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/tg/ - Traditional Games

Past threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Love%20and%20Krieg
For Cadia.... oh wait.....

I already know how the ork scenario would go down.

(This isnt canon)

Bombsplatter leaped ovef the trenches, Grox head tighly bound over the kommandoz skull. The plan was kunning, so kunning it actually worried the nob. Was anyone really meant to be this dun clever? What if this was a assignment from Mork himself? That would be a awful lot of responsibillity that he wasnt quite sure he could own up to.

Da plan was simple, if he be all sneaky and krumped da other sneaky gitz where werent boys, den dat would make him da sneakest on the planet. An if you are the sneakest then aint no one can find you and Bombsplatter can slip away all quiet like whenver he felt like it.

Da first target was da guy with the smokey stick, the Kommando sneaked into the tent, deploying takikul moos to distract security with the cunning disguise, sneakin up on da officer with da rok in hand. See if, and this is part of the kunning, dey see a rok killed this git, then they wouldnt think a ork did it because orks use choppas so dey wont even know there is a kommando as dead kunning as bombsplatter theyd think it was a... uh...

What sortof git fought with roks anyhow? Besides bombsplatter himself of course... oh well that sounds like a humie problem to figure out.

Bombsplatter lifted the rok, preparing the first step in his kunning strata... stratasomefink.

Oi whats with the red lights?

Sergeant Tear leapt up at the sound of a sharp metallic clutter, the ork kommando he'd been luring to a counter ambush lying dead at the foot of his bed, rotting grox flesh drapped around him as the orks skull got repeatedly caved in by the Krieger's shovel.

"Enemy neutralized sir." The Krieger said, stepping off from the corpse.

"...What in the blazes are you doing here?" The sergant asked, placing his grenade back under the pillow. So much for pretending to sleep to lure the ork in close.

"Report, this unit was observing sleep cycles of direct command." The Krieger stated nodding. "Farewell officer." The krieger hobbled away, dragging the corpse of the ork as the Sergeant tried to decipher krieg jargon.

"Observe... HEY WAIT COME BACK HERE WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN YOU WERE WATCHING ME SLEEP?" The man yelled as the krieg disappeared into the darkness.

Fuckin A he was going to have to buy a nightlight.
I am both excited my idea was commented on, and the Orkyness that followed.
Ork voice is easy because its very simillar to Ogryn except where Ogryns primary instinct is trust, Orks is self confidence.

Both are children but one is a schoolyard bully and a Ogryn... ive never heard a story about a mean spirited ogryn.
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I've got a question for all of our glorious writefriends here: how do you go about getting a proper idea of your character? I've taken to filling out the Proust Character Questionnaire, but its not quite doing it for me. Any tips?
I just um.. write.

A teacher of mine told me once that writers block didnt exist, if you simply just write a scene something will eventually happen.

For instance if you are at a fight and dont know where to continue you just write more and more fluff until the flaw comes in.

He brought up an example where a student described a dude as heroic.

Why was he heroric? he saved two kids.

From what? A boulder. How did he save them?

He pulled a kid out of the way.

A kid, singular. Then the story continues.

Granted for me a lot of it is semi reverse.

I'm writing about how X happens so Anon is the type of character to do X. Now since anon does X she would also do Y. And the scene perpetuates.
I used to do that too, but unfortunately I'm not able to write characters' stories, only the characters themselves. I'm trying to make convincing NPCs for my Dark Heresy players.

Oh for npcs i tend to make a concept and a 'gimmick' and wrap around that.

The gimmick is what makes them different and the concept is the base thing.

For instance the Commissah is just a commissar who works as the Ogryn's mom. Since Commissar's primary job in Kreig regiments is diplomacy and integration with other units the auxillia are primarily under her command, while actual strategy is under the Lieutenant, who hasn't shown up yet.

All of commissah's personality works under the "What would a momissar act like?"

But the other characters are mostly based on their situation. Like Richand Tear is just a catachan sergeant, what makes him different is the shit he has to deal with. AKA 88c.
Needs more orks.
Honestly i withhold using orks because i got annoyed at the "Humans fight orks but its just a decoy for a more evil threat" like.... why can't the Orks be the threat?

I like orks, they can kick chaos's ass they don't need to be "tier 1 badguy."
Orks should always be the major threat. They're everywhere and the only aliens that don't need some big motive to fight.
Every race has some secret agenda and Orks just want to murder you.
Yeah the thing about orks is that, if you think of it, they already mostly won.

Every race has there own specific version of "Victory" and each one is unachievable except for the Tyranids. The Necrons are fucked because of the outer threat, the Tyranids are probbably fucked because of something. The Imperium is fucked because of chaos, chaos is fucked because of Ynead, Eldar are fucked because of Slaanesh, and the Tau are just fucked.

But the orks big goal is just "After we win dis foight we gonna find A BIGGER FOIGHT" and in a world that the first page of every book reminds you is ONLY WAR.... that means the Orks already have what they wanted.

Plus the orks are a living superweapon. But ultimately i want to use something more "Over amped" in threat in my story so the orks dont get turned into stooge villians, even if they are the comic relief.

Probbably Eldar since I dont see them in a antagonist roll often in faggotry.
Course Orks also make great allies if you're dealing with the right ones.
I actually was considering whether or not the bloodaxes should be included in certain stories. They are the most likely orks to get caught up in all the hullabaloo.
Alright, so I make a move that if we get more fiction outside of Krieg stuff we change the name of the thread to 40k Fiction. We're still very much focused on Love and Krieg 2.0, but we could stand to expand this thread's focus.
I'd feel kind of bad for BataviAnon, and to a lesser extent Proctor. Kind of feels like a hijacking.
In my mind it would be Love and Krieg and other stories. It's still the centerpiece and focus, but I kind of want to see more stories about other 40k characters. Maybe that's just me though.
I know this feel, but I wouldn't want to take advantage of Batavi's kindness.
Can I introduce you to the wonderful world of the new thread button?

If your arguement is "I want something different." then boy howdy is there a means to do that.
I think what >>51326132 is trying to say is that were there an entirely new thread outright, Krieg & the General Writethread would overlap, and that is why a redefinition is in order.
But then why is that not the case for the actual general write thread that already exists?
That writethread seems to be, by and large, non 40k pertaining.
whats this?
The nascent eldar god of the dead. Each time a Eldar dies it draws further to existence, with a power mighty enough to rival the Emperor's.

However Ynead will only rise when the last Eldar falls, so all it grants is the promise of revenge.
bump from 9
Still waiting on the Krieg lovin.
I shall be along shortly to update. Just gotta take care of one or two things first and then i'll be here writing until i have to leave for work.


Concerning all of this. Personally I don't really have an objection to seeing some writefaggotry that isn't Krieg related.When I started the first thread it was Love and Krieg 2.0 and other writefaggotry. It was called that because i hoped it wouldn't just be me in here, and that we could get a community going. I was incredibly glad to have the Proctor and then Mimikyu and everyone else who's given us some content join the thread. I've never really thought of this as my thing or my thread, it's the communities thread. So if the others are OK with it, and the community of anons in the thread wants it, please don't hold back on my account. I'm not going to throw an autistic hissy fit cause what you're writing isn't Krieg related. The point of this in my mind was to generate content for /tg/ that we could all enjoy, and to prove that /tg/ can still make things. If you want to make something a little different who am I to say no? Those are my two cents, for what they are worth.
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"Uh Baiman" Rochas tried to interject, but the man just kept going right over him.

"But it's not so bad, I mean you'll be back on your feet eventually and I'm gonna get my iron fist, so there really isn't any reason to be all mopey about it y'know?" Baiman continued, apparently completely unaware of Rochas' attempt to speak. "I'm glad you realized that on your own sarge, I was starting to worry I'd have to try and get some sense into you myself, but I wasn't sure how to go about that. It's not like I could knock it into you. I mean I could probably smack you and run since I got two good legs and you don't, but I'd have to come back here to sleep eventually and sometimes I swear your biceps are bigger round than my head, and I really wasn't looking forward to-"

"Baiman!" Rochas said loudly cutting him off. A bit too loudly, several other people in the room turned to look at them, and there was a moment of awkwardness while they waited for the other's interest to die down so they could continue to talk. Eventually they were no longer the center of attention for their section of the hospital, and the watchers returned to whatever it was they had been doing before. In a quieter voice Rochas continued "Baiman, I appreciate the concern, but that wasn't what was bothering me."

"Oh" said trooper "well what was it then?"

Here Rochas hesitated. If he told Baiman it was personal and that he should leave it alone, the man would probably respect his wishes. That would probably be the most comfortable thing to do. Just tell him not to worry about it and trade a few more pleasantries before leaving, content in the knowledge that they were good and Baiman wasn't angry with him. It was pretty appealing to let things play out like that, but he didn't.

"Hey Listen, about Trieste" He said and then trailed off. The other trooper's demeanor immediately grew serious, and he straightened out to listen. "Do you think they blame us? The ones who didn't make it I mean."
Rochas we don't blame you. Stop betting your self up about it man.
gotta go to work, we'll see baimans reply when i go on lunch break
Fuck yeah
But what if i'm hungry now.....
Then you're not human. Prepare for blams.

You are Thudd and today is a GOOD DAY. You know its a good day because you are going to serve the Emperor, and a day where you serve the emperor. Today you are going to be digging, but you got a problem.

The problem is that all the shovels are too small, your fingernails are bigger then the blades and they just crumble apart in your hands... well two of them did, you were gonna check on the others but Fifteehate wouldnt let you. So you are going to get yourself a 'Ogryn proof shovel.

This means you have to see Ole Rusty, the engiseer auxiliwhatsit attached to the group with you. He makes sure the guns don't blow up and kill everyone. So you like him though you don't think he likes you very much.

You wave at Sixsomethinelse as you pass buy, climbing out of the tunnels to the trench line, the large sandsack walls reaching all the way to your shoulder, which is clever because dat way if they shoot at you, all they will hit is your head.

You don't use that part very much so its the best part to be hit in, Ciggy said so. Also its pretty not break-easy. You walk into the red tent da tekky guy is.

Da place is shiny, colder den outside and full of all these glowing buttons and nifty things that you must absolutely NOT TOUCH. Der is even a sign outside with your name on it to remind you.

You can't read it but last time you asked dats what it said.

The man smiles when you come in, you know he smiles even do he has no face because smoke billows out and smoke and smile both start with s. He also does things like put his face in his hands like peekaboo.

"Hey Rusty." You wave, taking great care to NOT TOUCH anything. "I need a shovel thats ogryn proof."

"A shovel? You expect me, Aerugo, former magos of Legio Cybernetica, to make a SHOVEL."

You nod. "Please?"
The man raises his hands. "Well if the Ogryn says please WHY THE WARP NOT? It's not like I'm busy trying to figure out how to turn the tide of this war with my new robot model but what do I know? I just owned a legion of robots who cares about crazy old Aerugo. If those poncy twats at Collegia Titanica didn't disgrace me for installing a recaff machine to my Servo-Automata I'd have already won this damn war with my steel legion. But NOOOOOO I have to start from square fuckin one and now all I'm good for making toys to children and soldiers so warped I had better conversations from my robots and I PUPPET THEM!"

Thudd nodded waiting for the man to wind himself down, a floating metal servo skull thingy (its different but you dont know how, besides it not being very skully) floating by and handing Rusty a mug of Recaff.

"...Yeah I can make you a shovel." The man says, mechadendrite dipped into the mug. "Do you want a combat one or just a digging one?"

You think for a moment. "If I hit someone hard enough, aren't they both combat?"

The Magos pauses for a moment. "You... aren't wrong but I don't want to admit it." The man thinks. "How good at you are aiming?"

You blink. "Whats a aim?"

"Well that removes the shotgun attachment." The man nods. "Yeah I got a idea in place. It will take a few days."

You frown. "But I want to dig now."

"...who in warp's name wants to dig?" You think you heard the yelly guy mutter before he directs the floaty thing into his tent, pulling out a large drill.

"Technically speaking this belongs on a tank, but... you probbably wont have problem with it."

You lift the thing up. "This thing looks great.... what does it do?"

"Yeah, why don't you get someone else to show you. I don't think you should turn that on alone, or around delicate objects, also known as my stuff. Shoo."

You wave and shoo yourself off, you got a cone thing! It kinda looks like what they use to eat freeze cream. But pokier!
Dawww, Thud has a grumpy friend...give him a hug Thud.
Who...puts a shotgun on a shovel and why would that even be considered?

To be fair who thought a chainsword was a good idea? Let's be honest, it's all kinds of stupid, but still awesome.
>Having a melee weapon that doubles as a chainsaw=dumb
No dude, I think you got that backwards, we have been using chainsaws an shit to kill for a bit now, turning it into a proper weapon is just the next logical step...putting a power field generator like what the space wolves chapter uses is excessive, but also makes sense, or the chainswords that have a flamer attachment. THOSE I can see an argument for, but they would still make some sense as who doesn't want a flaming death tool that chops an burns fields of bodies. A shotgun is used as a weapon (sometimes art instrument depending on what country your in, and if they allow shotgun carving), but a shovel is used to dig a hole and maybe cave a skull in...these two things don't intermingle anywhere.
Just look at the normal weapon, the ripper, isn't that a shotgun? so it would look more like a ripper with a spade attachment rather than a big knife.

Baiman stared at him long and hard after that. Just stared at him, and then said in a voice that was barely there "what about Lauwers sarge?" It wasn't a soft voice. It wasn't a voice meant to be comforting. It was the voice of a man doing his best to hold back a great deal of emotion, and succeeding by only a small margin.

Rochas began to open his mouth to respond, but Baiman just kept going before he could speak. "Lauwers didn't jump on that grenade cause you ordered him to. He didn't do it cause some Commissar had a pistol to his head, he did it cause he cared about us. He did it for us! And if I hear you suggest again he might of regretted it I don't care if you are my superior and damn near twice my size, I'm going to beat the shit out of you."

