Librarium

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This is a collection of all my literary work. Some complete stories, others just little bits that I got bored with. Anyway, enjoy and be sure to visit Imperial Literature

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:34 am Stranded [STOPPED]

'Remind me again how we got here Jonas, I seem to have blacked out for a few minutes.'

Trooper Jonas Herlam rubbed the bruise on his side as he looked over at his companion. Both him and his fellow guardsman Derc Bartes looked like they got stuck in a very small box along with a Gerlian bucktar. And as far as bucktars went, that wasn't a very good place to be.

A cool breeze coming in from across the plains soothed his aching head as he gave Derc a whimsical smile.

'Thanks to the brilliant flight plan that headquarters laid out for our duly apt pilot we had a rather close encounter with that rocky outcrop over there,' he replied as he pointed at a collection of jagged rocks that jutted out of the barren landscape, the tail of the aircraft still hanging off of one of the points. He winched from the pain the movement caused in his joints.

'He did a fine job putting the aircraft down over there,' he continued with a sarcastic sneer as he made hopping gestures with his index finger, 'and over there and there and finally over there.'

Jonas pointed at the still burning wreckage of their transport. There were bits and pieces of it all over the place. A most peculiar hunk of scrap metal caught the men's attention. A bent muzzle of a cannon and a few scattered pieces of tank tracks suggested it might have been a combat vehicle before the crash.

'I believe that used to be the platoon's chimera,' Derc said as he started to giggle, his brain unable to cope with the scale of things due to the accident.

'Yes,' said Jonas as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, 'that idiotic bastard managed to kill thirty men, one of them himself, and destroy three chimeras and a transport carrier with one display of complete incapability when it comes to aerial manoeuvres. I'm almost tempted to say well done.'

The two men took their time getting up, thanking the God Emperor that they didn't fracture any bones during their rough decent to the planet. All around them were endless stretches of waist-high grass and, apparently unknown to headquarters, the occasional rock formation.

Reckii IV was well known in its solar system as one big planetary cattle ranch, although there were no cattle left. When the planet's governor decided he was no longer going to follow the instructions of the high council situated on Laterial's main planet Herkurus said council did everything in their power to cut Reckii IV off from the outside world. In the following months the planet's people turned to their own resources to withstand the embargo laid upon them by the high council.

What had started as a somewhat peaceful revolt erupted into a bloody conflict between the planet's inhabitants and a regiment of Herkurus' Imperial Guard whom were sent to the surface to calm the riots down and restore peace.

A strange disease began to spread itself amongst the people of Reckii IV. It started with reports coming in from all across the planet that spoke of people gone mad and attacking each other. There were even a few cases where eyewitnesses had reported seeing the victims of the disease killing and eating fellow human beings, but these were quickly cast aside as hysteria. Soon the number of incidents began to grow quickly and people from all over the planet flocked to the Guard compound in Larath, Reckii's capitol. They were denied entry, as the commanders were afraid that the disease might spread to their men.

Then all hell broke loose as a soldier overseeing the crowd in one of the watchtowers lost it and started shooting into the gathering mass of people. Outraged due to this new act of violence the crowd broke through the camp's enclosures and proceeded to brutally lynch every soldier they could find. When the dust settled they realised that there were no inter-planetary aircrafts present to carry anyone to the relative safety of outer space, but by then it was already too late.
As soon as news of the slaughter reached the security fleet orbiting the planet they retaliated by commencing a bombardment that completely destroyed Perdar and the surrounding countryside.

Nasvec, the commander of the Herkurian Guard's seventh regiment, realised that the most effective way to fight the disease that was now quickly spreading across Reckii IV was to blow the entire planet out of existence, so he sent a portion of his men that were still on board down to the surface by use of aircraft carriers to evacuate the other compounds.

Jonas and Derc were in one such carrier, bound for Reckii's second largest city Birza.

'So, what are we supposed to do now?' said Jonas as he looked over at Derc.

Derc looked around as a breeze made his long black hair dance, making him look like some sort of windswept hero stuck on a deserted island. He took the flask hanging from his belt, unscrewed the lid and held it to his lips to drink. Cursing quietly he flipped the flask around to find that something punched a hole big enough to fit his finger through during the crash.

'Bloody mixed blessings,' he said to Jonas, 'my flask probably saved my life only to let me die of thirst in a couple of days, brilliant.'

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:32 am Dawn On Vogen [STOPPED]

'Tareth, no!'

Trooper Jereck Farstus of the Cadian 122nd came to a sudden halt and watched on in horror as something inhuman pounced on the man in front of him as they ran through the streets of Vogen. It looked up at Farstus as it ripped its victim limb from limb and let out an eerie howl. It made the hairs on the back of the trooper's neck stand up straight as he closed his eyes, hoping that the evil would be gone when he opened them again.

The squad's sergeant was yelling something from just up ahead beyond the carnage but to Farstus it might as well have been a mile away. It seemed as if the sergeant was saying something about him running out of luck.

Like lightening from a blue sky another howl from behind him made Farstus spin on his heels. As he turned around he saw a woman running towards him. He opened his arms to catch her, as one of the last things they heard from command before all channels went dead was to save as many civilians as possible. Just as she was about to fall into his arms he heard the distinctive boom of a shotgun being fired followed by complete silence as the woman's head exploded like an overripe melon.

Blood spattered across Farstus' face and ran down his chiselled features as the toppling body's main arteries sprayed the liquid everywhere in a big fountain. He chuckled nervously and joked to himself he was lucky he didn't have to pick little pieces of brain tissue out of his hair. He ran a hand through his short-cropped blonde hair just to be sure and realised that he had forgotten to grab his helmet in the commotion earlier.

The smoking barrel of a shotgun slid off Farstus' shoulder as his sense of hearing returned, bringing with it the frantic sound of battle. The beheaded body of the woman fell to the ground in front of his feet and continued to twitch.

'I told you to get out of the way and duck,' said the sergeant behind him as he separated the torso of the thing that had attacked the other trooper from its legs with another blast from his shotgun, 'now get moving, we have to get the hell out of here!'

Farstus grabbed the autogun that he dropped and ran after the sergeant. As he passed the bisected monster he could see it trying to crawl towards him, even though the thing was missing its legs. He fought down the urge to throw up, aimed his gun at its head and pulled the trigger.

'Where are we going, sir?' he asked the sergeant as he caught up with him in mid run, 'any word from the others?'

The two troopers had escaped from their post along with their sergeant when the things first attacked. One minute they were quietly playing cards on a slow run-of-the-mill night on duty and the next one of those blasted creatures had jumped through the window of their shack. It had grabbed the nearest man and ripped his throat out before one of the others had had the opportunity to grab a gun. As its lifeless body hit the floor they saw that more had followed through into the shack behind it.

'Your guess is as good as mine right now,' the sergeant replied, 'but for now the best plan is to leg it towards headquarters. Those bastards might be able to take an outpost, but they will have a tough time cracking that old nut.'

The two men made their way through Vogen's administrative district until they could see the bastion where the city's law courts were based loomed up ahead in the distance. Farstus chanced a look back and his blood ran cold as he saw dozens of the creatures running after them down the street.
'Sir,' he said to the sergeant as he turned his head around again, 'there is no way we'll make it all the way to headquarters with these things behind us. We need to take up a defensive position somewhere.'

The sergeant was hoping they would make it to the law courts at least before those things came after them in force. Luckily he had spent some time in an outpost near their current position and he knew of a fitting building to occupy.

'Farstus, I want you to force your way into that building up ahead that says "Administratum 7G" and keeping running upstairs until you reach the roof,' he said to the trooper running next to him, 'and make sure to take out everything that crosses your path.'

Farstus stepped up his pace and ran straight towards the building his sergeant had mentioned. He could hear the man yelling behind him.
'And I do mean everything trooper!'

'Join the Guard, visit exotic places,' Farstus said to himself as he ran at full tilt, 'eighteen months of busting my hump at boot camp and they ship me off to this shit hole and then these Warp-spawned bastards show up.'

He lunged at the door as he reached the building only to find it wasn't locked or even fully closed for that matter. Falling head over heels onto the floor of the entrance hall the trooper scampered to his feet. There was an ominous silence only broken by the occasional loud boom of an explosion going off somewhere in the city. Farstus flexed his muscles, heaved his gun to shoulder level and started to walk towards the staircase at the back of the room.

'I did not sign up for this,' he whispered as he made his way up the stairs.

A loud detonation followed by a shower of blood, guts and body parts told the sergeant that his aim was still as good as ever, even with grenades. But for every one of those things he blasted out of existence another two appeared.

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:29 am Chivalry [WORK IN PROGRESS]

Chapter 1 : New Friends

'I am telling you Brecourt, this is the best lead we have.'

Francois Brecourt took off his helmet and looked at his companion. His deep brown eyes peered out from beneath great bushy grey brows as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. Droplets of sweat made their way down the lines around the man's chiselled facial features. He licked his lips and tucked his helmet under his shoulder.

'Care to make a wager my friend?' he replied, 'surely men such as yourself are not afraid of a little bet.'

The fellow traveller chuckled at hearing Brecourt's words.

'But surely you know I have not but a penny to spare on such trivial matters. And I am most certain that knights of the Grail such as yourself are not too rich themselves.'

