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F A L L E N [a Horus Heresy novel]


I've had an idea (one of many - my monkey brains are boiling over) for a while now to write a novel set at the onset of Heresy. I thought it might be cool to post it on these forums as I write it; that way I can get feedback, plus it gives me a bit more incentive to actually get it done!

The target has been set: 90,000 words by the end of 2014 (that's a chapter of 5,000 words per month, or approximately 250 words per day... hmmm, it almost sounds doable when I put it that way).

I need you guys to let me know what you like and don't like, and your reasons why. I will be making revisions as I go along, with a view of doing a final draft by Christmas 2014.

For the Emperor! etc.

James

PROLOGUE


She was ten when they came.

Their descent from the heavens lit up the night sky like so many shooting stars, illuminating the cold desert for miles around. It was quite beautiful. She remembered standing there on the rooftop of her father’s home, clutching his old monocular in her small hands, watching bright balls of fire race towards the ground, thinking that these were angels of legend, riding to earth on chariots of fire. How wrong she was.

They came down near the distant horizon, where the lights from Zazzar could be seen. Where each meteor struck the ground, great plumes of sand and rock were blasted skyward, throwing up a thick screen of dust. As each one impacted upon the desert floor, the rising dust cloud quickly took on the appearance of one of the terrible sandstorms that would seasonally wrack the planet. Shadowy shapes moved within. As it swirled and flowed, she raised the antique monocular to her right eye and squinted to peer through the haze, carefully adjusting the focus, eager to see what angels really looked like. She did not have to wait long before she saw them. They were more terrible than she could have ever imagined.

She recalled her father running onto the roof terrace, rifle in hand, shouting for her to get back into the house. Fear was in his eyes; the desperate fear a parent experiences when their child’s life is in danger. That was when a high-pitched shrieking sound could be heard from above, rapidly rising into an ear-splitting crescendo. They turned their heads skywards, covering their ears as they did so, in time to witness the white hot metal belly of a strange craft hurtle down to crash into the small courtyard behind the house. The deafening impact brought down the walls of the surrounding buildings, and her father gathered her in his arms just as the floor beneath them buckled and caved in, sending them careening down an angled slab of wall. They landed in a heap; bruised but alive. For now, at least.

Coughing harshly and rubbing her eyes to free them from gritty particles of dust, she felt her father press his lips to her ear, and he spoke the last words she would ever hear him say.

“Do not be afraid.”

There was a loud whirring noise and the clang of metal thudding down onto rubble. This was immediately followed by the sound of heavy shod boots, metal striking on metal. Suddenly her father was no longer by her side, and she heard him cry out in anger and terror. There was a loud crack. She called out for him, tears flowing freely down her dirt covered cheeks. But he did not answer. Instead, stomping boots ground through the rubble towards her.

As her vision cleared she looked up at a towering giant clad in white armour, his face hidden behind an expressionless helm. It was terrible to behold.

“Are… are you an angel?” she asked quietly through bloodied lips. Then she looked past the mighty being and beheld the slumped form of her father, lying there in the ruins of his home; a smouldering crater in his chest.

The giant threw its head back and laughed; the cold-hearted sound like the barking of a crow dog. A cacophony of gunfire and explosions in the distance seemed to echo his callous mirth.

Then he spoke, his deep and sonorous voice sounding harsh and distorted through the mask.

“I am no angel, child. I am a World Eater.”

The vessel had translated from the cold depths of the empyrean with absolutely no warning; a highly unorthodox manoeuvre, but one that Captain Ferdinand von Beck was not entirely unfamiliar with. However, this was something of a role-reversal, as it was usually his ship that was taking other vessels unawares. The fact it had now happened to the White Rose was most troublesome, and he would be raising the issue with his navigator. But not right now. Right now he was compelled to entertain an uninvited guest.

There had been instant panic amongst the crew of the White Rose when a huge strike cruiser bearing the livery of the Thousand Sons materialised with unsettling precision less than a kilometre starboard of their vessel, broadside batteries already brought to bear. Von Beck was sat in his command throne when proximity alarms began to chime stridently.

Remaining in his chair despite his surprise, he called to his first mate.

“Onatova, report!”

A female officer turned from her data terminal, and the colour ran from her face as she replied.

