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Just a little bit of Fluff for an army I am making. I wanted to get some themes in my mind, through literature, so that I could work better and more concisely. Cheers, ~sA

Sergeant Kabel felt the first bumps and jolts of the turbulent storm wind through the metal carapace of the Valkyrie AAC. He held on tighter to the canvas rung above his head, steadying himself with free hand against the vibrating wall.
Crammed in together, the cold perspiration running, glacier melt down the slopes of every man’s forehead, they were all silent – lost in their own thoughts. Respirators around their necks, breath came with a puff of white vapour in the frighteningly frigid high-altitude air. Kabel pushed his plasteel mesh helm up so as to scratch his muddy and sweaty hair, greasy after weeks enclosed, and drenched, like every part of his body, in that unfamiliar cold sweat. His olive drab fatigues were battle worn already – ripped at the knee, scorched down one side where a lasrifle had overloaded at his side. The weight of the pouches around his waist was familiar now, but it would be a relief to shrug off the armour and the helmet, lay down his rifle for the first time in a month.
Through the fog of breath and the dim bluish lighting of the interior of the Valkyrie, Kabel saw his men. At ease, weapons in slings of held to the side, they resembled a bristling, deadly troupe of circus dancers.

The flock of metal birds descended onto their prey. Their turbines and brazen wings held them steady, as, around them, a thousand lights bloomed into existence.

The first rounds pierced the air. Stunningly fast, the quicksilver slices tore through the night. Under the light of the moon the birds swerved, meaningless in fear, cloud to cloud cover: the dappled patterns embroidered by the moon on their outstretched limbs dancing like plague-flies.

“Funny little birds, you do not sing.” cackled the loader down amongst the smoke upon the ground. The smell of cordite filled his white, drawn nostrils. He inhaled deep, dizzy. Mirth once again invaded his senses, the gas ensured it. He breathed long through the grotesk drawn up across his face. He pushed another twenty rounds into the skyward auto-cannon, the men around him doing the same. Another fit burst from his lips, as he fired.

A prayer before death. The funny, dancing birds echoed to the sounds of devout men.
“And we will scourge them! Their souls for the bolter, flesh for the chainsword!” The man dressed in rags screamed this declaration to the men, breath faster now, shoulders tensed.
“With our weapons we will immolate them. With our hands we will destroy them!” The men shouted back, as one.
“Come down as Angels of the night! Let no man seeing your coming retell!”
“We will take very life!”
“Cleanse the unclean, purge the heretic!” Fervour grew in the waiting room for an appointment with death.
“We will send them screaming into the night.” Replied every last man. And that was when the shell tore through two men, and then the canopy, a scar of blue-black sky clear and vivid flooding the interior of the lander with light.
“Emperor protect your souls!” completed the Priest. With that shrapnel drove through the underside of the Valkyrie, shards like so many foot-long bullets annihilating the priest where he stood, blood spread out across the wall as his remains and his robes were thrown through the gap into the roof, into oblivion.
Into oblivion.

(Words in Bold said by all Present, those with normal Formatting said by Sanctioned Chaplain.)

We will scourge Them!
Their Souls for the Bolter;
Flesh for the Chainsword!
With our Weapons:
Immolate Them!
With our Hands:
Rip Them in pieces!
Come down as Angels of The Night;
Let no Man nor Beast seeing your coming retell!
We will take every life!
Cleanse the Unclean:
Purge the Heretic!
We will send Them screaming into The Night!


++ Inquisitor Parax's Notes on Verdan 24ths' Battle Rituals ++

+ LOG + This piece is reminiscient of many Prayers coming from the Sturm Batallions of Vraks. The simple yet extraodinarily destructive imagery and vocabularial use is also reminiscient of these said Regiments. What makes that impressive, is that it bolsters the men before battle. Whipped up into a frenzy, by the chanting and the Call & Response methods employed by a designated Chaplain, the men descend from their Vehicles (Check:: "Inq. Parax's Notes: Steel Legion 19th") in such a fervour, that many enemies are convinced that they are attacked by their own, savage ways. The reference to "Angels of The Night" (Check:: "Inq. Parax's Notes: Dark Angels") comes obviously from the heavy preponderence of Airborne Drop missions. The last phrase rings inside one's mind. It is the embodiement of much that Mortals fear -- the unknown, The Warp; Chaos. This may be of dubious origin, and must be check further. + END +

Sucks when the Dakka members would rather praise crappy painters and terrible WIPs then read these short stories.
So-so writing, keep it up.

I agree. Good job writing man keep it up.