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The Strike Cruiser Ruler of the Black Skies plied it's way through realspace while moving to a warp jump point in the Veridia System. Brother Captain Arno Trevan stared out of the viewscreen, content with the recently completed purge on Veridia 3. The approaching footsteps of a familiar tread brought him out of his reverie.

"Champion Pelas. What brings you so quickly to the bridge, and away from your devotions" asked Trevan. Upon turning to meet the newcomer, Trevan was surprised to see Pelas still in his gore slicked war plate, and not in his devotional tabard. "Brother Captain. A summons from the Prognosticars on Titan. They tell a disturbing tale from the planet Agentus P and how there is a possible warp incursion there. Transmissions were intercepted from a Vermillion Grade Astropathic signal." Trevan raised his eyebrows. "Vermillion Grade." He stated. "That has the trappings of the Assassinorum about it. Continue" Pelan nodded. "Yes Lord. It seems the Assassinorum failed to kill their intended target of one Lord Bulbous. A foul servant of the Death Guard Legion. It appears that they instead had to deal with neverborn of the higher fecundancy. They killed it, working alongside a Knight from House Taranis, but were unable to succeed in killing Bulbous. I fear there will be full daemonic incursion soon. Reports from an Imperial Guard regiment say they were attacked by shambling horrors that caused their men to fall ill."  Brother Captain Trevan furrowed his brow. "Killing the neverborn will be the least of our worries." he said "Containment of any afflicted guardsmen and Imperial forces is now our top priority." He looked over his own shoulder. "Helmsman!" he barked, "Take us into the warp to the Agentus system. Now!" He turned back to Pelas, his eyes glowing with witchfire. "We will purge the unclean."

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Week 2 Played Scott's Orks. Story follows:


The Eversor Assassin Malum tore through another Ork boy. It's hot blood splashed across his face as his veins surged with Frenzon. He weaved and carved through the rest of the mob, hacking them to pieces until none were left. Standing alone in a charnal house of the ruined hab, his breath surged in and out. Deep in the small, rational part of his mind, he realized he was long overdue for an extraction and maintenance. But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was the killing. If his masters wanted him back, the locator beacon on his backpack would direct them to him for retrieval. Malum listened. Waited. It was hard to hear with the Frenzon thundering in his ears, but his helm amplified the noises. Vehicles. South. Prey! Thought Malum.


He was about to tear out of the building when a storm of light surrounded him. The tang of ozone wafted through his helm's filtration system. Before him stood a host of silver armored astartes in Terminator war plate. A voice surged inside his head. +STAND DOWN!+ the psychic voice ripped into his skull. He saw their leader walk forward. Grey Knights. Thought Malum. Allies. +Yes Assassin+ sent the voice again. +Allies. My brothers and I are here to cleanse this planet of all Daemonic taint. My name is Castes. These are my warriors from the 2nd Brotherhood led by Brother Captain Trevan. Will you aid us in our work?+ "Yes." said Malum. "There are greenskins infesting this part of the hab sector. My target, Lord Bulbous, is beyond. If your work takes you there, I am in for the slaughter." +Very well.+ sent Castes. +We move immediately+


As the small contingent of warriors exited the hab littered with Ork corpses, a throaty engine sound could be heard ahead. Around the corner came numerous Ork contraptions, belching smoke as the greenskins on board whooped and hollered. The largest of the Orks caught sight of the resplendent Grey Knights and with a resounding "WAAAAAAAAGH!" he kicked the head of the driver to urge them to fresh prey. +Destroy this filth. Purge them from His sight!+ sent Castes. Brother Arnor in his Dreadknight suit vanished from sight, only to reappear hundreds of yards ahead, bathing howling greenskins in the fire of his Heavy Incinerator. While engaged in such heavy slaughter, Arno didn't see the Tankbustas moving into position behind him. The Warboss in the truck ran with the Tankbustas, along with a mob of armored boys. With a series of cracks, bombs went off at the base of Arnor's suit, laying him low. With a grim chuckle, the Warboss gripped Arnor with his powerklaw and ended the hero's life.


