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The wind howled across the parade grounds tugging at the banners held aloft in the strong wind that carried with it the smell of the hive city that lay on the horizon, and overhead a gloomy sky brought with it the promise of a rainstorm to those below who happened to look up.
But to the two men accompanied by a retinue of heavily armed troopers clad in the charcoal black uniform of the interior guard of Ragnarok, it mattered not.
Ever since that fateful day nearly one year to the day, when the 134th had returned home bringing the grim news. That the hallowed hero of the regiment ,along with many brethren, had fallen while leading his men from the front. Of those few of the command staff that still lived to serve, none would speak about his last moments, and with the reputation he had gained for the regiment over the decades, none would press them for those details either.
With the demands of the Imperium and the eternal flood of enemies ready to do battle, the guard once more had need of the finest men and women of Ragnarok. In response to a series of rebellions and sedition's, high command had requested the reformation of the hallowed 134th, and the raising of many new regiments to take part in the coming offensive.
Responsibility for both the raising and eventually command would fall to the members of the old command staff that still lived, so that the soldier in question was none other than a walking nightmare according to some. While others claimed he was the wrath of the old man incarnated.
Lord general Steffan S. Loki like his father before him, was a thin figure, but not yet marred by the same augmentations his father had been forced to suffer. Himself a mere lieutenant when his father fell. He was soon catapulted up through the ranks for his heroic actions in the closing days of the war that had taken his father from him. His sole souvenir in the terms of scars was a curved and uneven one that ran down the left side of his neck where a piece of shrapnel had nicked him some years ago.
In the task of rebuilding the 134th, he had his fathers only trusted friend and comrade that had stood at his side for many grueling wars. Lord commissar Augustus was gloomy at the best of times, but the man still seemed to motivate the men by the unspoken threat he represented. And besides, it helped that he never backed away from danger, and always could be found at the front with sword gleaming in hand and pistol barking at the enemy.
He, unlike the Lord General, was definitely marked by war. Countless scars ran down his face, and one eye had been replaced by a gleaming red optical replacement. His right hand was a bionic replacement, and his rib bones had been partially replaced by metal and surgical materials.

As the men and their escorts passed the checkpoint, the conscripts on duty presented a sharp, if fear driven salute. Every man under arms knew the risks of being caught slaking by the two men who passed by. And yet, for all the fear they instilled in the common man they where looked up to. Both for guidance, for hope, and for being steadfast examples of how a man of Ragnarok could serve his Emperor.
“At ease trooper!” Steffan said ,and returned the salute as they entered the massive assembly halls that lay before them.
The entrance was under a great pair of statues depicting two Ragnarokian storm troopers with rifles at their shoulders. The name of the two troopers who the statues was built for was carved into the base of the towering monuments.
“Let us see what has crawled up from the hives to join the Imperial Guard” he said with a slight smile on his lips.
“ I am sure the men will be good enough, or anything else we may need them for sir.” Augustus replied and took his hat of and scratched a old wound with one hand.

“Indeed let us hope so!” his comrade replied, and without any further pause entered the hall. Flanked by his ever present security detail.

When the two entered the room they where assailed by the rather unpleasant smell of unwashed bodies and the odor of the hive city. To say the conscripted masses where washed and presentable would indeed be to lie he thought to himself.
Looking about for the one in charge of leading the processing of these raw recruits, he soon found the one he looked for.
Standing beside a line of low hiver youths towered a brute of a man, clad in the characteristic trench coat of the Ragnarokian regiments.
The head of the man was bald, and a pair of steel grey eyes seemed intent on drilling holes in each and everyone of the youths before him.
His coat showed the man to be of the rank of sergeant and the medals he displayed showed he was a veteran of some of the most iconic battles the 134th had fought in. sergeant Wolfson was a man who never had aspired to anything else than a life in the guard, having joined the white shield battalions at a early age he saw battles against rebels, pirates and xenos alike, he also lost all but a few of the ones who had entered the service alongside him.
Upon seeing the lord general the man seemed to brighten up and a wiry smile revealed a toothy grin as he walked over and snapped a brisk salute.
“An honour to have you here amongst these lowlifes sir!” he said while gesturing to the ranks of conscripts passing by at a steady pace.

“At ease sergeant Wolfson. Anything I and the good Lord Commissar should be aware of?” Steffan said, and looked up and down the lines passing by him.
“No sir...well except for the odd weird one, or the ones clearly cut out for specialist duty.” the man said as he handed over a large bundle of papers to the commissar in question who seemed to take it all in his stride, but that being said the man always looked ready for war and mayhem in any shape or form.
Sensing the sergeant had a question to ask the lord general gestured for the man to get on with the asking.
“If you are at liberty to tell a mere sergeant anything may I ask what the high brass has planned for us when we get our self sorted? Orks, Tyrannids or the regular Chaos vermin?”

“ I do not know sergeant, you and the other NCO's will be the first to know when I do. Carry on then!” he said and continued his walk down the assembly hall.

“Do not feel like you stand in the shadow of your father sir. You have proven yourself more than once! And besides, anyone doubting your abilities will be dealt with, either by me or by the veterans serving under you.” Augustus chimed in as they passed by a line of Schoola youths, storm trooper cadets by the looks of things he silently added to his mental list of details.
As the duo reached the end of that particular line a sharp and distinct female voice cut trough the noise of the hall.
“ Cadet Sorenson! If I EVER hear you utter those words again I will kill you where you stand and force feed your worldly remains to the rest of your squad! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!””
the reprimand was followed by a wet thud and someone crying out in pain and shock.

“Find out who that harpy like voice belongs to, and have the woman see me. If I have a aspiring commissar in the ranks I want to know the lay of the land if you understand me.”

“It will be a honor sir! Should I tell her to come in full gear or casual dress By the way” the old warrior said with a hint of humor in his words as they passed by the now silent cadets.
“Do tell her to bring the full Monty Augustus, do tell her.” Steffan finished and produced a Ilho stick from his pockets and offered one to his friend and mentor and taking one himself as they excited the hall and left the remaining stages of the inducting to the lower ranks.



After night had fallen, and the now thoroughly spent recruits had collapsed onto their designated bunks and beds. Their commander and glorious leader sat in his own private quarters pondering the wars and decades to come.
His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door and a low voice he recognized as the one belonging to the Skiitari guards provided by the Adeptus Mechanicus Magos his father had known.
“Sire, a human female bearing the designated rank of major and name file Helena Stroud seeks entrance. Commands?” the half man half machine asked.
“Let her enter soldier” he answered and put the glass of amasec away and stood up to greet this woman.

Major Helena Stroud was a woman in her late thirties who hailed from the noble classes of the Ragnarokian system, but it did not show. She was as they said hard as, as in hard as nails. Muscles bulging under her shirt, and a shaven head with eyes that seemed to project an imminent promise of death and misery to anyone and anything not friendly or loyal.
Condemned to the Schoola when she was a child, the years spent in those harsh institutions of faith and fire had formed a woman who now looked almost like a human version of a Ork nob.
“ At ease major! And have a seat, I do not care for standing around after today’s rather dull events.”
She nodded and and took a seat opposite him, but she did not seem relaxed not did she seem at ease by being alone with the man she would be taking orders from.
“Before your mind starts cooking up any reasons for me summoning you here let me say this. The reason for me doing so is very, very simple! You are the highest ranking storm trooper officer I have under my command! And such you answer directly to me and me alone.”
Pausing to have a sip of his drink he continued after setting it down.
“ you will be In command of said troops until I see fit otherwise. Do not let me regret it major. I do not suffer fools to live!”

