After nearly eight months of completely painting my custom imperial guard regiment, I decided to write a little story about one of their isolated squads near the end.
It's only a small One-Shot written in a hurry and clearly lacking readability and forgetting or simplifying voluntarily some lores points for my ease of writing, don't expect a masterpiece.
But, enjoy the reading all the same.
One-Shot : A Terrible Banality of the 41st Millennium.
"Sons of the Emperor! We are at the turning point of this battle! Remember Sons of Humanity! You are the armed arm of the Emperor! Your body will perish, but you will join him as his faithful servant on Terranis!"
This quiet voice echoed through the Gorgon. The sounds of war echoed all around them, the roar of Lemans-Russ tanks inexorably advancing on the Heretic positions reminding the men inside of their upcoming struggles. The fear, stress, and negative emotions in their eyes and minds had made the interior of the vehicle oppressive.
In this dark atmosphere, the Ministorum Priest in charge of the soldiers' spiritual needs before the battle had stood up. The eyes of all the soldiers instinctively turned to him and their bodies calmed down. In a flamboyant speech worthy of his rank as a representative of the imperial will, the priest had reminded everyone of the reason for his fight.
Arms raised and cane held high, tirelessly repeating the same prayers that he had repeated many times to the Imperial Guard regiments, he had given everyone the will of the Emperor Gods. He left the Gorgon quickly moving to another vehicle to give the same encouraging and fanatical speech again.
In the Gorgon, the soldiers had begun to see a glimmer of hope, impatient whispers echoed, hands clutched at rifles. Despite everything, one platoon remained silent. Calm, orderly, like a block of ice in the aircraft, they were dressed in the typical gray garb of their home world. They were the Last Storm of Ulstereich.
Through the thick walls of the transport vehicle, the cries of fallen soldiers reminded them of the enemy that awaited them. The echoes were all the proud gray-clad soldiers needed to remember their training. Their muscles tightened, they were ready for action. A snap of the tongue brought them back to reality, chasing away any expectation of an upcoming landing.
At the back of the Gorgon, sitting on the bench, a soldier stood slightly forward. His eyes rose and stared intently at the madmen ready to act before orders, the two blue dots hidden behind the thick imperial officer's helmet would terrify any soldier with a half functioning conscience.
The dark figure beside them seemed to smile behind the gas mask covering his face.
"We have not received any orders to disembark. Stand by."
This man standing slightly further forward was a soldier named Cedrick Asling, he was currently the Sergeant of the Last Storm deployed on this front. At least, the last surviving officer of the Last Storm since the previous assault.
Nothing seemed to move around after his words. The gray soldiers got back into position and started checking their weapons again, all of them standing straight with impassive faces after the reprimand. They knew exactly what the next words would be if they continued to be impatient, they had already followed their sergeant enough to avoid this kind of unnecessary trouble.
They understood well the interest of their superior not to rush into a hasty charge. The first shell of this assault had been fired three hours earlier.
The Ulstereicher had heard the steady sound of battle from the rear lines. Standing still in their Gorgon they waited for the explosions to grow louder and louder, no one knew how long the barrage of fire would last.
The Chaos Heretics were foolish enough to make it last for hours, or even days or months in the worst case. Even so, the soldiers present knew that the artillery would not last. The heretics had already used every method they had in reserve. Massive assault by waves of followers, use of Warp magic, they had even summoned a Chaos demon to help them subdue the Imperials.
But... Everything had failed... The fighting had lasted and the Imperial lines had remained stable.
In desperation, their enemies had only had the opportunity to fire all their ammunition reserves. Shells, missiles, chemical weapons, all their artillery rained down a fire of death and apocalypse on the Imperial positions.
Every hour, the Heretics attempted a desperate assault on the trenches.
Krieg's Death Korp and Armageddon's Steel Legion on the scene held their positions with a zeal equal to their reputation. The Cadians had not retreated into Sector 3.11.1 and had even managed to advance into No Man Land.
Cedrick leaned back against the hard hull of the Gorgon, the cold steel reassuring him. Personally, he hoped that the fighting would stop quickly. Soldiers preferred to act quickly than to remain under constant artillery fire with the fear that a shell would land badly.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh. Inwardly he thanked the man behind the Last Storm's war helmet, the tinted glass hid his eyes and allowed him to think about the future without worrying about the looks of his comrades.
