Confrontation Part 1

The tournament is done, the games are over. A great time was had by all. Now comes the challenge of translating five random games, against random factions, into a workable narrative that fits within my overall story-arc. As it happens, the luck of the draw may have aided me there...

A short time previously...

Lions Castellant Interrogator-Chaplain Eufrayn stormed into the Battle-barge's docking bay, ancient gantries ringing with each step. He descended the steps to the bay floor at speed, and strode imperiously towards the interlopers, where they waited under armed guard.

"What," he barked, "do you want?"

"You will address me with civility and respect, or else find somebody who will," the Inquisitor remarked levelly. He was large, and filled his golden power armour like an Astartes born, but his face was lined with weariness and age; and something else, perhaps. Still, his gaze did not waver.

The dozen assorted miscreants that flanked the Inquisitor, a freakish rabble that raised Eufrayn's hackles with their very presence, also gazed at the Chaplain impetuously. Hiding behind their golden idol.

A tall figure in gleaming armour coloured like deep wine stood rigidly at the rear of the group, unreadable. Eufrayn wanted them off his ship.

"State your business Inquisitor -"

"Lord Inquisitor. Lord Inquisitor Karstax," he said with that maddening calmness.
"Civility, Interrogator-Chaplain. Respect."

Eufrayn clenched a fist.

"Lord Karstax, we have urgent business in this sector - matters of grave import, and I do not have time for -"

Karstax raised a hand to silence him and Eufrayn nearly spat. With the same laconic gesture Karstax beckoned forth a grubby looking military type in a red jerkin and straggly beard, who knelt at the Inquisitor's side and presented a beaten metal casket like some holy-of-holies. He opened the lid to present a small black wax seal, embossed with the thrice-crossed 'I' and skull of the Inquisitorial Ordos.

"Look," Karstax said softly, "this tells me that you have time. That your business can wait. I am requisitioning your ship and your forces in the name of the Ordo Hereticus. Right now a force hostile to the Imperium and bent on it's destruction is inbound, searching for an item of unspeakable power in that maelstrom of violence out there. I have allies approaching to intercept them but they are delayed. You are now my agents. You will strike at our foes in my name."

Eufrayn was silent. The timing of this was monstrous. A bizarre and nightmarish war had engulfed the surrounding sector - a Lions Castellant strike force had been lost in there, and alarming reports of the activities of four librarians that had accompanied them had reached him. It was imperative that they be extracted for interrogation with all speed, if possible without alerting any of the wider imperium to their transgressions. The Lions were as aware of the pressing need for secrecy as their founding chapter, the Dark Angels, and Eufrayn answered directly to the masters of the Rock.

An Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor on his ship was the last thing he needed. Best to remove him then.

"Yes my Lord Inquisitor, I understand," he growled, contingencies spiralling through his mind with some urgency, "Who is the target? What do they seek?"

"Knowledge is a weighty burden Chaplain, and I require that you move swiftly. Such burdens then are not yours to bear. Know this; a Strike vessel of the Stigmata Seraphim chapter of the Adeptus Astartes is inbound. I name them Heretica Execratis. Destroy them."

Momentarily, Eufrayn was taken aback.

"I know of them. They are said to be noble. What is their crime?"

Karstax snapped the casket shut and tapped the lid pointedly with his armoured finger in reply. Silently, the Inquisitor and his retinue turned and made to leave, threading back across the busy docking bay to their shuttle. For a moment Eufrayn was silent as he processed what he'd just learned. He watched the Inquisitor go.

"Inquisitor! My Lord," he called suddenly, "will you not join us on the hunt?"

"I am needed elsewhere," Karstax called back without slowing, "though I have every faith in your ability to follow my commands." Then they were gone, lost in steam and shadows.

The Interrogator-Chaplain cursed beneath his breath, span on his heel and stalked away to the bridge, armed guard at his back. An Inquisitorial command could not be ignored; but it could perhaps provide useful cover...
 

Confrontation: Prologue

I'm travelling south today to take part in my first Warhammer 40k tournament this weekend - a doubles event by the name of '1st Confrontation Alliances'. I'll be travelling with my friend and regular gaming cohort Jody, who'll be fielding Hawk Lord Space Marines, while I'll be taking my Blood Angel successor chapter the Stigmata Seraphim, who will be detailed quite extensively here in time. I thought this would be a great chance to weave a narrative about some games and fit it somewhere into my overarching 40k timeline. So without further ado...

Timeline M41.999

In the year 998 of the 41st millenium, Librarius Dominus Perfecti Galadrian, Chapter Master of the Stigmata Seraphim and self-styled Lord of Angels, decreed the Protean Crusade and sent his chapter forth. He was met with consternation from the Conclave Perfectus - the Blood Angels, sire chapter to the Stigmata Seraphim in the dark and distant days that followed the Horus Heresy, had issued forth a call to arms, for the sacred homeworld of Baal itself was under threat. Yet Galadrian would brook no dissent and his authority was well entrenched by then - the holy mission of the Seraphim was of more import than even this, he declared - and so the crusaders went.

