The Raven - Wargaming Forum and Wargamer Forums
Original Works All user written fiction from any Games Workshop setting should be posted here. Please use the drop-downs to denote which setting your story belongs.

LinkBack Thread Tools Display Modes
post #1 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-24-10, 05:20 PM Thread Starter
Senior Member
dark angel's Avatar
dark angel's Flag is: Wales
Join Date: Jun 2008
Location: Wales
Posts: 2,996
Reputation: 11
Default The Raven

I haven't posted on this forum in a while, however while brainstorming for another project, I decided to do a Raven Guard fiction. The Ravens of Corax have always held a soft part in my, and seeing as I have not seen many fictions upon them, I decided to do something for them. This, if I get enough comments, will act as a prologue for a much larger fiction, anyway onto the actual thing;

The Ork screamed in agony as its torso was rent open from shoulder to hip, leaking viscera and vital organs. It collapsed onto armoured knees, bloody rivets slipping down its protruding chin as a hooked blade slipped across the muscular throat and silenced the Xeno. A kick to the back sent it face first into the grass, a brown-red splotch slowly spreading from its green form. Spasmodic twitches jutted along its length, and the killer spat a single goblet of phlegm onto the creature before he silently moved onwards.

Scout Alexian of the Raven Guard sighted his next target several moments later. With a flick of his wrist, he propelled his fore-arm length blade forwards from gloved fingers, and a brutish Ork was sent sprawling onto a flickering camp fire without remorse, squealing as its alcohol soaked flesh ignited. Another Ork turned from a monstrous tree nearby, roaring and revealing a pair of small tusks from beneath broken lips. Clearly a juvenile thought Alexian maliciously as it pounded towards him with long strides.

The Raven Guard reached down to his hip calmly, the Ork drawing evermore near as he did so. Five metres. Four. Three. Two. At that, Alexian drew a silenced Bolt-Pistol and fired. The star shaped flame that erupted from the muzzle blinded the Xeno, burning away its retinas. It never got to witness the long, silver oblong round which crushed its face inwards with a splatter of crimson and white, sending the headless corpse flipping over onto its front at the feet of Alexian. Nearby, his enhanced ears picked up the sounds of more sporadic gunfire and he knew that some thirty other Scouts were clawing their way through the Ork encampment without mercy, killing all they came across.

For several moments, Alexian stared at the burning corpse upon the fire as flames enveloped his combat blade, sliding along the blackened surface gracefully and darkly. A sudden fleeting movement caused Alexian to spin around, his Bolt-Pistol outstretched in both hands. His trigger finger wrapped around the crescent shaped trigger upon his weapon and he pushed it into the first firing point, only halting his pull when the pushback became strong enough for him to realise a round had slotted into place.

He sighed when he realised what it was. A fellow Scout. Lowing his weapon to his hip, he let the force upon his trigger slip back and the round slid into the magazine which it had vacated only moments before. The newcomer was broad-shouldered and noble featured, with a scraggly mane of black hair falling from an untouched scalp, each strand intertwined by leather straps. A black cloak fell from darkened broaches upon his strong shoulders, rustling quietly with each step that he took.

His carapace armour was unadorned, save the white Raven symbol that showed his allegiance to the Sons of Corax, however it glistened with polish and Ork blood. A grisly decoration, consisting of several skulls knotted together with sharp metal razors dangled at his side, held in place by a ring of dark material that Alexian had no doubt coming to the conclusion of a family heirloom, gifted to him during his ascension into the ranks of the Chapter.

One hand was hidden beneath a hook fingered gauntlet that dripped ichor onto the dew covered, moist grass ignorantly. The other held a thick handled combat blade which was similarly dabbed in crimson, the curved “beak” at the tip of the weapon clutched a chunk of muscle tightly, the pink meat dangling with errant arteries and speckled with chips of bone. A mask of blood obscured most of his face, however it cracked as he grinned barbarically and lowered his blade into a furred sheath and he took another step forwards.

“Alexian, it would seem you have been having fun then?” his lupine features furrowed as a hoarse chuckle tore from a battered throat, ponderously echoing amongst the clearing.

Alexian nodded to his fellow Scout, snorting as he did so. His nostrils flared suddenly, as he caught whiff of something nearby. He barely opened his mouth when a stubby cylindrical shaped obstruction clawed through a collapsed tree nearby, raining splinters upon Alexian and his fellow Scout. Checkered patterns danced along its body as a pair of trio-clawed hands swung wide, sending clumps of dirty and rock in all directions. A single slit along its centre revealed a burnt face, the Ork within had obviously sustained some form of flame related injury, although its maddened eyes were wide with youthful pleasure.

