This was The Great Crusade
's first event of 2010, and the best attended event so far! We had an excellent turnout, including:
Angels Blade - Terran loyalist Dark Angels
Apologist - Ultramarines led by Marius Gage
Dargor - Emperor's Children with Fulgrim
Hero of Istvaan - Imperial Fists with Rogal Dorn and Sigismund
Ilmarinen - White Scars bikers led by Jubal Khan
King Fluff - Thousand Sons with Magnus the Red, and Space Wolves on the side!
LeonidasL - World Eaters Berserkers led by Kharn and a Daemon Prince
Rayziel - Fallen Dark Angels
ShroudFilm - Iron Warriors with Perturabo
Titus Pullo - Imperial Army and Emperor's Children allies
Vanessa - xenos filth! Ork invasion force
Vinnie - White Scars with Jaghatai Khan
Whitehorn - Dark Mechanicum with Sons of Horus allies
Also we were honoured to have none other than Graham McNeill
himself drop in to see us on the Saturday, to see how the Horus Heresy novels are received by fanatic gamers, sign a few books and even join us for a spot of lunch in Bugman's Bar! As a big thankyou from all of us, we presented him with a special custom TGC t-shirt.
The principle aim of the weekend (apart from being a TGC social!) was to try out the rules and army lists for the Tempus Fugitives' next Age of the Emperor
event in May... but as always we ran a special pre-Heresy storyline event over both days too.
==========Path of the TraitorThe Horus Heresy has raged for over six standard years. One by one, the Imperium has surrendered its territories to the traitors as Warmaster Horus gathers his forces and pushes on towards Terra. Loyalties have been crystallised and the battle lines drawn, and yet with each new victory the ranks of the heretics swell - rumours of warp-beasts taking flesh and stalking the battlefields of the galaxy strike fear into even the Astartes as they prepare for the inevitable final battle.
Still reeling from the Battle for Calth, the Ultramarines are assisting in the evacuation of loyalist systems which lie too far outside of the Imperial lines to be worth defending. Under the orders of Rogal Dorn, the heavily urbanised planet of Theirese deep within the Segmentum Solar has been made a priority for evacuation, as the loss of so many civilians would deal a devastating blow to loyalist morale and call into question the ability of the Emperor's finest to lead mankind in their hour of need.
The Volscani Vth Imperial Army regiment has turned traitor and relayed Dorn's plans to the Warmaster's agents, and within days a fleet led by three of the heretic legions has been confirmed as heading for the system. Jaghatai Khan and his legion have taken a detour from their route to Terra to assist the Ultramarines before their foes arrive, and soon Dorn himself arrives with his Huscarl retinue and an entire company taken from the defence of the Imperial Palace to make ready for the assault.
The city of Liscia has been fortified with huge void shields to deflect the traitors' orbital bombardment, and so they will be forced to advance through the shield at ground level if they are to disable it. Braving the rubble-strewn wastelands beyond the city walls will test the tactical prowess of Fulgrim, Angron and Perturabo as they pace the command centres of their ships.
As if things could not seem any darker for the Imperium, a particularly ambitious Ork warlord has also set his sights upon the planet and makes ready to invade! All now rests upon the ability of the loyalists to buy enough time for their last transports to leave the planet before the traitors can slaughter the remaining civilians...
=========='Path of the Traitor' Part 1: The Invasion of Liscia
The rumble of engines echoing through the ruins outside of Liscia heralded the arrival of Horus' forces. From vantage points among the hastily constructed defences, Astartes of the Ultramarines legion waited for their first sight of the enemy. Somewhere off to the east, another ramshackle Ork craft crashed down into the hills beyond the ravaged spaceport - they would have to deal with the xenos in due course, once the immediate threat of the traitors had passed.
A rising column of dust on the road ahead caused a murmur among the Ultramarines, and Scout Sergeant Telcion raised his auspex. "Confirmed sighting - twenty-plus enemy vehicles and supporting infantry. They are upon us, brothers."
As the armoured column reached the last intersection on the approach to the city walls, a distant rising whine rose to a deafening rumble as a barrage of artillery shells bore down upon the Imperial defenders. Many struck the city walls and the void shields beyond, but many more still rained down upon the Ultramarines' positions, wiping out entire squads in the blink of an eye. By the time they had recovered, the vox-net was filled with screams of pain and desperate reports of traitors who had somehow already breached the gates of the city, bypassing the Ultramarines completely through some tactical loophole, or more likely some trickery of the dark gods they now followed.Where were the damned White Scars?
