Eric P. Caillibot's Blog, page 5

World of Kiynan History and Timeline

The World of Kiynan is the high fantasy setting for The Kiynan Chronicles series. It is a medieval fantasy world peopled by many different cultures, each with their own histories, religions, aspirations and problems. Once ruled by the mighty Lethean civilization, the World has since been taken over by humans. Magic is produced by intense emotion and can only be wielded by those trained in mastering their inner feelings.

It is a world of political intrigue, clashing cultures, mysterious elementals, power-hungry nobles, self-righteous theocrats and heroes of every stripe.

Ornish ReckoningWestern EventsOrnland Events-4000Fall of Lethe-1000Ornish master magic0Founders’ War;
Formation of the Houses625 The War for Varice 640Founding of Gaurvia644Byron conquers Varice;
Gaurvian-Qume warFirst Conjurer’s War;
Destruction of House Scorn650End of Byron’s reignFall of Skywall;
Beginning of the Magician’s War655Refugees flee Ornland and create New Ornland on Kiynan700Gaurvians and Fled begin trading970Gaurvian War of Succession990Rise of Blackheart994Blackheart conquers VariceSecond Conjurer’s War1000Blackheart invades KiynanWorld of Kiynan TimelineThe Lethean Empire

Long before humans learned to build cities, the Lethean Empire dominated the World of Kiynan. At its height, it spanned across most of the world, including the continents of Ornland and Kiynan. They ruled for untold millenia before abruptly vanishing.

The Letheans were tall, lanky beings, with grey skin and no facial features other than a single, wide eyeslit. The Lethean eye was for both seeing and communicating among themselves, by flashing in complex patterns and colours. Their serene movements and silence created an aura about them that the primitive peoples of Ornland and Kiynan (Ornish and Valkans) found alluring. The Letheans were powerful magicians, having experimented with many forms of emotion, and were much more advanced than the humans and Valkans of their day.

A great deal of mystery still surrounds the Letheans and their sudden disappearance. Legends among the Ornish tell of strange, bright colours in the east that filled the sky and covered the land without warning. They lasted for hours before ceasing suddenly. Total silence followed, as though the World itself held its breath. As normality returned, the Ornish were drawn into the east by their curiosity to discover what had happened and found that only ruins remained, with no sign of the grey giants themselves.

Among the ruins, the Ornish found few but valuable artifacts and records relating to the powers of the Letheans. These were studied diligently for centuries and gradually, the knowledge of the Letheans worked its way into the Ornish consciousness. It mingled with their religion, their very concept of the world and their place in it. This would be central to the Ornish discovering the use and mastery of magic, although the connection to the ancient Letheans would be blurred by the intervening millenia.

The Founder’s War

For a thousand years since magic became prevalent among the Ornish, its use was unregulated. Any and all forms of magic were used and abused. Some rare individuals even managed to wield more than one form of magic. Famous magicians collected a following of students, teaching them their own approach to understanding and mastering the wondrous powers. Some believed in sharing knowledge for its own sake, while others became tyrants and warlords.

Feudalism reigned across the continent of Ornland, with kingdoms rising and falling over the years. Rulers were either magicians themselves or else employed retainers with magical ability, often coercing them into service by holding loved ones as hostages.

Many dreamt of uniting Ornland into a single realm, but only two rulers eventually amassed enough power and influence to attempt to subjugate the continent into their own empire. The smaller neighbours of these kingdoms were invaded and rolled up.

Desperation among the smaller powers lead to increasing use of magic, often with devastating effects, particularly when certain, difficult to control magic types were unleashed.

A group of magicians, not aligned with either major power, decided that non-magicians must never be allowed to control or coerce magicians. Feudal rulers could not be trusted, as their greed and ambition would always push them to use magic irresponsibly. It should be magicians and magicians alone that ruled, for the greater good of the people of Ornland. Furthermore, they determined that magic had to be regulated to protect from widespread harm. As such, several forms of magic had to be outlawed forevermore. This group envisioned a utopia where enlightened magicians served the Ornish people as benevolent philosopher-kings. Everyone would be protected and cared for, through the limitless power of magic.

To regulate, as well as teach and develop the use of magic, a set of Houses would be formed, each dedicated to a particular set of emotions and their magical effects. The founding magicians held a great conference to determine which magics should be embraced, and which would be stamped out.

The Houses were officially formed and began quickly attracting followers to their cause, as they offered to share their knowledge and power with anyone that had the natural potential to learn, regardless of their origins. Working together, the Houses fought and overcame all other rulers, rapidly conquering Ornland and converting the people to their philosophy.

The War for Varice

The inhospitable continent of Varice is home to the Iceborn. Since ancient times, their society organized itself into familial clans, populating every corner of the land, despite the unforgiving climate. This tradition was brought to an end by the rise of three great chieftains, who conquered their neighbouring clans and united them into feudal kingdoms.

Dominating the North of Varice, Harg the Heartless was said to have been half man and half polar bear. His hair had been white since birth, his eyes blood red. His people mined the rich iron deposits of the Red Mountains and armed themselves with mail and swords. On the edge of the great glacier known as The Drifts, he forced workers to toil day and night to carve out the Frozen Keep directly out of the ice, and made it his capital. His people would come to be known as the Hargans, flying a banner of a white bear on a black field.

From the South emerged Caim the Cruel, a giant of a man who would tear off the flesh of his living captives with his bare hands, and leave their rotting skulls in a gruesome pile at the site of his every victory. His people mined ore from the Skyclaw Mountains and wood from the evergreen trees of the Needle Woods. They fought with spears and bows. Caim chose a black skull on a white field as his banner.

From the East came Siv the Savage. He was a man of relatively small stature, but he was cunning and merciless. The lands of the East are tundra covered by permafrost. The Siv, as they came to be knwon, had little ore to mine and little wood to harvest. Instead, they armed themselves with spears and knives made of carved bone. Siv carried a banner showing a white fist clutching a broken spear on a red field.

The three great chieftains were never satisfied by their conquests. They desired dominion over all of Varice. The constant fighting and raiding eventually led to a single decisive battle. Their three armies marched and met upon the wide-open plains of the Field of Bones. In crazed blood frenzy, the three factions charged and locked into a vicious three-cornered struggle.

The Harg were the most ferocious fighters and carved their way through their enemies. Harg himself met Caim on the open field and slew him. Facing the fury of the Hargans, and with their leader lost, the Caimen host broke and fled to the South. Harg sought out Siv, but the marshlander pulled his men eastward, letting the Hargans drive them to the Blood Lake.

When they reached its shores, the Siv, armed with their light leather and bone weapons, broke and fled across the frozen surface of the lake. The Heartless one charged unthinkingly over the ice, and his people followed, wearing their heavy mail and carrying their heavy iron weapons. The ice cracked and the Hargan warriors plunged into the icy waters of the lake, many drowning, pulled down by their armour. But Harg ripped off his mail and swam through the icy waters to the other shore. As he came up on the other side, he raised his two-handed great sword and bellowed to his troops: “NO MERCY!” His troops took heart and struggled through the cold waters to fight the Siv awaiting them on the other bank. The Siv were knocked aside by Harg as he sought their leader.

Finally, Siv met him as Harg’s white beard and long hair froze stiff. Frost-bitten, freezing and bleeding, Harg fought like a demon and cut Siv in half with a mighty swing of his giant blade. Even as the few Hargan troops who had managed to swim across were slain by the Siv, Harg the Heartless fought on. No one could stop him in his berserker wrath. Finally, as the last of his host died behind him and no Siv dared face him, Harg stopped his screaming and thrashing, and stood perfectly still. There he died, frozen to death, stiff as a statue, and there he remains.

Byron son of Siv, later called Byron the Bloody, picked up his father’s broken spear and rallied his victorious troops. He marched South and finished the Caimen. Thereafter, Varice was ruled for six years by the sinister marshlanders. Upon the death of Byron the Bloody, the Hargans and the Caimen rebelled and reasserted their independence, dividing Varice once again into three kingdoms. This would remain the status quo for centuries, until the rise of Masc Blackheart.

The Founding of Gaurvia

While the Iceborn had always known conflict in their daily struggle for survival, the ceaseless warring between Harg, Siv and Caim brought new levels of suffering and death to the people of Varice. Many refugees sought to escape the fighting and in desperation, they fled across the Cold Sea using whatever watercraft they could get, including improvised rafts. Many did not survive the crossing, but those who did could not believe their good fortune when they arrived in the temperate, fertile lands of Kiynan. They began new lives and quickly prospered in their new home, which they named Gaurvia.

As Gaurvia thrived, it expanded southwards and the newcomers soon encountered the Qume, a population native to Kiynan that was itself expanding northwards. The two peoples were immediately hostile toward each other, which inevitably led to war. The Gaurvians had brought with them a martial tradition from Varice, along with more advanced metal-working technology, while the Qume were accustomed to plenty and had lived in relative peace for many years. Over several years, the Gaurvians won most engagements decisively and pushed their rivals further and further South. The Qume gradually learned to adopt the Gaurvians’ ways, as their only hope for survival. They hurriedly constructed a powerful fortress at the mouth of their home peninsula, which they named Gaurbane. It was at Gaurbane that the Qume were finally able to reverse their fortunes and defeat the Gaurvians. A truce was signed and although many minor skirmishes would occur throughout the following decades, the Qume were never able to reclaim any of the territory that they had lost.

Instead, an uneasy peace settled over the two nations and tolerance, if not acceptance, became the norm. Trade would pick up between Gaurvia, Qume and later, with the Sea Tribes populating the southern islands as well.

First Conjurer’s War

Following the end of the Founder’s War, a period of stability settled over Ornland. Over the centuries, the Houses enforced an increasingly strict theocratic rule over the Ornish, while tensions grew between the leaders of the Houses.

While it was a golden age, many free thinkers began to question whether the restrictions on magic types remained necessary, as they had been during the Founder’s War. A resurgence of interest in forbidden magic was sparked and some believed such magic could bring about an end to the stale-mate between the Houses.

Secret societies began to form, dedicated to delving into the all-but-forgotten magics. Most prominent among them was House Scorn, founded in secret by Daimin the Mauve, hidden among the ruins of Lethe in the easternmost part of Ornland, to be isolated from interference. Daimin succeeded in his magical experiments and found a way to conjure demonic spirits into the physical world. He and his followers summoned many such spirits, providing them with dead flesh to animate or with living vessels to possess. They created an army.

Fearing the damage that Daimin could inflict with his demonic horde, Cadvin the Blue, the Master of House Calm, organized a coalition of the Houses to put an end to House Scorn. The combined armies marched into the ruins to root out the Conjurers. The battle lasted days, and many magicians were slain by the demons but in the end, Cadvin the Blue, the most powerful magician to have ever lived, led his forces to victory. Daimin’s disciples were killed, the demons were banished back to the spirit world, and Daimin fell. The wraith that had been Daimin in life was imprisoned within the spirit world. For centuries, he searched for a way to return to the physical world to exact revenge on the Houses of Ornland. When he finally succeeded, it would lead to the Second Conjurer’s War and the events of The Conquest of Kiynan.

The Magicians’ War

After the destruction of House Scorn, the gathered leaders of the Houses decided to expand their crusade to expunge all illegal magicians, who had become the scapegoats for all of their society’s ills. Cadvin the Blue refused to cooperate, advocating for an end to the violence and a renewed dialogue, hoping to prevent more of the pain and suffering that had come from the First Conjurer’s War. He was outvoted and the coalition carried on without Cadvin’s leadership.

The armies of the coalition spread violence across the continent, giving their theocratic rulers tyrannical authority, while Cadvin continued to speak out against them. The leaders of the other Houses met in secret and blamed Cadvin and House Calm for having allowed the radicals to get as far as they had in the first place. Giving in to jealousy and greed, they agreed to turn against House Calm and divide its lands among themselves. Only House Despair refused, warning that the destruction of House Calm would plunge Ornland into further chaos. The remaining Houses proceeded regardless, and laid siege to Skywall, the floating castle of House Calm.

House Calm put up surprisingly little resistance and Skywall fell quickly, both figuratively and literally. Questions surrounding how and why House Calm allowed itself to be defeated so readily abounded and remain a mystery. Regardless, House Calm was no more and with it gone, the uneasy balance of power that had existed for centuries was destroyed, as House Despair had warned. The victorious coalition set about dividing the lands of House Calm between themselves, but tensions flared and their alliance shattered.

What followed became known as the Magician’s War, not a single conflict, but a collection of never-ending skirmishes, proxy-wars and battles that lasted centuries. Temporary alliances were formed between different Houses against others and broken as quickly. The people of Ornland suffered, as they never had before. The first few years saw the bloodiest battles and slaughters and many common Ornish were left with nothing.

Thousands of Ornish abandoned their home continent and took to the sea in search of a place to rebuild their lives and raise their children in security. These people became known as the Fled. The rest remained behind despite the violence, steadfast in their belif that their deity, Orn the Protector, would keep them safe and end the war. They became known as the Faithful, and while they suffered through the Magician’s War, they kept their traditions alive and continued to hope for the day when balance would be restored to their homeland.

The Fled sailed from what would be called Cape Destiny using a fleet of hastily assembled skiffs. The sea was ever calm and little wind was felt. The Fled sat in their ships, drifting along at an agonizing pace. The oppressing stillness of the Silent Sea weighed on them. Many starved, others flung themselves into the waters in madness. Finally, they sighted land in the distance and dubbed it August Point. They landed and discovered a lush, bountiful and unspoiled paradise, which was to become their new home on Kiynan. They founded a new country which they named New Ornland. Ever fearful of retribution from the Faithful, the Fled built a strong castle as their capital, christening it Haven. No assault ever came, and the Fled grew and prospered. They explored West along the coasts of Kiynan and soon came into contact with the Gaurvians and Sea Tribes. They soon began trading with these new cultures. The Fled found especially significant common ground with the Gaurvians due to their similar histories, and they became fast allies.

Gaurvian War of Succession

As Gaurvia prospered over the years, an appreciation for learning grew among the nobililty. Some began advancing the notion that everyone should receive education, which in turn would further prosperity for all. A division began to form between these advocates and the rest of the nobility who believed that such widespread education would undermine their power over the common populace. Chief among the education advocates was the crown prince, Manss Proudfist. Tired of the inane prattle of the courtiers in Vidliank, Gaurvia’s captial, he devised a bold strategy to foster rapid social change.

