Jornath: Gideon's Lament

+++ ANKOU +++

+0 Days 

Linces Hive

The Scent of the Woods is loamy and fungal.
A lone traveller looks from behind a veil of thickly hanging moss
an Elderly Man bleeds fire into a sacrificial bowl
A sea of stars falls to devour the heart of a faithful son


Epistolary Gideon slammed back to consciousness with a start, reeling within his restraint cradle at the vividness and import of his vision. He looked about the crimson bathed interior of the Overlord, slowly regaining his bearings in the material world, as he recovered from his sudden premonition.

"Brother Librarian are you well?" asked Brother Sergeant Tranent from across the cabin, his tectonic voice rendered sharp-edged by the electronic ministrations of his suit vox.

"Y..Yes, Sergeant, the veil between reality and the emperyan is thin around this world. No doubt thanks to the greenskin's witchcraft" Replied Gideon shaking away the last darkened tendrils of the warp's touch from his mind. He looked into the corner of his visor screen checking the strike force's overview telemetry. The echelon of emerald triangles representing the Dragoon's Overlord and Thunderhawk transports were just now breaching the far side of the debris field of the freshly slain Ork Kroozer blocking the space lanes above Linces' Starport. Gideon blink-clicked the vox rune representing the forces command frequency

"Lieutenant Thade, the warp is unquiet hereabouts, I suspect we will not have an uncontested landing." Gideon spoke into the vox link, and in short order the gruff reply of Lieutenant Thade came back, inhumanly deep, oddly so for a non-primaris Astartes.

"Understood Brother-Librarian, I will disperse the format..."

The Lieutenants words were cut off in a haze of static interference, and Gideon frowned within his helm but did not attempt to reestablish the link, as already the emerald triangles were beginning to move into more cautionary approach vectors, hugging the counter ordinance fire envelopes of the Imperial Navy and System Defense ships. Their operation was simple, land and establish contact with indigenous personnel on Ankou, and begin the bolstering of an Imperial defense which might withstand the approaching greenskin fleet.
No one had heard from Jornath's satellite in months, not since the wretched xenos magics had broken over its surface, there was no telling what fate the Ankouvians might have suffered. The whole of the situation made Gideon uncomfortable, it was not the purview of the Ork's to disrupt their targets with massed psychic attacks, or if reports from the Sons of Medusa were to be believed and it was largely impossible for any of gett of the Iron Hands to fabricate anything, vast hosts of the greenskin's reanimated fallen. Something altogether darker was afoot in this system, and he worried at the price the Imperium's defenders would pay to discover it.

Gideon was thrown from his ruminations by a chorus of static hazed vox blurts, and the sudden slamming of the Overlord to one side, which merely jostled the Astartes slightly within their restraint cradles, but which was extreme enough to render dozens of the House Trask Armsmen, also aboard the craft, unconscious from the g-forces involved. Gideon could already hear Sergeant Tranent asking the Overlord's pilots for a situation report,

"Anti Orbital Batteries Brother-Sergeant" came the terse reply from the cockpit. This news was not so much a shock as a disappointment, it indicated that at least some portion of the surface was under opposition control, which made the early stages of their operation that much more difficult. Resolved, Gideon reached out with his mind, grasping out past the steel and adamantium skin of the Overlord, through the tortured void between the descending assault craft to find the mind of Lieutenant Thade, vox traffic could become intermittent or garbled, especially in the midst of a void battle and he could take no chances. He sailed through the blackness of the stellar dark, dodging pillars of incandescent energy spearing up from Ankou's glittering surface, ducking under chunks of starships still ablaze with plasma fire, and through clouds of flash-frozen corpses, and then as gently as a butterfly drifting lazily through an open window, he found the sleek shape of Lieutenant Thade's Thunderhawk and settled gently into the folds of his mind, seeping in through the cracks on his subconscious to walk the pathways of his synaptic nerves.

"Brother Lieutenant. Shall I instigate Contingency Strategies?"

"Gideon, the vox is more than sufficient. You know my feelings about witchery."

"Yes, but still the question stands."

"Such impudence...Take the Starport, I will silence the Guns, Baron Grundel, and the Armsmen will secure the Governor's Palace... Now... get the hell; out of my skull."

