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Post by Rolling Thunder on May 11, 2008 2:32:32 GMT -5
Thank you puffy- I always felt the IG needed a hero who could tear apart marines, become possesed (after all, the average guardsman dosn't ever get to use a daemon weapon) and kill indsciminately. Plus, it allows for a great deal of violence.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on May 11, 2008 5:17:17 GMT -5
mmmmm...violence. new update on my work by the way.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on May 21, 2008 6:08:43 GMT -5
Okay, is no-one else going to comment on this story? Please....? I need at least critisicm, or if you can't be bothered at least post SOMETHING to indicate interest.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on May 23, 2008 10:28:00 GMT -5
The earth cracked.
The roar of the guns, the howling snarl of automatic fire, the dull snap-snap of laser fire all obscured it, but it was there, obvious to those not wrapped up in their own, personal wars. Most ignored it, dismissing it as a shock shell, or a explosion underground.
Emir did not. She crouched, palm pressed down against the flat, barren soil as her psychic sense gently probed and tested it. She felt the low, rumbling crack, the invisible fissure line running through the battlezone like a sword wound in the planet's flesh. She felt it, and feared it more than any force on this world.
'What is it Emir?' asked Diego, his back half-turned as he searched the distance for threats. 'I.....I'm not sure' she replied, trying to puzzle out exactly what was causing the rent in the crust. 'Something has disturbed the land. A fissure is forming. But what could disrupt the geoplanar forces so much- what' she continued, talking mostly to herself 'what could draw so much energy, that it affects the movement of a continent?'
Diego shrugged. He liked Emir, who was quiet and fairly good company if you could get past the fact that this wraith-like woman could, with so much as a glance, obliterate entire cities in a nightmarish apocalypse of psychic power. An alpha class psyker drew so much power from the warp that only the strongest of them could maintain even a sembalnce of sanity- they burned like supernova to the hungry daemons of the Chaos gods. Even Emir, mentally linked to Drang so that his own shattered psyche could stabilise hers, even she could be heared at night, whimpering and often screaming out loud as the daemons assaulted her with images barely comprehendable in their horror. And yet the boss had placed them here, a madhouse of traitors and witch hunters, each as dangerous to them and each as utterly, wholly insane.
'Maybe a daemon summoning?' he enquired, his outside equanimity barely preserved at the prospect of rampaging hordes of monstrosities tearing through fellow humans, let alone the effect that would have on Emir.
'No' she replied, also calm. 'Its different- more like power is being focused into an area, rather than trying to lure forth daemonic allies.'
'Calling for help, then?' he asked.
'Maybe.... but the only reason they'd need warp energy would be to...' she trailed off, her face slowly draining of colour as icy, creeping terror overtook her body, her energy slowly leeching from her limbs into a vast, icy black pit of barely controled fear that she hung above. 'To open a warp gate.'
'Why would they do that?' snorted Diego, oblivious to Emir's sudden fright. 'The only threat using those are...'his voice trailed off, his mind suddenly aware to the hideous future ahead. 'Oh bloody no' he breathed. 'Surely not even they would be so mad to-'
''I wouldn't count upon it'.
They turned, and looked to each other, each one seeing the spectre of a nightmarish future looming in front of them, a future so hellish it would leave the present nothing more than a pleasant memory.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2008 11:08:42 GMT -5
I like your use of anticipation and the cliff hanger ending is good... I really enjoyed the short interlude between Emir and Diego. These are likeable characters. You can (and I believe are trying to) use these "human" characters to "humanise" Drang. Try to avoid statements like "flatten a city" - they're a bit crass. You are better off explaining how Diego's trust and love (?) for Emir is constantly tested by "erratic" displays of mental instability or power. In the same note, the "late at night" routine is well trodden and best avoided. Either start the piece with Diego sitting watch over a sleeping Emir, allowing us the reader to witness her panics, or subtley implant it into the conversation ... as if it is a burden she must endure and he seeks to assist with.
