YES
STORYFAG REPORTING
I MISSED THIS THREAD.

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>>46094895
seems like longer that two weeks since the last one, doesn't it. Which doesn't make sense as actually, it's only been nine days since the last one 404d

>>46095042
yeah.
The thing is several stories were half done and got lost.
I was kinda hoping you would make a new one last friday.

>>46095048
it used to be weekly, but it turned out that was just too demanding. Fortnightly has been working a lot better so far.

Also, nothing's been lost - everything written in the last thread is now sitting in my story folder. Which reminds me, I'm really going to have to get in touch with the 1d4chan wiki admin and see if I can do something about the file limits so I can update the Storythread page

>>46095193
Maybe you could make it so that when one thread dies, you wait a couple of days before making the next one. So if a thread is dead in 4 days, you make it on the next friday.

>>46095237
That was the way things used to be, and by the time I switched it we were lucky to get past 100 posts, most of which would be pics anyway. I really admire your enthusiasm, but trust me, most people can't keep up that sort of pace.

>>46095386
alrighty then

Oh well. Time to get working on my OC donut steel whfb story.

>>46095219
I'm tempted to write something about daemon-worlds in Warhammer 40k with this picture.It looks like a Chaos United planet ruled by a chaos worshiping xenos race.
Or maybe it's one of the hell realms from D&D or Pathfinder.

Judging by the hieroglyphics, the pale throngs following the beast-men are (re-)born(?) from a horn-helmet goddess.
There are a lot of phallic symbols all of the place, seriously. Enough with the dick, balls, and vagina stuff. Don't those guys have anything better to depict?

>>46096303
>I'm tempted to write something about daemon-worlds in Warhammer 40k with this picture.It looks like a Chaos United planet ruled by a chaos worshiping xenos race.

actually that's a pretty good idea

>>46095401
Friedrich Schreiber's chest expanded with pride as his ship floated into the harbor at Altdorf. It was a solemn moment for him as the ship touched the quay and he saw the procession of reiksguard lined up, still as statues on their warhorses.
It wasn't exactly for him they were lined up, but his passengers, but it didn't matter. He had finally succeeded in breaking free of the vicious cycle of debts that had driven him from the city, and had secured a place in the history of the empire. Now he could sit back and rest on his laurels.
"Are these mounted warriors the guard of your Ruler?", a voice said in perfect reikspiel, with a slight slurring accent.


"They are the Reiksguard, my lord."


"Magnificent. They are mighty warriors, and their armor is far thicker than mine own. It would be a privilege to be escorted by them on this most auspicious of days, friend Schreiber."

"Indeed, my lord."


A crowd had gathered outside the harbor for news had come in that an ambassador from an exotic land was coming to Altdorf, to open relations with the Empire.
The city watch had secured the roads from the harbor to the imperial palace, and was making sure the festive mood in the city wasn't turning too riotous. It would be too bad if the first impression the dignitaries had were that of the ne'er-do-goods of the poor quarter were busy beating each other up.

Lord Maximillan Von Strasse stood as the ship stopped. He saw the captain of the ship gesture something and saw the ship being anchored. The grim faced captain bowed as the ship stopped moving, and he saw two tall figures walk down the ship, side by side as others armed with straight bladed halberds formed up behind them.

>>46096596
Ayy yo, Imma play a little loose with the lore here so pls forgive me.

>>46096892

Vikram sighed as he stepped down from the ship, with the man that was once his brother at his side. He thanked the King-of-kings that he was being sent on this mission, for it wasn't a job that required sending men to their deaths.

He was done with fighting and killing. Years of campaigning for his father had made sure that the lands ranging from the mountains of heaven to the coastal city of Lakshmana was under the rule of the Protector of Ind.
After 3 and a half thousand years, the lands of Ind were united once more, and it had been due to his father's talents for diplomacy. The old man had married off his younger sons and daughters to the different rajas and had made sure that his blood would inherit the throne. And at the end of it all, he had done through diplomacy what countless Rajas and maharajas had tried to do for 3 and a half millenia with blood and failed. Of course, blood had been shed, for such a momentous task would attract violence, and he had made sure that it was kept to a minimum.

Vikram had stood in the courtyard as the gods were honored and their avatars had blessed his oldest brother to be the new King-of-Kings of Ind, and the wheel turner upon whom the fate of the land depended.

It was a glorious moment, and Vikram was proud that he had witnessed his land come together again, under a single ruler, blessed by gods.

The King-of-kings had asked him to be the ambassador to an Empire across the seas, and he had accepted. Vikram was glad that he was chosen as an ambassador to this realm across the seas for his soldiering days were done.

>>46096407
I'm encouraged.
>>46095219
"Perhaps, Colonel Marcus Antoinette of the 51st Feralian Grenadiers Corp, I'm not interested in what information you are privy to. Perhaps I just want an audience to share my life's story. Amusing, yes?"
"I was born alongside millions of others, similar to myself. We all grew together in the catacombs, nurtured by She Who Gives. We explored the depths and encountered many strange things. The caves were our whole world, the great beast clinging to the ceiling our goddess. Her effluence, our daily bread, much to my later disgust. The only hint that we had of the universe beyond, was the highest gate and the Blessed.
"Just as your people must've dismissed the heavens as unreachable, we too thought the same of space beyond the highest gates of our world. At the gates, we could hear the roar of power and the speech of enlightenment. But we were ignorant of their meaning and wept. We tried to slip through the razor bars and were slain by the Blessed for our transgression. It saddens me that the Imperium gives the blessed such names as mutants and abominations. They considered us the abominations for we were weak and identical. Despite their hatred they occasionally descended to measure us and teach the great language of the Speaker.
"That is how we lived for a time without measure. we fed, explored, died, and we loved each other. Until She Who Gives simply stopped giving. So we started having to kill and feed on each other. It was an unpleasant time, and it would've continued until the Blessed intervened."

>>46097879
"We were ready for the blessed to slaughter us, for clearly it had become the end-times. She Who Gives had forsaken us, we had only despair and violence left. The blessed herded us upward, and we saw that the most known limit to our world was gone. The cage bars had parted, and there was the Speaker, whose voice we had heard for so long but had never seen."

>>46097820
Von Strasse looked at the two figures walk up, with the ship's captain right behind them.

They were brothers, there was no doubt about that. They were dark skinned and dark haired, and looked like they were twins in their manner of movement. They wore strange breeches that seemed too big for them and reached down to their shoes. Their shirts were richly embroidered with outlandish designs. They wore turbans like he had seen during his campaigns in araby, but these were much more ornate in nature, and were round in shape and were a deep blue in color.
Their backs were covered by cloaks that were a strange color, with an orange with irregular lines drawn in black much like the pelts of the panther
He saw that one of them bore no weapons, while the other one had an ornate pommel with a spike sticking out of the end.

He could gawk at them later, when they were being escorted to the palace. His duty came first.
"My lord, it is an honor to welcome the ambassador of Ind to Altdorf. Welcome to the empire."

"The honor is all mine, captain. Lead us on." The man replied in reikspiel, with only the slightest hint of accents.

Max gave the order and the reiksguard formed up, in a perfect wedge and took to the lead, to form the vanguard of the escort.
He watched as three horses were led from the ship, smaller and not lighter than the chargers he had seen.

"Not as impressive as the fine beast you have there captain - "

"Maximillian Von Strasse, my lord"

"Von Strasse, but then, I am not much of a horseman. I would like Captain Schreiber to accompany us during our introduction to the emperor. My guard will bring up the rear. of our procession."

Von Strasse looked at the guards again. They bore a sword staff, a sword with the pommel spikes, and longbows that shone as though they were made of metal. A second glance at the face of the nearest guard as he removed his hood made him stare. It was a woman. All of the ambassador's guards were women.

>>46094875
Did you ever figure out what was going on with not being able to update the wiki page?

>>46098744
"The speaker led us out into the greater world and we marveled at the mouth of our creation."
"What happened next was the same as you, or so I've absorbed: Mustering grounds, selection for service on far distant battlefields, a march out to a means of transportation through the warp."
>I'm going to end it hear
>this is as far as I've got
>I got distracted by the entry on SCP-093

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Have some more daemonic images

So /tg/ I've been playing with a story idea for a while now.

I originally posted this in the BFG thread.

I've wanted to investigate and explore the deeper under-decks of a retribution class battleship. I was thinking of doing it as a series of linked vignettes with the overarching narrative of a comissarial "audit" of J Deck, compartment 47 Q to 113 B.

I don't want to do just lol genestealers so have been playing with a few other ideas for things to find

>critters
>an old alien torpedo slowly leaking weird
>shanty town
>cargo cults (not chaos cult)
>forest of mushrooms
>archaeotech portal
>navigators chambers
>industrial weirdness
>hitchhikers
>anomalies
>strange cargo of rations from a crusade 2000 years ago that has mutated and gone peculiar

I'm trying to avoid things like "wow we don't know we are on a spaceship" and also the usual villains in 40K stories. I think there's a whole untapped reservoir of weird out there in this universe.

Is this vibe working for you? Any other ideas?

My intention was that the audit is due to something having escaped and fucked off down a vent. Can you imagine finding something missing and man sized on an imperial battleship?

At the protests of the command cadre a visiting rogue trader brings something along in his retinue that isn't entirely human. While aboard it enters a new stage of its lifecycle and loses sentience and goes to find a nice cosy dark place to gestate into a large and actually very nice flower which just happens to enjoy spreading seeds which do very strange things to radiation.

Of course no one on the audit knows the above

>Why not just space the deck?
Because those seeds seem awfully interesting to the magos biologis

>chaos tainted?
No. They do however slowly escherize their surroundings.

>>46098944
As some feedback, take it easy on the descriptions.

>They were brothers, there was no doubt about that. They were dark skinned and dark haired, and looked like they were twins in their manner of movement. They wore strange breeches that seemed too big for them and reached down to their shoes. Their shirts were richly embroidered with outlandish designs. They wore turbans like he had seen during his campaigns in araby, but these were much more ornate in nature, and were round in shape and were a deep blue in color.
Their backs were covered by cloaks that were a strange color, with an orange with irregular lines drawn in black much like the pelts of the panther
He saw that one of them bore no weapons, while the other one had an ornate pommel with a spike sticking out of the end.

This could be rewritten like this:

>They shared the same dark skin, brothers no doubt. And twins from the look of it. Both of them wore richly embroidered shirts, turbans, and oversized breeches that reached down to their shoes. As the pair walked, their cloaks furled in the wind, the orange and black design catching Von Strasse's eye.

Main point is, pick some important details and work them into the scene rather than halting everything to paint us a picture. Even Bob Ross tells us what's going on when he's literally painting a picture.

>>46102794
Well, it sounds like you definitely want Hrud involved with the weird shenanigans. They can casually break the laws of physics and the time space continuum. They also live in shanty towns. But they could be the least weird thing human residents have to deal with...
>Where'd you get that plasma fusil?
>Hrud Armsdealer on Deck J
>Why did they-how- what?!
>Yeah, they thought we humans should be better armed next time the spiral-eyes attack.

>>46098944
The procession continued throughout the city, with the female guards at the rear being at the receiving end of catcalls and a lot of obscene gestures.
Max admired their composure. They were a far way from home, in a strange city and were being jeered at by a not-so-friendly crowd. Their faces were expressionless or set in grimaces. It wasn't that they were beautiful, but they were exotic, and the glint in their eyes made max realize that these women were puissant warriors in their own way, not harlots in armor that were kept around because they amused their master.

"A pretty sight aren't they Captain Maximilian?" The brother wearing weapons observed.

"You should see them in action sometime." The Ambassador finished his brother's observation.

"Your knights should duel with them sometime."

"It will be a good fight."

"You wouldn't know a good fight if it hit you in the head"

"And you would?"

"I have hit you on the head long enough to know you don't know what a good fight is."

Maximilian chuckled as he saw the two brothers joke about how each one was a better fighter than the other before switching to their own exotic language. Ambassadors from a far away land they might be, they were as human as him.

"Well brother infantryman, here we are, at the far side of the world."
Vikram smiled as he listened to his brother call him that epithet. An infantryman was something a peasant did. A warrior of the noble caste would fight on horse, elephant or chariot. Infantry was something to throw at the enemy while the horses and elephants maneuvered. Vikram and his brother had shattered that age old paradigm in 10 short years.
His brother had been taken away by the gurus of the mountains and had been returned to his family as a spellblade after 7 years of training.


>>46102989
I see. I will try to be less autistic in the future.

>>46103640

The first thing his brother Ajeya had done when he had returned was ask for an an army. Their father being a sensible man had refused.
Ajeya, always a hothead had left home and all but disappeared. The last Vikram had heard of him was that he had left on a trading ship, bound for the barbaric western world.

In the years that Ajeya had been away learning how to use magic and the gauntlet sword, Vikram had learned the noble arts of warfare. Their father was an ambitious man and wanted to rule all the kingdoms of Ind in this life or the next.
Of course the first battle Vikram had fought in was not entirely as he had expected. He hadn't charged with his horses and his father had been trounced by their neighboring Raja.
Much was the shame when their elephants were taken away as the price for peace, for elephants were the pride of an army. He had re raised the army made up of peasants and traders, men who couldn't fight.
Ajeya had solved that dilemma. He had returned after two years with a dozen pale skinned barbarians in tow, and had asked his father for a place in his army as was his duty. Seeing him chastened, their father had agreed to humor him.

With these barbarians Vikram had trained his forces in using the tufang. A weapon of nobility, it was not right in allowing the lower castes to use such a weapon. Of course, there was nothing wrong in using them either. His father was desperate for an army and priests were willing to look the other way.

What had followed next had made the name "Vikram the Infantryman" synonymous with the ancient legends of his people. His armies backed by the shrewd alliances of his father had won the old man an empire, and he had died watching his eldest become King-of-Kings.

Of course, now that they were a single empire, it was only rightful that they spread they spread this news to their brother empires across the world.

>>46104533
His father's second son had gone to Cathay and had exchanged embassies with the Dragon King, with the promise of more to follow. It was Vikram's duty to open embassies with the empire. Ajeya had elected to follow his brother, and because he was the 4th son in the family, no one cared about what he did.
Vikram was happy that his little brother was accompanying him on this venture. It would be years before they saw home again, and he wanted to share his experiences in a distant land with someone close to him.

The trader Schreiber had brought them news of his home. The Empire as it was called was ruled by an Emperor, elected by the nobles of the land. Vikram knew that this land was a place of constant strife and conflict, as the Asuras and their followers would attack it all the time. They were a hardy people to thrive in the midst of this conflict, and the King-of-kings wanted an embassy with them for much of the spice trade ended up with the old world or the elves.

The procession had reached the imperial palace, and they all entered it. The palace was vast, and old. The finery there was breathtaking, with paintings and sculptures from all across the world, except, Ajeya noticed, from his home.
To the people of the old world, Ind was a mythical land between Cathay and Araby. People knew it existed, but believed the wildest tales about it. Anything from cities made of jewels to people copulating with the beasts in the forests. Ind to them was a land of myth, as inaccessible as the moons that the devas and the asuras had put into the sky in ages past.

The Striangrakshika - the female bodyguard- hadn't helped. In their leather jerkins and marching boots, they had been quite the center of attention from the citizens of Altdorf. The catcalling had reached a crescendo when one of them had broken formation and had brought her swordstaff about in a long graceful arc and brought it to bear and nearly poked a catcaller in eye.

>>46105785
That had ended the catcalling and jeers. They had been replaced by low murmurs and dark looks.

Great, now we are savage barbarians instead of exotic outlanders, Vijay thought. A fine start to his mission.

