Codex: Necromancers- Data

[Unseen Lurker]

Khalgar Tau-Bane
“Lord Khalgar, the Imperial Guard are dead,� reported Angelos through the vox-com. “They were killed by a race known as “the Tau�. Do you wish for us to continue?�


“Yes young one. These “Tau� seem to be a strong race, to kill a detachment of Imperial Guard so quickly. They will provide us a good stock. We will descend when it is night on your position. Hold your position, and create some guards. We don’t want these Tau to ruin the celebrations.�

“Yes, my Lord.�



“Vau’N, ready yourself! They are preparing another attack!� Vau’N shook himself out of his daze as he began to see the corpses begin to rise up again. He quickly un-slung his carbine, and began to fire into the mass of creaking bodies and moaning corpses, rending them apart with rapid pulses of energy. However, the swarm just kept on coming, the undead soldiers shuffling up to the line slowly and surely, some literally being torn apart, others staying on their feet even after being hit directly.

Vau’N felt his hopes rise as he saw several Hammerheads advance into position, and the crew preparing to fire the awesome rail guns. He felt the dull thump of the guns as the submunition flashed out of the long guns.

However, his hopes were short-lived. Out of the swarm came a massive beast in the form of the monster the Gue’la called a Carnifex, rotting and decaying. It smashed its way through the firing line defending the Hammerheads, throwing them aside as if they were no more than pebbles. As it reached the three Hammerheads, it spewed out viscous green goo, clogging the rail guns’ firing mechanism. With its huge crushing claws, it tore them apart as if they were paper. The combined fire of the rail rifles the pathfinders were packing did nothing other than agitate the great beast. It lumbered into the firing line and began to smash the Fire Warriors aside like matchsticks, until, like a great dog, it ran off as if called by an invisible whistle.

Yet again, Vau’N felt his hopes rise, until he saw the cadavers part and a dark being wrapped in malevolence step forward. He raised his arms above his head and began to chant evil ritual words. As Vau’N looked around, he felt a dank depression set into his heart, and he could see his battle brothers falling victim to the same mysterious, malevolent depression. Slowly and surely, the undead began to advance yet again, this time meeting no resistance from the depressed troops.

And then the darkness broke, as a figure wrapped in bright light stepped from the battle line of the Tau. O’Torah, an Ethereal stepped forward, and began to raise his spear to the oncoming enemies.

“…And so you would give yourselves to these creatures? Fight back brothers, and serve the Greater Good!�

And they did fight. Each and every cadaver was torn to shreds as the pulses of energy bit into their dead flesh. If one ever reached the line, O’Torah and his guards cut it down in an instant. Eventually, the wall of undead became a sparse field, and then they were all but destroyed.

But this was not a time to celebrate. A wasted figure appeared out of the gloom, in the vague shape of a Gue’la, but twisted and maimed. It bounded from building to building; hiding in the shadows and disappearing from sight here and there. Vau’N could see the markerlights of the pathfinders desperately trying to keep up with it, but it was unnaturally fast, darting closer and closer to the Fire Warriors. Vau’N glimpsed it for one second, before it disappeared completely. Even the pathfinders, with their markerlights and night-vision could not see it.

Then it was upon them! The first few Tau were cut to pieces before they could even raise their weapons to defend themselves, being torn to shreds by the great claws that seemed welded to the small creatures hands. The creature tore through the Fire Warriors, until only Vau’N, Shal’Nun, and O’Torah and his guards. The Ethereal stood his ground as the beast ripped through the firing line, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And then he attacked! Driving his blade directly into the creature’s throat, a killing blow. Yet the creature only chuckled, evil and malevolent, and pulled the blade out of it’s throat. Vau’N stood dumbstruck. If an Ethereal could not kill this abomination, what could?

Still the fight went on, the creature attacking, always attacking, O’Torah defending himself from this nightmare of men, blocking here, parrying there. O’Torah slashed at the creature with his honor blade, his dead bodyguards forgotten. He was no longer fighting for the Greater Good, but fighting for his life. And in that one second, when he truly forgot what he was supposed to fight for, the twisted thing found a hole in the Ethereal’s whirling blade armor. It struck with the force of a creature ten times its size, rending O’Torah’s cloak and flesh, crushing bone and ripping intestines.

