Tales of the Glorious Centarius PDF!

[easye]

Week 1- Battles 0

PDF trooper Jenx wasn’t sure what was going to kill him first; the enemy or the Tau. He hefted the heavy duty shovel for what seemed like the trillionth time this week. It was back breaking labor, but had a certain rhythm to it. Shovel goes into ground, scrapes out dirt; shovel empties dirt into sand bag, repeat. Another sandbag filled, then another, and soon there was a wall of sandbags.

The Tau had wanted the Salvation Airbase fortified and prepared for an influx of refugees from across the ocean. They were trying to speed up the evacuation of the New Haven refugee camp. In a different situation, Jenx might have been proud to help out his fellow citizens. However, 7 straight days of shoveling kept any pride of purpose far from his thoughts. He was to busy being dog tired to be proud.

Lord Martell, his tank commander; called a break. Jenx slumped down with his fellow crew men. With an achy hand he reached for his canteen. As he drank, he looked across the tens of meters of sandbags he had filled and that his fellows had stacked. They surrounded a battery of PDF AA guns. Further back he saw the crews of other tanks from 2nd Company finishing work on pre-fab refugee huts.

“Do you think we’ll see any action?” grunted Hausman. He was a small man built like a sandbag wall himself. Normally, he manned the las-cannon; but today he was wielding a sand bag.

The driver shrugged. “I heard one of the new off world commanders doesn’t think to much of us doin’ any fightin’,” he drawled in an accent native to this part of Ionia.

“We’ll see plenty of killing soon enough. I’m in no hurry.” Giles was the oldest member of the crew, and he had been part of the "Wardogs" when they were sent in to put down some agitators in Northern Ionia. He was the only one of the crew to have seen any action, but that hadn’t been since the Great Quakes a couple years back.

Hausman hissed, “What the feth is a tank company doing digging? Isn’t that a job for the fething Infantry?” None of the others argued, they simply nursed their canteens and went back to brooding over their fate.

Lord Martell called an end to the break. Jenx and his comrades rose stiffly, like zombies rising up from the grave. Jenx didn’t know anything about Tau commanders who didn’t like PDF, when his crew would see action, or why tankers were digging holes. There was one thing he figured though, and that was if the enemy didn’t kill him, then the sandbags surely would.

[easye]

Message From: Baron Ulrich von Warchilde- 2nd Co. Centarius Armored PDF
Message To: Lord Protector Duke Hammermill
Security Level: High

Salutations my lord,

Local sympathizers in the area of the Salvation Air/Naval Base have reported unusual activity in the surrounds. The 252nd Centarius PDF were sent to reconnoitter the area and report back three days past. As of this writing, they have not reported in.

In response, my Company will be leaving the fortified zone and sallying forth to determine the situation vis-a-vis the 252nd Centarius PDF. I have reason to believe that hostile forces will be encountered en masse.

I will report back with further details early next week.

For Centarius and the Greater Good!
Baron von Warchilde

[easye]

Week 3- Battles 0 (thus far)

The troopers stood in a half circle banging metal pipes against planks. It was the best they could do to re-enact a traditional warrior’s cremation. Instead of swords on shields, Lord Remos would get pipes on planks. In the center was a raised platform above a pile of oil soaked logs. On it was a white sheet covering what looked like a body.

Baron Ulrich knew the truth. After Lord Remos’ tank exploded there wasn’t enough left of him to fill a helmet, much less retrieve a body. Under the sheet were lumps of straw. The Baron stepped forward holding a torch aloft, he said a few words about Lord Remus, mumbling something about heroism and the call of duty. He then let his hand drop the torch and light the pyre ablaze. The troopers took up the banging and shouted words of praise. The smoke lifted into the heavens, supposedly bearing the spirit of the departed warrior to the side of the Emperor.