Elsewhere on the field, Malum tore through a mob of Ork Bikers. He killed, and slayed, and ripped, and felt invincible. Frenzon surged through him at an alarming rate. He saw the largest of the Ork vehicles. It was packed with prey! Oh sweet holy God-Emperor! he thought. I. Must. Kill. Them. ALL!! With that he tore after the vehicle as fast as his drug fueled body would let him. The Orks on the vehicle saw him. They unloaded hundreds of rounds into him. Several found their mark but still he came on. Rokkits, shootas, sluggas, wrenches! Everything! They poured it into him and still he wouldn't die. Malum hit the battlewagon with his meltabomb as it went careening away! It blew off a vital bit, but didn't destroy the vehicle. The Nob on board slapped his boys around and bellowed. They dumped everything they could into Malum. And finally when it looked like the Orks would run out of ammunition, Malum died in a gory, bio-fueled explosion.


Castes felt the Eversor die as his Terminators took vengeance the Orks that slew Arnor. The Librarian walked out and gestured with his hammer to the Warboss who happily obliged. He channeled his rage at the loss of Arnor into his hammer and waited. The Warboss thundered into Castes, smashing into him with his powerklaw. A storm of light enveloped them both and the klaw found no purchase on the Librarian. Eyes shining with balefire, Castes roared with his fleshvoice as he rocketed his hammer into the Warboss' head, scattering it to atoms. The lifeless monster fell, and Castes breathed a sigh of release. +Onward Brothers.+ he sent. +There is still so very much to do.+

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  • 2 weeks later...

Week 3 saw the Grey Knights square off against Bronson's Tau. Story to follow.


Deep in his meditations, Prognosticar Castes felt the warp swirl around him. It's miasmic taint spread before him in a myriad of futures. His thoughts ran along the skeins of the warp, meticulously looking for the cause and location of the Warp Breach. A familiar presence was near, one that was bold and resolute with years of camaraderie and duty. +Justicar Farian+ sent Castes +What brings you to intrude upon my meditations?+ In truth it was little effort to commune with the Justicar, but he had given implicit instructions to not be disturbed. "Brother Paladin Boros is back from his patrol, Lord" said Farian using his fleshvoice. "He reports a new foe in greater numbers in the complex ahead." +Interesting.+ sent Castes. +I had not sensed any chaotic thoughts typical to the greenskins.+  "That is because Lord," said Farian, "the Tau Empire has made planetfall and are headed this way."


Castes looked out over the street from the bunker he was in. Shadowy shapes could be seen in the distance. Six of them detached from cover and made their way into the adjacent bunker down the complex's main arterial roadway. +Wait.+ sent Castes. He could feel the Pathfinders wary eyes scanning the surrounding area with their xeno auspexes and markerlight systems. After a short while the soft thud of footsteps could be heard. Two giant Riptide Warsuits made their way into the ambush killzone while being backed up by several squads of Fire Warriors. Castes could sense the heavy missile suits that were there, but out of sight further up the complex. +Wait+ he sent again. He could feel the anticipation from the two Paladins in their Dreadknights. After their run in with the Orks, Castes had requested two more warsuits be brought down from the Ruler of the Black Skies. Along with his contingent of Terminator plated warriors, there was little the Prognosticar feared.




