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Post by Darius on Jul 2, 2010 12:28:41 GMT -5
Just curious, how does scoring work for the fluff portion of the tournament?
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Post by Jack Shrapnel on Jul 2, 2010 14:09:13 GMT -5
I think Matt said something about anyone who combines Orks & Traitor Guard get full points for being awesome, and anyone else gets a sliding scale down from there... right Matt?
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Post by Mythweaver on Jul 2, 2010 15:46:57 GMT -5
LOL, I'm sure that must be what he said. But the points are judged on a scale of 1 to Jon and Brad!!!
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Post by trevor on Jul 2, 2010 16:35:37 GMT -5
1 to -5 sounds about right brad .
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Post by thesanityassassin on Jul 2, 2010 17:33:05 GMT -5
The fluff isn't exactly "scored" per se, but can add or detract from your list. If you're fluff does a good job of explaining why your armies are fighting together, you'll get a small bonus to your total comp score (like a +1), where as a lack of fluff, or something that doesn't address why two armies might fight together may lose you a point of overall composition. It's all tied into the actual army composition score, which is done from 1-5
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Post by BewareOfTom on Jul 2, 2010 17:46:16 GMT -5
but that means it's like a 20% portion of your potential score
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Post by Jack Shrapnel on Jul 2, 2010 18:22:07 GMT -5
but that means it's like a 20% portion of your potential score of just the potential army comp score.... which is a fairly small portion of your overall score for the day....
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Post by BewareOfTom on Jul 2, 2010 18:30:39 GMT -5
oh lol, so it would be around like 5%?
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Post by Darius on Jul 2, 2010 20:29:23 GMT -5
But how is the content of the fluff judged? Like is it voted on or is its integrity judged my those who tally the rest of the army scores? Or does simply submitting any fluff grant a +1 to the scores?
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Post by thesanityassassin on Jul 2, 2010 20:47:52 GMT -5
Its integrity is judged by me, who will be judging the rest of the scores. I'm not going to mark it as an english teacher would, but I expect at least some quality of thought, not just a "bill and steve got together to kill stuff" kind of thing. It's not quite as simple as "submit it and get a +1 to your score" but fairly close. So long as SOME effort was put into it, and it reasonably explains the armies fighting together, you'll get your +1.
What you gave me was perfect Eric, I wouldn't worry about it at all.
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Post by thesanityassassin on Jul 2, 2010 21:14:58 GMT -5
Well, here is the fluff for Randy and I, hope you like it!
Dark Apostle Ferrin-Kal of the 33rd host of the XVII legion raised his arms in the air and began to draw, inscribing dark symbols in the air with the blood of his fallen foes. Impossibly, the mind-bending symbols somehow remained suspended in the air, and as more and more were inscribed they began to twist and dance around each other in a fashion which was painful to any not completely devoted to the Dark Gods. Some time passed, and Ferrin-Kal stepped back to admire his work, watching as twisted patterns formed amongst the writhing runes; nodding to himself he deemed his creation ready. Turning slightly, he gestured to his First Acolyte. "Ghardim, we are prepared. Bring forth our volunteer...it is time for him to learn of true faith..." The First Acolyte strode over to a pair of brothers from his Coterie, and together with them they dragged forth a struggling figure, still partially decked in armour several shades brighter than the carmine armour of the Word Bearers. They lingered a moment before the desecrated corpses of the warrior's brothers, feeding his hatred and anger, before continuing forward. "The Emperor protects..." the broken Blood Angel hissed at Ferin-Kal, blood trickling from between his teeth as he struggled to speak. "Does he now?" the Dark Apostle purred with false reverence, "how wonderful that you believe that. We will see how long such thoughts last when you are shown the Truth of Lorgar..." At that he made a simple gesture and the loyal Astartes was hurled into the swirling runes. Instantly they surrounded his body, lifting him off of the ground and disintegrating his remaining armour. His flesh followed, and as his blood quickly drained it joined with the swirling runes spinning faster and faster around his rapidly deteriorating form. Soon, nothing was left but a swirling gate, pulsing with blood as if it were a beating heart. The pounding grew louder and louder, filling the ears of the assembled Word Bearers until it seemed it would drive them all to their knees with its fury. At that moment it collapsed in upon itself, then exploded outward with such force that the surrounding warriors were thrown several feet, coated in bloody matter. Only Ferrin-Kal kept his feet, staring up at the fiend he had just summoned... "I AM GOL'GAR'TAKOR, THE BLOOD REAVER, FAVORED OF GREAT KHORNE!" spoke the massive Bloodthirster, his voice booming, offering challenge to any within range to hear. "WHO HAS BROUGHT ME HERE?" "I," spoke Ferrin-Kal, "bind you in the name of Lorgar. The pacts have been arranged and due sacrifice given. A whole world has burned in your name, and the blood of Sanguinius spilled in excess. You are here at my beckon call daemon, and you will obey me." The Bloodthirster screamed in rage, reaching for his massive axe in an attempt to strike the Apostle down, but found his hand was held, increasing his rage. "Don't worry," Ferrin-Kal rumbled, clearly satisfied with the situation, "you will be able to vent your rage soon enough. Together we shall set this galaxy alight....." At that he raised a strange artifact clutched within his left hand, and the Bloodthirster screamed as it was sucked forcably within, ready to be unleashed at Ferrin-Kal's discretion. "Veddik-Sor, my Coryphaeus....assembled the host. The XVII Legion marches again to war!"
