Impasse
It was yet another obstacle for Sergeant Trak's convoy. Yet another opportunity for the city of Ixillium to throttle the last vestiges of his patience.
Unworthy of Death
The brazier oil hissed, smelling of rendered mutton fat and burnt cloves. It did little to clear the stink of the damp cellar.
Code Review
(The following is a recorded transcript for Datasmith administrative review. This interaction took place over the course of 2.3004 seconds between unit Skitarii Marshall TL-33 and Kastelan Unit 99.)
Ink & Paper
Atticus’ hand moved across the parchment with dexterous strokes. His pen was a dance partner to his hand as the pair left marks to show their path.
Mathematical Precision
The hyperspace pocket dimension smelled of absolutely nothing. For Udzat, this gap between the dimensions was familiar terrain. For two weeks, he had stood motionless in this blackness, his synoptic disintegrator at the ready. He was waiting.
Rations
‘By the Throne, what’s that smell?’ Fallon pushed aside the flaps of the tent and stepped into its poorly lit interior. ‘Rations.’ The Kid glanced up, before returning his attention back to the cans on the heater.
The Rite of Corrective Percussion
The interior of the super-heavy Baneblade, Mars Triumphant, tasted of burnt copper, sacred machine-oil, and human sweat; a rolling iron cathedral that Tech-Priest Quintus-9 regarded as a holy sanctuary, but which the human crew knew as a death trap.
The Grox Herder
‘Move! Move!’ The sergeant's voice rang between lasfire, greenskin roars and cries of men. ‘To me, Venn! Now!’ Something whizzed past his ear, close enough to chill the skin.
It’s The Thought
Guardsmen break in different places. In aggregate, however, educated prediction is possible. There is a significant corpus of data.