Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 12-05: Falling Rain - Page 3 - Wargaming Forum and Wargamer Forums
Original Works All user written fiction from any Games Workshop setting should be posted here. Please use the drop-downs to denote which setting your story belongs.

LinkBack Thread Tools Display Modes
post #21 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-03-12, 09:02 PM
Liliedhe's Avatar
Liliedhe's Flag is: Austria
Join Date: Apr 2012
Location: Vienna, Austria
Posts: 81
Reputation: 34


Far quicker than I thought, my story. I might edit it a bit yet, if my beta finds mistakes. ;)

Lacrimae faralis or Tears of the Dead

The world was alive. Dark, yes, strange, but alive. Ne’sat dug his fingers into the ground and let the moist, black earth smear against his armour. The sensation was… unfamiliar, disconcerting. It clung coolly to the joints, leaving dark-brown smears on the blue ceramite. With closed eyes, he savoured the smells of soil and plants, the faint trickling of gentle rain against his metal skin. More than anything, he wanted to take off his helmet and bury his face in the grass growing under his feet, each stalk thin and silken, topped by a rain drop.

How long had it been that he had done this? Not since he was child on Prospero. And this was so distant that he had trouble believing it had even happened. Slowly, he got up again, joints purring softly. His white tabard was drenched by now, and stained green where he had knelt on it. He tried to shake the loam from his fingers, but it clung. A tiny insect scuttled over his gauntlet and he followed its progress up his arm, legs scrabbling for purchase on the ceramite plates, pausing momentarily to dip a proboscis into a droplet and partake some liquid refreshment.

“Life…” His voice was low, husky, hoarse. A whisper, scraping over his senses with its painful unfamiliarity. “It still exists.” How long? How could he even ask? Time was a fleeting, treacherous concept, madness in the making if he’d tried to track it during his stays in the warp and the Eye, on ships and outposts, and daemon worlds, where all was fluid and despair could choke you with desiccated hands as real as your own. To look around and know that what he left behind was still there when he turned. To give a sigh and not see it scuttle away on a multitude of legs.

To feel, absorb sensation through the tissues in his nose, the retina of his eyes, specialised cells in his skin, not through whatever remained of his soul. And yet, he still asked himself inane questions like how long it had been since he had spoken, or felt the cool touch of rain on his skin. “It is more tenacious like vermin. I still think like I’m alive.”

His warp gate closed behind him and his brothers and he looked around again. Where had he ended up this time? A planet. A living planet with forests, and rain and insects and probably bigger animals, too. Once again, he shuddered under the weight of the memories this drove back into his mind.

How long? What did it matter? Ten years? Five hundred years? Five hundred thousand? Why was he obsessing over this? So many living things. He saw them, smelled them, heard them rustle through the underbrush. But most of all, he felt them, clean and bright, bouncing against his shields, their primitive minds fixated on biological needs. And he felt the void of his brothers’ presence behind him, still, dark, and dead. Their lights extinguished. Dead.

Yes, he was still alive. It was just so easy to forget. The brittle dust existence of his brothers around him, all he had to cling to in the unreality of the warp. What made him any different from them? As always, when the pain grew great inside his heart, he hoped. For Tianshat to put his hand on his shoulder, for Renakten to make a stupid joke, for Sementet to play around with his flamer and curse up a blue storm when he inevitably burned his hand. Ne’sat closed his stinging eyes, dust and death on his mind, as the rain gently fell on his armour like a thousand caresses. And then the hand was there, and Tianshat stood behind him, a gauntlet on his pauldron squeezing lightly. He did not speak, could not, of course. But he was there, and picked Ne’sat up from where he knelt, hauling him to his feet.

“Thank you, brother.” Ne’sat closed his eyes for a moment, and gently pried himself out of the sergeant’s grip. The moisture of the forest had pooled on his brother’s red armour, and his trembling fingers slipped, just a little, and the sound was hollow. Still, the familiarity of the motion was comforting. It grounded him, stopped him from feeling disembodied. Finally, he could reach up and take off his helmet.

