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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Past Threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Love%20and%20Krieg

Authors please try to include your pastebin in your first post of the thread, and we can shove them in the OP of subsequent threads.

Cog and Krieg: http://pastebin.com/Mt1cGGvw

The trials of Infantry 645-88c: http://pastebin.com/fNFC7P05

Thudd and his Good days: http://pastebin.com/zsXUq4LY

I dont know the others pastebins sorry.
I got a long weekend coming up I might get to writing some more.
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I need more Waifu in my life.
One Day: pastebin.com/embed_js/64EeM2WG

In the twilight hours Company A arrayed themselves for the assault. On the fire step stood the first wave, composed of the verlorene haufen. If asked what the verlorene haufen was, Theta would have explained that it was a kind of improvised officer school unique for requiring its students to do only one thing: survive. The members of this group were volunteers who wanted to be commissioned as officers and their purpose was to open breaches in the enemy line. To aid mobility they only wore field jackets and were weighed down with bandoliers of grenades. They were armed with knives, wire cutters, clubs, chainswords, bolt pistols, sharpened entrenching tools and many other items. It was from the few survivors of these groups that new generations of officers arose.

Behind them stood the second wave composed of grenadiers and regular infantry. The third wave was composed of the most valuable guardsmen which were the quartermasters, engineers and officers. A quartermaster carried an antiquated chest filled with the ashes of the former company captains between the waves of guardsmen. The masked men chanted a hymn in their local dialect and reached their hands out towards, but never touched, the chest. “A wholesome and healthy practice,” Theta thought, “unlike what the villagers were doing earlier today.” The Witch stirred uneasily beside him. When the ceremony was done the company descended into the fog.

Thanks to the commissar’s nightly amasec fueled rants, Theta’s knowledge of the galaxy had grown to be immense and encyclopedic. He knew that it was undeniable that Krieg produced the best regiments, that the blue skinned xenos put chemicals in the water that made men and animals homosexuals, that abhumans known as squats lived on the eastern fringes, but for the life of him Theta could not figure out why the fog was leaving droplets of water on his lenses. Fog was supposed to be toxic and radioactive.
“Its condensation.” The feeling of cold fingers caressed Theta’s neck. The voice was everywhere and nowhere. “The fog is made of water, did they ever teach you anything useful?” The Witch, dressed in a stained greatcoat given to her that was several sizes too large, walked ahead of him. Theta grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. Theta addressed her but deliberately looked at the fog as he spoke instead of looking at her eyes. Theta was smart, it was well known that one could lose their soul by looking into the eyes of a psyker.

“Keep giving directions on the vox and don’t say anything to me. Verbally or mentally.” Theta looked around until he was pleased that none of his comrades saw the exchange and pushed her away. The Witch’s smiling face seemed to be luminous in the fog, she turned away and disappeared in the haze. Theta could now see no one else around him. As he continued walking he became uncomfortably aware of just how alone he was. The rest of the regiment was long gone now, taking part in an operation that would dominate the future conversations of the Lord General’s mess. Theta wondered if what Company A was going to do tonight would even be remembered once the campaign was over. The regiment would certainly remember but probably no one else. And if he were to stray off course and walk off a cliff? Would anyone notice? Theta grew increasingly worried.

“First platoon turn a little to your left...Private Gamma you are going to get tangled in razor wire… turn around and retrace your steps...third platoon…” The fog did not limit her senses, her voice was confident and, oddly enough, soothing. When the voice stopped Theta began to grow anxious in spite of himself but when all seemed lost her voice picked up on the vox again.
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(This Ogryn thread)

Youze sneak out of the tent, your bunkmates having gone back to slumber when they realized it was a misunderstanding. On one hand you are holding shotty your lucky gun, you knowz its shotty cause you. Being clever, put a sticker on it like when you was with da twofiffytwo kauvaras. Dat way youze know its your ripper cause it got da lucky sticker. Well it was ciggy's idea... but you picked da sticker! you picked da raven cause you felt bad about rouffin up da big red guys so dat way dere would be no hard feelings. you never say dem again so it worked.

in da uffa hand yous got dat drill with da long story dat fifteehate mentioned. all sneaky like, you head through camp to enact your cunning plan.

seez you know you gonna win, cause de kriegers follow da rules real ard like, dey dont interprash it like ciggy taught you ow.

so all da guards are looking on the outside to make sure nuffin comes in, dey dont look at people already inside dey camp. affa all till you showed up de only people ere to break da rulez were da other kriegers and dey cant break rules. Dey just can't.

but you had a small problem, in fact, staring at da black hole into da big Small, small was de whole problem, youze drill got a lighty on it so it wont be totally dark, but da uffa lamps wont be on, so it'll be really dark.

you bite your lip as you figure out how to do fis, you know the way to go, and since its so dark... maybe you don't really need to look at it? if you close your eyes you dont gotta see da darkness right?

you take a deep breath and close your eyes, makin sure shotty got a good grip on da wall as you move forward.

it works! you can't see nuffin! not even da dark! you so clever it urts some times.
It don't take dat long till your face hits da wall, which means you hit da dead end, unless you lost, and dats just not possible cause you really don't wanna be,

you open your eyes, da blackness given way to da darkness as you flick da drill's lighty on, yup dis is da place, your little shovel pieces are all over, and dat means da place you are lookin for is... der!

You sit down at da patch of dirt dats a little differnt from da otha patches you knock on it,

"oi! its thudd I want to talk to you." you whisper into the ground, again all quiet like cause your interpreshin da rules.

you see you dont know what da bosses plan is, otta den you cleaning da toliets, but rockchewa was lookin for a fight. if rockchewa was a ork, and he has to be cause commissah says so, dat means he didnt get it, cause you didnt fight him.

now since rockchewa's a proppa finker like you, if he didnt find a fight hed go do the sensible fing and ask someone who did know where a fight was for direshuns. and since you were also lookin for a fight dat means dat de best place to go would be...

da ground shuffled as da ork climed out, dirt and dust smearing his skin as da orks headlamps flickered, da likely looted pistol still taped to the side.

"Thudd it's good to see a friendly face." Da ork grinned. "I couldnt find a proper scrap anywhere, de boss is to busy looking at de odd tunnels."

da other kriegers commented dat a lot of the tunnels here were just already there, likely why day papery bosses decided to put all dere stuff here, (though dat didnt turn out so good for em considering da spiky guys were here).

You smile. "Chewa I'ze got a kunning idea dats going to need your help."

Rockchewa nodded. "Lays it on me."
"Oi so you telling me dat blood axe looking git dat was near you is all glum cause da otta klans dont like her?" Rock chewa scratched his beard as you nodded.

orkz don't have beards you were told, but rockchewa got a chinsquig so dat he could dig better.

dat don't make much sense to you but dats xenos for you.

"Well mate, it appears to me dat the problem is dat blood axes aren't proper orky to begin wiff." Da ork shrugged. "No under da offa klanz dont like her, if you got er some proppa dakka and speed den maybe shed have more friends. Or she can bugger off an become a freeboota like me and da boys are. can always use anoffa digger"

You shrug and try not to be too mad about da idea of fifteehate as a ork, you have to negoteehate. "I dun fink dat i can jus get her stuff. her... klan i guess fink dey mess up bad once and dey dont deserve nuffin no more."

Rockchewa shook his head sadly. "I see does some times, young boys who scampered off when de otta guys got too much dakka, dere dont ever really waaargh de same affa de shame of dat. you cant even give em a friendly sock in da jaw to eer em up with a little scrappin." rockchewa sighed. "next ding you know de runtherdz pokin dem like all de otta grotz, dis is erious."

You nod, its always worked before when you don't have any idea whats goin on an it'll work here. "right so da best way to cheer em up i thought wasn't a gift or nuffin but we can do something."

Rockchewa nodded. "I know what always cheers me mates up, you'ze gonna need a fight."

You nod. "Dats right, and you got your boys, an i'll get me mates, and we'll all fight proppa."

Rockchewa scratched his beard. "Dats not a bad idea, but I don fink de other boys would like to use da tunnels, not with all dere knew toys, we'd have to attack over. i'll go tell da kaptain your idea and we'll see if we cun give it a go."

You nod as Rockchewa scrambles back in da hole. dis is a good plan.
And with that we are done for the day.
kek, reminds me of baldric saying "I have a cunning plan sir".
Story time is best time.

So nice to see so many different stories growing from these threads.

I feel like writing, who should get to deal with the Kriegers next?

I'm thinking voidborn. Anyone have other ideas or requests?
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Naval stories pls, they do spend a long damned time in the warp during travel

Please bear in mind I have limited knowledge of the naval lexicon, so some things will take me a little time to research for purposes of writing, so I apologies for the delay. However, I will do my damnedest to make it a good read first, accurate second.
No worries voidanon, I'm just excited for more glorious stories to read when i wake up in the mornings. <3

With my name chosen for me, I'll start.

+Tempestus Sector, 851.41ME+

“Go Forth and Conquer” was both the name and the purpose of her ship. It wasn’t HER ship, but it was still her ship. A repurposed Exorcist class, acquiring in both an act of enlightened self interest and a burning passion to carry the God Emperor’s will to the furthest corners of the Imperium, where His light has been never seen, or worse, been rejected. The Captain was a strange man given to a spartan life broken only by a profound love for tea, books, and opera, preferably of the religious sort. While other rogue traders were off searching for xeno ruins to plunder, nobles to court, or vices to indulge in, the Captain was focused on two things: First, finding alien words suitable for human life, and claiming it for the Emperor. Second, bring any humans discovered into the Emperor’s light, by whatever means.

She was not the captain. VoidsmanImmo Late was many things onboard the ship, but Captain would never be one of them. As she donned her reinforced purple and bronze voidsuit, rubbing the layer of rust red xenohide secured to the exterior, she whispered a soft prayer to the Omnissiah and the machine spirit to hold all seals tightly, and to thirst lightly for energy. As the helmet sealed itself around her face, she whispered another prayer and pushed the airlock glyph. A roar of mighty mechanical lungs pulled all the air from the small chamber. She released the valve to her oxygen tank, and was greeted by the oily scent of recycled oxygen. It had been so long since she smelled sweet air.

As the door slide open silently, she took her first step out into the void and was engulfed in the profound silence of it. All she could hear was her heart beat, the rush of life that coursed through her, sustained her. She did not dare breath in this first moment in the void’s embrace. She surrendered herself to it, knowing she was only a momentary guest in its infinite domain.


“Ah! Damnit Telbeck, what?!”

“Close the damn door! Where you raised in a barn?”

“The frak’s a barn?”

“Just close the door.”

Disturbed from her ceremony, Immo could only grumble and push the external airlock glyph, whispering a prayer so it would open when she returned. Some would argue on who was more worried about appeasing the Machine Spirit, voidborn or tech priests. Immo would always argue voidborn. Techpriests tended to not care if the atmosphere was vented out of the room. She gently stroked her right hand with her thumb, letting the machine spirit know she wanted to turn. With a few puffs of compressed Co2, her sole defense against the unforgiving void spun her around and brought her about.

Before her was a war torn transport, its keel torn asunder like some hungry beast had taken a great bite out of it. The Magos believed there may be survivors onboard, and had ordered a full search. They had recently settled a world overrun by horrific ash storms and dangerous native life. It was a mineral rich world, and was deemed habitable enough. Recouping their losses with some indentured passengers would both be merciful and efficient, something the Captain was all for.

They had grappled the mortally wounded ship with maglines and pulled it in close. Close, but not too close. A good kilometer separated to the two ships, and all around her were fellow voidsman. Some, like her, grabbed onto the thick cable tethers and moved towards the ship. Most stayed behind, positioning themselves behind barriers at the cables base, ready to ward off any potential boarders. Most wielded pneumatic flak cannons, ready to hurl showers of shrapnel at anyone in a voidsuit, while a few had entrenched positions and manned las-cannons. A few techpriests worked on connecting coolant pipes to the ship proper, ensuring the enormous amounts of heat would be siphoned away properly. Many are the luxuries of atmosphere.

Propelled by inertia towards the rapidly growing transport, Immo watched for any signs of movement, flicking back to her helmet’s auspex readouts and vitae signs. Radio chatter flicked across her crew’s channel. The greybeard Kersknov was telling an old void story about a planet where the rubies were the size of grapes, and the grapes the size of melons. Some dirt born thought he was serious for a moment while she, like many others, rolled their eyes at the old story. With a pair of blinks, her auspex told her to reverse thrust, and with a faint clank, she was returned to the world of sound. Through the meters of ceramite, she could hear the rumbling of the ship. So very faint, the reactor must be dead, but air still flowed in it. Around her, the rest of her crew landed, each armored similarly to her.

A trench gun, a long combat knife, and an array of low to high explosives, along with a few emergency shelters for survivors to hide in. Little more than a pressurized plastic bubble, it was enough to remove someone from isolated chambers with atmosphere. Not everyone knew how to put on a voidsuit, after all, much less operate in zero gravity.

With a muffled thud, her heels magnetized to the ship’s hull, turning her to a sense of up and down. It was always reassuring to only operate in two dimensions. Even after all these years, mankind still liked to not worry about up and down as directions they could freely move in. Her crew followed suit. Their techpriest support landed shortly after. Flickering lines of text filled up part of her auspex array. The techpriest never told them their name, so the crew just called them Kitbash, given their tendency to create surprisingly useful items out of junk.

+Functional airlock detected. Move to following location+

A tiny icon flicked into her field of vision, and her crew began marching off towards it. Dozens of other crews had landed all over the ship, scouring the hull for alternative entry points. Cargo haulers had already departed to the torn asunder midsection and began harvesting anything of use. More likely to find survivors at the bow and stern. They climbed over three story tall murals, navigating the etched metal so deep they could easily be used as trenches, as they navigated towards the eye in an aquilia. An airlock aperture was hidden away in it, either for a savior pod or just to make repairing micrometeor impacts to the mural easier. She had to take a moment to admire the practicality of it.