“A vessel has dropped out of the warp just off our starboard side, captain,” she swallowed before continuing. “It’s an astartes strike cruiser.”

Von Beck was momentarily stunned. What in Hades were they doing out here? The White Rose was in high anchor above a cold, dead world; one that von Beck had scoured for some real or imagined treasure, but without success. There was no life in this star system and it lay on the fringes of the scarcely-travelled Vorlan Gulf, a place of dim and ancient stars and very little in the way of life-supporting worlds. Quite what an astartes strike cruiser would be doing out here was beyond him; there were certainly no worlds to be brought to compliance. It had obviously been following them for some time, he thought.

Before any evasive action could be taken, the air in front of his command throne shimmered, bringing with it the unmistakable tang of ozone. In one fluid movement, von Beck was on his feet, antique pistol in hand, in time to see the towering form of an astartes commander in full battle plate materialise before his eyes. The massive astartes wore a long cloak and carried a rune-encrusted staff in his right hand and an ornate jackal-faced helmet in his left. He was smiling.

The crew on the bridge fell back; some went for their weapons whilst others made for the door. A junior officer quite shamefully soiled his undergarments. The giant in their midst raised an eyebrow, just as von Beck held up his arms.

“Stay your weapons!” he said, as he at first lowered, and then holstered, his pistol. Von Beck was no fool; he knew that it would be suicide to attack the space marine. In the unlikely event that they did manage to kill him – a feat von Beck thought highly improbable – the White Rose would be vaporised under a hail of fire from the strike cruiser.

Some cast disbelieving looks at their captain, but nevertheless they all reluctantly obeyed.

Von Beck looked up at the mighty warrior before him and, with a flourish, bowed theatrically.

“Welcome aboard the White Rose, my lord. I am Captain Ferdinand Amadeus von Beck.” As he rose to meet the other’s gaze, he gave his own self-assured grin. “But I suspect you already knew that.”

The astartes was still smiling. “Indeed, Captain,” he said, with a distinct Anubian accent, von Beck noted. “My name is Isson Kotep of the 9th fellowship, legio Thousand Sons. I must apologize for arriving uninvited onto your bridge, but I have matters of great import to discuss with you. I do hope you can forgive me?”

“Of course,” Von Beck replied as he studied the warrior. Isson Kotep was a head taller than he and had a clean shaven scalp and jaw. His tanned features were almost without lines and he looked no older than thirty, although von Beck suspected that he was probably well into his second century. The astartes had blazing emerald eyes that glistened with good humour, whilst at the same time containing considerable power and authority.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Kotep. May I enquire as to the nature of these important matters?” Captain von Beck held the space marine’s gaze. He could feel the intense sensation of unease from his crew which, given the circumstances, could rightly be forgiven. He had been caught totally unawares by this champion of the Emperor, but he was determined to give no further ground.

The astartes glanced briefly at the crew to either side. “You may, captain. But perhaps we should talk somewhere private.” It was not a question, but von Beck was inclined to agree anyway. His crew were spooked enough as it was. The White Rose was a wanted ship in more than one system in this sector, and many of the crew probably imagined that this was their end. He just hoped none of them wanted to go out in a blaze of dubious glory.

“Very well, my lord; we can continue our conversation in my quarters. Just one moment, if you will?” von Beck indicated the ship’s comms unit. The astartes nodded.

Von Beck picked up the vox piece and put it to his mouth. “Attention crew. This is your captain. Be aware that we have an honoured guest onboard and that we are in no ways threatened by the rather grand vessel you may have noticed to starboard. All non-essential crew are to stand down and return to their quarters immediately.” He replaced the unit in its cradle and turned to Kotep.

“If you’d care to follow me, Lord Kotep?”

Kotep looked amused. “Lead the way, Captain von Beck.”

As they made to leave the bridge, von Beck turned to his bewildered crew with a stern look upon his face. Raising his right index finger in the air, he gave them one simple order.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Kotep smiled knowingly and followed von Beck through the blast door.


