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Word Bearers VS Marines Malevolent (50 Power Level)

My buddy Alex popped over last weekend with the new Chaos Codex in hand and a 50PL list that he would assemble out of my 30k Word Bearers Army. Alex’s current army, The Scourged, was up in Newcastle so Lorgar’s boys would have to do for the time being. This was also Alex’s first game of 40k and I was excited to both show him the ropes and to hear his thoughts on the new edition of 40k.

THE ARMIES

Host of Lorgar

 

 

HQ

Dark Apostle – The Cursed Crozius, Plasma Pistol, 

TROOPS

Chaos Space Marines (x10) – Two Lascannons, Power Fist.

Chaos Space Marines (x10) – Two Lascannons, Power Fist.

ELITES

Possessed (x5) – Writhing Tentacles.

FAST ATTACK

Chaos Spawn (x1) – Mutated Beyond Reason.

HEAVY SUPPORT

Chaos Land Raider – Two Twin-Linked Lascannons, Twin Linked Heavy Bolter.

Malevelolent Strike Force

 

Malevolent Strike Force

 

HQ

Captain Bericus of the 4th – Storm Bolter, Relic Blade.

Techmarine – Servo Arm, Power Axe, Bolt Pistol.

ELITES

Company Ancient – Bolter.

Apothecary – Bolt Pistol, Chainsword.

TROOPS

Tactical Squad – Missile Launcher, Flamer, Power Fist.

Tactical Squad – Missile Launcher, Flamer, Power Sword, Combi – Flamer.

HEAVY SUPPORT

Contemptor Dreadnought- Kheres Assault Cannon, Dreadnought Close Combat Weapon with inbuilt Storm Bolter.

Dreadnought – Assault Cannon, Dreadnought Close Combat Weapon with inbuilt Storm Bolter.

 

THE BATTLE GRID

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A combination of Sector Imperialis, TTCombat and scratch-built terrain on a DeepCut Studio urban mat.

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This strongpoint was the last area to fall when the forces of ruin fell upon this world…

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DEPLOYMENT

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The Word Bearers would deploy in the centre…

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Deployment: Alex set up his Possessed and Dark Apostle inside the confines of the Land Raider, whilst squads of Heretics deployed in the gantry and ruins. The Malevolents concentrated their infantry on the eastern side of the board, whilst the two dreadnoughts deployed in flanking positions.

Mission:

KINGSLAYER: The Power Level of all enemy forces destroyed by each player is totalled up at the end of the fifth round. The total is DOUBLED if the enemy Warlord was slain. The player can still win even if he has no models remaining at the end of the game…

ENGAGE!

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The end of the first turn: Alex concentrates his forces under the gantry, focussing all of his fire upon the Malevolent infantry, wreaking a heavy toll upon a tactical squad advancing through the tank graveyard. The Malevolents fail to do any real damage in return, but do manage to send the Spawn back to whatever depraved hell it sprang from…

 

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The Heretic Astartes in the gantry enjoyed an excellent field of fire, sending concentrated beams of death upon the Tactical squad below with their lascannons and exacting a murderous toll upon their loyalist brothers.

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Turn Two: Opting for a less direct approach, the second Tactical Squad manoeuvres around the tower, blasting the Heretics with promethium and bolter fire.

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Turn Three: The scrum in the centre swings dramatically in Alex’s favour as the Possessed leave the Land Raider to join the fray. Frustratingly for the scions of Lorgar, the Apostle doesn’t quite make it into combat… Above, Bericus is blasted from the gantry by four lascannons from the Land Raider, ending his captaincy…

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Turn Four: The Dreadnoughts enter the fray, swiftly turning the tide of battle…

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The tank commander sizes up another target…

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In a final, crushing tide of carnage, the Word Bearers are slain to a man. The ruined body of the Dark Apostle is tossed aside by the dreadnought… The Land Raider reverses swiftly away from the battle grid in a bid to survive the last turn.

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The Contemptor absorbed yet another blast of lascannon energy then strode eagerly onwards…

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Battered but victorious, the Ancient holds the Malevolent’s banner high over the dead city.

This proved to be a bloody game for both sides and tremendous fun too! The Ultramarines morale boost rescued me on several occasions and Alex was unlucky to fail his Dark Apostle’s charge upon exiting the Land Raider. The arrival of the dreadnoughts in turn three really saved my bacon and won the day for the marines. Next time, Alex vowed to focus fire on those lumbering giants early on, as well as bringing a bucket load of Tzeentchian trickery to put my Emperor fawning lapdogs in their place!

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.

 

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

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…

Shadow Crusade Gone Sour…

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None should forget the near disastrous consequences of Angron’s uncontrollable rage. After infuriating Horus at Istvaan, Angron would continue to test the patience of his fellow secessionists. It is well documented that Angron’s fleet came close to initiating boarding actions with the Word Bearers flotilla at the outset of their campaign against The Five Hundred Worlds. Had it not been for Lorgar’s measured responses and the cool-headed courage of Angron’s lieutenants, then the Shadow Crusade would surely have been doomed from the start.

It is true that both legions remained far from amicable. Blows were struck, even blood drawn, yet this soon gave rise to a grudging respect between the legionnaires of both Primarchs.* Soon their strategies synergised, forming a formidable fighting force that would cleave through hundreds of worlds.

*It should be noted that outright battle never took place between the two legions in the prosecution of this campaign.

This is a lie.

On Culuxis XI, an agri-world on the fringes of The Five Hundred, the Word Bearers and World Eaters clashed.

