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Marcius Flavius

2013-12-05T02:24:45Z

123.195.92.139: /* Story 19 */

[[Image:Marcius Flavius Color.jpg|thumb|right|Commander Flavius and Brother-Captain Picard on the bridge.]]

Marcius Flavius, Battle-Brother of the Imperial Fists, was the first space marine assigned to a Federation starship in the historic Federation-Imperium officer exchange program. In his place went Commander Riker of the Enterprise to the Imperial Fists' fortress-ship, the Phalanx.

Marcius Flavius is remembered for his stern dedication to the basic values of the space marines, such as eternal battle readiness, and being willing to bend the rules to accommodate Captain Picard's odd preferences for not shooting xenos on sight, including Lieutenant Worf and Counselor Troi, and, most annoyingly, not destroying the heretical Iron Man Data.

=Famous Quotes=

"No, it is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

=The Writefaggotry=

==Story 1:==

Battle-broth... COMMANDER Marcius Flavius looked at the terminal in front of him in disgust. A thousand flashing touch-screen buttons, all of which had a different function, and apparently the same man was expected to deal with the ship's weaponry AND its communications. What nonsense was this? Admittedly, the lack of a chair for the weapons officer, to encourage constant attention, was an admirable detail, and he would bring it back as a suggestion when the transfer ended.

"Brother-Captain Picard!" Command Flavius shouted, his helmet-augmented voice shaking the bridge. "There is an unidentified ship dropped out of the warp! Shall I prepare a torpedo/phaser spread?"

"Good idea." commented Worf approvingly. Commander Flavius was uncertain of what to think about the xenos; while he was automatically condemned for his inhuman biology, he WAS the closest thing to a traditional space marine here. Still, his religion seemed suspiciously close to Khorne worshipping, he'd need a closer eye.

Captain Picard rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Why the Federation had agreed to Imperium-Federation officer transfers he could not guess, but he was doing his best to accommodate the commander, though secretly, he wished for Riker back, and wondered how he was performing aboard the Phalanx.

"No, Commander, not unless they're hostile." he said wearily.

Although he was wearing a helmet, and could go for a week in constant battle without tiring, Data thought he could hear a sigh from the space marine. "Commander," he started. "Perhaps you should--"

"I hear not the unholy cries of the Iron Men." he interrupted. Fortunately, he thought to himself, I outrank the creature. Unlike with Worf, who might have some redeeming qualities, Commander Flavius knew EXACTLY what he thought of Data.

His eyes dropped to the foul, though attractive, half-xenos Commander Troi. A psyker, that one, though a weak one. She might be forgiven for her heritage in death, but while alive, she was a constant link to the Warp. It was true that Flavius had fought alongside chapter librarians, but they had decades of training to control their heretical mindlinks to the realm of daemons. Troi, from his understanding, had had none of that. And Brother-Captain Picard would not fire on a potentially hostile ship at its weakest? And the doctor seemed to have FEELINGS for the Brother-Captain that were poorly disguised.

Only Tech-Priest La Forge seemed to be performing his duties adequately. This ship needed some reorganization, he thought.

"And if I can slay five hundred Slaaneshi cultists in two days," he thought. "With nothing but a nonfunctional chainsword, I can bring this ship to Imperial standards."

==Story 2:==

"Brother-Captain, sensors are finally able to scan the ship. They indicate it is a corvette-sized minor ship, probably a scout of some kind."

"Design?" asked the captain, warily.

"Sensors indicate... it is approximately 3040 meters on all sides, with a cubic shape."

Picard nearly spilled his tea, though reacted quickly enough to avoid it. "The Borg!" He stood up immediately, after setting down the teacup. "Shield up, ready all weapons, red alert!"

Commander Flavius was impressed as he followed the orders. "So THIS is what it takes to motivate the Federation." He would have to research the Borg a little more later, to learn what made them different from the Romulans they DIDN'T destroy earlier. Honestly, a race had been in multiple wars with humanity over the centuries and Picard didn't immediately open fire?

"Keep us just outside their weapons range." Picard paced the bridge over to the science officer's station, placing a hand on Data's chair's head. He was visibly sweating.

"It is time to finally see how these faux-Naval officers react to battle." he thought. He had never met a true Imperial Naval officer, only Guardsmen, but he'd heard of them. The Federation seemed like some bizarre combination of them and extremely lenient Rogue Traders.

"What's the enemy cube doing?" Picard asked.

"They appear to be... hailing us, sir. Shall I respond with a torpedo?"

"I wonder what they're going to say. Maybe that we should resist them" Worf mused sarcastically. A smirk appeared on Troi's face; apparently there was some joke here Flavius wasn't in on. Only the emotionless Iron Man and Picard, too busy for humor, said nothing. "Put it on screen." he said, facing the viewscreen.

An albino alien with cybernetic enhancement flashed across the screen. A terrifying red artificial eye adorned its face, with the other side covered by metal. Flavius recognized the alien, actually.

"Sir, this is not a Borg! This is an--"

"WE ARE DA BORK. YER TECH... TEK... SCIENCY AND BIOWHATZIT DISTINCTIVENESS'LL BE SCAVENGED AND ADDED TA OUR OWN. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, BUT FUN. DIS BORG SQUARE'S GOT ALL DA FIREPOWER OF A SPACE HULK, BUT MORE." A toothy smile adorned the Bork's face.

Brother-Captain Picard very quietly, very patiently walked back to his chair in the center of the bridge, all eyes on him. He took a sip of his tea, crossed his legs, straightened his shirt, and while still holding the teacup, responded with an uncharacteristically serious "Mr. Flavius. Fire all weapons."

For some reason, as he entered the commands into the computer to fire (with its atrociously childish sounds as the buttons were pressed), Flavius' mind flashed back to his first day on the Enterprise, a week ago.

He'd been in the galley, and despite these Federation values of "acceptance," no one sat at the table with him. Admittedly, no one else wore constant battle armor, was eight feet tall, and required three chairs and entire side of the table.

After a few minutes alone, looking over a PADD of Starfleet protocols the Brother-Captain had advised him to read, the dark-skinned Tech-Priest wandered over, and sat across the table.

"Hiya!" he said, extending his hand. "Name's La Forge."

"Greetings." Commander Flavius shook the hand. Fortunately, he'd had experiences with regular Guardsmen, and knew to use a fraction of his strength even when unarmored. As it was, in full armor, La Forge was lucky Crusher wasn't needed.

"May I ask you something, Tech-Priest?" the commander asked casually.

"Uh, sure."

"Why are you so... unaltered? I am aware cybernetic enhancements are considered standard and necessary amongst the Omnissiah's chosen, but while my own experiences with them have been limited, it was my impression that having nothing except artificial eyes is considered to be the barest of minimums."

"Uh... in the Federation, engineers don't normally have artificial body parts unless their real ones are destroyed somehow."

"Oh. I assume you lost your eyes in battle? Perhaps with the Klingons?"

"No, uh, I was born blind."

"Ah." The room fell silent as they did; apparently, everyone was listening to their conversation. Flavius poked at the "replicated meat" and "synthehol." He suspected it was a good thing that one of his chapter had been sent, and not a Space Wolf.

"So tell me, commander, what, uh, 'chapter' you're from?"

"I am Battle-Brother Marcius Flavius of the Imperial Fists."

"Oh, do you guys have your own ship?"

"Yes, our fortress-monastery Phalanx sails the stars, recruiting new hopeful marines from the various worlds we come across, both primitive and advanced. We are especially known for our self-flagellation." he said casually.

La Forge choked on his food. "Self... flagellation?"

"Yes. We punish ourselves for inadequacies. Our sergeants and captains do not even bother to punish failure; it is assumed that any failure by a marine will be dealt with by himself. Why, I am using a pain glove right now." He set the PADD down on the table and waved to La Forge with it; now that La Forge actually looked at it, it WAS a different glove than the heavy gauntlet on his other hand. "It stimulates the pain receptors all over the body. Every Imperial Fist owns at least one. I'm used to it enough by now that I can still function; otherwise these gloves wouldn't be usable in battle."

"What..." La Forge's disbelieving and disgusted eyes were luckily obscured by his VISOR. "What inadequacy are you punishing yourself for?"

"The Brother-Captain suggested I read this PADD of protocol." he said, picking it back up. "The implication is that I am not yet versed enough in Starfleet rules, so, I endeavor to please him."

"Oh." La Forge awkwardly finished, picked up his plate, and left.

That was the last time anyone ever ate with the commander.

Dozens of torpedoes flashed from the Enterprise, spreading out and impacting the Bork ship with incredible force, burning through bolted armor plates and exploding within, blowing weapons of all kinds out of the square.

“Evasive action,” Picard said calmly, “Pattern Delta-3. Circle them.” He turned briefly, eyeing Commander Flavius, who was holding down the firing buttons for all the Enterprise's weapons with one finger. “Continue firing. Target their weapons and shield emitters.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine shouted, quickly scanning the console for the appropriate options, remembering the memorized schematics from the central computer. Worf watched with approval as he selected the correct commands.

The Enterprise went to half-impulse, skirting the edge of the Bork square's engagement zone while pouring phaser fire into its flanks. Literally every surface of the rusting metallic vessel was covered with weapons, be they missile batteries, old-fashioned autocannons or guns so big they could swallow a Galaxy-class cruiser whole. One of Marcus Flavius's expertly targeted torpedoes sailed into the mouth of a big gun, detonating inside the firing chamber.

An answering storm of hot lead cascaded from the Bork square as the gun exploded, taking a three hundred-meter chunk out of the side, killing thousands of drones. The Enterprise, even maneuvering like a bee fed only with cocaine and promethium, was taking hits.

“Shield strength decreasing rapidly, sir!” Flavius yelled, happily blowing his enemy's guns to bits, “Seventy-five percent and falling!”

A random console exploded, blasting a random crewman halfway across the room.

“Medical team to the bridge,” Picard said, his voice tense, before he looked back at Flavius, steadying himself as the ship rocked to one side. “Suggestions, Commander?” he asked pointedly, testing Flavius's knowledge as much as looking for a brilliant tactical plan.

The Marine glanced at the displays before him, and nodded. “This foul ship we're fighting is tough, sir, but only on the outside. These scans indicate that the core is made of wood and iron. We still have the shield strength to break through.” Inside his helmet, he was smiling.

Picard blinked. “You're suggesting we ram it?”

Flavius nodded again. “I am, Brother-Captain.”

Picard turned to face the viewscreen as sparks flew from every available surface, blanketing the bridge in an ensign-burning glow. “Then by all means make it so, Commander. Take us in.”

“Aye, Brother-Captain!”

The Enterprise suddenly tilted to one side, going to full-impulse as hundreds of shells spattered off its forward shields. Firing a full spread of torpedoes directly ahead, the well-built Federation vessel routed all emergency power to the forward emitters and charged in.

For a moment, the battle ceased.

...and then the Enterprise came barreling out the other side of the Bork square, trailing plasma from both nacelles and with its saucer covered in wreckage and broken green bodies. Behind it, the enemy vessel vanished in a brilliant explosion as its primitive petroleum power plant lit. Picard took a moment to assess the damage to his ship before issuing his next orders.

“Contact Starfleet Command,” he said to the Commander, “Inform them of what transpired here and of our current position while we attempt emergency repairs.” He sighed. “And get those infernal things off my ship's hull.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine answered, quickly bringing up the communications screen and preparing a message. When he had finished, he would be the first out the airlock, scrubbing corpses off the Enterprise's saucer section and finishing off whatever might still be alive. It would be just like old times.

==Story 3:==

“Sister Apothecary.”

The great, booming voice shook a dozen small implements off the shelf by the door. Doctor Crusher sighed, and met the speaker where he stood, while an attendant cleaned up the mess.

“What seems to be the problem, Commander?” the Doctor asked, tricorder in hand.

The gigantic Marine squeezed through the doorway, bringing his enormous arms from behind him and setting a bloodied ensign on the nearest medical bed. Crusher immediately scanned him, frantically ordering everyone around to help her stabilize the patient. “What the hell happened to him?” she shouted at the Marine, carefully examining the poor man.

Flavius came to attention. “I was training in your holodeck when this man entered, improperly prepared for the simulation within. I disengaged the safeties and increased the power to eight hundred percent to provide myself with a challenge. The blast wave from an exploding tank shell threw him into the wall before I could pause the simulation.” The Marine looked at the man with an expression of pity, though no one could tell because of his helmet. “I am truly sorry. I will remember to lock the door next time.”

By this time Crusher was very busy trying to make sure the ensign would survive the next few minutes. “Yes! Make sure you do! Now leave, please. We have this under control.”

The Commander saluted and departed the infirmary, stooping as he walked out, scraping his pauldrons noisily on the wall. No longer in the mood for the holodeck's version of “battle”, he stopped by long enough to turn off the simulation and return the power levels to normal, then headed off to engineering, leaving deep footprints in the carpet.

LaForge looked up from his work, typed something into his PADD, grimaced, and glanced to the side, only to jump backwards as he found himself face-to-face with the towering hulk of metal that had replaced Commander Riker and his beard. Geordi adjusted his visor and set the PADD down.

“I thought you were still off-duty, Commander,” he said quietly, making a mental note to repair the doors Flavius had come through.

“I am, Brother Tech-Priest. I have found myself with considerable free time since my arrival. Your Federation work schedules are...” he paused, searching for the word, “Quaint. I have not been so underworked since boyhood.”

Geordi glanced around the room, noticing that all of his staff had mysteriously disappeared, probably behind secure blast doors.

Flavius straightened his posture. “Brother Tech-Priest, I have a personal request to make.”

“And what might that be?”

“I desire access to your main computer's design software,” he said matter-of factly.

The Chief Engineer resisted the urge to rub his useless eyes in exasperation. “...why?” he said finally, picking up his PADD again.

“The crew aboard this ship lack personal protection, Brother. You wear only flimsy fabric garments and minute technological items. I have personally injured a great many of you simply by colliding with you in hallways.”

LaForge winced.

“I wish to fashion armor for you, Brother. I will need your assistance, as I do not share your... expertise in such matters. I am fully prepared to submit a complex and detailed proposal to the Brother-Captain and any crew members who need be informed as well as-”

“Fine,” the Chief Engineer said, “That's fine. I'll have you set up by 0800 tomorrow.”

Flavius saluted. “Thank you, Brother Tech-Priest. I will arrive promptly. Excuse me, please.”

The immense Marine exited the room, scratching the paint off the door as he squeezed out into the hallway. Engineers began to emerge from a small storage closet off to the side.

“...is he gone?” one asked. LaForge let his head sink into his hands. What had he gotten himself into this time?

Ensign Danny's surgery was completed in an hour. Though he was confined to medical for several days, and the ringing in his ears never quite went away, he was no worse for wear after a close encounter with the computer's best approximation of a Leman Russ's main gun. When he first awoke after Crusher finished re-solidifying his rib cage, he found a rather large vase filled with an array of flowers beside his bed, with a note crudely attached to the outside.

“I hope you are well, Brother. Please allow me to express my profound gratitude that you live to fight again. At your next opportunity, please meet me in Ten-Forward.”

Ensign Danny was the first to join Flavius's armor project. Over the next few months, his injuries would become legendary.

“No. You must stand like this,” Flavius said, hunching over and putting his arms out in front of him. The timid young man in front of him tried to imitate his posture.

“Like this?” the ensign said, finding it hard to move in his bulky metal suit.

“Arms up. Brace your legs. Yes, that will do,” Flavius replied, standing and walking back over to the holodeck's arch. “Now prepare yourself.”

The ensign braced himself as best he could, and nodded. The Marine pressed a small, inconspicuous button.

A multi-ton tank roared out of the wall as the simulation re-engaged, filling the small room with the roar of a massive engine. The tank struck Ensign Danny squarely, plowing directly into his waiting arms. The poor man skidded over a hundred meters in his immensely heavy suit, straining against the tank as it continued to charge forward. Then, with a mighty yell, the crewman raised his arms, the suit's powerful, crushing hands biting through the tank's forward armor. The vehicle lifted off the ground and swung up, sailing over the ensign and crashing to the ground, tumbling into a low hill and exploding, pelting the heavy suit with shrapnel.

“Excellent!” Flavius called out, pausing the sim. “This is the most effective combination yet.” He rushed over to the sobbing ensign, pulling a specially-made, ridiculously rugged tricorder from his belt. “Are you alright, Brother?”

“My... arms...” Danny managed to say, before falling backwards into the dirt.

The Marine scanned him thoroughly, sighed, and hefted the ensign, suit and all, to his shoulder. “Tensile strength is still insufficient. I will have the computer address this.” With that, he carried his charge to the infirmary for the eight time that week, muttering litanies.

Crusher was livid. “You can't keep doing this!” she shouted, laying the unconscious patient on the familiar bed, calling for assistance. “There's a limit to how much we can repair, Commander!”

Flavius stood at attention. “Better here than on the battlefield, Sister Apothecary.”

“What battlefield?” the redhead replied angrily, running one of her instruments over the ensign's shattered arms, “What the hell do you think you're going to need this for? Why do you need to half-kill one of my people every hour just to test it?”

The Marine shook his head. “Sister Apothecary, I must be vigilant. The enemies of the Emperor persist even here. I cannot afford to let my Brothers seek them unprotected.”

The Doctor said nothing for a moment, consuming herself in her work. She didn't want to think about what the ensign was putting himself through, and, for the life of her, she didn't know why he did it.

“Commander,” she said finally, “Please return to your duties.”

Flavius bowed and departed, easily fitting through the enlarged and reinforced door. He made his way to the nearest turbolift, a new and improved heavy-duty model suited to his size and mass, and told the computer to take him to the bridge.

The Marine stomped out of the small, tubular craft as soon as it arrived, nodding to Worf, the almost-redeemable xeno, as he passed. Since the Brother-Captain was nowhere in sight, Flavius surmised that he must be inside his chapel, attending to the many less-glamorous facets of running a starship. He pressed the small button beside the door, noticing that it, too, had been reinforced, and barely deformed at all under the gentle pressure of his gauntlet.

“Enter,” said a voice from within. Flavius obeyed as the door opened, coming to stand at Picard's desk, upon which sat a steaming cup of his favorite tea.

“Ah, what can I do for you, Commander?” the balding man greeted the Marine, taking a sip of tea as he thanked the powers that be for keeping Flavius occupied and relatively out of trouble for the past few days.

“Brother-Captain, I have concerns about your crew,” the armored Marine stated simply, lamenting the lack of skulls in the small, conservative chapel.

“What sort of concerns?” Picard responded.

Flavius chose his words carefully, wary of speaking to one so glorious and exalted as the Brother-Captain about the failings of his mortal servants. “Brother-Captain, your crew are very poorly suited for the rigors of intense combat. They are physically weak and lack any sort of enhancement that would allow them to survive even the most mundane of inhospitable environments. A single deck being exposed to vacuum would kill over a hundred, for example.”

“And?” Picard said, urging the Commander to continue.

“Sir, I formally request permission to augment choice members of your crew.”

“Request denied.”

Flavius tilted his head to one side. “May I request an explanation, sir?”

Picard bit down an immediate retort, memories of his brief time with the Borg welling up like a tide of blades in the back of his mind. “Commander, I will not subject my people to such... modifications in the absence of a coherent justification for it. To date, you have presented no such justification.”

The Marine nodded, and saluted. “My apologies, Brother-Captain. I will make every attempt to ensure that those modifications will not be necessary.”

“See that you do,” said Picard, gesturing to the door. “Dismissed.”

A minute after Flavius had left, Picard began to wonder about the ramifications of the Marine's presence aboard his ship, and, for the first time in his life, actually considered allowing himself to prefer the presence of Q. He managed to cut that impulse off at the knees, and ordered another cup of tea from the replicator.

Meanwhile, Commander Riker was undergoing yet another round of training aboard the ship run by Flavius's Chapter, the Imperial Fists.