He had braced himself for the intensity of the new contact with this world, outside of the shield of ceramite and the wards worked into the metal. Scents flooded his nose with new intensity. The rustle of leaves dimmed, and the perpetual murmur of the rain grew more pronounced. And there was the feel of the water on his skin, gently, softly, three cool droplets hitting his shaven head, his right cheek and the tip of his nose. They tickled, and warmed to his body temperature, as they rolled down the contours of his skull. Another two joined them, two tiny rivers of moisture on parched desert skin. Slowly, he raised his head, inviting them to come, to wash away the stench of the warp, the old blood from wounds long healed, and psychic exertions long forgotten.

He lifted his face to the sky, where it was visible through the canopy of leaves and branches, covered in black clouds and lit by an enormous silver moon that must account for the weird tone of the light down here, the silver glow that washed over everything and turned it into something magical and wondrous.

As if it felt his need, his desire, the rain intensified. More drops came down, the murmur changing to a rush. It was no longer possible to follow individual droplets meandering over his face. Caught in the moonlight, the rain became silver mist where it pattered off his armour, surrounding him and his brothers in a halo of shimmering light, when – unbelievably -, he saw them echo his gesture, raising their helmeted heads into the rain, welcoming a touch they should be unable to feel... And suddenly, hot droplets mingled with the cold ones running down his face, as his eyes that had seen every depravity imaginable poured forth moisture of their own.

Words: 1032

Last edited by Liliedhe; 05-07-12 at 06:34 AM.
Liliedhe is offline  
Sponsored Links
post #22 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-04-12, 04:53 AM
Senior Member
KjellThorngaard's Avatar
KjellThorngaard's Flag is: USA
Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: In the basement, surrounded by Woodland Scenics packages.
Posts: 594
Reputation: 5


@ Mossy Ain't that the truth?

@ Liledhe My pleasure!

KjellThorngaard is offline  
post #23 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-07-12, 11:10 PM
Senior Member
gothik's Avatar
gothik's Flag is: United Kingdom
Join Date: May 2010
Location: Folkestone Kent UK
Posts: 2,172
Reputation: 22


wont be taking part in this one, we moving soon and then will be again after that so will give this one a miss....might not be on line for a while after this week so speak to you all soon and good luck
gothik is offline  
post #24 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-08-12, 02:56 AM
Senior Member
demonlord24's Avatar
demonlord24's Flag is: USA
Join Date: Feb 2012
Posts: 103
Reputation: 1

Okay, now I'm feeling a little intimidated here. I hope my story has at least a little chance of success.

Word Count excluding title:1003

Civil War
"Hurry into the tunnels!"

Captain Dorvilus motioned towards a large tunnel that lead out of the city and to a secret evacuation bay that was meant to transport civilians and soldiers alike that the "Empress of The Dark Light" deemed a heretic. Though most believed her to be the next heir, some, especially some of the space marine chapters, thought of her as a heretic but complied with her orders. When the Empress called for an Imperium wide purge, most of the chapters that thought of her as a heretic hesitated. Some struck without a trace remorse or pity. Most notably were two original chapters, the Ultramarines and the Dark Angels killed every single mortal that openly blasphemed against the new leader of the Imperium.

"Captain, more of our battle brothers are attempting to bring back more civilians, but are being cut off by the Dark Eagles and the Storm Wardens."

"Send two squads of the Draco Kin to aid in breaking through to the trapped civilians, show our enemies the might of the Frost Dragons!"

The Frost Dragons were secretly aiding civilians that had been deemed heretics by the new order, sending them off world to their temporary allies, the Tau Empire. Much was changing these days, word of Eldar craft worlds aiding in the defense of human worlds, Chaos Space Marines fighting along side Space marines, and necrons forming alliances with every single race in the galaxy. Had Dorvilus been told this years before the Purge of the Fallen Angels, he would have shot the fool on the spot after laughing.

"Sir, enemy forces has broken through our perimeter."


"Seven squads of Terminators and ten squads tactical space marines from the Nova Marines and the Ultramarines. Reports of Land raiders also coming in, sir!"

"Send the Dragon Fang Devestator squads in to deal with the land raiders. I also want assault troopers to deal with the enemy tactical marines and have the predators force the Terminators back so we can pin them against the enemy tactical marines. Form a new perimeter ten miles away from the evacuation site."

