Cavash's short stories.

In Exile Posts : 218 Join date : 2011-07-02

Awesomesauce!!!
Another Orktastic chapter!!! ^.^

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Wed Jul 25 2012, 22:14

Thank you! Very Happy

That's the end of my Ork writing for now, unfortunately. Evil or Very Mad

I do have my next short story planned out, however, and it should be posted within a few days. It won't match the Orks in terms of silliness, but it should be good nonetheless!

She Who Must Be Obeyed Posts : 1102 Join date : 2011-05-18

Orky to the end. It must be frustrating to see your prey is too stupid to really appreciate suffering!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Wed Jul 25 2012, 22:56

Indeed! I doubt it matters, however, as that Boss could bring alot of people to the arena.

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Thu Jul 26 2012, 00:26

The grammar nazi in me was clawing at the walls a bit - but it was a fun read and captured the mood quite well.

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Thu Jul 26 2012, 00:39

Thanks Thor!
Imagine trying to write it when the grammar Nazi is clawing from within!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Thu Jul 26 2012, 22:23

Quinosis Overrun: prelude.

“Sir-”

“Is it all prepared?” The Colonel cut in, asking the war weary Trooper who had just made it to his position upon the fort’s exterior wall.

“Yes, Lord.”

“Did the Valkyries make it here?”

“Colonel, under an hour ago we received reports that a freak storm struck our reinforcements: heavy casualties were suffered.”

“How many Valkyries arrived?” His voice remained soft and gentlemanly, underlined with the harshness that he wielded as authoritatively as his disciplinary cane. The face encompassing helmet also shrouded his voice, making it crackle and appear more menacing than it truly was.

Beneath his Ghillie Suit he was completely cut off from the battering gales as his Carapace Armour covered every inch of his body. He was the only member of the detachment to possess such a luxury. He was also one of the only members of the detachment that was serving on the very world he was born on.

“Only two made it to the fort.”

“So, you are telling me that we only have four hundred men to hold this position until the atmosphere clears?”

“Yes Colonel.”

“You are a Persiaan Primarisian, are you not?”

“Yes Lord!” The Trooper shouted from the bottom of his lungs. His throat was hoarse and he had a constant headache. Everyone was suffering in these southern lands. Everyone knew that these were once Chaos inhabited, but nobody had expected to be so unnerved just by being in them.

“Then, judging by the ‘slight rivalry’ between our people, I would say that you have never spent a prolonged length of time here.”

“Sir, I have spent six months serving under you.”

“A simple no would have sufficed. A Quinosian storm lasts far longer than the flurries of rain you get on Persiian, and they are much more deadly. They can go on for years at a time, and seeing as the enemy will be knocking by morn I do not think that we should expect any more reinforcements.”

“Wh-what do we do?” the Trooper’s voice showed the sudden realisation of impending doom.

Slowly, Colonel Quel’hun turned the Guardsmen and looked down at him. His expressionless helm betrayed nothing, and even his voice remained unchanged.

“We fight. We combat the Xeno in the name of the Emperor, in the name of his Saints and in the name of Saint Quinosis.”

Usually a Persiaan would not stand and serve alongside anybody who spoke the name of that particular saint, but seeing as the entire Persiaan population were in debt to the Quinosians he saw no reason to turn away.

Over the long history of the Imperium, Persiaan Primaris and Quinosis have fought brutally, both politically and physically, to maintain a hold on the Vermillia Sector. Their rivalry had started since Old Night ended, when ships could once again roam free. Emissaries of the planets met before the Great Crusade had discovered them, and from that moment the two cultures held each other in contempt.

The Quinosians thought those of Persiaan to be pride filled and naïve, whereas the Persiaans shunned the warrior heritage of the ‘savage’ Quinosians who seemed to revere their saint far too highly.

The Persiaans, for over eight millennia, had been the capital world of Vermillia until the southern Orks of Quinosis rose up during the spring months and forged a path north. The green strangle hold on their world made them begrudgingly call in assistance from the forces of the Sector, causing widespread shame across the world.

Eventually, as winter returned and the ice sheets ruled once more the Orks fled to their jungles. Quickly the Quinosians rebuilt and came to assist the Persiaans when a heretical uprising spread across their world, killing millions.

Years after the Traitor Militia had been quelled a Persiaan ship opened fire on the royal flagship of Quinosis.
Not seeing any use for unnecessary bloodshed Quinosis dispatched a fleet to their uneasy ally’s world and traced their vicious atomic weapons on the world’s Hives and oceans.

