Inspirational Friday 2019: Blessings and Boons (Dec 27)

[Trevak Dal]

Yeah those are some cool looking models. I've been in a building and priming frenzy. I've discovered how awesome plastic glue is (I've always used super glue) it makes assembly a lot easier than it was before.

[Kierdale]

My apologies. Life has been just too busy, and I’ll be away from the internet most of this week.

[Scourged]

Unfortunately, we did not see any entries in Inspirational Friday 2019: Warped Mirror

Strike two for Inspirational Friday in these past few weeks. We’ve lost our momentum as of late, but I’m sure we’ll recover. Rather than close this topic, I will stick a pin in it. One day, down the road, we will return to this topic and see what inspiration may take us at that time. Until then...

And so begins our second challenge of Inspirational Friday 2019: And They Shall Know Fear

The Daemonic and Warp-touched are fueled by emotions. The drives and desires of all sentient beings are what gives birth to the sentience in the Immaterium. And now that the Great Rift has torn across the Imperium, that sentience is now returning to realspace in greater force than ever before. The creation has returned to the creator, come back home to feed on all of our emotions.

But none feeds the darkness better than fear. The Cosmic Horrors lurking in the shadows feed off of fear. It empowers them, and enslaves us to them. The more we fear this real world, the more we flee to the Warp. So tell us, then… how best does Chaos inspire fear? In what manner, in what style, for what purpose? Everyone, channel your inner Night Haunter* and explore the depths of pure, terrified fear.

IF2019: And They Shall Know Fear runs until the All Hallows Day, Nov. 1.

And who shall judge this challenge? That decision lies with our current judge, Trevak Dal.

The winner of shall claim the Octed amulet:

And the honor of judging the next challenge.

Let us be inspired.

*also Scarecrow and Sinestro, for all us DC fans

[Kierdale]

I’m not sure how well I can finish it, but I have a piece to post on Friday :)

[Kierdale]

To Be Remembered

 

Hidden Content

 

Stars flared into existence before his eyes. Glistening jewels scattered across the sable void.

By whom?

By the God-Emperor? The Imperial Creed taught them thus. For He had always been and always would be. The xenos and other, darker powers that none mentioned nor let their minds linger upon, had stolen so many of the stars from the Master of Mankind, and it was the duty of His armies - men like Shudraka - to retake them.

Thus they would earn their place at His side when He chose to call upon them.

 

The stars faded as he watched. They flickered out and his pace quickened. Had the end come? Shudraka tried to move, to reach for his weapons and take part in the final battle. To earn glory and his rightful place at His side. But he could not move.

 

The stars glowed to life once more. Fainter now, and a dull yellow in colour. They had not moved in their dance across the length and breadth of existence, but he could feel in the way they throbbed amber that the time was coming.

 

When they faded once more his heart pounded and he strained his body against the unseen restraints, relenting only briefly when they flared to life once more a dim crimson. Scarlet beads.

He cried out in anger that he was denied a chance to tip the scales of fate.

 

And his cry was answered.

The restraints withdrew and gravity pulled him down. Down against the breath-beaded canopy of his inverted stasis tube and into the carmine emergency lighting.

 

 

 

* * * * * * *

As nature had birthed them, from the wombs of women decades before, each of them lay naked, quivering, before stasis shock receded and their minds were their own once more.

Shudraka shook the grogginess from his head, images of the dying cosmos fragmenting away like the memories of his family had upon his induction. Like other memories, it was said, those that the overseers deemed ‘unnecessary’, ‘lacking in tactical value’ or ‘dangerous’, were allegedly scrubbed from his platoon’s minds after operations.

There was not time to run through the asanas of purging, but as he stood, subconsciously observing his squadmates do likewise, he chanted the mantras and guided his fingers from the sahasrara at his crown, down to the chrome catheters at his vishuddha and his chest, the anahata. He did all this as he took in his surroundings and evaluated his men.

Vinod was there, rising to his feet a second behind the rest of them.

Sharya has just finished helping Keshav to his.

Rajendra ran his fingers hard along the lines of his right arm. Lingering damage and numbness from their last mission? He had been injured there, badly, and the medics had been working on him for several hours before the squad had been returned to their sleep tubes, but Shudraka could not recall how his squad mate had been injured. He briefly wondered if Rajendra could remember what had happened to his own arm? Then he suppressed the thought. He remembered only that Rajendra had been injured and that the arm’s affectedness would likely be lessened on the next mission. Only the essentials.

Pramod’s capsule has blossomed open but he had not joined them, nor would he ever, for he had not returned to the womb of their barracks aboard the ship following that last mission. How little of it Shudraka could recall. He recalled not who they fought, only vague images of great barren plains, and dark caves within vast mountain ranges. And that Pramod had not been returned to the squad from the apothecarium. None knew what became of the lost, only that upon return to one of the temple-bases they would undergo bonding with his or her replacement. And once he had been replaced then their memories of Pramod would fade too.

Zalim?

Shudraka strode across the ceiling, for he had already taken in that they all now stood upon the ceiling of their womb-chamber, stepping past the rotating red emergency lighting, to Zalim’s pod, and gazed up at it, anchored to the floor. Within was darkness.

It happened sometimes, that one did not awaken from stasis. Overseer...overseer Vasishtha, yes, Vasishtha had said the darkness took the unworthy, and they believed him and they fought harder. The darkness took the unworthy, and the unworthy were not rewarded with Amrita.

 

“Gravity malfunction?” Rajendra ventured, still nursing his arm, as the squad gathered at the upside-down portal to the rest of the ship. The orange lotus icon of Svadhisthana was inscribed there.

Keshav grunted an affirmative. It would not be the first time, as far as they could recall. They had fought in many, many varied environments, this squad, hadn’t they?

Yet the vox remained silent.

Vinod, the strongest of them even without Amrita, dug his fingertips into a recess in the door panel and heaved. The rest of the squad had stacked either side of the door. Rajendra would be their spotter. The rest had their hands up, the left to block, parry or grab at any enemy, their right hands with fingers extended, rigid. They could punch these knife-like hands through a flak jacket or the soft joints of carapace armour if necessary.

Beyond, the corridor was empty and lit only by the sepulchral glow of scarlet emergency lumens. It lit the five men from beneath as they stalked down the passage, their eyes scanning the walls.

They were bound for the armoury, eager to clothes themselves in their flak armour, and arm themselves to face intruders.

And as soon as they were armed, they would seek Amrita.

They needed to.

 

 

 

* * * * * *

That no one had been their at their decanting, no one to explain the situation, to guide them to a briefing, or most importantly to administer their initial doses, was alarming. It was unheard of. None could recall such an event ever having happened before. They discussed this as they tore open powerless arms cabinets with strength born of desperation.

Everywhere there was darkness. Emptiness. Not even sign of the ship’s compliment of servitors.

Shudraka pulled and jiggled the power pack of his las rifle, ensuring it was secured, and watched as the rifle’s machine spirit awoke. It fed upon the energy within the fresh pack.

Their armouring and arming they carried out wordlessly, two covering the other three, then reversing rolls. Actions smooth, borne of drills. He straightened and motioned toward the door and for the briefest moment another man’s name came to his lips. Not Vinod or Sharya, nor Keshav or Rajendra. As soon as the first syllables left his tongue he knew it was the name of a comrade long gone, and the more he tried to remember, the quicker it faded. The name was gone and soon even the memory of his own half-speaking it too.

 

 

 

* * * * *

Broken transpariplex ground under their boots as they advanced into the apothecarium. Phials, beakers and all manner of apparatus that was beyond their ken had seemingly been strewn about. That there was no battle damage: no laser scoring, no chunks blown out out walls, spoke of an accident. And the extent of the debris revealed by the luminators affixed to their rifles suggested that the ship’s gravity had been lost, allowing everything to float freely, before restored gravity - or inverted gravity as they now seemed to have - had dashed the equipment against the ceiling-come-floor.

[thud] [thud]

Movement.

Sharya and Keshav swept their rifles toward it, illuminating a pair of grimy, bare feet as they shuffled behind a cabinet. Secured to the floor above them, it hid the owner of the feet, which left a bloody trail as they were dragged through the razor sharp debris.

Onward they shuffled, unfaltering as they trod upon twisted metal and shards of transpariplex.

[thud] [thud]

Vinod flanked right, eager to draw a bead on the intruder.

