This is a fan-fiction i had written up last night. I appreciate any comments on how to make it more fluffy and believable. I hope you enjoy the read as much as i enjoyed the write.
The Commisar's Table. HAW HAW HAW, the Commisars guffawed. Sat around an antique oak table, Commisars of varied rank shared tales of capitulating occurences on and off the battlefield. Perhaps, even a myth or two. A lower ranked Commisar basks in being lead of the conversation of honourable moments.
"So i was all F* YOU PSKERS. Bolt pistol kapow!" *joy spreads across the table to the sounds of a pskyers demise.*
Sat at the head of the table, a lowly high-ranked commisar ,who goes by the name of sebastian, smeared a grin across his face as he rips into a large juicy leg of chicken. He picks up and sloshes back a large flagon of ale back with his good hand and slams it back into place on the table just loud enough to gather the attention of everyone. Raising his voice to the previous owner of the conversation, he belows "Would you like to hear a real tale?"
The clammering Commisar hesitantly nodded in sebastians direction.
"Good. I was going to tell it anyway!" Slight smiles appeared. "Me, and an infantry squad were surveying a recent war path of a band of orks that may have intelligence of the whereabouts of Ghazghkull Thraka." By now, silence had befallen the commisars. "Craters to the left, and a baron wasteland of a city to the right. Through the ruins of the recently destroyed buildings came a chill of air and a whisper upon the wind. In a flash, we were assaulted."
Yarrick scouted the table and points toward a commisar in training. "You there, boy. Can you tell me who assaulted us and from which direction?" The young commisar, clearly caught off guard stammered his reply. "O-orks, sir. and maybe f-from the craters sir."
"Maybe?" Yarrick questioned.
The belittled soldier lowered his eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry sir."
"It's alright, you were wrong anyway, hah!" An amused Lord Commisar belowed an uproar of laughter. "It was a small party of necrons accompanied by a lord. The worst bit was that they just apperated from thin air. We didn't stand a chance. We were outnumbered 2 to 1, almost slaughtered in moments. Like cattle in a slaughterhouse. The sergeant of our squad rallied a couple troops armed with lasguns to take out a couple of them whilst the sergeant and a flamer took out several more. But this was nothing compared to what the remaining necrons did. A massacre, some would say. I was left abandoned by the spirits of my troops."
Not a single person battered an eyelid whilst their host recalled the battle.
"As the last of my sqaud, i kept my senses sharp, and my battle klaw sharper. All of a sudden out from behind me, the deep, booming voice of the necron lord descended upon me."
Mercy, is for the weeaak..." his shrill voice echoed.
"And he swung his war sythe straight through me." (3+ stand up save
ftw)
Shock and awe grabbed the whispers of voices before they could materialise. "By now, they though i was done for. They slowly drifted away and thats when i countered with my own personal war cry. "BATTTLE KLAW B**CHES, NOW YOU GUN' DIE!"
"I caught the lord off guard and several other warriors were ground into dust"
" How are you still alive??" questioned the lord.
"How are you not?" In that moment all the warriors phased out and the lord froze in terror as the immortal and fearless Yarrick towered high above him. He raised his Klaw far into the air when the lord pleaded with Yarrick, "No, don't!"
"Mercy? You want mercy? B*tch please." And as the sun glinted into yarrick's bale eye, he released the power of his metallic fist and the necron lord screeched into lifelessness...
Back at the commisars table, Sebastian realised the damage he had caused re-enacting the final moment of the lords demise. The table had been smashed into a million tiny pieces while fearful yet admiring commisars involantarily stood in astonishment at the power what one man can do.
Fin.