Legions Imperialis Campaign: Ostea Solarik - The Seige Storm Wrought (PRELUDE)
Welcome to this scene setting article that opens up an upcoming narrative escalation campaign for Legions Imperialis. This opening bit of intro tells the story of the garrison Auxilia forces of the Cinis Spectorii as they commit an audience with an imminent planet side contingent of Night Lords… Enjoy!
"Astartes Thunderhawks incoming. Dropping down at the designated sector in approximately 68 Seconds. We're due on arrival in 30."
The vox crackle and sudden sharp click off told Veteran Turahd that the approach was imminent, and time to secure arms and brace for disembarkation from the Dracosan. The engine down to the rear of the transport growled as a constant reminder of the beast that bore them as its burden, while the craggy terrain beneath them rocked and juddered the occupants. Protection was the aim of the massive APC, not grotesque offensive capability and definitely not comfort.
Major Veteran Dyantes Turahd, attendee to Legate Marshal Saraul and his retinue, stood up from his pew, gripped his Volkite charger from the brackets above his seat without turning around, brought it to arms and turned about next to the Legate he served.
His Solar Pattern Void armour, the chosen suit for almost all Solar Auxilia fighters, granted him enormous protection. The most unforgiving elements were kept at bay, radiation exposure countered to a degree, and the black void from sucking the life and material essence out of every orifice of his human form. The cost of that practically, like the Dracosan, came uncomfortably. He was sweating to the point he blinked almost constantly to keep the sweat perspiration from his eyes. The smell within his enclosed shell like helm was rancid with body odour and hot, stale breath. The interior of the vehicle was a dim and sinister red. Emergency lightning as in use during combat engagements...
The vox in his ear clicked life.
"Is this really necessary?"
The vox display on his visor read the staff-wide broadcast signal as incoming from his fellow Veteran Major attendee, and long time friend, Nate Piovt.
"The Astartes have requested an audience with the planetary governor along with all military brass. Governor Mishyl and Master of Arms Denethu should be there to meet us. It's regarding the war. That's all we know."
Truth be told. Most fighters stationed within the Solar Auxilia on Ostea Solarik are waiting with fidgeting anxiety for new... anything from... Anywhere. The world was brought to compliance over two terran solar cycles gone, with minimal resistance. The native human populace was stuck in an ongoing war of attrition against a greenskin tribe that had landed and claimed the world as theirs. The coming of the Cinis Spectorii was seen as the return of the 'Motherworld' to those fighting the xenos. Over 6 months, the Ash Spectres brought ruin to the greenskins, liberated the world, and compliance was like a silk glove on a soft hand. Bar the now rare and easily quelled Ork assault from what remains of their host, the time spent on planet by the Auxilia has been drills, parade, administrative overseeing and waiting. Since breaking away from their Expeditionary fleet on assigned compliance assault to this world, not even a whisper has come to them of the Great Crusade, the war for the stars, Terra...
"The Astropaths... Did they foretell of the Astartes arrival? Or ar..."
"They're still lengthways."
Legate Marshal Saraul interrupted fellow Major Piovt before he could finish asking if the assigned and remaining Astropaths had awoken from their vegetative stupor. Almost 12 months exactly since their duties shrieked figuratively and audibly to a halt, and they haven't made even a whisper since. Being sustained by the governing medical authorities, at great cost, simply just to stop them withering away of their own lack of volition. Out of the 4 Astropaths, 1 was found dead upon the start of these comas, and since, 2 have suffered mortal seizures. Mouths agape, eyeless sockets wide and utterly silent in deaths rapture.
"... I am eager to hear of the conquest of the Imperium. And to rejoin the Crusade wholesale." said Nate.
Truth be aware, there was an equal divide amongst the stationed army of some 200,000 Auxilia of a desire to rejoin 'civilization', that is, society outside of this planet. And another faction who are on, or on the cusp of, their 30 year service. Their commission would be fat, and their offer of land, political positions, coin and valor would struggle to be nurtured to somewhere as perfect as Ostea Solarik. A temperate world of sprawling dunes, dotted with the odd localized and spars woodland. It's built up cities and fledgling Hive signifies this planet as the quintessential frontier Imperial world. On the very fringe of the Imperium as the Crusade grows ever outward, it made for an almost ideal home for retired soldiers. The potential for the industrialization heralded profitable ventures for those with experience in military hardware "proper soldierin'.", and there were just enough raids and recorded pirate activity system wide to keep the soldier in them grinning.
Maybe the war was won... Maybe the Galaxy now belonged to he on Terra, and his sons, their offspring and every man woman and child of humanities cradle could bask in the dominance hard fought for. Lords of their own domain... The whispered and sighed dream of peace.
The lighting within the Dracosan changed from a combat scenario dull crimson, to a more cold and illuminating white as the lumins flicked over. The Dracosan, housing the five Commander and attaché, along with 10 Lasrifle soldiers of the 10th Mechanized regiment, stood shoulder to shoulder and back to back, facing the the exit hatches either side of the hull. Their white ashen grey fatigues bolstered by the granite carapace armour fitting to their wraith like personae. White chalk like paint was added over the faceplate, surrounding their flaming orange and luminous eye lenses and visors.
Each soldier drilled to the perfection expected of the wars finest mortal men and women. Stood as Sentinels ready to meet their allies and visitors.
The Dracosan began to slow down as the vibrations of the motion began to reduce beneath their grav locked boots. The vehicle eased to a stop with a light lurch, as the hatch klaxon grunted three times announcing its imminent release.
"What colour are these ones, again?"
Dyiantes asked on a private vox click to his friends and warrior kin, Nate.
"VIIIth Legiones Astartes. Night Lords... Blue... Like the night."
Dyiantes let out an audible tut and grumble of distaste.
"Freaks." he uttered in confidence.
"... I didn't know you'd served with the Night Lords, Major? Friends of yours?" Nate asked in hushed surprise.
"I don't mean JUST them, Nate. All of them.
They're not human..."
Before he could get some disapproving clap back or banter from his companion, the light above the hatch they faced turned a white green. It creaked open on enormous sliding hinges, and thus, they let the world in.
(Thunderhawk Art bt Zachary Graves - 40K Gallery)
How will it end? Who will fire the first shot? What is the intent of both the Night Lords and the mortals of the Auxilia?
Find out later in the week as the lines are drawn, the pieces commit and blood is shed!
Peace! 🤘🏻
Chris
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