Without the Dark, there can be no Light,
Without the Lie, there can be no Truth,
Without the War, there can be no Victory,
Without the Death, there can be no sacrifice,
Without the Hope there can be no Future,
Without the Loyalty there can be no one chapter,
Without the Emperor, there is nothing,...

You are space marines. The surgically enhanced super-human warriors of the Imperium of man. Each of you stands as a god amongst men, an unrelenting bulwark against the savagery and darkness that seeks to overwhelm you, and eradicate all you have stood for. Each of you is a veteran of countless conflicts, countless lives taken, and countless worlds taken. You stand as one of humanity's best hopes of survival in this, bleak, universe, a rock upon which the rest of the Imperium may seek solace in it's darkest hours...
You must look to the masses of humanity, yet remain weary of even them. The heretic lurks within.
You must look to your brothers, yet remain weary of even them. The heretic lurks within.
You will face untold horrors, yet be expected to triumph. Suffer not the Xenos.
You must remain pure in mind, body, and spirit. Suffer not the Xenos.
You must serve the Emperor, unflinchingly.
In defeat, dishonour.
In life, battle.
In death.
Peace.
There is only the Emperor.

You stand amassed before the great launching bays of the Imperial cruiser, “Storm of agony.” At your backs is the very shuttle which shall deliver you unto the jaws of the foe. Before you, is High Inquisitor Turiel Vanatos of the Ordo Xenos. He is dressed in the same menacing black, gold, and crimson that denotes his wing of the Inquisition. The man's flesh is akin to creased and wrinkled leather, his nose crooked, and his eyes burning with pure hatred. He speaks to you, in a booming voice, which even he seems incapable of producing, that rattles your very fibre and can galvanise even the most disloyal of subjects.

“Brothers of the Death Watch! You are here today to rid this universe of one of it's greatest of evils. A loathsome creature which has murdered millions of the Emperor's subjects, and plunged this whole gulf into unending war.” His voice echoed with boundless passion, and fiery devotion to the words he was saying.

“This monster's name, is Shas'O Bor'kan Ko'pras. Of the pathetic xenos race known as the Tau. Make no mistake, brothers, for this xenos will attempt anything in prolonging his own life, information placing him as a deadly foe and a pilot of one of the many xenos' battle suits.” For a moment he seemed to falter in his speech only to recover in the merest of moments.

“With all the zeal of the crusader, and with all the devotion that a life dedicated to the Emperor brings. It is with fire and sword that this xenos' life now hangs within the balance. Make his death reality, shatter his followers, cast down his idols and purge all that stands in your way. Suffer not the xenos to live!”
With that, he departs. You notice that he has a limping gait, aided only by a short walking cane. The High Inquisitor leaves the launching bays, the automated doors slamming behind him.

The ship's vox crackles to life with the screech of static. The voice of the Captain echoes forth with a litany of hatred.
“You ask why we must cleanse the xenos. I will tell you why. The filth of the alien and of the witch must be exterminated to preserve the purity of the Human race, lest we degenerate into abomination and savagery.”
“We consecrate this kill team, by the blessings of the Saints, by the blessing of the Emperor. May your aim be true, and thoughts remain pure.”

With these words in your head, you all board the diminutive Inquisitorial stealth ship behind you, and prepare for planetfall. The interior is sparely furnished, a pair of seating arrays and an Astartes-sized door which leads onwards into the cockpit, wherein dwells your pilot. You do well not to bother him. You each take a seat, you are armed and armoured to the mission's needs, save for your chapter raiments. Guard them well.

Perhaps the more gregarious of you will use this time to interact with your brothers. Perhaps the more bloody minded with simply enact scenes of carnage in their minds. The time is yours, brother.

Moros Insognia Son of Russ draped himself in his frost white wolf pelt over the Mark VI power suit. It's head was his helm the teeth resting on his brow and the glassy blue eyes facing forward to stare at the enemies to be cut down. He listened to each word spoken by the inquisitor though he had some contempt for those who acted with little more than indignation and zealotry to back their cause up. No he was a man of calculating and intense conviction based on fact, reason, and in fact the good of mankind both small and big. As the high inquisitor left and the ship doors opened his blood surged and he caressed his Sacris Claymore the blades edge sharp and maintained as prized to Moros as his armor in many regards.

The kill team now aboard the ship consecrated and heading towards the inevitable and savage blood bath. This was a death march and all who opposed them would find themselves the foundation for the very road all would follow on. As he thought he knew the fear others would feel when they recognized his raiment. For the emperor he had fought many times and the foes that laid in his wake could fill a thousand graves over. He looked to each member of the squad and began to size them up access their specialties and find out how best to coordinate and attack as one creature in unity to quickly end their foes.

