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purplefood wrote:Is Ash's stuff okay?

I think Ash is borderline but I'll accept it this time.

Do you mind if I post some stories I have already written? I unfortunately do not have time to write anything new

All my own work though.

Go Silver Go!

Just correcting a few bits in an old 40k story of mine before trying to find a really good WHFB one I wrote a while ago... I hope it is still on this computer

Might be on my dA account though... Hmmm...

My 40K entry:

Divinity

The sand had been fused into glass by the head of the liquid fire that had rained down upon the Imperial outpost over the weeks it had lain under siege. The blackened husks of hundreds of foul xeno and Guardsmen littered the hillside amid the shards of razor sharp glass which had been thrown up by the munitions aimed at cracking the bunkers and clearing the trenches and which in themselves had killed almost as many as any of the other weapons of war.

A pal of thick smoke covered the bodies like a shroud, gently caressing the fallen as they lay baking, even in the dim sunlight which managed to filter from the nearby primary star through the soot, ash and cordite. Only a languid breeze stirred it now where only a few hours before it had been ripped apart by the roar of a thousand voices, backed by the boom of artillery and pierced by the shriek of shells overhead and the screams of the dying.

Nothing moved now. Only a few scraps of cloth blown about in the fetid wind gave the scene any sense of life. That and the bodies caught in the miles of tangled razor wire, gently swaying to and fro, almost as if forever striving to be free of their torment.

It was the pain that brought him back there at the very summit of the desolate hill; the ache in his hands where he gripped the barrel of the bent and battered lasgun tightly in his fists. His forearms cramped as he attempted to let go causing him to cry out in pain; the sound echoing oddly over the watchful fields of the dead.

The lasgun clattered to the ground as he finally managed to force his hands to let go; semi conducting fluid from one of the capacitors within the leaking through one of the many cracks in it's abused casing, the skin of his palms and fingers peeled away where it had fused to the once red hot barrel of the weapon. Absently he rubbed the life back into his cramped and blistered hands and slowly forced himself to his feet from where he had been kneeling for Emperor knows how long. He swayed slightly as his heart tried to pump blood up to this new and unprecedented height.

His vision blurred and he blinked for the first time. The sand and dust grated across his seared eyes as his lids closed and the little that seemed to remain of his mind wondered how long he had been staring into the distance after the darkness took him.

Something trickled down the inside of his flack vest and his arm slowly moved up to his chest. His fingers brushed across the tattered remains of his jacket to one of the several tears which marred its surface. His fingers probed inside and encountered a sticky mass of half clotted blood. Even the simple act of moving had reopened a score of wounds all over his body.

It was strange that somehow it didn’t seem to hurt so much any more.

The ground cracked as he shifted his weight slightly and raised his head to look out over the battlefield that had been fought in, over and under for what seemed like so long, and to the desert beyond.

The wind began to pick up, whistling shrilly as it blew across the millions of razor sharp shards of glassed earth which lay strewn everywhere. The smoke started to clear slightly. His arm came up to shield his eyes against the sudden glare of the white hot sun.

The dark stain of the Ork lines could be seen blotting the desert surrounding the mound upon which the Imperials had hoped to weather the seige. Instead wave after wave of the green skinned monsters had thrown themselves into the fight non-stop, blocking their own lines of advance with their dead, until they were blasted clear by the ever present artillery or when foul creatures strapped with explosives meant for destroying the Imperial tanks and bunkers had wondered into the maze of flesh and not emerged in time; their charges detonating and vaporising a new path through the decaying mass.

There was no sign of the Orks now, other than their burnt corpses and wrecked vehicles strewn amidst the Imperial defences. Nothing seemed to move. There were not even any signs of desert scavengers usually drawn to such a scene of carnage.

His head turned slowly, tortured skin of his neck cracked slightly as he moved. He paused to look out in every direction before picking his way slowly through the corpses. He passed the faces of his friends as they lay flesh blackened, their blood pooled beneath them, without slowing.

They were surely with the Emperor now.

His path lead him through the Imperial lines and past his commanding officer; laying only a few yards away with his bayonet through the open mouth of a huge Ork encased in inch thick metal plates. In return the Ork had neatly sliced the man almost in half with its armour’s power claw and the officer’s guts lay strewn about him like obscenely bloated worms.

He ignored the scene and continued to be drawn through the carnage, seeming to be lead almost by a choir of voices just beyond hearing in the winds howling progress; occasionally slipping or stumbling, hardly aware of his own footfalls or where they were leading him. His eyes became unfocussed as he made his way down the hill.

At last he reached his destination. He stooped down and felt more of his wounds opening up. He could dimly feel blood flowing freely from somewhere on his back and pooling in his boots, though his mind seemed to shelter him from anything but a dull reflection of the pain his body must have been in. His fingers closed around a thick wooden pole inlaid with wires of gold, the blood running down his arm making is slightly slick in his hands.

The remains of his armour creaked as he once more hauled himself upright, levering himself to his feet, the proud banner of his company held in his hands, once again flying free in the sunlight. It was miraculously untouched, the emerald green and brilliant white flag fluttered in the oven hot breeze, only slightly mired by the layer of burnt grime and viscera that seemed to cover everything else in sight.

He started to move downhill again, towards the closest section of the Ork Lines and the toppled form of an immense gargant felled by Imperial artillery earlier in the seige. The shoulder plate of his flack vest, torn loose at some point during the fighting swung too and fro as he hobbled onwards, the flag seeming to carry him as much as he was carrying it.

The heat rose from the tortured ground along with the voices carried in the wind; the harsh rays of the sun once again baking the battlefield, contorting the air with twisting lines of heat. His sweat ran freely, mixing with the blood which was continuing to seep freely from his wounds as his every move seemed to open more and more of them.

As he cleared the Imperial lines, pieces of his armour began to break apart now and he stumbled but the voices pulled him on towards his goal. More and more tears and rents appeared in his armour as he drew near the gargant and he was bleeding copiously from scores of wounds covering almost every inch of his body.

He started up the steep slop of the gargant’s front armour, slowly hauling himself towards the control platform set inside the leering Ork’s head at the gargant’s summit. The wind continued to rise and now it gusted against him. Huge chunks of his uniform had been ripped away along with the flesh beneath, as if the very air itself was resisting him, trying to take him apart before he could reach his goal despite the voices the wind carried almost shrieking their demands at him. And yet no matter how much flesh he lost, still none of it hurt.

At last he pulled himself over the lip of the battlements and stood on the heavily listing plates of the command deck, surrounded by crude dials, switches and levers. The body of a huge Ork lay across one of the control lecterns; crude augments and brutal surgery scars showing amid its armour.

He was suddenly slammed to the floor, something cracking within him. His chest had been caved in almost completely and blood frothed on his lips. His vision dimmed for a final time but amid the darkness were the faces of his comrades and behind them a golden light, almost too bright to look at and getting brighter. The glare came from a giant figure sitting upon a huge golden throne. The figure inclined its head just a fraction. It was all that he needed. At last he knew why he had been brought here. With the last of his strength he drove the armoured point on the base of the flag as deep as he could up into the silent machinery of the control lectern.

<++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++>

The handful of survivors could hardly believe it when one of the presumed casualties from an earlier round in the fighting had risen to his feet and started to walk down the hill, seemingly oblivious to the fire continuing to streaming towards the last of the Imperial defences. Still less could they believe it when he stopped and raise the company standard in his blood stained ands and continued on his way down the hill.

The last of the officers, a young lieutenant, watched from his trench as one of his men walked through the curtain of fire being thrown up by the Orks. He and his men all knew they were going to die. This was a minor outpost in a disastrous campaign with Orks breaking through in every sector: No one could be spared to break them out. He glanced at the few remaining soldiers under his command as they watched the lone figure weave its way toward the Orks. He came to a decision.

“We can’t hold this position any longer. No one is coming to break us out. I’m not going to face the Emperor knowing that we let a brave man advancing with the flag of our company fall to the enemy while we sat and did nothing, are you?”

“We can make it through their line! Protect the flag! For the Emperor!”

His men’s roar of assent carried him over the parapet as he clambered out of the trench.

The more able leapt from the trench and the wounded dragged themselves over the parapets or were otherwise helped from the trench. No man was left behind as they advanced after the guardsman who was still making his way down the hill towards the bulk of a ruined gargant.

They shot down any Orks who broke cover in an attempt to cut down the flag carrier in hand to hand and tried to suppress the heavier points of fire now being directed towards him from along almost the entire length of the Ork line. Even with the support of their cover fire and the innate ability of the Ork’s to miss almost anything they shot at, the shear weight of incoming fire began to tell. Several of the men were down, though the wounded were still being carried along. No one who was alive was going to be left on the hill. The guardsman with the flag was getting the worst of it; he had reached the foot of the gargant and started up. He was bowed over, almost as if fighting a gale. Chunks of his armour, uniform and flesh were being ripped from him as innumerable rounds from the Orks found their target.

They continued to pick off Orks from whatever covered they could find amid the wreckage as they worked their way closer to the gargant. A vast Ork warboss in an equally huge powered suit of armour suddenly broke cover and lumbered towards the Gargant’s side hatch. They could do nothing as the Ork clambered up through the internal structure. They saw the hapless guardsman standing in the control room with the flag held tight in his hands, oblivious to the enraged Ork storming towards him. They watched as he was pulverised with a single swipe of its massive power claw and saw him crumple under its impact.

The focus of their hope and drive now lay dead. A painful wail welled up on their lips as their last hope was torn from them. They were going to die; there was no escape for them now. Just as the jaws of despair were about to swallow them, a golden light shone out from the leering mouth which formed the parapet of the command deck. They saw the stunned Ork warboss watch as the crippled guardsman at his feet filled with a golden radiance as he rammed the flag deep into the heart of the main control lectern. Jagged lightning flashed within the confines of the gargant and the warboss let out a scream of rage and hacked the guardsman’s head from his shoulders.

