Battle Report for game 2 of the Battle for Viridis Sileo mini-campaign is up on Disposable Income.
Wrap up:
It was a draw, with the Kabal of the Howling Gale and Splinter Fleet Orochi scoring equal objectives.
Anyway, more fluff.
The Prince of Pain stood laughing, a goblet of tarnished gold, filled to overflowing with a dark summervine clutched in his thin, pasty hands. Before him was a large window, allowing him to see the soon to be plundered world of Viridis Sileo from orbit.
"My Lord" whispered a deck hand, prostrating himself. "It is advisable to re-enter the Webway, sir. Our fleet cannot hope to hold off the Bio-Ships for much longer."
Zhai Mor turned away from the window, shielding his eyes from the silent explosion of one of his Torturer class escorts. Captained by the fool pilot who had dared to arrive late to their latest raid. A fitting punishment, the cost of several hundreds of loyal crew a minor one, at best.
"Allow me to enjoy my victory for a moment, churl. Capturing those supplies ensure we have enough food for the next few cycles." Spoke Prince Mor. "My Lord" said the deck hand, a look of anxiety and fear on his pale face. "We only secured half of the intercepted shipment before we had to pull out. The insects overwhelmed most of us, even your body guard and personal Venom where wiped out, as you no doubt saw. And, Lord, the supplies appear to be mon'kiegh munitions, not food. It there was some mistake."
"MISTAKE?" Howled the Prince, throwing his goblet with such force into the face of a nearby slave that is broke apart. "You dare accuse me of making a mistake?!" He growled, before delivering a swift kick to the deck hand's head. It was only then did he realize that the deck hand was one of his more competent Dracons. Loathing overwhelmed him, and he vomited it over the collapsed Eldar in the form of slurry of insults, before kicking in the man's teeth for good measure. "I do not make 'mistakes', Dracon, it was must have been one of you. Look here, one of the Reavers arrived with two crates, AND the mon'keigh pilot in hand. There was no mistake, only your incompetence." "My Lord" spat out the collapsed Dracon, through bleeding lips "The pilot is dead. It appears he was killed during the fighting. The remaining Haemunculus has informed me that the body was riddled with claw marks, full of our most deadly posoins, and his brain was half-way melted from what appears to have been a warp blast.
Zhai Mor turned to face the large window again, watching as a squadron of Razorwing Fighters engaged cluster of Tyrannid void-born flyers. "You are telling me that all we have to show for it are a few crates of worthless ammunition?" "Yes, my Lord" whispered the Dracon, just now standing. In a flash, the Prince of Pain had impaled the Dracon with his hidden agonizer, concentrated agony flowing throw the violently shaking Eldar until his nerves burned out. "You there!" Cried Zhai Mor, pointing to a shocked deckhand with the rank of Syrabite. "Welcome to the Prince's Court, Dracon. First order of business, contact the mon'keigh ruler on the planet below. I believe we have some ammunition to sell to him"
The newly appointed Dracon began shouting orders in the razor sharp tongue of Low Commorragh's hellion gangers. It appears he was a former Hellion of some sort. No matter, thought the Prince, sitting down on his terrible throne as a holo-image of a frightened, ape like mon'keigh appeared on the main projector screen on the bridge.
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