Luckily, only two bombs were dropped on the world, and those were in the oceans, before the truth of the Traitor Militia’s continued existence came out. The Quinosians then mounted a full scale invasion and occupation of Persiaan Primaris, running it for many generations afterward. They restored the world’s economy and recruited men for the new PDF service, training them to the best of their ability.

After this, and the integration of millions of Persiaan refugees into their populace, Quinosis was granted the honour of being the capital world and named ‘Protectorate of Vermiallia’.

Remembering all this, the Guardsman bowed before the Colonel.
“Name how I may be of best use, Lord.”

“Fetch my piper.”

“Your piper, Sir?”

“Are you deaf, boy? I need my piper. Can you bring him here, or will I have to get someone of some worth to serve me?”

“No sir! I’m not deaf!”

“So can you fetch my piper?”

“Yes Sir.”

After a small silence, in which the Guardsman shielded his face from the pelting rain, the Colonel sighed.
“Get my piper.” He ordered, jolting quickly as to scare the young Trooper off. Quickly he obediantly marched away, dragging open a huge iron door, holding on sternly against the battering storm.

“Lieutenant Hayyes.” The Colonel activated his comms bead.

“Colonel Quel’hun. I have welcomed the reinforcements and they are in the main barracks checking their weapons. They shall be out on patrol shortly for shift change.”

“I’m afraid that will not be required Lieutenant Hayyes. Order all men to their stations and hand out Combat Stimulants where available. Enemy sighted.”

“How many?” He answered after a delay.

“My estimate is in the thousands. Many heavy vehicles, no artillery sighted but numerous foot infantry. Get the men to their stations, but, whatever you do, do not raise the alarm.”

Without any further questions the orders were followed.

“Where’s that damn piper?”

In Exile Posts : 218 Join date : 2011-07-02

Awesome!!!
A great start!!!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Fri Jul 27 2012, 09:32

I do like the fluff behind your Quinosians, and i'm eager to see how they fare in battle!

Some constructive criticism though - sometimes you do go a bit overboard with adjectives. Or maybe it's just me being picky. For example:

Quote :: Colonel, under an hour ago we received reports that a freak storm decimated our reinforcements

"Decimated" isn't sitting right with me. Not only does it seem a bit too sophisticated for a rank trooper; but if only 2 valks arrived were only 2.4 valks dispatched? I can't imagine 0.4 of a valk flying... Wink

(yeah, i'm thinking about it in a Roman way)

And perhaps a second example:

Quote :: Quickly he marched away respectfully, dragging open a huge iron door, holding on sternly against the battering storm.

I think the word "respectfully" in this sentence breaks the flow slightly. Now you could omit it but that would detract from the image of this trooper being well trained. You might be able to re-word the sentence.

Alternatively, you might be able to ignore me Very Happy

Al

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Fri Jul 27 2012, 10:47

Thanks! I like my Quinosians too, although I only ever get to include them when I'm having a brief Guardsman or Inquisition moment. Smile

Well, you never know, maybe on Quinosis they like having 0.4 of a Valkyrie. Triskery tactics! If the enemy thinks that you are damaged then they'll leave you to crash and burn!
Either that, or I was tired enough to look past the meaning of decimation... probably more likely. Smile

Thanks for pointing that second thing out. It does sound a bit odd, so I'll restructure the sentence.

Now, where is my word fixing wrench?

Edit: On a side note, imagine Colonel Quel'hun to be speaking in Colonel Mael Radec's voice! Very Happy

That's what it is in my head.

Spoiler:

P.S: I may Post some of my longer Quinosian stories in teh distractions section, seeing as they are not Dark Eldar related.

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sat Jul 28 2012, 20:41

Quinosis Overrun: Part I

“Hold!”

A crack of thunder, a crash of bodies.
“Hold!”

A flash of lightning, the trembling masses.

“Hold!”

This would be his finest, and final, hour. By the Emperor, it would be brutal.

“Fire!”

The sky illuminated in a catastrophic blaze of deathly Las fire. Hundreds screamed down bellow as the Persiians opened fire behind the front wave of the endless tide. Those who fell created a barrier, causing those behind to slow and stumble.

