Bringing light into dark places

[Aqui]

Couple of grammatical notes I thought I'd just raise (I'm in a nitpicky mood tonight):

 

“No, and no. I was like you, a slave of another tribe. When I was liberated, I had the chance to become a Star Warrior. I failed. However, because I was useful enough, the Star Warriors took me in as a servant. Whilst I regret not becoming one of them, I have no regrets. It’s been a good life.”

 

I think this bit needs to be rephrased - perhaps adding the word 'other' ("I have no other regrets.") would make it more palatable. Or (new thought) simply changing the latter 'regret' into 'shame'. :)

 

“Whilst I believe you know the truth already, I will say to you that you didn’t not kill you brother. He was dead a long time ago.”

 

I'm assuming you accidently added the 'not', yes? Otherwise the sentence is confusing. :D

 

 

Besides that I enjoyed that part. It answers questions and clears the air for the next part.

 

D'oh!

 

Yes, you're right on both counts. I'll get them changed to something that sounds better :)

[Dosjetka]

A nice end to the prologue ;) Cheers for writing this and I look forward to the next chapter!

 

Ludovic

[Aqui]

A brief little snippet until I roll into the meat of the first Chapter properly:

 

Chapter 1 part 1

 

The fist came out of nowhere, hitting Varagol squarely on the jaw. Stepping back to escape a second attack, he shook the sweat from his face. As part of the Initiation to the Chapter known as the Legio Spectra, he was required to shave it short, almost to the skin. It was still quite recently shorn and itched, especially when he was exerting himself like this. His opponent, was taller than him, by a head, and despite his size was fast. Very fast. Immediately after the second punch was thrown, a kick to the groin, but Varagol had been ready, raising his leg to put his shin in the way.

 

Wrapping his own leg around his opponents, he tucked the head under his arm and fell backwards. His opponents head smacked the ground hard. Varagol rolled away into a defensive stance. Anybody else he had encountered would have been stunned and the fight over. But Brun’el wasn’t just any opponent. He was from a Clan specialising in making weapons. Swords, Axes, arrow heads, he could make them all, and working in a Smithy meant that he was stronger than a lot of the other Initiates. It was a recurring joke amongst the trainees that Brun’el didn’t need to use a weapon to attack enemies, he just needed to charge at them, head down. It was also rumoured that should he attain full membership with the Star Warriors, that he would be taken for training as a Tech Marine.

 

It had been a couple of Months since his discussion with Rustar, and was a harder regime than he imagined. However, Varagol was determined to succeed where his brother had failed. It was also more than a little to do with the fact that Rustar was distantly related to him by blood and had no intention of disappointing him. Varagol, like the other recruits before him had already been given basic indoctrination into the Chapter, and were due to be implanted with the first set of implants. Before these were given, the Chapter insisted that all Initiates went through thorough physicals and training, yet another way to ensure that only the best was selected to join them.

 

Brun’el had gotten up, groaning and rubbing his head. A wry smile on his lips showed that his friend had surprised him yet again.

 

The instructor observing the fight motioned to stop. Whilst it was over, Brun’el would still try to beat him again next time. This was the tenth attempt.

 

“Well fought Varagol, although lacking in finesse I feel,” he rumbled.

 

Varagol snorted, amused. Brun’el had paraphrased something that their instructors commented on early on in their training. Varagol had been cornered in a bout. Rather than feint and move aside, he waited until his opponent charged. And head butted him. After that, more than a few of the trainees were wary of fighting him. However, there was one who had beaten him. Eh’Tor. Varagol had feared that he would never see his friend again, but the Librarians of the Chapter had concluded that there was no need to send him to the Black Ships, and that he was stable in mind and ability to be allowed to train as an initiate. Eh’Tor had an uncanny way of being able to counter everything thrown at him. Eh’Tor himself was at a loss to explain it.

 

“Imagine seeing things a split second before they happen,” he said once, “ Then imagine as well, that you can see all the possible outcomes in an event and take the best one.”

 

Varagol, while pleased to see his friend again, had become wary to a degree. Eh’Tor had changed. He still loved the sound of his own voice, but a lot of the humour in his character had gone. He was more serious, as if warned of something horrible and didn’t dare see the joy in life. Varagol wanted to ask what had happened to him, to try to alleviate what burdened him. But, their paths rarely crossed, Eh’Tor attached to another training cadre to him. That was when he had met Brun’el. Brun’el was a quiet, patient soul, unlike Varagol who was still head strong and willful.

 

“Patience is vital when metal smithing,” Brun’el explained, “After all, quench the metal too early and it becomes brittle. Take too long and the buyer complains!”

 

Training had finished for the day, and all initiates filed out to the Mess hall for sustenance. It was large, and had to be to accommodate all of the full Battle-brothers. The initiates ate at different times to them however, as they had not been fully inducted into the Chapter. As they sat, listening to a sermon from another of the Chaplains, Varagol noticed that the Chapter banner was adorning the hall. It was dark blue, trimmed with a vast array of colours. Cold reds, subtle yellows, warm oranges, and deep purples, vivid greens and dusky browns. In the centre, a relief of the Chapters’ Primogenitor, the Mighty Jaghatai Khan, resplendent in white armour smiting a humanoid alien with pointed ears and a hooked blade. A swell of pride beat in his chest.

 

The Chaplain bade the initiates to rise. Intoning a hymn to the God-Emperor, they all gave their thanks to Him on Earth.

 

All being well, I'll have some more ready either later tonight or between now and Saturday evening (GMT) ;)

 

And an Internet cookie to the one who can find the "in-jokes" I've put in this one :teehee:

[Olis]

Good stuff. I see you have taken a touch of inspiration from a certain famous engineer for Brun'el. :)

[Aqui]

Good stuff. I see you have taken a touch of inspiration from a certain famous engineer for Brun'el. ;)

 

That was one of the in jokes :)

 

Another is Eh'Tor, but I'll give you all a bit of time to try to work out why :jaw:

[Aqui]

I've been finding it a lot easier to write this lately. Hopefully this will continue :)

 

Chapter 2 part 2

 

“Initiate Varagol, enter,” stated a voice from within the room. Outside Varagol, wearing nothing but a rough, plain robe was hesitant. This was it, the first step towards becoming a Star Warrior, a...Space Marine. The last phrase was still a new one to him. Whilst physical training was of importance in becoming one, Varagol and the others undertook many hours of tutelage, learning more about their world and what lay beyond. They had also been taught Low Gothic very early. This was so that they could all understand each other, for Pochutec had many languages, and to garner respect and togetherness.

 

“Initiate Varagol. Enter. Now.” Varagol winced as he could almost hear the capitalisation of the words. He wanted to become a Marine, but there was something about the room that made him wary. It didn’t help that once the route to becoming one of the Inti’s....the Emperor’s chosen, one could not turn back. Remembering what Rustar had told him, he steeled himself for what was inside......

 

The room was brightly lit. So much so that Varagol was temporarily blinded. The room had 3 slabs that could be adjusted to various positions. He noted that whilst they had been scrubbed clean with meticulous care, there were still blood stains on a couple of them. By now, his eyes had finally acclimatised to the light source, a massive electrolumens bolted to the ceiling. Looking around he could not see the owner of the voice that had called him in. In the corner was a large bank of Machinery. There was also an odd looking appendage attached. It looked like a servitor , it’s organic eyes replaced with bionics. It had no legs, being attached to the larger machine by a multi jointed arm. The torso had 4 arms, each with sharp instruments, the likes of which Varagol had not seen before.

 

“Initiate Varagol, reporting as ordered!” Varagol stated making the sign of the Aquila.

 

The machine whirred and the torso moved over to him with an unnerving grace, it’s arms chattering as it did so.

 

“Ah, Initiate Varagol. I barely recognised you. The last time I saw you, you was covered in blood, and cut open in many places.”

 

It took Varagol several seconds to realise that the Torso was speaking to him.

 

“I get that reaction a lot,” the torso stated sighing. “I’m not a servitor. I am the Chapters’ Chief Apothecary, Be’Chup. Judging from the look on your face, I’d say you were wondering about my appearance....”

 

Varagol was barely able to nod.

 

Smiling with an air of bitterness, Be’Chup continued, “I used to be a regular Apothecary, and a good one. I fought alongside my brothers for many years, until on one battlefield I was crippled by enemy artillery whilst helping another stricken brother. Rather than place me within a Dreadnought, it was decided to install me here, so that I could continue my work. I can leave this place by use of a hover cart, but I rarely have much to leave this place for.....”

 

Be’Chup broke his reverie, and paused slightly.

 

“Initiate, as you have been told, this is the first of many operations that will transform your body into that of a true Space Marine. In this instance three of the Blessed organs will be implanted. Once the operation has finished, a course of Hypno-therapy will be undertaken. This and other tests will be taken to ensure that your body is able to withstand the new organs within you, and that you are able to attain balance with them. Do you understand?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then without any further haste, remove your robe and lie on the bench Initiate.”

 

Varagol disrobed, feeling the chill of the room. Lying on the slab, he felt even more discomforted. It seemed to radiate cold, the like of which he had never felt. The face of Be’Chup appeared above him, to his right. He was scrutiinising him, curious.

 

“Be not afraid. This is the first step towards eternal service to Him on Earth, and to our Primarch, the most noble and great Khan.” Varagol felt a sharp sensation in his right arm, like a sting. “Be proud to have come this far, and to have accomplished this much.....”

 

Varagol did not hear the rest as he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

The dark came rapidly to greet, in such force that he could not comprehend its depths. No sound no light, no up or down. Struggling to find courage, Varagol thought back to the day he spoke to Rustar, to remind himself that this path was the best one, the only one. It didn’t help, rising panic brought a wave of nausea, the taste of vomit to his tongue.

 

Concentrate. Concentrate! urged a voice, commanding and sharp in pitch. The Warriors of the Khan must always be ready. For they are the lightning before the storm. The bringers of Woe to all that stand in their way! Concentrate boy, or be consumed by the darkness.....

 

The voice fell silent as fast as it had come. Other voices, quieter, but no less urgent whispered promises of Power, Vengence, Sensations beyond mortal comprehension, and release from the fear of Death. All of them beguiling to his ears, terrifying to his mind’s eye.

 

Concentrate, lad! the first voice stated again urgently. If you fail to turn away from the evil, and face the light you will forever be damned!

 

Varagol struggled to control his terror, afraid of the first voice as much as the others. His mind raced. Was it all a trick? What did the voices want? He could see a small pinprick of light in the distance. He tried to move towards it, but could feel unseen forces resisting, restraining. The other voices grew louder, and more insistent; their lies more outrageous, their demands more threatening. Reaching out with his hands, Varagol opened his eyes, and his heart and stepped forwards....

 

Varagol, awoke in a bed, much like the one he had found himself in when he first came to the complex. The room was plain and had no decoration short of a chair to the left of him. Eh’Tor sat watching him, smiling as he regained consciousness. In the corner of the room, a large shadow loomed, radiating a cool demeanour.

 

“So, you decided to come back, sleepyhead,” Eh’Tor chuckled, “For some time it didn’t look as if you was going to make it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Varagol demanded. “How long have I been unconscious?”

 

“It has been over a week, Initiate.” Rumbled the figure in the corner.

 

“A week?” said Varagol startled, “But why....”

 

“It would seem that whilst the implantations were successful, there were other forces at work that tried to ensure that you either died, or were submissive to them..

 

“Whilst you were operated on, marks appeared upon your skin. Evil marks.”

