Arbela Campaign battle reports/ background

[dragonlord]

Please use this thread for posting your battle reports and background for the Arbela campaign.

[kerensky]

Kerensky sat atop the prow of the gigantic Gorgon, feeling the uneasy motion of the breakers. it had been a week ago they had left the Port of Sacreville, and somehow avoided the attention of the PDF fleet, although the cruising Thunderhawk lent by the gleaming Knights Space Marines was some comfort. And as planned the sun was starting to raise behind them, far across to the west. The livid Wound of the eye of terror and a minor moon were still obvious, and using his monoscope the Valhallan commander could see the scattered defences along the beach. The Tank tracks looked formible along with the long line of barbed wire just across the front. The main fortress of Unicorn V had properly equipped with bunker facilities facing the sea, long walls and barracks facilities, though the proud eagles that had adorned it were long gone, replaced by crude sigils. In the midst of the Gorgon sat the Cossacks of Ukraina, brave warriors if rather uncivilised, beside the tall figures of the first company, huge bearskins sat the ready. Passing around cups from the tea Caddy were the 3rd company veterans, weilding their meltaguns uneasily. Beside him the snaller flotilla of inflatable landingcraft for the infantry and A larger vessel out to sea ready to drop off the tanks.

As the Gorgon's tracks began to roll on the sand the supporting cruisers opened up in a long range barrage, covering the rapid adavance up the beach and forcing the foul traitors into cover. The gorgon shrugged off all fire and plowed striaght through the defences as if short bushes. As if from the depths rolled on the Space Marine's commander's land raider, the Vox crackling angrily with his 'Ai Crumba Andelai!' as it rushed toward the foe. His troops dropped down upon the foe, blasting desperately to give the main Imperial advance cover. The moment of surprise lasted long enough for the Gorgon to stop in front of the walls and blow through the bastions, walls and foul obliterators inside. Through this gap the Space Marine captain and his honour guard rushed, charging out a feirce pace and barrelling straight into the traitor commander, felling him with a a maracaa like blow. His entourage were put to the Sword and across the right flank the Imperial forces rushed ahead, through the blasted bunkers. The Enenmy rallied, throwing terminators along the west across the beach, a defiler crawling across the ruins and more terminators struggling through the now ruinous command post The last wave of imperial guardsmen rushed forward blasting into the ruins. Major Tshuchenko charged his command up to the top of the unker along with squad A rushing the Terminator and placing their company banner at the very top. The cossacks launched themselves upwards toward the Spiderlike monstrousity of the Defiler, getting underneath it and ignoring the hellish smoke coming from its body. As the Sun beat down full on the fort the forces of Chaos were in retreat, the terminators teleporting away at under hlf their number, and the bodies placed into a pyre in front of the Fort, whilst the marines carried away their severely wounded Captain. The forces of the Imperium had arrived to reclaim Westfaln.
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[Adam]

A lone Shroud-class cruiser drifts through space, active camo shimmering lazily on its hull, rendering it invisible to the eye. It's actually moving at over four kilometres per second, but this is a low speed by Necron standards, especially for this particular ship. Part of the third-phase experimental detachment, it has a number of systems and attachments not possessed by ordinary Shrouds. Hence the camouflage, the rotatable inertialess drive allowing it to speed away in any direction, and the heavy neutron whip weapon system that had earlier claimed the life of an unsuspecting enemy escort that had wandered a little too close.

On board, everything is silent. The low hum of a tomb spyder as it moves between the stasis chambers, inspecting and attending to its charges, only makes the silence bearable rather than deafening; elsewhere on the ship, deathly quiet prevails. Most of the Shroud's troop capacity is unoccupied; its inhabitants number two or three dozen and no more.

They communicate. Their bodies are held immobile in force fields while nanobots, scarabs and the spyder effect repairs, but their minds are alive, linked into the network. No words are spoken, but pulses of precise machine code signals say more than vocals could. The Last Warning, third-phase Necron Lord and orchestrator of their presence above this mostly-worthless planet, is congratulating its minions.

"The mission was a complete success," it states.

A host of objections and rebuttals creep back. Most Necrons lack personality beyond vestigial anger and hate, and the highly advanced third-phase warriors are no different. Their disappointment at what appears to be a humiliating defeat at the hands of the humans is palpable, but predictable. The Last Warning is unconcerned by this, knowing they will do whatever it orders anyway.