A vicious three-way firefight blazed across the Transhive approaches to the Lord Magyar Honorific Starport, the Armsmen under Sir Kalen had just achieved the first barricade from the hands of the mind tainted Ankouvians, whole hosts of crazed civilians had flooded the streets since their contested landing a half-hour before, screeching themselves hoarse in a bastardized imitation of lingua-technis, the Cult Mechanicus' binaric shorthand, and firing all manner of las weaponry and autoguns. No matter how many fell to the disciplined volleys of the Trask Armsmen and the mighty boltguns of the Astartes themselves, the tide of madmen simply pressed on regardless. Before too long, the undisciplined mobs had given way to organized resistance, Phalanxes of partially augmented nobles wielding humming power blades, supported by well-drilled tech adept levies, all chanting the work line cants of the Mechanicus in a steady monotonous chorus, as they lured Armsmen into prepared kill zones of pre sighted heavy weapons or fell upon the Strike force's supporting Armigers with melta charges and industrial drillers. The whole thing reminded Gideon far too much of the filth covered throngs of Chaos devoted lunatics that now plagued every corner of the blessed Imperium, though the fetid stench of the warp was not present. When the Orks arrived it was almost a relief...almost, in a fashion typical to the wretched beasts they had announced their arrival by bringing down the facade of a habitation block with an immense explosion, which had fortunately neutralized the squadron of Ankouvian tanks parked in the vicinity of the building. 

Brother Ancient Reinhart had made short work of the greenskin sappers that emerged with his Onslaught cannon, but as the saying goes "There are always more Orks".  Reinhart was even now advancing in support of Sir Kalen's troops, using the massive bulk of his Redemptor chassis to shield the more fragile human soldiers from the storm of las and slug fire blizzarding around the area. 

Gideon advanced alongside the intercessors of Sergeant Tranent, summoning up walls of kine force to block the deadliest of the incoming fire, poping the fat rockets shrieking in from the Ork throngs occupying the parapets and communications towers to the northwest of the Starport's gatehouse. He stepped over the scrap metal barricade and joined Sir Kalen and Sergeant Tranent behind the hulking form of Brother Reinhart.  The Trask Armsmen were in a sorry state, only about four dozen were still alive at all, and many were nursing bloody wounds, one of the strike force's three armigers had been lost to Ankouvian ambushers, and all of their armored vehicles had been destroyed. He knew that his small strike force could not continue this tenor of fighting for much longer, he didn't need to be a psyker for that level of insight. 

"Damnable hard fight sah." breathed Sir Kalen, who attempted to salute smartly, but who was forced to flinch back down behind the leg of Brother Reinhart by a particularly close grouping of shots. Gideon nodded "Indeed Sir, you and your men have done the name of Trask good honor this day. My Dragoons shall claim the battlements in short order, you should bring your armsmen in behind our avenue of advance and use the shelter of the starport to reorganize your formation." 

"By your Order Lord Librarian." Sir Kalen replied, even as Gideon moved next to Brother Reinhart, and slapped an armored gauntlet upon the Dreadnaughts flank. 

"Brother Ancient, shall we punish the aliens for their arrogance?" Gideon asked the leviathan of ceramite.

"Yes Little Brother. We shall find the beasts herdmaster and finish this." barked the harsh voice barking forth from the Dreadnaughts vox grille. Gideon flexed his shoulders and let the power of the warp flow into his fingers with crackling energy. Behind him, Sergeant Tranents Intercessors were forming into a fighting wedge, and Sir Kalen's armsmen began laying down sheets of disciplined las fire. 

"DRAGOONS OF THE EMPEROR!  INTO THEM!" Gideon bellowed through his helms speaker and began to charge.  

Gideon parried the brutish cleaver of one ork, before ramming his blade into the stomach of the beast next to it, tearing the blade free and spinning to face yet another greenskin as a heavy ax blow landed upon his pauldron, he sent a bolt of searing warpfire into the alien's brain for its trouble. The stink of cooking meat and the fungal reek of orkblood pervaded his senses as beyond the scrum of Astartes and Ork bodies the Armigers of house Trask crashed into the swirling melee like the furious judgment of the Emperor made manifest. The chainblades of the knight aspirants sweeping bright gory arcs through the air. 

