# My first attempt at story writing



## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

*Terror Tactics*

Right, so this is my first attempt at story writing. It's only brief, and probably not that good, but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it. So without further adieu...

*Chapter One: Incursion*​
Sergeant Gerund leaned against the wall of the tower as Private Simone lit up another stick of baca. The smoke coiled up from the stick and was pulled hastily into his nostrils and Simone sighed. “Sir, remind me once again, why we're here.” Gerund hacked and spat over the wall. 
“Well you see private, there have been attacks on Ollrius III and V at random intervals at random out-posts over the past three months. So command saw it fit to increase patrols on every base.”
“Yeah, but Sarg, why do we have to be the ones freezing our asses off out here?”
“Private! Quite your bitching and man you damned post!” Gerund yelled getting irritated. Simone trundled of mumbling about his current predicament. 

However, one thing had struck Gerund about what Simone had whined about. The base had state of the art technology and usually had a semi-environmental seal on it, to protect its inhabitants against the elements. It wasn't a full climate seal, but as Ollrius II experienced odd weather conditions such precautions were necessary. But tonight, they were feeling the full effects of the autumn night chills. Gerund opened up a vox to his commanding officer Lieutenant Borris “Sir, can you tell me what is up with the environmental dampener tonight?”
“We're...*crack*...trouble...*crack*...electronics...*crack*”
“I'm sorry sir, I'm not hearing you. Can you repeat that?”
“Damn...*crack*...push...*crack*...now”
“Sir!” Gerund yelled down the vox. He got no response from the vox but rasps of static. Something was wrong here. The environmental dampener wasn't working, and the vox was playing up. As if on cue, the over-head light started to flicker. Gerund was becoming fidgety now. 

Simone was hunched over the ledge with his stick of baca still smoking in his hand. “Private, can you raise anyone on the vox?” Simone made no motion of response. Gerund grabbed his private and turned him around and staggered back. His face had been torn clean off, leaving exposed nerve endings and raw muscle. His eyes had been plucked out and his ears were hanging by a single chord, but not a drop of blood stained his uniform, and Simone had made no sound. Whoever had done this was a master a his twisted form of art. The still smoking baca stick dropped to the floor, smoke still rising into the evening breeze as Sergeant Gerund started to run down the corridor. The sight he had just seen had chilled him to his core. Clearly, someone had sabotaged the vox network. Gerund needed to make contact with someone, anyone. The base alarm needed to be raised. 

He sprinted down the corridor under the infrequent light of the flickering bulbs. He heard the patter of small arms fire to his left and turned immediately down the corridor. The noise died and he thanked the Throne that someone must have killed the things assailing them. As he turned the last corner, he realised he was horribly wrong. A squad of guardsmen lay in bits all over the floor. Arms and leg with their ends cauterized lay scattered around the floor. There was no sign of the assailant anywhere. As Gerund stood stunned, a wet droplet fell on his cheek. He looked up above him. There hung Lieutenant Borris, bleeding from at least two dozen shallow cuts all over his face and about a hundred more all over his body. He had been impaled into the ceiling and his face was twisted in grimace. Another droplet of blood fell from his mouth and with a monumental effort he whispered “Help me”. It was a weak and feeble noise, dwarfed by Gerund's concussive howl of terror. 

Gerund ran like a man possessed down the corridors. He ran past exit after exit, door after door, body after body. He didn't stop running. Every exit he went down, every door he opened yielded a similar vision. Men impaled to walls bleeding from multiply wounds. Some had been flayed of their skin and hung like bloody rotisseries of human flesh from barbed hooks. Others had been bent and broken into unnatural positions and then pinned together to form twisted symbols that hurt Gerund to look at. Each one was more gruesome than the next, and many times Gerund's stomach emptied itself, until it had nothing left to vomit. But he still kept running. He still hadn't seen what was hunting him, and truth be told he didn't want to. All sense of direction had been lost, and now Gerund just ran because he feared being still. He feared the prospect of waiting to be killed like his fellows. He fears the shadow, for each one protected some creature that was baying for his flesh. A couple of times, he swore he saw them move, but didn't stay around to check. 

After running for what felt like hours, he finally came to the central command chamber. He hammered on the door once, and then again, and then again. He hammered the door until his fist was bloodied, but no answer came. He fell to his knees sobbing out of sheer terror. He cried out to the Emperor on Terra, he cried out to anything and anyone to save him. As if on cue, the chamber door hissed open. Gerund looked up and saw an unfamiliar figure stood before him. Him and his retinue smelt of blood and ozone. There was clearly some form of conversation going on between the group when the lead figure silenced them with a slight hand gesture. He bent down whispered on phrase and then walked off calmly with his retinue. A cocktail of shock, terror and spent adrenaline forced Gerund into unconsciousness, but his memory still burned with the sights of that fateful night, and that one dreadful phrase.