Brecourt smiled, as this was true. He had been a questing knight for a better part of his life and as soon as he had set out from Bretonnia to search for the Grail from the days of Gilles the Uniter he spent most of his time struggling to make ends meet.

'I have devoted my life to the Lady of the Lake and the search for the Grail Reiklander,' said the knight, 'both my soul and my worldly possessions I have relinquished.'

Hans Scherber hated being named by his origin. After many years in the service of emperor Karl Franz and holy Sigmar an attack of common sense had made short work of his life as a reiksguard. For refusing to lead his troops into battle in a suicidal front charge he had been stripped of his rank and ordered to repent for his apparent sins in the eyes of Sigmar.

He shot Brecourt an angry glance and rubbed his hand back and forth across his auburn hair. His faced showed a man in his prime, not a single sign of age working its way into Scherber's vigour.

'Ah yes. Your precious Lady,' Scherber said, with a clear tone of sarcasm in his voice, 'you have told me about her more times than I can remember. And for the last time call me Scherber.'

Brecourt sighed as the two continued their journey in silence. It had been almost two months since the two men had met up in Marienburg and they were still no closer to becoming friends. If it weren't for their shared interest they would have parted ways long ago.

'Please tell me about this alleged contact again Scherber,' he finally said, breaking the silence, 'it is still unclear to me where you got this information.'

The former reiksguard shook his head, 'I have told you before. As soon as we arrive in Averheim and get ourselves accommodations you will be the first to know the entire account in detail.'

No sooner had he finished speaking or the outlines of Averheim rolled into view over the top of a hill. Trails of smoke bore evidence of food being cooked everywhere as the entire town prepared for dinner. A hay wagon up ahead showed the two men the way in as they approached the city walls.

As they walked along towards the gate they were met by an impressive display of military might. A ring of watchtowers surrounded Averheim that each stood about a hundred meters from each other and the town's outer walls. As the two men passed one of the towers they saw that the next watch was relieving the soldiers in it.

'It is good to know that rested eyes shall be guarding our safety during our stay,' said Scherber as he pointed a thumb in the tower's direction.
The walls of the city itself seemingly grew larger and larger as they approached the entrance to Averheim. While no match for a full-blown siege they worked quite well against the roaming hordes of orcs that plagued the southern provinces of the Reik. There was a soldier every ten meters or so keeping watch for any foul creatures that tried to attack.

'Well,' joked Brecourt, 'let us hope those wretched green-skinned lunatics have not invented siege towers yet.'

The heavy iron gates that gave them a way into the town loomed up before them. Guarded by two fully armoured soldiers they looked more like the gates of hell than the gateway to a haven of safety. One of them stepped forward as Brecourt and Scherber walked up.

'Halt! Who goes there?' spoke the guard as he dropped his halberd halfway.

Brecourt stepped forward and gave the man an arrogant look, 'I am Francois Brecourt, Bretonnian questing knight in service of the sacred Lady of the Lake and this is my associate Hans Scherber, former reiksguard captain under the command of emperor Karl Franz and in service of His Holiness Sigmar. We have urgent matters to attend to!'

The guard, suspicious at first as to what business these two men in full knight's armour had in the peaceful town of Averheim, jumped to attention and let the two men through.

'Throwing your weight around tends to speed things up a bit,' said the Bretonnian, 'even if it means blowing things out of proportion.'

The streets of Averheim were filled with all sorts of people. There were big scruffy warriors from Middenheim, brightly dressed halberdiers from Talabheim, rich merchants from Marienburg and even a wizard from the great schools of magic in Altdorf. They all seemed to be on their way to their houses or taverns to eat so the two men decided to follow a rather loud-mouthed group of drunken soldiers that were clearly in town on leave.

'These fellows look like the sort of people that would take up residence in the seedier end of town,' said Scherber as he smiled, 'excellent.'

Brecourt did not like the idea at all. Although he hadn't known the Reiklander that long he had quickly found out that he had a talent for getting them into trouble in the most unlikely situations. He had put it down to the man's inner fire. The spark of life that shone so bright and true that evil seemed to be drawn towards it.

The group of drunkards disappeared into one of the many taverns as Brecourt and Scherber continued down the street. Their surroundings were getting more impoverished with every building they passed but still they kept up their pace.

'Ah Brecourt, look at this,' said the Reiklander, pointing at a small rundown tavern ahead, 'tavern "The Broken Compass," 'seems like the perfect place to find recruits.'

'Recruits? What do you…' Brecourt started to say.

But before he had a chance to finish his question the Reiklander had already gone inside.

'Lady forgive me,' he whispered as he followed Scherber inside.

The inside of the tavern looked as rundown and weathered as the outside. Scattered across the main room were a few tables that had been repaired so many times that they seemed to be made more out of nails than wood.

A trio of dwarfs were discussing matters of alcohol, gold and the failure of men at a table in the corner. The owner of the establishment was serving ale to a group of flamboyantly dressed men accompanied by a big man in a shoddy suit of armour. At the table across the room, quietly sipping his drink as he watched Scherber and Brecourt, sat a man with a big black moustache.

'It seems that this place holds true to its name,' said Brecourt, 'the "Broken" part at least.'

The two knights made their way across the sawdust-covered floor towards the bar. The barkeep waddled over to them and gave them a big smile that distorted his plump face, welcoming them to his tavern.

'Well met, kind sirs, my name is Johan and welcome to the Broken Compass' he said politely, judging from the appearance of his new customers that they had quite a few crowns to spare, 'do you need a place to stay perhaps, or do you want to sample some of my finest Averheimer ale?'

His chubby hands rummaged around under the bar and he produced two grimy mugs, which he proceeded to fill with a liquid that vaguely resembled something drinkable. He set them down in front of Brecourt and Scherber and resumed his yellow-toothed grin.

'These two are on the house!' he added.

Scherber downed his drink in one go and told Johan that he and his business partner, as he described Brecourt's occupation, needed rooms for the night but didn't have a lot of money to spare.

The fat man's grin disappeared as he realised that the two were no better than the other lowlifes that occupied his tavern and he pointed to the stairs at the end of the bar.

'You two can share the last room I have,' he grumbled, 'and I expect you to pay for those ales.'

Brecourt was about to explain to him that he had taken a sacred vow in the name of the Lady of the Lake and was therefore not allowed to consume alcohol as Scherber tossed a handful of coins on the bar and walked off with the mug.

'What in the name of the sacred Lady was that about Scherber?' said Brecourt as he caught up with the Reiklander, 'we hardly had enough money for that room and now you spend the rest on a couple of drinks?'

Scherber grinned, 'do not worry Brecourt, I will explain all in a moment.'

The man at the table finished the last of his drink and looked up at the two as they made their way over to him. Scherber sat down on the chair next to him and put the mug of ale he was holding in front of the man while Brecourt sat down across the table.

'To what do I owe this pleasure stranger?' said the man and took a sip from the fresh drink.

'I have a business proposition if you are interested,' Scherber replied, 'for is it not business that draws lone wanderers to a place such as this?'

The man drank some more of the ale, all the while staring Brecourt straight in the eyes. The knight felt more than a little uncomfortable dealing with such a seedy character, but he felt that the Reiklander must have had a damned good reason to spend their last crowns on a stranger.

'Aye, my interest you have,' said the man, finishing the last of his drink, 'but before you tell me more about your venture I would like to know who I am dealing with.'

'My name is Hans Scherber from Reikland,' Scherber spoke and pointed at Brecourt, 'and this is sir Francois Brecourt from Bretonnia.'

'A man of the Reik and a Bretonnian knight,' the man smiled, making his moustache curve upwards, 'what an unlikely pair.'

Brecourt had to keep his anger in check. He had challenged men to duels for less back when he was in service of the Bretonnian army. It was a streak of temperament in his otherwise calm nature that he had never been able to get rid of.

'Well, I am Boris Stervic from Kislev,' the stranger continued, 'now that formalities are out of the way tell me about your proposition.'

Just as Scherber was about to explain himself to the Kislevite an empty mug flew past his head and impacted on the wall next to him, shattering into a thousand pieces.

The men standing at the bar had apparently just had a game to see who could down their ale the fastest and the man that had joined them had won. One of them had accused him of spilling most of his drink on the floor and this comment was not well received by the winner.

The accused had sent the man reeling with a hefty head butt and quickly ducked to dodge a mug thrown by one of the others. He then continued to display his mastery of the art of barroom brawling by knocking the thrower of the mug over the bar with one well-aimed punch to his chin.

'No man calls Björn Marreksson a cheater and gets away unharmed,' shouted the man as he stepped over to the two remaining soldiers, 'now who wants to go next?'

One of them produced a dagger from under his uniform's jacket and juggled it from hand to hand as he took up a fighting stance. Scherber grabbed the hilt of his sword, which he had set down next to him at the table and pointed it at the armed soldier.

'We shall be having none of that,' he said as he gestured the man to put his weapon down, 'now either finish it like a real man or leave at once!'

The soldier realised that even though he had confidence in his skill with a blade there was no way he could take on both Marreksson and Scherber at the same time without getting seriously injured in the process and threw his dagger on the ground.

'I was merely fulfilling my duties towards the Reik,' he said as he helped the two knocked down soldiers on their feet, 'and so should you. You know the stories about the Norse.'