Vau’N fought back his utter repulsion when the thing began to devour O’Torah, still clinging to life. Though it was unaware of Vau’N and Shal’Nun, it would not for long. Vau’N looked desperately around for a weapon to defend himself from the revolting creature. He found what he was looking for in the form of one of the pathfinder’s pulse carbines. Trying to keep his revulsion in check, he separated it from the deathgrip it’s former owner had on it, and armed the weapon. It heard the slight humming sound coming from the carbine, as Vau’N readied to fire it, and howled at them in a chilling voice that no Gue’Vesa had ever produced. Vau’N fired. The creature’s head exploded as a small burst of pulses smashed into it’s head. Vau'N and Shal'Nun ran from the abandoned firing line, not looking back...



Khalgar, a figure wrapped in a great black cloak, descended from his personal ship, a Hellblade discovered by one of his lieutenants. Angelos hurriedly pushed through the wall of dead protecting him. Khalgar spoke to him with the rough, cracked voice of his, “Angelos, what news of the battle do you bring me?�

To which Angelos replied, “It is going well now, my lord. The Tau are attempting to mount a defense at their main headquarters. We request your help in taking it from them.�

“Very well. I will meet you there. I must gather my guards. And Angelos, do not give an inch, or my ‘phagi will have a warm meal tonight.�

“Yes my lord.�



Vau’N reloaded his pulse rifle, after firing a full round into the wall of death slowly encircling the High Command. Shal’O’Vahi, high commander, was out in the fray somewhere with his retinue of XV8 battlesuits, hopefully dealing more damage to the undead army than the rest of the battered remnants of the Tau were. Several Air Caste pilots had managed to get their crafts out of the fray, with all the civilians that had survived, though their communications had been cut off shortly after breaking through the atmosphere.

The battle looked like a losing fight, and Vau’N doubted the Tau would be able to hold back the horde of death that surrounded them like a giant wave, building to crash down on the shore.

Then, the horde broke apart, and Shal’O’Vahi came crashing through, his jetpack almost spinning him out of control. And closely following him was what Vau’N could only call a demon. Wielding a giant blade almost the size of a Tau, engraved with the depiction of a skeleton, wearing a mask as black as night, in the image of a leering skull, and moving smoothly across the ground, like a deadly serpent. A giant, he easily stood over seven feet tall, in long flowing black robes adorned with symbols of death. As Vau’N watched this creature, he felt a serpentine whisper in his ear speak to him…

“Lord Khalgar. Our master is here.�

And with that, a battle so fierce that Vau’N could not believe it was a Tau fighting had begun. Shal’O’Vahi removed his honor blade from his side, a long straight blade, and the duel began. The demon struck with his blade, and was parried by a quick thrust of the Tau’s blade. Vau’n could see Shal’O’Vahi’s arm quiver with the force of the blow. As he parried the blade, the Tau raised his plasma rifle and attempted to shoot the demon in the chest. The shots went clean through its robes, but the demon kept on fighting, seemingly unharmed by the hot plasma shooting through him. And so they fought, parrying, attacking, advancing, retreating.

The wave of death had ceased, and it stood dumbstruck watching the battle of giants. Then, in a deadly climax, the demon smashed his fist into Shal’O’Vahi’s helmet. It was hardly noticed by him, but it gave the time the demon so desperately needed. He slashed his blade clean through the suit of armor, the blade never even stopping.

As the demon roared his triumph, a dead warrior of the Tau stood back up behind Vau’N. Before he knew what happened, a pulse ripped through Vau’N’s guts. And as the world began to slip away from him, he pulled a grenade and threw it towards the great monster, screaming his last words, “For the Greater Good!� And then his grip on life slipped.



“So, you are the one that caused all those problems for me, huh? You don’t look all that strong to me. I guess it’s true you can’t judge a tome by it’s cover.� Vau’N’s eyes slowly opened from the darkness, and he saw the great demon, scarred, where he should have been dead. Vau’N tried to speak, but his lips would not move.

“Save your strength, you are very weak. But for now, you are (MINE!) my guest, so take your time, and enjoy life after death…�

[Unseen Lurker]

Ichor and Bone, Death and Flesh
“Again we march to war”, mused Necromagus Skalran Rotheart.

“But we do not march to cull the dogs of the Imperium, nor to shatter the tombs of the ancient horrors. We go not to meet the machinations of the Eldar, nor to ward off the assaults of the fickle servants of the Dark Gods, nor even to drown a band of Ork barbarians in their own blood. Instead, we march to cleanse my lands of an infection.”

