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post #1 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-07-12, 04:31 PM Thread Starter
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Default Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 12-10: Failure

Welcome to the year's tenth Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories (HOES) Challenge!

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, totalled 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.


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 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:


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)Tuesday, November 25, 2012. Voting will be held from 26 November - 01 December. Remember, getting your story submitted on November 8th will be just as considered by others as one submitted on November 24th! Take as much time as you need to work on your piece!

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.

Participation - 1 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 2 reputation points
2nd place - 3 reputation points
1st place - 5 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!

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.

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post #2 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-11-12, 08:31 PM
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A Question of Perspective

„And what happened next?“

That was the question every storyteller wished for and dreaded at the same time. Normally, Felix Jaeger preferred to write down his stories and thus escape direct interaction with his audience, but sometimes, on occasion, when he and his travelling companion were recognised, he found himself cornered and badgered into telling of their adventures.

And so he sat in front of the fireplace in a tiny tavern at the backend of nowhere, his broken leg – the reason they had hung around long enough to be recognised – propped up on a stool, surrounded by what looked like all the children in a 50 mile radius who hung on his every word. At least the beer was bearable here. Gotrek still grumbled, of course, not just about human brewing skills, but also about brittle human bones and human weakness in general. But – to be brutally honest – Felix didn’t mind the rest one bit. Even if he had to tell the same story again and again.

“And what happened next?”

He forced a smile, took another sip from his beer stein, gazed over his enraptured audience and continued:

“... from inside the cave we heard the monster bellow. Gotrek hefted his axe and yelled a challenge...”

The dwarf sniffed the air. “Never smelled anything like this, manling.” Felix did the same, and couldn’t smell anything – except the sharp tang of excrement and cat urine and that wasn’t different from any of the other about five thousand animal dens they had explored during Gotrek’s search for a worthy doom. So he just shrugged and lit one of their torches, before drawing Karaghul and advancing behind the dwarf into the stinking darkness of the cavern.

The entrance was low enough he had to duck – a problem the slayer didn’t share. Under foot, bones crunched and the ground was moist and slippery. Finally, the corridor widened, and they came into a larger chamber. A small streamlet ran through it and on the other side of it crouched an animal unlike any Felix had ever seen. It resembled a giant cat, but its hide was scaled like a snake’s.

Had some sort of chaos witchery fused a cat and a snake together?

Probably. For a moment, even Gotrek seemed surprised. They had been told to expect a catlike monster, but the locals had failed to mention those bizarre characteristics. They had been very vocal on the fact that the creature was supposedly invulnerable, with axes and arrows simply passing through it without doing any harm. This had been what had prompted the Slayer to seek it out, in the hope of finally finding his doom.

Felix hadn’t been hopeful – if he’d ever be because the end of Gotrek’s search meant his death, and he was still not sure how he felt about this – but of course he had tagged along as he had sworn on that one drunken night so long ago.

“Stay out of this, manling, this is my battle!” the dwarf roared and charged through the water, towards the monster.

With a long suffering sigh, Felix fixed the torch in a nook of the wall, wrapped his cloak around his free arm and went a few steps deeper into the cave, so he would see everything that transpired.

And then he gasped, for Gotrek’s wild charge had carried him past his goal, without ever making contact with the cat. Instead, he almost ran headfirst into the opposite wall, only halting his momentum at the last moment. The dwarf screamed his rage – and then it turned into a scream of pain, as six deep scratches suddenly opened in his bare back.

Felix had seen the thing leap, but from its trajectory had assumed it would miss. Surely it couldn’t have made contact with the dwarf... He couldn’t dwell on it though, for Gotrek once more raised his mighty axe and brought it down on the animal in a stroke brutal enough to cleave it in two. And once again, there was no contact. The creature turned, and began to circle around its prey...

It seemed like this time, the villagers actually had spoken the truth about the thing’s invulnerability. Sure enough, none of the dwarf’s swings managed to do the slightest damage as they passed through the monster’s body. The monster, on the other hand, ignored the slayer’s defenses, scoring bleeding cuts on his chest and arms.

Slowly, but inexorably, the dwarf was driven backwards, towards the slippery stones of the rivulet, where it disappeared into the darkness at the end of the cave.

Felix wanted to charge in, to help, but of course he could not. His job was to record Gotrek’s doom, not prevent it. Still, he moved closer. He just could not understand... He had seen Gotrek fight far faster, deadlier, and more impressive creatures, and they had all fallen to his rune axe... And now...

