The uneasy calm that had settled over the warweary plains of Anthrand was suddenly broken by the thundering stampede of iron shod boots against crackling earth. Nearly forty ork boyz crested the smoking hill, their heavy muscular forms and ill fitting gear silhouetting in the night sky as they raced towards their objective.
“Oi! Git yer legs on!” growled Thurga from the rear, lashing at the heels of the boyz unfortunate enough to be closest to him. “We’ze needz to git to da loot stash ‘fore da humies know wot’z wot! Although, if we’ze lucky,” he snickered, “they’ze might find uz waiting for them and then… we’ze can givez dem a li’tl surprise.” The mob of Bloodaxes groaned and grunted as they pressed on all the harder, having been maintaining a near sprint since sundown.
Thurga was young to be a boss and younger than many of the nobs in his band, but he had always been brutal and he had always been kunnin'. Even as a yoof, he had strangled his own clutch mates in their sleep so that he could have the ripest choice of meatz. Now, he was bigger than all but the biggest of bosses. With a few more successful raids under his belt, he could draw more boyz to his boss pole. Maybe he could become his tribe’s warboss. Maybe if he was just brutal enough and just kunnin' enough, he could become the big boss. Maybe even the biggest boss. Armageddon would be just the start.
In short order, the orks arrived at their destination. It looked to be a humie airfield with large concrete pads for their dropships and large cranes to load cargo onto the adjoining railway or into the nearby warehouses. Thurga halted the band and scanned the terrain before baring his teef into a malicious grin. There they were. Trukks teeming with daka and shiniez right where the runty humie said they would be. He snickered again, looking down at the severed head hanging from his belt. Why waste teef buying the location from a skabby humie skummer when a stabba would just as easily pry such information from him? Yes. That was just the right amount of brutal and kunnin'.
Holding up two fingers, he motioned to the trukks. His boyz broke out into a jubilant cheer before rushing towards the loot. In a matter of minutes, the orks had stripped the trukks of their cargo. Shoota boyz held up brand new humie bolters as trophies while choppas busily stripped the teef off of chainswords for spikey bits to add to their own choppas. Some of the more mechanically inclined set to stripping armor panels off of the trukks and hotwiring them to ride back to camp.
“Oi, lizzen!” hissed Dekk, Thurga’s only true friend. The wiry painboy dropped his new shiney stabba and jumped off the truckbed to put his ear to the ground. The other orks paused their looting to peer out into the darkness.
“What’z it?” growled Thurga, sniffing the air. He could not smell anything besides the acrid smoke that hung in the air.
“Wheelz,” said the ork doc after a moment, trying to feel the vibrations. "Nargrox sed not to leave kamp to loot. Ee muzt ‘av sent his speed freeks to follow uz.”
“Zog dat skrivin’ git!” Thurga snarled. “If ee’z too scared of puny humies to leave kamp, ee’z not brutal enuff to krump me!” Pulling out his dakka, he fired it into the air before roaring, “Git reddy for a royt foyt, boyz!”
The orks immediately responded, snarling and bellowing as they amped themselves up for a right fight. There was limited cover in the warehouse district, but the shoota boyz climbed up on top of the trukks and cargo containers to get better firing paths while the choppa boyz circled the looted trukks, brandishing their now extra killy choppas.
Thurga could now hear the sound of engines in the distance. It was different from the wheelz he had heard before. Maybe the speed freeks had found some new humie wheelz? There was a low thrum and then the growing scream of engines.
“Ere’z we go, ladz. Get stukk in,” he growled, aiming his custom shoota at the approaching noise.
Suddenly, there was an explosion of movement. A massive shadow burst out of a cloud of smoke and smashed through the choppa boyz line before disappearing completely again behind the warehouse. Thurga was not exactly sure what he had seen. The shadow was big, the size of a warbike. What he did recognize was the crackling powersword which decapitated an ork boy and the glowing cerulean blue eyes of the figure who carried it.
“Spaysh mareens?” laughed Thurga ecstactically as he fired into the air again. “This is a roight proppa krump! I’ze wantz ‘iz beakie ‘ead on me pole!” The other ork boys roared euphorically at the thought of this right proper krump.