"So who among you has fought the Tau?" Moros said his blade resting across his lap as he looked around the ship. His voice was cold and deep. His face the only part of his body one could see was strangely plain. It was a face one could simply lose among a crowd.

Kaerel Fellwalker, vanguard against the Orkish horde and Watcher of Weakness, was stood in full black Astartes Mark five Power Armour. It's helm had since been refurbished into a snarling animalistic visage with a piercing gaze, he carried this relic in his right hand, loosely holding the helmet. He listened with rapt attention to every single world that the High Inquisitor uttered, letting himself be overtaken by the zealous passions that came with a desire to slay all manner of Xenos in the name of the Emperor. Such was a fiery passion that he shall forbade any of his fellow Astartes from even thinking of taking a single damning step back, blasted be their honey-coating lies and tactical acumen. He watched hawkishly as the Inquisitor slowly limped from the launching bays, his massive chainfist-covered hand forming a zealotry fuelled fist.

Kaerel boarded the small stealth shuttle with his brother Astartes, the vessel that would sally them forth into the meat grinder of the world below them. Kaereal however did not falter nor show any signs of discomfort at this, he lived for the thrill of the kill, to feel the hot vitae of the enemy splash across his bare flesh and caress him with the same stench of iron that he had come to so maddeningly crave. He looked upon the rest of his comrades and saw them lacking. He saw Astartes that had probably never bisected a man, that had probably never had to fight tooth and nail for their very survival.

With great disdain and a barely suppressed loathing, he heeded the words of the Space Wolf among them, a man he recognised as a 'real' brother due to his massive jump pack. "I have had the honour of letting their blood before. They are pathetic and weak however, for they see the true beauties of war as barbaric!" He was frantically frothing with rage and vibrating with zeal at these words, truly there were no foe more maddeningly infuriating than those blue-skinned Xeno scum.

Beneath his cowl and deep-verdant armor, Dominous sat silently as he reflected upon the Inquistor's words. Even now, he was ever vigilant- often gazing upon his 'brothers' with a mixture of caution and skepticism, but he was aware of the task that the Emperor had set before him. It would be his divine directive to shelter and aid his fellow Astartes of many chapters- though the ones that caught his attention most fervently were those of the Space Wolf chapter. Even now, past visions of his conquest over another Wolf brought an idle grin to his visage, but beneath his hooded helm, no one would know. Instead, he kept himself to the rear of the squad, the last to enter the vessel as he took a seat nearest the door.

"Do not be over-eager, brothers. The enemies of man shall fall before our wrath... Lest you bore us all with your prattle on the descent," His sullen and somber tone resonated within his vox transmission as he settled back onto his acquired seating. Even now, he took great care to not sully his tabard, looking down over the chapter's marking that adorned his breast as he rested a hand upon the cloth. With a closing of eyes, he began to silently recite litanies to only himself- his prayers in true and honest yearning. Even now, his thoughts lingered on the brothers that had fallen before him and beside him, returning their gene-seed with a mixture of pride and lament. But only in death does service end, and in death the ultimate reward: to give one's life in service to the almighty God-Emperor. Repentance is all that a Dark Angel could want, a glorious death in the name of the sovereign whom their traitor brother's scorned.

"To remake that which was broken. To earn the trust of the Emperor once more," He quoted in a hushed whisper, inaudible through vox as his eyes opened to the pict-feeds and displays that now graced his vision. "Witness me, Lion- as we bring glory to the Imperium, and I to our chapter.

Last among the kill team to board the shuttle, was brother librarian Artenius Farius of the Iron Hands chapter. He was a hulking brute of a space marine, far broader than the normal marine and draped with a pitch black robe that stretched to just above his armoured boots. He was clad in midnight black mark five pattern power armour, the 'Heresy' pattern and had the imposing figure of his force sword at his side. He made movements that seemed to be purposefully practised to show off his chapter's strengths, that of bionics. The right arm was replaced with a gleaming bionic replacement. His very form seemed to emanate a raw aura of stoicism and unshakable faith.

Artenius paid the utmost interest to the words of the High Inquisitor, taking aboard every single word he uttered no matter the relative importance of it. He steeled his very soul at the inspiring speeches and litanies of hatred that the fellow loyalists spoke, allowing himself to be overtaken by the zeal and passions of war. It was with keen interest that he took note of the Inquisitor's gait, a potential weakness should the man become a heretic and stray from the Emperor's light...

