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Well, its been a long time since the competition began. Everything went well for the competition, from judging to the entrants.
The results are FINALLY in:
I will be submitting the results in a separate thread, so the winners (and hopefully me for organising this competition) can get their just rewards.
But here are the results in brief
Very Short Story
Inaugural Golden Gretchin for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition 08
Visitor Q - "Second Chance"
Inaugural Silver Storm Shield for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition 08
Doomanddarkness - "Change"
Inaugural Bronze Boltgun for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition 08
World Eater - "Planetfall"
Inaugural Golden Gretchin for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition '08 (ss)
LordTrebor - "No Hope"
Inaugural Silver Storm Shield for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition '08 (SS)
Visitor Q - "Planetfall"
Inaugural Bronze Boltgun for Distinguished Warhammer 40,000 Fluff Composition '08 (SS)
Ecclesiarch - "Suffer not the works of the heretic"
Highly commended (not including award winners)
Black8 – “Planetfall”
PLEASE GIVE THE WINNERS THE RESPECT THEY DESERVE (AND HOPEFULLY ME FOR RUNNING THIS COMP)
A good comp overall, and I hope to run this again next year. There were too few entrants and judges, IMO. This comp really needs LO attention.
Their entries will be displayed below:
By Doomanddarkness – “Change” – Unit: Lord of Change
The room was no bigger than a thimble, but it stretched for miles from edge to edge. It had taken the pair two days – if time truly passed in this bright, mad changing room – to cross it and meet in the centre. They stood upside down, on the ceiling, and faced each other over a table made of the purest white light solidified like ice. Neither of the pair ever blinked, but out of the corner of their deep, black, eternal eyes they glimpsed the walls of the room flicker and change and flow unerringly. Clawed feet and fanged maws, keen eyes and lithe fingers pulsed and prowled along the rooms’ cool crystal surface. The half-glimpsed sensations would have driven a mortal mad, if he survived long enough to lose his mind – but mortals seldom came here. That was impossible. This was the Impossible Fortress.
The first Lord of Change spoke. It had many names: Anakh’ron, M’irino’eth, Ba’laam, Fer’udh, Ine’wir’aq, Te’eeen’ozm and Wu’ajk’okh were those it held in most frequent use, dependant on time, space, custom, purpose and weather. Here, it was the Red Crow.
Of course, it was not red: it was blue and green and gold and rich imperial purple, every colour except red in the shimmering rainbow of its plumage. Nor was it a crow: it was great and proud and brilliant, its majestic eagle’s head peering cruelly down from atop a towering immortal frame: a strong frame, tallest of Tzeentch’s Feathered Lords. Its wings were broad and powerful; its sorcerous staff was wreathed in fire.
‘The red soup is brewing!’ It cackled, ‘The red man is walking, and soon he will scream! The white watcher will come at his call, oh yes! It is all falling into place!’
The second Lord of Change smiled a strange, avian smile. It too held myriad names and titles, beyond count, too many for any mortal mind to ever hope to remember. Here, though, it was the Blue Crow. It was smaller than its partner, twisted and shrivelled, a stick figure of a mighty bird of prey that clutched its staff claw-tight as a prop. Yet its plumage blazed with infernal glory: a startling, savage, multicoloured fire that raced across its vast wings, bright and blinding as a hundred rainbow suns. Every colour but blue, of course.
‘You are sure of this? What of the sentinels, the stalwart men? Is their grey master ready for our touch? Is his mind open to change?’
‘He is ready! His mind already festers with doubt. You have seen what the corpse fools made him do. He is ready to be pushed!’
The Blue Crow nodded, closing his deep eyes. ‘Yes, that is right. I feel his doubt. His hope. Hope for something better! Once we show him daylight the night cage will not last long.’
‘It never does, for the great. He sees the red soup spill and cannot stop the flow. The corpse has shut him up too long. He smells the sunlight in the green trees and wants to taste the rose lust. He hears the books sing and want to rape their richness! He is a psyker! He thirsts!’
