Untitled Story - Warhammer 40K Fantasy
 

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  1. #1
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    Brother Ezekial dashed along the corridor, his boots clanging off the polished metal and sending echoes reverberating down the hall. Feeble gas lights lit the scene, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The flickering quality of the light was no obstacle to Ezekial; his enhanced eyes cut through the gloom easily. His bolter kicked in his hand, sheel casing cascading to the ground as he ran. He did not bother looking back as he ran, merely pumping off round after round behind him in the vain hope of hitting something. Return fire was sporadic and uncoordinated, lasblasts ricocheting off his armor or the walls. Under one arm he clutched a dataslate, a plain slab of metal. He skidded around a corner and kept running, sprinting determinedly down the corridor. His bolter clicked as the ammo ran out. Ezekial knew it was death to stop and reload it, so he tosed it backward and withdrew his chainsword, thumbing the activation key as he did. It began to whir as the blades picked up speed. Behind him another noise joined the staccato whine of lasrifles: the deeper, steadier pulse of a bolter. Heavy bootsteps like his own filled the hallway, and he knew without looking that his attackers had gained an ally. He turned, realizing he couldn't outrun this new threat. As the noise drew closer, he tucked the slate into a stachel on his armor and drew a frag grenade. He pulled the pin out with his teeth and tossed it down the corridor, counting the seconds until detonation. With a resounding boom, it went off, showering the area with shrapnel. The incoming fire ceased as his enemies ducked to avoid the grenade. He drew his bolt pistol and lunged down the hall, spraying his opponents with fire. This close, he could see them clearly: the terrified Chaos cultists and, dwarfing them, an Alpha Legion Chaos Space Marine. Ezekial knew no fear, but the sight of the otherworldly giant stirred up long-buried emotions: hatred, anger, and... doubt? He pushed everything aside as he entered combat, his bolt pistol spitting death. One cultist took a round in the head, another losing an arm to the high-velocity mass-reactive shell. The third turned to run and staggered as his innards burst through the fresh hole in his body, spilling out the front. He sagged to his knees and fell in a pool of blood, gasping for breath. Ezekial didn't spare him a second look, instead raising his chainsword and plunging it toward the Alpha Legion Marine. The foe deflected it with his own weapon, raising his twisted pistol. Ezekial spun away, aiming a slash at the armored foe. The servant of Chaos lithely ducked away, sweeping in with his perverted sword. Once, twice, three times more the blades clashed. Bolt pistols forgotten, the two spun and danced, the sounds of their conflict echoing up and down the hall. Blood spattered on the floor as Ezekial was a second late with his parry, the enemy's chainsword squealing in protest as it raked his arm. He deflected the nest blow, but he was getting sluggish. The Alpha Legion Marine thumbed a control on his sword, and a crackling energy field sprung up around it. Power weapon, thought Ezekial, as it arced toward him. He ducked away, but the slash caught his chainsword. It fell neatly in two pieces, the end clattering onto the floor. The Chaos Space Marine raised his arm for the killing blow... and stiffened, turning his body around slowly. Ezekial could see a smoking hole in his back. The Marine fell, Ezekial narrowly avoiding his power sword on the way down. Behind him stood another Marine, holding a smoking plasma pistol. The teal-and-purple of the Caird Rangers was a welcome sight, and as the Marine stooped over to help Ezekial up, Ezekial recognized him. Captain Isaiah, his commander, pulled the fallen Marine to his feet and gave him a warning. As always with the commander, it was short and to the point. "More Alpha Legion. I've voxed for reinforcements. Go now."
    Ezekial nodded and set off down the corridor, his determination renewed.

    To Be Continued....

    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

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  3. #2
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    First, some general comments - paragraphs are really essential if you want to make your stuff readable... also spell checkers are pretty useful... but on the whole, above average writing style.

    Brother Ezekial dashed along the corridor, his boots clanging off the polished metal and sending echoes reverberating down the hall.
    First you might consider 'dashed down the corridor'. Also, there's no need for 'and' in the sentence, it would be more effective as "...boots clanging off the polished metal, sending echoes..."

    Feeble gas lights lit the scene, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The flickering quality of the light was no obstacle to Ezekial; his enhanced eyes cut through the gloom easily.
    There's room for improvement here, if no specific problems. Maybe "The only source of illumination were feeble gas lights, casting everything..."

    The second sentence is good.

    His bolter kicked in his hand, sheel casing cascading to the ground as he ran. He did not bother looking back as he ran, merely pumping off round after round behind him in the vain hope of hitting something.
    "sheel" casing?
    "as he ran" is repeated twice in close proximity. Better might be "He did not bother looking back, but pumped off..."

    etc. etc. etc.

    still, with work it would be good, 7/10 maybe, but it's not really a story, is it... more of a small part of one.

