OWC Easter Fluff Comp: Voting

[Wizwum]

Well, I messed up, but you've heard all my excuses and reasoning in the other thread, here's the poll. Some ground rules:

- No voting for yourself
- No asking the other contestants (publically or privately) which piece is theirs. (I know some contestants have read each others pieces and that can be omitted, but please try and refrain.)
- Vote only on the quality of the piece, not the author (not that you should know which piece was who's, but sometimes you can tell from the writing style.)
- Please refrain from posting detailed criticism until the poll is over, as it may influence people's vote. Sure, post a comment of why you voted for who you voted for, but if you could wait til the results are in to post C&C, that'd be super (Authors are invited to repost their pieces in a new thread in the Scribe's Chamber to accommodate this, but again, only once the poll is finished.) Thanks.

Voting will be open until midnight BST on Wednesday the 29th July.

Pieces will be posted in seperate posts.

[Wizwum]

Still Alive

On the Eve of Mordheithm’s third millennia of service to the Imperium, men fought for tooth and nail in the planet-wide cities of Mordheithm II, the second largest industrial planet in the Mordheithm system, next to Mordheithm III. Guardsman fought against traitor guardsman and Space Marine from the Word Bearers fallen Chapter alike. On the main street armoured tanks rolled to meet each other, shell after shell being belched out of their turrets, and following them were the lines of infantry waiting to be grinded by the machines of war.
One squadron of Imperial Guard was sent tumbling into cover as the Leman Russ in front of them exploded in a shower of shrapnel and brightened the street momentarily with the red glow from the explosion.
“Regroup!” The sergeant yelled, “Regroup and storm them!”
Soldiers scrambled to their feet, their lasguns ready as they followed their sergeant into the battle ahead. As they ran past the ruined wreckage of the Leman Russ bolter shells and las rounds exploded and pattered against the ground, although it didn’t perturb the Guardsmen, nor did it perturb the several other squads of Guardsmen rushing forwards past their tanks with a near simultaneous cry of, “For the Emperor!”
Under the combined charge of the Guardsmen and the roaring of battle cannons the Chaos forces slowly fell back to regroup and slowly but surely, cries of victory and joy and triumph sounded throughout the streets of Mordheithm II as the Chaos forces were pushed back towards the infernal gateway to the Warp from which they attacked from.
It was the next day before the forces of Chaos attacked again, and the Chaos worshippers, Space Marine and traitor Guardsman alike, assaulted the Guardsmen of Mordheithm II again, they were met by barrages of battle cannons and the many Guardsmen, bolter shells shattering skulls, battle cannon shells sending bodies flying through the air. Las rounds pattered off of armour and burnt flesh and cloth alike, like plasma and melta weapons were fired in droves and volleys to send Space Marines and Guardsmen dying a fiery death alike.
It was with a sudden surge that the Chaos assault grew in strength as their ranks were bolstered by a number of manifestations appearing through the Warp, of different coloured flesh and different body structures, with weapons of different varieties, from great heavy obsidian swords to jagged purple tentacles to the tooth and nail of a Mordheithm wolf. Many a Daemon had been summoned, and even with the battle cannon shells, the bursts of plasma and melta fire, the many repeated volleys of lasgun fire, the Daemonic onslaught was not stopped, the Daemons a giant tsunami that washed away the Guardsmen defences.

***

She awoke screaming, twisted face that cried in torment, the face of its killer memorised; revenge! Of the few Daemons to have fallen in battle, I was one of them, and rematerialising in the Warp was painful business, and thus a scream echoed throughout the Warp that caused Khorne to look over at the Bloodletter from his great Skull Throne. His golden eyes and red scaly flesh, with great bones sticking out from her head and spine, and its obsidian sword fused to my hand, there he stood, a Bloodletter of Khorne, her life in the warp immaterial. A Bloodletter of Khorne who’d failed the Skull Throne by daring to return without a head to place upon the forever growing throne. There it stood, that Bloodletter, before great Lord Khorne whose angry face and Daemonically powered blade flashed red in anger, the rest of the God’s body hidden by shadows.
Alas! Rapture within my mind, the life of Khorne flowing through me.
You have failed me!
I have not failed. I have merely been set back.
Silence! Woe is to you that you have dared to defy the will of the Skull Throne’s King! You shall suffer a thousand deaths for your failure!
You can’t! Please-! He was cut off, her voice mingling into the grey-purple mists of the warp. It’s life cut from the tendrils of that same blue-orange mist.

My mind reformed, and instantly he was burning. KHORNE NO! She screamed, it’s face deforming and melting away. Again I became one with the warp, her damp spongy surface eating what remained of my body, and in horror he saw that the melted compound of her former life remained.

It saw my former body fly towards it through a vast expanse of tragic sorrows that made up the halls of the Blood God, and he felt pity for the painlessness of that death as she itself was rammed repeatedly with blades from all sides, and slowly I slipped away again.

I tired of these memoires, I guessed, referring to myself in multiple perspectives; it, me, her, and him. I suppose as a Daemon they’re all correct, but when I refer to myself I can’t help but think of one of those four terms and all four at once. Anyway, after my third death Khorne started talking to me, and I as a faithful servant spoke back, between deaths of course. The amount of times I died became immaterial to me, no matter how much it hurt. Having Khorne talking to me as my punishment was given made it somewhat easier to bear. That said, I still stumbled over my words due to pain and agony as I died time and time again.

“Why didn’t you kill anyone?” Khorne asked me.
“I was hit by a grenade,” I replied. “I guess I was solid at the time, otherwise it would have passed through me.”
“Bah. If I had more power on those planets not a thing would survive. Who was commanding those blasted Word Bearers, weakling?”
“I believe it was Lord Halo Unison, a minor Lord but had a few words loafing around to tie Daemons to him, I suppose.”
“An arrogant fool with a stupid name,” Khorne grunted nonchalantly as if it didn’t matter. “But nevertheless… maybe he should suffer if Daemon and worshipper alike are being wiped out by the servants of the False Emperor.”
“Fralkaniytial was supposed to be telling the Lord what we do, but I guess the Lord didn’t really listen and believed us to be some form of shock trooper.”
At this Khorne laughed a long and course laugh, which might have been because I’d just died by being strangled by some substance that humans called jelly. I believe that was death forty-nine. I looked around myself and found myself knee high in my own corpses, surrounded by images of myself in various states of death; strangled, melted, laughing to death, crying to death, even myself in an epileptic fit and punching myself over and over, despite being dead. I wondered how creative Khorne could get with killing, but when you’re a blood God I suppose killing is one of your sole purposes in life… or in whatever sort of manifestation that Gods have. Ah. There went my eyes, popping out of my sockets; I was poked to death with them… It was a slow, and very humiliating and eventually painful death. Eyes are vicious tools of torture, them is!

Was, because right now I’m being electrocuted to death, which I suppose is as standard as Khorne’s been in a while.

By the time I’d reached five hundred deaths, Khorne was ranting on about how he’d deal with the Orks.
“…every single Warboss! I’d gather all of them up at one place along with all their Boys, every single Waaagh!! And against them I’d pit the forces of one of my Daemon Worlds and watch them fall in droves to my warriors! When I’ve killed those Orks, their bodies making a tower that reaches into the cosmos, I’ll proceed to crush their bodies and devourer the Greenskins one by one, apart from the skulls to place upon my throne, and their blood will create an ever flowing waterfall that can be seen from space itself! I’ll take their teeth and I’ll turn them to powder! I’ll munch on bone and when they’re growing, I’ll kill them again and again! I just need to give every single Ork a want to be on that Daemon World.”
Khorne is very singled minded about how he wants to kill entire races. It always involves gathering them in a single place and lobbing a Daemon World at them, creating more skulls for his throne and forging a river, waterfall or ocean of blood that can be seen from space.
Khorne is highly original about how he wants to kill individual things. I’m not one to complain, but where’s the consistency of that?

Finally, as my thousand deaths came to an end, I stood, chest high in a sea of my own corpses in a swirling dark blue storm, and it wasn’t until then that I felt the pain of one thousand deaths hit me all at once. I know it may sound impossible, but Daemons do actually feel pain, believe me. I am a Daemon! I am a Daemon, and I felt a lot of pain.

After that ordeal I was sent back to that planet where I emerged along with seven other Bloodletters in front of a number of guardsmen entrenched behind a number of concrete slabs in the street, with a number of wrecked building on all sides. Without thought I leaped forwards, my blade biting into the first guardsman I met before sweeping into the next one with my spare hand grabbing the man and ripping his heart from his chest. A third met my blade on the return blow. By then the rest of them had been wiped out by my comrades.
Blood For The Blood God.
We searched for our next target, scanning the ruined city with our eyes.
Blood For The Blood God.
There. Second story of a building to our right.
Blood For The Blood God.
Long hisses, and the eight of us charged, storming the building and ransacking the rooms and corridors in search of a stairway up to the second floor.
Blood For The Blood God.
I was the first to find it.
Blood For The Blood God.
Up I went, my voice screaming out in rage to signal the other Bloodletters that I’d found the bloody path to the enemy.
Blood For The Blood God.
I went straight in for the kill, the first guardsman dying upon my sword. I carried on, skewering a second guardsman.
Blood For The Blood God.
I felt bayonets stab at me from all sides, and I lashed out, both of my arms knocking my aggressors left and right.
Blood For The Blood God.
I leaped sideways, in the process snatching a guardsman from the ground and forcing him into the wall, breaking the duracrete enough for the man’s head to fit through.
Blood For The Blood God.
The pain of multiple las wounds riddled my body as two guardsmen walked towards me, unleashing the full fury of their lasguns into my flesh.
Blood For The Blood God.
I lashed out with a roar and sent one of the guardsmen into the wall, the crack that followed indicated his neck had been broken by the impact. The other guardsman continued to fire, unperturbed by my onslaught.
Blood For The Blood God.
I leaped forwards and my fist connected with the man’s head.
Blood For The Blood God.
Then the guardsman who’d killed me earlier charged at me. I knew it was him; the same face. I’ve remembered the face of everyone who’s ever killed me, and not one survived.
Blood For The Blood God.
Rage erupted within me, and I charged back at him.

Then I found myself facing Khorne again. Khorne wore a look on his face that clearly said that he was pissed.
“Balls,” I said.
“Are you going to make this a habit?” Khorne asked, his grumpy demeanour was unnerving. Usually a Daemon would be dead if he’d died in service for his God without killing at least a score of enemies.
“I hope not.”
“Bah. You’ve claimed some skulls this time, at least. Eight more skulls for my throne; none of the others that were with you have given me this many yet. Ha-ha!” The others were doing worse than me in our little skull collecting adventure? Khorne would know, being the Blood God…
“Glad I could please.”
“Whatever. Go kill something.” Khorne waved a hand at me, and I felt my stomach jumped. I’d left my belly behind me as I went back to Mordheithm II. My third time back to that cursed planet, oh how I hated that planet more than anything, an impenetrable and unbending grey spot in space!
I cursed Khorne, then I stopped and I apologised quickly as I found myself back on that same bloody war torn planet. This time no one was around me, and I could feel something coursing through me. A strange power. A fire within my heart. I roared outwards, and started running, a long black sword forming in my right hand.
Without other Daemons nearby I couldn’t hear the chant, so I began my own.
Skulls And Blood!
As I ran through streets, I saw bodies littered everywhere, both Chaos minion and guardsman alike. The war had been harsh. The first living beings I came across were a couple of traitor guardsmen, the Mark of Khorne visible on their helmets. That didn’t matter, and I ran at them with bloodlust, cutting them down where they stood cowering from some unseen enemy.
Skulls And Blood!
That unseen enemy? Shot me, and I felt the ripples of lasgun fire fly through my body. I looked around, spotting the culprit who’d caused me so much pain.
“MULTIPLE ME MURDERER!” I screamed out loud, my long tongue flicking the air in anger like a snake. I flung my sword at the guardsman standing on a single story buildings’ rooftop while reloading his lasgun, the same person who’d killed me twice already today. “KHORNE WILL TAKE YOUR SKULL AND MOUNT IT UPON A STICK!” My sword missed, but my fury carried me up towards him.
My fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, his lasgun went flying as he hit the ground and I howled in triumph. Then the guardsman got back up, pushing himself up off of the ground and regarding me darkly.
“I’m still alive,” he said, spitting blood. He was a hardy bastard indeed!
Skulls And Blood!
I ran at him, although I didn’t get far. He crouched quickly, his hand pulling a las pistol from his boot and he brought it up with practised speed, a number of las bolts passing through my body, and only one hitting me.
That one was enough, as it struck my throat, and I was back in Khorne’s realm.

Marco breathed a sigh of relief as the Daemon died before it reached him, shouldering his lasgun, and pulling a frag grenade from his belt. Insurance. “I’m still alive…” he repeated, collapsing backwards on the rooftop. “Emperor wills it.”
He briefly wondered what the Daemon had meant when it had yelled out the worlds multiple me murderer, although that didn’t matter.
He looked up at the sky, and then closed his eyes. After surviving three encounters with Daemons, all within hours of each other, he was knackered. Marco pulled a cigar from one of his pockets and lit it with a shot from his las pistol, taking a deep puff on the cigar before sighing and pulling a can of pork and beans from another pocket, ripping the lid off with the thumb tab and he started to dig in. I wonder where my squad is.
The guardsman sat there for a while, smoking his cigar and eating his pork and beans. If I die now, I can tell the Emperor proudly that I took out forty-two Daemons today. Forty-two.

