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post #1 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-02-12, 01:43 AM Thread Starter
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Default Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories Challenge 12-01: A Beginning

Happy New Years all!

And with the commencement of a new year, begins a new streak of HOES!

For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totaled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread.

Theme

The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

Word Count

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you either fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:

A Beginning

Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight US Eastern Standard Time (-5.00 hours for you UK folks)Saturday, 21 January 2011. Voting will be held from 22 January - 28 January.

Additional Incentive
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Partipation - 5 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 10 reputation points
2nd place - 20 reputation points
1st place - 30 reputation points

If you have any questions, feel free to either PM me or ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!

Table of Contents

Davidicus 40K - Reconciliation

Andygorn - Perchance, a Time for Lovers

Gothik - Bitter Moon

Adrian - The Files

Papa_Nurgle42 - A Beginning, Part I

Brother Emund - Birth of a Warrior

Adrian: The Vengeful Sun


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

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post #2 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-02-12, 10:37 AM
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Wow, 5 Rep for participating? Plus, who wouldn't want to be part of a contest named "HOES"!?!? Well, I'm horrible at coming up with ideas for stories. This is a very early rough draft; I just wanted to get it down on paper (figuratively) before it slipped away. PLEASE criticize.

Reconciliation (1099 words)

Early morning light streamed into the hab through the bedroom window. Massanus Kuhn opened his eyes slowly, relishing the last moments of sleep before he had to fully wake. He felt oddly out of place sleeping in a real bed, but he didn’t regret a minute of it. The hab was small, dirty, and had bloodstains running down the walls of the main chamber, but Kuhn didn’t care. He’d rather be here than in a hard sleeping roll, cramped in a tiny Guard tent.

Today was the first day of Kuhn’s freedom, but he couldn’t relish it. His regiment, the Utherian 5th, had lost its homeworld many years ago. After twenty years of distinguished service and extreme losses suffered in its final battle, the Imperium disbanded the regiment and allowed it to settle the place of its death, a planet called Nex. Kuhn had spent the last eight months fighting for Nex’s capital, struggling to free it from a Chaos insurrection that had received off-world reinforcements. The battle had ended, finally, two weeks ago. Transitioning to civilian life was difficult, almost impossible, but Kuhn had survived innumerable horrors and had served the Emperor well. He was determined to enjoy his well-earned reward.

Kuhn rose from bed and threw on a shirt and trousers. He’d never been one for cleanliness, even as a Guardsman, and he glanced at the various belongings strewn across the bedroom as he dressed. His eye fell upon his dog tags, lying on top of the dresser along the far wall. Before he knew it, he was back in his flak armor, sprinting across buckled, broken streets as las-fire burned the air all around him. He remembered every detail vividly: the oppressive heat of the capital as it burned; the cacophony of explosions, weapons fire, and screams of pain; the smell of smoldering flesh, burning fuel, and charred metal. He could feel his las-rifle gripped firmly in gloved hands, trigger finger twitching, ready to shoot at anything that moved.

Before the reverie claimed him completely, he shook his head and finished dressing. As an afterthought, he grabbed his tags, then hurried out of the hab.

Kuhn didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he just had to get out of the hab and see the city through the eyes of a freed man. The battered residents of the capital were out and about, surveying the damage and assessing what remained of their homes. They had celebrated the Guard’s victory initially, but now that the Utherians had integrated, they paid Kuhn little heed. That was fine; he wanted to blend in. He kept walking east, towards the center of the district, until someone caught his eye.

It was a girl, no older than sixteen. She had emerged from a doorway along the street and was looking at him curiously. He stopped and stared back; what did she want? She seemed frail and weak, dressed in tattered brown rags with limp black hair that clung to her face. All of the citizens of the capital had been traumatized by the battle, of course, but she seemed especially harrowed.

Kuhn suddenly recognized her grey eyes. At the same moment, she seemed to recognize him as well, and she cried out in anger.

“You! It’s you!” she screamed, pointing. Kuhn looked around nervously; her shouting had drawn the looks of several passersby.

