Short stories of the Brotherhood of the Dead 30k White Scars

[sarabando]

Hi guys just wanted to have a place to keep the fluff of my White Scars HH force. Please let me know what you think i love feedback. Please forgive any spelling issues its a major issue for me.

 

 

Galvarax- Theta garrison.

They were in a wide empty landing bay built into the volcanic stone, heavy duty lift mechanisms ran along the walls that would let the pad rise up through camouflage blast doors to the blasted surface of Galvarax. A medium weight cargo lifter was the only ship occupying the landing space, the last vessel of the resupply fleet. It's paintwork a pale eggshell blue was chipped and worn from it's short journey through the planets violent atmosphere. Two figures stood on the Durasteel flight deck alongside a series of large cargo pods.

 

“Well i don’t want them.” The grim faced warrior stated flatly as he pushed the box away with an armoured foot. The box screeched several hundred pounds of cargo slowly moved over the metal floor sending sparks flickering across deck plates. The ministorium delivery major wore a pained look as the shipment came to a groaning stand still

 

“My lord you have no choice they have been assigned to you by..” The major was cut off by a look, little more than a narrowing of the grim faced man’s eyes. Standing over three feet taller than the human major and clad in plain armour it's only embellishment harsh yellow and black safety marks. His lips curled and a low growl grew from deep in his augmented chest, servo arms twitched and snapped as they responded to subconscious thought.

 

“Duhm you know he meant no offense.” A new comer spoke softly as he marched across the subterranean landing pad, his armour in stark contrast to the other a bright ivory white, lined with golds and red it's many panels marked with dust and paintwork chipped.

 

“Turgan’yul!” The Iron Warrior boomed in fraternal recognition using his counterparts full name. “Maybe you can make this Terran understand you, perhaps it’s my accent.” Chuckled the Olympian native clutching the White Scars forearm in a warrior's embrace. Turgan stood between the two and placed his fists on his armoured hips.

 

“Duhm leave the poor man alone. What seems to be the issue Major?” The White scar turned to the delivery officer and took the dataslate offered, it was minute is his big hands the data flowing into his suits cogitator subsystems as he scrolled through the delivery itinerary.

“Maximus?” The White Scar muttered to himself, information flicking before him.

 

“My lord here will not accept the last part of the shipment.” Said the officer casting a nervous look to the towering Warsmith earning him a growl. The warsmith crossed his arms defensively over his armoured chest. Turgan turned to the Iron Warrior and raised an eyebrow unseen under the armoured cowl of his.

 

“We have served together here since Ullanor Duhm and not a day has passed without you complaining about lack of parts, weapons and supplies so what is so heinous about this?

The pair squared off against each other, Duhm clad in his MkIII Iron Armour, extra ceramite places held in place with micro-molecular bonding studs. His helmet bore even more armour in the form of a folding breaching mask. Turgen in contrast was a smaller figure his own plate older and a lighter design of MkII crusade era armour. The white colours of his legion worn and chipped from the aggressive dust storms of the surface.

 

“It's too ...pretty.” The Warsmith whined like a petulant child who knows his argument has no weight.

 

“My lord the Mark Four plate is lighter, faster, runs cooler and is easier for the forges to construct and repair than your older suit the Mark three is now ...obsolete.” The Major stated as if reading from a well rehearsed sales pitch.

 

Turgen caught his eye and stepped between the pair before the Iron Warrior could react.
“Duhm i have a compromise. Let my Warriors take the plate you know us all gold and red practically one of Fulgrim’s daughters these days.”

 

The Major cleared his throat  to gain the attention of the Astartes.
“My lord i can not allow that, this shipment is issued to the fourth legion your own upgrades will be issued once they have been completely refitted.” The Astartes looked at each other before the taller iron warrior bellowed with laughter, the sound strange through vox augmented helmet speakers.

 

They brushed past the major clopping towards the cargo container Turgen pulled a ceramite grey unpainted helmet from it's stowage, he pulled his own battered MKII helm free with a hiss dropping it with a clatter to the deck. His face was thin gaunt even with high cheekbones, his hair as white as his armour was shaved short on one side the other fell in a Chupryna across his face, the style was not popular with the Chogorian members of his detachment most wearing their hair long or in topknots. But he wore his as many of his Terran brothers wore theirs in honour of their distant home world.