Damn the pork and beans are good.

[Wizwum]

Eek! Eek!

"Rats. What did you get us into this time?" Hein said as he clasped the iron bars of his cage. Behind him sat jolly old Bernard and together they were going down.

"Rats. I told you we should have taken the long way round." He said again. Bernard looked up gloomily. They had been in this cage for days, most likely. It could have been weeks all the same, or mere hours, like they say you lost track of time down here. Meanwhile, they were moving. All the mushrooms, all the moss on the moist rock walls, they we're all slowly passing by as the cart on which their cage stood rode deeper down into the tunnels.

"Bit late for that now, don't you think?" Bernard said slowly, his voice rasping. He hardly moved at all, they were exhausted. And they went ever on, deeper and deeper into the tunnels. It was surprisingly quiet. When they spoke, their voices did carry. Echoes returned, vaguely, but apart from their voices and the rhythmic dripping of water, it was very quiet. Their captors didn't speak. If they were even capable of speaking, but Hein assumed they were. They could walk as men, so why not speak as men? He turned his head to Bernard again.

"Bit late? Yeah! Definitly! We should never have gone here in the first place! It was a bloody foolish plan of yours." Hein said, agitated. "It'll be shorter, the fool said! You're right! A bloody shortcut to hell!" They'd go down, they'd never go back! Those filthy Rat-men with their rusty old weaponry and their filthy vermin fangs. They'd bring them down, down! Oh pray to Sigmar, who knows for what purpose the Rat-men had taken them captive? It was all just bad luck, but that's no excuse. Not when you're about to be skinned alive, or whatever these damned creatures had in mind. It sure wasn't going to be pretty.

"What do you reckon they're going to do to us?" Bernard said. He was going to die. Nothing new, so was Hein, but all of a sudden it hit him. They were going to die.

"Not a clue." How should he know? They were in a Sigmarforsaken pit of Chaos. He sure had never been here before. Nor had he ever met one of these gentlemen, gentlerats, whatever they're called.

"You reckon we're going to get out of here?" Did he hear some hope here in Bernard's words? Surely was a bit misplaced. It was a long way back.

"No. You're going to die." It wasn't pretty, but it was the truth. You don't get stuck in some hellhole and get out. It's not the way things go, ever. They'd go down like just another nameless hero. They weren't even heroes. Bernard remained silent behind him. He really was going to die, and quite soon as well.

"Hey, Bernard. Look at that." Hein pointed ahead of them. They were going down, now more than ever. A huge cavern stretched out before them. It was easily as big as the whole of Altdorf. A rat city, somewhere in the mountains. Part of him wondered whether this was a natural cavern, or hewn out by a thousand slaves, but the other part instantly knew what was going to happen. In the center, a huge monolith reached up to the rocky ceiling. That, alone, wasn't so shocking, but the "decorations" with which it was adorned were. Skulls, bones, as far as the eyes could see, covered in dried up blood and chaotic symbols. They were still far away, but every detail was as clear as glass to him. They were still going to die, but now he knew how.

The cart went into some sort of alley. A tunnel through solid rock, that is, with doors to cave-houses in them at random places. They sure weren't alone. Countless of the Rat-men scurried through what had to pass for streets. Imagine the poorest quarter of Altdorf, take away all the people with a bit of decency, throw in the beggars, muggers and thieves from all the other quarters and you'll have something that vaguely resembles this rat metropolis. But it was worse, one couldn't compare these creatures with men, they were rats. Rats that walked, rats that spoke, but rats nonetheless and they were leading them to their doom. Rats.

"They're not really aesthetically pleasant, don't you think?" Hein said to Bernard, who was being throttled by his own saliva. Dying isn't pleasant; Death may be, but dying certainly isn't.

"We can hear you." Snapped one of the passing rats in true rat fashion. At least he was sure of the fact that they could speak now. He wasn't all too worried about not making any friends here. It wasn't going to get him out of here anytime soon. Not alive anyway.

"You know, my furry friend, you smell an awful lot like rotten cheese. You must be of the leading class here." Hein said to the passing rats. Always try to strike up a conversation, no matter how furry and aesthetically unpleasant someone (or something, in this case) is.

They came to a barred door. A prison behind it, almost as clean as the rest of the rat-infested city. He wondered if they thought of rats as a plague as well, probably not. Must be awkward, having a rodent as a close family-member. They were used to it, he supposed.

One of the rats opened their cage. Like hell he wasn't going to carry Bernard out of here. He'd die anyway, no point in carrying something that already resembled a corpse more than a person. For a moment, he thought about escaping, but then he saw the rusty but still sharp weaponry that the rats carried. Dying, alright, but rather not on the point of such a rusty, half-blunt weapon. He had never experienced it before, but it didn't seem as a particularly pleasant way to die. Not at all.

"Out! Out!" Another of the rats hissed at him. Some sort of captain, if they had them. Not that he cared, it was a rat. Rats. He used to say that word quite often. Never again, never again. However short never was. There were other people in the cell too. Yes, people, finally some sort of civilization. It wasn't much, at least half of them were about as dead as Bernard, but it was something.

"Odd way of celebrating Easter, don't you think?" Hein said. He doubted someone had any form of humour left after being locked up in a prison cell for Sigmar knows how long, but it was worth a shot. One of the prisoners looked up gloomily. It vaguely reminded him of someone. She, for it was a woman, answered something, but the words were hardly audible and as such he didn't quite catch her.

"Say again?" He said. The woman looked possibly even more gloomily. Dead bunch these people were. Some of them were, but that's another case. The living were hardly distinguishable from their luckier companions. It was boring the hell out of him. They were going down, but they surely weren't having a lot of fun doing so. Isn't that what matters in life (and in death too, he realised all of a sudden), that you have fun, that you laugh not only in the face of danger, but also in the faces of the rest of the family? Hatred, violence, unhappiness and all other things that weren't very pleasant in day to day life (except smell, you don't laugh in the face of smell, you puke in the face of smell which ironically makes him even worse).

"One egg is not an egg." Quite why he said that didn't seem to come through. He was just bored probably, or he was getting quite insane, which was considerably more likely. There you have it. Just when you think you're being absolutely normal, you come to the conclusion sanity escaped somewhere along the way. It sure would have a great life, without old Hein.

"Two egg is half an egg." That didn't make sense. Honestly. It was Easter somewhere up there, although it appeared the rats celebrated it too in their own macabre kind of way, but this was utter nonsense.

"Three egg is an Easteregg." Right, that's it. He'd sit here and die like the rest of them. This was enough. He'd have no more of it. He didn't care that over-sized rats had put him in a cage with half-decayed people, he didn't care he was going to be sacrificed like an Easter bunny in hell, he didn't even bloody care his best friend, Bernard, was as dead as that old man that invented Easter in the first place. Only the losing of sense bothered him a little, but such is life.

***

Lambs and bunnies, clear blue sky. It was good to be home. Sanity was glad he had left that old Hein down there. He was going to live a happy life with this new lady. Margereth was her name, or something like that anyway. She was a nice old lady and apparently she had been badly in need of some sanity. She was talking to some other woman. They'd be going to Margritta to visit some relatives. Sanity could swear he heard the other woman say:

"Rats. Margereth, I swear this way is shorter."

[Wizwum]

The Ravienna Renaissance

Tydas Erikson stood under the great red sandstone arch at the heart of Ravienna, transfixed by the first blooms of the purple hyacinths that decorated the entrance to the museum. The miracle of their rebirth stung his eyes, recalling the withered husks that he had seen in the dead of winter, far to the south. It was a winter he had thought was behind him, until the juvenile buds of the hyacinth flower tore the memories from his mind without grace or gentleness. Though these hyacinths were embraced by the dirt, cared for by the aged hands of old men tasked with their maintenance, they recalled the slender hand that had held the dying flowers, her own blood mixing into the snow. He resisted the urge to stomp the flowers out of existence, to grind them back into the black earth.

Tydas had not come to Ravienna to see what was inside its only house of antiquities. He stood still because he was tired. None of the faces in the crowd would lift so that their eyes could meet his. An old woman, the charms of the healing goddess Shallya wrapped in one of her gnarled fist, crossed herself as she passed him. She, like the others, did it unconsciously. They would brighten once their steps carried them past the man in the dark cloak with the hat that hid his eyes. It was as if he was invisible, a stone that while casting eddies through the crowd was quickly subsumed beneath the surface of the water. Tydas was caught in the movement of the crowd and obediently turned towards the museum. One of his hands came up to his hat and pulled it down, as if he really did want to retreat from the world and drown on a river bottom. He felt no warmth from the oncoming spring.

Fingertips trailed over the edge of his black cloak, just heavy enough to make the flesh beneath it prickle with goose bumps. Tydas looked up with a start while his hand went instinctively to his hip where it closed around the familiar shape of one of his guns. The white fingers trailed in the air after they passed him and beckoned his eyes to the body that owned them. Tydas wondered how he could possibly have missed her. The rest of the crowd, for all of its festive wear, could not compete with the woman’s immaculate white robes, so clean that they seemed to glow with a light all their own. He recognized the costume immediately, and did not need to see the staff that she held casually in her other hand to know that she was a wizard. But what drew his attention more than anything was the contrast between her robes and the midnight darkness of her hair, each strand held perfectly in place even as the tresses spilled over her shoulders and down her back. She was moving too fast for him. He lengthened his paces to keep up, though as he passed beneath the entrance to the museum Tydas couldn’t help but feel that the sound of his boots striking the cobblestones was vulgar compared to the whisper of the wizard’s slippers.

Townsfolk from Ravienna milled between the slender pillars of the great hall while a man’s voice, deep and accustomed to speaking to crowds, resonated through the marble enclosure. Tydas paid him no mind; he was intent on tracking the white wizard and she navigated through the crowd. He was the storm cloud that followed her sunshine, the respect and unconscious deference that greeted her was immediately closed off to the dark man. He was convinced, as he often was when he returned to the city, that what the people could never grasp in their minds their souls instinctively knew. They made a path for the wizard because it was the right thing to do; they kept the path open for him because they were afraid to close it. Eventually she stopped and her fingers caressed the side of a smooth marble pillar as she turned to regard the speaker. Tydas caught a glimpse of her face as he came to stand just behind her shoulder. Her green eyes sparkled in the dim light.

“We can scarcely fathom the world that now lies slumbering beneath those endless sands.” Tydas’ eyes were drawn to the voice that he truly heard for the first time. A large man, his brawn overcome by his girth, stood on a small stage. One of his hands rested heavily on the fragment of a statue pockmarked by age and relentless grains of sand. “It is well known that in the ancient land of Khemri a whole family of gods reigned over the desert people.” His flabby hand shifted and gripped a stone horn that protruded from the head of the statue. He was nearly bald, and his face contorted into a frown as if it was difficult to make the words come. “They were overthrown, of course, these gods. What you see before you is all that remains. Take heed, good people of Ravienna. History informs us to the follies of the present. Though it may seem at times that the gods are silent, or that our prayers fall on deaf ears…” His grip tightened noticeably and caused the veins in his hand to become visible. The speaker’s dark, bulging eyes were turned down. “In their quest for freedom from such petty struggles the people of Khemri turned to Nagash, and he overthrew their gods. But what did this sacrilege buy them? Not a rebirth. An endless, waking death. Take heed of the words that this statue would tell, if he could force his lips to move. He would warn us against Sigmar, against other pretenders to heaven.” Finally he looked up, a smile on his face. “History teaches us the glory of piety. There was never a more pious and loyal city than the great Ravienna. Take to the streets for your carnival, knowing that the protection of the gods flows to they who honor them.”

“The antiquarian, Aneas.” The wizard spoke, her soft tones cutting through the applause and shouts of praise delivered to the noted historian. “Have you heard of him, Tydas Erikson?” For the first time she looked at his face, her eyes meeting his.

Tydas’ face choked any surprise he might have felt as she used his name. “No.” He replied honestly before he broke her gaze and looked back at the man.

“They say that he is an adventurer of sorts…though I don’t think he quite looks the part.” She smiled, the more guttural tones of her Riekspiel accent cutting through the lyrical tongue of Tilea.

“Some men shape the part that they want to play.” Tydas replied as he drew his cloak closer about himself.

“You certainly are not the visage of death that most would have in mind, no.” She seemed to sense the chill that Tydas warded against, and adjusted her own robes accordingly. “I know that I don’t misjudge.”

Tydas’ reply was immediate and irrelevant to the point she was trying to make. “What business does a wizard of the Imperial Light Order have in Ravienna?” He turned to her for the answer.

The wizard smiled and turned around to walk towards the exit of the museum. Her finger gestured for him to follow, which he did after only a moment’s hesitation. Tydas’ strides quickly caught the wizard’s even though he was not especially taller than her. “I am Hannah von Leuchtend.” She finally replied as the two stepped out in the cool morning. The sun was shining, though its light was weak due to a light cloud cover. Still, to the denizens of Ravienna the first signs of good weather were like a shot of life. In just the few minutes Tydas had spent in the museum the streets had become so crowded as to be nearly overflowing. Yet Hannah still cut an effortless path through the masses. “Do you need to repeat your name to me? It is known in every corner of the Olde World, after all. Where were you over the winter? It became nearly impossible to track you.”

