40K Fluff

[Dufflious]

My new terminator squad has inspired me to write some fluff for them. Space Hulk action!

The Nervous Shadow - By Dan Hewitt

Brother Drathnir walked down the narrow galley of the acid-burned walkway. His mask alight with information, possibilities, and read outs. His Ammo counter was full. This was both bad and good. Good, for obvious reasons. He had ammo in his clip. Bad, because he hadn't killed anything when he knew there were things to be killed.

His own voice in the vaccume sealed silence of his helmet was growing louder, someone, somewhere, was beating a bass drum, and it too was growing louder, and louder. He was thrown off by this, his adrenelin pumping through his enhanced system, until a cool sweat ran down his brow when he realised the drum was only his hearts beating. His Orange armour was speccled with bits of xenos sputum, drool and other acidic by products. He knew it was of no risk to his wrist-thick Plastisteel and Adamantium armour he was clad in, he was more concerned for the dishonour it posed the chapter. He remembered one of the Chaplains sermons, and that only in battle are we truely faithful. Gesturing with his enlengthened arm, due to the 6 slug barrel he was carrying, he moved his squad further inwards. Having the most firepower and the (debated) quickest trigger finger, he was pointman. And even in his Astartes way, hated it.

" Th-huuuuuurh.... Puuuuuuuh..... Th-huuuuuuuuurh.... Puuuuuuuh..." Came breathing over the vox "Contact. 1 klik ahead." The Imperial Vessel 'Bloodied Foe' was part of an Imperial task force sent to find and irraticate any splinters of Hive Fleet Behemoth that were left. Too many times had they slipped through the net. The mission was a success as a world was purged of Tyranid taint. On the return voyage home, the last Imperial Communicaes known regarding the matter, said that the 'Bloodied Foe' had dropped out of warp for seemingly no reason, due to terbulant Warp Activity, the choice was made to keep moving, hoping the ship would keep pace.

That was 7 years ago.

The Emperor's Wings found the ship adrift in a blank region of space. Just another large void, on a return leg of a trip from the annual training missions ran with the Bronze Drakes. Dufflious said that an Old Terran term called them 'war games', to which the newer Astartes took confusion. How could fun be found in war? The veterans mearly grinned with knowing familiarity. One of which was Drathnir himself.

Drathnir was one of the 7 squads of Veteran Terminator units the Emperor's Wings had. 4 were Tactical Terminators, such as himself, the other 3 squads were Assault. There had been more, but in recent tactical blunders ("The last bloody time I listen to a Planatary Governor" Dufflious had reflected) the squads had withered. Rather, the biological componants (I.E, the wearers, or indeed, pilots.) of the Terminator Armour had perished. And the Blood Angels from whom he desended from knew all too well the vitality of Terminators in a 'Space Hulk' as the Guardsmen called them, although a bit thrown from fondly it was.

7 red dots pulsated on Drathnir's vision. He couldn't see them for what they were but they were moving fast. He heard scuttled claw on metal as the beings came onto the landing with them, Genestealers! Drathnir pulled the lever to open the barrels of the Emperor's Wrath onto the Xenos scum as he tried to steer the Assault Cannon at the enclosing foe. 2 or possibly more dropped before the beings were ontop of them. They had only silenced the gun, Drathnir brought a slow yet certain fist of raw energy onto the torso of the thing, clasping his fingers down with such ease, as the brittle lifeforce in creature departed. Throwing the remains over the gantree to an uncertain bottom, Drathnir turned enough to see his Squad Mates dealing with the remainder. His Squad Sergeant, Frostrun, slapped the Genestealer about the 'face' before leveling his Stormbolter to silence the creatures screetches. The others had managed well, no wounds.

"Well managed, Brothers." Frostrun commented over the vox. "Proceed to the heat source as planned, resume point, Drathnir." His voice was soothing, calming the diluted thirsts in Drathnir's heart. As he began the elabourate process of turning back around again in full Terminator armour with an Assault Cannon sidearm, Drathnir resumed heading forwards to the large, but faint, heat source. The tactic in this death-barge was simple, destroy the root and the plant will flail and die. And so they headed down into the bowels of the ship, to landing bay 13.

Dufflious had commented during their briefing. Old Terra held the foolish supersticious belief that 13 was unlucky. Astartes didn't believe in luck.

Tyranids did.

