash, Grail was on her feet, a heavy gauntlet-kissed hand slapping across the smaller woman's face. The skin broke and blood dripped down over the sun-browned flesh of the Battle Sister. "Do not speak lies, Sister Mae. Only heretics lie." Ishta looked up towards Veruka, her jaw tightened as she held back her tears and her pain. "You are crying like a pathetic little girl, Sister Mae. Why are you dishonouring this squad with your weakness? Answer me." Mae dipped her head down, her cheeks growing red in embarrassment. The rest of the celestian squad remained silent and still, their eyes cast forwards, away from the encounter, but Ishta Mae felt as though every eye in the pod were on her.

"Domascus VII was my home, Sister Grai--" SLAP! Grail backhanded the younger Sister's other cheek, another gash forming there. "You have no home, save the Convent, Sister Mae. It matters not where you come from, but where you are now. End these tears, or I shall end them for you." Veruka's hand fell to the bolt pistol strapped to her right thigh. "You shame me, Sister Mae. You shame the Adepta Sororitas. You shame the Imperium itself." Grail's armoured fingers grasped the woman's collar and pulled her close, lifting her from her seat so as to face the woman, their noses nearly touching. "And you shame the Emperor." Where it any other time, Veruka would have stripped the woman naked and scourged her back until each and every sister in the pod were soaked in the woman's blood. But not today. Grail had a bad feeling about today. She needed each and every one of her women in top fighting order.

"When we return to the Convent, Sister, I shall remind you that you have only one home. And, I shall remind you that the Adepta Sororitas never cry." With that, Veruka turned ands returned to her seat, those cold emotionless eyes watching as Ishta Mae sat, blood running down the gashes in her cheeks. But there were no tears. There were no room for tears. "Sister Crom," Veruka growled, "Find out how much longer before we touch ground." The dusky woman nodded, rose and stalked off towards the cockpit. Veruka reached out and clutched her chain sword, rubbing away the last bit of imagined dust as she recited the words written on the blade in her mind.

In fury, faith; in hatred, purpose; in battle, honour; in death, a martyr's end.

[Janus]

“We are one among thousands, we are the last brief word on everyone’s lips, we are nowhere and everywhere, burning bullets in the Emperor’s gun. “ Extract from the Officio Assassinorum’s crest of arms.

Above the government and beyond the law, the infamous ghosts of Terra answered to none save the High Lords themselves, dispatched upon their fleeting whims to ensure the survival of humanity and safeguard the Imperium from the Heretic, the Mutant and the Alien. Engineered to eradicate and designed to destroy, these were the most enigmatic and fearsome of the Officio’s servants, for whilst one assassin could do the job of a hundred soldiers, the ghosts had endured throughout the ages and cleansed countless worlds of corruption and greed. These were the veteran elite of the organisation, who had proved their worth time and again and been honoured with the ultimate reward- a choice in the missions they were assigned to.

When word of the distress call from Domascus reached Terra, however, one man’s curiosity was perked and it wasn’t long before he had ‘persuaded’ his masters to dispatch him to the distant system beneath a blanket of secrecy. Passing from one spaceship to the next under the guise of an Inquisitor, Janus eventually located a vessel from the Adepta Sororitas that was bound for his destination, but when he boarded its Estrogen-filled halls, he was amused to discover a familiar face leading the expedition.

So fate has brought us together once more, he mused as he surveyed the magnificent figure of Sister Anna, a buxom beauty seasoned with the spirit of war, who he had encountered during a Campaign on Abysn Prime. Ironically though, although she had blossomed with her experiences and wore the scars of battle with pride he, on the other hand, hadn’t aged a day and remained an unblemished angel of the Emperor’s wrath. Divulging little of his reason for being there, Janus kept their meeting short and to the point, reiterating his Epilson Sigma VI level clearance and requesting modest living quarters for himself and his mysterious cargo for the duration of the little trip.

