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Wiseman
13-08-2005, 12:54
THe way this will work is that anyone who wishes to enter will type up a story and post it in this thread,
RULES

Entries Close 15th of September at 6pm (australian EST) any entries after this time will be disallowed.

Entries must be original and written by the submittant (though this should be a given)

There is no restriction on how old the entry is, you could have written it 10 years ago, or 10minutes ago, its all good.

Entries are to be posted in this thread

Minimum of 1000 words, while a maximum of 3500 words.

There is Two different Categories, Warhammer 40 000 and Warhammer Fantasy, each person may only submit one entry per category, (so a total of two entries is allowed in total)


Voting will be nice and simple, PM me your votes after the competition closes, you will have til the 15th of October to vote, at which stage i will post the winners and give them their prize.

Let the fun begin :evilgrin: :evilgrin:

Neknoh
13-08-2005, 15:55
Where should the stories be posted?

Wiseman
14-08-2005, 12:24
i also thought the title says it all, the The Story Competition [B]Entry[\B] Thread;)

Brother Smith
14-08-2005, 21:38
Here is my story, it only took me a few hours so don't expect anything great. It's based around two parts, the first and second part marked by ***. It is designed so that you could read from the second part without reading the first part.

Citadel

He was one of the faceless billions that made up the Imperial Guard - A proud Karandran, raised in the villages and commanded to defend the Imperium by an age old tithe. His battalions current assignment was to reinforce the forces on Halifax, which was under attack by a Tyranid Splinter Fleet. After furious fighting the Imperials had been pushed back to the city of Nekestra. The guard had abandoned the city itself and had retreated to the fortified citadel / spaceport. They waited for the hordes to arrive as an enormous space battle erupted in the skies.

‘By the sign of the Aquilla what are you doing!’
‘Eh?’ He replied, being shaken violently. He had fallen alseep on his chair in the Chimera, propped against the steel wall.
‘The daemons, they’re here!’
He opened his eyes. He felt a sudden lurch as the APC pushed it’s way forward out of the gates of the barracks. As it travelled through the compound he knew what he was about to face – the combined might of a million creatures. Creatures which existed only to kill, only to bring about destruction and misery.

He was thrown forward as the APC halted. It was lined up with the rest of his battallion, waiting for the huge gates of the compound to open. He heard explosions – the opening shots of the battle. He could feel the vibrations of the defence aircraft launching even through the shakiness of the Chimera. As it drove through the gate with the rest of his battalion he donned his gear.
‘075887 Reporting in’ He voxed as he began the journey to the outer trench system.

The APC crashed into a crater, barely managing to scale its high walls. Magin’s (a man he grown up with) chest exploded as a chestborer tore it’s way through him, showering the inside of the vehicle with blood and entrails. Panicking, he had barely had time to shoot it as the APC reached it’s drop off point. He slid the door open and climbed out, feeling the thin mud slosh under his boots. He jumped into the trench, past the turrets which were already laying down fire into the black horizon.
‘SQUAD FIRING POSITIONS’ He was ordered through his vox communicator.
He ran up to the trench wall and stepped up onto a pedestal.
‘SQUAD FIRE’ was the order as a thousand lasguns fired, transparent beams hitting enroaching xenos.
‘OVER THE TOP!!!’
He climbed the wall and ran over the muddy, cratered ground. It was pitch black save the odd flare or or detonation overhead. All was silent. Then around him his comrades started to fall, their screams echoing over the intercomm. Alone, he ran back to the trenchline, back to the safety of the turrets. He jumped into a small crater just in time to miss a blinding streak of energy that dissolved the turret nearest him, thousands of metal particles raining down on him.

He could still hear the desperate screams of his fellow men as the ground started to shake. Tanks! He ducked as a Leman Russ drove over the trench, fire erupting from its cannons. The sky above him turned from black to orange as the battle continued.

Looking over safety of his hole, firing where he could he saw the devastating blows being dealt to the tanks. All firing stopped. A few tanks remained. Something was wrong though – there was lots of movement around the tanks. The movement seemed to be getting closer…


He realised the hoplessness of his situation and ran back for the secondary trenches, fearing for his life. Vaulting himself into the secondary defence line he missed the next wave of Tyranid fire. He was safe here, for now.

He entered a bunker. He noticed the light was broken so he retrieved a torch out of his jacket. After sweeping over the walls he came across the pulsating remains of half a dozen men. Dying, but kept alive… Paralyzed, they were going to be carried off to the digestion pools. This was a fate worse than death. One of the trapped was staring straight at him, unable to blink. He had to walk on, to kill these men would attract the attention of more aliens. He ran along the trench, silent tears streaming down his face. Was anyone here still alive?

He was near another bunker when he received a transmission.
‘All remaining units gather at nav-point gamma immediately!’ nav-point Gamma… If that had been transmitted then he knew that there had been over 90% casualties.

He vaulted over the top of the trench and to the last fortified tenchline before the citadel. There he saw the remains of his battalion, all eight of them. Along with the rest of the men there, they waited for further orders…

***

Great arcs of flame raced across the sky. Tracers. He was lucky he hadn’t been hit; the attack had been so swift, engulfing the battered defenders.

A round smashed into the earth next to him and covered him in soil. The citadel was behind him. Rising into the sky, defying the enemy. This was the last bastion of humanity on this world - it couldn’t fall.

He ran through the trench, slick from top to bottom with thick mud. His mask was heavy and damp and made breathing difficult. But that was preferable to choking.
He crashed into the floor as a missile screamed over the top of the battlements, he looked up to see the great walls of the fortress crack, and flame leaping out of the crevasses. Turning his attention to the end of the trench he gazed at a gate stretching from one side to the other, protecting the soldiers from the oncoming horde. It started to bulge, cracking under the pressure. He checked his Lasgun. 9 / 10 power.

The gate continued to tear, screeching as the metal churned.
He lined his weapon up and fired knocking down many where his aim was good, and creating spots of molten slag where it wasn’t.
The gates burst, and the doors crashed into the sides of the trench, allowing the tide of xenos to swamp the defenders.

He didn’t have time to think, just to run. Turning to face the fortress, he was met by a scene from hell. They had broken through. The fortress walls bulged and crumbled, collapsing with such ferocity that he, four miles way, was knocked to the ground.
As he looked up, he saw one of the xenos. Things slowed down as it plunged its talon into his face, through the glass of his mask and into his flesh…

Neknoh
14-08-2005, 22:05
¤Current story removed bco. to few words, wip on new story under way¤

TheSonOfAbbadon
15-08-2005, 18:07
It is too short, by a good 488 words... maybe you could have this champion fighting his way out of the camp?

Neknoh
15-08-2005, 19:45
Why would he fight his way out? He is very close to the general... if not the leader of the camp himself, nah, then I think I'll have to try something completely different.

Wiseman
17-08-2005, 12:26
way to short, minimum word length of 1000, and it only 512. No exceptions can be made sorry, a rule is a rule if i make one exception, i have to make more which leads to the rules being null and void.

Brother Smith
17-08-2005, 23:35
All that hard work and not a single review, or will you read all the storys at once?

Wiseman
18-08-2005, 12:03
im not commenting, it could affect peoples votes that way ya see.

TheSonOfAbbadon
20-08-2005, 17:14
Young Heresey

Space Marine Kommandant Greig Varius of the Chapter The Sons Of Pain stood motionless as he surveyed Thayis, the capital city of Garma. He was standing in the protection of a watch tower above the city, he watched as people went about their daily business in the city. Few of them noticed him, and those that did, didn’t know of the recent victory he had won to protect them. Planets near Garma, and even Garma itself, were once infested by Orks, The Sons Of Pain chapter purged the entire system of the Ork threat, but not all of the Ork spores could be destroyed. Occasionally a number of feral Orks would threaten the peace of Garma, and The Sons Of Pain would be called upon to ensure that the Orks are destroyed and the spores burnt.

Although the local Imperial Guard regiments could deal with the Ork threat, they were frequently low in number and could not attend all of the threats without pulling men from vital defences. Besides, it was a nice change from the usual orbital bombardments and long-range fire fights that The Sons Of Pain were often involved in. The feral Orks have far less long ranged weaponry and armour, so the raids on their small villages were a lot more close combat orientated fights. They were good for keeping the men on their toes, for keeping the fires of war burning in their souls. Despite the conflicts off the peaceful world of Garma, Kommandant Greig always returned to his homeworld. Nothing could keep him from his home, not the Wild Red Behemoths of Kraag’s 2nd moon of Vaag, not heretics, not aliens, not even orders from his superiors could keep him from it. The main reason for this that only his Chapter Master, assorted Inquisitors and the High Lords of Holy Terra were superior to him. The High Lords of Terra had better things to do, Inquisitors rarely came to the Gemain system save for the Ordo Xenos for attacks on the Ork infestations, and his Chapter Master, Lord Gormag Harkrot, shared his love for his homeworld.

The fact that Gormag and Greig had so much in common may be part of the reason why Gormag appointed Greig Captain of the 2nd company. Despite this, no one could dispute the fact that Greig was the best man for the job. Loyal, motivated, strong and a masterful tactician Greig was most definitely the best man for the job.

Greig’s love for his homeworld partially comes from the fact that it’s very peaceful, it was a paradise away from the horrors of the galaxy.

Greig loved watching the children on his homeworld, it reminded him of himself before he tested out for the Space Marines. He loved to watch as they played Mohii, a game much like the sport once played on Ancient Terra named Hockey. He had played Mohii when he was young, he was not merely good at it, he was unbeatable at it. But he had left his life behind, his friends and his family, he had lost them to become a mighty and celebrated warrior. He still wondered way he had done it, he thought it was the Imperial propaganda posters, the Space Marines were portrayed as great, unbeatable warriors, saving worlds from threats with ease. Nowhere did it say he had to leave his family, nowhere did it say that he would never see his friends again, nowhere did it tell him of the pain he must go through to become a Space Marine.

Although he sometimes regretted his decision, he reflected that if no one became a Space Marine, then the Imperium would fall, and humans would be slaughtered in their billions by horrific alien beasts. Only the Adeptus Astrates could keep the beasts at bay. Only the Space Marines can save humanity.

As Greig watched group of boys playing Mohii, he analysed the players’ skill in his mind, he thought to himself about the many mistakes the boys were making, the way a master would laugh at his failing apprentice. But Greig did not laugh, he respected the boys and wished that he be allowed to go down there and teach them how to play. He wanted to, make friends with the boys. In his mind, he already had. He got a feeling that, should he be allowed to play with them, they would get along brilliantly. But Greig was not, he was a Space Marine, fraternisation was forbidden. He must remain disciplined.

As he watched the children, the small, flat puck they were playing with whirled through the air, tearing into the knee of one of the boys. The boy cried out, his pain was expressed in a terrible noise. Greig stepped forwards and put his hand on the railing around the tower. He stared down at the child who wailed uncontrollably. For a fleeting moment the boy’s tearful eyes met Greig’s, and or a moment Greig remembered what it was like to be a young boy, and he remembered his first Mohii injury. He remembered the pain. A single, salty tear ran down the inside of Greig’s helmet. He cried for the boy. Greig raised his hands to his neck, and unhinged his helmet. He lifted off the black armoured mask to reveal his face. His short black hair, his gleaming blue eye and the shining silver metal of the half of his face he had lost.

Greig stood their unmasked and cried for the boy. He watched as adults rushed to the boy’s aid. He watched as the boy was carried inside leaving a trail of blood behind him. He watched as the other boys cried for him. He looked at the kid who had delivered the blow, he was laughing.

Greig gasped at the boy’s disrespect for others, how the boy had maliciously and deliberately maimed another. Greig closed his mouth and leapt over the edge of the tower, falling 2 stories down onto the concrete walkways of Thayis.

The laughing boy, on seeing this seven foot tall armoured and angry warrior walking towards him, turned his smiling face to a face of horror, the boy turned and ran. Greig ran after him, leaping round the corner of a building after the child. Greig chased him down an alleyway. The boy pulled over a trash can in an attempt to slow Greig down. The metal cylinder was crushed under Greig’s feet as he pursued the boy. The boy ran down a road, only to find himself at a dead end. Steel railings were all that stood between the boy and a river. And Greig now stood between him and escape. Greig grabbed the boy’s shirt and lifted him off the ground. The boy kicked and struggled in vain as Greig looked him in the eye.
“Why would you do such a thing as to harm another senselessly?” said Greig, who was surprisingly calm considering he was thinking of executing the boy.
“Graek you!” profaned the boy.
“Do you think the Emperor would like this in His world?”
“Graek the Emperor! Let me go!” Greig recoiled slightly at this insult against the Emperor, then looked angrily at the boy.
“Do you profane the Emperor’s Holy name!?” Greig was angry, and was seriously considering executing the boy. He had the authority to do so.
“Graek the fething Emperor! Graek you! Get your dirty hands off me!” the boy struggled more violently, but Greig kept his grip on him.
“You are a fool to blaspheme in front of one of the Emperor’s Most Holy Servants,” Greig stabbed his sword in between 2 paving stones and reached for his bolt pistol, “You have attacked another without reason, you have resisted capture, you have disrespected the Adeptus Astrates and you have dared to profane the Emperor’s name!” Greig brought the boy’s face closer to his, “Did you think you could get away with this?” the boy didn’t say anything, he merely laughed. Greig growled and raised the pistol to the boy’s head. He stopped laughing and gaped at the gun.
“In the name of the Most Holy Emperor, I execute you as a traitor against humanity,” Greig readied his arm for the shot, “Goodbye, filth,” Greig pulled on the trigger, and with an almighty bang, a bullet was sent screaming into the boy’s head. And the boy went limp. Greig effortlessly threw the bloodied boy like a rag over the railing into the river, returned his pistol to its holster, and picked up his sword.