Now, the end was close. Only a few steps seperated Gotrek from a fall into the darkness... Water spilled around his sturdy boots, making the ground treacherous. Twice, he’d almost fallen, while the monster...

And that was when Felix noticed. The water – it flowed through the creature's legs – but there were some places where it seemed to flow around something. Four obstacles. Like, four paws. BESIDE the monster, not underneath it.

“Gotrek! Strike to your left! That’s where it is!” Felix yelled, while storming forward to prevent the creature from leaving the stream where the footprints gave it away. And then... he slipped. Felix lost his footing, and only just could keep himself from being disemboweled by his own sword. A sharp pain, accompanied by a loud crack, went through his leg and he landed on his face in the cold water, just as the creature’s tormented roar cut through the air, telling him Gotrek had finally figured out the reason of the beast’s invulnerability...

“So, the quest was a success? Gotrek killed it?”

With a sigh, Felix leaned back in his chair and felt a blush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. After all, while Gotrek had fought for his life and bested another terrible monster, all he himself had managed was to break his leg by slipping on a stone.

“No.” The young man shook his head. “Gotrek killed the creature. But he did not succeed.” A pregnant pause. “The quest was a failure. He still has not found his doom.”

1071 Words

Last edited by Liliedhe; 11-14-12 at 12:46 PM.
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post #3 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-12-12, 05:42 AM
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910 words

I hear the creature that had once been Alcius mewling as he lies on the slab. It’s a pitiful sound, and it makes me feel sick to hear him sound so weak and broken. He may have led us here, into this hell, but he was never weak. A fool, perhaps, to think that we could escape the wraiths.

At least the Alcius-thing isn’t howling with pain anymore. I never wish to hear such sounds again. If only I could press my hands against my ears to muffle the sounds, but I can’t move my arms anymore. Do I even have arms? Does it have arms?

It had cursed and cried and wailed, as the toxins coursed through its flesh.

His flesh. I have to remember it was once human.

I can smell excrement and sickness. It doesn’t just come from the thing on the slab, but from the floor and the corners of the room. There are other things. Some of them I remember as my friends and family. Others could have been once xenos or human, or animal for all I know. There is no difference between them now.

If I turn my head to the left, I can see a fused centipede that has once been Lydia and Colm, but is now only an idiot monster, drooling and mumbling half-forgotten childhood rhymes. I don’t look at it. If I do, I might meet its eyes and see something of Alcius’ wife and son look back at me.

If I look to the right, I can see Milla’s head sewn onto something that might have once been a horse and some kind of an undersea monster. She tries to speak sometimes, I can see her lips move, but no voice comes. Does she know I cannot hear her?

The Alcius-thing’s voice grows stronger and I wonder if perhaps there’s something left in it of its previous spirit.

His spirit. I have to remember it was once human.

It does not struggle and I wonder if I should blame it for its weakness. But no, Alcius had never been weak. If it does not fight, then it cannot anymore. It is broken.

None of the captive grotesques fight anymore. They have learned the futility of such action. Once the creature on the slab had broken free of its bonds and tried to rally the others. But back then it has still been Alcius. Weak, weary, and in pain, but still human, still prepared to fight, to protect his family. He had thought we could run away.

The master of this bedlam laboratory had laughed, even when his creations turned against him. Back then, it had puzzled me—did he not know he was in danger? He had spat teeth and nursed broken bones, but he still had laughed and we all learned why.

First, Colm crumpled down convulsing. With his fall a domino of flesh tumbled, all in pain, so much pain, we never knew this kind of pain.

When I awoke we were no longer human. Perhaps we had never been human? Perhaps I am just a scrap of meat, dreaming it had ever been more?

No. I have to remember that once I had been human, too.

I am still human. Toxins and pain cannot make me something less. As long as I think, I remain. My mind is still mine, my fortress and my bulwark.

The Alcius-thing on the slab whimpers, and I hear its body writhe. Perhaps it’s trying to escape or perhaps the toxins had some delayed effect? I do not know.

No… I do know. It is in pain again. Something is changing in its body. I hear the snap of twisting bones and wet sounds as they pierce meat and skin. The toxin was something more, then.

I swallow convulsively and bile rises in my throat. I do not vomit, but only because my stomach is empty and has been for ages. I screw my eyes shut, tears streaming down my cheeks and into my mouth. They’re not salty anymore, they taste of copper.

A bestial howl of pain pierces the air and other voices join it. There is a song, a lullaby, its words broken and confused. And there is laughter.

