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Someone try to write something about this

>>43509573
see, for the trouble is that I actually remember that game (it was awesome). I could write out the plot to it but I don't think that really counts.

as for 'ayyy lmao' - fuck if I've ever understood what that's about.

Last thread 404'd before I could post so I owe you some M43!
>text dump ahead!

Part 1: Assault On Lesser Hadryion:

Alvon was running as fast as he could. Not away from the battle but toward it. By the Imperial luck of the draw, his company, the 13th Hadryion Corvettes had been sent back to their original tithe system. It was not for R&R. In the distance he could see sickly pink lightning strikes stretching throughout the overcast hive. Chanting sometimes echoed off the metal walls. He was barely holding it together; he couldn’t imagine what his men were thinking. A massive explosion sounded hundreds of meters above him, higher up in the hive. The smoking wreckage of a Predator arced downward as a Thunderhawk roared over him. No sooner had the Thunderhawk’s engines dopplered away, a tortured hum pierced his ears. He had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut just to not pass out. He finally managed a painful peek back at his men. Two of his men had their hands on their knees. Rangle was puking her guts out. Thomps had completely passed out, while the rest of his squad was writhing around with their hands on their ears. He turned back toward the objective as the horrible sound ended. An ornamental gate had crumbled like rock and added itself to the rubble of the war-torn hive. A Noise Marine stepped over the desiccated gate and looked at him.
>1/?

>>43512201
“Get Thomps on his feet! The rest of you slugs, get to cover and start firing. Do not stay in cover for long. Repeat, do not stay in cover for long!” Alvon shouted orders to his squad as he dashed ahead several meters for the shelter of a small hab-building. The Noise Marine sauntered forward, blaring some abysmal dirge from its pack. It sighted one of the Guardsmen and fired its Sonic Blaster. Dinden had barely made it to his feet when an intense vibration hit him. He shuddered as his the inside of his skull resonated with the horrendous frequency. His head exploded and he sagged to the ground. The waves of sound, now partially visible swept over to another one of Alvon’s men, who had just a second ago, been firing his lasgun at the traitor Astartes. The Guardsman quickly disintegrated along with the chunk of hab-building he’d been hiding behind. The Noise Marine stopped firing and leaned back in an incoherent screech of triumph. The sound made Alvon tingle. Between shots of his lasgun, he was taking glances at his men. The one still alive seemed okay. Then he noticed Rangle get up from behind her cover and slowly begin to walk toward the Noise Marine.
>2/?

>>43512308
He stared incredulously at the Guardswoman as she passed him. Her half-lidded eyes and near-smile snapped him out of his reverie, “RANGLE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” “It’s...just….so….pretty,” the woman slurred out, continuing to trudge toward the giant Astartes. Alvon racked his head, “Fuck fuck fuck….. Ulgran!” he shouted to a private. “Yes sir?!?” “PUT THAT BOLTER TO USE AND HIT THOSE VENTS ON THE PACK!” Alvon screamed his plan to the heavy weapons trooper. Several deep booms preceded the wet smacking of metal on harder metal. Several Bolter rounds exploded harmlessly on the deformed pauldrons of the Marine, but one managed to hit its mark and the speaker exploded. As the cackling died in a sputter and the normal sounds of battle returned, the Noise Marine finally snapped back to reality. It looked down at the now swaying Guardswoman. “RANGLE! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE! YOU WANNA DIE?” Alvon shouted now that the spell had been broken. She did not respond to his calls. She did respond to the Noise Marine when let out a gut wrenching bellow and pointed toward Alvon and his squad. She turned around making jerky movements more like a puppet than human and started firing her lasgun. She advanced a step and then her head exploded, showering the Noise Marine behind her in blood and bone.
>3/?

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>>43512579
Alvon turned around to see his company’s Commissar standing in the middle of the street, Bolter smoking. Another squad was massing behind him as well. “MEN, IT IS OUR DUTY TO THE EMPEROR TO PURGE THIS HERETIC! FORWARD!” the Commissar rallied the fresh squad and the remainder of Alvon’s squad. A fury of lasgun bolts and explosive shells pelted the Noise Marine. Under such an assault, the Astartes dropped down to its knees, its armor and exposed skin smoking and smouldering. A second later it let loose a scream that sent a shiver of pleasure down the Guardsmen spines. No sooner it dropped completely to the ground and began to melt. The squads breathed an audible sigh of relief and moved to an intact hab-shelter to discuss their further actions.
>4/?

>>43512609
Inside, the current progress of the battle for Hive Siberni was laid out. The lower levels had been mostly cleared, with the exception of a particularly dug in force of cultist in a Mechanicum vault. The middle tiers were being assault by the Guard, which is where they were. And the upper levels and spires were barely being suppressed by air forces. After that was established, both Alvon and the Commissar agreed that they should advance southward and regroup with G Company to assault the temple on this level, not that Alvon actually had a say or anything. The two squads slogged out the door and their world went white.
>5/?

>>43512735
The hive was splashed in the light of several tremendous pink lightning bolts. A multitude of screams pierced the battle as they harmonized into a singular scream of agony. The air grew thin as a portion around the hive sucked in towards the top. It exploded outwards in another second. A huge spire that had once held the family that owned the forges of the hive crumbled and fell. In the center of thousands of dead bodies splayed out in lasting agony and pleasure, a singular figure stood, Fulgrim, the daemon prince of Slaanesh.

As Fulgrim appeared in the materium, the group containing Alvon was overcome with an immense pressure, like they had just taken on ridiculously heavy packs. Their legs gave out under the psychic weight. One by one they blacked out, the only signs of life were their shallow breaths. Fulgrim had entered the fight.
>6/6 for Part 1
>gonna let this simmer for a while. I might post Part 2 later tonight.

