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Right, I've been thinking of posting some fun stuff on this board for awhile now. But ATM I don't want to be committed to having to post a continueing storyline, as I neither want nor care to do that atm.

Instead, I'm doing this. Battle Logs will be where I post [very] short stories. Maybe a paragraph or two, the kind you sometimes see at the end of a WD battle report. I'll just post whatever I feel like, whenever I like, and hopefully it'll get some of you in the mood for some gritty 40k. Either way, it's good practice for my writing skills .


(also, some may continue later on in the thread, when I feel like it. The one below certainly will.)
First one for you guys! BT's ahoy!

(Just a quick note, "Martais" is pronounced Mar-tay-z. Similar to Le-mar-tey-z. But no relation to Lemartes... stupid frozen Vampire Chaplain. Tjar is pronounced T-zyar)

Chaplain Martais staggered into the bunker, his immense form bleeding from several wounds that would fell even a normal Marine, and his armour was scarred in numerous places. He collapsed to his knees, and caught his breath. The startling warcries of the Greenskins outside were shut off as Brother Tjar cealed the armoured door, and bolted it just in time as the faint sounds of recosheting bullets pounded the outside of the door. Looking up, the Chaplain saw Emperors-Champion Maverick, standing tall with his head and sword aimed to the ground. Martais heard the faint but coldy precise voice of Maverick as he quietly recited a prayer to the Emperor.

Five other Space Marines stood silent and still, waiting for the Chaplain to speak. The Initiates showed no fear, and rightly so for the Angels of Death. But doubt? That was not beyond them. Martais struggled to his feet, and called out, "Brothers!" a fire in his voice. "To give into doubt is to blaspheme against the Emperor and to fail me. Would any of you commit these crimes?" The Initiates made no response. "Remove helmets, Brothers." The Chaplains' order was obeyed immediately, and the five Marines slowly removed their helmets. Now Martais could see their faces, these five, though they had prevailed through many challenging wars, were still new to the game. This was their first battle as Initiates. The Chaplain needed warriors who new how to fight Greenskins, who would understand Martais' tactics as well as him. But these? No. But they would do, and they'd soon learn how to beat orks, the Chaplain'd see to that. But first he must make sure their most important defense was set in stone, unshakable. Faith. He would have to steel their nerves, especially now, if they were to have a chance. For despite their fury and skill, not even Martais could deny they would soon be overwhelmed by the Orks' numbers. Maverick continued to pray quietly behind him.

"Love the Emperor!" Martais began.
"For he is the salvation of Mankind" the five Initiates replied in unison.

This was an old Hymnal, and Martais new it well. It was the first one he had ever learned, as a mere child in his mothers' care.

"Obey his words," Martais continued.
"For he will lead you into the light of the future." The Initiates replied.

"Heed his wisdom,"
"For he will protect you from evil."

"Whisper his prayers with devotion,"
"For they will salve your soul."

"Honour his servants,"
"For they speak in his voice."

"Tremble before his magesty,"
"For we all work in his immortal shadow" the Initiates concluded the Hymnal.

Then Tjar spoke up. He was the last of Marshal Carlos' accompanying Sword Brethren, and in his hulking Terminator armour he dwarfed even his other brothers. His twin Lightning-claws were at rest either side of him, but their precious talons still crackled with powerful energy. "While vile mutants still draw breath, there can be no peace. While obscene heretics' hearts still beat, there can be no respite. While faithless traitors still live, there can be no forgiveness." It was the first Verse from the Catechism of Hate.

"Enough!" The Marshal himself spoke up. If Tjar made the Initiates seem small, Carlos next to Tjar was comparable to a Land Raider next to a Rhino. The two men knew each other well, and Tjar was a good friend of Carlos'. "The time for prayer to the Emperor is over. Recite later, Chaplain, for now is the time for war!"
There was a large thud, followed by a loud clang. A three pronged dent had appeared in the ancient adamandium door of the bunker, and eight figures turned to look at it. Only Maverick remained still.
"Aye, so it would seem, Brother-Marshal" Martais replied.
Another clang, another dent.
"Brothers! Prepare for war!" Carlos called. His Terminator armour was resplendent and masterfully crafted, and the Marshal held his crackling Thunderhammer out wide to his right, ready to bring it crashing down on the first Xenos in. He hefted his gleaming storm shield into a ready position, and adopted a fighting stance. "Death or glory!"
The door burst inwards, and the feral warcries once against penetrated the room. A few shots flew about the interior before the Orks began to charge, a large ork brandishing a crude but powerful "klaw" intead of a left arm, energy sparking around its shear like talons.

Only now did Maverick show any awareness of the situation. His eyes flashed open, his helmet's eyeslits glistened a fiery red. Lightning fast, he leapt up imbetween the two Terminators, and plunged forward into the orks.