Castes saw the shunting Dreadknights right before he and his squad walked through his Gate of Infinity. With a storm of light, fury, and bolter fire the ambush was absolute. One Riptide attempted to engage it's defensive shielding but it was too late. Far too late. The Dreadknights combined Heavy Psycannon firepower tore the larger suit into pieces of metal, plasteel, and viscera. The Fire Warriors, the surviving Riptide, and the recently unseen Broadside contingent unleashed their wrath on Brother Paladin Cezan's suit. A maelstrom of light, smoke, and fire engulfed the spot where his suit once stood. For a moment, the Cadre Fireblade relaxed. Thinking the threat neutralized he was about to order his warriors to fire on the next suit when Paladin Cezan came roaring out of the smoke and debris. Leaping over the building and triggering the force circuits in his Nemesis Greatsword he rammed the mighty weapon into the staggering Riptide. It collapsed in a pile as Cezan withdrew his weapon, slick with the life gore of the unfortunate pilot. "Death to all who oppose HIS will!!" roared Cezan, as he launched himself at the Fireblade's warriors. A hot flash of fear flew through the Cadre Fireblade, and he almost ordered his warriors to fall back, but the Mon'tau Acadamy had made him master that fear. With a cool efficiency, he directed his nervous warriors to calmly lay down a withering hail of fire, centered on the Paladin pilot. Holes punched in Cezan, but still he came. As he neared, the firepower intensified until even his mighty constitution could not recover. With practiced ease, the Fireblade put the last Pulse Rifle shot through the warriors eyepiece and ended the threat.


Castes felt another loss. Another hero to add to the rolls of honor. His squad had warp jumped in behind the second squad of Fire Warriors. He watched as Brother Paladin Boros smashed his Dreadknight suit into the Broadsides that were, until recently, hidden from view. A round smacked into Castes' helmet and he brought his attention back to the fore. His squad, led by Brother Justicar Farian, was struggling up a deep rubble pile to reach a heavily entrenched squad of Fire Warriors. Bolter fire and Pulse Rifle rounds screamed back and forth in a torrent so thick it was almost impossible to see through. He felt a brother Grey Knight pass from this life, and directed the squad to suppress and charge. Tau bodies were flung into the air as Bolter fire ripped into them, but Castes' squad's charge faltered. The rubble was too thick for them to make any kind of speed up to the remaining enemy. It was time for reinforcements. "Ruler of Black Skies, this is Prognosticar Castes. Teleport squads Gaius and Vilmus to my location immediately." "Compliance." was the Servitor's reply. Standing there in communion with the Strike Cruiser, he heard a shrill sound. He turned to look and was rewarded with a thunderous explosion as a Sunshark Bomber delivered it's payload right into the middle of his squad. Thrown from his feet, his suit's autosenses tuned out the worst of the explosion. Damage warning runes lit up his vision as it returned. Had it been anything other than Astartes Tactical Dreadnought Armor, casualties may have been worse. As it was, however, all members of the squad got back up and plodded back on their indomitable march up to the hill to kill the remaining Fire Warriors. Upon reaching them, the butchery was swift and with a calming breath he looked out over the battlefield.


Two squads of Terminators appeared into being as the other Dreadknight leapt after the remaining Tau. Castes called him back. +Do not get out in front of the force and isolate yourself. That is what they want. That is how they kill.+ He watched as squad Vilmus' Terminators stormed the enemy bunker and made it a charnel house with the Pathfinders inside. When they emerged, the only thing you could hear was the retreating sound of the Bomber. "Prognosticar Castes, this is Ruler of the Black Skies, come in please." "Go ahead." replied Castes. "My Lord, Brother Captain Trevan requires you to translate back onboard to report progress and provide additional tactical analysis of the local area. He also says he has a matter of great import to discuss with you, but it must be face to face." Castes furrowed his brow. "Acknowledged. Fifteen Warriors and two wardead ready for translation."


With a storm of light as violent as their arrival two weeks ago, the Grey Knights left the surface of Agentus P, and the battlefield fell eerily quiet. 

