The Flawless Host / TFLH

“We are the Arch-fiend, the Despoilers of Worlds, and by our hands shall the false Imperator fall.”

HISTORY;
The Flawless Host began its humble life during the time of the seventh Imperator, Samuel Messer. Imperator Samuel Messer was a much flawed madman. The Imperator did not take the Vanduul threat seriously and seemed to be much more interested in using his newfound power to torment the already subjugated population into further submission.

This eventually lead to the uprising of the populace of the founders home. During this time The Founder, whose name has been lost in time, was smuggling supplies to feed the ravaged populace.

The Messer regime got more and more aggressive over time against anyone in defiance of the regime or showing any sign of resistance. Many traders, smugglers, info runners but also ordinary civilians were being round up and mass executed. While others were arrested never to be heard from again.

The Founder had always been a ‘grey’, meaning he had always been on the edges of the law, trading black market supplies or gathering intel on the military or advocacy for other ‘traders.’

When the Messer regime decided they had enough of this, they did the unthinkable. They knew where most of the resistance was originating from… the traders hub in the city… the Messer’s slaughtered thousands that day…

“Show the Imperator who is the true master of death!”

SHORT STORY; THE DAY THE BOMBS DROPPED;

THERE COMING.
Fire rained from the sky, shells coming in nonstop, explosions everywhere. Bombers and gunships taking out the anti-air defence first. Then they came… their dropships streaking through the air… the marines had arrived.

THE BATTLE.
The men stationed on the outer city wall were getting the brunt of the assault. Almost none of the gun emplacements were left standing after the initial bombardment and most of our men on the wall were either dead or had fled… the cowards…

The marines were closing in on our main line of defence, the rattle of machinegun fire and the roar of warships and fighters was maddening, the explosions from their cannons deafening. The 5th City Militia, responsible for city limits defence, were all but destroyed, save for one single battle buggy, a troop transporter and a squad of militia guardsmen. The scatter lasers and heavy machine guns fired continuously, but to no prevail. The marines were still coming.

An APC supported by a full squad of heavily armed and armoured marines had just pushed through the defences on the east side of the city perimeter.

The Founder; “We must hold, the uplink is almost complete, we must get the signal out!”

The marines were almost upon us. The battle buggy being silenced by a mechanical horror, an amalgamation between machine and marine… Clad in blood red armour with twin blooded talons jetting flame. The furious marine inside raging over its vox speakers, the guardsmen just behind the destroyed battle buggy drawing their close combat weapons for one last stand, al be it a short lived one.

From the mechanical horror vox could be heared; “Strike from the skies brothers!” In came marines on jets of fire, roaring engines, blasting shotguns and streams of blue fire. The guardsmen and the troop transporter didn’t even last five seconds against the onslaught of the mechanical horror and the squad of assault marines… Just one more city block and they were upon us…

City Militia Guardsman; “There coming! The marines are coming!”
The Founder; “Hold your ground boy, we must hold! They’re almost here! We must hold!

STRIKE BACK.
The clouds opened, multicolour laser and gun fire shooting down from the air, forth came three heavily armed freighter ships, blasting the mechanical horror and the assault marines to pieces. When the marines saw their mechanical brother fall, a terrible roar was unleased by them, shocking the lesser militia guardsmen. The marines firing with their shotguns at the armed freighters, but to little prevail. The traders hadn’t fled… they got reinforcements! The armed freighter ships were no match for any military fleet, but against ground targets and small attack craft they could stand their ground… for a short while… finally relief…

A huge rumble could be heard in the merchant hub, the doors slamming open! Screaming out came militia guardsmen on hover bikes spewing laser and machinegun fire. A heroic push outward to slow down the advance of the marines. The APC blew up in a giant ball of fire, taking out several marines using the APC as cover.

THE ZEALOT.
A marine clad in an black baroque armour with a skull helmet raised his massive ornate machinegun and unleashed a powerful battle cry from his voxcaster, “Kill the Alien! Burn the Pirate! Purge the Traitor!” A Messer zealot, a warrior priest for the regime, a champion of the empire and herald of the Imperator. Marines in black armour with large machineguns charging along with him towards The Founder. The Founder dropping his gaze upon the first few marines and setting them a blaze with an incendiary grenade. The Zealot firing his massive machinegun while shouting foul language and yelling;

The Zealot; “NOT EVEN IN DEATH CAN THE TRAITOR BE FORGIVEN!”