The Khan had sped off into the hills as part of some grand outflanking manoeuver, and yet the traitors were now within striking range of the defences. Their column seemed set to overrun the last outpost, and would then enter the city aproper. Dorn's orders had been simple - delay them as long as possible, and for every hour they held out, another thousand civilians could be evacuated. Now even this seemed optimistic.
Just as the vanguard speeders of the heretics reached the first defensive line and opened fire, a series of detonations rocked the main column and gouts of oily flame erupted from the nearby ruins. With a bestial roar, mobs of hulking xenos greenskins charged their flank, forcing the traitors to turn their attentions away from the Ultramarines. The column broke, and Iron Warriors infantry scattered from the wrecks of their transports, scant seconds before a phalanx of White Scars jetbikes tore over the heads of the Orks to join the fray.
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Deep within the vaults beneath the governor's palace, Rogal Dorn led his Imperial Fists in their work, fortifying the shield generators within. Reports from the garrison forces suggested that the nearby Oberon Gate had fallen, and a small but deadly force of World Eaters Berserkers had stormed the defenders and gained access to the city. The void shields could repel any bombardment and disrupt teleportation from orbit, but now the heretics had forces within the city walls and would be able to triangulate their trajectories more effectively... not to mention that the bloodied lunatic Kharn was leading a violent charge through the streets and avenues of the city and slaughtering all who stood in the way.
Dorn took up his shield, and strode back to the main doors of the palace, accompanied by his Huscarls. Brother Hornum spoke, concern clear in his tone as he readied his great relic blade. "My lord, Fulgrim has been sighted within the city walls. Our ship captains have also reported that Perturabo leads the traitor fleet in orbit."TWO Primarchs.
This would be harder than Dorn had thought.
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The Ultramarines poured fire down from the ramparts of the outpost as the traitor column foundered under the joint assault, from the greenskins to their right and the White Scars behind them. The xenos were characteristically chasing the larger, slower tanks and ignoring the jetbikes which roared overhead, but Sergeant Telcion knew this circumstantial alliance wouldn't last for long and that the Imperial forces had to make the most of it while the Orks were distracted by the traitor armour.
Some foul golem of flesh and iron - undoubtedly a new creation of the twisted Mechanicum priests who had allied themselves with Horus - hulked into view from behind the remains of a shattered hab-block, hauling itself like a giant arachnid up the vertical face and cresting the parapet. In response, the Scout teams occupying the low ruins to the west opened up with a salvo of missiles which struck the thing's centre of mass in a series of muffled impacts, slaying the tortured occupant of the machine instantly and sending the thing whirling to destruction. A cheer went up from the Ultramarine lines, but it was a short-lived celebration.
The air around the outpost crackled and fizzed, and electronic equipment went haywire as the fabric of reality rippled. Telcion covered his ears as a deafening boom rent the air above him, and a tide of slavering warp-beasts cascaded down upon the Imperial defences, led by a towering crimson ogre clad in iron and brass and wielding a brutal axe taller than a dreadnought. Turning their attention from the Iron Warriors pinned down beside the road, the Ultramarines whirled around and opened fire on their new attackers even as the first of the creatures was upon them - a horror of teeth, claws and glittering savage eyes.
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The Emperor's Children were spreading out through the city, their armoured Predators and Land Raiders following behind the World Eaters and picking off any who survived the Berserkers' rampage. Dorn had called for the White Scars to divert their counter-strike closer to the Oberon Gate in an attempt to cut off any more traitor reinforcements from reaching the walls, but blanket interference from the fleet above rendered the vox-net useless.
As his allied Astartes task forces from the Dark Angels and Space Wolves moved into position on the rooftops to defend the main approach to the palace, Dorn strode down the boulevard towards the rumble of the distant combat with his Huscarls and 1st Company Terminators at his heel. He would not allow the traitors to pass.They shall break upon me like a wave upon the shore.
He looked up as a series of flares erupted upon the surface of the void shield covering the city - small flashes and a rain of gritty ash indicated that once again the fleet was attempting to teleport troops down onto the ground, but that their instruments were being thrown wildly off by the shield's energy signature. The whiff of ozone smelled sweet to him, and he knew that each warrior vaporised upon the shield's surface in Perturabo's arrogant haste to reach the palace was another that Dorn would not have to slay in combat.
