Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(19) Imperishable===

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">O'Malley's Bar and Grill is hopping as a number of new requests are updated. However, most attention is to one of the loading bays, where noises most terrible emanate from. While Cortain has been quite busy defragging and reformatting his built-in cogitators, he stops when he hears the screams of dying squats, and goes to check it out.

"By Mars, what is that racket?" he asks, "Did the Hellstar sneak on board?  Again?"

Breaking into a light jog down the great hallways, he comes across a number of Squats reinforcing a door. They are terrified.

"What is the crisis?" Cortain demands.
"It's horrible!" they stammer, looking to Cortain for guidance, "What should we do?
"They?"
"We dare not open the door!" a squat says.
"What is behind it?" Cortain presses, as Cyril manifests from the shadows.
"A great monstrous beast!" a squat says.
Brynjol can be heard grumbling on the vox about organ donors.
"...where did it come from?" Cyril asks, "Never mind that, we have downed such things before. Bryn, if you are up for a little sport, feel free to join us in the loading bay."
"We...we received a box, my liege," the squad leader says, "It...tore its way out, an' now a number of good lads have lost their lives."

Cyril opens the door and walks in. He is surrounded by the corpses of a dozen squats. A large furred partially cybernetic beast is in the middle. It is holding a squat. Cyril growls as he sees the corpses, then pauses.
"...Notomok?"
"Ohhhhh..." the squat sighs forlornly as the creature swallows the squat whole.
"What abomination is this?" Cortain demands.
"Put it down! Bad yeti!" Cyril implores.
"Groooonk," the Yeti states as it wanders over. It vomits out a frozen skull. It seems Ice Wraith Yeti digestion is remarkably quick.
"Cyril..." Brynjol begins calmly, "Am I to understand this monstrosity is yours?"
Cortain voxes, facepalming, "Cleanup on Hangar 8!"

"This is my yeti compainion. We were joined for life by a bond sacred to all Ice Wraiths before I received my Black Carapace," Cyril explains, "Brynjol, no sport, but that mop of yours would be most apreciated."
Cortain has not yet reinstalled the necessary software to comprehend this.
"Cyril," Brynjol commands, "House train your pet. I won't have Rockfist or O'Malley down on our necks because your pet rabbit is eating their kin."
"He must not have recognized the Squats as Imperial," Cyril bristles. "He is no mere pet, he is an honored member of the Chapter!"
He takes a deep breath.
"This... this remains unacceptable, though. I shall ensure it does not occur again."
"If he gets a yeti, then I demand a Kataphron or something," Cortain sighs in jealousy.
"Some time ago, I sent my Chapter a message detailing the glories of this ship and requesting that Notomok be sent to me. It appears they received it," Cyril explains, before trying to get a casualty count, "My point being that I asked for his presence. Perhaps you could request a Kataphron?"

The Commandos count at least 13 corpses. That's merely the identifiable bodies and not the refuse and giblets strewn about. The squats are terrified, and the Commandos are reasonably sure a squat just entered a fey mood by the way he ran off. As the Commandos leave the cursed hangar, Urist McJanitor walks into the room with a bucket and a sponge. A single tear rolls down his face as the door closes slowly behind him.

"So, lad," Rockfist voxes, unaware of the carnage in the Cursed Hangar, "We've received a number of requests from the Inquisition this time. 'Ave a course in mind?"
"Who do we want to piss off first?" Cortain begins cheerily.
"One's askin' to meet at Catalyst Station about the Tyranid problem, another's askin' to investigate somethin' at Nova Prosperous," Rockfist repeats, "An' the last is another goodwill mission at Xaviol."

Asking for further clarification on Nova Prosperous, they review the briefing more carefully. Unknown Astropathic signals were intercepted en route to the quiet world of Nova Prosperous, which proceeded to drive the intercepting psykers mad. Furthermore, powerful energy spikes were detected not long after. Now, energy spikes and psychic presences are seen sporadically across the world. The Commandos are authorized to use their discretion to identify and potentially remove the unknown presences. 

The Commandos confer amongst themselves, and decide that the Inquisition and good-will missions can wait. They order course for Nova Prosperous, before retiring to their quarters. By now, everyone has time to sit down, breathe deep, and acquire some battle traumas. Brynjol gets Endless Redemption, forcing him to work to complete the mission at all costs, never abandoning even a single objective. Not a terrible thing. Cortain gets Ancestral Spirits, finding himself visitated by the spoopy goasts of his chapter when he gets >triggered. Temur gets Righteous Contempt, discovering a new hatred of plebs who cannot fight as well as a Spess Mareen. Only Cyril escapes with his mind still in one piece, roughly.