 

“We were summoned to ensure that no taint would befall upon this place, for even one of us to fall to the evil ones would be one too many,” the shadow stated, his voice a dark reminder to the aftermath of the pits. Varagol had met the Stormseer before. His name was Sturmaz and a powerful psychic. It seemed that he was tutoring Eh’Tor in those arcane ways.

 

He could feel the presence of the powerful man in his mind, but didn’t resist. It would have be as pointless as a leaf trying to defy a hurricane.

 

“We are no longer required,” motioning to Eh’Tor, “We shall leave, so that you can recover more swiftly.” And in so doing they both left the Chamber, leaving Varagol to his own thoughts.

 

Many months had passed, and Varagol underwent more surgery and training. After receiving the Preomnor and Omophagea implants, all Initiates were gathered up into the main Hall to be addressed by the Chapter Master, Alizarin. Varagol and Brun’El both had no idea why the summons was called. They had never seen the leader of the Legio Spectra before, the command cadre usually remaining on the Chapters headquarters, a massive space station that orbited Pochutec Unsure what to expect they had talked at length on the way to their destination.

 

“Perhaps he is unsatisfied with our progress,” murmured Brun’El sadly. He was referring to two Initiates who had gone berserk in combat training. One when restrained by his instructor struck him with a sword. It had barely scratched the training masters armour, but had proved the instability of the young Warrior. He, along with the other had been taken away. Neither was seen again.

 

“I doubt the Master of our Chapter would waste his time leaving the Temple of Light to oversee our disposal,” remarked Varagol snorting, “He would have far more important things to be concerned about.”

 

“Such as?” asked Brun’El, knowing that Varagol had heard some chatter from some of the older Initiates.

 

“I had heard that there was some Pirate activity in one of the Sub Sectors, beyond Astra Spectra.”

 

“Pirates?” derided Brun’El, “Really? I would have thought such brigands would be dealt with by others. The Chapter is tasked with patrolling this area of Space. Let others deal with it, I say.”

 

“You however, do not have a say, Initiate,” Rustar admonished lightly. “Be still your lip, and do not dawdle further. The Chapter Master brooks tardiness from no one.”

 

Brun’El started to apologise, but seeing the look upon the Chaplain’s face instead quickened his pace.

 

Arriving at the entrance to the Main Hall, they both noticed that the assemble was made up of only Initiates. No Battle Brothers were present. The Hall was vast, easily able to accommodate the entire Chapter at least twice over. The ceiling was decorated with Murals of the Emperor and the Khan smiting their foes, alongside other mighty Warriors. One had shaggy hair and a wild look in his eyes, his armour bedecked with the hide of an animal. Another had dark skin and eyes that burned incandescently, wearing armour of the deepest green. Another wore Yellow armour, brandishing a massive Hammer that radiated energy like a thunderstorm. There were others, but Varagol had no time to look beyond a cursory glance. The Chapter Master had stood before them all and was about to speak.

 

“Welcome to you all. Today marks an important step in your progress to becoming a Marine,” intoned Alizarin. “It is important because whilst you have trained and have had some of the Implants that will complete your journey, it is not simply enough.

 

“In one hours time, you will all be allocated to a squad. You will then be shuttled to an area of the Nomastii Tundra in the north where you will spend three weeks training at a Huaca. This is a test to ensure that all of the implants you have received are functioning correctly. Once you have proven this to be so, you will return and be ready to proceed to the next phase of your indoctrination.”

 

There was a stunned silence. The Nomastii Tundra was at the Planet’s Pole. It was a desolate wasteland, where there was no night and extreme temperatures. Whilst no one gathered amongst the Initiates had ever been, everyone knew of it. Thousands of years ago, it had been a landing site of the original settlers to the Planet. The temperatures had been a lot milder then, but the Planet had undergone climate changes that made it inhospitable. It was also rumoured that the Legio Spectra’s forbears, the White Scars, had landed there, before traveling further south and meeting the native populations and the resultant creation of the Chapter.

 

No one dared speak, too dumbfounded was the Chapter Master audience.

 

“Gather your equipment and report back here to be assigned to your squads. Make haste!”

 

And with that, every Initiate scrambled back to their quarters, a sense of dread enveloping them all.

[Dosjetka]

A good continuation to the story :cuss Can't wait to read the rest of it :angry:

 

Ludovic

[Aqui]

A good continuation to the story :) Can't wait to read the rest of it ^_^

 

Ludovic

 

I'm glad you you like it so far ^_^

 

I hope to post far longer pieces, as I've kinda got an idea where the story is going now. I've been reluctant to post too big thus far as I wanted to be ensure that I wasn't going to write myself into a dead end like I did with "And we all fall down".

[Dosjetka]

I'm glad you you like it so far :)

 

I hope to post far longer pieces, as I've kinda got an idea where the story is going now. I've been reluctant to post too big thus far as I wanted to be ensure that I wasn't going to write myself into a dead end like I did with "And we all fall down".

Take your time mate :) No need to rush and up till now, every part was good, so keep it that way :lol:

 

Ludovic

[Olis]

Liking it so far - it's better not to rush yourself if it means you'll have a better quality story made in slower instalments. I'd prefer it that way. :D Edited February 27, 2012 by Olisredan

[Aqui]

Part 1, Chapter 2

 

The ThunderHawk’s engines whined unbearably as it soared through the upper atmosphere. It’s destination was a smaller base of operations in the Nomastii Tundra, a vast area of snow and ice near the Northern Pole of the Planet. Hardly any life was able to sustain itself there, and what did was unlike anything that the natives of Pochutec had ever encountered. For the first time since becoming Initiates of the Legio Spectra, the occupants were going to experience the unknown.

 

Varagol’s own feelings were mixed. Whilst he shared his erstwhile companions’ feelings of doubt, fear and trepidation, he also felt some elation. He knew that spending three weeks in that void was going to be tougher than anything they had faced thus far, but he also knew that it was possible to do it, otherwise his own kinsman, Rustar and so many others would not have survived.