"We destroyed two apparently insignificant human military units and momentarily delayed their attack. Allow me to explain." It transmits a picture, a motion-blurred photo of a unit of Imperial Guard at rest, clearly taken on a planet they visited on leave. In the centre of the squad is a grinning, strong-jawed man with a large scar across his left arm, throwing a mildly obscene gesture from his homeland at the camera. "The prominent human is or was, known as Sergeant Iral Brinikev. Intelligence suggests that the human Imperium is planning to follow the conquest of Arbela with an attack on the nearby system Carontid." Another image; a planetary scan of system 422530. "Carontid is infested with the spawn of Chaos. It also happens to be Brinikev's birthplace and the planet where his family still live. A cult of the Machine is active on the planet and give high probability that Brinikev's family have fallen. Torn, the Sergeant may desert his post or switch sides. As he is well-liked and respected among the infantry of his regiment, the likelihood is high that his turning would inspire many men to do the same, or break morale, and thus weaken the Imperial army. We do not desire the forces of Chaos to fully conquer Carontid, lest they discover the tombs below the surface."

The warriors are silent, accepting the logic.

"The second, the Imperial vehicle. Command Tank, 3rd Support Regiment, 5th Squadron. A relatively lowly position in the Imperial rankings. However, the right sponson gunner of this tank has come under suspicion for possible fraternisation with the enemy. This suspicion has not been acted upon yet, allowing her to participate in battle. In reality the human is a member of a second Machine cult that have thus far been undetected in their infiltration of forces on both sides. Her discovery could lead to not only the uncovering of more hidden agents, but also to strife within the Imperial army, which would in turn lead to less effective performance against the anathemic ones, both on Arbela and on Carontid."

Again, accepting silence.

"Thirdly, we distracted the Imperial guns long enough for the forces of Chaos to evacuate their incapacitated commanders. This serves a dual purpose. On a simple level, it helps convince both commanders that we are assisting them, concealing our true motives. Few understand the Necrontyr on even the most basic level, and our physical appearance is sufficiently evil or barbaric to be an argument in our favour as far as the anathemic ones are concerned. Then, it allows their disposal without incrimination.

"We wish to alert neither the Imperials nor the Chaotics of our intentions. Simply allowing the Imperium to march up the beach and slay two Chaos Lords might unite the armies of the anathemic against us. With agents whispering poison words into their prideful hearts, and memories of their humiliation at Westfaln fresh in their minds, the two Lords - who are already at each other's throats given the slightest provocation - will soon duel to the death. Their alliance is short-lived and neither is under any pretence as to what will happen. However, following that, the assassination and usurping of a single Lord without fear of recrimination or defeat from another is much simpler, and our agents - aided by ourselves if this is possible without detection - will effect this with alacrity. If this process goes smoothly, a retreat can be ordered, or inefficient strategies used to award the Imperials a comparatively easy victory. Otherwise, infighting will tear the Chaotic army apart.

"We do not have much time. Soon this planet will be consumed. We must secretly ensure Imperial victory as quickly as possible so that the risk at Carontid can be alleviated."

The logic is, on a high and mysterious level, infallible. The pulses of signal die away, and the ministering tomb spyder busies itself with further repairs while the Shroud slides through space towards its next destination...

[dragonlord]

Nice work guys, I'm very busy today but I'll see about writing up an overview of the first session tomorrow. In the mean time I've uploaded the initial background and the district information.

As an aside, the Imperial forces wouldn't need to avoid the PDF, what remains of them are still loyal.

[kerensky]

Thanks. I presumed there would be traitor units. I will try to bigger entry think later in the week when I get a background from Rob etc.

[dragonlord]

There would be traitor units but they would be part of the general rebellion/chaos incursion and as such would either be 'rebels' or 'heretics', whatever you prefer. The PDF should refer to what remains of the original loyal forces on the world, of which there probably won't be all that much remaining, though what there is left will likely be concentrated in the region we are fighting in as they would probably have pulled back towards the capital.
Anyway I have written up a bit of general background for the first session, which you can find here, I pulled the information about the Imperial forces out of the air somewhat, so if they aren't right then do let me know, its easy enough to change. I will also write up some background from a Chaos point of view at some point.

[kerensky]

I liked it, only my Regiment is in my abject self aggrandisement meant the 9th Valhallan. I'm sure we can switch each week, depending on whose ahead. If you want a smaller game fitting into the narrative, I can bring the 4th Edition book and we could a kill team mission.