While Rockfist and O'Malley are enjoying themselves at the bar, Rose remains in her quarters, and Executor Thexus is mysteriously missing. To pass the time, Cortain decides to visit Rose about crackpot theories.

"Child, are you willing to speak?" he asks, remembering her previous outburst.
She opens the door. She is wearing an I ♥ Studio 69 shirt that she probably got as a souvenir. She looks up quietly. "What's wrong?" she asks, inviting him in. Her room is spartan as before. There are, however, a number of books strewn about. It's clear she's been reading.

"I have questions," Cortain begins, "Questions about psykers."
"I've been working with O'Malley," Rose replies, "I can try to answer your questions, but I'm still coming to grips with things myself."
"Have you a clue about how your...gifts manifest?"
"I...don't know. I didn't have such powers when I entered stasis," she sighs.
"It may perhaps be coincidence, but...down there, something has sabotaged my systems."
Cortain pauses.
"The last time such a sabotage has happened was...when we first retrieved you.  We found something unholy trying to eat you. Perhaps I am misinformed, but...would it be possible for a power to drive systems mad when threatened? A latent power?"
"Whenever that...Hellstar turns its gaze to us, I feel...lost," Rose sighs, "I feel an unbearable, terrifying loneliness and emptiness. As if I'm the only one left in the entire galaxy."
She thinks a moment, "The Squats scream about Tyranids. Rockfist mutters over and over that he'll 'never get off the damned rock.' I have never seen Thexus's reaction."
She looks up at Cortain.
"If there is a power to drive one mad, it is not something I can do, but something I have felt every time the eye turns to me..." she whispers.

"Admittedly, your vessel was haunted by...another malign force," Cortain admits. However, it seems Rose has had enough.
"I'm sorry," she says, "I...don't think I can help more with such things."
"It matters not.  It is a matter I am uninformed of myself."

Cortain leaves Rose's quarters. His attention, however, is grabbed by a tiny white slug he sees just chuggin' along.

"What...are you?" he wonders aloud. It's a slug. It is going on its merry slug way. Cortain gingerly picks up the white slug, which is about the size of his finger, with his servo-arm. It squirms about. He is about to consider things further until the All-Clear alarms go off, and the Blade transitions back to the Materium. 

Looking out at the system's star, it's a scenic view. It takes a few days, but eventually the Blade reaches orbit over the sparkling blue paradise world of Nova Prosperous.

"A lovely world, lads," Rockfist acknowledges, "Too bad we don't 'ave time to relax this time. So, you'll be needin' anything?"

The Commandos first and foremost decide on a supply drop, as they lack full intelligence on what they expect to find. Cyril takes some time to further augment his yeti with the archeotech available on the Blade, while Cortain contents himself with a volkite charger. Brynjol realizes that, as an assault marine, there is comparatively little he needs to requisition, which leaves Temur to snap it all up for his own desires, including a suspensor and motion predictor.

The Commandos have their Fire Raptor readied, while a separate transport is prepared for Notomok the yeti. Acquiring a position, the jewel world of Nova Prosperous floats amongst the inky black of spess. While Temur and Cyril turn the guns forward, eager to begin the operation, Brynjol and Cortain turn back and stare with troubled eyes at the Blade of the Long Watch, a strange white haze surrounding it...

Lucky for the Commandos, this world seems to have an Inquisitorial Dossier already. The dossier states that the world has been receiving odd transmissions for years now. Inquisitorial Cells have already noted that the world was the site of a battle between Necrons and the Old Slann, and numerous members of the population had to be moved to a place called Barcarolle. It's been under heavy watch for a long time. It details the capital and largest city, Ceviv City, a small horizontal hive which lies on a lagoon and near some fertile plains.

"Sounds like a nice place," Brynjol quips.