[Ghost Fist]

Good....but lacking action.....
.....and you need to learn how spell....sorry

Will there be more?

[Dufflious]

Yes. And I was drunk, so shutup.

It lacks action because it's doing what we authors call "Setting the scene".

And for once it's a serious peice of fluff, counter to the Haha-fluff that i've been reading. Grr at you.

Grr indeed.

-D

[Ghost Fist]

And now....more fluff from (who else?) me!

Silver Death



Trooper Franz Kaden of the Thelcyon PDF shivered in his ill-fitting red-and-grey uniform. He was uncomfortable in the chilling cold of the night in Cendin City, the main establishment on the pioneer world. Kaden stood at attention with the rest of his squad, his lasgun's metal freezing his hands as he stared straight ahead, seeing nothing except his own breath, frosted by the cold. His sergeant, a man called Jildax, inspected them.
"For all of you unfortunate sons of groxes, this will be your first combat," the grizzled veteran stated, "I can only hope for your sake, and for the sake of this town, that the combat training I gave you found itself a home in your thick skulls."
"What are our enemies?" a young trooper enquired, "how many of them are there?"
Jildax strode up to the boy in question. He could not have been more than 18, the youngest in the unit.
Kaden himself was 23, recruited 6 months ago as per the governor's order.
"First of all, you will render to me the honourific 'sir' or I won't wait for the enemy, I'll kill you myself. Second of all, we go up against the reason why this planet was abandoned in the first place.
"9 hours ago, energy readings were picked up outside this city, about 2 kilometres distant. Big ones. So they sent a scout team with Adeptus Mechanicus priests to the location. Only once did they send back a message, and most of it was screaming. Only one word was audible," the sergeant's face became grim, and he spoke the next word like a curse, "Necrons."

There was complete silence as each of the men considered this. Necrons, the silvered nightmares, the fearless monstrosities that brought swift death. Necrons. The word brought fear to the most seasoned soldier. And they were in the middle of an assault to dislodge the humans from the tomb-world, green, untested troops.

Finally Sergeant Jildax ordered, "Alright, you sorry dogs, to the gates!"
They marched, double-time, to the main gate of the city, and into one of the bunkers on either side of it. There, they waited; sweat dripping down the backs of their necks, despite the cold. There, they set up their weapons, a missile launcher and grenade launcher. They were well equipped for PDF, but that did little to quell their unease.

There they waited, for what seemed like hours, waiting for an order, a glimpse of the enemy, anything to occupy their minds. Franz took the time to observe the rest of his squad. Ten men, non older than him, save the sergeant, all jumpy, coiled tighter than a spring. All as nervous as him.
"Wait!" cried the young soldier who had spoken earlier, "I hear something!"
Jildax rose to punish him, but then they all heard it; a crunching of gravel. They brought up their weapons, aiming outside, searching for targets. A tap on Kaden's shoulder made him spin and cry out, but a friendly voice spoke back,
"What are you looking for?" the trooper found himself looking into the face of their platoon's officer, Lieutenant Ferdas, "Some good looks?"
The sergeant laughed.
"I'm serious! You must have the ugliest squad on the whole planet!" Ferdas chuckled, "ah well, holding out okay? Not too bored?"
Without waiting for an answer he said, "Good, good," before striding back into the night. It began to rain.

