We'll be back on track...
"The warrior who acts out of honor cannot fail. His duty is honor itself. Even his death - if it is honorable - is a reward and can be no failure, for it has come through duty. Seek honor as you act, therefore, and you will know no fear."
-Primarch Roboute Guilliman
Latus Fabula: Knights in Grim Armor...
Osaros Region, Delisnan Woodlands
"There we go. Hope this helps you feel better master." said a worried yet chipper voice.
Ridemaster 859742-664891 Sieghardt simply grunted as the strange abhuman in front of him tended to his wounds.
The kobold, as these presumed medicae called themselves, rubbed some sort of natural salve on his numerous exposed wounds. The Ridemaster gritted his teeth as he stoically endured the stabs of pain. He was uncomfortably underequipped, with his weapons and armor secured away and worse of all. His gasmask was currently off as well, and he felt horribly exposed.
His body had numerous horrific burns and bits of shrapnel imbedded in him and the pain was great enough that sheer grit alone did not allow him to simply stand up. His very body protested his attempts no matter how much he forced himself. The first time he tried he practically broke all the crude stitches right off and shamefully began bleeding to death all over the place.
Such was the weakness of the flesh. Perhaps the Admech were onto something after all.
Around him laid the rest of his squadron in a similar state, varying only in the severity of their injuries. They too were similarly stripped of most of their equipment and the guardsmen could only endure the humiliation of being unmasked and unarmored. So much so that the lure of death was almost preferable to this humiliation. Better they die on their feet then this.
Unfortunately for them, the area they were in was remarkably peaceful, which is quite strange because they should be hearing at least hearing the distant thunder of artillery. They should also be seeing other wounded and maybe more makeshift field hospitals...but they were the only one for what looked like miles.
Their current shelter was rather lackluster, a simple clearing in the forest with a canopy keeping the worse of the rain out. Primitive and crude as it was, the respite from the heavy rain was rather welcome. Not to mention the elevated ground meant that they were comfortably above the rising water level. It would be an ignoble end to simply drown in a puddle of mud.
In fact, now that he was lucid enough, why were there such blue skies above and why were they in such green and lively woodlands? Intel never briefed them that Armageddon had any region that weren't harsh, ash choked wastelands broken up with forests of scrapyard and refuse. Nor can he see the looming shadow of Armageddon's Hive cities, which would always be visible no matter where one was standing.
The rain wasn't acid either, as evident on how it didn't seem to bother the strange abhumans whatsoever, who played in it and laughed amongst themselves. Though they were a group of abhumans he has never seen or been briefed about before either.
They were similar to the rumored felinids, though the Ridemaster has never seen a living felinid before either. Only rumors, hearsay, and tidbits about something being a pain in the ass. These kobolds were by all appearances, simply just young girls but with animalistic features such as being covered in fur and having appendages similar to that of a canine.
Completely and utterly harmless looking, all things considered.
They appeared to amicable enough, and from what he has seen they do not bear any ill intent either. They were sociable, as much as one can be with kriegers anyhow, and were happy to please. They were almost disgustingly trusting and kind in fact. They reminded him of the ogryns, if a bit more intelligent. Perhaps abhumans are just inferior that way.
After all, to be utterly trusting and carefree is naivety at best and sheer stupidity at worst.
He grunted as the abhuman nuzzled against his side, almost purring in fact and he let out a sigh as he shoved her aside. He did not appreciate being touched. Despite his coldness, she continued to be near him, sitting next to him and monitoring his injuries. She seemingly basked in his presence, eyes shining with devotion.
It was unsettling for the Ridemaster.
They were without suspicion or worry that plagued most of humanity, save for the ogryns themselves. Even now, the rest of her brethren mindlessly interacted with his fellow soldiers despite their grim appearance, while one even approached his humble steed without an ounce of fear!
Perhaps unused to such attention, or merely amused, the genetically modified warhorse of krieg seemed content to be fawned over by the curious kobolds who have never seen such a strange horse before.
And they more or less passed the rudimentary tests that the Ridemaster had been taught by the honored Salamanders Chapter during their tours on Armageddon.
"The Imperium? Imperial Creed? Emperor? Chaos?" the kobolds had answered him, their responses hyper and drowning each other out.
He could scarcely understand a thing as they excitedly talked to each other so rapidly his brain could not keep up. He was suspicious of the abhuman but found that he could not hold those suspicions for long in the face of such sheer naivety and naked trust. He's pretty sure they were abhumans. They didn't seem to be malevolent beasts and perversions of mankind. Just abberant.
Their only response to him asking them if they honored the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind were excitable chatter before he blacked out.
He didn't get a straight answer... but upon waking up and finding himself decidedly still alive and being cared for by the kobolds, he figured they were good enough. Though it was certainly strange.
Why has the regiment not come to extract them yet to a proper medicae facility? Surely these abhumans must have notified the nearest authorities of lost regimental assets, as clueless as they seemed. Were imperial authority in this region that lax to allow such a frivolous attitude in what should be a major warzone?
The abhumans chatted amongst themselves animatedly, tending to the wounded krieger and feeding them. The Ridemaster simply grunted as he sat up unsteadily and drank from the broth offered to him. His thoughts were turbulent, and he was unused to it. He never had to worry about such things. There was always a clear objective.
Scout this region.
Attack these flanks.
Charge head first into the armored greenskin assault to give time for the Hive defenses.
He never had to endure anything like this before. It made him agitated. Made him feel useless. What was a korpman that couldn't fight? One that couldn't get redemption for his sins. One who was less then nothing.
He accidentally spilled a bit of his meal due to how unresponsive his arms were. He was certain it was the shrapnel embed in his shoulder, but they were in deep and the medicae were almost afraid of touching his wound. Instead they simply bandaged it as best as they could with the deathriders own medical supplies.
The abhuman tending to him giggled lightly as she helped him. She took the bowl from him despite his protests and the Ridemaster had to endure the humiliation of having someone feed him.
It had an earthy taste to it and was rather fulfilling despite how limited it was. Not enough to give him all his strength but enough to help speed along their recovery.
They appeared to be gatherers really, as he had yet to find any real storage depot. It really does seem like their camp so far was living off the land.
Rather similar to the Ork hunter bases the Korps occasionally went through, though without the abundance of knives and traps strewn everywhere and the faint scent of greenskin barbecue.
The Ridemaster blinked as he felt his eyes weaken, despite his attempts at staying lucid. He swayed lightly and tried to keep his eyes opened but then the abhuman gently grabbed his shoulders and lowered him down.
Well, the scions of Vulkan themselves always did emphasize how good rest sped up healing...
The krieger blacked out peacefully, for once not having to worry about heavy reconnaissance into enemy territory or engaging ramshackle greenskin armor.
No daring lightning raids or deadly assaults. There was no danger around him and his detachment for once...how strange...
His mind was fuzzy, like everything was muffled. He opened his eyes tiredly and found that he was suddenly not laid down on the ground recovering, but on his mount. There were no blue skies, nor any green woodlands. Instead, he was in a man made wasteland of ash and dust.
