Epistles of the Penitent

[Atrus]

I shall preface this with: I wasnt sure where to put this. This isnt going to be a flowing fiction. Its going to be more a collection of some (probably bad) writings I do.

Most of this is going to be fictional adaptation writings of battles ive played out on the tabletop and thrown a story to it.

Some works are older and show fluff inconsistencies as a result of my younger knowledge of 40ks background.

 

How often this will be updated, i cannot say. But i take the time to write these things, so someone may as well read/suffer/enjoy them.

[Atrus]

**From the Ecclesiarchy Sealed Archives of Gwelyn's Stand. A controversial account of one of the Imperiums heroes, and Emperor's faithful.**

 

This being the final confession of Cannoness Lyria Suvan. Dated this day of 230.991.M40. In the presence of his holiness, Arch-Confessor Konstanse Lightbrey and witnessed by this humble hand, Airn Rhey.

 

I hear you chose to omit the title many in our order have begun to cry out for me. That is well. I do not seek such extravagancies- nor am I worthy of such a thing. I am the Emperors servant, nothing more.

 

In my years, I have served faithfully and am humbled the Emperor would shine his light on me to serve as long as I have. However, I feel it necessary to confess certain events of my life. Parts that, for various reasons, had been edited by history.

 

You might recall some two-hundred years ago on Adjutant's Grace, I willingly took the Oath of the Penitent after a valiant but ultimate defeat in battle. That is true, however the events surrounding that defeat were...artistically edited.

 

I was newly advanced to Superior at that time; my squad transferred to our Order of the Penitent Spirit's Mission there. It was two months after our transfer that Confessor Lightbrey discovered a festering wound of secular belief within a particular district. Forces of the Adeptus Arbites had gathered and violently squashed and apprehended the followers of this taint; however they had been overzealous in their duty- perhaps in attempt to show their fervour and save face in front of the Confessor for having not caught this obscenity earlier. Regardless, their actions along with the sects own violent response resulted in the destruction of one of our Emperor's temples.

 

Lightbrey forbade the Arbites from re-entering the area, shaming the Judge for this that travesty. He took it upon himself to search for and retrieve the artefacts the temple had contained and set about re-consecrating the ground. Along with two priests and bodyguards, Sister Farrier along with her squad and my own were chosen to accompany his eminence in this sacred task.

 

We arrived at the site around mid-morning; Sister Farrier and her squad had begun their search of the area while my squad readied in our transport to scout our quadrant. Sister Farrier's voice soon reported the discovery of an artefact. It did our hearts well to hear this good news; however it quickly turned sour as she voxed in only moments later with report of xeno sighting.

 

I rushed forward of our transport and saw as we rounded one of the few intact buildings, Eldar craft. I had faced these xenos in my early days as an initiate and no encounter with them was ever pleasant. They were so horrendously alien. Fast, lethal and cowardly. Striking unexpectedly from all angles and vanishing just as quickly. For some reason, they were there now.

 

Our transports moved to try to both protects the artefacts and engage the Eldar and the early moments of the battle was peppered with missile explosions around us and hits that did nothing more than deafen our ears as they detonated off the hull. Over the vox, I heard Sister Farrier order her squad out of their transport to secure one of the artefacts while her Rhino attempted to engage Eldar foot units in the rubble.

 

We resorted to field hand signals for communication; the rest of my squad was not fortunate to have helmets such as I and despite the com-beads in their ears, could not hear verbals commands over the missiles glancing off our hull. That didn't stop their prayers though. Even as I ordered Sister Katran on the squads Meltagun to bring an end to the xenos vehicle harassing our position; she dutifully took aim through the fireport, the prayer of guidance on her lips, she struck true, but she might as well have spat at the vehicle as the melta shot seemed to reflect harmlessly off its targets hull. Sister Farrier reported similar occurrences in her own squad...I hesitated.

 

The shot had been point blank, I had never even heard of such things happening, but somehow with some sick xenos trickery, the Eldar laughed at our weapons. Sister Farrier ordered a charge upon the vehicle on her position and I soon heard victorious cries in the background as the Eldar vehicle was destroyed.

 

Bolstered with this fact that these aliens were not indestructible, I ordered Sister Farrier to have at them again, joining her this time, lobbing a Krak grenade- such is how close we were to the Emperor's enemies. Amidst the crack of sniper fire and explosions, our efforts were shrugged off as they were before. I felt a righteous fire of hatred rise within me at our foe, but it turned to ice as I heard Sister Farriers death scream and the screams of her squad. Again, I hesitated, heartbroken at the deaths of my fellow sisters. My hesitation cost us.

 

Our transport rocked as sniper fire struck precisely, crunching the Rhino to a halt. I ordered my squad out of the death trap, straight into the sights of the waiting Eldar. We moved forward, prayers on our lips, defiant of our foe. I ordered a charge on the vehicle, inspired by Sister Farrier's valiance, but it jetted off before our grenades could strike a telling blow.

 

Everything next happened so fast; one moment Sister Kendra was standing beside me, and the next she had been rendered to ash, the heat wave of the Eldar weapon that had done this blistering my skin even beneath my battle armour. The next moment, I saw Confessor Lightbrey and the Priests charge into the Eldar squad's flanks, proclaiming the Emperor's might and fighting with a fervour I had seen in few at that point. The alien fell quickly to their blades and Lightbrey moved to cover us from an approaching squad of masked warriors that came from the direction of Sister Farriers ill fated squad...it was a task that I should have fulfilled.

 

He ordered us back, to recover the nearby artefact and get aboard his Rhino; but as I turned to look, I saw it crashed amongst rubble. More of my sisters fell beside me to sniper fire and when I went to look back at Lightbrey, he was already locked in a fierce combat with the Eldar, the men he had with him were cut down.

 

Our forces decimated, my faith in both my abilities and the Emperor's will for my position wavering, my fears of past encounters plaguing me; the Confessor locked in what I saw to be a doomed fight...I fled. Oh I can justify by saying that our losses were too great, our martyrdom would have availed nothing that day; all true. But the truth of the matter is I fled.

 

I returned and reported to the Prioress everything. Everything. My conscience assailing me, I wasted no time in offering myself for the Oath. The Prioress accepted- after a public flogging of course.

 

In hindsight; it was the best thing that could have happened to me.

 

Our Mission returned to the battlefield but found no trace of the alien. All but one of the artefacts were recovered and our Sisters were laid to rest. There was no sign of Confessor Lightbrey. Sister Farrier and her squad were noted for their courage and unwavering faith under fire. To this day, I hold her as one of the bravest and worthy of the Emperors servants I have ever met.

[Atrus]

**From the Ecclesiarchy Sealed Archives of Gwelyn's Stand. A controversial account of one of the Imperiums heroes, and Emperor's faithful.**

 

This being the final confession of Cannoness Lyria Suvan. Dated this day of 230.991.M40. In the presence of his holiness, Arch-Confessor Konstanse Lightbrey and witnessed by this humble hand, Airn Rhey.