The squad was still restless, and after another few hours of lounging around, an earsplitting screeching siren echoed through the city, immediately wakening the soldiers. The sergeant grabbed some magnoculars, and searched the darkness.
"There!" he shouted, pointing, "I see them!"
Kaden looked, and saw it too; eerie green glows in the night, highlighting the skeletal aliens that bore the weapons. The light made them look even scarier, if that was possible.
"Weapons!" Jildax yelled, "Single shot, maximum power! Missile launcher, load and wait for my order! Same for you!" he gestured to the grenade launcher bearer, Holb.
The men rushed to their duties, and lined along the bunker's edge, bracing, fingers on the triggers. Each chose a target and tracked it. This was easy, in theory, for the Necrons slow, implacable advance made them tantamount to target practice, but in combat, these untried men couldn't keep their aim steady. The Necron warriors strode closer, ever closer, but no order was given.
Then, at a nod from the vox-officer Lokven, Sergeant Jildax screamed, "Fire!" as las-fire erupted along the Imperial lines, cutting crimson streaks across the wasteland to impact on the Necrons. Some stumbled and fell, smoking holes in their torsos, others missing heads. Most kept going, slowly but surely, as bolts of focused light rebounded from their gleaming bodies. They kept walking, even when missing arms and even legs. Kaden also saw some that had fallen get up again, despite wounds that would have felled a Space Marine. At another command, missiles streaked toward the enemy, throwing up great clouds of dust and debris, ripping apart Necrons. They were closely followed by grenade rounds and plasma bolts. Throughout this, the foe had not fired a single shot.
Then, at some unseen signal, the weapons of the Necrons flared with energy, and, as one, let loose a storm of green-white lightning. There were screams of pain and horror from the human lines. One of the men in Franz's squad was hit by one in the chest, and his death-cries were a chilling sound to hear, as he was vaporized, his armour, his clothes, his flesh, and his bones until there was nothing left.
"Switch to rapid-fire!" the order was relayed through the lines, "Fire at will!"
Through the hail of fire, Kaden dared to think, to hope, that they could live, they could win this battle. But these warriors were just the beginning of the xenos' monstrosities, as a wave of shifting silver swept over the broken ground rapidly. Each little silver beetle, hungry for the flesh of the PDF. They crashed into the bunkers, seeping through every crack, to pincer themselves to the humans, then explode, causing horrendous casualties and wounds from shrapnel. They proved to be vulnerable to flame weapons, and were largely exterminated from the battle. Then, floating beasts, a combination of warrior and large shell, with huge, crackling weapons attached to spindly arms came to the field. A knot of these turned to Kaden's bunker, and their weapons lit up, preparing to fire.
"Get out!" Jildax howled, "Out of the bunker!"
Kaden and 3 others leapt out the back of the complex just as the beams crashed into it, disintegrating the ferrocrete and armourplas construction. They turned to see the main gate get hit by the same treatment, though on a much larger scale. The Destroyers rushed through the breach, firing calmly. The warriors strode purposefully behind them, slower, yet no less destructive.
"For the Emperor! Do not allow this filth to taint this proud city!" Lieutenant Ferdas shouted, firing his laspistol and motioning with his power fist. Roused by his fervour, the guardsmen, along with 2 new squads opened fire again, crippling Necrons. Here, a clutch of warriors destroyed by a well placed grenade. There, a Destroyer falling to the earth, exploded by a missile.
Ferdas led his squad forward, and punched his power fist through a Necron torso as his men used their bayonets to effect, severing limbs and power cables. The robots fought back, carving guardsmen apart with their curved blades which absorbed the blood of the humans. The Lieutenant stood among a pile of fallen aliens, victorious, when another horror of the Necrons unveiled itself. A long, curved spine with broad shoulders swept down from the sky and impaled him with wicked claws, lifting him up and shredding him in mid-air. More of them butchered his squad, as constant las-fire kept them away from the rest of the guardsmen.
A humming filled the air. Kaden looked around in confusion as a glowing filled the area in front of him. A guardsman standing in it began to shudder violently, before exploding and showering the air with gore. The green glow darkened and began to form a pyramid shape. The newly formed Monolith raked the area with green bolts while the front disgorged more warriors and hideous Flayed Ones from a swirling portal.
Lascannon beams hit the thing dead on, made burning, melted holes which filled up again without sound. All this time, Kaden was firing his weapon frantically. He pulled the trigger again and again, while watching his comrades die. Sergeant Jildax went down to a Flayed One, a curse on his lips as his chainsword, battered and broken, fell from his nerveless hands.
A bone-chilling howl came from the Necron host, and Kaden looked up. A flash of lightning in the stormy skies lit up the silhouette of a huge figure in tattered robes standing on one of the gate-towers.
It brandished its weapon, a huge scythe, and Franz Kaden was frozen with horror as the silver host advanced towards him, burning away the very atoms of his existence. It projected its name through the human lines with its presence, a word that meant death to all who opposed it.
Nightbringer....

comments? critique?

[Scoutninja]

It was very good. It was also very scary.

[Ghost Fist]

Thanks....but do I see a note of sarcasm?
anyone else?

[Scoutninja]

I meant no sarcasm at all. I read some of your other fluff on the other thread. Its very good too.

[ArchDuke of Macragge]

Just a little piece about my Horeth Crusade Templars army. Please tell me what you think!