Tydas pulled the brim of his hat down low to deflect the wandering attentions of the townsfolk. “The winter is behind us.” He murmured in reply. “Are you saying you came here to meet me?”

“No.” Hannah replied. “But I did want to meet you. Is it true what they say, that you have lived three times the life of one man? That you hold the favor of the gods?” One twinkling green eye appeared over her shoulder to gauge his reaction even as she steered her feet towards a narrow cleft between row houses.

“Their scorn, perhaps.” Tydas replied, meeting her eye but only because the situation demanded it. He quickly looked away and caught sight of a group of children playing on an unoccupied street corner. They wore their carnival masks, howling and laughing as they tried to tag one another. It was a game he didn’t understand, and even the echo of childhood whimsy that allowed even the barest understanding at all was growing dim. He hated these conversations, yet they repeated over and over again. Everything repeated.

“I’m here to warn you.” She said softly, and in such an inviting tone that Tydas could guess at a double meaning to her words. “I am here to investigate the Cult of Perdurabo which the Guardian Council has been tracking for some time.”

Tydas kept her eyes in his hold. She was against the brick wall and eagerly awaited his reply. “We’re not so distant.” He concluded while leading that hand back to her side. “But that doesn’t mean that we are close.” Her brow knit at these words while Tydas took a step back. Without another word he turned and walked down the alley. He heard the tap of her staff behind him as she turned to watch him go. He hunched his shoulders and withdrew some tobacco from a pouch at his belt. Something to keep him occupied while he crossed the stones.

“At least think of the cult!” Hannah shouted after him. He couldn’t tell if her voice sounded hurt or not, if she was merely reasserting her mission to cover the wound he had opened in her or if she was sincere. “Their sign is the eye of Phakth bound in a crimson triangle!”

Tydas kept walking.

***

He really did try to sleep, but the city wouldn’t allow it. Carnival thrummed in the streets outside the inn where he made his bed. Tydas sat up, his homespun sheets pooling in his lap as he hunched over. A cold sweat clung to his bare torso, the result of the images that accosted him when he was all alone in the darkness. The winter continued to haunt him even though spring had come, the smell of drying hyacinths stung his nostrils. He rubbed his dry eyes that had long since given up on tears for what his hands were forced to do. Tydas swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. The first thing he grabbed was his gun belt and after that the scabbard for his sword. His shirt and cloak followed, and then the hat on his head. The streets were preferable to the darkness, the revelry of carefree people a better illusion than the dreams he was sure would come that night.

Ravienna was alive. Carnival was the apotheosis of the winter’s repression and sacrifice, when all that had been pent up within the city’s denizens burst forth onto the street. It was not Tydas’ first carnival, but even he had to look on in awe as he walked down the packed streets. Everything was bright and colorful, from the fires that illuminated the streets to the elaborate costumes that seemed to hide the human within. Laughing, jeering and drunk faces rushed past him, some leaning in close enough that he could smell the wine on their breath before the current of the crowd swept them away. A dozen different songs were being sung at any given time, the words and tunes slurred and mixed until a universal song of carnival issued from the entire city’s lips.

Carnival was also the time of inversion. The poorest in the city were dressed up as nobles, carried along the main streets on high backed chairs as they issued their fool’s decrees. A prostitute, deeply drunk, pressed herself against Tydas. She stared up at him with unfocused eyes, lewd words spilling from her mouth like the wine that splashed onto his boots. She was asking if he had money. She was wrapped in the robes of the Shallyan sisterhood, the immaculate goddess of healing represented for this night only by whores. Even the drunk woman could sense that she would get nowhere with Tydas and her expression soured. She struck his chest with a flat palm before calling his manhood into question and leaving to join the rest of her sisters.

Tydas was not the only one who had tried and failed to get to sleep. She could not settle, the vital pulse of carnival could be felt even on the winds of magic that fed her powers, and something about it unsettled her. She looked out her window onto the well lit street below. Her room was dark, and it seemed that the shadows that had been dispelled from the street had fled into her chambers. Something was different about this celebration. In her time at Altdorf she had seen this sort of revelry before, but this time her heart was pounding and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow. The question was why. Her racing thoughts made sleep impossible more than the noise outside. She folding her arms and bit down lightly on her thumb, a thoughtfully expression she had had since she was a girl. Perdurabo was on her mind. The eye of Phakth was staring into her thoughts.

The door behind her creaked as it was slowly pushed open. The wizard remained calm and kept her eyes focused on the street below. A pair of men in masks stepped into the room. They weren’t creeping, they stood up straight. Painted on the white part of the mask that covered their forehead was a weeping eye looking to their left. Hannah could feel those eyes boring into her back, no mere painted symbols but the eye of Phakth imbued with a distant gaze. “You will regret coming to see me tonight. I am Hannah von Leuchtend. Hierophant of the Second Order. Did Perdurabo send you?”

The two remained silent.

“Very well.” Hannah took a step and turned while thrusting out her right hand. She didn’t need an incantation or extensive preparation for the spell of blinding light that she unleashed on the two servants of the cult. This minor exercise of power was like a reflex to her. She finally saw the masks just before they disappeared in a bloom of white light. They were laughing.

By the time a premature dawn bloomed on the third floor of an inn frequented by traveling nobles on the other side of Ravienna Tydas had worked his way through several cups of wine. It flowed endlessly on these streets, and once it touched him he could feel that he was a part of the celebration. A smile was even workings its way onto his lips. As soon as he finished his latest drink another had found its way into his hands. He raised it up as he heard another song form in the crowd and did his best to sing along, though his thick accent ruined most of his attempts at the Tilean dialect. But song was universal, and so was dancing. A little girl grabbed the edge of his cloak and began to twirl it, laughing in her small giggling way when Tydas responded and started to move with her. His deadly feet were put to a better use as they navigated the cobblestone. The entire crowd no longer flowed; it danced, the infectious music spilling from the windows and the crowded bars inciting the mob to stay and find a partner for a while. Even Tydas laughed in between drinks, the girl’s face smiling up at him from behind her half-mask. But she had better things to do and soon let him go to find her mother or another partner. Without a partner he continued to dance.

The premature dawn had come and gone when the two cultists threw themselves at Hannah. She stumbled back against the wall and reached for her staff but it was tossed aside. When they drew close she could see that cloth covered the eyes of these cultists, and while such flimsy fabric could not confound her magic it hinted that they saw through other means. The smell of burning clothing filled the room where her flare had singed their robes, but even that had not stopped them. She ducked the first blow from a club that surely would have sent her to the floor. She could not fight them with her fists, but even if they could not see they were hardly immune to her magic.

The wind of Hysh the serpent heeded her call as she spoke a few fragmentary words of power, just enough to string the spell together while not compromising herself in these close quarters. A stave of light appearing in her hand and burned the cultists as it swept them aside. “Sing, Hysh!” She commanded, pointing the rod of light at the cultists. She finally got one of them to scream as the burning light cut through his robes to his chest, charring the flesh that covered his ribs. She could wipe them out with a single word, but right now they were her only links to the greater cult. Hannah realized that she had misjudged his mask. Only the man now writhing in pain had worn a laughing mask. This one was screaming in anguish. They were so close that she had not noticed at first.

Hannah’s slippers whispered against the floorboards as they had against the stones in the museum, but her steps now contained a vengeful anger so that they seemed to hiss like the serpent Hysh himself. “A Hierophant cannot be overcome by thugs.” She warned the two squirming cultists. She reached with her free hand for the screamer’s head and found it.

As Hannah attempted to bring the plot seething in Ravienna into focus Tydas lost that focus on the city’s streets. He was just another member of the crowd, now. While Hannah had battled against the cultists a jester covered from head to toe in colorful rags and with his face completely painted over had shoved a white mask into Tydas’ face. He had laughed and held it there even after the gesture left, but it took a passing woman who had just recently joined the carnival to help him tie it in place. He had leaned on her, feeling her skin and smelling her hair. She had then politely pushed him away and gone on down the street, leaving his blue eyes to blink in confusion after she had gone.

Tydas no longer walked so much as stumbled. He slurred more than he sang, but that was the nature of the carnival. He could hear his own breathing against the unyielding surface of the mask. It was a wall between him and the world, on the one side he was still Tydas Erikson, but on the other he was anything. He was no longer a person when he put on that mask; he was part of the greater beast that prowled the streets of the great city. When he saw another reveler behind another mask he saw himself, he was capable of everything that they did, and felt compelled to mimic any move they made. He could no longer be recognized, so he was no one. Tydas Erikson was safe and secure, the images that had assaulted him in the darkness not hours ago were held at bay by a simple, cheap mask and a few glasses of wine. That was life, and Ravienna was living it to the fullest.

He danced past an open doorway to some noble’s house that had been thrown open for the celebration. A strong hand grabbed his cloak at the shoulder and hauled him. Despite stumbling for a few moments the protest forming on his lips was mollified when a cup of wine found its way into his hand. The protest turned into a cheer, and Tydas began to wander the hallways. Every room was packed with the more well to do of Ravienna society, eating, drinking, some few heavily into their partners. He wandered through these scenes as if in a daze, viewing them from the other side of a porcelain mask with eyeholes that were too small to accommodate his full, piercing vision. The scenes weren’t real, they couldn’t be. They were just visions, dreams viewed through the similarly constricted consciousness of sleep. Fantastic things might appear, but they were always limited in scope and soon passed out of vision and memory.

Tydas thought he heard a scream from a darkened room that he passed. Not a scream of pleasure such as many that might result from this night, but the cry of terror that he was so familiar with. He tried to turn and see what was the matter. That primal sound cut through the haze and the mask, but a hand soon grabbed him and pulled him away. He was happy to go as he soon given another drink. He laughed when his faceless companion laughed, not know that the subject of the joke was a man bleeding from a fall down the steep stairs of the house. There was another scream, just at the edge of his senses, but he shrugged it off. Tydas followed his host in stepping over the man that had fallen and ascending the stairs that had been his ruin. The true party was on this floor, an endless tangle of men and women in costumes and masks and deeply drunk off of the barrels of wine at the far end of the room.

It might have been a beautiful room once, but now its ornaments were toppled or torn down. There were deep rents in the plaster where fingernails had clawed through it. The room was oppressively hot from the bodies and all the shutters having been drawn closed. To Tydas, covered as he was by his cloak, it was unbearable. He broke from his guide and stumbled towards a balcony where he threw open the shutter and breathed deeply of the night air. It was sobering refreshment, and he thought that he heard more screams echoing from the street below. His brow knit, but he couldn’t focus. He didn’t hear all the feet in the room turn towards him. “To our guest of honor, Tydas Erikson!” A big man’s voice boomed out his name, a name he thought had been hidden by his mask. Like a man who had been struck Tydas turned around in surprise. His host was standing in front of him, and through wide eyes Tydas could see the crimson eye that looked to the east, bound in the crimson triangle.

“The…the eye of…” He couldn’t say the last, difficult to word. The cultist stepped forward and gave Tydas a rough shove. He stumbled back, tripped over his own feet and struck the railing of the balcony. He fell with a fluttering of his cloak in the night air into the dark garden blow. His head struck the stonework wall of the garden and split open. The thorns of a bush ravaged his flesh, and he retreated into the darkness he had tried to escape.

Hannah focused so intently on the screamer that she didn’t see the laughing man rise up behind him. He reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a handful of dust. As he brought his open palm to his mouth Hannah continued to apply her magic, trying to heal the cultist’s damaged mind and compel from him the truth of Perdurabo and his cult. “Speak to me!” She hissed through clenched teeth. The only response she got was the gentle puff of air from his companion as he scattered the dust in her face. Hannah drew a breath in surprise and the burning dust invaded her lungs. She screamed, dropping the cultist as she fell to her knees.

***

A falcon wheeled in an endless circle under the cruel desert sun. Someone was shouting in the distance but it continued to turn, exhausting itself with each widening revolution. Finally the falcon plummeted from the blue sky, falling towards the endless desert sands below. It struck a stone and broke its neck. The cobblestones of Ravienna, a city removed from the Tilean peninsula to rest in the vast deserts of Khemri, soaked up the falcon’s blood. It began to bubble up from the city’s many fountains, unleashing a red tide that drowned the streets and swept the bird’s corpse away. Things fell apart. The center of the city could no longer hold as the swirling tide carried its buildings away. The wing beats of a thousand buzzards disturbed the calming surface of the tide, the shadows of their passing sending the city into darkness. As the center collapsed Ravienna’s red sandstone arch rose from beneath the waves, dripping in blood.

The eye of Phakth was carved into the side of the arch. The body of Hannah von Leuchtend, her robes died a deep crimson, swung by a rope over the blood stained streets. She held a hyacinth, dried out and aged, in her hand. Something horrible slouched towards the city, waiting to be reborn.

