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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 22, 2007 11:41:00 GMT -5
Prologue
'What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons'
Wilfred Owen
The guns howled. And their shells came crashing down onto the bare earth with unbeliveable force, gouging terrible wounds into the soil of the fortress, blasting positions into a hail of bloody mist and screams. Sargent Fabian quivered and desperately tried to dig himself into the bare floor of his trench with his hands, scrabbling at the dirt in a mindless, terror-maddened frenzy. In the too-short intervals between the shelling he could hear the still more horrible sound of one of his squad sobbing like a child. His mind told him to reach them, to somehow help one of the few people he could still help on this hellish war, but his body refused to move, fear of the monstrous rain of death overhead and fear that he would reach out from his private nightmare to find another friend reduced to a bloody hunk of quivering meat. And so he lay there, trembling at the fury erupting around him as the Emporer's guns spoke.
A mortar bomblet landed on the parapet above him with a thud he could feel through his boots. Some involuntary curiousity made him look up at the squat black bomb, still steaming with the heat of it's passage. He ducked back down and desperately clawed at the earth for a few more seconds before the blast lifted him from his feet and flung him headlong into darkness.....
As the world slowly drained of colour, he found his mind draw back to the most dark, painful parts of his memory. His awakening in the barrack-house on Sarraca, and the creeping certainty he would never see his family again. The humiliaton of training. A message from his wife, torn open with childlike hope only to find abandonment staring into his eyes like Death himself. His joy on promotion to sargent only to find it was because every other recruit of his group was dead. The discovery that his regiment were, in fact, traitors, and him to. The ever-present dread that the Imperium was hunting him, and now, the caphocany of explosives landing all around him, surely the wrath of a vengeful Emporer as he awoke into the nightmare......
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Post by Mabus on Dec 22, 2007 12:01:07 GMT -5
Liking it very much Rolling Thunder. Is there going to be more?
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 22, 2007 13:13:27 GMT -5
Yep. Would like a critique (spare no details) before I expand into the bit about the mercaneries (Mr Kamenev Drang, strikes again).
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Post by Mabus on Dec 22, 2007 17:49:26 GMT -5
Umm..............well............ I can't really find anything to critique, make another post and I'm sure I will find something!
Good luck,
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 23, 2007 6:55:15 GMT -5
'Take heart men! screams the priest. 'The Chaos gods are with us! With their power we shall be rid of the minions of the False Emporer!' He goes off into a rant about an earthly paradise of sensual wonders. Drang laughed. Here, on a battlefield strewn with death and horror, with shellfire cratering the earth and shrapnel whirring through earth and flesh alike, and he thinks to inspire these men. They never learn, these priests. These men are not zealous conscripts to be led into the fray like lambs to the slaughter for the promise of your god's forgiveness. Another bomb blast, and the priest's communioin with whatever god was cut short in a bloody spray of red as the artillery spoke again, the howls of the earthshakers now replaced by the dull bass of the Medusa siege guns. Now the loyalists had been lured close by the lack of fire from the traitor guns. Maybe they thought them all dead. Most likely they didn't care. Fools.
And the Valkyries swept overhead, the screams of the engines mingling with the whoops of the mercaneries inside. Guns blazing, they cut a bloody swathe through the loyalist infantry as it advanced through the hellish warzone, men dropping to the ground as autogun rounds tore through their bodies, the wounds steaming in the icy morning air. They zoomed past the Medusae, concussion waves from the fuel-air bombs flinging the fifty-tonne tanks through the air like toys, men reduced to a bloody pulp by the sheer force. Through the front ranks of the enemy, the door guns spitting destruction into the flanks of vehicles, structures and men with a merry abandon.
The mercaneries swept through the black clouds of smoke, and came to hover like raptors over the enemy command centre, fire blazing out from the Valkyries into the men below. Some bolder guardsmen sprinted to man the emplaced guns on the fortresse's roof. A few seconds, and these erupted into flame and screaming as the gunships guns tore through the Cadians.
Instead of landing, the lead gunship slowly descended, its black, preadatory shape looming over the entrance, to height of roughly fifteen feet. And a figure leapt forth. Drang, his mind burning with unstoppable fury, the hate for his foe welling up in his chest so much he felt as if his spit were turned to venom. His retinue followed him, down from their lofty perch and down into the black oblivion of the fortress, to hunt their last true foe.