[thud] [thud]

Shudraka himself went probe against the ceiling, ready to put a volley of fire across, cutting the figure’s feet off if necessary.

[thud] [thud]

The feet were illuminated, their greyed flesh flecked with crimson blood, as Vinod’s rifle found it.

“Servitor!” He called out.

 

They watched as the automaton continued on its route, slicing its feet to ribbons as it went. Its head was no longer attached to its body via a neck. Rather a trio of pistons held it up, one at the rear and two where the sternocleidomastoid muscles would have been. It was held with a slight tilt to the left care of a lack of oil. Bundles of cables and flexible piping ran from the sutured-shut base of the skull the short distance to bury themselves in the truncated stump of the former-man’s neck. Had he been convicted of some crime and his life had ended in beheading, only to be chosen to serve beyond death? Had he been decapitated in some accident?

The Servitor continued the routine it had in life, whatever it had been, but the course it had followed across the floor was now impeded by what had been overhead cabinets and twice it had slid along these obstructions, unrelentingly advancing.

“Hail the God-Emperor of Mankind. Please state the nature of the medical emergency?” It droned when finally addressed, ceasing its self-destructive march.

“Amrita,” Keshav stated. His voice shook and Shudraka looked to Sharya. He did not quite know why he had looked to him rather than any of the others. Sharya ignored the look, focusing on the Servitor.

“Hail the God-Emperor of Mankind. Please present your medical credentials for the release of secured compounds.”

Shudraka spoke without thinking, giving his rank and clearance codes verbatim.

“ Hail the God-Emperor of Mankind. Access denied. Insufficient clearance.”

Keshav shot a worried look to Sharya. Vinod clenched and unclenched his fists.

Instinctively knowing that none of them possessed the necessary tech skills to slice the servitor’s cogitators and obfuscate or deceive it, Shudraka asked where the Amrita was stored.

Following the servitor’s gesture, Keshav stood to the side of the locked compartment, his rifle aimed at its fastenings.

Before pulling the servitor’s wiring - lest it attempt to interfere - he asked it what had happened.

“ Hail the God-Emperor of Mankind. Man the sanctuary pods. Man the sanctuary pods.”

 

 

 

* * * *

He at first thought it was the tremors worsening. He had lowered his rifle, telling himself that the ship had been evacuated. Abandoned. And this way he didn’t see how much his aim shook. But then a sound ran through the hull. The creak of stressed metal.

He wiped sweat from his brow and looked over his squad mates. Each was bathed in the same sheen of sweat as he. In the dim red light they looked blood-soaked. Rajendra’s head hung. He raised it every few steps to reorient himself.

 

“To the pods, then-“

 

And suddenly the ceiling beneath their feet became the wall. Vinod, Sharya and Shudraka manages to keep their feet under them and stagger up the lefthand wall as it became the floor, but the withdrawal symptoms were too great for Keshav and Rajendra and they collapsed, thrown into the new floor.

The muffled sounds of furniture and other bulky items shifting echoed through the corridor, followed by the strains of metal. Had the ship somehow rolled as it drifted? Was someone on the bridge, the captain going down with her ship? As he unsuccessfully tried the vox once more - both his armour’s and the nearest wall terminal’s - he wondered how he could not recall the captain’s name, yet remembered that she was female.

If only there had been Amrita. The storage container in the apothecarium has been empty. They had in desperation searched the entire room, to no avail.

And so sought to escape.

His clouded memories of the ship pushed him on toward the port sanctuary pods.

 

 

 

* * *

They crossed all manner of obstacles in their dazed flight. And at the latest of these did they find life.

Corridors that would have ran off to their left had become dark chasms beneath them and only working together had they struggled across. Vinod had vaulted the dark abyss, a grapnel line trailing behind him. He had almost disappeared into the darkness at the far side - was emergency lighting failing? Either the ship was cooling too, or it was another side effect of their failing bodies - and they watched him, faintly silhouetted, as he undid the line from his waist and sought a place to tie it. They would need to haul the unconscious Keshav across.

As Sharya tied the other end of the line to Keshav’s rifle and stuck it in a partially open doorway, anchoring it as best he could, Shudraka squinted to watch Vinod.

How long had they been a squad? Could Sharya concentrate with his brother Keshav down - When did I remember that they are brothers? Shudraka shook his head and wiped his brow once again, flinching when Rajendra tapped him on his shoulder.

The other raised his good arm, pointing down the shaft before them.

 

The first thing that came to mind was the fat, purple veins which one found on the underside of one’s tongue, and like them it was drilled with uneven fronds of flesh. He could not help but grimace, the though of them catching inexplicably between one’s teeth rising to the fore of his mind as the tentacle slithered and rose from the dark depths.

He blinked his eyes and raised his rifle, sighting down it and counting the number of wall panels that lined the corridor dropping away before them. It was the only way he could gauge the size of the thing. It was big, and climbing higher with every second. He could not see where it terminated, whether it was some form of giant slug like creature or a tendril of a greater beast.

Would his lasrifle hurt it?

Rajendra tugged on the line, drawing both Vinod and Sharya’s attention.

Peeking over the edge, both withdrew and raised their weapons, waiting for Shudraka’s order.

And they waited.

A smell reaches them, bringing back suppressed memories of charnel pits and roasted flesh.

As seconds passed they came to hear it. A wet sound like a young animal squirming as it was forced from its mother’s womb.

Vinod raised one hand, counting down the meters until it made it to their side of the corridor.

The quivering tip of the tentacle pulled itself into view. There were no eyes or other sensory organs they could identify, and it moved back and forth as if questing for something.

It was at that point that Keshav moved in his fevered sleep. No sound escaped his mouth, for his brother’s hand was clamped over it, but his movement sent vibrations through the grapnel line stretched out across the chasm.

The tentacle heaved itself up more into the corridor Shudraka, Rajendra and the brothers occupied. A good four meters of thick, muscular flesh covered in a web of distended, pulsating veins.

Safeties already off, Shudraka’s finger tightened on the trigger. A little pressure but not enough. Not yet.

The tentacle moved not toward the fallen man, but toward the quivering line. Slowly raising his hand he motioned for no one to move. He could feel Sharya’s eyes on the back of his head, for his brother’s fate was literally tied to that line.

A meter.

Half a meter.

The tentacle moved itself closer even as the tremors died down.

And tentatively the tip of the beast stretched out toward the line.

Ten centimetres.

Five.

“FIRE!”

And as the screams of tormented metal tore through the ship, it rolled once more.

 

 

 

* *

They had thought the ship’s filtration systems breached when they had seen the flooded mess hall, but as soon as the water touched their lips they began to get an idea of their predicament.

Salt.

It was salt water.

The ship had somehow crashed down on a planet, in an ocean or large body of water. That explained too the rolls.

They hoped that the increasing pressure of sinking was not the reason for the sounds of metal stress.

But perhaps they were not abandoned. Perhaps the rest of the crew had made it off the ship.

Shudraka didn’t fool himself by hoping the crew would have taken the Amrita supplies with them. He was sure now that the ship had been bound for resupply after their last mission. He and his squad weren’t meant to have been thawed.

He looked to Rajendra and gestured that he should go first. Shudraka would cover him. And aid him if his injuries proved too bad.

Rajendra held his bad arm across his body still, but no longer to nurse it, rather to hold bloodsoaked bandages in place.

After they had lost Keshav and Vinod at the chasm they and Sharya had ran. Ran as fast as their burning bodies would allow.

And they had run into...things.

He had at first thought the scene of an accident, that the fluctuating gravity must have resulted in five or six crew members being crushed by some loose cargo containers.

But he had been proved wrong as the tangled mass of limbs had struggled to life the mangled bodies atop them and, lit by flickering red lights, the thing had staggered toward them. In the strobing light it had looked like some faulty animated holocast. But it had been real.

When an arm had lashed out with inhuman speed and grabbed Sharya, they had known it was real.

When his frantic shots had torn bloody gobbets from it and it had not stopped, they had known fear.

And when the malnourished ribcages of it’s body had yawned wide, a charnel stench emanating from its maw, they had known terror.

And had fled.

 

The two had swam no more than a few meters across the mess hall toward the other side and the sanctuary pod bay beyond before the water about Rajendra clouded with black.

Blood.

Raj’s head fell beneath the water level for a moment before bobbing back up.

“Keep swimming, man. Keep swimming!”

