[Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

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Sins of the father

Message par Earendel le Dim 7 Déc 2014 - 17:46

Sins of the father de Andy Smile, une petite histoire de 5 pages publiée avec "Sons of the wrath".

Il s'agit de la suite de Virtues of the Sons publié dans le recueil "Death and Defiance", la suite du Duel "Tempest of Angels" entre Amit et Azkaellon, Sanguinis espère que les 2 réussiront à résister à la malédiction de sa mort.
Il a une vision dans laquelle il voit sa mort
Spoiler:
qui étrangement n'est pas des mains d'Horus : c'est Ka'Bandha qui le tue et cela ne se passe pas sur le Vengeful Spirit mais sur les murs de Terra
et son effet sur Amit
Spoiler:
qui sombre dans la folie et semble être au beau milieu du royaume de Khorne à poursuivre un démon
et sur Azkaellon
Spoiler:
qui abandonne son poste, laisse ses hommes sans commandant et sombre dans le défaitisme

Le texte finit sur Sanguinis qui demande à Amit et Azkaellon d'inverser leur rôle de duel, Amit doit le protéger pendant qu'Azkaellon essaiera de le blesser.

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par - Ghost of Arkio - le Dim 7 Déc 2014 - 18:07

Merci (+1) pour ce petit retour sur ce ressors scénaristique "exclu limited" BA..
la "vision" du futur de Sanguinius est justement une probabilité parmi d'autres (voir la liste par ex. vers la fin de Fear to Tread). Mais bien sûr, chaque fois qu'on change le futur le futur se réadapte..

Reste de savoir combien de fois Sanguinius va tenter de changer le cours des choses entre la certitude de la mort (campagne de Signus et 1ère rage noire) et la bataille de Terra.
Une sorte de cheminement de type "couloir de la mort" bien flippant avec de bonnes possibilités d'ouverture (empêcher sa mort et la rage noire= il a plusieurs années pour trouver une solution, donc rencontre avec les eldars? la cabale? dans l'oeil?), mais qui risque de l'isoler des autres primarques et au moins de l'éloigner de ce rôle bidon de régent d'ultramar/Imperium Secundus.
Tant mieux.

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Lun 12 Jan 2015 - 14:25

Pour info, l'histoire courte Sins of the Father EXCLUSIVITÉ PAPIER du coffret Sons of Wrath justifiant, entre autre, un passage de 20 à 60 €, est disponible à 1,49 € en ebook:


Alors qu'Azkaellon et Amit se battent en duel durant le rituel de la Tempête des Anges, les deux fils favoris de Sanguinius apprennent quelque chose sur leurs vertus et leurs faiblesses, d'eux même et de leur opposant.



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par - Ghost of Arkio - le Lun 12 Jan 2015 - 14:43

..,et bonne santé, hein! rire1

Je viens de me le procurer de manière légale.
On est fan de l'exclu ou on ne l'est pas!

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Eloniel Castana le Lun 12 Jan 2015 - 16:15

À force on a l'habitude, je sais pas qui ils espèrent baratiner avec leurs "exclusivités". Bref elle vaut quoi ?

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par - Ghost of Arkio - le Lun 12 Jan 2015 - 17:45

Ben quasi rien; pour 1,50€ la nouvelle tient sur une serviette de table;
Nico l'a déjà résumé dans le topic de Sons of Wrath et j'ajouterais juste que c'est de l'arnaque scénaristique=
Spoiler:
- que Sanguinius reconnait que ses fils sont incapables de battre seuls la malédiction de leur sang,
- que pour l'instant ils n'ont aucune chance de survie si Sanguinius meurt
- les visions de sanguinius sur le destin d'Askaellon et Amit sont certes utiles, mais hyper courtes et anecdotiques.
La fin ("switch places") du rituel de la tempête des Anges nous laisse totalement sur notre faim: on ne sait rien de ce nouveau test.

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Jeu 7 Mai 2015 - 23:12

Je viens de lire la dernière e-croquette de l'HH.



Son corps brisé par la chute de Schadenhold, le Warsmith Iron Warriors Idriss Krendl est néanmoins loin d'être vaincu. Maintenant commandant de deux des puissants canons de siège volés dans le monde de la forge de Diamat, il cherche à se racheter aux yeux de son primarque en détruisant le palais des Grands Selenic sur Euphorus, et de recueillir des données tactiques inestimables pour l'assaut final sur Terra. Son plan ? Pour utiliser une stratégie de sa propre invention - le glorieux protocole Ironfire.


Petit résumé/avis rapide.

Le personnage principal est donc Idriss Krendl et l'histoire se déroule quelques mois après le siège de Schadenhold (The Iron Within). Le Warsmith a été vaincu et littéralement brisé lors de sa défaite contre Dantioch, cela le perturbe terriblement. Il était connu comme très ressemblant à Perturabo, un sosie parfait. Sa nouvelle apparence physique horrible est pour lui un affront à la Légion.

L'histoire est très courte, le but des Iron Warriors est de faire en entraînement à taille réelle du Siège du Palais de Terra. Krendl a cherché la forteresse la plus ressemblante à celle de Terra, il a analysé des tas de données sur les mondes conquis par la Grande Croisade, et a trouvé l'élue. Mais pour que la simulation soit encore plus réaliste, il faut des adversaires de la trempe de ses Iron Warriors... cela tombe bien cette forteresse est occupée par des Emperor's Children !

Ses lieutenants le mettent en garde comme quoi c'est une trahison, qu'ils sont alliés et que cela risque de leur causer problème, à eux et à leur Primarque. Il rétorque que les EC seront des dommages collatéraux pour un plus grand but, que Perturabo et même le Maître de Guerre se ficheront de ces quelques pertes quand ils verront les données récoltées grâce à cet exercice. Il pense trouver le moyen de briser Terra et donc de gagner la guerre.