But the damage was done. Whatever the light had been the results were catastrophic. The gargant’s main fuel tanks ruptured and the Ork’s highly corrosive fuel flooded out into the Ork lines. A stray spark ignited the fuel, burning hundreds of Orks in seconds and causing the remainder to flee as the immense heat cooked off munitions and fuel stores throughout the Ork camp causing huge explosions and secondary waves of fire.

The guardsmen stood stunned, watching the Orks flee for their lives as the flames spread rapidly through the Ork trenches. They sat watching the smoke rise high into the air and sweltered as the heat of the burning Orks added itself to the already formidable heat from the incandescent primary star.

Eventually they climbed to the top of the gargant and retrieved the body of the guardsman who rested there and the flag he had carried. The guardsman’s body was almost entirely burnt beyond recognition; what armour that remained was completely blackened apart from the Imperial Eagle which gleamed a brilliant gold on his flack vest over his heart.

The vast quantities of smoke from the burning fuel eventually drew the eyes of Imperial High Command and they saw the ragged mob of Orks fleeing across the desert. Fearing a trap and being low on manpower, it was a further 6 days before they sent troops to investigate.

<++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++>

+ Inquisitorial Report: J74234856/aii +
+ Classified +
+ From: Inquisitorial Scribe Kenil +
+ To: Inquisitor Helwrath +
+ Subject: Suspected Divine manifestations within Sector 34a +
+ Thought for the day: Strive not for perfection, for perfection implies vanity. Seek only to do the work of the Emperor +

As per your request I have researched most ardently as many cases of suspected Divine manifestation amongst the fighting forces of the Imperium operating within local Sector 34a as I have been able to discover. As you suspected, the reported number of incidents amongst our forces is significantly higher than those in other sectors. In particular the event on Phenron I provides a reasonably well documented case (due to the statements of a number of guardsmen who witnessed the event first hand), as well as presenting strong circumstantial evidence (the routing of a large contingent of Orks by a relative handful of our soldiers who had all but been wiped out and lacked any form of heavy weaponry) which may go some way to prove the authenticity of the claim of Divine manifestation in this case.

Following Inquisitorial investigation +//See case notes attached//+ the event on Phenron I was deemed non-heretical, although as you will be aware, the actual happenings were officially erased from the records. Due to the shortage of combat capability in the sector at the time, the company was reformed with new recruits from its home world and has fought competently in the several decades since.

The reformed company unofficially became known within the regiment as “Phoenix Company”, and before each campaign a “Burnt Man” is chosen to carry the company standard. He may wear no insignia other than a golden Imperial Eagle and wears an entirely black uniform (although there have been complaints from the Commiserat on a number of occasions about this practice). He is allowed to carry no identification and may not to speak or be spoken to and is expected to be at the forefront of any charge or combat.

Official Inquisition files linked to the matter have concluded that the observances do not present a serious risk to the Imperium, although the Inquisition still maintains watchful vigilance +//See Inquisitorial files [CLASSIFIED] through [CLASSIFIED]//+ to ensure that the practices do not form the basis for malevolent incursion by Chaos forces.

I shall of course present to you the body of my research into the matter as soon as I have finished collating the data that I have been able to gather thus far but I felt that I should forward on to you as rapidly as I could this particular record.

Your ever working servant,

Inquisitorial Scribe Kenil.

+ End Transmission +

My WHFB story:

The diary of Jane Xiao

The diary of Jane Xiao, apprentice and body slave to Mistress Fairwood, Knight Protector – approximately the 12th day of the month of Sigmarzeit, 36th year of the reign of King Nagwold (IC 1143) entry 206.

Today is a day for sorrow, yet also for rejoicing. For today I have emerged (alive, as should be evident if not from looking at my tattered and bloodied self, then from the fact that I am here writing this!) from the catacombs which lie deep under the Mountains of the Great Desert, some 400 leagues east of the city, Luccini, deep inside the Badlands.

In order to tell of this story, it would be best to tell it as it happened, from start to end. Some of the earlier part of what transpired is recorded in earlier pages of this notebook, but as you will be able to see from reading the account soon to commence, I had neither the time, nor the understanding of events I do now. I record it now, so that even if I succumb to my wounds while attempting to return to civilisation, it is possible some words on the deeds my mistress and I accomplished may survive.

It all began about 3 months ago. My mistress, as a Knight Protector is sometimes called to deal with threats and disputes where a intervention is required, such as raids by bandits the local militia cannot handle and suchlike.

A report had come to court that there were increasingly unnatural disturbances in the eastern regions adjoining the Boarder Princes, with small villages being raided and livestock taken, houses burnt etc. Despite their best searching the local militia could not hope to search all the mountain passes, and all their hidden valleys. A specialist was called in, my mistress, and together we set off on the long trek east, through the mountains and along the coast of the Black Gulf, north into the lands of the Boarder Princes.

After about 5 weeks, we arrived at the provincial capital (not much more than a few ramshackle sheds with 1 or 2 brick built official buildings) at the very top of the Black Gulf where the blood river spilled out from the shore. We met the local sheriffs and militia captains and after spending the day discussing the nature of the bandits, (very little was know other than they never came during the day, and no one knew what they looked like), and routes through the marshes along the shore of the sea, my mistress retired to bed. After spending some considerable time removing the scuffs and dents of travel from my plain armour (functional, and of stout leather overlaid with plates of steel, yet nothing compared to my mistresses ornate full plate suit), and doing the same for my mistress, I too turned in and was soon asleep.

No sooner had my head hit the mat, than a scream teared through the night. Jumping up from my sleeping rolls at the foot of my mistress’s bed, I ran to the window where I saw flames springing from some of the out lying houses. Struggling into my armour, and then helping my mistress into hers, I gathered up my small wood and leather round shield, my sword, and our sleeping mats (at her insistence) we raced to the stables and mounted our horses (both magnificent war stallions, hers called Terrus, mine Doomsayer).

Riding hell for leather towards the flames my mistress must have been a frightening sight! Polished plate reflecting the angry red of the flames, huge charger rearing and pawing the air, me riding alongside, a plain and functional helm covering my face, black leather and black cloth covered plate making me seem to be a part of the night!

Evidently the bandits thought they were no match for us and ran!

Passing some of the local militia we informed them we would track and follow them to their hiding place. We rode off into the darkness following the sound of retreating horses, and the tracks we could see despite the thick covering cloud cover.

It was then I think we made our first mistake… Riding after those accursed riders without support of all the armies of the kingdom!

We rode for almost a day and a half before we stopped for sleep. On top of the long 5 week ride (during which my mistress quizzed me mercilessly on various tactics, weapon and armour maintenance, and on and on, also asking if I still had those strange dreams, which I had to admit I was still suffering) I was ready to drop from the saddle. We ate a quick dinner of bread and dried meat, drank a little water, and I was soon asleep (my mistress having taken the first watch).

It took us almost 4 weeks of tracking (the raiders made good use of natural terrain to cover their tracks, but my mistress is a good tracker) through the marshes, before eventually climbing the foothills of the Dragonback Mountains, and eventually cutting through the shadowy passes between the great mountains, before we eventually reached a dark and brooding citadel hewed out of the naked rock. Do not try to look for it on any but the oldest of the maps. Maps predating the Empire will be the only ones to show it since to the best of my knowledge none of the regular tomes will acknowledge its existence (though reasons for this may become clearer as the story gains it’s conclusion).

Hobbling the horses in a secluded side valley some miles back from where we found the citadel, and taking only the essentials, we walked back to the entrance of the great stone wall surrounding the huge buildings (which would tower over even the taller buildings of Luccini!). I can no longer remember how many days we spent searching that desolate place for signs of our raiders, before we saw the drift of smoke from a building we had not yet searched. On quiet footsteps we searched the dilapidated ruin, finding the entrance to the catacombs hidden within the long ruined building.

It was then we made our second mistake.

Descending into that dark place was like descending into madness. Visions of ghosts plagued us; long dead men walked the tunnels and corridors, attacking us without warning. Luckily my mistress is an excellent swords-woman, and I myself am no slouch with a blade. Sustaining only minor wounds (more to our sanity than flesh!) we marched on, becoming lost in ever more mazelike corridors, loosing track of all time in the lightless world, relying on the light amulets we wore about our necks to shine our path for us.

Deeper and deeper we went, with ever more (not quite) dead warriors blocking our path. We fought on and on, our strength seeming to be seeping out of us with every swing of a sword, with every step we took. Our armour became dented and buckled, our swords edges started to dull with the use they had seen. Wounds tricked blood endlessly, seeming not to heal in this dark, dank place.

Our strength had all but given out when we found an immense chamber, easily 5 times as high as the tallest tower in the kingdom, and about the same distance in radius. The walls were carved with scenes so dark and… evil, that it pains me even to think of them, let alone describe them My eyes burnt with their patterns, my skin felt even greasier than it was (being some considerable time since I had last bathed). I could feel a charge in the air, like there is before a heavy thunderstorm.

In the very centre of the room was a dais; at its pinnacle was a glowing orb about the size of a large marble. Under the glow from the orb sat a decrepit being. An emasculated husk wrapped in battered armour, hung with what must once have been colourful strips of cloth stitched with the same evil patterns as the walls. In a voice as dry as the desert, reverberating through the huge dome it addressed us: ‘Sssso, you have come at lasssst. We are oncsse again to be joined in battle! But then, I do not ssupossse you remember the lasst time we met. Pitty. You thought you had beaten me. ME! Of all the beingsss in thisss world how could you have thought to beat me?! Now, reborn you come to sslay me?’

