Soooo..... this open? Been binging Korra after discovering it's on Netflix, and it's gotten me in the mood for avatar universe stuff again. I've had an idea rattling about in my head while looking for some RPs here, if y'all are still accepting new people.
Antediluvixen
Member
Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator
- Last Seen: 7 mos ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 2559 (0.67 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Antediluvixen 1 yr ago
- ███████████████ 3 yrs ago
- █████████████████████ 10 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
kapuchu,
Eventua,
Sylvan,
dwyer austin,
Fading Memory,
FourtyTwo,
Shoe Thief,
Tortoise,
Keyguyperson,
Apollosarcher
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Some random internet fuck with a keyboard and too much free time.
Most Recent Posts
Second Lieutenant Vayne Konstantinova Brusilov
"Our armor's hard, our tanks are fast!"
The first line of the first stanza was barely audible over the roar of the engines as the platoon's Chimeras crawled along the ruined streets of the hive. Lieutenant Vayne's cybernetic vision scanned the surroundings as she lead her men in the discordant singing. The March of the Armageddon Tankers it was called, a military march dating back to the second war for Armageddon when the world had teetered upon the brink of fulfilling its namesake. The voices of her soldiers rang out dimly above the rumble of the Chimeras, out of sync and poorly coordinated, but heartwarming nonetheless.
"And our men and women full of courage!"
Their battered platoon had been ordered out of the staging grounds on the world, awaiting reinforcement to full strength. Effective immediately, those units that could be spared were now under the command of Inquisitor Hera. It had come as a great shock to the members of the platoon, and a smaller one to Vayne herself. There were plenty of units that were free for reassignment, especially by direct Inquisitorial order, and yet hers had been pulled from the rear before they could reinforce. It filled her with curiosity and apprehension, though she had offered no suggestion of her thoughts to the captain. Were she to meet with this Inquisitor in person however, she would have questions for her.
"Imperial tankers ready for action,
We are proud children of the Emperor!"
Even through the din of the singing and the engines, Vayne could hear her troops checking their gear, the individual tank drivers scanning their auspex equipment. Alongside the IFVs marched the troopers of each squad, their eyes peeled for signs of movement amongst the rubble or in the burned out husks of buildings above. The rattle and clink of thousands of rounds of heavy bolter ammunition, spare shotgun shells, extra power packs, and even more food rations. It had been a small war in and of itself with the quartermaster to procure so much extra supply, but she had been beaten off with the repeated insistence that the unit was to be deployed at the order of Inquisitor Hera herself. With their numbers already reduced by the heavy fighting elsewhere, supply shortfalls were the last thing the unit could sustain.
"Thundering with fire, glinting with steel,
The tanks begin a harsh campaign!
Called to battle by the holy Emperor,
The Commissar will lead us onward in this war!"
"Hey, Lieutenant!" A voice called from behind her, disrupting the already poorly coordinated rhythm. "Shouldn't it be 'the Inquisitor will lead us' instead? I don't see hide nor hair of old Yarrick 'round these parts. Heh, not as if he'd need us if he were here. Heretics would all shoot themselves before get in his way, I reckon!" Trooper Stanislav, bringing up the rear of the column, smiled broadly at his words.
"That'd break the flow of the song, you idiot." Called out a woman on the other side of the column. "Different number of syllables, song's already bad enough as it is translated from whatever hive it originated on, no need to make it even harder to sing." She paused, then added, "Besides, Yarrick has better things to occupy his time with than to wander around some pissant backwater hive world."
"Ay, fuck you too, Denisova! Who's to say this little errand won't end with up slaying some arch-heretic and being awarded our own cushy little world to relax on?" He shouted back to her, "I druther fight for some Inquisitor than a Commissar!"
Vayne sighed, grabbing the hailer of the Chimera's vox-caster equipment and speaking into it, the sound blaring out well above the noise of the machinery or the bickering soldiers. "You'll fight for the Emperor, you louts, or you'll be fighting for potato scraps with the ratlings on KP. Now everyone calm down and keep singing, we're approaching the rendezvous with the Arbites force. Let's give 'em a nice show, shall we?"
The second time around, the platoon had marginally better cohesion in singing the lyrics to the march, and Vayne had taken the liberty of setting the pre-recorded instrumentals for the march to play over the vox-caster. The discordant symphony echoed across the ruined cityscape as the treads of the chimeras churned through the streets.
Let enemies, who hidden in ambush, remember this:
We watch for him, we are on guard!
We want not a foot of foreign land,
But we will not give up a speck of ours!