***


Von Beck’s private chambers were large and opulently furnished. As they stepped across the threshold, Kotep inhaled the pleasant aromas of exotic spices, many of which were familiar to him, but some that were not. Before him was a wide, circular chamber with a concave ceiling. Curving buttresses like living tree trunks ran up the walls, their pale, leafless branches spreading out across the domed upper limits into thousands of intricately-woven strands that formed an exquisite yet all-too alien pattern. Book shelves, cabinets, display cases and all manner of strange and wonderful sculptures lined the walls. Kotep could see several artefacts that were obviously xenos in origin and considered contraband by Imperial authorities. It was quite a sight and Kotep could not deny its beauty.

Once the highly wrought doors to his private quarters closed behind them, von Beck gestured towards a large wooden table the colour of bleached bone, surrounded by eight high-backed chairs made from the same wood. Before they had even sat down, von Beck began the questioning.

“I must confess, Lord Kotep, to being most intrigued by those tricks you pulled back there. Drink?” He quite casually walked up to a corner bar and took out two glasses.

The astartes was walking around the circular chamber, his metal boots sinking several centimetres into the soft floor covering that, by all appearances, possessed the properties of both grass and fur. He seemed to be admiring some of the many antiques and artefacts on display.

“No, thank you,” Kotep replied. He had stopped in front of a large portrait.

“Ah, that’s my great uncle Ludwig,” von Beck explained as he replaced one of the glasses and began pouring himself a generous measure of Venusian port. “He was a bit of a scallywag, that one. Rather fond of his wine and women.” Picking up his glass, he walked across the centre of the chamber and sat down at the head of the intricately-carved table.

The astartes continued moving around the room, picking up the odd curio that might, however momentarily, have caught his attention. Eventually he walked over, placing his helmet on the ashen surface of the table, leaning his staff against it, before sitting down opposite von Beck. The big chair creaked beneath his armoured bulk.

“So, captain,” he said, the amused look he’d worn so easily before now replaced with an unyielding frown. “What are these tricks you speak of?”

Von Beck was not easily awed, even by such a mighty being as an astartes commander. Where lesser men would have buckled under that gaze, the captain merely raised his glass and took a sip.

“Come now, my Lord Kotep. You know very well to what I am referring to. But the very nature of your tricks suggests strongly to me that you rather enjoy playing games, so I will humour you.”

“Humour me, indeed?” Kotep’s expression reverted to one of amusement.

“Well, from my somewhat limited knowledge of your legion, I can deduce that you are a seer of no small talent. A man of your position would certainly hold arcane knowledge in excess of anything a mere mortal could possess, let alone comprehend. I would hazard an admittedly educated guess and say that you have seen something regarding the future.” He looked into Kotep’s intense green eyes. “Regarding my future?” he corrected, seeing the other’s expression.

“Regarding a family member,” was Kotep’s simple response.

“Interesting…” von Beck was curious, but did not want to sound eager, and so deigned to continue playing the game. “But before we go any further, I am keen to know how you managed to catch my astropaths unawares with your drop out of warp space, not to mention your teleporting directly onto my bridge. I have more than one arcane device that is supposed to prevent such an unsolicited incident from occurring; your arrival would suggest that they don't work particularly well.”

The Son of Magnus watched as the man opposite him took another sip of his drink. Von Beck was a most intriguing character, and despite the fact he had scryed much of the rogue’s future, Kotep actually knew very little of his past. In appearance, the captain of the White Rose was of indeterminate middle age; tall and slim, with a head of finely woven dreadlocks that were currently tied in a topknot. He wore a smart if somewhat flamboyant costume that looked like it belonged on some 27th century Kariban buccaneer (an image he strongly suspected von Beck was going for). His features were handsome with high cheek bones and a straight nose, and his unblemished skin was the colour of bronze. But von Beck’s bright green eyes told a story; they told of a man of considerable humour, wit and intelligence, yet with an undeniable penchant for trickery; they also spoke of a man who had seen far more than any mortal possibly should, for there was also sadness, regret and a barely concealed measure of despair in them.

“A man in your position would no doubt benefit greatly from such knowledge,” Kotep smiled, making a deferential gesture with his hand, “but my primarch would not be amused to discover I had divulged any of the tactical secrets of his legion. You understand, of course.”

“Perfectly. Still, it would have been nice to know, so that I might prevent any similar surprises in future. My crew tend to get a bit skittish when an astartes strike cruiser drops out of the warp unannounced.”

“I’m sure they do, captain,” said Kotep. “Unfortunately I cannot guarantee that such an incident will not occur again in the future.”

