jeffraven

The world of Damaris burned. Above it, a fleet destroyed ork ship upon ork ship. And yet, still they came. The fledgling colony planet was now infested with the greenskins, and it would be centuries for the orks to be completely cleansed from it's surface. On the surface in the main capital, soldiers and war machines moved through it's streets, fighting against the green tide. Most of the soldiers were crusaders brought from Port Wander, with the Bishop's blessing. Several were the Planetary Defense Forces, and a handful were either professional mercenaries or Armsmen from various Rogue Traders contributed to the defense of the planet and co

The corridors had long since blended into one another, the deck plates shuddered underneath his steps as seven-hundred pounds of holy warrior trod upon them. They were minuscule compared to the low rumble of the warp engines as the Aurea Albion navigated the most treacherous regions that man would ever know of. The few crewmen and ensigns Winter passed gave him a wide berth, looking up at the man in awe. Those who did not comprehend what he was saw him as a giant bringer of death, a one-man army. Those who had heard of the myths of the Astartes looked upon him with awe, as one of the Emperor's chosen warriors, an Angel of Death. A Space Mari

His weapon gripped in his hand, his face that of a statue, his determination clear. He does not do battle with foes, but his own self, his very spirit, his dark nature. He struggles against this evil being, the creature of shadows threatening to take him. It begins to succeed in the battle. The man's will is being quashed, as the dark force wrings the fabric of his soul to do it's bidding. He struggles with all his might against it, and for a moment, his spirit shines. But it fails, dooming his soul to the creatures who feeds upon it, tossing him into eternal darkness. But what is this? A hand reaches to him, sleek and slen