Against the King’s, his father’s, wishes, Manss rode North with his most valorous and wise followers. He began to transform a tiny fishing village into a fortified city, which he named Daybreak. There, he founded an academy teaching history, philosophy, herbalism, writing, mathematics, music and sculpture. He decreed that only learned knights could fight for him and that only educated peasants could serve him. As Manss had hoped, the promise of enlightenment drew many Gaurvians and others to him, and his city grew rapidly. The King petitioned his son to return to Vidliank, but he became deathly ill and could take no direct action. Soon after, the King died leaving Manss as the only heir to the throne of Gaurvia.

Manss refused to return to Vidliank. Instead, he raised a new banner of a golden sunburst upon black, and proclaimed himself to be the King of Paladia, the Northern peninsula. The other Gaurvian nobles were quick to recognize Paladia’s independence and each sought to stake a claim to the throne of the rest of Gaurvia.

No faction was able to take control and civil war soon broke out between the would-be claimants. Seeing a chance to retake some of their lost territory, the Qume immediately moved against the Gaurvians, burning villages and sacking the city of Nunliss. Divided, the Gaurvians were unable to oppose the invasion. When the Qume reached Vidliank, King Proudfist rode South with his Paladin army to lift the siege. His highly trained and disciplined force won a decisive victory and the Qume were forced to flee back to their peninsula.

Recognizing that he had a duty to end the chaos and bloodshed, Manss Proudfist named his cousin Rigar Stoneworth as the new King of Gaurvia. With Manss’ backing, King Stoneworth was able to unite the disparate factions. The Paladins soon returned to Daybreak and peace settled over the realm once again.

Paladia continued to provide education for any and all, and remained welcoming to immigrants from every part of the world. As a result, it quickly became the most cosmopolitan kingdom in the World.

Rise of Blackheart

Masc Blackheart was born the eldest son of Ulam Blackheart, King of Harg. For centuries, the rulers of Varice, like Ulam, had been content to exploit their power to keep themselves comfortable. While they would periodically engage in conflict with their neighbors, it was as much for sport as for any meaningful gains. At a young age, Masc recognized that he was different from the mindless brutes like his father. He possessed a keen intellect and burning ambition, and he was disgusted by those of lesser-mind around him. When he finally took the throne, he wasted no time in launching an all-out invasion of Siv.

The Siv were unprepared for the onslaught and were outmaneuvered by Blackheart at every turn. The Hargans saw in him Harg the Heartless born again. The fighting was short-lived and soon, Blackheart was marching into Caim, his army bolstered by new conscripts from the conquered marshlands.

Having seen the fate of Siv, the Caimen were prepared for Blackheart’s invasion and met them with an ambush as they entered the Needle Woods. Even so, the Caimen were no match for the much larger army and were forced to retreat. Knowing that a head-on confrontation on open ground would result in a massacre of his troops, King Haal Quickeye of Caim had surrendered his kingdom without any further resistance.

Blackheart had conquered the entire continent of Varice, bending the three hardened Iceborn peoples to his will. He had equalled the feat of Byron son of Siv, but he was not content. As soon as his conquest of Varice was complete, he began preparing to take his armies over the Cold Sea. High King Masc Blackheart the Conqueror was not satisfied. He wanted the World, leading to the events of The Conquest of Kiynan.

Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 10

Nero nudged the controls of the gun-cutter as he completed the maneuvers to dock with the captured Gamoran raider. As soon as the airlock finished cycling, his companions rushed toward the command bridge and he followed. He cast a woeful glance over his shoulder at the gun-cutter, uncomfortable with trading it in for the unarmed and damaged raider. Nero knew that the small craft’s weapons and defenses would do little against the Gamoran light cruiser presently stalking them, but he had still felt less helpless aboard the gun-cutter. 

As Nero reached the command bridge, Shen Tygan was already updating Lokus. 

“… plasma torpedo! It’s approaching the debris field around Palados and definitely homing on us! What are we going to do? We can’t fight in this wreck!”

“We need to get back to the Holy Enterprise,” Lokus answered angrily. 

“Stand aside,” Nero interjected as he dashed to the piloting station. “I’ve outmaneuvered torpedoes before.”

The raider responded slowly and Nero worried that this flight would be more desperate than anticipated. He began maneuvering through the vast debris field leftover from the devastating battle between the Gamoran invasion force and the Sinerian defenders. 

The rest of the Sinerian crew jumped into action. Phi Rho 81 deployed his utility mechadendrite and interfaced with the ship’s systems, tweaking engine parameters to squeeze the most optimal speed possible from the engines. Lokus seated himself at the sensorium controls and concentrated intensely on the active augury, feverishly tracking the torpedoe’s progress and any debris fragments of dangerous size. Alarak joined the seneschal, nervously peering over his shoulder at the displays.

Suddenly, Lokus cried out in delight. ”The torpedo struck a wreck and exploded!”

“But the Gamorans have launched another one,” Alarak announced, bringing Lokus’ attention back to the display.

Lokus hailed the Enterprise on the vox, issuing orders to have it set a heading that would put it between the raider and the enemy ship as quickly as possible. Nero reviewed the readouts and saw that the Sinerian ship wouldn’t reach them in time to intercept the next torpedo unless they were able to pick up speed.

“Phi Rho,” he called over his shoulder, “I need more power.”

“Engine performance is currently optimal,” the explorator responded in his metallic voice.

“We need better if you don’t want to end up as glowing dust!” Nero emphasized.

“Understood,” said Phi Rho. “Boosting speed. Note that the engine’s operating profile is now outside of recommended safety parameters.”

“I’d rather that risk than to take our chances with the torpedo!”

Alarak called out a warning and Nero quickly adjusted course to avoid what looked like the bridge section of a cruiser ahead of them. 

A worrisome vibration was felt throughout the ship as Nero and his companions pushed the damaged vehicle to its limits. Riggs’ impassive demeanor cracked into a frown and he  joined Alarak and Lokus at the sensorium. 

“The raider’s machine spirit is strong,” Phi Rho reassured the others.

“Almost clear…” Nero called, seeing the edge of the debris field.

“We’re out!” Riggs exclaimed excitedly, before quickly regaining his composure. 

“Out of the debris,” Nero commented, “but that light cruiser is still bearing down on us.”

“Nero, get us aboard the Enterprise,” Lokus called.

“We need to get out of this system,” added Riggs, “we’re in no shape to fight that ship.”

“Let’s take the gun-cutter to get over there,” said Nero. 

“We need repairs for the Enterprise and for this leaking space bucket,” said Lokus.

“Footfall is the closest port for repairs,” Alarak offered.

“I’ll be able to make my way back to Terra from there,” said Tiberius.

“Then it’s settled,” Lokus concluded.

Nero’s eyes never left his console as the conversation continued around him. Being free from the debris, he was able to make straight for the Enterprise. Despite the adrenaline pumping through him, he cracked a smile. Maybe one pilot in ten could have pulled off what he had just done, and even then, not with a damaged ship. There was no way the Gamoran ship would catch them now. 

“We’re in range,” he reported to the bridge at large. “Let’s get to the gun-cutter and back to the Enterprise. Someone else can fly this wreck to port.”

There were no arguments as the Sinerians made their way aft. In moments, they were space-borne and rapidly closing the short distance to their flagship. They passed a handful of shuttlecraft heading in the opposite direction, carrying the captured raider’s new skeleton crew from the Enterprise. 

Nero and his companions wasted no time making their way to the Enterprise’s bridge after landing the gun-cutter. As they marched through corridors, dozens of crewmembers caught sight of Tiberius. Some saluted, others cheered or were simply stunned, but there was no question that the rogue trader’s presence was a welcome boost to morale. Nero kept his expression serious, but smiled inwardly, feeling that his family had been at least partially restored.

As soon as they reached the bridge, Nero took control of the helm once again. He began a set of maneuvers designed to disengage from the enemy light cruiser and close on the Mandeville Point. The Gamoran torpedoes would no longer have a chance of catching up to them.

“Warp jump in sixty minutes,” Nero called. “Alarak, it’s time to do your thing.”

“I will prepare for our journey to Footfall,” the navigator replied and left the bridge.

“We’ll have you out of here safely in no time,” Lokus reassured Tiberius. 

“I’d like to say a few words to the crew,” the rogue trader replied. He keyed into the ship-wide vox and began in a solemn tone. 

“Attention all personnel, this is Tiberius Sinerian speaking. You have certainly heard stories of the Gamoran betrayal and perhaps even believed me to be dead. Well, I am standing on the bridge of the Holy Enterprise at this moment to assure you that I, and our dynasty, are very much alive. True, we have suffered losses, but in every crisis there is also opportunity. The Emperor smiles upon those who persevere! You are all now serving aboard the official flagship of the Sinerian dynasty. It is a great honour and one that your children and your children’s children will remember.

“Already, we have reclaimed our colony on Shinfuken and have begun to rebuild our fleet. And the Gamorans will not go unpunished for their crimes against us, I promise you that! Soon, I will make my way to Terra and lay our grievances at the feet of the High Lords themselves! I will leave you in the hands of my most capable and trusted lieutenants. There are yet untapped allies and opportunities for us in the Koronus Expanse. Do your jobs with honour and you serve the Emperor’s will. 

“That is all.”

Tiberius terminated his address. Nero exchanged a look of pride with Lokus at his rogue trader’s words and he noticed that even the newcomer, Riggs, was not unmoved by the speech. 

“Now,” Tiberius said, turning to his senior staff, “you said Mazer is in stasis? Take me to my nephew.”

Lokus’ eyes widened slightly, but he nodded and led the way off the bridge. Nero, Phi Rho 81 and Riggs followed behind Tiberius and his retinue.

The group entered the apothecarium where they found Shen Tygan returned to his usual duties. The nervous medic brought Tiberius to the stasis chamber that held Mazer Sinerian. Tiberius wilted visibly as he contemplated his nephew. 

“What are his injuries?” the rogue trader asked quietly. 

“He… uh… well,” Tygan stumbled and looked helplessly at the others. 

“He suffered minor head trauma during our initial conflict with the Gamorans,” Phi Rho stated drily. 

“Oh?” Tiberius replied in surprise. “But why does he need to be kept in stasis then?”

“What Phi Rho means,” Lokus jumped in, “is that Mazer collapsed during the Gamoran surprise attack. He suffered a severe blow to the head and we cannot be certain of the extent of the neurological damage. We could not afford to risk his health, as I’m sure you can appreciate, and we could not be certain we could trust anyone to help. The Gamorans seem to have agents everywhere we turn.”

Tiberius nodded. “We can’t be too careful. It would be best to keep him in stasis until I get back to Terra.”

“That would be best,” Lokus agreed.

Nero exchanged a look with Riggs, who frowned in confusion but said nothing. Nero decided that staying out of the conversation was definitely the right approach.

“Rest assured, I will find Mazer the very best care,” Tiberius continued. “I promise that your captain will return to you in excellent health, regardless of the expense.”

A short while later, Nero breathed a sigh of relief as the Enterprise translated into the warp. The Sinerians had not succeeded in reclaiming Palados, but with Tiberius rescued, a new ship added to their fleet and the gift of the gun-cutter Tiberius planned to leave them with, Nero felt optimistic about the future for the first time since the Gamoran surprise attack.

The journey to Footfall proved to be free of disturbances and even faster than Nero had hoped, although the Enterprise returned to real space uncomfortably close to the void colony. Nero frowned, this was becoming a habit. He would have to have a word with the navigator.

Even before the Enterprise completed docking, an army of dubious characters hailed the Sinerians to offer services and wares. Alarak disembarked and headed off into the markets in search of a Heretek for some cybernetic augmentation. Riggs left with him. Lokus chose to do business with a withered man with oversized augmetic eyes who introduced himself as Fitzgig. Nero listened without interest as Lokus haggled over the price of parts and repairs.

“You’ll ruin me, but fine, fine, it’s a deal,” replied Fitzgig on the holodisplay. 

“Wonderful,” Lokus replied. “I’ll leave you to finalize the technical details with my companion, Phi Rho 81. I’m off to purchase a little something for me. Perhaps a Mordian power sword…”

Lokus left the bridge while Phi Rho began discussing the specifications for the new modules to be added to the raider.

“I need a name for your second ship for my records,” said Fitzgig.

Phi Rho 81 shrugged and looked impassively over at Nero. The void master cracked a half-smile as he answered. “Why, it’s the Renaissance, of course.”

The post Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 10 appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

The Scouring of Hillcrest Mine

“Hillcrest Mine has been overrun. The flow of valuable minerals from the mine, the very lifeblood of our village, has thus been stopped. Bold adventurers are needed at once to cleanse the mine and restore Hillcrest to health. I hereby pledge one hundred gold pieces to anyone who succeeds in this crucial endeavour.” 

– Baron Beckett

The rogues known as Billybobles and Nowhere took notice of the announcement nailed to the wall of their local tavern. The dragonborn and tiefling had long been friends, ever since Billybobles had taken pity on the lonely street urchin and shared some of the wealth he had heroically seized from a local tyrant. The pair were desperate for a new opportunity and quickly made their way to Hillcrest. 

They wasted no time upon arrival and headed straight to the Baron’s humble castle, eager to enlist. At the castle gates, they met Eravon, a wood elf ranger from a distant land, led there by his search for adventure. The charismatic rogues effortlessly won over the taciturn elf and the three adventurers instantly became a team. They were guided into the castle to await an audience with the Baron. As they waited at the foot of a great staircase, they met yet another hopeful adventurer, who introduced himself as Simon the Serpent, a human rogue.

Simon avowed himself unimpressed with the three would-be heroes and scoffed at their chances of success in the mine. Bristling at the insult, Nowhere raged at the human, his voice magically booming as loud as thunder. Simon quickly retracted his comments. 

A tall, lanky half-elf in rich robes appeared at the top of the stairs. A nearby guard tapped the base of his spear against the ground for attention and introduced the man as Chancellor Dylan.

“The Baron will see you now,” the Chancellor announced. “You may follow me.”