By the time anyone arrived, two days after radio silence from outpost Sigma, Gerund babbled incessantly and incoherently. No one could make anything from him and it was decided that it was better to put him out of his misery. But, the one piece of information they did glean was a phrase that Gerund had heard only once, a phrase he had cut into his flesh and written on the walls in his own blood. It was a phrase that they had found in outposts system wide, one that inspired fear in the hearts of men who were damned enough to know it's true meaning.
_
Ave Dominus Nox _​
Edit: Oh, and comments and criticisms are welcome  Anything to help my story writing skills!


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

This is a good start.  

You`ve got the hang of description and you`ve done well in breaking it into paragraphs. I have a gripe on your structure near the beginning though. 



> Sergeant Gerund leaned against the wall of the tower as Private Simone lit up another stick of baca. The smoke coiled up from the stick and was pulled hastily into his nostrils and Simone sighed. “Sir, remind me once again, why we're here.” Gerund hacked and spat over the wall. “Well you see private, there have been attacks on Ollrius III and V at random intervals at random out-posts over the past three months. So command saw it fit to increase patrols on every base.”


In this section you had a new character begin to speak without breaking to a new line. It looked a bit odd. Always start a new line when a different character speaks or acts during dialogue.

Beyond this, keep practicing. Your style will refine over time if you keep going. Also be sure to read plenty of other works (check my sig for some good examples) and take notice of what works. As with any form of art, this is something you have to develop for yourself over time.


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## the_man_with_plan (May 3, 2011)

you do know that a gerund is a thing in linguistics that "refers to the usage of a verb (in its -ing form) as a noun (for example, the verb "learning" in the sentence "Learning is an easy process for some")" dont you? I got that off wikipedia.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

@Serp: The funny thing is, is that in the next paragraph each different character's speech is broken into different lines  But yeah, I plan to keep writing, I was just after a bit of initial feedback on what I could improve. So thanks!

@the_man_with_a_plan: I know I vaguely recognized the word, but just thought nothing of it. Opps! I may edit the name in that case...


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## Karak The Unfaithful (Feb 13, 2011)

The story content is good, i enjoyed guessing what was actually there: At first i thought it was necrons because of the broken vox, then dark eldar because of the bodies, then bloodletters because of blood...etc etc. However, I now know who/what attacked them. I also know what Ave Dominus Nox means but for the story i won't say anything.


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

Yeah Deus, you ended up doing it right but you didn`t start that way. That`s what I was pointing out. 

Ave Dominus Nox. Yeah Karak, don`t spoil it.  


Get cracking Sir Mortis, i want to read some more.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Yes Sir, Mr Serp! Once again, comments and criticisms are appreciated k:

*Chapter Two: Faith*

_"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of the things unseen"_
Attributed to the False Prophet Paul of ancient Terra.

_"FEAR is an acronym in the English language for "False Evidence Appearing Real"_
Attributed to Neale Donald Walsch of ancient Terra​
Preacher Alkrin has just finished his preach on right living in the eyes of the Emperor. He had diligently reminded the gathered congregation that the Emperor saw all. He had informed them that any laxity to Imperial law and disobedience of the rules set down by the the planetary governor would make them guilty in the sight of their lord and master. He had of course reinforced the necessity for prayer and supplication for those who do the Emperor's will. He informed them that miracles of faith were still possibly in their daily lives, if they only believed. And, with a final appeal for any information about mutants, psykers or heretics amongst them, Alkrin dismissed them back to their individual abodes. 

Alkrin stepped out of the pulpit and a young woman approached him. "Preacher, I need a moment of her time" she said, obviously troubled. 
"Well," Alkrin began "I am very busy of late getting ready for the feast of the Holy Emperor's accession."
"Please," her tone high and desperate "I must speak with you. My brother has been falsely accused of robbery, and the Arbites have condemned him to death. I know you preside over the ceremonies of execution, and if you announced publicly that you had learnt that he was falsely accused then you could save him." She paused as her voice caught on the lump in her throat "I'm begging you" she whispered. Alkrin considered this for a moment. He possessed a great deal of power, and she was clearly desperate. He looked her from head to toe. She was clearly young, no older than 19 cycles. Her hair fell in brown waves down her shoulders. Her face was small and cute. Further down, her breasts swelled in great bulges and her waist slipped inwards. Her legs were lithe and well shaped. As he watched all this, he formed the price she would have to pay for her brother's absolution. He lead her down the vast corridors of the shrine of St Augustine until they reached his chambers. When they got there, he dismissed his aids and locked the door. He did not want to be disturbed. Then he dropped his robes to the floor, and the woman realized the price too. "Persuade me" he said calmly, as she sank to her knees in an obscure prayer for absolution.

