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Welcome to the year's first

For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totalled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread and be awarded the Lexicanum's Crest award for Fiction excellence!


The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

Word Count

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:


Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight GMT, 26th January 2014
. Voting will be held from 27 - 31 January 2014. Remember, getting your story submitted on 23rd will be just as considered by others as one submitted on 11th! Take as much time as you need to work on your piece! Any entries submitted past the deadline will not be considered in the competition, regardless of whether the voting thread is posted or not.

Additional Incentive
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Participation - 1 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 2 reputation points
2nd place - 3 reputation points
1st place - 4 reputation points and Lexicanum's Crest

If you have any questions, feel free to ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!

Table of Contents


579 Posts
Spiders of a Different Breed

Spiders of a different Breed

There is this irritation just under Mishieal’s skin. It started one day when one day when she was working in the garden and felt a prick on her ankle. At first the spot was red then it turned a bluish-green that faded over time. The first three days she felt nothing from the bite but a slight sting. But on the fourth day she began to sweat and have cramps. She went to the medico. The doktor took a look at the bite and gave her some pills to take three times a day to purge her body of the poison. On the fifth day she died.

Goll was working in the yard replacing bricks on part of a wall that had fallen down. It was hot out. He took a drink from his croft and continued to work for a few more hours. He looked down when he felt something bite him on the hand. He saw a spider of sorts. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He had gloves on. They were hard leather. How could this spider have bitten through it, he could not be sure. He smashed the spider. His hand swelled up on the fourth day. He died on the fifth.
Revan Pokka was working in the Classroom teaching the Ethics of the War, a history on the betrayal of Horus. The young people in the class listened in rapture as he spoke as if he had been there and had seen it firsthand. Something was irritating his foot but he could not stop the itch no matter what he put on it. He began to sweat and cramp just before he died. The young people saw Revan collapse and tried to help him, but there was nothing that they could do.

The spider hid in the shadow of a plant in the home of the Governor. Isiak Husk was watering his plants for his wife. He hated these stupid plants and vowed that the day she died he would get rid of them. He saw the spider and tried to kill it, but it was far faster than he. It moved with such speed that he lost track of where it went. It evaded him and then struck him with a bite to the neck. Within three days he died a painful death in his bed.

Thadious Taw saw the spider and remembered a story he had heard long ago about spiders invading a ship. Somehow they had come in through a break in the Gellar field while in warp transit. Everyone had died. He never knew if the story was true, but that is what the remember-box had recounted. The spider was almost clear and had many eyes, far more than that of a normal spider. It also had more legs. It seemed that there was a mark on its back; a star with eight points. The spider did not move. It watched him and waited for his mistake. Thadious backed away slowly, sweating and afraid. This spider brought a fear to him that he had never known before. He turned and ran from the room and looked back as he did so. The spider was chasing him, matching his speed and gaining. It was impossible but it was happening. He tripped over a step and fell hard. He felt something on his arm and looked down just as the spider bit him. He managed to kill it before it could escape.

He collected the remains and brought it to the attention of a scientist in the building where he worked, but when he opened the case, the spider had melted into paste and could not be identified. The bite was itching, irritating his skin. The doktor looked at the bite. He saw that it had the same markings on it as all the other people he had been seeing and knew that it was fatal. The medico had become very busy with spider bites in the last ten days. Thousands of people were being bitten and most had died painful deaths. He contacted a man that he had known long ago. An Inquisitor named Antonious Bree.
The Inquisitor arrived within three standard weeks. He, along with his men found none alive upon the world’s surface. Thick webs covered everything. Nothing had escaped the spider’s touch. Inquisitor Bree walked into the medico with Atton Grure and Musar Hillo. They were trusted men, experienced. They did not know what to expect when they entered the medico. Death and bodies, they knew, but beyond that…

The medico was empty on all the floors above ground. It was an eerie feeling of quiet and emptiness. It felt hot in the medico. It smelt of decay and rot. ‘Let’s go to the lower floors.’ he said. Webs were thicker down in the darkness of the lower levels. The stench of decay was too. They found spiders everywhere and burned them with holy fire from flamers blessed on holy terra. The webs burned a sickly greenish-blue and released a foggy residue that clung to everything and clouded the halls. They heard a tapping sound coming from the next room. It was black as death in the room and reeked of bodies dead for far longer than the three weeks it took for the Inquisition to arrive. ‘Torches on, let’s see what’s in here.’

Hundreds of bodies faced the entrance; everyone with eyes open and mouths gaping wide. They were held together by thick webs that were black and seemed to be fashioned of blood. As one the pile of corpses moved with a great and unnatural speed. Hillo screamed as a whip-like scorpion tail slammed into his torso. The stinger had nearly cut him in half before blasting through his back. Atton didn’t have time to scream before he was snatched into the corpse’s maw. Inquisitor Bree was pulled into pile with webs as strong as iron. He screamed as the spiders bit him. He screamed as the bodies rose revealing the giant beast beneath. He screamed at pinchers ripped his legs from his body and cast them away. He screamed as the Warp spider impaled him with its fangs. He ceased his screaming as his mind joined all the rest of those gathered in the web.

Terror filled him when he understood that he would not die, that he was already part of the Warp Spider’s mind. He wept as the hold he had on the frag grenade released. He laughed as he understood the fear in the spider’s mind just before it died.

1,100 words not counting the title.

