Wolf Scout

[Growler67]

Aye, spelling errors will be noticable as right now I'm just getting the story out there. In the end, I will take the whole thing, copy it into word and do lots of editing and proof reading before taking the whole thing and posting it back up in it's complete form (it may actually have some additional paragraphs here and there, where I think it will need to be fleshed out). I just hope you all take any spelling or gramatical errors at this point in stride as it's definately not a finished product. Consider this a WIP where I've got the first few layers down. Inking and highlighting will be coming up later ;)

 

Anywho, thanks for the support guys, will try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!

 

-OID

 

I've done this already for myself and e-mailed the document to myself as well. I cannot always access this and other sites while at work and so now I can just open the Word Document and read it at my leisure. Missing some apostrophes and needing caps on properer nouns and such, but all minor nits to pick. I'll give a short review when I've finished reading it. So far it is very interesting. I've got some ideas bouncing around in my head already and reading this has added some more.

[Natanael]

more please?

[OnlyInDeath]

more please?

 

Not to worry! I finally have some time tonight to get you guys another post up. After my crash last time I had to go get myself a decent word program to keep going on this (over two hours of work deleted on a fluke is NOT ok), and with the holiday weekend, time has been short. But yes, I have begun work on the next chapter tonight, and will have it posted up shortly.

 

Thanks for being patient everyone, and I do apologize for how long it's taken to get this next section up. Stay tuned!

 

-OID

[Growler67]

Open Office is a free download and the files are compatible with MS Office. Just Google it.

[OnlyInDeath]

Chapter 6

 

 

Torvald’s bolt pistol barked as he slid down the scree on the shoreline, pumping shell after shell into the abominations walking towards them and with a thunderous report, the rest of the pack joined in. The bolts absorbed into the mutating flesh of the daemons, entrance holes closing as quickly as they formed and the detonating bolts simply causing the liquefied flesh to bulge out into grotesque boils. Only Mikkel managed any success, the blue-white shots of plasma exploding across the chest of one of the plaguebearers, incinerating the monster from the pelvis up in a hissing roar of blue fire.

 

Taking advantage of the impacts of the bolts, which caused the daemons to reel before the kinetic energy each delivered, Torvald leapt from the bottom of the slope, holstering his pistol and drawing his power-axe from his back in one smooth motion, thumbing the activation stud as he brought the weapon down in a devastating arc towards the nearest daemon. The plaguebearer brought up a corroded sword to ward off the blow, rust visibly playing around the edge of the unholy blade. Using his momentum, Torvald grabbed the wrist of the slower daemon and forced the blade down, allowing his axe to arc over the guard of the beast. Torvald was shocked to notice that the fingers of his hand sank effortlessly through the rotten flesh of the daemon down to the bone, the liquid like skin parting around his grip with a hiss of escaping corpse gas; but his shock was compounded as the daemon lurched into sudden motion, and in a show of great strength it used it’s captured arm to heave Torvald bodily off towards the middle of the lake just before his axe would have struck home.

 

Trying in vain to maintain a hold on his enemy, Torvald flew through the air for a dozen meters before coming down on his feet and hands, skidding through the slurry of the lake in a great rooster tail as he slid to a halt. Looking down, Torvald noticed that he still gripped the rotten arm of the daemon in one hand, and his axe in the other. Tossing the limb aside, he shook his head to clear the sludge out of his hair in a spray of noxious water and took a moment to survey the melee around him. Besides the daemon that he had already attacked, two others were slowly shambling through the lake towards him, less than ten meters away.

 

Istan was proving his mettle in the thick of the scrum. Already one daemon lay crumpled behind him, nothing more than a pile of hissing limbs and jellied flesh with the tell-tale impact crater of a thunder hammer steaming in the middle of the corpse. He was already advancing on another daemon, his massive hammer in constant motion as he rained blow after blow upon the retreating horror. With a decisive motion, he feinted a swing high to the right, drawing the guard of the daemon high before he whirled with lightning motion, bringing his hammer into a devastating uppercut which vaporized the entire upper chest and head of the daemon in a shower of rotten gore and a clap of thunder.

 

Mikkel had isolated one of the daemons, and was using his speed to its full advantage against the slower foe. With a feral snarl twisting his dark features and his knife glinting in the yellow light of the reactors, he whirled around his foe in constant motion, his blade licking out to strike in fluid motions which the slower daemon could not hope to match. With its lifeblood dripping from it’s body in half-rotted clumps of congealed blood from dozens of cuts, the daemon gathered itself up into one last desperate lunge, which Mikkel dodged effortlessly, letting the attack glide past his shoulder as he dropped into a crouch, before rising inside the guard of the plaguebearer, his knife flashing in a vicious slash that cut through the monster’s neck, the monomolecular edge passing clear through the dead flesh in a spray of stinking pus and blood, sending the daemon’s head bouncing away into the knee deep lake.

 

Gudmund and Sjurd were working in concert, the big veteran using his shotgun mechanically in a slow retreat, blasting the advancing horrors back with ruthless efficiency, keeping the daemons off balance with blasts of slugs to the chest and face. Already the five plaguebearers advancing on the pair of wolves lacked any facial features as the blasts ripped through them, blasting clear sprays of the soupy flesh. Sjurd was likewise using his flamer to its fullest, washing the daemons one by one in the cleansing fire of promethium. The monsters kept advancing on the wolves, slowly shambling figures enveloped in the bright blue flame, gradually crumbling into the lake as the ashes from their bodies flew into the air like a new cloud of flies before falling into the fetid waters below like a sickly snow, dancing playfully on the hot updrafts which stank of cooked flesh.