Kitbash went to work pleading with the machine spirit to grant them entry, as they truly were friends, even if they did not know how a friend would ask to be let in. A couple of the more throne inclined talked about potential salvage, and if the aquila was actually gold or just a coating. Talbeck, a disgraced noble’s son turned would be swashbuckler and the closest thing Immo had to a friend, scoffed at the two, telling them “It’s gold for the sort of people you are.”

“The frak’s that supposed to mean, dirt huffer?” Came the response from Enric. A squat fellow, he was outlandish compared to the unnaturally tall voidborn around him even though he claimed to be asteroid born.

“Easy Enric, he says that to get a raise out of you.” Manfred calmly said, the crew’s token voice of reason, as well as their medicae support. Immo tried not to think of how many times she had heard that unnwaveringly calm voice talking to her while he scooped her organs back into place, or performed triage in the middle of boarding action.

+If you all are done flapping your meat curtains at each other, the machine spirit has finally agreed we are in fact friends of the ship. Do not waste time and let it reconsider its choice.+ Flickered across their screens, and they mutely walked into the airlock. A tight fit for the five of them, more so around their armored voidsuits, but fit they did. The machine spirit for the interior lock was far easier to convince of their friendship, and quickly ushered them in, a wheezing gasp coming from the air vents. No atmosphere in this section of the ship it seemed.

With a short test, they found gravity was no longer functional, and proceeded slowly into the ship. Their entry point was inside the ship chapel. A hundred meters long, by fifty meters wide, and twenty meters tall, It was moderately impressive for a ship this size to have a chapel this large. Less impressive was the vast array of corpses floating in mid air all around them. Blood hung in the air, frozen in place by the vacuum all around them, crystallized by the near absolute cold. The corpses were preserved near perfectly, having had almost no time to decay before becoming preserved.

“Looks like they snuffed themselves…” Talbeck broke the silence, grabbing a stubber out of the air, and pulling out an empty magazine.

“Suicide or fighting?” Enric asked while he “examined” the corpses. No would argue with him about his kleptomaniac behavior, so long as it wasn’t from the crew, and he shared stuff that was particularly interesting.

“Suicide. Too many clean entry wounds to the skull.” Manfred floated towards the beautifully rendered fresco on the ceiling of the Siege of Terra, all the valorous Primarchs casting down the traitors into the warp. He ran a gloved hand along it. “At least they had the decency to not bleed over everything.”

“Shipwrecked you suppose? Whatever gutted them didn’t bother to finish the job, and left them to die.” Immo proposed as she pushed against the massive double doors leading into the chapel, gazing down an ornate hallway, lined with trophies from a hundred worlds. Fewer bodies lined the halls, some of them having turned on one another, or taken their own life. They moved on slowly, searching room by room for signs of atmosphere, periodically rapping on pipes to listen for responses.

It did not take long for their call to be answered. A short series of vibrations ran along the pipe, in the most commonly accepted cry for help. Three short, three long, three short. The crew looked to one another, then to Kitbash. Already the techpriest was searching an access point to the great machine spirit’s network, prodding it for whatever shred of information remained active in the great slumbering giant. It took them many attempts, from a dozen different points, to finally find one with enough energy to answer the question. The local oxygen piping network flashed across their vision, one pipe highlighted, and lead through a withering array of twists, turns and bends before ending two floors beneath them, and about 500 meters back.

+Most likely location for atmosphere and survivors based on 49-K1’s path. Cargo hold, designated “Freaky Guys” Unknown contents, proceed with caution

The squad nodded and took off as quickly as mag-assisted traction would allow, their lumbering frames pushing past free floating debris, creating a ripple in the destris all around them. Down a massive elevator then descended, small wisps of pressurized Co2 pushing them down. It was not long before they stared at the grand airlocks leading into the cargo hold.

“Breach?” Enric asked, a manic glint in his eye as he held up a breaching charge.

Manfred just smacked the man, and knocked on the airlock with his boot. A moment later, he felt a response through the door. “They have pressure on the other side I believe. Make a proper entrance.”

Kitbash was quick to comply, pulling out a canister of metal foam sealant and a deployable airlock. Nothing more than a few sheets of plastic stretched over a metal framework, it could be inserted into any roughly human sized hole and arrange itself to fit in place. Preparing a small airlock out of the foam, the techpriest activated a plasma cutter and began to slowly melt his way through the door. Over the vox, Telbeck informed the other boarders they had located survivors and were preparing to rescue them. A few muttered profanities at bets lost, or cheers at them won could be heard before a call for vox discipline was ordered.

As Kitbash finished opening the cargo hold, they were met by the muzzle of a lasgun under their helmet as they were pulled into the breach.

+Occupants threatening. Requesting assistance

Immo quickly pulled open the airlock and into the cargo hold, ignoring the rush of atmosphere to push past her. She was greeted by a first. Whoever these people were, they had managed to create zero gravity trenches out of flakboard and cargo containers. All around her in a semi sphere, were hundreds of identical gasmasks, pointing identical lasguns at her. One of the gas masks, wearing a much finer looking coat, was accosting her techpriest.

All of them were silent, except for the hiss of respiratories filtering air. Was the air in the hold contaminated? No matter, they were being rescued and this was how they met their saviors?
“I am lead voidsman Immo Late, of the rogue trader vessel “Go Forth and Conquer” we are responding to your mercy beacon’s signal. Please lower your weapons, we mean you no harm.” Rarely did they find survivors with any form of sanity left to them. Rarely did she even get to say that before needing to give them the Emperor’s Mercy, but for once, she wasn’t rudely cut off by the obvious threat before her.

“Guten tag, Herr Late. I am Hauptman Alpha-360. Have you come to assist us resume our mission, or have you come like all the others to steal the God Emperor’s equipment and supplies?” She could almost feel the fingers dropping discipline and curling around the triggers.

“Salvation.” She raised her hands slowly, letting her trench gun float up past her helmet.

“There is no salvation for us, but if you are here to assist us, we thank the God Emperor for this mercy.” The emotionless gasmask turned to the awaiting wall of lasguns. “Prepare for disembarking. We are resuming the mission.”

In every case where she had seen survivors rescued from the promise of a slow, cold death, there had been cheering, crying, laughing. Now, silence. Just the sound of bodies pushing away from cover and gathering supplies. It is still one of the most unnerving things she had ever witnessed.

And now she was going to have them living onboard her ship until the Captain figured out how to get rid of them. She had a sudden sinking sensation in her stomach. She was not looking forward to the next couple of months.


And that is all I have for now. I'll await some feedback to stem my sense of "not good enough! Look at all the typos, the errors!"
Those dubs overwrite everything, and I think the name I gave fits
I loved it! It seems like such a Krieg thing to do.

"And they said we couldn't make trenches in space, hah!"
I like it a lot; read's well and from a prespective I haven't seen much. I have a question on Kriegs though; would they see suicide as a acceptable way to die or would they rather, in a case like this, starve to death or worse?

Suicide is stealing from the Emperor. You are taking his equipment and squandering it. Starvation at least means your body failed before your will to serve did.

+Tempestus Sector, Onboard “Because I can”, 851.41ME +

Immo Late, lead voidsman of boarding squad T-13, professional marine, amauter geologist, was currently thanking the God Emperor for granting her another successful boarding action. All around her, charcoal grey coated, gasmasked and mostly silent members of the Death Korp of Krieg were floating around. Gathering crates, dissembling fortifications, and making themselves ready to “continue their mission” as they continued to put it.

She found it almost wrong to try and assist, as the guards moved in machine like unison, only a handful of words being exchanged within earshot, often in the form of orders. It was in a form of Gothic she wasn’t familiar with, and obviously in some form of military cant. Every band of guards had their own, unique to the planet or segmentum. She had quite the ear for it. Nothing like throwing back an insult in a tongue the insulter didn’t know you understood. Somewhat. It’s backfired more than once.

Here though, she couldn’t listen in to conversations, because there were none. No chatter. No jokes. Not even a working candace. Just the hiss of breathing. It was unnerving to her. She had seen servitors that were more talkative than these men. At least the Hauptman was willing to talk to her.

“We have been delayed for six years, three months, and eleven days from our mission, Herr Late. I assume your captain would have no issue assisting servants of the Emperor perform their duty?” The Hauptman stood stock still, floating slightly above the deck, the ends of his greatcoat slowly flowing behind him. The coat barely fit the man, and it looked like he was swimming in the armored fabric.

“We will offer whatever assistance we can in returning you to Imperium space.” Immo said flatly. Technically, any planet they colonized was considered Imperium space, making this both a lie and a truth. More than one indentured passenger had taken offense to this. After being offered the chance to walk back, they quickly silenced their complaints.

“That is not our mission.”The Hauptman responded in a monotone voice, muffled by the respirator they refused to removed, even after Kitbash confirmed the atmosphere was perfectly safe for unaugmented humans. Immo had taken to mimicking the Kriegs, and refused to drop her voidsuits helmet. When on Terra…

“Well, what is your mission then? I can’t promise any real assistance in fulfilling your mission, as I do not speak for the Captain.” Immo looked around the office. Spartan did not do it justice. There was not a single amenity, trinket, junk, or any sign of habitation. If it did not have a distinct function, it had no place here. Of course there was a beautiful, jewel encrusted aquilla mounted on the wall. Immo had seen a great many treasures, and she couldn’t help but understand when Enric was obsessed with shiny things.

Even through her visored helmet, the Hauptman could obviously see Immo was ogling the aquila more than was reverently. “If you are unwilling to assist us perform our mission, then you are stealing the God Emperor’s equipment and supplies.” She saw his hand twitch towards a bolt pistol holster on his belt.

“We are here to rescue survivors from this wrecked vessel. Nothing more.You will be asked for nothing but your labor in exchange for passage to the nearest habitable world claimed by the Imperium.” Immo held up her hands before her, backing away slightly.

“What is the mortality rate of manual laborers onboard your vessel?” The Hauptman’s hand did not move from his hand. What, did this man care about the press gangs? Criminals and savages barely civilized enough to not beat each other to death over ration bars. The Magos was talking about just servitoring them all, make things easier in the long run. The third riot put that idea to rest for good.

“No higher than any other ship in the Imperium. In fact, we keep it a bit lower with proper food and water.”

“Any deaths in transit is wasting the Emperor’s equipment and supplies, and therefore theft. We will not tolerate any theft of the Emperor’s equipment and supplies in exchange for passage. Too much of the Emperor’s equipment and supplies has been wasted without even reaching our mission that further reductions are deemed absolutely unacceptable to the success of the mission.” Immo took a moment to process that statement.

“So you are telling me you will not work for passage, and will remain here in space, adrift, because we aren’t heading the way you want to go?” Immo did her best not to laugh at the insanity of that statement.

“No, I am telling you that you will assist us in our mission, otherwise we will board your vessel and commandeer it in the Emperor’s name so we may fulfill our mission. Anyone who attempts to deny us our mission will be considered obstacles to the success of our mission, and will be removed as needed.”

“Are you threatening us, Hauptman?”

“No. I am ordering that you assist us, in the God Emperor’s name, or we will do whatever it takes to succeed. I have already sent out specialists to commandeer your salvage crafts and retake the Emperor’s equipment and supplies they have already stolen from the other regiments. They are already in position and they will begin their mission at my command.”

“You’re telling me you plan to try and take over a ship of ninety thousand with two thousand malnourished, muscle atrophied, unprotected guards?” Immo could not fathom the depths of insanity she was listening to.

“No. We have planned to. We estimate a 0.9% chance of success. This is deemed acceptable if it means we can continue our mission.” The testicles on this man had to have their own gravitational field, because Immo’s jaw could not help but drop.

She stared at the rail thin Krieger standing in front of her. With the exoframe of her suit, she could easily snap the man in two if she really tried. If she ordered it, she could have a torpedo launched into this cargobay and vent it to space, killing them all. Obviously the Hauptman knew this. The gleam of intelligence behind their lenses couldn’t be denied.

Instead of calling for a lost cause bombing run, she broke out into laughter. The Hauptman nearly drew his bolt pistol, watching the woman have a moment of full bellied laughter. “Oh by the Helm and the Throne, you’re serious. You are actually serious. You’d try.” Each word was broken by a burst of laughter. After the laughter passed, she took a deep breath and chuckled, shaking her head to disperse any tears that floated underneath her eyes.

“Alright, Herr Hauptman. You’ve got the right level of crazy that my Captain just happens to like. If you show him this conviction, and I promise he’ll agree to assist you in whatever way he can, even if it means using his own ship as an orbital bombardment. By the Emperor, are you sure you didn’t go mad over the years?”

“Infirmity of the mind is a weakness we do not tolerate on Krieg. We are all sound of mind, and if any of your clerics wish to perform tests to ensure it, we all offer ourselves for scrutiny. If any are found lacking, we will purge them from our ranks for failing the Emperor.”

She was fairly certain the chaplains would call them all soulless and pray.

Before too long, the majority of the boarding crew had arrived, and supplies were being brought into to evacuate the two thousand near identical gasmasked Kriegs. A few of the voidsmen knew of the infamous guardsmen. They talked of a dead world and dead people. Of the same face behind each mask. Of no face behind the mask. How they were ghosts, they were machines, they were actually swarms of grots in long coats. Soon anything that might be true was drowned out by void tales, how an uncle’s son’s niece’s friend’s bunkmate had seen a blank canvas of skin behind the mask, and how covering the lenses when the mask was removed would blind them did Immo turn off her voxbead, trusting Kitbash to inform her of anything actually important.

