Hist, brothers, and draw an ale whilst I speak of the honour brought to our walls by our Lord Blackmane... Twas on one of our smaller planets in the outlying reaches of our realm. A small armoured patrol was following up on reports sent back to the Blackmanes flagship of unwelcome visitors. Contact was made in a desolate yet hilly area, snow and frost as far as the eye could see. Bad luck for our enemy, resplendent as they were in their black power armour - a contingent of Black Templars, led by no less than Helbrecht himself had decided to claim the land for themselves. We reported this black to Lord Blackmane, who sent reinforcements forthwith - a screaming comet from the sky heralded the arrival of a drop pod of our finest Grey Hunters, landing behind our foe, and unleashing a mass of bolter and flamer fire against Helbrechts own unit - even the spirit of the drop pod still hungered for glory, sending in explosive death from its deathwind launcher! This attack from the rear was the Marshals undoing though - hidden like a craven at the rear of his squad, he absorbed most of the firepower, and fell from usefulness instantly. Scouts hidden upon a hill in the no-mans land added their own accurate volley, claiming the hill and a hidden cache with it - a cursed cache though it was, rigged with a booby trap, it failed to detonate. The patrols razorback advanced onto the same hill, and a fallen brother in a mighty dreadnought armour took the opposite edge of that hill too. On the other flank, wise Long Fangs had unearthed an arcane device within an area of rough land, adding to their desperate cover with its energies. The Templars own fire felled a few of the newly landed Hunters, as they were closed upon by the enemys own brother-near-death. Over time, fire from our forces reduced the enemys number, whilst the lady of chance favoured our own forces. Until, mid-battle, another fireball came crashing down, bringing with it the Blackmane himself, obviously tired of seeing chances of glory pass him by! As his Pack closed in on an enemy squad, containing some oversized-sword wielding lunatic (Emperors Champion? Pah! EVERYONE know WE are the Allfathers chosen favourites!), the slyness of our foe was revealed, as a blue flash of light in our rear echelon brought forth a squad of Terminators. Thankfully the disorientation of the arcane energies prevented them from doing anything, seemingly equipped purely in a close combat role. Lascannon fire from our Fangs and Razorback helped thin that squad, as the Grey brothers leapt from within its hull to finish them off with bolter and plasma fire. Lord Blackmane found his glory, taking his pack into fine close combat with their champions squad, singling him out for solo combat. Though the foe managed to land some seemingly telling blows, our Lord managed to deftly evade them at the last moment, yet still use his howling fury of the charge to land no less than five fatal cuts. The foes armour seemed to hold initially, yet could not withstand the full berserk fury brought against him. The rest of the pack, seemingly as bloodthirsty as Blackmane himself made short work of the rest of the enemy squad. Yet, treachery! Released from the swirling melee, our Lord, proudly at the fore of his pack, succumbed to long ranged bolter fire from the remaining enemy squad. As his pack fought to keep safe our Lords fallen form, for later treatment by the Allfather-blessed Wolf Priests, the column, still mostly intact, added its weight of fire to finish of the last of the enemy. As the smoke cleared, there was nought left of our foe but corpses! Now, wheres my drinking horn?!
Posted on: Mon, 14 Jul 2014 06:49:51 +0000
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