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ask-jaghatai-khan · 4 years

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“I’m bored!” Gurz bemoaned through his helmet’s face-guard, as he pried up his red-hot choppa from the smoldering corpse of a mutilated human, “Nuffin’ but deze lil scrawny ones! It’s like da humies don’ even respect us! Gork, da red ones don’t even ‘ave dat much blood in ‘em! Where’s da fun of it all?”

“Dey’z either runnin’ outta good fightas or dey’z tryin’ ta make us bored! Now dat’s some cruel kunnin’!” Darg agreed, the hulking Nob setting his armored behind down on the wreck of Chimera transport.

All about the retinue of black-armored orkz there was nothing but the devastation of a resolved battle. The mainline of the human defence force had been smashed by the greenskin assault some hours ago, and most of the WAAAGH! had since gone back to camp to prepare for the next big push. Big Nob Skargrut’s gang - of which Gurz and Darg were members - hadn’t been content to wrap up so soon. As grizzled mega-warriors of the Goff clan, their bloodlust was never quite sated. They’d taken to the killing fields to try and hunt down survivors, but now that most dreaded of orkish foes was rearing its disgusting head - boredom.

“Normally I’d krump ya fer moanin’ like a coupla grots-” Skargrut rubbed at his half-metallic chin, the power-armored bulk of that senior ork officer dwarfing the already substantial forms of his comrades, “But I gotta say yer right. I’z gonna ‘ave words wit’ da boss when we get back ta camp. Maybe he finks dis is alright, but if I’d signed up for Big Ghazz’s WAAAGH! an’ dis is da kinda fightin’ I was left with, I’d be right fumin’!” He brought down his power-claw on the mangled corpse of a Skitarii Vanguard, the crunch of metal offering little satisfaction to the incensed alien.

Warriors under Boss Urgron, Skargrut’s boyz were but a handful of the legions upon legions of greenskins who now counted themselves under the banner of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka’s galaxy-spanning horde. They’d landed on this world - some humie dump by the name of “Benny-dikshun” - to conquer its forges for the Big Boss’ war effort. Yet all in all the fighting had been a massive letdown. To start it had been fun, of course. The initial clashes had seen the skies turned to fire with dogfights thicker than a cloud of squig-flies, and the ground had been a mash of Goff vehicles and sturdy warriors contending with the mechanized human defenders. Yet despite their technological help, the humans could do little to hold off the sheer unkillable brutality of the seasoned Goff horde. The pitiful pink-skins and their red-cloaked allies had retreated to the major hives or even into orbit, leaving the droves of ork infantry with little to do.

“Back in my day ya didn’t ‘ave ta be a flyboy to get all the fun! A proppa ork don’ need anyfing but his choppa an’ a good boss to lead ‘em to a scrap!” Skargrut did some more whining of his own, his colossal size and bellowing tone at odds with his petulant, childlike attitude.

“Urgron listens ta us!” piped in Furgga, their mob’s lead heavy-weapons specialist, launching off a plume of flame from his combo flamer-grinda, “I say we tell ‘im da mob oughta push on. We need ta get to da siege! An’ if he won’t go an’ just wants ta sit on his bitz pile - well, we’ll ‘ave yer back Skargrut!”

A round of grunting agreements and a few cheers went up. Skargrut commanded a sizeable mob of ‘ardboyz who might have been considered for Ghazz’s own retinue had they not been stuck in Urgron’s WAAAGH! The Nob wasn’t one for insubordination in the middle of a campaign, but he had his standards. When he’d heard rumors that they’d be fighting the red-cloaks on this planet, he’d expected big humie stompas and kustom tanks, not just droves of pitiful cyborg dregs. He figured they were hiding the good stuff somewhere, but he and his boyz would never enjoy that kind of scrap if they were stuck pulling up the rear of the main assault.