 

The Repentia are known for many things. Their fervent search for absolution through suicidal violence. Their unwillingness to back down from the Emperor's foes so much so that the Mistress of Repentance is required to be present not so much to urge Repentia on- but rather to guide them, to steer their fervent desire for repentance into a direction useful in battle. One thing they are not known for is their longevity.

 

When I took the Oath of the Penitent, I fully expected to die for the Emperor in a matter of months- if not less. I took up the Oath. The Cloth and the Eviscerator. A non-existent outcast from my sisters. I took up the fury of the Repentia; I lost myself in holy abandon in my search for atonement. But as the weeks turned into months and unbelievably the months turned into years and even those turned into a decade, I was denied the fulfilment of my Oath.

 

I had sped across the molten plains of Octavia while blue-skinned xenos poured unreasonable amounts of firepower upon us. And survived.

 

I had fought traitor marines, giants with blood soaked armour while Imperial fleets bombarded the planet with lance strikes. And survived.

 

Even the devastating destruction of a Baneblade did not falter the steps of myself or several Repentia.

 

At the time I thought I was cursed, my sin so great as that I would even be denied death to atone for it. Looking back now, I see only the Emperor's hand working unfathomably.

 

There was a battle upon Adjutants Grace. No, a massacre, really. You won't find records of it as they have been stricken; but I remember it.

 

It had been a foul year, that one. Warp storms were giving ships trouble in their navigations to Adjutant's Grace, resources had been cut and severe rationing had been enforced as the planet still needed to meet the Imperial tithe, regardless of conditions. Communiqué via Astro-telepath was sporadic and I hear that some messages sent from the planet are even now only reaching their intended destinations.

 

I learned all this of course after the massacre- I will call it nothing else. Repentia do not require mission briefings; only to be pointed in the direction of the foe. From what I've managed to glean since then is that Prioress Ullen had taken it upon her fiery self to personally see to a reported desecration of a minor shrine in an out-skirting city that had been much neglected. Back in it's heyday, the shrine of Saint Kallix had been a common pilgrimage site. It marked the place where the archenemy had suffered a great defeat and the ground sanctified and the shrine built upon the ground to forever hold the enemy at bay. Such stories passed into legend and were mostly forgotten through time. As I said, Repentia do not require a brief, only a direction. I learned this after the massacre.

 

It had taken several days to reach the shrine; Mistress Inderwal never let up on her whips, she had an unerring aim and a tireless arm. Needless to say by the time we reached the site, the Repentia had been whipped into a frenzy. When Mistress Inderwal did not whip us, we took it upon ourselves to cut ourselves with sharp stones we found, crying scripture as we went. I did not notice the battle sisters with us, but I know they would have regarded us with both admiration and unease- I had done so myself, before the Oath.

 

Our convoy paused at the square before the shrine. As was her custom, Prioress Ullen would have surveyed the surroundings. Some called it a wreckless habit that constantly put her in danger unnecessarily but she had said that it was better for a potential battlefield to be viewed by faithful eyes.

 

We did nothing for some time at this time. The air was still and the only sounds were the rumbling of the Rhinos and the wailing of my fellow Repentia.

 

Then came the report of heavy weapons.

 

Even over the engines and shots and wailing, I heard the familiar wet, sucking explosion of a man being turned inside out. That same instant brought the bellow of Prioress Ullen ordering an advance.

 

Mistress Inderwal's whip came down on my back and we ran forward with abandon.

 

We rounded the building we had been behind and I caught my first glimpse of the shrine. Desecrated would have been a mild word. The place was in ruins, scripture scratched out and blasphemous words etched into golden stone statues. We passed one of the shrine guards, wounded on the ground, her body shielding a relic she had obviously saved. No one paid any heed to her, I assume Prioress Ullen had ordered everyone forward to engage the foe as no Rhinos stopped either. And such a foe.

 

They were gray clad monsters. From atop a building, two machines that reminded me of fearsome Penitent Engines rained fire upon Prioress Ullen and the Rhinos. The Prioress' tradition cost her her life as in moments her body was rent apart by the heavy weapons of those machines. I have head autocannon fire before and knew these weapons for what they were, but never had I ever seen them strike with such deadly power.

 

As we advanced it was only moments before both Rhinos were wrecked and sisters were picking themselves from the twisted metal amongst the unending hail of fire. One squad advanced towards a grey Rhino, firing as they went, stripping the treads from the vehicle and losing several sisters to the damnable fire from the vehicles atop the building for their efforts.

 

Mistress Inderwal tried to steer us to the building no doubt to give our sisters reprieve and a chance from the guns; but she halted our charge and instead whipped us to grey power-armoured giants deploying from the wrecked Rhino. Some later tried to fault her for her decision, but they weren't there. Even caught in the heat of battle, we could almost taste the stench of psykers. Not just one. But many. Every one of those marines that begun to tear our sisters apart was an unholy psyker. One in particular stood out; a towering giant with a skilled hand at wielding a blade I had never seen before.

 

Under a fusillade of bolt shot and flame in support from the only remaining squad of sisters behind us, we charged that warp tainted monster. Many of the shots struck true and the brutes squad was diminished.

 

Up close, he was a mockery. His powered armour held Imperial markings but this only sickened us and stoked holy rage within us. What servant of the Emperor would dare strike his most faithful?! Indignant of this, Mistress Inderwal challenged him.

 

Never have I seen such skill with a blade. It was less than a heartbeat and I saw our mistress fall apart in three neatly cut pieces. The brute then engaged us; unleashing a flurry of blows upon us, cutting down several Repentia in the time it took us to bring our unwieldy weapons to bear. The melee raged on until only I remained. Only I remained. The report of gunfire had ceased and I realised later that there were none of my sisters left.

 

I spat. I actually spat at this vile champion. Screaming curses and prayers and vows and all manner of declarations upon this enemy of the Emperor. I landed my share of blows, many were dodged or playfully knocked aside; it was when my blows landed that the giants play seemed to end. The eviscerator was heavy in my hands, cutting through air and powered armour but not seeming to land a lethal blow and when I though I had managed to evade a glancing strike and score a decapitating stroke, some force betrayed my weapon and let this giant live.

 

Our fight raged longer than the firefight; Fuelled by a righteous desire to see this heretic slain in the Emperors name pushed me onwards into feats of strength I did not know exist. More importantly as I see now. Faith.

 

I overextended myself in a wild lunge and the giant latched onto my arms- they looked like twigs in his grasp. The pommel of his weapon smashed against my face, knocking me senseless and he lifted me overhead, the bones in my arms snapped but it was nothing but a dull roar mixed in with the pain the rest of my body felt. I swear by the Emperor what happened next is true. I felt the crackling sword of the champion rip into my gut, I felt it tear up my chest and up out of my neck...The champion cocked his head to one side and what was to be a finishing stroke harmlessly passed through me. I kicked out, catching my dangling weapon and driving it into his chest plate. The massive blade stuck and chewed through his armour. I was instinctively dropped and I saw the champion stumble backwards, grasping at the weapon as it bore deeper. Unfortunately, that force which had protected him so many times before did so again and stopped the sizeable weapon from burrowing further.

