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Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Ok, so I have been dipping my toe in a bit of 40K fluff for a while now (mostly writing game campaigns) and have decided to have a go at expanding my range and trying my hand at some short story adaptions. I'm not an expert on 40K fluff or writing so any C&C or pointing out of glaring inaccuracies would be most appreciated - enjoy!

Links to short stories:

Titan's Fall
(bottom of this post)
Sanctuary
Sphere of Influence
Enigma
Faith
Descent
Dawn
Duel
Sacrifice
Night Sentinel
Proximity Alert
Fate
Crisis
Patience
Countdown

Titan's Fall:

Spoiler:

“We should head back,” Hask urged, as the sickly yellow lights flickered around them. “The cultists are dead.”

“Do the dead frighten you, Corporal?” the Lieutenant replied in a gruff voice, the hint of a mocking smile creasing his lips.

Hask did not rise to the bait. He was an old man by Navy standards, past forty, and he had seen plenty of officers come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no more business with them.”

“Are they dead?” the Lieutenant asked softly, his smile gone. “What proof do we have?”

“Pudge saw them,” Hask replied. “If he says they’re dead, that’s proof enough for me.”

Pudge knew they would drag him into the argument sooner or later. He turned and shrugged. “My father told me that dead men tell no tales,” he put in nervously.

“Ha! My nanny used to say the same crap, Pudge,” the Lieutenant sneered. “Never believe anything you hear from a woman. Or a man with a woman’s courage - like your father. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed, too loud, down the infinite expanse of the corridor lined with rusting vents, corroded panels and gaping holes where valuable systems and been unceremoniously plundered . The lights flickered lower, almost the black, before returning to a semblance of stability.

“We have a long haul back to the airlock, sir” Hask pointed out. “Eight hours, maybe nine. And the power matrix is failing.”

The Lieutenant glanced at the patchwork of broken light cells with disinterest. “It is always the way with these old hulks. Are you afraid of the dark, Corporal?”

Pudge could see the tightness around Hask’s stubble lined mouth, the barely suppressed fury in his dark eyes under the visor of his pitted guard’s helmet. Hask had spent twenty years in the Imperial Navy, fifteen of them in the Boarding Marines, and he was not accustomed to having the piss taken out of him.

But it was more than that, Pudge realised. Under the hurt pride, he could sense something else in the older guardsman. He could almost taste it; fear.

Pudge shared his unease. He had been three years in the Navy. The first time he had been deployed to the Desolation Zone, all the tales from his childhood had come rushing back - of crazed cultists, mutants, reavers and horrors unknown lurking in the shadows of that vast graveyard of ships, spilling forth to pillage and devour anything that was unfortunate to come too close. He had soiled himself in the breaching shuttle. It happened to all new recruits, and he had laughed about it afterward back in the barracks. He was a veteran of a hundred boarding actions by now, and the endless darkness of ‘the zone’ held no terrors for him.

Until now.

Something was wrong.

Everybody new that orders coming down from the Adeptus Astartes meant trouble, especially from that old dog Brother Hemera. But there was an urgency to their deployment, and an edge to the icy stillness of this hulk that unnerved him.

Nine hours out, they had been probing deep, deeper then deeper again into the interior of the drifting wreck, hard on the trail of the cultists. Each hour had been more tense than the hour that had come before it. A cold, lifeless breeze was drifting steadily down the length of the corridor, stirring the dust along the floor into the shape of living things. All day, Pudge had had the feeling of being watched, something always lingering just out of sight and mind. Hask had felt it too. Pudge would have been glad to abandon the search and returned to the safety of the airlock, but that was not a feeling to share with your commanding officer.

Especially not an officer like him.

Lieutenant Maryn was the youngest son of one of the ancient houses of Cronos Prime. He was a striking man of twenty, blue-eyed and graceful, supple yet well-muscled where it counted. Fitted in his impeccable leather officer’s tunic and polished imperial officer’s breastplate, the Lieutenant towered above Pudge and Hask. He wore black leather boots, black combat fatigues and black leather gloves, all covered in a smattering of shinning steel armored plates and studs. Over his shoulders, a fine supple cloak of imperial green satin flowed, held in place by a gleaming metal clasp bearing the Navy insignia. His officer’s cap was immaculate, its black peak glistening with fresh polish. Lieutenant Maryn had been in the Navy for less than six months, but it could not be said that he had not prepared for his calling - at least as far as his wardrobe was concerned.

“Bet he handpicked it all himself, he did,” Hask would tell the boys in the Mess, “with his mother there holding his hand, our mighty leader!” They had all shared the laugh.

It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your beer, Pudge reflected as he rocked on his heels, crouched down in the doorway of some long abandoned instrument room. Hask must have felt the same way.

“Brother Hemera said as we should track them, and we did,” Hask said. “They’re dead. If the Titan’s Bastards want to go off hunting for more of them, they are welcome to do so. These ones won’t be raiding any more outposts though. It’s a long slog back to the shuttle, and I don’t like the look of this power matrix. If it fails, we could be days crawling back in the dark. Ever been caught in a blackout sir?”

The Lieutenant seemed not to hear him. He studied the length of the wretched corridor in a half-bored, half-distracted manner. Pudge had been deployed with the Lieutenant enough times to understand that it was best not to interrupt him when he looked like that. “Tell me again what you saw, Pudge. All the details. Leave nothing out.”

Pudge had been a Theif before he joined the navy. Well, a pick pocket in truth. Cronosian Arbiters had caught him red-handed in the capital Hive, Artemis, lifting wallets and purses from the rich citizens of one of the Privileged Sectors. It had been a straight choice - serve five years in the Emperors Navy, or lose a hand. No one could move as silently as Pudge, and it had not taken the Colour Sergeants of the Boarding Marines long to discover his talent.

“Their base is about a mile farther on down this access corridor sir, through the starboard engine room, and up a level, towards the main cargo hold” Pudge said. “I got to within a hundred yards. There are nine of them, I think. But I can’t be sure, on account of, well, you know.”

“Was there much blood?”

“Yes Sir. And the rest. “

“Did you see any weapons?”

“Some autoguns scattered around. A couple of las pistols. One had a power axe, heavy-looking double-bladed thing. It was on the ground beside what was left of him, still gripped by his hand.”

“Did you make note of the position of the bodies?”

Pudge shrugged. “Yeah, all over the place. As I said, bits and pieces everywhere”

Despite himself, he shivered.

“You have a chill?” the Lieutenant asked.

“No sir,” Pudge muttered. “Just not keen on the sight of blood.”

The young Lieutenant turned back to his grizzled Corporal. Clumps of snow-like dust whispered past them on the breeze, a distant groan reverberating through the broken vessel’s superstructure. “What do you think might have killed these men, Hask?” The Lieutenant asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long satin cloak.

“It was decompression,” Hask said with iron certainty. “I’ve seen what happens to men when they are exposed to the vacuum of space. It turns them inside out. Everyone says they just explode like, but it’s not true. They writhe under the pressure for what seems like an eternity, tying themselves in gruesome bloody knots with their own guts, probably all too aware of what’s happening to them, before finally exploding like a ripe piece of fruit. The pain must be excruciating, before it finally ends”

“Such eloquence, Hask,” the Lieutenant observed, the mocking smile back. “I never suspected you had it in you.”

Hask glared at the officer, the scars on this nose and cheeks flushed red with anger. “I’ve lost enough good comrades to the void to know how it must feel.” He pulled up the collar on his fatigues and hunched over his las rifle, silent and sullen.

“If Hask said it was decompression…” Pudge began.

“Did you pass through any other parts of the ship before you found the base, Pudge?”

“Yes Sir. Some of the crew quarters I believe, and a few engineering workshops.” What was the man driving at?

“And how did you find them?”

“Dead sir. Still, and covered with this bloody iron dust.” Pudge said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the Lieutenant had pointed it out. “They couldn’t have decompressed. Not if the dust wasn’t disturbed. It would have been blasted all over the place”

Maryn nodded. “Bright lad. Besides, if that part of the ship had decompressed, you would never have been able to get so close.” The officer’s smile was cocksure. “Pudge, lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself.”