Several days ago, his Wraith-Ships had spotted the approach of a Tyranid Splinter Fleet, which would have roused his ire even if they had not been threatening his domain. But they were, for that was the way of the Tyranids; they devoured everything they encountered, mindlessly trusting to infinity to provide new sustenance for their vulgar appetites. All Necromancers hated Tyranids, and the one thing as bad as a Tyranid was to be compared to one. Contrary to the beliefs of outsiders, only a few of the most deranged and sociopathic Necromancers desired the extermination of all life. Most understood all too well that, as creatures of death, they fed upon life: they needed living beings, for without them there would be no new sources of corpses to reanimate, no new supplies of raw materials for whatever blasphemous experiment they might dream up, no new minions to replace those destroyed in conflict.

But currently that was the least of Rotheart’s concerns; all that mattered to him was that the Tyranids had come to this star system he had claimed for himself and were currently invading the outermost of the nine planets. The undead forces he had stationed there were delaying the advance, but he would have to summon all of his forces to ensure the Tyranid threat was wiped out entirely. Across the system, all of his undead minions were boarding Ghost-Hulks, preparing for the journey. Rotheart didn’t particularly like the humans who dwelt upon his worlds and owed him allegiance, but nor did he dislike them either. Like most Necromancers, his relationship with them was more along the lines of owner and property; they created weaponry and gear for his armouries and gave all of their dead over to him, and in return he defended them from any and all who might threaten them. That they had developed a cult deifying him was somewhat annoying, but not unexpected. Few Necromancers actually liked such cults, but the “battery” of psychic energy they produced meant few opposed their formation either; they were simply too useful to give up.

Rotheart shook his head to clear his mind of such petty distractions; he had a war to win. The last of his personal forces aboard, he joined them aboard the Ghost-Hulk, which slowly rose into space.


Anarchy reigned both upon the surface of the planet and in the space above it. Beyond the planet’s orbit, living ships clashed with massive conglomerations of steel and circuitry, whilst ghostly fighters harassed them and disappeared in and out of Real-Space. A vile, worm-like ship equipped with snaring tentacles and crushing claws would charge towards a fighter, which would not attempt to flee or out-manoeuvre it but would instead literally fly down its gullet, raking it savagely with a barrage of weapons fire as it went. No sooner would the tentacles wind around it, and the claw-jaws prepare to slice it in half than the ship would simply disappear, fading away into nothing and then reappearing elsewhere to continue the fight, a tactic that would have deeply affected the morale and sanity of any being less alien and bizarre than a Tyranid. The result was that the Tyranid Bioships were being slowly carved apart, whilst the Wraith-Ships of Rotheart’s fleet were taking surprisingly few casualties, considering the foe they faced.

Upon the planet, the fighting was no less savage, though considerably more personal. A Hormagaunt easily dodged the clumsy swing of a Zombie and eviscerated it with a single swipe of its talons. Had it been anything other than a mindless cog, it might have hissed in triumphant pleasure, or registered surprise in the split second before the Zombie crushed its skull in retaliation. Rotheart soared above the battlefield aboard the back of Ghul’Rycht, his mighty, vaguely draconic Undead Beast and the pride of his legions. Below him, massive groups of Zombies and Skeletons milled together, mindlessly directing a constant barrage of artillery fire –ranging from bows & arrows to blackpowder weapons to bolters to plasma cannons- at the serried ranks of their enemy. True, their aim wasn’t exactly to a sharp-shooter’s standard, but the sheer number of enemies charging into their fire meant every shot hit a target- if not necessarily the target the shooter had been aiming for. Rotheart dismissed them with less than a thought; he knew they would never break and would have to be totally annihilated for the enemy to win- and as at least 1 in every 3 Tyranids felled by his Deadites rose again to fight for him, he knew that wouldn’t be easily accomplished.

Below him he heard a series of whoops and howls, echoed by the snarls and roars of engines and monstrous steeds. With the ease only centuries of practise can provide, he stifled a wry smile as Valmont and the other Wights who formed his brigade of Death Riders charged from the ranks of his followers and hurtled towards the charging ranks of Tyranids, clearly intending to meet them in the middle. In life, Valmont had been a space pirate with something of an adrenaline addiction, relishing hit-and-run attacks. He had been an ally of Rotheart’s –for what, 10 years or so?- but had perished in a battle against Dark Eldar. As his contribution had turned the tide of the battle, and as a mark of respect, Rotheart had resurrected him as a Wight and presented him with a “reconstructed” Eldar Jetbike. He had taken to his new Unlife with greatest of relish, and all of Valmont’s fellow Death Riders shared his strange enthusiasm for fighting and high-speed. As he watched Zaggul, the (ex) Speed Freek, pulled a wheelie and hit his turbo-booster, surging forward to catch a Warrior in the head with his front wheel at something like five hundred miles an hour.