 

My body was spent, exhausted from the trek here and the fearsome battle; my body failed my will and I collapsed as if dead. The last thing I saw before blackness took me was the grey giant tearing the massive chain blade from his chest.

 

I awoke in a bed to the sight of a sister hospitaller. I do not remember much of those first few weeks. Apparently, when Prioress Ullen had failed to report, a scout had been sent to investigate. There was no sign of our armoured enemy and only the birds were there to pick the flesh from our sisters. Only two were recovered from that massacre. Myself, and the shrine guard who had miraculously survived.

 

When my strength had recovered, I was required to brief Mistress Anse on the events.

 

Sister Milla- the shrine survivor gave account. She had been at her post at the shrine when it was besieged by crazed men with las-weaponry. It was no disorganised attack by some sleepers of the archenemy; they had come in great numbers, overwhelming the shrine guardians by sheer mass of bodies and fearsome brutality.

 

The shrine had been overwhelmed in minutes and she managed to desperately collect one of the holy relics to protect it from their vile intentions.

 

This news was shocking as it meant a considerable heretical cell had been established under the nose of the Ecclesiarchy.

 

Between the organising of investigations and mobilising of battle sisters, a significant event took place very quietly.

 

I was summoned to the main church. There, I was surrounded by battle sisters and faced with our new Prioress, Helena Katran and representatives of the Ecclesiarchy. Amidst wafting incense, humming servo-skulls bearing devotional messages; I was welcomed back to my sisters with open arms. The battle armour that had been stripped from me was reverently placed back upon my, fitting like a glove as if nothing had ever happened.

 

I wept-fully asked Prioress Katran why my oath had been fulfilled, I had seen nothing but failure. But Prioress Katran saw differently. Throughout the years, I had apparently been the subject of many miraculous occurrences, witnessed by pict-recorder and Mistress alike. The main reason was because Prioress had received a vision. From Saint Kallix herself.

 

I was to play a role in the Emperors plans against the archenemy on this planet.

[Atrus]

Acidic rain matted her hair, the corrosive waters cutting rivers of blisters down her face and neck. The deep, proud royal purple paint of her armour long since burned away to show the dull grey of the ceremite powered armour she wore.

Her eyes watered bitterly at the noxious fumes caused by the rain. Not for the first time, she wished for her Sabbat pattern helm with its filtration systems and preysight, that she might see through the chemical warped sights ahead of her and breathe air that didn’t kill her a little more with each breath- but the wargear was nowhere to be found.

Above, a foreign sky boiled with sickening hues of reds and purples. Prioress Clarice cursed the emperor forsaken sight.

 

Around her, her sisters died. Battle raged; she heavy clatter of bolt fire and the concussive thud of explosions broken occasionally by the momentary heat flash of plasma fire evaporating a trail through the deluge.

Through it all, a sharp almost painful crack of an enemy returning fire. Her enemy, nothing more than formless shapes, difficult to pick out between the acid rain and fumes, but their weapons flash told of their closing positions.

 

A noise like wet thunder and a brief break in the rain as a shadow passed over her. An imperial knight lumbering forward, sending streams of melta fire upon the enemy. The rain fell again and she ran forward to her sisters sheltering in a crater.

 

Harsh growling, a large shadow appears. It spits fire, heat washes over her and her sisters die. A roar from the knight and a blue-white melta stream spears into the side of the shadow. The heat burns away the rain to show an imperial tank firing into her sisters.

With righteous anger, she holds the trigger of her plasma pistol, letting the charge build to dangerous levels before releasing the small sun into the front of the treacherous foe.

Her sisters close on the tank, pouring bolt and melta fire into its hull. A shot strikes true and the tank violently explodes. Her sisters die as flame and debris fill her vision, the last sight that of a blood red tear drop emblem.

 

Her eyes snap open. Prioress Clarice stared at the dark blank ceiling of her quarters. Her sheet is wet with sweat and rain patters against the stained glass window on the far wall.

The cold stone of the floor, did much to wake her as she made her way to the sink and splashed water on her face.

Every night for weeks now. The same dream. A strange world. Blood and fire and death. An enemy she cannot see, the only clue to it, that blood red tear drop.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Good job so far.

[Atrus]

Interrogator Andreas rubbed his gumming eyes again. The flickering images from the array of pict screens before him had made his eyes weary and blood shot hours ago when he had first set upon his task.

Now he reached for the glass beside him as he searched his breast pocket for the mild pain killers to dull the constant ache behind his eyes that had grown worse. Unfortunately the glass he found was empty and his mouth far too dry to work up the spit required the swallow his last pill. Instead, he chewed the pill, hoping that it would do some good.

 

He turned back to the screens and gave a sigh that was born of the weariness of performing a long and complicated task that was almost done, but still had a long way to go.

He was to collate recovered data transmissions and recordings of a skirmish. While a skirmish itself was nothing new; this particular one was of import as it had resulted in the rescue of three ecclesiarchy members and the sacred tome of St. McGuffin.

Normally, this task would have been an administrators job, however, the reason it was his task today, stared back at him on one of the screens.

 

Filling the screen, was an entity of pure repugnance. Rotting horns erupted from a bulbous, fleshy, fatty growth that could only be supposed as the things head that sat upon the creatures plague corpse bloated body. It was a living embodiment of disease and decay brought to unholy life. The most unsettling thing about the horror was not the rivers of puss and infection that ran over its engorged form. Nor was it that despite the pict being paused, the flesh of the creature still pulsed with the swarms of maggots that writhed and dripped from weeping sores- or that more than once he had used his personal lighter to burn a maggot that had fallen from that screen.

No, it was the daemons smile. The warm, welcoming smile that was so at odds with the monstrosity. Looking at it now made him uneasy and caused the pain behind his eyes to sharpen.

Interrogator Andreas looked away from the screen and rubbed his eyes again. Not for the first time, his talents sensed a deep, sickening chuckle coming from the air near that screen and felt the air chill.

 

Taking a breath and uttering a litany of purification, Andreas turned back to the screens. He worked the controls of the board in front of him and the screens rolled back their recordings. All except one. The image of the grotesque daemon seemed content to watch him work.

When the time stamps of his gathered recordings finally hit zero; Interrogator Andreas began to review his work.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

The new chapter sets up the mood very well.

... more than once he had used his personal lighter to burn a maggot that had fallen from that screen.

The image of the grotesque daemon seemed content to watch him work.

So the Daemon of Nurgle can influence the material realm via video recordings of it, e.g., have maggots (and flies?) crawl out the monitor, or even watch whoever's watching the video? That's creepy. Was its true and mortal name "Yamamura Sadako", or "Samara Morgan"?

[Atrus]

Ha, didn't even think of that. It's just something that came about as I was typing and thought it sounded cool-creepy.

 

The "watching" bit wasn't intended to be a literal watching; more that the screen and image is just stuck there on pause and and won't shift so one could say that it's just watching.

There's probably a better way to word that but I don't know it.

 

Edit: that said, it is watching, but the intention wasn't to give that away on the first read.

