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post #11 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-10-11, 10:31 PM
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Watch this space

And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
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post #12 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-10-11, 11:28 PM Thread Starter
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Nice, getting a good turn out this month! I've got an idea formed, but the wheels are still slowly churning, as the hamster that powers them is quite fat and out of shape...

Expect something from me ideally by the weekend!

Also, for people who have been unsatisfied with my prior themes (and I'll admit, this one has the possibility of being much more fun!) feel free to send me suggestions of what you think you'd like to see!

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 #13 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-11-11, 02:37 AM
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By the Blood of the Wronged
By C'tan Chimera
1,099 words.


I am brother Lykas of the Salamanders and I have been betrayed.

My squadron and I were sent to quell a cultist uprising on our very home world of Nocturne. The town was ironically called Faith’s Homestead, but they simply called it Faith. I knew this because I had grown up there. I remembered little, but you could feel it deep down in you when you walk upon familiar grounds.

We traveled on foot for days, not out of necessity, but because we were new. We…I was young in comparison to my superiors. We wanted to prove to them our hardiness, our determination. We would come to this troubled village and we would prove that we could stop this uprising without a single drop of blood being shed.

We did just that. When we came into town, many of them praised me and my four other brothers as heroes. The hearts beating within my chest swelled with such a feeling. To come back to the home that bore you, to see the faces of adoration and joy on faces that knew and loved you while you could no longer know for certain… It is a bittersweet thing, but I am a Marine. Bitterness is nothing, and despite Nocturne’s immense heat there is never too much warmth to be had.

Despite ghostly sensations of nostalgia teasing at me, we had a job to do, and we would do it. Much of the youth had turned to childish rebellion as was in the nature of the young and hot blooded that had not qualified to walk the path I do now.

The elderly had no trouble telling us where they had gone. Those that had still the self control of the well disciplined had stayed back at the village to repent upon our arrival as we had forewarned them. We could sympathize with their feelings, and they were forgiven without trouble. Yet the more stubborn had abandoned the village, holing up in a nearby mine that had once served the people. That is where we went next.

A week had past and the skies grew darker, heavier. The ground was frequented by tremors and the sound of raging tides was never too far away. When we finally reached the rugged, crudely fortified entrance of the mine, we were fired upon by the heretics. The firefight was brief, but harsh. It didn’t take long for the others to surrender. As we approached the mouth of the cave to meet them, the skies darkened totally, and disaster struck without announcement or mercy.

The Time of Trials had arrived.

The cave collapsed in on itself as the mountains ignited in cascades of magma, their thick plumes of smoke constricting and blackening what little was left of the sky. Within a day, the world was coated in darkness, save for the illumination of blazing fire.

At first, we were content to leave the heretics to their fate, sealed within the cave they chose to stage their defiance in. But after a day of walking, the creeping feeling of guilt in the back of our minds turned us back to the site, and we soon unearthed the group. They had abandoned their ghoulish masks and handed their weapons over to us, one display of might having been all it took to cease their foolish behavior. We stayed within the cave to endure the Time of Trial until we could safely return to Faith’s Homestead. As time went on, we came to know them all the better and before long, we were learning a little from each other. We took their childish, rebellious nature and filled it with faith and nobility. They taught us of life amongst the village and reminded us of who we had been. Before long, I considered them part of my own.

Weeks passed and gave way to the equally unforgiving winter, but we could no longer wait. We took the walk back, all five battle brothers and 20 young men, given a chance to seek redemption. Along the way back, they made time to show us how to mine the ore and plunder from the Trial’s unearthed bounty so we could bring it back with us to ensure prosperity in the coming hard times. Yet despite this, the winter proved cruel to them and we lost many to hunger and the cold’s lash.

We returned to Faith’s Homestead to find it burned to the ground. Snow mixed with ash. Withered timber jutted from the mix, bent and twisted under the weight of the earth. When we had left, it had been a place of life, promise and the Emperor’s hope.