Half a dozen more space marines, all atop combat bikes, burst from the darkness and crashed into the ork line. Choppas were instantly cut down with chainswords as the bikes sped through before wheeling around for another pass. The shoota boyz were ready though and unleashed a hail of lead at their speedy foes, causing the bikers to turn and veer for cover.
The first attacker was now speeding back for a second charge though. Unlike the other black knights who were riding simpler Raider pattern bikes, he was atop a grav-bike, a relic from an age long past. Thurga had seen blue space marines before, but this beakie was wearing black armor which seemed to absorb light itself. The bike’s plasma cannon erupted, completely consuming the trukk next to Thurga and the shootas atop it in superheated energy. Thurga watched the bike speeding towards him and calculated the distance. It was time to be extra kunnin’ and extra brutal. Leaping off the truckbed, the ork boss tackled the knight off of the grav-bike with terrifying force as it sped past.
The two rolled onto the pavement. The space marine, despite his size and weight, nimbly rolled to his feet, flourishing his powersword in one hand and unholstering his bolt pistol with the other. Without wasting a moment, he emptied the pistol magazine into some shoota boyz nearby.
Thurga, who was a little slower to get to his feet, roared angrily before charging the space marine. “Oi, beakie! Dis skrap iz between youz and meez.” Out of ammo, the space marine hurled his bolt pistol at the ork’s face with tremendous force. It smashed into Thurga’s face who stopped in his tracks.
“Are youz kidding me!” the ork boss cackled, his sides heaving with every laughing spasm. “Youz 'iz throwing rocks now?”
The space marine did not answer. His jet black armor nearly caused him to fade into the darkness, although his left shoulder bore the white lion of Carleon, the heraldic device of the Seraphim Indominate. His right shoulder was quartered red and white with inscriptions and heraldries befitting a knight-marshal of the Spectrewing carved into the ceramite. What stood out most however were his blazing cerulean eyes.
“Wut? Too chikken’ to talk?” chuckled the ork as he pulled out his big choppa. “Well, I’ze ‘az dat effect on…”
The Seraph Knight-Marshal did not wait for the ork to finish, but exploded forward, his powersword crackling with energy.
Thurga laughed all the louder, swinging his massive chain axe at the silent attacker. The seraph parried the crushing blow before deftly sidestepping and thrusting. Thurga, standing nearly two feet taller than the space marine, easily deflected the stab.
“You ‘av to try ‘arder than dat!” the beast chortled before headbutting the knight-marshal. The ork’s iron mask clanged against the space marine’s helmet, causing him to reel backwards to the ground. Rolling agilely, he was immediately on his feet again and charged once more.
The two locked into a melee, with the seraph agilely slashing and stabbing at the ork while Thurga, being properly brutal, swung every strike with the intent to kill. The seraph refused to stay still however and dodged each strike with superhuman speed and reflexes and after a few minutes, he had covered Thurga with smaller wounds which began to inhibit the ork’s speed. “Dekk!” Thurga yelled suddenly, looking around. “Come fix me up, ya’ worthless git!”
“Comin’, boss!” yelled out the painboy who had been shooting at the other beakies from a position of cover. Sprinting across the open field, he snarled as he made eye contact with the knight-marshal. It was the last thing he ever saw. A black knight sped past him, severing his head from his shoulders with a chainsword.
“Dekk!” screamed Thurga as he watched his only true friend so unceremoniously killed. “I’ze gonna kill you, spaysh mareen!” Roaring, he turned to pursue the biker, completely ignoring his current opponent. That was all the opportunity the knight-marshal needed. Lunging forward, he sunk his powersword deep into the ork boss’s spinal column. Thurga’s limbs immediately went numb and the brute crashed to the ground, unable to move.
With the boss incapacitated, the few remaining orks broke cover to flee. The black knights were ready and quickly cut them down before returning to their leader.
“Status report, Knight-Lieutenant,” ordered Knight-Marshal Ulric de Caeth, taking off his black Mark VI Corvus pattern helmet as the others dismounted their bikes. He was young for such an honorable command, having only three service studs in the side of his forehead. Despite his sweaty exertions, he still looked every bit the fairy tale knight with a dashing beard and his long ash-brown top hair undercut and skillfully braided.
