Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, Subsector Aurelia, 4 080.000.M42
Meetings continued to proceed between Sergeant Tarkus, the millennial, and his fellows. Despite the uproar caused by the possessed Terminator, there had been no signs of these 'Kyrans' as of yet - one could only wonder why. Perhaps they were scheming nefariously. Perhaps they were waiting for some sort of sign from their Master. One could only guess - but the peace did allow the archaic man to enjoy other things - the company of the Dark Eldar who seemed to have an interest in him, for one.
Turning a corner, he smiled, glad that the Blood Ravens would soon integrate themselves into his force, only to run into Reri head on. She seemed agitated, even moreso as she raised a hand to strike him before recognizing who he was. "Oh... so your meeting is over..."
"Yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly - what of it he could reach around the collar of his armor. "What's wrong? You don't seem to be in that sorta chipper mood you're normally in."
"I've received some... intriguing news." She sighed. "For reasons beyond my understanding, the Incubi known as Drazhar entered the gladiatorial arenas in search of something. I have no idea what it is he wishes for, but the rumors seem to be that he serves as an instrument - a tool of bloody-handed slaughter. Hundreds of captives have been unleashed to satiate his thirst, and only my mother has a count superior to his own - though the gap is slowly being bridged."
"Okay... What's so important?"
"Drazhar is unbeatable. Rumors abound that he is the fallen Phoenix Lord Arhra, his corrupted essence eternally animating his plate. I truthfully have no idea what the truth of his story is - but I cannot let my mother lose her title as the greatest warrior in the arenas."
"...and this concerns us how? I mean, I don't see a way for us to get you back home, to be honest."
"It will take the Incubi champion years to grow close to my mother's numbers. Still, even should she dedicate every waking moment to causing the deaths of whatever enemies are placed before her, that automaton will eventually defeat her." Reri grimaced - to her, this was personal.
"Alright... if we find access to the Webway, I guess we can handle that... assuming you know how to get home from there. What is the Webway anyways? Some sorta wormhole?"
"The Webway is a creation of the Eldar during the prime of our race, before Slaanesh was formed." Reri attempted to remember what little she had been told. "Basically, there are portals for it that things can go through to get from one place to the other, which is how we successfully make such swift strikes upon our foes. Our Craftworld brethren do the same." She gave a sneer, agitated at the mention of other Eldar.
"So these are like tunnels through that Warp thing?"
"Not entirely... The Webway is something completely separate from the Warp, yet connected to it. There is almost no chance of daemonic invasion - unless they attempt to breach one of the tunnels. The Harlequins assist in sealing any damaged paths."
"...Harlequins?" More confused, the millennial now scratched his head, careful not to rip flesh from his scalp with the augmented power of the gauntlet integrated within his armor.
"Those of our kind who are neither lovers of pain nor users of Spirit Stones. They exist almost entirely within the Webway, performing grandiose theatrical performances. Even your Imperium has been graced by their presence before."
"So they're like a circus... Or a theater group... Or something like that?"
"I..." She turned her eyes in whatever direction they could go, doing her best to try and not elaborate. "I can hardly explain them. No one can except for them. I have only one word of advice, though - never speak to a Solitaire. You will be cursed for the rest of your existence."
"The fuck is a Solitaire?"
"Never talk to any Harlequin wearing a mask with horns. Alright?"
"Fine... Now could we head to my quarters? There are... things we need to discuss."
Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Armageddon, 4 165.000.M42
Armageddon. The first stop on the road to successfully cleansing the Imperium of the xenos taint that assailed it. A myriad of Imperial forces still lay engaged with the heavily dug in Orks across the face of the planet. Though the greenskin warlord known as Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka had left the world, much of his forces still remained to wreak havoc. Armageddon was, according to the information on board the armed freighter's cogitators, a planet that provided the Imperium with some of the finest mechanized units to be found within the Imperial Guard. Truthfully, he believed it to be a world where a new chapter of Space Marines could be laid - but the world would need to be pacified first.
Two full fleets of vessels from a pair of Space Marine chapters flanked the Cryptic Retribution, the vessels providing reinforcement to the small craft as it properly slipped into orbit. A smile crossed the lips of the human as he entered the Arvus Lighter with Reri, Dalia, and the squad of Sororitas. Soon the craft would pilot them to the surface, drop pods of both involved chapters already landing to establish field headquarters for use in this first step of the campaign.
General Kurov was commander of the Imperial Guard forces on the surface of Armageddon now that the Commissar known as Sebastian Yarrick had taken to the stars in an attempt to pursue the Ork warboss and ensure he would never again be a threat. Still, however, a myriad of Space Marine chapters had landed upon the world's surface - perhaps this would be a place to acquire allies in order to further the cause of the Alpha Crusade.
Stepping forward in the artificer armor he had grown accustomed to, the millennial soon eyed a general with a large cap and impeccable mustache, flanked by both a servitor and and a Space Marine wearing green armor marked with, queerly enough, accents of flame. The armor appeared to be of a different design than that of the Blood Ravens and Flesh Tearers - the helmet was of a different color, gilded filigree engraved within complex patterns over the chest plate. The armor itself appeared to have varying proportions, the helmet most of all looking like nothing he had ever seen before - the armor resembled that of the Grey Knights themselves.
