They’d named him Brian.
Not even Bryan, with a “y” – just plain old Brian. What kind of name was that for a tech-adept, one of the Omnissiah’s most devoted subjects?
When he’d ascended to priesthood the exalted techno-mages had read out the new names of all his compatriots, one by one. The sacred name-giving engine had chittered and scrawled, and as their tutors pulled each scrap of parchment from the sputtering quill they read aloud:
. . .
Since that day he’d been the odd one out, marked by fate as somehow lesser than all the others. He knew why, too; for a tech-priest, your name was who you were. Each machine spirit you mastered, each fragment of holy technology you returned, was forever associated with your given name.
The Dentrex Ologostions of this life changed the course of fate. They were tasked by Cawl himself to retrieve precious fragments of noctilith, to hunt and track Golden-Age technology on worlds beyond the Emperor’s light, to battle aliens across the void in the name of the Omnissiah. Their names were written in fire and glory, whispered across the eternal night between stars.
Brian, on the other hand, performed blessed rites of invocation on the coffee machine. He beseeched the Machine Spirit of the vending machines when they jammed, and changed the diapers of the servitors.
Where his compatriots were given finely-crafted particle splitters and exotic energy weapons, Brian was given a soldering iron. Where former classmates commanded legions of hulking cybernetic monstrosities and plied the warp in their own starships, Brian played cards against the servitors. He didn’t always win.
Brian was a loser.
But today, that was going to change. The High Lords of Metalica, jealous and spiteful, hateful of all they could not control, had heard of the coming chaos overtaking the galaxy. They needed someone to seize and steal in the confusion of war, to dig amongst the ruins of fallen planets and take what they could find.
They needed someone they could control completely, who would do whatever they commanded without question or hesitation. They needed someone without pride, who would plunder scraps of ancient code while refugees starved and died. Above all else, they needed someone completely, totally expendable.
They needed Brian.
Finally, he was being sent to the stars. Many years after his brothers and sisters, true, but still with time to make his mark on history. His legions of steel-and-flesh Skitarii were ready, poised, utterly under his control. They stood silently in perfect unison, awaiting his commands to kill, and to die. It was time. His time. The galaxy would remember him, and tremble when they spoke his name.
A war was coming. This would be Brian’s war.
I finally finished off my second Skitarii squad by the end of the month. I’m pleased with how they’ve turned out. but they have taken ages to complete.
I’ve managed to get 5 games in with this force, and won 2 (one was against a rival Mechanicus army, of which more later). The Skitarii’s plasma calivers are worth their weight in gold, and their mobility is great too – it’s just a shame they die so quickly.
The Dunecrawler has done some serious damage to armoured targets, but it hasn’t helped much in games where there’s nothing big to shoot. Brian himself has done pretty well, even cutting down terminators in close combat!
Looking forward to next month, and adding some new units to the mix.