By blood be undone...

[Aqui]

I dream.

I dream of blood.

My blood.

The blood of my father.

The blood of my brothers.

The blood of the Angel.

I see nothing else.

Nothing.

Planet Cruor. Ultima Segmentum.

He dreams. He could do nothing else. Within his Sarcophagus, he was trapped, entombed even. The dreams were hazed in crimson, gore specked glimpses of a life he had not lived.

Yet, he did. Or, he will. Time was irrelevant. The time of the past. He soared on wings, pure, feathered and strong. He did not remember how he got them, he did not remember a time when he didn't have them. He could see the Angel, fighting a creature with skin covered in blood, or was it blood? He could see the ground below, so many warriors bearing his mark, the Angels' mark. He was the Angel.

Confused.

The man...the Marine to be, stirred within his prison, his chrysalis. Confused.

I am confused.

Withdrawing his mind from the young one within the sarcophagus, the Librarian touched its surface. Smooth, yet worn. So very old. This one was of particular interest to him. It was the one that made him what he is now. The other inside was struggling to bear the changes being wrought. It was a difficult transition. He had heard Chapters of other Primarchs allowing their initiates to walk amongst them, the changes being made over a period of years. He could not comprehend such a thing. His Chapter, like that of the Blood Angels, made their new recruits over the space of one year. If the young one inside failed, or showed signs of the rapture too early though...
He dared not think more upon that. The consequences were dire enough as it is.
His Chapter was failing, the success ratio of making new Sons falling every year. It had to stop. That was when the unnamed Son succeeded. But how? Only one other had truly fought their way back from the Rapture...the Black rage as other successors called it. It was not feasible to ask him how he did it.
So, every day he was not at war, he would come down here, dreaming as they dreamt. Hoping to learn how to fight off the Rapture.
But it was a losing battle. Too many were succumbing to it, willingly, some desperate to fall to it. All because of him. The Reclusiarch, Efficio. A Brother who has enthralled many within the Chapter with sermons on the Rapture and the Thirst as being the Chapters' birthright, that their mastery will bring the Chapter to a new Era, to become true sons of Sanguinius.

Tempero had no doubt that there was some truth in the words, but the recklessness of his Brothers when engaging in battle was worrying. They were ruthless, yes, as any Loyal subject of the Emperor was when fighting. But the look in their eyes, the spittle from their mouths, the babbling, the eager abandon when taking a life. The Librarian shuddered. He had seen such carnage wrought by the traitors. The World Eaters, The Bahltimyr Reavers. Those were beyond the Emperor's light.

Turning from the Sarcophagus, he returned to the Librarius. He must be the beacon. The flame that scours evil from the dark.

The light that keeps the shadows from consuming them all.


More to come...

[Aqui]

After a year away from the Fan Fiction section, I figured it was high time I came back!

Whilst my previous stories will get worked on eventually, I decided I really needed to flesh out my Blood Angels successor, so here's what I have so far. I have a general idea on where to go with them, and this story won't start with the main characters' origins for a change!

Hope you enjoy it

[Olis]

Interesting conflict between Efficio and Tempero. It sounds very much like Efficio is behaving like a doomsday cult leader, to me. If that's intentional - bravo. :)

[Aqui]

Interesting conflict between Efficio and Tempero. It sounds very much like Efficio is behaving like a doomsday cult leader, to me. If that's intentional - bravo.

My original intention for the Chapter was unworkable (I won't go into it as it'll spoil the story in the future as there are a few elements that I can use here ), but when I started writing about Tempero and Efficio, it kinda clicked

I won't say any more, as it'd spoil things

[Machine God]

A young marine/initiate in a dreadnought?

 

And they say the IH are bad?

[Olis]

A young marine/initiate in a dreadnought?

 

And they say the IH are bad?

 

Not the same kind of sarcophagus. ;)

[Aqui]

A young marine/initiate in a dreadnought?

And they say the IH are bad?

Not the same kind of sarcophagus.

Indeed. Here's a description of what they do

[Machine God]

A young marine/initiate in a dreadnought?

And they say the IH are bad?

Not the same kind of sarcophagus.

Indeed. Here's a description of what they do

Oh. No wonder they turn into bloodthirsty vampires then!

[VikingWarband]

Loved the story and the style.