Fraternizing with the sisters would have probably been frowned upon, had he the desire to indulge the questions of the younger recruits, for they peppered the only man on the ship with questions when they thought their superiors weren’t watching, but Janus kept his lips tightly sealed and entertained himself by training his remarkable body instead. Displaying an unearthly grace, even when sparring against the legendary Celestian’s, Janus’s presence onboard the ship seemed to only bolster the troops resolve as they admired the craftsmanship of their God. When the time came to make planetfall though, Janus politely declined the invitation to accompany Sister Anna in their drop-pod, preferring to mentally prepare himself for the task ahead in isolation and take a separate ‘shuttle’ to the surface.

Plummeting towards the ground like a falling star, the exterior of Janus’s pod reached skin-blistering temperatures as it forced the metallic ball through the atmosphere, but even the extreme heat couldn’t faze the consummate killer as he followed in the Sister’s wake with the gentle ‘beep’ of the homing beacon ringing in his ears.

Doubtless, his companions were probably in the throes of a divine chant right now, praying for the Emperor’s guidance through song, leaving him to recite the doctrine of his order as the planet’s surface loomed ever closer. Unus offa , Unus iuguolo, One shot, One kill. Haud testis , Haud superstes, No witnesses, No survivors.

[Liam]

They would not know it until it was too late, but their trajectories changed; their machinery flashing in warning of the otherworldly tampering even as they veered away from the Cathedral to the Glorious Emperor, both church and capital building of the mega-hive's uppermost tier. No, instead as they pressed through the atmosphere of the damned planet, they could almost feel the unseen hand of some unknown patron guiding them towards where despair and fear had found it's home. A mad cackling rode the howling wind of their entrance into the world that had been taken by Chaos, rippling through each of their pods in mocking amusement while churning against the shriek of the air as they closed in on their destination...

...and then all was silence.

Their arrival, Sister and Assassin, would be met with no welcoming, no legion of the lost to rend their flesh to ribbons. Nothing at all to warrant that they were being watched, and that their days were numbered upon a world that was not truly theirs. But the smell would be all but palpable to any that did not wear their helmets, the rebreathers having to work overtime to ensure that the stink of the city was just barely manageable, if that at all. The buzzing of flies was all the noise they would hear, not even a gust of wind to signify that their coming was of natural occurance. Those that had lost their lives rotted openly and freely before them all; women, men and children of all ages decaying in grotesque piles and shapes on open streets and hovels, the mold and muck of putrefied flesh sucking at their booted feet when they advanced.

And all the while, one watched, and waited, to greet them proper with a love only Nurgle held.

[BloodAngelZeros]

Captain Zeros of the Blood Angels 4th company had been leading a small fleet to the Strentium system, intended upon crushing a world inhabited by the barbaric greenskins. He stood upon the strategium deck of his cruiser, The Red Tear, when a crew member approached him, an intercepted transmission from a nearby system held in his hands. It had come from the Domascus system and as he listened to the transmission he was wrought with images of dying bodies, whether they be hacked apart by some alien xenos or splintered by their own traitorous brethren. "That will be all", the captain replied to the crew member. He needed time to think...

The Blood Angels captain stood at the deck gazing out the viewing pane of the cruiser into the endless blackness that was this galaxy. Stars dared to emit trace amounts of light here and there, but he knew of powers that could swallow them whole if they so dared. Would he be willing to face such powers if they lurked within the Domascus system? Of course he had faced the Ork menace many times before, but it was the powers of the warp that he so desperately sought to destroy. The captain was a young Astartes when his beloved Primarch, Sanguinius, had fallen at the hands of the traitorous warmaster, Horus. It was for this reason that he would not rest until every last traitorous marine had fallen by his hand and that the corrupt gods of the warp weren't even past thoughts of any citizen of the Imperium. It was to this end that he would avenge his beloved Primarch and to this end that he would bring the glorious light of the God-Emperor to the Alien, the Mutant and the Heretic.