 

He held the helmet up to the light studying it’s lines and features it's sleek beak had vox grills recessed alongside the respirator intakes. A lifetime ago he had seen legionnaires, Luna Wolves wearing early prototypes of this armour during his training on Terra’s own moon. The lines were more refined, the optics a better quality it was light about half as much as his MKII, more a helmet fit for a warrior of the fifth, and less like an armoured bucket like his old headwear.  

 

“It’s all yours cousin consider it a consolation prize for being denied the fun on Chondax said Duhm slapping him on the pauldron.

The white Scar smiled and turned to the Major tossing the helmet to the small human.

 

“Have the armour unloaded, my arming servitors will transport it to our billet.” He turned and strode back towards the exit.

 

“But my lord!” The major shouted after him but the Terran legionnaire had already left.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

A good start. May I presume it occurs during the Great Crusade, before the Iron Warriors turned traitor?

 

You should put blank lines between paragraphs, as the tabs that distinguish them in *.txt files are automatically deleted when the text is copied and pasted into an *.html file, creating a hard-to-read "wall of text." Compare

Paragraph One.

 

Paragraph Two.

 

Paragraph Three.

 

And so on,

to

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And so on.

[sarabando]

A good start. May I presume it occurs during the Great Crusade, before the Iron Warriors turned traitor?

 

You should put blank lines between paragraphs, as the tabs that distinguish them in *.txt files are automatically deleted when the text is copied and pasted into an *.html file, creating a hard-to-read "wall of text." Compare

Paragraph One.

 

Paragraph Two.

 

Paragraph Three.

 

And so on,

to

Paragraph One.

Paragraph Two.

Paragraph Three.

And so on.

 

i hope thats easier to read and yes its set around the same time as the end of the chondax campagin.

[sarabando]

Galvarax three hours before dawn.

The first attack came during the early hours during the waning hours of the flesh stripper.

The flesh stripper was what earned Galvarax it's death world title, a dust storm that would last sixteen hours whipping up the razor sharp silica dust and blasting hot air from the black deserts surrounding the planet's equatorial zones. The storm can strip a man clad even in armoured plate down to the bone in minutes. This phenomenon was counterbalanced by a mushroom that grew in great numbers after the storm, there was no greater source of protein than the chewy dense fungi and the steady shipments from Galvarax feed many in the great crusade. This rich reward but lethal weather pattern forced the local population to seek shelter deep in subterranean hives only emerging into the dim sunlight as the winds dropped.

“The 27th company have been serving in their unofficial exile on Galvarax for years, denied the honour of serving alongside their Great Khan at Ullanor unable to see the great victory or even take part in the follow up action at Chondax. Stationed alongside us learning our ways of war.” Duhm’s voice was distorted equally by the vox emitters in his dull metal helmet  and the wailing winds whipping from beyond the entrance to cave he stood in.

Dark shapes moved around him what little light broke through the mouth of the cave shone off unadorned battle plate. Twenty six members of the fourth legion the Iron Warriors hunkered down around their warsmith.

Duhm seethed with the rage born of betrayal, they had seen their brothers enter the system and answered their call for a private audience. He had used secret tunnels known only to his men kept secret even from their allies in the Fifth. He had taken one hundred of his veterans his most loyal brothers to meet with the newcomers as requested, and had walked into their ambush with his arms wide open.

“Denounce the false Emperor and bend your knee to the Warmaster!” They had ordered, his mind had whirled his pregenitor, his primarch had forsworn his oaths to his own father and raised his weapons against his brothers, was this a test?

“I bend my knee to only the High King of Urth!” Percyvyl had declared using one of the Emperor’s colloquial title from his home. Damned Percyvl a Terran native of Albion, finest swordsman of his detachment, so unsuited for life in the IVth legion. He decorated his armour, practiced his ancient sword skills like a dance, and wore his gold hair like one of the Angel’s children. He had drawn Sunstopper an ancient warblade of Terra it's blade the colour of amber that glowed an inner light as it moved. The bladesmaster spun the weapon over his own hands twice catching it in a reverse grip and in one motion dropped to a knee slicing the traitor cleanly through his modrift his strike continuing round and through the groin of another until he came fully around driving the blade up through the ribcage of a third. His movement was so swift and fluid that the third man died before the dark crimson life erupted from the first.

