Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

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Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

Post by Sonarius on Fri Jan 13, 2012 3:59 am

WARNING. THE FOLLOWING CONTENT IS INTENDED FOR MATURE READERS. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 15, I STRONGLY ADVISE YOU TO SEEK PARENTAL PERMISSION BEFORE READING THIS. THERE'S BLOOD, VIOLENCE, AND ALLUSIONS TO RAPE AND SEXUAL CONTENT; AGAIN, IF YOU ARE UNDER THE LEGAL OR MENTAL AGE, DO NOT READ THIS.

So I've been putting together this little story idea for a while now. There's not a whole lot of stuff written about the Grey Knights. We DID have Ben Counter writing out an Omnibus for us, but beyond that, there's very little, especially in the ways of writefaggotry from the community. Trinity is one part, namely the "prequel" or prologue to the events of the actual story itself. It revolves around a number of characters: A Grey Knight Brother-Captain, previously a Champion, who retains his blade and skill with it, who also has some outward psychic abilities [what in tabletop terms manifests as the powers such as Hammerhand, smite, lightning bolt, along those lines]. A Venerable Dreadnought, formerly a Librarian, who, combined with the psyk-enhancing circuitry of his sarcophagus, is a psychic BEAST, though his psychic abilities are what he relies on more than his walker's close-combat and long-range weapons [I tend to manifest this on the tabletop as him suffering -1 to BS and WS, but being Psyker Mastery 4 with augmented abilities, with an additional points cost]. A semi-radical Inquisitor who takes his council from the Grey Knights as often as they take their council from him, tending to follow their routines heavily to ward himself against the same weapons he wields. Most Grey Knight Grand Masters refuse to work with him, though the aforementioned Brother-Captain does not, on the understanding that the Inquisitor has so far never strayed from his faith in the Emperor and that should he ever do so, Sonarius [the Brother Captain] WILL give him the old double-tap with his storm bolter in the blink of an augmented eye, which the Inquisitor gladly accepts.

Additional characters are two Eldar; a Farseer, and an Exarch who has only just been permanently lost down the Path of the Warrior, and who has started her own Aspect Shrine of the Howling Banshees (rather than taking on the role from an existing, dormant one). The Exarch plays more of an intricate role with the Grey Knights previously mentioned, and I intend to explore a new avenue of approach with her. There is, in fact, a scene I have planned whereupon Sonarius contemptfully remarks upon how the Eldars' souls are in constant peril of being devoured by Slaanesh, how humans who maintain their strength of resolve in their faith to the Emperor always go to his side, how this must be the case as the only way of explaining how the Emperor keeps his strength in the face of the gods of chaos ever gaining in strength [every drop of blood, every lie told, every death in vain, every act of depravity feeds them, ergo the souls of the faithful and righteous going to his side must be what keeps him stronger], and how it is a mark of the eldar's weakness that their spirit stones are a necessity, and at best only a makeshift stop-gap solution, to keep themselves from being devoured by their great enemy. I won't say too much what happens, but his words shake the exarch to her fundamental core of existence.

Additionally, there will be a squad of Kasrkin from the 5th Cadian Regiment, known as the Chaos Killers, who are distinguished from most other Cadian Regiments as being entirely comprised of Kasrkin. They work closely with the 55th and 555th, who provide armored support and artillery support, respectively. The 5th in particular provides a large number of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers to the Ordo Malleus specifically, and ditto for any armored or artillery units that the Ordo Malleus might requisition, given their specialization in combat against both Chaos Marines and daemons. The three regiments were, in point of fact, specifically requested by the Ordo Malleus for such a reason.

Said squad, and the previously mentioned Farseer, end up thrown together, when the squad is tasked with capturing her alive by the previously mentioned Inquisitor.

All these events all come together, and there's a backstory behind it all. All said, the entire idea I've come up with is fairly expansive. There'll be elements that I may or may not include. For the most part, I'm going to leave the yes-or-no stuff up to friends and fans. One of the yes-or-no things involves a love-interest kind of thing that may develop. Or may not, again, depends on what people want to see...or want to not see. I know the eldar-falling-for-a-human or vice-versa thing has been done more times than anything else, but trust me when I say I have a plan to actually make it interesting.