It was decided then. The fleet would divert to the Domascus system. Particularly Domascus VII for this is where the hive cities of the system were largest and this was where the enemy had to be. It was the perfect strategic point to capture first if one was the enemy. It was not the way of the Blood Angels to attack from a distance either, much rather ripping the heart out from an enemy then to stand idly back and shoot from a distance. His warriors had been made ready and as The Red Tear hung in orbit, the drop pods were prepped for launch. Kneeling at the launch deck, he took his oath of moment, swearing to uphold the Imperial truth and light of the Emperor, to annihilate the Alien, the Mutant and the Heretic, and to avenge the death of his fallen primarch should he come across his traitorous brethren.

The sky of Domascus VII seemed as if three falling stars were plummeting to earth as they seared through the sky. Though these were no comets or falling pieces of rock. They were the drop pods at the disposal of the Astartes. Each of the three pods would slam into the earth of Domascus VII with a thunderous boom, blasting a small crater into the earth of the megahive-city. The blast doors opening up and letting the warriors of the Imperium take in their first breath of the Domascus IV air. What greeted them was not what they expected. Instead of the familiar chemical filled air that denoted such industrious cities, Zeros was greeted with the familiar stench of death and decay. His midnight black hair, which lied flat and to the length of his ears, flowed slightly from the putrid breeze that worked slowly through the city. His cold Ice blue eyes scanning in front of him as he stepped out from the drop pod, the single lightning claw adorning his left gauntlet causing the air around it to crackle with concentrated energy. Though most marines would have chosen to take two lightning claws, Zeros preferred to have only one, spending many decades of his life honing his skill with it into a deadly art. In his right gauntlet he held a plasma pistol, preferring to cleanse the galaxy with hot flames instead of the standard bolt pistol his rank was issued. Placing his helm atop his head, he could feel the compensators of his Mark IV armour feeding him recycled air, cleaning out the filth that the decaying bodies around him contaminated the air with. He let his visor scan the area around him and his two small squads of marines, amounting to about a dozen select marines in total, for heat signatures, but this was to no avail. The decaying bodies that littered the streets put off too much heat through the process of rot, clouding his visors heat scanners.

The sound of his rugged, experienced voice filled the closed-loop vox link that connected him with his brother marines, "Tread lightly brothers and keep your guard up."

[Cass]

Janus. For others it might have been a surprise to see the man standing there, expression as innocent as a lamb. As if innocence was his portion. Anna remembered all too well the occasion of their last encounter and yet nothing within her countenance betrayed the recollection. It had been a mission nearly failed, one in which the artifact was recovered but just barely. The Cannoness had given her life to ensure its safe return, and Sister Berrans had witnessed it all.

Those slippery words from the pit of the unholy caressed the ears of Sister Frezia even as her body was drawn into his arms as if she had been a long lost lover. The shudder of pain which enveloped the lead Sister could be marked only by the crimson sheen which stained the weapon even as the front plates of her own armor came to rest against his own. Gasping breath of denial would be given, that left shoulder spliced in two and arm dangling even as they were shifted and the very foundations of the monastery began to come down around them. And dangling there like a puppet she would be as he instructed the troops to disperse and the entries of her own squads were blocked.

The Cannoness twitched against him, run clean through with that sword of archaic make and yet even in this death there was a will that defied the Sorceror. That free arm had all but dropped the pistol, hanging down against her side even as the attention of this evil one rested upon her, but this surely was not the end. Her face would contort amidst the sweetest pain that she could have ever imagine, the knowledge that each droplet of blood staining the sword of this vile one would mark him and his kind all the more as a target for the armies who would avenge a fallen warrior of the Emperor, that martyr stained blood pooling around their feet even as gasping words came. “For.. the.. Emperor.”
And with the last of those words so would come perhaps an almost unthought of thing, for in truth her mind had been focused upon those sisters outside the walls, as if she were trying to reach them just one last time… to allow them somehow to know that to die for the Emperor was an honor, and that she herself had died not only for his glory but for her fellow sisters. The clip of a grenade would be removed as that head lolled forth, those words signaling perhaps the end of an age, and the death of one whom they had all held dear.

