Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Dark Over Drowen 1

 The night was still. Aeyou birds flew over the barren desert. The twin moons shone on the valley, illuminating the white sand , making it glitter. The valley people call this the Crystal Valley, for the way it looked in light. The valley was normally a peaceful area, had never known bloodshed nor violence, beyond tat of a small skirmish as a hound finds its prey. Tonight was a bad night, as a dark cloud hung over the sky. slowly a wave of darkness fell over the crystal sands, and it became apparent to the small village located on the outskirts that something terrible was coming.

"Contact Cyillik immediatly. We need the PDF here ASAP." The elder said to his aid. The edler, a tall, once strong man, was not frail from age. However his mind as a general was still sharp, even after his dismissal. Ex-General Furion gripped his cloak and hurried back to the village. The troops wouldn't be mobilized in time. Fortunatly the village of Gorrst, build on the wall of the valley, was bless by the God-Emperor and given weapons for defense. He had also taken the liberty of training all of the male villagers in the ways of war. In all raelity, he had a small army tucked away in the valley isolated from society.

His boots sank slightly in the sand. The darkness was less than two miles away. Time was short, and he knew it. Furion pushed aside the cloth obscuring the entrance to the command hut. He walked with purpose into the hut to be greeted by his aid. "Let the people know it's time." The aid nodded and hurried to his console. "Were you able to contact Cyillik?"

The aid looked up. "Sir, they deem us expendable. However The Lord General himself promised help would be on the way. Apparently they've been tracking this thing for a year. Also, it appears to be a Kabal."

"Fuck," muttered Furion. The aid turned back to his console and let the silent alarm sound. Movement came from all over the village, sillouettes dacing inside homes, flashlights dacing in homes. Furion watched the console as all twelve families lights turned on. The village was armed and ready. Furion grabbed his modified las-carbine, that he had carried across the battlefield in the 3rd Rebellion. His aid took his as well and looked at the General.

"Sir... Will we make it out alive?"

Furion turned around, his gray eyes misty. "That does not matter so long as we die for the Imperium. For the Emporer we rise, for the Emperor we kneel, for the Emperor we fall."

"So that's a no." The aid turned away and looked out the bunker window. "I can't do it for the Imperium, sir. I do it for the planet. My home."

"Son, we all have our reasons, and your's is as good as any."

"It was a pleasure to serve with you, sir." Tyron said, and turned towards the window again, watching the crystals for the last time.

Furion looked at Tyron for a second. The boy had much to learn in the ways of war and life for he was only 23. He still couldn't even grow a full beard. He was not a man, he was a boy, not too different from his departed father. They had the same height as light brown hair. He had scars across his face, and was blind in one eye. Shrapnel from a grenade that had been thrown too close. He had learned since then that cover is his friend. Furion remembered the good times, teaching him and training him. Tyron was like a son to him, closer than his real son had ever been to him. It was a pity they would go out like this.

"Sir... I see it." Furion rushed to the windows. The black smoke and crazy torn metal that distiguised the sick and twisted space pirates filled the sky. The raiders drew ever closer. "Should i call the Karh's and tell them to set up their lascannon?"

"It'll be no use, there are too many of them. The best strategey would be to wait them out until they are in the village, so as we can ambush them." Furion explained. He stood down from the window. "I advise you to get out of sight." He said that not a moment too soon. Tyron dropped down just as a hail of splinters came at the huts. Few actually made it inside, but the ones that did stabbed into tables and random equipment, causing sparks to fly into the air. The screech of the raider's vehicles pierced their eardrums. Furion knew that they were at their door.
He pulled the neck of Tyron's cloak and dragged him to the door frame, and they waited for their attackers.

They saw dust come up from under the cloth, and then the cloth fluttered up and in as the raiders landed. The pirates, dressed in all black armor, looked just like the Eldar, Furion noted. “They are not Eldar...” He muttered. He readied his carbine, and Tyron did the same. He made a motion representing 'on my mark,' and Tyron nodded. Gorrst and it's people had a hand signal language different from the common tongue of Drowen, that they used to signal to each other on the battlefield or when hunting so as not to alert their prey. It was universally useful to them, as they were a civil culture, but a culture of their own none the less.

There were at least 60 of the pirates. They spread out to all of the huts, five to a hut. Furion counted his chances. He knew he and Tyron could handle five. But he wasn't sure of some of the other families. Some had just had children, and were not ready for an assault. But he knew enough of the families were trained well enough to handle this. This is nothing, he thought. The pirates grew closer to them, but some groups had already reached their huts, and had forced their way inside. They were not wasting time. Almost immediately shots were fired, lasguns and splinter rifles. Screams filled the air as well, human screams. Furion held his ground though, he knew well enough not to bend to such a thing.

When the pirates were close enough he shouted “Now!” Tyron jumped out, just as he had and they each got off two shots before the pirates could so anything at all. Three of them dropped, their armor and flesh shattering. Another one fell to the ground, knocked over by the force of the shot. The last one brought his rifle to bear and fired, but not before they ducked back into the house. There were blades all over the armor they wore, for reasons unknown to Furion.

One of the pirates burst through the cloth, ripping it on his blades, and was shot almost immediately, his head exploding in a red mist. They waited for the last one, but he did not appear. Tyron creped out to see where he was, curiosity was a problem he had, Furion reprimanded him millions of times about it. Almost as soon as he did so, splinters shot at him and into him, throwing him violently to the ground. Blood was spilled on the floor.

Furion looked down to see his son bleeding on the ground. A deep anger overcame him at the sight of this. His breathing grew heavier and his blood began to pound. He let out a roar that shocked the pirate who had just entered the hut. Furion leaped at the Dark Eldar and pushed him to the ground, cutting himself on the blades of him armor. 

Drawing his knife, Furion gripped the elf's throat. "You will pay for your sins, Pirate!" He brought the knife up and over his head, and before the Eldar could recover from the stunning of being tackled, the knife was thrust through the light armor and into its skull, between the eyes.


Blood gushed from Tyron onto the dusty ground, mist swirling around him. He cried out as his vision began to fade. Through the fog of dust, he saw his mentor's face come closer to him, the words unheard through the screams surrounding them. He felt a calm wash over him as his life began to leave his body.


"No! I will not lose another son, not today!" Furion picked up Tyron, ignoring his wounds, and began carrying him off to the hills. "This is not the end!" He screamed, muffled again by the shrieks and death-howls of his friends and family. In the chaos of battle he managed to escape to the hills. Over the horizon, the sky was blood red, the plains before him stained with the color of the sky. The horror overtook him, and he blacked out.


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