The capital of Ceviv City is where most activity on the planet occurs, and close to the site of previous incidents, according to the Dossier. It contains all the trappings of civilized Imperial life. Deciding that it is reasonably the best place to start looking for trouble, the Commandos make way. It's a smooth ride down through the atmosphere - the Fire Raptor has been specially armored to provide a comfortable descent. There's not even a cloud in the sky. Approaching Ceviv City, the Commandos gain quite a large number of witnesses as they pick out and land on one of the available Skyshields in Ceviv City's Starport Canton, overlooking a calm lagoon. After thoroughly shocking the locals and ordering a strategium meeting, Brynjol and Temur decide to monitor the assemblage of the meeting, while Cortain and Cyril meet with the locals.

The adepts and sages on hand explain that the astropaths all died quite messy deaths after they received a series of messages. Regrettably, the messages could not be deciphered as the only ones who received it were suddenly dead. After continually reaffirming their shock that the Commandos would arrive so quickly and so early, Brynjol and Temur realize they have a LONG wait ahead as the Imperial Adeptuses are assembled.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vtSHKE3R_E

Cortain and Cyril decide to take the scenes in. walking around the city. It is evident that this place should be MUCH more populated. There are people missing. The dossier did say people were moved, but this is quite heavy. Even after 50 years, the population is still recovering. Waterside shops and gondoliers amongst the canals of the cantons all stop when they see the Commandos, and some bow in awe. There are cantons for civilian habs, a canton with a basilica dedicated to the Imperial Creed and local saints Barkley and Carter, cantons for various economic needs, and the starport canton.

"Rockfist, how was this planet's message transmitted to us, with all their Astropaths dead?" Cyril asks.
"We got the message from the Inquisition, lad," Rockfist replies, "They detected something was amiss in their own strange way, and alerted ya."

Cortain takes a moment to review the dossier further. It states that about 50 years back, an acolyte Cell was dispatched to the world. They found Necrons, Old Slann, Eldar, and Umbra, all described as very old enemies. Many examples of Old Slann technology was recovered. After the conflict, the citizens were relocated to a place called Barcarolle, and Inquisitorial supervision increased. The dossier does not go into detail about the conflict itself, but it DOES state that in the end the Eldar, Old Slann, and Umbra were repulsed from the world. Eerily, it says nothing of the Necrons.

Cyril and Cortain, however, gain a good handle of the city. They pause a moment, however, as they hear a pair of voices. Brynjol's voice, and...Cortain's voice.
"What," Cortain stops. It's coming from a bridge connecting the canton-districts. They sound somewhat mechanical.

Cyril quietly follows the sound, parking Notomok under camotarp. Heading over, Cortain providing support from range, he comes across a pair of small children, a boy and a girl. They are playing with action figures that bear quite a resemblance to Cortain and Brynjol. The Cortain action figure fires off a small plastic dart into the distance, which hits Cyril before bouncing away. The girl goes to pick it up when she suddenly sees the stealthy spess mareen.

Cyril raises a hand in greeting and retrieves the dart. She stops as her friend goes up to her as well.
"You...you're them," the girl says in shock, "The Republican Commandos..."
"Hello, Tiny Servants of the Emperor," Cortain greets them.
Cyril holds out a gauntleted palm, offering the dart back. "Where did you get those?" he asks with a chuckle.
Brynjol shivers, sensing a great disturbance in his fur, as if millions of action figures suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.
"My family bought me it after a religious sermon," the boy says, "It's a Fightin' Felleye Brynjol™, with Chainsword Chopping Action!"
He presses a button, and the action figure moves its arm. "For the Allfather!" it says.
"And mine's a Cortex Captain Cortain™!" the girl says, "Mine's got Binaric Blast, so it's better!"
"Nuh uh!" the boy says, "Yours can't even Chainsword Chop!"
Cortain note the Cortex Captain Cortain has been placed in a dress, one better suited for a Barbiatus rather than a Spess Mareen.

Cyril and Cortain barely restrain a genuine sense of mirth. "If you see Brynjol, try not to call us the Commandos, Cyril implores, "He still thinks it is a silly name."
"If you're here, are we in trouble?" the girl asks.
"The adults were saying bad things were happening..." the boy says.
"Nothing of much concern," Cortain declares, "We will make sure of it. But, if I may ask...how popular are those figures?"
"My friends all have different ones. I was lucky to get my favorite," the boy says.

Cyril and Cortain hear a wolfish cry of great pain from afar.