All this time it had been advancing upon us, its eyeless sockets gazing towards us. Towards my mistress…

The liche (for that is surly what it must have been) suddenly ran towards us, its huge sword swinging in skeletal grip. My mistress rose her own blade to counter, swinging her plate fist to make contact with the liches face. A crack reverberated in the dark space of the hall, and the liche stumbled back snarling.

It charged again, its sword making the air scream. The blow connected with my mistress’s blade, the force of the impact snapping it clean in two. I jumped to my mistress’s defence, only to meet a mailed fist heading towards me at speed. With inhuman strength, I was swatted through the air to land in a winded heap. Laughing, the liche returned its attention to my mistress, who had used my diversion to pull a small steel mace from its tie on her belt.

I lay there stunned from the hit I had received, watching my mistress parry blow after blow. I could well imagine how numb her arms must be from such an assault of superhuman strength. Unsteady, I rose to my feet, casting my shield away (for it was already splintered beyond use, and against such blows as the liche was capable of, as less than useless) and attacked the liches unprotected knees, hoping to either cripple him, or at least give my mistress a chance to withdraw.

Grasping my sword in both hands, I swung low. My blade cut through the desiccated joints with little resistance. The liche screamed in rage and tumbled to the floor. I rushed to my mistress who was lying on the floor with several great rents in her armour, blood pouring through the ragged holes. I was too late to have saved her from injury, but she might live, as most of the force of the blows had seemingly been spent on opening the armour.

Hoping that my mistress would be ok, I turned to deal with the foul liche.

He was no longer there. Only a disturbance in the dust marked his former position. A rustling from the darkness attracted me towards the dais. The liche was standing before the bone carved throne at the very top of the dias. It turned its head as I approached, the light from my amulet supplementing the dull glow from the orb on the dais.

Suddenly a thought flashed to my mind: Liches cannot be killed.

Not only could they not be killed, but they possessed strength greater than any mere man or woman, and had easily defeated one of the greatest knights in the kingdom! My pace faltered and the liche let out a dry chuckle.

‘You cannot kill me you know’ it rasped. ‘I am immortal. I ssssurvived death oncse at the hand of your mistressss, hundredss of years ago that it was. I doubt your mistresssss can remember, very few who are reincarnated can. I shall make your death quick, as you shhhow much valour, then I shall finish your missstress!’ With that he charged.

My imminent end may have triggered my brain into action. I suddenly remembered a faint dream of a memory; they kept their souls separated from their bodies so as to stop it fading with age. My eyes widened, and my gaze swivelled to the glowing orb. My arm came back, and with a mighty heave, I threw my sword through the air. As the blade arced through the air the liche became aware of what was happening. It opened its mouth to scream, as its eyeless face tracked the sword through the air.

The globe above the throne shattered into a million fragments.

And here I sit, in the shade of the ruined citadel, penning this account which I can scarce believe even having lived though it. My mistress died despite my ministrations, her wounds too extensive for me to help her. This is the sorrow of which I write. Yet I also said there was joy. For now I know why I dream what I dream… Of times long ago, and battles far away… It was not my mistress who had faced the creature so long ago, but me. Perhaps I will in time know all of my past, but I am settled with knowing why I dream. For now I must make it out of this accursed place and back to civilization. I only hope that I make it before my wounds overcome me...

SilverMK2 wrote:Do you mind if I post some stories I have already written? I unfortunately do not have time to write anything new

All my own work though.

go ahead as long as its not a re post from the last comp

This has fluff from my own chapter so ask if anything needs to be clarified.

Burn In My Hatred

Toryn Angelus expertly knocked his opponent off balance with a well timed string of attacks. The other man despite being on the backfoot still had astartes reflexes, he jabbed the blunt end of his halberd into Toryn's chest. Rolling with the blow he spun and used his own halberd to knock his opponents feet out from under him.
Some of the crowd clapped, but most simply nodded their approval. Praise from such esteemed veterans made Toryn glow with pride. Every member in the crowd was from First Company. All members that could be called back to the chapter's homeworld had come to watch the Choosing, which was a grand tournament to initiate new members into their own ranks. Toryn knew that even one negative comment from any of those watching would cause him to fail, but as he scanned their faces he saw only approval. He bowed trying to hide the self approving smile on his face. On the far side of the arena the last duel ended.

After, all the participants were lined up in front of the crowd. At the head of First Company was the Chapter Master of the Sanguine Watchers, Praetorian Vex. The man was a giant even for an astartes and his ceremonial armor shined in the glaring sun. He stood before each Marine individually giving his own opinion first then turned to the crowd for any objections, at first there were none, just a simple no or yes. When one did come Toryn was surprised that someone could oppose such an imposing figure that was their Primarch, but as he went down the line they even became frequent. To think these men were so well respected. The thought made him even more nervous. Toryn had trained harder than his brothers everyday to earn this kind of respect, and the final judgment was looming three men down the line.

Praetorian Vex stood one man over from Toryn now judging the brother Toryn had bested last. The Chapter Master was even more imposing up close, in armor he was taller than Toryn by a at least a foot. To Toryn's surprise Vex approved of the man, as did the crowd, but now it was Toryn's turn all else was forgotten.

"I approve of Toryn Angelus, are their any who oppose." Vex said to his relief, none in the crowd opposed. Toryn stayed in line until the ceremony was finished, but he couldn't help but praise himself. After the ceremony they were taken into the center of the chapter monastery, here they were led below the chamber to a room Toryn had never known existed. Vex led them into a small circular room lined with braziers. The twelve marines who had been selected were shepherded into the center of it, and told to stand in a circle. The other astartes in the room were all notable members of the chapter, along with what must have been a third of it's librarians. Toryn started to get suspicious just as Vex addressed them.

"By being selected you are all now members of First Company, unfortunately there is more to this than a simple title. Simply by being in this room you have begun your illumination to the chapter's secrets. There is one last test before you achieve your goal, and it is a grueling one. If there is any of you who want to return to ignorance than step forward." Nobody did. Toryn's bad feelings were covered by his pride. He deserved this honor and wouldn't turn it away because of anything. He assumed it was the same of the brothers around him.

"Good," said Vex. In the center of the room rose twelve sarcophagi, behind each of the initiates. They opened for them. "Please step inside and show no fear." Toryn did as he was told, and as soon as he was inside it shut on him. His immediate reaction was to try to escape, but he was able to calm himself. There was a small window he could look through. Peering through it he saw the librarians had taken their own positions around the initiates sarcophagi. As the chanting began Toryn's head began to pound. The window of his tomb began to fog as the Librarians each began to glow. He heard the other initiates pounding on their Sarcophagi to escape, he would have himself if he wasn't busy holding his head.

Toryn was in agony he began to scream, and blood began to fall from his eyes and nose. Then suddenly it felt like he wasn't in his body anymore. He was floating in a sea of raw emotion, it made him want to claw his eyes out of his skull, as he had no way to process it all at once. Eventually he saw something solid coming towards him, and he moved towards it even if it was just to focus on something real and singular. It was a lie. He could feel the creature's avarice and pride. Others like it began to appear as well, but this one wasn't going to wait for them. Toryn tried to fight off the demon, but it slipped through his fingers and entered his soul.

Suddenly everything was at peace again, no not peace. All the swirling emotions had become one simple idea, desire. Before him was a beautiful being of perfect design. He realized however that this was the same creature that had just attacked him. It spoke to him in his mind and once again he felt it's greed and desire.

"Toryn Angelus you have the pleasure of being my vessel. We shall be the same and we shall be perfection." It said.

"My mind is my own, demon. You shall not claim me." Toryn said searching for a weapon.

"Ah, but I already have child." It laughed, "We are already one, your fall was your own design your pride a beacon in the warp. Now see through your eyes while we kill your brothers. You will come around I know your thoughts, once their blood is flowing through your fingers you will feel the pleasure I feel. You will want more. I can give you the perfection you desire, what can your First give you that I can not double." I was returned to myself in a flash of light. I was still inside the Sarcophagus, but as Toryn tried to raise his hand he found he couldn't. "You are mine now child resisting is foolish, do not worry I will drown you in the pleasure's your mortal conscious could never bring itself to take."

The demon moved his hand before his eyes to prove his point. It then began laughing. "You still have doubts you poor child. Do you not realize this is what you have wanted your whole life. I offer you perfection accept it."

"I know your tricks demon, the Emperor protects my soul. You shall not claim me. I will not be broken." Toryn screamed in his head trying desperately to move his body.

"You don't want your corpse god to save you though, we both know it. We share a mind. Accept what you seek child it makes things easier. Why would he save the soul of traitors anyway. Why do you think your so called brothers have placed you here with me. You know everything you have fought for is a lie. Embrace the truth, embrace perfection, embrace me." It's words held venom like snakes in his head.

"Your lying, this is a test the Chapter has left me."

"Your mortal loyalties hold you back child, you need to abandon them embrace the truth you have been shown. Your Emperor is a lie, your Chapter is a lie, your Humanity is a lie, Chaos is everything, Chaos is truth, I am Chaos." There was another flash and they were back in Toryn's mind. The demon circled him still with an inviting look on it's face. "Throw away the mortal anger they have planted in you and chase your desires you can be better than them, you are better than them, let me show you." It held out it's hand to him.

Toryn hesitated at first, he couldn't think clearly. His head was still hurting from the warp flow. The demon's words ran true to him, and that stung more than his head did. Toryn held out his hand to grab the demons. It laughed with glee. Until he lunged forward and grabbed it's forearm.

"My Faith is my shield, Contempt is my armor, my Anger is my blade. I will not throw it away so easily." Toryn said through gritted teeth. The demon scowled. It's arm ignited where it touched Toryn's. "You are right I did want perfection. I wanted what you wanted, but now that I stare what I was in the face I have begun to hate myself. I will burn you away in that hatred and whatever part of me you feed off of!" The demon began to melt, with the scowl still on it's face. It wasn't till the end when it had completely burned away that it screamed out in absolute pain.