On returning to the base of the watch tower, he found his helmet lying on the floor where he had dropped it. He kissed the skull on the forehead of the mask before returning the helmet onto his head. After securing his helmet 3 marines approached him, one Greig recognised as Veteran Sergeant Farius, a warrior that had fought with him on Kraag a few days ago.
“Chapter Master Lord Gormag Harkrot requests an audience with you.” said the Sergeant.
“What does it regard?”
“It regards your recent victory on Kraag.”
“Wrong,” said Greig, looking each marine in the eye one by one, “it regards OUR recent victory on Kraag.”
“I didn’t plan the battle, my lord, I merely fought, any other Marine would have fought as bravely and as well as I did.”
“You still fought, Farius, and that’s what counts,” Greig smiled at Farius, although he couldn’t see it. And Farius smiled too.

Bmaxwell
21-08-2005, 05:12
Might not be a bad idea for no one to comment about any one's stoires that way no ones votes are effected

IceFire
24-08-2005, 17:22
Heres my entry for the competition, you might recognize it as i had it posted on portent. (thats not against the rules is it? it is my own work)

Achieving Zen.

Grit-Blaster turned his bikes trigger to 'on' and moved all the levers into the red. He pushed his foot further down on the pedal and twisted the handles as far as they would go. His beautiful blue bike screamed in pleasure and emitted a huge amount of black, acrid smoke as it increased its' already terrifying speed to even higher speeds. The bikers tearing along behind him followed suit and soon a wall of bullets was flying across the desert, followed closely by the bikers themselves.

Sabina directed her squads fire towards a cloud of greasy smoke and foul dust that was advancing across the desert at an alarming rate. The four sisters with heavy bolters calmly squeezed the triggers while the other sisters prepared the ammunition boxes and belts for easier re-loading. Although the cloud, and now the noise also, continued towards the Sisters ranks it was not quiet so loud or thick.
A few lucky shots from the Orkoid attackers managed to reach the Sisters lines. Sabina felt a few shots bounce of her armour, and saw a Sister fall to the ground. She ordered the heavy bolters to fire again, and made her way to her fallen Sister with blue shoulder markings on the black armour, marking her as one of Sabina's squad. It was Zen. Sabina felt a rush of dread as she rolled Zen over, but she saw that Zen had only been winded.
"Careful, Zen. The Emperor would not be pleased if you died before killing at least one of his enemies." She said in relief, pulling the young girl to her feet.
"Sorry Sabina, I thought we were out of range. I have studied the Orks as much as any of our hated foes. The weapons on the bikes should be less than that of our bolters."
"Out here I'm your Sister Superior. But it is true; their weapons are out of range, usually. Sometimes the Emperor likes to keep us on our toes. You must always be ready to take his tests head on." She smiled kindly towards Zen, then performed an about face and yelled in mimic of the cries going up around her. "Blue one! Reload! All Sisters prepare to fire! Bolters and Heavy Bolters! After your third clip retreat to behind Squads Red one and Red four. Ready! Fire!"

Grit-Blaster glanced to his sides and saw with glee that he was in front of everyone else. He alone was going to get the honour of reaching the enemies lines first. He let out a mighty yell of sheer joy and squeezed the trigger again, even though it was still in the 'on' position. Suddenly a yellow bike, with big shooters coming over and above the riders' shoulders, drew even and slowly overtook him. Grit-Blaster recognised 'The Yellow Streak', and his yell turned to fury.
Grit-Blaster opened the small hatch between his bikes' handlebars and emptied a bright red canister into it. His biked roared with anger and started to close the distance between The Yellow Streak and himself, not to mention the ranks of Sisters of Battle.
As they drew even The Yellow Streak noticed Grit-Blaster and hit various buttons and cranked dials up to there maximum. In return Grit-Blaster pulled his secret lever, Darlene, and again they drew even. First one, then the other pulled ahead, and all the time their big shooters were blasting ahead of them.
Ever so slowly, Grit-Blaster pulled ahead once more. Just as it became clear that The Yellow Streak could not match Grit-Blaster a hail of metal slugs slammed into his bike, sending yellow shrapnel flying in every direction.
Grit-Blaster left The Yellow Explosion behind him, as well as several other, smaller explosions, and accelerated towards the Sisters once more.

As Sabina ejected the third clip from her boltpistol and stored it safely in her belt, drawing a fourth and slamming it into place easily, she fell back to behind squad Red one. As Red squads prepared to make full use of their flamers Sabina glanced to her side and found that Zen had found her way there once more. She smiled as she fell to one knee, taking this opportunity she offered a short prayer to the Emperor, before yelling her orders.
"Firing positions! Prepare for counter charge."
Zen and the other sisters in the first row followed Sabina's example and dropped to one knee allowing the sisters behind clearer shots.

Grit-Blaster could see some of the Sister's fall back, even though the last volley had reduced the number of Orks dramatically. But even as the first lines fell back, more Sisters moved forward to take their place. Grit-Blaster pulled his choppa from its holster and pulled the starter, hearing it fire into life briefly above his bikes engine. He braced himself, for he knew what these Sisters did just before their lines were assaulted.

Sabina kept her boltpistol level and her eyes on the enemy, but stuck her sword into the sand briefly to hold the pendant around her neck. As her hand reached for the sword she felt Zen's hand squeeze hers for less than a moment.
Then squads Red one and Red four released gouts of flaming gel over the Ork bikers.

Grit-Blaster felt his left arm (Iz dat my left arm? Maybe dat my right…well dat arm) getting extremely hot. Hotter than his bikes engine, that was for sure, and that thing got really hot. His arm was on fire. In fact his bike, his body and his arm was on fire, but this wouldn’t stop him. A thick stream of gel had sprayed across him and his bike, as well as the rest of the bikers. Several more had fallen, leaving fewer still.

Zen brought her hand back to rest the muzzle of her Bolter on it. The flamers had started up and Zen saw the flames reach heights three times that of a woman. Squads Red one and Red four had charged into the insane Orks, some falling from the continually firing big shooters before even getting into combat.
She was dimly aware of a loud yell coming from somewhere nearby as she, and her fellow Sisters, charged into the fray, and was surprised to find it coming from her own mouth.
Zen was running faster than she had ever ran before, but Sabina still over took her, sword above her head and boltpistol blazing.
An Ork on a red bike zoomed over the battle field and knocked Zen to the ground, her power suit taking most of the force behind the blow, but Zen had not completed her power suit training, and didn’t know the correct way to roll with the blows. She ended up sprawled on her back in the sand, with the thick black smoke rolling over her.
She struggled to her feet and felt a wave of fear.
There was no one was around. No other Sisters, no Orks.
No Sabina.
The thick smoke that obscured her view surrounded her. Zen felt like she was going to throw up. At that moment some of the smoke blew to the side and opened a passage that let her catch a terrifying glimpse of Sabina.
Sabina, surrounded by three Ork bikers, was desperately trying to fend off the powerful blows. At her feet were the bodies of Sisters and Orks alike, although more black than green.

Grit-Blaster let out a yell and pulled a tight donut, the other bikers following his lead. They circled around a dozen Sisters with blue and red shoulder pads. Suddenly he leaned even closer to the floor and using his foot as a point to pivot about, turned tighter still, crashing into a power armoured figure. He hacked at the figures' elbows and neck; those were the weak points. She fell and Grit-Blaster moved to his next victim.
After a few more Sisters falling Grit-Blaster noticed that there was only him and another biker against one remaining sister. A third biker on a red bike burst out of the smoke and started circling the melee before joining in.

Sabina realised with a certain trepidation that she was about to die at the hands of three green, drooling, speed freaks. But she was determined to take down her killers with her. She deflected a clumsy blow directed at her neck and countered with a slash that bounced of the riders' bike. She feinted left and parried a blow from the right before thrusting into the beast's stomach. She had been aiming for the chest cavity where the heart-like organ was. A gut wound would kill it eventually, but it would still fight until it died. She heard a whirring noise behind her and gracefully spun to the left, narrowly avoiding the blow from behind, however another Ork managed to make contact and sent her to the ground. Sabina rolled over and shot the Ork in the head, splattering his tiny brain across the desert sand, however the Orks hand twisted the handle and the bike shot forwards before falling over, trapping Sabina.
Yelling in fury as much as pain Sabina thought of all the glorious martyrs and saints, and how none of them had died trapped under a two tonne metal monster. From her narrow vantage point under the bike, Sabina saw a wheel pull up to her position.

IceFire
24-08-2005, 17:23
Zen saw Sabina trapped under the bike and realised that she was sprinting across the bloodstained desert toward her, Bolter blazing, hair flying behind her, voice raised to the Emperor.

Grit-Blaster leaned down to see if the sister was dead. Suddenly he heard a noise and turned to see a small power armoured sister running at him. He started to laugh, but then three bolts hit him. Two detonated against his armour or bike but the third penetrated his abdomen and the resulting explosion spread his guts across the dunes, throwing him from his bike.

Sabina tried to reach her boltpistol but it was too far away. Any second now the Ork that belonged to that bike would reach down with his choppa and end her service to the Emperor. Sabina steeled herself and prepared to make her last strike with her sword. She didn’t even have any frag's to take them both out. But the choppa never came, and later she was very glad that she hadn't had any frag grenades. Zen crouched down and together, with the power suits, they were able to roll the huge bike over and release Sabina.
Although Sabina was free from the bike, they were both still trapped in a huge cloud of smoke. Neither of them remembered which way their lines lay.
Sabina was both devastated at the loss of her fellow sisters, yet exhilarated that Zen was still alive to be with her.
Together they set out in a likely looking direction.

Grit-Blaster tried to stand up, but he had no legs. He crawled over to his bike. It was no longer shiny and blue, but a rather ugly scorched brown colour. The metal had also melted in some places, which ruined the sleek look it had once had.
He was furious. A Dok could easily give him a new set of legs, but the damn Mekboyz were always so busy these days, it would take them ages to get around to his Bike.
On the other hand it looked like every one was dead except him, so he had looting rights! He could take all the bikes and pay the Mekboyz to make him a new bike, bigger, louder and faster than his old one!
With a determined look in his eye, Grit-Blaster started crawling around, dragging all the bikes and gubbinz into one big pile.

Wiseman
25-08-2005, 16:53
nope its not against the rules

Bmaxwell
25-08-2005, 18:40
To bad it has to be only Warhammer or 40k related.

cubbster
25-08-2005, 20:50
Here is a piece of fiction i have written for a games day 2006 table, my submission for the writing competition!

++Necrons inhabit and build temples way before human existence++

The sky blackened as burning mycetic spores rained down onto the closing pyramid, the sky filled with the ash of tens of thousands of the life bringing globes. All around the center pyramid strange pylons crackled with energy, solely responsible for the immolation of the unwanted invaders to the planet. As the pyramid closed, the towers started to hum and vibrate with a force which cracked rocks and shifted the very surface of the planet.

The invaders were everywhere now, all around the planet was burning and the few remaining metal warriors were slowly being dragged down by the hordes of chitinous life. Only two areas remained in complete control of the rulers of the planet, the last vestige of the immortal sons of the star gods. In the southern most point of the planet a huge ship hovered motionless over the ground, basking in the invisible rays from the two suns low in the sky. On the ground hordes of scarabs worked feverishly to prepare the device, tomb spiders hovering close by and aiding with their considerable strength. Watching over all of them a lord dressed in tattered robes, his presence and sheer mechanical will ensuring the work gets completed in time. With practiced ease he relays commands to his forces battling outside the walls of the bastion, informing them the time is near and to pull back to the walls.

On the equator of the planet the pylons are humming at such a frequency that any invader within 50 miles is instantly reduced to mush, internal organs blending with bone in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden the reason behind the pylons becomes clear as the vibrating causes the enormous closing pyramid to start sinking below the earth. The metallic beings walk around unaffected by the vibrations, their smooth metal alloys rippling perfectly to the waves of force emanating from the pylons. The warriors gather for one last effort, unafraid and unaffected by the inevitable demise of each and every one of them.

To the south the invaders finally break through the metallic lines, a huge beast of war smashing through metal as if it was nothing more than weak, human flesh. The lord turns, and commanding his bodyguard to follow him, heads towards the gap in the defences. Before he can reach there the ship above him brightens, and finally starts to move upwards away from the planet atmosphere. As the ship moves, its influence is removed from the invaders, who press their attack with the ferocity only known in mindless killers. Their numbers are limitless, for each creature struck down with scythe or gun five more spring forward. The lord knows his time is over, but with the ship moving his task is completed. As the ship picks up speed it starts to glow with incredible brightness and heat, immolating anything within its radius. The warriors knew how to fight this enemy, knowing the weakness of the alien flesh to fire. Suddenly the lord heard a thundering sound, enough to shatter the remaining structures in the overrun compound. The ship seemed to ripple, before a huge hole in time appeared before it, and accelerating to a speed beyond comprehension the ship flashed through the hole. The lord gazed upon the destruction wrought by the shockwave of the ship entering the warp in the planet’s atmosphere. As it watched the shockwave getting closer the lord was satisfied and if smiling had been part of its programming would have been doing just that. The wave hit with the force of two suns colliding, the lord knew his duty was done and in the last second before he was obliterated sent a signal to the center of the planets surface.

With a crack like a cannon shot the pyramid finally closed, and with energy coursing along its surface it slowly sank into the ground. As the earth passed over the top of it the pyramid kept sinking until it came to a rest hundreds of feet below the ground. On the surface above, the great devourer had conquered and prepared to strip the planet of all remaining vestiges of life. The pylons however, hadn’t stopped humming......

Suddenly the energy was released, spreading across the surface of the world from pylon to pylon, all dotted across the landscape. As the energy passed across the planet it scoured it of any life, alien or natural nothing survived as the energy wave stripped everything down to their component atoms. With the power of the most extreme self destruct system ever conceived, the planet was stripped in a matter of seconds. Then a terrible silence fell on the planet, broken only by the pylons collapsing. All that is left is a sun baked desert wasteland, marked only with the rubble of a fallen civilization.........



++NEXT TRANSMISSION++


©Copyright Lindz Writings 2005©


Any comments/opinions welcome!

Cubbster.

deathblade
26-08-2005, 17:53
here's my entry. i love this story i wrote this top be my first chapter of a story i'm writing.

for the blood god!!

Sirith the chaos sorcerer stood in back of ten cultists dedicated to their unholy master and lord the blood god khorne. “Start chanting” sirith said impatiently. He was tired of waiting for things to happen. He himself started to chant wildly in an unholy toung not uttered casually. In front of him and the cultists were the five heretics who were raising the vats of blood that were to be used for this ritual….

When the vats were raised and the cultists quieted down the heart of the ritual was started. The cultists went into a frenzy of chanting wildly that filled the room with a dark voice that grew louder with each passing second. Sirith could feel the dark mystical energies of the warp fill the room and swell up with in him. But the ritual required more. “Louder.” He said in a harsh tone of voice. The cultists chanted louder. “I need more.” Sirith thought in the deepest pits of his mind. “louder.” he said almost wanting to yell.
One of the cultists dropped dead in death frenzy. The energies of the warp were much more powerful now and sirith could feel his energy bursting at the seams wanting to tear loose and engulf his body and mind in the warp. “Now.” he said with a sick smile across his face….

“Now for the blood god.” Said sirith. “Oh great god of blood we call.” Chanted sirith. “Let your great daemons come forth.” His tone raising. “to spill blood in your name.” sirith was screaming now. “LET THEM COME FORTH!!!” with that thousands of bloodletters spilled from the caldrons of blood. And with a mighty roar a bloodthirster jumped from the middle caldron swung its mighty axe and beheaded all the cultists.

“DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPORER AND TO THE ENIMIES OF THE BLOOD GOD!!!!” With that said and done sirith bowed to his new master and lead the mighty daemons out of the chamber of blood and took a force of traitor space marines into the heart of the imperium with the iron axe of khorne
:evilgrin:

VanDoo
26-08-2005, 18:14
@ Deathblade: Your story is way, WAY too short! It's not even 400 words long.

Wiseman
28-08-2005, 00:53
yeh deathblade you will have to make it more then twice as long to enter it...

Adept
29-08-2005, 16:42
ONE
The Mk 17 Valkyrie fell through the night sky like a dead bird, plummeting to the ground with a terrible, irresistible speed. The Imperial Guard Stormtroopers carried within it rocked in their seats as the craft was buffeted by turbulence. The pilot held grimly to the controls, fighting the elements trying to throw the drop ship off course.

"ETA for the drop zone, ten minutes" announced the pilot over the internal comm system. Back in the troop hold, figures and facts started filing through Sergeant Thorn's head. Their target, a defense laser silo, was five klicks from the drop zone. It should take the Stormtroopers one hour to cross the open countryside, making the time to target oh-three-hundred local. Allow half an hours variation for terrain and complications, makes it a window from oh-three-hundred to oh-three-thirty. They were to rendezvous with two other squads at oh-three-forty-five at grid reference G:43 - 12:77 and co-ordinate their efforts to destroy the silo before the heavy troop landers could commence the main assault.

Thorn looked at the other men in his squad, lit by the dim orange glow of the lights in the Valkyries hold. They were quiet, professional and experienced troopers with the best training and equipment the Imperium had to offer. Only the fabled Astartes chapters were better at the art of war, and they were few and far between, beholden to none.

The faces of his men were hidden behind the reflective surface of their visors, their voices as they spoke were muffled by the re-breathers attached to their helmets. Their fatigues and carapace armour was camouflaged to match the lightly forested terrain they were about to drop into. Their packs and grav chutes were on their backs, and webbing belts were wrapped around their wastes. Each trooper carried his standard issue hellgun and was festooned with grenades, extra ammo clips, knives, side-arms, demo charges and other assorted accoutrements of war. They spoke to each other in hushed tones, discussing things unrelated to the mission; girls, drinks, who owed who credits and if anyone had any spare lho sticks. The small smokes were frowned upon by Officers, but it helped relax the troopers so Thorn allowed them. Besides, there was nothing like a good smoke after a succesful mission.

The red pre-jump light went on and conversation ceased. The soldiers stood and made a final check of their weapons and grav chutes. Thorn moved to the rear jump door and punched the controls. The door opened and the wind rushed into the hold, tugging at the Stormtroopers like a desperate, frantic ghost. He spoke over the squad comm frequency.

“All right boys, you know the mission.”

"Sure thing Sarge, just like that one on Deron prime" replied Sal, one of the troopers.

"Stow it Sal. We do this one by the book. No one gets lazy"

The light went green.

“Now get out of here. I’ll see you all on the ground.”

One by one, the troopers jumped out of the drop ship and vanished from sight. A few shouts of exhiliration came over the comms. This was always one of the best parts of any mission. Nothing had gone wrong yet, and everyone was still alive.

“And let’s hope it stays that way.”

Quickly, Thorn was alone in the back of the Valkyrie. He hit the pilots comm frequency.

“Pilot, squad alpha is away. Over”

“Roger that. Good hunting down there. Over”

Thorn turned and stepped out of the hold, into the howling night air.

Adept
29-08-2005, 16:43
TWO
The main things you noticed were the cold, and the sound. The wind cut through fatigues like a knife, sucking your bodyheat out as surely as ice or snow, while the ghost of the wind screamed in your ear making it impossible to hear anything that wasn't projected over the comm network. Falling, spreadeagled through the air, Thorn checked the altimeter on his wrist. The grav chutes were an impressive piece of kit. They let you drop to 250 metres before kicking in, slowing your descent to a crawl. By the time you hit the ground you were only falling at two metres a second. He watched the numbers on his wrist scroll past with a terrible speed. He almost panicked for a second as they hit 250, the chute kicking in at 245. There was a failure incident rate of about one in ten thousand. No matter how low the odds, every drop trooper held the secret fear that this time, this time, it was their turn.

The sound of the wind, and the cold as it cut into his flesh both subsided almost instantly. He was still falling pretty fast, but compared to the uncontrolled free-fall it felt like he was hanging in mid air.

He looked around, activating the low-light amplification built into his visor. Below him, the figures of his squad loomed out of the dark like light green puffs of smoke, individual features lost in the darkness.

The altimeter dropped below 100.

Less than a minute later, he was on the ground.

He unclipped the grav chute and left it on the ground. He shouldered his hellgun and scanned the perimeter. No resistance was expected, but the only reward of complacency was death. he keyed the comms.

"Thorn here. Everyone down okay?"

A chorus of 'roger that' replies came over the comms.

He pulled the map, flashlight and locater out of a pouch on his webbing and checked their position. They were dead in the centre of the drop zone. He scanned the surroundings, folded the map and replaced the items. He switched the comm frequency to mission command.

"Command, this is Alpha lead. Alpha squad has made a clean drop"

A few seconds later, a distant and tinny voice came over the speakers in his helmet.

"Roger that Thorn. Bravo and Charlie squads are in position. Proceed with mission."

"Roger that" he replied. "Thorn out"

Thorn turned and spoke to the waiting Stormtroopers.

"All right. Derik, you're on point. We're heading north five clicks, bearing one twelve. Weapons free everyone, and stay frosty. Let's head out."

Adept
29-08-2005, 16:45
THREE
Thorn was crouched in the undergrowth, watching the clearing that was marked as the rendevous point for the three Stormtrooper squads. The march had been quick and uneventful, so Alpha squad had been early. Bravo squad, lead by Sergeant Royck had arrived ten minutes later, signalling their position with a flashlight before opening comms. Thorn looked across to where he knew Royck and his men were waiting. he thought he could make out a troopers silhouette through the foliage and the darkness, but he wasn't certain.

WINK WINK

A single point of light flashed in the darkness, fifty metres distant across the clearing. Thorn flashed a single wink in return.

WINK WINK

The light replied.

"This is Alpha, that you Charlie?"

"Roger that Alpha. Glad to see you." Segeant Barret from Charlie squads voice came over the comms.

"Come on over, Charlie."

Thorn watched as ten figures formed out of the darkness, what faint light there was glinting off their visors as their heads swivelled, constantly scanning the edges of the clearing.

As Charlie squad reached their position, the troopers greeted each other with subdued enthusiasm. Barret crouched next to Thorn. They waited as Bravo squad moved in.

Thorn pulled out the mission maps and schematics.

"As per the briefing, my squad will lay charges on both the primary and secondary power generators for the surface facility." He pointed to two small buildings marked on the map. For whatever reason, both were built into the perimeter wall, allowing easy access.

"Then we'll link up with Bravo squad here" He indicated a gate in the wall on the south side of the facility. "From there we'll move against the troop barracks." He pointed again. "There is an estimated fifty traitor infantry stationed here, with a further five hundred able to be deployed here within two hours." Both squad leaders nodded. This was all covered in the briefing. It was just being re-hashed for the sake of completness, to eliminate any possible misunderstandings.

"Charlie squads sharpshooters will provide covering fire from here, here and here." More pointing. "Their primary job is to take out any sentries on the walls. After that, they are to scale the walls and provide covering fire into the compound itself."

"Once surface resistance has been eliminated, Alpha and Bravo squads will run a sweep of the facility." It went without saying that no prisoners would be taken. "Then we hold it until we are relieved. If it becomes impossible to defend the facility, we drop demo charges into the laser silos and sell our lives as dearly as we can."

Both squad leaders gave a tight grimace at this. It wasn't a desirable outcome. If no relief came without two hours it meant something had gone drastically wrong with the landfall operations. It also meant the Stormtroopers were dead.

Thorn folded the maps and replaced them in his webbing.

"We maintain comm silence until the power generators are blown. Now, lets move out."

The laser silo was four hundred metres north. The three squads seperated soon after the rendezvous, heading in slightly different directions to take up their individual positions. The facility itself was about six hundred metres long, and three hundred wide. It housed four large underground laser silos which, if activated, would emerge through large sliding portals and unleash a truly massive barrage at low orbiting ships. Only the largest of capital ships could match the firepower of these defensive weapons, and those ships were far too precious to waste in a fire-fight of that magnitude. Hence the call for this operation.

The undergrowth had been cleared for fifty metres from around the facility wall, which was made of thick ferrocrete and topped with rolls of razor wire. Three bright points of light indicated the presence of floodlights inside the walls. The large, primary power generator was easy to locate by the low hum it emitted. The secondary generator was a further hundred metres down, and silent. Thorn crouched in long grass, inside the forest looking at the main generator. Derik had been charged with placing the charges on this generator while another trooper, Typoc, had the secondary one.

Thorn waited, and watched as Derik made his way to the wall. There was no movement on the wall, but that didn't mean there was no one there. Derik kept low, wriggling forwards when the wind moved the grass and covered the noise and movement of his passage. Once he reached the shadow of the wall, he placed a large demo charge with an adhesive backing on the rough ferrocrete. He set it to a remote detonator.

"Sarge, this is Derik. Charges in place."

"Roger that, get back here Derik"

Seconds later he got an identical transmission from Typoc.

Ten minutes later, Alpha squad was making it's way around the facility to where Bravo squad lay waiting. After an uneventful half hour, they reached the position where Bravo should be waiting for them. Thorn pulled out his flashlight and gave two winks. And waited.

WINK

Over there, closer to the silo facility. Thorn replied, two winks of light into the darkness, and moved towards the light. Royck's men loomed out of the darkness as Alpha squad approached.

"Breaching charges in place?" asked Thorn.

"Affirmitive. Just say the word, mission lead, and we're in."

Thorn checked the time. Charlie squad should have been in position ten minutes ago.

He flipped the safety on the detonator for the demo charges on the power generators. His thumb rested on the button as he activated the comms. Tension built in his chest, tightening his breathing. He opened the frequency to all squads and pushed the detonator.

Two bright flashes roared on the other side of the facility, and Thorn shouted into the comms.

"Alpha lead to all squads! Mission is GO!"

Someone in Bravo squad hit the detonator for the breaching charge, and the gate was blown open. The floodlights in the facility flickered and died.

"GO! GO! GO!" shouted Thorn as the Stormtroopers rushed into the facility, their every action revealing their experience and gruelling training. They were in, and now the enemy would pay.

Adept
29-08-2005, 16:52
Theres the three parts of my story. I seperated it into three posts to make it easier to read, I hope that's okay.

Grand Master Belial
30-08-2005, 17:49
FALLEN - Opening to a novel in progress

It was quiet on the walkway above the yard of the old manufactorium. Abandoned long ago for reasons only few know, this is now the playground for the forgotten youth of the ancient city and gangs from the Hive city that loomed to the North. However, the walkway was occupied by someone who was anything but young. A solitary figure stood silently on the walkway taking in the surroundings; nothing, but an empty floor that once housed large machines. Content that the area was deserted for the time being, he headed into the sanctum of a long dead administratum. Inside, there was nothing but an ancient steelwood table and stool on a strewn floor of old parchment. There was a doorway leading into a back area where a sleeping palette lay on the ground. The man went to a large tome that sat in between two candlesticks on the table. He wrote an entry and began preparations to retire for the evening. As he kneeled in supplication for prayer, something in the air triggered his senses. Someone was approaching.

He silently returned to his lookout post near the covered walkway. On the ground below, a boy walked cautiously onto the manufactorium floor. He wore the markings of a local gang known to fight over this area. The boy looked young but had a physique that suggested a hard life of labor. The boy carried an old shotgun in dire need of repair, but the boy clutched it so tight that his knuckles were white and he was shaking visibly. It looked as if the boy was sent out on a Trial to claim his spot in the gang. As he watched the boy from his perch, he registered another presence. His senses led his eyes across the floor to a form moving silently above the boy in the shadows of the catwalks. It was taller and it was armored. The slender form stalked the boy in the shadows until he came under the walkway. Silently, instincts tuned to battle took over and the hunter itself was being hunted as the cloaked figure crawled along a higher catwalk over the floor until he was over the armored form below. The boy continued right down the middle of the manufactorium oblivious of the danger that was targeting him from above.


The boy came upon the portal marking the end of the manufactorium and found it locked, as he turned around to go back the armored form dropped out of the shadows but not out of the figure’s gaze. It was a Spyrer from one of the rich houses in the city. He was wearing close fitting segmented armor and his weaponry consisted primarily of a pair of long slender blades on the each hand. The boy nearly frozen in fear remembered to raise his shotgun and pull the trigger. The shot went wild. After the echoes subsided inside the vast structure, an electronic noise sounded out that could only be the laugh from the spyrer’s vox-caster. Firing again brought the laughing up short as the shot again went wild but this was all the distraction the robed figure needed. As the sounds of the second shot rang out the figure leapt over the rail and landed behind the walking Spyrer who was again laughing. The spyrer began to move towards the boy when the figure reacted like a lightning strike, using his hands; he grabbed and twisted the head of the spyrer so quick that a loud snap let out. The spyrer’s neck was broken and the body tumbled forward onto the ground. The boy stood there frozen like a statue mesmerized at what had just happened. When he looked up, the figure was gone and the body lay before him. The boy hoisted the dead form on his back and made his way back to the gang. Even if he did not kill it, the spyrer’s armor and weaponry would still fetch a high trading price at the Guilder’s Hall. The boy was still recalling what happened when he arrived at their gang’s hideaway. He remembered very little except for one thing the huge stranger had a symbol on his robe – a winged sword.


Back inside the manufactorium, the figure prepared to leave. Even if the boy did not tell the rest of the gang about him, the figure did not want to take any chances now just as he never took chances over the preceding decades. He was a hunted man, but not by typical bounty hunters. No, he was being chased by Space Marines of the Dark Angels chapter, because he is one of them and took up arms against them when they returned to their homeworld of Caliban. Veteran Sergeant Leviticus was one of the Fallen Dark Angels.


Grand Master Belial

Grand Master Belial
30-08-2005, 17:53
PART TWO

Leviticus walked alone through the wastelands toward a section of the old city that once housed a Precinct of the Adeptus Arbites. The Arbitrators patrolled this area some forty years ago, but uprooted when the chemical storms began and rendered the area undesirable. The ground was packed earth but showed no sign of vegetation. Leviticus could recall a time when this area was green and the city in pristine order.


He had worked in this area for a time at a warehouse close to the precinct. He was even a part of the workforce that helped build the precinct. It allowed him to hideaway items that he now sought out to reacquire.



Moving up to the blast doors, Leviticus saw that the rune pad was damaged beyond repair. He proceeded around the compound until he got over to utility access hatch covered over in a thick layer of muck and debris. Clearing the way, he opened the hatch and lowered himself down into the small cavern. The floor crawled with life that would make a lesser being shrink away in disgust. The foul odor of years of neglect, excrement and death permeated air so thick that Leviticus began chanting a battle meditative chant that allowed him to focus on his goal. He found the power shunt for the precinct and the plascrete wall into which it dove.



Typical, the Adeptus Arbites were always paranoid and fortified their precincts from every conceivable direction. However, they never prepared to have a member of the Legio Astartes amongst their charges. Leviticus made sure that he worked on this section of wall. One block bore a sigil of a winged sword. He pressed on the block and it moved. Crushing anything under his feet, the Marine planted his feet and with a mighty shove, he pushed through a number of blocks into a void behind the wall. Entering into the void was like entering a tomb. It was eerily quiet. He found himself in one of the holding cells of the Arbites. The light radiating down from the access hatch provided little light into the cell, but it was more than enough for Leviticus, his enhanced vision picking up minute details in the gloom. Looking around revealed a pile of bones and one complete skeleton.



Cannibal. They should have died with what little honor they had left instead of feasting on his fellow man. With a face of disgust, Leviticus crushed the skull of the complete skeleton. With anger in his blood rising, he turned to the cell door and heaved it out of the wall. With a loud clatter that sounded like a explosion in the gloom; he walked over to where the Marshall’s sanctum was located.



Inside there was nothing, light trickled into the room through dust-caked windows high above, revealing a room that was bare except for the bookcases along the wall. Pulling the bookcases away from the wall, he withdrew a long combat knife and picked at the mortar to around the blocks below where the bookcases sat. Working a block free, he was able to heave a few more blocks revealing a hidden steel door below the floor. Once placed as an emergency escape route, it was later blocked up to prevent the builders and usurpers from gaining access through this alternate route. The route was only partially finished, but it was more than enough for Leviticus’ needs. Breaking the seal, a number of glowbulbs lit up the tunnel below. This tunnel remained immaculate, no signs of detritus could be seen and that pleased the Fallen Angel. He made his way underground to a large room deep underground. This bunker within a bunker had never seen any other use than what Leviticus gave it many decades ago. Within moments, he plunged into the portal of an adjacent chamber. In there was his destination. In there is what he came to retrieve.



Two steps within, Leviticus could do nothing more than kneel in supplication for what stood before his eyes, it made his two hearts beat with long forgotten pride and the memories contained within.



Before him stood ten polished black suits of power armor, each standing at attention. Each suit had been repaired and maintained before placing them into this chamber to rest until the time was needed for them to be used again. Behind each, was rack carrying the weapons used by each suit of armor.



Leviticus knew each occupant of the other nine suits of armor. They had been his brothers back in the time of the Great Crusade. Each brother had honors heaped upon him in the time of the Crusade. Two of them, Lauviah and Caliel, still kept the laurel wreaths upon their helms. Even after all that has happened, they continued to believe in the honors granted to them by the Emperor. The events on Caliban never sat well within them, but they were loyal and followed their orders without question. Of the ten, they were perhaps, the most innocent of the squad. Perhaps it is because of that, that they were both granted a noble death. Death protecting the Imperium they once helped build. Their remains entombed within their suits of armor. Their final battle chronicled on a piece of parchment and affixed on their right shoulder pad below the sigil of the Dark Angels. A book of their achievements since Caliban rested on the hip of each Marine. Leviticus brought both fists over his two fists smartly, and gave each Marine a Warrior’s Bow.



Beside them was the armor of Aftiel, his armor was empty. It has been sixteen years since he was captured by the Angels of Redemption. His armor had very little adornment. No book on his hip, it was taken. Only a necklace rests around the neck of the hollow armor. On the necklace were four black feathers and one white one. Each one represents ten Brothers that he killed; the white one representing those that he has killed since the destruction of Caliban. Most of them with the now inert plasmagun sitting behind the armor, he always yearned for battle and discovering the thrill of the challenge of fighting armored marines gave him a fight he could not ignore. Becoming a mercenary, he went off to fight for money; leaving behind only those totems that linked him to his ancient legacy of the Dark Angels. Apparently, it was not enough.



Kasdaye was murdered by associates of the local magistrate. Kasdaye never liked seeing mere humans trounce on the ideals of the Imperium. Where he once solved issues with controlled bursts of his Heavy Bolter, now, he sought to bring down the Magistrate through politics. His bullish demeanor got him surrounded by a mob that overwhelmed him on his way home. Clubbing and stabbing him until his enhanced body could not take the punishment, Kasdaye made an awesome account of himself by killing a large score of his attackers. The kill tally of 37 was added to his parchment attached to his shoulder guard. The squad of Dark Angels that turned up a few weeks later was disturbed that the person they sought had died a violent death. It angered them more that the body was never recovered. Leviticus saw that he was memorialized as a Dark Angel here in this tomb.



Zikiel & Akhibel both were pressed into the Imperial Guard where their Marine Physiology became clearly apparent. The Angels of Vengeance captured the two brothers and destroyed all witnesses. Four thousand souls went to the Emperor instead of fighting in one of the Imperium’s war zones. Just for two Marines in hiding. Leviticus said a silent prayer to the two empty suits and to all the souls lost just because the Unforgiven fear their secret shame being released. Too self-absorbed to remember their duty to the Emperor, they have forgotten the instructions personally spoken to the Dark Angels Legion. “Spread the Glory of the Imperium of Man across the galaxy, let none stop you for you are Marines and all will wither before you.”



Phanuel was crushed in a mishap in a manufactorium. Liwet turned to the dark powers and became an aspiring champion of the Lord of Decay. Leviticus, Phanuel and Kasdaye both paid their former brother a visit. Liwet was personally dispatched and burned by his former squad mates. While his armor stands among the ten. No adornment has been added since his second fall.



Lastly, he came upon the suit of Omael. He was the original Sergeant of the squad. Omael knew more of the fall of Luther than the rest of the squad. It was intentional. Omael was a learned tactician and a hero amongst the squad. He listened to the whisperings and the talk that the Lion had betrayed them. Stating things like the Lion left them to rot in the rear while the younger brethren went off to cut their teeth in battle and gain glory. Omael was proud of the younger brethren, many of the Sergeants had been taught by him. His was content with the glory he had received and looked forward to becoming a Master of Initiates. Instructing those who were to become Space Marines.

Grand Master Belial

Grand Master Belial
30-08-2005, 17:54
PART THREE

Hearing all the talk of glory lost had saddened Omael. Nearly every Brother left behind had honors and glory enough that the artificers were still adding the adornments to a marine’s armor when the Lion returned to Caliban. As the orbital defense batteries opened up, Omael knew that to fight amongst their brethren had begun. He was a traitor by association. He led the squad with all the tactical ingenuity that he could and forced the squad into a very regimented fire discipline. Only shoot at those that attack the squad. The entrenched Fallen Dark Angels could not hold out against the fury of the Lion and the immense orbital bombardment. Omael began a fighting withdrawal, retreating toward a spaceport to extract his squad and get his squad out of a tactically unsound and insane situation. His withdrawal came to the attention of the Master of the Battalion and soon Omael fought against Marines on both sides of the line.


Disgust crossed his face as he fought against brothers who had given themselves over to the ruinous powers. He began to fight with fury against his ruined brethren and in his fury; he had forgotten that there were Marines who were not corrupted by Chaos dying under his blade. Omael stopped giving ground and tenaciously held his ground. The squad followed suit, fighting against Dark Angels of the Lion and Dark Angels of Luther. Omael had started a three-way fight that never boded well for any in the fight. Only a massive explosion from an orbital torpedo broke up the fight and scattered Angels everywhere. Omael rose up out of the debris left behind by the massive shockwave. Had it not been for his armor, the shockwave would have turned him inside out. He requested a sit-rep from his squad and sighed that they all registered alive. In this hellish dream made manifest, there would be no funerals for those that died here. The whole squad showed up at his side with damaged armor and multiple wounds but they were alive enough to continue fighting. Members of his squad were delivering the Emperor’s Mercy to many of the fallen brothers though Omael could see that a few of the squad were enjoying the deliverance of mercy.



Kasdaye covered the squad with his Heavy Bolter, firing a short burst of bolts toward anything posing a threat to the squad. Aftiel had retrieved his plasmagun and he began firing heated death toward any living thing in range. He always fired twice when he found a tainted Marine.



Satisfying honor, Omael rounded up the squad and withdrew them into nearby catacombs. With the orbital bombardment continuing all over the planet, there were not real safe places to go, but up. He his men were fatigued, wounded and low on resources. His mind was reeling with all that had happened on this dark day. How could the Dark Angels have fallen so low that they would turn against each other? How can Luther fire upon his best friend? How can it be that Dark Angels have turned to Chaos? Too many questions… Too many questions…



Leviticus awoke from the memory. For the remaining days of Caliban, Omael led Leviticus and the rest of the squad on a number of surgical strikes. Vanquishing Chaos infected Dark Angels and garnishing enough supplies and materials to get off world. The squad survived to see the fires of their home. They saw vid-feeds of the battle between Luther and the Lion. Supplicating themselves in prayer, they prayed for help in sorting out the Civil War with the Legion. That one day the Legion may one day be whole one again, that this stain on the record and honor of the Dark Angels will be removed. As they escaped Caliban in a Thunderhawk Gunship, a violent warp storm erupted. The little ship was battered by the debris of the dying planet. In a flash of multi-colored light, they awoke somewhere else. Far from Caliban, far from everything they knew. Flung through space and time, Squad Omael arrived in a planetary system far from the ruins of Caliban and several Millennia later.



Omael landed the Thunderhawk and prepared for the squad to disband and dissolve back into Imperial society. The found the settlement Leviticus stood under and made all efforts to return to society, but the grief in Omael’s twin hearts was too much for him and after chronicling the last days of Caliban. He passed command onto Leviticus and the committed ritual suicide with his combat knife.



Leviticus stared up at the armor containing his mentor, friend and commander. Giving another Warrior’s Bow, he reached out to the suit of armor to the right of Omael. His own suit of armor; long has it sat empty. Reciting the prayers to the armor’s machine spirit, He took the armor apart and began to clean and repair the ancient suit of armor. Continuing with the Rites of Consecration followed by the Rites of Adornment he donned his suit of power armor minus the arms, backpack and helmet. On the weapon’s rack behind were the Bolt Pistol and Power Sword given to him by Omael. The sword was Black as his armor save for the gold on the hilt. Omael was given this sword by the Lion himself for his tactical prowess.



Putting the Sword and the last bits of armor into a large rucksack, Leviticus prepared to leave the shrine to his comrades. Perhaps someday, this place will be unearthed and the suits of armor and the few occupants can be returned to the Dark Angels with the respect and honor they deserve. Barricading the entrance to the shrine, Leviticus left the underground chamber by the same way he came in. Blocking all the entrances again and made it appear less conspicuous.



It was night when he climbed out of the access hatch and his senses registered nothing out of the ordinary. His armor stiff with disuse, it still functioned after all this time standing in the shrine. The power in the backpack long since dead, Leviticus walked with the full weight of his armor on him. He did not mind, he remembered several times where he fought without the backpack so that the enemy would never detect their energy signature. He looked toward the hive city looming out of the ground in the distance. For whatever reason, he felt a need to leave this planet and go somewhere else. Where he did not know? But deep down, he was disturbed by the thought of being led into a trap. A trap set for him by the Unforgiven. With that on his mind, he set out on what can be only a quest into the past. A quest into the unknown …

Grand Master Belial

Wiseman
02-09-2005, 01:37
2 weeks to go

major_panic
02-09-2005, 14:34
g'day there, i'm relatively new to these writing boards, but here goes: this is a brief story that i just wrote in a couple of hours, so cheers!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++
For the Emperor - Part One
The whine of the Thunderhawk’s engines filled the air, penetrating even the helmets of the stern Astartes, who sat with heads bowed, each silently praying to the Emperor. However, clad in ceramite-silver Tactical Dreadnought Armour inscribed with ornate gold hexagrammic wards and litanies, armed with a wrist-mounted storm bolter and unique force weapon and proudly displaying a heraldic shield on their armour, these men were much more than mere Space Marines of the Adeptus Astartes.

They were Grey Knights.

The Thunderhawk began to judder roughly, shaking from side to side. The Grey Knight Terminators glanced briefly at one another, their expressions hidden under their argent helms. Each nodded silently to himself, confident in his own and his battle-brothers’ abilities.

“Now entering the atmosphere of the planet Xandia,” announced a tech-servitor from somewhere at the back of the ship. “Planetary landfall is estimated at being no more than five standard minutes.”

As a man, the Grey Knights stood, servomotors in their armour purring softly as they compensated for the armour’s weight. They methodically checked their weaponry, performing small rites of blessing over each weapon, then filed towards the rear hatch of the Thunderhawk.

They formed a small circle, their battle-hardened postures displaying their combat prowess and skills. Brother-Captain Alessio looked around the circle, nodding to each battle-brother in turn.

Brother Bertrem, so skilled in the use of his weapons to the extent that he used them much as a man would his fingers. He nodded in return, flexing his fingers, swinging his Nemesis Force Mace in small circles.

Brother Hamidius, ever eager for battle, his heraldic shield displaying many, many citations for bravery. He, too, nodded, impatiently checking his storm bolter’s ammo feed again and again.

Brother Beslan, always sombre and quiet, yet extremely proficient in the use of their holy incinerator. He merely stared silently at Alessio, then gave him a small nod, silently affirming his readiness for battle.

Finally, Brother Weiss, one of the most devout battle-brothers in the Ordo. He raised the hilt of his halberd to his face, silently saluting Alessio, then falling back into his combat-ready posture.

Alessio silently gave thanks to the Emperor for these fine men that he was honoured to lead into righteous combat, and silently drew his sword.

The hatch of the Thunderhawk opened slowly, the grinding noise emanating from the door’s servomotors momentarily causing Alessio a moment of fear. He quickly dispelled this, again saying a brief prayer to the Emperor.

He spun his sword in a blurred salute, stopping it with the tip pointing directly outside. With a flicker of his mind, he activated its power source. A low humming noise filled the cabin of the Thunderhawk, and was quickly joined by four others. A light blue sheen, emanating from the various weapons, covered the Terminators’ armour.

“Grey Knights… Charge!”

With that, Alessio leaped directly out of the hatch of the Thunderhawk, which was still suspended some fifty meters above the ground!

The blood red robes that he wore around his armour whipped up about his body as he plunged rapidly towards the ground, flapping wildly. As the ground began to grow uncomfortably close, however, Alessio shut his eyes and focused his mind, concentrating his powerful psychic ability.

Just before the Brother-Captain hit the ground, his downward velocity slowed and finally stopped, suspending him a mere meter in the air! He opened his eyes, blinked, and released his concentration. He dropped the last meter, landing with the grace of a flying bird, immediately twirling away, his body dropping into a defensive stance, sword raised high above his head, storm bolter pointed and ready to fire.

The rest of the squad landed mere moments later, all with the grace and agility of their Brother-Captain. They, too, spun around quickly, each assuming an offensive or defensive stance according to their personal preferences for combat.

The Terminators had just landed outside a large fortress manned by a local Guard garrison. The fortress was a typically Imperial one – large buttresses, flying towers, high walls – except for one thing.

Its front gate was surrounded by cultists, each holding a weapon of some sort, chanting blasphemy and denouncing the name of the Emperor. They poured fire into the gates and defensive walls, filling them with staggering volleys of las- or autogun shots that the Guardsmen defending the fortress were hard pressed to return.

The cultists at the back turned to face the new arrivals, only to be cut down by a hail of storm bolter rounds and holy prometheum flame. Rapidly, the news filtered throughout the teeming mass, and row after row of cultists turned to face the new threat.

By then, however, it was too late.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++

i have to post this in two parts as it won't let me post more than X characters or something...

major_panic
02-09-2005, 14:35
For the Emperor - Part Two
The Grey Knight Terminators charged as one, firing short, precise bursts from their storm bolters. Brother-Captain Alessio led the charge, his weight cracking the ground beneath him as his legs pounded the surface, with Brother Beslan running along right beside him.

As soon as they had reached the front rank, Brother Beslan triggered his incinerator’s fuel tanks. Sheets of prometheum flame covered the heretics, stripping them of their flimsy armour in seconds, mercilessly covering the body beneath with holy fire.

Alessio swung his sword left and right, each stroke downing a cultist. To his right, Brother Weiss was gripping his halberd at the hilt, using both the end and the blade to cut down the teeming horde that he faced. A little behind Brother Weiss, Brother Bertrem followed, seemingly dancing in and out of the melee, his weapons blurring with the incredible speed with which he wielded them.

To Alessio’s left, Brothers Beslan and Hamidius were already ahead of him, Brother Beslan using both his incinerator and sword to dispose of the cultists, whereas Hamidius was swinging his double-bladed halberd mightily, causing cultists to fly with his powerful strokes.

Before long, however, the cultists realised that they were against a foe which they simply could not defeat, and resorted to more unconventional tactics – they began throwing themselves at the Terminators, trying to bury them under the sheer weight.

Alessio was somewhat taken aback by this, but before he could react, he was already covered in bodies. The servomotors of his Terminator armour whined in protest, and he realised that it would not be long before he was crushed beyond recovery.

He once again closed his eyes, clearing his mind and concentrating hard. He felt the power begin to build around his body. He focused hard, pulling it all together, before releasing it with a gigantic explosion of force that blew away every cultist within a four-meter radius of Alessio.

He looked around, and silently thanked the Emperor. Only a few cultists remained! They had retreated to a site far out of reach of the fortress’s guns, and there they stood, lasguns drawn, prepared to meet the Grey Knights’ charge.

The five Terminators gathered together, and, striding through the sodden mass of dead bodies on the ground, slowly advanced towards the remaining cultists, some of whom trembled with fear, the tips of their lasguns quivering.

Suddenly, a harsh voice rang out, and the cultists immediately stopped shaking. A Chaos Marine strode boldly from amidst the cultists to face the Grey Knights. Clad in jet-black armour adorned with skulls and demonic runes, and brandishing a huge power fist, the Chaos Marine leered at the Grey Knights, mocking them with his laughter. He roared out a brazen challenge, jeering at the servants of the false Emperor.

The Grey Knights steadfastly ignored him, and as one, brought their storm bolters up, and fired. The deadly rain of storm bolter shots ricocheted harmlessly off the Chaos Marine’s armour, but killed scores of heretics standing behind him. He laughed, again mocking the Grey Knights.

Alessio felt righteous anger course through his veins, and he glared at the Chaos Marine. Swinging his sword in a blindingly fast pattern above his head, he pointed the tip at the Chaos Marine, and charged. Behind him, the rest of the Terminators followed.

Ignoring everything else, Alessio ran straight for the Chaos Marine, bellowing out a litany of hate as he ran. The Traitor merely laughed, and swung his power fist around in a great blurring arc. Alessio brought his sword up in a parry, and the resulting clash jolted his arm. He punched out with his other arm, but was blocked by a small shield the Traitor had affixed to his arm.

The two combatants circled one another warily, preparing themselves for any sudden moves. Alessio feinted to his left, then swung hard to his right. The Traitor, anticipating an attack to the left, barely managed to bring up his power fist to protect himself. With a blinding flash of light, the Grey Knight’s argent blade cut through the Traitor’s power fist, and a final thrust into the ribs finished the job.

Alessio nodded grimly to himself, then stopped. He felt the Warp gathering about the fallen Chaos Marine’s body, and stepped back. The air surrounding the area turned black, cutting off all light except for the gleam of the Grey Knights’ Nemesis weapons. With that eerie gleam, Alessio could barely make out the fallen Traitor’s body being lifted into the air.

A deep blood-red glow emanated from the body, and slowly, it began to distort. The armour seemed to melt, blending in with the flesh. The body itself expanded, and a loud gibbering noise filled the air. The body kept expanding, as though it was being filled with air from an unseen source, then finally stopped, having reached a size many times larger than the five Grey Knights.

Suddenly, the body popped, showering blood everywhere. In its place stood a huge demon, clad in red body armour and brandishing a gigantic axe. It roared, extending its huge wings and baring its teeth, then suddenly swung its axe at the Grey Knights.

Only Alessio’s trained and finely honed instincts save him, as he threw himself to the ground, barely evading the swing of the axe. Looking to his side, he saw that Brother Weiss had not been as quick, or as fortunate. He looked back at the demon, and his resolve hardened.

He jumped to his feet along with the three other remaining Terminators, and unleashed a psychic blast aimed directly at the demon’s chest. The blast hit, and the demon staggered back a few paces. It glared angrily at him, and pounded towards him. It again raised its axe, this time chopping away at each Grey Knight. To his right, Alessio saw Brother Beslan fall, cleaved in two by the demon’s mighty weapon, and Brother Bertrem land heavily upon the ground, one of his legs having been cut out from underneath him.

He then heard Brother Hamidius call out a challenge, and saw him charge headlong at the demon. Alessio joined him in charging, and they split up, each targeting a separate side of the demon.

With an irritated snort, the demon struck Brother Hamidius with the flat of its axe, sending him flying. However, this momentary distraction provided Alessio with the opening he required, and he plunged his sword deep into the demon’s leg. The demon roared, the sound filling Alessio’s ears, and knocked him away.

He rolled as he hit the ground, and quickly got to his feet, watching the demon’s every move. The demon swung its axe, aiming straight at Alessio’s head. Alessio threw up his sword, holding it with all his might, and the argent blade somehow deflected the demon’s axe into the ground, where it caught.

Alessio tossed his blade up lightly into the air, and caught it, the tip facing downwards. The bottom of his palm grazed the intricate scrollwork that covered the hilt of the sword, and he drew his entire arm back, and let fly.

The sword flew straight and true, and penetrated the demon’s armour to strike the heart beneath. Alessio jumped right at the demon, using his psychic ability to lift him up until he was once again grasping his sword. The demon, sensing its imminent death, crushed Alessio to its chest, his thick Terminator armour no match for the immense strength of the demon.

Alessio gasped in pain, but already the armour was injecting pain-numbing drugs into his bloodstream. He shut his eyes, and focused all of his remaining energy, channelling it into the sword.

“For the Emperor!” he cried out, feeling the surge of power stream like fire through the sword and into the demon. The demon roared, this time in pain, and staggered backward. The light emanating from the sword had turned pure white, and was steadily growing in intensity. Finally, a blinding flash, and the demon disappeared, never to return.