Two warriors stood at a crossroad. They were gazing at the tracks on the ground with interest. There had to have been thousands of them, all of varying sizes. Greenskin sizes that is. They split off in the middle, one group heading east and the other west.
The Ridemaster dismounted his steed and kneeled before the other. The Salamander seemed vaguely amused as he gently had the krieger rise.
"Come now brother, none of that here." the Salamander said, his voice having a tinge of warmth even despite the unnatural snarl their helmets generated.
"Understood my lord. It seems the greenskins have split into two groups." the Ridemaster reported as he stood straighter.
"Indeed it does, and please, you do not need to call me a lord." the Salamander said.
"..." the krieger had nothing to say for that.
He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to say before deciding to say nothing. He signaled for his men to regroup as he got up onto his mount. He waited for the Salamander's signal when none came.
He gazed at the marine and was perplexed to see the Salamander in deep thought.
"Guardsman. Do you see the directions these greenskins are heading?"
"Affirmative."
"It seems we are going east then, signal the men. We must go now."
"...my lord?"
The Ridemaster was confused. The Salamander stopped for a moment before explaining,
"The greenskins are assaulting the refugee camp down the road. If we make haste, we will catch up to them and crush the xenos between our forces. My brothers are already there stemming the tide." he informed the Ridemaster.
"My lord, we are to assist the main assault. The main assault is west." the Ridemaster replied, still confused.
The Salamander could only stop before gazing at the Deathrider with what felt like disappointment.
Suddenly everything became blurred and though the Ridemaster heard words, he could not comprehend them. All of a sudden everything seemed to fade away.
Replaced with pain.
Writhing and burning and scalding pain pain pain pain pain all over and it was all he could do not to shout as every piece of his being seemed to howl in agony-
He woke up suddenly, gasping for air and suddenly wracked with intense pain all over. He let out a brief cry of pain as his body seized up. The abhumans immediately rushed over and began fussing over him, trying to calm him down while changing his wounds.
They found the source of the issue soon enough, extracting a piece of shrapnel that had managed to work it's way towards his neck. It was a messy affair and one that had them in a state of panic.
Any further and he would have likely gotten permanent injuries. Instead he was merely scarred, more so anyway. They slathered him with more salve and bandaged him tightly.
The krieger felt disorientated, the memory still fresh on his mind before he disregarded it. They were of no importance. Just old memories of a past battle. And yet he felt incredibly disoriented. He did not feel like himself and he hated that. Especially as crippled as he was now. What use was a korpman that couldn't fight? This situation felt disquieting.
The hours passed by quickly, or perhaps they were days, weeks even? He found that it was hard for him to keep track of his own biological clock with how severe his injuries were.
He did not dream like that again, much to his confusion but again, he disregarded those thoughts.
Mostly, he found that oftentimes he woke up in great pain, having painful spasms and muscle cramps despite his attempt at controlling his own body.
He felt like his nerves were on fire, coated with acid and electrocuted. His body was painfully sore and he could feel the smaller bits of shrapnel still somewhere deep under his skin.
Once that was calmed down and the Ridemaster no longer felt like his body was twisting up like barbwire, he began to ponder. As far as standard medicae go, these abhumans are quite strange.
They had given him little to no modern imperial medicines beyond the herbs and plants that were around them. As effective as they were, they were quite rudimentary and primitive.
And worst of all, the medicine did not allow him to recover quickly enough to be back on the field in record time, wounded status be damned. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. These were not normal medicae.
They seemed almost like feral world healers, and he knew because he served alongside feral worlders while on Armageddon.
He based this judgement on their lack of any modern imperial tech and equipment. That and the fact that the abhumans are dressed and acted like feral worlders. It was possible that they weren't even medicae at all really, but rather just locals.
But if so, why would feral worlders be on here?
At the very least they weren't like the ones that the Ridemaster had once ran into, whom had done bizarre rituals and dances for "salvation" against the green horde. The amount of excess bloodletting was concerning...
In contrast these kobolds were quite tame, simply just being under equipped for obvious reasons. They had no scalpels, no medical equipment, not even buzzsaws or anything other then their bare hands and local remedies and bandages. Which was strange since even the feral worlders had a buzzsaw.
They only knew how to amputate infected limbs but damn did they do it well.
These abhumans did not have any uniforms he recognized either...or any if he was honest. Very strange. He almost swore they were naked, but maybe that was just the trick of his eyes.
Some of them appeared to have rudimentary skirts...but due to how badly his vision was swimming and how his ears rang constantly, the Ridemaster assumed his judgement was inadequate at the moment.
Besides who would just waltz around in the nude? He was also quite annoyed with the lack of any Aquila symbols but maybe that was just a quirk of these strange abhumans.
Maybe they were more subtle about it. Like the Ork hunters. Fun fellows they were. Mean, green, tough bastards and even better comrades in battle.
He tried to speak multiple times but his voice was very hoarse and dried. At the very least he felt his strength returning to him, slowly it by bit every time he woke up. As such, eventually he was able to sit up and feed himself, though the abhumans still persisted in trying to feed him themselves.
It was incredibly inefficient and he made that known with vague grunts that he was able to get through his throat. The rest of his squadron after all were still wounded, the Ridemaster was certain they need the attention more then he did.
It was strange, how talkative these abhumans were with him. They fawned over him and his men, trying to get their attention constantly while recovering. And due to their limited options, the kriegers actually responded to the curious abhumans.
Before they knew it, the kriegers soon began conversing back with grunts, nods, and short answers. Even with their obvious lack of social skills, the abhumans were ecstatic.
It was strange. He had tried to ignore them at times even, when he was too preoccupied with how useless he was not fighting. But no matter what they would not leave him alone. If the Ridemaster was hoping their long silence and one word responses were enough to deter them, it was not.
Eventually he just decided to humor them, in order to be left alone. Predictably that only made them converse with him more. His comrades were in similar states as well.
They fell into a rhythm soon enough, and before the Ridemaster knew it, he began regaling them with past mission reports and battles.
Small things like how he and his comrades got their wounds, how he got this one scar, and who he was. All said in a stoic, krieg like manner with barely any excitement, boasting, or enthusiasm.
They ate up each encounter with gusto.
They oohed at his victories, cowered at his horrid tales of the savage greenskins, and gave him almost sympathetic looks when one of them had asked him about his childhood.
Some cried for him, while others promised that he would never suffer again so long as they were there for them. The Ridemaster was perplexed, as were his men. To serve the Emperor dutifully and faithfully was to suffer in His name, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
He made that known to them, though that only served to upset and confuse them.
Most of the time however, they simply just listened on intently, always eager to hear more stories from the dour man.
They also tried to get him more stripped down, much to his annoyance. That the Ridemaster adamantly refused. Bad enough he did not have his armor and gasmask on. He will not subject himself to this. He was perfectly capable healing in his uniform.
Sometimes the Ridemaster wondered if this was divine punishment from the God-Emperor for his squadron's failure to die fighting the Ork Gargant.
He was certain they had watched it blow, destroyed from it's mounting wounds from the Korps rough riders and tanks and damning them all when whatever insanity keeping it together had failed...