‘The thirsts shall be sated. All things change.’
‘All things change. Change all things.’
The Blue Crow opened his eyes, and in them blazed the wisdom and madness of millennia. ‘Change all things.’
They parted. They were together, and then they were apart. All things change.
By Visitor Q – “Second Chance” - Unit: Space Marine Librarian
Title: “Lesser of Two Evils”
The armoured warrior stood at least two heads above Xarthax’s thrall serfs, and he was cutting through them with ease as he strode down the long throne hall of the Arch Excruciator himself.
Xarthax was ancient. He had seen the rise of the Emperor of Mankind, he had witnessed the spectacle of the Great Crusade. He warned the Cabal of their doom and plumbed the depths of the Black Library. He had dealt with daemon princes and his words had toppled civilisations. And now unexpectedly awoken from his nine century slumber he was weak and could only watch as he faced the distinct possibility of death.
The armoured warrior wore robes of blue and gold. He wielded a staff of ebony that was wreathed in the fire of a thousand suns. At his side, still holstered, Xarathax recognised a bolt pistol. A crude but effective weapon. A symbol of the Space Marines. He would die by the hands of an Astartes then. He had not often thought of his death. He had long assumed he would live to see the stars burn themselves out and other Galaxies would beckon.
Arrogance he realised.
Two of his thrall servants hurled themselves at the warrior, arcane blades fashioned by Xarathax held aloft. The giant spun the staff around, as it connected, the two thralls exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Another came, attacking from behind. The Space Marine thrust his elbow back catching the Thrall in the face distorting his face and shattering his skull. The assailant collapsed in a bloodied heap.
The warrior grimly continued his path down the hall towards Xarthax.
Xarthax could feel his power slowly returning to him after the years of slumber. With a barely imperceptible nod a xenon form as black as midnight burst out towards the armoured giant all claws and fangs. The marine turned his armoured gaze on the creature which came to an abrupt halt held in mid-flight by some unknown power. Then the creatures skin flew off its body and it was blown apart in a haze of purple ichor.
The marine continued onwards.
Xarthax raised one of his numerous wizened appendages that sprouted from his ancient form. The thrall the marine had dispatched with his elbow, rose up like a puppet on a string and hurtled towards the Astartes .
The Marine psyker whirled around upholstering his pistol and opened fire on the reanimated thrall. The bolt pistol spewed forth bolts of fire that struck the thrall and immolated it in seconds. The charred burning remains struck the marine and scatted into a cloud of ash and droplets of liquid fire.
The marine turned to Xarthax. He had reached the black marble steps of his throne.
Xarthrax cleared his millennium old throat and spoke in High Gothic
“Why have you come, human? Why have you destroyed by servants? Why have you sought to challenge me in my own sanctum?”
The marine spoke in Xarthax’s own tongue. The ancient being was surprised. He had believed the tongue to be extinct to all but himself.
“I have not come to challenge you creature. I am Khalimani of the Thousand Sons and I would speak to you of forging a blood pact”…….
By World Eater - “Planet Fall” - Unit: Guardsman
Operation: “Last Bastion”
The soft humming of the Valkyrie’s engines was the only sound that could be heard. Every member of the drop team sat quietly in the near darkness, they had to keep the lights down in order to prevent the enemy from seeing them, some men were praying to the Emperor, some were contemplating what would happen once the order was given but everyone on board the craft was nervous.
They had been briefed before take off; they had to secure enemy artillery positions to stop them from pounding Imperial advancements.
The vessel gave a small lurch, just some minor turbulence thought Wess, nothing to be worried about. Several previous attempts to bombard the location had failed as enemy flak was so concentrated that it was nearly impossible to hit them accurately and they were too far to be hit by Basilisk rounds.
A soft cough broke the near silence of the cabin; the sergeant motioned everyone to get ready.
“All previous attempts to destroy these positions had failed, we’ve already lost several Marauder’s to traitor anti-air.” Came the sergeant’s words from the briefing. In other words they’ll be coming down hot.
