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Made in gb
Liberated Grot Land Raida






Northern Ireland

So here's me selling out like a big smurf fanboy and posting a tonne of Space Marine fluff like I get all gooey eyed over a big armoured jock with a brick gun, but hey, I keep writing them so I figured I'd just collect them all here and maybe make something of my odd collection of Spes Mehreen stories.

I'm not planning on hiting every Space Marine chapter or something but if you'd like to throw any prompts at me for more Specious Mariner madness then be my guest, we'll see what I come up with.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First up it's Brother Alcuin of the Mentors Chapter.


"Brother Sergeant Alcuin." The Inquisitor's voice was low and dry and devoid of victory.

"My Lord Inquisitor" the Sergeant snapped to attention.

The man he saw exiting the antechamber in the heart of this crone-world looked ashen and at least a decade older than when he had entered it.

"You may enter and record as you wish." The man sighed taking in the grim carnage of their surroundings, and added "Emperor knows the Mentors have paid dearly enough for it."

The Astartes sergeant ducked inside the archway without comment and passed on into the torchlit antechamber. An inquisitorial attaché within was still busy making measurements, recording minutiae, cataloguing each bah-relief and inscription. Alcuin deployed a pair of small recording devices on opposite walls before continuing down into the main chamber.

His hearts beat steadily in tandem despite the deepening sense of wonder that had been growing in his gut since they had first entered this subterranean temple. That such fathomless places were his to unveil; it had never ceased to move him. Yet still, for all his wealth of experience, his centuries of research and discovery, these Xenos remained an impenetrable mystery.

Brother Alcuin stood staring into the eyes of a crystal-seer. Long transfigured into a perfect crystalline image in death as he was in life. Here he had stood timelessly frozen yet baring the weight of each and every year, millennially ancient beyond reckoning.

Sensors in Alcuin's helm were scanning every feature of the seer's face, cross referencing with the database of every eldar artefact, image and known personality the Mentors chapter had on record. No match. Illusive as ever, he cursed them.

A man bustling around his feet broke Alcuin's reverie. Unapologetic he continued his work, busily deploying thermodynamic charges. A preponderance of explosives littered the chamber. Another temple, another tomb, another library, another world, consigned to oblivion by the hand of the imperium.

Alcuin scanned the rest of the room with his auspex while another set of recorders gleaned the final remnants of the Eldar's fading glory before it was too late.

There was no more to find here, no more to know. He collected his recorders as he returned to the rest of his squad, those of his battle brothers who remained.

As he ascended the recorded files were logged and stored in his own memory and doubly backed up to a pair of external drives recessed into his left vambrace. He retrieved two small data fingers and handing one to the Inquisitor deposited the second in a reinforced ceramite canister. He secured and encrypted the lock and placed the canister in the breach of his grenade launcher. The Inquisitor made nothing of the precaution but simply gave his man his assent. The charges below were set.

"Brother Sergeant Alcuin," the Inquisitor announced. "We are done here, you have my thanks."
Alcuin's response, the sign of the Aquila.

Together with the Inquisitor's company they retraced the way back through the dead and the dying. Men were treated or dispatched, equipment and ammunition retrieved, gene-seed recovered, all in silence.

Above and beyond the confines of this catacomb where all was utter chaos, the world burned; and the galaxy beyond. Escape was by no means assured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And Temujin of the Storm Lords

Born upon the screaming wind Temujin howls for the joy of the strike. His Landspeeder Typhoon tares the sky like lightning. The deadly hail of his heavy bolter, the thunder.

An irresistible storm surge; the assault wave of the Storm Lords crashes athwart the enemy's flank with the force and destructive fury of a tornado. A tempest of fire and blade engulfing the hapless Tau as the Astartes wash over them.

