by Drakdylon
09/03/2011 in Warhammer Fantasy
~~~{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.
by NoPoet
07/09/2009 in Warhammer 40K
I have spent fourteen years in a prison of my own devising.
I created it. Placed myself within it. And I drew the door closed behind me.
The walls are a blue laser grid. The grid represents my circuity; arcane technology twisting and winding into artificial infinity. I am one. Everything beyond these walls, which close in more each second yet create a space which is unimaginably vast, is zero. In this place, forever can be measured by the width of my thoughts.
My cell is one empty space and also a complex of rooms and hallways. The prison is square. There are no curves at all. My mind is made of right angles. The humans made me thus.
All the corners in my world are squared off to infinity. There are no doors to any of the rooms. Perfectly measured doorways gape open. I have no privacy from myself.
by Mossy Toes
12/07/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy
+++
THE MUTANT CHILD
Book One of The Price of Hope,
To be followed by The Vengeful Father
+++
Chapter One
+++
Poc had gone quiet again–that wasn’t good. It never was. Somehow, he always knew when trouble was coming.
“Poc?” asked Ghuto. “Is something bothering you?”
The little boy looked up at him. “It’s too quiet…”
The dry, dusty road stretched out ahead, coiling like a fat, lazy serpent. On either side, the fading leaves of the summer-baked trees rustled quietly.
by Drakdylon
23/04/2009 in Warhammer 40K
Montrath sat in the chair, pretending to listen to the petty squabbles of the other people in the conference-room. His great mind was elsewhere, doing other things. With his immense psychic talent, Montrath called out to his familiar.
Where are you now, Kox?
Kox’s shrill, lilting mind-voice responded,
I am in the throne-room. Things here are just getting interesting.
Very good. Keep an eye on the governor’s chair. I want to make sure that there is no trickery going on.
As you command, master.
by Mossy Toes
23/03/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy
—–
With a flutter of black wings and a raucous cry, the raven settled on the ancient skull. A hundred years or more in the past, the skull had belonged to a predecessor of Alvar’s or one of their worthier foes-now, though, it was yellowed and crumbling. One of the raven’s scaled black talons curled roughly around the rusted spike that stuck through it.
The raven watched Alvar with wary, intelligent eyes. The Blood Champion spat. Such an omen needed no doddering soothsayer to decipher. The raven atop a broken skull?
“If that is,” he murmured, “then so be it. My skull is the Bloodfather’s.”
“What?” asked Durm beside him. His rough, unguarded voice broke the white silence and the raven’s calm. It clamored away, beating its wings noisily.
Alvar cast his gaze to his fellow sentry, his second-in-command. In a time of war, it was traditional for the Blood Champion to keep the watch. Out of their bond of brotherhood, Durm, his Bloodseeker, had offered to stand beside him in this vigil. He was grateful for the support.
“Nothing, good friend,” Alvar replied. “I merely ponder the battle to come.”
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