  4. #3
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    Yea, I do have problems with repeating phrases; I've noticed that when I go back and look at my work. Any small spelling errors you find (i.e. "sheel" casings) can be attributed to typos- I type directly onto the site, not through a word processor, so I don't (can't?) spell check. The first error you noticed... I was toying with sentence structure on this one, as I wasn't sure what tense the story was going to be written in yet, so I must have tried to type "sending" and "and sent" at the same time. Thus, an embarassing grammatical snafu.
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

  5. #4
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    "This is bad. This is very bad."
    Castellan Markus Yith sat at the head of the great rosewood table, his hands clasped nervously. Next to him sat his adjutant, Grengew, drumming his fingers nervously. Before them, on a holoscreen, a list of numbers scrolled by. Around the table, watching the presentation, there were several more people, but none caught the eye as much as Sergeant Breeman of the Caird Rangers. Fully three and a half meters tall, he dwarfed those gathered around the table, even his fellow Marines. His purple and teal armor made him look like a garishly decorated statue, not a powerful warrior.
    "As you can see, the movement of Warmaster Macaroth's ships here and here," he gestured with one enormous hand, "leaves us vulnerable. I have signalled for reinforcements to be sent here, as well as a picket fleet, but so far I have received no response. It seems Garlend Nine is on its own. There have been no sigtings of Chaos forces in the area, but I strongly suggest bringing the men to a higher level of alert."
    A murmur ran up and down the table. Comissar Crassen leapt up from his chair, brandishing a finger angrily. "The effect on morale would be devastating if we put the men on alert and refuse to tell them why! And we have no answer, should they ask! Why would you endanger us this way? There is no sign Garlend is in danger!"
    "Actually, Comissar, my astropath received this report only this morning." Breeman pushed a dataslate across the table. On it, miniature Chaos warships drifted through the dark of space. Their twisted hulls made the castallen shiver, even in a hologram. Beside them, information scrolled upwards, displaying their location.
    "This is... this is no threat!" declared the comissar angrily. "They aren't even coming our way!"
    "Yes, but their path takes them to a spot where they have a relatively safe warp channel to here. No storms to slow their progress. They could be on us in a matter of days after jumping."
    The comissar opened and shut his mouth several times in silentprotest, then sat down. The floor was next gained by Mother Chastity. She was the leader of the Order of the Silver Star, stationed on Garlend. "I agree with Breeman. We must expect the worst. If Chaos falls upon this world and you are unprepared, only a small detachment of Marines and part of my Order will defend it. And we cannot allow Garlend to fall to the enemy. We cannot!" She emphasized her last sentence by shaking her fist and smahing it against the table. The wood creaked in agony, but didn't break. Seemingly satisfied, Mother Chastity returned to her seat. There was silence for a moment, broken by a frail voice.
    "As the representative of the Cult Mechanicus, I am entitled to a say in this. Comissar, you are a political officer. Leave the commanding to the generals. I know little of war, but I know he value of a shrine world such as this. If there are troops incoming, it will be invaluable to have ready troops. If there are not, at least they will not fall into ennui. Idle hands are the workshop of Chaos."
    The comissar looked like he was about to protest, but he relented. "Very well. You may order the men to alertness... castellan. Yith shook his head slowly, more to himself than anyone else. It had taken this much discussion to simply prepare the forces. What would happen if Chaos attacked?

    The Titan cut an impressive sight, lumbering along. Seventy meters tall, it towered over the Warhound Titans flanking it. Korrash watched it with a mixture of pride and fear. The Addactus Noctus, Titan of the Legio Acerbus, was a mighty war machine. Powered by some infernal demon, its mere existence filled the Chaos Marine with joy. He pictured it rainign fire and devastation upon the forces of the False Emperor, and grinned. Though the Titan was impressively large, it still didn't reach the roof of the great cavern it was housed in. The hangar of a troop transport, the room was so large, the ceiling was lost to all but Korrash's advanced eyes. The cultists around him, swarming like insects, could only stare in wonder at the blackness above them. The hangar had had to be specially modified to house the Legio, but it was worth it. The great war machines itched for combat, and they longed to be at the foe, rending and incinerating. Korrash strode away, out of the great room and down a hall.
    He emerged into another room, not nearly as large as the hangar but still big. The mess hall was crowded, filled with cultists. His brother marines were on the upper decks, resting and drilling. Korrash parted the crowd like grass, some kneeling down to his sides, others merely scurrying away. He drew his bolt pistol and fired off several rounds into the crowd, just to keep them on their toes. A cultust screamed as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backward; another made no sound as half of his face vanished in a red mist. Korrash laughed and holstered his weapon, moving on.

