Dark Ponderings
Euclyde Xenos, former Gunnery Sergeant with 1st platoon, Bravo Company of the Salamander chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, struggled to retain consciousness despite the agonizing pain that wracked his body. He attempted to straighten some, for the door was opening to his cell once more. Each time the door had opened before he had learned new heights of pain and torture at the hands of these Dark Eldar. Even the dim light emitted by the guttering candle out in the hallway pierced his eyes like a blazing sun, causing him to wince sharply and avert his eyes.
How long had he been here, that he was too weak to even look at his captors anymore when they walked into his cramped little cell? He was certain that he could not stand any more from being chained on his knees for countless hours, his hands chorded at the wrists and elbows behind him. It was a grim testament to his failing strength that natural bonds could hold him like a child. The fire burning in his shoulders nearly drowned out the screaming in his other joints, and his head throbbed like he had been hit on the skull with an ork-warboss's power fist.
That thought brought to mind the first encounter he had experienced with orks. He had been fresh out of training and on his first mission with his new platoon. Their daily firing training had been interrupted that morning by the company commander, who ordered the platoon to investigate a disturbance on one of the hive worlds in the sector. As they had been training on ship for several weeks, it was just a matter of time before they were actually called into action.
Euclyde had been anxious to prove himself to his platoon mates, and his platoon sergeant most of all. The veteran sergeant was called Goliath by everyone who knew him, and few even knew if he had a real name. His name came from the fact that he had been nearly eight feet tall before entering the service, and his enhancements only made him larger. He could lift heavy objects with his bare hands that most other marines would need power armor to assist them, and no normal human could dream of lifting on their own.
Goliath had taken Euclyde under his wing from the first. He trained him especially hard and forced him to go beyond what the other new recruits who came in at the same time were put through. Soon, Euclyde had surpassed even some of the veterans on the shooting range. But that was not combat. No one knew what would happen their first time seeing combat, and that was the only way to prove the true measure of a marine. Euclyde would not let Goliath down if it killed him.
When they hit the ground on Xanath II, the scouts had immediately told Goliath that it had to be orks on a raid. There was a small village of only a few hundred thousand people where they were. In a world of 40 billion, that was miniscule. Nearly every building had been burned to the ground or was pock marked by crude explosive devices. What had not been burned or taken had been ripped out of the ground and strewn about in a careless manner.
Goliath had split the squads up and sent each in a direction to find out if there were any survivors or if there were any orks still in the area. He had not waited long to get his answer. Mere minutes after they were split up, one of the squads had come under heavy fire by orks. The rest of the platoon was called into support and eliminate the threat.
Finally, Euclyde would have his taste of action. He sprinted to the place where the fighting was going on, his armor and long legs carrying him across the distance in no time. Then he saw what he was up against. There were dozens of them, and all were huge, green, and rippling with muscles. Each was bellowing some form of war cry and firing for all it was worth.
Not wasting any time for shock or awe, Euclyde began returning fire as fast as he could sight and pull the trigger. He thought he got one or two in those first few minutes, but it was all a blur of green and brown, punctuated by the sharp reports of Imperial Bolters and the deeper cracks of ork weaponry.
Then time had slowed to a crawl for Euclyde as he watched his mentor, Goliath, wade into the thickest concentration of orks and begin hacking and slashing his way through them like rag dolls. Euclyde could not help but stare as nearly half a dozen went down before the huge marine in seconds. Goliath was not even wearing his helmet, and he stood head and shoulders above the tallest of the green monstrosities.