 

Turning to speak to Brun’El, seated next to him, he realised that his friend had left his seat to question the pilots about this machine. Brun’El had been enthralled when he saw it up close. Even Varagol had been impressed. He’d also been sick to the pit of his stomach when the ship, having moved a sufficient distance away, accelerated swiftly and hit the Sound Barrier with such force that he thought it was going to fall apart. Brun’El had laughed at that. It wasn’t often that Varagol had shown any kind of weakness, any failing, perceived or otherwise. To Brun’El’s credit, had pointed out that most of the Initiates had been sick too, and not just the once....

 

Through the viewport, he could see the landmass far below. It was an endless trail of white, further than even his eyesight could see. And blinding. The viewports automatically tinted when exposed to direct sunlight, but it still hurt to look out for too long. The vox chimed.

 

“All Initiates to return to their seats, and strap in. Destination ETA in five standard.”

 

Brun’El returned to his seat, a broad grin on his face.

 

“I asked Master Eh’Dson for a recommendation,” he said excitedly. Master Eh’Dson was the Chapter’s Master of the Forge and had been keeping an eye on Brun’El as his skills in Smithing was well known. It was apparent that Brun’El knew the course of his own destiny after becoming a full battle brother.

 

“And, I take it that he would consider it?” asked Varagol. It was also well known that Master Eh’Dson was a hard man to please.

 

“Yes, although he did say that it was most likely.”

 

That had impressed Varagol. A most likely was the nearest thing to yes he’d heard him say. There was a few other candidates put forward for consideration, but it seemed Brun’El was the most certain.

 

Brun’El looked at Varagol slightly concerned.

 

“What troubles you brother?”

 

“What? Nothing.” Mumbled Varagol, trying to brush off his real feelings.

 

“Speak to me. What is wrong?”

 

Varagol sighed. It was a silly thing to be concerned about, but it bothered him greatly. After a few moments he decided to tell his friend.

 

“Whilst I’m pleased at your news, it only highlights the fact that I haven’t found my own path yet. Eh’Tor has found his it would seem and you have yours.”

 

“I see. You feel like you’re being left behind.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One that was completely true.

 

“Yes.”

 

Slapping Varagol on the back, Brun’El laughed. Catching Varagol’s baleful eye, he remarked, “Really, I wouldn’t worry about it. Destiny is not always immediately apparent. For all we know, you could end up as a Khan, or a Great Khan!”

 

Varagol snorted, amused by the thought, but Brun’El was right. Who knows what his fate would be?

 

The Thunderhawk decelerated suddenly, and Varagol thought he was going to be sick again. Dropping altitude, the mighty ship had reached it’s destination. The Huaca. The word meaning “Great Place”, or “Land of the Gods”, and it was strictly forbidden for native peoples to try to reach it. Many thought it because there was a great secret hidden there, but it was because it was simply too dangerous to attempt the journey.

 

Disembarking, the Initiates felt the cold the moment the ramp was lowered. All of them were from the middle section of the Continent and whilst wet in the almost perpetual rainy season, was warm. Only those from coastal Clans were better able to hide their discomfort.

 

Rustar lead them all into the larger building, a simple rockcrete construct that was half buried in snow and ice. In the distance, there was a large shadow. Whatever it was, it was angled slightly and seemed to be reaching for the sky. Varagol looked at Brun’El to ask what it was.

 

“It’s a defence laser,” Brun’El supplied, knowing his friends question before it was asked. “It’s a massive weapon that fires concentrated beams of light into orbit, to fight off invaders.”

 

Varagol stood and looked at it for a moment. His mind reeled at the power the thing could unleash. What other wonders were to be found here?

 

Inside, the others had already scrambled for a bunk. Many of the Initiates were unknown to each other. The pecking order, rudimentary at present, was starting to form. Brun’El was left alone, mainly due to his size and strength, but his amiableness led most who met him to believe he was a push over. This was not the case, as two youths had decided to make an impression on the others by picking a fight. The two in question were quite large themselves, both had a dark tan to their skin that came from living in Pochutec’s semi-desert region. Their eyes were as dark as Obsidian, highlighted by the vivid blue tattoos on their cheeks.

 

One of them had positioned themselves behind Brun’El as he unloaded his sack onto the bunk, seemingly unaware of what was to come. The other was opposite the bed, waiting for him to react. Brun’El did nothing, engrossed in laying his equipment in the expected manner.

 

“Well?” asked one of the boys, his patience short from having to announce his presence.

 

Brun’El looked up briefly, smiling at the youth. “Well, what?”

 

“This is not your bunk.”

 

“I don’t see your name on it. Indeed, I don’t see anyone’s. That makes it mine I think.”

 

“I see,” retorted the boy, turning. Varagol could see what was going to happen next. The dark skinned Initiate drew his hand back and thrust forward, pivoting on one foot. Brun’El pulled away as the hand came near, grabbing the boy by the wrist and yanking hard. Unbalanced, the boy yelped as he feel forward seeing Brun’El’s right fist coming forward to meet him. Blood arced as fist met nasal cartilage. The other boy enraged by what he saw, grabbed Brun’El around the neck in a chokehold. Brun’El tried to prise the boy’s arm away. After a few seconds, he dropped to his knees, the youth’s jaw hitting his skull. As he let go, the boy was flung back landing heavily on the floor.

 

Looking around to see if anyone else was going to try anything, Brun’El carried on unpacking.

 

Unsurprisingly, nobody did.

 

A few hours later, the New recruits were led into a chamber, covered in Litanies written in High Gothic. Unable to read them as he was, Varagol was nevertheless enthralled by the detailing of the texts, the sheer scale of how much was written.