The one armed trooper leaned in closer as he spoke. "Sitting around and wallowing in guilt don't do the dead any good at all sarge. Making yourself miserable don't do em any good. They've already gone on and are sitting with the Emperor. All you do moping is make em worry about you. You care about those men you go out there and honor their sacrifice by living, cause thats what they'd want for you, cause they cared about you same as you cared about them."

Rochas wasn't sure, but he wouldn't be suprised if he was sitting there with his jaw hanging open. He was too stunned to even be angry, but Baiman wasn't done yet.

"That's what I'm going to do" he said as he leaned back. " When those colonists get here imma find me a woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I'm going to make sweet sweet love to her until she can't walk straight, and then I'm going to do it again. And when my first son is born I'm gonna name him after Lauwers. And when that boy asks I'm going to tell him I named him after the glorious son of a bitch who saved my life. I'm going to tell that boy he was named after a hero. I'm gonna make sure every last one of my kids and grandkids, and their kids, know about that man."
Batavi, you do good work. I'm not sure if I can handle much more of this, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to continue reading this.
The feels are reals.
All of these writefaggotry stuff is going on 1d4 right? I really don't want to have to look at a pastebin format when I inevitably come to re-read everything some time from now.
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the feels they're too much.
No escape

Theta’s midday meal was interrupted by the arrival of the Captain.

“On me.” was the Captain’s greeting and the pair departed for headquarters. It was necessary for the Captain to have an escort, especially since headquarters was surrounded by a small peasant village. As they walked down the main road faces appeared in dark doorways. Theta examined the shelters and the people that lived in them. The peasants wore animal skins and some of them spat in his direction. It was no surprise that they allowed the traitors into their homes before the 76th Infantry arrived. Now the peasants stayed in the cover of their dwellings which were composed of granite slabs leaning on each other. Pictures made in chalk portraying the God Emperor were on the walls but the show of piety was undermined by the abundance of alien glyphs that covered every other inch. The village was filled with ignorance and a lack of devotion. Theta prayed that his commissar would rescind the policy of amnesty.

A sad tune stopped the pair in their tracks. The two turned to the source of the music and discovered a number of black robed figures clustered on a vacant lot. A large group of people with questionable loyalty could mean only one thing.

“Inspect that area,” the Captain ordered and Theta, as ever, complied.

A sustained wailing was the first thing that unnerved Theta. The corporal scaled an outcropping of rock and looked down on the crowd from his elevated position. The black robed figures stood around a hole where a fully clothed man lay along with a number of tools, scrolls and other useless objects. The people around the were going into hysterics except for a nun that played a harp. Their faces were contorted and they sobbed over the deceased man. One woman in a shawl was even on her knees, her children clutching her rather large waist. Theta found the whole situation to be not only harmless but absurd.

“Why have you not stripped the body? Why are you so distressed?,” were the questions Theta wanted to ask. Theta eyed the deceased man’s boots and realized that he could use a new pair himself. It was when the hole began to be filled in that the situation truly turned tragic. A fine pair of boots were going to be wasted on a corpse.

Theta leapt down from his perch and ran to the crowd. He pushed his way through but the crowd turned against him and it took every effort not to be pushed to the ground. Soon the only people on the lot were the guardsman and the woman with the shawl.

The woman lifted her head and walked to towards him. Her children followed her. As Theta turned away the woman caught his sleeve.

“What are you doing here? Did you of all people come to mourn my husband?”

Theta looked over her shoulder and was disappointed to find the hole filled in.

“My name is Liza,” when that got no reply she added “there are two bars sown on your collar. Are you an important person?”

Theta tensed but remembered what the commissar had said about being a good example.

“It signifies the rank of corporal, it has certain privileges.”

Her eyes beamed up at him. She pushed the two children towards him.

“Salina, Marco, say hello to your new father!”

“I liked the old one better.” was Marco’s reply.

Theta tried to flee but Liza caught him again.

“No one will remarry me now but you, you're an outlander. You think differently and you could use a woman at your camp. You will agree to this?”


“I will you give you a goat, two goats! I am alone now, I cannot go back to my parents.”

Theta laid a hand on her chest to push her away and received a surprising response.
“Do I disgust you?” She took of the shawl and revealed an abundance of smooth red hair. She slid the hand on her chest to her thigh.

“Should the kinder be seeing this?”

“My… my children!” she cried. “Who will put food on the table for them now?” She pulled Theta close and stared into the eyepieces.

“Have you considered getting a job?”

Liza yelled and marched away with her children at her heels. Theta shook his head in grave disapproval and returned to his Captain.

The pair arrived at what was formerly the count's mansion. An officer's aide took them to a smoking room where they were made to wait. Theta spotted his commissar sitting on a chair blowing iho smoke into the air.

"The people here are insolent sir, just a few minutes ago I was accosted."

The commissar shifted his large, round head towards the corporal. His eyes were bloodshot and a bottle was poking out his jacket.

"Please don't talk to me."

They waited in the room for a while. The commissar shifted in his seat, looked at Theta and grinned.

"Your girlfriend is here."
Aside from some minor slip ups in grammar, and some misused words, good job. I want to see more Theta trying to figure out how to family.
Camp Fields was home to many home to many regiments on the world of Apreia. The center command within the system on the war that engulfed the western hemisphere of the planet. While large and expansive, it was made entirely of temporary structures; tents and pre-fabricated buildings. By all rights it lived up to its namesake. It was a camp. Far from the frontlines, though far from the grand imperial command itself. It wasn't uncommon for many regiments to stage and deploy from the location. Even the company of Imperial Fists graced the Camp every so often.

For Delta company of the 89th Cadian, it was their temporary home. Their rotation from the front had occurred. Now six months of life in relative comfort with the non combatants and rear echelon types. The Cadians loves to mock them, though secretly they all harbored intense jealousy for their easy life styles. The bureaucracy of the camp life wasn't missed, however. Golbert's squad stood in line at the armory to check in their weapons for an agonizingly dull time. By Galviston's incessant complaints it had been roughly two hours at this point. A Paltry wait; they had many more to go.
Uh...where did this info dump comment come from?
They stood in line in their light beige uniforms. Worn and dirtied. They began to form a blacken tinge around the sleeves and knees. It was apparent where their armor sat as those areas of their uniform were stark in contrast, bright as the day they were made. though stained from so many months of sweat. Many wore their circular brimmed soft hats, while others went without headgear alltogether. All they had with them were their dark green kantraels and whatever they could fit in their pockets. They stood outside in the mid summer sun sweating and suffering. Then one would finished storing his rifle and the line would move forward one step.
"Emperor's fuggen balls!" Groaned Galviston. "I swear servitors could do this faster!"
"Too right." Agreed Martin. "This is so pontless, why can't we keep our rifles with us. Not like we'll misplace them." He huffed.
"Well you see specialist!" Galviston boomed in a deep voice. "Were it not for the actions of our beloved dumbass sister company, and our lovely gingersnap, Gerain." He heard the red headed Cadian shout back at him. "We probably could, but some idiots fracked it up for all of us." He placed his rfile on the ground by its stock. "So now we wait for four fuggin hours to turn in our rifles only to take them back out tomorrow morning."
"Shut up and color, Ray." Sergeant Golbert spoke plainly.

Once again the line moved forward one step. The swaud bickered about this or that, nothing of import. Then Galviston caught something in the corner of his eye, dark figured approaching from the distance. Elongated shadows from the tan dirt that moved towards them in a group. His eyes widened and a large smile grew on his face mischievously. A small group of women clad in dark suits of black adorned with the silver lilies of the sisterhood walked by. Not simple sororitas. Their white and black cowls betrayed thier charge as another order.
"No way! No way! No way!" Gavliston spewed like an energetic young boy. "Hospitlars!"
Note Aerugo asked if the shovels purpose was combat before Thudd theorized he could make anything a weapon if he tried hard enough.

The real question isnt who puts a gun on a shovel but since when did weapon attachments exist for melee weapons? Who ever heard of a combi chainsword?
Oh, your writefagging. Please link your posts together dude.>>51339563
pretty simple.
Ever seen an evisorator? Or any weapon used by the S&M nuns? Though they usually just prefer strapping flammers to the sides of chainswords, so...you know. Oh and chain bayonets are a thing, so there's that. I also missed the techpriest asking the question. My bad.
I am looking at them and they still do not have melee/ranged weapons.

The closest thing is bayonets.
Don't Grey Knights have Storm bolter/Glaives?
something always comes up when I try to start up a new story, I'm back and going back at it.
Custodes have force weapons with integrated Bolters.
Their faces pail and soft. Something about the cowl seemed to make them appear more innocent, and pure. Yet one look at their eyes and any number of them could tell there was a bit of fire in the ladies. The raw devotion and conviction in their eyes. This only worked to rouse the already rowdy Cadian. The ladies spoke as they walked past. Galviston could have swore he heard one giggle. His gaze remained transfixed on them, especially as they passed. Watching their hips sway as they did. Those long healed boots only adding to an already feminine gait. Suddenly he felt a harsh press against his back.
"Eyes front Cadian." Tepson spoke to him in her deadpan monotone. Though Galviston detected a hint of jealousy. He turned to his squad mate and made a kissing face at her as a taunt.
"Martin break my arm." Galviston ordered. The young Cadian laughed. "I'm dead serious." He spat out with wide eyes. The line moved forward one step.

Golbert let out a laugh. Galviston was known to be obnoxious, and at times a womanizer. Though he had to admire his convictions this time. 'At least he set the bar high this time.' He thought to himself. The sergeant figured as soon as the women passed his fancy would wane as it always did. Galviston was always the joker of the platoon. Yet he continued to prattle on about faking an injury just to go to their aid station.
"Ray, you'd have a easier time seducing a banshee than a sister." Golbert chuckled. "If you're that hard up, beta is a walk away."
"Oh no no no." Galviston retorted with a wag of his finger. "I am a man of conviction and style. I have elevated myself from the dregs of the rot crotch infested Beta Bitches." Golbert shook his head as his friend prattled on. "If the emperor lets us out of this frakking line, I'm going to their tent." He beamed with pride.
"Good fracking luck with that then." Golbert spat. "I'm betting on you getting a slap in the face." Golbert finished. One of his troops called in on the bet.
"Giggling, Brad. Giggling." Smiled the Cadian. "They have a good sense of humor. I got this in the bag!"

Another half hour passed, the entire squad remained in the line. Once the Hospitlars vanished from sight the conversation slowly changed to whatever inane subject it tended too. By the time they were speaking about the benefits of left handed knife use with cutlery, Golbert felt as if the gathering storm had passed. While he tolerated most of his friend's antics, there was a line. Galviston walked the line, though seldom ever crossed it. Golbert thought more big picture on the ordeal. Last thing his platoon needed was another incident with another service. Though first platoon wasn't at fault for a negligent discharge the week prior, leadership was looking for an excuse, any excuse to make an example of someone.

The moment arrived, and Galviston had gone through the tedious motions of repeating the same answers to the same questions to different personnel working behind the armory window. His rifle was tagged and stored. he was free of the waiting. He let out a loud and audible sigh. With a well mannered strut he began to depart from the platoon. Golbert saw the look in his eyes. That mischievous look he daunted before setting off to do something foolish.
"Ray..." Growled Golbert.
"I'm just going to pop in and say hi." Galviston spoke with a coy succor as he continued to walk past. Golbert berated him, instructing him to drop it. Galviston responded by placing his hand to his ear. A gesture that feigned his inability to hear his friend as we walked away.
"Damnit. Martin, follow him and make sure he doesn't do something stupid." the sergeant barked.
"I'm not a miracle worker Staff Sergeant." Responded the young Cadian.
"Just go."
Free from any looming obligations Galviston moved through the camp as he pleased. Weaving through the array of green and beige large tents. There was a quaint charm to Camp Fields. Caught in the middle ground of the dark and gloomy decor required of imperial buildings, and not desperate and dismal as a FOB on the front lines. There was a certain culture of ease. It even had flushing toilets. Rare in the war. So as long as the higher-ups had no reason to visit the camp, the longer the status quo would remain. For many it was a paradise. Even though it was just a bland and boring camp with no real means of entertainment.

As Galviston wove deeper into the avenues of the camp, he figured himself good and hidden away from his platoon. That was until he heard the rapid and heavy boot strikes of Martin chasing after him. Galviston rolled his eyes, and let out an annoyed groan. Martin gave the corporal a simple shrug. A silent gesture of comradiere. He was there because he was told to be, not because he felt a need to stop Galviston from acting obnoxious.
"Are you kidding me?" Galviston said aloud. "And you of all people."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Martin asked.
"You aren't exactly innocent of fraternization. How is Parvin? You two still fighting?" Poked Galviston. Martin remained silent. "That's why you don't bang squadies, kid." Galviston watched as Martin shook his head. A tender nerve he struck. The two innocent love birds caught in a meaningless tiff over some trifle that didn't matter to the corporal in the slightest. In response Galviston simply tossed an arm over his squadmate's shoulder. "You know what'll cheer us up?" He spoke with a grin. "Flirting with some intimidatingly zealous and lethal women." With a firm pat Galviston walked off again. "Always cheers me up! Come on now."
Curiosity drove Martin to stick to Galvistons side, more than obligation. No matter what he did, Galviston was destined to make a fool of himself. They approached the Hospitlar tent. Nothing out of the ordinary. Large Green tent with a triangular frame that ran along the length of the roof. Square plastic windows to let in light. Though the interior had an aluminum grate for flooring. A welcome contrast to the dark interior of the tent. Galviston let out a cheesy grin as he saw members of the sororitas move about in the tent.

Yet one obstacle prevented him from entry; another damned line. Martin stayed quiet as Galviston spoke with others in the line as they waited. To their relief the line moved with a much steadier pace than the armory line. The well being of soldiery of course was far less important than the weaponry. 'Obviously', Galviston joked. Eventually they reached the doorway of the tent. Martin stepped off to the side towards the exit.
"Not coming in with me?" Galviston asked.
"I'd like to remain out of the line of fire." Quipped Martin.
"Oh shit, blue falcon's got jokes!" Retorted Galviston. "Fine, more for me then." He huffed and entered the tent.

