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post #11 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-07-12, 07:47 AM
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Hi all,
On seeing the theme, this was the tale which came to me, so I thought I'd put it out there.
As ever, these are the thoughts which came to me (so any faults with the story are in my transcribing) and this may well end up being part of a larger story.
Grateful for any/all feedback, as I'm always trying to improve for yourselves. Andygorn.

(= 1100 words, not including title)

“Neither sweet, nor sorrowful”

With a gurgling scream, the grey beastman falls to Kurt’s scimitar; his coup de grace removes the thing’s spasming black heart from it’s leather-clad chest.
Across the clearing, Jasmine’s mace crushes the skull of the last real opponent -a triple-horned Pestigor- putting the rest of the foes to flight.

Ragged gasps of breath return to normal as the other victors regroup, leaving the dead and dying carcasses to rot where they lie. If there are any lesser injuries, nobody shows them, for fear of being turned upon by their own victorious comrades who seek to ‘cull the weak’.

Atop his mount of sagging flesh, exposed musculature and bedraggled feathers, Yanthall Champion of Tzeentch reins it in to leave the clearing. “We ride North, to the land of the snows. Any who cannot keep up shall perish, this is the Word of Tzeentch!”
A ragged cheer in praise of Him vents from the remaining combatants’ bestial throats and they variously stagger, hobble and stride to obey.

Ever-eager to keep their troth to The Great Changer, no-one spares a rearward glance, nor even a thought, for the pair remaining in the gore-defiled glade:

“I was too far away to assist, but I feared that clawed one would account for you, my love.” Kurt whispers.
“A bestial thing, nothing more worthy of life than an insect!” she voices triumphantly, exulted by the endorphins of combat.

His soft laugh halts her sense of achievement: “Years ago, the shy girl I knew would run far away from battle before it joined. How much you have changed.”
“Now you see someone strong enough to stand up to such weakling foes, is that not correct?!” she interrupts arrogantly, unheeding of the sadness within his voice.

“I followed you to the ends of the earth, Jasmine. I thought my past crimes irredeemable, but I have committed unspeakable things just for one more day by your side.
"Now, my time has come to follow the words of your God and change, whereas you are your acts of devotion.”

A wave of fevered joy instantly crosses her face, the speed of her voice betraying her hopes: “You would join my loyalty to The Schemer?! We’d fight together; none shall stand against us!”
The replying gentle shake of his head tells her this is not to be their fate.

“You are...ashamed...of my cause, then?” she enquires, earlier bravado now fading to reveal the vulnerability which he knows still resides within her.
“Or it is my appearance you reject..?” she adds, rubbing the small horns which bud through her forehead.

Clasping her in his warm embrace, Kurt gazes down into her azure skin and eyes, losing himself in them for what he knows will be the final time. “No, you always travelled your own path -I admired you for it- but surely you know that your journey was never my own..?”

Her resultant nod of reply is heavy and her shoulders slump, forced to admit the fear which she knew, but hoped she’d never face.

Her heart sinks further as he continues: “Before we met, I was purposeless. At your side, I experienced more joy than you know. But I have also murdered more people than I can remember, only to witness what you have become. I love you, yet can no longer play any part in this.

“Each night as you sleep, I see your body flinch in turmoil as your feelings for me war against your oaths, diverting you from your purpose.
"You must cast aside one part of yourself, yet you can no longer choose, so I shall decide for you:

“The nearest sentries are over the next hill and I go to warn them of you. Either they stop you, or you shall stop me; letting go your humanity, finally gaining recognition from your twisted God. If your sorcery is quick and true, you should have sufficient time to rejoin your comrades...afterwards...”

Even now, despite all they shared, he can no longer keep her gaze and his last sentence is a whisper, opening his heart to her in a way he never could before: “Whichever result occurs, at least my life would finally be worth something, as this is the power you have wished for yourself all along, isn’t it?”

Unable to speak, she bows her head for want of anything to say, similarly now unable to look into his handsome face.
He takes her stance and lack of verbal response as an admission of guilt and turns away, starting a slow leisurely walk towards the embankment.