How had this happened, he thought to himself. We were united for so long against a common enemy, why must we fight again?

"Captain, transmission from Chapter Master Velrin to all sectors."

"Play it."

The Vox receiver crackled to life.

"To all remaining Frost Dragons. What I ask of you, I ask with a heavy heart. Abandon your positions and report to your evacuation zones. We are falling back to the Tau cruiser in the next system. We will be regrouping with the rest of the 4 Brethren Chapters. But know this, we will be back and we will be sending the fury of a thousand dragons towards these defilers. But for now, we must flee this world in order to save it."

"Captain, orders?"

"Sound retreat, brother. Chapter Master Velrin is right, we must flee to fight another day."

A loud siren sounded through out the camp, a siren that all of the Frost Dragon space marines listened to with heavy hearts.

Marines grabbed what they could and escorted civilians into the tunnels bellow and prepared to depart with the last of the civilians.

Dorvilus waited anxiously as he waited and heard the sounds of battle drawing closer.

It had not even been an hour before he saw his brothers firing into the frozen forests, keeping back what ever enemy came towards them. Lieutenant Zoraktus readied his bolter and looked at his captain.

"Sir, there are no more transmissions coming from the monastery any more, most of our battle brothers have made it out or..."

"Then we wait for the last of our battle brothers to return and hold off any advances towards the tunnels. Lieutenant?"


"It has been an honor serving with you and for the Emperor."

"Aye sir, same to you."

As if instantly, a land raider bursted through the out cropping of the forest, badly wounded and baring the marks of Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines. The only weapon left was a storm bolter that sat upon the hull of the land raider.

"Brothers! This way, to your ships!"

Dorvilus counted the remaining battle brothers that were retreating. Several squads of Draco Kin were falling back and carrying three Frost Wryvern Imperial Guardsmen with them. A squad of Imperial Guardsmen being led by a lieutenant of the Frost Dragons were trying to draw the attention of the land raider and a few terminator squads towards themselves. A land raider that was advancing through the forest exploded as Dorvilus saw twelve assault troopers and a chaplain of the Black Templars burst through the clearing. They descended upon a squad of Nova Marine terminators with deadly speed, wiping them out almost instantaneous before jumping out again and heading towards the tunnels.

"Captain, I think this is all we can expect. Let us take our leave."

Dorvilus said a prayer to the fallen guardsmen and his battle brothers that had fallen in combat, hoping they did not suffer long at the hands of the enemy.

"Right then, shall we go?"

Dorvilus readied his storm bolter and lightning claw and jumped out of the communications tower along with his lieutenant.
"Sir? The Humans made it off the planet."

Kan'Wrek nodded

"How many were able to escape the purge?"

"Barely 500,000 men sir accumulated."

Kan'Wrek sighed and griped his staff of light.

"I should have seen this sooner..."

"Sir, orders?"

"Prepare for phase jump, we go to meet the 4 Brethren Chapters and offer them our aid and assistance."

The warrior nodded and walked away.

"A unified galaxy will end this, but how to you unify a galaxy that has been at war ever since it existed?"

Kan watched as fire and drop pods rained down upon the broken world before phase jumping.

The Apocalypse Gods, in a matter of monthes, had dismantled an empire and turned battle brother against battle brother again.

Take a look at all the primarchs that stayed loyal.
Dead, missing, or in critical condition.

Now, take a look at the chaos primarches.
One missing primarch, the rest are Daemon Princes.

Chaos, The Better Solution.

Paid for by the Word Bearers.

Last edited by demonlord24; 05-08-12 at 08:09 PM. Reason: grammer errors
demonlord24 is offline  
post #25 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-09-12, 02:03 AM
Senior Member
Adrian's Avatar
Adrian's Flag is: USA
Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: Wichita Kansas, U.S.A.
Posts: 573
Reputation: 33

Default The End is only the Beginning

The End is only the Beginning

Strange that I did not think of the end of the world as being anything else but the end. When I think of the end I think of it as nothing else can come of it, nothing else is left but nothing; itís all done, finished, the end. But thatís not how it works sometimes and in this case the end was just the beginningÖ the beginning of hell.