“Stand by, we are nearing the drop zone” The pilot’s voice seemed distant and numb, almost mechanical.
The men checked their black uniforms, making sure pressure helmets were fitted correctly and oxygen flowed constantly, they grabbed their choice of weapons two of them would be equipped with ‘cookers’ just as a fail safe should anything go wrong.
Sergeant Maxwell ‘Grims’ Corfex had forgone his usual lasrifle in favour for an autorifle modified with a silencer; everyone had in order to prevent them from raising the alarm once they landed.
Everyone disliked the old slug firing weapons save for Markus; the unit’s pathfinder. He was used to the old design as he was frequently armed with them as he scouted forward once he landed; it was he who suggested them to the sergeant reasoning that ‘beams of light at night, tend to get you killed.”
“Alright men get ready, all grav chutes operating?” Every member gave a mute nod to the sergeants question, they all knew what would happen if they didn’t work when they jumped.
“On the signal, Sanders will lead the way, followed by Markus, then go as normal.”
The light began to flash. “Show time everyone.” Wess silently whispered to himself.
Sanders manoeuvred to the doors, activating the doors to open.
“Get ready men, green light and go quickly do-“
The Valkryie was suddenly rocked by an explosion, it was so violent that it knocked Sander off balance and he disappeared into the inky darkness.
“GREEN LIGHT! GO GO GO!” Shouted Maxwell recollecting himself swiftly, at a moment’s notice Markus practically dived out of the ship without a word.
Within seconds it was Wess’ turn to take his leap of faith, heart pumping he shouted “FROM THE SKIES!” and jumped into the darkness.
The air rushed passed Wess, even with his helmet all the sound outside was drowned out by the wailing vortex. Through the cloud cover he could see his friends ahead of them, he could see the flashes of the enemy artillery; even now they bombarded his brothers in arms. But worse he could now see enemy flak, tracers once distant zipped passed him, he had to try and manoeuvre away from them.
With a twist of his arms he was able to spiral away from most of the danger, not all of it, all the while the darkness of the ground getting closer.
The man directly ahead of him was unexpectedly hit a by one of the shells, his body consumed by a sphere of light and smoke, something Wess was going to pass through.
Blood splatter covered his helmet; in horror Wess could see parts of the man still falling down. He couldn’t spare a thought for the man any longer, he had to activate the chute, if he didn’t he’d be injured upon landing or worse.
As he activated his chute, he felt his body slow down. The ground becoming increasingly visible and the ruined buildings of once wondrous hive city, now scarred by the war.
It had only taken him fifty seconds from the Valkyrie transport to touch the ground, ten seconds to check his position and guess where the rest of his unit was. Out of the corner of his eye he could see feint outlines of faceless traitors, activating his night vision Wess would wait, he would take his time to contact his sergeant, take his time to observe enemy movement.
Because it was only a matter of time before he would deliver the Emperor’s justice.
By LordTrebor – “No Hope” – Unit: Ork Nob (HURRR!)Very Much and Still Alone. An Ork Tale.
The sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon, leaving the war zone in darkness. This would do little to deter the war, as wars- especially those in the 41st millennium- hardly ever stop. As the light gave way to darkness, things became still, there was a deadness to the air, and an aura of lifelessness seemed to linger. Well almost.
Skargog was awake.
Skargog, the ork biker nob was now coming back into consciousness. As his vision became less blurred he became aware of two things- his bike was destroyed and his fellow nobz were all in pieces. The last thing Skargog remembered was racing towards the Imperial line with his biker mob, dakka gunz blazing, waving his big choppa in the air, and shouting "WAAAGH!!" at the top of his lungs. Suddenly came a deafening roar and a terrifying explosion as the biker mob got caught up in a Griffon mortar barrage. Skargog was ripped from his bike and that’s all he remembered.
