# Some Shorts



## Druchii in Space (Apr 7, 2008)

Just found these on my memory stick, and although I plan on writing some new bits related to 40K soon, I thought I'd share these for those interested, although please note some of them are literally me writing for a ten minutes or so.
Also these are generally me doing stuff at work, just writing off the top of my head, and generally not spell/grammer checking. So please excuse any spelling mistakes, I'd sort those out should I ever decide to finish them.

If any of them interest folks let me know, and I'll probably continue with it as well as the one or two I have planned.

The first three are really short, and where a test for me on how I'd like to open chapters or stories and where racial based.

*Ork*

Gotmagg crouched low to the broken rubble as he fumbled for his choppa, the stentch of rotten flesh filled his nostrils and he felt the urge to puke up his morning munch as it assulted his senses. Grasping the handle he lifted it with a tooth filled grin and roared in defiance towards the figures surrounding him.
"Stupid Humies.. marching to death!"
The first of the DeathGuard raised a bolter and squeezed of a few rounds, but the Ork Nob moved too quickly dodging the shots as he took off the corruped Marines bolter arm at the elbow. The second strike sent the helmet and head bouncing across the shattered road behind them. The roar of a DeathKopta flew over their heads distracting them for a moment as slug shells tore open swollen bellies and Gotmagg took advantage lunged forward hacking into the Chaos unit his eyes ablaze with battle lust as limbs and weaponry flew in all directions. This is what it meant to be Ork he thought trumphatly as he grabbed a Horned helm and tore it free in a gush of gore and blood, tossing it back into its comrades he lifted up his choppa and let out a cry to Gork.


*Imperial Guard*

"Move Move Move!" 
Haren Krozer gasped out as he felt his body yanked to the left, the vice like grip of Sergeant Anson holding onto his webbing across his back. Haren heard the roar of something then everything blurred white, the force of a horrific blast tore through the foxhole and everything was lost in a thunder of noise. Gasping again the sound in his eardrums caused his body to ache and he tried to stand the white light fading from his eyes as he tried to focus on his weapon he still grasped onto in his arms. 
"Krozer!" the voice echoed as if close but so faint he could barely hear it.
"Krozer get up and fight, the Emperor demands it!"
The constant noise suddenly left his mind and the battle returned in a croscendo of missile blasts and zipping Bolt rounds. Looking up he spotted Gream and Farlin two of his friends from Josca Prime standing up out of the line to fire their lasguns, the rounds of a Bolter tore them open and blood splattered across Krozer's face. He gasped for breath his heartbeat deafening in his own chest as he scrambled along with the rest of hs unit. Trying to focus, to hold the las rifle in his clammy grip, he heard terrible screams nearby and the sound of a buzzing noise, toying with his sanity setting his teeth on edge with its foul drone. Then Sergeant Anson was in his face again, blood spots across his chiseled jaw, someone elses blood his face a mask of rage.
"Fire that weapon soildier or Emperor help me I'll shoot you myself."
Something finally snapped in Krozer and he lifted his weapon and targetted a large figure grasping the throat of Lelionn no more than twenty paces away, squeezing off two rounds they did little more than singe the red armour and his attempt drew his targets attention. Turning toward him the red armoured marine roared a challenge, the buzzing chainblade wet from the blood of Krozers comrades in arms held tightly in his grip. The strangely shaped helm seemed to resemble a strange symbol that pulsated around the figures neck, it was not normal, no more than not normal, it was obscene, it was Chaos. As the figure began to move toward him Krozer couldn't help but stare at icon, it pulsated with an inner glow that seemed to burn the inside of Krozers mind. He felt a pounding headache rip at his temple, the most intense pain he had ever felt in his life. Then as the Chaos Marine approached he could see the World Eater badge, a symbol of terror to many in the Imperium and he barely managed to raise his gun for the fear that tore at his heart.
'One lucky shot' he kept telling himself as he squeezed tightly onto the trigger, bolts of laser energy exploded from the gun in quick succession as he repeatidly attempted to put the Marine down, but his foes armour deflected them all.
"Blood for the Blood God" barked the Bezerker as he suddenly lunged into a run swinging his chainsword at Krozers head.
The Guardsman screamed out in fear as he realised he was going to die, but suddenly a dull thudding noise assaulted his senses from the left, holes tore through the chest plate of the Chaos Marine and he staggered to Krozers left. The Bezerker roared out again in a vain attempt to lunge at Krozers head but a another two holes ripped open the Bezerkers neck and the World Eaters body was thrown back on to a pile of Imperial Corpses. The accursed blade still gnawing at Imperial flesh as it slid from the Bezerkers lifeless fingers into the bodies below.
Krozer glanced back to see Jannie and Lila, two of the handful of female members of his regiment, both weary from the fight but quick enough to take over Marlon's Heavy Bolter after he'd been slain in the intial ambush. He gave them a thankful nod, and then lifting his Lasgun he aimed at some of the traitor guard that mingled with the other World Eaters moving up the wooded hill to their positions and began to shoot. With each fallen body his courage claimed back his heart from fear.