“FASTER! FASTER, BATTLE-BROTHER! YOU MUST RUN FASTER!” Shouted the Chapter Master, taking potshots at the Carapace-Armored human with a Heavy Bolter. For the past several months, he had taken it upon himself to train the man personally, and had noted a considerable and increasing improvement in his combat skills. But it still wasn't enough.

Riker's beard caught the wind as he bounded through the training course, doing his best to dodge the incoming fire. Never again would he complain about Captain Picard's insistence on playing opera in the background during those long, boring briefings. Never again.

==Story 4:==

Commander Flavius pulled out the tiny chisel he'd taken to mark on his armor as of late and wrote down the newest order from the Brother-Captain.

'No Surprise Combat Exercises'

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get the Brother-Captain to understand just how unprepared his crew was in case of attack. "Maybe I should concentrate on prevention..." Flavius thought "...although I doubt the Brother-Captain will allow any more 'experiments' with Tech-Priest LaForge after the melta incident."

Reaching his post, Flavius resumed his duties just a hail from the planet below came in.

"...*Static*... We're under attack...*explosion*... there were Romulan pirates waiting at the drop loca...". The transmission cut off abruptly. Pounding the heavily reinforced comm devise on his chest, Commander Flavius hailed the captain and other chief officers as he'd been told to do.

"I heard" Brother-Captain Picard said as he stalked into the bridge, "Mr. Data, what's going on?"

"It appears as if the away team has been captured and transported to a secure location, I cannot lock onto them to transport them back to the ship captain. Judging by the energy readings from the attack, the Romulans appear to be well armed."

Picard turned to tell Worf to begin assembling a rescue team when he realized that Commander Flavius had left the bridge.

Rage burned beneath the Space Marine's power armor. "Not only are crew in danger, but I must trek deep into the bowels of this minuscule ship to retrieve my sacred armaments." Flavius stormed down the corridors and finally reached his room.

Grabbing his powersword, bolter and bolt pistol he hesitated. He set down his bolt pistol and examined the 'phazer' he had been assigned by Tech-Priest LaForge. Flavius attempted to set the weapon from 'stun', a most useless setting to 'kill' it's proper position. The weapon broke in his titanic grip.

He elected for his bolt pistol instead.

Once ready he hit his abused comm button again and commanded the poor insign in the transporter room to get him as close to the Romulans as he could.

"At least this cultures teleportorium is reliable." He mused as specs of lights danced in front of his visor.

Brother Flavius appeared in the room the 'negotiations' were suppose to be in. He pulled out his auspex... or 'tricorder', also heavily reinforced, and began scanning the area. His keen eyes noticed footprints and drag marks going off in an eastern directions, so he began to track the xenos filth to recover the captured officers.

The tracks went up to a large abandoned building that his sensors said was the source of the transporter blockage. He was about to approach the building when a hail of phazer and disruptor fire erupted from the surrounding area and plinked off Flavius's armored body.

"This reminds me of that traitor legions lasgun fire... stupid flashlights" Flavius thought to himself as he leveled his bolter and started putting high caliber explosive rounds into nearby xenos.

"These xenos appear to be Eldar witches, but they are using primitive weapons and no psykers... the crew will have to be disciplined when we return."

Flavius continued to pump high explosive rounds into the Romulans as they continued to fail to even scratch his armor. Eventually the leader of the pirates came out and the firing stopped. He wanted to negotiate the safe release of the prisoners...

Flavius put up his bolter, cause a sigh of relief to ripple through the remaining Romulans. But before the leader could open his mouth to name their terms Flavius had sliced him in half with his power sword. As the green xenos blood sizzled on his glowing blade, Flavius said

"It seems negotiations have failed."

==Story 5:==

"Sir, the IKS Rachtar is coming out of warp." said Data, placing the Klingon ship on the viewscreen.

Commander Flavius had spent much of his free time reviewing the xenos species catalogued by the Enterprise's computers. Most of them were of little interest or, it seemed, were content to serve aboard the ship under the decidedly human captain. The Klingons, sans Worf, were not.

According to the computer, multiple wars had been waged with them. Their technology was roughly equal to the Federation's, with the Klingons having weapons advantages while the Federation had shield, speed, and miscellaneous advantages, but they were also a warrior culture.

Flavius swallowed his rage. If he was on the Phalanx, a xenos species that worshipped war would be exterminated immediately on suspicion of Khorne worship. But... the Klingons were ostensibly friendly. And, though it pained him to admit it, Brother Worf was nearly acceptable as a crewmate. He was that only member of the crew capable of providing any kind of challenge in the holodeck, albeit only in melee combat, and he feared battle less than anyone on the ship but Flavius himself.

So, though he would never admit it, Commander Flavius was rather looking forward to their rendezvous with the IKS Rachtar. A proper warship, even a xenos one, would be a welcome sight. Even the Bork Square didn't really qualify.

"Sir, I'm detecting strange additions to the Klingon vessel. Nonstandard spikes appear to be jutting out from random areas of the hull, and... well, non-euclidean geometry appears to have warped areas of the ship in ways our sensors can barely read." The Iron Man sounded perplexed.

"Open a hailing frequency." Picard stood up. He had personally spoken with Captain K'rell before, and hoped he'd be remembered.

The Klingon ship came on the viewscreen, but even Flavius, who'd never seen the interior of a Klingon ship before, could tell something was wrong. The same impossible geometry adorned the bridge, and a half-crazed Klingon came to the screen. By his insignia, he was K'rell.

"Federation!" he snarled, showing his teeth.

"Captain K'rell! This is Captain Jean-luc Pi--"

"I know why you've come!" he hissed. He pulled a knife from his belt, and waved it menacingly at the screen, despite their being several hundred kilometers away from each other. The attentive battle-brother noticed another Klingon, sitting at a weapons post in the background.

"Captain--" began Picard.

"You have come to be the BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" screamed K'rell, and at that mark the Klingon in the background punched a few buttons, attacking the Enterprise with the ship's disruptors. It was quick thinking by Flavius that raised the shields in time.

"It is as I suspected." he muttered sadly. "They've been corrupted.

"By what?!" demanded Worf, stepping to Flavius.

"Khorne." said Flavius grimly, as Picard turned around, shocked at the aggressiveness of the now-turned Klingons. "I suspect you may be the only Klingon not of his ilk, simply because you are among humans so much. Your species' warrior culture would leave them vulnerable to his influence." said the commander plainly. "The Rachna must be destroyed, Brother-Captain. It is too far gone."

==Story 6:==

'Captain, there's... something....'

Councillor Troy was suddenly standing, clasped tight around her head, face screwed up in pain. As the bridge crew turned toward her, the air around her seemed somehow to ripple and then in an instant tear open, spilling a sickly multicoloured light around the room. Worf moved faster than anyone, but in the short seconds it took him to run towards her it was already over: a nightmare confusion of claws, tentacles, and feathers had wrapped itself around Deanna, pulling her back into the impossible hole in reality which then closed in on itself, leaving only the vanishing echoes of a scream which seemed to come from a galaxy away.

Picard lifted his cup of Earl Grey (hot) and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep sip.

'Well, it seems you were right, Commander Flavius- and I am of course a man of my word. Fifteen quatloos to you.'

Beneath his helmet, Flavius smiled with grim satisfaction. He hoped quatloos were something you could shoot.

==Story 7:==

"Commander Flavius?"

Flavius sighed heavily. THIS conversation again.

"Sir? Did you consider my request?"

"One does not REQUEST to be a space marine, boy." Flavius did not turn around to face the 'acting ensign.' "One is offered the chance to serve the Emperor, and you are not worthy."

"While not?!" he whined in an adolescent voice so that even the battle-hardened warrior cringed. "I'm an expert engineer, I'm a scientist, I'm--"

"Useless in a fight. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen? When I was sixteen I had already killed four orkz with an autogun and a machete and been in the Planetary Defense Forces for three years, and I was considered to be a weak recruit. And you consider yourself worthy?"

"But sir--"

"Not another word." he said flatly. "Now return your post as helmsman, and be glad this is not an Imperial ship. The helmsmen there need to interact with the navigators--"

"What's so bad about that?"

The child's endlessly inquisitive nature may have been acceptable to Brother-Captain Picard... but Flavius doubted it. "What's so bad about that is that the Navigators are psykers. Every moment they live is not just a slap in the face to the fabric of reality itself, but they are in constant danger of tearing a hole in reality and allowing a daemon to climb out of their corpse and consume the crew. Every navigator is exposed to the glory of the Emperor's true form for an instant, burning out his or her eyes forever, and instead forcing him or her to view the Warp, the endless sea of emotion itself, filled with bloodthirsty daemons it takes twenty normal men to kill the least of. They are forbidden to speak of what they see there, though, because merely the mention of it has been known to drive men mad and into the embrace of Chaos worship, wherein their souls will be damned eternally."

Flavius hadn't meant to, but he was now less than two inches from the ensign's face, bending down to head level. "Now back to your post." he whispered as much as a space marine could.

"Yes sir." he replied quickly, and sat down. He wouldn't be resubmitting his request to be an Imperial Fist.

Brother-Captain Picard punched a few buttons on his arm chair, and a message flashed on Flavius' console.

GOOD WORK

Flavius smiled, though no one could see it through his helmet.

==Story 8==

Meanwhile, on the Phalanx, Commander Riker sat in the captain's chair, while the Chapter Master strode on the bridge. Servitors, the presence of which Riker was still having difficulties with, staffed most of the positions, but a few augmented but mostly normal humans staffed the rest. He knew the Chapter-Master had given him command to gauge his ability. He didn't intend to disappoint.

"Sir," a servitor said in a dispassionate voice. "We are picking up an unidentified ship. The markings and design are unknown."

The Chapter-Master prepared to give the order to fire, before reigning himself in. "No," he thought. "The Phalanx can handle a mistake if Riker makes one. Let us see how this plays out."

"Hail them." commanded Riker. He was off to a bad start.

The screen flashed to a bridge with fat, short humanoids with odd markings on their faces. Their bridge appeared to be an odd mishmash of anything they could find, with nothing uniform.

"Hello." one said. "We are Pakleds. We are broke. Can you make us g--"

"FIRE ALL WEAPONS!" roared Riker, suddenly standing. The space marine in charge of the weapons are surprised by Riker's order, and took a moment to carry it out. A second later, the Pakled ship had been vaporized.

"Very good, Battle-Brother!" said an honestly impressed Chapter-Master. "I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you to destroy the xenos enemies of the Emperor."

"The Pakleds and I have a history, Chapter-Master Pugh." said Riker evenly, but whatever it was, Pugh would apparently not learn it from Riker.

"We'll make a proper Battle-Brother of him yet." he thought.

==Story 9==

The second officer meeting on board the Phalanx wasn't going well. The room itself was big enough to double as a football field, and yet the four hulking figures clad in power armor seemed to fill it all. The Fists have concluded their second battle training just half an hour earlier, there was no time, nor no need to take off armor. Riker discovered he was sweating. A lot.
-As I was trying to say, the Federation discovered that the stun setting enables us to keep the casualties on both sides to a minimum. Due to that we are able to forge treaties with many...
-THAT IS ENOUGH, COMMANDER
Chapter Master Vladimir Pugh sounded like a death metal band fed to a wood chipper even without a helmet. The vox system on his Terminator armor wasn't helping.
-YOU'VE TRAINED WITH US FOR OVER A WEEK NOW. THE EMPEROR HIMSELF NAMED US HIS ANGELS OF DEATH. THERE IS NO NEED FOR THE ANGELS OF STUNNING FOUL XENOS A BIT AND THEN TALKING WITH THEM WHILE HOLDING THEIR HANDS IN THE IMPERIUM OF MAN.

==Story 10==

"Dukat, what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry Aun, it seems i forgot to mention when we joined with you exactly whose Greater Good this Alliance would serve....."

"The Empire will not stand for this Dukat, it is not for the Good of one that we act but for the Good of all..." Dukat cut off the Ethereal with a raised hand, his second Damar snickering and then coughing as he blew a portion of his glass of Kanar up his nose.

"Aun, i don't think you understand the situation. As you are well aware your Kroot allies were MOST impressed with the Jem' Hadar they encountered when we first met. Indeed, i seriously doubt there is a single Kroot left in your force that has not fought with the Jem' Hadar." The Ethereal shifted slightly, noticing the slimy Vorta adviser gesture to Dukat.

"Perhaps i can put this in a more..Friendly manner than Dukat. Cardassians can be so blunt when perhaps a more....Gentle approach is called for."

"If you have upset the founders in some way, we meant no offense, we all serve for the Greater go.."

"EXACTLY! Which is why we are trying to help you. See, your Kroot absorb genetic traits from those they defeat in battle yes?"

"Indeed, but what does this have to do with these demands that the Tau Empire join the Dominion instead of being allies?' Damar laughed again.

"So your troops eat your enemies then absorb their traits? Oh this is rich..." he intoned while rolling his eyes as well as particular double spined neck.

The Vorta (Weyoun if the Ethereal recalled correctly) glared at the Cardassian cutting him off. "I'm getting to that Damar, a fact you would notice if you could put down that bottle for once."

"Please, go on. Tell him Vorta" The Aun was getting sick of all this artifice. "Tell me what? he demanded.

The Vorta opened his palms towards the Aun in a gesture of peace that conveyed anything but.

"You see Aun, the Jem'Hadar require a substance called Ketracel White to live. Apparently now, so do the Kroot.The founders are willing to renegotiate the terms of our alliance in exchange for giving you a supply of this substance. "The foul creature smiled at the Aun before continuing.

"Unless of course you wish us to negotiate with the Kroot directly without your involvement?'

==Story 11==

"Let me make sure I understand."

"Alright," said Picard, patiently. The ambassador's head was still on the floor, squished between it and Flavius' palm.

"There is a race of pointy-eared, superhumanly tough and strong humanoids who are powerful psykers and extremely attractive to humans and good at coming up with complex plans... who AREN'T the Eldar?"

Sarek was sweating. "Captain..." he breathed, barely. "If you could please restrain your first officer..."

"Actually, Commander, there are two, sort of. Continuity's never been good with how powerful psychics the Romulans are."

==Story 12==

Commander Marcius Flavius sat at the table across the Iron Man. To his sides sat Tech-Priest La Forge, the half-xenos psyker Troi, the xenos warrior Worf, and Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Brother-Captain Picard was on the bridge.

Why he had been selected for the Imperial-Federation officer exchange program, the Imperial Fist would never know.

"So let me make sure I understand this game," he started, staring across from the Iron Man, whom he didn't slay only on orders from the Brother-Captain. "We... gamble."

"That is correct, Commander." replied the white-skinned android. "To be more specific, if you think your opponent is 'bluffing,' you may react in a different way than if you think his hand is strong. Many people lose money on this game and find it addictive, though we use worthless chips instead."

"Wait." the wheels in the commander's head were turning, and everyone faced him, even Data stopping his shuffling. "Wait, this is a game about confusing your enemies with lies and planning, which you can counter by barging through their lies and being valorous, but that is addictive like a sickness, and since it's a game, people find it pleasurable?"

"I suppose so." replied the Tech-Priest, placing his arm on the table.

Commander Flavius immediately left the room without saying anything more. Truly, the effects of the Chaos gods could be felt even here.

==Story 13==

Picard sat in his ready room reviewing another report. According to the last message Riker had taken to the role of regimental commissar rather disturbingly well, Picard was somehow sure getting Riker to give up the gold encrusted hat jacked and pistol when he got back was going to be almost as trying as dealing with their temporary commander. Allmost.

There was a chime at the door followed a booming voice that could be heard quite clearly through the bulkhead. "You summoned me Brother-Captain?". Picard took several deep breaths and said "Enter".

The Marcus carefully negotiated his way through the door. It had taken six sternly worded lectures, LaForge first re-enforcing then ultimately applying a force field to the main bulkheads to prevent the commander from enlarging them with explosives.

"Commander Flavius... you enjoyed your recent shore leave?" He asked.

"I was able to make productive use of your lax and decadent grant of time for personal idleness yes"

"Good. Good..." Picard paused "Only I've received some complaints."

"Sir?"

"Well first, the rest planet we booked for you had taken a lot of time and trouble to prepare suitable accommodations for you. So they were quite put out when you didn't show up. I would like you to send a formal appology to them."

Marcus grumbled "Yes sir."

"One other... minor, I'm sure trivial complaint... a federation colony world rose in rebellion, slaughtered all the non humans in its population and has declared its intent to subjugate the sector for the God-Emperor. Honestly, I'm not even mad about this one. I'm just curious how you managed it."

==Story 14==

Battle-Brother Riker stepped into the Adeptus Sororitas temple slowly and carefully. From what he'd been told, the Sisters took their oaths and loyalty to the Emperor VERY seriously, even more so than the average space marine.

And the average space marine, in his experience, was as likely to open fire on aliens without talking has he was to breathe.

"Greetings, Battle-Brother." A white-haired woman in black-and-red armor approached him, while many other woman, whose hair were all dyed white but not in armor, prayed silently across the large opening hall.

"I am Sister Herelen, the caretaker for this temple." She gave a slight bow, to which Riker responded with a much more dramatic one. She seemed approving. "Forgive me, but the Phalanx's message on why you would be visiting us was... poorly-worded. I would appreciate some clarity."

Riker coughed awkwardly, and eventually forced out a "I would like to borrow some power armor." in as much a whisper as he could.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I am merely an honorary battle-brother, Sister. I have not taken the gene-seed of a Primarch into me." Even though the Federation cared not at all about homosexuality, even Riker could tell how gay that sounded. "And as I am to old to do so in any case, I cannot. This leaves me in the awkward position of being unable to join the Imperial Fists in battle, as I cannot use space marine power armor, so..." he trailed off, rolling his head to finish his point.

"You are aware that we only adorn *women* in armor, are you not?"

"Yes, but, I was hoping maybe a Tech-Priest could iron out the--" Riker paused, pierced by a stare by the Sister, obviously unamused by the idea of altering holy armor. "Well, I--"

"Come with me."

She led him through the hallways of the temple, all adorned with gold, black, and red artwork of the Emperor, marble statues to the sides of the halls making it almost hard to walk. Multiple times, Riker had to duck his head beneath the crossed spears of marble Adeptus Custodes as a portrait of the Emperor looked at him, judging him for sins the artist had assumed he'd committed.

Eventually they came to a room that Riker easily identified as an armory. He'd seen bolters and powerswords before, they were standard armament for the Fists, but he was only just now exposed to flamers.

He did not like them.

"Here." she said, gesturing to dozens of suits of armor on the far wall, identical save for their sizes: some were obviously for petite women, while others were for... less petite women.

"What's--" was all Riker got out, before a heavy slap on his back sent him stumbling forward to the largest suit, made for a 5'10" or so heavyset woman. "What's this?"

"Your armor." she said simply. "It is the only thing you might fit in."

She forced him to undress and suit up in front of her, and by the time he was done, it now appeared to her that she stood before a standard Sister of Battle... save for the obviously male face and beard.

Her heart stopped for a moment as she looked at Riker's awkward, uncomfortable face as he tested out the armor's abilities.

Giving himself a once over an odd thought came over the commander spinning a full 360 giving the sister a chance to see the absurdity of sticking Riker of all people in one of their suits. 'If I'm going to be stuck in this mind as well have fun with it.'

"So," he said in all seriousness, "How do I look?"

The sister started to snicker but couldn't say anything.

"Well," Riker continued on un-phased by his companions silence he motioned to his breast plate, "I think these are going to make me a little top heavy but that's something I can live with...But in all honesty I believe the colors are needs to be changed to the of the crew of the Phalanx." The commander clapped his hands together, "I also need a banner of the Imperial Fist with me wherever I go also...after all they're the ones sponsoring me."

Her response was a squeak of, "Of course." Before the sister bolted out of the armory laughing as she went.

