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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Here’s a little something I did in inspiration to the Eye of Terror Campaign with the Sister’s of Battle. It’s not going anyway, I’m not doing anything with it, I don’t care if it’s crap, so anyway here it is. :D

NO NAME STORY

The depthless beat of drums pounded, hearts followed in unison, a sense of unbending devotion in every eye of every wave of sister, priest and frateris. The stars where chocked of their light as the smoke from the battle balefires drifted in the wind with the perfumed senses of incense. Flames flickered and licked up towards those stars, casting the Ministorum militia in half-light. To think that of millennia of war, faith was still held so strongly. One man’s atrocity had brought them to this, one man’s falling and one man’s vanity. But the God Emperor beholds victory upon the accounted righteous as the fruits of faith. In front stood the headstrong fields of blasphemous corruption, twisted, mindless warriors and chaotic spawn unaware of their premeditated harvest. Their distant roars of anarchy fought the very air they breathed. But the armies of the faithful lay in quaint silence other than the hushed murmurs of sacramental prayers, as if for now their own virtuous thoughts were enough to destroy all sound, all sacrilege. Then Ma’mère Athansis Lemartary, Canoness of the Order of the Bloody Heart, of the Holy Synod, walked before her people. In humble silence those before her bowed their heads to the woman clad in golden scripture etched power armour embracing the sword of Aguippa and the sacraments and holy litanies of Saint Selene. And unto them she spoke in a wrath of a voice, saying “You men and women who gather unto one purpose, arise now! Stand in the name of the Emperor, ye warriors of the throne; lift high the sacred banners, they must not suffer loss. Where’re ye meet with evil, within you or without, charge for the God of battles, and put the foe to rout. This day is a day of doom impending, but not on us, but on the frail man pleading, on the xenos cursed from birth, on those of the scorn of salvation. See like burning ashes their contrition. Their blood in lakes and streams. Ye armour cannot save you, nor sword, nor shield nor gun. The arm of flesh is weakness, but we stand in the strength of the Emperor alone. Put on the Gospel armour, each piece put on with prayer. This day there will be the song of battle, the next our victory song! Dominus Regnavit!!!�
And unto that the sea awoke and the earth trembled as the children of the Emperor announced their rising “Dominus Regnavit! Dominus Regnavit!� From Attila to Avignor, and to Baal and to Chiros, the space echoed the name “Dominus Regnavit�, “Emperor Our God�!
And the hymns sung out in joyous vengeance in the words “I could not do without thee, O Saviour of the lost, Whose precious blood redeemed me, At such tremendous cost, I shall not fear the battle, For thou art by my side, Saviour! Saviour! Emperor! Thou sword my guide.�
Passion, faith and fury melded into a hunger for a cleansing of the sacrilegious excuse of life that dared stand before them. Fear was a deaf unknowing replaced by the intoxication of the zeal of faith. Then came the first wave of artillery fire as the heretics sounded their raging chorus of a thousand nails scraping against glass. The ground seemed to blast from underneath, insistently tearing away at all those nearby and consuming the unlucky victims in its grasp. The sent of burning flesh mingled within the incense and the screams attempted to overthrow the relentless song of “Saviour Saviour! Emperor!� The Militia held their position other than the few who chased the flames from their garments and those who crawled on their bellies reaching out for some eager hand as shrapnel pierced their bodies.
The front line moved into position as the herds of the heretics stampeded across the smoky plane, shooting down those who where within reach. Their mindless charge continued only growing in number even as men fell to either side. Then the second line joined in the plight to subdue them and reveal them their penance. But it was no use, they came about to quickly and far too much in number. It would only be taken in close quarters. Vox speakers released the new orders. All sisters equipped with flamers moved into position. First the heretics came in few petty numbers they bodies teared apart by the swords of the Sister Superiors. Then the dense wave’s of writhing, berserk men gave fuel to the flames, as the scourge continued with the collision of Sister and heretic, Preacher and spawn. Damned eternal as the death that bellowed in front of them. They massed upon the Militia soon reaching to each unit, like flies. The chaotic essence clawing on the minds of all, driving some to insanity, tearing even the most devout of warriors to a crumbling mass of blood and tissue. Preacher’s walked amongst the turmoil, reciting chants of devotion before being yielded to the ground by bullet or blade. Sister’s where rapped amongst the anarchy, and the Frateris where impaled upon new trophy holdings. Blood watered the ground, fire burned ash and stone. The night washed away in a moment’s eye. Death to those who stand before us! Death to the false Emperor!
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 ·
Originally posted by BorninDarkness@Oct 29 2003, 22:40
You could expand this... it has potential for it, and I like this short bit. It's Thy sword though, not Thou sword ;) .
YOU MEAN I GOT TO WRITE MORE???? AAAAHHHHHHHH *Repetedly slams head against monitor.