Artenius was last among those to board the shuttle, before him strode the firepower of the kill team, two devastator marines, battle brother Bacara of the Raptors, and the other of the Space Wolves. He allowed them to pass without incident, a kind as distrusted as his did well to not stir up hatred among the ranks, that held doubly so for the two Space Wolves in the group.

Sitting close to the door, he took a look at those around him, gauging their mettle and minds for all manners of warp taint. He took a particular liking to the Dark Angel among them, a man of his own heart by the sound of his irritation at the prattle happening around them. However, Artenius shied away from the two Sons of Russ, their distaste of psykers and general savagery was well known to him.

With a voice just barely above a sibilant whisper, though amplified by his helmet's vox systems, he spoke, “Brothers, I trust that you all have fought the Tau, however, it is better to recount their tactica rather than personal glories. Perhaps those young among us would do well to remember that the Tau falter in the grind of melee, but at range they excel.”

--------------

With your kill team sanctified and readied, the shuttle doors slam shut with the hiss of pressurisation and seal themselves for the hellish journey that awaits. The lights within the interior brighten at the sudden lack of light, while outside you hear multiple alarms signifying the deck staff to make haste to sealed areas. With a great shuddering as ancient technologies engaged themselves and engines, that may perhaps not have seen flight for decades, started up.

There was a deafening silence within the seating banks during this first take off, the only sound that could now be heard was the soft humming of the ancient engines that propelled your craft through the void of space. The pilot was, as ever, without either word or sound thought it very clearly was doing its job. With a crackle of a vox in use, you hear the monotone voice utter these words.

“Planet fall, in thirty minutes.”

These words rattle about your heads, perhaps the more anxious steel themselves against the coming storm, or perhaps the pious among you will utter chants and prayers. You will need them.

Kaerel Fellwalker didn't sit so much as constantly move, he was never still, and in a constant bloody-minded state of movement. In his mind he recounted the battles he fought against the Tau, their cowardice and their pathetic cries of woe when his chainsword found its mark into their soft, unarmoured, flesh.

In his zeal, he had paid no heed to the librarian or the two devastators that boarded after he had, they weren't fit to join the Deathwatch in the least in his mind, what use would they be when the fighting grew thickest and the greatest threats bore down upon them?! Scoffing, he silently toyed around with the bladed edge of his colossal chainaxe, caressing the handle of the weapon and taking savage delight at the sharpness of the teeth.

"Tell me, brother. Do you have little faith? Do you doubt the prowess of the Emperor's own chosen? Do you think of us all as simple-minded?" He directed these questions to no one in particular, though he glared at the Dark Angel as he spoke. "How very typical...perhaps if that should turn to outright heresy, then I may alleve you of your sins..." His voice had shifted into a deathly whisper, even if his defected voicebox turned the cutting remark into something far more murderous sounding.

Turning his gaze onto the doors leading into the pilot's chambers, Kaerel had begun to rock slowly in his seat. Restlessness begun to take hold as he seemed to drift in and out of focus on the outside world and into his own blood soaked mind. If the foe would not fight up close, then he would force them to.

He snapped out of this bloodlusting when the monotone voice of the pilot echoed across the ship, bringing his mind back into reality and away from the horrors he thought of so often. "So slow, so damnable slow...always."

Barca of the raptors... A quiet, dependable battle brother. Known for his adherence to common sense above rigid regulations.

He had simply listened to the inquisitor's litany, nodding to signify he had understood the man's words. Ignoring the layers of overzealous embellishment this seemed like a pretty straightforward mission. Going in, wiping out a tau commander, and ideally escaping before the xenos catched on to what was going on. Precise attacks with overwhelming force, as per the usual offensive tactica of an astartes like themselves.

He took a moment to inspect the battle brothers he would be making this strike with. The majority of them somewhat worried him. The unsubtle and brutish demeanour of two space wolf and a worringly zealous battle brother of the space sharks. He did not know what to think of the dark raven. The only one he did appreciate was the librarian, quick as the man was to remind everyone where the tau faltered in battle. Barca knew all too well the tau's preference for ranged combat. His first mission to go wrong involved a tau firing line. He had vowed to himself to never underestimate the enemies of mankind again.

Now, he sat in the drop pod, waiting, readying himself for landing. He had checked all his equipment already, and was doing it again, partially to not let even the smallest defect slip trough, partially to keep himself busy. The astartes didn't like waiting. Every second spent doing nothing was a second wasted in his mind. And wasting anything at all was an affront to the emperor.