The group slowly disbanded one by one. Each trooper paid his last respects silently, and then wandered off to perform their duties. Baron von Warchilde made sure to stay the longest; it would only be fitting to show proper respect to a fallen comrade. Given the choice, he would have dispensed with the ceremony all together. Smoke carrying a persons’ spirit to the Emperor? What a bunch of drox. Plus, he hadn’t even liked Lord Remos. Still, the morale of the men had to be maintained.

As he stood waiting for those closest to the Lord and his crew finished their silent vigils, a clean faced communication’s officer approached. Dutifully, he bowed his head to the cremation flames out of respect, and then leaned close to whisper to the Baron.

“Duke Hammermill is on the Holo for you.”

Duke Hammermill? What was so important that he used the Holo instead of the Vox? The Holo was notoriously unsecured, and resource intensive. The Ulrich’s mind raced as he followed the non-com to the small plas-crete bunker. Huge antennae and dishes dwarfed the place, and would have made it difficult to locate the entrance. After a steep set of stairs, and a cold drab hallway, the communications officers gestured him through a set of reinforced blast doors.

He stepped in and the ghostly grey visage of Duke Hammermill awaited him. The Duke was an old man, and he looked 10 years older then last time Ulrich had seen him. Characteristically, he stroked his long grey beard and moustache in thought. His flinty eyes bored into the young Baron. In the corner of the room, a Tau F’io caste member worked the controls of the machine.

“Greetings Lord Protector, to what do I owe the honor of this personal message,” Baron von Warchilde bowed low at the waist.

“Greetings to you Baron. First, I would like to congratulate you on your successes thus far in the campaign. The people of Centarius are grateful.” The Duke shifted and it sent a quick ripple through the Holo image. The F’io technician’s hands darted over the controls with a dartbird’s speed.
The Duke continued, “I have unpleasant news for you Ulrich. No doubt you are somewhat aware of the situation on the island of Castellan, in my realms.”

The Baron nodded. As a vassal of Duke Hammermill, his family estates were also located on the island. The news of it being over run by depraved Astartes was of concern to him, but he had not had the time to investigate it further. Last he had heard the so called Iron Warriors were limiting their attentions to the mine works.

“It brings me great pains that I have been unable to assist my people. Daily my lands are being despoiled by these foul beings. It is a stain upon my honor,” the Duke snarled. In his younger days as a cavalry commander that look would have sent troopers scurrying. Then the Duke relaxed and sat back, “But the Tau’va has taught me a great many things. Sometimes, I must look beyond my own honor to that of the Greater Good of Centarius.”

Ulrich began wondering what all of this had to do with him. It sensed it was building somewhere, and he had a feeling he would not like what it led too.

The Duke continued, his iron gaze fixating on Ulrich, “Which brings me to you Baron Ulrich von Warchilde,” The Baron stiffened slightly at the use of the honorific. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prick up in warning. “It brings me great pains to advise you that your ancestral manor of Wulfgedden has been sacked by the Iron Warriors.”

Baron von Warchilde gasped. He had been expecting such news, but to hear it… Memories of his hunting trips with his father and brothers flashed through his head. This was followed by a tour his father had taken him of the entire estate. Then, his mother and sister weaving golden thread into the families crest in front of the manor’s blazing hearth. All of those memories, and more began to overcome him.

The Duke’s voice snapped his attention back, “I’m afraid that is not the worst of it. We have confirmed with our agents that your mother is dead, and your sister Elma was taken captive.”

Unbidden an animal cry tore its way from his body. Momentarily he was senseless, and when he regained control; he found himself on his knees. His hands were clenched so tight that his hands were bleeding. Hot tears streaked his cheeks

Slowly, he raised himself to his feet; one foot slowly following the other. He mumbled his apologies to the Duke, “I will go make my company ready to attack,” he turned to leave.

“No. You shall not Baron Ulrich von Warchilde. As my vassal and your commander, I order you to stay in Ionia until Salvation is secure,” Duke Hammermill spoke softly, but his tone allowed no negotiation.

Ulrich turned slowly, his eyes unable to meet those of the Duke across the vastness of space, “I… can… not… NO, will not comply with that order.”
“I know you are hurting Ulrich. However, I need you where you are. The people of Centarius need you there.”