The Reckoning

Sargent Androcles gazed out across the wasteland towards the massive entrenchments of the enemy. Grey smoke filled the air but was effortlessly peirced by his enhanced vision. For three weeks battle had broken out across this stretch of land, all that stood between the mad Daemon Prince Philotyle and Imperial Justice. Ten thousand guardsmen had fallen on the wire, but the time for guardsmen had passed. Five million souls had been consumed, but that ended today. The Marines were here, and by the Throne they would end this!
Looking to his left, Androcles saw the long line of black-armoured marines, bolters in hand, waiting for the order to attack. A low rumbling filled the air as bolters were loaded and pre-battle prayers were recited. Clips were passed about, heavy weapons troopers given extra ammunition, chainswords buzzed as troopers cycled power levels.
Suddenly, the air was split by the mechanized voice of the Chaplain. Chaplain Vezaz had been the spirtual advisor and combat leader for a thousand years. A veteran of Armageddon, he had faught with Halbrecht in the Battle of Fire and Blood alongside High Marshall Ludoldus. He exemplified the uthos of the chapter, and all looked up to him has an example of what a marine should be. Now, he was leading the assault himself! Androcles wondered at the nearness of one of the companies greatest heros.
"Brothers, remember today that all we do, we do in the name of the Immortal Emperor of Terra, and all those who would seek to undo his work are our enemies, worthy only of the bolter and the sword. Think of this today-"
His words were cut short by a massive explosion, the sound of a hundred shells arcing into the Templar lines at once. Trenches collapsed, bared wrie was thrown into clusters, and the communications bunker was turned into so much scrap metal. Dozens of Marines were shattered by the shells, others losing limbs as deadly shrapnel sliced deep into ceramite and admantium. Debris rained down on the survivors. Androcles was slammed into the trench wall by the force. He raised his head from the mud. His squad was scattered, and his ears rang from concussion. A black gauntlet hooked his shoulder pad and hoisted him to his feet. He found himself looking into the skull mask of Vezaz himself.
"For the Emperor, Brother." Intoned the Chaplain. Without another word, he turned and charged out of the trench. A moment later, two hundred marines charged with him. Brother Kantaur with his flamer at the ready, Mulliar swining his massive power axe, and dozens more, an armoured fist about to mash apart the enemy. Then the traitor lines opened up with a storm of las-fire and auto-gun shells, and some of the Templars fell with gaping wounds blasted in their power armor. The charge faltered as marines slowed in the face of the resistance, marines tending to their injured cmrades or ducking down into craters. Androcles realized a strong hand was needed nor this assault would fail. Suddenly, a massive figure strode to the fore of the charge. He shone with the light of the Emperor, his massive sword gleaming as he recited the most sacred oaths of the Black Templars, oaths laid down by Rogal Dorn himself. Templars stood then, shrugging off their wounds and re-joining the charge. Titus, Champion of the Emperor, had come. Nothing could have stopped the Templar now. Lasbolts glanced off ceremite, missiles arced wide and exploded harmlessly. Everywhere the hand of the Emperor was guiding the Templars, watching them and protecting them. The fire slackened as the charge hit home, traitor guardsmen turning and fleeing as the Templars hit the line.
Androcles disemboweled a cultest with his chainsword, continuing his back swing into the face of another. He blasted apart a third with a burst of bolter fire, when he was lifted into the air for a second time that day. He felt a biting pain as his chainesword arm was sliced away at the elbow in a spray of blood. He saw Brother Druken's head spiral by, his hate etched on his face even in death. Kantaur roared and then exploded in a burst of fame as a Chaos marine blasted his flamer tanks with bolter fire. There were dozens of the new enemy, hacking and slashing at the reeling Black Templars. Grasping for his falling bolt pistol, Androcles fell to the ground. Looking up, he saw the shrieking face of a Chaos marine. The beserker's face contorted into a wide pit of fangs as it raised its chainaxe high and prepared to disembowel him. Brother Nerus tackled the beserker, only to fall away clutching at his severed legs. Fighting the pain in his stump he raised his bolter arm and jammed the trigger, only to realize that his clip was empty. Time slowed as the axe flew down towards his face. He stared into the eyes of the berzerker and prepared to meet the Emperor.
Suddenly the Black Sword was there, jutting through the neck of the chaos marine. Titus discarded the corpse and swung around, hewing through two more. With a cry of hatred, he charged towards the enemy leader, a massively armoured Chaos lord. His marines charged with him, and Androcles rose and followed with the Templars oath on his lips.