Toryn woke back up just as the sarcophagus was opened. He stumbled out on his knees and wretched on the floor. Never had he felt so much pain in his life. The brothers who had watched the ritual had formed a firing line around the sarcophagi. Toryn watched as most of his brothers rushed at the lines like animals. Most had some gruesome new appendage as a mark of their new masters. So many of his brothers had failed. Each was gunned down despite being able to take wounds that would kill even an astartes. As Toryn watched the man he had bested in his last bout, now with two crab claws as hands, took five bolt rounds to his bare chest before falling. When the gunfire died down it was only Toryn and one other initiate who had survived.

"So few of them this time," said Praetorian Vex pity in his eyes as he walked over to Toryn. "You two who have defeated your demons. Welcome to the Illuminati and welcome to the First."

lowmanjason wrote:go ahead as long as its not a re post from the last comp

Thanks. And no, I did not enter the last contest, though I was going to (but again didn't have time to write anything)

For the Dark Gods and for Cake! Part 2: Electric Boogaloo


Last time on For the Dark Gods and for Cake!
Gor'doom walked to the troop bays where his men awaited his signal to begin baking to honour the dark gods and hopefully gain their favour for the coming struggle. Once they had finished the baking rituals they would fall to the planet and butcher the weakling Adeptus Cakus defenders and turn their Bakeries to the worship of the Dark gods.

The cavernous troops bays were filled with the clamour and activity of the baking rituals. As Gor'doom entered he could smell the ritual was ready to begin. His men chanted as he approached, as he strode across the gantry above the titanic pastry being prepared for the ritual he glimpsed arms and legs still moving as their owners were slowly devoured by the daemonic pastry abomination. Only twice before had Gor'doom been forced to perform the ritual and both times the fruits of that dark pact had brought terrible defeat for his foes and sweet victory for him and his allies.

He halted amid the centre of the gantry and spoke to a silent and enraptured audience.

"Brothers! Chefs in arms! We are here to do our duty as we have done every 10 years for centuries."

Silence.

"Over the years many of us have fallen but we remain true to our pact despite that. Today our need for assistance is dire and so i call forth, into our reality..." He drew a short ritual bread knife and cut it diagonally across his palm drawing a welter of blood which fell into the pastry exciting it.

"DOOMBREAD! I summon ye forth into this realm to serve our masters in pastry and in crust!"

With that the daemonic thing twisted and exploded in a shower of bloody dough and flour leaving a scarcely humanoid shape. Silence reigned and for a moment the figure was still

A voice broke the silence "The staypuft marshmallow man?" Gor'doom wheeled to find the source but the scramble of power armoured chefs had either hidden the speaker or killed him before either Gor'doom or DOOMBREAD could punish him.

DOOMBREAD turned his head towards Gor'doom eyeing him suspiciously before speaking in a dread rumble “You have summoned me before.”

“I have.”

“Why do you summon me again?”

“We are sorely outnumbered by the defenders of Cakus Prime, we need your help to wrest the planet from the defenders”

The daemon looked pensive for a brief second, or was it annoyance, or maybe amusement. It was hard to tell. Then he spoke again “I will aid you, but once your mission is complete you will turn the planet over to me and me alone”

Gor'doom didn't even have to think about it “Done”

A chain of disbelieving gasps came from the assembled chefs. A bakery world was a precious prize indeed. For their lord to give it away to another merely for their assistance in a single endeavour meant one of two things. They were desperate, or Gor'doom had a truly hidden and unfathomable plan up his power armoured baking gloves. Whatever the answer was the crowd dispersed, it was time to make planet fall.
First planet-fall was made by some of Gor'doom's most devoted chefs in a small cluster of Doughclaws. These ancient and twisted craft were discontinued many years ago by Loyalist astartes because of their treacherous machine spirit. The traitor forces however were forced to continue using them. Which is why it may be more accurate to say first planet-fall was attempted by Gor'doom's favoured cooks. Whilst 4 Doughclaws landed only 1 of the parties exited their landing craft the other parties were 75,000 kilometres away from the planets surface cursing their luck at having boarded Doughclaws with a sense of humour. So it was that Boris the Butcher was the first traitor to set foot on Cakus Prime in almost 10,000 years. He promptly lost it straight away to a plasma mine and became the first traitor to be injured and bled on Cakus Prime on almost 10,00 years, truly he was honoured.

The Doughclaw had landed in a minefield. Boris cursed the Doughclaw as he was dragged back into the relative cover of it's thinly armoured shell.

“Now what do we do?” Cu'karg said staring across the minefield, it seemed to stretch on forever.

“I'll tell you what we'll do” Boris said, leaning heavily on Cu'karg's brother Ku'carg. He seized one of the engine intakes, drew his icing pistol and fired a white hot burst of icing into it. The engines was ruined and the Doughclaw was useless as a landing craft until repairs could be made, which is exactly what Boris wanted. As Ku'carg, Cu'karg and the other traitors watched confused Boris tore free the landing ramp and lay it across the minefield. “We make a bridge across the minefield and then go wreak some havoc on those unsuspecting Gingerbread Guard weaklings.”
The traitors cheered at this and set about ripping apart the treacherous Doughclaw.

In space near to 30 marines floated with nothing in particular to do.
One of them opened up a vox link to another.

“So, I've been thinking...” he started, his brain working at his current problem furiously

“Yeah?”The other said cautiously

“Space ends somewhere right?” He asked

“I presume so, why?” Again fearing the answer

“Well all we have to do is get to one end of it and then push off back to the ships” He said brightly, there was silence.

“Where are you?” the second voice asked

“Over here.” the first replied

“Where's here?” the second asked with a sigh

“Over here!” he shouted trying to get his attention

“There's no air in space, shouting won't help” he said with another sigh

“Oh right, I'm waving at you” he said happily
One of the marines started waving frantically.
“Ah I see you now”

“Why did you want to know?”

The second voice said nothing but one of the marines drew a bun pistol and fired the entire clip at the waving figure. A streak of bun shells flew towards him as he hung in the silent void, the flash had gone unnoticed by any of the other marines. All the shots hit but none penetrated. Both the waver and the firer shot away from each other.

“Damnit!” the second voice exclaimed

“I see what you're doing?” the first said in a low tone

“You do?” the second said with surprise

“Yeah, you're shooting me so I can go towards one end of the universe and you can go towards the other” First said happy he had figured out his friends plan.

“I wish...” Second replied

“What?”

“I said that's exactly what I'm doing, I'm sorry I didn't tell you but the universe is ever expanding and I thought we had better start catching up” he said quickly

“Don't worry I understand completely, there wasn't time to argue and debate over the right course of action. You made an executive decision, that's why you're the sergeant” First said once more happy he had his friend figured out

“Exactly...”Second said, looking at the squad sergeant, still motionless, as he himself shot rapidly away from the rest of the group, the only consolation was that soon he would be out of vox range and at least he could die in silence then.

“You know i'm glad we're such good friends” First said still happy.

“Yeah...” Sweet oblivion could not come soon enough.

OK, here is the deal, I forgot to submit a post for somebody who asked me to do it before this round started. So because of that I am extending this round to Wednesday 1159. If you already submited something and you want to alter it for somthing, now is your chance. Keep posting if you can!

Opening post says that it ends on Friday, so you'd be safe anyway.

Unless you mean something different by 'round'.

Challenge Accpeted. My submission,

The Fires Above Exodus Hive
The fires that's had been raging for days continued to pour black smoke into the already heavily polluted atmosphere above the hive. Just three days before, the first riots had begun in the middle spire among the manufactorum workers. Rumors as to reasons why the riots began ranged from docked pay, to rebellion, to even xenos involvement. Whatever the reason, Exodus Hive was in chaos. Arbitror Einth hefted his shield off of the ground and walked away from the burning barrel where he and his fellow arbitrators had been taking a rest break. A report of a large crowd moving up the spire towards primary lift had all arbitrators and what few PDF forces that had begun to arrive dashing towards their assigned posts. Reports of similar crowds converging on their position quickly began flooding in. Thousands, if not millions, of hivers were scrambling madly up levels and levels of hab blocks to try and gain access to the lift and the noble houses beyond it. Einth took his position in the line beside his fellow arbitrators as huge leman russes painted in the sixth precinct house's colors rolled up behind, aiming their heavy bolters towards the entrances and lift exits that the horde would undoubtedly soon be pouring from. Three thousand of the hive's most elite peacekeeping forces were preparing to fight off most of it's citizens. A few guardsmen appeared behind Einth, all fresh faced and untested straight from their barracks in the wastes. If they weren't conscripted men under the watch of their respective commissars most would be among the crowds rampaging across the city towards them. They looked nervously out across the empty staging block to wards the entrances where the distant sounds of angry voices and the pounding of makeshift drums could be heard. Einth checked his bolter once more and heard one of the conscripts behind him wimper slightly. "Sergeant keep those fething boys of yours under control." he hissed. A dull whack of a laspistol against a guard-issue helmet ended the meek noises and a near silence fell across the bloc as most of the men made their peace with the God-Emperor on terra. The voices steadily grew louder and the first rioters began to appear int the alcoves around the bloc. An order to hold fire unless fired upon was said over the vox. It was really nothing more than a setup for the brass to cover their asses after the bloodshed that was coming.