Also try inserting more camradarie into the banter. This will help to show the bond and its pivots between them. Check out Steven Erikson for a great example of this sort of writing.
That said, the earlier piece with the "swirling darkness" is often used by author's (either that, or the slightly unreal creepy childhood home metaphor) ... my only criticism is that is seems a little vague and "made up" ... I'm not sure if you have a precise vision of what this unconsciousness world is., and have dropped it in without thinking it's relevance through.
It needs a little more clarity, perhaps locating it to a place (where the sword was found) for example or conducting the "conversation" in a metaphorical setting (like a forge).
I would have the "Deamon sword" character without speech, allow its feelings and the power struggle to be conducted in a more ephemeral way... just a thought.
Otherwise, keep up the good work.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on May 24, 2008 1:01:35 GMT -5
superb work! sorry i don't have any critisism but that shows how brilliant this story is. i've updated my own work by the way.
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2008 12:33:49 GMT -5
Loved your story. Keep it coming!
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on May 31, 2008 13:50:02 GMT -5
pls! keep going! you're on a roll!!!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jun 3, 2008 7:35:54 GMT -5
Diego ran.
Over the scorched and blackened earth he ran, feeling the wind howl and whip through his hair, letting the primitive senses direct him away from dangers, leaping trenches, his eyes half-closed against the stinging, dust-filled air. With a last, convulsive sprint, he powered ahead as he saw the dugout where Kasson and Viconia were supposed to be. He jumped the dugout, collapsing into a panting, blown-out heap even as a bayonet poked him in the ribs.
Slowly, with exaggerated caution, he turned. Four renegades appraised him back. Their uniforms were uniformly filthy, spattered with mud and other, less identifiable substances, hung with grotesque sigils, spikes and fetishes. Their faces were utterly white with fatigue under the filth, their eyes unfocused and glassy from drugs. Diego blinked at their leader, a man covered in ritual scars and tatoos, his eyes blood-red with chem frenzy, his arm severed from the forarm and replaced with a motorised chainblade which was slowly idling into life.
'Where's Kasson?' asked Diego, praying feverently the shaking in his legs wasn't visible. 'Who?' snarled the leader, advancing, step after step, backing Diego to the wall. 'Kasson' said Diego, trying to look the murderous thug in the eyes despite his fear. 'E must think we're Imperials, like 'im' drawled another of the renegades, a wiry man who hefted a crude trench knife in each hand, blood still fresh on a eight-pointed sigil carved into the flesh of his cheek. 'Well, boy, looks like you dropped into the wrong-' he stopped, catching sight of the long las slung over Diego's back.
'Well, well' leered the thug, his visage further distorted by the khornate icon carved onto his cheek. 'Looks like we caught one of the bastards 's been trying after our 'eads. Well, my lad' he said, all traces of mock-friendliness vanishing. 'You are gonna regret the day you ever, ever set foot on my 'ome. I'm gonna bleed you like a-'
'What in the lower hells in going on here!?' roared Kasson, the irate engineer sweeping into the dugout and interposing himself between Diego and the renegades. 'Not only do you fools skive off working on my defenses, you bloody well go about threatening your superiors at that!? Who in name of those pathetic gods you worship do you think you are!?'
'He came in here like-'
'Like a what, you pathetic little man!? You mean he caught you napping on your Kalma high, and you thought he was an imperial! You stupid grox-lovers, if the Imperials attacked here you bastards would be dead before you could get off you lazy arses! Now get back to work!'
'Sir, we were just-'
'Don't give me bloody excuses, you greasy heretic. Get back to work.'
'But sir, we was-'
'You worthless filth if you don't get back to work I'll rip your ears from your head!' Screamed Kasson, now inches from the unwashed face of the chaos worshipper.
The renegades disappeared into the trenches.
'Looters, rats and the scum of the army, and that's saying something in this place' grumbled Kasson. 'How are you Diego?'
