Regular and incidental fan-fic competitions, for review and contributing to.


Postby Pyroriffic » Wed Dec 06, 2017 7:52 pm

Here's your 500 word limit challenge prompt word for the month of December 2017.


Go nuts!
I reject your reality and substitute it with my own.
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Postby theCrowe » Thu Dec 14, 2017 6:34 pm

This one rolls in at 500 words on the nose. Hope you enjoy.

Sleekit sat in the back of the warehouse considering the situation. One grot alone in the dark.

The Kommandos of GitSplitta's Gotchaz had risked much in coming this far into Imperial held territory but what Sleekit had seen in this supply depot could make it all well worth it. A plan was slowly formulating in his sneaky little skull. The tricky part would be convincing GitSplitta.

A shudder of jerking mechanisms accompanied the opening of the warehouse doors and a shaft of orange light flooded the floor from the supply yard beyond. Sleekit watched from the shadows as a pair of fat night watchmen prepared to unload another shipment of fuel drums into the warehouse. It was high time for him to be leaving.


"Ok, Boss, stay wif me here..."

GitSplitta blinked stupidly. Good enough. Sleekit continued.

"We was able to sneak right in tonight cause da place is still near empty. We gots to move fast, afore dey has more warehouses fulla fings to guard. Afore dey locks it all up tight."

"But dere's nuffink to krump!" GitSplitta complained. "No bombs, no tanks, no Oomies! I wants to krump some Oomies!"

"Nuffink to krump, yet..." Sleekit dangled the potential of juicy krumpables before his boss, hoping to peak his interest for the important part.

"So we waits..." GitSplitta pondered dully " den we krumps dem!"

"Yes, but first..." Sleekit jumped on the wave of the ork's brief inspiration hoping to ride it all the way to enlightenment. "we spike da barrels!"

GitSplitta snapped a large spike off a nearby fence and brandished it meaningfully. Sleekit bit down the impulse to roll his eyes. At least the boss was enthusiastic.

"I mean, we slip a little squig oil in'em. Just enough to spoil da lot."

"And DEN we spikes 'em!" The ork jabbed the spike vigorously in the air. Sleekit, ignoring this hurried on.

"We sneaks in and out wiffouta trace so da Oomies never knows. Dey brings all da tanks an' da bombs an' all da lads dey wants in."

"den we..."

Sleekit spoke louder; as loud as his squeaky grot voice would allow "But so does we! We brings da Waaagh! here! All da Bloodaxe boyz, not just da Gotchaz..."

GitSplitta's eyes were starting to glaze over, he was losing the plot. Sleekit grabbed him by the tusks trying to hold his gaze. He was so close!

"We bring ev'ry BloodAxe outfit we can get an' we attack!"

GitSplitta's eyes brightened; he liked to attack.

"But none'v da Oomie tanks works! Da fuel is zogged, see?"

GitSplitta grinned. Sleekit went for it, the grand finale.

"And once we'z krumpt all da Oomies... all da bombz an' all da tankz..."

"Are belong to us!" GitSplitta had it. He dashed the grot aside in his haste to go elucidate the finer points of his orkish genius to his followers.

Sleekit sat alone again in the dark, pondering. Now where could he get his hands on a large quantity of squig oil?
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Postby Dakkaman98 » Tue Dec 19, 2017 1:21 am