The Emperorís Children began the invasion with an orbital bombardment. We watched as the torpedoes plummeted and fell like rain from a cloudless sky. We saw them fall slowly, too slowly, almost as if they were not falling at all, but drifting. We did not know what they were at first. They looked like people silhouetted by the sun drifting from one end of the sky to the other. Slowly they fell until we were able to make out the features of the bodies.

They were scorched and split from entering our atmosphere from space. The bodies had been grafted to the torpedoes, nearly ten of them to each of the bombs. Children, mothers and fathers, dogs and cats, most likely family pets included to add to the morbid humor of the Chaos devoted. By the time we knew what it was we were looking at it was too late for us to run.

The streets had become full of spectators all watching the spectacle from above; windows full, rooftops packed with people just wanting to find out what it was that was falling ever so slowly from above. We all heard the screaming start as the souls bound within the torpedoes wailed and begged for release. We began to weep at the torment we heard. Some fell to their knees in anguish and depression as they struggled to take in the sight drifting before them.

At last they began to touch the ground. We could see them clearly, as clearly as the sun on a summerís day. Their eyes were still open and their mouths still moved. Arms still shook and legs still kicked. They wailed for release and we mourned, for we knew there was nothing we could do for them. Some fled the scene holding their ears trying to stop the cries from seeping into their souls, but the damned could not be ignored.

At last when the final torpedo touched the ground the crying stopped. Everything became deathly quiet and hushed, not even a child spoke or stirred. No pets barked, no mothers or fathers moved, for the shock of what we had seen was numbing and beyond anything imaginable.

We thought it was the end, but as I stated earlier, the end is sometimes the beginning of things to come.

There was no place to go to escape the horror before us. We could not move from one street to the next without seeing the daemonic totems. The smell of the dead caused us all to vomit and become ill. We knew we had to remove them, remove the vile things from the city if any semblance of normality was to return. The chance never came.

The bodies began to explode one and then another like morbid popcorn in a fiery kiln. Their chests erupted, arms and heads and legs and hands, fingers and bone. Skin and intestines, muscles and bile and shit flew in all directions like shrapnel imbedding in the flesh of those nearest, slamming into onlookers and preachers seeking to remove the curses bestowed upon the city.

Nobody was untouched except those holed up in homes and other buildings. The psychological impact could not have been planed any better. After the bodies blew the torpedoes fallowed suit. Thousands died in seconds, building crumbled, dust rising in billows and blackened ash. Bridges fell and streets cracked. I do not know how I survived, but I wish that I had not. We longed for this to be the end, but alas it was not too be for they fell from the heavens as the sky grew dark; space shuttles delivering torment.

I do not know if the other cities upon my world were under attack, but I suppose they were. The P.D.F. was helpless before them and the sounds they made. Noise like daemons torn from heaven blasted through the streets; vibrations ripping people apart, shaking the bones and flaying skin from muscle. They marched in groups of five and laughed as they tormented us. Children erupted as the sound-waves hit them at full force, their tiny bodies too weak to be held together by frail bones and soft undeveloped muscle.

We tried to fight back but what could we do. Tears fell like rain as our helplessness was revealed. We tried to flee but there was nowhere to run so we hid in the sewers, basements and shadows, but they fallowed us and blasted their soul horns. The screeching that they made sounded like tormented captives gnashing their teeth and begging for death. My ears popped and I became deaf but still the vibration of the horns shook my bones and weakened my joints until I was no longer able to stand. My eyes burst within their sockets and I screamed in misery and pain as I felt the blood streaming down my face.

I wailed as hands grabbed my arms and broke them before dragging me out of the sewer I was hiding in. Fresh air, tainted by Chaos threatened to kill me, but a mask was placed upon my face. I could breath; I was going to live. I did not want to live but I had no choice in the matter and as I was tossed into the shuttle I knew my pain would not end soon.

Days turned to weeks, insanity threatened to rip my mind apart, but the Emperorís Children did not want me or the others to lose our minds. They wanted us to feel and understand what was happening to us; they wanted us to weep in our helpless state and beg for the end to come.