And yet here they are now.
Stranded, lost, and confused.
Why?
Unlike the past few days, he was dreaming again. Or remembering rather.
He once again found himself on his mount, and again conversing with the honored Salamander. The world felt muted, like they were the only two living beings around for miles. Everything was frozen in time.
He felt disorientated and though his lips did not move, his words still echoed in the dream.
"Regimental orders are clear honored astartes. We are to track the xenos and exterminate them all. They are gathering in the west, in their foul camps. It would be the perfect opportunity to strike." he had said.
"You would leave this refugee camp to it's fate then guardsman?"
"It is not our duty to assist them."
"It is our duty to defend all of humanity my brother. These greenskins are not going anywhere soon."
"The main assault needs us my lord."
"The main assault is composed of the Marines Malevolent. I assure you guardsman, they can certainly handle the assault themselves. Kindly have faith in us astartes will you?" the Salamander said, and the Ridemaster prepared to apologize profusely for his insult when the Salamander chuckled.
"I jest brother."
The Ridemaster stayed silent, unsure of what to say or do.
"Then again, you may be right. The Marines Malevolent are quite arrogant ba-"
The words were drowned out again. Literally. It was like there was water everywhere and he could hardly breathe.
His memory ended before he could hear the rest, though the Ridemaster wasn't sure if it was important.
He woke up from having water splash on him. The canopy above him must have been collecting the rainwater and had burst open right atop him. In an instance he was soaked through and he could only gasp for breath.
He blinked, and then he coughed for a bit, much to the concern and amusement of the abhumans nearby.
He waved them off when they came to check on him and simply laid down again, musing over what he remembered. Once again he disregarded them as just simple memories.
As time went on however, the Ridemaster came to a startling realization when he looked upon the sky. It was an epiphany that suddenly struck his mind and left him reeling.
"We are not on Armageddon anymore..." the Ridemaster thought, a rare moment where he was truly speechless as the realization dawned on him.
But how? Warp trickery? Greenskin madness? He knew the feats of technology the foul xenos were capable of were immense. To understand how greenskin technology worked had driven even the best of the Admech to madness and hysteria. He was disquieted and pondered his thoughts silently.
This amused the abhuman that was currently interacting with him, the girl giggling as she poked at his (uninjured) side. He grunted and disregarded his inquiries while the girl stopped her poking and repeated her question.
"So what makes these eerrrrr, um...script...ures? What makes these scriiiptures so important?" she asked.
The Ridemaster almost felt like frowning.
Instead he went on to explain the basic tenets and scriptures he was taught since birth. Then he explained the Cult of Sacrifice to her when it was clear the kobold wanted to know more.
Wherever they were, it was quite obvious that the local ecclesiarchy here were not doing a good job educating the local populace properly on the Imperial Cult.
These abhumans were utterly ignorant of even the most basic information regarding the Imperial Creed.
Perhaps it was their status as abhumans. The line between mutant and abhuman was tenuous.
Regardless of those musings, the Ridemaster got to work before the now newly assembled abhumans, the girl having gathered her sisters for the lesson. The Deathrider tried his best to echo what he was taught, the experience completely foreign to him.
He was no firebrand preacher, but to the abhumans, he might as well been as they listened with wrapped attention, eyes shining with wonder or confusion.
He taught them of what he knew of the Divine God-Emperor, His holy tenets, and the Imperial Creed, mostly things regarding the Cult of Sacrifice.
He showed them his most prized possession, a pendant of the Aquila, that he had received from a grateful priest on Armageddon. It was a shiny gold and encrusted with gems and inscriptions.
He hesitated for a rare moment, before he gifted it to the curious abhumans. It was obvious that they needed it more.
They would greatly benefit from His protection. They stared at it like it was the center of the universe, examining every little detail.
"The Emperor protects." he said simply when they looked at him.
Their beaming faces gave him the same subdued satisfaction he got when he purged the filthy greenskins. It left him bemused at himself.
Once they linked up with regimental assets again, his men and him would undoubtedly be required to go back into reconditioning.
The thought should have comforted him.
It didn't.
He found himself once again gazing at the face of the Salamander. The Ridemaster blinked and he tried to look around only to find his body unresponsive.
Instead he stood still and stared on at the Salamander.
The scion of Vulkan had removed his helmet and spoke with kind but firm words.
"It is a complicated life that we live brother. It is true that we have a duty to the Emperor, but we must also remember that we have a duty to His people as well. Look inside of yourself, and remember. We all share a noble purpose. We do not fight for the sake of it. And we certainly do not fight to die."
He gave the krieger a sad smile.
"We fight for our brothers and sisters around us. For those we swore to defend. We are it's sword and shield against the darkness."
"We die for humanity, for our people. No matter their size, looks, or smells."
The Salamander gave an amused gaze at the ogryns accompanying them.
The abhumans were entertaining themselves with the bleached skull of an ork before freezing like a scolded child at their gaze. They quickly tossed the skull away and innocently whistled. Or imitated whistling anyhow.
The Salamander simply chuckled while the Ridemaster stood silently.
The Ridemaster was perplexed, "I...I don't understand."
The Salamander simply smiled, "You will soon one day. Remember son of Krieg. Remember who we fight for. We fight for the Emperor's people, from the littlest child to the oldest man, no matter their appearance or worth."
"..."
The Deathrider was still perplexed, but again he simply nodded.
The words, they stuck with him. He did not comprehend their meaning, but they struck a chord inside of him.
"Affirmative."
"Then come, let us slay these foul xenos."
The Salamander clapped the Ridemaster on his back, nearly smacking him right off his steed as he turned and sprinted forward.
As the Deathrider signaled for his men to follow after the noble astartes, his surroundings once again faded away.
This time, when he woke up, he felt neither disoriented nor confused. Merely calm. He felt almost refreshed in fact.
It was truly perplexing to him, and he tried to ponder on the meaning of these memories showing up in his dreams. Was this the Emperor trying to communicate with him...? Or simply just old memories resurfacing?
It left him feeling vaguely unsteady.
Eventually as time went on, the Death Rider squadron began to recover their strength as best as they could. For some strange reason, the Ridemaster was almost sure the abhumans became agitated when his riders and him donned their masks again.
Still not their armor however, but at the very least their mask was already a comforting improvement. His mask was his face, and he had felt incomplete without it.
The strange expressions the abhumans made on their faces however gave him a strange urge to remove it, before years of discipline slammed back into his mind. He was quite perplexed at his lack of control for a moment. He felt strange, truly strange, like there was some sort of feeling coiling around him. Perhaps he was more uneasy then he thought.
The dream had him distracted admittedly. It was unbecoming of a guardsman of Krieg, but he was focused on the words the Salamander had said to him that day.
Regardless, the Deathriders needed to get back into shape as soon as possible. And if they were too injured to simply get out and do their duty, then they could do their other duties at least.
They started with weapon maintenance, with those too injured simply showing the abhumans the ropes instead.
"So what is a laaaazzzguuun?" the abhuman he was talking to in front of him asked curiously, the abhuman rolling the words off her tongue experimentally.