His came cloak was ready and had the right colors for the deployment zone. Muted greens and browns to hide in the underbrush and lay waste with his heavy bolter when the right time prevented itself. He, like many of his chapters, held some disdain for the boastful way some battle brothers conducted themselves in combat. Barca had seen such battle brothers enough times to recognize them on sight... Perhaps it was one of the reasons why he instantly disliked the presence of the space wolves and the space shark.

“So, brothers. Who will be the vanguard of this formation? I, and presumably my brother of the space wolves, will already form the sternguard.” He turned to the space shark. “You perhaps? You have the air of an eager combatant about you.”

Discussing tactics, it was the preferred way for a raptor to learn more of his battle brothers. A good way of judging the characters of the other elements of the kill team and a productive and argueably necesarry exercise besides.

Dominous narrowed his eyes in the direction of the Spacewolf who spoke, gripping tightly onto his tabard in a quick reflex of anger. Slowly, his pride subsided as he shrugged off the accusations- but he could not let such proclamations go without reprisal.

"Careful, Son of Russ," The Verdant angel warned, "Barking is unbecoming of the Emperor's chosen." He fell to silence as other brother's about the cabin began speaking, taking a chance to survey those he had come to serve with.

As the other brothers began speaking of oncoming tactics, Dominous couldn't help but breath a inaudible sigh of relief, "I have no experience with this Xenos ilk, but it sounds like an ambush would be in order. Much harder to accomplish as we'll be on their turf, but if we were to lure them into an enclosure..." The Angel trailed off in thought. Despite his lack of experience with these 'Tau', he new that the enemies of man could be crafty. In his chapter's tireless search for redemption in the eyes of their Holy Patron, he had encountered the cryptic Eldar and their proficiency for shadier tactics. It's possible their vessel had already been noticed by their enemies, and they were attempting to prepare a counter assault. Nodding at the thought, he continued, "But we must tread cautiously. A wanton charge may see us outflanked and maneuvered. It might be smart to perform recon, and discuss tactics from there- though I shall be offer my services regardless of our path."

Even now, his anxiety grew. He was by no means fearful- the God-Emperor would not see his faithful children fall... But he couldn't help but feel that not everything was as it seemed. Still, he returned to his silence once more, focusing now on the subtle sounds of the vessel as his mind narrowed it's focus to the battle below.

"I bark not. I bite." Moros said with a laugh as he looked to the brother who had been mistaken for one of his own and the one who had made the mistake. There was an air of amusement about him as it happened he seemed to enjoy mistaken identities or subconscious slips and in fact in some ways the lustful marine so anxiously moving in his seat was a better example of such a front line unit than himself. As the dark angel spoke more though a large smile cracked along his bland looking face.

"You're a clever one. I like that. With you and the one thirsting for violence we may just find ourselves in one piece by the end." Moros chuckled again and then took a stern look. "If we wish for recon I'm well suited for the task my suit is lean and quick and my weapon silent few will notice and by the time they do most are dead. I fought the Tau on several occasions and went behind their lines. They are fragile once you eliminate the threat of their aim."

Moros remembered the heads of men exploding guardsmen being torn to shreds as simple fodder as he and a select few went behind lines and killed every last Xeno in retribution. It was a grim thought, but that was war wasn't it tactics called for sacrifice to win.

Artenius was careful not to pick a side when it came to the apparent suppressed rage of the Space Shark, in the librarian's mind that was being loyal and then there was being overly eager to give your life. With a careful and perhaps calming tone, the brother-librarian spoke.

“Brothers, there is little need for combat here...or, threatening behaviour.” He paused a moment, allowing himself a few more moments to dwell upon exactly what he would say. “Space Shark, brother, you do well to remember that being over eager to give one's life means that you can no longer act in the name of the Emperor.” With that said, Artenius hefted his black mark five helmet over his head, and with a careful dedication, put on ancient war gear.

He held the armour near and dear to his very heart, a reminder of the great woes of the Heresy and what the interests of a single misguided soul can wreak upon all those around him. It was with anxiety tugging away at him that he counted the very moments until the landing, the jaws of hell itself perhaps awaiting them.

--------------------------------------------------------------

You continue to socialise for those faint few minutes that remained before the estimated landing time, and the certainty that was to be the hell that would await you all. With the same ear-splitting crackling and interference the pilot spoke once more. “Landing, in two minutes.” Out of the miniscule porthole, those around it could make out the scenery below, that of a mildly forested woodland with a questionably sized clearing not far from there. Those with keener vision could perhaps even make out the distinctive blocky shapes of defence bunkers and orbital weaponry upon a nearby mountain passage, though the mighty guns stood dormant – evidence that your infiltration has occurred without fault. Yet.

