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Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 1:21 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Tyrant wrote:shadowhawk2008-

This definitely needs a re-read to catch more than a few errors. The most jarring is this:

"Rosto’s squad was not equipped with any weapons but they still answered the incoming fire in kind with their own combi-plasmas and bolt pistols"

Erm.....what? :shock:

Apart from the minor stuff it's a great part, interesting to see them in battle against their fallen cousins. I wonder what they're looking for.....


I've edited the whole thing. It should all read better now. Let me know if you catch more errors :)

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Fri Aug 05, 2011 11:18 am
by Ghurlag
You know how I roll by now. Nitpicking, with comments to follow.

The descending Corvians broke up into four separate groups as they approached the manufactora complex from above, spreading out in a loose formation over their respective drop zones.

You say that the four groups split out into a single loose formation, which to me means they stop being four groups. Perhaps you mean that each group spread in its own loose formation?

The stench was just about strong enough to make him gag but he ignored it and accessed the primary command channel on the strike force’s secure comm-net.

Given a Marine's biological defenses, I'd be surprised if he could gag on anything that wasn't actually toxic. Perhaps it would be better as 'The stench was enough for any lesser man to gag, but Astinon ignored it'?

‘Force Commander,’ said Kostar, his senior-most bridge officer aboard the battle-barge, a man assigned to him by Faress Teluga himself and was said to be one of the Admiral’s protégés.

Change 'a man' to 'the man was'

Astinon nodded slightly in return, and blink-clicked a faint yellow rune on his helmet display to re-establish a two-way audio link with his flagship. ‘Mr. Kostar, we are proceeding into the complex proper, be advised we may not be able to communicate with you further until we exit back.’

Is 'Mr' the right title here? Surely 'Captain', or 'Master', or at least 'Herr'? 'Mr. Kostar' sounds like he works in my corner shop.

‘We bring retribution to death to our foe!’ intoned his warriors in unison and split off to their assigned positions in the narrow and cramped tunnel.

I know mottoes don't always do so, but that response makes no sense to me.

And that's all, folks. Seems you managed to catch most of them beforehand.

This fight was interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, we got to see the character of Astinon's captains, and how they reacted to near-identical situations.

Secondly, we see how the Raven Guard's descendants have forgotten their old ways. A normal Raven Guard assault would almost definitely have been preceded by scouts, sometimes well in advance, but Astinon did no such thing, relying instead on the ship above, and brute force. Is this the result of so many long years of bloodshed, or the coming together of such disparate descendants?

The Charcharadon are an intriguing thing. They seem almost feral, yet they are, or were, space marines, which take a certain civilised capacity to create - what are they doing here in such numbers? From the sounds of things they do not fight particularly well, either.

The choice of fallen Corvians (though are they fallen to chaos, or just madness?) is an interesting one, as Astinon is forced to look into the eyes of what he might well have become, some more years down the line.

Intriguing end there. Will Astinon stay and try for revenge, or fall back?

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Fri Aug 05, 2011 11:58 am
by shadowhawk2008
Ghurlag wrote:You say that the four groups split out into a single loose formation, which to me means they stop being four groups. Perhaps you mean that each group spread in its own loose formation?


Yeah, that was the intention :)

Given a Marine's biological defenses, I'd be surprised if he could gag on anything that wasn't actually toxic. Perhaps it would be better as 'The stench was enough for any lesser man to gag, but Astinon ignored it'?


That is a much better way of putting it.

Change 'a man' to 'the man was'


Good catch.

Is 'Mr' the right title here? Surely 'Captain', or 'Master', or at least 'Herr'? 'Mr. Kostar' sounds like he works in my corner shop.


His rank is Helmsman aboard the Montisgarre. And since he is a regular human, I thought Mr would be more appropriate than anything else. I recall reading that title being used in novels like Warriors of Ultramar and Star of Damocles aboard the Imperial Navy and Rogue Trader ships.

I know mottoes don't always do so, but that response makes no sense to me.


That is the two-part battle-cry of the Angels of Retribution since the earliest days I wrote their background :)

And that's all, folks. Seems you managed to catch most of them beforehand.

This fight was interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, we got to see the character of Astinon's captains, and how they reacted to near-identical situations.


Indeed. I did want to show how different they all are. Given the lack of background for the aforementioned chapters, well except the RG perhaps but I don't have access to their audio dramas :( I am taking certain liberties with how the captains react and their doctrines.

Secondly, we see how the Raven Guard's descendants have forgotten their old ways. A normal Raven Guard assault would almost definitely have been preceded by scouts, sometimes well in advance, but Astinon did no such thing, relying instead on the ship above, and brute force. Is this the result of so many long years of bloodshed, or the coming together of such disparate descendants?


Raven Guard, Revilers, Raptors, Knights of the Raven, Hawk Lords, Angels of Retribution and so many others :) It is all a mixture of both the things you mentioned. Over the years, it has all merged together. And the last ten thousand years have been bloody indeed. Very bloody.

The Charcharadon are an intriguing thing. They seem almost feral, yet they are, or were, space marines, which take a certain civilised capacity to create - what are they doing here in such numbers? From the sounds of things they do not fight particularly well, either.