Von Beck considered this for a moment. “I do rather hope not. I’m not sure I could be held accountable if any of my more excitable crew members were to make any rash decisions.” His voice trailed off.

Kotep raised a thin eyebrow. “It would perhaps be wise for you to countermand any such rash decisions before they are made, captain. But let us not talk of such conjectured scenarios. I have come to ask for your help.”

It was von Beck’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and Kotep could see that he looked genuinely surprised. “My help, you say?” He rubbed his chin as he pondered this. “Now that is a most intriguing notion. I wonder, Lord Kotep; what kind of impossible mission must this be if it cannot be performed by the vaunted Thousand Sons legion?”

The Thousand Son refused to take offence at this slight and instead leant back in his chair, placing two mailed palms on the heavy table in front of him. His mouth had curled into a rather crafty grin.

“One where your involvement has been foreseen.”

“Foreseen.” Von Beck rolled the word around his mouth as if considering whether he liked the taste of it. “I must confess, Lord Kotep, that I do not like the sound of that. It rather implies that I do not have any choice in the matter.”

Kotep inclined his head slightly. “That is true to some extent, Captain. But I am not forcing you to take this mission, although I know that you will accept it. I need your help in finding a girl. Her name is Jaya von Beck.”

This story is off to a fine start but your posts seem a bit short, will you be adding more to your second post?

Thanks, manwiththeplan. Appreciate your opinion on the short posts. Apart from the first one, I thought 1000-ish words per post would be a good size for each update, but seeing them on screen they do look a tad small!

My aim is to write 250+ words per day (when possible), so a 2000 word update might mean one update every ten days or so...

Let's see how it goes!

Looks good enough, although I echo the need for longer updates. Glad to see you planing on addressing this.

I agree the first post should stay as it is. The second post could do with another to scenes, what you have written, the private conversation, and then a hint at what will happen next.

My advice to you is not to set things in stone. Let the story take you where it needs to go and use the two thousand word count as a guild-line. I dread to think what my chapter word count is.

@manwiththeplan and Trondheim

Your advice has been noted and I've updated the second part considerably. If you would be so kind as to have a read and share your opinions, that'd be great

More to come...

Just read the update, and I dare say it left me wanting more. You have developed two very distinct characters whom seem to play of nicely against each other. and the mood of the story also falls to my liking. Well done

Nice addition to the chapter with good descriptive texts, and a fine touch at the end with the intrigue about the girl.

Trondheim wrote:Just read the update, and I dare say it left me wanting more. You have developed two very distinct characters whom seem to play of nicely against each other. and the mood of the story also falls to my liking. Well done

Themanwiththeplan wrote:Nice addition to the chapter with good descriptive texts, and a fine touch at the end with the intrigue about the girl.

Cheers guys - really appreciate the kind words (they do wonders for the old ego)!

Today I managed to write the first 800+ words of Chapter One. Once I have enough for a decent-sized update, I'll get it posted.

Thanks for the update.

Ok, this update is very much WIP, so comments/suggestions welcome...

Please note that this is only the first half of Chapter One - the rest of it is lurking somewhere inside my head. More scenes/action forthcoming!


CHAPTER ONE


Jaya slowly peeled her eyelids open to reveal the bland canvas underside of the tent’s roof. Her brain hurt and her mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died. A small groan escaped her lips as she lifted a hand to gingerly touch her throbbing head. She lay there for a moment and made an effort to remember what had happened the previous night, but her efforts were in vain. Last night’s memories were lodged deep in the abyssal fissures of her brain, obstinately refusing to be brought to the surface. This was usually a bad sign since Jaya von Beck was no stranger to trouble. At least I’m not in a cell, she thought.

The door flap to the tent peeled open and a man in the tropical issue combat fatigues of the 12th Vaddarian Panzer Korps marched between half a dozen empty cots before stopping next to hers. Jaya turned and squinted, holding up an ineffective hand in an attempt to shield her eyes from the bright morning light that flooded through the entrance behind him.

“Get up, von Beck,” he said gruffly, kicking the metal frame of her cot as he did so. “You’re late for breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she managed, rolling over and turning her back on him.

“Whatever you say, Little Wolf. But Sergeant Becker’s going to kick your backside into the warp if you don’t get up.” The man pulled a metal canteen from his belt and began unscrewing the lid.