The interior was roomier than he previously though. Wider too. Many different rows were set up with green cloth screens separating smaller 'rooms' the soldiers would enter into before being seen by a Hospitlar. The tent was more for triage purposes than it was for primary care. Whatever its function was, Galviston didn't pay it too much thought. He was pleased enough to be lead to one of the lanes where he sat on a folding chair waiting for his Valkyrie to arrive. As he sat he breathed into his hand to sample his breath. Ran his hands through his hair to straighten it. As well as tested many different poses of sitting in the chair, figuring the most masculine way to arrange himself, puffing out his chest. Whatever he could do to make himself seem more presentable.
After a number of minutes of him holding the ridiculous pose had passed she finally entered. The curtain pulled open with a rolling hiss of the metal rings sliding along the wire. Then once again as it was drawn closed. Galviston couldn't help but allow a cocky grin to grow on his face. She looked at him and held a pleasant smile of her own. In his eyes she was perfection. The soft pale skin of her face. Free from blemishes or spots, flawless. Her cheeks accented her eyes with a dainty puff, and a rosy tint. A black fleur-de-lis tattoo on her left cheek. Narrow feminine jaw and and nose. Pouting lips. Her eyes were even red too. Deep like well cut rubies that held a piercing gaze. Galviston found it difficult to look away.

"I am Sister Rosalyne, what is the nature of your visit?" She spoke. A velvet and heavenly voice in Galviston's ears. Or perhaps he was simply too carried away in his own illustrious imagination. Whatever the reason meeting her seemed like a dream come true. A Hospitlar, a genuine and true Sororitas Hospitlar. Like a dog who caught it's tail. Galviston suddenly found the lines he prepared in his mind vanished, and he had no idea what to do.
"Uh, an extreme tightness in my chest, doc, er um..." He stumbled over his words.
"Sister is fine." She smiled at him. A soft genuine smile. She pulled up a stool and sat next to him. "Well if you don't mind unbuttoning your blouse and I can inspect you."
"You sure can." He commented under his breath.
"What did you say?" She tilted her head slightly to the side, her attention was more fixed on procuring a stethoscope rather than listening to his quiet commentary.
"Nothing, uh nothing at all." He chuckled as he began unbuttoning his uniform. Once undone she placed the metal disc against his chest, and instructed him to breath. Routine in her proceedings. Placing it on one side of his chest, than another. All the while he was looking her over. Admiring her soft face, and the well fitted black ensemble
You're on a roll mate, keep it up.
He relished the small moments, such as her hand resting on his shoulder as she leaned in. There was absolute focus in her work. She listened carefully for anything amiss. Diligently fufilling her duty to render aid where it was needed. Far from her mind was the designed of the trooper in front of her, or even her proper administrations. After her quick examination she sat back up and reminded herself of the more laborious tasks of her profession.
"Terribly sorry." She spoke calmly "Name rank and unit?" She leaned back towards a small desk to take up a dataslate. Galviston cocked his head to the other side to examine her more thoroughly as she did. Snapping back upright once she sat up.
"Corporal Raymond Galviston. 89th Cadian Heavy Infantry Regiment 1-1" He responded dutifully.
"Bit the mouthful." She chuckled pleasantly, remaining friendly with a bit of small talk as she entered the data.
"You better believe it." Galviston added silently to himself. Her laughter only working to his advantage, he thought to himself.
"Well corporal." She looked up from the dataslate, locking her gaze onto his violet eyes. "How long have you been experiencing this tightness?"
"Quite recently actually." He smiled, then placed a hand over his heart.
"Most recent combat action?" She asked phlegmatically, going through well rehearsed points she needed to ask. In an attempt to narrow down the cause of his condition.
"Two days ago." He answered honestly. She followed up with asking if he felt the symptoms before hand, to which he responded honestly, reinforcing that his episodes occurred very recently indeed.
"Might be a manner of combat stress. My suggestion would be to ask your NCO for more bed rest. I can write up a note for you." She smiled and placed the dataslate in her lap.
"Nice and all, but I'd be so bored. There's nothing fun to do in bed." He playfully complained
"I would disagree." She answered.
"Are we thinking the same thing here sister?" He raised an eyebrow.
It took a moment, but it did dawn on her. To his surprise her face remained relatively unphased, though her cheeks did suddenly become rosier. At once she realized the glaring difference between what she thought of and the Cadian did. As she blushed more she began to smile and hid her expression behind her curled finger. Then she giggled. A giggle was all he asked for. All the opening he needed. Thanks were rendered to the Emperor that he sent one with a sense of humor, and possibly a less than pure mind. It would have been a nightmare had she acted as the militant covens conducted themselves.
"Oh my, I meant reading a book!" She closed her eyes and let out a small laugh. "Goodness. I forget the minds of soldiers sometimes." She sat back to quickly compose herself.
"Nothing wrong with it is there?" He leaned in and grinned. A crooked and cocky grin that she had seen before.

Rosalyn smiled and folded her arms. Rather spry and lively for someone who proclaimed to have chest issues. It wasn't until he gave her that look she had seen many times before that she realized the true purpose of his visit. With a slow inhale and slow sigh she stared him down and raised her eyebrow. It wasn't the first time a guardsman had faked an ilness to see a hospitlar, and it sure wouldn't be the last. Though she didn't break her smile, her gaze suddenly became ferocious and piercing to Galviston.
"You aren't having any problems are you?" She raised her eyebrow in response to his. Galviston was unusually quiet. "You do realize that its a serious offense to waste medical staff's time, especially in... cardinal pursuits?" She crossed her leg and leaned in closer to Galviston. Her demeanor wasn't dismissive, but somewhat antagonistic. Were he from any other planet he might have felt fear. Yet as a Cadian he couldn't help but feel she was challenging him. 'Go on, try me.' Her body language spoke to him. Like a fighter dusting their knuckles before a fight.
"Well I certainly feel a tightness now." He spoke. leaving it up to her mind to determine what he truly meant.

They stared at each other for a moment. Vicious smiles that concealed threats. Rosalyn had to admit to herself she was rather enjoying this tiff, though felt the Cadian would do best to come to his senses, any moment now.
"I'm sure you do." She responded. Perhaps it was his imagination again, though he swore she had a purr to her voice. "I have to admit, out of all the men to try, you did make me laugh." She sat back upright. "However, I do have important matters to attend to. If you don't need me, medically" She added. " I think you should go." Her gaze narrowed and her smile sharpened.

Galviston kept his gaze on her beautiful red eyes as he fumbled with his shirt, and making his way out of the small room. As he departed she lifted a hand and curled her fingers, waving him goodbye. His heart pounded furiously as he made his way out of the tent. His eyes wide and fixed. He seemed to take the rejection rather well. Martin was sitting on a bench with a few other guardsmen, waiting for Galviston to emerge, with the exact face he held. As Martin was about to speak, Galviston slapped his hands on the young man's shoulders.
"I think I'm in love!" Galviston spat
Thats all for tonight folks
That was fun, and it's nice to see reasonable things happening in the Imperium.
Will there be Krieg in your story? Because I had an idea for a story (about a Krieger and a Repentia) that I'm not yet sure how to begin and would rather not want ours to be too similar.
"Forgive me Emperor for I have sinned." Sister Damnation wept upon the Aquilla, scars bleeding.

In the corner she heard a sound, like a broken rasp of mechanical equipment. She turned around, it was a Krieg. He was... laughing.

"YOU? You sinned? Buddy have I got stories for you."

They proceeded to argue for 3 days over who sucked more.
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*dies a little inside*
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Sort of. The basic idea is actually to play on themes of "individual" (Repentia) vs "collective" guilt (DKoK), possibly set against the backdrop of a hive rebellion. Mostly as a character-writing exercise. But I got ahead of myself and now keep criticising myself out of any progress. Maybe some other time.
no krieg planned in it.
Thank ye kindly.
I feel like i need to update so I'm going to write something before going to bed and hope this doesnt take too long.
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>hope this doesnt take too long.
>not going to take 2 hrs into it writhing.
Nope! Never have.

88c blinked as the Catachan stormed up at her, gloved fingers clenching the smelly mans smelly lascarbine as he loomed over her. The man's lho stick smouldered on the table, forgotten.

Emperor's throne he still wasn't wearing a shirt, didn't he worry about parasites?

Okay 88c thought to herself. All she had to do was employ that 'cuteness' that was mentioned in the dataslate. How did it go again.

"Losing gear is a violation of article 3 of the Uplifting Primer." 88c said, the krieg handing the carbine with him.

"Maximum penalty would be 30 lashings in public. Which would be highly visible given lack of apperant upper armor. Deficient uniform is another violation, punishment includes 10 floggings. Don't do it again." See, see how generous you are by not telling on you Catachan person? The Kriegling thought to herself... wait there was one thing to perfect this, that, Tsunderocratise techinque it was called right.

"Empathy minimal, you're stupid." Yes, the Krieg thought to herself.

Nailed it.

"Oi! I ain't stupid, this is tactical! It's easier to sneak around in the woods like this!" The catachan said. "Not that you would know you are the least sneaky person I've ever seen shorty!"

"Do not refer to this unit as short." 88c said. "Subject is, optimally compact."

"Is that what they call it in gasfuckia?" The Catachan said. "Look I appreciate the gun and all but where you get off lecturing me like we know each other."

"You touched my scalp." 88c replied, head tilted. "Interaction is sufficent for admonisment."

"I did not! You were wearing your helmet! I touched your helmet." The Catachan yelled, exhasperated. "I didn't touch no fuckin scalp yet."

You have to remove your helmet? That explains the insufficent response levels, but that's... thats a uniform violation!

"You... you won't disrobe me that easy!" 88c yelled, the heavy booted woman scampering off into the distance.

"Wow." Mary said from behind the table. "The sarge wants to get into the little krieg girls joppers."

"Mary for the Emperor's sake go fuck yourself with a chainaxe and report to the Commissar for being a raging cunt."
Done in 30 minutes. Bed time.
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>Empathy minimal, you're stupid
Thank you.
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Bump from nine.

Rochas wasn't sure what to say as he desperately tried to back pedal "I never meant to...I mean of course I know that Lauwers..." He trailed off and fell silent under Baiman's gaze. Suddenly the sergeant felt about three feet tall. He was reminded of his mother reaming him out after he'd had a fight with Agner. Some small voice in the back of his mind wondered if this was how his men felt when he called them to the carpet.

"That's what I'm going to do" said Baiman after staring at him for a moment more. "I'm going to carry on since they can't, and that's what you ought to do too Sarge. You need to get your head out of your ass. It don't suit you acting like this. You're supposed to be the one telling me what to do and dispensing words of wisdom, not the other way around. It's unnatural is what it is, me being the one with sense between the two of us."

The sergeant snorted "Oh come on, you were never that bad."

Baiman's eyes softened and got a bit of his normal mischievous twinkle back as he raised an eyebrow. "Do you want the list of times you kept my ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude? Cause if you don't recall I can refresh your memory, but we might be here a while if I do. It's a long list."

Rochas snorted again. It was a long list. "No that won't be necessary, I can recall just fine." He said, and then paused for a moment before continuing in a more somber tone. "Thank you Baiman, for everything. And I'm sorry, I never meant to disrespect Lauwers' memory. It just..."

"It hurts" the other man finished for him. "I know sarge, but you can't let it eat at you. They wouldn't want that, and if you're so busy beating yourself up about things that happened years ago you're gonna miss out in the now. And we can't have that. No we definitely can't afford to have you all mopey when the colonists get here. You gotta get you a girl too so there'll be a litter of your giant spawn to call me uncle."

Rochas smiled "You think I'd let a terrible influence like you near my kids Baiman?"

The one armed trooper brought his singular limb up and placed his hand over his heart before affecting a wounded expression. "Sarge that hurts me to hear you say that. I thought we was like brothers after all these years together. You've trusted me to watch your back in a fire fight, what possible reason could you have not to trust me around your kids?"

"Would you like the list of times I've saved your ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude?" Rochas asked with a grin. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then they both broke down laughing.
>"Would you like the list of times I've saved your ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude?" Rochas asked with a grin. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then they both broke down laughing.
My sides
cheeky fucker. I love it
Dat wuz bootyful.
The fuck happened to that snake?
Just likes the story i guess <
Aww, I would have read it.
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Krieger girl is getting hot an bothered by uniform violations, and the catachan has sent my sides into orbit gif related. I need to see the staff Sargent about some replacements.
A question about writing on 4chan: is there anywhere for non-/tg/ works, erotic handholding or otherwise? I never followed the ERP and /wst/ confusion.
A parasite is the course. Change its behaviour.
I want to say /d/ but you could get b& for the hand holding stuff
ERP is on /soc/

Writing on /d/ is here
Hey guys. Bumperuskies

So it's got something screwing with it's brain?
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Is this a fucking quest thread?

>>>/qst/ you fags
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Commisar FluffyButt is not amused by such borderline heresy.

Are you in need of gelding, soldier?
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Fuck my dyslexia
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its a fucking writefag thread you mongoloid Op and the other write fags post stories, we read them, and bump/comment to keep the thread alive while we await further posts. Fuckin story time, the shit /tg/ loves. How about you fucking read more than just the title of the thread before spouting stupidity.
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Roll for initiative.
Martin figured he had a good grasp of Galviston's character. Boisterous, whiny, sarcastic, even a bit witty. Though he never figured the man to be a romantic. As they made their way to their tent, the man wouldn't stop talking about the Hospitlar. The way she was described made her sound like a wonderful angel with no imperfections. Constantly repeating 'She's the one.' With Martin's own relationship problems the last topic he wanted was one about dismal infatuation.
"By the Throne man, she even had the damn Lilly tattoo on her cheek. She was picturesque!" Galviston prattled still in the glow of his encounter.
"Neat." Martin replied. He long realized Galviston wasn't speaking to him, rather towards him. As long as the specialist nodded Galviston didn't seem to care.