A crash of masonry and glass up ahead brought his attention back to the ground as a bulky Land Raider in the colours of the Emperor's Children forced its way past the tight corner at the edge of the municipal square, bringing a small building down on top of it. Daubed in the blood of the fallen and caked with the dust of battle, a handful of World Eaters dashed through the rubble and spilled into view. Dorn raised his weapon and roared in defiance.
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The screams of the dying filled Telcion's ears, and a spray of hot blood from another fallen Ultramarine blinded him for a few seconds. The daemon hordes had overrun their position completely, and in the confusion the Iron Warriors and Mechanicum had opened up with their artillery once more, blasting great holes in the defences and obliterating the auto-turret emplacements which had been the last hope of the stalwart loyalists.
The crimson ogre creature bellowed a bestial war cry and split another armoured Astartes clean in half with its massive axe. Telcion dodged the return sweep and hurled himself to the floor as two of his number leapt upon the creature's back, attempting to grapple it long enough for their surviving brothers to bring it down or make their escape. The rattle of close-range bolter fire intensified as the ogre whirled around trying to dislodge its assailants, and the grizzled Sergeant Mox took up his squad's fallen heavy bolter and blazed into the thing's chest at point blank range.
With a sound like chains being dragged over granite, the ogre's shattered chest heaved as it drew in a great breath... but before it could roar again, it burst into a cloud of ruddy ash and armour plates, its axe dropping to the floor before melting away like quicksilver. The surviving Ultramarines picked themselves from amid the torn bodies of their brethren and in a daze began to call for Apothecaries to tend the more grievously wounded, but Telcion pulled himself up to the parapet and saw something far more terrible than even a fresh host of daemons - lines of battle-ready Astartes of the Thousand Sons legion had quick-marched through the ruins and we already converging on the Oberon Gate to the north.
And at their head strode a giant clad in red and gold.Magnus.
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Dorn swung his hammer left and right, scattering the crazed World Eaters and Emperor's Children with each blow. His bodyguard clung to his flanks, protecting him from the worst of the melee and blocking sniper fire, but the traitors were bringing more reserves through the void shields with every minute that passed. A vicious firefight raged even now on the steps of the palace, and he had lost contact with the Dark Angels in the eastern sector. The Imperial forces were being overwhelmed.
"My lord," said Brother Gordar, "The Ultramarines at the outpost report that a fresh reserve of Thousand Sons has reached the gate. They are abandoning the defenses, and the White Scars risk being encircled by the xenos if they remain alone."
Dorn cursed, and split a Berserker's skull with his hammer. "We can do no more. Signal the retreat. Order the civilian transports to leave now."
"The captains will protest, my lord - they have less than seventy percent of the refugees aboard."
With a grimace, the primarch turned. "They leave now, or none of them
will survive what is to come. We cannot protect them once the shield falls. Order all the garrison troops to leave the spaceport and reinforce us here."
Under covering fire, the Imperial Fists drew back to the intersection only to be caught between their own guns and those of the traitors. Dorn saw among the purple ranks of the Emperor's Children the unmistakeable slender figure of Fulgrim, clearly wanting to be at the forefront of the battle and to bask in the glory of his victory.
Overhead, the void shields began to ripple as teleporting troops managed to navigate through the conflicting energy patterns successfully, and flashes on adjoining streets heralded their arrival on the ground. As Dorn and the Huscarls made for the steps of the palace, he saw Iron Warriors clad in bulky silver Terminator armour materialise on the balconies behind the defenders and open fire almost immediately, the high-calibre autocannon rounds decimating the loyalist ranks.
"Seal the doors, brothers!" he roared over the din. "Protect the void shield generators!"
Without warning, a deafening boom and a teleportation flash like green lightning came from the municipal square behind him, pitching Dorn and his retinue to the flagstones with its shockwave. Rolling onto his side, he saw a lone dark figure standing in a crater of pulverised rockcrete and glassy fragments, tattered cloak flapping in the breeze. All sounds seemed to fade away, and Dorn shivered as he recognised this newcomer.
"Halt, Rogal Dorn. I call you out. Hide behind your defenses no longer."
He rose to face Perturabo, the two primarchs hefting their mighty warhammers as they sized one another up for this long-overdue confrontation. Dorn spat, and surged forwards with a cry of anger. All Astartes, both traitor and loyalist - and aye, even the berserk World Eaters! - were transfixed as the two former brothers fell upon one another. Each hammer strike seemed to echo like thunder, and unimaginable forces were absorbed by the primarchs' adamantine flesh as they fought.
"You cannot touch me, brother," Dorn laughed. "You were never my equal!"
