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Hello all, I've posted the odd bit of fiction here before, yet I've had an idea brewing in my head for a while now and I've finally built up enough plot and courage to put it to paper...or in this case the internet.

A light.

A simple green light, no bigger than his fingertip shone in the blackness. Flickering with the slow pulse of a dying reactor, the single source of light in the depths of the cockpit illuminated Lorenzo and his crew with a ghostly haze, perhaps foreshadowing their fate.

Returning from the depths of unconciousness, Lorenzo stated half-heartedly at the light and wept. His years of service to the Imperium of Man had yielded many sights that would remain with him until his dying breath. The fearsome aurora storms of Coronia, the grand marshalling of Colonel Barton's billion-strong force against the greenskin menace, the look of his firstborn child held in his arms, these sights were reduced to insignificance compared to that what he saw before him. This single light meant more than any of those ever could.

It meant he was still alive. Despite the events of the past six days, he was still alive.

Collecting his thoughts, he scrambled with the harness connecting himself to the seat, only now realising the severity of his injuries. His right arm hung useless at his side, and a slowly-forming wetness was indicative of some sort of head wound. He struggled to remain coherent: How long had he been unconsious? Had his forces been beaten back or had their near-suicidal charge succeeded? Putting those thoughts into the back of his mind, he turned painfully and examined the rest of the crew. Nikolas slumped over his console, the man's refusal to don a helmet ultimately leading to his death. Behind him, Mattias sat limp in his command throne, his face contorted into a rictus scream, possibly of triumph or pain Lorenzo could not tell. He reached under his seat and found his sidearm stowed away. Despite his minimal training in firearm combat he held the laspistol tightly, grateful that his left arm, his good arm, had remained undamaged.

Lorenzo turned back and examined the light with his useful arm: It was an insignificant part of the machine's systems, one of many backup systems of something equally insignificant. He cared little for the light's purpose, only grateful for the simple message it conveyed even as it grew dimmer and dimmer. Running his hand over the gauges and now silent monitors, his fingers brushing the cold, knurled handle of the emergency canopy release, yet he hesitated before pulling it. Why venture outside and put himself at further risk? What good could he do in his current state? The wind howling against the canopy grew stronger, as if urging him to remain inside the cockpit. Despite the lack of power, the cockpit was filled with a reassuring warmth that Lorenzo felt nearly impossible to leave given the outside conditions. The wind overpowered any noise of battle outside, why not wait it out for a rescue team?

Gathering the mental strength to overcome such an idea, his shaking hand pulled the lever in a single fluid motion. Explosive bolts around the cockpit detonated, exposing Lorenzo and his deceased friends to the ferocity of Tolenka's notorious winter. Laspistol clutched to his chest, he clambered out of the cockpit in as painless a manner as possible, bracing himself for what else lurked amongst the storm.

Thoughts? I've deliberately left his location and battlefield role ambiguous so I can build on it later on. If there's any interest I'd love to develop it further.

Valk

If you've got a story in you, best to let it out, nothing good can come of holding it inside!!

It's good start, plenty of hooks to play with, a few hints about Lorenzo's life and what/who he is to make things interesting.

I enjoyed it, Hoping to see more of it

Six Days Earlier - Tolenka Refinery Sigma: North Gate

Pavos groaned as he watched the timetable announce another late train. He shivered and pushed his hands ever deeper into his jacket, joints aching after another long shift in one of Tolenka's many refineries. His shift had ended long ago, and he yearned for a hot meal and a soft bed, yet as always this was refused by some mindless bureaucrat, deciding his train would be late yet again. He never asked for much in life, yet the one thing that kept him going through the years of toil on this miserable rock was the thought of his wife preparing a wonderful steaming meal as he returned from work, always a dream just out of his reach. Now his wife was expecting their first child, the burden on his shoulders doubled, a burden he was happy and willing to carry regardless of how many years he remained in the filthy dangerous facility.

He hated his job. His grandfather had travelled to Tolenka many years ago, drawn to the icy hell with the promise of good pay in the prometheum-rich glacier fields. The reality had been much different, as the Great Crusade demanded ever-increasing resources, more and more he was toiling amongst some machinery, extracting this, welding that, monitoring some unknown mechanism. The foremen attempted to keep up morale with the promise of better pay and shorter hours, and outlining how vital their efforts were to the advancement of Man, reassurance that fell on deaf ears to most of the workers. Pavos' morale was kept up by the thought of his wife, her beauty second-to-none, the one person in this world who he would walk to the end of the galaxy for.

The wind picked up even further, reducing visibility to less than a hundred metres. In a vain hope he glanced again at the timetable, hoping that a miracle would occur and the train would arrive within the next hour, but to no avail. It seems even the station staff had given up on this train, not bothering to announce an expected time of arrival. He yawned and pulled a lho-stick from the sodden pack in his pocket, found the warmest bench on the platform and braced himself for the wait.