“Yes, I remember you too. Let’s talk about it inside,” Kuhn urged. He approached her and roughly ushered her into the hab from which she’d come out, then closed the iron door. The lobby was lit by pale yellow glow-globes, barely illuminating the filthy space.

As soon as they were inside, she broke away from him and glared at him with malice. “How dare you show your face around me?”

Kuhn sighed, shakily, and tried to stop the flood of memories from overwhelming him. He couldn’t resist; he saw the lobby as it was that day, three weeks ago, near the end of the conflict. He’d been with his squad, going from hab to hab, eliminating hidden cultists and Chaos sympathizers. In the upstairs bedroom, he’d found a girl, no older than sixteen, dressed in rags with limp black hair and grey eyes. She was being shielded by her parents, who begged the Guardsmen to leave. Kuhn remembered the fear in their tear-filled eyes. He wondered why they were so desperate; did they have something to hide?

That’s when the cultist had appeared. He’d been lurking in the closet, ready to attack. When he emerged, he charged the nearest Guardsman and thrust his knife into his neck. Kuhn, enraged, fired a well-placed shot to the cultist’s neck. Then he’d turned to the girl’s parents, who were even more terrified. They stammered excuses, saying the cultist was the girl’s uncle and he’d forced them to hide him in their house. Kuhn, charged by duty, had killed them both.

The girl had collapsed in the corner of the room, sobbing hysterically. Kuhn had raised his rifle to end her misery, but one of his squadmates had stopped him. Now, meeting the girl again, Kuhn felt a rush of grief. He’d been fighting for months to protect these people, yet he had killed two innocents because they were forced to harbor a cultist. Now that duty didn’t matter, Kuhn felt the full weight of his guilt.

“What’s… what’s your name, girl?” Kuhn whispered.

She hesitated. “No, you don’t deserve to know my name. Not after what you took from me. I hope you burn in hell!”

“I… I know I don’t have an excuse for what I did, but… can you understand what I went through? You saw the horrors of Chaos firsthand. You can imagine what happened to my friends, how many good men died in front of me. I was doing my duty, but… perhaps it was a little bit of revenge as well. I wanted to destroy anything related to Chaos. Your parents were innocent, but they looked like they were supporting the cultists. I… regret what I did. I can’t ask you to forgive me.”

Kuhn reached in his pocket and pulled out his dog tags. “These represent the last twenty years of my life. They represent pride, fear, sweat, and sacrifice. These are the most important things to me. I want you to have them. I hope they’re enough to begin the process of reconciliation.”

The girl reached out tentatively and took the tags from Kuhn’s outstretched hand. She read his name slowly, then closed her eyes and nodded.

“Hello, Massanus Kuhn. I’m Karliah Wright.”


"Consequence of Mercy" - Written for KingOfCheese

Last edited by Davidicus 40k; 01-02-12 at 08:03 PM.
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post #3 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-02-12, 05:35 PM
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Hi all,
Inspiration struck me early this time, so just putting this out there.
I'm always trying to improve my transcription so, if there's any glaring spelling/punctuation mistakes or with sentence/paragraph spacing, please let me know and I'll change them.

“Perchance, a time for lovers” (= 1088 words)

In thrall to her beauty and exquisite longings, Sorceror Gunther Waldgren had served Katrina Forjetz for over twelve years, never faltering in his dedication.
Even the other lovers she brought to their room had not lessened their mutual ardour once the assisting partner had been emptied..and discarded, of course.

Still naked from their bed, his hands work manically at the scrying-devices, feverishly double-checking their accuracy and realising what they herald.

Unable to tear his eyes away from his beloved charts and texts, he whispers urgently: “Morrslieb lies at the correct juncture and the third Quadrant star cluster shall fall into alignment with the sun’s glare across the Sigmarite High Temple next week as predicted! Mistress, the stars herald a time of great turmoil; our plans are at hand!”

The discarding of bed linen tells of her approach, but he is still lost amongst calculation; even the slightest mistake will lead to complete and howling defeat.