The Ridermaster had an irrational urge to ruffle the abhuman's head.
Instead he sat up unsteadily, the abhuman assisting them, before he dully began explaining to her the workings of a lucius pattern lasgun. He's rather sure the words went right over her head however as the abhuman gazed at him in bemusement. So instead, he had her retrieve their weapons.
For the next few hours the Ridemaster disassembled his lasgun and reassembled it. The maintenance and familiar habits were almost therapeutic for him. Almost. He was of the Korps, they had no need for such petty feelings.
The abhuman's wonder at such a basic activity however pleased him. He could not deny that, and that left him disquieted.
He was displeased however, with the speed of his disassembling and reassembling of his faithful weapon, being wracked with stabbing pain constantly. He endured it stoically in usual Krieg fashion, but he could not deny the inefficiency.
He had been idle for far too long. Then he shifted in a wrong way and remembered that this body was still full of shrapnel when he was wracked with sharp biting pain. And so it was, with the squadron being forced to spend just a little longer recuperating. Eventually however they felt well enough to begin moving around. But first, the shrapnel that the abhumans weren't able to remove.
It was a good thing that most of them spent a decent amount of time before in proper imperial field hospitals and with the quartermaster, as they did the arduous process of extracting the shrapnel as best as they could with their hands and knives. It was a miracle they didn't bleed out with how shaky some of their incisions were. They had little finesse and simply carved into eachother to extract the shards and bits of metal.
The abhumans were horrified. They fussed over them even more and practically smothered them with as much care as possible.
It was rather perplexing really. As far as healers went, they were remarkably squeamish. And unorthodox. What was a little bloodshed in their like of work?
He felt a sudden pang of amusement for some reason. He squashed that emotion and carried on with gritting his teeth as his subordinates extracted a piece of shrapnel the size of his finger from his shoulder.
It was crude work, especially so due to being done with a knife, but he should heal better without shards of scrap metal embed in his flesh.
Still. Primitive as they were, the abhumans were rather useful. They fed the deathriders, tended to their wounds to the best of their abilities, and assisted them with any duties and chores needed.
The Ridemaster and his squadron taught them how to regulate their mount's health, who required special care. The kobolds were surprised to see just how incredibly different the krieg mounts were compared to the horses they've seen before.
They had as much chemicals in their veins as blood and required careful regulation to keep them in shape, lest they die from their own biology.
It was remarkable really at how quickly these kobolds learnt to assist the Deathriders with their duties.
Soon however, his men and him will recover and they'll be on their way and out of these abhumans care. They will join their brothers in the Korps, sent into proper medicae facilities to heal, and likely reeducation as well.
Soon these kobolds will be a distant memory, a pleasant one even if the Ridemaster dares, and they would carry on about their duty.
Soon...
Perhaps it came a little too soon and sudden.
The next morning that the recuperating kriegers had woken up to was a strange one.
For one thing, the abhumans were all gone. Not even the youngest among them, who could scarcely leave them alone without asking her barrage of questions, was around. It was perplexing, but perhaps they all went out foraging. They did that occasionally, though usually they still at least had one behind...
For another, the skies above were once again raining. Except this time violently. If the last few ones they've experienced were a shower, this one was a downpour. It smothered the skies with dark, heavy clouds and rumbled loudly with thunder and lightning.
What should have been a bright morning was instead a dim one, with their surroundings barely illuminated.
"..."
The silence was...quite heavy. The rain deafened the world around them, leaving it mute. And having had chatty abhumans to entertain for the last few days or so...it was a jarring contrast. The Ridemaster had not realized it at first, but without the abhumans around, their small camp was incredibly lifeless. It should not have bothered him...
And yet it did.
And it seemed to agitate their mounts as well. The krieg mounts were neighing constantly.
The Ridemaster grunted as he sat up. He was hit with sharp pains but he ignored that in favor of approaching his faithful steed. The krieg mount was huffing and breathing deeply, the equine incredibly agitated. The mount's nose was sniffing the air intently, almost like a bloodhound and he gnashed his teeth incessantly.
"..."
Something was wrong. He could just feel it. His steed was huffing almost angrily, nostrils flaring constantly as he sniffed the air around him and neighed.
"Ridemaster." one of his subordinates said suddenly, snapping the imperial out of his thoughts.
The deathrider walked up to him, limping slightly, before saluting the Ridemaster. He had his krieg mount with him, the horse seemingly as agitated as the deathrider was. The Ridemaster set him at ease and the deathrider reported a concerning development.
A very concerning one.
He followed his subordinate as the rest of the squadron roused and the pair walked out into the heavy rain, moving quite a fair bit. They have yet to actually wander this far, usually the abhumans would have stopped them, insisting that they recover completely. Well, they were not here now.
The pair and mount brushed past trees, shrubbery, and mud pits before stopping at a flooded, muddy and worn dirt road. He gazed at the deathrider questioningly before following his outstretched arm pointing at the ground where the mount was circling.
There, amidst the mud, were faint splotches of crimson blood, along with familiar looking tufts of fur. Even more damning were the broken beads, likely to have come from one of the abhuman's necklaces.
And imprinted into the mud were numerous foot prints, and indentations where someone had been beaten down and dragged away. They were relatively fresh, despite the heavy rain.
It didn't come immediately. But when it did, it was as if the rain around them had stopped. The Ridemaster's mind went blank for a moment, his mind going through numerous scenarios and trying to comprehend what had happened.
They had recovered enough. They could just leave these abhumans to their fate. They were after all, beneath his men and him. They were needed elsewhere. The regiment needed them. Their God-Emperor needed them to fulfill their duty...
As the Ridemaster stared in silence, he was suddenly struck again by the words that the Salamander had said to him.
"Remember son of Krieg. Remember who we fight for. We fight for the Emperor's people, from the littlest child to the oldest man, no matter their appearance or worth."
The Ridemaster stood there, fists clenched as his subordinate stared blankly. He did not understand what the Salamander had meant.
He still wasn't sure what the words really meant. But he knew what he had to do.
"We must deploy immediately." he barked at his subordinate, scooping the beads up as he hobbled back to the camp, with the death rider nodding as he limped after him.
They leaned on the krieg mount and made it back as quickly as they could.
It would have been a comical sight if the situation wasn't so dire. A pair of death korp deathriders limping in the rain, using a genetically modified horse to speed things along, slipping and falling, but fueled with determination.
They rushed back to camp and immediately roused the rest of the squadron for battle. They had not recovered fully yet. Bits of shrapnel were still stuck in their bodies, their wounds just barely healed, and their weakness was obvious, with heavy fatigue and blood loss plaguing them.
But they paid it no mind as they armored up, once again covered in their comforting weight and protection. Their training had them endure their suffering in silent determination, and they moved as if they were uninjured. With weapons in hand and their equipment on, the deathriders mounted their steeds, who were just as eager for blood. The deathriders set out at once.
T̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶b̶h̶u̶m̶a̶n̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶.̶
They had heretics to kill.