He turned his attention away from them; even if they were overwhelmed he could reconstitute them after the battle- if the battle was lost however they were all doomed: there was no coming back from a Tyranid digestion pool. He shook off those defeatist thoughts and turned his attention to what really mattered: as Ghul’Rycht fought off Gargoyles and other, stranger, things he began concentrating to pull Warp Energy into his body. He gestured towards a cluster of Warriors directing a rain of acidic maggots and poisoned darts at his minions, unleashing a crackling crimson lightning bolt that arced from his hand and struck the “lead” Warrior before surging outwards to engulf its fellows. The crimson energy arced over their bodies for a split second before they erupted virtually simultaneously in a shower of boiling gore. Not that Rotheart noticed; he was already directing his powers elsewhere. Zoanthropes fell beneath a deluge of black flames, their flesh necrotizing into a fetid sludge that dripped from their bones. Biovores disappeared beneath the suddenly liquid-like earth. A clutch of Hormagaunts was swallowed up by an animate clot of pure darkness, which suddenly erupted a torrent of grasping, slashing, clutching claws, ensuring all Tyranids nearby that were not swallowed by its initial appearance also perished, raked open or crushed by its talons or dragged into its otherworldly depths. A bolt of crimson and ebony energy erupted from his hand to blast a hole straight through a rampaging Carnifex, distracting it long enough for Mecharius, a Fallen ally of his, to cut it down with blades of pure psychic energy. Another power of his faltered as a Gargoyle suddenly darted at him, almost slashing his throat open with its claws. His original move negated, Rotheart instead directed his powers upon the swarm of Gargoyles that had surrounded Ghul’Rycht; sucking the life from them and leaving their drained corpses to drop like stones to the ground below. He hoped at least one of them would break the neck or skull of one of the Tyranids below.

Despite the valiant efforts of both himself and his minions though, the Tyranids were slowly gaining ground. Here and there, in ever increasing numbers, units of Deadites were being slaughtered. The Death Riders had been bogged down by a swarm of Hormagaunts; as Rotheart watched they disappeared beneath a heaving tide of bodies, their continued existence only indicated by the geysers of ichor that erupted as they swung blades with all of their undead strength and fired their guns point blank into Tyranid targets. The Barrages were cutting great swathes of victims with their array of “built-in” guns, but the Tyranids were using the corpses of their fallen as shields and, as Rotheart watched, first one than another was pulled down. If Rotheart didn’t do something soon, they were doomed. Then he saw what might be their last hope: the Tyranid’s Hive Tyrant had appeared upon the battlefield at last. Knowing (thanks to his psychic powers) that his ships were winning the battle in space, he pointed Ghul’Rycht towards the target.

The Hive Tyrant was a monster even amongst its own kind; a towering behemoth of slime-slicked chitin and muscle, adorned with spine banks and thick armour. It was a sight to strike fear into the heart of any living creature. Fortunately for him, Rotheart had been dead for at least a millennium. It bellowed a wordless cry of challenge at the approaching Necromagus, a howl that spoke of its eternal, insatiable hunger and the cold, lifeless void within. Both Rotheart and Ghul’Rycht answered its cry, easily matching its intensity. Ghul’Rycht dodged the barrage of spines the Hive Tyrant fired from its body and struck like a lightning bolt, lashing out with fangs and claws whilst Rotheart struck with his Fellblade. The Hive Tyrant responded with equal, if not greater ferocity, and the battle between the three raged on savagely. The Hive Tyrant was fierce and powerful, but Rotheart and his Beast could feel neither pain, fatigue nor fear. Slowly the battle turned in their favour; a lucky strike from Rotheart severed one of the Tyrant’s limbs whilst Ghul’Rycht managed to gouge a deep wound with its fangs into the Tyrant’s upper torso. Finally, the Tyrant itself struck what should have been a triumphant blow: a ferocious strike with its Bonesword that nearly bisected Rotheart diagonally. But in that move it left itself open; Rotheart lunged with his Fellblade and buried it virtually to the hilt in the Tyrant’s heart, the vile runes engraven upon the blade’s surface pulsing with unholy energy as it sucked every last drop of life-force energy from the Tyrant. Its massive corpse slowly toppled to the ground, its minions falling into disarray as Rotheart’s struck back with renewed vigour, whilst Rotheart himself focused some psychic energy upon himself to knit his wounds.