[dragonlord]

Part of the point of the campaign was that you could fit in pretty much whatever game you wanted into the framework, so you can certainly do a kill team style mission if you'd like, I would have to work out how to fit kill team into my points system but that wouldn't be too difficult.

[kerensky]

Anyway sorry to mess it up with off topic stuff, so heres some narrative.

Colonel Sir Alexsandr Kerensky, commissioned in the Emperor's Imperal guard 38M974. On a world many miles closer to the galatic north, he had joined as a lowly ensign. As he sat in the Govenor's palace at Stadehaven, looking without seeing at the murals of the foundation of Arbela his mind wandered back to that winter. Emperorgrad. The Iron warriors crossing the river at Bakula, the rain of shells and the 6months of constant street fighting. The war here had been easy so far, and he had seen minor losses compared to other bloodier wars.

The Govenor's chair was left empty, but the rapidly healing Captain Pedro sat to the right and Alexsandr to the left, holding his large Ukrania wolf pelt hat. The business of government must begin as the rest of the Imperial guard and Space marine forces disembarked. Any pushes now would be too weak, so instead the Port's walls were manned, her docks cleared to recieve supplies and those surviving traitors and collabarators were hunted down and shot. The resistance was armed and lead scouts to enemy bunkers and positions.

Now they just needed to find a civilian governor of this place before dinner. A couple of interesting nobles on the dataslate had been less than impressive in interview, but desperate times called for desperate measure. Once again Alexsandr thanked the Emperor for his time in the 12th Army group following Medusa V and then their successor, the Crusade of Saint Carmine. Even here he had been empowered by the Inquisitor Diem to bring peace to this continent 'to the best of his ability'. An Inquisitorial seal opened a lot of doors.

"Captain, I think Graf Herrvolt seemed to be the best of the bunch. At this time we can't afford to bring anyone else in. I suggest we put him in place with a guard of loyal guardsmen and keep in coontact with them."

[kerensky]

The Eve of Battle

The large quarry provided cover from the harsh winds. The Imperial forces that had volunteered to join the march toward the capital shivered as snow started to flutter down. Kerensky could see them, huddled figures on watch, sitting round fires, bed rolls acting as crude cloacks. He was glad there still some Valhallans out, and he tramped over to Major Chuikov, harbouring from the breeze in the lee of a Leman Russ to take a crafty lho stick.

"Filthy habit," Chuikov commented shrugging, "worse when they have snipers around."

"Still keeping to the bright side comrade," Kerensky riposted with a half smile, "Makes you almost homesick, this weather. still a bit too mild for that." His smile dropped as he saw the young ensign lying beside the Russ, his hands still clasped upon the platoon banner.

"I remember when me and you were doing that at Emperorgrad," Chuikov responded quietly, "we all have to face that baptism into the Emperor's service. Never forget that comrade, what we did then saved a planet no matter to cost to our innocence."

"It is always such a deep cost comrade. But I do not want to get Commissar Beria twitchy with my sin of doubting. Come I want to take a look at tomorrows operation on the Command table. The ratlings managed to get a decent Samovar going." Kerensky responded leading through the motor pool into the thick city of tents. Kerensky was proud of the neatness shown by his men's ordered rows compared to the more Ramshackle arrangement of the new draft of an Inquisitorial retinue. The Silver knight's were not even sleeping but he could see the light of their techpriest checking bolters.

The large command tent bulged out of the night, the flousforence making it loom larger in the starless sky. The great flaps were tall enough for even a marine, though required an atrium before armoured command unit concealed inside. A salute to the gleaming marines, glowing slightly in the weak field lamp, before the strongly lit central command unit.

The tactiturn 'El Pedro' sat to one side, nursing a macara carefully in his hands, staring at the slashes left by a chaotic lightening claw. His face still looked a mess from the beating he had taken and the new bionic elements had yet to mesh. At the table the Inquisitor, no name given as of yet and none expected, watched the gholographic river Mins roll down the green flowing contours to a sea of sparkling light. His hand swept down, pushing the image into higher detail, pulling past the mine workings, pulling into the head of the river toward the Thunderhead mountains. Here, where the great chasm of rock had been carved by the river to near impossible depths lay the three great bridges. Tomorrow's great prize to be won or lost. Passage to Ravensburg.... Further south it was too boggy for the Motor pool, bogging down progress. It was here or nowhere.

