Ysera: Primary front of the ork invasion

You are stirred up from your light sleep by a bump in the road. The even humming of the chimera's engine that lulled you into a short rest is still present. You check the time, you are schedulded to arrive in the next few minutes.

There is a tension in the air, some of you might know each other as comrades, maybe even friends. Others are more rivals... or secretly even outright enemies. Don't show those thoughts to the commisar though, next thing you know he'll take your head off with a bolter pistol shot.

You reminisce briefly about what you were doing when the orks first landing came. Things had seemed so peaceful before. It had been a sunny day, a fruit tree on a nearby hill was starting to blossom. That tree would survive this invasion the base commander had decreed. For it would stand a fine symbol for the magnificent grace of the empire. You were unceremoniously shipped off to the front not soon after.

Turuk was sat completely motionless, and even less comfortably. It was standard procedure by now whenever he was forced into such a small space. His natural, ingrained, Ogryn claustrophobia had made the whole Chimera journey a rather horrid experience in general, though it went the same for many vehicles that weren't open-topped. The only reason he was in still IN the vehicle was due to the earlier coercing by both his comrade and the local Commissar that had been seemingly attached to the squad, no doubt to keep things in line given the, mixed nature of the current group in the transport.. No amount of primal fear was ever going eclipse that of the Commissiarat and their agents. Though barely stirring when the chimera hit a small bump, he managed a half mumbled "How long to place?" He asked, his tone retaining the normal brutish and primitive speech patterns common among his abhuman kind.

His comrade, a burly looking man by the simplistic name of Tuur, sat alongside him. Turr looked much like a diminutive version of Turuk, though with markedly more human features and with drastically less bulk to him though he could still probably pass for a smaller Ogryn, nonetheless. With a voice thick with saliva, and all the nuances that being brought up on a feral world bring, he managed a brief, "Not long now, probably, travelling for a long time now." It was in a notably more simplistic tone than even a feral worlder would normally have, though probably made clearer for the simple mind of his larger brother in arms.

Giving a, toothy (for his teeth seem to have been filled to points) smile he looked about himself to the others in the Chimera. Tuur didn't go much on them, all of them looked like the sort of hard asses that got 'good' men like him shot...or the type that'd shoot him personally. His disgust was somewhat plain, and made all the more evident by the..not so subtle facial expressions he was making. "Say, ah, uh. So. I'll be supposin' we should all be talkin'? Or som'at? Ain't neva sen a buncha guardsmen so quiet in me 'ole life! Guessin' it's more about us knowin' wot we're all goin'a do when the bullets start up, eh?" Those around could likely tell by his tone that the language didn't seem to come quite as quickly to him, though it was a gesture at the least.

Having heard some talking among his fellows, Turuk finally roused from the nap he was taking. Quite the achieve considering the earlier cries of "But it dark in dere!" Though now roused, he scanned about the Chimera to ensure not only Tuur was alive, but also the local commissar. Turuk gave a respectful nod to the man, before looking about the others. He didn't much go off of their looks alone, everyone here was armed to the teeth and looked ready for war, as such he would wait, to determine their personalities.

@Natsucooldude

Solar had been awake for most of the trip Occasionally combing his beautiful Pompadour and polishing his Missile launcher until it was shiny enough that the Orks on the other side of Ysera could see it from space beside him his Sister Natalia was sound asleep next to him He and Natalia were both siblings and had pretty much became inseparable they both had joined the same regiment and had fought in the same battle's.
they were peas in a pod.

He noticed that he wasn't the only one awake the local Ogryn was awake and so was his Ogrynlike friend. he had never seen a Ogryn in his life but he had always thought of them as big tough barbarian guys obviously he had been wrong seeing that this Ogryn was too much of a chicken to stay in a Chimera for more than 5 minutes. @SomeChap uhhh Turk was it?, I guess we might as well chat for a little, seeing that their's not much to do, lets just try not to be so loud, or else we'll piss off the Commissar He whispered, the whole "Piss off the Commissar" thing was a bit of a half-lie he would absolutely hate to annoy a Commissar and even better he heard the Commissar here was a flithy Maccabian. Emprah he hated The Jassanaries. He hated them and they had hated him too. But the real reason was because he simply didn't want his sister to wake up Solar was a man of Chivalry and generally the least Chivalrous thing you could do was wake up a woman for no reason.