Sa technique est simple: un immense barrage d'artillerie, mais au lieu d'attendre puis de foncer, il décide d'envoyer ses troupes en même temps que le bombardement ! Pour être plus efficace en destruction, l'ennemi est secoué par les explosions et attaqué de pleine force en même temps, une vraie tempête de feu => Ironfire. Cela va causer la perte d'Iron Warriors, mais pour lui c'est un détail essentiel à la victoire.

L'assaut est donc lancé, les canons font tout péter pendant que les chars foncent dans la forteresse. Des tirs alliés arrivent, des chars sont carbonisés mais l'assaut continue. Tout est détruit, les EC résistent un peu et se font défoncer. Le IW ont gagné, Krendl est satisfait, il pense avoir trouvé la méthode parfait pour forcer les défenses de Terra. Il envoi un messager à Perturabo.



L'histoire n'est pas super utile dans la chronologie, comme quasi toutes les histoires courtes, mais cela fait toujours du bien d'avoir le point de vue des Iron Warriors. Ils sont quand même peu illustrés dans les romans (juste un à leur actif)n leur façon de fonctionner es très très spéciale (peu importe les pertes, seule la victoire compte, les faibles n'ont pas leur place). A cela on ajoute le talent de Rob Sanders, c'est fou comment il est bon. En quelques pages, j'étais dedans, c'est assez fouillé, bien écrit, prenant. La psychologie individualiste des Iron Warriors est bien décrite, de vrais pourritures n'ayant aucune considération pour leurs propres frères. Vivement qu'il puisse sortir un roman complet à son nom ! (et sa fameuse novella sur Mars...).



Et pour Eloniel, je ne sais pas quand cela se situe par rapport à The Unremembered Empire. Celle ci est quelques mois après The Iron Within, lien principal. Par contre il y a un tout petit lien avec Fallen Angels de Mike Lee, les 2 gros canons utilisés ici sont ceux donnés à Perturabo par le Lion à la fin du roman (puis on n'en parle plus jamais dans l'HH, sauf là c'est rappelé en 1 ligne).  C'est marrant de voir que ce tout petit détail du tome 11 est réutilisé dans une histoire courte 6 ans plus tard alors que la série en est au tome 32. Comme quoi la chronologie de l'HH et tous les petits détails sont bien enregistrés et pas là par hasard, tout est dans le grand schéma de Maître Goulding. Je suis sûr que cette petite histoire de quelques pages a pour but de présenter des choses utilisées lors du Siège de Terra dans quelques années.

Smile



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Lun 13 Juil 2015 - 15:53

La BL a vraiment mis le paquet pour nous faire prendre la Warhammer App, cette semaine une histoire d'ADB sera dispo en 4 morceaux (un par jour). Sauf qu'ils sont sympas, ils la donne aussi sur le New@BL, voici la partie une uniquement accessible aujourd'hui !!

Le sujet ? Oh rien que moins que la 10ème compagnie des Night Lords, celle de Talos, lors de l'HH par ADB... enjoy !  cheers

The moment you’ve been waiting for is here. To celebrate more than 100,000 of you signing up for your daily dose of Warhammer news from this very app, we have something special. All this week, and only here, you can read a brand new Horus Heresy story. Without further ado, welcome to the ‘Massacre’…

The Horus Heresy: Massacre
By Aaron Dembski-Bowden
Part One

‘We have been summoned,’ said Malcharion. ‘Not the Army detachments with us. Not the auxilia. Not the Mechanicum. We alone.’

The fleetmaster had opened the council with those words, knowing there would be many warriors who wished to reply to them. ‘The highest authority demands this of us,’ he continued.

‘The Emperor?’ called one of his warriors, out of turn. As intended, the question was met with muted grunts of amusement from the ranks.

‘The highest authority that we recognise,’ Captain Malcharion amended, unsmiling. He was monumentally stern, and not a man to show his amusement even on those rare occasions he actually felt it.

Malcharion’s war councils were informal gatherings, though not without certain protocols. Much to the irritation of his subordinate officers, the Tenth Captain of the VIII Legion saw fit to change those protocols without a moment’s notice, appropriating traditions of etiquette from other cultures, and even other Legions, seemingly on random impulse.

He claimed it encouraged his kindred to consider new perspectives in the planning and prosecution of warfare. Many of his brethren simply believed he did it out of perverse eclecticism.

His current preference was a distorted mimicry of the Luna Wolves’ custom of warriors placing tokens and mementos in the centre to indicate that they wished to speak before their brethren. Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, it was common for Luna Wolf officers to place their weapons or helms upon the central table and wait to be granted permission to speak. Here, in the war councils of the VIII Legion aboard the Covenant of Blood, Malcharion had decreed that his officers could only use tokens taken from the bodies of fallen foes.

Almost fifty officers were present – shipmasters, centurions, champions, all accompanied by their oathbound honour guards and personal attendants, bringing the total close to two hundred warriors standing beneath the banners of four battle companies.

Every Night Lord present was entitled to speak no matter his rank, which meant that skulls – used as tokens – were in plentiful supply. The oversized, elongated skulls of dead aliens were piled upon the table, each one scratched or painted with the curved runic lettering of the mellifluous Nostraman language. Here and there among the tokens of skinless bone lay exotic weapons and armour fragments of fallen human cultures, from kingdoms either brought to compliance by the VIII Legion, or rendered extinct by it.

Talos looked over the mournful mess taking up most of the central table in disorganised heaps. Whatever order prevailed when the Luna Wolves practised this tradition was absent in the Night Lords’ incarnation. Without a Space Marine’s eidetic memory, recalling which warrior had placed which relic would have been impossible.