Pistons clashed and steam hissed as it charged towards the pair of Raven Guard Scouts, eating away at the ground beneath its bulk with fat toed feet. Alexian cursed and stepped back, raising his Bolt-Pistol threateningly as he did so. His lips curled into a loud snarl, and all sense of noise discipline and stealth tactics were lost in a maelstrom of fire. His finger yanked at the trigger several times in quick succession, each shot rung out with a ping or a pang, denting the Ork-Dreadnaughts armour each time he hit home.

A claw nearly took the head off of his fellow, however the Raven Guard Scout was quick enough to roll down onto his side, bringing his talon encased fingers up as he did so. Metal on metal screeched as they clawed along the side, cutting away motley assembled plates and ripping chain mail in two as he did so. Sparks flew beautifully as he leapt back onto his feet and threw himself away, drawing his combat blade as he did so.

Alexian, meanwhile was fumbling with his Bolt-Pistol. His magazine was spent, and he had discarded it like a broken toy and was now in the process of slotting another into its holdings, however the adrenaline which ran rife in his veins had made his movements drastic and drunken. After a scarce two seconds, something which Alexian would be forced into repentance for taking so long by Sergeant-Teacher Othello, his bearings returned and he finally pushed it into place.

He fired. The first round struck the tinted visor, sending a cobweb of cracks along its length as small chards were displaced and sent tumbling below. However its heavy charge did not falter, even as glass sprinkled against its leathered face. A second round struck a hydraulically powered limb, ripping a thick black fuel wire and sending it snaking into the air, both halves unleashing torrents of green liquid. A third round struck a inverted knee joint, and the Ork-Dreadnaught tumbled onto its good hand and leg.

Both Scouts saw their chances, and charged. Alexian reached the monstrosity first, but lacking any close combat based weapons, all he could do was pump round after round into is strengthened hide. A sudden blow from the machines still functioning arm sent Alexian bouncing away awkwardly, his shoulder popping out of place and his wrist snapping, limp fingers allowing his Bolt-Pistol to fall away beneath him. He head cracked against the armoured shoulder of the Ork which had charged him, and nausea wracked his senses.

The other Scout, faired far better. Alexian’s unknowing distraction allowed him to leap onto its back, digging his talon-glove into the hunched form of the Ork-Dreadnaught and flip himself around, so that his face was parallel with the shattered visor of the Xeno vehicle. His free hand, holding his blade so that it pointed towards terra firma came up suddenly, and he plunged it between the narrow slit. A desperate cry of pain echoed from within as the Scout maneuvered his weapon back and forth, shredding flesh and organs without mercy.

His injured Brother grimaced as the blade ripped through the back of the armour, dripping strings of meat, laced with pearl white shards of bone and long cords of brain fluid that swung in the wind. The Ork-Dreadnaught, half standing, swayed and cast a battered silhouette against the tree-line as the pick pocked moon above glared down upon them like a angry father. The Scout, still clinging onto it, pushed his legs into the chest and threw himself away, cart wheeling twice, pushing his blade back into the sheath even as he did so.

Alexian stared at him, wobbling a loose tooth with his tongue as his Brother advanced towards him, a red patch trickling down his chest from a long gash that he had sustained during the combat between the Ork-Dreadnaught and the pair of Raven Guard. As he drew near, he offered one hand, that without the claws, to Alexian. Eyes narrowed, he took it in his own uninjured hand and felt himself get hefted upwards. Both stared at one another for a short time, before Alexian broke the silence “One day, Kayvaan, you are going to get us both killed”.

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
dark angel is offline  
Sponsored Links
post #2 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-24-10, 07:22 PM
Senior Member
FORTHELION's Flag is: Ireland
Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: dundalk
Posts: 581
Reputation: 2

Pretty good opening, look forward to the next installment with hopefully a bit of a setting and theme to the over all story.

Enough there to keep me interested.


<img src= border=0 alt= />
FORTHELION is offline  
post #3 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-24-10, 08:23 PM
Senior Member
cain the betrayer's Avatar
cain the betrayer's Flag is: Netherlands
Join Date: Oct 2009
Location: the neterlands
Posts: 530
Reputation: 1

very well done da im looking forwarth to seeing more

Check out my warriors of chaos log here
cain the betrayer is offline  
post #4 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-24-10, 09:24 PM Thread Starter
Senior Member
dark angel's Avatar
dark angel's Flag is: Wales
Join Date: Jun 2008
Location: Wales
Posts: 2,996
Reputation: 11

FortheLion; That served as a prologue, this is set slightly after (I will detail the time between this part and the prologue in a flash back sequence later on) cheers for the post mind you!