With a juddering motion that shook the ship and caused those not strapped in to gently slide to the side, the ship began to hastily decrease its speed. You with the pilot's voice crackle, this time more frantic than before. “Xenos scanners in the area, kill team, prepare yourselves for ground-based resistance upon landing.” His once monotone and unwavering voice seemed to have the smallest spark of doubt in it, the smallest piece of anxiety that was eternally pulling away at his nerve. “Emperor preserve you.”

The shuttle reaches the clearing without incident, though some of you could perhaps swear that you saw shapes darting about in the lofty branches of the canopy. Touchdown also went without incident, as the landing gear held fast, steadying the ship and allowing you all a stable platform enough to stand and ready yourselves one last time.

“Landing successful.” You hear the pilot crackle from his clearly augmented voice box, though his previous worry seems to now be replaced with a sort of fanatical zeal at the landing. Before you, the once sealed doors that lead to the outside hiss open, revealing the alien world that previously lurked just outside your shuttle. A green light begins to flash as these monolithic doors open, sending a soft chiming that signifies to you that your time is nigh.

The light outside is blinding, though your super-human sight swifty adjusts to the bright sun of this world. In orderly rank you all exit the shuttle, clearing just enough space to allow a safe lift off once more. The last you see of the vessel is it entering the lower atmosphere, it breaks the stratosphere just as the explosion of a primitive firearm cracks across the forest.

The projectile strikes Brother Artirius Minsk in the helmet. Despite the bullet's obviously inferior technology, it sends out a gruesome crack as it breaches the Space Marine's helmet, and slays him outright. You have just enough time to see the faintest trickle of blood leak from the wound before the Son of Russ drops dead, and you all run to cover.

Five vaguely avian creatures are now rushing towards you, all firing their primitive guns with glee.

Kaerel Fellwalker had marched out of the shuttle at the back of the orderly ranks. Being the last man to march out, he did not get nearly as good of a view of the Xenos that managed to slay one of the kill team's devastator-marines. This caused something inside the assault marine Sargent to, snap. Some deep and primal that was held deep within his heart kept carefully concealed though now left to run rampant in his shattered psyche. His eyes took on a visage akin to that of a Selachimorpha, his chapter's very sigil and perhaps the creature that they embodied most. Their once bluish hue took on a grey, eerie look, like that of an unfeeling predator in the midst of a hunt.

With a bellowed war cry that echoed out across the very forest and assailed the ears of all those around due to its sheer volume, Brother Fellwalker engaged the activation runes on his jump pack whilst running forth at speeds unknown to most humans. He sailed into the air on a tongue of sooty flame, his shouted rage constantly lashing out across the battlefield to berate the Xenos scum he loathed so much. “You dare assault the holy warriors of the Imperium?! You will be PURGED FOR YOUR SPITE, SCUM!”

In that split second as he hung in the air, time seemed to almost stop. The mixed scent of the sooty jump packs mixed with the raw primal rage that seemed to emanate from the assault marine, creating a feeling of pure undulating rage. Fellwalker was truly an angel of death.

In an instant, he slammed down next to the avian creatures, yet his murderous intents were focused on one being only, the alien that had slain the Son of Russ, and whom now must pay the bloody price. Hefting his chain sword, he swings at the creature with all his might and all his anger, coalescing into a half-screamed war cry akin to those seen more in days of yore.

The sword bit deep into the meat of the avian creature. The blow slices into the side of the monstrosity's beaked-head causing his eyes to pop from his skull and his brain to ooze down his beak like spoilt jelly. The sheer carnal sound was like that of a wet sponge being savagely ripped in half, with oozing brain matter and chunks of bone flying through the air, like droplets of water during rain.

With a hiss, the shuttle set itself down. Barca steeled himself for combat the moment the bay doors started opening. A battle brother fell to a banally stray shell, A stark reminder even an astartes was not invincible. The raptor observed the space shark making a rather dramatic retaliatory attack. Barca himself had other plans. He leveled his heavy bolter, a marvelous instrument of destruction. With a calculated squeeze of the trigger, the first salvo rang. A raging swarm of whistling projectiles sailed trough the air. Pulping flesh and bone with explosive power. A second salvo rang immediately afterwards. "dO not get bogged with these xenos brothers! They are but distractions from our real target!"

Under the sustained and ruthless assault by both bolter and by blade, the avian creatures falter and fail utterly. If they are not sliced into bloody chunks, then they were blown into smithereens by the massed bolter shells which detonated upon their leathery hide, splattering their blood in wide arcs across the forest floor. Truly the Emperor has blessed thy aim and arm, brothers.