"Brother Librarian, xenos motorized troops and ground forces have overwhelmed the brothers near to the gatehouse!" Sergeant Tranent voxed between the sound of rapid bolter fire and explosions. Gideon hammered his fist into the nearest greenskin's face, pulling away with the alien's visage caked in blood and began to issue redeployment orders to his forces before a deep machine voice cut across the vox. 

"The gate shall not fall Gideon. I shall hold the right." boomed Brother Reinhart, already the ripping echo of his Onslaught cannon reverberated across the warrens of the Spaceport. 

"No Ancient! The place crawls with orks you need support!" Gideon protested. 

"Silence Boy! I've been culling these foul bastards since you were a novitiate. Rally the force. Secure the Objective. FOR THE EMPEROR!" snarled Reinhart across a private vox link. 

Reinhart's ammunition counter had long since been depleted, but it was no matter, the mighty weapon could slay efficiently as a cudgel just as well. The burning remnants of a half dozen xenos walkers surrounded him, lighting the eaves of the gatehouse with flickering orange light, as dozens of feral aliens clung to his armor, tearing chunks of his blessed plate away even as he slew them with sweeps of his meat clogged cannon or crushed them with his close combat arm. 

He saw Gideon and Sergeant Tranent battling through the tide of greenskins beneath the shadow of the armigers, and through the haze of heat lances, and the smoke of bolter fire, he saw the form of the alien war leader, bellowing to his lieutenants in the savage bleating cadence of the Orks. He had fought this particular breed of alien enough to know that as soon as the creature's command structure was crippled they would surely break under any significant amount of pressure and with the determination only an Astartes would muster in such odds he bellowed his fury and made for the creature. 

Gideon grappled an Ork to the ground by the crude metal jaw sutured to its nerveless flesh and hammered its brains apart on the plastcrete surface of the starports pavement. He returned to his feet just in time to see Sergeant Tranent hack the weapon arm from a greenskin moments away from delivering a grievous downward blow to his head. It was in this frantic moment to moment brawl that he saw the lumbering smoke wreathed form of Reinhart, his form thick with alien warriors clinging to its surface as he plowed into the heart of the ork line, and like a sledgehammer blow the import of his vision in orbit came to him in horrifying certain clarity, and he screamed into the strike force vox network for the ancient warrior to cease his reckless charge. 

Reinhart, blink-closed yet another emergency notification as it appeared across his cognitive link, the whirring of crude xenos saw blades severed the hydraulic feed to his cannon arm rendering the limb little better than a boom of useless metal. Still, he pressed onward, smashing the foe with feet of iron. He was mere meters from the warboss now, and he snarled a challenge through his vox grille even as the orks clinging to his chassis pried the lid of his sarcophagus open. 

"COME AND DIE WRETCHED FILTH! he spat, and for the first time since the Fall of Vellincrest to the Daemon Hosts of the Many Crested King, Hector Reinhart, revered brother-ancient of the Imperial Dragoons, a veteran of 98 campaigns in the Emperors Name and Lance-bearer to Chapter Master Fendrigalo DeMonde at the Chapters rediscovery by the Indomitus Crusade saw his enemy with his own eyes, and moments later slew that enemy, himself and fifty other xenos as his chassis' reactor went critical under his own direction. 

Burning tears of rage streamed down Gideon's face, as he stood over the burning remnants of Reinhart's dreadnaught body. The survivors of Trenants squad and the Armsmen filtered across the killing ground, delivering death blows to Orks not yet fully persuaded to remain dead. A chapter hero had fallen, and in his sacrifice, he had bought the lives of his battle-brothers, he had bought the security of the spaceport and as a result, likely earned Jornath and her citizens much need time to prepare themselves. It was irrelevant to Gideon. He only cared for vengeance bought with the blood of the greenskins now, and he would not stop until Ankou had drowned in an ocean of Orkish gore.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Index Jornath: Hidey Rags

Grot Hidey Rags

While Orks seek the adrenaline rush of sprinting, driving or flying headlong into combat making as much noise as possible to intimidate the foe, Gretchin favor a less obtuse approach. While herds of the lesser greenskins can be marshaled into pitched battles by Runtherders, or might take to the field if enough of the spiteful creatures are present in a large enough grouping. It is often the case that Gretchin will prey on targets of opportunity, striking at medicae stations, backline depots or troops out of formation, anything that the grots feel they can destroy with as little danger to themselves as possible.