Hey I'm surprissed Inqusitor hassen't checked out my spelling yet...there's got to be a number of errors in there. Hey Inqui you don't happen to be an Ork fan do yha? Smash da humies bad spellszing! ;) :p

Oh yeah by the way Bid, I've also started writting a short story about the goings on within a slaanesh cult...it's not suitable to put up here on lo but if i can be bothered i might email it to you wether your interested or not.
 

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pretty damn cool. gonna have to put some of my own writing up soon.
 

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*Remembers that he has been getting ideas for writing for the last few weeks.
-_- I gotta start writing that crap in my head down too... meh.
 

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Ha! Now I can lock you for bad spelling! Hahahahahahaha!
Sorry, drunk with power for a moment there.
Love the story! I think it really illustrates the Sisters' fanatical devotion, casting them almost as robots instead of real, compassionate humans. And no-one really cares if there's a couple typos.
 

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Ok.

The spelling is ***** poor, punctuation nigh on non-existent; likewise formatting in the form of clearly defined paragraphs.

Not too bad compared with some stories I've read that nearly made my bowels rupture with their errors.
 

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Discussion Starter · #10 ·
Originally posted by BorninDarkness@Nov 2 2003, 23:02
Spelling and punctuation aren't all that bad actually... in fact I think it's pretty good.
Considering I used spellchecker for the first time in my life I would of thought that to! :D I'm trying to spell! One day I'll gain the spelling level of an eight year old. And further more just to ***** you off Inquisitor for that lovely comment to me you'll be known as Equizatore!!! Cheers ;)
 

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Discussion Starter · #12 ·
Here's a new piece to it...or a totally new thing...i haven't worked it out yet. But anyway this is what spat from my finger's, I can't really make much sense out of it, and I think it's crap, but here's seeing if you like it:

In crippling angst the skies and earth are war torn. With hindsight it was easy to see how and why this war had erupted, but now in amongst the screams and fallen all was lost in the madness of her mind and the insane turmoil around her as all drill, routine and order was destroyed into a human’s primal cry of survival. The noise is terrific, as it’s all around her, making her sense of miss direction worse. She feels alone even though the sounds of men are all around her but she also fear’s who will stand before her. The air is of dark smoke of the skeletal carcasses of vehicles, armour and burning flesh, black smog like ink in water encases her as pressed by the non-existent wind. Her sight worsens as it begins to burn her eyes and she feel’s her lungs begin to curdle in the hot decaying smoke. Spluttering trying to breathe, she reaches out to empty air, begging for salvation, begging for something, anything. But stumble’s on her knees reaching to the ground to guide her as the grey smoke passes the day for night, she shuts her eyes tightly as they sting worse now, like vinegar rinsing into them. She hyperventilates violently feeling like she needs to cough her lungs out. Feeling her desperate gasp’s reach to her stomach but do nothing. Her terror worsens as she hard swallows her cries in half breath chocking herself with panic and sickness.
Her mind closes over like taken from her body so easily in it’s half-state of consciousness. Voices begin to prevail over the terrible deafening ringing in her ears and only now does she notice. ‘How long have they been there?’ These voices are not human, they cannot be human. Whispers a hundred whispers collided as one all intelligible, dark and moaning, not reaching out to her but to her soul, crying out to her lifeline and she knows this, she can feel it grasping and twisting in all its forms. Her heart erratically beats faster and her breathe becomes a harder desperate struggle. Tears choke her eyes even though they sting so badly. She reaches out again, putting her hand further into the smog, but nothing grabs it. ‘Why can’t anyone help me? Why can’t anyone see me?’ The whispers, louder now and more erratic, they attempt to scratch and tear her mind apart. She opens her mouth to scream, but instead splutters in a furry of worthless coughs. These voices are an unbalanced thing, changing in form and denseness each passing moment, they scream louder to her, as if standing above her. Exhausted but terrified in the pit of panic and terror she raises to her knees crying and pleading, in desperate struggle. But this fiend of voices reaches out in a race towards to steal her mind and spirit, to consume it and spit it out again. A wave that can only be explained of tension and hot anger crashes into her mangled body, half going through her, half staying within her, causing an eruption of drastic spasms and unrepressed brutal suffocation. Her body curses back to the ground as if the shockwave being a physical explosion, her eyes wide open in it’s revolt, the smoke blistering her precious glazed eye’s, seeing nothing as her vision is coiled and blinded in it’s burning linger. The voices overcome her, melding over the ringing and speaking to her in the pit of her cranium. She realizes her state in that moment of slight consciousness and through realisation she reawakens herself as if from an imprisoning dream. She feels everything crumble within her as all things end inside her mind and spirit melt, feeling it take control and sweep over her body. Finally making sense of the air, she breath’s slightly more effective and her cries shriek the air in her struggle to grip onto herself. Unable to walk, with the crushing might of the infuriated voices inside her, she attempts to crawl on her stomach, to anywhere she can find as the dirt breaks and crumbles into her mouth and eyes and she is choked by her own outbursts of pleading. She realises shrieking noises that no mortal should ever be able to create as the voices inside increase their already profound effect. It is her last struggle and cry attempt for salvation at being human. Spewing bile and all residue from her stomach and chocking from within her throat in her dreary desperation, her desperate screams shriek in final realisation as she feels her mind having it’s last push to the edge as the whispers draw still but a more painful silence draws over as even with her eyes tightly shut see’s a figure bond in muscle, armour and psychic warp energy stand now above her...a chaos sorcerer!
 

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i like it. the beginning seemed to drag on a bit but it got alot better in the second half of the story. so are we gonna see more of this? maybe even a short series on the downfall of a sister?
 

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Discussion Starter · #15 ·
This is a small preface of what happened before all you have read so far:

Preface

He was neither a gifted tactician nor a seasoned campaigner, unlike his enemy Chaos Lord Ossian Saar. In personal command of his army, Colonel Ulster Skorenzy was isolated at the top. The blunders he made as the campaign against his sector got underway cost millions of lives. He would soon learn by bitter experience about how to run a war.
He enjoyed a certain degree of good luck and, in time, he used it well. To his advantage, he had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of men. After the fall of Toulon Skorenzy realised that Chaos was too embroiled with its actions against the Halder segment, than to threaten them now. So the men tied up with defending its eastern rear were at last free to man the Benghazi front. In addition, there were countless thousands of religious fanatics and Ministorum Sororitas, to replace fallen comrades. It was this perpetual sacrifice of men and woman above all other factors that would make any chance at changing the course of the war.
Skorenzy braced himself for a stab from the Benghazi front line and although the killing went on, he achieved little. Saar was to use some of the devastating tactics they had learned almost millennia ago, at the hands of the defending Imperial Guard squabbles. Skorenzy found his flanks surrounded by a mighty Chaos force ready to put a noose around the weakened 6th Army. Skorenzy was furious with the disaster and pledged supplies would be dropped to the beleaguered Guard. But Skorenzy refused to stay to give Benghazi the lifeline it needed and his men – the order to break out and retreat was sudden. But the religious fanatics and the Sororitas stayed.
 
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