>>43508782
>Playing Pathfinder campaign with group that's only played for a few sessions.
>Due to GM not really liking where the original campaign was going and not feeling like he could do his best for the group, we wipe the slate and start a new campaign.
>First combat encounter.
>Try to talk our way out of being mugged by four guys on the road.
>They slowly surround us and then turn into werewolves.

>First combat round.

>Player 1 throws down a grease bomb causing three werewolves to slip and fall in the grease

>Player 2 (playing Shaggy as an alchemist with a Scooby humunculous) decides to immediately start vomiting a swarm of spiders and runs to hide behind a tree

>Player 3 (a unionized monster hunter played as New York teamster/movie cop getting ready to retire soon) pulls out his spear and gets a crit on the only werewolf not slipping in the grease and the werewolf explodes into giblets

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>>43512864

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This takes place before the events of Part 1 at an indiscriminate time because the Warp.

Part 2: Fulgrim’s Penance:

Deep on the Planet of Pleasure, Fulgrim sat upon a beautiful throne of pristine pearl, inlaid with obsidian runes. His sharpened fingernails clattered upon the armrest. He wanted something, but then again, he always wanted something. He thought about calling in a daemonette. Eh, they were a dime a dozen, perhaps he should have a pair of his new Phoenix Guard duel, to see how long they go and how much blood they could spill. He lingered on the idea of a duel. Just as he was about to call for them, and a daemonette, because why not, a huge ball of light pulsed into existence in the center of his throne room. The daemons currently in the room and the traitorous Astartes rushed towards the new presence, desperate for some new experience. They made it no closer than 10 paces as some flew back and splattered against the walls. Others just collapsed upon themselves and popped out of un-reality. The Astartes all disintegrated as their bodies were ripped apart layer by layer, cell by cell. Fulgrim was soon alone. He looked at the ball of light, which was now red with golden-white swirls in it. “What have you done? Reveal yourself,” Fulgrim accused at the hovering essence. It pulsed bright once, then twice, and then exploded in lances of super-bright energy. Fulgrim winced but kept his eyes open. They burned. It felt good. Then a staccato burst of light rushed him and his world went dark.
>1/?

>>43514085

Fulgrim awoke to an eerily silent palace. It was...nice. “Wait,” he muttered to himself. Something was different, definitely different. He shouldn’t be finding pleasure in a silent room, that was something...that he did before he turned to Chaos. He looked down. He still had four arms. He twitch a non-standard muscle and a scaly tail draped itself over his shoulder. “Still in the body that Slaanesh gave me,” Fulgrim wondered aloud, “But I can’t understand this feeling.”
He stood there for quite sometime deep in thought until he was finally disturbed by a daemonette skipping into the room, “Hey master, we got a messenger from the Planet of Sorcerers. He said something about Magnus wanting to see you. I ate him, I hope you don’t mind.” Fulgrim wove a hand through his hair, “Magnus eh, I guess I could go see that red hermit. A change of pace sounds rather nice.”
>2/?

>>43514125
The two Primarchs stood face to face for the first time in centuries. “You’ve changed Magnus, what is it?” Fulgrim asked the red figure.
>“I could say the same to you, Fulgrim,” Magnus responded, “perhaps you no longer want to burst your eardrums with awful music and play around in bloody slip and slides?”
“Brown noise has nothing to do with ear...wait, how would you know?” the reptilian prince asked in sudden realization, “You did it didn’t you?”
>Magnus spun and started pacing, “I might have had a hand in the removal of certain daemonic influences yes...but I didn’t do it alone. I have someone I want you to meet.”
As he said this a ball of light floated down from the ceiling of Magnus’ study. It stopped its descent next to Magnus, hovering a meter off the floor. “Hello, son.” “Son….father?” Fulgrim managed to stutter out. He snapped to Magnus and glared at him, “MAGNUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY HAVE YOU NOT DESTROYED THIS THING?”
>“Father has died more than you or I together. And I no longer am aligned against Father,” Magnus responded matter of factly, “Besides haven’t you felt it? Surely on your way over here you felt the occasional pinprick of light and purity? Of course you have, and do you know what those were?” Magnus leaned in toward his brother.
“Father?”, Fulgrim faintly asked. “Well bits of me actually. Now that you are no longer completely steeped in Chaos, I can actually touch you with my presence again.” the Emperor-ball said.
>3/?

>>43514197
“I still don’t care. You are still the Emperor, false as ever,” Fulgrim spat out. The room was still, no one moved. Fulgrim was just about to lay into his Father and Magnus, when the voice of his Father began, “You...are right, my son. You went to Chaos for perfection, even if at times it wasn’t your choice. You had it forced upon you at times. And...and I’m sorry,” the Emperor-ball sputtered out, “I...I...was the one who forced it upon you. When I made you and your brothers I too...I….I went… to Chaos….for perfection. I tainted you. And that will never be gone.” The Emperor-ball was now dripping tiny globules of light and energy.
>4/?

Fulgrims shoulders sagged. The revelation socked him in the gut, which normally would have made him shout in ecstasy but now it hurt, not a physical hurt but a wet, cold hurt. His Father, the greatest human ever to exist had lain his greatest shame bare. And he could swear that the glob of light was...crying. “Father, I...had no idea,” Fulgrim apologized. “I thought I had truly lost you,” the Emperor-ball said, “When Magnus and I appeared in your palace and released that psychic wave, we really didn’t have any idea if it would work. And then...then I felt your soul touch one of my fragments.” the Emperor-ball blubbered out, “At first I was sure that it was a trick. And then, I felt another and another! I was so overjoyed that I accidentally lit Magnus’ hair on fire!”
>Magnus stared down at his Father’s form, “Remind me to thank you for that later.”
Fulgrim laughed and commented back, “Your hair was always wiry, you never listened to me when I gave you tips.”
>“Stow it pretty boy,” Magnus retorted, “Oh! I said I had somebody I wanted you to meet.”
Fulrim furrowed his brow, “Did Tzeentch really screw with you that much? I already met Father.”
>Magnus smiled a truly compassionate smile, “No, someone else.”
As he said that, the semi-visible form of Ferrus Manus stepped out from behind his red brother.

