Monday, July 23, 2012

Entity: P1-5


A 40K: Dark Heresy/Rogue Trader Based Story


              Laid about a sterile room were ornate teacups and platters decorated with brilliant colors enough to distract from hairline cracks and minute chips obtained through age and indifference. The quality could be considered insulting by the standards she’d grown accustomed to at the palace, but the rarest of porcelain sets were never cared for with the devotion these mismatched dishes displayed. Even the parchment napkins likely nabbed from a near cafeteria were meticulously folded for her. Realizing her hunger, her hand extended out to the food to reveal the chains strapped around her wrist.
             “I apologize for your current restraints, but I figured it was a necessity until I’m confident you won’t escape.”
             Startled by the soft, smooth breath of a voice, she dropped the morsel of food she had nabbed. Her neck turned about, but only an empty, excessively organized room answered.
            “Don’t hinder yourself from eating. You are most welcome to whatever you wish. I was unsure what you would want to eat so grabbed a sampling of all the cook offered. Granted, the flavor may be lacking, but he makes due with what’s available on the ship.”
Following the voice upwards, she found up amongst the ventilation ducts, a man sat inverted, indifferent to the idea of gravity. However, his long ashen hair fell beneath him, blown and played with by the air vents’ exhaust. Recognizing his leaden green eyes and gaunt, narrow face, she grimaced.
You again. I thought I saw the last of you when the roof caved in.” There was coldness to her as she spoke. She raised her head more, giving a small frown. “Sir Halonoire Saladin, wasn’t it?”
All formality ended when my regiment’s ship declared exterminatus on your master’s palace last night. Please, just call me Halo.”

Friday, April 20, 2012

F: Divinity, "The Bringers"


A story of immortal beings, psychic powers, the Endtimes, and feathers.

As soon as she had grown accustomed to the lull of automobiles, the surplus of rain and propaganda posters, and lounging around in a worn down parlor filled with two decades worth of readings, the door next to her flew open as company barged through.
“Serepta, what are you wearing this afternoon?” a nagging voice muttered over the tops of food crates.
Scarcely looking above her tattered newspaper, the girl saw two uniformed men—an officer and chef—crossing the hall into her kitchen. She looked down at a buttoned up blouse and pencil skirt in a dull brown color as she folded away her collection of old news articles.
“The ensemble Odin bought me last Sunday. Why? And what are you two up to?”
“We can’t tell you, or it won’t be a surprise,” the auburn-haired chef currently called Paulo stated as he dropped the crates sloppily onto the floor, scratching pieces of varnish away.
“We’re throwing you a welcome home party,” the other man stated dryly.
“Damn it, Horus!”
Serepta felt little need to halt whatever antics they were up to, for once stopped, they would only conceive a stranger idea to subject her to.
“I know you’ve been back for a month now, but we’ve yet to throw you a proper party to meet the neighbors and other humans. Besides, we haven’t thrown a decent party in five years! I finally met a girl worth my time, and I want to entertain her sometime before she dies.”
“You don’t need to throw a party every time you want to sleep with a girl.”
Paulo turned to Horus, a tall, tan man with brown hair always combed neatly back. While Horus concerned himself with unpacking numerous jars and bags, he missed the livid expression his companion struggled to withhold.
Without hesitation, Serepta continued, “Has it really been five years since your last ‘conquest’?”
“Five years is NOT a long time! Especially when neither of you seem to have EVER had any type of love interest whatsoever!” Even when Paulo was frustrated or angered, Serepta only found his copper colored curls and dotted freckles humorous if not slightly adorable. There was a sudden tinge of anger in herself when he assumed she’d never loved anyone. Crossing her gangly hands about her chest, she slumped back into her sofa and spoke.
“Five years is a very long time for a human, especially when they are trapped in a sanitarium for three times that long…Nonetheless, I am here now, though it has been a month. Why are we celebrating so late?”
Paulo picked up one of the many newspapers lying about and smacked at Horus. Horus immediately raised a hand and crushed the frail parchment.
“I told you a month was too long!”
“Shut up, Paulo.” He replied sharply as he showered the kitchen with newspaper confetti.
“Stop messing up my kitchen! And I have not read that paper yet!” Serepta stood up and began to catch some of the large floating pieces still with words and dates visible. This paper in particular was from seven years ago.
“Yeah, well I bought this house for you and all of those papers. I say you owe me the favor of vacating for a couple of hours so Paulo can prepare his precious welcome home party or ceremony of anticipated intercourse.”
“You can’t throw a party here. There’s not enough room.”
Horus answered by picking up one of the bundles of newspapers filling the room.
“No! I still need to catch up on eighteen more years! There were a lot of happenings I was unaware of. And all of the new technologies!” Serepta stepped in front of a paper column that almost touched the ceiling. Horus extended his hands to her and his bronze eyes had begun developing a green tint.
“Here’s all you need to know about the last twenty years to save you from spending another twenty years trying to catch up. There was a lot of new science and inventions and ideas that became obsolete almost as soon as the humans developed them. Some people got angry and killed each other. One of those people was very important to the humans, so guess what? Say it!” Horus’s normally pursed lips had spread widely and his excited eyes were even more iridescently emerald.
“There’s a war going on…”  Serepta mumbled monotonously.
“Say it with more cheer! There’s a war goin’ on! And it’s a mighty big one at that! I can feel it! You should be more excited. It could be the Endtimes!”
“Well it’s not the Endtimes if we haven’t found the Other yet.”
Horus frowned like a small child denied a fanciful wish. “We don’t have to find him in order for the humans to mess things up further. And that reminds me, go put on that white dress I gave you for the Sisterhood*.”
“What!” Serepta gasped and poked her boney finger against the fastenings of his army jacket. “You promised that I didn’t have to help out with your deceptive propaganda plots to send more of those humans to their premature death!”
“First off, death is never premature. Just hand out those damn feathers for two hours, read your card then come back here when we’re ready. It’s up to those men if they join the fight or not,” Horus turned away to yell at Paulo for dropping a basket of fruit before turning back to her, “I know you don’t want to be out there alone again. But if you want the humans to stop throwing you into sanatoriums, try acting like them for once. If anything happens, I’ll find you. I always find you.”

**Refers to the Sisterhood of the White Feather, a group of young women in WWI era Briton who presented men without a uniform a white feather of cowardice.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

SSR: Book 1, Ch 1

Souls Shall Reign
Book One: Collapse of the Azure Realm

Chapter One

It began with a breeze from inland toiling through a crack between the window pane and sill. The low whistle of the wind and the rasping pass of silt against the aged wood filled his ears upon his wake. His eyes slowly opened under the weight of exhaustion to see the grey skies of another overcast day. Uneager to begin the monotony, he started to burrow his head into a nest of blankets when he felt the peculiar breath of warmth carried by the draft. Unaccustomed to the sea air possessing any level of welcoming heat, he turned his head back to the window frame. His eyes cast down to a thin layer of sand resting across the wooden plank. Before his awakening thoughts could even ponder the sand’s appearance, the blustering draft picked up and blew the gravel away. He watched as ribbons of the sand dissipated away entirely. Unwilling to dedicate another second to the strange occurrence, his head collapsed back down into the warmth of his bed.
The serenity was interrupted with a sharp boom.
“Farrowill! Wake up!”