You shall find out the answer to that question, hopefully if you are lucky :twisted: , in the next few installments. Let's just say that the future is at stake. :o

The choice of fallen Corvians (though are they fallen to chaos, or just madness?) is an interesting one, as Astinon is forced to look into the eyes of what he might well have become, some more years down the line.


Interesting question no? Given the primary objective that the Corvians are here for, it is rather strange for the Carcharadons to be here, no matter their allegiances.

Intriguing end there. Will Astinon stay and try for revenge, or fall back?


Revenge. Such an interesting, meaningful concept isn't it? :)

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 3:23 am
by Tim the Corsair
Great read, mate.

I'm not familiar with the 60k setting, but this has definitely piqued my interest. There's a great sense of equal parts desperation and the first glimmers of hope here, and you've done a really good job of working in a new, different setting while still keeping it very grimdark and 40k.

Others have mentioned any criticisms I could think of as I was going through. If I had further suggestions, it would be to maybe put a little bit of extra focus on giving your characters different 'voices', as the various Marines don't seem to have much differentiating them in terms of speaking style; however, that's a personal preference of mine, and something you may not want to follow on with.

Keep up the good work with it, and I'll definitely keep reading.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 5:28 am
by shadowhawk2008
I've been working away on the next installment and it should be posted up by tonight :) And I'll keep that in mind for this one Tim! It is quite central to one of the 'revelations' in this one.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 4:02 pm
by shadowhawk2008
A grim-faced Astinon stared at what was left of Brother Lykasz, one of his oldest comrades. Under the crushing, armoured boots of the renegade Terminator, only a headless corpse remained, with splattered blood and brain-matter coating the tunnel floor. The Corvian Commander was in shock at witnessing such a brutal execution of his friend and battle-brother.

The berserker renegades postured like caged beasts behind their leader, who himself stood so calm and assured that he might well have been anywhere but in the thick of battle. He was crouched low, ready to charge at a moment’s notice like a predator that has the scent of its prey and is waiting for the right moment to strike.

For a moment, time seemed to stop for Astinon and he was unable to move. It was as if his body was refusing to do what he asked of it. He was rooted where he stood just before the entrance to the tunnel and the large chamber beyond. His entire body was as taut as a stretched string and he shuddered slightly. His eyes were fixed on the bloody spectacle before him and he was able to see every crack and fracture on his dead brother’s armour.

The clamour of battle around him faded into the background and to him it was as if he existed between two moments. The challenges of the enemy and the battle-cries of his strike team alike faded out as if they were being shouted from a great distance. He could hear none of that. He heard only the twin, rhythmic beatings of his own two hearts.

None of the smells of the tunnel-fight existed for him, both the sweat and blood of the superhuman warriors within or the smoke from their gun barrels. He could smell only the blood of his battle-brother, still steaming off the Carcharadon’s lightning claws.

This is not an end worthy of remembrance, he thought to himself. We have braved despair, desolation, defeat, even death itself for this? To be killed as an afterthought by mindless barbarians who are not even aware of their own glorious heritage? I shall not stand for this. He clenched his fists at the last thought, the tiny gesture breaking the spell on him, and he was aware of his surroundings again. Knowing what he had to do, he sub-vocalized an order on the comm-net.

+Corvians, halt.+ His voice as he accessed his strike team comm-channel was as cold and harsh as the fierce snowstorms of the near-mythical world of Fenris. It was so unlike his usual calm and assertive self, but his brothers did not pause at this change. They obeyed his order instantly, their discipline to their credit as they moved back to stand with their general, knowing well how he would respond to such an insult.

The Terminator lord’s posture faltered as Astinon and his warriors rallied, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with each other. The growl that issued through the Carcharadon’s helmet speakers was bestial enough to chill the Corvian general’s soul, a scream deeply primal in nature. But Astinon ignored the animalistic challenge.

+Prime krak grenades, three-second timers.+ His second terse order resulted in a slight shuffle behind him as the surviving nineteen Sons of Corax took out several small metal eggs from their belt pouches and triggered the explosives for a set countdown.

The renegade lord took a threatening step towards the Corvians and clashed his lightning claws together, bright blue sparks flying off them as the weapons’ energy fields came into contact. Roaring again, the Carcharadon waved his warriors forwards and broke into a run straight towards Astinon, their ponderous, heavy boot-steps ringing on the metallic floor of the tunnel. Once again, the renegade Astartes forsook their bolters, preferring the savagery of their close combat weapons and their fists.

+One, two, three, now!+ As one, the twenty Corvians lobbed the deadly hi-explosive grenades at the mob of charging renegades and drew their ranged weapons. They died in droves as the krak grenades went off in their midst, many of the renegades torn limb from limb and died screaming hateful curses at the loyalist Astartes. Others came on regardless of missing limbs and bleeding wounds.

+Fire!+ The roar of bolter shells that followed Astinon’s order was enough to drown out almost all other noise in the tunnel, the echoes endlessly feeding back on themselves. But the wayward progeny of the Primarch Corax did not falter in their reckless advance, as heedless of the dense fusillade as they had been off the concussive grenade explosions.