“Fire!” The Sergeants orchestrated the carnages after the Colonel’s initial command. The one thing that the Colonel did not mind about these cowards was how inspiring their sergeants could be, keeping their men in line only with the power of shouting and, occasionally, leading by example.

Cannons roared from the Xeno forces, pounding inaccurately against the Grey Fort’s walls. The best thing about the fort was indeed its location. For centuries it had stood as the first bastion of defiance against the Orks that would raid the northern continent, and from its position upon a great mound surrounded by treacherous ground and crumbling chasms it forced any would-be assailants into bottlenecks that were easily turned into death zones during combat.

For countless generations it had solemnly sat watching for any sign of invasion, and not once had it ever been taken. No Ork or heretic had ever climbed onto the highest parapet where the Piper now stood, playing continuously through the storm and siege. If one thing would inspire the Colonel to victory it would be the Quinosian pipes. Usually they were an instrument of great elegance and celebration, played for the royal house of Quinosis, but this was war and they were to be tuned falsely, as was best for the horrific crucible.

Lining up the crosshair of his scope with the chest of the largest Ork at the forefront of the charge down the eastern route, Quel’hun fired three shots with great precision. One hit the chest, and as he raised his Stalker Pattern Bolter the other two made contact with his chin and forehead, slaying the beast without difficulty.

Smiling, he aimed at another and blew out his throat with a single shot. The body fell and rolled, trampled over by his mob, many of which fell in turn, slipping into the yawning maw of jagged rocks bellow.
Standing, he surveyed the field.

“Heavy Weapon Teams Sigma and Theta, move to North Side.” His orders echoed like a ghost’s shrill whispers through a nightmare, but what he had seen needed to be destroyed.

Undoubtedly the leader of the Orks would be personally riding the smoke bellowing craft as it slowly smashed its way towards the Fort. It was the largest and most threatening thing out there. The only thing that could lay waste to his forces in a matter of seconds.

“Target the heavy vehicle, designation: Stompa.”

“Yes Sir.” He could vaguely hear the affirmation of his command over the roaring of the vehicle’s central cannon.

The fort trembled as a shot from the monstrous contraption made contact with the exterior wall. Great chunks of the fortified wall ruptured with a spit of flame and a crash of rock. Dozens of the aliens had clambered in within seconds.

“Breach! Breach!” A distant Trooper cried, some of his comrades lying cold and crushed on the ground.

“Take down that Stompa!” The Colonel ordered, the familiar weight of a minute metal device dangling at his hip. It was heavy for its size, and he prayed to the Emperor that he would never have to use it.

Luckily, three more walls lay between the breach and the central keep. If the Orks were allowed to climb onto the battlements then it would not be long before they were overrun.

The piper played the screeching battle songs and the ground shocking thumps of the Stompa’s steps acted as the monotone baseline to which the theatre of battle enacted its dreadful play.

Quel’hun sprinted to the breach as quickly as he could, dodging and sliding between Guardsmen, both injured and fighting, to reach the North Side.

“Hold your ground. Guardsmen, concentrate fire on the incursion. Weapons Teams, stay focussed on your target!”

“Sir!” A Sergeant saluted beside him. “The Orks are not showing any signs of ceasing.”

“Do you fear for your life, Sergeant?” He asked over his external Vox transmitter, voice projected beneath a rumble of thunder.

“Y-yes Lord.” He answered after a moment.

How typical of a Persiaan, the Colonel thought.

“Why fear when the Emperor guides you? Why fear when the Emperor protects you? Why fear when the Emperor loves you?” He punctuated the last one with four shots at the xenos attempting to scale the rubble slope.

“Didn’t I say concentrate fire?” He stared sternly at the Guardsmen gathered around. They quickly resumed their counter offensive at double the rate of before.

“Lord, fear is only human.”

“Yes, and so is hate. You fear what you hate; you should learn to hate what you fear. Look to the Emperor for guidance, and trust in the Lasguns, for they preach the burning bolts of His hate.”
Waaagh!

“Sir, they are upon us!” The Sergeant screamed as he turned, Chainsword disembowelling a great green beast.

“Triple your efforts. In the name of thy Lord, in the name of His Saints, in the name of Quinosis, hold your ground!”

The Vox amplified his yells of faith above that of humanly possible. If anything, it only managed to drive him into rage.