As Alkrin woke up in the middle of the night and looked over at the woman laying next to him, he felt no pang of guilt, no hint of remorse. He had done the same thing to probably hundreds of women in his time as preacher for the shrine of St Augustine. It was the commonly accepted law of the universe as a whole; I give you something you want if you can give me something I want. Single, involved, married, confused, desperate, free, slave, none of those mattered to Alkrin. Despite his pious exterior, Alkrin had basic biological functions, and needed them sating once in a while. Occasionally, two or three times in a while. Alkrin smiled at that concept. He suddenly realized he was rather parched. He rang a silent bell for one of his servitor-aids. He waited for a minute before ringing it again. Another minute, still no sign of his aids. Alkrin donned his robe and walked out of the chamber. A hard blow struck him on the back of the head and he fell to the floor unconscious.

Alkrin's vision returned to him, blurred at first, but then in astounding clarity. He was in the center of the shrine. Incense candles burned all around, but not the usual amount. Their stench was over-powering and made it hard to breath. Suddenly, feeling started to return to his body, and his hands felt like they were on fire. He had large metal spikes driven through his hands, and the blood had dried around the holes in his hands. Alkrin groaned.
"Good, he's awake" said a giant that stepped forwards. His skin danced with bright streaks of lightning, and wings sprouted from his head. Skulls leared from his shoulder and chest. He was a terrifying sight to behold. The concussion and loss of blood was making Alkrin delusional.
"Are you an angel?"
"Yes."
"Did the Emperor send you?"
"Sort of."
"Why are you here?"
"To punish you."
"For what?" The angel reached up slowly and took off his head. Underneath was a ghoulish skull with rows of shark teeth.
"For all the things you did to us. For every. Single. Wrong that needs to be righted. For all the millenia you have shunned us. This Imperium is built on lies, and we will reclaim what we built ten thousand years ago."
"But..." Alkrin began.
"Enough, you've indulged the mortal long enough" A second giant wreathed in lightning and midnight said. The skull with the shark teeth grinned a malicious grin and drew a hooked blade. Alkrin screamed as the blade dug into his flesh and carved out words and symbols that made no sense to him.

The next morning the crowd poured in aghast at the scene that had been layed out before them. The preacher, whom most had listened to the night before, was pinned to the door by nine inch metal spikes. His body had bloody runes carved into it, and one phrase carved into the bone and marrow of the ribcage. Surrounding him was all the aids of the shrine and all the training preachers and confessors were all mutilated in similar ways. Eight pointed stars and blasphemous runes were carved into their bodies with the same precision, but the phrase only hung on the preachers chest and seemed to be issuing from the man's cold dead mouth. Meanwhile, the two angels watched on their wings of fire and smiled with their rows of viscous teeth at their marvelous work. Pieces of the plan were coming together, and their angelic brothers were performing similar signs all over this world and the surrounding ones. Soon this whole system would know the message that the preacher was silently telling his congregation.

_We have come for you!_​


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## Karak The Unfaithful (Feb 13, 2011)

very mysterious, I can't wait to read more.



> _We have come for you!_


Yep, its them alright. Karak knows all :biggrin:


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

Good, I will keep following this. :good: 

So far success Sir Mortis. My interest has been piqued.  

@Karak: Of course it`s them! Who else? :threaten:


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Nothing to help you unwind from your AS exams like a good bit of story writing. Hope you guys like this! As always, comments and criticisms are welcome k:

*Chapter Three: Thunderstorms*​
Leon kept running down the streets. It had only meant to be a simple gang war between the underhives ruling factions. But something happened. Something like a thunderstorm had brewed overhead, but there was no rain. Then the lightning struck. Bolts descended from the sky. They weren't like regular lightning strikes, the hit people. Every time. First largest men, and one every minute or so. But then it became more frequent, and a dozen men disappeared in a minute. Then it stared to rain. Tiny red droplets that feel in a great flood. The sky howled in one accord and lightning kept falling. The thugs ran down alleys, but the thunderstorm followed them. Leon cried out incoherent nonsense as he ran. A couple of people came out of their homes to tell him to: 
"Shut the feck up, ain't you know we got kids..." One more lighting strike, more red rain for the clouds. Another corner, another hundred yards spent running in fear, another few seconds with adrenaline pumping round his body. "Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez..." Leon half mumbled, half sobbed as his feet pounded down the street.

Two members of an Arbites patrol group that had been wandering around turned the corner and Leon ran straight into them. "Oh sweet Emperor, you've got to help me" Leon rambled madly.
"Get off me, whelp!" one of the Arbites said dismissively and pushed him aside. Leon grabbed the man's shoulders.
"You don't understand, the lightning men..." Leon began babbling.
"He's clearly deranged"
"We should put him out of his misery" the other one said, raising his power maul and setting it to the highest setting. A thunder-crack, and the blow paused mid-air. "What the feck?!" The arbites muttered, and Leon span around. 
"Oh sweet jeez, the lightning men!" he cried before darting down another street, knowing well enough what would happen to the Arbites. All he heard was the sickly blending of flesh and bone before the lighting-man joined his brethren in the heavens.