Now it was a silent wasteland, yet no amount of silence could hide the barbarism that still lingered in the air. We all were overwhelmed with grief. It is true there is no such thing as true innocence, but this…

We thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then they attacked. Fellow Astartes Salamanders struck from the hazed horizon. They fired upon us first, taking two of my brothers with sniper fire from the rear and putting several of the surviving young ones through the torture of the promethean flamer. We burned as well, but with the rage of all the unjust death and our wrath was true. My fellow battle brothers and I lead our weary friends into the fray, our anger and ferocity quickly overpowering their own as we dug into them with bolter and chainsword. The gray ash ran red with the blood of the savages.

Why they attacked us, I cannot say. Perhaps the Chapter was corrupt and the whole mission had been a trap all along. Maybe they were simply arrogant and impatient enough to label us as deserters who had joined the rebels to make a profit off the mines.

No matter their reasoning, they had become mere animals in our eyes, and so we treated them as such. We mounted their heads upon the gnarled, agonized bones of scorched buildings and my brothers were buried along the other dead, adorned with the raw beauty of the jewels we had brought back. It had meant to serve them and bring happiness in life…But perhaps it might bring them some tranquility now still…

The people I grew up with and left were killed by those I had abandoned them for.

I have been betrayed not only by my Chapter, but by the Emperor himself. The proverbs say “Give the traitor what he deserves”, and by the blood of all those wrongly spilled, I will see to it!

Last edited by C'Tan Chimera; 03-15-11 at 03:48 AM.
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post #14 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-11-11, 03:03 PM
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Nice stories so far, great work all of you. I unfortuantly, am still struggling for an idea, not knowing whether I should write about my Iron Hands Uprising or something do do with another idea...

hmm, choices, choices, choices...
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post #15 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-14-11, 10:00 PM
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word count 1062

The sounds of battle raged round the township like mighty gods fighting over their territories. Deafening booms of the attack craft seared the skies above as they dove for the enemies logisitical posisitions.

Tanks rumbeled over the once green fields leaving their track marks imbedded deep, heads turning to let loose their mighty salvo at an enemy that was in dissaray. The battle for Kannada was soon to be declaired victorious and that is what the warmaster of the Mersenian cluster desperatly wanted.

Every other battle had been lost or drawn and no decisive victory had been attainable, until now. General Dak Sorren had been certain that this would be the turning point in the war.

Truly, with the victories won this day and over the last week, the god-emperor was finally smiling at them. He raised a glass of amasec to the heavens and toasted the soul of the imperiums deity.

With a lull in the fighting he called his command staff into his tent. Filled with the joys of victory and the high on the praise he would receive from the warmaster, he could not help but grin broadly and he hoped his high spirits would be infectious.

Overhead, the fighters returned to their vessels in orbit and as he watched them whirl victoriously away, he had his vox officer send his compliments and congratulations to the Wrath of the Emperor

His second was a tall lanky looking fellow with dark hair and even darker eyes and, once where he would have been vocal he was now strangely quiet. When the general asked why he had nothing to contribute to the victory talk he simply said,

“We have not yet finished sir,”

“What do you mean not yet finished?” The tank commander frowned “We have routed them and it is a matter of hours before this region is secure”

“There is the issue of the ahem church” he cleared his throat a little, uncomfortable with using such a word but knowing that he had to “it is, so my scouts report sir, the main base of operations”

The general nodded, Frena was quite correct in his words, the locals here had holed up in the local place of their religion and it was their job to completely erase the building, there was after all only one god in this universe and that was theirs.

“I shall lead the final operation myself major, what do you suggest?”

The major cleared his throat once more and stepped over to the battle map he studied it for a moment and then pointed at the church itself.

“Perhaps if you spoke to them first sir, it might give them reason to understand that their war is lost and to become, model citizens as it were. That way sir, you would be seen as a beneficent war commander and it would make life a lot easier.”

The major knew that this would appeal to his commanders vanity, if he could orchestrate a surrender then they could get the people out and destroy the building. Maybe build a new one to the rightful god of the universe.

It was decided that the general, major and half a dozen of his hand picked men would travel the five kilometres to the church. Once there the general would start negations for the surrender of the towns’ people.

The church was nothing remarkable in itself. Just a small white building that had seen better days. A bell tower and holes where the stained glass windows used to be but had obviously been blown out with all the shelling and bombarding from the imperiums forces.

The general spoke through a loud hailer asking the residents to surrender and they shall be shown great mercy and incorporated into the new world that Kannada would become.