Here's my entry, 497 words.
A Short Story
“Stay low to the ground. Orks are larger than us and tend to fire high.” Sergeant yells, as we run for cover. The city’s in ruins, fires spreading, buildings shattered. A cacophony of screams, gunfire and explosions assaults my ears as I run. My flak armour bounces on my shoulders as I ran, ill-fitting and loose. “Loose is good.” Sergeant had told me. “Stops any impact damage, if it stops anything.”
“Where are they?” Helvard asks, eyes wide with panic. His lasgun shakes, and his brow is pale with sweat.
“Heading right for us, probably.” Sergeant responds clinically, peeking over the barricade we hide behind, lasgun tight in his shoulder. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He turns to us, his voice calm. “Helvard, Calan, you’re going to provide supressing fire. Once they blow, we’re gone, understand?” We nod in unison.
“But sergeant, our orders are to hold this position.” Dellax protests meekly. He doesn’t have his father to look after him now, and he’s scared.
“We can hold it better from that hab-block we passed. Out here we’re closer to the Ork lines.” Sergeant replies curtly. “Alright, ready?” Helvard and I shoulder our weapons. “Suppressive fire!” Sergeant barks, and we step out, firing as we go, holding down the trigger and hosing anything that moves, as the others peel around behind us to the hab-block. Its only a few seconds, and then we turn as well, running as fast as we can, rounds chewing up the dirt around us, armour bouncing like a silly toy. Helvard drops, the top of his head missing, body flopping, as guttural roars get closer behind me. I keep running, as the others ahead of me turn around into firing positions, las-fire snapping behind me.
I scramble through the door, lungs bursting, as Sergeant drags me further in, firing as he does so.
“Where’s Helvard? He asks urgently, eyes focused on the door. All I can do is shake my head, desperately sucking in air. He grimaces, as the bellows grow louder. The others around me look outwards, lasguns raised, arms shaking, eyes wide. “Wait for my order.” Sergeant barks above the chaos. We see them now, a tide of teeth and green and metal, rushing towards us. Standing unsteadily, I lean against the doorway, aiming at the head of the closest greenskin. “Wait.” Sergeant says, hands twitching. I can see their eyes, bloodshot and yellow. “Now!” He screams, and we open fire, holding down triggers, pouring hot red lasfire into the mob. Some drop, but many still stand, rushing, getting closer, twenty yards, ten, five. As the largest is within arms reach of me, a thunderous staccato beat opens up, and the mob is pulverized like fruit.

“Heavy bolter kill-zone.” Sergeant explains as the last one drops. “They fall for it every time.” He always knows what they fall for. Then again, he has the experience. Anyone would learn a lot in three weeks here.
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Postby HungryP » Sun Dec 31, 2017 10:14 am

Here’s one more for you. Happy New Year all!

The dream came again to Brother Kal’laxis. He wondered if it could rightly be called such since his transformation. A vision then? He would have to ask Brother Chaplain Xanaan, though the thought of confronting the man with such matters filled him with a dread unrelated to the events at hand. It added to his unease, and as he felt his body temperature rise beyond even his own amplified tolerances, he took his helmet off.
Enhanced though his vision was, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the change from digital optics. As darkness resolved into familiar shapes, he spotted the rest of his unit picking their way through the corridor ahead of him. For three days they had combed the confines of the apparently abandoned Astra Militarum complex. Not a trace remained of its former inhabitants. Not even in these lucid dream visions.
Though his battle brothers moved cautiously, Kal’axis found himself running to keep pace as they disappeared into the shadows of the compound, His breath grew ragged. He tried hailing them on his vox, but a choking rasp was the only sound that came forth, tearing from his throat like the teeth of a chainsword.

Kal’laxis became alert, snapping out of his rest state, as he knew he would. The dream vision always ended the same. He looked to his brothers, all four slumped against the walls. Sergeant Alanoch looked as though he had been tossed in the corner, laying awkwardly across Brother Sanaan’s lap. The sergeant was supposed to be keeping watch..
Kal’laxis reached for his bolter. His hand fell on empty air. Calling out to his brothers, nothing but a choking rasp issued from his ravaged throat. It was then that he felt the pain; hot fingers tearing into his neck, burning their way past his superhuman tolerance for pain.
As he tried to stand, an unseen force pushed him back to the floor. A metallic chortle grated through the room’s single door as a giant clad in tarnished blue and gold hove into view.
“You should have heeded the visions your corpse god granted you, my misguided brother,” the sorcerer scolded.
“I’m afraid this ends poorly for you.”
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