The soft padding of her feet across the floorboards and the hot breath at the nape of his neck finally shakes him from his monologue and schematics, reminding him that they are lovers first and accomplices second:

“You and I shall travel this land, Gunther, seeking out every speck of sentiment and crushing it beneath our spiked heels, until there is naught else but adoration and worship.

“This so-called Empire shall fall and you and I shall walk amongst it’s defiled streets. You will help me and all will bow down before our glory. I, too, have seen the dreams and they presage a new age for humanity.”

“You, my dear chronomancer will drink from the same cups as the Grand Magisters themselves...sit in their very chairs...gleaning knowledge from more forbidden texts than you ever knew existed.

“I imagine that -naturally- you will wish to debase yourself with their willing wives, maids and daughters of sufficient age at your every leisure..?”

As she scratches her elongated nails down his cheek, more than one instantly draws blood and the hot scarlet liquid begins to drip onto ancient star-charts and sheets of lizard-skins coated with their inscrutable prophet’s ramblings. Yet he cares not, for Katrina’s embrace and love is all he has ever cared for, now and always.

Despite more vitae falling to the bench, the shudders which wrack Gunther’s entire being are not merely ones of pain, but more from imagined pleasures as he foresees the nexus of his darkest ambitions.

“I know such is the deepest wish of your beaten and abused heart. I am only doing this to please you and I only yearn to see you happy.” Although her voice sounds harsher than usual against his ear he discards any vocal change as inconsequential, still lost in visions of a lifetime of debauchery and exploring secrets that even Gods have forgotten.

His replying voice falters from the realisation of her affection:
“You would do such a thing? Slaughter all the garrison like cattle, just to help my dreams come to fruition?”

Her usually soft laugh turns into a much harsher bark and it touches his cheek with the impact of a punch, yet the power of her voice holds him aloft: “I would garland that guardhouse with their very entrails! I would do even more than that, just to see your first smile since they killed your village and drove you into my arms...”

With her delicate fingers clasping around the back of his head in a vice-grip, Gunther winces as her deep violet nails dig eagerly through his hair.
However, despite the pain which now filters through his numbed senses, his voice remains strong and clear knowing that -despite all they have shared of each other- showing any weakness will mean her abandonment of him.
“This body is mine, but my soul is yours, Katrina. I am ready to serve my mistress however she wishes...”

Her silken words brush the lobe of his ear in a softness that the material could never equal and her scent fills his head. It enflames his renewing passions, even as her nails gouge his scalp whilst she turns him around to face her.
“Do not be too hasty to promise what you cannot give, my dear acolyte. But I agree to your terms.”

Pulling his head back by the hair, he now stares up into her eyes.
No! Katrina was always shorter than him and her ears were never so pointed as they are right now!

Mouth agape, Gunther can only look on in horror as her eyelashes recede and the freckles upon her face -the ones he has kissed and adored so much- dissipate into her now-alabaster skin.

What’s wrong? Why the differences? Also, why can’t he extricate himself from the grasp of the Katrina-creature before him?

Most awful of all, her deep green eyes that he has lost himself in so many times change colour, hues dissolving as the orbs turn an impossibly solid pale blue.

One of her hands –now taloned- caresses up his body to hold his shocked face in a grip like steel: intricately carved golden nails hold his eyes agape so that he is unable to even blink in despair.
Supported only by her hands on his head, the rest of Gunther slumps as her soporific scent enthralls him to her beauty, yet his mind still attempts rebellion against the hidden terror which he has shared his bed with for over a decade.

Moving so close that their cheeks brush together like so many times before, she sees his eyes plead for the life that he knows is now denied him: “This world is ours for the taking, Gunther Waldgren...and I have such wondrous things to show you...”

His teeth open to scream, but there is insufficient time to vent any sounds before her thick, leech-like tongue delves powerfully between his lips, inflicting myriad bites upon the roof of his mouth. Spasming uncontrollably in her grasp, Katrina infects her victim with a portion of malevolence, enslaving him more perfectly than her human form ever did.

Allowing the stupefied form to fall to the floor, she giggles in the knowledge that he will soon rise as her unthinking bodyguard once the venoms fully take hold.

