Game of the Gods: A Warhammer 40,000 character bash

[not_the_dm]

Marcus lent against the wall and pulled out and lit a lho-stick. It had been five days since the 24th Hyrakans had encountered the foe and the men were getting edgy, they weren?t the only ones. Marcus looked up and saw Captain Amelia Fehling jogging over to him. ?What is it Captain??
?We?ve picked up movement to the south sir.?
?OK. I?ll get the boys into position, you go wake Colonel Tolland.?
?Mike won?t like getting woken up this early.?
Marcus returned Amy?s grin with one of his own. ?He doesn?t have to like it Amy.?
* * *
Marcus gunned down five of the cultists with his storm bolter as they charged towards him. Drawing his power sword he opened the throat of the nearest heretic, another tried to impale Antioch with his bayonet only to find his thrust foiled by the commissar?s sabre and his face by a fist. Taking care to stamp on the now unconscious trooper he drove his sword point between the ribs of their officer and drew his plasma pistol and cremated the head of the last cultist in his immediate area. A las-round from behind him deflected of the armaplas of his carapace armour and he turned to see Corporal Susan Waltham incinerating the last four Sons of Sek with her flamer. Marcus picked up the storm bolter he had liberated from his wrecked Chimera only ten minutes before; the mag was still two-thirds full. As he bent to retrieve his cap Amy walked over, thumbing her chainsword to idle and reloading her bolt pistol. ?Hell of a firefight going on up ahead Mark.? Marcus turned back to what was left of the squad and saw Susan retrieving Private Hurst?s tags. Marcus hit the power pack of his refractor field and it reignited. He turned back to Amy, ?This damn thing?s going to be the death of me one day.? He looked over his shoulder and called to those still alive, ?Move out!?
* * *
Marcus led them into the old shop where Lieutenant Folion and his men we holed up. ?You all right LT??
?Never better Commissar.? Richard Folion?s power fist was clenched as he took pot-shots out of the window, not for the first time Marcus found himself wondering how he reloaded. ?Mind you, this deadlock?s going to be a bastard to break.?
Marcus went over to the window. ?Chaps, I have an idea.?
Gutes looked up from the scope of his long-las. ?Is this better than the one you had on Bashiok? I still haven?t forgiven you for my shoulder.?
Marcus gave a dark smile, ?Much better Gutes. You get to stay here. Amy, Susan, Rich, your with me. The rest of you, get them ducking when I give the order. We?re taking the Commercia. Ian, when we get about half way across the plaza I want you to blow the doors off.? Rynchlind nodded and hefted his missile launcher. Marcus and his team went out the back, Amy cycled her chainsword and Susan checked the piping of her flamer. Marcus turned to them, ?What do we reckon. A day for heroes?? Without waiting for Susan?s inevitable sarcastic comment he keyed his microbead link. ?Firestorm, Firestorm now!? and they charged out across the plaza as twenty five las guns and a heavy bolter opened up at the Commercia. Rynchlind fired and the main doors of the Commercia disintegrated. At that very moment there was a flash of light. Gutes looked at Rynchlind ?What the bloody hell was that??
Rynchlind shrugged, ?What?s plan B??
* * *
Marcus blinked as his eye adjusted to the gloom, his bionic implant adjusting in a fraction of a second. He lit a lho-stick and took a drag. ?Well." He breathed. "This was unexpected??
Lord Commissar WS .BS .S .T .W .I .A .Ld .Sv
Stats....................... 5 .5 .3 .3 .3 .3 .3 .10 .4+/5+
Unit Composition:1 Lord Commissar.
Unit Type:Infantry.
War Gear:Carapace armour; Master Crafted Plasma pistol; Power Sword; Storm Bolter; Frag and krak grenades; Refractor field.
Total points: 107
The upgrades come to 37 points using the armoury from the old codex. If it's different in the new one just let me know.
(P.S can I take the impromtu assult squad with me, please...)

 

[Shanaar]

I dout he will let you, but it would be fun.

P.s you must be reading Gaunt"s Ghost

 

[not_the_dm]

P.s you must be reading Gaunt"s Ghost

Been reading them for a while now, must get the latest book. Just out of intrest which part gave it away?
By the way, I chose not to use the Commissar-General I use in apocalypse games. He rides around in a baneblade. Might have been considered cheating in this

 

[MadMechanic]

If possible:
Iron Hands, Forge Master for Kaargul Clan company.
Incarael Ferrik.
Servo-Harness, thunderhammer, combi-melta, digital weapons (150pts)
Also - if allowed - Mechanicus Protectiva (rosarius, 5+invun) 30pts - 180pts

I'm not allowed to add a servitor retinue to him am I?

