The Navigator

[Yaj]

Note - This story is told from the viewpoint of a non-marine but does still contain them.

 

The beast drifts silently through the void as it has done for countless millennia knowing only the eternal void. Memories cascade down rivers of nerves opening up old wounds it does not recall making and fresh ones rip open internally inside the body within organs it forgot it even had. Dimly it recalls that once a companion, no many companions, sharing the vast bulk of flesh but they are long gone those small ape things that once slept inside the warm folds of the beast's hide. Now they are nothing but dust clogging up arteries and making the great animal weep at there long ago passing. Still the creature performs the duties of care for the people it once shared its life with because it had always done so and saw no reason why it should stop.

 

Now new thoughts were stirring inside the dusty recesses of the beast’s brain and long dormant nerves came to life with vibrant impulses. For the animal, long in its journey through the cosmos is no longer alone but these new companions strike at its flesh with iron and fire! They swarm inside bringing nothing but pain, misery and fear to the ageing veteran of the void causing century’s old immune systems to activate but they have been to long in near endless sleep and do nothing to halt these new companions. The beast wails out a silent unheeded cry of anguish as it slowly succumbs to these new peoples that now call its belly home and no nothing of the sentience they are destroying. The terrible invaders have a name that resonates around the dying embers of the beasts psyche like the last lingering thought before oblivion claims it.

 

They are called Orks....

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The warboss sitting in his throne of iron calmly reaches down and rips the leg of the gretchin cowering before him. With a grunt he orders two more grots to drag the corpse away and begins to methodically use the splintered end of the leg to pick his teeth clean of his most recent meal of a rather tough tasting Eldar ranger. Behind the iron throne, itself the size of two dreadnoughts, and to the right was a single line of slaves from all manner of races who were marched forward by the cruel whips of the slave-drivers at a near constant rate. Mostly the slave who found him or herself standing by the throne, with its array of skulls and other trophies from defeated foes, would be ignored as the warboss sat and brooded over war, blood and conquest. The slave-drivers had learnt that it was best to always have a slave nearby just in case the great ork needed one to devour or rip to bloody shreds or whatever else he might decided to do. For after all that was certainly better than having your own head caved in or worse.

 

The slave that now stood by the warboss knee deep in the bones and half-rotten bodies of previous slaves who had mercifully died before the brutish ork even noticed them was a young girl, human, of know more than twelve or thirteen years. Like the rest of the slaves she was naked save for a couple of pieces of dirty rags to provide some modesty and covered in thin long scars where the lash of the whips had drove her forwards. Trembling the girl kept her gaze focused on the bloody floor praying to which ever god happened to be listening that the despot would not realise she was there and allow her the merciful death of starvation. The warboss finishes picking his many cracked teeth and rolls a grey tongue across them the tongue is marked with many a cut for it is his practice to chew on it when in deep thought. Satisfied he swallows the morsel of the leg and turns to regard the child before him.

 

At first he plans to hack of her hands and feet and then follow that up with what ever depravity takes his fancy but upon looking at the girl he notices that she is not like other humans. Tentatively he reaches forward to grab hold of the rag tied around the girl’s forehead she weakly tries to stop him from taking the bandana of and for her troubles he turns the bones in her hands to virtual powder and rips away the dirty cloth revealing the third eye of a navigator. The girl wants to scream in pain but she can't as her throat and mouth is covered, like all the slaves, in a thick iron mask. The mask contains a small opening through which the spiteful gretchin pour bitter tasting broth down her throat to keep her and the other slaves alive as they march in single file to the throne.

 

For a long time the ork leader stares at the mutation seemingly unaffected by the dangers it possesses and then lets out a deep psychotic laugh before violently picking the girl up by the neck and pulling her right up to his face. Reaching behind himself he takes out one of his many choppas though the one he grabs hold of is a particular favourite being taken from a black beakie almost has full of insane rage as the warboss himself. Then with the girl struggling in his over powering grip gouges out both of her human eyes and then spits into the bloody remains before throwing her to the floor. With a gesture he orders his gretchin to take her away but before that he turns to regard the slavers and any other ork in the dimly lit throne room and bellows out a wordless roar causing the cruel whips to cease and several of the slaves to die of shock.