Valmont shook his head to clear the ichor from his eyes. He strode across the battlefield, idly fingering a deep gash across his chest as he went, ignoring the solemn activity as the surviving undead gathered up the gear and corpses of the fallen and dispatching the odd Tyranid survivor. His goal was quickly revealed; Rotheart, slumping against the side of Ghul’Rycht, staring numbly at the corpse of the Hive Tyrant. Valmont approached him cautiously; like all Necromancers, Rotheart could be very unpredictable, especially after a battle.

“Hail master! Victory is ours!”

Rotheart shifted slightly, then turned a lifeless gaze upon the suddenly nervous Wight. He simply stared for a second, then nodded. He got up and clambered back upon Ghul’Rycht.

“Ensure that the carcass is brought back to my laboratory. I will be very… displeased… if you fail.”

Valmont gulped, a habit from his living days he hadn’t shed yet, and nodded as Rotheart flew away.[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[Phalanx]

Can't see that.... I use the inverted colors scheme, so it just looks like black on black....

[SPACMARINE]

Yes I also use the black and orange colour scheme, it is virtually impossible to see without highlighting.

[Unseen Lurker]

Necromancers Vs. Imperial Guard
"Here they come again!" Sergeant Dorian yelled the warning to his comrades; slamming a fresh clip into his bolt pistol. The guardsmen around him took up firing positions. As they watched flares were fired into the air, illuminating the hoffifying scene before them. Hundreds of Undead warriors, many wearing Imperial Uniforms were charging towards them. A hail of lasfire flashed throught the freezing night air, burning flesh and bone, obliterating the front line of undead. They fired upon them, again and again, explosions hurled scorched remains high into the air. Then those firing around him stopped, Sergeant Dorian was overcome by the feeling of cold dread. He saw the men around him drop their weapons, some were curled up on the rough ground, shivering as if trapped in a waking nightmare. Dorian whirled around to find a figure in jet black armour, deeply engraved with glowing runes glaring back at him. He tried to squeeze the trigger of his bolt pistol, but found that doing so was quite impossible. It was then that he heard the screams; terrible howls of agony echoing from further down the line, but all he could do was stand there transfixed by the figure before him as the Necromagi walked past and he fell to the ground, knowing that he and his men had failed and there was no stopping the enemy now.


Necromancers Ambush Plague Marines
Mefist, chaos lord of Nurgle, surveyed the battleground. His plague marines had slaughtered the weakling Emporor's so called "finest", and the nurglings were now desecrating the few remaining power armored corpses. Soon this planet will belong to chaos....

Mefist turned as he heard gun shots. He could see several of the fallen marines, both loyalist and traitor, getting up off the ground and firing apon his units. Mefist moved to assist when there was a massive explosion near his predator tanks. He turned to see a giant beast tearing through his armor like they were made of paper.

Mefist looked towards his sorcerer, Argus, nearby with his retinue.

"Argus, what in the warp is going on?"

Argus looked over at his lord. "It seems we are being attacked by the dead. They are being controled by strange warp magiks... they do not seem to be from the gods of Chaos. They must be worshippers of a minor...." Mefist looked to see a clawed hand slice Argus in two.

Mefist and the retinue turned to engage the enemy when suddenly several chains sprang from the ground, pulling under one of the chosen. The chosen tried to assault the things in the ground, but then the assasin charged in and tore apart several of them while the rest of the unit were dragged under by more sets of chains. Mefist looked into the backround and saw his forces being destroyed by legions of the dead- giant wagons full of corpses laid waste to his fortified areas with their blazing white cannons, armored giants crushed his havocs from behind, and giant skeletons engulfed in flame ripped apart groups of plaguebearers.

"When you meet your god, please tell him that the followers of the dark pact have come, and we will not allow such weak forces represent the will of the daemons of the warp."

Mefist turned to see some sort of man in flowing robes and armor with strange sigils on it and a large staff glowing with power.

"Good-bye." With that, power laced out of the staff. Within seconds, the great chaos lord was no more.

[Phalanx]

Ahhh.... I remember all of this. Good memories. I think we need to adjust some of the costs of things, though.