 

Shudraka swam up next to his comrade and glanced sidelong at his pale face, then at the clutter of benches and tables ahead. They would need to dive under it, and who knew for how far.

He shook his head at Raj’s suggestion that he go first. Shudraka knee his comrade wanted to be left behind. He spat a curse from their home world, one that hadn’t left his lips since they’d been inducted who knew how long ago, and urged the other on.

The water was very cold and already it sapped the strength from their limbs, but when they put their heads under and dived it was even worse. He had a faint recollection of training sessions in such conditions, being thrust into freezing water while watched over by giants clad in yellow who laughed as the mortals floundered, finally finding the strength to swim or give up and die. His skin numbing with the cold, he fed on these fragments of memories and pushed himself onward. Had they been administered with their Amrita they would have been fine; they could have sent its power to warm their limbs.

But all he had was bitterness to fuel him.

 

Even the dim emergency lighting seemed to fade as he pushed on, his arms moving in great strokes, his legs kicking at the icy water.

His lungs burned as he found a break in the debris overhead and his vision was almost black as Shudraka’s head found air once more. He gulped in lungfuls, retched and spat and gulped in air once more, and finally his sight came back, dim though it was.

But there was no Raj’.

Panic setting in, he dived under once more.

 

There he was, some five meters or so back, floating against the debris overhead. Unmoving.

Taking another gulp of air, Shudraka dived under once more and frantically swam back toward his remaining comrade.

But the initial swim had taken so much from him and his limbs were as lead.

He had covered no distance before he saw movement. Not only back past the unconscious Raj’ the way they had come, but as his eyes darted about he saw them to the sides too.

They came through the very walls of the room as if they were mere mirages, and slithered across the ground as if the water filling the room was but mist.

Each slithered forward on a serpentine body like great snakes reared up, but where the bodies would enlarge into the heads of cobras, there were the bodies of women. Their long locks, vibrant shades of purple, pink and blue, framed faces both at once alluring and hideous. They slid across the deck with ease, unimpeded by the freezing water.

More and more came, their attention moving from him, following his frantic gaze to the limp form of his comrade. And they quickened, sidewindering their way forward, arms raised. One of these upper limbs ended in a hand clasping a curved dagger, the other in an oversized claw. The lithe arms had no right swinging such a large hand with such speed.

His hands fumbled for his weapon and found it missing.

And as he watched, the nearest of them reached Rajendra, and as it cleaved into his floating body with its knife, he saw a figure fall to the ground, as if the creature’s blade had severed his comrade’s spirit from his mortal form. And as more of the naga-beasts gathered, they set upon the man’s soul.

 

 

 

*

His limbs no longer shook. His arms hung at his sides.

He was the last.

He was nothing without the that ambrosia, Amrita.

He was now just the will to survive. To tell someone of what had happened to his ship. To his squad.

That they be remembered.

 

He saw the sigil before him. He no longer remembered its name, some symmetrical flower-like pattern named after one of the ancient chakras that decorated his own body.

His fiat raised and hammered the button, the door slid aside and he collapsed within.

To each side were armoured doors, like those of an airlock. And at the side of each was a glowing red light. Those pods had gone.

He rolled into his back. His body was too tired, his mind too fragmented to despair.

Above him was a retractable ladder. It lead to a portal bathed in green light. Salvation.

He would make it.

They would be remembered.

 

He pushed himself to his knees, groaning.

His fingers reaches up, but fell far short of the lowest rung.

They would be remembered.

Gritting his teeth he ignored the moment he saw at the far end of the corridor he had come along, and cried out as he pushed himself to unsteady feet.

He grimaced as he tried to see the faces of his comrades.

He hand wavered overhead.

He tried to recite their names as a Mantra.

He screamed and reached his battered body upward.

What were their names?

His shaking fingertips brushed the metal.

Who would remember them?

Who were they?

[Scourged]

Fantastic! Will we have any other takers before the bell chimes this eve?

[Scourged]

Thank you for all for your entries in Inspirational Friday 2019: And They Shall Know Fear

Kierdale has brought an end to our drought with To Be Remembered. And I must say, it was a delightful brutal tale. In one of those stories where bad only leads to worse, we see just how bad things can get, and just how fallible our own memories can be. In the end, who will truly be remembered?

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And so begins our second challenge of Inspirational Friday 2019: The Primordial Annihilator vs. the Ordo Hereticus

This month will no doubt be a monumental month for many. Here we are, in November (so soon?!), a time when those of us in the States will be sitting down to give thanks. But if we’re all being honest, the entire hobby will be thankful for the long-awaited return of the Adepta Sororitas. The Sisters of Battle will be returning in force, to serve as the militant arm of the Ecclisiarchy and the Ordo Hereticus, bringing bolt shell and purging flame to all those filthy heretics in the Imperium.

Wait… filthy heretics…? That’s us!

This month, let us tell stories of Chaos against the forces of the Ordo Hereticus. Though the focus of all will naturally fall to the Sisters, feel free to expand any stories to include the full branch of the Inquisition. Bring us stories of monumental confrontations of the Daughters of the (False) Emperor as they seek to purge us from the galaxy. A fool’s errand, to be sure, but those have never stopped the faithful from trying. Tell us the tales of how those dutiful Sisters will try to bring the Light of the Corpse-God to the domains we control in this new Dark Imperium.

IF2019: The Primordial Annihilator vs. the Ordo Hereticus runs until the 29th of November

By default, Kierdale shall claim the Octed amulet for IF2019: And They Shall Know Fear

And the honor of judging the next challenge.

Let us be inspired.

[Gederas]

LIGHT BEGETS SHADOW

 

'It is often said that, amongst the traitors and heretics of the Great Enemy, the most dangerous and vile are those who, were they not against us, would be paragons of the Imperium.'

 

The words are typed slowly, one letter at a time by Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor Adrian Cerada. He pauses to scratch an itch where the augmetics replacing the right side of his face touch his skin before continuing to type out his memoir.

 

'While these are the ones whom the Imperium feels a shuddering pang of loss, a deep ennui of what could have been, I truly believe the most dangerous are the ones who view destroying His Imperium as.... Simply a duty that needs to be done. These souls, the ones to whom the forces of Chaos are only a means to an end, are the truly most vile and dangerous. My first experience with such traitors was the Battle of Torendus, where a priory of the Adepta Sororitas bravely defended both their stronghold, and the planet's population against the Traitors. However, their faith and conviction was not enough to protect themselves, or the planet's populace, from devastation. The brave Sisters of Battle were wiped out to the last. I barely escaped that planet with my life.'

The Inquisitor pauses, looking at his right side, his arm missing from below the shoulder. So far, he has refused a replacement as a form of penance for his perceived failure on that wold.

 

'It started as many days on that world began. With pouring rain and lightning.'

 

 

******

 

 

Rain, thunder and lightning, howling winds. That is how the day starts, and will be how it ends. Torendus is a planet with a rainy season that lasts nearly half of it's year. It also makes the planet a terribly gloomy and depressing place to be. The cold, damp air inside of the Sororita monastery does make prayer and contemplation feel more rewarding, as the warmth of the Emperor's light soothes the spirit thinks Serena to herself. As the youngest fully-fledged sister in the monastery, the girl is often quite listless as the environment doesn't help her moods.

 

The monastery is cold, even with her newly-given suit of power armour, Serena feels the chill. The fortress is old, and while the climate systems make it livable, the sheer wind and rain always defeats what heat the climate system can provide. She clears her throat, bringing an armoured hand to her chin.

 

"You wished to see me Canoness Matilde?" Serena inquires, looking at the much older woman.

 

"Indeed I did. Tell me, how has your acclimation to your armour been going?"

"Well... I'm no longer tripping up the stairs." Serena replies, slightly shyly.

 

Serena's response causes a smile and a laugh from the wizened canoness.

 

"I must say, that response reminds me much of how Adrienne acted when she was your age."

 

This catches Serena off-guard. She's only seen Sister Superior Adrienne as a steadfast, courageous and assured in her actions.

 

"Oh, don't give me that look. All of us started somewhere." The canoness says, smiling slightly.

 

"Is... Is that why you wished to see me canoness?"

"Well, aside from that, tell me. Have you noticed that the vox has been silent?"

"I've noticed it, yes. I thought it was just the rain causing interference again."

The canoness shakes her head.

 

"No, if that was the case, we'd be able to hear static or some sort of feedback. But right now there's..... Nothing."

