Aldous Orwellus was looking at a giant, clad in greenish armor, approaching slowly to him from the end of the corridor. Even at this distance, he seemed massive, filling a space that should be able to accommodate easily three people. He was walking slowly, every step booming in the metallic floor, the vibrations reaching his ribcage. The giant held a colossal weapon, similar to the stub guns that he had seen the PDF carry in parades, but two, three times bigger, and visibly more deadly.
As he approached, he took out the helmet with one hand. Red eyes in a charcoal face looked at him, examining, analysing. A mouth opened, and white teeth, predator teeth, could be seen contrasting against the black of his face. It looked like something out of a nightmare, an angel of retribution that arrived to his doorstep. Suddendly, he opened his bear-like hands.
“Hello, my friend! Aren’t you going to give a hug to your great-great-great-great uncle?”
This was going to be an interesting Sanguinala.
Family matters
Cute!
It seemed a formal letter. Maybe the most formal letter that grazed that sub-spire in the last 400 years, since its foundation. It was made from proper paper, which in that word was a luxury, and had a red wax seal. The size of the letter looked odd, as it made for bigger hands.
That day, Aldous Orwellus was returning home after his normal 16-hour shift. He was a teacher in a nearby school, 60 levels down. He knew that half the juves there would end joining a gaing in the next 5 years, and that 1 every 4 would be dead in the next 10, but that didn’t deter him of trying to teach a little bit of the most basic stuff. The serfs of the God-Emperor should at least know how to read a damn data-slate.
He didn’t expect a ministrorum adept waiting for him home, as he didn’t expect the letter.
Once he opened it, his doubts weren’t still resolved. He had more than before, in fact.
++++++++++++++
“To the attention of Aldous Orwellus, descendant of Linus Orwellus, descendant of Freyer Orwellus, descendant of Janus Orwellus,
I am Captain Mathias Terruel, on board of the battle-barge “Fury of the Stars”, which stationed in your planet two cycles ago, and awaits reconditioning before our next warp jump.
It seems you are the last member alive of the Orwell family, and one of my passengers has asked permission to visit you. Strange as it is, it seems their brethren have a tradition of doing just that.
I would advise you to allow his request, as being a guest of one of the angels of the Emperor is probably the highest service you will do in your life, but he has repeatedly insisted that you should do it of your own volition as he “does not want to be a burden”.
I expect your answer by tomorro. My messenger will come pick it up.
Tought of the day: A questioning servant is more dangerous than an ignorant heretic.
++++++++++++++
go on
-You never did told me that you had an Ecclesiarch in your family!
-I didn’t know, dear. So, what are we going to do?
-I…. I don’t know.
An ecclesiarch. There was no other possible answer. And possibly a powerful one, to boot. Powerful enough to make a captain of a battle-barge write a message to a lowly middle-hiver such as him. “Angel of the Emperor”…. That would probably be the name of his particular order. It seemed… quite peaceful. Certainly more than others like the Redemptionists and his little cult, which seemed to steadily grow in the bowels of the Hive. If he had to choose, he will prefer to have a man of peace, a reasonable man, as his guest.
-What the drokk you mean when you say you don’t know?
His wife, Emilliana, normally so sweet, even after thirty years had a tendency to revert to hive-speak from her early years as a ganger when nervous or angry. Nobody would have thought that that small, slightly chubby sweet-faced woman had once been the terror of the neirbouringh gangs. She had had her tattoos removed, only one remaining in a place that no one but Aldous would probably see.
-This…. This guys, if they are important… they normally take juve treatments. For what I know, he could be 300 years old. For what I know, he could be my great great great grandfather.
-Mmh, that makes sense then. So, will you accept
-Would you like to anger the Ecclesiarchy?
-Good point
And he had answered the next day. What else could he do. He spent his free time the next days preparing his quite spacious 25 square meters house to harbour such honoured guest. They prepared their bedroom, emptying from all their things. For the next week, her spouse would sleep with his son, in their small alcove. As for him, there was a particular comfortable cupboard, down the sink. It was a little bit humid, but one of the waste pipes from a fabricator 40 levels below passed near the wall, giving it a nice, warm heat.
Their also spend a small fortune buying a ton of votive candles, figurines of the emperor, even one blessed purity seal for which he had to travel to one of the higher levels cathedrals.
The priest there took pity of his situation and gave him a hand-written seal, more beautiful that the ones you could normally get at the entrance of the church. Altough he mentioned he had never heard of any order with the costume to come back home for sanguinala. But the Imperium was vast and their worlds countless, so anything was possible.
That night, while he nervously waited in his sofa, he did what he had done since a child in order to calm himself. Look into the fire of the candles lit at his home. The flickering flame, red, full of warmth, had always had a shooting effect on his psyche.