The crowd across from the defense forces grew quickly, doubling in a few minutes. On the vox speakers the brass ordered the crowd to disperse to no avail. Even from the distance he was, Einth saw that no amount of threats was going to dismantle this horde. Einth slammed his shield down into the ground. Upon making contact with the concrete and the shields of the two arbitrators nearest him, the shield locked into place. Dull thuds of metal on stone and the hiss of the compressors told Einth that the rest of the arbitrators had followed suite, and their riot shields now formed a defensive wall. The Defensive line reminded Einth of the aegis shields back at the precinct. The precinct that was surely nothing but a pile of rubble by now. The rioters on the other side had grown in number and had began chanting something unintelligible. The brass screamed a final warning at them, almost begging for them to return to their homes. The only response from the crowd was a massive, collective yell, and a bum rush towards the defender's lines. One by one the defenders raised their weapons, and a single word was heard over the vox, "Fire!"

In a single moment all hell broke loose. The hiss of the lasguns and the thunderous chatter of the bolters were soon drowned out by the tanks's big guns. Immediately the first line of rioters fell, fountains of blood spewing all over the rest who continued to surge forward. Einth reloaded and continued to fire into the crowd, trying to drown out the screams of the dying and the faces of those he hit. Each bolt he fired met someone in the wall of flesh and then exploded, tearing off limbs and opening ribcages. The concrete became with blood. A name rune flickered to life within the lense of Einth's helmet, telling him someone had tuned into his cam feed. He took no notice, he didn't give a damn who was watching unless it was the Emperor himself. Wave of rioters seemed never-ending. It seemed that for each one Einth maimed five more took his place.The air felt thick in Einth's lungs. The ozone created from the mass firing of las weapons made air hard to breath. The bolter continued to bark, despite the ache in Einth's shoulder. The kick was worth it as long as it held these bastards at bay. Despite the piles of dead, more rioters had come to take their place. Einth tried to ignore the fact that women and young children were among the crowds that fell. By now the rioters were close enough to see their face. Every one of them had a twisted, grim visage of pure bloodlust. Chills ran down Einth's spine. Hatred was nothing new to a verteran arbitrator like him, but there was something different in their eyes. Something of pure malice.

As the crowd began to close the distance, bullets started to reply to the fizz of lasfire coming from the defender's lines. Most rioters had nothing but a crude hand weapon or heavy tool. Some had managed to scavenge some low-grade autoguns from the local enforcers and gang members. Their quality was nothing compared to the defender's, but they made up for it with pure numbers. Einth ducked behind his shield just as a bullet flew past where his head was. A guardsman dropped dead a few feet behind him. Reports of causalities streamed over the vox. The rioters were now attacking in full force. Einth fired through his sheild's vision slit, praying the bullets ricocheting of the metal square wouldn't penetrate.The screams of the dying were muffled in Einth's helmet. "Thank the Emporer for little graces." he thought to himself. The PDF had nothing to cover their ears and heard every scream. No doubt they would be seeing and hearing the crowd for years to come in their dreams.

Then from the skies, giants began to appear. While he never had seen one before, Einth knew an Arstartes warrior when he saw one. The massive frames and even bigger power armor marked them out as gods among men. The massive jump packs allowed them to descend with grace and speed despite their size. Einth laughed. Salvation had come. These demigods were the Emperor's angels of death and would end the riots in hours if not minutes. Others had seen them too and began cheering. Einth lifted yelled a profane encouragement and fought with even more ferocity. The Astartes didn't seem to notice the crowds or the defenders, they stood almost immovable among the rioters. Almost as if they were waiting for an order. Another squad touched down closer to Einth, and his stomach dropped. Something was wrong, these space marines where no the holy warrior-monks of the Emporer. Their Armor was stained blood red and carried a dark gunmetal trim. Horns sprouted from their helmets and runes that Einth did not know and wished he would never see again were etched into their plating. Most of all, the sight the made Einth moan in fear, was their leader. Like the others he stood firm in the swarming sea of rioters surrounding him. His helmet-less head revealed a twisted, scarred visage that could not belong to a savior. He sneered at a member of the crowd who had bowed before him. He reveled teeth were sharp as blades and not human. This wasn't an Astartes of the Emporer, this was something pure evil. He, it, roared an order and as one the Astartes raised their bolters and took aim. Not at the crowds surging around them, but at the imperial servants. As one their bolters barked, and screams of pain were heard from the defender's lines. All the defenders had stopped cheering. Confusion took hold, why were astartes firing on loyal imperial servants? Out of instinct Einth fired. He emptied his clip at the leader. The bolts struck home and hit again and again. It would have shredded a normal man, but the giant shrugged it off. His gaze turned to Einth and he snarled. Einth watched the eyes focus on him and felt as if they could see his soul.

The confusion had allowed the rioters to reach the imperial lines, and somewhere an explosion tore a massive hole into them. The crowds began surging in. A rioter juped the shields near Einth and brought a massive club down upon the head of a guardsman, shattering his skull and drenching those around him in gore. Somewhere else a woman fired a hand cannon point blank into an arbites face. The roar of chainswords told Einth that the astarted had penetrated too, and no doubt were cutting huge swaths of the defender's down. Over his vox, Einth heard the order t retreat being given. Einth scrambled up from behind his sheild and began running towards the Primary Lift. He sprinted through grappling soldiers and smashed any rioter's head he could reach with his shock maul. On the lift he could see the tanks and guardsmen were holding the horde at bay while it powered up. Tears welled in Einth's eyes as he approached his salvation. Suddenly pain enfolded him and a huge explosion deafened his ears. He hit the concrete hard. When his vision refocused he saw a pair of arbites boots, his boots. He could feel nothing below his waist and knew he had been hit by a bolt. Shocked dulled the agony he felt and he began to black out. Before he could, a massive armored hand picked him up be the head. He was turned around to face the giant he had shot at earlier. The face of it was horrifying. The scars and mutations had made it almost unrecognizable as once being human. The letters etched into the armor swam and morphed. Einth was sure that if he hadn't lost all of the blood he did and could see them clearly, they would drive him insane. The giant studied him closely. It seemed calm and calculating even though a battle continued to rage around it. Blood surged up through Einth's throat and drenched the front of his arbites uniform. Einth felt his heart begin to slow and pound weaker. His visor continued to glow red and the cam-rune continued to flicker.

The astartes became bored with its mortal plaything. Behind the dying man, the primary lift exploded and shattered as it left the ground. It didn't matter, the nobles could rot in their now impenetrable fortress. The closest imperial forces were months away. The giant roared with victory. The dark gods would have their sacrifices. The followers of the corpse-god would arrive and a massive war over the soul of this planet would ensue. A wicked smile flickered across its face. This scared, leggless mortal had no clue what was just beginning. The giant crushed the mortal's head and sprinted back into the fray, worshiping his dark masters with bloodshed and killing. The last thing Einth saw was not the vile face of the astartes. Without conscious reason he read the rune in his visor. It was not a name of some pencil-necked C.O. or scribe like he had expected. It hadn't been a higher up tactician or a noble. The rune read a single word. Something in gothic that Einth had never seen or heard about. The last thing Einth saw before he died was the word Malleus.

Induction

Commissar Northrop clasped the handhold, standing with sword gripped as the Chimera trundled forward over the rough ground. He peered through the view ports a choking dust made by the innumerable other Chimeras and tanks that made up the spearhead of the Imperial attack. Following behind would be the infantry, marching into position to meet the enemy. Artillery support would already be in position by the time the Tyranids attacked…

A raucous laughter broke his concentration. Turning back, he glared at his charges, elements of the regiment he was attached to. Ten men and women all slapped their knees and threw their heads back in amusement. Most of them sat, some on the single bench that straddled one side of the transport’s hold, and a trio sitting in the corner on ammunition and supply boxes. All the soldiers held their lasguns at rest, wearing the flak armor of imperial guardsmen.

One of the two standing men was Sergeant Kelso. He was by the front of the Chimera, near the hatch that led to the cockpit. His visage was hardly ever without a grin, but he bore the scars and premature aging of a veteran who saw plenty of fighting and the horrors of the galaxy. He was most likely the one to of cracked the joke and made everyone laugh.

Commissar Northrop rarely smiled. He rarely liked jokes. He was here to watch over the soldiers, and kill any who deviated from their loyalty or oaths to the Emperor.

He chooses to ride with this squad specifically because of the color of their leader. While a respected and combat experienced noncom, his antics and buffoonery when out of combat caused unease with regimental command. While the suspicions were there, none warranted any serious disciplinary action. And his actual acts of humor were in and of themselves minor and harmless.

But Northrop never took that chance. Any threat to the integrity of the regiment would be dealt with, no matter how small.

Even the three soldiers who sat by themselves and seemed to separate from the rest of the squad were under Northrop’s watch. They were friends to was sure. Their aloof attitude spoke of comradery between the three, a bond that was probably forged sometime in the distant past. Natalia, the female of the group, seemed to be the ringleader. Her resolve was strong, and her presence under fire and ability to think outside the box could make her a potential candidate for promotion one of these days. The other two, Nix and Hasheed were opposites of each other; Nix the silent and brooding member of the group, and Hasheed the brazen and loudmouth. Regardless, they worked under Natalia in some form of informal command structure within the squad. Despite their allegiance to one another, all three still followed Sergeant Kelso with great zeal.

But that friendship could threaten the integrity of the unit. If it ever did, the commissar promised himself they would all die together, right then and there.
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A hot flash blinded Hasheed. He cried in pain, but could not remember what it was that caused him such torment. The blinding flash subsided, but left the soldier muddled, unable to determine where he was.

Infinite blackness stretched before Hasheed; a yawning chasm that would swallow him forever if he were to fall. Hanging on the precipice of nothingness…he felt as if his fate would be decided in the next few moments….
*****************************************************************************************************************************
The Tyranid swarm had broken through the Imperial lines. Individual guardsmen were fighting for their lives now, hand to hand and sometimes group together in phalanx formations, their lasgun fire keeping them safe in false pockets of security as the chaos swirled around them.