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>>43514259
“F-F-Ferrus...Is that really you?” Fulgrim stuttered, nearly driven to silence at the appearance of his brother.
>“Yes, Fulgrim. I am here. Our brother here happened to snag me in one of his psychic nets. Never would have thought the bookworm to be a fisherman,” Ferrus explained.
Magnus huffed and stepped off to the side. It was not his place to be in this meeting. “I-I...I don’t want you to see me like this,” Fulgrim lowered his head in shame and slumped down.
>Ferrus walked over and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I don’t see anything. What I see is the same brother who showed such deep remorse for cutting me down that it cleared the taint instantaneously. That’s the brother I see. And that’s the brother I choose to forgive.” Ferrus told the forlorn primarch.
“You...forgive me? B-but…” Fulgrim sobbed out. “You...h-have...no...n-no reason..to.”
>“You are my brother and that is all the reason I need,” Ferrus said as he embraced his broken brother in a hug. Fulgrim sagged into his arms, “hup, you’re a bit heavier than I remember.”
>6/?

>>43514324
It took quite a while for the emotions to die down. Ferrus backed off as Magnus and the dollop of Emperor came closer, forming a semicircle. “As for your current appearance and form,” the Emperor-ball began, “we might have a solution for that...?” Magnus spoke up, “It would seem that a Slaaneshi cult on the world of Lesser Hadryion is preparing a ritual to summon you to them.” The Emperor-ball finished, “and with some tweaking, we could have you pop out in a more human form.” Fulgrim looked at them with streaks down his cheeks and a smile upon his face, “I would love that. But what of Ferrus?”
>Ferrus crossed his arms, “Sadly, I cannot come back into the Materium yet. We have discussed it but have not come up with anything yet, although I told them to drop it when Father told me that he could feel your presence once more.”
Fulgrim raised his shoulders and stood much more confidently, “Thank you Ferrus. For everything. Now let’s do this. The sooner I get back to the Materium, the sooner we can get you back as well.”
>7/7

Part 3 awaits!

Part 3: Victory on Lesser Hadryion

The spots in his eyes cleared quickly as Fulgrim got his first look at the Materium, Hive Siberni, and Lesser Hadryion. He could see the ash choked sky and flashes of ordnance explosions. As he turned around, he could see a crown of hive spires and columns of oily smoke. Behind them he could see Thunderhawks skittering around the hive, dotted lines of ack-ack tracers lancing out. Fulgrim’s ears finally cleared out, that clogged cottony feeling subsiding.

The true scope of the battle for the hive became apparent as the sounds overlayed what Fulgrim was seeing. Now he could hear and feel the dull thumps of anti-aircraft guns firing. The occasional downward whine of a Predator firing its lascannon. The ever present staccato bursts of Bolters and the tinkling of thousands lasguns. The screams and shouts echoed off the maze of walls some louder than others. In fact the screams were the loudest things he heard. As Fulgrim continued to get his bearings, he finally connected the super loud screams to hundreds of screaming cultists still standing amongst a plaza of dead bodies.
>1/?

>this is the final part, so it'll be up to the rest of you to keep this thread alive

>>43514966
The court was a bloodbath. For every one standing cultist, there were a hundred bodies lying in odd, contorted positions. There were pools of blood in between bodies that formed improvised biological levees. The drains gurgled as they struggled to keep up with the red tide. All the while, Fulgrim’s face relayed the growing horror of what he was witnessing. Inside, he knew that this is how he was to summoned to the Materium, but nothing prepared him for this wanton loss of life. “This...this is what I was?” Fulgrim choked out as he swivelled his head, taking in more and more of the visceral scene. He looked down, his neck no longer had the strength to hold his head up. “Lord Fulgrim! With you leading our forces we will surely take the hive from the Corpse-Emperor’s forces,” he heard from behind him. He turned and came face to face with a Noise Marine.
>2/?

>>43514985
“Master, we are steadily losing ground in the middle levels of the hive but we still hold the upper levels. We also have a foothold in the bottom tier. This battle is...a blessing of new experiences. I figure you wish to indulge as well?” Fulgrim stared at the mutated Astartes, a look of disgust coming over his face. Horror, sadness, anger, disgust all swept over him as he took in what used to be one of his beloved Legionnaires. A guttural, primal scream sounded, “GAAAAAHHHHH,” as Fulgrim snapped. A fist of the Primarch shot out pulping the head of the Noise Marine in a wet crunch. Fulgrim noticed that his fist was covered in a gauntlet. He looked down and noticed that he no longer bore the gift of Slaanesh; he was back in a comfortable suit of royal purple Power Armor. A final gift of Ferrus no doubt. A pair of tears rolled down his cheeks, he didn’t deserve any of this: the new life, the gift of old armor, the forgiveness. He snapped back to reality as the lifeless Astartes fell to the ground, blood, bone, and bits of ceramite adding to the gore already there. “Is this my punishment?!? I accept it,” Fulgrim shouted to the sky. He looked back around, his face now stone. “I know what I must do...I know my penance...my punishment...all of you...ALL OF YOU WILL BE PURGED!” Fulgrim shouted at the now gawking crowd of cultists and traitorous Chaos forces. He reached down and grabbed an errant Chainsword and hefted it. “COME AND DIE WITH AT LEAST SOME HONOR!” Fulgrim shouted as he issued his challenge. Moments later the crowd surged in, screeching and chittering in the excitement of taking on a turned Primarch.
>3/?