They had halted in front of a massive set of doors, larger than the gates outside the palace and were received by a balding steward, wearing the livery of the reiksguard.

"My lords I bid you welcome to the court of Emperor Karl Franz, I must ask you to leave your guards here before he receives you. Thank you for escorting them Captain."

Von Strasse turned to leave Ajeya asked the guard to wait.

This was it, their sacred charge was finally about to begin, a year of sea sickness and the surly company of sailors and the bodyguard had led until this moment, The third and fourth sons of their father would meet this Emperor and thus begin a new chapter for humanity.

"Well little brother, time to make history."

"Indeed brother infantryman, time to be remembered."

The two brothers strode in, followed by the slightly bemused Captain Fredrich Schreiber.
And I am done for now, please help me improve and keep this bread alive.

>>46096596
>>46097820
>>46098944
>>46103640
>>46104533
>>46105785
>>46106769
I'm enjoying this, just so you know. If you want a suggestion for how to continue, may i suggest a plot by someone (possibly a tzeenchian sorcerer) to stop diplomatic relations forming with the Empire by killing the ambassadors.

>>46107458
I say skaven would make a greater enemy. Maybe we could see the Ind reference their own vermin problems.

>>46107569
>>46107458
I was thinking something more like them meeting beastmen and being shocked that they are pointlessly evil.
The fanmade codex I based some ideas off on had tiger and monkey people who were as much a part of ind as its people.
It would be kinda cool when the next shipment from ind arrives and everyone except the brothers shit themselves because they are talking with cat people.

>>46107632
also good

bup

>>46094955
"Maximilian, dahlink. You disappoint me so." Olga's beautiful face blossomed into an exaggerated pout. "I vas so lookink forvard to annozer of your darink escapes. Annozer assignment, annozer pistol underneath ze table at dinner, annozer moonlight tango viz daggers at each ozzer's back."

Max Colt looked up at her with a smile that would knock just about any woman head over heels. Any woman except Olga Fedorova. "Maybe this is part of my daring escape, eh? Lure you and your men out here to the middle of nowhere where I can kill you all with my government's secret laser satellite."

She dismounted from the Siberian tiger that had been her closest friend since childhood and hefted her PPSh in one hand, letting the leather bullwhip she'd caught his legs with uncoil and drag along the ground behind her. In the distance, the horsemen that had ridden out with her to hunt Max down waited patiently. "Nyet, Maximilian, I sink not. I sink you ver tryink to get avay from us, naughty boy, after blowink up zat motor pool. But ve Russians have been ridink for centuries, dahlink."

Max rose from his knees, hands still over his head. "Well, I suppose there's always something to be said for the classics. So what's the plan, Olga? One to the head? Strangled with that whip? Sic Kotenok on me like in Beirut?"

Olga stood there for a long moment, looking like a swingin' movie poster, and flicked her head to throw a wayward strand of blond hair back. "Oh, it is tempting, Maximilian. But you are just too much fun to kill... yet. Amuse me better next time, dahlink." With that, she span and fired, cutting into the mass of Soviet horsemen. A few, panicked, began to flee, but she cut them down swiftly before they could reach the safety of the treeline.

"Goodbye, tovarish", she sang as she swung a long gymnast's leg over Kotenok's back. "Next time, perhaps, Olga vill break ze Colt, da? See you in Paris."

Max Colt smiled as she rode away, absently cancelling the laser bombardment.

>>46102451
Operations Manager Petyr slumped in his chair and looked blankly at the sheaf of papers waiting in his reconnaissance tray. It was past dinner and he still had to go through them all before being allowed to clock out.
He was sure Commander Alrick promoted him out of the field as punishment for Rickard's death. The commander publicly stated Rickard wasn't murdered, it was simply an unfortunate tragedy related to restless outbreaks in the city outskirts. It wasn't murder, because technically Malorn Company are at war with the border caste bandits. There are enough of them to make a proper war, though they are spread out and have no uniting leadership. Unruly and lacking discipline or tact, they take what they like from trade routes and ambush security patrols out of spite more than to just protecting their camps.
Petyr sighed and unrolled the papers, taking out the first, depicting one 'Terra Carnificus', supposedly one of the dangerous beasts that might give them trouble in the coming assaults in border territory. It looked hand-written and not all accurate, certainly not composed from an official beastiary and not by an educated man.
How would such a massive animal burrow itself deep into the hard layers of sand below the surface with such stunted legs, and nightly? If this Terra Carnificus even existed, it was obvious the information was significantly embellished. He had no use for grossly inaccurate facts. That was his job after all. Let slip any false recon and his own head was on the line. He throw it aside where it landed a few feet from the tiny rubbish bin, next to other papers already gathering dust.
Another paper was tossed off the desk shortly after. Petyr groaned " 'Hallucinogenic quicksand'? Why did I put such a high reward for information in the posters? It's going to be a nightmare verifying any of this mess."
Petyr sighed again, and picked up the next paper. It was going to be a long night...

Hello writefags, noob who wants to become writefag would like some feedback and advice on setting scenes and nailing the atmosphere of immersion. I wrote a tiny piece for a proper story I want to create once I'm proficient enough and showed it to a well literate buddy and he said it was okay-ish in form but really jarring in characterization, almost like I was just talking with myself. First official piece of writing I've done, too. Anyway,

"What if I told you that up there, in the black, between the distant stars, exists a creature that floats along through the nothingness, in a deep and unwakeable sleep, and that you and everything before you exists but for the grace of this creature's dreams?" Arimetes gestured lazily towards the night sky as he spoke, his other hand resting behind his head.
A puzzled expression flitted over Jasmine's face. Was this some kind of fable designed to instruct?
"What do you mean what if you told me? Is it a challenge, am I suppose to say it must surely not be real?" Jasmine replied. Her voice held no confidence. Arimetes grinned and let his raised arm drop back to the wet grass beside himself. He continued softly, "I am not testing you. I'd like to hear your thoughts. I often find your young and keen intelligence sees things my dusty old mind never even thought to consider."
"You want to hear my thoughts on a creature that doesn't exist?"
"The creature does exist. It is called the Elder Spirit."
"You can't be serious!"
"It is as real as you or I. Possibly more real, considering the implications."
"But something like that /can't/ exist. I am real. This world is real. It isn't just a dream."
"Why can't it exist? You are real. And it /is/ just a dream." Jasmine didn't say more. She was shocked. She wanted to yell at Arimetes for talking such nonsense when he was suppose to be teaching her. She was conflicted. Trapped between irritation at such a silly notion, and fascination because her teacher had never lied to her before. ' ' '

>>46111271
By the way, I also wrote this piece >>46111218

>>46111271
I don't know. I can't really say it makes much of an impact on me. Maybe try something longer, two or three posts worth; a couple of sentences isn't really much to form an opinion on.

>>46106769
The court was taller than what Ajeya had expected from the outside.
The ceiling was filled with a painting that depicted a gigantic battle outside a towering city in the snow. The walls of the city seemed to be made of molten wax, and two armies were fighting outside it.

The man who had led them in began speaking and Ajeya noticed an old man in a red and white uniform begin scribbling something on a piece of paper. A court scribe doing his duty. He wondered what else the man might have recorded.

His brother's voice brought him back. Vikram was talking about the how this day would be sacred in the annals of both their people and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Vikram was quite the orator, he knew. Years of fighting with peasants and landless warriors had given his brother the ort of confidence that wasn't courtly, but he could rouse his men well. This flowery speech wasn't quite Ajeya had expected. Vikram had been practicing this speech.
Captain Schreiber was helpfully translating it into reikspiel.

A dark haired man in the armor of the reiksguard stood on the right of the emperor. The man was handsome with his icy blue eyes and big mustache. He was staring at Ajeya, sizing him up.

The man on the left was a big brute. There was none of the handsomeness of his comrade. He was as tall as Vikram and was muscled heavily.

Both of them carried a sword with potent enchantments. Ajeya could feel their power in his bones. The enchantments on his swords was puny in comparison. Something that was not human or elf had made these weapons. That was clear to see.

There was a sorceress too, present in opulent robes of cream and sky blue. She was a seeress, of that there was no doubt. The goddess of wisdom had lain a hand upon her. He noticed that the other courtiers kept a respectable distance from her. Ajeya wondered why.

The doors opened and two maiden guards brought in a chest alongside them. Everyone turned to focus on them.

>>46112871

In the court of Karl Franz, the two women cut a strange figure. They were taller than the court hanger ons, and instead of wearing silks or elaborate robes they wore leather and scale armor. They cut quite an imposing sight in their own way. Vikram smiled inwardly. The sight of the maiden guard wouldn't go unnoticed.
The empire was clearly drawing down from a war, and at times like these deep pockets would go a long way in making him - and by extension his people - popular. Now was the best time to make a generous impression.

"Your majesty, A humble gift from my monarch, as a token of appreciation of allowing this embassy." He spoke in perfect reikspiel, making the presence of captain Schreiber completely unnecessary. Vikram took in the flicker of eyes and murmurs in.

The maiden guard had brought up the chest to his feet. It was a work of art, a deep mahogany chest that was inlaid with silver and gold, and depicted the goddess of victory trampling over demons. It was filled with the ransom of Rajas and jewels of incomparable size. And in it was a small sword, made of rippled steel, made to cleave the foes that preyed on man.

"Thank you Ambassador Maurya, your brother does us proud with his gift. I would ask you and your entourage to remain as guests in the palace while we find you a suitable place for your embassy."

The voice of Karl Franz was suited to command. This was a man born to lead armies and men into campaign. His gaze was steel and Vikram was vaguely aware that captain Schreiber's knees were shaking.

"It will be our pleasure."

Karl Franz nodded and the ambassador from Ind left the courtroom with his strange entourage of warrior women, his twin and the nonplussed captain.
Murmurs burst forth from the courtiers, and Karl Franz grimaced. Most of these hangers on were in the city for a few more weeks before they returned to their provincial manors happy that the war was over and the empire was safe for another day.

>>46113790

He beckoned Kurt Helborg and Ludwig Shwartzhelm over.

"What do you think about our guests?"

"They seem to be quite exotic, you highness"

Helborg's brand of humor was something Karl Franz liked. Much like the runefang he carried, it was direct and to the point.

"The ambassador seems like a warrior who has honor, your highness", Ludwig's voice was a roar, and it was amusing watching him try to whisper.

"An ambassador from this land of Ind comes in right when the year of heroes draws to a close. The empire is being rebuilt, and as a token of appreciation from his ruler he gives me a chest filled with the riches to rebuild half of Wolfenburg. Tell me, gentlemen. What do I make of this most fortunate of incidents?"

"Well, your highness I suggest we treat them like the ambassadors that they are. I had half expected them to travel to nuln. The countess is quite generous with her favors to foreign dignitaries I hear." Helborg smiled as he said that.

"Yes, your highness. The princes are the representatives of their people, and it falls to us to treat them well."

"What do you think about the brother. The one who was observing us while the ambassador spoke his piece?"

"He is a sorcerer you highness, there is no doubt about that." A feminine voice spoke up.

Mathilda Wolfen, the newly appointed representative of the college was making her way to them.
She was a graceful figure, and was made more striking by the aura of power she radiated. To anyone with magesight, she burned with a bright light visible from a distance, and advised the emperor on matters of magical concern.

"I do not know how mighty he is, but he could sense the magic embedded in the runefangs and knew me what what I was."

Karl Franz laughed at that and the court turned to look at him.

"Well then, we turn back the hordes of chaos once more and a pair of princes from a distant land request an embassy with the empire before leaving the ransom of a city at my feet. A singular day."

>>46114378
and thats it for now.

a little help with the prose would be much appreciated

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Bump

>>46114638
Well judge me you bumping faggot

>>46114754
woah, take it easy there.

>>46112871
>>46113790
>>46114378
couple of typos and spelling mistakes, e.g.
> brother the ort of confidence that

>knew me what what I was."
'knew me for what I was'

> the court hanger ons
should probably be 'the court hangers-on'.

A couple of sentences were in dire need of some more punctuation, e.g.
> Vikram was talking about the how this day would be sacred in the annals of both their people and fought the urge to roll his eyes.
might be better as
>Vikram was talking about the how this day would be sacred in the annals of both their people, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

>"Well then, we turn back the hordes of chaos once more and a pair of princes from a distant land request an embassy with the empire before leaving the ransom of a city at my feet.
could be written as
"Well then, we turn back the hordes of chaos once more, then a pair of princes from a distant land request an embassy with the Empire before leaving a city's ransom at my feet.

also, I would generally put a sentence on a single line if I really wanted to emphasise it (speech excluded, of course). I think everything from
>A dark haired man
to
>Everyone turned to focus on them.
could be one paragraph, maybe two

not bad, overall. No major flaws

>>46115190
thanks fampai

bamp

>>46115770
and now to continue

>>46118540
Ajeya breathed in the sweet smell of the pines, the memory bringing tears to his eyes. He hadn't shaved for 3 months, although that was the least of his concerns. His swords glimmered in the reflected light from the thousand peaks. He reached with his mind and felt the winds of magic blowing above the peaks, their radiance mixing with the sun.
For three months he had been here in the mountains, preparing to enchant his blades with his mark and thus completing the sacred pact that he had made with the preserver and the destroyer. He would wield these blades in the name of the gods, and thus dance the dance of the goddess of death, playing a small part in bringing balance to the world.
The asuras were calling for him. He felt their voices in his mind. This was the hardest part, a small slip and his focus would be lost and they would claim his soul. They promised every desire he ever wanted, every whim of his fulfilled, all he had to do was listen to the voices, and forget.
He focused his mind as he had been taught to so many years ago, focusing on his breath. Time seemed to slow down as the world ceased to exist for him, only the inhalation and exhalation of his breath seemed to make up the universe. And then, even that stopped.
Ajeya was in a void. He simply existed as a being of pure energy, and he was content.

"Little brother, it is time."

Ajeya opened his eyes. While meditating, he had levitated off the floor again and was close to the rich oak ceiling of his quarters. It was becoming a careless habit.

The months since they had made landfall had been quite unlike anything he had ever done before. His brother and captain Schreiber had turned the quiet street into a small fort. The maiden guard patrolled the inner chambers and the main halls, whle a generous donation to the Knights Encarmine had resulted in many noble volunteers wanting to protect the embassy.

>>46119713
His brother had been investing in properties along the hinterlands and port of the city. The protracted war had ruined many businesses, and having a foreign prince being generous with his gold and turning a sympathetic ear to their suffering was a blessing from the gods.

Ajeya had been spending most of his time meditating and attending a finishing school where the upjumped merchants of the empire learned to mimic their betters. A curious concept, he thought. Instead of patiently doing their duty and reaping the rewards in their next lives, they would run, like a stampede of wild elephants, trying to steal the seats of their betters. No wonder chaos found root here so easily.

The empire was diligent in rooting out the followers of the dark powers and those who would summon asuras.The first place Ajeya had visited was the Church of the god they called Sigmar. He was the polar opposite of Vrati, the accursed who had inherited his empire and squandered it away during his quest to become a god. Sigmar had been a humble warlord who had raised the tribes of this hard and forested land and forged an empire that had stood the test of time while the kingdoms of Ind had fallen into decay. A god who united his people against the forces of darkness was a god worthy of honoring and so Ajeya had visited the temple of Sigmar, paying his respects and a generous sum of gold to the patron god of the empire.

They worshipped all the gods in their own way, he observed. Their names were different of course, the godess of war was a male wolf, and destroyer and the godess of death were worshipped as a god wearing plate. It was all very exotic, and yet the prayers of the people here were the same as he had heard back home. The gods of this land were so different, and yet so alike.