*Space Marine*

Talen froze as the smell struck his nostrils, there was no doubt in his mind and he lifted his boltgun scanning the gantry ahead of him, behind him Brother Jalin and Rahn moved cautiously the dark green of their power armour glinting under the artificial lights of Hive Khaelor's lower city. 
Above in the shadows something stirred, it sensed a threat and flexed long claws instinctively as it silently traversed the gantry and piping moving over a ledge above the three figures below.
"Now!" hissed Talen as he span with a leap, his brother Dark Angels doing the same as the Genestealer dropped from above. The chattering of bolter fire and flashes of light echoed about the lower hive for barely a moment, then all was silent.
Talen looked over the shattered remains of the alien and spat, his acid bile hissing upon the rusted metal of the walkway.
"This is barely the first... move out" 
"Yes brother sergeant."
He could sense their concern, he had led these men for nearly four decades but never before had he known three Brothers to be sent to a hive to deal with a potential Alien threat such as this.


Then we have two Short stories I started but never finished. The second I wrote years back, at least 4yrs.

*Banshee*

Salaith opened her eyes the pain that bubbled in her chest was so intense she couldn't even let out a scream. All around her ears where assailed but the continuous gnawing and crunching of bone, the tearing of metal the sound of devouring flesh. She could see the great 'searching of the stars' above her, a huge dome of wraithbone that held fast a mosaic of the founding of their Craftworld over the heart of the amphitheatre of Isha. Normally a breath taking sight but she couldn't bare the thought of how the Craftworld must look from outside the dome.
The scratching noise was moving ever closer and it set her nerves on edge, it even made her spine ache. Whatever this new threat was she didn't dare move but at the same time she knew she must or she would surely die, the aliens where relentless her previous defeat had shown her that, what ever this new monstrosity was, she knew it had to be stopped. Taking a taste of bitter smelling air she realised that she had lost her helm and felt a warm prickly heat down her neck, an unpleasant sensation of warm blood causing her to turn her head ever so slightly. When nothing leapt upon her and ripped out her throat she continued fully to her left and spotted Aetheon the source of the blood, his jaw, right cheek and throat missing. She used the pain to ignore the gag reflex that stuck her and managed to look down across her front to avoid his ghastly death grimace. 
It struck her as she stared at her body twisted among the bodies of two Dire Avengers that at least her armour was still mostly intact, bar the gash across her belly and into her ribs. Her own blood stained the wound but although extremely painful, mainly from the cracked ribs it was not a mortal wound, what disturbed her more was that her white armour was stained red with the blood of many others around her, brothers and sisters. It was as all the apparent dead had been dragged here and left to rot, the noise returned to the fore of her mind and she guessed what ever they belonged to was the reason for the pile.
She flexed her fingers and then her toes, relieved to find that she wasn't paralysed from the neck down then carefully searched with her hands for weapons, her own weapons where missing, but the body next to her, a Ranger by the feel of his cloak had a Shuriken pistol in his holster. Carefully drawing it she could hear the crunching coming closer and it was obvious that it was now or never. Sitting up she aimed at the sound and gasped at the sight of dozens of creatures devouring her kin, Rippers she had heard the mon-keigh call them. 