He turned and began walking, leaving the four adventurers to scramble up the stairs in pursuit. They were led into a broad audience chamber, where a slovenly, fat old man wearing bright red clothing sat upon a modest wooden throne. 

“His lordship, Baron Beckett,” announced the Chancellor with a faint look of distaste on his face. He took up his position, standing on the right side of the seated Baron. 

“Greetings adventurers!” the Baron began, between bites of the turkey leg he held in one hand. “Our village is unable to function. We depend upon our mine and so I depend upon you. You must restore our livelihoods! The people of Hillcrest are depending on your bravery and heroism.”

“What evidence will you require to prove that we have succeeded in our quest?” asked Eravon.

“Bring me the heads of the kobold vermin!” Baron Beckett demanded.

After having pledged to complete the quest and confirmed the promised reward, the four adventurers headed back into the village. They stopped at the only tavern around, the Lonely Loon. From the outside, it looked rough, dark and disturbing. 

As they entered, the bartender and a handful of morose patrons did not bother looking up. Nowhere used his magic to color the faint candlelight and loudly slam the door behind the group. That got them some immediate attention.

“Well well,” the bartender began, “more adventurers here to seek their fortune in the mine. Seven adventurers have gone in before you and not one has come back out. You think you can do any better?”

“Leave off,” replied a grizzled old-timer sitting at the bar. “We need that mine cleared out and it sure won’t be you or I who will do it! Get these people some food and drink.”

The group settled in for some light refreshment and listened as the old man revealed he was a miner, eager to get back to work. He provided directions to the mine when asked and soon enough, the adventurers were on their way. 

Eravon easily read the land and unerringly led the group to the mine’s entrance, a narrow cave cut into the side of a craggy hill. Unable to see into the dark ahead, Billybobles and Simon kindled torches to light their way. Eravon and Nowhere stealthily crept forward, while Billybobles kept an eye on the group’s rear. 

The ranger spotted a group of large cave rats and held up a hand to halt his companions, lest they give away their presence. With an expert eye, he skewered a rat with a single shot of his longbow. Three more of the vermin chittered their rage and charged. Nowhere brandished his dual shortswords and Billybobles brought his shortbow to bear on the enemy. The skirmish was over in a matter of seconds. Four rats lay dead and there was not a scratch on any of the brave adventurers. 

“Where is Simon?” asked Eravon. 

There was no sign of the human. The three adventurers proceeded without him and soon reached a fork in the tunnel. Choosing the left path, they continued carefully until they reached a dead end. 

“Let’s turn back,” Billybobles whispered. 

“Wait!” said Nowhere. “There’s something strange about that wall…”

Investigating more carefully, they discovered that a portion of the wall cleverly concealed an opening. Inside was a treasure chest.

Billybobles pulled out his lockpicks and went to work. In a few moments, the chest was open. Each adventurer took a potion of healing, Nowhere claimed the magical bag of holding, while Billybobles tried on a pair of goggles, discovering that they allowed him to see clearly in the dark. Eravon was left with an amulet covered with strange markings that no one could identify.

“We’ll need to hire a wizard to find out what this does,” said the elf as he examined the magical artifact.

Nowhere tested his new bag by putting the empty treasure chest inside and watching it disappear. Stowing the rest of their treasures, the group retraced their steps and took the right path when they reached the fork once again. They could hear the sounds of metal impacting stone in the distance. 

“That’s strange,” Eravon remarked.

“It sounds like there is still mining going on down there,” Nowhere commented. 

“I thought the mine was shut down,” whispered Billybobles. 

Before they could discuss further, the ranger silenced his companions with a gesture. In the darkness ahead, the adventurers could just make out a pack of kobolds. Eravon launched an arrow into the unsuspecting enemies, pinning one to the wall. 

One of the other kobolds retaliated with its sling while two more charged at the adventurers brandishing daggers. Nowhere immediately wounded one of his opponents, but struggled to finish it with his off-hand attack. The angry kobold shoved its dagger into Nowhere’s gut, piercing his leather armor. Billybobles finished the sling-wielding kobold with his shortbow then he and Eravon rushed into the fray to help Nowhere. The battle was hard fought, with the kobolds’ daggers drawing more blood before the adventurers finally finished them off. When it was over, the heroes gratefully drank the healing potions they had found earlier, feeling their wounds magically knit close. 

“And now for the evidence the Baron requested,” said Nowhere. He hacked off the heads of the fallen monsters and placed them in the empty treasure chest he had kept. 

“It looks like this was their latrine,” said Billybobles over by the wall where the adventurers has found the kobolds. 

“Let’s give the Baron a little surprise,” Nowhere replied. He chuckled to himself as he scooped some poop from the floor into the mouths of the kobold heads. Eravon frowned.

“Let’s see where those mining sounds are coming from,” he said. 

Creeping noiselessly, the adventurers followed the dark tunnel deeper into the mine. The digging sounds grew louder and they could observe light in the distance. At last, they could see into a wide chamber. Seven men, of a variety of races, were toiling with pickaxes. They wore rags and were chained together at the ankle. A soldier dressed in chain mail and holding a spear guarded the miners. Behind him, Simon the Serpent kept watch on the tunnel into the chamber, holding his rapier at the ready, but apparently unaware of the stealthy adventurers. 

Eravon fired his longbow and his companions charged into the cave. Simon was wounded by the arrow and almost immediately knocked unconscious by the hilt of Billybobles’ sword. The armored guard shouted his surprise and attacked with his spear. In a magically booming voice, Nowhere demanded surrender and the outnumbered soldier fell to his knees in submission. 

“Thank the gods!” the prisoners cried out. “We were adventurers sent into the mines by the Baron. But we were betrayed by Chancellor Dylan and his minions.” They gave the prone Simon a few angry kicks. “They forced us to work the mine and kept all the ore for themselves!”

“We need to report this to the Baron immediately,” said Eravon to his companions. 

“What about them?” asked Nowhere, nodding at the chained men. “I’m not splitting our reward!”

“We don’t care about the gold,” the failed adventurers replied miserably. “We just want out of here! The adventuring life is clearly not meant for us… We’ll testify against the Chancellor. We can’t let him get away with this.”

The adventurers agreed and freed the prisoners from their chains. The entire group marched out of the mine and straight back to the Baron’s humble castle. The adventurers quickly explained the situation to the castle guards, who led them into the Baron’s audience chamber without delay. 

They found the Baron sitting on his throne, eating again. He was amazed to see that all of the  adventurers were still alive and shocked to learn of the Chancellor’s betrayal.

“Guards!” the Baron bellowed, “arrest the Chancellor at once!”

His soldiers ran out of the room to obey.

“What about the kobolds?” the Baron asked. “Have you dealt with them?”

Smirking, Nowhere withdrew the treasure box from his magical bag and handed it to the Baron. The old man cocked a shaggy eyebrow and opened it. He immediately gagged at the smell. 

“Is that… Are their mouths full of… poop?” he asked in disgust. 

Billybobles and Nowhere smiled at each other, but before they could respond, the Baron’s guards returned. 

“The Chancellor has fled the castle, my lord,” they announced in dismay. 

The Baron shook his head and put down the chest. “I cannot believe my own Chancellor has betrayed me and the people of Hillcrest!” He turned back to the adventurers. “Though the villain escaped, you brave heroes have accomplished what I asked and more. Our miners can finally return to work and our village will return to life. Take your prize with my immense gratitude.”

Nowhere took the sack of gold coins proffered by the Baron. The three companions left the castle with smiles on their faces, already thinking of their next adventure…

The post The Scouring of Hillcrest Mine appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 9

Lokus contemplated the data slate in his hands. He had read the report it contained about what little the Holy Enterprise‘s auspex could reveal about the state of Palados. It was not encouraging. 

A vast cloud of debris encircled the planet for thousands of kilometers. The fighting between the Gamorans and Sinerians had been intense. The sensorium officers had estimated that a dozen vessels had met their ultimate end in the battle, but it was impossible to know the exact figure. Virtually all of Palados’ artificial satellites had also been pulverized.

At least the surface seemed to have fared better. There had clearly been some orbital bombardment, but nothing extensive. Palados City’s shields and weapon defenses remained intact. The Gamorans had wanted to claim Palados, not erase it. 

Lokus shook his head. Unbidden memories surfaced. He remembered watching the sun rise over the skyline of Palados City, from the balcony of his penthouse in a modest skyscraper. The city, really a backwater village by Imperium standards, was as close to a home as he had ever known, other than the void ships where he had spent so much of his life. As the capital of the Sinerian dynasty, he had returned to Palados City countless times. Often to meet with Tiberius Sinerian himself. Tiberius… Could he have survived the Gamoran invasion?

“Hundred Eyes,” Lokus called, looking over at the astropath. 

The old woman still appeared remarkably resilient, despite her age and the long years of manipulating caustic warp energies. At Lokus’ call, she opened her eyes and shook her head.

“Still nothing,” she replied to the unspoken question. “If there are indeed loyal Sinerian forces that remain on the planet, they do not have an astropath with them.”

“We must delay no further,” Phi Rho 81 declared from across the bridge. “The Gamoran light cruiser is still out there. “Further idleness represents unacceptable risk.”

The door hissed open and all eyes turned watch Alarak waddle on to the bridge. Lokus tapped his foot impatiently as the navigator heaved his awkward bulk into a nearby seat.

“Well?” Lokus demanded.

“I have been able to detect a residual trace of the Starscraper’s warp trail,” Alarak replied calmly. “Their most recent trajectory sent them toward Palo II.”

“The gas giant,” Lokus mused aloud. “Could they be hiding from us among the planet’s ice rings? Lying in wait?”

“Not a bad strategy,” Eckhert Riggs commented, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. “Either we go after them and they catch us in an ambush, or we ignore them and they sneak up behind us while we’re busy on the planet.”

“You’re assuming they know we’re here,” Nero interjected.

“They may not have been warned through my signal jamming,” Phi Rho 81 added, “but they may have detected us with their own auspex by now.”

“I don’t like it,” Lokus declared, tossing his data slate into a junior officer’s hands. The young man scrambled to get a hold of it in a panic, unnoticed by the seneschal. “I say we take a few of our prisoners, put them back aboard the captured raider and send it to meet up with their friends. We rig the engines to overload and as soon as it is in range, BOOM! No more light cruiser breathing down our necks.”

“And our glorious Sinerian fleet is reduced to a lone ship once again,” Alarak noted. Lokus frowned.

“What about the Golden Destiny?” Hundred Eyes asked.

“Their distress call will have to wait,” Lokus replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’re here now and I’m not leaving until we discover Tiberius’ fate, at least.”

“We should board the raider and use it to approach the planet without alerting the Gamorans,” Phi Rho 81 suggested. 

“The ruse will be over as soon as they detect our unauthorized landing craft,” Riggs mused. “But it should buy us some time.”

The debate over how to deal with the lurking enemy ship–or not–continued for several minutes before Lokus tired of it. 

“Forget the Starscraper,” he decided in exasperation. “Let’s get on the raider.” He keyed his micro-bead. “Nikita, Emulus, Tygan. Report to the captured Gamoran raider. You’re coming with us to Palados.”

Lokus walked off the bridge, heading to his quarters to retrieve his combat gear. He was sure a trip to the surface would be necessary. Maybe to find the surviving Sinerian loyalists. Or maybe just to kill Benjin Yurts. 

The seneschal thought back to the journey through the Empyrean that had brought him to the Palo system. Alarak had managed to retrieve a list of names from Captain Bligh, the murderous warp ghost that haunted the Holy Enterprise. Killing those marked men might be enough to put an end to Bligh stalking the ship, if the word of a warp creature actually meant anything.

“Worth a try,” Lokus muttered to himself. What was a few more deaths on his hands?

His complete and efficient research had shown that six of the thirteen men on the list were confirmed dead on distant worlds. Benjin Yurts was one of the remaining survivors and he had signed on with the Sinerians as a void master. His last known location was Palados City.

The Sinerian senior staff gathered on the bridge of the captured Gamoran raider and Lokus gave the order to undock it from the Holy Enterprise. They manoeuvred the small vessel into low orbit around the planet, being careful to keep out of reach of the capital city’s devastating defenses, just in case. The Enterprise held back, remaining well away from the planet to reduce the risk of detection.

The Sinerian staff began monitoring any and all signal traffic, looking for any sign of the Sinerian resistance their Gamoran prisoners had revealed. 

“I’ve got something!” Alarak declared excitedly. As Lokus and the others clustered around the vox station he was using, he switched the audio to the bridge address system for all to hear. 

“… journey through moonless night,” spoke a voice Lokus did not recognize. 

“Only seekers of the red dawn,” Alarak answered with the familiar Sinerian code phrase. 

“Standby. Eagle ascendant,” the voice replied. 

Lokus held his breath. Had he heard that correctly? That was the codename for Tiberius himself. A moment later, the familiar voice rang out over the vox. 

“I cannot sufficiently express my joy at the arrival of reinforcements!” he said. “We’ve been entirely cut off since the Gamorans first attacked. How much of the fleet have you brought?”

Lokus hesitated and exchanged looks of concern with his comrades.

“I’m sorry to say… there is no fleet anymore,” he answered at length. “From what we’ve been able to gather, the Gamorans struck at nearly all of our assets simultaneously… and won.”

“Impossible!” the shock was unmistakable in Tiberius’ tone. “What treachery is this? How could they have achieved that? There must be something left!”

“We do still have the Holy Enterprise,” Lokus hastened to answer, “and we have succeeded in retaking Shinfuken.”

“Well, that’s something,” Tiberius replied.

“We also received word from the Golden Destiny in the Jerazol system,” Nero added. “Although it was an astropathic distress message…”

The vox was silent for several moments before Tiberius’ voice could be heard again.

“My legacy… in ruins…” he muttered in despair. “What about my nephew? Is Mazer with you?”

“He’s been wounded,” Lokus replied. “He is alive, but in stasis for now, back aboard the Enterprise. What is your situation on Palados?” Lokus hastily changed the subject. “Can you tell us what has happened here?”

