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 Trondheim wrote:
Seing how my entry caused quite the spektackel I am offering to withdraw from the contest if it will mean I can not continue the story outside this contest.

You cannot enter a story that was written either before the contest, or not specifically for it (or both), so it's not a matter of being unable to continue your story outside the contest, the issue is that it broke the (really quite clear) rules about it being written for this contest, about it not being posted elsewhere until after the deadline and about it being based on at least one of the four themes (since it wasn't written for the contest, I assume it isn't based on any of the four themes).

I have allowed you to enter a different story if you wish, but your current entry will not be counted. Bear in mind that if you do enter a different story, you are not allowed to post it in a seperate thread or ask for/accept any criticism (constructive or otherwise) or any help/advice until after the deadline has passed.

SilverMK2 wrote:I may have to enter something.

Do it; I dare ya!

motyak wrote:I found myself in an exam today (after I had finished, but still in an exam) jotting down an outline for my idea. Theme will be fugitive with a dash of fear (since it is pretty hard to do fugitive without involving fear of some kind). In the time honoured tradition of uni students everywhere, it'll be on here at 11:59 November 30.

I might decide to hold you to that

Seing how this contest is layed out I am no longer intrested in parttaking. The best of luck to those who do

 Avatar 720 wrote:
Bear in mind that if you do enter a different story, you are not allowed to post it in a seperate thread or ask for/accept any criticism (constructive or otherwise) or any help/advice until after the deadline has passed.

Might I suggest a modification of this rule? Make it so you can ask for feedback, but only if you forfeit the right to edit your post.

It seems like a bit of a pointless change, either way you can't benefit from the advice until after the deadline, and there's also the fact that others may wait until advice has been posted for some stories in order to use that advice for their own entries.

I can't stop people PMing advice, though, but I can trust that entrants won't utilise it during the contest.

 Avatar 720 wrote:
It seems like a bit of a pointless change, either way you can't benefit from advice until after the deadline...

I can if I'm writing more than one story this month.

You could always post your other story in the forum (assuming it's not a Fantasy entry) and ask for feedback there and then. Obviously I can't ask people to stop posting anything anywhere and stop recieving general feedback, but anything specifically to do with their entry is a no-no.

Also, how would I combat people leeching off the feedback given to those who give up editing rights? The stories are still similar in that they follow at least one theme, and any advice on how to go about writing it would, as a consequence, benefit everyone who included that theme, regardless of whether or not they asked for feedback.

Wrote this up in a single night, edited it in another
For my themes I tried to incorporate all of them, but bravery and fear were the big two

Redemptor

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Kell’s legs pounded on the grey cobblestone as fast as he could make them. He risked a glance over his shoulder to check for his pursuer. No sign, but he couldn’t stop running.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fleeing man slipped and fell to his knees on loose rubble and ashen snow, his lasgun clattering on the stone street. He grabbed the grey weapon and with a gasp he pushed back up to his feet.
His fall cost him precious seconds, and the sound of the falling gun alerted the beast chasing him. Kell ran another three steps before a massive red shape crashed through a burnt out storefront.

Feth! Feth! Feth!

The sentinel staggered and gyrated its cockpit wildly like a stunned animal, then it refocused and continued the pursuit. Metallic footsteps pounded after Kell with heavy, booming resonance. Adrenaline coursed through his body, urging him to run faster.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump!

Fethhhhhhh!

Kell scrambled around an intersection. Grey chips of stone flew up from the shattering road as autocannon rounds tore into it. The bestial howl of frustration blared through the machine’s vox caster. The traitor within howled his frustration.
The street Kell had turned onto ended at the waterfront. A mere hundred yards away was the black river Leins, Kell’s salvation. Hope blossomed in his heart for the first time. The pain of effort that had been tearing at his legs faded as he became focused on his finish line, but the stomach wrenching horror was still there.