Tyrus.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Dec 23, 2007 7:33:40 GMT -5
cool! seeing it through the traitors eyes!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 23, 2007 10:39:57 GMT -5
Okay... now criticise!! I want criticism!!! I WANTS IT!!!!!
Ahem.
Thanking you in advance.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Dec 23, 2007 14:40:31 GMT -5
heretic! you will feel the emporers vengance!!!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 24, 2007 6:14:26 GMT -5
Or will I.......
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Dec 31, 2007 9:10:28 GMT -5
The alarms howled. In the enclosed space of the armoury the noise and flashing red light of the klaxon was so loud against the bare rockcrete walls it nearly drowned out the voice of the confessor as he blessed the two hundred inquisitorial specialists, men handpicked for their piety and courage, the shiny carapace armour and resplendant, burnished bronze decorations highlighted under the throbbing red light. Imprecations against the heretical weponery of their enemies, that they may find glory, salvation and peace in defense of the Emporer's faith . The preist finished, rose to their feet and marched out, boots ringing harshly against the metal floor grating. Out, into the cavernous loading bay of the Inqusitorial dropship. Sergent Leffens lead his men to take cover against a hastily improvised barricade of barrels and massive adamantium armour plates. Proud, courageous piety swelled in his breast as the banners unsnapped, unfurling in the massive hanger, billowing in the airflow from the life support units high above. Inquisior Tyrus, splendid in his black-and gold armour, power knife crackling as he directed squads to take position around the hanger. Flanking him stood two seven-foot space marines, still as green-armoured statues. Leffens unconsciously smiled, and led his men in a quick prayer to Him on Earth. He straightened up, hellgun raised toward the hanger doors. Whatever came through those doors, he thought, was sure to feel the Emperor's wrath.
And then the hanger exploded. The massive adamantium doorway was torn clean from the wall of the spaceship, leaving a trail of fire and devestation in it's path, the force of it's passage ripping up half-ton floor plating like leaves in a hurricane. Sparks flew as servo-cables taller than a man were torn from their mountings in the walling and hurled across the room, scything through the stormtroopers.
And through the smoke, the flames, the screams and the frantic imprecations of the commanders, desperately trying to keep order amongst men unaccustomed to such implacable, ghastly devestation, unaccustomed to such terror and death, came a figure straight from the nightmares of all pious men.
Drang.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 3, 2008 8:50:49 GMT -5
Update! Will someone please post something, or is it such onerous folderol that it pains you to even glance at my story?!
If it is, then critiscise!! PLEASE!!!.
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Post by Cadian 117 on Jan 6, 2008 12:07:17 GMT -5
I have no criticism. It be awesome.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 6, 2008 14:36:07 GMT -5
Please post after an update to the story. I know it's vain, but I really like knowing that people are reading my work, else I get the feeling that nobody is reading the story.
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Post by Commissar on Jan 6, 2008 17:37:44 GMT -5
Good story...*loads pistol*...it is very intense...*cocks pistol*...and I think...*takes aim*...It'll be really good, make an update or else!
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Post by Cadian 117 on Jan 6, 2008 19:36:01 GMT -5
Yes I agree. I am going to follow this one!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 7, 2008 5:50:14 GMT -5
Kais was the first to react. With a cry of 'For the Emporer!' he levelled his hellgun at the silohetted figure, the bright red of the lasbolts scything through the air before his chest exploded in a shower of gore, the bolt round punching through his ribcage, pulping his organs. He collpased to the floor, his too-short scream of pain choked off to a bloody gurgle. The body hit the ground slowly, Leffens watching as Kais eyes flashed in agony, before glazing over into blissful oblivion.
Leffens screamed, his bolter blazing away into the smoke. But the terrible figure now stood next to him, grinning with a psychotic glee so horrifying it turned his blood to so much icy water. And then he was arcing through the air, colour slowly draining from the world, his brain numb from pain and terror until gravity brought him crashing down onto the adamant flooring, gasping in shock and pain as the impact shattered his ribs.
Prostated on the floor, he watched through a clarity born of agony as the figure broke through the lines of stormtroopers and charged down Tyrus, moving faster than any normal human. Suddenly Tyrus no longer seemed superhuman, his power armoured form seemed powerless against the carnage, the gilt armour no longer resplendant amid the haze and confusion. Now Leffens saw through the glamour and bombast as drang closed for the kill.
