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Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Hi gents (and ladies, if any!), Ezra Tyrius inspired me to start a thread of my own stories set in the universes of the Heresy, 40K and my own work in progress prequel series, 20K.

About the Author
I'm a die-hard sci-fi fan who loves the Stargates and the Star Treks, particularly DS9. I don't like overpowered characters, so I also don't like superhero stuff, although I still like Space Marines (up to a point). I have grown up with the Games Workshop as my main hobby. I stayed with them when they ruined Epic (IMO) and moved onto Necromunda. I got into reading Black Library books before they hit it big and am hooked on the Horus Heresy series. I'm a diagnosed aspie with ADHD have overcome a lot of challenges to get to where I am today - these days I can actually finish worth that I start! Oh, and in real life, I am notorious for having hair-raisingly terrifying ex-girlfriends.

I'm working on a series called 20K which is a prequel to HH and 40K. This has been ongoing since 2002 (!) with only a handful of completed work, a situation that I am remedying as you read this. I am also responsible for the insulting and childish Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army series which used to be really popular - whatever you do, if you write something that people like, don't squander it like I did! My stories tend to be long and involved, demanding commitment from the reader. I sincerely thank those of you who read my stories through and welcome any and all feedback - I know it's tough to stick with longer stories sometimes.

All that remains to say is enjoy my fiction, or forever be a beast with a bum like a baboon's!

20K fiction on Dakkadakka

It is the dawn of legend.

The human race recovers from millennia of war and failed expansion. Solar Command oversees the fledgling Terran Empire, one hundred worlds led by a United Earth, defended by the courageous soldiers of the Empire Guard and the intrepid crews of the Terran Navy.

As these brave humans venture into the galaxy, carrying the human dream to the very stars that revile them, ancient powers watch with jealousy in their eyes and hatred in their hearts. Aliens stare at the glittering lights of human civilisation, knowing the emergent species will one day decide their fate. Alneran dog-soldiers test the Empire’s borders, challenging humanity’s growing might. Tusked warmongers seek the Terran homeworld, believing they have at last found a species as belligerent as their own. In the forgotten corners of the galaxy, the remnants of a warp-spawned species seek to enslave the hearts and souls of all living beings. Deep within the hyper-realm, three vast and terrible intellects stir to life, weak as yet, but growing in power as the Terran Empire grows.

Alone of all aliens, only the arrogant Eldar care nothing for the human resurgence, for they are masters of all they see; their fevered imaginings become reality and their whims shape the universe. What possible threat can the upstart mon-keigh be to them?

Forget the power of genhanced super-warriors, for the Empire’s defenders are merely human. Forget the burning light of a hundred thousand minds, for in the poisoned wilderness of the hyper-realm, there is nothing to guide you and no-one to save you.

There are only men, women, and the intelligences they have created, carrying the hopes and fears of humanity on eagle’s wings.

This is the 21st Millennium.

20K: before there was war.


On Eagle's Wings (work in progress)
The "official" beginning of 20K, currently undergoing a massive rewrite. The finished article will effectively be a novella. All of the other 20K stories I've posted so far happen BEFORE the events of On Eagle's Wings.
The XMS Fearless, first deep-space ship of the Terran Navy, departs from Earth on an historic mission to contact lost human worlds and assess the threat level of unknown alien races. Wonders and terrors await the intrepid crew as they leave behind everyone and everything they knew. But the decadent Eldar have other plans for the emergent human race; vast military forces marshal beyond the lights of human civilisation; and powers older and more terrible than anything the Terran Empire has encountered stir in the depths of the haunted "hyper-realm".

In the White Room
What does Chaos look like in the 21st millennium? A woman is arrested and interrogated by faceless, unknown persons, on suspicion of bizarre and terrible crimes.

Ghostwalkers
Two Terran Navy ships, the Ontario and the Lexington, explore the first warp gate to be discovered by the Terran Empire. As the Ontario dares to venture through the gate, its crew is catapulted into mind-bending horror when they are attacked by beings of terrible power.

Electronic Mind Map (work in progress)
The artifical intelligence controlling the Terran Navy Starship Virgil enters a most illogical battle against a daemonic entity which seeks to corrupt it.
This is the first 20K story I ever finished and posted online. It may be due a rewrite which I'll assess before posting it on Dakkadakka.

Stormrider (work in progress)
A Terran Navy ship prepares to spend the longest time in the warp that any human ship has ever attempted: One whole week. During this time, they are stalked by a mysterious vessel of unknown origin, and attacked by warring daemons of Satan and Khorne.
DAMN IT... I think this entire story has been lost and I'll need to redo all of it. Shouldn't be that hard, but it's now at the back of a very long queue!

Flight of the Fireblade
A test pilot of the Terran Navy trialling a new Fireblade interceptor meets his match against an Eldar of the Saim-Hann.

The Man from Nowhere
The Terran Navy ship XMS Southern Cross encounters a strange alien conducting experiments in human space.

Vile History
An expedition of the Pan-Pacific Treaty Organisation investigates a deserted colony belonging to the long-vanished Chinasian Alliance, and discovers evidence of horrific genetic experiments.

Faithless (work in progress)
A Chinasian geneticist encounters two Dark Angel warriors who have fled into the past during a warp rift created when their home world was destroyed. The Dark Angels wish to create genetically modified superhumans to fight against two impending disasters: A "great schizm" and an "age of strife".

Horus Heresy fiction on Dakkadakka

My Heresy fluff is primarily Death Guard, since these are easily the most overlooked Legion and perhaps the only one not to have novel based on their Primarch. Finding references specifically to Mortarion in the published Heresy series is like finding a Sandstorm In A Bottle in Terraria - good fething luck!

The Light of Ultramar
The Ultramarines 122nd Expedition Fleet regroups with loyalist survivors fleeing Istvaan. Alone, cut off, with the Death Guard coming for them, the survivors must decide what to do next.

The Forgotten
A dying veteran of the Death Guard reflects bitterly on a life in the most overlooked Legion, which has led him to being abandoned by his brothers.

Judas Gospel (work in progress)
Using vid-logs and holo-recordings remaining from the pre-Heresy era, Grey Knights and Inquisitor Emmenstein follow the ancient footsteps of Horus, Mortarion and Angron in the search for advanced technology which Horus believed would help him conquer the galaxy.

40K fiction on Dakkadakka

Xenopaedia
Reports and post-mortems from the Inquisition, Imperial Guard, Adeptus Mechanicus and Magos Biologis, as they study the terrifying enemies of the Imperium. This series will be expanded constantly; there are a lot of xenos out there...

Necron Warrior post-mortem

Analysis of a battle-damaged Wave Serpent captured by the Imperial Guard

Renegade Astartes (Magma Hounds Chapter) - analysis of technology recovered from the corpse

Renegade Astartes (Magma Hounds Chapter) post-mortem

A treatise on the Imperial Guard lasgun

A treatise on the Eldar Guardian (work in progress, in need of extensive re-write)

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army

An insulting farce which Matt Ward and Graham McNeill will despise me for... but not as much as Dan Abnett will. Most of the Barmy Army stories are under intensive re-writes to bring them up to modern standards. Please visit and support the Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army Thread to find out who's who in the Barmy Army universe and read the madcap adventures! Links to all the Christmas Special epics are in the second post. Please note that as part of my modernisation programme, all of the Barmy Army stories are being (or have been) extensively rewritten as of November - December 2017.

Survivor Stories
Tales from the war-torn HH/40K universe, typically written from the perspectives of ordinary humans caught up in disastrous and terrifying situations. No Space Marines to save the day!

Survivor Stories: Circle of Despair (work in progress)
The Death Guard, World Eaters and Solar Auxhilia attack a world held by the terrifying and monstrous Yammanites, a species hiding vile secrets that will change the way the Death Guard view the cosmos. This story has been extensively re-written and completed for Nanowrimo 2017 and is awaiting final edit.

Survivor Stories: World Eater (work in progress)
Imperial worlds come under unexpected attack by the 3301st World Eaters Expedition Fleet, and must repel the invasion without Astartes support. This story focuses on a pair of humans who manage to take a wounded World Eater prisoner. This story has been extensively re-written and completed for Nanowrimo 2017 and is awaiting final edit.

Survivor Stories: Orks
A first-hand account of an Ork invasion from an ordinary Imperial citizen captured as a slave by the xenos.