Skargog ran his yellow claws on his head- he felt a nasty lump there. Good! Maybe he’d have another scar or two on his face as well. Skargog laughed at his fellow biker nobz. Gitz! Lousy, weedy gitz! He looked at them lying in gooey, squishy pieces, ork blood stained with engine oil and dirt. Serves em right for gettin’ themselves perished!
"That’s what ‘appens when yore built like a grot! Stupid zoggers…" laughed Skargog. The rest of the warband was going to laugh when they heard about this-
Wait- rest of the warband!
Skargog was now aware that he was alone. There were no other orks near him. In fact there was no one near him. No grotz, no snotlings, no squigs, not even any humies! Skargog looked around him. There was nothing. Just the dead mangled bodies of his mates. The air was still and there was no sound whatsoever.
"Oy! Anyone out der?" shouted Skargog, gesturing with his big choppa. No one answered back. No one even shot back.
"I said," continued Skargog, "is anyone out der?" More silence, Skargog felt uneasy.
"WAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" shouted Skargog. His "Waaagh!" echoed back to him. That was the only reply he got.
It was a rare thing for an ork to be completely alone. First of all being alone meant you didn’t have anyone to fight with (or against). Second, orks need the constant stimulus provided by the horde, the Waaagh! energy; much like the tyranids and the Hive Mind. An isolated ork could quickly go mad for lack of Waagh! energy, or just something too fight. Orks were group minded beasts by nature; it is in groups that orks are the strongest. The entire ork race was dependant on constant social contact, even if that social contact resulted in violence, the fact was still the same, orks literally need each other to survive.
Now, Skargog hadn’t been awake for more than 30 seconds, and it was only in the last 10 seconds that he realized he was alone. Nonetheless, early stages of isolation madness were beginning to manifest. The nob began talking to himself to keep his spirits up.
"Stoopid zoggers…." said Skargog in a reassuring voice, "the boyz is gonna laugh dem selves silly when dey here’s about dis. I’ll find em right quick, maybe even kill a humie or three. Den they’ll see whose dead ‘ard!"
Skargog decided the best way to forget he was alone was too keep himself busy and began inspecting the mangled wreckage, looking for anything useful: spare slugga clips, teef, any kegs of grog that might have survived, and-
"Now dat what I’m talkin’ about!" Skargog grabbed the object he was looking for, a power klaw off the severed arm of one of his compatriots, Gribgol. The stupid git never deserved it anyway, besides he got himself perished. Skargog yanked Gribgol’s severed arm out of the power klaw with a loud crunch and put it onto his own hand. The inside was still damp with fresh blood and there were a couple of fingers still jammed in there, but the klaw was still dead killy.
Skargog looked at Gribgol’s crumpled body and began taunting him. "You stupid zogger! I gotz yer power klaw! You might have kept it while you were alive cuz I’m not a Deff Skull git who steals everyfink, but now I gotz yer power klaw! What do you say ter that?"
Gribgol never answered back. Gribgol was dead.
He was still grinning and his glazed over eyes were staring at Skargog, but he was still very much dead.
Skargog decided the best way to taunt Gribgol was to use his newfound weapon in front of him. Maybe then he’d say something The biker chucked a bit of debris into the air and swiping at it with the klaw. He missed the first and second time- Gribgol was still smiling… but the third time he reduced the chunk of metal into hundreds of tiny fragments…
But Gribgol never talked. He just kept smiling at Skargog, very much and still dead.
Now getting a new weapon is always an exciting event for an ork. Usually the moment climaxes when the ork gets to test his new toy out in battle. And Skargog was no exception, except for Skargog had no one to test it on. Not even a snotling. Once it sunk in that Skargog was still all alone, and Gribgol was dead, the nob became even more boisterous. He started swinging his new power klaw wildly, wandering in no direction in particular, and babbling in chatty, nervous voice.
"Yeah dem boyz is gonna start laughin’ when I tell em how I stole Gribgol’s power klaw offin his korpse. Serves ‘im right fer gettin’ perished! I can’t believe all da ladz got kilt cuz of one humie ‘slosion! I wonder why I survived…"
Skargog continued ranting and walking at a brisk pace. He was now several hundred meters away from the crash site, wandering the vast hilly plain were only hours ago a battle had taken place, and now was silent as a Necron tomb.