 

There will be more of this scene coming up in the next few parts that shall evolve and i hope to build in the creepy throughout that.

Already got the climax sorted out in my head. Just got the 1 or 2 parts in between.

 

When this is done I may revisit and paint the scenes better- such as this one, Andreas is in a dark room with the only light coming from the screens. I haven't painted that picture here. Hopefully do better with the next couple parts.

 

Edit: this is all raw draft so lots of room to improve.

Edited August 15, 2019 by Atrus

[Atrus]

Alright this is actually the last part of the last of this scene. Had to write it down just in case I lost motivation- which happens a lot for me with writing.

 

In spoilers just in case it's not forum friendly.

 

 

Pain seared through Interrogator Andreas' mind. Raw and unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. His mouth open in a silent scream as he pressed his fists against his eyes. He didn't feel the tears of blood streaking down his face from his weeping eyes and nose. Nor did he see the wards around the room now glaring with blue-white brightness, some even bursting into cold fire and filling the dark room with harsh light.

His world right now, was one of immense pain. And fear.

 

He had taken the proper precautions. Steeled his will and set up the appropriate psychic barriers and more beside.

Yet he was so completely unprepared for the sheer, raw power that he felt clawing at his soul. Desperately, he called upon his psychic talents, throwing up shields and walls in his mind, anything to slow the evil force that sought to consume him from within. It was the psychic equivalent of a desperate man toppling shelves and chairs as he ran in an effort to slow his pursuers.

 

The cold air began to stink. A fecund bouquet of decay; rotting meat, pungent fungus, decomposing bio matter and gangrene.

Andreas' shielded soul was hit by a psychic force so powerful, it physically knocked him back in his chair which toppled over, sending him rolling onto his back. For the first time since the psychic onslaught began, he breathed, and immediately vomited.

 

One by one, the pict screens the interrogator had been sitting before began showing the image of the daemon until it's monstrous form filled each one.

 

"Embrace..."

 

A deep, gurgling, unnatural voice. Andreas both heard it in the air and felt the words press against his mind.

 

"The blessings...of the grandfather..."

 

The voice was full of such malice, yet it conveyed such genuine, welcome invitation. The duality if it made the interrogators skin crawl.

All of his psychic focus was thrown to defending himself from the attack. The pain of it landing through his mind was rendering him immobile. He knew if he didn't do something, he was going to die- if he was lucky, that's all that would happen. It was the possibility of that worse thing that spurned him to find that reservoir of strength that does not belong to himself or to any natural human.

 

"Im-Imperat-tor..." It was the only word his beleaguered thoughts could muster; it was enough.

 

With immense effort, Andreas dragged a fist from his eyes. He fought his own muscles that sought to instinctively clench that fist back over his eyes.

Painfully, he managed to drag his fist to the com bead in his ear. He pressed in on it, activation the send.

He had always imagined in this sort of situation, he would be calm and collected and convey a sense if cool authority as he called for reinforcements. Instead, all he could manage was a weak, gurgling...

 

"...help..."

 

That amused, sickening chuckle filled the air again.

Amidst his fear and pain, a small flame of hate flickered in his heart at the sound of that chuckle. He held onto that small flame. Used it to open his uncovered eye.

 

The screens no longer showed individual picts of the daemon. Instead they all worked together to show it in one massive image; it's huge, rotten smile growing ever wider. Maggots and flies crawled and flew out if the screens that began to rust. Decay spread out across the consoles in long fingers. Metal rusted in moments and plastics flaked away. Frozen rime spread across the black bricks of the walls, floor and ceiling. The foul stench filling the air intensified and the interrogator retched.

 

The daemons chuckle was suddenly turned to a disappointed sigh. The sound one might make when an enjoyed game is brought to an unwelcome end.

A strong armoured hand grabbed Andreas' coat collar and began dragging him back along the floor, out the now open heavy metal door into a well lit black brick corridor, wards aglow near the vacated room.

He coughed and retched before vomiting again, rolling onto his side as a Battle Sister with a heavy flamer stepped past him to the door and began filling the room with holy fire.

 

The pict screens exploded under the sustained torrent; their casings melting away. Everything in the room burned. The sister did not let up on her cleansing until burning promethium began to pool around her feet as it overflowed from the tainted room.

By then, the psychic assault that had so nearly ended him stopped, but not without one final "Embrace..."

 

The interrogator sat himself up against the wall, coughing and wheezing as he did so.

 

"Interrogator?" A familiar voice rumbled. Andreas turned to see his master, clad in golden power armour, nearby.

 

"Lord..." He managed to say after several failed attempts.

 

"It is Diabolus Extremis." The dark, gold armoured man said, wanting his confirmation but seeing his interrogator was obviously in no condition to hold a conversation.

 

Andreas nodded in confirmation before a bought of coughing doubled him over.

 

"Medicae."

 

It was the last thing the interrogator heard before darkness started to take the world around him. The last thing he saw before it took him too, was his hand full of the blood he had coughed up.

 

Edited August 16, 2019 by Atrus

[Bjorn Firewalker]

The final scene is well done, though there are typos a more thorough proofreading would catch.

 

Nitpicking:

Emperator

I think you mean "Imperator"- note the word begins with "I" instead of "E".

That amused, sickening chuckle filled the air again.

Amidst his fear and pain, a small flame of hate LinkedIn his heart at the sound of that chuckle. He held onto that small flame. Used it to open his uncovered eye.

"Linked in" should be two separate words, and not capitalized. The sentence it's in doesn't make sense; I think your word processing program's spellcheck function replaced "ignited" with a copyrighted word.

 

In addition, the fact converting a *.txt file to *.html will eliminate the tabs used to mark each paragraph's beginning, makes the story seem a difficult-to-read "wall of text" in many places.

[Atrus]

Thanks for that. The typos are not my ineptitude at the English language. Rather the product of typing on my phone while on a bus. And a phone that has an idiotic Auto correct. Example "idiotic" was changed to "antibiotic" just now. My patience eventually wears thin.

 

The "linked in" there is supposed to read "flickered in". I shall edit these typos later tonight.

 

As for Imperator. Yeah I've heard it either way in a couple of of audio books. Some emphasise the "I" others an "E" so I went with the phonetic.

Thanks, I'll change that one too.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

As for Imperator. Yeah I've heard it either way in a couple of of audio books. Some emphasise the "I" others an "E" so I went with the phonetic.

Thanks, I'll change that one too.

If you're spelling phonetically, you should emphasize the speaker is either poorly educated- unlikely in an Interrogator trusted to work for the Inquisition- or he's mentally "off-balace" due stress, or enemy psychic attack. Maybe have him stutter, "Em-em-emperat-tor!"?

[Atrus]

I do like the stutter suggestion. Though shall still change the spelling to the "I" as that's the spelling.

[Atrus]

Finally done.  This is it all together.

Be warned; giant wall of text.

