frightorflight
Supernova
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2015
In the 41st millennium there is only war. battles rage the galaxy. Burning like fires. Hot and fast or long and hard. Some the Empire of Man will win and some are already lost. Against a thousand enemies on a thousand worlds the battles rage. On one world though, where the forces of the Emperium and a xeno race clash. Unknown to both a far greater threat waits. One that's hunger and desire will not give all the mercy of death, and eve for those who find it, it will only be the death of the soul while the body is twisted into something horrible.
Sergeant Kaladin "Kal" of the Imperial Guard sat in a fortified portion of burnt out building, his lasrifle sat against the wall, and he was cleaning his laspistol. It wasn't really his, he had taken it off of a dead commissar, just like the power sword on his back it was only his by the rule of 'finders keepers and the dead don't need weapons". He was a solider, more than that he was a scavenger, and a good one. He was still alive, and would continue to be alive, because he knew when to find a hole to hide in and he knew the value of everything, indeed everything had a value to someone. The little black market he was running proved that.
He finished with his pistol and stuck it in his belt. He thought he saw something on the horizon and put his binoculars to his eyes. transports, three or four, and it looked like some of those tank versions with the big guns. He grabbed his vox caster.
"This is position three-four, we've got incoming about a klick out. Suggest immediate birage."
"Rodger three-four, keep your head down." A few minutes later artillery shells screamed over head and the ground began to bloom in geysers of dirt.
Sergeant Kaladin "Kal" of the Imperial Guard sat in a fortified portion of burnt out building, his lasrifle sat against the wall, and he was cleaning his laspistol. It wasn't really his, he had taken it off of a dead commissar, just like the power sword on his back it was only his by the rule of 'finders keepers and the dead don't need weapons". He was a solider, more than that he was a scavenger, and a good one. He was still alive, and would continue to be alive, because he knew when to find a hole to hide in and he knew the value of everything, indeed everything had a value to someone. The little black market he was running proved that.
He finished with his pistol and stuck it in his belt. He thought he saw something on the horizon and put his binoculars to his eyes. transports, three or four, and it looked like some of those tank versions with the big guns. He grabbed his vox caster.
"This is position three-four, we've got incoming about a klick out. Suggest immediate birage."
"Rodger three-four, keep your head down." A few minutes later artillery shells screamed over head and the ground began to bloom in geysers of dirt.