Quicker than a flash in the steel grey sky the Storm Lords are gone, leaving only destruction and disarray in their wake.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/12/06 01:16:49


   
Made in gb
Liberated Grot Land Raida






Northern Ireland

Got thinking about Apothecaries. Not much ever writen about them. I figure their job is likely pretty thankless and miserable. They probbably get all narcy and detached, like House, but waring power armour with an industrial drill attachment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another battlefield, another corpse, another gene-seed.

Brother Apothecary Beocca examined the lump of flesh he'd just extracted from another fallen brother, now lying face down in the filth beneath his knee. The progenoid gland was heavily scarred. An unlucky one, he often thought when he saw such as these. Extracted and re-implanted countless times over the centuries. The tools of hundreds of Apothecaries leaving their tell-tale mark again and again, creating a patina of scarring on the gland's dermal surface.

Beocca tanked the unlucky seed and stowed it. There was of course no telling if some gene-seeds were truly better than others, more prone to preserving the life of the barer or leading him to destruction. Every seed was sacred. He would extract and preserve all be could regardless. He often wondered about the condition of his own. He would never know.

He knelt beside another body, another tactical marine. The markings of his squad were partially obscured by battle damage, it looked like gamma squad. Rolling the ponderous figure onto its front Beocca removed the back pack and found his favoured spot on the left hand side of the marine's armoured carapace. His Apothecarion drill began to spin, there was no easy way to do this.

Molten slag and gasses were expelled as armour and flesh was torn away. He judged the depth with an exactness born of long tedious practice pulling back the narthesium blade which emerged with a sucking hiss. The way was opened.

Beocca retracted the drill and extended the slender cylindrical carbon-alloy reductor. It disappeared within the body of the marine. In his mind's eye Beocca pictured the three monofilament blades circumnavigate the progenoid gland, feeling the vibration of the tiny motor that drove their motion resonating through his Narthesium. All neural connections were now severed, the moment of extraction, always felt like a death.
Six points of contact, and a two-stage motion. The first, he knew often did the damage, the gripping, punctured the flesh though it did no harm to the seed within. And at last, the slow methodical retraction. The progenoid was removed.

Beocca held it up to the light. Consternation knit his brow. It had been the fourth time he had seen such a one this day. It was pale, and oddly veined and shrunken. Stricken as if by some malady, degenerate.

He tanked it and tagged the little bottle, 'Br. Nester, 4th Co. Tac. Gamma.' He stowed the seed and continued in his task. His was not to study and make conjecture on the seeds he gathered, but simply to collect and preserve as many as he may. The Apothecarion would see to the rest.

Leaving Brother Nester where he fell Beocca moved on. There were hundreds more to gather and time was short.


   
Made in gb
Liberated Grot Land Raida






Northern Ireland

Spoiler:

I once wrote this for a BL test brief. 250 words, epic style, combat scene, must include a 1st founding Space marine, etc. which honestly i found a lot harder than I'd expected. But then I did the same story again from the ork's perspective. Again it was 250 words but this time it was more in my own style and i just had so much more fun.

_________________________________________________________________________
A Meeting on the Bridge VERSION 1 Smurf poster-boy fanzine version.

Sergeant Marius turned and stood in the bridge, the roar of the Sundering Flood echoing fathoms beneath as the brute whose forces had pursued them bristled into the bridge-head in all its bestial atrocity.

Unsealing his helmet Marius let it fall to his feet. This foe, he knew would respond to flesh. He straightened to his fullest height. A massive armoured tower of a man, a super-human warrior, an Ultramarine. Eyes wide, teeth bared, weapons aloft Marius bellowed his challenge.

The scar faced murderous beast responded with all bodily force.

Marius broke into a measured advance. standing still before an ork assault is folly. He raised his power sword high, an invitation. Every thunderous stride reverberated in the plasteel structure as the bridge quaked beneath their feet.

The impact was titanic.

Marius allowed his momentum to carry through; indeed he could do little else.