 

I'm not well-versed on the Blood Angels, but the more I learn, the more I want to know.

[Aqui]

Loved the story and the style.

I'm not well-versed on the Blood Angels, but the more I learn, the more I want to know.

I'm no expert either I've found that I find it easier to work out a DIY's background if I write a little about them as a story.

More to come soon

[The Red Thirst]

Excellent intro Aquilanus, captured that bit of fluff nicely, looking forward to reading more ;)

[Aqui]

A quick one to keep the hand in

"This one."

Efficio stared hard into the eyes of the Brother before him. Glazed. Bloodshot. Not vacant, but elsewhere. That hint of those eyes seeing something else.

"Brother. Do you feel it? Do you feel your blood afire, do you feel the burn in your hearts? Speak."

"I feel..." began the Brother. "I feel the wind. My wings take me aloft. I soar! I see...him!" The last word was snarled, spittle ejected, his body started quivering in anger.

Efficio knew who "he" was. The Bane of the Sons of the Angel. Ka'Bandha.

"Yes, this one. Prepare his armour. He will join the Raptured.

The serf started to note the command, but the High Chaplain stopped him.

"No. Paint his armour grey. He is the Unnamed Marine."

"But..But, the Unnamed Marine died! His name is..."

The skull helm of the giant before him stared hard, the grinning visage never more menacing.

"You will not mention this to anyone. Paint his armour grey. He is the Unnamed Marine."

"I...I must report this to the Chapter Master at once!" the Serf turned to run, knowing the Chaplain would not let him get more than a few feet away. With a casual swat of his Crozius, the mortal crumpled, the head trauma killing him instantly.

Efficio sighed. It wasn't the first time a Serf objected. A pity, as this one was good at his tasks. Still, there were many others to replace him. He would not be missed. Turning to a Servitor, he pointed at the small remains.

"Dispose of that. And paint that Marines' armour grey."

The Unnamed Marine will bring about his goals. The salvation of the Sons of Cruor. He would ensure it.

[Olis]

I'm starting to think that maybe I should think about writing here again. It's been longer than I'm proud to admit. ^_^

[Aqui]

I'm starting to think that maybe I should think about writing here again. It's been longer than I'm proud to admit.

It'll be good to see I must admit I'm enjoying it again.

[Aqui]

The battle did not go well. The Lieutenant looked at the skies and despaired. The distress call was sent three weeks ago and it seemed that his regiment was abandoned. The traitors were dug in on the other side of the valley, their trenches made with far more care than the one he was in. He knew that much, as one of his scout team had manage to infiltrate one of the edges before being chased across the no man's land. One hundred and ninety feet of foul mud, mixed with things to disgusting to speak of. There were mines, laid by both sides, but the constant shelling at the start of the conflict meant that no one knew where any of them were, the ground had shifted too much to get a fix on anything. To run across that distance meant death, the Scouts knew this.

 

But it was far preferable to what was chasing them.

 

In the end, one of the Scouts was recovered, his mauled body seconds from death. He had been lying in a crater less than fifty metres from the loyalists side, it took far too many more lives to recover him, but the information was too important. The stalemate was favouring the traitors, being better equipped by the over run fortress that lay fifty miles behind them. The Guard regiment was disadvantaged from the start. Nearly half of the troops died in the approach, their transports blown out of the sky. Those who had landed fell to attrition, disease, malnutrition and the over zealous Commissar, who didn't last much longer than that. He had tried to rally the troops and make a run for the nearest traitor trench, but he was obliterated by a shell hitting him dead centre. Nothing remained of him. It was just as well. The fool had done more damage to morale than the enemy had. Spirits had lifted a little after the men had seen his body disappear. After nearly a year, here, all First Lieutenant Hewbert "Huff" Huffington wanted was to live long enough to get out of this hell hole. It didn't seem likely.

 

The clouds above were grey. It had rained constantly since deployment, three hundred and ninety-seven days. It was a wonder that the trenches weren't flooded. Fortunately, the battle ground sloped, allowing the excess water to sluice away from both sides. Huff's companion, a Sergeant called Tak nudged him.

 

"What's that?"