Withdrawing his black Quinosian Ritual Blade that he had earned as a rite of passage from his tribe when he became a man, he let his bolter dangle at his side while he lunged into the alien breach. In moments he had cut down four, sending their bodies down the slope to knock down others. Quickly he turned his attention to his left where an arterial spray of blood polluted the air, the source: an Ork Choppa in the Sergeant’s shoulder.

With a scream the Sergeant fell, his Chainsword clattering down the mound, luckily robbing another alien of his lumbering green foot. Feeling a great sense of duty, Quel’hun ran towards the murdering Ork and propelled himself five feet high, descending with blade brandished down between his hands.

When the spinal fluid of the beast gushed out into the air the Colonel knew that he had made contact.

Releasing the blade with his right hand, he reached around the Ork’s head and scratched at his eye, making him howl in pain. The Ork stumbled back, great muscle bulging arms failing to reach the Human attacker.

“See the Xeno! Hate the Xeno! Kill the Xeno!” He screeched his litany as he, with both hands, grabbed onto the horns surgically placed onto his skull. The Ork was undoubtedly a Nob, and the Sergeant was lucky to get away with only light wounds. Medics had dragged him off while others still fought.

Struggling, Quel’hun wrestled the monster, twisting his head and jabbing furiously at the base of his skull. He quickly concurred that the skull was doing more damage to his hand than his hand was doing to his skull.

The Nob was starting to struggle, he noticed. The blow to his spine must have finally been taking effect.

“Lieutenant Hayyes, initiate North Run.” He ordered through his internal comm bead as he withdrew an Auto Pistol.

“Yes Sir.” The reply came, clear and not wanting of answers.

The Colonel dismounted and slid on the glistening ground as the Ork tumbled over, completely lifeless as his brain ran down his face in a pulped mush.

Lying on the ground he fired the last of his loaded shots at the assailing Orks before crouching, retrieving his blade and proceeding to stand, facing north.

The Stompa still charged, despite the heavy damage it had sustained. Witnessing the violence of the Colonel the others had rallied and moved to the break like antibodies fighting a horrid disease.

They moved in shifts. One rank stood, holding the breach while one returned to their position from the keep. A third rank would be at the keep, restocking before returning to the breach. It actually made Quel’hun slightly proud of the Persiaan animals under his command.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, they had done well to learn from him and his regiment in the previous weeks.

Then it happened. The glorious blast of the Emperor’s persecution sent a blast wave that could be felt even by the Imperial Guard in their Fort. The charges had detonated just over a mile away, sending thousands of Orks flying of into the chasms and igniting hundreds of looted vehicles.

His Ghillie Suit fluttered behind his red armour as he looked intently out at the Stompa.

The Northern passage crumbled and the Stompa began to plummet.

Joy spread through the Human ranks and their defence intensified. Something was taken from the Orks that moment. It seemed like some of them had lost the will to fight.

The Colonel wiped his blade on a cloth that he withdrew from a leather pouch on his back.

Happily he watched as the Orks began to turn on each other. This would pose as a distraction from their offensive for now, but they were certain to regroup at some point, and then they would need to be driven back.

Some problems still existed, however. Two more passages still remained, and in the Orks in the north something was stirring.

Something was unifying them.

It quickly became apparent that this small cease in combat was just the calm before a storm.

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sat Jul 28 2012, 23:14

Quote :: Yes, and so is hate. You fear what you hate; you should learn to hate what you fear.

Possibly one of the most imperial sentiments out there. I think you have got a knack for writing guard dialogue, to the point where i would be as bold as to say this is your best written chapter (of all your stories) so far. However, it might be that as i have discussed the Quinosians with you before, i have more basic knowledge to apreciate the subtle nuances which distinguish the regiment.

Why do i have a perverted feeling that some pointy eared xenos (no, not orkses) might show up to ruin the party? Wink

Al

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sat Jul 28 2012, 23:22

Thank you very much Alys Dwr.

I do take great pride in my Quinosians, and your boldness in the matter is genuinely appreciated. I did like writing the chapter, but I guess that's because, after writing about my Inquisitor, the Quinosians were my greatest (or favorite) achievement. My Dark Eldar stuff, in my opinion, still needs to be refined.
Colonel Quel'hun is a charecter that I like, just because I have written about him for so long, and he is the ideal Guardsman to me. Heroic, inspiring, yet still human and very fragile.
So, thank you again.