[Ghost Fist]

First off, nice fluff.
Secondly, a little double check wouldn't kill you.

I laughed when I saw this. (Yes it's a typo, but still)

"Brothers, remember today that all we do we do in the name of the Immoral Emperor of Terra, and all those who would seek to undo his work are our enemies, worthy only of the bolter and the sword. Think of this today-"

Next time, just read over it a bit. But overall good.

[ragingpotato]

I could write serious fluff if I really wanted to, and I'm sure it would turn out fine. However, both because I am far better at writing "Har Har" fluff, and because this is a forum for a webcomic, a funny webcomic, It shall be funny! However, this one will most likely be shorter than previous thingys (did not technically finish my last one but no one seemed to care)

On the peaceful agriworld of Santorum there lived a grox farmer by the name of Vincent Dargun. He had a wife and three loving children and was fairly pious, as is the way with rural folks. A completely ordinary and loyal Imperial Citizen to whom nothing interesting ever happened.
As such, let's just forget about Vincent, and turn our attentions to a much more interesting fellow, Tag Murphy, leader of the cult of Fuchismo on Santorum.
"Alright boys," Murphy addressed the small gathering of farmers and PDF in the back of an old barn. All wore the traditional potato sack robes favored by the followers of the Spud God. "Tomorrow's the day we make our attack! Tomorrow is the day of our final operation! Tomorrow we shall overthrow the weakling Imperial Governor in the Glorious name of Fuchismo! SPUDS FOR THE SPUD GOD!"
"TOTS FOR THE TOT THRONE!" His cultists replied.
"Right then first order of business. Has anyone seen Davin Mitchells? He's been missing since last month and he hasn't paid his dues."
"Dav got hit in the head with a shovel"
"Yeah, real nasty I think he's in a coma"
"Really? Hmm, we'll have to send him a get well card."
"Uh Magus sir," A cultist in the back raised his hand/
"What is it Geoff?"
"Well its just that I don't think we should send him a card."
"We want him to get better don't we?"
"Well it's just It doesn't seem like something a chaos cult would do."
"And what would a chaos cult do Geoff" Murphy glared at him angrily.
"Well sir, the Nurgle cult down the road summoned a plaguebearer when one of their guys got sent to the medicae"
"They are followers of the Plague god! That's what they do!"
"Well what do we do sir? Every meeting you say we're gonna overthrow the government but we never do?"
Murphy shook his head and stepped down from the crate he was standing on to walk over to the disillusioned cultist.
"Look Geoff, must I go voer the plan again? Step One: Get potatoes. Step Two... Step Three: Overthrow Imperial Rule"
"I know the plan sir. It just doesn't seem very.. menacing."
"Exactly that's the beauty of it! The Imperials will never suspect a thing! Those Nurgle guys are gonna get caught and then who'll be laughing? If we keep a low profile were not going to have the Imperial Inquisition turn up and-"
Suddenly the door to the barn was kicked down and a trio of figures dressed in grey, black, and red burst through the door.
"NOONE EXPECTS THE IMPERIAL INQUISITION!"
Part 2 to follow. Later.

[ragingpotato]