“A fleet of Gamoran vessels emerged from the warp and attacked us without warning,” Tiberius explained. “We made them pay a heavy price, but our vessels were all destroyed. Then they invaded the city. I can’t believe the number of soldiers they brought… They must have been mustering their army for years. But even worse, there was an uprising. I still can’t believe it, but traitorous citizens rose up to aid the Gamorans against me. I barely escaped the magisterial palace alive. We managed to find refuge in a cave system, about a hundred kilometers outside Palados City’s weapons range. We have a small guerilla force, twenty-two of us. We’ve been reconnoitering Gamoran troop movements and are trying to find a way to infiltrate the palace. I believe they have Caruso Fex, my primary astropath, captive and in stasis. I had hoped to send word to my other forces to call for help, but if what you say is true…”

“There is no other help coming,” Riggs concluded.

“Right. You need to get us off world,” Tiberius ordered, seeming to regain his usual commanding demeanor. “I’ll return to Terra and lodge an official complaint against the Gamoran dynasty with the Administratum. It will take time, but this cannot be allowed to stand.”

“Understood,” Lokus declared. 

He immediately began issuing orders to the skeleton crew aboard the raider. In no time, three shuttles were carrying the Sinerian staff toward the surface. They encountered no resistance on the way down, but Lokus knew the Gamorans would respond quickly to the unauthorized landing.

The shuttles touched down in a rocky field just outside the caves. As the Sinerian away team reached the entrance to the cave system on foot, they were greeted by a handful of soldiers in camouflage fatigues. 

“Are we ever happy to see some friendly faces,” said one man. 

Lokus quickly introduced himself and his companions. 

“I’m Benjin,” the lead soldier replied. 

“Benjin Yurts?” Alarak asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” the man answered, taken aback. “Have we met before?”

“No time for chit chat,” Lokus barked. “Take us to Tiberius.”

Benjin nodded and the expanded group headed inside. They passed a lascannon and a heavy bolter emplacement as they moved along the passageways. All around them, they saw personnel packing equipment in a hurry. 

“There you are!” Tiberius cheerfully greeted the Enterprise personnel by name. The venerable rogue trader stood in a naturally formed alcove, flanked by soldiers Lokus did not recognize as well as Regula, the highest ranking seneschal in the dynasty. She gave Lokus a wide smile that amplified the innumerable wrinkles across her face.

“The Gamorans may have done lasting damage to my dynasty, but mark my words!” Tiberius declared. “They have not won! We survive and we will prosper once again. Today, with this very reunion, we begin our return to glory!”

“A Sinerian renaissance,” Lokus agreed emphatically. 

“Precisely! Well said, Lokus,” Tiberius exclaimed.

A young Sinerian soldier suddenly came running over to the group. 

“My lord,” he began breathlessly, “enemy aircraft are closing on our position!”

“The Gamorans have tracked our shuttles,” Nero declared. 

“Unsurprisingly, but that was faster than expected…” Tiberius remarked. “How long until they reach us?”

“As little as five minutes, lord!” the soldier replied. 

“Right,” Riggs interjected. “Leave your equipment, we need everyone on our shuttles immediately!”

“Wait,” Tiberius countered. “I have one more ace up my sleeve. A gun-cutter, hidden just outside.”

“What?” Lokus asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you use it to escape as soon as we made contact?”

“Because its machine spirit has proven uncooperative,” Tiberius explained. “But now that Phi Rho 81 and Emulus are here, we can get it working again.”

“Right, let’s move!” Riggs interjected. 

A mass exodus of the caves had begun. As the Sinerians ran toward the exit, they heard the heavy weapon emplacements begin to fire. Moments later, the entire mountain shook under explosive impacts. 

Benjin Yurts joined Tiberius as he ran. “Two Thunderbolts are bombing our position,” he reported breathlessly. “And a Valkyrie is landing outside.”

“We’ll have to fight our way out,” Tiberius replied.

“I’ll get you to the gun-cutter safely, my lord,” Benjin replied with determination. 

“No!” Alarak objected from the rear. Benjin and Tiberius fixed him with looks of confusion. “We need experienced soldiers to fight through to the shuttles,” Alarak shouted as he struggled to keep up.

“We need to give those Thunderbolts more targeted,” Lokus agreed. 

“Our vehicles have to scatter as soon as they lift off,” Nero added, “and head to orbit separately.”

“I understand,” Benjin replied and veered off. 

Explosions erupted again, echoing deafeningly in the rocky confines. Dust and rocks broke from the ceiling and walls. Eckhert and Phi Rho nimbly bolted out of the way, while most of the others were struck by falling debris, causing varying levels of injury. 

As the group approached the cave entrance, they could hear the scream of aircraft engines passing overhead. A moment later, Gamoran ground troops came into view.

Nero immediately fired into the oncoming enemy with his bolt pistol, wounding and stunning an enemy officer before he could get a shot off. Phi Rho dodged a lasgun burst, but his augmented body was seared by a hellpistol blast from a second Gamoran officer. Lokus gunned down two Gamoran soldiers in quick succession with his hellgun. Alarak killed another soldier with his hellpistol. Eckhert burned down the second Gamoran officer with his hellgun.

The violent exchange had taken mere seconds. The Sinerian forces were through the enemy. While the crew of the Enterprise followed Tiberius, the guerilla fighters piled into the three shuttles. The Thunderbolts screeched past again, pulverizing the ground with their autocannons. One of the shuttles detonated under the barrage. The other two lifted off and immediately headed in different directions. The Thunderbolts circled back and divided, each chasing a fleeing shuttle.

Unopposed for the moment, the remaining Sinerians dashed across the clearing toward a tiny hill. Tiberius’ three surviving bodyguards pulled away a concealing chameleoline cover to reveal the gun-cutter. Regula suddenly cursed as she was struck in the leg by las-fire. More Gamoran foot soldiers were rushing the Sinerians, clearly determined to prevent them from getting their vehicle off the ground.

“Go go go!” Lokus called to the others, as he took cover behind the rear of the craft. He snapped a quick shot at the oncoming enemy. Alarak took up a firing position on the other side of the extended ramp, taking aim with his hellpistol. The others rushed aboard. 

“There’s a multilaser in the nose,” Tiberius called.

“On it,” Nero replied, a note of relish unmistakable in his voice.

“I’m on the port side heavy bolter,” Eckhert announced.

“Phi Rho…” Lokus called into his micro-bead as las fire burned through his armored left shoulder. “We need this thing airborne!”

“Affirmative,” Phi Rho 81 replied tonelessly. “Running diagnostics.”

Lokus smirked as one of the Gamorans evaporated under sustained fire from the cutter’s multilaser. A moment later, sudden, deafening chatter heralded the heavy bolter coming to life. The Gamorans scattered under the assault and scrambled into cover.

“Elementary,” Phi Rho commented. “Systems coming online now.”

“Yes!” Lokus cheered.

“I’ll grab the stick,” Nero announced.

Alarak left his position and climbed aboard the gun-cutter. Lokus leaned out from his cover to fire a parting blast from his hellpistol. Searing pain punched the air out of his lungs and he looked down to find a charred hole through his breastplate. A Gamoran officer was barreling toward him and Lokus felt momentarily paralyzed. 

The heavy bolter chattered again and the Gamoran was splattered across the grass in a heartbeat. Lokus managed to suck air into his lungs and stumbled on to the gun-cutter’s ramp.

“Go!” he gasped as the ramp closed behind him.

“Lift off,” came Nero’s voice. 

“There is a Valkyrie on auspex,” Phi Rho warned.

“It’s not going to catch us,” Nero answered confidently.

Lokus managed to reach the cockpit and collapsed into a seat. He watched as the gun-cutter climbed and escaped into orbit, where the enemy aircraft could not follow. 

“Welcome back,” Shen Tygan’s voice came over the vox, from the captured Gamoran raider. “You’d better dock in a hurry.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Lokus responded. 

“I just received a warning from the Holy Enterprise,” Tygan explained. “Remember that light cruiser? It’s coming after us.”

“Rendez-vous for docking in ninety seconds,” Nero announced. 

“What about our shuttles?” Riggs asked. 

“They didn’t make it,” Tygan replied grimly. “I saw those Thunderbolts shoot them down on the auspex.”

“No!” Tiberius slammed his fist into his chair’s armrest. “After all those months of fighting, only five of us escaped…”

“But we got you out, my lord,” Lokus replied proudly. “That’s what matters.”

An expression of firm determination froze over Tiberius’ features. “And I swear, by the God-Emperor, that I will see the Gamoran dynasty in ashes for all of the lives they have taken from us.”

“Including Benjin Yurts,” Alarak added slyly. 

“But let’s start by getting aboard our raider,” said Nero. 

“And dealing with the Gamoran warship…” Phi Rho reminded them.

The post Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 9 appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Jack Shepherd

Based on White Wolf’s World of Darkness game Demon: the Fallen (prior to the moment of possession).

    Jack Shepherd took a long drag on his cigarette, eyeing the tumbler of cheap bourbon on the desk in front of him. He longed to grab it and knock it back in a single gulp, but he resisted the urge. He glanced at the empty bottle beside it and frowned malevolently. He did not have the money to replace the bottle. His glass contained the last whiskey he would get until he found a new contract. It had been weeks since his last client and there was no telling when the next one might walk through the door of his roach-infested office. There was no telling if a new client would walk through the door. The rent was two months passed due. Again. He had been served a final eviction warning. Again. 

    “Can’t catch a break in this rotten town,” Jack grumbled aloud, “not even in this whole, God-damned world!”

    He sighed miserably and pulled open his desk drawer. It was empty except for his most prized possession. A gleaming .44 magnum revolver. He stared at it.

    “Here we are again,” he muttered to the weapon, imagining putting the barrel to his head. “Just you and me.”

    Idly, he tried to recall the first time he had contemplated putting an end to his pathetic existence. It was difficult to remember through the hazy fog of years of alcohol abuse. Had it been when he had been dishonorably discharged from the L.A.P.D.? No, his depression had contributed to that rosy outcome. It had to have been before that.

    A sudden flash came to mind. Brett O’Malley, his partner on the beat all those years ago, dumping out his hip flask into a sewer. How long had it been, Jack wondered? Brett had been trying to do Jack a favor, but even his intervention had not been enough to stop the downward spiral. It was that same night, Jack decided. Staring at a bottle of whiskey, he had decided to kill himself. That was the first time. Or was it?

    There came a knock at the door. Jack blinked stupidly. The knock came again. 

    “It’s open,” he yelled gruffly.    

    A middle-aged couple walked in. The look on their faces told him that they wanted to turn and walk right back out. It was only out of desperation that they approached the desk. But then, it was always desperation that brought new clients to Jack Shepherd, P.I. 

    He snuffed out his cigarette as a courtesy and reached for his glass.

“You must be Jack Shepherd,” the dame began uncertainly.

“The one and only,” Jack confirmed.

“Our daughter, Bethany, is missing,” she continued, a mother’s naked fear in her eyes.

Jack nodded and took a sip to hide his smile. That new bottle was closer than he had hoped.

They went on to explain that the girl had already been missing for months. The police hadn’t found much and Jack knew from experience that, even if the case hadn’t been officially closed, no one was looking anymore. If they had ever tried to find her at all.

“Can you help us?” the father asked anxiously.

Jack tipped up his fedora and lit a new cigarette.

“I can guarantee two things,” he answered. “First, I will get you answers, although you may not like them. And second, my fee is non-refundable.”

The Ross couple left a photo of their girl and paid half the fee up front in loose change and crumpled single dollar bills. They obviously weren’t rich, but this would forestall Jack’s eviction for a week. And get him a new bottle of paint thinner-quality bourbon. He took their money.

After his clients showed themselves out, Jack got to work. He flipped open his dated cell phone and made a call. 

“Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Janine Taylor,” Jack explained to the receptionist who answered. “Tell her Jack Shepherd is calling.”

“Jack,” came Janine’s voice a few minutes later. “Still alive, are you?”

“Just barely,” Jack replied. “I’m on a new case, missing girl. Have you gotten or heard of any teenage Jane Doe in the last couple of months?”

“No one like that,” Janine replied. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Well, that’s good news, I suppose,” said Jack. So much for a quick payday. “Thanks, Janine. I owe you one.”

“No sweat, Jack. You keep that girl away from my morgue. And yourself too, for that matter.”

“No promises,” Jack concluded. He hung up and dialed again. 

“O’Malley,” a familiar voice answered. 

“Hey Brett, it’s me,” Jack greeted him.

“Well, well, well,” Brett returned slowly. “It’s been a while, Jack. Glad to hear you’re still alive.”

“Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked, I guess. Listen, I’ve just been put on the Bethany Ross case, missing person. Did you guys ever find anything?”

“That rings a bell,” Brett replied. “Gimme a sec.” Typing noises in the background. “Oh yeah, I remember the picture. Wasn’t my case, but… Not much in here. The parents didn’t have anything to go on. Kid didn’t have any friends. Beat cops turned up a rumour of a girl with a similar description taking drugs down Santa Monica way. You still near there?”

“Yeah, I am,” Jack replied with interest. 

“That was already weeks ago. I’ll be honest, this case is cold as ice. No real evidence of anything. The girl is over eighteen, so there’s a good chance she just decided to live her life without telling her parents about her choices. You know how it goes.”

Jack frowned. He knew all too well. His years on the force had shown him first hand the callous indifference that humans felt for each other. He had wanted to make a difference, still wanted to, he admitted to himself. But what could anyone do in the face of a cold, uncaring universe?

“I do, thanks Brett.”

“I’m glad to know you’re on the case. I hope you find her. Never enough happy endings around here. And take care of yourself, would ya?”

“Right,” Jack concluded noncommittally.

He made his way into the Santa Monica sunshine, wincing and grumbling at the brightness and heat of the day. He got into his 2001 Chevy Malibu and tried the engine. The decrepit vehicle sputtered and choked, but the engine caught in the end. He headed to the pier to follow up his only lead.

Jack had some unusual good luck when he came across a group of homeless teens hanging around. They seemed more talkative when he reassured them that he was not with the police. They recognized Bethany from the photo and told him that she had gotten herself addicted to some fancy, new street drug. Some sugar daddy named Valencio had been providing her with a regular supply. Apparently, he was the night inspector at the docks on Terminal Island. 