Well, this time you may be disapointed. There may be no other pointy ears, but there certainly are a couple of surprises I have in store. Cool

In Exile Posts : 218 Join date : 2011-07-02

Yay, tis awesome!!!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sun Jul 29 2012, 12:32

Zehra wrote:: Yay, tis awesome!!!

Haha, thanks!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Fri Aug 24 2012, 17:28

You may be pleased to hear that after I finish the short story Crossing of Hearts I shall be finishing 'Quinosis Overrun' and starting a Craftworld Eldar oriented tale. So, more is to come shortly.
I apologise for the delay. Very Happy

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sun Sep 09 2012, 00:16

Quinosis Overrun: Part II

The Colonel wiped his blade on a cloth that he withdrew from a leather pouch on his back.

Happily he watched as the Orks began to turn on each other. This would pose as a distraction from their offensive for now, but they were certain to regroup at some point, and then they would need to be driven back.

Some problems still existed, however. Two more passages still remained, and in the Orks in the north something was stirring.

Something was unifying them.

It quickly became apparent that this small cease in combat was just the calm before a storm.

There was little time to spare. The dead from both sides needed to be piled up to form warm sandbags to slow the Ork advance and to save them from their savage projectiles. Many of the Guardsmen did have their doubts about using their comrades’ bodies for protection, but the Colonel had gathered the doubters around and asked them a simple question.

Who would not want to serve the Emperor in death as they did in life?

Their hesitation melted away as the Colonel set to work moving the dead to the battlements. Those who were not seriously injured were dragged onto high ground and given their weapons. If there was any break in the Imperial defence then they would be responsible for providing backup fire. Still, even while preparations were being made and payers were placed upon the lips of the Persiaan’s the piper continued to play, the pride of Quinosis emanating from his instrument.

“Colonel Quel’hun, are you there?”

“Yes, Hayyes.” He responded while placing a xenos body down onto a sharp piece of metal. After a moment, when the goo covered spike emerged from the alien’s chest, he stood back and breathed a sigh of relief. He was a single point of calm facing the dozens of Ork civil skirmishes. Gun nuzzles flashed en masse, the war cries of separate tribes screamed out, each seeking dominance. Even though he despised these alien wars, he had to admit that it was far better than civilian life. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“The men are feeling anxious and two have fallen ill.”

“Anxiety and illness? If those two ailments were enough to warrant a lack of service the Imperial Guard would grind to a halt. Have them back to there stations, Lieutenant.”

“But Sir,” his voice cracked with its own uneasiness, “they cannot be moved. Those fallen ill have suffered minor violent seizures, causing harm to both themselves and their comrades. Others, those reportedly suffering from anxiety, are spouting prophecies of the coming of a ‘silent wrath’.”

Quel’hun stepped back and looked to the floor, trying to keep his concentration, “Lieutenant Hayyes, are you suffering from the same symptoms?”

“No Sir, the situation has just caused some minor discomfort. I am now down eight crew and need to man a communication network designed for thirty to run wit the worst part of twenty men.”

“Understood. Attempting to maintain Communication to High Command is imperative to our mission, to the survival of Quinosis. When immigration fleets from your world arrived here Quinosis accepted you as her children, now fight to save her as she opened her arms to accept you. You are a Quinosian and a mighty fine warrior; you and your men.”

“It is an honour, Sir.” Acceptance was all that he ever wanted. Acceptance was what he had found.

“Call me Brother, as my Regiment does. You have earned that, at least.” Deactivating the comms bead Quel’hun beckoned over the nearby Commissar, Trauk. The mud and blood drenched man urgently mad his way to the Colonel where they saluted to one another behind the barricade or sandbags and shrapnel.

“Colonel, how may I serve?” Trauk stood to attention, after stoking his own Aquila lapel for luck, and possibly the chance of divine intervention.

“Do you feel that, Commissar? That slight crispness in your mind?”

“Yes Sir. It feels like the warp-touched.”

“Very good, Commissar. After many years serving with an Inquisitor with that very… ability” he avoided the word ‘gift’ for he repercussions it could bear, “my mind has become sensitive to their presence. I am definitely not one of them, but I recognise the distinctive echoes of their minds.”

“What do you wish me to do, Colonel?”

“Pick a team of the fifteen most promising soldiers still alive, chose those most faithful to the Emperor and take them within the bowels of the Fort to Lieutenant Hayyes’ position. I believe that many of the men serving there may have felt it too, which is likely after serving alongside Psykers. Give their souls the peace that they long for.”