"Well dis proves it. I’m da biggest baddest ork biker around." Continued Skargog. "If I can survive a humie ‘slosion and all da other boyz get krumped den I’m da toughest of da lot. When I getz back to the warband I’m gonna challenge da Boss to a fight an I’m gonna krump-"
The ranting biker nob hadn’t been paying attention to where he was stepping, tripped, and stumbled down a hill. He landed unceremoniously facedown in the mud. As Skargog wiped the grime off his face he saw something- another Ork! The ork was slumped against a rock, as if leaning up against it. Skargog couldn’t believe his eyes and began to bombard his new found companion with chatter; tears were practically flowing down the nob’s scarred face.
"Hey! About time you show up ya git! Boy iz I glad ta see you! You aint gonna believe what ‘appened to me! Hey were did da rest of the ladz go? I’m hungry as a grox, you gotz any food er grog or sumfink?"
The ork was either deaf or not paying attention. Why else wouldn’t he answer?
"Hey I’m talkin’ to ya, you stupid zogger-"
It was only then Skargog realized the ork he was questioning wasn’t moving, but Skargog wasn’t about to give up. He tapped the ork with his iron shod boot, convinced he was just sleeping. He had to be. He just had to be.
"Hey wake up!" Skargog shouted in between taps. "Oy I’m talkin’ too ya! Hey git wake up! We gotz humies ta kill!"
The ork didn’t move. Skargog gave the ork a good solid kick, convinced he was just a deep sleeper.
"You stoopid git wake up!" The ork never stirred.
Skargog kicked the ork again.
You gotta wake up!"
Skargog’s next kick shattered bone.
"You can’t leave me alone!"
"For Mork’s sake you can’t leave me alone!"
A strange animalistic cry erupted from Skargog’s throat. Like a whirlwind he began kicking at the dead ork with a renewed vigor, convinced that if he only kicked hard enough, if he only shouted loud enough, if he only prayed to Gork and Mork fanatically enough, that the ork would somehow wake up.
Then Skargog would have a companion.
Then Skargog would have a friend.
Then Skargog wouldn’t have to face the world alone.
When Skargog finally collapsed from exhaustion, when his voice finally gave out, when the ork’s body had been reduced to a shattered pulp, Skargog finally gave up.
Skargog collapsed to his knees, and started wailing to the cold night sky. His cries echoed throughout the vast, empty plain, unheard.
Skargog was alone.
By Visitor Q – “Planet Fall” – Unit: Space Marine Combat Squad
Title: Echoes of the Raven
With a jolt of brilliant light that flared across the dark terrain of space the Strike Cruiser Merciful Vengence of the Shadow Raven Chapter of Adeptus Astartes ripped through the warp veil and out into real space.
The bridge was a hive of controlled intensity. Coginators whined as they processed incoming data, servitors chattered off their analysis of data streams which were in turn interpreted by the dozen attending tech deacons. Helmsmaster Jarad paced up and down the bridge ensuring discipline. At the centre of it all was Brother Captain Horatio Thorath. Sitting calmly he received the wave of reports as they came in.
“We’ve broken warp successful. Geller field held and the astro-choir reports no corruption”
“All weapon systems fully operational”
“Shields are ready to go online”
“Scanning for hostiles….negative as yet Captain”
“Chrono report isn’t responding captain. Astropaths say that warp echoes are causing interference”
“Magos Dreklore reports the plasma core is undergoing some minor fluctuations. It will be at 100% efficiency in approximately two minutes”.
“Navigator report in, Captain. We are within 20,000Km of our intended jump point. Flasforl IV is dead ahead Captain”.
Captain Thorath smiled grimly, in the vastness of space 20,000km was like droping a dart from a hive spire and hitting the cats eye of a Kranth Board.