The Alcubierre drive disengaged and the spatiotemporal bubble around the ship dissipated, depositing them into unaltered space. The two drive rings segmented and retracted into the ship to prevent damage to the invaluable negmatter that allowed them to cheat the lightspeed limit. The vessel floated in space for a minute while the navigational computer got its bearings, then the conventional antimatter engines fired up and it began to accelerate towards the nearby star system.

The ship's Captain, unusually, was an alien. A male Follower, he was short, stocky and slender of face and limb, with deep red skin, mobile pointed ears and a long prehensile tail. His documented name was Jonas Ward, from back when he had lived on Protectorate worlds, and he was wanted by over 70 corporations for piracy, homicide, and unsanctioned operation of a Starship. Strangely, he bore no particular ill will towards the Protectorate and Humanity. He had not even renounced his English name, common practice for Followers operating outside of protocol. Ward was a bit of an odd duck for a Follower; unlike most of his community-focused brethren, he sympathized with the Human notions of individualism, competition and enterprise. Indeed, the Follower captain considered himself more of a privateer and businessman than a pirate, regardless of what the Protectorate might label him.

He cut a commanding figure despite his small stature, with a heavy duster draped over his spacesuit and plate carrier, and a large freq cutlass strapped to his right hip. At the moment he was reclining in his chair on the bridge, feet propped on the control panel while he puffed on a sahjat cigarillo and sipped from a drink pouch coiled in his tail. The sahjat smoke was mild and slightly sweet-smelling, and produced increased alertness and focus in Followers.

>>46120826

Ajeya was broken from his reverie by Vikram, early one wintry morning. Another ball they had been invited to, and this time they were both attending. Ajeya was far more easygoing in his manners and made a charming dancer, for reasons Vikram and the maiden guard knew. Being a spellblade was a harrowing experience, making people lose their souls, but it did turn one into a very good dancer.

All that reflection was thrown outside the window when the sounds of a duel roused him from his trance.
The maiden guard had been doing their drills in squads of 5 since the day the embassy had been occupied. 2 squads would be on duty at a time while 2 others rested or practiced.
Of course, practices with the knights encarmine or the reiksguard quickly descended into duels.

The towering plate clad warriors were formidable foes Vikram had noticed, their armor being proof against the blows from the maiden guard's swords. They had the advantage in range however due to the enchanted steel longbows they carried, used for killing elephants like the mighty heroes of yore had done. And then there was the matter of their skill with the swordstaves they bore.

Either way, the combat was always interesting to watch, and he noticed that no matter the outcome, both sides would learn something new in their duel and use it to change their technique.

Today, the maiden guard had the upper hand. The young lad newly inducted as a full knight was not much of a match for a veteran like Dussala. Using her sword staff as a pole vault and using it to build distance was too much for the young lad. He had fallen down and had the tip of the sword at his throat.
Their duel over, Dussala ruffled his hair in a rather flirtatious way and left the practice grounds. When the brothers exited the building, the lad was being helped up by his comrades, chuckling at his stunned reaction.

The brothers had been invited to a ball organized by some distinguished noble.

>>46125076
they had been steadily attending an increasing number of balls and feasts since Vikram had spent a generous fortune on helping the wounded and crippled soldiers of the war. A lot of altdorf's boys had been maimed during the war against the northern tribes and had been left to their own devices.
Not content with generous donations to the temple of Shallya, the ambassador had brought up a plot of land and paid several doctors handsomely to open up a practice, caring for the invalids that war brought. Such an act had made them more popular in the eyes of the soldiery, and by extension the powerful nobles of the empire.
Vikram had been faintly amused when Ludwig Schwartzhelm had thanked him personally after a meeting with the Emperor. Of course, his rival Helborg, had been quick to join in.
Once the news had spread, other nobles had also congratulated them and invited them to their manses or to balls being thrown in memory of the invalid dead.
Vikram knew what this all meant. Nobles anywhere didn't care about the dead, dying or crippled. They didn't see the listless horror in the eyes of a column of casualties, or the faces of young farmers who were now incapable of plying their trades. Still, the fact that he was helping them brought him solace.
Caste had dictated that he let his peasants remain maimed back home. He was now far from home and he would help the men that couldn't help themselves.

He envied the easy grace of his brother, but didn't begrudge him for it. They all knew the price he had to pay to be a spellblade, and Ajeya deserved every bit of happiness he got.

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You guys should consider joining the campnanowrimo /tg/cabin, we have like five slots left open. Set a goal for April and work with a bunch of fa/tg/uys to make it happen!

How do you guys deal with awkward transitions through time? Like, for whatever reason, your character has to spend the next hour with his thumb up his ass waiting, how do you actually blend from one scene to the next?

>>46125550
Vikram knew that Ajeya enjoyed the social mores of the empire far more than that of Ind. That was useful. While he would slowly and steadily invest their treasure in the empire into more profitable ventures, Ajeya could do his part in the festivities of the city. He knew that his brother had visited the temple of sigmar for a reason, and he had got iron clad proof a few days later when a certain Lector had stopped by the embassy to thank the people of Ind for such a generous donation to the patron god of the empire. They could count on the support of the church in matters of faith, the old man had said.

Vikram knew about the church of sigmar, and he knew exactly why his brother had donated a raja's ransom into his coffers. He was cultivating friends for his work. Vikram shuddered and hoped that the spellblade never had to ply his trade again. Once was enough.

"I suppose you will not be accompanying me to the ball brother?"

"I am not much of a dancer"

Ajeya sighed as his brother politely refused to go again. He enjoyed the distractions that these feasts and balls brought, but he might have to ply his trade soon. His oaths demanded no less and everyday he could feel the winds of magic fluctuating ever so slowly. It was a disquieting feeling, and no amounts of drinking could drive away that thought that it was time he would have to pick up his blades again.

There was evil afoot in these far off lands and his blades were calling him to war.

>>46125851
make the bastard fall asleep or get drunk or something.

>>46125752
whats that?

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>>46126018
>>>46125752 (You)
>whats that?
http://campnanowrimo.org/

Basically we all get in a discord and help each other while the site tracks our progress and makes numbers loom over us.

You can poke your head into the discord we have set up : https://discord.gg/0rb2S6tJKh9vFT0y

>>46126094
>discord
nah. I prefer to think everyone here has the same voice as me.

>>46126196
we're only using it for text as an IRC

>>46126272
I still like to think everyone here sounds like the voice in my head.

>>46126337
Now you're just confusing me.

>>46126405
just saying, everyone of you sounds like the voice in my head.

>>46114638
He was angry, angry about aliens.

Words could not properly express the rage he felt for the aliens.They were strange, alien even, and he was like a boiling pot with the pressure building inside, steam billowing out from under the lid before it finally tosses out the side and all over the burner, making a horrible sound and smelling like scalded metal. Aliens.He did not believe other men could truly understand his loathing for them. There was nothing to compare them to, no despicable creature in existence as foul and tormenting as these despicable beings. Like some Lovecraftian horror they descended into his mind with their sheer existence, poisoning his thoughts and driving him mad like the eldrich horrors themselves. With every passing moment he became even more enveloped in his own brooding hatred until it began to compound on itself. He hated how the aliens vexed him this way. He hated the control they had over his emotions, the way they elicited these feelings so readily, without so much as a word spoken. He was a broken, tortured soul, a shell of a man, consumed by rage and fueled by his own insecurities.

Aliens, he thought.

And he was angry.

>>46126094
I was there when that story was first written, the writefriend was godly.

>>46134643
Thanks

>>46135629
Oh, it's you? Hot damn, Good to know you're still poking about and haven't been dragged down by life like a lot of the recent writers in these friends. Been thinking of trying my own hand at a bit of writing, but i can't really convey what i want to show properly in writing unless i'm devoting full time effort to it over a couple hours.

>>46135664
I'm always around, always have been

If you want to write, if you have a story to tell, you just have to write more and read more.

>>46125996
The mansion of Von Hoffmann was impressive. In a city where space was at a premium, having a garden tended by diminutive halflings was a sign of wealth that was clearly evident. Ajeya could see the carriges bringing in lords, ladies
princelings and merchants by the dozen before they were escorted by footmen in livery. The livery was striking. A silver boar standing on it's hind legs before an ebony hammer.

Ajeya stepped out of his carriage and took in the eyes turning around to meet him. Enjoying the attention, he walked to the gate. The footmen didn't bother asking him for his invitation. Dark skinned and taller than most men, he cut a very distinctive figure in his turban as it stood out among the powdered wigs that the nobility of the empire wore at their social gatherings.

He smiled and nodded to not a few lords and ladies and inquired about their health, lands and general well being. All meaningless talk of course, but a welcome distraction from his duties.

His blades were calling to him, and soon he would have to leave the stinking city to do his duty. The world was in imbalance again and he would do his part in bringing it back. But that was a matter for another day.

"Prince Ajeyaditya Moriya, I presume." That brought everything to focus. His name was spoken flawlessly. every syllable stressed correctly. It was eerie.

He turned around. The voice was female. It came from behind him. A woman, taller than everyone surrounding her walked in, showing her invitation to the footmen at the gates before making straight for him. Everyone between the two of them seemed like they were in a trance, staring at her awestruck.

Ajeya realized why. Her face was that of a goddess, perfect and inhuman. Her ears were hidden behind her golden hair that fell about her face in a tousled manner that suggested she had just got out of bed. Ajeya had no doubt that those ears were pointed.

just a moment. making a coherent narrative

bamp

>>46135703
"That I am, madam elf."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You seem to be all alone here, and so am I. Shall we accompany each other at the ball?"

He nodded.She didn't say her name. That was odd. Three months of trying to remember the name of every noble was the only thing constant in his life now, much like the breathing exercises he was taught a lifetime ago. Someone breaking the mould was interesting. This elf would be worth knowing.

Vikram was finally done with his day's work. Another day of checking ledgers and organizing and reorganizing funds. It was a thing he was good at. He knew that he wasn't a warrior, despite what his father thought. He won his battles by keeping his men supplied with blackpowder and food. That was his secret. A shameful thing for a noble, but that had won him wars.

He sighed. Maybe it would have been a better idea to go to the ball with his brother. He had to start playing the game of politics. It was a prince's job. Vikram needed to be the man his brother had sent him to be. The Gurus had foretold that the fate of the world depended on this cold forested land. If the empire fell, the rest of the world would follow. They could not hide behind the mountains of heaven when the asuras came from outside. The empire was the anvil upon which the fate of the world would be forged. Vikramaditya Maurya would make sure that it was up to the task.
Ruminating about the fate of the world he didn't notice the streetlights go out.

bamp

>>46119713
>>46120826
>>46125076
>>46125550
>>46125996
>>46135703
>>46142295
looking good so far

>>46144623
yeah, I am about to finish this chapter in a couple of posts.

man, I can't believe I wrote 2 chapters worth of this storyline.

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>>46144669
it's a good story. Plus, I'm glad someone's doing something for Warhammer Fantasy. Usually 40k gets all the love around here. I think I'm the only one who's done a WHFB story so far (pic related)

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>>46144972
(conclusion of the story)

>>46144972
>>46144990
pretty cool man.
I just need to get a couple of ideas straightened out and finish this chapter.

BTW do you have the stories I wrote in the last 2 threads, the one with the penal legion and the one with the sanctioned psyker?

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>>46145256

>>46142295

Ajeya spent far more time in the company of the mysterious elf than he would have. Instead of making a polite beeline for the food and drink like he had been increasingly doing for the past month, he spent more time talking with his new companion.
Her name wasi Lithariel Starspark. An adept of the tower of Hoeth, she was one of the handful of mages that had been dispatched after the elves had made war on their dark kin, to help the empire.
She had stayed back in Altdorf after her work was done, earning a small fortune weaving enchantments for the nobility in the city. Apparently a century's worth of experience in spellcasting made for a better quality of services. He nodded sagely as she babbled about the differences in enchanting a dagger and a broadsword to remain rust free.

She was certainly a fascinating person to be around, her charms deepened by the copious amounts of bretonnian wine they were both drinking. He was finding it harder to at her face and easier to look at the pendant lodged below her collarbones.

"I must say, that is quite the pendant you have there"
He resisted the urge to grab it - or her. He smiled at her, watching her cheeks redden and she smiled in return
"yes, my beloved gave it to me when we set out from Uluthan"
Ajeya's smile slowly straightened out and he felt his face getting warmer. thankfully, he was too dark to blush.
It is a shame that he is missing out on your company then, he thought. Aloud.
Her smile widened.
"Sadly he was married already."

"My condolences Lady Starspark, I hope you find other companions to fill the void in your beautiful breast." He replied gallantly.

"I see that you are a spellblade"
She was leading him out and towards his carriage.
"Am I that obvious?"

"Your attention was a little distracted by my ... pendant"

"Aye, and quite the beautiful pendant it was."

"Come then, show me your runeblade" She finished that sentence with a slight kiss on his lips as they got into the carriage.

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>>46146764
>>46145256

>>46147336

Dussala was finally tired as her last hour of patrolling began taking it's toll on her. She had volunteered to take the night shift because she liked the strange city better this way. The place was strange, and completely different from the coastal village she had called home in another life.
This city was strange. It was smaller than the cities back home, far smaller than Lakshmana, but the houses were built upwards. They rose like the crooked mangroves she had played hide and seek in.

All that had changed the day the slavers had arrived.
She had nearly been captured, and had hidden as nearly everyone she knew had been taken away by the water demons in their dark ships. The Raja of Lakshmana had found her wandering in the ruins of her village, and taken her in. Raising her as his youngest daughter. When he had sworn fealty to the King-of-kings, he had offered her as a hostage.
She had been inducted into the new maiden guard, and had been trained in the dance of blades.
She smiled as she remembered the duel in the morning. She was indeed a finely crafted arrow. And the young knight was just a bull's eye. A pretty target. She wondered if she might get to know him better as she twirled her hair around her fingers

She walked to the main gates as she saw the little prince's Carriage drive in. He was courteous and flirtatious with her in equal measure, but was a good soul unlike the spellblades of legend.

She saw him escort a golden haired woman out, as tall as him, and her hair radiant like the morning sun. He hailed her as the two stumbled back into the living quarters, clearly drunk.
Dussala gripped her spear tightly and hissed a curse as she saw the woman's ears - pointed like the tip of her spear. What was the prince thinking?

A Shadow in the door behind her moved. She ran back into the building as she saw someone open the door to the study of Prince Vikramaditya.

She shouted a challenge as her swordstaff began to glow with a light of it's own.

>>46147995
>>46146764

thanks
What did the admin say about adding all this crap to the 1d4chan page?

>>46144623
chronicleman is this you?

>>46148299
yes

>>46148083
the original problem was that when wikifag updated the site's code, all the settings got resent to the defaults, which include file size limits for uploads

happily, it seems that Wikifag has just fixed the issue, so when I've got a spare bit of time in the next day or two I'll update everything. (all praise to generous and beneficent Wikifag, without whom 1d4chan would not be possible).

>>46148062
Ajeya didn't hear the shout, as busy as he was in far more interesting activities.
Their ride back had been longer than it had any right to be. Still they had spent their time well kissing each other more passionately and loosening each other's clothes. The empire breeches were rather tight, and were chafing uncomfortably as the codpiece was shifting under the strain of his expanding 'runeblade' as Lithandriel had called it.
A small voice at the back of his mind was whispering caution to him as she pushed him onto the bed guided his hands to the back of her dress. The voice got smaller as he began kissing her neck and heard her moan softly. Her body was tightly pressed against him as his fingers undid the clasp at her waist too slowly.