The humming and clicking of the Chimera had become a lullaby for Viber like the noise and sounds of violence. That was the wonderful chaos of his home world Oalis. It had been sometime since he was really back at home, and it wasn't cause his feet hadn't touched the ground of home nor was it that his eyes hadn't seen the bustling streets of the hive world. No it was war that prevented him on every return from ever being back home from being the boy..the man he use to be. Now he was battered and worn cold from the falling of his regiment and so many of it's men ones he knew well some even loyal lifelong friends. That was the past though now he was one of the few the survivors who remained not just as a regiment, but a reminder.

Many thoughts went through his mind as he sat in the forward chamber of the Chimera with the driver his eyes intently surveying all about. It was no accident that he moved yet again to the front of a war nor was it an accident he was on this vessel at this time. No of course not it was a product of his position he worked so hard for that others died for a sacrifice he still wondered would ever pay off. He had seen manifest when the conflict arose and after searching through file after file on unit after unit looking for something to stand out he found it. A group of mixed regiment soldiers with a familiar name from some time ago. As the smile cracked across his face work had already begun on greasing the right palms making the right friends to make sure he was among that group.

Now he found himself among the ranks it was here he felt at home at ease and most himself. He was one of them whether they knew it or not they would see it on the field. A nod came from that familiar face he briefly smiled and returned the gesture toward Turuk and even gave a kind nod to Tuur before calling back to him.

"Aye speak freely boys we have, but a few moments before the landing and the fighting begins." He seemed to say with a calm demeanor intending to diffuse tension directed at him most likely. He was after all a keen observer and ever paranoid about all those who might plot or otherwise think to work against and undue him. After this statement he inspected more closely each man among them and it was the gunner whom he worried most for he was to clean to polished he had not seen war or had been unwilling to do what is necessary. This he knew would become a worry and in that moment he noticed the woman still soundly sleeping and unaware to the bump the noise that should have stirred her.

In a flash of rage he moved quickly towards her seat and pulled back his leg. The edge of his boot collided with her right pushing her from the seat and onto the ground. No real harm had been done it was simply a callous reminder that those unaware would be the first to die. He looked to the man next to her the gunner and scowled.

"Each of you is responsible for the person next to you. We are a few moments from battle and our Chimera is an easy target. You were suppose to stir her make sure she was awake, aware, and prepared. You failed." Viber had a sound of contempt in his voice. A groan was let out as he began head to back towards the helm of the Chimera.

Of all the assembled people in the Chimera, Jericho Cross seemed the generally most pleased out of everyone riding the rolling coffin to the warzone. Out of all of them, granted, he had faced far greater perils in training than many of them likely ever had, and had found himself isolated from most of the others within the Chimera as they rode. After all, he was not even part of any locals of this taskforce, about the closest one to his own plight was the Jannisary, and, well, they would likely not see eye to eye. Not because Jericho had any particular issue with them, no, no. His condition as a Sanctioned Psyker in the service of their God Emperor, whom orbited the star of distant Terra's home system, tended to breed distrust and even outright hate from his fellows in arms. Commissars especially watched him closely, for one step out of line would invite the executioners touch, for the safety of all around them. Even his own comrade in arms, a fellow survivor of the doomed 8th Macarian Rangers, was equal parts protector for him, and those around him. Should he go too far, it fell to her to put him to the chopping block for the good of all.

Thinking of her, Jericho glanced over at his comrade, Tasha Dominov, who was working on final checks of her equipment while they rode. She felt the psyker's gaze and shot him a narrowed gaze, shaking her head briefly before going back to focusing on her equipment. A feint smile lingered on the psyker's face as he leaned back in the Chimera, listening to the back and forth chatter amongst his newfound squad. The Ogryn gave him the urge to laugh lightly, which he suppressed. Such were simple, humble beings that often suffered prejudices when no psyker was near, for merely being different. Jericho held no distaste towards the mutant, after all, he himself was often seen as an aberration of the blessed purity of humanity. But the psyker rediverted his thoughts to the others, the heavy trooper who seemed to earn the ire of their glorious leader as he kicked the man's companion awake, the psyker rolling his eyes once the man turned away and started towards the front of the Chimera again. No, it was his job to be such a figure, so Jericho paid little mind to the situation.

