The chaotic ramblings of Antarius

[Antarius]

Well, this is where I'll be posting all my geeky writing. As you may or may not have noticed, my geekery knows no bounds. Well almost no bounds (I don't have Space Marine bedsheets. Yet).

 

To start with I'll be posting some fluff'n'stuff from my current campaign. It's mostly written "around" the actual events in our games, so many of hte short stories will feature the same characters and refer to battles and events we never actually hear about. I hope that's not annoying to any would be readers, but I find I'm not too good at the bolter porn. I might try my hand at some battle reports at some point though.

 

If you like the stories or the characters, you can always look at my WIP thread where I try to bring them to life. Yes, I write about the characters in my army and/or try to recreate characters from my writings as miniatures. I told you I'm a geek.

 

Anyway, here we go:

 

 

+++ Incoming Transmission +++ 

++Astropathic Distress Signal, Auto-Repeat Cycle++

 

All imperial forces to respond with retribution. Threat level Alpha.

 

This is sergeant Stein of the Imperial Fists 2nd company, stationed on Heterus prime.

The Orks have invaded the Heterus system in massive numbers, sweeping all before them. They appeared seemingly out of nowhere, their fleet shielded by a mysterious shadow in the warp.

There are strange warp disturbances throughout the sector as well as spatial anomalies on an unprecedented scale.

 

Our defensive lines are overrun, the Xenos advance on the capital hive perimeter. Captain Kant is missing, presumed dead. The populace is panicking and our evacuation measures have failed.

Our air support has been crippled by the mysterious disturbances that blight the system and we have been left to conduct our defenses on the ground, with no sound tactical information or hope of relief.

 

Any recipients of this message are urged to respond urgently and with adequate military strength to purge the entire system if need be. There is no certainty that the sector will remain open to warp-based travel, so reinforcements and supply lines cannot be relied upon.

 

As the only ranking officer remaining, I must go to oversee our defense of the capital. There is yet hope that vital resources may be denied to the Xenos, which may make the task of retribution easier for those who respond. That is all.

 

For the glory of the Primarch and Him on Terra.

Sergeant Immanuel Stein, Imperial Fists 2nd company, signing off.

 

+++End Transmission+++

[Antarius]

[The wastelands of Heterus III, the eve before "Da Right Big Stompin' at Skullcrusha Ridge"/"The Purging of Sector XIV"]

 

"Calm yourself, brother Ignatius. Certainly there is no need for strife among our ranks at a time like this?" The Word Bearer equerry said in a soft voice, trying to smooth over the furious disagreement that had, not quite unexpectedly, broken out at the assembly of commanders.

 

"Silence, sorcerer!" The Iron Warrior bellowed, slamming his armoured glove down on the concrete slab that served as an impromptu table at the hastily assembled commanders' meeting. 

"This... This disaster would never have happened if your men had finished the job and purged the Xenos to the last when you had the chance!

Failing that, you should have let my warriors fortify our position for their inevitable return, but no! You Word Bearers insisted that we sit idle and wait while you conducted your rituals and look where that got us. 

The cursed sons of Dorn crippled your plans and the Orks swept over our lines with ease, robbing us of every strategic advantage we had gained on this forsaken planet!"

 

"The disruption of the ritual was certainly... Unexpected... But hardly the catastrophe you portray it as, my esteemed brother" Grand Heresiarch Lykaeos broke in, pre-empting the argument between his sorcerer and the Iron Warriors' commander.

 

 "I had not expected the misguided Templars to put up quite so... spirited a fight, that is true. But the ritual itself confirmed what I expected: The zodiacal conjunctions are perfect for unleashing the plague of undeath on the entire system and with that knowledge we stand poised to sweep all before us, foul Xenos and loyalist fools alike. Does that not reassure you as to the fruitfulness of my schemes?"

 

"It most certainly does not!" The warsmith sneered, calmer now but still seething with contained fury. "Your sorceries may raise the dead to fight for us, but that does not change our current situation in the least. We are overrun, cast out from our strongpoint and the greenskin are not known for halting their advance once they have their enemies on the run. Our ability to operate effectively in this system are in grave danger of being overthrown and no amount of sorceries or fine words will change that fact. An Ork commander will not stop to consider the cleverness of an enemy's plan, or the horror of fighting corpses. He will crush our skulls now and worry about the rest later. When fighting Orks you must cripple them, remove their leaders and cleanse the theatre of war completely of their taint. That is a lesson that goes all the way back to the great crusade!"