They both gasped at the same time, a sound of surprise, as they saw the glow of the swordstaff reflected in the mirror.

Lithandriel felt a blast of cold air against her as she saw the prince leap to his drawer, grab two potent magical weapons and run out of the room, leaving the door open. The glow was definitely magical. She grabbed her cloak and followed after him, creating a short field of warm air that kept her warm in the wintry night.

Ajeya swore softly as his weapons glowed silver. A pawn of the asuras was here in this very embassy. He turned around the corner and saw Dussala drive back three shadowy figures with her polearm before dropping it and grabbing her sword.
Watching the maiden guard in deadly combat was a treat for the eyes, and he stopped as she dodged the first figure. Armed with a single sword, she was a blur of silver as she parried, hacked and slashed in the same step.
The second figure got it's head cleaved in half as she brought her sword down on it's head in a single graceful move. Dussala might as well be dancing.
She blocked the second strike from the masked figure with the flat of her blade before sidestepping and letting her attacker's momentum carry it forward into the wall.

>>46149302
She finished him off with a stab with the spike at the back of her pommel. It was delivered a little too well and her sword was now stuck into the wall.

The third assassin got up and tried to run towards his brother's study. As he did so, Ajeya felt the winds of magic shift ever so slightly, the purple strand grow a little thinner and saw the assassin fall down. He did not get up again.
Behind him, he could sense Lithandriel breathing a little rapidly. Running after him had made her more tired than casting the spell.

He walked into his brother's study as the maiden guard filed into the room, their sword-staves pointed at the elf.

"She is a friend."

The maiden guard fanned out and began searching for more assassins inside the building.

Ajeya walked over and made sure his brother was alright. He need not have bothered. His brother was still writing something in a book. How like him to focus on his work in the midst of combat.
He turned back to the bodies. Dussala had extricated her sword from the skull of the dead assassin and it had slumped down to the floor.

To his magesight, there was nothing magical about them except the small bits of mutation that had started to take hold. They had sold their souls to the asuras like Vrati had done in ages past, of that there was no doubt.
They smelled slightly of old fecal matter as well. It was clear they had come from the sewers. Maybe buying an entire street was not so good an idea as Vikram initially thought.
One of them had a letter on him. It simply stated that the Changer's chosen demanded that the outlander princeling die.

Lithandriel was standing against the wall, panting a little more rapidly. The spell had taken a lot out of her. Enchanting knives was one thing. Stopping a charging man's blood flow cold was another. She was getting sloppy

She saw the prince murmur something and his runeblades glowed for a moment. His voice grew louder as he said.
"It is time"

>>46149963
and thats it for today.

Feel free to help me improve my prose and do tell if you want to read more.
>>46148726
thanks senpai

>>46149980
It's good, although I'm not particularly keen on the name 'Starspark'; seems close to mary-sue territory. Speaking of which, be careful how you portray your main characters. So far they're hugely wealthy, expert warriors, unparalleled diplomats, powerful mages. I'm not saying we're in Mary-Sue territory yet, just that you're near enough to the border that you could wander over it if you're not careful.

also, still one or two small mistakes slipping through. e.g.
> donated a raja's ransom into his coffers.
into its coffers

>>46152219
>expert warriors
they havent been in a fight yet. Thats what the chicks are for. One of them can't even fight.

>rich
well I am basing them off the description of oriental princes. More money than sense type of lads. Also people want to be friends with rich people.
>powerful mages
there's gonna be an unpleasant surprise for AJ in the future.

Alright. Another 40k discharge coming right up

Hello writefags. Here's something I wrote to a thread where OP and some fellow anons were supposed to judge BBEGs posted by other anons. My writefaggotry was never judged, so I thought to drop it here, in case someone wants to leave feedback.
>>46077887
>>46079014
>>46079710
>>46080265
>>46081012
>>46083048
>>46083202
>>46083327
The writing isn't technically good, as the goal was to give the BBEG's background for the judges to help understand the character better. Hopefully it at least is interesting.

>>46110983
A lovely short piece Anon. I really like the way you have captured the Russian accent in your writing. You've established the relation between the two protagonists of the piece very clearly with little effort.

Lanaya gripped her brother's hand as the two of them walked to the webway. It was purely an instinctive reaction of course. There was no danger of being lost in the craftworld. A kind soul would direct Tythandros to their home. But she was not taking any chances this cycle.

Lyandar had walked on the path of the outcast and he was finally returning home - for a time. Lanaya had seen him return once before, a small meeting that had set her heart in a flutter. The handsome ranger had gone with the rest of the host, promising to return soon right after their business was done. There was a danger in following the path of the outcast, but it was thrilling too. She wondered what it would be like to experience the highs and lows of her people without her mental barriers. Maybe once her brother grew up, she would walk the path.

Lanaya laughed, eliciting questioning glances and probes from her passers-by. She intoned that it was a good day to see the return of the warhost from their latest victory.

"Look sister, they are appearing from the webway gate"

The webway gate sprang to life, as the warriors returned from their secret mission from a distant planet. How adventurous their lives must be to visit distant worlds and keep the eldar alive in these dark times. There was a sad romantic feeling in it that she invoked in her time as an artist, and had been praised for it.

She turned to the webway gate. The entire warhost had come back in, unharmed. A true display of skill. Her skills as a healer wouldn't be required today. The Rangers were coming in as a rearguard.

She felt the tremors of shock in the mind of the assembled crowd and added to it. Lyandar was escorting a curiously short eldar warrior in strange armor, while two others dragged a bleeding warrior in with them.

"Sister, are those Mon'keigh?", her brother tugged at her robes.

She was too shocked to say yes. What was the seer council thinking, dragging two of those mammals into the craftworld.

"Come about to a new heading, thirty two degrees starboard and twelve degrees counterspin. Give me one third speed, charge port side macrobatteries."
"Aye, M'Lord."
A cerulean jacket hangs heavy on the young man's shoulders, golden epaulettes flashing in the sepia light. Off to his left, ensconced within an armored throne, sits his Astropath. Eyes burnt out and feeble of limb, his body of twenty six as decrepit as any corpse. Only the staggered, balking wheeze of his breath betrays his presence among the living.
"Marcos, have you spotted them yet?"
"Shivering lights in a gleaming sky; yet that which we seek evades my eye."
This may be his first deployment, but the Captain can hear a no when given one, even in a manner as florid as that. His eyes flit to the Sensorium pit, where acolytes toil to parse information thrown at them ceaselessly by their charges, the various sensors making obvious their dismal findings in an orchestral display of flashing lights and discordant bleeps.
"And you, Kyra? Any news of our lost lamb?"
"Not as yet, M'Lord. As soon as we have something, you will be told."
A low hiss, and then a metal clank reverberates throughout the Captain's spine; another infusion of stim fluid. Seventy-four ventilation cycles since he had slept, propelled onward by a burning need to see this chase to conclusion.
And the stims, he reminded himself. Those were a tremendous help.
1/4-5

>>46158080
A Captain's throne is an impressive thing, even on a light cruiser like the Constance. Four meters of gleaming bronze and plascrystal displays, every inch of the ship available to him if he would only ask it's machine-spirit. From the plasma drives to its armored prow, the Constance only measured eight hundred meters in length, and ninety abreast at her widest. Long ago her port side launch bays had been destroyed in some battle, and replaced with a macrobattery. The starboard launch bay was nominally ready for combat operations, but with only a single squadron of Fury Interceptors on board, any losses would be hard felt. Down below, armsmen watched carefully over their menial charges, shock-mauls at the ready. Farther towards the stern, a single priest prays for luck in the upcoming battle, the words heavy as stones in the incense-filled atmosphere.
"Hanlock, would you tell Chaplain Sicarius to cycle the air filters in the chapel? Snuff the candles and incense, too. We're going into a combat situation, the last thing I want to worry about is half the ship going up in flames because one of his precious devotionals lit a tapestry on fire."
"Some would say that would be ill advised, M'Lord. Beseeching Him for protection before battle is certain protection against the heretic's weapons. Some might say it would be wise to confess your sins before we enter the crucible of battle."
"Do it, Hanlock. I'll go confess my sins after we've won. Until then, I want every open flame on this ship snuffed and the smoke in that room cleared, am I understood?"
"Yes, M'Lord."
Leaden boots thump their way out of the bridge, pausing only momentarily for the airlock to cycle open before continuing their staccato progress. The Captain sighs, cursing himself for how he handled the situation. 'My father would never have let that happen. He would've keelhauled Hanlock with a leaky voidsuit, morale or no. Must I do the same?'
2/4-5

>>46158103
A rift in the sky, M'Lord! The stars are brushed aside like august flies, a single comet roaring by."
"Kyra! Focus the Sensorium on Marcos' bearing."
"Aye, M'Lord!"
With that, the Captain is snapped from his reverie. No time for pity in combat. This is not the fight of those that war within the atmosphere, of reaction and rage and bloodlust. Leadership and timing reign supreme in the void, and ships live and die by the careless whims of the numbers.
"It's her! M'Lord, the Benediction has been spotted, making full burn for Thyrus III."
"Engines to two-thirds speed, angle three degrees above the ecliptic, twenty eight degrees spinward and four degrees port. We'll come from around the moon, hit them in translunar space, so they're trapped in the gravity well. Bosun, sound all hands to general quarters. Marcos, relay to Subsector command a situation report, declare intent to engage renegade vessel Benediction."
Another low hiss, another mechanical clanking; as if tearing a veil away, the Captain's sight snaps suddenly into focus, everything thrown into sudden relief, with edges sharp enough to cut.
"How long until intercept?" His voice is hoarse now, it's crisp Schola accent replaced with the cold, measured violence that has earned this particular individual the moniker of "Aquila," his two moods as distinct as the eagle's two heads. Even in simulators, his disregard for self preservation was markedly evident, and if not for their brutal effectiveness such tactics would have landed him much time in the wrack.
"Two hours, thirty two minutes, twelve point four-oh-three-nine seconds, M'Lord."
"And time for Benedict intercept with Thyrus III?"
Silence reigns for two heartbeats. The tech-adept's cogitators whirr on vacuum bearings, calculating and recalculating.
"Assuming last known load, predicted intercept occurs in one hour, five minutes, three point six-four-two-one seconds, M'Lord."
3/4-5

>>46158179
"Thank you, Diamedes. Prep the Furies for launch, charge prow lance battery, ready damage control teams. Bosun, sound all hands ready for a warp jump. Marcos, start charting us a course through the Immaterium to Thyrus III's moon. Kyra, I want a firing solution ready as soon as we re-emerge." Each word carefully devoid of inflection, their full meaning delivered without nuance, without hesitation, and without fear. The Vox howls, piercing tones chiming in the precious atmosphere, harrying the Constance's crew into compliance. Again the airlock cycles open and closed, the heavy breathing punctuated by the sharp clack of steel on steel; Hanlock's once measured gait rendered spastic and nervous by the lilting chimes of the Order Relay system.
"A -warp- jump, M'Lord? A warp jump, within system, with barely three quarters of a million kilometers between us! You'll doom us all! The ship will never take it, the Constance would never-"
"I follow orders, Hanlock. Do you?"
"Of course, M'Lord, but never were we ordered to do anything but engage the Benediction."
"If we wait, civilians will die. Thousands, if not millions. Would you have me bear their blood on my hands?"
"All men must die, M'Lord. Our orders are to engage the Benediction, and nothing more. It is your place to ensure the continued safety of the Constance and it's crew until such time as battle with the enemy may be joined. Civilian casualties are abhorrent, but in situations such as this, they are also unavoidable."
4/5

>>46158223
A bolter is not a clean weapon. A kicker shell propels the rocket-propelled projectile out of the barrel, where the explosive tip arms and the gyrojets shove it farther past the sound barrier. On contact, it bores into it's victim before exploding, leading to massive internal trauma. Even without the explosion, a .75 caliber entrance wound is nothing to scoff at, especially as spalling usually results in an exit wound many times larger.
Captain Alexius "Aquila" Ollanius thinks of none of these things as he releases his side arm from its holster. His mind is devoid of such concerns, even as he pivots in his throne and carefully aligns the crude, I-shaped front sight to rest securely in the bottom of it's V-shaped counterpart. Even as his finger tenses over the trigger and recoil shudders its way up his arm, his usually detail-oriented mind is untroubled but such concerns.
And when Hanlock collapses to the deck, his left lung exposed to the recycled air, his disembodied right arm resting lifelessly several feet away, Alexius' only thought is that Hanlock was right. All men must die; but it is only fair that the willing go first.
5/5

>>46158080
>>46158103
>>46158179
>>46158223
>>46158235
Here is the second part of my little project, following a young captain in the Imperial Navy. Here I name him, flesh out his personality a bit, and detail his first kill. Criticism and comments welcome.

>>46156852

"So farseer Ithandriel. I trust the threat from the demon prince is contained?"

Ithandriel felt the council staring at him, questions being pushed into his mind, with a few greetings and congratulations at the success of his mission.

He nodded. They had succeeded, beyond what they had dared to hope. The demon was not just cast back into the warp, it had been utterly removed from existence. He let the rest of the council know that. Their ancient enemy was utterly annihilated.

A few questioning thoughts responded to his claim, all of them skeptical. He brought out the amulet that had once kept the demon trapped for millenia. It's power was gone, and the malignant horror that the amulet had exuded was absent. A murmur of voices and thoughts greeted him as he made this proclamation.
The council might not believe his words, but the amulet he had taken from the blasted world was proof enough that the demon was gone for good.

This would be a day of celebration for the craftworld. Their kind had little to celebrate in the last ten thousand years, and every such moment was a joyous occasion. And the mammal who had caused it was probably bleeding to death in the houses of healing. A sad sacrifice, but not worth crying over.

The council deliberated on the matter of this particular psyker. The fact that a human had utterly annihilated a demon prince was a troubling prospect. Human psykers were generally food for the horrors of the warp. The fact that the dying human had done what he had done was horrifying.

If the mon'keigh were getting better psykers, then they could soon match the eldar.

A human today, an entire planet of them tomorrow. They had to find out what happened to this human.

bamp

>>46163595
Lanaya heard Lyandar hail her, his voice full of urgency. His thoughts brushed against her mind, asking her to help them carry this human to the house of healing. She rushed forwards to help him, and none too soon. The other rangers had left the human to it's fate and were walking away. Lyandar thanked her briefly and asked her to keep the humans safe.

The strange warrior was keeping the bleeding human straight now, while it was barely standing itself. It seemed that the bleeder was going to die if it's wounds were not staunched.

Sister Montjoie felt faint. She was sure she was in a nightmare. She was a prisoner of xenos with the only human bleeding out in her arms. She had to staunch the psyker's bleeding. Her sutures had ruptured and he was bleeding from his eyes and ears. A shadow passed over her. She looked up and saw another xeno looking at her, and then it swung the psyker's limp hand over her shoulder. Sister Montjoie did the same with his other arm, and began dragging the two of them. Training had taken over, she was now a nurse dragging a casualty to the triage stand.

Lanaya was happy that the armored human was quick on the uptake. If the bleeding one was not patched up quickly, it would die. She looked over it's wounds. Its eyes, ears and mouth were all bleeding.
The doors to the house opened up. They dragged the bleeding human to a bed where it could be lain down. Lanaya barely noticed the quizzical glances and thoughts of the healers and the ailing.

Sister Montjoie was on the verge of giving up. She saw the slender xeno put the psyker in a bed before she felt fatigue overcoming her. Her adrenaline rush was receding and she knew she was headed for a crash. She mumbled something about having a strange dream as the world turned black around her.

