Ramus

I’ve had an idea for a short story recently, set in the Imperium. Technically, I only have an idea for the first part of the story and nothing for the rest, so that doesn’t bode well for me finishing it. However, the weather has been dark and cold for several days which play havoc with my mood, so I haven’t done much with the new game material. So, instead I’ve written a few paragraphs of the story (see below). It’s still in a rough state, but I don’t mind showing people my dirty laundry if they don’t mind reading potential crap. ;-) Anyway, the name of the story is Ramus, which happens to be my character’s name in Warhammer Online. It means branch in Latin, but I actually picked in for its phonetic quality (ie: I liked how it sounds).

RAMUS

A tramp freighter approached the upper atmosphere of a gray shrouded planet. A stream of particles trailed the engine nacelle where burnt pock marks discolored the fuselage. Inside the ship, a man sat in the cockpit. He looked cramped, crowded on either side with control panels and supplies lashed to the walls with elastic cords. His hair was a muddy blond, but his three-day beard was red except for the scar along his chin that burrowed through his whiskers. His eyes were a brilliant blue.

The ship lurched up as it plunged deeper into the atmosphere. The pilot corrected the trajectory and the pitching stopped. His attention turned back to the warning light that had been blinking steadily. It worried him, but he tended to worry. The lines in his face were testament to that.

In another time and another place, the pilot is a young man. He’s strapped into the tight cockpit of an Imperium fighter. His hand eagerly grasps the stick as he banks the ship to the right. A pirate marauder fills the HUD as target data scrolls up in green, translucent numbers. The pilot squeezes the trigger, releasing a stream of plasma blasts from the fighter’s nosecone. The marauder disappears into vapor and debris.

An orange glow filled the cockpit windows, but it was merely the ship burning through the heavier air. Before long, the glow was gone and droplets of rain began pelting the glass. The pilot checked the navigation console. It had already connected with the local traffic control grid. A series of yellow squares appeared on the window directly ahead, leading the pilot like a trail of breadcrumbs to the starport.