***

Tydas opened his eyes. His head was finally clear. He started to sit up, struggling against the thorns that dug into his clothing and scratched his skin. He left his dried blood behind on the ground but had no wounds on his body. He craned his neck towards the balcony above to judge his fall. His eyes narrowed when he saw the body draped over its edge, a pool of blood forming on the garden path in front of him. The screams had just been a premonition before his fall had now replaced the boisterous singing of carnival. He wasn’t surprised; the dream had foretold what had happened to the city while he slept. Tydas didn’t bother to remove his mask but he did grab his hat from it hung from the branch of a tree. He replaced it on his head and walked back towards the street. The red sandstone arch loomed in the distance.

As he neared the city center the extent to which Ravienna fell became clear. Gangs of men roamed the streets, killing other men and hunting down the women they could find. As long as Tydas kept his gaze forward his mask seemed to keep him safe. He was just another one of them, the blood still on the edge of the blade attested to that. Every now and then he couldn’t resist the urge to look upon the scenes around him. The dead were piling up, stacked next to the soon to be dead. Carnival ribbons hung like entrails off of those buildings that weren’t burning. The city was gone.

Something crunched beneath Tydas’ boot as he took another step. He lifted it, and realized he had crushed the hand of the girl who had danced with him at the beginning of carnival. Her head was split open and her hair and matted mass of blood. The familiar sense of rage welled up in his chest and for a moment he wanted to clear out the city, to kill every last person and then move on. It was within his power. He would fight until morning, and then on through the daylight hours until his task was finished. He had done it before. A chill wind blew down the street in spite for the fires. It was a gust from the past winter, rushing to join him in the slaughter he was about to embark upon. He didn’t have it in him just now.

Three of the cultists of Perdurabo stood over the entrance to the museum as Ravienna consumed itself around them. As Tydas stepped into the square all three knelt before him. He furrowed his brow at the gesture but kept moving. He could kill them later if they tried anything. There was never any doubt of that in his mind as he passed beneath the arch that led to the museum’s interior. A familiar voice was echoing from the nearly empty chamber. The interior of the museum was lit up by numerous torches, filling it with ample light. Still, Tydas found a shadow to cling to while he watched the proceedings.

Hannah knelt at the heart of the room, chained to the floor by a collar around her neck. A group of cultists ringed her, chanting away in a dialect that not even Tydas could recognize. Strange curved designs punctuated by some of the hieroglyphs that he had seen at Aneas’ presentation were painted onto her body. She swayed, as if not aware of where she was. Tydas thought that was a mercy. A cultist stepped forward from the circle and prepared to touch his thumb against her forehead. Tydas was faster. He drew, fired, and killed the man before he could bridge the gap. The chanting stopped as his body struck the floor with a wet smack, his brains and skull spilling out.

Tydas stepped into the shadows, his shadow rising to greet him as he leveled the barrel of his gun at the cultists. “Step away from her.” He commanded, his cold blue eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat.

“It is too late, Tydas Erikson.” The voice that had led the chant called out to him. Tydas spared a look towards the back of the room, where Aneas the Antiquarian stood wearing a tabard marked with the sigil of the cult of Perdurabo. “You have seen what happens outside these walls. The city is lost.”

“Is Perdurabo the god you serve or the name you call yourself?” Tydas called to him.

“I am Perdurabo.” The antiquarian replied. The statue of the dead god he had displayed early was in two pieces at either side of him. “And now, Tydas Erikson, I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” He reached into the statue that Tydas now recognized as a reliquary and withdrew a jar of sand which he poured out onto the floor below him. Only did Tydas perceive the faint, silvery lines that connected the dust site to the ritual surrounding Hannah. “Warpstone. Very, very faint. The essence of a god once overthrown by the powers of man. This is all that remains.”

“You will not reawaken him.” Tydas raised his pistol to aim at Perdurabo. The cultist moved to protect him.

“Of course now.” Perdurabo replied, chuckling lightly. “Who has any use for a god who could be overthrown by mere men?” He laughed. “No, Tydas. It’s you I want.”

Tydas narrowed his eyes but his pistol didn’t waver.

“Nagash is a failed god, who tried to live forever without ascension. Now he is a withered husk. Sigmar took the essence of Ulric within himself and transcended his old patron to gain the pre-eminent seat in the heavens for all men. Two hundred years ago, Tydas Erikson, you donned the amulet of Morr and became the champion of his house. Verena, Shallya, Myrmidia…They strive within you. You live forever to dispense death, which is your justice. How much longer do you intend to wander this word, immortal, spreading murder?”

“I simply live. The same as anyone else.”

“Oh?” Perdurabo asked, a smile crossing his fat lips. “Is that why no one can look at you? Why you are haunted in ways that men are not? You can already feel it happening, can’t you?”

Tydas’ free hand reached up behind his head and started to undo his mask. “I live in the mind of generations.” He admitted. “Sometimes I can feel them asking me for help, instead of their gods.”

“And what is a human soul to you, Tydas? You have yet to see value in it, from the way you dispense the death. Take the essence of this god and complete the ascension that will come about sooner or later. Do it on your own terms. There is no reason to fear becoming a god.”

Tydas cradled the now loose mask in his hand, close to his face. He wasn’t looking at Perdurabo, but his gun was trained straight at him. “And what will you gain?”

“The entry of a new god will sunder the heavens. I alone will know the truth. To be the head servant of the newest, most powerful god…That is all a man can aspire to. I know you are weary, Tydas, I know that your travels have been long and hard. Rest. Remove the human mask and let your true face show.”

Tydas let the mask fall to the floor. The blast from his gun was synchronized with the shattering of the porcelain. Perdurabo cried out as the bullet found his chest. He clutched at wound and fell to the floor, disturbing the dust. He hadn’t even struck the stones before Tydas had drawn his other gun. In a few seconds the entire cult surrounding Hannah had been cut down effortlessly. The reports from the gun blasts still reverberated through the room as Tydas strode towards Hannah.

She started to scream, writhing in her chains. “You fool!” Perdurabo choked. He tried to push himself up but his hand just smeared the blood. “She was the locus!” The room began to shake as Hannah wailed ever louder. The silvery lines that connected her to the dust glowed faintly. “The suffering of this city…the souls that were to fuel your rebirth….They were funneled through her!” Tear stained the antiquarian’s cheeks. “You insect! You coward! I offered you godhood!”

Tydas wasn’t listening. He was reloading his guns and pausing to carefully aim. He fired four more times, shattering the chairs that held Hannah to the ground. She toppled over; wailing and twisting like her insides were on fire. “You offered me an eternity of the same hell I’ve lived in for two hundred years.” He bent to pick up Hannah and broke her connection to the network. Tydas threw the sobbing wizard over his shoulder as he turned to leave the museum. He never looked back.

A pulse of the energy that Hannah had channeled went through the silvery veins and reached Perdurabo. He cried out as if struck, then fell silent in wonder as the pile of dust before him burst into a pale blue flame. It reflected off the sweat on his brow, generated by the horrific pain in his stomach. Panting, Perdurabo pulled himself closer to the dust. “I am Perdurabo.” He whispered, eyes focused on the flame as his hand reached out to cup it. It didn’t burn him. “I will endure to the end.” He brought the burning mass to his mouth, and consumed it.

***

It was past noon when Hannah von Leuchtend awoke. She was propped up in the shade beneath a tree that was just beginning to put on its buds. Ravienna smoldered in the distance and she could smell the cinders on the air. She was alone, but when she reached up to feel her head she felt the soft petals of a blue hyacinth tucked into her hair.

[Wizwum]

A Fresh Start

I got a letter posted to my house little over a month ago, you know? Looked really quite fancy to be honest: real paper envelope with golden ink and a posh red stamp on it. Don’t get many letters like that in this part of the Empire, I can tell you. I hadn’t a clue what could be inside, nor did I really care. The thought of finally being recognized was enough to make me tingle with excitement. Tingle, quite a silly word that is, eh?

So I opened it, as you do with letters, y’know, just in front of my old fireplace. Looked out of place in my big hands; these here hands were meant for labourin’, not tinckerin’, y’see. There was some big three letters in the right hand corner: OWC, or sommin’ like that. I’d seen them letters before, somewhere, couldn’t quite put my finger on it though.

Not that it mattered much though, this here letter weren’t meant for me. It was asking for all the finest scribes in the imperial borders to recount some elaborate tale. Now, I ain’t some grotty commoner, but I sure as hell ain’t no snobby scribe or scholar. Us peasants don’t get the proper learning for that kinda job, y’know how it is. Ma late mother, Morr bless her soul, taught me to read ‘n’ write real good before she went under though, so I thought a little about this here letter they’d sent me.

I mean, they didn’t know I was no lowly peasant boy nursing pigs, did they? As far as theys knew I was some posh scribe boy called Carl from the imperial library. Must’ve been quite a fella, this here Carl; getting’ a request from the Imperial Librarian himself to do a little writin’. Five thousand gold coins for it and all. Can you imagine what you could do with five ruddy thousand gold? Could bloody buy your way into the Empire’s nobility with that kind of money.

So, I guess you’lla’ already guessed what I went and did next, right? This here guy, Carl, existed somewhere, right? And as far as these guys knew, I was this same fella. I had a shot at making this, and I bloody knew it. I had a chance at getting out of this shit hole; I had a chance at becoming a scribe in the court of Karl Franz himself. This kinda chance didn’t just show up on anybody’s doorstep. It’d shown up on mine; and I sure as hell was going to take it.

These posh blokes were all meeting up at some place in Altdorf, the letter said, so now that’s where I’d be going. There was nothin’ left for me on that old farm no more; this was my last chance to make something of my old miserable life. I’d buy myself a posh cloak or something; get myself a horse and ride up there. Sell the farm and I might just have enough, I thought. Then a little bit of ink and paper and I’d be set.

So, that’s what I did. I left everything behind me; my farm, my parents, my childhood. It didn’t exist no more. I wasn’t Radulf Hendist anymore; I was Carl Adelmar of the order of Scribes, born of Tancred Adelmar of Nuln, scholar of the imperial library. These posh gits sure liked their titles, didn’t they? Still, that’s who I was now, and Carl wouldn’t be seen on the streets walking on his feet wearing rags.

A week later I was on the road, like my old pa had been. Got myself one real nice purple cloak and a white horse with leather saddle now, too. I’d even had a shave, had one nasty gash to prove it ‘n’ all. I wasn’t really sure what I could write about during my travels, but that pretty letter had said summin’ about rebirth. Yeah, rebirth and 1500 words, I think. 1500 is a lot o’ words for a peasant. But it was my ticket into another life; I sure as hell wasn’t going to just roll over.

They weren’t just after the sleeshy trash words o’ the common world though. These guys wanted long, complex sentances with big words in them. Long, elaborate sentances, with pretty words in them. Pretty…n’ah, that didn’t sound right. I needed words with a lot o’ syllables in ‘em. Long, elaborate sentances with ex-trav-a-gent words in them. Wow. Four.

So that’s what I did on my long road to this ‘ere Chroniclers’ Guild up in Altdorf, I practised my words and my sentances, tried to get them all flowing a bit nicer. Had a go at describing my horse once or twice. Sounded quite pretty, actually. ‘His white mane was like the crest of an ocean waves, and his great staring eyes looked like they could see right through you as though you were nought but mist.’ Yeah, I was well chuffed.

I couldn’t just change the way I wrote though: I had to change my speech, my walk, my character. I had to become Carl Adelmar himself, which meant no more peasant speak from now on. I had to think like a nobleman. I had to be a nobleman to pull off this little coup. And I would. I’d do whatever it took.

And so, travelling along this dreary stretch of road, I started making these longer, more impressive sentances. I spoke with a fluency peasants could never manage, because I had something no other commoner had. I had hope. It’s a dangerous thing indeed: to hope. Hope can kill a man, or it can make a man. In either case, I was filled with it.

So I kept on practising, playing these lucid words over and over in my head. At first they sounded alien and misplaced, but with time they began to feel natural…like I’d always been meant to think like this, I’d simply been side-tracked. Like I’d been fumbling in the dark with a lantern in my hand and had only just used the sense to light it.

I surveyed the landscapes surrounding me: the great tress towering overhead scarring the sky itself, the streams shimmering like liquid silver as they made their way towards the seas. Even the brown dirt, soft underfoot, seemed beautiful in this new frame of mind. It was teeming with all manner of creatures; creating a biological oasis the likes of which no man, elf or dwarf could ever manage. Hmm…I quite liked that sentence.

Before what seemed like any length of time, I could see the great sprawling city of Altdorf nestling into the horizon. I swear you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than that city in the early morning: seeing the first rays of sunlight reflecting off the stone buildings, sending the whole metropolis into a cascading river of sparkling light. Breathtaking isn’t the word. Mind-distorting-ly intoxicating seems more appropriate for the feeling of joyous affection that circulated through every crevice of my body.

Of course I knew how many of the homeless and wretched lived beneath the city’s shadow, having lived like them for years. But, for once, I felt no empathy for their suffering. They were…peasants. Nothing more than that. They weren’t deserving of sympathy, and some would question whether they were even worthy of life. They were a plague upon humanity; an ocean of walking, talking rats with no knowledge or appreciation of the extraordinary pleasures of life. That was how Carl Adelmar saw peasantry.