If the other Gorgon soldiers saw the cold, violent faces of his men before battle, they would only break his already low morale. He lightly rubbed the Vox hanging on the side of his mask. It had accompanied him everywhere since the beginning of this campaign, an imperial report of what he knows.
The Ulstereich were still young in the Imperium, during the Horus heresy, the Kalei sector had been separated by a Warp storm and had had to survive alone. Ulstereich was one of the few worlds to have survived the hell that was the five millennia of separation from the Imperium and especially one of the few planets to have not had its population entirely corrupted by the chaos heresy.
Not that chaos could have really gained a foothold in their world, the almost total knowledge of their environment had been more than enough to keep the traitorous scouts at bay.
When the main assault came, the loyalist forces used everything they had to fight back, drawing the chaos dogs into a brutal guerrilla war. Each of the cities was transformed into a cruel and vicious battlefield, where the slightest doubt in the enemy's mind led to his death. Taking advantage of their advantage in this area, they had become accustomed to going behind enemy lines, forming ambushes, striking wherever they could, and resisting with a fierceness and ferocity rarely equaled.
Their world in itself was an advantage to their cause, the karst landscape and the strong winds and frequent storms drifted even slightly from artillery fire making it difficult to use them, and without perfecting the habit, travel and survival in a storm was almost impossible.
This made the Ulstereicher trained, disciplined and extremely good at surviving and shooting in the most hellish of climates.
Cedrick and his men were part of one of those imperial regiments taken as a tithe from their world a decade ago, and they were one of the last of them still alive fighting for their homeworld after all this time, proudly wearing the heraldry of their world.
From planetary skirmishes to sector-wide campaigns, these men were surviving veterans of many of the regiments destroyed and reunited with other regiments from many worlds, also destroyed.
Of the fifty soldiers in the Gorgon, twenty were from the Last Storm, the others, under his command, were in other vehicles and already knew their objectives.
There must have been only two hundred of them left to carry the Ulstereich banner...
The creaking of the Gorgon warned of the crew's departure. The tension went up a notch. Cedrick slammed his hand on the butt of his weapon, drawing the attention of all the men present.
"Soldiers of the Last Storm. Prepare for action."
The soldiers of his squad rechecked their weapons securing their ammunition, removing the marks along their uniforms.
Due to the recent destruction of a heretic army on the side of sector 8.22.3, their trenches had advanced to lick enemy positions. Their objective was to come in and reinforce this particular point.
Cedrick did not know why the officers were so keen on this position rather than on the enemy artillery positioned further south, but because of his rank as a simple sergeant, he had no reason to try to understand the plan of some commanders in charge of the campaign.
His only mission was to decipher the jumble of paper he had been handed containing his orders. To reinforce the line, that was what the Emperor had decreed for them, and that is what he would do.
His eyes chased a bright spot in the pod for a few moments. He had a bad feeling.
A jolt went through and shifted the Gorgon several meters to the right. Several ill-prepared soldiers were thrown to the ground. They were under fire from the heretic lines. Cedrick knew that death surrounded them, but he did not panic and merely hissed in anger.
His men responded with faint, barely audible sounds.
Breaking the order of battle was considered the greatest treachery for an Imperial soldier. The sergeant turned his eyes to the side and looked at the Gorgon's door. When it opened, it would be up to them.
He switched on his camera, starting the recording.
From the little information he had managed to glean from his few contacts with the upper echelons of the command, the next assault that would take place would mean victory for the Emperor's troops. This was the reason why all the soldiers had been deployed on the ground to prepare for battle.
With the Emperor's blessing, he and his troops were deployed in an area where the Heretic artillery fire was less severe. He would have a chance to participate in the final assault and perhaps succeed in taking the head of a Heretic commander or even just stay alive.
It was the wish of every man in the Gorgon to survive another dawn. It was the wish of most of the Ulstereicher who were already outnumbered, but still had the good fortune to not have been completely unified under the full command of another regiment despite their small numbers.
This was not going to be long, they were already on the attack with Cadians, but not today, not yet, for this battle, it would be the pride of Ulstereicher, perhaps the last of their regiment, but theirs nevertheless before the inevitable merger.
The sounds of gunfire echoed all around them. Sometimes the pod was thrown to the side, other times an explosion disoriented the pilot, leaving him stunned and unable to react properly to attacks.
"The battle lines are in sight," the pilot announced on the Gorgon's internal Vox. "The Emperor Bless his sons!"