Through the Vox, Vayne barked a false order, "B-company, split off and head to the north." Pressing a finger to her lips, she smiled thinly at the questioning looks of her subordinates. "Let's meet these Arbites then, shall we?"
WIP Skeleton of a sheet - backstories and details and relations to be added. But want to see if it passes muster and is good for further improvement.
Disclaimer: much of this was pre-approved by Selune based on pre-existing RP between us.
Disclaimer: much of this was pre-approved by Selune based on pre-existing RP between us.
000.M31
Akhiina System
Saravata Subsector
Ultima Segmentum
LEGIO I et LEGIO XVI
Akhiina System
Saravata Subsector
Ultima Segmentum
LEGIO I et LEGIO XVI
Iniephor felt the howling in his mind abate as they left the Vast Sea. Akhiina System, Saravata Subsector. A new xenos race, and one that the Edict of Tolerance did not encompass, and so, the Imperium did what was needed to ensure mankind’s physical survival. One of his siblings had already found themselves carrying out the grisly deed, but he had been relatively close by- a few weeks Psailing at most, and the opportunity to document and research a race before their mark on the galaxy was irreparably erased was too juicy a chance for him to pass up. As his capital ship- The Glory of Wisdom, fully exited the Sea, he would arise, and with but a careful thought serfs would come running. His armour was not needed for this, but he still needed to look his best.
Soon enough, he was prepared. Purple robes clothed his form, adorned with golden chains and the fetishes of a Knosson magus. A magnificent cloak, colours shimmering even in the flat light of the vessel was affixed to his back, and in one hand he grasped a long, thin golden staff, sigils and runes carved into it. By his side walked his sons- honour guards, force glaives and arcane works in hand. He supposed, as this was his first meeting with a new sibling, he ought to take a gift, and as he had done with every previous one he had met he knew what he would offer.
Bound in leather, the front stamped with the symbol that more and more legions were using to represent their psykers- his horned skull. Some might find it insulting, he merely found it amusing. The skull was but a vessel for the glory of what was contained within, nothing more, and nothing less. If it had been up to him, he would have made the symbol a stylised brain, but nobody ever got everything they wanted. Grasping the book in his free hand, he would step from the Glory onto a smaller shuttle, and once all were aboard and the mag-locks were cast off, he would be on his way to meet this sister of his.
__________________________________________
“My Primarch, we have received word via your astropath of the imminent arrival of another of His Sons.”
The words filtered in through a dizzy haze of pict-feeds, comm-links, and auspex readings. The maelstrom of information fed its way through the cables implanted in the base of her skull, where the Primarch sat enthroned. Her eyes stared at everything and nothing as she monitored and coordinated the battle on the ground. From her mind flashed orders to the commander of the eighth Desayta, to hold fire until the assault craft of the 9th had finished their strafing run. Xenos war suits, resembling the hunched over primates of Terra… gorrillas, they were, erupted in flames as the diamantine tipped shells of Avenger strike fighters tore fiery gouts in the armor of the invaders. At a missive from her, fed through the comm-links of the artillery of the 2nd Battlegroup, the vast batteries of earthshaker cannons and other ordnance opened fire. Great eruptions of dirt and the mangled corpses of xenos invaders ballooned from the planetary surface as the fighters pulled up from their dive, and the rumbling and squeaking of the treads of Dracosan transports spinning into gear as the eighth and ninth Desaytas prepared to pinch off the salient they had prepared upon the planetary surface. This arm of the incursion had been soundly defeated in the void, and all that remained was to excise their presence from the world upon which they had been landed. And then would commence the next phase of the operation. And the next. And then the next. Until the vile servants of the Malevolent had been pushed back from Imperial space and returned once more to their rightful place within the stars.
Almost as an afterthought did the Primarch speak aloud, her attention scarcely budging from the constant stream of information. “Who is it, Rhena? Please do tell me it is not that loathesome crustacean. I have no desire to speak to him, nor do I believe we have sufficient butter stored within the ship’s larder for a crab dinner.”
“Er, no, my Primarch.” Came the response. “It is your Brother, Iniephor. He wishes to meet with you.”
A frown pierced her taciturn expression, and from the ship’s databanks into her mind flashed all of the information available on the other Primarch. She had never met this one before, that much was self evident, and thus it would be unacceptable to merely communicate via vox, let alone Astropath.