The guild itself was not attached to Altdorf, instead it lay somewhere in the hills to the east. It came as no surprise how few people were using the roads around here; the guild was the only thing worth visiting here. There were some though, wearing the robes of nobles, who were surely heading towards the same glorious bastion as I was. Some travelled in groups, others in pairs, but I stayed alone as I trotted my faithful horse ever closer to the doorway of my new life.

The doors were built of polished wood, and looked more sturdy than Altdorf’s own. They were decorated with intricate designs of scaling vines, forever encased in gold and reflecting the Sun’s awesome radiance. This sight was splendour enough, but compared to the interior it was a foul thing. Scarlet tapestries and carpets were everywhere, along with golden pillars and stone-carved doorways. Vast chambers and corridors led this way and that, zigzagging the entire complex, while vast chambers like the one I now stood in honeycombed the building.

There was a tall man, proud and vain most likely, standing upon a large podium facing the newcomer’s. Two others stood by his sides, but I only had eyes for one. A red cape came low over his eyes, and upon it he wore like a badge an honorary seal. This was the man whom I would have to unseat if I wanted my prize. A founding member of the order itself. The other two were nothing compared to this one I knew; they took all the credit and organized everything official, but without this man their authority meant nothing. His words were the only ones I listened to.

“My fellow chroniclers and foreign friends. You know for what reason you have been called here, so I shall not waste any more of your time reminding you. I am Avaris, left-hand of the chief librarian, and have been placed in charge of your comfort during your brief stay here in the Guild. Your accommodations will be found branching off from this central chamber, squires will be along shortly to direct you there.”

There were some mumbled thanks from the youngsters assembled, though there were more awe-struck faces gawping after the man as he walked away from the chamber. The man commanded respect, that much was clear. But he was only a man. A gifted man, true. But a man nonetheless. Any man could be killed; any man could have their crown removed.

I watched as servants followed him, a sly smile stretching across my face “Game on, Avaris.”

Radulf Hendist 2497-2522. A man who died.

Carl Adelmar 2522-Present day. A man reborn.

[Wizwum]

Nurthene Beetles.


“I remember when I was in Nurth – Tel Utan, to you,” my Uncle had said, “There were these beetles that would bury themselves when nearly dead, and then come up again a few days later – alive.” He had smiled then, a ray of sunlight gracing the old traveller’s gnarled face. “One of life’s little mysteries, eh? Now, lad, if you want to follow in my footsteps, you would be wise to ...”

He had gone on, telling me of how he had been an explorer and travelled the world. It had always seemed very distant to me, like something out of a dream. But for some reason the beetles had always stuck in my mind. Perhaps it had seemed more truthful and yet more outlandish than the other tales, or I liked the idea of coming back to life again. Any soldier would, but even more so one in the Imperial Guard.

It rang in my head more than ever now, making me smile beneath layers of protective scarves as I stood on the barren plain, watching the toxic desert winds from beneath tinted goggles. I knew it was no laughing matter, but to stand on what had once been the harbour of Nurth and to understand how my Uncle could never have been here and lived was a constant source of amusement that my sergeant had never shared. No doubt he was the guy in the pub my Uncle had got the story off!

Still, I reckoned I had been dealt a good hand in life, even if I had learnt not to trust ‘old wisdom’. I got to meet people – sometimes even humans – and to see fantastic places. I didn’t mind my rank. Being a corporal had never affected my enjoyment, and I would rather be that than a sergeant. That said, however, the heavily built sergeant standing in front of me in a thick, protective, ‘tyranid-hide’ jacket that he called a war relic (he got it from a rogue trader – I had seen them selling them on Scythia, but never said anything out of respect for the man’s leadership), was like a father to me, albeit one that beats his children regularly. He was always loud and shouting, but beneath that I could make out a more sensitive, clever man who knew his role in life. I think he respected that recognition in me, and I had always been treated fairly well.

Somehow, though, standing still on the barren plains of a planet that had been dead and abandoned for the last ten thousand years, I felt alone, despite my Sergeant’s leadership. Later I would have said I was mentally alone – back then I just felt lonely. Not being able to talk put a slight damper on the fantastic sight of terracotta winds stealing the moisture from the arid atmosphere. Unless ...

I grinned, and reached up with a glove, flicking a switch on my helmet that protruded even past the layers of cloth. Beside me, another soldier did the same. It was Ivan – I wasn’t surprised, as he did have a habit of doing the same as me, seemingly under the impression of being a good friend of mine.

I was pleased though, that a few other people had also turned on their voxes. Intended for important transmissions, they gave us an invaluable method of talking in the toxic desert of a ravaged world. I turned to the man to my right – Ivan frowned – and gave him a thumbs up. Dave grinned in return, and his eyes flickered towards the Sergeant.

‘Best not talk too long or Sarge’ll come after us with that truncheon of his,’ he said, his voice showing relief at human contact.

‘Of course, how stupid do you think I am?’ I retorted playfully, and my voice echoed my grin. ‘Besides, since when has he had a truncheon? I always thought it was that appalling “music” stuff he had on his home planet,’ I said, smiling at the memory of when the Sergeant had attempted to persuade us that music could keep us going in any battle.

‘I think he was joking, Stitch,’ Dave answered with a smile, using the name that “Richard”s across the Galaxy got called. I hated it, but it had sort of stuck due to my skill as a medic. ‘Can you imagine him trying to hear orders with that infernal noise on?’

‘If they’re his orders he was hearing, he’d need ear protection,’ I chuckled. ‘Besides, he’s always been a strong advocate of trusting in armour – whoops, here he comes now.’ I said, and swiftly stood to attention as the subject of our conversation turned and scanned the men surrounding him. He glanced at me, and flicked on his vox to the ‘local’ setting. I blinked, but followed his gesture, as did the men around me.

‘No more jokes or chatter, d’you hear me?’ he said in his usual loud voice.

‘Very well’, I saw Dave’s lips mutter, and my own lifted slightly at the corners. The deep-set eyes turned to me from beneath a woollen scarf.

The voice rose in volume, and the pitch lowered slightly as the Sergeant demonstrated his impressive “shouty voice”, using his lungs like a set of bellows. I winced, but restrained myself from turning the vox down.

‘Do you hear me, you miserable excuse for a Corporal, Richard Davies?’ He yelled. ‘This isn’t a time to stand around chatting – this is a milit’ry operation!’ His mouth turned down slightly, and he glared at Dave, whose lips had moved to frame another swift joke.

‘Something funny? Good! I thought not!’ He stepped back a pace, and his eyes scanned the assembled ranks of Imperials. ‘This ‘ere is what we call a Take ‘n’ Hold mission, lads! That means ‘Igh Command ain’t sure what’s goin’ on, and is usin’ us as they usually do - to test the ground.’

A roar greeted this, and one man stated the obvious. ‘Cannon fodder,’ he muttered.

‘Aye, so best get all your nice warn clothes on ready, eh?’ the Sergeant joked, and then leaned in the direction of the man. ‘That talk spreads despondency and promotes mutiny! I hopes you is not mutineerin’, m’lad, ‘cos the Marines ‘ave a special use for mutineers, and it ain’t pretty!’

He seemed to take a breath, and then recovered his composure. ‘You all signed up,’ he stated. ‘You all got your shilling, Terra knows why. And I’ve given you all the experience you’re goin’ to get – I hope it helps you when the Emperor takes your soul. And this day you will do what I say – Did you hear that, Private Ivan?’

Ivan nodded, seeming scared. His eyes stared straight ahead. ‘Yessir,’ he replied.

‘Good lad. Now, I already told yer we got a straightforward Take ‘n’ Hold, but you impatient gits never let me get the actual conditions out, do you? Ain’t much good in a scrap that, lads, not knowin’ who you’re fighting, or where. I did that in the Medusa Campaign, and Emperor alive did we come out battered. We won – of course! – but Terra was that a hard battle. Want to know why? Because we had no idea we would be fighting in a swamp with poisoned insects! Learn the terrain, lads, and you’ve got the Campaign.’

The loud voice ceased temporarily, and a lone voice rang out among the ranks. ‘Get to the point, Sarge!’ A roar of approval met these words, yet the Sergeant stayed still.

‘I know that was you, trooper Gerrion,’ he said to the assembled ranks of soldiers, ‘But like you said, I ain’t got any time for shouting at people. We’ve only got a few minutes left, thanks to Davies here.’

I grimaced, but kept silent. It was unfair, but I wanted to know where we were taking, and why we were here; that was more important than petty ‘fairness’.

The Sergeant gave me a quick glance, and continued. ‘As I think you can guess, it’s gonna be pretty arid out there, but I hope I don’t need to remind you to bring your scarves ‘cos if you ain’t it’s a bit late.’ He smiled slightly at the faint chuckles, and then his voice took on a business-like edge, losing its louder tone in return for a faster briefing.

‘We’ll be advancing over a flat plain, but the objective is in a slight hollow, so watch out for foes and don’t go rushing straight ahead. Our mission is just to secure some sort of building in the hollow, but High command hasn’t told us what sort of structure. Other than that, it’s simply a fast march across the desert and then a take and hold mission. All we need now is the call to advance.’

The broad man surveyed the troops, his sharp eyes making sure that everyone was ready to move out. A hand rose from amidst the assembled lines of scarved soldiers, and he turned sharply. ‘Yes, Corporal?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Any natives, sarge?’ asked Corporal Adams, a wiry man who would look out of place to anyone who hadn’t seen his extraordinary skills as a sharpshooter.

‘Good question,’ replied the sergeant, gracing Adams with a rare smile. ‘As far as we were told, none, but ‘Igh Command likes to make harsh missions sound like a picnic, so we can’t be sure. Just keep sensible, and follow your training. I reckons that’s all you need to know for now lads, so let’s get ready to go – good luck, I ‘opes we won’t need it!’

+++++

It was dark, and cold. I felt glad for my scarf, and I tightened it around my body as I glanced around. Everyone else seemed to be asleep, as far as I could tell by the Sergeant’s snoring, still from beneath his woollen scarf. The moonlight was pale and wan, half-covered by dust and so unlike the blue-green glow that made my homeworld’s nights seem like day, yet it somehow fitted this world. Blank. Grey. Unreal.

A stray zephyr whipped into my blanket, and I pulled my scarf tighter, grimacing at the layer of sweat from the day’s marching. It was a harsh reminder. I had spent all day in silence, dragging one foot after the other over endless mounds of dust, some of which the sergeant told me were certain to be composed mainly of Nurthene bones. When finally we had reached the destination, it had turned out to be a few random metal constructions sticking out from beneath layers of sand.

The metal was unidentified, but it certainly was unsatisfying. ‘First official campaign – kills: 0; losses: 0; bloody stupid missions: 1’. Ivan had said it felt eerie, but I couldn’t feel any of that. I had been hoping for at least some form of impressive objective, or perhaps even a short combat, but instead I was greeted with an unrewarding shallow dip in the sand with a few pieces of metal. Unsatisfying didn’t quite cut it.

Frowning again, I tried to settle down. It looked like it would be a long night.

+++++

I awoke just before dawn, my eyes staring into the night. My short-lived dreams had been haunted by a hooded reaper, who had pointed at me with a scythe glowing green before slowly floating away. I shuddered as warmth flooded back into my mind; somehow my wish for combat had abated and been replaced by a meaningless sense of dread. Later I would describe it as foreboding, but it had none of that more specified fear; it was basic, unadorned dread.

Yet again, I tightened my scarf, wishing the sergeant had told us to bring another blanket. Then again, it would have further weighed me down, and the sensation of cold sweat was one I would rather live without. It was a cruel balance – overheat in the day, or freeze at night. I hoped this would be my first and last desert expedition.

I swallowed, not sure if I felt cold or fearful. I knew it was a foolish dread – the only sound was my breath, and the whisper of the desert wind. But I felt it nonetheless. Still, it was dawn soon; I tried to tell myself, watching the red glow in the East. It was hopeless trying to cheer myself up, but somehow I felt less cold as my eyes focussed on the red glow.

Then – I still do not know why – the red light receded, and I felt the wind stop apart from a single strand of moving sand – one last zephyr that crawled across my skin like a snake shedding its hide over my neck. I flinched, eyes suddenly wide and staring. A terrible sense of foreboding hit me like a crowbar. I turned on my vox, and yelled into the dust-coated piece of technology, hoping against all odds that this eerie sixth sense was wrong.

‘Unnatural conditions at CR35! Repeat: unusual weather at CR35!’ My voice was loud and yelling, but there was no one to hear the transmission, and I knew that if I took off my muffling scarf I would die of dehydration. My terrified voice took on a desperate edge. ‘CR35! Help requested!’

I knew not why I was shouting, or who I was shouting to. All I knew was that we needed help – now.

+++++

My voice could only last so long, however, and after a few minutes I took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. As someone who had taken a brief medical course, I knew the value of calmness when nothing more could be done to help. And what else could I do? If I woke up the sergeant, I would never be believed. If I woke up Dave, he’d punch me and go back to sleep.

So I lay back in the darkness, feeling my entire body reverberate in time to my worried heart. Then, I paused, my body tensing, and blinked – that last whisper of wind was fading away. As it did so, I felt a sudden withdrawal in the air, not just due to the receding breeze, and turned to watch the other side of the sand rise, where the change in pressure appeared to have originated.