Within alcoves along the walls, stood ancient suits of armour. Many were beyond need of repair. Were those suits still occupied, their owners witnesses to the Chapters’ recruits indoctrination over the years. Varagol wasn’t sure. Further into the Hall, there was a dais with a Lecturn, made of exotic woods the likes of which he had not seen before. At the front was an effigy of the Imperial Eagle and it’s twin heads. One seeing, into the past, the other blind, seeing into the future. Above was another Banner, one of the Chapter’s symbol. A winged lightning strike, with all of the colours of the Spectrum, including colours that he could not quite see, his body not fully complete. The majesty of the banner, the colours, the sheer amount of detail worked into it’s cloth was staggering. On the dais to one side a Chaplain in full Battle armour stood waiting. For a moment, Varagol thought that it was another suit of armour like the others within the alcoves, but once all were assembled, it strode towards the lecturn, every step measured, supreme confidence and at total ease in his surroundings.

 

“Welcome, Initiates,” spoke the Chaplain, “I am Chaplain D’arque, and I am responsible for the moral welfare of all who join the Legio Spectra. It is I who will guide you in learning everything you need to know about our Chapter, what is expected of you, and to prepare you for the trials you have ahead of you.

 

“By now, you may already realise that this is another step forwards to becoming a full battle brother. Gaining new implants is not enough. It has been said that strength is more than physical. This is so. After all, faith in the Emperor can lift a Brother’s spirit, and enable him to do the most courageous things. Without Faith, strength only shows how good you are at moving things. We follow the tenets of our Father, Jaghatai Khan. We honour our Primogenitor Chapter, the White Scars, and above all, we serve the Emperor of Mankind.

 

“The words bound to the walls of this room are those of the great Jaghatai Khan himself,” Intoned Brother Chaplain D’Arque, “Whilst we are still a relatively young Chapter compared to others, we have endured for Millennia. The Primarch himself once said:

 

“We face foes that would curdle the very soul of Mortal Men. We encounter things that would sear the sight of cowards, and banish the lies of those whom are too weak to accept the Truth! We are servants of the Emperor. And we bring Light to Dark places!”

 

At those words, Varagols’ soul soared.

[Aqui]

Part 1 Chapter 3

 

 

There were times where Varagol really hated his life. This was one of them. He, like everyone else, was out in the snow, a blizzard currently raging, visibility next to nothing and his stomach perpetually reminding him why he was out there. Almost nothing lived this far north, and what did tended to have an almost preternatural skill at finding food. Find one of these creatures, and you could either eat it, or follow it for long enough for it to find food.

 

The trouble was of course, that these creatures could hide from you by dint of fact of their fur or hides being perfectly able to blend in with the sea of white all around.

 

Varagol paused, desperately urging his senses to see hear or smell anything edible. He failed. He had lost all sense of direction, had no idea which direction the camp was. Until this storm ended, he would be best off staying where he was. Putting up a tent was pointless, so fumbling for his entrenching tool, he started to dig a hole angled away from the wind to shelter in. It took over thirty minutes, as every time he dug a portion of the snow out, the wind would send in a fresh supply. Varagol’s rage at his situation grew by the second, but he knew it was his own fault. He had to accept the challenge set by G’urg, didn’t he? That annoying little Prim’tah was forever getting under his skin, always there with his barbed, but subtle insults. Brun’El had, as ever, tried to calm Varagol down, but his own stubbornness always prevented him from walking away.

 

Looks like G’urg will get the last laugh after all mused Varagol. Settling in for the blizzard to end, he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

Hours earlier, at the camp, Varagol had been sharpening his knife. It had a blade of seven inches, curved in the style of his Clan and was already sharp. He preferred it to be sharper, so every day, he would sharpen it. The metal was made by the Clan’s old Weapon Smith and was the best he’d ever known. It didn’t need sharpening that often, but it allowed him to think and the routine was almost meditative. So engrossed was he, G’urg had approached him without him noticing. G’urg was a tall, lean boy from the Plains, and was one of the group who had taken longest to adapt the cold. The boy’s hair like everyone’s had been shorn short, but he had originally had it in long dreadlocks, tied together with string. His eyes were, unusually for his Clan almost black in colour, which had caused some consternation within the group. Dark eyes were a sign of evil to many of the more superstitious Clans, making him somewhat of a loner. It didn’t help that his attitude was abrasive, callous and domineering.

 

“Isn’t that blade sharp enough?” G’urg had asked sneering, “If you have to sharpen it every day, it can mean only one of two things.”

 

Varagol paused from what he was doing. He knew he was trying to bait him, that whatever he said was just an attempt to mock him. It didn’t help that G’urg always knew how to get under his skin.

 

“What would that be then?” he replied, not turning around, knowing that keeping his back to G’urg would infuriate him.

“That either you have no idea of what you are doing. Or.....that the maker of that weapon was useless....”

 

Brun’El, who had seen G’urg go over to Varagol, moved slowly to behind the boy. Varagol had been in a foul mood all morning. The group had once again brought little back from hunting and lack of food was fraying everyone’s temper.

 

“Stay out of this Brun’El, or does Varagol need your strength to win every argument?”

 

Brun’El halted. Whilst he knew that Varagol could take care of himself, he wouldn’t have minded a pop at that insolent little Hatakah as well. Brun’El, unlike the other boy had a deeper sense of honour and wouldn’t gang up on a single opponent.

 

“Well?” continued G’urg, “Have you lost your tongue, as well as your....edge?”

 

That barb twisted deep. Varagol was still angry with himself from a fight a few days ago. In training, he had mis-judged a thrust of his opponent’s blade, swinging his own knife forwards to parry. It cut deep in the other boy’s arm. Whilst there was no permanent damage, the boy was still in the infirmary. His skills as a warrior had never been in doubt before, his own confidence taking a significant blow.

 

Turning from Varagol, G’urg addressed the others, who by now had all gathered to watch. Everyone’s nerved was on edge. It would take but one word spoken out of turn to make this very bloody indeed.