An audible sigh passed her lips, and quickly information relayed to the commanders of each Battlegroup. Additional coordinators stood ready at her signal, likewise plugged in via neural connection to the unfolding events on the ground - though there were far more. The Primarch herself could handle the mind boggling array of information, no single mortal mind, no matter how augmented, could handle such a deluge. In truth, this came at an inopportune time. Had her brother arrived merely a dozen standard hours later, the affairs upon the planetary surface would likely have been resolved, and she would not be forced to delegate the coordination of the military to her subordinates. It pained her to think of a single life lost due to the inefficiencies of the decentralized coordination, but the potential cost in spurning the first meeting between sibling Primarchs could cost far, far more in the long run.
At a signal, marked by grunts or hisses of discomfort from many, the data stream shifted and split, and her mind was free. A tech-priest hurried over, whispering silent cants under his breath as he performed the delicate procedure of disconnecting her implants from the ship. She winced as a spike of pain marked the final disconnect, and rose from the chair, massaging her neck. “Really, Serkei, could you not give some warning next time? It is unpleasant enough without not knowing when it will come.” She raised a finger before he could utter a response, a small smile on her lips. “I am not above petty vengeance, you know.” Came a whisper to him and him alone. “For I know there are more sacred unguents you keep in your quarters, prime targets for a little tampering.”
Beckoning the Ensign who had alerted her to her brother’s arrival, she began to walk from the Bridge, making her way to where her armor was stored. It would not do for the first meeting to be her in but her simple bridge-clothes. “Please, enlighten me further while I dress.”
____________________
Armored, now, she stood waiting for her brother’s arrival. The ensign blinked nervously, her pristinely starched uniform streaked by cold, anxious sweat that beaded from her low cropped military hair. “My Primarch, are you sure you do not wish some of your Daughters to accompany you?”
“I am certain.” Eiohsa replied calmly, “This Brother of mine is no barbarian like some. I doubt he will care, overmuch, whether we meet in the bridge itself or in some small mortal cafe upon the most insignificant of urban worlds.” She paused, before smiling, “And even if it is not so, I have you to protect me, do I not?”
The Ensign gulped, and looked ahead once more to the chuckling of her commander.
__________________________________________
Two by two by two entered the honour guard. With their glaives and their books and their fine gilded robes they looked as regal as the Emperor’s own custodes, but they fell to the sides of the gangway quickly and cleanly as the tallest figure strode out from behind them. Horns curling upwards, moustache and goatee meticulously curated, chains jingling slightly, Iniephor would bow at the waist, offering the book he held out with two hands.
“Greetings sister. I am Iniephor, Sorceror-King of Knossos, known as the Scholar. Please, take this- a small token of how glad I am to meet a new sibling of mine, and I hope that it’ll serve not only you, but also your legion well in the centuries to come.”
Eiohsa winced slightly at the brightness, the sheer power of her Brother’s soul. It glowed brilliantly within the warp, a beacon of psychic energy that outshone all others she had glimpsed. All but one. The Emperor.
“So, you truly are as they claim.” She said to him, inclining her head slightly in respect. “The greatest psyker amongst our number. Second only to the Emperor. Forgive me, your presence is… bright.” She took the proffered book in hand, gazing idly at it with some interest. “A treatise I take it?” She mused, feeling its heavy weight in hand. “Collection of your insights into the Supermaterium, perhaps? We will use this knowledge well, I thank you.”
“Ah. You have pelagic vision then. I had rumours.” He would wait a moment, then nod, causing his chains to jingle again. “Indeed. You call it the Supermaterium, I call it the Vast Sea, but it is the same thing. Composed during my time prior to my meeting of the Emperor, although it lacks some of my more recent studies into Mind Sharks.” He would wave a hand dismissively. “If you require further copies, feel free to contact my legion. Our Librarius is filled with them, but none as beautified as that.”
He would turn to one of the bulkhead windows, and stare out at the planet below. “I must admit, that whilst I was fascinated to come and meet one of my siblings, my predominant reason for coming here was what lies upon that planet. The xenos you’re fighting will soon stop existing outside of history books, and I hope to be the one to write said history book. That being said, politeness and courtesy costs nothing.”
“We call it merely Sight.” She responded, nodding solemnly. “The rumours are correct, every single soul upon that world, I feel them live and die. These xenos… they… they are not those whom I would save. Much as it pains me. The serve the Malevolent, I fear. Knowingly or not, their existence in its current form is a blight upon the universe. Perhaps there was a time they could have been saved, but when I look upon them I see nought but devastation for my people. And so I will fight them. We have obtained many corpses in excellent condition for study, you may have full access to them as well as my scientists’ findings.”