He touched an activation rune of the ships internal vox system. “Brother Sergeant this is Captain Thorath”
The voice of Sergeant Harak crackled through “Salutations Captain”
The Captain continued.
“We’ve made the jump successfully as you have no doubt gathered. Are the Brothers assembled to exact vengence?”
“They are Brother Captain”.
“Good then have them ready for when we locate the treacherous whore son.”
“Aye Aye Captain”.
Uron Dominus, twenty third of that name, knew it was going to be a good day. He had finished the majority of the reports that needed to be completed the night before and Hans Dritch the ambassador from Flasforl II had left early. The man was such a terrible bore that Uron dreaded the bi-annual meetings he had to attend.
Today though he could spend with his family. A pair of indentured slaves helped him dress. He had already decided that he would be having a picnic in the lower East gardens with his Tertiary wife and the two daughters he had had by her. Something practical, clothes wise, was needed. A neon blue body glove with lace trimmings and knee high Helksboots should do the trick. And the black powdered wig. That was most important. Wigs had been the main symbol of status on Flasforl IV for the last 1500 years.
Urons own collection numbered in the tens of thousands.
He waved away the slave that was trying to apply a beauty spot to his cheek and opened up a vox channel to Klpoi his head slave
“Klpoi, I’m intending to have lunch with Luchinala and the girls on the lower East lawns. Prepare something suitable…fruit I think…no fish if you please”.
Klpoi nodded respectfully
“Will milord be requiring a security detail”
“Oh heavens no” replied Uron “I should hardly think that anybody is going to trouble us today”
“Closing in on the planet Captain” said Helmsmaster Jarad staring over the shoulder of a junior officer who was plugged directly into one of the numerous consoles. “Pre-operation reports suggested major planetary defences but I’m picking up nothing on any long or short range scans”
Thorath frowned. The rebel Governor had apparently assembled over three hundred thousand men-at-arms and even seduced some of the Imperial navy to his cause. Early intelligence indicated that Flasforl IV had considerable orbital defences, yet there was nothing here.
“It would appear that the Governors’ bark is worse than his bite” the Astartes Captain announced to the bridge at large “He may have an impressive propaganda machine but he is about to witness first hand the working of a true war machine”.
A junior bridge officer turned to the Captain
“Captain we’ve intercepted a number of communication signals. I think we have the location of the target!”
Captain Thorath nodded in satisfaction “Emperor be praised. Patch the details directly through to Sergeant Harak“.
There could be no forgiveness of traitors. The rebel Governor would pay for his treachery with his life, and Thorath had no doubt that if he did not repent before the end with his immortal soul as well.
Sergeant Harak took stock of the four Brother Marines that had been selected for the operation. Each stood proudly to attention. The midnight blue and black of their armour was polished to a shimmer and their bolt guns were shouldered. With their helmets on their was nothing to distinguish one marine from the next.
It was how Harak liked it. “Strength through Unity. Unity through Uniformity” That was the motto of the Shadow Ravens and it had served them well for close to 4000 years.
“Brother marines only two hours ago we received the location of the traitor Governor. Our mission in this regard is simple. We are to make planet fall using a drop pod and descend onto the curs location. This will not be easy. The rebels have recruited Khalmani Death Adepts. They have allied with Talshani Steel Reavers and they are widely reported to have made a pact with Xenoforms, the Tulushor’oi Grey Spiders. But remember, we are Adeptus Astartes and more than that we are Shadow Ravens. We will fight our way through to our target and we will confront him. If possible I will secure a confession from the traitor. We will then execute him in accordance with this warrant” Harak produced a crisp roll of parchment
“It has been signed by Inquisitor Lord Gulon on behalf of the High Lords of Terra themselves. We do the Emperors will, our cause is just, our faith is strong, we will prevail! Strength through Unity Brothers!”
“Unity through Uniformity!” barked the four Astartes in response.
With that the four marines turned on their heel and, followed by their sergeant, marched into the open Drop Pod.
