Gazetteer IV

Planet Lerwick
Rimward Regions
Subsector Secundus
Liberation Day -8.0 Hour/Units

Morning came with the ghostly song of the Selkies; the star rose above the horizon, its light glinting across the icy sea, the beasts beaching themselves on the coast of Summerhome. Elan shuddered at the song, hauntingly human-sounding as it was, and drew their storm-cloak firmly around themself, ducking into the rubble of the once-proud capitol of their home.

Fires had been lit in shelters dug into the rubble, and they ducked a green-dyed and white-flecked false curtain of moss into the main shelter, where the pungent smell of sizzling selkie-flesh met their nose. They grimaced, “Again? Mirai, these things are mostly blubber and chitin.” The other fighter smirked up at them, and ignored their whining, slapping a thin rasher of selkie-meat and a protein block into a mess tin, and handed it to them, “Only the best for the cell Commander…” they grimaced at that.

“Only because Elerie got herself arrested outside the Governor’s residence…” Mirai shrugged and went back to his cooking before glancing up again, as if remembering something,

“The Offworlder wanted to see you.”

That produced a wince: the Offworlder had been sent from Command, with all the correct identifiers, but they still gave them the willies. They walked slowly with their mess tin, trying to get breakfast down, as they made their way to the dugout beneath the ruins that served as their ‘office’, for lack of a better term.

As they walked, they received idle salutes here and there from the true people of Lerwick assembled under their command - weapons were being stripped: autoguns, hunting rifles, harpoons, even stolen Imperial equipment was being field-stripped and checked over by those amongst them who had done their indentured service in the PDF.

When they had begun this, when they had first listened to the broadcasts in the basement of the speakeasy in old Skerries City, they’d have never imagined they’d be readying five hundred good folk of Lerwick for a proper fight. People were tired of the demands of the Imperium, tired of the corruption and burdens of the tithe.

Squatting amongst the ruins were the prizes that the Offworlder had given them: twelve Valkyries of the Aeronautica Imperialis in munitorum-standard grey. The Offworlder had brought technical crews too, silent folks who didn’t mingle with the rest of them.

They stepped into the dugout, the old vox-unit in the corner crackling,

“There is a Flame in the heart of humanity….” Buzzed the familiar voice as they reached out and twisted the dial, silencing it. The cloaked figure of the Offworlder turned their shadow-shrouded head towards them, they voice almost petulant if it didn’t have the near-perpetual sneer that carried on their lips:

“I was listening to that… Good morning, Commander, and what a wonderful morning it is...”

Even the greeting felt like it conveyed threat, the cool, calm almost-whisper of the strangers voice belied some sort of danger, like a sea-adder coiled amongst beach-rocks, Elan tried to draw themself up straight and hide their fear of the stranger but they still felt like the Offworlder saw right through them.

“The weather conditions are good; the Imperials just moved another wing of PDF fighters up to the orbitals,” they managed, “and there are no stormfronts between us and Farile; we couldn’t ask for a better morning, but I’m not convinced that we can, even with these Valkyries…”

“All eventualities have been considered and planned for, Commander. We would not aid you only to let you feed your fighters to the iron teeth of Farile’s Hydra batteries…”

The figure stepped forwards and handed a small datachip to them - it looked so small in the armoured gauntlet of the Offworlder, yet somehow they didn’t crush it, “Upload these to the IFF voxcoders, you will go unmolested by the aerial defences of the City.”

Elan stared at them, and then nodded, “How did you…”

The figure’s pale mouth pulled into a smile, “Many are those sympathetic to our goals, who, in turn aid you, knowingly or not, to achieve victor. This was a plan long in the making Commander. Have faith - it is best you know no more. Your cell has an important task, and you needn’t worry about what we must do to help you achieve it.”

Elan nodded and pocketed the datachip, “Right,” the Outsider brushed past them, and Elan suddenly found themselves question on their lips that they’d been resisting asking for some time, “Why are you helping us? You’re not human - I... I’m not sure what you are, stranger, but why get involved in our fight? Why get involved in the Flame’s war?”

The figure paused, and turned to face them - that smile becoming a grin, perfect white teeth showing beneath the cowl, “For the Emperor, Commander Elan.” The whisper of a chuckle escaped their mouth and then the figure was gone, leaving Elan more confused than before.