That said, I'm going to post up the currently-written part of Grey Guardian. This story is still in its prototype stage, though, so expect some stuff to change.


Last edited by Sonarius on Fri Jan 13, 2012 12:58 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Re: Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

Post by Sonarius on Fri Jan 13, 2012 3:59 am

The nature of chaos is chaos itself; unpredictable, even in its most brutally simplistic forms. Violence and rage; it materialized without rationale very often. In its more esoteric forms, it was a terrifying concept to begin to muse upon, and to even begin to understand its tangled weaves of plots and intricacies, its millenia-long schemes that yielded only a single man or woman dying which in turn damned entire star systems to daemonic dominion or total annihilation (the latter being far more the merciful turn of fate), required the sacrifice of one's sanity. There were warnings, but only almost all of the time. Even the greatest of the farseers of the eldar craftworld of Nu'lehasi did not foresee the warp storm that suddenly wrapped its damning fingers around their roaming home among the stars. Indeed, the eddies and tides of fate had led them falsely around, the vagaries and inconsistency of change itself played out in the most specific ways to trick even the ancient wisdom of the greatest minds the craftworld eldar had.
There was a terror felt all across the immense vessel, a terror that pulsed through the psycho-reactive wraithbone structure, turning the faint whispers of the souls within its infinity circuit into shrill cries of anguish and terror as daemonic presences swept amongst them, devouring the souls like so many sweetmeats. The eldar were caught off-guard, and their vessel, meant to serve their own creative intuitions and their own soul-specific wills, began to betray them, the psychoplastic materials yielding to daemonic entities that hummed with malevolent power. Walls tore apart into open space, sending hundreds, thousands of eldar into the nuclear cold vacuum of space, entire spires shifting and distorting, crushing those within and pasting them across the walls, which contorted into psychotic dimensions. The craftworld fast became the hell-spawn beginnings of a corrupt daemon-world. Slaanesh and hir minions were thirsty...and they desired to slake their foul, parched tongues with the most precious souls of all.

They might have succeeded...but the eldar were not the only race with the powers of foresight.


Leyeske'na pivoted, pirouetted, and spun in an elegant dance of death. Her bone-white armor was streaked with neon-blue, livid purple, and glowing pink ichor, her mirror-swords glittering as she slashed off a daemonette's head with one blade, the other sweeping up and then come back down in a brilliant arc, bisecting another claw-armed, six-breasted warp-spawned abomination right down the center of her form. Both screamed in what could only be described as ecstasy as their bodies came apart, before dissolving into incorporeal nothingness, their warp-essence returning to their insane realm, banished for now from the Materium. The Howling Banshee exarch whirled and gouged open another daemonette's chest, before a series of hands, twisted arms, and vestigial limbs began wrapping around her armor in the sickest parody of a lover's embrace. Leyeske'na grunted, spinning one of her power-fielded swords into a reverse grip and plunging it back behind her, driving it into the gut of the monstrosity attempting to molest her, yanking the blade up and disemboweling the horrendous creature, which giggled sickly, a long tongue reaching out snake-like and lashing around in clear, carnal hunger, even as its mottled purple-blue blood spilled from its mouth. With a disgusting moan of relish, it fell at last to the ground, spasmed, and went still, its hellish essence returning to the realm it came. Leyeske'na shuddered, looking around wildly. Dozens upon dozens of daemonic corpses surrounded her...but they were draped across others dressed in armor that was similar to hers, although far less ornate, far more whole, not quite so closely fitting, but all bone-white, with feminine body features designed into the armor, long manes of red tendrils flowing from the tops of the helmets.