He was amazed that the ork still stood, a rooted mass of knotted muscle clad in rude Snakebite leather and bone. It wasted no time in countering. Marius thrust his blade up turning each smashing blow aside. Pounding axes, blow upon blow rained down on armour, sword and body until at last his chance. Marius stepped inside the arc of an oncoming blade. Trusting his armour to ward the blow he tucked his bolt pistol under the thing’s grotesquely tusked maw and poured in fire.

Clattering axes and gurgling blood it slumped at his feet.

Marius took up his helmet and steeled himself for the horde.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

A meeting on the Bridge VERSION 2 Proper Orky vershun


The humans were falling back, BoneSplitta’s and his boys were on a roll. As they approached the bridge over the Sundering Flood a figure stood alone in the billowing mists.

BoneSplitta couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Did this man seriously think to challenge him? His teeth were so small. He’d known grots who could yell louder than that. What an insult! The ladz were in for a show today.

BoneSplitta hefted an axe in each hand and pounded onto the bridge to meet the challenge. Sheer force of brutal green-skin violence was the order of the day and BoneSplitta was serving.

Was this blue git actually running at him now?

Steel boots shattered the road surface with every step toward the inevitable shattering of this fool’s hubris.

The collision was immense.

The man and his challenge still stood! Impossible. He would learn his place.

BoneSplitta let his twin blades, Smasha and Basha do the talking. Their arguments were compelling and concise but the dumb human didn’t seem to be listening. Rage and incredulity fuelling his fire the green machine beat on and on pounding on the Ultramarine’s thick armour a cadence that he hoped would stick in the man’s head.

A sudden flash accompanied a thick green mist which was quickly swallowed in the swirling haze of the flood. The greenskin horde watched agape as their Nob slumped like a poleaxed grox.

The Ultramarine donned his helmet and signalled to the horde that the fight had only just begun.

   
Made in gb
Liberated Grot Land Raida






Northern Ireland

The Commander's sacrifice.

Titus went over his doctrines, a mental checklist, an exercise in preparedness, a meditation to while away the interminable seconds before the breach. Sacred and profound, it steeled the resolve of his warrior soul and reaffirmed his devotion to the holy Emperor.

They stood three abreast at every bulkhead of their creaking vessel; Its venerable machine spirit enduring with admirable stoicism considering the torment it was suffering. Its every battery and resource of fire power, all its energy and its drive, its very strength and structural integrity were given over to their service, and each soul on board stood read to repay the dept.

For the space-bound fleets of the Eagle Warriors knew a symbiosis unheard of in any other Space Marine Chapter, of Ship and crew as one entity they would live , fight and die as one. One perfect instrument of the Emperor's will.

Yet now another will was pitted against them. The will of the Great Devourer. Its tendrils had reached deep into this system and grasped for the lifeblood of many of the worlds that the Eagle Warriors were sworn to protect. Even now the tendrils of a massive Kraken bio-ship were choking the life from his vessel. Bio-acids were melting through the twelve feet thick armour of their Oberon class Battle ship.

Hoards of ravening creatures spawned of perfect insatiable hunger lurked beyond, poised to strike, just as Titus and his Astartes battle brothers, forged of perfect fearless war, stood ready to meet them.

The structure of the corridor to the left of Titus began to sag and warp. The time had come and he was ready.
"Bio-acid breach on forward armoury deck beta." He reported, "Readying to repel the Xenos. For the Emperor!"

The explosion took him off guard. Losing his footing he fell to the deck as did another of his battle brothers, all slicked with clinging viscous bio-acid. His power armour's diagnostic systems chimed off a litany of damage, ceramite density, structural integrity, power systems, biometrics, all compromised. His face plate was horribly fouled and his coms unresponsive.

Releasing his helm Titus emerged to a scene of carnage and chaos. His naked eyes stung in the fume as all around bio-acid ate bulkheads, decks, systems junctions and conduits. The ship's klaxon sounded unfamiliar. A thin voice droned out above it calling for engineering crews and fire teams to attend their duties. Inhuman screams of dying Xenos intruders mingled with shouts of battle and cries of terror as the Astartes on multiple levels defended the ship's crew and support personnel all attempting to contain the breach.