The world had become a whirl of bolter fire, volkite slashes and roaring melta weapons. Percyvyl had lost both arms to a multimelta blast and was carried clear by another warrior.

They had barely escaped and now a quarter of his men survived the brutal fighting retreat only earning a moment of respite as the Flesh Stripper had sealed the passage behind them. Duhm had watched as a full squad of Cataphractii clad traitors stormed after them into the blasting storm. The micro void shields, and displacer fields had held for a few steps, what little paint they wore was stripped away instantly followed by ceramite, layer by layer until the worn patches turned a wet crimson moments before they dropped to the ground moments later little remained of the warrior.
“These traitors may wear our colours, and serve the primarch but they are no longer sons of Olympia.” He growled.

“They have betrayed their oaths to the master of mankind and to us.” The group nodded around him not needing to add any words.

“We have a duty to spread the word of this betrayal to our masters and to our allies.” Said Apothecary Kud as he stepped forward, he held out a marker rod the thick white waxy substance was used by his ilk to mark casualty information when other means were unavailable. He had drawn a crude Raptor Imperialis over the legio designations on his pauldron. Duhm smiled and took the marker and as much as it pained him drew a thick white cross over the silver skull emblem on his chest.

“Warsmith.” A trooper voxxed. “I have placed Melta charges along the cave’s entrance as battle doctrine commands. Duhm signaled his receipt of the message, it would be a long fight back to the bunkers.

Two hundred miles away deep in the subterranean fortress that was the home of the mixed Astartes force Turgan’yul padded silently along the corridor. It was his morning routine he would sprint the circumference of the great ringed facility pushing his superhuman endurance, other brothers jogged in pairs or squads, some spared in the central dojos but he ran, as fast as his thick legs would carry him. His legs pistoned as his wide feet slapped on the cold duracrete floor he breathed only every twelve steps a short intake and then a slow exhale over the next eleven steps.

As he ran his mind soared through battle plans, training schedules and the daily routine they had faced every day for the last few years. While he planned new ways to integrate the fluid warmaking of the Vth with the staunch siege mastery of the IVth his thoughts would always drift back to his exile, because it was his exile that shamed his entire brotherhood but as brothers they had stood by him even against the great Khan.

“Thinking of the past again swiftone?” The voice cut through his thoughts.

“Get out of my head Witch.” Turgan tried to throw up the mental barriers he had learnt from the Psyker.

“I’m not in your head Khan. You are wearing a vox piece.” chuckled the Chogorian, Turgan shook his head and smiled at his own stupidity.

“What do you want weather witch.” He asked his old friend and trusted advisor.

“Duhm has returned from his secret meeting.” During their stint on Galvarax both legions had kept their own secrets but Turgan was not naive enough to leave them undiscovered and had turned his trusted recon specialists loose under the auspices of training. “He has bought casualties.” The Storm Seer continued dragging Turgan’s full attention to bear “They have..” He finished before the vox link fuzzed out in a haze of interference. The Terran filled his lungs and pushed himself forwards as he ducked left into a corridor and continued his sprint towards the armoury.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Not bad- Galvarax's depiction is well done- but many paragraphs are still stuck together. In the website's full version, your latest post is shown as black text on a dark background, making it difficult to read unless the reader is viewing this on a smartphone (as I am).

[sarabando]

Not bad- Galvarax's depiction is well done- but many paragraphs are still stuck together. In the website's full version, your latest post is shown as black text on a dark background, making it difficult to read unless the reader is viewing this on a smartphone (as I am).

argh i use BnCs white theme and it wont let me change it back to the dark classic look so i keep forgetting this when i copy text from google docs.

[sarabando]

( i hope this one displays correctly)

 

The Apothecary's passed through the blood slicked halls moving as angels of death proclaiming those who would survive and those who were too far gone. Civitas medicae volunteers rushed underfoot treating screaming Auxila and other wounded humans.