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Week 4 saw the Grey Knights vs Khan's Genestealer Cult. Story follows:


Prognosticar Castes made his way through the corridors of Ruler of Black Skies ​from the teleportarium to the Reclusiam. Sensing that Master Mordrak was there was an easy feat. Mordrak's soul blazed with righteousness and piety. He was a bright shining star in the second sight that all Grey Knights are gifted with.  Another soul was with him. This one was not as bright, and had the edge of sinister and secrecy about it. Upon reaching the doors, Castes greeted the two honored Paladins guarding the Reclusiam. "Honored Cretor. Honored Daeus. I have come at our master's call and I request access." The Paladin on the right, a gleaming beacon of purity and heroism regarded Castes for a moment before speaking to him. "I felt Honored Brother Arnor die at the hands of the Greenskins, and Honored Brother Cezan die at the cowardice of the Tau." Castes waited a long second before replying. "They both died as heroes ought. Reaping a mighty toll of the enemies of mankind. Neither of their lives were cast away." Daeus continued to look upon Castes, the eyes of his polished helm boring into him, searching for any sign of doubt or lie. "Nevertheless Prognosticar, they will be greatly missed in our war against the Neverborn. You should be less reckless in your prosecution of this war. Heroes like Arnor and Cezan are few, and the enemies of mankind continue to grow. Meditate on what I have said, brother." Chastened, Castes dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I will. Thank you for your candor, Honored Brother." With that, the Paladins open the doors to the Reclusiam.


Upon entering Prognosticar Castes saw Grand Master Mordrak towering over a human. In any other circumstance, the human would have been intimidated, but from the rosette on his chest, Castes could see he was an inquisitor and that intimidation was not going to phase him. "You dare!? You dare to come on board my strike cruiser, bypass my warrior's protocols, and demand my obedience in a private little war you want to run on the surface of Agentus P? You have some stones mortal, I will give you that." Mordrak turned at the sound of Castes' approach. "Ah! Brother Prognosticar! Your return is most timely. Allow me to introduce Inquisitor Xang of His most holy Ordos." Castes nodded in the man's direction and before he could greet him Mordrak's tirade continued. "Now, little Xenos hunter, why do you demand our help? Hmm? We are the bane of Daemons and nightmares, not some execution force to be deployed at your Ordo's whim." The inquisitor was calm before responding. "Grand Master Mordrak, you misunderstand me. I do not demand. The God Emperor of Man demands. And as I am his right hand, you are bidden to do His will as directed by me. Your cooperation was guaranteed by Inquisitor Alber of the Ordo Malleus." With them mention of Alber's name, Mordrak stiffened. "There are very few mortals whom can claim the life debt of a Grey Knight. Inquisitor Alber saved my life once in a battle against the Neverborn. Are you saying you are here to collect on that debt?" Inquisitor Xang nodded. "Very well." said Mordrak. "Name your task." Xang spoke. "I have been chasing a Genestealer Magus through 8 systems over the last decade. My trail leads them here. With the war, and all the psychic interference from the Neverborn incursions, it is the perfect place to spread their seed. They can sew them throughout the defenders and the refugee population. None can escape. I have a location from one of my agents on the ground. Speed is of the essence, my Lord." Mordrak stared at the Inquisitor for a long moment before returning his gaze to Castes. "Prognosticar. Rearm. Refit. Then meet us back in the teleportarium. I will bring the rest of the 2nd Brother hood with me."


On the surface of Agentus P, the Magus sat in his modified Land Speeder pondering where his warriors would move to next. The civilian refugee center was still some ways off and the rest of the kindred were anxious to get there. In a shaded wood they waited on the outskirts of the camp. He could sense his brothers and sisters in the mining transports just below the surface. They would wait until the cover of night, then emerge into the populace, murder the guards, and spread the new faith. "Flawless." he thought. "The cattle will never know what hit them." He turned to regard the purestrain Genestealer lurking near him. "Go, my kindred. Spread your kiss among them so that when we strike later tonight, and they will be ripe for the taking." The Genestealer's slavering maw drooled at the thought and it's head bobbed once in acknowledgment before disappearing into the trees. "Father?" his driver spoke. "I am getting some odd readings from the auspex." It's as though the enemy are near, but I don't see them" The Magus reached into the subtle skeins of the warp and felt them come. "Children!" He shrieked, "They have come! Defend yourselves!"