Cain; Thanks for the post dude, appreciate it!

++++ Three Months Later ++++

The Warp was surprisingly calm. The roiling miasma twitched gently around a brunt nosed vessel, the armour of which was scorched and torn in several places. White streaks cut along the black surface, each one thousands of feet in length and dozens wide. Gigantic weapons, their barrels pointed outwards as if tracking an hidden enemy. Stark purples and oranges crowded around the vessel, some daring to touch the sizzling Void-Shield with tendrils of malevolent energy. There was, surprisingly no screams of the damned or echoes of the Daemonic against the hull of the vessel, and the Navigator could rest in peace, knowing that he need not worry about that which stalked the void.

The mighty prow of the vessel, studded with bombardment emplacements and a single beam of light, which was a rapid strike hanger, was envisioned into the appearance of a Raven spreading its wings wide, the head staring into the Warp with jeweled eyes. Tight hallways, low and narrow provided the inhabitants of the vessel with a way to travel from station too station and while they were far from luxurious, the hard toiled crew and passengers appreciated the power of the vessel that carried them from world too world.

Deep within the bowels of the ship, a fight was ensuing. The room was surprisingly large, stretching off into the distance in all directions, however it was deathly silent bar the occasional clang of metal upon metal or the grunt of injured sparring partners. The acidic stench of perspiration flocked over any who stepped foot onto the training deck, along with the haze of smoke that flowed from the gunnery ranges that were joined onto the training deck via a long gallery that traced heroes back to the era of the Emperor’s Great Crusade.

In five metre intervals a statue stood ever vigilant, behind them spread long hallways that gifted the more recent of Neophytes and Astartes their own chance to stare at history whether or not it was by picture or weaponry, or every now and again a gory trophy case. The actual training deck consisted of interlocking amphitheatres that were filled with warm sand or pebbles. Walkways dangled above, each one wide enough for a pair of Rhino Class Space Marine transports too travel side by side along. Most were filled with a bustle of obsidian uniformed menials and grey fleshed Servitors, but every now and again the superhuman bulk of an Astartes could be seen moving amongst the crowds.

Most of the Raven Guard onboard, however, were within the primary sparring pit. Two Space Marines, their skin slick with warm bodily fluids were raging against one another with short blades, sharing blows with each other violently. One; Squat and wide shouldered was hanging back, allowing his opponent too come to him was blocking each blow from his opponent with swivels of his wrist, huffing and puffing as he let out short breaths from his triple lungs.

The other; Tall and gaunt with a mane of black hair which was pulled into a high topknot was on the attack. Both his hands were wrapped around the ivory haft of his blade, and with each blow he took he raised the weapon behind his head and brought it down hard. Both sparring partners were fast, but the sheer brute power of the tallest was beginning to bring down upon his shorter rival was purely painful to watch. Yet the ranks of Raven Guard Marines that rested on the stands, either standing and punching the air as they cheered on those who they wanted to win, or sat with golden drinking cups held in gnarled hands, continued to push the pair of Marines on with friendly banter.

“Come on Alexi, can you not beat me? I thought better of you! What will you do when I grow bigger than you, my friend?” the smaller of the pair taunted his fellow as he crept backwards, the bare bottoms of both his feet tickling as sand wrapped around them. The taller of the pair was still unleashing a flurry of blows into his fellow, his teeth creaking as the surfaces touched together and slipped.

Alexian, for that was his full name, could not get past the defencive stance which his Brother had adopted. For less than a second, Alexian floundered as fatigue begun to take a grip upon him, and his opponent took to the offensive. A punch struck Alexian hard in his ribs, cracking two as the other Scout wrapped his left leg around the right leg of Alexian and head butted Alexian twice, sending him onto the sand hard.

Yet the warm grains slid away beneath his bulk and absorbed most of the pain. The second Raven Guard was pulled down by the bulk of Alexian, who shook his head like an angry wolf as he did so. Alexian thrust his blade upwards into the chest of his fellow duelist who snarled as his bounded muscle was cut, spilling warm blood down onto the face of Alexian. It pattered gently, before the crimson crystallized around the blade and Alexian found his weapon getting yanked away as the other Son of Deliverance lifted himself back up, gripping the blade that protruded from his chest, slicing his fingers as he did so.