He ran down many dark alleys and coiling streets before he finally made his way back the the gang's base of operations. He hammered on the door.
"Name?"
"For Throne's sake Lyle, you know it's me! Let me the feck in!"
"Jeez, someone's pissy tonight!" Lyle said before indifferently sliding the door to let him in. There was scarcely a crack in the door before Leon had darted in, and forced the door shut behind him. He slid down the door and his breathing stayed ragged. His flak-jacket left a slight red smear on the door. Lyle finally noticed something was wrong.
"Feck mate, what happened?" Leon stared up at his ally with wild eyes which betrayed the fear in his heart. Leon proceeded to divulge the full horror of the night's events. The murderous thunderstorm, the red rain, the lightning men. His voice was high and fast, and his story ran together like one long sentence. When his grisly tale was done, they stood in silence. Finally, Leon plucked up the courage to ask:
"Who else has come back?" Lyle paused, apprehensive of the answer that Leon had been scared he would hear.
"No one. You are the first one back."
"Oh shit." Leon muttered. There had been over three hundred members sent to represent the gang in this turf war, and he was the only one back. Perhaps the rest were yet to come back. Surely they can't have all been taken.

Another knock. Leon's heart skipped a beat. Others had survived. Lyle went to the door and opened the slider.
"Name?" The sound of a shot fired. Point blank shot fired into Lyle's skull and then a moment later an explosion rang out, and Lyle's head and upper torso evaporated into a red vapour as the rest of him fell to the floor.
"FUCK!" Leon shouted. They were here. Without a second to loose, Leon darted down the corridors of the gang's hideout. *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* Impacts rang out as lightning struck the roof. "Grab your guns! We are under-attack!" Leon shouted down the halls. Some men staggered out half dazed, others simply ignored him. A large boom rang out and a wave of heat rolled inwards. Then the fire of automatic weapons. Not stub weapons, or shotguns, bolt weapons. Elite weapons wielded only by high ranking gang members. But there were many firing this time. Men screamed. Leon heard the roar of chain-weapons and the pulping of organic matter. 

As Leon reached the gang leader's chamber, only brief bursts of fire could be heard and the occasional gargled plea for mercy. 
"Boss, you've got to help, the other members..."
"Are all dead" came the low hissing voice from behind him. Leon turned round slowly and froze in sheer terror. Stood before him were five giants. Their bulky form was marked with icons of death; skulls, winged maws, patched of skin stretched across their shoulders. Their skin danced with lightning, and their eyes told of an ancient, unspeakable malevolence which lurked just beneath the surface.
"Wh-wh-what do you want with us?" Leon spluttered. The giant let out a quiet, mirthful chuckle. No response seemed forth-coming and Leon simply waited for the end to come. But it never did. Agony of the wait only served to heighten his sense of terror. The giant reached out with his lightning-wreathed claws and, piercing his cheeks, force Leon to look at him as it to say "Now, what to do with you?" Apparently reached his decision the lightning-giant told Leon what he should do, and turned around and lead his brethren onto fresh slaughter. Leon fell to the floor, and curled up into a fetal position and weep onto the floor. The red rain didn't end until the morning, and then Leon finally summoned the courage to do as he was told. He daren't not, for he knew the giant would know he hadn't and return to extract his retribution, and that fear would not leave him. He told everyone his message, many of whom were witnesses to the events of the night before. Before midday, the phrase had spread through the underhive and the terror it inspired rode on it like a rider on it's chosen stead. Soon all would know:

_Fear the dusk, for we own the night!_​


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## DivineArchitect (Mar 24, 2011)

mutilation..fear...wings and the phrase we own the night. you sir just gave the game away!


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Ah, but my intention, like any horror story writer, is not to keep the reader in the dark about who or what is the monster of the story, but simply to convey the character's sense of fear. And hopefully still instal a measure of fear in the reader despite you knowing who or what is hunting the other characters.

From that stand-point, I would like to think I have at least accomplished the first one, if not the second one too. However, if you think I haven't, I would be genuinely happy if you could tell me how too. Otherwise, I fear I will be doing my antagonists a great injustice.


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## DivineArchitect (Mar 24, 2011)

well all i got in english was a C...but i do have my own library, mainly fiction. so my only advice is to keep they're overall goal in the dark as long as possible, use misdirection very lightly and perhaps pay a bit attention to the scenery discription, hell everyone loves a chase through a maze like corridors..but what i wanna know is what they look like. but like i said im no scholar my good squire!


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