'I do not believe in fairytales. However I do believe in the basics of a fair fight,' replied Scherber with a clear tone of anger in his voice, 'now take your friends and be gone before I forget about my beliefs and spill your innards across the floor, coward.'

Scherber followed the group around the room with his sword until the door closed behind them. As he sat back down the Norseman walked up to him.

'Thanks for the help there,' said Marreksson, 'although I'm sure I could have finished it off myself.'

Scherber smiled as he heard the man's massive ego surface, 'I have no doubt. Would you like to join us at the table? I have something to tell that might be of interest to you.'

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:27 am Strangers In The Night

'Karl? Karl, are you there?'

I slowly opened my eyes to see who had called out to me. Snowflakes gently twirled through the air, carried on the buckling back of a soft breeze. The autumn's fallen leaves had all but disappeared under the crisp blanket of fresh snow. I had to squint to stop the flurries from getting in my eyes. They had already formed patches of white in my eyebrows and hair. As I breathed the snowflakes on my upper lip melted and small drops of cool water ran down the creases in my skin.

'Is… Is anyone there?' I called out softly, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

Peering out between the lichen-encrusted trunks of the trees around me I tried to make out any movement. Not a thing stirred in the eerie undergrowth of dead ferns and fallen branches. I wrapped my cloak around my body tightly, appreciating the warmth and comfort that it gave me. Concentrating on the sound my boots made as they crunched the snow I kept walking.

'Karl, listen to the voices!'

There it was again. I stopped and took my sword from its scabbard. The rasping heard as the blade parted from it's casing was painfully loud in the silence that surrounded me. Something was out there and I knew it. It must have followed the tracks I had left in the snow. Cursing myself for not covering them I slowly turned around, taking in my surroundings.

'This is your last warning, come out!' I said half-hearted, trying to mask the fear in my voice.

As if the gods were playing a cruel game with my mind, the wind suddenly picked up. More and more snow filled my field of vision until the trees surrounding me were blurry shapes in a maelstrom of white. Laughing filled the air and my blood ran cold. Whoever had been shadowing me felt confident enough to openly mock me. Confidence was never a good thing to see in a foe.

'You amuse me, Karl. Your kind always does.'

The hail of snow slowly died down and the trees became visible once more. They seemed more akin to imposing ghouls than plants. I looked back from where I had come and was shocked to see that my tracks had been completely covered. No going back now, I thought. The voice sounded different this time. It sounded clearer, more audible. My heart stopped; it sounded closer.

'Don't try to run Karl, I will hunt you and find you, wherever you go.'

My senses went numb and my vision blurry. I could feel the fingers around the hilt of my sword slowly relaxing, letting the blade slip from my hand. It landed in the snow at my feet, my reflection showing in the polished metal. I was completely defenceless now and I wanted to run away, run to somewhere safe, anywhere but here; but my legs weren't responding. I stood there motionless in the snow, the wind softly playing with my hair, tugging at the loose end of my cloak. And somewhere out there waited someone, or something.

'Ah, it seems you have decided to stay, I think this could be most enjoyable.'

My legs started to tingle and I tried to move them again. Slowly my left foot moved forward, fracturing the frozen layer of snow like a hammer would fracture a mirror. I bent over and tried to pick up my sword when I saw something in the corner of my eye. Standing there silently between two ancient oaks was a cloaked figure. He was no more than ten feet away from me and I could smell a sickly sweet mixture of vanilla and weirdroot.

'Ah, it seems you intend opposition,' said the figure, 'good, I could use the exercise.'

I grabbed my sword gently by the hilt and lifted it up to my waist. Two large hands decorated with countless golden rings emerged from under the black velvet cloak of the stranger. There was no chance I was going to risk death, not in the middle of some forest. Bracing myself I turned around and started to run. Without looking back to see if I was being followed I darted between the trees ahead of me.

Risking a glance over my shoulder I saw nobody following me. It had stopped snowing and visibility was nearly perfect. My foot snagged an exposed tree root and I went down hard. I landed face first in the cold snow, inhaling nothing but ice crystals for a second until I realized what happened. I sprung to my feet and allowed myself to catch my breath. Exhausted from the running I slumped against a fallen tree, sitting down on its rotten trunk.

'How on earth didn't I notice that man before?' I asked myself quietly.

My breath turned into small clouds as I kept panting. I had been running blindly through the forest for over ten minutes now. It was a wonder I hadn't tripped earlier. Looking up at the sky I could see the sun was beginning to set. Night was not something I'd prefer to spend out here, so I stood up and prepared to move on.

'That was quite an impressive sprint Karl,' said a voice behind me.

I turned around to see the cloaked man sitting on the tree trunk. He just sat there toying with a pendant that hung from his neck. The stranger had sat down on the exact same spot that I had just used to rest, but how he did so without making a sound was beyond me. I had had enough; I was tired, cold and scared. Dropping my sword on the ground besides me I crouched and sighed, looking up at the man.

'I am pleased to see you acknowledge my superiority Karl,' said the man as he flicked a lock of hair out of his face.

The movement caught my eyes and before I knew it I was locked on his gaze. There was something about the man's long black hair and alabaster skin that seemed to hypnotise me, not allowing me to anything else but stare. He got up from the tree trunk and walked over to me.

'Wh-what are y-you?' I whimpered as he stopped just in front of me.

The man drew his head back and laughed out loud. His teeth resembled that of some vicious predator and he continued to display them as he put on a sneering grim after his laughter. He bent over and I was surprised that I could not feel the man's breath as he almost pressed his head against mine.

'I am the night Karl,' he whispered, 'and I have come to take you away.'

He violently pulled my head to one side and the next thing I felt was a sharp pain in my neck before everything went black.

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:26 am Untitled [WORK IN PROGRESS]

It had been two hours since he had heard from the colonel and since then it had been nothing but static. Holding his eye up to the scope of his longlas trooper Ferilius Baretim of the Kartevan fourth regiment took another quick look around to see if anything had changed.

He had positioned himself next to a blown-out window on the third floor of one of the hab-blocks and every time he had to check the parameter he was risking discovery. But it had been unearthly quiet outside for the past hour and before that the only movement he had noticed from his position were some strange exotic bugs crawling through the debris on the side of the road.

As he sat back down on the cold concrete floor he laid his rifle across his legs and decided to give his micro bead one last try before he would have to go out and locate his squad all by himself.

'Red leader this is alpha one, come in please,' he spoke softly, 'for the love of the Emperor come in.'

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:25 am The Beginning Of Something Big [STOPPED]

Prelude : Evil Incarnate

With a heavy tread the Inquisitor made his way up the steps of the old Administratum building. It was a windy day and a large number of rain clouds were forming on the horizon.

'The dark one seems to expect me, I best be careful,' he spoke to himself as he fondled the Inquisitorial seal around his neck.

At the end of the lengthy steps a large cast-iron gate blocked the way in to the Administratum building. Expecting to find a lock in between the two doors Inquisitor Darius searched his right pocket for the Administratum's skeleton key. Suddenly, he stopped, letting the skeleton-key fall out of his hand onto the marble stones that made up the steps.

'For the love of our God Emperor!' Darius muttered.

The two cast-iron doors of the gate had their inner most beams ripped loose, only to be entangled like a child would bond two ropes together.

'What monstrosity lives within the innards of this place?' he mumbled angrily as he scaled the gate with comparative ease.

The great stonewalls of the compound surrounding the Administratum had screened the ground around the building from the outside world for many years. Plants grew rampant, covering the great amounts of rubble that lay around the ruinous building with a thick layer of undergrowth. Strangely, the entrance to the Administratum itself gave the impression it had been cleaned not long ago.

The floor that was made of the same marble that made up the steps to this infernal place shined with an almost eerie glare. As he stepped onto the neat marble tiles of the building entrance, a second act of blasphemy caught Darius' eye. Two statues in the shape of angels guarded the doorway. On closer examination he saw that the heads had been smashed of and the statues had been covered in small sings. Signs of the chaos gods, written blood.

'At least we now know what happened to the Archivist that maintained this Administratum,' Darius said whilst slowly bowing his head in grief.

With a sudden crack of thunder the rain began to fall, slowly at first, but building up to a storm in a matter of minutes. Darius ripped a piece of cloth from his cape and held it out in to the rain until it was soaking wet. Using the wet piece of cloth, he began to clean the statues, wringing the blood into an empty flask that hangs from his belt.

'This may have traces of the demon,' Darius thought to himself as he secured the full flask to his belt.

After finishing his work on the statue he took of his cape and rolled it up, laying it down next to one of the statues.

'May the God Emperor protect me,' Darius spoke out loud as he stepped through the doorway.

Expecting the entity that lived in the Administratum to react violently, he clenched his fists, but nothing happened. After waiting for a few minutes he gathered all his courage and stepped into the main room of the building.

Just like the entrance, the entire inside of the Administratum was completely clean. Walking slowly between the archives, Darius nervously fingered the safety on his boltpistol. Darius froze. Sitting comfortably on the ground in front of the main Archivist's desk was a man.

'Make yourself known!' Darius yelled at the man as he reached for his boltpistol, 'I am here to expunge a demon, do you not know this place is dangerous?'

The man suddenly raised his head towards Darius, as if he hadn't heard the Inquisitor enter.

Whilst looking at Darius with two bloodshot eyes, the man spoke, 'You consider yourself a man of faith, a man who believes!'