More and more marines were coming in, stopping them impossible, slowing them down improbable. The Founder had to pull back, more and more militia guardsmen were falling. Two of the armed freighters in the meanwhile landed to take as many people on board as possible to flee the planet.

THE LOSS.
The Founders family had been inside the merchant’s main hub during most of the battle. When the armed freighters touched down he ordered one of the guardsman to get his family and get them on board of the ship. When they came out he ran towards his wife, son and daughter, hugged them one last time and send them to the ship.

The Founder; “Get out now! I will stay and try to get as many people out as possible. We will see each other again! I love you!”

The merch ship lifted of, going higher and higher, slowly turning towards the sky… Streaks of missiles and gun fire peppering the vessel, a giant capital ship came out of the fog of war. The freighter slowly falling apart…

The Founder: “Noooo! You Tyrants! Those are civilians! TANYA! NOOOO!”……

The ship finally gave in, exploding with enormous ferocity, pieces falling to the surface.

DEATH OF A ZEALOT.
The Founder going completely insane, his wife, son, daughter… “I will kill you all!” He charged one last time at the incoming marines. The Zealot leading them.

Messer Zealot: “Kill them all, death to the traitors!”

The Zealot seeing The Founder coming in hot, charged at him, firing his handgun and taking out his combat knife. The Zealot managed to get close and stabbed his knife in The Founders side. The Founder screamed as he smashed his machinegun against the marine’s skull, breaching the helmet, drawing his knife himself and ploughing it through the Zealots chest and killing him outright.

FLEEING THE PLANET.
With only two freighters remaining, all seemed lost. With a last rallying cry “Show the Imperator who are the true masters of death!” the last of the fighters, merchant ships, hoverbikes and even mining vessels charged at the capital ship, drawing it’s fire and allowing the two remaining freighters with civilians to get out. The Founder is said to having been found unconscious and carried aboard on one of the freighters. It would be days later he finally woke up, screaming his wife’s name, “Tanya!”

THE AFTERMATH.
He hadn’t been able to save his family or his people, but he would get his revenge, for he would never forgive, never forget. He shall face them without fear, for there is nothing left to fear but failure to get revenge.

Fourteen hours after the massacre of city, the Messer regime had won the battle. Whole city blocks levelled with thousands of dead or subjugated. In the aftermath of the battle, The Founder would be joined by others who had been able to leave the planet on time. The Founder would never set foot upon his home planet again, however he vowed that one day, he would return to his home, alive or dead.

The Founder became known as The Flawless, never to make the same mistakes again. To live a life with no forgiveness, no fear, no regret, no remorse, no pity, no Imperator and no Messer, no mistakes … to be Flawless…

The Flawless Host became the name of the following of The Flawless, not officially elected their leader, but they followed him non the less. The Flawless became more ruthless against the Messer’s and the regime over time. It started with what he had always done, some smuggling, info running and black market trading. Eventually he started raiding regime installations, even full out assaults against transport fleets and military outposts.

SHORT STORY; THE ANGRY MARINE

City Militia Guardsman; Sergeant, how do we stop them? If not even our fleet was able to?

City Militia Sergeant; Stop them? They cannot be stopped. These marines know no tire, the know no end, they know no fear… Stop? They will never stop. We can only hope to slow them at best and that death will be swift.

City Militia Guardsman; Sir, maybe we can overcome their push, we could funnel the main force of this death company in the city square.

City Militia Sergeant; I wouldn’t make a difference, at least not enough. We have failed, we have been forsaken, we are now lost and damned.

City Militia Guardsman; But we must stop them!

City Militia Sergeant; Good luck stopping an angry marine!
A man, ‘engineered’ to be stronger, faster and more resilient than any man. A man of impeccable faith and sense of duty. A man that can stay awake for days without the need to sleep. A man familiar with every weapon ever made and who carries more of them then most normal men can even carry. A man trained to combat the most horrific and most cunning species of aliens, pirates and traitors. A man who trains 20 hours per day, under rigorous strain, to kill the alien, burn the pirate and purge the traitor, and then spends the remaining four hours on thinking how to become better at that. A man to whom defeat is blaspheme. A man to whom only by his death does his duty end. A man whom measures success in blood spilled.

I say to you… good luck… stopping the two meter tall angry asshole clad in heavy armour, who has just decided YOU are the traitor! Good luck!