OP here. Got called for an emergency at work. I was posting as I was writing. Sorry to leave this unfinished. Maybe I will return later if this is still up when I come back.
Hope you liked it.
Kys faggot
I mean, I plan to continue it regardless. But if the thread is not up, I will just finish writing and then post it all up when it is finished
Well then, bump.
bump
I want to see it continue
>Aldous Orwellus
Ah, solid reference. High school English required reading can be inspiring sometimes.
continue, man
You piece of fucking shit. How DARE you post a reasonably good story and then leave it hanging like this? Now we have to wait. WORK can wait. You need to get your fucking priorities in order man. You need to look at your life and see what's really important.
>pls post moar
Thank you for your patience. Still at work, but had some minutes to type the history. Sorry for possible spelling errors, english is not my first language and I have had no time to spellcheck.
And now, there he was, with a 2.5 meters giant in front of him, clad in green armor. And worse of all, he wanted… he wanted to give him a hug. He slowly approached, suspicious, to his extended arms. Her wife, behind her, suspired a low “No!”. He looked around. He had actually to move his head from one side to the other to be able to see both his arms. The situation was certainly surreal. Here there was a giant, a monster in human form, with blazing red eyes and black skin, looking at him, eager to give him a hug. Well, there was no other option, wasn’t it? He slowly approached.
The hug was certainly weird. His arms were hugging his waist, not really being able to grab him. It was akin to try to hug a wall. It was just that… well, the wall hug back. It looked obvious that he was trying not to hurt him while he slowly bend his spine and enveloped his body with huge arms, each as big as his head. It reminded him of the himself, when he hug his son. The giant tried a small, delicate pat in the back.
It nearly cracked a rib.
The voice boomed again:
-Oh, how I missed seeing some of my family! Thank you, thank you for acceding to host me! You must be Aldous! I’m Janus, nice to meet you and your family, friend!
Suddenly, he remembered the letter he received.
-Janus? Are you…? Are you my great-grandfather?
The giant looked at him, frowning his brow, as if trying to remember. Swiftly, his visage changed, and a deep, deep laugh began to reverberate in the corridor. He could hear dogs yelping on the outside, possibly fearing some new predator from the sub-levels came to hunt them.
-Hohohoh. No friend, that little rascal was my great-nephew!
Well, that explained everything, didn’t it?
+++++++++++++++++++++
One week ago, aboard the battle-barge “Fury of the Stars”.
Janus Orwellus, brother warrior of the 4th company of the Salamanders, was excited. If you ask anybody from the Imperial Guard, they would tell you that Space Marines are stoic, serious warriors, nearly unfeeling in his relentless pursuit of glory for the emperor.
That was not completely true. Well, it was if we were talking about the Imperial Fists, and any of his successor chapters, but the Space Marines are certainly capable of feelings other than fury and righteous anger, only that they tend to be more… subtle in their ways of showing them.
Spontaneous and overwhelming happiness tough, was not one of the most common feelings of a Space Marine.
Nevertheless, Janus was so full with glee that he had to reprimand his desire to jump up and down his habitacle. It would have been certainly hard to explain several boot-shaped marks in the iron floor.
Instead, he went to the training chambers, were he dispatched several training servitors as he laughed like a maniac.
One year ago, Janus came back to Nocturne after a long-long campaign. He had been cleansing a small outpost in a neighbouring system of ork activity, when a small splinter fleet decided to attack the planet. The following 3-way war had been a long and bloody affair, and it took more than 50 years for both infestations to be cleansed. Afterwards, he spent 50 more years on several missions, without being able to ever return to Nocturne.
This was par of the course for some void-based chapters, but for a Salamander it was certainly difficult. He had his clan back at Nocturne, and he missed them. Saying that he was homesick would be an affront to his faith to the Emperor and his Superiors. But every Sanguinala for the last 100 years had been a particular long and lonely week. During those nights, be it in a trench, in a vessel, or in a fortress, he had spared thoughts to his home planet and his tribe.
It had been a hard hit when he came back and discovered that his clan was no more. Worst of all, they hadn’t been violently exterminated, or silently assassinated at night. There was no enemy to avenge, no monster to slain. An earthquake and a land-slide had destroyed their village. And the two couples left, already old, died sadly without having more children, telling to each other the legends of their clan at night to fight the loneliness. Until one night, the emperor silently claimed them in his sleep. They were in his company now. And their histories, their legends, lost forever. In 20 years, his clan, his proud clan, had been erased from history.
That had not affected his sense of duty. He had continued his service to his Brothers and the Emperor for 10 more years. But he was sad. And the sadness of a Salamander runs deep, slowly and unstoppable, like a lava flow.