>>43515016
Alvon and what remained of the two squads crept into what appeared to be a foyer. What was once a rather decadent room was now covered in heretical symbols and smears of blood and gore. There were bullet pockmarks and crushed rubble everywhere. Even as, it was still nicer than anything the lower levels had, even before the war. Up ahead was the main courtyard of the hive, the main objective of his regiment and location of the heinous ritual they were told was taking place. They could hear screams and shouts. Their imaginations ran wild with the terrifying possibilities. The commissar entered, took stock of the location, and bellowed the order to move forward. They began to advance. Several steps later, a daemonette ran out of a side room toward the courtyard, eager to join the convolution out there. It skidded to a halt as it sensed the squads near it. “Oh ho my, what have we here? Some brave guardsmen I think. Hmhm!”, it chortled as it started walking toward them.
>4/?

>>43515032
The daemonette slinked forward. It's laughter was like the gentle tinkling of glass in the wind and grating fingernails on a chalk board. The two squads had frozen unsure of whether to run away or toward the daemon. The commissar was not so entranced and set about attacking the daemon, shouting litanies and ‘heresy’. The commissar and daemonette closed the distance between each other. Despite his fervor and fury, the daemonettes unnatural strength prevailed. The commissar soon drooped lifelessly in the daemonettes claws. It laughed as it pulled dripping strings of his intestines out and rubbed them on its body. The grindhouse act was cut short as the upper torso of a cultist crashed through a chunk of the doorway and slammed into the daemonette, knocking it and its plaything over. The far off look on everyone's faces cleared and they all started firing at the daemon. One commissar may have not been enough, but the bulk of two whole Guardsman squad firing simultaneously slagged the feminine daemon in seconds. Past another daemonic hurdle courtesy of Slaanesh, the squads moved to their objective. When they entered the courtyard, they once again were brought into reverie.
>5/?

>>43515060
In the rough center of the courtyard was the most massive human they had ever seen. They had seen Angels of Death before, but this figure was so much more. His armor gleamed while every swipe of his sword was followed by beautiful white hair. This was no mere Astartes. This was something more. The Space Marine moved with such grace and poise that it seemed out of place amongst the carnage. Eventually the sounds of Bolter fire across the courtyard alerted them to the presence of more Guardsman. In a matter of minutes six more squads of Guardsmen appeared at various entrances around the plaza. The Chaos forces were not prepared to face a Primarch in the middle and the chokehold press of the Imperial Guard on the outside. They withered and joined the floor of the dead. Fulgrim finally looked around, no longer concentrating on fight since it had ended. He noticed another crowd had formed, this one composed of Guardsman. Looking around, Fulgrim was worried that the guard would launch into an attack. He braced himself, not desiring to kill the soldiers of the Imperium. As he lowered his head he once again noticed the familiar gauntlets of his armor.
>He looked back up and smiled, “I...I am Fulgrim, Primarch of the.... of the fallen Emperor's Children. It’s n-nice to meet you all!”
>6/7

>>43515103
Alvon’s jaw dropped. He never had expected to ever meet an Angel of Death and he’d seen one in action on his last campaign. But to meet a Primarch? He’d never dream of the idea on the off chance that such lofty dreams were heresy or something. He heard the purple-clad Primarch speak. It took him a long time to realize that the Lord was talking to him.
>“Guardsman, what is your name?”
“M-m-me sir? It’s A-A-Alvon, uhhhhh, Sarge-Sargeant Alvon...Sir.”
>The Primarch laughed, it was a beautiful soft laugh, “Just as I remember, always nervous.” Fulgrim motioned the stunned Guardsman over. “Get over here boy. I’m not going to bite, not anymore at least. I’d like to meet a Guardsman, I haven’t shaken hands with the real men of the Imperium for a long, long time.”
Alvon overcame his initial shock, he started picking his way through the rough terrain toward the Primarch. When he got there, the Primarch reached out a large gauntlet. The two shook.
>“Nice to meet you Alvon.”
>7/7

That's the end of the Fulgrim arc, my personal favorite. If you don't mind, feedback is gratefully accepted. One of my secondary goals for this project was to have made something worthy of its own page on 1d4chan, but alas, I am a lofty dreamer.

>>43518338
She had killed and eaten sixteen people but the second everybody but John seemed to forget that.

The six men on the dock, good Pathos men, looked down at their feet uncomfortable with her nudeness and tear stricken face. They had slowly backed away from John who stood above her and left him there as the sole man responsible.

John for his part studied her. She was pretty even with the smell of fish but John had been the one to reel in the bait and he had seen her teeth. Ge wondered how such large teeth could fit in mouth that small.

"Should we do it here?" John said. "Or in private?"

When no one replied John looked over his shoulder to find them all a lengths away averting their eyes.

"What?" John said.

Alex, the butcher who had been spitting hellfire a hour before stepped forward tentatively. "We didn't know she would look like that."

"Look like what?"

"Human." Alex said.

John contemplated the stupidity of that statement. "It's a mermaid."

"And we didn't know it would look so human."

John rubbed the bridge of his nose and felt the beginnings of headache.

None of the parents who had lost children were there, too overcome with emotion to participate. He was alone.

"So what would you suggest we do instead" John said.

Alex looked at the other men. "We make her swear to leave and never come back. "

"Leave and never come back."