The ship approached its destination within the Domascus configuration. Anna sent word to Janus that there was room for him upon her drop pod if he had the inclination. It was a move of sheer courtesy. The Celestian knew that he would not accept such an offer due to her past dealings with the assassin. And she knew that his presence indicated something perhaps more serious than a routine mission.

Last minute instructions were given over the comms, her voice steady and without even a shred of fear, “We will be executing the drop upon the landscape of Domascus VII within a few moments. Life support functions will be necessary on the planet’s surface at all times, even within the confines of the vehicles. Reports indicate the presence of Chaos forces, the atmosphere will be rife with contagion and plague. Should you be remiss in your duty you will join those who are to be cleansed by fire for the glory of the Emperor.” It wasn’t an idle threat. If even one of her women thoughtlessly disregarded the instructions, Anna would end their lives immediately. Foolishness was not a luxury among the diligent and the contamination of an entire squad in an act of disobedience was simply not an option.

[Eric]

"The God-Emperor accepts no failure, and nor do I." Veruka glared at her squad, her words cold and lifeless. Grail was just as merciless with her own Sisters as she was with the heretics of the Imperium, and her sisters knew it. Ishta Mae's cheeks had since stopped bleeding, but the twin gashes on her face served as a reminder to the others just how unforgiving Sister Grail was. She was a puritan, allowing for nothing but perfection in the name of the Emperor. She lived wholly and completely for the Imperium, and absolutely nothing would come in the way of her proving herself to her God. She wanted to feel his love, wanted to feel his pride for his daughters of battle. She wanted to be perfect.

"Sister Crom, lead us in the prayers."

Scythia glanced up at Veruka, her dusky complexion in stark contrast to the pale, scarred and burnt flesh of Grail's own. The woman nodded and her voice rang out through the pod, words rising up in melody as the pod streaked towards Domascus. Veruka's lips chanted out loud with those of her fellow sisters, lids falling heavy over her cold gaze. As she spoke, a slight tingle rose up in her spine. It was so faint and frail, just barely there. That was her Emperor's love, dull and muted for the Sister who had not yet proven herself worthy of his attentions. But she would prove herself, she would do anything for her Emperor. She wanted to feel.

Grail rechecked her gear again as the squad sang out the hymns of battle, ensuring that the magazine drums loaded and ejected smoothly. She stroked the hilt of the chainsword strapped to her back, envisioning the words etched in the blade. They were her personal mantra, the essence of her being. She was like the fire, furious and deadly. She would give herself for the Imperium should the event arise, near suicidal in her want for her Emperor's affection. She was a willing fanatic to the Imperium's cause, a willing martyr for it's ends. She was dangerous for this fact alone, forgetting the training each and every woman of the Adepta Sororitas received. She would not slow, she would not stop, she would show absolutely no mercy for the enemies of the Imperium. She was an unstoppable force, the fire and wrath of the Emperor.

"Everything dies," Veruka spoke as the sisters ended their prayer, "Everything that moves, everything that breaths, everything that so much as looks at you dies," there was a glimmer in the sister's eye, as if the shadow of madness lingered there, showing itself for but a moment. "The enemies of the Imperium have taken this world, and by the God-Emperor we will take it back. In his name and in his glory!" Veruka shouted and as she did the pod shuddered, landing upon the scarred earth of Domascus VII.

"Do not fail me."

And with that, Veruka Grail and her sisters rose as one, the sound of weapons cocking echoing through the pod.

[Janus]

The face of death is something that all men fear, though like a coin, not the only one I possess.

Subtle at first, the tampering of the drop-pod’s trajectory eventually nagged at the assassin’s enhanced senses, resembling a niggling itch at the back of his mind as he surveyed the approach vector with electric coloured eyes. And so it begins, he mused, when the machine-spirit stirred and set off alarm bells inside the pod’s interior, illuminating his visage in deep shades of magenta and, surprisingly, outlining the curves of an excited smile.

