Warprunner Mars Pattern Imperial Reaver Titan "Mjolnir"

This is the new Forge-world model. Well funky

Men of Mortis

The cold grey eyes of Mortis, Captain of the Reaver Battle Titan ‘Mjolnir', slowly scanned what remained of the charred and still smoking landscape of Terris. Even ten light years from Home Planet, it was clear to see the Greenskins thought they had visitation rights here too. Mortis planned to put an end to that notion.

The actual reason for the war had been lost to many in the annals of time. Mortis however knew exactly why the Greenskins needed a kicking. His reasoning was simple; Greenies were ugly.

Peering at Port-Gunner Heron from under a bushy eyebrow, Mortis smiled to himself as he barked ‘Jacked in and ready for it boys?' Gunner Heron's response was as loud as her partner in crime Starboard-Gunner Urris -

‘AYE CAPTAIN!'

Mortis's smile grew larger.

‘Lets get this hulk of metal moving men!'

*************

Wading forward as one with the surrounding tanks and foot soldiers, the Warhound ‘Imperialis' lurched into view in front of Mjolnir. Mortis hailed the Mjolnir's battle-mate crew over the joint ‘com.

‘Nice to see you've finally joined us Imp, couldn't stay away eh?'

Captain Renko's bellowing laughter could have been heard 50 clicks away. ‘Good to have you on tail duty Mort – see you in the thick of it.'

Without breaking stride Mjolnir performed the semi-crouched mid-section 180 º swivel, for some reason known as a ‘Texas Twist' to check the movement of the aft troops. Tanks and foots swarmed around Mjolnir, the other Reavers and ‘Hounds like thousands of ants in battle formation. As Mjolnir twisted back to fore-stance plumes of thick smoke could be seen on the horizon

‘Front Line Alba in view Sir, approximately 5 clicks to rendevous ETA 17.30 and counting ....'

‘Good man Urris'. Mortis clapped his big hands together. ‘Be ready men, be ready for WAR! '

Mortis looked over his two Moderati. He could feel the white-hot anticipation creeping up from the pit of his stomach and while the Gunner's faces were not visible from his position on the Bridge Mortis knew they felt it too. Their shaved skulls gleamed under the phosphorous lights, the tiny lights of the modems on their crani-ports flickered in unison. Mortis felt a warm surge of pride wash over him.

He peered quizzically from under a bushy eyebrow at Heron. She had never mentioned if his collective term of ‘men' bothered her at all. Hell, most of the time it wasn't even noticeable that Heron was actually a woman, what with her shaven head and muscular biceps; she'd nearly beaten Mortis a time-or-two in an off-duty arm wrestle in the canteen. He stole another glance in her direction; what he had noticed on several occasions whilst off duty though was that she had really pretty eyes .......

Shaking his head slightly to dismiss the thought, his own eyes scanned the inner-deck whilst his ‘men' gave out readings of external weather patterns, navigation plans and ETA's. The ‘coms board in front of Urris and Heron glowed softly with rad-scan images of the terrain and small lights flickered as their hands moved deftly over the board, the atmosphere on deck was heavy with expectation.

Out through the visor-plates Mortis would see the ground they had to cover in order to reach the battleground proper. Even without foreknowledge of the war so far, it was obvious that a great and bloody battle had already taken place here. The ground was a mass of ruins and seared craters with dense sooty smoke churning up towards the scorched skyline. So many men and Greenskins alike littered the ground it was hard to see who had actually had the upper hand in this particular battle. Aware of the effect the view may have on morale and that time, as always was of the essence. Mortis squared his shoulders, inhaled a deep breath of recycled O2 and stepped forward onto the Bridge to address his men, eyeing each of his Moderati in turn.

The scene of previous battleground was a fitting backdrop through the visor-plates over his shoulders.

‘My men, the objectives of this battle do not need to be told. Each of you are aware of what faces us this day. Time and time again the Orcs infiltrate and bestow only death and destruction on their chosen target. They bring nothing yet expect everything as if that is their Machine-God given right.

His lips pressed together in a fine white line, in his tenable anger sweat poured down his face, Mortis eyed his men.Today we intend to put a stop to this misconception, to these abhorrent notions! Today we intend to right the wrongs of our Forefathers to serve and gratify the only God, the Machine-God!

Mortis swung around and faced the battle zone, his arms outstretched in supplication. ‘Look at the devastation of your fallen comrades. Colleagues, friends. Pray for them. FIGHT for them! Never let their sacrifice be without revenge. Remember men – glorious death awaits those who are blessed by the enslavement of the Machine-Gods'.

Turning back on his heel to face his men, Mortis slammed his massive fist down hard on the edge of the ‘coms board, making the expressions on their faces change abruptly from rapture to surprise.

‘But death is not what awaits you here today, glorious as that may be. What will be yours today my men ..... IS ....... VICTORY! '

Mortis, the thin white scar which cut across his cheek almost glowing in his red angry face, turned back to face the blackened horizon in front of them.... ‘Orcus Abominor' .... Greenskins to you and me. Kill them ..... KILL .... THEM .... ALL!