Author Topic: Chronicles of Gilgamesh  (Read 2708 times)

Offline SpanielBear

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Chronicles of Gilgamesh
« on: June 05, 2011, 09:20:15 PM »
The safe house had split into two camps, and one of them consisted entirely of Pierre Bonnot. The other consisted of everyone else.

This wasn't especially unusual; Pierre was an objectionable bastard at the best of times, but tonight there was an extra frisson of avoidance. There was a ten foot exclusion zone around the man, as though, despite the cramped quarters, no one really wanted to get that close to him. Pierre, for his part, kept tugging on a thick, metal collar around his neck, looking deeply miserable. A little green light on the clasp flashed, steadily.

“Well at least we know he's not dead.” Said Mary Chatelet.
“Praise the Emperor,” Matthias murmured. He glanced over at a heavily built man sitting cross legged on the floor, and blanched. “Horatius! Drop! I said drop, Horatius, it's not a toy, now- no don't put it in your mouth, in the name of the saints! You'll get drool in the firing chamber!”
“Is it loaded?” Asked Mary with interest.
“Do you believe any of us are stupid enough to leave loaded weapons around with that cretin about?” Pierre called from across the room. “I personally would like to live!”
Matthias was on the floor with Horatius, struggling for the sawn off shot-gun.
“Well there was that time Prometheus left his stubber on the coffee table...”
“And may the Emperor be blessed for safeties.”
Pierre's collar beeped. He went white, and stopped breathing. Everyone was very quiet. Then there was another beep, and the green light flashed again. The entire room exhaled.
“What's that, the third time tonight?” Mary asked “Vasily must be going frantic.”
“Vasily is going frantic?!? What about me?” Pierre snarled, still looking very pale. “I've spent the last 12 hours in constant terror that my head is about to be separated from my shoulders by a combination of white hot shrapnel and high explosive! The Inquisitor should be more careful- more than his life hangs in the balance.”
“Too right it does, we just finished re-decorating.”
“Frag you, Putain!”
“Language!” snapped Matthias. “Cursing is a sign of corruption, I wont abide it.”
“Then frag you also, preacher man!”

The night wore on. It was past Horatius bed-time, but the hugely muscled man refused to go to sleep until Prometheus read him a story, and as he backed up this position with a hand axe, it was mutually agreed that he could stay up late. At last, there was a series of sharp knocks on the door.
“Finally!”
Mary got up from her work table, abandoning her Las-pistol half-disassembled, and ran to the door. Pierre and Matthias weren't far behind.
The door opened in front of them, and a short, slight man staggered through, almost bent double under the weight of a larger man, who's clothing seemed to be mostly blood coloured.
“Privet, Tovarishcham” Said the smaller.
“Ooww.” Groaned the larger.
“Vasily! What happened, are you all right?” Mary gasped, taking the blood soaked man by the other arm.
“I've got him, I've got him” Vasily snapped, irritably. “What happened? Total Fubar. Assassins, Ad-mech and to cap it all some proklyatyi Warmech-Daemon.”
“Warmech Daemon?”
“Yeah, the Ad-mech managed to dig up some kind of Mechanised Warrior. Huge thing, with guns and bigger guns and electrical flaily-things. Thank the Emperor it was already fairly beaten up by the time we reached it, else I don't think either of us would be coming back.”
“Emperor save us” Whispered Matthias.
“It got worse. The Ad-mech who found it must have been playing with more spirits than just the Machine. By the time we reached it, there was a full on possession clogging up the works. We got lucky, in the end. No other way to describe it. And this-” he gestured to the blood soaked Inquisitor, who was swaying, slightly “-is lucky”
They hauled Prometheus to the table, sweeping off the take-away food and laying down a clean sheet. Under the bright kitchen lights, they were able to get a better look. It was horrifying. The inquisitor's right arm was broken in three places, to the extent that bone poking through his sleeve. The crotch of his trousers as sodden with dark blood, that pooled on the table-cloth. His legs and torso were covered in scratches, and the red, raised weals of sim-skin healing patches. But the worst part:
“Sweet Sanguinius,” breathed Mary. “What happened to his face?”

Vasily sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“An assassin, it transpired. The bastard leapt down on us while we investigating this dig site. The Inquisitor got in a fight with him, and damn near lost his head.”
There was a gash rent through Prometheus' forehead, severing his left eye. The blow had ripped away the lower jaw, but now-
“What is that?”
Ragged strips of flesh and bone flapped around the cheeks and chin, mixed in with some wire alloy.
“Medical nano-bots.” Vasily explained. “I don't really understand it myself, the Ad-Mech who gave them to us spouted a load of grox-crap about micro-surgery and cellular autolysis suppressors. Basically, you stick them in, and they patch you up.”
Mary looked up at Vasily, shocked.
“And Prometheus let the Adeptus Mechanicus do this to him? Put those things in him?”
Vasily nodded.
“He was in no position to refuse.”
The inquisitor groaned again, and his left hand waved feebly. Vasily laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It's okay sir, you're safe now.”
Prometheus nodded, then closed his eyes in pain. A few seconds later, his hand started making strange gestures.
“Pen?” Asked Mary. The Inquisitor nodded, very carefully this time.
A pen and data-slate were located. There was a period of silent scribing.
Vasily give Mary the Arm Tell her Abominable Intel inside
Mary looked at Vasily confused. The sniper grimaced, then reached into his gun case. He pulled out a long, hastily wrapped package. It seemed to be leaking.
“Now this is a long and confusing story, tovarisch, he began.
Have Fun, Stay Sane, Enjoy the Madness