The young apothecary carried his helm beneath one arm, breathing in the warm, stale air that barely circulated through the cavernous chamber. A sweet reek nagged at his senses, something not far from spoiled food and a strangely musky spice. He found it cloying rather than unpleasant; one didn’t join the Night Lords Legion to fight their wars and train aboard their crypt-ships only to balk at the stench of decaying flesh.

Talos spared a brief glance for the hundreds of corpses hanging from the ceiling on industrial chains. Most were human or eldar, their armour cracked by bolts and rent by blades, many of them now little more than sinewy skeletons in broken carapace plate. Several were strung up by their wrists and necks; others by their ankles with their dead hands hanging down towards the gathered officers in beseeching silence. Many of the bodies were wrapped so utterly in binding chains that they hung as though cocooned by the hungry whims of some impossible metallic arachnid.

The apothecary returned his dark gaze to the briefing. A hololith of the Night Lords armada dominated the air above the relic-strewn table, showing the fifteen vessels of varying classes that escorted the Covenant of Blood. Talos watched the warship, his home since leaving Nostramo so many years before, rendered in blue light and flickering as it sailed in formation. The lesser cruisers and escort frigates turned in a slow perimeter dance around their flagship, while the other three Night Lord warships kept close to the Covenant at the armada’s heart.

Talos had watched his home world die from the Covenant’s command deck.

He’d stood there with his closest brothers over two decades ago as the VIII Legion poured fire upon their own birth-world and pulled it apart with the anger of ten thousand guns.

It had been the last great gathering of the Night Lords. A bittersweet fact, at best.

Of all the eighteen Legions, few avoided their own brothers’ company with the tactful frequency of the VIII. It was said by many Imperial commanders that they didn’t work well with others, but the truth was a little more amusingly bleak.

The Night Lords scarcely worked well with each other.

Apothecary Talos blinked once, inhumanly languid, and turned iris-less eyes upon the figures around the table. Officers from all four companies comprising the 2,901st Expeditionary Fleet had been summoned to the emergency council. The gathering was limited to the warriors of the Legion. Their Imperial Army counterparts and the auxilia officers that had served faithfully – if uncomfortably – at their sides for the last several campaigns remained aboard their own vessels.

Beyond the ever-present thrum of so many suits of active power armour, the gathered warriors were silent and voiceless. No murmurs or whispers passed their lips. They waited, unnaturally quiet, not through discipline but through cold expectation.

Something was wrong. All of them felt it.

Chained skulls rattled against Malcharion’s war plate as the fleet lord keyed a command into the central table’s hololithic projectors. The fleet display sparked out of existence and another image crackled into audio-visual resolution above the pile of grisly tokens.

First Captain Jago Sevatarion, Praetor Nox of the VIII Legion, stood rendered in jagged light. His crested helm hung at his belt, while his spear, the weapon almost as renowned among the Legions as the warrior himself, rested across one shoulder. Two of his Atramentar warriors flanked him as motionless avatars, their lightning claws silent and still in deactivation. The pale faces of the warriors around Talos looked on, their white skin turned a consumptive blue by the ethereal light.

‘Brothers of the Eighth Legion,’ said the recording of Sevatar, his voice hissing with vox corruption. ‘Wherever you are in this hypocritical empire, whatever campaigns you are prosecuting in its name, our father demands that you join the Nightfall at once.’

Talos noted the vital signs of his squad elevating slightly on his narthecium gauntlet as the First Captain spoke once more.

‘The time has come. Make all speed to the Isstvan System.’


To be continued…

La suite demain. Wink


C'est court, mais m'a fait rappeler de suite pourquoi j'adoooore les Night Lords. Razz



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par - Ghost of Arkio - le Lun 13 Juil 2015 - 17:34

+1 pour la bonne nouvelle et le copier coller'!

Ça casse pas la baraque mais un petit coup de nostalgie réussi de la part d'ADB, qui serait un champion de LdS avec autant d'évocation en si peu de mots.

Espérons que la suite lache de réels nouveaux détails de BG et pas seulement une e-croquette "d'ambiance" pour l'App.

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Mar 14 Juil 2015 - 15:43

The ‘Massacre’ continues! Here is part two of our brand new – and free! – Horus Heresy story, only available this week and only here on the Warhammer app. If you missed the first instalment, scroll down a bit on the newsfeed and you’ll find it there. Then come back and enjoy this one!

The Horus Heresy: Massacre
By Aaron Dembski-Bowden
Part Two

There was no order to the fleet’s dispersal. The warship Foresworn pulled away first, its engines running hot as it veered out of formation and began to breach the barrier from the material galaxy to the realm beyond the veil.

Alarms and klaxons wailed aboard the decks of those warships still sailing in cohesion, but by the time the perimeter vessels were rolling away from the fleeing Foresworn, it was already too late. The vile machinery at her core sent warp lightning coruscating over the vessel’s metal skin, and the Foresworn ripped into the great hole she’d torn open in reality.

The two closest escort destroyers, each crewed by several thousand humans, were dragged along helplessly in her wake. Great cyclones of ectoplasmic smoke, veined by lighting and seething with shrieking faces, clawed at the labouring, juddering vessels. These tendrils from the outreaching storm pulled them – unprepared and unprotected – into the warp behind the Foresworn.

Talos watched from the Covenant of Blood’s bridge. He leaned on the guardrail that surrounded the elevated central platform, where Malcharion’s command throne oversaw the workings of the whole deck. No expression marked his face as he witnessed the helpless ships tumbling into the warp’s tides, dragged to damnation as their engines failed to pull them free. He thought, briefly, of the thousands of men and women aboard the vessels, filling the corridors with screams as the boiling acid of unreality flooded through the unshielded decks.

