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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Welcome to the year's eighth

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, 30 September 2015
. Remember, getting your story submitted on 22nd 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!


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275 Posts
Pit Fighter

‘’Krastor Val’’, that name again, crying in defiance as he was swallowed up by disciplined waves of Cobalt- such flickering images were vague, very vague, unclear and clouded by the violent clutter of his mind. He tried to focus but reality’s hands gripped him tightly and pulled him away from his frantic search. The Nails again. The ‘dream’ again. Delvarus squinted against the sudden intensity of lumen strips on the ceiling. He was alone; if it wasn’t for the inexhaustible hammering of the Nails in his brain- he would have guessed it was silent. He clawed at his forehead in agony, he should be used to it by now, but then again, could even the physical and mental capacity of a primarch ever get used to the nails? Angron was hardly a promising example- it seemed he had all but embraced the Nails. The operating table he lay on was wet with his sweat, as though the physical exertion of his dream were a reality. Unberdened by the weight of his battle-plate, he was wrapped in plane white cloth, his scars jaggedly lining the contours of his muscular but abused flesh. Delvarus grinned in grim delight. The Hab Centre. Again. He sat up, subconsciously scratching a long scar on his chest out of habbit- it had never truly healed, the blade had been poisoned and had cut deep- now the flesh was more or less held together by stitches and artificial skin. Delvarus lifted his legs but they didn’t move, his muscles doing little to respond to his furious demands to weight bare, he slumped back, distraught by the revelation that his legs would not work for him. Delavrus was a champion pit-fighter, a gladiator, not a weakling! He roared in anger and pain, the Nails searing his mind further. Which ship was he on? Doubtless he had been lost on the battlefield to the dictating fury of the Nails, what was wrong with his legs? The room’s lumen strips flickered and then pitch backness embraced the leader of the Triari. Delvarus hoisted himself up with his arms, dropping off the table and pulling his useless legs behind him across the floor. It was piercingly black but Delvarus could easily remember the layout of the room from several casual glances- it was a simplistic, small, rectangular space with few obstacles - a small, steel chair and the table Delavarus had awoken on. Delvarus reached out with his left hand, holding nearly all of his weight on one arm, frantically reaching out with the other. He was beginning to panic. The nails responded. Finally he found it, the door was no more than two meters across and three high, forcing himself up with his left hand clasping a support railing, Delvarus reached higher – searching for some handle or mechanism to get out. Nothing. Delvarus struck the door with his bare fist, the force of the blow would have scattered a mortal’s brains to pulp but the door didn't budge, Delvarus struck it again, ignoring his bloodied and likely shattered knuckles and the door stayed in place- Delvarus’s furious efforts only dented the first few layers of ceramite. The nails seared with excruciation and Delvarus fell from consciousness.

Warning claxons, lights and evacuation sirens sounded as Delvarus opened his eyes. The room was now lit up by a single flashing red light, cloaking everything in crimson, the room sounding with a mechanical but feminine evacuation protocol and Delvarus could hear the sound of the ship’s engines struggling, maybe even begging to fail as distant weapon batteries were fired and the ship’s own weaponry opened up in retaliation. He was on ‘The Conqueror’, no other ship in the XII made the sound of artificial thunder with the sheer volume of its armaments. Delvarus could see the door now – there was no way to get out, the lock was on the other side and Delvarus did not know the sequence anyway. Even as the leader of the Triari, the champion of the pits, the strongest of his brothers, Delvarus struggled to accept that he could not break through the door – trying would kill him before the door’s foundations even loosened. Once again the nails began screeching at the thought of attempting such a futile but violent act. Dying. Yes, maybe that would silence them. His grim thoughts were interrupted by the rising cacophony outside, in space. CCCCRRR, THUMMM! Delvarus froze, the ship had been boarded, a chunk of its armour peeled away by enemy ship’s weaponry for a boarding team to enter through. He had seen it before a thousand times, momentarily he wondered who was on the ship now. The thought passed and Delvarus remembered his team – the rest of the Triari would be useless without their leader, their glorious champion of blood, Delvarus the Pitfighter! And then there was Lotara – that whore that the Primarch allowed to be captain of his flagship! Delvarus could now hear bolter fire cracking along the hallways and passages – all gradually heading to the bridge. And all he could do, was listen and wait – things the leader of the Triari was not famed for.
The mechanical evacuation protocol fell silent – Delvarus had forgotten about it until it stopped – its monotonous tone becoming little more than background noise. The speaker made a muffled sound of interference and a voice spoke that Delvarus instantky recognised, ‘’Delvarus of the Triari, are you able to fight?’’ the voice was impatient and arrogant but Delvarus could almost smell the desperation and he savoured the moment for a few seconds, he knew he had not the time for all his questions and demands, ‘’Captain Lotara, calling upon the aid of the ‘severely injured’ on my Primarch’s flagship – what is this bloody Legion coming to! To answer your question, No! My sodding legs won’t move!’’ the speaker crackled and Lotara sighed, ‘’They will with some adren-injections – they’ll keep you up for a good 3 hours.’’ The door hissed open and Delvarus crawled free.