I am falling now and it is cold. I can feel my body freezing. There is no air. I am burning and now am fully awake as I enter the atmosphere of an alien world. My voice joins thousands of others as the song of terror reaches its crescendo. I understand what is happening but am unable to warn those I know are coming out to watch the floating bodies falling from the sky.

They are all going to die but the end is only the beginning.

1,097 words not counting title or word count.

A good reputation take a long time to build, but only a moment to destroy. Wow, that's deep! Check out the H.O.E.S. short story competition.
Other stories from Adrian.
Look up Adrian in the "Compendium" to find them. Thanks
Adrian is offline  
post #26 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-09-12, 06:46 AM
Senior Member
Join Date: Apr 2011
Posts: 369
Reputation: 22

Great stories here, everybody - really characterful and intriguing.

Not sure if I might even be able to get a 2nd entry in for this HOES, but here's what came to me initially.

As always, the inspiration comes from wherever inspiration comes from (call it ''the ether'' for want of knowing what else to name it) and the words are mine, I hope they may prove sufficient to convey the concept.

Comments, criticisms, feedback will be most gratefuly received.
I guess like a lot of people, I'd adore to get published by BL or someone else one day (speaking personally, it'd not be for my own fame, but it's because my pets need the most secure future I can give them), so people's responses are really helpful and welcomed.


What happens when it rains? (1096 words)

Where the heck was he?
All Lieutenant Dervan could remember was a fusillade of shots, his snipers falling all around him to unseen bullets.
Somehow he had escaped -an obvious court martial for cowardice- but he had a duty to warn the others.
They’d know what to do: deploy the heavy armour, sending the intruders straight to hell.

Fading in and out of vision, he had staggered towards Base Primus for what seemed like hours, but still his senses had not yet returned to full accuracy.
Even the urgency of his escape hadn’t cured the numbing throughout his body, nor his deadened senses.
For a vaunted scout like himself, such loss of connection to the world was much more debilitating than the horrendous defeat his forces had just suffered.

Having seen many similar cases before in his men, he feared head wounds:
Faltering fingers ran shakily through matted hair and across his body, but found no bleeding.
Instead, his exploring digits found several lumps -most probably caused by flying debris- and his reeling senses were undoubtedly the result of various concussions.

Hearing the rustling of a deluge of rain rapidly approaching, he took shelter beneath a rusted Chimera, a casualty of a battle long before his recent posting here.
Ever since the battle ended, it had always seemed to be raining.
Why couldn’t he have been posted somewhere closer to his beloved verdant Arctoros, instead of this hellhole?

The rustling and scratching gave no signs of abating as he watched curtains of droplets cascading down upon the blasted terrain.
Despite the volumes pouring down, the deep earth of age-old craters and abandoned fortifications greedily drank up the water almost instantly, leaving no trace of it’s existence.
He realised he’d have to risk getting soaked through in order to get to safety.
Pulling his tattered shirt around him -a futile human gesture at best- the rain-smeared sight of the distant bulk of the command centre gave him new impetus.
Even though his legs felt like rubber, they carried him slowly across the ground to salvation.

Approaching the slab-sided compound, the rain somehow looked sharper and clearer here.
For a moment, he even dared to hope it was a good sign; his renowned eyesight returning to normal.

Ushered into the bunker, eyes closed in sheer relief at finding his comrades, Dervan blurted out his account of the slaughter of his sniper teams by the unknown assailants:
No, he had not seen one of their assailants; no, he couldn’t give any reason why the Regiment’s expert hunters had been assassinated before they were even ready to begin overwatch.

Slumping to a nearby chair at the end of his report, Dervan awaited their reponse -or judgement of his cowardice- vocalising that he was glad to be inside, away from the torrential rain.
Had his eyes been open, he would have seen the worried glances cast at him by several of the command staff.

Finally opening his heavy-lidded eyes, something which should have been instantly obvious took several seconds to filter through into his consciousness:
“Why the hell is here?” he enquired. Nervously scanning the ceiling for battle damage, yet he found it was whole and intact.

A corpsman approached, asking if he was alright and if he wanted stimms for the battle-trauma?
Refusing the medic’s attentions. Dervan repeated his request, louder this time.
However, it was not their lack of hearing which had prevented replies, but the bizarre nature of his question.