"Such is the life of a Commissar, making sure we fear him more than we fear what we face. I envy him not. But what's to say, my brothers and sisters in arms, that..." The psyker grunted as his friend and comrade, Tasha, elbowed him roughly in the ribs to cut off that particular train of thought. Nothing good was to come of it, and despite the man's friendly tone, he was far too loose with the fact he would gamble with fate and try to bring a pair of loaded dice into the affair. The woman never could have imagined how she would have been saddled with safeguarding a gambler of a psyker against himself and everyone else, and have it turn out that he would save her life from the near destruction of the 8th Macarian Rangers. So she quietly put up with his antics, writing off most of it as the eccentricies of a psyker coping with the maddening power of the warp, and kept him in check the best she could, warning the others in the Chimera of his habits. "Don't mind the Psyker, he likes to talk a little too much. And by that, he can't shut up once he gets started..."

With a crackle, the vox connecting you to the driver's compartment springs to life. "Attention, we are arriving at the front in a few moments, prepare yourselves to run for the trenches as soon as the hatch opens. This transport is moving to drop you off and then moving out for another load."

The driver's weary voice indicated he had done this song and dance a lot of times before. And the faded stains on the hatch dark-red stains on the hatch seemed to indicate a lot of the preceding passengers didn't run fast enough. With the hiss of hydraulics, the chimera slowed down to a halt. The faint sound of a frontline could be heard from outside. The distant drumming of artillery batteries exchanging fire. The occasional salvo of gunfire, and other than that... the dead silence.

With a hiss, the hatch opens, and a wartorn battlefield comes into view. A vast network of trenches, tunnels and bunkers sprawls out on your side, and the jagged forms of the orks simplistic fortifications loom in the distance. Directly in front of you is a ramp heading down in the trenches. Your path is clear.

The arrival of your transport seems to have drawn some attention from a roving band of the xenos scum. You see a group of orks emerge from a nearby crater, chanting loud war cries and holding their crude blades aloft. You better get in position and assist in the crossfire. By the look of things, these trenches will turn into a meatgrinder if the greenskins get close.

Castor Marinos

Not one to doze off, Sergeant Marinos was the sort to remain prepared and watchful, lest the worst come to pass. Yet, by the grace of the Emperor and his saints, the trek to the front had been rather tranquil; a small blessing, to be certain. As a result, the Janissary had taken the time to survey the men placed under his command. Meanwhile, the young Hesiod checked his equipment, all whilst offering mumbled prayers to honour the Saint and the Emperor in equal measure.

The abhuman and his compatriot were a welcome boon, as an Ogryn's titanic strength was oft matched only by their devotion and bullheaded resolve. Dull of mind, but devastating when given direction.

As for the Commissar, he seemed to be composed and capable; yet blunt and uncompromising. A Drusian in all but name, so to speak.

Then came the fellows of Münwil stock. While largely unfamiliar with the history behind it, Castor was dimly aware of the animosity between the faithful of Drusus and the Yseran regiment. Gaining his trust could prove challenging, yet the Sergeant was not one to shirk at the thought of difficulty. As for the man's hair, that was another matter entirely.

Finally, Castor's eyes came to rest on the psyker and his minder. The janissary would tolerate his presence, so long as he didn't prove a hindrance. If the psyker were to lose control, one could only wonder as to whom would shoot him first: Castor himself, the psyker's minder, or the Commissar.

They were altogether a mismatched lot, drawn together either through divine will or a simple clerical error on the Munitorum's part. Regardless, the task of guiding and protecting these men had been delegated to him. In the name of Drusus and the Master of Mankind, Castor would toil to see these men serve the Emperor to the best of their ability.

A chance to enact such a declaration had appeared as if on cue, as the Chimera had reached its destination. Springing to his feet, Castor made his way to the front, with fellow janissary Hesiod following close behind. Once the hatch opens to reveal the trenches and the Greenskin menace beyond, the Sergeant lets his voice be heard at long last.

"Look sharp, men, for we march to war. Ogryn, join me in the vanguard, and be ready to fire upon the Greenskins when they draw close. Now, know that the Emperor watches us even now. Do not disappoint him!"