Lanaya turned around and saw the other human fall. It wasn't wounded. It had just fainted of exhaustion. She wondered how they had such a sprawling empire when they were so weak as she got to work

>>46156852
>>46163595
>>46166989
Alright. How is this for a prologue?

>>46156852
>>46163595
>>46166989
Not bad. Although I'm not sure 'mammals' is the word you want. Maybe just 'animals', or possibly 'apes'.

>>46167622
I was was playing DoW2 before I started writing this one. The warlock refers to humans as mammals. I found that funny.

also, chronicleman, is that you?

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>>46167738
>also, chronicleman, is that you?
yep.

DoW isn't exactly a flawless authority on 40k (e.g. bolters do not sound like heavy machine guns). Mammals just felt wrong to me. After all, given that eldar women have breasts, that must mean that technically they're mammals too.

>>46168700
Someone posted a line from a farseer where she refers to humans as mammals from a supplement or something.
Plus, it would be just like the eldar to call someone a mammal when they basically are the same thing.

>>46168965
okay. I guess I can't really back up my opinion, it just felt off.

>>46169455
yeah. I will use ape more

>>46166989

"I saw them, I am telling you! My sister dragged both of them to the houses of healing. I was right behind her until the other healers made me go away."

Tythandros had quite the audience now. A lot children of his age had gathered around him in the garden of Lileath. A few of them believed him, a few more didn't. Even more were just curious to see what the commotion was.

"Very well then, tell us how they look like, are they hairy like apes?"
"Do they walk on two legs of four?"
"Are they taller than us or shorter?"
"Do they breathe fire?"

Tythandros did his best to answer the questions. Apparently humans walked on two feet and oozed red sweat after a fight. They couldn't speak and were thicker and shorter than the eldar. Then they went back to their games.

Tythandros wanted to do nothing more than to stare at those funny creatures her sister had dragged in. Maybe Lanaya would allow him visit them. Maybe he could bring some of his friends. He wanted Kyra and Lyan to come with him. They were good friends and deserved to watch the apes with him.

He walked into his house and greeted his sister. She had come back from the house of healing where she took care of the sick. She was humming the same tune mother used to hum.

He asked politely how her day had been and his thoughts brushed against her. Lanaya laughed as she replied.
"Of course you can. All they do is sleep."

Tythandros wondered what kind of creature slept all day.


Sister Montjoie woke up, her eyes adjusting to her new room. She was wearing robes that were a little too big for her but felt so light against her skin. Her scratches were healing well. A little too well. She got up to begin her daily rounds. She walked down the stairs and nearly screamed as she remembered where she was.

In front of her was a bustling city filled with the xeno creatures known as the eldar.

>>46171909
He had a name once. He had a mother and a father. Their faces were blurry, but their shapes were familiar. Half remembered sounds and senses assaulted his mind, crowding each other out while they demanded his attention. The sounds got shriller, and louder. A cacophony of noises was flooding into his ears, and he felt like his head was about to burst from the pressure.

More faces, they were staring at him. He had known them.. He knew their names. He had called them a thousand times before, all he had to do was call them again and they would listen.

Their eyes were merciless. They were staring at him, their gazes accusatory or filled with pity. They were cursing him. He felt it in his bones. He had left them, they were dead and he was alive. He was alive after all that he had been through. Death hadn't claimed him like it had claimed all those faces. The eternal war hadn't ended for him. He was trapped in this nightmare for ever.

He looked to his left. Ranulf was screaming as his bisected body was oozing blood in the sand.

On his right, Josephus was babbling something as he stepped on a mine and disappeared in a cloud of gore.

In front of him Jonas was crying for his mother as he saw three men hold him down and with a thrill he saw that his hands was the one overdosing him with anaesthetic. The phantom version of him took the young boy's head in his lap, promising him that when he woke up, he would be going home to his mother.

Liar. Murderer. Traitor. Cheat. How dare he still dare to live when so many had died? Who was he to keep on living, to keep on feasting his senses when so many could not?

He found his voice, he opened his mouth and screamed.


Sister Montjoie heard the scream and rushed back up the stairs. Something, no someone was screaming. The voice was human. She ran into the room and saw him again. His face had been cleaned. Her stitches were removed. The hair was growing back. As she watched the man fell down. She rushed to help him.

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NEVERSAYDIE

bamp

>>46175771
heh, that exact poster is sitting across from me

>>46173601
Lanaya was nonplussed at what happened. The human seemed to be in fine physical condition. The female had rested and recovered should by all means be talkative. Instead the pair of them were cowering in a corner of the room like children. The male's cuts and ruptures had healed and it's face was now visible under the grime. She had done her work well. The human was in as healthy as anything else she ever saw. Perhaps it's mind was scarred. Yes, that was it. The poor thing had seen something horrific no doubt and it's apelike mind couldn't process it.
The female had got up and seemed to bar the way between the two. She growled something and ever so slowly got into what seemed like a fighting stance. Someone had to tell the female that Lanaya was a friend.

Sister Montjoie watched another one of those creatures come in. She sucked her breath in. It's face was that of an angel, perfect in all aspects. It's features were perfectly sculpted. It's perfection was inhuman. It took a few steps towards them, seemingly gliding on the floor in it's long robes.

"Get back, I won't let you hurt him."

The eldar woman stared at them for a moment and left as quickly as it entered. Sister montjoie realized that she was holding her breath and exhaled. Had it gone to raise the alarm? She had seen what the eldar did to captured humans. It was a disquieting memory, remembering those tortured souls.

>>46180017

She looked back to the psyker. He was awake and his face was a mask of confusion and despair. She was reminded of a patient who was waking up from surgery. His movements were sluggish and groggy. Had he been drugged?

The eldar woman had returned with another one of it's kind. This one seemed dressed in far more coarse clothes and looked like it had spent far more time outdoors. It was wearing heavy boots instead of slippers like the woman. It- He stared at sister Montjoie for a moment before speaking.

"Your companion needs help. Our help to be precise. Now stand aside."

The voice was musical, the accent flat. It was as if a mechanicus vox box made the sounds, only those never sounded so beautiful.
She nodded and moved aside.

"If she is staying I help." Sister montjoie blurted out

The male turned around and said something to the female in their own language. It was like listening to a symphony in a heartbeat. The male began to leave, the female strode towards the psyker after looking at Sister Montjoie with an expression of interest and wariness.

Both of them stood over him, before hitching him up and putting him back into his bed. He murmured something and then asked, "Am I finally dead, are you angels?"

>>46125752
Bumping this, we need more people

>>46156828
It's a pretty good story. The prose feels a little perfunctory in places; an extra descriptive sentence or two here and there might flesh it out a little more. But given that it started out as more a character description than a story I suppose that's only to be expected.

>>46171909
>>46173601
>>46180017
>>46181646
alright done for now. Any suggestions and ideas appreciated.

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>>46184115
try finding a picture to post when you bump. It's more constructive that just 'bump'

>>46182647
The prose is fine, but I don't think your Eldar seem like Eldar in 40k. I can't imagine any Eldar, even young ones, being ignorant of what a human looks like, or displaying the kind of 'childish' traits that you find in human children. Nor can I imagine an Eldar not being psychically sensitive enough to see that there was something wrong with the human's mind right away.

In short, I don't think your Eldar feel alien enough.

>>46184897
I was basing the kids off tyrion in WHFB. He spends all his time around elves and sees just how different humans are. Combine that with the grimderpness of 40k, sheltered kids really wouldn't know how different humans are. Technically ogryns and ratlings are also human. And they are as different as can be.

>>46185595
WHFB tend to be slightly less alien than 40k elves. I mean, I'm not saying that it's not within the scope of the warhammer fluff spectrum - where you have things like Ciaphas Cain on one end and the Inquisitor trilogy on the other. I just think that you should try to differentiate them from the humans more.

>>46186060
Well the thing about the kids was written from the perspective of the eldar kids themselves. Not from the perspective of the psyker or the hospitaller. I might have erred a little in the execution but I thought that the little bit of interaction between the sister and the healer was alien enough. Do I need to describe it a little bit more?

>>46181646

Farseer Lyanna had seen better cycles. She had been given the task of keeping the mon'keigh fattenened and groomed, while the preparations for the celebrations were beginning. The news that farseer Ithandriel had vanquished an ancient enemy had spread throughout the craftworld, and he had all but secured his place in the history of the eldar. A tiny warhost had annihilated a keeper of secrets. Their names would live on for an eternity in the songs and statues of her kind. That glory should have been hers. It was her vision that had led to the discovery of the amulet. She should have led the warhost forth. She would have led the warhost forth if not for his meddling.

And she was now given the task of harvesting the ape's memories, to see how Ithandriel's victory looked like from the perspective of the mon'keigh. An insulting task.

The healer Lanaya had told her that the mon'keigh was healing well and keeping with it's mate in one of the guest apartments near the webway gate. Like an orc in wraithbone, it was living in the company of its betters. After she was done with them, Lyanna would see to it that they were disposed of.

During her long study of their kind, she had noticed that they were clumsy imitations of the eldar, shaped in the likeness of her kind, but in a clumsy manner. It was like watching a novice on the path of the artist shape the wraithbone in the likeness of a bonesinger. An embarrassment, fit to be a reminder of their shame at best.

>>46186123
I think it's just something to bear in mind. Maybe read up a bit on the Eldar on the warhammer wikis, try to get a deeper sense of their personality and culture. I don't see any references to wraithbone, craftworlds, aspect warriors, eldar gods, eldar technology, etc, etc. To use a metaphor, the meat is well cooked but it lacks seasoning.

Also, I've just figured out what bothered me about the children. Eldar are immortal. Eldar children are few and far between, and they mature over decades - yet I didn't feel like you tried to give a sense of how they differed from human children because of this. The sequence you wrote would work just as well in the reverse - human children encountering eldar for the first time - and that feels wrong somehow.

The plot of the story works well enough, but the texture of the background lacks depth.

>>46188532
okay, now I wish I'd refreshed the page before I posted
>>46188532

>the webway gate. Like an orc in wraithbone, it was living in the company of its betters
see, this is better (although I'm not sure 'an ork in wraithbone' works; wraithbone is largely a building material).

>they were clumsy imitations of the eldar, shaped in the likeness of her kind, but in a clumsy manner
also good, a description of how the eldar are alien (although from a technical standpoint the second use of 'clumsy' is a bit redundant)

>>46188532
interesting.
I will keep that analogy in mind.

Also the eldar are long lived but not immortal. The kids need their /ss/ otherwise they may get eaten by slaanesh. Alaitoc had a lot of eldar IIRC. I will try and flush out their persona a little bit more. Let me write a couple more posts.

>The sequence you wrote would work just as well in the reverse - human children encountering eldar for the first time - and that feels wrong somehow.

Yeah, I suppose thats the one problem of using Tyrion and Teclis' childhoods to base eldar kids upon.

>>46188657
yes, I noticed the typo right after I posted it.

Also while using the word Ork in wraithbone I was referring to an ork wearing wraithbone armor instead of the scraps that they wear. Also eldar pretty much use wraithbone for everything, its like their cement and duct tape. Or at least that was the impression I got.

>>46188744
I think wraithbone is more a construction material, that sometimes gets incorporated into armour and weapons for specialised functions. I think a full suit of wraithbone would just be another form of Wraithguard

>>46188990
now, I might be wrong, but wraithguards are wraithbone constructs that are fueled by the souls of the eldar. Whereas wraithbone is used to construct the suits themselves, along with jewels and all that crap

>>46189046
It seems to be a bit ambiguous (as is a lot of warhammer fluff). But on the wiki page for Eldar weaponry it says:

http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Eldar_Weaponry_(List)
>Eldar weaponry is highly advanced when compared to that of the Imperium, having been used and developed over millennia and making use of highly advanced technology, including the crystalline wraithbone in some of the more complex designs.

>some of the more complex designs.
implying that in most designs there isn't any wraithbone

>>46189259
hmm, after clicking on it, it would seem that eldar armor is made of psychic stuff that is NOT wraithbone but rather something else. Luckily, ceremonial armor is made of wraithbone apparently and would look unseemly on an ork. Thus the analogy doesn't shit over the lore.

>>46188246
She walked up to the door without bothering to ask permission. The vermin were in her craftworld, her home. They should by all rights be kissing her feet like the pets they were.

The two were not in their apartment. It would be too hopeful to assume that they tried to escape and been killed by the guardians near the webway gate. No alarms had been sounded. Lyanna wondered where they were. She walked up to the roof to try and see them.

They were on the roof itself, taking in the view, probably shocked by the grandeur of the craftworld. The cycle had just changed and a faint light was brightening the day. In a few hours the streets would be bustling with the people of the craftworld going about their daily businesses. They needed to be away before then.

The pair of them were talking. The female had short white hair and was doing most of the talking. She was talking about her 'life', and how many worlds she had visited in the tiny number of years she had lived.

"You, psyker. You are to follow me as part of the agreement to keep you and your companion here. Follow me now."

The male got up and for a moment Lyanna stared at it in shock. It was as if Rhys had come back from the dead.
Its height was lower, its' face had more scars and it stood about like an ape, but the face. By Isha, the face was his. The same dark brooding eyes, the same hair, dark as the void, flecked with a few silver strands like stars. This thing dared to be born in the shape of her lover. That was all it took to turn her polite contempt into a raging fire of hatred. Fate had mocked her in bringing this hideous mimicry of Rhys into her lap. She had no mercy for it. She would rip out its memories and leave it dead along with it's mate.

>>46190081

The last few days had been going rather splendidly for sister Montjoie. The psyker under her care was recovering, and the two eldar were excellent medical personnel. The poor man's wounds were healing at a rapid rate, and he wouldn't need skin grafts. Sister Montjoie had worked hard to remove the surgical threads and assorted dirt from his body. It was nerve wracking work, but the presence of the two xenos had stilled her mind for some odd reason. Deftly, she had removed her handiwork from the saint's face - for this man was surely a saint in the flesh. His faith in the emperor had made him mighty enough to defeat the daemons of the warp. She would care for him, and make amends for her brutal treatment of him. It was her penance, to be his shield surrounded by these vile xenos.
Although the eldar pair was not so vile. The medicae was undoubtedly skilled. Deft fingered and possessing a precision on par with the adeptus biologis tools, she had the makings of being an exceptional surgeon. If she was on an imperial planet, she would live the life of luxury, treating the nobility of the planet.
The male was as inhumanly beautiful as her, having a face that was flawless, like the sculpture of the emperor's son Sanguinius. He largely stayed there as a translator, relaying messages between the two women.

Their language was as beautiful as it was difficult. There were barely any words uttered seperately. It was as if they were constantly singing in their beautiful, otherworldly voices. The male's name was Tythandros, and the female's name was Lanaya. She walked the path of the healer, while his was the path of the outcast. Sister Montjoie was certain that the phrases held deeper meaning. Maybe it was the eldar way of using formal words entirely. Maybe they were not talking about their occupations alone.

The saint was far more agreeable company. The poor man had lost all his memory. For all the horrors he had faced, he was still a curious man.

>>46190995
He asked her all about her life, what planet she was from, what worlds she had visited, and the people that she had saved. He had listened patiently to her story, not interrupting her flow of words, yet saying enough to keep the conversation lively. He was getting better by leaps and bounds and after a couple of days, he was near as healthy in mind as well as body. Lanaya had said that his mind needed to be healed and it could only be done by himself. There was nothing else she could do for him.