A swift death, perhaps, but one that condensed an infinity of agonies into a soul’s last tortured seconds.

The Covenant of Blood began its own manoeuvres. The deck shuddered beneath his boots. Servitors locked into their stations on mono-programmed instinct, while the crew braced for entry into the Sea of Souls.

Calls for confirmation and explanation rang out from the rest of the fleet, sounding over the speakers set into the command deck’s ornate gothic ceiling. They fell silent at a curt gesture from Malcharion’s hand, as he sat with statuesque patience in his command throne.

Talos sensed one of his kindred drawing near from the thrum of live armour. He knew who it was without needing to look at the vicinity trackers on his narthecium. Telling squadmates apart by familiarity and instinct became second nature: they walked in different rhythms, their sweat had different tangs, they breathed with subtly different cadences. A Space Marine’s senses bathed his brain in information at all times.

‘Brother,’ said Vandred Anrathi, drawing alongside him.

‘Sergeant,’ Talos replied. He didn’t take his black eyes from the twisting, tumbling warships, now half-swallowed by incorporeal fire.

Sergeant Anrathi was a warrior of sleek, sculpted features, with the filed teeth of the night-worshipping tribes that had lived beyond the limits of Nostramo’s crime-choked cities. Despite his barbaric origins, his composure and self-control were envied by many; few warriors handled a Xiphon Interceptor with such serenity, or could oversee an orbital battle with the same tenacious precision.

He led Captain Malcharion’s command team and advised the commander on matters of void warfare. ‘Quite a sight, is it not?’ he asked.

Talos didn’t reply. There had been a time when the extinction taking place would have threaded strains of bleak fascination through his core. Even in the process of inflicting excruciation upon the Legion’s prisoners, there was a sense of righteousness in his actions. Agony and fear were meted out for a cause, for a purpose. Not by random chance.

But watching his home world burn and break apart had cooled his capacity to feel sympathy. In truth, he neither admired nor mourned the destruction now taking place before him. He felt little, in fact, beyond a vague sense of curiosity at whether the warp would one day vomit the stricken vessels back into real space, and what ruination they might have suffered in its tempestuous grip.

The deck gave a violent shudder at the cry of distant thunder. Broadsides, thought Talos. The Covenant of Blood was firing upon its own fleet.

That, at last, made him draw breath to question what was taking place.

‘Why?’ he asked, turning to meet his sergeant’s eyes.

Anrathi grinned more than most of his brothers. He did so now, bearing his elegantly filed teeth. He didn’t need to ask what the Apothecary was questioning.

‘Because I ordered it, and Captain Malcharion sanctioned it.’

‘Why?’ Talos repeated. Irritated curiosity narrowed his eyes. He wanted answers, not another of Anrathi’s dances around semantics.

‘If we kill them now,’ the sergeant replied, ‘we don’t need to kill them later.’

The medicae wasn’t fooled. Talos snorted, looking back at the wide, vast oculus screens, now showing the burning hulls of their escort vessels, dying in the black void between worlds, crumbling apart as they futilely sought to limp away. The Covenant had been born in the skies above sacred Mars and blessed with a host of weapons capable of levelling cities. The shieldless, trusting warships of its allies had no hope at all.

‘This is spite,’ Talos said at last. An ache was beginning to form at his temples, cobwebbing its unwelcome way through the meat of his mind. ‘We could cripple those we cannot convert. We could simply run, knowing they would never be able to keep pace, even if they learned of our destination. Instead we gun them down out of spite.’

Anrathi’s token shrug could have meant either confirmation or defiance. ‘Do you pity them, Talos?’

Do I? For a moment, for the barest breath, he did wonder. The boy he had been long before he stood in midnight clad with his brethren... that child might have stared in awed horror at what he saw. Before empathy, like sympathy, had eroded from the edges of his soul.

He found himself smiling at the idea.

‘You know I do not,’ said Talos.

‘Then why do I sense disapproval in your tone?’

‘My disgust is philosophical in nature. If we destroy out of spite, not from purpose or necessity, we lend credence to what the other Legions claim we are. Slaughter enough souls without true cause, and we would be the very monsters our cousins believe us to be. A self-fulfilling prophecy.’

Anrathi rested a gauntleted hand on the younger warrior’s shoulder guard. The skulls bound to Talos’ pauldron rattled against the ceramite as if whispering to one another in some muted, bony verse.

‘I can never tell if you are as naive as you present yourself to be, as deluded as you seem, or if you are simply laughing at all of us behind your eyes, Talos.’

The Apothecary looked back to the oculus screen, watching reality being ravaged by the arcane engines at the Covenant’s heart. A wound in space opened up before them, haemorrhaging wrathful antimatter in streaks of fiery lightning, ready to swallow the ship whole.

‘Perhaps the truth is somewhere between all three,’ he said at last. The pressure at his temples flared, a true migraine ache that leaked through his skull like searing fluid, feeling like an ugly premonition.

‘Are you well?’ Anrathi asked, his tone one of cautious surprise.

He knows, Talos thought. He senses it. Something in the Apothecary’s face had betrayed his sudden pain.

‘I have never killed another Legionary,’ said Talos. ‘That is all. I cannot help but wonder what it will feel like.’

‘Yet I have seen you kill many, brother. Witnessed the deeds with my own eyes.’

The Apothecary inclined his head, conceding the point. ‘Yes and no. Excruciation and execution are not quite the same as murder.’

To be continued

What will happen when the Night Lords land on Isstvan V and the massacre begins in earnest? Join us tomorrow to find out.