Katrina Forjetz, oft-called The Dominatress, neither glances down at the human’s slumped shape, nor spares her lover of eleven years a second thought: Gunther is just the first of many to march at her side and there is much to do.
Espying the village’s lantern-lit guardhouse she whispers: "Yes, there is much to do indeed!"

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.

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post #4 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-02-12, 07:50 PM
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I've decided to do a series of origins stories for Halter Jovotch and the members of The Rapture and this seemed the best place to showcase it. hopefully you are enjoying the Flawless Host tales i am doing and this will be an extension to it...the before and after if you will. Any comments will be appreciated


Bitter moon

A Flawless Host Tale

HOES 1-12 A Beginning

Word Count: 1,100


Chemos 10,000 years ago.


“Halter…Halter is it not wonderful news about the Lord Fulgrim, his father has found him and we are to be reunited with most ancient Terra”

Halter Jovotch turned from the window where he was watching the people of his town celebrating the arrival of the Emperor with his warriors. They were singing the praises of not only this mighty being from distant and ancient Terra but the mighty and beguiling Lord Fulgrim.

Halter was only 16 and already had the knowledge of a man wrapped in a youths body. He could see people laughing and crying and he supposed that this could only enhance their once blighted worlds rejuvenation under Lord Fulgrim.

He had listened to the stories of his parents and his grandparents of how prior to the Phoenicians arrival everyone had to work all the hours of the day just to get some of the drained and meagre resources from their dying world.

When Fulgrim had arrived he changed the worlds fortunes, re-opened old mines and built farms. Under his workings Chemos no longer had to rely on off world trade, he had made it his goal to save his world and his people and that is exactly what he had done.

Halter, like all of his people idolised their leader but when the call had come for sons to heed the call to become Astartes of the Phoenician he had decided it was not for him.

He let his mothers prattling continue and fondled the ring in his pocket. He excused himself and with his mind made up left his house and headed down the street towards the woman he loved.

Several months ago he had met Tulita Havitz at a masked ball. For all the work that the Phoenician had put into rebuilding Chemos he had also insisted that the people of Chemos become learned and that their culture embrace more then work and that is what they had done. In fact Halter had a cousin who was a singer and had sung at the Phoenicians palace, not to mention an uncle who was renowned as a historian.

The masked ball in the city of Radex was one that was held every year in honour of the Phoenicians ascendance where all the youth were introduced to others from all walks of life. Tulita had been the most beautiful woman there and he had ensured that he had manipulated her time.

When it came to revealing themselves he did so with flourish, removing his bird like mask and swept her off her feet. It had been quite an intense relationship from then on and sex had come into it one night after dinner with friends. That was it, he had fallen in love with her, and there was not a moment that had gone by where they were not together.

He stood outside her home and gazed up at the marble columns that stood either side of the door. Her father was the mayor of the town and as such he had the biggest house and was respected for implementing many of the changes that the Phoenician still made to this day.

He glanced down at himself and shook his head clear and adjusted his dress to make himself look presentable and smoothed his dark hair back. Taking a deep breath he walked into her house, nodding at the servants who watched him enter.

“Tulita” He called and getting no answer he looked from room to room. He had half hoped that her father would be here, but with the Emperors arrival he would have been in Callex with the other town leaders.

He was not stopped as he was a regular visitor here and he was told that the young mistress was in her room and had been all day. Halter thanked the maid and made his way up the marble staircase that was lined with red veins, passed pictures of the Havitz family all of them in the past had been leaders of the city through the good times and the bad.

He stopped outside her door and taking a last deep breathe walked in and suddenly his world came crashing down. He stared to see his lover, the woman he had given his body soul and virginity too rising above some man like a whore in the mine towns.

He slammed the door behind him causing the couple to turn. Tulita uttered a yelp and reached for a sheet to cover her modesty and as the man that had been underneath her sat up startled by the disturbance and about to shout out whomever had disturbed them when his voice failed.

“Kenan” Halter hissed.

“Halter” Tulita went to get out of bed “Please this is not what it looks like”

Halter clenched his fists shaking from head to toe as his eyes took in the scene before him. He was a powerful built youth and he was well aware that if he lashed out he could break bones and as tempting as that was right now he dare not do it.