 

The Lieutenant looked at what Tak pointed at. It was not a bird. It certainly wasn't a ship he knew of. Both sides had not had air support in months. In fact the last craft he had was sixty feet in front of him that allowed his men a way of stepping in the neutral zone with out getting shredded by las fire. Upside down and shattered at the centre, the Valkyrie was a sorry sight to see. Focusing on the vague shape, he was given a pair of Magnoculars.

 

"It's Imperial."

 

Tak cursed in disbelief.

 

"Take a look for yourself."

 

Shoving the battered device to his pock marked face, he adjusted the gain. As plain as day, he could see the Aquila.

 

"Merciful Emperor!" He exclaimed.

 

"Rouse the men!" Shouted Huff, his body shaking with something that he hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.

 

The Comms officer was summoned and was needed no encouragement to try to hail the craft. It was a Storm Raven. And that meant one thing.

 

Marines.

 

"Does it matter?" replied Huff when asked which ones. "All I know is, the Emperor smiles upon us this day! Get everyone in line! Do it now!"

 

Twenty minutes later the remnants of the forty-eighth regiment of Maldorn "The Dust bowlers" were poised to go over on the signal of the approaching ship. They were to fall in with the Marines dropping in on Jump packs. The signal was received. Charging as fast as the sucking mire would let them, the Guardsmen were full of hope when they attacked. Closing in on the large figures, wonder at their unknowable size and strength, slowly turned to horror as they realised the enemy was already dispensed with. The Marines were armoured in black, lead by another with a skull helm. All of them had a motif of three blood drops along with saltaires daubed on their armour. Huff had seen such a Marine before, albeit with a different Chapter. One Marine stood out as having grey armour, his attention, like that of his comrades fully fixed upon the humans. Their gait was hunched slightly, like a serpent or a coiled spring. All it took was one word, one false step and they would attack. Every hair on Huff's body stood on end. He knew true predators when he saw it, and he felt sick to his stomach.

 

He was going to die, and not at the hands of the enemy.

 

The skull helm stepped forward, slowly, each step measured with supreme confidence.

 

"Brothers." He spoke in an accent that was lilted slightly.

 

"No witnesses..."

[WingCommander]

Great story, so far! In general I do not like vampires in space but this is excellent!

[deathspectersgt7]

Great Story ( Ran out of likes )

[Olis]

Nice turn of events, brother. Rather than using "Grah! Visions! Blood! Grah!" on those hapless Guardsmen, you take a much more deliberate approach. Chilling. :D

[Draakur]

Very cool, keen to see where you take this. I'm getting interested in BA successors right now, too, so colour me intrigued.

[Aqui]

"The aftermath was to dire to comprehend. The Guard regiment known as the 'forty-eighth regiment of Maldorn "The Dust bowlers"' were lost when they supported their allies, the Sons of Cruor. Their bodies had been torn asunder by some ravening beast. Bite marks on their bones indicated that whatever had killed them had made a meal of them afterwards. Well, that's the official story. Anonymous, but reliable sources state that the men were...eaten whilst still alive. The victims had struggled against something or somethings that had superior strength, pinning them down. Little was left of the flesh. In some cases, even the marrow was taken, the bones snapped to get at it."

 

Inquisitor Elene Amigos, pinched her nose, trying to gather her thoughts. It was early morning, the caffeine poured by her adjutant before he retired last night was untouched. Amigos drank it rarely. Her psychic abilities suffered when she imbibed, and she only did so to stave off severe tiredness. Three nights piecing fragments of data. There was a pattern, but it was unknowable, just beyond her reach. What was she missing?

 

She stood up, pushing herself away from the antique desk and stretched. Her tall frame, deceptively powerful, ached after being sat for so long. Pushing her long ash blonde hair from her eyes, she took one last look at the picts, she noticed something for the first time. A close up of one of the Guardswomens' arm bones. Gathering her overcoat, she left the room, but not before activating a few subtle, but extremely deadly traps for the terminally curious.

 

The corridors were dark. Her quarters were the only ones with a light still on, her retinue deep in slumber. The morgue was four floors below in the annex next to the small garage that housed her personal vehicles. Walking past her sleek road transport she noticed that it was scuffed on the passenger side. It would seem that she needed to remind her driver, Lex Gumn take laxity was not tolerated. He had been given the task of repairing the damage three nights ago. No doubt out with his roustabout friends again, thinking that her...dedication to duty would keep her occupied for at least a week.

