c. Games Workshop
Redoubt Upsilon, Iapetus orbit, dawn of the Solar War
The klaxons wailed, signalling yet more hull breaches as enemy lances pierced Redoubt Upsilon’s void shields on its starboard flank, rupturing the reinforced hull and sending depressurized atmosphere and dozens of crew hurtling out into the void. Centurion-Castellan Gallemand swore and punched a gauntleted hand down against the nearby console, silencing the infernal alarm– he didn’t need to have a klaxon shrieking in his ear to know the situation was bad. In response, the lance-turrets and missile racks of the station returned fire, tracking the VIII Legion ships that were circling them like opportunistic vultures. Gallemand took a measure of satisfaction as he saw one of the nimble escorts take several direct hits to its aft, before listing onto its side and then detonating in a spectacular fireball.
A drop in the ocean, he knew, and what a terrible ocean it was.
The mood was a surprisingly peaceful one, Merced Tarquan thought to herself as she knelt for her midday vigil. An early spring snowfall was sending flakes spinning down delicately from the heavens, covering the ground around the old manufactoria ruins in a thin patina of hoarfrost. In the background, the eccesiastical choir of St. Kiodrus’ Abbey on Hesperix sang on the vox-caster Merced had set on the nearby table, adding to the air of perfect tranquility in this otherwise desolate place with a pitch-perfect sonata. Even the firing drills of Merced’s Sisters in the distance did nothing to distrub feeling– indeed, the precise, booming cracks of the distant bolter rounds served as a background percussion to what seemed like a perfect symphony, in praise to the God-Emperor and the perfect beauty of His Imperium.
One almost would have forgotten that there was a war going on.
c. GSC Game World
So, as a way of passing the time, I figured I’d start sharing some material from some of the RPGs I’m presently involved in. So for a start, here’s the character profile and background of Yegor, the character I’m playing in a Rifts: Warlords of Russia campaign.
Last week, I was on the subway heading off to work, a normal state of affairs for me on a Monday. This was a fairly standard train ride, except for a few notable exceptions: I was wearing gloves, and a heavy winter-jacket with a pull-over face mask, despite the face that this was late in March and the weather had been somewhat temperate. I recall being conscious of where my hands were going, of avoiding touching the support poles of the train, and of trying to sit in such a way that I wasn’t adjacent to or next to anyone. I also recall how empty the train was, with maybe six or eight people in my car– a far cry from the usual Monday morning, with train cars packed like sardines, rolling claustrophobic nightmares of compression.
c. Jaime Martinez and Games Workshop
Transmitted To: Canoness Superior Ursula Sevrei, Cathedrum Opus Dei, Apotheca
Transmitted By: Sister Ziriel Shylo, Order of the Inkwell, Astro-Terminus Kappa
Thought For The Day: With flame we shall churn the earth, with prayer we shall make it holy anew
The following chronicle presents a true and accurate log of the campaign to liberate the lost shrine world of Hieros, prosecuted by a full preceptory of the Order of the Blessed Damsel, as well as various other Imperial forces, in early M42. As the God-Emperor is my witness, this chronicle shall illustrate not only the glorious victories won by the Battle Sisters of that illustrious order, but also of their grievous defeats and heroic martyrdoms, their trials and hardships, the notable heroines who led these most holy women in their crusade.
The Raven’s Head had, once upon a time, been a popular tavern situated near the center of Inverius’ metalworks. A popular hub for off-duty manufactorum workers, guildsmen, scrap-haulers, scavvers and even the odd Arbites patrol, it had once formed the living, breathing heart of this district. Inquisitor Ariadna Zao imagined that, before the war, this place must have rung loud to the sound of clanking tankards, sloshing ale, slurred drinking songs and raucous laughter. That would have been before the Tyranid bombardment, however, had flattened it like it had almost every other building in the district, gutting it like a carcass and leaving but a few skeletal, spore-bleached walls and floors standing.
“O God Emperor, master and ruler of all humankind, I pray Thee for Thy great mercy, that Thou guide me better than I have done, towards Thee, and guide me to Thy will, to the need of my soul, better than I have myself.”
The flicker of the electro-flambeaux caused the shadows to dance at the corners of her vision. Even here, in a chapel sanctified thrice in the God-Emperor’s sight, Avriel tensed, hard-worn instincts preparing for a sudden assault, imagining each shadow to be some twisted horror lurking at the corner of her vision.