    Infantry Sergeant (First Class) Kell Brandir took the cigar out of his mouth, stared at the cards, and exhaled heavily. It was a move calculated to enhance his appeared calmness. He had a loust hand, but he was willing to humor the men. He hadn't bet much all night, but he was still down. And he had an idea he might turn the hand around...
    Footsteps. Heavy, booted. The men quickly scooped up the cards and their winnings, and scurried away like rats from a cat. Comissar Oberstein of the Garlend Comissariat strode by, barking orders. "Alert! Alert, you mangy dogs! Uniforms on, weapons prepared! Meet in the briefing room!"

    "You're probably all wondering why we've raised the alert level," began Castellan Yith. "We've recently received..."
    "Sir!" That was his adjutant. "Sir, an urgent astropathic message for you!"
    The men began murmuring. What was this? As if on cue, klaxons started blaring throughout the base.

    Red outpost was instantly obliterated. Bolter fire and heavy lascannon shots pierced the bunker and the men who kept watch from it. Blue met a similar fate. Orange managed to loose a single warning vox before they, too, were killed. All around, pods crashed into the earth. Fleeing men were cut down by laughing, black-armored Alpha Legion troops. Fearsomely mutated Rhinos ran over corpses, throwing up clods of dirt and other, more vile substances.

    Hell had come to Garlend Nine.


    To be continued...
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

  6. #5
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    Are the Caird Rangers your own Space Marine Chapter?

    Purple and Teal?
    Not sure what colour teal is,,, :rolleyes: do you have any pics of this chapter?

    And is this the Caird Rangers fluff?

    Keep it up
    Whoso would be a man must be a non conformist
    People should be taught what is, not what should be.

  7. #6
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    They are made up for the purpose of this story. Teal is a light blue, sort of greenish but mostly blue-ish. That's the best way I can describe it. Look it up on the Intro-web. I mean, Internet.
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

  8. #7
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    Sirens wailed, blaring out their high-pitched keening over and over and over. Lights flashed with blinding intensity, illuminating already well-lit corridors. As if to emphasize the frantic warnings, the sky above was silent as the grave. Guardsmen in black and blue fatigues scrambled back and forth, loading lasguns and moving heavier guns into position. Sentries stood, desperate for something to do, awaiting the coming of the foe with trepidation. The sirens cut out as someone of rank found the control room; yet the silence was somehow worse. The Garlend Regulars 262nd were tense. Most of them had never seen combat, only training videos. The fortress-outpost of Malral Zeta was built to withstand just such an assault as the one heading directly for it, yet a fortress is only as good as its defenders. The senior officers strode among them green troopers, shouting orders, and trying not to betray their own fear.
    In the control room, Colonel Zorca Seist was pacing back and forth. He had instructed his astropaths to signal their situation to the main force repeatedly, leaned over his vox-operators, done everything he could do to be prepared. He almost wished the Chaos forces would go ahead and attack already, if only to relieve the stress. Beside him, his adjutant Vuelan stood as still as a statue. Seist envied the man, his rock-hard and unbreakable fighting spirit. He tried againt to calm himself. We have eight thousand fighting men. The Citadel has another fifty thousand. We have twenty Adeptus Astartes and a hundred more Adeptus Sororitas. The Legio Clementia is here. Our walls are unbreakable. We have nothing to fear.
    He reminded himself of the eighty Space Marines back at the citadel, and the four hundred Adeptus Sororitas stationed there as well. He reminded himself of the Mater Repentum and the other Legion Penitentum Titans stationed on Garlend 9. He reminded himself of the great Earthshaker siegebreaking guns stationed on the walls of Malral Zeta.
    So why, he thought, do I still feel afraid?

    To Be Continued...
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

  9. #8
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    "On! On for the glory of the Dark Gods!"
    Korrash's singsong voice rolled across the trenches, rising over even the staccato whine of lasgun fire. He strode purposefully down the trench, shouldering cultists aside. Some bowed as he passed; some merely looked stricken, as if a god had come among them. Korrash despised them.
    "Weak fools! Fight harder for the glory of the Four Powers, or I'll cut you own myself! Filth like you has no place in our universe!"
    He watched as a team of Slaanesh cultists, their pink robes adorned with lewd symbols and unspeakable illustrations, struggled to lift a heavy bolter into place. Drawing his chainsword, Korrash bisected two of them with an easy sweep. He punched the last one in the face, and was rewarded by s sickening crack. The man fell, his face a bloody and mangled wreck. The Alpha Legion marine hefted the heavy bolter in two hands and let loose, firing at no real target. He laughed as he poured destruction out randomly in the world, hoping to hit something but not really caring.