“What should I do with the Lieutenant? He is vital for our survival out here.”

“I regret to speak these words, but, use your own judgement, Commissar. I am certain that you will cleanse the taint from their bodies.”

Without any further words the Commissar saluted and left to gather the execution-team while the Colonel cleaned the grime from the case of his Bolter. He looked out once more over the sea of green and noticed something. They were all united once more and had renewed vigour.

Sighing, he detonated the two remaining ground passages, severing reinforcements for both the Orks and the Imperial Guard.

He didn’t want this to happen.

He didn’t want to see them again.

Not those warp-touched.

_______________________________________________________________________
I've got back into an Imperial Guard writing mood, so I shall be finishing this with parts three and four in the next week, hopefuly. Then, as promised, a Craftworld Eldar story!

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sun Sep 09 2012, 15:58

Quinosis Overrun: Part III

The Orks were shredded in the hundreds. The detonations had lacerated their touch flesh, cleaved bodies in twain and ignored the feeble armour that clad their bodies and vehicles. The rising columns of heat only served to drive the Orks forward with renewed vigour, their guns booming as they advanced.

The noise was terrible, like the planet itself had split open and magma of the core had spewed up to consume the Human defenders. A few soldiers died from stray shots but the casualties were minor.

“Firing lines! Ready?”

The ground trembled as engines boomed. All heavy vehicles had been reduced to slagheaps or wreckages at range, but the growl of the Ork’s Bike’s engines was a horrible thing to behold. The riders were taller than a man ad far more muscular. The Colonel had identified them as Nobs but did not feel threatened. Yes, there were twenty four of them advancing at a rapid pace towards his position at the forefront of what appeared to be a motley race of tattered wagons, but he believed that he could handle them.

The Imperial defence needed to work in the same way as the holy Human body. The Colonel needed to be the brain, he needed to instruct the antibodies that he was forced to call Guardsmen to combat the xenos infection before they could over run the body of the Fort. The issue was that he had, and always would, see himself as an antibody, not a brain. He led from the front, but desperate times called for his superior experience.

“Fire!” He demanded before looking over to Heavy Weapons teams Delta, Epsilon and Theta who had engrossed themselves in the defence of the Northern side. Raising a hand he grabbed their attention and instructed for them to move toward the breach. They were the only Teams with Plasma Weapons and Heavy Flamers, the perfect tools for wreaking havoc and causing the cowardly Orks to break and flee.

“Breach rank, covering withdrawal!” With his voice carrying like the will of the Emperor the Guardsmen unlucky enough to be fortifying the breach moved back to give way to the advancing Weapons Teams. The Guardsmen took position upon the battlements and laid down heavy fire before the Weapons Teams ignited the rubble slope.

Three Heavy Flamers were positioned to face the assaulting bikes, the crackling torrents of flame sticking to the flesh of those brave enough to charge through their path. The Plasma Weapons fired overhead towards the reckless mass of transports. Many shots hit, and a few wagons exploded; their crew devoured by the rising heat and flung many metres away under the tracks of the vehicles that still stormed forth, laughing at their competitor’s misfortune.

“Hold your ground!” He commanded as the flaming Bikers surged into the Imperial line, every inch of them ablaze. The first was hit by four Las-shots when he emerged, but did not stop on his path to destruction. His axe took down two men in one pass forcing the others to dive down under the mighty blade. Then emerged the rest.

Many of them dived from their Bikes to put out the flames, but they were quickly put down by surrounding Guardsmen’s panic fire.

A few of the riders were executed by the Colonel before they could cause too much damage, but then their bikes skewed off and crashed, releasing the cleansing flames that the alien flesh needed.

After the initial attack, and a few foolishly brave attempts to get close for a better shot, the Nob Bikers had been cordoned off where they were now dismounting their useless vehicles and taking to smashing the Humans open on foot.

It was time for the brain to become the antibody.

Forward he ran, Bolter opening the chests of two Orks, wounding them severely. It had not put them down, but now the squad that they had ploughed into stood a chance. To his right, four had moved into towards the Weapons Team and had already put down one Heavy Flamer crew. Lining up the shot Quel’hun whispered a prayer and obliterated a Nob’s spine. The body fell limp while he place two shots into the back of another. He had not died from his shots, but had been slain a searing ball of plasma. Now, with half of their squad dead, the two Nobs turned to charge the Colonel. Their axes were raised high and came crashing down into ground where he had stood seconds earlier. His backward role had just saved him and given him enough time to fire his last shot into the face of one Ork, killing him outright.

