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Winter Wordslinger [VOTING]
View Poll Results: Which entries do you think deserve to win?
Entry A 9 15.79%
Entry B 2 3.51%
Entry C 3 5.26%
Entry D 4 7.02%
Entry E 7 12.28%
Entry F 5 8.77%
Entry G 3 5.26%
Entry H 8 14.04%
Entry I 1 1.75%
Entry J 3 5.26%
Entry K 0 0%
Entry L 0 0%
Entry M 12 21.05%
Multiple Choice Poll. Voters: 57. You may not vote on this poll

 
Old 01 Feb 2010, 09:07   #1 (permalink)
Shas'El
 
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Royal Leamington Spa, England
Posts: 2,510
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Default Winter Wordslinger [VOTING]

Ladies and Gentleman!


Once again I am awe-struck at both the quantity and the quality of entries. It's good to see some new names amongst the old, too. Take your time and make sure you read them all before you vote! It might take a while, so set enough time aside for it. .

I've given you all three votes apiece because I'm in a nice mood.

Vote wisely!

[hr]
[hr]



Entry A

ESCAPE

You know that feeling—when you let go of something, or someone, very precious to you? That a part of your heart goes away, and your life suddenly becomes meaningless? When you’re torn in two, happy in your love, yet sorrowful for your lose? Took me years to get over, but all I can do is look back and hope. Hope that my years of efforts are not in vain.

But as I, Memphis Pilot, gaze upon the spectacles of this déjà vu, I know that I will never know for sure. For my heartache and loneliness will be cured in death.



[hr]


19 years earlier…

Memphis looked gravely out into the nebula, squinting hard to try and get a view of the ships that were fast approaching. Behind him came hard, icy footsteps.

“Father?” came a soft voice, “You called me?”

The rogue trader turned. Before him was thick, red robes hanging limply over the figure, hem almost touching the ground.

“Yatima, there is something I have to tell you.” The rogue trader could not hide his distressed face from the figure. He put a hand on the shoulder of the one before him. “Your name—it means ‘orphan’, and I named you that for a reason. You are not the daughter you think you are.”

She pulled back her cloak with bluish-grey, four-fingered hands. “You’re worried,” the Tau said sympathetically, “or sick.”

“There is a small fleet approaching.”

“The defenseless transports.”

“No, it was a trap. The Inquisition—they’ve found us, using money as bait.”

“The Inquisition?” Why would they look for us?”

Memphis sighed as he turned away. When Yatima put a hand on his power armor, he stepped forward as if to avoid her. “Yatima, the peace between Man and Tau I told you of is a lie. You were not—traded—as we have told you.

“I found you during a desperate battle of survival.


[hr]


“You were just an infant when my fleet encountered a Tau Merchant-class cruiser. After severely damaging the craft, we boarded it and were forced to kill every single Tau warrior before enslaving the rest. Your discovery was a miracle. We desecrated your room, blackening it with our weapons fire and grenades, and when we entered, I found you crying under a wad of torn sheets. You were so small and vulnerable then, but alive nonetheless.

“I had never before seen anything so small or young in my life. I held you close to me for too long. I sedated you and hid you in my loot. I named you Yatima, meaning “orphan”. Your parents were probably killed in the action.”


[hr]


“From that day to now, I raised you as my own. I took photographs, notes, and tissue samples of you, and sold them to one Inquisitor Ralei. At first, I thought I could be doing Mankind a favor in studying you as a test subject, keeping you as my duty.

“I taught you the ways of the Emperor, to serve Him just to see if you would. I showed you how to fight and use weapons. You learned to speak Gothic, learned the tools of my trade. What started as experimentation became—attachment. How brave you became, and your understanding of Human things.

“But that was when Inquisitor Ralei stopped accepting my offers. He betrayed me, and for reasons I can only guess, they hunted us down these past seven years.”


[hr]


“Why?” The young Tau female asked, “Why would they hunt you down? They don’t—want to kill you—do they?”

Memphis looked out towards the stars again. “The areas I allowed you to pass and the people I exposed you to were familiar with your race on friendly terms. The reason I strictly kept you in the dark and under your cloak is because—well, Tau, are Enemies of the Imperium.”

Yatima’s thin eyes squeezed together as she fought back tears trying to deny it. “But I—I…”

“Yatima, this isn’t very easy for me to say. The Inquisition is after us and they intend to kill us. I have been labeled as a traitor.”

“But we served the Imperium so well!” Yatima exclaimed. She made tight fists and yelled. “They can’t just can’t kill us! Throne damn them! We are not traitors! You are a great man, who brought me up in good ways. And your crew are loyal to you, the worlds and trade routes you established, and the—this can’t all be for nothing!” Yatima began to cry, a deep void filling her chest. “Can—it?” she squeaked.

Memphis grabbed the Tau girl and hugged her tightly, muffling her sobs as he pet her black ponytail. “The Inquisition sees us as abominations my dear. Here’s the plan. We’ll try and distract them as long as we can. I have arranged for your escape to Taros to rejoin with the Tau Empire. I wish you luck.”

“No! I will fight by your side and…”

Memphis gripped her small hands and threw her on the ground while injecting a sedative into her arm. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “this is for your own good. I wish you luck in your new life.”


[hr]


It has been nineteen years since that decision, and I bear the scars of my foolishness. I am unsure of her fate—or her forgiveness.

“My lord,” said the captain running through the corridors to the rogue trader. “There is another fleet coming towards us. It is the Tau! Six vessels approaching, one battleship, four escorts, and an,” he looked at his paper, “an Imperial Vagabond-class trader. Do you think they got the distress signal?”

Memphis turned from his gaze upon the heavens to the captain. Every time the word ‘Tau’ was mentioned, he always thought back on his long-lost daughter. “Perhaps. Perhaps so.”

“Sir, the leader of the fleet hails us. The flagship, Pilot’s Dream, has the fleet commander. Her name is Shas’el Yat’mia. She wants to aid us in our escape.”












Entry B

Commissar Lorwin and the 975th had been fighting for 3 days and 3 nights. They were running low on ammunition, and the guardsmen were losing faith. They knew they were going to die, but when and how was an entirely different story. To be executed, and labeled as a coward, or slaughtered in cold blood. The stories of the Tyrannic Wars were scary enough, but to actually be fighting the beasts was horror on a whole new level. At night Lictors would hop out of thin air to snatch the man next to you, who would be gone the next moment with the only thing remaining of him were his screams of fear.
The only thing that kept the 975th from running was the fact that if they failed the next planet that would fall prey to the starving beasts was Maior, one of the largest trade systems for light years in any direction. You could see the space battles between the Battle Barges of the Adeptus Astartes and the living behemoth that the Splinter Fleet used for transportation.

