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We took this mission from a local game shop (Crossroad Games in Standish, Maine, if you want to try to find a copy). Without going into too much detail, the basic idea was that three commanders meet in the center of a field with whatever retinue they desire (ignored force org rules for this one). All hell breaks loose and the commanders attack each other. We all agreed to bring our biggest and baddest for fun. The armies were set up in camps away from each other and had to roll leadership checks to wake up up to three units per turn. Heavy tanks roll on a Ldr 6, so none of us brought them. Each turn saw three full rounds of close combat. An army won outright if its leader survived: otherwise, 250 VP went to any commander who killed another commander in hth, and 100 VP were awarded any army with a scoring unit in an enemy camp. I’m writing this one fluffy, since the details are hard to remember.
Deceiver (no retinue)
Lord, Orb, Veil
2 Heavy Destroyers
Abaddon w. a six Terminator retinue
Demon Prince w. Warptime
Defiler w. extra close combat arms
Dreadnought w. TL lascannon
8 Plague Marines, PF, Rhino
8 Khorne Berserkers, PF, Rhino
8 Thousand Sons, (Aspiring Sorceror) Rhino
Celestine w. 8 Seraphim retinue
Immolator w. 6 HB Dominions
Priest and 9 Celestines in Rhino
2x 10 Sisters in Rhinos
The Inquisition won the first placement and chose a camp in a ruined building in the bottom right. Chaos set up in a ruined building to the top left, leaving Necrons crammed in a corner on the bottom left (spacing rules barely left me room to place everything). The commanders an retinues faced off in the clear center.
Abaddon kicked away the offered chair, Drach’nyen whispering blood in his hand and the Talon of Horus curled into a fist. “Enough games, old man! Who are you and why have you called me here?” The old man cowered and wheedled. “Patience great lord, patience, all will come clear.” He cringed as Drach’nyen lifted as of its own accord. “Falstaff is my name.” The tip of the demon sword slid closer. “Horus, lord, Horus” he stammered. “A talisman, lost for ten thousand years, an artifact of the Warmaster.”
Abaddon raged, and the Talon came up, necrotic energy crawling across its blades like oil, “This is his only talisman! This!” But the name pierced him. Horus. Ten thousand years and ten billion deaths and still it pierced him. The sudden grief quelled his rage and a fog lifted from his mind, a subtle mist that had imperceptibly guided his actions since the old man, this Falstaff, had appeared from nowhere aboard his battle barge. His eyes snapped into focus and he examined the tent in which they stood for the first time. The far end was dark, too dark. “Something is wrong! WRONG!” he roared, and surged towards the man.
In the same tent, speaking to the same man, Saint Celestine sat and blazed in a carved chair. “Falstaff, is it? I have come, my army with me, to this dying world, as you asked. Tell me why we are here.”
“Great lady, there is a taint, a taint most foul, the blackest stain imaginable. Only you can face it, only you.”
“And where is this taint? What is its nature and its form?”
“Chaos, Lady, and it is here.”
The tent billowed in a sudden wind and blew away, its shadows banished. A colossal roar tore the air.
Celestine saw a monster of twisted armor and white flesh, its black sword plunging into the earth, and for a moment, she froze. The apparition tore the sword from the ground and saw her. Rage suffused its face and she burst from her chair into the air, her sword flying from its sheath in a corona of white light. A taint? A taint? This was the demon from the darkest night. This was Abaddon.
And then both froze as a laugh undercut the mayhem. Falstaff rose, the third point on the triangle. His flesh melted. He sprouted golden horns. A golden, mocking face formed and he grew, grew and floated, and his arms were scythes. The laugh echoed in their minds.
“Let the Red Harvest begin.”
Shadows lifted like clouds as Abaddon screamed for his Terminators and Celestine sent a psychic shout to her Seraphim. Monstrous, black armored forms stalked to their Lord and blazing angels fell from the sky to their Lady. Falstaff, the Fool, the Deceiver, launched himself at Abaddon, met by Drach’nyen and the Talon. The Despoiler’s armor was rent, but great gashes appeared in the necrodermis of the Deciever as the Terminators closed, chainfists whirring, power blades crackling. The black tide washed over the golden C’tan, but his laugh sounded again, and he materialized behind Abaddon. The Seraphim and Celestine crashed into the Terminators from behind, bolter rounds sparking from them and flamers flowing around them as if they were rocks in a river. The Terminators broke their fragile bodies and only one remained.
Across the blasted plain, armies roused and formed up, reacting to their leaders commands, but slowly, too slowly. Green lightning flickered from a hill to the southwest and explosions rocked the ruined building near the Northwest. A crab-like Defiler crumpled and an hulking Obliterator vaporised before it could move. The tortured forms of Arco-flagellants shambled from ruins to the southest towards the Necron camp. Engines rumbled to life, and bright jets of jump packs propelled more Seraphim towards the battle raging in the center. A sniper bullet sang from a tower and punched a hole in Abaddon’s armor, blood spraying. He staggered, but rose to meet the Deciever, Drach’nyen a singing blur in his hand. Another rent appeared in the Deciever’s metal skin, and another. Light spilled from the wounds and the laughter stopped. Its hands clasped the Despoiler’s arms and its face twisted. “Oh, well, done, Hotspur, well done.” And then it detonated, hurling debris and the massive, broken bodies of Terminators away. Celestine stood and her Seraphim were driven to the ground, her faith a shield against the blast. One Terminator raised itself to its knees. The rest did not move. Celestine hurled herself at Abaddon, calling on the Emperor for speed, and her blade pierced his chest as he turned. He spit blood at her, tearing her sword from her hand, and drove the Talon through her. In a white flash, she was gone, and Abaddon collapsed. The Seraphim screamed in anguish fired her pack to return with the awful news to her camp. The lone Terminator reached for Abaddon and dragged him from the battle.