Mission complete, the boarders were released to their usual duties. For Immo, it was maintaining her crew’s morale, filling out reports, running drills, and issuing discipline when needed. Luckily, she was off duty for the next two days, the reward for successful evacuation of survivors. It wasn’t much, but the crew was quite pleased with it.

She returned to her squad’s airlock, and began to remove her voidsuit, muttering a litany of prayers as she released each seal on the heavy, armored suits frame. Kitbash gave her a multi lensed glare at the xenohide she fastened to the exterior. They had nowhere to talk about tech heresy, the techpriest’s private quarters proof enough of Kitbash’s lenient approach, but still, never did the tech priest use anything from xenos in their projects.

+You are lucky the machine spirit of your voidsuit is more sanguine and adventurous than most+ Flicked across her helmet before it came off. She wished she shared the connection with her suit as Kitbash did with their’s, but sadly, she was purely organic, outside a few fake teeth. She flashed the tech priest her signature gem studded smile, a rainbow of semi-precious stones making up a half dozen missing teeth in her smile.

“Oh, you know it loves to carry trophies outside of scars.” She patted the heavy suit as she put it back into its locker. Her hands were long and willowy, covered in an array of scars and callouses, as was the rest of her. As her crew shuffled off towards the shower, removing their skintight jumpsuits and hurling them into a laundry chute. Each threw a soiled diaper into a chute leading to the recycling tanks, for the nutrients and water to be reclaimed. Enric took a bite out of his algae bar as he threw his in “See ya innaweek.”

Kitbash excused himself from the shower to follow, having no organic waste to clean off, unlike the rest. One of the rare luxuries afforded by the Captain, was proper amenities for voidsman. Yes, it was a communal shower, and there were a few dozen crew showering at once, filling the chamber with a cacophony of sound. A few stares were met with glares and a smile. She had cultivated a reputation as the gem toothed bitch. She’ll happily lose another tooth in a fight, she’ll just carve a new one. She won’t do the same for those she fights. Most stares quickly turned aside, allowing her to shower in peace.

Mostly. Her reputation did not extend to her crew, who had seen her at her best and her worst. Enric loved this, by walking up behind the woman, and slapping her solidly in the ass. The response as always a knee to the nose, followed by a flurry of cursing from Immo as she slammed her knee into the squat man’s prosthetic face. An emotionless slab of etched metal, a “cultural relic” as he put it, he claims he earned it when he saved his entire people from extinctions by single handed battling the beast known only as the Rheht’khan. Manfred found his medical record say he lost it by getting bitten by a “Brown Surprise” during an orkoid infestation in the bilge.

Enric bent over laughing, drawing a few more curious stares as Immo hopped about, swearing. The height difference between the two was massive. Two point two meters tall, and a solid 80 kilograms, Immo still had a distended appearance, her features slightly more angular than normal, her watery blue eyes just a little too large. Her hair was cut short and was an iron grey color. Her muscles were well defined and rippled like cables beneath her albino white skin. Flat, if muscular, would define her figure and assets.

“I swear by the Helm I’ll bust that face of yours eventually, Enric.” She shared her pain by offering a quick, harsh flick of her hand to the man’s exposed manhood. Light, but sharp, for that resounding pain. Like striking a bell. The bell end no less. Enric slowly succumb to a fetal curl, and whimpered. “Honestly, I let you use that malformed member once, and you think I’m free reign.” A stern kick was added in, although she held the full strength behind in, more making a point than actually trying to hurt the man.

“Aaah, you know you love the attention.” Another kick. She would neither deny or accept the truth of that statement. Her authority clearly established, Immo resumed her shower, savoring the 45 seconds of freshwater that ran over her. It was even warm today. Normally it was either “Fresh off the reactor hot” or “We used this for the cogniator’s cooling system cold” Today was definitely looking up.

Cleansed and dressed in her voidsman jumpsuit, she walked through the maze of corridors leading through the ship towards her shared quarters. The crews of four slept together, while their tech priest support went off into the depths of the ship to their temples. Kitbash worked in the foundry temple near the cargo hold, fabricating all the tools, munitions, and equipment needed by the ship, extracted from captured asteroids and salvaged ships.

Outside her barrack, she checked the small parcel slot with her name on it, letting out a little gleeful sound as she pulled a sealed package from it. Aloof as they were, Kitbash knew of Immo’s love of rocks. Everyone needed to have a hobby, and for Immo it was pretty rocks. Kitbash would pick out any “piece of useless destris found around productive ores and minerals” that she seen before. With a happy twirl, she opened the door and slipped inside. The Captain expected everyone to live as spartanly as he did, meaning the shared quarters was little more than a pair of bunk beds, a shared washroom, a few hold away tables, and several footlockers.

Deploying one of the tables, and pulling a small set of lapidary tools from her locker,she took a moment to run a hand over her collection of finely polished and shaped stones, each unique. Some voidsman and ratlings covered their skin in tattoos to mark their travels. Immo carved stones taken from planets and asteroids from each system she encountered. Hopefully they found some stone onboard that vessel. They weren’t staying in system longer than needed. She felt it bad luck to not bring back at least a shard of stone from each system. It felt like she had never been there, and what happened never did. With the distortion of the Warp, it felt nice having a piece of earth to ensure it was not just a fever dream brought about by a geller field flicker. Since man first sailed the seas of Terra, sailors of all type have their silly superstitions.

After dealing with the emotionless and frighteningly dutiful Kriefers, Immo felt she would need all the good luck she could get in the future. She pulled out a dataslate, and turned on an audio file. It was the translated sound of a moon they had passed. She found it to be a rather soothing.



There, that should do me for today.
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Bump from 8
Fantastic voidanon! I look forward to this story, rogue trader is a less focused on area and doesn't get the love it deserves.
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I also had an excellent time. It reminds me a lot of Execution Hour, One of the few black library books I actually really enjoyed. The fleet in general and rogue traders in specific don't get nearly enough love.

Here is a space penis for you.
Certianly has interests. Your voidborn already has more stuff that distinguishes them from a lot of protagonists.

Rather then you know: Catachan, Ogryn, shy Krieger, grumpy krieger.

Wish I thought of gem teeth.
Bump from 8 again.

Thank you for the praise, it feeds the desire to write. Sorry if it gets a bit long winded at points, the posting character limit really helps keep things nice and condensed, avoiding run on sentences.

Also, true to the nature of Rogue Trader and its original flavor, expect some "wackiness" onboard the "Go Forth and Conquer" nothing too crazy, but the sort of stuff that you'd swear was just another long yarn spun by a bored voidsman.

A heady dose of Sunless Sea has gotten me quite in the mood for the horrors that lurk within the deep black. I'm curious when my references are going to get spotted, it's a fun game, hiding in jokes throughout your story. And lets not go just for the obvious ones either.
bump from 9
Thread keeps on dying. I must write. I must write so it may live!


Without a planet’s rotation nor a blazing star to light the sky, the concept of day and night was nonexistant onboard the “Go Forth and Conquer.” The march of days was denoted by the sacred 24 hour cycle, broken into four shifts, broken into a toil and ease cycle. Everyone was expected to work a shift and a half every day, their schedules all but chiseled into the bulkheads of their quarters. Only in the most dire of circumstances was a voidsman’s shift changed.

So when Immo answered her barrack door, boarding knife in one hand, glaring at the junior voidsman trembling slightly before her, her eyes narrowed to slits and slightly bloodshot from a round of drinking with Telbeck the shift before, it was not surprise that the knife ended up embedded a fraction of an inch into the deck. She had been summoned by the Quartermaster, and was requested in the cargo bays.

It would be a long trek to the bays from her barrack. Six levels down, into the belly of the ship. In the void, space was at a premium, and outside the grand hallways, opulent halls and cavernous holds, you were expected to make the most out of whatever room you had. While it may be seven kilometers long, two and a half tall, and one and a half wide, the idea of having personal space was a pipe dream for crewmembers. Ninety thousand people crewed “Go Forth and Conquer” scattered here and there, never too far from their designated stations.

It could take days to walk from one end of the ship to the other through the twisting maze of corridors, maintenance tunnels, crawl spaces, and work stations. For a trained member of the crew no less. Time to time, maintenance cleaners would discover the dessicated, or rarely consumed, corpse of a former passenger who had gotten lost in some rarely used section of the ship, vast galleries full of pipes, cables, pneumatic delivery systems and other more esoteric systems.

As she pressed herself flat against a wall, allowing a gaggle of chattering techpriests to rush by her, lost to their own machine language, she slipped out of the cramped, claustrophobic crew quarters, and into the main corridor. From engines to prow, this mammoth tunnel allowed for the quickest means of transit from one end of the station to the other. It was also the beating heart of the ship, as throngs of crew hustled to and fro, taking supplies, manpower, equipment and materials throughout the ship. The walls, 30 meters high, were lined with ratling alcoves, vertical barracks that offered little more than a bed, a light, and a flimsy curtain to give the illusion of privacy. They were shared between three different ratlings at a time, depending on how dense the crew was.

Now, so heavily depleted from their latest colonization efforts, some of the alcoves lay empty, each of the pressed laborers offered a true luxury: Their very own bed. The security detail was quite thankful for that, as knife fights over sleeping rights were at an all time low, as was parasite spread amongst the crew. She still remembered the great earlouse outbreak of 839.40ME. She instinctively began looking for her desiccant powder, the inside of her ear beginning to itch like mad at the memories.

Move at a purposeful, if reluctant pace, Immo took time to look at the variety of commissary shops that lined the main corridor. From the lowest bilge cleaning ratling to the Captain himself, everyone earned a share of the bounty, and with months or years between proper port calls, there was a need for Thrones to flow from crewman to crewman, eventually ending up back in the ship’s coffer.

Brightly colored vendors hawked their goods to passing crewman, each proudly bearing the writ of trade, issued by the Captain or the Seneschal to those deemed capable and honest merchants. All a crewman’s need were met by the Captain, but algae bars, synth fiber jumpsuits, and nutrient supplements were suitable for only the most devote to the Captain’s spartan lifestyle.

She pulled out a few thrones and bought herself a slab of sauce soaked meat along with a half glass of watered down amsec. The sweet and stringy nature of the meat complimented the iron tang of the amsec quite nicely as she wolfed down the meat on a skewer, handing the metal rod back to the hawker before carrying on. She’d have to pay extra if she wanted to keep it, after all.

Fortified by proper meat and with the hair of the dog to take an edge off the pounding of her skull, Immo took one of the drop chutes to the cargobay. Freed from the pull of gravity, these hollow tubes run top to bottom of the ship, allowing crew to quickly ascend and descend as needed throughout the ship. Voidborn wove past one another, moving effortlessly from G to zero G, each sharing a private chuckle as the dirtborns stumbled, shuffled, and collided with others in the tunnels. They would earn their voidlegs soon enough.

She listened to the chattering all about her as she went towards cargo at a safe pace, not wanting to cause a clog. The betting pool on which chute would clog first after each new press ganging, how long it would take, and if the offender would be killed in the accident was an ever growing pot. Some say if a voidsman put a single throne on maintenance chute ZZY-99, and it was first to clog, he would be able to buy their very own ship to captain. Immo wasn’t a betting woman. Much rather just enjoy the show.

Floating then falling out of the chute in the Cargobay, she quickly navigating the cavernous chambers stack floor to ceiling with cargo containers from a hundred different worlds, destined for a hundred different ones. Farming equipment, pre-fabricated shelters and foundries, weapons, vehicles, and more varieties of seeds than she could imagine possible. The Captain made sure anyone destined to claim a new world for the Emperor were prepared for the task ahead.

She wove through the tight packed crates until she heard the distinct grinding of the Quartermaster. The ominous hissing of Krieger masks could be heard between turns, along with the ornery man’s voice. “--on’t care WHAT your reason is, you aren’t making fucking trenches in MY cargobay!”

“Herr Quartiermeister, as we will be awaiting transit to our mission in this area, we are authorized to perform whatever non-permanent alterations to the bay we desire to assist us in ensuring our combat effectiveness is not reduced by the inability to perform drills and training. Shall I cite it for you?” The Hauptman stood before the Quartermaster, staring down at the half man yelling at him, totally impassive and with a voice that never raised beyond an eternally patient tone.

Years ago, long before Immo was even a twinkle in her father’s eyes, the Quartermaster had been bisected at the waist, literally reduced to half the man he once was. Instead of opting for augmented legs, the man decided to get a form of mobility more suited for his lifestyle. Mounted on the front of a treaded cargo hauler, operating the two tracks with a pair levers on either side of him, a small control panel giving him command of a hoisting crane on the back, allowing him to carry a load ten ratlings couldn’t lift on their own. Never had she met someone so opposed to augmentation.

“Don’t you go barking your little notebooks code and regulation. That’s for groundpounders, not voiders. You want to live in my cargobay, free of charge? You follow MY rules.” The Hauptman flinched his foot away, as the Quartermaster rushed by him, treads nearly shearing his foot off at the arch, sparks lifting up off the decking. The Kriegers had made themselves quite at home already, although it would take them some time to return to combat effectiveness. Immo could tell the Hauptman was having difficulty standing in the artificial gravity, having been free floating for longer than what even a voidborn would consider safe.

The fact he was arguing his rights to make another trench array, and how his men were standing by patiently, holding tools, flakboards, and algae bars. Everywhere she looked, crates and crates of the bars were cracked open, their wrappings discarded neatly into piles, and Kriegers would wolfing them down by the pairs, washing it down with canteens full of rust flavored water. As with all the saved, the Captain would give them as much food and water as they needed to return to health. Never had she seen someone so eagerly consume the compressed single celled plant life. She knew hunger was the best spice, but even hunger could not make some tastes tolerable.

“Voidsman Immo Late, reporting for duty, sir.” Immo snapped a sharp salute to the Quartermaster as he rushed by. The shower of sparks that erupted as he slammed to a stop, spun around, and gave the woman a glare so venomous she thought she might need to see the medicae bay afterwards for a dose of Panacea.