 

Reaching a door, she put her hand on a scanner and allowed it to take her palm print. The machine whirred briefly before allowing her entry. The complex was warm in general, but the morgue was a sharp slap to the face when she stepped inside. By now her nostrils were inured to the vile smell of embalming fluids amongst other things. She could smell a trace of Obscura in the air, her forensic scientist having a light habit. It was something that she tolerated to a degree, more so when Bekka Nostus had an "episode". Bekka's expertise was something she needed in her line of work. It was often better to ignore a small crime when it helped expose larger ones.

 

Taking in the view, the gurnies were all full, as were the refrigeration units. Whilst the remnants of the "Dustbowlers" numbered less than forty, it was still far too many for the morgue to accommodate without a little creative thinking. Bekka had still managed it though.

 

It took sometime finding the cadaver in question, putrefaction and other factors had distorted the body significantly. Elene had hoped that Bekka had noticed what she had and recorded the results. The only reason she hadn't presented said results was due to the Inquisitor making it clear that only under the direst of circumstances, should she be contacted. Gumn took advantage of that far too often, but still, no one could control any vehicle as well as he could. Not legally anyway.

 

There. A small thing, but one that made the fragments of data join up somewhat. A sliver of metal. She had seen similar before. Cursing in her native tongue, one that seemed to have far too many vowel sounds, she shivered.

 

And not because of the cold.

 

Elene walked over to the cogitator. The screen was muted, but still active. A report was active and a scrap of paper left on the keyboard. The writing was illegible, more so than normal. Were it not for her expertise in cryptology, she would not have understood what it said. It was in a cypher that Bekka and Elene used when it was too dangerous to use standard High Gothic.

 

Elene

 

I'm sure that you would have seen the small trace of metal in one of the picts. I have already analysed it. In fact my disbelief made me check the results four times. Each time the same.

 

It's an alloy used only by Astartes.

 

Bekka

 

Elene cursed again. This was supposed to be a routine investigation. One to tie up loose ends, something to present to the Imperial Guard high command. This was not going to go down well. That narrows the cuprits significantly. Either the Sons of Cruor were responsible...

 

Or there were other Astartes on the fields of Beggens Valley.

[Olis]

Couple of typos in there, Aqui. ;)

 

That said, it's a lovely preamble. Very much in the tradition of other works like Abnett's or the Lady_Canoness', I reckon.

[Aqui]

Couple of typos in there, Aqui.

That said, it's a lovely preamble. Very much in the tradition of other works like Abnett's or the Lady_Canoness', I reckon.

I noticed them a minute ago

I have been inspired by both Abnett and Lady Canoness in this. My introduction of Elene Amigos (pronounced "Ah mee goss") is my (eventual) submission to this month's Liber Challenge. I had been chasing one of the out of print female Inquisitor models to paint up for it, but I'd rather not pay £40 or so for one mini, even if it is a cool one!

As with many of my Fan Fiction topics, there will be cameos of from other stories (plus injokes and geeky references). Which ones?

I can not say

[Machine God]

@Aquilanus - I liked that one!

So these Sons of Cruor as well as being bloodthirsty vampires they are ghouls too

Edit: Missed a word out.

[Aqui]

Please be aware - this post is going to be a long one. You might want to get a coffee (or other refreshment) first

Warp translation between Byzantium and planet Laros.

Senior Hospitallier Lise had finally finished surgery. It had taken four hours to repair her Sisters' injuries, but she refused to convalesce for even an minute. Lise knew that her patient wouldn't stop, couldn't stop since the Order's new mission was given. Lise watched her fellow dressing. Old scars marked their back from electro whips, puncture marks where blades and bullets had pierced her flesh, but not her soul. And what a soul it is. It lit up the darkness, seemingly inextinguishable. The Sister turned, picking up a couple of trinkets from a desk. Pulling her hair away from her neck, she attached the necklaces one after the other, the charms formed letters.

Trinkets of her old Battle squad. Squad Lucia. So named after the small Orders' patron Saint. Lise noticed that her patients left arm trembled slightly. It was a work of art, simple, elegant, but strong. It was still in need of adjustment and calibration. The original organic had been torn off by a Daemon of Khorne some years before. Lise was refused permission to touch it every time she asked and had given up.