"Are we under attack? Who would be so bold as to attack us?"

"I do not know yet. However, I do wish for you to check on the others. This silence has me on edge."

Serena nods.

"As you wish canoness."

 

******

 

 

They are indeed under attack. Or at least, someone or something is attacking them. Serena has found several of her sisters slain. No, not just slain. Butchered horribly, sometimes mutilated. Others were untouched, saved for savage wounds.

 

The first was Sister Therese. Serena found her, looking like she was in prayer. When she did not respond to Serena's inquiry, Serena went around front and found Therese's torso had been ripped open, her ribcage shattered, heart missing from her chest.

 

Next was Augusta, whom had been very nearly bisected from shoulder to groin. While she is not trained as a healer, Serena noticed the tell-tale effects of a power weapon's field on unarmoured flesh and fabric.

 

Domina.... Serena found what she believe what was left of Domina. The sister's room had been repainted with blood and viscera.

 

"Please, dear Emperor. Please let me find someone alive...."

The young sister makes her way down the hallway of death and slaughter, reaching Sister Superior Adrienne's chamber. She opens the door and looks inside. However, no one is within the room.

"Sister Superior Adrienne?"

Entering the room, her bolter raised and held tight within her armoured fingers, Serena scans the room. Adrienne's room is clean, lacking any visible signs of a struggle or altercation.

"Maybe she's somewhere else in the monastery...?"

 

Steeling herself, Serena decides it is best to return and inform the Canoness. She turns to leave the room, the lights in both the room she's in and the hallway go out. Swearing under her breath, Serena takes off in a run, going as fast as her power armour allows her to. As she rounds a corner, she collides with something hard, and unmoving. The impact causes her to fall backwards, her bolter clattering across the hallway.

 

"I didn't run into a wall did I?"

Shaking the stars from her eyes, the darkness of the hallway becomes less as her eyes adjust. Before her, she sees a shadowy form.

 

"Sister Superior Adrienne?"

As if to answer her question, light flashes across the figure in front of her. Bolts of lightning arc from panels, briefly lighting up the area. The figure turns, a spark near the shoulder revealing a bat-winged skull. Leering eyes, glowing a hellish red in the darkness. Serena realizes what stands in front of her.

 

Astartes!

The figure leans down, grabbing Serena by her neck and lifting her off the ground before she can react.

"My name is Vendrax. And you, are coming with me."

 

 

******

 

The Sororitas put up a brave defense, but the Eighth Legion blinded and deafened the Sisters within their monastery. By the time the alarm was raised, the Night Lords had already penetrated deep into the Sisters' fortress. Three squads, a full thirty Astartes, had snuck into the fortress under the cover of the rain and lightning.

 

The battle began only when the Night Lords allowed it to. It ended when they became bored and decided to stop toying with their prey.

 

There's my entry. While it's for the current one, it could also work with And They Shall Know Fear

Edited November 14, 2019 by Gederas

[Scourged]

A 2-for-1 deal? Even better, Gederas! With any luck, yours will be the first of many stories to come forward this month. Who shall be next, hm? 

[Aothaine]

Just discovered this! I'll be participating! I'll edit this post with my stories as I work on them over the course of the next two weeks!

 

**NOTICE** This story is a little dark. If you find yourself disgusted with it please stop reading. I do not want to upset anyone. But this is something I imagine Chaos would be about and do. It is not fun and games, but dark and insidiously evil. 

 

Awakening

**Work in Progress**

 

    She woke up panting for air, sweat drenched, and cold. Every night had been like this since the ship had shifted into the Empyrean. She had begun to hear rumors among the crew that the light was fading. That maybe the Emperor's Light was diminished. They had been executed swiftly. Travel was dangerous enough without thoughts of heresy causing problems. Last week she and her squad had to hunt down three of the hounds of chaos that had breached the void shielding. Several hours and hundreds of dead guardsmen later they caught up with the beasts, cornered them and sent them back to the hells from where they came.

 

    She had been proud that day. The hunts met with long waiting periods. Periods where she spent most of her time either training or praying to her god emperor. But it wasn't the same. The hunt was real, filled with dangers, and heightened her senses. She enjoyed the feeling, craved it, needed it.

 

    She look around the dorm and saw that Sister Ophelia was still up reading one of her books. Of all the sisters in her detachment she was curious about Ophelia the most. There was rarely a time that she was seen not reading. She was one to keep an eye on. Reading was dangerous and lead to thoughts of heresy. She had seen it before. 

 

   Deciding it would be best to get a head start on the day she stretched, collected her daily attire and headed for the showers. They were mostly empty. A few sisters scattered about the shower heads were silent in contemplation so she did the same. Snapping on the shower head lead to hot water cascading down her sore body. She was still recovering from being slammed against the wall by one of the foul beasts she had helped hunt last week. Pain was good. It reminded her that she was still alive. Still under the protection of the Emperor. Still caressed by his light. She finished her shower quickly as usual and headed to the armory.

 

   The halls were empty. The soft slaps of her footsteps echoed in every direction as her thoughts began to recited a prayer to the Emperor out of habit. 

 

   "H'seth.." spoke a voice in a serpent like voice.

    

   She jumped quickly, her back to the wall, and looked down the corridor in both directions. She knew not to answer the voice. She was trained to ignore the voice. Her indoctrination hit her, calming her body and pushing her from the wall courageously. She began to walk again, stilling her mind and focusing entirely on the sounds around her. Perhaps it was just a valve release. Sweat began to bead on her flesh again. She hated this feeling. The feeling of helplessness. She knew the emperor protected her and so to feel this way was failing him.

 

    "H'seth sa rynth." the voice spoke again in a hushed whisper that pierced her ears.

 

    Her eyes saw something this time. A glimmer, no, a ghost-like form. Of what though. She approached the form, all sense of her surroundings having left her and as she approached the form started to sharpen. When the form finally showed itself it was a snake made of mist. It looked at her carefully with it's head raised into the air and a fan of skin unfurled around it's head. It moved in a hypnotic way that drew her to it. Suddenly striking her on the face. 

 

    Waking up with a scream and covered in sweat she looked around frantically. Her dorm looked darker than normal, the candles dimmed and discolored, the tapestries in ruins, her sisters laying upon their beds. It took her mind a moment to see it the abominations disguised as beds. Twisted forms of flesh and steel with pipes leading into the bodies of the sisters around her. She tried to sit up but quickly found she was restrained. She fought against the resistance until weakness hit her. Drugs. She knew immediately. The device that was connected to her had injected some sort of drugs to weaken her. She raged at the monster holding her down. Tore at it with every ounce of her being.

 

    Nothing seemed to work. Panic started to flare in her mind. Was the Emperor real? Did he protect me? 

 

    A voice responded in her head, "Yes. I am here." loud and echoing. Blasting the nerves through her entire body. "Push." it said to her. 

 

    She was confused. What did he mean? She screamed in frustration. 

 

    "Push." it said again.

 

    Suddenly she felt it. She pushed. Pain erupted throughout her body causing every muscle to lock in spasms.

 

   "Push!" the voice roared at her.

 

    Her ears began to bleed, the sounds around her dulled into nothingness and her eyes rolled into her head. The device she was in had taken control. Pushing and pulling, stretching and squishing. Pain. Release. Pain. The cycle continued for what seemed an eternity until suddenly it stopped. Her body lay limp on the device as a sinister giant walked into her vision. 

 

    The giant smiled a face full of sharks teeth and focused on something by her feet. "Good girl." he said "Good girl. You can rest now." He turned to his side saying "This one will do. Send him to the vats for implantation."

 

    Absolute horror hit her as she realized what just happened. Where she was. What she had just done. The realization that the Emperor did not protect her.

 

    He did not care for her.

 

    She was lost.

   

    Her mind shattered.

 

Edited November 15, 2019 by Aothaine

[Zhaharek]

I have a story I'm working on also, and am eager to post ASAP.

It's good to be back, brothers

Edited November 17, 2019 by Zhaharek

[Torbenos]

My first time trying this out! Was nice to try and think some about a warband I have planned.

 

The Price of Genius

 

"Mikealo, we must leave." It was not the first time that Sister Vadiva had made the demand of Mikealo, yet the great artist did not hear her. He was consumed in his work as he had been for days, toiling without rest or sustenance driven on by divine passion as his chisel made out of pure stone a creation of breathtaking beauty.

