Campaign - Surprise At Pearl
Campaign - Surprise At Pearl
Planet Name:
Pearl Haven
Planet Description: Green Agri-planet, limited industrial capabilities.
Gaming Description: This campaign was designed for five armies, to be fought over a limited time span (two days). Due to the time constraints, the missions were chosen in advance in order to facilitate game time. Note that missions were selected for fluff as much as anything else, we wanted them to match the "spirit" of each army.
Drifting
through space, the misshapen and grotesque profile of space hulk Konviktz provided
a bizarre contrast to the uniformity of the nearby class 3 star. Consisting
of pieced together wrecked spacecraft, the hulk barely seemed capable of containing
its atmosphere. Long lazy streams of objects trailed behind it, only close examintion
could determine if the objects were waste, or parts of the hulk itself.
Within its mass rises a cavernous three story chamber, a poor approximation of an imperial crusier command deck. Packed with dozens of green skinned creatures, the foul air hummed with a combination of exposed electrical current, and snoring beasts, the majority lying horizontal in an alcohol produced state of comatose .
On the highest level of the chamber lounged an ork of tremendous size, his bulk easily twice that of the other orks around him. His face sprang from a child's nightmare; one half the visage of a wild animal, a broad scarred expance, it's massive lower jaw consisting of a few very large and poorly brushed teeth. The other half was rusted, rough metal, and the same machinery seemed to extend down his torso, small gears turning, pumping fluids through its system. One arm consisted entirely of mechanics, and ended in a massive and wicked looking claw.
The beast lazily eyeballed the
planet Pearl Haven that grew slowly in the viewfinder, its screen stained with
rust and body fluids. Running his one natural eye across the surface of the
planet, it smiled a horrific grin , spitting out a bone that had been lodged
annoyingly in a back tooth for at least a few days
.
Rising slowly to its feet, it stretched, and expeled a huge wave of gas, potent
enough to leave a grot attendent behind him light headed and reeling.
Warboss Bob's body gears spun faster as he came to life. Having freed himself, and in the process his warband, from an Ork penal colony, Bob and his Killa Konviktz had managed to build the hulk over the last few years, and had assembled a significant fighting force. Unlike most ork armies that were strung out along one line, the Konviktz had elements of both traditional "footsloggin" ork army, and a large contingent of "speed freaks", orks dedicated to going fast and blowing things up. No matter what their preference, they were all Konviktz, and all loved a good fight.
Having not had any contact with anything for the last few weeks, the orks were running short of supplies, patience, and most recently grotz as boredom cut deeply into their ranks. It looked around the chamber and spotted his projectile of the grot tossing competition from last night, still impaled on a metal projection on the ceiling."da boyz is gettin' sloppy," grumbled the monster, "dese need a fight!" Taking this planet would change all of that."Wit da hulk drifting 'ere, it must be a sign from Gork!"
With surprising agility for its size, it leapt off of the balcony, dropping two flights to the center of the room. Landing squarely on top of a smaller ork, the lessor creature was squashed flat under the Warboss' mass. Brandishing a huge axe, Bob let loose a roar loud enough to wake the dead, or a hungover ork.. “Now ‘erz a nic bit! - Git up ya gitz! Rouze da boyz – itz time to WAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!”
Colonel
Larkin, commanding officer of the 6th. Irish Rifles gazed up at the early morning
sky, just as the sun’s light 
was
washing over Pearl Haven. A long time veteran of the Imperial Guard, he and
his unit were looking forward to their posting on the planet, a veritable paradise,
and most importantly lacking any Xenos or heretical activity. A nice quiet posting,
perfect for his unit. Not one to enjoy poetry or prose, Larkin's idea of fun
was a good pint of ale, and time to clean his gun. Pearl Haven should provide
him ample opportunity for that.
Larkin winced as an immense explosion ripped apart a second imperial lightening aircraft, shrapnel spraying the airport's buildings. From his distance, he could make out the sound of powerful engines screamed as the odd shaped ork aircraft blasted across at low altitude, the pilots laughing insanely as ordinance crashed to earth behind them. Large pillars of black smoke began rising into the air.
Larkin had first turned as the initial explosion ripped apart the peace of the morning, and by the time the third blast hit, he was already sprinting for the command hut. “Report!” he ordered as he burst through the door.
“Greenskins,
Sir, by all accounts Speed Freaks.”
“Numbers?”
“Unknown , Sir. Hickam Field has already reported 3 separate waves.”
“Damage.”
“The field is in ruins sir, no functional aircraft. Additionally all interstellar transports are either damaged beyond functionality, or trapped by wreckage.”