Emotion was an anomaly among the Ghosts of Terra, for after decades of slaughter they had become desensitised to everything save the mission at hand, but the depths of space can change a man, and Janus had journeyed far deeper into the Eye of Terror than his brethren knew. The mocking laughter that echoed in the shadows, between one burst of light and the next, could have been harrowing to some, but for Janus it affirmed the suspicions that had lead him here, So the rumours spoke true, he thought, as his thrusters slowed the descent and finally deposited him upon Domascus VII with a gentle bump.

The door-gyros emitted a prolonged hiss as it slowly swung open, unveiling a disgusting scene before his sweeping gaze, for the streets were dotted with putrid remains and the undeniable aftermath of Chaos’s influence. Clambering out of the pod and onto the blistered dirt beyond, Janus reached up and lowered his mask as the smell of decay reached his nostrils, for although he had encountered environments on a thousand different worlds, he still maintained the façade of requiring a re-breather, none the less. In reality, however, his sophisticated physique was encoded with genetic memory and so, having encountered something once, his body could evolve its immune system to compensate. This meant that while the grinning skull he wore seemed to be working as readily as any of his companions, he had subjected himself to so many terrors in the past that this latest plague could hardly harm him.

Conditions aside though, he would have been fool to believe that the servants of Nurgle would care if he could breathe or not, given their hatred for the Imperium and so, when not if the shit really hit the fan, he would be in the same dire straights as his companions, if a tad more comfortable as he fought for his survival. A distant hum filled Janus’s ears as flies feasted on the remains of the hive’s population and, as he studied the quivering piles of slime, he envisioned what the city must have been like before it had fallen.

Rather than simply advancing ‘behind enemy lines’, like he was accustomed to, however, he decided to tarry at the landing site and await the arrival of the Adepta Sorotias beneath the veil of his Mk IX Chameleon Cloak, after all this was their adventure and he was just along for the ride.

[Liam]

All came to the world with sword and fire, to set alight the soil and burn away the cancer that had infested itself within the workings of Mankind. From the Adeptus Astartes to the Officio Assassinorium's agents, each came with seperate goals yet the same in the end. Humanity's drives had not changed in many millenia - burn the heretic, purge the mutant, kill the alien. The same mantra, with little change in it's effectiveness or potency. This world would bring to those who repeated the familiar a whole new scope of reality.

For the one whom seared her own body in petty piety to the Emperor, Veruka Grail, she would be given the most visceral viewing of whom ruled the ground they tread upon. Her utterances were caught on the gastly wind that breathed through the fallen Hive streets like the last death's sigh of a mouldering corpse, the vehemence of her soul's fire echoing her speech upon the astral winds, her demand for salvation touching upon the Schemer, whom found pleasing the work He had done upon her. Tzeentch, the Master of Change, dared not share this information of whom he thrust like a great claymore to the Crow God, however - even in their brief solidarity, there was time for a game or two between the two bitter rivals....


~~

Of those whom made planetfall upon the molding, decrepit landscape, Veruka Grail and her cadre would be the first to see a most odd sight - amongst the dead and dying, rotting and hovels for the maggots and flies of Nurgle's beloved minions, was a single Human of pristine health. Hair as black as night, perfect in the physique of Mankind he could only be in the eyes of the Sisters. No hint of slothen laziness, a life of duty and ordeal honed into his finely honed muscles, with all that he bore upon his proud stature being antiquous armour plating upon his shoulders and chest, out of what looked to be hand-fashioned steelwork. He smiled then; a bright smile with teeth as white as snow, and a voice that carried to them despite the relatively short distance between their landing, and his standing.

"Greetings, at last! You've been expected! Though.....you aren't what we were expecting. Funny, hm?" His humour was morbid enough to be considered at least in some instance intriguing, his hands spreading wide as though he was in his own personal paradise. The wind, the plague, did not seem to touch him, even as he plucked up what looked to be a walking stick in his healthy hands. Bare feet squelched over decaying flesh and muck as he strode out to the middle of what would have been a busy streetway, once crowded with the living now burdened with the dead.