"Hooray!" the girl says, "Between the Commandos and the Skeleton Man, we're gonna be fine!"
"Woohoo!" the boy says. They both seem quite happy.
"Skeleton man?" Cyril and Cortain both say in unison.
"He's really tall, like you guys," the girl says, "He's shiny silver though. He got here a few weeks ago. He was looking for his friends, but he said he didn't find them. He was kind of sad."
Cyril stiffens, then forces himself to relax again.
"He told us all sorts of stories," the boy says, "He was in all kinds of battles, like you!"
"Perchance....do you remember where this Skeleton man is?" Cortain asks. 
"Yeah, do you want to meet him?" the girl asks, "He's probably with everyone else right now."
"A location will suffice," Cortain says, "I will need to convene with the others."
The boy thinks a moment. "We've often seen him in Canton Barkley, he stays there and tells us stories when he's not off fighting the bad guys he said."
"In the lower levels, don't forget!" the girl reminds him, "He's very loud, and he's always talking about his fights and old ones. Did you ever fight an old one?"
"Thank you, tiny servants of the Emperor," Cortain nods, "Now make sure you say your prayers every day and don't talk to heretics.
"Bye, Commandos!" the children say as they wander off, "We'll let him know you're coming!"

Cortain and Cyril stop by the headquarters of the Arbites first. Regrettably, they seem to have little information, instead advising discussion with the Mechanicum representatives a canton over. The spindly spider-legged technomat at the Mechanicum canton is much more helpful, albeit a bit weird. He composes a scroll of anomalous signals around the capital, noting that in each case auspexes detected abnormal, unnatural signals, but following each signal would proceed to be inordinate outputs of electricity, heat, and sonic energy. Cortain and Cyril take a moment to pray alongside him as he offers obesiances to the Trinity by a shrine embedded in a genetorum relay, before reuniting with the rest of the Commandos.

Temur and Brynjol by now are infuriated and bored, in that order. None of the civilians were ready for a combat situation, and it is taking far too much time to organize everyone. When Cyril and Cortain announce they have one final source to track down, Temur and Brynjol are excited. They become less excited when they are told that source is potentially a Necron. Nonetheless, they all regroup and decide to check out the Necron, in case it turns out to be a danger to the populace.

Entering Barkley Canton, it's quite claustrophobic - these halls were not meant for spess mareens. In the halls, the Commandos can see hab blocks stuffed into every corner. The two children said that the alleged Necron was in the deeper levels, which are a bit of an annoyance to find. Turning a corner and descending some ramps, a frieze of the Emperor and some local saints topping the ramp, you finally come to the Canton's Underworks. Boxes lay all around, as this area is used for storage. Cortain's auspex does ping, however, with a heavy metallic signature. He narrows it down to a side room, where he can also hear the laughter of children echo down the halls.

Approaching the noise and signal, the room is closed off by a thin wooden door. Cyril knocks softly, but even that small amount of force, the door creaks open. Indeed, the tall Necron Phaeron looks up, surrounded by the young locals, a bizarre smile on his face.
"IT'S A BRA~ND NEW FEELING!" it yells, "WHERE HA~VE I FELT THIS BEFORE?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d13DV0gMDXE

"SOLDIERS OF THE ENFLESHED, UNDER SU~N AND SKY, I GREET YOU!" the Phaeron states.
"It's HIM again!" Brynjol yells, drawing his axe.
"Again? I certainly do not recall Amon-Rakh being this..." Cortain searches for a word, "Obnoxious."
"See? I told you they were coming!" the girl from earlier says. The Commandos determine that they are in the correct place, at least. Cortain has no way to explain just...WHAT this is. What is in front of them is clearly a Phaeron. He bears the appropriate ranks and ornamentation.
"Phaeron," Cyril speaks in a forcedly polite tone.
"MY WA~RMEST REGARDS TO YOU!" the Phaeron states, "I AM PHAERON RAMSESTRON, TO~NAL ARCHITECT. HAVE YOU COME DUE TO THE INTERLOPERS AS WELL?"
He bows, as the children all gather around between the Commandos and the addled Phaeron, excited.
"Interlopers?  Aside from you?" Cortain quips.
Brynjol growls, a wet infrasonic purr that sends fear into the hearts of the mortals
"Be polite, Brynjol," Cyril suggests, "The children are watching. I know for a fact at least one idolizes you."
"Try NOT to traumatize them," Cortain states. The kids are a bit spooked, though. The boy is clutching his Fightin' Felleye Brynjol™ tightly. Brynjol attempts to calm them down as the rest of the Commandos negotiate with Ramsestron.