The renegade Terminator lord alone was unharmed, his armour systems potent enough to protect him from the waves of incendiary shrapnel washing over him. The cast of his helmet and the amber light of its optic-lenses along with his immense size lent him an even more terrifying visage than before as he ran the length of the burning tunnel to get to the Corvians.

Disgust filled Astinon at this fearsome mockery of his own self. Where the Corvians were noble warriors and represented the highest ideals of the Adeptus Astartes, the Carcharadons were base savages who were nothing but twisted, fallen parodies of everything it meant to be a true Space Marine. To him, these renegades were an abomination and would need to be purged to their very core, Vulkan’s orders be damned.

Holstering his pistols, he removed his helm, wanting to look at his enemy with his own eyes. He gazed straight into the renegade lord’s optic lenses, trying to divine something of his nature through the soulless ceramite. Astinon snarled at the Terminator and drew the Stormblade, making a chopping gesture with it at the enemy in an effort to goad him.

The Carcharadons just came on and the Corvians braced themselves for the impact.

-][-

‘What word of Captain Astinon’s task force, Dalmor?’ The Captain of the First Commandery turned at the soft voice behind him to see his Primarch entering the command sanctum. He immediately kneeled before his liege, who wore only a simple, knee-length robe of emerald and gold.

‘My lord,’ answered Dalmor, his voice slightly inflected with concern for his honour-brother and the warriors he had often fought beside years ago. ‘We received word from Lieutenant Kostar less than three hours ago that the Corvians had begun their deployment on Medan in full force. Astinon’s teams are last known to have walked into the ruins in strength; we have not received any updates since. The good Lieutenant has advised that the high metallic content of the abandoned manufactora may be blocking any transmissions from the Corvian strike force.’

‘Just as we predicted might be the case,’ said Vulkan softly as he came to stand next to his First Commander. The Primarch went without his usual panoply of armour and weapons that he always wore when he held his court or when he attended battle briefings. Even in his simple robe, Vulkan exuded his warrior heritage and his manner was anything other combat-readiness.

‘Contact Lieutenant Kostar again and request an update of the situation. Astinon and his warriors will be facing an opposition they are not likely to have faced in years and their faith in the true ideals of the New Imperium will be tested to the limit.’ Vulkan frowned for a brief moment as he continued. ‘It is also vital that they succeed in their mission for the riches of Medan will accelerate my plans considerably. And rescue the Corvians at the same time from their degeneration’

‘If they are still intact, my lord,’ offered Dalmor. ‘We take a great risk in this mission. The Corvians are nowhere near optimal strength for this mission. We should have sent reinforcements from the other Commanderies currently on Armageddon.’

The Primarch waved away his captain’s concerns with a simple shake of his head. ‘No, my friend, this is a task for the Corvians alone. Loathe as I am to put Corax’s surviving sons through such an ordeal, only they can complete this mission. They, and they alone have it in them to see it through and numbers do not matter.’

‘I have faith in my honour-brother and his warriors, Lord Vulkan, but I still fear the worst. Medan is going to change the Corvians, for better or for worse,’ said Dalmor.

‘Then it is a good thing we are here to guide them, are we not, First Commander?’ asked Vulkan, winking at the Space Marine and smiling for the first time since he had entered. ‘I want an updated report on Medan within the half-hour, Dalmor. I am very much interested in Astinon and how he handles this mission. He reminds me of Corax’s captains from the glorious days of the Great Crusade.’ With that, the Primarch began to leave the command sanctum.

‘Where will you be, father?’ asked Dalmor.

Vulkan thought for a moment before answering the Commander’s question. ‘I will be with He’stan in my private sanctum. He and I still have much to talk about.’

-][-

Thanks to his superhuman constitution, Adrastos was rarely out of breath, if ever, but this was definitely one of those times when he was. Smoke and ash filled the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe as he stood in the dilapidated ruins of the vast manufactorum. Around him, his battle-brothers helped each other recover from the furious battle they had just fought against a horde of renegade Astartes, the Carcharadons. The Corvians had taken little damage, since the enemy had numbered far less than them, but both sides had been equally matched in their savagery.

Adrastos muttered an oath of appeasement to his power armour’s machine spirit as he knelt besides one of his dying battle-brothers, Sergeant Samer, a Raven Guard like himself. The Hawk Lord Apothecary assigned to his strike force, Romio, shook his head at his captain, indicating that Samer was beyond his arts to save. Adrastos nodded faintly and looked at his sergeant.

‘You fought honourably, brother,’ he said, not without a little anguish. There were few enough of the Corvians left alive after ten thousand years of bitter fighting, and the Raven Guard themselves numbered fewer than ever, barely more than three squads’ worth. Samer’s loss was a hard blow.

Samer tried to speak but only blood poured out of his mouth. He had taken four bolter rounds straight to the chest during the fire-fight and an enemy warrior had hacked off his right arm at the shoulder with a lucky blow. His wounds were too severe, his genetically-enhanced body struggling to repair the damage but failing miserably. The Space Marine was dead within seconds.