The tremble was a deliberate reminder. Doubt is a doorway that lets Heresy in, Lise, her patient told her. Never let doubt in. Ever. Be firm, be resolute. Be merciless. Lise was still a young member of the Order back then, but she heard the words and took them to heart ever since.

"How long before we re-enter real space?" She already knew the answer, but it was asked to fill the silence.

"Two days, Lady-Canoness."

Two days of enduring being in the nether realm. It made her skin crawl, but didn't show it, would never show it. Not even to herself. She had seen what lay out there with her own eyes and it made her sick to the pit of her stomach.

"Ensure that the Sisters are battle ready. Once we pick up our...guests, I want to execute this campaign immediately."

"It will be done."

With that, Saffron Sera of the Order of the Dauntless Spirit left the Hospitallier to her own thoughts.

++++

The loading of materials and equipment was brief. The party consisted of six. A pair of former Guardsmen, a doctor, two bodyguards and the leader herself. The woman was as tall as Sera, but had an ease about herself that irritated her somewhat. It did not help matters that she was a Witch. An Inquisitor, yes. But a Witch nonethe less. The stench of the warp was upon her, something that many of the Order picked up on quickly. This didn't bode well at all...

"Lady-Canoness." The leader addressed her directly, the other womans' demeanour was both respectful and commanding. It was probably used to ingratiate herself, but underline her own authority. It wasn't working.

"I am Inquisitor Elene Amigos, of the Ordo Hereticus. I formally take charge of this ships' fate. Whilst you remain in charge of it's operation, her destiny will be mine." Amigos could see Sera's lips curl into a snarl slightly. Despite herself, she felt pity and understanding. She had no wish to undermine this loyal womans' authority, but the circumstances were too dire to contemplate. She continued.

"You know of our purpose this day?"

"I know what I have been told."

"Then it is past time that you are given the full facts." She gestured to a smaller woman, garbed in simple, but rich attire. "This is my adjutant, Morena. She will be at your disposal. At your convenience, I will brief you on everything pertaining to our mission." Sera stared at the aide, expecting her to have little back bone. Most scribes didn't. This one was defiantly staring just as hard back at her, derision framing her features. Sera smiled slightly. Perhaps her new allies were slightly less weak than she thought.

"My Second, Motoko will show you all to your quarters. We will convene in two hours."

Amigos bowed and led her retinue away.

Sera's eyes followed them. She could feel her opposite numbers mind probing hers lightly. A little push here, a prod there. Sera knew there was no point in resisting. She had no dark thoughts, or secrets to hide. Let the Witch dig.

"Gather the Senior Sisters now!" she snarled to Elizabet, the youngest Sister, who almost ran to comply.

What could be so important that an entire Order is needed to help an Inquisitor?

++++

Beggens Valley. Two months after the annihilation of the 'forty-eighth regiment of Maldorn "The Dust bowlers"'.

The creature could smell it's quarry from a long distance. The stench of fear permeated the whole area. The trenches were still extant, to be left untouched by Inquisitorial order, though the creature would not have known what that was. Its higher brain functions were stunted, almost non-existent even. But it's primitive thought processes made it that bit better as a killer. A more intelligent soul might have had doubts about its own habits if it could reason, could fell empathy for its prey. This creature didn't.

Hunt. Kill. Eat.

Repeat.

Its bulk would have been disadvantageous to others, but it was quiet, able to keep to shadows, the victim usually never seeing what took its life, the last thing they felt was an intense pain and then nothing.

It didn't happen this time.

The other was similar to it. It was hunting him. There was differences, whilst its general shape was the same, the same height, give or take a little, its weapons were different. Its colour too. There were markings on it's body. Ones that it didn't recognise. The hunter who was now itself hunted strained to grasp what it was seeing. The answer was so near to the fore of it's damaged mind, but it could not close in on it.

Close in? The brief moment it stopped concentrating on its target was the moment it disappeared. Swinging around wildly to see where its quarry had gone, it had left itself open, it realise too late. The other had closed it, no noise for something as large as it was. The two grappled in the mire, each wanting to get above the other for the killing stroke. One got it.

But which one?