Your victory is extremely short-lived, however, as you hear shouting a short distance away in the heavier parts of the forested growth. Out from the plant life, a recognisable squad of five Tau fire warriors backed up by several kroot soldiers, they all tactically skittered about from cover to cover, relying on agility and speed to form overlapping fields of fire and corridors of potential killing zones. The kroot soldiers darted forwards past their deceased allies, caring not for the emotional traumas that would so plague humans in such similar conditions.

“Gue'la!” You hear the, presumably, Sergeant, shouting through his own helmet's sound systems. His voice was wavering, you could almost smell the pervasive odour of fear reeking from him and his men. “Surrender yourselves to the greater good! There needs to be no more fighting!” He was desperate, far too desperate.

Though they held the line against you, and you will shatter them for this transgression.
Destroy them.

-----------------------

Brother librarian Artenius spotted these onrushing soldiers, swiftly he shouted in a clear voice. “Brothers! The enemy comes once more!” With this bellowing notification, you hear the Librarian begin to chant loudly, and proudly at the very top of his lungs. His words writhe with raw loathing towards the Xenos, dripping with blackened venomous tones that showed the darkest of loathing towards the blue-skinned aliens.

Raising his force sword, the librarian seemed to emanate a raw psychic power from about his physical form as he placed the full weight of his powers behind the casting. Raising his outstretched hand, the librarian conjured forth four sparking bolts directed purely at the Tau and their kroot allies. All four bolts impacted against the ranks of the Xenos, chaining from each different creature to literally flash cook the creatures. Two of the fire warriors were instantly slain by this barrage, and a further one was wreathed in pain racking lightning.

“For the Emperor!” The Librarian bellowed with a gleeful tone at the sight of his powers making their full effect. With a zealous speed, he levelled his bolter and fired multiple shots into the mass of aliens, the anointed shells blasting through both armour and flesh like it was nought but paper.

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Three kroot and three Tau fire warriors now stand before you.

"Continue the assault brothers!" Dominous cried out from the back lines, his voice altered and distorted through the vox. However, his attention was quickly drawn to the slain brother at his side. Even now, there was no question- his Diagnostor's helmet showing only a flat line where his brother's vitals once shown. With a heavy heart, he'd kneel down by the downed astartes, taking the time to remove his helmet and inspect the damage. Even now, his purpose was clear, "Hold them at bay while I attempt to extract our brother's gene-seed! We must not suffer the taint of xenos upon his holy spirit."

Knowingly, he lifted the remains of the helmet from his the Wolf's skull. As he eyed over the gore, he remained unphased- only allowing a silent sigh of relief once he realized the blow had not harmed the progenoid glands located just above where the man's neck met his pectorals. This was not his first fallen brother, nor would it be his last- but the sight brought sorrow to Dominous as he reached his narthecium forward to cleave through the flesh and bone before the glands came into view. Careful, he withdrew his sacred charge and placed it swiftly into a reductor that he quickly stored within a compartment of his narthecuim.

His stoic calm now began to waiver, having completed his mission as his eyes narrowed beneath his helm. True, his chapter had it's differences and rivalries with the Wolves- the Sons of Russ that to this day felt cheated by the Lion. He knew very well their culture as it so closely tied to that of his own. Yet, it was not sorrow that filled his heart after seeing this wasted life of an Astartes... It was fury. With purposeful motions, he'd raise from his knelt position on the ground, bellowing over open vox.

"Heathens! Your transgressions shall not be forgiven! Suffer the fury of the righteous!" And with that, he retrieved his bolt pistol from it's holster upon his greave- aiming down his sights as he prepared to loose his volley.

The Tau are not dismayed by the attempts of your kill-team to halt their advance and sequent removal of you from this world. The lanky avian creatures, which you all recognise as low ranking Kroot carnivores are the first to react as many of them come bounding forwards with predatory glee at the chance to let blood once more. You recognise that one of them, a particularly broad-bodied type that stands a full head taller than all of his fellow Kroot, is a potent shaper like the one that Brother Bacara so effortlessly demolished with his heavy bolter. He is decorated in primitive fetishes and all manner of crude warpaint from a myriad of colours, though it is evident that at least some of that paint is , in fact, human blood.

With a shrill squawking sound, the shaper commands his ragtag bunch of underlings to charge forth into your ranks. With a shriek war cry they obey, each bounding forwards upon long sinewy legs, some hopping over branches and fallen bodies in a chance to reach you all that much quicker. They each give a powerful charge despite their lithe forms, two of them attack Brother Bacara and another goes forth to make an attempt on Brother Dominous. Their leader, levels his immense fighting staff, a masterpiece of primitive weaponry that jingled with the sound of bones when swung. He stands before Fellwalker and issues forth a challenge.