Major Stroud sat there and listened to the man she knew was the son of the old commander. She could see it know, he had the same almost inhumane look about his eyes when he spoke. And the fact that he did in fact leave no doubt about her fate should she disappoint him in anyway made her hair stand on edge. And that was a very, very rare thing indeed.
Speaking with a surprisingly fair voice, unlike what he had expected for a woman like her to have she answered him.
“ I did not take the liberty of thinking in such lanes sir! And I am aware that fact now. I had assumed you would have a ranking officer awaiting a new assignment and something along those lines sir. And yes I do not suffer fools either, serving you will be my honour sire.”
Upon hearing these words Steffan knew he could count on the woman, after what he had heard from Augustus she was steady under fire and also it seemed understood the importunate of trust and comradeship between the top brass and the ones further down the command lines. When she spoke again he made a point of paying extra attention.

“Where there anything else you needed from me sir? Or should I return to barracks and prep for tomorrow?”

“No that would be all major, I will see you in the morning.” he said and signaled the meeting had come to an end,but before she left she heard him say.
“ I trust you to keep up the fine work major. Have a good night.”


she saluted him and walk out the door where she was greeted by a score of the massive Skitarii who stood guard. Alongside the red robed warriors a man clad in the same red robes stood waiting, his mechandrites drifted slowly about as if acting wit a mind of their own. His face was hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, but she felt his eyes follow her every step as she left the office waiting area.
As she begun on the stairs she head the doors to the lord general office open and the sounds of men greeting each other before they where slammed shut.
Deciding it was best to be somewhere else rather fast she picked up the pace and as she reached the doors leading out onto the parade ground she could only imagine what that red robed individual and the new commander had to speak about. Certainly not the finer points of machine oil and the maintenance of instruments of war that was for sure.
Walking out she cursed the now pounding rain and was about to start running to the barracks when a shadow loomed over her.
“Out after bed time are you major Stroud?” a voice she instantly knew who possessed. Turning around slowly on her heels she saw the Lord commissar standing in the driving rain puffing away n a cigar.
“Why yes I am actually, I decided that meeting the man who will command the regiment was far more important than sleep. I can rest when I am dead.” she said and looked with somewhat furrowed brows

“I see well I will not keep you out in this hellish weather any longer, but remember major do make a effort to look more properly dressed when meeting the Lord general in the future.” the old man said and looked to be contemplating something far from the everyday running and moral upkeep of the regiment he was attached to.
The man had not meant anything with the comment, it was merely a hint at that showing up in sweat stained shirt, field trousers and dirty boots did little to help her climb the ranks. But to the major it had come across as something far worse than a friendly piece of advice.

“Understood sir. I will make a note to remember that.” she replied and left the old man standing into the rain to finish his cigar.
As she did so she could feel his cold eyes, both bionic and the regular one following her every move.
“Old bastard” she almost whispered to herself under her breath. She did not enjoy being starred at for the wrong reasons but one had to suffer ones share of evils in life she knew, let the old dog glare at her. He would not get to do anything else.
The only one to love her had been dead for five years now, alongside the rest of her old squad who all had died on those bloodied fields of war where she had earned the rank of major, to the ones who knew the now eternally stormy major she was a very changed woman. Having gone from a high spirited and well liked trooper she had transformed into a hostile and almost anti social woman who wore her grief as a suit of amour against all things.
When she reached the bunkhouse her cadets where stationed in she could hear them snoring, although some seemed still to be awake. She heard them talk low amongst themselves so to not wake their comrades who lay snoring all around.

Walking quietly on the hard concrete floor she found herself standing just behind one of them, she could have reached out and snapped his neck if she was so inclined. But she did not, instead she delivered a brutal kick to the hindquarters of the individual that sent him flying before he slammed into the bunk rack opposite him.
This produced a hefty amount of noise and such many of the slumbering cadets woke up and shouted in anger. So did the kicked one and his cronies.
That was until their commander stepped out and glared at them with eyes that flared with anger. The comrades of the boy seemed to debate if to jump her but seemed to gain their senses back.
As two tried to help the dazed and bloody cadet to his feet she snarled in a almost feral tone to the ones listening and watching the spectacle.
“Let this man and his comrades be a warning to you all! When you are told to sleep you will do so until told otherwise! Staying awake to slander ones commander is punishable by death!”
with that she drew her side arm and fired three rapid shots, each round punched a fist sized hole in chest of the three recruits, they slumped down with shock and disbelief on their faces. One of them still clung to life but barely, his suffering was put to an by a shot that imploded his skull.
“Let these imbeciles be a example to you all! Until you earn your place in the guard you are NOTING!” she bellowed and holstered her side arm. Her whole body seemed to shiver with anger directed at anyone with range of her fury.
The shots had also awoken her aids who came running with weapons drawn only to find this mess awaiting them.
They where wise enough not to ask why three young men lay dead with holes blown in them, instead they barked orders at the gaping survivors and ordered them to haul the dead away and to wash the damned floor.

As the dead was hauled away and their life blood washed away silence fell once more over the halls where men lay sleeping, none of the cadets where strangers to death and hence the demise of their comrades was mourned by very few indeed.

Weeks passed and slowly but surely the new men and women of the 134th and other regiments being raised grew into a proper army, harsh and merciless drills weeded out the useless and countless hours of marching and heavy labour gave the troopers the physic needed to wage war upon the enemies of man. Watching this massive force growing and solidifying into readiness was their lord and master.
Then on a day just before the start of the new year the news came witch they had been waiting for.
Their day of glory had been provided and the soldiers of the Ragnarokian regiments would take to the stars to wage merciless war upon the enemies of man wherever they could be found.
The day the news came found Steffan in a foul mood, having been forced to listen to the babbling of ministry staff and the almost heretical amount of moaning and groaning from various adepts made him itch for a fight to clear his head.
Telling the assembled bureaucrats to remove themselves from his sight he slammed the door shut behind them and poured himself a glass of cold water. Emptying it in one fluid swing he picked up his sword and begun to head for the training halls where he could get the haze out of his head before they embarked for the journey ahead of them.
His personal protection team shadowed him like a flock of ever ready predators, but as they entered the marble and steel covered hall where the ring of steel on steel and the smell of sweat was strong he gestured for them to wait there. He did not feel the need to have them around himself at every turn and twist.
Undoing the buttons in his jacket and taking his holster of his side arm he unsheathed the sword and flicked the activation rune, the blue power blade gleamed to life and the pulsing power felt reassuring in his hands. Yes a bit of sweat and pain would indeed be good before they left this place.

The Ragnarokian's are back!

I look forward to the bloodshed

Wow!

Is this an already established regiment? Or your own design?

I'm half-tempted to start writing about Guardsmen now...

It is my own Guard regiment yes, 134th Ragnarokian regiment has served me proudly for many years. And i am pleased you boys liked it

My friend,

Its getting to the point now where I literally can't log off when I see one of your new stories until I've read it.

Ii'd like to think I was the one who inspired you to pick up 40k again, but that would just be being narcissistic.

This story if off to a great start, nice to see you writing 40k again Trondheim.

On the day of their departure the combined forces of the now twelve regiments stood at attention on, the enormous parade ground outside the hive city that had loomed over the barracks and training grounds where they been forged into full fledged guardsmen’s.
Each regiment flew its own distinct banners and the varied ranks of both tank crews, artillery men and the regular foot soldier stood there waiting for the order to embark upon the enormous transport ships that had landed.
Many felt a tingle in their guts as they saw countless others pass by and the looming shadow of the hive city many had called home. But it was clear to all those who now looked around that their day of destiny was drawing closer by the minute.
Standing amongst the nobles, various high society and planetary administration staff Lord general Steffan S. Loki looked very much out of place, his gas mask hung by its strap and his sword sheathed in a new scabbard plus the look on his face said it all. This was the moment he had been waiting for, to show that he no longer was content to stand in his fathers shadow. His trusted comrade Augustus was going over routines and procedures with the new commissars and layed the plans out before them. The old man looked like he could no be more pleased either.
The air tingled with poorly hidden eagerness for war and the thunder of artillery. The various riff raff around him tried to court for favour or a comment or two but all they got was a neutral response from the man. The more seasoned of them realized he was already working on battle plans or dreaming of the challenges head of him.
And possibly he wondered how he would handle having to work with men from other worlds too, he had no real worries about it. He had done so before and would gladly stand shoulder to shoulder with any man in the guard, but still there was always that little bit of gnawing doubt that crept into him at certain moments.