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Post by BewareOfTom on Jul 2, 2010 21:25:16 GMT -5
I will not allow it!!!!
ITS LATE!!!!!!!!!!
lol JK I don't care XD, pretty awesome too!
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Post by Darius on Jul 2, 2010 21:41:46 GMT -5
Thanks Matt. I am not really worried about what I submitted (although I kept wanting to write more to make it a little more air tight lol) i was just curious as to what the process was as this is the 1st tournament in years that I have know to have this portion required and I rather like it.
Also... CHAOS AND DAEMONS! ON THE SAME TEAM?! Inconceivable...
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Post by minmax on Jul 4, 2010 2:00:33 GMT -5
The fluff for the Derek/Kevin team, posting for all to see:
All around them, gusts of soft white snow whirled, obscuring the rocky terrain. Njal Stormcaller’s terminator servos whirred softly as he marched ahead of his detachment, moving to join the assembled officers overlooking the canyon that would soon be home to the most decisive battle of the campaign. His boots crunched on the snow, sinking straight to the rough stone beneath.
One of Ragnar’s personal Wolf Guard sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “The winds have changed… they carry the foul stench of xenos to the North.” He growled. Ragnar’s only reply was a stiff nod and a noncommittal grunt.
Njal scratched his beard, brushing away the accumulated snow and frost gathering there with a massive gray gauntlet. “The piles of scrap metal that pass for their vehicles should have difficulty functioning in this weather…” He mused absently, his keen eyes easily penetrating the thick cloak of swirling snow that would have blocked the sight of a normal human at two dozen meters.
“Do not underestimate them, Ork technology has the miraculous ability to continue to function in even the most adverse of conditions…” Ragnar murmured, before turning to face the older Space Wolf. “Stormcaller! Your men are ready?” He barked.
“To a man. Fully half the Long Fangs from the company have been deployed along the ridge line, and the rest are set up at the other end of the gorge. My Grey Hunters have entrenched themselves at the chokepoint – there, the Orks’ numbers will count for nothing.”
Ragnar grinned savagely. “We will reap a mighty harvest of xenos blood this day. Brother Hrolf! Have the men prepare the Rhinos - I’m sure the Blood Claws are getting restless, as am I.” The other wolf nodded to his Wolf Lord, marching off into the snow towards the assembled strike force of rhinos and bikes where the majority of the company’s recruits were preparing.
Njal watched the man leave, before turning to regard Ragnar. “…I find myself curious, Wolf Lord. Why did we not simply deploy by drop pod from the Wolf Eye? We could have smashed the Ork position to dust by now.”
Ragnar chuckled, his lips curling up to reveal pointed canines. “Is my reputation as a blunt instrument so prevalent among the chapter? No, my friend, the terrain will not allow it. This is the better choice by far - we force the Orks into the open and drive them into a position from which there can be no escape.”
The Rune Priest made what passed for a shrug in the restrictive confines of tactical dreadnaught armour. “By your command, then. We will hold the position here while you flank the force and lure them into our trap.” Ragnar nodded quickly, checking over his weapons one last time before hurrying off towards his Land Raider.
“Emperor watch over you, Brother.” Some of the vehicles were already beginning to roll off, treads grinding loudly over the rough terrain. “Let His hand guide your blade.” Njal replied automatically, turning to rejoin his men. He stepped down into the recently dug trench and fell in with the central squad of Grey Hunters, nodding to them as they prepared the incoming horde of Ork warriors. The clinking of armour and wolf’s teeth, the clatter of bolters chambering large caliber rounds and the muttered prayers of the assembled space marines were the only sounds to accompany the furious winds whistling through the canyon’s walls.