The Ultramarines were swift to evacuate their personnel when the secessionist fleets entered the system, narrowly escaping to their orbiting strike cruisers and fleeing to a neighbouring system where a meaningful defence could perhaps be mustered.

The small world was left to its own defences, guarded only by tens of thousands of untested auxilia and a handful of oath sworn Ultramarines.

The World Eaters fell upon them from orbit, sending waves of drop pods into the midst of the defenders. Within hours, seven of the eight primary hives had fallen, their populations either put to the sword or streaming outwards in panicked tides, choking the roads with refugees. The Word Bearers landed several leagues beyond these population centres, preferring to advance methodically, crushing resistance, and zealously indoctrinating terrified civilians. Often they would stop to practise esoteric rites, erect shrines and perform sacrifices, all in aid of fuelling the growing Ruinstorm.

The world’s capital, Mal Reve, built long before by Culuxis’ first colonists, proved to be a formidable bastion, holding out longer than its neighbouring hives. Here, the World Eaters’ drop assault proved costly: Laser defence arrays lanced pods from the sky and hidden void shield generators denied the attackers viable landing zones. Every avenue was an ambush, every park a minefield and every plaza a kill zone. The auxilia here were well-drilled and, having received news of the massacres in seven of the other hives, resolved to fight to the last breath. Their master, Cato Bellicus, a Terran born Ultramarine beloved by the people, was both an inspiration and a tactical genius. Undeniably, the situation was hopeless for the defenders, but Cato determined to make the World Eaters bleed for every inch of ground they took.

Fast becoming frustrated, World Eater commanders requested the armour and heavy ordnance of the Word Bearers to come to their aid. Distracted by dark rituals, none was forthcoming, despite the vitriol and stream of curses that flooded the vox.

71 hours from the first drop on Mal Reve, the head of Cato Bellicus was taken. The resistance quickly collapsed and the defenders took to the streets, all notions of valour turned abruptly to desperate survival.

The hard fighting had caused the World Eaters’ nails to dig hard, taking hold in such a way that only continued combat, or potent sedatives, could calm the cerebral burn. Too few of their apothecaries had survived to administer the required dosages.

It was at this juncture that elements of the Word Bearers sent to support the assault on Mal Reve arrived on the fringes of the city.

A World Eater centurion, his battle plate streaked with gore and filth, advanced at the head of his forces to meet their allies. Through the rubble he came, over the buildings that had been collapsed on his brothers and across the strongpoints littered with Culuxian dead.

The Word Bearers stood before him now, their crimson armour unbloodied and weapons still cold. Parchment covered with the rhetoric of their father fluttered in the blood and cordite tinged wind. It was a sight that made the nails bite deeper.

Heartily gripping the vambrace of a trusted brother was a well practised battle greeting in both legions. Never though, had it ever been immediately followed by the severing of the gripped arm. A mixture of surprise and agony swept over the Word Bearer as he was head-butted and sent sprawling into a crater.  The severed limb followed a moment afterwards, tossed contemptuously in by his attacker.

The World Eater’s laughter crackled down the vox for a few moments, before being drowned out by the crashing sound of bolter fire. Incredulous, the Word Bearers voxed their ships and readied themselves for what would surely follow…

High above, Angron opened his eyes. His expression was one of pained concentration as he fought to quell the tremors and ticks that sought to wrest control of his face. He spat a goblet of his tongue out and licked his bloody lips, tasting the acid metal of his own gene-enhanced blood. Despite the titanic doses of tetra-opiates that numbed his senses, they failed to drive him downward into dormancy. He had been listening to the vox…

“Prepare the Charybdis,” growled Angron, slowly rising from his throne of bronze…

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This cortis contemptor was the first to join battle, striding from its wrecked drop pod to clash with its contemptor kin…

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Having wrecked the cortis, the XVII Legion contemptor talon turns to face a new threat – The Red Butchers deploy!
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Torrents of lascannon fire lanced through the dawn air, only for the Charybdis to jink unscathed through to its destination. The Word Bearers trained their bolters on the pod, all hope of firing upon the occupants before the inevitable assault fading away…

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“Gods! It’s Angron! ANGROOON!” The red-handed primarch sallies forth!

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Overwatch fire is ineffective, felling just two of the madmen!

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“Hold….HOLD!”

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CRRRRUUUNCH! Angron smashes into the waiting gun line…

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The tactical squads are annihilated in morass of flying limbs and reaving chainaxes! Two Word Bearers limp to the safety of their Proteus transport… Angron is only just getting started!

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Meanwhile, the Mhara Gal, immobilised and bereft of its plasma cannon, howls impotent rage at the foe!

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In the centre, bloody melee ensues as the red butchers continue their advance, carving through fifteen tactical marines and taking the head of the Word Bearers’ Chaplain…

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The red butchers stride through the remains of two wrecked dreadnoughts, shrugging off wounds as they are bathed in a wall of fire!.

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The two predators provide long-range fire. “Enemy Venator two hundred metres…fire!… foedeath,..confirmed!” The pair then train their lascannons on the Red Butchers in the open, bringing their rampage to an end…

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Angron wrecks one Proteus…

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…and another! A Medusa shell vaporises the remaining squad of assault marines…but it is too little, too late…

What a game! Thank you to Toby for an awesome time against his beautiful World Eaters army!

I particularly enjoyed how every tactical decision began with, “What would a World Eater do?”

This seemed to work rather well from where I was standing!

World Eaters 8 – Word Bearers 6.

Victory to Toby’s World Eaters

Played at BIG in Bristol. Check out this awesome hobby store at: http://www.bristolindependentgaming.co.uk/

Stand by for more Heresy action soon!

Over and Out!