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Mer 15 Juil 2015 - 17:57

The Horus Heresy: Massacre
By Aaron Dembski-Bowden
Part Three

The gunship Blackened was a crow of dirty blue and filthy bronze. Bodies of aliens and apostates were fused to the hull with half-melted adamantium chains, the corpses burned away to husks of charred bone upon atmospheric entry. Replacing them between missions was as sacred an act as the warriors of First Claw ever performed together. If no foes presented themselves, the Night Lords of Malcharion’s squad weren’t above crucifying members of their own human crew to serve in place.

Talos and his brothers stood in the dark as the gunship rocked around them. Each of them had abandoned the rearward restraint harnesses, choosing to stand in the forward bay for rapid deployment, holding onto the overhead handrails. Only the more cautious among them mag-locked their boots to the shaking deck.

‘Five minutes,’ said Captain Malcharion. ‘Helmets on.’

Talos lifted his helm into place, staining his senses in the red of his tactical display. Target cursors flickered and ammunition counts flashed. Nostraman runes scrolled down his eye lenses as he received his squad’s life signs and datafeeds. His armour’s systems greeted his immersion with squirts of adrenal chem-fire into the implants across his torso and down his spine.

‘First Claw, soul count,’ ordered Malcharion. The captain’s stern tones were raspy with vox breakage.

‘Talos, aye,’ the Apothecary replied at once.

‘Vandred, aye,’ said Sergeant Anrathi a moment later.

‘Ruven, aye.’

‘Xarl, aye.’

‘Cyrion, aye.’

‘Sar Zell, aye.’

‘Acknowledged,’ Malcharion voxed over the straining network. ‘Second Claw, soul count.’

And on it went as the other claws aboard other landing craft reported in. Talos watched each name-rune in the Tenth Company’s ranks briefly chime across his retinal display as their vital signs uplinked to his narthecium gauntlet.

‘Ninety-two souls,’ Talos voxed at the count’s completion. He turned to the captain at the squad’s lead. Malcharion was performing the final checks upon his double-barrelled bolter. ‘Tenth Company stands ready,’ Talos told him.

‘Viris colratha dath sethicara tesh dasovallian,’ Malcharion murmured in serpentine Nostraman. ‘Solruthis veh za jasz.’

Sons of our Father, stand in midnight clad. We bring the night.

There were no cheers, no solemn oaths, no roars of adrenaline-soaked readiness so common in other Legions. The Night Lords waited in the wake of their traditional words, staring into the darkness through primed target locks – some smiling, some dead-eyed, some silently baring their teeth in cannibal emotions that no mortal could know – all behind skull-marked faceplates.

The gunship heaved, almost dropping from the sky. Talos felt a split-second’s nausea before the gene-forged changes in his inner ears compensated. It triggered the pressure in his skull which had, until then, been dissipating.

‘Atmosphere breached,’ said Malcharion. ‘Three minutes.’

No going back, Talos thought. Though in truth they’d broken past the point of no return months ago. Perhaps even years, when they had burned Nostramo under the Night Haunter’s orders, to quell the poison seeping into the Legion from its own recruitment harvests.

Xarl was at the Apothecary’s side, holding the opposite handrail. His double-handed chainsword was bound across his back, and Talos saw the high crest atop his kinsman’s helmet, tall and proud.

‘Why are you wearing that?’ Talos voxed to his brother across the squad’s intra-link. ‘It will not be a parade ground down there.’

Xarl turned his bat-winged helm towards Talos, red eye lenses gleaming in the transport bay’s gloom. ‘Legion pride,’ came the reply in his husky, deep voice. ‘It feels right, given what we’re about to do.’

Cyrion, standing behind Xarl, had affixed his bolter’s chain-bayonet, and was testing it by live-cycling it with droning whines.

‘That crest is almost as high as Sevatar’s,’ he pointed out. ‘The enemy will mistake you for a hero.’

Xarl grunted. In dismissal or disgust, it added up to the same result. He turned back to face the front.

In the hull-shaking, iron-rattling unquiet that followed, Cyrion looked over his shoulder, where Ruven was distractedly watching lightning ripple across the naked blade of his force sword. It cast watery light across the gunship’s interior, ugly and fluid – it would have been just bright enough to hurt the warriors’ sensitive Nostraman eyes, had any of them stood unhelmed.

‘Will you be keeping to the precepts of the Nikaean Edict down there, brother?’

Ruven, Tenth Company’s attached Librarian, gave a charmless sneer. He sheathed the sword, plunging them into true darkness again, and said nothing.

Deprived of his favoured targets for baiting, Cyrion looked across the bay to Talos. Lightning bolts ran down the warrior’s faceplate, painted as elemental tear-trails. They glowed scarlet with the light from his eye lenses.

‘So,’ Cyrion said. ‘How are you?’

To be continued

Join us tomorrow for the answer to that question – and the killing fields of Isstvan V.



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Jeu 16 Juil 2015 - 15:21

The Horus Heresy: Massacre
By Aaron Dembski-Bowden
Part Four

True to the Night Lords’ nature, the fight was anything but fair. They’d left the main battle in the Urgall Depression to the forward elements of Warmaster Horus’ forces. Malcharion had other plans, which First Captain Sevatar was only too pleased to grant his blessing.

Malcharion had led Tenth Company at the head of its battalion along the southeast ridge, holding back in favour of bringing their Thunderhawks down among the columns of fleeing, wounded Iron Hands struggling on the way to their own evacuating gunships.

Fresh from orbit, unscathed from the day’s exhausting fighting that continued to leech the strength of the massacred Legions, the Night Lords had torn into their foes with relentless, joyous abandon.

