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post #21 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-17-11, 05:29 PM
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The Tower
1011 words

Climbing up the stairwell, the man did not know what to expect. The Inquisitor was a relative newcomer to the Ordo, and had been called a prodigy by many of his tutors. He had passed up the ranks faster than any of his fellow aspirants, and had proven himself worthy of the many tests that had been thrown at him along his short career.

Or at least, it was at the moment. The battle armoured, muscular Terran kept his bolt pistols attached to his body, knowing that he might need them at any moment.

After all, what awaited him at the top of this stairwell was what a whole army had died to try and possess, to try and obtain its ungodly secrets. Secrets that if revealed, could pull mankind from the brink of defeat and see humanity reclaim all its glory that had been snatched away from it during the dark days of the Horus Heresy.

So far, the Inquisitor had countered little resistance, which was a surprise. He had been expecting a small sized army at least, but had found nothing. He hadn’t expected the decoy attack made by the Elysian Drop Troop Regiments to have actually distracted the filthy heretical scum away from their most treasured bastion.

He knew that they were dying now, as they were already under strength from the previous, failed assault, which the Inquisitor didn’t really want to think about right now.

Not after he had seen Themos fall, his most trusted advisor, companion and friend cast down by several bastardised cutilists.

He was getting ever closer to his goal now, the Inquisitor knew, and could tell this due to the increase in rarer, tainted artefacts that were mounted on the walls of the tower that had once been finely detailed.

Once, but no longer. Not since the dammed, egotistical, power hungry lord governor had cast aside his oaths of loyalty to the Imperium of Man, turned his back on those that had once remained loyal to him, and seized control of the planet.

The twin suns of the planet made the temperature inside the tower almost unbearable, and the Inquisitor wondered what extreme temperatures that they Elysians must be going through right now. The thought only strayed across his mind for a second, but he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit guilty for sending good, brave and loyal men to their deaths.

But he felt that it was all worth it in the end, all for the greater good of the Imperium of Man. He had been told, after all, by the late Themos, on the eve before his death, of the legendary resurrection orb, said to be the only power in the universe that could return life from the grave. Well, the only human power in the universe.

The Inquisitor had believed Themos, for since when had the old man ever let him down? Since when had he ever turned himself away from the light of the Imperium, even when faced with impossible odds? Since when had Themos lied?

Never, was the answer to all of those questions. It was Themos had helped the Inquisitor recover after the loss of his planet, and Themos who had helped the Inquisitor recover in the dark days that had followed. Themos had always stood beside him, and the Inquisitor never doubted the man’s faith.

He never had any reason to. The Inquisitor still had to see that Themos’ body was buried safely and with honour, as he had argued that the man should get a proper burial, just like he had always wished for.

These thoughts were brushed from his mind, as the Inquisitor planted both feet firmly at the top of the stairs, and looked at the wooden, black door, the symbol of the ruinous powers etched into its centre, replacing the Imperial Aquila that had once stood there in all its glory.

The Imperial sign itself probably lay defiled in another place or torn into a thousand pieces.

“The Emperor Protects,” whispered the Inquisitor as he drew one of his bolt pistols, and firmly gripped in his hand, the man had every intention to go in guns blazing. It was one of his few flaws, as he could not bear with the stealth approach, it reeked of cowardice.

In this aspect, the Inquisitor had been reckoned similar to the astartes of the White Scars Chapter, the sons of Jagatai Khan, with their precision strikes, but only by those who had not seen the White Scars in action, and had just heard of their tales. The Inquisitor knew this because on his first mission, him and his routine had to end up being rescued by the sons of the Khan, and he had come to respect them even more in the days that had followed, just as he had become a respected figure within the White Scars.

The door took some time to kick open, as it was bolted shut from the inside. This left the Inquisitor with two options. Option number one, that there was another exit, which he highly doubted as the tower looked too narrow to contain one. Option number two, that there was somebody, or something inside.

The door was ripped off its hinges, and the Inquisitor fed his eyes on what was inside, with growing fear. Four banners, each devoted to the respective blasphemous god, lay hung up on the opposite wall, along with various gifts placed at the top of small steps beneath each one, each held in a human skull.

The Inquisitor looked away, and noticed what was in the centre of the room. It was a small table, a small, circular table that was barely big enough to rest both of his bolt pistols. The table wasn’t empty, and the Inquisitor looked up to see a small, blue circular shaped object that was covered in a cloak.