Nothing inside moved and after several attempts the general turned to Frena and shrugged.

“I have no option Frena, I have to take them by force now, lets move in and try not to kill anyone but if you have to then you have to”

The major saluted and passed the generals orders along his men and shortly after they made their way towards the church and inside,

People stood round the alter but it was no alter that the general had ever seen before in his life but as he swung his light round the congregation at the front he almost vomited in horror at what he saw.

The crucified bodies of the third company scouts that had been missing in action for several days hung from the rafters. Their insides split open and chaos sigils carved in their blood on their chests but what made him retch was their heads.

Boiled away of their flesh, their skulls set in a pile at the foot of the alter and a pot of their blood boiling away.

“Frena kill the deviant bastards”

“I can’t do that sir” Frena brushed past the general and moved to the front of the alter and knelt before the priest of the blood god.

The priest daubed the majors foreheads with the signs of Khorne on his forehead and the major picked up a chainsaw, started it whirring and turned to face the general who was mouthing silently.

“Hold him” Frena ordered.

The general found himself held fast by the men that had accompanied him and spoke into his collar vox, all outside the sounds of war stopped.

“You will not get away with this!” The general seethed “You will die”

“Then my service to the blood god is complete general” Frena moved towards him, the chain sword revving louder “By now my men and women will have killed the command staff and aboard the Wrath of the Emperor the flight crews and soldiers that have returned will have done all they can.

This world is not for you but it is for us. There is no mercy and my master cares not where the blood flows general, just that it flows and I would rather serve a lord of war then a corpse on a throne that doesn’t give a shit about me”

The last thing the general felt was the chain sword ripping his insides apart and the maniacal laughter of his former trusted second and if he could have done he would have wept for the irony.
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post #16 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-15-11, 01:25 AM
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Took awhile, but spring break has it's perks- I've edited in my entry above!
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post #17 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-15-11, 07:20 PM
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well well well, looks like i'll have to jump in on this one too.


The Founding Fields

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post #18 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-15-11, 08:37 PM
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Still need to get my stuff done for this, but still struggling on what to do.
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post #19 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-16-11, 03:06 AM
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Do I dare?

You'll forgive me, but you must be mistaken. I've met your makers, and they don't even know your name...

(Updated Mar. 19)

Hat in the Ring
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post #20 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-16-11, 03:07 AM
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I was considering what I could write for this, when I remembered that I had written this last year for the BL Submissions Window before scratching the idea. Accordingly, this writing sample languished, unpublished, and now has a marvelous chance to shine again.

Some of you will recognize certain of these characters. "Taros" is actually "Temils," too--he's undergone a name change in some of my more recent works. Yes, this was the planned ending for a major arc of their careers, with passing references to many events and stories that will, in all likelihood, now never be told. Times move on...



(1098 words)


Inquisitor Thresh chambered a round into his ornate bolt pistol and ejected the magazine. It clattered to his desk.

“Tell me, Interrogator,” he said, offering the pistol to Taros Vutch with a flourish, “what is your single greatest flaw?”

Taros took it, puzzlement slowly giving way to cold, hard fear. He blinked slowly, taking a shuddering breath. “The close bond I have with my twin sister, sir,” he said. There was no denying it. Hadn't Thresh criticized him for that very weakness many times?

“Precisely. In all other matters, you are an exemplary student. I have no other reservations for sponsoring you to the rank of Inquisitor, apart from losing you as an operative. You are one of my most promising protegees—other than your illogical, detrimental attachment to Kay Vutch. The Enemy needs but one lever against you, Taros. I can guarantee you she would eventually be used as that lever, willingly or not.”

Taros stood still, the bolt pistol heavy in his hand. Thresh met his eyes, expression solemn and unyielding.

“Nevertheless, Interrogator,” he continued, “it is with deep regret that I inform you that your sister's soul is irrevocably tainted.”

Taros stiffened, biting back an outright denial. He didn't believe what he was hearing on principle, but his master was bound to have evidence for such an inflammatory statement.

“She has been, unknowingly, the Darkchild's host.”

Taros closed his eyes again. That was it, then. That was how the damnable beast had tracked them unerringly across the sector, and why her psy-sensitivity had so unerringly predicted its coming. That was why she always survived its attacks, however improbably. His heart sank even further. Thresh would not say such a thing without definite proof.