Half a long and bloody day later, the unending demands of butchery were taking their toll even on the sons of Curze. Their gunships still roamed overhead on strafing runs, gutting the loyalists with relentless volleys of heavy bolter fire and driving them forwards onto the waiting blades of the VIII Legion. But those blades moved slower in arms that were growing weary. Though wounded and scattered, the Iron Hands resisted their slaughter with the tenacity that their Nostraman cousins were learning to lament.

Talos wrenched his chainsword clear of another fallen warrior, ignoring the blood spray that flecked his eye lenses from the blade’s revving teeth. His hand was cramp-locked to the grip, his forefinger curled against the trigger and unable to bend away. His muscles were aflame with lactic burns just from the gruelling repetition of raising and swinging his blade, again and again and again.

The Iron Hand on the gore-soaked ground clawed up at the Night Lord, too brutally stubborn even to realise that he was dead. Another swing of the chainblade took off the warrior’s reaching bionic arm at the wrist in a spray of sparks, and on the backswing Talos rammed the whining, protesting weapon down into the Iron Hand’s throat. The chainsword threw several more of its remaining teeth on the way through the fibre bundle musculature of the warrior’s gorget collar. When the Apothecary pulled the blade clear for the final time, he looked with momentary irritation at the paltry few still attached, rotating loosely on the moving saw-blade.

He tried to hurl the weapon aside. It took two attempts to get his hand to unlock, such was the force of his cramp after six hours of face-to-face fighting.

Just as the sword left his straining grip, something crashed into the side of his helmet with a hammerblow of force, snapping his head back and de-tuning his eye lenses to a mess of red static for the duration of two heartbeats. Talos was hauling himself back up from the mud when another blow pounded him beneath the right arm, knifing through his ribs with a spread of sharp, thick, throbbing pressure. He tasted fyceline gunsmoke on his tongue and blood far back in his throat.

Retinal alarms flashed and flickered, demanding his attention, cataloguing his exact wounds, even charting the angles of the incoming enemy fire. Up ahead, a trackless, wrecked Rhino transport grew a flickering outline on his retinal imaging: the source angle of the bolt shells that had knocked him from his feet. For a rare moment his own lifesigns took precedence over those of his brothers. Stings lanced through his bloodstream as his armour dispensed pain nullifiers and battle stimulants.

He blind-fired back through the press of warring bodies, holding his bolter one-handed, heartened by the heavy kick of the gun in his fist. There was no cover to take out here in the naked melee. The closest shell of a tank wreck was thirty metres away.

Two of his brothers were nearby, almost close enough to touch. To his left, Xarl was reaving left and right with his immense chainsword, all sense of skill abandoned as unnecessary, carving through exposed joints in black, war-scarred Mark II plate. Cyrion was down in the mud, kneeling atop a convulsing Iron Hand, sawing his bayonet through the dying warrior’s neck.

Over the vox, Xarl – who usually waged war in cold silence – was emitting a primal grunting, doubtless feeling his own muscles burning after so many hours of battle. Cyrion was alternating between cursing in reptilian Nostraman syllables and occasionally breaking into laughter. He had a way of laughing without any cruelty, sounding somehow good-natured and generous even as he was tearing out a rival’s trachea.

Talos moved ahead, needing to fight his way forward. The ground beneath his boots was a tormented scree of broken ceramite and blood-choked mud; when he wasn’t clambering over the fallen corpses he was sloshing in the gore ejected from their bodies. He paused only to loot the slain for ammunition, firing mercy bolts down at the dying.

+Cease.+

The word flared in his mind, more visual than audible, written in flame upon the backs of his eyes. The Apothecary staggered, risking a glance to his side, seeking signs of the Librarian, Ruven. It took several seconds for his vision to clear from the mist of migraine fire.

+Cease executing the fallen. Mercy has no place here.+

Talos gave a bestial grunt at the pressure in his head, a compression at his temples hard enough to make the bones of his skull squeal under the strain. The sourceless pain of the last few weeks sang harsher and harder in the wake of Ruven’s telepathy.

The Librarian stood with Malcharion – As he always does, Talos thought with a sneer, guarded by the company’s best blade – adding his sorcerous lightning to the Tenth Captain’s relentless advance.

‘I see all pretence of the Edict has been cast aside,’ Cyrion murmured across the squad’s internal link.

The Apothecary ignored Cyrion’s baited observation. ‘It is not mercy,’ he voxed to the figure fighting in Malcharion’s shadow. ‘It is prudence. Should we advance too far, and the wounded reform in enough numbers...’

Ahead, Ruven didn’t spare Talos a backward glance. The skin-cloaked Librarian swung his heavy blade, rippling with psychic energy, breeding thunderclaps each time the sword fell upon scarred black ceramite.

+You have your orders, Apothecary.+

Talos was drawing breath to reply when another bolt caught him behind the knee, shattering the machine-muscles of his greave. Two more took him low in the breastplate a half-second apart, breaking the silver Aquila on his chest and sending him to the ground. He crashed into the blood-churned muck, only for one of the downed Iron Hands to ram a broken gladius blade into his wounded side, triggering a fresh panic of irritating retinal alarms.

‘Traitor,’ the wounded Medusan breathed, the word a wet crackle through his shattered vox-grille. Talos stared into the warrior’s scorched, empty eye socket through the Iron Hand’s cleaved faceplate. There was a moment of grotesque fraternal camaraderie, joined as they were by wounds and hatred and the blade gouging through the Night Lord’s fused ribs.

Talos levelled his bolter, pressing it to the warrior’s flame-ruined face.

‘Jasca,’ he replied in a hiss of Nostraman. Yes.

He never pulled the trigger. The Iron Hand’s head rolled clear, raked away by a downswing of Xarl’s immense, howling chainsword.

‘Get up, damn you,’ came his brother’s distracted command.