Liberation Day -0.23/Hour Units

Brex Mandin had been Colonel of the 22nd Duroveran Grenadiers for nearly four months now. This was her first deployment, and, as the cold morning air caught her breath turning it to mist, she glanced around the lines of troops manning the watchpost, and grimaced internally: she was sure that they would blame her for this deployment - standing guard over some icy backwater was a job for the PDF not the Imperial Guard. They weren’t a cold-weather unit, either, and the Enginseers had been pushed to the limit working to keep their hellgun power plants from freezing over – morale was definitely not at its best.

“Colonel, Valkyrie flight coming in, plus other transports.”

She frowned, “There’s nothing scheduled, give me those…” she snatched the macrobinoculars off of the trooper, and brought them up, “Damned things…” she smacked the servo a few times to clean the frost from the zoom, and lifted them back up, focusing on the Valkyries: green, Guard colours, something was painted on the hull, she focused… focused… a torch? A flame… she pulled her eyes away and looked to the trooper, “Those aren’t ours!” the troopers around her jumped to life, looking up to the shapes flying in across the sea,

The Medusas and Hydras along the walls lay silent, limp, the servitor-slaved guns not reacting to the enemy presence. She winced, “Somethings wrong, get the flakk missiles, get the….” a rocket from the lead Valkyrie’s pods hit the watchtower and detonated.

Her world became white…and fire.

When Colonel Madin’s mission cleared, her world was searing hot pain along her left side, and the icy cold of the snow that had broken her fall. She couldn’t feel her legs, and she crawled, helpless and burned. She’d been hurled onto the snow and ice coating the beach, and ice-cold water eventually found her burned flesh, offering a moment's relief from pain as she rested there…

To her side, something bobbed up from the water, two deep, black eyes observing her, as her life began to ebb away… before snatching her cooling corpse into the blackened depths.

Liberation Day 0.0 Hour/Units

Elan gripped the grox-hide strap and let out a breath as they swooped over the defence wall of the city, watching the limp defences fail to do anything to stop their passage, and finally let out the breath they’d been holding for the past few minutes, and made their way to the cockpit, “Play it.”

“People of Lerwick!” roared Sharre Ajax’s recorded voice over the vox-amps they’d rigged to the undersides of the Valkyries, “You have not been forgotten! Your noble resistance, the resistance of your ancestors, against the invaders of the Imperium is remembered by the Rising Flame! There is a flame in the heart of humanity, and it is called Courage, Courage to take arms, Courage to aid your folk in rising against the Imperium! To those of you who will take up arms! Go to the folk of the Rising Flame who have arrived to liberate your city, you will be armed, you will aid your world in their resistance, those who cannot, make your homes open to our people, or stay in safety, no harm will come to those who stay clear of the streets…”

As the void droned on, Elan pointed towards the massive prefabricated palace rising from the centre of the city shouting over the voxcasters and the howl of the engines, “There, unload everything you have at the central gateway clear as much space as you can for us to breach the fortifications on foot.”

Liberation Day 0.55 Hour/Units

Captain Danan Moirah ducked as a las-blast raked the air where she’d once been standing, her artificer armour hissed as she slammed her back into the palace pillar she’d dived behind. The entry-way was wrecked from the fire from the rebel gunships but they’d managed to hold the insurgents here. Las-fire barked back and forth - she had served the Dunkeld dutifully for sixteen years since mustering out of the Guard. They’d put down insurrections here and there, but it had never been this bad; the Flame had never got this far into the city, and never as well equipped as this.

Everything was wrong - the automated turrets that SHOULD have protected them were ignoring the gunships, and lying limp as the Magos tried to coax them to see the threats they had been blinded to. The weapons that the insurgents were using weren’t local-made - most of them were Guard weapons, no-doubt stolen from the muster of Imperial forces outside the defence envelope in orbit. All of this was beyond the local capacity - something bigger was definitely at work here.

Outside, a storm was closing in over the city. They’d lost communications up to the orbitals and out to the cities beyond the island. There would be no aid coming, not for a while.