Onboard the Phalanx the Chapter Master stood waiting for their honorary Battle-Brother to return via Teleport along with several of his staff standing next to him. He had expected company to return with the Commander, more likely than not angry company, considering where he sent the man to be suited. However, what came on board wasn't what he expected.

Dressed in SoB's armor painted in Imperial Fist colors Commander Riker held a banner adorned with he Chapter's insignia. Many of the present Astartes didn't see the amused smile on the smaller man's face but they did hear his voice, "Sirs, I'm ready to fight on land, sea, or space in the suit you had provided to me."

"No...no, no, nononononon-"

The look of absolute horror and denial on all Astartes present would be a fond memory in the minds and lore of all Sisters for generations to come...

==Story 15==

Marcius Flavius had a sense of duty to rival any other space marine. A great warrior with a strong sense of honor who would never question an order, and always execute it with zeal. This was his toughest test yet.

Four months ago a large batch of mnemonics reached the Enterprise, and since then Marcius would spend at least ten hours a day on indoctrination sessions and meditation.

He was standing on the bridge in a Federation uniform as the acting Security Officer of the Enterprise. His muscles were bulging and veins were popping literally everywhere on his body. The elastic fabric gave up in a couple places. His left hand hand was holding the console.

'BROTHER FLAVIUS TO THE SECURITY TEAM'
The console shattered - his fingers went right through it. There was a sizable stream of blood coming from his ear, his face was contorted in agony.
'SET PHASERS TO STUN.'

==Story 16==

"Battle-Brothers!" screamed Commander Marcius Flavius, at the top of his lungs, nearly knocking the rest of the away team off of their feet. For a brief moment, the Commander thought Tech-Priest La Forge looked annoyed at his having replaced Commander Riker in the Imperium-Federation officer exchange program. But that would be heresy. And regardless, he had more important things to do than wonder about the feelings of a Tech-Priest.
"We go now into GLOOOOORIOUS BATTLE!" he screamed, slightly less loud, but still enough to qualify as a sonic-based weapon. "The enemies of humanity, the foul xenos Romulans, have kidnapped an innocent human diplomat sent to negotiate the release of *another* hostage! Their treachery knows no bounds."
"I thought the diplomat was a Vulcan, not a human?" piped up Ensign Johnson.
Though Commander Flavius wore a full helmet, as all space marines do, the Ensign could feel his eyes drilling into him. "Good thing I'm dressed properly for a mission like this, or he'd hate me even more." he thought, thankful he'd remembered to tuck in his red shirt.
"The plan is a frontal assault."
"What? The Romulans have a fortified position." interrupted La Forge.
"Exactly. Xenos as treacherous as them must expect a rescue attempt. Therefore, we must be as surprising as possible in our attempt, since they know it's coming. The logical approach is to launch the assault with a small team from the back of the building, since we can't just use the teleportatum due to the..." He looked at Geordi helplessly.
"Negative ionic interference."
"Yes, that. Since they must know what we know, we'll instead launch a frontal attack, since they won't expect that, because to do that we'll have to run in an open field for over a mile while they have the high ground."
"If that is so, won't they *expect* us to launch a frontal assault, since they know we know they know?" La Forge wondered. "Ah, but they know we know they know, so they must know we'll know they'll position extra people in the back, leaving their front vulnerable."
Geordi froze for a moment, Commander Flavius continuing to talk in his baritone voice in the background. "Jesus Christ." he thought. "This must be how a space marine thinks, but *all the time*!"

==Story 17==

"Captain! Captain!" The Iron Man Data leapt from his chair at the foot of the bridge and knelt down. All eyes were on him. "Captain Picard is unconscious." He tapped the symbol on his chest. "Data to Crusher; we need a medical team on the bridge. Commander, I believe you're in command, now."

Marcius Flavius, first space marine in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, stepped down from his position at tactical. "Understood. I shall endevour to do even better than Brother-Captain Picard."

Worf edges over to tactical, resuming his place. "Sir, what should we do? Should we fire on the Borg or the Klingons?"

Commander Flavius thought for a moment. The Bork were more immediately dangerous, *and* they kept flooding the subspace radio with RESISTANCE IZ FUTILE BUT FUN, but the Khornate Klingons would probably be more trouble in the long run.

"Target the Groch'tar and fire a full broadside!" He made a fist and stood up, just as Crusher and a medical team reached the bridge.

"... Do you mean a phaser or a photon torpedo?"

"... Just do both." He sat down, annoyed. "... Xenos." he whispered under his breath.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing." he lied.

== Story 18 ==

Command Marcius Flavius sighed. It was his tenth week as an exchange officer in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, and secretly, he wondered if Battle-Brother Riker was having a better time than he was aboard the Phalanx, the Imperial Fists' massive battlebarge. What he wouldn't give to be among his brothers, among whom the inability to slay a tenscore of orkz would be laughed at. Here, he bet the average officer or enlisted man would lose a fight to a *guardsman.* The only two who wouldn't were a xenos and an iron man. He shook his head with disappointment. The Federation was a poor imitation of the glory of the Imperium. He'd barely even been able to convince them to let him wear his full battle armor at all times.

The iron man's console beeped one of the annoying toy noises that indicated something. "Captain, we appear to be in range of some kind of subspace anomoly." Data chirped.

"Put it on screen." Brother-Captain Picard ordered.

It was a white vortex of some kind, slowly rotating, crackling with some kind of reverse lightning. It looked vaguely like a warp storm.

"Recommend a full torpedo barrage, Brother-Captain." he said.

"Data, what are its effects?"

After a few moments of silence, Data replied. "It appears to be a reverse black hole, creating anti-gravity that propels the Enterprise away from it while pulling itself more and more into the universe. It's hard to see, but it is expanding. It is currently eight hundred miles in diameter, if it continues at the rate it is expanding, it will engulf the nearest Federation colony on Alphas-4 in eight hours."

"That must be why the planets in the system have started to get out of their alignment." Tech-Priest La Forge put in.

"Options?" demanded Picard.

Data thought for a moment. "I suggest we try Command Flavius' plan, sir. We don't have anything on board for this kind of situation."

Picard nodded to Flavius. "Make it so."

"Sensors indicate the torpedoes have increased the effect's size. It is now approximately twice as large." said the iron man.

"Damn!" cursed Picard.

"Sir," said the fifteen year-old boy who was inexplicably allowed to be an officer. "We're getting some kind of... reading, something is exiting the effect! It looks like a ship!"

Everyone on the bridge watched the screen with bated breathes as a tiny black figure exited the effect.

"Sensors indicate... it's an enormous ship, sir! It's kilometers long!"

Flavius had a button beep. "Sir, it is hailing us. Shall I respond with phasers?"

Picard sighed. "They might not be enemies, Commander. Open the channel."

Flavius hesitatingly did as he was commanded. The room flooded with noise.

"KILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL
FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL
FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFR" was all it got out before Flavius ended it on his own.

Picard was barking out orders, but Flavius knew what to do, now. He gripped his chainsword and bolter, comfortable knowing they were both with him. Regardless of what happened today, he would see the Federation's gall in the face of Chaos.

== Story 19 ==

For the first time in the two centuries spent as a Battle Brother Marcius Flavius felt depressed. His will and resolve were strong even when boarding the infamous Khornate cruiser Bronze Axe, when he fought the unending wave of greenskins on Armageddon, and even when he was ambushed by a Lictor with no other weapons than his ceramite-clad fists. This world was strange, alien, and only the intense hypnotic indoctrination held his mind together.
Captain Picard was not happy. Far from it.
"Marcius, that WAS a Cardassian Ambassador and his troupe."
"I WAS INSTRUCTED THAT WE ARE NOW AT WAR WITH THE XENOS WITH RIDGES ON THEIR FACES."
"That's the Klingons Marcius, not the Cardassians!"
"THEY STILL HAVE RIDGES. I THOUGHT THEY WERE A BOARDING PARTY."
"For God's sake, people were shouting at you to stop!"
"FOR ALL I KNOW THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE, MIND CONTROLLED OR STUPID. I ONLY LISTEN TO THE CAPTAIN'S ORDERS."
"*I* was shouting at you too!"
[COUGH]
"Is that how a Space Marine of your universe conducts himself? Imagine how your superiors would react if you shot an alien ambassador in the head, vaporising it, and then kicked the headless corpse into the wall so hard that it left a dent!"
Captain Picard recoiled in a mixture of terror and surprise. Nothing sounds like a giggle amplified by Astartes power armor.
5760 Faeous

== Story 20 ==

Commander Flavius was torn. The Iron Man Data was an abomination, a machine that mimicked a man. Every fiber of his being said that every second of Data's continued existence was an insulting mockery of Mankind and the Emperor.

But not only was Data a valued crewmember of the USS Enterprise, he was one of the few beings that seemed to understand Flavius and didn't treat him with a mixture of contempt and fear. Flavius had found few he could relate to aboard the Federation starship during his officer exchange from the Imperium. To his dismay that small number included both Data and the foul-xenos called Worf.

"And how would you address a Romulan ambassador?" Data asked.

"You are a treacherous xenos scum who thirsts for the blood of humanity," Flavius boomed. "I look forward to the day when our boot is on your neck."

Data paused for a moment, tilting his head as he considered the words.

"Once again you are technically correct Commander Flavius," the android said. "But this is a lesson on diplomacy. I suggest a rephrasing. I suggest you say the following. Greetings Ambassador, your culture is dynamic and rich with tradition and I look forward to our mutual enrichment?"

Flavius frowned beneath the helm of his powered armor.

"That is not what I said at all," he growled.

"Incorrect Commander," Data replied. "The expansionist intent of the Romulan Star Empire, or as you would put it, their thirst for the blood of humanity is more politely phrased as being dynamic. They are also in many ways a primitive society, placing tribalism and momentary advantage over long-term gain, or as you would put it, treacherous. That aspect of their culture can be described as rich with tradition without creating an interstellar incident."

"Brother Captain Picard has ordered me to attend these lessons with you Iron Man," Flavius growled, dropping the unearnable honorific of Brother Data that his Lord and Master Picard had commanded he use in mixed company. "But while I gain some knowledge of your diplomatic ways I will never wish for the enrichment of a murdering xenos, mutual or otherwise."

"Would you not Commander Flavius?" Data asked, almost appearing to smile. "As foul and unworthy as they are is it not better for alien species to adopt the ways of humanity and serve them? Assuming that your predilection for genocide could not be sated?"

"I.. suppose that would be...somewhat...acceptable," Flavius said, ever distrusting the quick retorts of this machine that walked like a man. Flavius suspected that Picard had deliberately chosen the Iron Man to deliver these lessons in diplomacy precisely for this reason. It was a strange art, more suited for an Inquisitor or a Rogue Trader and seemed to revolve around the delivery of insults and challenges that sounded like mere blather and pleasantry.

"Then that would be a better course for them then the one they have chosen, and humanity would benefit. Mutual enrichment, though they may not see it as such. That is how the Federation uses diplomacy. To neutralize outside threats and change them so that they strengthen the UFP. Though I would ask you not to repeat that outside this room. I am told that I lack tact and frequently say things that organic beings would prefer not to acknowledge."

== Story 21 ==

"Commander, get back!"

Commander Marcius Flavius of the USS Enterprise, formerly Battle-Brother of the Phalanx, and the first of the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program (along with Battle-Brother Riker) ignored Worf's order and rushed to his side.

The xenos was bleeding through his uniform, a long gash allowing red or pink (it's kind of unclear) blood to flow from it. Worf would be fine, but he was temporarily disabled. Worf's bat'leth lay on the hallway's floor next to him, and Marcius noticed that his com badge was also slashed so as to prevent him from calling for help.

Worf lay in front of a door, breathing heavily, phaser pointed toward the door with his one good arm.

"Battle-Brother Worf, what has happened?" he asked, unholstering his bolter.

"In there, Cargo Bay D." Worf breathed through gritted teeth. "I was just doing a routine cargo check, I have no idea how they got in there. I tried to call for help, but..." Worf winced and his aim momentarily faltered. He finished by nodding to his comm badge.

"What's in there?"

"Do you remember when we fought the Bork?"

"Yes."

"They make the Bork look like nothing. They are the only -- the only -- enemy the Klingons have ever feared. They reproduce like nothing else, right now there are only a few thousand in there, but in an hour, tens of thousands."

Worf grabbed Marcius' shirt, almost ripping it off of his battle armor. "You need to go in there and finish this, before they escape and destroy the ship. They can exert some kind of mind control on most species, Klingons are immune, but a strong willed human might..." Worf winced again, unwilling to scream in pain, but finally collapsed.

Marcius tapped his comm badge. "Flavius to Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Battle-Brother Worf is wounded, deck A-21."

Crusher said something in response, but Flavius wasn't listening. He keyed the door to lock once he'd stepped through, and gingerly stepped forward. He could wait for back-up, but to be honest, Worf was the only back-up on the ship worth a damn, and he was already wounded.

Cargo Bay C was even more horrible than he'd expected. Worf's estimate of a thousand was far inaccurate, it was more like seven or eight thousand. Marcius identified them as some kind of Slaaneshi daemon immediately, though the Federation wouldn't know that, one that invoked the emotion of love to control others. Worf had been wise to call for him.

It was only after he had destroyed the entire deck in his crusade and thirty-five ensigns lay dead that Picard informed him that this type of daemon was called a "tribble." He would have to report this to the Phalanx once he had the chance.

==Science==

"Explain again your position on this vessel Brother," boomed Commander Marcius Flavius.

Swenson rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"For the third time Commander, I am the ships Science Officer. I am head of the Science Department and when required I advise the command staff on matters of a technical and or scientific nature by drawing on the expertise of my staff and Federation records," Swenson said.

"Does not Battle-Brother Data perform your function?" Flavius asked.

"He used to, but he's now Operations Officer, but Picard is such a raging queen that, oh never mind. Why are you even here again?" Swenson said, clearly annoyed.

"Brother-Captain Picard has sent me here to learn the ways of your Federation. I obey," Flavius said.

"The ways of our Federation? Like not blowing the shit out of everything you see? Yeah, that's called learning. You might want to look into it." Swenson said turning to a nearby console and entering data.

Flavius waited patiently. His time with Swenson had been commaned by Picard himself and he would do his duty as a loyal officer. Though during crises of faith he sometimes questioned the wisdom of the entire officer-exchange program. Such heretical thoughts were quickly abandoned as the many screens covering the walls of Brother Swenson's office lit up with maps, charts, diagrams, menus and text.

"This is the Romulan Empire. One hundred, sixty eight point one teraquads of information," Swenson said. "Everything we have ever learned about them. History, biology, sociology, economics, technology, philosophy, tactics, evolution, politics, cartography and cuisine."

"Right now you are looking at the top billionth of one billionth of one percent of everything we know about the Romulans." Swenson said. "You want to know anything about the Romulans that doesn't require a crystal ball? Me and my experts can deliver it to you in an accurate, succinct, and bulleted list suitable for your presentation software of choice."

Flavius made no response, his head slowly scanning across the dozens of screens, pausing a moment at each one to absorb its contents.

"Do you understand what I do now Commander Flavius?" Swenson asked, irritated at the silence.

Flavius said nothing, continuing his survey of the information present. When completed he took a moment before turning to Swenson.

"I begin to. Tell me more of this Science and the ways of your Federation," Flavius said.

***

"Warp signature detected, unknown race and class."

Captain Picard turned to Data, but before he could issue an order the booming voice of Commander Marcius Flavius filled the bridge.

"We must open a hailing frequency!"

Had the bridge of the Enterprise not been carpeted you could have heard a pin drop. The faint sound of jaws dropping could be faintly heard as the bridge crew turned to the exchange officer from the Imperium in astonishment.

"Please expand on that if you will Commander Flavius," Picard asked, who alone with Data was not staring goggle-eyed and slack-jawed at the armor-clad Space Marine.

"By opening a hailing frequency we will learn their ways and gain tactical advantage," Flavius said. "We will take what we learn and use Science to better understand our foe so we may crush them when they realize that their foul xeno trickery has failed and inevitably attack us. Such is the way of the Federation."

"Essentially correct Commander Flavius," said Data. "Shall I open a hailing frequency Captain?"

Picard glared at his android officer.

"Have I erred?" Data asked.

Picard took a moment to collect himself, staring daggers at his innocent looking Operations Officer and the beaming (could you beam under power-armor?) exchange officer.

"We will discuss tact later Mr. Data, but by all means hail them," Picard said.

***

As he heard the door to his office *shwish* open, Science Officer Swenson tensed.

"Magos Swenson! I beg your indulgence and in the name of the Emperor, the Federation and Brother-Captain Picard I beseech you to reveal the mysteries of Science so that I might better destroy the enemies of Mankind," Commander Marcius Flavius boomed.

"Flavius," Swenson said. "For the third time I am not a Magos. I am a Commander. Nor have I ever been a Tech-Priest like Commander LaForge. He is head of Engineering, which while related to science is not part of the Science Department. And science is... well it involves mysteries but it is not mysterious. Come in."

Flavius entered, perching his oversized armor on one of the two spindly chairs before Swenson's desk. Being the third time he had done so he no longer proclaimed it a miracle when it did not collapse under his weight.

"Brother Flavius and I address you as such because I know what that means and I want to emphasize I am not a Magos," Swenson said. "I don't know what you are doing on the bridge but command is eating it up. I might even get a positive enough review that I can get off this boat and a research posting, so let's continue where we left off yesterday."

"I am an empty vessel Magos! Fill me with your wisdom!" Flavius said.

"No, because you expressed doubt about heresy yesterday," Swenson said. "What is heresy?"

"Heresy is turning from the Path of the Emperor!" Flavius shouted. It was deafening in the office and those passing through the science deck paused at the unnatural noise vibrating through the hallway.

"Yes, and we mentioned the volume thing," Swenson said making a mental note to check with Dr. Crusher for hearing loss. "Now in science we seek information so that we may find truth. Laws technically, but I'm not going to get into that, so truth. Can one turn from the Path of the Emperor and still follow truth?"

Flavius stood shock still while Swenson waited. And waited. Minutes passed.

"No," Flavius spoke, his voice for once no longer at deafening volume. "It is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

"Congratulations Commander Flavius, you begin to understand science," Swenson said. "Hypothesis, experiment, peer review, skepticism. These are the tools we use to separate truth from heresy, or as we in the Federation call it... well we call it a lot of things so heresy works. Now, let's do some basic logic exercises with Newtonian physics."

***

My writefaggotry seems to have been well received so here's another effort.

"Magos Swenson," Commander Marcius Flavius intoned. "I understand your Federation Science."

Science Officer Swenson turned from the screen where he had been explaining Mendelian inheritance to look at the armor-clad Space Marine, an exchange officer from the Imperium to Starfleet.

"Brother Flavius, you have made great progress during these sessions," Swenson said "But as I explained to you earlier, science is not a thing you master, it is a tool used to understand the universe."

There was a pause and then Flavius, his voice slightly softer in this room after frequent admonitions, continued.

"I apologize Magos. Though you tell me differently I know that I will never comprehend more than the merest fraction of your wisdom," Flavius said. "I only tell you that at last I believe I understand the methods of the Federation Science."

Swenson hesitated, despite the all-consuming powered armor of his pupil he was almost sure that he was picking up an emotion. A quivering eagerness?

"Explain," Swenson asked.

"Tactics Magos!" Flavius boomed, his volume rising with his posture as he stood up. "Strategy!"

"One observes the disposition of enemy forces and in so doing you learn the mind of their commander," Flavius boomed. "The despicable Eldar flee from strength and seek weakness! So to does matter expand when heated and contract when cooled! The Federation Science is combat on a scale grander than anything I ever understood before. You seek to understand how the universe itself opposes you and therefore defeat it!"

"Uhhhh, yeah that is one way of putting it," Swenson ventured.

"THANK YOU MAGOS!" Flavius boomed, his voice reverberating on nearby decks, drawing puzzled glances from passing crewmembers. "YOUR GIFT OF SCIENCE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN! AND WITH IT THE SERVANTS OF THE EMPEROR WILL DEFEAT NOT ONLY OUR ENEMIES BUT THE UNIVERSE ITSELF!"