“Human! You come to this world to meet your end! Perhaps your strength will better serve my kind!” His voice was shrill, clearly his avian vocal system not being truly capable of producing perfect low Gothic, but it was a threat nonetheless. He rushed into battle, swinging his immense staff twice into the space marine, His strikes are true, but do little to penetrate the immense armour and pure physical toughness of the battle-brother, they do leave deep scratches across his armour, however.

The two Kroot assaulting brother Bacara both try to lash out at the brother marine, however in their tangle of lanky limbs and armour they both manage to miss the devastator! The apothecary is not so fortunate, as the kroot strikes at the joints in his armour, cutting the flesh but doing no real damage to the marine.

The Kroot's Tau allies soon form a firing line before you however, their weapons all coming round to bear upon you. You hear the Tau Sargent shout in a resolute tone. “Automatic fire!” With that, each fire warrior sprays out four lethal bolts from his gun. Two fire at the warp-witch known as the librarian, with the final fire warrior firing at brother Fellwalker. Five of the twelve strike the marines, though your armour holds true. The librarian takes a blast to the armour joint, however and suffers slight damage for this.

Fellwalker was not amused by the actions of the foul Xenos which stood before him. It dared to attack him, to defile his sacred armour which had been a chapter honour since the Horus Heresy. Fellwalker was now well and truly seeing red, nothing was going to stop him from utterly destroying this Krootoid and all of it's wretched kind in the name of the Emperor. Turning aside the alien's primitive blade with deadly ease, he roared with primal anger at his foe, slicing and cutting all the while, allowing centuries of pent up rage to show itself in it's true and terrible form.

He cleaved huge, bloody, swathes through the leathery hide of the champion, allowing it's hot blood to splash across his weapon and across his helmeted face. Had he not been a loyal Imperial subject, someone could have perhaps mistaken him for a Khorne Berzerker such was he sheer utter savagery in this assault. Everywhere he lashed out at, the sound akin to that of a chainsaw through meat could be heard alongside the subtle crunching and grinding of bones being turned into nothing but powder.

“DIE!” He screamed at the very top of his lungs, placing all his effort into a final swing, which he hoped would cause such massive trauma as to outright slay the alien. The sword fell with strength unknown to any save for those beings terrible enough to behold, cleaving a horrific rending cut through the chest of the champion Kroot. The creature gave a shrieked cry of agony while its blood was left to spray from the massive open wounds it now possessed. Yet it still stood, living, mocking the Space Shark.

Brother Artenius was not amused by the current state of the combat, not by a long shot. It showed that whoever composed these kill teams had no idea as to what they were doing, not that the librarian would openly say that, lest the accusations of heresy should come. His main gripe was that the two Sons of Russ had largely done nothing, the first was shot and instantly slain while the other had been tinkering with his weapon on account of it jamming. “Damned, were it not for skill alone it seems” he muttered under his breath, levelling his bolter to take another volley at the amassed Tau gun line that assailed him and his brother space marines.

The gun kicked and thumped in his hand, each shot giving off a blinding flash as it exited the muzzle, leaving also the sooty smell of freshly burnt gun powder. The shells travelled with the murderous intent found perhaps only in ancient legend, as it seemed as they all hit their marks. Two struck the armoured form of the Tau Sargent, one hitting his centre mass and the other in the upper leg. The former completely destroyed the Xeno's torso, blowing it away in a shower of gore, the latter simply managed to catch the unfortunate creature as he was toppling backwards while trying not to choke on his own blood and...lack of lungs....

“By the Emperor's light! Drive them back brothers!” the librarian bellowed, as he drew his hefted his sword and joined into the melee between Fellwalker and the Kroot chief.

The sword he wielded was an ancient piece forged, as legends told, during the height of the Great Crusades, a sword which had been made with the special purpose of being bestowed to those very first brothers which formed the Iron Hands' earliest librarian system. Its blade was wreathed in psychic flame, the sharpened edge crackling with that same psychic lighting and power. Artenius went for a simple stabbing action, it was crude but effective against the simple-minded such as the Kroot. His blow found its mark, stabbing the Kroot through the back, the blade penetrating all the way through to appear outside the alien's stomach at the front.

With a spluttering cough as the blade was pulled free from its form, the Kroot collapsed due to the sheer damage that had befallen it. Artenius raised his sword high in his victory over the Xenos, today was most certainly glorious.

