Nobledark Imperium Drafts - Revision history

imported>Administrator: 373 revisions imported

2023-06-22T13:40:00Z

373 revisions imported

← Older revision	Revision as of 13:40, 22 June 2023
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2023-06-19T02:49:52Z

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1d4chan>Ћ Professional: /* The First and Second Viskeon Wars */

2020-09-06T18:16:06Z

The First and Second Viskeon Wars

← Older revision		Revision as of 18:16, 6 September 2020
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	<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">		<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">

	The Viskeon are an extinct xenos race native to a planet on the very southern edge of the Segmentum Ultima right near the border with the Segmentum Tempestus. An asexual ectothermic reptilian or amphibian-like species (though with some similarities to Earth starfish), the Viskeon were known for their extreme regenerative abilities. Although they normally reproduced by budding, Viskeon regenerative capabilities were so extreme that a Viskeon cleaved into large enough pieces could regrow into four or five individuals.		The [[Viskeons\|Viskeon]] are an extinct xenos race native to a planet on the very southern edge of the Segmentum Ultima right near the border with the Segmentum Tempestus. An asexual ectothermic reptilian or amphibian-like species (though with some similarities to Earth starfish), the Viskeon were known for their extreme regenerative abilities. Although they normally reproduced by budding, Viskeon regenerative capabilities were so extreme that a Viskeon cleaved into large enough pieces could regrow into four or five individuals.

	The Viskeons are notable in that despite being capable of interstellar travel their military capabilities seemed downright primitive by most species’ standards. Viskeon lived by a strict honor code, which glorified face-to-face melee combat and saw most projectile weapons (ranging from bows and arrows to stubbers and lasguns) as dishonorable. The only ranged weapons the Viskeons ever used were thrown javelins and bladed discuses, which they typically used as skirmishing tools before closing to melee combat. Of course, when your skin is thick enough to blunt the impact of anything short of a bolter and your body can easily heal from such injuries, the use of ranged weapons might not seem immediately intuitive.		The Viskeons are notable in that despite being capable of interstellar travel their military capabilities seemed downright primitive by most species’ standards. Viskeon lived by a strict honor code, which glorified face-to-face melee combat and saw most projectile weapons (ranging from bows and arrows to stubbers and lasguns) as dishonorable. The only ranged weapons the Viskeons ever used were thrown javelins and bladed discuses, which they typically used as skirmishing tools before closing to melee combat. Of course, when your skin is thick enough to blunt the impact of anything short of a bolter and your body can easily heal from such injuries, the use of ranged weapons might not seem immediately intuitive.

2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Battle of Montlúcon */

2020-09-05T07:12:53Z

The Battle of Montlúcon

← Older revision		Revision as of 07:12, 5 September 2020
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	To be sure, the daemons did damage in turn, tearing great rents in its necrodermis body that spilled flaring starstuff and sealed over wrongly in gnarled lumps of tissue as the self- repair routines were corrupted by exposure to the stuff of the warp. But still the Nightbringer was winning.		To be sure, the daemons did damage in turn, tearing great rents in its necrodermis body that spilled flaring starstuff and sealed over wrongly in gnarled lumps of tissue as the self- repair routines were corrupted by exposure to the stuff of the warp. But still the Nightbringer was winning.

	Seeing the attack on the Nightbringer falter, Gharragroth commanded his legion to step aside so that he could engage the weakened C'Tan in single combat, and take all the glory for himself. For an hour the two titans were locked in battle, trading blows which would shatter superheavy tanks, tearing up the earth around them like an artillery barrage. In the end the Nightbringer proved the superior, tearing off Gharragroth's head and devouring the daemon, utterly unmaking a being which had existed for millions of years.		Seeing the attack on the Nightbringer falter, Gharragroth commanded his legion to step aside so that he could engage the weakened C'Tan in single combat, and take all the glory for himself. For an hour the two titans were locked in battle, trading blows which would shatter superheavy tanks, tearing up the earth around them like an artillery barrage. In the end the Nightbringer proved the superior, tearing off Gharragroth's head and devouring the daemon, utterly unmaking a being which had existed for millions of years. The Bloodthirster had been an officer of Khorne's legions since their mutual birth in the Maelstrom, among the self-styled victors of the War in Heaven, and after millions of years meting it out with the blessing of King Khorne finally he tasted not mere defeat, but death upon the battlefield.

	This proved too much for the survivors of the daemonic legion, and with the Nightbringer's mantle of fear still clawing at their minds, they broke and ran for the safety of the warp. Or rather, they tried to; Khorne was displeased by this display of cowardice, possibly the first time ever his daemons had fled before an opponent, and ~~killed~~ all the daemons which tried to escape ~~back into the warp~~. Turn and fight or die by my axe, he commanded. Your lives are all forfeit for this shameful display, but perhaps the one who brings me the head of the Nightbringer shall be spared my wrath.		This proved too much for the survivors of the daemonic legion, and with the Nightbringer's mantle of fear still clawing at their minds, they broke and ran for the safety of the warp. Or rather, they tried to; Khorne was displeased by this display of cowardice, possibly the first time ever his daemons had fled before an opponent, and one he remembered to have triumphed over, striking down and maiming all the daemons which tried to escape as they returned to his realm. Turn and fight or die by my axe, he commanded. Your lives are all forfeit for this shameful display, but perhaps the one who brings me the head of the Nightbringer shall be spared my wrath.

