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The following is a very short piece of fanfic I found whilst digging around in an old memory stick. Apparently it dates to 2014, so it must be from my GMing days while running Warhammer 40,000 Roleplay. So far as I remember it's a scene I mostly wanted to get out of my head, so I present it here, without editing:
Twisting candle flames flickered against the bare plasterboard walls of the tiny one-room hab. Outside the dull roar of the hive filtered through the cheap walls, filling prayer with the untidiness of humanity. In front of the wooden mantle-shrine propped up against the far wall, an old man kneels, humbled. Lined with age, his fine clothes of cotton and silk are as faded as the paint on his shrine. Muttering the last lines of his prayer, he straightens up. And waits.
With a creak of protesting hinges, the door of the hab opens up. Dim light from the lumen-globes outside spills into the dusty little house. The old man smiles sardonically. He’s been expecting this.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find me here.”
The old man doesn’t turn around. Nameless, the intruder doesn’t reply. Dust motes spiral down from the ceiling in silence, catching the blue glow of the street.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks. Not a crack in his voice, no note of concern.
“You know I must.”
Hauling himself to his feet, the old man finally turns about. The figure of a small woman almost silhouettes against the door, her dark hair and eyes blending into the fitful half-light. At her side the shape of a sheathed sword was just visible against the blackness of her storm coat.
“I have always done the Emperor’s work. Never once did I waver from my duty,” he said, the dim blue glow catching the gleam of the badge of office pinned to his frayed lapel, “I have saved thousands of souls through my deeds.”
“But there are ways and means,” she replied in her surprisingly soft voice. “By the murder I commit today shall the clock be turned back another second. The Prophecy will be denied, for a time.”
“It won’t work, you know. The Prophecy is just the name we give the inevitable doom that will befall. Unless men such as I – even women such as you, my dear – harness its baleful power.”
“Don’t try and dissuade me. I can’t waver from my duty either.”
“I know,” the old man sighed. “It is the tragedy of our order.”
The woman drew her sword with the whisper sound of metal on velvet. Its wide steel blade flashed dimly blue. With the grim perception that had served him throughout his long years, the old man could see every line of the sacred litanies graved into the fuller.
“Goodbye Marin,” he said, “I wish you to remember that I held you no ill-will. I only hope your master will see the truth before all falls apart.”
Marin nodded as she raised Lux Lucia for the final blow. “Adolphus. You were no heretic, but you did evil. Goodbye.”
All For Our Emperor
Twisting candle flames flickered against the bare plasterboard walls of the tiny one-room hab. Outside the dull roar of the hive filtered through the cheap walls, filling prayer with the untidiness of humanity. In front of the wooden mantle-shrine propped up against the far wall, an old man kneels, humbled. Lined with age, his fine clothes of cotton and silk are as faded as the paint on his shrine. Muttering the last lines of his prayer, he straightens up. And waits.
With a creak of protesting hinges, the door of the hab opens up. Dim light from the lumen-globes outside spills into the dusty little house. The old man smiles sardonically. He’s been expecting this.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find me here.”
The old man doesn’t turn around. Nameless, the intruder doesn’t reply. Dust motes spiral down from the ceiling in silence, catching the blue glow of the street.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks. Not a crack in his voice, no note of concern.
“You know I must.”
Hauling himself to his feet, the old man finally turns about. The figure of a small woman almost silhouettes against the door, her dark hair and eyes blending into the fitful half-light. At her side the shape of a sheathed sword was just visible against the blackness of her storm coat.
“I have always done the Emperor’s work. Never once did I waver from my duty,” he said, the dim blue glow catching the gleam of the badge of office pinned to his frayed lapel, “I have saved thousands of souls through my deeds.”
“But there are ways and means,” she replied in her surprisingly soft voice. “By the murder I commit today shall the clock be turned back another second. The Prophecy will be denied, for a time.”
“It won’t work, you know. The Prophecy is just the name we give the inevitable doom that will befall. Unless men such as I – even women such as you, my dear – harness its baleful power.”
“Don’t try and dissuade me. I can’t waver from my duty either.”
“I know,” the old man sighed. “It is the tragedy of our order.”
The woman drew her sword with the whisper sound of metal on velvet. Its wide steel blade flashed dimly blue. With the grim perception that had served him throughout his long years, the old man could see every line of the sacred litanies graved into the fuller.
“Goodbye Marin,” he said, “I wish you to remember that I held you no ill-will. I only hope your master will see the truth before all falls apart.”
Marin nodded as she raised Lux Lucia for the final blow. “Adolphus. You were no heretic, but you did evil. Goodbye.”