=Bork Explanation:=

"Borg attempt to assimilate Orks for the unique biology. Orks attempt to loot the borg for their flashy tech. The Borg find the Ork biology useless, the spores keep making the ork ecology and they just end up as damn pests. An entire quarter of a world was sterilized of orks by inducing an energy burst from the nearby sun. The Orks had a much better time looting Borg tech. Borg interest in Orks is now fresh drones with the spore making part of the biology shut off. Orks however rip apart Borg tech and bolt stuff to it and have a great time. When the Orks manage to take down a Borg ship or installation, disrupting the collective and "freeing" the Ork Borg Drones, they get Borks out of it and all Orks involved can become Borks.

PRetty much, attempt at looting/assimilating each other gone horribly wrong for one side, and horribly right for the other."

[[File:Bork Kube.jpg]]

NEEDS MOAR DAKKA

[[Category:Space Marines]][[category:warhammer 40,000]]

Warhammer/Tactics/8th Edition/Vampire Counts

2013-06-25T15:04:31Z

123.195.92.139: /* Lords */

{{Stub}}
==Why Play Vampire Counts==

Vampire Counts are a fairly effective force. They're fun to play, but they have several gimmicks that have to be accounted for to play at their best. First, note that ''there are no shooting options in this army'', effectively eliminating an entire phase. Any ranged options in this army are purely magical. Second, you have no need to worry about the psychology of your units because they don't have any. You ''will'' be paying a lot of attention to the enemy's psychology because that's crucial to winning. '''Never forget to take a fear test or your troops lose any advantage they have.''' Third, magic is your bread and butter, your meat and drink, your bolter and chainsword. You are going to be heavily reliant on magic to refresh your units and get the most advantageous fights. If you're not utterly dominating the magic phase, you're doing it wrong. There are other things, but we'll get to them as they crop up.

As of the most recent edition of the Vampires rule book they are now less likely to fall apart after a bad magic phase or the loss of a general. The magic is some what less stupidly powerful(spamming invocation any one?) with the change to the lore attribute though the spells themselves received a buff. Also several units are better balanced(points wise) and some received slight buffs to their stat-lines. They, as an army, have been made more consistent on the table and less reliant on magic and generals. They are still one of the kings of tar pitting and Vampires are still one of the top combat heroes in the game.

'''The Dead March'''

Lots of ranked corpses slowly marching toward your opponent as his terrified troops struggle to fire more bullets and arrows at the hordes in a vain hope of stopping the endless tide. If this appeals to you, you are looking at the right army. Even in small games you will be fielding dozens of zombies and skeletons as well as some more exotic dead and undead creatures, few armies can field such numbers of fodder and only one other can field fodder that is so reluctant to stay dead. Get your brush hand ready and get comfortable as you are going to need a lot of models to field these hordes.

==Unit Analysis==
===Lords & Heroes===
====Named Characters====
'''Note:''' Under the current edition, named characters tend to be overpriced; you can pretty easily emulate most named characters from scratch and save yourself some points. That said, a few named characters do have abilities and war gear combos unique to them, so if you absolutely need to have them, go ahead. Just make sure you're really getting your points worth.
=====Lords=====

*'''Vlad Von Carstein:''' The man that started it all. Look at this monster. You want to field him, but you never will. Why? He's 495 points. As strong as he is (powerful fighter that can comeback after getting killed), that is your entire lord budget in an otherwise balanced 2000 point army, and you don't have that kind of room for one model. For the points, you could load a normal Vampire Lord up on ''a fucking undead dragon'' and have points left over to spend on powers. So skip over Carstein unless you're going for the Vlad/Isabella combo.

*'''Count Mannfred:''' A superb and versatile caster with no less than 14 spells. However for optimum usage he needs to kill stuff, which he isn’t too good at for Vampire Lord aside from being fairly vulnerable.. This is the man you want fighting nothing but goblins and skaven slaves if you can possible help it. If you can manage this then this guy will generally rule both magic phases, especially if you're canny and snipe enemy wizards early on with Spirit Leech where you'll almost always have the superior LD.530 points worth it

*'''Heinrich Kemmler:''' Oh, you were never going to be playing this game in decent company anyway. He's a level four loremaster that is hard to kill and is ideal for filling a lord's' spot at 1500pts. If you're playing at that level, you may as well bring Krell to take advantage of their tag team abilities. 350 points worth it

=====Heroes=====

*'''Mannfred the Acolyte:''' Much more fieldable and a solid choice since he provides Loremaster, which is what you take him for. Like his Lord Incarnation you want him fighting chaff and nothing but chaff, the weaker the better.200 points worth it

*'''Konrad von Carstein:''' Nothing short of Psychologically Damaging if your opponent happens to bring Monstrous Infantry. The combo of hatred, red fury and Sword of Waldenhof means he'll cut 5-6 ogres down...per combat! That being said it's all he really does well while being the uncle of all glass cannons. So be wary of using him... and be aware that Ogre players will die a little each time you field him.
EDIT# he will happily murder his way through almost any hero he strikes before160 points worth it

*'''Isabella von Carstein:''' Now has the proper Vampire statline. A decent enough choice. Has beguile, but without any special combat equipment what's she going to do with it? Blood Chalice looks nice, but it's nothing Invocation of Nehek can't do (except it still works without having to cast) and it only works on vampires and even then only ones in the same squad as her (aka Vlad). Of course, there's always the fact that if she kicks it, Vlad goes nuts, with Frenzy and Hatred and whatnot... except that, as we discussed earlier, you're never going to take Vlad (Get your circular logic out of here. "don't take Vlad unless you also take Isabella, but don't take Isabella because you're not going to take Vlad". Bottom line is that neither one is really worth it on their own, but they have decent potential if taken together.)

*'''Krell:''' And he's back!. Krell is a wight king with a better statline who gets HKB (in challenges) if in the same unit as Kemmler. Which, obviously, means you should always have him in the same unit as Kemmler. Comes with Chaos armor that nullifies magic weapons if he passes his 4+. His black axe is ok for whittling down monsters, most characters shouldn't survive against him long enough for it to matter. O, and having a T5 W4 hero for his meager cost is very, very good. And his model is fucking ace
EDIT# Krell can wreck monsters with his 3 S6 D3wound attacks, his killing blow is great for punching heroes off monster mounts and at WS5 he will be hitting fairly often. 205 points... "Krell" yes!

====Generic Characters====
'''Note:''' While named characters are judged against their generic counterparts, generic characters are examined based on their role in your army.
=====Lords=====
*'''Vampire Lord:''' Brilliant stat line and a ton of upgrade options, and outside of the Chaos Lord is probably the most dangerous generic combat lord in the game. Naturally, characters are the first place spare points go in a Vampire Counts army, and this unit will likely soak up as many points as you can give. Properly kitted out they can stand toe to toe with chaos lords and rampage through elite units all while having excellent magical options. Remember, if your general dies very bad things happen to your army, so whatever you do, keep him in a unit at least until he is in combat: losing a game on turn one from a warmachine attack is not fun. Item selection and powers will be covered later.

*'''Master Necromancer:''' Cheap level 4 wizard that can be used to support a vampire lord who decided to take forbidden lore. You might be tempted to make him your general, and that would certainly spare points for the other great choices you have, but remember that your army would start crumbling as soon as he died. Crumbling is very, very bad, even if it is not the game over screen it was on the previous edition. This is obviously a problem with vampire lords as well, but they can survive melee combat even if they are magic-oriented, assuming they are properly kited. You can place him in a bunker behind your front-lines, but remember that all it might take is a particularly bad roll in winds of magic, bad maneuver or combat rolls to have your necromancer eating lances/swords/whatever.
**To summarize: he is a very fine choice whether taken as a support caster or as a general, but if you use the latter route, know that a single mistake (or a few bad rolls) can cost you the game.

*'''Strigoi Ghoul King:''' Whereas the Vampire Lord is the ideal mix of magic and might and the Master Necromancer is the magic focused user, the Strigoi Ghoul King is the punch-sport champ... or at least that is what he was ''supposed'' to be. His infinite hatred seems fun until you realize a vampire lord with Quickblood does the exact same thing, except against high elves (and even then he forces them to attack simultaneously). He also has poor defense: he can't take the Nightshroud, or any other armor for that matter, and you simply can't rely solely on a 5+ (or even 4+ with the mortis engine) regeneration save. Poisoned attacks are good and synergize with the hatred, shame that if you take a magic weapon you lose that poison. Oh, his WS is also lower than that of a vampire lord, which might seem like little until you take into account that WS 7 means you would be hit on a 4+ instead of a 3+ by most combat lords. No cavalry mount available either, so you can't have him join those black knights or blood knights. You could mount him on a terrorgheist if you want to spam them... and have your army crumble from a cannon ball on turn 1. Sadly, this clan is a strictly fluffy choice.

=====Heroes=====

*'''Vampire:''' Cheaper Vampire Lord. The biggest problem here is the much more limited number of powers you can take, forcing you to choose wisely. Remember that neither this unit nor the Lord equivalent come with any equipment standard, so if you put all your points in magic don't send them into combat or they're going to get slaughtered. Can be upgraded to BSB.

*'''Wight King:''' Originally a poor choice because it used up a hero slot and wasn't a vampire, new force organisation rules give Wight Kings a place in your army; right at the front. There are few foes that can test a Vampire's WS of 6, and Wight Blade and toughness 5 makes the Wight King a more effective warrior than a standard Vampire. Stick him in a unit of Grave Guard with the Banner of the Barrows for an incredibly cheesy unit that will melt all variety of faces. Can be upgraded to BSB.

*'''Necromancer:''' As above, new organization rules make Necromancers more viable. 65 points for a level 1 wizard isn't bad. Use them to keep your armies at good strength, but don't expect too much from them. You get what you paid for. Necro's are good for supporting large units of infantry with a little extra LD and some magical support if they end up away from the general.

*'''Cairn Wraith:''' Sadly not a good choice. Spirit hosts are cheaper for simple tarpits and the Cairn Wraiths unit is more cost-effective for cavalry/monster killing. Both are also more resistant to magic by virtue of having more wounds. Finally, wight kings are better at simply killing normal stuff by virtue of their killing blow and awesome (for points) stats.

*'''Tomb Banshee:''' Generally not the best investment for points. Any competitive army will have at least 9 leadership in important units, most will have 10, so the hysterical woman is unlikely to earn her points back (she will deal on average deal less than 0,5 casualties per turn). Useless in melee too. Never mind that the range of the shriek is small enough that a non-engaged unit (especially cavalry, against whom the shriek would in theory be more useful) will be able to just charge you unless you do some fancy maneuvering, which is hard without the general nearby.
EDIT# shriek can be used in combat making her a valuable addition to any unit needing a little more punch.

Leadership is almost meaningless to vampires as they cannot be broken. It is, however, what stops your army from falling apart if/when your general dies. If you have the points, adding a few basic heroes to your list to bump the leadership in a few key units can still be a worthwhile investment for the wounds they prevent when crumbling comes around.

=====Mounts=====
*'''Skeletal steed:'''* The black knights basic mount, ignores terrain as they are treated as ethereal for movement and does not get the -1M for barding if you take it. Think about that for a moment, you can charge units on the '''other side of buildings''' if you can see them, never take a dangerous terrain test with these guys again!

*'''Barded nightmare:'''* Simple undead horse, best in a squad of blood knights or wolves. Never ever put with black knights unless there's no terrain, as they'll lose their ethereal movement. Ordinary in all regards. ''other then being S4 WS3 horses''

*'''Hellsteed:'''* A flying nightmare, and overall a better horse. Not too expensive and still a great investment if you like running with fell bats or other silliness. Still, if used right it can be a scary model that's great for picking off warmachines or other small units, since arrows don't tend to have the killing power needed for a vampire.

*'''Abyssal Terror:'''* Not great by any standard of a monster. Can be given poison or armour piercing. Fairly cheap and it flies, but overall best served by the next two.

*'''Coven Throne:'''* This thing has a good number of abilities. The battle of wills is a fun way to mess with your opponent. 2(4 as there are 2 hand maidens) ASF attacks, 2d6 attacks from the ghosts that pull it, treats terrain as open ground, and does d6 s5 impacts. This thing is mean as hell. It costs almost as much as the dragon but is well worth it for the sheer destruction it can wreak on anything short of ranked ogres.

*''' Zombie Dragon:'''* Exactly what you think it is. It's got beefy stats, can be healed massively thanks to lore attribute plus invocation, his breath weapon has -3 to armour, and adds that extra fuck you to ogres in the form of terror. A great time if your vampire has the same stat line as the mount its on. Can really wreck heavy cavs day as well as rank and file, though it will die to massive amounts of S4. Still a wonderful kick ass model and is our only dragon.
EDIT# Can only be a mount for a vampire lord, it will be a fire magnet but if it makes it into combat... well lets just say you should [http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Anal_circumference grab your ankles].

===Core Units===

*'''Zombie Horde:''' Zombies are pathetic, fortunately vampire magic phase is full of buffs, get some rerolls and that zombie unit can hold a bit longer. You might think to use them as a tar pit but combat res screws VCs... So why take them? The answer is they are very easy to raise back up and are cheap as chips. For 3 points a model(Giving you a total 70 points for a 20-strong horde plus standard bearer and musician) you get a cheap caster bunker that has a very small chance of being killed unless its charged. In addition, remember to keep a few models off the table since assuming you have raise dead because you'll be summoning a lot of these buggers for various reasons. They are incredibly versatile and fully expendable road block/charge redirecter you can raise them behind enemy front line to charge small chaff units like bow men or archers or warmachines.

*'''Skeleton Warriors:''' Better than zombies in every way. More durable due to having light armour and a shield. The armour makes them more effective tar pits than zombies because they're likely to stay in the game longer, but as before best taken in large units to maximise the usefulness of Invocation of Nehek.

*'''Ghouls:''' Ghouls eschew protection for automatic wounds on a six, which means of your three standard core units they're the ones most likely to get kills. They tie with skeleton warriors, depending on what you want out of your army; skeletons are more durable, while ghouls have more attacks and poison. Take them in a horde for a wall of attacks that your enemy will devote ridiculous amounts of firepower to take down before they can get into combat.

*'''Dire Wolves:''' They now count towards your minimum core requirements, meaning they are now a very fast moving alternative to the other core choices. As with most units of this type, use them for flanking if you want them. Due to having swift stride and M9 it is possible to charge from long range meaning most shooters need 6s to hit, in addtion to this they gain +1S on the charge making them very good at dealing with small units of archers

===Special Units===
*'''Corpse Cart:''' Best used for its passive abilities. Don't make the mistake of thinking it's capable of holding its own in combat. Can be ridden by Necromancers.
**'''Alternative Opinion:''' Its passive bonuses are probably limited given how much dice are generally chucked after spells. If you can bear its slowness and is able to hit it consistently with augments then the ASF ability is a huge asset against High Elves and low-initiative armies
EDIT# the Bale-fire upgrade is a big advantage over the duration of a game as it will force the opposition to burn additional power dice each turn.
*'''Grave Guard:''' Now an infamous staple in VC armies along with their mounted counterparts, Grave Guard are essentially stronger, tougher and generally better skeletons. They don't pack it in as easily as regular skeletons due to having better armour, higher Ld/T/S and as nifty little bonus, have killing blow! Stuff a Wight King into this unit and take them in hordes. Great weapon is the more powerful and popular points, but Sword'n'Board Grave Guard are still powerful and can serve as a very respectable anvil/points denial unit. The latter choice is also slightly cheaper and benefits more from a corpse cart, if you take one.
*'''Black Knights:''' One of two heavy cavalry units in the army and the Grave Guard's mounted counterparts, as previously mentioned. DAMN good unit capable of moving over terrain like it wasn't even there and letting loose with a flurry of S4 (or higher, depending on weapon choice) killing blow attacks. All while possibly having a 2+ armor save. Delicious.
*'''Hexwraiths:''' New for 8th edition, weaker black knights with great weapons and an interesting advantage: they're ethereal! They will attract a TON of magic during your opponents turn and don't have any protection against that, so beware. Otherwise, they work exactly like Screamers of Tzeentch, allowing you to zig-zag them through unengaged units dishing out S5 flaming, magical attacks that ignore armour saves per hexwraith. Best used to ruin an expensive (preferably slow) unit's day. Just remember that in order for them to march you'll need your general nearby, so be careful with enemy reserves if you send them on their own: they'll likely die from combat resolution unless supported.
*'''Vargheists:''' Competes with Empire Outriders and Swordmasters for the title of premier glass cannons, these guys packs considerable punch at break-neck speed. They can hunt war machines if they must, but work better hitting flanks or hunting enemy support troops. Don’t ever think they'll last against even mediocre infantry unsupported though. Love them, and they will give you love in return, in the form of a raging opponent.
*'''Crypt Horrors:''' The other monstrous infantry unit, little more than super ghouls. Like ghouls, they have poisoned attacks, but also regeneration 5+. This unit is an anvil, pure and simple, but crumbling and a limited offensive capability does force you to take units of at least 6. A unit of 18 in a horde does have good punch however and is very hard to get rid of, but will be expensive for a unit that ultimately works best in a points denial role. Work best with a mortis engine, if the thing doesn't get blown up (or, more often, blows itself up).
*'''Bat Swarm:''' <s>The joke. They will be torn apart by crappy archers with S3 stick-shooters who may well be less expensive than the bats are. They cannot fly, only hover, so they will an extra turn (or more, depending on your general's movements) time getting there comparing to the Fell Bats too. If you do manage to get them into melee, then you will suffer the embarrassment of having your war-machine hunters die to a fat dwarf hitting them with a rock, unless you spend more points in them, in which case you are spending too many points. Avoid.</s> If you send them off to hunt war machines then you're doing it wrong, and deserve to lose the unit. Bat Swarms are best used to support your close quarter combats due to their Cloud of Horror rule which gives Always Strikes Last to opposing units in base contact. Having a low initiative doesn't look so bad when you can force ASL on your opponents, and it will even mess up High Elves (or at least take away their re-rolls) since they only ignore ASL from their weapons. In addition, the hover-vs-fly thing isn't that huge of a drawback anyway, as the hover move (10") is more than enough to keep up with the rest of your infantry (4"/8"), and they wouldn't be able to get the full fly move anyway if they are outside of your general's march bubble.
EDIT# occasionally useful in conjunction with great weapons equipped grave guard
*'''Fell Bats:''' A better choice than Bat Swarms for war machine hunting. Compared to Bat Swarms for similar points, you lose two attacks but upgrade to strength 3, and, more importantly, go up to toughness 3 and gain fly (which is only a benefit if you're inside your general's march bubble). This means they are much more likely to reach their targets without dying to ranged fire (unless your opponent spends too much resources on them, which works to your advantage) or giving the enemy enough time to intercept them. They are also more likely to survive the following melee. Remember that due to how shooting works, you are usually better off getting a few small units rather a singly larger one, and then direct them to a single target if needed.
*'''Spirit Host:''' Ah, the spirit host. These guys are extremely cost-effective monster and cavalry tarpits (just make sure whatever you are facing does not have magic attacks: trying to attack chaos knights will not end well). They are best used to dissuade a flank charge than to actively hunt their targets, otherwise they may get too exposed to infantry (their bane) or outmaneuvered (their movement is good, but where they are going they will likely not be in the general's range). That said, don't mind losing a unit to magic or infantry if you have to: after all, they cost less than 50 points. Why give a damn?