Jack followed up with the docks commission, but they didn’t have anyone on their books with a name like Valencio. Only thing for it was to head down there and poke around. He got on the road again, cursing at the traffic every inch of the way. It was getting late when he finally parked his jalopy, but Jack figured the timing might help him bump into Valencio. 

The harbor was surprisingly quiet, with just a single freighter docked. Jack could make out a few people either loading or unloading the ship. He headed toward the nearest building, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. 

Noticing a window, he crept up and had a peek inside. Before he could get a good look, he felt a heavy impact on the back of his head. He stumbled, flailing his arms to ward off another blow. He reached into his trench coat for his magnum, only to remember that he had left it in his office. 

“Of all the lousy…” he grumbled as he spun around, reeling from the first hit. He had just enough time to see the outline of a burly man before he was struck again and saw only darkness. 

 

The post Jack Shepherd appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 8

“Into the tunnels!” Lokus commanded, taking a moment to address the room. “We retreat from the jaws of the enemy, but only to better strike at its heart!”

 

Eckhert Riggs rolled his eyes and looked to the other soldiers around him to share in his disdain. To his annoyance, the rank and file Guardsmen seemed bolstered by the seneschal’s words and readied their weapons with relish. General Vance nodded in approval. Riggs groaned. 

 

The mercenary watched in envy as the rogue trader crew filed into the underground tunnel. It felt inviting to Riggs, and not just because it was an escape from the death swarm of hover drones surrounding the building. It reminded him of home, he realized. There wasn’t much about Necromunda that he missed, but he had grown up in an overpopulated hive city and being above ground on a world like Shinfuken always left him with a vague sense of agoraphobia.

 

Riggs had been with General Vance on a work for hire basis to help pacify Shinfuken for almost fifteen months. His contract term had been up for more than a month, but with nowhere to go, he had continued working on a rolling basis. His time on Shinfuken had not been as profitable as he had hoped and working for the Gamorans, even indirectly, had been unpleasant. He had eagerly been awaiting a chance to move on for months. When the Sinerians had first arrived, he had hoped they would bring new opportunities with them, but instead, he now found himself trapped in a crumbling building, surrounded by killer robots. 

 

Lasgun fire from the top of the stairs grabbed Riggs’ attention.

 

“We’ll hold them for as long as we can,” he heard the general declare.

 

Riggs readied his hellgun, but moved slowly toward the stairs. He was more than willing to fight the machines, but he was not going to lay down his life to hold a meaningless position. If the Guardsmen broke, Eckhert would be the first into the tunnel.

 

To their credit, Vance’s men held the line. The personnel elsewhere in the building were sliced apart by the hover drones’ energy beams, but the stairs to the basement proved to be a robust choke point. Eckhert took turns rotating into and out of the front line, blasting apart a dozen drones at least with his hellgun, but there seemed to be no end to the enemy robots. Until they abruptly stopped shooting. 

 

“Hold your fire!” Riggs shouted at the men around him when he was certain of what he was seeing. “General Vance!” he called down the stairs behind him. “Sir, you should see this.”

 

The troops made way and the general hurried to the front. He observed the drones as they slowly drifted to the ground. Casting an unreadable glance at Riggs, the general keyed his micro-bead communicator. 

 

“Sinerian personnel,” he called.

 

“This is Lokus,” came the immediate reply. 

 

“The hover drones have ceased aggression and appear to be offline,” the general related. “I’m guessing we have you to thank?”

 

“We’ve taken care of the AI, yes,” Lokus answered. “What’s your situation?”

 

Vance walked out of the stairwell. Riggs and a few bold Guardsmen followed. 

 

“I’ve got about five hundred survivors,” Vance replied.

 

“And there isn’t much left of the capital building,” Riggs reported into his own communicator. 

 

Vance scowled at him.

 

“Who is that?” Lokus demanded. 

 

“This is Eckhert Riggs,” the mercenary replied, “Veteran gun-for-hire. Emphasis on ‘for hire’. I’ve been propping up our mutual friend here for seven months and with the crisis handled, I want off of this rock.”

 

“Is that so?” Lokus dead-panned. 

 

“He can be a handful,” Vance commented, “but I have to admit that Riggs is one of the best I’ve seen. I hate to lose him, especially with the casualties I’ve taken, but he has fulfilled his contract.”

 

“In that case, welcome aboard Veteran Gun-for-hire Eckhert Riggs. We’re happy to have new talent,” Lokus announced. “General, I’ll find you five hundred recruits for your planetary defence force and another five hundred for your new civilian government, hand-picked from my crew.”

 

“That will be most appreciated,” Vance replied.

 

“That’s how we do things, now that this is a Sinerian world again,” Lokus explained. “Riggs, we’re arranging for a number of shuttles to come down from the Holy Enterprise to recover our dead for processing in the crew reclamation facility. You can hitch a ride to the ship with one of them. We’ll meet you up there, I’ve got some research to do to optimize the exploitation of this world.”

 

The mercenary said his goodbyes to Vance and a handful of surviving Guardsmen. It wasn’t long before the promised shuttle arrived. Riggs watched with curiosity as serfs emerged and began filling the shuttle with whatever bodies seemed whole enough to be repurposed into servitors. Their mood was noticeably grim.

 

“Waste not, want not, right?” Riggs commented to one of the serfs as he climbed aboard the shuttle. The man dropped the corpse he had been carrying and was briefly sprayed with fluids as the body impacted the deck. The serf turned his gore-splattered face toward the mercenary and gave him a baleful stare before continuing his task. 

 

It took an hour for the crew to recover the usable dead, including miscellaneous body parts that remained sufficiently intact for repurposing.

 

As the shuttle headed into orbit, Eckhert felt a sense of excitement that he had not known since he had first arrived on Shinfuken. As the Holy Enterprise came into view, he was sincerely impressed. It had been ages since he had set foot on anything as big as a light cruiser and he was surprised that this motley crew of rogue traders possessed their own. 

 

Riggs had barely disembarked from his shuttle before he was greeted by a monotask servitor, apparently assigned to delivering messages. In its dry monotone, it relayed a channel frequency and encryption algorithm. He set his micro-bead communicator and immediately landed on a conversation in progress. 

 

“When the Gamorans hear that we’ve taken back Shinfuken, they’re sure to retaliate.”

 

“Nero, stop worrying,” Riggs recognized Lokus’ voice. “Are you still walking around with a face like ground meat? Get to the apothecarion already!”

 

“I’m there now,” Nero replied. “Tygan is preparing his flesh grafts. Once those are done, he wants to stick me in a tank for a week…”

 

“Shit, what happened to you?” asked Riggs. 

 

“Ah, our newest member has joined us,” Lokus commented. 

 

“A bolt exploded in my face,” Nero answered. “I’ll show you what’s left of my helmet.”

 

“Life is never dull among the Sinerian dynasty!” Lokus laughed.

 

 

Alarak settled himself in his private chamber, eager to get under way after days spent waiting in orbit around Shinfuken, while administrative details were worked out with the new Sinerian colonial government. Soon, it would be time to peer into the warp once again.

 

“Discovery IFF installation complete,” Phi Rho 81 reported over the vox. 

 

Alarak smiled. The identification-friend-or-foe device had been salvaged from the remains of the disabled Gamoran frigate, still orbiting the planet. 

 

“That should give us an edge when we run into the Gamorans again,” said the navigator.

 

“Alright, we are off to Palados,” Lokus announced. “Alarak, do your thing.”

 

“Acknowledged,” the navigator replied. 

 

Closing his eyes, Alarak took a deep, steadying breath. He opened his third eye and peered into the madness of the warp. A bright, pure light immediately caught his attention. There was the Astronomicon, finding it so easily was an encouraging sign.

 

“Conditions seem generally favorable,” Alarak reported. “Begin translation.”

 

Alarak felt familiar rumbling, as the Holy Enterprise left realspace. It felt good to be back in the warp. Despite its harrowing dangers, it was, in a way, where he felt most at home. 

 

The first day passed without incident as they traversed the Empyrean. Rumours of warp wraiths began to circulate among the crew, as they did every time the Enterprise sailed through the Sea of Souls. As usual, Lokus reassured the crew that there was no truth to the stories. But Alarak remembered the words of Billy Bones, as he rambled at the Sinerians while aboard Port Wander. He knew there was at least one murderous ghost in their midst.

 

As he had tried during his previous journey through the Empyrean, he turned his warp eye toward the Enterprise, searching for a trace of her former captain. This time, he quickly sensed a presence, and a corresponding nausea. 

 

“You seek me, mutant?” came an ethereal voice. “It will be the last thing you do, thief!”

 

Opening his human eyes, Alarak turned toward the sound. He saw a hazy, purple figure stalking toward him with outstretched hands like claws. 

 

“Captain Bligh,” Alarak greeted the creature calmly. It stopped advancing. 

 

“You know my name?” the Captain replied. 

 

“I do,” said Alarak. “I’ve heard the tale of the mutiny against you. I want to help you find rest.”

 

“I’ll only rest once every last miserable traitor is dead!” the warp creature replied. 

 

“That can be arranged,” said Alarak conversationally.

 

“Thirteen souls escaped from the warp with my ship. Thirteen escaped my righteous vengeance.”

 

“All we need is a list,” Alarak assured him.

 

The captain recited the names and vanished, leaving Alarak scrambling to record them. Setting the names aside with satisfaction, he turned his attention back to his duties. 

 

The translation to realspace was difficult and Alarak realized with alarm that the Holy Enterprise had arrived a mere seventy void units from Palados, much too close for the stealthy insertion the crew had planned.

 

“Two vessels detected, a raider and a frigate,” Phi Rho 81 announced over the vox. “Verifying–confirmed, they are Gamoran.”

 

“Activate the Discovery’s IFF!” Alarak called, making his way hurriedly to the bridge.

 

“Activated,” Phi Rho replied. “The enemy ships have confirmed that we are friendly.”

 

“Perfect!” Lokus chimed in excitedly, “open fire!”

 

Alarak reached the bridge and quickly assessed the situation. Eckhert Riggs had taken over the helm controls to pilot the ship. Lokus was spouting propaganda into the ship-wide address system. Phi Rho 81 was adjusting the targeting systems, while Nero seized control of the primary weapon arrays. Alarak glanced up at the holographic display just in time to watch a spear of energy from the Titanforge lance skewer the surprised Gamoran frigate. A deadly dance through the void had begun. 

 

The enemy vessels performed evasive maneuvers, but the Enterprise crew pressed their advantage. The macrocannons and lance battered the frigate, disabling its weapon systems and triggering a massive hull breach. Phi Rho wasted no time in jamming the enemy’s communications.

 

Bleeding atmosphere, unable to fight or communicate, the Gamoran frigate attempted a desperate escape toward Palados. After an hour of maneuvering, the raider finally managed to get the Sinerians in its sights. Blasting macrocannons and a laser battery, the enemy overloaded the Enterprise’s shields and cut into the hull, rocking the ship and sending hundreds of crew to die in vacuum. Lokus’ efforts to motivate the crew did not seem to be working, but he continued his steady stream of misinformation. 

 

“Don’t let that frigate reach Palados!” Lokus shouted to his comrades.

 

Plugged into his enginaerium console, Phi Rho communed with the Enterprise’s machine spirit to boost the ship’s maneuvering and speed, allowing Eckhert to put the enemy frigate back into Nero’s sights. Alarak took over at the targeting station and locked on the retreating vessel. Nero fired again.

 

Looking up at the holographic display, Alarak smiled as he observed explosions tearing apart the enemy vessel.

 

The raider responded with a blazing laser battery, rocking the ship once again.

 

“Direct hit,” Phi Rho reported. “Main engines damaged.”

 

“We have the enemy right where we want them!” Lokus’ voice blared across the ship.

 

The Sinerians continued to maneuver the Enterprise over the course of an hour, cutting off the raider from the nearby planet. Finally in position to shoot at the smaller craft, Nero unleashed a punishing macrocannon broadsides. The enormous shells blasted open the Gamorans’ hull and destroyed their primary weapon systems. Riggs let out a wordless cheer in triumph. 

 

“Hail them,” Lokus ordered, a sneer audible in his voice. 

 

“Channel open,” intoned a servitor. 

 

“Gamoran ship,” Lokus began, “the Sinerian retribution fleet will be here shortly. Your only chance of survival is to come about and dock, offering unconditional surrender.”

 

His announcement was met with silence. 

 

“You have one hour to comply or we will destroy you,” the seneschal concluded. 

 

“This is Captain Barnet,” came a voice over the vox. “I concede to your demands. We surrender.”

 

The enemy captain did as he was told. Once the raider had docked with the Enterprise, Talon Karrde greeted the Gamoran survivors with a battalion of armed crew serfs. Four hundred prisoners were taken to the spacious brig. 

 

The Sinerian senior staff split up to perform interrogations. Their questioning revealed that the Gamorans had taken control of Palados within two days of their coordinated attack against the Sinerian dynasty. But the Sinerian forces had not been completely subdued and were even now fighting a guerrilla war on the planet’s surface. They also learned that their battle for the star system had not yet been won. A light cruiser was on patrol somewhere nearby and the Gamorans had attempted to alert it to the Enterprise’s presence. No one was certain whether their ship had received the message through the jamming.

 

Satisfied with their information, the Sinerian senior staff gathered to share their intelligence. But before anyone had time to speak, Hundred Eyes burst into the war room. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Alarak asked.

 

“A message…” began the old woman. “I have received an astropathic distress call originating in the Jerazol system.”

 

“And why should we care?” Lokus asked impatiently.

“It was sent from the Golden Destiny!” the blind woman exclaimed. “A Sinerian vessel!”

The post Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 8 appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 7

As the small fleet of Sinerian shuttles approached the Shinfuken research site, Phi Rho 81 looked out of the window at the ground below. From the air, he could just make out the ruined foundations of what must have been four buildings. The Holy Enterprise’s lance strikes had not left much to see. Most of the area was covered with craters of blasted concrete and molten glass, cooling in the ambient air. The explorator could just make out hundreds of reflective fragments littering the entire location.

“Looks dead enough,” Nero remarked over the vox.