 

Edvin was struggling. He was desperately lunging at his enemy with his knife and systematically pumping bolt after bolt into the foe, but was having little success as the daemon blocked most of his attacks with it’s great blade, and absorbed the bolts to little effect besides a brief lurch. With a howl, the young wolf finally found a way past the plaguebearer’s guard, punching into the daemon’s chest with his blade with a victorious snarl. His elation was short lived as he realized that the daemon had lured him in, and it now looked down upon him with a smile of dripping, oozing flesh as it’s face slowly melted to the body below, and he caught a brief scent of it’s breath, washing over him like a wind of death incarnate. It brought it’s fist around in a roundhouse that connected with his chest plate with a splattering impact, the force of it cracking the ceramite of his carapace armor and sending him staggering. The daemon followed up with a slash of it’s poisoned blade, catching him full across his pauldron which parted like soft cheese and the blade cut deep into the flesh below. With a howl of agony Edvin dove away from the relentless foe, falling face first into the cesspool lake, scrambling and sputtering in a shower of slime, retching as the vile liquid worked its way down his throat.

 

With a rush, Torvald took in the scene around him in a moment, and then sprang into action to aid his stricken pack mate. With a snarl, he advanced on the daemons bearing down upon him, and slid through the muck, under the thrust of the foremost plaguebearer before rising up behind the beast and cleaving clear through it’s torso with a vicious repost. He used the momentum of the swing to whirl himself around to meet the attack of the next daemon with an overhead block, before twisting his body to avoid the swing of the third, the rusted blade slicing half an inch into his chest armor before he rolled away from the swing, bringing his axe down in a sweeping cut that took the legs out from the second daemon. The monster made no scream as it went down into the muck, and Torvald was on it’s chest in an instant, driving his knife under the jaw of the daemon and taking it’s head off in a sharp twist of his wrist. He almost gagged at the stench that escaped the daemon’s body with the thick black blood that oozed from it’s neck. Instead, he lept off the body and rushed to Edvin’s aide, leaving the last daemon behind him with a burst of speed.

 

He came up on the beast bearing down on Edvin just as it had finally reached the stricken scout, who was barely able to keep his body propped up out of the water, shaking with the effort. The daemon brought it’s sword up, and lunged downward. A flicker of motion met the daemon mid-strike, and the impact of a power-axe into it’s face sent the monster flying, knocking it clear off it’s feet and into the muck of the lake, it’s body melting back into the soup as it lost coherency in death.

 

Torvald walked up to Edvin, reaching down to pull the scout to his feet. He grimaced as he caught the scent of his brother, and the pallid color of the younger scout’s face spoke volumes. Edvin’s fair features were drawn and gaunt, his skin slowly turning to a sickly green color mixed with jaundice yellow, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair hung limp against his skin as sweat poured out of his body in beads. As Torvald pulled the young wolf’s arm over his shoulder and advanced towards the islands of the reactors in the middle of the lake, coughs wracked the frame of the stricken scout.

 

Torvald paused to look back to the rest of the scouts, and was reassured as they gathered up behind him unhurt and with querying glances. Using his free hand to motion to the pack, they split up into pairs and headed off towards the more distant plasma reactors, unclipping the satchels they all wore and removing the meltabombs within. Torvald shouldered the bulk of his burden and made his way towards his target, sloshing slowly through the mire of the lake.

 

He was momentarily awed at the size of the reactor as he drew near. It was one thing to note that the cables extending from the reactor were the size of a Rhino APC, it was another thing entirely to stand before such scale. He craned his neck but could not make out the top of the reactor, and the egg-like shell housing the volatile energy within looked about as solid as a Leman Russ battle tank. Not that it would make much difference when you melted it straight off with the heat of a fission reaction, Torvald thought to himself with a wry smile, clamping the first of his meltabomb charges to the shell. He looked over and noted with satisfaction that Edvin was following suit, placing his charges at key points in the containment vessel’s structure. The sweat from his brow dripped down onto the corroded metal as he worked, hissing as it made contact with the housing as the ambient radiation from the reactor kept the containment vessel remarkably hot.

 

Finally, Torvald affixed the last of his charges and opened the vox link.

 

“All wolves, make ready to fall back,” he spoke into the vox, and was surprised when he coughed on the phlegm building up in his throat. It was only then that he noticed his own body was becoming feverish, fighting the living contamination that assailed it from every avenue.

“On our way to your position, little brother,” grated Istan, and Torvald could hear the congestion in the big wolf’s voice.

 

“Just finishing up now, and ready to get the frag out of here,” Gudmund growled in acknowledgement.

 

Torvald reached down to pick Edvin up from the ground and paused as the younger wolf hissed in pain. It was then that he noted the yellow ooze that dripped down the shoulder and arm of the scout, and he saw the blackened flesh beneath. As if sensing his gaze, Edvin’s drawn face broke into a weak grin.

 

“Guess those little globs of snot had a little surprise in store for me,” he paused, his body rattling as he convulsively hacked into the back of his hand. He raised his head and looked past Torvald, his face locking in determination. “It looks like you’ll need me to watch the charges in any case,” he wheezed, nodding back towards the direction the scouts had come. As if part of a nightmare, lumps were once more forming in the middle of the lake, the sludge slowly pulling itself back into the form of a daemon. There were only eight of them this time, but they were gaining speed as they pulled themselves together.

 

Edvin picked himself up from the ground, steel resolution set in his blue eyes as he looked upon Torvald. With a trembling hand, he reached across and clasped the older scout’s shoulder. “It’s been an honor brother. I will see you again at the Wolftime. Now get the hell out of here. I’ll give you twenty minutes.” And with that he drew and racked his bolt pistol, and pulled the detonator from his belt, activating the toggle before placing it back.