First-hand he has seen the searing, melting death she visits upon her foes through Tzeentch’s Pink Fire yet -with her now lost to him forever- he is resolved upon his course and knows that she will have no other alternative than to use it once again.
In a way, he draws a certain kind of comfort from that knowledge.

“No! We shall find another way!” she screams at his retreating back, clenching her fists in helpless outrage and anger. Yet her pleas and entreaties no longer seem to have any effect upon him; he has evidently now discovered the true depths which she has plumbed, witnessing her inability to take that last step into full Chaotic dedication.

Just before he reaches the top of the hill, Kurt slowly turns around to look at Jasmine one last time, a rueful smile plays across his lips -the same one he knows she fell in love with long ago- but it is now a smile that speaks of good times passed, yet also that he can do nothing more for her.

Despite her vocal denials, the need for survival begins to prevail and a nimbus of pink fire skitters around her head as she knows what she had to do, yet sparks of green flash through it as her feelings for him still linger.
As she shouts out in torment once again, he takes a small step back; one more and he will be visible over the crest of the rise. Although hating him for the choice he forces upon her, her dark incantations are also tinged with love.

Watching her gorgeous blue eyes change as the bolts of pink fire lance towards him, Kurt strides forth, back down the hill towards his fate.
Even though it means his end, it will be her new beginning, Jasmine accepting her innermost yearnings for power.

Despite the scorching agony as his flesh peels away, Kurt’s final thoughts are that there is nothing he would rather do for his wife than to fulfil her dreams.

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; 02-07-12 at 08:35 PM.
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post #12 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-07-12, 03:05 PM
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Default Hi

We do have some twisted people on Heresy. Glad to be a part of you all, lol.

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!
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post #13 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-08-12, 12:05 PM
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Trial by Fire

HOES story 12-02

A 26th Grand Company Story

Word Count 1089

Captain Mandeaus, the commander of the Emperors Children 26th Grand Company stood surveying the area around him. They had newly appointed Astartes within his company after the deaths of some battle brothers against the Venaca Populace. He removed his helm to reveal locks of long flowing white hair, His blue eyes penetrated the permeating fog as if he was just looking into the perpetual twilight of his home world.

His legion was at the moment under the auspice of the Lunar Wolves, until their own legion was up and ready to do their own exploration. Hopefully that would not be too long in coming. He turned as his Sergeant Joniar Elaxsius joined his side.

“Are they eager Elaxsius?” He asked referring to his new recruits.

“Joas has a grasp of tactics that had him noted by the scout company and I asked for him personally. Kenan and Jovotch…hmm think there might be a problem there My Lord”

“Oh. How so?”

“ The two hate each other, even the rites of brotherhood have failed to temper whatever it was that caused the rift in their mortal lives”

Mandeaus laughed a little and slapped his favoured Sergeant’s shoulder pauldron “A little healthy competition is just fine Joniar, if it becomes too much of a problem then I will deal with it, they are young and eager to please you, me and the Lord Commanders and by that dint the Primarch himself.”

Elaxsius bowed his head and stood straighter “What would my Captain have me do?”

Mandeaus scratched his head and pointed to the community he had been observing, “Take your squad, and clear that village against the fog line. I want any insurgents found and dealt with. The Lord Commander Eidolen is anxious to have this world under illumination before the weeks end”

Elaxsius bowed his head and called his squad together, the Captain wanted to look good in the eyes of Eidolen, and everyone knew how notoriously perfect the Lord Commander was and Elaxsius was well aware of where his Captains ambitions lay and in that end it meant glory could only follow.

Squad Carax made their way slowley through the village. Bolters rose scanning each and every building they entered. There was no one here, the buildings long deserted. Joas, a young man from the outskirts of Carax itself was partnered with Jovotch. The two men had become fast friends in the training halls of the Fortress Monastery in Carax.

Although Jovotch had become slightly broader built then he already was with the gene-seed and the Armourers had to redesign his suit, Joas was slimmer built and yet he had the power of an Astartes and his slimmer build was disarming.

They took the basement stairs cautiously, when Joas had got the bottom he swept round as Jovotch began his descent. Their visors had already switched to night vision and as they took a look around their surroundings they took in the fact that there was nothing to even indicate anyone had lived here.