Here's the conversion I made, which I.F is based on. ( I know it's not good, but it'll do haha)

 

[irishdelinquent]

Hey guys,

MadMechanic, welcome to the match.
In answer to both yours and not_the_DM's questions, sorry but your characters fight alone. The only reason Shanaar has more than one person in his entry is that a Command Squad has to be 5 members. Sorry, but it's the only way to be fair; you can pick anything in your Codex entry, so long as it's legal.

not_the_DM, I'll let you keep the master-crafting on the Plasma Pistol, just to make it up to you. Technically you shouldn't have it, but I'll let it slide for now.

Oh, and to all competitors; don't worry about being outnumbered by the Guard Command squad....you may not be on your own after the first round, depending on how your character does.

 

[not_the_dm]

Fair enough. You may have guessed but I haven't actually got the new guard codex yet so I'm not sure quite what's on the armoury list anymore, besides looking at my backstory the refractor field will pack in at the worst possible time.

 

[MadMechanic]

+++
Bio - Incarael Ferrik is the latest Master of the Forge for Clan Kaargul. Somewhat different to previous Forge Masters of the Iron Hands, and the Clan Commanders, Ferrik is not an Iron Father, as he has yet to recieve the spiritual training. In line with the chapter, he has mass bionics - mouth, right eye and head, both hands, right arm, both legs.
+++
And now, how he ended up here.
***
Incarael felt the ground in the open workshop shudder under the impacts of the artillery. It wasn't as sacred as his forge back in the armouries - and no-where near as stocked and equipped, but for now, it would have to suffice. Incarael corrected himself - 'for as long as we're purging the Iron Warriors from here'. The plaster-board wall behind him disintergrated under a hail of bolter rounds.

Incarael looked up from his work to see several traitor marines pacing towards him - his augmetic eye already locking on to them. If he had a mouth to form expressions, and had he been prone to falling for petty emotions, Incarael presumed he would be wearing a smug grin. He thumbed a button on his auspex - and two piles of what was apparently scrap rose up - two heavy weapons servitors. 'Two...correction, three versus seven can play at that game'.
Before the traitors registered the appearance of the servitors, two balls of plasma were bearing in on them.

The Forge Master got back to his sacred duty, in the knowledge that his pets had deleted the pests trying to assault his position. With a quick mind move of his arm, he hailed his Iron Commander over the vox.
'Brother. Traitors assaulting position. Despatched them, however, predict at a rate of 87% certainty they...'
Incarael stopped, as in a moment of horror, he realised his vox was being jammed. The auspex made an ominous 'bleep' - he looked at the screen, then up at his servitors, as they slowly traversed to face him.

At the same time, his harness arms unfolded slowly, hissing as gases were vented from exaughts points. The plasma cutter fired, removing the head from the first servitor. However, Incarael had not acted quick enough - as he felt a plasma bolt from the second servitor impact on his chest plate. The servitor powered down, having terminated it's new target... Incarael rose from the ground - his armour had held - and had a few new burn marks, although a few amber warning signs flared in his mind. The nozzel on his harness mounted arc-welder changed - and a ball of burning promethium was spat towards the servitor.
'I'll terminate you' Incarael muttered. The forge Master picked up his hammer - and extended it, and ignited the power source, ready for combat.
***
It didn't take long for Incarael to find the source of his problems. Surrounded by a horde of acolytes, was the War Smith. A sick, twisted version of Incarael - equally augmented, and surrounded by corrupted servo-arms. The Forge Master wouldn't wait for an invite. His harness weapons blazing, he charged the Smith.