Spoiler:
Every fifty years, the Everstorm hits our city walls.

We call it the Everstorm because it lasts for weeks. The winds scream as they drag dust along our walls. Our buildings erode a little more each time. Now the once-pristine buildings, armoured against xenos bombardment, are thin and frail. Our defences are wearing away faster than we can rebuild them.

The greenskinned devils hit us like the Everstorm, a mere three months after the most recent of those titanic events. Our planetary defence network could not hope to defend against so many ships and the xenos made planetfall in their tens of thousands. Some of them crashed through our city’s defensive shield and landed in amongst us.

They say our world is unique in the Imperium, for technology is celebrated here. It is quiet out here, on the edge of an unknown frontier called the Ghoul Stars. Occasionally, xenos races of horrifying power creep from the darkened, silent Ghoul Stars to lay waste to Imperial worlds and fleets. The Silver Stars Chapter, whose entire Chapter fleet stopped here for resupply before launching a Crusade into that benighted region, have never been seen or heard from since.

We maintain batteries of defence lasers and shield our cities with arcane technology. Our citizenry can build a lasgun by their sixth birthday. Our planetary defence force trains hard, every day.

When the greenskins hit us, we were prepared, in spite of the damage done to our city. Our soldiers, those not crushed beneath the impact of millions of tonnes of falling metal, leapt roaring from their garrisons to engage the enemy. The Orks howled to the skies, delighted to finally meet a species whose capacity for destruction matched their own.

I was working in an Administratum building five hundred metres from the landing sight of an Ork drop-pod; and by drop-pod, I mean a large, hollowed-out rock which literally collapsed under its own weight on impact. Throne! Armaplas windows cracked with the impact and people were thrown from their feet, yet many of the Orks survived the descent and began, unbelievably, to pull themselves from the pile of shale their vessel had become!

I watched through my window as PDF fire-teams approaching the rock, drilling the emerging Orks with las-fire and burning the flesh from their bones. Ork meat gives off an indescribable smell, an algae-stink that reminds me of when I used to scour the nutrient tanks as a child. The xenos took many hits to kill, I don’t believe I saw any die in only one shot, even though many were hit directly in the face or head. They roared with rage as they burned.

Suddenly the fire-teams began to fall back. Dozens, then hundreds of Orks and their smaller kin began to flood the streets. They’d already deployed vehicles, huge ramshackle tanks, even before our Chimeras and Rhinos entered the fray.

We had received no instructions on what to do or where to go: our military was already in action but we civilians milled around, watching with growing horror as the brutal greenskins waged their war.

Greybacks, those half-sapient simians who dwell in the mountains beyond our city, would have found their physical equals in the Orks. The largest xenos towered over those men and women brave enough to face them. Cords of muscles powered barrel-shaped bodies and maws gaped wide enough to bite a man’s face off, beneath yellow porcine eyes without pupils. Some of the Orks had replaced one or both of their eyes with bionics – or perhaps they wore headgear, I couldn’t tell. The xenos were barbarians of ancient legend carrying modern wargear. Riotous, noisy guns; rocket launchers; flamers which drowned entire streets in fire.

Finally, some minutes into the attack, as our streets and buildings shook beneath footfalls and tank treads - as the very air vibrated with the discharge of defence lasers blowing xenos ships out of orbit making our teeth itch with static - the vox outputs which constantly chanted soothing, focusing mantras
“Work is life, the Emperor is watching, the Emperor applauds your efforts, the penalty for inaccuracy is excruciation”
began to blare instructions.
“Xenos incursion. Species: Orkoid. Dominant Clan: Goffs. Warlord: Norgrund. Estimated military strength: eighty-three million Orks, fifty thousand armoured vehicles, eighteen Rok forts, twelve Kill Kroozas, one Space Hulk, eighty-five escort vessels. Civilians evacuate to bombardment shelters. All citizens with military training report to nearest garrison. The Emperor’s judgement is imminent.”

There was jostling and pushing. Eight hundred people work in my building alone. The top floors were ablaze as Ork pilots skilfully strafed them. Servo-skulls hovered overhead, some assessing the chaos, others trying to direct people to safety. Tech-Adept Gravicus emerged from his chamber for the first time in days, his eye-lenses flipping and re-focusing in alarm evident only from his stance. You know the situation is dire when the machine-man leaves the sanctity of his mind-impulse chamber, but as he abandoned his post, who was directing the building’s evacuation?

There were screams as Orks began to attack our building, seeing so many humans packed together. The leading brutes smashed through armplas to get to us, felling a dozen workers, then a dozen more, before seeming to realise we weren’t fighting back. One of the Orks was massive, a monster in black iron armour. He gestured impatiently to a gaggle of the little creatures – goblinoid freaks the size of a human child – and these creatures immediately began to herd us from the building at gunpoint. It was demeaning to be the prisoner of such a creature but any who ran or fought back were gunned down, and there were Orks everywhere.

They marched us through burning, smoke-shrouded streets that stank of blood. Bangs of xenos firepower were answered by pathetic zips from lasguns and the occasional shriek of a lascannon, which was always followed by a tremendous detonation. The PDF were fighting back and fighting hard. We ducked and flinched at every explosion. An Ork fighter roared overhead, barely visible in the dust clouds, with an Imperial interceptor chasing it. The little greenskins, our guards, seemed more afraid than we were.

I wish I could tell you that the Astartes arrived to save us. Those notice boards still functioning – those not bullet-riddled or hanging at a diagonal tilt – flashed signs saying SALVATION IS AT HAND and DEPLOYING THE STORM RAVENS, ETA 18 DAYS 12 HOURS – so at least the Storm Raven Astartes company that had passed the fringes of our system were coming back to our rescue – but it was human intervention, not post-human, that freed us from a lifetime of slavery.

Artillery shells began to slam down into the city. Whoever was outside its walls was firing in, dropping high-explosive death onto human and greenskin alike. A shell landed at the front of our column, obliterating more than twenty of my colleagues and a number of greenskins. I was flipped through the air, looking at sky then streets then sky, and incredibly I landed on my feet, skidding and stumbling then slamming into a chunk of fallen building. The pain was indescribable – blood ran freely from burst eardrums. All I could hear was silence, and it sounded like the cawing of death’s ravens, though that may have been my imagination, knowing that the Space Marines were coming.

The Space Marines did come. One hundred black-armoured warriors, ransacking the Ork hulk and forcing it to crash-dive back into the warp, taking two million greenskinned devils to hell. Something went wrong, though. Ever since then, we hear whispers in our dreams, or during those rare quiet moments when everyone in our rebuilt administratum archive is concentrating and no-one’s talking.

As for me? I ran, well, stumbled through the dust and smoke, feeling explosions, hearing them through their vibrations. I was bleeding, sick, scared. I had no weapon, for I toiled as a scribe, not a warrior, although I could assemble and fire a lasgun.

A figure came at me out of the smoke and bundled me to the ground. It was a female PDF sergeant who looked like she’d seen the heart of evil. I have never made a derogatory comment about female soldiers since that day. I fought her at first, not understanding that she’d saved my life, when I saw the red flashes of lasfire burning through the smoke, killing the Orks who’s been almost within an axe’s reach of me.

Fully-armoured grenadiers came out of nowhere, pouring concentrated fire into the xenos, backed up by fifty rag-tag PDF troopers.

We held the Orks but our technological city was ruined, maybe forever. The greenies wrecked a lot of tech, stole some. We had no way to replace any of it. Even the tech-adepts didn’t seem to know how half of it worked, which makes me think of how fragile our existence here really was, our safety entirely dependent on ancient tech that could never be understood, let alone replaced.

The greenskins made their retreat, fighting through a cordon of Battlefleet Taurus and Astartes ships.

And here I sit, recording this for my children, should I be fortunate enough to be allotted a wife and marital space to make them. Not everyone gets a spouse, but we’re rebuilding now, so I’m confident it will happen. Maybe we’ll even fall in love. Stranger things have happened. It will be a candle before the darkness of Ghoul Space, and it won’t burn for long, for no man can outlast the stars – except maybe the hallowed Emperor, of course.

But it’s all I’ll have to add to the Imperium, long may it endure.


A Good Day To Die
Imperial Guard and Space Marines advance on a city held by Alaitoc Eldar.