“And what of Elma? She needs me, and I need her. She is all that I have left,” he choked back his emotions as best he could.

“I have spoken with Commander Bright Eyes, he has promised me that he will make Elma’s retrieval a top priority.”

Ulrich bit his tongue. He could see that the Duke’s mind was made up. He would get no satisfaction from him.

The Duke leaned back, “I trust we have an understanding, Baron?”

Ulrich nodded ever so slowly and hissed, “I understand you perfectly.”

“For the Greater Good and Centarius,” The Duke saluted.

Mechanically, Ulrich returned the salute. He turned and stalked out of the room. He elbowed the waiting communication’s officer to the side roughly and stomped away into the camp. He had to find the “Wardogs”, he had preparations to make.

See Kaser's Black Hand Chronicle's for further details here; warseercampaign.proboards101.com/index.cgi?board=centariusaddstories&action=display&thread=1192298580

[easye]

Week 3- 1 Battle

Lord Tarrick shambled into the meeting hall. His legs felt like rubber after the long patrol. He had spent close to the last 12 hours standing in a turret and reviewing the landscape with his scope. So far, none of the invaders had dared make a move towards Salvation.

He had been eager to get back to the rear and catch a wink of sleep. However, he was disappointed when he, along with the rest of 2nd Company; were called to the Baron’s HQ. His weary mind didn’t grasp the significance at the time, but now his mind was racing.

Lord Tarrick along with all the other tank commanders of the 2nd Company stood around a large oaken table. No chairs had been provided. A projector screen filled the back wall. A herald appeared, and announced Baron Ulrich von Warchilde in the traditional manner of nobility. The men saluted and he replied in kind.

“I have received word from Duke Hammermill, that Iron Warrior forces along with Necron troops have attacked our forces on Aetna,” Baron von Warchilde tried to look impassive as he spoke. However, it was obvious to all present that mention of the Iron Warriors boiled his blood. “Tau surveillance drones have recognized that the island of Genesis is the source of the Necron portion of this attack. Since our troops have the only experience fighting these creatures, we will be deployed to Genesis to deal with these creatures.”

The projector flicked to life, and Pict feeds from their previous battle with the Necrons appeared behind the Baron. He gestured a hand dismissively at the metal creatures, “The Tau have little to no intelligence on these… things. However, it appears that they are highly resilient to small arms fire. This is the second reason why we have been tasked with wiping out the alien menace at the source.”

Lord Tarrick squirmed in his seat. He had heard from men of the 252nd PDF that these monsters appeared and disappeared at will. How would mere men be able to hunt down shadows?

A new Pict flashed onto the screen. It was a barren and wind swept land, dotted by rocky outcroppings and The Baron continued, “The terrain on Genesis is ideally suited for highly mobile armored operations. Our flying columns will sweep the area clear of all that oppose the Greater Good here on Centarius. Any questions?”

Lord Tarrick spoke up, “What about the defenses here?”

The Baron nodded, “We have managed to secure much of this land, and Duke Hammermill and Commander Bright Eyes feel that the time is right to expand our defense of Centarius. The 252nd Centarius PDF as well as other local forces will defend Salvation. In addition, Tau hunter Cadres are still active in the area.”

Lord Tarrick was still uneasy. Perhaps it was his weariness, “How will we get to Genesis? Swim?”

The assembled group let out an uneasy laugh. “The Tau have modified some craft to carry our forces. They will transport us.”

The Baron looked at the assembled Lords. He met the gaze of each one, before continuing, “Success here is crucial to defend our people, relieve pressure on Aetna, and to move closer to liberating the Castellan Mine works. Does anyone here doubt my commitment to these goals?”

Silence hung in the air. Everyone in the room knew the Baron’s personal situation. Word traveled fast in the camp. Some of the Lord’s averted their eyes, unable to match the man’s intensity.

“For Centarius and the Greater Good,” The Baron turned to leave.