Yet he took it in an impossibly powerful grip and pulled the weapon free, throwing it away across the sand as he did so. He threw away his own weapon, raising his arms in a triumphant boast. However, he had turned his back upon Alexian. With a growl, the taller Scout punched into the lower back of his supposedly won Brethren who was sent stumbling forwards, bent over so that his fingers cut long lines in the golden sand beneath him as he desperately tried to regain his composure and balance.

Alexian arched his back, bringing his knees into his chest and curling his arms inwards on themselves, he threw himself upwards with a exertion and landed on his haunches, his eyes wide with rage. Mockingly he returned for the first time since the bout had begun “Come on Kayvaan! Can you not beat me?” and threw himself forwards at hip level. Kayvaan spun with that, his right fist swinging in like a drunkards from the side. It connected with the jaw of Alexian, sending him spinning back into the sand, which this time shook beneath him.

A foot came down onto his throat, and Alexian frantically clawed at it with short, broken nails. He felt his trachea constrict as Kayvaan put on more pressure, his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth and wetted his pale cheek. Dark tentacles begun to push from the corner of his eyes, spiraling towards the centre as if on the hunt for a concealed prey. When he was despicably opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, Kayvaan retracted his foot and stepped backwards.

A iron gate nearby, below the stands, swung open with a creak and a procession of Astartes marched forth. At their head was a ancient looking being with grey eyes, wrinkles of which spread away from it like channels from a reservoir, a short Mohawk of black hair which looked as though it had not been washed in several years, glistening with clumps of dirt and caked blood rested along the length of a scarred head. A twin pronged beard dropped from his lower face, obscuring all but white teeth and black lips.

He wore a set of Mark Six Corvus Pattern armour proudly upon his frame and with each step he took, a white cloak which was held around his throat via a golden reef fell from around his throat, parting the sand behind him. His left arm was curled so that his hand rested upon his hip, the armour there slipping between the thumb and his trigger finger. In the crook of his arm, a helm that a master artisan would be jealous of rested, the long beak fashioned from ivory and silver. Both eyes were narrow slants across the centre, angled upwards to where a pair of carvings formed into wings rested upon the side.

Both Kayvaan and Alexian, the latter of which was barely pulling himself onto his feet when the doors swung open, snapped into a limp stance. Hands went at sides instantly, and chins were raised high. Both wearily muttered “Victorus Aut Mortis” as the figure and his retinue, each similarly armoured and uniformed, although their cloaks were of crimson rather than pearl white drew near. They had known who he was, when only a filter of his face had been visible from behind the parting gates.

Brother-Captain Karshen, the Ever Vigilant, the Abyss. Liege of the Fourth. Currently, there was over three hundred Astartes from various Companies traveling aboard the Black Raven, a venerable Battle Barge which was said to have had served with Corax himself during the Great Scourging which followed the Horus Heresy. Although the Astartes onboard were a strike force from the elements of several Companies, thus why the Scout Squad under Sergeant-Teacher Othello were aboard, Brother-Captain Karshen of the Fourth Company had overall command.

The entirety of the Fourth were aboard the Black Raven; Some one hundred Brothers who had proven themselves a dozen times over in the name of the Holy God-Emperor. Another twenty Marines were from the Tenth, and thirty more originated from the Eighth Assault Company. Those were the most bloodthirsty aboard, longing to spill enemy blood. Yet this was not a campaign of war, but rather a ceremonial undertaking to a Shrine World in the Galactic North that had originally been blessed by Corax and his Raven Guard during the Great Crusade.
Karshen halted before them and bowed, shocking both Scouts. A Captain bowing before a pair of lowly Tenth Company Astartes? Blasphemy! Yet neither Scout could help but to let a crackling smile spread across their features, and Karshen pulled himself back up as they did so. Karshen turned, placing his helm in the hands of one of his retinue members before spinning back to face both Neophytes once again.

He took the hand of Kayvaan first in both his giant gauntlets, and it dawned upon Kayvaan when he realised that without his armour, although the carapace would provide little help against such power, his hand could be crushed with a simple tightening of servos. Cold metal encased fingers rubbed the rough palm of Kayvaan, and he retracted both hands. He proceeded to grip Alexian in a similar grip, however this time he shook it enthusiastically. A pang of jealously overtook Kayvaan. Alexian was his closest Brother, yet the Captain of the Fourth was favoring him! Over the victor of their bout!

His fists clenched at his side, the bones of his fingers clicking as they contorted inwards. It was when Karshen finally opened his mouth to speak that Kayvaan realised how tainted his thoughts had been. Reminiscent of cracking leather, his mouth dropped half open and a series of warm words flowed forth “You fight well, Scouts. Kayvaan, I believe?” he stared at Kayvaan, his ancient eyes scanning his every feature. The Scout simply nodded.