'You have killed my friends' said Drang with a lethal calm as he strode forth slowly. 'You killed my family. You killed my world. You killed my people. You killed me.' He stared at the armoured figure, the incandescent rage rising up in his mind, threatening to engulf the shattered remnants of his psyche in its wake. 'And I have only one question.'
'Why?'
Tyrus blanched. Terrified as he was, Leffens watched as his lips worked silently at framing an answer.
'I-It was.....' he trailed off, 'It was the will of the Emporer' he finished, regaining some of his bombastic righteousness.
'Liar!' howled Drang.
Then the Ultramarines charged. The first swung his power sword in a vicous, decapitating blow at Drang. Drang ducked, and lashed out with his maul, the savage blow smashing the marine's knee joint into pulp, then slamming his knife straight into the acuator joint of the power armour.The servos whined in protest, and the superhuman figure yelled in pain as his armour locked up and he collapsed. The second lunged for Drang's abdomen, attempting to disembowl the mercanery. Drang sidestepped the blade, slamming his elbow straight into the marine's face. He grinned as he felt the marine's nose crumple under the impact, and, with a triumphant howl, rammed his knife blade straight through superman's mouth, up and into it's brain. The marine shuddered horribly, and died.
And it was over. Drang drew his knife out from the first marines leg joint, before slamming the blade straight down through the immobilised marine's neck, severing the spine. And he stood, savouring glorous euphoria, as Tyrus stood backed to the wall, pallid with fear and mouth working in desperate, helpless pleading......
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Post by twerd on Jan 7, 2008 18:40:21 GMT -5
i've been reading this story by the way rolling thunder though i'd respond
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Post by Cadian 117 on Jan 7, 2008 20:10:03 GMT -5
OOO dead marines.....
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 9, 2008 15:28:16 GMT -5
Fabian wept. Amidst him, his squad busied themselves on surviving the fusilade of fire from the loyalist gun pits, scrambling about the crater, the snap-snap of lasguns playing a peverse eulogy for Corporal Flavian Boyaris, as he lay bleeding out into the bare earth as Fabian held his head up, their eyes locked in a silent communion, the war around forgotten as Fabian watched another friend die.
Flavian smiled, the blood trail down his face grotesquely bright against his grey, skin. Fabian felt a silent, tight convulsion past through his body, the muscles contorting horribly under his hands.
And then he died. Where there had once been a alive, conscious being in agonising pain, there was now a inanimate, bloody wreck that was no more alive than the blackened earth it lay on.
Fabian closed the bodie's eyes, bloodshot and open to the sky, saying a quick prayer to the Emporer to forgive his friend, and guide him to a paradise well-deserved. He didn't care anymore. The Imperium had taken him everything he had made, but at least they had left him his dignity. Chaos had robbed even that. They could kill him for all it mattered now, the rage boiling up in his chest like molten metal, the savage exhultation of a man who has naught left to lose.
Fabian seized his shotgun, standing up over the lifeless corpse. He ducked and rolled as a blast from the emplaced siege guns hit the side of the crater, the shockwave hurling his men down to the bottom of the pit. Fabian leapt to his feet, spitting bitter soil. An armoured head appeared over the crest of the crater, black against the backdrop of indigo-brown night. Fabian fired, the soild shotgun round richochetting off the adamant helm in a breif nova of sparks. Fabian raced to the crest, sprinting up the immpossibly steep bank while the rest of his squad lay moaning and dazed at the bottom of the pit. He reached the top, hurling hmself down on the hard earth. Another two of the armoured figures stood not twenty metres away, idly walking through the battlefield as if it were a harmless stroll. Fabian barely aimed, but fired his shells faster than should be possible, the slugs bouncing off armour plate in a hail of sparks and muffled imprecations. A wave of barbarous hillarity filled him as one collapsed, blood spurting from a terrible wound to the shoulder, the bolter rounds kicking up the earth as they detonated under the ragged soil. The other held its ground, boldly standing over it's comrade, firing into the darkness even as the rest of the squad surged over the crater wall like a vengeful tide....
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Post by lordcastellenjon on Jan 15, 2008 20:10:35 GMT -5
AWSOME MAn one pice of critcasicem tho watch your spelling man I have spoted one or to mistakes in there but thats about it my good friend
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Post by Cadian 117 on Jan 15, 2008 23:43:06 GMT -5
Shotgun Vs. Marine.......