Njal watched the retreating armoured column; the bikes taking up positions on the flanks, the snow being churned and thrown to the wind by their passage. Stormcaller began to silently muster his strength, his powerful psionic mind reaching out to further agitate the already raging storm. Suddenly, the Psyber Raven perched on his shoulder let out a squawk, drawing Njal’s attention to a distant point off in the sky. “…What is it Nightwing? What is it that you see?”
Some of the other Space Wolves nearby began to look at the point. “Thunderhawks? Yet, it is too early… they were not to arrive until after the Orks had been routed.” One of them murmured, almost too quietly to be heard above the howl of the raging storm.
Njal snorted, narrowing his eyes at the tiny specks arcing across the sky. “…Those are no Thunderhawks. Those are Storm Ravens, gunships used almost exclusively by Grey Knights and Blood Angels. And since there is no threat of daemonic incursion on this world, I am eager to learn why a Blood Angel commander has sought to disrupt our campaign by inserting his force at such a critical point in our campaign.”
One of the Grey Hunters pointed, shouting something into his comm. Njal nodded, deciding now was not the time to dwell on something he had no power over. “All Long Fang squads, the Ork force has been spotted, hold your fire until fully half of them have moved into the canyon!” He yelled into his comm, rewarded by a series of clipped confirmations and praises to the Emperor. “Let the enemies of the Imperium die by our hands…”
* * *
Within the cramped confines of his Storm Raven, Chief Librarian Lucifon of the Flesh Tearers meditated in silence, already feeling the stirring of the Red Thirst within him. Such desires were for lesser Marines than he, and he made a concerted effort to set aside his instinct – the curse of his Chapter, of all Blood Angels and their successors. For this campaign, he would need his fullest concentration – to be set upon by the Red Thirst so early was an ill omen, indeed.
The world to which they descended was a small manufacturing world - important enough and wealthy enough to have its own well-outfitted PDF, though too distant from Terra for aid to be quickly provided. When it sent its cry for help to the stars, claiming of an invasion by a coalition of several Ork clans, there were little nearby to answer. The Flesh Tearers, eager as always to slake their ever-present thirst for battle and bloodshed, set out for the planet without hesitation.
Chapter Master Seth chose to lead the campaign personally – his forces would be dropped off to the southern side of the planet, where the fighting was thickest, and the PDF were being overrun by a mass of greenskins. The Librarian, Lucifon, pointed out a stronghold of Orks to the east of that location that would surely move to aid the concerted attack to the south, volunteering to lead a small contingent of Assault Marines to head off the convoy. Seth agreed with his assessment, deigning to lead a mechanized contingent of Tactical Marines and whichever among the Flesh Tearers would be overcome by the Black Rage – the Death Company.
The Storm Raven in which Lucifon sat, accompanied by five of his fellow Flesh Tearers, began to shake and buck as it entered the massive gale centered on the canyon through which it was determined the Orks must pass. The Assault Marines began to murmur a soft prayer to the Emperor, mentally preparing themselves for the battle to come. The Storm Raven began to slow – all of the Flesh Tearers within knew what this heralded, standing up from their seats, collecting their bolt pistols and chainswords with a quiet reverence for their holy weapons. The hatch to the Storm Raven yawned open, a flurry of ice and hail meeting them instantly.
Without hesitation, Lucifon strode forward, leaping into the air. His Assault Marines moved with him, as one, roaring with the familiar thrill of flight – a flight that would carry them to their foes – the enemies of mankind. All around, the jump packs of his brethren began to ignite, propelling them towards the swift-moving Ork vehicles and bikes – a relatively small force. Lucifon judged it to be too small to represent the entirety of the southern-bound Orks; perhaps only a scouting force, then. A tactic Lucifon would not have expected from such indolent, savage creatures.
The Red Thirst began to swell in Lucifon – and though he knew it would interfere with his ability concentrate, were he to give in, even his iron will was beginning to wane. Mere moments from impact, Lucifon was shocked by the eruption of fire – missiles and boltgun shells – from the nearby ridge bordering the wide canyon. Seth’s forces were supposed to be on the southern edge of the planet, squaring off against the massed Ork horde... What, then, was the explanation for this intrusion into his assault? Determining that the shots were, in fact, aimed at the encroaching Orks, Lucifon set it aside – he had more pressing concerns.
Lucifon’s Force Weapon crackled with a crimson light, as he imbued it with a sliver of his own, considerable power – he let out a ferocious bellow, jump pack igniting once more, launching him from his feet, towards the nearest of the Ork bikers. “Let us reap a bloody harvest this day, brothers! For the Emperor and Sanguinius!”