The assembled commanders took up his call to action and shouted, “For Centarius and the Greater Good!”

[easye]

Week 4- Battles 0- Thus Far

For the flight, the troopers had been allowed to dismount from their vehicles. They stood along the edges, squeezed tightly between the armored hulls of their Leman Russ battle tanks and the walls of the Tau aircraft. For many it was their first time flying, and the smell of vomit still hung in the recycled air. Many did their best to hide their misery from their comrades, but the greenish hue of their face gave it away.

Lord Marcus heard his crew laugh as they ribbed poor Karl, their forward gunner about his air sickness. Overall, he was surprised at the stoicism his boys had shown. They had accepted the idea of racing through the clouds faster than a thunderclap with aplomb. Some of them even seemed excited by the prospect.

Lord Varliss elbowed him, and nodded Lord Marcus’ attention towards the flask being handed around. The Lords were all standing at the front of the cargo bay in a small knot. They had been passing around a bottle of Kerg Juice. Marcus declined, as he wasn’t feeling 100% well himself. He could only imagine what poor Karl was feeling like. Lord Varliss shrugged and took a deep pull.

“Look at him. He’s been staring at that map this whole trip. The way he’s looking at it, I’m surprised it hasn’t burst into flame yet,” Lord Tarrick darted his blue eyes over his shoulder where Baron von Warchilde was standing apart from the group. The baron was holding a map against the aircrafts whitish bulkhead with both hands, his eyes fixed on it.

Lord Varliss shrugged, “Whatever takes his fancy.”

“I think it’s Elma,” Tarrick lowered his voice even lower. The constant rumble of the aircrafts engines almost drowned him out from the rest of the Lords.

Lord Marcus nodded. Of course he was concerned about her welfare. It was common knowledge amongst the Lords that she was a prisoner of the Iron Warriors. They had guessed that their journey through Genesis would be a quick sprint followed by a hop to the Castellan Island. There the Baron would take back his lands and free his sister.

“I hope he keeps his wits about him,” Lord Varliss snarled, “I don’t need to get myself killed because the Baron can’t keep it together.”

Marcus sneered in disgust at Varliss, “Have you no decency?”

“Not all of us were raised in the seat of culture like you. Some of us had to work,” Varliss snapped back.

“Shut up, both of you.” Tarrick hissed.

Varliss started a comeback, but Tarrick quieted him with a gesture. That’s when he felt it. The craft was slowing down, yet dropping at the same time. The crews noticed too. Everyone fell silent and listened keenly as the engines changed pitch, and the machine groaned in response.

Baron Ulrich looked away from his map to check his chrono. He snapped it closed, and folded his map back up. Carefully, he placed it inside his chest pocket. He moved slowly and deliberately, as if he knew that all eyes were on him.

He turned to face his Lords as well as the tank crews that could see him. His voice boomed out in the cramped spaces and found its way into every nook and cranny of the hold, “We are beginning our descent on Genesis. We should touchdown in approximately ten minutes. Remember, these Necrons are like ghosts. As soon as we touchdown be prepared for anything. Once on the ground we will have one hour to disembark fully. Follow the exit plan as provided before launch.”

He hoisted his chrono by its chain, and popped it open. He looked at it for a few moments, “I want you all to remember that Centarius expects everyman to do his duty. The refugees in Aetna are counting on us to relieve the pressure there. Our people are counting on you. I am counting on you.”

The Baron snapped his chrono closed with an audible click, “Wardogs, mount up!”

[easye]

Week 6- Post Battle 1-

Once again, the “Wardogs” were hurtling through the sky to another destination. Baron Ulrich von Warchilde unrolled his map and looked to their next destination; the coast of Castellan island. There he would begin the process of reclaiming his lands and saving his sister.

Lord Marcus approached with an envelope. He saluted in the Tau fashion, “The pilots had our new orders ready. They requested I give them to you.”