Lanaya and Tythandros had helped them move to their new lodgings. Sister Montjoie noticed that that a few children had tagged behind them. She wondered if the two eldar were married. The children were slightly more lively than their elders. A little bit more skittish, a little easier to break into a smile or laugh. They seemed as interested in her as she was in them. For a moment, she was reminded of the boy whose sight she had restored a lifetime ago. Sister Montjoie prayed to the emperor that he live a long and happy life. These children were not ill or crippled, but hale and hearty. She had waved to them as they parted ways, and a few of them had waved back in return, their movements birdlike and entirely too quick, reminding her where she was.

She was talking to the saint on the roof of their lodgings when another one of the eldar appeared. This one studied them with an academic arrogance for a moment before talking.

The saint got up to follow her, and Sister montjoie had followed. she was walking a few steps ahead of the two and looking back darkly at them as if they had caught a nasty case of the voidpox. She seemed to fixate largely on the saint, and gave sister montjoie the most contemptuous of glances, as if she were a particularly stubborn spot of grease on the eldar woman's brilliant cloak.

>>46191472

There was a large hovering vehicle waiting for them a few blocks away, and she gestured them to get into it. The vehicle had no driver, and once the three had gotten in, it moved off on it's own. It seemed to be like a shuttle, moving across a predestined path, picking up and dropping passengers along the route. Only, there was no engine or any moving part whatsoever. Sister montjoie looked out from the shuttle and saw similar vehicles moving at their own pace, noiselessly.
Some of those were bigger than their vehicle, a lot of them were smaller. Some carried what looked like a single family, while some others were filled with a twenty eldar passengers. A few got into their shuttle and looked at the two of them with a mixture of surprise, curiosity and distate. Their perfectly formed faces formed emotions very easily. It was as if their faces were a blank canvas.
Then the enormity struck sister Montjoie, with the weight of a penitent engine. She and the saint were the only two humans, prisoners in a xeno city in an emperor forsaken part of the galaxy.
She was tempted to yell out, but to see those inhumanly faces show more disgust at her held her back. Their jailer stared back at her, that beautiful face filled with mock concern and genuine disgust. It was as if she were goading Montjoie into jumping off the shuttle.

Luckily their stop arrived then. She ordered them to get up and follow her. Their co passengers kept staring at them for an eternity as they got off the vehicle and went to where their jailor wanted.
Of course! The eldar were a psychic species. They could probably read her thoughts. That was indeed a scary prospect, what information could they manage to glean from her and her experience in serving the inquisiton and the ecclisarchy. The jailor laughed immediately. A beautiful sound that belied the contemptuous tone in the laughter.

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NEVERSAYDIE, MK II

>>46192013

The female's thoughts were simple. Like all the simpering members of her kind, she was looking for monsters under every bush. Her mind was as easy to read as that of an ape. The female had alternated between thoughts of wonder and concern, wonder at the power of the the eldar, concern at the thoughts of her and her mate's safety. She idly suggested the idea of the female jumping off the shuttle, and was alarmed at the way it nearly took the bait. These creatures were too simple. She had to take special care of them otherwise they would harm themselves in their blundering idiocy. Their Imperium was exactly like the corpse god they worshipped. Dead at it's core and barely kept alive with the action of countless eldar lives directing their hordes of slavering beasts against their foes. Many souls had been consumed by She Who Thirsts when the noble children of asuryan had died so that these simpering mammals could spread throughout the galaxy.

How dare these two creatures live and walk now in the Grove of the Whispering Voices while Rhys lay dead and his soul devoured. Lyanna missed his caresses, and his soft lips touching hers, and the way his profile shone in the starlight. They had walked the path of the seer together, savoring the adventure, until he had died. His soulstone was lost, and with him so was he. Her inability to predict the future had killed him, and thus she had crossed the point of no return. She would stride the path of the seer until she became one with the craftworld for she could never see the like of Rhys again.

And now walking behind her was a crude mockery of him. His features were too coarse, his body obscenely thick, his hair shorter. And yet, he was around the same height. His nose had the same shape, his chin had the mark. And his eyes. Isha's tears, his eyes were the same. The same color as his hair. Black as the void between stars. His gait was a shambling copy of how Rhys walked.
How Lyanna hated that human.

>>46190081
>>46190995
>>46191472
>>46192013
>>46192892

Alright judge me.

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boy, people really aren't big into writing are they?

>>46193733
I've been trying to write something for the past couple of days, but I just can't seem to get anywhere. Some people find it a lot easier than others

>>46194406
it gets easier when you start writing

>>46194467
I get like a paragraph or two in, then I hit a wall and just can't think of anything to say next

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>>46194406
>>46194998
right, I think I may actually have something for this image

>>46198355
First, listen to this to get you in the appropriate mood
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cyti0LzgFl4
(or your preferred synthpop dance track)

----

Draw the sword

And stir the spirit of Asurmen

Hold the sword

And let it dance like the harlequin

Feel the sword

Cut the foe like the shuriken

Be the sword

Being death being born again


Vandriel was an Exarch. By definition, that was all he was. He was no one's son, no one's brother, no one's father, no one's lover. He was not a craftsman nor a musician, not a seer nor a singer. He was so far down the Path of the Warrior that the Path was all there was now for him. He was the embodiment of his Aspect; to be an Exarch of the Dire Avengers was to be a Dire Avenger and nothing else. He fitted his armour like water filling a container, his soul flowing into every crease and crevice until it matched the form flawlessly. His weapons had become as much a part of himself as his hands or his heart. Where he walked through the battlefield, it was as if Asurmen himself walked there again, as he had at the founding of the Dire Avenger path (at what had been simultaneously the death and the birth of the Eldar). Vandriel was a Dire Avenger. That was all. That was everything.

But to be a Dire Avenger Exarch - so many aspects there were within that. Was he a priest, devotee and emissary of Khaine, who taught and fought by Khaine's word? Was he a caretaker, who lit the incense in the temple and kept its shining wraithbone corridors pure? Was he a commander, who ordered his squad into battle, tactician and leader? Was he a teacher, who trained those taking their first steps upon the Path? Was he a warrior, noble and merciless, defender of his craftworld and death of his enemies? What was he?

He was war.

>>46198537

He lived in the twilight of his species, when enemies assailed from every side and the fires of battle burned across the stars without cessation, creating one massive, galaxy-spanning, funeral pyre for his race. All other aspects of life were subsumed into the all-consuming fire. But it was a fire that burned as fiercely inside Vandriel as out. Let others lament what had been. Here, at the end of a civilisation that inherited from a legacy stretching back aeons into the primordial past of the galaxy, Vandriel knew only the moment, the instant that he lived in.

This was the gift that Khaine gave to those who truly devoted themselves to him. In an age where every song was a dirge and every poem a eulogy, the only music Vandriel heard now was the shriek of jetbike engines and the crackle of witch-lightning.

The Crafworld of Idra'naith was under attack. It's jewelled towers caught the light of a myriad weapon blasts and engine flares. The Great Enemy had found them at last. Idra'naith was a smaller Craftworld, and even though it was honoured for the beauty of its glittering wraithbone spires, and the bravery and nobility of its warriors, it was of minor importance to the galaxy at large. Unknown by most and largely disregarded by those who were aware of her, she lived a serene existence sailing through the changeless void between the stars. Yet still, She Who Thirsts had not forgotten them - there was a hunger there that would follow every single Eldar until the end of universe. Now matter how far they ran, no matter how well they hid, no Eldar would ever be free from the curse of the abomination that their hubris had created. The children of Idra'naith were no exception, and the whole Craftworld resonated with pain; the ancient wraithbone cried out in sympathy as those who it had sheltered were slaughtered.

>>46198544

The debased ones had burst through the webway portals almost without warning. Only at the last moment had Idra'naith's greatest Farseer, Morleith, felt the enemy's approach through the webway. They had been cunning, and whatever foul sorcerer led them had not only been able to break into the webway - no small feat in itself - but had also been able to disguise their path and blind the Eldar's seers. Idra'naith would have been helpless. But at the last moment, Morleith had given warning - a great wave of psychic power washed over the Craftworld, and with witch-fire coruscating along the pyscho-active wraithbone a single sentence had been whispered into the mind of every inhabitant of Idra'naith simultaneously:

They are coming.

So it was that when the first daemons danced through the portal, cackling with glee as they anticipated the feast of souls to come, they were met not with terrified panic as the citizenry fled before them. Instead, the first warpfiend to defile Idra'naith in millennia was cut to pieces in a hail of shuriken fire. As was the next, and the next. But as they died, they died with mocking laughter on their lips. For there were more, many more, to come. The Thirsting God would have his prize yet. As more perversions streamed through the portals, the defenders - hastily assembled and still lacking heavy weaponry and vehicle support - buckled and were forced back. In some places, reinforcements arrived in time and the enemy was contained within the webway. In others, the defenders had no choice but to retreat to more defensible positions, and the enemy established a beachhead.

>>46198562

A few, isolated daemons had broken through the cordon entirely. Slender, supple, seductive forms had slipped past the warriors rushing to defend the breach, and made their way into the Craftworld. The daemonettes of the Prince of Pleasure passed near silently between the serried spires, with only the sibilant hiss of desire to warn of their approach. With their chitinous claws and soporific aura, they could have wrought havoc among the Craftworld's civilian population. But they all made their way through Idra'naith with one goal, one destination, in mind: to reach the Infinity Circuit. To find a node where they could tap into the wraithbone core that held the souls of Idra'naith's dead. That was the enemy's objective - to rip the beating heart out of the Craftworld and devour it whole. Idra'naith's living inhabitants were a mere afterthought - once the enemy had taken the Infinity Circuit, the defenders would break, and make a run for what open webway portals remained, for there was no point in defending what was already dead.

Fortunately, Idra'naith's Farseers, now fully alerted to the danger, had no trouble tracking the daemonettes - their corruption was such that every step they took was like a red hot needle pricking the wraithbone flesh of the Craftworld. Even the least psychically sensitive could feel it, and to a Farseer it was impossible to miss. Kill-teams on their way to the beachheads were diverted to dispatch the infiltrators. Alone, and distracted by their desire to reach the Infinity Circuit, the daemonettes were easy prey for the squads of Guardians, Banshees, and Dire Avengers that hunted them down.

>>46198573

Vandriel had cut down one of the warpspawn himself. He had shredded its chest with his shuriken pistol, the shining mono-molecular projectiles whipping through the soft purply-pinkish flesh, turning it to bloody rags. Then he'd approached, and pinning the long claw to the ground with his armoured boot, he delivered the coup de grace with his Diresword. As the creature died it had whispered the names of Vandriel's friends, promising that at that very moment they were being introduced to pleasures so horrific they were indescribable. Vandriel had killed it without a second thought, and continued on leading his squad towards the nearest portal. The Great Enemy lied - that was at the very essence of its nature, and the petty creature he had just killed could not even lie very convincingly. Its words had no impact on a mind that was as well armoured as the body that bore it.

Around the breach, the battle raged. More and more daemons poured through the portal, walking into a storm of death thrown at them by the defenders. By the time Vandriel arrived, the position was already well fortified. In what had once been a park, scant hours before, weapon teams and tanks had formed a perimeter around the enemy's beachhead. Having dug in between the landscaped rocks and hills, they were now directing withering fire into the invaders' ranks. The fighting was most bitter around the position taken by the Warlocks. They were guarding one of Idra'naith's Farseers, Larithann, and together the powerful psykers were causing devastation among the enemy with their witchcraft. The chaotic forces in turn were throwing everything they could against that section of the blockade, trying to surround the linchpin of the Eldar's defence so they could be isolated from support and slaughtered.

>>46198583

The Guardians to the right of the Farseer were just starting to give ground, struggling to fend off the frenzied attacks of the daemonettes that flung themselves near-suicidally at the lightest armed troops of the Craftworld. As Vandriel's squad reached the front lines the Guardians were reaching their breaking point. Warrior after warrior was disembowelled or dismembered or decapitated by the clutching claws of She Who Thirsts' handmaidens.

The first daemonette's head came off before she had time to even register Vandriel's presence; he scarcely felt the Diresword pass through the thing's neck, the monomolecular edge cleaving through the demonic flesh as if it wasn't there. As the blade decapitated the creature, the spirit within the Diresword tore into the warpspawn's very essence psychically; not only was the daemon banished back to the warp upon the destruction of its physical body, it was lacerated to the core of its very being. Although the Diresword was not strong enough to destroy a daemon completely, it's existence in the warp would be reduced to a pale shadow of what it had been, to the point where it might not be able to manifest in the material universe again for aeons. The vengeance of Asurmen against the Great Enemy - it was a privilege to wield such a blade, even for an Exarch. Happily, the only payment necessary was to use it.

As the Dire Avengers threw themselves into the melee, the daemons were overwhelmed and a secure firing line was re-established. From then on, concentrated fire from the Avengers' superior variant of the shuriken catapult kept the enemy from reaching close combat. The greater share of the work was done by Warlocks and the Farseer, whose psychic blasts kept the seething mass of demonic forces from forming up for a concerted attack on the perimeter, leaving the rest of the defenders to cut down the disorganised waves of furious daemons that threw themselves against the lines over and over and over again.

>>46198590

The battle raged on for what seemed like an eternity, though it could have been less than an hour. A battle without mercy or honour; the Eldar fought not just for their lives but for their very souls.

Ammunition started to run low. Each squad had responded in haste, bringing only the ammunition that they usually carried on their wargear, and in the confusion resupply was patchy. The lines started to give way again, and in a few places holes started to appear in the defence. Vandriel could almost feel the malice as a physical force, straining the break through the defenders' resistance. To the flanks of his position, the squads holding back the tide were either forced away or overrun. Desperately Larithann psychically called for reinforcements to shore up the lines, but although the enemy was pushed back and prevented from making a general breakout, the Farseer, his Warlock bodyguard, and a handful of others including Vandriel were trapped in a pocket of resistance that was now surrounded totally by baying daemons.

The huddle of survivors was forced up onto a spur of rock, an island in the middle a sea of damnation. The Warlocks now directed all their power into keeping the tide of warpspawn from overwhelming their position, losing control of the overall battle as they were forced to focus just on keeping themselves and Larithann alive. Vandriel could no longer feel the Farseer's mind on the battlefield; it was likely that the pressure of that much psychic activity had exhausted him. If that were the case, it would not be long before they were overrun.

Vandriel did care. It was not his place to care. They might all die, the Craftworld might fall, the entire galaxy might be swallowed by chaos. None of that made a difference in this moment - in this instant, the only thing he could do was the only thing he lived for anyway.

He would fight.

>>46198597

The dance began. The Path of the Dire Avengers was one that allowed for more flexible combat styles than most Aspects. Unlike Howling Banshees or Striking Scorpions, Dire Avengers while aggressive attackers were just as capable at holding ground. A daemon broke past the Warlocks' witchfire, only to fall as a single shuriken entered its eye and exited through the back of its skull. Two more rushed at Vandriel, scrabbling up the rock to reach him - the first had its claw severed at the wrist by his Diresword, and fell to the ground, seething in agony as the psychic bite of the blade ate through its essence. The second got close enough to make a lightning-quick thrust at Vandriel, only for him to pirouette away even faster. Unbalanced by its strike, the daemon was caught unaware as Vandriel's booted foot came around and caught it square in the chest. As the daemon fell, a burst of shuriken fire cut through the thing's neck, ending its existence.

The next daemon was already climbing towards Vandriel, and there were more after that. On they came, and every one of them screamed out promises of pleasure and pain. The seductive, soporific force of their auras tugged at his mind. But Vandriel was an Exarch, a priest of Khaine, god of murder. Beneath the sparkling lights of the towers of Idra'naith, his sword and his pistol taught the minions of Slaanesh, cursed be its name, that there was still something to fear in the wrath of the Eldar.