Turuk Graak

Turuk was not impressed by the nature of the sleeping woman and her comrade, despite even his limited intelligence he knew too well not to overextend any sleep that was permitted...unless the wreath of the commissar was something you openly sought. "Hmm. Man should wake woman, no need be gentle. This war." He spoke slowly to the man, Turuk didn't normally judge others for their intelligence but the man seemed somewhat vacant mentally at least in the massive Ogryn's eyes. Turning his attention to the Commissar, Turuk gave a childish salute as the man passed by him through the cramped space of the chimera transport. It was his normal greeting to Viber, ever since they'd met all that time ago on Turuk's feral world, and ever since he'd saved the Commissar's life and unit from certain doom.

Tuur had other plans for the rest of the people in the chimera. He reckoned that the Commissar was an already guy, and made a point of not giving a murderous glare as the man passed by him. "So...guessin' we're more 'er less 'ere now. S'posin' 'ya should check 'ya gear n' whatnot." Tuur himself had already checked and then rechecked his own equipment several times. He'd even managed to 'procure' some supplies from the regiments back in the rear line bases, they wouldn't be missing it by any stretch. "Hey, Turuk, 'ye got 'yer stuff ready?"

Turuk immediately changed his attention to his comrade, and nodded at the question the man asked him. "I got it. All ready to go." Turuk have a massive toothy grin before hefting his, thankfully set to safety, shotgun. When the Sargent, one of the few groups of people Turuk actually knew something about, started to speak however the Ogryn gave attention. He didn't understand some of the words, but he knew enough that he should follow the Sargent and be one of the first. The 'little 'uns' wouldn't bring him if they wanted to be sneaky or didn't want something broke properly. "I follow." He managed, before the chimera driver spoke over the vehicle-based vox system and the hatch began to open.

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Turuk had sprinted out of the vehicle as fast as the cramped area and his bulk would allow, reaching cover in a speed that would have likely been seen as impossible for someone with shorter legs or a less monstrous musculature. He slammed against the patchwork of stone barricades just as the Orkoids made their presence known. "Da green-people!" Turuk bellowed with an immense shout.

Tuur had followed the same path as his oversized friend, running from the close confines of the transport and into the fresh air of the open topped outside. While slower, that gave him crucial seconds for his natural instincts (orders that he was too ignorant to hear more like) to kick in, as he scrambled to cover and hunkered down. "The green'uns are 'ere!" He bellowed upon seeing the Orks emerge from their hole.

Rising from cover, Turuk gave an incredibly pleased look as his over-sized lead-spewer spat out a thunderous barrage of leaden shot at the disorganised mob of boyz. For all his brutish nature, Turuk had always been a rather good shot, especially when the gun didn't exactly require any sort of real aiming. Several of his shots tore off massive chunks of muscular orkoid flesh while the sheer force pummeled bone into porcelain splinters, massive splatters of blood were blown across the open fields staining emerald grass and scorched earth with crimson ork vitae.

Among all the relative devastation, was Turuk, chuckling like a maniac.

Castor Marinos

Displaying a remarkable degree of swiftness for one of his kind, the Ogryn dove forth into battle, loosing a barrage from their Ripper Gun. A simple and brutish weapon, but, as the Greenskins would soon discover, a remarkably effective one.

Not to be outdone, the two Janissaries moved into proper firing positions. While Hesiod fired off a volley to draw the Greenskins closer, the Sergeant took aim at the largest Ork amongst the group, surmising that one to be their paltry excuse for a squadron leader. Aware of the Orkoid's capacity to resist harm - he'd seen one survive the loss of its entire lower body - Castor maximized the output on his Lasgun, and pulled the trigger. With a burst of light and an amplified report, the distinct beam of the M36 sailed towards the mass of Orks.

The humble lasgun is an instrument of the Emperor's wrath. May it sing true, and deliver His wrath unto these vermin.

As he'd hoped, the shot found its mark, burrowing through the Greenskin's armour and toughened hide alike.

"They say these beasts know not of fear. Let us enlighten them, for Drusus and the Emperor!"