“Oh come Tulita this is exactly what it looks like” Kenan, his best friend sneered “Halter is no fool but then he knew that I would get what I want, I always get what I want”

Halter narrowed his eyes and the rage he swallowed began to sit ill in his stomach. It would not do to attack Kenan his father was the chief of police. He glared at them both and as Tulita came to him he pushed her aside.

“Whore” He hissed and opening the door he walked out blocking out her apologies.


Kelva looked up as his brother came into the transport ready to head to the Fortress Monastery at Callex to be tested to become a true son of Fulgrim.

“I thought you were joining the police,” Kelva asked.

“I changed my mind brother” Halter strapped himself in then looked up as Kenan boarded and sat across from him.

Kenan leant over and with a sneer in his voice he whispered, “Tulita is with child” Halter went to raise his fist as the transport moved off “and it is yours”

Halter spat in Kenans face “I do not acknowledge whores or bastard whoresons, nor do I acknowledge claim to paternity”

Kelva rested his hand on his brothers shoulder “Halter….”

“I will have my revenge on you Kenan of that you can be sure off, you are no friend of mine”

Halter sat back in his seat and turned his face to the window watching the city go by and wishing that he was away from here and the pain that his heart felt, if what he had heard about these Astartes then it would be good for him, to be among men with no whores in sight.
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As a quick note, I will be out of town from 4 JAN - 27ish JAN doing military stuff, with more than likely limited accessibility (I don't think there's reception in the part of a desert I'm going to), so if I don't update the Table of Contents or if the voting thread is up a few days late don't fret. I'll do what I can to try and keep everything current, but I'll be left to my cell phone as my sole internet connection and not sure how reliable it will even be.

Also... damn one day in and 3 stories? Nice!


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

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be safe BOC x
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Default The Files

The Files.


“I hate this world. I always have and I always will.” General Grail thought quietly as he rummaged through the assignment details given to him two days before. Grail mumbled under his breath as he shifted a stack of files upon his desk.

As he turned, his hip caught the corner of the desk. It shook and the files he had spent the better part of the day organizing fell to the filthy floor. ‘Damn, fekking filth!’ he roared as he turned to see what had become of his hours of work. ‘I hate this place.’ he stammered as he kicked the files across the tent’s interior.

Seeking to calm himself he sat at the table and placed his head into his meaty hands. Grail was tall and heavy, nearly two-hundred and ninety pounds, most of it muscle. Normally he was a disciplined soldier, but the endless fighting had begun to sap at his soul. He was tired, and who could blame him?

If he was not on the line fighting side by side with his men, he was here sorting out paper work; records, details of every single thing that had happened throughout the campaign to the best of his knowledge, remembrance or suspicion. The information was gathered by the commissar in the evening and shipped off to the Inquisition for inspection. Any sign of corruption would see he and his men put to death.

‘Fekking Inquisition.’ he whispered into his scarred palms.

‘What was that, General Grail?’ a voice grated.

“Fekking Commissar, go to hell where you came from.” Grail thought, but did not give voice for fear of his life. Instead he said, ‘Commissar Engals, so nice to see you on such a wonderful evening.’

‘Don’t shove a bayonet up my ass, Grail. I need the files an hour ago.’ the Commissar growled.

‘Well, as you can see, Commissar, the files are not ready. The blessed Inquisition will have to wait for them until I can reorganize them. I do hope that will not be a problem.’ Grail said.

The Commissar looked around the tent and sneered, the scar that bisected his face bending in mock understanding. ‘I’ll come back in two hours. It will not go well for you if the files are not ready, General. I know you understand me.’ With that he turned his back and stormed out of the tent.

‘Yes, I understand you.’ General Grail whispered. Slowly he stood up and gathered the files and placed them on his desk. Pulling a flask from a box in the corner, he unscrewed the topper and drank deeply of the bitter wine. Sitting back in his seat, he put the wine away and began his work once more.

In the distance he could hear the chanting of the Chaos hoards as they prepared to strike. The battle would soon start up again; the 109th Valdorian Infantry would fight for their lives once more.