>>46198605

Over the crowding mass of the enemies assaulting the Farseer's position, Vandriel caught a glimpse of them, near the webway portal. The sorcerers. Humans, always so susceptible to corruption, who had made pacts with the Fourth, sold their souls in return for her favour. They had broken into the webway, opened the way for the daemons. They stood there, watching the havoc their treachery had wrought. From his vantage point atop the rock, Vandriel could see them begin to advance through the crowd of their servants, shouldering aside the warpspawn. They sensed that the Farseer was vulnerable, and they wanted to claim the prize of Larithann's soul for themselves.Some of the sorcerers wore power armour, some were merely clad in alien robes adorned with chaotic sigils. Some were so overcome by mutation that it was scarcely possible to distinguish them from the fiends.

Let them come. Let them taste Khaine's vengeance.

Vandriel steadied himself for the assault that was about to happen. Already he could feel the psychic presence of the sorcerers building as they readied to attack the Warlocks. The spark and crackle of witch-lightning was all around, filling the air. The sorcerers approached, consumed by hunger and lust ...

>>46198616

The shriek of the jetbikes' engines cut through the roar of battle. Vandriel didn't even bother to look round. He had just felt the Farseer's mind explode back onto the battlefield, and knew what had happened immediately. The Farseer had feigned weakness to draw the sorcerers away from the webway portal, luring them away from their only line of retreat. Now the jetbike and grav-tank squadrons which had been held in reserve swept over the invading host, strafing the enemy with their shuriken cannons and pulse lasers. The pressure on Vandriel's position relented, as the Slaaneshi forces realised they were being ambushed and tried to withdraw towards the webway portal. It was too late. The trap had been carefully set, and now it had been sprung there was going to be no mercy. It had been risky, holding the vehicles in reserve, allowing the enemy to push them back to draw out their leaders. A strategy that traded the lives of Idra'naith's warriors for the chance to catch those who led the assault. Vandriel approved - there must be vengeance for this outrage. Those who had allowed the Great Enemy to defile Idra'naith with her touch could not be allowed to leave here alive.

Vandriel stood, on the rocks, watching as the airborne assault make pass after pass over the invaders, causing slaughter with every run. Behind him, the towers of his home still stood in glittering splendour. Below him, the minions of the Great Enemy wailed piteously as they died.

In his hand, his sword quivered. It tasted the victory.

The Eldar race had reconciled itself to its fate by accepting the one eternal truth: all things must die. But to an Exarch, contained in that philosophy of despair there was seed of hope:

So could their enemies.

>>46198537
>>46198544
>>46198562
>>46198573
>>46198583
>>46198590
>>46198597
>>46198605
>>46198616
>>46198624

very cool. I like how you showed the singlemindedness of an exarch.

>>46192892
Lyanna brought her mind back into focus. She had a task at her hand. This human's memories needed to be sorted and the few missing puzzles from the battle against the daemon recorded. After she was done with these two, maybe she could dispose of them and walk in the Grove for a few hours. Even now the sylvan retreat was bringing a feeling of calm into her mind. Taking a few breaths, she decided she could study the two humans again before she did what was asked of her.

The male was a soldier, of that there was no doubt. His posture, the way he walked and took notice of every sound he could hear without noticing gave that away. Dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, he looked painfully out of place in the grove. His eyes stared at her without apprehension or hostility. Just a genuine sense of bewilderment.
The female was a bit more wary, but far more astounded by the grove they were in. It was a beautiful place, where Lyanna had come to meditate since the day she had walked the path of the warrior, ages ago. This place had helped her in not losing herself to the different aspects of her being, and every time she had chosen a different path, it was after she came to the grove. It was where she had met Rhys, it had where she had shared her first kiss and more with him. In a past that was slowly but steadily becoming more distant, the Grove of Whispering Voices was a gateway to a life before she had become Farseer Lyanna.

The tattoo on the female's cheek was shaped like the contours of a a flower. Lyanna had seen the shape before, on the armor and cheeks of the women-warriors of the imperium. Sisters of Battle were singleminded humans who were far more difficult to manipulate. Lyanna felt bad for her. Maybe she would keep the female as a companion once she was done with the male.

>>46200175
The human stared at her blankly now. She slowly probed his mind, trying to find his thoughts and arrange them. Human minds were notoriously difficult to comprehend most of the time. Their thoughts were always agitated and always swirling about as if stuck in a whirlpool. Watching the raw torrents of thoughts was an painful for the disciplined and regimented mind of a farseer.
She forged on, meeting no resistance from the human. Lyanna began her work by slowly and steadily analyzing each bit of memory she could find and categorizing them. It was slow work, but given enough time maybe she could learn what she needed from the human without destroying his mind.
She went over his childhood. He was born in a world a long way from where he was now. She saw verdant green hills, the sound of cattle bleating, and the feeling of contentment as a hand beat a lump of metal into shape.
She felt the warmth of the fire as a hearth burned low, the surge of contentment after eating a full meal of meat and bread, and the calm drifting dreamless sleep carrying the human to rest.
The thoughts were different from the humans she had interrogated before. This one saw the colors far more richly than she could remember. He felt things more keenly, akin to her own kind. Every texture, every sight, sound and smell had left an imprint on his mind. With a thrill she realized that she was making the human see everything through her eyes. He was revisiting his memories through her mind and shuddered to think what would happen to him when she was done.

And then she ran headlong into the barrier. The human's mind was reacting on it's own. Forming a vast and formidable wall. The human was a psyker, and Lyanna wondered how he had managed to hide that from her for so long. His mind was reacting her intrusion, and was sealing itself shut. It wouldn't be long now before his mind sealed itself shut. Not now. Not while she was so close to her answers. She would have to break him.

>>46200478
She launched her assault as the mind-wall began reaching it's height. She saw a gap in his mental defenses and rushed through. Seeing the memories she wanted to seek. Countless memories of blood and madness glanced across her psyche, their horror threatening to overpower her. At this moment, both Lyanna and the Human were at their most vulnerable. She wondered how the human had not turned into a gibbering wreck after seeing so much horror without a war mask. She thought with another shudder that after she was done, he would be a gibbering wreck either way. In a way it was unfortunate that after surviving countless battles he would be brought low by a mind keener than his own.
Then she saw the horror that the psyker had faced on that distant world without a warmask and with nothing to shield himself from the ravenous powers of chaos. That was too much for Lyanna. She would analyze the memory later, with the rest of the council. It was too frightening to do on her own.

She withdrew from his mind, suddenly sorrowful that the memories she had stirred would consume him. It was sad that a poor beast see so much horror and not find rest. Then she looked into the man's eyes. They were Rhys' eyes. She had left him to die all over again.

The human looked at her for a moment, with his eyes a cornucopia of pain, hurt and...pity. Lyanna screamed as the human started bleeding from it's ears and nose and it fainted.

Sister Montjoie heard the scream and ran back into the clearing. She saw the witch crawling over the saint as he lay bleeding. Had the xeno tried to sacrifice him?

"Human, you must help him."

"What did you do to him?"

"Please, you must help him, he must not die here. He cannot die here like this."

"Help me take him back to the house of healing."

"very well then, I - I am sorry for what has happened to him."

"And hold his head steady, if he looses to much blood I am going to lose him."

Then two of them bore the dying psyker away from the old grove

>>46201322

He hears the roar of the valkyries. The Drop zone is approaching. His command squad stands ready, along with the rest of his platoon. The rear of the dropship opens, the dark interior of the ship a stark contrast with the bright light of day outside. The corporal takes the lead, the sergeant follows. The two of them jump outside, the first boots to hit the ground. The rest of the command element follows. Private Ranulf on his left, with the vox box. Sergeant Josyf and Corporal Hanz yelling at their squad to form up.

The sound of the valkyries grow distant, replaced by the sounds of incoming thunder. The mission has to take place in a storm, and across the horizons, clouds gather like armies marching to war.

Medicus Pywyll is setting up a triage center with his orderlies. The wounded will be dragged here and then evacuated. It is a small mercy. The mortars need to be set up soon to cover their advance into-

The patrol moves forward into the scrub beneath the trees. The jungle is quiet, with only the sound of the wind moving through the trees and the cry of alien birds to keep them company.
They reach their checkpoint.
It seems that intelligence has bungled - again. He gives the order to stand. The soldiers start talking again. Talking about mundane things.

The girls back home. The proper way to catch a knife. The girls on the ship. The commissar. The girls of the planetary nobility. The alcohol they have brewed up in secret, away from the commissar's eyes. The soldier saying that winks at him. He winks back. In that moment, he is at last free of his doubts and his nagging horrors. He inhales the air as if for the first time. The smell reminds him of home. For this one moment, he feels like he is heading back. He almost convinces himself that over yonder ridge lies his village, where all is well.

Vox operator Ranulf leaves his kit on the ground and goes a little off the path to make water. A resounding explosion brings him back into the present.

>>46202415

The human was bleeding again. Lanaya wondered how it was still alive. She had seen it draw a crimson path from the webway gates to the houses of healing before she had staunched the wounds. And in less than 15 cycles, Farseer Lyanna and the human healer were dragging him back again, bleeding. A sanguinary creature indeed.
Tythandros had gone away. The path of the outcast called to him, and he bid her farewell for a while. After he had gone, the day seemed a little less bright, the nights colder. She wanted to bury herself in her work, and caring for the sick.

The human was unconscious again. She supposed too much blood loss would do that. Lanaya and the healer Montjoie bandaged his wounds and scars. They were taking turns in making sure the human didn't start bleeding to death again. The healer was far better suited to navigating the human anatomy than Lanaya, and she generally took the lead. Farseer Lyanna acted as an intermediary between the two. She was clearly involved in what had happened to the human.

Lanaya had cared for the farseer when she had lost her lover. She brought back the spark into her light, and the farseer had then spent decades walking the path of the seer. Now the path had consumed her. She was the last person Lanaya had expected to see dragging the bleeding human into the house.

She was learning how to speak the language that the humans called low gothic, and spent her waking hours practicing with the human female.

Sister Montjoie was a mere infant, young even by human reckoning, but she had seen far more of the stars than Lanaya ever had. She liked talking about the lives she had saved, and the places she had visited. Hearing the human describe the worlds she had visited had stirred the wanderlust in her heart.

It was odd to see the Farseer hover around the human, always fearful that he might die. Maybe she had been too harsh on him. It was not Lanaya's lot to know. Hers was to heal for a time.

>>46204121
The boy is bleeding. A sense of deja vu takes over him. For the thousandth time he walks over to the boy, and knows Ranulf is calling for his mother. He doesn't need to look at the wounds to know that the boy is dying horribly. Mami, he calls out, his eyes unseeing, his mouth gargling with frothy blood. Pywyll gets out his anesthetic and looks at him. Then he looks at Him before shaking his head. He knows what he must do. He knows he has done it a thousand times before, and he will keep doing it in his dreams. He takes the boy's head in his lap, and whispers while Pywyll overdoses him. The boy stops twitching, and caresses his cheek as the light goes out. In death, the boy's age hits him. A mere boy.

The patrol fans out, hundreds of soldiers form a skirmishing line. They now know the enemy is operating in the area. He radios back to HQ, informing them that contact has been made. The commander has new orders for them. They are to advance to the city line and dig in. She has reinforcements coming.

The city is in ruins, and they have taken the road. The enemy will counterattack soon. The ruins are excellent cover. He notices Hanz scratching his collar. That reminds him of the itch he has. Almost too carefully he scratches his collar careful not to tug it too much lest it kill him.

The lieutenants and sergeants need to be briefed. They have to hold the line. Its what they do. They already know. They nod assent to him. They have always known. They fight by his side, and he fights by theirs. It is what they do. It is why they are called absolute madmen. The name. He remembers everything, he looks around and remembers where he is. His men nod with a knowing nod and a few winks.

Hanz taps him lightly on the shoulder, and points him to the door of the dugout. He knows what lies beyond the door, and for a moment he is afraid. Then the moment passes. He can be afraid no longer. They took that from him.

>>46205710
The rumblings of the thunderstorm have taken a life of their own. He knows what is beyond the storm. He has faced it before. He orders his men to affix their bayonets. They do it with machinelike precision as if they are on parade.
Josyf joins him. Josyf is his second in command, and he will lead his men well. His time has come. He must enter the dugout, and do his duty.
He feels their eyes at the back of his head. He picks up his beret and gives it Josyf and salutes them all.
They all return his salute. The storm is getting closer. He must leave now. Then he hears the singing. The men are singing their farewell to the dead. The song promises that the unremembered dead are honored. Though their names may be forgotten and deeds may be forgotten.Their example in live on. A farewell fit for a hero.
Lieutenant Morgan gives him a small nametag. He notices that his nametag is missing. He smiles as he reads the name. It is his nickname.

He cannot bear to listen to that siren song anymore. He turns about and walks to the doorway. He watches the 3974th one last time. They are preparing to scale the trenches for a last ditch charge. A man is at their lead, he looks over to Him and nods. He nods back. A final farewell, fit for a hero.

He walks into the doorway and opens his eyes.

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NEVERSAYDIE, MK III

Say i'm a new writer, and I did some lewdwriting recently. Where do I go to get critique?

Sorry if this is the wrong place. I'm really new here.

>>46211190
if you have a story, post it. As long as it's vaguely /tg/ related its welcome (or at least tolerated) here.

>>46206013

He got up. He remembered where he was. The two medicae, one human - the other eldar were treating him. He felt the silky smooth texture of the bedsheet all over his body. He took a deep breath, as if he were breathing for the first time, inhaling the scents in the room. Opening his eyes was difficult. The light was painful. He wished it to dim. It did.

There were two women in the room. One was the Order Hospitaller Sister who had operated on him, sewing his face shut. The other was eldar, a healer. They were conversing.

He coughed. That brought them to their notice. The xeno was an eldar. Finely formed human face with angular extremities on the ears. Of course. His memories began flooding back, and to his surprise he began sorting and analyzing them.

Sister Montjoie rushed over with some food and water in her hand. The poor man was probably starving. He took it from her with a slightly cold thanks, and began eating it in a manner that would have shocked her sister superior.

Lanaya went by the human female. She had grown fond of it - her. If the human attacked her, Lanaya would help her. The human male looked at them both before launching an answer at her telepathically. It was a curt expression of thanks, to the both of them, followed by an apology if he was too forceful with his intrusion. This human had the gift!

His memories had returned. Everything that had happened to him since he was born was now categorized based on the format his earliest memories were. His mind was an ordered and regimented library. He only had one thing to do today.

"Could you please let me meet the farseer who left me in my present condition? I have something I need to tell her."

The two women began leaving the room. Just out of idle curiousity, he asked them their names. They introduced themselves. He savored their voices for a moment. Sister Montjoie asked him his name. He smiled.

"Well madam, my friends call me Tankbuster. I suppose you can call me that."

>>46212337
All done.

Alright judge me.

Am I the only guy here?

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>>46217558
Well at the moment I'd guess most people are probably asleep

>>46217911
I bumped this thread when I woke up

>>46216966
"A victory." Kerphis looked out beyond the trenches and razorwire. Like a sea of grass from a fever dream, the bodies of dead men stretched out as far as he could see, covering bloody mud, broken only by the burnt-out husks of tanks or the jutting spires of steel from which pagan trophies hung, pierced. He had discovered the cultists' presence. He had underestimated their might.

"I remember reading of a man who spoke of victories such as this. 'Another, and we will be lost'. Or something to that effect." Ghazal sighed. Too many of his brothers had fallen today. Already, the Dragons of Wrath were stretched deadly thin, but let it never be said that a Dragon would not heed a war cry.