The tent was a welcome sight. Martin could vanish to his cot and rest for a minute. The long tan tent appeared to him as a mighty kasr after the wordy onslaught of Galviston's prattelings. Yet it was simply a regular old tent. Two rows of cots, with some space for personal affects. Some people set up a small dividing barrier, though for the most part it was an open room. Martin nodded at his teammates as he entered. Once he laid down Golbert quickly approached him.
"Alright give me the damage report, what happened?" He asked sitting on the adjacent cot.
Martin sat up and looked the Platoon Sergeant in the eyes. "Worse than we thought, he's head over heels in love with her."
"You mean he actually talked to one?" Golbert placed his hand on his face in contention. Martin nodded. "I take it she turned him down." Martin nodded again. Fuggen joy."
"I don't think there was an incident though, He wasn't thrown out at least." Martin added to Golbert's delight. At least all he had to do was reign in the enamored Cadian, rather than ready up paperwork documents.
Read the op you UNTERMENSCH.
Go kill yourself
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And it worked to....
Of course Galviston was to continue recalling his encounter with the rest of the squad, why wouldn't he? Harel and Kalvsekn listened into his every word. Eating up all the details. Though not all seemed impressed. Tepson showed a peculiar trait, Golbert Noticed. She showed a tendency to roll her eyes often as Galviston spoke. Her demeanor was often reserved enough to the point where emotional display's were a second thought. So to watch her react, in relative understanding, noticeably took Golbert by surprise. Even still she laid on her cot reading her book, not doing anything to disturb the rants and raves.

A little bit of unwinding was in order. Their time on the front was taxing and demanded much of them. If what they were doing didn't end in disciplinary action and distracted them from the couple of casualties in the squad, he was all for it. It was their first day off in sixth months. Harmless flirting wasn't the worst things Cadian's have done when given a modicum of freedom.

As time passed Galviston's team was tasked with performing routine repairs and maintenance of 1-1's fabled Chimera. "Rusty NO-GO" After spending three hours replacing a door hinge only to find out it was from the wrong pattern of chimera, Galviston had his work detail rest under the cammo netting hung over Rusty while their whiteshield ran off to grab the correct part. To pass the time Martin jabbed a stick into the ground. the Cadians sat spralled out in a semi-circle. lethargically tossing rocks at said stick.
"I hear they want to go back to ten man squads." Trooper Rikkus spoke with a sigh.
"Didn't we just go to fifteen man like a year ago?" Martin grumbled.
"Frakking leadership can't make up its mind I swear to Dorn." Rikkus spat, with his ire rising as to be expected of him. They all continued to toss a rock at the stick, letting out a sarcastic cheer when one managed to strike it.
As Galviston was readying his rock his eyes caught the familiar sight of the Black clad Sisterhood approaching. Only two of them, yet it didn't dissuade the Cadian from perking up, drawing his attention to the two. As they drew closer he began studying their faces. A large grin began to form, Rosalyn was one of them. They each carried a box in their arms. They appeared somewhat heavy, carried by two hands. Each box stamped with a mecical sign and other such identifying markings of their purpose. Foreign to the Cadians. The others looked at him with a puzzled look until they followed his gaze to the Hospitlars. Martin sighed as Galviston jumped to his feet.
"I highly suggest against it corporal." Martin spoke. he knew all to well Gavliston would do as he liked. He simply said it so when questioned later he could reply that 'he did all he could.'
"Me too." Galviston agreed. " But as they say, when in doubt, attack!"

With a rather exaggerated strut Galviston approached the two Hospitlars as if he were invincible. They muttered something to each other and one of them giggled. "How are we this wonderful Imperial day?" He spoke with as much dignified charm as he could.
"Hello again, corporal." Rosalyn responded back to him. She stared him down with that same narrow hawkish gaze and half cocked grin from the last time he spoke with her. Her voice just as lovely as he recalled. "We are well, just carrying these cumbersome boxes back to our station." She spoke in a pleasant though dismissive tone.
"Perhaps I can assist you then." He raised an eyebrow.
"Persistent one, aren't you?" She smiled.
"Cadian's never say die." He quipped.
As they spoke and began walking off the rest of his detail sat there confused and in disbelief. Up until that point they figured most of what he espoused was utter nonsense. Yet there he was, flirting with a Sororitas as if she were some blushing maiden. He didn't get far however. One of the Hospitlars walked off while the one he engaged stopped to continue conversing with him. For further entertainment the Cadians ad libbed what they felt was being spoken between the two. In horribly imitated voices.

"Well if you're going to keep pestering me, might as well make you useful." Rosalyn said. He hoisted the box and handed it over to Galviston.
"T'would be my pleasu-"He grabbed the box and it tugged down harshly. Twice as heavy as he expected. "re Holly frakking shit whats in here?" he shouted. Rosalyn closed her eyes and laughed at the poor fool.
"I thought Cadian's never say die." She jeered. Not to be humiliated Galviston hoisted the box, pretending all was well, though his face was quickly turning red. 'Just how strong is she?' He wondered. "Hold that box like it's Cadia." She added, calling out to his pride. Galviston then shot her a sharp glance. All Rosalyn did in response was raise her eyebrows all the while keeping her smile.

After a minute or two of struggle she took the box back from the now red Cadian. Galviston let out a sigh of relief. The Hospitlar enjoyed that little display of bravado. How the dashing young man bit off more than he could chew in a feeble attempt to win her over. Brazenly he asked her how she could hold the box so well, as he rubbed his back.
"Power armor, silly." She winked.
"That's not fair at all." Griped Galviston with a cocky laugh. "You could have mentioned something..." He droned.
"And harm your pride? Oh come now." She posed coyly. "Besides, I was fun trying to watch you back up that; what do you Cadians call it again?" She rolled her eyes recalling the expression. "Motto bullshit?"
His eyes shot wide open. Such a vulgar comment from such a fair lady. Galviston couldn't believe what had just happened. His mouth opened wide in pleased disbelief. He pressed his hands to his open mouth in a childish manner Rosalyn couldn't help but allow her self another laugh. His playful antics brought out a pleasant, and genuine outburst. It was idiotic, yet the way that he perfectly embodied them, it was simply cute.
"You swear..." He spoke in a high pitch. Spoken like the giddy child he was imitating. The Hosptilar snickered at his comment. "Oooh, Hospitlars can swear!"
"Yes, we're adults." She huffed raised an eyebrow. "Well Raymond, I need to be going. Apparently I give you conniptions." She winked. Then she turned and began walking away. "Have a wonderful Imperial day Cadian."

Gavliston spun around as she walked off and clutched his chest with a wonderful smile. He wobbled and weaved too and fro as he made his way back to his detail. He sat like a conquering hero in the circle.
"How the flying frak, did she not kill you?" Martin asked.
"Bitch I'm adorable." Galviston answered.
all for now
He and she are indeed adorable!
>"Well if you're going to keep pestering me, might as well make you useful." Rosalyn said. He hoisted the box and handed it over to Galviston.
Wew lad
(This is the Ogryn thread)

Thudd lifted his drill, hefting the iron behemoth all the way to the tunnel. It's not yet time to dig with Fifteehate but he wanted to practice.

...Which meant thudd needed to find someone to teach him how to use it...

Thudd looked around worried. There didn't seem to be anyone nearby. They must be out doing one of there war meetings, Thudd never had to go to those breifings cause they never made sense anyway. The commissah's just gave him the gist.

It always involved running in a straight line at the bad guys, Thudd wondered why people used such big words for such a simple plan.

But this was sad, this meant he was never going to get to use the drill... Sighing, Thudd carefully placed the drill on the floor as he slumped over. Dis wasn't a good day, he knew cause he didn't get to do nuffin and dat meant the emperor wasn't helped at...

Hey why is the ground all shaky over there.

A yellow hat pops out with a man under it, the helmet a overburdened array of several flashlights... and what looks like what might have been one of those commissah guns hotglued to it.

Under it, the man, who was only halfway out of the tunnel, stroked his jaw, unclean teeth jutting out all around his mouth like one of those... um, if a beast with a lot of teeth got hit by a beast good at punching... you never got good at animals.

The man coughed, his skin so dirt coated it was impossible to see anything but a thick brown as he blinked up at the ogryn and his drill.

"Say, dat is some nice bit of flash yo got dere? Where did you score a beut like dat." The man sighed, lifting what looked liked a curvy t, broken teeth chained around it. "All I gots is me dirt choppa."
You blink, man this person sure talks weird... but you never heard of any xenos's big on digging... well none that you were fighting... so it must be a person! "Do you mean the drill? I got dat by rusty cause he's nice and has nice stuff."

The man's jaw droppped. "Git outta town, yo got a mekboy to give you dere stuff jus like dat? You had to have given im the ole one two didn't cha?"

You shake your head, what's up with this guy. "Nope, I just asked and he let me have it. Guess its cause we all serve da emperor."

The man squints. "Who's dis Emperor fellow. Is he big?"

You nod. "Da biggest."

The man nods sagely. "Dat's pretty big yeah. Names rockchewa, on account of me diet."

You nod. "It's nice to meet you, my name is Thudd, on account of my mom naming me that."

Chewa tilts his head. "What's in gork's a mom?"

Ah he must be a krieger, that explains the digging. "dey the person who tells you what's what when you aren't big so you know it when you are."

"Ooooh, like a nob huh, lucky git." Rockchewa muttered. "So whatcha doing here, I'm lookin for some enemies to fight but you are too big to be what im lookin for. Dey are all small like."

You shrug. "I'm diggin a tunnel so I can go fight some enemies too!"

"Yeah!" The miner nods. "Dat was my idea. But nobody listens to Chewa, day say the only proper way to foigh is going straight at a enemy, or over it, or even around it given we are kunning like dat. But I say under is the best way, dey dont notice because dirt doesnt usually attack people. Dat means dey are suprised and that gives you a takticul advantage."

You nod, you don't understand a word this man says.

"Well mate, you alright, you go krump something for me when you find dose enemies of yours."

You smile and wave as the man sinks back into his hole. "You too!"

You push some dirt from a nearby pile into the hole the miner made, you don't want anyone to trip or nuffin.

You hope you meat Rockchewa again, he seemed like a nice bloke.
10/10 can't w8 to see rockchewa again
So...Galviston is the new Vegeta. I can buy that.
Holy shit, did Thud just meet a Ork mole?
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I hope to the God Emperor that the Commissar gets to hear about Rockchewa. Her face will be golden...or red with rage. Whichever comes first.

I think he met a digga boy. Is that a thing?
Yup, they clever gits.
I thought they were but a digga is a human who thinks hes a ork from Gorkamorka.

Its possible however that he's just a weird oddboyz gw hasnt fielded. Most likely a stormboy, who through the blood axe's bizarre kunning, simply doesn't know whats waht the way a propa ork should. Or perhaps hes a more intelligent Kommando.

It's hard to say, all we know is Rockchewa is weird.
Note, I DID know what a Digga was before I wrote this, but I was inspired by the idea of diggaboys and when I found out they werent real I said "Eh fuck it"

They are orks. They may not be able to alter reality on any tangible way, but they can conceivably do anything fightish just cause there vaguely comic relief.

If a inquisitor found a speed kult who's looted tankz form a stompa when they combine I wouldn't bat a eye.
Bump from 8
Page 9 save
In a attempt to save us from more "last minute bumps"

Is it too self indulgent to writefag about your original chaptahs and regiments? I got a divergent space marine chapter I kinda want to use but feel it may be a bit cocky.