His train of thought was disturbed when a gruff voice broke the imaginary barrier he had built in his mind.
“Pardon sire, it is time to head for the ship. Do you wish to say anything to the crowd?” the trooper said and saluted him as he looked at him.
“No soldier, I do not think they need any words of encouragement. Lead the way if you please.”
With those few words he and his retainers left the sheltered nobles behind and set a course for the ship that would carry them.
The convoy of ships assembled near one of the most far flung plants in the system where the Imperial navy had assembled their substantial escort fleet, in that gathering of interstellar power there also hung four massive battleship from the adeptus mechnanicus. The red and bronze coloured ships had shadowed the convoy since it set sail from Ragnarok, and now it joined its smaller kin in guarding the troop carriers and other vulnerable targets. It was clear to the admiral who commanded the fleet that the cog boys had some deeper interest than just being friendly. But he did not question their aid either, life was too short to waste on such foolish activities.
With the latest arrivals the fleet was now ready to raise anchor and head for the system where they would join the already bloody war raging there.
With a otherworldly display of colour and madness the ships broke open the divide between the normal void and the empyrean, the ships vanished in a multi coloured glare and only dark and cold space was left.
Meanwhile this was unfolding the commanding officers and generals had gathered in the bowls of the biggest ship, they sat one and all and awaited the briefing that was to come. None really knew who would be leading this meeting but judging by the amount navy arms men and silent sentries dressed in heavy carapace armour and armed with auto rifles no chances where being taken.
Amongst these men of great skill and value to the imperium sat Steffan S. Loki and took quiet observations of those around him.
He saw a Cadian colonel speaking quietly to a officer clad in the uniform of the Mordian Iron guard, it was indeed a mixed gathering. But one thing he saw that sat his nerves on edge was the man clad in simple cut cloth and fur accompanied by a man in similar cloths, both wore a few rank insignias and some personal bitzs and pieces on them, but he could see that they where definitively not the normal breed of guard officers. Then it dawned on him, they where rough riders from a world that lay in a sector that bordered the Ragnarokian system. Both men looked bored out of their minds and one man produced a deck of cards and shuffled it and dealt the other man a hand. In utter silence the two sat and played some card game of sorts to make the time pass.
Then the heavy doors slid open and a man walked in flanked by two troopers, he looked to be in his late fifties but that could be of course wrong with the mind boggling amounts of treatments for ageing whatnot. But his posture revealed one thing, this was a man one definitely did not wish to cross or make an enemy of. To enforce this point the stylized symbol on the chain that hung around his neck enforced it too.
So the man was a inquisitor well that did indeed explain a good deal, and it also raised a few eyebrows when he stepped onto the podium in the center of the room. The inquisition was seldom the bringers of good news as Steffan saw it. And never so if they decided to suddenly make an appearance while the men he lead was in transit between the stars.

But the man made no gesture to adders the crowd of officers who now followed him with their eyes, instead the man seemed wracked by pain and slipped down on a chair and waved his two retainers away with a irritated hand gesture.
As the meeting dragged towards its conclusion and the finale plans for the landings for the troops where agreed upon Steffan alongside Augustus who had by this point joined him both looked positively ready to shoot someone, the host of different officers and their petty squabbling made both their heads ring with the voices of those damned arm chair generals.
“I suggest we leave these fine men to it sir. I feel a need for silence and the distinct lack of arguing over who goes where.”

“Agreed Augustus, let them sort it out themselves. We have our tasks ready and none will offer to switch with us I suspect. Trench warfare seldom is seen as glorious.” he said and picked up his coat as the left the now warm and damp room behind.
They walked in silence through the seemingly endless corridors of the ship when suddenly the corridor they had just walked into became a gloomy place, the lights had partially gone out overhead and the silence that followed that made both men reach for their weapons. While failures in the lighting was not uncommon it was very rare for it to happen so suddenly and for almost all the sounds of the daily life of the ship around them to vanish too.
“Bugger all! I do not like this!” said Augustus and readied his weapon and side arm, his main weapon was a gleaming power sabre, a heirloom given to him by a now long dead officer he had once had the honor of serving with.
“Nor do I....but let us keep moving on ahead, I suspect we will find out what is going on soon enough. Even if its just a case of dying light bulbs.”

“ I agree” Steffan said and readied his own side arm, but as the two dared to venture fourth noting jumped out from badly light shadows to have a go at them, but both men still felt their hairs stand on edge. As they paused beside a massive pipe of some sort the vox link in his ear sparkled to life and the voice of a navy man filled his ear.
“Sir you there? I repeat lord general are you there!”

“Yes no need to deafen me boy! I am here although the lights seems to have vanished. The lord commissar of my regiment is also here” Steffan said.
“We know they have, there has been similar incidents all around the ship. Navy security is sweeping the ship as we speak.”
“I see well then, keep us posted if anything should occur we need worry about.” Steffan finished and cut the link.
They reached their quarters without any further incidents, and they passed several large and heavily armed security patrols sweeping the ship alongside tech priests tending to the ship and its needs.
Before they went their separate ways the old commissar said to his younger friend and comrade.
“I would make sure to have your personal protection team nearby at all times sir. Just to be sure if you catch my drift.”
“Understood Augustus, the same idea came to me too! But thank you regardless.”
In the days to come as the ships ploughed trough the empyrean towards their destination the leader of the Ragnarokian regiments begun to drill his officers and other staff for the battels to come. They had already known for some time they where headed to a world named Thurin.
What they had known known was that they where heading to a war that had turned into a stalemate, with vile heretics and traitor forces who had denounced the emperor and his mercy had dug themselves in and refused to budge. No matter how hard the guard pounded them. In the last day before the actual assault on Thurin who now was cut of from any aid from traitor ships he begun to reveal the finale details of what would be needed to purge these foul devils from the nests they had dug for themselves.
Segmentum command had given them the authorization to deploy chemical weapons to soften the enemy up and then with the aid of the Adeptus mechanicus troops accompanying them they would assault the rebels outside the most heavily defended hives still in their control.
“Make no mistake! We face battle harden and well motivated men who will gladly die for their dark masters. But know this! We are the hammer of the Emperor and we will not yield until the last of them lays dead under our boots and the world is purged of sin!” was the last words he gave them before the men and women of his staff departed from the meeting room and went to make their troops ready for the assault landings that would begin in twelve standard hours.



Planet fall was a nightmare of hammering anti air fire, turbulence and the screaming of the engines of the drop ships. Despite the fact they where landing in friendly held sectors the enemy still filled the skies with black puffs of flak fire as the Ragnarokians landed.
In her drop ship storm trooper major Helenea Stroud felt her stomach lurch and heave as the ship avoided the worst of the enemy fire and tried to keep the course it was on.
“One minute until we land! We will be landing hot and the enemy is at the gates. Trust in the emperor and men beside you and you will survive!” she yelled over the vox to her now graduated troopers all around her in the dimly light passenger bay of the transport.
Although she would not admit it until the day she died the new troops looked like a fine bunch to go to war with, to bad many of them would not live trough their first real campaign.
“Landing in ten seconds” the pilot said over the vox speakers and they all felt the ship hit the ground hard but safely.
Then the doors slammed down they caught their first gaze of the world they had come to liberate but the illusion of silence did not last for more than a fraction of second. The his of rounds and the sounds of nearby explosions made them all sprint down the ramps and onto the fields of war.