The two brothers shared an uneasy glance with each other, even in the run down homes in the old districts of Chemos there had been evidence of life, that someone had existed but here there was none. Not even broken furniture or wine bottles nothing to even say there had been life here.

Joas pointed to an area about three meters in front of them and as Jovotch followed his friend’s direction he started at the tunnel that had been dug within the wall. The two brothers moved to the tunnel entrance and peered within the darkness. It seemed to go on forever.

They slowley made their way down the stygian blackness the only sound was the condensation from the ceiling that dripped like some incessant water torture, when the universe would turn in on itself and everything go mad Jovotch would remember how irritating and nerve wracking that noise could be.

When finally they emerged into another cavern the two Marines could not believe what they were seeing. Joas blink clicked the sergeants’ rune,

++ Sir, you might want to come and see this ++

++ Report Joas, what have you found? ++

++ The villagers’ sir, we have found the villagers ++

Before the two newly appointed Emperors Children were the mutilated and devastated bodies of the villagers. Men, women and children were cast at impossible angles for a human body and they had been what seemed to be ritually disembowelled.

Elaxsius muttered something under his breath as he and the rest of Squad Carax emerged into the slaughter house. The Squad moved into a protective semi-circle around their Sergeant and continuously swept their bolters for any signs of danger.

“By the Golden Throne!” Brother Hensala whispered.

“This is what the maniacs that do not want to come into the light of the Emperor do to those who do want reunification” Elaxsius growled.

Jovotch turned and let a yelp go as one of the bodies began to move; suddenly the corpses removed themselves from their holdings and advanced upon the marines. The sound of Bolter fire cracked into the cavern more so the sound of groaning bodies chanting one name.

“Slaresh” They all groaned and reached out for the perfect armour of the Marines,

Joas cursed as his treasured Aquila was touched by these undead things and taking his combat knife he plunged it deep into the head of the woman that had dared defile the symbol of the Emperor.

Squad Carax began to move backwards and as they did Jovotch and Kenan removed threw their frag grenades then ducked as the resulting explosion brought body parts around them. Any who had escaped the explosion were cut down by the Emperor born sons of Fulgrim.

Jovotch and Kenan stood side by side firing their bolters into the mass of bodies until there were none left. Elaxsius ordered his men to halt and let the bolter smoke clear. He nodded in satisfaction and then wondered what on Chemos was he going to tell his Captain.

“Burn the whole town” He ordered “Burn it to the ground, Joas, Jovotch and Kenan good work there.”

Kenan grinned at Jovotch “We are brothers again Halter”

Jovotch looked at the armoured gauntlet that rested on his arm and moved it, the gesture enough to say what he would not voice and walked back out towards the surface.
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post #14 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-08-12, 12:06 PM
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the twisted hoes...thats a good rock name lol
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post #15 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-08-12, 01:06 PM
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I must have dozed off and missed the start. Best get the old grey matter in gear..

"Death occurs when a lethal projectile comes together in time and space with a suitable target, in the absence of appropriate armour or protection”

Check out my 40K 'Epic' about the Hunted verses the Inquisition:

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post #16 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-11-12, 08:28 AM
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Alright, I just had to pin this idea down before it slipped away. I really wanted to try to convey the terror one must feel while entering the Warp for the first time, especially if the ship's survival rests on one's shoulders.

Just like last time, please criticize (constructively!) .

With Body and Mind - 1,037 words (including title).

A sense of anxious anticipation flowed through his body, causing his heart to beat rapidly and his muscles to throb. Secured in the cold steel contraption that served as his throne, he did his best to regain his composure. He, of all people, needed to remain calm.

His arms were shackled to the armrests at the wrist; likewise, his legs were locked tightly at the ankle. His head was clamped to the back of the throne by a metal ring, which kept his gaze pointing through the towering glass viewport directly ahead of him. Numerous cybernetic jacks were embedded in the ring, as well as the throne itself, and from each jack protruded a wire mated to ports in his skull and spine. In this way, he was inexorably tied to the massive vessel.

He swallowed, feeling the saliva drop through his esophagus like a boulder. Despite his best efforts, he began to sweat, and his breathing became short and quick. This was his first venture, after all! How could he not be nervous? Yes, he’d been trained, but the realization of being on a ship hurtling through the Warp terrified him greatly. At the mercy of the Empyrean, a ship was nothing more than a massive metal death-trap.