And then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and pain of death bound them to obey.

Pudge went in front, picking his way carefully through the detritus of collapsed ceiling panels and breached walls. A thicker covering of iron dust had fallen here, and there were cables and hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. Lieutenant Maryn came next, his billowing cloak sending the dust up in great swirls around him. The attire was unsuitable for boarding actions, but try telling that to the young officer. Hask brought up the rear. The old man muttered to himself as he followed, his las rifle slung over his shoulder.

The lights dimmed again. The flickering yellow turned a deep orange, the color of a fresh bruise, before stabilising. Pudge was grateful the light had not failed.

“We can make a better pace than this, surely,” Maryn said, the amber light bleaching the green of his cloak to shades of brown.

“Not with your cloak kicking up so much dust we can’t,” Pudge said. Fear had made him insolent. “Perhaps you would care to take the lead, sir?”

Lieutenant Maryn did not deign to reply.

Somewhere in vast depths of the lifeless hulk, metal screeched as part of it succumbed to the fatigue of time.

Pudge stopped next to a battered hatchway, lifted his las rifle and checked the cartridge.

“Why are you stopping?” Maryn asked.

“This is the engine room. Not much cover between here and the base, so get your weapons ready. Er, sir”

Maryn paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. The cold breeze whispered through his cloak, stirring it behind him like something half-alive.

Then it dropped, suddenly, blanketing them in an overpowering silence.

“There’s something wrong here,” Hask muttered.

The young officer gave him a disdainful smile. “Is there?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Hask asked. “Listen to the void.”

Pudge could feel it. Three years in the Navy, and he had never been so afraid. What was it lingering on the edge of his vision, of his mind?

“A stagnant breeze. Dust motes. The sounds of a decaying ship. Which is it that unmans you so, Corporal?” When Hask did not answer, Maryn turned and drew his las pistol from its holster. Finely carved metal glittered on its hilt, and the flickering light ran down the shining steel of the barrel. It was a splendid weapon, Forgeworld born, but with new-made decoration added by the look of it. Pudge doubted it had ever been fired in anger.

“The debris is thick in there, sir” Pudge warned. “That cape will tangle you up. Better take it off.”

“It is a cloak, not a cape. And if I need instruction, I will ask for it,” the young officer replied sternly. “Hask, stay here. Guard our exit.”

Hask nodded. “We need to signal the shuttle. I’ll see to it.”

“Don’t be a damned fool. If there are enemies in this hulk, a signal might give us away. Besides, we don’t know what we are going to signal yet, do we?”

“We could give them our position sir, and update them to our pro…”

Maryns mouth became a hard line. “No signal.”

Haks’s helmet shadowed his face, but Pudge could see the hard glitter in his eyes as he stared at the Lieutenant. For a moment he was afraid the grizzled veteran would go for his knife. It was a short, ugly thing, its grip discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but Pudge would not have given an imperial cent for the officer’s life if Hask drawn it.

Finally Hask looked down. “No signal,” he muttered, low under his breath.

Maryn took it for acquiescence and turned away. “Move,” he said to Pudge.

Pudge shoved hard on the hatch, which opened in screeching protest, just wide enough for them to slide though. The room beyond was vast, over five stories high, and filled with all manner of collapsed metal beams and walkways, burnt out machinery, exposed circuitry hanging from cobweb like cables. And dust. Everywhere the ubiquitous dusk, hiding pitfalls and snares below its brown red crust.

Pudge threaded his way through the metal mélange, navigating them to a small open hatch that lead to another, smaller loading area beyond, before heading up the gentle slope of the garbage festooned metal ramp to where he had found his vantage point. Under the thin layer of dust the deck was cold and dry, the rusting metal providing slick footing. Pudge made no sound as he climbed. Behind him, he heard the soft metallic slither of the lieutenant’s cloak, the clinking of disturbed junk, and muttered curses as the young officer disentangled himself.

The wrecked loading crane was right there at the top of the ramp, where Pudge had known it would be, its arms collapsed around it in a pile of knotted steel. Pudge slid in underneath, flat on his belly in the dust, and looked down on the cluster of crates and transport modules below.

His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. Ochre light flickered down on the clearing, the collection of ill-gotten wares, the scattered weapons, and the power axe. Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago.

But they were gone. All the bodies were gone.

“Damn it!” he heard behind him. A gloved hand grabbed at a cable as the Lieutenant came to the top of the slope. He stood there, pistol in hand, his cloak billowing behind him as the breeze retuned, outlined nobly against the failing lights for all to see.

“Get down!” Pudge whispered urgently. “Something’s wrong.”

Maryn did not move. He strode boldly over to the edge of the collapsed crane, looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. “Your dead men seem to have moved, Pudge.”

Pudge’s voice abandoned him. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible. His eyes swept back and forth over the abandoned clearing, the disturbed but bloodless dust, stopped on the axe. A huge double-bladed power-axe, still lying where he had seen it last, untouched. A valuable weapon…

“On your feet, Pudge,” Maryn commanded. “There’s no one here. I won’t have you hiding under there.”

Reluctantly, Pudge obeyed.

Maryn looked him over with open disapproval. “I am not returning to the fleet a failure on my first boarding command. We will find these cultists.” He glanced around. “Up onto that gantry, quickly. See if any of the other access hatches for this bay have been opened.”

Pudge turned away, wordless. It was no use to argue. The breeze was moving again, but much colder now. It cut right through him. He went to the ladder, and began to climb. Soon his hands were covered in dust, and he was lost among the cables and darkness. Fear filled his stomach. He whispered a prayer to the Emperor, and slipped his knife free of its sheath. He held it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold metal in his mouth gave him comfort.

Down below, the officer called out suddenly, “Halt! Who’s there?” Pudge heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.

The ruined ship gave its answer: the rustle of dust, the flickering of the light, a distant hollow boom.

The Shadows made no sound.

Pudge saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the decrepit jumble of cargo. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Cables stirred gently in the breeze, scratching at one another and shedding yet more dust. Pudge opened his mouth to call down a warning, but the words froze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a dust eddy, some trick of the flickering light. What had he seen, after all?

“Pudge, where are you?” Maryn called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his pistol and sword in hand, officer’s cap lying on the floor. He must have felt them, as Pudge felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”

It was cold. But not the cold of the void, something else. The biting cold of terror.

Shivering, Pudge clung more tightly to the rungs. His face pressed hard against the cold metal of the ladder. He could feel the acrid, choking dust on his cheek.

A shadow emerged from the dark of a gutted transport module. It stood in front of Maryn, twice as tall, towering over the young Lieutenant. The creature was lean and chinitous, layers of exposed bone pale as milk on the surface, with muscles like writhing iron the colour of an old bruise beneath. Its carapace surface seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as snow, there black as shadow, everywhere edged with the deep orange of the trembling lights. The patterns ran like oil on water with every silent step it took.

Pudge heard the breath go out of Lieutenant Maryn in a long hiss. “C-c-c-come no farther,” the officer warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long satin cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, taking his pistol in one hand, sword in the other. The breeze had stopped. It was very cold.

The creature slid forward on silent claws, unfurling its many talon-like hands. In one it held a long sword like none that Pudge had ever seen. No Imperial metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive in the wavering light, semi-translucent, but with a bone like quality that belied its menace. Pudge knew it was far sharper than any blade he or the Lieutenant might be carrying.

Maryn met him bravely. “come on then.” He levelled his sword at the creature, defiant. His hand trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Pudge thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Imperial Navy.

The creature halted. Pudge saw its eyes; red, deeper and redder than any natural eyes, a red that burned like a forge. They fixed on the sword trembling on high, watched the flickering amber running along its metal surface. The dust fell around them like snow, gentle and lifeless. For a heartbeat Pudge dared to hope.