“Datz it, den!” Skargrut announced, “Stretch dem legs, boyz! We’z headin’ back ta camp, an den da camp is comin’ wif us!”

The clamor of some thirty power-armored orks thundering across the killing-fields together was enough to send snotlings scurrying a mile off.

—

“Almost dere ladz!” Boss Skargrut hollered, at least to those warriors close enough to hear him. The warboss took a moment to admire his new power-klaw, eager to give it a proper testing in the battle ahead. There were even still bits of red and green gore mashed into some of the joints - Skargrut hoped Urgron’s “lukky klaw” would bring him more luck than its prior owner.

On the horizon, the red glow of war could be seen.

The humie factory-hive was besieged from all angles, the full might of the greenskin horde turned against their stronghold, Skargrut had been sure to let every Nob know over the shouta-channels that he was in charge now, and that anything short of a full-out assault on every last humie bastion was unacceptable. They’d done a good job, the humies, for being a bunch of weaklings. Numerous concentric tiers of fortifications, from barbed trenches to full-on citadel walls had been prepared for the xenos attack, but still the orks pushed in yard by yard. Nothing could stand in the way of a Goff mob on the warpath. Maybe the humies had better shootas here and there, or more flash vehicles, but at the end of the day you couldn’t put a Goff Nob down with anything less than a grenade to the mouth.

As Boss Skargrut gave his orders, sending out bikers and stormboyz on the flanks to take out entrenched guns, he and his melee horde pushed up the middle. Even before the human defensive turrets had been crippled, but a paltry few of Skargrut’s mega-boyz had fallen to the sustained fire.

Yet just as the sheer bloodlust was building in the Warboss’ chest, his beady red eyes set on those outer fortifications where he knew some proper foes to sink his klaw into were huddled, there came a blaring noise that almost managed to deafen the iron eardrums of a greenskin.

Following that klaxon call, there was a thunderclap and a blinding light, and when Skargrut shook the stars from his vision, he noticed a good forth of his vanguard horde was no more. Instead, there was but a heap of bubbling slag.

The Warboss’ gaze shot to the source. A great figure had appeared from behind the ruins of a half-fallen outer bunker - a giant which made even Killa-Kans and Deff-Dreads look like fledgling boyz in comparison.

Its red and white armor gleamed despite the smog of battle, and its skull-face carried cold rage. From some unseen horn within its mechanized guts, another sound pierced through the din of war. To the orks, it was little more than unappealing noise, but all those servants of the Imperium in the vicinity recognized the Hymn of Donna Valkiriya, from the liturgies of the Martian Obikhod. That war-song of the red planet announced the arrival of the first cavalry.

Baron Korsakov of House Taranis lead his knight lance from out of the exurb ruins about the hive, charging forward to meet the orkish assault. Behind his Cerastus Knight-Atrapos came a company of similar machines, tall and swift and outfitted with a mix of enormous lances and devastating heavy weaponry. As if they intended to meet the orks in a straight assault like their primitive namesakes of old, the mighty colossi loped towards Skargrut’s lines as the greenskins reeled and braced in equal measure, unsure of what to make of this new enemy.

Though he’d just watched a great many of his warriors vaporized by just one of these machines in an instant, Skargrut’s brute face split into an eager grin. Now this - this was what he’d been waiting for.

#warhammer #40k #imperial knight #ork #goff #taranis #mechanicus #short story #fanfic

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xenosgirlvents · 4 years

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There is an ancient Terran saying barely remembered even by humans in their forty-odd millennia since it was first said. “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” La’al had never heard this saying, but if she had it would be echoing relentlessly in her head. Said best laid plans had been to take back a young T’au world from a small force of Orks who had stolen it after the gue’la’s military had had their way with it. Her own squad, composed of a smattering of various auxiliaries and a handful of veteran Fire warriors, had been sent around to the east of the main Cadres in an attempt to corral the bhe’ghaal. But, rather clearly, those best laid plans had been shattered irreparably.