 

“I say to you all now, that Varagol should be made to prove his worth to us all. Whilst he had made a simple mistake in that fight, on a real battlefield, it could be costly to us all! He should be made to rectify his mistake! He has told us all time and again that he is an excellent hunter.

 

“Prove it,” turning to Varagol again, G’urg’s predatory smile gave no doubt to what he was thinking. Varagol’s pride would not allow this matter of honour to slip, but the weather was changing, the temperature had dropped 10 degrees in the last hour and the wind proclaimed a blizzard on it’s way.

 

“Prove it,” G’urg said again.

 

Varagol stood with his back to G’urg. Brun’El could see his handed bunched into tight fists. Before anyone could react he had turned, and had moved the distance between them in a blurr. Barely having time to realise what was going on, G’urg’s face met Varagol’s right fist. With blood streaming from his now broken nose, G’urg didn’t see Varagol’s foot rising to lash out at his solar plexus. Reeling backwards, he stayed conscious long enough for him to hear Varagol snarl.

 

“I will!”

 

Darkness and later, intense pain gathered to meet G’urg.

 

G’urg had barely recovered in time to see Varagol at the edge of the camp. The camp’s Leader, Chaplain D’Arque was speaking to him.

 

“You do realise that it is madness to leave the camp with the weather turning?” D’Arque said simply. “There will be no further communication once you have passed the proximity sensors. We will not send a rescue team out to aid you whilst the blizzard rages. And it will, Initiate. The weather you have experienced is nothing compared to what lies in wait for you.”

 

“I understand,” Varagol replied. “But we have not eaten properly for days. Tempers are getting frayed...”

 

“So I understand.” There was amusement in his tone, a rare thing for the Chaplain to show. His reputation for being strict was undeniable.

 

“Go then Varagol, of the Ah’Tel Clan, prove yourself to all. But most importantly, prove it to yourself.”

 

Making the sign of the Aquila, Chaplain D’Arque turned and strode away.

 

 

Every step was getting more and more arduous. The wind had risen from a breeze to a roar in minutes, and Varagol regretted with every step, his own stubbornness. He would not however, back down now. If he died, he would at least restore his honour. If he came back empty handed however, he could never look the others in the eye again. G’urg may finally have outsmarted him. It was no secret that G’urg had a bitter hatred of him. Why that was, no one knew. The Plains dwelling people had no feud with his Clan as far as he remembered, but there was so many feuds and wars it was hard to keep track.

 

No point in trying to figure that out now he mused. The shelter he was taking refuge in was already filling up with snow. Whilst that meant less exposure to the wind, it also meant that he was in danger of being buried. He had no wish of that. Taking off his pack, he tried to wedge it in the gap so that he could escape. Leaning against it, he waited out the storm.

 

It took hours to fall silent. He had lost track of all sense of time. Not being able to see the Sun, it was impossible to work out how long he had waited. Gathering his wits, he pulled the sack from the hole and saw snow. Lots of snow. Sighing, re pulled out his entrenching tool and began to dig.

 

It took fifteen minutes to get as far as he had done and he still hadn’t reached the end of it. He had been digging at an incline so that he wouldn’t have to struggle moving directly upwards, but this was proving as fruitless. After a brief search, he located two small objects, both fitting in the palm of his hand. At the end of each was a spade. Repacking everything took a few more moments; he had decided to take everything he had instead of leaving it to be able to move quicker. He had no idea how far away from camp he was, and he still had not found anything to eat for the group. After a few poor attempts, he got the hang of the mini shovels and dug up and further up.

 

Varagol noticed that the further he went, the less icy the snow was. That was good news, as it meant that the snow he was digging was near the top, the weight of which was compressing the snow further down. Redoubling his efforts, he made one final push to the top. One of his shovels gave way and pushed through the snow, a small shaft of light greeting him. Forcing the hole bigger, he squeezed through, only to reel from the intensity of the sun. His eyesight was so used to the darkness and the gloom of the tunnel he had made, he was unprepared for it. Pushing the visor over his eyes, he rested for a few minutes taking in what scenery there was around him. It was desolate, the only thing visible beyond the snow was a mountain range far in the distance. Sighing, Varagol told himself that if there were any creatures living here, there would be no places for such creatures to hide.

 

Standing, he looked up at the sky. The sun was behind him and was setting. That meant that he was facing east. The camp, if he remembered correctly was to the west. He was about to turn and make his way back to humiliation, when he could see something in the distance. He hadn’t seen it before as his eyes struggled to adapt to the sun. Varagol headed towards it.

 

The object was some distance away, and in the endless snow was a lot further away than he thought. He still couldn’t make any details out, except that it jutted out of the snow. The sun was starting to set, and Varagol needed to make a choice. Return to camp, without anything to show for all of his troubles, his honour in tatters, or to explore what lay beyond, his curiosity now piqued. With nothing to lose, he made his way forward.

 

The sun was nearly set by the time he had gotten near enough to see what the object was. It was a statue, at least 20 feet high. It was that of a face, noble and proud, but pitted and worn by the weather. He looked at the thing. Judging by the size, it would have meant that the rest of the statue, assuming it was still buried underneath was about 100 feet tall. Realisation sunk in. It was the place marker of where the squad of White Scar Marines had landed, all those years ago! The face looked similar to the blessed Primarch himself, although there were differences. But still....

 

Legends were told about how the Nomastii Tundra used to be a verdant landscape, full of life. But, the climate in the region changed and that the tribes living there were forced over time to move further south, resulting in a lot of the feuds and warfare. There was simply not enough room for them all, forcing each Clan to fight to keep what they had.

 

Such a find! Such an inspiring thing to be witness to. But, ultimately still of no value. He had had no food in days, the exertion making him even more hungry. Varagol, felt sick to the pit of his stomach. Looking around wildly in panic he desperately sought anything that he could eat. There was nothing. Without warning he passed out, his body no longer able to keep him conscious.