A nod to her Ensign, and a dataslate brimming with information sat in her hand. A high resolution pict-gallery displayed detailed three-dimensional scans of their anatomy. “They bear a cursory resemblance to gorillas of old Terra, but are hairless in entirety, and seemingly amphibious. What we have recovered of their suits indicates they contain liquid water to moisturize the skin. Their weapons technology is impressive. It is reminiscent of some of our own mass-driver technology, but considerably more compact and reliable, and utilized at small scale. We are hopeful that, if nothing else, this technology can assist in the improvement of our bolt-weaponry.”
“Gorilla like and with advanced technology. A distant relative to the ever-useful Jokaero, perhaps?” Iniephor would consider it for a moment and then shake his head. “Never mind that. My researchers will have more than enough time to be able to examine the intricacies of this race on their own terms. For now, I know very little of you, and you in turn presumably know less of me. Is there a place we can go, to talk privately among ourselves? My honour guard shan’t be staying for much longer.”
“My private quarters, if you wish it.” Murmured Eiohsa in response, nodding in turn towards Iniephor’s honor guard. “I bid you well, sons of my brother.” To her Ensign, likewise, she nodded. “Thank you for your company, Rhena, I will meet with you again on the bridge. I have matters to discuss with my Brother. Please confer full operational autonomy to the general officers.”
She turned back to Iniephor, “Please, follow me - unless you wish to converse upon your own vessel?”
The honour guard offered a curt nod to show that they had heard and acknowledged their aunt-in-arms, before turning and marching back into the ship. “No no,” Iniephor would insist. “T’is a simple shuttle, not suited for the talk of superhumans.” He waved his hand dismissively, and then fell into lockstep with his sister, eyes panning across the ship as the pair walked through its halls.
Eiohsa shrugged, “If you say so, though I referred to your own flagship. My apologies.” She beckoned him, and set off at a quick stride, deftly maneuvering through the streams of officers and other personnel aboard the ship, cutting through side passages and shrinking her form to duck through a small hatch. Her quarters were located deep within the vessel, far from the potential for an enemy projectile to impact. They were simultaneously plush and utilitarian, the bed itself was a simple affair - olive drab sheets and plain cushions. An enormous desk of sturdy make and brutalist aesthetic dominated the room, at which sat a wide array of pict-screens wired to a powerful cogitator that hummed quietly. Piles of tomes and myriad mechanical intricacies adorned the shelves and a workbench set into an alcove, bristling with tools and the disassembled components of the Xenos’ rifles. A thin privacy screen hid another part of the room from view. The walls were adorned in artwork from her homeworld, many of them surrealist in nature or evidently religiously inspired. A vast chart of the galaxy filled nearly half of one wall, dozens of pins placed on it and connected via notes and threads.
“My quarters. Larger than I need, in truth, but comfortable I think.”
In truth, Iniephor was a little astonished that she shifted her form so casually. He could manipulate his size as well, but, if he was honest, he found it to be not only discomforting, but also rather disconcerting. In his life he often stared into things alien and abominable, but it was when he himself changed that he most often felt dysphoria.
Her quarters as well were quite different to his own inner sanctum. His was books, data slabs and magical artefacts, hers… Well, it was different he had to say. Taking a seat, he would stretch himself out, chuckling a little as she described how she thought the room was a little larger than she needed.
“In truth, I appreciate a little lavishness. I grew up in palaces, something like this seems almost drab to me.” Reaching to his hood, he would let it tumble down onto his shoulders; revealing his visage to his sister properly. From the blonde ends of his mane to the horns that jutted out from his temples he had the slightest touch of the bestial to him, but the rest- the kohl around his eyes, the carefully trimmed moustache, was far too tamed to truly give the illusion of a uncivilised savage off.
“So then. Where are we to begin?”
Eiohsa smiled, “Well, brother-mine, tell me of your homeworld. I know so little of you, our databanks are practically bereft of any and all information of you. I can see that you are a prodigious psyker - obviously the greatest of us all. But what homeworld did you fall on to enkindle such learning and wisdom of the Supermateri- ‘Great Sea’ that you could write such a tome on its nature?” She raised an eyebrow, beckoning to a plain looking but evidently well used chair in the corner of the room, “Please, sit.”
“My homeworld…” Iniephor reached up, twirling the hairs of his moustache, lip curling slightly into a half-amused smile. “Knosson.” He would say, definitively, silence hanging in the air for a short while after. “Well, you must understand that my homeworld had little consequence towards my mind. Knosson was a world caught between its past and its future, and I represented the best of both.”
“I uncovered the past of my people whilst guiding them towards the future, and it was with every dig that I realised that despite its isolation, Knosson was far from uninhabited before its current settlers made it its home. My explorations into the great sea came later- after I was crowned but before our Father found me.”