The first the Smith knew about Incarael's charge was when something blue and super-heated was deflected from his back, and on to of one of his bodyguards. He wheeled round to see the rust-red armour of the Forge Master charging towards him. He looked as one by one his retinue started to fall. Incarael swung 'Anvil breaker' his hammer, round into the gut of the Smith, knocking him to the ground. Incarael lifted his hammer, ready to crush the Smith's head in. He suddenly noticed an abnormal purple glow around his arms...and his torso, just as his started to bring the hammer down.
Lying broken on the ground, on of the Smith's acolytes watched as Incarael's hammer impacted on the visor of his master. At the point of impact, there was a flash of purple and the sound of displaced air - and suddenly, the Forge Master was gone. Sadly, so too was master's head

***
Incarael Ferrik picked himself up. All he remembered was 'Anvil Breaker' smashing into the heretic's helmet and a sudden flash of purple. He looked around.
'This isn't the librarium...'

 

[not_the_dm]

Irish, I suggest that when we start this you sign up for a user groop from Spinwiz as then we get dice and auto updates.

 

[Shanaar]

Your commisar being part of the Hyrakans

 

[Dark Knifer]

My Sorcerer is finally ready.
Picture:

Except he uses a sycthe.
Name: Unknown (known only as "The Dark One")
Background: Little is known about the dark one, although there are many rumours spread throughout the imperium about him. What they do know is that he is one of the few sorcerers who has won favour with the blood god, Khorne, when he sacrificed an entire world to him.

The Dark One has been gifted with a powerful weapon by the blood god, dubbed "The Sycthe of Untold Darkness" which allows him to use his twisted magic more easily, and is also a very effective close quaters weapon. The Dark One is a devoted follower to Tzeentch and was about to beseige him to raise an army, when he disappeared without a trace. The Dark one awoke in a strange lace, but he knew the feeling of the spell used to bring him here.
"So, you've placed me in a tournamet Tzeentch... If it's to prove my worth then very well..."

Wargear:
Sycthe of untold darkness (AKA, fancy force weapon)- 30 points.
Mark of Tzeentch - 30 Points This gives him a 4+ Invulnerable save, and the ability to take an extra psychic power
Familiar - 5 Points Grants an extra psychic power.
Doombolt - 10 Points The psyker blasts the enemy with a succession of bolts made of raw chaos energy
Warptime - 25 Points The psyker surrounds themselves with a dimensional instability, which warps the passage of time and allows them to place attacks with supernatural precision

 

[irishdelinquent]

The Shifter cackled slightly at the influx of energy. Several portals, each bearing a champion from across the universe, came into being in the crystal palace that the Daemon called home. The crystals of Tzeentch, the very essence of chaos, shimmered with a panchromatic light. They were something otherworldly, a crystaline substance that was indestructable. Even the famed warscythe of the C'tan, capable of cutting through Warp essence and true flesh with ease, could do nothing to the matter. The Shifter ruffled its feathers proudly, exerting a portion of its immense psychic power; few psykers could even connect with the resonating Crystals, and even fewer could control them. It was a mark of the power of the Shifter that not only could it summon and move the Crystals, it could shape them to its will. It lovingly formed a chamber of crystal, a shimmering room for each competitor. The Great Game would not be spoiled by an exuberant killer.

Turning to the first portal of light, the Daemon saw a creature that made it glad for the Crystal prisons it had formed. A brutal Ork, bedecked in a crude armor shell, staggered out of the light. Its hand was replaced by a Pneumatic Claw, and in its other hand was a many-barrelled gun. There was even a small, feral-looking bipedal creature chained to its waist. The Shifter smiled at this boon; Orks were always spoiling for a fight, and this one looked no different.

Next through the light was another human, this one in a black overcoat. He wielded a crackling blade, and carried himself with an immense poise. He lit a smoking stick, and took a deep drag. He looked around, scanning the surrounding area as if looking for someone. Adjusting a mechanical eye, he slowly examined the small chamber of Crystal he was imprisoned in. Looking through the Warp into this creature's mind, he saw that the man was looking for about five of its compatriots. Where they were, only Tzeentch truly knew. Being lost in the currents of the Warp is a terrible fate for any, though.

Another competitor plummeted from the portal of light, colliding with the Crystal of Tzeentch with a thunderous KLANG! Wearing the armor of the Adeptus Astartes, this creature seemed more machine than man. It stood up, dusting off its ebon armor and scanning itself for any damage. Whirring and groaning, a quartet of mechanical arms began a series of precise adjustments to the man's armor. Reminiscent of the gatherings of the Iron Warriors, faithless rebels with an addiction to the mechanical, this one was of interest.