And didn't the forces arrayed against the Emperor's light know it. There had been three reports from scout, and they were lucky to have those. The Ukranian Cossack flying column had been as good as wiped out, with only the intelligence of a highly mobile Ork force to go on. Kerensky felt his hereditery hatred burn for the foul Greenskins... if they were waiting for him across the Bridge he would show them Valhalla's wrath. Another had had to flee from a local nurgle cult, showing that the forces of the archenemy were active and by the closeness to the bridge, laying in wait. The final piece of news was most worrying. The Scouts had returned unharmed, beating back two rival groups. The landscape showed signs of devastion, a lack of wildlife and verdant foliage of an unnatural red hue. One of the dying foe had been reported as warning of the 'Great devourer... he feasts soon'. If the damned Bugs arrived then the thin blue line might be stretched too far. Tomorrow would tell if the Imperial forces would spill toward the city of Harste or be pushed back.

[Adam]

This... This was incorrect. The Last Warning stood unmoving, but it was seething inside. Mathematical projections and predictions showed that the eaters of life weren't to arrive for another forty planetary cycles, more than enough time by this juncture. Already the Chaos Lords were gearing up to fight one another. Imperial victory would follow as planned.

Simply being wrong infuriated the Necron Lord. It had never been wrong before. How had the Tyranids managed to defeat it so? How had they traversed the interstellar distance so rapidly? They should not have been able to navigate the warp so close to Rift 722.3. Certainly not with their primitive, evolved 'technologies' and lack of protective fields...

The Last Warning did not profess to understand the warp, but it knew about it in the way a scientist knows about the birth of the universe. A surprising depth, but with the faint sense that this could all quite possibly be wrong.

Either way, the Tyranids had arrived. Misdirecting them onto Carontid, killing off the Chaos cults by way of obliterating all life on the planet, was impossible; the way the creatures thought was beyond the comprehension of others, even the Necrontyr, and the Hive Mind was by no means as susceptible to appeals to its pride as the anathemic ones were.

Was it worth simply leaving, and allowing the various forces present to obliterate each other in peace? Making their true allegiance known and attempting to defend the Imperial humans from the hive fleets? Try and aim the Chaotists and Orks at the Tyranids rather than the Imperials so that they would unwittingly buy the humans time to evacuate... not that the Imperials would evacuate... Would capturing Genestealers and seeding Carontid with them in the hopes of drawing the fleet there after Arbela be successful? The Last Warning pondered the latter idea. Perhaps the Tyranids could be manipulated after all.

Yes. The anger receded from its analytical brain as the new problem took precedence. Maintain the facade. Try and keep the Imperials alive by way of directing the forces of disorder into the mouths of the blue-black tide. Capture Genestealers, and use them to ensure that Carontid would be scoured of life without having to wake the Necrons within. Tyranids take no interest in mechanical things, especially not deeply-subterranean ones.

Of course, actually keeping the Imperials from coming into contact with Tyranids would be impossible. Casualties would be high on all sides.

Somewhere in the depths of its atrophied soul, the Last Warning felt a hint of pleasure at the notion.

[dragonlord]

A chime sounded at the door of his chambers breaking Cyrus out of his meditation. Mildly irritated at the intrusion he stirred himself.
"Enter," he said gruffly, and as the door opened to reveal one of his lieutenants, "This had better be important."
"My lord," said the Word Bearer, bowing, "you instructed us to inform you of as and when the Harben cult had completed the summoning ritual. You will be pleased to know that it has been finished ahead of schedule and has been a complete success."
Cyrus, mood lifted on hearing that, "Excellent, the Horde of Agmathral will descend on the Imperial forces and slaughter them as they attempt to cross the Min. You may tell the troops to stand down, we will leave this battle to the daemons."
"Yes, my lord," said the Word Bearer, bowing again as he left the chamber.
Cyrus returned to contemplation very pleased with this turn of events, the Harben cult had exceeded his expectations, the Horde of Agmrathral would be ideally suited to tearing apart the Imperial forces at the narrow bridge crossings and allow him to save his Word Bearers to reinforce the seige of Ravensburg.

NB: I shall be using my tyranids with the new codex this week, that is assuming Adam doesn't mind, though they will be going under the guise of daemons.

[Adam]

Should probably post in here, and all that.