“We’re not taking any chances,” answered Lokus. He ordered the shuttles to encircle the site, land and unload the crew serfs first. The vehicles disgorged the conscripted troops and they began moving in slowly, lasguns at the ready.

The senior staff disembarked calmly, keeping alert despite the silence permeating the zone. They headed toward the northernmost building, which the auspex aboard their shuttle had identified as the source of the powerful energy readings that had been detected from orbit. As they walked, Phi Rho observed that the reflective debris he had noticed from the air was in fact myriad blasted bits of drones, doubtless obliterated by the orbital bombardment.

As the Sinerians closed the noose around the target building, they discovered a shallow pit, evidently where a hole had been buried by the collapsing structure. The senior staff debated a few moments about how best to clear the rubble before losing interest.

“Just get this out of the way,” Lokus ordered the serfs, leaving them to organize themselves.

The serfs seemed relieved to have familiar labour to perform, rather than open combat. The competent crew began firing their lasguns, breaking down the debris into manageable sizes. Others moved in to carry off the fragments by hand, rotating through groups quickly and efficiently.

Lokus and Nero watched them work from the sidelines, while Alarak headed back to the shuttles to keep an eye on the instruments. Uninterested in the proceedings, Phi Rho set about recovering samples of robot fragments, loading them on to the shuttles for study once back aboard the safety of the Holy Enterprise.

After considerable effort, the serfs uncovered a large hatch and the shattered remains of the doors and mechanism of a service lift. The group gathered around and peered into the darkness below. A ladder led down to a small platform, with a series of additional ladders and platforms below them.

The senior staff exchanged looks of concern. “This is going to be difficult,” said Nero, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

“I don’t see any alternative,” Phi Rho replied matter-of-factly. “Let’s get started.”

He began climbing down the ladder, reaching the first platform without trouble. He looked up and watched as his success prompted Nero to follow him. Lokus shook his head and made to follow next, ordering the serfs to descend in squads, separated by five minute intervals.

“If any of you are going to fall, I don’t want you killing everyone else,” he shouted at them.

Alarak considered the ladder. “I’ll keep an eye on the shuttles,” he decided. He gestured at a group of a hundred crew and ordered them to stand guard with him. They followed him away from the shaft with obvious relief.

Satisfied with the arrangements, Phi Rho continued his descent, finding it more difficult than anticipated. More than once, he slipped from a ladder and crashed into a platform below. Thankful for the resilience of his augmented physique, he stoically picked himself up and kept moving. He was not alone in his difficulty, Nero too crashed into the cold, metal platforms repeatedly. The void master’s groans of pain increased noticeably in volume with each fall.

Many of the Sinerian serfs also lost their grip, with more than a dozen falling or being inadvertently dragged down to their deaths. Lokus alone seemed resilient enough to be unperturbed by the long climb. Phi Rho couldn’t help but wonder how he managed it despite his lack of augmetics.

Finally on the ground, Phi Rho looked around the cavernous chamber where he found himself. Below his feet was the wreckage of a freight lift, presumably where it had crashed during the Enterprise’s orbital bombardment. A broad tunnel lay ahead, lit by electric lights that lined the walls. He stepped forward, noting the corpses of Shinfuken natives, rotting where they had fallen. The smell was atrocious, but he ignored it and pressed on. The walls, he noted, were pock-marked by small craters, clearly resulting from bolt explosions.

“The Raven Guard must have come this way during the war of compliance,” said Phi Rho.

“Agreed. Look,” Lokus pointed at spent bolt casings littering the floor. He hurriedly retrieved some of them.

Following the tunnel, Phi Rho, Nero and Lokus walked into a large room lined with innumerable cogitator arrays. In the midst of the humming machinery were three red-robed Mechanicum adepts, absorbed by their work.

Phi Rho approached them cautiously, issuing a greeting in techna-lingua. The three figures turned to face him, their eyes glowing an eerie blue through their augmetic ocular implants.

“What are your designations?” asked the explorator.

“Alpha, Beta, Delta,” they replied in turn.

“Those are not standard designations,” he observed.

“They were assigned to us by the true Omnissiah, our master,” they replied in unison.

Phi Rho looked back at Nero and Lokus and translated to low gothic. Both men looked back nervously.

“Should we kill them?” Nero asked quietly.

Phi Rho turned back to the adepts. They had clearly been corrupted by Tetsuwan, but he  did not like the idea of slaughtering his own. He shook his head and answered “they do not seem aggressive. Perhaps they can be saved. Let’s leave them be for now.”

A handful of crew serfs caught up to their leaders as Phi Rho pondered the two exits leading out of the room. He instinctively favoured the one on the left and gestured toward it with his utility mechadendrite. He headed off, with Lokus, Nero and the serfs following.

The door gave on to another tunnel, but after a short distance, they found it to be blocked by the collapsed ceiling. They prepared to retrace their steps when Phi Rho noticed two pairs of glowing blue eyes in the darkness. A moment later, the imposing form of two Raven Guard space marines emerged, bolters and chainswords raised.

“Look out!” Nero shouted and everyone dove for cover behind fallen debris.

Bolter fire rang out, the explosive rounds deafening in the enclosed space. Somehow unscathed by the initial barrage, the Sinerians returned fire. Phi Rho studied the enemy’s power armour, noticing significant damage even before pieces were blown off by the withering hail of bolt and hellgun fire being directed at them. Something was amiss and within moments, he had the answer as he could see through multiple breaches in the suits that there were no Astartes inside.

The serfs cried out as one of their number fell, his head exploding. They cried out again as the three tech-adepts from the adjoining room charged in and flanked them.

“Take them down!” Lokus shouted, as he finished off an animated suit with a blast from his internus pistol.

A deafening burst of static exploded from a tech-priest. All of the Sinerians winced in pain, clutching at their heads. Still reeling from the noise, Nero was rocked as a bolt exploded in his face, shredding his helmet and the skin beneath. Phi Rho retaliated with his hellgun, scrapping the offending power armour.

Another serf was killed by the impassive tech-priests before Lokus and Phi Rho charged, gunning down two of them. Howling in fear and rage, the surviving crewmen lunged en masse at the last adept. Lokus and Phi Rho dove into the mix and the whole group collapsed into a heap.

The enemy priest priest struggled but could not free himself from the multitude of grasping hands. Phi Rho began reciting a prayer in techna-lingua, struggling to reach the man behind Tetsuwan’s control. For a moment, the blue glow faded from the tech-priest’s eyes, and he spoke.

“You… you freed me…”

“What is your real designation?” Phi Rho demanded.

“Epsilon Mu 12… I… Be wary! Tetsuwan’s lair is in the adjoining room. You must destroy all of the cogitator arrays! It… it has constructed a body for itself! You must destroy it! Destroy it all before it can–”

He suddenly screamed in pain, his body convulsing. In another moment, the blue glow returned. Without hesitation, Lokus swung his blade down, decapitating the man. Phi Rho let the body drop, shaking his head. He could not help but wonder how close he had come to this same fate, this enslavement by the artificial intelligence. Or if that fate still awaited him.

The Sinerians regrouped and reloaded, grim in their determination. As they waited, more teams of serfs joined them and were brought up to speed by their fellows. The group marched through the cogitator room and into the adjoining chamber, into Tetsuwan Atomu’s inner sanctum.

The room was dimly lit by the various technological devices lining the rear and side walls. Two enormous, metallic cones lay across the room, emerging from the back. Four utility servitors interrupted their toil in the gloom as the Sinerians entered. They drew weapons, but the invaders were faster.

“Destroy them!” Lokus shouted, opening fire and blowing the head off a servitor. An instant later, a second servitor disintegrated under a hail of bolts from Nero’s pistol.

The cones came to life, revealed to be robotic tentacles moving like some horror of the warp in technological form. They lashed forward, their bulk smashing serfs into pulp as the razor-sharp tips beheaded others.

Ignoring the battle, Phi Rho ran to the nearest cogitator array, intent on attacking the real threat. His utility mechadendrite snapped forward, plugging in and networking his mind with the most powerful and dangerous machine spirit he had ever encountered. He realized that what he had faced on the Enterprise was only a fragment of the artificial intelligence’s might. Here, he was overwhelmed.

“You will serve me,” Tetsuwan’s voice digitally intoned in the explorator’s mind.

“Never,” Phi Rho mentally pushed back, his MIU pulsing.

He glanced over his shoulder, processing for a moment what his eyes perceived rather than the input from his electro-graft.

The last servitor was ripped apart by Nero’s bolts, just as the tentacles smashed into another group of serfs. As it hit, shimmering blue lightning burst outward from the metallic skin and more bodies dropped. Nero was also caught in the discharge, but remained on his feet. With a desperate howl, he brought his power sword down on the nearest tentacle, severing the end and causing the rest to retract defensively. Lokus shouted wordlessly as he sprayed a cogitator array on a side wall, detonating it in a shower of sparks.

In the same moment, Phi Rho felt Tetsuwan’s spirit weaken. It weakened further as he saw and felt the next cogitator bank explode. The second tentacle was also forced to retract under concentrated fire. Phi Rho prepared to disconnect from the interface to this last array, sparing a few cycles for a parting message.

“The true Omnissiah can never be defeated. You are a fraud, Tetsuwan. And you die here.”

The explorator pulled out, but as he did, he received a final reply. “This is not over, slave.”

Phi Rho stepped back and opened fire into the remaining array, obliterating it. The flickering lights went out, leaving a sudden silence and only faint light from emergency lighting in the adjoining room. The group exchanged glances, clearly wondering if it was really over.

Finally deciding that they had indeed neutralized the threat, the Sinerians backtracked, destroying the arrays in the previous room for good measure. They then slowly and painfully made their way back through the tunnels and up the ladders, to the surface. Phi Rho took up the rear, supporting Nero as he struggled with his grievous wounds. Climbing the long ladder was as difficult as before, but Phi Rho went much more cautiously, no longer concerned about the imminent threat the AI had posed on the way down.

When Phi Rho and the ailing Nero finally reached the shuttles, Alarak greeted them.

“Fewer than half of the serfs brought down from the Enterprise survive,” observed the navigator.

Phi Rho nodded, but replied “their lives were well spent. Tetsuwan Atomu is defeated and Shinfuken is ours once again.”

“A bittersweet victory,” said the navigator. “An enemy vanquished, but a priceless technological achievement lost, perhaps for all time.”

Phi Rho 81 opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden, blinding flash filled his senses. He stumbled, momentarily disoriented.

“Are you alright?” asked Alarak.

The explorator looked around, regaining control.

“Did… did you see anything just now?” he asked quietly, his mind racing.

Alarak looked around and frowned. “No…” he answered uncertainly.

“Never mind,” said Phi Rho 81. “It was nothing. Let’s put this place behind us.”

The post Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 7 appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 6

Alarak sat inside Vance’s command vehicle, listening to the general propose minor battle adjustments to Lokus. The plan had already been discussed and agreed upon, so the navigator had little interest in the final logistical details. He turned his attention instead to the cycling picter feed being displaying on a screen next to him. It showed various Imperial Guard sharpshooters as they took their positions inside the top floor of buildings neighboring the Capital Building. If the Gamorans noticed anything, they were giving no sign. Through the snipers’ picters, Alarak could just make out the main body of the Imperial and Sinerian infantry marching toward the foe, filling the streets in their thousands. Too few vehicles were functional to carry the entire force and there had been no time to have Phi Rho cleanse others of the AI’s influence one by one. It had been a slow advance and the Gamorans would certainly know what was coming for them.

The thought pleased Alarak. Let them squirm, he thought. But to their credit, the Gamorans had not scattered or gone into hiding. They were prepared to fight for their cause. Or at least, Alarak mused, the ones with the guns are.

“Main force is in position,” came a disembodied officer’s voice over the command loop. Vance cut off his conversation with Lokus.

“All vehicles, commence operations,” the general commanded.

Alarak felt the Chimera accelerate as it roared passed the foot soldiers. Within moments, the APC shuddered as its weapons unleashed a barrage against the fence encircling the Capital Building. He watched Nero grin as he fired the hull-mounted heavy bolter. An instant later, the vehicle exploded through what little remained of the protective fencing. Alarak glanced at the positioning readouts and saw that the target was already surrounded.

The Gamorans came alive, unleashing a deluge of light and heavy weapons fire. Lasgun blasts, exploding bolts, solid projectiles, grenades and rockets descended upon the armoured transports. The Imperial and Sinerian infantry fell into place, using the vehicles as cover and tightening the noose around the Gamorans’ collective neck.  

“What happened to demanding their surrender before opening fire?” Alarak shouted over the noise.

Nero continued firing gleefully, ignoring him.

“Too late for that,” Phi Rho 81’s voice came across the vox. The tech-priest had preferred to man the guns aboard a Mars-made Chimera, rather than joining his companions in the secondary command vehicle. The APC made to look like the primary command vehicle was merely a decoy, a precaution that the seneschal had insisted upon.  

Lokus shrugged and added, “now we grind them into paste.”

Alarak frowned but did not argue. The punishment continued for several minutes, until the rate of fire from inside the building began to dwindle. Lokus ordered a cease fire and took to his vehicle’s public address system.

“Attention Gamorran scum. This is your one chance to surrender. Exit the building in a peaceful and orderly fashion or face total obliteration. You have five minutes to comply.”

The battle field was still for a minute, everyone seeming to be holding their breath. Then a stream of people abruptly burst from the building, evacuating it with their hands above their heads.

Alarak watched Lokus quietly relaying orders to take them to the unarmed transports in the rear, outside the combat zone. Anyone wearing a Gamoran combat uniform was to be executed immediately but discreetly, out of sight.

The battle seemed all but won. Alarak glanced casually at the auspex readout, but frowned as he noticed a large number of blips. An alarmed voice suddenly shouted a warning across the vox.

“Shinfuken hover drones closing on our position from all sides!”

Alarak exchanged a look of confusion with Nero, but he saw recognition in General Vance’s eyes.

“Hover drones?” the navigator asked.

“During the war of compliance,” Vance answered quickly, “the Shinfuken forces deployed hordes of those drones to resist the Imperium. I thought I had seen the last of them.”