Baron Ulrich frowned, new orders? Duke Hammermill had made it clear in previous dispatches that after their sweep of Genesis they were to move on the Iron Warriors. The Baron took them, and unsealed them. Before reading, his anger was beginning to rise. Surely, they wouldn’t dare take him away from Castellan.

It was a message from Commander Bright Eyes, not Duke Hammermill. The Baron cocked an eyebrow. They were ordering him back to Mycenae; to Burgundia. The space port had to be secured for the proper evacuation of the Tau Empire’s citizens. Just then, he felt the aircraft slowly begin to turn towards the south on a long gentle arc.

Ulrich snarled and tossed the orders aside. They ruffled and fluttered to the floor. Lord Marcus stooped to retrieve them, but the Baron stopped him. He stormed to the front of the craft and found the Tau vox operator huddled over his set.

“Get me Duke Hammermill. Now!” The Baron’s roared left little to be discussed. In moments, the aging Duke was on the line.

“By the Ancestors what are you ordering me to do!” Ulrich bellowed into the pick-up, “You promised me.”

The Duke’s calm reply came back to him, “There are things transpiring here that you do not know about, and I can’t talk about. Things are occurring that have much more dire consequence to the future of Centarius; things that would effectively ruin any future here for you or your sister. That is why we need you… I need you back in Burgundia.”

Baron Ulrich von Warchilde was torn. His duties as a Baron and vassal required him to heed the words of his liege lord. The only exceptions were matters of family, and the fate of his sister was a matter of family. However, as a member in the PDF he had taken an oath to protect Centarius above all others and to serve the Greater Good. He smashed his fist into a bulkhead, and pain shot through his arm.

He hung his head low, “What would you have me do. You know my obligations.”

Ulrich could picture the older man stroking his grey beard somewhere on the other end of the vox connection, “As your Liege Lord and superior I could command you back to Burgundia, but I won’t. You need to find wisdom for yourself. That is the essence of nobility. I trust you to do what is right.”

[easye]

The Tau ships managed to land on the frozen tundra of Castellan. It would be nearly impossible to defend every inch of this expanse, so the Centarius 2nd Armored PDF unloaded with no opposition.

As the wicked wind tore at Baron Ulrich’s face mask, he watched the Tau aircraft vanish into the clouds. It would be the last time any of the “Wardogs” would see them. Ulrich had convinced Duke Hammermill to sign off on one last drop. Now, it was victory or death. They would either throw the vile Iron Warriors from their homeland, or they would die trying.

As the command tank began to rumble towards the south, the Baron sealed himself up into the belly of the metal beast. The internal heaters worked diligently siphoning excess heat from the engines into the crew cabin, but everything was still cold to the touch. It would manage to keep the crews alive, but far from comfortable.

The Baron keyed up his command monitor for the latest recon reports. There were many areas of spotty reception or simply no coverage, but it was clear that the Iron Warriors were being faced by a variety of threats. Tyranids were menacing their outer perimeters, and Necron craft were approaching over the oceans. He hoped that his small force would be able to move into the interior of the great Island and make its way to Wulfgedden undetected. Hopefully, he would find Elma amongst the slave pens there.

If not, he would have to widen his search. In the warm, cozy holds of the Tau aircraft, they had pledged themselves to his service. Their loyalty echoed in the small chambers, and it warmed the Baron’s heart. Then, he felt an odd understanding of the way things had been on Centarius before the Tau. Back when men pledged themselves to warlords. Victory or death.

The Tau were finished here, that much was clear to him. It was every man for himself now. All that mattered were the old ways, loyalty to family and then the oath bound. The Baron intended to embrace these ways.

[easye]

Week 8- Narrative

The smell was the oddest thing about the place. He could recognize the familiar smells of decaying flesh, burning corpses, and cordite. It was the other subtler smells that he couldn’t place. The sweet smell of razzlewood, a strange cloying scent that made him think of wet moss, and an almost not smelled whiff of sugar mingled with the casual smells of battle. Together, all of these smells whirled into a dizzying olfactory riot. It was not what he expected when he descended from his tank to the frozen earth.