Panicked she aimed and blew the nearest ones head off, then began to pull herself out from the bodies another Ripper appeared to her immediate left and she span her right hand and fired point blank to remove its face. As she finally dragged herself into a standing position she looked around, others now spotted her and quickly scrambled towards her over the dozens of Eldar bodies. Holding back tears from the horror of it all she caught a glance of a Shuriken pistol on the body of a dead Guardian, snatched it up and then opened fire with both pistols. Twisting and turning she pulled herself out of the pile, dropping Ripper after Ripper as they struggled to scramble over the dead to reach her. Dodging a leaping clawed one she followed its leap with her left hand and put two rounds through it severing its spine. Backing off the pile she dodged the approaching creatures as the continued to close in, ducking and weaving while killing Ripper after Ripper. As she darted left and right she couldn't help but notice that she barely recognized the amphitheatre of Isha for the gore and blood that washed the walls and dare not imagine what had happened to her beloved Iyanden while she lay unconscious. She reached the end of the bodies, the Rippers still coming toward her from the strange bloody pool at the heart of the amphitheatre, one of the pistols ran dry and she tossed it away. Then spotting the body of a fellow Banshee she darted to her remains and lifted the power sword alongside her. Activating the blade a cold look crossed her delicate features and she darted forward stepping off a dead warlock and hacked through the Rippers with a swirling arc of death while exploding others with point blank shots from her pistol. 
When the last finally fell she couldn’t count the dead the pain in her heart was too great. She ignored the aliens she had slain as she stared across the carnage, too many to count, not that it mattered for her now as she could never kill enough. She staggered against a wall exhausted and stared at the endless pile of Eldar dead, how much damage had the vile aliens done, could their Craftworld continue. She moved over to the first handful of bodies including her path sister, the Banshee. She reclaimed maybe a dozen Spirit Stone sand carefully placed them in her pouch, it wasn't enough, but at least it was something. Salaith felt a lone tear role down her cheek, the first tear she had shed in nearly three hundred years on her path as a Banshee. Then without shedding another she walked to the Banshee and carefully removed the helm before placing it over her own head. Adjusting the helm she felt the seal close and could already feel the sensation of the helms power flood through her spirit. It was a giddy feeling at first as always and then she knelt down and stared at the frozen eyes of the Banshee before her. Lifting her palm she slowly closed them, but found her eyes lingering in the pile of bodies beside and spotted a second gift to the Banshee's immediate right, just under the body of a Dark reaper. She pulled loose a second power sword and gazed at it the rune on the blade, swift death was aglow with energy. Then from the shadows of the amphitheatre near the door well she heard the noise, a deep growl. 
She snapped her head right as a large beast stomped into the Amphitheatre, one of the Warriors, it was armed with pair of bone like blades which seemed fused with it limbs and was wielding a weapon which was marked with more than two dozen holes. 