Eiohsa nodded, her eyes scanning the form of her brother, picking out every eccentricity in his form. She digested his words slowly, “Then you have stood upon the shoulders of giants to gaze deeper into the mysteries of the warp. Who were these earlier inhabitants that not only predate Knosson’s current inhabitants but spurred you to such curiosity? Do you know?”
“Hardly. The people of Knosson knew not of what had made the vast, what were to them magical walls that kept them safe from the storms and crashing seas. They understood little of what had scored the surface of her moons, and what lay underneath their feet. They were barely feudal.” He scoffed slightly.
“Knosson had been resettled three or four times by humanity; and it was the third one that had stuck the best. They had put up some kind of tidal controllers that kept the cities safe, but then a catastrophe or malady had claimed them and society had degenerated… But beyond the signs of humanity, I found signs of xenos, and then, when I landed on her moons… I met xenos.”
Eiohsa raised an eyebrow, her posture shifting visibly as she redoubled her focus. “And, pray tell, what did you do upon meeting them?” She asked, frowning. “Please do not tell me you are yet another Brother who seeks naught but death and annihilation for that which does not share similarities in the temporal form? Do these xenos you met still breathe, or were they destroyed? You seem unlike the others in many ways, so I pray it is the former?” She paused, “And for that matter, who where they?”
“I spoke with them, as best I could. They warned me that to investigate the planet would invite doom upon my people, and then we amicably parted. As to what xenos race they were… I do not claim to be an expert on xenos races, and this was but a few minutes of an encounter, and so I cannot truly say. They were tall and lithe; humanoid and graceful. I would not mind meeting them again and talking to them.”
“Eldar…” Murmured Eiohsa, her eyes widening in surprise. “They were Eldar, brother. Hated by many within our Imperium. Loathed, purged whenever they’re found.” She frowned, “It is lost upon many that they, like many xenos races we encounter, are not some unified hive mind of malevolence. Those who raid our settlements for slaves and plunder are nothing like those clad in white armor. And yet they look and act different and some of their ilk have committed atrocities, thus they must be purged.”
She sighed, “I take it you have had no further contact with them, then? Their presence in the warp is… it is impressive. I know many in the Imperium would seek my end for saying this, but I believe you are not so blind. I hope to learn from them, in truth, the nature and mysteries of the warp and the forgotten, hidden realities of the universe.”
“I submit to your authority on this matter then… But enough about me and my homeworld, what about yours? Your daughters are… Peculiar, by the standards of our ostentatious father, and I suspect that there is something lying behind all of that.”
Eiohsa raised an eyebrow once more, folding her arms semi-defensively. “Do you refer to our wargear, brother? My Legion sources the bulk of our material from our realm of Saravata, and we found the production of standard Astartes power armor burdensome and overly complicated. The design was fraught with numerous instances of unnecessary waste and material usage in place that conferred almost zero advantage. Thus, utilizing many of the same STC designs and the ingenuity of my own people, we constructed suits of armor that, while somewhat less protective in limited areas, cuts down on the wasteful production techniques and results in a far more cost-effective design. We have further limitation, that the tech-priests of Mars are loathe to grant us more supply than we absolutely need, is the reason for my legion’s utilization of Dracosan pattern fighting vehicles in place of Land Raiders, among other differences. We do not paint our armor in garish colors that do little but signify to enemy forces that we are present. It is a matter of pragmatism, that is all.”
“Hmph. It certainly takes a special kind of individual to accuse the Mechanicum of being inefficient to their face, as opposed to merely acknowledging the fact in private. As for colours…” He would shrug. “For the Lantern Bearers, our colours are our pride. Our powers and tactics are not conducive to sneaking through woods, and nor would we wish to adapt them to such. We are the hammer of our Father, and we will smash through with mental power never before seen. But, then again,” he would finish with, grinning a little and displaying perfect pearl white teeth; “different strokes.”
Eiohsa returned his grin with one of our own. “I would hardly call the tactics my Daughters use ‘sneaking’. We simply see no reason to give the enemy even more of a target.” Her smile broadened, “Though in truth it is hard to maintain accurate fire when under bombardment from thousands of earthshaker cannons, so that may also be a contributing factor.” She paused for a moment, before continuing. “We utilize rapid mechanized assault tactics with heavy artillery and close air support. There are those who would describe themselves to be hammers, yes. I would describe my legion as a bulldozer.”
