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post #1 of 2 (permalink) Old 06-02-13, 06:13 PM Thread Starter
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Default Silence for the Dead

Hey Guys. My Name is MercenaryQ, New to the forum. I love writing Warhammer stories and figured I would share some. This is something I have been working on for 2 days. Its just the start and if you like it i will keep working on it. If there are any spelling errors i am sorry. English is not my first language. So now please enjoy " Silence for the Dead"
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Silence was all there was on Sedraga. Also known as 10021-434 in the Imperial charts, Sedraga was a dead world. Nothing inhabited the world spanning desert and the only sound there was, was the wind. Any Imperial explorer who had set foot on this world had described the sound of the wind as a mournful howl. The grieving wind would blow the sand around the world in an endless cycle, perhaps hoping that the motion of the dancing sand would comfort it. At least that is how the Poets put it. They would also describe the blazing heat planet’s surface. They would explain that the days lasted an eternity and the nights were frighteningly short. Blame for that was laid on the two suns the Sedraga orbited. The stars burned bright and harshly. An hour after the first sun would set, the second would rise. There was no water as the heat caused moisture to evaporate in a matter of seconds. There was no life because there was no water, a cycle of death caused by the two suns of this world. Unworthy of colonization, had been the verdict of the adepts of the Administratum.
The Mechanicum stubborn as ever came to this world after the Imperial explorers. Surely the flesh cursed explorers of the Imperium had missed something. After a year they also deemed this planet unworthy. The Bio Magos and his team spend thousands of hours looking for a shred of life. They hoped to find anything that could be exploited for the Mechanicum. Be it new plants for medicine or new animals that could prove to be easier to raise and eat then the grox. Some say the Bio Magos and his team had spent so long on this dead world because they were looking for the potential Microorganism that could have destroyed Sedraga. For no world can be this desolate except those destroyed by the world eater virus. Their research turned up nothing. Similar results came to those of the Mechanicum looking for valuable minerals. A Thousand of digs searching for promethium and ore came up empty. Scans of the world revealed nothing but sand. The Mechanicum had moved on and never returned to this desolate world.
Some clever business man had come up with the idea of establishing a solar energy farm on Sedraga. The strength of the twin sun and the short nights would ensure that the energy storage units would charge quickly, allowing for maximum profit. However when the business man petitioned to place the solar farm on this world it had swiftly been denied. Apparently someone had beaten him to the ownership of this world and did not want him on or near it. They spend years and hundreds of thousands of credits to track down the owners of this world. No one understood the logic of the owner of Sedraga.
“Who would want to own a dead world and not profit” the business man asked himself. He sent a fleet of ships to Sedraga to ask the owners of the planet directly. He had even hired a company of mercenaries to ensure the talks went smoothly. The man waited years but the ships never returned.
After that rumored started to circulate the area around Sedraga. Whatever lived there did not want anyone else near it. Some thought it was eldar pirates for whom else could take interest in an otherwise empty world. Others decided it was Orks for the same reasons. Few believed that it was the work of Chaos that none could draw near. All of the rumors forgot the fact that the planet was registered and inhabited by an Imperial Sanctioned body. The speculation spread like a poison through the blood stream and soon no one wanted to go to Sedraga. So Sedraga or 10021-434 spun around its suns, destined to be forever ignored by the worlds around it. Until the day the Astartes arrived.
It was a day like any other when the warp tore open at the edge of the system. From the gaping maw of the Immatrium came a large blood red Astartes battle barge. The ship was colossal, a leviathan in the sea of stars. The cathedrals the size of hives grew from its back. The barge was covered with weapons. The massive forward lance batteries and were pointed directly at Sedraga like the weapons of executioners. The thrusters burned white hot, the workers of the engineering deck working at maximum capacity to ensure the barge arrived at its destination as soon as it could. It took several hours for the cruiser to arrive at its destination. The thrusters stopped burning and the Astartes craft entered the orbit of the planet. The Battle barge drifted alongside the dead world like an artificial moon. The light from the dual suns reflected of the broad side of the cruiser revealing a painting. The image of a tear of crimson blood with pure white wings was depicted on the side of the cruiser. Blood Angels. The sons of Sangunius had stopped here to complete a mission of utmost importance. An entire Battle cruiser diverted from the thousands of potential battlefields to this desolate place to complete an assignment of monumental proportions.
Had a mortal seen the craft hanging over Sedraga they would have predicted a devastating invasion. They would imagine the enormous torpedo tubes of the Barge opening and firing at the planet. The explosions of the Magma bombs so vivid and bright they could have been easily seen from outer space. Next the drop pods would follow streaking towards the planet like rouge asteroids carrying the most lethal cargo of the Imperium to the Surface. The warriors of Blood would swiftly establish a beach head on the world and clear a landing zone. The Thunderhawk’s and transport craft would follow rapidly depositing more of the Blood angels on the ground as well as their myriad of vehicles. That was the modus operandi of this particular chapter of Astartes and an accurate assumption to make. However had a mortal been expecting this, they would have been severely disappointed by anti-climatic pay off.
After an hour of peace a single launch bay of the barge opened. The artificial light of the bay was pulled in to the cold nothingness of space along the oxygen. From the bay flew a single Thunderhawk the insignia and colors identical to the parent ship it travelled from. The only person aboard was the Astartes pilot, who slowly powered up the engines and prepared to enter the atmosphere of Sedraga. He flicked switched and slowly pushed forwards the thrusters. The ship began to enter the atmosphere of Sedraga. The roar of the re-entry and engines was a loud cacophony of sounds. Almost as if the engine and the friction on the outside of the aircraft were competing for who could scream the loudest. The Pilot brought the craft in gently; there was no need to rush, this mission would take as long as it took. Slowly the ground came closer to meet him. The tan of the sand dunes stretched out as far as the eye could see. He leveled the aircraft once he had pierced that atmosphere and, raced towards his final destination. For a while there was nothing on the horizon then a small black dot appeared. The pilot sighed. This was not going to be easy. As he got closer to the target it began to grow and become clearer. The small dot started becoming larger and larger. At first the distinct shape of towers could be made out. Then the Massive wall that surrounded the main complex was visible. Then the main part of the complex became distinguishable, revealing an immense building. So it continued until his target became clear. Abandoned Anti aircraft turrets stood out amongst the sand. The turrets didn’t move, silent like the rest of this world.
T he approaching Thunderhawk didn’t need to hail for permission to enter the airspace of the fortress as the pilot knew there would be no response. The winds buffeted the aircraft pushing it off course, as if Sedraga wanted to prevent the sole occupant of the Thunderhawk from reaching his destination. The world did not want him to suffer like it did. Simple adjustments in the flight console quickly fixed the error rendering the planets pointless. The Thunderhawk flew ever closer to the Fortress. Every meter that fell from the distance reading caused part of the pilot to die. Not physically, but mentally. The pilot fought a war within himself. Part of him screamed him to return to the Astartes cruiser sitting in the void above, begging him to return to his pseudo-brothers. This was a mission that could not be completed with bolter and blade. This was a mission that did not require the training and experience of an Angel of Death. This was a mission that could be done by anyone. Anyone but him. He did not need to do this to himself. This was act of self harm, this was mutilation of his spirit, and this was suicide of his soul. But with every tempest there was an eye of calm. It was to those thoughts the pilot clutched like a drowning man to an out stretched hand. He had to be the one to do this. Only he was worthy. Only he could do it the way it was meant to be done. Any other way was dishonorable to the chapter.