Spoiler:
The grav-tank shattered as though made of crystal and sank to the ground, graceful even in ruinous death.

"Tempest down, I repeat, Tempest is down," the stormtrooper reported, already dropping his magnoculars and unslinging his long-las.

The Land Raiders rumbled from the cover of ruins and surrounding woodland, ten black-painted tanks heading toward the Alaitoc lines, nine Land Raiders bearing the heraldry of a distinct Chapter of Astartes along with the scars of battle-damage, a single tank bearing the stylised I of the Imperial Inquisition. This tank was the oldest of them all. Its twin-barrelled lascannon sponsons still glowed with the heat of discharge from its kill shot.

Human soldiers advanced between them; two hundred mechanised Guard infantry marching beside their Chimeras, the fighter-transports dwarfed by the Astartes battle tanks.

Inquisitor Drayke leaned forward to peer into the servitor's driving compartment of his personal Land Raider, Bulwark of Scorn. His power armour hissed and whirred as it adapted to the Bulwark's rolling motion. The holo-viewers in the driving compartment revealed a shimmering, bucking image of the Imperial city ahead: the tithe buildings were occupied by Eldar snipers, grav-tanks and weapons platforms rose from behind the buildings in so-called pop-up attacks, each of which killed Imperial vehicles and drove human troopers into cover.

"Gonna kick xenos ass," trooper Dornis muttered from his seat in the troop compartment. The Bulwark's engine roared as if in agreement. Drayke grinned to himself. He was leading a contingent of battle-hardened Imperial Guard, every man and woman among them full of hatred for the fickle Eldar, sick of the xenos' relentless attacks across this system.

The Alaitoc. The betrayers, allies of convenience, murderers of human beings and defilers of the Emperor’s domain when it suited them. What did those fragile, mincing bastards even want? To think, only two years ago Drayke had even fought alongside the treacherous scum – reluctantly, and purely at the request of the misguided Chapter Master Blenthis of the Firedogs Chapter – to repulse those strange metallic beings who had almost wiped out the colony of Nova III.

Now the Alaitoc were here on this civilised world, disrupting the collection of tithes and killing civilians.

More than that, he was leading the Deathwatch, one hundred Space Marines from across the Imperium

“Save some for the rest of us, Dornis,” the Inquisitor said. His voice was startlingly deep. It was a voice that carried, that made people listen.

“It’s a good day to die,” a deeper voice rumbled.

Dornis turned. Brother Svenjar was a towering presence, his black Terminator plate decorated with feral-looking runes. One of the Space Wolf’s immense shoulder pauldrons displayed his Chapter heritage – a black wolf against a yellow background – while the other displayed his Terminator honours, in this case fashioned into the ornate emblem of the Deathwatch.

“Predicting a negative future again, my friend?” Drayke said with a smirk.

“I’ll be right one of these days.” The Rune Priest chuckled. Drayke had never met another Astartes with a self-deprecating sense of humour. It shouldn’t have instilled confidence but Svenjar radiated assurance.

“Any activity from their witches?”

“The Eldar have a powerful coven of psykers directing their formations from somewhere behind the city. There are other psykers spread thinly among their lines, directing ghost warriors and Titans.”

“Have they attempted contact?”

“No,” Svenjar said, stroking his beard. His massive bulk seemed immune to the Bulwark’s rolling motion. “They know I’m here, they just haven’t bothered to show me love.”

“Remind me to send them a stern missive,” said Drayke. “Ignoring Brother Svenjar, eh? One more thing to add to their list of crimes.”

The Land Raider column rumbled into the open space between the Imperial position and the Eldar-occupied city. Grey rockrete buildings towered. The Eldar invasion had done minimal damage to the planet’s infrastructure; most of the shell holes and battle damage in the unattractive hab-buildings had been inflicted by the Imperial Guard.

Guard troopers boarded their Chimeras while the transports were still moving at walking pace. They’d been drilled to perfection. Not a single soldier tripped, broke an ankle or found themselves left behind. The Chimeras fanned out, dropping slightly back from the more survivable Land Raiders. Bulwark remained in the lead, the irascible tank practically daring the Eldar to waste more shots against it.

A detachment of Deathwatch Rhinos emerged from the forests far to Drayke’s west, appearing as if from nowhere and gunning at full speed towards a distant building. Eldar las-fire flashed, either narrowly missing the speeding vehicles or impacting worthlessly against reinforced armour. Five Land Speeders raced past the Rhinos, circling and strafing one of the Eldar-held buildings.

Drayke and Svenjar watched in silence as the Bulwark’s holo-displays showed the tactical overlays. The Alaitoc had deployed atypically, hiding themselves within and between the buildings ahead of the human advance and waiting for the Imperials to come to them. Swarms of jetbike riders swept forth to attack specific Imperial detachments before suddenly changing direction and fleeing; they were like shoals of predatory fish, charging, swarming, then exploding into retreat.
The Bulwark lurched and gears whined in protest as incoming fire began to pelt the Land Raider company.

“Come on, old friend,” Drayke said, rapping a sidewall as encouragement, “we’ll avenge your wounds a hundredfold. Just please get us there.”

“Emergency!” one of the servitors shouted, something close to emotion in its voice. “Enemy Titan unscrambling ahead. Phantom-class. Primary armaments: thermal cannon, power fist. Secondary armaments unknown. Detecting buildup in thermal cannon.”

“Where the hell did that come from?” trooper Yann yelled.

“Open fire!” Drayke ordered the servitor crew.

The Titan was majestic, a living sculpture of bone and gemstones, the embodiment of the Eldar form escalated to colossal scale. It seemed to coalesce into existence before them, where previously there had been little more than motes of light dancing in the morning air.

It opened fire moments before the Land Raiders. The beam of focused heat punched straight through the frontal armour of a Raider wearing heraldry of the Crimson Fists. The tank exploded from the inside out. A devastating loss, for a Chapter accustomed to devastating losses.

“Unable to hit target,” one of the Bulwark’s gunnery servitors said. It showed no feelings at all. It might have been reporting from a training ground, rather than under live fire from a hostile Titan.

The Phantom danced around the lattice of laser beams sent against it. The Chimeras joined in: multilasers, autocannon, heavy bolters, even a heavy flamer from one over-enthusiastic gunner. Hunter-killer missiles flared against the Titan but were unable to lock on, their simplistic machine spirits foxed by some daemonry. Those few shots which found a mark against the Titan’s legs did no damage.

“Incoming firepower,” intoned the driver.

The Phantom Titan’s most distinctive feature were its arching wing-flues. These flues contained secondary weapon systems. Missiles, little golden stars, streaked down to burst among the approaching Imperial armour. Two Chimeras swerved, melting and in flames, and two of the Land Raider company were wreathed in plasma fire.

“Left lascannon sponson overheating. Increasing coolant flow. Right lascannon sponson overheating. Increasing coolant flow. Coolant flow unable to compensate. Reducing firing rate. Blessed in the Emperor and steady is our aim.”

A second shot from the Titan blew the left-side tracks from a Headhunters Land Raider. Six Stormtroopers emerged, coughing and shouting, leaving four men dead and burning inside. The wounded Land Raider continued firing with its single remaining lascannon, barrels glowing as they overheated, until a second wave of plasma missiles consuming it and its fleeing passengers.

“Primary armament offline: weapon temperature critical in both sponsons. Advancing to combat speed, collision course plotted. Brace for impact.”

“What the hell are they doing?” trooper Folk said. “Inquisitor –”

“Hold your place, whelp,” Svenjar said, somehow sounding reassuring rather than insulting.

“This bloody tank,” Drayke murmured, wondering what the Land Raider had planned. Had its ancient spirit finally succumbed to senility, preferring death rather than servitude-in-madness?

“Drawing enemy fire,” a servitor said. “Brace.”

The Phantom Titan looked down at the Bulwark of Scorn, not even looking where it was going as it evaded the Imperial firepower with an ease that bordered on ridiculous. It levelled its heat lance, the weapon locked rigidly on target despite the war machine’s capering dance, and discharged, the shot tearing the Bulwark’s dormant assault cannon free. Drayke and the Wolf Priest remained on their feet but the stormtroopers were bucked in their seats, saved from further injury only by their restraints, though Sergeant Polens managed to knock himself unconscious.

Smoke filled the passenger compartments and the low lighting was replaced by red emergency lumens. A siren wailed.