"Mikealo!" she called out again, but there was no use.

By the door stood two other Sisters clad in midnight black power armour with their bolters held at ease before them and yet more waited outside. They had been dispatched by their Sister Superior to collect Mikealo and bring him to safety within their fortress monastery. In the far distance the tremors and sounds of battle could be heard approaching, it had been over an hour since the Enemy had made it to the sacred surface of the Shrine World. But even in a time as this Vadiva felt the comfort and calm radiating from Mikealo's work, unfinished as it was. The man was a renowed master beyond keen and it was for this very reason that a contingent of Sisters of Battle had been dispatched to collect him as soon as the tainted battle-barge's presence had been made known.

A scream outside the great cathedral drew the attention of Vadiva's sisters who turned their great arnaments upon the door as they backed away to put distance between them. The sense of urgency grew stronger and Vadiva stepped forward to forcibly grabb ahold of Mikealo's arm, the wizened man turned to her then. As if first not seeing the warrior and exclaimed

"What are you doing?! I must finish my work!" his eyes were red and wary, the line between madness and divine passion was often a thin one but she gave no heed to his protests, it was his turn to be ignored.

Drawing up her own bolter in one arm, no small feat, she nodded to Sister Rose to lead the way. In mere seconds they were making their way down the carved steps of the cathedral in a warding formation, six of them in total as they met up with the rest of the contingent outside. The sight before them was one of doom and fire, a great inferno had replaced much of the city's center and toppled towers had crushed much of the lower housing projects. Great masses of people were running through the streets in panic, an ocean, a formless blob more than anything defined or human. Sister Rose forcily made a path through the masses towards their Rhino, the great vehicle waiting with its engines running as the masses outside of it slammed their fists against the hard hull, begging to be taken in.

Hands reached for the Sisters, for Mikealo, for anyone and anything which could promise salvation. Yet this day their prayers were not answered and they were forced back violently by the daughters of the emperor to allow the Rhino's ramp to lower and Mikealo to board, followed by the rest of the squad.

It was cramped within, cramped and hot and Mikealo kept struggling and screaming words of defiance at his saviours. Cursing them for having left his great work behind. Again it went ignored and Vadiva breathed out a sigh of relief as the engine roared and they started making their way down the packed streets. The masses moving out of the way, lest they be crushed beneath the Rhino's treads. At the front Sister Lorena gave her a situation report.

It was grim news, the batteries of the Shrine World had been destroyed in the initial bombardment and much of the defense force was in disarray, The enemy had been identified as abominable Heretic Astartes although what group of the damned that beset them was not yet known.
It was as they were nearing the outskirts of the city that the foe caught up with them. Their presence was first made known by the heavy thud of something landing ontop of their vehicle, following by the roar of a chainsword as its adamantium teeth lashed out against the Rhino's hull. Then another pair of armored feet slammed down ontop of them.

"Arms ready!" Vadiva called out. It was not needed, of course, every Sister already held their bolter at the ready and their eyes steady on the doors, the weak points of their sanctuary. Yet they all knew it would not last. Not as they were, alone. And it was proven all too quickly, a small explosion rocked the Rhino and Lorena called out.

"They have broken the treads, we are immobile!" even as the engine continued to roar in defiance, as if will and power alone could keep it moving forward. Their scanners were soon taken out as well, leaving them blind to the outside world with only the screams of terror and pain to paint a picture of the terrible scene taking place. The display inside the Rhino told them a minute passed, then two, it felt like hours. It only steeled Vadiva's resolve. They would not be pinned in animals waiting for the butcher.

"Combat positions! We will disembark!" the orders were given and the daughters of the Emperor rallied quickly. "Sister Rose, remain here with Mikealo, protect him!"

"Now!" the ramp slammed down with a mechanical whirl and again slaughter and fire met them, but this time the sinners were before them. Twisted parodies of the noble Angels of Death, clad in thick plates the colour of brightest silver and dark violet leaping through the air with the aid of roaring jump packs. It took only a moment for them to acquire targets and fire, the roar of bolters followed as Vadiva and her Sisters advanced. Their aim was blessed and one of the airborne raiders was brought low without a word, its helmet and face blown open by the explosive blasts. The chaos of battle followed as the twisted space marines fell upon the sisters with roaring engines and chainswords. Screaming out, their bloodthirsty calls to dark gods amplified through their helmets only adding to the cacophony. One of their vile numbers chose Vadiva as its chosen prey and they clashed. For a few short moments the Emperor seemed with her as the teeth of the chainsword fell short and a blast from her bolter pierced the adamantium of the heretic's gauntlet, blowing its hand apart and sending the bolt pistol it had held flying.

It proved a short lived moment of victory, the brute set upon her again with its chainsword and the hard teeth cut into her power armour, she stumbled beneath its weight as she was forced down. Feeling pain now as it hacked away through the protective layers and starting to find flesh. Pinned she gasped in desperation, a prayer to the Emperor upon her lips as she angled the bolter still in her. Three loud explosions followed as she fired into the fiend thrice and she fell its massive weight go limp, trapping her beneath.

Pain found her and the wet sensation of blood poured down her leg. Chaos still raged around her. Sister Lorena butchered on the ground not twenty feet away and many others fallen. Then the voice came, deep and resonating between the walls with an impossibly authority.
"Leave them be! Begone you vultures!" vox-amplified and pure the voice rang. The terrible butchers fled like carrion, their jump packs roaring. Vadiva tried to shift and see who had spoken but she could not, trapped as she was. She could see her Sisters, such as remained staring with their weapons held loose and soon she too saw him.

At first it seemed a miracle, a son of the Emperor here? To save them? Blessed be the Emperor. He stood tall in vibrant violet plate gilded with many impossible symbols, carrying the marks of status. His head was covered in a gleaming silver deathmask in the shape of a handsome man. He was beautiful, staggeringly so. Terribly so.

Vadiva's heart sank as reality set in. He was beautiful yes, and terrible. The gilded symbols offended the eyes, painful to look upon and full of the power of the great Enemy. He moved with the easy grace of a swordsman, even encumbered as he was in armour as he stepped towards the Rhino, at first ignoring the dumbstruck Sisters.

"Do not be fooled!" Vadiva called out, her voice strained as blood ran down her lip. "It is the Annhilator! It is a trick!"
With her words it seemed the spell was broken and the Sisters blinked and turned to aim at the chaos space marine. The first was too late, he moved with impossible speed brandishing a graceful blade Vadiva had not seen he carried, so taken had she been with his appearance. It sliced through their blessed power armour as if it were nothing, coming free seemingly unsoiled by the blood it shed. The roar of bolters followed, the Sisters' aim was true and the explosions hammered against the flickering force field which made itself known around the beautiful figure.

He turned with one outstreached arm and spoke a word, Vadiva heard it but could not make sense of it. It seared into her mind, burning like acid and she screaming shutting her eyes. Trying to force it out despertly. She heard the bodies of the last of her sisters fall limp to the ground like heavy sacks. Heavy footsteps followed as he stepped closer to the Rhino.

"Do not come closer heretic!" Vadiva heard Sister Rose scream "You will n-"

"Sshhh.." the man spoke, again his words were fine, charming and filled with an authority that beggered belief and Rose fell silent. "Mikealo. Are you in there?" the footsteps continued, but Vadiva could not, would not open her eyes. The word still filled her mind and tore at it.
"I have heard much about you, my friend. I first saw your work at the gallery of Reanor III, it was so striking. I knew I must have you." his words, so fine, so compelling. "It took me a long time to track you down to this .. place." the contempt present was unmistakable. "They do not do your genius justice, Mikealo."

Mikealo first spoke then, his voice a whisper that somehow carried. "I-I-.. What do you want, my lord?" his voice cracked with fear and awe alike.
"For you to come with me, of course." the heretic spoke as if this were obvious. As if they did not stand at the heart of a burning city, at a hundred thousand dead. "You will find that the beauty of your work will not go unappreciated." a pause and then "Come with me." the command was given with such weight that Vadiva heard both Rose and Mikealo rise to their feet and step towards him.

With her eyes still squeezed shut, trying to keep the madness of the Word at bay she felt herself grow weaker still. The blood that poured down her leg made itself known. Sister Vadiva never opened her eyes again.