"Yes." Alex said.

John turned to face the mermaid. She was smiling, her teeth on display only to John. She thought she was going to escape.

John thought about David.

"Fuck it."

John stalked over to Alex, ripped his shotgun out of his hands and before he could protest thumbed both hammers and shot her in the face.

He waited for the body to stop twitching and grabbed her tail.

With a parting" Fuck faces" he dragged her into the town proper to show that justice had been done.

>>43515162
>>43512201
Always nice to come back to the thread and find a decent-sized story to get my teeth into. Well done, Tiberius - you probably account for pretty large chunk of the writing over last couple of weeks.

>One of my secondary goals for this project was to have made something worthy of its own page on 1d4chan, but alas, I am a lofty dreamer.
You'd probably need to do some editing, but honestly 1d4chan isn't exactly exclusive. Nothing stopping you making your own page once you've got everything how you want it.

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>>43521679
well that wasn't the direction I expected that story to go in, but I like it.

>>43522128
Thanks for the feedback, its not given out enough.

There are two small parts in between here that have been posted before but probably need revised and/or added to. So to one of the funnest parts to write.

The Final Deception:

A cloaked figure leaned back on a mundane stool, the darkened face beneath the hood starring intently. “Run that back again, I didn’t quite get that, the Golden Throne is going to fail? It already failed. The Emperor is dead,” the figure stated. A non-descript xeno gave something equivalent to a sigh, “Yes and yes. While the Golden Throne is no longer supporting the Emperor of Mankind, it still seals the failed Human Webway. In this century, it will fail completely and the Warp will spill over Terra.” The figure dropped his feet and placed his elbows on the table, “You Cabal guys are always sooo informed, no wonder Alpharius likes you guys.” “Information is our game and the destruction of the Ruinous Powers is our aim...Do you agree that this is enough to bring your lord to the main ship to meet with the Inner Circle?” the xeno thoughtfully responded as if he was selling the shady organization to the other figure. “Maybe….”
>1/9

>>43528110
A huge hulking figure walked into a massive circular room. All manner of eyes, antennae, sensors, and mechanical visualizers were on him. A figure, an Eldar, stood as the visitor reached a dais in the middle of the room. “Primarch, are you aware of why we called you here?”
“Yes,” a deep voice emanated forth. Another xeno stood up, “We have a great opportunity before us. Or rather you do. With the visions from the Acuity, there is a future where you take advantage of the Golden Throne’s portal and destroy Terra, and by default humanity. As you should have millennia ago.” The figure started pacing, “This is indeed a boon. A chance to destroy the Imperium from the inside out. Once again. But I might have some concerns…”
>2/9

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/r/ing story of the homo-crusaders and the lich

>>43528152
“For one, why would you task me with this? Assuredly, the other Traitor legions will invade, and they are a much better group for war, don’t you think?” the figure posited. “It is possible, but that would require us actually trusting the Ruinous Powers. While we are not above manipulating them, we only use them when we are in complete control. I.E. you,” a seated xeno responded. “I see, second, are you aware of how spread out my operatives are? Even before putting down plans, I can tell you all that this is bigger than a couple of people sitting down over recaf. We’d need at least half of my remaining legion, not to mention their retinues and cells. Are you willing to coordinate that logistical nightmare. Or FUND it?” the figure cocked his head to add emphasis. “We are aware of that. We also have several decades to prepare. Not to mention that money has never been a problem,” the Eldar member answered him. The figure resumed pacing, shaking his hand and mumbling, clearly planning and thinking. He stopped and turned toward them again. “One last concern: Why? Just...why?”
>3/9

>>43528190
“Why what?” a xeno squawked. “Why humanity? What does eradicating them actually achieve?” the figure quickly retorted. “You know full well why. Without out humanity, the Ruinous powers will starve and the taint will eventually disappear,” the Eldar member answered with contempt. “Yeeeaaaahhhh….NO. See here’s the thing: The Chaos Gods feed on other species as well. I mean, the galaxy is one giant buffet. The loss of humanity would be bad yeah, but not death. AND,” the figure quickly cut off the Eldar member before he could speak, “when you think about it, humanity isn’t the worst thing to happen. The Eldar are responsible for the CREATION of one of the gods. Doesn’t seem like you guys really tried to stop that one, I mean you were around ‘before the Eldar’ right’,” the figure had paced his way over to one of the decorations in the room, a large glowing orb, and was leaning on it. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” one of the members shouted.
>4/9

>>43528229
The figure pulled down his shroud revealing he wasn’t wearing a helmet. It was Alpharius, the Primarch of the XXth Legion. “The meaning? Well, I’ve been beginning to think that the Cabal might have ulterior motives. Now hear me out boys...and girl, I think.” The room was seething, several of the xeno member were bearing teeth at the primarch. “So the Cabal is all about fighting the Ruinous Powers. But you just orchestrate moves and countermoves. Everything you do, literally everything, merely extends Chaos. You’ve been around for tens of billions of years and you haven’t done shit. A new fucking god showed up on your watch. Pretty shitty track record. So why? What if it was a double cross, get people to fight Chaos, so Chaos can perpetuate itself? Reeks of Undivided taint. And then your ‘Acuity’? You know who else deals with crazy farseeing? Eh? Tzeentch,” All of the members stood and glared knives at him. “What you are proposing is ludicrous! We would never consort with Chaos!” the Eldar, apparently the de-facto speaker for this session spat at the man, “Alpharius, if you wish to continue such raucous accusations, we will kill you here and now!”
>5/9

