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[40K] Writer’s Workshop – Untitled Guard Story

30/08/2012 in Warhammer 40K, Writer's Workshop

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NoPoet’s comment: This was Drakdylon’s entry to the Feb/March Writer’s Workshop, “It’s Cold Outside”, where the theme was that it had to be COLD – preferably a winter setting. Other than that it was up to the author. Let’s hope Drak returns to edit this excellent piece, which is currently unfinished.

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Untitled Guard Story by Drakdylon

Cadet Commissar Titus Hadrian kept his cap pressed firmly against his head with his left hand, and with his right he gripped the casing of a valuable data-slate. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of information the slate might contain, but he guessed it was important from its level of encryption.

Holding his hat tight to his scalp to keep it from being blown away by the buffeting winds so common on this world, he strode down the alleyways marked out by the tents which reared on either side. When there was a full-blown blizzard up, the whitish tents disappeared and the camp was rendered almost invisible by virtue of the ubiquitous arctic camo that decorated everything the eye could see.

Hadrian hated it here. He had been raised and trained on a hive-world, a place where the temperature never dropped below a balmy fifty-five unless the planetary governor wanted it to. It was an unnatural feeling, being thrust onto a world swathed in ice. Especially on one’s first field assignment.

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Blades of Salvation, Part I

03/05/2011 in Warhammer 40K

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“What is it?” asked the boy, gazing at the strangely curved artifact that sat upon the dias before him. His young face was scrunched up with an expression of confusion.

“What is it? Well, I’m glad you asked, Jarren.” Inquisitor Vyktros Rayde looked at the boy, his white teeth set in an amused smile. “It’s important for a child like you to know the histories of our galaxy.”

“Histories?” replied Jarren with a quizzical tone. “Makedos says that the present is more important than the past. He says I have no need for histories.”

Rayde frowned. “Why do you believe what he tells you? You know Makedos cannot be trusted, nor can Zadakeus and all the rest. Remember what you have been taught; focus on the world you can see with your eyes, not the one that you can hear in your thoughts.”
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All of Washinton’s Children

16/03/2011 in Original

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“We knew it would all break down, in the end. It was inevitable. But American pride was always such a curious thing. We were too big to fail. Too awesome in our power. Nobody else could even touch us, right?”

I laughed inwardly as I spoke to the others, my own words humorous to my ears. I don’t truly know what I was thinking, telling them the real story. I was breaking their perceptions, I suppose. Giving them a little taste of the truth. I continued my anecdote.

“Wrong. How wrong we were. America was no more invincible than a butterfly in a hurricane. We were blind to the dangers all around us, unafraid in our ignorance. All of the West was.

“In the end, it was our arrogance, our pride, that brought about our downfall. Too big to fail, right? Right?”

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Good Marienburg Steel

09/03/2011 in Warhammer Fantasy

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~~~{KF}~~~

“To me, warriors of Franz, to me! Heed my words! Hear my call!”

The commander sat astride his noble steed, polished armor shining like the sun, longsword held high above his head. All the men of the Nordland 3rd Regiment of foot, resplendent in their blue and yellow livery, looked up at him and listened as he spoke. Among the massed ranks of the Imperial soldiers, William Osbourg listened with great care to his uncle’s words.

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Reaper

18/02/2011 in Original

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My name is Jonathan Heckart. They call me Reaper. I am number one.

I have always ordered my steaks cooked a nice medium-rare. I’ve done it that way since the day I was old enough to eat red meat. That’s the way my father ate his steaks. And it’s the way my father’s father ate his steaks. All down through history, Heckart men have ordered their steaks medium-rare. Read the rest of this entry →

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That Raging Fire

19/12/2010 in Warhammer 40K

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This was hell. Men ran, screamed, fell, writhed, and then lay silent. Others charged forward, gun-muzzles spraying fire and receivers chattering and ejecting spent casings. Still others huddled in whatever scant cover they could find, whimpering or praying for God to save them.

But God, Samuel was convinced, could not hear their cries. He sat upon his gilded throne, a hundred thousand light-years away, slowly but surely rotting into nothing. His mind was occupied with other, more important matters. More important people. The screams of his most humble and loyal servants fell upon deaf ears.