“You tell that Terran whore she can go f-,” but she was cut short as a litre of cold water was poured over her head.

“Hey!” she screamed, leaping out of her bed to confront the man. “What’d you do that for, Logan?” She looked up and scowled at him.

Logan gave a short laugh before placing the bottle back in his hip pouch. “Got you out of bed, didn’t it?”

Jaya clenched her fists by her side and continued to glower at him. Logan just grinned at her. Corporal Maarkus Logan was a tall man, heavily muscled with a square jaw and short crop of blond hair. Like most NCOs in the Korps he was Terran-born, although he didn’t share the arrogance or barefaced racism that many from his planet bore towards those from backwater worlds like hers.

After a while she poked him in the chest. “You’re lucky I feel like gak, Terran. Otherwise I’d teach you some manners, Bakka style.” She broke eye contact and turned to walk towards her footlocker.

“Ha! There are no manners on Bakka. We tried to teach you protocol after compliance, but you Bakkans are a crude and barbaric lot, so in the end we just gave up.” Logan watched as Jaya quite unashamedly began removing yesterday’s uniform in front of him. “I can see you slept in your boots again,” he observed.

“’I can see you slept in your boots again’,” she mimicked sarcastically as she finally removed her vest and strode to the shower cubicles at the rear of the tent. Logan watched her walk away, admiring the shape of her curves before finding his eyes gravitating to the many long scars that criss-crossed her back.

Jaya was a petite young woman of about 1.6 metres with light brown skin. She was certainly attractive, Logan thought, with full lips, strong white teeth and subtly slanted green eyes. Her head was shaved apart from a shock of dark hair on top that she would often style into an upwardly-pointing ridge-hawk which, when combined with one of her notorious scowls, gave her the appearance of a woman who was not to be messed with. Jaya von Beck was a feisty one that was for sure.

She climbed into one of the cubicles and pulled the lever, activating a shower of water. Logan smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long in the Imperial Army, Jaya. What with your disciplinary record, I’m surprised you aren’t doing anything to improve your behaviour. At the rate you’re going, it won’t be long before you find yourself in a penal unit. I know Becker would love to see you with a collar around your neck.”

Jaya began scrubbing herself vigorously, stopping for a while to vomit into a small bucket. She wiped her mouth on the back of her forearm. “I don’t give a damn what that racist bitch wants or doesn’t want. All I care about right now is fixing this hangover.” She stopped to look over at Logan.

“What happened last night, anyway?” she asked. “My brain feels too big for my skull.”

Logan looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Well, after the amount you drank that’s hardly surprising. You do remember that we won the war, right?”

Jaya screwed up her face. “Of course. I’m not stupid.”

Logan chuckled before continuing. “I didn’t say you were, Little Wolf. Do you remember Admiral Vandana’s announcement to the troops over the vox net?”

“Yeah,” she replied slowly, in the fashion of someone pulling stubborn memories from the crevices of her mind. “He went on and on about how great it was that Twenty Three Nineteen – or whatever it is you Terrans call this world now – how great that it has been liberated and its people brought to compliance.” She made a vulgar sign with her hand to show her feelings on the subject. “The man’s a cockless ork,” she finished as she stepped out of the cubicle and began drying herself off.

Logan shook his head and smiled. “There you go again with that tongue of yours, Jaya. I wouldn’t say stuff like that around any Terrans, especially Becker,” he said. Then, more seriously, “I don’t think you have room for any more scars on that back of yours.”

Jaya laughed. “Your concern is noted, Corporal,” she said as she pulled on a clean vest. “But anyway, most of the soldiers I know, whether they’re Terran, Bakkan or Kalamite, have a pretty low opinion of him ever since the disaster at Hiru. He almost lost an entire battle group, remember? We were there.”

The big man frowned sorrowfully as the memories flooded back. “Yes, we lost many good soldiers that day. But that was down to intelligence, or rather lack of it. Orbital scans didn’t pick up the tunnels.”

Jaya sat back down on her bed, pulled a boot onto her foot and began lacing it. “He got it wrong when we first arrived in this system and he got it wrong again by sending us down onto Ryu, blind without scouting the ground first. Maybe then they’d have altered their tactics when they realised fifty thousand Akari warriors and supporting materiel were waiting for us. Or then again, maybe not. He’s an arrogant piece of gak who couldn’t care less about his troops. We’re just cannon fodder to Terrans like him.”