In pursuit of this aim, some of the more inventive grots cover themselves in dirty rags, used burlap sacks with holes cut in them, or sometimes just strips of squig leather. As the Gretchin maneuver in an environment, the lackadaisical cleaning standards of the Orkish hordes work to their advantage, as dirt and debris snag and stain the Gretchin's attire. It is oft the case that commanders facing down the Orks will underestimate the threat posed by grot warbands moving in cover along the peripheries of their brutish masters advance, only to discover too late that vital ammunition trains, or artillery batteries had been slaughtered by Gretchin skirmishers concealed with great cloaks of foliage and mud. 

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Synn: Synntapolis

Long before the Age of Sigmar, within the shadow realm of Ulgu, there resided a mighty unity of free cities. Foremost among these great burgs was Synntapolis, from which silvered hosts of Men, Aelves, and Duardin did march in defiance of the machinations of the damned pantheon. and within which was erected a grand Realmgate that the light of the god-king and his court might illuminate the shifting mists of this bleakest of realms, and through which armies of order might march to do battle with the enemies of sanity and of life. 

The Many Crested King, Daemon Regent, and fell mercenary general of the twisted god's undivided hosts hungered after this Light of Ulgu, and knew he might gain much glory with its sundering and he did make war upon its blessed defenders. When at the Battle of Outer Krastahl, and the Damnation of Lantern's Mount the hosts of darkness shatter the lines of the faithful, there was much lamentation within the streets of Sigmar's city, which was amplified when siege was laid upon Synntapolis. 

As the Age of Chaos did descend upon the realms, and light waned in power against the dark, blessed Sigmar found, in his unquestioned dedication, that a host of the Stormcast Eternals could be dispatched through the Realmgate to reinforce the beleaguered defenders. 

Serried ranks of silver helms, speartip, and arrow were presented to the foe, bolstered by the hammer of the god-king the men of the defiant city smote the denizens of the realm of madness, time and again. For a generation, the forces of order stood in defiance, but at long last, the thrice times thrice-cursed lord of the host of evil did stand before the gates of Synntapolis and bellow a challenge to the master of the Stormcast to meet in single combat to decide in honorable combat the fate of the great city. Vandyor Cometborn, Lord Castellant of the host answered the call, and speaketh these words in the reception of the daemon lord's challenge. 

"Verily do I Vandyor Cometborn, servant of the Lord of the Realms, meet thine challenge. I make in a compact with thee, and with thine lieutenants, that upon thy death, the host which thou hast assembled upon this plane in defiance of the laws of the rightful, will disperse and never again set upon the places touched with the blessed light of my master"

In agreeance, the Many Crested King merely nodded, and battle betwixt the lords was joined. great fissures split the ground and the skies wept with thick ichor at the terrible forces loosed upon the realm. Then, as the noble Cometborn did make to strike a terrible and closing blow upon the Many Crested King, the daemon revealed its treachery, with a word it sent forth its minions and pulled the Lord Cometborn beneath a tide of fecund bodies. With their master fallen in treachery the defenders reeled, and the forces of Chaos broke the walls. Battle was joined in tumult unmatched within the streets of Synntapolis, and for a fortnight the free peoples held the tide of evil at bay. 

Final defiance was given in the dawning hours of the final day, in the shade of the grand realmgate, twenty times did the waves of madness break upon the shields of the faithful and twenty times the tide was repulsed in glory. when the twenty-first came it was a lone Knight Questor, whose name has since been lost that broke the loadstone of the realmgate, even as arrows pierced his favored body, and his martyrs' blood flowed on sanctified ground. Such was the tumult of energies unleashed, stained by the lifeblood of a murdered hero that Synntapolis entire was swallowed by the winds of magic, veiled by Ulgu itself, as is its way, until such time as Ulgu permitted its discovery.  

It is said, that the Many Crested King screams in rage still, atop a mountain of priceless relics at his failure to deliver the blessed city to his masters.  Some say you might hear them still borne upon the mists to this very day.  

-The Hagiography of Sainted Vandyor Cometborn- 

By Defandias Ezza, Third Scribe Apparent to the Procurator of the House of Dreams 

XXCVIII.M.