======

50 KM East of Tolenka Refinery Sigma

The noise of the locomotive was drowned out by the swirling winds, but Okrios remained confident he would arrive on time. Snow battered the loco's windows as he cut a path through the storm, his headlights barely illuminating the track ahead. The train was barely occupied, but Okrios praised himself on continuing to push forward despite all advice to simply cancel the train and go home. No, he would remain at his post and continue his work. He was only a new driver, barely six months into the job. On the grand scale of Tolenka he was a minute gear in a global machine, yet this filled his heart with pride, for surely the greatest machines cannot function without the tiniest components, unappreciated within the background? Such thoughts continued on through his mind, to the point where he was all but immune to the cold. His cargo included several cars of Grade-Alpha Prometheum, known informally as Tolenka's Finest, and it was his duty to ensure its safe arrival at the spaceport, where it would power the Crusade's war machines on hundreds of unknown worlds.

The heavy-duty loco continued on its path, itself uncaring for the temperature or winds. Okrios at the helm was the captain of his own vessel, so lost in his own thoughts he almost missed an oncoming red signal. Curious, he applied the loco's brakes, the several hundred tons of metal clunking and slipping as the train slowly ground to a halt before the signal gantry. Curious, Orikos scrambled amongst the files and papers under his console for today's track report. He hadn't recalled any maintenance works or diversions along this route, yet the red light before him prevented his advance, resembling a red eye staring straight at Orikos.

A figure appeared out of the blizzard, standing just below the gantry. Larger than a man, somehow withstanding the bitter cold of Tolenka, the figure was encased in a suit of silver armour, trimmed with yellow and black chevrons. Orikos' confusion was drowned by delight: he had heard of the mythical Astartes, how the demigods of Man had sailed from Terra to conquer the galaxy, yet he had never seen one in the flesh. The only Astartes to visit Tolenka left decades before he was even born, but he had heard the stories of such beings. Now one was before him in person, and his heart shone at the sight.

Two more appeared on each side of the figure. Weapons lowered, they silently observed the train, as uncaring towards the storm as the hundred-ton locomotive. Pulling on his jacket, he scrambled down the handrails of the loco, the bitter cold sucking the air from his lungs. A momentary thought crossed his mind: had these Astartes been aware of the train? While he had heard of their endurance, he very much doubted one could survive an impact with his locomotive. The idea of murdering one of the Emperor's Astartes sickened him, and he composed himself as gratefully as he could before the iron giants before him. Several more had appeared by this point, and tears welled in Orikos' eyes at the sight before him, tears which immediately froze within his goggles.

The lead figure extended an arm towards Orikos, a gesture from superhuman to simple human, the fact that these beings were acknowledging him brought yet more emotion to his mind. Extending a hand of his own, his delight turned to confusion as the giant continued pass his outstretched palm and placed his hand upon Orikos' head. He beamed at the unexpected gesture, almost as if the Astartes was blessing his work for the Imperium.

His death was quick. The figure's grip compressing and imploding Orikos' head before the human could barely register the pain. Blood fell to the fresh snow, instantly freezing and vanishing under the newly-deposited flakes. His body fell next, the warriors treading over it uncaring for any dignity in death. Making their way towards the prometheum cars, the now thirty-strong force exacted the same punishment among the passengers, wary of using their firearms lest they destroy the cargo they had waited so diligently to seize.

I like it. Any story that raises questions is sure to get more attention from me. Questions like...

Who is this guy?
What is his skill set?
What is his mission?
What are his loyalties?
Who is he fighting for?
What is it that's so important to live for?
How far is he from any kind of help?
What dangers is he likely to encounter?
Are leftys really better than rightys in the 41st millennium?

For all these answers and more, stay tuned to Valkyrie's one-armed-bandit thread.

I hadn't read the second part when I wrote the above but now after reading I say don't stop this train, I'm not getting off any time soon. Not with a rampaging band of Astartes on the loose at any rate.

Excellent! Had you planned this as a Heresy-era story, or did that just evolve?

Good,work. I'm hooked

Thanks for the positive comments guys. I've always had it in mind to be set during the Heresy, but after theCrowe's comment on a "rampaging band of Astartes" I've hit a bit of a roadblock with where to take this. The original idea I had in mind was for a full-scale planetary invasion, but now I'm thinking of changing it to a kill-team of Astartes somewhere in the snowstorms.

Thoughts? Which path would you prefer this story to take?

I prefer that which keeps your writing organized and thoughtful. Grand scales take lots of work and back story and can bog you down if not careful. While small may not excite you enough. I like reading what the others enjoys as it comes across better. Start it one way and either expand or narrow if needed. Should be easy to do.

Good advice there. Planing and organising a story is key if you want it to all come together in the end in satisfying and meaningful ways.

Alternatively you can just write a chapter at a time and let the story unfold in its own way (like a lot of what goes on in Dakka Fiction) but you run the risk of writing yourself into a corner, either a boring place or an increasingly unlikely scenario. "Fail to prepare" and all that, however it can still be a success.

A nice update I dare say, and I agree with what has been said. Planing ahead always helps and makes your life easier

How's it going? Any progress?