“Good, you fight well Brother; You played your part excellently, holding back until your opponent was physically and mentally exhausted and only then did you allow yourself to get fully immersed in combat. Alexian, I believe, on the other hand got in over his head and wasted his energy however he is excellent in his swordsmanship. I bow to you both for a brilliant duel, and I wish you well when we arrive at Illixia” at that he turned, marching briskly back towards his doors and leaving the astounded Raven Guard Scouts standing alone at the centre of the amphitheatre.

Upon the stands, sitting at the peak of the marble seats, Sergeant-Teacher Othello nodded his scarred visage, pulling his black hood back over his head. His black eyes watched his two Scouts as they marched towards the iron gate which Karshen had retreated within. He slipped back into the darkness, masterful movements allowing him to move back between a pair of high pillars undetected by any of the surrounding Astartes.


Kayvaan moved his thumb across the newly acquired scar tissue that bisected his chest, the rough flesh there rippling beneath the pressure which he put upon it. The Tenth Company contingent aboard were arrayed upon the rolled out mats around him in various stages of rest, some had clenched their eyes shut tightly and were growling as they slept, long winded snores tracing across the room. Initiate Thurinus was sitting with his back propped against a wall nearby, carefully cleaning his scoped Bolter with a long fur covered metal wire.

Thurinus was what one could call beautiful. Pale of complexion and long of hair, high cheekbones flanked his blue eyes, a feature which with age would be lost to him. His mane was blonde, something that was very unusual within the Raven Guard due to their Gene-Seed transforming hair and eyes to black, while their skin turns deathly pale. Kayvaan and Thurinus had become close friends, with both sharing the same Hive City upon Deliverance. Thurinus however was calm and eased, unlike the boisterous Kayvaan who loved nothing more than to make a great amount of noise.

Both locked eyes for a brief moment, incline their heads slightly as they did so. Brother Alengo, the marksman of Squad Othello, entered the dormitory with his rifle pulled over one carapace armoured shoulder. That was his prize, gifted to him by Othello himself when it became apparent that Alengo could outshoot the other nine aspirants of his Squad. Short and thin, Alengo’s face was leonine in nature, his brown hair pulled into tight dreadlocks that obscured the Ganger tattoos upon his head.

Alengo was barely eighteen cycles, yet his cold demeanor could easily have strengthened that by at least another ten cycles. Thurinus and Alengo were not the best of Brothers however. Alengo had spirited away the title of marksman for the Squad, something that Thurinus had longed for. Both had clashed during their first battle, which consisted of taking a Ork held world from their grubby clutches.

If it had not been for the timely interruption of both Kayvaan and Alexian, both would have split one another’s throats. It was not fair to say which would win, as both were talented warriors in both close combat and ranged tactics. However, Kayvaan personally believed that Alengo would have won that bout, due to his history as the son of a famed Gang-Liege. Kayvaan had been trained with the blade since he could handle one, yet each time he dared to enter a training pit with Alengo, he had been sternly downed and bruised.

Alengo settled down next to the resting Alexian, who had slipped both hands behind his head as a rest and was staring upwards at the mural covered ceiling. Which particular image he was portraying in his mind went absent to his fellow Brothers, for the sheer amount of brightly coloured depictions was to be frank; Blinding. It must have took decades to forge that mused Kayvaan as he followed a battle scene, consisting of raging Eldar flooding around the Emperor and Corax, who stood surrounded by a Terminator and Custodian guard.

How momentous. Kayvaan shook his head and forced himself to look away, meeting the eyes of the dark and brooding Brother Hel-Eng. He had originally originated from a lowlife family that would never come to any purpose, and Hel-Eng was the first Marine from their lineage who had been accepted into the hallowed ranks. Most looked down upon Hel-Eng, however he had proven himself to be a staunch, albeit malicious, loyal Scout. His skills with his customized double barreled Shotgun were of the highest standards, and he could wield both that and his Bolt-Pistol in a deadly duo.

The flickering flames that rested in deep alcoves behind each Marine extinguished slowly, mirroring the end of a day when the sun retreats behind the horizon. Kayvaan slipped into a lying position, his mind idling upon his Illixia. It was a Shrine World, yet just over three hundred Raven Guard, First-Founders, were being deployed? Surely it could not have been a simple pilgrimage?

