Yarrick Quotes

“In silence, I made the orks a promise of my own. They were letting me go because I had lived up to my legend. I would do more than that when they came again to Armageddon. Legend would clash with legend, and I would bring them more than war. I would bring them more than apocalypse. I would bring them extinction.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork. Thraka spoke to me. Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic. In High Gothic. ‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“The enemy’s covering shots dropped away as the army pulled further away. I stopped in the middle of the highway, pistol out, sword held high. I was vaguely aware of dull throbs in my ribs and my shoulder, and burning on the side of my neck. I was injured. A trivial fact. The shelling and the gunfire stopped, but there was still a huge noise. It had a two-beat rhythm. It kept repeating. It was a shout from thousands of throats. It was my name.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“The monster’s death was not quiet. Nor was my triumph. I forced myself up. Be the symbol. I charged out from the ruined house, bolt pistol firing. ‘Soldiers of the Imperium!’ I howled. ‘With me!’ I cut the nearest cultists down. The response was ragged. The heretics were being slow to deal with the death of the tank, and their frame of reference could not encompass my continued existence. They had thought fear was their special province, theirs to inflict upon us. I had taught them how wrong they were.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“The heretics did not enter the palace. The Sisters of the Order of the Piercing Thorn burst through the great door, throwing back the startled besiegers. ‘The way is clear!’ Setheno taunted the heretics. ‘Is this not what you wanted? Why do you not claim your prize?’ The cultists tried.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“When we witness the destruction of beauty, it is the destruction that we remember, that will forever remain the defining impression of a location. The beauty that came before becomes nothing more than the prologue to horror.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“The door opened. I stopped. Beyond it, orks lined both sides of the corridor. They had been watching for me. The moment I appeared, they roared their approval. They did not attack. They simply stood, clashed guns against blades, and hooted brute enthusiasm. I had been subjected to too many celebratory parades on Armageddon not to recognise one when it confronted me. I went numb from the unreality before me. I stepped forward, though. I had no choice.

I walked. It was the most obscene victory march of my life. I moved through corridor, hold and bay, and the massed ranks of the greenskins hailed my passage. I saw the evidence of the destruction I had caused around every bend. Scorch marks, patched ruptures, buckled flooring, collapsed ceilings. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Only enough for this… this…

At length, I arrived at a launch bay. There was a ship on the pad before the door. It was human, a small in-system shuttle. It was not built for long voyages. No matter, as long as its vox-system was still operative.

I knew that it would be.

Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka awaited me beside the ship’s access ramp. I did not let my confusion or the sense that I had slipped into an endless waking nightmare slow my stride. I did not hesitate as I strode towards the monster. I stopped before him. I met his gaze with all the cold hatred of my soul. He radiated delight. Then he leaned forward, a colossus of armour and bestial strength. Our faces were mere centimetres apart.

My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork.

Thraka spoke to me.

Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic.

In High Gothic.

‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.’

I entered the ship, my being marked by words whose full measure of horror lay not in their content, but in the fact of their existence. I stumbled to the cockpit, and discovered that I had a pilot.

It was Commander Rogge. His mouth was parted in a scream, but there was no sound. He had no vocal cords any longer. There was very little of his body recognisable. He had been opened up, reorganised, fused with the ship’s control and guidance systems. He had been transformed into a fully aware servitor.

‘Take us out of here,’ I ordered.

The rumble of the ship’s engines powering up was drowned by the even greater roar of the orks. I knew that roar for what it was: the promise of war beyond description.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus