Found another short piece that I wrote for the campaign, this one set on a different planet (of which there are several) within the Cordaen system, Allathia.
Enjoy!
Allathia Hiveworld Second Lieutenant Ealis Darke ran, his entire existence reduced to legs pumping, heart pounding impossibly loud within his rattling chest, the need to escape.
He was aware that he had never run like this before and he was certain that he would never run again.
Strange, he thought, that after the horrors of the past hour he could think with such calm detachment in the face of almost certain death, while his body threw itself forward. Maybe I am fit to lead after all, he thought tentatively, if I ever get the chance. Newly commissioned as part of the raising of the Allathia Defence Force, Lt. Darke had expected to be purging his home world of the growing number of ill-equipped Chaos cults that were seeping into all the major settlements in the Cordaen System. He had envisioned himself striding through the streets, with overwhelming firepower at his command, being showered with glory, a hero born.
How wrong he had been, for the Necron menace had returned to claim dominion over this planet once more.
He tore a sharp glance over his shoulder, realised his pursuit was quickening and found that extra reserve of speed that only pure terror can bestow.
“Faster!” he yelled to his command squad and the pale, bleeding survivors of 1st squad who were straggling behind already. His words were snatched away by the howling wind, to be battered into an incoherent shriek by the driving rain.
Strange, he thought again, there had been only clear blue skies overhead, slashed with the dirty white vapour trails left by patrolling Marauders, before he had entered that dread portal in the bare cliff side with fourteen of the thirty-four men under his command. Only the grizzled old sergeant of 1st squad, Yefl, had ever seen any combat, a brief campaign against greenskin pirates with the Allathia Militia, within the system’s Oort cloud, many years before. The rest of them were as green as the grass, himself included, he thought ruefully.
Not any more.
He dared another look then and was alarmed to see more of the vile creatures loping towards them, hard on their heels. He felt as though he was being herded like some ignorant pack animal.
A man from 1st squad who hadn’t been quick enough was pulled down screaming as the leading hunters caught up with him. Wet tearing sounds were carried along with the biting wind. Emperor only knew what they were doing to the poor boy. Darke suddenly realised that he had never bothered to learn the unfortunate trooper’s name, the fifth casualty under his command, more blood on his hands.
He ran faster…
OK so I've written another piece this afternoon, this time dealing with the rise of chaos within the Cordaen system, on the principal planet of Cordaen Prime.
The Offering Lieutenant Aoq crept through the ruined habs, sweaty hands threatening to lose their grip on his laspistol, the stock cold against his itching palms. There was no wood to be found on Cordaen Prime, so the production lines on nearby Phaemis churned out weapons made entirely from steel. If only the soldiers who used them could be as keen and unyielding as the tools of war they carried in unsteady hands.
So much blood.
Aoq didn’t think there were enough wretched souls in the whole hive to produce this much blood, yet the very ground they walked on was wet to the touch, boots had to be gently eased out of the gruesome mire with every step taken. The walls were desecrated with horrific murals, drawn in blood, amid which a fell symbol writhed, always in view.
The icon of Khorne.
Aoq was certain that those dire images would never leave him alone and would most probably haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. He was almost grateful for the fact that he was also certain they wouldn’t make it through the night. He held up his hand to signal a halt as they approached an intersection, hoping that none of his squad would notice the uncontrollable shaking that had caused him to sheath his combat blade.
Although they were still two levels above the uppermost reaches of the underhive, Aoq still felt as though he was descending into the depths of hell, the heat, the smell, the way the air hummed and throbbed as though they were deep inside the foul heart of some corrupted, gargantuan beast. His platoon had been tasked with probing the enemy strength and take prisoners for interrogation.
He knew the enemy had been watching them for about half an hour now, their stench was unmistakable and overpowering. It was the
raw smell of fresh blood. They had caught one of the enemy pickets about an hour into their patrol, an emaciated runt, oozing thin blood from hundreds of open wounds carved onto his bare torso, arms, legs and face; his daily offering to his vile god. His death had been much swifter than he deserved.
Aoq had once heard that the enemy could sustain themselves by consuming the congealed mess that covered the ground for miles around, recycling their own blood, keeping their sacrilegious lacerations open to continually replenish the appalling food supply.
Movement from across the street snapped the young Lieutenant back, from his terrified musings on the enemy’s culinary habits, to the present. He whispered a vox command to the support squad on his right flank. His reply was cold static. He jerkily swept a trickle of sweat escaping from his hairline and was horrified to see his hand smeared with hot, sticky blood. Looking up he realized the ceiling was bleeding on him. So preoccupied was he with staring at his defiled hand, that he didn’t notice the first shots fired. He didn’t notice his vox trooper’s face explode into bloody ruin beside him. He didn’t even notice the skull shards nestling in his face and neck, as though they had always been there.
All he could see was the terrible, swirling visage staring hungrily back at him from deep within the widening pool of blood he held in his palm. Paralyzed with abject terror, he could only watch as the face took shape, canine and twisted. A huge, thickly muscled body followed, sprouting tattered leathery wings. It was as if it was charging down a blood filled corridor towards him, horribly slow yet intent on reaching him, leering at him, thirsting for his blood...