She ducked and ran at full sprint to one of the side rooms, hurling herself bodily into the chamber, rolling and opening her hellgun, cutting down the rebels cowering there as she made her way to the controls of the turrets on the far side, still intact, “Magos, I have control of the console, please hurry!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, just as the Magos ducked into the chamber. She was slow, too slow to react to the blur of white, a death-rattle escaping the vox-grill of the Magos as xie toppled. Her eyes widened as she got one good look at the pale features of her killer, one last moment before the tip of combat knife erupted through the back of her neck.

Liberation Day 0.57 Hour/Units

The Offworlder moved with unnatural grace that Mirai found utterly worrying and disturbing.

Their mission was part of the bargain for the Valkyries - while Farile was besieged, their transports had split off towards one of the artificial islands the Imperials had polluted the seas of his home to build. From it, a massive structure rose into the heavens themselves. The invader Tech-Priests called it an ‘Orbital Hoist’, and, in his limited understanding, it tethered the world to the orbital facilities that drained it like parasites.

He should be glad to strike a blow against the monstrosities in orbit, but being under the Offworlder’s command made all of them feel at unease. The outsiders the Offworlder had brought with them worked comfortably alongside them, but the local Rising Flame watched with fascinated horror as the stranger worked.

Mirai had no respect or sympathy for the soldiers stationed here, but even he understood that the Imperial Guard were the elite their worlds had to offer. Alone, she and the other fighters would be outmatched, but the Offworlder scythed through them with terrifyingly graceful ease - a pair of unusual firearms flashing as bolts of energy burst in whirling arcs of fire, while lasfire spattered harmlessly off the armour beneath the heavy camo cloak that shrouded the figure.

The shock on the defenders’ eyes was apparent; Mirai shook his head and rose to follow after the nightmare they’d allied themselves with, with ever-continuing discomfort.

Liberation Day +6.1 Hour/Units

High above Lerwick, Vice-Admiral Frolan studied the charts and hummed to himself, as he paced the tactical deck of the ship. Out there, in the void, the task force assigned to the defence of Lerwick and its orbitals quietly awaited the arrival of the Archenemy fleet. He had quiet confidence that he could do Admiral Holtz proud and hold the line here - the defences around Lerwick were deep and highly effective.

“Any news from the ground?” he looked to his comms officer who looked up from her station.

“The Storm Chaser just relayed comms from their people that fighting in Farile is still continuing, but there’s a stormfront forming across the planet which is making communication with the surface nearly impossible. Once it covers the relay at Farile, we’ll lose comms.”

Frolan shrugged, “Situation normal, then…” he chuckled to himself and raised his chin, “We’ve got what we need at anchor here; let them weather the storm down on the planet. It’s hardly like those rebel scum could overpower us - one lucky surprise attack does not a liberation make.”

“Lost communications with Orbital Command Platform 337-Alpha! Failed to complete their comms checks,” came the cry from the pit, and he furrowed his brow, “attempting to re-establish communications.”

He smiled a reassuring smile. “Don’t get so excited, Lieutenant. 337-Alpha has been having voxnet issues all week I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”

Mirai ducked a shot-blast that gouged a hole in one of the bulkheads - the Offworlder’s tech removed a mechadendrite from the wall, and glanced to the monster squatting amongst them. The Offworlder nodded, “We have but a few minutes to take the Orbital before the Imperials become suspicious of its silence. We move now.”

Mirai nodded, and so did the fighters, as they stormed into the enemy line of fire, with the massive bulk of their monstrous ally protecting them from the worst of the Naval Security teams’ fire - the orbitals weren’t huge structures, minimised in size to choke the orbit of Lerwick with as many stations as possible, it was easy enough to get to the bridge.

As the Offworlder stood amongst the bloodied remains of the bridge crew idly tapping away on the command cogitator, Mirai ordered the others to spread out and secure the station against resistance. Trying to strike up some comradery with the Offworlder he spoke up,

“So, how do we use this to strike a blow against the Imperium?”

The Offworlder’s fingers never paused at the controls as they kept working “We don’t.”

Mirai furrowed his brow and stepped closer despite himself, “We don’t, but you told the Com…” he trailed off as he caught a glimpse of the command line blinking across the cogitator bank.