The enemy was indeed close, using the cover of a passing storm they had gotten very, very close to the lines of the guard. And when dawn broke they launched a massive attack, now the new troops landing where thrown directly into the fray.
She ducked as a shell landed nearby and hurled debris and pieces of now dead guardsmen all around. The fine red mist seemed to glimmer in the light of the dawn as the storm troopers swarmed over the landing area and hurled themselves into the desperate battle ongoing in the deep trench system before them.
“Alpha, Juliet and Gamma squad with me! The rest of you fan out and provide relief where its needed!” she barked and aimed her trusty bolter and let of a series of bursts that accounted for several rebels armed with auto guns and grenades, the men fell shredded by the powerful rounds.
Around her it was clear this was turning into a very, very bloody battle. The sounds of the dying competed with the sounds of guns and the screaming of incoming ordnance. But one thing was clear to both sides. There would be no mercy, no surrender and no respite until one side lay broken and the other had its steel toed boots resting on its slain enemies.
She was breathing heavily now, her gas mask was stained with gore and mud as she sidestepped a bayonet lunge from a traitor and shot the man at point blank range with her weapon. He fell back with a fist sized hole gaping in his neck, pausing to reload and look around she saw that many if not most of her squads had reached the relatively safety of the trenches alongside her.
Over the vox she heard different troopers call out where the enemy had gathered and various other things related to the battle at hand.
She also head the cries of the wounded and the ones who would soon sit beside the emperor.
“Keep on hitting them! DO NOT STOP!” she cried out and with a substantial effort she hauled herself over a large pile of rubble mixed with barbed wire and found herself face to face with a large number of enemy troops. The men looked somewhat shocked to see her but it only lasted for a split second, they regained their composure and a hail of las bolts and solid shot ripped into the walls and ground around here as she dove for cover while the traitors howled in anger and closed in on her, but as they where about to rush her position a volley of grenades came hurling trough the air and landed amongst them and detonated in a shower of shrapnel and fire.

One man had been literary torn in two by the combined force of the explosion and the hail of metal, and lay screaming in agony as his torn guts where spilling out from him. The smell of ruptured guts and human excrement filled the air and made her wish her gas mask also could filter out the horrid smell that now assaulted her nostrils.
She rose from her cover and looked around for the ones who had lobbed the grenades, the ones who had done so appeared from over the rubble she just had scurried over.
Her rescuers where not as expected her own storm troopers but a ragged band of guardsmen clad in stained fatigues and armed with the signature weapon of the guard. They looked like dead men walking as they looked her over and determined she was a loyalist and more importantly alive.
Their leader was a thin man in his late twenties with dirty blond hair and a sneer on his face.
As the man asked if she was in need of medical attention or something else they could help her with her own squads came into view, they where notable fewer of them now than the mere minutes since she had last seen them.
Saying her thanks to the troops who had saved her albeit unintentional as the squad leader explained to her as his men reloaded and took a precious few seconds to gulp down water and wipe grime and blood from their faces.

“Major are you injured?” the trooper she had made one of her deputies said and sounded embarrassed and ashamed that his officer had come astray, even if they had been wrapped up in a brutal close quarter struggle against several waves of veteran enemy units.

“No trooper I am not, but do try and keep up next time will you! And beside I assume you gave the devils as good as you got.” she said and the tone in her voice left doubt about the answer she wanted to get.
“Yes we did, but we took heavy casualties when they deployed flame throwers against us and the other guard troops back there. Other squads are counting to hit them as we speak.”
she decided those few moments the former cadets had experienced somehow had turned a switch in their heads. Perhaps there was hope after all she decided and signalled for her fellow storm troopers to follow her as they pressed on, behind them came the weary and grim faced regular troops came clutching their las guns and glaring at the men at their front.

It's a good new entry Trondheim but could do with a polish up of a few word tbh

And was this line inspired by starship troopers? - “One minute until we drop! We will be landing hot and the enemy is at the gates. Trust in the emperor and men beside you and you will survive!”

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
It's a good new entry Trondheim but could do with a polish up of a few word tbh

And was this line inspired by starship troopers? - “One minute until we drop! We will be landing hot and the enemy is at the gates. Trust in the emperor and men beside you and you will survive!”

No, it was not inspired by that one. Of my own mind it was spawned

Oh right, it just sounded a bit similar or at least my mind conjured the thought in the hope of nids.

Haha well one can always dream, and no. Nids are not coming

Very nicely done, it really captures the feeling of the Imperial Guard.

I'm enjoying this, although the pacing could use some work... One minute it's a parade ground, the next they're in the warp and then suddenly they are thrust straight into battle. It feels a bit like each scene doesn't get a well-rounded ending and simply pours over into the next one. I also thought something interesting was going to come from the power outages on the ship but I was disappointed when they just went to bed. Furthermore it would have been useful if they had stayed in the Inquisitor's briefing, that was a good opportunity to give readers an idea of the wider picture - more information about the war and why the Inquisitor was there. Even if you only hinted at the reasons, it'd make us all have a good long think about it. Also I'll mention a minor fluff point, Stormtroopers are the most highly trained soldiers in the guard and they are not deployed onto the front lines as a vanguard, they are reconnaissance and infiltration units. They always have a specific mission, not merely used to bolster the lines in the meatgrinder. They also are not part of guard regiments, they are attached from their own stormtrooper regiments.

Other than those points which I hope are useful and can help you improve your writing, it was a good read and I look forward to more.

 Darkvoidof40k wrote:
I'm enjoying this, although the pacing could use some work... One minute it's a parade ground, the next they're in the warp and then suddenly they are thrust straight into battle. It feels a bit like each scene doesn't get a well-rounded ending and simply pours over into the next one. I also thought something interesting was going to come from the power outages on the ship but I was disappointed when they just went to bed. Furthermore it would have been useful if they had stayed in the Inquisitor's briefing, that was a good opportunity to give readers an idea of the wider picture - more information about the war and why the Inquisitor was there. Even if you only hinted at the reasons, it'd make us all have a good long think about it. Also I'll mention a minor fluff point, Stormtroopers are the most highly trained soldiers in the guard and they are not deployed onto the front lines as a vanguard, they are reconnaissance and infiltration units. They always have a specific mission, not merely used to bolster the lines in the meatgrinder. They also are not part of guard regiments, they are attached from their own stormtrooper regiments.

Other than those points which I hope are useful and can help you improve your writing, it was a good read and I look forward to more.

Well thank you, if it explains anything my works are translated from Norwegian so I suppose it may acount for some. But thank you anyhow. As regarding the storm troopers I take some creative liberties, due the fact I base my work on the regiment I play on the table top.

 Trondheim wrote:

 Darkvoidof40k wrote:
I'm enjoying this, although the pacing could use some work... One minute it's a parade ground, the next they're in the warp and then suddenly they are thrust straight into battle. It feels a bit like each scene doesn't get a well-rounded ending and simply pours over into the next one. I also thought something interesting was going to come from the power outages on the ship but I was disappointed when they just went to bed. Furthermore it would have been useful if they had stayed in the Inquisitor's briefing, that was a good opportunity to give readers an idea of the wider picture - more information about the war and why the Inquisitor was there. Even if you only hinted at the reasons, it'd make us all have a good long think about it. Also I'll mention a minor fluff point, Stormtroopers are the most highly trained soldiers in the guard and they are not deployed onto the front lines as a vanguard, they are reconnaissance and infiltration units. They always have a specific mission, not merely used to bolster the lines in the meatgrinder. They also are not part of guard regiments, they are attached from their own stormtrooper regiments.

Other than those points which I hope are useful and can help you improve your writing, it was a good read and I look forward to more.

Well thank you, if it explains anything my works are translated from Norwegian so I suppose it may acount for some. But thank you anyhow. As regarding the storm troopers I take some creative liberties, due the fact I base my work on the regiment I play on the table top.

Ah, the language barrier explains things then... I congratulate you on what you've accomplished considering that.

