The Rains of Tirnan (My Black Library Short Story Submission)

A couple months ago, Black Library asked the public for short story submissions based on the Deathwatch, Chamber Militant of the Ordo Xenos. I have always dreamed of being a published writer, especially for the Black Library. Putting my mark on the Warhammer universe would be a dream come true. So, I worked for about a month or so writing my own 500 word short story, The Rains of Tirnan. The story focuses on Brother Jael of the  Blood Angels and his fight against a tyranid lictor and his chapter's curse, the red thirst.

Now, I am no Dan Abbnett. But, I did really enjoy writing this and figured I would share it. It was a really fun exercise, and good practice for the next time the opportunity comes around. Anyway, let me know what you think. I see this hobby as having four main creative outlets: modeling, painting, playing, and writing. While some of us may only partake in one or two of these outlets, I think it is important to flex your creative muscles whenever you can. We all have a story to tell, so tell it!

Until next time!

The Rains of Tirnan

The blood was everywhere. Running and mixing with the thick clay mud at the roots of the redwoods, forming a sickening ichor under Jael’s ceramite boots. These two men were on their way to the mines when it caught them. Was it two? Yes, Jael only saw two heads. They were torn limb from limb, large holes dug into their empty skulls. Their bodies split and cut into what seemed like a dozen pieces. The wounds were fresh, made within the last few minutes. Suddenly, Jael felt weak. A great thirst had overtaken him. The Red Thirst. No water could quench this. He needed blood.

This sensation was unmistakable. Twenty seven years prior, on the deathworld of Carthag VI. The planetary defense force was decimated in the fighting against the swinehordes of a now dead warboss. One of the men lay fallen, dying at his feet. Jael felt a sudden urge to drink the poor man’s blood. The guardsman’s eyes were wild with fear as Jael eyed him. But, in that moment, he was brought back from madness. Eremiel, the sanguinary priest, quietly sung the litanies of the primarch into Jael’s ear. “Do not fear the blessing of Sanguinius”. The priest understood the desire, but the terrified comrades of the dying soldier would not. 

Now, the Blood Angel was trembling. Jael felt helpless. Overcome by his desire. Eremiel was not with him now. No one was. He was alone in the rain, save for the remains of the two dead Tirnans. The clouds above him swirled a hellish red. Crimson rain swelled into huge droplets. They felt soft as they hit his tongue. He tilted his head back, mouth open wide. He drank in the blood falling from the sky. 

His scream echoed through the forest, "Control yourself, brother!”. Jael was shaking, black helmet thrown into the blood-red mud at his feet. A black bird flew below the soft gray clouds above. The rain felt warm running through his hair. He heard it as it fell through the leaves of the trees above him. Fumbling as he fell to his knees, his hands sunk into the ground. The world around him pulsed to the heavy beating of his hearts. Senses heightened to every movement, every sound. 

Jael heard clicking, movement, and a low sloppy growl. He turned in time to avoid the talons as they fell into the mud. Jael tumbled and rolled under the rending claws and took to his feet. The lictor was hard to see, its carapace mimicking the trees and undergrowth behind it. Two large talons reared above its body. Claws dug into the mud of the forest floor. Raising his bolter, Jael fired kraken rounds into the tentacled maw of the beast. The tyranid made an awful screech, cocked its hind legs and shot into the trees above. It left a trail of acid blood burning into the ground. Jael blinked, readied his combat knife, and began searching the forest canopy. The hunt was on.