Jornath: The Battle of Solago Bluffs

This week we looked at the Germain 86k Laslock,  the Scrappaboss and the Scrappa Gubbin Krew, to cap off the week, I wanted to post a small scale scenario that would reflect an archetypal skirmish, indicative of the types of engagements typically fought in the Early and Mid War Periods of the War for Jornath that included the new Index Jornath Datasheets. The fight focuses on a confrontation between a Jornathii Planetary Defense Force Unit guided by Mordian Iron Guardsmen and an Ork "Scrappa Warband", essentially Gretchin on garrison duty, as the Imperials attempt to oust the aliens from their dug-in positions overlooking the hamlet of Solago.

Summary: The Battle of Solago Bluffs occurred in the waning days of the 3rd year of the War for Jornath, during the Imperial preparations for Operation Gray Jewel.  Solago is a small hamlet along the Northeastern coast of Manfredi-At-Prima, that clings precariously to the cliffs marking the terminus of the Usamiljen mountain ranges where they drop into the ocean. It had been evacuated during Supreme Armsmaster Vazinas' lightning redeployments following the Sundering of Galjasim in the first days of the war and had remained unoccupied for almost two years, before Orks on the peripheries of warbands in the process of securing the primary highways out of the mountains moved into the area. As the northern cohorts and skitarii fought fiercely to free up these highways to allow for the redeployment of vital manpower for the coming Imperial counter-attack, it became clear that the fast-approaching deadline could not be met, and the winding coastal road was chosen as the fallback option. the 4th Bastion Garrison Cohort of Usamiljen, along with attendant Mordian Iron Guard 445th advisory attaches were tasked by Guild Master Horace Hezital to clear the coastal reaches into the lowlands. The 3rd Company, 6th Platoon, under the direction of Adrian Nemiolo was given the task of liberating Solago's stretch of the coastal highway. The initial fighting was fierce and saw the ork's superior positions and terrain advantage push back the Jornathii. Gretchin Scrappa troops had riven the area with gun nests and had a position of entrenched anti-tank guns located on high ground overlooking the highway preventing the Imperials from making good use of armor to secure the town. In a risky maneuver, the success of which he would later attribute to the Mordian veteran sergeant Charles Vandryke, Adrian Nemiolo led his platoon in a pre-dawn flanking maneuver over the difficult wooded ground north of the town, meeting the Scrappaz without the support of their Ork masters and collapsing the greenskins' defensive lines by sunrise. The Battle of Solago Bluffs is an archetype of the small scale town clearance actions fought throughout the early years of the war and indicative of the sacrifices made by the northern cohorts to break the Siege of Fort Behras.




LISTS

Players made choose to add any upgrades within the datasheets following the guidelines of Open Play using Power Level.


Two Furst Two Gutta Kore 

Klan:  Goffs
Warlord :   Agor Vrak Gogmuncha (Mek)
             
         1x 10 man Boyz Squad
         1x Wartrakk
         2x 10 man Grotz Squads (both of these units have the <Scrappa> keyword)
         2x  Scrappa Gubbin Krews
         1x  Scrappaboss
         2x Big Gunz  (these units must be Kannons)



3rd Company, 6th Platoon,  4th Bastion Garrison Cohort of Usamiljen

Regiment: Mordian
Warlord: Adrian Nemiolo (Company Commander)

         4x 10 man Infantry Squads (all models are armed with G86k Las-Locks) 
         3x Heavy Weapons Teams
         1x 10 man Veteran Squad
         1x Platoon Commander
         1x Command Squad






Mission:

Players will roll off and alternate deployment as normal, however, the Astra Militarum player will receive a +2 to their roll to go first. Standard secondary objectives apply in this mission, those being Linebreaker, Slay the Warlord and First Blood as defined in the Main Warhammer 40,000 Rulebook. For each enemy unit slain, a player will score 1 VP,  the Ork "Big Gunz" will reward 2 VP to the Imperial player for being destroyed, while the Veteran Squad and Platoon Commander will yield 2 VP to the Ork player for being destroyed. The winner of the game will be the side with the most Victory Points at the end of turn 5.

Special Rules:

Dawn Assault: If a model is the target of a ranged attack by another model further than 18"  away on the first turn of the game, the target will receive a +1 to their Save.  In addition the Ork Mek, Boyz and Wartrakk must start the game in reserve.