The heretic camp as it turns out was not that far away in actuality. It was nested deep in the woods and was shrouded in the gloomy twilight of the stormy morning. There were no defenses and only shoddily made tents were put up in a vague shape of a circle. The camp was also poor illuminated, with the torches being smothered by the rain and leaving visibility low.
Out exposed in the rain were rusty metal cages, holding pairs of prisoners, both human and mamono. Both living prisoners...and not so living. The peasants and odd Order soldier they had captured have long since expired, but (un)fortunately for the mamono, they were more resilient. If barely.
In the middle of the camp was a crude effigy of body parts, and next to it, a wooden pyre, unlit and holding a trio of werewolves strung to it. They were meant to be burned as a sacrifice to the Dark Gods but the heavy rain had smothered all the flames before it even started.
As such, the score or so cultists that were there were discussing what to do with the mamono when the rest arrived.
"Ahhh look at what we got 'ere, seems you crooked louts do be good fer something!" a brute of a man said.
He was littered with scars, tattoos, and brands, all bearing the marks of Khorne on him. He was sharpening an axe when a group of cultists had arrived to the little campsite.
"Yeh yeh yeeaaah, how bout we shut the yapping and get to the fun part!" the lead cultist responded giddily.
Behind him were another dozen men, and bound with tight ropes were 6 terrified kobolds.
If the khornate cultist was a strong and tall, this man was the exact opposite. He had a ratlike face on him, with crooked nose, beady eyes, and a thin hunched back appearance. He was fondling a terrified kobold in his arms, running his hand up her body with lecherous grin that was anything but friendly.
"The boys came across a few of these beauties while out on a prowl! Lookie 'ere. So adorable ye can just eeeeeeeeat 'em up!" he drooled, tightening his grip and causing the kobold to squeak in fear and disgust.
"Oi! These 'ere be the new sacrifice. Not yer toys! That's why we sent ya lot out." the khornate grouched, his jovial attitude now replaced with simmering annoyance.
The other man held his hands up placatingly.
"'Ey 'ey, we be friends 'ere. I was just suggesting we 'ad a lil taste. That's all! We worked 'ard after all!"
"We already got them other mutts. What? Bored already?" the khornate said distastefully.
The cultist raised an eyebrow as the both of them gazed at the strung up werewolves. Then towards the cages where malnourished and scarred captives sat, staring at them with either fear or resignation.
The khornate shrugged, before he had the rest of the cultists drop the kobolds off. The ratlike cultist gazed at the khornate in annoyance and petty anger at being dismissed but stayed silent.
"Fiiiiine. Such succulent meat too. I shall remember you in my dreams my sweet." he cooed, cupping the disgusted kobold's face.
He leaned in to kiss the kobold, much to her horror.
"No! No!" she squirmed.
The man laughed at her attempts and forced himself upon her with gusto, only to gasp as she kneed him in the crotch full force!
As the cultist keeled over, the khornate laughed at the debacle before backhanding the kobold onto the ground. The rest of her sisters cried out for her before being silenced by the rest of the chuckling cultists.
"GAAaah! Oooohhhhhhhhh the focking lil cunt got me right in th-Argh! Yer lil bitch!" the downed man spat.
"Ahhh git up already ya big ole baby!" the khornate jeered, even kicking the cultist again, hitting his stomach and knocking the air out of his lungs.
As the man coughed and sputtered for air, the khornate harshly hauled the kobold onto her feet, his tight grip bruising her arm and causing her to cry out in pain.
"Shut it mutt!" the khornate snarled, "Now...let's 'urry back to master! 'es gonna be in a real prissy mood if we don't make 'is deadline and with the prisoners in tow lads!"
"Wait wait wait! This lil cunt just kneed me in the balls! We outta teach her a lesson, the rest here lot too!" the cultist said, shakily getting onto his knees.
He got kicked again, this time across the face and flew back down into the mud.
"So? Not me fault yer got lil nobbly bits. Now get yer ass up before I string you up on the pyre instead bastard! We got shit to do and yer lil temper tantrum ain't one of them." the khornate responded, giving the ratlike man a sneer.
The cultist deflated instantly, but cursed under his breath, groaning as he stood up. The jeers of his fellow cultists shamed him and he stood redfaced with anger, fuming.
"Frak you and yer whore of a mum." he muttered, but not quietly enough.
"Whaddya just say to me ya bastard?" the khornate suddenly said, turning around in a flash.
As the ratlike man desperately tried to defend himself, the kobold whimpered as the khornate shoved her aside and marched towards the man. The rest of the cultists grinned and cheered the two on, watching as the man instantly got a fist slammed against his face courtesy of a furious khornate.
The kobold groaned as she fell into the mud, grimacing as she felt her twisted her ankle hiss in pain. As she sat up, she was petrified to see the khornate furiously and messily beating the other man down to death.
They brawled around in the mud, but the khornate's sheer size and bulk was too much of an advantage. The much smaller cultist feebly swatted at the khronate ineffectively, causing the brute to growl as he grabbed an arm and twisted it. The much smaller cultist could only scream in anger and terror as he was beaten with every inch of his life.
"Yer never do just SHADDUP! Always yapping and yapping and acting all big and mighty! Well frak you too bastard!" the khornate growled.
His victim could only gurgle hopelessly, trying to beg for mercy. An armored fist caved in his skull and the body stilled. The khornate stood up shakily, as if drunk, before letting out a satisfied sigh.
"Ahhhhhhh that 'it the spot! Any other bastard wanna say somet'ing?" he snarled, eyes dilated and mouth in a bloodthirsty grin.
The rest of the cultists simply laughed, either nervously or joyously at the boast. Soon it was as if the beatdown never happened and they returned to their foul duties.
The kobolds could only watch on with horror at the callous display of violence before they began screaming and struggling against the cultist's grasps. The men dragged them over to cages with the rest of the captives and tossed them in. For the struggling ones, the cultists either beat them or, if they were particularly troublesome, laughed as they dragged them over to the camp's center to "break" them in.
The kobold was the former, her face now sporting a nasty black eye and busted lip.
Her cellmate, an ogre was in significantly worse condition, with her skin marred with the odd brand or scars, and a broken horn on her head. The kobold whimpered and curled up in a battle, hoping for a reprieve from this hell.
"A new girl. You don't look like you'll last a day." the ogre dully said.
"W-Wha-?" the kobold started.
They gazed at each other, the kobold with wary fear and the ogre with soulless emptiness.
"You're so small. So precious. They wouldn't be able to resist..." she continued.
Her words caused the kobold to suffer even more anxiety and she couldn't help but gape. She did not know what to say and as such they stayed silent. Then she heard cries of pain and turned to look at the center of the camp, where her fears were doubled as she saw her sisters being whipped and beaten by their captors.
"N-MFffph!" her words were muffled in an instance.
"Shut. Up!" the ogre whispered, her scarred hand wrapped around the kobolds mouth.
"You'll only make things worse. Stay silent!" she emphasized.
The kobold could only let out cries as she saw her sisters be manhandled by the cruel cultists. Her shouts and protests were muffled and she was too weak to resist, and so she watched helplessly as their captors hurt her poor siblings.