The young Shas’La’s tympanum were reverberating under the force of the never-ending fusillade of fire soaring over her head and pounding against the flickering Tidewalls and burning vehicular wrecks she was jogging past, willing herself not to outrun her la’rua. Moving as quickly as her squadmates could manage, they were slowed further under the weight of the injured they carried with them. La’al herself held Olatharal and Balantara – the two surviving Exodites who had joined the military alongside her – slung over her shoulders, cutting her ability to retaliate dramatically. She would have almost envied the two of them then, both unconscious and unable to hear the paradoxically raucous and operatic singing roaring out over the sound of gunfire as the army of Orks rolled inexorably closer, if not for the glinting of the small red gemstone Balantara clutched tightly in her fist.

The Exodite had risked death charging into the green tide to wrest it from her brother’s corpse, and La’al would sooner die herself than let that risk have been in vain. So, for now, she had to focus on surviving as blood – red, blue, green, and practically every color in between – splashed under the running hooves, boots, and talons of the retreating squad. Returning her focus to the task at hand, the young Shas crushed the still-living and profanity spewing severed head of one of the bhe’ghaal under-hoof.

There was only one warrior with them without a body in their grasp, and he wasn’t even a member of their squad. The breacher Shas’Ui ran alongside them, his heavier armor doing little to slow him down and his pulse blaster invaluable as the la’rua bolted between cover. Many of the Orks’ “squigs,” as La’al had heard her comrades yell, barreled toward and around them, squealing and snorting hungrily only to be all but disintegrated by the breacher’s plasma fire or else to be caught in vicious combat with the numerous Kroot hounds that had been loosed to cover the Cadres’ retreat

The distinctive whip-crack of rail-fire announced that they were nearing the end of their escape. The evacuation point was coming into view; surrounded by a veritable wall of Hammerheads and Broadsides – further bristling with Kroot rifles poking between the gaps and buzzing with the insectoid forms of Vespids – unloading their weaponry into the advancing horde, Mantas and Orcas were picking up as many survivors as they could, knowing that no stragglers were likely to survive once they were forced to fully extract. And standing atop her hover-drone just behind the wall of vehicles was Vre Da’ty, whirling her Honor Blade about and swatting away the projectiles flying at her as if they were barely more than flies.

The Ethereal was perfectly calm. The simple creatures advancing across the battlefield were far outside of their accurate range, and even if they weren’t, she knew that they would never see her as a priority target. Vre’Da’ty knew well that bhe’ghaal “philosophy” revolved around the concept of bigger being better, and she was far from the largest target they could train their primitive firearms upon. As such, she had elected to take the last craft to leave, knowing that the concept of leaving an Ethereal in such a hellish warzone for too long would motivate the Cadres’ survivors to move much faster. Coolly, she surveyed the surrounding area, pointing out approaching parties of survivors for the wall of guns to split for, when a red glinting caught her eye. Turning her head, she spotted Shas’La La’al and her surviving squadmates approaching as quickly as they could, defended by a breacher’s pulse blasts. A small smile creeping over her face at the young warrior’s apparent capacity to survive, she gestured to the small party and lowered her drone at the utterly incessant insistence of her honor guards.

The la’rua let out a collective sigh of relief as they saw a break form in the wall of metal to accommodate them, only a handful of craft left willing to make the risky lift. The party wasn’t a second too soon either, a number of the tanks and battlesuits already beginning to peel away and board the Mantas set aside for their evac. La’al almost cheered, herself, but it was cut off by a harsh scream from behind her. Turning sharply while maintaining her pace with her squad, she was shocked to see the Shas’Ui who had kept them covered being pulled back by a mass of pink flesh. The veteran warrior let out a barrage of curses and swears, firing his gun wildly as he tried to level it at the squig’s head to utterly no avail.