1000 words exactly

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580 Posts
I see them too

Blocks! I see blocks!!! :shok:

Reminds me of when I first started out here with all the excitement of a Pyromaniac with a match and a can of kerosene. I put a 10,000 word story in with no breaks in it at all. I mean, none. I'm pretty sure there are still some people cursing me because they are still cross-eyed and stumbling through halls like a drunk man chasing a ball.


· Registered
1,557 Posts
Reminds me of when I first started out here with all the excitement of a Pyromaniac with a match and a can of kerosene. I put a 10,000 word story in with no breaks in it at all. I mean, none. I'm pretty sure there are still some people cursing me because they are still cross-eyed and stumbling through halls like a drunk man chasing a ball.

It was YOU!
You caused all these scars and bumps on my head... :laugh:

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1,557 Posts
Honora ad Finem
Brother Emund
(1037 words)

Sergeant Dragan was trapped.

He had passed out, he knew that for sure, and now he was awake and in total darkness. He was also in immense pain.
“Janowski, Thika!”. His voice sounded weak and distant. It was an effort to talk, but he had to find out if any of his squad were still alive. “Brother Linda.. anyone copy me?.”

Ahhrg, the pain.

His entire body was wracked with overwhelming waves of pain which his enhanced physiology seemed unable to cope with.

Where am I? Am I still on the hulk? Where are my squad?

The darkness was all around him. It was complete and suffocating.

I need to get out of here. This.. place.. it is disturbing. This pain should be controlled.

He tried to remember what had happened, but he even found that difficult.

A Spacehulk had entered the Cleron System and entered the trade lanes. It had to be investigated. Since the Eastern Hive Fleet incursion many years before, small colonies of Tyrannids and their xenos breeds had been moving through The Halo Stars spreading chaos wherever they were discovered. All Spacehulks and asteroids were routinely searched, and if need be.. purged.

This Boarding action was to be no different to all the rest.. except this time the xenos were waiting for them.

Dragan remembered that his squad, all veterans of dozens of contested boarding actions, were attacked the moment they leapt from the torpedo.

Genestealers, a yellow and blue breed, swarmed them before they were able to mount an effective defence. Brother Shoko and Brother Morcos were eviscerated without firing a shot. Brother Orchamus lost an arm before he managed, by the Emperor's will, to bring his flamer to bare and clear the space around them.
Dragan lead the counter-attack and gained them a hundred metres of corridor and precious breathing space.

It had not gone well.

All over the hulk his Brothers were meeting stiff resistance. His squad was now down to seven. Orchamus was still with them but his effectiveness was reduced. He had lost a lot of blood and without an Apothecary, he might not make it through.

Ahhh, Orchamus. I remember your rearguard action at the Gloria Gates. What steadfastness, what courage. Where are you now? Are you with me? I must get out of here. I must find my Brothers. I must master this pain.

The Hulk was an amalgam of many different craft, some Imperial, some xenos. There was evidence of previous actions here. There were bones of unknown types, weapons and armour of exotic nature. They had even found an archaic bolter-like weapon that could only be human.

It would be purged and the xenos would be destroyed. They would fight on and join up with the rest of the company.

He had ordered Orchamus to take up the rearguard position with Brother Romana and his heavy-Bolter on point. It was not going to be a subtle advance but they would make the xenos pay dearly if they attacked again.