And there is pain. It radiates from my chest and burns like a supernova in my limbs. It crawls through my muscles and flows in my blood. Every breath of air, every gulped lungful is akin to swallowing acid.

My eye-lids are wrenched open and I have to gaze into the black orbs of my tormentor. He grins, thin lips spreading to show pearly white teeth. They’re filed and even, though they should be broken. Did we not break them when we tried to run?

“Trying to run again?” it hisses.

I shouldn’t have even noticed, and yet, I felt a small prick as the needle of a syringe pierced the tender flesh of my neck. The pain did not die down, but the cracking of rearranging bones and the wet meaty sounds of tearing tissue died down.

But… why? It had been the thing on the slab that was being torn apart by its own body.

“Don’t deny,” my tormentor laughs. “You try to pretend it’s not you, but your body knows.”

I am not the Alcius-thing. He must be lying—it is not me, for that thing is barely recognizable as human, and I am still a man.

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post #4 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-13-12, 03:45 PM
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Default “My Only True Friend” (1098? words) (Draft in case of grammar errors)

Hi everyone,
Glad to be back on here again and that the Heresy problems got sorted out.
My thanks to Boc and anyone else who helped with this.
I just read through the "Family Ties" HOES stories and they were all fantastic!

Prompted by the theme, the following story came into my head.
As always with my 'story' postings, all of the characters, locations & events are from ''somewhere else'' (i.e. not my imagination, nor taken from any other writers as far as I know)...they just come to me as time goes by and I try to use my words to do justice to what they are saying or experiencing.

I am always attempting to improve my transcribing. Not only for myself and my family, but mainly to give your good selves something better to read and pass the time.
Comments/criticisms/suggestions/etc always most gratefully received.
Peace and good luck to everyone!

“My Only True Friend” (1100 words)

Armour crashes through undergrowth, colliding with solid thuds against trees, almost masking the death-squeals of the small animals crushed in it’s headlong charge. A flash of steel shoots out and a sword tears the remaining vegetation from the man’s path.

His inner being had brought him to the still, shadowed glade.
Having reached his goal, though nearly exhausted, he treads carefully as there is only wan starlight to see by.
Upon a night like this, even the moon dares not show her face, for the air is laden with expectation and promises a new part of his life.

When Heinrich Kestermann looks at the visage in the rippling water, what do you suppose he sees?:
A fine knight? A noble man? A Margrave of not-inconsiderable repute?
Or instead: One who fell? A coward? A traitor?

No matter the truth of it, his head is enveloped in agony when he tries to think of ‘the- time-before’, so instead he attempts to refocus upon his image:
Scar-lined cheeks boldly tell of battles old and new. Heavy brows speak of a lifetime of hard decisions. The merest glance at the deep set grey eyes sees them aflame with sorrows as yet unavenged.
Without thinking, his body pitches forwards beneath the violently churning water.

The scroll from the elderly wizard had promised salvation for his family and lover if he only had the courage to take it.
In a moment of madness (or was it over-eagerness?) Heinrich had taken the invitation to be a challenge against his valour. His mind had no trouble reconciling the ransacking of the tower after his mailed fists had left naught but a robed pile of crumpled bones behind.
The scroll had been a map, leading him here these past six months; the authorities had swiftly found the old man’s corpse...his family’s 'good name' was now forever hated.

His mind tries blot out the vision and return to the present, yet cannot prevent the sight inside his closed eyes:
A field of fire and sand and pain. Oily black machines litter the ground, mingled with the corpses and wargear of foe and ally alike. Silver streaks blaze across the sky and he knows they foretell more of the vermin coming to be slaughtered. It matters not, all shall fall.
A fellow knight turns to him and in a sibillant voice which contrasts with it’s huge bulk states:

“All you have to say is ‘yes’, Margrave. The spoils of your accomplishments will be vast and you shall have what you wish for and deserve.
“None shall ignore your new life and never again will you be thrust into those despicable courtly intrigues when you are needed upon the frontlines to defend your lands.”

The offer was indeed intriguing...a veteran of many campaigns, Heinrich was often pulled away to conduct treaties instead of killing the many foes of his home. The voice continues:
“The beastmen hordes assailing your dominion will bow down in loyalty instead of frenziedly attacking.
“ Your blade of simple steel will be reworked and reforged to new keenness, bearing the soul of another to reap their skulls and end them once and for all.”