“Drop pod CIIV is away Captain. Operation Imperial Spectre is underway”
Captain Thorath viewed the main pict-screen for himself The blue dot which hurtled towards the planets surface represented the five man combat squad that had been dispatched. He had nearly fifty marines under his command but he was confident that if the treacherous governor could be executed within the first hours of the war the entire rebellion would crumble. He had no doubt that Harkan would face stiff opposition and be seriously out gunned.
But he also knew that a single drop pod would have more chance of getting through undetected than an entire Shadow Raven strike force.
Inside the Drop Pod the weight of the enormous G-force exerted on the marines caused Harak to wince. There was a limit to the pressure that even an Astartes skull could take. The Pod was heating up as well. Even with cooling regulators in their power armour Harak could feel the rapid build up of temperature.
“We must be entering the atmosphere” he thought…“good only a few more minutes”
The whole pod began to shake violently, Harak had no idea if it was turbulence or flak. They were completely blind inside the pod
“There might be a whole Emperor damn AA battery down there” He thought to himself.
He doubted it though. The drop-pod was, on a planetary scale, miniscule It wouldn‘t even register as a target on the sighting systems of a defence laser platform.
Uron stood up in shock as the ball of flaming steel burned its way through the sky towards the picnic area. He involuntarily flinched as it crashed into the ground and dug a deep furrow through the immaculately cut lawn. Luchinala ran to his side and his two daughters hid behind him.
For his part he could only watch in horrified fascination as the pod came to a halt. For a second there was only the low hiss of steam and the crackle of burning grass. Then with a metallic groan the sides of the drop pod folded outwards like the petals of a flower.
Immediately five giant armoured figures emerged. Each carried a bolt gun save for their leader who carried a chain sword and bolt pistol. Uron was in no way relieved to note that he wore no helmet and appeared to be human They immediately levelled their guns at the unarmed slaves who fell to their knees in surrender. The giant warriors did not open fire but scanned the area for any guards
Uron sincerely wished he had brought some.
The leader strode towards Uron.
“You are the Governor of this worthless dung heap of a planet” he roared
“Y-yes” stammered Uron
“Then I Sergeant Harak chosen representative of the Shadow Ravens Space Marine Chapter, am empowered by the Office of the Holy Inquisition and the Most Venerable High Lords of Terra to declare you anathema and serve on you your Death Warrant!”
“But why?” said Uron aghast. Behind him one of his daughters began to wail
“As if you don’t know traitor” growled the space marine, thrusting a battered document into Urons hands.
Uron scanned through the death warrant wordlessly, unable to take in the situation.
The Marine sergeant levelled his bolt pistol at Uron’s head.
“Govenor Hadrian Delmarl your time has come, prepare to…..”
“B-but that isn’t me….”
“What?” he snarled
“I’m not Hadrian Delmarl” Uron protested..
“Liar!” spat the marine.
“No really” said Uron “The Delmarl uprising was nearly 2000 years ago, it was crushed mercilessly.” Uron fumbled in his belt pouch and produced a chrono which showed the full date.
“41st Millenium” breathed Harak
“um..did you get a chrono report when you hit real space” ventured Uron. He shut up when he saw the look on the marines face.
Harkan patched into the long range vox channel.
“Captain” said the Sergeant slowly “…I think its happened again.”
By Ecclesiarch – “Suffer not the works of the heretic” - Unit: Palatine
Title: No Mercy, No Respite
134 926. M41, Septimus IV, The Ghast System, Segmentum Solar
“Palatine it is nice you could join our meeting” sneered the humble voice of Valeria, Canoness of Serena’s commandary.