They emerged silently from the shadows, twins to the first. Three of them… four… five… Maryn may have felt the cold that came with them, but he never saw them, never heard them. Pudge had to call out. It was his duty. And his death, if he did. He shivered, and hugged the ladder, keeping his silence.

The bone sword came scything through the dust filled air.

Maryn met it with his steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a dull, thick sound at the edge of hearing, like the shattering of bones.

All around him, the watchers stood patient, emotionless, silent, the shifting patterns of their chitinous surfaces making them all but invisible in the failing light. Yet they made no move to interfere.

Again the swords met, the Lieutenant struggling under the blow. Maryn was straining from the effort already, the sweat glistening on his brow. His blade was heavily nicked and discoloured from the impact; the creature’s was untouched.

Again the creature swung and changed direction, but Maryn’s parry came a beat too late. The bone sword bit through the breastplate beneath his arm. The young officer cried out in pain, as his pistol slipped from his hands. Blood welled between the folds of metal and bone. It steamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed black as night where they touched the rusting dust. Maryns fingers brushed his side, his gloves coming away soaked with red.

The creature let out a low, steady hiss, both impatient and mocking in a language that Pudge did not know.

Maryn found his fury. “For the Emperor!” he came up roaring, lifting the battered sword with both hands and swinging it around in a flat sidearm slash with all his weight behind it. The creatures parry was almost lazy.

When the blades touched, the steel shattered.

A scream echoed through the cargo bay, as the sword splintered into a hundred pieces. Maryn went to his knees, shrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.

On some silent signal, the creatures moved forward together. Claw hands rose and fell, to the symphony of hisses and shrieks. The pale talons sliced through the plating as if it were silk. Pudge closed his eyes. Far beneath him, the sounds of butchery descended into silence.

When he found the courage to look again, hours had passed, and the bay below was empty.

He stayed up the ladder, scarce daring to breathe, while the light continued to fail more gradually to black. He could tell there was not long left in the power matrix, and hour if he was lucky. Finally, his muscles cramping and his fingers numb with cold, he slid down.

The scattered parts of Maryns body lay in the dust, an arm here, a fragment of skull and brain there. The delicate satin cloak lay in raged blood soaked ribbons. Pudge could feel the bile rising in his throat.

He found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end cracked and splintered like a wooden toy. Pudge knelt, looked around warily, and snatched it up. The broken sword would be his proof. Hask would know what to do, and if not him, then surely that old Space Marine Brother Hemera would believe him about what he saw. Would Hask still be waiting? He had to hurry.

Pudge rose. The creature stood over him.

Its face was clutter of oozing orifices, bone and teeth. The deep purple flesh pulsed as it breathed gently, glistening with moisture. A shard from Maryns sword protruded from the ruin of its left eye.

The right eye was open. The pupil burned red. It saw.

The shattered sword hilt fell from resigned fingers. Pudge closed his eyes to pray. A Long, boney claw brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. The bone sword rose and fell, splitting the silence in two.

The lights flickered and finally died, plunging the ship into darkness.



This message was edited 16 times. Last update was at 2018/05/22 09:06:42


If in doubt, frag it out...
Fight spam with spam, cheese with cheese, and fluff with a razor sharp sense of the appropriate

My Slapdash and Shoddy Tau P&M Blog
Titan's Fall: A WIP Campaign Book
 
   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Sanctuary:

Spoiler:
The vox hissed static and squawked to life. ‘-ompany, advance!’

Squad Juno leapt forward without hesitation, emerging from the cover of the ruined shrine with bolters roaring. As their shells raked the shattered sanctum ahead, return fire lashed at the Space Marines. Orange tracer rounds flicked through the air, ricocheting off the thick ceramtie of the Crimson Fist’s power armour as they surged relentlessly forward into the squall. The sanctum was heavily defended, but it has to be taken. The Orks desecrated it with their presence. They had to be purged.

Brother Cassius was on the floor before he felt the impact. Flecks of ceramite settled on his eye lenses as he lay on his back, staring at the slate grey sky. Orange warning runes glowed across his helmet display, belatedly warning him of an explosive impact on his chest plate. He rolled to one side, and struggled up onto one knee. Ahead, the squad continued their advance into the torrent of enemy fire. A brother dropped from the line, clutching at the shattered remains of his face, the spray of blood silhouetted against a distant eruption of flame.

Cassius Heaved himself upright, his amour’s motors squealing in protest at the demands put upon them. More runes began to flash as he leveled his bolter and added his fire to the storm, the makeshift barricades in the doorway of the sanctum disappearing in a cloud of debris and screams. Cassius began to run, loping forward to regain his place in the battle line as warning runes turned from orange to red.

He caught up with Brothers Caito and Marullus as they paused behind the outer wall. Their armour was heavily pitted by gunfire, but they both calmly cycled fresh magazines into their bolters oblivious to the damage. Sergeant Marullus looked up and gave Cassius a curt nod, before tossing a grenade through the doorway. As the explosion reported, they burst into the ruin.

The Sanctum was vast inside, towering columns and shattered stain glass windows disappearing into the smoke filled recess of the vaulted ceiling above. At its centre a huge statue of the Emperor stood watch over a stone lectern at its feet, now the focus of the Ork defences. Furniture and collapsed stonework had been hastily assembled into a redoubt of sorts, and from within its depths the green tide boiled forward.

At such close rang the Orks crude weaponry was devastating. Muzzle flashes and gouts of flame filled the air, as a stray round ricocheted off Cassius’ helmet and rang it like a bell. In front of him Marullus fell with a curse, his leg a bloody stump at the knee. Howls and screams flowed over the vox as the Ork horde surged towards the outnumbered Marines. Cassius and the remainder of Squad Juno took up firing stances and laid down a wall of bolter shells, the flecks of green visera mixing with the shrieks of the dying. Every shot turned a green skin brute into green mist, but still they came oblivious to the heavy toll the marine’s fire was extolling. Another brother fell as the torrid green mass closed in for the slaughter.

The vox crackled once more, Sergeant Marullus’ voice straining with the effort. ‘Blades! Bla-’

The order was drowned out by the sudden collapse of the sanctum wall as a massive, hulking form smashed its way through the plascrete ruin and crunched over the rubble. The towering metal beast continued its advance unabated, raising it’s right arm and unleashed the full power of its assault cannon. White hot streaks of metal scythed through the air and into the Ork ranks. With joy and relief Cassius recognised the heraldry of Ancient Brother Ferox, the companies Contemptor Dreadnaught, as it strode past him and waded into the Ork charge.

Cassius smiled as he dropped his spent bolter, unsheathed his combat blade and charged forward to follow brother Ferox into the heart of the turmoil.

This message was edited 3 times. Last update was at 2016/08/30 12:56:41


If in doubt, frag it out...
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Titan's Fall: A WIP Campaign Book
 
   
Made in no
Terrifying Doombull





Hefnaheim

Really liked the first one, well done. The second was decent too I dare say, do keep posting
   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

 Trondheim wrote:
Really liked the first one, well done. The second was decent too I dare say, do keep posting
Hey, thanks man - wasn't really expecting any replies here but this has made my day Will post some more stuff soon!

If in doubt, frag it out...
Fight spam with spam, cheese with cheese, and fluff with a razor sharp sense of the appropriate

My Slapdash and Shoddy Tau P&M Blog
Titan's Fall: A WIP Campaign Book
 
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Titan's fall is a fantastic piece of writing. You really build the tension throughout and the characters are handled well. You really feel like you're getting to know them better as the story progresses. Nothing like a sneaky thief hiding in the rafters to make you think he might just get away in the end. And Maryn's heroic stand was a pleasant surprise. Well done for not letting him just be lame. Well done all round in fact.

Sanctuary is pretty good too. From the outset you realise the ambiguity of the title. This is no quiet Sunday afternoon stroll for squad Juno. Bodies are hitting the floor, limbs are flying faces are mushed. It's brutal progress and for what, ideological ork hunting. There's no hint of a question in the writing, these marines are utterly sold on their duty. Throwing themselves body and soul into this frantic death trap. A knife fight with orks! And their ultimate salvation, the dreadnought is also their ultimate end. Even after their bodies are wasted their souls might still fight on. And they're pretty happy about that too. Great stuff!