Prepared Defenses:  So long as they do not move from the point they are deployed, the Scrappa Gubbin Krew, and Big Gunz will receive a +2 to their Save against ranged attacks made against them. If for any reason, these units move during the course of the game, this benefit no longer applies.

   

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Index Jornath: Scrappa Gubbin Krew

The Scrappa Gubbin Krews are the lucky grots in a Scrappa Warband that get to carry around the man (or in this case gretchin) portable support weapons, pilfered by the warband in their travels. Much of the time, these Krews man the defensive positions around Ork garrisons. But when a Scrappa force is on the march they provide a fierce base of fire for their grot comrade, suppressing the enemy with a hail of dakka.

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Index Jornath: Scrappaboss

The Scrappaboss is a "couragous" leader of Gretchin Scrappa warbands. Much like their Ork counterparts, Gretchin leaders attain their rank through dint of sheer violence. But, unlike their brutish masters, Gretchin leaders must maintain their position of power through consistent bribery, trickey double-dealing, and the liberal application of example making. Scrappabosses lead their warbands in gathering up loot from old battlefields, taking whatever pickings the Orks couldn't be bothered to haul along with them. Generally, the larger greenskin's overlook choice weapons or particularly shiny gubbinz that might be more difficult to spot in their rush to gather what they can from the field. Later when the Scrappaz come to pick things clean and erect makeshift holdings for the Ork armies, it is the Scrappaboss that takes these rarer trinkets for themselves. Especially successful Scrappabosses will have a coterie of snotling runts to carry around all of their weapons for them. This overstock of equipment can come in handy for the Grot commanders, as a pack of frightened gretchin, wavering under the guns of the foe might be goaded to stay in the fight a moment longer and try out the boss's favorite blasta before legging it. Each moment a Scrappaboss can keep his mobs firing and maneuvering around the field is precious, grotz are naturally very timid, but a cunning Boss can turn them into a tide of scampering bodies, pouring out a maelstrom of fire from all angles.

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Index Jornath: Germain 86k Laslock

Art by Matt Ostgard [1]




The Germain 86K Las-Lock is the weapon of choice for a great many of the Cohorts on Jornath. Like all las-lock's the weapons simplistic design emphasizes stopping power at the expense of rate of fire. The Germain 86k is favored amongst the fighting forces of Jornath for its low cost and its cheap long term maintenance relative to lascarbines and fully-fledged las-rifles. It has the benefit of being locally produced on Jornath by the Germain Sons Fabricatum Guild, which taken in combination with a las weapons advantage in ammunition conservation makes purchasing and maintaining the weapon over time significantly cheaper for Jornathii than even low-end auto weaponry.

The 86K uses an external moderate capacity battery pack which connects to the las-locks internal power cell via a steel threaded, type D power channeling wire sheathed in a rubber cover. It's downside is the length of time for the cell to create a kinetically viable charge, as well as the time consuming reload which can be as much as 30-45 seconds even for experienced users. Perhaps the most problematic issue with the 86K is wearing damage to the channeling wire and rubber cover at the connection point to the external battery pack which during use in the field can cause dangerous shorts in the weapons power cell, if dirt or debris finds its way into the channeling wire, or into the power cell the weapon could take significantly longer to charge between shots, it might short out or in rare cases the cell might suffer a catastrophic failure and catch fire.

Newer Germain Laslocks have since rectified this issue, such as the 93K, but the manufacturing workarounds needed to prevent the majority of these issues move these later las-locks into the price point of mid-range Lasrifles, and thus invalidating their use amongst many of the planets Cohorts. Realizing this, Germain has continued production of the 86K as their flagship military rifle, while rebranding all models following the 93K to their new "L" or Luxury collectors series, advertising them to the aristocracy, game hunters, and shipmasters the whole sector over to a great deal of success. The 428L, for example, is a particularly favored rifle for its immense spectrum of finishes, and accessories. For true Las-Lock enthusiasts, however, the 93K is a particular prize, as it predates the L series and never saw the mass production of previous models.

[1] Matt Ostgard Artstation - LINK

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Jornath: The Fall of Wilset 542

.23 Months since the Fall of Usamilplatz.