===Rare Units===
*'''Blood Knights:''' There are a lot things to remember about the Blood Knights: EVIL BRETONNIANS ON STEROIDS! They are as expensive as a Baneblade to purchase(and have a similar effect on enemy tactics), and they are one of the top heavy cavalry units in Warhammer Fantasy. Chaos Knights may have more longevity in prolonged fights and Grail Knights might be better at the charge, but blood knights are far more versatile than either.The Flag of Blood Keep gives them a +4 ward save against any ranged attacks that can get through their 2+ base armor save, and you don't even need to keep them in range of the general to get a March off. Having recently had their points cost lowered and their initiative raised, they are a fantastically lethal addition to an army of any size. It's still a good idea to keep a loaded-up barded vampire lord within the unit anyways, the unit is frenzied and gets some sweet ass upgrades if the vampire joins as well, and the lord serves as a medic whenever he casts invocation he can regain the vampire and the horse he rode in on.
**Tricks to Consider:
***4-man unit with flaming banner makes a fantastic monster hunter, which will reliably take down even Hydras, sphinxes and hellpits on the charge.
***Add a Vampire on hellsteed with MR2 trinket to a unit with Flag of Blood Keep for a unit with 2+ ward against magic damage and a warmachine/wizard hunter which will be extremely hard to neutralise before you unleash him.
**Modeling note: If you are ok with conversions, don't buy their kit. No, really. You do don't want to spend 99$/61.50£/80€ for 5 guys. Buy a box of Bretonnian Knights Errant, High Elf Dragon Princes, or Chaos Knights and go wild with your imagination.

*'''Black Coach:''' An extremely expensive chariot. If you take a vampire lord with the Master of the Dark Arts, you will get on average 1.5 abilities per turn (only 1 otherwise, so best taken in a magic-focused army). That means that unless you do something really stupid to get charged by turn 2, for 200 points you will have 5 attacks at S5/6 with killing blow, plus impact hits. With T6, 3+ armor and 4+ ward (and ethereal later on) and its decent offensive potential, this bad boy is unlikely to suffer significant damage unless you do something really, really idiotic like charging ranked Tzeentch warriors, while light damage can easily be healed. It takes more time to be effective than the Terrorgheist (who takes the same roles: small, expensive unit/monster hunter), but at the same time it won't die to peasant bowmen with flaming arrows: it will take on average 3(!) direct hits with cannons to take it down, and only if you don't heal it in the meantime.
**Don't leave home without them if you're playing Storm of Magic. All those extra spell dice means they'll be picking up abilities faster, and there is even a decent chance (not highly probable, but still decent) that they could reach full power in a single turn. Enjoy.

*'''Terrorgheists:''' Not everyone likes them, but they remain one of our best choices especially owing to the fact that it is our most flexible unit. The nature of its scream makes it best suited to hunting monsters and lone characters as well as heavy cavalry. Its Thunderstomp also allows it to support (key word here: they will die to enough S3 attacks + combat resolution) combat against enemy infantry. It can actually do a pretty credible job at most tasks. Its weakness however is that its scream isn't terrible reliable especially since it requires close support from the General as well as continual healing to get the most from its abilities. This combined with their relative vulnerability in CC and their huge base size means they are tricky to actually move about. A specialist glass-canon(ish) if you feel like taking one.

*'''Varghulf:''' The vargheist's frenzon-addicted big brother. Sadly, not a better choice. For the same points the vargheists will get more easily into combat due to fly, deal more damage except against WS 4 enemies and, by virtue of numbers, are more resistant to damage (that is, it's harder to kill ALL of them, even considering the Varghulf's regeneration), and since lore of the vampires will easily heal any unit that isn't completely dead... well, you get the picture. The Varghulf is not a ''bad'' choice by any means, especially considering he lacks frenzy, so he won't jump into combat you don't want him to. He is simply not as good and, worse, steals points from your rare allowance.
EDIT# the big thing for the Vargulf is hatred, causing terror and THUNDERSTOMP. This means that he gets 5 S5 re-rollable attacks at 3+ against most troops (if they pass the terror and fear test)then if they don't kill it it gets another D6 S5 hits.

*'''Mortis Engine:''' At first glance, this seems like the ultimate support unit, especially with the blasphemous tome upgrade and in support of ghouls. Then you notice that it is a chariot. With T5 and only a 5+ armor save/6+ regen (actually 4+ as the unit has regen of its own), it will eat spells or high damage ranged attacks from turn 1, exploding and dealing damage to all your units. The only reliable way to take one would be to make an army lead by a lone character with as many monsters and chariots as you can, to spread enemy fire to those other targets. Of course, one would question the viability of the army itself in that case...
#EDIT This thing is a 5W T5 terror causing regeneration bubbled fire magnet that moves just as fast as the rest of the army and has a shooting attack(short ranged tho). It will be targeted from turn 1 but unless they really pour it on it will not die fast, even a direct hit from a cannon is not likely to kill it outright. Tho a 3D6 fireball can.
*'''Cairn Wraith:''' The expensive, damage-dealing alternative to the spirit hosts. They will still die to ranked infantry but, unlike the spirit hosts who function as a tarpit, these guys function as killers. 9 attacks at S5 or 3 attacks that ignore armor will put the hurt in whatever they strike. Sadly, they take rare choice points and unlike the spirit hosts you can't afford to just let them get killed by magic. It's usually better to pin enemies with spirit hosts and then flank later with another unit so, in essence, the Cairn Wraiths are to the Spirit Hosts as the Varghulfs are to the Vargheists. Oh, and never, ever upgrade one to a tomb banshee. The damage it deals to any significant target is terrible (most armies can easily have at least an L9 bubble in all important troops, and the others you can kill in melee) and it's weaker in close quarters.
EDIT# Wraiths are great weapon team hunters and can tie up a lot of troops by just being in charge range, use terrain to keep them from being charged and force a unit to either keep facing them or risk being flank/rear charged but 15 S5 attack from terror causing troops that they can not attack back.

==Building Your Army==
===Buying Your Army===
Go for the battalion box set as you are going to need a lot of skeletons, zombies and ghouls. The new battalion box dropped the zombies and replaced them with dire wolves - still a good buy. The army box is also good as it gives you a good selection of heavy hitters in addition to the core. You will want to invest in extra zombies/skeletons/dire wolves/dire bats/fell bats (depending on what you run) beyond what you plan on starting on the table. Several spells/abilities allow you to expand these units beyond their starting size (or flat out create new units), but only if you have the models to support it. This is one of the other great advantages the army, as those extra models are essentially free points. Boost a few units and all of a sudden what started off as a 2000pt game has suddenly turned in to a 2200 v 2000 game.

And burying enemy units in piles of zombies is a lot of fun.

If you don't care about GW run tournaments go [http://www.manticgames.com/Shop-Home/Kings-of-War/Undead.html Mantic] you can get 60 zombies for $60 (vs GW's 40 for $70) and 40 skeletons for 45 (vs GW's 40 for 99)

===Army Composition===

'''fielding lords'''
The first thing that is apparent in the VC army is just how balls out powerful a Vampire lord can be, the only other generic lords in the game that can go head to head with them and survive with any frequency are Chaos lords. The big draw back with this is the egg/basket problem, you can make the just about unkillable but it will cost you a huge number of points to do so. While tempting as this may be it is tactically unsound. In the current addition of the WHFB and VC rules numbers are more important them individual kill-power, that tricked out lord may win you one fight but if you spend those 400+ points on troops you can have 4 level 2 necromancer wizards raining spells down everywhere or a 60 skeleton hoard with command and a magic banner. With Vampires its about value for points, be it survivability, kill-power or irritation value.
'''troops, so many troops'''
Unless you are intentionally fielding a small high value force you will outnumber the other guy. This is because skeletons and zombies are cheap, spam-able and you can end up with more then you started with, if you don't you are doing it wrong. VC troops also tend so suck at killing anything with WS5+ or T4, unless they are ghouls, on the other hand a hoard of troops can hold anything that's not packing some serious kill power in place until they have been whittled down to nothing or you bring something bigger to finish the job the bones started. Ghouls on the other hand are your hammer in the core selection, a unit of 20 will pack 16 poison attacks in a 5wide formation, unfortunately they are twice the cost of skeletons making a basic hoard (10x4) over 400 points.

==Magic Items==

* '''Magic Weapons:'''

** ''Skabskath:'' An odd weapon. While its pretty unlikely you'll die from the end-of-game drawback the fact is that is that you'll be arming your general with a sword that means you'll have to overrun plus you won't be able to afford a ward save. Can be worth it on Strigoi Ghoul King (Curse of the Revenant and Aura of dark Majesty on a Terrorgheist and another careful in support, but be careful

* '''Magic Armor:'''

** ''Nightshroud:'' Additional Armor your Necromancers can use! Anyone attacking someone wearing a Nightshroud loses its Always Strikes First rule and bonuses to Strength in BSB. Stick it on your Vampire Lord riding a Zombie Dragon and start laughing. A tip for the beardy here. High Elves have no response to this build apart from Death magic... All they can do is pray and throw themselves on your Lord's blade
''Extra Cheese'' combine with quick blood or sword of striking

'''Magic Banners'''

**''Banner of Barrows'' If you are going to take a unit of more then 15 Grave guard (specially if you have a wight king in there) you will want this banner as the +1 to hit makes your relatively low WS (for elite infantry) far more destructive.

**''The Screaming Banner'' If you want to troll take this banner and force 3D6 LD tests (remove the lowest) To any one in combat with the unit, this banner is cheap enough to give to a regular standard bearer. It can turn a unit of sword'n'board skeletons (hard to move as it is) into a eternal tar-pit of undead.
''Extra Cheese'' Combine with the banner of barrows, wight king and hoard of grave guard for utter carnage as a failed test mean they will be hitting on 2+.

''A Little More Cheese'' Add in a vampire with Fear Incarnate and, in the off-chance they pass their fear test, make them re-roll it.

==Magic==

===Lore of Vampires===

Lore attribute allows you to allocate one healed wound to the caster or a model within 12. For great times cast it late game around your Coven Thrones to keep that rape train running and make your opponent cry as the ladies hit themselves.

*Invocation Of Nehek: The signature spell and the army's bread and butter. The spell that stands up all our terrible infantry to fight another round. Range is determined by the casting value you choose, up to 18 inches. At least 2 casters should have this at all times, no exceptions.
*Vanhel's Dance Macabre: Free march moves all around, wonderful for an otherwise slow army, and giving rerolls to hit. Wonderful since zombies can become terrifying when they hit first (see Corpse Cart) and reroll hits. Ghouls become almost broken when affected the same way.
**This spell can be used to push Hexwraiths across enemy units and trigger more hits from their Spectral Hunters rule. With some good positioning and multiple casters with access to this spell (Manfred and Kemler get it auto through loremaster, and it comes in a bound form on the Book of Arkhan) you can yo-yo a unit of hexwraiths back and forth across your opponent's line to devastating effect.
*Hellish Vigour: See above only with rerolls to wound. Our base infantry murders everything it touches if we get a magic phase all to ourselves. Put on grave guard for ultra lulz.
** Most players won't let you get both off but even Zombies can chew up units if you manage to stack Vanhel's and Hellish Vigour. Cast on a hoard of Ghouls you can take out most types of troop in huge numbers.
*Gaze of Nagash: Simple magic missile. 2d6 s4. Not huge or game changing but will ruin Beastmen and other light armour only armies. Also useful for picking off lone wizards
*Raise FUCKING Dead: A terrifying spell in which you can raise small squads (2d6 +3) of zombies or skeletons for slightly more. Amazing since it can be cast in combat. Get your main mob of 'bies or 'tons in combat and let the flank charges begin! May not add a whole lot but if you get it on less than fearless units the fear test alone can win the fight. If you roll it keep it, provided you have the models to support.
*Curse of years: A fun spell, not too competitive. but great at making your opponent waste dispel dice. It kills on a 6 when cast and for the following turns it gets a +1 to the roll. With a decent casting value of 12 your level 4 wizard will have no problems casting it. If the enemy values what you cast it at, they'll burn scrolls and dice to keep them from getting old as hell.
** This spell is great for killing off death-star units as it ignores armor and toughness.
*Wind of death: A magical vortex. gets d6 S3 hits for every rank in the unit and ignores armour. Great for thinning hordes that are better in combat than you (such as Orcs and Goblins); otherwise it's not generally good at much else. Aim at the chaff and watch the models melt away.
** This spell also works well on any T3 unit, Cast at High elf swordmasters or ANY spearmen for extra tears. Cast at huge blocks of skaven slaves and bring a bucket of dice.
'''Lore of Shadows:'''

This can be a useful lore on a vampire as it comes with several hexes and damage spells that increase the effectiveness of your own units by reducing the stats(WS,BS,S,T,I or M) of enemy units or firing off cannonball lines of pain or dropping nasty templates.
This lore will only really be seen in games over 1500points as Lore of vampires takes priority on at least 2 wizards.
*Melkoth's Mystifying Miasma: you will probably be going after your targets WS or BS as these will make the biggest difference in losses MOST of the time. sometimes reducing movement will help, ecpecialy if the target unit is try to get out of a blood forest or a wild wood
*Steed of Shadows: Not generally taken but can be a nice utility if you need to relocate a hero to the fighting or get a wizard out of harms way.
*The Enfeebling Foe: reducing a target units S but upto 3? hell yes, this can make even dragons harmless (compared to a un-hex dragon). Best used to reduce the pain of hard hitting charges or tarpitting
*The Withering: reduce target units T by upto 3? murder time! this is best for when something absolutely must die/you have to win combat
*The Penumbral Pendulum: a S10 6D6 long D3 wounding hate stick. only drawback is that it fails against anything with decent initiative.
*Pit of Shades: a slightly less horrifying version of purple sun. if you combo with Melkoth's Mystifying Miasma it even works on elves.(sorta)
*Okkam's Mindrazor:* normally an awesome spell, but due to the dead's generally shit Ld scores you will only get limmited mileage out of this.

'''Lore of death:'''

short ranged sniper magic is a good way to describe most of this lore. With 3 'chose your target model, even a character in a unit' spells, a -S&T hex, -3LD hex and the nightmare of all lizard-men (or other low initiate armys)Purple Sun of Xereus.
*Spirit Leach: one of the best anti monster spells around as you will normally have at least 2 more Ld then your target and very few monsters have ward saves.
*Aspect of the Dreadknight: Makes your unit cause fear at the lower cast meaning you will only ever use the higher cast as undead. Causing terror on the other hand can be useful as it lets you cause fear in units that cause fear, great for slowing down ogres and other fear causing units.
*The Caress of Laniph: Easily cast spell thats great for taking out wizards and other low strength models, will cause 2 wounds on average to a S3 target and ignores armor.
*Soulblight: -1S&T to a target, good for helping you win a combat or you can hit all enemies in range and watch your opponent panic.
*Doom & Darkness: -3LD to a target, unfortunately this can't be combed with Spirit Leach but it will make those fear test lot more likely to be failed.
*The Fate of Bjuna: much like caress but instead targets toughness, and wounds on a 2+ instead of a 4+, another wizard hunting spell. averages 3 wounds to s T3 model
*Purple Sun of Xereus: a magical vortex of death. anything it touches takes an initiate test, if they pass they live, if they fail they die. NO saves of ANY kind, no matter how many wounds. This spell is quiet capable of ending games (and friendships) in a single cast and due to lore attributes giving you a lot more power dice to keep the magic rolling.

==Tactics==

[[Category:Warhammer/Tactics]]

There are many many many many ways to field VCs. Any of the old house builds are still viable in some ways though Von Carstiens are the focus. Huge blocks of undying fodder and big monsters is the general idea, led by a vampire and his necromancer pals or by vampires only, depending on play style.

Blood Dragons are the least magical by vampire standards. at 2500 you can have a combat kitted lord that's a level 4 caster on a zombie dragon. All combat vampires on steeds, add blood and black knights to your heart's content and take preferred core. Wolves will keep up with the army while zombies and skeletons will give you the angles to get your knights into flanks. For added silliness add hexwraiths for a turn one charge into the biggest non magical unit and watch it burn!

Lahmians are the magic heavy build, still an all vampire list with a coven throne instead of a dragon and black coaches replacing blood knights. Add huge bricks of zombies and skeletons and push forward. Support with shadow magic from the non lord vampires and at lest 2 with LoV. See ogres reduced to T2 and be dragged down by drastically inferior infantry, watch dwarves kill themselves when a coven throne charges them, or as you chariot with killing blow and impact hits run through cavalry that can't touch them because of ethereal.

Vampire Heroes and Generals
You will want at least two characters that have lore of vampires in any game over 1000 points; this not only doubles your chance to channel but also gives you much needed redundancy in the army. A common tactic is to use zombies as a bunker for the general (if set up as a caster) as they are easily hoarded and resurrected at 2D6+wizard level level, add an iron-curse icon and an obsidian trinket and for 20 points, the unit becomes far more durable. If your general is set up for combat put him in with a unit of black knights, grave guard, or blood knights and either equip for hero bashing (high initiative/str/lots of re-rolls) or hoard murdering (lots of attacks).

Remember: never skimp on your hoards as they tarpit harder than most armies can handle. A block of Board 'n' Sword skeletons can hold most units in place for a few turns (read: forever) while causing moderate damage. With a lvl4 wizard in support, the attacking unit will have to kill an average of 7 more skeletons per turn, and the bones will reduce the enemy's numbers in a meaningful way.

'''Tactical tips'''
*Other then the requirements to field an army you will want at least one more wizard with Lore of Vampires for when your general eats a cannonball/miscasts horribly and dies so that you only have to survive one round of crumbling. It can be a cheap necromancer in a zombie bunker or a combat vampire in a unit of black nights, as long as there is one on the field. This is not fool proof but it dose make it easier to prevent death by crumbling.
*if you have the points drop a naked necromancer into any hoards that you have not already planed to put a hero/lord into, this is mostly for more cast of IoN at minimum cast value. om average it will take 3-4 successful cast at average resurrection rates to pay for the necromancers cost, the real value come in that it lets you spam IoN on 1 or 2 dice, you opponent can ether let you rebuild your losses or risk running out of dispel dice and letting something nasty through. You also can end up with a shit load of channeling dice to role in big games. This works really well in blocks of zombies since the only time you stop adding models to the unit is when you run out of models.
*when deploying your army you want to set up nice and wide, big blocks of troops in the middle with clear marching lanes to get into combat as soon as possible, your general should be in command range of as many non-vampire units as possible to allow for marches. Vampire units (vargulf/ghiest, blood knights ect)should be in place to flank charge, hunt war-machines and general reap havoc across their lines. Remember it dose not matter if you don't get first turn most of the time correct placement of troops in more important with this slow army then getting into shooting range.
*If you are going to deploy a vampire lord on dragon try equipping him with shimmering scale for a total of -2 to be hit in CQC as WS3 troops cannot actually hit the lord and hit the dragon on 6+ (this tactic needs to be confirmed)

Marcius Flavius

2013-05-17T13:35:48Z

123.195.92.139: /* Story 18 */

[[Image:Marcius Flavius Color.jpg|thumb|right|Commander Flavius and Brother-Captain Picard on the bridge.]]

Marcius Flavius, Battle-Brother of the Imperial Fists, was the first space marine assigned to a Federation starship in the historic Federation-Imperium officer exchange program. In his place went Commander Riker of the Enterprise to the Imperial Fists' fortress-ship, the Phalanx.

Marcius Flavius is remembered for his stern dedication to the basic values of the space marines, such as eternal battle readiness, and being willing to bend the rules to accommodate Captain Picard's odd preferences for not shooting xenos on sight, including Lieutenant Worf and Counselor Troi, and, most annoyingly, not destroying the heretical Iron Man Data.

=Famous Quotes=

"No, it is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

=The Writefaggotry=

==Story 1:==

Battle-broth... COMMANDER Marcius Flavius looked at the terminal in front of him in disgust. A thousand flashing touch-screen buttons, all of which had a different function, and apparently the same man was expected to deal with the ship's weaponry AND its communications. What nonsense was this? Admittedly, the lack of a chair for the weapons officer, to encourage constant attention, was an admirable detail, and he would bring it back as a suggestion when the transfer ended.