Ever calm in a crisis, Captain Indara laid a hand on his Lieutenant’s twitching shoulder, laughing softly: “Perhaps you have been out in the field for too long, my friend! There is no rain during summer; it has not rained on this planet for weeks.”

Pushing his officer away abruptly, Dervan backed into a corner, as though uncertain of who these people were any more. Had they been kidnapped and replaced by impostors? A ruse to trick and lure in any escapees from the conflict?

“Why the hell aren’t you all soaking wet through?!” Dervan queried stridently.
“ me?!” he pulled at his clothes, showing them the articles, yet all they saw were bone-dry fatigues.

The rustling sound and the speed of the droplets increased in fury now, becoming brighter and harsher, almost too fast to follow, nearly blotting out his sight completely.

Virtually blinded, he grabbed hold of the company’s standard bearer and yelled: “What kind of sorcery is this? Tell me who you are and what you have done to me!”
The other struggled in his grasp, reluctant to strike out at a ranking officer, even a crazed one.

Several pairs of hands tore Dervan away from the soldier, forcing him to sit, their combined strength more than equal to the task of immobilising him.

Swiftly marshalling the situation, Indara orders succinctly:
“IF Dervan’s account is true, we just lost several of our best Scout Platoons to this menace. Our forces are already thinly-stretched as it is, holding the dockyards in the South and stifling worker unrest in the factory sector.
“The best we can summon is a demi-company and a squadron of Russes, with a Basilisk and Hellhounds in support. Dispatch Major Harnell at once to quell this threat. Let’s blow these intruders to...”

Dervan’s agonised scream halts the orders and he convulses in his seat, limbs contorting in every possible direction as he clutches firstly at his chest, then his head.
Before anyone can react, his body comes apart, revealing a dozen flittering insects which quickly achieve full size and begin skittering across exposed circuits and machinery, almost instantly reducing the unshielded units to slagged electronics.

Weapons blazing, the humans swiftly let loose volleys of cerulean laser bolts, cleanly eviscerating and bisecting the buzzing creatures before they can do any more damage, yet they have served their purpose: almost half of the battle-auspexes and comms equipment are rendered useless and melted.

No-one spared a thought for the unwitting traitor, Lieutenant Dervan, whose shredded corpse now garlanded the remaining holographic battle-consoles.

Vision fades to static as the watchers’ connection is finally ended:

The smaller of the two complained: “Host 241/33B terminated...I told you it was too early to enact the protocol; we could have learnt so much more from it!”

“We already have more than enough information about their defences...Never think of yourself as my equal: you are a mere servant, nothing else!” The Overlord shouted in response.
Unlike this time, Cryptek...ensure that the mindshackle scarabs’ energy resonances do not interfere with the senses of the next prisoner.”

Urgently trying to trace any living relatives of Private Sam/Samuel "Jock" Wilson (Black Watch, No. 6 Commando, UK Army Service ID 2764432, died 10.06.44). Any info/suggestions gratefully received.

"Mockles! Pent on silpen tree, blockards three a-feening. Mockles! What silps came to thee, in thy pantry, dreaming?"

Please check out the HOES (Heresy Online Stories) threads and vote for the tales.
More feedback = better stories for everyone.

Last edited by andygorn; 05-09-12 at 06:50 AM.
andygorn is offline  
post #27 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-13-12, 09:21 PM
Senior Member
Join Date: Apr 2011
Posts: 369
Reputation: 22

Was struck by a second set of concepts this month, I hope you enjoy:
One last request
(1093 words, not including title)

The battle has gone well, inflicting heavy casualties for only light losses, yet Alluriad of Iyanden deliberately remains behind, traitorously derelicting his duty to his species.

Unheeding of the danger, he remains motionless as the creatures approach.
There are already too many foes, but he has chosen to die by the claws of the first: this one could offer no more agony than any of the others. Fighting will merely prolong the inevitable.
After only a century of combat, Alluriad is already tired of running, exhausted from fighting The Endless War.