"I REA~DILY ADMIT, MY FIRST OBJECTIVE WAS TO MEET THE FRIENDS I HAD LE~FT BEHIND. REGRETTABLY, IT SEEMS THEY ARE A~LL GONE. MOVED," Ramsestron states, "HOWEVER, THERE WERE THO~SE WHO WISHED TO DESTROY THIS CITY."
"Others?, "Cortain asks, "Threatening the world?"
"INDEE~D, MY FRIENDS," Ramsestron states, "ARMORED AS YOU ARE, BUT BLU~E AND GOLD. THEY POORLY COPY OU~R...FASHION SENSE."
Cyril nods slowly, caressing his maglocked stormbolter as he reflects on the new information.
"I HAD STRU~CK OUT AT THEM AND THEIR DISHONORABLE WAR ENGINES FOR MA~NY DAYS NOW. MY SEMI-LOYAL CRYPTEK IS CU~RRENTLY SCOUTING," Ramsestron explains, "THEY ARE MO~VING ALL OUT SOON."
Ramsestron laughs a grinding laugh that sounds really fucking weird.
"AFTER ALL, I RA~THER LIKE THIS WORLD!" 

"It is good that we came, then;" Cyril responds slowly, "or there might have been trouble. We will fight them also."
"I HA~D CHALLENGED THEM TO HONORABLE SINGLE COMBAT, BUT I HAVE ONLY FACED WA~VES OF SOLDIERS. THEY ARE QUI~TE ANNOYING," Ramsestron explains, "I CAN GIVE YOU THE LOCA~TION OF THEIR MOST LIKELY ATTACK VECTOR. NO DOUBT THEY HAVE GROWN QUI~TE...FURIOUS."

Brynjol murmurs over the vox, "Had you given thought to the fact that he might be talking of the Ultramarines?"
"Have you known the Ultramarines to have similar garb to Necrons?" Cyril voxes back, "This reeks of Chaos traitors."
"These are no Ultras," Cortain declares with certainty, "They would have announced their intentions."
"Don't fall sway to the whisperings of a damned tinman so easily!" Brynjol implores.

"These soldiers, do they wear helmet crests?" Temur asks, "If so, of what type and how common?"
"INDE~ED THEY DO, ENFLESHED," Ramsestron says, "MANY OF THEIR SO~LDIERS WEAR THEM, MA~RCHING FORWARD IN THE MANNER OF MY OWN DE~CURIONS, BUT THEIR WAR ENGINES ARE MO~ST INFURIATING."
"What manner of war engines?" Cyril asks.
"I HA~VE SEEN THOSE IN THE FORM OF DRAGONS OF O~LD, AND THOSE REMINISCENT OF THE SAURIANS I ONCE HUNTED BEFO~RE BIOTRANSFERENCE," Ramsestron says, "I HAVE SEE~N MORE...CONVENTIONAL ENFLESHED TANKS AS WELL."
"Most chaos war engines have very distinct profiles and design," Temur points out, "Heldrakes and maulerfiends then. Unsuprising, but speaks to the presence of a warpsmith or sorceror."

The conversation is interrupted by a flash of light off to the side.
"The time to converse seems to be at the end, Necron," Cortain announces, raising his weapon.  In the blast, a Cryptek walks forward.
Cyril nods. "Cryptek."
"Explanatory, My Phaeron, they are co-" the Cryptek stops, "Horrified, My phaeron, why. Please, I implore you to stop trying to make new friends..."
Cyril chuckles commiseratingly at the Cryptek.
"NONSENSE, THUTMOSIS2000, THE ENFLESHED AND I SHARE A CO~MMON GOAL ONCE MORE!" The Phaeron laughs a grinding laugh, "I HI~GHLY ADVISE A WAR ENGINE OF YOUR OWN, ENFLESHED."
Ramsestron spreads his arms.
"MY ENFLE~SHED FRIENDS, TO CELEBRATE OUR MEETING, UNDER THE ANCIENT CODES I SHALL GRA~NT YOU A BOON!" The over-excitable Phaeron states.
"Panicked, my phaeron, please don't..." Thutmosis2000 drones.
"I SHALL GRA~NT YOU THE SERVICES OF MY VARGARD, NEMESOR SETTRA," Ramsestron yells, "HE WILL BE OF GRE~AT USE TO YOU. SIMPLY CA~LL HIM WHEN YOU NEED HIM, AND HE WI~LL APPEAR!"
Cyril simply signs the aquila. Cortain nods, just...accepting what is going on.
Phaeron Ramsestron slams his staff down, a strange tone echoing, and across the Commandos' helmets a small command code appears. Cortain feels violated.