It's not unbelievable for a regiment to have its own elite units and call them storm troopers as well.. makes perfect sense really.

Yes I find English rather hard to apply to my own works, and yes. A very good point

 Trondheim wrote:
Yes I find English rather hard to apply to my own works, and yes. A very good point

It would be interesting to see if this regiment became more and more diverse with additional unique units or formations.

After all, got to make your heroes' regiment stand out. (of course to keep it believable... strengths & weaknesses go hand in hand as I'm sure you know)

Now who would think having a significant other listening to Hip hop would inspire one to make grim dark stories So without further pause here it is.


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While the storm troopers who had landed with the enemy with literal arms reach slugged it out beside the hard pressed regiments already engaged the bulk of the Ragnarokian forces had landed further behind friendly lines, there companies and armoured formations rallied as soon as they could. Their orders where very clear, push forwards and engage the enemy with all available means at their disposal. Leading this hammer like blow would be be the armoured regiments and the Skiitari troops provided by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Following behind grenadiers and mechanized troops would expand the breach and drive a bloodied spike into the soft underbelly of their enemies.

He stood silently beside his most trusted men and his old comrade and watched the regiments begin their steady advance upon the enemy, in the background the roar and thuds of the heavy guns could be hear as they showered the enemy trenches in high explosive ordnance.
“I want the enemy routed from their filthy holes! We need to secure our flanks and make sure our own infantry has sufficient shelter to weather out any enemy assault or counter attacks.”
He paused for a moment and adjusted his gas mask and resumed giving orders that would be followed to the letter by his devoted men.
“ But be warned, I suspect our enemy has more up his ragged sleeves than mere fodder and random bombardments. At the first signs of anything out of the normal raise the alert.”

as he said those words a vox operator approached the gathering of high brass and said in a somewhat nervous tone.
“Sir we just received news from high command. We are not alone in attacking the enemy, several detachments of rough riders are also being landed as we speak. The message from high command said they are from the Nemedian regiments. “
The young man saw his commander visibly tense up when he said those words, in his mind he wondered what could have caused a man like lord general to tense up as he did.
“I see......well thank you Private, return to your post at once.”
diminishing his staff he stood alone fro a moment and gathered himself, Nemdians where never good news. The men of those regiments where savage even by the standards of the rough riders that served the imperial guard, and then there where the great feline beasts they rode into war. The animals resembled Cruxigorian war beasts but there the similarity ended, they where massive beasts with shaggy manes of thick hair and a whip like tail and paws that ended in claws strong enough to maul anyone who got in their reach. But the effectiveness of these new forces where not lost to him, once they had slipped behind enemy lines they would sow mayhem and misery for the traitorous bastard indeed. Provided they survived the initial charge to reach said positions that where, luck and favorable odds still played a part in any battle fought by the guard.

“Lets begin this dance of death then! With me men” he called and his retinue of men rushed to follow their commander, pressing his earpiece he contacted his most trusted man in the whole army at his disposal.
“Lord commissar Augustus! I trust your old bones are pleased for the change of pace?” he said and listened to the old war dog laugh over the sounds of weapon fire and the odd loud explosion nearby him.
“Yes my lord! We are engaging what looks like several detachments of heavy foot troops backed by heavy weapons and armour to the north. I expect us to have them broken and dead with the next few hours or so.” was the reply he got before the channel was swamped by a hail of men calling in disturbing news.
Reports of enemy troops clad in scarlet uniforms and fighting with a infernal zeal under otherworldly banners made lord general Steffan S. Loki swear most foul. Realizing who and what these new foes where made the colour drain from his face.
The traitorous forces who once had made war in the name of the imperium had switched sides when the ugly head of rebellion had appeared within the system they now helped turn into a bloodstained war zone. These where the men of the royal Thurin regiments amongst others, lead by the equally corrupt nobles who had raised the regiments.
Now these traitorous had batherd their souls to the dark gods and where hell bent on driving the hated Imperial servants out, and lay the system wide open to their dark masters.
They where troops who did not yield when pressed, and unlike the common dregs of chaos they showed a high degree of discipline and a uncanny talent for evolving new methods of combat to disrupt their enemy.

Grabbing the nearest vox operator he began to give orders at a brisk pace, he knew with such enemies at hand his options had been reduced. No longer could his men rely on bypassing strong points or leaving a single enemy alive as they advanced. And so many raw troops under his command this could become a slaughter and a very poor start for the new regiment indeed. No amount of drill could prepare hive raised youngsters to the sheer ferocity of the blood pact, but he knew he had a solid anchor in the skiitari troops and the older soldiers under his command. These where man and Mechanicus warriors who did not flinch when the enemy sent in their best troops.
But his forces also had their share of weak minded fools, chief amongst these where the batch of troops drawn from the population who had no say about their own life’s. These men where very well known for their variable morale and willingness to fight. More than once they had simply abandoned their posts after disposing of any nearby ranking officers. They also had switched sides in battels past, and thus brought bloody ruin upon the faithful men of Ragnarok.
With this reputation they where often the ones sent first into enemy fire, used to make the enemy waste munitions and revealing the placements of concealed weapon teams.
Reflecting their outcast status amongst the common fighting man they wore ragged uniforms, ate the worst rations and received shoddy equipment.
They where also rumoured to be used as testing subjects for combat drugs and other rather unpleasant cocktails of chemical control used by their rulers to keep the unwashed masses in line.
In short they where considered vermin and hence the treatment they got reflected it. No medical attention for wounded men, only a las bolt or cold steel relived wounds they themselves could not tend to. And with the horrid conditions most low hive dwellers lived in on their home worlds new recruits where seldom a issue. They where the the rusted blades and they would bleed and bleed the enemy while dying to redeem their filthy souls.

Having issued orders to his men and learned what foul heretics opposed them he signaled to his personal security team and began to make his way to the front. In the distance the rumble of cannons and the steady chatter of heavy bolters could be heard as the two sides slugged it out amongst the now partially ruined trench lines.
As they pressed forwards to join the fray they passed the signs of the desperate fighting that had raged between the troops who had been here before them and their enemies.
Mangled corpses and disregarded weapons lay all around, and in the many craters left by heavy ordnance pools of murky and red stained water had begun to gather. They also passed burnt out tanks and still smouldering wrecks that looked to be very recent. Many of those wrecks where marked with the identification marks of his very own troops.

Steffan felt his mind steel itself for the mayhem that awaited them at the front lines that was now in view, he trusted his men and he trusted himself. But still one could never be quite sure one would come out of a battle smelling like roses and walking upright.
Unsheathing his blade and drawing his ornate bolt pistol he walked into the awaiting meat grineder with a neutral face but his inner self smiled a predatory grin.

nice new entry, and I like the name the rusted blades.

Excellent... I look forward to a fierce battle sequence.

May I suggest you do some posts now and then from the perspectives of both the enemy troops and commanders as well as other IG units to give the battle far more scope and give personality to the other participants. It'd also give us insight into what the enemy is like and also what other IG think of the other regiments... They don't always get on well.. Maybe a friendly fire "accident" could set up interesting, if volatile, interactions and consequences in the future which may be a lot of fun for you to write and us to read.

While their commander and the other troops who seldom lacked what they needed, or wanted begun to throw themselves at the enemy lines the men serving in the penal legion like units known as the rusted blades where already enrolled in a gory mess of their own. The units a whole looked like something dredged up from a garbage dump, covered in gore, mud and ill fitting uniforms that marked them as pariahs.
They where being sent by the thousands down into the maze of old sewers and tunnels below the battlefield to clear out any enemy troops lurking down there. But instead of just foul heretics they also found the slavering hordes of mutants and beast men unleashed upon the world by the ones who had risen up against the imperium.
The dimly light tunnels and cramped walk ways made for a particular brutal wasteland where vermin from both sides meet their fate.