La’al knew he had no chance. The tanks were falling back, and those that were still holding were much too focused on the tide of green marching closer, the singing growing loud enough to all but silence the gunfire. Acting on instinct, she passed the unconscious Aeldari to the least burdened of her squad members and charged back, drawing her carbine as she went.

To the Shas’Ui, the young Fire warrior was a blur. A streak of his Sept’s color barged into the squig and rolled with it several meters in a tangle of vicious and bone shattering kicks, punches, and gun-bashes. Seizing the new chance at life with both fists, he began to drag himself back toward his dropped gun, grabbing the blaster and rolling over to aim it at the clash just in time to watch the Shas’La unload almost an entire magazine directly into the orkish animal’s eye. She roared her fury over the sounds of the battle as she shredded the creature that had dared harm the warrior who had guarded her squad’s escape.

Covered in the sizzling remains of the squig, La’al whipped back around to help the Shas’Ui up just as the rain of ballistic fire petered out. Dragging the veteran along on his crippled legs, La’al peered across the battlefield to see the Orks had stopped moving and almost none of them were firing a shot. But the ground still rumbled as if the entire horde was charging. Then, as the smoke from their vehicles’ engines cleared away, she saw why. The entire Ork horde joined in a single gruffly operatic chorus as an utter behemoth of metal rolled through the smoke, its treads alone towering over practically everything else on the battlefield.

“Bloodwind…” the two Shas uttered in unison as the Mega-Gargant opened its jaws to reveal what looked, to La’al’s cybernetic eyes, to be a stage on which stood a giant Ork in black armor with a white mask covering the right half of his face, and a gretchin in a frilly dress and long brown squig-wig perched atop his arm. The titanic machine’s guns began to spin up, sonic waves tearing across the battlefield as the Warboss began to sing in earnest from his stage, vast speakers on the Gargant’s chest blasting out the ballad almost loud enough to knock La’al from her feet.

The T’au forces still on the ground began raining fire at the colossal mobile fortress as they began pulling back with as much speed as they possibly could, Mantas and Orcas initiating their liftoff sequences even as tanks and suits mounted them. La’al herself bodily picked up the Shas’Ui and tore across the distance between them and the Manta that had taken aboard her la’rua. Even with all her speed though, by the time La’al arrived, the bay door was already almost closed, and no other ships were even near the ground.

“Oh no yOU FUCKING DON’T!” She screamed as, in a last act of desperation, the young Fire warrior gathered her strength, leapt dozens of feet into the air, and threw the older Shas through the door just before it could close.

The transports pulled away just before the Gargant’s guns could begin unleashing their stream of death. But as the Exodites aboard it roused themselves back into consciousness, their first sight was an injured breacher pounding his fists against the door, cursing as if his life depended on it. From the other end of the craft, Vre’Da’ty saw the same, and the three of them quickly came to the same realization.

Shas’La H’kek’an La’al had been left behind. The Little Hero was alone.

(Honestly, I barely even know what kind of commentary to leave here this time. So I’ll just go with the standard “Hope you enjoy it, and please share any questions and critiques you have”)

Okay! So wow, this was actually really good, honestly! I enjoyed in general the way you wrote about the inclusion of certain T’au specifics to the battle: not standing and engaging in a battle of attrition when they still have room to redeploy in, the use of the Tidewalls to provide cover for their withdrawing infantry, the use of the Breacher Shas’ui (Breachers are a favourite unit of mine conceptually, I wish we had a Fire Warrior 2 Game only so that Kais could cart around a Pulse Blaster-like shotgun to kill Marines with) and I enjoyed the Ethereal too, with the good addition that they actually undermine the normal Ork threat assessment pattern, that’s actually a really good point I haven’t thought about before but it’s true!

As always I also enjoyed heavily your use of T’au terminology throughout the piece. This is something I sometimes struggle with, as it can slow me down, but you make consistent use of T’au words throughout which helps it feel engaging and engrossing by making it clear who we’re reading this from.

