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Captain Barnabus Tar'qun and the crew of the Aether-Walker


Mohojoe

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This is the start of my narrative army for the Rise of empires: Border wars campaign. C&C is very welcome

A roll of thunder echoed through the sky, a flash of lightning illuminating the deck of the mighty floating vessel as it cut through billowing dark clouds. From amid a porthole embedded in the hull of the ship Captain Barnabus Tar'qun peered out at the moody weather. The captain was a stout man of many years with a rugged face, framed by a wiry grey beard and piercing green eyes behind half moon spectacles. His visage was streaked with wrinkled lines that spoke of years of hard labour on the decks of airships and fighting tooth and nail for other men. His eyes however still held a delightful glint that gave the impression of a youthful soul trapped in an older frame. The stub of a well chewed cigar jutted from the corner of his lips, ash cascading down his facial hair as he leaned back into his brass rocking chair.

 

The ship he resided on was known as 'Aether-Walker' and was the pride of the fleet. Its ornate shape had been designed to perfectly traverse the turbulent winds, fickle weather and aether-rot that had claimed so many lesser constructs. Barnabus had full faith in the machines capabilities, however his over protective nature of the creation was justified for the kings ransom he had paid ( and still owed) to its previous owner. The 'Aether-Walker' was the first ship that he had been in command of and had been funded by the Sky port council of Tel'ra Da, on the merit of his experience as a navigator. The pursuit of Aether-Gold had always been a harsh focus for the Kharadron, however in recent times they had been forced to travel further afield to find suitable deposits. Barnabus had theorised in a recent journal the existence of an accumulating mass across the stained sea that yet remained untapped. It was this that had allowed him the chance to captain his own fleet in search of this potential anomaly.

 

The acrid blue smoke of the cigar pooled around his balding pate as he flipped open his leather bound log book and stubbed the chewed end into an ash tray. From the inkwell of his bureau he produced a metallic quill, dipped it in ink and began to scrawl runes on the pages. As he worked, recording the coordinates of the location, the weather and other such trivial things the day had brought he thought on the strange phenomenons he was encountering as he drew ever closer to his destination. The weather seemed to become more animated the closer to they came to the anomalies location. It had struck him as peculiar that a storm could be apparent, this high within cloud cover, however the higher they ascended the thicker the clouds had become. It had become increasingly difficult to work out their location from vision alone as the intermittent storms brought thick clouds and fog to surround the ship. He pondered the correlation of this with his anomaly theory  for a few moments before being jarred from his deep thoughts by a heavy impact that sent him reeling to the deck.

Startled voices could be heard from all over the vessel as a great horn was blown, warning the crew of immediate danger. Instinctively he dived for his Aether-Suit and began the difficult process of sliding into his life preserving armour. With shaky hands he pulled clasps tight, checked seals and released the valves that allowed the air to be filtered and fed to him within his metal cocoon.

The suit was an ornate display of his kin's craftsmanship. Each one had been forged with an individual in mind and would fit no other. It was the Kharadron's pride and joy and was as revered as any holy icon.

 

When the safety checks on his armour were complete, Barnabus reached for the valve door in the ceiling, unsealed the hissing quarantine locks and heaved himself on deck to face the commotion.

 

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As Barnabus heaved himself up onto the deck he was greeted with a cacophony of roaring wind. Rain beat a tattoo against his armour and thick droplets clung to his eye lenses. Scanning the deck, he saw the cause of the disturbance. Hellish winged abominations were exploding into existence in plumes of thick smoke and attacking the crew. The wiry creatures resembled a horrific amalgamation of bird and woman. Thick black wings protruded from their backs, a pearlescent hue reflecting the glistening moon light as they beat in the gale. In lieu of finger tips great talons arced from where hands should have been, scything through the air as they dived toward their prey. Above the screeching of the beasts shouting could be heard as the crew scrambled toward weapons and cover.

Barnabus dashed toward a brass rack hanging from the hull and retrieved a two-handed Warhammer etched with ancient runes, its familiar weight steadying his nerves as adrenaline rushed through his body. With a new sense of determination, he ran toward the danger, ducking underneath plummeting daemons and batting away attacks with a heavy gauntleted fist. Gunfire erupted from the bow as the crew fought off the attackers. In all his years of service to the council he had never adjusted to the sulphurous smell that the weapons propellant gave off. It was a bitter reek that bit the senses as each volley produced more of the foul odour. He threw himself against the hull wall as a dark shadow darted over him. The creature it belonged to crashed against a deck hand wielding a carbine, picking him up with thick talons and throwing him over board before racing back into the clouds. Barnabus grimaced as the Duardin’s cries drifted away beneath him into the oblivion. With a curse on his lips he sprang from his position and swung his mighty hammer in an arc, clipping the legs of a darting beast. As the thing crumpled under the weapons blow it vanished from existence in a bloom of oily smoke.  More creatures burst from the clouds with outstretched arms, ready to cast him from the ship. Rifles cracked as two were shot from the air above him, a third aiming sharp bladed claws at his throat. He thrust the head of his hammer into the bird-things face before swinging it around him in a whirlwind of destruction, caving in the chest of one and driving another into the deck. He fought with the strength and determination of a much younger man, spitting obscenities at the abominations as he worked and rallying the crew into a fervour.

Across the deck, Duardin were regaining the ship. The bird creatures were torn down in bursts of small arm fire and impaled on giant hooked lances.  As quickly as these things had forced themselves into existence they were vanishing. And with them the storm was receding. Barnabus roared out a victory cry and raised his hammer high into the air as the crew echoed him in chorus.

For several hours, he watched over the crew as they worked tirelessly to repair the vessel’s damage and tend to the wounded. Those incapacitated were taken to the hold for treatment where the pressurised hull would protect them from the toxic aether. Thirteen has been injured in total with two fatalities, including the crewmember he had seen vanish overboard. The scream of powerless fear seemed to echo inside his mind, tormenting him. To die in battle was an honour, but to fall from the sky was to be abandoned by everything the Kharadron held dear.

The skies were almost clear now and the sun was beginning to rise in the distance, bathing the vast metal of the Aether-Walker with a warm glow. Beneath the vessel, he spied the vast dark ocean and knew in his heart that his destination was approaching. Kneeling to unlock the pressurised hatch, he made for his cabin to prepare for what was to come.

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Seriously love it. I feel at some point my Tzeentch might have to have a run in with these guys, even if it's just in fluff :P I really like the idea that falling to your death is a dishonourable death for them, to be forgotten from Kharadon society. Literally falling from grace.

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Seriously love it. I feel at some point my Tzeentch might have to have a run in with these guys, even if it's just in fluff [emoji14] I really like the idea that falling to your death is a dishonourable death for them, to be forgotten from Kharadon society. Literally falling from grace.

Thank you bud! Appreciate the kind words!


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