Some BA/Space Hulk Fluff

[Brother Decaln]

Keep Going it's great. We NEED more.

[OwlandMoonGuy]

Expect the next chapter ~ shortly...

 

-OMG

[OwlandMoonGuy]

Leonius pensively strode the eighty-third forward deck of the Inultus Angelis, the Gladius class Astartes vessel that had brought him and his fellow veterans to the fourth planet of the Magincourt system. Several days had passed since they had returned from the Space Hulk excursion. Unknown to him at the time, the fatal blow he dealt to the Tyranid Brood-lord had utterly shattered every bone in his left arm. If he were following standard procedure he would still be confined to the medicae. Anyone bothering to check would have discovered that he was in violation of apothecarial orders. He had always healed quickly even for an Astartes. This time was no different; his shattered bones had already returned to their enhanced strength and solidity.

 

The Hulk itself still spun in its meaningless tumble afar off their port bow. He could see it clearly out the eighty-third deck

[refuse]

Just read the whole thing.

 

Excellent work!

[StormDragon]

Excellent stuff.

 

But you're going to make us wait weeks again for the next chapter aren't you? :wink:

[OwlandMoonGuy]

Fervent prayer raced along through Ghasthast

[teutogen]

Great work. One thing I found jarring was that the Brood Lord onboard the space hulk managed to reach the terminators without being blown to smithereens, but it's an enjoyable read nontheless.

[Grand Master SFDRF]

HOW AM I GOING TO READ IT!! i dont likw the last two though

[[TA]Typher]

Great work. One thing I found jarring was that the Brood Lord onboard the space hulk managed to reach the terminators without being blown to smithereens, but it's an enjoyable read nontheless.

 

 

Well to the broodlords defense.. there was probably alot of genestealers that got shot up all around him.

[wulfgarr]

That was a great read.Long but very enjoyable.I like it when people tell their stories about marines and show that they are still human and can be killed.I have already told a few friends to read this and see what they think.Cant wait to read some more.

[Patriarch of the Watch]

Wow OMG just wow. This has got to be the most captivating piece of fluff I

[OwlandMoonGuy]

*OMG wanders by his old thread

[Captain Marcus]

You make me ashamed to even think of writing. :( Then again, my story and yours are two totally different styles, and it is hard to compare those. :cuss Then again, I love Space Hulk... I have the ancient game for the PS1! B) The graphics are incredibly bad, even for the PS1, but the gameplay is awesome. Ah. Well, good job, and may I, by reading your story, have some of your awesomeness rub off on me. :angry:

 

Have a nice day, especially you, OMG. Cheers. :)

[StratoKhan]

I'm as hooked now as I was when I read it a month ago. Which is why it pains me to have thought there was a new addition, only to discover it was not so. Then again, you aren't a machine writing for my pleasure... Although if you were...

[Crouching_Monkey]

Thats some good stuff. Can't wait for the next bit.

[OwlandMoonGuy]

Scraping his nails against the permafrost sent streaks of pain along his fingers but he dug onward. His hands were bleeding, getting caked with muddied blood as he dug. His face pressed into the earth, surrounded on all sides. It was almost like being buried alive. He could taste the ground dirt between his teeth, its grit under his tongue. He periodically had to shake the dust from his eyes. But he pressed on. Each fall of his hand brought him a minute fraction closer to his goal.

 

Drive onward. It was the only thought in his head. Dig and push onward. He felt several others behind him pushing into the tunnel he burrowed out before him. Pushing him to work faster. Other workers were waiting their turn as he dug. Working faster, his hands swept over the frozen rock. A nasty, frozen jagged edge caught the nail of his left hand and ripped it clean off with his downward stroke. Pain flared hot through his arm and throbbed as he continued the work. As he labored on the wound deepened, the pain worsened but the drive remained. Drive onward. Dig and push onward.