Baron Ulrich von Warchilde surveyed what remained of his boyhood home. It had been a battleground. The ancient house itself was just a smoldering ruin, its blackened skeleton reaching to the frosty heavens. Wisps of steam and still burning fires wafted lazily upwards. The grounds were torn up by shell and tread, leaving obscene scars where manicured gardens once stood. It was unrecognizable.

He knew that his dragoons were sweeping the out buildings and searching the grounds for any sign of Elma, but he had to look for himself; to see with his own eyes. He walked to where the great doors to Wulfgadden once stood, now just blackened and blasted lumps. Garish pink and purple designs were daubed along the remains, and he felt an odd pull to look away from them and to stare at them.

Ulrich managed to step beyond into the ash heap on the far side. The broken body of a renegade astartes lay at the edge of a massive crater, its gaudy armor blackened by the blast. The creature’s head was no where to be seen. Almost immediately the Baron sunk to the shin into a fine gray ash. He scanned the gray mounds of ash, seeing nothing recognizable.

The Baron was startled when Lord Varliss cleared his throat behind him. The sound carried on the cold, dead air.

“Nay news,” Ulrich asked. He couldn’t get his hopes up in the bleak landscape.

“No sign of Elma my lord,” Lord Varliss was professional, but his voice was tinged with regret, “However, the dragoons did find some Centarius prisoners. They may have more information.”

Ulrich nodded slowly, “Take me to them.”

Lord Varliss led the way to a nearby outbuilding. Its roof had been shattered and a wall caved in. The Baron recognized it as a food storage building from his youth. He and Elma had used it as a hiding place in their games. He knew that below it had been a wine cellar.

“The captives were held in the wine cellar,” Lord Varliss’ hissed, “The conditions were barbaric. The few that survived were left with the frozen bodies of the dead.”

As they breached the doorway, the Baron saw a group of hallowed out scarecrows. His dragoons were busy draping blankets over their thin shoulders, and administering water to their parched and blue lips. The shells of humans that survived were thin and reedy, their stance shaky. Many had to be supported by his troops. As he watched, one fell over, and his troops pronounced the poor wisp of a fellow dead.

“Get them some hot food,” the Baron croaked. This is what had happened to his people. He had been out fighting for those cursed Tau, while his own people were being left to rot away. He felt a surge of anger. Was this the Greater Good they spoke of?

One of the half starved wretches broke from the group and stumbled towards them. Its straggly hair covered half of the face, but the women’s eyes shone with a light of recognition, “Little Ulrich?” she croaked from her frost bitten lips.

It took a few more moments for the Baron to register her, but the recognition struck him like a thunder from the heavens. “Nan?”

He stepped forward and gathered the frail women into his arms, gently hugging her close. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he held the women who had raised him all those years ago. The closest thing he had to a mother or family left in this world. The Iron Warriors had tried to take that from him too. The sobs of joy slowly subsided.

The Baron gently moved her from his embrace and looked into her watery eyes, ‘Tell me everything.”

* * *

A few hours had passed since his reunion with Nan. Ulrich had seen to it that all the survivors were given a hot meal, warm clothes, and a place to stay. A nearby village gladly took those pitiful wretches in to their care. Despite the generosity of the local people, it was still unclear if many of the captives would survive the winter.

He had done what he could for them. Now it was time to think about the future. Nan had told him about the Iron Warriors assault on Wulfgadden, and what had happened there. Human sacrifice; what kind of monsters were these Iron Warriors. Surely, they weren’t men, but beasts.

Thankfully, they had taken Elma back to the Castellan Mineworks. What vile conditions they kept her in and what unspeakable atrocities they committed on her person was best not to think about.

The Baron settled into his command chair yet again. He keyed the console to the command channel.

“Wardogs, you have done more than a man could ask of you. Now, I ask but one more service of fellowship. We will be pressing onward, into the heart of the beast. I ask only if you will join me for one more push. Are you with me?”

The command channel filled with a single word being roared, “Wardogs!”