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Tales from the Fang


Firenze

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The next Saga begins....

 

Chapter 1

 

The room was dark; the pitter-patter of rain bouncing off the corrugated roof began to annoy the man hiding beneath it. He silently got up, his sniper rifle level as he rose, tracking the heretic that was patrolling the building across the road. The man’s cameoline-laced armour hid him from the eyes of the guard as he pulled the trigger, blowing the man’s head clean off his shoulders as thunder rolled in, covering the noise of the shot. The man ran to the guard’s body, dragging him out of sight.

‘Team 2, move in,’ voxed the sniper.

‘Affirmative Captain Jackson. For the Emperor.’

A squad of tooled up Stormtroopers ran towards the door that the captain was next to. Sirius Jackson rose as they approached, unslinging a shotgun from his back. He pointed it at the hinges of the door as the team ran over the street weapons up and pointing at the entrance.

‘Go’

 

Sirius fired twice, blowing the hinges apart as the first member of team 2 slammed into the door, smashing it down and rolling to dodge any fire that came his way. The rest of the team ran in as Sirius began to climb up the side of the building. The surface was slippy, his gloves losing purchase on the slick brickwork. He swung himself up and through an open window as gunshots came from below, the team beginning the clearing of the ground floor. Sirius slid silently into the room, a lone heretic standing with his weapon at the door, his back to the captain. Sirius unsheathed his knife, the combat blade glinting in the little light. The traitor turned at the reflected light, his weapon swinging to bear. Sirius didn’t give him a chance, lunging at the man, his knife slamming into the man’s jugular with a neat snick. The traitor dropped his gun, grabbing his throat as the knife was withdrawn, the heretic’s lifeblood spilling all over the floor.

 

‘Ground floor clear! Moving to your level sir!’

Sirius sheathed his knife, raising his shotgun once again. He kicked open the door, scanning left and right for enemies. To his left, he spotted his team’s torch lights as they came up the stairs. Sirius ran to the next flight of stairs to secure it, his torch beam hitting the silhouette of a Space Marine. He stepped back in shock before gritting his teeth and launching himself at the marine, his gun swinging to smash into the marine’s skull. Unfortunately the marine was faster, grabbing Sirius by the throat and holding him against the wall. The marine looked for markings on the captain, noting the stylised I on his shoulder pad. The man mountain grunted.

‘Very brave. A good try. Now don’t do it again.’

 

Sirius gasped as he was dropped to his knees. He looked up, the night vision of his helmet compensating for the darkness. The marine stood tall above him, a thunder hammer in his right hand and a large mechanical arm on his back. Sirius looked at the shoulder pad. A wolf’s head logo.

 

The Space Wolves were here…

Oppps....... Sirius thought he could be like a :ph34r: and get away with something... He is lucky most wolves would have down right splated any thing with an I that just tryed to bash there skull in

 

Oh and Firenze I love the intro for this. I was like hmmmmm IG? huh? Oh there is a wolf around here some were!! Kept up the awesome work! :woot:

Nice to have you back Firenze. Warhorse is either drying up or to the contrary ( and he never mentioned a Twc named Puca Dubh - Black Ghost in Irish hint hint)

 

Nice to have you back and Warhorse needs to counter before I get any more withdrawal.

 

 

You guys are better than all the Ragnar novels ... Keepit coming.

  • 4 weeks later...

Chapter 2

 

Sirius rose to his feet, looking around the second floor. There were more marines here. A couple in heavy terminator armour, one toting twin lightning claws dripping with fresh blood, another, younger looking one with a massive grin on his face, one carrying a massive meltagun like a rifle, one that was usually mounted on tanks. A couple of the marines were seemingly glowing with psychic energy. Sirius shook his head and looked to the marine that stopped him.

‘Are you the leader?’ he asked.

The marine chuckled. ‘No. That would be Lord Ragnarok.’

‘And he is?’

‘That would be me.’ One of the Terminator armoured forms came forward. Sirius gasped at the sight. The marine was massive, exuding an aura of majesty and power, like he could split a tank in two with only his bare hands. Sirius saluted sharply, before dropping to one knee in honour of the Wolf Lord.