Romio hung his head in sorrow and began to extract the warrior’s gene-seed, the reductor drill mounted on the apothecary’s left-arm punching through the sergeant’s chest plate and neck in quick succession.

Adrastos got up and looked around for his second-in-command, Sergeant Decra. He spotted the Storm Hawk Space Marine across the chamber, wiping his chainsword of the blood of the enemies he had killed in the fire-fight. A pair of long, fresh scars bisected the left side of his face, giving him a savage look, more so than was usual even for him.

Decra was one of the best close combat fighters among the Corvians, due in no small amount to the ancient traditions of his nearly extinct chapter, and his wounds indicated how close the battle against the feral Carcharadons had been. He was also of the old stock, recruited from Zephyr itself forty years ago during a dangerous recruitment mission undertaken by Astinon’s predecessor, Tomar Rao. Adrastos walked over to him, passing some of his other battle-brothers who were piling up the dead in one corner of the room.

‘Brother-Sergeant, any luck getting through to Commander Astinon or the other strike teams?’ he asked as he approached.

The Storm Hawk looked up at his Captain, his blood-shot scars twitching as he spoke in his heavy, rumbling voice. ‘We have had no further word from the others, Captain. The comm-net signals simply cannot penetrate the thick adamantium walls and the ferrocrete that is part of the manufactorum’s structure. We will need to find some sort of a booster relay or a hardwired vox-caster unit to be able to communicate with the Commander or the other Captains.’

Adrastos cursed under his breath at the Sergeant’s response. Without the ability to contact the other strike teams, it would be that much harder to coordinate their progress through the manufactora. Or know if the primary objective had been accomplished in case any of the other strike teams found the prize the Corvians had come to Medan for. He made a quick decision about what to do next.

‘Sergeant, assemble the strike-team within two minutes to proceed further into the manufactorum and send out a squad to recon ahead of us. I do not want any more surprises.’

‘As ordered, First Captain,’ acknowledged Decra and began issuing commands to the remaining fifty-four warriors of Adrastos’ strike-team.

-][-

Astinon ducked to avoid a murderous sweep of the renegade lord’s lightning claws, rolling backwards into a crouch just beyond the reach of the power weapons. He glanced up at the Carcharadon who snarled as the Commander once again evaded his murderous swings.

The Corvian general’s armour was pitted and scarred with damage from the renegade’s blows that he had not been able to avoid. His left pauldron, with its gilded chapter iconography, was a ruin and a significant chunk of his breastplate was also missing. Quick as he was, against the Terminator’s relentless onslaught he was quickly tiring.

In contrast, the Carcharadon’s armour was still unblemished by anything more than light scorch marks, its potent defences keeping him safe from any attack. He had somehow managed to block the Stormblade again and again with his twin lightning claws and Astinon was unable to find any weaknesses in his opponent’s defence.

He glanced briefly to his right to see Manov skewer a Carcharadon on the adamantium-reinforced chainsword the champion preferred for close combat, the whirring jagged teeth of the weapon turning the renegade’s innards to a bloody, chewed pulp. Manov nodded at his commander and engaged another Carcharadon, this one wielding a morning-star of unknown design.

Around them, the swirling combat between their battle-brothers continued, with neither side able to gain any advantage over the other. The berserker fury of the Carcharadon renegades was matched by the cold discipline and training of the Corvians. More Astartes had died on both sides and the Corvians were still outnumbered three to one, but it was essentially a stalemate. Both groups of warriors drew heart from the presence of their duelling war-leaders and the outcome of this tunnel-fight rested on them.

In his anger, Astinon spat at the Carcharadon. ‘You are utter filth, a hideous mockery of all the nobility of an Adeptus Astartes and the ideals of the Great Raven. You are undeserving of the legacy that you bear and I shall remind you of that when I take your head, you honourless, misbegotten insect!’

The renegade stopped in mid-swing at Astinon’s outburst, his surprise at the Corvian general’s words evident in his posture. Astinon drew in a ragged breath, for this gave him a moment’s respite to recover from the renegade’s relentless attacks. His chest heaved with the exertion of the close-fought duel. Around the two leaders, their battle-brothers also ceased their fight and looked on, anticipating something momentous about to happen.

Without ceremony, the Carcharadon removed his own helmet, revealing a surprisingly handsome and sharply-visaged patrician face, though scarred heavily. Astinon stared in shock, for he had assumed that these were mutated and degenerate warriors, but that was obviously not the case with the towering Terminator-armoured warrior before him.

The Carcharadon’s expression twisted into a feral snarl as looked at Astinon with murder in his eyes, which were a disconcerting all-black, fathomless and pitiless as the void between the stars. ‘And what would you know of honour, Angel of Retribution?’ he asked and the rich, calm voice that addressed him shocked Astinon once again. What in the name of the True Emperor was going on here, he thought. I was told to expect barbaric savages, not warriors who speak as if they are standing in an Imperial Royal Court!

Noticing Astinon’s confusion, the Carcharadon laughed a grim, toothy smile. ‘I am not what you expected is it, Angel of Retribution? You have not seen the half of it I am sure.’ He motioned to his remaining warriors and as one they all removed their helmets, revealing their faces to the Corvians.