The stink of ozone washed over Castes as the teleport faded away. Sounds of bolter fire kicked up almost immediately, "Cleanse and Purify! Let none escape!" he roared. Five squads of Terminator plated warriors alongside Brother Paladin Vilmus in a Nemesis Dreadknight suit strode through the conflagration of the warp to bring death to the Genestealer cult on Agentus P. Skimmers roared by, loaded with tainted humans, raking stubber fire into squads of Grey Knights. Two mining transports emerged from the ground to disgorge a powerloader and a mob of infected. Extra arms, ridged foreheads, and purple tainted skin was prolific among them. Castes' hate surged at such a blatant disregard for the purity of the human form. Psyker magos' hurled bolts of energy and fire into the Grey Knight, causing Aegis Runes to flare brightly, while a Leman Russ Incinerator doused a nearby squad with fire. The effect was staggering. Grey Knights fell to the onslaught as the fire power was immense. With cheers of joy and savagery, the cultists rushed forward. This mistake proved their undoing. 


Bolter fire ripped into the psykers while Psycannon fire shredded a flier that was dropping bombs and strafing Grey Knights with impunity. Everywhere Castes looked was a riot of noise, blood, and death. The powerloader waded in to combat with a squad, wounding two, before being dragged down and hacked to pieces by the remaining knights. The Magus on the Land Speeder hurled psychic death at Castes' squad before flying too close. With a roar of savagery, the Justicar and Castes smashed the speeder from the sky with their Daemonhammers. Elsewhere on the field Brother Paladin Vilmus played his Incinerator over the mob of tainted humans, their flaming forms shrieking and flopping like live matchsticks. With a quick stride, the Dreadknight suited warrior smashed his mighty hammer into the Leman Russ and detonated it with a mighty crack. And after that explosion, there was nothing left. There were only corpses left. They Grey Knights meticulously played their holy Incinerators over the mounds of dead. Nothing was left but ash.


"Ruler of Black Skies this is Prognosticar Castes. Please tell our honored guest that His will has been done."

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  • 2 weeks later...

Week 5 I was flying up at McChord and Week 6 saw me play Nathanvoodoo's Blood Angels. Story continues:


Prognosticar Castes walked through the detritus of the outskirts of the small town. His psychic communions of late had led him to the countryside after his run in with the Genestealer Cult. He thought he was continuing his pursuit, but couldn't be sure. Instead of a all pervading tainted feel, he felt the light of faith. Of hope. He had sent the majority of his strike force back to The Ruler of Black Skies and kept squad Farian as his honor guard. Brother Paladin Vilmus had refused to leave his side as well. The small force of Grey Knights continued into the community, when the hopeful light resolved itself into many lights. In the center of town was a shrine of the Adeptas Sororitas. Black armored Retributors watched warily from atop the armored bastion, their suspensor mounted heavy bolters tracking the armored warriors approaching them. "Unless you mean to make me your enemy," yelled Castes "take those damned guns off of me and my warriors." They approached the bastion and a grizzled old man stepped out from the armored door with a stern looking Sister of Battle in tow. "You know this is a breach of security protocol." she seethed through grit teeth. "You can't just walk out and greet whomever you please, preacher." The old man regarded her with an upturned eyebrow but said nothing more.


The old man was a mess. His robes were disheveled and his appearance ragged. His bald pate was tanned and shined with the accrued years of the absence of hair. He walked with a large pack strapped to his back, as if The Emperor Himself had made it his burden. A large, terrible looking shotgun was held in a worn leather scabbard and he leaned against a banner pole which a brazier burned atop. "Welcome warrior." he said. "My name is Uriah Jacobus. And this very dour young lady behind me is Sister Superior Lethe. We welcome you to our little hamlet and are glad that He sent you to our aid." Castes removed his helm and mag locked it to his belt. "Brother Prognosticar Castes of the Grey Knights. And I was not ordered to relieve you. I am hunting a breed of xenos that may have escaped this way." The preacher smiled a warm smile. "Of course you were lad. But it seems you are here now and these Sisters could use your help." Castes was puzzled. "What do you mean? What troubles you here? Xenos? Daemons?" The preacher continued to smile. "No lad. Traitors."