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
dark angel is offline  
post #5 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-25-10, 05:38 PM
Senior Member
Flerden's Avatar
Flerden's Flag is: Finland
Join Date: Aug 2008
Posts: 493
Reputation: 2

Very good, even if I am not a very big fan of the Raven Guard I hope you post some more.
Flerden is offline  
post #6 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-25-10, 07:26 PM Thread Starter
Senior Member
dark angel's Avatar
dark angel's Flag is: Wales
Join Date: Jun 2008
Location: Wales
Posts: 2,996
Reputation: 11

Flerden; Cheers mate, appreciate the post .

Note: This part skips back and forth between different times, the second flashback is set between the prologue (Fighting the Orks) and the time on the Black Raven.


Alexian walked briskly along a hallway, the carapace armour upon his form rustling with each step he took. The Lume-Lamps upon the walls around him cast a long black shadow along the interlocking metal grates that he marched upon, rolling behind him like a cloak. Alexian hated being upon the ship. It was cramped, weather devoid and a labyrinth that even the Master of the Tenth, Galen Jakian, would struggle to find his way through. Yet, surprisingly, Alexian had grown accustom to the various hallways and sprawling decks and could now, in the six weeks which he had been aboard the Vessel, make his way through her undaunted.

The Scout was thankful that Illixia was still several days away; Yet the Raven Guard were already administering lubricants and oils to their armour, cleaning their weapons, or inscribing litanies of peace and war upon their parchments. While the Raven Guard were not going to war upon the surface of Illixia, several reconnaissance teams were to be deployed across her surface before the bulk of the three hundred Astartes would land.

For the best part of three months, they had traversed the Warp. It played upon the mind of Alexian, and he swore that at night he could hear his name being called from the roiling miasma, echoing through the decks menacingly. He tended to ignore these, however it was nigh impossible to do so, and thus he had slowly become deprived of any form of major rest that his Brothers were allowed by the dark denizens.

Originally, he had been able to cast away such unbearable languages and tones but that had been beat down, and each time he attempted to do so, they simply pounded harder and louder. It was painful. It had, thankfully, however for several days been absent. The Warp had seemingly uncoiled from around the Black Raven, growing still and calm. No problems were encountered, bar a single suicide from a Serf who had thrown himself from a raised platform after murdering several others with a illegally owned weapon, that he had managed to smuggle aboard somehow.

Ashamed that he had allowed such a thing; Karshen had ordered the barracks searched thoroughly, although they had each came to a failure as no more weaponry was found amongst them. No further deaths or searchers commenced after the incident, although security was picked up slightly by the Astartes, with Tactical Marines being deployed on guard during the night cycles so that no Serfs would be snooping around the decks.

Now, Alexian was trudging his way downwards through the vessels spine, along twisting hallways and down sharp falling steps. He went unarmed, bar his sheathed combat blade that ticked and tapped as it shook against his leg annoyingly. Although Alexian did not believe that he would have to draw it while upon the Battle Barge, it was standard regulation for him not to go without some form of weapon while in Warp transit. He did have not particular purpose in his walk other than an attempt to spend time away from his bickering fellows.

How it had become an annoyance. The constant chatter that enflamed the barrack chamber was simply deafening and Alexian had found himself at the end of his tether, without any particular need, he had stood and marched out. He came to a set of stairs that punctured the darkness eloquently, the metal rungs upon each step rusted and ancient. For a moment, Alexian hesitated in putting his foot down, leaving it hanging in the air.

“Stop; Please” the voice was loud and commanding, yet it coward like a wet dog about to be beat by its master.

Complying, Alexian turned calmly. He was shocked by what he found. A slender woman, her skull bald but traced with wires. Her eyes were black orbs, snaking pink veins cut across the surface, interlocking in several places. She bore a grey robe upon her body, stained with oil and what appeared to be dry blood. Alexian’s mouth opened, but no word flowed from it as the woman twisted her wrist. Weaves of slanderous energy left her hand, billowing upwards like smoke. A trance overtook Alexian for a moment, and he was no longer upon the Battle Barge.

The skies were alight with fire. Screams tore through the air, and Alexian tumbled down a dune of dead Astartes. Many bore the sigils of the Raven Guard, their glorious black armour rent in dozens of places and leaking blood profusely. His outstretched hands sank into bloodied sand, and a pair of Bolt rounds struck against his armoured side, flipping him onto his back. The cracked ceramite popped out of place and opened up to reveal bruised flesh, purple and dotted with shrapnel.