I am very curious as to how this will go, but I already foresee La’al perhaps ending up surviving on her own for an extended period of time, ghosting Orks, before being rediscovered by other T’au? Whatever it is you have in mind I look forwards to it, this has really been the highlight for me of anything 40k related for a while now :)

#warhammer #Warhammer 40k #Warhammer 40000 #t'au #tau #t'au empire #tau empire #la'al #fanfiction #submission

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corsair-princess-nenime · 4 years

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🧥 From: Kaptin Zagbad

Nenime and Zag walked the length of a rusted cargo hold, replete with a dead warboss’s armor collection.

“OH! OH! OH! ZAG! What about this one?” Nenime said, eagerly jabbing her finger at a very peculiar mega-armor.

It was painted an aesthetic, if messy, light green.

“What does it mean?”

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askatemplarchampion40k-blog · 6 years

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💗- A memory about a good deed they did

“Die waffen, legt ans!” A steel legionaire barked, and the 3rd company of the 73rd ‘Ehre’ regiment of the Steel Legion formed up.

It was a pre-battle inspection drill. Johan, recently made emperor’s champion, stood by and watched beside the Castellan, upon the hive world of Armageddon.

“Johan.” the Castellan said on an internal helmet-line. “These men’s morale has been flagging. Ever since we lost Hades. This was one of the hive’s personal regiments. They need a messiah.”

Johan glanced back. “They have the emperor, a greater messiah does not exist.”

The castellan nodded. “They forget. Many men do when they are afraid and full of doubt. I’m detaching you to support them on the initial advance. Its rough terrain, so we’re giving you a rhino for transport, and so you can keep up with them.”

Johan was perplexed. “Why me, my lord?”

The castellan sighed and watched the legionaries mobilize and mount up.

“You need to learn what the common man can do, Johan. I want you to be with them. It will be a valuable learning experience- if you survive.

“I will, mein herr.”

//Two Hours Later, en-route to the outskirts of the ork held city of Pyke.

“Listen up mein soldaten, listen well! The astartes have gifted their greatest champion to our flank of the assault. The commissars will tolerate no further disobedience or excuses. We shall follow our Lord and die if we must, or I’ll shoot you myself!”

Johan listened to the vox channel, contemplating the words of the captain as he studied his helmet. He sat alone in his rhino, as it ground its way across the terrain in line with the chimera’s of his legionnaire comrades. At last, he put his helmet on, sweeping up his long locks of hair and sealing the armor locks.

“Imperial guardsmen, hear me,” Johan began. “This has been a hard war, a brutal war. Your hive- Hades, was lost to us in the first hours of the land invasion. It died an unjust and unfair death from an Ork landing Rok. Orks defeated it through cowardice and fear. They knew what you knew all along. Hades would never fall. But don’t you see, noble heroes of armageddon?”

Johan stood and walked to the rhino exit ramp. A green light blinked, and the klaxon blared as the transport opened its back doors, and the champion leapt out, sword in hand.

“Hades has not fallen!” Johan declared, raising his blade, and gesturing to the legionaries that were dismounting.

“Hades- your home, your hearth, the home of your children, daughters sons, wives and husbands, your families- all of that is still yours.”

Johan shot forward ahead of the legionaries. Ahead, an ork trench blared its rattling weapons, heavy cruel rounds slamming the sides of Johan’s blessed armor. Behind him, a lucky Zzap gun killed a chimera.

“Hades has not fallen! The enemy did not conquer it. It will never fall- ever! Like the eternal spirits of so many of our angelic primarchs, though their bodies lay broken and gone, their spirits are unconquerable!”

Johan deftly dodged a rokkit headed for him. As he did so, he noted the grenadiers were pinned down by enemy fire. They spread out, firing themselves at the orks.

“And just as Hades could not be taken from your clutches so too shall Armageddon stand strong!”