'I'm fine' said Diego, though in truth it would be a long time until the pounding in his ears subsided. 'Look, Kasson-'
'Aren't you and Emir meant to be picketting?'
'Yes, but look. Emir's found out something, we need to get in touch with the boss.'
'What?'
'They're trying to open a warp gate.'
Both men turned, to see Emir standing over the parapet, looking out over the battlefield. Kasson looked bemused, looking between Emir and Diego in confusion, until understanding finally dawned, draining his ruddy complexion to a sickly, pallid white.
'Oh no.'
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jun 4, 2008 0:06:24 GMT -5
oh...this is gonna end in tears!
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Jun 8, 2008 3:36:02 GMT -5
not too bad, I think I enjoyed your short bits in the zombie story a little better, you seemed to use a more creative writing style. this wasn't bad but I'd like to see you but Drang in some serious danger, you've established what a bad ass he is, now we need to see what it will take to really test his limits. Drang needs a worthy opponent, snapping necks and ripping guys apart is great fun and all but a good main character needs to take a beating now and again so he can bounce back and reschool the reader on how truely awesome he is.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jun 8, 2008 4:59:56 GMT -5
no i'm talking about the fact there's a WARP GATE!!!!!!! the story is BLOODY AMAZING!!!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2008 10:32:08 GMT -5
Nice work RT. Good to see you taking a breath before committing to forum. Your characterisation of the "Chaotics" was vibrant, albeit a little predictable - we've seen it before. What might be fun is to build on the antagonism between the chao troops and the mercs. Could make things interesting and less polarised into "us v them" situations.
Keep at it.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2008 6:31:33 GMT -5
great story, you've got me hooked ;D
drang is a great charachter but i want to know more about him
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jun 14, 2008 9:26:28 GMT -5
Gentlemen, thank you for your custom and replies. Please await the next update patiently, it should not be unduly long in it's artifice.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 13, 2008 7:07:35 GMT -5
Thunder rolled.
As if on cue, lightning blasted through the air, the incandescent, indescribable energy exploding across the sky in a blazing caphocany of destructive force. Out of the side hatch of a Valkyrie transport, Colonel Siegfried von Luckner watched the sky erupting into a criss-cross of burning white. His lined, scarred face creased in an ironic smile as he watched the heavens rip themselves apart. Like an apocalyptic overture to a personal Armageddon, he thought.
'- And we'll be at the RV in T minus twelve!' the co-pilot yelled, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the thunder.
Von Luckner nodded, eyes still fixed on the terrible magnificence of the thunderstorm. His bodyguards remained silent too, grim and fearless as Mordian custom dictated. He could still remember Kasson's voice over the vox, the static distorting his flat, guttural tones failed to hide the leaden, dead fear ringing like a funeral bell in every syllable.
‘You’ve got to find the boss,’ he had said. ‘Somebody out there’s trying to open up a warp gate.’
‘Who!?’ von Luckner remembered snarling, involuntarily pacing the dugout like an animal caught in a trap.
‘We don’t know’ Kasson replied, voice leaden with fatigue and suppressed fear. ‘Could be Eldar, could easily be one of the renegade commanders, trying to open up the lines for us. Hell, for all we know it’s the bloody Necrons on the warpath, and wouldn’t that just be a sodding appropriate end to this campaign. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a planet shot out from under us.’
‘I bet it’s Palati’ von Luckner said, hot rage curling up in his chest as he paced the dugout. ‘That renegade bastard couldn’t wait another day to open up the lines, so he-’
‘Not sure about that’ muttered Kasson into the vox. ‘He struck me as smart commander, did Palati. I doubt it was him.’
‘We’ll see. Von Luckner out’
A few hours ago, he had been sitting in a comfortable, warm dugout, a glass of Amsac warming in his grip as he entertained his line officers to dinner. Now he was ten thousand feet up, in the company of several tons of ordnance and high explosives, watching lightning brush past his nose. Silently he cursed Drang for dragging him out here, cursed Kasson for discovering the warp gate, cursed the malformed whoreson of a chaos spawn for building it, cursed the Emperor for abandoning him to the service of a psychotic and a witch even as the Valkyrie began its slow descent to the foot of the barren mound.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jul 13, 2008 11:30:46 GMT -5
Extremely well written and very imaginative. Still good mate!