For six hours they battled through the corridors and rooms of the xenos vessel, bludgeoning, and hacking their way through legions of the foul Genestealers, until their ammo was spent and their armour was rent and battered beyond all recognition.

There were only five of them left.

“Such wanton hate,” he had thought. “Such mindless recklessness. A foe worthy of my skills, but not worthy of my respect.”

Dragan examined his Gladius. It was stained with foul spoor and nicked and scratched in a dozen places. With little effort he tore a bulkhead door away from its frame and brought it to his front like a rudimentary shield.
“We are not beaten my Brothers!” he had shouted. “By the Emperor, there will be no more of our blood spilt here today.”

The next attack came, lead by a huge genestealer with an elongated snout and abnormally long fangs.

A mutant breed.

It swung it first claw which took Dragan’s helmet off. The second strike opened up his face to the bone, breaking his jaw and taking out an eye.

I killed you though. Aye, you died by my blade like the rest of them. But we took the corridor and advanced onto the next.

My eye.

Light. Faint at first but getting brighter and brighter.

Get me out of here! Get me out now! The pain.

He could see the the robes of an Adept but not its face. That was hidden beneath its folds.
“I am Sergeant Dragan. For Emperor’s sake remove me from this grave!”

Another figure came into view. Apothecary Kostin. He knew that battered white helmet anywhere.

I am saved. Now the pain will go.

Dragan tried to move again but he was paralysed. His wounds were indeed dire.
“Kostin! I am here, can you not see me?”
Kostin removed his helmet and stroked his short black hair. He was staring directly at Dragan and shaking his head.
“Get me out of here!”. Dragan’s voice appeared weak and feeble.

More pain passed through him and a stab of pain struck his temple.

The pain.

Apothecary Kostin stepped back off the dais and turned to the Adept.
“It has been a week now Magos Hernandez. Is there any hope?”
The Adept turned slowly back and shook his head.
“Not all your brothers can stand the transition. Sergeant Dragan injuries should have been terminal. I fear he will never make the walk.”
“It is done then,” said Kostin, emotion straining his voice. He nodded to a small group of the Chapters Honoured Respexerunt Speculatores.
“He will be honourably laid to rest with the rest of his fallen Brothers.”

“We will remember him.”

Kostin stepped forward again. The Dreadnought dwarfed him, immobile and silent, a brooding, menacing figure of destruction. It was a Castraferrum Pattern Mark IV Dreadnought with a power fist and Plasma cannon. It was painted in the deep black of the night. It would have been a fitting weapon of war for a hero like Sergeant Dragan.

If he had survived his incarceration.

No! I am here with you now. I am Sergeant Dragan of The Emperor’s Vengeance. It must not end like this.


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580 Posts
Rime of the Twisted

Rime of the Twisted

Inquisitor Yarebak moved through the halls of the great Basilica where statues of heroes stood in pink marble cast what were supposed to be unflinching gazes. But somehow, today the watchful heroic statues did nothing to dispel the single minded torment that he held check within his breast. Men who had known him and had fought with him for decades could feel the tension, dared not meet his eyes. As he moved into the lower blocks where the cells of interrogation were held he felt the cold seeping deeply into his bones. It was not the cold of ice or fear, no, this was something worse. Psyker! Yarebak could feel the man waiting in the room ten meters beyond.

Having been trained and fully vetted, protected by Psy dampeners and restraints held fast to the man in the room the Inquisitor opened the door and with exaggerated confidence entered. The person before him was not what he had expected to find. The man was older upon first glance, but in the shifting light of the lanterns he was young and then a woman with long black hair. An old woman gnarled and tired with rotten skin and mangled scars. Even with all of the restraints, the person held fast in the room knew that he was not trapped with them; they were trapped in here with him. He smiled in all his guises. In a multitude of voices he spoke, “I am pleased to meet with you Inquisitor Micheal Yarebak.”

Yarebak’s first name was known only by one or two men and one woman within five warp years of the Basilica. Amazed at the obvious power of the Psyker , he said, “You have allowed yourself to be captured. You have allowed yourself to be restrained. Even now you could snuff out our life forces with a single command of your power. Why do you not?”