On the side I also kinda want, for shits and giggles, to use the regiment table to write out how to have the Krieger 632 disposables in Only war. Cause why not.
As long as there's something compelling about your chapter then rock on.
Nothing much is happening.
Might as well post something.
Whilst it may not be fully faithful, as it was for a school exam, you should see the inspirations.
I had been...forgotten.
I briefly went offline in combat, they assumed me to be dead, and left.
Incorrect, but understandable.
I had woken up to see a bleak grey sky, devoid of the kilometer long warring vessels, and the accompanying bursts of laser fire they would bring.
This was my first indication.
I scrambled for my long range omnispec, which contained all my long range communication and advanced sensory equipment. Scanning the area for a comm’s lines I found nothing.
My second, more obvious warning. There was always a comm’s line.
I changed the Omnispec to the scanning function, and set it to scan for signs of life, along with the iconic refined materials that go into the current technology of the decade.
Nothing this side of the planet. My third, and unmistakable warning.
I could not react.
I had no idea how.
All my life I have been around others; even in battle I was one of a venerable legion of transhuman soldiers.
But now, I was…
I tore off my helmet, the interior suddenly stifling, the auto senses suddenly painful.
I Threw my helmet aside and did something that no amount of pain could ever bring.
I screamed.
It was a wet, guttal thing, a first scream of a being who never had to scream before.
It echoed around the mountain ranges surrounding the wide plain, and nearly made me think myself not alone, if only for a microsecond.
I had no idea what to do, I was in a situation thought of as impossible. I had been completely abandoned on this planet.
When unsure, advance.
The old command from my training days hit me like a piece of shrapnel to the head. Seeing no other alternative, I scooped up my kinetic launcher and…
I left behind my helmet, the servo clamps having been torn beyond repair, and the link to auto senses broken.
I advanced for days, never once needing to rest, due to my enhanced state. Every few days I would check my omnispec, to see If there was any sign of life.
There never was, and its battery was running dangerously low.
Growing more stressed, I began to use it less regularly, the Omnispec was the soldier's lifeline, the greatest thing that a person could ever use. Anything you need, it could do before you could blink.
But they should never be so low. They must always be charged frequently, as they are heavily depended on and, like a drug, you cannot live once it’s gone.
Every so often I would light signal flares, in the hope of a response, maybe stealthed units were out there.
No responses ever occurred.
Suddenly, it happened.
I went to activate my Omnispec.
Instead of the comforting green glow, the screen remained black.
Frantically pushing the activation rune, I was rewarded with a single red flashing icon.
Low battery.
It cut out after three pulses, and the screen dulled.
My Omnispec had finally run out.
For the second time in my existence, I screamed.
I advanced for days, weeks, months.
Gradually more and more components failed.
First was my short range comms. Than went my stimm pack sensors. Then finally, my nuclear reactor began to drop in output.
The art of refueling the reactor usually takes three skilled tech crew people to complete.
I was unskilled and alone.
Despite this, I managed to swap out the core for another spare, which functioned, albeit in a constant unstable flux.
I kept on marching, the constant failings of equipment getting to me.
I was starving, dehydrated, unsupported and alone.
I checked my store bag.
A single signal flare left.
I looked in the distance.
A small settlement, a tower.
Very well, I shall go up this tower and fire my final signal, which should be very obvious from there.
If no response...well...at least there is a relatively simple way out from up there.
I advanced, finally of a clear and empty mind.
I climbed the tower.
I paused to get a good view of the land, the city was in ruins.
Readying my last flare, I found a small shred of hope, the first in nearly a year.
I fired the sphere of phosphorous and magnesium into the sky, like a white dove, conveying my message to the world.
“I am here.”
Slowly the ball reached its eclipse, and fell.
So did all my hopes.
It hit me like a battle barge to the spine, crushing me into a mental paste.
I straddled the safety railing and made to jump, despair pushing me like a physical tsunami.
Even at this height, my power armour would not save me from death.
I bent my knees, released my grip on the rail, and as I lept off, I saw it.
A red flare.
Signal received.
The share elation I felt at that moment brought me to new heights of joy.
I was an enhanced soldier, the light of humanity.
A body of iron, a will of steel.
Clad and armed with the best technology of the empire.
I will not end like this.
Punching out, I embedded my fingers into the metal shell of the tower, leving great rents in the surface, but slowing myself considerably.
I kicked off the tower, enhanced strength mixed with synth muscle bundles and servos in my wargear propelling me like an artillery shell through the air.
Into the window of the nearest building.
I tucked and rolled, than sprinted the width of the building.
The glass hadn’t even hit the floor before I jumped out the next window.
I sprinted through the next building, then launched myself out and landed on an abandoned transport, crushing it flat, but leaving me unharmed.
I barely noticed this, my training taking over as I sprinted towards the signal point, my twin hearts pounding in anticipation and exertion.
I smashed out the side of the last building and stopped.
There were new signs of activity here, footmarks, less dust, and a new smell.
The smell of blood.
I advanced forward, than dived behind a pillar.
There was a helmeted person behind a car, helmet barely showing.
I drew my kinetic launcher and slowly advanced on the person.
As I got to the car, I saw something was wrong.
Moving round the car, I found the helmet was propped up by a stick, merely giving the image of a person.
A slight whistle came from behind me, almost mocking my incompetence, for falling for such a simple trap.
I spun, raising my kinetic launcher.
It was a woman, armoured in the ornate gear of the Legione Arbites, and holding a volcano pistol at my chest.
My eyes widened a fraction. A Volcano pistol is a potent close range armament, capable of cutting through my armour and flesh with as much ease as paper and sawdust.
She stared at me, blood matting half her face, one good eye staring wide at me, pupil shrunk to a pinprick in terror.
Her arm, still holding up the heavy pistol, shuddered.
My arms twitched, and I binked nervous sweat from my eyes.
We were locked in that moment, for an eternity or a second, I could not tell. Unsure of what to do in this situation, where I could not advance without danger of death, I paused. I thought.
Blood caking half her face, eyes and pheromones indicating extreme terror, arm barely able to hold the pistol.
Not thinking straight, scared, unpredictable, lonely, dangerous, hurt.
My mind was suddenly clear as glass.
I had made my decision.
Prepping my body for the actions along with the potential damage I may take.
I steeled my will.
They were called Guilliman's bastards they got written by me doing the dice table.

They are a divergent chapter (Which is a big deal for a ultramarine group) specializing in Siege warfare.

Their big things was they go scout->tactical then choose to go in devastator or Assault as their prolectivities tend.

But the biggestest thing is that allegedly, the Codex does not mention how to treat your Serfs. So the Bastards field them in combat, recruiting from the same pool the local schola prognium does. Those that excel get to either become scout marines (if male) or apart of the troops mechanical division. The rest get trained and sent to assist each scout marine in squads of 10.

Meaning that Tenth company is actually not 100 strong but 1000 strong.

Infact a squad of First company exists just to be the captains of each "squad" of tenth company because Tenth is closer to a stormtrooper battalion then a scouting group, which the Bastards dont need as a siege group.
Kinda makes me feel silly about writing about Ogryns talking to orks desu.
What! No, your story is amazing! One of the few comedic ones I like.
You capture the essence of both characters and the scenario perfectly, adding realism and logic to blind absurdity and improbable odds.
Frankly, I feel silly for posting that story there, as it's not fully 40k accurate.
What if we wrote a story of kreig guardsmen stuck in a caved in cave with some tau soldiers and they had to work together.
Sounds good.
We would need a reason why the Krieger would not kill the Tau though.
Seems like a good idea for a story. We need to have one at least try to seduce the Krieger, fur de lulz.
Character suggestions?
I think this inevitably devolves to charlie the unicorn.
The Tau pathfinder convinces them that they need to survive this cave to serve the emprah later.
Otto Von Leman
Good idea, the cave could also be unstable, so he could not risk shooting, or has a damaged or flat lasgun.
One of these needs to be in a battlesuit of some kind.
And we need one to be a drone, which have rudimentary AI.
That's nice, it also takes place on a world in the Ultima Segmentum before Cadia fell.
The AI would be Bill. Not it's real designation, but a short little nickname given by its Tau squadmates.

Also, is this a 40k writing prompt thread now?
DR-2501 "Roast potatoes"
Basically yeah.
No, bill is an ogryn who joined the regiment.
Also, this will be a story focusing on drama, and have a... peculiar romance plot between a Tau pathfinder and a Krieger Guardswomen.
I might try writing something on a Dreadnought, and a Grenadier.
Here goes...
The smoke clouds your vision, enhanced auto sensors, multispectral sensory arrays and in built omnispex, renderd naught, from a mere smog.
The smog, was an acumulation of all the discharges of guns from the previous skirmish, funneled into you by howling winds.
You tracked left and right, guns scaning for targets.
You may have been blind, but you were wisened enough to fight without sight.
You are a space marine, of the blood angels chapter.
You had fought in his name for over 200 years.
And a further 400 or so after your entombment.
For his benevolence and grace, praise him.
"Prraaasssee hhiiimmm!"
The words rumbled out of your vox amplifier.
Low and guttal, your new voice.
Suddenly, as if spurred on by your...voice, your ultrasonic sensors register a contact.
This contact is moving towards you, slowly, purposefully.
You spin, assault cannon spooling up to firing speed, your engine revving in preparation for the ensuing battle
The target stops moving. Completely.
"This soldier is identified as Grenadier 48b,5054c Milord."
The Grenadier, 48b,5054c, was a girl.
That was the first, obvious thing that the dreadnought noted.
The particular high, lilting oral patterns in her speech, the shoulder to hip ratio, and the...notable protrusion from the Grenadier's chest area.
You had not seen a distinctly feminine Krieger before, most tend to give off no gender at all.
One of your long dead battle brothers once thought they had no gender.
"Grenadier 48b,5054c, are you aware of any other imperial force in the vicinity?" I ask, trying to sound as friendly as possible, despite my vox's other ambitions.
She remains silent, until I remember to give her permission to speak.
She answers with only the barest tremor in her voice "There are no friendly forces I am aware of Milord."
I process this information. Running all possibilities through both my flesh brain, and the cogitator within my chassis.
"The nearest point where there is a long range vox caster is several kilometers to magnetic north. However, that is also where the heretic force we engaged resided at last observation. Are you willing to attempt to vox for a pickup?"
Any misgivings I may have had about her bravery were shattered, as she accepted almost immediately.
"Very well, follow."
I attuned myself to magnetic north, and set off.
It was really good my man, it really shows the "human" in transhuman. For all the augmentations in a space marine, itreally shows how dependent they are on said augmentations. The story really covers the human condition and how we are being used by the tools we create, how we are addicted to them. Thanks anon
You had been walking for seven hours, twenty three minutes, and forty six seconds.
Your chronometer was indicating the transition into night was occurring, and you could tell, as your various visual sensors received lower light.
You switched your attention back to your companion, viewing her through your rear camera.
She looked tired.
Where before, she purpousefully marched alongside you, she now shuffled in a slowing gait, a few meters behind you.
You turned.
"You must rest, you are heavily fatigued,"
"N-no. I can...keep...going." she objected tiredly.
"No you cannot. You are fatigued." I respond, extending my blood talons to her, open and deactivated.
"Nno...I a...am a Krieg..." As soon as I touched her with my talons, she dropped into unconsciousness, collapsing on me.
Carefully, I scoop her up, holding her at sarcophagus height, as I continue marching, careful to make as little sound or motion to disturb the sleeping girl.
Now that she is closer, I notice something more about her.
She is adorable.
She twitches in her sleep, letting out soft sighs and a few "Eeps". An unusual trait. From what I had seen, Kriegers sleep like they are dead, only a faint rasp. Not so with 48b,5054c seemingly.
I match, at a reduced pace for nine hours, fifty two minutes, and four seconds before she awoke, taking seventeen seconds to stir from regaining consciousness, to sitting up, stretching, then taking into account her surroundings, which causes her to nearly jump off me, before she remembers yesterday.
She goes to drop down, but I stop her.
"No, I will carry you."
Her physical reaction was not expected.
I explain
"You fatigue quickly with marching, and I will not go into combat with a tired soldier."
She crosses her arms and mumbles something that even my enhanced sensors could not make out, tucking her head into her chest.
However, she complied, shuffling onto my mag-grapple array, seemingly content there.
Is someone going to pick up the TauKrieg fic?
I don't want to be the only guy writing, makes me feel like an attention hog.
"So..." I broached a question to my female passenger, "What name do you want?"
"B-but this soldiers name is 48b,5054c." She replied, confused to my meaning.
"Yes, but if you are to be entered into the Chapter annals, you will need a name, a common name, as opposed to a title or serial number, of which you currently possess."
She draws a shakey breath.
"I-I w-w..." she starts.
Another breath.
"IWANNABECALLEDSAM!" she suddenly blurts out, in a similar fashion to a White Scars Biker squadron in an attack run.
"...Okay, Sam it is then."
My auto sensors detect a squeal and you feel an impact on your Mag-Grapples as she, presumably falls backwards.
"And so begins the saga of Argos and Sam." I say.
She responds with a high pitched chain of indecipherable words.
I...I think I'm starting to...like her?
Space marines are chemically unable to feel rear or sexual drive, amon other things. And yet...I am getting these strange feelings.
A warming sensation in my organic remains.
A tingling in my stomach, which I do not believe exists anymore.
A feeling, that I should...protect this person from harm, all harm.
Is this what civilians call...
Is someone going to write something else?
Please do, even if you think it may be bad, write it.
I have a quest to run mate.

Rochas doubled over. It was hard to breathe. It felt so good to laugh, like a knot in his chest that had been pulling things uncomfortably tight had loosened up. He chuckled a bit more and breathed in deep. The release of that tension was glorious. It really did feel great to laugh.

He straightened up with a smile on his face. He was content to just bask in the moment. He sat there with a grin on his face for perhaps a minute, maybe more, before his face began to shift into a more thoughtful expression and he stared off into the distance as something Baiman had said registered with him.

"Kids" he whispered to himself.

"Hmm?" Baiman hummed at him inquisitively.

"Just something you said" Rochas replied absent-mindedly, still staring off at nothing in particular with his brow slightly furrowed.

"What sarge?" He asked. "You aren't actually making a list of the times you kept me from getting myself shot are you? "

"No" said the Sergeant. "No I'm not. I'm thinking about kids."

"Kids?" Said Baiman as he reoriented himself so he was facing Rochas again.

"Yeah. You know, kids. Children." He replied. "I never thought about it before. Having kids I mean. On Trieste all I really worried about was keeping everyone alive and how long we had before we got rotated out for leave, or how long until we got rotated back when we were on leave. I never really thought about having kids."

"Well it's not like any of us thought we'd ever get the chance" the one armed man said. "I certainly hadn't figured on it, and it was better not to think about that sort of thing back then."

Rochas nodded his head and hummed. "Yeah, but now...by the Throne Baiman, kids. I can't believe it. I'm gonna have kids."

"Sounding awful certain of yourself there Rochas" Baiman teased. "What makes you so sure you won't strike out and end up old and alone? It's not like you got a girl lined up already."
Or DOES he?
Implying krieger's are not as barren as there planet
Can we have a story about a krieger getting captured by slaneeshi forces and his in a plot about erotic BDSM torture.
Eh, we're more tasteful than that. We'd more likely have a story about a Slaaneshi cultist be seducted by a Krieger during the torture and redeem themselves for the Emperor.
Ah, understandable.
What quest?
Hex maniac quest.

Kriegers are the worst in bed, they are just depressing they dont beg they just get this glass eye stare and cry.
I like it.
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Rochas, you know what you gotta do. Fuck her w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶k̶ ̶o̶n̶

>Implying medicae's child bearing hips are pointless.
>Implying their love will bear no fruit
>Implying they won't have a shit ton of kids that each have their own number as well as their names
>Implying we'll never get to see medicae struggling to be a mother and Rochas trying to help her ease into it.

Man I love everything you've contributed here. I love thud. I love the tsun tsun krieger. I'm glad you are here, but that hurts man. We know there can be fertile kriegers. That shit's cannon. They have a fucking breeding program. Pretty hard to have one of those if all the women are bsrren. BA said she was initially tapped for a mixed gender long term garrison division, and later for "recruiting". I'm pretty sure that heavily implies she has a functioning baby maker. Don't stomp on my dreams man.
You can hope. I'm just saying adoptions probbably necessary.
Lord knows there are enough orphans.
he said earlier in the quest that she had just barely avoided reproduction duty. Have you been reading along?
I have but i always assumed the vitae womb was a gene mod.
Cause it's more depressing that way.