[Machine God]

Good stuff. I see you have taken a touch of inspiration from a certain famous engineer for Brun'el. ;)

 

That was one of the in jokes :D

 

Another is Eh'Tor, but I'll give you all a bit of time to try to work out why ;)

 

I see a Discworld reference.

 

Oook!

 

Eh'Tor will be initiated into the ranks of the Librarium and his name says Eight.

 

The Librarian in Discworld was turned into an Orang-Utan by magic. The Orang-Utan is native to Borneo meaning Old Man of the Jungle and thus fits in to the Polynesian vibe attached to the Rainbow Warriors.

 

Eight being the magic number relating to magic, the magical element Octiron and eight is the number that wizards cannot utter. Thus lore that Librarians have access to psychic power and guard against the warp.

 

One Banana topped Cookie!

 

Also Master Eh’Dson named after that Colonial chap interested in Lightning.

Edited June 5, 2012 by Scion of Ferrus

[Aqui]

Wrong I'm afraid, but it's good to see another fan of Discworld around. A cookie of your choice anyway ;)

 

Eh'tor's name comes from the Japanese way of saying "er" or "erm". He (by his own admission) loves the sound of his own voice, and someone like that would rarely need to pause when speaking :D

 

Edit:

 

Yes, I do like to name Tech Marines etc after famous engineers etc.

 

Other references include a move made by Varagol in a fight that is suspiciously like a DDT. Being an old wrestling fan, I couldn't resist ;)

Edited June 5, 2012 by Aquilanus

[Dosjetka]

A great continuation of the story :P Will you be updating this or are you concentrating on doing the SoB story?

 

Ludovic

[Aqui]

I haven't forgotten about this one ;) I'll be carrying on with this and the other one "Rayvens feather, Reavers dagger" as well. :D

[RedApple75]

I have absolutely loved reading this story, and can't wait for an update! :D

(Is one coming up anytime soon, by any chance?) :D

[Aqui]

I have absolutely loved reading this story, and can't wait for an update! :D

(Is one coming up anytime soon, by any chance?) ;)

 

Thank you! ^_^ Hopefully, there'll be one over the next few days, as I wanted to get one of my other stories up to a certain point (which has now been done).

 

Edit:

 

Welcome to B+C by the way! ^_^

Edited June 22, 2012 by Aquilanus

[Aqui]

A small post to get the story past a certain point. This would have been part of the last part if I hadn't had writers block and didn't know how to finish it. It does mean that I can get further along in the story, which I'll be planning/writing in the near future....

 

Part 1, Chapter 3:

 

Varagol awoke, his stomach in agony. It took him some time to realise where he was. He had managed to crawl to the base of the statue and was curled up into a ball, so as to reduce the amount of body heat he was losing. He managed to stand, and looked around. The landscape was still desolate as ever. Sighing, he decided to try to work out his position, his vain hope that despite being unable to find anything edible that he could at least tell Chaplain D’Arque where the statue was. It had been lost for centuries, and in time fell into legend. Taking out a compass, he noted a few co-ordinates, and stuffed the parchment into his pack. Shaking his head sadly, he took one last look at the massive head. The noble face was impassive as it ever was, but it filled Varagol with hope. It was all he had left.

 

After an hour of trudging through the snow, he heard a noise. It sounded like a howl, but Varagol was so used to hearing nothing but the wind, he dismissed it.

 

He regretted his mistake. A creature leapt onto his back bowling him over, it’s foetid breath on his neck. The weight was unbelievable. The creature raised a limb to smash into his back, hoping to paralyze him, but the back pack was in the way.

 

Claws entangled with the straps, Varagol managed to wriggle out of it, and turned to face it.

 

It was an Opochtli, a creature long thought to have died out. It was broad at the shoulders, arms long with claws like large razor sharp shovels. It had teeth the length of his arm. The hind legs were shorter, and bent ready to pounce. It moved like a simian, but was fast. How he had managed to miss seeing one until now was beyond him.

 

It didn’t matter, his life was in danger. If he didn’t outsmart this creature, it would be a moot point.

 

The Opochtli had managed to untangle its claws from his backpack, snarling at Varagol. He realised that he was only armed with the knife that G’Urg had taunted him about. Whilst it had a long blade, it was still too short to use as anything else than a stabbing instrument. He had no sword, or projectile weapon. He would have to face this creature hand to hand.

 

And it was going to hurt.

 

The Opochtli circled around him, aiming to attack him from the rear. Legend told that they were known as the Creeping Death as they tore a victim to shreds without them ever seeing what attacked them. It would seem that as the humans fled the cold of the north, the Opochtli did the opposite, to flee the rising number of humans. They were solitary animals, only amassing in breeding season which happened rarely.

 

The creature hissed again, still circling arms raised. Varagol realised that close combat was the only way to kill it, but he had to be precise. There was no room for error, one slip up and he was dead.

 

Standing still, allowing the creature to see that his back was completely against it, Varagol concentrated, knife at the ready.

 

As predicted the Opochtli jumped, seeing it’s chance. Varagol stepped to the side, stabbing its ribs as it passed. The knife didn’t go in as far as he would have liked, but was relieved that it went in at all. The animals thick fur and thicker skin allowed it to survive against the harsh cold. It was circling again, but it favoured the side it was stabbed. Far more wary now, it was not as stupid as it looked.

 

Varagol waited patiently, it would not be wise to rush this. The creature knew he was weakened, and could afford to wear him down. He had to use his brain to out wit it.

 

The next attack was with a swipe of its claws. It would seem that the brute was clever enough not to leap at him again.

 

Varagol barely dodged the attack, such was the speed of the creature. Varagol needed to find an advantage, anything to be able to get in stabbing range even for a split second, but the monster kept its distance.