---------

Multiple pairs of eyes watched Trooper Cathann Rikievsky from the shadows. She knew she wasn't imagining them, even though the other members of her squad said they'd seen nothing. She could feel the hidden gaze on her back even now, and glanced over her shoulder, even though the previous five glances hadn't exposed her stalker. The unit of Valhallans moved quietly through a disused refinery, its fuels long since looted by the Orks roaming the area.

Cathann didn't like scouting duty. Nobody did, but the Space Marines hadn't returned from their defensive lines yet, so the Guard had to step in. Scuttlebutt claimed there was heavy enemy presence rapidly spreading across the planet, and it would certainly explain why Major Darakov had sent an entire platoon to this apparently-quiescent refinery complex. Five squads and even a special weapons team, armed with flamers. Anointed ones, apparently. A rare honour, especially for a Guardsman. Corp Sobolensk said he'd seen one of the Ecclesiarchy priests praying over weaponry shortly before the platoon's departure. They must be expecting daemons. Throne.

Daemons. That wasn't a comforting thought. Cathann shivered and glanced around again. Something caught her eye. "Movement!" she shrilled, heartbeat peaking, but again, there was nothing there.

Sergeant Yukiev gave her an exasperated glance. "Pull yourself together, trooper!" he snapped, clearly having lost patience at Cathann's paranoia.

"Wait, sir!" Birtt said urgently. "Auspex confirms - the signal's inconstant, but it's something large - close by -"

He never finished the sentence. Discordant screams erupted as Birtt's head exploded, literally exploded, smashed into dripping pieces by some horrible force - and where there was nothing before, now stood a horrible monster twice the height of a man -

Cathann's brain ran in panicked circles while her muscles acted on instinct. Before she - and probably the others - had even become aware of what had happened, the squad's lasfire lit the fiend up, scoring smoking holes in its alien skin. It disappeared, literally disappeared.

Cathann thought the last part of it to disappear was the quartet of glittering red slivers it had for eyes.

---------

Major Darakov swore. When it didn't change the situation in the slightest, he tried again, then gave up. Next to him, the young vox-officer looked pale and shaken. Darakov told him to go and throw up somewhere private, then lie down. Couldn't blame the kid. He'd just heard fifty-six men and women be physically torn apart in the space of five minutes.

"What the hell. What the HELL?! Tyranids? Throne curse it all!" The Major's sudden yell of released frustration drew wary glances from around the command complex. Darakov ignored them. Colonel Kerensky would have to hear of this as soon as possible; it changed things. Darakov was normally staunchly in opposition of any retreat, but against so many foes, fighting seemed foolish...

No. If a Commissar caught him thinking like this, he'd be shot for defeatism, and rightfully so. Being disorientated by sudden setbacks was the province of green conscripts, not distinguished military officers with a reputation for fearless defiance in the face of the enemy. Darakov's back straightened, almost involuntarily. This was the Emperor's planet, these foes were the Emperor's foes, and the armies of the Imperium were His righteous fists come to cleanse the galaxy of filth and heresy. Cleanse it and cleanse it again, dammit!

His normal burning-eyed composure regained, Darakov spoke to the room. "I want Colonel Kerensky, Captain Pedrus and the Inquisitor informed at once that Tyranid presence on Arbela has been confirmed, that the platoon reconnoitring Lower Stavoln Refinery have been eliminated, and my humble recommendation be extreme caution in all future military exercises, allowing our enemies to feed upon each other before we strike them down as the Emperor's avengers. I want all outlying recon platoons to return to base ASAP and the fortifications redoubled. For the Emperor."

A model of military precision, Darakov wheeled and marched out of the command centre, leaving hasty activity behind him. It wasn't until he was alone in his makeshift quarters that he noticed just how lined his hands were getting as he shakily poured himself a glass of the local whisky...

---------

The small fortification did little to protect Captain Pedrus and his brethren. Seven or eight Marines lay on the ground. Two were dead, their nervous systems ravaged and ruptured by enemy fire, their souls now with the Emperor as was written. The others were merely incapacitated; their armour disabled, their bodies severely-but-not-quite-mortally wounded.

