Author Topic: Full Moon  (Read 2121 times)

Offline Swarbie

  • Inquisitor Lord
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Full Moon
« on: September 06, 2010, 02:18:57 PM »
Beyrn sniffed the air. The sharp tang of ozone was beginning to fill it. He glanced down from his sentry tower into the Badlands below. Ozone was a bad sign. It was a mark of Archenemy psykers.

There was a small human figure stumbling in the wrecked remains of tanks, supply trucks and civilian vehicles. Beyrn took his anti-materiel rifle out. Many would consider using such a weapon on a human target as overkill, but Command had declared that if sentries suspected that an enemy was a psyker, they were to be taken out as quickly and as certainly as possible. Three outposts had been lost to summoned daemons within the last four days. 

He zoomed in on the man’s head with his telescopic scope. A filthy, blood-encrusted brand covered the left side of his face. He looked terrified. As Beyrn curled his finger around the trigger, the man slumped to the ground. 
Beyrn automatically adjusted his aim and fired into the man’s back. The HEIAP round ploughed through his back, penetrated a centimetre into the earth below him and hit a piece of wreckage. The explosion rocked the newly-made corpse slightly, and flames began licking through the hole in its back. 

Beyrn sat back, job done. Perhaps the sergeant will give me extra rations, he thought. Then he heard the howling. He looked over at the corpse. An eye-bending, mind-paining light was manifesting just above it. Oh feth, he thought, pressing the alarm button and raising his rifle once more. As the siren began to howl, the first figures materialised.

They were thin and malnourished-looking creatures, hairless and taller than any human, with elongated limbs. They had sharp claws and their heads were wolf-like, elongated snouts containing rows of fangs. They stepped forward on their hind limbs, sniffing the air cautiously.

Beyrn’s first shot took one in the chest. The creature flipped over, limbs flailing. The round had over-penetrated, but had done its job, the red ruin of the creature’s chest a silent testimony to Beyrn’s rifle’s power. As he frantically chambered another round, three more creatures entered reality.

These ones were even taller, and broad too, displaying a physique that might have matched even that of an Astartes. They had short, brown hair covering their bodies and manes of black fur covering their necks and shoulders. Beyrn shot one through the shoulder, nearly taking its arm off. He was horrified when it got back up and began to lope forward. Off to one side, he noticed the creature he had shot first getting back up, with not a single mark to show its injury.

This was serious. Beyrn stabbed the alarm button three more times, initiating a high alert. The entire garrison would be battle-ready in under two minutes, but he wasn’t sure if this was going to be fast enough. As he brought his rifle up again, a final figure stepped out onto the Badlands. Beyrn held his breath, trying not to whimper with fright.

Over two meters tall, the figure was clad in battered dark-grey power armour, the pieces worn and mismatched. A mace and chain of black iron dangled from his right hand, and a bolt pistol sat on his left hip. He was draped in tattered and blood-stained furs. His head was bare. His face was covered in short, thick hair, and his overlong canines gleamed despite their yellowed state.

A Space Marine. Beyrn shivered with fear. He still remembered the tales his friends told him at the Schola Progenium, of how psykers collected by the Black Ships were fed to them, of how they could take a las-round to the chest without slowing, of how they ensured the brutal and painful death of anyone who dared defy the Imperium. He was staring down his scope at a legend.

But he did not lower his aim. Ever since joining the Guard, Beyrn had heard rumours. Rumours about Traitor Marines in service to Dark Powers. This Marine, accompanied by what were surely daemons could well be such a creature. He prepared to take a shot, knowing that if he missed, he would die. The Marine would kill him without a second thought.

Beyrn was so focused on the new arrival that he had forgotten about the other creatures. A rock, thrown by one of the larger ones, smashed the rifle from his hands. He cried out as it fell to the Badlands below. He glanced behind him and saw his fellow Guardsmen lining up along the top of their barricade, aiming their lasguns down at the enemy. He saw the Space Marine step forwards.

This is it, he thought. We’re all going to die. Then the Marine shouted, his voice echoing throughout the compound.