In the background, he heard the crew busily preparing for launch. They shouted orders and status updates across the bridge, sat down at cogitators and tapped away at the ancient brass keys, or performed a myriad of other mundane, yet necessary tasks. Finally, the captain announced with pride that they were ready to set off. Their ship had been delayed for nearly a week by a series of unfortunate setbacks, but their cargo was vital and if they did not leave now, they would be too late.

He urged himself to relax and closed his eyes, focusing not on the situation at hand, but on his heritage; though he was young, he was a member of the ancient House Amaranth. He was part of the next generation, tasked with upholding the family’s proud name throughout the Imperium. If he failed on this, his first trial, then not only would he die in disgrace, he would also forfeit the lives of thousands – no, millions.

The thought of his lineage and the weight of responsibility helped focus his mind, and when he opened his eyes, there was a fierce determination in them. He would succeed, at all costs.

A screeching metal groan echoed through the bridge as the ship uncoupled from its mooring, followed by a deep thrumming as the engines came to life. He felt the ship lurch forward, picking up speed as it departed from the Naval station. The space in front of him was pitch black, with only a few distant stars burning light years away.

“Power to the Warp drives. We need to make good time,” the captain ordered.

Through his neural links, he felt another shift as the vessel prepared to translate. As the drives charged with energy, so did his anxiety. Only a few more seconds, now…

He offered a quick, silent prayer to the Emperor before he was gripped by a moment’s feeling of weightlessness, then blinded by a sea of light.

“Translation successful,” reported one of the junior officers.

The Navigator forced his third eye, a slit-opening just above his right eyebrow, open. Through it, he could see past the protectively shaded glass of the viewport and the translucent bubble that was the Gellar field surrounding the ship’s exterior. He could peer into the very fabric of the Warp; the shifting, pulsing miasmas of primordial, psychic energy. He could hear the predatory howls of the beasts and anguished cries of the souls trapped within its infinite domain.

He was nearly overwhelmed by the experience, until he saw one piercing beam that cut through everything else. This was a beam of pure golden illumination, one that sung to him in a powerful, harmonic chorus. It brought him comfort and guidance. He knew instantly that it was the holy Astronomican.

He breathed a sigh of relief. By focusing on the Astronomican, he was able to organize the chaotic rifts and currents of the Warp into something resembling a safe path. The Navigator relayed the proposed route through his cybernetic links, so that it appeared as a hologram projected in the center of the bridge.

“Hmm… you estimate this will take eight days, eh? I suppose we have no other choice. I’ve heard of Navigators who foolishly ventured too close to the Eye of Terror, to save perhaps a day or two, only to disappear forever. This route may not be the quickest, but it is the most secure. I applaud you, Navigator,” the captain remarked.

His entire consciousness was focused on the Warp, but he heard the captain’s approval as if he was speaking in a distant dream. The journey was far from over, but the Navigator had survived the tumult of his first Warp jump.

Seven days later, the vessel tore away from the Warp and re-entered the Materium. It crackled with incorporeal lightning and trailed wisps of smoke as its realspace engines took over, propelling the ship towards the crystal-blue planet ahead.

The Navigator finally closed his third eye and grinned. It was a harrowing experience, no doubt, but he had served the Imperium well. The planet was called Optimus IX, a plague-stricken world that had been in dire need of medical supplies for months. Crates of medicine and vaccine were piled in the ship’s cargohold, waiting for transfer to the beleaguered people below. If the Navigator had failed in his duty, and the ship was lost to the ravenous entities of Chaos, it was likely the entire planet would have perished.

The Navigator reflected upon his fate. He knew that each Warp jump would be a potential sacrifice, a leap into the fires of destruction, but he was willing to risk that to serve his Emperor. He was one of the very few who could make sense of the Warp and chart a course through its madness, and he would devote everything – his body, and his mind – to using that gift for the greater good of Man.

"Consequence of Mercy" - Written for KingOfCheese
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post #17 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-12-12, 06:43 PM
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Heresy Online Expeditious Stories 12-02
1058 words
Judgment’s Heat

In another Chapter, Vyx Lukr suspected, his errors would go unnoted. Perhaps he would be censured, but not… this.