This was a lucky streak, he should surely be dead. He was facing down two Nobs by himself and was still breathing. Noted, his Bolter was empty and all he had now was his knife, but he was still pleased with himself.

Walking back he un-holstered his Autopistol and fired the ten shots into the Ork, but they only managed to slow the alien. His luck, he could feel, was running out.

Backing up further Quel’hun found himself pressed against a petroleum barrel. Now his mind was working.
He waited, bravely, for the axe to begin its descent then the dived away onto the ground where he scrambled over to a nearby flaming wreck. The Axe pierced the barrel and the petroleum drenched the Nob. His dissatisfaction was clear by his angered grunts and his screwed up, burnt face.

Once again the Ork followed the Human, but now Quel’hun had a plan. The fires were hot, but he could withstand them long enough to reach in and grab a glowing-hot rod…

It was just out of reach.

The Ork’s paw pulled the Coloenl away from the fires and lifted his brutal weapon once more with a big, pleased smile. The Colonel was prepared for this. Finally he would be with the Emperor…

For some reason, when he had braced himself for the blunt pain, he discovered that it had not found him.
A scream emanated from in front of his feet and when he opened his eyes he realised that something had set the Ork off, the petroleum on his flesh finally finishing him.

“What…?” He whispered an unfinished question to himself before he caught a glimpse of the Commissar with his Bolt Pistol raised, his half metallic face grinning.

“No time for resting, Colonel. There is a war to be fought!”

Wait, the Colonel thought, Commissars don’t have a sense of humour.

“Report, Commissar?” the Quinosian stood and approached the Commissar, whose execution team had now moved to the front line.

“Twelve executions of Imperial servicemen. One Astropath execution and five men placed to watch over their activities, Sir.”

“Acceptable losses, Commissar. What of the Lieutenant?”

“He still breathes. He showed no sign of taint so I am allowing him to live, for now.”

“We may all be dead soon if we don’t stop the alien transports, Commissar. The Nobs that broke through our lines are being dealt with as we speak but out there lies a greater threat. Within minutes our position could be overrun with hundreds of Orks.”

“Then we have no time to lose, Colonel. For the Emperor.”

High above the Fort bright stars of devastatingly catastrophic power flew down into the Ork forces, evaporating their flesh and atomising their remains. Four sleek craft of unknown origin were spotted but no gun was accurate enough to strike them.

The Imperial Guard did not know who to fire upon, but this new threat fell into insignificance now that at the head of the breach stood the Warboss, his form unharmed by the destruction of his Stompa.

Ahead lay the Greenskins and above watched the Witches.

How could this get any worse?

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Mon Sep 10 2012, 00:48

Quinosis Overrun: Part IV

The Orks drove into the Imperial courtyard in an unending wave of green chaos. The Humans needed to fall back in sections, each covering the next as they moved back to another row of sandbags and barricades.

Razorwire was snaring the odd Ork and the poor quality spike pits were claiming dozens at a time. Still, it didn’t seem enough. More of the new craft appeared from above and dropped down outside of the exterior, unloading their cargo before swooping off to wreak havoc elsewhere. He knew that he should be worried about the new threat but he knew that, if anything, they would be a saving grace.

“Give me that!” He shouted at a cowering Guardsman, snatching the Plasma Gun from his hands before firing a series of bright balls into the charging enemy.

“Fire, Guardsmen, fire!” He heard the Commissar below at the top of his voice as his Power Sword stabbed the assaulting foe back and lopped the head from one of the runts. “I said fire, frak it!” Angrily he turned and placed a shot through the brain of a man beside him, inspiring the others to rise from their cover to shoot furiously into the attackers.

“See the Xeno, loathe the Xeno!” Quel’hun fired two shots in rapid succession into to bring down a particularly large beast and hoped that it would not explode.

It seemed that luck had found him.

The Plasma Gun was intact and so was his body. That, at least, was more than what could be said for the Ork. Taking aim he fired another ball into the chest of a Nob. The heat burnt through the armour with no resistance and turned his chest into a gaping cavity that smouldered and smoked as he made the rapid descent to the floor, his innards only put out by the rain that was once again hammering down.

Men were dropping all around the Colonel as the Orks finally clambered over the last lines of defence.