The form in the chair shifted to his true form, a young boy, maybe seventeen. I am sent to you to tell a story. My name is unimportant but you will know it in time.” He extended his hand, “Please sit Micheal.” Yarebak sat. The room changed and he did not fight the boy. He allowed the story to be told. He had asked for this. He knew the boy could kill him and all upon this world if he wanted to. No restraints were strong enough to hold the boy.

“I will tell you now what happened to me and you will see. You will watch as millions attempt to flee.” The boy’s eyes grew icy and cold as he spoke. In days of darkness past there was peace that did not last. My world smiled in the night and danced in the fires light. But things were coming and things did come killing most but leaving some. As young as I was I knew fear that day as mother and father both entered the fray. With guns and knives they fought but fell with screams and grunts. I was pulled from the closet where I hid and cast upon the wall. In the blood of my family I did fall. Crippling claustrophobic fear encircled my heart as my assailants whispered in the dark.”

Inquisitor Yarebak fell from his chair but did not know it. He could see as if he were there, the faces of the night, the terror of the eyes that seemed to peer into his very soul.

“In terror I screamed with all my Psychic force. Walls shattered and bodied scattered and along the walls dark blood splattered. The shadows before me still remained untouched by my distain and terror. In the distance, from what felt like blocks away people were in full repentance, screaming and weeping fleeing the shadows creeping. “With tears running down his face, Inquisitor Yarebak asked, “Why are you still alive?”

“In the night the shadows flew and carried me afar through caverns few. I heard screaming and torment in the darkness’s caress. I was cast into a pit filled with blood and worms. My feet touched bottom as I felt the worms begin to squirm. The stink of it, of the blood and shit; of the fear as the shadows grew near. Oh the tightness within my chest! Oh the fear within my mind! Only claustrophobic torment echoing from the walls I could find.” The room they set in was completely gone. Yarebak was in the pit. He could feel the blood and the worms and the close heartache of the claustrophobic walls he was surrounded by. In terror he began to lose all reason. He began to fade into the reality the boy was making for him. With an effort of will he tried to pull himself from his despair, “You have not answered my question!” he screamed into the darkness. “Why are you still alive?”

“They came for me sometime around morning and I saw their warning in my mind. I saw the blood upon their faces as I stared into their soulless gazes.” They spoke to me then, “We will keep you for you are strong.”

“I fell back into the pit and in the pit I stayed. I fed on blood and worms. I fed on legs and arms. I learned to love the taste and felt no more disgrace. The years did pass and travel, we have. The reason I am here is to tell this miserable world… “

Yarebak screamed in terror at the images cast into his mind. He could hear the screams of millions upon the world he now stood upon. Somehow he knew he was no longer seeing the darkness of past events from a distant world. He knew without a shadow of a doubt the answer to his question and with soul crushing force he wept. Out in the halls of the basilica and into the streets, into every home and temple; into every workplace and hiding place the vampiric shadows came. The boy let his restraints fall away from his arms as he knelt before the prone Inquisitor. “I am alive so I can show you and those like you in the most exquisite detail the power of the soul crushing claustrophobic will of the shadows. “

The boy smiled. His teeth were fangs. Before Inquisitor Micheal Yarebak could recover from the force of the fear that had crushed him to the floor, the boy tore into his throat. The boy pulled away and asked Yarebak, “Do you want to live forever?”

1095 words.

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580 Posts
My votes

I am voting here because the voting thread is not up yet and because I will not have internet excess for the next several days because I am moving from Wichita Kansas to Portland Oregon.

1st place - 3 points - Brother Emund - Honora ad Finem was a fantastic story telling. Dragan recalling the battle upon the hulk with his brothers. The combat. I liked the character development and the building of the scene. The feeling of helplessness as he realizes he cannot respond to his brothers or let them know of his consciousness.

2nd place - DelvarusThePitFighter - 2 points. - Pit Fighter was written with a good style but at first I did not know if you were writing about Angron or Delvarus or if Delvarus was Angron. i don't know who Delvarus is. I have never heard of him although I feel that I should know exactly who he is. I have over 300 W.H. books and somewhere I am sure Delvarus is mentioned, but I haven't come across the name. The feeling of helplessness while being unable to walk while held in complete darkness while a boarding party was attacking was well thought out. I liked it but not as much as Brother Emund's story.

I would like to have seen more stories uploaded simply for the voting factor. I feel that this story contest for this month was incomplete.
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