But the Sons of Medusa, the Iron Hands’ most fervent successors, were not another chapter. And Vyx was not another Space Marine. He knew his sins, his folly, his weakness. He would atone for it, though the cost would be high.

In the end, his Squad’s loss had not been his fault- not entirely. The primary villain had been Aloam Kablar, an Iron Father, who had betrayed the Chapter and the Imperium for vengeance against Vyx. It had been petty, and the danger that it exhibited- the sheer ruin that unchecked emotion could bring- was a cloud that hovered over all Sons of Medusa and all Space Marines.

And Lukr’s fault in not preventing that ruin, however minor, would be punished. After all, Kablar was dead, and the Chapter could do nothing more against him.


Lukr stepped into the chamber with heavy shoulders. He had seen the Room of Sentence many times before, but had never expected to be tried in it. It was an utterly black place, and even Lukr’s enhanced vision could discern only one source of light- a lamp some distance above the throne opposite him.

As he knelt, he considered the throne. The man sitting in it was his brother, but a far superior one; that was Vaylund Cal, Iron Thane of Clan Atropos and supreme commander of a third of the Sons of Medusa. He was flanked by two Venerable Dreadnoughts, representatives of the Chamber Ferrum; even in the dim light, Lukr could identify them as Mautwi Acmuhal and Axock Vyrabal, some of the highest-ranking Dreadnoughts of the Sons of Medusa.

It was rare that such a company was assembled in this room; typically, Cal stood alone, pronouncing a sentence of weakness on some xeno, serf, or renegade and executing them on the spot. A brother Marine required more care, for which Lukr was rather grateful. Even now, he was considered to be important.

“Battle-Brother Vyx Lukr.” Cal’s voice was deep and severe, even accusing. “Your weakness has been noted. We have conferred to decide your fate.”

Lukr knelt in the darkness and cold. This was humiliation, and not truly deserved; but it would be over soon, one way or another. Cal, unlike Lukr himself, was not known for drama. Nevertheless, as the Iron Thane paused, Lukr took a moment to defend himself.

“Remember,” he said, “that Kablar’s fault was infinitely greater than my own. Remember how you sanctified him, how you raised him to the ranks of the Iron Fathers! With me, at least, you can be certain that my weakness is limited to the body. For how many others can you say the same?”

“I would tell you to be silent, but that matters little.” Cal let out no laugh, no sign of mirth; he never did. “But you are right; your punishment must be less than Kablar’s. You will be allowed to serve your Chapter with your death. You will be sent, alone-” Lukr was already alone- “on a mission to recover lost artifacts belonging to the Chapter. Survival rate predicted as twenty percent for the average Space Marine, forty percent for the average Son of Medusa, twenty-five percent for you. Thus I pass my sentence.”

The silent Dreadnoughts turned and walked back. Cal remained alone.

“Rise. And go.”

That, Lukr did. He was not too unhappy with the punishment- it was severe, but no less than he had expected. Besides, the Chapter’s leadership always underestimated him.

He would go. And he expected to return.

* * *


Vyx nodded to his former subordinate. “Apilun, you know that is no longer my designation.”

“Oh. I had forgotten. What will your punishment be?”

Lukr told him.

Apilun nodded. “That was in line with Iron Thane Cal’s prior decisions.” So he had been researching those prior decisions. “However, I- I still wish it did not have to be this way.”

“I do, too. But Cal is not known for mercy. I leave in a few minutes- will you escort me?”

He would. The two of them walked through sea-green hallways, passing by the core of the Fortress-Monastery. Hasit was in one of those halls- from rumors, Vyx guessed that he had abandoned Lukr completely. That was understandable.

“I don’t know,” Apilun said. “I do not see why I regret this. But I do. It is emotional, I suppose; I should not feel it, should I?”

“Emotion is not a sin, but a resource that can be used for good or ill. The flesh is weak, Apilun, but it should not be discarded entirely. Is hatred not an emotion? And should we not hate the weak?”

“Some Iron Fathers would consider this heresy.”

“Even Iron Fathers are not incorruptible.”

Apilun could only nod. The memory of Kablar still hung in both of their minds.