Though its bavari's story and whether or not she can bear childrens just a matter of how sad he wants it to go
I don't know. I have never felt this particular combination of sensations before, so the point is currently moot.
Suddenly, I can see beyond the mist. And view the fortress.
A minor thing, designed as more of a watch point, to be crewed with a skeleton staff, it paled before many of the Citadels I had broken before. I could make out clear defenses however, lining the building.
Assault cannons, heavy bolters and stubber positions made up most of them. Unconcerning.
However, my enhanced ocular sensors illuminated a tarantula missile platform, and a twin linked melta turret by the main entrance.
The place, was still inhabited.
"Sam, march two hundred meters to the right, then advance to the side of the fortress. There should be a secondary door there, in event of evacuation. I give you a minute to get there before I attack. Once I do, you will take the opportunity to sneak past the majority of the heretics, take out any important equipment, and vox a distress call. Is that clear?"
Sam nods rapidly in responce.
"Good. GO!" I order.
She goes.
Now to wait...
I wait for sixty seconds, and then I charge...

Zakayo, the blunted one, was siting upon the palisade, idly chewing an Iho stick, whilst berating the green nature of his subordinates.
Technically, they weren't his subordinates, but he treated them so. They were dumb, painfully so.
He would have further berated them for this, if his head, then his body, had not suddenly disintegrated into a fine red mist, bolt shells detonating in the ragged flesh.
The other cultists took several seconds to snap from their chemical stupor, and manned the defensive turrets, calling desperately for the much needed backup.

48b,50...Sam, its Sam now, silently pushed open the door.
She was not going to be fighting, fighting would attract attention, which would give her away and make her fail in her mission.
The Emperor abhors failure.
what do you think I've been doing?
I figured you did what I initially did and picked a random number and put "Cadia" in front.

Which is how the 645s came to be.
She holstered her lasgun, drawing her combat shovel instead.
Moving silently, she moved down the corridors.
The interior walls had been...decorated with the remains of the defenders.
They had failed to keep this fortress from the enemy, and had paid the price.
She saw one of these grotesque mockeries was somehow...alive.
Tracing the internal organs back to the head, she slammed the edge of her shovel into it, shattering the skull and causing the body to go lifeless.
She kept moving, she could hear the thundeous report of massed fire, and the satisfying krump of mass reactive shells steadily detonating inside wet flesh.
She moved away from the sounds, into the weave of passages.
Moving around a corner, she collided with three cultists.
Sam reacted instantly, bringing the shovel down on the head of the first one, sending fragments of brain and bone into the floor.
She spun, light on her feet, tightening the arc of her weapon, and slamming the point of the shovel into the mans neck, all but decapitating him.
Tearing the blade upwards, she turned towards the final cultist, who had just bought his gun up, and allowed her shovel to keep its movement, scything up, edge first, under the mans ribs.
As he fell, his finger tightened on the trigger of the stubber, and bullets sprayed from the nozzle. Sam had batted the gun away, but the noise would bring attention.
She ran, not caring for subtlety anymore, intent on completing her mission.

The defenders put up a poor defense, panic and insufficient equipment rendering me unassailable.
My storm bolter coughed again, destroying another cultist.
A missile from one of the emplacements streaked towards me, and I turn my chassis, deflecting the missile up at a sharp angle.
I respond with a stream of bolt rounds, destroying the turret and cooking off the ammunition.
I switch targets, destroying the remaining missile emplacements with precision fire.
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oh hell no. I went crazy ham into the 89th's organization. Even have a doctrine handbook
Ah. Well I mean why the hell not amirite? If its fun fuck it.
Officially, the transfer of the Witch to the 76th was an act of goodwill from the Lord General. This did not conceal anything, everyone knew the real reason behind it. If a leader could not know the hearts of his men a psyker could always peer into them. The Witch had regal features. High cheekbones, smooth skin and orderly hair pulled back. Rumor was she was part of the Lord General’s aristocratic family, the two did share a resemblance. Theta did not know what color her eyes were. He did not need to look into them to know she was repulsive.

Psykers were supposed to be gibbering lunatics. The presence of a strong and confident one was a threat but refusing the Lord General’s gift would have been an outrage. Theta once brought up the possibility to his commissar of the Witch suffering an accident by way of a new after dark grenade tossing drill but had curses and a glass thrown at him in response. This was not an uncommon occurrence between the two.

To Theta’s silent horror the Witch sat down opposite to him. Nothing new there. Whenever he was at headquarters the Witch sought him out, an unavoidable fact of life. Maul halten und weiter dienen.

The corporal looked to the other two men for help but it was no use. One man was busy considering his transfer request and the other wanted to die more than usual. A sensation of cold fingers running down his neck overwhelmed him.

“I’m glad I caught you in a good mood corporal.” She was smiling.

The corporal pretended not to notice her, nonchalantly brushing imaginary dust off his dark green coat. She had the warp but he could endure. The sensation on the back of his neck began to spread to his face.

“You know my name corporal, I am not trying to steal your soul.” Her frustration was clear as day.

Theta always prided himself in being vigilant. Something many people, armed and unarmed, were surprised to learn. He would not be deceived.
Do you want to run a "Only War" Campaign using Waifu Krieg or Ogryn and Krieg

if so... why the fuck do you want to do that you weirdo? What part of these stories are "Warry?" Your better off doing maid quest or something.

But you got gumption kid and I like that. So here you go.

Krieger 645 Disposable Assets

Homeworld: Post Cataclysmic (The 645, having absorbed many other regiments, has gotten a unusual almost optimism not common on pentinent worlds. However this doesnt mean Krieg is not a shitty place and the people stuck with the kriegers usually have storries that aren't cheery either)
Leader: Phlegmatic (Colonel 645-Prime has a history in combat, and she has carefully picked her officers so that outer units do not have to take direct orders from her or her unit to prevent inter-regiment strife)
Regiment type: Siege Infantry
Training Doctrine: Sappers
Equipment Doctrine: Breachers
Favored Weapon: Lascarbine, Ripper
Cost: 11 points.

Have fun
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Da'fuk is this shit? This is somehow even worse than fanfiction if such a thing is possible.
But then again since it is here it is a good thing that this acts as a containment thread .
...it is fanfiction.

What kindof drugs are you on baiter?
Huh, we finally picked up a troll. Neat.

Just so you know, we're all generally pretty happy while we're in this thread, so you won't get very many (You)'s.

We simply don't care.
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A fan fiction is written by a single author and atleast has some kind of continuity.
That is the difference.
Anyway stay in containment. /tg/ was in a better shape lately. Less fetish threads and less thread derailments. Guess this was the reason.
To continue this with necessary background.

"The 645 Disposables are named as such because, as a mass infantry siege unit, the Krieg's are aware of their uses as currency to be spent.

The 645 were sent to the Vorona Expanse when the planetary governor of the Armory world of Kathas V turned traitor, falling to heretekery and reactivating various pieces of the disassembled Reaver titan and corrupting the local knight world with it.

645 was sent alongside various other regiments, including from the ogryn world of Kolfa and Catachan, alongside the traditional cadians.

The 645 were successfully in breaking into the armory and purging the traitor before the imperial pieces could be assembled into a chaos titan, however losses were severe.

The situation worsened when Waagh! Scrapboot arrived to see what all the fuss was, and decided that since the imperial navy was trying so hard to force them out, then there must be good fighting here.

The 645, has since absorbed the surviving elements of the other regiments and are to fortify the breaches they just made to prevent ork intrusion while searching and destroying various parts of the armory for chaos stained artifacts that must be destroyed. The goal is to hold position until reinforcements can arrive. The situation is worrisome...

Even MORE worrisome is that the orks havent yet attacked any human garrissons, which implies that they are fighting SOMETHING ELSE. There is a 55% chance it is just each other and all is well. There is a 45% chance that things are about to get really bad.

And thats the background.

Yeah... and they are.
Its just multiple fanfics are in one thread.
But whatever you do you buddy.
This is really good. I love seeing the story banks growing larger.
I honestly can't tell if you're baiting or just new here.
On the chance you're serious(ly butthurt), you should probably know that /tg/ writing fanfiction is an old as fuck tradition, along with being angry at elves and the things that became CYOAs.
Also, there's 5 fanfic writers in here that are actually pretty good if you read through from the first thread.
>actually pretty good

Depends on the choir apparently.
Nice story anon, let the fury of the Emperor guide Sam's shovel

Please ignore the baiting faggot
You switch targets, and send a spray into the twin linked melta guarding the door.
You feel as if your blood is afire with righteous fury.
You keep firing, the door buckling under the weight of the blasts.
You lower your storm bolter, and turn your loping gait into a fast sprint.
You feel the fire in you rise, all encompassing, burning, raging!
The sensation begins to form words in your gut, forcing their way up the throat you no longer can use.
Twenty meters.
You spool up your assault cannon, its machine spirit eager to finally issue judgement.
Ten meters.
You edge yourself that bit faster.
Five meters.
The sensation becomes unbearably strong, burning any last semblance of restraint.
You Burst through the door, slamming into the mob of cultists behind with the force of a nova cannon.
You open fire.
(Waifu thread)

88c ran down the hall, huddling in her sleep bag, ignoring the questioning stares of 88a and b as she rushed by.

The evidence was undeniable, 88c thought to herself. Sargent Tear told her that the scalp touch didn't count with her helmet on. Logically, this meant that, in order of her to recieve her reward, the Sargent demands she must remove her helmet. To do so would be to bear her skin, to the outside, she may even have to remove her mask.

It was plainly obvious that the Sargent was a raging pervert and after her body to do... illicious things with, like flesh touching. 88c pulled her blanket even closer to her, ignoring the stares her fellow wombmates were giving her.

The dataslate was too powerful, she performed the morale procedures exactly as stated in the Amore et Krieg slate and it has reduced Sargent to a savage beast thinking with... with...

...What do males use when overcome by depraved lust anyway? 88c wondered... not that she was interested mind you, but she needed to defend herself. She supposed it didn't matter. What did matter was that as soon as she performed it to boost regiment morale a squad leader has become obsessed with her, all because she was watching him that one time... well those two times... three? Well who's counting, that's the administratium's job.

Whatever the details of the Sargent's behavior the cause is all to obvious. 88c has, drunk on power, become too 'cute'. This was awful, she let her ambition get ahead of herself.

88c's respirator hissed, maybe this wasn't that bad, she should collaborate externial data.

"645-88a? 645-88b?" 645-88c whispered, the two krieg's heads emerging from the top of the bunk. "Am I too cute?"
She behaves adorably, but she is a Grenadier.
She is good at this solo stuff.
Just adorable as well.

The krieg sisters looked at eachother, then back to the girl. "What's a cute?" 88a questioned.

88b however, nodded sighed, white steam hissing from her gasmask. "Is cute a height thing? The magos biologis already told you countless times that your size is not a mutation but a random quirk of the external genetic material the vitae womb uses to reduce genetic degradation right? You aren't a heretic just because you are short."

"I... I am not short!" 88c hissed, steam venting from her mask. "I'm just... optimized for trenches, that's all. And that's not it cute is like... something that makes people want to...touch your scalp." 88c mumbled the last 3 words.

"...repeat that?" 88a asked. "You said something about touching your head."

88c shrinks into the sleeping bad, steam wisping out of the bag hole as 88c hid out of view from her sisters. "Nothing! I said nothing of the sort! Good night."

The two other kriegers nodded before getting back in there bed.

"...Inquiry? Why are respirator's required uniform if the regiment components do not?" 88b asked from within her bag.

88a and c stared at their sister. "645-88b!" 88a replied astonished. "You can't bare your skin, you'll corrode.

88b waved outside. "In Krieg maybe but look at this place, that catachan 645-88c observes does not even wear the top half of his uniform and his vitals are clearly more optimal then any of the krieg males I've been outfitted with.

"Confirmation?" 88a asked, head tilted. "His perspiration ratio seems unusually abundant. Perhaps sweat glands are suboptimal."

88b shruged. "Retort acknowledged but the flaw is slight compared to the rate of skin barred. Further upon review of the uplifting primer there is no clause against removal of the uniform off hours. So long as my gear is within my person in case of ambush, the uniform may be modified with permission from the solider's nco."

88c gasped. "But, 645-88b, that's improper!"
88b made a noise that sounds like a clicking of the tongue. "Concern acknowledged and dismissed. Unit will request permission for uniform adjustment from Sargent 645-13d at second ration. Resume nighttime cycles."

The krieg turned around, red lenses glaring at the wall as her sisters turned to their own business.

88c was worried, it was clear her cuteness was infecting others, inspiring... inefficency in the ranks from overabundant moral. There was nothing to be done.

She was going to have to report her crime to the commissar. 88c sniffed. This life... withstood expectations. It was regretable for it to be over without her ever getting to have her genetic material sampled for the next regiment.
Boy I sure do love suspense. Wonder what'll happen next?
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Oh dear god. The cute is to strong.
Intense hand holding
Cute, hypocritical Krieger girl has doomed us all!
Bumping from 8
Good thread. Very goofhgrnekd indeed.
Huh, I wasn't expecting a sexy psyker chick being his girlfriend, but I wont complain.
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I haven't been able too look at your story long enough to read it, is it any good?
Oh god Emperor...IMMA COMEING!
That's a loaded gun.
"Oi mate, tell me the truth, are you shit at this or not?"

The fuck he's supposed to say?