The bipedal monster stormed after him, its steel legs churning into the rockcrete ground. The hunter within sensed a chance of failure.
Kell began to serpentine, sensing the massive gun mounted underneath the cockpit tracking him. A high pitched whining signaled the cannon warming up. The whine became a roar as bullets the size of his head began to tear apart his surroundings, some coming within a few feet of him. Chipped stone showered the sentinel’s prey, scratching into his shaved scalp and cutting through his grey fatigues.

Comeon you gak herder, run run RUN!

His boot reached the sidewalk that ran parallel to the river. The other connected with the guardrail. He threw himself over it, time slowed. Kell could feel the air part for the massive rounds that flew past him, he could see every ripple on the black mirror below him, and hear nothing but the beat of his heart. A second later, he plunged into the river’s freezing depths, into the ice-cold embrace of his relative safety.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Brackish fluid spewed from Kell’s lungs as he crawled from the water. His vision was fuzzy, and his movements in the muddy river bank were slow. The tips of his fingers were a shade of blue, and uncontrollable shivers wracked his body.
How long he had been in the tumultuous current was a mystery. He lost consciousness soon after diving under the surface, the temperature and fatigue serving to knock him out cold. It was out of pure luck he wasn’t at the bottom of the river with his lost lasgun.
The sloshing mud, tainted black like the river by runoff waste from the city’s manufactorium, gave way to grey cobblestone steps. Half-drowned, the man stumbled up them and lay in the street atop a thin layer of tainted snow. The ash from the warzone coupled with the archenemy’s sorcery polluted the atmosphere and made the unnatural witch-winter the entire planet was clutched in.

Kell’s vision faded again, and then slowly returned. He looked around at the abandoned street. One side was a wall of gothic buildings, the other a drop-off to the water of the Leins. The once imposing buildings were now ruins. Heavy fighting had taken place in the area. Judging by the amount of scarring shown to the bloc, and the distant glow of the ongoing war to the north, Kell guessed he was somewhere in the residential quarter. The river had carried him deeper into enemy territory.

He pushed himself to his feet, and began to stumble towards the distant warzone. Each step was a struggle. Fatigue and pain made the task of walking difficult.

He stumbled through the street, with no real notion of direction aside from the occasional flash and crack from an explosion. The ash-colored snow dampened all sounds, casting a synthetic near-silence over the lone guardsman.
Convict.

Kell tugged at the explosive collar wrapped around his neck. A reminder of what he really was. His entire penal unit had been slaughtered in the initial offensive. Luckily for him, and unlucky for his warden, the tyrannical guard had been the first of the unit’s casualty. Without the threat of a messy and violent death by imperial hand, Kell’s instincts kicked in, and fear sent him into the nearest hide-hole.

Coward.

That’s what he really was. A coward. Unable to do the Emperor’s will, and then unable to atone for his sin.

Kell’s quiet reflection ended as he turned a corner. The blackened, partially shattered shell of a chimera rested in the street. The eight pointed star of Chaos was messily daubed in blood red on top of the tundra-camouflage pattern. The vehicle must’ve been abandoned in the initial offensive when a missile knocked out the engine block, rendering the transport an immovable bunker at best. To Kell, it was a supply crate.


1 autogun, 1 spare magazine, an autopistol with 2 spare mags, a bandolier of krak grenades, 5 pounds of explosive, tripwire, a military-grade backpack.
A basic imperial foot soldier’s battle kit. Full of everything a guardsman would need to survive a warzone, minus the battle-flak armor. Kell felt like a child on Solemnity Day.
His chances of reaching imperial lines had gone from nil to slim.

But what happened when he reached the frontlines, if he reached them at all? All that awaited him was a lasround to the head. Imperial or Chaos, no one would distinguish him from the enemy in the beldam of a full-scale battle.

This realization brought tears to Kell’s eyes. Depression fell over him like a wave. Anger, sadness, and fear choked him, and dry sobs croaked from his throat unbidden. Tears welled up in his eyes as what little hope he allowed himself was lost. He had lost. His life would soon end, being executed by a mop up squad. An aquilla or eight-pointed star emblazoned on their chest, it didn’t matter; neither army would show mercy to a lone man amongst the ruins of the city. The one chance he had at redemption was lost.