‘Stand up man. What is your name?’

Sirius stood up, trying to avoid looking the marine in the eye, failing miserably. ‘Captain Sirius Jackson of the 501st Inquisitorial Stormtroop. Here to assassinate the leader of a rebel cult.’

Ragnarok smiled. ‘You mean this guy? Decoy, drop the prisoner down here.’

The wolf with the twin lightning claws walked forward, throwing a wizened, frail man to the ground. The man looked up at Sirius, his eyes alight with fury and power. Sirius walked towards him knife drawn.

‘I’ll give you one chance to repent your sins to the Emperor. You know what the other option is,’ said Sirius, his voice full of fury.

The man stood up and spat onto the visor of Sirius’ helmet before sprinting to escape down the corridor. Sirius grinned.

‘Fine, have it your way.’

Sirius launched the knife towards the heretic leader, the blade spearing straight into the man’s spine. Before the man had even hit the ground, Sirius’ sniper rifle had blown the rebel’s head from his shoulders. Ragnarok pondered. This man was an exceptional warrior. He said as much to the captain.

‘Thank you sir. 40 years in the Arbites and 15 serving Inquisitor Julius helps,’ said Sirius.

 

A clatter of footsteps and shouts came from the stairwell as the stormtrooper team came up the stairs, weapons raised and pointed at the marines.

‘Freeze!!’

Sirius turned to face the team. ‘They’re friendlies. They’ve help us accidentally. Lower your weapons. Mission success.’

He damn well can :lol:

 

As I haven't finished mine yet, here is a guest piece from Skirax.

 

 

Skirax gazed around the room, his eyes picking out all the details of the men assembled; he saw the Rebel Leader's fear as he was thrown to the floor, and the Inquisitor-thrall's hatred for the man as he gazed down at him. He smiled grimly at the weakness of this servant of the Inquisition; hatred that was untempered and uncontrolled. But he saw the potential in the lad; he saw how the hatred was like a blade on his anvil, which he could forge into a deadly blade that could bludgeon even the most deadly enemy into a bloody heap.

 

He himself was not a stranger to this kind of hatred, having only tamed the beast within very recently. It still growled at him, probing just beneath the surface of his conscience. Occasionally he let himself slip on purpose, allowing the beast free-roam, but only in the midst of battle. The Wolf Priests had warned against it frequently, but secretly he enjoyed the feeling of giving the use of his body over to the beast within. Many warned that such a practise was heretical, but Skirax knew that, as long as it brought him glory and victory, it mattered not.

 

Suddenly the man was up and running, and the Inquisitor-thrall was smiling. He seemed content to let the traitor go, and the beast roared at such a profanity; he felt his fangs begin to lengthen and his eyes brighten until they shone with a yellowish tinge. He felt his hands begin to grow larger, the claws lengthening until they were raging against his gauntlet. He bordered on breaking loose into a hunt-sprint, and he threw his head back, a roar straining to break free when a wooshing sound brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

 

In one fluid motion, the Inquisitor-thrall raised his hand to have it hovering just behind his head; a glint from a ray of light told him that he was holding a knife. Then the arm was in motion, swinging forward and releasing the knife to fly straight and true into the man's back; the blade lodged itself in the traitor's spine, and he began to fall to the floor. Before he had even sunk to his knees, the Inquisitor-thrall had raised his sniper rifle, slammed it into the butt of his shoulder, and unloaded several rounds into the bastard's head.

 

Skirax smiled. He felt the wolf in this one. Oh yes.

  • 7 months later...
  • 1 month later...

I am using my old Tales thread to make a formal announcement.

 

 

The Sagas shall be reborn.

 

 

You heard me, Im rebooting my series, now to be named 'Sagas of the Fang'. Sounds more epic that way. Also, two new characters (you know who you are. Dont give yourselves away ;) ) will be joining the pack, as well as a couple of delinquents we now have. A few have gone (theyll cameo) but this time, there is a darker plot at work, conspiring to bring ruin and death to one...

 

 

Coming late May-early June :D

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