Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Silly fan-boy fan-fic.

Yeah, so I wrote this about a game I played the other day, tried to make it as close to what happened in my game as possible. The story came out kinda nice, though I say it myself.

Khaine's Killers and the Battle of Town Square...

One of the Guardians chirruped, a nothing sound, it could be a small bird, even a large rodent, but to Lazeth it sounded as out of place in this blighted, dead city as laughter at a funeral. A minute twitch of body language drew the Eldar's attention to what the guardian had seen, a swatch of moving green skin between the shattered buildings in front of their position. Lazeth glanced back at Soreth, in his position near the warlock. The Scorpion Aspirant nodded, he had marked the presence of the true owners of this city as well. There was no rushing the warlock's ritual, they would just have to hold this position, come what may.

Lazeth glanced around, though he knew without looking that the Guardians would be ready. He saw to his own devices. His shuriken pistol read at full, his chainsword was readied, needing only activation.

A roar arose from the front, the Orks had seen them. Lazeth thumbed the sword to life, the revolving blades purring as if in anticipation of the fray. Gretchin and larger, darker Orks were pouring through the gaps in the building, heedless of the storm of monomolecular disks the Guardians were pouring into the mass of bodies.

Shots were pinging around them now, but the Eldar were wise enough to use the cover the Orks had forsaken, and Khaine was with his chosen, as Lazeth had known he would be.

Then, the Gretchin charge hit, and suddenly Soreth was beside him, and together they saw off the first wave. Fortunately, the leading edge of the charge had not the impetus to sweep past the two Scorpions and into the more inexperienced Guardians. The cowardly Gretchin fell back, momentarily more afraid of the green armored Eldar than of their green-skinned Ork masters. They switched back to Shuriken weaponry, pouring more fire into the still approaching Orks. The disks were hitting the larger brutes now, Lazeth saw one fall after a telling shot from one of the Guardians.

The fire was getting hotter from the Orks, now, and Lazeth saw in his peripheral vision one of the Guardians stumble and slide to the ground beside his cover. There was a flash of fire and a heavy, crude Ork bullet hit him and spun him around. The breath was slammed from his chest, but the old Scorpion held to his feet, his still running chainsword throwing clods of turf behind him as he used the tip to hold himself upright. Soreth was yelling, but Lazeth couldn't hear the meaning.

Then a voice, cool as glacier meltwate, was in Lazeth's head. "Let us leave this place," the Warlock told him, "I have what we came for."

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