 

Torvald felt a surge of pride at the actions of his packmate, but couldn’t think of anything else fitting to say, so he simply replied, “For Russ, brother. For the Allfather.The honor has been mine.” With a nod he placed the remainder of his grenades and clips before the scout and walked back into the mire, drawing his power axe and knife, gathering the rest of the scouts around him as they advanced once more into the teeth of the daemons, seeking the exit beyond.

 

++++++

 

The vox burst into life. A choked death rattle played into his ears. An icon on his heads-up display winked out. Fenring cursed. The wolves were becoming bogged down in the endless tide of the advancing horde of the enemy, who just kept coming in seemingly endless numbers no matter the punishment they endured charging into the teeth of the wolves. In the end, it didn’t matter how much fire they poured into the mutated enemy, or how many they cut down into putrid heaps with the grinding rattle of a chainsword, there was always another to take the place of the fallen.

 

In the meantime, his wolves were dying. He had seen Joren, a proud member of his Wolfguard cornered in the ruined shell of a building, the thick rubble hemming him into a position where his bulky terminator armor could not easily extricate itself. Instead, Joren emptied the magazine of his assault cannon into the enemy before striding resolutely forward, his enormously gauntleted powerfist tearing through the unarmored bodies of the enemy like paper before they finally piled in upon him to the point where he could no longer move. Bayonets slipped in between armor plates opened up the soft flesh underneath, and eventually one of the vile traitors lodged a frag grenade into the Wolfguard’s exposed gorget, blowing the head off the proud marine, taking a handful of the enemy with him.

 

The enemy tanks no longer held back, either. They fired indiscriminantly into the teeming melee, blowing huge pockets of guard and wolves alike into small pieces. The litter of pale blue armor holding scraps of bloody, charred flesh held testament to the efficacy of the high explosive shells on the hapless wolves.

 

With a huge sweep of his sword, Fenring cleared a circle of space around him as he parted bodies in a series of wet slices. A quick glance at his HUD showed him that roughly a fifth of his company was dead, and it was anyone’s guess at the wounded. The Wolves would not let anything short of death keep them from the battle. It was their soul purpose in life, and it was something at which they excelled.

 

Still, each fallen brother was a painful loss to the chapter, especially those destroyed so thoroughly that their geneseed could not be harvested from their bodies. The battle raging around Fenring was a theatre where his Wolves could find themselves a hero’s death, but in the end it would be futile and it would endanger the Chapter as a whole. It was not something that he would allow to happen. They had bought the guard roughly thirty minutes, and it would have to be enough. He hoped that he had chosen wisely promoting Trooper Gavin. He will soon see.

 

Taking one last glance around, he drank in the battle, committing it to memory. Blast waves shook the rubble around him, the blasted rubble falling around him in a constant rain as it fell back to earth. The enemy advanced in a shambling horde of half-naked bodies covered in sores and weeping mutations; extra eyes, limbs, sucker mouths on snaking tendrils, and various growths. They came out of the dust with a shriek, most semblance of humanity washed away, replaced only by the need to kill. Bolt shells tore into the masses, thinning them down as soon as they came into view, the shells blasting the bodies to literal pieces in explosions of red-black blood and viscera. Streaks of blood and strips of unidentifiable flesh littered the rubble in front of the Wolves’ line, the blood pooling in some places knee deep as the tide of bodies was continuously shredded to scrap. The dust trickled down in a fine fog, fighting against the constant and gory death to coat the battlefield in a uniform grey. And above all, Fenring opened his senses to the smell. He took in the coppery scent of spilt blood, the earthy scent of the stone, the sickly sweet smell of rot and mutation, the sulfurous tang of spent gunpowder…It all combined into the same smell that Fenring would forever associate with battle. It was a scent that he wagered he could never forget, and never truly wash from himself. Satisfied, he opened the command vox-link.

 

“This is Fenring. Fall back to the trench line, brothers. No more need die to these heathens for this worthless pile of rock.” He cut the link and sprayed his stormbolter into the unwashed, mutant bodies piling towards him, and began to walk at a steady pace backwards.

 

++++++

 

Aravind waited patiently in the long, golden grass of the savannah, becoming one with the environment to the point that a man would have to literally stumble upon him to be found. His long barreled sniper rifle sat snugly in his armpit, and he used his naked eyes to scan the base of the cliff.

 

As expected, the PDF stationed at the blockade guarding the entrance to the caves had failed to check in and the bastion at the top of the cliff had sent down a patrol to investigate. Of course, careful disposal of the corpses ensured that the patrol encountered nothing but an unmanned barricade. This seemed to only fuel the curiousity of the PDF even further, and they had sent down several ground cars, heavily modified to cut through the prairie grass with ease with overly large wheels, heavy duty suspension and a high, plow like chasis.

 

The cars had long since ceased their search, and were now drawn up next to the barricade, the soldiers milling about, smoking, eating, and otherwise trying to entertain themselves. The officer in charge had sent a small patrol up into the tunnels, and they were undoubtedly awaiting the return of the men to hear some sort of report.

 

Aravind’s vox-bead crackled to life, and he could make out Torvald’s voice, but the old wolf’s wheezing breathing shocked the sniper. “Aravind, how are we looking out there?”

 

Without moving a muscle, Aravind worked his vocal cords to sub-vox in reply. “About two dozen PDF outside the entrance. A couple of light vehicles as well, but I don’t see any weapon mountings. I’m assuming you know about the patrol.”

 

A series of coughs came in reply, and Aravind gritted his teeth, willing the sound not to carry out the mouth of the cave. It seemed he need not have worried, and eventually Torvald’s voice came back through. “We’ve got about two minutes before the charges go up. We’re coming out hot, and will make for one of the vehicles. Assistance would be appreciated.”