What I saw seemed to carry more vile potential than the mysterious darkness of the desert night, which now seemed to just be the normal symptoms of a strange location at night. Under my very eyesight, a green glow seemed to extend into a long, faint line, and grow into a bright spotlight that blinded me. I would have shuddered, but that light seemed to transfix me – my muscles had seized up, and even had I managed to persuade my mind to move, I was of the impression that my body would have disobeyed.

The green light expanded, formed a rectangle of brightness. Sand fell across it, and suddenly I realised that what I was looking at was a hole in the sand dune. My eyes widened, and I tried to move, but that strange hold still gripped my muscles, and I remained still, helpless to alert my companions.

At that moment, I felt more scared than I had ever been, anywhere in the galaxy. I had been on raids and caught heretics in action, but that light seemed to drain my very soul.

The light fluctuated in a strange circle, and then suddenly I witnessed a bony figure in the light. It was almost drowned by the brightness, yet I could make out limbs, almost skeleton, and some form of crude weapon...

Suddenly, my legs sprang into action. Seeing that foul device appeared to have released me from the mesmerizing horror that had bound me with chains stronger than steel. I jumped up, and reached for my las-pistol: weapons were too far away, and to waken my fellows was not the first thought which reached my ignorantly human mind. Yet as with any prey, I waited to see more; to know what I was facing.

I noticed movement, and then a spray of sand as the creature stepped onto the desert floor. I backed away unsteadily as more of these skeletal figures appeared, equally spaced apart, each stepping onto the sand and then forming part of a long line, more figures deep than any battle formation I had ever seen, and yet also so long my eyes could not make out the end.

Each warrior carried a weapon which appeared to have a green core, and they held them in a menacingly identical fashion; meaningfully at rest yet as if they could be raised at any point. Their eyes burned with the same green flame, yet none seemed focussed – they appeared to be automatons waiting for some command.

I did not want to know the command. My brain told me it was too late to run, but I didn’t care – I just turned and ran as if Horus himself was on my tail.

My feet kicked up sprays of dust, and I half-tripped over one of the buried metallic structures. I didn’t care – mere pain was worth less than my life. I saw little, my night vision ruined by the green lights; that didn’t matter either. What mattered was getting away.

A shape loomed in front of me, and I turned, barely avoiding the dark-coloured metal. Then – somehow – the shape appeared again and lunged for me. I ducked, my desperation lending credibility to this sudden transformation of immobile to mobile.

I ran on again, as the darkness seemed to enfold me. My breaths were ragged, and my legs ached. Every muscle in my body was strained, and the heat was slowly taking effect. I knew I couldn’t run for much longer.

I turned back, wondering what I had left behind. Flashes of green light confirmed my worst suspicions. Muffled yells reached me, and I had to stop myself from yelling as I saw a burst of iridescent green envelop Dave. It was like a nightmare – that dream you can’t quite recall, apart from the cold sweat.

It was all too real though. Everything was too acute, too covered by the desert dust; too clinical, too ruthless. It was as if some terrible thought had been lifted from mankind’s darkest fears and placed onto a desert world to savage a small company of guardsmen.

I saw a shadow pass over me, and ducked. A great metal arm had swept across, above my scarved head. I raised my lasgun, and shuddered, noticing the similarity of the metalwork to the structure.

The ground shook, and I dived into a roll as it nearly knocked me over. Dust flew into my eyes, and I blinked, wondering what monstrosity would emerge from the dust cloud.

My hands rubbed the stinging dirt from my eyes, and I looked up. All I could see was a metal torso, covered with flickering green lights. I emitted an expletive, and dived back as a claw fell. I couldn’t see what held it up – I couldn’t work out what to do but flee once more.

But my legs failed me. I ran a few yards, watching the great metal beetle float back towards the battlefield as the metal ‘buildings’ twitched into life, sending up great showers of dust.

It appeared I was saved – it hadn’t noticed me. But then, as I looked at the battlefield, I noticed the number of casualties – too many, especially compared to the few destroyed robots. Almost all of my company appeared to be slain, and now, I admit, a single tear ran down my face – all my friends gone.

I swallowed as the green light flickered. Noticing the lack of dust, I recklessly tore off my thick scarf and stared at the hollow doorway. A network of intricate carvings had been formed, and it seemed now to be a gateway that was part of a larger structure. But it was not that which drew my attention.

A black-robed figure had floated to the front of the doorway, casting a tall shadow on the battle remains. My eyes widened as I recognized the apparition from my dreams. Swallowing loudly, I realised I couldn’t resolve its face. This was nothing short of that nightmare – taken from dreams to real life.

I tried to stand, but I knew my legs would not hold me – I did not want to see what horrors lay in store. But I had no choice, and my eyes were drawn to that green gateway, and the eerily rippling robes of the daemonic-seeming creature.

A hand was raised – or something akin to it. I tried to focus on it, but simply gagged due to some automatic impulse: what I was seeing was not meant for humans to see. It simply shifted upwards slightly, and that black scythe was raised above the creature’s head.

My eyes hurt as I watched the result. I still cannot explain why, yet it felt as though some creature was burrowing into my eye muscles and methodically tearing my face apart. Even that does not do it justice, for how can it capture the fatal horror of that moment? To see that hand rise, and then to see what mortals should not...

The destroyed robots were repairing themselves. Steadily, they moved together, faint green fibres flickering on their metallic torsos. First one stood, and then the rest. I never worked out how they had been destroyed by the half-asleep company, but clearly it was of no use – what hope was there against a foe that can control death itself? I watched through reddened eyes and slowly they stood, silhouetted against the green fibres. Then their forms seemed to flicker, and they slowly faded from my sight – to this day I do not know if it was a mind trick or reality.

The corpses followed, their flickering forms turning iridescent green then vanishing to be used in whatever nefarious purposes the robots intended. Then, finally, the great reaper turned and headed back into the light. The green strip slowly closed, and I was left in darkness, staring at the open gateway which my nightmare had vanished into.

Bitter tears washed my face clean of dust, even as I felt the wind tear at my exposed face. I had no choice – I could not move. I could not flee. All I could do was wait until this nightmare ended itself and normality returned...

+++++

But, of course, it never returned, even when I had been questioned by a psycher and initiated into another company. I never recovered. Even the next day, when fire rained from the sky and the marines crushed the ‘necrons’, hailing firepower down upon their terrible structures until they collapsed, I could not forget. For I know, inside myself, that they will rise again on Nurth, born from those ashes, the phoenix that turned not to Horus, but to some darker power beyond mortal machinations.

[Wizwum]

The patrol on Tesla Prime

I watched silently as the horrors unwailed before my eyes. I felt the steady breath of my squad behind me, giving me the comfort that we hadn’t been spottet yet, but I knew that it would only be a matter of time.

My name is John Beetle,I’m 30 y.o and the squad leader of the 2nd kasrkin patrol on Tesla Prime. We had recieved reports that this once dead planet was now crawling with movement. And it was our job to investigate.
We where in the shuttle currently being transported to the surface when I heard Thomas say: “This is bullshit, why do we have to check out a dead rock?”
Thomas was our vox man. He had brown hair and blue eyes. I had known Thomas since before we both joined up and I knew from experience that he was a capable fighter and a hell of a radio man.
“Oh don’t be like that” I heard Eric say.
Eric had always been the type to shoot and never ask. His head was shaven and his armour had many clear marks of cuts and scratches. His dark green eyes reflected malice and death. He was our team’s heavy support, carrying a grenade launcher and frag grenades.
“Shut up, both of you” Jason said.
His dark hair covering his dark brown eyes under the helmet. Jason was the scout of our team, a lonely wolf one might say, but he was the best sniper I had ever known.
“But Eric is right, I mean, how hard can it be?”
I turned around and looked at Ben, our newest member, and also the teams medic. The armour fitted well on his young body, his blonde hair packed up in a flaming red bandana.
“Ten minutes ‘til touchdown” I heard the pilot say.
“Ok boys gear up and remember, our mission is to recon and report you copy?” I said, readying my Hellgun. My Chestnut colored hair packed neetly in the helmet, so not to block my vision.
“Five minutes”
“Oh, right landfall” Chris said. he looked almost like he had slept the entire trip. Chris was my right arm and a good friend. His skill with the lasgun was also reliable.
“ Just the six of us?” Thomas said.
“Jepp, ain’t life wonderful?” Eric said and smiled.
“Two minutes”
The last two minutes felt like hours. Here I stod, with the best squad a sergant could’ve hoped for, knowing that whatever we found down there, would only bring us closer, or kill us.

“Touchdown in three..”
“Remember boys, no fear!”
“Two..”
“No fear!” they all responded with smiles hidden in their well trained facade. We where a family, they all knew that, and I hoped that everyone in this family would return safely.
“One..”
The shuttle hit the land with a loud sound just as always when metal hits solid rock.
“Come on boys, let’s unass this ride and check this rock” I shouted while making my exit out on the barren rocks and the first thing that hit me was the lack of, well, everything. There was nothing here, exept for rocks and sand.

“There can’t be life here, it’s impossible” I thought for myself before turning back to my squad.

“I’ll scout ahead for enemy contact” Jason said before running over the hill and down on the other side.
“Fine, then we won’t hear your whining” Eric said and laughed. Even Ben permitted himself to smile a little, before returning to his normal, serious state of mind. “ We’ll wait for you here” Vaughn said, before turning back to his co-pilot Steven. “Good, we won’t be long” I said, while turning around and following Jasons footprints.

We walked casualy, like we didn’t care about the mission, as if this was just a vacation trip gone wrong, but I knew that everyone was on guard, although it didn’t look like it. They were professionals and they all had the memory from our first misson on Tallarn, where we faced the horrors of the hivefleet Leviathan. We lost more than 20 good men on that misson, and we would also been dead if Thomas hadn’t managed to break through to the ships in orbit before they issued exterminatus and picked us up, but not before my friend Hans had been brutaly stabbed by an errupting ravener, he was dead before we could even react.

I looked over at Thomas, he had obviously thought the same, he had a distant look in his eyes, they were threatening to burst out in tears. It wasn’t anything anyone would want to remember. Only Ben didn’t seem to care, and I would make sure that it should stay that way, there was no reason to drag him into our dark past.

“Look over there!” Eric said and pointed towards something in the horizon.
“What is it?” I said, shading my eyes with my hand.
“Jason do you see it?” Thomas said.
I heard Jasons dark voice over the radio.
“Yes, it looks like vegetation.”
“Vegetation? Here? Thats not possible” Ben said.
“ Do you think what I think?” Thomas asked and turned towards me
“Tyranids” I said with a hateful tone, remembering back to the time on Tallarn.
“Time for some payback”

“Tyranids?” Ben said “Weren’t they supposed to have been driven out from this system?”
“It must be one of the forgotten fleets” I said.
“Forgotten fleets?” Ben asked.
“Yes, parts of hive fleets that has been seperated from the main fleet” Thomas said, his eyes regaining that distant look.
“come on people, let’s recon and report” I said, checking the mag of my Hellgun, full.

We had made contact with Jason before we entered the forest. My fears were confirmed, I recognised the alien foliage from Tallarn and I hopet that we would fare better this time.

Suddenly I heard something and dived to the ground, my squad doing the same. We crawled towards the noise. I pushed some foliage away fom my eyes and watched silenty as the horrors unwailed themself. I felt the steady breathing of my squad behind me, giving me the comfort that we had not been spottet yet, but I knew that it would only be a matter of time before their keen senses revealed our presens. I still dared to take another glance.
There, in the middle of a clearing stod two hormagaunts, almost just lurking, waiting for someone, their chitinous armour shining in the sun, their dark, soulless eyes shining with murderous, alien intent and their sharp talons dripping with blood. Beneath their legs laid a mutilated corpse, blood and guts literally pouring out from its torso.
I turned around to my squad and signaled that we should get to a safe distance before reporting back to the transport ship, still soaring above the planets atmosphere.

When we finally exit the alien forest I turned to Thomas and ordered him to send a message to the ship for extraction.

“Ten-four sir” Thomas said, unpacking his transmitting gear.
“Sir?” Ben said.
“What is it soldier?” I said while turning towards him
“Where’s Eric?”
“What!?” I shouted.
“Yeah he was here a moment ago and now he’s not, you know where he is?”
“Eric come in, ERIC!” I shouted into the mike.
“WHAT!” He shouted back. “Can’t a guy take a piss alone.”
“Jesus Eric. At least give a word when you decide to disappear” I said, feeling a wave of calm drowning the stress that, for a moment, threathened to take control.

“Eh guys, we have a problem” I heard Thomas say.
“What problem?” I said, smacking Eric in the back of his head as I walked past him and over to the radioman.
“I can’t get in contact with the ship.”
“What do you mean?” Jason said while shining his sniper rifle.
“Try again” I ordered
“It’s no use, I have already tried 10 times and there is no contact.”
“This can’t be” I said, feeling the stress starting to take control again.
“What?” Ben said.
“This can’t be, they can’t use the shadow in the warp, they don’t have any psykers.” I thought for myself.
“I vote that we go up there and check it out for ourselves.” Thomas said
“I’m in” Eric said.
“Me too” Ben said.
“Why not” Jason said.
“Fine, but let¨s hurry” Chris murmured.
“You’re right, we have to check out the situation.