Dominous groaned audibly as the crude bladed weapon found purchase through his armor. Clearly, he compromised his position when he diverted his attention from combat to extract the fallen brother's spirit- but he'd be damned if the filth laid a hand upon his sacred charge. As the sudden wave of pain subsided, Dominous recoiled slightly as he brought the barrel of his bolt pistol to bear, firing off two rounds into the avian xeno.

The first round struck, the bolt round igniting and tearing the flesh of the creature's chest as viscera sprayed across the ground. Even now, Dominous was ever conscious of position in combat- his body positioned between the kroot and the fallen Wolf, though taking a moment to enjoy his handiwork as the creature let out a shrill cry in response to the assault. However, he noticed the creature still stood it's ground, causing the man's visage to dull once more beneath his helm as he fired a second round into the creature. This bolt found it's home right between the creatures eyes, boring deep into the skull before igniting it's charge and rending the flesh and skull of the creature as it's bones fragments erupted out like shrapnel. Knowinlgy, the Dark Angel stepped forward, his pistol still smoking from his prior assault.

"You shall not feast upon our kind today, Xeno," His knowledge of the mercenary-natured alien was enough to know of their habit of consuming their prey. There would be no blasphemous consumption of the flesh of man for this creature, "Fall before a Son of The Lion!"

Before Barca could fire another salvo of bolter shells, two kroot closed the gap. Immediately, the space marine raised one hand from his weapon and drew his knife. two reversed slashes were made at the attacking xenos, and both attacks were dodged. The xeno mocked barca's close combat ability with a screeching laugh, much like a seabird. "You mock me then?" The raptor took a defensive stance in response to the kroot's taunting "We will see who will be the last one standing soon enough"

The Kroot attacking brother Bacara are merciless in their attacking of the battle brother, both lashed out with the crude bladed edges of their primitive firearms. Their attacks did little more than scratch the armour of the battle brother however, though in the attempt one of the Xenos fumbled and managed to fall upon the brother space marine with a most undignified squawking sound as it tumbled atop the space marine. The Kroot lashes out with its powerfully muscled form, though these attacks are even less effect as the punches and scratches do little more than make the Xenos look like a feeble imbecile.

However, something seems to draw the attention of the Xenos, your own super human hearing soon hears what the avian aliens are hearing: the sounds of those same mountain-borne orbital defence weapons whirring into life and beginning to fire immense, earth-shaking salvos of fire. You can see now, that the immense guns bear the markings of the Sa'cea sept. You all instantly recognise the blue hue which is augmented with orange accents, though perhaps you know little of their history – the Death Watch only teaches so much before knowledge becomes heretical....

With these behemoth guns firing, the Kroot instantly back off, screeching and whooping their way back into the dense undergrowth of the thicker forests. Their actions are odd to you all, however, the Kroot are known in the Imperium, and the Ordo Xenos, for their immense battlefield savagery and their penitence for eating the dead of both sides. Yet here they are, running away like spineless, pathetic, foes which contain not an ounce of courage to themselves.

Over the orbital-vox systems in your helmets, you each hear this speech being made:
“To all Xenos on the world of Dal'yth! You have come ot this place to die at our hand! The legions of Chaos are on our side and we are unstoppable! Our legions shall strike you down! Our war engines shall crush you! The daemons of the Warp shall consume you!”” You all instantly recognise this voice, the voice of High-General Solimedes Morres, a recent high-profile turn-coat to the Imperium who has turned renegade. He was once the acting commander of this area, though now styalises himself as the 'Archduke' of the entire Gulf subsystem.

The transmissions cut off after a brief period of time, however, and the voice of your High-Inquisitor handler speaks to you now. “Kill team, your area of operations has come under siege by soldiers of the recognised heretic, Solimedes Morres, you have Inquisitorial permission to shoot on sight if they threaten you or your mission in the least. The Emperor is with you, least your faith is lax.”

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Librarian Artenius was first to respond to this most pressing of notes, to which he did by violently stomping on the body of the slain Kroot-champion in the most aggressive manner possible, his boot crushed the alien's skull like a ripe grape, but his anger was clear in his tone of voice.

“One simple mission, I tell you! And yet even now the whole damned thing becomes far greater in scope than ever before! I tell you brothers, even if the Inquisition will not sanctify the traitor's death then we shall be his downfall.” His anger seemed to subside for some small length of time, enough to regain composure at least.

“Well. Let's make the best of this. The newly arrived forces will now be occupying the Tau we have come here with a clear intent to slay. Suppose we should get to it...”