With a snarl against the adrenal sting of pain nullifiers, Talos offered up his hand. Taking Xarl’s place, Cyrion gripped the Apothecary’s wrist and hauled him to his feet.

The pulsing in Talos’ head was a ragged, merciless crush now. He could barely see past the blurring runes spilling down his data feeds. The surreptitious neural scans he’d performed aboard the Covenant weeks ago had revealed no brain injury, yet the pain came ever more fiercely, day after day.

‘Thank you,’ he said to his brother.

‘How apt,’ said Cyrion.

‘What?’

Talos was still struggling to clear his retinal alarms. First Claw had sustained no fatalities, but the other squads were beginning to register an infrequent stream of fallen kin. There was gene-harvesting to be done.

Cyrion banged a gauntleted fist against Talos’ smoking breastplate, where the silver-forged Aquila was reduced to cracked, blackened devastation.

‘That,’ he said. ‘How apt.’

To be continued

Join us tomorrow for the final part of 'Massacre'.



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par L héritier du Hokuto le Ven 17 Juil 2015 - 13:16

Merci Nico d avoir posté cette nouveauté !
Le style d'ADB est vraiment fluide et agréable . IL ne nécessite pas un trés bon niveau d'anglais pour le comprendre   par rapport à d'autres auteurs.
C'est un plaisir de pouvoir le lire .

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Ven 17 Juil 2015 - 15:49

Ultime partie.

The Horus Heresy: Massacre
By Aaron Dembski-Bowden
Part Five

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The warrior crouched in the comforting dark, needing no light by which to carve. Scratching into ceramite wasn’t an easy task, but the edge of a Legiones Astartes combat blade did the trick sure enough.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Each rake of the blade’s edge lanced the throbbing boil of pain in his mind. Each long scrape was a relief, though not a release. He could fight the pain, diminish it, but not banish it.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The sound of carving was a whetstone rasp that echoed from the bare walls. The sound of crude art being born in absolute black. Human eyes couldn’t pierce the gloom, but the warrior hadn’t been human in many years. He could see, just as he could see on the sunless world, born and raised in a city where light was a sin only the wealthy could afford to indulge.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

It was a scratching percussion to the omnipresent growl of the warship’s distant engines. Other sounds intruded upon the warrior’s work, but these were easily – unconsciously – ignored. Far from his sanctum were the muted moans of men and women toiling on the black decks, and the rattling thuds of bulkheads opening and closing elsewhere on the Covenant of Blood. Here in the room with him were the rhythms of a slow-beating human heart and the wet sighing of mortal respiration. He heard these things without truly knowing them. They were sensory nothingness, input without context, not piercing the veil of his ruthless focus.

‘Master?’ came a voice.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

‘Master?’

The warrior didn’t look up from his work, even as he lost the instinctive rhythm of his etching.

‘Master? I don’t understand.’

The warrior breathed in slowly, only then realising he’d been starved of breath, murmuring to himself in a low drone that blended with the ship’s rumbling engines. That, at last, was enough to make him raise his head from his carving.

A human stood there in the dark, clad in a filthy Legion uniform, with a Nostraman coin threaded upon on a leather thong around his neck. The warrior looked at the grime-marked man for some time, feeling his parched throat constrict in an attempt to speak the slave’s name.

‘Primus,’ he said at last. The sound of his own voice horrified him. He sounded as though he’d died weeks ago, and a desiccated revenant was speaking in his place.

Stark relief passed over the slave’s bearded features. ‘I brought water.’

The warrior blinked to clear his vision, reaching for the tin canteen in Primus’ hands. He saw the dirt beneath his slave’s fingernails. He smelled the stale brackishness of the life-giving fluid in the metal container.

He drank. The pain in his head, already exorcised by his carving, faded further with each swallow.

‘How long?’ he asked. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Twelve days, master.’

Twelve days. When had the massacre ended? How had the massacre ended?

He remembered little past Cyrion’s lightning-etched faceplate, as his brother hauled him to his feet...

Talos turned to the nearest wall, where a crooked scrawl of Nostraman runes ran along in ugly lines across the dark iron. The lettering crossed itself, seemingly without order. It trailed across the chamber, even onto the deck floor in places, carved by the now dulled gladius blade in the warrior’s hand.

‘Twelve days,’ he said aloud. He was genetically reforged beyond the capacity to feel fear, yet a cold, cold unease trickled through his blood at the sight of all these words he couldn’t recall writing.

‘There are things in my head,’ he said at last. ‘Memories that never happened.’

Primus had no answer. Talos expected none. He was already distracted – the runes marked his own armour as well. Much of it made no sense, though his brothers’ names were mixed in amidst the nonsense. Sergeant Anrathi’s name was brutally scratched over with the rune symbolising ‘exalted’.

One phrase rang through his senses as his black eyes passed across it. A sentence he would never forget.

Written there, in a jagged and child-like incarnation of Nostraman script, were nine words.

It is a curse, the runes read, to be a god’s son.

END


Au final pas grand chose. C'était sympa de voir les NL de la trilogie lors de la période HH, avec certains encore vivants ou pas encore possédés (et Primus).

Une petite histoire qui passe, pas désagréable mais pas non plus palpitante. Ma partie préférée a été en fait la première.

Mais bon, c'est gratuit. Pour le moment. A mon avis ça va sortir en ebook payant dans quelques temps.



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Lun 1 Fév 2016 - 18:26


Histoire d'une cinquantaine de page, voici un résumé complet:


Le personnage principale est Amendera Kendel, que l'on croise dans le roman The Flight of the Eisenstein, ancienne Soeur du Silence ayant brisé son voeux en reparlant, désormais elle bosse pour le Sigillite.