"The wisdom of ancient Terra." Inquisitor Kerphis and Captain Ghazal watched the bone-pickers, throat-cutters, and prayer-givers ply their trades. Most were locals, either civilians or PDF. A few were off-planet Guardsmen. But one struck Kerphis, a Fiery Heart sister given him as bodyguard; perhaps the only one of her cohort still alive, for Kerphis had not yet counted the living. In her hands she held a Dragon's helmet, now empty and scarred. She looked at it for a long moment, then knelt down on the ash and the dead and touched it to her forehead.

"Suppose she knew him?" Ghazal chuckled in the way of men destined for the gallows.

"'Another, and we will be lost.'"

Behind the battlefield, behind black hills and clouds like fortress walls, a sun was rising.

I need some help guys. In a story I'm writing, the protagonist is out trying to find her missing father with only a journal filled with the pictures of the last towns he visited, and three small objects that showed up in the mail. I want to reveal that the towns he actually visited are the habitations of Elder God worshiping cultists that cause a lot of the bad shit that happens at night, unbeknownst to most of the townsfolk. The three small objects are actually items related to the cultists. One of them is a fragment of an Elder God. What sort of significance should it bear in the story? What sort of power would you think it would hold once it's been revealed?

>>46218092
something gnawing at the corner of her mind. she hates the thing but cannot bear to let it go.

>>46168700
I die a little bit on the inside every time I see that diorama.

>>46218186
eh?

>>46218197
Battle field rape. I get that 40k is supposed to be grim, dark, and depressing. I'm just too much of a teddy bear to handle stuff like that even in fiction.

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>>46218251

>>46110983
Moose unt squirrel.

>>46169964
>April 2041, South Jersey Shore

"GENTLEMEN...WHY AM I STILL DOING THIS?"
Doctor Stefanos Bizzaros was again in a hangar in the South Jersey Shore, again making a giant robotic woman. The issue here was that this time, this giant robotic woman was not his so-called "waifu", the giant robot that which almost a year ago caused an uproar over decency and standards. To the mad scientist, none of it mattered. He finally had a waifu and he was more interested in organizing his marriage to said waifu.

By his side, again, was his cousin from Hunterdon County, again press-ganged into being the madman's voice of reason. "You remember that the EPA was paying us quadruple if we built a second one of those robots, only less...um, like the last one."
"NOTHING WILL REPLACE MY WAIFU!" the doctor protested, alarming the hundreds of possibly-illegal migrant workers still finishing up. "MY HEART ONLY BELONGS TO RADI-CHAN! WE ARE GOING TO GET MARRIED EVEN IF MOTHER SAYS NO!"
"Did you forget that your mother was part of the group arguing about how the last one was indecent-"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, STEVE!" a finger erupted at his cousin. "The EPA may own my budget, but they will never, and I mean NEVER, OWN MY HEART!"
Steve was concerned about how the doctor's priorities were organized. "A-and you remember that the military's also funding for this to deal with those pirates as well."
"Wait, is that why it looks so stifling?" Bizarros asked, in an even more shocking lower tone.
"Y-yes. Sort of."

The mad doctor then took to the bay itself, supervising both the migrant workers and the robot itself. Unlike Radi-chan, this one had a darker complexion and shorter hair. He then began recalling the people who were on the board of directors for this project. He knew the head of the EPA's radiation management department wasn't gay, so she was out of the running, and her assistants seemed uninterested in the project, but the general of the Army...

>>46220180
The more he thought of it, he began remembering the curious emails about possible references from models. As an otaku believer of the beauty of 2D, he found no interest in 3D women until he made his own, but the possibility...

"GENTLEMEN, I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT!" Bizarros exclaimed at the sudden revelation. "THE GENERAL OF THE ARMY WANTED HIS OWN WAIFU!"
"Wait, what?"
"IT MAKES SENSE NOW!" He continued, "THE ARMOR IS MERELY A COVERUP SO I CAN GO TO WORK MAKING SURE THIS HITS EVERY STRIKE ZONE!"
Steve sighed in defeat. "Simultaneously?"
"DAMN RIGHT IT WILL!"

It took another two months, which was a month over the proposed deadline, but the whole time, Bizarros insisted that the general would enjoy this. The wink of assurance he used only made the EPA more nervous.

>June 2041, South Jersey Shore.
Flanked by the EPA representative and the general, Bizarros and Steve approached the viewing room to see a massive tarp.
"Now you remember the deal, right Bizarros?" the EPA representative, a stout woman whose dainty features were offset by the blandest outfit known to man. "Any funny business with this one and you can kiss your budget goodbye."
He laughed nervously. "Of course I do!" The general, a man of great stature and a uniform bedecked in medals, nodded.

"GENTLEMEN, BEHOLD!" He presented a button, "THE SECOND OF MY RADIATION-ABSORBING HUMANOID MACROMACHINES, NOW MODIFIED TO FIGHT NAVAL BATTLES!"

The button was pressed and the tarp was dropped. The machine's midriff was now exposed to the elements, as were her inner thighs. The hips now contained massive railguns, gifted by the Navy as a token of "support".

The room was utterly silent. Bizarros was unsure how the EPA would take it, but he was more focused on what the general would do. The general, his face utterly unmoving, turned. "Activate it."

The power in Jersey went out again, as it did last year when Radi-Chan awoke, and soon after, it turned back on. The machine's eyes opened.

>>46220479
"All systems online," it announced in a voice akin to a disco singer.

And again, mirroring history, the general marched towards the glass, and broke into a run, charging through the glass. As he fell, he began laughing like a madman possessed. Bizarros took pride in this accomplishment while the EPA representative could only stare slackjawed. Steve and the migrant workers who were finally on break merely watched dispassionately.

"IT'S PERFECT!" the general shouted as the machine caught him.
"Better be more careful there, sugar daddy!" it chided him.

"And now...!" Bizarros stuck his hand out, "I'LL BE TAKING THIS OUT TO THE COAST FOR PART TWO OF THE DEMONSTRATION!"
It took the EPA representative a full minute to just wake up. This was really happening.

As the party reached the midnight coast, they were met by another giant: Radi-chan, now in a sundress.
"Osoi, sensei!" the giant radiation-sucking engine noticed the madman charging towards her. "Mmm~... Konkai ha...yuurushite."

"There's a ship out there, unmanned and containing a tank of radioactive waste," the general explained as he handed over some binoculars. "If this machine can blast it and absorb it, then the deal goes as planned."
"MIGHT AS WELL GIVE ME THE MONEY!" Bizarros shouted as he ordered the new machine to fire its hip-mounted railguns and arm-mounted cannons to obliterate the tanker in the distance before Bizarros could even see it.
"Haaa~, sugoi onee-san!" Bizarros' waifu exclaimed.

The newcomer sighed. "You better not be peeping on me, sugar daddy." After a brief spasm by the general, the machine walked into the ocean. After a second, it walked right back, "Water's not warm enough."

The general then asked one last thing. "This might be a dealbraker, Bizarros, but...if I wanted to...could I, perhaps...you know..."
The mad scientist, aware of what might possibly entail, replied, "MARRY IT? OH HELL YEAH! I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THE LEGISLATION MYSELF!"

>>46220797
"No, not that, though that is good to hear." The general began making a gesture with his pointer finger going through a hole. "I was more asking about..."
Bizarros jerked. "Oh. OH! Um...I guess."
"I guess?" The general asked. "What do you mean maybe? You've had a robot for a year and you've never even...?"
"MY WAIFU IS TO STAY PURE...UNTIL THE WEDDING!"
"Weirdo."
"So...the deal's still on, right?"

Of course, the EPA was outraged. Yet again, Bizarros managed to inject fetishism into this work of philanthropy. Luckily for him, the military was far more than willing to cover the cost as well as begin an initiative to make human-robot relationships legal.

Yet again, the public had no idea how to react to this.

>>46219040
-Do it, Rebecca-
"No, Mother needs me tonight"
-You think those Kings on 60th give a FUCK about mommy's summer formal? They'll retake it all!-
"Then we'll take it back!..just, not tonight"

Rebecca loses her grip for a moment and shouts at the reflection before quieting her voice to a low whisper again.

-You know what it means if they get 60th. Get a fucking spine you worthless, spoiled little cunt!-

Rebecca strikes the side of her head with a weak, closed fist, dropping her hair clips. She stands for a moment, head down before she sinks to the floor and picks them up.

"Don't talk to me like that" She pleaded, hand shaking slightly
-Don't talk to you like the sniveling little bitch you are? You think you can stop me?- Her parody reflection's scowl is replaced by her usual sickening grin as she follows Rebecca's move to the floor

"I-"
-Do you want the Kings to move south again?-
"No, of course I don't..."
-Then fucking DO. IT-
"I will, I just-"
-Need to fucking procrastinate more? So you can feel better about it?-
"No! I just need time t-"
-GET OVER IT!? WE'RE AT WAR HERE!-
"I know we are...but I just can't...can't..."
-Do it anymore?-
"I'm not strong!"
Rebecca's voice quivered and rose again. She cast aside her silver engraved makeup brush with shaking hands
"I'm weak and I'm pathetic! You keep telling me I am, so I am!"
She drops to the ground and looks up at the ceiling, unable to bear the sight of her reflection.
"I just want to sleep, and eat like normal, go out with mother and make her happy...I just want to..."
She cuts herself off and tenses her body

There's silence for a time, before her twisted voice calls back, venom dripping.
-Forget...-
"I a-"
-YOU...don't want to forget, you sick, disgusting little child. You want to forgive! I can see inside your fucking tiny mind-
"I'm a Christian" She spoke with feigned conviction
-YOU'RE A FUCKING TRAITOR! You want to betray your own fucking self!-

The drumming began.
cont

I have been thinking about writing a story that has a UAC marine squad that is not doomguy going into the grim darkness of the far future.

Samuel took a second look at his holstered pistol and combat knife. Both were securely tied to his waist and the knife was pointed away from him. This was as safe as he was going to get.

"We really don't get paid enough for this job."

Nathan echoed the entire squad's thoughts. Sure it was a couple of magnitudes higher than sitting on the UAC facilities on Mars with their thumbs up their butts, but it was entitled Hazard Pay for a reason.

Fighting hellspawn for extra cash. Samuel laughed at the absurdity of it. He didn't sign up for hunting goddamn demons. Mark had dragged him to the UAC recruitment center because the two of them could earn extra cash that way. Re establishing the facility on Phobos always required extra muscle for security duties. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, visit fucking Mars and earn a big fat paycheck. So they had signed the agreement that entitled them to work overtime for hazard pay. After all, Mark had said, what would they do, Fight Demons? It seemed so absurd at the time.

"Mark Gellar Device readings look good. Shuttle prepped for launch."

"Copy That, launch in 20 seconds."

Destroyer started strumming the opening tunes to Ministrel Boy on his guitar,. He was a firm believer in classics. Said they were eternal. The soul of the squad. Their conscience and pretty swell guy to be around.

Their mission was clear, the shuttle would probe the place opened up by the teleporter, the device shielding them from any accidents, and they would return. As far as jaunts into hell go, it was rather small.

Samuel felt the engines send a tremor throughout the shuttle and the pit in his stomach pull backwards as they began to accelerate. They passed through the gate, and though they knew it not, were the tip of mankind's expansion throughout the galaxy.

>>46225316
"So, this thing is supposed to steer us back on it's own, right?"

"Yes Mark."

"So we just sit here with our butts glued to our seats until we get back"

"That's what the eggheads said Mark"

Samuel was getting angry now. The device seemed to be working. No hellish were on their shuttle, and he had barred the windows shut to keep the leering horrors away. All he could do was drum his fingers and play idly with his knife.

The device began beeping again, the homing beacon guiding the craft towards the portal.

Samuel's squad got up, and kept their weapons at the ready. An occasional imp would follow them sometimes and could lead to nasty accidents in the test chamber.

The door to the shuttle opened. The test chamber had gone dark? Was there a power outage again?
They turned on their flashlights. The room was impossibly huge, it seemed like a docking bay for giant ships. There were a few of them around, around three times bigger than the shuttles they had travelled in.
Where on earth had the device led them to?

>>46191816
Every week, Mario gave the rules that he and I decided.
>The First Rule of Smash Brothers is: You do not talk about Smash Brothers.
>The Second Rule of Smash Brothers is: YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT SMASH BROTHERS.
>Third rule of Smash Brothers: Someone drops off stage, goes over the horizon, times out, the fight is over.
>Fourth rule: only four guys to a fight.
>Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas.
>Sixth rule: no items, final destination only.
>Seventh rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to.
>And the eighth and final rule: If this is your first night of Smash Brothers, you have to fight.

This kid Link, pointy eared little elf, couldn't remember whether he was supposed to be rescuing princesses or just running a free delivery service for every lazy pissant he met... But Link was a god for ten minutes when he trounced the protag of Animal Crossing.

Sometimes all you could hear were the flat hard smashing sounds over the yelling. Or the distant scream when someone flew over the horizon... You weren't alive anywhere like you were there, but Smash Brothers only exists in the hours between when Smash Brothers starts and Smash Brothers ends. Even if I could tell someone they had a good fight, I wouldn't be talking to the same character. Who you were in Smash Brothers is not who you were in your main game.

A character came to Smash Brothers for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks he was carved out of wood. Or possibly bubble gum in some cases.

If you could fight any developer, who'd you fight?
>Alive or Dead?
Doesn't matter, who'd be tough?
>Iwata. You?
Miyamoto

Okay that's enough of that

>>46226320
The demons seemed to have followed them onto this strange hangar, but for some reason, they were not engaging the squad. They were running forwards into the interior of the facility.

Since SOP wasn't applicable anymore, Samuel beckoned the squad to follow the things again. He wouldn't be ambushed by the bastards like bravo squad had been during the initial incident on mars.

A few demons began breaking off and trying to stop them. Destroyer made them realize why he had earned his moniker when he let rip with his chain gun. Samuel looked around as Mark took point. This facility seemed to be a religious facility, only instead of crosses there were skulls and two headed birds. If they were not busy killing demons, Samuel would have taken another look at them.

Mark's strangled yell brought him back to focus. He had been cleaved in half. Almost dispassionately, Samuel stared at the man's expression of puzzlement as his torso flew over the demon's head and he brought his plasma gun to bear on the demon's face. Mark would be mourned later. He would be avenged.
Behind him, the rest of the squad stood ready, checking the flanks. Destroyer stood on point ready to belch forth his payload.
Hunting demons in a strange temple. The UAC really did make them work for their hazard pay.

>>46230643
and done. Rather flat but I need something to sharpen my prose.

>>46130966
Admiral Korsbach wasn't quite like everyone else, and General Lee knew it. The 'guy' could barely speak a very broken english dialect similar to the one his nigger slaves used.
He had accepted that, and Korsbach's origin, a being from beyond god's given earth, as he couldn't argue with the results. Three major advances! Three states! That's what Korsbach had given him in just last week as the General's tactical advisor.
He didn't just know tactics, but also battle, and how the enemy thought. He wasn't sending The Confederacy's soldiers to fight, Lee thought, but rather to hunt the Union.
Every skirmish, every raid, every battle, every siege for the last two years, Korsbach's advice and expertise had seen them through with overwhelming victory.

Today was the day, today they would lay siege to President Lincoln's final fort in Washington. Today the war would end. And, thanks to Admiral Korsbach, today they would win.
Lee wasn't quite sure how to celebrate it with the 'man' that had come to be his greatest friend and most trusted ally.

Writing another warhammer story.