 

"The esteemed Warsmith has a point" exclaimed the Night Lords' captain who had thus far reclined in the shadows of the ruined building that presently served as the Chaos forces' command chamber. He made a sarcastic sweep of the room with his clawed hand "this grand chamber also fails to impress me as the throneroom of a commander who has the Heterus system in his triumphant grasp" he exclaimed in a smooth voice, a cruel smile on his lips. 

"As for strategic lessons from the crusade, it was my impression that the honored Warsmith spent most of it stationed on some backwater world while the Night Lords and Word Bearers were in the thick of it, culling Xenos and human foes Like cattle. So perhaps his wisdom is more of the... theoretical sort?"

 

"I have slain men for less, Tzerakh!" The Warsmith roared as he drew the brutal looking mace at his belt "I have also slain Orks in droves before your rabble of a warband started down the road to degeneracy, "impaler" or whatever they call you these days. But you are welcome to step closer and sample the extent of my prowess if you dare..."

 

Before the argument could erupt into actual violence, the Heresiarch stepped between them, raising his hands and speaking in a calm, authoritative voice that seemed to soothe the tempers of the two commanders.

"Very well, brothers. You've had you say and at least one point is well made. Our current situation is less than ideal and we cannot hope that the Orks will relent in their advance. What would you have us do, Ignatius? Tzerakh?"

 

"That's easy enough" said the Night Lord "we cannot face them in a massed battle, so we must harry the Orks as they advance, disrupt their supply lines, slay the prominent leaders, show the Xenos the true meaning of fear!"

 

"And when we have nowhere to fall back but onto the blades of the cursed Templars?" The Warsmith asked, his voice still seething with anger as he pointed to the map on the table.

"No! We must break the back of the beast with one decisive strike! We engage them here and let my Iron Warriors drive them back into an unsustainable position while Tzerakh's men encircle them, crippling their fighting capability and effectively forcing their leader to choose between fleeing the planet and certain death at the hands of the Night Lords. An Ork commander might not be subtle, but he is no fool and he will not wish to add his skull to Tzerakh's trophy rack."

 

The Grand Heresiarch nodded approvingly "a well-reasoned plan, brother. What say you, Tzerakh?"

The Night Lords captain grinned wolfishly "avoiding a fair fight while still getting to flay the living flesh off Xenos bones? What's not to like?"

[Antarius]

And now, a more "proper" short story. I toyed with calling it "shall they know fear" but so far it's untitled. If you make it to the end, please let me know what you think.

 

+++

 

 

Sergeant Immanuel Stein, last survivor of the 2nd company was running. Running for his life through the darkened streets around the praefector's palace, hoping not to be discovered by the Ork patrols that roamed the ruined administratum sector looking for loot and imperial citizens to slaughter.

 

No. That was not strictly true, he thought to himself. He was not running for his own life but for the life of the entire Heterus system. For the sake of the Imperium he had to stay alive and weaken the Orks' defences from within. 

He knew that with absolute certainty and still it galled him. 

He hated running from the foe, loathed having to conceal himself from the enemies of the Emperor and despised himself for not having died with his brothers in defence of the city. And yet he kept running furtively through the alleys, ducking into the shadows whenever he saw a xenos vehicle's headlights or heard the raucous shouting of patrolling Orks.

 

One time he saw a band of the smaller greenskin fighting over an Imperial Fist helmet, their high-pitched voices squeaking curses at one another as they tugged at their trophy. Stein clutched his combat blade so hard the bones of his fingers ached. 

It was all he could do not to leap from his hiding place and vent his fury upon the vile xenos. How dare they defile the wargear of the Emperor's own like that? It was not something any Adeptus Astartes would easily bear, but it was perhaps even harder for a proud son of Dorn to stand idly by while his brothers' remains were desecrated. Still, necessity demanded that he reign in his temper. Necessity and duty to the Imperium and the primarch. And Stein was nothing, if not dutiful.