Brother-Captain Alessio dropped heavily to the ground, his weight shattering the ground, breaking it into millions of tiny fragments. He tried to move, but found that he was paralyzed. An overwhelming sense of darkness washed over him, but he fought tenaciously, his faith and strength of will momentarily overcoming even death itself. With a superhuman effort, he rose, falling to his knees, grasping the hilt of his sword for balance. With his last breath, he bowed his head, and gave thanks to the Emperor.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++

well, hope you enjoyed that! (and, of course, that you'll vote for it...)

cheers, major_panic!

Frodo34x
02-09-2005, 16:31
I'm about a third/ halfway through writing mine. Expect it in before next friday.

Slappy
06-09-2005, 05:21
I will be entering at least one story in this.

Wiseman
07-09-2005, 15:07
not long left to go people, get your stories in soon, dont miss out!

Catterjee
12-09-2005, 05:40
Risen

Blood pooled in a congealing puddle at my feet as my squad mate started to cut the face off of the fallen Imperial Guardsman. He wasn't alone. The others were practicing the same ritual on the other slain guardsman. I watched as my squad mate took the flayed face and, in keeping with the tradition of the Sons of Leviathan, stretched it carefully across his shoulder plate while the others followed his lead. It was then I received the vox, short and to the point. “Markus Tenn, return. Lord Malinche has fallen”

Though we encountered no resistance, it took us roughly a half-hour's time to make our way back to base camp. It was a circular clearing we'd made in the woods, one hundred meters in diameter. There was a single path leading to a road we'd discovered soon after planetfall. We'd been sent to this backwater shrine world, called Dammil, on a mission to eliminate an influential Confessor named Osiris Khost.

Despite the news of our lord Malinche, I could not help but grin as we stepped out of the woods and into the muddy clearing. The bodies of several Adepta Sororitas littered the ground, their skulls already flayed. In the center of the clearing sat Amojan, the man who'd sent me the vox. He was adorning his shoulder plate with Khost's face.

“What happened?” I asked

“I do not know if you are aware of this, but earlier in the day Lord Malinche ordered Tiron and his bikers to raid a small shrine to the False Emperor located about thirty clicks to the north.” He then paused, waiting for my reaction

“Yes, I know. Continue”

“It started perhaps an hour ago. Things were so different then. Tiron and his men returned, having captured a reliquary of some sort from the shrine. It was a plain wooden box containing the shin bone of one of their saints, or something like that. Tiron was in the process of presenting the reliquary to Lord Malinche when the sentries warned us of one of those flame tanks approaching. We readied for battle, and I am not sure what Lord Malinche did with the box.”

I nodded. “That explains the smell of promethium in the air. How went the battle?”

Seemingly reminded of it by our topic of conversation, Amojan checked and reloaded his bolt pistol. “In truth, it was a disappointment. Two of our men fell to the tank's flames as it entered camp, but then one of Potemkin's men damaged the turret.”

I was not surprised. Potemkin lead a squad of heavy weapon experts, and they were very good.

“When that occurred,” Amojan continued, “the doors opened and the passengers got out.” Amojan paused briefly and growled. “Five Adepta Sororitas lead by the Confessor himself. Insulting at best. I don't understand why he thought that would be enough.”

I nodded again. “Foolish, but does it really matter why? He is dead, and our mission is accomplished. Now, tell me what happened to Lord Malinche”


“Come.” he said, leading me in the direction of one of the Dreadclaws we'd made planetfall in, and were now using as makeshift buildings. As we entered, the first thing I saw was Lord Malinche's body slumped against the far wall. His power armor appeared undamaged at first, but then I got a better look at his helmet. There was a large hole in the temple, with a matching exit wound on the other side. Strangely, there was no blood.

“Lord Malinche ordered us to fire, but to save the Confessor for him. I sang a song of metal and flesh as we opened fire. Four of the Sororitas fell within seconds. But the fifth...”

“She did this?! How?!”

“I... I do not understand it. I know our shots were true. Sonic blasters, bolt pistols, even a lascannon... She would not fall!!!” Amojan started pacing around the room. “She ran by me and I cut off one of her arms as she passed. At the elbow no less, but she did not react!” He paused again, but I merely waited for him to continue.

He stopped pacing and turned to look directly at me and spoke with a voice of calm detachment. “She took a few more steps and then stopped. She raised her bolt pistol and fired. She didn't even aim. The bolt struck Lord Malinche in the head and tore through his helmet as if it were parchment. All the while, that Confessor was singing hymns. That tank sped off as we turned our attention to Lord Malinche. It was then that Zsasz leaped onto that woman's back and sliced her head into three pieces with his lightning claw.”

I imagined all this in my head. “A shame to lose her face, but understandable given the circumstances. What did you do then?”

“Well, first I voxed you, then I had Lord Malinche's body brought here, and then I went back to where he fell, and I found this.” He opened one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a bolt round. “This is the bolt that killed Lord Malinche. But the bolt never detonated. It was a dud.” He handed it to me, and I examined it.

“This doesn't make sense.”

“I know. But that's how it happened. I saw it myself.”

It took me a moment to absorb all this. My eyes fell upon Amojan's shoulder plate and Khost's face. “When did you kill the Confessor?”

Though he was still wearing his helmet, I could tell Amojan was grinning. “Oh, he's not dead yet. He never ran, even when the tank fell back. I decided I didn't want him dead yet, so after the battle I had two of the men kept him under guard. After I found that bolt round I returned to them and used my combat knife to remove his face. Then I gave him to Zsasz to play with. I believe he's vivisecting the Confessor in another one of the Dreadclaws as we speak.”
I grinned beneath my own helmet. Zsasz was talented and would not want to be interrupted until he was done. I'd have to wait a day or two before I could speak with him.

Amojan and I were leaving the Dreadclaw when we heard a noise behind us. A moan. I turned and saw Malinche's power fist raise from the ground a few centimeters and then drop again.

“He's alive?!” I ran to his side and motioned for Amojan to follow. We carefully removed Malinche's helmet, and saw something we did not expect.

Everything between Malinche's nose and temples was gone. I could see his brain, or what was left of it, but there was no blood or any other fluid coming from the wound. Then Malinche turned his head. He looked right at me, though he had no eyes. “Markus? I can see things... hear things, but I don't understand them. Its like they're trying to tell me something... show me, but I don't speak the language” His voice was deep, but sounded tired.

Without warning, his body lurched, and a green energy started arcing from the exposed brain tissue. After a moment it coiled around his wound, a wireframe in the pattern of his missing skull. He turned his head to Amojan and then back to me. He spoke again, but it was a woman's voice this time. “Don't worry. I won't hurt you, I'll take care of you”

Amojan was standing very still. “Lord Malinche?”

Malinche's body turned its head towards Amojan again, and the woman's voice responded. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. He's mine. I am his.”

I do not know if Amojan noticed it, but as simultaneously as the female voice was speaking I heard another voice, like a whisper in the background. Malinche's voice. “It's so beautiful” he said. I took a step back.

As soon as I moved, the head snapped back to face me. “Markus, its me” Malinche's voice said, and this time I heard the female voice as a whisper in the background. “I'm no stranger” it assured me.

Soon, Lord Malinche was walking around again issuing orders. Sometimes he spoke, with that female voice whispering behind him, and other times it was her voice in dominance. But they always spoke simultaneously. He disappointed Zsasz by making him kill the Confessor immediately. After an hour, he chose to remove his power armor. His flesh was soft, like an overripe fruit, the skin peeling away in places. He sent Tiron and his bikers on a scouting mission, and had Potemkin's men take position a few meters into a nearby forest, just out of sight. Once he was satisfied with what we were doing, he returned to his Dreadclaw. Malinche was up to something, but he wouldn't tell us what.

Catterjee
12-09-2005, 05:40
An hour later we knew. Following their orders, Tiron's bike squad sought out the Immolator that had escaped earlier. They followed its trail back to that small shrine and discovered only eighteen Sororitas remained there. Tiron and his men circled the shrine a few times and the Sororitas took the bait.

Tiron voxed ahead as his bike squad made the return trip. The Sororitas were following in two Rhinos, and some sort of heavy Rhino varient which he said appeared to have an organ mounted on it. However his main concern was six robed and hooded figures following him. They were on foot, but were keeping up with the bikes. Tiron had only a few minutes lead. At camp, we readied ourselves.

Within moments Tiron's squad arrived and turned to face the entrance to the camp, revving their motors and waiting. After only a minute the six robed figures appeared in the path. We opened fire.

The vibrations of our sonic weaponry tore the robes to pieces in short order, but the men wearing them continued on. They were pale, naked save for loincloths, and covered in syringes and other empty stimm injectors. None of them had hands, their forearms replaced with a variety of implanted weaponry. Two of them fell before reaching our lines.

As Zsasz and his squad fought the arco-flagellants the Rhinos and that organ tank arrived. The Rhinos sped into camp, but the organ stopped at the camp's edge. Right near Potemkin's position. I voxed him.

“Potemkin, take out that ...whatever it is. But try to aim for the tracks and anyone manning weaponry. I'd like to salvage it if possible.”

“Acknowledged”

I heard a high-pitched whine as Potemkin's men adjusted the frequency of their Blastmasters. A moment later some of the tracks on the tank shook loose, and a woman standing at the organ's keyboards was liquefied.

I turned my attention back to the Rhinos. They'd already unloaded their passengers, who were now engaged in a short range firefight with several of our squads. Even if all of the Sororita's shots were true, we had the advantage in numbers. This would just be a matter of time. I signaled my squad to advance and assist, and turned my eyes back to Zsasz and the arco-flagellants.

Things were not going so well there. Three of Zsasz's eleven troops had fallen, and all four arco-flagellants remained. Zsasz's squad would have to fall back to a better position if they wanted to win this fight, and did so at almost the exact moment I thought of it.

It was then that something bright in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Lord Malinche was calmly walking towards the arco-flagellants. He was naked, and the reliquary box floated in the air next to him, held aloft by an arc of that green warp energy manifesting from his skull.

The arco-flagellants noticed him as well, and charged toward him. The first to reach him swung a limb sporting a circular saw on its end. The saw met skin, and there was a blinding flash of white light. When it cleared, Malinche was unhurt. He backhanded the arco-flagellant, tearing it in two.

The remaining arco-flagellants pounced, but were caught in mid-air by several whips of warp energy coming from Malinche. The reliquary box then rotated so its front was facing the sky, and it opened. An explosion of energy, the likes of which I've only seen when a dreadnought explodes, shot from the box with a sound like the death scream of the False Emperor.

Energy continued to shoot towards the sky as Malinche began to float in the air. His body went limp as he floated into the tornado of energy. There was a ripping sound like a tongue being torn from a skull as Malinche's spine straightened and a pair of metal armatures shot backwards from his shoulders. Then the thunder crack of his hips breaking, as four metal legs emerged in diagonals. I saw him smile as his flesh-legs and genitals fell uselessly to the ground. Then there was a sound like paper tearing as his skin tightened and he spontaneously grew a large pair of breasts.

He began to laugh as his hair fell out. The fighting had stopped as everyone had turned to watch what was happening. The ten or so remaining Sororitas fell back to the relative safety between the two Rhinos, then dropped to their knees and began praying. As for the arco-flagellants, they were still suspended in the air, struggling in vain to free themselves.

Their struggles ended a moment later, as Malinche's arms exploded in a shower of blood and bone. After a moment, a tube of metal sprouted from each stump, and from each tube, six black metal tendrils. She floated downwards and swung them at the arco-flagellants, dicing all three of them in a matter of seconds. Then the armatures on her shoulders took a life of their own, ripping the skin from her back, stretching it, cutting it, and somehow knitting it together. Apparently satisfied, the armatures spread apart, showing off her new wings.

She used them and took flight towards the Rhinos. The Sororitas were still in prayer, and none of the Sons of Leviathan wanted to get between Malinche and her prey. She hovered above them and lashed out with both of her new arms, each one ensnaring a tank. She then clapped the two together, mashing the Sororitas between them. She smiled with satisfaction, dropped the tanks, and landed with her back to me. She paused briefly, and then skittered off impossibly fast on her new legs in the direction of the shrine. We followed.

When we reached the shrine, Malinche was singlehandedly tearing it apart, all the while letting out screams of pleasure the likes of which I've never heard before. She was still nude. When she was done, she found eight particularly large nails from some support beams. She carefully wrapped her tendrils around them and then thrust them, blunt ends first, into her skull, in the pattern of a Chaos star. I heard Malinche's voice, but it was very, very faint. “I can see everything.”

I was the first marine to speak since the transformation started. “Lord Malinche?”

She turned and looked directly at me. It was the first good look I'd gotten of her face. Her eyes were pure warp energy, like I'd seen coming from Malinche's skull wound earlier. “Princess” she said. It was the woman's voice.
“Princess Malinche” I said, correcting myself. “What shall we do now?”

“Signal the rest of the Sons of Leviathan to come to Dammil. Its a big planet and we have lots of work to do.”

Wiseman
14-09-2005, 12:20
48hours to go people, get your entry in now!

Shadowheart
14-09-2005, 16:33
[COLOR=Blue]Entries Close 15th of September at 6pm (australian EST) any entries after this time will be disallowed.

That's what, GMT+10? So sometime in the middle of the night in Europe?

I just noticed this thread today, I'll see if I can cook anything up tomorrow, or otherwise dust off an old piece of text.

plasmadaemon
14-09-2005, 21:57
Ahh damn!