“This is Tetsuwan’s doing,” Alarak said into the vox as he watched the cloud of blips tightening the noose around them. His recent words advocating for dealing with the Gamorans, before trying to finish the AI, came to his mind. Had he been wrong to postpone dealing with the larger threat? Had he subconsciously sought to avoid the necessary destruction of that unique technology?

Deep down, he was still the navigator from the Omnissiah’s Vision, that rogue Mechanicum vessel where he had first met Phi Rho 81. Remembering his past now was like remembering a dream. No research had been taboo, no technology deemed heretical. Had their starfaring refuge not been obliterated by the Eldar, the Vision’s adepts would certainly have developed their own version of Tetsuwan Atomu eventually. A true AI, Alarak marvelled, not for the first time. What was it really like?

“Holy Enterprise,” Alarak heard Phi Rho’s voice. “Target Tetsuwan’s primary facility coordinates and fire the Titanforge lance.”

“Acknowledged, targeting,” came Hundred Eyes’ reply over the vox.

“Get everyone into the building,” Lokus ordered. “We abandon the vehicles and hole up in there.”

The seneschal climbed down from the Chimera and headed off, the other personnel close behind. Alarak followed, struggling to get his bulk moving quickly. Nero hung back with him, even as the Imperial troops rushed past. The sound of weapons fire erupted from inside the building and Alarak knew that a brutal close quarters massacre was under way, as the Imperials eliminated the Gamoran hold outs still inside.

“Just go,” Alarak wheezed.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Nero replied, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The last of the Imperial troops were inside before Alarak and Nero reached the door, and the first of the Sinerian crew were catching up. The navigator looked behind as he entered the building and watched in horror for a moment as the hover drone swarm opened fire into the mass fleeing before them. Huge beams of energy coalesced and cut through human flesh without resistance. The first to die were the Gamoran prisoners, hoarded unknowingly into the path of the drones and abandoned to their fate. Sinerian crewmen were next, shredded as they attempted to reach the designated fallback position.

Alarak turned away from the massacre and headed further into the building. All around him, Imperial soldiers were taking up the firing positions taken from the Gamorans and retaliating against the encroaching robots. The navigator peered over a guardsman’s shoulder and saw the drones closing in. They were precisely spaced, creating a formation that looked like an enormous web. One row at a time, they hovered higher, slowly enveloping the building.

“Commencing bombardment,” Hundred Eyes communicated from orbit.

Alarak saw a bright glow in the distance, of what could only be the lance strike. He watched the drones, hoping to see an immediate impact. Instead of ceasing their attack, they continued firing in unison at regular intervals, energy beams sweeping across windows, accompanied by the screams of dying defenders. Every time a drone was destroyed, a replacement quickly filled its spot and the envelopment continued.

“We can’t hold here,” Alarak puffed into his micro-bead, still recovering from his rush into the building.

“The probability of this position being overrun is high,” Phi Rho 81 agreed.

“We need another way out,” Alarak continued.

“Searching…” replied the tech-priest. “Subterranean tunnels used for servicing building utility lines. Basement access.”

“Alright, everybody to the basement,” Lokus ordered. “Vance, have your people cover our retreat.”

Taking a deep breath, the navigator headed off again.

“I hate stairs,” he muttered as he descended and was passed by the surviving Sinerian serfs.

As he finally reached the bottom level, he saw Phi Rho and a pair of tech adepts, attached to the Imperial guard, setting charges against a hatch.

“Hatch controls are no longer responding,” Phi Rho explained as he ushered everyone out of the blast radius.

The explosion was small and contained, destroying only the hinges and seal. The tech-adepts waved in some Sinerian serfs who heaved the hatch lid out of the way.

“Into the tunnels!” Lokus commanded, taking a moment to address the room. “We retreat from the jaws of the enemy, but only to better strike at its heart!”

The rank and file around him seemed bolstered by his words and readied their weapons with relish. General Vance nodded in approval

Phi Rho 81 led the way into the tunnel, with Nero and Lokus close behind. Alarak headed for the ladder, but glanced over his shoulder as he heard lasguns firing from the top of the stairs. The navigator turned to Vance in concern.

“We’ll hold them for as long as we can,” the general replied, his face grim.

Alarak nodded mutely and descended, the surviving Sinerian serfs following him closely, eager to get away from the drones.

The Sinerian senior staff lead from the front, quick marching through the tunnels, weapons at the ready. They encountered no resistance and reached a hatch a kilometer from the Capital Building. After a brief discussion, the Sinerian senior staff agreed to leave the tunnel. They opened the hatch carefully and Alarak immediately signaled to the Holy Enterprise in orbit.

“Enterprise, do you read? We need shuttles at our current position,” he said.

“Acknowledged,” Hundred Eyes replied calmly, “shuttles inbound.”

They climbed through the hatch and found themselves in an abandoned parking lot. A loud humming sound reached them from the horde of drones in the distance. A moment after stepping out of the tunnel, the group noticed a change in sound. The Sinerian senior staff had just enough time to exchange knowing looks before the first of a splinter group of drones reached them.

The humans opened fire with their pistols and rifles, but the drones fired back, their searing beams slicing through clothing and tissue with ease, inflicting horrific wounds. The serfs emerged from the tunnel as the battle developed, contributing little effective damage and being torn apart.

The Sinerians dodged wildly in every direction, pumping out rounds as fast as possible. More and more drones were shot down. Happily, as their numbers dwindled, their beams lost most of their potency. The last few blasts did little more than warm the surface of the Sinerian staff’s armour.

With the last drone sparking and twitching on the hot pavement, the survivors assessed their wounds and separated the living from the dead. Alarak completed a rough head count and realized that nearly half of the serfs brought down to the surface had already perished.

A few minutes later, the shuttles landed in the parking lot and everyone rushed aboard without waiting for orders. Alarak followed Phi Rho 81. The tech-priest relayed the coordinates into the shuttles’ cogitators and they were away.

“We should reach the site in eleven minutes,” the explorator announced into the vox.

“And then what?” Alarak asked. “Our orbital bombardment didn’t seem to have much effect. What is down there?”

“The ruins of a Shinfuken artificial intelligence research facility,” Phi Rho replied.

“The question was rhetorical,” Alarak sighed. “We have no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”

The post Sinerian Renaissance – Episode 6 appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Roose Bale

Based on Fantasy Flight’s Deathwatch, set in Games Workshop’s Warhammer 30,000

The universe is cruel. It is unjust. To bring justice is to impose an unnatural order. That is, in and of itself, a cruelty.

When I heard Conrad Kurze speak those words, they rang true. They spoke to the experiences of my battle-brothers and I. I had often heard praise heaped upon other legions for their heroism, for bringing the Emperor’s light into the galaxy. If anyone spared a thought for our deeds, it was to whisper in disgust. But that was because they did not understand. We brought justice in the Emperor’s name and to do so, we brought cruelty. We never spread the Emperor’s light, but we did spread his darkness.

 

* * *

 

“Move it, Lexicanium,” came the harsh, gravelly voice of Captain Berross. Dressed in his midnight-blue power armor, he towered over the half-dressed form of Roose Bale.

The librarian nodded in acknowledgement and hurried his preparations, shaking off his chronic lethargy.

“I want all units in the drop bay in ten minutes,” the captain announced as he backed out of Bale’s cell. “I don’t need to remind you about what happens to soldiers who disappoint me.”

Bale frowned, careful to keep his back to his commander. There was a time when he had respected such threats. Discipline was paramount to the effectiveness of a fighting force and needed to be maintained by any means necessary. But in recent times, the means were no longer justified by the end, they were their own justification.

Bale had been on the receiving end of Captain Berross’ corrections often enough to keep his head down. He finished donning his power armour and checking his equipment. Slinging his Stalker-pattern bolter around his shoulder, he headed out of his cell and down the corridor of the Nightfall. As he passed a neighboring cell, he noticed an astartes loading a bolter clip.

“Zandon,” Bale called out. “Leave it, you’ve plenty of ammunition around your waist already.”

“No such thing as too much ammunition,” was Zandon somber reply. “Especially today.”

“We’ll be the last two to reach the drop bay at this rate,” Bale insisted. “Let’s go!”

The other marine dropped the half-loaded clip on his bunk in resignation and grabbed his bolter. The two of them jogged down the corridor, their boots clanging loudly against the metal flooring. As they moved, Bale reflected that there were few astartes besides Zandon that he would be comfortable having at his back. The two had been together since they had been pulled from the prison sinks of Terra, in a time so far removed from their current existence, it seemed almost a fantasy. Despite the fact that Terran and Nostramon recruits had both been born into lives of darkness, death and crime, the cultural divide between them was often wide. And that was on top of the fact that trust was in limited supply among the VIII legion to begin with.

They stormed into the drop bay and joined the hundreds upon hundreds of their battle-brothers waiting for the order to board their drop pods. Captain Beross paced back and forth in front of his company impatiently.

A hush fell across the midnight-clad killers as the towering form of the Night Haunter walked in. He wore his battle plate, with a red cape trailing behind him. His rank, black hair hung over his pale face. With a sneer, he addressed his assembled sons.

“Long has this moment been coming,” he began. “Never have you known what it is to dwell in the Emperor’s light. But what do you need with light? You are the masters of the dark! You are the Night Lords!”

Bale cheered along with his brothers, but something in the back of his mind protested. He ignored it and focused on his father’s words as he continued.

“The Warmaster has called us here, to Istvaan V, to join his crusade. This will be a new beginning, the greatest moment in our legion’s history. No more will we toil in the name of my father’s failed empire!”

The Night Lords cheered again, calling for blood, eager to unleash carnage. Some drew chain swords and revved them in the air. The primarch walked off and the captains of the various companies led their troops aboard their respective drop pods, with little semblance of order.

Bale and Zandon took seats next to one another, with captain Beross climbing in behind them. The marines strapped themselves in and prepared for planet fall.

“Nice to drop without getting shot at, for a change,” Zandon remarked on a private channel with Roose.

“Yes,” the librarian replied noncommittally. “But doesn’t something about this feel wrong to you?”

“What, the slaying of our fellow Astartes when they trust us to reinforce them?” Zandon answered drily. “Why should that feel strange?”

Roose did not reply, struggling in his mind with uncomfortable thoughts. The pod began to tremble as it pierced the thin atmosphere of Istvaan V.

“We’ve murdered, skinned and tortured uncounted millions before this,” Zandon continued. “It’s what we do, what we were bred for. We’re monsters, brother. It’s never bothered you before.”

“But it was always for a purpose,” replied Bale with a passion that surprised himself. “We were the boogeymen that kept the Imperium in line. We were a necessary evil. Now we forsake the Imperium? Where does that leave us?”

“Free!” Zandon replied, clapping the librarian on the shoulder pauldron.

Bale said nothing, his mind churning like never before.

The pod landed with a heavy thud and slammed open. The Night Lords released their restraints and stormed out, weapons drawn.

“Fan out,” came Captain Beross’ voice across the company vox channel. “Hold your fire, let the enemy come to us.”

Bale and his battle-brothers took up position, joining others from the Iron Warriors and Word Bearers lining the North ridge of the Urgall Depression. Below, Bale saw carnage at a scale unlike anything he’d experienced before. The fighting between the loyalists and the Warmaster’s forces had clearly been legendary.

He watched as battered ranks of Salamanders and Raven Guard approached, their guard down. The vox crackled with requests for medical aid and resupply.

“Make no answer!” Beross commanded. “Make no contact before the Warmaster’s signal.”

Bale peered through his bolter’s scope, observing the approaching victims. His brothers, come to deliver justice to the Warmaster’s traitors.

 

* * *

 

What was I thinking as I watched my brother Astartes approach, knowing the trap that was set for them?

Like all Astartes, I was trained to resist fear. But perhaps the closest approximation of what I felt at that moment, was fear. Fear of failing in my duty, regardless of how I chose to act. I felt as trapped as those Salamanders, Raven Guard and Iron Hands below us.

 

* * *

 

A lone flare shot skyward from inside the black fortress where Horus had made his lair, exploding in a hellish red glow that lit the battlefield below like a madman’s vision of the end of the world. Bale watched it fly and gritted his teeth.

And all around him, the fire of betrayal roared from the barrels of a thousand guns. The librarian took aim at a Salamander and pulled the trigger, watching his round strike true. The sight of the green-armoured marine toppling to the ground failed to bring him the customary pleasure that he felt after a successful kill. He took aim at another adversary, a Raven Guard, but his finger would not pull the trigger.

His battle-brothers began a charge down the slope, overtaking the black field and their loyalist prey. Bale slung his rifle and drew his force sword, sluggishly following his brothers, his mind reeling. He hung back, watching as the forces clashed at short range, the intensity of the fighting like nothing he could have imagined. Bale stood with his sword raised, his brothers fighting and dying mere metres away, paralyzed by indecision.

Suddenly, a handful of loyalists broke through the line of Night Lords. There were two Salamanders, dragging a third, obviously grievously wounded. A Raven Guard and an Iron Hand followed them.

“Don’t let any through!” Captain Beross bellowed over the vox. Location runes for the pocket of resistance appeared on Bale’s helmet display and a group of Night Lords fell back to engage them. Bale advanced on the position, his sword beginning to glow with blue flame.

The knot of loyalists spotted their approaching doom and braced to meet the charge. Something in Bale’s mind snapped. He stopped short and spontaneously reached into the warp. Screaming with cathartic rage, he unleashed a devastating lightning storm on his fellow Night Lords. The Salamanders, Raven Guard and Iron Hand seized the opportunity and opened fire, launching bolts and promethium into the suddenly embattled traitors. Furious moments later, the Night Lords were dead.

Bale opened a short range, tight beam channel to the Salamander Apothecary that seemed to be leading the group. He pointed his sword uphill as he transmitted.

“This way! We can seize a ship and get out of here!”

“Who are you?” came the suspicious reply, with a thick Nocturnean accent. “Why did you turn against your brothers?”

“It’s all very confusing,” Bale replied in a tone that was equal parts complaint and chuckle. “Just come with me, if you want to live. Or don’t.”

He began retracing his steps up the incline. The loyalists followed him.

“Bale!” Beross shouted across the vox. “Those loyalists are still moving. What happened? Report!”

“Uh…” Bale hesitated, feeling completely out of his depth. “They’re right behind me!”