 

Someone from behind shoved him. In the cramped tunnel it caused him to stumble and press flat into the bloodying mud in front of him. He shouted over his shoulder, barking defiantly to back off. He could feel those behind him give a little ground but not much. His hands went back to the task. Left and then right, down one side with the searing pain of his left pass and then the weakening pass of his right. Push as he would he could feel the taxing swell of exhaustion beginning to take hold. By sheer force of will he dug in his heels and continued.

 

His right hand began bleeding as well, splintered cracks forming down each nail. The steady stream from his left hand bled from several more lacerations, each one now dripping thick steaming droplets. The cold and the mud became a thick mixture as he put his back into the task. The pain in his left arm became unbearable and try as he might he could no longer raise it to the wall before him. Every scratch he made left tracks of earth smeared with more of his blood, its smell now prevalent in the tunnel he forged before him.

 

Another shove pressed him from behind. He barked another warning but it was weaker this time. Feebly, his right arm still toiled. Someone grabbed him by the ankle and began to pull. He couldn

[StratoKhan]

Treachery and intrigue amongst the Adeptus Astartes - damn right! The first part with the gaunts was great, I wasn't really sure what was going on at first. Nice different perspective for a change.

 

It appears that all the strands are converging. I wonder if Verdun will have his own part to play. And Arrassmus?

 

Thanks for writing more.

[OwlandMoonGuy]

The pound of the trampling hoard swept up the floor of the Pallatow valley. Orders barked along the walls of Matterdorn keep and the ancient guns of the entrenched defenders hailed down at the hoard. Long barreled stubbers and fixed Tarantula mounted bolters shot down from the walls. Every portable gun with any range at all had been brought to the wall and setup in makeshift rigs. All spewed out their torrid carnage. Still the screaming mouths and slashing claws came rushing on.

 

Motorhill was a long ramp of packed earth that curled up the foothills to the keep

[Nostramo]

Excellent as always OMG. I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of Fervens and Eviglio. Though I suspect it will not be until painting for Vegas GT has finished. :P

[Brother Captain Achilles]

Great work OMG I'm riveted to this story and hope to see more of the scythes as their a successor of my own chapter and would like to see them done right in this epic story.

 

Keep up the exceptional work. <_<

[OwlandMoonGuy]

The Celiests Grotto was erected by the third lord of Matterdorn circa 380M37. To this day, over the generations the royal gardeners attended the grounds and several of the decorative specimens were among the first planted, still eking out a decrepit living down through the centuries. Their history was like the history of the House Alendorous; there were many, varied and difficult to plum. Rings in the trunks of swollen trees had little to say of the creeping ravages time had scrawled along the growth of the family tree. It was on that day that the claw of the devourer brought that to an end.

 

The plants had been trampled underfoot. The stone effigies about were dashed with gore. Bodies of house staff and PDA troops littered the court. The Tyranid hoard hit the great outer walls of the aging fortress, heaped up in writhing mounds until they could overflow the walls like a muddy stream of alien bodies. When the main gates fell under their collective weight, it was like a dam had broken. That reddened muddy stream flowed like a torrent. Each fanged jaw smacked with the anticipation of the feeding to come. Their heartless, synapse masters groaned a satisfied inward growl in a primordial sense of accomplishment. Their prey cannot hide. The hive prospers. Their nostrils flared with the scent of fresh blood in the air.

 

The feast had already started. Once the swarm had smashed into interior, it was easy to slip into the open areas. They leapt off the walls barbed claws extended and fell upon their wailing meals. When the Gaunts swamped the grotto, the weak bags of meat struggled at first. They fired their guns and hid behind quickly assembled barricades but all for nothing. They were all torn apart by their fangs and then they gave up their sustenance. The swarm of Gaunts tore into the piles of human dead and human dying alike. Tearing off hunks of flesh, the strongest of them laid claim to the choicest morsels. Barking, snarling and infighting, their synapse masters let them reap their spoils. Their bellies swelled with each fiendish gulp.