The warp gathers in power... orks charge a battleline, two of them move closer, firing bullets at the ogryn catching their attention. One collapses clutching a leg. Burnt off by the maccabian's accurate lasgun fire. one ork fires its gun at the source of noise and deadly gunfire coming their way, the primitive weapon failing to hit even the large form of the ogryn before it. Meanwhile, its comrade besides it elected to throw a stikkbomb. The brutish explosive sailed through the air, clattering into the interior of the chimera before exploding into a cloud of fire and shrapnel. Judging by the squishing sounds heard during and after the explosion, the pompadoured heavy weapons man and his comrade had failed to clear the chimera in time.

Such were the dangers of war... speaking of which, a threat more immaterial made itself known to the orks. A psyker, finally releasing his deadly power on his enemies.

Jericho was not the first out of the Chimera, both Ogryn and Sergeant leading the charge as he made his way out, right behind Tasha as she led the way for the Psyker. Ripper and lasgun fire was already doing a rather impressive show on the Orks that had jumped up at the chance to attack the newfound enemies, even sending one down onto the ground. Jericho was moving when he saw the stikkbomb sail by into the compartment of the Chimera and the roar of a detonation, plus fire and shrapnel, flew out of the crew compartment. Well, that was two down already, the Psyker thought with a mental shrug, turning as his lit up with sparking blue lightning, reaching his will out to the Warp, drawing in his full power. It was dangerous to do, not overly defining the paths and flow of the warp flowing within him, but hardly as dangerous as overdrawing himself. The Emperor was with him, as his power manifested far better than it normally would, as the bomb lobbing Ork was about to find out.

Tasha was more focused on the Psyker, as soon as she realized what he was doing, than the Orks. Anytime that man did anything more than breath, he was asking for trouble. But, thankfully, his powers manifested without unusually weird or abnormal effect. As much as twin lashes of bioeletric lightning arcing across the battlefield, right towards the offending, bomb lobbing Ork could be seen as normal. Sure enough, the blasts of lightning slammed straight into the Ork's chest, searing both hide and armor with seemingly little effort. The Sergeant's battle cry was clear as Jericho followed close behind, his attack unleashed successfully.

"The warp flows strongly, brothers and sisters, these greenskins aren't going to last overlong, rest assured!"

Lightning bolts crack, an ork falls to the ground, encased in flames and burning out to a charred corpse. Just as it seemed this violence was the end of the chaos wrought by the psyker, a bag on the charred corpse began to hiss. THe lightning bolts still coursed through the metal in the ork's ammo bag. With an inferal blast, the ammo bag explodes. The ork missing a leg is spared by the explosion due to lying prone already, its comrades are not so lucky. One is thrown backwards by the shockwave, landing on the ground with a satisfying thud. The other ork is shredded by fragments and still unexploded rounds. The xenos hardy anatomy makes it soldier on though, regardless of the fact you have a pretty direct sight on its heart now.

"Boss! dese gits can see us!" One of the orks shouts in their guttural speech. As if by some magic trick, you suddendly see the crater the sluggas emerged from to be filled with about ten more orks. five more wielding sluggas and choppas, three carrying shootas, one lugging around a flamer, and a particularly large specimen painted with splotches of purple and armed with a shoota in each hand... A kommando nob. "Wot are ya blabbing about ya grot! Of course dey can't see us! dey just got some lucky shots off is all! I told ya I's so gud at being cunning I sneak for all o' ya, didn't I?!"

Doubt seemed to retreat from the orks eyes, and as if by some trick of the warp, you suddendly find yourself losing track of the orks again. It seems these slugga boys were just the first wave of a larger group. Among the charred bits of the exploded orks, you can hear a rather menacing hissing. the sound originates from a remaining stikkbomb. Red hot from the lightning that ran throuhg it and ready to explode at any moment. The two downed orks see it too and try to crawl away from it. The torn-apart ork just continues his attempt at charging into the trench, uncaring of both the explosive and the fact his internal organs were visibly falling out of a rather large hole in his abdomen.

Turuk was openly grinning ear to ear at the level of carnage his earlier ripper volley had caused the onrushing mob of greenskins. He seemed to almost hug the weapon in his bear-like grip for several seconds with a gleeful shout of "You do well!" He was almost too caught up in his celebrating to notice the ever so 'sneaky' of orks that was swiftly approaching. Almost. With a bellowed warcry of "For Emprah!" He levelled his cannon-like firearm once again, and opened fire.