“I was wondering when you’d get here, Thorn.”

The Inquisitor turned to see an all-too familiar figure standing there, with his weapons raised. Then, bullets sprayed in his direction.

Author's Notes: The Inquisitor's name is Thorn, and I intentionally kept it hidden from the reader until the last but one sentance, made by, if you guessed it, Themos. The man who Thorn was loyal to without question, had turned on him. Also, I know The Tower won't have a hope of standing up to the ones written by more experineced members of the forum, but hey, there's nothing to lose.

Apart from about an hour of my spare time .
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post #22 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-18-11, 01:33 AM Thread Starter
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Some great entries this month! I'll post up my comments/thoughts on all of them during the voting thread (so it's all fresh in my mind to vote haha)

And my entry:

Are You Ready, Brother?
1072 words



‘Are you ready, brother?’ a voice softly asked.

Uninvited and unexpected, the sudden question shattered Bravvick’s brooding reverie. His mind swam back to the moment as his eyes focused on the warrior seated ahead of him. Despite the identical appearance of the Astartes’ seated along the rows of the Stormbirds passenger bay, Bravvick could pick out the helmeted figure of Eudeves, crammed between Zors and Paelleoth.

‘Bravvick?’ Eudeves asked.

Inside his own helmet, the Space Marine sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Yes, Brother,’ he responded over the private vox channel his squadmate had contacted him through.

‘Are you ready?’ Eudeves repeated.

Am I ready? Can I be ready? A sudden onslaught of emotion assailed him, a tidal wave of nauseating guilt intermingled with confusion and… fear. ‘There is no preparation for this,’ he said softly. ‘Nothing could prepare us for what is to come.’

As if in sympathy for his inner turmoil, the landing craft shuddered as it broke the atmosphere. The hundred of his brothers aboard shook about in their restraining harnesses like ragdolls, as the inelegant craft fought against the shear of the wind and the sudden resistance of the air.

‘We have a clear plan,’ his comrade stated, ‘all has been laid before us, and the only deed that remains is its execution.’

If only it were so simple. ‘I am afraid I do not see things quite as black and white as you.’ He paused, fighting down the bile that threatened to surface. ‘Do you not realize the magnitude of what is to come? The implications for the future?’ How could he be so foolish? Could he not see, not understand?

Eudeves was silent for a moment, possibly lost in his own thoughts, possibly ignoring Bravvick’s imploration on the matter. The moment stretched on, lost in the pulsating vibrations overwhelming the cabin.

Finally, Eudeves responded, ‘The ends justify the means.’ His voice was soft, and Bravvick knew that at least some understanding of the import of their actions had finally materialized. ‘We must do as our Primarch has taught us.’

Shaking his head, Bravvick sighed again. ‘I only wish it were so easy, Brother Eudeves.’

A new voice cut through their conversation, the stern voice of their Brother Sergeant, ‘Are you ready, brothers?’ he asked. Bravvick sub-vocalized his affirmation and fell silent. ‘Prepare yourselves then, we will be on the ground in two minutes. Check and confirm basic combat loads: ammo loads, det loads, ration loads,’ their Sergeant paused a moment. ‘Steel yourselves, my Brothers,’ he said, ‘for what we do today shall forever resonate across the stars. Remember that, remember why we are here, and you will have the fortitude to go on.’

Closer to the aft of the Stormbird, the solitary figure of Sergeant Ulises stood as he addressed his warriors. ‘If you find yourself doubting, look to your left and your right. Your Brothers will be there, and they will be strong. Do as your Brothers, and you shall do your duty.’ Ulises cocked his head for a moment, ‘Ninety seconds,’ he called out, ‘you are ready, my Brothers.’

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of checks and rechecks as Bravvick verified bolter round counts, frag and krak grenade availability, chainsword operability, and a myriad of other small details to ensure that he was ready to jump out and fight if the need arose.

It did not. The Stormbird landed softly, and the trembling dulled to a background roar as the engines cut off and the egress ramp lowered. As one, the Marines stood and faced to the rear, their bolters held at port arms across their chests in pristine parade manner.

Cutting himself off from his emotions, Bravvick stared at the back of the head of the Marine in front of him, simply falling in to the flow of the detachment as they jogged out the back of the landing craft.