Johan said, vaulting into the ork trench. Shoota and slugga boys surrounded him. The melee was fast and vicious as blood flowed all around.

“To Ghazgkhull I ask: Have you a planet-sized Rokk?!” Johan bellowed, using an ork boy as a pincushion to slow the velocity of a flash git’s incoming rounds.

“Because if you do not, then let it be KNOWN among the faithful!” Johan shouted, detonating a fragmentation grenade beneath the flash git and cutting through a pair of slugga boys.

“Armageddon will not falter!” Johan emptied the magazine of the bolter hanging off his side, clearing a good six or seven of the alien creatures down the line.

“Because you can’t wipe us all out without a fight!”

A mega-armored nob pushed his smaller boyz past, and bellowed a mighty WAAAGH!

“And when we fight, we fight side by side with our Messiah!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Johan saw the grenadiers begin to make a hard advance towards his weakened part of the trench. Stick grenades were lobbed about Johan, but the professionals tossing them kept them well away from the marine himself. Blow after blow was traded with the armored nob- it was a mighty foe indeed.

“AND GUARDSMEN, WHAT DO WE CALL OUR MESSIAH? SHOUT HIS NAME! TELL ME YOU KNOW HIM!”

The guardsmen bellowed “EMPEROR! FOR THE EMPEROR!” Despite ork rounds cutting several down, they jumped inside the trenches with Johan, bayonets fixed and ready. Chimeras moved up and braved brutal anti tank weapons, risking it all for a few extra minutes of fire support.

The mega-armored nob slammed Johan against the side of the trench wall and chuckled, ripping Johan’s helmet off.

Johan knew no fear. He summoned all of his might, and with a terrible war cry, thrust the blade of the emperor’s champion through the greenskin’s horrid features.

“Yes Guardsman! And to the Ork, I declare this: YOU CAN’T KILL THE MESSIAH! Come! Come and try!”

Johan shouted this as he vaulted the trench wall and stood, running deeper into the ork held lines. A great roar replied, and Warboss Big Digga emerged, a grin on his toothy face as he sauntered up to meet the challenge.

The pair dueled for five minutes- a grueling long time. Johan was battered and bloody when it was done, but by the emperor, he had achieved it. The black blade of the emperor lopped the warboss’ head clean off, and Johan signaled the templar rhino to advance.

“SEE, guardsmen! The power of faith! Look about you! I shall tell you what I see. I see strong men and women of Hades hive, fighting like astartes instead of men! I see an Ork line shattered where once there had been doubt of a victory, now through FAITH and STEEL we have made our victory known! I see a free Armageddon, a strong Armageddon! An Imperial Armageddon! A HUMAN Armageddon!”

The grenadiers lifted their arms in a roaring cheer as assault teams swept through the flanks and lesser trenches of the ork line, clearing any survivors and routing what few still could run.

The black templars rhino arrived, and its driver delivered Johan a mighty chapter banner.

With a respectful nod, Johan took the banner, and planted it firmly in the ork fortifications.

“Mile by bloody mile, I will fight by your side. Look there, where once Pyke had been but a speck, now it is clear in view. The fight to take that city back into human hands will be costly my friends. There will be blood. We, all of us, maybe will be called to the Emperor as we try.”

Johan looked the beautiful artistry of the banner, and his eyes watered at its magnificence against the warm glow of Armageddon’s sun.

“But it will be ours again, Kameraden. All of Armageddon. All of the Imperium. It is the destiny of the righteous, and it will be our destiny my friends. Believe me, and believe in the promise of our Emperor. This holy Imperium will stand unbroken for all time, weathering an infinite storm of xenos and heretics. But let no fear or doubt enter you. Know that so long as we serve Him, as long as any warrior stands for His Realms, we shall withstand.”

A young lieutenant carefully handed Johan his damaged helmet, which the champion took with a warm loving expression.

“Kameraden, Give thanks to the love of the Emperor. Join me in Prayer.”

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