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Fantastic writing, the whole "you are very important" bit Alpharius said reminded me of terminator, just a little bit. As a small time fan fiction writer (not as skilled as this for setting a tone, by far) you made me want to write a novel with more things less fluff explores. The fact that a forum story inspired me at all is surprising to me, I mean, I didn't come in here looking for inspiration, but to see other examples of fan fiction. So far, this is incredible, I also really liked the space wolves part, especially where the executioners don't get the honorable deaths they strive for, but simply walk off, never to be heard of again.

So I'm quickly approaching the end of what I like to think of as the first movement in the new story. I'll then start on movement two with a quick recap and then firing straight into the new stuff. In the first part we've still got the following stories to go:

Blood Storm

The Weeping Stone

Victory on Hul'shadaam

A Tale of Three Chapters

and a fifth story.

The first is essentially what happens on Armageddon after the Emperor passes (it's going to get bloody, let me tell you). The Weeping Stone is a story totally set on Tallarn (cause the recent HH books from John French have really inspired me and I feel Tallarn should get a special mention). The third will be a Tau story which I'm keen to get going.

Part Four will be familiar to readers of the previous thread, and will be three seperate shorts from the points of view of The Salamanders, Imperial Fists and Blood Angels (the Blood Angels I am particularly looking forward to: hope you guys are ready for some genuinely gruesome body-horror!)

As for the fifth, I'm going to let you decide: what would you like to hear about at the end of movement One - any part of the universe, and the one I like the most, I'll use as the closer for Stanza One Let me know!!

Well, the Necrons have been conspicuous by absence so far. Don't know if that's because you have further plans for them down the line, but seeing as all this madness across the galaxy is largely warp-based at its core, having the close from the PoV of a Necron might be interesting. A) it would provide a brilliant contrast with all the heightened drama so far if the closing of the first Act was uncomprehending and devoid of emotion or sympathy (it's all Warp-based at its core, so the Necrons would be completely cut off from that), and B) if you want it to be a kind of closing summary, the Necrons with their tech are probably the best way to do that, as they could literally be surveying the whole galaxy as it descends into hell. The other option for that would be an Eldar Seer, but you've already done that.

Also, did a small bit of housekeeping on the Original Post, there's now a clickable contents section to get you to each story section quickly

+1 to Paradigm's suggestion. I will also add
C) It is time for the crons to go wake up the C'tan sleeping in the center of Mars

 keltikhoa wrote:
+1 to Paradigm's suggestion. I will also add
C) It is time for the crons to go wake up the C'tan sleeping in the center of Mars

I have plans for the Dragon of Mars, don't you worry

Oh! Is the we bit the Void Dragon controlling the Fabricator General?

Also, part 5 could be from the Dark Eldar point o view, as they watch on from the webway.

How are the Smurfs faring? Stuck on the wrong side of the galaxy, surrounded by Nids and Tau.
What do they do?
Will Sicarius overthrow Calgar?
Do the rest of the Primogenitors come back to their spiritual liege's aid? (God, you have no idea how painful writing that is!)
Or anything you have planned. Its all good.

 Dark Lord Seanron wrote:
Also, did a small bit of housekeeping on the Original Post, there's now a clickable contents section to get you to each story section quickly

Awesome!

And, as always, thanks for sharing all of this with us!

These are real spoilers, so for people who haven't read the old thread, please don't click these open. As for the layout, I hope it will be something like this.












if this is too much spoiler, please let me know, Dark Lord Seanron.

Will any primarchs be making a return, this definitely seems like the wolf time, and if Vulkan decides to show up, it'd be kinda cool, as he would care about the civilians and maybe want to share the news of the Emperor passing away, maybe. Not too sure about his stance on that, but it'd be cool for him to show up.

Hmm I clicked them, interesting, I'll not break any spoilers but they mught have changed.

Second time round might take a new course.
Be interesting to see how grey knights, and others interact with new world.

The navigators too, smallish but vital, with no light house potentially.....

 jhe90 wrote:
Hmm I clicked them, interesting, I'll not break any spoilers but they might have changed.

Second time round might take a new course.
Be interesting to see how grey knights, and others interact with new world.

The navigators too, smallish but vital, with no light house potentially.....