 

The message is simple - 'This oomie is mine! Any one touches it except me will die'

 

Understanding this the gretchin dragging the now catatonic girl into the deep dark of the warboss's realm are joined by a third who carries a large blood stained rock and precedes to mark her as belonging to the warboss by repeatedly hammering at her right arm until the mean creature completely severs it. As the arm is cut of the girl is wrenched back into reality and as she is taken into the dark all she hears is the sound of those cruel, cruel whips and the warboss laughter.

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What do you think?

 

I'm going to avoid dialogue as much as possible and so it may be a while in between posts.

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Terminology - I'll update this as the story progresses.

 

Warlock = Librarian.

 

War-Surgeon = Apothocary.

 

7th Blood = 7th Company.

 

Rubian - Twelve Deaths = Company Captain.

 

Deaths = An award for exceptional bravery.

 

War-Plate = Power Armour.

 

Warpath = dual meaning either Crusade or Battle.

 

Warpath/Warfleet - Rubian = The Crusade or Fleet under Captain Rubian's command.

 

War-Leader = Sgt

[Grandmaster Anaziel]

That's cool! I like it! ;)

The Red Doom is a cool name.

[Yaj]

Thank you.

 

The Red Doom is a cool name.

 

Yes, yes it is.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

WAAAGGHH, POWA OF DA MACHINE SPIRIT!

 

Nice idea, but need more, MORE!

[Yaj]

Nice idea, but need more, MORE!

 

Like I've already said I'll be adding to this slowly and concentrating more on 'The Knight' for now.

 

So in a week or so this will get my full attention but having said that I shall expand on the start sometime before the weekend.

[Yaj]

Finally added more!

 

Please let me know what you think.

 

Thanks

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Very grimdark. Nice and unsetling.

Names....Hmmm. He seems the brooding type? So a very deep name, not flamboyant. Dogskin Revverback? Limbraker Throatcraker? I'm admittedly crap at names ;)

[Yaj]

Thanks for the suggestions.

 

Your right they are crap and shall now be ignored.

[Yaj]

21 Years Later...............

 

A single drop of fluid falls gracefully through the cracks of the ship unseen by a thousand, thousand eyes and yet noticed by the blind. Slowly it dances its way through every deck at times splitting into to two or three smaller droplets but always with the same destination fate has intended for it. The tiny intrepid traveller spends an eternity on the precipice of its new home, a rusty bucket, before gravity propels it forward and on to join those who have travelled before it.

 

The navigator approaches with caution her head twisting with quick sharp movements as she tries to ensure that she is alone, her ears twitching with every molecule of sound. With a slow tread she arrives at the bucket and kneels down, squinting in slight pain as never quite healed wounds tear open, to immerse her entire right bionic arm within the liquid. With her free hand she reaches across and with long, near claw like, nails she makes a deep scratch to mark the point where the liquid reaches her arm. She notes in her mind that the bucket is close to full and allows herself a rare smile at the nice thoughts playing through her mind.

 

Over the years the young blind woman has come up with names for the creatures she lives with and this one, whom she calls 'one eye', is of particularly nasty variety. Being completely blind she has no idea if the gretchin in question has only one eye or not but she has noticed that it only ever strikes at her using its left hand or foot suggesting it has trouble seeing on its right side. One Eye's all to familiar hacking cough approaches and with to much haste the navigator tries to push the bucket back into its hiding place. To late One Eye sees her and the bucket but for a moment it does nothing save cough. Then with a shrill screech others of its kind appear from the dark, there presence now known to the woman by the hideous laughter and sadistic chatter of child like voices

 

With horror it dawns on her that there are hundreds of the things in the vast derelict hell she calls home on board the 'Killa' and that they have being waiting silently in the dark. How long had they known about her activities? She had taken every precaution and yet after seventeen years of collecting the 'burny juice' as the grotz call it she is to be denied her vengeance over 'The Fiend' as she calls the warboss. With heartbreaking slowness the gretchin prise away the bucket and let its contents spill across the floor before turning upon her with vindictive kicks and bites. In the past none would have dared harm her but now they don't hesitate for it has been many long years since the 'Fiend' came calling for her to tell him of the future and his next battle.