The last several days had been rough, and it was certainly taking a toll on the guardsmen’s numbers, which shrunk by the hour. Commissar Lorwin looked up into the night sky, as the last of the Barges were destroyed. He closed his eyes, and prayed to the Emperor that he would be saved.
As he opened his eyes, he saw an Ork Space Hulk crash into the side of the Hive Ship. In a scene of torn flesh, and ripped metal, the Hulk pierced through the side of the Hive Ship like a spear, and exploded. The blast tore through the interior of the ship, incinerating everything inside, and lighting the flesh of the ship on fire.
Moments later, the relentless assault of the Tyranids ended, and they reverted to basic instincts, and ran off into the jungle. Lorwin sat down, shaking. They had won. Hive Fleet Mjolnir has lost the battle on Odisse. A shooting star caught his attention. Puzzled, he watched as one turned to 10, then 20, then 100, as they made impact on the ground. Quickly, Lorwin rallied 5 of his best men to scout the area. Armed with Lasguns and a Vox Caster, he sent them out to observe and report any heretical or Xeno activities on the crash zone. Fearing the worst, he ordered his men to take shifts covering all corners of the base. As he walked back to his chambers he contemplated what to do next.
“Sir, can you hear me”?
Lorwin grabbed his Vox and answered back. “Yeah I can here you. Are you at the impact zone”?
There was a pause, then a reply. “Orks, sir, hundreds of them. They seem to have come in Drop Pod type constructs. We’ll be back within the hour”.
The Commissar’s mood worsened, if that was possible. “From bugs to Orks. I honestly don’t know which one I prefer”, he grumbled, as he slammed the door to his room.

The dining hall was quiet the next morning. Most of the men had pulled double, sometimes even triple shifts to keep the base protected. Some didn’t get to sleep at all. Suddenly, the tables started to shake, and plates fell and shattered. Some of the Guardsmen went outside to see what was going on. Lorwin ordered his men to grab their weapons, and get in position. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the foliage where the sound was coming from.
“On my mark men. No one shoots until I give the order”, said Lorwin, looking down the sight of his gun.

Suddenly, a great beast burst through the trees, roared, and lifted onto its hind legs triumphantly. Instinctively, he unloaded an entire clip on the beast, reloaded, and started shooting again. His men got the message, and fired at the monster as well. The few tanks that survived the Tyranids also shot their high caliber rounds at it, but nothing seemed to hurt in, in fact, all they seemed to do was piss the thing off. Its front end fell to the ground as it started charging.
Hordes of Orks poured out of the forest after the great beast, led by a particularly large Ork, who carried a spike with the heads of the scouts he sent out earlier. Lorwin cursed. To fight and kill is one thing, but to prance around with they enemies head on a spike is taking things way too far. He changed targets, aiming his pistol at the large Ork. After taking careful aim, he was about to pull the trigger, but was distracted by the explosion of the Battle Cannon round that exploded on the side of the great behemoth, obliterating its entire left side. The great beast was knocked off balance and fell over into the mass of Orks, crushing many.
Lorwin turned his attention back to the large Ork, who was nowhere to be found. Cursing, he shot everything he could, trying to make a difference in this battle. He knew it was no use, but he would rather die fighting than any other way. Bolt pistol in one hand, sword in the other, the Commissar downed Ork after Ork as the green tide overwhelmed him and his regiment. For Lorwin, everything happened very slowly, as he saw his men drop their guns and pull out their knives, slashing and stabbing the oncoming tide. He smiled. These worthless fools weren’t so worthless after all. He turned, to see the big Ork coming his way. He watched as it lifted its giant ax, and called out as it brought it down over his head, crushing his skull.

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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:20   #2 (permalink)
Shas'O
 
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry C

The snow was thick on the ground, and getting thicker. Kislev never truly thawed this far north, but by local standards this storm was nothing. The raiders had come down from Troll Country in search of slaves and loot. Ivano and his men intended to make sure they got neither.

Steam rose from the flanks of the horses. The regiment, three dozen men all told, sat atop a rising slope and watched the enemy cross the lowlands. Many were brutish Norsii clad in furs, but mixed amongst them were foul monsters, twisted crossbreeds of man and goat. A few towered above all of these; giants clad in full plate that stood head and shoulders above their peers. Ivano was downwind of the pack, and the stench, particularly the elements formed by the Trolls who had joined the march, was enough to make bile rise in his throat.
“Pass the vodka,” he rumbled, hand outstretched behind him. A flask was duly provided. Drink helped drive away the cold, block the sinuses of the reek of Chaos, and provided courage in abundance.
“I make it five hundred.” Oleg rumbled, shifting in his saddle. The man was a giant, but like many big, strong men he had a kind heart. Not that the enemy would know.
To Ivano’s right, Jeirgif added his own opinion. “Nay, no more than three; look at the spacing! Those Trolls have got a gap four ranks deep around them each!”
“Did anyone bring snacks? I’m starving.” This was Fedor, one of the younger riders.
Ivano glanced to the men either side of him. “Three hundred or five hundred, we’ll ride them down all the same, right lads?” He raised his voice at the end, and a low roar of approval answered. They were riders of Kislev, the finest horse warriors in the world, and they would not be defeated.

The wind began to change. The dark clouds above were moving off, and the snow was thinning. The enemy were slowing down and spreading out, clearly considering a place to camp. They were but a few hours away from the nearest town now; if left unmolested, they would pose a major threat. There would be no better time to strike.
“Form up!” Ivano cried.
“Form up!” Boris echoed. He was commander of the second wave.
“Form up you bastards!” Alek’s mad cackle joined the order. The one-eyed lunatic would be leading the third wave.
“Form up yourself.” Yuri answered from behind Ivano. “I’m going for a piss.”
Oleg laughed, leaning back to watch Yuri dismount. “Right you are my friend! Commander, wait here. I’ll just ride down to the enemy camp and tell them the fight’s off because Yuri wants a piss.”
“If he’s having a piss, I’m getting pissed! Let’s open another bottle of vodka!” This notion met with some approval. Boris, ever the taskmaster, began yelling graphic insults to the trio of men who had deserted to the supply carts parked in the shadow of a tree line. Ivano, who knew his men well, simply laughed and beckoned for Jeirgif to pass the remains of his flask over.