"GOO~D LUCK, MY ENFLESHED FRIENDS," Ramsestron states, "I SHALL ENSU~RE NO UNWORTHY ENEMIES REA~CH THE CITY. GO~ HOME, TINY ENFLESHED. SEE~K SHELTER!"
"Do as he says, children, and notify your parents that war is coming," Cyril commands, "Take shelter, and we shall ensure no harm may reach you."
 Ramsestron and Thutmosis2000 disappear in a flash once more. The Children all bid the Commandos farewell, all quite excited to see their heroes in the flesh. They seek shelter while Brynjol spits on the ground.

"Collaborating with the tau was one thing..." Brynjol sighs, "But this leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."
"Let us get this over with then," Temur advises, "Hunt the warpsmith or sorcerer leading this band of renegades, and remove them."
"I prefer this," Cyril retorts, "Necrons are more singular in their intent, while the Tau oozes deceit."
"So long as this is a one-time deal, I am more open to dealing with this lunatic, than Korst'la," Cortain agrees, "At least this one poses no threat to anything."
Brynjol shakes his head, walking away, "We may live to regret this. I certainly hope so."

Back outside, the Commandos suddenly get a vox.
"Lad! Lad! We're detecting warp signals!" Rockfist says, "Something just appeared to the plains of the city's Northwest!"
"We met Ramsestron," Cyril voxes, "His findings indicate Chaos Marines."
"We have whoever is responsible for this mess," Cortain concurs, "How is the ship?"
"Ramsestron?" Rockfist laughs, "Ah! Give the crazy old codger my regards if you see him again! Nothing up here, I'd be more worried about the surface for now. Numerous vehicle signatures detected!"
"Most likely Thousand Sons, possibly with Warpsmith support," Cyril explains, "Can you have McPequod and McMorpho fly in a Sicaran?"
"It'll be done, lad!" Rockfist says.

After a few minutes, the Commandos see a Transporter drop off a Sicaran w/ Lascannon Sponsons at the edge of the city. It's a quick run, but they eventually reach the Sicaran. The Thousand Sons Daemon Engine host approaches fast, and there is precious little time to plan. While Brynjol takes the wheel and and accompanying heavy bolter, and Cyril takes the main Accelerator Autocannon turret, Temur and Cortain each take a sponson mounted Lascannon. The sky itself begins to rip and roil, and terrible warp-lightning strikes the ground, polluting it with foul taint. Upon each strike, a baleful roar is heard, as a number of quadrupedal daemon engines manifest, braying in anger and hatred, and advancing on the world's capital.

Cyril runs a diagnostic on the Accelerator Autocannon, broadcasting a hymn to the Emperor through and around the Sicaran Battle Tank, pausing only to berate the Daemon Engines for disrupting his hymn. Brynjol growls, kicking the tank into some sort of gear. He seems to pause for a moment, as if marshalling some resolve.

"Does it ever occur to you, brothers, that the people we save almost never see our faces, or know our names?" Brynjol begins.
"We have action figures," Cortain points out, "They totally know that we are the Emperor's chosen."
"Aye, they do," Brynjol facepalms, "But... it suits me, you know? To toil in relative anonymity."
The engine of the Sicaran revs.
"Most people we fight for will never know of it, other than disaster averted, a bad star no longer falling on their heads," he explains, "They hear of the Adeptus Astartes and they marvel to themselves, they tell each other stories of the Space Marines who saved the day one day. But they will never know who we truly are. We live behind a mask of fear and awe to them."
"Then let us honour those who came before us," Cortain suggests, "They who are now but myth."
"We can give them the peace of mind to continue living, to further this great endeavour in the name of the Allfather," Brynjol affirms, "They will know one thing, brothers."
Brynjol pokes his head out of the driver-side gunnery slot, and roars at the approaching daemon-engines. He laughs, his hair coming away from the helmet seal and streaming behind him, teeth bared into the wind.
"WE SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!" he yells, "For the Emperor, and the Wolf King!"
"FOR THE EMPEROR!" Cyril roars as the Accelerator Autocannon begins to warm up.