Slowly the man stood up, 'then believe my words! Leave now or perish!'

As he spoke the last word, the whole Administratum began to vibrate. With a loud crash the archives toppled over. A large cloud of dust filled the room, making visibility close to zero for Darius.

Grabbing his Inquisitorial seal with his free hand, Darius jumped behind the nearest archive and yelled over the edge, 'I will not leave, not before I have sent you back to whence you came, spawn of chaos!'

As if swept away by a gust of wind, all the dust quickly swept aside, restoring visibility in the room. Slowly Darius rose from behind the archive, holding his boltpistol in the direction where the man had been. Realising he had forgotten to load his special Inferno shells in all the commotion he let out a soft curse. Quickly he changed the clip and looked back up, pointing his boltpistol as he went.

Then he saw him, or rather it. In the middle of the room, amidst a number of upturned archives. The demon, the chaos spawn, the thing he came to destroy. Standing over fifteen feet tall the demon looked at Darius with a subtle smile on his lips. Slowly it started to move towards him, meanwhile flexing its great leathery wings and upturning even more archives with his clawed hands.

'Stand back demon!' Darius yelled as he waved his boltpistol around in a futile display of power, 'I am not afraid of you, I am your nemesis!'

But the demon had already sensed the fear in Darius' voice. Before Darius could retrieve his boltpistol which he had dropped in fear the demon made a swoop with his hand and ripped the Inquisitorial seal from the Inquisitors chest, pulling him closer because of the fact that the chain that was attached to the seal was still around his neck.

'Do you really think this little plaything gives you the right to command me?' the demon hissed as he clenched his fist.

Letting go of the seal, it hit Darius' chest. Looking down, he was shocked to see that the once perfect Inquisitorial seal had been crushed by the iron grip of the demon. Forgetting about the entity for a moment was the biggest mistake he had made yet. With a hefty sweep of his right arm the demon whacked Darius against the wall. Feeling he had won, the demon turned and slowly walked back towards the Archivist's desk.

A sudden pain rushed through Darius' left shoulder as he realised one of the spike-like bones protruding from the demon's elbow had punctured his body armour. Feeling his power over the demon had never been, he began to fire his now successfully retrieved boltpistol at the demon.

With a loud crash the arcane weapon began firing. The contents of the entire clip hit the demon in the back. Holding true to their name, the Inferno shells punctured the scales of the demon and burst into flames. Clouds of smoke began to rise from the demon as it flailed its arms and howled in pain.

A smile appeared on the pain struck face of the Inquisitor, 'how do you like the Inferno that is the wraith of the God Emperor? You freakish spawn of chaos,' he spat at the howling monster.

As sudden as it began, the demon stopped dead in its tracks and looked at the Inquisitor. A look of pain and concentration gave away that the beast was in great pain and would almost definitely die from the wounds caused by the Inferno shells.

'You fool! Don't you get it? My work here was already done!' the demon began to say, 'I was instructed to gather blessed blood for my master. And all that was left to gather was the blood of the most devout of the Imperiums agents!'

A feeling of dread and horror went through Darius as he realised he had failed.

The demon spoke once more, 'yes, it is true! You were to be my final sacrifice to my master! And so it will be!'

With a below of rage the demon charged at Darius. Seeing his doom charging towards him, Darius revealed his last futile attempt to defend himself, a dagger he had taken from a heretic he had killed many years ago. As the demon reached him, Darius thrusted the dagger deep into the skull of the monster. But the inevitable still happened.

As the demon smashed into the wall together with Darius the Administratum finally gave way after years of neglect and damage and the entire structure fell apart, taking the body of the dead Darius and the dying demon with it.

Above the Administratum, the clouds began to pack even tighter. With a loud rumble the ground began to come apart, dividing the compound into two. The prophecy had been fulfilled; the demon had done its work.

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:23 am Exodus Inquisitus

Muddy footprints led up to the aged carcass of the fuel station. Remnants of a mesh fence outlined the former courtyard; a large open area filled with buildings that lay like fallen giants made of stone and steel. A soft crunching sound could be heard from outside the largest of the buildings.

Inquisitor Gabriel Halael of the Ordo Malleus approached the metal construct with exceptional stealth. He signalled back to the shadows of a nearby ruin, the last reminder of a once menacing looking guard post on the outside of the refinery that dominated the courtyard.

Out of the dark stepped two men. The left of them looked back and forth as he slowly stepped towards Halael. The psycannon on his shoulder buzzed softly as it did it's best to track the movement of its master's head. With a flick from his gloved hand he swept a lock of raven-black hair out of his face. Bound up in a pony-tail on top of the man's head it already showed small streaks of grey hairs, something one would not expect on someone who looked as young as he did.

"Belouve, get over here," Halael softly said to the approaching man, "and you too Sitael."

Behind Belouve stood a slender man, looking back and forth across the courtyard as if expecting an attack. Sitael stood at about six feet tall. Although the same size as Belouve he looked considerably slimmer and less bulky. The absence of weapons combined with the carapace armour fitted to his body almost made Sitael look out of place next to Halael and Belouve, who were both carrying impressive swords in scabbards on their backs.

"Master, what is it?" asked Belouve as he crouched next to the squatting Halael.

"We are getting close to the heretic," said Sitael before the Inquisitor had a chance to answer.

The psychic powers that Sitael possessed made him sensitive to changes in the electro-magnetic field of the planet. And the fiend they were after was causing such a thing.

"Sitael is correct, young Interrogator," Halael slowly spoke to Belouve.

Aldaran Belouve hated it when Halael called him by his Inquisitorial rank. It gave him the impression that his master somehow found it necessary to taunt him, to point out to him that he was not yet qualified to go out on his own missions.

"I am afraid I must take your word for it, master," he said as he nodded at Halael.

He had never been gifted with psychic powers, no matter how hard he trained there were simply no powers of the mind in him. This irritated Belouve. Although he had largely left the matter behind him he could not help but compensate in some manner.

He smiled as the soft purr of his psycannon reminded him of his advantage over psykers. Not being able to use mind powers himself he had a number of neurolinks implanted so he could take revenge against that what he was denied of.

"I will climb up this ladder and follow the walkway to the other side of the building," said Halael, snapping both men back to attention, "I will meet you on the other side."

Trying his best to make as little noise as possible Halael made his way up the ladder. As he stepped onto the walkway overseeing the area he noticed an eerie greenish glow flowing forth on the far end of it.

"It has begun, we must hurry," he murmured as he hurried himself over the meshed metal of the walkway.

Down below Sitael and Belouve were slowly making their way across the cracked asphalt of a road that lay next to the refinery. Remembering his training well, Belouve silently darted from shadow to shadow, taking up position in a storage shed on the other side of the road. He squinted as he tried to make out a shape that was obscured by a strange glow that emitted from the ground itself.

Sitael was less careful in his approach. Always trying to outshine Belouve in every way possible, he ran straight towards the corner of the refinery.

"I think time is of the essence, Brother," he yelled at Belouve as he sped past the skulking Interrogator.

Belouve shook his head, "so is stealth, Lupis, so is stealth," he thought.

But Sitael found it necessary to barge in. He always did. Taking shelter in a doorway just around the corner he had a clear view of what was emitting that strange glow.

Across the street, in front of the fuel station's main building stood a man. Hunched not so by age as more by mutation and the taint of chaos he slowly turned around. His eyes met with Sitael's transfixed stare. Letting out a light yelp from shock the malformed man wobbled over to some sort of table.

Having gotten used to the glow by now Sitael hadn't noticed the exact source of it. The sudden movement of the hunched man unblocked his line of sight.

"By the name of the Holy Emperor…" muttered the shocked Interrogator.

Out of nowhere a terrible roar filled the air. Both Sitael and Belouve and even Halael fell to the ground, clutching their ears, trying to keep eardrums from bursting.

As the roar died down Halael got back on his feet. He looked round to see if he could locate his apprentices. Down below he could see Sitael shaking his head, trying to get the ringing in his head to stop.

"Ah, seems all is well," Halael thought, just a moment too soon.

Screaming litanies of daemon-warding at the top of his lungs Belouve turned around and dove into the shed, hiding himself from the horrors that apparently roamed outside. The psychic effect of the roar had been too much for him. Where the trained minds of Halael and Sitael had blocked it out, it had done great psychological damage to Belouve's mind, reducing the grim Interrogator to a sobbing child wanting its mother.

Sitael looked over his shoulder at the shed and shook his head in disbelief. He had known Belouve to be somewhat psychologically weak, but he had never thought such an obvious mind-trick as this to affect him. A rumbling sound made him focus on the hunched man in the street again.

The ordeal with Belouve had given it the time to do its foul work, something it had been painstakingly preparing for many months. The source of the glow appeared to be a giant mark of the Chaos gods. With an impressive defiance of gravity bits of rubble and earth began to slowly rise towards the skies.

"Arise Fer'We'Thcan!" screamed the hunched man, "show these mortals the true power of Chaos!"

Another roar rushed through the fuel station, only this time it originated from within the Chaos mark. Slowly the ground within it came apart and the greenish glow, which had merely been a nuisance until now, grew so bright that it hurt the eyes of all who looked.

Sitael heard something vague in the distance.

"We must destroy it!" someone yelled, "we must destroy it before it eradicates us all!"