But if anyone who thought of these condemn souls as cowards or weak minded where gravely mistaken. Used to such places from the worlds they had once called home they grappled with the enemy and let their enemies feel the rusty bite of their fangs as years of penned up anger and hate where allowed to flood out.
The tactics they used where quite simple but good enough to make due, the men organized themselves into squads and used flamers, las fire and grenade bundles to fight their enemy. They knew they could not escape the fight they had been given.
Leading this ragged bunch of criminals and unlucky individuals where a man who had fallen far from grace in the regular regiments after beating the life out of a superior officer after said man had left his comrade to die when their positions where about to be over run by waves of screaming Orks.
He was a heavy set man with eyes that glared bloody murder for the most part of his time spent awake. His once handsome face had been ruined by the hands of torturers before he was thrown into this brotherhood of outcasts. One eye had been ripped out and never replaced and he was missing several teeth giving him a ugly appearance.
But one thing that had never faltered where his belief in the very simple motto that anything was justifiable by the finale goal and his hate for the men who had sent him to die unremembered and looked down upon.

Acting as his second in command was a shadow of a man with pale skin and greasy black hair added to his red tinted eyes hidden behind dark sun shades. The two men went by the names of Mongrel and Tobin, Mongrel being the man with the red tinted eyes and Tobin being the one leading the rusted blades both on and of the battlefield.
They where equally hated and respected by their underlings who knew far better than to conspire against the duo, who could be sadistic even by their standards to anyone who stepped out of line.
Mongrel was also the one who enforced the will of his only friend, his slender hands and the set of blades he carried did wonders to battalion order and obedience.
Now they stood in a great vault strewn with corpses and the casings of spent auto gun munition, the bodies where for the most part beast men and mutants. But there where also a good deal of their own mixed in, but not that anyone of them shed a tear because of it.
So far they had broken trough four lines of barricades and traps sprinkled with the odd ambush by the raving lunatics they where killing down in the gloom.

“So what do you think? Where should we begin to hit them come next cycle? I was thinking at the intersection where all those big pipes cross the main tunnel” Mongrel said and flexed his finger that had a distinct scarlet shade to them after he had bleed a beast man dry.
The cycle he referred to was when the distant manufacturers that still churned out weapons and munitions for the traitors flushed their waste down the maze of tunnels below.
“A good idea but I don’t fancy wading in toxic sludge just to kill mutants or some flea riddled bastard. I think its better to bypass the strong point and just collapse it down upon them. It will save us the time needed to kill them all anyhow.” Tobin said and smirked at the prospect of collapsing the roof onto of those devils. He slipped a bottle from his bandoleer and took a deep swig of the murky liquid with in it. The raw taste of alcohol numbed his mouth and made his hair tingle as he felt the soothing effects of it.
Handing the bottle to Mongrel who took a mere sip of it and handed it back he nodded and walked of in the distance where the sounds of the almost rhythmical crack of las fire could be heard.

His second in command stood there for a moment and looked at eh bottle in his hand and seemed lost in some maze like train of thought before he emptied it and clipped it onto his belt.
His eyes hurt like the very tainted air around him attempted to make him claw them out, but he was used to it. They always hurt and he had learned to tackle the pain and constant dripping of tears from them.
His comrades had a different nickname for than Mongrel, to them he was imply know as the weeping devil. He was unhealthy to be around, everything from his mood swings to his unearthly fascination with make people suffer made men nervous when he could be seen stalking the halls of the ship that carried them between the stars. Or in the dark below hive cities when they where unleashed.
The few who he counted as friends, and thus safe from his special ways knew he always balanced on that razor thin line between sanity and refined madness when the red mist took him.
Those people where Tobin, Eva the vox girl and Ramun the scout. These three where the only ones he had sworn to harm.
Adjusting his shades and swirling his most precious possession between his fingers he slipped after his friend while imagining how it would be to watch a child bleed out in front of its own kind. Maybe sport could be found when they reached the hive city that loomed in the distance.

Eva was a tiny woman, she reached her comrade Tobin just to his chest and she was built like a stick. All bone and sinew she was not the one expected to last long in the company of rapists, murders and thief’s, but after she had been thrown into the penal battalion after her step mother had bribed a guard officer to make it happen she had been expecting to die. But it had not happened, instead a slender figure with red tinted weeping eyes had taken a liking to her and looked after her. All she had done was to hand him his sun shades, she had in her rather innocent ways thought noting of it until later.
Two now dead and dismembered men had dreamt about defiling the slender new addition to their band of misfits, but both had died screaming in agony as Mongrel had cut them apart one tiny cut at a time. Their sobs and screams for death had kept everyone awake as the weeping devil had exacted his own form of twisted justice upon them.
Since that horrid experience she had seldom been far away from the man or maybe devil who had saved her.
On the few times she was far from him she walked in the shadows of harder and bigger men, but none dared curl a hair on her head.
Now she sat on a ammo crate and worked her way trough the channels she had access to listening for news or orders from the bastards top side.
Around her men restocked, drank water and cursed their lot in life as they hauled dead comrades out of the way.
She brushed a strain of hair back behind her ears and puffed out smoke and kept on listening, always listening between looking around for Mongrel.
But as the vox begun to spit out messages from men encountering yet another wave of enemies she realized that her lover was a long time coming.


Tobin ducked under a wide blow from a man clad in worker overalls and armed with a massive wrench. The face of the man was hidden beneath a mask and rusted nails protruded from his shaven skull.
Slamming his bayonet into the guts of the man and ripping the blade sideways he watched as the man now screaming in agony fell down and twisted until he shot him directly in the face.
Around his comrades where equally busy, fighting with everything from knifes to rusted pieces of pipe they hacked and slashed at the devil blocking their path.
He afforded himself to look around for Mongrel, but the thin devil was no where to be seen. But he knew that the man was not far away, where there was knife work to be had he would be found.
A gurgled scream to his left confirmed that, a woman clad in ragged robes fell back with a stiletto buried in her eye and a young man dropped like a shot grox when a broad bladed combat blade dug into his neck. Licking the blood of the blade Mongrel looked very much like a devil, although devils never looked so unnerving to Tobin as he did.
“ A fine day for a bit of fun eh Tobin” he said and seemed to find those words amusing.

“You have weird taste when it comes to fun. Il take mine when I have more booze than blood in me when this is all done” he replied and fired several point blank shots at a lumbering beast man with several arms ending in snapping claws. The shots made the beast stagger and bray in pain but did not kill it. It lowered its ram head and was about to charge when a gout of flame embraced it and made it resemble a living torch until it fell down to the ground screaming in some dark tongue.
The fight had been a hard one, they had been surprised by the enemy when they where about to start placing explosives to collapse the tunnel that lay next to the on they where in now.
Before the penal warriors could muster a counter attack many had been ripped to shreds and the screams of the wounded and dying now filled the air around them. What could not be cured with scavenged medications and improvised care would be put down like wounded dogs.
As the last enemy fell riddled with las holes punched trough him the men begun to tend to their own, and counting to plant the explosives on the walls.

Noice new addition again, damn those stilettos are just as dangerous as I said. Oh and nice background on the weeping devil and vox woman

I think that was the best post in this story so far! I loved the disgruntled and disgraced penal legion characters... All very interesting. In fact I hope they get their own thread one day, they are extremely fun to read... Guardsmen who are no better than hive scum yet have been trained to kill.. No glory or retirement for them, only endless blood and suffering.. Grim dark just how I like 40k to be.

Authors note : Someone asked for more detail on the Inqusitor previosly read bout, so I have tried to fulfill that request. The chapter may be a bit low on blood, but next chapter should bring that up back to normal. Also C&C is always welcomed.