"Brother-Captain Picard!" Command Flavius shouted, his helmet-augmented voice shaking the bridge. "There is an unidentified ship dropped out of the warp! Shall I prepare a torpedo/phaser spread?"

"Good idea." commented Worf approvingly. Commander Flavius was uncertain of what to think about the xenos; while he was automatically condemned for his inhuman biology, he WAS the closest thing to a traditional space marine here. Still, his religion seemed suspiciously close to Khorne worshipping, he'd need a closer eye.

Captain Picard rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Why the Federation had agreed to Imperium-Federation officer transfers he could not guess, but he was doing his best to accommodate the commander, though secretly, he wished for Riker back, and wondered how he was performing aboard the Phalanx.

"No, Commander, not unless they're hostile." he said wearily.

Although he was wearing a helmet, and could go for a week in constant battle without tiring, Data thought he could hear a sigh from the space marine. "Commander," he started. "Perhaps you should--"

"I hear not the unholy cries of the Iron Men." he interrupted. Fortunately, he thought to himself, I outrank the creature. Unlike with Worf, who might have some redeeming qualities, Commander Flavius knew EXACTLY what he thought of Data.

His eyes dropped to the foul, though attractive, half-xenos Commander Troi. A psyker, that one, though a weak one. She might be forgiven for her heritage in death, but while alive, she was a constant link to the Warp. It was true that Flavius had fought alongside chapter librarians, but they had decades of training to control their heretical mindlinks to the realm of daemons. Troi, from his understanding, had had none of that. And Brother-Captain Picard would not fire on a potentially hostile ship at its weakest? And the doctor seemed to have FEELINGS for the Brother-Captain that were poorly disguised.

Only Tech-Priest La Forge seemed to be performing his duties adequately. This ship needed some reorganization, he thought.

"And if I can slay five hundred Slaaneshi cultists in two days," he thought. "With nothing but a nonfunctional chainsword, I can bring this ship to Imperial standards."

==Story 2:==

"Brother-Captain, sensors are finally able to scan the ship. They indicate it is a corvette-sized minor ship, probably a scout of some kind."

"Design?" asked the captain, warily.

"Sensors indicate... it is approximately 3040 meters on all sides, with a cubic shape."

Picard nearly spilled his tea, though reacted quickly enough to avoid it. "The Borg!" He stood up immediately, after setting down the teacup. "Shield up, ready all weapons, red alert!"

Commander Flavius was impressed as he followed the orders. "So THIS is what it takes to motivate the Federation." He would have to research the Borg a little more later, to learn what made them different from the Romulans they DIDN'T destroy earlier. Honestly, a race had been in multiple wars with humanity over the centuries and Picard didn't immediately open fire?

"Keep us just outside their weapons range." Picard paced the bridge over to the science officer's station, placing a hand on Data's chair's head. He was visibly sweating.

"It is time to finally see how these faux-Naval officers react to battle." he thought. He had never met a true Imperial Naval officer, only Guardsmen, but he'd heard of them. The Federation seemed like some bizarre combination of them and extremely lenient Rogue Traders.

"What's the enemy cube doing?" Picard asked.

"They appear to be... hailing us, sir. Shall I respond with a torpedo?"

"I wonder what they're going to say. Maybe that we should resist them" Worf mused sarcastically. A smirk appeared on Troi's face; apparently there was some joke here Flavius wasn't in on. Only the emotionless Iron Man and Picard, too busy for humor, said nothing. "Put it on screen." he said, facing the viewscreen.

An albino alien with cybernetic enhancement flashed across the screen. A terrifying red artificial eye adorned its face, with the other side covered by metal. Flavius recognized the alien, actually.

"Sir, this is not a Borg! This is an--"

"WE ARE DA BORK. YER TECH... TEK... SCIENCY AND BIOWHATZIT DISTINCTIVENESS'LL BE SCAVENGED AND ADDED TA OUR OWN. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, BUT FUN. DIS BORG SQUARE'S GOT ALL DA FIREPOWER OF A SPACE HULK, BUT MORE." A toothy smile adorned the Bork's face.

Brother-Captain Picard very quietly, very patiently walked back to his chair in the center of the bridge, all eyes on him. He took a sip of his tea, crossed his legs, straightened his shirt, and while still holding the teacup, responded with an uncharacteristically serious "Mr. Flavius. Fire all weapons."

For some reason, as he entered the commands into the computer to fire (with its atrociously childish sounds as the buttons were pressed), Flavius' mind flashed back to his first day on the Enterprise, a week ago.

He'd been in the galley, and despite these Federation values of "acceptance," no one sat at the table with him. Admittedly, no one else wore constant battle armor, was eight feet tall, and required three chairs and entire side of the table.

After a few minutes alone, looking over a PADD of Starfleet protocols the Brother-Captain had advised him to read, the dark-skinned Tech-Priest wandered over, and sat across the table.

"Hiya!" he said, extending his hand. "Name's La Forge."

"Greetings." Commander Flavius shook the hand. Fortunately, he'd had experiences with regular Guardsmen, and knew to use a fraction of his strength even when unarmored. As it was, in full armor, La Forge was lucky Crusher wasn't needed.

"May I ask you something, Tech-Priest?" the commander asked casually.

"Uh, sure."

"Why are you so... unaltered? I am aware cybernetic enhancements are considered standard and necessary amongst the Omnissiah's chosen, but while my own experiences with them have been limited, it was my impression that having nothing except artificial eyes is considered to be the barest of minimums."

"Uh... in the Federation, engineers don't normally have artificial body parts unless their real ones are destroyed somehow."

"Oh. I assume you lost your eyes in battle? Perhaps with the Klingons?"

"No, uh, I was born blind."

"Ah." The room fell silent as they did; apparently, everyone was listening to their conversation. Flavius poked at the "replicated meat" and "synthehol." He suspected it was a good thing that one of his chapter had been sent, and not a Space Wolf.

"So tell me, commander, what, uh, 'chapter' you're from?"

"I am Battle-Brother Marcius Flavius of the Imperial Fists."

"Oh, do you guys have your own ship?"

"Yes, our fortress-monastery Phalanx sails the stars, recruiting new hopeful marines from the various worlds we come across, both primitive and advanced. We are especially known for our self-flagellation." he said casually.

La Forge choked on his food. "Self... flagellation?"

"Yes. We punish ourselves for inadequacies. Our sergeants and captains do not even bother to punish failure; it is assumed that any failure by a marine will be dealt with by himself. Why, I am using a pain glove right now." He set the PADD down on the table and waved to La Forge with it; now that La Forge actually looked at it, it WAS a different glove than the heavy gauntlet on his other hand. "It stimulates the pain receptors all over the body. Every Imperial Fist owns at least one. I'm used to it enough by now that I can still function; otherwise these gloves wouldn't be usable in battle."

"What..." La Forge's disbelieving and disgusted eyes were luckily obscured by his VISOR. "What inadequacy are you punishing yourself for?"

"The Brother-Captain suggested I read this PADD of protocol." he said, picking it back up. "The implication is that I am not yet versed enough in Starfleet rules, so, I endeavor to please him."

"Oh." La Forge awkwardly finished, picked up his plate, and left.

That was the last time anyone ever ate with the commander.

Dozens of torpedoes flashed from the Enterprise, spreading out and impacting the Bork ship with incredible force, burning through bolted armor plates and exploding within, blowing weapons of all kinds out of the square.

“Evasive action,” Picard said calmly, “Pattern Delta-3. Circle them.” He turned briefly, eyeing Commander Flavius, who was holding down the firing buttons for all the Enterprise's weapons with one finger. “Continue firing. Target their weapons and shield emitters.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine shouted, quickly scanning the console for the appropriate options, remembering the memorized schematics from the central computer. Worf watched with approval as he selected the correct commands.

The Enterprise went to half-impulse, skirting the edge of the Bork square's engagement zone while pouring phaser fire into its flanks. Literally every surface of the rusting metallic vessel was covered with weapons, be they missile batteries, old-fashioned autocannons or guns so big they could swallow a Galaxy-class cruiser whole. One of Marcus Flavius's expertly targeted torpedoes sailed into the mouth of a big gun, detonating inside the firing chamber.

An answering storm of hot lead cascaded from the Bork square as the gun exploded, taking a three hundred-meter chunk out of the side, killing thousands of drones. The Enterprise, even maneuvering like a bee fed only with cocaine and promethium, was taking hits.

“Shield strength decreasing rapidly, sir!” Flavius yelled, happily blowing his enemy's guns to bits, “Seventy-five percent and falling!”

A random console exploded, blasting a random crewman halfway across the room.

“Medical team to the bridge,” Picard said, his voice tense, before he looked back at Flavius, steadying himself as the ship rocked to one side. “Suggestions, Commander?” he asked pointedly, testing Flavius's knowledge as much as looking for a brilliant tactical plan.

The Marine glanced at the displays before him, and nodded. “This foul ship we're fighting is tough, sir, but only on the outside. These scans indicate that the core is made of wood and iron. We still have the shield strength to break through.” Inside his helmet, he was smiling.

Picard blinked. “You're suggesting we ram it?”

Flavius nodded again. “I am, Brother-Captain.”

Picard turned to face the viewscreen as sparks flew from every available surface, blanketing the bridge in an ensign-burning glow. “Then by all means make it so, Commander. Take us in.”

“Aye, Brother-Captain!”

The Enterprise suddenly tilted to one side, going to full-impulse as hundreds of shells spattered off its forward shields. Firing a full spread of torpedoes directly ahead, the well-built Federation vessel routed all emergency power to the forward emitters and charged in.

For a moment, the battle ceased.

...and then the Enterprise came barreling out the other side of the Bork square, trailing plasma from both nacelles and with its saucer covered in wreckage and broken green bodies. Behind it, the enemy vessel vanished in a brilliant explosion as its primitive petroleum power plant lit. Picard took a moment to assess the damage to his ship before issuing his next orders.

“Contact Starfleet Command,” he said to the Commander, “Inform them of what transpired here and of our current position while we attempt emergency repairs.” He sighed. “And get those infernal things off my ship's hull.”

“Yes, Brother-Captain!” the Marine answered, quickly bringing up the communications screen and preparing a message. When he had finished, he would be the first out the airlock, scrubbing corpses off the Enterprise's saucer section and finishing off whatever might still be alive. It would be just like old times.

==Story 3:==

“Sister Apothecary.”

The great, booming voice shook a dozen small implements off the shelf by the door. Doctor Crusher sighed, and met the speaker where he stood, while an attendant cleaned up the mess.

“What seems to be the problem, Commander?” the Doctor asked, tricorder in hand.

The gigantic Marine squeezed through the doorway, bringing his enormous arms from behind him and setting a bloodied ensign on the nearest medical bed. Crusher immediately scanned him, frantically ordering everyone around to help her stabilize the patient. “What the hell happened to him?” she shouted at the Marine, carefully examining the poor man.

Flavius came to attention. “I was training in your holodeck when this man entered, improperly prepared for the simulation within. I disengaged the safeties and increased the power to eight hundred percent to provide myself with a challenge. The blast wave from an exploding tank shell threw him into the wall before I could pause the simulation.” The Marine looked at the man with an expression of pity, though no one could tell because of his helmet. “I am truly sorry. I will remember to lock the door next time.”

By this time Crusher was very busy trying to make sure the ensign would survive the next few minutes. “Yes! Make sure you do! Now leave, please. We have this under control.”

The Commander saluted and departed the infirmary, stooping as he walked out, scraping his pauldrons noisily on the wall. No longer in the mood for the holodeck's version of “battle”, he stopped by long enough to turn off the simulation and return the power levels to normal, then headed off to engineering, leaving deep footprints in the carpet.

LaForge looked up from his work, typed something into his PADD, grimaced, and glanced to the side, only to jump backwards as he found himself face-to-face with the towering hulk of metal that had replaced Commander Riker and his beard. Geordi adjusted his visor and set the PADD down.

“I thought you were still off-duty, Commander,” he said quietly, making a mental note to repair the doors Flavius had come through.

“I am, Brother Tech-Priest. I have found myself with considerable free time since my arrival. Your Federation work schedules are...” he paused, searching for the word, “Quaint. I have not been so underworked since boyhood.”

Geordi glanced around the room, noticing that all of his staff had mysteriously disappeared, probably behind secure blast doors.

Flavius straightened his posture. “Brother Tech-Priest, I have a personal request to make.”

“And what might that be?”

“I desire access to your main computer's design software,” he said matter-of factly.

The Chief Engineer resisted the urge to rub his useless eyes in exasperation. “...why?” he said finally, picking up his PADD again.

“The crew aboard this ship lack personal protection, Brother. You wear only flimsy fabric garments and minute technological items. I have personally injured a great many of you simply by colliding with you in hallways.”

LaForge winced.

“I wish to fashion armor for you, Brother. I will need your assistance, as I do not share your... expertise in such matters. I am fully prepared to submit a complex and detailed proposal to the Brother-Captain and any crew members who need be informed as well as-”

“Fine,” the Chief Engineer said, “That's fine. I'll have you set up by 0800 tomorrow.”

Flavius saluted. “Thank you, Brother Tech-Priest. I will arrive promptly. Excuse me, please.”

The immense Marine exited the room, scratching the paint off the door as he squeezed out into the hallway. Engineers began to emerge from a small storage closet off to the side.

“...is he gone?” one asked. LaForge let his head sink into his hands. What had he gotten himself into this time?

Ensign Danny's surgery was completed in an hour. Though he was confined to medical for several days, and the ringing in his ears never quite went away, he was no worse for wear after a close encounter with the computer's best approximation of a Leman Russ's main gun. When he first awoke after Crusher finished re-solidifying his rib cage, he found a rather large vase filled with an array of flowers beside his bed, with a note crudely attached to the outside.

“I hope you are well, Brother. Please allow me to express my profound gratitude that you live to fight again. At your next opportunity, please meet me in Ten-Forward.”

Ensign Danny was the first to join Flavius's armor project. Over the next few months, his injuries would become legendary.

“No. You must stand like this,” Flavius said, hunching over and putting his arms out in front of him. The timid young man in front of him tried to imitate his posture.

“Like this?” the ensign said, finding it hard to move in his bulky metal suit.

“Arms up. Brace your legs. Yes, that will do,” Flavius replied, standing and walking back over to the holodeck's arch. “Now prepare yourself.”

The ensign braced himself as best he could, and nodded. The Marine pressed a small, inconspicuous button.

A multi-ton tank roared out of the wall as the simulation re-engaged, filling the small room with the roar of a massive engine. The tank struck Ensign Danny squarely, plowing directly into his waiting arms. The poor man skidded over a hundred meters in his immensely heavy suit, straining against the tank as it continued to charge forward. Then, with a mighty yell, the crewman raised his arms, the suit's powerful, crushing hands biting through the tank's forward armor. The vehicle lifted off the ground and swung up, sailing over the ensign and crashing to the ground, tumbling into a low hill and exploding, pelting the heavy suit with shrapnel.

“Excellent!” Flavius called out, pausing the sim. “This is the most effective combination yet.” He rushed over to the sobbing ensign, pulling a specially-made, ridiculously rugged tricorder from his belt. “Are you alright, Brother?”

“My... arms...” Danny managed to say, before falling backwards into the dirt.

The Marine scanned him thoroughly, sighed, and hefted the ensign, suit and all, to his shoulder. “Tensile strength is still insufficient. I will have the computer address this.” With that, he carried his charge to the infirmary for the eight time that week, muttering litanies.

Crusher was livid. “You can't keep doing this!” she shouted, laying the unconscious patient on the familiar bed, calling for assistance. “There's a limit to how much we can repair, Commander!”

Flavius stood at attention. “Better here than on the battlefield, Sister Apothecary.”

“What battlefield?” the redhead replied angrily, running one of her instruments over the ensign's shattered arms, “What the hell do you think you're going to need this for? Why do you need to half-kill one of my people every hour just to test it?”

The Marine shook his head. “Sister Apothecary, I must be vigilant. The enemies of the Emperor persist even here. I cannot afford to let my Brothers seek them unprotected.”

The Doctor said nothing for a moment, consuming herself in her work. She didn't want to think about what the ensign was putting himself through, and, for the life of her, she didn't know why he did it.

“Commander,” she said finally, “Please return to your duties.”

Flavius bowed and departed, easily fitting through the enlarged and reinforced door. He made his way to the nearest turbolift, a new and improved heavy-duty model suited to his size and mass, and told the computer to take him to the bridge.

The Marine stomped out of the small, tubular craft as soon as it arrived, nodding to Worf, the almost-redeemable xeno, as he passed. Since the Brother-Captain was nowhere in sight, Flavius surmised that he must be inside his chapel, attending to the many less-glamorous facets of running a starship. He pressed the small button beside the door, noticing that it, too, had been reinforced, and barely deformed at all under the gentle pressure of his gauntlet.

“Enter,” said a voice from within. Flavius obeyed as the door opened, coming to stand at Picard's desk, upon which sat a steaming cup of his favorite tea.

“Ah, what can I do for you, Commander?” the balding man greeted the Marine, taking a sip of tea as he thanked the powers that be for keeping Flavius occupied and relatively out of trouble for the past few days.

“Brother-Captain, I have concerns about your crew,” the armored Marine stated simply, lamenting the lack of skulls in the small, conservative chapel.

“What sort of concerns?” Picard responded.

Flavius chose his words carefully, wary of speaking to one so glorious and exalted as the Brother-Captain about the failings of his mortal servants. “Brother-Captain, your crew are very poorly suited for the rigors of intense combat. They are physically weak and lack any sort of enhancement that would allow them to survive even the most mundane of inhospitable environments. A single deck being exposed to vacuum would kill over a hundred, for example.”

“And?” Picard said, urging the Commander to continue.

“Sir, I formally request permission to augment choice members of your crew.”

“Request denied.”

Flavius tilted his head to one side. “May I request an explanation, sir?”

Picard bit down an immediate retort, memories of his brief time with the Borg welling up like a tide of blades in the back of his mind. “Commander, I will not subject my people to such... modifications in the absence of a coherent justification for it. To date, you have presented no such justification.”

The Marine nodded, and saluted. “My apologies, Brother-Captain. I will make every attempt to ensure that those modifications will not be necessary.”

“See that you do,” said Picard, gesturing to the door. “Dismissed.”

A minute after Flavius had left, Picard began to wonder about the ramifications of the Marine's presence aboard his ship, and, for the first time in his life, actually considered allowing himself to prefer the presence of Q. He managed to cut that impulse off at the knees, and ordered another cup of tea from the replicator.

Meanwhile, Commander Riker was undergoing yet another round of training aboard the ship run by Flavius's Chapter, the Imperial Fists.

“FASTER! FASTER, BATTLE-BROTHER! YOU MUST RUN FASTER!” Shouted the Chapter Master, taking potshots at the Carapace-Armored human with a Heavy Bolter. For the past several months, he had taken it upon himself to train the man personally, and had noted a considerable and increasing improvement in his combat skills. But it still wasn't enough.

Riker's beard caught the wind as he bounded through the training course, doing his best to dodge the incoming fire. Never again would he complain about Captain Picard's insistence on playing opera in the background during those long, boring briefings. Never again.

==Story 4:==

Commander Flavius pulled out the tiny chisel he'd taken to mark on his armor as of late and wrote down the newest order from the Brother-Captain.

'No Surprise Combat Exercises'

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get the Brother-Captain to understand just how unprepared his crew was in case of attack. "Maybe I should concentrate on prevention..." Flavius thought "...although I doubt the Brother-Captain will allow any more 'experiments' with Tech-Priest LaForge after the melta incident."

Reaching his post, Flavius resumed his duties just a hail from the planet below came in.

"...*Static*... We're under attack...*explosion*... there were Romulan pirates waiting at the drop loca...". The transmission cut off abruptly. Pounding the heavily reinforced comm devise on his chest, Commander Flavius hailed the captain and other chief officers as he'd been told to do.

"I heard" Brother-Captain Picard said as he stalked into the bridge, "Mr. Data, what's going on?"