In the beginning Grail’s goals were just like any other man’s when they joined the Imperial Guard. Defend those who could not defend themselves. Fight for the helpless. Defend the Emperor’s worlds from the forces of darkness.

But now time had passed. Twenty-two years in the Guard was long enough. Seeing his men die around him on a daily basis was taxing. Fighting against the great enemy was brutal to the mind as well as the soul, but to have to constantly watch your back from those who were supposed to be on your side was intolerable.

The Chaos war-guns began to fire once more and the earth shook. Screams filled the evening air and fires blazed all around. General Grail donned his helmet, chain-sword and las-pistol and ran from the tent just as it exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel.

Two thousand men were under his command and he would not fail to be their leader at the forefront of the battle. The lines were holding, but the trenches would be overrun within the hour. It was clear to see that the 109th had to retreat or die. The setting sun upon a cloudless night was blotted out by the smoke of battle, exploding shells and the mist of burning flesh.

Fifty meters away a chimera exploded sending shrapnel and fire into those gathered around. Their screams filled the growing darkness, but the lines held firm. Thousands of daemon worshipers began to pour across the open fields and General Grail gave the order to retreat.

He knew there would be hell to pay, but there was no other option but to run; to give up ground. In the distance flamethrowers fired from Chaos engines lit hundreds of faithful soldiers on fire. Like moving, screaming wax candles the bodies began to run in all directions while the Chaos hoards laughed with delight.

The wind changed direction and brought the searing chemical stench of burning flesh back onto the retreating 109th. People fell to their knees vomiting and screaming as the enemy closed on them. This was not a battle, but a slaughter and by the Emperor’s will General Grail and his men would survive.

‘Rear guard, form up and leave your fear behind you,’ Grail railed over the din. ‘Kill those damned souls and send them to their makers.’ Seeing his example, the 109th steadied themselves and began to do what they were made to do; kill.

With his chain-sword revved up to full spin, Grail speared three skin clothed men. Their guts churned with the spinning blades and their bones were turned inside out as the roaring blades sawed through their bodies. Blood bathed the area around Grail and clothed him in ichor, but he kept fighting.

‘For the Emperor, kill them all!’ he bellowed. A bullet turned him around, blood pouring from his shoulder. The attack did not come from an enemy, but from the Commissar’s own gun. ‘General Grail, I warned you to have those files ready for me and they are not ready.’ the Commissar yelled. His face was blood covered and insanity was written in his eyes. ‘So by the order of the Emperor and the holy Inquisition as well as the satisfaction of the Commissar’s office I do hold…’

‘Shut the fekk up and die, Commissar.’ Grail said through clenched teeth as he drove his chain-sword through the Commissar’s chest. ‘Maybe you will find the files where you’re going.’

All around him the fighting continued and he knew that he would die soon, but he laughed as he continued to strike the commissar long after he had fallen to the ground.



1,100 words.

We move slowly through the shrouds of fog sending pestilence before us. There is no hope! We are the Death Guard. Fear us for we are coming for you!

Last edited by Ambush Beast; 01-03-12 at 04:54 AM.
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post #8 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-02-12, 08:51 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Boc View Post
Also... damn one day in and 3 stories? Nice!
Again, who wouldn't want to compete in a contest named "HOES"? This is great .


"Consequence of Mercy" - Written for KingOfCheese
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post #9 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-03-12, 01:11 AM
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Have to do this one.

Have to.


Nonsense is our Salvation

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post #10 of 33 (permalink) Old 01-03-12, 03:20 AM
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I think that last time I was on the forums was over two weeks ago.

I remember when the last deadline passed, I was still correcting essays. I need to enter this one, though I am surprised at the number of stories so soon.

I may re-purpose the story I was supposed to submit last month.

"Oh, you can have as much violence as you want, but no swearing and absolutely no sex." --Bruce Campbell

Fiction: Beneath Our Feet | From Darkness... | Elements of Order, Ep 1, Pt 1, Sec 1 & 2 (MLP: FiM) | Iron Grot | Only War

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