In the plains below, the Chaos army began to make camp. Man and beast alike erected crude tends of tanned hide, bedecked with foul runes of their terrible deities. Fires were lit to chase away the cold, torches planted in anticipation of the night, and sentries bullied into duty. The first of them, cursing at the sounds of his companions readying meat and mead, looked out across the white landscape, and nearly pissed himself.
Three dozen warriors in heavy plate armour were closing fast. Each man rode a powerful warhorse, bedecked in red war paint. Attached to their saddles were great banners made of giant eagle feathers. They whistled in the wind, the mournful wail of a restless ghost. They came at him three ranks deep, horses at full gallop and long, powerful lances lowered for the charge. Their leader carried a glowing runesword, the man to his left wore a brace of pistols across his chest. Their banner bearer held his standard aloft with pride, whilst his free hand grasped not a lance, but a long necked bottle.
“Have this you ugly bastaaaard!” the standard bearer’s roar carried long and loud on the wind. The bottle flew from his hand, arcing through the sky and impacting squarely on the head of the sentry, who staggered backward. He raised his head again, opened his mouth to scream a warning, and swallowed a crossbow bolt.

Insanity broke out amongst the camp. The Kislev tore into the unprepared enemy like the daemons they worshipped. Lances punched through flesh and armour alike, swords and axes cleaved shields and sundered limbs, horses trampled to death any too slow to get out of their way. The first wave of Lancers cut a bloody path into the foe, and just as their momentum was spent the second wave hit home.
Jeirgif tore away to the left, spotting enemy horsemen mounting up. Before the armoured giants could ready themselves, he drew a pair of pistols and fired point blank. Two men toppled from their saddles as he tore past, another dying as Ivano’s enchanted blade struck home. Drunk on bloodlust and vodka, the men hacked and slashed and stabbed with reckless abandon. Three men were smashed apart as they rode headlong into a Troll, their lances left juddering in its hide. Alek, heedless of danger, leapt from his saddle and buried his two-handed axe in the monster’s face. He let the giant fall, resorting to knives to kill the Beastmen surrounding him.

The Madness lasted mere minutes. Before long, the Chaos army was in full retreat, abandoning their camp and making for home. Ivano ordered his men rally, and looked out over the plains; flat land, no cover. On this ground, no man could outrun a horse.
“Ride them down men!” Ivano laughed, sword held high in triumph. “And pass another bottle of vodka!"
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:30   #3 (permalink)
Shas'O
 
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry D

In the bowels of the Beast

The two patrolmen were walking the beat. They were stuck patrolling a sector that acted as the border between the dangerous Underhive of Carritus and its more civilized upper levels. To patrol such sector was usually a sign of displeasure. They were walking through the tight corridors and cavernous plaza, the stale air carrying the stench of dust, decay and chemicals. A light noise to the right caught their attention. They tensed up and brought their lasgun to bear. After several tense minutes nothing occurred. A dull thud behind him caught the attention of the younger one. He spun around only to be greeted by a blur of movement and a sharp searing pain at his throat. He was dead before his body even hit the ground, his life blood flowing freely from his ripped throat.

-+-+-

Garius was walking down the tunnels of the Underhive with Jardo and Keb –two other Death Rats gangers. The whole place was abuzz, everywhere they stopped there were talks of people disappearing or corpse found that were mauled beyond recognition.

“It looks bad.” Jardo said after a while. “I heard through my source that 2 guards that were patrolling the Border were slaughters and mauled like you wouldn’t believe it. You know what that means. Right?”

“Guards or worse Arbites incursion in the Underhive.” Keb replies. “There will be trouble soon I think.”

“Yeah, but who did it.” Garius replied. “It’s not the MO of any of the known gangs nor any of the beasts found down here?” he continued.

For the rest of the trip they remained silent, pondering about this mystery, while remaining ever alert to their surrounding…only a fool or someone with a death wish would walk this maze of boxed in tunnels carelessly. They turned a bend, avoided a broken pipe that was leaking flesh-burning steam, passed over a rickety bridge that spanned over a river of toxic industrial ooze and made it to a cavern-like square. There at the far end, next to a tarnished rusted Aquila fixed on a wall, stood a huge crowd. They moved forward and as they did they could hear the echoes of the cries: Accusation of crimes against them from the Hivers living above them, stories of monsters, mutants crazed serial killer. One lady, and old crone, was accusing the Arbites and the guards to be behind the rash of killing and disappearances. Near the Aquila, Garius saw a man. He wasn’t really handsome, with his shorter, stockier built and bald head, but as he called for the crowd to calm down and be silent the mob was listening to him.

“My Children, please remain calm.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “There is no need to panic…”

“Every times, there’s a crisis, there’s always a nutcase who claims that can offer us everything we need.” Keb states as they were making their way trough a side passage. But somehow, something about the speaker didn’t feel right to Garius ‘I will have to look into that.’ He thought.

-+-+-

Garius woke up with a start. He looked around to realize he was in his bed amongst his brothers from the Death Rats. The last remnant of his nightmare still present…not worse then a nightmare: Reality. It has been three weeks since the even in the plaza where his companion ad him had seen the bald man trying to calm the Underhivers. He did well, even got a few converts; but the problem remained, bodies were still found mangled beyond recognition and people kept disappearing at an alarming rate. Something about that man and his Brothers didn’t feel right to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He just didn’t trust them. He got dressed, but his boot on, grabbed his laspistol and a knife as long as his forearm and silently left without waking anyone.

Slowly and carefully he made his way trough the tunnels and cavern that was his world; making sure to avoid the natural hazard such as sludge pools, acid rivers and burning steam as well as the denizens of the Underhive human or otherwise. He made his way to a ferrocrete factory that was converted into a chapterhouse for the Cult. From his point of view outside, everything was quiet…dead quiet. He scanned around and saw none.

He snickered, ‘That will be easy’ he though, as he carefully made his way along the shadow, making his way unnoticed to a side window and climbing inside. ‘Now that the easy part is done…’ He carefully and silently walked down corridors. Eventually he made it to a door and by the chanting he could hear he was pretty sure he had made it to the heart of the Chapterhouse: The inner Sanctum.