“Well, I can’t really argue with you there,” he said, before making an effort to lighten the mood. “Come on, let’s go and get some breakfast. I could eat a fuggin’ squiggoth.”

“That’s because you’re a fat fugger.” She grinned and slapped his iron-hard stomach.

The two comrades stepped out of the tent and into the early morning sunshine. It was already hot and humid, and Jaya pulled her cap over her eyes to keep out the worst of the glare. The sky was a wonderful shade of blue and there wasn’t a cloud to blemish its purity. Insects from the surrounding rainforest buzzed and droned in a constant cacophony, and a growler monkey roared in the distance.

Von Beck’s battalion had setup camp in the foothills of the Dragon’s Teeth range, and the mighty mountains soared into the sky a few kilometres to the north. They had constructed Asaheim Base on a high plateau that overlooked one of the many broad valleys in the Hiru prefecture, after the gigantic earth mover machines of the Mechanicum had cleared the ground of all traces of jungle. Two thousand men and women of the 12th Vaddarian Panzer Korps called this place home.

They walked down an avenue of identical tents, occasionally passing soldiers who were on their way back from the mess hall. Some offered friendly nods, whilst others gave snide remarks regarding Jaya’s racial origins. A man with terrible burn scars down one side of his face spat on the ground as he walked past, the men with him laughing spitefully. Quick as a flash, Jaya spun around, one hand on the hilt of her knife to confront the scarred man. But before she could do anything a large fist closed around her arm. She looked up furiously at her comrade.

“Definitely not worth it,” Logan said as she struggled in his vicelike grip.

“Yeah, you listen to your keeper, dark-skin,” hissed the scarred man. “You don’t want to mess with me. I’ll cut out your eyes.” He made a slicing motion with one thumb across his eyes. He laughed and the other soldiers cackled behind him like a pack of snigger dogs.

Jaya stopped struggling and gave a low growl. “Count yourself lucky, Mjolnir, that my ‘keeper’s’ here to hold me back. Otherwise I’d be adding to those scars on your ugly face.” She finished by spitting at the ground in front of his feet.

Mjolnir’s brow furrowed and he took a threatening step forward, but Logan held up a warning hand. “Back off, Half-Face. Your discipline isn’t too hot, either. I heard you’re about one step away from reassignment to the penal company. I don’t think you really want to go there.”

Before Mjolnir could respond, Logan dragged Jaya away to resume their walk to the mess hall. After a few metres they heard Mjolnir snarl. “That’s it, little one. You run off now. Just remember that Logan won’t always be around to protect you!”

Without looking back, Jaya threw an offensive gesture over her shoulder.

“I can look after myself, Logan,” she pouted as she finally threw off his grip. The other sighed as they continued walking between the tents.

“I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of, Jaya. I was actually doing both of you a favour. Come on now; lighten up. I’m sure some of the Imperial Army’s finest cuisine will improve your mood.” He grinned at his own joke.

“Yeah, right,” she replied doubtfully, slapping at a fly on her neck as the unpleasant aroma of army cooking filled their nostrils.

The mess hall was in fact a huge rectangular container ship that lay near a small airfield in the centre of the plateau; its flat belly splayed on the ground like some beached metal whale. It was almost a hundred metres long and twenty metres high, with two wide doors that yawned open to reveal row upon row of tables and benches, most of which were occupied by soldiers finishing their breakfast. Von Beck and Logan crossed a clearing towards one of the doors, looking up to their right as a Valkyrie gunship came in to land on the airstrip with a roar of its turbines.

They made their way to the serving counter to join the small queue of fellow latecomers, some of whom Jaya noted with a measure of satisfaction looked even worse for wear than she did. She peered around the man in front of her at the serving vats as catering servitors poured dubious piles of slop onto plates held by less-than-eager soldiers. One of the men, a tattooed Kalamite, stuck a finger into his breakfast and looked up with disgust at one of the servitors.

“What the fug is this supposed to be?” he said, flicking his finger and sending a blob of grey substance onto the face of the automaton. The servitor seemed to regard him with its soulless eyes for a brief moment before turning to serve the next soldier in the line.