She curled up in frustration, wishing once again that she and her sisters simply left that man on the road, instead of following him to "help his family".
How foolish and naive they were.
The ogre let go of her hesitantly before relaxing as the Kobold sat unmoving. The normally boisterous mamono sighed as she saw the sight, having already anticipated it.
However she raised her brow in puzzlement as she saw the kobold clutch something closer to her chest. She was even more surprised to hear soft words being spoken in a rushed manner. A prayer almost, sloppily done as she stumbled over her words.
The ogre scoffed.
"The gods won't answer our prayers lil one. I tried." the ogre said.
Better she crushed that hope now, rather then later.
Predictably however, the Kobold carried on. The ogre rolled her eyes, before she tilted her head in question. She did not recognize this "God-Emperor" she keeps on muttering nor the strange pendant in her hands. That of a two headed eagle, shining brightly despite the dim light.
"What are you doing?"
The Kobold did not answer still.
"No one's coming little one. Best get used to this new life soon."
"That's not true." the kobold said, tears streaming down her eyes.
The ogre raised her brow and said,
"Oh? Is that so?"
"Yes. The master says the Emperor protects. We just need to be faithful!" the kobold whispered, whimpering as she heard her sisters cries.
"A-And the master will come to s-save us when he sees us gone!" she continued, her voice hopeful despite the situation.
"..."
The kobold continued on, leaving the ogre disquieted.
"What's your name...?"
"...Maple..." the now named Maple said.
"Hello Maple...my name is Kilyn...listen..." the ogre began, until they were interrupted.
"Hey! Wot's that in your hand?" a cultist said, peering closer at Maple.
The kobold squirmed as she tried to hide it away, leaning away, but the man walked forward and grabbed at her through the bars. Kilyn looked like she was going to intervene for a moment, her eyes shining with anger and her arms were raised.
But then she almost seemed to deflate as her eyes became fearful, and then dulled emptiness. She sat back down obediently and the cultist clicked his tongue.
He slammed Maple against the bars, causing her yell in pain, but she stubbornly kept her hands tightly wrapped around her gift. The man snarled as he slammed her against the bars again and again, but she did not let go.
Eventually however her hand slipped and the man scoffed as he saw a flash of the doubleheaded eagle.
"Ugh. Should've known, all you focking corpse worshipping weaklings are all the same!" he muttered.
He tried a few more times to get her to let go and slammed her against the bars again and again until she was bruised all over.
Eventually he simply grouched as he opened the cell and dragged her out again towards her other sisters. She kicked and screamed as he dragged her harshly along the ground.
"Yer better be givin me a good reason for that little show meat." the khornate from earlier said as they approached him.
"Errrr yea of course boss! Looks like we got here a little corpse worshipper it seems." the cultist said, kicking Maple and causing her to sprawl down onto the ground.
The pendant got loose and fell in the muddy ground, and she hurriedly grabbed it.
At least she tried before the khornate stepped on her hands that is. She yelped in pain as he grinded his foot on her palm, the man narrowing his eyes.
"Well well well. And 'ere I thought we'd never see another corpse worshipper when we landed 'ere." the khornate smiled, before he grabbed her by her head.
He dragged her kicking and screaming with a malicious grin on his face as he tossed her into the center, where two of her sisters laid on the ground.
She groaned in pain as she held the mud coated Aquila in her hands. She closed her eyes tightly before crawling over to her sisters, holding them both together tightly for comfort as the khornate circled them, rubbing his chin.
"Well lads, tis 'ere rain was spoiling our fun!" he started, gathering the attention of his warband.
"Since we can't burn the other mutts, how bout we 'ave some fun after all with these corpse worshippers instead?"
The cultists all shifted nervously on their feet. They gazed at the khornate in confusion, especially since none have forgotten his most recent dispute.
"But whadda bout the master?" one of the cultists asked, before being smacked across the face.
"Whadda bout the master ya stupid maggot?! Just shaddup! And don't mention we 'ad a few extra prisoners when we come back! The other bastard was right, why don't we 'ave some fun. After all, we can always get more hahahaha!"
The rest of the warband stared in confusion, before shrugging and agreeing along with their leader. It was boring now that the rain had gone and spoiled their fun. It was supposed to be a celebration! Instead the weather ruined it...
But now fortune smiles on them with these new playthings. Besides, these kobolds looked so frail and delicious...
And they worshipped the corpse god as well! It was only fitting that the followers of the true faith have their way with these weaklings.
Maple grabbed her sister tightly in a fierce hug as the cultists circled around them, arguing over what sort of entertainment they'd provide.
It was absolutely abhorrent how they discussed it like how one would discuss having dinner.
"The Emperor protects...the Emperor protects...the Emperor protects..." she whispered to her sisters, repeating the words the Ridemaster had taught her.
The rain was near deafening right now, and Maple shivered in fear as an unnatural chill came over her.
However, amidst the roaring thunder and flashing lightning, she swore she heard the distant stomping of horses...
Her thoughts were interrupted as the khornate grabbed her harshly by the neck, his other hand carrying a red hot iron brand. She let out a shrill shriek as her sisters held on tightly before they were forcibly separated.
It was a savage thing, and had an evil presence radiating from it. Maple wanted to be nowhere near it and she struggled profusely, to little avail.
"Gonna remind ya who owns yer now mutt." he said with glee.
The brand was sizzling in the rain and was close enough to warm her neck when a crimson bolt slammed against his arm, instantly blasting it off below the elbow and showering them both in his blood.
As the khornate howled in pain and fury, the rest of the cultists jumped up in surprise.
"Ambush!"
The reaction was immediate. The khornate amidst his agony swiftly grabbed a nearby comrade and used the surprised man as a living shield against more lasbolts that suddenly assaulted the gathered cultists.
No less then 7 different shots immediately landed, and in good timing too. His meatshield was vaporized in an instance, becoming a disembodied corpse in moments as the lasbolts splattered his body into crimson mist.
They were so closely packed together that more then half of them were gunned down before they had a chance to respond.
The survivors grabbed their weapons and fired blindly into the darkness around them, and the khornate tossed the body away to grab his blood soaked axe with his one remaining hand.
"FOR THE BLOODFATHER!" he snarled as he gazed out into the poorly illuminated surroundings.
His men repeated his chant, or shouted for the other Dark Gods as they took cover and tried to find their ambushers. They did not have to wait long.
A man holding a heavy stubber shrieked in fear and surprise as a deathrider suddenly barreled out from the surrounding shrubbery none worse for wear, the mount trampling the cultist under foot and turning his skull and organs into crushed bone and meat.
The mount's rider was equally as deadly as he slashed at a nearby cultist with his sabre, the monosteel blade nearly decapitating the man in a single stroke. He fired a laspistol with his other hand, his shots going wide but still hitting his mark as another cultist was blasted off his feet.
Then the rest of the deathriders came barreling in, their eerie silence only making them even more fearsome. There were no loud battle cries nor gallant boasts.
They came, they saw, they slaughtered.
It was like they were the grim reapers made flesh as they came out of the dim shadowy woods.