He was standing on a darken balcony…in fact everything was dark…a column was on his left and he could hear some chanting from below and could see the glow of a flame burning. He slowly and silently made his way to the column, using it to hide himself and peering down: It took all of his willpower not to gasp out loud. Down below he could see the bald man dressed in a robe. Around him were standing things, half-human, half-beast. Most of the audience had bulbous head, as well as a third or forth arm that ended with 3 sharp claws. Some looked normal enough though despite being bald and stocky. A subtle movement in the corner of his eye made him turn, almost gasping again as he noticed 3 huge 4 armed beasts with sharp fangs and wicked claws moving forward to the bald man in the robe. Halfway down the ally the bald man stopped chanting and looked straight up at Garius. ‘He cannot see me’ he though, ’ I’m in the dark.’ He thought.

“Kill the intruder!!” screamed the bald man pointing at him. Everyone turned to look at Garius, who quickly decided to run.
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:31   #4 (permalink)
Shas'O
 
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Location: Ontario, Canada
Posts: 9,807
Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry E

++Receiving transmission++
++
Download Complete++

“Is anyone there?”

++__________________++

“Play the records!”

++ Transmission of captain’s log - abridged++

+ 3:00 Crew finished loading strange, skeletal statues. Chemical examination seems to indicate 100% gold - we’ll make a killing off these!

+ 3:05 Lifting off from planet surface. Spaceways clear of traffic; exploratory teams not yet arrived. They’ll find that temple bare, just dusty writings and some cryptic warning.

+ 3:45 all attempts to enter warp travel failed. Similarly, cannot unseal door to warp drive areas. Doors are locked down. About sending Jonah out to enter via external port

+ 3:55 last external communication from Jonah reads “its not there. Just… gone. Wha…”

+ 3:56 Emergency recall of Jonah, space suit found empty. Logging Jonah Raels, deceased in unknown circumstances.

+ 4:08 Fergus, Lannick and Sara report noises of external contact with hull. Sensors detect no local space objects large enough to cause such impacts. Issuing orders: all crew to return to cabin.

+ 4:11 Fergus, Lannick, Broark, Angy, Teddy and Rupert report to cabin. Sara gone missing. Comm systems failed. Logging Sara Tristiad, deceased in unknown circumstances.

+ 4:14 crew prepares to attempt to find Sara. Broark carries flamer, all else armed with lasguns. Teddy remains behind to restore comms network.

+ 4:16 arrived at Sara’s quarters. Empty save for Sara’s shoes. Chemical scans detect raised levels of water and carbon. No trace of Sara.

+ 4:19 Broark reported missing without trace. Setting off to locate.

+ 4:23 Reached storage area. Discovered skeleton slumped against one statue, clasping heavy flamer. Checks reveal half of fuel used, although no signs of combat. Logging Broark Runcorn, deceased in unknown circumstances.

+ 4:30 Returned to cabin. No sign of Teddy, yet comms network still appears broken.

+ 4:33 after discussion, crew vote to attempt to find Teddy.

+ 4:43 reached section of maintenance where comms system should be. No sign of Teddy

+ 4:44 loud banging noise on exterior of room and ceiling. Approaching rapidly. We decide to run!

+ 4:47 sheltering in Lannick’s quarters with her. Terrifying noise has passed overhead. Fergus and Rupert are sheltering in cargo bay opposite

+ 4:50 danger appears to have passed. Upon entering cargo bay, find Rupert alone. reports Fergus went further in. Logging Fergus McDerrent, deceased in unknown circumstances.

+ 4:58 having searched entire cargo bay, found no sign of Fergus. At other door, records show no-one exited through it since our team found Broark. Same chemical imbalances in air as Sara’s quarters. Sending complete sample to central console for complete analysis

+ 5:00 return to original door where Rupert should have been waiting in case Fergus showed up. Same imbalances detected once again. Logging Rupert Selemit, deceased in unknown circumstances

+ 5:01 Lannick becomes agitated that she apparently saw a statue move. Sure enough, several of them are holding strange items, like nothing I’ve ever seen… and certainly nothing like any of the statues was holding when they were loaded.

+ 5:03 Arrived safely back at cabin. Awaiting completion of analysis of the air samples. Have sealed the entrance.

+ 5:18 After quarter of an hour of terror, have finally received results of the chemical samples. Unsettlingly, they contain everything you would expect to find if there was a human body present, in exactly the right amounts. Clearly, there were no bodies, and so the only conclusion left is that somehow… they were turned into dust.

+ 5:20 after amending records, have discovered door has mysteriously vanished. Sure enough, chemical scan indicates imbalances of titanium and iron in its place. No sign of the perpetrator.

+ 5:22 Have seen Jonah, impossibly, standing outside in front of viewport without any sort of protection. He appears to be indicating behind us

+ 5:23 Oh god, its Broark. He - he’s standing in the doorway. He’s covered in blood, and there are gashes all over him. Its like he’s Ben torn apart! Two of the statues are with him, only their moving!

+ 5:24 Lannick just… vanished. She panicked, drew her blot pistol and fired. It sliced through the edge of Broark’s head and left a scar on something… metal. Then the two statues raised the things they were holding, and lightning came out of them - green lightning. When the flash had gone, Lannick just wasn’t there. Is this what happened to Fergus, Rupert, Sara, Teddy… Logging Lannick Winycha, deceased in unknown circumstances

+ 5:25 AAAAH! IT’S INSIDE ME… LIES, TREACHERY, LIES, FEAR, FEED!!!!

++Records end++

“is that it?” asked the inquisitor somewhat shakily
“yeah - hold on, there’s another transmission! Flipping it through to you, sir” one of the crew replied.

++Transmission begins++

+5:26 Oh, how I ache. Every inch of me, aching! Poor Jonah, and Broark, how they must feel!

+19:45 One of my friends tells me there is someone else on board. I have lots of friends here now.

+ 19:50 These people are very clever, but they don’t seem to like my friends. Most of them are shooting, protect two at the back who have plugged themselves into the computer.

+ 19:51 one of my poor friends had to go home. One silly human trough a bomb at his chest, blasted him apart.

+ 19:52 the silly people are gone now. All gone. Their funny computer thing is funny - I might keep it.

- there was a loud bang on the exterior of the hull.
“what the blazes…?” growled the inquisitor
“never mind sir, there’s more”

+ 20:03 well, that was a large bang. Its cold outside.

“20:03… that’s now!”

+ 20:04 oh yes, inquisitor

“you can hear me! Where are you?” He was afraid now. Deeply afraid

+ 20:05 of course I can hear you. I’m good at hearing fear. You’re afraid

“blast it, where are you?”