So the conversation would continue; discussions about this and that, later and later, until both Primarchs had gotten thoroughly acquainted with each other. It was a pleasant scene, so pleasant that it was easy to forget that below them men and women and xenos alike were fighting and dying by the droves, but such was the way of the Imperium. With a shake of their hands and a promise to work together in the future the two would depart, and thus, the galaxy’s fate changed the littlest of paths.
... End log
... Terminating connection
Thought for the day: Abhor the Malevolent. Cherish the Good. The Fate of All rests upon thy shoulders.
... Terminating connection
Thought for the day: Abhor the Malevolent. Cherish the Good. The Fate of All rests upon thy shoulders.
Prepare for cyborg wolfgirls on Mars, bitches.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 13th of Month 2 (Subati):
Inspector Raquel Bosque rode slowly through the Rhungora countryside, his eyes darting over empty fields and deserted villages. Something was terribly wrong. He had gotten the feeling two days ago when he had encountered the first waystation completely deserted by its small ten man garrison. Only their bedrolls and dinner, now cold, in tin plates remained to prove that men had once inhabited the small stone structure.
He had looked for some locals to question but found the village likewise deserted with no signs of the occupants, even the livestock were gone. His escort, two Imperial cavalrymen, had ridden with loaded carbines since then.
“Inspector!” One of his escorts, a young handsome fellow named Marcelo, was pointing into the distance. Smoke. A single black column that climbed into the perfect blue sky. Only buildings burned like that. A grass fire would be grey and spread from horizon to horizon. He kicked back his heels and urged his horse into a trot.
The three men covered the distance quickly. The rolling Savannah, once so pleasant and calm, suddenly seemed to hold a hidden menace that Bosque could not quite describe. He had been an inspector for some twenty years, investigating whatever was required of him, and all of that experience now filled him with dread. Something was terribly wrong.
The smoke thickened as they drew closer and the Inspector quickly ordered his escort to dismount, leading their mounts into a thick copse of trees before proceeding carefully on foot. They stuck to the shade, it wouldn’t provide much concealment but something was better than nothing.
A small river cut through the landscape here and a customs house had been built to collect a toll from travellers to use the bridge. That building and its neat little garden were engulfed in flame now, sparks shooting high into the air as the whole roof suddenly caved in.
“Well shit.” Marcelo muttered from Bosques right. His carbine was tucked into this shoulder, ready to fire, as he scanned the vegetation around the customs house. “I suppose it would be too much to hope for a chimney fire?”
“Unlikely.” The second soldier, Zamora, indicated several large vultures that were tearing at some black object lying in the roadway. “Could be a dog?”
“In a uniform?” Bosque had his eyeglass out now and was surveying the damage. The vultures had jumped abruptly in size and he ignored them as he focused on what he was now certain was a dead man. A white trimmed golden jacket with red lapelles was evident, the uniform of the regiment currently assigned to guard this stretch of roadway.
“We need to go, right now.” Bosque wasted no time as he turned and hurried back toward the horses, his escort in tow. There was no argument from them as they swung into the saddle and spurred into the open road.
They skirtered the customs house and body as they made for the bridge, hooves throwing up sparks as the metal crashed against stone. They saw no one else, dead or alive, as they went and Bosque felt his heart sink. The customs house should have held at least another dozen soldiers.
The three rode in silence now, more and more aware of the increasing number of smoke columns smearing the tranquil sky. The sun was hot on their necks but none of them noticed. All they wanted now was to reach safety, wherever that was. Minutes turned into hours as they rode, stopping now and then to water their horses and feed themselves. More abandoned guard stations came and went but no more bodies were to be found. It was as though a giant hand had plucked everyone from the land, leaving behind nothing but echoes in their abandoned buildings.
Then, as they crossed the Kadasha River, they found human life. A squad of soldiers on exhausted horses, were resting in some shade as they gulped down water. Bosque was surprised to see that they were a mis-mash of uniforms and his discontent deepened further.
“Easy! Inspector Bosque of the Territorial Guard.” He called out quickly as the soldiers scrambled to their feet, snatching up their weapons, when they saw the three riders.
Relief showed on their faces and weapons were lowered as Bosque dismounted, leading his horse to the edge of the river before turning to the assembled soldiers. He looked them over with a practiced eye. They were tired, dirty, and everyone of them looked afraid.
“We have just returned from the North. Every way station, guard post, and customs house is abandoned without a single soul to be found, what the hell has happened?” Bosque focused his questions on a tall Sergeant, the highest ranking of the group. The man stared at him in amazement for a moment.