 

 

Diabolus Extremis

 

Interrogator Andreas rubbed his gumming eyes again. The flickering images from the array of pict screens before him had made his eyes weary and blood shot hours ago when he had first set upon his task.
Now he reached for the glass beside him as he searched his breast pocket for the mild pain killers to dull the constant ache behind his eyes that had grown worse. Unfortunately the glass he found was empty and his mouth far too dry to work up the spit required the swallow his last pill. Instead, he chewed the pill, hoping that it would do some good.

He turned back to the screens and gave a sigh that was born of the weariness of performing a long and complicated task that was almost done, but still had a long way to go.
He was to collate recovered data transmissions and recordings of a skirmish. While a skirmish itself was nothing new; this particular one was of import as it had resulted in the rescue of three ecclesiarchy members and the sacred tome of St. McGuffin.
Normally, this task would have been an administrators job, however, the reason it was his task today, stared back at him on one of the screens.

Filling the screen, was an entity of pure repugnance. Rotting horns erupted from a bulbous, fleshy, fatty growth that could only be supposed as the things head that sat upon the creatures plague corpse bloated body. It was a living embodiment of disease and decay brought to unholy life. The most unsettling thing about the horror was not the rivers of puss and infection that ran over its engorged form. Nor was it that despite the pict being paused, the flesh of the creature still pulsed with the swarms of maggots that writhed and dripped from weeping sores- or that more than once he had used his personal lighter to burn a maggot that had fallen from that screen.

No, it was the daemons smile. The warm, welcoming smile that was so at odds with the monstrosity. Looking at it now made him uneasy and caused the pain behind his eyes to sharpen.
Interrogator Andreas looked away from the screen and rubbed his eyes again. Not for the first time, his talents sensed a deep, sickening chuckle coming from the air near that screen and felt the air chill.

Taking a breath and uttering a litany of purification, Andreas turned back to the screens. He worked the controls of the board in front of him and the screens rolled back their recordings. All except one. The image of the grotesque daemon seemed content to watch him work.
When the time stamps of his gathered recordings finally hit zero; Interrogator Andreas began to review his work.

 

 

A severe looking woman looked out from the pict screen.  She was garbed in the ornate robes and trappings of a senior Ecclesiarch, the age lines on her face told the story of the many years it takes for a priestess of the Imperial Cult to reach such an esteemed rank.

 

“This is Abbess Drexia Jacoby...”  she fumed into the screen; a scowl that had no doubt haunted a good many novices and choir children.

 

“What fool has abandoned us?!  Whoever is hearing this, by the Emperor, I demand you retrieve us this instant.”  There followed a lengthy string of sanctioned curses, directed at the commanders in charge of the evacuation of this particular sector.

“We have retrieved the Book of Saint McGuffin.  It cannot be allowed to fall to the arch enemy.”  Another string of curses, before a young woman entered the screen and relieved the Abbess of her unhelpful tirade.

 

This woman, in stark comparison to the Abbess, was an image of beauty and serenity.  She was garbed in the white robes of a Sister Hospitaller; the medical arm of the Adepta Sororitas.  While a non-militant order, the power armour seen beneath the gaps of her robes signified her as a front-line hospitaller.

 

“This is Sister Florence,”  she said in a sweet voice.  She was much more collected than the Abbess; to be expected from a sister who was used to dodging bullets on the battlefield as she tended to the wounded faithful.

 

She went on to explain that they had sought refuge in a shrine, and calmly related their coordinates.  It had been the most helpful piece of information to come from the short transmission.  Unfortunately, neither the Abbess nor the Hospitaller realised they were broadcasting on an unsecured channel.

 

On another pict screen, Palatine Maya of the Order of the Penitent Spirit jostled about in a Repressor transport as it sped along.  She stood out from the rest of her sisters, not only for her rank, but because where her sisters wore the purple armour and purple-red robes of their order; her armour and robes bore the red and black colours of the Order of Our Martyred Lady.  It was part of a memorial tradition that had first started almost two millenia ago and was considered to be an honour within the order.

 

Currently her hand was pressed to a vox bead in her ear; she uttered the occasional affirmation as she received news of her detachment’s unexpected rescue mission.

After uttering a final “Ave Imperator” into her vox, she relayed the new coordinates to the driver before opening the vox channel to her sisters in the Repressor, as well as those in the two Immolator Transports in her outrider convoy.

 

“Sisters, it would appear the evacuation teams were a little hasty.  A number of the Emperor’s church have been left behind with a holy relic.  We are to proceed, with all haste to evac these stranded souls.

“Immolator teams, you are to proceed to the south eastern area of engagement and work towards the central shrine; delay any enemy forces you encounter as my team enters the engagement area centrally to extract the high value personell and the relic.

“Emphasise that this is strictly a grab and dash mission.  Do not be drawn into a prolonged fight.  We will have air support to deal with any significant threats.”

 

Palatine Maya braced herself amidst the acknowledgement tones she received as the Repressor and its accompanying Immolators turned down a narrow street; the roar of their engines and clacking of the vehicles tracks the only sound breaking the silence of the vacant city.

 

Fittingly, on a pict screen high up; footage from an aircraft showed a small city scrolling past as it flew overhead.  The footage was from an Avenger Strike Fighter; a close support gunship favoured by the Sororitas.  This particular Avenger was more akin to a flying shrine than to an engine of war.  It was decorated with angelic sculptures and saints inlaid with gold plating.  For all its ostentatiousness, it still bared its teeth with the large rotating Bolt Cannon which the aircraft was built around, and bristled with missiles.  Where others of its make bore paired las-cannons; this craft had had such weaponry removed in place for twin Multi Meltas.

The pilot signalled acknowledgement of her new mission orders.  The aircraft banked and took a course deeper into the city.

 

In the shrine, a priest called out as he gazed at a collection of screens above a security console.

 

“Theyre coming.  The Sisters are coming,”  he said as the Abbess made her way to glare at the exterior security picts.

“The Emperor is with us; we’re saved.”  Relief plain in his voice.

 

“They’re not alone.  The arch enemy has arrived.”  the Abbess said, as she indicated several screens.  Indistinct shapes moved with hulking unnatural forms on some of the screens.  Other screens showed bloated, armoured figures marching towards the shrine.  One screen centered on a twisted, walking machine form with grotesque arms growing out one side, bristling with an array of weaponry.  It sat upon a landing pad opposite the shrine, the barrels of that weapon arm leveling upon the holy site.

 

The priest could be seen to panic quite plainly; his chest heaving as he began to lose control of his breath.  He soon stopped however as he caught sight of something on the control panel before him.

“The Emperor protects those that protect themselves.”  he said with renewed confidence as he pressed a button on the panel.

 

A  harsh, mechanized voice blared out from the laud hailers a few moments later.

 

“Automated Defence Network Activation.”

 

Moments later, the thud-thud-thud of heavy weaponry sounded through the room.  A screen showed tracer fire of heavy bolters firing into the advancing armoured bodies.  The shots struck true, but deflected off the tainted armour or struck armour joints, blowing out infected gobbets of flesh but having little effect to the enemy.

A las blast narrowly missed the twisted monstrosity on the landing pad.