   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

 theCrowe wrote:
Titan's fall is a fantastic piece of writing. You really build the tension throughout and the characters are handled well. You really feel like you're getting to know them better as the story progresses. Nothing like a sneaky thief hiding in the rafters to make you think he might just get away in the end. And Maryn's heroic stand was a pleasant surprise. Well done for not letting him just be lame. Well done all round in fact.

Sanctuary is pretty good too. From the outset you realise the ambiguity of the title. This is no quiet Sunday afternoon stroll for squad Juno. Bodies are hitting the floor, limbs are flying faces are mushed. It's brutal progress and for what, ideological ork hunting. There's no hint of a question in the writing, these marines are utterly sold on their duty. Throwing themselves body and soul into this frantic death trap. A knife fight with orks! And their ultimate salvation, the dreadnought is also their ultimate end. Even after their bodies are wasted their souls might still fight on. And they're pretty happy about that too. Great stuff!

Thanks dude, really nice of you to leave such positive feedback like that. I'm trying my hand at a whole bunch of short stories to get some practice at it, but once I feel up to it I am going to expand the Titan's Fall piece to a larger story. Or at least that's the plan if I can figure out what happen next

If in doubt, frag it out...
Fight spam with spam, cheese with cheese, and fluff with a razor sharp sense of the appropriate

My Slapdash and Shoddy Tau P&M Blog
Titan's Fall: A WIP Campaign Book
 
   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Sphere of Influence:

Spoiler:
O’Vash gazed up to the heavens, a myriad of stars scattered lazily across the black dome of the night sky. The trees of the forest swayed gently in the wind, thin tendrils of mist gliding between their branches like cobwebs on the breeze.

‘It will be a beautiful addition to the Empire, do you not think El’Or?’

‘As good a place as any to die.’ he replied, a hint of weariness in his voice.

O’Vash laughed loud and long. ‘Come now comrade, why so melancholy? Do you feel that it is in your destiny to die in this place?’

El’Or considered the question for a moment, and gave his usual measured replied. ‘If it is my destiny to die in this place, so be it. For the greater good.’

‘Ha!’ came O’Vash’s abrupt reply, his laugh thick with resentment. For the greater good indeed. El’Or had chosen his words carefully, in full knowledge of the response it would garner from his commander.

O’Vash knew all about the greater good. He had ordered thousands of lives be laid down in the pursuit of it, on a hundred worlds before this. The bitterness of those losses still haunted his dreams, and the memory of it robbed this moment of its serenity.

‘Very well El’Or. Report.’

The grizzled veteran raised the dataslate, its dull yellow glow casting deep shadows about the craggy features of his face.

‘Fleet reports no extra orbital activity in the system. All outposts and recon teams have reported in during the last hour without fail. Sensor drones are on station and yet…. all is still quiet.’

Silence filled the void between the two warriors, as O’Vash continued staring at the kaleidoscopic sky. El’Or had been deployed under his command enough times to know not to interrupt such moments.

O’Vash turned, the soft mechanical whirring of his battle suit barely audible above the rustling of the leaves in the trees high above them. ‘And so you doubt me, El’Or?’.

The question hung in the air like a lead weight. El’Or met the cold grey eyes of his commander and held his gaze for a movement before answering.

‘Have I ever doubted you? I merely report the facts that are before us’ came the typically careful response.

‘And yet I sense unease in your voice?’

‘The only unease I have is at our exposed position. If you are right about this, we are ill situated to deal with it. The battle may go against us.’

If I am right…..’ O’Vash strode past his subordinate, stopping at the edge of the ancient ruin to observe the defensive preparations underway.

‘All warfare is based on deception. When we are able to attack, we must seem unable. When our forces are active, we must appear inactive. When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away. When far away, we must make him believe we are near at hand.’

‘I am well aware of Puretide’s teaching on the matter.’ El’Or replied, lowering his dataslate and turning to observe his commander. The worn, pitted surface of his battle suit cut a ragged silhouette against the camp lights. ‘But to assume the enemy is present simply through his absence is…..’

‘Madness?’ O’Vash cut in, turning suddenly.

‘Overly prudent’ El’Or retorted calmly, sliding the dataslate into his breast pocket ‘However, preparations have been made, and if it comes we are as prepared as we can be. Given our position.’

O’Vash observed his subordinate, letting the rage subside within him. He was his brother of countless battles, and even though he would never admit it to his face, he valued El’Or’s perspective on the universe. Especially when in such sharp contrast to his own feelings.

This time however, he could not ignore the doubt that had taken root in the back of his mind.

Something was wrong.

He had argued against this deployment. The Imperium was not as lethargic as Command had assumed, and more capable of launching an attack than they thought. Other alien factions courted their objective also, and posed a multitude of threats to his men. However, the Ethereals had been victorious in swaying the Contingent Command to their way of thinking, and so it was decided.

A soft chiming noise broke the silence, along with O’Vash’s introspection.

El’Or once more removed the dataslate and observed its output, the dull yellow glow replaced by a pulsing red rhythm. He looked up.

‘Sensor drones report enemy movement two kilometers to the north. Heading this way.’

A wry smile broke across O’Vash’s face as his fingers danced along the suit control panels. The Fusion Blasters swung to life on his shoulders, as the soft whine of the jet pack engines kicked in.

‘Prepare the men. And get to your unit El’Or, they will need you soon enough’.

‘For the Greater Good’ came El’Or’s dead pan reply as he saluted and strode away.

‘Indeed’ replied O’Vash, turning to savour the calm landscape one last time.

‘For the Greater Good.’

This message was edited 3 times. Last update was at 2016/09/07 03:44:59


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Hong Kong

Enigma:

Spoiler:

Jequn stood motionless as the heavy metal ramp swung down, allowing the first shafts of the dawn light into the thunderhawk’s darkened compartment. His helmet already locked into the mounting ring of his power armour, the sergeant watched as the atmosphere inside the ship exploded out into the freezing void, a cloud of ice crystals on an invisible breeze. The Black Templar’s wasted no time in deploying, rapidly disembarking and spreading out in pairs to secure the landing perimeter. Twenty armoured warriors crunched onto the red, gritty surface of Ar’zenda Minoris, a pitiful little world at the far edge of the Imperium. A dull rumble signified the Thunderhawk’s return to its standoff position in low orbit, the mighty engine’s roar muffled by the moon’s thin atmosphere.

A sea of blood red gravel stretched towards the horizon, punctuated by black vitreous rocks and a myriad of smaller craters. Jequn took his bearings and made a sweeping hand gesture, the black clad figures immediately splitting into four squads and fanning out, their objective the rim of the large crater ahead. They halted in its shadow as Jequn crawled up to the lip and scanned the mining station below. The facility was ancient, and in need of maintenance, but there were no signs of recent damage. The dome was intact, exhaust gases still vented from the flues and the lights were still functioning. They may not be answering the fleets vox hails, but somebody was home.

Azra and Camae Squads took up their positions along the ridge, as Squad Hese circled around towards the rear. Once they were in position, Jequn and Squad Kusheil set off towards the compound. No sooner had they broken cover when shafts of blue lasgun fire licked through the air, brilliant flashes against the black of the airless sky. As the shafts of light gave away the defenders positions, so the squads at the craters rim responded, silencing the traitor’s fire with volleys of bolter shells. Explosions lit the shadows as the mass-reactive rounds found their marks, the contorted bodies of their enemies momentarily silhouetted before descending back into darkness.