Each and every one of them was unmarked and unblemished by mutation, their features as noble as that of Astinon and his own warriors; even the colour of their skin, whether Corvian or Carcharadon was the same waxen, deathly white. The only difference between the two forces was the armour they all wore, the grey of the Carcharadons against the multitude of colours among the Corvians.

‘Who are you?’ Astinon whispered with a rising dread in his voice. He was completely off-balanced by the normalcy of the renegades before him.

The Carcharadons all laughed at the question, as if the Corvian general was stupid to have asked it at all. The lone Terminator joined in his brethren’s mocking laughter.

‘Who am I? Ten thousand years must have dulled the memory of you and your forebears, proud son of Corax, if you cannot recognize me,’ he said. ‘Do you at least recognize these markings on my armour?’

It was only now that Astinon could make out the faint lettering on the armour. It was an old sub-dialect of High Gothic, old even before the fall of Imperium of Man. As he deciphered the armorial wording, he gasped in horror.
‘It cannot be!’ he cried out. ‘No Astartes can survive this long, it is impossible!’

‘Nothing is ever impossible, son of Corax,’ the Carcharadon lord responded. ‘I am living proof of the longevity of our kind. Your expression tells me that you know full well who I am, what I am.’

‘You lie,’ said Astinon hotly. ‘You wear the armour of another, undoubtedly like many others before you. You cannot be the same hero whose name was once spoken of with respect and admiration among all the chapters of the Adeptus Astartes ages ago, before the Imperium fell for a second time. It is impossible. The victor of Endymion cannot have fallen so far from those glorious days.’

‘Do not convince yourself that all you have been led to believe is right, brother,’ snarled the Carcharadon. ‘I am he whose name is scrimshawed on this armour; the very same victor of Endymion that you believe was one of the greatest heroes of the Imperium of old.’

‘No it cannot be,’ Astinon managed to say, his voice hoarse. ‘You cannot be Tyberos of the Red Wake!’

‘Ave Imperator Verimus,’ whispered the Carcharadon through rows of sharp ivory teeth.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 8:49 pm
by Colonel Mustard
*Gasps*

Tyberos! Not Tyberos! How could it be? Its...absolutely...who is this guy? I get the feeling I should probably be more shocked about it than I'm currently feeling. Er, sorry.

Still, a good part, and I'm wondering what exactly Vulkan's master plan with all this is.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 9:03 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Colonel Mustard wrote:*Gasps*

Tyberos! Not Tyberos! How could it be? Its...absolutely...who is this guy? I get the feeling I should probably be more shocked about it than I'm currently feeling. Er, sorry.

Still, a good part, and I'm wondering what exactly Vulkan's master plan with all this is.


Tyberos the Red Wake was essentially the Carcharadon chapter master during the Badab War. Under him, the chapter single-handedly (pretty much) defeated the Mantis Warriors in their own backyard.

As to the master-plan it will be clear in chapter 7 :P

The only hint you get is the "future depends on them!" /snarkyvoice - "Save the Carcharadons, Save the galaxy!"

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sun Aug 21, 2011 2:01 pm
by Gaius Marius
Colonel Mustard wrote:*Gasps*

Tyberos! Not Tyberos! How could it be? Its...absolutely...who is this guy? I get the feeling I should probably be more shocked about it than I'm currently feeling. Er, sorry.

Still, a good part, and I'm wondering what exactly Vulkan's master plan with all this is.


Star Sharks/ Carachadon's Chapter Master, utterly terrifying, using lightning claws and chainfists at the same time. Showed up to thrash Badab's allies and then disappeared to his Chapter's station above the galactic plane, fighting threats the rest of the Imperium never even knew of.

Also, good job Shadow

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sun Aug 21, 2011 3:02 pm
by shadowhawk2008
ACKKKKKK! It's Space Sharks Gaius!

And yeah, his weapons totally rock. They are called Hunger and Slake for a reason ;)

http://www.forgeworld.co.uk/Warhammer-4 ... -WAKE.html

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Sun Aug 21, 2011 5:35 pm
by Tyrant
I'm glad somebody explained who Tyberos was so I didn't have to ask......

Interesting what he said at the end of the story; but why would he just attack the Corvians without even attempting to talk to them first? And why would the Carcharadons act like bestial savages?

More questions than answers.....next part soon please!

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 6:20 pm
by Dorian
Ooooh, the next part is up! I really like your story. Somehow I'm really happy for the Corvians. Heh.

Now go and write more! ;)

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 6:46 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Dorian wrote:Ooooh, the next part is up! I really like your story. Somehow I'm really happy for the Corvians. Heh.

Now go and write more! ;)


Your wish is my command /bow

Chapter 7 is currently past the 1000-word mark and so far it looks to be quite "furious".

And thank you :)

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 7:19 pm
by Dorian
shadowhawk2008 wrote:Your wish is my command /bow

Chapter 7 is currently past the 1000-word mark and so far it looks to be quite "furious".

And thank you :)


Haha, you are the first person to actually listen to me. I like that.

Furious sounds good and intriguing.