Through the dark brown water, he looks down at the sword:
Forged for him at birth, it has been his one true friend during all the years of his life and never failed him. Whatever might happen to him, Heinrich resolves to never let such a noble companion fall to corruption.

Wracked by electric spasming agonies upon his refusal, he resurfaces, thinking himself free of the machinations of the vision-pool.
Yet the brackish waters prevented his weary eyes from seeing the piles of glowing green-black rocks at the bottom, the ones whose razor-sharp shards have already invaded his feet, cutting through his heavy leather boots as though they were made of silk.

Pulling himself onto the bank, vision returns and he tears off his footwear, surprised to see their soles sliced open.
His mind and vision still numbed and anaesthetised from the insidious warm liquid, it takes him several minutes to recall that his right foot used to have five digits, not the eight he sees before him.
Also, his left extremity was never webbed and suckered like that of an octopus.

“Foolish mortal! You would spurn the favours we proffer?
“We sought to show you the words of power; the ones which would save your family -and Isabelle- from death. You were unworthy, Heinrich Kestermann of the Reiksgard! See where your path has taken damnation!”

Roaring in defiance, Kenrich rails against the knowledge that he is already irrevocably tainted by the temptations he resisted.
He unsheathes his sword -the only thing that matters to him anymore- and hurls it into the pool.
It has barely disappeared beneath the surface before it is spat back out at him, spinning end over end. Despite his efforts to evade the blade, it still only misses his head by inches, embedding itself hilt-first into a nearby tree.

His relieved barking laugh at avoiding death suddenly turns into a series of gasps and wheezes. He has seen such effects when fighting the Skaven and Northmen: the warpstone has already reached his lungs and seeks to rob his limbs of oxygen.

Looking down, the skin of those same limbs begins to strain and crack, weeping dark red pus under the mutating effects of the wyrdling pool. It will be mere seconds before his bones suffer similar fates.
Although the transformations sway and stagger him, the remaining vestiges of honour in the disgraced once-knight mean he does not yet fall.

“My loved ones will die. My castles shall fall to ruin. The love I craved and murdered for will be forever denied to me.
"Yet, though I die an abomination, I have the true heart of an uncorrupted soul!”

Quickly turning, Heinrich uses the last of his strength to hurl his body at the nearest tree and his ancestral broadsword renders one last faithful service to it’s owner.
As vision blurs, the Margrave eagerly and welcomingly embraces his failures, these inherent frailties of fleeting mortal ambition.

In time, others will come to the moonlit glade.
Some few accept the gifts and lay waste to the innocents of The Old World.
Far many more will drown in the murky depths, either having refused temptation, or being found wanting by the semi-sentient pool.
Yet all who come shall stop and stare (if only for the briefest moment) at the forgotten, twisted and warped creature -spitted upon four feet of steel- which died with a satisfied smile on it’s face.

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; 11-23-12 at 12:20 AM. Reason: Fixed for default font/colour
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post #5 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-22-12, 08:55 PM
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A sequel to my HOES 11-10 entry, at . (Hopefully reading it isn't necessary to understand this one.)

Heresy Online Expeditious Stories 12-10: Failure
1070 words

Governor Ricdar Kramm of the world Hexeril gazed at the blue-armored Space Marine warily.

“I am not your slave,” he said.

It was a bold thing to tell an Alpha Legionnaire. Like most Chaos Space Marines, they were not exactly the kindest of overlords.

But they were not needlessly cruel, either. Only reasonably so.

“You are not,” Uner accepted, his voice mechanically amplified by his helmet. “But you are our minion. Tell me, Kramm; can you truly turn this world without our help?”

“Of course!”

Uner froze in thought for a second, then seemed to relax. “Very well. I will convince Traet to leave. You… you will make Hexeril loyally Chaotic within a year.” The Alpha Legionnaire held out an oversized, gauntleted hand.

Kramm shook it.

* * *

Kramm hadn’t expected it to be easy. He had foreseen, in one way or another, all that had preceded, from making clear his conversion to bolster the fanaticism of the Imperial rebels a few hours after the Alpha Legion’s arrival to the emotional tricks to drive those madmen into a self-destructive spiral.

It was somewhat childish, but Kramm liked explosions a lot.

But though the ragtag fanatics might be dead, or else herded into slavery, the greater challenge still lay ahead. Kramm had been fully aware that the Imperium would attempt to retake Hexeril. It was a fairly significant Civilized World, after all.

But… Space Marines? How?

The governor sat in his aquamarine throne, reading the official demand for surrender from a hanging dataslate. It was fairly standard; redemption was death, and resistance was painful death.

