This fiction is based on the encounter's my warband of Chaos Space Marines had during Minisodes' Second Heads 2026 event. A recorded version is available on YouTube at: https://youtu.be/Vznm7ZeK5JU
This vessel, however, had been serviced with respect, and even though it bore the scars of recent battle with Eldar raiders, remained flightworthy. His artificers and technicians had salvaged a number of parts to patch the hull, and had even touched up the blue paintwork. Kruult smiled mockingly. He wasn’t above a bit of subterfuge every now and again, particularly if it meant resources could be maintained. The blue paintwork of the ultramarines would only really be a useful resource close by, in visual range, and even then, the majority of the lickspittle minions of the emperor of mankind would be unlikely to really know the difference between on space marine legion or another. Far more valuable, however, were the shuttle’s transponder codes, its machine spirit ident, and the shockingly easy to hack into generative database of Imperial tactical deployment. With this information in his hands, Kruult was sure that they could escape from this world, Krypt, without much notice.
Ah, Krypt. Yes, thought Kruult. On the whole, this had been a fairly successful venture. Some losses to his warband, true, but an acceptable cost. Upon first landing on Krypt, his forces had been beset by band of Russ’s Wolves. Why the imperial lapdogs were exactly where he had initially decided to raid, a ruined outposts on the outskirts of the capital city, was unknown. Kruult had been pleasantly distracted by a lengthy dual with the young wolf lord, an impressive opponent, and he had relished the chance for a true fight for a change. Unfortunately, the dog had decided to flee just as Kruult had delivered a blow that had splintered the dog’s armour, with the Imperial activating an archotech device that rendered him insubstantial, phasing through the material universe. As a number of Kruult’s personal guard had been eliminated, he had deemed it wiser to retreat and pursue a different objective. Equally fortunately, they were not followed – the Space Wolves had been called away to deal with a band of Eldar raiders within an industrial complex. Perhaps that had been their mission from the start, and the meeting between the Menagerie and the Space Wolves had merely been a chance encounter.
No matter. Kruult had identified an important space port, complete with promethium refinery. This had been a far more valuable target to attack. A motley crew of Imperial lackeys had defended the region; Adeptus Sororitas and Salamander space marines. Clearly there had been some disagreement between those forces, as Kruult had been able to easily exploit the holes in their deployment.
Enlisting the services of one of his underlings, Slevixius, he had rapidly attacked the space port, personally leading his Terminators to secure the objective. Slevixius’s band had worked well as a distraction, flanking the facility on both sides, and occupying Imperial reinforcements.
While
Slevixius was undoubtably self-serving, questionably competent and even more
questionably loyal to Kruult, he had achieved this task with relish, personally
leading a group of his warriors into combat and delivering a crippling blow to
an Immolator Battle tank. Kruult frowned. He would have to keep more of an eye
on Slevixius from now on. The victory had clearly gone to the idiot’s head, and
he was already bragging about how his contributions had been the key factor in
the battle, and not, as had been clear to Kruult, the waves of Daemons that had
been unleashed by Clavius the Mindfondler to flow across the landing pad,
crashing down upon the imperial scum and sending them reeling.
A potentially more worrying development was that of Thygmor Bladegrip. Thygmor was the leader of Squad Havoc, a group of veteran chaos space marines who typically carried out reconnaissance and sabotage activities for the Menagerie.
In the early stages of the battle for the space port, Thygmor had been possessed by a Keeper Of Secrets, one of Slaanesh’s greater daemons, which, after bursting from the champion’s armour in a welter of gore, had rampaged across the landing pad, cutting down sisters and space marines alike. The daemon had disappeared off after the retreating imperial forces, and Kruult had been glad to see it go. One could never trust daemons, and while useful, there was always a price to pay for their services, particularly in the case of greater daemons.
He had seen Thygmor’s body writhe and distort with his own eyes, yet here Thygmor was once again. Here, armour intact, with no signs of anything happening at all. Here, directing the loading of supplies, his usual responsibility at this stage of a raid. Kruult had spent aeons in the company of chaos marines, and seen many a servant of the gods torn asunder by such processes. Never had he seen one return, armour pristine, and with no real sign of anything untoward. Thygmor was typically taciturn, as was his way. He had simply grunted at Kruult’s raised eyebrow, and busied himself with directing operations.
Yes, Thygmor would have to be watched as well. Kruult would have to find a quiet moment to consult with Clavius, the warband’s chief sorcerer. Clavius seemed to understand the creatures of the warp, presumably from delving into its depths to summon his mind altering powers. Clavius was, in all probability, the closest thing that Kruult had to a confidant. Kruult had reasoned that the Mindfondler could read his thoughts without permission in any case, and Clavius seemed to be quite content to keep his own thoughts to himself. The fact that Clavius had no real ambitions in terms of leadership, and was far more interested in experimenting on others meant that he was almost trustworthy…
Kruult gazed out towards the distant mountains, glittering in the cold, morning air. He had made his decision. The Menagerie of the Damned would return to Rogan’s World 24beta. This was the practical choice, rather than further raiding. While members of the warband, Slevixius in particular, would complain, wail and protest, now was not the time for more bloodwork. A valuable source of refined promethium had been acquired, much better quality than available to Kruult previously, as well as the Imperial gunship, and, most importantly the discovery of shipping manifests for the subsector, located within the Landing Pad’s data banks. This was valuable intel, that could be used in future raiding trips.
Rogan’s world it was then. Kruult had a base of operations there. To be more precise, he had a number spread across many of Rogan’s Worlds. Rogan had been a particularly prolific Rogue Trader, but one for whom imagination could not be considered a trait. All the worlds Rogan had located towards the halo were named after the Rogue Trader, with no difference except Rogan’s World the Furthest, a particularly blighted planet on which Rogan had met his demise, devoured by one of the world’s primitive inhabitants.
Perhaps Rogan had been simply uninterested in the worlds he found, and craved only glory with regard to his clear success in the speed in which he had located world after world for the Emperor of mankind. The local inhabitants of the cluster used simple numbers to refer to each world, in chronological order of their conquest. Whatever the reason for Rogan’s decisions, his incompetence in terms of setting up secure shipping lanes, and his unwillingness to ensure local populations were truly subservient to the false emperor had been the gain of not just Kruult, but dozens of petty raiders.
Below Kruult, the Menagerie had finalized loading checks, and were starting the Thunderhawk’s engine in preparation to leave Krypt. Kruult turned, and climbed down the ladder. He would be back one day. There were more valuable prizes to be taken from this world, after all…
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