You are very welcome and I have to thank you for this great story.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 9:09 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Hail, in the name of the True Emperor. Astinon and the others were stunned to hear the battle-cry of the New Imperium under Primarch Vulkan from the mouth of a renegade. This made no sense. How could the Carcharadons know it, isolated and cut-off as they were on Medan?

‘You have no right to speak those words, renegade,’ Astinon said through clenched teeth and balled up his gauntleted fists. ‘You will -’

Tyberos cut off the Corvian general before he could continue, moving forwards to stand face-to-face with Astinon as much as their difference in height would allow. ‘On the contrary, brother, I have every right to utter those words. Do you foolishly believe that we, the Carcharadon Astra, have given up on all our sworn oaths of ages past?’

Anger streaked Astinon’s face, a sudden rage boiling up within him at Tyberos’ question. He edged closer to the Terminator until there was barely any room for air between the two. ‘Then tell me Tyberos of the mighty Carcharadons, what the frakking, bloody hell have you and your brothers been doing in the last ten thousand years? The Imperium fell, the Adeptus Astartes were scattered like chaff all across the galaxy, a million abominations were spawned, the greatest heroes of Mankind were struck down and yet there was no word of your chapter!’ Moving with sudden speed, and with all his strength, Astinon struck Tyberos across the face with a resounding slap.

Behind the renegade lord, his warriors all stiffened and pointed their chain-weapons and guns at the Corvians, who did likewise in a tense stand-off. They all watched their leaders with concern, unsure what would happen next and unwilling to break the tense peace themselves.

Bleeding from a torn lip, Tyberos snarled and bared his sharpened incisors at the Corvian general. Belying his great bulk and his cumbersome armour, the Terminator seized Astinon’s neck in a vice-like grip and lifted him up a full four inches from the tunnel floor.

Never, ever do that again, Angel of Retribution, if you truly value your life,’ he bellowed and pushed Astinon’s head through the nearest wall and held him there. The Corvian general was desperately gasping for breath in Tyberos’ choking grip and bleeding heavily from a deep cut on his forehead.

‘You will let the Lord Commander go, renegade,’ warned a strong, clear voice behind Tyberos and the Carcharadon turned to see who dared to interfere. He found himself looking into the barrel of a plasma pistol levelled at him by Sergeant Manov, the gun’s brightly flaring blue-white energy coils evidence that Astinon’s champion would blast off the Carcharadon’s head without preamble and without so much as a second thought if his warning was not obeyed instantly.

Tyberos grinned savagely at Manov and let Astinon go, the Corvian general falling to the floor in a heap and short on breath. Leven and Rosto moved to assist Astinon while Manov kept Tyberos away from the Commander on gunpoint. The Carcharadon warlord kept his eyes squarely on the champion, his tongue smacking his lips in apparent relish.

‘Admit it Tyberos of the Red Wake,’ Astinon stammered, drawing in big gulps of air. ‘You and your chapter forswore your oaths to the Emperor and the Imperium long ago in order to descend into wanton anarchy and an orgy of slaughter and mindless carnage.’

‘We did no such thing!’ Tyberos rebutted hotly, almost frothing at the mouth in anger. ‘The Imperium abandoned us! Those bastards who call themselves the true heirs of the Imperium, the Theologian Union, they attacked our ships, our worlds. They left the remnants of my once-proud chapter to rot through the ages on this desolate rock, a fate worse than death!’

‘And what of it, traitor?’ asked Astinon, using the damning epithet for the first time. ‘The loyal sons of Lord Corax did all we could to stem the tide. We fought the New Devourer, the Silver Hordes, the damnable forces of the twin Chaos empires and the thousand other false Imperiums to keep the values of the Emperor and the Great Raven alive. Where were you? We sold our lives dearly because we truly believed in the Emperor, may His glory be everlasting. You,’ Astinon pointed an accusing finger at Tyberos. ‘You disappeared, never to return, while the entire galaxy slipped into damnation and heresy. Do not talk to me of abandonment.’

‘Enough!’ Tyberos roared. But Astinon went on regardless.

‘You think I do not know about the deals you made during the Second Strife, how you consorted with the most foul alien races in return for heretical technologies and knowledge you were never meant to have or know?’ The renegade lord glared furiously as Astinon said those words. There was no backing down now between them. ‘Tell me, Victor of Endymion, what was the price you and your brothers paid for such knowledge, for more power? Did you sell your souls to the warp?’

‘You know nothing of us, Angel of Retribution! Nothing!’

‘I know all I need to know, heretic,’ said Astinon calmly as he finally stood up and waved away his sergeants However, he purposely did not ask his champion to lower his plasma pistol. ‘My lord Vulkan, who now rules the New Imperium as its Regent, told me that I was to make every effort to redeem you and absolve you of your sins. He told me everything about your chapter’s despicable dealings and still he told me to bring you into the fold. But now I know that cannot be. You attacked my brothers without provocation, brutally killed warriors I have fought alongside in countless battles and you dare to say you are blameless in everything, a victim of circumstance?’ The Corvian general shook his head incredulously.