 

He had been trying for weeks to get across the conquered city, to get to the Administratum Sector and into the command bastion atop the Praefector's palace. Now he was finally here, a few hundred yards from the secret entrance tunnel and Emperor willing it would not have been destroyed in the Orks' attack on the capital hive.

 

He quickly shot across an empty street and dived into a rubble-strewn alleyway, the squeaking voices of the gretchin still in his ears as they squabbled over their precious find. They would pay for their blasphemy soon enough, he thought to himself, as he pulled away an inconspicuous looking manhole cover and let himself drop into the secret escape tunnel that the Praefector had never gotten the chance to utilise. The tunnel had been solidly built and had not caved in, even under the Orks' bombardment of the palace. Stein quietly blessed the cowardice of the late Praefector and picked up the pace, running at full speed through the darkness.

 

If only he could get to the central command station this would all be worth it, Stein thought to himself while he instinctively scanned every corner of another empty room with his bolter, before moving on through the darkened palace. He had left the palace unguarded during the final siege, since there was no real hope for victory or preservation of life. But now there was a glimmer of hope -not to mention the chance for vengeance - hidden in the command bastion's upper levels. If he could get to the central command chamber, he could disable the city's outer defences AND get a signal through to the imperial forces of what he had done, they might just retake the capital and send the Orks running.

The thought made Stein's hearts beat ever so slightly faster. The Templars had answered his final, hopeless, call for aid and come in force to purge the Heterus sector of the greenskin. Fellow sons of Dorn, they had all the dedication of the Imperial Fists but perhaps their zealousness had overtaken their siegecraft, for their first assault on the capital hive had been fruitless. The Orks were too well fortified and their savagery too great. But if Stein could open the way for them the xenos filth would not stand a chance against the fury of the Templars…

 

Stein's snapped out of his reverie and spun around in a fraction of a second, bolter raised and ready to fire. The corridor behind him was empty, but he had heard something, had he not? He listened in total silence, motionless as an image of an imperial hero cast in stone holding his bolter straight out before him, ready to fire at any enemy that might present itself. But there was none. A full five minutes later, knowing that no greenskin would keep quiet for any stretch of time, Stein put the noise down to vermin and took up the last part of his journey.

 

He reached the reinforced plascrete door to the command chamber minutes later and quickly punched in an entry code that no other living being in the system knew. He was the last of his battlegroup and the last imperial officer of rank left and thus he was the only one left who might gain entry to the chamber and do what had to be done. 

That was why he had suffered the ignominy of fleeing from the Orks' advance, even as his brothers fell. That was why he had kept alive in this miserable scrapheap of a city for the last five weeks. To get here and to enable the retribution of the Imperium to descend on the xenos filth. 

It had all been worth it, Stein thought as he saw the perimeter defences powering down on the display, their fading glow accompanied by a mournful beeping. The last digital death rattle of the city's noble spirit. Now all he needed to do was activate the distress beacon and the Templars would know that they had an ally in the city and that their path was clear. He rose from the command lectern and turned towards the communications console.

 

"No need for that, brave son of Dorn. I'll take it from here." a voice hissed from the darkness of the corridor and Stein was momentarily taken aback as a massive shape filled the doorway. "It was most helpful of you to open a path for our advance, but we have no real desire for company…" The greenish light of the console screens showed a pallid face set in a twisted smirk, atop what should have been a lumbering behemoth of midnight armour.

Emperor's light, how could anything so huge be so silent? or so quick? Stein was all but transfixed as the terminator armoured figure slid effortlessly between him and the communications array. What was that tingling sensation at the back of his mind? Surely it was not…

 

"Yes, my imperial friend" the words were all but dripping with venomous sarcasm "you have been most useful to our cause and for that, I thank you" - here the monstrosity affected an almost comical bowing motion and a vast array of skull-trophies suddenly clanked on chains that must have been devilishly quiet as the Chaos marine had stalked his imperial prey through the palace.

"Die, traitor!" Stein roared and brought his bolter to bear on his foe, as the clattering of the skulls broke his paralysis. There was a crackle of electricity, but no shot. Just a metallic clatter as Stein's bolter hit the floor.