Tuur was also rather excited by the chattering of gunfire, though it had to be said that he got a greater rush in the fact that he'd managed to dodge the crude slugs the sluggas fired. He seemed to vibrate with the thrill of the fight and had the look of a man gone wild...wilder, in his eyes. Clutching his, not entirely munitorium issue, autogun he peered over the parapet of the trenches and gave off a small cry of joy upon seeing the purple clad giant that was the kommando nob. "Turuk! Shoot wiv me! Dey ain't got no chance 'ere!" He shouted with a manic laugher following. Tuur then raised himself up and began to fire his crude lead-spitter into the general direct of the Orks.

Turuk took note of the words of his smaller ally, and pulled the trigger at the same time as his comrade. He had learned something about his gun, that being that the burst limiter could in fact be gotten around by simply releasing then pressing the trigger down once more. He used it to deadly effect, as a hail of lead shot was mercilessly flung at where the Orks had been last seen.

Of the dozen, ten found their mark. With a crack, four Orks had their flesh blow open and their bones reduced to cracked fragments as the low-velocity slugs pierced tough orkoid flesh and splattered their blood across their fellows. One of the orks caught in the hail of shot was the very kommando that had been leading the orks. The nob went down with a sickening crunching noise as many of the pellets found root across his skull, causing immense rents across his gnarled face and staining his purple clothing red with leaking vitae even as his neck was broken by the sheer force of the assault.

"GLorious shots Turuk just like we're back in the wilds." Viber exclaimed grinning wildly as he rushed forward to the back center of his unit. He felt his blood boil and his heart racing as the sound of bullets and the smell of gunpowder hit his nose all that was needed was a little more gore. Just as his mind turned to this he found himself pleasantly greeted by the sight of the Sergeants finish with a precise attack brutally efficient and this was something he greatly admired.

Viber began to swell with pride and his chest puffed up as he raised his head placing his hand on his sword, but as he thought of the charge to the front next to his old friend the psyker acted and this...could spell disaster. Yet there it was to his surprise the psyker seared and tore apart the very flesh and armor of them with bolts of lighting. It was impressive and very lucky a moment of concern always arose when a psyker tapped into his power. The very deaths of many guardsmen had been at the hands of their own sanctioned psykers and if anything were to go wrong well it hadn't this time and so Viber quietly took pride in the success of their first push into the fight.

"We may well just survive this." He muttered and laughed amused, but he spoke to soon perhaps. As the words left him their came the next wave of the scum rushing forward.

Viber rushed just to the rear of Turuk and Tuur. He pulled from his side with a deep desire for blood his sword and thrust it into the air with a loud maniacal laughter. With its unsheathing came their barrage and soon he saw the glorious destruction of more vermin piece by piece they flew in a bloody mess in every direction painting the battlefield something beautiful. In a moment he used his free hand to grab the bolt pistol at his hip and let loose a burst of shots before cackling.

He was prepared for the first to come within range of his sword in waiting he stood using Turuk almost as a source of cover. His blood was boiling however and the desire to charge..it did grow to cut one down to feel them die yes he lived for this moment.

As if defiant to the words of the kommando, a wave of shotgun fire tore through the orks ranks just as they stood up to charge. A rain of ripper blasts stops the charging orc in its tracks, blasting it to the ground with the audible crack of ribs shattering and internal organs popping open like ripe fruit. A shoota running besides the nob suffers the same fate, also being blasted to the ground into a wretched heap. The final shot chinks of a third orc's upper arm.

The commisar's barrage of bolter fires too wreaks havoc in the orkish ranks. The same ork that had survived the barrage of ripper shotgun blasts was hit in the leg by a bolter shell. The xenos falls to the ground as its legbone, obviously broken, stabds itself through its leg. This chance is all the commisar needs. Finishing the ork of with two more bolters shells to chest. Turning the entire upper body of the ork in something best described as a quivering mass of oozing flesh. the last bolt exploded against the shoulder of the ork flamer, dealing a rather pitiable amount of damage to the greenskin.