Somewhere, back in Ceviv City, a small child clutches his Fightin' Felleye Brynjol™ action figure a little bit tighter.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JL5OzcfzAbE

The Commandos charge forward. Their immediate concerns are the Maulerfiend and the Forgefiends rushing towards their Sicaran. The Commandos seize the initiative, and commence with all guns blazing. Heavy Bolter fire and Lascannon lances stike the Maulerfiend, but it holds, especially when the Accelerator Autocannons miss. The Maulerfiend charges, but Brynjol manages to deftly dodge, relying on the Sicaran's front armor to absorb Hades Autocannon fire and taking minimal damage, though Temur's sponson turret is knocked out with a lucky hit, much to his ire. 

Knowing that retreat is weakness, Brynjol floors the prometheum pedal, ramming the Maulerfiend and crushing it under the treads of the Sicaran with a disgusting crunch and a mechanical howl of fury. Cyril fires the Accelerator Autocannon at the Forgefiend that disabled the Sicaran's gun, moderately wounding it, while Cortain suffers as the beast's daemonic field deflects the lascannon blast he sent against it. Cortain, however, hears a sudden beep over his codec.

"Ah, Contractor, do you read?" the quiet Tau's voice asks, "Contractor? Contractor are you there?"
"I am busy here, make it fast," Cortain demands.
"Ah, good!" she breathes, "We have a small task for you."
"You have questions, I have ways to kill things," Cortain sighs.
The High Commander is vaguely familiar with this 'Settra,' and recalls one of his Detachments mentioning the name," she explains, "We wish for you to call this Settra, so we can update our own tactical databases."
Cortain remains silent, a bad taste forming in his mouth.
"You need only call the creature once, unless you feel it necessary to call it further, we only need at least one combat display."
"Acceptable," Cortain states flatly.
"We look forward to receiving the data, Contractor!" she says cheerfully.

Cortain decides to hold off, however, deciding not to summon the Nemesor unless absolutely necessary. This is an Astartes matter, after all. The Forgefiends and Commandos continue circling each other, and while the Sicaran's offensive strength is impressive, the Forgefiends inflict no small amount of damage themselves against the Sicaran's weaker side armor. With Cortain and Brynjol supporting, and Temur angrily muttering about poor luck, Cyril is able to take down the two Forgefiends with razor-sharp autocannon fire.

The thunder peals as the storms above get worse and worse. The sky is a mess of purple and screaming. Cortain laments the inability to patch up the Sicaran's sponson, and Cyril begins to rest easy, until Brynjol points up at a trio of Heldrakes surging through the unnatural cloud cover.

"Cyril," Brynjol suggests, "Give me your opinion on something, specifically me getting out and using my jump pack to leap up to those winged bastards, land on one and try to steer it into the other one."
"Foolish and a waste of time," Cyril quickly replies, "Such antics have proven effective, but it would leave the tank with no pilot unless Temur takes over, and it would expose you to antivehicular fire."

Indeed, the Commandos find themselves in quite a hard place - as flyers, the Heldrakes are near impossible to hit, ESPECIALLY from a moving vehicle. Deciding to stay still, the Commandos hunker down and fire into the sky. While the Accelerator Autocannon manages to inflict good damage on a Heldrake, the Commandos realize that the situation is clearly against them. They will not survive the Flyers' superior positioning and anti-vehicle firepower.

So Cortain gives in, and on Cyril's suggestion replays the command code granted to him.

"SO~LDIERS OF THE ENFLESHED!" Ramsestron yells over vox, "MY NEMESOR IS O~N HIS WAY!"

As the Accelerator Autocannon shots hit one of the Heldrakes, somethin inordinately fast surges through the clouds. The air around the wounded Heldrake is covered in combining explosions, as the source finally comes into view. A massive metallic dragon, its eyes blazing in fury, loops around the wounded heldrake, before opening its mouth.

"...what is that?" Brynjol raises his eyebrow.
"...what horrible, horrible thing hath I wrought..." Cortain mutters.

With its meson bombs exploding all around, Nemesor Settra releases his Ultrathermal Deathray Projector, spearing the Heldrake in a burning beam of energy. Cyril laughs the laugh of a man who has come to destroy as the other two Heldrakes move further down, to avoid the wrath of Nemesor Settra, the Imperishable.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90f9wfZKF9o

As the monster called Settra gets closer to the ground, the Commandos can see the origin of his name - even Biotransference cannot stop the legendary regeneration of a Chernol Star Dragon, and the creature is a horrific mix of necrodermis and flesh.

