Librarium Online Forums banner
1 - 20 of 104 Posts

·
Poet of the Deed
Joined
·
4,004 Posts
Discussion Starter · #1 · (Edited)
Short Story Competition!

Come yonder and hear tales from afar! Great yarns that go from strange fantasy worlds to the darkness of the year 40,000. Welcome, to the Librarium Online Short Story Competition.

The Rules are simple:
  • Each story much be set in either the Warhammer Fantasy or Warhammer 40,000 Universes.
  • Each story must be submitted no more than 3 weeks after the competition begins.
  • Each story must be between 500 and 2,000 words.
  • Each story must have a title.
  • The Competition will be run every 4 weeks, with the previous competition's winner being announced as the new competition begins.
  • Each competition will have it's own set of loose rules, detailing a theme or specific words that must be included.
  • Submissions should be posted in the Arts and Literature subforum with a link to the story thread posted here (i.e in the competition thread). Entrants are encouraged to post their work as it progresses in the Arts and Literature forum.
  • The winner will be decided by vote, with the poll going up when the deadline is reached.
  • If English is not your first language, please indicate this. It will be noted in the poll so that you may be let off some grammatical and spelling mistakes.


The first Competition's rules:
  • The story must begin with the words, "It was the darkest day..."
  • The story must include an element of Winter Warfare.
  • All entries must be posted to this thread by August 24th. Voting will run from August 24th - August 31.
With thanks to Herbiie and KyleT for helping get this off the ground.

-Corrigan

Round 3 Theme: Desert Storm

The closing date for entries is 10th November.
 

·
Poet of the Deed
Joined
·
4,004 Posts
Discussion Starter · #3 ·
Good to hear it mate, I'll look forward to it.

I won't be around to monitor this thread much over the next two weeks so Kyle and Herbiie will stand in as organisers if you have any questions.

-Corrigan
 

·
Shire can't handle me
Joined
·
6,167 Posts
If I can overcome my extraordinary laziness maybe. But I too am really busy over the next few weeks so I may not be able to get a story up anyway...
 

·
Benevolent Dictator
Joined
·
9,222 Posts
I'm in, provided I can get off my lazy butt and start one. I have an idea already though:

"It was the darkest day, it was the brightest day, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, the epoch of incredulity"
I'll be titling it A Tale of two Hive Worlds, haha
 

·
Poet of the Deed
Joined
·
4,004 Posts
Discussion Starter · #10 ·
Sarathai, I lived in dread of the moment someone noticed that, but have some rep anyway for making me laugh.

Looks like I'll be able to enter after all, provided I can find time to finish my entry, which I'm about halfway through.

-Corrigan
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
5 Posts
I'm new but the competition caught my eye, Have I missed out? How would you go about entering in future competitions? Do you just post it as a thread reply and can anyone enter even if your new?
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
718 Posts
Of course this comes up and my life shoots into 'nitro fuelled madness' mode.
I fear I won't be able to partcipate.
Though with lads as Sarathai and Corrigan I won't be missed
 

·
Poet of the Deed
Joined
·
4,004 Posts
Discussion Starter · #13 ·
[MENTION=87250]UNICORN[/MENTION] yes, anyone is welcome to enter, the more entrants the better. The first round is still in session, I believe that I said that I will be closing it on the 24th August and then the voting will begin. I would recommend that you post up entries in a separate thread and then post a link to your story here.

[MENTION=87038]Idomisei[/MENTION] you are most kind sir. Kyle has agreed to make this a regular thing, running every four weeks here, do you can enter subsequent competitions.

Any further queries, please contact either myself or Herbiie, although I may be slow to answer since I'm away until close to the deadline.

Good luck everyone!

-Corrigan
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
210 Posts
Ok, got a PM from the Captain saying he's been taken ill (Get well soon mate) so will be standing in for him until he's better and can return.

We've made the decision to extend the deadline due to only his being finished xD

Now:
All entries must be posted to this thread by August 31st. Voting will run from September 1st - September 8th.

Please post here indicating that yours is finish, along with the finished piece.

Corrigan's Entry:

Acceptable Losses
It was the darkest day of Serretti IV’s solar cycle, according to the dataslate Mikhail Orlovich held in front of him, the information spewed out alongside a thousand other mindless facts the Magos Biologis stationed on the planet prior to the conflict had seen fit to record in his logs. Not that Orlovich would have noticed, watching the pale disc of the sun rise majestically above the Luccetti Mountains in a brilliance of red light, as if the jagged peaks had somehow scarred the new day in the moment of its birth and spilled crimson blood which washed across the inky blue sky. Regarding the scene for the six-hundred and fifty-fourth time since arriving on Serretti, Orlovich was singularly unimpressed by the scene, and by the readouts in front of him which purported to be facts. Thus far almost none of the information on the agri-world they had been supplied with by the Magos had been accurate. If such a world as he described had ever existed, it was now buried beneath the ice that now sheathed the world and held it in a freezing embrace.