 

“Good thinking, Friar.  The defences shall bide us time as the sisterhood speeds to our rescue and the enemy’s demise.”  the Abbess gave what must have been rare praise.

 

“Why are the defences firing upon my sisters?”  the Hospitaller demanded as she pointed at a screen showing a quad-gun emplacement firing upon an Immolator transport.  The armour of the vehicle held, but the sisters eyes were afire.

 

“It-it...it must be set to fire upon anything that moves?”  the Priest spluttered.

 

“Then set it to target only the enemy!”  the Abbess demanded.

 

“I don’t know how.  Sister, you’d know.”  said the Priest.

 

“Throne, Friar.  I’m a Hospitaller, not a tech-priest,”  Sister Florence snapped.  “deactivate it now.”

 

“I’ve tried, nothing is working,”  the Priest said as he began pounding his fists into every blinking light and button he could find.

 

 

The condition of the city around began to change as the convoy rode deeper.  No buildings had suffered direct damage from enemy artillery fire yet; but that was not for a lack of trying on the enemy’s part.  Buildings here had been made sturdy, able to withstand a great deal of punishment.  While a number of the buildings showed scorch and stress marks from direct hits; most artillery damage had been done to the streets themselves, leaving great craters in the middle of the streets and smoking wreckage of abandoned civilian transports.

 

A few minutes after Palatine Maya had ordered the Immolator transports off to their sectors, her Repressor came upon the ruins of a small chapel that had not survived a direct hit.  The Repressor slowly made its way through the ruins; smoking debris and flaming pews snapped and smashed under the vehicles treads as it passed flame blackened walls, the artworks of saints and angels that had covered those walls, lost.

 

As they came upon the outskirts of the ruin, the Shrine that the Ecclesiarchy members sought refuge in loomed into view on the external cams of the Repressor.

It towered above all other buildings around it.  It’s upper levels showing stained glass windows depicting images of the Saint McGuffin.  On the lower levels, the barrels of Heavy Bolters protruded from the walls.

 

“Avenger to Outrider Maya.”  the pilots voice cut in suddenly.  “Avenger on station to provide close range air to ground support.

 

“Acknowledged, Avenger.  Slow the arch enemy’s advance and intercept pursuers while we retrieve the-“

 

“Sister Palatine, we are under fire from friendly automated defences.”

 

The Avenger zoomed past the ruin of a chapel.  This area had clearly seen heavier artillery bombardment.  The plumes of black smoke and fire rose from the streets where vehicles and even defensive gun emplacements blazed away in their wreckage.

 

The Bolt Cannon whirred to life as the pilot picked out several infantry targets through a smoke plume ahead.  She picked out more targets on a landing pad-  a walking thing of twisted metal and a stout, mushroom like thing covered in rust.  The pilot let loose with the cannons and sent missiles and multi melta fire into the larger threats at the rear.  She saw some of the infantry vanish in a cloud of yellow-green mist as the bolt shots ripped into the armoured troops and exploded.

 

A heartbeat later, the cockpit blared with signals, warning of weapons lock.  Out of instinct, the pilot sent the aircraft jinking  as a nearby building, brimming with defensive weapons, opened fire at near point blank range.

The aircraft was fast and the pilot clearly skilled, but several shots still struck true.  Worst of all was a las cannon emplacement in the street that struck a glancing blow that nearly knocked the aircraft into the offending building.

 

Recovering, the pilot swung around southward.  In a moment, she took in the sight she had seen a heart beat ago from a different angle.  Though now, there was a huge mass of diseased flesh half as tall as the shrine, bearing down on it.

 

Amidst a hail of fire from the enemy; the Bolt Cannons fired into the armoured infantry again and more melta shots lanced into the twisted metal walker which flung its own powerful weaponry at the Avenger.  Somehow, the pilot managed to avoid most of the high powered shots while managing to fire off a quick salvo of Hellstrike missiles into the rotten pile of walking flesh by the Shrine.  But its was too much.

A beam of melta energy speared up from the impossibly surviving infantry that sliced through the aircrafts hull and struck the volatile payload within.

The Avenger exploded mid air and came crashing down in a ball of fire upon the landing pad; debris slammed into the vile machines that had claimed sanctuary upon it.

 

On another pict screen; the external cam of an Immolator showed the pile of flesh receiving the final shots of the ill fated aircraft.  Great gobbets of rotten flesh and puss boiled away.  The image of the horned daemon began to fill the screen as it looked directly at the Immolator.  And smiled.

 

Interrogator Andreas broke from his work again, rubbing his temples.  Around him, wards carved into the cold, black stone walls designed to contain psychic influence, began to subtly glow.

Wearily, the interrogator resumed his work.

 

 

The second Immolator’s pict screen caught the flash of sudden movement.  Something that was there, but not there, charging towards the vehicle.  Nothing could be made distinctly of until until its powerful blows hammered against the vehicle.  The Sister on the Immolation Flamer doused the non-entities in streams of burning promethium.  The burning liquid gave shape to what the human and the recorded eye could not give form.

Hulking beasts lumbered around the vehicle, dripping with disease and flame as burning flesh sleuthed off their daemonic forms.  They assailed the vehicle with massive arms of claws and heads of flailing tentacles ending with razor teethed mouths.

 

The sisters within disembarked as the monstrous mountain of diseased flesh by the Shrine lumbered toward the other Immolator.  The daemon loped alone in great rolling strides; not slowed by a lascannon beam burning straight through its gluttonous form from one of the automated defences.

The daemon cried in delighted glee, adding to the cacaphonous noise of the battle, as it slammed into the transport.

The daemons decayed sword narrowly missed one of the sisters within the transport as it pierced through the hull like nothing.

 

“Withdraw!  Withdraw!  Everyone out.”  the sister superior cried out.  The rear ramp opened up and the sisters piled out, regrouping with the squad from the second Immolator.  The beleagured Immolator was held in place as much by the daemons weapon as its bulk that spilled over it.

 

“In the Emperors name; destroy the abomination!”  the superiors cry came and the squads opened up on the monstrosity in unison with holy melta, flamer and bolter.  The daemon turned under the fuscillade; flame coiled up its bloated form, bolt shells blew out chunks of green diseased flesh and melta shots speared into its unnatural form.  It withdrew its blade from the struggling Immolator and took a heaving step towards the sisters.

 

In the Repressor, Palatine Maya stood with her sisters at the vehicle’s firing ports.  The Repressor rounded the Shrine to come up behind the faltering daemon.

Then Maya and her sisters added their weight of fire upon the daemons back.  The Repressor unleashed its own torrents from its heavy flamers.  Even the injured Immolator, reversing away with rust spreading out from its wounds, managed to unleash jets of fire from its Immolation Flamers; the sister in the gunners seat managing to hold the fire trigger down as she nursed a wound to her gut that was already festering.

 

Assailed from all sides, the daemon slowly began to lose its form.  It unleashed a frustrated howl as the combined fire destroyed it piece by piece.

Finally, with an enraged sucking howl, it fell forwards.  It burst into a tide of sickening green sludge.

“Into the Shrine,”  called Maya to her team.

