So, this is a little exerpt from I story I'm writing... the actual story is long but it's not fantastic the whole way through so I'm going to post a few bits and see if people like it before I actually post the whole thing, especially because there are a ton of discrepancies. Also, the title is not actually "A Debt Repaid" but it's a title I considered, so whatever.
Anyways, this exerpt is one I wrote actually pretty recently... it's near the end of what I have so far. You don't have to understand what's been going on to understand this.
(You do need to know that Einhardt is a sniper and Liever is an undiscovered psyker of some kind).

Enjoy!

Liever jumped up, able to somehow feel the first Tyranid that appeared from over the tops of the trees and dived, with a flap of its scaly wings and an inhuman screech, for the man in black. He spun around in time to see Einhardt swinging up onto a branch, Jacobs scrambling up just below him. He ran and leapt, grabbing a branch, pulling himself up, and –
The branch broke and Liever fell flat on his back. His breath swept out of him with a whoosh. He winced and gasped, his breath coming in as if through a straw. He rolled over, then pulled himself into a slumped position against the tree, eyes shut tight. Then he opened them.
Three creatures were slowly advancing upon him. They had dark red bodies, with wings sprouting sickeningly from their backs. They walked hunched forward, counterbalanced by the weight of their wings. In their hands they held strange guns that looked to Liever as if they were made out of flesh. Their heads were angled and triangular, their eyes cold, intelligent, and merciless.
A whining sound came from somewhere above Liever’s head, and he looked up. Einhardt had his rifle up to his eye level, and as Liever watched, the gun flashed and jumped. His eyes flew back to the Tyranids, seeing the chest of the one on the right collapse, shooting up a blossom of blood, showering everyone with specks of dark ichor.
The remaining creatures let loose cries and ran forward, indignant at the thought of loosing their prize. The closer one took three steps and then, with another blood-curdling scream, leapt straight for Liever, tossing its gun aside, its talons fully extended –
A barrage of lasbolts impacted the thing in its face, forcing it into a mid-air sort of half-backflip. It crashed into its fellow who was running behind it, and the two landed in a clawing, tangled heap on the ground. The headless creature kicked a few times and then lay still, but the living one disentangled itself, then jumped into the air and pumped its wings, flapping away into the distance.
In the branches above Liever’s head, Einhardt was calmly screwing on a silencer to his rifle’s barrel. He ran his eyes over the length of the weapon, then flipped it around and did the same, taking puffs of the cigarette in his mouth. He flicked off the safety and worked the bolt, chambering a round. With one hand on the grip, he took a long, purposeful drag, before flicking the cig away. He then took the gun in his hands, nestled it in his shoulder, raised it to his eye, took aim briefly, and pulled the trigger.
A single depleted uranium shell flew through the air at a sub-sonic speed. It hit the creature in the wing joint, making it spiral down to the ground with a screech. Einhardt followed its movement with the scope, and then fired again.
Hundreds of feet away, an alien corpse crashed through the undergrowth.
Liever swore.
“Damn,” growled Einhardt. “That was our last smoke.”

-Grey Imp.

very nice stoey very grity

Very nice. Do you want to become a professional writer>>

Actually, I was sort of thinking of trying to get it published in some capacity at some point in the future... it's really long, but I've been writing it for a long time, since before I knew alot about 40k, so some of it is crap. But parts of it I really like.

Anyway, I'm gonna post up another one of my favorite little excerpts in a few seconds.

Here's another little tidbit to whet your appetite! Eat it, and tell me whatcha think if you've got a few seconds.

Oh, and sorry for any language. I mean, technically I think it's against forum rules, but what the hell, it's poetic license.

Ok, so here goes:

Planet Rynadon, Temporary Base Camp of the 57th Regiment
7.09.40185

Captain Martin stormed around the landing zone, scowling in what was unmistakably one of his worst moods.
Near the titanic, smoldering hunk of metal that was the now-unusable drop pod, a small tent had been erected. The tent was red and green, standard command colors for Commander Perrell of the fifty-seventh regiment. A few techs in fatigues were hauling equipment in and out of a large flap in the tent, installing wires and calling tech jargon to each other.
“Roberts! Don’t fuck with that output line! We need to – oh, shit!”
“Jones? You moron! If I told you once I told you a thousand – NO, GROUND IT! You’re gonna get fried!
“Hey man, I’m working on it! Roberts is being – ROBERTS! Get your fucking hands offa that!
“Eh, I love you too, sweetheart. I need the line for the holo projector, the carrier signal is going haywire – ”
“You two! Shut up! Captain!”
The techs looked around. One of them swore, then they straightened and saluted. Martin growled and touched his head. The Techs bent over again, doing whatever they had already been doing. Martin had always hated technical things. In fact, he reflected, he hated almost everything. Moody Marty, they’d called him in school. He hated them. He showed them up, too, and that’s when he landed up in the military. Turned out to be one of the things he hated the most. Along with fruitcake. Martin hated fruitcake.
Ducking under the tent flap, he couldn’t hide his anxiety, even between one of his best scowls. Clutching a slip of paper in his hand – an official invitation from commander Perrell himself – he advanced to the makeshift desk, removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm and saluted smartly.
Commander Perrell was writing an order. It was obviously an order, Martin saw, had the military seal and everything. All it needed was a signature and the commander’s personal seal, and it would be good to go.
Commander Perrell signed with a flourish, carefully printing his name below his signature. It was then that he glanced up at Martin. His hawkish eyes darted quickly over Martin, taking in his appearance – his crisp military front, his sharp perfunctory salute. The corner of his mouth twitched. He touched his temple with two fingers, then looked down again, bending down and taking something out of a vest pocket. He rummaged with something near the floor – Martin could not see what – but he heard a draw shut and a latch snap closed. Perrell straightened, holding his personal seal and tucking a small golden key into his vest pocket. He pressed the seal into a jar of hot wax, then pressed it on the paper, below his signature, still in silence. Having done that, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“Captain Martin. How good to see you.” He glance down at the paper in front of him. “I seem to have an order here for you.”
“Yes, sir,” was Martin’s only response.

-Grey Imp.

good stuff man good stuff I always like guard stories! I think the easiest way to use "f@#k" is like saying "frag" and "feth" so yeah cant wait for more!

Ok, so I thought that I'd give you another little piece of my own personal masterpiece. And, for those of you who are genuinely interested in reading the forty or so pages of words I have tacked together in no discernible order, I'll post a link soon to the story on the site fanfiction.net. But until then, I'll make your mouth water for more with this little piece.

When Liever awoke, the first thing he noticed was the pounding pain in his skull. As he lay, a low groan issued from his mouth. His hand moved up to his forehead, squeezing his forehead, then pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed up. For a moment he remained this way, then relaxed his eyes, moved his hand down to his chin, let out a sigh, and opened his eyes.
He found himself staring at a plain white ceiling, dimly lit and perfectly flat. As his eyes roved for a bit, exploring the view afforded by the straightforward angle of his head, he saw that the white ceiling ended on his left where it met a wall of the same color and perfect smoothness of the ceiling. Moving his eyes right, wincing slightly as the rapid movement increased the dull pounding in his head, he witnessed the same phenomena a few metres to the right of where he lay. Eventually he formed the conjecture that he was in a box with a white ceiling and four white walls, and that he was lying on something soft. Having ascertained this much about his surroundings, he promptly fell asleep again.
When he awoke again the fierce pounding in his head had reduced itself to a faint throb. This time, he decided to attain a bit more familiarity with his surroundings, and so slowly moved his head to the right. The first thing he noticed, in the corner of the room, was what looked like a large plastic locker. In the other corner, now that he looked, were a tiny desk and a hard chair. He looked down towards his feet and found that he was lying on a white cot – everything in the room, now that he thought about it, seemed to be some shade of white or grey. A light sheet covered his legs and torso.
Slowly, he raised his head, and when the pounding did not return in force, he pushed himself up on his elbows and propped his back up on the wall behind the head of his cot. He pulled his feet up a bit and the sheet slid off his body and legs. Looking down at himself, he found that he was wearing some simple cloth pants of a light gray color. He was naked from the waist up. He twisted his shoulder around, craning his neck to look at the brand on the back of his arm, and noticed that set into the wall was a white door.
Liever swung his legs off the cot, then shifted his weight forward and slowly stood up. He winced again – the pounding in his head grew stronger, then subsided. He took a couple slow steps forward, opening the locker his had first seen when he woke up.
Inside were several shelves. On the top shelf, above Liever’s head, were several neatly folded shirts of the same material and color of the pants. He took one down, examined it, and then pulled it over his head. It fit perfectly, the sleeves reaching his wrists exactly. He examined himself for a moment, then searched the rest of the shelves. On the second shelf were several pairs of pants identical to the ones he was wearing. He pulled a folded pair out, noticing a strange insignia of dark grey on the upper right part of the pants, he looked down, seeing the same symbol there. He put the pants back.
On the third shelf from the top was an odd device that Liever didn’t recognize. It was circular, shaped like a flying saucer. The middle was sunken like a bowl, and was lined with some type of crystal. It was rather heavy. Liever picked it up and examined it from all angles. One on side were several switches that looked like they were meant to be pressed, and a tiny display with several buttons, but he simply put it back.
On the bottom shelve, basically sitting on the floor, were two crates. Pulling out the first crate, Liever saw several las magazines and a few other charge packs that looked similar, only smaller. There were also a few devices that looked suspiciously like grenades. Liever put the lasgun back.

Sorry, I needed to do this in two parts! Coming right up now (Btw, I might have lost a little of the formatting in the process).