 

The next thing Stein was conscious of was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he opened his eyes and saw his bolter on the floor at the other end of the room, still clutched in his right fist. He did not know if he had been unconscious for minutes or even hours, but a shake of his head told him it had been time enough for his body to stabilise itself after the shock of losing a limb. there was no dizziness as he inspected the stump of his arm -the wound was cauterised as if by flame. "Lightning claw wound. Thank the Emperor for small mercies" Stein muttered, as he got to his feet and looked to the communications console. Evidently there had also been time enough for the traitor to disable it once and for all. Sparks flew from the shattered displays and exposed wires, illuminating the chamber ever so slightly.

 

Where had the Chaos marine gone? If not for the tangible fact of the sabotaged consoles and his severed hand, it might as well have been an apparition or a trick of the mind. But the evidence was plain enough, Stein thought, as he picked his boltgun from his own dead fingers - a grisly task that somehow seemed to have some morbid significance to it. And there was that strange emotion again…

"No! The Space Marines know no fear!" he asserted grimly, as he stepped into the dark empty corridor, scanning left and right for his foe. 

A low chuckle came in answer to his words, seemingly from nowhere or perhaps from behind him? Stein turned in an instant, but the room was as empty as he had left it and after a brief pause, Stein pushed on down the corridor.

 

"There is more to that saying than you know, Imperial…" the voice hissed whisperingly, this time seeming to come from beyond the corner to Stein's right. "They were the words of my father but through the centuries mindless lapdogs have mangled them beyond recognition…" here there was a distinct clanking of boots on metal and Stein spun to his left and fired three shots in the direction of the noise. But once again, there seemed to be nothing there but empty darkness.

 

The low laughter came again, from no certain direction, distressing the Imperial Fist with it's jovial mockery. "We know no fear, for we are fear incarnate." it sneered "That is how it runs, imperial dog, and you should not utter the words of my murdered father lightly, unless you have truly taken them to heart."

Stein instantly turned and fired his bolter several times at the direction of the traitor's voice. This time he thought he actually saw a glimpse of midnight blue armour in the muzzle flash, but he could not be sure.

 

"You are wasting your ammunition, sergeant" the voice opined gleefully "soon you will have spent your last round shooting at shadows and you will have to use your blade when I come for you…" the voice trailed off and there was a sudden rush of air to Stein's left. He threw himself to the side and fired his bolter at what must be the enemy's direction, aiming purely by instinct. There were two distinct sounds and then the encounter was over as suddenly as it begun. The sound of a bolter shell exploding against ceramite and the "click" that signified the end of Stein's ammunition.

 

"Very good, Sergeant. You almost had me there." the voice chuckled as Stein threw his empty boltgun down in disgust and drew his blade.

"You know a combat blade is next to useless against terminator armour, don't you? Your only chance is to get to the armoury but somehow I don't think you'll make it to the elevator alive…" The Chaos marine said from somewhere behind him, but Stein was already running at a feverish pace, even though he knew the foe was toying with him. If he could just get to the armoury he might get his hand on a plasma gun and then the odds would even out considerably.

It seemed like a miracle to Stein's panicked mind as he leapt into the open elevator and punched in the access code for the armoury floor. He backed against the wall and slid down in a sitting position, letting out a heavy sigh of relief as the elevator started it's descent.

 

The enemy had flustered him badly, Stein thought to himself as the elevator sped towards the hitherto sealed armoury.  He had allowed himself to be confused and disoriented by his foe's tactics and uncanny speed and, as much as it hurt to admit it, he had actually felt panic at the end. That and a creeping sensation that should by all rights be impossible for an astartes…

 

Stein's train of thought was abruptly broken by a rustle of chains from above and, looking up, he had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a pale face grinning at him from the ceiling before the lights went out.

"I cannot thank you enough, Imperial" the voice purred from the darkness "Not only have you crippled the Orks' defences for us, but in your generosity you have unlocked the armoury for us as well." 

Stein was rooted to the spot, as the traitor descended from the ceiling, making no effort to be quiet or conceal himself this time. "I would offer you the mercy of a quick death as a token of my gratitude, but I feel that it would be more …appropriate… to let you savour the meaning of fear for a while, before the end."

There was a clanking noise as Stein's combat blade dropped from his grasp and he opened his mouth in a wordless scream.