That was until one last month, when he arrived to Premevertius Quintilla, a not-really important planet with several hive-city populations. They had sustained a dark eldar raid before jumping into the warp, and had had to cut short the transit when the Gellar Field began to falter shortly thereafter. Their navigator was now in an induced comma, and several of the ships more external bridges had to be decontaminated and repurified. It is not pleasant when the walls literally have ears, and seeing yourself leaving a room when you are entering it is a strange situation. So, until the basic laws of casualty and thermodynamics returned to the ship, they were to stay in that planet.
See you in a copule of hours. Hope that it is not being too boring!
bump
Space Marines have eidetic memory. What people usually forgot is that Space Marines have eidetic memory since the moment they become Space Marines. So, although a normal Space Marine is able to recite the names of the battle-brothers that perished in a glorious charge several centuries ago, sometimes they struggle to remember the name of their childhood friends, or their favourite food as a child, even on some sad cases the name of their own parents. Some of the most ancient Salamanders have inscribed the names of their family in reliquaries, so they may never forget it.
It was not strange, then, that the name of Premevertius didn’t ring a bell to Janus. It was not until the second day that he remembered that, shortly before he was called to arms, his great-great nephew, Janus, had enlisted with the groupe of a trader. Not a rogue trader, mind you. Just one of the innumerable ones that ran through well-known warp corridors, transporting weapons, food and materials trough the worlds of the imperium. He was a restless one, Janus. Clever of wits, but not apt to hold a weapon. He later was told that he established in Premevertius. Could it be that Janus still had family in some part of their galaxy? Would a splinter of this tribe, away from the big fire, had not been consumed? Could this splinter be rekindled? Would they accept him into their fold?
He doubts were resolved after a quick visit to the ministrorum station in that planet. A 3 meters Space Marine clad in armor, with a flamethrower casually held in one hand tends to have a really particular effect upon people who value more paper than human life.
He was still alive! I meant, not Janus, but his great-great-great son! And he was a teacher! A shaman of the tribe! A keeper of stories, legend and knowledge. That was just amazing. Giving thanks to the Emperor for his luck, he convinced the captain of the Battle Barge to deliver a note to his relative. The Captain insisted that he could just go there and meet them. But that would have been rude, and Janus did not want to make his only remaining family feel uncomfortable.
>more pls.
And finally, there he was, being welcomed again in a house that he hoped he could call eventually his. They were unbelievably tense. He knew how he looked, and the fear that he induced in the average imperial guard human. Charred black skin, red eyes. He had heard the guys of the regiment call them a couple of names, oscillating between fear, awe and blasphemy.
Aldous particularly looked as he thought he was about to be eaten. Her wife and son were behind him, almost paralyzed. They invited him to go inside regardless. Family matters, after all.
The massive tower of a man slowly advanced to the door. He was massive, each fiber of his being a prayer to the holiness of the human form. He was the absolute peak of humanity, gene-ingeniereed to the emperor to withstand conditions that would kill lesser humans. He was an angel of vengeance, a holder of fury. He was 2 meters and a half, and the ferrocrete reinforced lintel was at 2 meters 30 cm.
The people on the building were surprised hearing the bell toll to laudes mass almost one hour before it was expected.
After a brief discussion with the concepts of up and down, and a small promise to never let anyone of his brothers know about this accident, brother Janus raised as a small, deeply embarrassed mountain.
He looked at Aldous, which has futilely trying to help him get up. He looked at him back. Two laughter, one high pitched and the other deep and rumbling, were heard in the corridor. Strangely enough, if one was to listen to them, they would have said that they seemed quite similar, one a deep reflection of the other.
Aaaand that would be the first part! I have some ideas for continuing the story, basically slice of life stuff with the situation of having to hold a space marine in your house for a couple of days.
I don't know, do you guys think it is worth continuing? I normally don't write in English, so I don't know if it feels a little lackluster.
Hope that you have liked it. It is my first time writing a story in Veeky Forums, so any feedback is welcome.
>I don't know, do you guys think it is worth continuing?
Definitely
>Is it worth continuing?
Stop being a faggot OP, you don't need to ask.
Bump. I'm not letting this die yet.
Don't leave a good story unfinished.
I'm finding it fun. Silly, but fun. We need more OC here so please continue.
Spelling has a few problems, but that's fine, like even native speakers don't mess up words occasionally. It's easily readable enough and we can understand what it's trying to convey.
If someone wants to commit this to somewhere else, they could also function as an editor, saving an original, unedited script while cleaning up a revised edition, that way a second writer can help smooth over any misspelled or strangely conjured words. Honestly, that's how most writers work anyways, and there's no shame in it.
Thanks! If i continue this, It Will probably be tomorrow in a new thread. Should i copy again what is already posted? I am afraid that due to the interruption It got quickly down in the pages...
Copy the shit down and put it on pastebin.
Post everything you've written on pastebin