He wrapped himself tighter in his greatcoat to shield himself from the winds that howled from the planet’s poles as he turned around as glanced at the troops camped around him.

The men of the Shienkov 2nd were swaddled in heavy greatcoats, their ushankas pulled down low over young faces that had aged before their time as their owners warmed their hands beside the pathetic campfires that provided the only reliable source of warmth. They sat on their packs, with the barrels of assorted autorifles protruding from the ends like angry metallic snouts. Bayonets, rusting and wicked, lay beside them. To one side of the seated men was an old pickup, the paintwork flaking to reveal orange rust. The glass of the cabin had long ago been replaced by sheets of flakboard that restricted vision from inside the vehicle. A heavy stubber had been attached roughly behind the cabin, and several older men laughed as they played a noisy game of dice with the steel casing of the gun providing a playing surface.

Further away again from the men, separated by rank and style, was a stood a lone figure.

The Colonel of the Shienkovs was an old man, hardened by years of warfare and by the bitter cold of his homeworld. He eschewed the protective headgear worn by the men under his command, preferring to go bareheaded even in the extreme, unnatural cold, and his greatcoat was that of a lowly guardsman. Indeed, the only thing present on his person to identify him as an officer at all was an unadorned sabre.

That, and his mannerisms.

His features were sharp, scarred and lined with age, with a thin mouth and cracked lips which gripped tightly the glowing stump of a cigar. His eyes were a steely grey to match the silver hair that still grew on his head despite the fact that he could not afford the expensive juvenat treatments favoured by other officers. He stood straight upright in defiance of his advanced years and the best efforts of the enemy, and the inside pocket of his coat was never without the weight of an autopistol. Although his superiors frowned on the practice of carrying a weapon at all times, Vasily Sklyerov had learned from experience that to be unarmed was to be vulnerable. He dropped the cigar stump and ground it beneath his boot as Orlovich watched before lighting another.

“Those things’ll kill you, you know.”

Sklyerov turned to see Commissar Josef Ilyushin approach him. He chuckled mirthlessly at the statement.

“I hardly think that I’ll need to wait for this to kill me, Josef. This damn campaign will manage that I expect.”

The Commissar raised an eyebrow at the statement.

“Coming from another man I might be inclined to see that as defeatism, Colonel.”

Skylerov waved away the man’s reprimand irritably.

“Save your breath, Josef, I’m an old man. Your veiled threats mean nothing to me. Kill me if you wish; you’ll save the rebels the trouble.”

Ilyushin sighed heavily. What Skylerov said was true. To say that the campaign was not going as planned was something of an understatement. What should have been a short operation in which an entire battlegroup descended upon the rebel forces which had declared their independence from the Imperium had become a nightmarish deadlock outside the last rebel stronghold of Marino. In the three year siege, entire divisions had ceased to exist as they were repeatedly and bloodily repulsed from the fortress walls by the rebel infantry known as Winterblades.

In fairness to Imperial High Command, attempts had been made to improve the situation. The last of these had been an ambitious assault aimed at severing the fortress’ link to the vital strategic town of Cartona. Four new divisions were raised, including veteran units, armour, light infantry and air support, and the navy were to provide covering fire from orbit.

That had been six months ago, and still the siege dragged on.

“My apologies, Colonel. No offence was intended. I only meant to say that-”

He was interrupted by a jarring detonation nearby, followed by a wave of intense heat.

“What in the Emperor’s name?” he managed, but Sklyerov was already moving.

“For the Throne’s sake man, they’re hitting the line!” the Colonel roared at him, before bellowing at his men, “Shienkovs! Form your damn sorry hides up on me! Prepare to repulse assaulters!”

***

Orlovich snatched up his autorifle instinctively as the bellowed command cut through the percussive blasts of the bombardment, slamming a fresh clip into the ammo feed before breaking into a sprint as he made for the perimeter. Other men in the area moved to do the same, and he was glad to see Sergeant Kurovsky amongst them, the snow crunching heavily beneath heavy boots. A rebel trooper burst over the parapet, lasrifle spitting a stream of lethal energy bolts that sent silvery plumes of steam hissing into the frosted air. Orlovich flicked his weapon into full-auto and fired a burst into the man. The armour piercing rounds ripped through the flak armour the man wore, and he crumpled to the floor, his blood spilling out hot and bright against the brilliant white carpet that engulfed the trench. He turned and shot another in the head, a circular hole in the ceramite visor marking the bullet’s passage into his brain.

Dozens more Winterblade infantrymen were in the trench section now, their rifles discarded in favour of the long knives that had earned them their sobriquet. Orlovich ducked beneath a vicious stroke aimed at opening his throat, the razor sharp steel shining like a shard of pale-blue ice in his opponent’s hand. The Winterblade grunted in surprise as he overextended the stroke and Orlovich took advantage of the mistake, drawing his bayonet and burying it in his foe’s chest in one swift motion. The Winterblade screamed in pain and surprise as blood erupted from the wound. Another man ran towards him, lasrifle still clutched in cold hands, and Orlovich reached for his bayonet.