A voice cut over the sound of thousands of Bolters firing, chirping in his helm “Leondros! Make for the Thunderhawks! The Fifth will hold the line, go!” Alexian felt his head turn, unwillingly and saw the Marine that had addressed him. Tall, his armour was corroding beneath the Bolt rounds and slashes that struck his armoured form and Alexian realised what he was witnessing. Istvaan. Twin Power-Swords flashing, the Astartes which had ordered his retreat and his Command were slowly getting overwhelmed by dozens of Night Lords.

Barbarically, he was yanked down onto the ground and beheaded by a Night Lord wielding a mighty axe. Alexian found himself screaming, even though his mind told him not to do so and propped himself back against the mound of dead which he had fallen from. He drew a Bolt-Pistol, fashioned into a raven with outstretched wings, and opened fire. Two rounds struck a nearby Night Lord in the helm, pulverizing it and sending the Astartes tumbling onto his back; Another round struck a Night Lord Sergeant in the throat and transformed his hoarse orders into a gurgled bubbling.

A Raven Guard Stormbird, the wings aflame; Leaked injured Brothers from the rear hatch as it was shattered in two on a return flight into orbit, one half spun wildly into the retreating Raven Guard, smashing a great rent from the earth. The other simply exploded like a star and illuminated some twenty Brethren for the Night Lords heavy weapon teams to gun down. Alexian felt a hand tighten around his pauldron, and looked up into the ivory-bone helmet of a Sergeant.

He yanked him upwards, pulling Alexian to eye level and hissed “Leondros! We are lost; Our Company is depleted Brother, we must retreat!”.

Alexian nodded returning “Give the order! We make a breakthrough, lead the way!”. Yet the voice was not that, soft and young of Alexian but rather a gruff and gnarled growl of a veteran. He tried not to roar, he tried not to fire. They both failed. A Salamander Dreadnaught, its armour fashioned into scales, with a pair of claws that emitted gushes of promethium, was holding back a tide of World Eaters alone when a missile streaked forwards and ignited its chassis in a burst of flame and metal.

He begun to run towards a trio if idling Thunderhawks, their wing mounted weapons firing streams of Bolts into several dozen Night Lords who were trying to take them. Some eighty Astartes flowed forwards in a black spear, pushing through the Night Lords that had turned their backs upon them. He drew near, when something had struck him and he was sent spinning into darkness……

Alexian was suddenly back aboard the Black Raven, staring into the maddened eyes of the woman. She was grinning, revealing rows upon rows of fiendish teeth, a thick, purple serpentine tongue stalking between them. She cackled, her arms rising unnaturally above her head, clicking as they were pulled out of place and said “You see, Raven Guard! You are not the first of your accursed bloodline that have stalked the ranks! You are-”.

Her series of hate dipped words were suddenly cut off, the sound of a Bolt-Based weapon firing sounding loudly. The Wych, her head blown in two by a round longer than her hand, stumbled forwards and jerked violently before collapsing face first onto the decking, leaking out vitae. Sergeant-Teacher Othello, his scarred face obscured beneath a faceplate and hood marched forwards, a smoking Bolt-Pistol held at his side in half curled fingers.

Othello reached out for Alexian as the newly inducted Scout stumbled forwards, blood leaking from his nostrils and eyes and fell forwards against his master. The Sergeant-Teacher holstered his Bolt-Pistol, balancing Alexian with one hand. He gripped his hip and underarm with both hands, and with a heave threw him over one shoulder. He turned, graceful in his movements, and moved towards the Apothecarion. Silent as death, he slipped into the darkness and became nothing more than a echoing footstep.


The Ravenspire was immense. A mighty spear that punctured the polluted skies, its surface was dotted with images of avian predators and sigils of the Emperor and Corax. Bless them, thought Alexian as he descended the ramp of a Thunderhawk, clutching his newly healed wrist with the trigger finger and thumb of his right hand. Strike-Force Talonfire had returned only minutes before, and immediately they had descended upon the world in mighty, blocky Thunderhawks.

It felt good to be home, however Alexian couldn’t help but to have a niggling doubt that they had abandoned the newly taken world; Left it to rot upon the endless plain of stars. Sergeant-Teacher Othello had assured him that was not true, and that a Company of the Black Guard were too take the abandoned Raven Guard Fortress upon the moon of the world until another Raven Guard contingent were able to return.

Yet, when he had stared into the blank faceplate of Othello, the doubt had simply grown stronger. That was several days before, during the Warp transit between System X-338 and Deliverance. System X-338 was the final resting place of eight Scouts, along with a pair of Tactical Marines who had accompanied Talonfire in its mission. Presently, only four Companies of Raven Guard were garrisoning Ravenspire, those of the First, Third, Ninth and Tenth. Seventy or so Revilers, a Second-Founding Successor of the Raven Guard were also present however, licking their wounds sustained from a crusade against the World Eaters.