‘No. Redemption is not for the likes of you heretics. Your absolution will only come in a conflagration of death. When you lie dying on this very cold tunnel floor, and your life bleeds out of you, you will know the full cost of your uncountable sins, if that still be your fate. Pray the True Emperor have mercy on your souls Carcharadon for I have none.’

Tyberos, in his turn to be surprised, stared at Astinon as if he was dumbstruck. ‘Lord Vulkan?’

Astinon’s anger and rage returned. ‘Do not dare to speak that name, Carcharadon! The Eighteenth Primarch’s name is too hallowed and pure to be uttered from your poisoned lips! Now prepare to meet your doom traitor!’

‘I know now what you came here to find, son of Corax, I can divine at least that much of your intentions now that you have mentioned the name of a Primarch,’ Tyberos responded, his soulless black eyes seemingly shot with a blazing anger. ‘My psykers had told me already that a son of the Emperor had returned but I had dared not put any trust in something so fantastical. Your confirmation shall have to suffice. I will deny you your prize, even if it costs me my life. You will not take our future from us! The Carcharadon Astra shall live again!’

Inconsolable grief marked Astinon’s face as he ordered his warriors to attack. ‘For the honour of Corax! Victorus aut Mortis!’ he chanted.

‘We bring retribution and death to our foe!’ was the reply of the Corvians, the battle-cry reverberating around the length and breadth of the tunnel, driving the Carcharadons into a fury.

As Astinon and Tyberos squared off once more, the Carcharadon warlord raised his power gauntlets high in the air and muttered two distinct words that the Corvian Commander just barely heard.

Hunger. Slake.’ As he uttered those two words, there was a short click and two thick slits opened up in his gauntlets. A loud, whirring sound followed and a small, revving chainblade extended out of each slit. His footfalls heavy, Tyberos charged at Astinon yelling an incoherent war-cry that was echoed by his warriors.

Astinon brought up the Stormblade to deflect the first swing of the murderous combi-fists. This was another unexpected development in the Medan mission and he wondered at it. What the damn frak is going on in this accursed galaxy? Is there no end to such random changes?

Again and again he parried Tyberos’ strikes, barely holding onto his own weapon. Enhanced by his Terminator armour, Tyberos’ strength was prodigious and Astinon was far out of his league here. He couldn’t even spare a glance around him to see how his brothers were faring, only fifteen of them left. The ident runes on his helmet’s heads-up-display winked out one by one as his strike team began to take casualties, but he was unable to spare even a thought to their defence.

Parrying yet again, he yelled into the comm-net on an open frequency. +Dheimmel, Salsax, Adrastos! I need backup now! My strike team is being slaughtered in the tunnels below the south-east manufactorum.+

He received an immediate reply. +This is Salsax, Commander Dras; I am on my way as we speak. I shall be there shortly.+

+You had better hurry, Raptor. There may not be any of us left alive to save if you are too late!+ The only reply Astinon got was a furious battle-cry before Salsax cut the audio-link. He knew he could trust the Raptor Captain, one of the most self-assured and dependable warriors he had ever met in his long years.

Facing off against thirty-nine Carcharadons, the remaining eight Corvians, including Astinon, slowly backed up into the large chamber from where they had entered the tunnel. Gigantic machinery rose all around them, the air stinking of corroded metal, freshly-spilled blood and the actinic tang of the discharge from the power weapons used by some of the warriors. Oppressiveness hung in the air of the fifty-foot high darkly gothic chamber, threatening to drown Astinon and his brothers in overwhelming desperation.

Each of his brothers that fell was a huge blow to Astinon, to his pride and to his combat record. Never before had he suffered such terrible casualties as he did now, and the number was only going to increase. As far as he knew, Adrastos and Dheimmel were still tied up in battle elsewhere, with only Salsax coming to support him. And this was not looking good.

‘Stop running away you coward and face me like the proud Space Marine you espouse yourself to be!’ yelled Tyberos in frustration at a retreating Astinon. Astinon however only smiled. The longer he kept the Carcharadon warlord at bay, the sooner Salsax would arrive with reinforcements.

One of Astinon’s warriors, Kasten, stepped in front of the Terminator to delay him, buying time for his Commander to retreat safely. Tyberos simply kicked the Space Marine in the knees and punched him in the face, his chain-blades making short work of Kasten’s head.

Astinon cursed at himself. He was simply delaying the inevitable it seemed. Only five of his strike team now remained, Manov his champion, Rosto and Leven his sergeants along with Barr and Lamik. Of the Carcharadons, thirty-one blood-crazed warriors still remained. The six Corvians stopped retreating and moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder to each other, as if forming a firing line, still surrounded by towering data stacks and machinery they had no clue served what purpose.

‘This it brothers,’ said Astinon evenly, his voice hard as roughened adamantium. ‘We now sell our lives dearly. Pray the Emperor and the Great Raven judge us favourably in death.’

‘For the Imperium,’ they said in unison.

Tyberos was the first to reach them and the others left him to Astinon to deal with while they engaged the berserkers coming up behind the warlord. Tyberos thrust his lightning claws at Astinon, who ducked to avoid them, and then nimbly swerved behind the Terminator lord, bringing up the Stormblade in a flashing upward arc.