 

So engrossed by his pondering, Varagol didn’t notice his back pack until it was too late. Tripping backwards, he could see the creature lurch forward, propelled by its hind legs, claws ready to rend and tear. One of its arms pinned him to the floor, his own arm unable to move under the bulk. The other, still had the blade in his hand. Realising this was the only chance he was going to get, he brought the blade up, flailing wildly. He caught the creatures’ eye. Stabbing again and again, he managed to drive the blade further and further into its skull . With a screech of terror, the Opochtli slumped forward, dead, completely pinning Varagol.

 

Varagol himself fell unconscious, worn out through exertion.

 

Waking to the smell of filthy fur, Varagol had managed to get from underneath the massive creature. There was a large pool of blood, absorbed into the ice. See his chance to be able to eat something, Varagol stuff large portions of the red ice into his mouth. He was full within moments, his stomach had shrunk so much. Sated for the time being, he decided that he would try to move this creature and take it back to the camp. He still had no idea how far away he was, and in which direction, but for now, he set to work on skinning the fur from it. Once stripped, he wrapped as much of it as he could around himself, using it to make crude leggings, a pair of gauntlets and a cloak with hood. The furs smell was terrible, but he was prepared to endure it when he realised how warm it was.

 

Next, he began to cut the meat from the bones of the Opochtli. He used lengths of intestine to tie steaks of meat together, wrapped up in more fur. He made a point of taking out and eating the heart of it, storing the kidneys and liver as he had the rest of the meat.

 

He finally extracted one of the bones in the mighty beasts forearms. Removing two of of the claws, he tied one to each end of it, secured with strips of gristle. He felt more secure with a staff, edged with two sharp points. After eating more of the meat he had put aside for himself, he used more length of intestine to trail the fur wrapped meat packages behind him, feeling it would be easier to drag behind him than carry on his shoulders.

 

Glancing briefly at the sun, he headed off, in hope of finding the training camp again.

 

Brun’El was assisting in calibrating a cogitator unit on the outskirts of the training camp. It had been nearly two weeks since Varagol left, and there was no sign of him. G’urg and his fellows reasoned that he had either run away, or was dead through exposure to the biting wind. In either case, he boasted that he had won the dare. Varagol’s tribes honour was in tatters.

 

Brun’El himself had little doubt that he had done his utmost to complete his task, but the evidence seemed clear. He wouldn’t see him again.

 

Other members of the training cadre had gone out, on clearer days to hunt, and whilst they had been successful in finding sport, it was a meagre amount and barely able to feed them all. Tensions were still at breaking point. If not for the fact that he was larger than most, G’urp would have tried to try his luck with him.

 

Let him try.

 

Finishing the repairs, he assembled his equipment and was about to return to camp, when he could see a figure in the distance. Bedraggled, and weary, it was stumbling along, exhaustion nearly making it collapse. Approaching with caution, he called out in High Gothic. There was no response. Trying in Low Gothic, the figures head snapped up, realising that someone had called out. The figure seemed more determined, picking up the pace, until he was within a few feet of Brun’El.

Close up, the furs’ stench made Brun’El’s stomach reel, but he was impressed by the long staff with two evil looking points to it.

 

“Well met, stranger,” Brun’El greeted.

 

“Well, met indeed,” replied Varagol, “Sorry I took so long.” Indicating the parcel behind, he continued, “Better late than never eh?”

 

Gu’Urp’s face was red with rage when he was told of Varagol’s return. He was apoplectic when he saw the amount of meat he had brought with him. It didn’t stop him from taking his share along with everyone else though.

 

At the evening feast, Varagol was bade to tell the senior staff of what he had seen. He gave them the parchment with his estimations of where the statue was.

 

“If you have found the statue of our forefathers, then you have truly done our Chapter a great service,” Chaplain D’Arque told him. “In either case, you did well to have killed an Opochtli. You must have travelled a fair distance, as they are not found anywhere near here.”

 

“The creature was near the statue.” Varagol told him. “I can only estimate that that was over thirty miles away.”

 

“Thirty miles in that weather,” chuckled Brun’El, “I really do think that you’d do most anything the hard way, just to prove a point.”

 

“Maybe,” Varagol smiled ruefully, “But I wasn’t going to have my tribes honour sullied by that Hatakah.”

 

“Enough, Varagol,” D’Arque admonished lightly. “There will be no more fighting. It has ended. You should all be working together as brothers, not persisting old feuds.”

 

“Understood sir,” Varagol said chastened.

 

“Do not under estimate what achievement you have made Varagol. But remember what you have had to endure to accomplish it, and why you had gotten yourself into that situation. Pride is all very well, but it usually precedes a fall.” Seeing the misunderstanding on their faces, he continued.

 

“A fall from grace, both in the eyes of the Chapter, and that of the Immortal Emperor and our Gene Father the mighty Khan. Never forget that.

 

“Now, finish your meals. There is the task of finishing your training tomorrow. It will be a long day and you will all need all the sleep you can get.”

Edited June 22, 2012 by Aquilanus

[Dosjetka]

Hehe, Varagol survives to see that bastard who challenged him again ^_^

 

Great stuff :yes:

 

Ludovic

[BassWave]

Lovin this so far Aquilanus :)

[Aqui]

Lovin this so far Aquilanus :thanks:

 

Thanks :cuss

[Lyra Omenarr]

Great story so far! :lol:

(Will you update anytime soon? Can't wait to read what's going to happen next!)

[Aqui]

Great story so far! :D

(Will you update anytime soon? Can't wait to read what's going to happen next!)

 

Thank you ;)

 

It will be, I hope. I have the ideas more or less down - I just have to stop myself from being distracted from all the ideas that insist on being started as well! :lol: Too many shiny things, too many ideas, not enough time, not enough money....^_^

 

One day, I might actually be able to start something and finish it without being distracted by another idea I get! :D

[Dosjetka]

Gah! I thought that it was an update! I'll just have to wait longer now... :(

 

Ludovic