Hands at his sides, powered blade and shuriken catapult lifeless in his grasp, Alluriad does not even glance upwards as the thing delicately plucks the largest gems out of his armour.

Teasingly delaying itself the ultimate taste, the Daemon Prince extends it’s tongue to lick the warm material of the enemy’s soulstones, attempting to taste the life-force and histories inside.

No matter how many times this ritual has been repeated, regardless of how many lives Shaelron reaps, there can be no comparison between now and the final release of absorption.
Yet the daemon cannot help but torment itself with the indulgence.

Using a gentleness the once-man never knew in mortal life (the very reason he turned to Chaos), wizened claws slowly close, crushing the smooth gems above it’s head.
Thousands of cyan fragments and shards rain down upon the beast, each one is a snapshot of time...a battle here, a lost love there.

All drawn to it’s essence, many are just left where they lie upon the daemon’s fractured skin, callously ignored yet to be sampled and perhaps fought over at some later stage.

Others fizz and pop along the former Marine’s sticky tongue, impacting the roof of his mouth; even the briefest of remembrances sharply burns his delicate flesh.

The rest even catch between it’s teeth, hotly chafing against welcoming gums; deliciously annoying treasures to be savoured later.

As the monster’s shadow falls across him, Alluriad recalls the old Farseer’s comments from the last time he stood in the Dome of Seers, stunned into shock and silence by the sheer volume of thoughts and consciousnesses contained there:

“And there shall be a time for summer rains, washing all away, yet it will be also a time for stillness and you will know it when such time comes. Woe to us all if you shy away, but I sense that you shall instead stand tall...even though you cannot comprehend it’s effects.”

Oblivious to his prey’s last moment, Shaelron’s toothy maw closes around Alluriad's weeping head, finally ending his lifelong pain.
Carnality and savagery abate as the daemons put the remaining Eldar to the sword, the Daemon Prince stands immobile to better appreciate the Dire Avenger’s flavours.
The familiar honey-like viscosity of the soul dribbles down it’s throat, further warming his insides as Slaanesh takes his latest victim through Shaelron’s mutated form.

Turning to face his jubilant followers, this last morsel is especially satisfying and the warm glow becomes a slow-burn, suffusing it’s entire body. The portal opens to Shaelron’s realm and they return to the Palace of Sighs to await the next summoning.

None of them could have known that the now-headless Avenger’s armour had disguised one who was the last of his Autarch-born lineage.

None amongst the foe would have stopped to consider...let alone care...that Alluriad carried the remaining soulstones of his noble ancestry, each saturated with their race’s fury and vengeance, yet such was shielded from enemy attentions.

Even Shaelron, consumer of the last of the Fialderann name, believes the heat is just another pain. Over centuries, he has been subject to far greater discomfort from the Corpse-Emperor’s followers and necrotic toxins from the Tyranid beasts-of-the-field.

Reclining on his throne beneath azure skies, breezes flit coquettishly through jade pillars carved with obscene images. The shamelessly entwined naked bodies depicted are vulgarly holed; winds carry the myriad voices of former enemies and lovers through these jutting instruments.

Shifting restlessly, the enraptured voices no longer soothe his soul as they once did, so he calls instead for his closest handmaidens. Attending swiftly, they hiss and bare too many rows of sharpened teeth in triumph at the rest; each seeks the choicest part of his body, attempting to cool his now-fevered skin with their kisses and various fragrant greases.

A rapidly approaching pleasure-barge carries visitors from his former Legion, a cabal of Chief Sorcerors come to fawn and tempt him to their cause with their own bared flesh and narcotics from mortal planets as yet beyond his grasp.

As the sailboat docks, vast caskets of gold and rare woods are manhandled ashore by straining oiled servitors. Their bloody combat-shears and rusted pliers speak of new tastes carried from afar. Such things pique Shaelron’s interest a lot more than the contents ever could.

However, like an itch which cannot be scratched, the heat continues through his veins, becoming increasingly irritating.
The thin, reedy voice of the first ‘negotiator’ only adds to his torment.
With his lovers’ ministrations similarly providing no relief, he lashes out with a barbed and taloned arm, beheading the spokesperson as well as two nearby courtiers.
The rest run shrieking from his presence, yet he cannot concentrate, for the heat is now unbearable, even for one such as him.