 

*Thud* softly the sound echoed through out the chamber but went unhindered by any of the grotz.

 

*Thud* louder this time and with more force dozens of the cowardly creatures sprint away from the prone human female squealing in fear.

 

*Thud* in the deep dark at the far end of the chamber a forgotten door buckles at repeated impacts. More grotz begin to flee even turning upon one another in there desperation to escape what ever thing or things approach.

 

*Thud. Clang* the two sounds bounce of one another in a wave of sound. Soon they are joined and then over taken by the thump of armoured boots and the sharp crack of weapons fire as these new beings clear the chamber with wild bursts of gunfire. The navigator squeezes the empty bucket tight to her chest and keeps as low as possible at first she is convinced that the new creatures are orks such are the brutal sounds given of by there slaughter of the gretchin that they could be nothing else...

 

A chemical stink fills the air at first she thinks it is from the liquid staining the floor but as the cold metal of a muzzle presses into her face she knows she is wrong and a resigned weariness now fills her very soul as death approaches.

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Questions? Comments? Suggestions?

 

All are welcome.

 

Thanks for reading.

[Yaj]

Dam, writers block!....

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Laughter, but it were not the harsh guttural laughter of the ork nor were it snivelling and cruel likes that of 'one-eye'. Ah, one-eye the thought of that wretched creature's death brought a smile to the young navigators face even weeks later. The sound was coming from two warriors standing at the door way to her modest chamber aboard there ship '14th Vessel, Warfleet Rubian'. They were talking and though she could hear there words she was only able to understand a small part of it. She had the distinct impression that she used to know all of the words but that in her long brutal life with the greenskins she had forgotten all but the most basic knowledge in order to survive. She found that feeling extremely frustrating the knuckles of her left hand turning white. As she ground her hails into the palm drawing slight welts of blood but having the desired effect of calming herself down. It was then that the warriors broke out into more laughter and as she wiped the small blots of blood onto the rough mattress of her oversized bed she turned her thoughts back to them.

 

No, she thought, there laughter is not like the greenskin. It was of a more noble aspect on the one hand and yet lined with an undercurrent of the sharp dourness of bitter memories. It was as if the very act of expressing joy was a sad one for her rescuers.

 

One of those 'rescuers' now approached her. He came at her with his oversized bare head of a rich reddish brown that oozed controlled death and crowned with a flowing mane of dyed light blue hair that came down to his shoulders and within which were braided runes of bone and metal. As he approached the woman found herself laughing softly as the runes tinkled against one another through the warrior’s movements and at the fact that she could actually see those runes! It had been three weeks since they had fitted her with apparently temporary bionic eyes, removing the bionic ork-made arm as well, but still she could not get over the simple pleasure of sight.

 

The warrior sat down before her in a cross-legged position and indicated that she do the same. Then he reached into his robes, which were a darker shade of blue, with his arms that were as long and as thick as one of the Warboss's bodyguards. He pulled out a thin metal card. Laying it flat in-between the two of them he placed a finger upon the edge and where once there had been nothing. Now there appeared a revolving image of a...

 

Bolter! She thought but no sound escaped her lips.

 

Bolter she thought again and again urging her vocal cords to come to life and utter the simple word. All she could manage was a pathetic whimper. Soon frustration started to cloud her mind and she began to bash her left hand into her temple. Andronlailius, for that was the warriors name, simply took hold her beating hand and calmly but sternly told her to calm down. The anger though was too great and no sooner had he let go she started to attack herself once more.