Perturabo blocked an arcing overhead strike with his own weapon, and grinned cruelly. "I don't have to. I only need to detain you."
Dorn's heart dropped as he realised what was about to happen.
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Reality rippled, and Magnus the Red appeared in a cloud of warp-energy, inside the palace vaults. Flanked by his own legionnaires and an elite squad of Fulgrim's Phoenix Guard led by the wild-eyed sorceror Titus, they slew the few remaining guards within and set upon the void shield generators...
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Great arcs of energy heaved across the sky over Liscia, and the void shields collapsed. Dorn's eardrums felt like they would burst under the rippling wave of pressure, but he hurled Perturabo back and snarled in anger.
"You will pay for this treachery, Perturabo. This I swear."
The Iron Warrior laughed, a strangely mechanical and inhuman sound. He hefted his great warhammer onto his shoulder pauldron. "Of course, brother. Of course."
The assembled ranks of traitors opened fire once again, and the loyalists fled the city.
=========='Path of the Traitor' Part 2: Brother vs Brother
For four days the traitor legions occupied Theirese, venting their frustrations and perverse anger upon the remaining civilian population. Less than seventy percent of the evacuees had reached their transports before the void-shield fell, and fewer than half of those ships had escaped from orbit to the relative safety of the Warp. Kharn and his followers slew thousands as offerings to their bloodthirsty god, and yet this would have been preferable to the fate experienced by those caught by the Emperor's Children...
Rogal Dorn and Jaghatai Khan met at a secret location among the ruined manufactorum district to the north, rankling at having to creep like thieves or outlaws on what had recently been an Imperial world. They had already delayed too long, and the preparation of Terra for Horus' invasion must be resumed - they had to leave as soon as possible, with as many of the remaining civilians as they could rally.
The White Scars' advance scouts had identified a small commercial spaceport less than a kilometre from the administratum complexes. It was only lightly defended, having been looted by the rebel Volscani Vth regiment and held in reserve for ferrying plundered materiel back to the Warmaster's fleet in orbit. If there was any way to get off the planet, this was it.
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Ultramarines sergeant Telcion gathered his squad in the remains of a burnt-out hab unit, which overlooked the spaceport. Sentries walked the perimeter at ground level, but they had deployed heavy weaponry upon the the landing platforms higher up in the superstructure, and Imperial military tactics dictated that they would have at least two mortar teams covering the whole site from further away to the south.
Off to the west he heard the whine of jetbike engines, and knew that this was the signal for the assault to begin - his fellow Ultramarines would be advancing through the streets and gathering civilians as they came, supported by the White Scars from above. There were no traitor Astartes in the area, but it was only a matter of time before they would arrive to reinforce the Volscani rebels.
Their Stalker-pattern boltguns raked the exposed heavy weapons teams at extreme range and sent their comrades running for cover. An explosion in the distance - no doubt the handiwork of the Imperial Fists scouts! - roused the drunken crews of the traitor tank crews into action at the roadblock below, gunning their engines and test-feeding their weapons.
The loyalists had stirred up a real hornets nest this time. Telcion relayed his coordinates by vox, and waited for the traitors' return.
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Rogal Dorn and his Huscarls surged forth from the salvaged Land Raider, directly in the shadow of the spaceport. The rebel tanks had fallen aside as they had advanced through the streets of Liscia, easily overpowered even by this rag-tag band of Astartes with civilian refugees in tow. He glanced at his chronometer within the tactical display of his armour - the countdown was well underway, and his force was behind schedule.
The crack of a sniper rifle echoed overhead, and a Volscani trooper fell without a cry, toppling over the railings at the lip of the landing platform above and down into the melee some fifty feet below. The heavy weapons fire had been silenced, and the White Scars had pinned down the rest of the enemy by strafing the windows and balconies of the lower levels. Thankfully, the rebels seemed to have miscalculated the angle of their mortars, and Dorn's warriors had complete defilade from the support fire which presumably had been intended to halt any advance on the spaceport.Still, the World Eaters would not be far away.
Another sniper shot felled the rebel standard bearer, and a cheer went up from the loyalists... but still they were not closer to gaining entry to the building. The defenders had las-welded the doors, and shored up their barricades in the corridors with the bodies of the Imperial garrison and their own dead. Dorn needed
to get inside.
"Gordar," he yelled over the roar of battle. "Step aside. Let's make a new door."
His Huscarl champion chuckled as the primarch readied his great warhammer and strode towards the sheer plascrete wall.