We started to run towards the dropzone but before we arrived we heard a loud explosion.
“What the hell was that!?” Ben shouted.
“You don’t think?” Thomas said while looking anxiously towards me .
“Double pace people” I shouted and thought to myself:“This is not happening, this can’t be happening!”

We ran over the last hill, and there, to our despair, laid the transport ship, smashed and destroyed. Now there was no way for us to return to orbit.

“Fuck, these are some smart aliens” Eric cursed.
“I second that” I heard Chris say, it was the first time he had spoken during our time here.
“Now how do we get outta here?” Thomas said.
“I don’t know, but let’s first check the wreck for survivors and equipment” I said, knowing that without proper equipment, we wouldn’t last long.

We started walking slowly towards the wreck. Checking for friends and foes alike.
Finally we arrived at the biggest piece of the ship.
“Ok guys, check for equipment and other usable objects, I’ll go check for survivors”
“Roger that” They all said simultaneously.
I walked past smoking parts and smashed walls, past burning doors and walls with holes.
Suddenly I heard a sound I hadn’t heard before. It was like a gurgling sound, but with words mixed in.
“No, please, someone help meh....arrrrghg” I peeked around the corner and to my horror I saw Vaughn laying on the floor. His hands wrapped around an hormagaunts talon that had burried deep into his stomach. My eyes flickered as the pictures from Tallarn exploded before my eyes as a grotesque slideshow. I could never get used to the sound of men crying out in pain.
I peeked around the corner and shot the hormagaunt with one, clean shot.
Then I ran over to Vaughn.
“Vaughn, are you okay?”
“Hi sir” He said while smiling.I liftet his head up from the bloody floor. “Permission to get dismissed sir?”
“Permission grantet” I said, smiling, my eyes bursting out with tears.
“Permission granted”
“Thank you sir” He said, smiling. Then the light faded from his eyes.
I gently lowered his head down on the ground and wiped away my tears with my hand.
Then I heard someone moan from deeper down in the cockpit.
“Steven, is that you?”
“Yes it’s me sir” I heard a faint voice say from the darkness.
I walked over to him and dragged him out from the hole.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine, what about Vaughn?”
“He didn’t make it” I felt the tears trying to come out again.
“He was a good man” Steven said. I saw his eyes starting to flow with tears.
We sat there for some time, inside the wrecked, bloody cockpit. The outside world was oblivious to us. Two men who had lost a good friend. We sat there for ourselves in what was left of the world we had known, a familiar world, that was now destroyed by the hands and claws of the invaders.
“There you are sir, we’ve been looking for you” I heard Chris say.
“Yeah and look, I found one of the pilots” I said and wiped the tears from my eyes again.
“Thats good” he said.
“So did you guys find anything?”
“Well, not really. We’ve extinguished the flames so I guess this would be our camp. Some of the ships guns are also still operational. We also found some weapons and magazines, but thats about it”
“Good, then let’s fortify the area around the ship and get Ben to take a look a Steven here.”
“Roger”
“Don’t worry Steven, We’ll get away from this planet, all of us.” I said and smiled at the young pilot.



The next morning I was brutaly awaken by the shouting from Ben.
“Sir, sir!!”
“What is it soldier?” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“You gotta see this sir!”
I got up from the bench were I had spent a rather uncomfortable night and walked out from the wreck. The first thing that hit me was what a good job my guys had done with fortifying the area around the wreck. Steel spikes stood out from every direction and the ships guns had been rigged on top of the wreck, with a turning platform, to better defend against an assault. Cover was plentiful and we had enough ammunition and provision to stay alive for at least one week, two if we rashened everything. This was a terrain I was familiar with and I knew the best ways to keep this area safe. Then I noticed Ben pointing out in the direction of the forest from which we fled from the day before.
“What is it about that?” I said, shading my eyes from the sun with my hand.
“Can’t you notice sir?”
“Notice what?”
“That it seems, well, bigger than yesterday”
Now I noticed. The forest appeared to be growing.
“Is this normal sir?” Ben asked.
“No, not at all”
“Whats all the commotion?” Chris said while streching out his legs and arms after a long night.
“Look over there Chris, does that forest seem larger to you?”
“Well, now that you mention it, it does look a little bigger”
“As I thought. The tyranids are giving life back to this planet.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but it shouldn’t be here, so the second we make radio contact, we’ll make the commanders send a bombing run and make this planet dead again.”

“Jason here, you guys noticed the forest?” I heard his voice sparkle over the radio.
“Yeah it seems to be getting bigger” I said.
“I think that there is something on the other side of it”
“Can you see it?”
“Yeah I think it looks like the back of a space shuttle”
“A space shuttle?!”
“Yeah, must’ve belonged to that dude we saw in the forest yesterday”
“Ok Jason, scout some more, we have to be positive about this”
“Sir yes sir”

“What was it sir?” Ben said looking up from a picture he held in his hand.
“Jason thinks he has spottet a way out from here” I said, taking a gnace down in the young medic’s hands. It was a picture of Ben and two little girls and a woman in the back ground.
“Your girls?” I asked, and nodded down on the picture.
“No, my brother’s, but the lady in the back is my wife, I hope I get to see her again”
I saw his eyes starting to water. The woman on the picture was truly beautiful. Her figure was pretty and her long brown hair hung all the way down to the middle of her back. She had iceblue eyes and a smile that men would have killed for.
“You will, we all will get to see our loved ones again, I promise” I said.
“Thank you sir” he said, looking up from the picure and looked straight into my eyes. His eyes was filled with water and respect, and a glimpse of hope and future.

Suddenly Jason’s voice sparkled over the radio, ending the nice silence that had surrounded me and Ben.
“It’s affirmative, its a ship”
“Good news then?”I said with a feeling of happines spread all around my body “And whats the bad news?”
“It’s surrounded by Tyranids”
“thought as much”
“I’ll talk about the details when I return to base”
“You do that”
Then we waited, we waited for hours on end but there was no sign of Jason.
“Where the hell is he?” Eric said irritated.
“Maybe he got lost” Thomas said with a smile.
“Yeah that would be like him” Chris said with a sarcastic voice.
“I don’t like this” I said, feeling a wave of unease wash over me.
“Yeah me neither” Ben said. “Jason has never been the type to come late has he?.”
“No he’s usually spot on, that little mr perfect” Eric said.
“Ok who wants to og look after him?” I said.
“I’ll go” Chris said.
“Me too” Ben said.”He might be hurt”
“I guess I’ll go to then” Thomas said
“Ok you three look after Jason, find anything report in ok?”
“Sir, yes sir” They all said before they left the camp.

I sat down beside Eric and turned towards him.
“Why did you voulenteer Eric?” I said. “You could’ve stayed home with James and you two could get married as you had planned.”
I said it many times inside my head, he’s a homosexual. If he hadn’t told me first time we met I’ve would never have found out. He was a muscular and handsome figure. He could get any gir he wanted and still, I sighted.
“Sir?” Eric said and turned towards me.
“W-what” I said, taking a step back when I noticed how close he was to my face.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure soldier” I said, feeling uneasy about how close he was to my face, his dark eyes rumaging around in my soul after something.
“Why do you think I voulenteered?”
“To serve the emperor?” I said, his eyes revealed nothing about his question.
“No, to try and become a different man” Eric said, turning away from my face and looked up in the sky.
“What do you mean?” I said. This emotional talk was not something I had seen him do before.
“Me and James are too different, he said it to me the night before I volunteered”
“What does this have to do with you becoming a new man?” I was totally confused now.
“I heard that war changes people, for the better I don’t know, but I know that for me to become worthy of James’ love, I must change myself”
“Eric, sorry but I don’t quite follow”
“I want to change, for James’ sake. I want ot change into a more sensitive and loving man for the one I love. You know what I’m talking about right sir?”
“No not actually, I’ve never been together with someone, I kept telling myself that it was no time for love in my life”
“No offence sir, but then I pity you, being in love, no matter with who, is the most beautiful thing in this world” He said, his eyes spacing out and a broad smile erupting on his lips.
“It was good to have these sorts of conversations, even about simple things like love” I thought “It brings us closer together and makes us forget everything else for just a moment. A moment of complete peace and satisfaction.
“Exuse me, am I interrupting something good?” Steven said. He had obviously overheard our little conversation.
“Not at all” I said, shaking away the quiet feeling. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, I’m just concerned about, well, everything. Just answer this one question sir: Will I ever see my wife again?”
“Of course soldier, I have faith that we will be able to get of this rock once we reach our ship”
“I guess you’re right, but I can’t help but thinking about my pregnant wife”
“Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked, as to change the subject from the current situation.
“Both, twins actually” Steven said, his eyes remembering back to his home.
“Congratulation, when their’re born, I’ll be happy to share a sigar with you” I said with a sarcastic smile.
“Thank you sir” Steven said, his voice sounded more relaxed now, almost peaceful and confident.

The hours passed, and the sun went down behind the alien foliage, casting shadows down on our camp. Then we heard a loud rumbling sound and as we looked up into the sky we saw a ship that looked very familiar.
“Hey guys get on. Jason says he can see a massive group of tyranids closing in” Thomas said.
“I love you guys you know that?” I shouted up to him.
“I know, but get on it’s time to leave this rock.”
“Roger that, Eric, Steven our ride is here!”
“Finally” I heard Eric say. He had obviously regained his rough shape.
“Yes, let’s leave” Steven said, putting his Lasrifle on his back.
At the same time I heard a terrible roar.
“They’re here, get on now!”I commanded.
We all jumped on the ship and as we took off from the ground I saw the aliens prying down the barricade and trying to jump up to us.
“Those idiots really want to kill us” Eric shouted and at the same time a shot from a venom cannon hit the side of the ship, rocking it nearly sideways.
I heard a scream behind me, I turned around and saw Steven fall out from the other side of the shuttle.
“Nooo!” I shouted. The look on his face pierced my soul, it was a look that I had recieved multiple times on Tallarn and I knew perfectly well what it ment: “You lied to me.” And also the fear that begs you to save him even when he knows that it’s hopeless. The last thing I saw of Steven was his body plumming down into a horde of vicious blades ready to kill and devour both his body and his soul.
I hung over the edge of the ship, crying and screaming.
“Sir, pull yourself together” Thomas said, pullingme back into the ship.
“I promised him that he would see his family again, and I failed, Just like I failed to save Hans on Tallarn”
“You know that it was not your fault that Hans died and you know that it is not your fault that Steven died here” Thomas shouted, trying to breake the trance that I was in.
“You can’t save anyone!” I heard a voice in my head shout. “You failed him, you’ve failed them all, and you call yourself a leader that’ll do everything for his men?”
“No, it’s not true!”I screamed. ”It’s not true!”
Finally I fell down on my knees.
“Sir you know that is wasn’t your fault and don’t you worry, we’ll revenge his death”
“No, I will” I said, the sorrow innside me had been replaced with hate and anger.

There up in the atmosphere was the ship, but something just didn’t seem right.
“What the hell is that?!” Thomas shouted and pointed to the side of the ship.
There was something there that resembled a big bug that had been smashed into the side of the ship.
“It looks like a tyranid transport pod sir” I heard Jason say.
“Prepare to enter the docking bay.” I said, looking into the black hole that kept getting closer and closer until we docked.
The minute we exited our ship we were met with an eery silence, and only the hollow ecko of our own footsteps broke the silence.

“I don’t like this sir” Ben said.
“Me neither soldier” I said, but I was too angry to care about he silence or anything else that would distract me from my goal.

“Sir, whats the order?” Eric said.
“We keep it tight and try to make our way to the bridge. Then from there we can figure things out.”
“10-4” they all said.
We moved slowly up towards the bridge, there was no signs of battle anyywhere, no corpses, no blood, no markings on the walls or floors. Suddenly I heard a shot in the direction of the bridge, someone was still alive on this ghost ship.
We started to move faster and as we ran upwards to the bridge a bullet wizzled past my ear with just a couple of milimeters clearing.
“Who’s there?” I shouted, aiming my hellgun towards the door.
“Oh sorry sir. Don’t scare me like that. It’s me, Kim Anderson, I’m in charge of gun maintenance on this ship remember?” He said, moving into view.
“Yeah I remember, you fiksed my hellgun once” I said lowering my weapon.
“When did you guys get on board. I thought that I was the only one.....”
“Behind you” Thomas shouted, but it was too late. The Genestealers claws grabbed around his body and it’s feeder tendrils burrowed themselves deep in Kim’s skull.
“Oh lord have mercy” I heard Ben say. We couldn’t move. Everyone was in shock. I saw Kim’s eyes roll around and the glurpy sound of the genestealers tendrils when they sucked out his brain.
Finally I regained controll of my body and fired round after round into the monsters body. I shouted loudly while firing, and it felt good to kill that alien monster. I saw the genestealer fall backwards, it’s tendrils sliding out from Kim’s skull and hanging lifeless down from the genestealer’s mouth.
“Well I’ll be damned” Eric said, whiping his forehead with his arm.
“Ok what the fuck is going on here!?” Thomas shouted. “Were we really that unprepared?”
“By the looks of things I would say yes” I said while stepping over the body of the sailor and checking the room inside.
“Finally, the bridge” I said.
“Then we can fins out some things or two. Thomas check the log, everyone else secure the area.” I said firmly.
“Sir, yes sir” they all answered and set of to their destinated positions.