“You were requested by name by the Hauptman. From here on in, you are ordered to be the crew liaison with the Kriegers.” The quartermaster barked out in a rush of words before returning to his tasks. Immo could only stand there for a very long moment, eyes wide, and jaw once again dropped.

“Herr Late, are you ill?” The Hauptman waved a hand in front of her face a few times. “It seems your teeth are abnormally discolored. I assume dental hygiene will be sometime we must attend to ourselves?” Immo flushed crimson for a moment at the comment. It jolted her back to reality, and her eyes locked onto the Hauptman. He’ll be joining her for that shot of Panacea.

She rushed forward, and grabbed the man by the coat lapels, lifting him off the deck. He tried to say something, but was vigorously shaken about. “What the hell did you say to the Quartermaster to get me reassigned to your babysitter?!” Liaison sounded like a glamorous job, able to rub shoulders with passengers, hear stories from alien worlds, savor their foods and maybe even have a few one night stands. She had seen enough of the Kriegers during her first encounter to last her a life time. Now, she was expected to spend the vast majority of her time down in the cargo hold, tending to the Kriegers and ensuring their journey is as pleasant as possible. After the second attempted mutiny, the Captain decided more resources needed to be spent on their “guests” She’d never want that normally. Less so with these gas masks.

What a lovely, living and detailed description of the ship. It feels like a complete entity, an armed city in space.

The captain sounds to be a principled sort, I look forward to meeting him.

To be fair, he is based off an old PC in a Dark Heresy turned Rogue Trader game I DMed years ago. It was a fun game, and a lot of the flavor and hijinxs to happen later will be based off a retelling of those stories.

Work with what you know and all that jazz.
I've awlays wanted to play that, never got to.
Posts nicely formatted, minimum of spelling errors and generally good grammar. Solid characters with a good grasp of Krieger mentality that's an odd-but-entertaining mix of the Dead Men books and the original L&K. Great sense of place and the ship feels like a fleshed-out community.
Overall 8/10, would refresh thread repeatedly.
Bump, going to be writting soon, playing dawn of war for inspiration.
(This is the waifu story. Here we go)

88c clutched her lasgun, huddled behind a rock cropping as Belchett took point. The squad leapfrogged through the debris strewn field, chimera's smoldering near defilers and melted slag that once was profanely emblazoned.

88c, no wait addemun, Misty thought, she's been Redesignated with a name, pouted. This was, plainly speaking, madness. Imperially sanctioned madness but a kriegers place was in the trenches, things were simple that way. Everyone in the line was a loyal solider. Everyone out of it was either a deserter, a xenos, or a heretic. Either way the same instructions applied. The only time a krieger was out of a trench was to make a new one or on a horse and even then the Riders were simply human artillery.

Simple, efficient, not this... scouting!

Misty took a deep breath, the rebreather hissing as Misty calmed herself, she was in a new unit she was the one at fault here.

Belchett raised a fist, halting the squad as he pointed forward, large boot prints crashed into the dust. Ork tracks... probbably. 88c never truly took the time to study marks of passage. Regrettable, immediate rectification scheduled.

The catachan... the sergeant nodded, taking the front of the line, lascarbine out front as the squad followed the tracks, camp and its comforting bulwarks fading into the sunny distance.
After several hours on foot Misty began to understand the weight of the pack she was requisitioned. The enemy line was far away and, since the motor of the chimera could alert their position, they had to walk the whole way. There was a chance that the 645ths 2nd company 3rd platoon Devil squad would be here for days. And as the junior member it was up to Misty to carry all the gear.

Efficent, Misty mused. By doing so the more trained members were unhindered, so long as she managed to guard the supplies efficiently she will serve her new assigned roll well.

Misty looking up at the massive ceramite mountain overhead. Misty gazed at the Omnivault, the massive arcaenotech relic dominating the skyscape. One of the most impenetrable bastions in the Imperium, it was the omnivault's presence which had Kathas V declared a Armory world in the first place. The fact the orks were stationed so close was worrisome, even if the 645 did have companies stationed around it to breach the vault now that its keeper was executed. If that vault was opened by the orks...

Well, Misty figured, holding for reinforcements would become significantly harder.

Sergeant Richand stopped the squad again, pointing at a ork patrol. They were getting close.

Richand motioned for the rest of the group to hide behind cover as he motioned for Harmond, the woman looking embarrassed as she coughed.
"Oi, you wit da big dakka, who'd you have to sock ta get such a fine shoota?" Harmond yelled out, the medicae's voice twisted in a gross imitation of the ork dialect. Misty stared at the sergant, who nodded quietly from his cover. The fortunate thing about being near a ork base was that the area was littered with debris. Orks never understood tidyness, the only orks who left a place cleaner then they left it was the lootaz and even then only if the place wasn't theirs.

The ork guard blinked, his skin darkening as he kicked the ground, a small bandanna affixed on his head. "Uh shucks, dis ole thing? Killy was made by da mek special on account of me pushin one of da humies tanks all the way over to him for some gubbins. Coulda got da grots to do it but you know de'll muck it up some how." The ork looked around confused. "Where are you anyway?"

Harmond laughed. "Can't you tell a talkin rock when you see one? All proppa boyz see a talkin rokk eventually, how you gonna be a nob if you aint ever talked to a rock."
"Sure I seen rocks talk!" The ork said, beady red eyes darting to make sure no one heard it. "It's just dat i got to keep an eye out for da humies, day gonna ruin our plans."
"Dat does sound bad, can't trust does hummies wit nuffin dat waht i always fink." Harmond retorted. "But why youze off doing dis planning nonsense when you can be having a proppa fight like orks should."
The ork shook his head. "Dat's the clever part of the boss's strategy. We'ze gonna krak dat big fingy up dere and take all da lootz, den we are gonna use it on da humies and krump dem with dere own dakka."
Harmond laughed. "And how you gonna do dat. Dat rokks way to big to be krakked by yous guyz."

The ork stomped his foot. "Nuh uh! We'ze got a plan."

The earth rumbled, Misty watching the Catachans grip tightly to the rock. Amateurs, Misty thought, who isn't used to the roar of artillery fire at childhood?

"Dat is da plan." The ork said as Harmond coughed.
"Roight, dat was a good talk but you see dat ork ova dere, da one in da hat?" Harmond said as the ork looked behind him, looking at two other orks boredly making patrols.
"Yeah? What bot dem?" The ork questioned.
"Dey called you a git." Harmond said as the ork reddened.
"DEY WOT? DEY ARE GITS!" The ork yelled as he chased after the two, the guards looking up to see the descending mass of personally insulted slugga boy crash into them.

Harmond looked at the Sergeant, coughing. "That's not good." Harmond said weakly, her throat sore.

The sergeant nodded. "No, its not. We took years prying the vault off the hands of heretics we can't let that thing get into the hands of the xenos." The sergeant's mouth curled. "Mary, report to command, we are going to have to go in and see what these orks are doing.

The sergeant turned to Misty, a grim smile on his face. "Well welcome to the Devils, hell of a baptism huh."

Misty shrugged as the sergeant frowned. "Bah, little bundle of comedy aren't you? Any idea what that racket was about?"

The krieger paused considering the options "Artillery fire, but given the sound to distance it would have to be of similar ordinance to at least death strike missile. " The sergeant frowned.

"If they have something like that pointed at the door we have some time, weapons that big don't reload themselves. But then they might just beat us."

Misty tilted her head. "Possibility is calculated as zero. Orders are to hold planet till reinforcements are arrived. Krieg does not break orders."

The sergeant chuckled. "Well I ain't too keen on getting my face mounted on a ugly ass pole either. Guess we just have to stop them."

The krieger nodded, maybe the devils were not so complicated after all.
I was going to continue this to the actual ork camp but I dont have the energy to, maybe in the daylight.
Rest assured the actiony stuff going on is just so that we can have more shenanigans later.

If I wanted to write more serious action id make a 40k quest for it.
So wouldn't the Warrant Of Trade supersede any authority that the Krigers could claim?
page 9 bumb

For the longest time her voice and his breathing were the only things that seemed to exist. During the long transit to Soest a tech priest had endeavored to lecture the 76th on the many physical properties of the universe. Most of it seemed nonsense but one lecture always lurked in the corners of Theta’s mind.

“Do you know what the void is?” The giant in red had stood on a raised platform. “It is the darkness in between the stars. You see black because there is nothing there. I have been asked many times whether this void ends or keeps expanding outwards. Both questions are false. Only a thing that exists can end or expand but the void is nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Can you comprehend this?” The giant stood still for a long time and the vaulted room had filled with electronic echoes as the figure imitated breathing. Unable to see a foot in front of him and following an unseen voice, Theta could safely say that he knew what nothing was.

“Fifth platoon walk twenty paces to the left...Private Zeta turn left, you're turning right I said left…Theta!”
Theta swung his arms and jumped away from the ditch’s edge, falling into the Witch’s arms. “If you need me to hold your hand just say so.” She helped Theta right himself. “Anything you want to tell me?” She stared at him expectantly. “No,” was his reply

Theta continued his courageous advance. All the times he bumped into Sergeant Phaesta, tripped on rocks and walked in the wrong direction and needed the aid of the Witch were just minor mishaps. The Witch found him again and helped him climb out of a traitorous hole. .

“Throne dammit get off your ass!” She hissed at him as she lifted him up. “I don’t have time to babysit you.” She held him in place to prevent him from walking away, she was surprisingly strong. “There is only one solution for this,” she sighed, “I need you inside me.”

“What.” Theta nearly choked on the word. Once, during the trip to Soest, he was woken in middle of the sleep cycle by the commissar who had randomly decided to give him a long and enthusiastic speech about these sorts of things. Theta really did not want to know why that happened. The Witch violently shook the corporal.

“There really is something wrong with you. My mind corporal! My mind! We can form a mental bond, only temporary. We both want the same thing, your will can bond with mine. This means you will see what I see so you won’t be falling down all the frakking time.” When Theta hesitated she dragged him over to her face. Theta could not turn away now. He saw that her eyes were green, that fine wires ran along her neck to the base of her skull, that there were marks on her throat. “You do know what the Captain will do to you if he finds out you’ve been slowing our progress.” She let the fact sink into Theta. “Will you let me do this or not? They will find out something is happening if we wait here any longer.”

He had a second choice. A choice that meant trying to make it look like an accident. But without her the company would never be able to escape the fog. Theta silently begged for forgiveness. It amazed him that there were always new lows to sink too. He slowly nodded.

A flash. The sensation of drowning in an ocean of heated knives. He heard screaming and realized it belonged to him. Then back to reality. He looked around, half expecting a firing squad but he was now alone. Theta marched to the hill. He never fell, never staggered, never got lost. Hopes, fears and dreams that were not his coursed through him. He found the Witch waiting for him at the bottom of the traitor occupied hill.

“The bond is no longer needed. End it,” he thought. There was no need to speak, they shared their thoughts.

He saw her smile sadly in the dark. “Breaking the bond would be a traumatic experience. It would leave us exhausted and we need to be ready for the assault.” She waved at the hill.

Theta’s clenched his fists and he struggled to control his breathing. His throat became sore. Now he would not only go to the Emperor carrying his ancestor’s crimes but also the blight of a mutant. He finally admitted to himself that he was not the guardsman he was meant to be. He was weak. The visions in the mornings, his relationship with the psyker and his agreement to the bond were all evidence of this. He had to prove himself all over again, he had to think of something.

“You ruined me.” He thought.

“I'm sorry,” the voice was filled with regret. The Witch reached out to him but he retreated. Theta’s squad arrived and he crawled off to join them.

The verlorene haufen arrived and began their climb up the hill. The crawled up slowly, cutting gaps in the razor wire and moving to the parapet of the enemy trench. The fog remained strong and they soon disappeared from the sight of those crouched on the bottom. The men of the second wave fixed their bayonets and held their breaths. Theta whispered a final prayer of forgiveness.

The hill screamed. Spears of flame shot up through the fog and they revealed a black horde rushing up the hill. Heavy stubbers roared and the noise consumed all of Theta’s attention. The Witch was now only a figment in the back of his mind. A member of the first wave signaled Theta’s squad and they headed towards him.

“Verletzung festgestellt!” The guardsman cried and helped Theta’s squad into the trench. Theta clasped the man’s hand but was blinded by a red spray and the two guardsmen tumbled down the hill. It wasn’t until they reached the foot of a quartermaster that Theta managed to heave the ruined corpse off of him.
page 9 bump. You know its weird but i imagined a post in here.

God kriegs are such drama queens.
holy fucking shit.

somebody actually saved my shitty art.

first time I looked at /tg/ in months, and it gives me the happy feels.

... now I wish I'd done more work on that Love and Krieg writing I was doing all those years ago...
you-a do requests?
Not only did someone save it, but someone saved it, another person looked at it and then posted it. So atleast two people did.
sometimes. I work extremely slow, but there was a magical 3 days when I was following L&K threads back in 2010 where I got several works done in just a few nights. currently I have no scanner or anything, so if I did anything, you'd be getting a cell-phone pic of it.