Right then. I'm back. Had to go pick someone up. Part II

The trio of men drew a ridiculous number of weapons on the stunned Fuchismo Cultists. The lead one said "I am Inquisitor Davie of the Ordo Malleus! These are my associates, Major Tom," He pointed to the man on his left, holding what appeared to be a small, three barreled autogun in one hand and a plasma pistol in the other. He wore faded grey fatigues with red body armor and had a bandoleer of explosives slung across his chest. "And of course Ziggy." He indicated the man on his right, dressed in a ragged robe and dual weilding lasguns. The insane look on his face and the faint glow of warp energy about him indicated that he was a psyker.
Tag drew an autopistol and brandished it at the inquisitor, who outgunned him with what appeared to be a combi-bolter with a melta. The inquisitor wore grey carapace armor with a red cape and a wide brimmed red hat. A large conspicuous -][- on his chest made it clear that he saw no reason to hide his identity.
"What do you want lackey of the Emperor?" Murphy said as his cultists, thanks to months of martial discipline, curled into little balls and wept uncontrollably.
"We are here to stop your foul demon summoning ritual!" Inquistor Davie shouted proudly.
"Uh, we worship Fuchismo, he's not real big on demons."
"Oh, well then were here to stop your insidious slaying of the innocent!"
"Uh, Fuchismo's not big on slaying the innocent. Mostly just forcing them to eat potatoes."
"Oh well... We shall kill you for your hatred of the Emperor."
"Well actually we don't so much hate the emperor, if anything Fuchismo's relations with the emperor have been rather cordial up to this point."
"Well... you see we've come all this way... would you mind doing something... chaotic?"
"Can't we just... kill them" Major Tom asked, eagerly brandishing his armaments.
"Well I suppose they are heretics, but that's really more of the Ordo hereticus's thing, and those guys get really ticked off if you kill heretics without them. Plus that's loads of paperwork."
Suddenly the left wall of the barn was demolished and a squad of Grey Knights burst through shouting litanies of hate only to stop abruptly, offset by the lack of epic conflict.
"Oh Brother Lazuri, um, yeah it turns out they weren't summoning a demon. Sorry, I probably should have voxed that to you."
The Grey Knights slumped off back through the wall, irritated and mildy disappointed by the lack of action. Brother Lazuri paused briefly to flash an obscene hand gesture at the inquisitor before following his men out.
"Look, is there anything else we can help you folks with?" Tag asked, putting away his gun. Around him the other cultists were getting up and dispersing into the night. The Inquisitor and his retinue had lowered their guns. Major tom mumbled something to himself about the time it takes to add a second and third barrel to an autogun while ziggy wandered off to go lick the walls for some reason.
"You're sure you guys don't have a demon or something?"
"Yeah, you can check those Nurgle guys down the block though."
"Okay, we'll do that... say are those mashed potatoes?"
"Yeah, it was a potluck and this is pretty much all anyone ever brings."
"Mind if we have some?"
"Go ahead, I can safely say this meeting is over."
"Right then." The Inquisitor grabbed a container of mashed potatoes off the buffet table that had been set up against a wall. He handed it off to Tom then struck a heroic pose. "ANOTHER VICTORY, FOR THE SERVANTS OF THE EMPEROR!"

[Veritas]

Wow. I really am not a huge fan of silly fluff, but that was hilarious. I can't help but say that your style of humor is incredibly Python-esque. That is by no means a criticism, though. I love when the Grey Nights burst through the wall. Somehow that strikes me as EXACTLY something those spear waving glory-boys would do, just to get attention.

Love it.

[ragingpotato]

FLuff TiMe

Lt. Colonel Strake of The 10,101st Raedan Airborne gazed over the ruined square at the hundred and fifty or so men still remaining from his battalion. Behind him the sound of shouting and bolterfire drew inexorably closer. At his side stood the only surviving member of his command squad, PFC Jenkins, whowas staring nervously at an auspex. Strake looked over Jenkins shoulders, nodded, then turned to address his men.
"Brave men of Raed, Raedia, whatever the name of our homeworld is! According to our information, the vile enemy now controls over 75% of the city of... this engagement."
"Quartervick Sir."
"Right. The glorious city of Quartervick. Anyway, I think we can safely say the enemy has taken this city."
Strake paused for dramatic effect and one soldier said "Oh, that's too bad."
"However, do not despair sons of Red! For this means we move on to phase two of my ultimate master city defense plan- the insurgency!"
The crowd of soldiers stared at him blankly.
"What this means for you is that we will no longer be using the traditional command structure and will instead utilise guerrilla tactics and such until the enemy is overwhelmed by our superiorness and surrenders."
"Also, we lost the master vox so we can't call for help." Jenkins added before returning to the increasingly alarming auspex.
"Right. ANYway, Insurgency... GO!"
The soldiers stared at the Lt. Colonel for a few moments before scattering off in different directions. It was as if the battalion was playing a giant game of hide-and-seek as troopers leapt through windows into abandoned buildings, shoved themselves into trash bins and attempted to hide beneathe scattered pieces of cardboard. Meanwhile Strake and Jenkins calmly started walking toward the general direction of HQ.
"Good work men. I'm sure you can take it from here so I'll leave you to it. Pull in your legs there sergeant."