+
20:05 I’m outside. Its cold. Hello little people

the inquisitor turned to see Jonah, Broark and the pirate captain standing outside the viewport, waving from the void of space

“impossible!”

+ 20:06 its cold

“cold?"

+it's cold. You can be cold, too

“cold?"

+yes. Cold. Now+

as he was pushed out into the void, surrounded by the legion of metal warriors, the inquisitor thought: It is cold…
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:31   #5 (permalink)
Shas'O
 
Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: Ontario, Canada
Posts: 9,807
Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry F

Ruebin stirred from his slumber. Somewhere in the darkness of his stone sarcophagus bestial yellow eyes shot open, wide with anticipation. They starred at the inside of cold stone lid whilst sharp ears listened intently.
There it was again!
Someone was moving outside in Ruebin’s crypt, he could feel them.

The vampire strained its giant clawed forearms and pushed open the stone lid. It fell aside with a heavy thud and Ruebin slowly rose up, joints cracking and tendons stiff from his long slumber, deep underground. He jumped to the dirty crypt floor.

Its warped bulk was a mass of sinew and tendons, strong as steel. It flexed its bony talons and noticed how the passage started to fill with torchlight. Muttering voices could be heard, human voices.

“A little further, brave men,” came a hushed voice. “We shall catch this foul beast as it slumb- … oh.” The man stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the vampire. The half dozen men behind him looked equally as startled at the sight of this hideous monster.
“Ahhhh! Guesssts!” hissed Ruebin joyfully from behind needle teeth. “You have come to visssssit Ruebin!” He spread his arms wide in genuine welcome.
The lead human regained his senses and drew his sword with a metallic scrape, its keen blade shone in the torchlight.
“We have come to kill you, beast! Your evil deeds are ended!”
“Now, now. That issss not kind to your good hossssst Ruebin. Ruebin doesssssn’t like it when his guessssts are unkind to him.” A hint of malice crept into the vampire’s tone. “No, Ruebin doesssssn’t like that at all…” But the human did not seem to care.
“Men, attack!” he screamed and pointed at Ruebin with his blade.
“No!” cried the vampire as he sparked into action. He impaled the two men who rushed towards him with each of his talons, and threw their bodies aside like rag dolls.
“Now you have upsssset Ruebin!” the vampire span on the spot and lashed out a claw to tear the head from another soldier with a gush of blood and gore.
“And Ruebin isss angry with his new guessssts!” it snarled and clutched another man by his neck and hurled him against the stone wall with bone-shattering force.
Another man charged and thrust a spear at the vampire’s side, but it glanced off, before the monster grabbed both of the human’s arms and ripped them from their sockets in a wave of gore. The last warrior threw down his sword and turned to run, but the vampire was too fast and dove into him snapping the man’s neck with a sickening crack that echoed in the sudden stillness of the crypt.

Ruebin rose to his full height and turned on the leader who had backed up into the crypt wall. He gibbered in fear, eyes wide.
Ruebin darted forward and lashed out a blood-soaked claw to lift the man by the throat, so their faces were level. Ruebin’s face was purple grey, sharp and angular with snarling fangs and cruel yellow eyes. The man starred into those eyes with horror.
“More guesssts have upset Ruebin!” snarled the vampire. “Ruebin will teach them manners, and … ... but … whatsss thisss?” Ruebin pulled from the man’s neck an elaborate pendant carved from gold and inset with warpstone. “A new, shiny presssent? For your good hosssst Ruebin?” The human managed a hysterical smile and a stiff nod in the monster’s taloned grasp.
The Vampire let the man drop to the floor. It backed away, cradling the pendant in its massive claws, hunched over it intently.
The human gasped and clutched his throat. Now he saw his chance; He stumbled to his feet to run, as the vampire was transfixed by the pendant.
Ruebin looked up sharply.
“Our guessst leaving so soon?” Ruebin reached out with a claw to grab the human in its vice-like grasp.
“Mortamicuss Eroluluss!” it hissed.
For a second the man remained still. Before his flesh turned grey, then brown, then fell from his bones, stripping away and turning to dust. The human’s skeleton collapsed onto the floor and Ruebin nonchalantly dropped the man’s femur.

Ruebin glanced at the man’s bare skull which sat among the pile of dust and bones, it watched with empty eye sockets.
“Ruebin’s good guessst who gives Ruebin nice shiny pressssent is not going anywhere. No no no no no no. He stay right there. He stay with Ruebin. He Ruebin’s friend.”
The vampire cradled his present close to his giant scarred chest and padded across the stone floor to his sarcophagus once more.
A child-like grin of joy and content upon his twisted and warped features.
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:33   #6 (permalink)
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry G

From the Tusks of Death

Risking a quick glance out of his firing pit, Ronan Vorr saw a tide of green approaching from the horizon. He had been on Almas for less than a day and was already staring down a bloodthirsty horde of Orks. This was his first deployment as part of the new founded Setorian 7th Light Rifles regiment, and he was terrified.

The Orks landed months ago, and now controlled much of the planet. As a backwater agriworld, the threat did not warrant much of a response from the Imperium, and most of the regiments present were green or so badly depleted from previous engagements as to be barely functional. No one in High Command expected the defense of Almas to go well.

Ronan glanced down the firing line and was not encouraged by the scared and anxious faces of his fellow guardsmen. While looking around, he caught the eye of the Regimental Commissar, Alekzander Wort. To his dismay, the Commissar started toward him.

“Do not shirk your duty to the Emperor, trooper; keep your focus on the enemy!” Commissar Wort bellowed. “They will be here before you know it and you’ll not want to be gazing about like a schoolchild when an Ork cleaver comes screaming toward your head.”

Wort took up position beside Ronan on the firing line and watched the advancing Ork army. Within seconds, the crump of explosions could be heard and pieces of Orks were thrown in the air. The Griffon mobile artillery supporting this section of the line had opened fire. Despite the losses, the Ork advance was not slowed, and actually picked up speed as the death around them worked the Orks into even more of a blood lusting rage.

“Squad, make ready to fire,” barked Sergeant Darc, a call echoed by sergeants all down the line. Ronan moved up to the firing step and took aim with his lasgun. As he did so, solid Ork rounds streamed past and slammed into the earth around him. He waited for the order to fire, his nerves fraying with every passing second. It seemed like the Orks would be right on top of them before they would even get a shot off.

“Fire! Make every shot count boys. For the Emperor!” came the call from Sergeant Darc.

