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My first game of 8th: Marines Malevolent VS Orks 75PL

What follows is not a battle report as such, more a collection of thoughts and impressions of this superb new edition: 

My first game of 8th certainly did not disappoint. Everything that I had either read or listened to on various podcasts (such as the elegant simplicity of the ruleset) came to light in this game. I was also pleased that my opponent, James, was happy to play with Power Level instead of points, a concept that in my local gaming scene many players seem perhaps a little suspicious of…

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In customary ‘cunnin’ style, the Weirdboy transports a mob of boyz to the rear of my devastators’ position. The ensuing charge took a dreadful toll on the Astartes ability to bring heavier ordnance to bear on the advancing hoard.

As it happened, this turned out to be an extremely tense and hard fought battle. Most exciting of all was that the behaviour of our units was no longer resigned to the imagination or the pages of Black Library; the Astartes fought heroically, whilst the savage and relentless tide of Orks reminded me of passages from Aaron Dembski Bowden’s immortal Helsreach.

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The dreadnoughts stand shoulder to shoulder, raining shells from their rotary cannons upon the greenskins. To the right of the picture, a squad cautiously takes up position in the tree line…

Oh and good grief! Finally, STUFF WORKS! The apothecary is no longer resigned to dishing out an abstract ‘Feel No Pain’ to his unit, but is actively getting marines back on their feet to continue the fight! The techmarine, planted between my two advancing dreadnoughts, regained a cumulative 9 Wounds on his venerable pals over the course of the game (this did not prevent the titanic explosions of both as the battle reached its climax.) My favourite was the Company Ancient, who raised the banner high, inspiring mortally wounded marines to make one last defiant stand before succumbing to their wounds. Just. Awesome.

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The mass of frenzied orks surges over through the logistical district, eager to claim the archeotech in the centre of the battle grid.

Oh, and my Captain, who cleaved the warboss in twain with his relic blade. I didn’t think captains could do that…

All of these guys are normal HQ’s, but through their actions they contributed to a truly compelling and cinematic narrative that complimented the gameplay.

James was an excellent opponent and was really good at explaining various elements of the ruleset as I got my head around it. Fortunately, power armour is relatively forgiving and soaked up a few of my mistakes!

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The three Kans posed one of the biggest threats to my left flank…

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The last Kan destroyed a dreadnought then waded over the wreckage of the Tankbusta’s trukk. In an epic duel, the grieving techmarine laid the perverse xeno contraption low.

Frankly, I was concentrating on the new rules and having too much of a good time to take a comprehensive record of events! Both sides cut one another to ribbons, but ultimately the Orks took the day, despite the loss of their Warboss. I suppose they’re never too sentimental about that sort of thing.

James realised that he had forgotten to bring on his three buggies at the close of Turn 5. I felt bad for him for about ten seconds, until I remembered that I too had forgotten to bring on my Landspeeder from reserves! Dammit, that heavy flamer could have come in handy…

My thanks again to James for being such a fun opponent – it was a pleasure to play against such a beautifully painted Ork army. Thank you also to Jim at Bristol Independent Gaming for creating such an amazing space for gaming.

Thanks for reading.

 

Ed

Resurrecting the Malevolents

“There is no innocence in this galaxy, of all places why did you think to find it on a planet named Armageddon?” Brother Bericus

My box of Dark Imperium, along with the Imperial I and Chaos indices, sat gathering dust in Bristol Independent Gaming for an unreasonable amount of time. Finally, after a busy surge at work and a relaxing break in Lisbon, I picked up my goodies.

I won’t go into my thoughts on the contents of Dark Imperium (that ship has sailed!) save to say that it is simply awe inspiring and brought to the surface the same feelings I had as a nine-year old when I received the 2nd Edition starter set all those years ago…

Last week I got my first game of 8th down at Bristol Independent Gaming. The day before I had spent a few hours rebasing and touching up my 40k Army – The Marines Malevolent! I absolutely loved these guys at the time and really appreciated the fluff Nick Kyme gifted this chapter. For those not familiar, they are a really nasty lot. They wantonly disregard imperial institutions (and lives) in the pursuit of their enemies. Their contempt for others has not played out well and they can no longer count on the Administratum or Mars for logistical support. As such, they scavenge, scrounge and downright steal in order to keep themselves operational. Their kit is, as a result, antiquated, battered and a strikingly at odds with those chapters that revere their wargear. Consequently, many chapters regard the Marines Malevolent as beneath contempt and barely worthy of the name Astartes, yet it is a testament to the chapter’s grit that they can survive in a hostile galaxy with such an arrogant and destructive temperament.