“God Bless you Inspector, but the Rhun have risen. They’re killing everyone they can find who wears the Emperors uniform.” There was murmured ascent and nods from the rest of the soldiers. “I managed to find these lads when I fled Khapala.”
Khapala, the capital of Rhungora, home to the provinces only real port, modern citadel, and an impressive garrison.
“Why did you have to flee?” The Inspector asked carefully. He did not want to sound like he was accusing the man of desertion. There were two dozen men with him, all of them on the edge of reason, and the Inspector only had two cavalrymen to back him up.
“The Rhun…” The Sergeant looked confused, as if he thought Bosuqe was having him on. “You really don’t know?”
“No, Sergeant, I haven’t a clue. You said the Rhun has risen, what does that mean exactly?”
“Khapala is gone, sir. The garrison slaughtered.”
Bosque felt as though someone had thrown ice cold water over him, his mind trying to process what that meant for the Imperial forces in the country.
“It wasn’t any sort of planned thing. A group of the local auxiliary decided they’d had enough, shot their officers, and attacked the garrison. The whole country is up in arms.”
______________________________________________________________________________
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 13th of Month 2 (Subati):
Thus begins the rise of Rhungora against their overlords. The shock had reverberated through the nearby colonies at the audacity and violence of the insurrection. Armies had been mobilized, seemingly endless columns of soldiers marching to war to put down the rebellious upstart nation. Everyone had known it would be but a matter of time before the rebellion would be crushed, the imperial penance exacted, a million hearts were to bleed in recompense.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 21st of Month 2 (Subati):
Vast imperial armies had marched with easy knowledge of their victory into the plains of Rhungora. They had set ablaze entire villages, razed to the ground all structures that met their advance, they left no stone unturned and no rebel alive. Within a week of their arrival, the border was aflame, the land wreathed in smoke and ember.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 28th of Month 2 (Subati):
Within another week, tens of thousands had perished, entire cities wiped from existence under the boot of imperial retribution. There would be no mercy for such upstarts. For every Imperial soul lost, a thousand of the enemy would feed the earth with their blood. Such was the price of treason. Such was the price of daring to defy the will of the supreme.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 2nd of Month 3 (Adara):
As is almost inevitable in war, disease swept the ranks of the invading forces. Native afflictions, few of which the men of Anyueva held a resistance to, devastated their numbers.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 22nd of Month 3 (Adara):
The Empareja ordered in fresh units, drafting colonial volunteers into a new army. This new force had swept once more into the upstart province, and once more the burning of Rhungora had resumed.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 30th of Month 3 (Adara):
The crushing defeat of a rebel army at the Battle of the Rhilahedra Plain, wherein fifty thousand Anyuevan soldiers - forty thousand colonial and native volunteers, and a professional core of ten thousand homelanders - had brought to heel a rebel force claimed to number three hundred thousand. Though the rest of the world treated such claims derisively. The comparatively poorly led enemy force had been split down the middle and torn to pieces by the potent cannonade of the Anyuevan guns, their forces had been run down by Anyuevan grenadiers, their resistance crushed like the impotent bugs they were.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 17th of Month 4 (Nisani):
The Dark Day. In a mirror image of Rhilahedra, the seemingly unstoppable onslaught of Anyueva’s military forces was dramatically halted. One hundred and twenty thousand soldiers marching under the banner of Anyueva clashed with eighty thousand of the Rhun, and ten thousand ‘mercenaries’ hailing from the lands of Quat’i Al-Qarikha. Sixty thousand Rhun, and seven thousand sons and daughters of Quat’i walked from the battlefield that day. Nary ten thousand Anyuevan sons escaped with their freedom or their lives intact. The news had triggered an uproar, a tumultuous outcry, a demand that this defeat be avenged.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 29th of Month 4 (Nisani):
Declaration of war between Quat’i Al-Qarikha and the Grakaisaran Imperpulau Anyueva, and the armies of the two super-empires marshalled for all out war. In Sentekuthi, the capital city of Anyueva, the Posdal of the Father called for a grand crusade against the heathen Elder worshippers of Quat’i.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 30th of Month 4 (Nisani):
In Melidki, the capital of the sprawling empire of Quat’i, the Malik assembled the merchant dynasties, the designated governors of each province, the clergy of the Twelve, and decreed to them that they would put forth their sworn funding to arm the people of the nation and to raise once more the great armies of Quat’i.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 13th of Month 5 (Ayyara):
