Post by Rev. Ben Blythe on Feb 22, 2005 17:20:44 GMT -5
A hideous clicking could be heard in the distence. The sun came down, almost draging Burnstead to the ground. All he could see was blurs of brown and blue. He scrambled out of the reckage of his escape pod, blood was on his hands, and the back of his head. He looked out across the landscape and saw sand.
Burnstead stumbled around, following a beacon he had to other escape pods. He needed to find his men. Off in the distance he saw several mounds of earth. He pulled out a pair of old binoculars. He could see globes of tentacled fleshing coming from the ground. Burnstead had heard of these, and knew what they must be. Tyranids, although they were just spore mines, he knew that a nest must be near.
As quiet as a mouse Burnstead snuck by one, trying to get into a group of palm trees. He was slowly limping away from a biological pustual when he stopped, his back had hit something. He spun around quickly drawing his last pistol and pointed it at, the palm tree he had ran into. He breathed a sigh of releif, he moved forward. Following his posistion device, he found he was stuck. A lone spore mine was heading his way, but he wouldn't be able to get past it. He looked back, two blocked his retreat. He aimed his pistol, knowing he would have one shot. He breathed in, breathed out and squeezed the trigger. The mine blew up in a green burst of biological ooze.
Burnstead ran, jumping over rocks and dessert creatures. He climbed a dune and looked over a vast expanse. Below he could see what appeared to be guardsmen, the same guardsmen that were on his ship and they were heading his way. He looked back and thought to himself, "What is worse, imperial stokade or Tyranids?" He was just about to choose the Tyranids when he heard a shout come from the men at the base of the dune. Burnstead trudged his feet towards them, realizing they were in no posistion to arrest him.
"Sir, by order of the Emperor we..." A trooper began.
"Oh stow it, what is it now" Burnstead cut him off.
"We need to get you out of here sir, you are a matter of importance."
"Why am I so important?"
"Because sir, you have active knowledge of imperial vessels"
"oh.." Burnstead hated to be called sir by the men he wasn't in charge of. For two weeks after that the Guardsmen and Burnstead survived. They lived off of dew, and rations, the occaisional lizard supplimented the diet. Until one evening, in the dead of night, clicking could be heard in the distance. The sentinel woke up his officer, who rousted the rest of the men.
"Burnstead we are surrounded," the officer explained. He was hardly an officer, just the senior trooper, what a way to be promoted, "We are going to go to the back. We will fight and distract the enemy, you make a break for the mountains to the North, you will be picked up there easier."
"That is rediculous, what gives me more right to life than your men?"
"My oders do Burnstead now go!" Burnstead noticed, he wasn't called sir anymore.
Pontus Pious had taken command of the fleet. His former commander was killed in an engagement with Eldar pirates. After that conflict every member of the crew longed to be home, and they wanted this mission to end. Pious knew were Burnstead was, he just hoped it wasn't too late. He also hoped, that the crewmen would get what they wanted.
Fortis finally left his captains quarters. He was still laden with sorrow for his dear Morgain, who never loved him. Her body was nothing more than skeletol remains on the floor, maggots had long eaten away her flesh. During the time locked away in his quarters, they had become his friends, his sweet vengence to a harlot he loved. His own wounds, though grievious had seemed to make him stronger, there was little his body couldn't endure now, even the weeks without food or water didn't phase him. Over his inset eyes, in his now thinning hair, across his scalp a rash was forming, three circles close together.
He strode from his quarters onto the bridge, an emaciated crew carrying out their duties. The stench was horred but did not phase Fortis, nor the crew. Off in the distance ships deticated to Tzeench can be seen, their colors changing in the stellar winds. He ordered a course change to engage the enemy fleet. His men obayed with the silence of the grave, only the motion of the engine room could be heard across the ship, a haunting drone, mashing of souls perhaps, pushing the vessel forward. Somehow he knew, that fleet was there, somehow he saw them coming. His Father might of told him perhaps, his new Father that is.
Burnstead stumbled around, following a beacon he had to other escape pods. He needed to find his men. Off in the distance he saw several mounds of earth. He pulled out a pair of old binoculars. He could see globes of tentacled fleshing coming from the ground. Burnstead had heard of these, and knew what they must be. Tyranids, although they were just spore mines, he knew that a nest must be near.
As quiet as a mouse Burnstead snuck by one, trying to get into a group of palm trees. He was slowly limping away from a biological pustual when he stopped, his back had hit something. He spun around quickly drawing his last pistol and pointed it at, the palm tree he had ran into. He breathed a sigh of releif, he moved forward. Following his posistion device, he found he was stuck. A lone spore mine was heading his way, but he wouldn't be able to get past it. He looked back, two blocked his retreat. He aimed his pistol, knowing he would have one shot. He breathed in, breathed out and squeezed the trigger. The mine blew up in a green burst of biological ooze.
Burnstead ran, jumping over rocks and dessert creatures. He climbed a dune and looked over a vast expanse. Below he could see what appeared to be guardsmen, the same guardsmen that were on his ship and they were heading his way. He looked back and thought to himself, "What is worse, imperial stokade or Tyranids?" He was just about to choose the Tyranids when he heard a shout come from the men at the base of the dune. Burnstead trudged his feet towards them, realizing they were in no posistion to arrest him.
"Sir, by order of the Emperor we..." A trooper began.
"Oh stow it, what is it now" Burnstead cut him off.
"We need to get you out of here sir, you are a matter of importance."
"Why am I so important?"
"Because sir, you have active knowledge of imperial vessels"
"oh.." Burnstead hated to be called sir by the men he wasn't in charge of. For two weeks after that the Guardsmen and Burnstead survived. They lived off of dew, and rations, the occaisional lizard supplimented the diet. Until one evening, in the dead of night, clicking could be heard in the distance. The sentinel woke up his officer, who rousted the rest of the men.
"Burnstead we are surrounded," the officer explained. He was hardly an officer, just the senior trooper, what a way to be promoted, "We are going to go to the back. We will fight and distract the enemy, you make a break for the mountains to the North, you will be picked up there easier."
"That is rediculous, what gives me more right to life than your men?"
"My oders do Burnstead now go!" Burnstead noticed, he wasn't called sir anymore.
Pontus Pious had taken command of the fleet. His former commander was killed in an engagement with Eldar pirates. After that conflict every member of the crew longed to be home, and they wanted this mission to end. Pious knew were Burnstead was, he just hoped it wasn't too late. He also hoped, that the crewmen would get what they wanted.
Fortis finally left his captains quarters. He was still laden with sorrow for his dear Morgain, who never loved him. Her body was nothing more than skeletol remains on the floor, maggots had long eaten away her flesh. During the time locked away in his quarters, they had become his friends, his sweet vengence to a harlot he loved. His own wounds, though grievious had seemed to make him stronger, there was little his body couldn't endure now, even the weeks without food or water didn't phase him. Over his inset eyes, in his now thinning hair, across his scalp a rash was forming, three circles close together.
He strode from his quarters onto the bridge, an emaciated crew carrying out their duties. The stench was horred but did not phase Fortis, nor the crew. Off in the distance ships deticated to Tzeench can be seen, their colors changing in the stellar winds. He ordered a course change to engage the enemy fleet. His men obayed with the silence of the grave, only the motion of the engine room could be heard across the ship, a haunting drone, mashing of souls perhaps, pushing the vessel forward. Somehow he knew, that fleet was there, somehow he saw them coming. His Father might of told him perhaps, his new Father that is.