“Armour penetrated: secondary weapon destroyed. Flashback to engine reactor… stabilising… beyond my ability to stabilise. Invoking blessed machine-spirit to self-repair. Oh Bulwark of Scorn, long-serving hero of the Imperium, survive that you may fight for the Emperor and Omnissiah, live so that your precious human cargo may live, endure that the Imperial Truth may endure…”

Drayke murmured prayers himself. The Bulwark was an old bastard, but it was brave and, so far as Drayke knew, the Land Raider had never allowed one of its passengers or crew to die in transit, no matter what hit them. It was thrice-blessed by the Saint of Agamemnon, it survived the barrage of no less than two Mega-Gargants when almost an entire Imperial army had been lain waste in the Valley of Carnage and rumours persisted that it had fought in defence of Terra during the forgotten horrors of the Great Heresy.

Its insane charge distracted the hostile Titan just enough for the Imperial Fists Land Raider, Meet Dorn’s Gaze, to land a penetrating shot that blew the Titan’s left knee joint out. Caught in a manoeuvre impossible for an Imperial Titan to emulate, the Phantom fell sideways, landing on its power fist. Wraithbone shards flew as the Titan’s weight forced it into the dirt.

Lascannon fire carved chunks from the fallen Titan’s body even as a shockwave rippled out from its point of impact. This time Inquisitor Drayke was thrown backwards by the unbelievable force and even the Wolf Priest shot an arm out to brace himself.

The Phantom Titan managed one final shot, evaporating Meet Dorn’s Gaze and bringing eight thousand years of heroism to an end. The Titan’s head loomed large before the Bulwark of Scorn; the Land Raider crunched, then jolted sharply, as its tracks bit into the Titan’s featureless face.

“Grind the bastard into the dirt,” Drayke ordered as he tried to clamber to his feet.

Today was a good day to die, but only for the Eldar.


Failed Missions: The Abandoned Projects
We've all got a few skeletons in the cupboard. Here are mine! A list of stories previously announced, hyped and/or posted on various 40K forums, but which I've had to wave goodbye to. Maybe they were totally unworkable, or they just plain sucked. This is what they are and why they failed.

Survivor Stories: Untitled Salvage Team Story
A salvage team think they've hit it rich when they intercept a distress call from an Adeptus Astartes vessel stranded in the Ghoul Stars. I was making extremely good progress on this story, it was practically writing itself, lending what I thought was a bit of richness to an almost entirely overlooked part of the 40K universe. My computer had other ideas: as far as I know, this story was lost in its entirety when I upgraded my Windows tablet to the less-horrible (but still ghastly) hybrid of Windows 8 and Windows 10. Seriously, Microsoft, what have you been smoking for the last 10 years?? If I ever get this story back, I'll update it, finish it off and get it posted. Or maybe I won't - I was going to re-use the idea in a novel.

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army 2018 Xmas Special (original version)
Kicking off a number of Barmy Army stories that were abandoned by yours truly, I simply couldn't make this one work. The scale was enormous, encompassing a Chaos invasion of the 500 Worlds of Ultramar. It incorporated classic characters Jac Draco and his team, as well as Dark Eldar, Word Bearers and Death Guard. It was too long, focused too much on fart and poo jokes which dragged on for 8 pages, lacked action, and was depressing - the exact opposite of what a true Christmas Special, let alone a Barmy Army story, should be. I spent a couple of days hammering away at a rewrite but came away totally dissatisfied. In the end I gave up and stole a few scenes to use in a total reboot. Ironically I had finished the 2019 Xmas special while the new 2018 story remained almost totally unwritten. Talk about a fething headache!

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army 2015 Christmas Special: Calgar's Stalker
A sorceress of Nurgle plagues Calgar (see what I did there?) with unwanted attention, but as she infiltrates his dreams, she discovers an unwanted and deeply unpleasant bond of romantic attraction to him... never mind that Calgar is a flatulating oaf. Will Calgar rip her head off and bowl it through the Eye of Terror, or will he end up shagging her and contracting the Penile Pox? Or possibly do both?
What originally sounded like a decent idea (and now sounds horrifically stupid) was inspired by a horrendous relationship that I was lucky to get out of alive, and that's barely exaggerating. (As of 2019, I've had so many of these that I don't even know which one I'm talking about!) Some of the themes were similar to ideas I want to explore in future 20K stories, for example, I want 20K to be more emotionally engaging than 40K has ever been), and I am pinching some ideas for use in a 40K novel I'm planning to submit in 2019. The Nurgle Sorceress was also a bit too much like an idealised version of my ex. Yes, you read that right, things were so bad that a Nurgle Sorceress would have been an upgrade. It wasn't a funny idea, Calgar isn't a romantic character and... it just isn't a Christmas story. Maybe I'll update and seriously revise it some day. But the list of things to do grows longer every day...

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army: Marnie Pan, Prat in Tights
Oh dear. When I posted part one of this story on Imperial Literature, the first comment was "try reading Terry Pratchett to see how to write comedy." I still maintain that this one's workable with EXTENSIVE rewriting. It ends with an absolutely gargantuan battle which is the biggest battle scene I've ever written, featuring Greater Daemons of Slaanesh and Nurgle going at it in one-one-one combat, and this battle has never seen the light of day. The transition between the 41st Millennium and the Minecraft world was the most problematic thing I've ever encountered in a story - this is the real reason the story's been delayed. I'm dreading reading through this one again as my stories from that era were a psychedelic mess! This is an example of "mission creep" where poor planning and lack of foresight, not to mention lack of watching the word count, led to ever more grandiose ideas entering the story until it became impossible to make progress. This problem has crippled me as a writer and led to the canning of numerous other stories, like the 2018 Xmas Special.

Marneus Calgar's Barmy Army: Calgar's Kidney Stone
This would have been the first epic Barmy Army story, featuring a Chaos attack on Macragge. Not only would it have a Khorne Titan chasing an Ultramarines assault company Rhino across the countryside, it would showcase Calgar's sexism in a way that would actually highlight the equality between genders in ordinary Imperial humans (that being, everyone is equally worthless to the Imperium). Unfortunately it was so loaded down with puerile toilet jokes, even for a Barmy Army story, and it just didn't seem to go anywhere. I think I made significant progress with this at someone point after 2012 when Nessa Bourah joined the Barmy Army, but I moved on to other things. The idea of Macragge being attacked by Chaos started to occur in every Barmy Army story I was working on or planning ever since (this is alluded to in the new 2017 Xmas Special). Hopefully this story can be kick-started or combined with something else - but I guess the story as it currently is just isn't funny.

Freeze
This was supposed to be my magnum opus for Warhammer 40,000. Instead, when I downloaded it to my laptop in November 2017 and set about reading and rewriting it, well... God-Emperor help me. THIRTEEN THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED WORDS and they hadn't even set off on their mission! The characters engaged in puerile arguments, Commissar Frost seemed to forget that his mission was to capture a Tyranid Stealth Warrior alive, the Tau were in it, there were galactic battle lines being drawn, there were traitors, constant and extremely epic flashbacks, mission report after mission report... this was my work in a nutshell: a vast, sprawling, unmanageable nightmare of ideas that should have been simplified or cut altogether and used as stories in their own right. I blame a combo of ADHD and my "training" as a novelist, which make me suck at being a short story writer. In addition to these problems, I was lazy, arrogant, didn't plan anything and highly overreached myself. After chopping no less than 3,000 words out of the story and running into constant plot and characterisation problems, I abandoned this project for the sake of my own sanity. I have now decided to re-use this story as a second novel - assuming I ever make progress on the first one.

This message was edited 53 times. Last update was at 2019/11/07 14:53:17


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

Glad to see you decided to go through with this, I hope to see more stories popping up here in the future! I'm also very intrigued by the prospect of a prequel series set in 20k...