	So they turned, and fought, and died. And at the end of it that great daemonic legion lay dead upon the field and the Nightbringer was victorious. But only barely- it was close to ~~death~~, covered in open wounds and twisted scars, the stuff of Chaos still contaminating its body in a hundred places slowly corroding it away. It was forced to flee into deep interstellar space, spending decades healing and purging the stuff of Chaos from its necrodermis flesh through the simple expedient of cutting it out. Thus was the remainder of the Montlúcon sector saved.		So they turned, and fought, and died. And at the end of it that great daemonic legion lay dead upon the field and the Nightbringer was victorious. But only barely- the Corpus Magnum was close to falling again, covered in open wounds and twisted scars, the stuff of Chaos still contaminating its body in a hundred places slowly corroding it away. It was forced to flee into deep interstellar space, spending decades healing and purging the stuff of Chaos from its necrodermis flesh through the simple expedient of cutting it out. Thus was the remainder of the Montlúcon sector saved.

	Since then, the Nightbringer has avoided further large battles with the daemonic, fearing that perhaps this time they might manage to ~~kill~~ it. But at the same time its appetite has been whetted; it has found that as delicious as the souls of mortal beings are, daemons are a greater delicacy still. And it wonders; what would a god taste like?		Since then, the Nightbringer has avoided further large battles with the daemonic, fearing that perhaps this time they might manage to fell and bind it once more. But at the same time its appetite has been whetted; it has found that as delicious as the souls of mortal beings are, daemons are a greater delicacy still. And it wonders; what would a god taste like?

	The Chaos gods believe themselves immortal, but the Nightbringer knows that all things die. So it waits, and it plots, as its hunger and ambition grow.		The Chaos gods believe themselves immortal, but the Nightbringer knows that all things die. So it waits, and it plots, as its hunger and ambition grow.

2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Octarius War */

2020-09-05T06:45:57Z

The Octarius War

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:45, 5 September 2020
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	In orbit above, ships merge together and battle in the orbitals, amid a vast ring system created by the wreckage of a hundred thousand previous battles. Ork ships and tyranid bioforms clashing at point-blank range and closer, an endless maelstrom of boarding action and bombardments. Destroyed or damaged vessels frequently fall out of orbit to cataclysmic ends on the surface below- or, as both ork and tyranid know it, 'delivering reinforcements'.		In orbit above, ships merge together and battle in the orbitals, amid a vast ring system created by the wreckage of a hundred thousand previous battles. Ork ships and tyranid bioforms clashing at point-blank range and closer, an endless maelstrom of boarding action and bombardments. Destroyed or damaged vessels frequently fall out of orbit to cataclysmic ends on the surface below- or, as both ork and tyranid know it, 'delivering reinforcements'.

	Both sides deploy weapons and creations seen nowhere else, ork Meks ~~struggling~~ to keep pace with tyranid hyper-evolution. Vast armies of Mega-Gargants, in numbers not seen since the War of the Beast, clash with Bio-Titans of unprecedented size and ferocity. Tyranids sprout flame weapons in vast quantity, while Doks devise poisons that scythe down even tyranid biologies- for a time, until they adapt again. Unique squig breeds hunt down lictors with incredible ferocity, and fields of razor-worms devour entire ork columns in seconds.		Both sides deploy weapons and creations seen nowhere else, ork Meks pressed hard to keep pace with tyranid hyper-evolution. Vast armies of Mega-Gargants, in numbers not seen since the whole of the War of the Beast, clash with Bio-Titans of unprecedented size and ferocity. Tyranids sprout flame weapons in vast quantity, while Doks devise poisons that scythe down even tyranid biologies- for a time, until they adapt again. Unique squig breeds hunt down lictors with incredible ferocity, and fields of razor-worms devour entire ork columns in seconds.

	The war extends to stranger battlefields as well. It is a war of ecologies, as ork and tyranid spores attempt to out-compete and strangle each other, a microscopic war of poisons over nutrient-rich corpse-strata.		The war extends to stranger battlefields as well. It is a war of ecologies, as ork and tyranid spores attempt to out-compete and strangle each other, a microscopic war of poisons over nutrient-rich corpse-strata.

2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Octarius War */

2020-09-05T06:42:12Z

The Octarius War

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:42, 5 September 2020
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	There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.		There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.

	Octarius laughs at them all. ~~Even with the~~ capital of that relatively ancient Ork empire in ~~ruins~~, the Overfiend astride the Waaaagh! laughs at them. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.		Octarius laughs at them all. The capital of that relatively ancient Ork empire lies in ruin, the Overfiend astride the Waaaagh! laughs at them. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.

