"The third Legion was excised from the annals of Imperial history but right there stands the very image of their Primarch." said Plato as they lifted ammo belts and ranged weapons from the innards of their drop pod. He looked up at the square chin and wild eyes chiseled deep into the hard granite. Tantric tattooed runes were etched all over the facsimile of a bare face and a three pronged bolt of jagged lightning split the brooding eyes.
"It is whispered they were actually the very first to fall to the ruinous Powers. Our mission is to ensure he is truly dead. These lands crawl with filth... Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh and Tzneetch - their followers have flocked here in search as well."
The Champion had sheathed his swords and gripped the combi melta testing the rack as he chambered a fresh magazine. ‘We shall follow that ridge into the far valley. There lies the enemy camp. Be on guard for any of their outliers. Our insertion was perfect as planned. We must not fail now."
"Will there be any reinforcements?" asked one of the two Honor Guard as he hoisted up a heavy plasma rifle.
"Don’t count on it brother and the glory shall be ours alone should we succeed." Plato answered.
"You’ve always been the optimist." replied the Honor Guard.
Plato’s smile was hidden behind the golden grill of his helmet. "Let’s move out." The Champion set a boot upon the beginning of the rocky outcrop. The slope was quite steep. Raw jewels twinkled under the softening moonlight.
No comments:
Post a Comment