 

Aravind clicked is bead in affirmative, and reached up to unclip the lens covers on his scope. Careful to keep the lenses from catching the glare of the low sun, he began to work.

 

His first shot went through the throat of a soldier who was off relieving himself behind a stand of high bushes that was growing near the base of the cliff. No one notice as he crumpled and slowly choked to death on his own blood. His second went through the spine of the officer in charge as he sat in the command cupola of one of the cars, and Aravind could see the stark terror in the eyes of the officer as he realized that he was completely paralyzed, unable to even utter a yell of warning to the men around him as his lungs stopped working. He placed his third shot clear through the head of the driver of the same vehicle, a plink of glass followed by an explosion of blood an brain matter that coated the cab of the car.

 

The breaking of the glass caused a couple of soldiers to look up from their card game, but just as they rose to their feet to investigate, a series of yells and gunshots sounded from the mouth of the cave, and several solders fell to their knees in that vicinity, gaping holes pouring blood from where they had taken bolt hits. Aravind used the action to cover his shots, and began to cut down the PDF wholesale. A heavy stubber team had just set up, when suddenly the gunner slouched over the action of the gun. The feeder looked up in puzzlement a second before a needle round entered his eye and abruptly ended his curiosity. The encampment was now in full tilt bedlam, as grenades and bolt shots traded back and forth with the harsh red light of lasgun fire. Aravind calmly lent his fire to support his brothers, and after thirty seconds, the second ground car lurched into motion and as it cleared the smoke of the battle, Aravind could make out the pale blue armor of his brother scouts. Rising from his hiding place, Aravind pulled out a long, silver object from between his cloak and back armor, and drove it into the ground. He toggled a switch, and a light on the top of the object began to pulse. He took a moment to look to the sky, then turned to greet the approaching vehicle.

 

+++++++

 

Two thousand miles above the surface of Selsa IV, the signal of the silver object was received in a repeating burst of binary.

 

As if awakening from the very fabric of the galaxy, a shadow began to come to life. Where moments before, only a vague outline could be distinguished from the blotted out star field behind the vessel, running lights began to blink, giving shape to the hard lines of the hull. Gradually, as the ship began to come up to full power, flood lights illuminated, shedding hard white light to give full shape to one of the most mighty achievements of mankind.

 

The Infinite Logic was a ship of the line for the Adeptus Mechanicus. Where typical Imperial cruisers boasted gothic architecture in broad spires and gargoyles the size of skyscrapers, the Mechanicus ship had a smooth hull, hard armor plating covering her vital systems in an adamentium shell that could withstand the punishment of just about anything the enemies of man could field. The shell was broken amidships in a line of weaponry that bristled from the belly of the ship. To the fore, the shell tapered down into a hawk-like beak, with sensoria projecting in a series of huge rod-like projections, and to the aft the superstructure of the ship rose above the hull in majestic lines, the guiding vanes of the ship projecting to either side of the bridge, adorned in brass and ivory with the icon of the Adeptus Mechanicus, a skull ringed by a cogwheel, the colors reversed along the center. She was a prototype, an effort of the Martians to pool as much previously lost knowledge together as possible to do something that had not been thought possible for millennia: they had made something new. At roughly two and a half kilometers in length, and packing weaponry that would rival a battleship, the Logic was a machine made for war.

 

And it was about to christen it’s plasma cannons and lance batteries on the planet below.

 

As the sensoria received the signal from the beacon below, they also noted an enormous power spike from the same region, which expanded to an area several kilometers across. Had the Mechanicum bothered to put view ports on their new ship, they would have seen from space a sphere of pure white fire blooming from the border of a mountain chain. But the human eye was a flawed thing compared to the machine, and the sensoria were trusted far beyond simple flesh.

 

Thrusting rockets sputtered to life around the surface of the ship as a glow started in her main drives, the titanic exhaust cones beginning to glow orange as pure energy was diverted to the act of propelling the mountain of metal. In slow, majestic maneuvers, the ship began a graceful decent into a lower orbit, the weapon apuratures along the flank of the ship sliding open, revealing high velocity plasma cannons and the long, deadly barrels of lance batteries. Energy began to hum through the hull of the ship as it began it’s attack run, using the curve of the planet to shield itself from the defense lasers on the planet below.

 

The might of the Omnissiah channeled through the ship, and as the target reared itself over the horizon, the ship rolled to it’s flank, and unleashed hell.

 

++++++

 

Fenring strode back across the trench works that he had so recently stormed over to reach Ravik. A city he was now abandoning. The thought galled him. Wolves do not retreat.

 

He wrinkled his brow in thought.

 

They do not retreat, but they do recognize when it would be best to redirect their might. They were a shock troop, best used to assault and annihilate an enemy. In a drawn out conflict, against impossible numbers, even a space marine would fall. While logical, it didn’t mean that Fenring appreciated the idea.

 

As he glumly strode across the no man’s land along the trench line, lasgun shots flared past him and impacted on the back of his armor. Occasionally a stubber shell would ping against the hard shell and startle him out of his reverie, but he was for the most part alone in his thoughts.

 

This city was abandoned. The wolves had made an orderly retreat to the Imperial lines, and the remaining guardsmen had formed a strong defensive position, backed by the might of the remaining Reaver and Warhound titans. It was a strong line, and they could hold it for a long, long time.

 

Fenring sighed.

 

If his gamble failed, the battle for Selsa IV would once more grind out into a trench warfare. That is if the Inquisition didn’t step in and end this infestation once and for all. It was of course possible that the entire planet would be declared Exterminatus due to the presence of chaos mutation, but Fenring wasn’t about to roll over and let those lapdogs bomb the innocent along with the guilty to ashes.