The attack on Galvarax was dragging into its second month, the traitor Iron Warriors had landed en masse as their doctrine called for and the landscape bore scars of their munitions.

However the loyalist warsmith Duhm had done his job well having constructing Theta garrison deep underground and camouflaging it's defenses against the black sandscape.

 

Orbital batteries constructed deep in the Oppei mountain range in a spider web of camouflaged bunkers, laser batteries, and missile silos had taken a heavy toll on the incoming vessels. Designed not to engage the flitting suborbital craft but instead the hulking void craft they came from their fire had been directed masterfully by Vaikto the 27th’s uncompromising combat controller.

Having  not slept in two weeks as he directed the withering levels of fire from deep in the command complex, the Terran watched a whispering trail of a decimator class defense missile as it tore through the atmosphere before turning an entire wing of Dreadclaws to atoms.

He clicked his powerful vox unit to the command channel. “My lord, battery Omikron-87 has expended all it's ammunition. Redirecting gunnery crews to tertiary defense sectors.” The acknowledgement rune flashed once in his display indicating command’s acknowledgement of his message.

“Signal master.” A weapons specialist of the loyalist IVth handed the White Scar a data slate.

“We have broken the enemy battle-cant’s cryptographic defenses with your calculations.” A deep rumble shook the subterranean chamber duraplast dust fell from the ceiling as incoming weapons pounded the mountains above them.

“Were you detected?” The white armoured combat controller asked, the seed of an idea taking root in his mind as his fingers flew over activation runes dispatching troops and munitions where needed before finally diverting his attention to the dataslate.

“Negative Signal master.” The trooper reported his vox distorted voice flat and emotionless. Vikto’s thumbs flew over the runes on the data pad before passing it back to the Iron Warrior.

“Transmit this on their secure frequency.”  The signal master ordered. Before returning to his vox kit and the blinking line of orbital weapons bunkers.

Deep in the void the Iron Warrior cruiser Mauler’s fist prowled above the warzone a thousand spires glittered in the darkness support craft flitted insect like around the great beast shipping troops to the surface.

Unseen a vox signal crossed the blackness, data scryers plucked the transmission from the aether routing it through the colossal warship. Weapons servitors received and processed data from incoming transmissions the grim blend of organic and inorganic components twitched and wheezed as mathematical calculations flickered through the cogitators databank.

Servitor Theal-1185 accepted the request data flooded it's mind. The Olympian accented voice buzzed in augmented ears.

“The mounted savages have left their fortress to meet us in the open, requesting orbital support at the attached coordinates.” The Servitor ran through it's cogitations and decryption checks without any warning flags.

Without a second thought the half dead machine transferred the request onto the gun decks, Slave masters flogged their wretched wards into action, hauling titanic ordinance via manual loading cranes into awaiting breeches.

Targeting servitors adjusted the weapons the master of cannons prowled along banks of targeting sensors his terminator plate clanking as he grinned at the scene unfolding below. His subalterns were barking orders as he watched the battle a thousand miles away.  

With munitions loaded and targets selected the master of weapons roared slamming his armoured fist into the consol. With an earth shattering roar the cruisers weapons fired hypervelocity munitions dropped towards the planet.

The glassy black sand cracked and shifted under the heavy tracks of the advancing armour. The 811th column had reached the main gates to the sealed Civitas shelter known as Gerard’s Holt the hive served as the capital of this pissant world.

Armoured command thane Ettam Husk leaned against the armrest deep inside his superheavy command vehicle. This was the end game his force would hammer the gates wide open and then the slaughter would begin.

“Thane we are experiencing electronic interference, main optics and communications are down.” Voxed his driver their Voxes hard wired via their armoured home.

The Thane flicked activator runes and his command throne shook and rotated elevating slowly until he emerged from the superheavy’s command cupola. The wind was cool on his bare face the air was prickly and hot, a shudder rocked the tank and their advance slowed.