"Delta Squad, Regroup!" A brother marine interposed himself and his bolter between Titus and a ravening alien allowing him a chance to collect himself.

"We must stem the tide here lest they gain a foothold."

Titus' own bolter had sustained significant acid corrosion, it was damaged beyond use. A dead brother next to him afforded Titus his weapon, a flamer which he gladly accepted as he rose to his feet.

"Push them back into the breach. We must press the attack now before defence becomes futile."

Titus opened up with a brief burst of flame. A warning to his brothers as much as an assault on the enemy.

The wall of Astartes allowed him the space to operate the weapon. Upon a fountainhead of promethium they advanced pressing the mass of emerging Xenos bioforms back into the maw of the Kraken.

A gaping orifice spanning several decks seethed with ravenous alien life forms; all chitin and sinew, tooth and claw, crawling and writhing upon every surface they touched. Astartes on all levels poured fire unto the breach from above and below, from every vantage point and access in an attempt to stem the influx of infection into their vessel. Ichor and acid flowed from the writhing mass as living flesh was turned to gore and chared viscera.

"We may only hold them thus while the fuel lasts. This tank will run dry in but a short time."

"Unless, by his grace the emperor may turn all this blood to promethium."

"If it be his will I give mine gladly to see them burn."

"Aye, brother, and mine to the last."

"What is the order? Who commands?"

"Your com is off-line?"

"Aye, when my helm was defiled."

"Commander Bassianus comes, his order is that we hold."

The tank ran dry. Titus discarded the torch with a brief benediction, his gratitude for the Emperor's provision. He drew his bolt pistol uttering another that it may continue.

"How long, brother?"

The flame had been a primal shield, the natural foe of all flesh. Now closer did the Xenos dare. As a caged hunter tests the limits of its captivity, the Devourer found their weakness and struck.

The brother marine was felled and dismembered in a heartbeat. Scythed and rent asunder, even as the assailant beast was dispatched in a torrent of bolter fire.

How long now? Another Eagle Warrior stepped into the brother's place and for a time the tide was again stemmed. Titus fired, turned another smaller creature. Fired again, and again, the larger bio-forms absorbing more fire. He reloaded and fired again before the thing was silenced.

How much longer? Titus allowed his brothers to concentrate on the mass while he focused only on immediate threats. He placed each shot with care, enumerating the rounds of his last bolt pistol clip. Each one a screaming prayer, each creature felled another small mercy. Another pair of Eagle Warriors marines fell to the rending claws of a genestealer. It died for its efforts, Titus' last round entering its skull point-blank.

How much longer, he prayed, discarding his spent bolt pistol. He reached for the weapon of one of his fallen brothers;These were not foe to be faced in a knife fight. But before he could bring it to bare his legs were taken from him.

A lictor, or some such devious fiend, it died quickly at the hands of another Astartes who kicked its flailing corpse off the gangway into the morass of deathy flesh below.

"Commander Bassianus, how long?" Titus gasped aloud before pain suppression systems began flooding his bloodstream with opiates and oxygen. Suddenly lucid as if awakened from a nightmare he raised himself from the bloody deck on one elbow and slammed one of his own bolter clips into place in the borrowed weapon. He raised the muzzle to fire one handed, exhilarated by the sudden flood of chemical stimulus, feeling more alive than ever so close to death.

In that moment a figure passed by like a wind. Sublime it was and resplendent in the pure blue and white of the Eagle Warriors chapter, as yet untouched was he by the tainted blood of the enemy. He flew into the very face of the Devourer, born aloft on flaming eagle's wings and carrying with him the hammer, the instrument of the Emperor's justice; He to deliver the sentence of death.

Titus reached out to touch the vision but unseen hands dragged him back and, as a glorious light filled his opened eyes, filled his very soul with splendour and bliss they slammed a helmet down upon him and he saw no more.

   
 
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