As the supporting fire rained down upon the enemy positions, Jequn continued to lead squad Kusheil down the shallow slopes of the crater and on towards the Primary airlock. Two guards wearing antiquated exo-suits clumsily swung their lasguns to bear, the low gravity of the moon robbing them of any maneuverability. A round from Jequns bolt pistol shattered the face plate of the first guard, his helmet disappearing in a mist of shattered glass and crystallised blood. A backhand slash of the chainsword in his other hand dispatched the second, his form crumpling around the bite of the blade in his midriff before slowly collapsing to the ground. The sense of weightlessness and clouds of frozen blood belied the difficulties of fighting in low G, but the marine’s power armour was more than capable of compensating. Unlike the traitors, whose suits were more suited to mining exploration than combat.

Jequn wasted no time in accessing the airlock, entering the override code and shepherding his squad into the inner chamber. The outer doors closed, and atmospheric gases began filling the chamber as the marines readied their frag grenades. As expected, once the inner door started to open a storm of lasgun fire scoured the blast doors. The explosion of the grenades, now deafening in comparison to the silence outside, forced the defenders to duck back behind their makeshift barricades. By the time they recovered, Squad Kusheil was amongst them.

The fight was brief but brutal, the marines taking a moment to cycle empty magazines from their bolt pistols and flick the viscera from their chainswords. They cautiously proceeded towards their objective, but no further resistance met them. The bodies of long dead Adepts littered the floor, their congealed blood and dismembered limbs used to daub bizarre symbols on the walls and floors of the corridor. The doorway to the central chamber was adorned with a grim archway of heads taken from the corpses, but the Black Templars took no heed as they proceeded inside. The excavation site beyond was relatively pristine, with no sign of the slaughter without.

At the dome’s centre, a large sarcophagus lay in the middle of a field of concentric stones, their surface covered in intricate alien scripture. Jequn approached and peered inside, the sarcophaguses lid lying in a shattered pile of stone to one side. They were too late. The tomb was empty. Whatever had been discovered within was long gone.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/09/07 03:45:18


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Hefnaheim

Well I dare say you keep on posting good works! I particulary enjoyed the last one, Black Templars are always nice to see come alive in fiction, even if I wanted to see more of them and perhaps a bit more fleshing out.
   
Made in ca
Freaky Flayed One





You bastard, now I want to know what was in that damn sarcophagus. Either way, Titan Fall and Enigma are probably my two favorites. Mind you, I do love how you captioned the battle field in Sanctuary.

Hope to read more soon, good sir!
   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Trondheim wrote:Well I dare say you keep on posting good works! I particulary enjoyed the last one, Black Templars are always nice to see come alive in fiction, even if I wanted to see more of them and perhaps a bit more fleshing out.
Thanks! Yes I agree it would be better if the character's had a lot more flesh on them, but I am still cautiously building up to that 1000 word milestone

Benny Badmen wrote:You bastard, now I want to know what was in that damn sarcophagus.
Ha ha, me too! As soon as I've figured it out I'll give you the next part of the story

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Hong Kong

Faith:

Spoiler:
The steel buckled under the blows, alien fists leaving savage indentations in the blast door’s inner surface. Beyond it lay a narrow access corridor choked with whatever foul iteration of Tyranid abominations now clawed at the door. Hideous screeches penetrated the bunker, muffled by the thickness of the metal that kept them at bay. Sergeant Guero disregarded the clamor and cast his eyes around the room.

Six scouts crouched, catching their breath and checking their bolters, attempting to distract from the screams without. Two more were attempting to secure the entrance, barricading it with metal supply crates and a now useless command console shorn from its mounting. The ninth, Aurelio, sat propped against a wall, a savage wound all but obliterating the Blood Angels insignia from his chest plate.

Just boys, Guero thought. Initiates. Scouts at their very rawest, and with so much training to have been ahead of them. They should have had time to prepare for the myriad horrors that assail the Imperium, but their first mission had come unbidden – and it would probably be their last.

The screech of tearing metal drew the scouts gaze to the rapidly deteriorating door, fear lining their eyes. The lights flickered before dying, plunging them all into blackness. A second later, the ruddy glow of the red emergency lighting kicked in, revealing the boys faces now on the edge of terror.

‘The enemy is upon us and our time runs short,’ Guero remarked flatly as he stood, immediately capturing the squad’s attention. As if relieved by the distraction, they too joined Guero and stood, bolters in hand. ‘When that door fails, remain calm. One shot, one kill, and then move on to the next target. Faith will be your greatest weapon now and by the Emperor’s grace, we will survive this day.’

Aurelio slumped sideways onto the floor, blood pooling silently around his now lifeless form. The remaining scouts stared back at Guero, as he turned and leveled his bolter at the door. The scouts paused, momentarily overwhelmed, before snapping to do likewise.

Did they believe him? It mattered not. Better they fight as heroes than be consumed by the truth of it.

They were dead, and nothing could change that now.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/09/07 03:45:38


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Hefnaheim

All hail the Angel of Baal and his chosen sons! I liked that last one really well
   
Made in us
Loyal Necron Lychguard





Working on it

These are all very well written, I look forward to more!

<Dynasty> ~10500pts
War Coven of the Coruscating Gaze ~3000pts
Thrice-Damned Plague Corps ~3250pts
Admech (TBN) ~3500pts +30k Bots and Ulator

 
   
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Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Did they believe him? It mattered not. Better they fight as heros than be consumed by the truth of it.

Absolutely perfect way to play that scenario conclusion. They do know fear, they're wilfully deluding themselves and its for a very good reason and not without merit. Totally love the way you wrote that, all calm collected faith in adversity and remember your training. And for Blood Angels too, such a welcome change from the typical savage unslaked bloodlust schtick. For the Emperor! And blood! Gyaaaaargh!

And "It mattered not." It wasn't dialogue, you didn't have to go with the archaic syntax for character reasons but you totally went there on a pure style choice and I gotta tell you, I'm right there with you. "It didn't matter." Would have sufficed but "It mattered not." strikes the chord perfectly. The "not" at the end is the slamming of a door, its the decisive blow; the full impact of the short sentence in just the right place. This is the mark of a good writer.

And I also would like to add my name to the Sarcophagus Denial petition. Not feeling cheated in a bad way, we know by the end of the scene just as much as the Templars know. We share in their frustration, its kinda neat... But i still want to know!

Enjoying the variety on display here too. Great work, always a rewarding read.

   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Descent:

Spoiler:

Jenkis lifted his head, the hot ash and dust cascading off his helmet as he unfurled himself from the shelter provided by his command post, or at least what was left of it. Slowly, he raised his eyes and peered warily over the top of the battered trench line. Other guardsmen were emerging from their hiding places too, looking nervously beyond the rampart and into the thick black smoke below.

A tide of rippling green muscle and savage metal weaponry erupted from the gloom, roaring as one as it boiled up the slope. Wielding a crude two handed choppa high above his horned helm, a colossal Warboss bellowed as he led the charge of frenzied Orks towards their prey.

The Captain let out a small but audible sigh, and sagged against the rampart in resignation to his fate. Somewhere near at hand a man screamed in blind panic, while another raised his fist to the heavens and tore a blue streak of profanities out of the air. The bombardment had failed. Their position was about to fall, and with their death went any hope of Perdition’s salvation.

A high pitch whine cut through the clamour, piercing the cacophony of the Orks advance. Jenkis looked up into the hazy sky for the source of the noise, as the air before the torrid green mass shimmered in a blast of supercharged heat. Descending through the pall of drifting smoke, an immense black figure bearing the white raven on his shoulder of his armour slammed into the mud of no man’s land. With both hands the figure bought his colossal hammer, crackling with energy, around in a flowing arc that smashing the advancing Warboss full in his dumbstruck face. A sharp crack of discharged energy and splintering skull launched the vile creature back over the onrushing Goffs, spewing rivulets of blood and teeth as he span.

The hordes advance stuttered, the Boyz hesitating as more Raven Guard thumped into the mud along the line. With them came the chatter of bolters and the roaring of promethium flamers. Green bodies burst apart, spraying blood and viscera in all directions. Others burned, their bodies flailing widely under the leaping flames. The Ork charge faltered under the onslaught, quickly degenerating into a chaotic retreat as the Raven Guard pressed the advantage and began tearing through the fleeing green ranks.