However, the Shifter started to grow weary of waiting. Clearly the forces were aligned against him, there could be no other explanation. The incantations had been recited perfectly, the spell cast correctly to the last syllable and second. The Lord of Change began to go over the countless back-up plans it had formed beforehand, preparing an alternative for these setbacks. If the servants of the other Gods were going to unite against him to stop his fun, then he would use them for his amusement. Regardless of all else, one fact remained clear; Death was coming.

 

[not_the_dm]

@Shanaar
Not the fact that I basically lifted most of the last parragraph out of Honour Guard.

 

[MadMechanic]

@irishdelinquent - liking the intro very much.


Is it ok that my character's degital weapons are on servo-skull (not visisble in the photo) as I couldn't actually model them into his hands? Unlike the WH/DH/Inq 'digital weapons', the SM digi weapons only count as a way to re-roll wounds, and are not a seperate weapon.

*edit - dam. I've just realised that I picked the only marine HQ who doesn't have an invun save. Or access to one, anymore, care of Matt Ward and the new book. Dam!*

 

[Shanaar]

Now that you tell me, I do remeber that bit. To be honest, I didn"t like Honour Guard that much. Necropolis in stead was on kick ass novel.
If you guys haven"t figured it out yet, i"m using a iphone seeing as i"m abroad. Sorry for the out of context posts, can" t do much wirh it. Will be back to normale on the 5th of may.

 

[not_the_dm]

Necropolis in stead was on kick ass novel.

Agreed. Feygor became permenantly sarcastic.

 

[Malifact]

Spoiler: OOC

Irish, you forgot about the Sorcerer!!!

 

[irishdelinquent]

Spoiler: OOC

Nope Mal, didn't forget about the sorceror. Let's just say that there are....plans.....for him

 

[Dark Knifer]

Spoiler: OOC

I don't know if I like the sound of that...

 

[Malifact]

The Lord's inarium-receptors alerted him of the activation of the warp portals before they activated, so that then the garish rips in reality opened up, he was unsuprised. Tilting his head to the side, he allowed his photoreceptors to analyze these newcomers; even seperated by the reality defying walls of their cages, he could still detect the Living.

>>>Beginning Scan of Biometric life-forms

The first one was yet another human; an in-depth scan revealed it's weapons and armaments to be no more dangerous than the first groups.

>>>Defense scans... targets combat-skin is insufficient. No register

>>>Scanning offensive capabilities...

It concluded that the Human would not be a threat, and turned to scan the next being on it's periphery. This one it recognized immediately, but how could it not? It was one of the Krork; a race of hardy, green-skinned creatures bred by the Old Ones to combat the rise of the Necrons.

They had failed. This one would do no better.

>>>Beginning Scan of defensive capabilities... Combat skin will prove resilient. Advised to use Warscythe.

>>>Scanning Offensive Capabilites...

Target is equipped with energised-assault weapon. Threat level high. Advised to disable quickly.

Target is equipped with unidentified weapon... beginning further scans>>>Initializing backup router>>>
Weapon matches known Krork profile of scrap-weapons... appears to be composed of two seperate weapons, one projectile-launcher, the other flame-based. Neither will be a threat.

It turned once more, to finish it's scans as the last of the newcomers was vomited forth from the Warp-Portal. It ran it's scans once more, and as it finished, an emotion it had not felt in eons registered.

It was amusement.

This latest not-quite-human, one of the Fleshlings super-soldiers designated "Astartes", was a member of the sub-group designated "Iron Hands". It knew much about these Astartes; that they worshiped the Imperium's Machine God with xenophobic reverence. It was this that elicited humor in the Necron, for all that the Astartes believed in was a lie. Their so-called "Omissiah" was nothing but a lie, an ancient manipulation of the Humans by the C'tan. Deep beneath Mars's surface lurked a power older than Mankind, older even than Chaos, and it was this malevolent entity which had garnered a cult of worship about itself. Few in the Priesthood knew, and those that did accepted it whole-heartedly as the truth.

The Necron were the true Machine Gods, for they represented in essence what every Tech-Adept aspired to be, freed of flesh and bound immortal in the Machine.

It clutched its Warscythe between skeletal fingers, arcs of lightning flying across the platinum surface of his Necrodermis body. It would bide its time and wait: it knew that whatever force had brought it here would not be content to stay hidden for long. Soon, an opportunity would arise, and when it did, he would be ready to seize it.

 

[Rainboq]

Spoiler: Boo

I got dibs on DH Grandmaster!