Immediately, a new rush of activity and sound assailed his senses as a scene of utter cacophony greeted him. Thousands of Astartes ran back and forth, hauling anything from field-ready defensive emplacements to crates of ammunition. Running in line behind his Brothers, he did see a pattern to the chaos, as every Astartes was set about fortifying the plateau upon which the drop site was situated.

But more so than the activity, he could feel the hatred. The warriors around him reeked of bitterness, of anger. Although not cursed with the wych-sight, the complete antipathy that radiated from many of the assembled Marines was staggering. Each command barked, each functions-check of weapon systems was tainted with the underlying enmity that filled every corner of the drop zone.

‘Eighth Company, on the Colours!’ Ulises called out to his men over the vox.

Immediately, the formation shifted left towards the fluttering emerald Standard. It was wedged directly in the middle of the massive defensive line, shadowed by rapidly-constructed ramparts that stretched for a kilometer in either direction. The Marines rapidly fanned out, assuming a firing line behind the Aegis barriers.

Then Bravvick heard it. The sounds of distant battle, screams of hate and betrayal, of Titans and Marines butchering one another by the thousand.

Slowly, the sounds died out as more and more Space Marines fell into their positions along the defensive line. Bravvick waited, his hearts in his throat. Am I ready? Can I do this? Never before had he known doubt, and now it threatened to crush him under its immeasurable burden. He could not believe it had come to this, it had all gone wrong. Everything he had spent the last hundred years fighting for was, no, had disintegrated. Squinting, he could just make out figures on the horizon, drawing nearer by the second through the cordite haze as they ran towards the drop zone.

‘Are you ready, Brothers!’ Again those damned words, the question of loyalty and of belief. ‘Are you ready?’ Ulises called out yet again.

I am not...I can not...

He looked to his left at Eudeves, who stood immobile, resolute. He looked to his right at Brother-Sergeant Ulises, who met his gaze and nodded. Bravvick swallowed his revulsion and primed his bolter.

In the distance, a single burning flare shot into the heavens.

The Raven Guard and Salamanders drew nearer, equal parts exhaustion and relief evident across their noble features as they sought haven and resupply from the fierce battle on the Urgall Plateau.

‘FIRE!’


Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories Challenge 13-06: "Serenity" has started, get your stories in by July 11th!

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post #23 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-18-11, 02:38 AM
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Even tougher competition than last time- wow.
And my entry:
Should be Expected
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1015 words
Heresy Online Expeditious Stories Contest 3: Betrayal

There was no use, really.

Even as Necler looked at the vista that his squad had captured- now a rotting garden, a perfect symbol of the Grandfather’s embrace- he felt the emptiness within him iron out some more room.

There was no use.

Decay, perhaps, and death, and rebirth. They accelerated that cycle- they brought ruin to the world, just as the world brought ruin to them. They were the Guardians of Death, but they no longer had the ability to die, or at least not as easily as normal people. They were the chosen of Nurgle, but they never chose that path themselves. They were the plague of the stars, but they could be nothing else, except a plague.

There was no use.

There was no escape. There was no hope. There was no goal. There was only an endless, rotting ground below an endless, rotting sky, on which Necler stood.

He wanted to howl out his worthlessness, but there was no use in that either.

He stood now with twelve others, as well as Ancient Hafrav. They had brought this city to its knees, but they hadn’t truly done anything. Nothing had changed. Perhaps a few hundred thousand humans would now know the Grandfather, but in the end entropy would have brought them there anyhow. Perhaps they would be blessed with even more diseases, but in the end they were but specks in an uncaring universe.

“There is no use.”

Behind him, a small breath of wind alerted Necler that Hafrav was trying to nod.

“I am glad you have seen it too.”

Necler sighed. “Who left his speakers on? Reghaf and Uol, escort Hafrav to the holding cages.”

The two Plague Marines moved to do so, their own rotten smell adding to that of Hafrav’s fly attractor. It was perhaps beautiful, and perhaps one of the Emperor’s Children would have appreciated it, but to him there was no use.

There was no use in the screams that Reghaf was emitting from his mouth. Necler would have told him to stop, but there was no use in that either. There was no use in the gurgling sounds Uof was making either, even if they were new. The Grandfather would not approve either- innovation was after all a matter of making uselessness seem like use. There was no use in the blunt impacts that resounded behind Necler, nor was there use in the buzzing that was now blanketing the terrain behind the other noises. In fact, there was no use in sound whatsoever, as it was distracting and even annoying.