In the second crate were a lasgun, a laspistol, a knife and a belt with a holster and a sheath. Liever pulled out the lasgun, examining it, then nodded to himself and slung it over his shoulder with the attached strap. He took out the belt, pulled it around his waist. Once again, it was a perfect fit, as if it had been adjusted for him. He slid the laspistol into the holster and the knife into the sheath. Then he closed the door of the locker and went over to the desk. It was completely white, but somehow not harsh to look at. On it were resting several books, the biggest of which was a ledger titled “The Imperial Guardsman’s Tactical Primer”. It was a deep maroon color. Liever flipped through it, seeing several diagrams and disturbing pictures. Eventually he put the book back down. He was about to turn away from the desk, when he noticed a small envelope. He picked it up. It was completely plain, no address or mention of who it was for. With a slight sense of foreboding, he ripped it open.
Out fell two items; a stiff card, which landed facedown on the desk, and a short note on a piece of paper. Liever unfolded it and read it.

Dear Liever,
Welcome aboard my ship, the Angelfire. Since my personnel rescued you from that godforsaken world you were trapped on, I thought it only appropriate that you do me a little favor. For the remainder of your time upon this ship, you will follow all orders to the letter. You will be my temporary assistant, and you will be expected to fight alongside my crew. If we get to a habitable planet, and I feel like it, I might let you go.
But, you’ll probably just get killed before then.
Captain Petrieas

P.S. Since this ship is not legally sanctioned by the Emperor or, really, by anybody, I would suggest that you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, as the captain of a pirate ship is allowed to kill people if he wants.

Liever read the letter twice, mystified, then folded it back up. He picked up the card and flipped it over.

Liever Johnson
Is hereby issued this
Imperial Mercenary License

Even more confused, Liever slipped it into a small pocket he had found on the left side of his pants. He turned around and walked over to the door. It was solid white, set about two inches into the white wall. He ran his hands along the inside of the frame, looking for some sort of groove or latch, but his fingers met only a smooth uninterrupted surface. He moved his hands to the outside of the frame and began to work his way around the door. But when he began to probe the left edge of the door, he noticed a perfectly flat, white button, about three inches long and in the shape of a square, to the left of the door. He pressed it tentatively.
Above the button, a section of the wall that had moments before seemed to be nothing but a foot long square patch slid neatly aside to reveal a perfectly clear, crystal screen. For an instant it was dark, and then it lit up with the startlingly realistic face of a beautiful woman’s face. She spoke with a reproving tone.
“You shouldn’t be poking around like that, you know.”
Liever jumped back as if slapped. Nothing he had ever touched had talked back to him like that. He yelled frantically, “What the hell!”
The woman watched him with cool amusement. She spoke again. “You know, I knew your world was a colony world, but come on, you’ve never seen a vidiplate before?”
Liever was still practically jumping out of his skin. “Well, yeah, but – I mean, those are all vids of things that happened. Nothing ever talks back. And you seem so realistic, not like the holos we had back home – ”
The memory of his homeworld’s fate suddenly hit Liever with all the force of a ton of bricks, and he stopped short of breath, and sank into the chair behind him.
The female face decided to gloss over the moment, and snorted. “I seem realistic? Well, I guess I’ll take that as a complement. My name’s Morgan, by the way.”
Liever looked up. “Morgan. What’s going on? Where am I? And for that matter, where are you?”
Morgan laughed brightly. “Oh, I’m on the ship as well – or at least, I suppose you could say that. You might see me around every once in a while.” She laughed again, mysteriously.
Liever bit his lip. “Ok, so I’m on a ship. That much I already gathered.” He looked down at his clothes. “But what ship is it? Why am I on it? What happened?” At this last, he looked up plaintively at Morgan.
“Oh, I think you’ll get some answers to those questions, soon enough,” said Morgan. “Oh, look – I think they’re coming up soon.”
“Coming up?” said Liever. As he spoke, he began to hear footsteps coming from somewhere outside the door.
“Yeah, looks like. Knock knock,” said Morgan with a mischievous grin, and the screen winked out of life.

dude thats sick! more more we want more!!!

youre soo good get that link up asap

Alright! I've got the link, so here it is. A couple quick things first though:
There are a lot of discrepancies and mistakes. I know, I started writing it after I had only been doing Warhammer for about a month, so a lot of stuff will be totally wrong and you will be like "What? That never happened." Also, some stuff, especially with the Tyranids, is supposed to be out of the ordinary so please don't come to me with comments about those type things. However, if you catch a typo or grammar or something, feel free to tell me because it helps. Alot. Finally, if you have comments, please leave them on the forum and NOT on fanfiction if you can, because I don't check that as often, and sometimes I have problems with my account there, etc. So whatever. Anyways here's the link.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4542252/1/A_Debt_Repaid

That should work, but if it doesn't, just go to fanfiction and type it in the search box. It'll be two or three entries down.

Thanks for reading!

-Grey Imp.