Pedrus shared a glance with his two remaining men. It was now or never. The Tyranids were close to overrunning their position; heavy weapons fire and blessed thunder hammers had taken their toll, destroying many of the largest beasts, but the horde kept on coming unabated and - somehow - the Genestealers had found a way into the very heart of the Imperial defence. Bolter fire filled the air. The Tyranids were silent by comparison, their warcries nonexistent and their organic weapons far quieter than mechanical ones. The bomb must be activated and a retreat made before the Tyranids could claim any more ground.

"Now, brothers! Ay carumba!" Pedrus barked, vaulting the improvised defensive wall and charging, rapping out orders as he did so. A Land Speeder swung down and drowned several creatures in consecrated liquid flame. A palpable shockwave rippled through the ground and bricks fell from the ruin the three Marines were heading for as the Whirlwind bombarded it with a salvo of well-aimed Vengeance missiles. No lascannons or missiles issued from the Devastators' position; Pedrus prayed they had bigger fish to fry rather than that the Genestealers had reached them.

Pedrus' augurs highlighted the bomb as they came within a few metres of it. The Captain's power fist flashed as he hurled a pair of concussive maracas into the ruin, stunning and disorientating the four-metre synapse creatures lurking within. No time to destroy them; the bomb would do that.

Brother Lumenon reached the explosive first, calmly shooting a Gaunt in the head as it leapt at him. He knelt and inspected it. "Captain! It's already active!"

"What?" Pedrus loosed a stream of storm bolter shells into the mass of blue and black, scattering bodies. A Warrior fell, one of its legs sheared off. "How long before detonation?"

Lumenon paused, checking. Beside him, Brother Caleus impaled a hormagaunt with his chainsword, throwing the corpse away. "Seven minutes!"

Conditioned to be the ultimate warrior, Pedrus didn't lose an inch of composure. He issued army-wide orders. "Retreat! I want Thunderhawks for pickup NOW! We have under seven minutes to be three miles away!" He and his tiny squad began falling back, firing into the teeth and talons that pressed in on them. "Recover the wounded and dead! Mount the transports! Ay carumba!"

[kerensky]

Kerensky sheltered in the lee of a guard post. Orks... damned Orks. More heavy weaponry than he had expected. Waves of them, a great green tide backed up by heavy machine gun fire. His men had managed to destroy the tank back up, but he had lost a squad of 1st compamny veterans and their plasma. Destruction had been wrought on the wave of boys, but at the loss of an armoured sentinel. The vox fired up a warning of a huge tyranid presence from Major Drukov.

Advancing out to fire one last volley while his army was intact, Kerensky was forced to withdraw. The Orks were halved in number and now lacking in armour. It had bought some time, but not enough to hold them forever. He would be back though.... They would find a way to Ravensberg.

[dragonlord]

Cyrus mulled over the present strategic situation in his mind. That the Horde of Agmathral had been unable to hold the northern crossing on the Min was not entirely surprising, daemons were notoriously bad at holding physical objectives, and that did not especially bother him. He had hoped that the Horde might have been able to do more damage to the Imperial forces than it had, though the damage it had done was far from minimal. What particularly concerned him about the situation though was that it appeared the thrice damned Inquisiton had somehow managed to get some information about their plans.
The Orks seemed to be playing their part well enough, but the arrival of the Tyranids had been completely unexpected. All of the previous plans would have to be changed to take them into account. Perhaps this unexpected arrival could be made advantage of though, if the Tyranids could be directed towards the Imperial forces then perhaps they could be used to do the dirty work.
Hmmm..... He would have to talk to his sorcerers.....

Cyrus left his chambers and made his way towards the sorcerers' precinct, a dark gleam in his eye....

---

Thanks for the background guys. I have uploaded the latest campaign background segment here.

[bigfluffytrex]

hehe said Sorcerors and their cronies are kissing the dirt at the moment, thanks to the blessed power nacho's of El Pedro.

[Adam]

Power Nachos?

...Seriously?

(I see the Imperium won again then. Being Disorder sucks.)

[dragonlord]

Actually it was a very narrow draw (difference of about 80 victory points in a 4000 point per side battle), though this was largely due to the death of Ahriman and the Khornate lord in the last turn, had they not died it might have been a narrow victory to Disorder. In retrospect spending almost 25% of your points on characters is probably not an especially good idea.

[bigfluffytrex]

lol, it would have definitely been a Chaos victory were it not for Pedro's last turn heroics. By heroics, I mean leaving Ahriman to the terminators, whilst he bravely took on an inferior Chaos lord. lol, camping in a land raider is the Emperor's definition of the bravery too.