“You are certain?” Taros asked, nonetheless. He had to know, to protect, to deny-

“Irrefutably. I have had my suspicions for some time, but am now certain. When overpowered, the Darkchild named her its mother. Psy-probing and hypnotic interrogation Kay herself turned up further evidence, unwitting thrall though she had been. Chirugeon Jhal's report is here.

“Know this: an Inquisitor must be tempered steel, without flaw. I know this hurts, Taros.” Thresh's tone was the closest to compassionate that Taros had ever heard. “My own master forced me through similarly painful deeds; deeds that I resented for many years, but for which I now see the necessity. I will not release an unworthy Inquisitor upon the galaxy. I know this hurts, but these are the hammer-blows that shape you into the Emperor's blade.

“You are ready to become an Inquisitor, Taros. You need but prove to me that you can put aside your personal ties. You have one final test. Your sister awaits.”


Kay shifted in her bonds, despite that the movement send shivers of agony running down her naked, brutalized body. Voices in the corridor outside.

She understood the nightmares, now. Always falling, always bound. She knew what horror was coming, what she—gagged or muted—would be helpless to prevent.

Her body hurt, her head pounded from their drugs, and more than half of her fingers and ribs were broken. Lacerations and bruises throbbed mercilessly, unrelieved by the burning pain in the back of her neck. One of her ears had been torn off, her scalp shaved, and she didn't even want to imagine what that machine had done to the base of her skull—and to her brain. Hanging restrained and immobilized, all she had been able to do was scream.

The portal to the void safe-cum-torture chamber creaked open, and burning light lanced from beyond. She squinted, her puffed-up eyelids protesting.

“Kay,” came the whisper, and her stomach sunk in despair. She knew that tone, those words too well. “God-Emperor above, Kay.”

Taros took halting steps into the chamber. The lumen-strip hanging from the roof flickered on and the door shuddered shut behind him, locking with an automated, irrefutable clatter.

Her nightmares. This was them, played out in flesh. He would stagger forward, apologize. He would jam the blade of the knife into his trachea and his eyes would work silently, beseechingly, as he sunk to the floor. She couldn't let that—she had to stop-

He lurched forward to touch her cheek. Despite the caress's gentleness, it only stung her bruises.

“Don't,” she hissed, her voice cracked and raw. She couldn't let it happen. She could argue him out of it. She could convince him not to commit suicide.

He jerked away, obviously thinking she was talking about his touch. But a thrill of elation filled her. She could speak, and he carried a gun, not a knife. The future wasn't set. It could diverge.

“I'm sorry-” he began, but she cut him off harshly.

“Don't do it. I know what you're planning. I've seen it in my dreams; I see it in your eyes. It's not worth throwing yourself away for me. I'm already dead.”

“Kay,” he breathed, agonized. “I've already lost you once, for eight long years. I can't let you get taken away again. I can't live without-”

His voice failed.

“You walk out of this chamber alone,” she said, “or neither of us leaves. It's that simple, Tar. There aren't any other options. Besides,” she said, and coughed, “you always wanted to serve the Imperium and see the stars.”

“I've served. I've seen. But if this is the price—I've served and seen enough.”

“Then who will prevent the atrocities like Hive Colocanis? Like Karisas and Teketomos? Even if it hurts, Taros, I'm too—broken—for you to give yourself up over. You have to live.”

It hurt too much for her to speak. That, she told herself, was why her breath came in ragged gasps; why her vision blurred and ran. Taros's breath was rough too, and his shoulders were shaking. She hadn't seen him cry since they were underhive slum-children on Carcosair, in a hive that had been dead for almost two decades.

The only noise was their breathing. She had to push him, convince him. She had to change his mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said, lifting the pistol. It's barrel lifted and wavered toward her. Nothing was certain until he pulled the trigger. She could see the hole that a magazine would normally occupy; he had been sent in with one bolt. What would she do if he killed himself and left her dangling here, helpless, over his corpse? “I'm sorry, Kay.”

She closed her eyes, waiting for thunder to roll.

CSM Plog, Tactica

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

Last edited by Mossy Toes; 03-16-11 at 03:30 AM.
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