Post by CptNemo on Jan 17, 2006 18:48:32 GMT -5
This is a little something I started to get back into writing 40k. Hopefull I'll be able to turn it into something bigger 
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The small rodent darted out from its black den, and into the pile of garbage and filth laying in the deserted street. He scavenged about a bit, tipping a can or nosing in the remnants on the inside of water soaked bags. He did not have trouble finding the small scraps of food fit for a species his size. The rodent pulled a seed of grain from the waste, and perched himself atop a shoe. Its pointed snout twitched as he nibbled away at its soggy edges, and black beady eyes scanned the alleyway for any predators.
Movement at the far end behind a cluster of fallen dump cans made him perk up, alert. An instantaneous burst of white-green energy arced in jagged bolts towards him. The energy completely encased it, and held him in a sparkling tomb as if time had paused. Just as quick as it began, the mouse vanished not leaving behind a single fiber of its being as evidence of its existence.
Another soul for the harvest, even if it was just a rodent. Slowly, the crackling energies died away and dispersed on the gathering breeze. The Necrontyr Warrior acknowledged the kill with the faintest flicker in its inlaid, emerald orbs, and heat sensors array disengaged. No matter how many souls it reaped, its thirst for life could never be fulfilled again.
One of the men slammed his fists hard on the ferrocrete wall, but the sound of crunching bone was lost in the roar of the gathering crowd. Flaming bottles were flung forwards from the back, expanding into small fireballs upon impact that rained fire and glass down on the unfortunate below. Most held small weapons of some sorts, pirpes, wooden clubs, and rocks seemed to be a favorite amongst them.
Sergeant Rybinsk reeled back to avoid being licked by a fresh gout of flame. On his flanks, the men of the 122nd Mobile Defensive Infantry, third platoon, were doing the same along the barracks walls; watching the crowd through sagging eyes. His stomach pitched again to tell him it was time for sustenance, and he wished he could tell it to wait.
Wait. Why had they not put that in the job description, he did not know. Wait for my signal. Wait for reinforcements. Wait your turn. Wait for your death, it is inevitable. That is how he was beginning to feel nonetheless.
The civilians were filing into the garrison’s square by the droves. Just when he would think the whole city was already crammed into the surrounding area, another mass would appear down one of the main boulevards. They were only guardsmen, they had no call on how the planet was ruled, and yet, the city’s populace felt that, by harassing them, their demands would be met.
He sat down and put his back to a parapet. Rocks rained without pause into the inner courtyard where they plodded softly into the thickening mud. Rybinsk pulled the last smoke from its metal container, and looked at it with much anticipation. He lit it with a stolen lighter, and let the narcotics flow through his system to calm his restless body. He wrapped a heavy arm around the barrel of his autogun, tilted his helmeted head against it, and fell into unavoidable sleep despite the riotous noise.
. The Necrontyr March
The small rodent darted out from its black den, and into the pile of garbage and filth laying in the deserted street. He scavenged about a bit, tipping a can or nosing in the remnants on the inside of water soaked bags. He did not have trouble finding the small scraps of food fit for a species his size. The rodent pulled a seed of grain from the waste, and perched himself atop a shoe. Its pointed snout twitched as he nibbled away at its soggy edges, and black beady eyes scanned the alleyway for any predators.
Movement at the far end behind a cluster of fallen dump cans made him perk up, alert. An instantaneous burst of white-green energy arced in jagged bolts towards him. The energy completely encased it, and held him in a sparkling tomb as if time had paused. Just as quick as it began, the mouse vanished not leaving behind a single fiber of its being as evidence of its existence.
Another soul for the harvest, even if it was just a rodent. Slowly, the crackling energies died away and dispersed on the gathering breeze. The Necrontyr Warrior acknowledged the kill with the faintest flicker in its inlaid, emerald orbs, and heat sensors array disengaged. No matter how many souls it reaped, its thirst for life could never be fulfilled again.
***
One of the men slammed his fists hard on the ferrocrete wall, but the sound of crunching bone was lost in the roar of the gathering crowd. Flaming bottles were flung forwards from the back, expanding into small fireballs upon impact that rained fire and glass down on the unfortunate below. Most held small weapons of some sorts, pirpes, wooden clubs, and rocks seemed to be a favorite amongst them.
Sergeant Rybinsk reeled back to avoid being licked by a fresh gout of flame. On his flanks, the men of the 122nd Mobile Defensive Infantry, third platoon, were doing the same along the barracks walls; watching the crowd through sagging eyes. His stomach pitched again to tell him it was time for sustenance, and he wished he could tell it to wait.
Wait. Why had they not put that in the job description, he did not know. Wait for my signal. Wait for reinforcements. Wait your turn. Wait for your death, it is inevitable. That is how he was beginning to feel nonetheless.
The civilians were filing into the garrison’s square by the droves. Just when he would think the whole city was already crammed into the surrounding area, another mass would appear down one of the main boulevards. They were only guardsmen, they had no call on how the planet was ruled, and yet, the city’s populace felt that, by harassing them, their demands would be met.
He sat down and put his back to a parapet. Rocks rained without pause into the inner courtyard where they plodded softly into the thickening mud. Rybinsk pulled the last smoke from its metal container, and looked at it with much anticipation. He lit it with a stolen lighter, and let the narcotics flow through his system to calm his restless body. He wrapped a heavy arm around the barrel of his autogun, tilted his helmeted head against it, and fell into unavoidable sleep despite the riotous noise.