I'm glad y'all like it. I imagine its an under-served niche, though, so I reckon any art for it is better than none. still, I'm glad its appreciated by somebody.
oh that sucks, scanner broke?
dead and gone since time immemorial. truth be told, art fell by the wayside after career options there crumbled under the weight of the recession, and other priorities took precedence over replacing it since. I mostly just draw for my own amusement these days, if even that. but I've been away from anything even resembling a "community" that might show interest in that, like /tg/, for a long time.

once upon a time I started a L&K story alongside the other writers that started this jazz back then, and illustrated characters for them, too. but since, I've been driving trucks and trying to make ends meet.
I feel you on that. Ironically I'm spending too much time writing to write silly stories for /tg/ Also gotta really think about my future and employment options in a couple years.

times sucks

the only reason I'm even looking at /tg/ at 2 in the afternoon is because I lost my job. I should really be out job hunting, but it just gets so fucking depressing after 6 months of "no"s.

anyway, I'd still be happy to draw something for you. just don't expect a fast turnaround on it. that way, if it gets done fast-ish, you'll be pleasantly surprised.
nah yu good man. Focus on yourself first. Job hunting is the worst. its why I really wonder if I should re-enlist.... is the irrevocable mental damages worth the steady pay and benefits?
Am I the only one hoping some smut will be written up soon in one of these stories?
Gael remenbers the rain.

In a serious note I only think the Cog one and medicae one would be any good.

Things would be messy with mine, they are all dead in the grenadier one, the voids girl would probbably rather get herself shot then be with any of the kriegers in a romantic sense.

And I am convinced that any sexual contact in 76sans story will consist at least 50% of Theta crying on the other side of the bed.
Correction, Cadian X sister of battle would work fine too.
wait, you mean mine?
Yeah there is enough sexual tension in it for that to be smutable.

Honestly Misty and Fifteehate do not make good porn stars.
oh yeah I planned on some smutts going on in it but I don't know whats allowed, and also I am a huge sunovabitch, I might write some more tomorrow. but honestly I have no outline plot or anything plannned on it. All my energies are going towards my other stories.

On that note the first chapter of the Aeric and Dalia story was re-written to look flow and just all around be better!
I know Gobble got around with it by posting the porn in a pastebin and linking that.

Granted I havent planned any of my story but it showed.

I even came up with a answer to how kriegers eat only to realize I cant use it because there already wrote a scene where that would be contradicted.. Shrug.
I know that feel. nothing sucks than writing a wonderful piece then going " whoops can't use it" then selcecting it all and hitting delete.... forever.....

maan I hated that
Well I can just say fuck it and do it anyway, its only a idea, I can just add more to it to explain why they can also eat normal food.

The idea is that kriegers eat the same way warthog heals. So they actually have food in canisters that can be placed on the mask and simply inhale the nutrivapor. It has long term health concerns but the kriegers are not designed to live long.
yeah if you can support it with hard 'facts' and reason it never hurts.

Then you have situations like mine that would have resulted in several character deaths that weren't ever meant to happen. That was a fun chapter to rewrite
... I've considered illustrating that as well.

in fact, there should be one image of a commissar playing strip poker with her company of Kriegers out there that was in one of the original threads...

Uh excuse me, Mr drawfriend sir, but if you were considering drawing any scenes of a uh risqué nature might I make a request. I don't know if you have been following these threads or not, but in one of the earlier threads there was a scene quite a few of us wish we had had a drawfriend for at the time. It was the scene where Rochas stumbles upon the medicae in the shower and learns she's a girl. It was a pretty good scene, and the ending in particular was of interest to us. If you feel so inclined to draw something, I would appreciate it a lot if you would take that scene into consideration, and if sure others would as well. My apologies if I have offended, I don't mean to badger anyone, I just felt it was appropriate to put that out there.
Ive never seen a more awkward proposition before. Usually its more. "Yo how much to draw ork dick?"

Why not both?

I'll be first to admit, I'm shit at pacing. 6000 words, and only NOW are we getting into the "And now you get to deal with Kriegers!" part of the story.

Don't worry, love can be found in all the oddest of places, at the strangest of times. More will be written today once the sun sets over here for me.

Gotta keep on working and making those thrones, you know.


Consider it a compliment that someone would be hat in hand enough to ask you in such a way.

Also, I second that. It's a good, iconic scene from the story, with a little bit of cheese and beefcake for those who have that oh so niche need on both sides of the fence.

I expect Rochas to have an ass you could bounce a throne off.
can ya link me to the archive of the thread? I need to catch up if I'ma draw anything. but shower scenes are hot, so I'm up for it.

for you? I'll give ya the first one free, baby.
Speaking of pictures waht about... hmmm... I dont know if I actually have any drawable scenes, thats what i get for basing my story on witty dialogue.

Rockchewa might be interesting to see.
“Herr Late, would you please put down my superior officer?” Asked a short Krieger, who served as the Haptumann’s secretary. “I am unsure your rank relative to Herr Hauptman Alpha 360, but I believe this would qualify as assault of a superior officer.” Suddenly Immo remembered the fanatical devotion the Kriegers displayed, and took a moment to add this to her mental catalogue of regrets.

Several of the Kriegers moving freight had stopped and turned to observe the scene. Several of them reached for laspistols, either preparing to protect their superior officer or dispense a bit of military justice. Immo was no stranger to just how harsh military justice was, a wide array of lash marks marring her skin proof of that.

The resounding clicks of safeties being dropped and latches releasing filled the air as she promptly put her hands up and backed away from the Hauptmann, who was being lifted off the decking by the short Krieger who started all this. A third dose of Panacea would be needed today, provided she didn’t end up dead on the decking.

“CAPTAIN ON DECK!” Came the mechanically amplified voice of the Arch Militant, and as one, Immo included, every single voidman became stock still and snapped to attention. The sound of crates being dropped, machinery coming to a screeching halt, even a weapon discharge as a security officer dropped his stubber, having been showing it off to an inquisitive Krieger quartermaster. The Hauptmann landed on the deck with a muffled grunt

The turbolift doors swung open with a hydraulic rush, and out stepped the man, the myth, the Captain. Captain Attacus to those who knew him was born and bred in the void, once a humble officer of the captain’s law onboard his vessel of birth. Many are the stories of how he came to acquire “Go Forth and Conquer” but none will ever claim he did it in any way except a perfectly legal one. Any claim otherwise was an affront to the Captain’s honor, and had led to many fights in ports.

Once, during a moment of mercy to a small band of Tau survivors, he heard a young female refer to the Captain as “bishi.” Immo had no idea what that meant. The Captain towered over others at 2.3 meters tall, and had a pair of rich purple eyes. His hair, kept waist length, was platinum colored. Angular figures, set in a permanently serene mask outside of combat, gazed across the cargobay.

“At ease.” His voice carried an authority that only those who had truly earned it could match. A cry for medicae support could be heard, as the crew returned to their duties. “Herr Hauptman, welcome onboard. I see voidsman Late has already greeted you in the traditional method onboard this ship. I apologies for the apparent misunderstanding.”

On cue, the Arch Militant, a wild eyed and chipper shredder mouthed feral worlder who was never out of view of the Captain, rushed up and began to vigorously shake each of the Kriegers who were prepared to gun down Immo. He did so two at once, the barbaric mountain of muscle always eager to display his unnatural levels of strength.

Obvious the Captain was lying out his ass, but as Captain, he dictated what was tradition or not onboard, making even the wildest of claim truth in its own right. Immo sheepishly helped the Hauptmann up, brushing off his greatcoat with a weak smile. “Welcome aboard Hauptman.” She muttered before backing away from the group.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, welcome aboard the “Go Forth and Conquer.” I am honestly surprised we found survivors. My Magos told me the odds of survival to be about as low as my respect for those who point weapons at my crew. I’ve been briefed about our first encounter with you, and how voidsman Late had the distinct joy of first contact with you.” He cast a stern look at the woman, who wilted underneath it.

“Your request of her over my more adept liaisons is a curious one, which is why I am here directly to hear your reasoning for it.” It was not uncommon to see the Captain about the ship, personally examining the runnings of his ship, and was not above handling more troubling issues himself. She still keeps out of level O at 1700 hour when she’s not feeling violent.

“For no other reasons than I have a liking for her.” Came the flat answer from the Hauptman. “I believe her response to our first encounter is the only reason why this situation was solved peacefully. Evidently she believes me to ‘be the right level of crazy’ as she put it.” Immo had dealt with enough faces behind masks to know there might just be a smirk beneath the Hauptman’s mask

“It is no mystery that the Kriegs aren’t known for liking things. If it’s not related to dying in the field of battle for the Emperor, it’s a waste of your time, and most likely heresy.” The Captain crossed his arms over his chest, wearing a heavily plated officer’s coat, still bearing the emblems of his time as an officer of the law.

“That is why I am a Hauptmann, Captain. I have served the Emperor for a very long time, Captain, and I have had to deal with a great many liaisons in my travels. Often, the best is the one who isn’t. She is a military woman, used to dealing with others through armored visors, has been completely honest with me since our first dealing. She is obviously a child of this ship, giving her knowledge of its working and how we may best assist in its operation.”

“Earlier you told us you were unwilling to have your Kriegers work on the ship.” The Captain pulled out a dataslate, taking a recording from Immo’s vox during their conversation and replaying it. “And 0.9? We will have to strengthen the counter boarding measures. Now, how do you plan to assist us?”

“I do not see much difference in fighting in a trench than a corridor. If anyone attempts to stop you in assisting us in fulfilling our mission, we are authorized to lend the full force of our regiment in preventing such. Another reason I believe Herr Late would be the best liasion. She is trained in battling in zero gravity. While our experience waiting taught us a great deal, we did not experience any battle against trained combatants. I believe such experience would be invaluable to the regiment in the future.”

“One final question for you then, as you have sold me on approving this request. What exactly is this mission you keep speaking of?” The Captain looked at Immo, who had slumped her shoulder and accepted her fate. She would need to clear out her bunk and footlocker, and set up in the cargo bay. Her crew will be getting a new lead until they kicked these gasmasked goons out of the cargo hold, and then she’d be reassigned to a crew without a lead. Considering there were 5,000 marines at anyone one time, the odds of getting into her old crew were slim.

“Our mission, given to us by the Lord Inquisitor Regenal von Tumpernatch is.” The Krieger struck a dramatic pose, and pointed off towards the aft bulkhead. “Fuck off to that star over there, and kill any xenos you find. After calculating exactly which star he is pointing to, LX-VR214 in Segmentum Obscura, we embarked the first transport that was available, and have been in transit for the last seven years. Sadly, our first attempt at warp travel ended poorly and left us adrift.” The Captain, Immo, the Arch Militant, and the Quartermaster who had driven up to listen, just stared in silence, before the Captain burst out laughing. The laughter did not stop until the turbolift doors closed.
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Completely heretical.

The RNG appearance creation rules are to blame for this. We had a good laugh at it when we finally noticed.
Bump for the bump gods.
Bump agains. Oh if God emperor is still here i wanted to borrow your help on a thing.

Namely i want to figure out my own regiment but millitary stuff escapes me.
The boy was securely and safely hogtied and face down in the mud, panting next to the boy was the kriegman. Something odd was happening to his face, 33-a fought to control a tightening and lifting around his oral region and couldn’t quite help but feel a sense of panic, was he sick, did he catch something. But for some reason he couldn’t fathom the weird twitching continued, stumped by this strange tic he set his eyes once more on the now motionless child and warred between simply killing the child for insubordination and the still burning desire to protect it. He squatted and rolled the boy over, the boy was looking back through a mask of mud but stared 33-a directly in the eyes and with an effort strained through the fatigue, the child spoke “you……..caught…….me. y..your the….only one….who’s…..eve-” and before he could finish the sentence his eyes shut and he slept. 33-a was feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he was feeling a… buzzing feeling, quite like when his unit had received recognition for a post successfully subjugated or when he was in battle and headshot an enemy, that kind of buzzy feeling. This boy had run for another 2 days before 33-a had finally caught him, a long battle of will and attrition, he had caught up only when the boy had tripped on a root and fallen headlong into the mud, but a win was a win and 33-a intended to take the child back with him. A bright hero of the emperium was about to be born, and 33-a intended to help along the path of greatness, the world was changing and unbeknownst to the kreiger…so was he.

Sorry for the shitty slow dadakrieg updates. I'm hitting a wall with what to write and the story will need a little time to gestate. enjoy this little snippet
>“Fuck off to that star over there, and kill any xenos you find.
Fucking lol.

I love it.
fucking sunless sea is the dankest game I have ever played. Playing throught the underzee dlc at the moment, keep up the great work voidanon.

Fuck the Constant Companion. Fuck it to hell and back ten times over.
fun especially since the game mechanics got a facelift, I remember it being almost impossible to make money fast and the grinding made me quit for a year or two. But i like what they've done with it, its not any less harsh but it is more enjoyable to play early game.

May I ask but where did your voidborn inspiration come from? I've often thought about humanity living in the void and it just excites me for someone to be writing about a subject I really enjoy churning over in my mind.
For three months you've been on this Emperor forsaken rock. Three months watching your comrades get torn apart by the twisted monstrosities and their horrible talons. Three months after your transport got ambushed as it came out of the Warp, your shuttle barely surviving the descent to the planet. As you stagger through the muddy trenches you pass the grim, hollowed face of what remains of your regiment. A fresh-faced lieutenant is in charge now, he's the only surviving officer left, and he struggles to keep the men on the gun line. Desertion was rampant and the Commissar's efforts ended when his head was torn from his shoulders by a Carnifex. That was three days ago, and now you are surrounded, stranded on a hilltop that will become your grave. Of the 1500 men who took this position only 200 remain. Your belly aches but there is little food, your tattered uniform draped over a rapidly thinning body.
You slosh through the muck, the weight of your Lasgun nearly dragging you down. You find an alocve that's relatively dry and you collapse into it. You are tired, but the mud sucks the warmth from your body. You want to sleep but it is impossible, for all around you hear the shrieks of the Tyranids. They are calling for blood. Your blood. It won't be long now, you have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You are alone, abandoned by the generals, left to die. The shrieks intensify, growing louder as the creatures rally for the final assault.
"Here they come!" the Lieutenant yells, his voice strong despite the situation. He would have made a good officer, you think, if he had gotten the chance. You struggle up to the firing pulpit, resting your Lasgun on the crest of the trench to steady your aim. Your hands are shaking, though whether it is out of fear or the cold you do not know. You mumble the litanies of War and The Lasgun, filling your sights with the chitinous horde. An unrelenting mass of claws and teeth bounding towards you through the mud. The sky opens up, dark clouds pouring down a thick column of rain.
Your weapon cracks, the sharp sound deafening yet comforting as well. Red beams tear into the horde, but they do not falter. They do not stop. Fleshboares thud in the mud around. The man next to you screams in agony as the beetles tear into his chest, cracking through his ribs to get to the soft organs beneath. The roar of a heavy bolter sounds to your right, its shells tearing apart carapaces with spurts of vile green blood. But it is not enough, it will never be enough. You are too few, they far too many.