Purge Atmosphere? Y/N

With horrid realization of the betrayal, Mirai stepped forwards to try and wrestle the controls from the warrior but the Offworlder was far too fast - the monster grabbed Mirais wrist and with a simple squeeze and a twist shattered the entire arm, letting Mirai fall to the ground, disabled by blinding pain. The Offworlder finished their command, and Mirai heard the sounds of the station beginning to vent its atmosphere, killing folks he’d trained with, folks he’d grown up with. He struggled through the pain to try and pull the las pistol from its holster, but the strangers foot slammed down on his back to pin him in place, slowly crushing his chest and splintering his ribcage.

“Why…” he managed weakly as the Offworlder finished whatever they had come here to accomplish, “...your own people… will die with mine…”

The Offworlder turned their pale visage down on him, and smiled, almost apologetically, “As was the way from the beginning, as I told your Commander, for the Emperor. And for what it is worth, I regret having done this too, but such is the price of secrecy.” the warrior gave Mirai the mercy of a shot between the eyes to end his suffering, then, turned to the stars, sliding on their helmet as the void claimed the bridge.

Liberation Day 6.25 Hour/Units

Orbital 23 began a slow traverse, the Novacannon coming about in a slow ponderous pace, to aim at a point out deep in space – following the target coordinates it had been set. As the scrapcode leapt through the orbitals, so too did other stations move unbidden. At first, there was panic, and then confusion, as all the stations fired, out into the void, at nothing.

Two hours later, as the veil of reality was torn asunder, the armament speeding through the void unheeding of the remote destination codes sent out by the stations, found its targets. As the Regencies fleet tore from the warp into realspace, it found itself predicted, preempted, and what was an overwhelming force of siege-ships built to crush the orbital defences around Lerwick got torn apart before it could even rise shields. The few that did make it out of the slaughter at its egress point were blooded and wounded, and half the size of the force that had been dispatched.

Spitting curses into the void, the Regency came onwards, stoking their engines with dark power as they rocketed into the orbit of Lerwick – with their original plan unravelled, the fanatical heretics turned to more suicidal methods to protect their ships from the withering power of the orbital defences: the heretic vessel ‘Worship Unto The Path’ rammed into the centre of the southern hemisphere orbital grid, the cruiser’s core igniting and destroying several nearby stations, and dragging several tethered stations out of alignment and into a degrading orbit of Lerwick.

The wreckage of the archenemy ship ploughed into the atmosphere, still tangled with the command station of the southern hemisphere grid – both masses too large to burn up on re-entry, thus slamming into the Southern Ocean, and throwing up tsunamis tall enough to drown whole islands in the region from the impact.

High in orbit the battle raged on, with fast ships like the Storm Chaser and St Jaghatai’s Arrow becoming more valuable in the increasingly choked orbit of Lerwick. First blood for Imperial Navy guns the Arrow, claimed the first kill of the battle, with the ancient Regency Light Cruiser, Enter Unto Pacts, it's storied history stretching back to the dark ages of Prosperitas' past, detonating as the Arrow struck it's damaged midships in a blow that sundered its main reactor. A worthy kill for a vessel blessed with the honour of bearing the name of one of the Emperor's Sons.

But the battle raged on, fire and fury driving on defenders and attackers alike.

Liberation Day +13 Hour/Units

She had been a Missionary once, and often regretted giving up that life, but when she’d come to the fishing city of Skerries, Annunsia had seen an isolated city-island in need of the God-Emperor’s light and, what had once been a small mission, had grown into the second-largest Cathedral outside of Farile. The Fisher-City stank of rotting fish and seaweed still, but she had long grown used to it - the distant sound of the sea was all around them, Skerries was built across several islands with areas beneath the city, just above the waterline beneath them.

Annunsia had remained apolitic on the recent upheavals of the Ecclesiarchy - supposedly defrocked or not, the Cardinal-Emissarius was the only person still sending supplies to her Cathedral so she could continue to provide aid and spiritual guidance to the people of Skerries. So, she’d kept her mouth well shut when the Witch Hunter had arrived: Strix, the newcomer, was interested in hunting heretics, and she wasn’t sure if she was one for accepting aid from Grulge. She quietly had the supplies put away, and provided the With Hunter with what he required to carry out his duties, even if with a mild warning that the populace were still young in their full acceptance of the Faith.

She had not seen the Hunter since the storm had closed in over the city and the mists had filled the streets. She stood on the steps of the Cathedral, storm-lumen in hand, scanning the mist-shrouded streets - she had not seen anyone today in fact bar the acolytes at the cathedral.