The sounds only got louder.

Screeching, bouncing, popping and- most of all- screaming filled the air, and Necler adjusted his backpack and took a step forwards. The stair that led down was easily large enough for an Astartes to pass, so he did.

The mountains, no longer truly solid, collapsed behind him as he strode forth. The city wasn’t his destination but merely his direction: he didn’t have a destination. Having a destination would imply a point, which could imply a use.

Something dripped behind him, either drool or blood. He didn’t care.

The round object impacting his back distracted him from walking, which was of course completely irrelevant. In fact, nothing was relevant.

Coming to this conclusion, Necler took the liberty of somersaulting, as after all he felt like it and there was no greater use. Seconds later, he punched himself for the sheer stupidity of attempting to somersault in power armor.

By that time, he was rolling down the stairs at a significant velocity.

The punch served to orient the Plague Marine, and as such he slowly lifted himself back up on a stone landing. It was not as easy as he had expected it to be, and Necler could comfort himself only by remembering there was no use to comfort.

The pointlessness of it all was getting rather tiring.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

The sounds of new blunt impacts awoke Necler from half-sleep. They were coming from above, probably from where his squad was departing. He wouldn’t come with them, of course: there was no use, and he didn’t feel any need to follow his brothers.

Turning around, Necler was mildly surprised to see Ancient Hafrav marching towards him with six skulls in each of his fly attractors.

“Um… why aren’t you on the ship?”

“There was no use to being there. There is a use, though, in getting your skull! It’d mess up the symmetry, though.”

Necler shook his head, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Of course, in the Warp imagination and reality were closely linked, but this was insane.

“Will you join me?”

“There would be no use in that.”

“Except skulls.”

Necler shook his head. “Hafrav, skulls are not a use. Skulls are an impediment. All will rot.”

Hafrav raised an arm. “You are boring me.”

The source of the blunt impact sounds quickly became clear to Necler, who was now pressed to a wall of the staircase.

“Will you serve Khorne?”

“Never. He is a fool.”

Hafrav seemed about to add something, but then the Dreadnought turned his head upwards.

“Fine. I'll kill you later. The Imperials are coming, and I don’t want to fight them yet.”

Suddenly Necler found himself airborne.

From above, he could clearly see the trails of the landing craft. He could also see Hafrav’s bulk moving towards his own craft, some small, stolen lander that he had never found the name of, stepping on a few small animals along the way and throwing their skulls into his attractors. Simultaneously, he could easily see the mountains shake from the air currents- why had Nurgle made them so gelatinous?

The landing was easy. Climbing out of the crater, on the other hand, was quite difficult.

Necler again looked at the vista his squad had captured- his dead squad, now. It was a rotting garden, a perfect symbol of his total failure. The emptiness within him remained, though now it had spread outside him as well.

There was no use, really.

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post #24 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-18-11, 08:38 AM
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Nice entries from everybody, I sense this will be a tough competition. .

I read your story on the Bolthole, Boc, but it's still awesome.
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post #25 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-18-11, 10:21 AM
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Lots of entries this month. I am less confident of doing well in this month. Might do better next time.


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post #26 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-22-11, 03:58 AM
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Tales of the Heresy:
Iron Within
“First Act-Betrayal Discovered"

Word Count: 990 (including title)

Adept Rho-Pi VI studied the blinking readouts before him cautiously, doing his best not to draw too much attention as he sorted through the streams of data flowing across the screen through the serpent-like mechadendrites curling from under his crimson robes. All around him, bonded serfs of the Iron Warriors legion went about their tasks with an ordered efficiency that would have made a member of his order proud, would that members of the Adeptus Mechanicum had such emotional abilities. Many days had been spent amongst the cogitators and logic engines since his seconding to the 25th grand company of the 834th expeditionary fleet, making him a regular sight. Barely a glance was spared for the tech priest as they shuffled by, preoccupied with their duties.

Sent under the auspices of training members of the legion in the practices of the Machine cult to become techmarines, Rho-Pi VI had found most of his time given to the proper education of his wards until only recently. The 25th was a relatively new company in that most of its members hailed from the world of Olympia, the home of their primarch, Perturabo. Based around a core of Terran veterans, the company had been equipped and sent out to take part in the Great Crusade to unite humanity under the leadership of the Emperor of Mankind with the hopes that the veterans’ combat experience would aid the newer, unblooded members. It was but one of the three grand companies to take part in this phase of the crusade and the only to include the Terrans. On the face of it, it seemed a valid, well-planned strategy.

