In Character Battle Reports

So we played on Saturday at my house, and Sunday I posted the following on the group's Facebook page. So here's a challenge to the community, and I pray it pleases the moderators: Did you play this week? Write a report from the Point of View of your army HQ model, or the highest ranking who survived, or whatever seems appropriate to the situation. (Tabled? Troop transport Oslo Bey reporting...) Have fun with it!

Oh, and for the record, I play Tau.

Detachment Delta-zero-niner to Expeditionary Command: Contact Report, Priority Three. Enemy forces, estimated at four thousand in strength, comprised of roughly equal elements of Orks and Corrupted Space Marines, specific unit unknown, engaged in and around Site Two approximately sixteen hours ago. This Detachment assisted by elements of Imperial Space Marines, nomenclature unknown but believed to be aligned with Imperial Ordo: Xenos. Site two artifact lost; enemy forces withdrawn from immediate area. Ork losses include all vehicles, nearly half total force, and Warboss and subalterns. Corrupted Space Marines casualties include one combat aircraft destroyed and commander dead or disabled. Remaining ork forces at last sighting withdrawing towards site three. CSM forces withdrawn via teleportation; artifiact believed in their possession at time of withdrawal. Ally Space Marine detachment suffered significant casualties, including all combat air support and nearly complete loss of heavy support element, before withdrawing via teleportation to unknown location. This Detachment suffered loss of one half of basic troops, to include dedicated combat vehicle, and two Crisis suits. With loss of objective, this site no longer of interest; per instructions, this detachment returning to site one for resupply and unit reassignment. Ally Space Marine status unknown. Details follow by courier. The Mission Continues!

[Why not, I'll have a stab..]

The firepit raged and snapped in an alcove that looked as though it had been hove in by a Rhino, and the angry, lusty flames threw a flickering swathe of shaggy black shadows across the roughly hewn stone walls. The feasthall could hold a hundred of the Wolves of Fenris, more even, and now a half of the company sang, roared and cursed, as ox-sized kegs of ale were drained and enough roasted carcasses to feed a village were savaged clean.

"Hah! An.. And then, she tripped, fell and landed upon mine hammer!" Olavsson, Wolf Guard, shield-brother to the Wolf Lord, swung his prodigious arms wide, and those at the Wolf Lord's head-table fell about in raucous laughter and hammer blows of great skeins upon a table that would have split if it were not solid stone slab.
Behind the table, raised upon a dias inlaid with the runes of the company's heroes, stood a giant throne, large enough to make a Lord Govenor jealous. Though plain it was, hewn from the same stone as the rest of the Fang, and draped across it's pale surfaces were a great many furs from a myriad of beasts. Upon that throne sat Krom Dragongaze, Wolf Lord of a company of Space Wolves, one of the twelve masters of the Chapter. Like all men of Fenris, he had been a large, powerful man even before his induction into the Adeptus Astartes, and now he was a giant of strength, even among his own Battle-Brothers.
Beside him knelt a servitor, a servile automaton of cybernetic flesh and steel, and upon it's back it held a great shield covered in haunches of meat, a quarter wheel of cheese, and a cup larger than a normal man's head. This the Lord took and drained as he listened to Olvasson's bawdy jests, allowing a slow, feral grin to spread amidst his thick black beard. But there was still business to be done, and gripping his skein tight, he pushed himself to his full height, never a single movement out of place. Immediately, the clamour of feasting Wolves fell silent as all lifted their heads reverently toward their Wolf Lord.

"To those that have fallen!" came his voice like one boulder grating upon another, and even the crackle and blaze of the fire seemed quieted by his sombre tone. His scarred, meaty fist raised cup, and all of the Space Marines followed suite. "Never can they be forgotten, for they await us in the Wolf Time!" A unified thunder echoed around the hall as the men repeated the final two words in rote chant. Due respect given to the few who had not returned, Krom continued. "Fornhravn! Sound the battle-report! Scribe! Harken and record."
At the other side of his throne, another servitor came to life. A hunched, cowled, and hidden figure upon thinly-tracked wheels whose chest had been converted to hold a recording device made of gilded scroll paper, and whose augmetic fingers had been largely replaced by spindly inscribers and electro-ink quills. Whirring and clicking like some child's clockwork toy, parchment scrolled to an available page, and a spider-like hand poised to record.
At the other end of the head-table, a dour giant clad in robes and furs and a belly-length beard of flint, raised slowly from amongst the Wolf Guard. The Old Raven, he was called. Wolf Priest of the company, the Chooser of the Slain. As he stood, slowly, so as to arouse the younger Wolve's sense of drama, an augmented black raven cawed and settled upon his shoulder. It took long moments for him to speak, ensuring absolute and undivided attention, even from the veteran Wolf Guard. But when he did speak, the auto-scribe began it's work, electro-quills chittering across parchment.