 

He looked back across the lines to the edge of the city and gritted his teeth. The PDF had taken up a position along the shattered ruins at the border of the city, and their armor teemed behind the lines like a beetle infestation, crawling over the rubble of the city. It was an indomitable force, and the Imperials had nothing on the surface of the planet that could dislodge an army that size.

 

Nothing on the surface, he thought to himself with a grin, but plenty in the skies. He watched as a ball of orange fire descended towards the city from the sky above. It was almost beautiful, the first point of light joined by hundreds of others, like fire-wasps high in the sky, slowly flying towards the ground. They seemed to move almost as if in slow motion as they moved through the upper atmosphere.

 

Suddenly, they moved with eye blurring speed as they came close enough that depth perception matched with distance, and with a shrieking streak of flame the plasma charges hit the city. Stone, men and tanks, all melted in the intense heat which splashed outwards from the point of impact like a blazing orange tide. One after another, the plasma shots hit home and soon the city of Ravik was awash in a tide of flame. Waves of heat and shockwaves rolled over Fenring in a deafening storm, two kilometers from the nearest impact.

 

As if unsatisfied with the level of destruction wrought by the raging plasma, half a dozen pillars of pure white light shot straight down out of the heavens. The clouds parted before them, instantly evaporated by the energy, and the lance batteries struck home in the heart of the city, unleashing enough energy to punch through the hull of a battleship. Any forces remaining in the city below were instantly vaporized, and Fenring was forced to hunch his form and cling to the ground as the blast wave from the lances washed over him with incredible force, his eardrums threatening to rupture from the sound of the unimaginable energy.

 

Picking himself up out of the dust, Fenring rose from the ashes as he heard the blast wave crash though the forest behind him. He shook his senses back into focus and blinked to clear his eyesight. Looking out over the remains of the city, nothing rose above the level of the bedrock, and a half dozen mushroom clouds rolled up into the sky kilometers above him. The city glowed as untamed heat and radiation leeched into the atmosphere.

 

The terrible power of the warship above him had washed the city clean.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There you guys go. Sorry it took so long to get it up, but that's Chapter 6 all in one go. Hope you enjoy, and I hope that you think that it's worth the wait.

 

Enjoy! I'm off to bed after all that writing...oog.

 

-OID

[Roguemarine]

Cheers brother, amazing read, you get so close to the action you can just about smell and taste it. Great job, have an ale.

[OnlyInDeath]

Thanks for the reply Rogue. I hope people like this instalment! There's been lots of readers but no one has much to say about it :P Just remember people, even if you have something bad to say, I would like to hear it as it helps w/ the next chapter of writing, and also with the editing that will come about in the end.

 

Anyway, I should be able to get another installment up sometime this week I hope, so keep your eyes tuned. Hopefully the long delay hasn't cause a bunch of you to lose interest!

 

-OID

[hendrik]

as much i i like it, i also dislike it because it's coming close to it's end soon:(

none the less this story rocks,like always!!!

[OnlyInDeath]

Honestly, there's a lot of story to go yet. This book is about 2/3 of the way done, and I have ideas on where to go with a possible 2 other books, assuming that you guys are still into it.

[Ra1stl1n]

More more more more :P

[hendrik]

Honestly, there's a lot of story to go yet. This book is about 2/3 of the way done, and I have ideas on where to go with a possible 2 other books, assuming that you guys are still into it.

 

you kidding right?

this is almost as exciting as the new dex rumours!!!!

[Legio Draconis]

Another great chapter, would love to read more. Keep up the good work.

[Natanael]

Great work! I demand that you write everything :D

 

Anyway, I like that way the story goes from just the scouts to Fenring and the all-out war. Nice job!

[OnlyInDeath]

Thanks for the feedback guys. I will try to get the next chapter-part or full chapter as soon as I can. Right now I'm battling a rather nasty cold, so I barely have the energy to stay awake, moreless get to writing a novel (for those of you who haven't tried, it's actually a draining experience!). But I promise that I will try to work on it in my spare time and get something up this week for your enjoyment. For the first weekend in a while I dont have anything planned, so I might be able to get a couple chapters up this week and really get the ball rolling!

 

So stay tuned, more to follow within the next couple of days!

 

-OID

 

PS. Where's our other writers? looked like we had a few going that disappered worse than mine, which is a shame. It was nice reading other ppl's ideas.

[hendrik]

Thanks for the feedback guys. I will try to get the next chapter-part or full chapter as soon as I can. Right now I'm battling a rather nasty cold, so I barely have the energy to stay awake, moreless get to writing a novel (for those of you who haven't tried, it's actually a draining experience!). But I promise that I will try to work on it in my spare time and get something up this week for your enjoyment. For the first weekend in a while I dont have anything planned, so I might be able to get a couple chapters up this week and really get the ball rolling!

 

So stay tuned, more to follow within the next couple of days!

 

-OID

 

PS. Where's our other writers? looked like we had a few going that disappered worse than mine, which is a shame. It was nice reading other ppl's ideas.

better have a few ales then so you turn that cold in a nice fuzzy feeling;):)

get better soon mate!

[And a Barrel of Ale]

hope you get well soon,

cant wait to read the next installment

[Growler67]

The only sort of major thing I've found so far has been the time compression of one section. After the Scouts returned and Torvald went to the Command Land Raider for the "next mission" briefing. The Enemy reinforcements were 4 days estimate and the Scouts had to get to their next objective some 900+ kilometers away. A short jog towards their new target they encounter the enemy reinforcements. Aproximately an hour and a half for it all to pass and they radio it in to HQ before continuing to their target. Then they come across the outpost and are just short of what they have to take out. Seem that some filler could be added to account for the compression of events or the distances could be adjusted to compensate. Just seemed to go into afterburners a bit much to have accounted for covering a 4 day estimate and 900+ kilometers.

