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.
The catacombs stank. Thousands of years ago, they had been used to channel the waste effluent of the Invernus’ manufactoria out into the rad-wastes beyond the hive city, though they had long since been abandoned and closed off. Even after those millennia, however, the chemical reek of the place and the stench of decay persisted, even through the filters of Watch-Sergeant Cervantes’ helmet. No one had been down here since that time, not even scavvers of the underhive or the reclamation servitors of the manufactoria.
Which meant, of course, that it was the perfect place for xenos to infiltrate the city.
Hot on the heels of the Siege of Hod’s Anvil campaign, I now find myself involved in yet another siege.
c. Bethesda Softworks
Klaxons were blaring angrily all throughout Thule Omega district, accompanied by the customary, servitor-laden warnings for all civilians to stay in their homes. The entire district was going into lockdown, and patrols in the other districts were arming as well. At this rate, the whole bloody hive would be under martial law before long.