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From his vantage point, Telcion watched the Imperial Fists' primarch lay into the foundations of the spaceport, every strike of his hammer biting deep into the reinforced structure. He had soon made an opening large enough for even his armoured Terminators to advance through, and one of the Ultramarines fired a jet of flaming promethium through the gap. Screams came from within, followed by the burning rebels staggering out into the cold light of day only to be gunned down by the Ultramarines and White Scars.
Suddenly Telcion's auspex sounded a warning chime, showing traitor legionnaires of the World Eaters approaching - some thirty on foot, another phalanx of bikers and a mighty Land Raider. He sent out a warning to his brothers on the ground, but was halted by the thud and crack of more enemy troops trying to breach the doors of his own hiding place. The Iron Warriors had found them.
As his squad withdrew from the windows overlooking the spaceport, he saw Dorn's First Captain break away from his own troops and kneel in the road, covering his master's assault. Sigismund's newly-painted black armour singled him out as a fanatical champion, dedicated to preserving the honour of the legion through combat or a glorious death. Indeed, those were the choices he would be offered at the hands of the World Eaters.
The Berserkers appeared, bellowing and braying almost animalistically, just as Telcion heard the door downstairs buckle and grant the Iron Warriors access to the hab-block. As he raced after the rest of his squad, he saw Sigismund kiss the blade of his sword, and charge headlong into the World Eaters.
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Though the Volscani rebels had dug themselves in, the Huscarls strode up the stairwell cleaving a path through the degenerate rabble for their primarch. Bolter fire echoed on every level as the Ultramarines and the White Scars spread out, but from out on the street came the muffled explosions and crashes of vehicle collisions. What was happening out there?
Dorn's earpiece chimed, and Sigismund made his report. "My lord, we have repelled the World Eaters' assault... but you should see the sky out here! It's awash with warp-energy, alm-ZZZZZZSSSSSTTTT-summon-FFFFFFZZZZZZZZZZZZSSSSSTTT..."
He cut the link, and urged his warriors on towards the main landing platform. As Hornum dispatched a squealing rebel in a crude rebreather unit, they rounded on the main platform doors.
Outside, he saw flashes of purple and green illuminating the city as twisted humanoid shapes fell from the skies, these foul and snickering warp-beasts taking physical form as they reached the ground and swarming over the White Scars and the Imperial Fists who still fought to repel the remaining World Eaters. He saw Sigismund amidst his foes, swinging his blade left and right but slowly succumbing to the sheer weight of numbers. Throne,
he thought, this may be the end of us all.
As the surviving Volscani turned to fire upon them, Dorn called his scout snipers for covering fire on his position. Momentarily confused by the hash of static he received in response, he looked off towards the towering spire where they had deployed, and saw a speeder in the cold colours of the Iron Warriors strafing the position they would have taken. His superhuman eyesight spotted two tiny camouflaged figures as they fell from the lip of the building, and Dorn silently nodded in respect as they plummeted to their deaths somewhere out of sight beyond the skyline.
Traitor legionnaires disembarked from their transports and charged towards the loyalists now grouping on the landing pad. The Imperial Fists simply held their ground as the chronometer countdown ended. Three. Two. One. Zero.
The air pressure over Liscia doubled for an instant, and with a stentorian boom a great battle barge bearing the livery of the Imperial Fists made its warp-jump back into real space, not one kilometre above ground level.
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The Iron Warriors fired indiscriminately into every room of the hab-block, tossing in frag grenades to ensure that they missed no one. The screams of terrified and dying civilians rang in Telcion's ears as he raced down the corridor towards the service portals. The traitors were thorough and merciless, and he knew he could not afford to wait for reinforcements from his fellow Ultramarines.
A rumble and the crash of windows bursting out on every floor of the building suggested that Dorn's battle barge had arrived. They now had just six-hundred seconds to evacuate, before the ship would leave again... but Telcion's way was blocked by the Iron Warriors. His squad formed up behind him, joined by the remnants of the Ciconians and the small flock of terrified refugees cowering behind them amid the carnage.
As they reached the doors at the end of the corridor, they were thrown wide by a pair of Astartes clad in the gunmetal armour of the Iron Warriors and flanked by at least a dozen more on the staircase. For a split second every single one of them halted in absolute silence, both sides as startled as one another, before the entire corridor exploded in a hail of bolter and plasma fire. Traitor and loyalist fell as they opened up on each other at point blank range, the screams of civilians caught in the crossfire lost under the blaze of shells and the crash of an Iron Warrior being hurled through a window and down onto the street some nine storeys below.