    "Heavy firing on the right flank!"
    "Dreadnought sighted up ahead!"
    "Contact lost with Bravo Squad!"
    Colonel Seist stared grimly ahead. His command Chimera barrelled along, splashing up mud and carving a new road in the field. Behind him, Malral Zeta was fading into the distance; before him, the sounds of battle were faintly audible. The tactical advisors had told him to meet the enemy on open ground and begin a fighting retreat, luring them within range of the fortress's massive Earthshaker guns. The force he had committed to the front was no mean thing, but still it was only a fraction of his strength. The armored support was advancing to slow the enemy advance, and Seist rode along with it. Five Leman Russ tanks, along with a Demolisher variant, and ten Chimeras, including one of the infamous Hellhounds. This was nearly all of his base's armored strength, but once the enemy reached the fortress, they would be no good anyway. Seist forced himself to stop thinking like a tactician and start thinking like a leader. He had to keep his men brave and focused. Up ahead, the battle loomed. Sporadic flashed gave away the bright flares of plasma weapons, while deep cracks indicated the firing of heavy bolters.
    "ETA to target ten seconds... nine seconds... seven seconds... four seconds..."
    Several stray rounds whipped past the Chimera or clanged off its reinforced front armor plating. And then the battle was on them.

    Private Jehosa Jerrak felt the adrenaline pump through his veins as he leapt over the enemy trench line. Blue-robed cultists turned with surprise to face them, raising laspistols. Jerrak pulled out a combat knife and his own pistol and jumped. His first wild stroke cut a deep gash in the chest of one cultist, and the ghoul dropped, vile ichor seeping from his wound. Jerrak's laspistol spat death, but ethereal blue flame deflected his shots from the enemy. He whirled, tossing away the useless pistol as he scooped up another knife from the mud. No time to check who it had belonged to- the enemy were on him. He stabbed upward, punching through the throat of one. Another brought its laspstol to bear on him, and he severed the thing's twisted claw before stabbing through the heart. He turned to face his next target- a blue-clad woman with strange runes tattoed across her face. They twisted as he looked at them, as if trying to avoid his gaze, and the patterns made his head hurt. The woman waved her hand in a complex movement that seemed not to entirely correspond to existing laws of time and space, and Jerrak felt a shadow flung over his world. He struggled to move, but he felt hoplessly lethargic, and daemonic voices chittered insanely inside his head. The sorceress brought her leering face toward him, and opened her mouth wide. A serpent slid out, hissing sibilantly, and in his delerium Jerrak saw it was her tongue. The serpent-tongue reached toward him...
    And the vile sorceress's heqad exploded. Bits of brain and blood rained down on Jerrak, and he involuntarily stepped backward. He felt a wall behind him, where no wall had been earlier. Turning, he saw he was face-to-navel with a living mountain- a Caird Ranger Space Marine holding a smoking bolt pistol. He turned, and watched as blue gas leaked out of the hole where the sorceress's head had been. The robes collapsed as the body evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a stink that made his eyes water.

    Flickering green and red light covered the walls, ceiling and floor. Castellan Yith stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the three-dimensional display. Green dots signified his troops, and red ones stood for the vile forces of Chaos. Even as he watched, a group of large dots that could only be Colonel Seist's armored column reached the front, and red dots started winking out. Yith smiled. These vile bastards would rue the day they ever attacked Garlend 9.
    "Sir?" an aide asked ina quavering voice. Tearing his eyes away from the display, Yith growled, "What?"
    "Y-you have to see this, sir..." stammered the aide, pointing a trembling finger at one of the myriad of moniters gracing the room. Yith saw what the aide had seen, and he blanched pale white.
    "Oh, my Emperor..."

    To be continued...
    Feedback welcome!
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

  10. #9
    Venerable Old One Phobos's Avatar
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    Grah! Block Paragraphs!

    The eyes! The eyes!
    "It fits like clothes made out of wasps!"

  11. #10
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    Formatting has always hurt my brain. Plus, I'm way too lazy to do anything more than sort-of seperate paragraphs for LO. Just review content.
    I've always taken it as a compliment for my stories when the only fault people can find is with the formatting...
    Si em, tow en can de lach.
    Tak! Tak! Tak ah wan, Tak a lah!
    Mi tow, can de lach.
    Mi him, en tow.

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