He looked around at the terrain, the glossy black sand was everywhere. The prickling of his skin worsened, as he noticed the glossy silica pooling, bubbling as it melted. Realisation of what was happening flashed into his mind a millionth of a second before every ounce of water in his body evaporated instantly.

Hundreds of miles away Vikto let slip a rare smile as he watched vidpics of the blinding impacts.
“I have got to get me one of those.” He chuckled forwarding the data along the command frequencies.

[sarabando]

Turgan ducked under the whirring teeth of the chainblade sweeping the legs from out under the snarling fighter. The traitor hit the ground hard the Terran veteran not giving him a moment's respite was on top of him driving his Guandao through the pitted metal of his breastplate.

 

He had joined his forces during their stand at the main access way but the fight was not going well.

“All units pull back to Theil 11 sub sector 4.” Buzzed the flat tones of the combat controller in his ear. He tapped the acknowledgement stud on his vox and rose from his kill. Around him his warriors fought hand to hand with a fury that stirred a warm sense of pride in his chest.

 

An inhuman roar made his teeth hum as the colossal shape of a dreadnought tore it's way into the melee. It raked it's autocannons into the crowd, it's high velocity rounds cutting down White Scars and Iron Warriors indiscriminately. Turgan shifted his grip on his weapon and began to charge at the beast but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him, it was Lei’kung blood flowed from a gash on his forehead. The storm Seer shook his head as the dreadnought crashed through a shield wall his breaching teams unable to stand against such brutality.

 

“No Khan, that is a battle you can not win.” He motioned to the access hatch his men performing a rolling retreat as they carried the wounded the terminators of breaching team Isa formed a protective perimeter cutting down any who would approach with their glowing claws.

 

The ancient Vir scythed his cannon over their heads as he slowly stomped backwards away from the fray each step a reluctant one. Turgan knew the Ancient would want to battle the dreadnought to go machine to machine but he was loyal to a fault and would be following the direction of his combat controller.

 

Turgan felt his skin prickle a warning for danger that had been with him all his life. He dragged Lei’kung to the floor as a crackling blade passed through where they had been stood moments before. He rolled over in time to avoid the second blow.

 

The attacker was different to the rest of their foes, his armour deep crimson covered in complex runes and sigils that seemed to swim and move in the corners of his eyes. It was his face that set him apart though as if his helmet was a part of his skin vox grills had become like teeth, optics once crystal clear were cloudy with thin slit iris.It snarled as it dragged it's blade along the ferrocrete floor.

 

“What did you do?! How did you silence them?!” It spat it's voice pained like an addict desperately craving relief. “What did you do to the warp?!”

 

Lei’Kung laughed as he slowly picked himself up servos in his heavy terminator plate whirring.

“It's a strange feeling isn't it?” He raised his blade to a combat stance. “To be cut off so... unnaturally silent. It is this world” He gestured to the glistening black stone they had tunneled through to create their fortress

 

“It is a quiet place” He circled the traitor, a word bearer his iconography defaced but still identifiable had Lorgar’s servants also betrayed the Emperor? “Come creature let us see who is a better servant to their master”

 

He drew his blade along his forearm the disruption field squealing as he drew it along the armoured ceramite. “without their gifts.” The warp touched legionnaire snarled and dove at the Storm seer his blade raised high.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Not bad, but there are grammar errors that proofreading would've eliminated. I noticed the following mistakes, with corrections marked with the "[" and "]" symbols.

it was Lei’kung blood flowed from a gash on his forehead.

This line should've read, "it was Lei’kung[,] blood flow[ing] from a gash on his forehead."

“No Khan, that is a battle you can not win.”

This line should've read, “No[,] Khan, that is a battle you can not win.”

Turgan knew the Ancient would want to battle the dreadnought to go machine to machine

The line "to go machine to machine" is redundant, and should be eliminated. I doubt the Marine entombed within the Dreadnought sarcophagus would consider himself a machine, or appreciate others referring to him as such.

He circled the traitor, a word bearer his iconography defaced but still identifiable had Lorgar’s servants also betrayed the Emperor?

This should've read, "He circled the traitor, a [W]ord earer[,] his iconography defaced but still identifiable[.] [H]ad Lorgar’s servants also betrayed the Emperor?