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 14, 2008 11:09:06 GMT -5
Anyone else wish to comment. Please!?
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 14, 2008 14:02:07 GMT -5
The whine of the engines increased, the vectored exhausts glowing red as the pilot brought it down to a foot above the ground level, the massive engine howling with the effort of keeping the fifteen-ton flyer hovering a metre above ground. Overhead, the remainder of the squadron circled like a pack of malevolent iron buzzards, door gunners peering out into the pre-dawn gloom for signs of enemy activity.
Von Luckner looked up the hill as he leapt from the rear ramp of the Valkyrie, his staff and engineer team disembarking before the massive flyer hoisted itself back into the sky to join the circling squadron. Massive, black and ominous in the night sky, it seemed to stretch up into space itself- the gleaming metal of Inquisitor Tyrus's ruined starship the only hint that the mound sinply did not go on forever into the inky black.
Blinking rapidly, he realised he was standing alone. Looking about, he saw a pale, naked hand wave at him from a shallow trench. He sprinted, and dropped into the depression beside Kasson and Emir.
'Anyone up there?' he hissed, the harsh words nearly drowned by the howl of the next Valkyrie's descent.
'I don't know' replied Kasson, waving the mercenaries to a firing position further up the hill. 'Emir tried to get an image of the area, but something's blocking her. I don't know what it is though. Have another breath' he said, offering the Kalma pack to Emir again.
Von Luckner frowned. Whatever was up on that hill was projecting a field of nauseating fury of such strength it was not only blocking Emir's psychic vision, but had begun to churn even his Chaos-innured Mordian senses. Behind him, the mercenaries disembarked and ran to their positions, bristling with weaponery and deadly purpose as they advanced.
Point by point the mercenaries moved up the hill, each squas taking a fire position and holding it while their comrades took the next one up. An obserber would have noted the loping, catlike gait of the warriors, the manner in which their weapons remained fixed at their next positions even as they moved over rough and broken ground.
Panting, Von Luckner threw himself over the embanked crest of the hill, leveling his plasma pistol before him, and-
Stared.
In front of him, around the wreckage and ruin of the Imperial cruiser, was a solitary, black blade. A soft, ruddy glow lit the scene, bathing the hollow wreck in a glow red as blood. Lines of an eight-pointed circle thrust out from the weapon, the hellish, gory brilliance of the daemonic.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Jul 14, 2008 23:35:45 GMT -5
Got nothing to say other than good job mate! Keep it up!
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Post by ssgtdude (M.I.A) on Jul 30, 2008 16:21:11 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. I was going to write something about you neglecting to include an introduction for each of the main characters myself until I ran across this. One tool you, or anyone here, might be able to use is a character page. On it you give the description of each character, titles, and area that they are working in. Being the net and most of us having read DUNE you might know what I am talking about. Otherwise, I do find that you have a nice style in writing and something that is enjoyable to read.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 31, 2008 10:33:47 GMT -5
Okay: Charecter sheet:
The Mercernaries:
Kamenev Drang: A mercernary improved gland warrior- faster, stronger and tougher than most humans. Entirely irrational, wavering between psychotic violence, sadism and inbuilt savagery to a cultured, intelleigent human being.
Emir D'Clemencau: Alpha-Level psyker. For those of you who know what this means, you can climb out of your bunkers now, she's not going to go psycho. Possesses the capacity to telepathically communicate with Drang over long distances- refrains from doing so due to the nature of his drug conditioned mind.
Colonel Siegfied von Luckner: (Ex)Mordian Iron Guards colonel. Responsible for overall tactical and strategic control of the Mercenary group and any attached troops.
Regimental Sergeant-Major Dirk Kasson: Tough-as-nails former Death Korps siege engineer, responsible for command and control of 3rd Platoon.