Vyx climbed into the fighter. After a few last goodbyes and a brief introduction to his new crew, he charged out of the hangar. Open space lay before him, a lightless void punctured by needles of star. The spaceship was holding together perfectly- as his mission was one of penitence, he had received one of the less-repaired models, meaning he could not have been sure of anything- and within moments, the fighter was weaving its way out of the Taelus system’s asteroid belt.

An utter blackness lay ahead of them, but Vyx had no fear. This was his destiny. Even if he would return, sooner or later he would meet his doom.

“Preparing Warp drives.”

“Preparing Gellar fields.”

“Securing vessel integrity.”

“Entering Warp!”

In two words, the chatter on the bridge ended. Outside the ship’s windows, black shattered, becoming a million unnatural hues. Each one was more garish than any of the others, and yet somehow each was the least painful of them all. There was no logic here, no concept of place.

The Navigator could see, with her Warp-Eye, the light of the Emperor’s Astronomicon. The rest of them were forced to either stare at the nightmare spacescape or drill the windows shut. Understandably, they did the latter.

The journey would take ten days. And after that, Vyx Lukr knew, there would be war, carnage, and death.

He could only hope it would not be his death. Hope- and fight.

Renegades Saga contributions
The Emperor has turned to Chaos. The dream of the Imperium has become a nightmare. But Horus and his Coalition stand against the dark, here at the end of time.

Lorgar's Betrayal
What was broken has been mended. And what was burned away can never be reforged.
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Day of Reckoning

“It should have been the happiest day of my life. Looking back now, I suppose it could still be considered such given what it was. I did not, however, think of it as such that day…- Excerpt from a private journal entry.

He had been an acolyte of his master for nearly two decades. Since his early teens, the life he had been living had all be for the sole purpose of attaining the ultimate reward… a rosette. His master had taken him to the far reaches of the Imperium, and many time far beyond the borders. He had been privy to things that would make most sane men’s minds sink into the mire of insanity. All of those things undertaken with the singular goal in mind… to earn a place in the Emperor’s Inquisition.

Lucian Andiron stood before the Inquisitor Lord who oversaw the operations of his particular cabal of the Ordo Xenos. The man before Lucian was a very old man, having served the Emperor for many long decades, and presumably he’d been doing so since before Lucian was even born. He has met the man only twice, this being their second meeting. In all due prudence, Lucian had never asked for his name as he felt he’d have been told it already if he’d needed to know. The fact that his master knew him and had enough confidence in Lucian to make a request for him to be given his rosette spoke volumes enough of how privileged Lucian was to be meeting with the Inquisitor Lord.

“So, Victor… you believe your acolyte here is worthy of being given his rosette?” the Inquisitor Lord inquired of Lucian’s master.

Victor Rumentis stood off to one side of the Inquisitor Lord, his dark robes covering the pitch black power armor that he favored above regular clothing. Victor had been an Inquisitor just shy of forty years, and had only elevated one other acolyte before Lucian. Among the Ordo, Victor was seen as one of the most ruthlessly strict masters an acolyte could ever have the misfortune of being assigned to. His methods were radical at best and tyrannical at worst, and even still Lucian had survived and thrived. It had not come without cost, but in the grand scheme of things, it was now suddenly all worth it.

“I do, my Lord. He has been a most studious acolyte, his faith and resolve proven beyond measure, his mind sharp and his focus to the tasks required of him. I would personally vouch for his fitness should you ask it of me,” Inquisitor Rumentis intoned rather officially.

Lucian felt a swell of pride in his chest. Never before had his master spoken such words of confidence. Such simply wasn’t his way. Now, however, it almost seemed a waking dream that he was now standing before an Inquisitor Lord, breaths away from leaving his master’s side to become a master himself.

“Acolyte Andiron,” the Lord Inquisitor turned his attention to the man standing before him. Lucian, clad in his own suit of power armor painted black much like his master’s, straightened visibly at the sound of his name. He dared not speak, the Lord Inquisitor had not asked it of him. He waited patiently for the man’s next words.