[Scourged]

Very glad to see all of your entries, folks! Our deadline is coming up at the end of the month, so there's still time for anyone still working on an idea. I'm already looking forward to spending my post-holiday relaxation time reading through all of the entries. 

[Kierdale]

The Survivor

Hidden Content

“...the sole survivor, my Lord.”

The heavy footfalls of the post humans, one even heavier than the other, shook the deck plates and heralded their advance. Thralls, slaves and other mortals scurried away before they came into sight, and fellow Astartes stood to the sides of the corridor. There were no salutes nor even bowed heads. These were free men, their wills no longer shackled to tyranny.

Sophusar the Facinorious, once chapter master of the Stygian Guard, now lord of the Psychopomps, nodded his head to the marines they passed. The lower half of his face was hidden beneath a brass-grilled leather mask that concealed hideous injuries - injuries dealt him my the Avatar of Carth-Lar decades before - but the crinkling of the flesh about his eyes betrayed the smile he granted some of his chosen warriors. Others received a clap on the pauldron as he passed. But he did not break his stride.

“All others fought to the end. Some turning their weapons upon themselves...Saving a last grenade for the bitter end...” the dark apostle at his side continued.

“Our reputation precedes us!” Sophusar chuckled, but his tone soon turned more serious. “And this one was caught?”

Angra nodded in reply.

As they turned a corner the doors to the ship’s apothecarium came into view.

“She has been broken...in body. But not yet in mind. Her will - her faith - is strong.”

The doors opened with a hiss and the lord of the Psychopomps gazed upon what remained of their sole prisoner.

 

The nearest surfaces to the catafalque-like table were flecked with crimson blood. Pipes snaked down from overhead and disappeared into catheters in her body. Blood was being pumped into one of her truncated limbs. What remained of that and the others was secured to the table by thick leather straps.

He gazed upon her with wonder at the tortures the human body could survive. A post-human Astartes could withstand so much more, but what this human had experienced...most mortals would have expired. No stranger to torture himself, he looked upon the broken form before him and could see the full repertoire of agony infliction had been used. Every base act of degradation, every tool and drug.

 

 

“The Emperor protects.”

Her voice was raspy and unclear due to dehydration, cut lips and several missing teeth.

“Does he?” Sophusar asked with mock curiosity, theatrically looking across what remained of her body.

“And are you in his protection, sister?”

The one eye that wasn’t swollen shut did not stop staring at the ceiling, but it did blink and she ceased her chant in order to respond.

“If I am then may he keep me thus. If I am not then I beseech him to do so.”

The Chaos lord nodded, impressed, then nodded to Angra.

“Bring in the machine,” he said to the fallen chaplain. Half the man’s face was that of a daemonette, the other half was his own, the gigantic, masculine face of the Astarte at odds with the delicate, androgynous features of the neverborn. A smile spread across both halves.

 

He watched as the machine was brought into the room. This one was fused into the back of a hunched thrall that knelt at the head of the table obediently as Angra plugged cables into fleshy sockets in the misshapen man’s hide, and powered up the device. A shiver ran through the wretch’s body.

“Allow me to explain what is about to happen, sister,” Sophusar spoke as he watched his second in command at work. “This contraption has the rather dramatic title of infernal engine, the fruit of my master of the forge, and apothecarium’s unshackled imaginations. With the odd suggestion from our chief librarian, too.”

He lifted her head, continuing to speak as she took up her prayer once again.

“It is thankful that you have the necessary sockets in your spine from your powered armour, sister. It will make the process so much easier. With this machine we are able to penetrate the psyche of the subject tethered to it. All you know, all you have ever known. Memories and experiences you have forgotten, are laid bare. Drawing on this we can induce the full spectrum of sensation. Agonising pain coupled to ecstatic pleasure. The deepest woe and the hottest rage as one. And in all this, the truth of faith. The truth of Chaos.”

“Love the Emperor

for He is the salvation of mankind

Obey His words

for He will lead you into the light of the future

Heed His wisdom

for He will protect you from evil

Whisper His prayers with devotion,

for they will save your soul

Honour His servants,

for they speak in His voice

Tremble before His majesty,

for we all walk in His immortal shadow.”

Sophusar watched as Angra slid a chrome plug into the socket at the base of the Adeptus Sororitas’ skull where her armour would have interfaced with her nervous system.

“He is dead.”

No response.

“He is dead and petty tyrants rule in his name.”

“ The Heretic and Blasphemer can offer no excuse for their crimes. Those who are pardoned merely live to further shroud Humanity from the Light of the Emperor with the Darkness of their souls.”

The lord of Chaos smiled. “I offer no excuses, sister. We cast off our shackles and gave ourselves free will. Our lives are our own.”

“ I am not asking for blood. I can take your blood. I am asking for souls. Only you can give me your souls.”

“Dolan Chirosius, if I remember correctly, from the sermon on the road to Gathalamor?” Sophusar identified her quote. “Aye, those loyal to the Imperium give their souls. Enslaved to madmen ruling in the name of a dead man.”

Never once did she meet his eyes. He would have though her entranced were not the scriptures she quoted seeming chosen each time to accuse him.

“I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot; though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step.”

This raised his ire. “We were the Stygian Guard. Sister. We ferried His chosen foes from this life into the next. ‘His’.”

He spat.

“Weapons of Terra, slaves to the Lords.”

She was about to open her mouth once more when he spoke first.

“Allow me to give you a quote from one of your faithful, sister: Prayer may cleanse the soul, but pain cleanses the body. Both are necessary for the survival of humanity. The truth of that was taught us by our new patron.”

Angra checked the last of the cables and handed one to his lord. Angra then took a tube, both ends of which terminated in needles. He plunged one into his own neck and slowly a violet liquid began to flow down it. Not the brilliant red of Astartes blood but the ichor of the daemon. The other end he inserted into one of her swollen, distressed veins.

Her breathing immediately quickened.

“ We serve the Emperor with our faith and devotion, and with faith there must also sometimes come sacrifice,” she managed before her eyes glazed over.

He offered her a last glance before he slid a plug into the port in his own skull.

“Never was a truer word spoken, sister.”

 

At first both Sophusar and the broken human before him were motionless, as a statue standing guard over a corpse, but as time passed the sister of battle’s body began to twitch, to tremble.

Spasms wracked her as he dragged her psyche through the gardens of the palace of the Dark Prince. Her hair in his gauntleted hand, he pulled her behind him. Though she struggled, her body in this realm complete once more, she could not break his grip. As he spoke of all that his new patron offered, she unrelentingly continued her prayers to the Corpse Emperor. Statues that lined their path turned their heads as the pair neared, some slowly moving to gesture and gesticulate, but cowered back as she raised her voice in praise of He upon the Golden Throne.

Finally they came to the steps of the palace, it’s silver walls rising up into impossibly high fluted towers and minarets, from the top of which came clarion calls. And in response there came ululating and cries as the spawn of the Dark Prince answered the summons.

 

Angra watched in anticipation. He wished to plug himself into the Engine too, his daemon aide eager to see the realm of their master once more. But on the bound human’s tortured face he could see such exquisite torture. He felt he could almost see her soul writhing beneath her skin.

His hearts beat faster.

The moment was approaching. He could feel it.

Her soul would break and fall, or be consumed.

 

Her spawning suddenly ceased and her body went limp.

The grin of anticipation upon Angra’s face slipped a fraction in disappointment, but then her mouth yawned wide and emitted a single word in a voice barely greater than a whisper, but deep, far deeper than that of the woman it came from, and resonating with power. He as much felt it as heard it.

“No.”

Sophusar suddenly staggered backward, his hands frantically grasping for the cable plugged into the back of his head. His right eye, that orb always swollen with a baleful green glow, opened and bathed the room in brilliant golden light and he screamed.

Lumen strips exploded, showering them with sparks.

The wretch into whose back the Infernal Engine was built burst into flames.

 

Angra beat the creature to death to silence its screams and let him get to his lord, tearing the cable from Sophusar’s skull. At that the lord of Chaos sank to his knees.

Emergency lighting lit the apothecarium scarlet and Angra turned to find the catafalque empty.

[Scourged]

Thank you for all for your entries in Inspirational Friday 2019: The Primordial Annihilator vs. the Ordo Hereticus

Gederas delivered to us Light Begets Shadow. This was a treat, as it was a wonderful entry for both our current topic as well as our previous one! A small group of sisters learn - the hard way I might add - what it is that goes bump in the night. On a personal note, the penultimate sentence for this tale was my absolute favorite.

