Warzone Aerobolius part one

Aerobolius, 06.24.990 M40 (two months following the conclusion of the battle for Kieve).

Sergeant Sandrel paced back and forth alone in the grand dining hall of house Hiram, the opulent dinner having been prepared by the diligent serfs on schedule as always. The room was covered in paintings and frescoes detailing the many exploits of the sire of the house. The paintings depicted him as a returning war hero, a valiant hero and savior at the head of the Imperium's armies who took command and lead the world to this glorious new age. The truth however was far different, and Sandrel stiffened at the thought of the paintings covering just how bloody the coup really was. This rumination brought back more uncomfortable memories, of ideals broken and compromised.

They were supposed to be better, to protect the people and do more than those who had come before them. He wondered what went wrong, where in all those years did they lose sight of everything. In reality it was a slippery slope, one law after the other that slowly stripped away freedom in favor of security and now they at the point of having armed police little better than thugs patrolling the streets. He had tried to fight it, tried talking sense to Mikael and when that failed he tried to speak sense to his sons.

Their he failed again, for his son's proved inconsolable. Every one of them was corrupted by something, be it power, privilege or comfort. Jeffrey was the most sensible of them, the only one that seemed to have any real empathy and even then it was hidden under a deliberate attempt to under achieve. He sent the boy away in a attempt to instill some discipline, if he could survive that is. It hurt him to do so but he was convinced that if he had stayed, that Jeffrey would sit back and let one of his brothers take over.

The fact that he had not only survived but was earning his own reputation, filled Sandrel with some sort of pride as well as hope that at least one of the heirs would prove to be worthy and avoid the mistakes they had made. Sandrel's thoughts were interrupted as the first of the royal family made his grand entrance. He turned as the door creeked open and a man flanked by two beautiful young women sauntered through, his expression turning from flamboyant to irritation as he recognized the old Sergeant.

This was Bertrand, the first born and heir apparent to the seat of the Governor. He was tall, standing well over six feet and with a chiseled physique to match that exuded confidence and charisma in equal measure. He was like a walking image of imperial propaganda, like one of the images on vid pics all across the Imperium. The problem was that his character left far more to be desired than his image or physique could imply as evidence by the two latest "flings" he had around his arms. Sandrel wondered how long these two would last before Bertrand got bored with them and dumped like so many others, Sandrel almost pity for them.

Bertrand's displeasure turned to indignation as he approached Sandrel, holding out his hand expecting a customary greeting only to be left hanging. Sandrel took a moment to observe Bertrand's uniform, it was in pristine condition with the white black colors of the peacekeepers crisp as usual. What really caught his attention were the many medals and ribbons and the man's chest, symbols and honor and valor that Bertrand most certainly didn't deserve.

Bertrand was the general of the peacekeepers, a position earned through bribery, blackmail and politicking, which disgusted Sandrel. What disgusted him even more were all of those medals, given for such brave actions as slaying small bands of rebels, meanwhile the true enemies of man roam the very stars of their sector. Sandrel's fist clenched in anger, he had wanted for many years to send the boy off to fight some real battles but his mother had always protected him and the rest of his brothers except for Jeffrey. Sandrel cursed under his breath as he finally, belatedly accepted the handshake.

After pleasantries were exchanged they all sat down and awaited the rest of the family. Both Mikael and his wife were not going to join them, for the demands of the war meant they had little time for such revelries. Small talk passed as one by the one the other brothers made their way into the room.

The second and third to arrive were Hophani and Phineas, who were priests next in line to become Aerobolia's next two elders of the church. They were both rotund, gorged on food bought by confiscating the donations from their flocks that should have been used to aid the poor and desperate. In their youth they had both been fit and sharp witted, Sandrel had seen to that, but that had slowly changed as they climbed the ecclesial ladder and rose in prestige. Where once they pious and sincere, now they were glutinous and fallacious. They used demagoguery and rhetoricion to rise where bribery and blackmail failed.

Last to enter was Hamund, who was a shrewd and brutal businessman, whose small and diminutive frame belied a fierce independence and intellect. Sandrel had to admit that he was the least revolting of the four, for at least he was competent though he was a greedy and backstabbing opportunist. He had the best track record of the four, being in charge of a small but prosperous set of cities in the planets southern hemisphere. That was likely due to the fact that he kept a careful eye on anyone he placed in leadership and wasn't afraid to fire anyone who failed him, regardless of their connections. Of course, for more esteemed bloodlines that failed he would have to either wait for in some cases manufacture an excuse to do so. If all else failed he wasn't above good old fashion assassination via "accidents" if he really needed someone gone quickly. This created an air of menace and fear for all who worked for him, but it produced results at least.

As the four sat down and began conversing, Sandrel sat back and listened with disinterest as the conversation turned from pointless pleasantries to shallow pedantries. For what felt like an eternity they exchanged verbal jockeys as each tried to play up their achievements over the others. Eventually, when Sandrel couldn't take it anymore, he used a lull in the conversation to change the topic.

"So have you heard, your brother has made quite a name for himself recently". Silence spread across the room as each thought of a rebuttal to downplay these development. Bertrand was the first to speak, probably coaxed by the women accompanying him to look brave and strong, as well as by his own pride.

"That must be an exaggeration, that slacker couldn't lead a marching band much less a crew to victory. Surely his men did all the work and he took the credit" he spoke, grinning ear to ear as he did so. "Besides, he needed a great vehicle to feel the beast. If it were I, no such handy cap would be needed!" He continued, lifting a glass of wine in the air as he spoke and successfully

wooing his guests.