>>43528253
“First off, I’m Omegon…. secondly, I have pretty good evidence. Wanna hear? No? Too bad. More war and death?. Khorne is happy. Extended time for entropy and decay? Just heard Nurgle shit himself. Crazy plans and souped up psychic fortune-telling? Checkmark for Tzeentch. And a we’re-better-than-you-and-know-best attitude. Winner winner Slaaneshi dinner!” Omegon looked at the crowd expectantly. “YOU WILL DIE, TRAITOR!” a xeno screamed. A blade erupted from his chest, purple blood fountaining outward, “Don’t be so sure…”
>6/9

>>43528283
The owner of the blade vaulted over the dieing xeno and landed next to Omegon. “I’m Alpharius,” he said as he dropped his hood, “And I don’t make ‘raucous accusations’” The tension in the room built to a silent crescendo. “So what, humans? We kill you here and this coup dies here as well. Even if you told others, we will hunt them down and eliminate them. You know full well we can.” the xeno who’d been sitting next to the dead one ground out from clenched teeth. “We never told anyone,” Omegon started and Alpharius finished, “actually we did tell someone.” The two strode forward to the center dais and dropped a tetra-archal pyramid. It was a dark gray metal and hovered a few centimeters above the floor. “You know that psychic powers cannot pierce this ship’s exterior shields...What is your game?” “This isn’t Warp-tech, its actually a Necron teleporting focus, no psychics needed.” Alpharius returned. “The Necrontyr have always been opposed to the Ruinous Powers, you think they will actually aid you?” one of the members, the female, screeched. “Nope, you are right. We made friends with something a bit better than some salty piles of metal,” Omegon proudly smiled. The piece of Necron tech began spinning and glowing brighter. Motes of sickly green light bloomed into a full on patchwork of various shades of green in a roughly spherical shape above it. The portal flashed and then snapped off. Standing in the middle of the twin primarchs was an amphibian xeno. The entire room stared in shock. The Eldar member finally spoke out, “An Old One? Impossible….”
>7/9

>>43528319
The two primarchs had the biggest shit eating grins plastered on their faces. The room was chaos. Flashes of purple and red bloomed every other second. Screams of pain and anger reverberated off the round walls. Members scrambled for doors or weapons before being ripped apart at a cellular level or taking huge blobs of high frequency energy to the body. The Eldar member stretch out his hand and fired a lance of pink Warp fire at the Old One. It merely curled around the area in front and melted the wall 10 meters back behind. The floor beneath the Eldar glowed pink before erupting in a huge pillar of Warp fire. As much as they wanted to stand and watch, the twins also wreaked their particular brand of carnage upon the room. Any member who made it even remotely close to a door, met with a grisly end. One xeno was pasted against the wall by a Power Armor gauntlet just a meter from the door. Just as abruptly as it started, the room sank back down into silence.
>8/9

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>>43528348
“Wooh boy, I love your work T’vrok,” Omegon said as he walked toward the center of the room. “Without their heads, the Cabal will crumble. Especially without this ship too” Alpharius quipped. “good...very good im...glad that i could be useful...after so long” the Old One turned to the two Primarchs. With another green glow, the ancient guardian disappeared. “I’d love to stand around be we do have some stuff to get ready for...like invading Terra.” Omegon stretched back and cracked his spine and Power Armor. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah, we’re going back to Terra brother.” The two laughed as they walked out of the room.
>9/9

>>43520530
>In the organization of the Order of the Witch Hunters, everyone tends to be split into one of two groups.
>One group believes in the utter purity of mankind and damns all other deviations and abominations in flames.
>The other also believes in the superiority of man, but their methods of doing so tend to be more varied, sometimes radical in approach.

It's pretty clear from here; there's been skinwalker activity and they've gone unchecked.
It's ugly: First they take one host. Then they lay their eggs in that host and when it they hatch, the person explodes and they begin repeating the process. Considering they lay about a dozen each time, one needs to stem the plague quickly before it gets out of control.

In this case, however, all I can do is kill the entire village of Savanda.
This isn't something I can do easily in all conscience. If there were actually clean people in that village, they'll die as well just to ensure that they're not hosts as well and all they can do is hope that God can find his people. It's disgusting to do so, and if the larger order were to hear this, they'd tell me to shut up and start torching.
Issue is that torching doesn't always work. These hosts, if they're attentive enough, they can figure out traps just as quickly as a person does. Trigger one enough, and they'll do it anyways and infect another village. Hire mercenaries, and they usually either end up dead or another host.

When you run out of options, then you begin digging for more. And in that note, I found one of my own.
The Skinwalkers have natural predators...of a sort. If you consider the mutants that inhabit the Pits of the Girahim. Legally, they're godless heathens who are tainted by their sins and all that, but then I saw one eat a Skinwalker host like one would eat fine cuisine. To see such a lipless savage sucking up a human's entrails with a knife like one would pasta is...it's horrible, but yet it astounded me...

>>43532323
It was this moment that marked me on the path less-traveled in my order.
With only a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of parchment, I marched into those forsaken pits and offered one of them a chance to walk among men, to die and have a chance to know God like any other citizen.
I did this all expecting to probably die and become their next meal. So then imagine my surprise when one of them actually stepped forward. Sure, he said little, but the lure of absolution proved too attractive. I spent the following week learning from my guide (Hereon named "Akhrai" or "Arcalli" if we want him to have a normal name) about what the Girahim-born and what they knew of the Skinwalkers. Apparently, something in their anatomy is ironically absolutely abhorrent to the parasites. Couple this with the fact that these mutants are forced to eating anything up to and including humans to survive, and I realized that I just found the answer I was looking for.