Aothaine was next with Awakening. If nothing else, this story serves as a potent reminder to always check on the maintenance of your Gellar Fields. When lost in the Warp, pious faith can only save you for so long. For one unfortunate Sister, she learns the hard way which deity has dominion over her fate, and it may not be the God-Emperor after all…

Torbenos joined our ranks with The Price of Genius. What should have been a simple retrieval mission turns into a fight for their lives - just another day in the life of the Adepta Sororitas. Yet, when it is the Heretic Astartes that bring the fight, lives are quite often forfeit. How much will the Sisters give to protect that which they came for?

Lastly, Kierdale gave us The Survivor. To be the lone survivor of a Heretic Astartes assault is almost certainly a curse and not a blessing. Better to die than to be taken prisoner, which is the tortured fate our sole sister finds herself in. This had a fun moment that gave me little hints and vibes of The Last Church as the faithful speaks with the nonbeliever. And such a fun surprise at the end.

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And so begins our second challenge of Inspirational Friday 2019: Blessings and Boons

A season of gift giving is quickly approaching for us all. But as followers of the Dark Gods, many of us are already no strangers to the ‘gifts’ they choose to bestow upon us. That is the bargain, after all - we serve in the Ruinous designs, and they grant us with their boons when they see fit. But that which is a blessing in a God’s eyes is not often viewed the same through those of a mortal…

For our topic, tell us of a Gift of Chaos. What form did it take? How was it earned? How and why did your patron God bestow it? And is it truly a gift, or more of a curse? Does your gift help or hinder? Does it raise you higher to the soaring pinnacle of Apotheosis, or is it dragging you down to the pits of Spawndom?

If you’re looking for ideas beyond the obvious of our recent Codeces, I would point you to the old Realm of Chaos books. I know for certain that the list of boons in those books are quite lengthy and descriptive. In addition, though I can’t confirm this myself, I’m sure that Dark Heresy would have some fun ideas, as well as possibly Wrath & Glory.

IF2019: Blessings and Boons runs until the 27th of December

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge, Kierdale.

The winner of IF2019: The Primordial Annihilator vs. the Ordo Hereticus shall claim the Octed amulet:

And the honor of judging the next challenge.

Let us be inspired.

[Scourged]

As a bit of an administrative note...

 

This topic will be the final one for 2019. As with the previous one, I felt that a full month would be a smart decision, given how busy  so many of us will undoubtedly be for the next month. Then once the new year begins, we'll start it off right with a new Inspirational Friday 2020 thread. I look forward to seeing you all there.

 

Also, let me take a second to offer a MASSIVE thank you to all you wonderful heretics who have contributed over the past year. It's been both an honor and a load of fun continuing this traditional thread here on B&C. Reading through all of your stories every few weeks is always a treat. I'd like to offer an early resolution and say that I'll be contributing more prose of my own next year, but we shall see how the Winds of Fate blow. 

 

Lastly, if any of you have ideas for future IF topics, let me know! I've got a list of ideas I'm still working from, and always try to keep adding to it. Any ideas that you all have for stories you'd like to tell are always welcome. And, if there are any topics from the past you'd like to revisit - especially for any such topics that sadly did not see entries - I think that'd great idea too. There's already a few from the years past I have my eye on. 

 

Once again, thank you all, and let us continue to be inspired. 

[Aothaine]

** Work in Progress **

 

Hopefully I'll get this one finished lol! Still working on fixing my last story. Already have a good idea what I want to do here though. I'll update this post as I start to get a more solid starting point though.

 

 

 

Ophiuchus had always hated his name. He had been assigned it back in the days of the Great Crusade. Serpent Bearer, he thought to himself as he spat out a piece of bone. He could have eaten it like his brothers but he didn't like the coarse feeling in his mouth of bone shattering under the pressure of his augmented jaw. He looked around the great hall of the chapel again, his scales cycling through the colors of the rainbow as they reflected the light from nearby sconces. This had one been a temple of the false god, the one that his prey had worshiped and prayed to their entire lives. But he knew the truth. The Corpse Emperor of man was a lie. A sham. A villain. 

 

He and his brothers had taken over this town nearly two years ago and only recently did they start to run out of food and other supplies. The people here had been good. They had sated his hunger for a time. But it grew. Slowly at first, eating one of the townspeople once a month. But the tally these days was more around 2 people a day. The population was unable to sustain this and had dwindled quickly. His vision returned to the chunk of thigh still dripping blood in his hands, small, lacking meat, providing hardly any nutrition. He snarled in anger. He needed food.

Edited December 9, 2019 by Aothaine

[Kierdale]

There were some very solid entries this time and all were interesting to read.

I’m awarding the Octed amulet to Torbenos for his piece [i[The Price of Genius.

 

On another note, it’s great to see you here, Aothaine. I was (am!) a fan of your blog (FTW) and it’s good to see you have a new one too!

 

As for new themes:

- a less serious one but I know a lot of us are inspired by music. I thought it might be fun to have a song-inspired one. Members can take it as literally (or not) as they like. Slipping lyrics into the story, inspired by the atmosphere of a particular song, etc.

- Rivalry. Nurgle vs. Tzeentch, Khorne vs. Slaanesh.

- Standard of Chaos. Though banners and flags are something we saw more in 2nd edition, all legions or warbands likely have storied standards they bear with them when they march to war.

- Realm of Chaos. One we have touched on in the past and I’d love to revisit. A trip into the home of one of the Gods (a vision quest into the Garden of Nurgle, etc.)

- Interview with a... We’ve done these before but as years have passed we have new active members and it might be good to revisit them.

- Nemesis of Chaos. Another one we could perhaps revisit.

[Scourged]

Thanks, Kierdale. You make a good point. This idea was started in 2012 (wow!), and a great deal of things have changed since then. A lot of these topics/themes have been done in the past, but are well worth a revisit. We have new writers, and new lore to work off of. There's plenty more potential for Inspiration there. I like it! 

 

But with that said, there's still plenty more time to submit a story for Blessings and Boons. We all can't let Aothaine go uncontested, can we? Where's the fun in that? Let's end the year with the bang of bolter rounds. Let us resolve to impress our patrons and earn their blessed gaze.

 

And, as mentioned, any ideas that you have for topics in the coming future are always welcome. Tell us all what you would like to write about. Share the ideas you have been brewing in your Warp-tainted minds. 

[Aothaine]

 

We all can't let Aothaine go uncontested, can we?

 

Still working on my story lol! Far from finished. :D

[Kierdale]

I’m working on my entry for the current theme too :tu:

[TrawlingCleaner]

Blessings of the World Spirits

 

Malakeye strode into the cave wearing a simple garb made of rough cloth and furs, as was the norm of those who lived on this planet. He was the Chapter Master of the Blood Diviners and his usual cocky attitude was replaced with apprehension. His superhuman senses were clouded by the darkness in the cave, he could not see his forearm if it was held out in front of him. He had bested the Avatar of the Raven in an ancient board game, long forgotten. The avatar spent too long looking to possible futures and trying to beat him with complex strategies, that Malakeye won 4 games each in four turns. His blessing was to bestow knowledge; knowledge that would increase his war efforts 10 fold. How to build new war machines, weapons and armour, the enemies movements and weak spots as well as planets and systems that would be easy to conquer or sympathetic to their cause.

 

Next he had bested the Avatar of the Toad, he had survived the 40 days of Plagues of which none before him had completed. He writhed, screamed, his skin fell off his body in clumps, he bloated like a corpse in water and wasted away for 40 days and 40 nights until as suddenly as they had happened, they stopped and he was made whole again. The Toad had blessed him with resilience that none had seen the likes of. He could be shot, stabbed and burnt; hung, quartered and beaten to what would be death for all men but he felt no pain. Wounds would pour ash instead of blood, body parts would pull themselves back together and skin would reknit itself. Warp fire and warp power would leave lasting wounds but they could still be slowly healed.

The cave he was in currently belonged to the Avatar of the Serpent. He was brought back out of his thoughts with the smallest change in movement in the air of the cave. Though the darkness was all consuming and he could not see or hear, he could still feel the air and could smell. A sweet scent moved about him, the air moving about him in an unnatural way. Out the dark, a creature moved at him with a snarl it’s face a mix of human and serpent with a glimpse of huge shining teeth. Malakeye managed to dodge thanks to his superhuman reflexes, swinging his fist round after it, which hit something that felt like silk. He dodged 2 more times before he readied himself for the next attack. The creature came at him again and Malakeye clamped his hands inside of its mouth, forcing it open. Its writhing body wrapped itself around him, crushing his ribs and legs and forcing him down towards its mouth. 