MARINES MALEVOLENT

“And as for these lesser Chapters, these harbingers of misery, these scum, these marines malevolent, I defy them. Let them crash like waves upon fortress Terra, they will only break and retreat like the tide. Let them do their worst. For I am the light of the Imperium and will purge them in fire and blood!”

-Gorge Vandire, broadcasting to his supporters at the height of the siege of the Ecclesiarchical Palace on Terra, M36

“The Space Marines themselves appeared to be just as archaic. Most wore Mk VI Corvus-pattern power armour, stained yellow with a black cuirass and generators, the left pauldron studded with fat rivets. The armour’s plastron was bereft of the Imperial eagle, and carried only an octagonal release clasp, unlike the modern suits of the Mk VII Aquila-pattern. Every suit amongst them, bar none, was patched and chipped. The rigours of battle were worn proudly as marks of honour, in the same manner as the Salamanders’ branding scars. It was armour that had been made to last, not in the sense of its superior forging or exceptionally durable craftsmanship; rather, it was battle-plate that had seen hundreds, perhaps thousands, of victories and been strung back together and hammered into shape by any means necessary in order that it saw another.”

From the novel ‘Salamander’ by Nick Kyme

Captain Bericus: 4th company – Actions of Note

TREPTA

Bericus was given the honour of triggering the release of the Life Eater Virus against the Genestealer-held world of Trepta. From orbit, he watched entranced as the virus blossomed across the entire planet, wiping out every living thing, before finally consuming the atmosphere in a series of hellish firestorms released by the stored energy of the world’s dying biomass.

JIBBUS IV

Bericus was infiltrated into the heart of the vast bunker complex on the rebellious mining world of Jibbus IV in 901 M41 and laced the ancient life support machines with nerve gas, killing millions of heretical fanatics in minutes. Bericus knew his actions were justified, as the world can still by mined by the automated servants of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but sometimes he still hears the choking screams of the dying.

ROTRACUDA

During a desperate defence of the Forge World of Rotracuda in 946 M41 from a massive Tyranid splinter fleet, Bericus, then a member of his Captain’s honour guard, called artillery fire onto his own position as it was overrun. Bericus’ actions led to the death of all of his surviving squadmates, but was lauded by his superiors (including his mortally wounded Captain) as exemplifying the ruthless ethos of the Chapter.

MAUDIGARN

Bericus commanded the cleansing of the hive world Maudigarn II in 980 M41. The world had been infiltrated by a sinister race of shapeshifting Xenos able to replicate the divine human form. The world was in the process of tearing itself apart in a series of paranoid civil wars until the Chapter descended upon it and instituted brutal purges. Billions were killed, thousands of them at his hands. Most of them were probably aliens, though there was no way to be sure. Even if hundreds were innocent…better to die than suffer the Xenos to live.

3rd War for ARMAGEDDON

As part of Captain Vanyar’s strike force Bericus was tasked with leading his Sternguard squad on seek and destroy missions on high priority targets. Open warfare of this kind, bloody and merciless, against an enemy that would give no quarter, saw Bericus embody the epitome of what it is to be an Astartes of the Marines Malevolent. He would endure days of ceaseless slaughter striding across the ash wastes, heedless of his safety, armour pitted and blackened by combat, tirelessly seeking greenskins to strike down. Bericus’ wounds didn’t impede him from participating in every major action of the campaign, despite the grievous injuries that he sustained at the claws of an orkoid war machine. It is worth noting that Bericus was present during the incident at the “Emperor’s Deliverance” refugee camp and a staunch supporter of his brother Captain’s tactical decision to use the camp as a killing field.

After leaving the planet and returning to the Chapter fleet Bericus‘ was given the Captaincy of the 4th Company in its entirety, a unit which had been badly mauled by a protracted series of engagements with Traitor Legionnaires. With his new command and the blessing of his Chapter Master and fellow Captains, Bericus headed to the Naufragium Cluster intent on collecting such a string of victories that even the High Lords on Terra would sit up and take notice of the much maligned Marines Malevolent…

Excerpt from an unfinished short story title ‘Season of Fire.’