Larken sat silent for a moment. “Com officer, send a request for assistance to the fleet. With no air cover or transportation, we’re going to need some help.”
“Sir! The spaceport is reporting in-coming landing craft!”
“Sound
the muster! Com, send that message now! If you’re looking for me, just follow
the sound of the guns!”
His other hand touched the round scar that marked his forehead, caused by the near miss of a primitive ork hand held rocket. Primitive, but strong enough to destroy the Rhino he was riding in at the time. The servitor standing nearby fidgeted nervously in the heavy silence. By the Emporer's light and my hand, Vincentous swore, this time those meddlesome beasts will find their end.
|
The
hooded, dark figure sat motionless, the only light in the room coming from incoming
message traffic, causing blood red flashes across its deathly pale complexion.
A slender, hand reached out, its graceful lines 
terminating
in long fingernails, each reminiscent of a feral beast, and each colored a deep,
blood red.
Its face hidden in shadow, the figure bowed its head as it listened to the message. The singsong language ended, and with it the flashing red light. Excellent, the Archon mused, where the Freakforms go, chaos follows. It will be a planet ripe for raping!
A new light lit up the hooded face; this one coming from the fires within.
The vision came to Archon X'rCist
thru mottled clouds of wailing souls climaxing his drug induced stupor. There,
floating out in space next to the disgustingly verdant emerald marble, was his
canvas. Jagged shoots of plasma fused titanium, empty lifeless pits of darkness
where polished command bridges once stood. Crushed, punctured, violated pieces
of super structure and hull now drifted silently. Spasms of delight waved through
the Exarch as his muse took form. Decorate it. How decadently fitting and ironic
considering all the little humans milling about the nearby planet pretending
to do feats of power and strength. Pissy little children, there was more advanced
civilization in the blood tinged orgy fluid that dripped down the now exposed
spine of his former concubine, now sprawled lewdly before him. Her taste was
still on his lips, her flesh in his teeth. XrCist plunged a new syringe deep
into his upper inner thigh, purple veins surged through his perfect alabaster
skin. MORE VISIONS! Convulsing in his command throne he saw the mon-keigh bodies
hanging from chains fused to the hulk, a guardsmen impaled here and there, there
and here, a long streamer trail of blood following the soon to be decorated
hulk like a string of garland, ohh it will look just like that human idolatry.
symbol the Archon thought, blasted what was the phrase, AHH Yes, ornaments on
a Christmas tree.
Archon Xr'Cist touched the black pearl panel of the comm, "All h
ands prepare, soon we ravage for ornaments. We want only bodies, leave the scrap metal for those Green Freakforms, they might use it evolve beyond the excrement left in our pleasure pits." But first... another hit.... thought the Archon reaching for his 66th drug poluted syringe. Again he convulse in pleasure.
The bridge of the Dark Eldar pirate vessel Nightmare was bathed in an incandescent black light that cast an ominous but comforting aura around the archon's command throne. The air was heady with the mist soul essence signifying Archon X'rCist’s unholy appetite had just been sated. Trickles of life blood coalesced into shimmering pools of shiny black, the individual droplets themselves adorned the throne like black pearls in the black light, bringing a desecrative opulence to the ancient dark eldar relic.
"Archon X'rCist!" a loud voice shouted as it burst through the web portal that was the entrance to the command bridge. Archon X’rCist reflexively spun the throne in the direction of the intruding figure his long delicate index finger pressing the firing mechanism of his throne’s armaments ever so lightly. It was a Mandrake, dressed in the shadow suit that was it’s units trademark. They were given the duty of recon and intelligence collection for the wretchedly small planet of Pearl Haven.
“Chapter vessel Lupius Imperious detected in orbit Lord Archon!” the zealous
Mandrake announced after a quick sweeping bow. “We first detected their transmission
signature but we unable to break the encryption, but the signature was still
theirs. Intensive warp scans of the orbital system around Pearl Haven then found
the warship my Lord.” The Mandrake ceased.
“Space
Wolves”, hissed Archon Xr’Cist, that changes everything, the archon’s devious
mind twisted various battle permutations in his advanced mind. Thoughts of those
hulking pale blue armored mon-keighs brought a tear to the penetrating purple
eyes of the Archon. “Have we been detected Mandrake!”, the Archon barked the
question, angered the Mandrake did not cover this very important technicality.
“Nay, my Lord, they have made no moves to indicate so.”, the Mandrake sounded
quite confident.