"It appears as if the away team has been captured and transported to a secure location, I cannot lock onto them to transport them back to the ship captain. Judging by the energy readings from the attack, the Romulans appear to be well armed."

Picard turned to tell Worf to begin assembling a rescue team when he realized that Commander Flavius had left the bridge.

Rage burned beneath the Space Marine's power armor. "Not only are crew in danger, but I must trek deep into the bowels of this minuscule ship to retrieve my sacred armaments." Flavius stormed down the corridors and finally reached his room.

Grabbing his powersword, bolter and bolt pistol he hesitated. He set down his bolt pistol and examined the 'phazer' he had been assigned by Tech-Priest LaForge. Flavius attempted to set the weapon from 'stun', a most useless setting to 'kill' it's proper position. The weapon broke in his titanic grip.

He elected for his bolt pistol instead.

Once ready he hit his abused comm button again and commanded the poor insign in the transporter room to get him as close to the Romulans as he could.

"At least this cultures teleportorium is reliable." He mused as specs of lights danced in front of his visor.

Brother Flavius appeared in the room the 'negotiations' were suppose to be in. He pulled out his auspex... or 'tricorder', also heavily reinforced, and began scanning the area. His keen eyes noticed footprints and drag marks going off in an eastern directions, so he began to track the xenos filth to recover the captured officers.

The tracks went up to a large abandoned building that his sensors said was the source of the transporter blockage. He was about to approach the building when a hail of phazer and disruptor fire erupted from the surrounding area and plinked off Flavius's armored body.

"This reminds me of that traitor legions lasgun fire... stupid flashlights" Flavius thought to himself as he leveled his bolter and started putting high caliber explosive rounds into nearby xenos.

"These xenos appear to be Eldar witches, but they are using primitive weapons and no psykers... the crew will have to be disciplined when we return."

Flavius continued to pump high explosive rounds into the Romulans as they continued to fail to even scratch his armor. Eventually the leader of the pirates came out and the firing stopped. He wanted to negotiate the safe release of the prisoners...

Flavius put up his bolter, cause a sigh of relief to ripple through the remaining Romulans. But before the leader could open his mouth to name their terms Flavius had sliced him in half with his power sword. As the green xenos blood sizzled on his glowing blade, Flavius said

"It seems negotiations have failed."

==Story 5:==

"Sir, the IKS Rachtar is coming out of warp." said Data, placing the Klingon ship on the viewscreen.

Commander Flavius had spent much of his free time reviewing the xenos species catalogued by the Enterprise's computers. Most of them were of little interest or, it seemed, were content to serve aboard the ship under the decidedly human captain. The Klingons, sans Worf, were not.

According to the computer, multiple wars had been waged with them. Their technology was roughly equal to the Federation's, with the Klingons having weapons advantages while the Federation had shield, speed, and miscellaneous advantages, but they were also a warrior culture.

Flavius swallowed his rage. If he was on the Phalanx, a xenos species that worshipped war would be exterminated immediately on suspicion of Khorne worship. But... the Klingons were ostensibly friendly. And, though it pained him to admit it, Brother Worf was nearly acceptable as a crewmate. He was that only member of the crew capable of providing any kind of challenge in the holodeck, albeit only in melee combat, and he feared battle less than anyone on the ship but Flavius himself.

So, though he would never admit it, Commander Flavius was rather looking forward to their rendezvous with the IKS Rachtar. A proper warship, even a xenos one, would be a welcome sight. Even the Bork Square didn't really qualify.

"Sir, I'm detecting strange additions to the Klingon vessel. Nonstandard spikes appear to be jutting out from random areas of the hull, and... well, non-euclidean geometry appears to have warped areas of the ship in ways our sensors can barely read." The Iron Man sounded perplexed.

"Open a hailing frequency." Picard stood up. He had personally spoken with Captain K'rell before, and hoped he'd be remembered.

The Klingon ship came on the viewscreen, but even Flavius, who'd never seen the interior of a Klingon ship before, could tell something was wrong. The same impossible geometry adorned the bridge, and a half-crazed Klingon came to the screen. By his insignia, he was K'rell.

"Federation!" he snarled, showing his teeth.

"Captain K'rell! This is Captain Jean-luc Pi--"

"I know why you've come!" he hissed. He pulled a knife from his belt, and waved it menacingly at the screen, despite their being several hundred kilometers away from each other. The attentive battle-brother noticed another Klingon, sitting at a weapons post in the background.

"Captain--" began Picard.

"You have come to be the BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" screamed K'rell, and at that mark the Klingon in the background punched a few buttons, attacking the Enterprise with the ship's disruptors. It was quick thinking by Flavius that raised the shields in time.

"It is as I suspected." he muttered sadly. "They've been corrupted.

"By what?!" demanded Worf, stepping to Flavius.

"Khorne." said Flavius grimly, as Picard turned around, shocked at the aggressiveness of the now-turned Klingons. "I suspect you may be the only Klingon not of his ilk, simply because you are among humans so much. Your species' warrior culture would leave them vulnerable to his influence." said the commander plainly. "The Rachna must be destroyed, Brother-Captain. It is too far gone."

==Story 6:==

'Captain, there's... something....'

Councillor Troy was suddenly standing, clasped tight around her head, face screwed up in pain. As the bridge crew turned toward her, the air around her seemed somehow to ripple and then in an instant tear open, spilling a sickly multicoloured light around the room. Worf moved faster than anyone, but in the short seconds it took him to run towards her it was already over: a nightmare confusion of claws, tentacles, and feathers had wrapped itself around Deanna, pulling her back into the impossible hole in reality which then closed in on itself, leaving only the vanishing echoes of a scream which seemed to come from a galaxy away.

Picard lifted his cup of Earl Grey (hot) and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep sip.

'Well, it seems you were right, Commander Flavius- and I am of course a man of my word. Fifteen quatloos to you.'

Beneath his helmet, Flavius smiled with grim satisfaction. He hoped quatloos were something you could shoot.

==Story 7:==

"Commander Flavius?"

Flavius sighed heavily. THIS conversation again.

"Sir? Did you consider my request?"

"One does not REQUEST to be a space marine, boy." Flavius did not turn around to face the 'acting ensign.' "One is offered the chance to serve the Emperor, and you are not worthy."

"While not?!" he whined in an adolescent voice so that even the battle-hardened warrior cringed. "I'm an expert engineer, I'm a scientist, I'm--"

"Useless in a fight. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen? When I was sixteen I had already killed four orkz with an autogun and a machete and been in the Planetary Defense Forces for three years, and I was considered to be a weak recruit. And you consider yourself worthy?"

"But sir--"

"Not another word." he said flatly. "Now return your post as helmsman, and be glad this is not an Imperial ship. The helmsmen there need to interact with the navigators--"

"What's so bad about that?"

The child's endlessly inquisitive nature may have been acceptable to Brother-Captain Picard... but Flavius doubted it. "What's so bad about that is that the Navigators are psykers. Every moment they live is not just a slap in the face to the fabric of reality itself, but they are in constant danger of tearing a hole in reality and allowing a daemon to climb out of their corpse and consume the crew. Every navigator is exposed to the glory of the Emperor's true form for an instant, burning out his or her eyes forever, and instead forcing him or her to view the Warp, the endless sea of emotion itself, filled with bloodthirsty daemons it takes twenty normal men to kill the least of. They are forbidden to speak of what they see there, though, because merely the mention of it has been known to drive men mad and into the embrace of Chaos worship, wherein their souls will be damned eternally."

Flavius hadn't meant to, but he was now less than two inches from the ensign's face, bending down to head level. "Now back to your post." he whispered as much as a space marine could.

"Yes sir." he replied quickly, and sat down. He wouldn't be resubmitting his request to be an Imperial Fist.

Brother-Captain Picard punched a few buttons on his arm chair, and a message flashed on Flavius' console.

GOOD WORK

Flavius smiled, though no one could see it through his helmet.

==Story 8==

Meanwhile, on the Phalanx, Commander Riker sat in the captain's chair, while the Chapter Master strode on the bridge. Servitors, the presence of which Riker was still having difficulties with, staffed most of the positions, but a few augmented but mostly normal humans staffed the rest. He knew the Chapter-Master had given him command to gauge his ability. He didn't intend to disappoint.

"Sir," a servitor said in a dispassionate voice. "We are picking up an unidentified ship. The markings and design are unknown."

The Chapter-Master prepared to give the order to fire, before reigning himself in. "No," he thought. "The Phalanx can handle a mistake if Riker makes one. Let us see how this plays out."

"Hail them." commanded Riker. He was off to a bad start.

The screen flashed to a bridge with fat, short humanoids with odd markings on their faces. Their bridge appeared to be an odd mishmash of anything they could find, with nothing uniform.

"Hello." one said. "We are Pakleds. We are broke. Can you make us g--"

"FIRE ALL WEAPONS!" roared Riker, suddenly standing. The space marine in charge of the weapons are surprised by Riker's order, and took a moment to carry it out. A second later, the Pakled ship had been vaporized.

"Very good, Battle-Brother!" said an honestly impressed Chapter-Master. "I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you to destroy the xenos enemies of the Emperor."

"The Pakleds and I have a history, Chapter-Master Pugh." said Riker evenly, but whatever it was, Pugh would apparently not learn it from Riker.

"We'll make a proper Battle-Brother of him yet." he thought.

==Story 9==

The second officer meeting on board the Phalanx wasn't going well. The room itself was big enough to double as a football field, and yet the four hulking figures clad in power armor seemed to fill it all. The Fists have concluded their second battle training just half an hour earlier, there was no time, nor no need to take off armor. Riker discovered he was sweating. A lot.
-As I was trying to say, the Federation discovered that the stun setting enables us to keep the casualties on both sides to a minimum. Due to that we are able to forge treaties with many...
-THAT IS ENOUGH, COMMANDER
Chapter Master Vladimir Pugh sounded like a death metal band fed to a wood chipper even without a helmet. The vox system on his Terminator armor wasn't helping.
-YOU'VE TRAINED WITH US FOR OVER A WEEK NOW. THE EMPEROR HIMSELF NAMED US HIS ANGELS OF DEATH. THERE IS NO NEED FOR THE ANGELS OF STUNNING FOUL XENOS A BIT AND THEN TALKING WITH THEM WHILE HOLDING THEIR HANDS IN THE IMPERIUM OF MAN.

==Story 10==

"Dukat, what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry Aun, it seems i forgot to mention when we joined with you exactly whose Greater Good this Alliance would serve....."

"The Empire will not stand for this Dukat, it is not for the Good of one that we act but for the Good of all..." Dukat cut off the Ethereal with a raised hand, his second Damar snickering and then coughing as he blew a portion of his glass of Kanar up his nose.

"Aun, i don't think you understand the situation. As you are well aware your Kroot allies were MOST impressed with the Jem' Hadar they encountered when we first met. Indeed, i seriously doubt there is a single Kroot left in your force that has not fought with the Jem' Hadar." The Ethereal shifted slightly, noticing the slimy Vorta adviser gesture to Dukat.

"Perhaps i can put this in a more..Friendly manner than Dukat. Cardassians can be so blunt when perhaps a more....Gentle approach is called for."

"If you have upset the founders in some way, we meant no offense, we all serve for the Greater go.."

"EXACTLY! Which is why we are trying to help you. See, your Kroot absorb genetic traits from those they defeat in battle yes?"

"Indeed, but what does this have to do with these demands that the Tau Empire join the Dominion instead of being allies?' Damar laughed again.

"So your troops eat your enemies then absorb their traits? Oh this is rich..." he intoned while rolling his eyes as well as particular double spined neck.

The Vorta (Weyoun if the Ethereal recalled correctly) glared at the Cardassian cutting him off. "I'm getting to that Damar, a fact you would notice if you could put down that bottle for once."

"Please, go on. Tell him Vorta" The Aun was getting sick of all this artifice. "Tell me what? he demanded.

The Vorta opened his palms towards the Aun in a gesture of peace that conveyed anything but.

"You see Aun, the Jem'Hadar require a substance called Ketracel White to live. Apparently now, so do the Kroot.The founders are willing to renegotiate the terms of our alliance in exchange for giving you a supply of this substance. "The foul creature smiled at the Aun before continuing.

"Unless of course you wish us to negotiate with the Kroot directly without your involvement?'

==Story 11==

"Let me make sure I understand."

"Alright," said Picard, patiently. The ambassador's head was still on the floor, squished between it and Flavius' palm.

"There is a race of pointy-eared, superhumanly tough and strong humanoids who are powerful psykers and extremely attractive to humans and good at coming up with complex plans... who AREN'T the Eldar?"

Sarek was sweating. "Captain..." he breathed, barely. "If you could please restrain your first officer..."

"Actually, Commander, there are two, sort of. Continuity's never been good with how powerful psychics the Romulans are."

==Story 12==

Commander Marcius Flavius sat at the table across the Iron Man. To his sides sat Tech-Priest La Forge, the half-xenos psyker Troi, the xenos warrior Worf, and Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Brother-Captain Picard was on the bridge.

Why he had been selected for the Imperial-Federation officer exchange program, the Imperial Fist would never know.

"So let me make sure I understand this game," he started, staring across from the Iron Man, whom he didn't slay only on orders from the Brother-Captain. "We... gamble."

"That is correct, Commander." replied the white-skinned android. "To be more specific, if you think your opponent is 'bluffing,' you may react in a different way than if you think his hand is strong. Many people lose money on this game and find it addictive, though we use worthless chips instead."

"Wait." the wheels in the commander's head were turning, and everyone faced him, even Data stopping his shuffling. "Wait, this is a game about confusing your enemies with lies and planning, which you can counter by barging through their lies and being valorous, but that is addictive like a sickness, and since it's a game, people find it pleasurable?"

"I suppose so." replied the Tech-Priest, placing his arm on the table.

Commander Flavius immediately left the room without saying anything more. Truly, the effects of the Chaos gods could be felt even here.

==Story 13==

Picard sat in his ready room reviewing another report. According to the last message Riker had taken to the role of regimental commissar rather disturbingly well, Picard was somehow sure getting Riker to give up the gold encrusted hat jacked and pistol when he got back was going to be almost as trying as dealing with their temporary commander. Allmost.

There was a chime at the door followed a booming voice that could be heard quite clearly through the bulkhead. "You summoned me Brother-Captain?". Picard took several deep breaths and said "Enter".

The Marcus carefully negotiated his way through the door. It had taken six sternly worded lectures, LaForge first re-enforcing then ultimately applying a force field to the main bulkheads to prevent the commander from enlarging them with explosives.

"Commander Flavius... you enjoyed your recent shore leave?" He asked.

"I was able to make productive use of your lax and decadent grant of time for personal idleness yes"

"Good. Good..." Picard paused "Only I've received some complaints."

"Sir?"

"Well first, the rest planet we booked for you had taken a lot of time and trouble to prepare suitable accommodations for you. So they were quite put out when you didn't show up. I would like you to send a formal appology to them."

Marcus grumbled "Yes sir."

"One other... minor, I'm sure trivial complaint... a federation colony world rose in rebellion, slaughtered all the non humans in its population and has declared its intent to subjugate the sector for the God-Emperor. Honestly, I'm not even mad about this one. I'm just curious how you managed it."

==Story 14==

Battle-Brother Riker stepped into the Adeptus Sororitas temple slowly and carefully. From what he'd been told, the Sisters took their oaths and loyalty to the Emperor VERY seriously, even more so than the average space marine.

And the average space marine, in his experience, was as likely to open fire on aliens without talking has he was to breathe.

"Greetings, Battle-Brother." A white-haired woman in black-and-red armor approached him, while many other woman, whose hair were all dyed white but not in armor, prayed silently across the large opening hall.

"I am Sister Herelen, the caretaker for this temple." She gave a slight bow, to which Riker responded with a much more dramatic one. She seemed approving. "Forgive me, but the Phalanx's message on why you would be visiting us was... poorly-worded. I would appreciate some clarity."

Riker coughed awkwardly, and eventually forced out a "I would like to borrow some power armor." in as much a whisper as he could.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I am merely an honorary battle-brother, Sister. I have not taken the gene-seed of a Primarch into me." Even though the Federation cared not at all about homosexuality, even Riker could tell how gay that sounded. "And as I am to old to do so in any case, I cannot. This leaves me in the awkward position of being unable to join the Imperial Fists in battle, as I cannot use space marine power armor, so..." he trailed off, rolling his head to finish his point.

"You are aware that we only adorn *women* in armor, are you not?"

"Yes, but, I was hoping maybe a Tech-Priest could iron out the--" Riker paused, pierced by a stare by the Sister, obviously unamused by the idea of altering holy armor. "Well, I--"

"Come with me."

She led him through the hallways of the temple, all adorned with gold, black, and red artwork of the Emperor, marble statues to the sides of the halls making it almost hard to walk. Multiple times, Riker had to duck his head beneath the crossed spears of marble Adeptus Custodes as a portrait of the Emperor looked at him, judging him for sins the artist had assumed he'd committed.

Eventually they came to a room that Riker easily identified as an armory. He'd seen bolters and powerswords before, they were standard armament for the Fists, but he was only just now exposed to flamers.

He did not like them.

"Here." she said, gesturing to dozens of suits of armor on the far wall, identical save for their sizes: some were obviously for petite women, while others were for... less petite women.

"What's--" was all Riker got out, before a heavy slap on his back sent him stumbling forward to the largest suit, made for a 5'10" or so heavyset woman. "What's this?"

"Your armor." she said simply. "It is the only thing you might fit in."

She forced him to undress and suit up in front of her, and by the time he was done, it now appeared to her that she stood before a standard Sister of Battle... save for the obviously male face and beard.

Her heart stopped for a moment as she looked at Riker's awkward, uncomfortable face as he tested out the armor's abilities.

Giving himself a once over an odd thought came over the commander spinning a full 360 giving the sister a chance to see the absurdity of sticking Riker of all people in one of their suits. 'If I'm going to be stuck in this mind as well have fun with it.'

"So," he said in all seriousness, "How do I look?"

The sister started to snicker but couldn't say anything.

"Well," Riker continued on un-phased by his companions silence he motioned to his breast plate, "I think these are going to make me a little top heavy but that's something I can live with...But in all honesty I believe the colors are needs to be changed to the of the crew of the Phalanx." The commander clapped his hands together, "I also need a banner of the Imperial Fist with me wherever I go also...after all they're the ones sponsoring me."

Her response was a squeak of, "Of course." Before the sister bolted out of the armory laughing as she went.

Onboard the Phalanx the Chapter Master stood waiting for their honorary Battle-Brother to return via Teleport along with several of his staff standing next to him. He had expected company to return with the Commander, more likely than not angry company, considering where he sent the man to be suited. However, what came on board wasn't what he expected.

Dressed in SoB's armor painted in Imperial Fist colors Commander Riker held a banner adorned with he Chapter's insignia. Many of the present Astartes didn't see the amused smile on the smaller man's face but they did hear his voice, "Sirs, I'm ready to fight on land, sea, or space in the suit you had provided to me."

"No...no, no, nononononon-"

The look of absolute horror and denial on all Astartes present would be a fond memory in the minds and lore of all Sisters for generations to come...

==Story 15==

Marcius Flavius had a sense of duty to rival any other space marine. A great warrior with a strong sense of honor who would never question an order, and always execute it with zeal. This was his toughest test yet.

Four months ago a large batch of mnemonics reached the Enterprise, and since then Marcius would spend at least ten hours a day on indoctrination sessions and meditation.

He was standing on the bridge in a Federation uniform as the acting Security Officer of the Enterprise. His muscles were bulging and veins were popping literally everywhere on his body. The elastic fabric gave up in a couple places. His left hand hand was holding the console.

'BROTHER FLAVIUS TO THE SECURITY TEAM'
The console shattered - his fingers went right through it. There was a sizable stream of blood coming from his ear, his face was contorted in agony.
'SET PHASERS TO STUN.'