"Fallback!" the lieutenant yells. You don't even know his name. Worldlessly you obey, dropping into the mud and running to the last defensive line. The rain is still pouring, heavy droplets reducing your trench to sludge. The flash of Lasguns blind you, the thunder of war deafens you. Yet still you push on, heading to the firing line. Men are dying, you know they are screaming. They always scream. The lines are broken, and soon you are alone. Around you creatures hunger for your flesh. Yet you stand your ground, firing until your weapon boils your hands. The lieutenant is screaming now, a barbed tail lifting him skyward, his lifeblood diluted by the rain. You are next, your fate is sealed. In desperation you beg to the Emperor for mercy, to let this horrid nightmare end. You and three others climb up on the bunker, staring out at a rolling sea of horrors.
Yelling and screaming you poor death onto them. But it is not enough. Lighting splits the sky and you wait for the tearing of claws, the snapping of teeth. Instead you hear a roar. A roar of thunder that shakes the concrete beneath your feet. Your eyes go skyward and you see balls of fire descend from the heavens. No, not fire, drop pods. Your prayers have been answered!
The steel rain slams into the earth, sending up columns of steam and mud. Immortal warriors charge from their depths, bellowing war cries that nearly knock you flat. The horrible horde turns to face these angels of death, shrieking in challenge. The warriors accept, their holy weapons begging for use. The slaughter is magnificent, a sight you will remember till your dying breath. Corpse by corpse these warriors tear their way through the Tyranid mass, blood and limbs arching through the air. Overcome, you fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face, lost in the rain that soaks you through. It is over in moments. Where once a nightmare lived only the dead remain. A shadow falls across you and you look up through blurry eyes. One of the Emperor's Chosen towers over you, his divine armor covered in the foul blood of the Xenos. His expressionless helmet stares down at you, and you can make out an odd symbol on his shoulder. After a tense silence he speaks.

Blessed be the Angry Marines.

Some old side notes from my game back in the day, a lot of space station 13, a general love for space operas, and Red Dwarf.

I just got into Sunless Sea, and yeah, Unterzee is where the money is at. Get the Momento Mori and become a monster hunter. I've had to end hunts just because my air was running out. Nothing like being denied the kill because you can't breath.
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This is the ogryn tale


You wakes up in da morning to a empty tent, da kriegers all off to do there own thing as you head off into first ration.

Fifteehate is dere, sitting front of a bowl of slop. Den again, you think all da rations recently been slop. Ya miss ciggy he knew a good slop. She don look at you as you sit next to er, da bench makin a cute little squeky sound as da metal bends under you a little.

"Hello Fiftee." You grin at the Krieger who pokes her canister. "Can I ask yo fo somefin?"

A small puft of air hissed from the Kriegers mask. She's still glum, mus be cause kriegers arent good at getting in trouble an you an her got into it um... more den once. Dat not good for da self esteam.

"Greetings Thudd." Fifteehate sighed, grabbing da slop and pouring it into da box dat the rebreathers are connected to. You dont know why, all you know is dat the kriegers use dem to eat, maybe de masks are just big straws or something. "Permis. Results dependent on request."

You blink as Fifteehate inhales, probably slurping da slop she poured in her box. Shes a real lauff sometiems. "You can ask."

You nod. "Well you see, since our tunnel is blocked off cause of da orks, we got time to do otta fings and dere is somefing i want to get from rusty."

Fifteehate tilts her head. "The techpriest? What would you possibly want from him."

"Rusty! We'z here!" You yell out a few minutes later as you walk into da tent, the techpriest sighing.

"Of course you are. Why would I have a moments peace." Rusty turns, da mechy guy not havin a single piece of flesh visible. You guess he keeps all da humie bits on the inside. "What is wrong with the infantry?"

You turn to fifteehate who has not moved since you got here and hasn't made a breathin sound in... oh dat not a good numba.

"Fiftee, inhale." You frown as the infantry woman takes a deep breath.

"Inquiry? Is that a Serpentra patterned Voltike pistol?" The krieger marched towards a rather large stick in a glass case a small bump at the end you guess a humie could use as a hand.

"You are familiar with the model?" Rusty said usin his impressed voice, the kindof voice he only used when he say da commissah's metal arm or dat one time you recognized dat your name was on da big mortah wit four barrels. "It's rare to see a fleshy understand mars craftmanship."

Fifteehate pressed her helmet to the class, you guessed if she didnt have her mask an helmet her face would be all squished to the window. "The emperor's armaments was always a interest of mine. The actual dataslates involving the armaments proved elusive to the Krieg Education Hall but I used to always imagine getting requisitioned a grav-gun. Besides the weapons remarkable, given the wear on the plasteel it would have to be over ten thousand years."

"A admirable curiosity." Rusty said nodding. "This is actually a personal relic of mine, from my Archmagos days, they can take my title, but I'd be bricked before I let the titan legion get their hands off my collection like common orks."

"Excuse me but why is there a two carved on the handle?" The krieger pointed at the knobby end.

The magos frowned. "I never found out, perhaps the owner used a pair?" The man shrugged.
You nod and step outside, sitting in da ground as the magos and the krieger babble about things you dont know. You fink he even showed her how to strip search a bolter.

Dats good. You dont want nuffin (Shotty would be sore if you brought anotha gun ome) but you figured if she liked dat drill so much she might like da otta stuff here. De kriegers never go report to da non kreigers in da person so you guessed she didnt know how swell rusty is.

Youz a bit lonely but da important point is fifteehate made a friend. friends are good.

you miss ciggy
its four and i am out of here.

This is link to first thread http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/50620632/

Second http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/50794296/


That's probably enough to get you started, and the shower scene is in the second thread.I cannot describe how exited I am right now at the prospect of seeing this done.
batavi anon where r u bby
>“Our mission, given to us by the Lord Inquisitor Regenal von Tumpernatch is.” The Krieger struck a dramatic pose, and pointed off towards the aft bulkhead. “Fuck off to that star over there, and kill any xenos you find. After calculating exactly which star he is pointing to, LX-VR214 in Segmentum Obscura, we embarked the first transport that was available, and have been in transit for the last seven years. Sadly, our first attempt at warp travel ended poorly and left us adrift.”
Alright that got a laugh out of me; Only a Kreiger would do that.

Just so this anon's efforts don't go unnoticed: I like it. But the style seems a bit awkward. It's quite clearly the reader going through all this but the tone and length make it hard to properly imagine the role. Try something different next time. You should also link your posts.

Also, this is the second short story that has gone entirely ignored by the vast majority of anons. You guys don't approve of unnamed protagonists?
Just read it. I enjoy the or 2nd person POV.

Felt trolled at the end though lol. Blessed be the angry marines.
Fuck'n loved it mate.
You just keep making him more and more likable.
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Quartermaster 76-6435-Epsilon was laying comfortably on his back behind his servitor and was grabbing the bodies that rolled down the hill at a leisurely pace. He looked down distastefully at the struggling corporal. “The body is appreciated but you were not granted permission to come down here. Go away.” Theta rubbed the blood away from his lenses, pushed himself up and began crawling up the hill.

The first wave was not clearing the trench fast enough, the slope was becoming littered with human debris. The roar of the heavy stubbers had transformed into a repetitive groan in the background that was only punctuated by the cracks of las shots and the moaning of the wounded. Theta shoved his body into the ground and clawed his way up the hill. During his ascent he bumped into a bleeding figure. The man cried out as he pushed himself away on bloody hands. The rest were not so obliging and they grunted as Theta climbed over them.

Near the parapet Theta noticed that he was not the only one of his squad to not make it into the trench. Private Beta, weighed down by a flamer, was trying to tear himself away from a fence of razor wire.

“You're only making it worse by struggling.” Theta untangled the private. “Clear them out. Covering fire will be provided.” Theta lobbed grenades over the parapet as the private advanced. He reached the parapet and promptly exploded. "Very inconvenient." Theta thought.

Theta’s right sleeve ignited and he desperately began rolling on the dirt. The ground quaked and Theta slid down the hill to Quartermaster Epsilon.

The quartermaster stopped stacking bodies to chastise the wayward corporal. “Your negligence has resulted in your Munitorum issued uniform being damaged.” Epsilon’s servitor chattered away as it soaked up obscene amounts of las fire. “You will be flogged. Also your complimentary subscription to the Eagle & Bolter is now cancelled. Out!”
Theta crawled up the hill again, tucking his chin into his chest as if he could brace himself against the enemy fire. Before he could lay his hand on the parapet someone emerged and hauled him up by his air hose. Theta gasped and fired.

The flash of the lasgun illuminated a tattooed face rushing towards Theta. The two men rolled down the hill and were warmly welcomed by Quartermaster Epsilon. He was sitting crossed legged in what appeared to Theta a playhouse made of corpses.

“Fooling around now? Behavior like this has never been seen in the company.” The servitor had become a burning torch which Epsilon used to illuminate the contents of a manicure kit he was inspecting. “You will be reported as a malingerer to the commissar and brought before a court of inquiry. If you are incapacitated you will be tried posthumously. Also your noncom freeze cream privileges have been revoked. Away with you!”

Theta half crawled, half walked around the hill, seeking out someone very important to him. He found her lying near a cluster of fallen sand bags. Her hair had gone loose and it stuck to her pale face. Her green eyes seemed to glow. Theta felt her fear but ignored it. Mentally, he reached out to her.

“Try to do something useful. The first wave are not doing their jobs, get me in there.” He pointed to the hill. “The bond goes both ways. You can use me as a guide.” He lowered himself to the ground and he felt her follow.

He escorted her to the top of the hill, covering her body with his whenever a stubber went off too close. She was a tall woman but she felt so small beneath him. At the parapet he prodded her forward.

“You lied to me, now make it up. Flush them out.”

“Some of your friends are in there.”

“Do it”

“Close your eyes.”

Lightning exploded between the psyker and the trench. When Theta opened his eyes he saw a burning scar in the earth. He jumped into it.

You know this makes me think. What on earth does Rochas look like? I mean we have a pretty good description of the Medicae in the shower scene, but all we really know about Rochas is that he's fucking huge.
More importantly how annoying do you have to be to have explicit orders from a LORD inquisitor to go away.
bump from 8
Will take your advice. I am aiming to play a bit this weekend.
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I need more I say! Moore!
Link your god damn posts together man, seriously.
It was 4 am i was tired leave me alone.
All right, my stomach is about to be filled with quesadillas. You are forgiven...for now.(Puts away bolt pistol.)
Honestly I am usually better with it, I was just distracted trying to find good 30k weaponry to use.

Settled on a 2nd legion volktronic pistol cause they seemed cool and the other option was really just a grav gun.
Awww, poor Kriegers , that got got.
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Krieg wedding bump.
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Im nervous a little cause my next post in a few hours will actually reveal a plot and it can very well be shitty.

Oh well, let me know when you see it how much it sucks or not.
bro you can't do anything worse than me. Kinda why I am hesitant to keep writing.
Write moar damnit, its bad enough that Bataavi is indisposed so often and he started the thread.
I try to write rather frequently, and I intent do. Its just as a newb to the field I don't know at what part of 40k is ridiculos and the rest just... 40k.

Cause 40k is a dark fantasy setting, boiled down to such a high concentration that every book lets you know that its only the ritual sacrifice of a thousand wizards that keeps granddaddy big E on life support in what may or may not actually turn out to be that south park episode with kenny and the golden psp.

And yet I know in my hearts of heart that there is a line where people go, "Well that is too silly." And it terrifies me that I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS.

I dont think the plot idea I have is particurally bad, but for all i know im hitting a cliche i never heard of. Or using a fluff piece that ceases to exist in recent years.
Oh and ive been trying to find you for a few days I want advice on how to build a regiment. Its not like the space marine codex where hard numbers are needed I dont know how many platoons and companies there should be and blah blah.
Well we could always roll one up if you need a regiment for you're story.
I already have one i used only war rules on. Though "Roll a waifu" is NOT the worst idea i've done...

But yeah the Krieg 645 are Siege infantry from a post apoc world with Sapper and Breacher doctrines. They are on the armory world of kathas v, (For those who arent fixed on the random details sprinkled here and there) because its govenor went traitor in a war that killed a lot of regiments and caused them to be absorbed into one.

They are now holding for reinforcements and a inquisitor, dealing with the unfortunate issue of a ork freeboota ship arriving to see what the fuss was about and, noticing a giant vault, decided to try to crack it.
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when building a regiment remember the mantra
"Form follows function"

If it exists in the regiment, its because it needed to be there. Different teams provide different functions and roles that need to be carried out. think of the functions you need:
anti-light/medium/heavy armor (They are vastly different in equipment and roles)
anti-light/heavy air
Sappers/ engineers
So on and so forth

These are the basis of your squads. Think about how you want to organize them. Do you want well rounded infantry, or specialized infantry? Well rounded would have a collection of guardsmen from different Specialties. you'd have a gunner, an anti- thank dude, anti-air dude, and so on till a squad can perform its sole duty
If you want it specialized think again back to " What is the number needed to provide this function effectively" You'll need at minimum a squad lead and a team lead in he event SL is killed. then you'll need men to cover firing arcs, enough to cover 360 degrees per team say one man's arc is 45 degrees. 8-10 men. Do you want to add in a squad gunner? A weapon specialist?