However, anomalies found amongst the most recent casualty lists had brought him here to the databanks deep inside the armored hull of the battlebarge Unrelenting Siege. Upon further inspection, Rho-Pi had discovered something unsettling, even for one of his augmented stature. It had been many years since he had cut from him emotion in embracing the truth of the Omnissiah. He still had all-too-brief moments of consternation brought on by the occasional emotional reaction but these were far and few between. The information scrolling before him, however, had sparked something deep inside the few remaining fleshy parts of his brain not cold iron or circuitry ... Fear. The readouts all pointed to one thing; something so illogical he found it difficult to believe but the proof stood out in glaring black and white on the screen before him. For lack of a better description, members of the Legion whose roots went back to Terra were steadily being culled from the ranks of the Iron Warriors at an alarming rate.

The deeper he dug, the more dangerous the task became. Layers of security code warred against his invasion of the core’s information banks. Buffered packets of data sped through the wires, each attempting to block his probing. His internal cogitators countered each with blinding speed; dumping terabytes of gathered waste information stored from decades spent coveting and harvesting even the most mundane of facts. Hidden data-retrieval programs seeded amongst the detritus of discarded minutia wormed their way passed the core’s defenders. Warning signals flared across his retinal display as he pierced the last defenses and entered the infopile centered at the heart of the ship’s cogitation core. As the final layers peeled away, the truth revealed itself in all of its terrifying glory. The information sent Rho-Pi VI reeling as the magnitude of it settled into his enhanced brain… This was not mere culling, this was outright betrayal. Sensing little time was left before he was found out, Rho-Pi began the process of copying the information. He knew his assault on the core had not gone unnoticed and time was of the essence.

As if giving point to his suspicions, blaring choruses of corrupted binaric code flared up to meet his attempts to download the damning evidence to his internal memory banks; their screeching squeals more akin to the howls of beasts than the pure tones of Machine cant. A momentary surge of panic pushed through the cold, logical veneer of his calculating mind as he found himself unable to disengage from the streams of data flowing into him through the link made by his mechadendrites. Try as he might, Rho-Pi VI could not break the chain of information binding him to the logic engine. It was as if the black code had latched on to the interloper, holding him captive until members of the Legion’s security could come and take him away.

Seeing no other option, Rho-Pi disengaged his connection to the logic engine in the only way open to him. Taking the cutting torch built into his left hand, he deftly cut the writhing tentacles away, leaving the room to slowly fill with the acrid stench of burnt metal and wiring. A momentary pang of guilt flitted to the fore as he looked down on the blessed bionics he had sacrilegiously destroyed but atonement would have to be made later. Now he found himself faced with a dilemma. He knew what he carried must be brought to light but having no idea how deeply the conspiracy was rooted, he knew that caution would be the most prudent of steps. He did not know with whom he could share it, but surely a chance might be had to pass it on to someone outside the ring of treacherous souls who had enacted such a pogrom.

As he weighed his options, Rho-Pi VI strode from the data chamber. Logic told him that he must first find a place to hide. Capture was not an option. Second, he would have to find allies. Somewhere, someone on the ship would help him. He was sure of it. His mind began rummaging through the list of surviving Terran Iron Warriors as he made his way deep into the bowels of the ship...

"If you can't stun them with your tactical brilliance, baffle them with your superior grasp of BS."

"I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed man."

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post #27 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-22-11, 10:50 AM
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Love how most of these stories feature either the inquisition or space marines being betrayed. Or in my story both.


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post #28 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-23-11, 02:50 AM
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I shied away from doing more xeno-fluff because I've basically done that twice in a row now. I don't want to be -too- predictable.
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post #29 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-23-11, 01:36 PM Thread Starter
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Okay, first post has been updated with all of the entries so far. We're already sitting at 10 with still a week to go, so the competition has kept growing!

As a reminder, the deadline is Sunday 27 March! Keep writing!


Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories Challenge 13-06: "Serenity" has started, get your stories in by July 11th!

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post #30 of 37 (permalink) Old 03-25-11, 04:00 PM
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Well I might just do that, Mr Boc :D

"Dude? Don't call me dude, it's disrespectful. Now, you've got five seconds to put that blade down before I use it to give you colon surgery. Dude" - Alexander Coburn.
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