Las rounds erupted from the firing line, taking out the first rank of incoming Orks. Ronan opened up, not realizing his lasgun had somehow gotten set to full auto. Las blasts flew out and slew an approaching Ork, but the recoil from the volley knocked Ronan back down into the firing pit. As he righted himself, he noticed three large impacts along the back wall, directly behind where he had been crouching. His errant blast had saved his life.

Commisar Wort took a moment from firing to scowl back at Ronan, swinging his bolt pistol in Ronan’s direction. “Get back to your position before I shoot you myself,” the commissar screamed. As he did so, an Ork round took him in the jaw, tearing away the bottom part of his face and neck. Spurting blood and with an outraged look in his eyes, Commissar Wort toppled over onto Ronan, almost knocking him down again.

Staring aghast at the quickly dying Commissar, Ronan returned to the firing step and realized the Orks were only meters away. The incoming fire had receded as the Orks cast aside their bulky guns in favor of oversized cleavers, clubs, and axes.

They hit the Imperial lines like an unstoppable wave. The guardsman to Ronan’s left was savagely cut in two from shoulder to hip by an Ork chain axe. Ronan ducked a swing from an Ork coming directly for him as he put three shots into the Ork with the axe. He rolled aside to avoid the backswing from the Ork assaulting him as it was torn to pieces by a heavy bolter mounted on the hull of a Griffon behind him. Shaking violently and mentally cursing the futility of it, Ronan pulled out his combat knife.

Countless Orks continued to flood into the recessed firing line, slaughtering dozens of Setorians in close combat. Three Orks pressed forward toward Ronan. He fired blindly at them as he scrambled up and over the back wall. Turning back and continuing to retreat, he kept firing as Orks also climbed out. The killing in the trenches was nearly complete, with bodies strewn everywhere and those still living falling back as well.

To his right, a Griffon exploded brightly, throwing several charred Orks back into the mob. A vanguard tank buster group had apparently over-run that section of defenses. Suddenly Orks were all around him. Clutching his knife, Ronan prepared for the end.

Just as the Orks were about to strike him down, a flurry of heavy bolter rounds tore into their ranks, narrowly missing Ronan. With most of the nearest Orks dead, the rest snarled in confusion and sought the source of this new threat.

A Thunderhawk Gunship roared overhead and hovered a few meters above the ground nearby. Space Marines with blue power armor and red highlighted gauntlets leapt out from the lowered rear ramp, bolters blazing.

The marines sliced through the confused Orks with ease and began to push them back. In the distance Ronan could see other Thunderhawks disgorging more marines to shore up the Imperial defenses. A squad of assault marines leapt into the air on jets of fire, coming down amongst an isolated group of Orks. Bolt pistols flared and chain swords whirred as the Orks were quickly cut down. Ronan sunk to his knees and thanked the Emperor for his deliverance.

A passing detachment of the Crimson Fists chapter of the Adeptus Astartes picked up the frantic pleas for help coming from Almas. Their hatred for the Orks demanded they respond, and at the eleventh hour they were able to deploy and turn the last desperate battle for the defense of the planet in the favor of the Imperials.
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:34   #7 (permalink)
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry H

My name is Sorelien. Eldar. Warrior. And I am going to die.

I remember the time when hell unleashed itself upon my home. The war itself had been raging throughout the Craftworld for two days, but this day was the day upon which I would at last fight in battle. The enemy, in a seemingly unstoppable tide, had penetrated our outer defences and were swarming right into the very heart of our domain. And it is on a tiny, insignificant street that, in my memory’s eye, I stand with my fellow Striking Scorpions, protected by flimsy and hastily erected barricades, ready to meet the oncoming nightmare. Amongst us is Exarch Kirthras, mighty even amongst Exarches. No-one knows for how long he has worn his armour, but it is whispered that he has fought daemons and terrors far beyond even our own imagination. While he is with us, we yet dare to hope of survival – but it is a faint hope.

All around us, as we wait for the enemy we know is coming, the war wages on. And the screams...the screams never end. And when one individual voice is finally silenced, another takes its place. A sudden noise causes me to look up, and I see three vyper jetbikes, moving at tremendous speed against the backdrop of the dark sky. They open fire, unleashing beams of light that strike down against some unseen enemy far away. But before I can even begin to be encouraged by such a sight, there is a sudden flash of retaliation and one of the vypers explodes in a ball of flame.

A roar from Kirthras brings me to my senses. The enemy have arrived! They swarm around the corner, moving towards our position with terrible speed. The talons and claws seem endless. And from their mouths come snarls of delight, as they bear down on what they evidently consider to be helpless prey. And we, the prey, stand motionless, like a great dam awaiting the onrushing flood. Then, as one we activate our chainswords. “For Khaine, and Iyanden!” bellows Kirthras, and without hesitation we throw ourselves upon our foes.

In the midst of battle all fear is forgotten. All rage is unleashed. I slice my chainsword through my adversaries with bellows of contempt. My mandiblaster fires deadly shards that slice many of the vermin into tiny fragments before they even reach me. United, my comrades and I charge forward, scattering our enemy before us. It is not long before they are fleeing in terror – but they soon return. Again we drive them away, but again they return. And the cycle continues, again and again...and again. Each time their numbers swell and each time ours drops steadily. But we continue to hold our ground, and we do so in the hope that our defiance is echoed throughout Iyanden by our surviving comrades.

Again they attack, and once more I activate my chainsword, forcing my weary limbs to do battle once again. In the midst of the swirling melee, I glimpse Kirthras. If he is weary, he does not show it. His eyes blaze and his voice thunders with righteous fury. His mighty Scorpion’s Claw swings in all directions, crushing to a slimy pulp all those unfortunate enough to be struck by it. They come from all directions and he is equal to them, shaking, crushing and slicing them from his body. But then one creature, luckier than the rest, manages to land upon the Exarch’s back. Once there, it spies a tiny dent in armour, a weakness which one stab of its talons is enough to exploit. I scream in anguish, but the damage is done. The once-mighty Exarch falls to the ground, the light rapidly fading from his eyes, slain not by a powerful daemon or a fearsome Lord, but by a lowly hormagaunt.

The creature’s victory is short-lived. Within seconds I am at my dying leader’s side, and the body of the foul beast that slew him is ripped into oblivion at my hands. But anger soon gives way to fear. With the death of Kirthras we are suddenly leaderless, frightened and few in number. In shame we run. And behind us, our enemy exalt in their triumph.