A great video is this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rKRt5zVZgw
It goes into detail a ww2 german squad profile, for a basic rifle squad.

As for my regiment, I wanted versatility of infantry to be the basis of the basic fighting unit. Where a commander could call on them to perform any number of tasks. So think back to what you want your squads to do

호랑이도 제 말 하면 온다.

When I go on lunch in two hours I'll use it to post from my phone, don't have time at the moment, just figured I'd drop a line.

Too the anon who appears to be dissatisfied I'm sorry. I'm doing the best I can.
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Once you have the basis for how you want to build your squads then remember "Form follows function"

Your Platoons will be the same thing, just scaled up. Squads are tactical, platoons are a bit more strategic. Once again, How many do you need to effectively perform their mission. If its an anti- armor platoon what do you need to keep supplies running, and missiles firing? You'll need a support squad, you'll need a squad to provide over watch and cover fire for your teams to provide their mission. How many do you need to get the mission done, or what your mission is?

Ultimately a platoon is a collection of two or more squads. Usually no more than 5 or 30 men or so. Once you have this organization, you'll have an officer in command or a platoon sergeant. These men order the squads under them to perform their tasks such as " hold here" "shoot that tank" or "dig fortifications" whatever their function is. Whatever it takes to perform the mission effectively.

I based my Platoons around the marine corps "rule of three" because the way they fight is one unit at the front, one unit supporting, one unit in reserve.
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Company level I break from the rule of three and go into how the companies in the regiment fight. My regiment rotates whose on the front and who is in support. So to do this I needed an effective force on the line, as well as in support, along with a large enough reserve force to beable to task out. So the typical fighting force of a company is a few platoons 3-5 I went with 8 because of the needs of the company. Its large by many company organizations. 245 men. most are 60-100, but most fight, do their job and get replaced with another company.

As well I wanted to have a couple squads dedicated to using special vehicles/scouting/medical support. So that left me with 2 extra platoons to fill out those roles. So from 6 platoons (3 on the line 3 in reserve) I now have 8

all depends on your mission of the company itself.

So without going on and on and on till I hit the regiment level. Remember, companies become less specialized fighting units, and more combined arms. The smallest strategic unit to accomplish an effective mission. From there you have Battalions, which are combinations of companies, to provide the basic strategic mission. Likewise in my Regiment, Battalions rotate. Rule of three returns. 1 Active, one Support, one reserve. each filling out a different role.

From battalion I have Regimental Combat teams which consists of three sets of three battalions. There are Three RCT's in my regiment. In total its around 12,000-14000 men in the regiment, a fucking large regiment. Most are 5000-10000

So as I said, the regiment can be as big or as small as you want, just remember, "form follows function"

Hope that helps

We all got lives to lead outside of the internet, and you're giving us good stories for free, without even asking for the best spot by the fire in exchange for them.

That anon needs to learn patience is a virtue, and good things come to those who wait. I'd much rather have to wait a few days between installments, if it means I don't need to worry about the writer burning out or getting crushed under writer's block.
No more than 5 squads no less than 30 men.
Anyway waifu time.


The landscape was littered with smoldering scrap, broken heaps of metal, some recognizable as vehicles the local speed kult likely crashed, others look more like huge wedges of slag smoldering in the air. Fortuitous, Misty thought, as it provided a optimal range of cover as they reached closer and closer to the Ork Kamp, facing the wall of melted slag the orks propped up in a vauge understanding of "Fort."

The fort was ugly to begin with, a massive, smoldering pile of slag looming overhead surronded the smell of blood and mushrooms that even permeated through the krieger's triple filtered rebreather unit and no doubt permanetly ruined this camo suit.

The whole effigy made Misty want to puke, the screws were only half way on, their is a patch where a nail went through ANOTHER nail and the wall was just a random mashup of whatever metal they found, with no regards of color or shape. There is a ENTIRE chimera hull just hanging twenty feet up, the treads and bolter placements ripped off, and you can see a mound of sand and several ripped bags here and there.

Misty's mask steamed, this was, without a doubt, the worst fortification you ever saw. If you did half this bad as a child you and the rest of your pod mates would have been publicly shot.

"Ugly shit isn't it." The sergeant sad as the krieger nodded. Finally, common agreement point, camaraderie assured. Belchett reached into the krieger's pack, pulling out a rope and hook and scaling the walls, Mary, Harmond, and the sergeant all following.

"You may want to see this Sarge." Belchett said from the top, signing the aquilla as the others hurried their pace to scale the wall.
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As the day began to wind down, and the number of injured slowed. The sisters went through the motions of closing down their triage center. Only a few would remain to tend to any late comers, and the wounded that needed to stay. Their station was never meant for the more seriously wounded. Only as a means to lessen the load form those centers. A mercy upon them and the lightly wounded. Sister Rosalyn held a small cardboard box of supplies. She restocked the shelves of depleted items, and made sure they were neat and organized. She did prefer tidiness. It helped her sisters, and in the confusion of the day made treatment far more speedy and reliable. As well it was a form of meditation for herself. Making order from the disorganized. She hummed to herself a pleasant tune as she worked.

Though her peaceful isolation was soon ended with the heavy steps of another. Rosalyn rolled her eyes, listening to the approaching figure, knowing fully well who it was, and what it was about. 'What is it now?' She asked to herself. Before the figure approached she turned to stare her down with a disarming smile. Older, wrinkled, always angry. Sister Superior Maura. A jaded old woman who had served long and faithfully. She stopped before Rosalyn and folded her arms.
"What's this I hear about you fraternizing with the enlisted?" She tapped her foot impatiently.
"There's a guardsman who is pursuing me, its endearing really." Rosalyn smiled and returned to stocking the shelves. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."
"That's not what I heard. I heard you two organized a rendezvous."
"And?" Rosalyn replied, focusing her attention on stocking the shelves than her angry superior.
"I absolutely forbid it!" Maura spat, tossing out her arms. "It's against protocol."
"Relax sister, nothing will come of it." The Hospitlar tilted her head back to Maura. "We'll have a quiet evening, then I'll thank him and turn him down. He should stop coming around then."
"Why don't I believe you?" Maura glared.
oh shit, you first
The march back to her barrack to begin packing passed by her in a blur, her body following the route on its own while Immo’s mind whirled. She was now responsible for the well being, morale, maintenance, and training of 2000 gasmasked freaks. As Liaison, her word was effectively final for anyone who was not a part of the Bridge, and even then, only the Captain had final say on any rulings she set forth. She was not mentally or emotionally ready for that level of authority.

She was just the daughter of two marines. Her life had been one of regimented training, learning, and piety. She was expected to know every rote to appease the machine spirits of her tools before she knew the difference between boys and girls. She had been taught how to don and seal a voidsuit before she knew Sanguinius didn’t actually deliver presents to every little boy and girl in the Imperium on his holy day. While she had been taught about small group tactics and how vital it was to form tight bonds with everyone you had watching your back, she didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle the wants and needs of 2000 fanatics.

In her surprised daze, triggered by a rekindled argument between the Quartermaster and Hauptman, Immo had barked out that the Kriegers could “Do whatever in the golden testicles of the Emperor they wanted to the hold, so long as they didn’t fuck it up and break anything!” before stomping out of the hold. If they were capable of emotion, she’s sure the Kriegers would have cheered, because they had already began fortifying the hold. The Hauptmann’s body language emitted smug satisfaction as he turned to direct construction.

This is why l link all mine together.

Limply, she caressed the glyph on her barrack’s hatch, stumbling into it before collapse on her bed. Talbeck and Manfred were sitting at the table, playing against one another in a dataslate game. The two regularly pitted themselves against one another in some bizarre card game Immo never understood. “I tithe three shrine worlds, and deploy a squad of Celestines.” “In response, I tithe two paradise worlds and one forge worlds, issue the expunge heresy edict, and remove the Celestines from the Emperor’s light.”

She had no idea what they were blathering about, and had rebuked any of their attempts to get her to join. She already wasted enough thrones collecting exotic rocks to add to her collection, she didn’t need to add another drain to her purse. She didn’t bother to get their attention as she began packing her few possessions. A dataslate full of smutty “romance” novels, a granite aquila carved from stone taken from the surface of Terra itself, and a few articles of clothing left strewn about after her drinking with Talbeck.

Eventually, after their match came to a conclusion, the pair finally paid notice to Immo’s actions. They both knew what she was doing, and there was an exchanged look of panic between the two. “You’ve been reassigned? Where, and why? Are you finally getting that promotion?” Talbeck asked hopefully as Immo snapped the latches on her foot locker closed. She could only look at him, her watery blue eyes obscured by tears.

“I’ve been reassigned as the liaison for the Kriegers. They are headed for Obscura.” It was Manfred who slammed a hand on the table, his jet black wide and his unshakably calm facade broken into a rancorous visage. “That is months, maybe even years of travel time! They can not be serious! You are a marine, born and bred! Why are they assigning you to be a liaison?”

“Calm down, my friend. The Captain is an odd one, but he’s never steered us wrong. If he believes Immo is the best person for liaison, we have no place to argue his choice. He carries the Emperor’s blessing, and we are not to question such things.” Talbeck believed firmly in divine right to rule, his family relying heavily on it to justify their continued rule back home. Even if that planet had atrophied back to an iron age technological level, with the family having sole access to modern technology.

“Regardless, you’ll be getting a new lead assigned in the next few days, and I have no idea who it will be. I expect you children to be on your best behavior when you meet them. I don’t want to hear about Enric getting his hide lashed for ass slapping, or Talbeck getting lashed for trying to issue another honor duel-” “I was slighted and demanded satisfaction!” “So don’t fuck things up while I’m gone, alright? I’d like you all to be alive and well when I come back.”

She knew she wasn’t going to be coming back any time soon. Hell, she had always thought she’d live and die with these men. She had looked forward to joining them all, side by side, at the Emperor’s table when things finally went south for them. Tears trickled down her face as she lifted the foot locker over her shoulder, and marched for the door.

It opened before she could touch the glyph, and standing in the doorway was the writhing mass of mechadendrite, cables, and augmented limbs that was Kitbash. She opened her mouth to ask what they were doing here, but only managed a “What” before she was engulfed in a mass of metal and pulled into an oily, rigid hug. One of the clawed grippers lightly stroked her hair. The vox mounted on the wall let out a staticy burst of “We will miss you.”
Orks fought in a writhing mob, a bloody mass of limbs and flying teef as they raged against.. well they probably forgot, a green see of fists and banners and rusting scrap heaps that likely counted as top of the line tanks to the ork mind. Pirates they may be but Misty's headcount of them already numbered them atleast twice that of the 645's. That was expected.

The worrisome part was the fort itself. It wasn't just a mere towering hunk of metal and guns. It was a Krooza. the wreckage having crashed (likely intentionally, according to the ork behavioral patterns) bow first into the ground, a broadside macrocannon pointed directly at the omnivault.

"Well that explains why they haven't attacked us yet." The sergeant said, unlit lho stick in his teeth. "They probbably dont want to waste the fight without a chance to play with there pretty new toys."

Misty looked at the vaults wall, a large smoldering dent where astroid sized slug after slug pounded into it. The last battle the heretics already had the vault open, and the things in it... Grav-guns, Marcharious tanks, even a Warhound.... If they open it again then this whole sector would very quickly become very inconvenient to defend.

You prop open your bag, withrdrawing your collection of grenades, the weight of the meltas heavy and reliable in your hand. You probbably had only one shot at this.

"Alright, Harmond, Misty you take point. Mary, vox this immediatly and then take point, see if we cant get muster up reinforcements. Me and belchett will disable the gun."

"Sir." Misty hesitates. "Kriegers are fortification experts, I request to take point in Belchett's place."

The catachan hesitates, the scrap of steel indicating the orks were slowly pushing the next shell into the battery. "Alright fine."

Immo’s grasp on her locker slipped, and was gingerly caught before it could strike the decking by Kitbash. She wrapped her arms around the aloof machine priest and hugged them back. They had worked together the longest of her crew, and had stayed together even after a dozen reassignments over their careers. She knew the Magos had a mechadendrite in ensuring that. She sobbed freely into their robes, being offered a small cloth scrap to blow her nose. Her two crewmen just looked at the display in mute disbelief.

Kitbash was, technically, a part of the crew. Each boarding crew was issued tech priest support, best suited for the crew’s duties. Their particular tech priest was both very adept at speaking with machine spirits of all varieties, and when needed in combat, was a whirling ball of blades, torches, claws, and fury. All were certain that somewhere under the lattice of cables that composed the priest’s body, there was something organic in there, not that anyone had seen it and lived to tell.

They were detached, preferring to spend their time with their fellow tech priests than with the organic crew, but still regarded them as friends. Time to time, their dataslates would have messages from the techpriest, enquiring about their activities, mental well being, and requests for or from the tech priest. To seem them in person outside of assigned duties was unheard of. To see them engaging in physical contact that didn’t involve bloodshed was as rare as finding a pacifist ork.

“I’ll miss you all. Don’t get yourselves into trouble, and tell Enric his ass slapping days are over. Until the Captain wills it, and the Emperor agrees, go forth and conquer.” She disentangled herself from the web of cables wrapped around her, taking her foot locker back from Kitbash, and began the return trek to cargo. Time to get herself integrated with the locals. She felt a shudder run up her spine at the thought.
The pair rappelled of the wall, easily slipping through the mob, the orks more concerned with who got first hands on the loot then with needless frivolities like "safety." Granted Misty had reason to suspect that even on the best day the concept of safety caused a ork's piggish nose to wrinkle in distaste.