“Even their messages are boring,” Kramm said, then hammered the throne’s arm when he realized there was no one around to answer. Narpekl was gone, dead, shot; he had no allies left. Only minions.

The governor picked up a microphone, twirling it in his hands; this was it. His best-laid plans, against a best-prepared enemy. With a few practiced keystrokes, he reached the hidden defenses in orbit.

“Kill them,” he ordered. “I don’t care how many slaves die today; the Imperium will win if they reach the ground. But in space, they are vulnerable.”

A chorus of acceptance greeted his orders, and Kramm lounged back in his seat, swiping his hand across a screen to open the tactical display. As he watched, titanic spheres uncloaked, and what was once transparent space glistened with deadly metal. It had taken sacrificing everything he had, including his popularity, to get those constructed on time; but

The Imperial fleet- now greatly outnumbered, though not outgunned- paused in thought, like a superorganism in nervous shock.

The battle-spheres opened fire.

Missiles streaked through space and explosions bloomed; though Kramm could only see red lines and schematic rings, his limited imagination was sufficient to picture the melee. He was no general; there was a separate room of those several doors down, prodigies plucked from forgettable nothingness and thrust into the palatial corridors. They weren’t the best admirals on Hexeril; but they were good, and more importantly, loyal.

Kramm saw the Imperial ships fire back, gathering into a panicked ball that immediately became a target for suicide fighters. They still had the resources to win this battle, but as soon as the governor saw the first frigate break formation and head towards the jump point, he knew it was over.

They would return- perhaps soon. But it would be the Alpha Legion’s problem. Kramm had worked Hexeril to the brink of death to keep it in Chaos’ hands, and it had worked. He saw more and more Imperial vessels disengage, fleeing in a rather organized manner, but fleeing nevertheless.

The battle was over.

* * *

Through a smoky sky, the Alpha Legion descended onto Hexeril.

Kramm watched the shuttles fall from a balcony, in a gold-colored mask. It was mildly ostentatious, but triumph tended to be.

Blue and green shuttles, inscribed with the serpent insignia, danced above shaking buildings. As had been ordered, the Legionnaires were greeted with a sacrificial salute; as the first shuttle reached an altitude of one kilometer, a hundred cannons fired severed heads into the air, and a hundred cut tongues screamed the names of the gods.

The buildings shook again with the sound, and daemonic wurms crawled out, dripping with the slime of their incarnation. Those were silent, only raising their heads in salute.

That first shuttle did not, of course, stop at a kilometer. It dropped further down, as if it was wingless, before braking; the wind caught it, tossing it to the palace’s tallest spire. Then it was descending once more, slowing as it approached Kramm before stopping to hover before the balcony.

A ramp fell out. Uner- or at least a Legionnaire impersonating Uner- stepped onto it, striding towards Kramm in full battle plate.

“So, “Kramm”,” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I succeeded, lord. Hexeril belongs to Chaos.”

Uner ripped off his helm, revealing himself to indeed be the lieutenant, and spat in Kramm’s face; the governor flung his mask away, even as it began to dissolve. “You call this a turned world?” Uner near-screamed. “You call this a world that belongs to Chaos?”

“Why would it not be, lord?”

“How many people on Hexeril pray to the True Gods daily?”

“I have not mandated them to-”

“Exactly! Mandated!” The last attendant turned and rushed into the palace, leaving only Kramm and the Space Marine on the balcony. “This is not a world turned to Chaos, “Kramm”; this is a world where the populace fears Chaos. The gods must be loved, not hated; the same is true of their figurehead. Hexeril is obedient, but it is not turned. You failed. Slave.”

* * *

Ricdar Kramm- the real Ricdar Kramm, not the Alpha Legion aide who had been conditioned to refer to himself thus- pondered the stability map.

Uner had freed him, on the condition that he would make Hexeril worship Chaos. It was a deep challenge, made more difficult by the fact that the population hated him. He tiredly wondered if he could simply return to the Imperium, renounce the dark worship the Twentieth Legion had been forcing on him for three years… but no, the populace was too far gone for that, and so was he.

But then again, he was governor once more, and he wasn’t about to squander this chance.

“For the Emperor,” Kramm said, and not even he knew whether it was sincere.

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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post #6 of 6 (permalink) Old 11-22-12, 11:31 PM
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I'm trying to get something written for this, but both stories I've tried have turned out sub-par and I regard them as failures, of sorts.

CSM Plog, Tactica

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