I missed it because i've been away etc... but oh well, better luck next time for me ;)

Lord Balor
15-09-2005, 00:53
I'll post this now just so i don't forget to enter at all. Its an extract from a much longer (and older) story i've got sitting around and if i get the time, i'll touch it up (Full of Gramatical and Spelling Errors). I would have posted something new, but the direction i was going with my entry has been subject to so much change that i've just ran out of time.

Lord Balor
15-09-2005, 00:54
The Black Count


Final Sacrifice

“60 seconds until contact” rang a distorted voice over the comm. link. So this was it though Balor, his final mission, everything led to this critical point. The Dark wanderer had said so himself, but recently he had his suspicions. “50 seconds until contact” came Perseus’ mechanical voice once more. Balor’s focus moved from the window where the clouds were flashing past to the armoured warriors that stood in anticipation for the coming battle. The howling of the ships engine prevented any communication but he could read their faces clearly, there was no trace of fear, no anxiety, only excitement. “40 seconds until contact”, Balor turned back to the window where the small Imperial outpost could be now be seen. The small base, a large rockcrete bunker with a single tower overlooking the fenced premises grew with every passing moment. Standing up Balor drew his sword, and in turn all of his brethren readied their weapons, the engine momentarily muffled by the sound of guns being cocked and heretical prayers being offered. Once readied, his Chosen proceeded to the hanger bays, leaving him alone with Perseus. “10 seconds until contact, brace for impact”, the urge to spill blood filled him as he attempted to calm his thirsting blade, and the morning sun glimmered off its flawless jet surface. “9, 8, 7”, all at once, the ship shuddered, as if rendering itself apart. Sirens echoed in all rooms and red lights flashed in reply. All hell had broken loose. Men began to scream in the furthest rooms before being silenced by some unknown force.

“Perseus Report!” Balor shouted desperately, but the veteran gaze was on the front glass of the bridge, a missile poised to strike the very room. Suddenly fear overcame him, not of death but of failure. “Abandon Ship” he roared, turning away and rushing towards the escape pods. Leaving the bridge he made a quick left with Perseus following close behind. The end of the passage he made a right to the mess hall and ran passed the twisted tables towards the opposite door. An explosion echoed behind him as the missile collided with the front of the vessel; the ship lurched and began to loose altitude, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Flames flared overhead as the room was consumed in a baptism of fire.

All was black as living armour smothered his body, protecting him from the searing heat. The excited entity began to retract to its original form as the flames died down. Lifting himself up, the Chaos Lord opened the door without realising that he was now alone. Passing through the living quarters and darted through twists and turns, finally reaching the path to the Hangers. Before him the long corridor spanned filled with men stepping slowly as their stabilisers kept them from being sucked out of the multiple breaches. This was not meant to happen Balor thought to himself, Vainamoinen had guaranteed he would mask their entrance. His sorcery was meant cloud any psychic presence and interfere with the enemy’s detection systems. He could not have failed, unless…no he wouldn’t dare…the thought was cut short as the corridor in front of him was engulfed in flame as another projectile hammered into the failing hull. The men ahead of him were instantly immolated; their thick armour offered no protection to the missile’s potent load. Through the thick hole rent in the hull ahead he could see escape pods screaming towards the surface. The scent of burned flesh permeated throughout the dying vessel and the wind continued to howl over the screams of the dying.

The Hanger doors opened and all hope left him. Empty, it was all empty. All that remained was a tiny vessel damaged beyond repair from a previous mission. The realisation that they had left without him brought him to his knees and he bowed down his head, prepared to meet his fate. A flash of light momentarily blinded him and he looked up to see a cloaked figure. The Dark Wanderer had come in his time of need. Words filled his mind “I will not allow you to die while you still have your mission to complete” and the massive figure held out his arm. Balor grasped the wrist and a shock passed through him, the last thing he saw before he blacked out was the silhouetted figure laughing as it faded.

************************************************** *******************
Looking up from the planet’s surface, Vainamoinen watched as missile after missile impacted into The Endurance’s hull as it began its decent. Deep Holes we rent in its metallic surface and dark shadows could be seen ejecting from the dying vessel. Although just black specks overshadowed by the rising sun, he knew them for what they were. Escape Pods. All of a sudden there was a shift in missiles course and small bright light flickered. When it had diminished there was one less black spot. The sorcerer shifted his gaze from the blue sky to the common below, where six manticlaws launched another wave of their deadly load at the incoming black legionaries. With the Endurance now crippled beyond repair, its demise was inevitable and its compliment of warriors had been forced to bail out. He sensed it was now time and outstretched one arm; instantaneously the sound of Bolters being readied could be heard. After a brief moment he dropped it and in response bolter shots passed his face and pounded into the exposed armour of the Imperial Vehicles. In Unison, powerful footsteps resounded as eight warriors marched passed, constantly firing on the move. One by one each of the vehicles detonated as its payload was set off by the piercing shells. Yes he thought to himself this was the beginning of the end. The Chaos Lord would complete his mission, although it will kill him in order to do so. Such naivety, Balor actually believed that what lay ahead of him was the key to all of this. With the day’s ending, the instrumentality he initiated all those years ago will come into fruition and his quest would be finally complete. Vainamoinen turned and walked away with the scent of burning flesh and the Screams of the dying being silenced by his animated marines. Everyone was expendable.

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


Lord Balor awoke to the sounds of gunfire and the groans of the wounded. Littered before him was the wreck of his ship ‘The Endurance’. A quick check up revealed he was totally unscathed. Looking left to right at the metal graveyard that surrounded him, Balor chuckled. The irony made him smile despite all that had happened. Balor paused until the disorientation passed. Sometimes he forgot he was not like the others, he was simply a man elevated by the dark powers. True he matched their stature and was far more powerful than his brethren but lacked all the augmentations they underwent through their passage into becoming a Marine. This train of thought aroused the question as to why he was chosen for this mission and the company that he commanded. A noise sounded ahead of him, and Balor crawled further under the wreckage and watched as a patrol of five storm troopers began to burn the wreckage with flamers. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Adrenaline began to pump through his body as the patrol came within ten paces. In a single fluent movement, Balor jumped to his feet from under the wreckage and tackled the closest man to the ground, breaking the spine and ribcage under the intense force. Standing up, he drew his sword as it emerged from his armour and swung right around, decapitating a second man and following through into the torso of the third. As the sword cut right through the man’s body he ran at the forth and pierced the warm flesh front on. A single kick remove the impaled body from his sword and he paused for a second, staring at the last member who was too beguiled at the carnage to react. With each new kill the bound daemon became harder and harder to suppress, but he finally calmed it down as he sheathed the weapon. Balor paced towards the trooper who lifted up his flamer and squeezed the trigger. Through the purging flames Balor continued to pace towards his prey, the heat slowly burning away his armour. With each step the storm trooper’s resolve faded as the giant continued towards him. Reaching out with his gauntlet, Balor grasped the nozzle of the weapon and crushed, stopping the gas from flowing out of the weapon. For a second, he saw the terrified expression on the man’s face before the weapon erupted and the gas tank lit up, tearing the ill protected flesh asunder.

The force of the explosion was absorbed by Balor’s armour and it instantly began to regenerate, absorbing the bloodied remains that covered his body. He cursed out aloud. Not only did his weapon attempt to influence him, but the armour he wore spurred him on to acts of carnage. Such was the price for the power he wielded. As the jet armour returned to its original state, Balor made his way to the immobile body of the first man, whose chest still heaved. Resting his foot on the man’s chest he questioned, “Who so you serve”. After a moments silence, Balor increase the pressure on the man’s chest and asked again, “Who do you serve”. A squeal of pain escaped the man’s lips. Seeing the pitiful creature’s inability to respond, he eased the pressure. The man whispered “…Garran of the holy order of the Emperor’s Inquisition…”
Garran; The word echoed in his mind. How is it possible that his adversary was on this plant right now? The coincidences of this mission began to sow doubt in his mind.
The dying man continued, “…He is nearby and will remove the taint of your presence as a Brother Captain does so to your heretical brothers…”
Enraged, Balor lifted up his foot and stomped it right through the man’s chest, snapping bone and crushing all the entrails.

Lord Balor
15-09-2005, 00:56
Thoughts began to flood his mind. The Grey Knights were not meant to be here. This was meant to be a lightly defended Inquisitial outpost. Without reinforcements it was likely that his men would be quickly overwhelmed. Then why had the dark wanderer preserved him so far. Each thought gave way to further questions. His entire mission was to re-unite a lost Black Legion Warband and restore them to their former glory. He had recently done so. The why was he here…unless that wasn’t the mission they had planned for him. His thoughts were cut short as he heard the roaring of a Chainsword start up, and in turn, drew his sword as he turned to face his attacker. Five more Storm Troopers had arrived after hearing the commotion, the rest of the patrol. Balor’s gaze was not on the pitiful loyalists, but on the cherub that flew above them. “Garran, I know you’re here show yourself!” he demanded.

The Sergeant took a step forwards and began, “We, The Emperor’s finest are charged with brining you in. For the murder of the Royal Family On Antiga Prime and your crimes on the planets Asgoth, Konor and the Cardinal world Sovereign, for the theft of the two ships the “Imperial Might” and “The Endurance”, as well as slaying the most noble Captain Argos of the Blood Angels your life is forfeit.”
“Five men are all that Garran could muster since our last encounter Moran?” Balor replied, almost disappointed. After a brief silence he called out loudly to no one in particular, “Surely a member of the Inquisition could acquire any force necessary to do his bidding. But then again were anyone to find out his activities, he would be as hunted as I, declared what was the term, ah yes, ‘Excommunicate Traitor.” Balor’s gaze turned back to the Sergeant, “Its time for you to leave now Moran, you’ve kept me more entertained than most. Consider that a special honour…”

Sergeant Moran interrupted “Shut your Mouth Chaos Scu..” his own words cut short as blood began spilling out of his mouth. Looking down, he saw Balor’s sword pierced deep into his chest. Gurgling, he barely managed to whisper, “So fast…” before collapsing. With his spare hand, Balor quickly drew his huge distorted Plasma pistol and let off two shot before holstering it once more. Two more men dropped, huge charred holes covered their chest. The remaining storm troopers readied their chainswords and charged.

Balor thrust upwards and met the oncoming blow with ease, his daemon weapon silencing the screaming teeth of the Chainsword that bit at him. “The Emperor’s finest I think not” he shouted and with a mighty kick, crushed the chest of his assailant. A second storm trooper’s lunge went wide and Balor’s sword came right around, cleaving the over stretched body in two. “How many will you let die before you face me Garran” he challenged, cutting a cherubim from the air. “Come out and face me you coward…”, All of a sudden a sharp pain shot in his side and Balor spun around to face the hidden attacker, a gaunt young man dressed in black, his blade still protruded in Balor’s armour. A thin stream of blood trickled before the ancient armour re-knitted itself, trapping the sword within.

A smile crossed Balor’s face as the damage had disappeared before the first drop of blood hit the ground, “Surprised” he taunted. The Acolyte released his grip on the sword and began to back away, horrified and bewildered at what had happened. “You send you apprentice” Balor spoke aloud, “Now watch him die!” As he took a step forwards, the acolyte quickly drew a bolt pistol from its holster and emptied the magazine, hands frantically searching for the next clip. Balor took a second step forwards and the gun fell to the ground, the gaunt man turned to run. A grunt escaped the chaos lord as he drew the sword out of his body, the blade stained red. Lifting the sword up, Balor threw it like a dart and a cry was heard as the escaping figure collapsed, impaled by his own weapon.

The cries of battle could still be heard on the plains below, where his men battled the Ordo Malleus. “You’ve let me down Garran” he spoke, making his way to the fallen, as one of the storm troopers still wheezed, clutching his chest. An urge to slay shot up his arm, the black sword wanted to feed once more. “Of all the years you hunted me I expected more of you”. The tip of the blade cut into the man’s exposed neck and Balor watched his face turn white, as the blood was devoured by the sword’s bound daemon.

A light caught his eye and Balor saw the form of his adversary, the morning sun had reflected off the Inquisitors blade. “Garran” he shouted, running towards the motionless figure. Approaching the ridge quickly with sword held like a lance, excitement overwhelmed him. This was it, the day he had been waiting for, the day of his ascension. The figure grew larger and larger until it was scant meters away. The inquisitor was still immobile as he reached the shade of the ridge and suddenly an explosion rocketed behind, the momentum brought him to the ground. Spitting out the dust, Balor looked up just in time to see the Inquisitor came out of his trance and run toward in a blur of motion. A hand grabbed his good wrist before he had the chance to stand up. Mumbling could be heard and suddenly he realised the trap he had fallen into. When the last line of the incantation was spoken, a flash of light enveloped Balor.

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

Vainamoinen surveyed the littered wreckage arrayed before him. He sensed psychic residue in the surrounding area and knew at once Balor survived the crash. As planned, he had been preserved and now it was his appointed task that the Chaos Lord enters the Imperial facility. Pacing through the crash sight, ten mutilated bodies were strewn about. Yes, Balor still lived. Something caught the attention of his eye behind a large broken wing, an arm protruding from underneath it. It was different to the others, much larger and the exposed flesh was burned. His curiosity mixed with anxiety got the best of him and he moved to investigate. Raising his staff, Vainamoinen muttered a few words; power began to course through his veins. Using the weapon as a focus, he directed it at the debris, slowly levitating it and relieving his fears. It was not Balor but his second in command Perseus. The body was torn at the Torso and flesh burned, but he still lived. With Balor missing, the Black Legion force would need leadership; the only option was to entomb the veteran into a dreadnaught, removing its previous occupant. After psychically conveying orders, the Thousand Sons behind him marched forwards to carry the casualty to their encampment and Vainamoinen turned to track his puppet.