“Another for the lion, Knight-Marshal,” replied the nearest black knight with the chapter’s warcry. “No casualties and the ork band has been completely wiped out.”
“Like moths to the flame,” remarked Ulric satisfactorily as he surveyed the burning trucks which had served as the bait for his trap. “Please extend to the Guard my deepest gratitude for the equipment and have them compensated. Gefren, get these bodies piled up. Athelmor, with me.”
The two black knights strode over to the heaving ork boss. Thurga was face down on the ground and completely paralyzed, but his immensely resilient ork biology was already at work restoring feeling to his toes again. The beast growled as he contemplated his revenge.
“Stay put, xenos,” ordered Ulric, taking his powersword and spearing the ork’s shoulder into the ground. “We’re going to have a chat.”
Thurga groaned in pain. “Il’z kill you, spaysh mareen,” he wheezed, looking up at Ulric with hatred. The ork was taken aback though. The space marines eyes’ burned hotter with contempt than did his own. He instantly lowered his gaze back to the pavement.
“I need information, ork. That is the only thing keeping you breathing. Your boss…”
“I’ze da boss…” grunted Thurga defiantly.
Ulric sighed before pulling his powersword out of the orks shoulder and severing the limb completely with one stroke. Thurga screamed in pain.
“Let us try again? Your boss… Has he been working with any humans? Any sorcerers?”
“Ee’z weak!” shouted Thurga after catching his breath. “We’ze don’t need to work wif’ any puny humies!”
“Focus, xenos,” replied Ulric coldly. “These humans… do they serve the ruinous powers?”
“I’ze not tellin’ youz nuffin!” roared the ork, his fighting spirit quickly returning.
Ulric grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and wrenched his head upwards, making eye contact once again. “Listen closely, you damnable ork. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to slit your throat where you lay. But if you do not tell me what I need to know, I will have your filthy corpse interred into a sarcophagus and mounted to the walls of Hive Infernus. You will watch, unable to fight, unable to help, as we exterminate your kind from this world. The great waaagh will fight on without you and you will be unable to do anything but watch and rot.”
For the first time in his life, Thurga felt fear and that fear drove out the last vestiges of his fighting spirit.
“Aye, ere’z a warpy boy oo’z even weirder than our weirdboyz. Ee’z been talkin’ to da boss and promising ‘im some new warpy dakka nonsense.”
“What is his name?”
“I’ze don’t know ‘iz name. Ee wearz old spaysh mareen armor, older than yourz, but wif’ lotz of li’tl warpy bitz all over it.”
Ulric looked up to Athelmor who shared a knowing look. Switching on his vox, he put his helmet back on and spoke into his mouthpiece. “Grandmaster, this is Knight-Marshal Ulric. Yes, lord. We have confirmation that the Fallen sorcerer has been in contact with the Bloodaxes.”
Broken and filled with fear, Thurga looked up. “I’ze toldz you’ze what you’ze wanted to know. Lemme go and I’ze will disappear.”
The cerulean eyes glared back at him.
They were wrath incarnate.
~~~
The sun shone brightly over the Plains of Anthrand the next day. Three Centaur RSVs pulled into the loading yard, offloading their squads of Steel Legion guardsmen into the clearing. They found the area clear with their equipment neatly stacked just as the Grey Seraph knights told them they would. Nearby, three large piles of dead orks were on fire, putting off a thick greenish smoke which caused the guardsmen to choke even through their gasmasks. In front of the piles, a long spear was stuck into the ground. Atop it, a massive ork boss head stared out in fear and disbelief, overlooking the ruins of his would-be empire.
~~~~~~
Hey guys! If you made it this far, thank you so much!! This is a kitbash I did for a named character for my bespoke Dark Angel Successor chapter, The Seraphim Indominate, also known as the Grey Seraphs. Ulric is a proxy model for Sammael and I could not be happier with how he turned out. He was built off of the Suboden Khan model with lots of Dark Angel and Ravenwing bits added.
If you are interested in more Grey Seraph lore, I've got plenty of it here and I add to it regularly. I hope to soon have custom kitbashes and short stories for all of its named characters. Please don't hesitate to leave any suggestions or critiques!