“Inquisitor Rumentis speaks highly of your skills and of your worth. I doubt that I have to tell you just how much such words weigh. In looking through the files he has compiled regarding your long apprenticeship, I do not believe such words to be hollow. Step forward, and take this Inquisitorial Rosette. You shall stand among us as a brother Inquisitor, no longer an apprentice of Inquisitor Rumentis,” the Lord Inquisitor said after a long pause, his hand reaching forward to present the symbol that would represent his authority as an Inquisitor.

Lucian stepped forward, his eyes fixated on the thing. He had seen one just like it among his master’s gear for decades, and had yearned for one of his own. With as steady a hand as his suit could offer him, Lucian seized the rosette and stepped back. He wasn’t at all sure how he was meant to reply, and decided it was best to remain respectfully silent.

The Lord Inquisitor turned to Lucian’s now former master, “Give him the details of his first assignment, I have other duties that demand my attention.”

“Of course my Lord,” Victor bowed slightly and watched the man depart for a moment before turning to his former pupil, “So, do you feel that you are sufficiently prepared for your first excursion alone?”

“You have taught me well, Master Rumentis,” Lucian nodded, “I believe I will be more than able to handle the things that shall come.”

Victor laughed heartedly, “We shall see, my boy… we shall see. Now then, your first assignment is going to be on the outskirts of the Segmentum. More specifically, there is a world that we believe an artifact can be found that is of significance to the Eldar. If the Eldar are looking for it, it must be something worth collecting and studying.”

“What’s the catch?” Lucian asked almost on instinct. His former master had been known to only explain half the situation and leave out much more broad details, such as what was waiting for him even before he arrived.

Again, Inquisitor Rumentis laughed loudly, “I see you are wasting no time taking up the mantle of a full Inquisitor… you’re already questioning even me! Excellent…”

Victor motioned for Lucian to follow him to a nearby display table that had been sitting dormant in the room. When it was activated, Lucian beheld what looked to be a rather sizable Eldar force already in orbit.

“You’ll be playing catch-up. The Eldar have already arrived in orbit and have been searching for nearly two weeks…”

“And what’s the other catch?” Lucian asked, knowing that the Xenos being there wasn’t the only dark cloud being revealed to him.

“You’re only going to be given a small cruiser with a squad of Adeptus Astartes from the Raven Guard Chapter. And they are not thrilled at the prospect of having to take orders from you. I was nice enough not to tell them that you were only just minted an Inquisitor,” Victor chuckled.

“Thanks…” as all Lucian could manage before making his way to his first and possibly last mission as an Inquisitor.

Word Count: 1073

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post #19 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-14-12, 07:13 AM
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Default A Different Life, A Different Time...

A different life, a different time...

1,099 words excluding title.

--- --- ---

‘Are you sure?’ Seprin asked. Though his face was a blank metal mask his voice conveyed confusion and even a hint of concern.

‘I am.’ Nemreth replied. ‘This decision has been some time coming now. I cannot continue as I have been. You are a psychomancer correct? What I ask is within your power.’

‘Indeed.’ Seprin replied, turning his head to glance at the glyph adorning his staff. ‘But you must realize what this entails. And further, you must understand that this is something I cannot reverse. The gift of the Forgotten God is a fickle one.’

‘I am aware.’ Nemreth nodded. ‘But it must be done.’ The two Necrons were silent for a few moments following this, before Seprin moved across the dark chamber to where his artefacts were being stored. Canoptek spyders watched his every move passively from the shadows.

‘You do not make use of wraith constructs I’ve noticed.’ Nemreth observed. ‘Why is that?’

‘Bad memories.’ Seprin replied. ‘Have you heard the tale of Shadow? The First Wraith?’

‘I confess I have not.’ Nemreth answered, still standing exactly where he had been. ‘Should I have? Or is it something I am better to avoid in conversation with our master?’

Seprin chuckled a coarse metallic laugh before replying. ‘The First Wraith, curse his name, was once one of out greatest allies. A true champion who carried the favour of Aza’gorod and the Forgotten itself. He was a fickle ally at best. We don’t know if it was the gods meddling with his mind or not, but we no longer count him among those we can trust.’

‘I see.’ Nemreth nodded, though truthfully deeming it irrelevant.

‘Remain here and prepare yourself for the procedure.’ Seprin ordered the noble before him as he carried several cubic devices towards the chamber exit. ‘I will furnish your servants with the tesseract labyrinths you require and return to you in a short while.’

