We're building quite a collection of narrative campaigns and those battle reports are some of my favourite to revisit.
And so we're going for it once again - an eight player campaign, played remotely until destruction or exhaustion claims us all. Narrative provided by Kraken, maps from Pootle, camerawork and general administration by I, Stylus.
The first report will be going live shortly. Until then, here's some opening narrative to whet your appetite:
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"On a clear day, you could see as far as the Tegran Oasis,” Baedlara said, pointing out over the plains.
They were
standing on the edge of the Bathylic mountains, looking down and out over the edge
of a sheer cliff.
“Yes,” Skov
said. He didn’t look up from the scope pressed to his eyepiece as he checked
for signs of movement. “Blueblade grass across the whole stretch. Looked like water,
rippling in the wind.”
“Beautiful,”
Baedlara said, nodding.
Sweetwater was
an idyll of natural beauty, from the famous curves of the sandstone spires in
the central desert belt, to the glacial valleys and lakes in the Bathylics. A
Convent world, a place for solitude in which to contemplate the Emperor’s light
in peace and calm. For the Sororitas sent to guard it, it was a final post, a
reward for faithful years in service to the Throne. A sanctuary amidst the
stars.
No more.
Crevasses divided
the plain, pulsing hellish crimson light. The blue grass had withered and died,
leaving the remaining surfaces black and brown, scabbed with mats of rotting vegetation.
The distant horizon was lost in a pall of ashen smog. Leering faces, wide as
the sky, seemed to press through the clouds from time to time, cackling in thunderous
voices as they peered down at the dying world.
Jutting
from the middle of the plain, as though some monstrous sword had been buried hilt-deep in the flatlands, was the burning wreckage of a starship.
“Any
survivors?” Baedlara asked. He waited as Skov finished his careful scanning,
then sighed as the Eliminator’s helm shook slowly from side to side. “I thought
not.”
Savage Fortune was the Strike Cruiser that had
brought Baedlara and his fellow Space Wolves to Sweetwater, answering the
distress calls that rang through the warp as the Black Legion assaulted the planet.
She’d been overwhelmed during the orbital battle shortly after the marines had
deployed, taking out the Black Legion’s fleet at the cost of her main generators.
Her catastrophic impact with the planet’s surface was one of many factors that had
destabilised the crust.
They’d been
too late anyway. By the time the Wolves had arrived, the traitors had already driven the Order of the Blessed Saint Daphne back with waves of mercenary berserker troops. As the Sororitas fought off this disposable force, the Black Legion profaned their defenceless cathedrals, summoning warpspawn to aid their further assaults on the survivors. There was no denying
the success of the enemy’s tactics, although they’d outdone themselves. Surely
they hadn’t intended the planet to begin collapsing in on itself?
“Nothing
left to do here, then,” Baedlara told Skov. “Can you raise Mater Prudence for
me?”
Skov nodded.
The vox chimed in Baedlara’s ear moments later.
“Prudence,”
said the Canoness. Over the waves of howling static, she sounded tired and
angry, which was hardly surprising.
“Reverend
mother, I have completed my search for survivors.”
“About time. As bootless as you feared, Librarian?”
Baedlara frowned. He didn't like that title, it made assumptions about what he was.
“Necessary. But as you say, without success,” he admitted.
“Whilst you
hunt for your dead, the living grow fewer hourly. We have almost secured the space
port,” Prudence said sourly. ”With your pack, we would have it already. You’ve
heard the auspex reports?”
“I have not.”
“Aeldar
raiders have appeared on the far side of the Convent, carrying off the wounded.
There are more traitors in orbit, cursed servants of the lord of plagues. A
tide of blasphemous Neverborn is cavorting through my abbey as we speak.”
“Change and
decay in all around I see,” Baedlara said, more to himself than her.
“Meaning
what, exactly?” the Canoness snapped. Baedlara had no answer for that. “Can I
expect your forces to be with us shortly?”
“No,” Baedlara answered.
There was a
tense pause. Baedlara could imagine the responses the Canoness was swallowing
at that moment.
“I see,”
she eventually managed. “So as we fight for passage for the few survivors left,
what exactly will you be doing?”
“Buying you
time. Making the heretics pay the price. Avenging the fallen.” Baedlara smiled
bitterly to himself. “Take your pick, it matters little.”
“Matters
little?” she exploded. “The Emperor’s faithful turn to you for help in this
most desperate time, and you say we matter little!”
“We are not
rescue dogs, Canoness. We are a hunting pack. You speak of faith, but you make
a poor show of it. Whereas I have faith that you and your sisters will be ample
protection for the survivors in your care. Take heart that I trust in your
skills.”
"Then I thank the Throne yours is not the only chapter I can turn to," the Canoness barked by way of
reply.
Skov’s helmet
tilted curiously.
“She took
it well,” Baedlara told him.
“Her fury
will inspire her to acts of greatness,” Skov said.
“As must ours,” said Baedlara.
"What of the Kettu Metsastajat?"
"The Vulpine Hunters didn't engage at the start of this campaign, I doubt they will now. Their barge is still in orbit somewhere. Prudence will have a long wait before they come to her side. They've lost whatever long game they thought to play without even making a move."
"Foxes can be trusted to come sniffing after the wolf makes a kill," Skov said. His dislike of the newborn Primaris chapter was no secret, and one Baedlara shared.
“There's more. She told me that the Black Legion is no longer the only foe we
have to face. The planet will collapse in a matter of days. Neverborn are running rampant across the plains alongside what's left of that Berserker warband, but even now, there are
scavengers arriving to take what they can."
“Is there anything
left?”
“There is
nothing here bar vengeance,” Baedlara said. “Let Prudence see
to salvation. We are the Emperor’s Executioners. The Black Legion has
broken his laws and will feel the weight of his punishment before the end. Anything trying to stop us will suffer a swift death. That’s my oath, and I’ll
see it done. Agreed, brother?”
“Agreed,”
Skov said. They clasped arms and pressed their helmets together, a pack oath as
they’d made in similar, if less doomed, circumstances than this.
“Then let’s
get to it,” Baedlara said. “Their death before our end!”
The board is set! Great opening story.
ReplyDeleteI don't want to build this up too much, but this is going to be AWESOME (or I want my money back)
ReplyDeleteExcellent! I reread Drawbridge the other day and wondered if you were going to do another of these. Imagine, if you will, a knife and fork banging on a table with vigour, demanding their wielder be satiated. That's the mood right now. The energy.
ReplyDeleteMarvellous - hope you dine well!
Delete