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post #1 of 3 (permalink) Old 12-26-10, 08:18 PM Thread Starter
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Default The day after Emporers Day

'Twas the morn' after the 25th,
26th day of the month.
Me and my men squatted,
in a trench filled with mud.
No change was appearing,
the trenches still were hell.
The latest news was grim,
last night the capital fell.
As we wait for the end,
we have crouched here for weeks.
Forty-thousand men,
backed by artillery.
The greenskins were massing,
A WAAAGH!!! would erupt.
We knew we couldn’t beat them,
so here we were stuck.
Our basilisks rained fire,
from 6 until 8.
Their fire restricted,
our supply trains were late.
But it was enough,
to keep their heads down.
This was the way,
It had been for weeks.
Our ammunition was low,
some fuel tanks had sprung leaks.
But today was the day,
We all knew we would die.
The colonel stepped out,
From his dugout to cry:

"I won’t wait for the orks!
We'll take the fight to them!
If on this world we die,
it will be for the glory of him!
Nowhere in the teachings,
of the Emperors light,
does he call us to wait,
When we could chose to fight!"

With heavy hearts we prepared,
for our coming doom.
If we went over the top,
our deaths would be soon.
But deep in our heats,
we knew he was right.
Our Colonel reminded us,
of the Emperors light.
If not in this life,
in the next we would rise.
For the glory of man,his fated dominion, the galaxy to comprise.

And now it is time, we go over the top.
Into the hell, where the war never stops.

It is true what they say, in the training camps where, each guardsman passes the door.

"It is the forty first millennium, and there is only war!"

But in each man’s face, something is seen.
It is strange, here we are, but there's no sign of green.
Here we are at their lines, their trenches we can see!
They're all dead! They are slain! Their trenches are empty!
With the crack of a twig, under heavy black boot,
we all turn, weapons raised, all ready to shoot.
And there he now stands, the hero of man.
The commissar brave, the man by who’s hand, our regiment is saved.
Larger than life, his foot on the back of a dead nob.
His bolt pistol held high, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Its teeth glisten red, with the blood of orks dead.
And a pointed cap rests heroically on his head.
His name on the lips of every man, I can hear.

"Its Cain! The commissar! Not dead at the hive, but here!"

Singlehandedly he seems to have slain the whole hoard!
The green tide has fallen, at the edge of his sword!

With a grin, the brave man hops down from his grim perch.
With a manly embrace he greats the colonel grinning.

"Last night was Emperors day soldier! It’s the time for war winning!"

At these words from our savior, each mans eyes open wide. We'd forgotten! The holy day! More important than life!
The day that the Emperor saved us from him, the traitors fell on this day, ten thousand years since.

And even though we'd forgotten,
he'd sent us a gift.
The Emperor saved us,
With Cain, his right fist.

With a genial smile, he gestured to all:

"Its time to celebrate, give each man a bottle!"

To this sight with a grin, Cain did look with great glee.
A thought danced in his head:
“Where is Amberly?”
With a confused look, he searched for the signs,
of a hidden inquisitor, who to his fate was entwined.
He could detect nothing, this suited him fine.
The inquisition moved swiftly, silently, and in their own time.


Thaught Cain to himself,

“This is good news. With the inquisitor gone, I can take credit for the work of her retinue. These poor back-country saps, think I killed all the orks. What a laugh! It took 400 good troops!
Storm troopers of the inquisition, I owe you a debt. Through your heroics, my frame grows still yet. It pays to be strong, and it pays to be brave. But when thousands of men think their asses you’ve saved, I think it is better, to be crafty and quick. With no sound of a lasgun, no where the sharp crackin’

I think I’ll stay here and rest. What’s the worst that could happen?”

These thoughts I detected, as I crouched in the snow. The humans so foolish, at their party below.
I would give them one night, in the morning, blood flows.

Blood for the blood god, you know how it goes.

"A true king is never alone, his will is equal to the will of all of his followers."
-Alexander the Great, kind of
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post #2 of 3 (permalink) Old 12-27-10, 05:50 AM
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The Founding Fields

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post #3 of 3 (permalink) Old 12-27-10, 08:58 PM
Ia! Ia! Cthulhu Fthagn!
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Great, wierd, 40kish poem

I see in colors, can only smell in grey,
Blinded by light, I drown in dismay.
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