I think its good. I'd like a few more spaces between the lines.
Oh god, that girl better get to see the Catachan on her way to the Commisar and give him a tearful goodby. His confusion will be priceless. Then when he sprits after her to find out what the hell she did the commissar just looks at the two of them an says get out of my office.
I tried to look at it to read, but the text hurt my eyes to look at, and it seemed a bit bland, but if you say its good I'll try again.
I'll make a paste bin of it thats more spaced out, it reads a lot like the old writefaggotry you find in 1d4chan has, but less sex.
Haven't heard much from our glorious big chested tech priest and her tank adventures.
I miss so.
Will get to reading.
Yesss, busty cyber waifu is necessary.
I should go put my actual stuff up too.
I just wanna see if she gets into a weird orgy with the tank and it's crew.
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Guys I found our next OP.

Also, in the interest of discussion, which stories could theoretically co-exist in the same universe? Batavi's stuff feels pretty stand-alone, but Mimikyu's an High Proctor's stuff seem like they could co-exist.
They do exist in the same universe, the 40k one.
You know what he means.

Just cause for instance Bavari and mine both have kriegers doesn't mean Terranis held, or existed.

IT mostly depends on how we treat the preexisting elements.

For instance the 645 regiment is entirely vitae generated, which as i mentioned before I interpretted as a sortof gene mod that reduces the retired krieger to a genetic servitor.

I genuinely think Bavari's idea of Krieg is MORE optimistic, with the Medicae and most of the others being woman who don't have mutation despite the radiation. So it may not be likely ours mess.
Same universe, alternate Realities.

Batavi's Canon prevents any story with fem-Krieg from co-existing with his, unless more fem-Krieg are made later in his timeline.

Where in the hell did bats say they were mostly women? Do you have reading comprehension problems?
The dude is over analyzing his own waifu story, reading comprehension is the least of his problems. Just ignore his ranting unless he goes to far off the deep end.
Are death korps filled with mutants from the fallout of their planet?
I believe he means specifically that krieg women were a project that was dropped rather than averted because of mutations, not the prevalence of Krieg women.
Basically I meant that for the most part from what I can guess is that a lot of Krieg's population under Bavari's interpretation IS the normal way, so Medicae and others being capable of producing offspring they do not see with the Vitae womb being a accessory that either enhances this or supplements this.

I have krieg as being entirely dependent on the vitae womb due to the toxicity sterilizing the actual kriegers.

Whatever. I'm going to do something else.
Continue with the waifu story please.
This kinda reminds me of that old kreig story between an infantry man and a civilian woman.
They had to help garrison the death korps and had some sort of weird dating site to determine the perfect mate.
Then someone made up how the planet became the perfect colony for them and they used the people's DNA to revitalized the spent vitawomb.

That's the Terranis Holds thingy, and this is... inspired by it.
Yeah thats from the original love and krieg shared universe, specifically "A bar girl and the krieger".

So far however the only real references to the old stories is that 88c has a copy of the fiction on her data slate.
OH correction.

Bavari did also include Regentropfen within his own setting. So that element of love and krieg is canon within Bavari's setting.
Regen what?
Okay note this is not about my own setting im not overthinking I just like lore. I think you guys know by now I like lore.

Regentropfen is a song that features in Love and Krieg the original and is actually one of the most prevalent elements in the story.


The song is allegedly the last piece of art thats ever been produced on Krieg.

The idea is that the son of a loyalist noble house wrote the song during the war on Krieg.

It was inspired by the sight of watching the acid rain dissolve the artwork of the writer's mom and is essentially Krieg's funeral dirge, mourning the loss of the entire planet.

It is the only sentimental thing Krieg has, and the piece will make any krieg solider, without fail, cry.
Slowly, I come back to my senses.

I am striding forward, foul ichor and feted organs staining my glorious chassis, assault cannon, still firing,
almost nonstop, still shredding the enemies of the emperor as they tried to hide from his wrath.

It did not work for them.

I stumbled a bit, suddenly having to consciously walk again.
I keep moving.

Seeing what can only be the comms room, I move to enter.

By the time I notice the side passage, I am already before it, witnessing the heretical scum bring their guns up to fire.

An ambush...
A good one. It would take out anyone caught in it unawares.
But I am not anyone.

"BY THE BLOOD!", my Vox Amplifier sounds, as I unleash my assault cannon down the passage, shredding the ambush.

My assault cannon spins down, its duty now done, and I move to the comms door.

Turning my talons into a single point, I punch the door, my entire limb bursting through it.
Pivoting my body, I tear the door, and some of the surrounding rockcrete out of the way.

What met me was quite possibly the worst possible scene.

"So...the corpse worshiping fool finally arives." The monsterous figure rumbles.
"We were begining to wonder if you would show up at all."
The creature was enormous, a gargantuan hulk of armoured plates and shuddering warpflesh.
It was once like me, an entombed astartes, given life once more.

But now, it was not.
It was something far removed from respectable.

One of its libs was ended in a complex rocket pod, whilst the other issued forth a collection of tendriels, that seemed to be holding something.

Oh...oh no.

No no no nonononono!

The...thing bought its arms into the light, revealing my worst fears.

Sam had been captured, and subsequently mutilated.
She hung with her head down, jagged cuts and vicious bruises coating her body, leaving no area untouched.
Her arms were broken in multiple places, shards of bone poking out of the skin, drawing thin trickles of blood.
Is this better?
Sorry about crushed text, I'm making this up on the spot, so I tend to do this.
Its not, just that, its...I cant put to words what is putting me off about it. Something feels off when I look at it. Though it might be my usual preference to read greentext to signify differences in perspective. But that might just be me.
okay that music is beautiful

and holy shit
Lack of emotion or open romanticisum, compared to the amount of violent actions, and radically changing thought patterns. Or that I am changing between 1st and2nd person perspective.
I feel evil.
Eh I've killed off small children you aren't there yet.
The life of a tau drone
...What does this have to do with dead children I'm worried now.
Her legs had been ripped off, butally, no finesse, trailing lines of a few desperate blood vessels and strips of meat connecting to her left leg, which dangled a few centimetres off the floor, swinging softly.

I could make out worse things, defilements that went beyond the body, and into the mind and soul of the girl.


"Oh yes." the thing started...
"My lackeys had much fun with her."

The same fury I had felt washed over me once more, hotter then any feeling I had ever felt in my over six hundred years of service.

"She was very obliging..."


"And she posessed such diligence."


"Oh yes, she did fight at first."


"But once we gave her our...ministrations, she submitted...


"Yet now, she is broken. Spent. To be cast aside at my whim."


"...really just a time waster."

I snapped, a feather drifting across my vision.
I roared, and charged across the decking of the battle barge.

Horus, once my beloved brother, tossed Sam to the side, and grinned.

I bought my one good arm around, fingers extended, and jabbed at the Arch Traitor.

The Warmaster reeled back from the blow, unexpected force pushing him back.

I charged again.

Horus, the coward, pulled a missile launcher from his hip, and fired a salvo.

I turned my blessed artificer armour, the missiles deflecting off the impregnable plate.

I tore apart the offending weapon, rendering it inert.

Horus used the moment to catch me in the side with his infernal mace, sending me sprawling.

Using my wings, I propelled myself to a wall, then sprang off at the ArchTraitor, shocking him with the maneuver.

He payed for his slow reaction with his putrid life.

My one good arm embedded itself in Horus' chest, all the way up to the elbow.

He turned to look at me.
"I fight for the Emperor, our father, Arch Traitor."

He appeared confused, then he laughed.
I tore my arm up, bisecting his body in twain.
Soon I will be rescued.

I had won.
...Wait a dreadnought altered the course of the horus herasy for a waifu?
Black Rage, dude
Log entry >>51402026
"We cannot get him under control!"
"Try!" I shout in response.
Ancient dreadnoughts are extremely difficult to manage, due to the detachment they often suffer from reality, due to the different perception of time.
When the dreadnought is afflicted by the gene curse of the black rage, and believes himself Sanguinius, this issue is compounded.
"L-leave him." a voice stutters from behind the confusion.

A woman, wearing penitent robes walked forward.

No one really knows how, or why she is on this vessel, but the Captain allows it, so she must be of some importance.

She strides forward, twichy, but calm.

"H-hey Arkos, remember me?" She whispers, writhing under the dreadnoughts gaze.


Unnoticed to all but myself, the woman, Sam, smiles slightly.

She lifts her arms up, and the Dreadnought does something never before seen.

The raving beast, gently, scoops her up, and lifts her, carrying her in a gentle claw.

"...L-lets go then."

And softly, belying his berserk nature, the black painted war engine, softly walks away.

I don't know what I just saw, short of a miracle.

The Emperor truly does bless us.
Give this man a cookie!
I think it's more of "Seeing a mutulated Krieg girl envoked Grandpa Dreadnought's black rage" kinda deal.

And I think the inference is the black rage causes hallucinations. Causing what is, in reality, a traitor dreadnought to transform into FUCKING HORUS, and Grandpa Dreadnought into HOLY EMPEROR DAMNED SANGUINIUS HIMSELF.

...But that's just my interpretation.
The common accepted view of the black rage is that when the fortitude of a Blood angel or a blood angel descendant is weakened too much, the psychic backlash of Sanguinius' death will be felt in that marine, as blood angels and their descendants are all unusually psychically active and linked to one another. This colossal backlash from the death of their primarch, who was very strongly linked with his legion, overwhelms the mind of the marine and, through this connection, makes him believe he is Sanguinius and his foe is Horus.
Said backlash was most prevalent at the exact moment of his death, but doe to the sheer force, also echoed through space and time, meaning new marines can still experience it.
Its actually a pretty cool idea.
>TFW your death is so badass your great-great-great-to-the-nth-grandchildren still feel it.
that feel when no krieg waifu
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From 9
Not long after the whiteshield returned with the hinge they needed. Galviston scrutinized the part, over and over. Partly to mess with the rookie, another part to be damn sure. Those armored doors were unreasonably heavy, and they lacked proper equipment to hoist it. Their labors began again. As the team started the entire process again the whining grew. Another three hours of carefully moving arts and following cryptic Adeptus Mechanicus instructions.
"AM-TO-36-56-0-4 doth do sayeth upon this holy scripture" Galviston read from the technical order with a high pitched nasally voice. Mocking the overly colorful wordage of the order. Of course not reading from it word for word. "Do place the connectingeth hinge upon thine holy place as stated in sub section 41.3. Then do jammeth thine bolt all good like into hither hole. Mmm yes like that!" The Corporal continued as his detail did all the work.
"Shut the fuck up Ray!" Martin droned growing in pitch as he spoke.

After the hinge was bolted in place came the difficult task of lifting the heavy door. Three men were more than enough, but then one would have to bolt the door into the assembly. Effectively making it a two man carry while one person, the whiteshield, would quickly screw in the remaining bolts. They grunted and moaned as they heaved the armored door up the chimera. Shouting swears and curses the entire time.
"Cadian's Never say die!" Martin joked. His face red with discomfort.
"Shut the fuck up Martin!" Galviston responded in kind.
The whole ordeal took about four minutes to complete, before the whiteshield bolted down each bolt and tightened them. With a sigh of relief they allowed the door to hang on the hinges. All that remained was the covering plate. Rikkus quickly quipped with how excessive the armor was. The heavy steel of the door itself wasn't enough. They readied the armor plate, only to find they had misplaced the bolts for those. Galviston groaned. So close to being finished with the work detail, yet one more issue presented itself.

The whiteshiled and Rikkus rolled under the chimera to search. While they did Galviston walked over to his harness and pulled out his canteen. Then thudded against the ground to sit and drink. Martin did likewise as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Martin stretched and sprawled out his legs. Commenting on when he was a whiteshield himself. Galviston chuckled, still feeling he was one.
"Hey I gotta ask." Galviston spoke in a calm tone. "Why are you and Parvin fighting anyway? You two were so sickeningly lovey dovey together."
"I don't want to talk about it." Martin let his eyes roll away from Galviston. He sighed and took a sip from his canteen
"Oh come on, don't want to gush to your ol' pal Ray-Ray?" Gavliston scrunched his lips together. Then playfully punched Martin's shoulder. "Come on, what did you do?" He raised his eyebrow.
"It's not me. Its what she wants. I don't think I'm ready for-" Martin opened up.
"We found them!" One of the two shouted out from under the chimera.
"Wonderful, now put the rest of the door on." Galviston responded hardly giving them any concern.
"But Corporal, you're not going to help?"
"I am helping. I Don't lift with my back I lift with my Whiteshields." Galviston turned back to Martin. Hoping the young man would continue.

Despite Galvistons tomfoolery he did have his teams interests at heart. Martin had been acting noticeably moody as of late. So He wanted to know what was going on with the young man
It took a bit more coaxing, though eventually martin seemed willing to talk. That was until the whiteshields groaned and interupted them again. Martin and galviston let out a collective sigh as they stood and moved to help out. The two were struggeling to place the plate on and bolt it at the same time. Martin took to one side, while Galviston to the other. The weight seemed to shift around as they moved and found better hand holds. Rikkus 's foot slipped on some loose gravel. The plate swung hardly towards Galviston. his hand pinned under the plate for a moment. He began shouting at everyone to move it back.
"It should not be this hard people!" Galviston spat. A bit more maneuver and adjusting of the plate and it was fixed in place finally.

Galviston looked at his hand. Red and pulsing with pain. His knuckles absorbed much of the impact, it hurt to move his hand and there was a slight gouge in his hand that leaked blood. He shouted at the careless whiteshields as he held his wrist to stabilize his hand. Martin ran for an aid kit as Galviston lamented.
"Rogal H Dorn! My hand is all frakked up!" Nothing felt broken but it needed medical attention. 'Medical attention' Galviston thought "My hand is all frakked up." He smiled and spoke slower. "I need to see a doctor." Galviston said at a slow and joyous pace. Martin curled his lips angrily as he saw the intent in Galviston's eyes.
"No you fuggen don't." Martin shook his head. Galviston only smiled wider. Then he ran off "Dude not cool!" It was too late. Galviston already ran off for the Hospitlar tent.
His hand was held aloft as he waited in line to be seen. He smiled bright and looked strange to the others as he held his swollen and bloody hand in the air. He greeted the others in line as if nothing were amiss. Though he didn't show it, he was in excruciating pain. Once inside the tent, he caught Rosalyn Moving between rooms. He called out to her. She looked at him, and his hand. Then rolled her eyes. 'What has he done now?' She thought to herself. Though she smiled at him. she pretended as if he wasn't there.
"Hey sis, My hand is jacked up, can you look at it?" Galviston said with a smile.
"Oh dear, this looks bad." She poked his hand. Galviston cringed and muffled a shout of pain under his lips.