Standing on the top of the refinery Halael had a perfect view of everything. He had seen the mark well before Sitael did, but for some reason he was unable to warn him.

With the mark now slowly vanishing from view he found himself able to move again and he reached in his coat, searching for something. He pulled out a boltpistol. Highly ornate and decorated with wards it was his last hope.

"Death must come to all who strike pacts with the forces of Chaos."

With a crack akin to thunder the boltpistol began to spew forth it's deadly content at the hunched figure. Great clouds of earth spew into the air as shells missed their target, forcing him to duck behind the table next to where the mark was only moments before.

Seeing his master fail at taking out his target Sitael concentrated. It had been a while since he had last used his pyromantic powers. Slowly but surely a flame developed in his hand, hovering only inches above his flesh. With a grunt he whipped his hand forward, throwing the small flame towards the table, hoping to cleanse the man behind it with the flames of righteousness.

The small flame grew and formed into a ball of fire in mid-air. Sitael grinned as he looked at his creation. Such beauty, such sheer destructiveness.

As the ball flew closer to the table it began to slow down, coming to a complete halt above the hellish hole that was forming in the ground. Slowly it began to spiral, once again picking up speed. After ten rounds it jumped up into the air and dived towards the hole, disappearing from view.

The actions of Sitael had not mastered the evil, they had merely fed it.

"Lupis! Aim for the altar!" Halael screamed at the top of his lungs.

Sitael's blood ran cold. He had been with Halael for some time now and he had always called to him by his last name. Something must truly be amiss for his master to suddenly become so informal.

Up on the walkway Halael slammed a fresh magazine into his boltpistol. Checking the weapon to see if everything was in order, he aimed down at the street once again.

For the second time that day the air shook with the sound of gunfire. Feeling time was running short Halael emptied his entire clip on the brass altar next to the hole. Although the Inquisitor aimed carefully the recoil of his weapon made several shots go wild. The shells that did hit target pattered of the metal of the altar, hardly scratching the blasphemous creation.

Down below, Belouve emerged from the shed. His cheeks were caked with the salt from his tears, but his face was grim, not showing a single emotion. He had stared evil in the face and he had cowered. He would cower no more; it was time to take the abomination of Chaos down, once and for all.

The psycannon on his shoulder buzzed as it turned towards the altar down the street. A single burst of energy flew towards the brass table, passing over the hole with relative ease, only to dissolve as it hit home.

The cultist emerged from hiding and laughed at the three men. He made some sort of sign in the air with his hands and reached down in his robes, pulling out a curved dagger.

Rolling up his sleeve, the man ran the blade down his arm. Blood began to drip down his fingers as he held his arm over the hole. He spoke some ancient incantation as more and more drops of blood fell from his shaking fingertips.

"Fer'We'Thcan, show yourself! Eradicate these unworthy mortals!" screamed the man.

Slowly he retracted his arm and stepped back from the hole. The ground began to rumble as big patches of dirt around the started to ascend towards the sky. The cultist cursed and turned around, running off towards the old communications centre opposite of the refinery.

A loud voice boomed through the air, "I am Fer'We'Thcan, son of Khorne, bringer of destruction!"

Two giant leathery wings emerged from the greenish hellhole in the ground. Another daemonic howl heralded the appearance of a massive double bladed axe that rose into the air. Swinging its weapon around like a madman the daemon showed itself.

A curled horn on each side of the beast's head gave it the visage of a ram, had it not been for the row of pointed teeth Fer'We'Thcan showed as he smiled devilishly. The horrible thing's huge muscled chest was encased in brass armour, most likely forged using the blood of the innocent, as the legends told. Hoofed feet slowly set step on the muddy soil, sinking away due to the weight they carried.

"Who are you to stand in my way?" Fer'We'Thcan roared up at Inquisitor Halael as he pointed his weapon at the man.

Halael felt his heart throb in his throat. There was no reasoning with this beast. They were all going to die unless he did something.

"I," he began to say as he searched his coat for a fresh clip, "am Inquisitor Gabriel Halael of the Ordo Malleus and I am here with my trusted students to bring order to chaos."

With his last words he produced a clip with a blue cross on it from a pouch on his belt and slammed it into his boltpistol.

"Master? What are you doing?"

The voice of Sitael echoed through his head. The young Interrogator was trying to reach him telepathically. He brushed the thought aside with a simple 'trust me.'

A flash of light blinded Belouve and Sitael as they watched the conversation between their master and the daemon. Halael's special clip was filled with hellfire rounds. The shells hit the daemon square in the chest three times as it struggled to keep its balance through the punches of the explosions that erupted on its brass armour.

Halael jumped down from the walkway and drew his sword, ready to deal the final blow to Fer'We'Thcan. To his amazement the daemon stepped forward and ripped the armour from its body and threw it aside.

"Did you really think your puny weapons can stop me?" laughed the daemon, "I am a chosen of Khorne, no mere mortal can defeat me!"

Having said that Fer'We'Thcan lunged at Halael, grabbing him by the neck. The Inquisitor struggled to break free as the beast swept up into the sky, carrying him higher and higher.

Down below Belouve and Sitael looked on in horror as the daemon hovered in mid air. Sitael knew this moment would come sooner or later. Their master was lost; the daemon would surely kill him.

"Belouve!" he yelled, "get ready, the daemon will come after us any minute now!"

The other Interrogator nodded and positioned himself in front of the shed he had hid in only moments ago. Sitael ran across the courtyard towards Belouve, diving past him into the shed.

Up in the sky Fer'We'Thcan had brought Halael face up close to his. The Inquisitor stared into the pitch-black orbs of the daemon, trying to figure out what it was up to.

"We are very much alike, Halael," hissed the daemon, making his captive look away in anger.

"I fail to see any resemblance between us," answered Halael as he tried to reach for the laspistol he kept strapped to his leg.

The daemon slowly began to descend, keeping his grasp on the Inquisitor's neck as tight as possible without killing the man. As his feet touched solid ground once more he threw Halael to the ground.

"Oh, but there is a resemblance Gabriel," Fer'We'Thcan said slowly, "for we both serve a master, with great zeal and determination."

The Inquisitor stood up and spat the daemon in its face. This angered the beast and it sent him flying as it smacked him with the back of its hand.

"Do not mock me Inquisitor," the daemon continued, "for I hold your life in my hands."

"Then kill me you vile beast!" yelled Halael at the top of his lungs as he regained his grip on the ground and he threw himself at the daemon.

Fer'We'Thcan chuckled and easily sidestepped the feeble attack. As the Inquisitor passed him the daemon grabbed his neck and pinned him to the ground. He kneeled next to him and started to whisper.

"Death is too good for you Gabriel," hissed Fer'We'Thcan as saliva dripped from its scaled chin, "my master has other plans for you."

"What in the holy name of the Emperor is that thing doing to Master Halael?" mumbled Sitael as he looked at the two figures in the courtyard.

"I do not know," Belouve answered, "but I intend to find out!"

With that said the young Interrogator braced himself against the shed and pushed off, running towards Fer'We'Thcan and his Inquisitorial captive. Screaming Imperial litanies at the top of his lungs he quickly attracted the attention of the daemon. Flapping its huge wings the beast quickly ascended and disappeared from sight.

Belouve reached Halael, who had picked himself up off the ground. The Inquisitor calmly picked up his sword and stepped over to the Interrogator.

"Master, are you all…"

Halael swung his sword in a majestic figure eight, slashing Belouve across the face and chest. The young man stared blankly at the Inquisitor as he fell to his knees. Blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth. Halael pushed the gurgling Interrogator aside and started to walk towards Sitael.

Sitael could not believe his eyes. His master, the one man he had faithfully followed throughout the galaxy just brutally killed his own student. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He would have to stop Halael. And what ever happened to that daemon?

A deafening roar answered his last question. In a shower of splinters and pieces of metal Fer'We'Thcan crashed through the roof of the shed. Sitael could not help but scream in terror as he had his first close encounter with a daemon.

"What do we have here?" the beast bellowed, "you are not trying to run away, are you?"

Sitael launched a fireball at Fer'We'Thcan that harmlessly impacted on the brawny chest of the great beast. The daemon laughed loudly at the futile attack and smashed the Interrogator back against a pile of crates with a powerful punch to his chest.

Halael had now reached the shed. He stood in the doorway observing the fight between Sitael and Fer'We'Thcan. Shaking his head he turned around and walked off in the direction the cultist had ran off earlier that night..

Sitael moaned as he slowly tried to get up. The daemon's punch had cracked a number of ribs and by the sound of his breathing one of them had punctured one of his lungs.

"Master…" he softly whispered, "why?"

Fer'We'Thcan stepped forward and blocked his view of Halael. The daemon raised its massive axe high in the air.

"Your master serves a new god now!" the beast bellowed, "let the false Emperor rot in his golden prison!"

With a last earth-shattering roar the daemon brought its axe down on the defenceless Interrogator. Reaching down to the floor it dipped its clawed hands in the gathering pool of blood. Smearing the blood across his chest and face Fer'We'Thcan laughed and flew upwards into the night sky.

As Sitael felt the world slowly growing cold he faintly heard the daemons voice as his vision faded to black.

"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Throne of Khorne!"