Jenkis smiled as he drew his pistol and mounted the rampart steps, motioning his guardsmen to do likewise. This was not their day to die after all!


Trondheim wrote:All hail the Angel of Baal and his chosen sons! I liked that last one really well
Thanks man!

Kharne the Befriender wrote:These are all very well written, I look forward to more!
Cheers, another one for you just added above

theCrowe wrote:Did they believe him? It mattered not. Better they fight as heros than be consumed by the truth of it.

Absolutely perfect way to play that scenario conclusion. They do know fear, they're wilfully deluding themselves and its for a very good reason and not without merit. Totally love the way you wrote that, all calm collected faith in adversity and remember your training. And for Blood Angels too, such a welcome change from the typical savage unslaked bloodlust schtick. For the Emperor! And blood! Gyaaaaargh!

And "It mattered not." It wasn't dialogue, you didn't have to go with the archaic syntax for character reasons but you totally went there on a pure style choice and I gotta tell you, I'm right there with you. "It didn't matter." Would have sufficed but "It mattered not." strikes the chord perfectly. The "not" at the end is the slamming of a door, its the decisive blow; the full impact of the short sentence in just the right place. This is the mark of a good writer.

And I also would like to add my name to the Sarcophagus Denial petition. Not feeling cheated in a bad way, we know by the end of the scene just as much as the Templars know. We share in their frustration, its kinda neat... But i still want to know!

Enjoying the variety on display here too. Great work, always a rewarding read.
Thanks again for your positive feedback feedback - I think the archaic syntax suits anything 'space marines' related really well, glad you enjoyed its usage

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/09/16 05:37:04


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Hong Kong

Dawn:

Spoiler:

‘You will all die this day!’

Sergeant Daito struggled to be heard above the din of the Thunderhawk’s engines, as the craft was buffeted by the volatile atmosphere through which it descended. The red clouds of dawn boiled past the viewports, hiding from view the beleaguered expanse of Far Hope’s hive cities below.

‘Of that, you can be sure!’

Thirty faces sat in two rows lining the inside of the compartment, staring impassively ahead at each other. The ruddy red lights of the compartment cast deep shadows across their features. Their cropped dark hair and steel grey eyes the legacy of the Chapter geneseed, their armour’s simple heraldry the mark of the Ultramarines 10th company.

‘But tomorrow… tomorrow, you will be reborn!’

The Sergeant released his landing restraints and stood, grabbing an overhead rail to steadying himself as the Thunderhawk lurched sideways. The vehicles descent stablised once more and he let go, striding between the parallel rows of scouts, casting his gaze at each face in turn, waiting for his words to sink in. Not one man flinched.

‘Reborn! Whether as an equal to your brother Astartes, or whether to find yourself bathing in the light of infinite glory at the Emperor’s side – that – is up to you!’

The lights abruptly flicked to green, casting a sickly hue across the faces of the initiates. The whine of the aircraft’s engines reached their crescendo, and with a shuddering impact the vessel came to a halt on the surface. Daito, unfurling his bolter, reached up and hit the pulsing release rune above the loading ramp.

‘This is the moment! This is the time! Claim your prize!

He turned to take one last look at his charges. They stood ready, implacable determination wrought on their faces, weapons in hand. The ramp gave a metallic groan, and sunlight erupted into the cabin.

‘Come, Sons of Guilliman! For the Emperor!’

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/10/18 00:22:56


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Hong Kong

Duel:

Spoiler:

The Warboss stopped, lowering the rusted barrel of his oil stained shoota as he sniffed the air. Lightening briefly illuminated the scene of destruction that surrounded him, the peel of thunder echoing around the labyrinth of a shattered city as he slowly turned in search of what he sought.

Vamtice gunned his jump pack, hurtling out of the shadows and slamming into the immense bulk of the Ork and taking him clean off his feet. They smashed through the wall of the derelict Sanctum, Deathskull and Raven Guard as one, raining curses and debris into the midnight air around them as they flew.

The ruin trembled under the impact, halting the duo’s flight against the buttress of a stone archway. The blades of the lightning claw, long and sharp, protruded from the greenskins chest. With ease they punched through the patchwork armour and grizzly trophies hanging around the Ork’s neck, plunging deep into the muscular flesh and hardened bone underneath.

The Captain looked up, breathing hard at the exertion of keeping the Ork pinned to the stone. Thick, viscous drool slowly issued between his adversary’s tusk-like teeth, glistening in the moonlight that streamed through the shattered roof above them. Flecks of blood slowly turning to smears, the saliva oozed down onto the Vamtice’s breastplate, marring the polished sliver Aquila below.

The claw crackled with energy, globules of its victim’s blood fizzing as it trickled down the blades. The Captain sensed the greenskin’s body relaxed in defeat, the crude bloated gun slipping from its hand and disappearing into the rubble crevasses’ that surrounded them. In the darkness, the distant thunder of battle raged as rain began to fall, its first droplets streaking the soot from both combatants’ faces.

A cough, or perhaps a laugh, broke the muffled silence. Vamtice met his enemy’s gaze. Slowly, through blood stained teeth, the Warboss’s grimace turn to a vile grin. The soft clink of metal on stone made the captain look down, just in time to see the small steel pin bouncing off the shattered rubble. In its hand, the greenskin held a rough cylinder of metal plates and spikes, unmistakably a looted imperial grenade.

Vamtice tried to jerk free, but with its last strength the Ork raised his huge arms and embraced the Captain for death, the laugh now unmistakable on its dying breath.

The world turned white.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/10/18 00:23:37


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Northern Ireland

Quoth the Raven, "Aaw Shhhh...!"

Great stuff.

The whole time I'm thinking "Stay with him Vamtice. Don't make the rookie mistake of thinking the ork's dead and then getting suckered while you're polishing the blood off your armour. Stay with him until you're sure he's... Oh gak a grenade!"

Hahaha. We love it when the Space Marine buys it. Even if he is one of my own beloved Ravens.

   
Made in hk
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

 theCrowe wrote:
Quoth the Raven, "Aaw Shhhh...!"

Great stuff.

The whole time I'm thinking "Stay with him Vamtice. Don't make the rookie mistake of thinking the ork's dead and then getting suckered while you're polishing the blood off your armour. Stay with him until you're sure he's... Oh gak a grenade!"

Hahaha. We love it when the Space Marine buys it. Even if he is one of my own beloved Ravens.
Thanks Man!

I agree, I think everyone (even Ultramarine players ) smile a little on the inside when the marine buys the farm. A symptom of their fluff being generally over pumped, you expect them to be able to take on the world and their mum with only a flesh wound to show for it. Death is an unexpected alternative

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Hong Kong

Sacrifice:

Spoiler:

The soldiers’ uniform was covered in dust and scorch marks, his steel breastplate tarnished by whatever vile corrosive liquid had been sprayed across him. His neck had been hurriedly bound with a filthy scrap of material torn from the sleeve of his left arm, itself nothing more than a cauterised stump. A red stain blossomed beneath the rudimentary neck dressing, growing by the second. He was dragged into the bunker unceremoniously by two flanking guards, each holding him under the arm as his feet dragged lifelessly behind them. The soldier gazed around uncertainly, head lolling from side to side as glassy eyes flittered around the room.

‘Runner from the 82nd Sir!’ one of the guards announced.

Joens turned to regard the new arrival with an air of ambivalence typical of one in command. ‘Well, let’s have it man!” he said tersely, addressing the stricken soldier directly.

“The centre… is… gone,’ the man gurgled, spitting forth his answer through a bloody foam. “Brohos Point is…overrun.” His eyes flickered wildly for a moment, before refocusing on the Commanders face. “They’ve b-broken through… at Laneran’s Pass,’” he stammered, coughing a fine scarlet spray into the air, “B-B-Burkes station…is b-burning…” The man’s flesh had turned a pallid shade of green, and a look of mad panic swept over his face. “Th-the Daemons, they are coming, th-th-the…” His good hand clawed franticly at one of the guard’s tunic, leaving streaked hand prints of blood and grim against the pastel blue of his pristine uniform. “th-the horror……the-horr-hor-hor…”

One final convulsion racked the soldiers’ body, as a surge of black blood heaved out of his mouth and cascaded down his neck. The two guards held him rigidly in place as the spasm subsided. His head flopped forward onto his chest, as the man’s lifeless form hung limp in his escorts’ unflinching grip.