Now, as for the story itself;

The writing is pretty solid (only spotted one little spelling mistake, but I'd have to check), and it was interesting to see an Ork invasion from the perspective of a 'regular Joe' caught in the middle of it. I was a bit confused about some bits of the story, like the part where the Orks take the civilians as prisoners; it just seemed like a strange thing to do, although I do understand them not being too interested in the boring humies who don't fight back

Another part that left me slightly confused was the part where the protagonist describes the coming of the Astartes; did the attack on the space hulk happen while the protagonist was running through the streets, or did it happen afterwards/towards the end of the invasion? In the latter case, it's a bit weird that the protagonist describes the end of the conflict before, well, his story about said conflict ends

Other than that, there's nothing else I really found worth criticizing (not that I'm in any position to actually criticize other people's writings); so I think you did a pretty good job



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thanks, Ezra. I work in a call centre and we were getting like three calls an hour, so I hammered away at this between calls, I haven't actually proof read it before posting it

The mention of the Ravens arriving is timed wrong and should come at the end. I wanted to get across that the Space Marines did come and destroyed or banished the hulk, but the ground war was won by ordinary humans and the protagonist was rescued by the PDF.

Ever since the Heresy novels kicked off there has been a massive de-emphasis on the role of ordinary humans and I felt it was time to show that human worlds can defend themselves against devastating xenos attacks. In my view, the Astartes are there to tackle the horrendous battles (eg boarding a hulk), the Guard and PDF are there to tackle absolutely everything else. A million Marines is not a lot in a galaxy that's constantly at war.

I'm working on a new story about a salvage team who enter the Ghoul Stars when they intercept a distress call from a Space Marine vessel that's apparently the only survivor of a mysterious Crusade.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in no
Terrifying Doombull





Hefnaheim

It was refreshing to read about the avarage person in the Imperium, furthermore the story flowed well enough and what not. Well done

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2015/08/09 16:08:58


 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thanks Trondheim.

The fiction I am working on (apart from a HH story for a Dakkadakka anthology) all focuses on ordinary humans, as someone once told me that was my strength.

In my opinion the official fluff has become so skewed towards superhuman Space Marines that the common humanity is ignored and overlooked - yet the Space Marines were designed so that ordinary humans could endure and thrive - they are technically the servants of man, yet they are forcing humans into irrelevance.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

I'm working hard at new fiction. It's been a really good experience.

Has anyone got any ideas for a story they'd like me to write? I wouldn't mind writing a "wildcard" story outside of my normal range.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in us
Wicked Canoptek Wraith




I dont know where i am... please... i dont know where i am

That story was really fun to read!
Good job!

Hate me or love me. either way i benefit. if you love me ill always be on your heart. if you hate me i wil always be on your mind
space marines-battle
company
30k: word bearers, deamons, cults and militia,

 
   
Made in au
Incorporating Wet-Blending






Australia

I take it your current signature is an excerpt from your second story? It sounded interesting enough for me to come looking for this thread, and I look forward to taking a look when it's done.

"When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."
-C.S. Lewis 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thank you very much, gents

I'm currently re-writing the World Eater story to give it more cohesion and direction, and to make Skarr more frightening. The trouble with writing during quiet periods at work is that you need to hurry, so you miss lots of important scene-building details. However I'll post part of it later today.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

[HH] SURVIVOR STORIES: WORLD EATER

PART ONE

(NOTE: work in progress - I'm aware some of the grammar currently sucks and the story is under heavy revision)

It was an understatement to say we couldn’t believe it when the World Eaters attacked: shock, fear, awe, dismay, none of these words convey the sense of betrayal. The Emperor’s perfect angels, slaughtering the people they were created to serve.

The 3301st Expedition Fleet, as it had been known, arrived in our neighbouring solar system and laid waste to all three inhabited worlds. We thought the reports were wrong. We thought the worlds had rebelled, or this was some kind of xenos trick, or mass hallucination.

It wasn’t a mistake. The destroyed worlds had been peaceful and compliant. They’d always been close allies and trading partners of ours and they’d suffered Ork raids as often as we did. We had all welcomed the Raven Guard fleet that arrived to reunite us with our forgotten family, the Imperium. We benefited from the Imperium’s trade and military protection; we sent regiments to join their Crusade in return.

The World Eaters were brutal angels, but they were created by the Emperor. He has never been to our system but we all know of His great genius, His rulership of thousands of worlds. We trusted Him and believed in His message of human purity.

He must have had some kind of plan for the World Eaters. Maybe He built them to fight the worst, most terrible engagements, and the constant horror had twisted them somehow. Whatever His reasons, they were beyond us, but since we were loyal to the Imperium we held no special fear of the Astartes.

We received pict-feeds and vox transmissions for the first three days of the attack. We watched our neighbours – our friends, our allies, our trading partners, who had shared our joy and our peril for centuries – as they died screaming. The reports were shocking, distressing, and they rapidly became horrific. Visual quality dropped, communications became sporadic, then finally there was silence.

I work in military communications with our planetary defence force. My direct superior was overweight, unhealthy. He had a weak heart. It gave out several minutes after the World Eaters opened fire on our neighbours.

Pandemonium reigned. Would the World Eaters come here? It seemed that they would: their fleet adopted a ragged formation and turned from the destroyed worlds, from the floating carcasses of destroyed ships, reaching towards us with technology and telepathy. Looking for victims. Finding us.

The first thing we did, right at the start, was contact the nearest non-World Eaters Astartes. We had no idea how far the madness had spread. The Death Guard simply failed to respond. Our astropaths recoiled from attempted contact, alternately raving about cold, implacable hatred and malicious humour at our pleas.

No other Astartes Legions could be reached. There was no way to know if any of them remained loyal.

We did, however, reach the Word Eaters. We needed to talk to them – to tell them we weren’t a threat, that this terrible disaster didn’t have to continue. Emperor help us, our astropaths went mad with fear or rage. Some of them clutched their heads, dying in the throes of screaming brain trauma. Others frothed at the mouth and attacked their fellows with tooth and nail. We abandoned all contact: there was, quite simply, something wrong with the World Eaters, something that infected our astropaths.

They were at our Mandeville point almost before our defence fleet could form up. Defence fleet? What did we have that could stop the Astartes? Many of our ships were civilian, brave captains and crew lending their meagre firepower to the army’s.

I became the de facto head of communications when my seniors fled to be with their families. The military was my family. I stayed with them. We used the garrison at Mera province as our HQ, co-ordinating army units while citizens in the streets shrieked and fled to nowhere.

Can you imagine how we felt? It is hard to describe the fear, although I have already tried. It was numbing, suffocating. We were crushed under its pressure. I was too busy to break down sobbing but I saw nearly as many men crying as women. I had no words of comfort. The Astartes were faster, more intelligent and far more battle-hardened than any of us. All Astartes were feared by rebels and xenos breeds but the World Eaters were dreaded.

They swept into our fleet like sharks attacking fish. Shoals of system defence vessels pounded the incoming Astartes. The enemy attacked without coherence, simply heading for the most powerful of our vessels. They launched boarding craft and in some cases crashed into us, disgorging their mobs of warriors directly into the guts of our ships.

Boarding actions were furiously fought but one-sided. The Astartes carved through our crews in scenes that were rapidly censored by our world government, who eventually cut off all vox and pict contact with those poor doomed people dying for us in space. I was haunted by what I saw.

Our planetary defences blew two World Eaters ships out of orbit and crippled three renegade Army carriers. Now that was a formidable blow. The World Eaters didn’t care.Their much-depleted invasion force, who we’d hoped would be exhausted from killing their way to us, emerged from drop-pods and fighter-transports into a storm of firepower, yet the World Eaters killed and killed until our defence force was broken.

The Astartes were beyond terrifying up close. A howling, screaming, baying mass of post-human nightmares came charging across the mud at twice the speed of a man’s most desperate pace. They had guns, some carried heavy weapons, but all of them were armed with chainswords and chainaxes and they preferred these to their ranged weapons. They revelled in the slaughter of those weaker than themselves. They made no demands, other than we stand and face them. They showed no mercy – except to end the lives of our soldiers as quickly as possible, usually in one hit, such was their strength. They never took anyone alive.

Our lasguns barely scratched their armour: it took repeated hits from multiple guns to even slow the enemy. I saw warriors roaring with rage as they staggered forwards, one slow bootstep after another, while their power armour literally melted from lasfire and plasma bursts.

The Astartes’ armour might once have looked noble, in an attractive blue and white colour scheme which, when a warrior lay dead, made him look like a knight or crusader from some ancient fantasy. Two things spoiled this image: first, every man among them had rents, tears and other battle damage across their armour even before we started shooting; second, they were splashed with human blood, very little of it their own.