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:23 am Heroism Is Relative

A large part of the upper floor of the old inn collapsed inward, spewing masonry and timber over the Chimera that skid to a halt in the middle of the street. The hatch on the back of the vehicle slowly swung downward, exposing the inside of the vehicle to the other oncoming Chimeras.

Before the metal of the hatch touched the crater-filled asphalt that covered the ground a large man jumped out. Hugging the profile of the vehicle to protect himself from incoming anti-personnel fire he signalled to the men inside whilst pointing one hand in the direction of the ruined inn.

'Ok! This is it! Get out and run for that building over there!'

Two by two the men ran out of the Chimera. As soon as the first two broke the cover of the Chimera all hell broke loose. A heavy stubber nest down the street opened fire and stitched the closest trooper with holes. The trooper besides him escaped mayor injury thanks to the relative cover that the other trooper had given him.

As he kept on running he was hit in the ankle by a ricochet and stumbled forward. Screaming he rolled over and grabbed his ankle. This was all the time needed for a sniper in a building nearby to pick him out and the screaming stopped abruptly as a streak of light pierced the smog filled air.

'Leave them! They're dead! We can't help them! Just get to that building!'

The sergeant took one last breath and pushed against the armoured hull of the Chimera to gain some speed. As he followed the last two troopers that exited the vehicle into the building across the street a krak missile hit home and blew the Chimera apart.

Not wanting to think about what might had happened if he had ordered his men to disembark even a second later he went on to counting his men.

'Seven, eight, wait! Where is Low-brow?'

The men looked around to see if they could locate trooper Nespar. Trooper Mikon yelled out in dismay. He had been Nespar's friend since they joined the Imperial Guard and what he saw was more than he could take.

'Sergeant Herpav, he's outside! They shot Nespar!'

Nespar had disobeyed orders and had gone back out to check the two troopers that had gone down. He had accidentally run into the sight of the same sniper that had taken out trooper Vonder and he lay like a rag doll on the ground just outside the door. His open eyes looked up in disbelieve from under his thick eyebrows as his body was dragged inside by Herpav to check if he was still alive.

'Well, seems there are nine of us! We have to complete our mission! If we don't blow that large building at the end of the street up the entire advance will come to a halt and we'll be sitting ducks!'

Herpav took point with Mikon, the rest following them close in groups of two with trooper Asern carrying their explosives being escorted by the last group.

As the group made their way to the back door of the building Herpav stopped them just before they went outside. He looked over at Mikon as he unhooked a frag grenade from the straps of his backpack. He pulled out the pin and threw it out the door in the direction they had to go. As the explosion vibrated the walls around the group Herpav yelled at them with a vindictive look on his face.

'This one is for Vonder, Nespar and Lormus!'

The men ran out of the building through the muddy crater that the frag grenade had made in the once perfect stone floor of the alley. Their charge was met by a volley of small arms that erupted from windows of a building at the far end of the alley. Shards of cement and stone pelted the group as they ran for cover inside the next building.

Herpav noted the number of buildings they had to go through in order to reach the one they had to destroy. Looking at the structure in the masonry he guessed they had two left to go.

'Ok men! As soon as I kick that door open, start firing!'

Herpav positioned himself on the opposite side of the door, taking shelter behind a pillar in order to avoid being hit by the fire that came their way. Counting to three he ran across the width of the alley with his lasgun in his arms. The door gave way and he started firing.

It seemed that the enemy had taken up position in this end of the building to do the same as his men had just done.

As more of Herpav's men poured in through the door the enemy started to return fire. The room was relatively large and seemed to be some sort of a storage facility. Everywhere troopers jumped behind upturned tables and cupboards that had been knocked over.

'Everybody grab a grenade! We don't have the time to have a shootout!'

Several frag grenades were unhooked from their holders and pins were pulled out. The men waited for Herpav's order impatiently as more and more fire slammed into their cover.

Herpav threw his grenade over the edge of the table he sat behind and yelled at his men to do the same. Suddenly all the enemy troopers stopped firing and cries were heard. Even though they were in a strange language Herpav thought to himself that they must have meant "grenade."

An explosion shook the very foundations of the building and the following explosions almost took the entire structure down. Not knowing for certain if it was safe to come out Herpav signalled everyone to keep their heads down for a little longer.

'Ok! Everybody up! We've got them! Is everybody here?'

Names were called out. Everyone made it into the building alive, but trooper Komm had been hit in the chest by autogun fire as he had tried to run for cover inside the building. Herpav divided Komm's grenades and ammo between the other men and went about securing the room.

After he'd made sure everything was safe Herpav addressed the men on their status. They had eight men left and it looked like there would be no way for them to make it to the last building through the alley. The only possible option was to fight their way through the buildings, room for room.

'Mikon, you take point with Greffan! The rest follow in a single file!'

As the men positioned themselves around the next door Mikon unhooked a grenade and pulled the pin out. Seeing everyone was ready Greffan took hold of the doorframe and kicked the door in with a tremendous force. As soon as the door hit the ground Mikon threw the grenade into the dark room.

A volley of autogun fire answered and Greffan was hit in the neck. As the trooper went down the frag grenade went off and a dismembered corpse came flying through the door.

Within seconds of the blast everyone ran in to the room lasguns blazing. A single enemy trooper was still alive, as he had sheltered behind a bookcase in a corner of the room. The man came out of hiding as soon as Herpav's men stopped firing. He had his hands in the air and kept shouting the same line in some strange language.

A single lasgun shot to the chest silenced the raving man. Herpav looked at the corpse and lifted his shoulders.

'Couldn't understand a word he said, probably something about my mother.'

Greffan was dead before they had time to check up on him. Thinking of the fact that he still had another entire house to clear before they could even reach the target made Herpav sigh. He instructed the men to form a single file and head for the door to the alley between their current location and the next building.

As they reached it everything seemed to have become a habit to the seven remaining men. Herpav had put Mikon in the back so the next in line had the privilege to throw a frag grenade to clear the way.

Trooper Hopler ducked as he threw the grenade out the door. A large explosion followed by screams indicated that the frag grenade had hit home. Hopler took a quick look outside to see where the entrance to the next building lay. He cursed as he pulled his head back inside.

'The entrance is almost next to the street, we'll be sitting ducks for snipers.'

Herpav thought hard to find a solution. Suddenly he unhooked a smoke grenade from his belt, pulled the pin out and hurled it down the side alley covered by the enemy troopers in the building at the far end. He instructed the others to do the same.

The alley was now covered in a thick blanket of smoke that protruded from the canisters that lay strayed across the ground. Feeling this was a good time to break through into the target building Herpav told his men to run straight past the next building and to take up position along the wall next to their target.

One by one the troopers ran out of the safety of the doorway towards their target. Herpav was at the front, with Mikon once again making up the rear. As they ran through the smoke Herpav realised something that made his blood run cold. They ran up-wind.

The smoke had cleared way too soon and the men appeared in clear view of the enemy. A heavy stubber that had been set up in front of the enemy position behind a number of sandbags opened fire on the unprotected troopers. Herpav was decapitated by a shell that hit him right in the centre of his neck.

Immediately the remaining men tried to duck behind cover. Cover was scarce in the alley; only one pillar bid any shelter from the heavy stubber's rain of destruction. It was ironic that Mikon, the last in line, was the first to reach the pillar. He hid his face in his hands as he waited for the firing to die down.

As sudden as it began, the heavy stubber stopped. The enemy was repositioning it to a place where it was needed more. Mikon looked up to see who made it into cover. Behind him sat a shaking Asern covered in the blood of his fellow troopers.

All around them lay the bodies of their fellow troopers, their friends. The only corpse that shocked Mikon was the headless body of his sergeant. The man that had seemed nigh invincible.

Whimpering from Asern snapped Mikon back to attention. He tried to calm the man down but all it did was make things worse. Feeling like he could take it no longer Asern ran out into view. Another sniper that hid in a nearby tower dispatched him quickly.

'Damn those snipers! Curse them! Curse them all!'

Mikon contemplated his next move. He stood up, still in cover and sighed. The only good alternative to being killed by that infernal sniper was to grab the explosives from the body of Asern and make a suicide run into the building.

He pushed of from the wall and ran for the door, grabbing the explosives as he went. He burst through the door as the bullet that should have hit him in the head instead hit the doorframe next to him.

Inside it was almost peacefully quiet. It seemed that the enemy had withdrawn at the last minute. Mikon dropped to his knees.

'Everything has been for nothing! All those lives! Will the madness never end?'

Outside the Imperial Guard advanced through the rubble filled streets. Suddenly everyone ducked as the building at the end of the street rumbled. Large flames spat out of the windows of the lower floor and slowly the entire structure collapsed, covering everything in a five meter radius in a thick layer of masonry and timber.

The troopers completed their mission after all.

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:22 am Death On The Streets [STOPPED]

Prelude : Silent Death

Trooper Feder tested his microbead as he kept his sight trained on the advancing Chaos Space Marines. Captain Fane had ordered him to take out their leader, but there was no sign of his target.

'One-one-six, this is two-oh-four, over,' he said into the small microphone hanging from his helmet.

He hated working with that cumbersome helmet. It restricted his movement and made it hard to do what he was trained to do. Resting softly in his arms, supported on the smashed timber of a windowpane was his long-las. Feder was a sniper, trained in the art of silent death.