So it is with a heavy heart that I damn Savanda to death against the deplorable mutant. There is no Witch Hunter presence here to interfere, so I can let Arcalli to do his work as needed.
He snorts at me as I point to the village. I inform him it's a free meal. Kill anything in here, but especially the hosts.
God shield me, that smile...I can already feel the evil within him. He will enjoy this, the craven beast.

I look away as the deed is accomplished, but it does little to block out the screaming. It haunts me to think about which ones will actually reach God and which ones were tainted. The screaming was mercifully short and then silence. The sounds of that monster slurping on his prey afterward scare me, because this was my choice, but yet...
That's right. This is for a holy goal. The Skinwalkers cannot survive this. They cannot possibly know that I was behind this...

Wait, one's coming this way! Alright, the crossbow is armed, I just have to hope my aim is...
Before I could even fire, a spear pierced the host.

>>43533629
Right through the heart.
The shock in that thing's eyes mirror my own. Then it crumpled to the floor and right behind it is...him. He saved me.

I try to thank him as he devours the host, but I have no idea if he even paid attention to it. He seems to be utterly focused upon his meal.
Halfway through, he offers me the host's arm. For fear of the taint and my own stomach emptying itself, I politely decline.

We began our trip away without much ceremony, but as we do, I get an answer from Arcalli.
He asks me why do people think they are sinners when they have no choice in their surroundings. It is curious, but I decide to humor him by explaining the doctrine of human purity. He listens to the discussion without question. I was about to ask why when he mentions that there should be no crime for being something different. That our normal means nothing to him...and for a second, I thought I was about to agree.

I realize the line I am walking by taking this beast along. To let anyone know of this would be tantamount to heresy. The only way I might possibly survive this...is to make sure I can hold on to my beliefs. Hopefully, that will make sure that I don't stray from God's light.

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Can someone write something about this?
I need some inspiration/fluff for a ship for my GM's homebrew sci fi campaign

>>43536979
Stargate-related or just miscellaneous sci-fi?

>>43537735
miscellaneous sci-fi please

>>43536979

The Carthaginian was not a warship. She had been commissioned as such, back in the heyday of the carrier fleet action, but even before she was completed the Battle of the Belt and the Garuda Incident proved the vulnerability of the great star-leviathans to smaller, faster attack cruisers. Suddenly the newer cruiser models, with their armour-piercing ship-to-ship weaponry and effective anti-fighter point defences, were all the rage. The final generation of carriers, the Polis Class, pinnacle of super-heavy warship design, were sold off to civilian shipping lines before they ever left the shipyards. They entered service not as the capital ships of interstellar battle-fleets, but as passenger transports and cargo haulers.

The Carthaginian's first job in life was as a passenger liner. Otherwise poorly suited for civilian work, she had the great advantage of being able to take on board smaller transports without FTL drives and carry them direct to their destination, cutting out the need for passengers to transfer between a series of in-system ships and interstellar transports. Bereft of her fighter compliment and optimised for her role as a passenger liner, the Carthaginian spent many years ferrying civilians to-and-fro, mostly on the Anhalt to New Moscow run. As time went by, though, the tide of technology once again advanced, leaving the Carthaginian high and dry. Smaller, better engineered FTL drives became available, and soon the passenger services began upgrading their more economic in-system ships with the new technology, making the old interstellar transports redundant.

>>43545966

Many were sold off for scrap, or towed into a planet's orbit and converted into space stations. The Carthaginian, however, managed to avoid this ignominious end by being sold and converted to a specialised cargo-carrier. Even with the proliferation of lightweight FTL drives, someone still had to fly the ships and if you were, for example, a ship-building company that needed to move a lot of stock from one system to another, it was cheaper to hire a bulk carrier to take them en mass rather than paying for a pilot for each individual ship.

Which brings us to the present day, where the harbour master of the SolTech Industries shipyard orbiting New Svalbard is anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Carthaginian. He has a shipment of one hundred and twenty eight high-spec personal multi-environment transport vehicles (capable of flight in vacuum, atmosphere, and water above 200 meter depths). Since the pre-spaceflight days when the rich blew their money on Lamborghinis and the Ferraris, there has always been money in taking a machine that any sensible person would regard as adequate for anything any normal person could think to do with it, and making it faster, more manoeuvrable and giving it more power. Hence, the SolTech Industries Viper, which has occupied a considerable amount of the production capacity at the Svalbard facility for the past year. And the harbour master knows that if he doesn't get this shipment, which the company has sunk a lot of its resources into, onto the Carthaginian and off to the dealerships in the Nirvana system on time, the second they become overdue he's going to start to get communiques from head office asking him how much he values his employment at SolTech.

>>43546008

It is therefore with some relief that he sees the Carthaginian arrive in system and start heading towards the shipyard. The familiar shape of the flat-top main body and hangar bay wings is a comforting sight. The Carthaginian acknowledges his hail and begins manoeuvring to accept the waiting rows of Vipers. With any luck the cargo will be loaded in under an hour, and then the entire thing will be off his hands.

There is, however, one small problem of which the harbour master is unaware.

The carrier he is presently loading his Vipers onto is not, in fact, the Carthaginian.

The Athenian has had a life very similar to her sister ship. Like her fellow Polis Class carrier the Carthaginian, she never saw active service in the military, and was instead refitted for civilian transport. Unlike the Carthaginian, however, when this became uneconomical she was sold for scrap, and there her story would have ended. However, she came to the attention of Caleb McClane - famed adventurer, historian, entrepreneur. And, occasionally, pirate.