The Imperial Guard was nothing to the God-Emperor. Samuel Jaekes was nothing to the God-Emperor. In the army of the Imperium, ordinary men fought battle after battle, and when their reservoir of luck had run out, they died. It was inevitable.

Sam was not an ordinary man, however. On the outside, he looked like one. He talked like an ordinary man, thought like an ordinary man, acted like an ordinary man. But just below the surface of his consciousness, a monster lay in wait, ready to break out when the time was right.

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Splinterjack

24/08/2010 in Original

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They call me Splinterjack. I am number forty-six.

I am going to tell you a little something about myself. To begin with, I will explain, in a roundabout way, the nature of my existence.

I am a creature of immaculate terror, a horrible thing conceived in fear and borne of nightmares. I stalk the darkness, filling the void of night with the screams of my victims.

I am a nasty, spiteful thing, really I am. But I am not without my virtues. You see, I’m a rather conflicted being at my core. I suppose we all are, when it comes down to it.
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Hold the Line, Men!

27/08/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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“What is left, then? When you are all alone out there, in the darkness. When the sum of your possessions are the clothes on your back, and the gun in your hand, and all you have for armor is your faith. What then stands between you and the shapeless void? What can save you from being thrown into the fires of death, where there is naught but weeping, and the gnashing of teeth?”

“Hold the line, men! Hold the line!” The Colonel’s voice was loud and harsh, but it was still hardly audible over the sound of the artillery fire. Our dirt-smeared Colonel stood tall, bullets pinging off of his reductor field, and lasblasts flashing and crackling away as they hit the energy-shield that protected him. His power sword was held high, and I watched as he brought it down, signaling the guns to fire. The sound of the cannons as they launched their ordnance downrange was deafening, and the ground rocked with the force of the impacts. The six Thudd guns suppressed the enemy advance, raining hot death upon the foe with every barrage. Each Thudd gun fired four shells; all told, twenty-four explosive blasts were launched downrange every time the battery fired.

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The Wars

08/06/2009 in Original

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The world has lost its color.

A long time ago, my eyes started to fail me. Not just my eyes, I suppose. My mind too. Colors started to fade. I don’t know why. Things happened the way they happened. I wouldn’t want to go back, though. I wouldn’t want to change things. At least, not everything.

There are some things I regret. Things I wish I could change. I think it was one of those things that made the color start to drain out of my life. It started with the first war. If I could, I would go back and stop the war. Or at least, I would stay away from it.

I was a real fighter back then. They say I killed more than five hundred men. Every one of those men had a family back home, wherever their home might have been. Or at least, I bet they did. A wife, maybe kids, who knows? Every one of them was a real person, somebody with a soul and a mind. Somebody just like me.

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Carry the Torch

01/06/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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One black-clad figure dashed from cover, his mesh-armor shaking as his feet pounded the ferrocrete floor. Three others moved after him, sprinting from behind the barricade, shotguns aimed at the door. Neal, the fifth, ran towards the door as his squadmates moved to the sides of the entrance, pressing up against the wall, preparing for the next move. Neal unhooked the demo-charge from his belt, and he slammed it against the steel door. He thumbed the activation rune, priming the bomb; then moved aside quickly. Boom. The explosion was loud, and Neal felt the force of the blast through the ground, but the earpieces in his helmet blocked the sound.

The Arbites squad leader tossed a gas-grenade into the room as the noise of the demolition faded. Neal heard the hiss as the gas escaped the grenade. His helmet sensors interpreted the sound and the thermal scan of the room, and his HUD lit up with a view of the room, a warning indicator showing the location of the gas grenade. The ancient manufactorum was massive, and the tiny map in the top corner of Neal’s HUD betrayed the room’s real size.

The squad leader-a man of great reputation, Captain Brandt-entered the room, his swift movement representative of his penchant for “shock-and-awe” tactics. Brandt’s HUD would show him a very accurate picture of what the room held, but there was still no comparison to the feeling of seeing a room filled with the yellow glow of a floodlight.

The squad switched on their helmet-lamps, and the room was washed with light. This way, any occupants would be blinded, and if they couldn’t see, they were more likely to miss if they took a shot at the squad. Of course, the auspex hadn’t detected anything, but it always paid to make sure. Especially when one’s life was on the line…

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