Natalia shouldered her burden as best she could, the limp body of her comrade and friend Hasheed slumped on her back as she made for the Chimera transport.

Sergeant Kelso urged his several remaining troops to their ride, imploring them to hurry. Less than a hundred yards away was the leading line of the hormagaunts- small, ferocious bio-organisms of the xenos horde with sharp claws and ravenous hungers. Countless numbers of them swarmed the stragglers, pulling down the slow and injured. At their ankles were their lesser cousins, a carpet of creatures that resembled miniature versions of the hormagaunts. Ripper by name, their greatest threat was their numbers, legions higher than any other Tyranid creature ever encountered.

Natalia did not want to think about the fate of those she had left behind. She sniped a shot from her lasgun, and then legged the last few feet to the transport, throwing her gun in first through the back hatch and then lifting Hasheed up, a fellow soldier named Nix grabbing his injured body by the feet as they hauled him up.

Kelso came in last, leaping and shouting at the top of his lungs for the drivers to floor it. From the cockpit came an explicative and an affirmation, followed by the engines gunning and the whole vehicle lurching into motion, everyone jolted from their feet as the Chimera jumped into motion, kicking up mud and dirt as the tracks spun at full velocity.

Everyone exhausted, the remaining troops slumped into seats or on assorted supply boxes. Natalia took Hasheed’s body and placed him on the bench with Nix’s help. Telling Nix to remain with Hasheed, she ran to the first aid kit on the wall and found the bandages and medicine stuffed into metal tins. Grabbing what she needed, she returned to Hasheed’s side, unfurling the bandages as Nix ripped off the flak armor and jacket, revealing a festering gash across the chest.

Natalia briefly looked to Sergeant Kelso as he watched out the lasgun emplacements on the side of the transport. Despite the grime and blood covering his face, Natalia saw true fear on his visage as he viewed the wider battle from his small view slit. He also seemed several years older than he looked before the battle. The laugh lines that creased his aged face seemed to grow further wrinkles, as if the past few hours had added another decade of life from the horrors he saw. Perhaps that was the dirt causing the wrinkles to look deeper and more numerous than they actually were.

But he had to be concerned about his own fate, for he personally shot down the Commissar that was ordering the regiment to form a futile, last ditch effort to hold the line. In that one moment of enraged clarity, Kelso took his pistol and drove the bullet home right in the back of the head of the Imperial officer.

That moment was a critical one, for any further hesitation would have seen the entire platoon decimated, swept up in the bloodbath that was still ongoing as Nix applied the salves to Hasheed’s torn torso, and Natalia started dressing the minor wounds across her friend’s left arm.

As it was, half the regiment was dead, now being devoured by the Emperor knew what that stalked the killing fields after the Tyranids had swept the field of living enemies. Other units were not so lucky. Natalia saw an entire squad of Ogryns consumed by raveners as they burst from the ground and tore into the bulky abhumans with abandon. What she thought was a squad of Armageddon Steel Legionnaires that had held the left flank of the Imperial army was quickly consumed by a flock of gargoyles that blotted out the sky. Their transports offered little protection as larger winged Tyranids swooped in from behind the gargoyles, lifting up Chimera after Chimera into their taloned grasp, and flipping them over end over end, or driving beaks and talons and claws into hatches and vulnerable side armors, allowing their smaller brethren to breach the tank’s interior in order to deal with the defenders within.

She still remembered the haunted screams from the vox-caster as desperate officers tried in vain to call in support for their beleaguered positions. If their positions were already lost, some chanted into their equipment, praying to the Emperor for protection before blood curdling cries ceased their canticles.

A tear that trickled down her cheek was quickly wiped away. She looked around at the other soldiers, too intent on their deep fatigue to watch her specifically. Nix tapped her shoulder, and she turned to regard him. He indicated for her to help him prop Hasheed up on the bench. He needed his chest wound covered, or else he would probably not make it….
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Hasheed felt the darkness recede….but only by a hair of a fraction. He still felt like he was on tip toes, that any movement forward would cause him to take that plunge.

It was a desperate feeling that he felt. He was alone, and he was in danger. He couldn’t remember how he came to be on a cliff in the middle of the night, not knowing where he was or what he was doing the second before he found himself in this frightening place.

He did have fleeting images of what may have been, but they were too undistinguished to be made out in any detail. He saw…metal, dirt…and people, lots and lots of people…maybe animals? It was like trying to remember a dream.

But he couldn’t think too long on those whimsical images. He had to focus on not taking that final step off the ledge…
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The escarpment’s walls gave Natalia a sense of relief.

Towering steel with cannons and men to patrol the parapets; this was a bastion of mortal might that she desperately pinned her hope to that it could stop the Tyranid swarm.

The great metal doors opened, revealing ranks upon ranks of reserves that were swarming the interior, lining up in columns to march out and face the Tyranid menace. Camps and buildings were buzzing with activity as armaments and tanks were being brought out from machine shops and from bunkers. Officers and storm troopers flecked the masses, their presence offering order and stability to the chaos of troops coming out to the battlefield and the limping remnants of an army drudging back in to lick their wounds.

Natalia’s sense of relief was humbled by her shame as she realized that she was one of the sad few who had made it back, their tails between their legs. Looking out the view slits, she saw some of the guardsmen turn their heads to the line of battered tanks and transports entering the compound. Some wore blank expressions, others the look of grim determination. A few soldiers smiled in derision or snickered into their sleeves, laughing at the expense of those that didn’t die, or so Natalia guessed.

But the sacrifice of the army that was essentially no more had bought these men time to prepare, time to launch the counterattack. Even now, the skies still hummed with activity as Imperial Navy vessels kept coming in from orbit, dropping in tanks and troops as fast as they could. While they had air superiority, they needed it to get as many armaments and personnel planetside. The Tyranid swarm was notorious for their numbers. Once the gargoyles and other winged monstrosities arrived, extraction and resupplying would be impossible until the battle was over and the cloud of hostiles cleared from the skies.

Natalia kept Hasheed’s head propped into her lap. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was normal. Thankfully, the poisons secreted by the hormagaunt that clawed him were neutralized by the vaccine found within the first aid kit. He would need to be moved to one of the medical bunkers regardless.

Nix sat on a supply box next to the bench. He was still intently focused on Hasheed, keeping his gaze squarely on the man’s listless form. He only turned away once after his wounds were tended to, and that was to look into Natalia’s face, concern deep on his handsome face, his deep blue eyes tinged with sorrow.

Both Hasheed and Nix were Natalia’s lifelong friends, knowing one another since their early days on the dusty hive world of Morlas. They were inducted into the Imperial Guard on the same day, as all had shared the same birth year. Luckily, they were trained together and placed within the same regiment, the 152nd. A few other childhood acquaintances of theirs had also made the arduous journey through the guard ranks with them. However, all of them were now dead, the last few left for the feasting back on the battlefield.

Of all the worlds that they fought through, muddled through, and sometimes had to escape from, this was the first that had utterly swallowed their regiment. Nearly ten thousand veterans had flocked to Worchester Prime of the 152nd to stave off a revitalized splinter fleet of Hive Kraken. Now…Natalia couldn’t be too sure if the regiment was even close to several hundred effectives or less. Her brief glances outside told a story of multiple shattered remnants of a regiment lurching back along with them, some too few to even count on two hands. Only a handful of them even had one transport to their ranks.

The Morlassian Chimera finally cleared the gates. Keeping in line with a convoy of other dusty vehicles, mechanics and engineers busily kept motioning outside with light sticks to drivers, showing them where to park. Swarming the vehicles was personnel and medics, troops rushing to get out as officers barked orders and regiments fell in.

As her chimera parked, Sergeant Kelso came out of the cockpit, his face washed and his aged face clean again. He still had the wrinkle lines from both his prior jolly self and the new, hardened traitor he had to become in order to save his men from the commissar’s suicidal orders.

Everyone inside the transport looked at their leader. He looked over them. All of them shared a look of knowing, knowledge that even though none of the squad would tell of what their sergeant did because of the bonds of loyalty, somehow the event had to of been known to the higher ups in some way.

That was why when the squad finally exited the back of the chimera; Natalia was hardly surprised when an escort of military police following a grim looking fellow in carapace armor walked straight up Sergeant Kelso. With a wave of his hand, two of his men came forward and grabbed the sergeant by either of his arms, roughly hauling him away amidst a silent exchange of stares and glances from the surrounding guardsmen.

The military police officer stayed behind momentarily to watch as Hasheed’s lifeless form was carried from the back of the chimera, two nurses carrying him by stretcher to the medical bunker, their procession following the dozens of others as wounded men either dragged themselves in for convalescence or were dragged in turn by orderlies or fellow guardsmen.

Natalia was so focused on Hasheed’s departure that she did not notice the man in carapace armor staring intently at her as her wounded comrade entered the medical station. His glare was only a few moments long, but the thin smile that creased his face was fleeting at best, for he turned back the way he came, following the patrol of men that he had brought out in order to rescue the sergeant from summary execution.

The real military police were making their way to arrest Sergeant Kelso at that very moment.
**********************************************************************************************************************************
Hasheed was surprised.

He felt himself step back from the edge. He wasn’t quite sure what was making him do that.

The darkness lightened a bit too, becoming an inky purple that still surrounded him. The images that haunted him coalesced into greater detail. The people he could see were armed. They carried guns and swords, and they were covered in dirt. They fought against creatures he could not recognize. They had teeth and claws and killed. They killed.

A woman’s head came into view for a brief moment. He thought he recognized her, with red hair trailing out of her helmet, and a look of dread plastering her face. She was shouting, but he could not make out what it was that she was saying.