 

He saw the creatures’ teeth in detail for the first time. They were as long as short blades and were the perfect shape, their pearlescent finish reflecting on his face. He felt his body relax slowly, his head moving willingly towards its mouth. This was his death and he fully accepted his fate, to die to such beauty was the blessing he would receive from this Avatar. The screaming in his head increased in volume, some part of him knew this was not his fate and was attempting to break home free of the stranglehold. Now inches away from the maw, he blinked as if waking from a dream. Malakeye shifted his hands further into the mouth to get a better grip, impaling his palms on it’s teeth. With an almighty roar and herculean effort he heaved the creature off of his body and tore his hands away from each other. The creature squealed in realisation as it is ripped from mouth to the tip of its tail. Its body melted away, to a black liquid that seeped through the cracks in the cave, leaving only the shimmering teeth. The blessing of the Serpent is a tool with which to make a mesmerising weapon.

 

 

This is the first time I've submitted fluff to this thread and one of the few times I've posted fluff to this site in general. I've used it as an explaination of how the chapter master got a chainaxe that doesn't allow enemies to flee (the new Word Bearers relic). If its too long let me know, I can shorten it. C&C is very welcome too

Edited December 9, 2019 by TrawlingCleaner

[Kierdale]

Nurgle has me in his grip (bronchitis) so I haven’t been able to get my idea written.

Had one - a marine gifted with the face of a horror of Tzeentch (I rolled it randomly from the old RoC books and forced myself to come up with a story)....but just haven’t the time or energy to do the writing.

[Jalgar]

Blessings and Curses

 

The warrior stalked across the land that less than two hours ago had borne witness to the sights and sounds of pitched battle.  Acrid smoke still billowed across the field, markers of burning vehicles, soldiers, and buildings.  The warrior stopped and took in the gruesome sights around him.  He thought back to the days of the Crusade.  The remembrancers that followed the Legion like parasites would pic capture battlefields like this.  He shook his head as he remembered them trying to find the “perfect angle,” where they could show the citizens of the Imperium the dead enemy but avoid framing fallen Astartes in the same picture.

 

The gene enhanced soldier continued walking forward in a halting gait.  The pain in his joints was intense as the cartilage had long since eroded away leaving his bones to grind against each other.  He moved his head side to side looking for surviving enemy combatants.  He could feel the popping in his vertebrae as he did.

Sudden movement to his left caught his attention.  A soldier of the Astra Militarum that had managed to survive the battle began sprinting from the cover of a derelict transport.  He ran like a small rodent frightened by a circling bird of prey.  The warrior watched him for a few seconds.  He tried to remember the last time he had run.  Had it been on Istvaan V?  Maybe it had been.  Maybe after that.  He fired his bolt gun one-handed, snapping a single round off.  The fleeing guardsman’s left leg evaporated in a fine crimson mist.  He would be dead in seconds from shock or exsanguination. 

 

The warrior looked at his bolter.  It had served him well for so long.  The foregrip wood was rotted, the casing was rusted and pitted.  The weapon was, like all his equipment, seemingly beyond its service life yet still functioning perfectly.  His combat knife was corroded and seemed to constantly weep a green ooze.  He ran his hand along the handle of his knife.  How many slaves of the corpse Emperor had died from just a scratch of the blade?  How many Astartes had he slaughtered since the Long War began?

 

The warrior came to a slight rise in the field and looked around him.  He took a deep breath.  His lungs gurgled like a death rattle, rancid fluid bubbling deep within.  He coughed and a vile mix of phlegm and pus filled his mouth.  He spit it out within his helm.  It mattered little to him.  He tried to remember the last time he took a breath with clear lungs.  That mattered even less.

 

He continued to limp across the field, stepping on or over corpses that were already decaying.  Any grass that had not burned in the fighting was dying, becoming brown and dry.  Small daemons fed upon the bloated dead.  The vile creatures giggled as they chewed on purplish flesh.  Some of them ran around playing in a twisted similarity to small children.  The marine thought there was a time when the nurglings, as they were known, disgusted him.  Now, he was as indifferent to them as he was to insects crawling across the ground.   

 

He glanced at a blinking red rune on his visor display.  It was a warning that informed him his armor was empty of combat stims and medical drugs.  It had been blinking for thousands of years. He could not think of a time when he needed them.  Surely, he had used them. 

 

The warrior finally reached his objective.  A small group of about forty prisoners had been rounded up in front of an old chapel and were being watched over by seven marines.  One of the prisoners bore the robes and trinkets of the Ecclesiarchy.  His gnarled face was pinched in a permanent scowl but the tremors in his body gave away his fear.

 

The old man was able to mutter one word.  “Heretic.”

 

The warrior chuckled; the sound made more sinister through the vox caster in his helm.  He mused to himself how these pathetic mongrels must see him.   His armor was ancient and had witnessed countless battles.  It was cracked, pitted, and corroded.  It was caked with dried blood and viscera, and black mold had spread all over it.  Rivulets of disgusting fluids seeped from cracks and joints in the armor.  The armor’s gut plate had been split open years ago by a round from a bolt gun.  The explosion of the round not only opened the armor but had also split his bloated belly open.  Ropes of slimy, putrid intestines were visible and hung from the wound, draping down in loops. 

 

The warrior held his arm out towards the priest.  A dozen writhing maggots fell from the wrist joint of the warrior’s armor.

 

“This is where you tell me your Emperor protects,” the warrior growled.  “Where I kill you and you become a sainted martyr.  This is the day the Imperium will sing your name upon high as it roars to battle for the glory and honor of your corpse god.  Am I right, priest?”

 

The priest only glared at the warrior; his one good eye allowed only a single tear to fall.  Even though he trembled, he swore he would give this Chaos marine no satisfaction in his death.

 

The plague ridden marine leaned forward at the waist and his helm was inches from the priest.

 

“Answer me, dog!” he roared, the vox caster distorted the words to an almost unintelligible garble.

 

The priest gagged.  The odor of the warrior was one he knew well.  Fifty-one years ago, he had arrived on a planet weeks after a city had been slaughtered by heretic cults.  The dead had been left in the hot sun.  This warrior smelled of every stench he had encountered in that city but even more so.  He smelled of decay, death, rot, waste, blood, and vomit.  The priest retched. 

 

The warrior stood up straight and laughed a quiet gurgled laugh.  He reached out and grabbed the priest and dragged him towards the front of the chapel.  Erected to either side of the main door were two statues. On the left was a statue of the Emperor hold aloft a sword and on the right were the shattered remains of an Astartes of the Imperial Fists.   The Plague Marine raised the priest high and held him aloft over the marble sword of the Emperor’s effigy.  He slowly, almost mockingly gentle, lowered the priest upon the blade.  The blade entered the priest in his lower back and slowly pierced through his torso. 

 

The priest screamed out in agony and then yelled as the blade punctured through the collarbone.

 

“The Emperor protects!” were the last words of High Priest Yorin Galgovick. 

 

 

The Plague Marine laughed.  “There it is,” he said.  “There is the blind faith of fools, brothers.” 

 

 

The priest’s body twitched as the warrior walked away.  He walked past his fellow Death Guard battle brothers and walked to an open clearing some fifty meters away.

 

He thought quietly to himself.

 

I do not run as my body is shattered, yet Father gives me the endurance to keep walking.  Disease resides within my body and without, yet Father allows me to live.  My equipment and armor are corroded, yet Father allows them to still protect me and destroy the enemy.  My combat stims are long gone, yet Father gives me strength.  The medical drugs in my armor are no longer usable, yet Father allows me to take the pain and shrug it off.

 

The warrior looked back at the battlefield.  His brothers-in-arms.  The rotting dead.  The twitching priest.   

 

Papa Nurgle I am forever your servant.  Your blessings keep the curse of weakness beyond me.  Your blessings upon me are the curse upon the Imperium.

Edited December 27, 2019 by Jalgar

[Scourged]

I'm sorry for my delay, folks. Life has been a bit nuts for a while. I'll wrap up this thread and start our new one soon, I promise.