As requested the thick astral scope of the Adsideo, one of nearly six hundred orbiting watch stations, glanced away from its vigil on the Pallidus Mountains to inspect a tiny corner of the Infensus region. Adepts adjusted the magnification, cycled through image filters and promptly found what the terse report from the Adspectus Claritatis was demanding. A plume of dust. The filters cycled to thermal, peeling away the obscuring layers, froze the image and came to a rest. The outline, despite some atmospheric distortion, was unmistakable. A score of Ork vehicles, adorned with all the accoutrements of crude lethality that could be expected of their race. There too, gutted on their battered hulls like offal on a butchers block, were the grizzly remains of what had been the Kholundan IXth.

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‘Hold Brother!’

The Razorback’s heavy treads locked abruptly, bringing the fearsome tank to a screeching stop behind the boarding ramp of the waiting Thunderhawk. The craft’s enormous turbofans beat up billowing plumes blasting the armoured vehicle underneath in noxious dust and toxic filth.

No, no. This world’s not done with you yet, thought Bericus inside the halted Razorback.

‘Captain Tull to Sergeant Bericus,’ rasped a disembodied voice from the tank’s internal voxcaster.

Tull, the taskmaster, the uncompromising, the sentinel of what was Hades, the Lord of the Third – or what was left of it.

‘Aye, Brother Captain,’ said Bericus, picking a fleck of bone from the teeth of his underslung chainblade.

‘State your readiness.’

Bericus spoke without thinking, his response as practised and monosyllabic as if he were back in the hallowed cloisters of his chapter monastery. ‘All brothers present and battle worthy, our steed is still fresh and our assault cannons still hunger.’

‘ Good. Sergeant of the Squad, accept your orders.’ Tull the traditionalist. ‘See here then, Brother Sergeant.’ A torrent of tac-data fuzzed in an epileptic shock across Bericus’ visor. ‘Eight enemy vehicles counted,’ continued Tull, ‘two to four score Xeno- filth moving at speed. Currently on a heading consistent with Ragalan’s Reach at -’

Yes Tull. I understand. We’ll intercept them.The Titan graveyard will be the killing ground. The leering skull face of that fallen lord of war will witness their ruin, see them and their wretched hulks smashed by my brothers. I picture them even now, hungrily entering that adamantium ruin. Into our bolters. Into our blades. Into our steed’s assault cannon.

‘I accept my orders Brother Captain,’ said Bericus taking the target’s speed and bearing, duly plotting an intercept in a heartbeat. ‘We go now! Glory and hate.’

‘Glory and hate. Tull, vox-out.’ The link snapped closed as Bericus gave a nod to Brother Fortix opposite. Fortix banged his gauntlet hard on the battered plate that separated the five astartes from their driver. The Razorback roared into life, surging out from under the rapidly climbing thunderhawk. The tank’s treads tore through the rank silt, eagerly gunning towards the new objective. Inside, Ajax pulled out his auspex, deftly goading the machine spirit into life with a silent prayer whilst Domli rose steadily and opened the top hatch. Suffocating heat poured into the compact compartment as the marine climbed out onto the hull. Domli gripped tight, his dull mustard armour suddenly bright in the intense glare of Armageddon’s hellish twin suns. The vehicle bucked about savagely as it tore through the blasted landscape. Ignoring the forces threatening to throw him off the hull, Domli reached out and ripped away the heavy enviro-tarp covering the twin linked assault cannons. Brother Ursad exchanged his sickle magazine for a sixty bolt round drum, locking the hefty load underneath his MK IV Godwyn Vb bolter just as the corvus helmed Domli dropped back onboard. The thick hatch behind closed him with a resounding crunch of alloy on ceramite. He tossed the tarp to one side and drew his boltgun, a matt black Umbra bonded with an indiscreet melta then checked the mechanism for the hundredth time that day, and days were short on Armageddon. Ajax sat at the Razor’s command node, his testy auspex now mag-clamped to his thigh and tracked the horizon through the assault cannon’s ocular feed matrix.

The five armoured giants went about their battle rites in grim silence. No regard was given to the fact that the Thunderhawk now searing into the crimson sky had been mere seconds away from taking them away from this wretched planet for good.

