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. Inkary at https://www.artstation.com/inkary
The alarm came from out of nowhere, piercing the sweltering, monotonous gloom of the forge like hot nails through lead. Magos Kelethrex had been overseeing the creation of yet another great war machine to be birthed within the magma-filled vaults of the complex when the alarm sounded, half warbling klaxon, half wailing shriek of thousands of trapped neverborn. The sound caused the lumbering, vat-grown serfs attending Kelethrex to cover their malformed heads and moan in pain, and more than a few slipped and fell into the hot magma of the forge, screaming before the molten metal consumed them. Even worse, the half-made construct in front of Kelethrex was driven into a frenzy by the sounds, the tank-sized conglomeration of steel and flesh thrashing and flailing in the great chains that held it above the pit.
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.
So, recently I have started getting into Kill Team as an alternative to mainstream 40k. This is due to a number of reasons, the primary one being time: my schedule on weekdays is too tight to get a proper 40k game in, and I would much rather not carry my army case with me to and from the office on the TTC. Kill Team, on the other hand, is on so small a scale that I can easily carry a force (or two) with me in my backpack. My leanings towards Kill Team have been further reinforced by the fact that (1) my local game stores have been really getting into it lately, and (2) my girlfriend has expressed an interest in starting a Necron Kill Team.