Her Aspects. Dead. Leyeske'na was not given to many emotions beyond those of war; her purpose was nothing but the pursuit of the Path of the Warrior in the Aspect of Jain Zar, the Storm of Silence; Phoenix Lord of the Howling Banshees. But now, at this moment, the first-generation exarch of the newest Shrine to be built in supplication to the teachings of Jain Zar, the Shrine of the Deadly Wind, felt immense melancholia. These had been her first students. She had trained them all, guided them and taught them to control their inherent war-lust as she had not been able to do herself, to prevent them from walking too far down this accursed path. They were all dead, overwhelmed, their soul-stones sucked dry of their ancient soul-essence by the ravenous daemonettes of She Who Thirsts. A keening wail filled the air...not the familiar sound of fellow Banshees' psionic masks, but the psychic shriek of a fresh host of daemons tearing their way into the mortal realm. Around Leyeske'na, the 'sky' was filled with the insanity-inducing spectra of colors of the warp. Too many had foolishly gazed upon the massive warp-rift that crackled around the craftworld, and had their minds torn asunder for their folly by the maddening sight of a glimpse into the very antithesis to reality. Leyeske'na would not be one of them. She whirled at the sound of sub-real voices moaning as if in imitation of intense sexual congress in time to see a host of daemonettes materialize before here, their claw-ended arms snapping in relish. The high-pitched zipping sound of shuriken pistols filled the air as a pair of Striking Scorpions opened fire nearby. Two daemonettes rounded on them, then four, then ten, as even more materialized around them. Leyeske'na slid her mirrorblades into their sheaths, and in the same sinuously graceful motion unsheathed her own pair of shuriken pistols, firing rapidly into the mob of daemonettes as many of them dove towards her.

Over a dozen of the twisted parodies of feminine mortals shrieked in ecstasy as they died from the monomolecular discs cutting through them at relativistic speeds, but the more that fell, the more seemed to spawn into existence, as if their “deaths” were mere beacons for more of the monstrosities to home in on from their other-realm. The sound of mandiblasters firing filled the air as the Striking Scorpions' close-range mask-mounted high-powered lasers tore into the daemonettes approaching them, but even these were silenced as the green-armored warriors were grabbed and hurled to the ground. With screams of agony, arms flew in the air, blood fountaining from them as the daemonettes literally cut them from their bodies. Armor plates were torn asunder, and the warriors who followed the Aspect teachings of Karandras, the Shadow Hunter, now devoid of their arms and with their armor ripped piecemeal from their forms, found themselves mounted by creatures that no sapient being in their right mind would ever find appealing. The grotesque horrors pumped their hips wildly, screaming and shrieking in ecstasy, bathing themselves in the blood of the warriors even as they raped them, feasting on the delicious meal of their souls with their grotesque ritual. The anguished screams of the Scorpions went silent, but only after many horrible seconds. Leyeske'na found herself paralyzed, transfixed, her pistols momentarily silenced by the awful sight. This momentary lapse was all it took for the ritual to end.

As the cries of the Scorpions went silent, there was a thunderclap that shook the ground. The daemonettes pulled themselves from their victims, ululating in psychotic glee, as suddenly, in a flash of blue-purple light strode a massive creature with a bovine face, three pairs of sagging breasts swinging about as its four arms swung about a long, onyx-black sword in each hand, as if testing the motion. Clawed feet gouged into the psycho-reactive material of the ground, flexing slowly, as if the talons upon the curved toes were sampling the flavor of the ground. It let out a howl of delight that was the echoed by the host of daemonettes, throwing up a cacophony of mind-breaking shrieks and wails of the most torturous pleasures imaginable.