 

Thank you for reading.

 

‘Our Last Apothecary…’

Crysos Morturg, whose testimony constitutes the majority of record concerning the fratricidal ground war on Isstvan III, cited the heroism of many of his loyal astartes kin. Of these was ‘our last apothecary’, known simply as Daeka, who was rent in two by a medusa shell when the loyalist’s holdfast was at long last discovered. Nothing else is known, save the speculation of this historian, who believes that for any astarte to have endured for so long, some two weeks after the fall of the Precentor’s Palace, is deserving of the highest accolades, even amongst their kind.

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This helm-cam pict-capture, believed by many to be the apothecary ‘Daeka’ mentioned in Morturg’s testimony, shows the Legion Medic hours before his death. The Mark III plate is badly damaged and has clearly been replaced with scavenged pauldrons and grieves from fallen or stricken brothers. This would account for the complete lack of iconography indicative of Daeka’s status as an apothecary. Indeed, the usual vials, unctions and paraphernalia typical of an apothecary’s role are missing, perhaps indicative of a total depletion of resources due to the extremes of astartes combat.

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Daeka has stowed his helmet on his belt’s mag clamp, perhaps better to observe his surroundings or, more likely, due to helmet malfunction.

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Note the unadorned, yet clearly well maintained Phobos pattern bolt pistol.

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The reinforced plate of the Mark III pattern became popular amongst the warring astartes due to its formidable frontal protection. Note the protection offered by Daeka’s armoured pauldrons. Daeka’s Narthecium seems to have been retrofitted with a chain blade. Following the shock of betrayal, many loyalist apothecaries absconded from collecting the gene seed of their fallen brothers, believing their Legion to be utterly damned and undeserving of preservation.

Thank you for reading!

Ed

Throwback Thursday

It’s been a while, but TBT is back. I thought I came up with this myself, but having listened to Ash on The D6 Generation over the weekend, I suddenly remembered that the name ‘Throw Back Thursday’ sits firmly in Ash’s court. Check out his stupendously good channel on youtube: Guerrilla Miniatures Games, not least for his superior iteration of Throwback Thursday. (The original and the best!)

Anyway, this week I’ll be looking at the infamous Catachan Jungle Fighter.

Before going any further I want to go on record as saying that amongst the worst, fugly and downright dated miniatures in the GW catalogue are the Catachan Jungle Fighters. But wait, I’m referring to the plastic models. Strange then, that their original sculpts (released a years before the plastics) should be so vastly superior. 

uh…horrendous…

Bursting with character and guile…

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Look at this guy! The Catachans are born on a Death World of the same name. This world is the three-way lovechild of Pandora, Predator and Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors. Quite simply, its denizens want nothing more than to poison you, incubate inside you and then explode you everywhere to scatter seeds. Yikes. And they’re the nice ones. So, what kind of humans could survive in a place like this? – Thrive in a place like this? – Make pillow cases out of the most dangerous fauna in the known universe? These men who make up some of the most magnificent soldier stock of the Imperium of Man? Hard ones apparently.

The aesthetic result is heavily, unapologetically drawn from Stallone and Arnie and their adventures in the South American and Vietnamese jungles. These sculpts are pure, unabashed testosterone fuelled visions of soldiery, a vision as out of step with reality as was most of the pop culture of the 80’s and 90’s. Forget the fact that they’re not wearing any body armour, or that they’d have to consume about 10,000 calories a day to stay that size. Even if that mass was some kind of genetic predisposition, it serves little purpose other than to intimidate the overwhelming horde of mankind’s enemies, most of which sadly cannot be intimidated by any means. No, it is the guile, cunning and will to survive that truly makes the Catachans what they are. Or so we’re told.

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The appeal of these guys lies purely with the Perrys’ and Matt Holland’s sculpts. There’s so much character in each, like a movie poster for an action movie, each pulling a dynamic pose telling its own story. This guy is leaning forwards, either about to break into a run, or straining to hear, perhaps to smell some nearby threat…

Surely they should be unstoppable on the tabletop?

W3 W3 T3 L7.

Wait? What? Yes. Those are the stats. Those are Rambo’s stats. In the 41st Millenium, a one man army of the 80’s is nothing more than a footsoldier, a worthless, forgotten instrument to be spent needlessly and without hesitation.