It didn’t move.

The blade, trapped by the final contractions of the man it had killed, refused to come free.

He cursed and attempted to roll sideways away from the butt of the lasrifle as it descended towards him. The blow missed, as did the next one, causing his opponent to spit a stream of expletives in his direction in Low Gothic.

Snatching his breath in the crucial half-second offered to him, he glanced at the other combatants. All around him the remainder of his squad were locked in a brutal close-quarter’s battle with their opponents. Sergeant Kurovsky was at the forefront, bleeding from a score of minor wounds and bellowing curses as he hacked at the men around him.

Other fights told a similar story, and not a single man was unengaged. He’d have to do this himself.

He staggered to his feet, pain lancing across his chest as another blow cracked his ribs. He grabbed a fallen pistol and unloaded the clip into his assailant. The man collapsed reluctantly, a corpse before he hit the ground. Orlovich snarled a challenge and looked for his next foe.

Moments later, there was a blinding flash of light and the world erupted with orange flame.

***
The colossal detonation seemed to engulf the entire camp, and Ilyushin was thrown from his feet and hurled against the frozen planking that provided the trench with support with a sickening crunch. When he opened his eyes, he found his vision blurred. Winterblade troops, never before having witnessed such ordnance, fled, their vainted veteran status and pride forgotten in a moment of terror, and the few surviving Shienkovs capitalised on this. Well, that was one mercy, at least, and one for which he thanked the Emperor. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself to his feet, wincing sharply as he realised his ribs were cracked. Beside him was slumped a sack of red stained cloth that it took several moments for the Commissar to realise had once been a man.

“Throne,” he whispered through bloodied lips, the exclamation little more than a haunted whistle emerging from his throat. Several other corpses lay around him, similarly devoid of human features. He knelt to inspect another sack, his heart sinking as he saw the remains of the man’s face.

The features were damaged, a mask of blood streaming down his face, but there was no mistaking them. He stared in horror at the dead man.

For gazing back at him with dull, lifeless eyes was Vasily Skylerov.

***

Orlovich opened his eyes, stunned.

“What the-” he began hoarsely, before a throbbing pain in his chest cut him off. The trench around him was a devastated ruin, shattered and broken, the ice from which it had been cut cracked to form a warren of deep chasms in the ground. He wanted to scream, but the noise wouldn’t come. He attempted to get up, but failed and instead slumped deeper into the crack beneath him. He settled himself resignedly, every fibre in his body rebelling against its treatment but now crippled and powerless in the face of death.

There was a second flash, less bright, less violent than the first. Orlovich sagged mentally, the failure of his body now surely mirrored by his failure to prevent the Winterblades.

A figure stepped into view above him, its outline blurry and indistinct, but had Orlovich possessed any breath remaining then the sheer size of the new arrival would have stolen it. He blinked, and the figure became clear as another joined it. They wore grey plate armour of a kind he recognised from propaganda vid-feeds as Tactical Dreadnought Armour. Astartes, then.

“These men were Imperial. Some of ours,” spoke the first Astartes as he gazed down at Orlovich, his voice echoing and somehow sad as it emerged from his visor.

“They will be remembered. There was nothing we could have done for them. They did their duty.” His companion’s voice was harsher, less sentimental.

“Aye,” nodded the first warrior, and then his gaze lingered over Orlovich.

“This one still draws breath.”

His companion sighed.

“Unfortunate. Our bombardment should have been more thorough, perhaps. Give him the gift of mercy.”

The last thing Mikhail Orlovich ever saw was a descending sword.

***
Ilyushin regarded the Astartes with a cold fury.

“Who is in charge here?” he snapped at them as they approached.

One of them stepped forward, a hulking figure which towered over the Commissar.

“I am Captain Torvanion. Blade Brethren, Fourth Company. Your men fought well. It was... regrettable that they could not be spared.”

Ilyushin overflowed with rage.

“They were soldiers Captain. They deserved better. They were the best Throne-damned men I ever saw, they were-”

Torvanion cut him off, his voice containing an edge colder than the ice around them.

They were acceptable losses, Commissar. Deal with it.”
 

·
Sir Proofreader
Joined
·
4,251 Posts
Curses! I've not been paying suffucient attention to LO and a writing competition has almost passed me by! I don't like my chances of generating an idea and completing a story in four or five days, but if inspiration strikes I'll see if I can throw something together :)
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
210 Posts
I'm new but the competition caught my eye, Have I missed out? How would you go about entering in future competitions? Do you just post it as a thread reply and can anyone enter even if your new?
You have until Friday, to enter the competition just post it as a reply to this thread :)
 

·
Sir Proofreader
Joined
·
4,251 Posts
Wow, that's... That sounds pretty heavy. Hope you can come through it alright, Captain...
 
1 - 20 of 104 Posts
Top