"Why did we think this is a good move...?" Cortain sighs as he moves over, Temur taking the lascannon and laying fire on the now grounded Heldrakes. Now that the battle is on slightly more level ground, the Commandos align their front armor to take the brunt of the Heldrakes' Hades Autocannon shots, and manage to tank 14 shots with minimal damage. Brynjol fires the Heavy Bolter, wounding the second Heldrake enough for Cyril to take down the third with concentrated fire. Temur fires his lascannon, permanently grounding the Heldrake, and opening it for Cortain to redirect Settra once more upon the daemon engine. The Nemesor heeds his command, rushing into melee with the Heldrake. Hovering nearby, the Nemesor deigns not the Heldrake with its attention, merely extending its razor sharp tail into the beast's daemonic core.

The Commandos detect further problems a few kilometers out, where a vortex of warp energy is forming. Pushing the ailing Sicaran to its limit, the Commandos can see inside a space marine, a sorceror, it looks like, in the blue and gold of the Thousand Sons. More Warp Gates are beginning to form, and Temur advises running the sorceror over. However, Brynjol has other ideas, climbing out of the tank and forcing himself directly at the floating sorceror. He smashes his mighty Wulfen Crozius into the sorceror. With a howl of rage and surprise, he is forced back into the warp.

"Send Magnus my regards, you heathen!" Brynjol laughs as the warp storm recedes. 

The Sicaran shakes with a Thud as the Commandos begin to disembark - the Nemesor Settra lands without grace on the damaged tonk.

"...Know that you live because our ally, the Phaeron, bids. Remain in his good graces, and you shall count on our blades..." the Star Dragon hisses, before flying off.

Cyril signs the Aquila to the dragon as it speaks, shelving the concerns that the thing could talk. However, a surge of energy soon distracts the Commandos.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90f9wfZKF9o

Teleporting in a flash is Ramsestron and his semi-loyal cryptek.

"SOLDIERS OF THE EN~FLESHED, I THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE TO MY DY~NASTY AND MY FRIENDS," Ramsestron yells.
"...Regrettably, I feel little," Cortain sighs, before turning to the Phaeron, "Well met, Ramsestron.  The short ones send their regards."
"THE TINY ENFLESHED YET PERSEVERE! AH, A DA~Y OF GOOD NEWS!" the ever-loud Ramsestron blasts, "BUT THE TIME TO LEAVE I~S NOW! UNDER THE AN~CIENT CODES, YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF WORTHY!"
"Exhausted, my phaeron, let us leave..." Thutmosis2000 drones.
Ramsestron bows, before summoning a spess-papyrus hyperscroll at the Commandos' feet.
"THOU WHO HAST PRO~VEN THYSELF WORTHY, BEAR MY DYNASTIC SEAL, A TO~KEN OF OUR COOPERATION!" the excited Phaeron loudly proclaims, "MAY WE ME~ET ONCE MORE IN PLEASURABLE COMPANY! UNDER MOO~N AND STAR, I BID THEE FAREWELL!"
"In the Emperor's name, we bid thee farewell, noble Phaeron..." Cyril nods as the Phaeron and his exhausted semi-loyal cryptek disapear.

Satisfied on how the mission proceeded, the Commandos note they cannot actually read the spess-papyrus hyperscroll, lacking knowledge of the Necrontyr language. However, everyone is in high spirits, and ready to try something new. On the trip back to Cevic City, Cortain switches frequencies on his codec.
"Satisfied?" Cortain asks.
Indeed!" the handler beams, her smile evident, "We've acquired quite a lot of useful data. We have enough to confirm our suspicions."
"Good," Cortain rubs his head, "I am still trying to resist the urge to remove my memories for even going through with this..." 

The Commandos greet the cheering crowd, before readying departure protocols. Cyril and Temur carefully guide the Sicaran into a waiting hauler, while Brynjol drums up excitement. Cortain stops by a Targetum-class civilian supply depot and picks up a full set of Republican Commandos™ Action Figures, much to the surprise of the attendant clerk-adept. Content that their job is complete, the Commandos hurry back to the Blade, where new calls for assistance have appeared, and to calm down Executor Thexus, who has returned to active duty, quite surly and angry...
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