These sculpts were released when Second Edition was alive and kicking. Though unstoppable looking on the tabletop, they would face up to their foes – the Tyranids.

There they are now, the Guard of Catachan, lined up in a formidable gunline, entrenched in bunkers and trenches with a Leman Russ in support, ready to ‘pour it on’ those foul xenos.

Then the Tyranid player pulls out a strategy card.

“Jones is acting strangely.”

What’s that?

A barbed strangler bursts out of one of the hapless guardsmen, killing three of his fellows.

…These guys don’t stand a chance…

Welcome to the suck!

Thanks for reading

Ed

Moar Terrain!

My work on the pile of terrain I ordered from TTCombat continues. Below you can see the Armoured Bunker that I have begun painting. It has been sprayed, washed, drybrushed and now awaits a little bit of detail work. The building itself is mounted on a cork tile that I painted with Vellejo Black Lava and sprayed with grey auto paint. The building itself was sprayed with metallic paint and washed in a combination of browns and black.

In terms of details, I’m thinking a combination of hazard stripes, blood splatter and motivational posters for flavour. Standby for updates… soon.

Here you can see some Traitor Auxilia making use of this fortification. When you go to war in purple robes, it’s a good idea to make use of any cover you can find.

I also completed the second walkway. When I think back to games of 40k and 30k that I’ve played recently, the use of levels is sadly lacking. Hopefully, this terrain is going to throw another dimension on the table and shake up the way people play. I’m very excited to get these on the table soon.

I continue to be enormously impressed with TTCombat.

Phew! I’m going to leave terrain for a few weeks now and return to miniatures once more:

Standby for more Word Bearers…

Thank you for dropping by.

Peace Out

Ed

Wrecked Rhino Terrain

Just a small one today.

Washing and dry brushing terrain is infinitely satisfying and today I added a few details to this footprint of ‘Dangerous Terrain.’

I am anxious to make my terrain compatible with both 30k and 40k, so I went for a rather generic scheme on the rhino. It could be a civil enforcement vehicle, an Ultramarines Legio rhino, an Inquisitor’s transport, a rogue trader’s ride or even belong to a successor chapter.

Standby for more terrain updates in the near future.

Thank you for calling.

Ed

Origins: The Burning Horizon

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Zu’ul Na’gir

Their Praetor,  Zu’ul Na’gir, traces his origins to the motor-gypsy tribes of a world claimed by the XVIIth during the early part of the Great Crusade. Born aboard a tracked carrier, his mother died shortly after his birth, exerting her last grain of life to get her son to safety before the migratory swarms of xenoform locusts devoured the continent’s surface biomass.

Inducted into the XVIIth some fifteen standard years later, the legionary displayed considerable aptitude for armoured warfare and frequently grew impatient with the methodical doctrines of his fellow officers.

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Zu’ul has a great many seasoned warriors under his command, and he is reluctant to let them slide off into oblivion. Mortally wounded legionnaires all too often awake to find themselves rehoused in the sarcophagi of Contemptor chassis, ready to serve the legion once more.

Following Monarchia, the XVIIth accelerated their execution of the Crusade and Zu’ul’s expertise soon rose to prominence amongst his kin. He gained a reputation for rapid advances, and possessed an uncanny ability to identify and exploit weak points in the enemy battle lines.

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Nathagnol Mu’hur – Steel Centurion of The Burning Horizon and second in command.

The vehicles under Zu’ul’s command held special significance for his Folio. Where others regarded their tanks and transports as mere tools, Zu’ul’s legionnaires gave them names, etched scriptures upon their hulls and painstakingly restored wrecked vehicles to their former glory. The chapter’s Motorpools and Engineerum decks were even converted into places of worship to ensure that the vehicles could attend the services.

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Yet it was on Istvaan V where Zu’ul gained true notoriety. Some four hours after the moment of betrayal, many Loyalists had managed, despite the crippling losses inflicted by this act of wanton fratricide, to form cohesive formations and hit back at their erstwhile brothers.

IMG_2422One such sizeable formation of Iron Hands and Salamanders was inflicting significant losses upon the XVIIth; the Salamanders’ stubborn resistance, combined with the mechanical ingenuity of the Iron Hands, made for a formidable adversary. Worse, their commander was shrewd, using his armour to carve up unsupported Traitors that had overextended themselves in their advance, whilst evading traitor heavy battalions with tremendous skill. Upon hearing of this, Horus insulted Lorgar’s ability to direct his forces effectively, reminding him that every moment that passed on Istvaan would compromise the secessionists’ plan for total victory.