Five minutes later Sergeant Baked of the Acolytes of Fuchismo entered the square with his tactical squad. The (Chaos) Space Marines fanned out in the square while the Sergeant stared angrily at his auspex.
"By the God of Potatoes! This thing must be busted again! Brother Kleiner, get over here, your a techmarine right?"
"I'm not brother Kleiner, he was killed last week when the thunderhawk landed on him."
"Well you all look the same! Someone needs get a beakie helmet or something for Fuchismo's sake! Who are you?"
"I'm Stephens sir. Stephens, from Accounts."
"Why do we even have an Accounts department?"
"Oh the Accounts department is a vital part of the Chapter's infrastructure, why the cost of vegetable oil alone-"
"Stephens. It was a rhetorical question."
"Oh, well I suppose I can take a look at that auspex, I'm no techmarione but-"
" WIth all due respect, I value your input about as much as I value Brother Splin's Bowerl movements."
"I was just trying to be helpful sir."
"Look Stephens, unless you can somehow find the Imperials with your bloody calculator, I don't care. If we don't kill these guys we'll never be able to summon a demon for the defiler! And I just know Big Crazy Jim's gonna blame it on me."
Sergeant Baked turned to try to talk to someone less aggravating when he realised that they were the only two marines left in the square.
"Brother Stephens, where did-"
The Accountant marine had vanished as well.
"Well this is quite-"
Before he could finish his sentence five guardsmen appeared from a destroyed chimera and pulled him inside.
The last thing Sergeant Baked saw was Brother Stephens with a lasgun bayonet through his neck and the large rock that came crashing down on his exposed head.

[Scoutninja]

Finally got around to writing some fluff. No blood, you say? just wait.

The 55th Romonovian:


A child ran along the beach. He was yelling and carrying a stick. With his “bolter” he was shooting the enemies of the Imperium. The sounds of : “Die you Xenos!!” and “Die You Heretics!!” echoed as he blazed away at rocks and the sand of the beach. He turned to run farther down the beach, he tripped over something. Digging in the sand, he unearthed a glowing green stone, perfectly shaped with 8 faces and pointed toward one end. For a moment he stood still, transfixed by the glow of the stone. Then, he turned and ran from its creepy aura. The stone continued to glow, uncaring about the boy’s disappearance. The stone brightened so much that the whole beach was bathed in light. And then, nothing. The stone was reclaimed by the sea from whence it came. It slipped from the shores to go to depths unknown.


----15 years earlier----

Sergeant Arkanov sat in the sunlight, watching as the men of his regiment played in the surf. It had been a long time since they had come anywhere this nice. The usual places were things like Moriaton, a trench bloodbath where over half the regiment was destroyed, and Iniss IV, a freezing world where very blood in your veins froze. This beach was extremely peaceful.
Looking over the men, Arkanov was reminded of what they had been through. Fully half of Private Oronov, his squad’s plasma gunner, had been reconstructed after his encounter with a Demolisher Cannon. Almost all the men had scars of some sort. The types varied greatly, from a flamer burn to missing limbs. The men of the 55th Romonovian had been to Tartarus and back.
From the Command post Arkonov could hear the crackle of the Hourly status check on the Vox.
“Outpost Tango three three, this is Command what is your status, Over?”
Arkonov heard the lazy reply of Pvt. Kerrivich to the man.
“All’s well, Sergei, you ought to come enjoy this sun, It’s great!”
“Report received, Outpost Tango three three, Out.”
“Hey, Sarge! How long will we stay here? A week? A month?” Kerrivich inquired.
“I don’t know, Uri, Emperor wills, Forever.”
Uri’s reply was lost as the Sergeant drifted off into sleep in the hot morning sun.

[Jim the cadian]

Well, out of ideas? You can use the Cadian 1337, as this scenario from a real life gaming experience happened: "OMFG! NAKED ZOMBIE ROBOTS!" "Robots can't be naked Mel." "So what Steve, they are heading to our tank, probably going to scratch the black paint of our dozer blades because they hate seeing the word PWNED in front of them (yes, i actualy did that)!" *Necrons move 6 inches closer* "OH CRAP! FIRE!" *apparently scatter dice hates me, so it lands on the 'Russ...And gets vehicle annihilated. Basicaly they are Cadians who: Tank Jack, Commissar Hat Jack, any thing that involves Jacking, heavy weaponry gone wrong and being so clueless Inquisitors mistake THEMSELVES as heretics, AKA. EXACT OPPOSITE OF A CADIAN REGIMENT.