The image disappeared, hiding amongst the other things he saw. He wondered who she was, and why she had tears that trickled down from her green eyes…
*************************************************************************************************************************************
Nix watched as the procession escorting Sergeant Kelso departed, and another bodyguard of military police following a Commissar approached. They’re gait was swift and merciless as they wove between the vehicles and blood stained warriors in their approach. Nix could not gauge where they were going, but they were heading in his direction.

Nix paid only a second more attention to them as he turned toward Natalia, still looking longingly after the medical bunker where their friend Hasheed was taken into. Nix was awash in emotional turmoil, regret that he wasn’t there to take Hasheed’s place when he was mauled by the Tyranid creature, fury at the loss of Kelso because of his actions to save the regiment, and above all else, sorrow that he could not comfort Natalia.

Placing a hand on Natalia’s shoulder, his lifelong friend tensed for a moment before all her stress melted away, blowing out a long breath and turning to Nix with mournful eyes.
Nix was about to comfort her with the scant words he could provide, but the ground decided at that moment to rebel.

The ground shook and buildings groaned in protest as the entire fortress rattled and screamed in metallic agony as the earth beneath them undulated. Chimeras and forty ton tanks bounced about on armored tracks and reinforced wheels, churning side to side with the chaotic motion of the land. Men helplessly fell to the dirt, unable to stay erect in the tumult of the moment.

Nix caught Natalia in his embrace, falling to the ground with her and hugging her close to his chest. He could do nothing more than press up against her, watching as one chimera jumped up high enough to turn on its side and crush several wailing guardsmen under its massive weight. The smell of blood and dirt choked him as he took a steadying breath to remain calm. Fixating on the stench of caked blood and soiled clothing from a nightmarish battle that his comrades and he had left behind actually helped him keep at bay the helplessness he felt right at that moment as Natalia cried out Hasheed’s name and the lurching dread he got at the pit of his stomach welled up.

The dawning horror spoke not of the simple and humble ground causing the tremors. Rather, the first hand knowledge of the varied capabilities of the enemy caused his mouth to go dry. For erupting out of the ground was dozens of burrowing organisms launching out of holes bursting through the dirt, leaping upon the fallen Imperial guardsmen and laying waste to their demoralized foes.

Nix could do nothing but hold tight to Natalia as around him because a bloodbath of feeding Tyranids and exploding fountains of soil.
***********************************************************************************
Why couldn’t he remember? Why couldn’t he think?!?

Hasheed clutched his head. He sat in a mire of thoughts that swirled and swirled around him, struggling in vain to remind him of what had happened. Each one was a puzzle piece, something that when put together in the right order would allow Hasheed to finally remember why he was here, why he was abandoned.

Crying in frustration, Hasheed threw his arms out, trying to seize the pictures of what he guessed was his recent past and wring out of them answers. But all of the images dissolved in his touch, slipping away to continue their orbit around him. Silently, they swirled around him in vigil, trying their mute best to make Hasheed remember.

Hasheed’s one consolation was that he knew he would not die. Walking away from the cliff, the land around him grew lighter until its texture was a dark grey. He could make out mist and clouds, but could not penetrate through their murky endlessness as he sought a way out.

All he could do was continue to ponder about what those images meant.
***********************************************************************************************************************************
The Imperial response had degenerated into chaos.

Guardsmen ran about, madly fighting or fleeing for their lives as thousands upon thousands of Tyranid monstrosities sprang from the ground and descended from the skies. Gunships unleashed reckless strafes of missiles and lascannon fire into the mass of tanks, men, and aliens, rupturing the ground even further. Officers bellowed orders into the morass of men, struggling to maintain semblance of order within the fortress walls, walls that had artillery positioned to fire into the interior of the Imperial strongpoint.

Natalia waded through the mess, dragging a blood soaked Nix behind her as all her focus and intent lay in the medical bunker at the end of a swirling melee of desperate humans and hungry aliens.

Natalia pushed aside the last fifteen minutes of hell as she and Nix joined the struggling defense within the walls of the Imperial compound, vainly trying to keep the Tyranid burrowers contained to their deployment zone. The press of lasgun fire and heavy weapons had succeeded in the first several minutes after the tremors ceased, but the surprise attack from above broke the concentrated fire as antiaircraft batteries began diverting ground fire to keep the press of gargoyles and harpies from taking out the defenses.

In that one momentary lapse of fire, the ground attack overwhelmed the Imperial cordon, causing the guardsmen ranks to break, especially since the first line was held by the survivors of the previous Tyranid engagement, a fight in which most of the men had endured their mental limit of horror and hopelessness. Asking them to go into another such battle was beyond even the command prowess of a Lord Commissar.

But a few steeled veterans continued to fight with knives and swords in hand, locked in mortal combat with creatures they knew meant the end of their entire existence if they choose to surrender and flee.

Natalia thanked them for the distraction, but she could no longer fight merely for survival. She had one of her friends safe by her side now. All she needed now was to save the only other person that she cared about.

And none of the dozen or so personal fights stretching before her and the medical bunker in which Hasheed was housed could stop her.

Walking with determined strides, Nix at her shoulder with his lasgun poised to fire, Natalia simply strode amongst the beleaguered human defenders and merciless alien attackers, circling around those who cried to her for help or simply gaped at her brazen recklessness.

A hormagaunt leaped at her after finishing off a bloodied pulp of once what had been a human. She answered back with a trio of lasgun shots, punching three holes right through its chest and causing it to collapse in death spasms. Then she kicked it aside and continued onward.

As she reached the end of the final melee, she began to break into a run as she approached the unguarded, open metal doors leading into the spartan medical bunker. Bursting through the door, her heart sank as she viewed the interior.

The lightless interior spoke of evacuation. Surgical tables and beds and stretchers were strewn about. Most of the important medical equipment was gone. No one was left save for a few bodies, none of which even looked remotely like the dark skinned Hasheed.

Crying out in frustration, Natalia threw her lasgun to the floor, unable to comprehend how an entire medical facility had already been evacuated. She was at least expect the compound to be overrun with Tyranid organisms devouring the helping, prepared at the very least to exchange her life defending the prone form of her lifelong friend.

Now with the vast emptiness of the bunker stretching before her, Natalia collected herself and picked up the discarded lasgun. The injured had to of been evacuated somewhere. She just needed to find out where exactly they were taken.

She couldn’t give into despair yet. She still had a friend to rescue….or die trying.
*************************************************************************************
Hasheed sulked within his orb of flying visions, finally accepting he was in some sort of purgatory…perhaps for crimes he had committed.

The grey mists had not gotten any brighter, nor had anything else changed about his condition. He still couldn’t remember, and he still couldn’t escape.

He finally accepted he was stuck in a nightmarish oblivion with unrecognized memories to torment him forever.

A tiny mote of light poked at the horizon, a pinprick that materialized just as Hasheed had fallen into deep despondency. Smothered in his own sadness, Hasheed did not notice that light beckoning him to discover it…
*************************************************************************************
Natalia ran through the expansive hanger, running through the hallways that led to various bays as she sought the exact one that she needed to find before the spacecraft departed.

Her heart kept pounding, protesting for her to stop and rest. But she knew she couldn’t every second she spent not looking for Hasheed was another second closer to the departure of her friend and any hope of finding him.

Through desperate plying of the medical records scattered about the bunker, she found the orders that had detailed the immediate evacuation of the entire structure and personnel moments before the tremors and the Tyranid attack had started. The seal that commanded the order was unknown to her, as it didn’t belong to any that she had seen within the Imperial Guard hierarchy.

But that unknown seal didn’t concern her. What concerned here was the explicit order she found to move Hasheed himself to docking bay Gamma 17-B, tucked far and high into the imposing building that housed hundreds of vessels that were even now fighting their way out and above into the atmosphere to the awaiting Imperial Navy starships above.

She had raced through the failing defenses of the dying Imperial guardsmen outside to get here. By now the defenders were probably hemmed into the buildings, using narrow corridors and preset explosives to buy time for the evacuation. Their deaths gave Nix and her the time they needed. Else it would have been a struggle between survival and escape.

Nix panted alongside her, his swear soaking everything he wore. He had discarded his lasgun after shoving it into the maw of a ravener, shooting repeatedly until the gun grew hot and unable to fire any longer. He still kept up, despite the last furious skirmish with Tyranids as they raced into the building before it was barred from the inside.

Now racing up the final flight of stairs, they burst into the long hallway that led to the Gamma level hangers. The clanking and echoes of rockets reverberated through the metallic corridor had grown furiously progressive, as more and more of the Imperial ships were at last departing. The noisy reverberations and the sliding hydraulic doors were the only things left on this level. No personnel were racing around frantically to prep departing ships.

But none of the noise mattered or the emptiness mattered. Natalia heaved in deep breaths as she counted the odd numbered doors until they reached the two that said 17.

Bracing herself, she touched the control pad that initiated the machine spirit, causing door B to hiss open, revealing to her the final fate of Hasheed…
***********************************************************************************
Hasheed sprinted, racing for all he was worth. He discovered the light along with a flash of inspiration. Focusing on the image of the woman who had knelt over his prone form, he concentrating on remembering who she was and what she had meant to him.

Thinking it was a lover, he was shocked to find out that Natalia was his lifelong friend. Secretly, he had at one point harbored a crush for her, but the years of service to the Emperor and the soldierly comradery that he had felt with being with her had muted those youthful emotions, replaced with a deep and loving bond for someone he considered akin to a sister.

The flood of memories assaulted him; surprising him at how powerful they were emotionally, especially when he tied them to Natalia. She became the anchor to which he remembered, remembering the brutal and short war against the Tyranids infesting the planet, and the dead, alien eyes of the Tyranid creature that had felled him. The moments afterward became blank as at that point Hasheed remembered slipping into unconsciousness, finding himself in the personal hell he had come to despise with all his being.