 

A few nits to pick as far as capitalizing proper nouns, apostrophe usage and such but all of those are minir. The flashback sequence was good, but didn't really explain much of Torvald's distrust of Istan. Intersting dynamic between the Wolf Lord and Torvald, though not completely explained to this point. I would use italics for "flashback" sequences, much like Tolkein used them for lyrics when characters like Tom Bombadill sang. Just a suggestion is all, makes keeping the current timeline straighter and more organized is all.

[OnlyInDeath]

The only sort of major thing I've found so far has been the time compression of one section. After the Scouts returned and Torvald went to the Command Land Raider for the "next mission" briefing. The Enemy reinforcements were 4 days estimate and the Scouts had to get to their next objective some 900+ kilometers away. A short jog towards their new target they encounter the enemy reinforcements. Aproximately an hour and a half for it all to pass and they radio it in to HQ before continuing to their target. Then they come across the outpost and are just short of what they have to take out. Seem that some filler could be added to account for the compression of events or the distances could be adjusted to compensate. Just seemed to go into afterburners a bit much to have accounted for covering a 4 day estimate and 900+ kilometers.

 

A few nits to pick as far as capitalizing proper nouns, apostrophe usage and such but all of those are minir. The flashback sequence was good, but didn't really explain much of Torvald's distrust of Istan. Intersting dynamic between the Wolf Lord and Torvald, though not completely explained to this point. I would use italics for "flashback" sequences, much like Tolkein used them for lyrics when characters like Tom Bombadill sang. Just a suggestion is all, makes keeping the current timeline straighter and more organized is all.

 

Great suggestions, and it's definately something I'll take a look at during the editing sequence. Right now it's hard to catch thing like that as I'm not writing everything in continuity. Thanks Growler!

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Honestly, there's a lot of story to go yet. This book is about 2/3 of the way done, and I have ideas on where to go with a possible 2 other books, assuming that you guys are still into it.

 

Are you nuts? This is awesome! Heck part of the reason I joined B&C was so I could tell ya how good I think this is! Have an ale for keeping all us impatient brethren occupied instead rereading all the new codex rumors. Cheers! :D

[Roguemarine]

hope you get better soon OID i'm almost out of ale.......after re-reading from beginning to now, the only thing i would say needed to be edited (besides spelling....obviously draft form) is the time table. A few of your instances seem rushed (saw post above guy saying same thing) I know from writing a few of my own short stories that in your mind you want to get right to the meat of the action and THIS IS GREAT, but then you end up with what seems a rushed scene with a few holes in the time line. I'm not sure how you are keeping your notes about this or if you have any at all or just write what comes to mind...which isn't a bad thing. But i would suggest making a timeline chart with each of your sub-stories going on inside the big picture. That way they are all lining up perfectly. Much like you did in the first chapter with the infiltration of the artillery and the main advance coming at the same time.

 

I would also develop the story of the brotherhood-tension of Torvald and Istan. There is great possibility there, you may or may not agree, but i think much more could be done with those two, especially with Fenring as the Wolf lord.

 

From my readings of the SW fluff, i always liked the humor that was put in for the banter between brothers, i think that would fit in well with this story.

 

I hope that all i've said is taken with a grain of salt, keep up the great work brother.

[Silverwolf]

OiD, I have to say, I've quite a library of great classic SciFi authors, and a good mix of more modern fantasy greats and the one thing that has always tied all those authors together is their ability to make actually visualise what they've written. You brother have managed the same skill. I'm only part way through and are gnashing my teeth right now at the fact I now have to leave for work, but I'll certainly be finishing it up once I get home.

 

Brother your tale is one fit for the greatest halls of the fang. One of you whelps fetch this old wolf another tankard. Nothing a good spot of ale can't fix!! I do believe I would like to hear the rest of this great saga of the great feats of our brothers.

 

Gather around young pups, come let our brother regale you with a tale of what it means to be a son of Russ!

 

 

I think this tale is one worthy of being entrusted to the memories of the Rune Priests. (Lets get this topic pinned already mods :D)

[OnlyInDeath]

hope you get better soon OID i'm almost out of ale.......after re-reading from beginning to now, the only thing i would say needed to be edited (besides spelling....obviously draft form) is the time table. A few of your instances seem rushed (saw post above guy saying same thing) I know from writing a few of my own short stories that in your mind you want to get right to the meat of the action and THIS IS GREAT, but then you end up with what seems a rushed scene with a few holes in the time line. I'm not sure how you are keeping your notes about this or if you have any at all or just write what comes to mind...which isn't a bad thing. But i would suggest making a timeline chart with each of your sub-stories going on inside the big picture. That way they are all lining up perfectly. Much like you did in the first chapter with the infiltration of the artillery and the main advance coming at the same time.

 

I would also develop the story of the brotherhood-tension of Torvald and Istan. There is great possibility there, you may or may not agree, but i think much more could be done with those two, especially with Fenring as the Wolf lord.

 

From my readings of the SW fluff, i always liked the humor that was put in for the banter between brothers, i think that would fit in well with this story.

 

I hope that all i've said is taken with a grain of salt, keep up the great work brother.

 

 

I agree with you and Growler on the timeline issue 100%. Thing being a rough draft, I felt it more important to get the most of what I wanted down on the paper as much as possible. Its also due in part to the fact that I am writing this piece by piece (oh to be able to write instead of work...).There's actually a couple of areas that I really want to go back and expand upon, namely the encounter in the Wolf encampment, and the journey southward. The editing and revising process I think will flesh out the storyline and timeline a lot, not to mention there will be a bit more dialogue. One of the hardest things that I've found is actually getting natural sounding dialogue (even for futuristic, holy, burly superhumans). I think the end result will be something a bit easier on the mind to read, instead of "holy crap, how did we get here so suddenly!"