Her tone with him held a demeanor that suggested she had no idea who he was. She tried to bend his fingers and he let out a yelp, his body followed his hand as Rosalyn pressed. She kept smiling as though nothing was wrong. To her she felt this might have been an excuse for him to see her. If he wanted to play, she would play with him just the same. After all she could tell already his hand wasn't broken. So why not have a bit of fun?
"This requires immediate attention." She said forcefully. The curtain to a room opened and she shoved him in and sat him at a chair. He smiled, thinking she was about to enter. "Don't you worry, brave Cadian. Sister Bethany will be with your shortly." Then promptly closed the curtain. Galviston could hear her giggeing with another Hospitlar then she walked away.

And he waited. And Waited. Once the pain in his hand became nothing more than a background distraction for him the curtain opened and a gruff and cold looking woman walked in. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes emotionless and uncaring. Though a pretty shade of blue, Gavliston thought. There was no delicate touch either. She jerked him by the wrist and began asking him questions with a dull and authoritative candor. Any attempt to make side talk was met with silence.
Sister Bethany performed her duties exceptionally. She splinted and wrapped his hand. Even wrote up a note for him exempting him form work details. Just as she finished, she rose and left. Galviston sat there puzzled for a moment.
"That could have gone better." He said in a puzzled manner.

His joyful smile slowly faded as the disappointment set in. He stood from the chair and made his way into the open area of the tent, towards the exit. Just then he felt a soft tug at his shoulder. When he turned a small vial that rattled was presented in front of his face. Sister Rosalyn smiled at him and placed the vial in his good hand.
"Take two of these every twelve hours. They will dull the pain." She spoke pleasantly enough to him. Though still with her coy tone. Galviston nodded and began to leave. "And Raymond. It's not a good idea to maim yourself to come and see me."
"But I actually messed up my hand." He laughed. Rosalyn huffed a laugh through her nose as well.
"If you wanted to see me, you could have just come by around 2100 when I am off shift." She winked. Galviston's mood slowly rose again as his boyish smile grew on his face again.
"Sister, are you asking me out?" He leaned towards her and raised his eyebrow.
"Who ever said that." She rolled her eyes coyly. "I'm just letting you know when I happen to be available this evening."
"Can I happen to know if I should meet you here?" He asked. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Then shoved him out the tent. He listened to her heavenly giggle as she did.

Galviston wanted to enjoy this moment, and clenched his fists unthinkingly in triumph. The pain soon stopped him. "Frak! Gloating... Gloating hurts right now. Shouldn't do that." He groaned as he walked away. clutching his hand as he doubled over.
I considered cutting my losses and just napping but whatever. Ogryn thread.

"Greetings, Ogryn." You turn behind you, the red lenses of Fifteehate staring at you. "Your recent acquisition is satisfactory, present for inspection."

You blink as steam hisses from the Krieger's mask. "Let me see the drill."

You toss her the gizmo, the solider buckling under the weight of the drill. "Oops, forget you small folk do that."

Fifteehate's voice doesnt come out as good as normal, its voxxy quality slightly staticy. "Apology, aknowledged." The infantrywoman rasps. "Please remove obstruction." You pick up the drill as the woman gets up, holding up the odd device, 3 spinny bits poking out with one of those pointy ends in the center.

The krieger bends down, looking at the scratched yellow paint. "Looks like a Centurion Siege drill, given it's markings and wear on the drillbits I'd say its seen use since the Age of Apostasy. Look at those marks."

She points to a small gash on the end. "Ork marks are more clean, and Elder Shuriken guns do not leave holes as ragged so much as wear away the edges. And of course we can rule out chaos because if this was damaged by a heretical machine it'd already be disassembled and dissolved in separate pieces for safety's sake. This is actual a shot from a hotshot lasgun. This means this weapon may have actually seen combat in the Terra Crusades. Fascinating."

You scratch your head "You sure do like shiny things mate." You nod. It all makes sense if you thought it about the right way and didnt try to get muddled up in the jibber. The drill was shiny, Fifteehate was a girl. Girl's liked shiny things, ergo she liked the drill.

Fifteehate tilts her head away from you, focusing on the wall. "Antiquariary is a optimal skill to best appraise the total value and fighting ability of all available resources." Fifteehate mutters. "Such appraisals are entirely professional."
D'aww, Fifteehate's a /k/rieger.

You nod and smile, as usually your buddy was talking nonsense again. You wish that kriegers would be a bit less stiff and learn how to word right like you dos.

"Anyway, it looks nice but I ain't sure how it works so I was waiting for you."

Fifteehate nods, pointing to a small bendy part attached to the holdy part. "See that part? If you squeeze it it goes on."

You nod, fascinated. "What's that button do?" You point at a red button as Fifteehate backs off.

"Do not touch that! It sets off the flamer."

You laugh. "Dat's a good one, why would they put a flamer in dere you can't burn rocks." You pause for a moment. "Can they?"

"Look do not push that button." Fifteehate says, picking up her shovel. "Instructions ceased, begin digging."

You nod squeezing the drill and watching it spin in front of you awhirr in the air as you push it into the tunnel wall, dirt getting eaten by the big metal thing as your buddy begins shoveling next to you.

Digging is less exciting then you thought, its mostly slowly walking forward holding a drill. You thought there would be more to it, like, maybe youd get to fight a ork or find buried treasure.

At least its not lonely you guess... speaking of lonely.

"Oi, Fiftee, do you know a bloke named rockchewa. He's a biggun like me and he got dis bent t thing but with spiky bits?"

Fifteehate stopped shoveling. "...A what? Why do you ask?"

"Well you see..." The ogryn thought. "Dere was dis bloke who dug into the tunnel named Rockchewa and said he was looking for someone to fight but ran off before he said who. He wasn't green or nuffin but I thought we were the only ones diggin and he aint with us."

Fifteehate paused in her digging. "We are... I will inform Watchmaster 645-657." Fifteehate nods before running down the tunnel. "Don't forget about Latrine duty."

You nod, Sixteefifteeven, no wonder you can never remenber all of her name dat's too long. You should give them all short proper names like you do.
These threads are awesome, you're all doing a wonderful job
Maybe in the next op we can include a quick index of the in progress/finished stories with the relative pastebins, just to keep track more easily
Dreadnoughtfag here.
Want to write something else, can't think up a full story to start.
Ideas? Shall I help write the Taukreig fic?

You know what I would like. I would like more in the original verse. I mean all this is great, but I wanna hear "Terranis holds." That's just me though. Personally i'm not into Tau krieg. If original verse isn't your jam, there was a joke idea like four threads back about a Krieg sanitary worker enslaved by Orks who is then entered into a Grot gladiator Colosseum. All the shit shoveling gave him the shoulders of a greek god, and when he bashes shit with his shovel he hits like a sack of bricks. Enslaved female Eldar commentator/Judge? as love interest.I could use the laugh. don't actually do that though, it's retarded and you are better than that.
I have an idea.
Terranis hybrid wanders round a planet.
this planet is in a multi way war, sorta like dawn of war.
He is the only surviving member of his watch, and has been written off as dead.
He wanders through the planet, consequently going in and out of other factions territories, gradually either killing some stuff, subjugating stuff, and potentially...romancing stuff(oh the inefficiency).
I have the strong desire to write about a krieger seducing an ork now (kidding)
Holy shit, read Love and Krieg whilst listening to a song called Deadwood, need to shoot something.
But, before I begin, How is it that the Kriegers use the phrase "Terranis holds." to you.
Not to sure myself.
bump from 9
I'd buy that book.
especially if the elf waifu is involved
Thanks, this story has been kind of hard to write because Theta is such an unusual character. He does not understand the world around him and everything he does not understand he considers a danger. He also has no traits that him relatable or likeable so its hard to put yourself in his shoes. But I am trying to make it work.
What happened to frauengiseer?
The writeanon for that seems to have gotten really busy or something. They havent been around for a while.
He writes several big chunks and posts all at once. Not 1-2 regularly.
I recall he used to post regularly, he wrote more then me of course but he still commented and stuff.

Not dead, just deeply frustrated with the parts I was working on. Still not very happy with it but I have been delinquent for most of the week so I'm going to dump it all this evening after work.

I will update the pastebin as well.

Very sorry for vanishing for so long.
bump from 9
Bump from eight.
I am the excite.
Bump from... something.
Our machine waifu will soon return to us, rejoice!
Also bump.
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I actually included the song as well. Mostly because Chopin is always appropriate, and we all adore the original Love and Krieg.

I also have mention of a Batavian regiment in Cog and Krieg, the 87th, which was the sister regiment to the one Rochas and Medicae were in. In LAK 2.0, batavianon stated the 87th was decimated to the point of inoperability, and their remaining elements folded into Rochas' regiment.

The 87th in my story is mentioned as being newly reconstituted And rechristened after a successful but costly campaign against the Tau in the galactic east.

So my story takes place a few years after his. As for the cultural (read: stylistic) differences between his Krieg and mine, an Anon in the earlier thread stated my headcanon: Krieg is a whole planet. And the Krieg in BL books are portrayed very differently by different authors. No matter how hard the Krieg might want to project themselves as a monoculture, it's just not possible. Different regions will make different sorts of people. Maybe Medicae is a Ferrograd Hive native, and mine are from Hive Sigma (formerly Hive Ultrect) before it was slagged in Jurten's war and then rebuilt underground. Who knows?
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Ok guys, no shit, we've got ourselves a Krieger in the 40k edition of Towergirls. I think we'd be missing a huge opportunity if we didn't help stat her out. Thoughts?

I have no idea how that works, but i am willing to try and help. How does this work?
The krieger has four stats.
Love: How much they like you
Lust: How often they want sexy times
Wealth: Bling
Power: The forces they command

They also have 3 good points and two bad points,
2 bedroom turn ons, one turn off

And two magic items called dowries you get when you rescue them that do things like "Lets you summon a dropship".

If you max out their romance they also have one gift which is for more sexy times, like a "Hades Breaching Drill".

Ok, so items are obvious: your very own Krieger Mask that works like Proctor's Aegis, making you more confident and fearless in battle.

The other is a trench shovel. Her trench shovel.

I think you should be able to call down artillery strikes for something, since siege regiments are a big thing wtih the krieg, but i don't know what that would be.

Love should be low, and there is no way she has wealth, but power and lust make sense to me. Or perhaps power and love. I'm not sure.
Krieger stats idea.
Love. +1. (Wants attention)
Lust. 0 (the 1% that know what this is, don't really care)
Wealth -1 (It was the wealth that doomed Krieg to nuclear hell)
Power +2 (obvious)

Max out gift. Superheavy tank?
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here are some examples
Yeah, max gift should be a superheavy artillery piece.
Love. That's the whole point of this thread. From Headpats to Housewives, love and Krieg has always been about the discovery and growing affection of a Krieg and their lover.
Deathstrike Missle Launcher.

Get yourself a girl who can kill anyone anywhere at anytime.

Also arent the max gifts always sexual?
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You know what I love? Artillery.
Second attempt.
Death Korps of Krieg.
Krieger/grenadier chan.
Soldier of the imperium.

+Completely devoted to her commander.
+A curious girl, inquisitive about these new...feelings.
+Has thousands of clone-siblings to fight with her
+/- Has no idea of what smut is.
- Eschews wealth or glory, as that is what doomed her planet.

Love #-#-#-#
Lust #
Power #-#-#-#

Krieger mask.
Negate all morale or emotion based issues when Item is in use.
Trench shovel.
(I have no idea. Sorry)

Superheavy artillery battery.
Destroy any target object with #-#-# or lower.

Loves. bdsm.
Loves. submissive.
Hates. interspecies.
Was kindof hoping turn off was "Bare skin" but thats just 88c.

Speaking of which I have to get to work on that.
I spent ages trying to get the turn off. It was on the tip of my tongue.
Scratch interspecies, that was just a backup filler, bare skin is FAR better.

Does bdsm encompass rough sex? I can't really see a krieger getting off on being tied up, but I can see them liking it hard fast and brutal given the hight pain tolerance they would likely have.
Aaaand I got here just in time for it to hit limit. I guess I'll just stick around for a while and write until we hit ten and the new thread goes up, or until I fall asleep, in which case I can post what I write in the morning. Unless people really want it in this thread as soon as possible, but I am worried that if we do that some people might miss a post or two. What do you all think?


Yay! Good to see you man, I was starting to worry a bit there. Hope you're doing well.
Hold on I'm going to look up "imperal names"

I cant just make every character named stupid things like Richand Tear or translate rusty to latin.

Last ones we let atrophy to the deadest limit before we moved but I dont think anyone will miss anything if we just link the new thread at the end. In fact I'll go do it now.
I fucked the name up and I dont know how.

Delete quickly and then repost if you must.
I dont know how to delete a thread.

Same as deleting a post its in the options.

Hopefully you haven't missed the window.
...Not following.
Found it thank you.

At the bottom of the screen if you scroll down to the bottom of the thread on the right hand side there is a place where you can change the way things look, and where you can delete posts. you select the post by clicking the box on the side of it and check marking it, and then you hit the delete button down on the bottom right hand side. You've almost certainly missed the window of opportunity by now though.
oh hey you made it in time, great

Probably best to wait for this to get a bit further down before making the new thread though. Just saying we don't wanna attract any undue attention from the trolls and assholes.
Too late

Besides fuck em. Its not like I got the best record anyway.
Yeah, that was my intention.
Just use a combination of gothic and pig latin.
hmmm thread is kill i see. Best to wait until ten.

I fucked it up then. I made a new one. I am not a clever man.
Then write that instead bdsm. The fitting words make the difference

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