Everyone turned to look at the speaker. Some of the soldiers present were simple imperial soldiers enlisted for the occasion, others had been there a long time. Some of the new ones were white enough to pass out on the spot without even seeing the fight.
The Gorgon suddenly lurched to one side, causing the soldiers to become unbalanced. The Ulstereicher stood their ground, landing on the sheaths on the walls. Many men did not have the chance to do so and collapsed in the middle of the alleyway, blocking the path. They would block the path when they disembarked. Even Sergeant Cadian, who was supposed to handle this type of thing, had fallen to the ground.
Cedrick sighed.
"A new one..." he grunted as he stood up.
He took the butt of his weapon and struck a violent blow against the wall creating a metallic clang that forced everyone to get up. They picked up their weapons and sat down again, aware of Sergeant Ulstereicher's hard look. The officer in charge didn't dare say anything.
Cedrick turned to his men who were staring at him with the same willingness that he expected of them. Normally this would be the role of a commissioner, but the Last Storm had lost theirs in a previous assault and he had not been replaced since.
Probably because of their future merger with another regiment...
However, their sergeant acted as a superior as well as a commissar to keep their morale high, and ironically, their combat efficiency had increased drastically since the disappearance of the supervisor. He looked at each of the men for a few seconds.
They were the same words they had repeated for his men in every assault.
"Sharp as lightning. As drastic as the storm. As merciless as the death we face. The Last Storm will bring with it the hell of its home world to the enemies of humanity!"
His words continued this time to the other soldiers present.
"Remember what you've learned. It can't be any worse than in training."
Cedrick knew that in the other Gorgons, the officers had to utter the same encouragement. His face froze into a cold mask.
"The enemy wants us to die like dogs, so show him the value of the Emperor's soldiers."
He took a heavy breath.
"When you go out, just run straight to the nearest trench. If your comrade falls, keep going. If you get hit, crawl. No matter how you do it reach the damn trench and start supporting the front with the will of the Emperor-God."
Cedrick was like all Imperial Guardsmen, a believer in the god emperor. The only exception was that he was a moderate believer, refusing to praise the emperor loudly whenever he had the opportunity. This might make him a heretic for the ecclesiarchy, but he didn't care since he probably wouldn't live long enough to have to deal with men of faith.
The Gorgon lost momentum. A bump on the ground indicated the imminent arrival. The voice came from the Vox again.
"One minute to disembark. May the Emperor protect you."
Steel collided with steel, the door opened with a bang. Cedrick barked at the door.
"Move! Move! Move!"
The soldiers shuddered at the command and threw themselves out of the device at a run. Hell was breaking loose all around them, every foot was in the mud, every step collided with a soldier.
Cedrick was the first to run, followed by his men. Some sprinted, others trotted, saving their strength for the last few steps. There were no bad reactions in there, except to stop. A shell burst to Cedrick's right and sent those bits of shrapnel flying in all directions. Instinctively, the sergeant threw himself to the ground.
A soldier behind him was not so lucky. One of the White Shields had just been hit by the shrapnel in the body. He twirled around for a few moments, his arms torn by the crash of steel, before collapsing to the ground. Cedrick had a shiver. No matter how many times he saw it, he couldn't get used to it.
Then he saw, protruding from the bag, some heavy weapon equipment needed for a machine gun. The importance of such an advantage was crucial to support the front.
Cedrick roared.
"Last Storm! Advance!"
He crawled toward the man. Blood dripped from his visor, his arms were covered with the shards of steel. The sergeant could see his ankle bone sticking out at an unlikely angle.
The soldier groaned weakly and held out his hand in hopes of being saved, but the sergeant dismissed all such hopes. Quickly, he pulled a combat knife from his belt, severing the straps holding the bag containing the soldier's magazines and weapon maintenance bands, before turning and running back toward the trench.
He hoped the soldier would die quickly from shellfire. He could hardly imagine a more painful death than losing blood in No Man's Land.
He barely had time to see one of the Gorgons that was supposed to be landing soldiers explode, hit by direct artillery fire. The screams of men dying in the flames made him nauseous, but he held it in as usual.
The barrage intensified. Cedrick could no longer tell the difference between light and heavy artillery. Incendiary shells began to rain down on their positions.
Three more Gorgons went up in smoke before they even reached the lines.
The trenches were in front of him. His men kept trying to reach him, picking up the wounded and trying to save equipment.
The last of the Last Storm threw themselves forward into the trench. They looked around to find a destroyed emplacement. Most of the Imperial guards had already left to join the Emperor.