The first full military clashes between the two superpowers begin. The mighty guns of the Anyuevan fleet roared in challenge to the navy of Quat’i. The great harbor of Adenib had drawn its chain, and its coastal guns roared back as the people braced for blockade. An expeditionary force of a hundred thousand sons and daughters of Quat’i landed upon the beaches of Anyamundar, bayonets gleaming in the tropical sun as they marched forth to do battle. Five hundred thousand levied men and women rallied to the banner of the army, and they too marched forth in great columns.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 30th of Month 5 (Ayyara):
The forces of Quat’i Al-Qarikha met the Anyuevan army in the humid heat of Anyamundar’s tropical plains, in the south of Rhungora, in what would come to be known as the Killing Field of Ipsit. Lady General Ipsit, commander of the second expeditionary army, brought her force numbering some one hundred and twenty thousand to bear against an Anyuevan army reported to number nearly one hundred sixty thousand. It was rumored that the streams ran red with the blood of fallen Anyuevan soldiers as canister shot raked their lines, that the ground became a muddy slog with the fallen of Quat’i. But at the end of the day, Quat’i stood victorious, suffering thirty thousand killed and wounded to nearly three times that number on the side of Anyueva. But Ipsit was criticized for her failure to cut off the retreat of the fleeing Anyuevan army, which rallied under the command of its highest ranking surviving officer, a man named Peleun Ietrop Aoonad Ban, who lead the remaining force of some thirty thousand in a fighting retreat that humbled the high spirits of Ipsit.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 30th of Month 5 (Ayyara):
Peleun makes a speedy march south where he recruited able and willing volunteers with stirring speeches and promises of rewards and glory. Soon, cut off far from reinforcement, he had crafted his surviving force into a hardened backbone upon which his new army would rest. He would requisition and receive copious supplies of arms and ammunition from the military forts erected near the border, and slowly his new force grew.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 23rd of Month 6 (Hazirani):
The humiliating defeat of Lord General Anwai at the hands of Peleun’s new army, grown to some one hundred and sixteen thousand. Awai’s Third Expeditionary Army, numbering some one hundred thousand, was brought to battle and completely annihilated in a brilliant double envelopment that cost the Anyuevan force a comparatively minor eleven thousand killed and wounded. Peleun would launch a lighting assault into the heart of Rhungora and beyond into the lands under Quat’i Al-Qarikha.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 29th of Month 6 (Hazirani):
Lady General Ipsit’s army avoided near catastrophe in the Battle of the Talak River, but even so left thousands of their own lying dead on the field before the triumphant Anyuevan force. Lady General Zira was not so lucky, and met a similar fate as that of Lord General Anwai in the Battle of Lake Irimin when her forces were drawn into a killing field and her own life ended by a stray cannonball. The entire army of Quat’i had been slain or drowned as they were herded into the lake by merciless Anyuevan artillery and musketry.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 9th of Month 7 (Tammiz):
Anyueva scores a crucial victory against Quat’i in the Siege of Port Madine, a grisly battle in which, due to masterful use of terrain and artillery by Peleun, the city fell in less than two months of fighting. This vital port annexed from the hands of Quat’i, the surviving armies fell back rather than be stranded without support.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 20th of Month 7 (Tammiz):
Lady General Ipsit’s force, whittled down by attrition and numerous smaller engagements, found itself guarding the crucial city of Salaah near the border of Rhungora. Lord General Ramesh’s Fourth Expeditionary Army found itself pinned in a protracted staredown with an Anyuevan army equally matched in numbers and artillery.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 11th of Month 7 (Tammiz):
With the emerging stalemate in Anyamundar, Peleun found himself sailing to the home islands of Anyueva. Greeted to a hero’s welcome by the common folk, he was brought into the chamber of the Posdal of the Father himself.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 15th Month 9 (Aylulan):
One month had passed since Peleun emerged from the chamber, the new Posdal of the Father. He proclaimed a new era of glory for the people of Anyueva, and announced the marshalling of yet more armies, for the war was not yet over. One month had passed since the purging of the ranks of Anyueva’s elite, replaced by those handpicked by Peleun for their loyalty, skills, and ideological fervour. He proclaimed a new era, one where Posdalism would truly rule the world, where the foul things that worshipped demons and devils that were not of man would be wiped from the world or made to see the truth and repent. The call for crusade was renewed.
Year 1851 Post-Awakening (P.A.), 21st Month 9 (Aylulan):
News arrives in Quat’i and the rest of the world of the coronation of the new Empareja.
In
Chronicles of the Grim Crusade - Warhammer 30000 RP Side Thread
→
5 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
In
Bayonets, Brimstone, and Bullets - A Napoleonic Inspired NRP
→
5 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Interest Checks
© 2007-2024