Yes, I'd also like to see how the Inquisition deal with this...

Myrtle couldn’t sleep. She had been tossing and turning in her small cot for what felt like forever and yet she could not coax her small eyes into blackness. Something was keeping her awake.

She had called out to her Mother several times, but her tiny voice seemed swallowed by the cloying dark. It was like a black wall, keeping her form the rest of the world. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, she was five years old and knew it was just the light resting for the day. Her Father always said there was nothing in the dark that could hurt her. He would protect her as would her Mother.

Myrtle wasn’t afraid of the dark.

She was afraid of the thing standing in the corner of her room however.

She couldn’t see it clearly, her night-light not reaching it fully. It was tall, much taller than her, maybe even taller than her Father and facing toward the wall. It dripped on the floor, like a man just come in from a storm, and whatever liquid covered it pooled in the corner staining her carpet. It seemed shaggy, covered in long black hair like an animal left in the rain, but she couldn’t tell. It just stood there, like a filthy statue.

She closed her eyes several times tightly, hoping it would be gone when she opened them, but each time it remained. She had tried talking to it but no response. It just stood, facing the corner, its shaggy sodden back facing out toward her.

Myrtle closed her eyes and drew her blanket over her head. She whispered a quick prayer she had learned in nursery, and held her breath. She wished with all her might for the stranger to go away. He wasn’t meant to be here. She wished for her parents to enter the room and banish the thing away with the lights.

The pounding in her ears grew louder and louder until she thought she would burst. She inhaled suddenly with a deep gulp and lay there breathing, famished for air. She lowly laced her small fingers into the edge of her blanket and creeped her head over the edge.

The figure was gone. There was no longer a stain on the carpet, and whatever it was had vanished. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her Father, by far the smartest man she knew, always said that monsters and misfits were just the mind playing tricks on you. She was thrilled to see he was right.

Her small mouth was suddenly very dry, it was hard work banishing imaginary monsters, and she slid from her cot onto the carpet. Her bare feet wriggled and gripped at the soft purple carpeting, purple was her favourite colour, and padded gently to the door. She’d get herself a glass of water and then she could get to sleep.

She shuffled down the hall, the laminate and metal floor cold against the soles of her feet. The lumen lights were low, just enough to see the outlines of the doors in the hall, and she made her way to her family’s small kitchen. They didn’t have a large home, most people at this end of the Hive rarely did, but it was enough for their small, loving family. She walked into the small, square tiled room and lifted a plastic tumbler from the rack. She held it under the silvery sink and pressed the button for cold water. A stream of clear liquid trickled into the empty cup, filling the small room with the sound of dribbling water. After switching the tap off, she raised the cup up to her mouth and drank the water in greedy sips, cooling her throat and mouth. She immediately felt better. Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her bed robe, he placed the cup back into the sink and padded into the hall once more.

She froze, something in the corner of her eye catching her off-guard. She turned slowly to the front door, her eyes widening in fear.

The figure was at the door, standing again with its back to her.

It seemed much taller than it had in her bedroom. It was covered in lank, dank fur from head to toe and it dripped with a foul smelling water. Indeed, the liquid seemed to pour from it, like it was standing in some unseen deluge. Its arms were long, reaching almost to its knees and both its feet and hands were disturbingly human. Black, cracked nails lined the hands, thick with filth and split painfully. Fly-like hair sprouted from the knuckles and festooned the neck and head of the stranger.

It turned slowly, its long nails tapping wickedly on the floor. Its head was that of a dog, albeit a dog that had had its skin sliced off messily and stitched back on in a haphazard fashion. Its mouth held no teeth, but instead more human-like fingers ending in blackened talons which wiggled obscenely as its air coursed around them. Long dank hair trailed from its crown to its chest, and upon its head sat two brown and twisted horns, sticky dark matter creeping like vines over them. It eyes were the worst however, utterly white with a pinprick of a black pupil fixed totally upon her. It held one of its arms bent to its chest, as if injured and its body shook with a deep, horrid breath.

Myrtle quailed, and felt her tiny feet fix to the floor. She wanted to run, to scream, to call for her Mother but her body would not respond. Her hands reached to cover her eyes and in a terrified whisper she called out to the figure.

