Guess which author...

[b1soul]

How distinct is each BL author's style?

 

Are you able to guess, based on prose style, which BL author wrote each passage below?

 

1. It is cold inside, freezing even. The heat from the dying star and the bombardment does not penetrate here, and steam rises from every legionary’s backpack. Columns of light stab down from the cracked roof and the poisonous fumes of burning war materiel linger at the openings in the wall, as though unwilling to enter.

...

The parchment-white face is that of a cannibal ghoul, a lipless horror of gaunt cheekbones, sunken eyes and a hairless scalp. More of the geometric symbols have been cut into the bone of his exposed skull where the skin has been peeled away. A ragged hole has been smashed through into the empty void of his brainpan.

 

2. They are in some autumnal place. The sky is dark like smudged charcoal, and the distant hills loom, brown with gorse and sedge. Black birds circle in the distance. The surrounding thorn wood, bared of leaves, is an endless thicket of spikes and claws, an organic cage. The thorns and twigs are all pale and cold, like bone. Small birds or insects have speared red berries on some thorn spikes so they can be gnawed and pecked at. The juice drips like blood.

...

It is dark out here, beyond the gap in the white thorn wall, as though a piece of midnight has arrived early. But there are eyes in it. He saw them looking in, ancient eyes for an ancient, feral mind, yellow slits with black slash irises. Glaring eyes. Evil eyes.

 

Eyes that stared forever from the prow of a ship.

 

Cursed eyes that mean the end of everything.

 

3. He crashed back into the dirt, colliding hard with the debris miring the ground. His helm struck rockcrete, painting it red, and a lance of cold metal rebar pounded through his collar, leaving him choking on rusted metal, gagging for air that would not come.

 

Any scream he would have voiced in shame was stolen by the iron impaling his throat. The only sounds he made were gurgling grunts as he jerked his head back, trying to wrench himself from his impaling.

 

4. If you were alive then I would forgive you for what is to come. Your end seems certain but it is not. If I believed the future could not be changed then I would think everything already lost to darkness and the laughter of atrocity.

 

How can I forgive what might not be? So instead of forgiveness I will give you truth, I will tell you of how you came to be, and how you passed through the hands of history. You have no eyes to see, so I will see for you, and tell you of yourself – of those that held you and how they ended.

 

5. His body looked around the abattoir and smiled.

 

Work together. Kill together. As we did before.

 

The shade of a question was added to the tincture of [] ’s despair.

 

Remember, remember, flesh-dancer, your help to this traveller. Remember our words together. They had not spoken. The thing was lying. Of this last shred of honour, he could be sure.

 

Words through the void, words from name to name, the flesh-dancer listening well on the dead-hope.

 

6. ‘This man had no information to give you. You were pointlessly toying with him, as though you expect to create fear in the hearts of such men with petty threats of violence and the promise of an executioner’s mercy. They have turned from the Emperor’s wisdom and consigned themselves to damnation. They are already living out their greatest fear. Your only duty is to end such abomination, and end it quickly. You think you were drawing information from him, while he drew you further into his lies and ignorance..."

 

7. Crafted from neither metal nor stone, it had characteristics of both, and was warm to the touch as though alive. This was the weapon that he had stolen from the interex, the blade that had wounded the Warmaster and turned him to the true way. It was a holy artefact, and key to a plot that spanned tens of thousands of years.

 

And now he must violate it.

 

He presented the sword to the statues of the four powers that dominated the sacellum space of the Destiny’s Hand. He called out prayers and incantations, saluting the dread lords of the warp, each in turn.

 

8. Two embattled armies, their forces scattered, glared unblinking at one another across a white and ebon field. They had begun arrayed in perfect formation, their ranks orderly, their pennants standing stiff against a shallow breeze and the faces of their front rank fighters as hard as rock. Raised up on their circular plinths, their lords and spiritual leaders had looked on imperiously - Emperor and Empress standing side by side, displaying to all the strength of their rule and commitment to victory.

But as was so often the case in war, even with the loftiest of strategic minds, order broke down and chaos took the reins. For if one thing was certain about conflict, it was that it always ended in the reign of chaos.

 

9. 'What would we have them be, if not what they are?'

'Were we better teachers, we would be able to help Perturabo accept his place, or ease Lorgar's mind. We could focus Angron and bring balance to Curze. Our limitations as fathers are doubly reflected in our failings as brothers.'

'No.' Horus's voice was iron-hard, his resolve absolute. 'We each have our part to play. The Emperor knew this and made it so. We are each of us the sword or the shield that He needs us to be.'