 

 

Pain seared through Interrogator Andreas' mind. Raw and unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. His mouth open in a silent scream as he pressed his fists against his eyes. He didn't feel the tears of blood streaking down his face from his weeping eyes and nose. Nor did he see the wards around the room now glaring with blue-white brightness, some even bursting into cold fire and filling the dark room with harsh light.
His world right now was one of immense pain. And fear.

He had taken the proper precautions. Steeled his will and set up the appropriate psychic barriers and more beside.
Yet he was so completely unprepared for the sheer, raw power that he felt clawing at his soul. Desperately, he called upon his psychic talents, throwing up shields and walls in his mind, anything to slow the evil force that sought to consume him from within. It was the psychic equivalent of a desperate man toppling shelves and chairs as he ran in an effort to slow his pursuers.

The cold air began to stink. A fecund bouquet of decay; rotting meat, pungent fungus, decomposing bio matter and gangrene.
Andreas' shielded soul was hit by a psychic force so powerful, it physically knocked him back in his chair which toppled over, sending him rolling onto his back. For the first time since the psychic onslaught began, he breathed, and immediately vomited.

One by one, the pict screens the interrogator had been sitting before began showing the image of the daemon until its monstrous form filled each one.

"Embrace..."

A deep, gurgling, unnatural voice. Andreas both heard it in the air and felt the words press against his mind.

"The blessings...of the grandfather..."

The voice was full of such malice, yet it conveyed such genuine, welcome invitation. The duality of it made the interrogators skin crawl.
All of his psychic focus was thrown to defending himself from the attack. The pain of it landing through his mind was rendering him immobile. He knew if he didn't do something, he was going to die- if he was lucky, that's all that would happen. It was the possibility of that worse thing that spurned him to find that reservoir of strength that does not belong to himself or to any natural human.

"Im-Imperat-tor..." It was the only word his beleaguered thoughts could muster.  It was enough.

With immense effort, Andreas dragged a fist from his eyes. He fought his own muscles that sought to instinctively clench that fist back over his eyes.
Painfully, he managed to drag his fist to the com bead in his ear. He pressed in on it, activation the send.
He had always imagined in this sort of situation, he would be calm and collected and convey a sense if cool authority as he called for reinforcements. Instead, all he could manage was a weak, gurgling...

"...help..."

That amused, sickening chuckle filled the air again.
Amidst his fear and pain, a small flame of hate flickered in his heart at the sound of that chuckle. He held onto that small flame. Used it to open his uncovered eye.

The screens no longer showed individual picts of the daemon. Instead they all worked together to show it in one massive image; it's huge, rotten smile growing ever wider. Maggots and flies crawled and flew out if the screens that began to rust. Decay spread out across the consoles in long fingers. Metal rusted in moments and plastics flaked away. Frozen rime spread across the black bricks of the walls, floor and ceiling. The foul stench filling the air intensified and the interrogator retched.

The daemons chuckle was suddenly turned to a disappointed sigh. The sound one might make when an enjoyed game is brought to an unwelcome end.
A strong armoured hand grabbed Andreas' coat collar and began dragging him back along the floor, out the now open heavy metal door into a well lit black brick corridor, wards aglow near the vacated room.
He coughed and retched before vomiting again, rolling onto his side as a Battle Sister with a heavy flamer stepped past him to the door and began filling the room with holy fire.

The pict screens exploded under the sustained torrent; their casings melting away. Everything in the room burned. The sister did not let up on her cleansing until burning promethium began to pool around her feet as it overflowed from the tainted room.
By then, the psychic assault that had so nearly ended him stopped, but not without one final "Embrace..."

The interrogator sat himself up against the wall, coughing and wheezing as he did so.

"Interrogator?" a familiar voice rumbled. Andreas turned to see his master, clad in golden power armour, nearby.

"Lord..." he managed to say after several failed attempts.

"It is Diabolus Extremis." the dark, gold armoured man said, wanting his confirmation but seeing his interrogator was obviously in no condition to hold a conversation.

Andreas nodded in confirmation before a bought of coughing doubled him over.

"Medicae."

It was the last thing the interrogator heard before darkness started to take the world around him. The last thing he saw before it took him too, was his hand full of the blood he had coughed up.

 

 

Edit: various typos and grammatical errors.

Edited August 28, 2019 by Atrus

[Bjorn Firewalker]

A most worthy work of writing. It could do with more editing, though. For example, to differentiate the scenes set in the interrogation room from what the pict recordings portray, by italicizing the latter like so?

 

Nitpicking, with my emphases:

Nor was it that despite the pict being paused, the flesh of the creature still pulsed with the swarms of maggots that writhed and dripped from weeping sores- or that more than once he had used his personal lighter to burn a maggot that had fallen from that screen.

No, it was the daemons smile. The warm, welcoming smile that was so at odds with the monstrosity. Looking at it now made him uneasy and caused the pain behind his eyes to sharpen.

Interrogator Andreas looked away from the screen and rubbed his eyes again.

The blank line used to separate paragraphs from one another in an *.html file, are often missing, rendering this chapter a difficult-to-read "wall of text."

“This is Sister Florence...” She said in a sweet voice.

“Theyre coming. The Sisters are coming.” He said as the Abbess made her way to glare at the exterior security picts.

As "he said" and "she said" are continuations of what they said, the sentences should be written as the following:

“This is Sister Florence,” she said in a sweet voice.

“Theyre coming. The Sisters are coming,” he said as the Abbess made her way to glare at the exterior security picts.

Note a comma replaces the period ending the sentences before "he said" and "she said," and that "he" and "she" are not capitalized.

 

There are multiple such errors throughout the chapter posted.

The second Immolators pict screen caught the flash of sudden movement.

An apostrophe is missing, i.e., the sentence should read, "The second Immolator's pict screen caught the flash of sudden movement."

The daemon loped alone in great rolling strides; not slowed by a las cannon beam

IIRC, "lascannon" is spelled as one word.

I'm sure there are other typos I missed. It would help you to get more proofreaders.

Edited August 26, 2019 by Bjorn Firewalker

[Atrus]

Oh Bjorn, you are my proof reader ;)

 

I'm by no means a writer or an aspiring author; that is my wife's department. I'm just a nerd that sometimes writes down ideas that come to him, forgetting how hard writing is.

 

Cheers for those little points. I did actually try to run this through a spell checker on MS Word, but the function wasn't working for some reason. So I tried proofing it myself and did fix up a lot of errors. Not being a writer, the whole process had me ready for the emperor's mercy after a short amount of time.

 

I'll fix up those things in the original and edit/replace whats in that post so I'm not editing multiple sources.

 

I do agree that the interrogators scene needs something to stand it out for the rest.

I'm just wondering if italicized text would be too much considering his larger scene at the end?

[Bjorn Firewalker]

I'm by no means a writer or an aspiring author; that is my wife's department. I'm just a nerd that sometimes writes down ideas that come to him, forgetting how hard writing is.

You're doing a good job, nonetheless.