The Commander turned and nodded to the medicae officer, who approached the body and placed two fingers to his throat. “He’s gone Sir’ the medicae announced, wiping the blood from his fingers onto the dead soldiers’ fatigues.

Commander Joens attention was already back with the holographic display though, the soldiers’ sacrifice all but forgotten. Blue lights winked out in the centre of the Imperial line, as defensive positions failed to report in and signals were lost. Entire regiments were being destroyed, and tens of thousands of troops were being killed, all with the simple blinking of a light. The red arrows of the traitors advance thrust deep into the rear of the Imperial lines, threatening the undefended hive cities beyond.

“The abominations are through now,” Joens affirmed. He waved his hand at the attendant officer and the display zoomed out to show the whole front. “The centre has collapsed, and the heretic’s vanguard is now rampaging behind our lines.” He turned to face the shadowy giant stoop patiently in the corner of the small room. The stranger towered over the other men present, the mass of his bulky power armour only serving to reinforce the sense of terrible power that pervaded him. The low lights of the room gleamed from the dark green surface of his ceramite plates as he stepped out of the shadows and approached the console.

“Indeed Commander,” came the deep, metallic voice over the helmets external vox. The red glow of the eye lenses flared as he turned his head to regard the image suspended in front of him, “and their appetite for death and destruction will be the end of them.”

Joens looked up to regard the looming warrior, the flickering light from the tactical display picking out the stark white of the Dark Angel Heraldry on his Shoulder pauldron. When the fleet had left Lvov, no Astartes forces had been assigned to the task force, and no mention of Astartes reinforcements had been made when the request for relief had gone out. And yet here they were. Jeons still intended to ask exactly why they had come to their aid with no notice, but until the fight was over he would settle for being eternally grateful.

His attention flicked back to the display, the vivid red arrows of the enemies advance pulsing angrily. “Then it is time?”

The Dark Angel raised his giant gauntlet hand and pointed to the centre of the display “The signal has already been sent Commander”

Green dots began winking into life on the display. Slowly at first, like the first drops of a rainstorm, before turning into a deluge. They blocked the advance of the throbbing red arrows, before cutting them off and encircling them. The red arrows halted their thrust and coalesced into an irregular blob, before breaking into indistinct fragments under the pressure from the tide of green reinforcements .

The trap was sprung. All that remained now was to observe the digital butchery as it unfolded in front of them. The muffled sound of artillery batteries firing yet another salvo rolled though the bunker like distant thunder, as the unknown soldiers’ body was quietly removed by it escort, a slick trail of bloody corruption smearing the floor as it went.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/10/18 00:23:57


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Hefnaheim

Nicely portraied and told, well done. Poor runner though
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Digital butchery. When a finger gets caught on the chopping block.

Seriously though, nice portrayal of the Dark Angels M.O. Showing up unanounced for their own mysterious reasons. Not exactly acting in the interests of the armies they're ostensibly there to help but rather using them as bait to trap their enemies. And all portrayed from a typically detached tactical command viewpoint. That's all the hallmarks of Dark Angels to a big green (possibly for traitorous) T.

Well writ.

   
Made in gb
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Night Sentinel:

Spoiler:

Ident: Inquisitor Garalov
Date: 966.M41
Origin: Praea Mundis
Ref: GAR.089/PM344.563.445.239/Ordo-As.
Title: Operation 'Broadsword'
FOA: Office of the Master of the Administratum
Priority: Primarus Extremis


Begin Transcript...

My first cause for alarm should have been the somewhat uncooperative, dare I say deliberately obstructive, nature of the Dark Angels hierarchy when I inspected their recruitment facility on Praea Mundis. The Chapter headquarters, otherwise known as the Rock, is currently deployed in an unknown theatre of war and this is the largest administrative facility available at the time of the investigations commencement.

Despite being given a full commission by none other than the Master of the Ordo Astartes himself to investigate the series of failed 'foundings' registered with the Administratum, I have been forced to form the main body of my conclusions from rumour, speculation and hearsay. Of the six registered successor chapters approached for further information only one responded directly. The information submitted by this chapter, namely the Consecrators, was brief and un-enlightening to say the least. However, despite these frustrations it has been possible to postulate a number of conclusions, which I humbly presented for your consideration.

Like all loyal first founding Space Marine chapters, the Dark Angels have clearance to attempt further foundings from their gene seed when they feel it is pertinent to do so, but only when full Administorum approval has been warranted. The series of failed foundings around M35.991, otherwise known as the 'cursed foundings', marked a dark day in the Dark Angels otherwise enviable record of achievements, and was the last registered attempt at creating any further successor chapters. This in itself is suspicious, as no reason for the lack of further attempts has been given despite numerous requests to do so from this office. Indeed this situation has led to many rumours and wild speculation as to why no further attempts have been made. These have ranged from gene seed corruption, failure of ancient gene manipulation facilities, heavier than reported losses during times of great conflict, to the most worrying of all - the heresy that is Legion Building.

It is this last rumour that has spurred the office of the Ordo Astartes into action. This investigation was commissioned after reports of an unregistered Astartes chapter operating in the Obsidian Reach known as 'The Night Sentinels'. This chapter, unknown to Administratum records, has been observed in action by Imperial commanders in a number of current war zones in around the Reach, but not under the auspices of the Imperial theatre commanders. While Astartes chapters do have remit to operate outside of Imperial Army structure, they are required to submit operational memorandum and obtain clearances to do so. In the case of these 'Sentinels' as they are more commonly known, neither have been sought or given.

Indeed, Imperial commanders have had no response to vox hails made to ground forces, and found orbiting fleets bearing the chapter heraldry of this mystery chapter to be non responsive. Further disturbing reports have also suggested that forces that come into contact with these 'Sentinels' have been engaged and in some cases destroyed in what appears to be an effort to conceal their existence, although little evidence is left after such supposed encounters to prove the truth of the matter.

Beyond these first hand sightings little is known of the chapter, its strength in numbers, or indeed their loyalty given the nature of encounters with them thus far. However, certain inferences can be made from what data is to hand. Firstly, simultaneous sightings of the chapter in action around the Obsidian Reach have allowed us to calculate that the chapter is at least 40 companies strong, which is well above the permitted maximum limit set by Codex Astartes. Their deployment structure, tactical proficiency and choice of equipment employed suggest that they follow the Codex Astartes to a certain degree, although with some deviation from it in favour of more arcane practices and equipment preferences. These include an inclination towards plasma weaponry and the older Mark I Rhino chassis, which would suggest a link to the Dark Angels interpretation of the Codex.

No indication of the chapter hierarchy is apparent, although there have been unsubstantiated reports of a powerful librarian leading various battle groups across numerous theatres. With little else know of this individual, we have assign the codename 'Lazarus' to reports of this person of interest until such time as more information is forthcoming.

With their background and status a mystery, one vital piece of information has come to light. A stray shell casing found at the sight of the Artemis Massacre (M39.445) was found to have been manufactured at the Forgeworld of Proxima Ferrus. This Forgeworld almost exclusively produces equipment and munitions for the Dark Angels and their successor chapters. Having visited the Mechanicum facilities, I obtained information that suggested that this casing was part of a shipment of munitions taken aboard by a Dark Angels task force as it passed through the system in M39.138, from where it was due to be distributed to a number of facilities, including this one on Praea Mundis.