The God-Emperor on Terra would never forgive his sins. His soul would be lost in the Immaterium, thrown away to the packs of daemons to be torn apart.
Kell crumpled to the ground, curled unto his own arms and sobbed. Violent, chocking sobs of a man without hope.

The vox within the tank crackled to life, interrupting his breakdown. He slowly raised his head and stared at the vox caster through teary eyes. A harsh roar barked orders in twisted low gothic, screaming something unintelligible with the crackling of lasfire in the background. A calmer, more authoritative voice replied.
+++++Press the assult. Battle group Gar’osh inbound from outer precinct. Reinforcements arriving via the Alphis, eta one hour+++++

The channel was filled with the two men arguing for the next five minutes. The penal legionnaire heard none of it. At the name of the bridge, Kell’s head snapped to the north, where over the half-collapsed buildings, less than a half mile away, he could see the supporting structures of Alphis Bridge. A massive enemy convoy, an entire battle group’s worth of soldiers was heading towards him.

He felt strangely calm, a new focus born in his mind. That convoy would contain heavy artillery to bombard the last imperial forces. That convoy held the key to his redemption.
Kell gathered up his scavenged supplies, and scoured the chimera a final time. Under a seat in the passenger compartment he found a med kit. Whatever it once held was long used up. All that remained were three vials, vials Kell knew well. He stuffed them into his pack, and headed towards his vindication.

[/b]Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump.[b]


The convoy moved slowly past the shadows Kell lurked in. Three dozen traitor guardsmen marched on either side of the slow moving artillery pieces, lasguns slung across their blood-red flak armor. Stylized skulls fitted to their helmets hid their visages.
They were acting as a rear guard; most of their companions were loaded in large, tracked transport vehicles of strange design crossing the bridge. Though few in number and tainted by the malign powers; their gait gave an air of professionalism. They had forgotten the oaths of loyalty they once swore, but definitely remembered their basic training.

Kell’s heart pounded in his chest, the triple does of stimm sending jitters through his entire body. He tried to control the convulsions as he rested his thumb on the detonation trigger.

Click. Boom.

The entire avenue was showered in shrapnel as the booby trapped krak grenades exploded as one. Down the road, explosive charges placed on the bridge brought it and two of the transports on it collapsing into the river. Twenty of the archenemy soldiers died in the initial blast, the three collapsed wounded, and the rest staggered, deafened and blinded from the blast. All of the slave crewmen on the ordinance guns died or fled the massacre.

Kell leapt through the shattered window pane, firing his autogun into one of the nearby cultists as he did. Three bullets tagged the man in his chest and neck before he collapsed to the ground in a spray of arterial blood. Kell sprinted toward his target, firing his autogun full-auto as he did. Time was slowed to a crawl as the combat-drugs coursed through his veins.

Kell moved incredibly fast. His body reach new feats of athleticism, all safeguards bred into his muscles were removed, allowing his to function at his true, self-destructive potential.
The first man to engage him died without contest. His skull was caved in by the butt of Kell’s autogun while he swung his own weapon to his shoulder to fire. The next got three snap shots off at the butcher before a torrent of bullets tore his face in half.

Kell adroitly vaulted from the ground to the rear platform of one of the traitor vehicles. He ejected his spent mag and slammed a new one home. The remaining guards began to react to the death of their peers and started firing at the imperial.
His reflexes allowed him to twist around, and kill three of the closest enemies within 270 degrees. The men dropped without a sound. Kell rolled underneath the railing on the platform and killed the man who fired at the spot atop the tank where he just stood. A gush of blood flowed from where the traitor’s arm separated from his shoulder as he fell clutching his stump.

A savage scream came from behind Kell as another charged towards him, bayonet fitted onto his rifle. Kell spun to face the man, using the momentum of his movement to hurl the fully spent autogun into the man’s neck, shattering it with a crunching impact.