A small squad of World Eaters broke into our garrison. Our guards blasted them with shot and shell. Combat servitors and defence emplacements strove to repel the invaders. A few hardy fools attempted to fight them one-on-one and lasted seconds at most. Our fighting retreat was rapid and hopeless.

My heart hammered and I thought I would die of cardiac arrest as the Astartes chased me through the building, washing the rooms and corridors with bolter shells and flamer fire as they passed. Men and women died in their dozens, yet there always seemed to be unfortunate workers or servitors between me and the Space Marines. I was always rounding the next corner when a World Eater opened fire at me specifically. Many corners were chewed by the RAAARK-whoosh of bolter fire.

Squads of defence force troopers rushed past me, grey-faced, to die screaming out of sight. Yet one by one, the Astartes fell, explosion after explosion heralding grenade attacks by desperate human soldiers and throwing me around as rockrete dust rained and the lights flickered. A final pair of explosions resulted in an unearthly cry of pain. The last World Eater hadn’t been killed. He sounded grievously injured, from his bellowing and cursing in a foreign language, but he was still alive.

Four defence force troopers barged past me and I followed them back, even though every neuron was screaming for me to get away from there. I was dizzy and my head was pounding. Blood made crazed mist-patterns in my vision.

The sounds of battle had died away, apart from the occasional distant thunder of shelling. The fighting had moved far away.

The World Eater was lying atop a pile of rubble. One of the corridor walls and part of the roof had collapsed and he'd falled backwards onto it. A human mess was splashed across the walls, ceiling and floor. I am ashamed to admit it but I retched, then vomited. The Astartes panted like an exhausted grox. Blood, darker than a normal human’s, had already hardened to cinnabar around the great rents in his chest, neck, left shoulder pauldron and legs. The warrior stank of death. I gagged on the mixed, powerful perfume of burning blood, human excrement from the voided bowels of his victims and a musky sweat far stronger and headier than anything a man could produce.

He regarded us through blue eye lenses. His armour had an integrated helmet, so he had to move his torso slightly to track my movements. He didn't seem able to move much. In the background I hear the insistent drumming of gunfire.

The soldiers – three men and a woman – were yelling at him, screaming threats and curses and questions, lasguns millimetres from his head. One of them kicked the Astartes’ massive axe away, swearing in disbelief as the weight of the weapon nearly broke his foot.

One man put the barrel of his gun right against the traitor’s face and pushed hard. The Astartes may have been down but he was still quicker than we were. He grabbed the soldier’s guts with a wet splut and pulled them out. I gasped with horror. The Astartes could move fine. He threw the guts at me even as the soldier fell. I dived aside, Emperor knows how I reacted so fast, and the entrails splashed hard against a wall. The two other male soldiers bundled their dying friend away, leaving me and the female alone with the World Eater.

This message was edited 4 times. Last update was at 2015/09/05 09:50:12


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Updated first post with my new Horus Heresy story. I'm getting back to working on the World Eater story but first I want to watch a few programs with scenes where the heroes have captured a major, frightening villain. This occurs in Season 4 of Angel and in some Stargate Atlantis episodes where they have a caged Wraith.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

I read Vile History a while ago, it was really good, took a night's sleep from me however (I didn't even know words could be so scary )

I'm really digging the World Eater story as well, can't wait to see how it continues



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thanks Ezra. It means a lot that you enjoyed it - what an impact it must have had! Sorry about the lost sleep

I've had so much going on lately that I've fallen behind in reading other people's fiction. It's hard to work on your own while reading other people's as I don't want to end up nicking ideas or being too influenced by them, I'm trying to understand my "voice" or my "style" so I can build on it and play to my strengths, whatever they may be.

Dakkadakka is a brilliant forum and it's a shame the fiction forum gets so few replies.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in us
Master Shaper




Gargant Hunting

Vile History was quite excellent, you made the monsters to be unique, and certainly have a better way of getting all of your senses into your stories, which is something I'm still working on. I'm excited for your next edition to this World Eaters story.

Irishpeacockz-Blackjack needs a pay raise for being the welcomer to the crusade
Palleus-Write a school essay about Kroot! Pride. Prejudice. And Cannibalsim. 
   
Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit





In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

I wouldn't worry too much about stealing other people's ideas or being influenced by them, part of what makes writing so great (in my opinion) is that different people have different ways of telling a story; so even if you happen to have the same idea for a story as someone else, the two stories will still be completely different purely due to the writers' personal choices

...unless you'd literally write the story with the exact same words as the other guy, because that'd be plagiarism

The best example of this is the thread where people posted their submissions for that freelance writer job at GW. Each of them had the exact same subject, but no two stories were really alike apart from the starting point.

I mean, hell, I wrote 'Duel in the Smoke' because I'd read that thread and wanted to see what I could make of the subject (I also happen to have given that particular story a bit of a rewrite with your commentary in mind )


And yes, the Fiction department is criminally overlooked, but in my opinion that's more because it's all the way down the page rather than general disinterest. I hope it one day gets to rise up and take its place somewhere higher in the thread hierarchy



Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thanks gents. Reading your comments prompted me to re-read Vile History and appreciate it in a new way.

It really is much better after the re-write I gave it for Dakkadakka. There are still a couple of minor glitches but generally it's better written and far more cohesive.

I also find it works very nicely as a prequel and does all of the things I needed it to do. Restrained name-drops and the use of 40K-universe words within 20K (genhanced, surveyors instead of sensors, vox instead of comms or radio) tie this in better than any extravagance could have done.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

My writing has been delayed as I suddenly turned into a ladies' man, but I am now able to find some time to keep working.

I am currently barraging the forum with updated Marneus Calgar stories so I can finally move on from my older stuff and get on with new fiction. The onslaught of Calgar comedies will come to a halt over the next couple of weeks -- I've got four more to update - then Calgar is going back in the carry-case til Christmas 2016.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Fresh-Faced New User




Wales

I haven't read your Marneus Calgar stories - Comedy, in fiction, really isn't my thing - But I ploughed through both the Light of Ultramar and the Forgotten, and enjoyed them immensely.

I'd definitely like to see more set during the Great Crusade and Heresy, by you, if possible.

Which was first, is it darkness, is it light?
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thanks Locrinus. I will write more HH fiction in 2016 and will probably update The Last Day, which I used to feel was my magnum opus, but which needs a lot of work to bring it in line with the HH fluff.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

I've re-written the World Eaters Horus Heresy story that I posted earlier. It still isn't finished but I've tweaked it to make it read a lot better and it doesn't keep switching from past to present tense (something I seem to be having problems with lately).

I'll be alternately updating this World Eaters story and my Death Guard story.

[HH] SURVIVOR STORIES: WORLD EATERS

=1=

It's an understatement to say we couldn’t believe the World Eater attack: shock, fear, awe, dismay, none of these words convey the sense of betrayal as they invaded our sector. The Emperor’s perfect angels, slaughtering the people they were created to serve.

The 3301st Expedition Fleet, as it had been known, arrived in our neighbouring solar system and laid waste to all three inhabited worlds. We thought the reports were wrong. We thought the worlds had rebelled, or this was some kind of xenos trick, or a mass hallucination.

It wasn’t a mistake. Part of us knew this all along. The destroyed worlds had been peaceful and compliant. They’d always been close allies and trading partners of ours and they’d suffered Ork raids as often as we did. We had all welcomed the Raven Guard fleet that arrived to reunite us with the Imperium, our forgotten family. We benefited from the Imperium's trade and military protection; we sent regiments to join their Crusade.

The World Eaters were brutal angels but they were created by the Emperor. He has never been to our system but we all know of His great genius, His rulership of thousands of worlds. We trusted Him and believed in His message of human purity. He must have had some kind of plan for the World Eaters.

Maybe He built them to fight the worst, most terrible engagements, and the constant horror had twisted them somehow. Whatever his reasons, they were beyond us, but since we were loyal to the Imperium we held no special fear of the Astartes.

We received pict-feeds and vox transmissions for the first three days of the attack. The reports started off shocking, distressing, but they rapidly became horrific. We watched our neighbours – our friends, allies, trading partners, who had shared our joy and our peril for centuries – as they died screaming. Visual quality dropped, communications became sporadic, then finally there was silence.