The cultists dug their heels in and died where they stood, trying to fight back against the deathriders but to little avail. One man let out a burst of gunfire, the bullets pinging off the deathrider's armor. He grunted as he was nearly thrown off his mount from the force, and he changed course to run down the cultist under hoof from his mount's legs. Another let loose a salvo of bullets and succeeded in blowing away trees as the deathrider deftly dodged most of them, taking only a few glancing hits for his troubles.
The khornate growled as he saw his warband be steadily grinded into paste. He dodged the attacks of the deathriders, ducking underneath sabre strokes and lasbolts. He retaliated by swinging his axe in turn when they came around. He managed to get one, his axehead slamming against the guardsman's armor and knocking him right off his mount.
The Ridemaster fell down onto his back hard. He groaned at how horrible he felt due to his old injuries flaring up. His ribs definitely felt cracked and he growled as he began standing up unsteadily. But he was floored and the khornate moved to capitalize on his advantage when he suddenly got a face full of mud.
"Get away from him!"
A determined Maple was revealed to be the culprit as she packed a mud pie into her hands and chucked it again at him. The khornate dodged the projectile and was suddenly blinded with fury. How dare this mongrel fling mud at him?! He screamed in rage at the frightened kobold and he relished in the fear he saw in her eyes.
He saw only red and rushed forward to slay the imprudent insect as she hurriedly tried to avoid him. He was far too focused on his new target to realize the imperial hurriedly getting up while the rest of his men were butchered by the other deathriders.
Maple had moved a good deal away before she slipped on the mud and fell onto the ground again. She tried to stand up but whimpered in pain at her twisted ankle and the khornate made a feral smile as he caught up.
Then he was shoulder checked hard and knocked to the side, falling into the mud.
"M-Master!" Maple said happily as the Ridemaster grunted.
The Ridemaster stood tall, fully armed and armored and the Kobold looked at him with awe. His armor was dirty, his features grim, and the skies were dark and gloomy, illuminating him with a truly depressing presence. But to her he seemed straight out of the fairy tales she once heard from the other mamono. A knight in shining armor under the bright sun. Her knight.
He in turn looked at her briefly for a moment, taking in her appearance. She was hurt, bruised all over, and sported many cruelties inflicted upon her by the heretics. He felt livid and he turned to stare down the fallen khornate who was stirring.
"Filth." he spat.
The khornate growled in anger.
"Bastard! Seems like I'm all that's left eh? T'at's fiiiiiiiiiine. I'm going to kill you all by myself...rip you all limb from limb! You will feel unimaginable pain!" the man snarled as he stood up, using his axe as support.
It was as if his missing hand was no weakness at all. His muscles were bulging with power and he stared at the imperial with nothing but pure fury and hate. He was completely capable of ripping the imperial to pieces even at his weakened state and the Ridemaster knew.
He growled and menacingly advanced.
The Ridemaster held his sabre pointing forward with one hand, while he reached behind his back and held his laspistol with the other.
In a quick flash he unholstered it and pointed the pistol at the khornate just as the man began to charge.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
However powerful this man was, he was still only human. Two of the lasbolts hit across his chest like it wasn't armored at all, the khornate's lungs easily being punctured by lasbolts and blown out of his back. He moved forward heedless of these wounds, vomiting blood as he charged. Possessed with bloodlust, he kept moving even when he should be breathing his last.
The Ridemaster took careful aim, anticipating his evasion and letting out one last shot just as he got close.
Another shot hit him square on the nose as he got within striking distance, splattering his brains all over the ground. His head became nothing more then a ruined crater and the corpse landed in an ignoble heap like a puppet with its strings cut.
Just like that, the khornate was dead. And with him, the rest of the warband as well.
"Sound off." the Ridemaster said dully as the last of the cultists were put down by his squadron.
A beady eyed freak with scales for skin tried to bargain for his life only to be mercilessly cut down. A few more dying cultists were finished off with a boot to the skull of a sabre to the heart. Their grisly duty done, the deathriders replies were all green. The Ridemaster holstered his laspistol again and sheathed his sabre just in time for Maple to crash into him.
The Ridemaster's instincts immediately roared at him to retaliate and he moved to snap her neck when he stopped. It was clear the kobold meant him no harm and instead, she had simply sought to embrace him tightly.
They spoke no words, and instead stood there in the rain holding each other. The kobold crying in his arms while he stood there awkwardly, desperately wondering what to do.
She was then joined by the other two kobolds not caged up, the both of them holding onto him like a lifeline. He grunted in pain as his side flared up in pain, but he stoically stayed silent.
He definitely did not know what to do.
The aftermath was more simple. The cultists did not even bother to post sentries, so preoccupied as they were with the spoil of raids and battles on their mind. The deathriders as a result had achieved complete surprise out of sheer dumb luck, and the cultists had barely any time to react. Most had been cut down in the beginning volley and the rest were slain before they could get too many hits off.
Deathrider 859742-675875 Siegward was shot by a full burst from an autogun, but his armor absorbed the small arms fire. His mount had a few bullet wounds but nothing lethal, and with a dose of chemicals and medical care the mount will be back in good health with new scars to bear.
Still, they were sloppy. The squadron should have slain them all in one go as usual, but their injuries had made them less effective then usual. It was unacceptable. And it was quite obvious now. The deathriders had a long journey ahead of them. They must reconnect with regimental assets immediately and get proper care.
"Heretics." the Ridemaster said simply as the rest of his men gathered around.
Even in a different world, one not plagued by foul xenos, they now had to contend with the archenemy. It seemed that this new world was not without it's own problems. And now it's natives will suffer for it. Though the natives of this planet are certainly strange. There's a great variety of them as he was surprised to find out.
The squadron counted no less then four other types of abhumans, for they were far too humanlike to be simply just mutants or xenos. The kobolds had vouched for them as well, so it didn't take much convincing for them to help free the captives. Besides, even if they were hostile, they were in a truly pitiful state.
The three werewolves that were strung up on the pyre were in the most dire condition, and the deathriders ransacked the camp for untainted supplies.
Broken bones, bleeding wounds, and faint burns along their legs. They were heavily beaten, whipped, scarred, and in need of a lot of medical attention.
The deathriders and kobolds slathered them with the local remedies the squadron had brought along with them and they bandaged the werewolves tightly. They were barely lucid, most of them hallucinating and squirming fearfully in the grasps of the imperials.
They were forced to hold them down while the kobolds whispered sweet comfort. The other captives were in better states, but just barely.
Kilyn stared at them fearfully, squirming away from them when they opened her cell. They didn't even spare her a second glance as they opened up the cells for the other captives. The ogre stepped out hesitantly, as if in disbelief before her eyes began tearing up in relief.
The rest were in similar states when the deathriders freed them. Some squirmed away from the grim guardsmen, but most embraced them gratefully. At least until the deathriders shoved them off.
The deceased though were simply dragged out, and then at the behest of the kobolds, piled respectfully nearby to await a proper burial, or burning. The cultists however were piled into a hastily dug mass grave and, once the rain lets up, will be burned and buried with little fanfare.