++++

The Astartes ships, Ferrus Cornus and Scabunt Primarche travel side by side, approaching the bilious orb below. The previous war had ravaged its surface, left little trace of the natives, who were enslaved or killed by both sides when the bombardment began.

At the command bridge of the Ferrus Cornus, Iron Lord Hubros stared at the holographic project. The Astartes who stared back had orange and white plate, with intricate patterns native to both Cuyahoga, the Amber Dragons' homeworld and that of Vulkan itself.

"Cousin. We meet again."

Hubros inclined his head slightly, irritation that such mundane and above all human interactions might, needs be take place. Whilst his opposite number was by no means a sentimental being, his kind were still inclined to verbal time wastage. It was a pity that the Scions of Vulkan were not privy to Steel Wing battle Cant. The machine code of the Primarch was a far more efficient method of communication...

"Cousin."

"We have ascertained our target to have made planet fall on the southern continent. That is where we will head."

"How many are you?"

"Three Companies."

Hubros was impressed. Whilst he had fought along side Brother-Captain Ambustio many times before, he had never seen so many at one time.

"We number two Clans."

Ambustio smiled inwardly. The Steel Wings took everything seriously, but this fact was amusing. Two Clans meant that they were desperate to finally remove the stain on the Chapters honour. He knew very little of that, but what he did know...

"We will co-ordinate with your force." Such a simple sentence, but a powerful one. Steel Wings are sticklers to battle hierarchy, but their mindset tended towards arrogance. Many times had an Iron Lord demand control of the allied forces. Not this time. The stain to honour was personal. Too much so. Hubros was trying to ensure that his quarry did not escape again because of his blind hatred of them.

Good.

"Our arrangement?" Hubros was pained to even bring that matter up, but he needed to hear Ambustio say it. He promised...

"When we find him, the honour of the kill is yours, Cousin. As is you right."

The command bridge aboard the Ferrus Cornus went silent. All eyes were on their leader. If it was possible for a Grandson of Ferrus Manus to weep, they might have. The Flesh is weak, but a Steel Wings heart is Iron.

"Acknowledged. End transmission."

++++

Pochutec. Ultima Segmentum. Known in High Gothic as Prism.

Thirty years after completing their penitence crusade, the Rainbow Warriors Chapter had been absolved of Heresy. Any and all roots of Chaos seeded by the Alpha Legion was destroyed, their honour restored. It was a painful process, seeing those whom you called Brother taken away, never to be seen again. But it needed to be done. And now it was.

The Hall of Light, until now darkened in shame, was an immense chamber hundreds of feet tall and wider still. It was filled with those who had returned, and those that had taken the place of those who didn't. At its head, the massive tapestry of Roboute Guilliman, their father hung proudly before all. It had been taken down when the Chapter had ben found wanting. Brother-Captain Varagol looked at His face. Such a noble being! Brun'El was further ahead, joined by those of the Forge. Eh'Tor was at the front with the Chapter Master. Duty meant that none of three had seen each other in the time of Judgement. A pity, but he was glad to see them again, even if it was from a distance.

The Chapter Master stood before the throng. All fell silent as he spoke.

"Brothers! We are finally absolved of our sins! The light no longer casts a shadow upon us. We are truly Sons of Light again!" A roar from one thousand voices shook the walls. Looking skywards, all witnessed the reinforced windows unfettered, the coverings taken away by servitors. Such a sight to see! The stained glass showed the Inti in his form as the God-Emperor of Mankind ahead of an army of such proportion a mortal mind could not truly comprehend. A Transhuman one could not either, if they but admitted it. The light scoured the chamber, every shadow was removed, every surface shone like a super nova. One of the Marines behind the Chapter Master raised his hand to his unhelmed eyes. Varagols hearts beat faster in pride that not one of the Chapter did so. The individual that did was a Cousin to the Chapter, an Ultramarine Chaplain seconded to them during their penitence.

"We will bring light to the Darkness once again!"

The roar this time could be heard miles from the Fortress-Monastery.

I've decided that this story will have every DIY I have interact with each other in one rather large (and convoluted) campaign. It will serve the function of allowing me to work out things that will ultimately end up in their respective Liber entries. There are still a couple more to write about, but they'll be along soon enough...

[Olis]

This should be very interesting indeed. I wonder who is late to the party?