I work in military communications, liaising with our planetary defence force. My direct superior was overweight, unhealthy. He had a weak heart. It gave out several minutes after the World Eaters opened fire on our neighbours.
Pandemonium reigned. Would the World Eaters come here? Their fleet adopted a ragged formation and turned from the destroyed worlds, from the floating carcasses of destroyed ships, reaching towards us with technology and telepathy. Looking for victims. Finding us.

The first thing we did, right at the start, was contact the nearest non-World Eaters Astartes. We had no idea how far the madness had spread. The Death Guard simply failed to respond to emergency hails. Our astropaths recoiled from attempted contact, alternately raving about cold, implacable hatred and malicious humour at our pleas. I’m not sure if this is true but rumours said one Death Guard astropath laughingly wished us luck.

We gave up on the Astartes after that. There was no way to know if any of them remained loyal. Not even the beloved Raven Guard, with their swagger and their easy, likeable manner. Had they become murderers too? Was it something in their genhancement, some terrible, hidden flaw that turned superhumans into maniacs?

We were on our own.

Then the Word Eaters made astropathic contact with us. They mocked us. We told them we weren’t a threat, that this terrible disaster didn’t have to continue.

Emperor help us, our astropaths went mad. Some of them clutched their heads, dying in the throes of screaming brain trauma. Others frothed at the mouth and attacked their fellows with tooth and nail.

The enemy was at our Mandeville point while our defence fleet was still forming up. Defence fleet? What did we have that could stop the Astartes? Many of our ships were civilian. Brave captains and crew lent meagre firepower to the army.

I became the de facto head of communications when my seniors fled to be with their families. The military was my family. I stayed with them – the ones who didn’t desert. We used the garrison at Mera province as our HQ, co-ordinating army units while citizens in the streets shrieked and fled to nowhere.

Can you imagine how we felt? It is hard to describe the fear, although I have already tried. It was numbing. Suffocating. We were crushed under its pressure. I was too busy to break down sobbing, but I saw nearly as many men crying as women. I had no words of comfort for them. The Astartes were faster, more intelligent and far more battle-hardened than any of us. All Astartes were feared by rebels and xenos breeds but the World Eaters were dreaded.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

=2=

The World Eaters swept into our fleet like sharks attacking fish. Shoals of system defence vessels pounded the incoming Astartes. The enemy attacked without coherence, simply heading for the most powerful of our vessels. They launched boarding craft and in some cases crashed into us, disgorging their mobs of warriors directly into the guts of our ships.

Boarding actions were furiously fought, but one-sided. The Astartes were created to win wars ordinary humans couldn’t even fight. They carved through our crews in scenes that were rapidly censored by our world government, who eventually cut off all vox and pict contact with those poor doomed people dying for us in space.

Our planetary defences blew two World Eaters ships out of orbit and crippled three renegade Army carriers. Now that was a formidable blow. The World Eaters didn't care.Their much-depleted invasion force, who we’d hoped would be exhausted from killing their way to us, emerged from drop-pods and fighter-transports into a storm of firepower, yet the World Eaters killed and killed until our defence force was broken.

The Astartes were beyond terrifying up close. A howling, screaming, baying mass of post-human nightmares came charging across the mud at twice the speed of a man’s most desperate pace. They had guns, some carried heavy weapons, but all of them were armed with chainswords and chainaxes and they preferred these to their ranged weapons. They couldn't shoot worth a damn anyway - the World Eaters were undisciplined, unskilled with bolters. This is all relative, of course. They were far better warriors than our defence force troopers.

The World Eaters revelled in the slaughter. It didn't matter that we were weaker than them, vulnerable, lacking their armour or their genhanced physiques. They made no demands, other than we stand and face them. They showed no mercy, except to end the lives of our soldiers as quickly as possible, usually in one hit, such was their strength. Our soldiers simply could not stand up to them. One single, hideous wound was enough: humans died, shrieking louder than the Astartes' chainblades, disembowelled or bisected in explosions of gore. The World Eaters didn't need prisoners or intelligence. They never took anyone alive. They only needed us to die.

Our lasguns barely scratched their armour. It took repeated hits from multiple guns to even slow the enemy. I saw warriors roaring with rage as they staggered forwards, one slow bootstep after another, while their armour literally melted from lasfire and plasma bursts.

The Astartes’ armour might once have looked noble, in a blue and white colour scheme which, when a warrior lay dead, made him look almost like a knight or crusader from some ancient fantasy. Two things spoiled this image: first, every man among them had rents, tears and other battle damage across their armour even before we started shooting; second, their beautiful but battle-scarred armour was splashed with blood, very little of it their own.

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/01/05 09:02:48


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

=3=

A small squad of World Eaters broke into our garrison. The guards blasted them with shot and shell. Combat servitors and defence emplacements strove to repel the invaders. A few hardy fools attempted to fight the Astartes one-on-one and lasted seconds at most. The Astartes were just so fast. It was like they'd been designed specifically to kill humans. Which, if the rumours about why the Emperor created them were true, was exactly what they were for. Our fighting retreat was rapid and hopeless.

My heart hammered and I thought I would die of cardiac arrest as the Astartes chased me through the building, washing the rooms and corridors with bolter shells and flamer fire as they passed. Men and women died in their dozens, yet there always seemed to be unfortunate workers or servitors between me and the Space Marines. Many corners were chewed by the RAAARK-whoosh of bolter fire as I stayed a few steps ahead. It was like something from a nightmare.

Squads of defence force troopers rushed past me, grey-faced, to die screaming out of sight. Yet one by one, the Astartes fell, explosion after explosion heralding grenade attacks by desperate human soldiers and throwing me around as rockrete dust rained and the lights flickered. A final pair of explosions resulted in an unearthly cry of pain. The last World Eater hadn’t been killed; he sounded grievously injured, but he was still alive.

Four defence force troopers barged past me and I followed them back, even though every neuron was screaming for me to get away from there. I was dizzy and my head was pounding: blood made crazed mist-patterns in my vision. The sounds of battle had died away, except for the occasional distant thunder of shelling. Either the World Eaters had routed our military, or we'd destroyed them.

The fallen Astarte lay atop a pile of rubble. One of the corridor walls and part of the roof had collapsed on him. I am ashamed to admit it but I retched, then vomited, at the human mess splashed across the white walls. I gagged again on the stench of fresh blood.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/01/08 09:31:06


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

=4=

The Astarte panted like an exhausted grox. Blood, darker than a normal human’s, had already hardened to cinnabar around the great rents in his chest, neck, left shoulder and legs. The warrior stank of death: burning blood, human excrement from the voided bowels of his victims, a musky sweat far stronger and headier than anything a man could produce.

He regarded us through blue eye lenses. His armour had an integrated helmet, so he had to move his torso slightly to track my movements. In the background I still heard the insistent drumming of artillery. Then I realised it was my own racing heart.

The soldiers – three men and a woman – were yelling at him, screaming threats and curses and questions, lasguns millimetres from his head. One of them kicked the Astartes’ weapon away, a massive axe, swearing in disbelief as the weight of the weapon nearly broke his foot.

One man put the barrel of his gun right against the traitor’s face and pushed. The Astartes may have been down but he was still quicker than we were. He grabbed the soldier’s guts with a wet splut and pulled them out.

As the soldier fell, the Astartes threw his guts at me; I dived aside, Emperor knows how I reacted so fast, and they splashed hard against a wall. The two other male soldiers bundled their dying friend away as I rolled in the gore of dead heroes.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/01/08 09:32:21


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

=5=

“This is it, you prick,” the woman said, levelling her lasgun at the traitor’s faceplate. It would be a guaranteed kill-shot at this range, I don't give a damn how big or tough he was.
“Wait!” I yelled before she could fire. She glanced at me over her shoulder, uncertain. I felt an instant pang as our eyes met. There was a diagonal, faded scar across her right eye. I found her very attractive. Somehow her anger only increased my feelings. I couldn’t believe I was going through this now, as I clambered to my feet with blood and meat on my clothes.

“We should kill this grox-lover,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Think! If we kill him, we’ll never know why the World Eaters betrayed us. Do you really think we’ll take another one alive?”

For an awful moment I thought she’d kill him anyway. It was hard to imagine anyone else in the galaxy having an opportunity like this, either to kill or interrogate. We couldn't throw it away.

“We can learn about their Legion organisation,” I told her. “We can find out why they did this.”

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the lasgun. Then she backed off with a heartfelt curse.

The World Eater started laughing. There was a burble to it, as if he were gargling blood.