“I’m not afraid of you! You’re not real! Get out of my house!”

Her hands rubbed her eyes furiously and yet each time she looked again it still stood there. It just stood there, maddeningly still, not reacting but never wavering is gaze from her. One of her feet slipped backward across the floor as her body jerked in fear and her movement caught its attention.

It opened its mouth, its angles all wrong and its finger-teeth curling and uncurling and screamed: a long, keening wale akin to a dying bird. Its mouth yawned wide and its body tensed as the endless noise poured from it. Saliva and mucus spilled form its throat in great sticky globs, and the relentless liquid that shed from it intensified. Myrtle screamed, adding her own sound to the cacophony. She spun on the spot and ran for her room, her tiny frame thumping noisily across the floor. She slammed her door shut and hurled her body into her bed, pulling the covers over her in a frenzy. They formed a cocoon around her, and with a child’s logic she assumed they would keep her safe.

She sat with the blankets wrapped up to her nose and stared at the door. Her heart thumped in her slight chest, and sweat beaded on her head. Her tiny hands clung painfully to her covers, holding them like a shield in front of her. She watched and waited, her breath held and her body tensed.

There was thump from outside.

And another.

And another.

Heavy footsteps made their way down the hallway, growing louder as the approached. There was no hurry in their stride and that terrified her all the more. They reached the door, all that separated her and the monster was a thin sheet of wood. They kept moving, the footsteps sounding from in the room. Her breath came in staccato panic, her eyes watering with terrified tears. She whispered her parents’ names over and over again, willing one of them to come save her. The footsteps thumped to the foot of her bed and paused in their relentless advance. She could her the thing breathing in the darkened room, but she could not see it. She mewled softly, salty tears running down her small cheeks. She hiked her breath, and in a tiny voice called out a scared, shaky hello.

Something growled in the dark. The growl was old, wet and hungry.

And it was very, very close by.

With a horrified realisation, Myrtle slowly lifted the covers of her bed over her head and looked into the darkness within. A pair of white, lunatic eyes with pinprick pupils stared out of the black within her cot, its hot breath washing over her in waves. With a sudden lunge and a strangled scream Myrtle was pulled sharply and with shuddering violence under the blankets.

They covers lay were they fell, no sign of the child or monster in the small cot.

Somewhere in the night, outside Myrtle’s window, a wracked scream cracked in the night, followed by another and another. Soon the city itself screamed, not just the people that called it home. The wail of alarms and other, more chilling things filled the air in a constant din. The people of Hive Tempestora stirred in their beds, whilst the guards on the walls looked to the skies in fear.

Something dark, old and terrible stalked the world this night

Oh No! No, come on! Don't hurt little children! Nah, I'm joking. We all know little children die all the time in the Imperium, now, don't we, little child?

I am now a little scared... thanks!

Oh no! A writer on Dakka has managed to scare men!

Pretty creepy. Not too fun when you're picturing this happen in you're own house, so thanks for that.

Pretty creepy. Not too fun when you're picturing this happen in you're own house, so thanks for that.

lliu wrote:
Oh no! A writer on Dakka has managed to scare men!

I can't work out if your kidding or not... but yer so?

I'm kidding.

Awesome, demonic or Hrud incursion. I like it. Kill those children! Meat for the meat grinder!

Bones for the bone stew!

Blood for the blood God!

Prunes for the Prune Juice!

Guys, please refrain. Swerving off topic and spamming can get the thread closed and I'd really quite like it to stay open

Gheron Almeada stood on the armoured lip of one of the hive’s many watch towers and shivered in his heavy overcoat. It was a particularly cold day today, and the driving rainstorms that had bombarded Armageddon in the past few weeks had not helped matters. It drove down, grey and relentless, causing the high walls of Hive Tempestora to glisten and shine like immense beetle wings. The smoking stacks and spires of the hive were lost in the heavy downpour, fading and blurring in the constant rain like sea-giants. The steppes and flats beyond the Hive had become a grey and sticky mud plain, enormous sodden puddles covering the land and running straight toward the horizon. Where the water had fallen especially heavily the ground had given way entirely, revealing buried vehicles and wrecks of tanks, here the old, burnt-out hulk of a Leman Russ, there a desiccated corpse of a T-90 Light Attack Tank. They littered the vast expanse like ruins, their blackened forms soaked and steaming from the heavy deluge. Gheron gripped the collar of his great coat and pulled it tight against his neck, careful not to snag the piping of his rebreather. He was equally as sodden as the wrecks outside, and sighed irritably. His platoon had another twelve hours of guard duty on this part of the Defence Curtain.