He noticed Cadia's White Shield, lost in the absence of effective command.
"Damn it! Where is the officer in charge of the trench?!"
The remaining soldiers looked at him unable to react. Cedrick drew his M36 Lasgun.
"Answer!"
A Cadian soldier stepped forward.
"They... They're dead..."
Cedrick grunted in frustration, taking command in the absence of a response, he gave the orders. It was a moment of calm between two Heretic assaults. Just enough time to prepare the defense.
"I take command as the highest ranking officer."
The soldiers seemed to regain hope.
"All those in fighting condition, to positions, ready to act! Those wounded too badly go back to the Medic!"
He turned to a Last Storm machine gun operator and tossed him the bag, which he deftly grabbed.
"Effin, you get the furthest back to hold your fire during the hardest part of the assault."
The man saluted and ran toward an entrenchment with his machine gun slung over his shoulder.
Finding a firing point, Cedrick stood up and looked around the battlefield. In front of him, the ground was littered with corpses as far as the eye could see.
There was a lot of armor from Imperial guards who had tried to retreat. The bodies of soldiers from Krieg's Death Korp who had led their assault to the end, and mostly the ragged corpses of heretics. It bore the symbol of their tutelary gods. Their weapons of fortune were no match for the imperial firepower.
The soldiers in his trench had taken up their positions. The new assault would come soon. His Last Storm had not moved an inch and maintained their safe positions, set up in front of the firing points.
The dust was beginning to settle, revealing their enemies. They marched in unorganized hordes, proudly displaying the mutations made by their mad gods.
Cedrick laughed sickly, knowing what was coming.
"Prepare to fire! Aim for the skulls of the traitors!"
He examined the horde, no vehicles, a good point. That would give them a better chance of survival. He noticed the shapes protruding from the crowd of believers. Chaos elites... Traitor marines...
What were they doing here?!
He loaded his Lasgun, a version he had modified from one of his first fights. His shot would not miss. The traitorous Spaces Marines were striding past the crowd, separating from their infantry.
"Last Storm, aim right," he ordered.
The order was taken for what it was, an order given before.
"Wait..." Cedrick muttered in his vox.
"Wait..."
Three steps... Two steps... One step...
"Fire!"
The lasers left their weapons and struck directly at the treacherous Spaces Marines. The Heretics could have dodged, deflected, or even cashed in on the shots and continued their march. They could have done a thousand things against a normal Imperial Guard unit. In their arrogance they had done nothing. The lasers, all aimed at the exact same spot, cut through the traitors' armor like paper. The first traitor collapsed to the ground.
Cedrick smiled.
"Last Storm target the traitorous sailors! All other soldiers! Fire at will on the horde!"
Death fell, Cedrick had no illusions. As soon as one cultist fell, another would come and take his place. The second Space Marine fell to the Last Storm, this time with more defense on his part.
Still, the Heretics maintained their steady march.
The heavy bolters had joined the cacophony. The soldiers fired as much as they could, taking down each Heretic as they could. But Cedrick knew it would all end in hand-to-hand combat. The third Space Marine fell under the assault, the last one, and unfortunately, he was only about thirty meters from the trench.
The cultists were about 60.
"Get ready for hand-to-hand combat," Cedrick shouted, hooking his knife to the end of his rifle and drawing a second combat knife.
He drew his right arm back and vibrated his prosthetic arm, which activated at full power.
The Heretics entered the fray. The soldiers had reacted quickly and well, and the Last Storm was ready for a long fight. Their rifles, their training, and the number of times they had followed their sergeant into battle had motivated them to do more, and morale was high.
"We'll follow you to hell, Sarge," one man said.
"Of course, Jack! For the Emperor!" replied Cedrick.
"For the Emperor!" roared the Ulstereicher.
Cedrick made contact with the stomach of a heretic. His blade had penetrated the body with consummate ease. Around them, each soldier fought with the same violence.
The White Shields fell far more easily than the others. The Last Storm held their ground fighting with the insanity of a thousand men, the training in the storms of their world and the decade of fighting through the worst atrocities was not for show. A knife pierced Cedrick's shoulder making him shudder with pain.
"Blood for the Blood God!" laughed the Heretic as he stabbed the officer.
Cedrick had only one solution, he raised his foot and smashed the man's belly.
"I'm not interested in your heretic and insane gods! You have betrayed the Imperium of Man you will pay the price!"