“Detecting spike in psychic energy...” warns one of the conjurers, turning to run.
Yet it is too late for any of them, as Shaelron explodes in a blast of azure bolts, torn asunder by the power of a dying race.

Fragrant daemon-blood showers those nearby, covering them in acidic downpour, before they too are crushed by the massive shockwaves of mind-shredding energies.

From his decaying mansion across the yellow pustulent seas, the diseased maggot form of Grandfather Derzdek Gatrog Nurgle softly chuckles in liquescent mirth, watching as clouds of cerulean stars envelope the former Palace of Sighs.
His eyes burn brightly as he urges his familial underlings to also witness the cascading explosion of psychic power, raining down like the mortal deluges he himself once loved.

Back in the realms of mortals, an ancient Eldar psyker shakes his head as the stones fade from view.
For the first time in years, he finds the strength to stand without his attendants’ help.
His eyes burn strong and bright at the sacrifice he ordered, tears staining his pale robes for only the fourth time in his life.
He regrets the loss of lives present and past, yet feels grateful to have been able to fulfil the last wishes of a coward’s family.

Urgently trying to trace any living relatives of Private Sam/Samuel "Jock" Wilson (Black Watch, No. 6 Commando, UK Army Service ID 2764432, died 10.06.44). Any info/suggestions gratefully received.

"Mockles! Pent on silpen tree, blockards three a-feening. Mockles! What silps came to thee, in thy pantry, dreaming?"

Please check out the HOES (Heresy Online Stories) threads and vote for the tales.
More feedback = better stories for everyone.

Last edited by andygorn; 05-13-12 at 09:26 PM.
andygorn is offline  
post #28 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-18-12, 02:25 AM Thread Starter
Like a Bawss
Boc's Avatar
Boc's Flag is: USA
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: Georgia, USA
Posts: 4,111
Reputation: 47


Eight stories thus far? C'mon Heretics!

If anyone needs the suspense pushed back let me know

Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories Challenge 13-06: "Serenity" has started, get your stories in by July 11th!

Originally Posted by spanner94ezekiel View Post
3. Nothing Boc said should ever be taken seriously. Unless he's talking about being behind you. Then you run like fuck.
Boc is offline  
post #29 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-18-12, 05:13 AM
Senior Member
KjellThorngaard's Avatar
KjellThorngaard's Flag is: USA
Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: In the basement, surrounded by Woodland Scenics packages.
Posts: 594
Reputation: 5


I have a story done, I just need my wife to type it for me. I suck at typing and she doesn't. We have been remodeling a bathroom and haven't had much time. It will be up next week, though.

KjellThorngaard is offline  
post #30 of 42 (permalink) Old 05-18-12, 01:07 PM
Master of the Watch
Kaiden's Avatar
Kaiden's Flag is: Wales
Join Date: Apr 2010
Location: Swansea, Wales
Posts: 250
Reputation: 2

I'm in for this month with somemore Deathwatch flavoured goodness. Need a few days to get it out of my head and into some sort of readable state.

Strike Force Crucible <--- deathwatch army log

You are charged with the crime of existance Xenos! - Watch Librarian Auron
Kaiden is offline  

  Lower Navigation
Go Back   Wargaming Forum and Wargamer Forums > Fiction, Art and Roleplay Game Discussion > Original Works

Quick Reply

Register Now

In order to be able to post messages on the Wargaming Forum and Wargamer Forums forums, you must first register.
Please enter your desired user name, your email address and other required details in the form below.

User Name:
Please enter a password for your user account. Note that passwords are case-sensitive.


Confirm Password:
Email Address
Please enter a valid email address for yourself.

Email Address:


Human Verification

In order to verify that you are a human and not a spam bot, please enter the answer into the following box below based on the instructions contained in the graphic.

Thread Tools
Show Printable Version Show Printable Version
Email this Page Email this Page
Display Modes
Linear Mode Linear Mode

Posting Rules  
You may post new threads
You may post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off
Trackbacks are On
Pingbacks are On
Refbacks are On

For the best viewing experience please update your browser to Google Chrome