The ultimate triumph was ours of course. As is well chronicled we were saved from complete annihilation by the arrival of Prince Yriel himself. But that is not where my story ends. It is not in battle that I will meet my death. After the carnage had ceased, those of us that had survived wandered the shattered streets, searching for the bodies of our fallen comrades. Most were beyond recognition, but on the street where so many of my fellow Scorpions had given their lives, I found the body of Exarch Kirthras. Gazing down at his peaceful corpse, I was gripped with such emotion as I have never felt before. Anger and fury welled up in me in a single instant and I suddenly knew what had to be done. Reaching inside his armour, my hand closed around a small stone. The Exarch’s Spirit Stone. It broke instantly upon meeting my chainsword, the resulting explosion blowing me half way across the street.

My actions were discovered, of course. There is no hiding such a thing from the Farseers. But in all their wisdom, they could not fathom why. No, my brethren, I am not mad. If any blasphemy has been committed, it has been by you. You would rob the dead of their eternal sleep, by putting their souls into great machines of war and forcing them to fight for you for eternity. Tell me, what good is it to destroy Slaanesh if we must all die to do it? Maybe that makes me, to use a human phrase, a heretic. But I face my death sentence with a clear guiltless mind. So here I am, about to die at your hands. But remember, my fellow Eldar, better death without fear than life without hope.
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:35   #8 (permalink)
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry I

Daemons Don’t Bleed Blood

Brother-Captain Canther checked and rechecked his incinerator. The inside of the Land Raider was calm and quiet. The small compartment was dark except for the light glow of nemesis force weapons and the blue light flowing from the Grey Knights’ eyes. Only occasionally did the sounds of war penetrate the impervious hull of the Land Raider. The dull echo of explosions and the scratching of swords and claws reminded the Grey Knights of the hell that awaited them. Canther rechecked his incinerator. He was sure it was functional, but he checked it still.

The Land Raider suddenly ground to a halt; they had arrived at their destination. The Grey Knights readied their weapons just as the assault ramp flew open. Deafening sounds flooded into the compartment and tore at the knights’ ears. Canther's men tightened their grips on their weapons and rushed out of the Land Raider. The roaring battle assaulted their senses and tore at their minds but the Grey knights remained unfazed. Immediately Canther spotted an enemy; a cohort of Bloodletters, who were busy hacking Space Marines to little bits.

“To me, my brothers! Rally to me!”

As Canther lead the charge towards the Daemons, immolating all who stood in his path, battle worn Space Marines were reinvigorated by his glorious presence and they joined the charge crying out praises to the Emperor. While the Space Marines found Canther’s presence to be inspiring, nearby Daemons couldn’t tolerate Canther and his zeal and many lost focus on reality. Plaguebearers were reduced to pools of slime on the ground, Daemonettes evaporated into smoke as they howled in rage, and even mighty Bloodletters were taken aback by the sight of him.

As the Space Marines and Grey Knights closed in on their prey, Canther shouted for them to fire at will. The Space Marines quickly formed firing lines and sent a storm of explosive rounds raining down on the Bloodletters. Canther and his men released their own volley of death upon the Daemons as they continued to charge forward. Many of the Bloodletters simply vanished under the hail of fire but a few of them refused to be shot down.

Canther and his men met the Bloodletters like a hurricane. The holiness and proximity of the knights befuddled the Daemons. Their minds clouded, the Grey Knights easily banished the small cohort of Daemons back to the warp. Eager to prove his worth to the Emperor, Canther searched for a new enemy that he could destroy. The prize that he sought to slay was a Greater Daemon of Khorne; the mighty Bloodthirster. He saw what he was looking for atop a nearby hill.

With Canther in the lead, the Grey Knights swept towards the Greater Daemon, tearing through any lesser Daemon that tried to stand in their way. Two of Canther’s men were even slain as Hellblades rent their heads from their shoulders. These losses had no effect on Canther as he raced towards the prize that would prove, once and for all, that he was a righteous and zealous man.

As it finished flaying open the bodies of Devastator Space Marines, the Bloodthirster noticed Canther and his retinue. While krak missiles blossomed around him, the Greater Daemon leapt into the air. His mighty wings carried him aloft until he slammed into the Grey Knights, immediately smashing one of them into a bloody stain.

Canther began to chant a spell of banishment just as the Bloodthirster fell upon them. Even as the Daemon ripped one of Canther’s men messily in half, he continued to chant. The Greater Daemon tore off the head of another Grey Knight, spilling as much blood as possible, and ate it whole, but still Canther chanted. When finally the Bloodthirster tore the last Grey Knight limb from bloody limb, Canther had finished his spell.

His sword slid cleanly and smoothly into the Bloodthirster. No blood pored from this wound, as daemons have no blood and do not bleed. The Greater Daemon looked at Canther and laughed at what it thought was a pitiful attempt to banish him. However, Canther’s spell quickly took full effect. Realizing its defeat, the monstrosity glared at Canther and cursed him in the foulest tongue of Khorne. The Daemon began to writhe and his body stretched and contorted under the strain of holding onto his physical form. Finally the Bloodthirster had to give in, and with an earsplitting howl of rage the mighty Greater Daemon lost its grip on reality, and shattered like glass.
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:36   #9 (permalink)
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry J

The creature had barely been visible for more than a second. That’s all it had taken though, Sarge had just been busting our chops for dozing and next thing you know his god damn head was sitting in my lap with his guts all over Dozer’s face.

‘What in the hell was that,’ Dozer screamed, ‘We got to get the hell out of here!’

I could hear him fine and had already processed Sarge’s death. Nothing new, I had seen a dozen assholes get fragged before but this… what in the hell have we gotten ourselves into. Focused on the jungle darkness where I think that thing had come from I reached for my grenade launcher hoping I had enough time to at least get one shot off before that thing decided to come and finish the job.

‘Dozer shut the hell up and let me think for a minute. We are 400 meters from the rest of the squad there is no way we are going to make it back to them before that thing turns us into a snack. Now keep your eyes open and get ready.’

‘What?! Are you crazy, we’re dead man dead,’ Dozer whispered, at least he had some brains, ‘That thing just smoked Sarge and we are next.’

‘If you don’t shut up and focus on not getting us killed in the next 2 seconds you won’t have to worry about that thing coming to finish the job cause I will do it myself.’

Dozer mumbled, ‘W-w-whatever man, we’re so dead.’