2,848 Posts
I've decided that this year, I'm going to use the 2014 HOES as a way to fluff out my new High Elf army. Think of it like a New Year's Resolution... let's see how long it lasts.

The Three Wise Men
Vorastrix banked through a bank of flow clouds, the bronze-skinned dragon soaring towards the mountain range crowning his home. Seated upon his back, Eldran’tyr, second son of Caledor and warrior mage gave a laugh as he felt his hair catching in the cross drafts. In the distance, he saw drakes circling over his father’s home, the smaller beasts the color of old blood, larger than the great eagles that roosted in the highest peaks, but nothing compared to Vorastrix’s majesty.

Beneath them, as the dragon and rider came closer, Eldran’tyr could see regiments of heavily armored spearmen drilling. They were formed into strong phalanxes, each glittering in their mail armor, drilling with sword and shield. He saw another grouping of them off to a side, peppering targets with arrows.

“Magnificent, isn’t it Vora? Father promised me a glorious army, and he did not disappoint. I hear the drakes will come too. You will have playmates.” The elf prince laughed aloud, guiding with his knees and thoughts to bring the Sun Dragon down on the large ‘landing pad’ that had been cleared behind the keep, as befitting the lords of Caledor, where so many dragons hailed. The creature’s response echoed in his mind. Shiny elves in shiny skin. They would burn like all the rest.

The dragon landed easily, barely disrupting the loose gravel beneath them. Eldran’tyr undid his harness, and sliding down as Vorastrix lowered himself so that the mage could land easily. The onyx and crimson of Tyr’s armor whispered as his limbs flexed when he landed, the golden chains that held his spellbook twinkling against his hip. Like any elf, he was graceful in peacetime or war, and his years riding in the saddle of Vorastrix had, if anything, enhanced that.

As Eldran’tyr stepped forward, four men stepped forward to meet him. One was an older elf, dressed in crimson robes, with an elegant golden crown shaped like a dragon. The other three was girded for war in ornate but functional armor. Each carried long two-handed blades across their backs, hilts appearing from dark crimson cloaks. All three had the look of veteran warriors. In unison, the three swordsmen took to one knee, bowing their heads to the prince.

Tyr’s father bowed to no one. The current Lord of Caledor, like his predecessors, had taken the name of the realm, and answered to no other. Closer, Eldran’tyr saw that beneath the robes he was wearing dark armor, just like his own, enchanted to withstand dragonfire and the trials of aerial, mounted combat. Instead, the mage offered his own bow, at the waist as befitting his own station and his father’s.

“My lord. You summoned me home, and so I have returned.” That was a very brief summary of course; Caledor’s summons had mentioned a great gift for his son, as befitting a Dragon Prince of Caeldor, and his standing as one of the magi of the realm. His father had wished him home immediately, to put him at the head of a great army, an expedition out into the world to show the might of the Elves to all, to prove they were not a fading people.

“So I have, and so you have.” The prince agreed. With one hand, he gestured behind him, and the three stood, stepping forward. “I am sure from your perch, you saw the host I have gathered. There is a host of elven bows and spears worthy of a true prince, not to mention the drakes flying overhead, and a force of Knights, trained from my own guard. What do you say to this?”

Dragon Knights, drakes, spearmen and archers. Truly a grand force. Vora’s words echoed in Eldran’tyr’s mind, almost in time with the same words in his own thoughts. The difference was that while Eldran’tyr saw glory at such a host, his steed’s mind was mocking, as he felt that most mortals, lacking a dragon to give them strength, was just more fodder for the war.

Tyr bowed low. “I am honored by this gift, father, my lord. I will endeavor to live up to your glory, and lead this host to—“

“You misunderstand me, my son.” Caledor’s hand came out, fingers tilting Tyr’s head to look at him, and then slowly raise him to stand again. “This is your host, certainly. You will ride with it, and I have no doubt that your strength, along with Vorastrix’s,” at this the prince bowed to the Sun Dragon, for even the youngest of the great beasts were worthy of respect to the elves of Caledor, “will bring us glory and honor. But you will not be leading this force.”

That gave Tyr pause. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling through his head. He did not understand; he was a son of Caledor. Certainly, as second son he was not heir, but he was a warrior mage, with his own dragon, he deserved his own force of war! How dare his father put him beneath another lord! Force his tone calm and even, he managed to ask the next question in what he hoped was a neutral tone. “And which wiser, more experienced lord shall command, my lord?”

“Again, you misunderstand me.” Caledor spoke. Then he stepped aside, and the three armored warriors stepped forward. “Three wise men shall guide your efforts in this war. I present to you the first of a new breed of warrior for Caledor. Aldor, Gareth, and Elladan are Loremasters, trained and Hoeth in the arts of the blade, and spellwork. They are three of my greatest generals, and shall lead your force. You will learn from them, and follow their guidance.”

Generals. They were not even lords of their own houses, but generals that led his father’s men. Tyr’s jaw locked, his teeth grinding quietly. He forced his expression to remain aloof. How dare he! Slowly, cautiously as to not give away his irritation, Eldran’tyr bowed in turn to each of the three Loremasters. “I look forward to learning from you all, Masters.” He glanced back to his father. “Is that all, my lord? Vora is eager to hunt, and it has been a long flight.”

The Lord of Caledor waved his hand in dismissal, already turning back to the loremasters. Behind him, his son mounted the Sun Dragon, and they took to the skies again. He looked back to the three with a shrug. “In the fires of war are all weapons forged. You three will be my hammers. Do not fail.”
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