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

Lord Balor
15-09-2005, 01:01
Still standing before him was the man he had been sent to kill, but the surroundings were different. From the grassy plains the cries of battle could still be heard where he was just a moment ago. “Where have you taken me Inquisitor?” He questioned the silhouetted figure, standing up.
“Somewhere we can talk in private Balor, safe from scrutinising eyes”
“You mean my subject Vainamoinen” he responded, standing up.
“Yes, but it is you who are his subject, he has manipulative you from the start”
“You lie, I serve only Lord Garathos!” Yet doubt began to cross his mind, some situations in his journey that had occurred seemed almost false.
“He too does not understand, this entire thing goes far beyond any of you. Now tell me does it all seem too convenient, everything that has happened since even before your fall?”
“I never fell, I have risen”
“You really don’t remember anything do you?” Came the Inquisitor shocked response.
His sword became agitated and it spread to him, becoming increasingly agitated,
“I remember my birth into Chaos and soon will have my ascension!”
“Did you ever even consider why you were sent to kill me? I am one of the few who know…”
“I know that the hunter has become the hunted, you are now in my grasp” The sword now burned at his side and the rage began to get a hold of him once more.
”You are the key to all of this Balor, but it was not you I was hunting, I can show you if only you let me…”
“Your petty magic’s will not save you Garran” screamed Balor, his eyes went crimson and froth appeared on his mouth, it was not long until he dashed forwards.
.
Pain coursed through his shoulder as he collided with an invisible force, knocking the sword from his grasp and preventing him from reaching his opponent. Using his good hand, Balor felt the bubble that now encapsulated him, his control returning.
“Is this another of your Tricks Inquisitor?”
“No, not this time old friend, this time I’ve brought some assistance.”
For the first time Balor noticed three sanctioned Psykers all focused in his direction. The look of triumph in the Inquisitor eye’s brought a smile to his face.
Pulling his arm back, Balor stuck the invisible prison with his bionic fist and at once one of the Psykers buckled.
“I’m Disappointed Garran, for the first time I thought you had me” he chuckled.
“You don’t have to do this Balor, there is still hope for your redemption, help me banish your master…” “I have no master!”, came the sharp reply.
“You won’t if you help me…”
Lifting up his massive Jet sword, Balor made his choice as a second Psyker collapsed.

“Stop this madness! If you won’t listen to reason then listen to the truth!”
“I am the truth, this is who I am, and your death will see my ascension!” Balor spat, his sword striking the barrier a second time. “My eyes have been opened…”
“No Balor”, the inquisitor interrupted, “They have been closed”
“You weaken Garran; this bubble will not hold me much longer.” Lifting his sword horizontally above his head, Balor swung with all his might and a screech could be heard, as the third psyker’s collapsed, his body burnt out. “Your all alone now dear friend, I wonder how long you can sustain this prison”, the chaos lord continued, sheeting his sword.
“Don’t leave me with that option” Garran’s strained voice pleaded.
“You have no options left to consider” Balor retorted, and with that, he charged.


Well thats the end of the 3500 extract of my first crappy attempt at fiction going back some 4 years. Should anyone ask for the rest, i'll happily chuck it into another thread. We'll just see if i have enough time to fix it before the competition ends ;)

Wiseman
15-09-2005, 02:43
well no one listed what section they are entering so its all in one now. So far the entrants are as follows

Brother Smith- Citadel
TheSonOfAbbadon-Young Heresy
IceFire- Achieving Zen
Cubbster- Necrons inhabit and build the temples before human existance
Adept - (untitled)
Grand Master Belial - Fallen
Major Panic - For the Emperor
Cutterjee - Risen
Lord Balor - The Black Count

Still time to enter as well, but these are just the entrants so far.

He Who Laughs
15-09-2005, 15:43
Sorry if this is a bit late diddimz. Thanks to the link posted in the Random Musings, I've been able to search the old Portent archives and retreive this little bit of lost work of mine, I wrote a good six years ago when still in high school. I though I'd lost it. I've made some adjustments (my knowledge of Imperial forces was pretty limited back then) - but it's pretty much otherwise as it was originally written. Without further ado - He Who Laughs entry into the WH40K Section - "Inhuman Intentions":

Inhuman Intentions (Part 1)

Sergeant Jonas stared blankly out into the darkness. Another tedious night, watching the stars circle overhead. Nothing ever happened around the Guard Military Compound - nothing ever happened around the nearby settlement, nor around this small world come to think of it. This particular world was of little significance to the Imperium - a small Adeptus Biologis research facility was its only claim to fame - which had neither the rech-staff nor the resources to make any major breakthrough. Sergeant Jonas felt cheated. He had joined the 5th Covathian Infantry Regiment back on his homeworld five years previously - in search of adventure, and a chance to serve the Emperor as best he could. What he found was an uneventful, repetitive guard posting on this backwater planet, in orbit around a backwater star.

Jonas leaned back against the cold metal of the bulkhead and stared upwards. A bright light appeared in the sky. Just a shooting star. Quite large by the looks of it - it continued across the sky for a few moments, before disappeared into the inky blackness from whence it had come.
Looking back towards the surrounding darkness, something suddenly caught his eye at ground level. A shimmering glow stood just on the edge of his vision, but disappeared before he could focus on it. It reappeared seconds later - only this time closer. Again it vanished and subsequently materialised - closer still. Fear gripped Jonas. What is it? It reappeared for one final time, only a few metres from the edge of the bunker in which Jonas stood. The glow looked slightly human in form - yet somehow it was not. Then, as suddenly as it had first appeared, it was gone.
Jonas suddenly felt very alone, and very scared. He quickly looked about, in an effort to locate this bizarre 'thing'.

The sergeant jumped as the bulkhead behind him slid open. Before he could turn, he felt a searing pain in his stomach. Looking down, to his horror he saw a glowing blade protruding some six inches out of his gut. Slowly the blade was extracted sending pain lancing through his body. Summoning all of his remaining strength, Jonas turned to meet his attacker. His last visions of the world chilled him to the very core.

What he saw was...... nothing. It was blank, smooth. It had no...... face.

*****

He Who Laughs
15-09-2005, 15:44
Inhuman Intentions (Part 2)

The compound was desolate. Silence hung over the surrounding area. It would have been quite tranquil, if it weren't for the mutilated bodies draped here and there throughout the complex. There were no signs of struggle anywhere in or around the compound - whatever had killed the Guardmen, was obviously good at doing it silently.

Sergeant Konrad of the Dark Angels 3rd Company stood surveying the scene. The Rock had come to this distant world in search of new recruits, but what it found was emptiness. Hundreds of civilians lay dead, rotting on the streets, in their houses, even in their beds. A thick stench hung in the air and flies swarmed in great masses, buzzing their agreement at the feast laid out for them.

Konrad spared little anguish for these departed souls - everything died eventually. His major concern now was finding what had slaughtered this small population. Seeing that no-one was left on this planet, carrying out an Exterminatus would be a quick way or eradicating any remaining threat - virus bombs and cyclonic warheads from the vast arsenal held within The Rock could be deployed with a single command But explaining the extermination of the planet to the Inquisition was a tedious ordeal that neither the Sergeant, nor the Chapter would like to go through. Besides, they were under enough scrutiny already.

Konrad decided to post a guard detail around the military compound - with any luck the unknown attackers would be attracted by this new presence. His ten-man squad spread out over the complex - and Konrad requested a Thunderhawk Gunship be put on stand-by in case of any large scale incursion. And with that, the Marines watched and waited until night fell.

Out of the darkness, something caught Konrad's attention. His bionic eye quickly focused on the disturbance. It darted across his infra-vision - somehow disappearing then reappearing, taunting Konrad's superhuman senses.

Konrad sent a brief order out on the comm-link.
"All Marines, train bolters on GR-NNW256768. Brother Hyronius, suppression fire with flash-flares. Fire when target is acquired."
Instantaneously a photon flash-flare sailed over Konrad's head, detonating in a blinding burst of light where the creature was last seen. One after the other, the other Marines reported back with a negative contact. It had disappeared again.

Suddenly a wild, maniacal, cackling laugh filled the air. It penetrated the Marines helmets and threatened to overload their auto-senses. The Marine next to Konrad fell to the ground clawing at his visor, his brains scrambled by the intensity of the psychic scream. And then they were upon them.
Two glowing forms - both sickening miasmas' of colour - cleared the bunker wall with a single leap and landed, poised for attack, next to Konrad. More of these bizarre iridescent figures began assaulting the Marines position, dancing, weaving, and striking like veracious insects.

Konrad had a vague idea of what these things were. Before the creatures could react, Konrad leapt on the nearest one, crushing it under the massive weight of both Marine and Power Armour. He looked down at the crumpled form, the holo-field shorting out to reveal it's true nature. It was a Harlequin - a member of the strange sub-sect of the Eldar that supposedly lived in secret warp-tunnels, and whose use was known only to that ancient alien race.

Agony shot through Konrad's shoulder. The other Harlequin was on top of him and had embedded his powersword into the exposed link next to his shoulder pad. Pain-blockers coursed through his veins, and Konrad quickly jumped to his feet, throwing the warrior-troubadour off onto the walkway. The Sergeant fired three bolts into the glowing shape, but the Harlequin flipped backwards, dodging gracefully - returning fire with a burst from it's shuriken pistol. The sharp discs managed only to embed themselves in Konrad's Eagle Plastron, and this went unnoticed as he charged the swift Eldar figure. The Harlequin danced and shimmered, evading the Marines comparatively slow attacks. In frustration, he swung wildly at the elusive form and was both surprised and satisfied to hear a sickening squelch and an inhuman cry of pain as the Harlequin was gutted, entrails steaming in the cold night air.
Konrad looked out across the complex - vicious close combat erupted everywhere. He saw one of the Harlequins punch out towards a Marine - a shining grey web spewing forth from the device strapped to its arm. The Marine was covered head to toe with this glistening web, struggling to break free. With a single fluid motion, the Harlequin swung his arm backwards, and the Marine literally fell to pieces - the monofilament wire slicing armour and shredding bones and organs, all with equal efficiency.

Shuriken discs began to rain down on Konrad's position, peppering the ground around him with lethal stars. He spun on his boot to see where the discs where coming from. Atop a nearby hill, silhouetted against the rising moon were three morbid figures. Zooming in on them he realised they wore suits of bone, their faces covered with grinning skull masks. They each carried long ornate weapons, which quickly spoke again, raining even more discs down on Konrad.

Before the Sergeant could give the order, Brother Hyronius sent a volley of frag grenades into the position - tearing one apart and sending the other two into cover. Konrad smiled at Hyronius through his visor, but the smile dropped from his face as another Harlequin jumped up, and ran the grenadier through from behind.
For the first time since becoming a Dark Angel, Konrad actually felt fear. There was something horribly evil about the Harlequin that had just impaled Hyronius - it radiated terror. Something that evil could not have a soul. Underneath the Eldar's hooded cloak, its face began to twist and warp - one moment it was a leering skull, the next it was a drooling daemon. Finally the mask coalesced into a familiar, hated visage. It was that of Cypher - the Dark Angels most hated enemy.
Konrad roared a challenge, and charged towards the cloaked figure. With super-fast reflexes the Harlequin danced out of the way and raked the Sergeants back with its wrist mounted power blades. Konrad collapsed like a dead heap on the ground - the blasted Eldar had severed the interface on his Power Armour. Without this bio-mechanical link, the suit regained its concrete weight and Konrad was immobilised, prone to the attentions of this soulless alien creature.

And so Konrad lay there and waited for the inevitable. He could hear the crack of boltguns and the screams of the dying echo in the still night, and slowly fade away to silence.
Something was coming towards him. The footsteps drew nearer and nearer, then stopped next to his head. Suddenly his helmet was ripped off and tossed across the bunker floor. Konrad slowly looked up.
This Harlequin was different from the one that had crippled him. It too was hooded, but its mask was blank and smooth and its cloak was covered with archaic designs swirling over its surface as if the fabric were alive. Though it had no lips with which to speak with, the Harlequin spoke in fluent Imperial High Gothic.
"Do not taint that which does not belong to you. This world was seeded long before your filthy presence spread across the void, corrupting the peaceful balance of the Universe. We have not the patience of our Craftworld cousins - you have polluted this world - you will die for your crimes."
It's voice was oddly caressing, yet dominating and Konrad could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness under the will of this alien being. In the distance, Konrad could make out the sound of ramjet engines, but took no notice of it.

"And so I shall punish you. The Laughing God shall enjoy your screams as your soul drifts in agony, lost amongst the daemon-infested currents of the Warp."
With that, the Eldar lifted his force sword high above his head, ready to seal the Marines fate.

Blood, gore and splintered bone exploded everywhere. Konrad was covered from head to toe with eviscerated organs and tattered bits of cloak. Seconds later the Thunderhawk Gunship roared over head, the blue flame of its engines a welcome beacon in this, the darkest of nights. Konrad grinned before finally falling unconscious, the sound of heavy power armoured footsteps heralding the coming of his saviours.

By He Who Laughs (Russell Hart)

Wiseman
16-09-2005, 05:36
well entries are closed from now, give me a couple of days to set up the voting thread for it:)