The old preacher had set himself up in a small fortified hab not far from the bastion. He smoked a pipe while recounting his tale to the Grey Knights. "Months back, I was selected to help bolster the hearts of the newly minted regiments of the Agentus Fusiliers. Guard regiments tithed to fight mankind's wars. When the archenemy made planetfall most of the regiments were destroyed and I was forced to go along with what small regiments remained. The God-Emperor guided me and those brave souls here, where we encountered the Shrine of the Blessed Unguents and the Sisters guarding it. Not needing to be told that this was His work, we set to defense straight away. A small contingent of Knights of Blood Space Marines helped us set up the defense. When the archenemy came the Knights tore out to meet them in hand to hand. The losses were staggering. But the worst was yet to come. When they had felled all of the enemy, they came shrieking back screaming dark obscenities about a Blood God. The losses were horrific amongst the Guard, but the Sisters turned them back. They lurk outside the town, even now, waiting. They have with them four killers, all tainted. One who hides at range, one who kills by the dozen, one who shapeshifts, and one who has no soul. Had He not brought you here, hope would have been slim." Castes took it all in. And with a feral gleam in his eye said, "We will make them pay for their heresy."


The Grey Knights and Sisters had taken up a static defensive position in the Bastion and the up-armored hab. They knew the Knights of Blood were coming due to the screaming. Red and Copper armored forms burst through the treeline hundreds of meters to the front. A sniper's round spanked off the frontal glacis of an Excorcist battle tank. The frenzied berseker tore after Paladin Vilmus and a Squad of Sisters in a Rhino. They smoothly dismounted and bathed the shrieking monster with promethium until he burst into a fiery explosion of gore. Elsewhere Castes pointed out a wounded guardsman hobbling towards the hab. He used a psychic incantation and the glamour was dropped. In the guardsmen's place was a grotesque killer with a wicked looking curved blade. Another Rhino lit out from behind cover and a full squad of Sisters disembarked from it. They too let their flame weapons roar incandescent fury on the faithless witch. Uriah Jacobus sat atop the Bastion, bellowing words and hymns of encouragement. "And lo, do you see what He has wrought? By His artifice was He made immortal! By His will was mankind uplifted! Cower in fear you heathens who would renounce His divine grace!" Heavy Bolter fire blitzed out from all sides of the Bastion, wreaking havoc where ever the Sister's furious gaze was directed. Excorcist multi launchers blew whole squads of traitors apart. Even when they brought forth their warriors in Terminator plate, the Exorcists expunged them without mercy.


When it was all over, Castes went over to the sweating old man. His gap toothed smile warmed Castes's hearts. "It was good to fight alongside you preacher, but I don't think you will need us any more. We have a monster we must hunt back in the city. But take care, and may He protect you." As Castes started to turn away the preacher reached out and touched him. He looked down at the gnarled old hand on his armor. Mortals had died for much, much less. In the old preacher's other hand was a vial. "Take this, lad." said Jacobus. "Something tells me you'll need it in the war to come. Whet your blade with it when the right time comes." The old man winked conspiratorially and Castes took the vial with Holy Unguents in it. "You have my thanks preacher. As do you, Sister Lethe." He turned to regard his warriors. "Castes to Ruler of Black Skies, six warriors and one Dreadknight to translate back aboard."


And with a blinding flash, they were gone.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Last week saw me face off against Rhuntar's Orks in my last game before the final showdown:


Castes and his cohort of Grey Knights made their way back through the city, sporadically engaging groups of Orks and tainted civilians. As they fought further and further into the city, the marks on the Orks and the civilians reeked of the plague daemons. Castes purged all they came across, be they infected or not. He could not risk it. He communed regularly with Master Mordrak who led another purge in another part of the city. They were to meet up in a section that was infested with Orks, close to where Bulbous was last seen.