..........Tactical genious hrrrrr......
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post #2 of 2 (permalink) Old 06-02-13, 06:15 PM Thread Starter
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He was now closing in on the Fortress. The details of it becoming clear through the cockpit screen. The fortress mostly resembled a cathedral of old Terran days. Beautiful stain glass windows covered the sides of the building. The window was a wild mix of colors, the reflections of the sun sending a rainbow in the walls that surrounded it. The Walls were topped with spikes and a parapet was visible on the top of the wall. Key firing points and cover were placed all along the parapet allowing defenders to easily return fire whilst keeping safe. The pilot slowed down as he finally reached his intended goal. He slowly brought the Thunderhawk above fortress and began to hover, his altitude thrusters burning hard. This was his final chance to leave, he knew it. The pilot frowned as he had to complete the oath to his chapter. He pulled back on the altitude lever and the Thunderhawk began to decent. Every second it crept closer and closer to the sandy ground. The pilot was landing within the walls but far away from the cathedral. When he had almost reached the soil he keyed a long code in to the vox caster. Suddenly the sand beneath him began to drain away as a circular portal opened. It gradually opened wider until it allowed access of the descending Thunderhawk. The pilot took the craft through the opening and continued to lower the Thunderhawk. This new artificial chasm seemed to go on forever but the Pilot knew how deep it truly went. He flicked a switch and the grinding of the landing gear unfolding entered the cockpit. Proximity warning runes flared red. Strange he thought he was sure there were still several meters to go before the hangar floor. He flared the thrusters in to life but felt a sudden jolt as the craft came to an abrupt stop.




The pilot felt something was off. The Thunderhawk had landed at a steep angle, the nose was pointed upwards and gravity pulled him in to his flight chair. Had they been gone that long? Had so much sand accumulated in their absence? Those questions continued to race through his head. The Pilot was sure that the surface sand had made a dune in the underground hangar and he simply landed on it. Determined to see this mission through to the end, he opened his release harness and lifted himself out of his seat. He moved carefully down the main body of the Thunderhawk trying desperately not to look at the vacant seats. Too many painful memories. He stopped before the launch ramp and reached for the over head lockers. The weapon was still where he had put it, the straps preventing it from sliding towards the bottom of the ship. He freed the weapon and pulled it down. The Bolter came down, resting gently in his hands. He turned it over and read its name for the thousandth time. Divine Retribution, the name made him grimace. This wasn’t his weapon, it was Tyr’s. But Tyr was dead and the Pilot’s bolter had been lost in the last battle. This replacement haunted him just like him just like his amours color scheme. Unlike the Thunderhawk the Pilot Astartes armor was not painted blood red. It was painted deep black. His pauldrons and helmet were bright white. The winged crimson tear of the Blood Angels was nowhere to be found on this warrior rather upon his right shoulder was another symbol. Two stylized rising suns were painted in yellow upon his pauldron, the insignia of the Sentinels of the Sun. Rather it was the insignia of the Sentinels of the Sun. Another heavy sigh filled the helmet of the Astartes warrior, So many regrets. He moved towards the rear of the ship carefully placing his steps. He did not want the loaned craft to become damaged if it slid down the sand dune it rested upon.
Reaching the end of the ship he keyed the activator runes. The hydraulics of the ramp sprung to life and opened gently. The cool air of the Fortress rushed in to the interior of the ship. Even filtered through the sensors of his helmet the Astartes could smell the stale air was thick with dust. It had not been recycled in so long. Another frown danced across his face. As he had predicted he had landed on a sand dune. No servitors were there to clean away the sand that fell from the surface. He leaped from the ramp and slid down the sandy hill. He heard a loud clank as his feet reached the floor of the hangar. He turned to ensure that the Blood Angels Thunderhawk had remained in place. It still set perched on top its sand. The Astartes nodded to himself and began to trek further in to the Abandoned Fortress.

..........Tactical genious hrrrrr......
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