A flurry of missiles, and bolter-fire had already dealt considerable damage to the Orks before the Flesh Tearers joined the skirmish, turning what might have been considered an even engagement into a righteous slaughter – greenskins dying by the dozens to the unending rage of the Flesh Tearers, and the support fire from the ridge.
When the fighting had subsided, and every Ork was dead or fleeing, Lucifon began to earnestly sense the powerful psychic aura of another – though he was furious at the slight against their Chapter that the other’s presence represented, he was curious to meet another as powerful as himself. Striding through the deep snows, Lucifon moved towards Njal and his Space Wolves, gathered at the fortified position.
* * *
For a long while, the leaders of the two Space Marine Chapters contingents argued with the other – Njal and Lucifon each laid claim to a right to this campaign, and each claimed to have received the distress beacon before the other. The Flesh Tearers paced and muttered to themselves throughout the discussion, ill at ease as the Red Thirst began to grow in them. The Flesh Tearers seemed like ill-mannered Blood Claws to the Space Wolves, who – while no less pleased with the circumstances – waited patiently for the two psykers to resolve the issue.
Eventually, reluctantly, the two struck an accord. Each of them could sense the numbers of Orks moving towards the position, and neither was brash nor foolish enough to turn down the much-needed aid of the other Chapter. Ragnar’s flanking had not yet borne fruit, and it seemed Lucifon’s small force wouldn’t be sufficient to hold off the rampaging Orks. The two psykers recognized that if they did not combine their forces, they would be overrun.
“…No matter how distasteful the thought of putting our trust in savages – barely more than Orks yourselves.” Lucifon grumbled, as he took to his position, ready with his Assault Marines to leap from the cover provided by the snow-covered ridge, to strike at the Orks where they were weak, and to take advantage of their superior mobility.
Njal said nothing in reply to the barb spat by Lucifon, shaking his head as he continued to bring about a powerful whirlwind of ice and hail with his formidable psychic energies.
The minutes passed by slowly as the gathered Space Marines waited for the arrival of the greenskin menace that currently plagued the icy world, especially for the Flesh Tearers, struggling as they were to overcome the curse of their Chapter.
It was one of the crouching Long Fangs, cradling his missile launcher with care, who first spotted the arrival of the Orks’ armoured column. He shouted to his fellow Wolves, and the Space Marines – Flesh Tearers and Space Wolves alike – readied themselves for the coming battle.
There was a great whirlwind of activity – the Space Wolves fired with unerring aim, even in the furious blizzard – testament to their enhanced senses. Ork vehicle after Ork vehicle was destroyed, though many more were still to come. When finally the Orks approached the ridge, they began to howl in delight, issuing forth a ‘Waaaagh!’ from an uncountable of throats, all as one.
Matching the scream of the Orks with one of their own, the Flesh Tearers rocketed forth from the cover provided by the snowy ridge. Many fell from Ork rocket salvos and slugs fired from their primitive guns, though the fury that then gripped the Flesh Tearers meant their losses counted for nothing. Even the iron-willed Lucifon and the Sanguinary Priests found themselves giving in to their baser instincts.
With a grunt, Njal gestured for his Grey Hunters to follow him – though he had no love for the allies that he found himself banding together with, he would not abandon fellow servants of the Emperor to an ignoble death at the hands of savage xenos. The power armour of his allies crunched through the snow, as Njal hurled himself forward, his massive frame ploughing through snow that even now reached his waist.
Librarian Lucifon's remaining eye twinkled with mirth as the armoured form of Njal met him at the chasm, beset on all sides by a writhing mass of orks. Crimson energy crackled along his blade and, with a grunt of exertion, he swept it in a wide arc, destroying the fast-approaching Battlewagon in a tremendous explosion. Lucifon's robes whipped and swirled in the wild winds, as he smirked beneath his re-breather.
As the greenskins struggled to free themselves from the wreckage of the downed vehicle, the ferocity of the storm began to increase. Njal, with a cocked eyebrow and a feral smirk, met Lucifon's gaze. Suddenly, with a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, the Orks were gone – blasted apart by the rage of the Stormcaller’s psychic power.
Lucifon blinked, stunned, at the ruined Battlewagon and the charred ork skeletons within. Bringing his hands up to his hood, tugging it back over his bare pate, he snorted contemptuously. "...I'll best you yet, Rune Priest."
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Post by thesanityassassin on Jul 4, 2010 21:26:41 GMT -5
Nice fluff Kevin, I really enjoyed the read!
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