So did the Carnivore class cruiser of Librarius Epistollerus Zarathustra and his Confrontation Conclave leave the immaterial nightmare of the Warp and shudder back into the void of realspace. Long had his passage been to reach this point, long and violent and blood soaked, and now, as blast shields rumbled from port viewers, and sensor arrays flickered online to reveal the strobe-beat augur icons of a grinding warzone spread about them, he closed his eyes a moment, and sighed.
Zarathustra called for a report, an identification of combatants. The list that came back was long, and bewildering.

The Key of Assai, that would unlock the gates of the Palace of Woe, was within his grasp; it called to his psychically attuned mind, from somewhere out there, out amidst the carnage. Had it drawn this spiral of violence about itself? Did it wish to remain out of his reach? At the inception of the crusade he had hand selected a small strike force, veterans and specialists every one, representatives of the Conclaves of Shadow and Spite, of Fury and Air, and they had served him well. Yet they alone would not be enough to traverse the conflict about them.

"We will need allies, if we are to fulfill our purpose here," he mused.

A servitor drone hooked into the sensor galley announced the identification of an engaged Astartes Battlecruiser, a short distance out to port. Hawk Lords.

Zarathustra rubbed his chin. A fine and noble chapter; they would serve his needs well.

"Hail the Hawk Lord's vessel," he commanded, "offer our assistance."

"What should I tell them?" he was asked.

"Whatever they need to hear," the Librarian replied, "except for the truth..."

An Explanation and An Introduction

I'll keep this brief because you've likely heard it before - I first encountered tabletop wargames at the age of 14 when a schoolfriend stuck a copy of White Dwarf under my nose in the middle of some lesson or other. This was a while ago, when all Citadel miniatures were cast in metal and had a certain quirky aesthetic to them. They were odd and marvellous, and seemed to defy their diminutive size with an overabundance of character.
The Orks got me first. That's Orks with a K, the space-faring, far future beasts, as opposed to their fantasy, C bearing cousins. Orks lived to fight, and rampage, and have their weapons explode in their hands, and laugh the whole time. Some of them were called Goffs. Orks looked great fun.
I never started an Ork army, and still haven't (yet - some things never leave you); reading further into the background of the galaxy that the Orks cheerfully swarmed across, I discovered the Imperial Space Marines, mankind's last hope for salvation in the dying moments of an epoch of dark horror. I discovered in fact one particular faction of Space Marines - the Blood Angels Chapter - and a lifelong obsession was born.
In this most overwhelmingly, ironically gothic of settings, the Blood Angels - to me - encapsulated the gothic theme almost entirely. A noble brotherhood of warriors (Space Marines are more like crusading knight orders on a galactic scale than the infantry grunts from Starship Troopers or Aliens, if you're not familiar), clad in fine baroque armour like towering Catholic idols, they're plagued by the tragic events that followed the founding of their order, and forever struggle against the darkness in their hearts, fully aware that their destiny will mean either sacrifice and death or a slow descent into blood thirsty madness. Honestly, what's not to love?
The Warhammer 40,000 game of which I write has always been more of an investment hobby, and amassing a playable army would have been a drain on time and money that I couldn't spare at that point. I regretfully moved away from that game, yet the richness and depth of the background stayed with me. The early, broad strokes of 10,000 years of tragedy and horror, and heroic last stands amongst the stars, that the hobby laid out back then had a resonance that has never faded.
My love for gaming never faded either, and neither did my love for rich backdrops and astonishing worlds to play in. A pre-Warhammer infatuation with the Fighting Fantasy books of Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone became a love of tabletop roleplaying games - all the excitement of wargaming at a fraction of the outlay - and my collection of roleplaying books and manuals expanded. I played boardgames like Heroquest and Bloodbowl, RPGs like Cyberpunk and Vampire the Masquerade and always, always I was crafting additional stories to link the games together. The games became about the stories, and the stories spilled over so that I'd chronicle forgotten adventures or off-screen encounters on paper, riffing on my friend's characters and adventurers, keeping the tales flowing and alive.
This obsession with narrative still drives me, and emerges in various ways. One of those ways informed my return to tabletop wargaming about five years ago and how I was going to finally approach my army collections and the games that I played. Themes and narratives run throughout, and with my regular gaming group I'm constantly looking for the perfect fusion between strategy game and storytelling. The genius approach to worldbuilding taken by companies like Games Workshop, creators of Warhammer, was to leave enough gaps and story hooks in their universes that players could carve out their own little corner, tell their own tales there, create something new. It's an approach that I've fully exploited. Why play the Blood Angels when I can create a shadowy splinter-group from their distant past? Why attempt to play games featuring established characters with established timelines when I can weave tales all my own? The Warhammer 40,000 universe features a galaxy of one million inhabited worlds; the Space Marines alone stand at a thousand different chapters, most unnamed anywhere, and that's just a single playable faction out of a dozen or so. The potential in this one game alone is huge. I love potential.
Over the last five years I've accumulated quite a bit of extra material from playing  games in other people's worlds and I thought it about time that I kept it all somewhere.
I've named that place the Discordia Cascade. I hope that you enjoy reading of the tales, and campaigns, and characters that populate the various aspects of the Cascade, and that perhaps you gain some inspiration of your own from it. All content is created by players for players and there is no intention of stepping on anyone's toes in terms of intellectual properties and copyright. There are no riches to be had here - just ideas, shared freely.
Enjoy.