Then there had come a deafening racket as a lumbering hulk of rusted metal and green skin came out of one of the few buildings still partially standing. There was no telling where ork left off, and machine began, short of the rust that covered most of the metal. One arm bent at an odd angle, and had what appeared to be a buzz saw bolted onto it where the hand should have been. The other arm was held straight out and had a claw on the end. In some places, it looked as if plates of metal had been bolted directly to the unfortunate creature underneath. This Thing had torn a hole in the wall to step through and then raised both of its arms to the sky in a challenge to all comers. The smaller orks had fallen back by this time and it was just Goliath and this machine of death. Goliath never even blinked as he charged at the thing. He had raised his chainsword in an attempt to swing at one of the cumbersome appendages of the dreadnaught before him. That was the last action he ever took on his own. The claw had shot out with surprising speed and grabbed Goliath by the forearm and ripped his arm out at the shoulder. The buzz saw had come around next and nearly cut the screaming marine in half at the waist. Then it had dropped him and left him for dead. The dreadnaught had turned and faced directly towards Euclyde roaring in triumph before beginning a lumbering gait in his direction. Euclyde could do noting but stare in horror at what had happened and the only thing that saved him from the same fate as his platoon sergeant had been the heavy weapons squad that opened fire directly into the beasts side, tearing holes in its armor and dismembering its leg. With that, the fight had ended and the orks fled, their morale broken. The medics were called in to tend to the fallen sergeant and he had eventually been placed in a dreadnaught of his own. Euclyde had been haunted for the rest of his career by that day. He had wanted nothing more than to make Goliath proud of him, and he had locked up to watch the end of a glorious career. Bringing himself back to the present, Euclyde steeled himself and straightened his neck to face his tormentors. He could not let them see him as weakening. He held no hope of ever returning to his home, but he would be damned if he went down without a fight worthy of a Space Marine. Nothing they could do to him would force him to give them the satisfaction of seeing him broken. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that it was not a candle, but the pilot light to a flamer that illuminated the hall. The Eldar, both varieties, don't use flamers, so that could mean only one thing, Marines. Then the most beautiful sound he had ever heard hit Euclyde's ears. The sound of a human voice coming over a vocbox asking if he was able to stand. He made a valiant attempt to stand, but collapsed to the ground from the lack of blood in his legs. A power armor gauntlet wrapped around his arm and helped him to stand, then assisted him into the hall. Euclyde could see more marines standing in the hall and thought he recognized one or two by their stance. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant until they were safely out of there. He turned to the squad leader to ask which way out, and gasped in shock and frustration. Standing at the end of the hall were four Dark Eldar warriors with splinter riffles leveled at the squad. The marines in armor stood a chance of surviving, but Euclyde wore nothing at all. If one round or ricochet hit him, he would be dead before he hit the floor. The rest of the squad turned at his gasp and saw the threat. They all tried to put themselves between Euclyde and the deadly weapons aimed at them. This only resulted in the first two going down that much faster, their breastplates shredded like ribbon. The next two returned fire and one of the Eldar fell with a bolter round in his chest. Euclyde was forced back into the room by the corporal with the flamer just as the weapon opened fire, bathing the hall in liquid flames. Then more shots from Dark Eldar weaponry rang out. The firing was intense for several seconds on both sides, but the marines never stood a chance against the superior rate of fire that the Dark Eldar technology brought to bear. It was over in less than a minute, the last of the marines falling half in, and half out of the cell Euclyde was in. Euclyde's bonds had not even been cut away from his arms, so he could not use any of the weaponry so close at hand. Still, he would not give up. He tried to shuffle over to where he could reach the k-bar on the squad leader's belt, and cut his bonds himself, but before he could get his legs to cooperate, the Dark Eldar were standing in the doorway. "It appears that you had visitors," came the malicious, yet musical voice of the guard commander. "It's just too bad they didn't stay for dinner." He paused, as if considering a great idea. "Perhaps they shall." He said, grinning wickedly. "I'll have the cook bring you an extra special meal this evening." "Kill me now." Euclyde choked, half in grief, half in frustration at having freedom so close and then snatched away. "But we can't do that," said the commander, "You are going to be joining us on our next raid. We plan on taking your home world soon, and you will be right there on the front of my raider, watching it all." With that, the commander laughed a fiendish laugh and strolled out of the room, leaving the guards to take care of the bodies. Euclyde sank to his knees and looked at the floor, thinking about battles of long ago. The lights went out as the door closed behind the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
Euclyde Xenos, former Gunnery Sergeant with 1st platoon, Bravo Company of the Salamander chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, struggled to retain consciousness despite the agonizing pain that wracked his body. He attempted to straighten some, for the door was opening to his cell once more. Each time the door had opened before he had learned new heights of pain and torture at the hands of these Dark Eldar. Even the dim light emitted by the guttering candle out in the hallway pierced his eyes like a blazing sun, causing him to wince sharply and avert his eyes.