Unable to reach his blade in time the Colonel saved one of his comrades by driving the glowing end of his gun into a Boy’s exposed throat. He went down with a howl and a splutter but was inevitably drowned out by the screams of his own kind as they crashed into a wall of bayonets. “Drive them back, Guardsmen! Do not falter; do not quake in the face of their hideous forms. Look into your hearts, feel the hunger for their death and for your glory! That is the Emperor’s will!”

The Persiaan soldiers cheered as they fought back valiantly, shooting down any who attempted to clamber over the barricades. They were doing well in the Colonel’s eyes but, as he noticed moments after, they were dropping rapidly. Their numbers were thinning and now large holes were appearing in their defence.

“Grenade!” A young man’s voice rattled urgently. Time slowed for a moment as the Colonel realised that those in the vicinity of the explosive were not reacting. They had frozen through fear.

“Move!” He screamed, charging towards the bomb with a corpse suspended by its fatigues in his right hand. Furiously he sprinted, legs pumping faster than his advanced armour’s hydraulics could support him. He could feel that they were giving way due to the strain, but nevertheless, he ran. The body hurtled over onto the bomb just in time, the percussive blast shredding it apart and absorbing the brunt of the blast. Quel’hun rose from the ground behind a crate and looked back to the battle.

Breathes were held. Heartbeats stopped.

They were stood in the shadow of the Warboss.
__________________________________________

“ ‘Itty bitty ‘umie, ‘e broke so easy. Why’d ‘e break so easy? ‘Cos ‘e is skin’s pink!” with the end of what could be considered the best single line of poetry ever to have sprouted from such a crude mind, the Colonel raised his gun and fired.

“Burn, filth! Taste the cleansing flames!” The Plasma shots burnt into the Warboss’ leg, burning away the Squig-leather that covered his lean, mean, shiny stomping machine.

“Hahaha, dat one’s bionic, ‘umie!”

His great Power Claw shredded sliced and crushed four of the Guardsmen as he lumbered his great weight down the ridge and into the trench network.

“Breach! Breach!” He shouted as he marched back, systematically changing his focus from the raging Boss or the gathering Boys that were now invading the trench.

“Breach!” He heard it be relayed throughout the line. The Guardsmen that had not escaped the Ork were now hacked to pieces, their fluids among the countless thousands that had already soaked into the ground. Their names would be forgotten but their honour would live on.

“Commissar?” He asked over his comm bead.

“Sir, I am having my own problems right now.” He reported as he cut down four Orks in succession.

“I doubt that they are as big as mine.” He punctuated it with the rapid fire of three shots from the weapon that managed only to put down one Nob.

“Men, secure the line!” Commissar Trauk ordered before stepping back after regaining control. “What can I help you with, Sir?”

“Open the doors. Get them ready for rapid lockdown.”

… All he heard in return was static.

“Commissar, do you read?”

“Yes, I heard you. The doors will be ready as soon as possible, right after I deal with this, Sir.” He fought courageously, striking down many aliens with one long slash.

The Orks were panicking for some reason. Many of them had turned down the hill away from the Imperial line for reasons unbeknown to the Humans. It was only moments later when their cries filled the air and a hail of blades shot through the air that Quel’hun understood why.

He could finally retreat properly as he caught glimpse of an oddly running alien warrior clad in green armour. He attacked with his brothers, Chainswords cutting cleanly through Ork meat. He ran as quickly as possible while both the Orks and the Eldar charged into the trenches, gathering his troops to follow him towards the doors of the Fort.

He ushered them in and provided covering fire while all potential weapons and ammunition were dragged inside. For minutes he watched while the Orks did battle with the familiar slender aliens. He had encountered them before while in the service of an Inquisitor but had never expected to see them again in his life.

Each one wore a black band around the bicep of their left arm, giving away their allegiance.

These were the same Eldar he had encountered before. That meant that…

No, there was no time to dwell on it. Throwing his Plasma Gun to the Commissar inside the building, Quel’hun unbolted a Heavy Stubber from its bipod and carried it inside, length of the gun over one shoulder, ammunition box clipped to his hip.

Subject: Re: Cavash's short stories. Sun Mar 03 2013, 20:58

I've let this stagnate for a while so I'm trying to finish this story before I move onto my Craftworld story. Alternatively I could put this one to rest and just do my Craftworld story. I'm not sure.
I need to get my creativity juices flowing.

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