 

With a heavy sigh the Warlock of 7th Blood, Warpath Rubian placed a hand upon her forehead and sent her into a deep sleep. As she slipped into the induced psychic sleep she heard Andronlailius speak to the warrior still standing in the door way, though this one was fitted with the bronze war-plate of the chapter, and with audible regret heard him say

 

'She's not ready'

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Comments, Critique, Ideas for improvement? etc

 

All welcome.

 

Thanks for reading.

[Brother Tyler]

Note that short stories must still be focused on the power armoured subjects of the B&C, which includes Space Marines, Chaos Space Marines, Sisters of Battle, Inquisitors, Adeptus Mechanicus, and Chaos Daemons (I know, not all of them are truly "power armoured").

[Yaj]

This is a Space Marine story but seen through the eyes of the young navigator. This is vital for the overall plot and would be ruined if I wrote it from the marines point of view. I am aware the first two parts lacked actual marines but they were simply to set the scene for there arrival in the last post and they will now be a continiuous part of story.

 

Edit - Having said that I will be posting parts of the story, perhaps every other post, from the marines point of view. These will be reflections of the past and hopefully add to the overall plot and starting from the fifth part.

 

I've also added a terminlogy for the various names I'm using instead of the standard marine terms such as Captain, Librarian etc. I'll update it as the story progresses and it will only be up until I get round to writing the IA.

[Yaj]

On second thoughts I'll just stick to the original plan.

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It was as they were marching her down the corridor with its rune covered gun-metal deck plates and skull filled alcoves all bathed in the red light of over hanging illumination strips. That the navigator turned her thoughts to the size of her escorts and found it still odd that she accepted them. She had heard the War-Surgeon say that a Space Marine was six foot in height, or was it seven? Eight maybe? They were bulky too even out of war-plate and yet despite these two factors and the final fact that they went about always armed with at least there red iron clubs which were also covered in white feathers.

 

She found that she was and never had been afraid of them. She reasoned that because she had spent so long in the company of such animalistic oversized aliens that she had become accustomed to everything, save the horrid grots, being taller or stronger than she was often both. Four of the warriors escorting her were armoured for war and carried many battle-field scars. Most were from the continuous fight to cleanse 'Xenos-Craft - Rubian' though she still referred to it as 'Killa' in her mind. The fifth was, like Andronlailius, dressed in a long robe tied in the middle by a thick bone coloured rope that contrasted with the deep red of the robes. The marine in question was War-Surgeon of 7th Blood known as Mercharachio and like the librarian Andronlailius wore his hair long though it was of the same deep red of his robes and covered with shocking white streaks. In the centre of Mercharachio's robe and indeed on the centre of every warrior of the 'Red Doom' was the chapter symbol of a red skull. It was set in the middle of a rune formed from silver and made up of a twin-headed eagle whose wings became a spiral. The spiral itself was covered in further small runes that would by unknown means flash black as the warrior moved.

 

She had become so distracted that she almost clashed into the back of the War-Surgeon not noticing that he and the others had stopped. They seemed to stop for a good time before the four armoured marines turned and raced down the corridor. The woman glanced up at Mercharachio questionably and found herself staring at his dull grey eyes. He looked back up from her gaze and down the corridor at the fast fading warriors then turned it back on to her. The war-surgeon informed her that they had gone to war with the orks and began moving again. As they walked she found herself wondering if Mercharachio would regale her with more stories of the chapter at war. He always told them with a glint of sadness in his eyes and in all truth the actual telling of the story was rather bland. She found them inspiring her to keep going and to not let anger cloud her mind.

 

They approached a section of the ship that Mercharachio always hurried her along at a pace she could only just about manage. She often wondered why he did that for she could not see anything different about it compared to the rest of the ship. The only thing that had stuck out, on her third time passing through, was a brief image of an immense silhouette of a clawed hand but the shadow had been distorted by the thick pipes running along the ceiling. The war-surgeon had physically carried her rest of the way on that occasion.