“In the name of Russ! Which of you misbegotten bastards is your commander? I can’t tell. You all look the same to me.”
And I saw her body burning,
With it, my world
To dust returning

Offline Swarbie

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Re: Full Moon
« Reply #1 on: October 18, 2010, 01:39:39 PM »
The guardsmen were standing in a circle around the Space Marine, staring at him in awe. He stood, totally at ease, surrounded by the pack of wolf-like creatures. Whenever a guardsman edged too close, one of the beasts would raise its head and growl a warning.

General Farlus Morth had been flown in by a valkyrie when he received word of the Space Marine’s arrival; judging by his expression as he dismounted, he had been expecting much more than a lone Marine. Regardless of his disappointment, he walked quickly towards the new arrival.

When he got to within twelve feet of the Marine, one of the creatures leapt forward, bowling the general over. Shouts of dismay and anger rose from the guardsmen, and several stepped forward, gripping their lasguns tightly. The creature pinned General Morth to the ground and then sat there unmoving.

The Marine reacted swiftly. Growling loudly, he ran over to the general, grabbed the creature and bit the back of its neck. Shaking his head vigorously, he dislodged a large chunk of flesh from it and then flung it to one side. Blood staining his fangs, he pulled the general to his feet. 

Farlus Morth stepped back, his fine attire smeared with mud and blood, his eyes wide with shock and horror. He raised his voice, fear making it somewhat high-pitched and reedy. “What is the meaning of these . . . these creatures, Marine? Explain yourself! I am unused to having to endure such a reception!”

“I am Beastmaster Tyr Makirsson of the Thirteenth Great Company. This is my pack. You startled them, and they were only ensuring my safety. You should not have come so close without permission from myself or the pack’s beta.”

“The . . . the pack’s beta?” said the general, his voice quavering.

“Yes,” replied Tyr. “I am the alpha. This one,” he said, indicating the largest creature “is my beta. I call him Fenrir. Do not look at him in the eyes. He will take it as a challenge for his position.”

The general began backing away hastily. “Marine, I am still not entirely sure of your intentions or who you are. What are you doing here?”

“As I said, I am of the Thirteenth Company of the Space Wolves. I have traveled through the Warp alone but for my pack, because the time of need is near at hand. The rest of my Company has started to come through the Eye of Terror, but they still face resistance.

I bring a message to the Imperium from The Wolf and The Crimson King.”
And I saw her body burning,
With it, my world
To dust returning

Offline Swarbie

  • Inquisitor Lord
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  • Posts: 364
Re: Full Moon
« Reply #2 on: October 19, 2010, 12:14:11 PM »
The general sat at his desk his head held in his hands. “What will we do?” he groaned.

His aide handed him a pile of papers. “I do not know lord. Our . . . guest refuses to give his message to anyone but an envoy from his Chapter or a member of the High Lords of Terra. And then there’s this,” he said, indicating the paperwork.

“What is it now?”

“It’s a request for supplies, lord. From the Marine, lord. He says he’ll need half a ton of fresh meat every six
hours.”

“What? Why in the God-Emperor’s name would he need that much meat?”

“He . . . he says it’s for the beasts, lord. That if you let them go hungry, his hold on them could become . . . tenuous, lord.”

“Dear God-Emperor!” exclaimed General Morth. “Why is this happening to me? I don’t think I’ll be able to certify drawing that amount of supplies for one Space Marine.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation sir, he said it’d be more, but he’s going to take them hunting every night and twice a day. Should strike some fear into the hearts of the enemy.”

General Morth considered the effect the Marine and his pack would have on local enemy forces and his mood lifted slightly.

“So,” he said, “what do the men think of him then?”

The aide frowned slightly. “Hard to tell, sir. Most of them are too scared to look at him. The braver ones are . . . divided, sir. Some of them see him as a sign of hope. Only to be expected, considering his Chapter’s reputation. The others are concerned sir. They’ve heard rumours about Traitor Marines, and our guest definitely fits the bill looks-wise. Plus they don’t like the way his creatures act, sir.” 

“Yes, what are those things anyway?” 

“I am not sure, sir, but I have sent one of the men to investigate. One of the newer recruits, by the name of
Alwick Hurst.”

“Good. We shall see what he discovers then.” 
And I saw her body burning,
With it, my world
To dust returning