“I came with the Emperor’s speed my lady” replied Serena
“Don’t invoke his name in such mere jesters girl” uttered Valeria “Now if you had not already noticed we have a rather unexpected and honourable guest”
Serena moved her vision sharply to her right to notice the man who was stranding before her; he was noticeably tall and even matched the height of a fully equipped Sororitas. He had a tunic of fine leather and wore a large gilded sword and artificer pistol at his side. With a sinister rimed hat and a stock of fine and exotic gear ranging from share steel instruments to miniature devices. Visible through the gloom Serena took in his almost ageless features and piercing eyes. But above all these the most distracting and overwhelming thing that would strike fear into the heart of any sane man, was the symbol on his chest the same symbol she had noticed earlier on his scribe. The symbol was simple in design a capital I with three bars running through its centre yet with this symbol a man could sentence a world and its uncounted billion souls to oblivion. This was the symbol of the Emperors Holy Inquisition.
“It seems my appearance surprises you somewhat Palatine, was I not expected” voiced the man sharply. “Nethertheless I should introduce myself; I am Inquisitor Marcus Kalstein of the Ordo Hereticus. And this is my servant Aldorf” he indicated to the scribe.
“My Lord what would you have me do” stated Serena
“For the moment listen, then we will discuss what I want you to do” he snapped “It has come to my prestigious attention that no less than two weeks ago you captured and imprisoned a man by the name of Caratus Thaw” uttered Kalstein “ Is this not true”
“Yes my lord” said a bewildered Serena “but he was only a criminal of low priority, I still do not understand why it was necessary for the Enforcers to call upon the aid of the Sorortias.”
“That is question Palatine, Caratus Thaw may have only seemed a simple and harmless man, but he is not you see; I have been stalking this man for the last few years from world to world. You see Palatine this man is the only link I have to discovering the truth behind a plot, let’s say he was a witness to an event which I wish to understand more about. And the reason why he was so easily captured was that he presumed that if he was under lock and key in a high proximity Imperial prison he would be safe from his hunters. Yes Palatine there are other’s that wanted to know what this mans mind holds and I needed to reach him before them. But sadly as I entered the prison I found his guards in pieces and Thaw gone. The only clue his captors left behind was this.”
Kalstein rolled an empty shell casing across the nearby desk towards Serena. After a brief hesitation Serena reached down and plucked the casing from the desk. She recognised it instantly even though she had only seen its like on a couple of occasions. It was a specific bolt casing, which she had only ever seen fired from an Astartes pattern bolter used by the super human warriors of the Space Marine Chapters. Serena was thunder struck what would loyal Astartes want with a common criminal such as Thaw.
“I see the surprise flicker across your face Palatine, I presume that you have recognised the confines of that shell.” guessed Kalstein “It is not unknown for the emperors finest to commit heresy and turn on the Imperium they fought to preserve. Whether this is the case here is unknown but I fear the worst and if that is to be then we will be in need of the emperor’s guidance and blessing in the times to come."
Wow walking away with a Golden Gretchin and a Silver Storm Shield, thanks guys.
I hope you enjoyed the stories and hopefully there will be more to come in the future.
"God is dead" Nietzsche- 1886
"Nietzsche is dead" God- 1900
Why are there scams? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q71FLDIMBc8
I did enjoy the stories, very much so!
I know I'm not an exceptional writer by any means, but seeing as I did volunteer to judge this, I feel I should offer some feedback to the entrants. It's all going to be very general, because it's not nice to single people out.
Proof-reading is vital. I know you had deadlines to work to, and it's not always possible, but getting someone (or even yourself after you've put your writing to one side and not looked at it for a day or two) to read through it to pick up errors or just misused words will help a great deal.
Structure is also important. If the story doesn't 'flow' it makes it difficult to read. The same with dialogue. It's something I struggle with, too, but having awkward sentences or odd and/or unconvincing dialogue can detract from a story remarkably. And it's not always easy to fix, either, but I guess you just get better the more you write.
That's about all I've got to offer, really. If you want my particular thoughts on your piece, or more advice, anything that may help, just pm me or something!
Cheers to phr0z3n for running the comp, all the entrants for their submissions, and the judges for volunteering! We'll have to do this again sometime!
Wow, a Golden Gretchin? What an honor I honestly didn't think I'd win, there was some excellent competition. Thanks a lot everyone and I look forward to the next fluff contest
My award winning Orky tale