Fluff comp Voting

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Right, we had three entries. Iv ignored the word cap rule due to lack of entries, so please don't use this to sway your vote. Try and vote on the story that's being told, rather than correct spelling and grammar.

Voting ends at the end of the month, and the winner will be announced and we will hold a party for the victor with free food and drink on the condition that I'm not paying the bill!

Thanks for everyone who entered, and all who took the time to vote.

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STORY A

Celebration

Tamsyn Mearin awoke to the sensation of being tenderly kissed. She looked around, confused. No one else was around, which was normal. She lived alone in her studio hab. Neither parent was still living, nor did she have any siblings. No man had taken her fancy. No friends had celebrated Alva-La or Rukao with her, nor did she have anyone with whom to share a meal during Candlemas.

Taking a moment to rub at her cheek, she rolled out of bed and into the small hygiene area where she washed herself with an oiled rag. Flipping her cot against the wall revealed her wardrobe selection: repaired leggings that were held fast with a drawstring and a hand-me-down robe that her mother had worn. Both items were near ruin and threadbare. New clothes were a luxury she’d likely never see. Pulling them about herself, she continued her morning routine with a bite of a starch ration while she listened to the vox broadcast of Father Thour extolling the virtues of absolute service to the Throne. Tamsyn never questioned, never even noticed, the occasional contradiction in Thour’s rhetoric. She silently repeated the benediction prayer, then slipped her feet into a pair of boots that flapped as she walked the three steps to her door. Grabbing the bottle of water, she left for work.

She walked the same route she had for the past several years; she didn’t know how many, and couldn’t count that high in any case. It was more than ten. She avoided the throngs of cats and humans as she navigated the overcrowded underhive streets of Enitur, Delana’s primary hive, arriving at the soot-stained building just as the chime counted eighth hour. The facade bore the insignia of a tree with cogs for leaves inside a diagonal square. The emblem of the Mechanicus was in miniature beneath. When her father had been living, he’d told her that the skull and cogwheel used to be the larger of the two, but something had happened. No one had ever told her what.

She stopped daydreaming as she sat at her station, pressing her thumb against the glossy pad that recorded the start of her shift. Her job was to screw bolts into a board, hit them, and unscrew them again. If the bolts fit and stayed put, she put them in one basket, if not, she put them in a different basket. It was very rewarding. After the first five hours, she ate the rest of her ration bar and sipped her water. Checking her quota, she saw it had four digits with the leftmost a two. If she kept this pace for the rest of the month, she might be awarded an extra Throne Gelt as a bonus! Tamsyn rushed to finish her food and get back to work.

The bolts were of three sizes, all standard for items manufactured on her world. Which meant, naturally, that they were the best items manufactured anywhere. One size, she knew, was used in the glass part of lasguns. The small ones with the hole on top were used in the delicate parts of servitors. She had no clue about the third ones, but she did know if they worked right or not after she checked them. Another six hours of work, and she was done. The first digit was a four. She almost kept working out a sense of accomplishment, but that wasn’t allowed. She pressed the thumb pad again and left.

A different crowd was about at nineteenth hour. Working her way through the it, Tamsyn suddenly decided to celebrate her exceeded quota by taking a different route home than normal. Rather than turning right at the shop that sold used clothes and pieces of scrap metal, she kept going straight towards the mass transit stop. The passenger bed of the robotic hack was just as crowded as the streets. A dozen worn-out and miserable looking people filled the vehicle, a stark contrast to Tamsyn’s smile. The bus proudly bore the jasper crescent moon and lion of the Elius Vehicular Concern, displaying it to everyone that looked at the front of the bus as it went around the preprogrammed route without mercy, shoving the unwary pedestrians out of the way with an unyielding scoop on the front bumper.

She got off at the next stop, enjoying the unfamiliar sights as she walked back to her hab block from the opposite direction. Walking against the mob of workers heading back to their beds for the day was a woman that wore a shirt that looked almost new. Tamsyn had never seen clothes that looked so clean and solid. She stopped to stare, getting bumped from behind as the crowd shoved her onward, not caring.