“Excellent, we change our plans, hit the Space Wolves first. The fear and horror
this will bring to the local imperial guard will send them into convulsing death
spasms, after they foul themselves of course.” The bridge erupted in malicious
laughter. The Archon continued, “The equiptment of the Wolf Chapter will fetch
a good price in the Eye of Terror. The marines themselves make horrible slaves
but take such a exquisitely pleasurable amount of physical and mental torture…AHHHHH,
OHH, mmmmmm…” The Archon shuddered in the aftermath of his mental climax. “They
take oh so long to die, lllike they were made for usss..”, the archon whispered
in a orgasmic purr. “Send the order, our new target is the Space Marines, and
prepare a second order..”
Several blades shot forth, flicked almost effortlessly from the now gloved hands
of the Archon, the fingers of the gloves slick with a violet syrupy substance.
The Mandrake looked downed at the three gushing wounds in his chest before dropping
to the floor. Bubbling ripples strained the fibers of the shadow suit as the
virulent poison from the poisoned blades overwhelmed the immuno-defensive system
of the Mandrake and caused it’s blood to boil out of the delicate flawless skin
of the dark elder spy. The Mandrake wailed for exactly 13 seconds before the
pox ridden blood flooded the vocal cords, the Mandrake’s pain and fevered convulsions
did not, however, end for exactly another 13 seconds. A mist drifted up from
the now still corpse and writhed around and up the legs of the Archon.
Archon Xr’Cist inhaled deeply the soul essence and felt even further renewed.
“Second Order”, he barked, “Requisition a new Mandrake for the unit, this one
with manners.” The Archon turned his attention back to the forward view screen
where a cold dark space encircled the planet of Pearl Haven. The Archon’s black
pearled lips twisted into a malignant smile of pleasure….
Small colored stones whirled in an increasingly rapid pattern, changing altitude and aspect around the head of the seated figure. His eyes closed, legs crossed, and arms outstretched, the Eldar was dressed in long flowing robes, and a strange hued body armor that seemed to pulse in time with his deep breaths. One hand raised up, and the stones flew immediately to his hand, ceasing their motion. The Farseer had awaken abruptly from the I’kaimi en’rina, his eyes snapping open. With a feline grace, the Farseer Sai’sel’gilime was immediately up and moving out the door of the mediation chamber.
His entrance in the next room brought immediate silence. “The dark ones move
towards Pearl Haven, to strike while the Mon-Keigh are distracted by the Orcaith.
We cannot allow this.”
A tall, beautiful Eldar women dressed in the white uniform of the Howling Banshee
aspect stood up. “We are still not up to full strength yet from our last encounter
with the Necron forces, Val’istar. Can we not warn the Mon-Keigh and let them
look to their own defence?”
“No, good il’Katan, we cannot. The Mon-Keigh cannot tell light from dark, so
focused are they on their short lives, and so they can trust neither. Our warning
would go unheard. No, we must see that the Dark Ones are unsuccessful. It has
been decided”.
With a deep bow, il’Katan signaled her comprehension. "We make course for
Pearl Haven, Val’tura." Nodding his acknowledgement, the Farseer glided
silently from the room. il’Katan turned to the host of Exarch’s gathered. “Ohtarin,
return to your Shrines and prepare the Pomsae. We go to War.”
Something was wrong. The Farseer could not be certain of what it was, but the
strings of fate were twisted; the path was shielded by something. It troubled
Sai’sel’gilime. Though familiar, the subtle change had him uncertain; a feeling
he was uneasy with. He needed to consult the Tea-shih; privately. Surely the
signs must have been recorded by the Infinity Matrix sometime long ago. The
omens and portents were far too strong, far too certain, and far too clouded
to be anything else but. Besides, he always was enamored with the beauty of
the Heartwood groves that surrounded the Temple of the Tea-shih.
He paused outside the Temple. Deeply embedded within the Biel-tan craft-world,
it sprawled throughout a vast chamber of Eldaril, or Wraithbone. Ancestors of
millenia past whispered greetings to the Farseer, lulling him subtly into the
Kanilea tel’istar; the seers trance that would enable him passage past the doors.
Again, he sensed it; something had changed. The Farseer reached into his robes
and cast down the Runestones before the Temple doors. The pattern was different
this time as well. Now he had no doubt. He had been through this many times
before, and the signs were always the same. Simular pattern, same outcome. He
quickly seeked out his own strand of fate. Yes. There it was.
Gathering up the stones, his thoughts were projected to the Infinity Matrix,
and immediately echoed throughout all parts of the Biel-tan craft-world. Seer
songs echoed throughout the craft-world. Spirit stones pulsed with renewed vigor.
Souls of heroes past longing for another chance to bring glory to Biel-tan.
To serve, to prepare, to welcome their brethren to the circuits. To fight once
again and lend their wisdom to the living. The walls sang, and Biel-tan prepared.