'What of the warrior cast to the fighting pit who must wield both sword and shield?' I ask.

 

10. The pistol was much heavier than he remembered, in his rough, scarred hand. That was a strange thing to consider. He was intimate with this angular, unadorned gun in such subtle ways. He could tell exactly how many rounds were loaded by weight alone. There were six: five in the magazine and one in the chamber. There should have only been five - that was how his instructors trained him and that was the rote command they had taught. The extra round unbalanced the weapon, created unnecessary wear on the mechanism. They would say that there was no need for more than five shots. Who would require more than one?

 

11. He forced himself to remain still, his back against the polished marble wall. His palms pressed down onto the fabric of his ceremonial dress trousers. The high, stiff collar prickled at his neck, irritating his freshly shaved skin.

He felt ludicrous – cleaned and trimmed and starched, like a living meal to be served in some unholy banquet.

He drew in deep, regular breaths.

‘This is absurd,’ he muttered. ‘I was not wound this tight on the mission itself.’

He forced himself to go through the motions, to assess the current scenario, to run through the options.

‘Keep it together.’

The antechamber was large, just one of a series of opulent rooms he’d passed through in sequence. He had been accompanied inside by a man in a black shift and velvet shoes who had padded silently like a cat.

 

12. The constructed hill was surrounded by its own perimeter of ward-runes, separated by less than a kilometre of open ground naked to the empyrean. At the summit, almost as high as the peaks of the cathedral-town's ward-needles, loomed a great archway of black and gold.

'When will the Urizen come?' asked Arkula. 'Apostle,' he added quickly.

'When the work is complete.'

A giant armoured in dark red hurried towards them up a nearby stone stair, his bolter in one hand. The pair awaited him at the top of the steps, where he halted, banging fist against his chest in salute.

 

In the wrong order, the authours are:

 

Smilie

Annandale

French

Wraight

DB

Kyme

McNeill

Swallow

Thorpe

Abnett

Haley

Sanders

 

I actually think this is pretty hard with a few exceptions

[aa.logan]

How about a clue- who are the 12 authors?

[DarkChaplain]

The list of authors is in the second spoiler at the bottom of the excerpts.

 

Number 9 is this one, by the way:

Andy Smillie, Virtues of the Sons

 

10 is

James Swallow, Gunsight

 

and 11 is

Chris Wraight, The Sigillite

 

Though that's more because I remember the stories at least to the point of recognizing passages of dialogue and the like, rather than due to the authors' particular prose styles.

[aa.logan]

The list of authors is in the second spoiler at the bottom of the excerpts.

 

Though that's more because I remember the stories at least to the point of recognizing passages of dialogue and the like, rather than due to the authors' particular prose styles.

Ah, didn’t see that.

 

I can guess at number 10- and agree with you- only on the basis of subject matter.

 

Man alive, this is far too hard for me

[b1soul]

"He saw them looking in, ancient eyes for an ancient, feral mind, yellow slits with black slash irises. Glaring eyes. Evil eyes.

Eyes that stared forever from the prow of a ship.

Cursed eyes that mean the end of everything."

To me, this is just so Abnett-esque...and it is

[DarkChaplain]

7

was a great little story, I should re-read that one sometime

It's The Shards of Erebus by Guy Haley, from Mark of Calth

[Xisor]

Now I want semi-anonymous novels, where instead of author we're told who edited them.

 

(I've long vaguely suspected that I had favourite editors rather than favourite authors, but I hadn't much means to check, and it could be a difficult conversation trying to ask actual authors/editors for insights on it!)

[b1soul]

I think editing can make a huge, huge difference for mediocre authours

 

The good authours are just good

[Xisor]

I think editing can make a huge, huge difference for mediocre authours

 

The good authours are just good

How can you tell? Do you have access to their unedited work?

[b1soul]

The works of Wraight, ADB, Abnett, and French are consistently good. I don't think it's because of their editors. They're just good writers.

 

On the contrary, Fall of Damnos by Kyme doesn't read like any other Kyme work. I heavily suspect that the editor contributed a lot to the quality of Fall of Damnos, rendering it bearable to me.

 

Of course, I don't know any of this with certainty. Just my hunch.

 

I would also choose to read Wraight's, ADB's, or Abnett's unedited work rather than any edited work by Kyme, Swallow, or Thorpe. I'd bet my house that I'd enjoy the former more than the latter.

[Xisor]

Intriguing.

 

Not having a house, I'd happily bet your house too!

 

But strictly I'm more interested in seeing that reason confirmed or denied.

 

It's attractive, and plausible, but it's not necessarily actually case. Hence posing the thought.