 

Thinking back she dimly recalled the distinctive sound of those claws scratching at the deck plating. No she corrected herself it was only her imagination and that there was probably a logical explanation for everything...

 

Was there not?

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Next - Mercharachio recalls the glories of the past.

 

So if your wanting good old fashioned marine hack 'n' slash against the vile enemies of man then come back tonight!

 

Edit - Or maybe sometime today...

 

Questions, Comments etc - all welcome.

 

Thanks for reading.

[Yaj]

If there had been any part of the ship that most resembled the throne room of 'The Fiend'. Then it was most certainly the War-Surgeon's segment and it was not just the stain covered, Dark Age looking, medical equipment. Neither was it the many matter clogged drains from some recent operation and that was now filling an area one-third of the ship with the distinct sweetness of decay. Most certainly it wasn't the large head of an ork nob with its large deep cut that was hanging from an oversized meat-hook suspended over the equally hideous mangled body of the dead space marine. No, it was the overwhelming sense of despair; loathing and dread that filled the navigator every time she entered that reminded her of the ork warboss's butcher-throne chamber.

 

A single tear fell from one of Mercharachio's eyes as they entered the room and for the first time since her original rescue. The mortal began to feel nervous around her immortal giant saviours for the War-Surgeon had started to open and close his hands into fists and blood was dripping from his bottom lip where he was biting hard on it. She started to back away glancing this way and that looking for an escape route but then as quickly as it began it ended. With the giant crashing down on to his knees causing the navigator to be knocked from her feet.

 

Picking herself up with the aid of some unidentifiable equipment and replacing her grey head scarf back over her third eye. She was just in time to see Mercharachio punch clean through one of the many stone columns that divided the medical area up. It was testament to the builders of 'Vessel 14' that the only occurrence from Mercharachio's action was to cover everything close by with a thick coating of dust and to knock the woman from her feet, again. For a moment the giant rested his head against the remnants of the column muttering to himself what, to the young woman, sounded like a litany but she didn't understand the words. Finally he turned back to her and with neutral expression on his face picked her up.

 

The War-Surgeon walked over to the corpse and placed his right hand upon the ruined chest. Then looking back at the navigator he told her to remember his words and when she was able to record them down for soon he would not be able to. She threw out a questioning look but he would not explain further simply say that she was not ready for such truths. Then he began to sing softly at first and then rising into a heavy baritone whose grim beauty would have made even the finest of imperial artists weep openly.

 

He sang of the dead warrior whose name Goraal meant 'King' upon his home world of Asogar.

 

He sang of the day of his ascension to the rank of blood-brave and of the great deeds such as climbing the great mountain of Ka-Kai whose frost covered peak was said to rival even the great fang of the famous space wolves. A feat that would have made the primarch proud and all of this with out aid of technology.

 

He sang of the day Goraal slew single-handily seven of the foul blasphemous eldar known as 'Warlocks' after they had with magiks killed his brothers. Before pulping the head of the aliens Farseer. Despite the foul tricks thrown at him by the desperate and disgusting creature. With this action he earns his first 'death' an award given for great bravery and granted him the title of 'war-leader'.

 

He sang of how as war-leader Goraal had fought the enemies of man with red club and iron axe. Leading his warriors in actions from which great stories would be told of even the lesser deeds and earned him another three feathers upon his club.

 

Finally after many verses Mercharachio sang of Goraal's final true-death in which with his life-blood leaving him and his entire right side crushed by an ork power klaw. He took iron axe to the beast and cut his head near in twain before succumbing to his wounds. So the song of Goraal-Four Deaths ended and for a moment Mercharachio stood with his eyes closed and the same litany as before upon his lips. Then he opened them and asked her if she remembered all that he had said and when she nodded he gave a grim smile and did not speak for many minutes.