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 20, 2008 14:18:07 GMT -5
Drang stood amid the carnage, bloody and mindless with fury, the demon inside revelling in the devestation around. Bodies strewn lifeless about the adamantium floor, massive support beams lying twisted and ruined across the plating, small fires burning where the electrics had earth itself into the fuel pipings, spent casings littering the floor like millions of metallic, brassy insects. Alone, Drang stood over Tyrus, eyes closed as his friends came to join him.
'So this is the worldkiller' whispered Emir through her scarred throat, so pale she could be a spectre under the half-light, unconsciously stroking the beautifully engraved scabbard of her force sword.'He is not so fearsome as I thought'. She knelt to look Tyrus in the eyes, searching his mind for the answers to their questions.
Tyrus jerked involuntarily, and for a few seconds his face relaxed into a strange, unfocused smile completely incongruous with his fearsome reputation. Another breif jerk, and his eyes refocused to glare at Emir with undisguised hatred.
'Stay out of my mind b*tch!' he spat, nearly incoherent with revulsion. Drang snarled, smashing his boot straight into Tyrus's face with blind savagery, kocking him unconscious.
Emir was sat back on her haunches, her normally pale face completely leeched of colour and eyes wide with shock, Axaimander steadying her. Drang, recovered from his sudden fury, saw her face so pale even in the setting red sun.
'What did you see Emir?' he asked.
'Hatred' she gasped, eyes staring into the middle distance. 'Such hatred. There was nothing but hate.' She turned and looked at Drang, her eyes shining with unshed tears. 'He couldn't remember Behemoth. He'd killed so many people he couldn't actually remember killing our world Kam.' She buried her face in her hands.
Drang took a few minutes to steady her. To look into someone's mind is a thing that requires not just psychic talent but courage beyond most humans reckoning, and yet what Emir had seen had left her so shaken it invoked a cold, alien terror in Drang's heart.
'So what now?' asked Malefan, his face and posture suggesting langour but his eyes blazing with cold fury as he looked down at the inquisitor's supine form.
Drang blinked with suprise. 'He dies Mal. What else could we do?'
'But the pact Kam' spat Mal. 'We cannot violate that.'
Oh yes, thought Drang. The long dead pact concluded with a long-dead god, on a planet none of them had seen for two centuries. But it was the pact, the glue that held together the sorry, battered remnants of Behemoth's last Palatine guards, the last legion of a crumbled empire. You never break oath. You never break friendship, no matter what. You hold your ground. And you never kill the helpless.
'What else are we to do?' Drang said, bitter helplessness clotting in his throat like gall. 'We cannot allow this-this monstrosity of a human, to live. What other justice can there be?'
'He's not human.' Emir looked up at the two ragged, helpless warriors.' he might look like us' she continued 'but I've seen Tyranids more human than this thing. He dosen't understand' she pressed on, seeing the confusion in their eyes. 'He dosen't understand what he took from us. He thought' she paused, unable to continue fro a moment. 'I can't explain it, but' she laughed bitterly. 'The closest thing to emotion in him..... was pride.'
Drang stared. He stared long after his brain had processed this information, neurones flickering and shutting down as a typhoon of hatred gathered in his mind. As Tyrus stirred, he turned.
'I cannot make you understand' he said to the semi-conscious figure.' You would never understand, what you took from me. What you made me. So I will not give you justice, for there is no blood debt that could be taken from you that would repay one tenth of what you stole. So instead, there will be vengance.'
And as Tyrus awoke, Drang struck with all his murderous wrath. And so the last words of inqusitor Tyrus were not some feverant prayer to a dead Emporer, but rather a pathetic plea for mercy as pointless as an entreaty to a supernova.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jan 22, 2008 9:37:11 GMT -5
just having trouble getting the plot. also i posted two updates on my new monian 37th story. its a blast!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jan 23, 2008 11:15:27 GMT -5
Thanks for telling me that. I will clarify.
Sargent Fabian is a infantryman in a renegade army. The story from his perspective is one the frontlines, fighting against a imperial army.
Sargent leffens is a loyalist stormtrooper sargent assigned to inquisiot Tyrus
Kamenev Drang is a psychotic, no-holds barred-any weapon handy mercanery who leads his own private army of specialists (though the actual command work is often done by his XO Von Luckner. There is a little more background on Drang in the comms centre RPs but a lot of this I'm making up as I go along.
BTW: Drang's location is several miles behind enemy lines onboard Tyrus's landed ship.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jan 23, 2008 13:21:41 GMT -5
ah, now i get it. pls read my story please! theres a realy kick arse battle at the end!!!!
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