With the Maniples of Prima Jama's Skitarii embarked upon increasingly heavy fighting across the breadth of the offensive area around Usamilplatz and with the alien's attempted breakthrough on the extreme right of the Imperial line only barely rebuffed with extreme casualties. MQC 87-C* in control of the PDF and Astra Militarum elements within the surrounding areas looked to stymie any potential flow of new Ork warbands into the region. With most of 1AG's regiments already embarking on a campaign of retaking major automotive roadways and mag-lev lines through the Eastern ranges of the Usamiljen Mountains, assets were already in a position to be moved quickly to act as blocking forces.  

The 334th Idrian "Ghosts" Irregulars, were just one of 3 Regiments moved to act in this capacity. Understrength after sustaining casualties clearing out villages in the vicinity of the Ork Exclusion Zone east of Kula Hive, the 334th was acting in a support role to the 1st Usamiljan Fusilier Cohorts' "Operation Vengeful Deliverance", this being their recapture of the city of Saltzkost, along a major highway running southbound into the lowland regions of northern Kula Province.

The Regiment was moved into a 60 Km mountain pass, blocking a tertiary highway which runs into the southeastern edge of Korsnokrat. While the Orks in the Saltzkhost operational area's eastern reaches were expected to deploy only noncommital probing assaults until the city was retaken (the aliens holding the city represented a rival warband to those positioned in the foothills east of the city.) the counter-offensive launched haltingly in the wake of the Emerald Screen incident would spur the orks into a frenzy and all three units occupying the Saltzkhost operations area were battered with waves of light infantry and vehicles for several weeks. 

About a month after the Emerald Scream, greenskin forces within the Usamilplatz region gained a great deal of tactical coordination, at odds with trends extrapolated by IntRec for those xenos formations. The ensuing attacks within Usamilplatz and Korsnokrat which resulted in the death of multiple Skitarii Magos and the routing of PDF and Mechanicus forces has already been recorded. But in Saltzkhost, Ork Motorized forces advanced into the understrength 334th,  no doubt under orders from their unknown warlord to link with their comrades expected to break through the Imperial defenders of Korsnokrat. 

The Regimental headquarters of the 334th was Bastion W542,  this position would come under no less than 21 successive waves of greenskin's before the end.  At the height of the attack, when 8 of the regiments 12 companies had already been destroyed, the regiment was reinforced by members of the Sons of Medusa's Warclan Megara reserve assets. They would join the remnants of the regiments command bastion garrison in their final charge, to buy time for the remaining companies to withdraw and link with units in southern Korsnokrat.

The Fall of bastion W542 would be the final resistance preventing the Ork reserves in Saltzkhost from sweeping north into the southern flank of the already depleted Imperial forces in Korsnokrat. While all members of the 334th conducted themselves with honor in the field, it changed little in the bearing that the Mechanicus line in Usamilplatz was in dire straits of being rolled up from the south by Ork motorized units.  Only steadfast resolve and a great deal of ammunition would save the Imperium's soldiers and allow them to continue to hold the line.

Thanks for reading!  This post was a part of an ongoing narrative campaign, in the "living setting" of Jornath. For more information about Jornath as a setting, including units, missions, and posts from other Jornath bloggers be sure to click on the Jornath [40k] tab at the top of this page for an up to date list of all posts.

-Your Favorite Madman-

Jornath: Thine Gleaming Spear Doth Thrust

+++ Bridge of System Monitor Vessel "Saran's Farewell" +++
+++ High Anchor Above Ankou +++


Lugon gripped tightly to the railing encircling his command dias at the center of the ship's bridge as another barrage of ork fire hammered into the hull. Sparks showered out from some vital system above him, the rain of fire accompanied by the flickering of cogitator screens and the distant screaming of ratings.

"STATUS" he bellowed to Defense Officer Hadris.

"Crash Teams deployed to Decks 20-24, sections open to vacuum along Enginarium 1 and 3, Ignatius Fury is listing hard and burning, Mortis Nobilum reports they are moving to engage." reported the thickly bearded officer in the clipped cadence of the navy.