* * *

‘Is he going to go through with it?’ Arakyr asked, taking the cube shaped devices from the cryptek’s hand and giving one to Socous at his side.

‘He is indeed.’ Seprin confirmed. ‘It will be difficult for both of us, but if it leads to benefit I will repeat this process.’

‘Repeat?’ Arakyr enquired.

‘I...’ Seprin hesitated for a moment. ‘I used this procedure once before on Lord Mithrahc. He has become quite a different individual since then. To lose so much of what was your driving force. His purpose will remain, but his reasoning will be hazy for some time. Guard him well lychguard, for this will be difficult time for all concerned.’

‘As you say, cryptek.’ Arakyr replied. He turned to Socous who, typically, had not deemed the conversation in need of his input.

* * *

Thousands of warriors died in an instant as the first blasts of energy washed over them. The devastating psychic attack from the great serpent like creature at the head of the lesser saurid attackers could not be resisted and Nemesor Nemreth was forced to watch as his army suffered a grievous blow in one swift stroke. He cried out in anger and despair. His own son was among those that lay dead. With the serpent alien’s power temporarily exhausted, he ordered the charge continue. He was fighting a losing battle, but worse would be the wrath of his king should he fail...

Necrontyr soldiers died in droves, yet their casualties were equalled by their reptilian opponents. The large serpentine leader remained motionless, gathering his strength for the second shockwave that would finish Nemreth’s already diminished forces. It was through his own tenacity and the skill of his bodyguard unit led by the ever blade savvy Arakyr that he managed to bring the creature down before it could decimate the remainder of his army.

He returned victorious, but without his son and with his army all but destroyed. The title of Nemesor was stripped from him and he was reduced to the role of an administrator. Thus began Nemreth’s fall...

* * *

He was an unstoppable warrior now, freed from the shackles of mortality and the weakness of flesh. He had become what he was always destined to be, a leader and a general, a Nemesor without peer. But the cost had been great. Even as the biotransference took place, he and the others could feel their lives becoming hollow. Their souls had been all but erased, and only the memory of this betrayal remained. The gods had fooled them, and the uncaring whims of the higher royalty had seen many unfortunates left to suffer the mass transference that would deny them even their own memories.

Nemreth’s wife was such an individual. Not deemed important enough to serve a prominent role in the upcoming wars, she had been claimed by the ghost arks shortly after Nemreth’s ascension. By the time he had found her empty vessel, it was too late. She had lost all semblance of memory and her life force had been drained to feed the hunger of an uncaring god. He cursed Szarek’s name with every fibre of his being, but at the same time shared the Silent King’s own lament.

* * *

Stepping back from the kneeling still form of Nemreth, Seprin looked upon the noble with a new sense of understanding. Nemreth was not like Mithrahc or Nayten. He was not a deposed phaeron looking for a way to reclaim a throne. Yet what he was about to do could change that. It could transform the lord into a being as power hungry as the legendary Imotekh himself.

It was a risk. But it was not Seprin’s place to deny the noble his request. He had glimpsed the memories of the lord through the link he had established. Now, as he activated an arcane piece of technology built into his staff, he prepared for the next step. To remove these memories required the cryptek to experience them himself first hand. Steeling his resolve, he opened his mind and advanced headlong into the fires of the god hunter’s turbulent mind...

Several days passed. Following his own preparations, Arakyr waited patiently at the chamber doorway. When the pair finally rose from their knees, he stood to attention as Nemreth approached.

‘My Lord?’ Arakyr asked. ‘Are you well? Do the memories still plague you?’

‘What are you babbling about Arakyr?’ Nemreth asked in response. ‘Come, we petition Lord Mithrahc for an expeditionary force immediately. We have a god to hunt.’

Rising to his feet on eerily shaky servos, the cryptek wondered if he done the right thing, or created a monster from the flames of Nemreth’s memories...

Nonsense is our Salvation

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post #20 of 25 (permalink) Old 02-14-12, 09:54 AM
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Oh man oh man oh man. I'm scrapping my previous idea. Inspiration has struck.

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What sphinx of plascrete and adamantium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Imperator! Imperator!
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