How long had he been here, that he was too weak to even look at his captors anymore when they walked into his cramped little cell? He was certain that he could not stand any more from being chained on his knees for countless hours, his hands chorded at the wrists and elbows behind him. It was a grim testament to his failing strength that natural bonds could hold him like a child. The fire burning in his shoulders nearly drowned out the screaming in his other joints, and his head throbbed like he had been hit on the skull with an ork-warboss's power fist.
That thought brought to mind the first encounter he had experienced with orks. He had been fresh out of training and on his first mission with his new platoon. Their daily firing training had been interrupted that morning by the company commander, who ordered the platoon to investigate a disturbance on one of the hive worlds in the sector. As they had been training on ship for several weeks, it was just a matter of time before they were actually called into action.
Euclyde had been anxious to prove himself to his platoon mates, and his platoon sergeant most of all. The veteran sergeant was called Goliath by everyone who knew him, and few even knew if he had a real name. His name came from the fact that he had been nearly eight feet tall before entering the service, and his enhancements only made him larger. He could lift heavy objects with his bare hands that most other marines would need power armor to assist them, and no normal human could dream of lifting on their own.
Goliath had taken Euclyde under his wing from the first. He trained him especially hard and forced him to go beyond what the other new recruits who came in at the same time were put through. Soon, Euclyde had surpassed even some of the veterans on the shooting range. But that was not combat. No one knew what would happen their first time seeing combat, and that was the only way to prove the true measure of a marine. Euclyde would not let Goliath down if it killed him.
When they hit the ground on Xanath II, the scouts had immediately told Goliath that it had to be orks on a raid. There was a small village of only a few hundred thousand people where they were. In a world of 40 billion, that was miniscule. Nearly every building had been burned to the ground or was pock marked by crude explosive devices. What had not been burned or taken had been ripped out of the ground and strewn about in a careless manner.
Goliath had split the squads up and sent each in a direction to find out if there were any survivors or if there were any orks still in the area. He had not waited long to get his answer. Mere minutes after they were split up, one of the squads had come under heavy fire by orks. The rest of the platoon was called into support and eliminate the threat.
Finally, Euclyde would have his taste of action. He sprinted to the place where the fighting was going on, his armor and long legs carrying him across the distance in no time. Then he saw what he was up against. There were dozens of them, and all were huge, green, and rippling with muscles. Each was bellowing some form of war cry and firing for all it was worth.
Not wasting any time for shock or awe, Euclyde began returning fire as fast as he could sight and pull the trigger. He thought he got one or two in those first few minutes, but it was all a blur of green and brown, punctuated by the sharp reports of Imperial Bolters and the deeper cracks of ork weaponry.
Then time had slowed to a crawl for Euclyde as he watched his mentor, Goliath, wade into the thickest concentration of orks and begin hacking and slashing his way through them like rag dolls. Euclyde could not help but stare as nearly half a dozen went down before the huge marine in seconds. Goliath was not even wearing his helmet, and he stood head and shoulders above the tallest of the green monstrosities.