She felt a prick in her side as someone jabbed her with something sharp. She cried out with indignation, hearing her voice for the first time in days. It sounded weak and mousy. Pressing her hand against the bleeding wound, she felt something small, round, and hard under her flesh. Fear gripped her as she dug at it. With startling suddenness, a black-stemmed rose burst from her left shoulder and right hip, digging deep into the pavement, pinning her to the spot. Hivers recoiled, sending waves rippling through the commuters as they tried to get far from this unnatural circumstance.

Tamsyn blinked, looking up at the crimson flower that bloomed above her head. Why had this happened? How could this happen to someone who lived faithfully, who prayed twice a day, who gave all her pay in tithes? She sagged, the thorny stalk supporting her weight. No blood escaped her as the rose consumed all she had. Sirens could be heard approaching, but any help that they rendered would be too late. Tamsyn Mearin died as she felt a kiss on her cheek.

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STORY B

He screamed and tears streamed down his face. Earth and chunks of plasticrete rained down into his fox hole as deafening explosions tore the surrounding landscape into a scene of desolation. His fingers raked the soupy mud at his feet as he tried to dig in a little deeper and make this nightmare shelling go away.

And then the pounding stopped and the ground ceased the shaking that made his body ache to the bone. Then a ferocious roar ripped through the air and stole the very breath from his lungs. Still whimpering he dared peek his head up just enough to see what was out there. The trooper's eyes were left wide with disbelief at the vision that marched his way. The Daemon Prince stood taller than any living thing he had ever seen. The beautiful carnival grotesqueness it bore to its witnesses terrified him so greatly that sense and reason checked out and left him all alone.

He stood with an eerie calm, set his lasgun against the wall of his small trench and unbuckled the chinstrap of his helmet. He placed it neatly by the lip of his foxhole then pulled a comb from his top pocket and started to fix his hair.

Motion in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he looked over to a man, a trooper he knew but could neither place in his memory or affix a name to, waved and motioned for him to take cover, but it too late for that. They were dead. There were already dead, but the rest of his troop just didn't know it yet. There was no doubt in his mind that they were all going to die at the hands of this mesmerising daemon from the Warp and that it would eat his soul.

He watched with fascination as the entrails of a fallen comrade clung to its monstrous claws and dripped blood and ichor to the disheveled ground below in slow motion. And then he understood. This beast was perfect, magnificent and awe inspiring. Glory be to the warp if it could present to mortal men such splendours! He lifted his arms to praise his messiah. The Lords of Chaos were not his enemy. No! They were his saviour, his protector and his shield in the night.

Without warning a pair of perfectly polish black leather boots obscured his vision of grandeur. Ire overwhelmed him and he looked up to see gold trimmed black trousers, a full length leather coat and the Aquilia heraldry of the Imperium beside three medals and finally the scarred scowl of his political officer, Commissar Janek.

“Son, pull on your helmet, pick up your rifle and fire upon the God Emperor's foe.” he said calmly with all the grave authority he held.

“They are here to save us!” came the trooper's reply.

“Trooper Hasker you have been found guilty of heresy. The sentence is death to be extolled upon your cursed soul with present haste and without mercy.” Janek said forcefully that those nearby could hear.

Their lips curled with contempt for one another and the political officer raised his bolt pistol, squeezed the trigger and a tore a gaping hole in the trooper's chest without mercy as was promised. The trooper blinked, tried to cough, then slumped forward, leaning against the wall of the trench as his life essence withdrew.

He saw the Commissar hold his sword aloft and shout litanies of courage and curses of contempt for his beloved, beautiful Daemon. Then, as his vision dulled, he watched his former comrades charge the beast, but was rewarded with a piercing howl from his new God as his soul set forth for the Warp.

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STORY C


My breath hazed in front of me. My deep, heavy breath the only sound in the small dim room. I could feel the muzzle of the gun pressed against my head, it brushed aside my matted hair as I shivered. A bang rang out, I fell to the floor, time flowing slower than the fires of battle, and I waited for deaths embrace. My face hit the cold rockcrete floor, but there was no pain, just a mere sensation. I had often wondered what it must be like to die, and I savoured the last few moments of life, welcoming the end to this mystery that would remain elusive for as long as I live. After a few moments with my face on the floor, the pain set in. It was then that I realised that there was no pain where the shot had been, and that time had returned to its natural state. I rolled over, my hands still bound behind my back. The sergeant stood, above me, his face pale and wrought with confusion. He fell sideways to reveal a rather short man in black, holding up a smoking pistol, a Dolka auto 12mm if I remember correctly. His face was old, sagging under the weight of years, but his eyes were young, still gleaming with the shine of enthusiasm. I was about to welcome my saviour, when I saw who he was. The peaked cap trimmed in red, the black trenchcoat, and the sash drenched in the blood of any who falter. My training kicked in, the fear of this figure was greater than that of death, and I blacked out.