I did actually try to run this through a spell checker on MS Word, but the function wasn't working for some reason. So I tried proofing it myself and did fix up a lot of errors.

It's EXTREMELY frustrating to use spellcheck on sci-fi and other works with a LOT of made-up words. My own smartphone kept changing "vox" into "box," before I figured out how to turn off its autocorrect function. I can understand your frustrations if your word processor keeps trying to spell "lascannon" as something else.

Not being a writer, the whole process had me ready for the emperor's mercy after a short amount of time.

(Pats Atrus' back.)

I do agree that the interrogators scene needs something to stand it out for the rest.

I'm just wondering if italicized text would be too much considering his larger scene at the end?

I mean italicize the scenes of the Sisters attacking the forces of the Daemon of Nurgle at the besieged shrine, as is done for flashbacks in contemporary fiction. The pict recordings show what happened in the recent past; the scenes with the Interrogator take place in the present, and can use normal text.

[Tarvek Val]

This was a very nice read. You deserve more credit than you give yourself! The ending was appropriately dark, and the action scenes were well-written and well-paced. I really enjoyed working through this piece, it added a nice spin to the classic 40k tale.

 

With that said, I found a few things to add alongside Bjorn's comments - mostly just little grammatical things. 

 

 

 

This woman, in stark comparison to the Abbess, was an image beauty and serenity.

This sentence benefits from an 'of' between the words 'image' and 'beauty' - the woman 'was an image of beauty and serenity.'

 

 

She went on to explain that they had sought refuge in a shrine  (emphasis 'that')

 

 

Unfortunately, neither the Abbess nor or the Hospitaller had realised they were broadcasting on an unsecured channel. (emphasis 'nor', 'had')

The 'had' in this sentence is redundant - 

 

 

On another pict screen, Palatine Maya of the Order of the Penitent Spirit, jostled about in a Repressor transport as it sped along.

The second comma in this sentence is unnecessary. It adds an unnecessary pause to the sentence - an easy way to catch this small errors is to read the sentence out loud. If you find yourself taking pauses at odd moments, it may be due to an improperly placed item of punctuation.

 

 

Currently her hand was pressed to a vox bead in her ear; she uttered the occasional affirmation as she received news of her detachments' unexpected rescue mission. (add apostrophe)

 

 

With a final “Ave Imperator.”  Into her vox; she relayed the new coordinates to the driver before opening the vox channel to her sisters in the repressor, as well as those in the two Immolator Transports in her outrider convoy.

This doesn't need to be broken up into two separate sentences - you can say 'After uttering a final "Ave Imperator" into her vox, she relayed...' or 'She uttered a final "Ave Imperator" into her vox, then relayed...'

 

 

A number of the Emperor's church have been left behind with a holy relic.  We are to proceed, with all haste to evac these stranded souls. (emphasis apostrophe, commas)

 

 

This particular Avenger, was more akin to a flying shrine than to an engine of war.

Unnecessary comma.

 

 

Indistinct shapes moved with hulking, unnatural forms on some of the screens. Other screens showed bloated, armoured figures marching towards the shrine.  Once screen centered on a twisted, walking machine form with grotesque arms growing out one side, bristling with an array of weaponry.

Minor nitpicks to improve sentence coherency and overall flow - be careful of overlong sentences (a particular weakness of mine!).

 

 

The shots striking true, but deflecting off the tainted armour or striking into armour joints and blowing out infected gobbets of flesh but having little affect to the enemy.

This sentence should be reworded into the past tense - eg 'The shots struck true, but deflected off of tainted armor or struck armor joints, blowing out infected gobbets of flesh but having little effect on the enemy.'

 

 

“I don’t know how.  Sister, you’d know,”  said the Priest.

 

“Throne, Friar.  I’m a Hospitaller, not a tech-priest,”  Sister Florence snapped,  “deactivate it now.”

Bjorn already pointed out an instance of this earlier, but it pops up a few more times throughout the piece.

 

 

“I’ve tried, nothing is working,”  the Priest said as he began pounding his fists into every blinking light and button he could find.

 

 

The Avenger exploded mid air and came crashing down in a ball of fire upon the landing pad; debris slammed into the vile machines that had claimed sanctuary upon it. (emphasis - past tense)

 

 

The burning liquid gave shape to what the human and the recorded eye could not give form. (emphasis - past tense)

 

 

The daemon's decayed sword narrowly missed one of the sisters within the transport as it pierced through the hull like nothing.

Minor edit to improve sentence fluency.

 

 

“Withdraw!  Withdraw!  Everyone out,”  the sister superior cried out.

 

 

The daemon turned under the fuscillade; flame coiled up its bloated form, bolt shells blew out chunks of green diseased flesh and melta shots speared into its unnatural form.  It withdrew its blade from the struggling Immolator and took a heaving step toward the sisters. (emphasis - past tense)

 

 

Then Maya and her sisters added their weight of fire upon the daemons back. 

 

 

“Into the Shrine,”  called Maya to her team.

 

 

His world right now was one of immense pain. (remove comma between 'now,' 'was').

 

 

One by one, the pict screens the interrogator had been sitting before began showing the image of the daemon until it's monstrous form filled each one. 

There's no need for an apostrophe in the word it's here. That's the equivalent of saying '... showing the image of the daemon until it is monstrous form filled each one.'

 

 

The duality if it made the interrogators skin crawl. ('of', not 'if')

 

 

"It is Diabolus Extremis," the dark, gold armoured man said, wanting his confirmation but seeing his interrogator was obviously in no condition to hold a conversation.

 

Edited August 27, 2019 by Tarvek Val

[Atrus]

Thanks guys. Really appreciate the input and copious amount of grammatical and other errors you're finding. Fresh eyes make a world of difference.

[Tarvek Val]

 

 

Fresh eyes make a world of difference.

 

I couldn't agree more. No matter how many times I read through my own work, there's always at least one mistake that I don't catch until someone else points it out. Hopefully my comments were useful - I read through the piece later at night than usual, so if any of my comments don't make sense I'm happy to expand on them! 

[Bjorn Firewalker]

 

Fresh eyes make a world of difference.

I couldn't agree more. No matter how many times I read through my own work, there's always at least one mistake that I don't catch until someone else points it out.

I can relate to this. When writing, I often spend countless hours editing and reediting my work- adding entire scenes as necessary- while burning with frustration as I try to answer the question, "Can I make this better?"

[Tarvek Val]

I've certainly been there, Bjorn. That, or one of the people generous enough to read my work will *very kindly* come to me and ask if I really want to take my project in the direction it's going. It undeniably helps in the long run!

[Atrus]

Cheers for all that.  Just updated the post with the corrections you pointed out as well as a couple more minor grammar fixes.

[Tarvek Val]

Congrats on a job well done - looking forward to reading more of your work in the future.

[Atrus]

Thanks. Though it will probably be a while. The writing bug rarely bites. Not to say I don't have ideas; just taking the time to write them out.

Who knows, maybe I'll make a habit of writing out a paragraph of something every now and then and letting the cumulative effect do the work for me?

Edited August 29, 2019 by Atrus