The light was growing closer as he ran toward it. And he started feeling…colder; as if the light was drawing the warmth from him.

That didn’t matter. The blinding light utterly obscured his vision now. He was getting colder, but he knew that he had to push through, to continue moving forward in order to return to where he belonged. He just hoped that it was by the side of his friends, Natalia and Nix included.

The final stretch of running turned into a struggle to simply move. Pressed against some unknown force, blinded by the omnipresent light, barely able to feel anything thanks to the subzero cold, Hasheed made one final mental push, roaring in denial at being held in eternal fog and oblivion forever and finally freed himself from his prison.

To wake up locked in a tomb of ice, the distorted frozen water blurring his vision of what he knew to be Natalia, staring in horror right at his icy, unmoving form.

Hasheed wanted to scream in despair, but found his mouth was already open and unable to move along with the rest of his body.
*************************************************************************************
Before Natalia was a coffin of ice encasing her dearest friend Hasheed. She didn’t even see the man in carapace armor that had led Sergeant Kelso away flanking the metal tomb holding the block of ice that showcased her injured friend. Nor did she even glance at the hunched form of another man standing there too, a metal helm encasing his entire head with tubes and wires stabbed into his back.

Her eyes were focused on the face of Hasheed, his face locked in wide mouthed horror. Thankfully, his eyes were closed…

They blinked open. Through the glass, she made contact with his eyes, and found herself stepping away, her fingers stretching up to her unhinged jaw as she stared in dread and joy as her friend lived, held prisoner in a frozen vault.

“Dear Immortal Emperor,” Nix intoned as he stepped next to Natalia, his face completely aghast at what he saw. “What has happened to him?” he whispered.

The man in carapace armor strode forth. He had a stern smile on his face, his gait measured as he walked before the open coffin revealing the trapped Hasheed. “He has been saved…for now,” he stated with an underlying threat.

Natalia tore her gaze from Hasheed’s, and looked the threatening man in the eye, meeting his steely gaze with her own.

“Release him,” she commanded, implying there was no room for debate.

The man in carapace armor chuckled and made it sound morose at the same time. “That I cannot do.”

Natalia took a step in the direction of the man. He held out a finger, and shook his head.

“Don’t do that. If you provoke Sergeant Kelso over here, I cannot vouch for you or anyone’s safety.”

Natalia opened her eyes wider and stopped. She turned to consider the hunched form identified as Kelso. She noticed that he had begun to crouch lower, his legs ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. All he wore was a tattered cloth around his loins, nothing truly identifying him as the man that once commanded her platoon.

She turned back to the liar. “You lie,” she accused.

Again the man chucked. He beckoned with a hand, and the hunched humanoid relaxed and lumbered over to the other man. With both hands, the man in carapace armor unlatched the metallic helm and lifted off the hunched man’s head…revealing the aged and weathered face of Sergeant Kelso.

But if he was Kelso, he was Kelso no longer. His eyes were milky and dazed, as he was blind and dream walking at the same time. Tubes ran into a mouth that slouched and drooled. His head was shaved and more tubes were tucked into his skull, running down his spinal column and ending jabbed into his upper and lower back.

To all intents and purposes, Natalia did not see Sergeant Kelso anymore, but a puppet that was made from the body of her former commanding officer.

“Why?” she uttered, unable to believe that the transformed Kelso before her was now a mindless slave.

The man who held Kelso’s helm put it back on upon his head, thankfully hiding his deformed face. “He broke Imperial laws. He defied the orders of an Imperial Commissar. Even worse, he killed him. That in and of itself should of merited immediate public execution right on the spot. If it wasn’t for the chaos of the retreat, a nearby Commissar would have happily done the job.

“But the orders were delayed until the fragments of the surviving regiments were combed through and the traitor found. Luckily, I found him before another Commissar found him and shot him right on the spot.”

“But…but why?” Natalia sputtered, still not understanding why he was like he was.

“Oh, well he still deserved to be punished. He knew what he did, and he accepted becoming an arco-flagellant in exchange for sparing his life and continuing his service to the Emperor in some fashion. Also, because he received this punishment from me, it cannot be superseded by an inferior command and therefore he’ll be absolved of the orders to execute him on the spot.”

The female soldier digested the news, finally understanding and narrowing her eyes as she looked at the grimly smiling man standing before her. “Who are you?” she asked at last.

The man tilted his head, as if thinking for the right response. “I am Inquisitor Heth Fernix. And I am here to offer you a position within my circle of henchmen and women. I would like you to become an acolyte under my tutelage.”

Natalia spat out of disgust. “To the fracking throne with your offer! Look what you have done to my friends!” sweeping her hand toward Kelso and Hasheed. “Why should I accept anything like that?” she asked.

“Well,” the Inquisitor began slowly, tucking his arms behind him. “It is simple really. You are a loyal soldier, and dedicated. What’s more, you are capable and gifted. Not many guardsmen could survive the trials of the past few hours, let alone discover the whereabouts of a fallen comrade whisked away in the eleventh hour right from under your nose with the heat of battle upon you.

“Simply put, I want your loyalty and your skills. I’ll even take your friend Nix over here under my tutelage as well. The Inquisition has need of you Natalia. I have need of you.”
She was about to scoff out her answer right then and there, but Heth jabbed a finger up a split second before she said no.

“But…think carefully my offer. If you say no, all of you will die right here and now. Even if you manage to escape, you’ll eventually fall prey to the Tyranids now only two levels below us. All the other ships have escaped their hangers except for mine. I’ve waited for you here until the last second so I may give you this offer; if you decide to follow me, I’ll save your friend Hasheed here. I’ll even release Sergeant Kelso here from his current state and deposit him somewhere safe where he may live out the rest of his days in obscurity, hidden away from Imperial authority and safe from any persecution from vengeful Commissars looking for revenge. The choice however…is yours and yours alone to make.”

Natalia stared balefully at Inquisitor Heth. She looked hesitantly at Nix, who stood by her as somber as she was, and back at the icy tomb that encased Hasheed, his frozen eyes pleadingly staring at her.
Closing her eyes, Natalia stepped before the Inquisitor and bowed her head, accepting his offer to save her friends…

lowmanjason wrote:OK, here is the deal, I forgot to submit a post for somebody who asked me to do it before this round started. So because of that I am extending this round to Wednesday 1159. If you already submited something and you want to alter it for somthing, now is your chance. Keep posting if you can!

Thats me Thats me!!!

I hope...

it is but some how i misplaced the file so i didnt get to submit it i will let you submit it now if you want

Why not paste it here to, only 544 words so doesnt qualify though, but anyway:

The Talon guard are followers of all 4 chaos gods, undivided if you wish. The Talon Guard were once a Loyalist Chapter, until after massive battles against the tyranid swarm, and many Talon guard losses, the chapter master and company captains slowly became disillusioned of their devotion to the emperor, as well, the librarians through out the chapter became more and more influenced by the warp . The whispers coming from the warp through the librarians, joined with the failing faith of the chapter's leadership, eventually lead to complete apostasy of which caused the execution of the chapter's chaplains.


The gods had been over-looking the chapter for quite awhile, Tzeentch tempted many into the glory of Chaos, Nurgle fed on the wounded, whispering into their minds about imortality, many fell to khorne after seing brutal scenes in the mist of battle, and slaneesh promised the remnants eternal beauty. A mere fraction of the chapter remained loyal to the emperor, but these loyalists were crushed by the overwhelming amount of traitors. A captain by the name of Lorthan, led the rebellion, he had managed to convince a large portion of the chapter to rebel and worship the chaos gods, they went about killing those who disagreed with him, the Chapter master himself disagreed with this heresy, and killed the Captain leading the rebellion, Taelios picked up his fallen brothers sword, the Howling Talon, but the sword had a daemonic possession that entered Taelios, and he fell to the very darkness he wished to purge. Taelios led the Chapter into heresy, accompanied by Terminator Captain Xaphen who helped Him lead the fallen chapter, believing, that through the favor of the gods, the Chapter would be stronger than the Emperor was ever able to make them.



After hearing of the rebellion of the Talon Guard, the Raven Guard were sent to purge the uprising, but the talon guard had already left, to become space-faring pirates, much like there brothers the red Corsairs. The Chapter master; Taelios, was favoured by the Chaos gods, he became a almighty Daemon Prince, fighting for the glory of chaos.

The Talon Guard employed many tactics before the rebellion, the most renown of them all is there implication of Hit and Run tactics, but many of the Warband changed their ways, as their gods demanded, but some still Employ the chapter's orignal tactics. The Talon Guard are a young Warband, still adapting to the new life style of space-faring raiders and seek the eternal glory of daemonhood...


Here is some background of the Talon Guard before the rebellion, ironically, i invented the talon guard awhile ago for a custom SM chapter Here it is:

Chapter Master: Brother Taelios of Brimlock

Chapter history:
The Talon Guard, derived from the gene-seed of the Raven Guard, are a chapter who favour hit and run tactics over sheer firepower or brute strength. They struggle to survive as Hive fleet kraken strikes from the east searching for bio-mass and the ever growing Tau Empire advances slowly from the south, hoping to bring new planets into their young empire. Having a secure number of marines ready to fight by their side, the Talon Guard must secure their defences and push back the invaders in their domain, or die trying.

I hate to do this to ya Huggy but that way too much like Battle Brothers chapter backgrond and not a short story(I didnt read it when you sent it to out of fairness). I will give you until sunday to ad a real story element otherwise I cant count it.

I undersstand, its no biggy, dont expect a story.

- huggy as you call me

Mind if I post one of my overblown 40k pulps?

Pretty sure the deadline is up Mordo...
Actually i think the competetion ended a while ago...

I've not seen a poll though...

Edit: Never mind

http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/388868.page