==Story 16==

"Battle-Brothers!" screamed Commander Marcius Flavius, at the top of his lungs, nearly knocking the rest of the away team off of their feet. For a brief moment, the Commander thought Tech-Priest La Forge looked annoyed at his having replaced Commander Riker in the Imperium-Federation officer exchange program. But that would be heresy. And regardless, he had more important things to do than wonder about the feelings of a Tech-Priest.
"We go now into GLOOOOORIOUS BATTLE!" he screamed, slightly less loud, but still enough to qualify as a sonic-based weapon. "The enemies of humanity, the foul xenos Romulans, have kidnapped an innocent human diplomat sent to negotiate the release of *another* hostage! Their treachery knows no bounds."
"I thought the diplomat was a Vulcan, not a human?" piped up Ensign Johnson.
Though Commander Flavius wore a full helmet, as all space marines do, the Ensign could feel his eyes drilling into him. "Good thing I'm dressed properly for a mission like this, or he'd hate me even more." he thought, thankful he'd remembered to tuck in his red shirt.
"The plan is a frontal assault."
"What? The Romulans have a fortified position." interrupted La Forge.
"Exactly. Xenos as treacherous as them must expect a rescue attempt. Therefore, we must be as surprising as possible in our attempt, since they know it's coming. The logical approach is to launch the assault with a small team from the back of the building, since we can't just use the teleportatum due to the..." He looked at Geordi helplessly.
"Negative ionic interference."
"Yes, that. Since they must know what we know, we'll instead launch a frontal attack, since they won't expect that, because to do that we'll have to run in an open field for over a mile while they have the high ground."
"If that is so, won't they *expect* us to launch a frontal assault, since they know we know they know?" La Forge wondered. "Ah, but they know we know they know, so they must know we'll know they'll position extra people in the back, leaving their front vulnerable."
Geordi froze for a moment, Commander Flavius continuing to talk in his baritone voice in the background. "Jesus Christ." he thought. "This must be how a space marine thinks, but *all the time*!"

==Story 17==

"Captain! Captain!" The Iron Man Data leapt from his chair at the foot of the bridge and knelt down. All eyes were on him. "Captain Picard is unconscious." He tapped the symbol on his chest. "Data to Crusher; we need a medical team on the bridge. Commander, I believe you're in command, now."

Marcius Flavius, first space marine in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, stepped down from his position at tactical. "Understood. I shall endevour to do even better than Brother-Captain Picard."

Worf edges over to tactical, resuming his place. "Sir, what should we do? Should we fire on the Borg or the Klingons?"

Commander Flavius thought for a moment. The Bork were more immediately dangerous, *and* they kept flooding the subspace radio with RESISTANCE IZ FUTILE BUT FUN, but the Khornate Klingons would probably be more trouble in the long run.

"Target the Groch'tar and fire a full broadside!" He made a fist and stood up, just as Crusher and a medical team reached the bridge.

"... Do you mean a phaser or a photon torpedo?"

"... Just do both." He sat down, annoyed. "... Xenos." he whispered under his breath.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing." he lied.

== Story 18 ==

Command Marcius Flavius sighed. It was his tenth week as an exchange officer in the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program, and secretly, he wondered if Battle-Brother Riker was having a better time than he was aboard the Phalanx, the Imperial Fists' massive battlebarge. What he wouldn't give to be among his brothers, among whom the inability to slay a tenscore of orkz would be laughed at. Here, he bet the average officer or enlisted man would lose a fight to a *guardsman.* The only two who wouldn't were a xenos and an iron man. He shook his head with disappointment. The Federation was a poor imitation of the glory of the Imperium. He'd barely even been able to convince them to let him wear his full battle armor at all times.

The iron man's console beeped one of the annoying toy noises that indicated something. "Captain, we appear to be in range of some kind of subspace anomoly." Data chirped.

"Put it on screen." Brother-Captain Picard ordered.

It was a white vortex of some kind, slowly rotating, crackling with some kind of reverse lightning. It looked vaguely like a warp storm.

"Recommend a full torpedo barrage, Brother-Captain." he said.

"Data, what are its effects?"

After a few moments of silence, Data replied. "It appears to be a reverse black hole, creating anti-gravity that propels the Enterprise away from it while pulling itself more and more into the universe. It's hard to see, but it is expanding. It is currently eight hundred miles in diameter, if it continues at the rate it is expanding, it will engulf the nearest Federation colony on Alphas-4 in eight hours."

"That must be why the planets in the system have started to get out of their alignment." Tech-Priest La Forge put in.

"Options?" demanded Picard.

Data thought for a moment. "I suggest we try Command Flavius' plan, sir. We don't have anything on board for this kind of situation."

Picard nodded to Flavius. "Make it so."

"Sensors indicate the torpedoes have increased the effect's size. It is now approximately twice as large." said the iron man.

"Damn!" cursed Picard.

"Sir," said the fifteen year-old boy who was inexplicably allowed to be an officer. "We're getting some kind of... reading, something is exiting the effect! It looks like a ship!"

Everyone on the bridge watched the screen with bated breathes as a tiny black figure exited the effect.

"Sensors indicate... it's an enormous ship, sir! It's kilometers long!"

Flavius had a button beep. "Sir, it is hailing us. Shall I respond with phasers?"

Picard sighed. "They might not be enemies, Commander. Open the channel."

Flavius hesitatingly did as he was commanded. The room flooded with noise.

"KILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL
FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILL
FRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFRENZYKILLFR" was all it got out before Flavius ended it on his own.

Picard was barking out orders, but Flavius knew what to do, now. He gripped his chainsword and bolter, comfortable knowing they were both with him. Regardless of what happened today, he would see the Federation's gall in the face of Chaos.

== Story 19 ==

For the first time in the two centuries spent as a Battle Brother Marcius Flavius felt depressed. His will and resolve were strong even when boarding the infamous khornate cruiser Bronze Axe, when he fought the unending wave of greenskins on Armageddon, and even when he was ambushed by a Lictor with no other weapons than his ceramite-clad fists. This world was strange, alien, and only the intense hypnotic indoctrination held his mind together.
Captain Picard was not happy. Far from it.
"Marcius, that WAS a Cardassian Ambassador and his troupe."
"I WAS INSTRUCTED THAT WE ARE NOW AT WAR WITH THE XENOS WITH RIDGES ON THEIR FACES."
"That's the Klingons Marcius, not the Cardassians"
"THEY STILL HAVE RIDGES, I THOUGHT THEY WERE A BOARDING PARTY."
"For god's sake, people were shouting at you to stop"
"FOR ALL I KNOW THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE, MIND CONTROLLED OR STUPID. I ONLY LISTEN TO THE CAPTAIN'S ORDERS."
"*I* was shouting at you too!"
[COUGH]
"Is that how a Space Marine of your universe should conduct? Imagine how your superiors would react if you shot an alien ambasador in the head vaporising it, and then kicked the headless corpse in the chest so strong that it left a dent in the wall!"
Captain Picard recoiled in a mixture of terror and surprise. Nothing sounds like a giggle amplified by Astartes power armor.
5760 Faeous

== Story 20 ==

Commander Flavius was torn. The Iron Man Data was an abomination, a machine that mimicked a man. Every fiber of his being said that every second of Data's continued existence was an insulting mockery of Mankind and the Emperor.

But not only was Data a valued crewmember of the USS Enterprise, he was one of the few beings that seemed to understand Flavius and didn't treat him with a mixture of contempt and fear. Flavius had found few he could relate to aboard the Federation starship during his officer exchange from the Imperium. To his dismay that small number included both Data and the foul-xenos called Worf.

"And how would you address a Romulan ambassador?" Data asked.

"You are a treacherous xenos scum who thirsts for the blood of humanity," Flavius boomed. "I look forward to the day when our boot is on your neck."

Data paused for a moment, tilting his head as he considered the words.

"Once again you are technically correct Commander Flavius," the android said. "But this is a lesson on diplomacy. I suggest a rephrasing. I suggest you say the following. Greetings Ambassador, your culture is dynamic and rich with tradition and I look forward to our mutual enrichment?"

Flavius frowned beneath the helm of his powered armor.

"That is not what I said at all," he growled.

"Incorrect Commander," Data replied. "The expansionist intent of the Romulan Star Empire, or as you would put it, their thirst for the blood of humanity is more politely phrased as being dynamic. They are also in many ways a primitive society, placing tribalism and momentary advantage over long-term gain, or as you would put it, treacherous. That aspect of their culture can be described as rich with tradition without creating an interstellar incident."

"Brother Captain Picard has ordered me to attend these lessons with you Iron Man," Flavius growled, dropping the unearnable honorific of Brother Data that his Lord and Master Picard had commanded he use in mixed company. "But while I gain some knowledge of your diplomatic ways I will never wish for the enrichment of a murdering xenos, mutual or otherwise."

"Would you not Commander Flavius?" Data asked, almost appearing to smile. "As foul and unworthy as they are is it not better for alien species to adopt the ways of humanity and serve them? Assuming that your predilection for genocide could not be sated?"

"I.. suppose that would be...somewhat...acceptable," Flavius said, ever distrusting the quick retorts of this machine that walked like a man. Flavius suspected that Picard had deliberately chosen the Iron Man to deliver these lessons in diplomacy precisely for this reason. It was a strange art, more suited for an Inquisitor or a Rogue Trader and seemed to revolve around the delivery of insults and challenges that sounded like mere blather and pleasantry.

"Then that would be a better course for them then the one they have chosen, and humanity would benefit. Mutual enrichment, though they may not see it as such. That is how the Federation uses diplomacy. To neutralize outside threats and change them so that they strengthen the UFP. Though I would ask you not to repeat that outside this room. I am told that I lack tact and frequently say things that organic beings would prefer not to acknowledge."

== Story 21 ==

"Commander, get back!"

Commander Marcius Flavius of the USS Enterprise, formerly Battle-Brother of the Phalanx, and the first of the Federation-Imperium Officer Exchange Program (along with Battle-Brother Riker) ignored Worf's order and rushed to his side.

The xenos was bleeding through his uniform, a long gash allowing red or pink (it's kind of unclear) blood to flow from it. Worf would be fine, but he was temporarily disabled. Worf's bat'leth lay on the hallway's floor next to him, and Marcius noticed that his com badge was also slashed so as to prevent him from calling for help.

Worf lay in front of a door, breathing heavily, phaser pointed toward the door with his one good arm.

"Battle-Brother Worf, what has happened?" he asked, unholstering his bolter.

"In there, Cargo Bay D." Worf breathed through gritted teeth. "I was just doing a routine cargo check, I have no idea how they got in there. I tried to call for help, but..." Worf winced and his aim momentarily faltered. He finished by nodding to his comm badge.

"What's in there?"

"Do you remember when we fought the Bork?"

"Yes."

"They make the Bork look like nothing. They are the only -- the only -- enemy the Klingons have ever feared. They reproduce like nothing else, right now there are only a few thousand in there, but in an hour, tens of thousands."

Worf grabbed Marcius' shirt, almost ripping it off of his battle armor. "You need to go in there and finish this, before they escape and destroy the ship. They can exert some kind of mind control on most species, Klingons are immune, but a strong willed human might..." Worf winced again, unwilling to scream in pain, but finally collapsed.

Marcius tapped his comm badge. "Flavius to Sister-Apothecary Crusher. Battle-Brother Worf is wounded, deck A-21."

Crusher said something in response, but Flavius wasn't listening. He keyed the door to lock once he'd stepped through, and gingerly stepped forward. He could wait for back-up, but to be honest, Worf was the only back-up on the ship worth a damn, and he was already wounded.

Cargo Bay C was even more horrible than he'd expected. Worf's estimate of a thousand was far inaccurate, it was more like seven or eight thousand. Marcius identified them as some kind of Slaaneshi daemon immediately, though the Federation wouldn't know that, one that invoked the emotion of love to control others. Worf had been wise to call for him.

It was only after he had destroyed the entire deck in his crusade and thirty-five ensigns lay dead that Picard informed him that this type of daemon was called a "tribble." He would have to report this to the Phalanx once he had the chance.

==Science==

"Explain again your position on this vessel Brother," boomed Commander Marcius Flavius.

Swenson rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"For the third time Commander, I am the ships Science Officer. I am head of the Science Department and when required I advise the command staff on matters of a technical and or scientific nature by drawing on the expertise of my staff and Federation records," Swenson said.

"Does not Battle-Brother Data perform your function?" Flavius asked.

"He used to, but he's now Operations Officer, but Picard is such a raging queen that, oh never mind. Why are you even here again?" Swenson said, clearly annoyed.

"Brother-Captain Picard has sent me here to learn the ways of your Federation. I obey," Flavius said.

"The ways of our Federation? Like not blowing the shit out of everything you see? Yeah, that's called learning. You might want to look into it." Swenson said turning to a nearby console and entering data.

Flavius waited patiently. His time with Swenson had been commaned by Picard himself and he would do his duty as a loyal officer. Though during crises of faith he sometimes questioned the wisdom of the entire officer-exchange program. Such heretical thoughts were quickly abandoned as the many screens covering the walls of Brother Swenson's office lit up with maps, charts, diagrams, menus and text.

"This is the Romulan Empire. One hundred, sixty eight point one teraquads of information," Swenson said. "Everything we have ever learned about them. History, biology, sociology, economics, technology, philosophy, tactics, evolution, politics, cartography and cuisine."

"Right now you are looking at the top billionth of one billionth of one percent of everything we know about the Romulans." Swenson said. "You want to know anything about the Romulans that doesn't require a crystal ball? Me and my experts can deliver it to you in an accurate, succinct, and bulleted list suitable for your presentation software of choice."

Flavius made no response, his head slowly scanning across the dozens of screens, pausing a moment at each one to absorb its contents.

"Do you understand what I do now Commander Flavius?" Swenson asked, irritated at the silence.

Flavius said nothing, continuing his survey of the information present. When completed he took a moment before turning to Swenson.

"I begin to. Tell me more of this Science and the ways of your Federation," Flavius said.

***

"Warp signature detected, unknown race and class."

Captain Picard turned to Data, but before he could issue an order the booming voice of Commander Marcius Flavius filled the bridge.

"We must open a hailing frequency!"

Had the bridge of the Enterprise not been carpeted you could have heard a pin drop. The faint sound of jaws dropping could be faintly heard as the bridge crew turned to the exchange officer from the Imperium in astonishment.

"Please expand on that if you will Commander Flavius," Picard asked, who alone with Data was not staring goggle-eyed and slack-jawed at the armor-clad Space Marine.

"By opening a hailing frequency we will learn their ways and gain tactical advantage," Flavius said. "We will take what we learn and use Science to better understand our foe so we may crush them when they realize that their foul xeno trickery has failed and inevitably attack us. Such is the way of the Federation."

"Essentially correct Commander Flavius," said Data. "Shall I open a hailing frequency Captain?"

Picard glared at his android officer.

"Have I erred?" Data asked.

Picard took a moment to collect himself, staring daggers at his innocent looking Operations Officer and the beaming (could you beam under power-armor?) exchange officer.

"We will discuss tact later Mr. Data, but by all means hail them," Picard said.

***

As he heard the door to his office *shwish* open, Science Officer Swenson tensed.

"Magos Swenson! I beg your indulgence and in the name of the Emperor, the Federation and Brother-Captain Picard I beseech you to reveal the mysteries of Science so that I might better destroy the enemies of Mankind," Commander Marcius Flavius boomed.

"Flavius," Swenson said. "For the third time I am not a Magos. I am a Commander. Nor have I ever been a Tech-Priest like Commander LaForge. He is head of Engineering, which while related to science is not part of the Science Department. And science is... well it involves mysteries but it is not mysterious. Come in."

Flavius entered, perching his oversized armor on one of the two spindly chairs before Swenson's desk. Being the third time he had done so he no longer proclaimed it a miracle when it did not collapse under his weight.

"Brother Flavius and I address you as such because I know what that means and I want to emphasize I am not a Magos," Swenson said. "I don't know what you are doing on the bridge but command is eating it up. I might even get a positive enough review that I can get off this boat and a research posting, so let's continue where we left off yesterday."

"I am an empty vessel Magos! Fill me with your wisdom!" Flavius said.

"No, because you expressed doubt about heresy yesterday," Swenson said. "What is heresy?"

"Heresy is turning from the Path of the Emperor!" Flavius shouted. It was deafening in the office and those passing through the science deck paused at the unnatural noise vibrating through the hallway.

"Yes, and we mentioned the volume thing," Swenson said making a mental note to check with Dr. Crusher for hearing loss. "Now in science we seek information so that we may find truth. Laws technically, but I'm not going to get into that, so truth. Can one turn from the Path of the Emperor and still follow truth?"

Flavius stood shock still while Swenson waited. And waited. Minutes passed.

"No," Flavius spoke, his voice for once no longer at deafening volume. "It is a question worthy of a Magos. There is no truth without the Emperor. There are only lies. Cunning lies. Subtle lies. Tempting lies. But they are all lies and they lead to heresy. There can be no heresy in truth."

"Congratulations Commander Flavius, you begin to understand science," Swenson said. "Hypothesis, experiment, peer review, skepticism. These are the tools we use to separate truth from heresy, or as we in the Federation call it... well we call it a lot of things so heresy works. Now, let's do some basic logic exercises with Newtonian physics."

***

My writefaggotry seems to have been well received so here's another effort.

"Magos Swenson," Commander Marcius Flavius intoned. "I understand your Federation Science."

Science Officer Swenson turned from the screen where he had been explaining Mendelian inheritance to look at the armor-clad Space Marine, an exchange officer from the Imperium to Starfleet.

"Brother Flavius, you have made great progress during these sessions," Swenson said "But as I explained to you earlier, science is not a thing you master, it is a tool used to understand the universe."

There was a pause and then Flavius, his voice slightly softer in this room after frequent admonitions, continued.

"I apologize Magos. Though you tell me differently I know that I will never comprehend more than the merest fraction of your wisdom," Flavius said. "I only tell you that at last I believe I understand the methods of the Federation Science."

Swenson hesitated, despite the all-consuming powered armor of his pupil he was almost sure that he was picking up an emotion. A quivering eagerness?

"Explain," Swenson asked.

"Tactics Magos!" Flavius boomed, his volume rising with his posture as he stood up. "Strategy!"

"One observes the disposition of enemy forces and in so doing you learn the mind of their commander," Flavius boomed. "The despicable Eldar flee from strength and seek weakness! So to does matter expand when heated and contract when cooled! The Federation Science is combat on a scale grander than anything I ever understood before. You seek to understand how the universe itself opposes you and therefore defeat it!"

"Uhhhh, yeah that is one way of putting it," Swenson ventured.

"THANK YOU MAGOS!" Flavius boomed, his voice reverberating on nearby decks, drawing puzzled glances from passing crewmembers. "YOUR GIFT OF SCIENCE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN! AND WITH IT THE SERVANTS OF THE EMPEROR WILL DEFEAT NOT ONLY OUR ENEMIES BUT THE UNIVERSE ITSELF!"

=Bork Explanation:=

"Borg attempt to assimilate Orks for the unique biology. Orks attempt to loot the borg for their flashy tech. The Borg find the Ork biology useless, the spores keep making the ork ecology and they just end up as damn pests. An entire quarter of a world was sterilized of orks by inducing an energy burst from the nearby sun. The Orks had a much better time looting Borg tech. Borg interest in Orks is now fresh drones with the spore making part of the biology shut off. Orks however rip apart Borg tech and bolt stuff to it and have a great time. When the Orks manage to take down a Borg ship or installation, disrupting the collective and "freeing" the Ork Borg Drones, they get Borks out of it and all Orks involved can become Borks.

PRetty much, attempt at looting/assimilating each other gone horribly wrong for one side, and horribly right for the other."

[[File:Bork Kube.jpg]]

NEEDS MOAR DAKKA

[[Category:Space Marines]][[category:warhammer 40,000]]