"Hhhhh......well! I'm not one to be a dreary host, given that I am appreciative of your being here. It was getting rather tiresome, and we were almost done with our work! But now...hah, we can truly continue our duty for our Father. You've given us a dear gift, my friends, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart." One would begin to see the insane gleam in his eye, as well as something peculiar - like mold on wheat, his face began to break out in great and blue bacteria, his flesh sloughing ever so slowly into what he truly was. His perfected body was rotting as if the moments that passed were weeks in the soil, flesh putrefying as his being changed to become His chosen disciple. The staff screeched and twisted like rusting metal rent from it's mainstay, a wicked blade of rust and excrement forming from nothingness atop that staff, becoming a reaper's scythe in his once healthy, now rotting digits. An eye swelled and popped like overripe fruit, running down a face with bone and sinew exposed to the world, the armour he wore rusting and degrading as his chest and abdomen sloughed to the dirty streets, internal organs wheezing and releasing both bile and coagulated fonts of blood to spread out into the street.

"Come to Father Nurgle, friends.........let Him ease your pain." His voice, which once held such youth and vitality, eroded much like his physique; the collected sound of the mutant's moan and a drowner's gurgle a hundred fold rolled into a single focus, the still viable eye focusing on them with manic determination Whilst the weapon-wielding hand wrapped the butt end of that Scythe once against the ground....the echo resounding through the quiet streets exactly 6 times.

The chanting came, then - monotone chanting from a thousand voices at once, each echoing eachother's dictates almost to the millisecond - the total tally of every new disease unleashed upon this world and it's innocents, every plague and boil and pustule and scab and so forth recorded and dictated by His Talleymen. Closer inspection by the Sisters and Grail would find that these voices first came soft, then as the minutes went by, came with stronger and stronger voices of a baritone gait. The corpses, at least those with jaws and skulls not eaten away by the disease of the siege, mouthed this chant in tandem, repeating their killer's weapons upon their own worm-infested lips. Shapes moved from behind the monstrosity, things like him yet not - a single eye, a horn atop a diseased skull, the clattering of rusted bells....like this wretched thing that greeted them they shared it's appearence, yet each moved as if one with oneanother, their putrid mouths moving with little purpose but to infect, record, and proceed. That purpose became clear as they advanced, several dozen in tow, down the street to where the Sisters had made their arrival known to the damned souls of this world, moving in sequence behind one which held itself higher in status above others This one, which smiled ever so slightly upon lips that no longer hung close to black-gummed teeth, moved with it's own purpose . Stepping away from then to raggedly pull itself away with the gentle rap-rap-rap of it's Scythe against the rockrete street. It's mocking laughter, a gurgled and disturbing thing, echoed in the humming chant of the Tallymen even as the buzz of the flies and carrion returned.

The Sisters had come, and Nurgle's Herald had met them with open arms.

[DarkAngle13]

Sergent-Chaplain Izzrkil's drop pod punched through the atmosphere of Damacus VII and plummetted toward the plantes surface. He leaned back as the restraints locked into place. "We are the Emperor's pride." He said as the pod punched into the ground creating a massive crater. "Hear us roar!" Gus hunter squad bellowed as it deployed.

Izzrkil stepped from the pod and grimacef at the foulness of the air. He clasped his helm in place and drew his plasma pistol. "Squad, stalk!" He barked as his men faned out and took up postions about the rim of the crater. "What do you see?" He asked as Saul, his tech marine, came down. "There every where, sir" He said repulsed "the ground is covered in corpses." Izzrkil nodded. His power claw crackling against the putrid air. "Squad, on me." He said calmly stalking from the crater. His blue and gold armor glinted in the light as a stale wind ruffled the fur of his shoulder plates.

His hunter squad of Celestail Lions had been sent to assist in the aid, and If need be the cleanseing of the Damascus system. "Be alert, brothers," He said over the vox link "these corpses are befouled by chaos. They are still a threat until totally eradicated." He said walking toward the city. The air was suddenly filled with the sound of combat. "It would seem we are not alone." Izzrkil said as his squad sprinted towards the battle. Hopeful to assist, or purge.