 

As for the connection between the old Wolfguard (Istan, Fenring and Torvald), you guys have to learn some patience! I was actually going to use the storyline from here (as I said, about halfway through) through the end of the book to really flesh out the relationships of the main characters. I wanted to present the basics in the early part of the book to whet the appetite, and the rest of the book will really tie everything together. Just had a major battle to get out of the way first ;)

 

So yeah, thanks for the critique guys, always appreciated. And thanks to those loyal readers! I am finally getting over this damn cold and have already informed the wifey that I need to get some writing done this weekend, so keep those eyes open for some additional work.

 

-OID

[OnlyInDeath]

The rain lashed down in the darkness of night, pattering heavily upon the leaves overhead. The copse of trees, in which the scouts had taken shelter, broke the driving force of the rain, letting instead drop in a cold drizzle on the hunched forms below. Somewhere off in the distance, lightning flared across the sky in a sheet, and the low rumble of thunder reached the ears of the scouts half a minute later. Torvald’s fatigued mind didn’t even try to assimilate the aural information to guess the distance of the lightning. He just let the sound flow off him as easily as the rain.

 

Following their extrication from the cliff-side fortress, the Wolves had put as much distance between themselves and the mountains before the plasma reactors went critical. As it was, the handful of kilometers they managed was just enough to escape the flesh searing heat of the explosion, but not the blast wave. The groundcar was thrown through the typhoon of wind and sound like a child’s toy, the scouts inside clinging to the frame for dear life as the metal quickly fatigued and gave way around them. Finally, with a bone jarring crunch, the armored car came to a rest by wrapping itself around a couple of trees at one end of the stand of birches and oaks where they now resided.

 

The explosion had been the stuff of legend, and Torvald allowed himself a smile as he thought of the destruction his team had wrought. The great ball of searing plasma, unleashed as the containment fields failed simultaneously, lit up the evening sky with the second dawn of the day, causing Torvald’s irises to dialate so quickly that it caused him pain. Seconds later, the sound of the world tearing itself apart buffeted their ears, and the mighty winds of the blast took them away. Fires seared the plains for a radius several kilometers wide, and the smoke rose above the evening sky in a wall that soared majestically to the southeast, away from the scouts. As the sun set and the terminator line came over the horizon, the eastern sky remained illuminated in a dull red as the molten rock of the mountain chain slowly cooled in a new, man-made caldera.

 

And even then, the fireworks were only beginning. As the darkness gathered, Torvald was able to make out the long, silver shape of a ship in low orbit as it shone like an elongated star. And from this point of light rained a stream of orange plasma death that fell upon the hive cities both to the east and west of the Wolves’ position, punishing the traitorous cities from which the armored columns had rolled. The evidence of mutation and corruption doomed those cities more solidly than even an Inquisitorial Writ. Spears of light reached down in a strobe to either horizon, which glowed briefly with nuclear fire, and a low rumble reached the scouts, proof enough of the terrible destruction wrought upon the millions of lives in each of the cities. And then, it went silent.

 

The energies unleashed into the atmosphere of Selsa IV, not to mention the passage of the ship in low orbit above, ionized the western hemisphere of the planet almost instantly, and enormous thunderheads build up into the stratosphere in a matter of hours. And finally, the wounded planet released its pain in torrential storms that battered the central and southern reaches of the continent.

 

And the rain suited Torvald’s mood.

 

He had lost one of his men to the corruptive powers of chaos, and the only thing that gave him satisfaction at leaving a brother behind was the fact that the melta charges did their work, proof of Edvin’s gallant last stand.

 

He took a moment to observe the rest of the team, but they were all lost in thought just as deeply as he was. Sjurd, his red hair hanging in damp and frayed plaits down his face, stared silently into the small fire that he created from a pool of promethium. Gudmund sat with his back to one of the trees, apparently lost in sleep. Torvald realized that he couldn’t find Mikkel in the darkness, which actually reassured him. Istan was off somewhere on a walk, and Aravind was hidden, keeping watch over the desolate plains around them.

 

All of the, save Aravind who had stayed outside the caverns, were suffering terribly from sickness. Torvald ran his hands through his wet mane, and pulled away yet another handful of the goop that had rained down upon them in the tunnel. The photoluminescence had long since faded, and all that remained was a thick sludge that coated the hair and armor of all the Wolves. Torvald looked down and saw that phlegm coated the chest plate of his armor, evidence of the virulent infection that had lodged itself in his sinuses. He knew from the fever that wracked his body that he was fighting the disease coursing through his veins, but it was a battle that was taking a while. Only a chaos born virus could affect a Space Marine to this degree, and it was something that Torvald had not experienced for nearly a century. It was definitely something he could do without.

 

Finally, with a grating cough, he rose to his feet. He needed a walk to clear his head.

 

“Sjurd, the locator beacon is activated?” he asked to the hunched form of the scout. Sjurd simply nodded in return, never taking his eyes off the fire.

 

Torvald simply let the matter drop and walked out of the small camp, making his way for the crumpled form of the groundcar on the far side of the forest. He was thankful for the sturdy construction of the car, which survived just long enough to impale itself on the trees. A few moments more, and it would have broken up in the blast and the Wolves would have been scattered across a wide front, most likely as nothing more than corpses. He placed a hand on the mangled frame, idly pulling off a patch of crumpled sheet metal when he became away of another presence. He sniffed, but was rewarded with only a mouthful of snot. Annoyed, he strained his eyes and ears, and presently made out the large form of the Wolfguard striding towards him.