More lightning flashed from the Necron camp, annihilating the final Obliterator, but two black transports roared from the camp and closed with the Necron lines, spilling forth frenzied berserkers and pestilential death guard. A third Rhino veered to the east and disgorged stately Thousand Sons near the Seraphim. An Immolator sped from behind a twisted forest. Dominions poured out and set up their heavy bolters with martial efficiency.
The plague marines disappeared in a storm of gauss for a moment. When the green fire lifted, only one lay dead. Ghostly Wraiths and a cloud of scarabs swept over the hill and crashed into their line. Howling Berserkers joined the battle, and the Necrons were scattered. Massive immortals rounded the hill with their Lord, and the entire Necron army flayed the flesh from the Berserkers’ bones. The plague marines closed with the nearest unit of Warriors, smashing many to the ground. Together, the Demon Prince and Dreadnought moved towards the Sisters in their distant camp.
The Seraphim and Thousand Sons traded incandescent fire, but the Serpahim called on the Emperor and were saved. They darted into the blue line as the Dominions opened up with their Heavy Bolters, and the Thousand Sons were destroyed. Lascannon fire arched from the Dreadnought, tearing a track from the Immolator.
In the southwest, the Arco-flagellants screamed and charged a unit of Warrior, but their stims failed them and they did little damage to the metal constructs as they died. Their priest and Celestines unloaded nearby and brought down a darting Destroyer. Sniper fire rang through the battle, but the hidden Vindicaire could not penetrate the armor of the Dreadnought.
Shadows gathered around the Necron Lord and the Plague Marines found themselves fighting shadows. The unit coalesced in the center of the field and annihilated the Dominions. The Demon Prince, sensing an opportunity, dropped into the Seraphim and the materialized Necrons. Time slowed for him, and he slaughtered them all. He was wounded, but lived still. The Necron Lord quivered, but did not rise.
The Dreadnought, enraged at its inability to reach the slaughter, turned to the nearest target, and blasted a Heavy Destroyer. The second darted too near and the Dreadnought’s flail separated it from its body, which whirled away and exploded. The Plague Marines slaughtered Celestines and Warriors with equal ease, losing only two more of their number. The Demon Prince evaded the sniper and fell on hapless Sisters of Battle as they emerged from their Rhino. In the far Southeast, a brilliant light filled the sky, and Celestine reappeared, sounding the retreat. Abaddon and the Deceiver had fallen, and there was little use in wasting her force on the remains. Let the mechanical monstrosities and the fallen marines ruin each other. If the assassin could kill the Demon Prince, this battle would end.
That’s it. Here were the high points. 1) Basically, the whole battle was an excuse to square off the Deceiver and Abaddon. Once the Deceiver fell, Chaos didn’t care what happened, and in fact attacked me for no good reason, since he could have won by eliminating Celestine when she came back. We learned that it’s all about the Drach’nyen in a battle between the Big D and the Big A. He rolled nine attacks in two rounds of combat, which gave him something like seventeen, rerolling a bunch of stuff. If the Deceiver had survived two rounds of attacks (Abaddon goes first) he’d have won. 2) We fully expected our Inquisition friend to run like the little girls he plays. He had a huge advantage in the mission because he could die and come back, winning as long as Abaddon and the Deceiver went down. When he grew some stones and took out Abaddon, he started flexing and shouting at the top of his lungs, “I’m not a pussy! I’m not a pussy!” I couldn’t get off the floor, I was laughing so hard. 3) The plague marines took 80 gauss shots, then an assault by wraiths and scarabs, and lost TWO models. I think he had two left at the end of the game after assaulting my entire army with one unit. 4) The mission sort of sucks for Necrons, since I can’t make a WBB until my turn. I lost one Wraith in each round of combat, but never got to roll for them. Same with the Heavy Destroyers. 5) Chaos players can’t be trusted. We made a deal that we’d go after the Sisters, so I Veiled in range of his Demon Prince, didn’t shoot his now exposed Plague Marines, and didn’t blow up his Dreadnought with my Heavy Ds. He promptly assaulted both me and the Sisters. A dirty, brilliant, and entirely in-character moment. Admirable, really. I still can’t get the knife out of my back. I guess I forgot I play something called “The Deceiver.”
Sounds good. This mission is always good for a change. It first came out, that I know of, in a WD back in 3rd ed 40k. The original battle was between 3 ork warbossess and each unit had to roll to see if they woke up to what was happening - oh the carnage.
Dovie'andi se tovya sagain (It's time to roll the dice)- Mattrim Cauthon
That was a great read, well done. Sounds you had fun, and that was the whole point, ofc.
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