Sai’sel’gilime
strode throughout the craft-world and gathered his forces. His thoughts flashing
throughout as the infinity circuit relayed them to his Istar. The Warlocks sending
their own acknowledgement. The Ohtarin heeded the call as well. Exarchs from
all paths prepared their warriors. Each warrior focusing their N’at palurin
to the spirit stones within their armour. The craft-world hummed brilliantly
as she prepared the spirit stones for the warriors. Though they knew not if
they would live, their souls would return to the Infinity Matrix. They would
be born anew.
It was some time before Sai’sel’gilime arrived at the immense Talaclu hall,
deep within the craft-world. They were all gathered as he had known; the Infinity
circuits kept him informed of every dream, every movement, and every thought
within his world. All were prepared and he psychically greeted them in turn;
Rillietann, Athistaur, Athesdan, Margorach, and finally he sent his welcome
to Ardathair. “Lavair,” he whispered in response. Something was missing, of
course. Arebennian was undoubtedly planetside already, in advance. He casually
cast his glance about. A spectacular force. He couldn’t help but feel a sense
of awe at the gathered forces around him.
Satisfied, he turned from the gathered force and broadcast his message throughout
the craft-world. “I have read the casting of the stones. I have followed each
of your strands. Fear not death, your spirit stones shall guide and welcome
you. Pearl Haven awaits. Onward Biel-tan Ohtarin. Embrace the Kwaen, embrace
the battle! Tonight, we celebrate VICTORY!”
Day One.
 Orks
attack IG Positions [take and hold] around
airfield. If sucessful, the Orks continue their assault [blitz]
on planetary positions, this time facing the reinforcing Space Wolves
in open ground heading towards the capital. If not sucessful, the Orks throw
everything they can at the airfield [meatgrinder]
, again facing the Space Wolves. |
Dark Eldar arrive, and run [patrol] into the Space Wolves who are also arriving in system. If sucessful, the Dark Eldar will surprise [rear guard] an IG unit moving to reinforce, requiring the IG to mount a fighting retreat. If unsucessful against the Space Wolves, the Dark Eldar face themselves fighting for their existance planetside [cleanse] , as the IG, now alerted to their presence, mounts a cleanse campaign to remove them.
Day Two.
| The swirling battlefield adds to confusion, as the Orks and Dark Eldar meet in a vicious night fight [night fight] , after which the Orks temporarily withdraw. |
Elsewhere, the Eldar surprise everyone with their arrival, and a last minute attempt to parly with the Imperium fails, the Eldar find themselves facing off against the Space Wolves [Urban Assault] in the capital city. Extracting themselves from the city, Eldar forces now continue their search for their dark brethern, but alas their progress is blocked by the IG [Rescue] .
The Dark Eldar, having freed themselves from the Orks, sieze an opportunty and attack [Assasians/Sabatoge] Space Wolf holdings outside the capital. With a way now opened, the Dark Eldar move into the city proper, only to find their way blocked by the Eldar [Urban Assault] .
Convinced of IG betrayel in the last, the Space Wolves fall upon the IG [strongpoint].
Conclusion (Alternative 1)
All forces find themselve arranged against the others, as a massive battle erupts across the surface of the planet. Only one will remain.
Conclusion (Alternative 2)
The leaders of each force agree to meet to discuss a ceasation of hostilities, but things go horribly awry as single combat breaks out among them. To the victor goes the spoils!
The alternative endings depend on real time available. Time permitting, a full mega battle, on a 4 x 16 foot table, will be played. The player with the highest number of victories chooses table location first, and their order of play (first, second, or last). The player with the next highest number of victories goes second, and so on. In the case where two players are tied for victories, the player with the highest number of victories as an attacker chooses table location first, but the other player selects their order of play first. Victory conditions will be who ever has the most victory points left at the end of 10 turns, as well as the most number of strategic points on the table wins.
In the case that only a limitied amount of time is available, there will be a HQ fight, 250 points of HQ only, last man standing. Table will be 4 x 4.
'ere is dem nasty legal bits:
Fiction work is the sole work of Thomas Garbelotti, Emil Iglesias, & Jon Pito. Eldar graphics were taken from www.eldaronline.com, ork graphics were taken from Imperial Armor II and www.forgeworld.co.uk, no challange to their status or to the copyrights are intended.
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Lupius
Imperious, one of the most ancient Space Marine battle barges, hung in
space, small tenders ferrying supplies from adjacent Imperial Navy transports.
Dressed in signature gray, the Wolf Lord Vincentious gazed out on the
scene, willing the tenders to speed up the replenishment. He remained
without any external emotion, only the increasingly whiteness of his fingers
as he clenched the incoming message showing his agitation. Orks!