'Two-oh-four, this is one-one-six, what is your status, over' crackled a voice over the microbead in his ear.

Feder was about to report his findings when he caught sight of a large Chaos Space Marine wielding an ornate power fist. He quietly flexed the muscles in his neck and flicked the safety of his weapon off.

'One-one-six, this is two-of-four, target acquired, requesting permission to take the shot, over.'

The trooper idly let the crosshair of his scope move back and forth over his target's kill zones. He stopped at the head as the static buzz of his microbead told him another message was coming.

'Two-oh-four, this is one-one-six, affirmative, you have permission to take the shot,' said Fane, his voice warped by the metallic sound of the tiny speaker, 'make this one count, one-one-six out.'

Slowly Feder squeezed his finger, making sure he had his sight trained on the target. He grinned as the Chaos Space Marine suddenly looked his way, warned by sunlight reflecting in his scope. It did not matter, it was too late.

'And another one bites the…'

That was as far as Feder came before all hell broke loose. Suddenly, jets of flame rose from just to the right of his target. Caught off guard by this he flinched and his shot went wild, impacting harmlessly off the wall behind the Chaos Space Marine.

'One-one-six, this is two-oh-four, that is a negative on the shot,' Feder could hardly believe what he was saying, this was the first miss in his career, 'I repeat, that is a negative on the shot, over.'

All he could hear over the microbead was frantic screaming. This was not good, not good at all. As the sniper looked through his scope to take another shot he could see that the target and his retinue were moving up towards the Guard's position.

'Time to pack my stuff up and reposition,' he mumbled to himself, folding the stock of his long-las and swinging it onto his back.

Just as he turned around he heard something inhuman, something ghostly. From somewhere beyond the great black cloud obscuring part of the Hellhound that was supporting the men came screams. They sounded human at first, but turned too high-pitched after a few seconds.

'What in the name of…'

The black cloud began to swirl and part as five monstrous bat-like creatures emerged from the dark. In the light they looked liked winged Chaos Space Marines carrying wicked chainswords.

Before he could react the screaming monsters were all over Feder. He stabbed one of them in the armpit with his bayonet, but broke it as he tried to twist it free.

The Chaos Space Marine laughed, the noise distorted by the vox built into his helmet. Drawing his arm back first he took the sniper's head off in one giant swoop with his chainsword.

The last thing Feder heard as his head tumbled towards the streets below was captain Fane screaming over the microbead, 'two-oh-four, get the hell out of there!'

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Sep. 3rd, 2004 @ 01:15 am What Price Glory [WORK IN PROGRESS]

Chapter 1 : The Road To Kellberg

The moon reflected peacefully in a large puddle that lay beside the road. The water rippled and the reflection blurred as a stone was cast into it. The caster of the stone bent over to pick up another one as he slowly walked over the soggy gravel.

"Schmidt, do we have to walk for much longer before we reach Kellberg?" spat the man as he rubbed his stubbed chin.

A large man carrying a torch turned around and held up his hand. Half a dozen men who were following him stopped and started to make complaints about their sudden pause. The man walked between them to face the one that had made the comment.

"You shall address me as captain Schmidt, Gustaff… I am your leader and superior…" he said as he held the torch painfully close to Gustaff's face.

As the heat of the flames started to singe the hairs on his head the warrior-priest Heinrich laid his hand on Schmidt's shoulder. The witch-hunter turned his head and looked the ageing man straight in the eyes. Heinrich shook his head as he removed his hand from Schmidt's shoulder.

"Let the man go Waldemar… He knows not what he does," said the warrior-priest, "if you choose to deal judgement amongst your own men who will there be left to fight the forces of evil?"

Schmidt backed away from Gustaff and the frightened man slumped to his knees, thanking various deities that he was still alive. The witch-hunter turned to face Heinrich and gestured him to walk with him. They walked over to a rotting tree that lay along the side of the road, uprooted by some unknown force. Schmidt sat down and looked into the darkness ahead. Heinrich remained standing, as he had been taught in the monastery, keeping an eye out for hidden danger.

"The man had no right to address me like that, Heinrich," Schmidt said, "it is the duty of a captain to make sure his men remain faithful."

He pointed to a cluster of lights that lay in the direction they were heading in. In the relatively bright light of the moon small plumes of smoke could be seen rising from what were probably houses. With a heavy grunt caused by age and stress he heaved himself up and walked back towards the men that waited on the road. Heinrich followed him silently.

"Hear me, faithful followers of Sigmar!" Schmidt said as he looked at the rag-tag bunch, "we approach Kellberg… You'll be able to catch a few hours of sleep before we set off for the City of the Damned! Let us not falter now and press on to reach its safety!"

Slowly but surely the group made its way to the village. Gustaff had remained out of sight of Schmidt, mostly because the experience with the torch made him fear the over-zealous witch-hunter.

Every few hundreds yards of road was marked by a crucifix. As the group passed them Schmidt ordered one of the men to burn it, to show that no trace of the evil forces afoot in this region of the empire should be left behind. The corpses that had been nailed to the crucifixes weren't human. Deformed and mutated limbs showed that these beings were once the foul agents of chaos.

"What on earth is this place?" murmured one of the men as he set yet another blasphemous trophy ablaze with his torch.

Schmidt walked on, determined not to show the fear that he felt in the pit of his stomach. He fingered the grip of the sword that hung in the scabbard fastened to his waist to ease his mind. Heinrich started to recite a prayer to boost morale but Schmidt held his hand up to silence him.

"We have ventured into the home of pure evil!" he spoke whilst keeping his eyes on the village that lay just beyond the next bend in the road, "and it is our duty to free the land from its grasp! And so it shall be done!"

A reinforcing roar rose up from the men as they held their swords and maces up in the air. As the sound pierced the cold night air clouds began to gather, hiding the moon and plunging the land into total darkness.

With doubled pace the group made their way to the village, stopping at a rather unpleasant surprise that awaited them on arrival.

"Halt! Who goes there at this time of night?" shouted a guard through a small hole in the large wooden gate.

Kellberg had learned its lesson about safety after being attacked on several occasions by all sorts of foul beings. The villagers had raised a wall made out of timber around the village. Even though it would not stand a chance against an organised foe, it held its own against the uncoordinated attacks of the mindless beasts that plagued their home.

"I am captain Waldemar Schmidt of the sacred order of the Templars of Sigmar," Schmidt replied, "I wish to enter your village to rest after a long journey and to gather information."

The guard disappeared out of view and voices could be heard from behind the gate. When the guard reappeared a second man was by his side. Even in the low light of the torches Schmidt could see that this man was considerably older than the first.

"You may enter Kellberg on the condition that you surrender your weapons to us on entering," said the older man.

Complaints rose from the men behind Schmidt but his raised hand once again commanded that they kept their mouths closed. He walked up to the hole in the gate and looked the man straight in the eyes.

"I am captain Waldemar Schmidt of the sacred order of the Templars of Sigmar," Schmidt repeated, "let us enter your village or face the wrath of our protector!"

The old man behind the gate began to chuckle, to Schmidt's irritation. He looked at the witch-hunter and shook his head.

"My son, do you not know that Sigmar has abandoned these lands?" he asked Schmidt, "even if he does keep watch over us, why does he not help us when we are in need?"

Schmidt clenched his fists to keep his rage in check. His right hand moved towards the seethed sword that rested against his leg. Heinrich walked over to Schmidt and grabbed his wrist. He slowly pushed him back from the gate whilst making an apology to the old man behind the gate.

"Waldemar, please try to understand that these villagers are plagued by the forces of evil," he whispered to Schmidt, "I think it is best if we do as the man says, there is no need to make new enemies so long as old ones still draw breath."

Schmidt sighed and nodded at Heinrich. He slowly walked towards the gate, undoing the belt that his scabbard was hanging from. He held the seethed sword up in his hands as he looked at the old man.

"I agree to your term, on the condition that you lend me and my forces full cooperation in our quest," he said to the man.

The old man nodded and signalled the guard to open the gate. With a loud creaking the large gate opened and Schmidt and his men walked in. Inside the old man was waiting for them. Now fully visible Schmidt could see the robes that the man wore. Judging by the intricate patterns woven into the cloth he was probably the village elder.

"Welcome to Kellberg gentlemen," the elder said, "I am Sigmund, the leader of this village."

---

Chapter 2 : Gathering Information

Schmidt and Heinrich followed the elder into a large house opposite of the gate as the other men were escorted to the local tavern to rest up. The house looked imposing in the low light of the torches, with large arched windows and a number of gargoyles scattered across the edges of its roof.

As they entered the house through a large wooden door a black cat ran across the marble floor of the main hall. Schmidt cursed and reached for the hand-crossbow he always kept hidden in his coat. Sigmund stepped in front of him just as he was about to unleash Sigmar's righteous fury on the furry animal.

"Captain! I have granted you entry into my village, I have even let you into my home!" the angry old man shouted, "do you plan to repay me by killing my beloved pet?"

Schmidt lowered his crossbow and disarmed the weapon. Sigmund snatched it from his hand and smashed it on the floor.

"No weapons are allowed!" he continued, "what were you thinking? Violating our laws in such a manner!"

Schmidt held up his hands in a sign of peace but once again Heinrich stepped in front of him. The warrior-priest had learned many things about Schmidt over the years they had been companions, but one of the most prominent things was the lack of diplomacy that he possessed.