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In the cool depths of a massive cruiser that orbited Thurin a lone figure sat behind his desk and studied a staggering amount of diagrams, reports and other things layed out before him. He seemed lost in this task until a wave of agony gripped his skeleton thin frame and his face formed a grimace of utter pain, he found his breathing labored and his vision was blurred by it. Cold sweat began to stream down and he pressed a button on a control panel on his desk.
The massive steel doors to his quarters slid open with the the sound of running feet came a pair of his acolytes came running in, one of them holding a medicine bag.
The two acolytes helped the man who was marked by many long and lonely years spent in service to mankind over to the bed that stood on the far side of the chamber.
There they administered drugs to sooth the pain and gave him a sip of water to help wash the foul taste of bile out his mouth.
With a faint smile he spoke in a low voice.
“My thanks it calms a old man like myself to know one can count on people like you help him along these dark days.”
the two acolytes managed smiles of their own and continued their treatment of their mentor and master.

The name of the inquisitor suffering in that bed was Inquisitor Dorian, and he was a member of the Ordo Malleus. Devoted to bring fire and judgement upon the heretics and unbelievers that plagued the realms of man. For two years now he had steadily but very slowly recovering from the ordeals that had almost taken his life in the Calexsis sector when he had done battle with the heretical covenant of heretics that had planned to plunge the whole sector into darkness. The psykers and would be apostles of heresy had all but save a few died at the hands of the Inquisition. Those who had not died had been captured and received a faith far worse than death.
They had by unholy methods gotten a infiltrator in amongst the crew of the ship he had been, and that fell soul had stricken him down with a poised blade in a attempt to end his life. The would be assassin had died before his task could be completed, riddled by bolter shell and las fire.
For many long weeks had he swung between life and death until a cure could be administrated and his very slow road to recovery could begin. The poison had cost him a arm as a infection had begun to eat away at it. But he somehow survived it all and had sworn to cling onto life.
But it was not the loss of a arm or the state he was in now that pained him the most, it had been the loss of all but three of his acolytes. They had all fallen in various missions and while defending him from the assassin.
As he lay there thinking back to those dark days a voice that he knew could only belong to one individual broke the silence.
“You still live then Inquisitor, it seems you still have that inner fire in you then.” the speaker stepped out of the shadows and revealed a massive figure clad in black tinted power armour, the towering demi god seemed completely obvious by the stench that had filled the room after the now resting Inquisitor had vomited bile while his acolytes had carried him to his bed. But he knew far better than that, the warrior would not let such a human emotion as disgust to be revealed.
“I still live yes but the days are noting but pain and misery now. I only live to spite my enemies until the day I can put it all behind me.”

“So it dose appear Inqusitior.”

The knight loomed over him as he stepped closer and stepped out into the dim light, his eyes shining with the power that layed behind them always unnerved Dorian. No mater how many times he had seen them, they always seemed to search for the smallest hint of guilt of any and all shorts.
The heraldry on his shoulder pauldrons showed his leadership of the third brotherhood and his massive sword hung at his hip, Brother captain Romulus was indeed a sight to behold.
But beside from his prowess as a fighter, his skills as a leader of the warriors of the Astartes and servant of the imperium was the thing that made him come across as so inhuman to put it was the aura of absolute confidence he had. When he and his brothers took the field no one was to powerful, to fast or strong enough to stay their hands.
“I believe my last days are coming Romulus, I can feel it in my bloody bones. Even though I am slowly recovering from the blow that layed me low I know I am running out of time.”

“We all have a unknown number of years provided my our beloved Emperor to fill, until that last day comes we are best spent spreading his will. I will leave you now Dorian, call us if you require aid. We are forever ready” the warrior monk said and flexed his armoured fingers.

The old man sat up in his bed and rested his aching head in his hands before steadying himself with a cane that had been placed by his bed. He maid his way over to his desk and slumped into the chair that stood there waiting for him.


Brother captain Romulus stalked down the empty corridors with a burdened mind, he had many things to consider in the dark days that would eventual come he knew. The old man in the room he had left had at best a year or so to live, his physical wounds where mending as good as they could be expected to but his mind.... he knew when he saw a soul tiered of the eternal hardship one had to endure as a faithful these days. When he finally did die the brotherhood would need to choose a new Inquisitor to aid, although all calls for assistance by the Inquisition was treated the same. But one had more favor brothers in arms than others, politics also played into it all, even amongst the sons of the emperor.
Passing the chambers where his brother where immersing themselves in training he felt their minds connect to his, their thoughts and trust in him reassured his burdened mind, but also steeled his determination.
He resisted the urge to join them and loose himself in the cycle of training that always seemed to relief the feeling of burden that sometimes weighted down upon his massive shoulders.
Instead he headed for the place he knew he was needed.
He headed instead for the one place no one who where not like him would dare to enter, even Dorian would hesitate to even attempt to make entry into the place he was heading, within those sheltered walls he would immerse himself in meditation and reflection and let the soothing fellowship of his brothers clear his mind as he reflected upon the reason for they being here.


Meanwhile on the world the ship orbited troops marked with the distinct emblem that labelled them the very elite of Ragnarokian fighting stock continued to lock horns with the enemy.
The storm troopers under the command of Major Helena Stroud had been involved in fierce fighting in and around a series of ruined structures that had once been the largest cathedral on Thurin, it had been sitting in a waste grass covered field surrounded by the mausoleums of the rich, the noble and powerful that had ruled the world for countless aeons before the coming of rebellion.
Now the once pride of the sector was in ruins, its stained glass windows broke, its walls gaping with holes and the roof blow out by shells.
Dawn found the now combat proven survivors of those who had landed waiting in their potions for the order to resume their assault on the rebel lines. Around the the air stank of death, spent munitions and the smell of burning fuel.

Helena was sitting on the ground with her back to a ruined statue and counted the seconds until she needed to get up and order her underlings into the breach once more. She felt dog tired and she knew it could be seen when she removed her helmet and gas mask to wipe the sweat and grime from the inside.
But she did not allow herself to rest any longer than absolutely needed, as a commanding officer she felt a need to lead by example and go trough what her own rank and file men and women did.
Pressing her vox ear piece she summoned the surviving platoon leaders to her for a tactical briefing on what lay ahead of them.
As they gathered around her n their by now ragged uniforms and battle scared gear they all looked ready for the task at hand she decided and felt somewhat proud to have such soldiers under her.
“Here is the plans for the coming attack in two standard hours, we will take part in a coordinated push towards the hive you can see from here. It will be some thirty kilometers of trenches and no man land between us and it. We will be fighting along side several regiments, both from Ragnarok and other worlds. So be on your best behavior.”
pausing to put her helmet and gas mask back on she also spat out dust before using the straps and making sure the mask was fitted properly.
“ a brief bombardment will suppress enemy forces and thus allowing us to go over the top, I want all dedicated marks men ready to pick of any and all heavy weapons teams that decide to play it brave, as for who goes first and who goes last. That part you all know by now.”
waiting for the questions she would come she looked around the assembled troopers. She needed not wait long. A trooper with the rank of corporal and a body like a male grox stepped fourth and said in a rumbling voice.

“What about enemy armor Major? Will we have armored support or need we relay on what we can haul with us.”

“Fair question, no we will have armored support and the privilege of having Skiitari troops pushing up from further down the line. Those two elements will be adequate to deal with any and all enemy tin cans.” This seemed to satisfy the solider who nodded and stepped down.
“ Know this ladies and gents! Either we win today or we all find ourselves stuck here for a very long time! The attack by our comrades has unsettled the enemy but not enough so that they may still be able to recover from the initial shock.”
As she wrapped up the briefing she felt uneasy for some reason, she checked her weapon, her side arm and other things and let out a deep breath.
Sometimes she swore she could feel some distant observer scour her mind as she conducted her bloody trade in the trenches.

