Deathwatch Short

[Dirrain]

Hello brothers,

 

I've recently sent in a submission to Black Library since they had their writer's event (encouraged by a friend). Just thought I'd put it here and get some thoughts? I'd be a lot more motivated to finish if any of you guys think it deserves to be finished. 

 

The piece had to be about the Deathwatch, so I wrote about my favorite chapter, the Disciples of Caliban.

 

BL asked for a 500 word extract and not the entire thing, so... here it is! CnC welcome, I'm quite new to writing, hopefully it will be enjoyable for some. 

 

 

 

Swing. Cut. Lunge. Riposte. Adamantium blade meets alien forged warpsteel in a dizzying spray of sparks. The warlock is a skilled duellist, I’ll give him that. I can hear the castellan’s guttural invective across the vox as he struggles to hold his guts in.

 

The alien smoothly disengages and raises his fist. I brace, preparing for the psychic witchfire that laid the Templar open for the spear. Eldritch energies crackle and spear into the bulkhead as the warlock meets brother Talach’s fist. The punch staggers the warlock, driving him back a few steps and spoiling his aim.

 

The Novamarine is a mess. His blessed artificer plate is cracked and ruined, his proud chapter badge sliced and defiled by the maiden’s blades. He tosses the broken hilt of the banshee exarch’s blade at the warlock’s feet with his remaining arm.

 

An amazing deed, to take on an eldar exarch and emerge victorious. The watch fortress will be abuzz with the news for weeks to come. But Talach is too damaged to consider fighting the warlock. Castellan Renaud was the best of us at swordplay, and even he was laid low by witchery. In his state, Talach would be hard pressed to fend off an arming servitor. More to the point, any intervention in my duel would be extremely disrespectful, and I will not tolerate such an affront to my honor.

 

My grip tightens around my sword’s hilt. I shoulder past my brother, standing pointedly between him and the eldar. This is my fight, and I will see it end with the alien’s helm decorating the watch fortress’s walls. We have lost too many brothers to let it end any other way.

 

Hold, Mon Keigh.

 

The psychic intrusion is as surprising as it is unwelcome. The growl behind me shows Talach is equally disturbed by the contact.

 

A series of images flicker into my mind. A flash of black green armor and tattered robes. Winged backpack, long blade in an exquisite scabbard. An antique artificer pistol. A hooded face.

 

Cypher.

 

 

My mind races. Shock, denial, anxiety. How could this xenos filth know about the Disciples' long hunt?

 

Its intention is obvious. The warlock wants us to stop pursuing it in exchange for this information. Unacceptable. Suffer not the alien to live. I cannot, will not let him slip away.

 

Talach grips my shoulder pad. The query is evident in his manner. He is suspicious, distrustful. He knows something of significance has been shown, but he knows not the meaning.

 

The honor of the chapter far outweighs my own.

 

I am about to do something I regret. Pivoting smoothly, I sweep Talach’s legs out from beneath him. His damaged armor creaks in protest as we crash to the ground. I pin his arm under my knee, my sword tip at his throat. 

 

I break my oath of silence. It is not the first oath I will break this day, and Emperor deliver me, it will not be the last.

 

“Forgive me, brother.”