Fabricator General
Λ FΛBЯIᄃΛƬӨЯ ӨF QЦΣƧƬIӨПΛBᄂΣ ƧƬӨЯIΣƧ
Hello! This is my first time participating in anything tournament related so forgive me if I veered off the theme too much! What I have here is a little depiction of a massive revolt of the populace on a Hive City in the world of Warhammer 40k, something that can be comparable to your average flame in it core principle. Being hot, bright, and in the end, snuffed out with no ever true lasting effect besides the scorched earth that will one day be swept aside into the void of time.
Fire and Brimstone had taken to the upper spires of Hive Tolaris. Its once marvelous statues depicting the great "rulers" of the spires, were reduced to nothing more than chipped rock and gravel before the endless tides of the malnourished and malcontent. A populace enslaved to toil away in factories better suited for culling than their original purpose. Where those very decrepit machines turn in agonizing repetitiveness, the very crew who overseed them knowing as much about them as those who peddled across the expansive streets of the Underhive.
A revolution was at hand. The stability that had teetered onto the very needle of law and order had finally tipped wayward into the depths of anarchy and lawlessness. What could it have been? Was it another delay of imperial rations? Perhaps another Hab-Block having finally collapsed in on itself...despite the constant warning issued to the overworked administorum clerk residing on his gilded grav-chair in the "halls of justice"? Or was it another of those famous 'hunting games' the nobles loved to partake in? Donned in their finest of armor and weapons as they swaggered onward into the Underhive, no doubt to hunt some poor mutant bastard doing its best to avoid the ever-encroaching noose. The answer? All of the above. Sin stacked upon sin, left to fester, decay and grow within a population with nothing else to do but think about their wretched existence and misfortune. A thought process that would compact in on itself until something finally sparked, setting forth an unstoppable typhoon of flames and death.
That all-consuming flame had clawed its way out of the Underhive, maw dripping with bitter resentment and bloodlust for those who had marred it. Forged with one singular purpose, a universal desire felt across all who called the Underhive it home. To sink its fangs into the very upper nobility and wretch as much of their tender meat as possible.
Leaderless mobs and rogue militias of the imperial populace surged forward, battering themselves against the massive iron gates meant to keep them out. Wall-mounted automated turrets fired down upon the uncountable scourges, discharging las-fire in arcing repeating rays of death. Bodies began to stack upon bodies until finally with a loud groan of protest, the great gates collapsed inwards. Those of its kin that held firm against the tides of the dead would join their fellow kin from well-perched melta-bombs strapped to their frames. The very turrets that were meant to keep them safe had simply run out of enough ammunition to mow the foe down with. Soon the entire Hive City was engaged in a bloody battle of supremacy against the Planetary Defense Force. Blood was spilled in unfathomable quantities across the Hive, be it the shanty towns or the gilded palaces of the nobility, no place would go unchristen in blood, the dead cascading across streets and courtyards cauldron of the innocent and guilty alike.
This beast of resentment had made its way to the very spires itself, going further than any of its previous kind had before. But at last, even with its quarrel close at hands, it had very left to give. With a body mauled and battered, held only together by its beating embers did it make it this far, but even in unquestionable defeat did it find its own sweet victory. Nothing would change, the dead would be gathered and processed into corpse starch, the wounded simply shot on sight or sentenced to the cruel fate of becoming a servitor. Despite all the blood that had been spilled, nothing would come of it.
Fire and Brimstone had taken to the upper spires of Hive Tolaris. Its once marvelous statues depicting the great "rulers" of the spires, were reduced to nothing more than chipped rock and gravel before the endless tides of the malnourished and malcontent. A populace enslaved to toil away in factories better suited for culling than their original purpose. Where those very decrepit machines turn in agonizing repetitiveness, the very crew who overseed them knowing as much about them as those who peddled across the expansive streets of the Underhive.
A revolution was at hand. The stability that had teetered onto the very needle of law and order had finally tipped wayward into the depths of anarchy and lawlessness. What could it have been? Was it another delay of imperial rations? Perhaps another Hab-Block having finally collapsed in on itself...despite the constant warning issued to the overworked administorum clerk residing on his gilded grav-chair in the "halls of justice"? Or was it another of those famous 'hunting games' the nobles loved to partake in? Donned in their finest of armor and weapons as they swaggered onward into the Underhive, no doubt to hunt some poor mutant bastard doing its best to avoid the ever-encroaching noose. The answer? All of the above. Sin stacked upon sin, left to fester, decay and grow within a population with nothing else to do but think about their wretched existence and misfortune. A thought process that would compact in on itself until something finally sparked, setting forth an unstoppable typhoon of flames and death.
That all-consuming flame had clawed its way out of the Underhive, maw dripping with bitter resentment and bloodlust for those who had marred it. Forged with one singular purpose, a universal desire felt across all who called the Underhive it home. To sink its fangs into the very upper nobility and wretch as much of their tender meat as possible.
Leaderless mobs and rogue militias of the imperial populace surged forward, battering themselves against the massive iron gates meant to keep them out. Wall-mounted automated turrets fired down upon the uncountable scourges, discharging las-fire in arcing repeating rays of death. Bodies began to stack upon bodies until finally with a loud groan of protest, the great gates collapsed inwards. Those of its kin that held firm against the tides of the dead would join their fellow kin from well-perched melta-bombs strapped to their frames. The very turrets that were meant to keep them safe had simply run out of enough ammunition to mow the foe down with. Soon the entire Hive City was engaged in a bloody battle of supremacy against the Planetary Defense Force. Blood was spilled in unfathomable quantities across the Hive, be it the shanty towns or the gilded palaces of the nobility, no place would go unchristen in blood, the dead cascading across streets and courtyards cauldron of the innocent and guilty alike.
This beast of resentment had made its way to the very spires itself, going further than any of its previous kind had before. But at last, even with its quarrel close at hands, it had very left to give. With a body mauled and battered, held only together by its beating embers did it make it this far, but even in unquestionable defeat did it find its own sweet victory. Nothing would change, the dead would be gathered and processed into corpse starch, the wounded simply shot on sight or sentenced to the cruel fate of becoming a servitor. Despite all the blood that had been spilled, nothing would come of it.