Seeing the historical importance of the Athenian - last scion of the great carrier fleets of the golden age of space warfare - he couldn't bare to let it be broken up for parts. Or at least, this what what he told people, not entirely untruthfully it has to be said. But still, the explanation omitted certain details. Like the fact that McClane had been perfecting the use of small fighters in stealth boarding raids, using the small, low emissions ships to slip in close to the target undetected. Before the enemy realised they were under attack, Caleb's men could board and either take control or take what they were after and retreat before the target's security could react. Everything from banking couriers to forced labour facilities had fallen victim to this strategy, and McClane's tactics had improved to the point where some ships wouldn't realise they'd been hit until long after the boarding party was gone.

>>43545966
>>43546008
>>43546083
Not the Anon who requested this story, but I want more!

>>43546312
I've got more coming but I have to go eat now so it'll take a while to finish. Look for the rest later.

Part One

The stench of the dead found its way into everything.

Every gap in his breastplate, every orifice of his helm, every moving part of his armor. It had been practically ritual on this barren land, where only the remnants left were to those long dead in half-forgotten wars. The daily rite of scouring had quickly become the latest of mandatory practices for soldiers of the High God. In hallways of stone, in open encampments under the stars, the cloying scent would only thicken to putrefying proportions if not properly dealt with. But for all their effort, it seemed that no amount of prayers or incense could keep the odor entirely away.

Brother Martin once suggested that the smell itself was alive, that it was some sort of mite-sized buoyant scavenger that could not help but emanate the smell of carrion. He was long dead, killed just moments after the attack came. The catacombs had been his grave, his life turning the ashes of the long dead into crimson slurry as it poured from grievous wounds.

Anders thought about Martin as he spurred his horse onward, hunched down against the howling winds that clawed at him. Martin the faithful, praying upon waking, meals and slumber; studious Martin, always glasses deep inside ancient tomes even during the hours of resting. But dead now, killed by something the Church prayed daily would never again see the surface of Wen.

He shuddered, but it was not caused by the surrounding environs. The weight pulled against Anders’ neck, the leather cord twisting on cold steel as it repeatedly bumped against his side. He risked a glance down, checking once again to make sure the blood-stained satchel was still in his possession.

There was no telling how much further he had to bear the burden. He had no map or wayfinder, a fact he had cursed repeatedly. In his haste to escape the fortress, the Godsblade Initiate had barely enough time to acquire the most rudimentary of supplies to ensure his survival in the lifeless land.

>>43547312

But it could not have been helped. The order came with the demand for immediate and absolute obedience. Flee this place, the Abbot had said, his voice sharp and piercing as the blade in his hands, Take it and warn them of what happened here.

Anders wanted to believe that it was something special about himself that compelled the Abbot to entrust him with such an important task, but he knew in his heart that it was not so. The role of guardian had only come to him because there was no one else at hand. Neither high rank nor deeds of courage belonged to him, and he had only donned the silver armor of the Godsblade three seasons past. His status was most assuredly still higher than laymen and women, but he was just a mere footsoldier in the service to the faith.

For the briefest of moments he wondered: was this the call to greatness that had beckoned the Saint so many centuries ago? He immediately pushed the thought away. Down that road lay the sins of pride and self-aggrandization. And who was he, an Initiate nineteen years old with the most basic and rudimentary of miracles, to match the Saint who wielded the divine energies of his God as ordinary men would a sword?

No, his destiny was to be at the command of the High God, the deity whose Light had brought salvation to his people. Anders had entered the order as a child, raised among the innumerable orphans from the Church for the myriad sects of the faith, and like them knew no other life apart from training and devotion. He and legions of his kindred in the faith were the soldiers of the Dawnlight Crusade, the army sworn to the service of Opranya.

>>43547357

Why the Godsblade needed Anders to serve his Initiate years in a faraway and desolate outpost was never made clear to him, but it was not his place to question the directive of his superiors. He had spent the entirety of his life following the commands given to him, and was glad for giving him a clear sense of purpose in these trying times. He had heard the stories, of course, from mentors and travelers about people in neighboring lands struggling to find meaning in their lives. He always felt sorry for them, and was infinitely relieved that the Order existed within his life to give purpose as they saw fit. That uncertain encumbrance, at least, had been removed from his mind.

At this moment, his purpose continued to strike the underside of his arms, hard enough that his ribs began to ache. Anders cursed as he took his right hand off the reins and grabbed the satchel in a firm grip. His sword, strapped to his left side, rattled in its sheath as he maneuvered himself to a more comfortable position. He was loathe to the idea of sacrificing his shield hand to have a firmer grasp on the bag, but the rapid progress of his mount overcame his concern for attack.

He held it in his arm, as one would an infant in swaddling clothes. It was an allegory that aptly described both the posture of his limb and the spiritual burden that came with it. The emotional weight far transcended its physical mass, pulling at his heart with an ache he was not used to. It made him fearful, an emotion he’d not felt since the Trials. Anders had never expected nor desired to bear such a responsibility. But he had been chosen because he still drew breath, and because Godsblade veterans better and longer experienced in the arts of war had thrown themselves at the enemy to safeguard his flight.

>>43547403

Galvanized by the enormity of his duty, Anders pressed on with renewed vigor. Words from the Rubric of Protection came whispered from his lips as he spurred his mount to go faster. He was sure they at least made five miles since the fortress. Once they made another fifteen, then and only then would they find rest.

The overcast skies prevented the full radiance of the sun to shine upon the wasteland, but it was all he could trust to guide him. In the halcyon days of his initiation, Anders learned that the wide expanse of dead earth and the mounds of ash could confuse and disorient the unwary sojourner. On the old maps, the land was once a verdant forest known for the rich bounty of life it played host to, but in the years following the Calamity, it went by the name fearful locals whispered behind locked doors. To the orders of the High God’s faith, and the layfolk of Wen, this barren patch of earth was known as the Dreadlands.

Part Two coming soon...