"Ah... You must be the Inquisitor we received a message from. I am General Kurov. With me is Captain Mulceber, Captain of the Salamanders' Fifth Company."
"Nice to meet you both." He offered a hand in friendship, receiving a strange look from the general, though the Astartes seemed to understand the gesture. The grasp of a large gauntlet gripped his ceramite-plated palms as he looked the Space Marine over. "So... How're things against the greenskins? I've been... out of the loop for a long while."
"The Orks continue to infest the ruins of this planet." Mulceber responded. "Week in and week out, we struggle to save the people from their high-endless onslaughts. No matter how many we burn, more take their place."
"Alright... Where are they weakest?" He raised an eyebrow in curiosity before the general motioned for him and his entourage to follow.
"This is the current battlefield situation, Inquisitor." General Kurov pointed over a projection of much of the world's surface, laid out as flat as it could be. "The Orks have advanced little in this position." He pointed to the holographic image of what seemed a crumbling structure almost dodecahedral in shape. "They stopped at the ruined manufactorum. Not sure why - I would hardly consider scrap to be of any use."
"You forget what Orks can do with scrap, General." Mulceber spoke up once more. "More vehicles and weapons can be forged from the parts and worked into the crude firearms of the local warband."
"Warband? I thought that Ghazghkull ran off."
"He was merely the leader of this group." The Company Captain responded. "A plethora of warbosses pledged allegiance to him and brought forth their forces as a part of this campaign. The warboss we consider to currently be most of a threat is an enigmatic Ork known as Koldkut Skalpshredda. A large group of Orks believe him to have some sort of knowledge that could help them win the war - knowledge that must be lost with him."
"So why haven't you had an assassin called on him? Or, I dunno... Used a virus that only kills Orks to kill them all off?"
"Neither of us have the necessary connections to acquire the services of the Officio Assassinorum. Nor do we have a sample of living Ork biomass we can utilize as a template for a chemical agent." General Kurov bemoaned the situation they were in - such a war of attrition was not what humanity had intended for, not with the large quantity of resources dedicated to the greenskins' destruction. That a crude race of xenos would be able to successfully maintain a presence on this world reeked of the situation being ill-handled.
"Alright... I have an idea, but before I suggest it, I need to know - do you have any Ogryns?" A strange request, one the general merely nodded to. "Alright then... here's what I'm thinking."
Soon the Sister-Superior, the general, and both Dalia and Reri were promptly forced within a huddle. From outside the Salamanders' Captain listened to their whispered mumbles before the Sororitas yelled. "WHAT SORT OF HERESY IS THIS THAT YOU SUGGEST!?"
"Look, it'll work! Trust me on this, okay. I don't wanna say it works in the movies, but if they're really as stupid on a person-to-person basis as Kurov's implying, this should go off without a hitch. All we need is a Tauros Venator, some scrapmetal, a squad of Ogryns, green paint, and a little help from my friends..."
A message would soon be sent from the world's surface to the Cryptic Retribution, a message detailing that contact be reached with the Officio Assassinorum. A Callidus assassin was requested, one capable of adequately shaping themselves into the frame of an Ork. His plan was simple enough - disguising the Tauros Venator as a vehicle of the warband and using flesh-dying techniques to give the Ogryns the superficial appearance of Orks themselves. Perhaps the xenos wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The Callidus would lead them, being of adequate intelligence to ensure they followed the commands of their handler to the letter, to the warboss, acquiring genetic samples and granting themselves an opportunity to slay the enigmatic warboss and any Meganobs who guarded him.
As he turned back, the huddle broken up, an ardent grasp upon his shoulder came from the Sister-Superior. "I have had enough of your treacherous perversions! Animated statues? Consorting with xenos? You have broken everything the God-Emperor has commanded us to abide by, yet you choose to still proceed as though you deserve the forces you claim!" As he turned around, a gauntleted fist met his face, his muscles tightening into a grimace as he stumbled back. The dilemma was something he had inevitably expected to deal with in due time - whether he would retain his day's refusal to strike a woman, or whether he would view her as someone to be treated equally in combat. She was more than willing to kill him on the spot, certainly - such to her seemed to be a quick end to the problem.
Grasping the power maul, he did his best to lean forward with one of his gilded pauldrons, swinging the weapon towards the torso of the Sister-Superior's power armor. She attempted to move to the side, reaction slowed by her surprise at his assault which allowed him the opportunity to send her back several feet. The woman was on her back, attempting to get up, when he rested a foot on her chestplate, wiping the sweat from his brow before quickly rolling her to the prone position, tugging at the backpack attached to her armor. Sparks flew from strained connections as he continued to tug, the back of the armor soon removed from the rest of the powered exoskeleton, sending him falling back on his own rear end. To the Sororitas, however, that her suit was no longer powered left her attempting to raise herself up with over seventy pounds of solid ceramite encased around her body - a task not easily fulfilled.
"Damn you..." She spouted, slowly getting to her hands and knees. "The Emperor damn you to the deepest depths of hell..."