A couple of minutes past, then I heard thomas shout:” Sir, I think I’ve found something”
“What is it?” I asked.
“The last entry of someone called Masjkonvis Galenkistj”
“What was his name again?” Eric said while smiling.
“ I remember him, he’s the second in command on this ship” I said while walking over to the computer.
“Play it then” I said.
“Roger sir” Thomas said and a light flashed on the screen.

The first thing that hit me was the shouting and sound of gunshots in the distance.”This must be in the middle of the attack” I thought.

Then a familiar face appeared on the screen.
“We have just recieved a report that the ship who attacked us is of tyranid origin. We’ve lost contact with the lower decks but the situasion is under control.”
The film fast forwarded to the next entry.
“We are now certain that we are under attack by tyranids, but as long as we can get in contact with the ground team and mke them flank the aliens we should have no problem dealing with this situacion”
The film fast forwarded to the next entry and the first thing that hit me was the fear in Galenkistj’s eyes.
“I’ve just recieved reports that we are no longer in contact with the ground team, I recon that this will be My last entry. I have only a handfull of men left, we lost Kim down in the lower levels, I don’t recon that he’s still alive.
I can hear them now, scratching, growling. An ethernal hunger rests outside those doors, ready to consume our flesh, our bodies and our souls.” A loud smash was heard on the opposite side of the room.
“Oh god, they’ve managed to break through the door” The man started to climg on to the screen with both hands while the room was filled with the noise of combat, dying men and the unholy roars of the beasts.
“Whoever finds this must know that we tried, but failed, and That I have no regrets.” That was his last words before his chest exploded in a flood of his own blood. As the blood dripped of the screen I stared into the dead eyes of a lictor as it stabbed multiple times into a already maimed body, then the screen went dark.

“That was some sick shit” Eric said, breaking the dead silence.
“Yeah let’s get the fuck away from this ship right now” Ben shouted. He was obviously scared out of his mind, and I couldn’t blame him. He had never stared into the face of death before.
“ I agree” Jason said, with not much care in his voice.
“Then it’s settled, we’ll get to the ships escape pods and get the hell away from this system”
“Hell yeah” They all shouted.

We ran downwards to the escape pods and we met only slight resistance on the way, but when we finally got there, it was only a shock that welcomed us.
“What the hell is this shit” Eric shouted
And he was right to react the way he did, because down there was not the cold metal walls that met us, but a tyranid hatching nest.

“Ok this is by far the most discusting thing that I have ever seen” Thomas whispered.
“Eric, you still have those explosives?” I said.
“Sure and I think whats on your mind”
“Then do it” I said while smiling, finally we would be getting back at these alien fuckers. “The rest of you look for a pod that works”
“Roger”
We moved carefully so as not to alert the mother and slowly we found a working pod and then I ordered Eric to set up his explosives on the spare fuel tanks at the center of the room.
Everything was going splendidly until suddenly Eric stopped.
“What’s the matter Eric, get on with it”
He didn’t answer, he just pointed out in one direction and gave us the sign to shut up with the other. Then he signaled me over to him.
“What is it?” I wispered, then I noticed it. The sleeping hive tyrant in the middle of the room.
The word “shit” was spelled on my lips, but nothing was heard. It was silent for a moment, then I decided to do this fast. I ordered Eric to plant the explosive as close to the hive tyrant as he dared and then to run as hell back to the pod.
He did as he was told and planted the bomb as close as he came and then he walked silently towards us, then suddenly I noticed two gleaming black eyes behind him.
“Eric duck!” I shouted and he was only a couple of centimeters from me having to replace him. The lictor looked down at the prey that evaded his blow and was now starting to run towards the rest of the creatures.
We stood there and fired on the monster and as we did that we heard the rumbling of something big behind the lictor.
“Sir the hive tyrant is waking up” I heard thomas say.
“I know I know. Eric get your ass here now!” I shouted.
And as I looked into his eyes he said to me: “ Leave!” “Leave me behind” “Blow this thing up when you are safe”
“You can’t be fucking serious!” I shouted.
“It looks like he means it sir” Thomas said and pointed at a halting Eric.
“Eric get your butt in here now, that’s an order!”
“No can do sir” He said smiling. “Tell James I love him”
Then the door slammed shut, I heard him scream as he fired his grenade launcher and suddenly, everything went up in a huge blast and we were hit pretty hard. The shrapnell from the ship wizzled past us and I thought that I failed him too, I was useless.
“Cheer up sir, Eric wouldn’t want you to cry for him” It was Ben who served me these comforting words with a silky voice.
“You’re right, We must remember him as he would’ve wanted us to remember him, as a genuine dickhead” I said, feeling a smile pushing away the sorrow.
Everyone in the pod smiled and laughed at our honoured dead, and it was the first time in a while that we had been this cheerful. Finally we landed on an Imperial base and
then we reported back to HQ and you can bet we had one hell of a story to tell.

[Wizwum]

(No Name)

They tell us not to sit by the fire, trying to scare us with their campfire stories and fireside tales. We don’t believe them though. We are educated knights from Altdorf; we know there is nothing to fear. We have divine right behind us, and cannot fail in this dreadful war. We have not failed yet…

I feel them… They are coming! They draw closer, closer. Soon I will be able to reach it. But not yet. I am not strong enough here. Once they move closer, I can have my revenge…

I began my training in the 2,289th year of Sigmar, when I was but twelve years old. My father had been a knight, and all his brothers, and their father before them, and he wanted to be sure the family legacy would be continued. My eldest brother was already serving, and I joined him as a page. Waking before dawn, cleaning his equipment, training in sword and riding in the morning, studying numbers, strategies, and history in the afternoon, doing homework and extra training until long after dark was a normal day. We were stationed at a small fort below Black Fire Pass, where it was warm and dry, not like this horrible, frozen, tree-covered tundra where we are stationed now. I have the fondest memories of my etiquette master… He was a tiny old man, who always stood on a pile of large tomes to see over his desk. When he had us practice our bows, he would walk down the row, and whack the knees of those who weren’t in proper form. My brother had warned me of him, but he still was a surprise the first day…
When I turned sixteen, I began my true training as a knight. I was squired to a family friend, who was in active service. We fought against the filthy greenskins to the west, who had been rising and threatening to drown the peasants of our lands in a sea of carnage. They live only for war, the greenskins. We drove them off again and again, and yet the surviving ones would charge forward again and again, even though they must be smart enough to know it was suicide. Destroying them was a boon to all races of the Old World... With my new mentor, I trained with lance and fighting from horseback. Using a sword from atop a horse is much different than using one on foot! I still remember the difficulty I had, trying to swing as if on the ground, and then hitting my horse on its poor head or shoulder. Luckily it had plenty of armour to protect it…

Revenge! Oh, how sweet it shall be. I was to become a mighty daemon, a great god! To have the worship of a thousand mortals, to have the souls of ten-thousand more in sacrifice… Such was to be my existence. Then they came along…Those knights who had dreams of valor in their heads and hearts, who were off to slay the daemon and save the fair lady. I should have easily gobbled them up. But they had the sword! Oh, that evil, nasty, hurtful swordy of theirs…

Now I am much better with both the sword and the lance, having earned my knighthood at age twenty. Six years have passed since then, and I have taken on a page myself: my youngest brother. He has been with me for almost two years now, and is learning quickly. Traditionally, we should be at my post in Marienburg, but this awful war is demanding every knight the Empire has. If he survives though, the extra campaign experience will do him well! As of now, he hasn’t fought yet, but merely ridden his horse, a spirited roan stallion he picked from Father’s stables, and cared for my equipment. With all the riding we’ve been getting, I expect he’ll be an expert by the time he needs to use it, and I spar with him in the evenings after we make camp. I do my best to teach him his numbers and letters, but I fear I was never very good at those. He is picking them up quickly despite my clumsiness, and is grasping the strategies used for this war. We shall soon defeat the foul daemons and their twisted servants. They have risen yet again from the chaos wastes to the north, and the Empire and all surrounding lands have been threatened. It is rumored that even the elves and dwarves have come to support us in this war. I have yet to have seen one, but perhaps later on we may come across some. We have been on the move for almost a month now, and are coming upon the border of Kislev and the Empire. The fighting is said to be great by the wastes to the north of that forsaken country. I have brought a family heirloom on behest of my father. It is an old sword, and apparently there is quite a legend that goes along with it and daemons…

That sword of theirs ruined everything! Blessed by the first human evil himself, it burned, it burned. I came upon them at night, and had already gobbled up their strongest when the middling one awoke. He picked up his sword and started waving it at me. Not fearing what I had thought was just a normal steel blade, I charged, ready to swallow him whole. But no, no, no! He hit me and the pain! It burned, burned horribly! Worse than almost ever before… He cast a curse upon me when I was weak. I could feel it constrict me, denying me my power until they had been destroyed… I fled and rejoined my brethren, who laughed. They have all been destroyed though! Who laughs now? Who? I do!

One of my great grandfathers was marching during an earlier war against the chaos gods when he was ambushed by a lone daemon. The fiend had taken his elder brother, but holy Sigmar had blessed his sword, and he took it up against the beast. It rushed towards him and his younger brother, but he smote a mighty blow, saying that only after he had been destroyed would the fiend be able to wreak havoc. After the strike, the monster was nowhere to be seen, destroyed by the great power of the blade. The tale, though powerful when told by a master bard, has been most certainly exaggerated, and I feel doubtful that the sword blessed by Sigmar. Perhaps by a priest, mayhap even one of the past Grand Theologan, but likely not Sigmar. My father is growing old though, and I fear he may not last more than a few winters, so I wish to do as much as I can for him. I only wish that my younger brothers had more chance to learn from his experience. Though my page, my elder brother, and myself have had many years to be near him, I fear my youngest brother, only a tender seven years old, will not have much chance.
He was a great man, my father. One of the royal houses of the Empire, but he had fallen in the political games they play in Altdorf. Still, he was a great warrior, and without the great warriors, the politicians in their palaces would be nothing. Even with his misfortunes among the other nobles, he was rich enough to make his eldest three sons knights with wealth he had stored up. He had much dignity… I only hope some of that was passed on to me. He had fought the daemons a few times himself. I hope I do not fail him and the Empire…

They are coming closer… Closer, almost here! Soon I shall strike, very soon. My masters will be pleased, but I once I destroy these knights I will overthrow them! I will become my own master, with slaves of my own to do my bidding. Yes… soon…

We are nearing the battleground. Our small band has been seeing the signs. We came across a slaughtered village recently, the dead piled high in the center square, the corpses mutilated in the signs of chaos. My page could not hold his breakfast and had to rush around a corner to expel it. It is a harsh awakening, but he needs to come to grips with the realities of war sometime. Tonight we have taken shelter in a small copse, and we can almost smell the tension. The main battle line is up ahead, and we will report to our commanding officer tomorrow. It is my turn to take watch… I can not help but feel as if even the trees are watching me. It is a lonely feeling, to be the only one awake in the middle of the night, knowing the rest of your groups safety lies in your hands. The fire flickers warily, casting shadows here, there, attracting some of the small game in the area. I can see their eyes glowing. The peasants marching with us are camped some ways off, not wanting to be near the fire... I hear something. Over on the other side of camp, it sounds as if hooves are trotting… Is it a patrol from the headquarters? No! My brother! Dearest brother! I cannot let you come to harm! There is no time for weapons, I leap at the daemon that has appeared, holding my youngest brother in its wicked claws, grinning madly. It wisps into smoke, and then seems to enter me, filling me… I am done now… I am done…

Yes! Finally! I have completed my task, I have taken the one of the family which hurt me! Now I can reach my potential, unbound by the curse, I will rend the tiny Empire apart with my power! Yes! I feel… Reborn.

[TheAdmiral]

A protest Null Vote.

[Darmort]

The Ravienna Renaissance intrigued me the most... had a certain flare to it that I liked more than the other entries.

[Flailing Axes]

Well...being frank that was quite a shit competition.

[HLY]

cos I wasn't allowed to enter

[VictorK]

Too bad there's not an option for arrogant condescension.

[MutantMaggot]

None of them exactly grabbed me by the throat and forced my eyes to continue reading, but in general an OK standard of entry. Not as amazing as previous pieces I've read on here, and the better ones tended to be let down by excessive description or lack of flair, but not really bad either.

(I was on holiday BTW. Hope no one minds my late vote ... err ... that is to say, I only read the closing date AFTER voting )

[Flailing Axes]

Woo, I got a vote

I'm not back, just using the internet lounge in my hotel for a few minutes.

[Wizwum]

And the winner is...

VictorK

For his piece, The Ravienna Renaissance.

Congratulations.

The other entries' authors are as follows:

Still Alive - Darmort
Eek! Eek! - TheAdmiral
A Fresh Start - Flailing Axes
Nurthene Beetles - MutantMaggot
The patrol on Tesla Prime - silverowl
(No Name) - Mr Marshmallow

Congratulations and thanks to all participants. You are all invited to create a new thread for your pieces if you wish to seek detailed in-depth feedback from readers. Readers, you may still post C&C here if you so wish, and if you wanna talk about what you voted for and why, this would be the place to do it.

Thank you all for participating.