"If you are so sure of that then why not face the yourself? Surely you could earn greater honors than our wayward brother?" Hamund chided snidely, laughing at now slightly flustered brother.

"I would but I am needed here, for I must keep up the morale and lead my men by glorious example!" He retorted, almost studdering as he did so. The room then erupted into a uproar as all pretensions of politeness and civility were dropped, revealing their true natures as each brother tore into the others. Sandrel simply rolled his eyes at the desperate display and muttered a prayer under his breath as he knew that if the Orks ever made it to this world they were Doomed if this lot remained in control.

"By the Emperor..." He thought, his gaze drawn out the window and to the numerous ships coming to and fro, picking up recruits and supplies for the war abroad.

--

Elsewhere in the Aerobolian sector around the same time. Onboard the battleship the shining spear.

Captain Ellis looked with shock at the display before him, outwardly exuding calm and discipline as he watched the displays denote more and more greenskins vessels enter the system. Already many hundreds had been engaged and accounted for and yet so many more were pouring in from seemingly nowhere.

He was an experienced captain and thus knew when to remain calm and composed despite the circumstances. He had faced many foes in his century and a half of service, from Dark Eldar raiders to Heretic Astartes and even many Ork freebootaz but nothing like this. It was as if they stuck in a tidal wave of metal and death as vessels that shouldn't even be void worthy seemed to defy the laws of physics and surround them. One on one the imperial navy was the match for any greenskin but it was from an even fight, there were outnumbered at least twenty to one and even that seemed optimistic.

Still they had a job to do, and that was to scout out the enemy and provide Intel and hold the line as best they could. Reinforcements from across the Imperium were heeding the call, but it would take time to muster and fill the demand. Therefore they were ready to sell their lives if needed to stem the tide. That discipline started to waver as one Ork vessel lumbered towards them, what appeared to be a large asteroid that was fitted with thrusters, guns and crude edifices to the greenskins deities.

The Ork vessel seemed impervious to all the fire concentrated on it by what imperial ships could get a bead on it. As it did so, smaller ships flew out from it and began boarding imperial ships. Ellis ordered his men to prepare as best they could, knowing that they were next.

Alarms blared as their ship was breached and voids men tried their best to contain the threat. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they broke through, what surprised him was how fast it was. Despite everything they threw at the boarding party, even including shutting down whole sections of the ship. It didn't even really slow them down, for within ten minutes

they were already banging down the door to the command bridge.

Ellis stiffened, turning to the door and holding his bolt pistol tight as he heard the door denting under inhumanly strong blows. He gave a brief speech to try and encourage his men, his words meeting dead air almost as soon he spoke them. Just as soon as he finished speaking, the solid steel door was sent flying, crushing a hapless crewman and killing them instantly. Out front the door emerged just four greenskins though each was a menace in their own right.

On the right was a more primitive greenskin, a hunched over figure with the hide of various monsters such as Tyranid hive guard and chaos spawn. His flesh was covered with scars and tattoos and his frame seemed like a parody of the already over muscled Ork boys. He clenched a spear in his oversized hands and had a wild and feral look in his eyes.

The one of the left was far smaller but no less threatening, with a green aura that constantly emitted around him. In his hand was a wicked staff which had symbols carved in all over it. His purple, tattered robe also have symbols on it, which hurt to look at. The hood covered his face, leaving only red eyes glaring at him.

The one in the front was like a parody of the tech priests of holy Mars, complete with a red robe and four crude mechadendrites and metal augmetics cover him from head to toe. A silver mask reflected the light from the rest of the room, glinting as it revealed a grinning visage.

As scary as those three were, they all paled in comparison to the one in the center who towered over all of them, like a king before his subjects. His armor was a crude but imposing mash up of various Astartes parts from different marks including some parts from heretic Astartes. On his belt were skulls of Astartes, Eldar, Necrons, Tyranids, other Orks, and even Xenos he hadn't even seen before. On his head was an iron Halo, likely pilfered from an Astartes or an Ork. The rest of his head was covered with a horned helmet and his cape was made from a mishmash of multiple regimental banners. In his hand he casually held a great axe, with glowed a murderous red and Ellis was almost certain that he could hear a voice screaming from the axe, hurling blasphemy and insults as it lamented it's current condition.

Ellis was frozen in fear, even as his crew was slaughtered around him. He tried with all his might to fight back but, there he stood motionless. He waited for swift death but it didn't come. Instead the four Orks surrounded him as their leader stood in front. The leader then eyed him in what seemed like disappointment. The monster then dropped to one knee and still towered over Ellis, and then the creature spoke. "Fight me, 'umie" it said in gothic, the very thought of a greenskin smart enough to learn their language sent even more shivers down his spine.

"I SAID FITE" He bellowed, his voice as deep as the void of space itself. Ellis slowly lifted his bolt pistol and aimed it at the monsters head and pulled the trigger. The monster's head tilted back slightly but wasn't effected at all. He started to laugh, a dark and cruel laugh that was echoed by its companions. Ellis's mind then snapped under the fear and pressure as he to began to laugh as he emptied the entire clip in the monster to no effect.

After the clip was dry, the monster seemed to have had his fill and grew bored. With a casual slap he knocked Ellis across the room, breaking his back he hit his own command throne and cracked the plasteel coating. "Take him to the pain boy" the monster ordered as the cyborg Ork

took control of the vessel.

Ellis continued to laugh as he dragged from his command bridge, his silent prayers left unanswered as he was taken to met a terrible and cruel fate...