Elle est envoyée sur Luna pour récupérer 2 Astartes de la Death Guard, les survivants des 70 loyalistes arrivés avec Garro. Elle se confronte à la résistance des Soeurs du Silence qui ne l'aiment pas vraiment vu que pour elles, Kendel est une renégat de leur ordre. D'ailleurs, les Soeurs sont des fidèles de l'Empereur qu'elles estiment être un Dieu, mais n'aiment pas Malcador qu'elles jugent comme un arriviste. Donc n'aiment pas aider les agens du Sigillite.

Bref, elle va retrouver les Marines de la Death Guard. Ceux ci sont retenus "prisonniers" sur Luna depuis des années, depuis leur arrivée à bord du Eisenstein. Elle parle avec deux d'entre eux, au début ils sont réticents et n'aiment pas trop le traitement qu'on leur serve ni même l'idée de servir une femme, simple humaine. Mais comment elle les épate en connaissant tous les DG et en devinant des trucs, ils estiment qu'elle est digne de confiance.

Avec une petite équipe (un pilote, une navigator, un soldat impérial et les 2 marines) elle va sur une planète où des soupçons de communications avec Horus ont été interceptés. Arrivés là bas ils sont super bien accueillis par le gouverneur et l'aristocratie locale, ils expliquent pourquoi ils sont là etc. Mais au bout de quelques temps d'enquête des chose étranges se produisent, le soldat meurt dans un "accident", des pistes faciles sont trouvées etc. Ils remontent jusqu'à l'astropathe de la planète, il dit qu'il n'est pas un traître blabla, explosion, pouf, il fuit, course poursuite, il se fait rattraper. Là encore il dit qu'il n'est pas un traître mais qu'il a été forcé. Et paf, à ce moment là il se fait tuer par le gourverneur, qui remercie Kendel d'avoir réglé le complot etc. Mais au lieu de partir de la planète, Kendel trouve ça louche et trop simple. Du coup elle va jusqu'à la morgue de la planète, retrouve le corps de l'astropathe, l'inspecte et remarque qu'il a des implants que l'on met aux animaux pour leurs faire mal et obéir, elle devine que le mec a été tourmenté et forcé à communiquer avec Horus. L'aristo arrive, blablabla, Kendel a des doutes et là retournement de situation prévisible depuis le début: l'aristo dit que les deux marines sont des traîtres envers leur père et Horus, pas lui qui est fidèle au Maître de Guerre (leur accueil au début a été chaleureux parce que les Marines portent des armures de la Death Guard, donc le gouverneur croyait que c'était des agents d'Horus). Il explique que toute la planète bosse pour Horus. Kendel le tue, les marines butent plein de gens et retournent en orbite. Là Kendel se dit que revenir sur Terra pour avertir du danger laisserait trop de temps à la planète, située dans le système solaire proche de Terra, de s'organiser. Du coup elle demande de contacter les 2 plus gros vaisseaux du coin et de venir les aider. Le marines dit que ces vaisseaux ne sont pas faits pour un débarquement mais pour détruire des planètes, Kendel répond qu'elle le sait bien. Là le marines comment à comprendre et dire que seuls les Primarques ou l'Empereur lui même peuvent donner un tel ordre... puis ne dit plus rien tant il comprend la gravité. Kendel étant chargée du saut de Malcador, elle a carte blanche, elle fait contacter les deux vaisseaux et leur donne l'ordre de lancer l'Exterminatus.


Voilà voilà. L'histoire reste sympathique à lire mais si prévisible, dès leur arrivée sur la planète on sait que le gouvernement local est du côté d'Horus. En somme, une petite histoire pour passer le temps, revoir Kendel, en apprendre un peu sur les Soeurs du Silence et aussi le retour des Death Guard loyalistes.


Il y a une autre petite histoire avec, très courte, montrant un Death Guard devenu enfin Chevalier Errant et rejoignant Garro après des années sans l'avoir vu, il est là à attendre qu'un monstre se réveille et ils le tuent tous les deux. Rien de bien passionnant.


Smile



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par - Ghost of Arkio - le Lun 1 Fév 2016 - 20:48

Merci pour ce petit résumé à l'arrache,
je me rappelais même plus de Kendel Smile

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Dies Irae le Lun 1 Fév 2016 - 21:39

Nico. a écrit:
Il y a une autre petite histoire avec, très courte, montrant un Death Guard devenu enfin Chevalier Errant et rejoignant Garro après des années sans l'avoir vu, il est là à attendre qu'un monstre se réveille et ils le tuent tous les deux. Rien de bien passionnant.

Ben en fait l'intéret de cette nouvelle est qu'elle montre que le DG survivant de l'histoire précédente devient un agent de Malcador. Alors que vu ces réticences quand à l'utilisation de l'exterminatus (petit rappel de ce qu'Horus à fait sur Istvaan et qu'il à vu d'un peu trop près) on pouvait se demander si il n'allait pas retourner s'enfermer avec les Soeurs du Silence sur la Lune.
Et de plus, elle est pile poil le recit de l'artwork du Dernier Garro  "Wow of Faith".

Sinon je te trouve un poil dur avec la première histoire. C'est pas du bolt porn, ça change. Ca se lit bien et rapidement, le style est fluide. Vu l'inintéret total de certaines novella, ou romans, qui sortent dernièrement là c'est pas mal.

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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

Message par Nico. le Lun 1 Fév 2016 - 22:19

Sinon je te trouve un poil dur avec la première histoire. C'est pas du bolt porn, ça change.

Je n'ai jamais dit que c'était du bolt porn, j'ai dit que j'avais apprécié cette histoire. J'ai peut être mal fait ressentir cela. Juste que le twist est prévisible, mais sinon c'est une histoire sympathique à lire.

Smile



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Re: [Horus Heresy] Histoires très courtes - reviews & résumés

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