Then, a lot of things happened all at once. Two ork shoots, realizing they had been spotted, moved up from cover and opened fire. Shooting wildly in front of them. Most of the bullets uselessly impacted the trenches fortifications, but four of them found their way into the ogryn. Then, the powers of the warp betrayed the group, and the psyker was assailed by a backlash from the other side. The bullet holes in the stone fortifications began oozing blood, while the ogryn simply shrugged the bullets off like dandruff.

(tl;dr. nob, one slugga and one shoota down. two shootas fired, psyker's perils manifested)

Jericho watched the torrent of Ogryn fire proceed to rip apart another pair of Orks down while the Commissar joined in and helped put them down as well. Reaching out to join into the fray, once more, calling upon the warp Powers that so defined his role within the Guard. Yet, as the torrent flew forward, he realized something was wrong. No, this was not going to end well as he grimaced, blasts of static warp energy sparking from his fingers and eyes, shuddering as his mortal frame attempted to contain the eldritch energies running amok within his thin frame. Tasha, Emperor bless her soul, was ready for this. Early in their relationship as comrades he had instructed her on something he was not fond of, known as the Ultimate Sanction. Simply put, violence tended to have the chance to curtail the effects of the Warp backlashing against a psyker. If fast enough, one could prevent them outright or vastly reduce the severity, which Tasha was quick to spring into action, the stock of her rifle slamming into his back, throwing him unceremoniously downwards with a pained thump.

The warp powers diffused from the shock and damage to its container, blowing outwards in the relatively harmless manner of the stone oozing blood wherever it was damaged. Unsettling, to be sure, but knowing what Perils could have awaited him, it was the far lesser of two evils. He kept his head down, taking cover while Tasha remained at his side, despite the danger that entailed, as the party was well aware of, if they hadn't been before, how dangerous Psyker powers could be, both to the enemies, wielders, and even allies if things get bad enough. The shock of the warp recoiling was always unpleasant, thankfully no worse than usual, so caving to the insistent glare, he did not try again, instead readying his Lascarbine, a hold over from his regiment, a compact and reliable affair that was, while less magnificent than his warp born powers, was pretty much certain NOT to explode on him and get him, and the others around him, killed. He was never a very good shot, he never had to be, holding fairly basic riflemanship. At least he knew the shooty end from the stock.

Castor Marinos

Just as he'd hoped, Castor's subordinates had visited righteous wrath upon the Greenskins, claiming the lives of some whilst grievously injuring others. Even the Psyker had managed to display some measure of control over his arcane devilry, loosing fell lightning upon the Orks. Unfortunately, two of the Guardsmen under his command had failed to exit the Chimera with sufficient haste, and their lives were thus claimed by a stray Stikkbomb. While there was little Sergeant Marinos could do to reverse this loss of life, the Janissary thought it only rightful to offer up a prayer in honour of their passing.

Loyal adherents of the Emperor, may His blessings be upon you. Thou shalt serve the Master of Mankind among your fellows no longer, yet do not despair, for you are to be welcomed into his arms in the realm beyond. Rest well.

Barely an instant had passed by the time Castor had completed his unspoken eulogy, yet two complications had already arisen. The first, while certainly bizarre, was of little consequence. It seems the Psyker's power had resulted in a minor defilement of reality, causing blood to seep from the holes - left mostly by stray Ripper rounds and Bolter Shells - in the trench walls. As for the second, it was a far more pressing concern. From the corner of his eye, Castor caught sight of a fresh pack of Orks, much greater in number than the last. However, for reasons beyond his understanding, they proved remarkably difficult to keep track of, preventing Castor from lining up a proper shot. Thankfully, an extended volley of fire from Hesiod served to bring them into prominence somewhat, allowing the Janissary to take proper action.

Unhooking a frag grenade from his belt, Castor made the proper preparations, and promptly tossed it at the mass of oddly elusive Greenskins.

"Ignite the furnace of His wrath, and visit explosive fury upon His foes!"