Leyeske'na, transfixed for an inexplicable reason by the sight of the Slaaneshi Keeper of Secrets, fell to her knees, crying out in agony as her mind was raped by the combined psychic exertions of the foul abominations. Her shuriken pistols clattered harmlessly to the ground as she clawed at her helmet. She felt as if she were suffocating, feeling every emotion she'd ever felt for another, every carnal desire dredged up from her memory, superimposed with visions of writhing in mutual satisfaction with others in her days before she had fallen to the Path of the Warrior. Men and women alike, for Leyeske'na had ever trod the finest line towards destruction. She had partaken in excesses of pleasure, but she had managed to gain control of herself before going over the edge...well, until she had found the war-call echoing in her soul. But now, that call was blunted, dulled, and dimmed. Now, the need to satisfy the most carnal, most base of desires thrummed through her body. It hurt her very soul, the very presence of the Keeper tugging at the wisps of corruption she had always flirted with and making them grow strong. Leyeske'na finally found the clasps to her helmet and threw it off. Her long flowing mane of electric-blue hair spilled forth, her deep purple eyes flying wide open, tears of pain flowing down her fair-skinned face, full lips pulled back in a horrible grimace. No eldar could ever resist this onslaught. She couldn't feel herself anymore. She felt nothing but the call of every dark whim inherent in the eldar race...the same call that had wrought the destruction, the Fall of their kind. She yearned to hear the siren call of living, breathing things wailing in agony, the scent of blood as her hands cut through flesh and bone. She hungered to feel hundreds of hands against her bare body, the satisfaction of being filled in as many ways, by as many means, as she could. She wanted every indulgence, every excess, all at once, to its highest degree. Leyeske'na felt her mind slipping, her soul blackening. She was losing herself.
The Keeper strode forward, reaching a clawed hand forth to caress her, to finalize the damnation...
A thunderclap filled the air around her. There was a flash of warp-energy around her. Hulking figures surrounded the exarch. Glowing blades lifted into the air over her head. Her waystone flared bright blue as the small piece of her that stood upon the tiny island of her sanity while the ocean of corruption rose up to swallow her wailed in despair.
The blades swooped down.


The Prognosticators had not erred. They never erred. They never erred, and a Grey Knight was never early, never late. He was always where he wanted to be, at the right moment, and that moment had come.
The Strike Cruiser Revelation of the Righteous had dropped out of turbulent warpspace only moments before. This realm of space was a void; space between star systems, where nobody had any need to be. Except the eldar. What good, Emperor-loving citizens of the Imperium discarded as useless, the Eldar seemed to always have a use for. Whether this was testament to the veritable insanity that was the eldar mind or whether perhaps a failing on the part of humanity, Brother-Captain Sonarius could only guess at.

He turned his mind from such pointless musings, instead remembering a verse from the 666 Rites of Detestation; 'The closer in nature to Chaos, the closer in nature to corruption; one need not be man to be capable of bringing forth damnation upon the Emperor's domain.' As he examined the data-lecterns before him upon the bridge of the mighty vessel, he found this particular passage to be all too true.

The vessel, what the Eldar called a Craftworld, was caught in the very eye of a massive warp-storm. These happened all the time, when the currents of the warp became so violent that they began to leak into realspace, or even outright tore open gaps in it. The craftworld was half-immersed in the eye of the storm itself, being threatened with absolute consumption by the unreal forces of the immaterium. The Prognosticators had told that the world was to become a vessel for the unclean. The eldar were unclean as it was, by the very nature of their existence as xenos and their ceaseless manipulation of events throughout the galaxy that ultimately always led to the wholesale slaughter of Imperial citizens and soldiers when it went unchecked or unseen. But no, the kind of filth that the Prognosticators warned about was far worse than any mere xenos; it was the touch of chaos. The motive was clear; lure the massive, self-contained vessel into a warp storm, and infest the soul-filled ship with daemonic entities, and then, using the ship's psychically-active structural design, pilot the ship into other areas of populated space to further spread the touch of the daemonic. It could be contained if it got past this point, of course; Exterminatus on a dozen worlds, countless billions of human lives annihilated, the resources of a half of a sector squandered and tied-up, the loss of production caused by the annihilation of the worlds in jeopardy. The losses would be unacceptable. Tolerable by the standards of the Imperium. Intolerable by the standards of the Grey Knights, who were sworn to defend humanity from the daemonic in all its forms.

Sonarius turned his head, his long, elegant, silver hair sweeping across his artificer aegis armor's collarplate. As a Brother-Captain, he was technically to wear a suit of hallowed tactical-dreadnought aegis armor, but he had served the chapter for many years as a Chapter Champion, and had long found the higher degree of mobility afforded by the customized artificer armor to be well-worth the minor trade-off in protection. What need had he of armor if his anointed blade cut down his foes before they could strike?
“How much longer to contact?” he asked in a voice that was unusually harmonic for one of the Adeptus Astartes...but then, the Astartes were to a Grey Knight what an Imperial Guardsman was to an Astartes, so perhaps it was not so unusual after all.