There are few things that are worse than waking up from a pleasant dream to you worst fear, and unfortunately one of them occurred to me later that day. When I awoke, the short commissar was sitting in front of me, staring at me intently. Before I had a chance to fully awaken and assess the reality of the situation, the commissar spoke;
"We need you."
I looked at him blankly. I was a common soldier, no specialities, no heritage, and I was to be executed earlier that morning for insubordination. I had no idea why any imperial force would want me, especially not the commissariat.
"You were right," He said, speaking as though I knew what he was talking about, as though we were midway through a conversation, "and he was wrong. Dead wrong in fact."
I continued to stare blankly. I didn't even know where to begin speaking to him, so I started as politely as I could.
"Sir, I haven't a frak what you're on about." On reflection, it wasn't very polite, but I think it was decent considering my upbringing. The commissar started to chuckle to himself and he stood up.
"My dear boy, that's why we need you." This to me at the time was about as useful as a grox wearing a hat, but I decided that I should pretend at least that I knew now something more, mainly because I was still scared to hell by his presence. The Commissar then told me to prepare myself, as he left the room. I at this point decided that I needed to find out more about what was going on, which thankfully was what was latter expected of me.

I had never been inside a gunship, especially not in one so lavish as the one I soon found myself in. The seats were leather, and very comfortable, and the various rails and weapon racks were made of polished wood, and every inch was covered in glorious detail, depicting heroic battle scenes. To my left was a heavily armoured guardsman, although his armour was aesthetically crafted, with inscriptions and scenes chiseled into it by some skilled craftsman. To my right, the commissar, who was carefully disassembling his pistol, and cleaning out the innards. Across from me, a hooded woman was sitting. Despite the large cloak and hood, her feminine attributes were quite clear, and I had taken the most time in analysing them. At the neck of the hood, just in the corners, brilliant red hair was visible. I tried to maneuver myself at a lower angle discretely to be able to see under the hood, but small cough and a warning look from the commissar changed my mind.
"In time" he chuckled under his breath. The gunship came to a gentle rest, and the passengers around me began to undo their harnesses and stand up. I followed suit, and picked up the small carbine I had been handed on entry to the vessel. The ramp lowered, and an impossibly large chamber awaited us.

"Ah, mister Cennet, how good of you to join us, I see you brought us another young soul to add to our collection."
"Never mind business, how have you been almost two years!" The commissar exclaimed, opening his arms for an embrace with and eccentrically clad man, a rogue trader by my reckoning at the time, who was taking a rather unsettling interest in myself. I had found myself clutching at my weapon slightly tighter after his mention of souls, but I quickly decided it was probably a figure of speech. I had little idea how accurate the metaphor was though. After the pleasantries were dealt with, we embarked upon a small carriage, pulled by two golden cherubs, their faces festooned with bionic implants. We shortly arrived in a much smaller but still vast room that contained more doors than I could begin to count. I was separated from the group, and taken by the rogue trader through one of the doors.

I said before how there are horrors worse than awaking from a dream to face a nightmare, and in this room I discovered one. Large implements of archaic design fiddled with me for hours, the pain so great and torturous that I can not even return in my memories. And the worst was yet to come.

[Empirespy]

For me A was the most engaging, and also the most interesting. I commend the writer for their talent at portraying the character of Tamsyn so realistically, and the insight into the true iner workings of the imperium.

[ElegaicRequiem]

I'm sure no one expected a tie. What happens now?

[Soap]

Well we could have a 'write off', or we can declaire a joint winner!

So with pleasure, the winners of the first IGMB Fluff Comp, with three votes each:

*drum roll*

Cuban Pete, and Empire Spy!

Well done and thank you all for entering and taking part in voting.