The ground crunched beneath his feet as he briskly advanced towards a large corrugated ceramite entranceway that led into the Ravenspire. A single idling Rhino sat in the shadows next to it, belching fumes from white hot exhaust pipes. Sergeant-Teacher Othello, his face hidden beneath a beige hood, pushed past Alexian upon his tiptoes, running towards the vehicle with his Bolter sprawled across his chest. Held in place by animal hide straps, it could be heard clicking as it impacted his muscular form. Alexian smiled as he watched him go, a mighty thunderclap echoing above.

Deliverance was a despot of a world, its surface pitted with deep crags and mining facilities that punctured deep, yet there was still some form of beauty in her. Perhaps, that was Alexian’s loyalty playing upon his mind, however he could not help but too gulp every time he set eyes upon his world. A monstrous Strike-Cruiser moved across the sky high above, fluorescent blue propulsion engines propelling it towards the Ravenspire.

A hand gripped his carapace covered shoulder, yanking him backwards with a joyous laugh. He fell onto his back, hissing “Lycaeus be damned!” as he landed upon razor sharp rock and industrial residue. Deliverance, had once been known as Lycaeus. However when Kiavahr had been brought into compliance, Lycaeus was renamed. Yet some of the family lines which stretched back too those times still knew her as Lycaeus, and Alexian’s was one of such. Deliverance herself was not a planet, but rather a natural satellite, a moon, that orbited Kiavahr herself.

He stared up at the bellowing face of Kayvaan, who had turned red through laughter, and warningly growled at his fellow like a hound. His friend offered a gloved hand, and reluctantly took it with his own. Fingers locked and he was hefted upwards, although for a moment he nearly faltered and fell before his Brother placed a hand upon his lower back and pushed. They both let off leering grins as lightning illuminated their faces, the air splitting fork of light striking somewhere far off in the distance.

Brother Hel-Eng was kneeling nearby, scooping up rock chunks in both palms and placing his pallid lips. A fissure of red spread across the top lip, leaking ichor onto the rock in his hands. Hel-Eng had took a devastating injury too his face while fighting at X-338, and now the complete left side was a unholy fusion of metal and scar tissue that twitched unknowingly to Hel-Eng. He was ever silent, rarely talking in the company of his Squad other than when it was actually needed or demanded.

Yet now, each word he spoke came out in a dastardly slur due to the meld of metal and pink-brown flesh that covered most of his cheek and jaw line. Remarkably, his hair had mostly survived. The long fringe which had once reached his eyes was gone however, cut away by a Ork blade that split open his forehead before a Power-Claw had clamped onto his actual face. He noticed Alexian and Kayvaan had been looking at him, and gifted them with a slight incline of his head.

A cavity had been cut in his heart with the loss of his features, and he had withdrawn himself from his Squad becoming even more secretive amongst them. Alengo marched past his Brethren, clapping him on his shoulder while yanking his rifle back onto his shoulder. He marched towards the Rhino while indicating upwards with one oil smeared, gloved finger saying “Behave my Brothers, Lord Pyrrhus watches us; I am sure Othello would be rather displeased if you was to get him removed of his title”.

Alexian tried not to look, as did Kayvaan, however temptation got the better of them and both snapped their heads upwards. High above, on a golden platform, stood the demi-god Pyrrhus, his winged jump pack outstretching towards either side of him, his Lightning Claws unusually sheathed. He shocked both Scouts when he nodded at them, causing both Marines to yelp and run after Alengo, the marksman chuckling loudly to himself.

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
dark angel is offline  
post #7 of 8 (permalink) Old 04-26-10, 01:07 PM
Templar Marshal's Avatar
Templar Marshal's Flag is: Australia
Join Date: Feb 2010
Location: Mudgee,NSW,Australia
Posts: 41
Reputation: 1

Keep this up. Your writing is quite descriptive which is what usually keeps my intrest and you have managed to do that no problems at all. +rep

No Pity! No Remorse! No Fear!
Templar Marshal is offline  
post #8 of 8 (permalink) Old 05-08-10, 11:20 AM
Senior Member
Bane_of_Kings's Avatar
Bane_of_Kings's Flag is: England
Join Date: Oct 2009
Location: Serenity.
Posts: 4,778
Reputation: 3

great work, please post more :D.

-Bane of Kings
Bane_of_Kings is offline  

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

Quick Reply

Register Now

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

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


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

Email Address:


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

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

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

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