"Please forgive him, elder," Heinrich said, "he is a witch-hunter of the sacred order of the Templars of Sigmar."

Sigmund laughed. He knew of the temper and willingness to fight that characterised the witch-hunters. There had been many that passed through Kellberg on their way to the City of the Damned. None of them were ever seen again though.

"I forgive you, captain Schmidt," he said as he picked up the pieces of the crossbow, "although I couldn't have said the same if you'd had killed my cat."

The animal in question walked to Sigmund from its hiding-place under the table. It purred loudly as it rubbed past the robed leg of its master. Sigmund bent over slowly, feeling the pain of old age running down his back. He petted the cat and gave it a little push to get it to leave.

"Now, gentlemen," he grunted softly as straightened his back, "let us retire to my chamber and discuss business."

The personal chamber of Sigmund was very different from the other rooms in the house. Where the rest had been very simple and furnished only with the utmost important this room was a virtual paradise. The floor was carpeted, which was a welcome change to the marble, and beautiful silk tapestries adorned the windows. The three men sat down in chairs made of dark wood lined with red satin.

"I'll explain to you why we are here elder," Schmidt said, "we are on our way to the City of the Damned in search of a man called Helmut von Spieldorf."

Sigmund widened his eyes, indicating that he knew of the man. He quickly glanced down to the floor to hide his expression.

"He is said to be hiding there after having committed several acts of body-snatching and kidnapping," the witch-hunter continued.

Sigmund got up out of his chair and walked over to a small table in a corner of the room. He picked up a bottle of liquor and opened it, letting its contents pour into a finely polished crystal glass. Both Heinrich and Schmidt refused the glass offered to them.
"But these crimes do not sound as matters of the Templars. What interest does the order have in these trivial matters?" Sigmund asked and sipped on his liquor.

"It is not your right to know," Schmidt replied harshly, "but let me just say that his victims have turned up afterwards."

Sigmund looked at the witch-hunter with a puzzled look in his eyes.

"But, captain, there is no problem then," he said, "even the authorities of emperor Karl Franz himself would let the crimes pass if no permanent harm was done."

Schmidt looked the old man straight in the eyes. Something in Schmidt's eyes made Sigmund shudder.

"The undead," he said slowly, "are no light matter. They must be dealt with swiftly and without mercy."

A knock on the door broke the tension. Sigmund opened the door and welcomed a misshapen man who stood in the candlelit hallway. The man sat down on the floor opposite of Heinrich, never taking his eyes off the warrior-priest.

"This is Lukas," Sigmund said, "he is well known in these parts for being a traveller, maybe he can offer some assistance."

Lukas nodded to say welcome to the two followers of Sigmar.

"I sent for him after you entered my village," Sigmund continued, "I thought he might be of some assistance on your quest."

Schmidt turned to Lukas and told him the same as he had told Sigmund, keeping the most vital information to him self. He did not trust the little man, but as being a witch-hunter, the only person he really trusted was himself.

"I know him, but only by reputation," said Lukas, "I have heard rumours of someone matching his description taking up residence in a small camp near the Garden of Remembrance."

Schmidt took a piece of parchment and a quill from his pouch, and wrote down the information Lukas gave. Apparently the Garden of Remembrance lay on the outskirts of the City of the Damned. It was a ruin now, more from age than the wrath of Sigmar.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Lukas," Schmidt said as he shook the stubby fingered hand of the little man, "Sigmund, Heinrich and I wish to rest before going to the Garden of Remembrance in the morning."

The elder shook his head and showed the men to the guest-quarters. As he closed the door behind him he saw Lukas standing at the front door. He looked at Sigmund before slipping out into the cold night. The old man sighed and went back to his own chamber.

"Why did she ever let it come this far?" he thought as he blew out the candle next to his bed, letting darkness take control of the room.

---

Chapter 3 : Departure From Kellberg

The sun rose remarkably slow on the morning of the next day. Schmidt put the thought out of his head, dismissing it as a figment of his imagination. Talks with Sigmund and the traveller Lukas had given the witch-hunter some valuable information about the location of Von Spieldorf.

"Heinrich," spoke Schmidt as the warrior-priest approached him, "tell the men to get ready, we are leaving in half an hour."

Heinrich nodded and made his way towards the tavern. Inside he saw the now familiar faces of six men. All of them had a personal score to settle with the criminal Von Spieldorf and they were all eager to bring the man to justice.

"Ah, father," spoke a giant of a man, "will we finally get a chance to repay that dog Helmut?"

Heinrich flinched. He hated it when people addressed him by his clerical title. He looked over to the man. A dark brown shirt covered the muscled chest of the man. A large scar ran across the back of his right hand, evidence of his run-in with Von Spieldorf and his men. They had killed his wife and son when they raided his house for reasons unknown.

"Easy Adam," Heinrich said to the man, "let us wait for the orders of captain Schmidt."

Laughter echoed through the tavern. Three men sat in the far corner around an old table. The man in the middle stood up as Heinrich walked over to them. A blister on the man's face shimmered in the light of an old candle that slowly burned on a small plate. It was Gustaff.

"I know you have some problems with the captain, Gustaff," Heinrich spoke harshly as he pointed his finger at the man, "but that does not mean you have the right to mock him in his absence."

Realising he had lost his cool Heinrich quickly lowered his arm and gestured Gustaff to sit down.

"Now, I can count on you three to follow the captain's orders today?" he said to the men at the table, "for we will need all the help we can get, who knows what horrors Von Spieldorf will use to protect himself from the righteous justice of Sigmar."

The two men on either side of Gustaff nodded quietly. It was almost an injustice to call these two men. They had just left childhood behind them, although somewhat forced. Hans and Rigter had lost their father to a mob of undead creations and they had sworn to avenge his death.

Gustaff snorted, "if the choice is between obedience and the righteous flame of Sigmar, as our beloved captain calls it, I guess I can follow his orders for once."

Heinrich turned round and walked back to Adam. He looked around, but the remaining two men were nowhere to be found. He shook his head and sat down on a chair next to the large man.

"Does anybody know where Gunter and Wilhelm are?" asked the warrior-priest.

The three men at the table raised their shoulders, with Gustaff making a remark about the two probably being out chasing the women. Everyone in the tavern laughed for a moment, a welcome change to the tension that normally hung in the air during such journeys.

"I believe they went to the outside wall to have a word with the guards," said Adam, pointing out the window towards the large wooden fortifications.

Heinrich thanked him and made his way out of the tavern. Halfway to the wall he heard Schmidt behind him bickering with the village elder. The warrior-priest shook his head once again at the witch-hunter's inability to control himself. Normally he would have walked over to Schmidt and calm him down, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Gunter bid him good morning as he arrived at the wall. He and Wilhelm had apparently been talking to the guards about what sort of creatures tended to wander through the area around Kellberg. 'Field research' as Wilhelm called it. Heinrich chuckled as he heard the remark, but he felt sad about the sheer eagerness the two men had to kill something.

But he could not blame them. Both Gunter and Wilhelm had lost a child to that blasphemous Von Spieldorf. A loss that could only be repaid in blood.

"Could you two try to bring the argument between captain Schmidt and elder Sigmund to an end while I go round up the rest of the men?" he asked the two.

Heinrich sped back to the tavern as he heard two more raised voices enter the verbal fray behind him. Gunter and Wilhelm were faithful followers of the no nonsense approach, something they sadly also used when talking.

Inside the tavern the men had gathered their equipment and were ready to go. Heinrich followed them outside, paying the owner of the tavern for the expenses as he passed him.

The argument had stopped, but only because of the fact that Gunter and Wilhelm had started fighting. The men had been a bit too fanatical in their verbal protest to Schmidt and Sigmund that one had accidentally insulted the other.

Schmidt jumped in between the two and yelled they should cease their foolish actions.

"What on earth are you two doing?" screamed the angry witch-hunter.

Before either of them had a chance to reply Heinrich called them over and told them to get their equipment from the tavern. As the two walked off Schmidt stepped up to Heinrich.

"Are the men ready for departure?" he asked the warrior-priest.

"Yes Waldemar, Gunter and Wilhelm are getting their equipment as we speak," he replied, "we can leave as soon as they get back."

"I will tell the men what we shall do today before we set off," said Schmidt, "it is important that they know exactly what to do."

The sound of stamping feet heralded the return of Gunter and Wilhelm. Schmidt gestured them to come closer and listen.

"Listen up men!" he spoke loudly, "we shall leave for the Garden of Remembrance shortly."

The men looked at each other. They had heard rumours of a place by that name. Vile creature lived there. What had once been a beautiful garden filled with flowers from all over the Old World had been turned into a cradle for the filthy spawns of Chaos.

"I want you to have your weapons ready," the witch-hunter continued, "who knows what Von Spieldorf may have waiting for us there."

The men collected their weapons as they left the village. Schmidt raised his sword high, sunlight reflecting of its polished blade. The mercenaries followed the example of their captain, roaring in defiance of Chaos. Heinrich simply folded his hands and prayed they would make it out alive.

"Ah, master is going to like this," thought a small hunched man as he watched the group from behind a bush beside the road, "they seem eager to die."

He patted himself on the chest as he sneaked off into the shadows, "well done Lukas, well done."

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