They had finished dragging the bodies away and were tending to the captives when the kobolds came over again.
"I'm glad you're here master!" Maple said, limping over to embrace the Ridemaster again.
The krieger awkwardly stood there as she hugged him, unsure of what to do. He nodded at her and gave her a robotic pat as she let go. He said nothing, unsure of what to say and instead turned to look at his subordinate who walked up to him.
"They were not alone Ridemaster." the deathrider said simply.
The Ridemaster nodded, having already expected that. Where there was one cultist, there were likely to be even more of those rats nearby. And a group of this size so sparingly supplied likely meant that this was simply a scouting party. There was a bigger warband out there, somewhere.
As such, they needed to get moving quickly. The rain was letting up and the sky was just beginning to shine again, but the oppressive mood stayed. Most of the freed captives were silently weeping or staring dully around them, as if afraid that their newfound freedom was a dream.
They were quite frankly, liabilities. And the Ridemaster made that known to the kobolds, much to their confusion then horror.
"W-What? No we can't just leave them!" Maple had said to him causing the Ridemaster to stare blankly.
"They are of little use to the regiment. We must regroup with Imperial forces in the region and notify them immediately of the chaos threat, and join them in combatting them."
"They can be of use too! And besides, we can't just abandon them when they need us most! We have to take them with us!"
The kobold was flustered, and she squirmed underneath his gaze. The Deathrider was perplexed. Could these captives not go out on their own? Surely they do not need to babysit civilians. The Korps were meant for fighting.
"A-A-And besides, t-the Order doesn't like us too much."
The Ridemaster stared blankly.
"The Order?" he questioned.
"You know...the biggest human organization around! They tolerate me and my sisters, but not the rest of us." Maple said.
The Ridemaster was perplexed. Were they not even on an Imperial controlled world? This would be even worse then they thought. If it turns out they're stranded on a planet ignorant of His Majesty and any imperial authority...
Well. This will be a very hard journey.
The krieger turned around and stared at the assembled captives intently. They were certainly not fully humans, that was for sure, but then again, they didn't appeared to be slobbering beasts either. And they, well presumably they were in good health, unlike the sicky corruptive state that most mutants were in. They didn't seem to be inherently malicious, foul perversions of humanity. Just aberrant like the auxiliaries that supported the Ridemaster and his detachment in his past.
But one can never be too sure.
"There is insufficient intel." the Ridemaster finally stated.
They needed to know more. And to start, they need to find imperial authorities. Preferably regimental ones. He rather not deal with the Mechanicus or Ecclesiarchy. His men nodded and they moved to mount their faithful steeds. They have dallied here long enough and...
Oh right.
The Ridemaster stopped before giving the order. The rain has stopped enough. It was time to burn the bodies, and secure the wounded.
Unfortunately it did seem they were right. One of his subordinates came back just as they were finishing burning the bodies of the captives, and were just starting some kindling for the cultists.
"Warband approaching our position. Rabble mostly. Armed with guns and melee weapons. The biggest threat is the traitor chimeras, there are two of them on their flanks." the deathrider said dully.
The Ridemaster nodded. This fight would be a hard one indeed, and one that they very well might not survive at all. That is if they just charged head on.
They were walking wounded, and none of the captives they freed were in any condition to fight.
He felt right at home.
There was no more uncertainty. No more confusion. No more resting. There was only the Korps, and the killing. And so the squadron set out to work, making great use of the liberated explosives of the camp and setting it up all over. The Ridemaster had the kobolds lead the captives away from the fighting and promised her they would catch up.
The abhuman gave him a strange look, biting her lip before nodding. Before they left, she gave him a quick hug and demanded they lived, much to his bemusement. Truly these abhumans were a strange bunch.
As they ran ahead, the deathriders felt at peace. They were finally back in their element. Back where they belong. In the thick of the fighting.
The squadron mounted their faithful equines and patiently waited for the rabble to march to their doom. They didn't have to wait long, with the traitorous fools blundering right into their killzone.
They investigated the ransacked campsite now littered with explosives and were promptly blown up for their trouble. A great majority of them had only just begun to notice the explosives packed in a strange manner when it became the last thing they noticed. Half of them were vaporized in the explosion instantly and the rest ran screaming as their flesh melted off their bodies and they burned alive.
As the rest of the rabble panicked, the deathriders rode in fearlessly from the sides. Now armed with the hunting lance, they struck the chimeras first before they had time to react.
The crew inside must have been inexperienced, or too corrupted to react, as they only had time to turn their turrets and let loose a brief salvo that struck one of them before multiple different lances hit the APCs in revenge. They blew holes into the two vehicles and turned it's crew inside into minced and charred meat.
Riding away quickly, they were able to avoid the ammunition inside cooking and going off, causing chain reactions and more explosions before the corrupted vehicles became a satisfying inferno and an oven for the crew inside. Their fallen deathrider groaned as he crawled out from under his bleeding mount and could only gaze in disappointment as he was left behind.
Then he turned around to see the malevolent visage of a dozen cultists, all of whom stared at him uneasily.
He simply lifted his sabre up while his mount huffed, standing shakily up even despite the ragged hole in it's side. When the craven heretics did not dare to make the first move, he did it for them as he rushed forward and plunged his weapon into the neck of a traitor just too slow to raise his arms.
With their armored support gone, the rest of the surviving cultists began routing. They screamed for forgiveness, begging to be spared, and they ran like the cowards they were.
The deathriders had no mercy and rode them down to a man. Slaughtering them like the dogs they were. The Ridemaster let out a brief smile as he cut down cultist after cultist. They screamed, they raged, they cried, but they could not stop the deathriders.
Some of the heretics fired back, but there were too few and too outclassed and in panic. They never expected to face resistance such as this and it showed.
They had no discipline.
No resolve.
No faith.
As the cultists began to die to a man, the Deathriders finally let out a battle cry as they butchered the last of the traitors before they could escape.
"AVE IMPERATOR!"
The Deathriders were here, and they shall became the reapers of death.
A.N: Happy New Years!
I thought to myself, man, Deathriders look really cool. They could probably masquerade as noble knights to the MGE people. Grim, gritty, and harsh knights but noble ones never the less.
I also thought, "Wow, kobolds are really cute and are so friendly even the Order likes them." And then two small ideas came together to create a bigger idea.
And then I thought "But how would that work?" And how can I excuse their personalities being less "Kill everything that moves" to "Protect the weak and innocent" since well. You know how Kriegers are with civilians normally.
And I figure, if anybody could leave a lasting impression on someone, it would be the Salamanders Chapter.
Positive impression that is. Besides, the Deathriders have more initiative and will then the line infantry.
Of course it could have just as easily been a Marines Malevolent that influenced them. And we all know how that would go, and how our newly christened "Deathrider Knights" would act instead.
Anyway this was a very optimistic look on the setting. I'll undoubtedly go back to the grim Korpmen we all know and love, still hope you enjoyed this little silly idea.
I now have the idea of having a Deathrider detachment go up against the Royal Makai. Unlike the weakling Order, these "knights" are not pushovers as they'll soon find out...