Armageddon was a key world for the Imperium of Man, standing on one of its primary supply and recruitment routes, and also acting as a bulwark for smaller worlds and colonies in the system. It was also a world that was at near perpetual war: the relentless battle against the hated Greenskins consuming almost all of the world’s resources and manpower. They had first come decades ago at the back of the Beast of Armageddon, the hated Ghazgkhull Thraka, who descended upon the world like the wrath of a vengeful god. And even though the hated leader of the Orks had been driven off-world (if the Imperial propaganda machine was to be believed) his ilk remained on Armageddon, like a cancer, never leaving, never shifting, burrowing deeper and deeper into the marrow of the world. Many believed the war on Armageddon would never cease, and would burn furiously until the end of time.

But since the coming of the rainstorms the Greenskins had been peculiarly absent from the fields of Armageddon, with High Command whispering that many Orks had been sighted physically leaving the planet. Many of the upper echelons celebrated such news, claiming that the Emperor had smiled upon them and driven the filth from His favoured world. Many others pointed out that rats will leave a sinking vessel before the worst occurs. As to the reasons for the sudden quiet upon the battlefields Gheron did not care. He had twelve hours left on this shift and then he could return home to his wife and daughter. One of the few benefits of being part of the Armageddon Planetary Defence Force was that its troops were permanently garrisoned to their Hives, which meant that a modicum of a normal life could be achieved. The hours were long, and on more than one occasion Gheron’s life had been in danger, but he loved his world and he loved his family and to defend them as part of the Imperium’s armed forces was a privilege. Most of the men and women in his platoon led similar lives, defending their friends and families that lived in the Hives they guarded.

Theresa Myah, his closest friend in the platoon, stood alongside him and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Her overcoat was equally as drenched as his, and she wore her rifle slung over her shoulder so she could keep her hands in her heavy pockets. The rain on her helmet sang a staccato beat, sounding like the fingers tapping a window pane. She shuffled from foot to foot, attempting to warm herself up. When she spoke, it was with an artificial haze, her rebreather robbing much of the human tone and warmth from her voice.

“Well this is delightful, isn’t it? I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than standing in the pissing rain looking at nothing”

Gheron chuckled before responding.

“Vigilance is next to holiness don’t you know. Can’t be caught with our breeches down when old Greenie shows up can we?”

Theresa rolled her eyes.

“I mean I don’t know why they have us guarding this section. There’s been no activity her for weeks, literally weeks. Not a peep. You’ve heard the rumours: Greenie is packing up shop and leaving. And yet they’ve got us out here shaking in our boots while the God-Emperor pisses all over us”

Gheron laughed again, harder. Theresa was an eternal pessimist, but was always very humorous with it.

“So you believe the rumours? You think the war is over?”

“Does the Emperor sit a lot?” she replied, a gleam of humour in her eye.

Gheron shook his head and smiled. He took off his helmet to smooth out his hair, rubbing his hand through his blonde lock which quickly became wet with the rain. When he brought his hand down he paused: his hand and lower sleeve were a heavy red. His arm was covered in wet, sticky blood. At first he thought he was injured and patted his head furiously for any injury. He stopped in his maddened motion when he noticed Theresa staring straight up alongside many others in his platoon. Some were even pointing to the sky. Gheron raised his head also and a part of him quailed at what he saw.

The rain continued to drive down upon Armageddon, but the deluge had changed. Where once there was water, now warm, sticky gore rained from the skies coating everything in a skin of reddened viscera. The skies heaved and bled, and the clouds darkened as they vomited precious fluids upon the world they enclosed. Gheron’s mouth moved wordlessly and in panic, thinking first of his family as the sirens of Hive Tempestora began to wail.

the first war returns for vengeance on the world it was defeated from?

Oh No! What could it be? Either Tyranids or Chaos. Orks don't rain blood.

Khornes coming to town? I'm in