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At Lorgar’s personal request, The Crimson Revenant moved into low orbit, disgorging wings of Stormbirds, Stormeagles and Thunderhawk Transports. Within minutes, Zu’ul was on the ground, directing his forces from the cupola of his Land Raider Proteus, ‘Instrument of Ruin.’  The armoured spearhead had soon located the enemy formation, misdirected it and probed carefully for weaknesses via aggressive reconnaissance. The pseudo tank battle raged for hours, neither commander willing to commit his forces utterly for fear of a trap. Bluff followed bluff as Predator tanks skirted the lines and Land Raiders charged forth only to quickly dive back into the choking radioactive fog that enshrouded the Urgall Depression.

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It was one such piece of misdirection that finally proved to be the undoing of the Loyalists. A squadron of Zu’ul’s Land Raiders made contact with an Iron Hands Contemptor supported by infantry and a damaged Fellblade. In this engagement, a Land Raider was badly damaged whilst the rest of the squadron withdrew, giving cause for the Word Bearer’s within to disembark. Such a target as infantry in the open was too tempting for the Fellblade which moved into position to unleash its volkite cannon upon the target location. The infantry evaded the superheavy successfully, taking cover in a nearby arcology in the hope of mounting an ambush upon the enemy reconnoitre. Their opportunity came. The Iron Hands Contemptor advanced upon the stricken Land Raider, supported by a collection of Loyalist survivors. The Word Bearers watched as the Contemptor prized open the hull and ended the life of the mortally wounded tank commander. The Loyalists quickly got to work, ripping out the power coils and thermo packs of the Proteus’ lascannons and equipping themselves with salvage that could aid their own depleting motorpool. At this distance, the Word Bearer Stave Leader recognised the Contemptor as an ancient commander of the Iron Hands, a warrior of renown and deep significance. If the Iron hands would only commit here, in defence of one of their revered ancients, then the Salamanders would be forced to support them or submit to their forces being divided and destroyed piecemeal. Voxing his co-ordinates to the rest of Zu’ul’s Folio, the Stave Leader engaged.

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Six of his men were annihilated in a volkite inferno seconds after breaking cover. The Stave Leader, along with his three remaining faithful, survived the few minutes that it took for the Contemptor to be locked into a protracted firefight with the Land Raiders that had returned from their feigned flight. When reports came that the Contemptor had been immobilised, Zu’ul committed all of his forces. The gamble paid off.

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Whether it was the grief and rage of losing their Primarch that day, or the significance that the Iron Hands placed upon feats of mechanical engineering, who can say. Yet the bulk of Iron Hands moved to protect their leige, giving the Salamanders little choice other than to follow. It is fair to surmise that Zu’ul counted upon the Legion’s tendency to seek out a last stand…

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Within fifty eight minutes of the Stave Leader’s vox call, battle was joined. Hundreds of Lascannon beams lanced through the fog, hungrily piercing ceramite and filling the battlefield with the shrieking crack of superheated metal. Contemptors bound through the Word Bearer ranks, eager to reach the Loyalist lines and exact a bloody toll upon targets of opportunity. Predator autocannons hammered home whilst the contents of Zu’ul’s Proteus and Phobos squadrons fixed their chain-bayonets in anticipation of the close action to follow. Zu’ul’s medusa batteries rained shells over the slow tread of his armoured formations, raining phospex and high explosive onto the defenders, whilst Vorbak units, spearheaded by demonically charged dreadnoughts, formed the vanguard of Zu’ul’s assault. It was at this very moment that Zu’ul’s forces received their new moniker; over the vox, the sonorous and enigmatic tones of their beloved primarch delivered the final order:

Children, the gods themselves watch o’er us now.
In fire you march, in glory you tread. Hark!
Bring Truth this day at my request, for now
you etch our deeds upon the stars themselves.

Break open hammer and iron this day,
do it with bolt and blade and truth,
with shell and shot, alchem venom, las lance -
prayers and zeal;  Steel yourselves - now advance!

The very Horizon Burns at our touch!

                                                                  —Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers

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…Hell follows with them…