“Let’s see if he’s still laughing when I castrate him,” the soldier said. I glanced at the name badge on her flak jacket above her left breast. It said Cartia.

“Calm down,” I told her with more confidence than I felt. “Call more soldiers. Get a medical team here too. We need to find out what he knows.”

“Son of a grox!” Cartia said in furstration. She moved away, speaking into a portable vox unit she unclipped from her belt.

I turned to the fallen World Eater.

“Listen to me, you freak,” I said. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know and then Cartia here will make you a eunuch.”

“Hah!” the Astartes barked. His voice was deeper and more powerful than any I’ve ever heard. It made mine sound thin and weak by comparison. “Your bargaining skills need work.”

“No, they don’t,” I said. “We’re turning you into a woman no matter what you say. Find you a nice husband, someone who’s looking for a big wife.”

“Mock me, human,” he snarled in reply. “I’ll drive the Nails into your head and turn you into a pit slave. Gnhhh!”

“Hurts, does it?” I mock him. I can hardly believe my sudden courage. It doesn’t occur to me that I was fleeing in terror from this man a minute ago. “What’s the matter, are the World Eaters allergic to grenades?”

“You’re a brave little man while I’m lying here with a severed spine. Come closer, insult me to my face.”
“They’re coming,” Cartia said, standing next to me. She raised her voice to address the World Eater. “Who are you, ork-fondler? Why are you killing us?”

“My apologies,” the Astartes sneers. “I forget social niceties while the Nails are singing. My name is Sergeant Skarr of the fifty-ninth company, XII Legiones Astartes. I am an Eater of Worlds.”

“You’re gonna be an eater of dirt, you son of a grox!” Cartia yelled.

“She’s got some fire in her,” chuckled Skarr. “If only we inducted females.”

“Why are you attacking us?” she all but screams.

“Because you’re so soft and easy to kill,” Skarr replies. He sounds like he’s smiling. “There’s nothing like carving your way through screaming meat.”

I have to physically restrain Cartia from smashing him in the visor with her gun.

“He’s trying to goad you!” I yell at her. “Remember what he did to your mate. Keep your distance, Cartia.”

I turn to the Astartes. His laughter is a low rumble.

“Yes, brawn,” he says to Cartia. “Let brains take a turn.”

“You should follow your own advice,” I tell him. “What do you think Terra will do when they realise you maniacs slipped the leash? A million Ultramarines will be heading for your home world. They’ll wipe you out and burn your people to ash.”

“Your civility cannot hide your fear,” Skarr says by way of reply. “I can smell it, just as I can smell her secret female stink.” He leans slightly to regard Cartia. “What do you think, woman? Shall I give your weak body to our pit slaves to keep them happy for your final hour – and no doubt beyond? Or shall I make you one of them? You’ll be my housecarl. We’ll pretend to be Death Guard, an Astartes warrior attended by a pathetic little whelp not fit to shine his armour.”

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

=6=

“Leave her alone,” I said. I guess it was the protective male instinct, but it's more than that: I may be a civilian, but like I said, the military are my family. Cartia looked at me like I was grox food. She didn’t appreciate a civilian standing up for her.

Skarr grunted with laughter. I kept hoping my taunts would make him drop his guard. It wasn't happening. I was too polite. It’s not in my nature to be insulting, even to a monster like Skarr.

“We need to kill him,” Cartia told me. “Now. Astartes can heal injuries that would kill us.”

“Not yet,” I said. Skarr regarded me without speaking. His expression was hidden behind his visor. “We need more intelligence.”

“And you think he’s going to give it to you?”

Silence fell between us. She glared at me with righteous anger. There was a quiet whirring as Skarr looked from one of us to the other. Hydraulics and power-servos in his suit strained against the paralysing damage he’s suffered. But if he was paralysed due to a broken spine, how could he move at all?

“Is this the point where mortals make love?” he asked. “Can I watch? I want to see what's so good about it.”

I was too surprised by the question to say anything. The moment was retrieved by Cartia, who responded with a sexual scenario concerning Skarr, Skarr’s mother and a gretchin acting as referee. Skarr just laughed.

“Does something like you even have a mother?” I asked him. “You look like you were grown in a sceptic tank.”

“I hunted her down and slew her,” he replied without emotion. “She was a worthy opponent. Kharn himself couldn’t have beaten her. They should have promoted me to Warmaster.”

“Kharn,” Cartia says. “Is he here?”

We both knew that name. If Kharn was here, that meant the Primarch might be here too.

“Is Angron coming?” I ask Skarr.

“Ah, the Red Angel,” Skarr said. He laughs. It’s a bitter sound. “What wet work he makes of mortals.”

“If Kharn’s here, then his boyfriend Angron must be here too. But Angron wouldn’t be a member of some ratty little fleet, attacking minor systems at the arse-end of nowhere.” Something clicks in my mind. “Does he even know you’ve turned?”

Skarr growled, a wet burble, in lieu of reply.

“Lost your voice?” I asked him.

“Nnngh… uh… the Nails,” he said.

“I’ll show you my nails.” Cartia propped her rifle against a wall and drew a combat knife and her bayonet. The movement was fluid, swift. It startled me. I threw myself at her and we actually ended up wrestling. I work in communications, I liaise with our military, I’m not a soldier. She was a lot stronger than me, unexpectedly so given her size. She dragged me towards the World Eater.

Skarr made it worse because he started laughing. It was a mad sound, insane, chilling.

“You think this is fragging funny?” Cartia spat. She unzipped my arm with the bayonet. It was unintentional, a consequence of our struggle, but the pain was like a burst of fire. It gave me extra strength. We grappled and slipped in the blood. She tried to use this to throw me but I held onto her and we both landed in the gore.

The World Eater’s laugh becomes higher-pitched. He sounds manic.

“Nnngh! Aaah!” he cries, between bursts of laughter. He reaches for his faceplate, trying to tear it from his face. Then he stops and more slowly begins to remove his helmet.
Cartia and I freeze. She’s on top of me but there’s nothing sexual about it – we’re staring at the World Eater as his helmet comes free with a hiss of air pressure. I forget my pain even as blood drips down my arm. What will he look like? I image he’ll be some kind of scarified monster, a pirate, a mutant, a degenerate. Or maybe he’ll have some insane, wild look in his eyes and teeth filed to sharp points.

Skarr’s face is unblemished, uncorrupted, though a droplet of dark blood has run from his nose and dried across his lips. He is a man stretched to a larger scale. It is quite unsettling to see a Space Marine this close. He smiles at us. His teeth are not pointed but they are all artificial – he’s had them replaced with metal. He draws back the arm holding the helm.
Some instinct tugs at me. I push Cartia off me but I’m too slow. Skarr’s helm cracks against her Army-issue flak helmet. She falls over backwards, unconscious.

It's just me and the monster now.


This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/01/11 08:57:46


Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

I've updated my first post with all my latest work. There are a disconcerting number of "work in progress" pieces. I'll finish these up and edit my work over the coming weeks before starting any new stories.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
Made in fr
Long-Range Land Speeder Pilot





Clermont De L'Oise

Just stumbled across Vile History via a post in another part of the forums. I am hooked. Great work sir

2811
650
750 
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Thank you!

I just updated the above list to include my 20K stories "On Eagle's Wings" and "Ghostwalkers". On Eagle's Wings is still in progress, and was working on an extensive rewrite of Ghostwalkers which has since been lost (gaah!). I keep saying I'll plough more time into my writing, then other things happen. Still, there will be more coming in time.

Link to my fiction
Marneus Calgar had a six-inch, flesh-coloured lump protruding from the centre of his forehead.
“Do you know what I look like, Milo?” he said.
For the most terrible moment of his life, Milo thought he was going to laugh.
“Er, I, er, well –” he stammered, before shaking his head. He felt heat radiating from his face, as if his head had become a light-bulb.
“I look like a unicorn,” said Calgar. “I'm supposed to be on telly at seventeen hundred, addressing the fething Imperium and telling them to act in a patriotic manner. The plebs are expecting to see their Spiritual Liege, not fething Twilight Sparkle. What the bloody hell are we gonna do about this thing?”
“Maybe –” Milo started, but he paused to swallow a hysterical scream of laughter. “If you want them to feel patriotic, maybe you could fly the Imperial flag from it.”
 
   
 
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