A beeping device sails through the air. The orks in the crater ignore it, thinking it an insignificant device. Whatever sorcery hid them up until now evidently did not work on honest quality explosives. The explosion sows yet more chaos in the orks ranks. A few sluggas make it out of the crater... and right on top of the stikkbomb from earlier, left and forgotten mere moments, and still hissing ominously. A second explosion rocks the crater, reducing the two sluggas to a rain of giblets

Undettered, the ramaining xenos raise their weapons and make a disorganized charge. Two sluggas vault into the trench and swing their crude weapons at the biggest thign in sight, that being the Ogryn. Their disorganized dive into the trench leaves them poorly positioned however, and not one swing does anything more than glance the Ogryn's armor.

Another salvo of rapid fire resounds, more shoota bullets ricochet uselessly off the fortified trench... Just as it looked like the orks onslaught subsided for a moment, a rattling laugh could be heard. An ork carrying a flamer stood triumphantly over the trench. With a squeeze of the trigger, the pyromanical xenos turns the entire trench into a hell of burning promethium and pained screaming.

Finally, it seems other men manning the trenches have taken notice of the attack. The closest one moves to reinforce... A techpriest with nothing better to do. @Klomster Followed by a gunner team @Al

Turuk was rather satisfied with his gun, perhaps almost too much so as he just barely caught sight of the burna boy before he let loose a torrent of flame into the trench. With a grace not entirely known of for Ogryns, Turuk neatly scooped up his comrade and deftly avoided the flames which licked at the interior of the trench. "Kill flame man!" He shouted to the rest of the squad, before checking that his comrade was alive and not yet barbecued by the greenskins.

His checks were cut short drastically, as a pair of whooping and howling orks jumped into the section of trench just next to him, and just next to his comrade. Drawing his great weapon, a crude yet colossal club the Ogryn let loose a primal roar of enraged anger that was had until now been kept in check.

Hefting his weapon, Turuk, With brutal swings and bone-cracking hits, tore the two orks into what could only be described as a particularly chunky, red jam littered with bone fragments.

The first green skin was far less lucky than his comrade as a brutal swing crashed into his ribs, shattering them with ease and leaving a massive bruise across the ribs, while another blow simply removed the Orks's head outright. Splattering bone and blood across the trenches while the Ork's brain matter dribbled down his cheek like spilt jelly.

The second was brought low as its right kneecap was obliterated before a reverse swing cracked it in the spine, pulling apart vertebrae with a sickeningly loud crack.

As Turuk released his barrage and the haze of smoke from his gun hung in the air Viber looked at the remaining two Xeno scum with a twisted expression. In an instant he was rushing effortlessly toward the flamer his time on hive world had let him master moving through obstacles of bodies deceased or living like they were open space. Each step he began to breathe harder and his heart pounding faster he was ready for the kill.

As he made his final step closing in towards the Ork he unsheathed his power sword with tremendous force and swung directly at it's abdomen. A gaping wound was left in the wake of the blades strike. As the wound began to pour out Xeno blood Viber brought his sword back for a second attack.

He swung his right arm in a back hand motion with an upward arc aiming straight for the head. His arm moved with terrifying speed and as the blade slid through the top of the skull of the Ork there was silence. In a brief moment time seemed to pause and no effect from the blow could be seen. Suddenly the superheated brain of the Ork exploded breaking apart his skull into countless fragments and sending them in every direction. The thick grey matter and chunks of meat blazed with flame as they flew in every direction littering the battlefield.

Viber laughed with delight and madness at the sight of it. Blood and bits of brain covered his face and body as he turned to the Slugga with his bolt pistol drawn. He fired the gun his recoil glove absorbing much of the initial shock of firing it with a single hand. The bullet sped towards the Ork with fury and collided with the back of his skull, but before any reaction was had by Xeno scum Viber had readied his second shot. The head exploded under the force of the attack, leaving his headless corpse to spurt blood from the neck for the next few minutes. Needless to say this was instantly fatal.

Viber looked to the men painted in blood and gore his pistol and sword both smoking and bellowed a war cry.

"Men do you feel it in your blood? We are the emperor's fury and we are invincible. Enemies of the Imperium hear me you have come here to die the immortal Emperor is with us. His soldiers will strike you down. His war machines will crush you under their treads. His mighty guns will bring the sky crashing down on you. So make yourselves ready you can not win." Viber yelled it with all the air and force in his lungs to make sure all heard him. He spoke with conviction and certainty in every word. As he finished speaking he made a motion for the men to move forward.