Tyberos screamed in pain, a scream that grated on Astinon’s ears like the howling of the Eldar warrior-maidens he had read of. Astinon’s blow had cut open the back of Tyberos’ armour, exposing the dense power cables and complex machinery within. Tyberos whirled around, swinging his fist around to smack away at Astinon. But the Commander once again brought up his power sword, uttering an oath to the Emperor as he did so.

The next sound that came from Tyberos’ throat was the most horrifying yet, and it brought the Corvians to their feet. Astinon had cut off the warlord’s left hand at the wrist, his sword having cut cleanly through the thick armour and bone underneath.

Twenty-five remaining Carcharadons gathered around the kneeling Corvians, chain-axes and chainswords trained forwards at their heads. Outright hate was written on their blood-shot and blood-drenched faces. Tyberos, clutching his severed hand, looked around at Astinon and his five warriors, his once-handsome though scarred features now twisted into a rictus of bestial savagery. The Victor of Endymion was truly dead. He got up and approached the captive Corvians.

‘You will pay for these affronts, you whoresons!’ he roared and motioned to his warriors. ‘Cut their heads from their bodies and be done with them! This has gone on long enough!’ The Carcharadons raised their weapons high, ready to bring them down and decapitate the proud Sons of Corax.

Astinon looked Tyberos straight in his eyes, helpless to give an outlet to his pent-up rage. ‘You are pure filth Tyberos, a warrior so unworthy of his genetic heritage that he should take the honourable way out and kill himself!’

‘Shut up, you frakking grox-shit!’ Tyberos roared again.

Astinon and the others laughed in response. ‘We are ready to meet our deaths, renegade, are you?’ asked Manov, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Tyberos looked on in confusion until he heard a chorus of echoing battle-cries behind him. Salsax had arrived with his reinforcements, and he was but twenty paces behind the warlord.

‘Kill them now!’ screamed Tyberos but it was in vain. A fusillade of bolter shells and plasma discharges riddled his warriors as Salsax’s strike-team unleashed their guns as one. The Raptor Captain himself jumped at Tyberos, his jump-pack providing a slight boost and his massive thunderhammer crackling with cerulean energies as he swung it at the warlord.

Astinon and his five warriors launched themselves at their guards, knocking them down and bent to pick up their own weapons. Just as Astinon’s right hand closed on the hilt of the Stormblade, Salsax’s thunderhammer came down on Tyberos’ head. The weapon’s power field, stronger than that of any normal power weapon, completely crushed the warlord’s head, which burst in an explosion of steaming blood, fried brain matter and chips of broken skull.

His now headless corpse simply collapsed unceremoniously, arms flailing about in uselessness. Astinon heaved a sigh of relief as he appraised his Third Captain. ‘A fine kill at the end, Salsax, good work.’

The Raptor bowed in response. ‘My apologies Commander, at not having made it here sooner, but we had to secure our prize first.’

Astinon’s face lit up with joy at that. ‘The primary objective, you have it, my friend?’ he asked with great excitement.

Salsax nodded solemnly. ‘Seven hundred and seventy-two perfectly stored stasis tubes, my lord. Apothecary Vex confirmed the contents are in prime condition.’

The Commander rested his hands on his Captain’s shoulders. ‘You have made me proud today, Salsax. Admirably done, my friend.’ His face then turned into an expression of concern and he asked. ‘What of Dheimmel and Adrastos though, are they alright?’

‘Captain Dheimmel is presently busy extracting his strike team to his warship, Commander. His team took the least casualties since they were never under any serious attack by the enemy. Captain Adrastos also succeeded in his battle in the north-east manufactorum and emerged victorious. It seemed the enemy strength was concentrated on you and me.’

‘Very well, brother,’ acknowledged Astinon. ‘Signal the Montisgarre and prepare to extract the entire force from this cursed planet.’

‘By your word, Commander,’ Salsax saluted and then left. Astinon took one last glance at the corpse of Tyberos of the Red Wake, the Victor of Endymion and then followed Salsax out of the manufactorum, muttering to himself.

‘Medan will be destroyed, Tyberos. A storm of fire and ash will sweep the entire planet and purge it of its heresy.’

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 5:38 pm
by Dorian
So, you give me Tyberos just to kill him off a chapter later?!?! Damn you! ;) And once again I've had a great time reading your story. Keep up the good work!

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 7:29 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Well at least he died fighting and cursing :D

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 8:32 pm
by Tyrant
Was surprised that Tyberos died so early. Sad though that the Carcharadons had to die, surely Vulkan could have used them in some way.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 9:18 pm
by shadowhawk2008
Tyrant wrote:Was surprised that Tyberos died so early. Sad though that the Carcharadons had to die, surely Vulkan could have used them in some way.


Ah,thank you Tyrant :) Now I know how one of the scenes in Act 3 is going to develop ;)

As for Tyberos dying, when it's time to put down a rabid dog, you put it down.

Re: Sons of Corax (Warhammer 60,000: Age of Dusk)

PostPosted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 10:04 pm
by Tyrant
He seemed rather lucid for a rabid dog! :P