Telcion grabbed a wailing young girl from the lifeless grip of Brother Teletas, turning to shield her with his own body. Before he could give the order to retreat, a searing bolt of plasma struck him from behind, and he knew no more.
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Perturabo strode down the ramp of his shuttle atop the landing platform, transfixed by the glorious destruction his Iron Warriors were heaping upon the loyalist battle barge as it foundered over Liscia. Dorn had spotted him, and joined by the Khan they strode towards the traitors now swarming the far end of the platform.
Too few of the loyalist sergeants had reported back from the hab-blocks, and the civilian count was dismally low. The rescue of Imperial citizens had turned into a massacre. Hatred sang in Dorn's veins as he broke into a run, charging towards his foe. This would not go unpunished.
A trio of Emperor's Children clad in Terminator armour blocked his path, but he slew them all in an instant with one mighty swing of his hammer. As he turned, he narrowly avoided the keen edge of a blade as it struck for his throat - Fulgrim stood silhouetted against the burning skyline of the city, cloak swaying in the fire-driven winds and a twisted smile upon his face. Jaghatai Khan drew up behind Dorn, and then the two of them lunged forwards as one towards their wayward brother.
As the primarchs fought, those scant few refugees who had made it to the open ground of the spaceport were shepherded into tight groups by the Astartes who even now fired at the enemy who advanced against them from all sides. Flares of teleportation beams drew the groups up to the great battle barge overhead, even as it was wracked with explosions from artillery and anti-aircraft hits from the traitor guns, and the Astartes backed in upon themselves to buy what few seconds they could for the civilians to make their escape.
Dorn landed a square blow upon Fulgrim's shoulder, felling the Phoenician with a demeaning yelp. But before he could move to finish him, he was struck in the face by Perturabo's iron gauntlet and stumbled. Fulgrim made the most of the moment, pouncing upon the Khan with a hiss and shriek as he tore at his brother's eyes with his clawed fingers.
Only stunned for a second, Dorn whirled to face Perturabo and the two battled for the second time on Theirese. Fulgrim's Phoenix Guard bore down upon them, but Dorn could see only the mocking, sneering face of the Iron Warrior as he swung his warhammer.
"My lord," came a voice from Dorn's earpiece. "We cannot fix on your coordinates for teleport-extraction. Please remain still."
To his right, the Khan stiffened and then vanished in a blue flash which left the aftertaste of burnt copper in the air. Fulgrim fell from his back with a howl of rage as his foe disappeared, and Perturabo blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the flare. Dorn gritted his teeth and swung his hammer round in a great arc which connected against Perturabo's breastplate with a sickening crack of bones. The armoured primarch was hurled backwards with a crash and lay bloodied and broken on the landing platform as his brother stalked in for the kill.
The voice chimed again in Dorn's earpiece. "My lord, please remain still!"
Dorn began to run towards Perturabo, knowing that this chance might never come again as long as they both lived. He hefted the warhammer high above his head in preparation for the final blow, as a static charge began to play across his flesh and armour.
"No! I will not be denied this!" he roared as he charged, Fulgrim leaping after him. Time seemed to slow as he brought the hammer down... but it never connected.
Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists Legion and son of the Emperor himself, was the last loyalist to be evacuated from Theirese to the battle barge in low orbit over the city. With a rippling judder, the ship vanished into the Warp, beyond the reach of the traitor fleet.
==========In the aftermath of the Warmaster's invasion of Theirese, it is estimated that thirty-eight million civilians have been lost. It is difficult to judge how many were killed in the initial attacks and how many more fall prey to the traitor Astartes and their daemonic allies since, but many suspect that this will be a key moment in what may come to be seen as the "last stand" of the Emperor.
After hearing of the massacre at Liscia, many Imperial governors and prefects surrender to the Warmaster and pledge their support for the invasion of Terra itself, hoping to save themselves from a similar fate. Indeed, it has been suggested that without a solid staging ground so deep in the Segmentum Solar, Horus might not be able to push so rapidly towards the final defenses on Io and Luna.
Rogal Dorn will never forgive himself for the deaths of so many innocents, and the whole operation will often be cited as a desperately flawed and self-aggrandising heroic action. How many more lives might have been saved using more conventional methods, or if more vessels and manpower had been redirected from the preparation of Terra?
After the traitors scour Theirese of all remaining loyalists and plunder all that is of value, they leave it to the Ork warlords who had already begun attacking the southern continents. To date, the Administratum is unaware of any plans to retake the system from the greenskins.