Unfortunately, that is where the trail runs cold. No further information has been forthcoming during my brief time here, and my efforts are frustrated by deliberate obfuscation and what's appears to be selective documentation loss and 'unfortunate' administrative error. This leads me to the conclusion that there is some level concealment being orchestrated by the Dark Angels, but whether this relates to possible falsification of founding outcomes and secret legion building remains to be seen. As for the so called 'Sentinels', no substantive evidence has come to light linking them to this concealment, or if they are in fact the subject of the 'legion building' referred to by some of the more wild speculations.

I will continue my investigations and submit further reports when progress is made,

May the Emperor protect,

Inquisitor Garalov
Ordo Astartes

*Other names include 'The Excubia', 'The Order of the Excubiarum', 'The Holy Order of the Sentinels against the Darkness', the 'Night Sentinels', the "Midnight Sentinels' or most simply 'The Sentinels'

...Transcript End


++++++ Communication Intercept: Station Zulu_145 ++++++
++++++ Assigned: Interrogator Chaplain Grimaldus ++++++
++++++ Distribution: Inner Circle, all levels ++++++
++++++ Conclusion: IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF SUBJECT ++++++
++++++ Authorisation Code: Azreal_Omega_Exo115A4F/garalov ++++++




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Hong Kong

Proximity Alert:

Spoiler:
The battlesuit slammed into the tainted metal floor of the makeshift fortress, scattering gore slickened debris all around and sending a deafening boom throughout the ramshackle structure. From the dripping shadows, skulking biological horrors shrieked their answer to the sudden cacophony. With steam still rising from its red hot armour plated surface, the Riptide unfurled itself from its crouching position, leveling its weapon systems at the enemy. The Early Warning Override sensors quickly deployed from their shielded compartment, instantly analyzing the multiple threats lurking in the darkness and transmitting them to Kov’as head up display inside the cockpit. As one the mighty weapons fired, heavy burst cannon hammering death into the tightly packed Genestealers as they came, while the smart missile systems unleashed a storm of missiles into the shadowy recesses beyond. Slathering beasts turned to pink mist as they swarmed forward, while explosions rippled through the flimsy surrounding structures, collapsing them in clouds of flame and smoke.

The initial assault had gone well, and Kav’os congratulated himself on the perfectly time insertion protocol. It had caught the enemy off guard, and many had now paid for it with their lives. Above him, amongst the makeshift towers, crisis suits descended on whining jet packs, the white hot arcs of their fusion blasters streaming forth into the taller ramparts. Strings of detonations followed, and the buildings crashed down into the swarming reinforcements flowing through to Kov’as position. He thanked the unknown Shas’vre for their work with a quick double burst of static over the comms-net, before swiveling to crush a leaping Genestealers between a bulwark and the barrel of his burst cannon. It screamed defiantly, blood oozing from its jaws and tail thrashing uselessly against the cannon’s casing before falling silent.

The familiar pinging of a proximity alert sounded in Kov’as ear as a wave of Sunshark bombers raced overhead. Pulse bombs fell like electrified rain into the twisted fortress ahead of him, trapping the vile beasts between the searing conflagration of their ordnance and the relentless assault of the advancing battlesuits. As if in response, the skies were ravaged by great eruptions of living energy, massive blooms of blue-white plasma streaming high into the sky from some unknown source deep in the decrepit bastion. Kov’as Ealry Warning Override once more began its urgent stream of data as a fresh wave of horrors began to pour out from every shadow, a fresh tide of slathering monsters bent on revenge for their fallen brethren.

The air shimmered in front of Kov’as, as the ruined surrounds of the battered stronghold began to bend and swirl in impossible shapes before exploding into a cascade of pixilated light. Dark figures emerged from the visual chaos, bulky figures stepping forward with weapons raised. All along the edge of the clearing made by Kov’as entry, more figures emerged from the flickering air until an entire Stealth Cadre stood where only ravenous beasts had dwelt before. The tide of approaching Genestealers poured onwards, only to be met by the roar of burst cannon fire, methodically tearing them apart. Kov’as raised his mighty cannon and added its sound to the deadly chorus, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. The first phase of the plan had been a success, but now came the hard part.


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Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

Fate:

Spoiler:
Ka’mais gazed down on the world of Sha’draig. Beyond the shimmering distortion of the loading bay’s containment field she could see the emerald green oceans and brown land masses, streaked through with putrid threads of pink and purple, each strand pulsating with the forms of millions of writhing organisms. As she watched, massive shapes drifted across the vista heading for the planet’s surface. Swollen, glistening hulks of alien flesh faintly reflected the systems cold blue sun, as the bioships moved into low orbit, tendrils outstretched towards the surface. They had begun their feeding, and soon Sha’draig would be picked clean of life.

Shas’El Ka’mais had seen what became of worlds caught in the Great Devourers embrace during the countless briefings en-route to the beleaguered system, and she knew that most worlds rarely survived such encounters. This was a doomed planet she looked upon. There would be no survivors, and nothing but pain and death upon its surface.

And yet her orders were clear, handed down from the Aun himself who led the relief effort. Though Ka’mais held the Aun in nothing short of revered adulation, she could not see the wisdom in sending an entire Hunter Cadre to perform such a seemingly futile task. Already the first wave of fire warriors were preparing for their decent into the ruins of Sha’draig’an, the capital city. They knew how to do their job to the utmost efficiency, and Ka’mais did not doubt them for a moment, but the mission felt like a misapplication of their purpose. If the Fio research team was still alive, it would not be for long.

Shas’El Vash Stood behind him, towering over her in the powerful bulk of his angular crisis suit. Ka’mais acknowledged him with a nod, and walked with him towards the embarkation deck. There, fire warriors and pathfinders filed into row after row of Devilfish transports, loading their weapons and stowing their equipment. There were few things that stirred even a tremor of emotion in the Fireblade’s battle hardened heart, but the pride she felt in seeing her brethren preparing for war was not something she could possibly fail to feel. ‘How many will return with us this time?’ she idly whispered, a note of melancholy tinting her introspection. The cost of war was always present in Ka’mais’ mind, but never more so than on the cusp of battle.

But there was no more time for contemplation, no more time for the luxury of reflection. One by one the loading ramps of the devilfishes swung upwards and slammed shut, the whine of their engines melding together to form a deafening wall of noise. ‘It is time’ Ka’mais shouted to El’Vash, and with a curt nod of acknowledgement he was striding towards the rest of his Crisis Team already taking up position in their deployment harnesses.

Ka’mais leapt up the last open ramp of the remaining devilfish and punched the close button as she turned for one last look at Sha’draig’s luminescent form filling the night sky. The seals locked in, and the dark interior of the transport was bathed in red light. The warriors of Ke’lshan were going to war.

If in doubt, frag it out...
Fight spam with spam, cheese with cheese, and fluff with a razor sharp sense of the appropriate

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Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Still reading along. Still diggin' it.
Thanks for sharing your work.

   
Made in gb
Warwick Kinrade





Hong Kong

 theCrowe wrote:
Still reading along. Still diggin' it.
Thanks for sharing your work.
Thanks man! Good to know someone is reading them

If in doubt, frag it out...
Fight spam with spam, cheese with cheese, and fluff with a razor sharp sense of the appropriate

My Slapdash and Shoddy Tau P&M Blog
Titan's Fall: A WIP Campaign Book
 
   
Made in no
Terrifying Doombull





Hefnaheim

I really enjoyed Nigth Sentinel in particular, and the Tau ones where good reads, even if my inner Inqusitor is screaming heresy and damnation!
   
Made in gb
Raging Rat Ogre





England, UK

Wow, nice to see this thread is still alive and you're still churning out good quality work. Once Nanowrimo is over I swear I will spend more time reading and critiquing other authors work, particularly quality authors such as yourself and Trondheim who deserve more attention.

I remember how this thread inspired me to get back writing 20K, HH and 40K stories in 2015. And now it has inspired me once again!

Upcoming work for 2022:
* Calgar's Barmy Pandemic Special
* Battle Sisters story (untitled)
* T'au story: Full Metal Fury
* 20K: On Eagles' Wings
* 20K: Gods and Daemons
 
   
 
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