Releasing the blade from his shoulder, he returned it to the throat of the believer knocking him down on the spot. He turned and parried the attack of a second heretic, attempting a cunning attack. The rusty blade was deflected downward in a quick and unexpected movement and came to plant itself in the foot of Cedrick who clenched his teeth with pain. Moving his hand, he opened fire at close range on the face of the woman who had tried to kill him.
A cold sensation ran through the sergeant's blood, adrenaline flowing at an accelerated rate through his body.
Time had no meaning anymore. The continuous heretical rushes prevented any rest for the soldiers. At times they could repel the Heretic onslaught and return to their firing positions, at other times they could fight the hordes continuously inside their trenches until the corpses piled up to their knees.
After what seemed like an eternity of fighting, the rush subsided. Cedrick found himself looking at the trench. Of the six hundred soldiers present at the beginning, only about fifty were left in good condition, and another fifty were wounded. Of Cedrick's fifty-one men, only twelve were left. The dead and dying inhabited the earthen floor of their final resting place.
"Didn't we... Didn't we win?" asked one soldier.
"We beat them!" growled another.
Cedrick sighed wearily.
"We only bought time.
He pointed outside the trench. Already the heretics were gathering in a new wave.
"We're screwed," a Last Storm simply said.
No sadness or fear, just a silent acceptance of their fate.
Cedrick smiled wryly at the soldier. Kane, one of the men who had accompanied him for four years. Since the beginning of this campaign in short, a youngster by his standards, but far from being as ineffective as expected of him.
He had survived four years after all.
The sergeant took off his helmet, showing his calmed face.
"No soldiers... Fall back..."
The guards looked at him in amazement.
"Withdraw? There's no way we're running away from this place!
"If..."
Cedrick pointed south.
"Head to the Cajun trench and inform them of the situation. We need to warn the high command."
Cedrick whistled and reloaded his Lasgun. Around him, dozens of badly wounded covered the trench, they were inextricable.
"I'm going to stay here with the wounded to hold those bastards off as long as possible by blowing up the armory."
The soldiers said nothing. Finally one of the Last Storms spoke up. Cedrick recognized him. William... his second in command.
"Sergeant! We can't leave you here alone!"
Cedrick shook his head.
"William! Your death here is unnecessary. Mine has a meaning. By holding them back we'll buy you time. And most importantly."
Cedrick pointed to his leg. It was covered in blood, the heretic's rusty blade had cut his foot and the continuous fighting had destroyed his flesh. His bones seemed to be on the verge of cracking, he was having difficulty standing but was forcing himself to continue the fight.
"I can't run away... My leg is too badly damaged for that..."
The Last Storm clenched his fists and turned away. Cedrick smiled wider.
"As my second in command it's up to you to ensure safety and the proper completion of tasks in my absence... So... Do it... Anyway, we'll be merged soon, so it's a matter of a few weeks at most."
"Right... Sergeant... Soldiers! Let's move!" the soldier said reluctantly, understanding his superior's thoughts.
The soldiers quickly turned away. They gave him only sympathetic and respectful looks. They simply didn't have time to waste on pointless ceremonies.
Cedric chuckled.
In just a minute he had been left alone in the trench.
Looking around, he spotted the bodies of many men and women who had fought alongside him. Sometimes the sergeant was able to place a name on the remains, other times he would simply examine the planetary markings trying to guess the identity of the victim.
The wounded were in bad shape, most looked ready to die, yet they seemed to be trying to stay alive to live the last assault of their lives. They closed their wounds as best they could, sometimes saying a last prayer to the Emperor.
A trumpet sounded outside the trench. The sergeant climbed onto a firing point and spotted the advancing Heretics. A long white cloud rose into the sky from his mouth.
"Soldiers," he roared, drawing the attention of the remaining loyalists. "To the firing line! This is our last stand!"
Two wounded Last Storm, who had been standing by his side, surrounded him as his personal guard.
"Cahal, Ethain, I'm counting on you to cover me."
"Roger that, Sergeant," smiled the first.
"We'll hold so you can leave in the flames," informed the second calmly.
The makeshift armory was nearby. All it took was one shot to trigger the almost total destruction of the hole in which they were condemned. Putting his Lasgun on his shoulder, he stabilized his sight and... He fired a first burst.
The other men still in the field, without any orders, began to open fire, throwing their last forces into a losing battle.