The screams of the dead Orks as they blazed with the blessed promethium satisfied Castes. Bolt rounds sang through the air as if The Emperor Himself was giving His divine judgement on the xenos. Explosions cratered across tainted xenos flesh and they howled in pain. Castes let his second sight drift through Paladin Metreon in his Dreadknight and helped guide his shots into another Ork flyer, shredding it into scattering pieces of flaming debris. He could feel a larger mass of the xenos being pushed closer, the noose set by Master Mordrak, tightening around their necks. He also sensed Bulbous. The foul servant of the Greater Fecundancy was near. Watching. Waiting. Castes set back to work. His hammer rising and falling, every connection like a toll of a thunderous bell as greenskins were flung from him. He lost track of time in the killing. And as he felt his body start to tire from the hours of exertion, something horrific happened. Ramshackle vehicles thundered into the plaza. Clanking Orks in hulking suits of scrap armor bellowed from the backs of trukks. Grotesque Orks with sprouting horns, too many limbs, and weeping sores laughed and whooped as their vehicle sped across the plaza. Ork jetfighters daubed with crude glyphs of the plague spawn roared overhead, strafing Castes' warriors. And on the far side of the plaza, behind the teeming masses of infected Orks stood Bulbous. Smiling.


Castes and his warriors surged forward to meet the threat. Both Dreadknights popped into and out of reality in various places, slaying whole swathes of greeskins as they went. Castes could feel his warriors falling. They had already expended so much ammunition. Many were fighting wounded. They had been caught in the open, confident in victory. The hoards of fresh Orks smashed into the Terminator's lines. Halberds rose and fell like executioners blades, hewing limbs and bodies like a farmer at harvest. Stormbolters fired sporadically, only engaging where necessary. He felt them falling. Too many. He saw a Warboss in clanking armor leap down from a trukk. It charged a nearby group of Terminators. The blades of the Grey Knights met the monster but could find no purchase. Every time the blade was about to find a vital spot in the armor, a flash of green diseased light would skip the blade off in a new direction. With a roar and a sweep of it's mighty klaws, five heroes died.


 The psychic backlash of so much loss put Castes on his knees. He could hear the buzzing of the daemonic taint coming from the Ork Warboss. The massive Ork surged towards Castes' squad. Castes psychically tuned his and his squad's weapons. He saw into the brief future and made their weapons more keen. But it was all for naught. The mighty greenskin smashed into his squad, killing with gleeful abandon. Castes screamed with pain fueled rage. His hammer slammed into the warboss, obliterating the upper torso of the beast. Castes tried to catch his breath. Tried to stand. He couldn't. All around him his warriors were dead. Small pockets of Terminators fought on. He saw a bright light on the far side of the plaza. Master Mordrak had arrived with the rest of the Brotherhood. He smiled, and fell.


Grand Master Mordrak arrived in the plaza in time to see two things happen. The first thing he saw happen was Castes, a warrior that the gruff Grand Master had reluctantly called "friend", die. Castes stood in the center of a maelstrom of carnage. All around him lay dead Grey Knights and diseased greenskins. He looked back at Master Mordrak with a smile and then fell. His armor mortally rent open during his dual with the Warboss. Pain, anguish, rage, and sorrow flooded Mordrak. He turned his head in time to see the second thing. Bulbous laughed a booming laugh that unnaturally filled the plaza. Sickening light oozed from the gaps in his armor and he swelled. "My ascension is at hand! Blood and disease have pleased the Grandfather and his gifts will be myriad!" Bulbous grew in size, armor bulging to daemonic proportions. Lesser daemons of fecundancy appeared around him. Shambling warriors of the Death Guard in baroque dirty armor wheezed with laughter and praise at their lord's dark apotheosis.


Mordrak locked away the pain. Locked away the sorrow. The dead would be mourned after. He sent one sentence psychically to his warriors before marching towards the newborn daemon prince and his corpulent allies. +Slay them.+

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