Then there had come a deafening racket as a lumbering hulk of rusted metal and green skin came out of one of the few buildings still partially standing. There was no telling where ork left off, and machine began, short of the rust that covered most of the metal. One arm bent at an odd angle, and had what appeared to be a buzz saw bolted onto it where the hand should have been. The other arm was held straight out and had a claw on the end. In some places, it looked as if plates of metal had been bolted directly to the unfortunate creature underneath. This Thing had torn a hole in the wall to step through and then raised both of its arms to the sky in a challenge to all comers. The smaller orks had fallen back by this time and it was just Goliath and this machine of death. Goliath never even blinked as he charged at the thing. He had raised his chainsword in an attempt to swing at one of the cumbersome appendages of the dreadnaught before him. That was the last action he ever took on his own. The claw had shot out with surprising speed and grabbed Goliath by the forearm and ripped his arm out at the shoulder. The buzz saw had come around next and nearly cut the screaming marine in half at the waist. Then it had dropped him and left him for dead. The dreadnaught had turned and faced directly towards Euclyde roaring in triumph before beginning a lumbering gait in his direction. Euclyde could do noting but stare in horror at what had happened and the only thing that saved him from the same fate as his platoon sergeant had been the heavy weapons squad that opened fire directly into the beasts side, tearing holes in its armor and dismembering its leg. With that, the fight had ended and the orks fled, their morale broken. The medics were called in to tend to the fallen sergeant and he had eventually been placed in a dreadnaught of his own. Euclyde had been haunted for the rest of his career by that day. He had wanted nothing more than to make Goliath proud of him, and he had locked up to watch the end of a glorious career. Bringing himself back to the present, Euclyde steeled himself and straightened his neck to face his tormentors. He could not let them see him as weakening. He held no hope of ever returning to his home, but he would be damned if he went down without a fight worthy of a Space Marine. Nothing they could do to him would force him to give them the satisfaction of seeing him broken. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that it was not a candle, but the pilot light to a flamer that illuminated the hall. The Eldar, both varieties, don't use flamers, so that could mean only one thing, Marines. Then the most beautiful sound he had ever heard hit Euclyde's ears. The sound of a human voice coming over a vocbox asking if he was able to stand. He made a valiant attempt to stand, but collapsed to the ground from the lack of blood in his legs. A power armor gauntlet wrapped around his arm and helped him to stand, then assisted him into the hall. Euclyde could see more marines standing in the hall and thought he recognized one or two by their stance. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant until they were safely out of there. He turned to the squad leader to ask which way out, and gasped in shock and frustration. Standing at the end of the hall were four Dark Eldar warriors with splinter riffles leveled at the squad. The marines in armor stood a chance of surviving, but Euclyde wore nothing at all. If one round or ricochet hit him, he would be dead before he hit the floor. The rest of the squad turned at his gasp and saw the threat. They all tried to put themselves between Euclyde and the deadly weapons aimed at them. This only resulted in the first two going down that much faster, their breastplates shredded like ribbon. The next two returned fire and one of the Eldar fell with a bolter round in his chest. Euclyde was forced back into the room by the corporal with the flamer just as the weapon opened fire, bathing the hall in liquid flames. Then more shots from Dark Eldar weaponry rang out. The firing was intense for several seconds on both sides, but the marines never stood a chance against the superior rate of fire that the Dark Eldar technology brought to bear. It was over in less than a minute, the last of the marines falling half in, and half out of the cell Euclyde was in. Euclyde's bonds had not even been cut away from his arms, so he could not use any of the weaponry so close at hand. Still, he would not give up. He tried to shuffle over to where he could reach the k-bar on the squad leader's belt, and cut his bonds himself, but before he could get his legs to cooperate, the Dark Eldar were standing in the doorway. "It appears that you had visitors," came the malicious, yet musical voice of the guard commander. "It's just too bad they didn't stay for dinner." He paused, as if considering a great idea. "Perhaps they shall." He said, grinning wickedly. "I'll have the cook bring you an extra special meal this evening." "Kill me now." Euclyde choked, half in grief, half in frustration at having freedom so close and then snatched away. "But we can't do that," said the commander, "You are going to be joining us on our next raid. We plan on taking your home world soon, and you will be right there on the front of my raider, watching it all." With that, the commander laughed a fiendish laugh and strolled out of the room, leaving the guards to take care of the bodies. Euclyde sank to his knees and looked at the floor, thinking about battles of long ago. The lights went out as the door closed behind the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hall.