Seit Diego: Sniper/Countersniper specialist. Natural pacifist, dislike of war overcome by his need for friendship.
'Ghost' Viconia: Sniper/Countersniper specialist. Works with Diego, noted for strange behaviour and provides much of the killer instinct in the team.
Other charecters Sgt. Leffens: Inquisitorial stormtrooper sergeant assigned to Task Force Hyperion.
Sergeant Fabian: Renegade infantry man, conscripted to fight for the Borian 52nd prior to it's defection during the camapign to re-take Cadia, allegedly in response to the uneccesarily brutal techniques used by inquisitorial troops against loyalist units.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 31, 2008 14:20:14 GMT -5
Drang awoke.
A few moments of blissful, numb awareness, then the senses came flooding back. A hundred cuts and lacerations howled along the length of his body, from minor scrapes of shredded skin and bruised flesh, to a long, deep cut reaching from his chest to his thigh, the blood oozing onto the ground as he arched his back and screamed.
The sound tore through the air, the pain and fear so laden in the aether it seemed to twist and warp around it, the resonant, pregnant silence following on like a monster, lurking just out of sight but still there, talons and fangs leering out from the dark places of the mind.
Fifty yards away, Emir's gasp cut through the night air, her already ivory complexion draining to a brilliant, terrified white.
Drang stood, unsteady on his feet. He clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the terrible images replaying themselves before his eyes. He shook his head, desperately trying to block out the memories of him- him, lashing out and feeling human flesh yield under his blow, watching a man crumple screaming as his organs spilled out onto the hard, cold ground. Him, laughing as he felt human bone snap under his hands, watching his victim's eyes as they widened in fear, then terror, then finally the numb, paralytic shock of a prey animal as it dies, glorying in the vicious, murderous euphoria of it all, his own mind delighting in each and every cruel, malevolent barbarity, his own soul urging him on to more depraved, savage acts. It's just the drugs, he thought, desperately shaking his head. You were tanked on Psychon, that wasn't you. Drugs and your own fears and that bastard daemonsword.
Do not delude yourself, came the ever-present voice. Whether it was Agronmari or just his own mind, Drang could not tell. You love the killing. You celebrate it so not because of drugs or possession, but because it is your nature to celebrate it, to smell the fear and taste the blood. You are the killer here. Those are merely your servants- nothing more than an aide to strengthen you in your weaker moments.
'I didn't ask your opinion!' Drang screamed to the opaque, ruddy gloom.
And yet here I am, it replied, now smug and suffused with a inexorable, glutted contentment. Or rather, here we are-once again, surronded by your handiwork- and rather good handiwork, I must say. Do stop arguing with yourself, dear Kamenev. As much as you protest your loathing of violence, as much as you delude yourself as to you 'good' nature, it remains that every time we should speak we are ere atop a mountain of dead and dying.
Pretentious bastard, thought Drang, staggering over the concrete floor as he tried to get his bearings. A dark, reddish-black haze obscured the rest of the battlefield, with the frontlines and gun pits that stretched east of the rolling mound invisible to him. Still, he continued on, one slow, ponderous lurch after the other, desperately trying to place one foot in after the last in a long, trudging amble towards what he hoped were the frontlines.
So intent was he on his march, that he did not notice the subtle change in the air around him. He barely even noticed the glimmer of burnished metal in the fog around him.
His melancholy was interrupted however, when he was forced to notice the attentions of those around, as he nearly trudged on to the point of a Nemesis force weapon.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Aug 2, 2008 2:50:22 GMT -5
Nice! Showing the human side of Drang.
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Post by Count Elakor on Aug 9, 2008 9:58:33 GMT -5
It seems you are writing two stories in one, one with Drang, and one with a crazy, druged killer barely containing a daemon. Splendid. Only one thing, when you gave that character info, it was still only sats consealed as somthing else. GIVE ME SOME BACKGROUND INFO.
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