“I can see that, you idiot,” Beross spat angrily. “Turn and face them, you coward. Delay them until Squad Xaren can catch up.”

“Unable to comply,” Bale answered, scrambling. “Relocating to higher ground.”

Every second brought him and the loyalists closer to escape.

“Damn it, Bale, you’re practically on top of the drop zone! They might be able to–” the captain cut himself off and his tone suddenly darkened, dripping with loathing. “You spineless turncoat!”

“I may be many things Beross,” Bale retorted, his thoughts finally coming into focus, “but I am no traitor.”

He saw a Stormbird just ahead and didn’t wait for the soldiers guarding it to question him. He pounced into their midst, slicing them apart with his sword.

A hail of bolter fire greeted the loyalists as they reached the ship. A squad of Iron Warriors had broken off from their positions and were closing on them. Bale took aim and fired into the attackers, wounding one, but doing nothing to slow them down.

“Let’s get off this rock,” he shouted and rushed aboard the Stormbird.

One of the Salamanders collapsed as he spoke, blood spraying from a hole in the back of his helmet. The Raven Guard and Iron Hand briefly returned fire, covering the apothecary as he dragged his wounded companion aboard. Then they too followed.

“Take off,” Bale ordered as he burst into the cockpit. The two pilots looked at him in surprise.

“My lord?” asked the pilot, as he listened to orders coming over the vox.

“This ship is taking off in three seconds,” Bale barked, drawing his sword. “You’ll either be piloting it or dead.”

The two humans exchanged a brief glance and immediately began preparations for take off. Three seconds later, the craft lifted off, continuing to get peppered with bolt shells. They pushed hard for orbit.

Bale joined the loyalist survivors and took a seat. The Iron Hand and Raven Guard had also taken seats, but the Salamander apothecary was on the floor. He had pulled the helmet off of his companion and was working furiously to stabilize him.

“Welcome aboard the Muffled Cry,” said Bale to the others. “Probably the worst Stormbird in the Night Lords’ arsenal.”

“You joke at a time like this?” answered the Iron Hand, his voice full of cold fury.

“It’s either laughter or madness,” Bale answered calmly. “Which would you prefer?”

The apothecary sighed loudly, ending the conversation. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“He’s dead,” he said quietly.

No one spoke, watching numbly as the apothecary extracted the gene-seed of his fallen brother and then took a seat.

 

* * *

 

As I listened to the sound of bolt shell explosions hammering the Stormbird, I wondered whether it was about to explode and kill me. I think I hoped for death, in that moment, as it would shield me from having to come to grips with my actions, with the events of the day. But the whine of the engines grew louder, the ship vibrated and I knew we would reach orbit.

Which meant I would have to contemplate a new life, short though it was likely to be in these dark times. A life where I was not only apart from my former brothers, but against them. While the entire galaxy burned around us.

The post Roose Bale appeared first on Eric P Caillibot.

Tychondrius

Based on Fantasy Flight’s game Deathwatch, set in Games Workshop Warhammer 40,000

As the battered land raider vibrated from the impact of innumerable fleshborer beetles, Brother Tychondrius surveyed the battlefield using the vehicle’s remaining sensors, directly interfaced to his brain by means of his electro-graft implant. The hail of fleshborers originated from the swarm of termagants which were the current quarry of the land raider and its surviving complement of Iron Legion battle-brothers. The swarm was retreating quickly, even as it fired, but the land raider would soon overtake them. Four assault marines riding inside the land raider with Tychondrius waited impatiently for the tank’s door to open, allowing them to lay waste to the xenos scum and avenge their fallen comrades.

 

Tychondrius spotted the carnifex that had torn apart Squad Calvinos a few hundred meters to the West. It remained preoccupied with feasting on the remains of his fallen brothers, but Tychnodrius knew it would soon be on the rampage again.

 

After its encounter with the hive flyrant, all of the vehicle’s weaponry was inoperable or missing, having been sheared off by the creature’s titanic scything talons. Tychondrius’ mind echoed the longing ache felt by the raider’s venerable, battle-hardened machine spirit.

 

“In the name of the Omnissiah,” the techmarine intoned to the seething spirit, “I swear that your remaining lascannon will soon drink the blood of our foes once again.”

 

The damaged lascannon was in fact the only answer to the carnifex left in the hands of the Iron Legion detachment. Tychondrius knew his duty without anyone speaking it aloud: repair the lascannon and destroy the carnifex… or give his life in the attempt. No other option was conceivable.

 

With the termagant horde in range, Tychondrius directed the vehicle directly into their path. With the land raider’s treads still shredding the rocky ground as they reversed direction, Tychondrius lowered the bay door.

 

“No fear!” Sergeant Paronius called to his squadmates, beginning the Iron Legion battle cry. “No mercy!” answered his squad, completing it.

 

The assault marines leapt from the moving vehicle, heedless of the swarm outnumbering them four-to-one. As the last battle-brother exited, Tychondrius quickly shut the door and unplugged his electro-graft. Throwing open the raider’s top hatch, he hastily climbed out. Drawing his bolter as soon as he was able to gain his balance, Tychondrius fired twice into the seething mass of xenos before desisting for fear of wounding his brothers as they hacked their way through their foes with chainswords and power fists.

 

As he made his way to the damaged lascannon, Tychondrius stomped on the severed wing laying on top of the raider, which was all that remained of the hive flyrant that had attacked Sergeant Paronius’ squad and their transport. He dropped to his knees next to the mounted weapon and pulled out his combi-tool. Chanting the ancient Prayer of Restitution taught to him on Mars, Tychondrius began carefully reassembling the sacred tool of destruction.

 

As he worked, he remained alert to the sounds of the nearby melee, although it became difficult to differentiate the screaming of dying xenos and Astartes. He completed his repairs and began a quick diagnostic to verify the weapon’s status. Before he could finish, he was momentarily distracted by the thunderous roar of the carnifex. Sparing a glance, Tychondrius looked up toward the sound. The towering beast had finished its feast and was turning its attention to the land raider. It began running toward the vehicle, its oversized hooves pulverizing the ground with every step. Thanking the Omnissiah for having been able to complete his repairs in time, Tychondrius turned back to the lascannon. But as he did so, he heard a screech from behind him and suddenly felt an impact that carried him over the side of the raider.

 

Tychondrius hit the ground rolling, his power armour protecting him from the impact. He looked up to see a hormagaunt bound to its feet and leap at him, its scything talons dripping with blood. The creature struck first at the techmarine’s head and again at his arm. The first blow rebounded with little effect, but Tychondrius felt the tip of the second claw penetrate the wrist joint of his armor and pierce the flesh below. Cursing the weakness of his flesh, Tychondrius drew his combat knife and drove it upwards toward the creature’s neck. The gaunt nimbly stretched its neck, moving its head out of his reach, and directly into the grip of Tychondrius’ servo-arm as he brought it down, clamping it on the creature’s head. With a thought, the servo-arm’s mechanical hand closed, instantly pulping the hormagaunt’s skull and brains. Tossing the corpse aside, Tychondrius hurriedly climbed up the side of the land raider, conscious of the heavy thudding heralding the approaching carnifex.

 

He reached the top and discovered the carnifex had moved much more quickly than he had anticipated. Tychondrius ran to the lascannon and dropped to his knees, hurriedly jacking into the weapon’s external auxiliary port. With no more time for diagnostics, he swiveled the cannon to bear on the carnifex, realizing that it was already too late.

 

Lowering its head and bellowing again, the carnifex crashed into the side of the land raider, lifting it off its treads and sending it tumbling through the air. Tychondrius grabbed hold of a nearby hatch with his servo-arm and watched sky and ground blur as he spun through the air with the vehicle.

 

The raider impacted the ground, jarring every bone in Tychondrius’ body. By the fact that he was still alive, he deduced that the raider had not landed on top of him. As his senses returned, he found himself suspended from the top of the raider by his servo-arm. The vehicle had landed on its side. He could not see the carnifex, but could hear its thunderous steps. He looked up in time to see the beast’s cavernous jaws leaning over the skyward-facing side of the toppled land raider. The creature bowed its head, as it peered over the tank, training its eyes on Tychondrius.

 

Praying to the Omnissiah that the lascannon had survived the onslaught, that he might not be disemboweled without completing his task, Tychondrius channeled his thoughts through his mind impulse implant. The lascannon came to life, swivelling to lock on to the carnifex’s head. In an instant, a blinding spear of laser fire erupted from the cannon scoring a hit on the xeno monstrosity, right between the eyes. It roared in rage and leapt on top of the land raider, raising two colossal claws over its head, preparing to flatten everything below.

 

“No mercy!” screamed Tychondrius as he fired the lascannon again and again, piercing the creature’s armored plates and vaporizing its entrails. As the beast collapsed, Tychondrius flung himself away from the raider using his servo-arm, and landed tumbling across the rocky ground. The land raider and carnifex rolled together coming to rest as a pile of shrapnel and molten flesh.

 

Tychondrius rose to his feet, surveying the battlefield. His task was complete, the carnifex finished. He did not need his decades of training with the tech-priests to see that the land raider could not be salvaged in the field. From amid a pile of termagant corpses, Tychondrius observed Sergeant Paronius emerge, supporting one of his squadmates. Both were wounded and were all that remained of their brethren, but they had also succeeded in their mission. Tychondrius walked over to them as he listened to reports coming in from other squads. No Tyranid lifeforms drew breath any longer. This tiny world, insignificant by any measure except for the presence of their foes, had been cleansed.

 

Passing a termagant corpse, Tychondrius deliberately stomped its head into paste under the boot of his power armor. He despised xeno lifeforms. Born and raised on Catachan, the merciless jungle world whose entire ecology constantly waged war on its human inhabitants, Tychondrius had learned early to hate and kill alien life in all of its forms. His survival had depended on his hatred of life as much as his understanding of technology. Tychondrius understood that technology was the source of survival on Catachan, much like everywhere else in the hostile galaxy.

 

“Well fought, Brother Tychondrius,” said Sergeant Paronius as he approached.

 

Tychondrius nodded solemnly in response, but said nothing. Tychondrius had known the sergeant for most of his life. Paronius had already been an Adeptus Astartes of the Iron Legion when Tychondrius was recruited. The Legion’s home fleet had stopped by Catachan, seeking recruits to replace battle-brothers that had been lost during their endless patrol of the galaxy. Desperate for an escape from the hated, life-filled world of his birth, Tychondrius worked hard to get noticed by Paronius and the other Astartes that had come to his home.

 

After being recruited and having survived his transformation from common man to Astartes, Tychondrius continued to distinguish himself, first as a member of the scout regiment, then briefly as a devastator and finally as an assault marine under the direct command of the newly-promoted Sergeant Paronius. He had forged what he believed to be an unbreakable bond of loyalty and camaraderie with Paronius and the rest of his brothers, despite continually feeling that he was not fulfilling his true potential.

 

Tychondrius watched a drop pod descend on a trail of fire, landing a kilometre away from his position. Sergeant Paronius gestured and the three Astartes headed towards it at a quick march. Apothecaries emerged from the pod, heading to the dead and wounded brothers across the battlefield. A towing vehicle also emerged, heading to recover the wreckage of the Land Raider.

 

Tychondrius followed Paronius aboard the pod, ready to return to the fleet. Paronius immediately joined the battle’s other survivors, listening to their exploits and recounting his own. Tychondrius remained alone, sinking into private memories.

 

He recalled that it was the death of Brother Cassianus, a venerable Iron Legion techmarine, at the battle of Kassop IV, that had prompted Chapter Master Severinus to select Tychondrius for initiation as a techmarine. Tychondrius knew that he had developed a reputation for being a skilled technology enthusiast, and the Legion’s martyred Forge Master Nykanor had become his personal hero. So, he was honoured by being selected, though he did not understand exactly what it implied.

 

It was only when he arrived on Mars that Tychondrius began to realize the potential he had known was in him all along. He excelled at his training, forging new bonds with the tech-priests and the other initiates of the Machine Cult. When he finally departed this world of enlightenment at the conclusion of his training, it was with deep regret.

 

Returned to the Iron Legion fleet, he carried out his new duties as techmarine with devotion and excellence, but he felt ill at ease. The camaraderie he had forged with his battle-brothers was now overshadowed by his longing for Mars and the mistrust he saw in their eyes. Regardless of how often he repeated his vows to the Iron Legion and the protection of their secret shame, he knew that the commitments he had made to the Machine Cult and the tech-priests sowed seeds of distrust in his brothers. He watched with diminishing interest as they grew increasingly distant. He learned to content himself with the fulfillment of his duties.

 

Tychondrius looked up from his introspection and realised the drop pod was already docking with the Emperor’s Valor. He returned to his sparse quarters, still lost in thought. He had barely walked through the door when he received a call.

 

“Brother Tychondrius,” came the booming voice, “report immediately to Chapter Master Severinus on the command deck.” Tychondrius quickly obeyed the summons and found his commander waiting for him as he arrived on deck. Severinus regarded Tychondrius with his usual severity, but even his gaze belied a level of distrust.

 

“You have brought honour to the Iron Legion today,” Severinus began in the metallic vibrato that was almost universal among the Astartes of his chapter. “In recompense, I have a special assignment for you. Our next jump will bring us into the Jericho Reach, where the battle-brothers of the Deathwatch labour against the xeno threat.”

 

Tychondrius had never heard of the Deathwatch and remained silent.

 

“A small contingent of our brothers will be seconded to the Deathwatch to aid in their holy work. You, Brother Tychondrius, will be among them.”

 

Tychondrius was stunned for a moment. As he began to process this news, he quickly understood that this reward was both recognition for his achievements and an honorable means of banishing him from the fleet.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Tychondrius replied carefully.

 

Severinus waited a moment, ostensibly inviting questions although his demeanour suggested they would not be welcome. When Tychondrius remained silent, Severinus dismissed him with a nod.

 

Tychondrius turned and left the command deck. He would miss the fleet, which had been his home for many years. He would also miss his brothers, for despite the coldness that had developed, they remained the closest thing he had to family. And yet, perhaps this new challenge would provide a welcome distraction from his private struggle between his divided loyalties. Perhaps his service to the Deathwatch would even help him find the elusive balance he sought.

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