 

“Too many years cradled in the cozy confines of your armor has made you soft, Istan. Perhaps I should have some of the bloodclaws show you how it’s done?”

 

A low grumble of laughter responded, barely audible over the pounding rain.

 

“Careful, little one. We aren’t too old, you and I, that I can’t show you your proper place in the sparring ring,” Istan replied, his large bulk coming into view. “Besides, some of us enjoy the front-line life.”

 

Torvald glanced at his old friend. His normally trim beard had grown out over their journey, and he looked especially feral in the darkness of the night. His grey hair was still pulled back in a tight knot, and his eyes still shone brightly. However haggard his armor and appearance, Istan still exuded an aura of deadly calm. Torvald couldn’t help but smile.

 

The big Wolfguard came up and stood beside Torvald, and the two stared out into the night. “It is good to fight alongside you again, Torvald.” He paused and glanced over at the smaller wolf. “It has been far too long.”

 

Torvald sighed deeply, and hung his head in resignation. He knew where this conversation would lead, and he was sick of finding reasons to avoid it. He walked over to a great tree and squatted down beneath it.

 

Finally, he raised his golden eyes up. “Aye brother, it has. And I am honored to have you by my side again. I just wish it were under other circumstances. I don’t appreciate anyone keeping an eye on my scouts and I.” The last part of the sentence he growled out, and he could feel his hackles rise.

 

And then Istan did something completely unexpected. He laughed. He laughed so hard that he was doubled over, fighting back tears. Finally, between sobs, he straightened himself up enough to reply.

 

“Is that what you think? Do you really think that Fenring assumes you need to be babysat?”

 

“Well, then why in Russ’ name are you here, Istan? Why did you tag along with us on this mission?”

 

Istan gained control of himself and looked Torvald square in the eyes. “Because I wanted to, brother. Because I asked Fenring directly if I could. Not all of us are so eager to abandon those who we once called blood brothers.” A note of hurt entered Istan’s voice. “I don’t know what happened between you two that day, but I cannot understand it…”

 

The moment of shame Torvald felt was washed away in a torrent of grief and pain. “We failed, Istan! Fenring and I failed!” he responded, almost shouting. “It was our responsibility, above all else, to safeguard our Lord and we did not…And we did not because Fenring broke our defense by charging. I cannot ever forgive him for that!”

 

Torvald turned and made to walk away, but Istan grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. He grabbed the smaller wolf by his chestplate and picked Torvald up, slamming him against the tree.

“You DARE to talk of Fenring like that? You DARE to speak ill of your BROTHER???”

 

“I dare because it’s the truth!” Torvald shouted back full into the face of his brother, both Wolves’ features twisted and contorted to fearsome masks of rage, fangs bared. “We might have held those orks! We might have kept Olin alive!!!” As he spoke, Torvald’s perfect space marine memory pulled images to his mind of his Wolf Lord dying once more in the klaw of the ork warlord.

 

“Did you ever stop to think that you also might have failed? That by keeping yourselves on defense, you would have given the Orks time to find a weakness and kill you all?”

 

Istan placed Torvald back on the ground.

 

“Have you learned nothing in your command of your scouts? Olin died as a Wolf dies, in defense of his brothers, in defense of humanity, and in the service of the Allfather. Do you really think you failed? Did we not save the lives of millions of Imperial citizens by buying them time to evacuate? Did we not save the lives of the rest of the company by silencing that monster?” Istan shook his head in sorrow.

 

“You blame your brother for being himself. Olin did not select us for his Wolfguard because we all fought with calm collection. Fenring was chosen because of his reckless fury. You were chosen for your ability to keep the beast within at bay in the most trying circumstances. Just as you use your scouts to their strengths, so did Olin with his Wolfguard. By persecuting your brother over his strengths, rather than his weaknesses, you threaten to give the death of Olin no meaning. Do not let his saga end in failure, real or imagined.”

 

Finally, Istan stepped back and drew his thunder hammer from its scabbard on his back. Keeping it inactivated, he held it out horizontally in front of him, his eyes cold and boring as he stared at Torvald. . Torvald’s breath caught as he recognized the inlay of the hammer. A metal riveted wolf’s head stood out in silver along the stone-like head of the hammer, and the chasing down the black pommel was inlayed with golden runes of power. It was the very hammer that Lord Olin had wielded in countless battles.

 

“Fenring retrieved this after you left with the body of our Lord,” Istan said, replacing the hammer across his back. “You are not the only one to mourn the death of Lord Olin, Torvald. Do not think that Fenring doesn’t feel the keenness of his death any less than you do, just because he took up the mantle of Wolf Lord. He seeks to keep the memory of our fallen Lord alive through his deeds and victories. As a true Wolf does. He does not run away from those he calls Brother.”

 

With a final look of contempt, Istan strode off in the direction of the camp, disappearing into the darkness of the woods, leaving Torvald standing in the open with the rain beating against him and his mind whirling. Presently, he became aware of a hum that penetrated the dull sounds of the storm just before Aravind’s voice cut through the vox .

 

“Looks like the ride’s here.”

 

++++++

 

 

 

 

Start of Chapter 7. Enjoy!

 

It's about halfway done, but I thought I'd give you guys something new to read since you've been so patient...And lordy, now I got both this to work on AND I gotta get those dreads painted up for the Gathering of the Hunt. You all will keep me busy for sure....

[Growler67]

Great!! Thanks, I'll try to get caught up as I have the next couple of days off :D

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Good Stuff! I've noticed, in particular, that the conversations have gotten less stilted and have started to flow extremely well as you've written this. Excellent job!