*Hive Gheltranu*

The stormy night sky rolled with purple energy as the vapour clouds high above the great spire rumbled and echoed with an uncontrolled thunder. The technological nightmare that was Hive Gheltranu; stood nearly five miles high, and forty miles in diameter. The tip of its spire almost puncturing the atmosphere of the world and feeling into space. Standing tall the Hive was a vast spike and clinging to the arid surface of the Hive world of Bharesh like a limpet on coral rocks. Although no coral would survive in the acid oceans of Bharesh, Ten thousand years of pollution from the thirty or so Hives that littered its surface had destroyed nearly all life. All that lived there now, in the lands of dust and environmental destruction. Where monstrosities of nature, things of such unnatural power that the inhabitants of Bharesh feared the lands outside the safety of the Hives. Although the safety of the Hives was maybe the wrong phrase, no one was really safe in the Hives.
The roar of engines pierced the night as a black ship descended from the stratosphere, the Imperial eagle crest shone bright as a lightning bolt flashed across its front. Markings along the side rang with the faith of the Adeptus Astartes, or the Space Marines as they where more commonly known. However the most predominant symbol other than the Imperial crest was a pair of crossed scythes. The honoured mark of the Scythes of the Emperor Chapter of Space Marines; based in the eastern fringe of the galactic core. 
The Thunderhawk Gunship flew towards the looming shape of Hive Gheltranu, which dominated the pilots view. A transport, stroke attack craft, the Gunship was used exclusively by the Space Marines to strafe opponents and deliver forces straight to the heart of the enemies they faced. Its pilot a veteran of hive fleet Kraken, noted the dials and gauges with a natural instinct bred by his genetic alteration. His arms flexed within his encased power armour and a whirr of servos gave him the strength of ten men as he pulled back on the rudder to align the craft. He glanced through his visor to his second, another Space Marine in the Chapters colouring, black arms, legs and helmet with bright yellow chest plate and groin guards. Then continued with his control of the vessel, although the ship was capable of flying automated, Pilot Hanran; preferred to fly manually as often as possible.
A vox-link activated on the panel before him and Hanran glanced down, before returning his attention to the rolling thunder around them. He had noticed they had entered an acid rain storm, and two warning lights had flicked on to alert that minor damage was occurring on the hull. It was corroding damage only however, nothing that could jeopardise the Gunship, so Hanran ignored it. 
“This is command post Lunar five, what is your position Thunderhawk nine, third company?” came a ghostly, removed voice.
Hanran recognised the low gothic as the monotone voice of a communications servitor, a selfless wretch adapted to the use of the Imperial decree. More machine now than man, it was being used on the bridge of the Sotha’s cry, the strike cruiser that lay above in the upper orbit of the planet.
He muttered under his breath, and activated the vox in his helmet with the pressing of a rune on the control slate before him.
“This is brother pilot Hanran, Thunderhawk nine, third company, call sign, Thunder-Fire. Our position is five minutes from drop off” he said clearly.
A moment passed as the information was obviously reported to a ranking Space Marine, possibly the Captain himself. Then the cold voice returned with a slight crackle of static.
“Captain Lynch has the following amendment to your Order; transferring data now, follow to the letter brother pilot Hanran.”
Hanran watched the data appear on his command slate as the vox-link ended; he read them quickly and muttered to himself in his native tongue. His second glanced at him for a moment, before returning his gaze to the gunnery controls. Hanran didn’t like the change, but for Captain Lynch to give them, there had to be a good reason, touching another rune on the control slate, he waited for heartbeat before his helmet communication linked up with the transport hold.
“Squad Ulan, this is brother pilot Hanran. We are four minutes from drop; however a change of orders means we will be going in hot. Prepare yourselves for a combat drop!”

Sergeant Mort, glanced up at the vox-link connected to the roof of the transport bay, big enough to hold two assault vehicles of a few squads of Marines. The Gunship held only one squad of ten Marines, his Marines. Squad Ulan was classified as Tactical and where survivors of the Kraken war that had ravaged the eastern fringe. Members of the third company of the Scythes of the Emperor, the squad had been one of the last to make it off Sotha. The home world of the chapter, lost forever to the scourge of the Tyranids. It gave them a bitter taste in the mouth and many of the Scythes now lived for revenge, revenge against all enemies of the Imperium, but especially the Nids. 
“This is it, sound off!” Mort snapped.
The nine voices rolled off one by one, and Mort noted each of his Marines. “Jalan,” squad veteran, second in command. “Genner,” special weapons, currently assigned with a flamer. “Drant,” heavy weapons, currently assigned with a heavy bolter. “Kraal.” “Harp.” “Ulim.” “Theldor.”
“Saldon.” “Kreize,” all loyal Marines armed with bolters.
Mort, looked back with a grin although none of his Marines could see it under his helmet. He liked combat drops.


Any thoughts or suggestions are always appreciated. Thanks for looking.


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## hells_fury (Apr 17, 2008)

the first 3 were excellent, omg that was awesome, the last two laziness kicked in and i haven't read them yet, looking forward to reading them if they are anything like the first 3, especially the ork one. 

Finally read the last two, would love to see the combat situation for the last story, it looks promising with your writing skills.


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## Druchii in Space (Apr 7, 2008)

First, thanks for reading them.

As to the request, aye I think I'd be tempted to either finish, or fully rewrite and finish the Scythes one at some point, so keep an eye out. Although I might finish off Banshee as well as I liked where it was going, needs a fair bit of clean up though, anyways thanks for posting, nice to know someone appreciated them.


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