 

The navigator waited staring at the marine feeling that he had more to say and then just as it appeared that the war-surgeon would say no more he began to speak of curses and other things she did not understand. Before he could explain further the great doors at the far eastern end of the section opened and on heavy tread strode forth a being that would have given even the fiend pause for thought...

 

'Cease your words' said Rubian-Twelve Deaths.

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What do you think of it so far? Any Ideas for improvement? Don't mention grammar/punctuation etc - I know it is bad!

 

The rough and very loose idea behind the chapter is a cross between Native American and Germanic civlisations. To this end I'm thinking of replacing the description of Mercharachio's song with a saga along the lines of what's found in the Space Wolf codex - thoughts?

 

Thanks for reading.

[Yaj]

A brief conversation had taken place between the two warriors and though she was unable to hear what they where saying. She could from Mercharachio body language of overly aggressive finger pointing and slamming of his fist repeatedly into his hand that he was not happy. Despite this it was also clear that the chapter master would brook no argument and within minutes the two of them left though not before the war-surgeon had told her to remain where she was until called for. As the two astartes left she found her mind occupied with two thoughts.

 

Firstly given that he was far larger than any of the marines under his command she couldn't understand why any one defies him. Second her interest had been peaked by the mention of curses and following that trail of thought she remembered of a library Andronlailius had taken her to in order to aid her learning. Briefly a third thought flashed through - Why were these Space Marines so interested in teaching her? Then the more pressing memory of the library shoved it to one-side and she began wondering how far said library was.

 

After a few moments more thought she reasoned that it could not be that far and in fact she was certain that the Warlock of 7th Blood had gone via her current location. On that she found herself pausing for if her memory was correct she would have to go past forbidden section and of course naturally her mind cast its self back to the shadow of the clawed hand. Then reminding herself that she had spent years living everyday with the pug nose orks to whom she had lost an arm and much of her life. That she need not fear shadows and the like. For after all the Red Doom was clearly keen that she remain alive for some purpose later on and surely they would not allow harm to come to her.

 

With her mind made up she departed out of the medical section...

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I hope people are still reading this and if you are then thank you!

 

Next - Action! lots of bloody action and a secret revealed.

 

Comments etc - Always very welcome.

 

Edit - Putting this on hold in order to concentrate on 'Judgement of Iron'

[Yaj]

The journey was surprisingly long. She concluded that Mercharachio must have moved far faster through the forbidden section than she had ever realised! At every turning she was confronted by more endless corridors. Thankfully she had heard no fear inducing noise nor hideous shadows that left her imagination reeling from all the monsters, mainly orks, it could conjour up. Once the shadows had become real but had resolved themselves into a squad of Red Doom battle-brothers from the stylised knifes on there right pauldrons she knew them to be of 3rd Blood. In panic she had dived into the shadows of one of the many, many alcoves and twice had been rewarded that none of the superhuman warriors had seen her. The warriors going past also allowed her to focus her thoughts and stop them wondering to the hidden monsters in the shadows. She began reciting out loud all the bloods that made up the Red Doom.

 

First Blood who wore Wolf Head emblems on chest plates and recruited from the Wolf-Head tribe. The Second blood who hailed from the gorgon tribe and wore tattoos of the legendary creature on there bare faces. Fourth blood who took the chapter symbol of a red skull and worked into the banners carried by the War-Leaders and further stylised on the personal banner of Ni'hak Five-Deaths. The Fifth blood who left there entire left side of there war-plate with out paint for reasons she had yet to learn. Sixth bloo..

 

A tap of something behind canceled her thoughts and her mind race instantaeously to the monsters in the shadows. With perfect synchronising the taping sound came closer with each beat of her heart and then in the harsh low light revealed it's self into something she had not expected. It was a monster the size of a large dog with several limbs that ended in evil looking razor sharp claws but there was something even more odd that she found more terrifying...

 

it had no head!

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Will edit this later to include the rest.