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2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Octarius War */

2020-09-05T06:41:33Z

The Octarius War

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:41, 5 September 2020
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	There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.		There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.

	Octarius laughs at them all. Even with the capital of ~~the~~ Ork empire in ruins, the Overfiend astride the Waaaagh! laughs at them. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.		Octarius laughs at them all. Even with the capital of that relatively ancient Ork empire in ruins, the Overfiend astride the Waaaagh! laughs at them. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.

	<div class="mw-collapsible-content">		<div class="mw-collapsible-content">

2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Octarius War */

2020-09-05T06:40:47Z

The Octarius War

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:40, 5 September 2020
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	There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.		There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.

	Octarius laughs at them all. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.		Octarius laughs at them all. Even with the capital of the Ork empire in ruins, the Overfiend astride the Waaaagh! laughs at them. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.

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2601:647:CA01:2410:CCB0:92DA:8818:2FFF: /* The Octarius War */

2020-09-05T06:36:23Z

The Octarius War

← Older revision		Revision as of 06:36, 5 September 2020
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	There are worlds that ~~they~~ believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.		There are worlds that believe they have known war. Cadia, last bastion before the Eye. Krieg, named better than its discoverers knew. Armageddon, world of steel and flame. Mordia, stubborn and resolute.

	Octarius laughs at them all. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.		Octarius laughs at them all. Ever since Kryptmann unleashed his grand plan, Tyranid and Ork have fought relentlessly, unceasingly, across its surface. For over a thousand years. There is almost nowhere you can touch the original surface without digging; mounds of charred corpses, Tyranid growths, and ruined Ork war machines cover the surface too thickly. Strata after strata of fossilized war. To walk on the surface of Octarius is to walk on dead flesh. The sky is perpetually black, an ashen shroud composed of Tyranid spores, oily smoke from Ork engines and guns, dust kicked up by ceaseless orbital bombardment, and the vaporized particles of uncounted trillions of dead. The blackness is broken by a perpetual meteor shower, as broken fragments of millions of shattered ships and shredded naval organisms rain down on the surface from the unending war in orbit. Despite the fact that there is no sun and no stars, there is more than enough light; the eternal thunder of Ork guns lights up the horizon with a false dawn, reflecting off the clouds until it seems the sky is on fire. The ice caps have melted from the ambient heat of trillions of guns and trillions of bodies.

2601:647:CA01:2410:349C:D1E8:2DF7:5B30: /* The Rogue Trader's War */

2020-09-04T21:43:36Z

The Rogue Trader's War

← Older revision		Revision as of 21:43, 4 September 2020
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	Unfortunately, while the Imperial military was very good at wiping out life on a planet, it was somewhat less good at figuring out what to do with them next. The Administratum, who usually handled such matters, were too far away to easily figure out what to do with the worlds of such a backwater region as the Surat Subsector, requiring some sort of planet broker in order to make things move along efficiently. On top of that, the Rogue Trader’s War left the Surat Subsector nice and uninhabited, just as Leopold had wanted it in the first place. It seemed as though Leopold would profit, at the Imperium’s expense no less.		Unfortunately, while the Imperial military was very good at wiping out life on a planet, it was somewhat less good at figuring out what to do with them next. The Administratum, who usually handled such matters, were too far away to easily figure out what to do with the worlds of such a backwater region as the Surat Subsector, requiring some sort of planet broker in order to make things move along efficiently. On top of that, the Rogue Trader’s War left the Surat Subsector nice and uninhabited, just as Leopold had wanted it in the first place. It seemed as though Leopold would profit, at the Imperium’s expense no less.

	Seven months after the end of the Rogue Trader’s War, Leopold was found dead at the hands of an Eversor assassin. The ~~von~~ Cortez family’s Writ of Trade was revoked and their assets were liquidated and distributed to the survivors and veterans of the Surat Subsector Incident. The surviving members of the family were left with almost nothing to their name but what they had with them, the notice informing them of such encouraging to find a “more ethical” line of work. ~~Sure,~~ one of the junior family members could come forward and name themselves as the heir to the von Cortez dynasty’s assets, ~~but~~ it would require making their identity publicly known as Leopold’s heir. ~~And~~ there were ~~still a lot~~ of people with scores to settle over what happened in Surat.		Seven months after the end of the Rogue Trader’s War, Leopold was found dead at the hands of an Eversor assassin. The van Cortez family’s Writ of Trade was revoked and the majority of their assets were liquidated and distributed to the survivors and veterans of the Surat Subsector Incident. The surviving members of the family were left with almost nothing to their name but what they had with them, the notice informing them of such encouraging to find a “more ethical” line of work. The Administratum extended the possibility that one of the junior family members, upon demonstrating good character, could come forward and name themselves as the heir to the von Cortez dynasty’s remaining assets and seized heirlooms, though it would require making their identity publicly known as Leopold’s heir. Even though there were entire star-systems of people with scores to settle over what happened in Surat, there was no surer way to draw the remains of the house van Cortez out of their refuges, and many were served unexpected justice when they arrogantly tried the Imperium's scrutiny.

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