Just before she shuttered the storm-lumen, she caught a glimpse of a shape in the fog, and it came closer until it emerged, swathed in the robes of an acolyte - she couldn’t make out who, though: “Hello? Acolyte?” she stepped closer, bringing the lumen up to illuminate the shadows of the hood.

Two, big, watery black eyes met her own.

Her screams echoed out into silence.

The Selkie-songs rose above the lapping of the waves.

Prosperitas Gazetteer IV – Seas of Lerwick

Battle has been joined at Lerwick: elements of Admiral Holtz’s group under Vice-Admiral Frolan hold the line against an Archenemy fleet that might have once crushed it, if it were not for the skilled gunners of the Imperial Navy who intercepted it with fire before it could fully traverse into realspace. At least, that’s what the official Propaganda states..

Unofficially, someone breached the security of the orbital stations: both Imperial and Rising Flame corpses fill Orbital Command Platform 337-Alpha, where the firing solution for the orbital defences was set. A scrap code infection momentarily adjusted the firing solutions of every orbital weapon in its vicinity. There are no survivors on either side on 337-Alpha to tell the tale of what happened there – all the Imperium knows is that it received aid that had not been requested.

While Military leaders count this as a blessing of the God Emperor or Omnissiah, the Inquisition are more deeply concerned by the apparently effortless infiltration of one of the most secure orbital defence nets in the entire Prosperitas Sector. Paranoia has taught the Inquisition that such things are not always the acts of benevolent individuals.

On the surface of Lerwick, intense fighting has erupted due to a mass uprising against Imperial rule; the Rising Flame have emerged from the ruins of Summerhome, the former capitol of Lerwick, before the coming of the Imperium, and razed by orbital bombardment many years ago now. Using a mixture of captured PDF and Imperial Guard ordinance stolen from the Imperium, the insurgents have mounted an offensive on the Imperial capitol city of Farile. Between insurgents arriving by air transport and local cells, rebels control about half of the city, and much of the area close to the Governors Palace falls within this territory. The whereabouts of the Governing Dunkeld family are unknown, but it is believed that they have likely evacuated Farile to a safe location.

Remnants of PDF and Imperial Guard units hit by surprise assaults are rallying to hold Imperial-controlled sectors of the City.

The Battle at Lerwick is far from over, and may drag into months of conflict - the Regency here is bogged down heavily, but so are Imperial forces who now must commit to an extensive ground campaign to hold the planet while fighting a void war against a Regency Fleet that is, while by no means impressive after its devastation, still a major threat. While Vice-Admiral Frolan has held the enemy in the system, and prevented them from jumping further into the Prosperitas Sector, his forces have to remain committed to the fighting there - and denying the embattled forces at Helaerus III and the worlds in Subsector Secundus reinforcements.

The battle for control of Lerwick's orbit is increasingly more fraught as it is fought by light ships and small craft, a dogfighter's heaven. Ships' like the St Jaghati's Arrow and the Storm Chaser are increasingly welcome for their crew's mastery of their vessels weight - as are any Ace Pilots whose fighters and bombers dance with those of the Archenemy amongst the orbiting wrecks and weapons platforms.

Subsector order continues to break down as more and more astropathic choirs fall silent - it is not known if this is the result of fluctuations in the Warp, or because of local uprisings. With no spare forces available to investigate, Crusade High Command likened the situation to that of the former Frontier of the Rimward Marches - with reliance on Rogue Trader and Privateer vessels becoming ever greater, as the fragile cluster of worlds begins to become isolated from the Imperium proper.

Beyond the battle of Farile though, silence reigns across the seas of Lerwick. The Imperium has, thanks to the presence of Imperial Agents aboard the Storm Chaser on the planet, been able to establish semi-regular communications with Farile, but an unnatural ice storm has begun to cloud the entire planet in fog and cloud and electromagnetic interference.

The presence of an Imperial Agent, a Witch Hunter, in the islands beyond Farile has led to the Inquisition being brought back reports of shapes in the fog, and a haunting song that comes from it. The native Selkie creatures of the planet are, as ever being blamed for these mysterious disappearances.

But the Magos Biologis long-declared that the Selkies were nothing more than animals.

They couldn’t be wrong?

Could they?