“Ten minutes, my lord,” came the emotionless response from the mind-wiped crewman at the helm.

“Very well.” He examined the holotable in the middle of the command room. Over it hovered a zoomed-in view of the eldar craftworld. It was livid with bright purple dots, signifying signatures of daemons of the Slaaneshi variety. Here and there were a few gold dots signifying eldar life-signatures. They were few, and becoming fewer, and the purple dots were multiplying like heretics in an underhive. There were a few larger golden dots, representing Eldar war titans, or what were the equivalent of them, at any rate, and their curious dreadnought-like constructs, which they referred to as 'wraithlords.' But these, too, were disappearing rapidly from the readout, and larger, more vivid-purple dots were starting to spring up. Sonarius clenched his jaw slightly. The daemons were feeding on the eldar souls, both those they killed and those within their infinity circuit, and using that power to summon bigger and stronger daemons.

There were several Greater Daemons already. Individually they were a problem for an entire half-Brotherhood of Grey Knights, but there were now four. And Sonarius only had half of his Battle-Brothers of the 5th Brotherhood with him aboard the Revelation. He examined the read-out further, silver eyes narrowing. The likelihood was great that the daemons had taken over at least a majority of the craftworld's anti-ship weaponry. Thunderhawks were not an option, which he really needed them to be. Their extra firepower and mobility would have been a great asset. With only a single Strike Squad with him, he could not hope to bring to bear enough firepower to clear an LZ fast enough before more Keepers of Secrets were summoned. And without Thunderhawks, Averrus would have to be kept on board until such an LZ could be established. No Thunderhawks, no Dreadnought... The only thing Sonarius had going for him was his Strike Squad, the homing beacons they would be able to deploy, his drop pods...and the score of Purifiers he had at his disposal. The rest, two full squads of his battle-brothers in Terminator armor, would provide the heavy firepower to cover the Purifiers while they seared the daemons from the material realm. It would be up to Averrus to close the warp-storm; before his interment, Averrus had been a formidable Librarian...in fact, the most powerful the chapter had ever seen, and for the Grey Knights, that was saying quite a lot. But now, interred as he was within the aegis-ceramite-armored hull of the dreadnought, with its psychically-enhanced arrays, Averrus was capable of displays of sorcerous power that humbled any who bore witness to it. Ironically, Averrus had been interred because of a cowardly strike from an eldar blade...and now he was going to aid in the defense of an entire world-ship of them. But if the former Librarian and Brother-Captain resented this, he did not show it. He knew his duty; the purging of the daemon came before everything else.


Last edited by Sonarius on Fri Jan 13, 2012 12:49 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Re: Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

Post by Klomster on Fri Jan 13, 2012 5:02 am

My first impression.

By the gods, this is not kid friendly.

I actually liked it so far, my biggest problem was the "wall-of-text"-esque presentation that almost put me off at first.

There were not many spelling mistakes and the descriptions were good enough for a well-versed 40k player.
(Barely any black library works have good enough descriptions for someone that does not know the setting, and i guess your target group isn't the elderly Razz)

I actually would like to see some more, and i know a good friend who would love to read theese slaaneesh things, since he is an avid fan.

Keep up the good work.

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Re: Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

Post by Sonarius on Fri Jan 13, 2012 12:55 pm

I added a "WARNING, THIS IS GRAPHIC, YO" at the top, to warn off the kids or the easily-offended. Plus I spaced the paragraphs. I actually had paragraphed everything with the spaces at the beginning, but unfortunately this is a forum, and it doesn't support the paragraphing. Bit of a pain, but alas... I was going to post it in segments, but then I got lazy. lol Upcoming posts will be segmented, however.

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Re: Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

Post by Zealadin on Fri Jan 13, 2012 7:22 pm

Any content that isn't appropriate for younger audiences should be inside spoilers so they have to actually click to be able to see the content, just to ensure there are no issues.

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Re: Grey Guardian; a bit of writefaggotry in progress.

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