"The Wolf-brothers of Krom Dragongaze stand victorious." To that there were a few joyous growls and a fist or two hitting table. "At your command, Wolf Lord, the Purge order was given and drop-pod assault was the method chosen to join battle. It seems..." The old priest struggled with the next few words, like they were distasteful to him. "It seems that the Ork filth had a bone or two of strategy amongst them, and deployed some type of rare electro-magnetic inhibitor. Several of our drop-pods landed off-course.

As is our way, Elder Brother Grimbjörn landed first - on target - and set about the Orks with righteous promethium. A whole squad of their Looters were taught a lesson none of them survived to learn." He paused, then, to allow a few raucous cheers. Almost always first into the fight, the Dreadnought Grimbjörn was favoured amonst the Battle-Brothers, and all enjoyed watching him set-to with his heavy flamers and powered claw. Krom raised his hand for silence, and the Wolf Priest continued. "Alas, Egardsson's drop-pod deviated, throwing the Hunters off-course. By the time his flame-claw arrived to suppot Grimbjörn, our Dreadnought had suffered major damage, and the Iron Priests estimate it will be a month before he can fight again." At this, a minor eruption of fury was vented around the room, skeins were hurled, and wolfish snarls for vengeance sounded until the Wolf Lord brought the Battle-Brothers back to silence again.
"Grimnar's pod landed on-target - though I suspect he re-wired the guidance system so as to aim at Ork vehicles again!" There were some chuckles, and Grimnar did his best to look innocent and insulted at the Priest's words. "His melta-claw stove in the flank of a looted Russ tank, and the grot pilots were nought but stains under Space Wolf boots.

Upon the western flank, Edgardsson's claw set about Grimbjörn's attackers with a rightly anger. Alas, the Hunter squad was reduced to half in the melee, but the Orks do not live to regret their error. Upon the eastern flank, the drop-pod containing myself, Wolf Lord Krom Dragongaze, and the Wolf Guard were force-landed out of place, and despite retro booster and Terminator armour, I will limp for days... Our Lord directed me to split from the unit and engage the second Looter squad. This I did with staff and storm, eventually forcing the Ork gunners to rout and flee. Meanwhile, our Wolf Lord set about the great mob of Orks, to reach the immense beast of a warboss at its heart!" Again there was the hushed, reverent silence, the elite Space Marines now like young pups listening to their elder's tale. "The savagery was epic to behold! Though wounds were suffered, none could stand before the bulk of Terminator armour, nor the skill of our Lord and his veterans! From where I stood upon the hill, surrounded by dead greenskins, I could see clear as claw and blade flashed, Orks flew, until at last the great green beast hove into his own ranks to set about our Wolf Lord. As is his way, the Dragongaze stared down that monster with his one baleful good eye, and in three moves I saw him tear the warboss's head from it's shoulders!" Again the Priest paused, giving the younger Wolves time to cheer their praise to their Wolf Lord, to which Krom merely nodded and lifted his cup to them in turn.

Fornhravn continued, once the noise had settled again. "As suspected, the Orks sent one of their crude flyers against us. A lopsided, ungainly thing it was, burdened and pregnant with wings and belly full of fire-bombs! But! Brothers Heimdall and Hrothgar make sport of such things, I believe. For once again did they give chase in their Landspeeder. And again did Hrothgar's dead-eye melta shot bring the contraption down!" More cheers and clattering of skeins as the two old brothers stood to bow with comical pomp and flair. Though the pair were in constant disagreement over tactics, and maintenance of their Typhoon Landspeeder, often to the point of a thrown wrench or two, once it came to combat, and the twins were screaming through the skies in their vehicle, non could deny they fought as a single entity. This had been the second time the twin brothers had brought down an Ork flyer with nigh-impossible shots, according to the targetting cogitators.

"At our hind quarters, Ungarl and his plasma-claw prowled within their Rhino, and provided mid-range support. A wise decision, Lord, for they were able to catch a mob of Ork Burners attempting to outflank us." Appreciative nods were given to the youngest of the Grey Hunter squads, and then the Wolf Priest's countenance darkened as he began a tally of their dead. "Karlav of the Wolf Guard. Hunters Jorek, Bäern, Sigur, Olefsson, Lugh, Hogurd.." A half-dozen more names were read, and save for the odd crackle of the fire, the feasthall was deathly silent.

"..Never forgotten. These names have been chosen, and will join us again in the Wolf Time."

[Ok, might have overdone it a bit..]

Never say it was overdone; that was right tasty, sir, better than mine.