The heretics seemed to understand that they were the only ones still alive, for they gained confidence and rushed forward with all their speed towards the poor soldiers. With his magazine empty, he emptied a second clip, shooting as many of the heretics who threatened him as he could.
He bit his lower lip, the heretics were only a few steps away. Leaping backwards, drawing on his last reserves, he ran towards the armory.
Behind him, his two guards intercepted the enemies trying to reach him.
His leg was pulling at him and hurting like hell. His willpower, his awareness of his impending death and adrenaline kept him fighting, but it was as if thousands of hot steel bits were sinking into his skin.
The mutated filth entered the trench, slitting the throats of the poor fools who hadn't had a chance to escape, and saw a sergeant running towards a hole in the ground.
They didn't understand the purpose of the hole, but one thing was certain, this sergeant would be of great value to them.
Laughter escaped the demented believers as they watched their prey flee in vain.
"There!" They smiled as they approached the opening in the floor, laughing at the future gifts their master would give them for capturing the officer.
Entering the room, they noticed the crates lying all around them and a single soldier sitting on the floor. He had taken off his helmet and stood proudly in the small room with his weapon at his side and a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
"Have you given up?" asked one of the Heretics, looking down on the soldier. "Your god-cadaver left you lost?"
The believer's dripping smile made Cedrick want to vomit. Much more than when he had seen the Eldar, the Tau or the Orks for the first time. They, at least, if we remove the last ones, were fighting for a cause, which, even if it seemed heretical, was a bit respectable.
An even more visceral hatred crossed his mind.
Still, he laughed as he held the lit cigarette between his fingers. He watched the ashes fall to the ground with a satisfied face. Behind the heretics, the shapes of his two guardians, Cahal and Ethain, appeared.
"We are the armed arm of the Emperor..."
Calmly he put his arm to the side and moved his cigarette towards one of the boxes at his side. Memories surfaced, the slums of Dublineich, the planetary capital, survival in the rats and mire, recruitment into the imperial guard, training in the heart of the storms...
"How old was I when I left Ulstereich? Fifteen? No... Sixteen..."
Ten years of pacing the wars of the Imperium replayed in half a second.
They moved tirelessly through the eternal storms and rains of their world, awaiting their inevitable end in battle, in the service of the Emperor.
Like all Ulstereicher before him, he had not let go of the area under his care. He had resisted, shown his marksmanship and above all...
"We sacrifice our lives in the name of HIS renunciation. We walk under HIS light. As inexorable as the Lug, as merciless as the Dagda, as certain as the death we fight. We Ulstereicher fight only to clear the way for the Emperor."
"Major... Jack... Kane... Guys..."
The cultists saw his eyes light up with a new flame. It was as if the winds of his home planet were returning to greet him. A long line of smoke left his mouth and rose to the ceiling, mixing with the flames of war.
"The emperor blesses the virtuous," he concluded.
"Thank you..." was his last thought as he watched the last two Ulstereicher with him make the Aquila.
The Ulstereicher were leading the way for the other units, fighting behind the lines, resisting, sabotaging and preparing the way for the imperial guard.
The heretics became aware of the situation. The box contained a bloody red powder, a form of Vestus, used by the artillery.
All over the battlefield, silence fell, an explosion sounded chasing the color itself for a single moment.
A cloud of dust rose into the sky, carrying hundreds of heretics with it.
That day, an explosion took place on the agricultural world of Visidas, setting off a chain reaction along the entire front line, breaking the heretic assault and allowing the imperial counterattack.
This explosion was recognized as the Emperor's work to protect his sons in battle. No one ever knew that the miracle came from a simple, desperate sergeant.
Like many others, he died with honor, like many others, he died on an unknown planet far from his home world, like millions of others, every day, no one even remembered his name.
Once again, a heroic story, but terribly banal in this forty-first millennium...
To be a man in such moments, is to be one among billions incalculable. It is to live in the cruelest and bloodiest regime that one can imagine. These are the tales of that time. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the dark future there is only war. There is no peace among the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsty gods.
The Last Storm of Ulstereich is my custom regiment, created, painted and modified to be playable on the table.
Eight months of work and a hard free-hand for the details, but that led to the writing of their background. I've decided to share some of the history of this regiment and maybe one day make it into a full story (nothing for sure, I already have two others in the pipeline). Cedrick being a character I really enjoyed writing in his few thousand words.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy it more, and if you like my writing, you can go read my other stories.
Take care of yourself and your loved ones and maybe see you in the next story!