"Damnable Greenskins" Lugon hissed under his breath, the fleet had slammed into the aliens' cursory forces above Ankou's capital, Linces Hive and as was to be expected the xenos had returned the engagement with gusto, but what gusto it was. He had fought pirates in the rim worlds with the System fleet, tenacious and cutthroat men, gripped with desperation and a wealth of ill-gotten weaponry. They had been close run times, but this was something new altogether, pirates had a quantifiable boundary for violence and would surrender given enough void torpedos and lance battery strikes, but orks?  Of the three dozen vessels above Linces Hive, only 4 still remained, outnumbered ten to one by the massed ships of the Imperial Navy, Adeptus Astartes, and Ark Mechanicus, the ork juggernaughts had blazed away in all directions with a blizzard of fire of such magnitude that it was nearly impossible to tell where the spotting fires of damage ended and the white glow of gun batteries began. He furrowed his brow, and stared at the flickering hololithic display on his dias, many of the system fleet vessels, which had been in the vanguard, were already limping out of the immediate danger posed by the alien ships. The Mortis Nobilum a strike cruiser from the Imperial Dragoons chapter had moved to their support and was hammering the Ork Kroozer currently firing upon the ship. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in the smoke-stained air, before making the most difficult decision of his life.

"Bring us around again, prepare the gun crews for another run in!" He declared to the bridge crew sternly. The three dozen officers sat in shocked silence, their terrified, wide-eyed faces, soaked with sweat and ash, looked like a sardonic parroting of the Ork's themselves in the green glow of their screens. After a short pause, the Helmsman, Tenric Cessaire, got to his feet, straightened his jacket and in a shaky voice addressed Lugon.

"Sire, prow shielding is faltering, we are venting atmosphere in multiple places, We may not endure another attack run. I urge you, please for the good of the crew, allow us to return to the second line, allow us to preserve the ship!" finished Cessaire.  The ship rocked again, more gently this time, as a torrent of small bore missiles glanced off the hull, only serving to strengthen the helmsman's argument as far as the rest of the bridge crew was concerned.

"The Emperor's Angels are present on the field, and whats more have come directly to our aid. I will not embarrass the system fleet by abandoning them. Nor will I turn tail and run while an alien vessel still sits polluting Jornathii Space. We will go forward, my decision is final Cessaire.  Full speed ahead." He stated, as calmly and in as commanding a voice as he could manage as he suppressed the fear rising inside him.

"Aye Sir." Cessaire replied raggedly, sitting back down at his station, he engaged what power could still be nursed from the surviving engines and the Sarans Farewell began its approach to firing range once more. As the ship powered its way forward, Lugon watched as the final few layers of prow shielding were torn away by the weight of the alien's fire. He barely heard Hadris' panicked reports of hull integrity,  he continued to stare intensely at his hololithic display, the Mortis Nobilum was just entering into its broadside sweep. The Ork vessel had taken a beating, regardless of its ferocious lashing out, it was close to death, its crude flickering void shield cast a crackling net of orange light across its hull. But the many guttering fires across its breadth were evidence enough that it was beginning to falter. If Lugon had estimated things properly, and he was bargaining everything that he had, the combined broadside of both his ship and that of the Mortis Nobilum would be just the thing to overwhelm the Ork shielding and crack the berzerk kroozer once and for all.  He watched transfixed at the display, as the icon of the ship moved closer, and closer to the pale yellow circle surrounding the marker for the alien ship. Never in all his life had he thought that a handful of holographic polygons could absorb him so completely, harnessing an impossible potential for hope and dread in equal parts. When finally they fell within the encompassment of that yellow circle, he screamed out his order.

"FIRE AT WILL"

He had yelled the words with such a great strain that he could feel the faint wet tang of blood and mucus in his throat, even with that effort though, they had almost been drowned out by the sure cacophony of the bridge as the ship groaned like some great dying beast, its frame melting from the heat of massed laser weapons fire and cascades of torpedo hits buckling across the whole of the ships starboard side. Power failed totally on the bridge then, only emergency life support still functioned, and even that was stammering. The sound and light and violence were at once replaced by an eerie tomb-like silence for a moment before the crackling sound of fires and the groaning choir of wounded men drifted in.

Seconds past, filled only by piteous cries and the dancing light of electric fires. Seconds gave way to minutes, filled with more of the same. The creeping dawn of excited hope began to claw its way up through Lugon's stomach and scratchy throat. The power flickered back for an instant, before dying once more, but it had been enough for him to see what he needed. The yellow circle was gone, gone because there was no more need to measure proximity to a target that did not exist.

He was beside himself with relief, he slumped down to the deck next to the hololith displayer and smiled.

"Jornathii Vendratus, you green bastards" he rasped to no one in particular.