“Hey, don’t abuse the servitors!” yelled one of the supervisors; a tall, overweight sergeant from the Catering Corps. The other man sneered before walking off, carrying his tray of gruel to one of the tables.

“It seems you’re not the only one in a foul mood this morning,” Logan whispered over her shoulder.

“I don’t blame him. The food doesn’t get any better in this place. It seems the servitors do everything around here, including cooking.”

They received the same warm grey sludge as everyone else and walked to an empty bench near the wide entrance to sit down. A Leman Russ rumbled past on a temporary plasteel road, followed shortly by a platoon of men and women jogging in formation towards the parade ground, their bald sergeant barking a tirade of encouraging abuse at them.

Jaya stirred her spoon slowly around in the bowl of glutinous slop, with the look of someone who had absolutely no intention of ever eating it. “I hate the army,” she huffed dejectedly. Logan’s mouth was full so he put an index finger to his lips and pointed meaningfully with his eyes at the two military arbiters stood just outside the entrance, silently yet strongly suggesting that she stop talking. He swallowed and looked at her sternly.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he exclaimed in a loud whisper. “You just don’t know when to shut up, Jaya. One of these days you’re gonna find yourself in the sort of trouble you don’t get out of; unless it’s in a body bag.” He stopped and scooped more sludge onto his spoon. “Now stop talking and eat your food.”


SECOND PART OF CHAPTER ONE TO FOLLOW SOON...

It's okay so far but lacking the insight of progression from little girl to young woman. maybe that will come next?

The first paragraph could do with a once over for commas and a bit more detail but I reckon you where going to get to that as this is only a draft.

On the whole it's good so far but seems short regardless of the word count as not much happened because she woke up, had a shower and puked, then had chow. An extra scene may be in order to lead the reader on to the next chapter.

Sorry if I seem harsh for it is not intended as I have enjoyed your thread so far and only passing comment on a draft. Keep going.

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
It's okay so far but lacking the insight of progression from little girl to young woman. maybe that will come next?

The first paragraph could do with a once over for commas and a bit more detail but I reckon you where going to get to that as this is only a draft.

On the whole it's good so far but seems short regardless of the word count as not much happened because she woke up, had a shower and puked, then had chow. An extra scene may be in order to lead the reader on to the next chapter.

Sorry if I seem harsh for it is not intended as I have enjoyed your thread so far and only passing comment on a draft. Keep going.

You don't pull any punches, Manwiththeplan! But that's exactly the sort of honest criticism I'm after...

I guess I should have mentioned that I haven't actually finished Chapter One. Word count is just over 2k and I'm gunning for roughly 5-6k words per chapter, so this is less than half way through.

In answer to your points:

1. I want a gap of about 10 years or so between the Prologue and Chapter One. The bit with the Thousand Sons surprising the White Rose is supposed to be part of the prologue, but I didn't make that clear. Agree there is certainly work to be done to make the 'transition' between the first two parts a bit more logical and obvious.

2. Regarding spelling/punctuation - yep, I'll be going through with a finetooth comb to sort out anything erroneous (plus the missus is a good proof reader, so I'll be employing her services at some point).

3. There'll certainly be some action before the end of the chapter - I wasn't planning on leaving it with Logan telling her to eat up and shut up! But again, that's my fault - I'll put a note at the end of the post to advise future readers.

So yeah, your comments are certainly not harsh and I appreciate that you're only trying to help a guy out. Thanks for your honesty and good advice! Keep it coming, please!

James

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
It's okay so far but lacking the insight of progression from little girl to young woman. maybe that will come next?

The first paragraph could do with a once over for commas and a bit more detail but I reckon you where going to get to that as this is only a draft.

On the whole it's good so far but seems short regardless of the word count as not much happened because she woke up, had a shower and puked, then had chow. An extra scene may be in order to lead the reader on to the next chapter.

Sorry if I seem harsh for it is not intended as I have enjoyed your thread so far and only passing comment on a draft. Keep going.

I agree but I must say that you really need to build more characther on the two before considering any war releated action. And a good rule is that a good chapter should always be two to three pages long. More so if a lengthy battle is planned.

Well you did ask, but I'l pull my punches a bit better next time.

I am not the one to talk about spelling so don't think I was having a pop, it was just the breathers for affect mate.