She walked forwards to the part of the line that where the last stop before no man’s land and looked around and saw hundreds of soldiers standing at the ready.
“This is it, the calm before the storm. The last deep breath before the finale plunge.” she thought as the first shells from the heavy guns in the rear landed between the enemy positions.
Then letting her breath out she gathered herself and yelled with a firm and almost iron like voice.
“FORWARDS! Give them hell!”
With those words the men she lead poured over the top and began the mad dash across the distance between their own lines and the enemy trenches.
Around them enemy fire streaked into their ranks, but not nearly enough, the shells landed with a almost rhythmical beat and made the enemy shelter or risk getting turned into a red mist.
Then the last one fell and the enemy wasted not a moment getting into their positions, weapon fire began to pick up and the now very close trenches almost seemed to swarm with activity. Then they where upon them, a unionised war cry went up along the lines of charging men and Skiitari who had emerged from their own lines and lumbered across the battlefield with weapons blazing.
She saw a pair of men thrown of their feet by a long rattling burst of heavy bolter fire from point blank range, a lone soldier reduced to red gore when a grenade landed at her feet and one fell down with his or her head blow of.
Yes this was indeed just another day in the guard she decided as she leaped down into the trench. Now it would be decided by cold steel and a fiery hearth who died, and who lived.

No comments? Was it that horrid. I sincerely hope not

Trondhiem no its good i just dont know what to say to it i really enjoy your style and everything but i cannot comment on flow or anything like it as im not a very good writer myself but i think the story is going on quite well i am looking forward to the up comming fight with the major

So I've just read it all back to back. As always, a lot of good stuff in here but the element that excites me most is the whole penal troopers / tunnel warfare aspect. I love the contrast of this hidden, dirty war going on beneath (what I presume will be) more standard IG meatgrinding in the trenches.

The time spent developing individual characters - particularly the storm trooper major and the Inquisitor - pays dividends, adding more layers of interest to the tale.

Knowing the Ragnarokians, however, I won't become too attached to any of them ...

She landed heavily and used precious seconds to get beck up and sweet around her with her weapon looking for any enemies to engage, but none where close enough to her. But she saw that her underlings where not so lucky, the enemy was fighting back with cold and grim determination, each and one of the scarlet uniformed men would rather die for their dark masters than to let the hated imperial forces gain a single inch of ground.
She fixed her bayonet and without hesitating plunged into the awaiting madness that was swirling around her with a face set in stone. If she died she would do so serving the father of man kind!
Slamming into a rebel trooper she used her weapon as a two handed club and smacked him square in the neck and crunching bone with a sickening sound. She grips the rifle and jabs her bayonet into the lower back of a burly trooper who is slowly chocking the life out of a storm trooper with his massive hands. He cries out in pain as his legs give way and he slumps down wailing in shock and pain for a few hearth beats until she shoots him square in the face and ending his torment.
The grateful trooper gasped for air as he fumbled with his weapon and seemed about to speak when his head and upper body vanished in a cloud of red mist, several nearby troopers where also cut down like wheat before the scythe.
Then heavy footsteps and the distinct sound of something massive advancing could be heard over the dim of the raging hand to hand battle around her. She strained to see what was coming her way when she caught a glimpse of several massive figures advancing like giants amongst men, their weapons spat fire and horrible death as they went.
“FOR THE GLORY OF THE DARK GODS!” the lead figure howled as he swung his massive mace in a downward arch and pulped a unfortunate trooper.
Their armour was painted in a deep shade of dirty bone white, and the eyes on their tusked helmets glowed in a deep reddish tone.
The arrival of these towering behemoths of death seemed to implement a blind murderous rage n the traitor forces that had not yet fallen. With new found energy their rose up once more and made the hated Imperial servants bleed.
“LET NONE LIVE!” the brute howled and fired a burst from his wrist mounted weapon taking more Ragnarokian life’s.

Helena gazed for a split second on the new arrivals in this bloodied ballet before she almost in a panicked state pressed her earpiece and raised command.
“HQ this is Major Helena Stroud, we have traitor Astartes in field! Request immediate air and armour support. We need help NOW!” she yelled and let rip with her hell gun, the shots slammed into a group of heretics and cut them down as they came charging towards her.
Her vox crackled to life with the response from HQ.
“ Request for air and armour denied Major, all armour units are currently engaging enemy forces due north and air support is a no go until the enemy AA guns are silenced,. Sell your life dearly and the emperor be with you” was the answer she got.

She felt utterly enraged and even worse very vulnerable, her troops had not the gear needed to deal with these devils but it would not stop them from trying though she knew.
Summing the iron had will she was known and infamous she voxed all of her platoon leaders who where still alive and fighting.
“All call signs this is Phoenix actual! Our main priority are those damned walking tanks. Kill anything that gets in your way but main targets are those chaos marines! All plasma and melta gunners form up on your squad and hit them when and where you can. Everyone else keep them distracted, die if need be.” she finished and took a deep breath, oh how she hated fate sometimes.
Her soldiers answered the call of their leader an began hurling themselves at the walking monstrosities with a almost crazed will to keep them occupied until the ones of their numbers armed with plasma weapons or anti armour weapons could squeeze of a shot.


Meanwhile high above the slowly burning world in the depths of the ship that carried both Inquisitor and Astartes alike a gathering of twenty towering warriors clad in the heraldry of their chapter, their armour a dull black with a crusader cross detailed in fine silver and brass. Their shoulder pauldrons a deep silvery tone on the border of grey gleamed in the low light of the hall they stood in side by side.
Each one a walking testimony to the eternal and unyielding will of the father of mankind, unwavering in their fate and loyal until death they took the last breath before the plunge into the abyss hat called to them from below on that stricken world.
They stood silently as statues from age long gone until the massive doors decorated with the symbols of the priesthood of Mars and the holy inquisition slid open and revealed a equally massive figure standing side by side with a much smaller and frail looking man supported by two of his pupils.
Brother captain Romulus looked every bit the leader his brothers knew he was, he had lead the on this long and lonely hunt and now it would all come to a end one way or the other.

Inquisitor Dorian looked up at the marine beside him and could not help but feel in awe, even after having known him for so very long.
As he stood there and pondered what events would unfold when the Astartes made their presence known in the sector he came to remember a fresh faced Inquisitor for some strange and unaccounted reason.
He had briefly met the man who went by the name of Benjamin a year or so ago, while his own operatives where pursuing rumors of a heretical cabal of would be rulers in a system he failed to recall the name of. The man had seemed somewhat unsure of himself but seemed to be made of the right cloth for the life that lay ahead of him.
He had considered offering the man aid but had decided it would not help him grow more confident in his own abilities as a able servant of man kind.
The thought of a man of such a age condemn to a life of lonesomeness and mistrust by his peers did his mood little good.
Snapping back to the moment at hand he spoke to his amour clad companion who stood silent by his side. he gathered himself and spoke in a low but firm voice.
“Walk with the blessing of the emperor Romulus. I will pray for your victory!” he said and tried to stifle a wave of pain radiating trough his body, his acolytes supported their frail mentor and seemed distressed by his suffering.
The silent captain bent his neck is respect and made the sign of the aquilia as he left the side of the Inquisitor and joined his brothers.
He donned his helmet and drew a deep breath before speaking, now with the thundering voice of a angry god of war.
“The arch enemy has revealed themselves! They walk on that was once Imperial soil and mock us all. For too long have we hunted these heretical hound but now it ends!” Unsheathing his gleaming blade and making sure his plasma pistol hung in its chain at his side, he looked at his assembled brothers and finished speaking before stepping into the waiting drop pod. “TO WAR!” he called and where answered by a choir of harsh metallic voices. Now the Death hands would end their crusade of purging and return home to their brothers in honour once more, none would find them waiting in either zeal or righteous anger.

It seems heartening that more than one Inquisitor should still have at least a partly good heart.

And you mentioned my beloved Inquisitor Mordecai!
Rest assured that the favour will be returned in due time...

Nice new entry, sorry for the late comment.