Kell vaulted back up onto the platform and began pounding at the deathstrike’s control pad.

It had been three years. Three years since Kell had last stood on the proving fields of home, of Cadia. A callow young man, given the power to change the fate of sectors. On his Parade Day he didn’t know three long years later, he would reject an order. The boy didn’t know that he would choose to not launch a missile that would kill thirty thousand loyal soldiers in a blinding flash. He would be thrown into a penal legion, to seek death with the worst of the galaxy’s scum.
The youth didn’t know, he would one day return to the control panel one last time.

His eyes remained firmly locked on the targeting screen even as his supercharged reflexes drew and fired his autopistol. The traitor guardsman taking aim at his back collapsed, a hole in his forehead trickling a spout of black gore.
Algorithms and equations that had gone unused for months returned to the forefront of Kell’s mind. His fingers blurring on the screen.

He entered the final coordinate, and saw the launch command appear on the screen.

Before he could press it he felt something hit his shoulder, bucking him around. The final traitor was standing defiantly, soot wafting from the barrel of the bolt pistol locked in his grip. Kell raised his own sidearm, only to realize the arm it was held in was no longer attached to him. Crimson blood flowed freely from what was left of his shoulder. His wound throbbed; a dull agony pulsated across the shattered remnants of his shoulder and chest.
The cultist fired again, and again, slowly walking toward Kell with each bolt. The imperial soldier collapsed onto the stamped metal of the platform. The rusted metal became a slick basin of blood. His blood.

The traitor sergeant climbed aboard the tank and pressed his bolter to the dying man’s head. He sneered with derision, exposing his teeth which were each honed to a point.

“You fought hard. And for what? Honor? Remembrance? The love of your Corpse God?” he spat, “You are nothing.”

Kell smiled, blood leaking from behind his teeth as he signhed his final breaths.

“For forgiveness. I fought for His forgiveness.”

The traitor pressed the gun harder against the man’s head. His sneer became a grimace, hatred taking place of his disgust. He straightened himself, and stared into the grey eyes of the man. The sergeant had seen hundreds, maybe a thousand, dying men. This imperial lapdog was the most at peace he had ever known. He truly believed he was forgiven.

“Neither of our Gods show favor on failure.”

Kell managed a chuckle before he hacked on the blood surging up his throat.

“I didn’t fail, and I have earned His forgiveness.”

The deathstrike missile exploded before the traitor could understand his words. Kell, the entire Battle Group, and three square miles of the city were vaporized in a single, blinding, sixty-thousand megatonne explosion. As the inferno engulfed him, Kell smiled. He had fought hard, completed his duty, finished his mission.

He had earned the Emperor’s redemption.

Hrm. The story which I've been writing is not a political piece about the Israel-Palestine conflict. However, due to the events of the last few days it very much reads like one. I am unsure what to do about this.

sorry Avatar, I really intended to get into this but I've been working every day for the past few weeks and just couldn't get the time to move from planning to writing.

 motyak wrote:
sorry Avatar, I really intended to get into this but I've been working every day for the past few weeks and just couldn't get the time to move from planning to writing.

I haven't really had the inclination to keep it going, actually. Things got quite gak IRL shortly after I started it, and as of the 9th of November, things at home fell apart quite dramatically. Since then I've been living with my dad's parents, trying to get my mental health sorted, and to find a job and a house. I actually forgot I'd made this thing. Guess I should let everyone know.

 Avatar 720 wrote:

 motyak wrote:
sorry Avatar, I really intended to get into this but I've been working every day for the past few weeks and just couldn't get the time to move from planning to writing.

I haven't really had the inclination to keep it going, actually. Things got quite gak IRL shortly after I started it, and as of the 9th of November, things at home fell apart quite dramatically. Since then I've been living with my dad's parents, trying to get my mental health sorted, and to find a job and a house. I actually forgot I'd made this thing. Guess I should let everyone know.

Sh*t...well good luck man