 

Distracted by their frenzy they barely noticed the crisp chill that swept unnaturally through the courtyard. Only the most sensitive of them stopped to smell the sulfur stink that bit distractingly into their nasal cavities. With their faces buried in carcasses, violently shaking to tear off their next swallow their eyes were blind to the eruption of freezing gasses that suddenly plumed in large billows about them.

 

Eviglio’s reconnaissance had been perfect and his planning likewise. He and his veteran brothers stepped through the warped space, through eternity and then appeared in that ancient grotto just as he’d planned. Fervens’ elite Salamanders appeared also at just that precise time, setup in a crossfire position, their enemy already in their sites. The hulking armored Astartes had hardly materialized when their guns burst into fire.

 

Bolter rounds detonated within cartilage husks. Flames consumed screaming Gaunts by the scores. Missile fire flew along the length of the ancient grotto and mixed the massing human gore with alien dead. Afar off, a Hive Tyrant vomited up its meal. A Broodlord went into writing convulsions, an aneurism bursting out its head. Several other hive minds yelled shocked orders throughout the gathered hosts. The meat fights back. The stinging bites of the humans assault the body. Run to the open spaces. Tear and cut and smite them! The thick bellied hoard pulled bloodied faces from their dinner and made off to face their new assailants.

 

It was as if the two Astartes Chapters had fought together a million times before. Each step was communicated and orchestrated. Each commander’s order complemented the other and each one reaped their reward in slain foes. Such is the training of the Space Marines. Such is their discipline in combat. The Angels Sanguine took the far left of the court, spraying assault and bolt fire in a wide arch. The Salamanders took a more forward position, exploiting all the quickly laid barricades to their full advantage. A smashed over ornamental set of doors made for a quickly assembled pillbox. Several green clad terminators stood within, their assault cannons laying down an irresistible volley of hot death.

 

“Fervens,

[OwlandMoonGuy]

In a dim, silent stateroom, encased about by an ancient vessel of war, a prisoner gasped ragged breaths. Her arms were held taught behind her back by ceremite shackles. Her ankles were bound with the same. Her mouth was gagged with a dry, cottony rag that stifled her breathing. She was an emissary. She was a diplomat. She was a princess. Her world was being eaten away beneath her and she was nothing but a captive.

 

Eviglio, she thought behind salt-stained eyes. You couldn’t have ordered this? She lay on her side, on a table-slate intended for donning powered armor and blessing war gear. It was blank, hard and frigid to the touch. Her legs and arms quaked with the cold. She was clad in the torn remnants of her lavish gown. It was oil streaked and sweaty and now damp and cold. Her black skin bristled in aching protest and she shivered in a chill that bordered on agony.

 

In her bound position, she could barely turn her head. Her eyes were wide as she scanned what little of the room within the field of what she could see. She saw tendrils of dangling cable, boxes of incomprehensible technology and instruments of unknown purpose. A Space Marine breastplate and helmet could just be seen to her left, reverently propped up on a short stand. Its red and black paint scheme still showing plainly in the gloom. The lifeless green eyes of the helmet stared blankly and carelessly forward.

 

Without warning, she felt a slight gust of air behind her. She went taught. Her frazzled nerves propelled her imagination to invoking her worst fears. Her ears attuned behind her as her mind raced with the possibilities. A rustle was then heard by her feet. Strain as she could, she couldn’t see much past her knees but a bundle of cable distinctly rustled, if only slightly. She tried to pull her knees up toward her but failed to budge the maglocked shackles. Moaning against the gag in her mouth, she tried to communicate as she could. There was no reply.

 

A slight buzz began to crackle above her, off to her right. Gasping heavier she looked back at the dormant set of Astartes armor setting quietly in the corner. A wisp of dust swept into the air and slight glow appeared behind the eye-slots of that lidless helm. The vents of its facemask quivered to life and to her astonishment, it spoke.

 

“Harn~,