I had my launcher locked and ready but was still not sure how exactly we were going to get out of here. That creature was ungodly quick and we had no hope of getting back to main camp without that thing catching us. Bait, that’s what I need, so damn bait. If I can get that things attention for about 15 seconds I might be able to make the run back up trail to the main camp.

‘Hey Dozer,’ I whispered, ‘One of us is going to have to be the bait…’

‘BAIT,’ he yelled, ‘I ain’t going to be no fraggin bait!’

Dozer jumped up and threw is lasgun at my head, and climbed out of our foxhole.

‘You can be my bait shithead I am out of here,’ He yelled. Sprinting off down the trail in what happens to be the wrong direction.

Well that worked out better than I had hoped, I didn’t even have to shoot him. Now to get my ass moving before my window of opportunity closes.
Roughly 400 meters up the trail to the main camp where the rest of our platoon was set up. My lungs were burning and legs aching and I still had about 200 meters to go. Man if I make it out of this thing I am going to really have to work on my conditioning.

‘BLllaahhhrrghhh, mu muh ahhahhhhhh!’ Dozer echoed through the jungle. Damn it Dozer, why couldn’t you have just held out for 10 more seconds and I would be inside our perimeter. Well here is to hoping that thing isn’t as fast as I know it is.

‘Wake up, get the frag up! We got contact at the southeast listening post,’ I started screaming about 50 meters out, ‘CONTACT! CONTACT! Hostile contact southeast of the perimeter!’

What the hell, I know somebody has to have heard that, where are the perimeter guard. What the hell is that smell?
I stumble into camp and immediately know something is wrong, for starters there isn’t a damn person in sight. No matter what time of night it was no camp is this dead, unless they are dead. I scramble over to the command tent and burst through the front flap.

To fast I can’t contain the bile that forces it way up my throat, ‘Holy mother of Terra..’ The whole inside of the command tent had been painted with the insides and what was left of my platoon leader and his command squad. Well there goes that plan. I hear the static crackle of a vox unit over in the corner.

‘Come in Platoon Omega, Omega come in,’ the vox unit hissed, ‘This is command, come in platoon Omega.’

I rush over and grab up the vox mic, ‘This is Private Jacco of 2nd squad, platoon Omega, I appear to be the only one left alive. Platoon Omega has been wiped out over.’

‘Soldier, this is Commander Braddock, the whole company is under attack it appears to be swarms of Lictors operating in precision strikes all along the company perimeter try to regroup any survivors and hold the line. Out’

Lictors. What the hell is a Lictor. More importantly how the hell am I going to hold the line by myself didn’t that idiot hear that I am the only one left. Whatever, I am going to keep my head low and take care of one problem at a time and make it out of this mess. Glancing down…

‘Yeah,’ I sputter a cough out as I see the 3 foot talon sticking out of my chest, ‘That’s going to be a problem.’
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Old 23 Feb 2010, 03:37   #10 (permalink)
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Default Re: Winter Wordslinger [POOLING]

Entry K

The city lay in ruins around Desmond’s feet. His hands had caused this destruction, as he led his brothers into battle; his lips had cried the war cry that pushed them to new heights of devastation. “Forward into Redemption” He had cried, it always stirred something in his heart. He knew it would never be true, but he had heard the stories, everyone had. The Imperium was considering allowing the ‘Warp hunters’ to return back to their fold! Every marine in the chapter was alive with excitement, that their nightmare might be over, that they might finally lay eyes on their fore father and blood brothers once more carried them into the enemies lines and through the massacre that had ensued. At least that was how it had been before the Inquisition showed up. Moments after victory was assured, the air had turned thick. Aromas of incense and smoke had filled Desmond’s senses. Then Crack. Stood in front of him they were. Shrouded in smoke, the Grey knights opened fire. Jumping into cover, Captain Desmond of the 8th company called in his reserves. A full cohort of the Immortals faded into existence around the Grey knights, they were caught unaware and the Immortals cut them down. That moment had sealed the future of the Warp Hunters. Murder of the Imperium’s most devoted soldiers was it, already banished from the emperor, now they would face persecution from any imperial forces they came into contact with.

As the smoke cleared, Desmond was able to take stock of the situation. One Immortal had fallen, calling for the body to be teleported back up to the ship in orbit, he began searching the bodies of the fallen. Ammo was already running out, it had only been months since they had restocked on Mannstien, but now they would need to make a return visit again, filling up once more on recruits and supplies. Tears rolled down Desmond’s cheek, leaving a line in the dirt he had accumulated over the weeks of laying siege to the city, and all for what? Just to have his darkest fears made real. Now there was no turning back, perhaps he should attempt to purge his life like his Brother Solomon, lead a crusade for redemption. That would do little good, any help he would offer now would only lead in his destruction. No he was better off staying with this chapter, training those in the ways of the immortals, becoming one with their environment, and then, when the time was right, how to change the environment into a weapon against their enemies.

On the other side of the planet, Brother Tarkos was leading a charge into the second largest city on the planet of Galapogos. The native people had been judged and found as wanting; He would bring the might of the Emperor onto their heads, and earn his redemption. After all, it was imminent now. The predator tank ‘Indestructible’ had proven its names worth time and again as it forced its way up the main boulevard. Its Heavy Bolters spitting death and mowing the enemies down while its main gun, a massive twin linked Las cannon illuminated the enemy armour before it had a hole punched through it rendering it useless. Time and again the tank had proven its worth, and even now as Tarkos was setting up his forward base on a cross roads near the city centre it was patrolling the perimeter, keeping the enemies at bay. “Command, this is Tarkos, do you read me? Over” static filled his ears before the sound of gunfire and the reply came back. “Tarkos? This is command, what do you need? Over” once again more static as he gathered his reply. “Command, I have completed my secondary objective, the south of the city has fallen to us, the enemy have retreated over the river and sealed themselves in the citadel. Do you wish me to continue pushing? Over” This time the reply came quickly “Negative, Hold your ground, we have new objectives, as we speak, a cohort of immortals are being inserted. They will destroy the citadel from within, As for yourself, I need you to gather your forces and return to the space port where you will return to orbit and await my orders, Over” Tarkos couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But sir, what if we are needed in securing the citadel? What if we can’t provide the support needed in time?” Before he could finish, Tarkos was cut off “The Immortals are the finest we have, if they cannot destroy a simple facility, no one can. Now I want you to meet me in orbit where you shall be debriefed and informed on our new objectives. Over and Out” With a click the comms were shut off. It was decided, The Warp Hunters would fall back. But only this time.
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