The two scaled up the wreckage, the smoldering patched up mockery of a Imperial vehicle easy enough to scale, the pair's hands easily finding purchase in the bullet holes and random sticks jutting out of the machine as the Orks milled under her. Then the gun fired.

What was merely earthshaking a few miles away was now worldshattering, and it was only Misty's iron clad discipline that kept her on the wall, blood trailing down under her mask and no doubt ruining the camosuit she just got, she turned to the sergeant who was equally shaken, the smoke of the wall rising.

"Nows our chance." the sergeant mouthed as the two of you disappeared under the smoke of melted ceramite, Misty climbed until she felt the jagged ends become longer, the still warm barrell of the macrocannon over her, one hand still clutching the wall for safety's sake, the grenadier undid her bandolier of demo packs clambering onto the blistering gun to place pack after pack.

Misty turned around, loooking straight into the beedy yellow eyes of a gretchin.

"A... bush?" The gretchin stutters before its head jerks, lasbolt sizzling in its head as the goblin falls of the barrel. The pest's limbs flailing as it screamed to its death, the orks ignoring what is probbably just another casualty of being a pansy git as you place the last pack, climbing down the gun and rushing back to the relative safety of the wall, detonater in hand.

The smoke clears from the wall, revealing a large gash in the ceramite. You were too late.
Kaptain Bullettoof of da ship "Mine Mine" grinned, he hit da x right in da spot. Da smoke clears up as he peered into da vault.

It's just a small room, the captain scowled. He was hoppen hed hit da main hall but he just hit one of da cells, he'd have to shoot the vault all ova again ta get all da loot. da cell proper wasnt even dat good, more posh den dakka, humies special paper burning all round dis foul smellin room dat was filled with smoke surrondig dis...

Why, the kaptain thought, dat was one beut of an Choppa, it only got a few teef, big black jagged blades the size of ya finger, and it was mostly brass then a proppa blue dat was all good an lucky. But it was shiny and he liked da skull on it, especially how blood spilled off it down da handle.

The Kaptain scrambled into the room knocking aside da humies stupid I's ans bandages to grab da axe.

It was a really nice ax, its blood felt good and comfy in its hands... he should get some more blood an have a proppa soak while dey finish breaking into da loot.

The kaptains eyes flashed red as he considered how much blood constituted a proper soak... an he had to consider quality too... it was awfully hard staying clean and ealthy deese days, hed just have to kill as many as he can, den he'll hit some good blood eventually right?

The kaptain stumbled as the earth quivered, but he didnt order any firing of dakka dat big. He turned around and saw his kannon krak in half, the barrel melting into the floor and scorching a good lot of his boys to death.

The kaptain growled, dat... DAT WAS CHEATING! YOUZ CANT JUST TAKE A ORKS DAKKA LIKE DAT! The ork sniffed the air... somefin smelled off, like da awful stench of not dead yet, he looked up... what were boys doing up on dat wall.

"Theives" A voice whispered in the kaptains ear. "They took your gun from you, stop them before they take more."

The ork pointed a quivering finger at the wall. "GET DAT BUSH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
And behold. Plot.>>51519128
I like it, makes an enemy that we don't know what they want, orks it's simply get the dakka, use the dakka .
But as the first week after he was declared fit to handle his own washing passed and Friday rolled around he found he missed it. Not the bring naked in front of her part. Oh God Emperor no. He had been half terrified every time they retired to the washroom that her curiosity would rear it's head once more and she'd grab at his dick again. Emperor be praised his fears had never been realized. And now they would never be, but despite the relief he felt he found he did miss their time together.

Yes that was it. It was the time together he missed. Sure he still saw her on a regular basis, she helped with his therapy after all, but his PT sessions weren't really private and they didn't have the opportunity to talk. He'd liked talking to her, even if in many cases it had been more like talking at her. Rochas frowned at that thought. He found that he regretted that. Regretted having done most of the talking.

"I'll have to fix that" Rochas thought to himself. "If I get the chance again I should ask her more about herself. It's only polite after all, but how to find time where we can talk? Can't do it here..."

He racked his brains for a moment before coming to a solution. "I'll ask when her duty shift ends and then invite her to join me on my walks around the compound" he decided. That would be a good opportunity to talk, and he could just claim he wanted a medic on hand in case he fell if anyone got curious. Rochas smiled, pleased he'd found a solution to his problem.

However the next day before he could make good on his decision he was accosted by Gelen, who came to visit him unannounced and suddenly popped up behind him. He appeared as Rochas was shuffling his way back to his bed after lunch and roughly threw an arm across the Sergeant's shoulders.

"Hey sarge" he said enthusiastically. "I'm putting together a card game tonight. You want in? "

"I'm glad to see you too Gelen" Rochase replied wryly. "I've been doing well thanks, how about you? "
"Believe what you will sister." Rosalyn added while she finished her duty. "I find this approach gets through to the soldiers better."
"I do not care. You will not meet him and that is final!" Maura barked, and left.

With a dubious shake of her head Rosalyn sighed and reached for another box to open and stow away. Part of her now wanted to enjoy her night with the Cadian, out of spite. Sister Maura was such a dullard. Everything by the books, by the scripture. No room for any humanity. Regulations were gospel. Many of the sisters had a tendency to mock her behind her back. Rosalyn never was one of them, though she never had reason to. Yet now she could understand why. She looked up at a nearby clock, noting what time it was. Close to the time she told Galviston to meet her. It wouldn't be difficult to slip away for the evening.
"Why not?" She thought to herself. Might as well have some fun. Who knew, perhaps there was more to the Cadian than his boyish charm?

Across the camp Galviston laid on his cot trying to drown out the sound of the whiteshields complaining about this or that. Feeling that they were having a wonderful go at things. Not like they had to fight through a full on Black crusade like he did. Light was fading from the sky and then his eyes widened. He shifted to the side of his cot violently, and looked at his chronometer.
"Shit!" He exclaimed "Shitting shit shit!" He jumped from the bed and began to rummage through his belongings. "Class A's where the frak are my Class A's" Galviston ran about his quarters searching for his dress uniform
"The piss got into you?" One of the rookies asked.
"If you think I'm going on a date with a Sister of Battle looking like a grunt, you are mistaken!"
"No one said.." The rookie commented, though it was not use as the corporal was too busy not paying attention to the lot.
His footlocker opened his cot all but over turned. None of the uniforms on a clothsline next to him had it. He felt his heart pound in his chest. He had planed and plotted the whole day. Yet the one crucial item was entirely missing. He sat on his cot and ran his hands through his hair, all the while letting out a loud disappointment grunt. The curtain around his cot was pulled aside. Tepson stared at him with a flat and plain look. She held the green with red trim uniform on a hanger. Galviston's eyes lit up with joy as he took the uniform from her.
"You gave me them to sew on your chevrons..." She groaned with a flat emotionless face from the rookies point of view. Galviston, however could see the look of annoyance. A small smile grew slowly on his face as heleaned in and kissed her on the cheek. A disarming gesture.
"I can't believe I forgot." He laughed.
"How we aren't dead under you is beyond me." She turned way back to her cot. She reached for her cheek and curled a small smile before resting.

Several minutes later Galviston emerged from the dividers around his cot. He threw out his arms with enthusiasm. Service dress wasn't worn in many occasions for Cadians. For awards of celebrations. Often times it was often ignored or never issued. To don one required quite the special occasion. The Cadian's around him showed him a matter of indifference.
"Well fugg you too, guys." He spat in response. To him, at least, he felt well dressed.
"I think you look nice corporal." Parvin spoke from behind a book she was reading. A flat apathetic tone. More meant to shut him up than compliment him.
"Thank you, its nice to be appreciated around here." He stared the white shields down.
One last tidbit was needed for the night. He rummaged through a drawer and pushed aside junk he accumulated over the years. Not quite sure where it all came from. After a moment's search he found a single boltshell. While he told others it was his lucky charm, he didn't actually believe it. In truth he got it when he asked an Imperial Fist if he could have one. The Astartes charged his weapon and handed it to him. Of course one could see that measure as a bit of luck in itself, though anticlimactic. However, with tonight of all nights, Galviston needed all the help he could get. Destiny awaited him in the form of a beautiful red eyed woman. He clucthed the round in his hand and asked his team for luck. They answered him with unenthused mumbelings. They waited till he was good and gone before they perked up.
"Alright, lets do this, I say hes back within the hour." A whiteshield threw a few thrones on the ground. Others crowded around him and began placing their bets on how well Galviston was to manage.

Raymond Galviston felt as if he were burning with the Emperor's passion as he strut through the dirt encampment in his finest uniform. Bit belt was tight, his pants creased, his epaulets trimmed and shiny. Tepson's handiwork with his stripes was marvelous. Perfectly creased along with the sleeves. He felt himself one handsome individual, and it showed on his face with a sly grin as he made his way closer to the triage tent. He reached for the boltshell and clenched it in his hand. He couldn't see Rosalyn outside the tent, or anywhere for that matter. Perhaps he was early, he thought to himself. He checked his chronometer, and he was a fw minutes early. No harm in waiting. Those minutes passed and still no Sister Rosalyn. 'No matter' He thought to himself. It was common to be held up for this or that. Fifteen minutes. He rolled the boltshell between his fingers to examine the details of the round. He sighed and checked the time once again.
No one left the tent, and no one entered. No lights signed on the outside. So it was clear the shift had changed to the night crew. Then twenty minutes passed. Galviston curled his lips and raised his brow. With a shrug he sighed once more and turned to leave. He tried not to let the feeling of defeat crush him. Afterall it was a pipe dream to begin with. A low guardsman with a Hospitlar. At least he had the guts to ask, unlike others who only dreamed. At least that's how he rationalized it to himself. He had only gotten a few paces before he heard a hissing. He looked around him.
"Psst." It hissed again. Galviston continued to scan for the noise. "Psst." A hushed whisper from between the tents. "Oh come on, I'm over here." Rosalyn moaned at the clueless Cadian.

Before Galviston could say anything she thrust her finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. With a whip of her hand she beckoned him off the main avenue of the camp. Curiously the Cadian approached her incredulously. Unintentionally becoming the most conspicuous person in the ear. She rolled her eyes at him and smiled. She was still in the same gear she had been all day. Even felt a bit embarrassed for how under dressed she was when she got a good look at Galviston.
"Oh my, I wasn't expecting you to be so..." She searched her mind for the proper expression. "That?" She raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Nothing wrong with looking good is there?" He fired back at her with a measure of charm. "So whats with the cloak and dagger routine?" He asked.
"The Sister Superior, doesn't exactly want us meeting, so I figured out of sight out of mind."
"A woman after my own heart." Galviston laughed. "Oh this is for you." He handed her the boltshell. She took it and looked at it with a soft smile. "I figure it could be your lucky round, never know when you'll need it."
"Oh that's so sweet. Sadly his is the wrong type." She spoke softly.
"Wait, what?" Galviston responded in a manner of incredulity.
"Well this is a 19.05 by 45 Godwin pattern. We use a 19 by 50 umbra. I can't use this in combat." She smiled hoping to soften her answer. It was a kind gesture, though ultimately useless. Though Galviston showed no hint of insult on his face. Rather the opposite. He showed a great deal of elation that rather confused her. It soon became apparent why.
"And here I thought I wouldn't get an erection till later. Talk guns to me baby."

She stared at him. Galviston's face became red. His habit of speaking before thinking often got the better of him. This night appeared to be no different. Rosalyn placed her hand against her face and stifled a laugh. Her eyes bulged and she could not contain herself. So impulsive, so vulgar, so unpredictable. She laughed throwing her head back. It amused her to no end. In such contrast to the regimented and indoctrinated lifestyle she lead. Here was a man who simply felt no obligation to adhere to the doctrine and etiquette told to him. There was a certain charm about it, and it amused her, though she wasn't about to let that win her over. Not yet.
"Oh my. You truly are a unique one Raymond." Rosalyn began to compose herself. She turned her head to hide her blushing cheeks from him. "S-SHould we be off?" She huffed out another laugh.
"Of course. Seeing as how in this camp we have chow hall or cantina, I was thinking we could be high rollers tonight and go cantina." Galviston quipped sardonically.
"Mmm, indeed. The cantina is the epitome of high society." Rosalyn agreed with her own sarcastic wit. "Alcohol, and soldiers, the best mix."
"Oh right, forgot you Gun Nun;s can't drink." He said. She snickered at his comment.
"Who says we can't drink?" She furled her brow and placed a hand on her hip. Galviston looked at her. All Rosalyn needed to do was raise her eyebrow, and she agreed to the words he didn't need to speak.
"Cantina it is then."
thats it for now, gotta go
page 8 bump.
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Pull it out your ass then
look again neo
Page 9 bump, and a lamentation that I most likely will have no time to write in the next couple of days. I'll squeak out what I can via phone, but I loathe phone typing.
Hi Batavi.
Mate thats how I always write. I was just worried on whether or not Chaos Orks were too old to count as a concept.

The freebooter page says they exist but evidently not in enough numbers for there to be any real page on them or examples. So I was worried it just would end up special snowflakey.

But no one called me out so no one cared.
Bump from nine
I kinda feel lonely doing all these bumps so you know what, fuck it

Lets do a regiment roll table. Whatever we roll and come up with will have a story written with them in it by me! Either as a piece in the 645 set, or as a standalone.

Good idea/bad idea?
Go for it broski
Alright for now lets do Ork Klan as a test. Whatever ork klan we do is the freeboota group in the story.

That said we skip the first roll. Roll 1d100 for color.
Eh nevermind. Well do a fresh regiment table later.
I guess everyone is out today. Giving you some aid in bumping.
Well also I know what I want rolled so I am just going to do that.

Id write about it but I dont know how many cared about the 645 themselves either.
Ogryn thread time to go.

"And you see the thing is about the Voltike series is that, unlike the holy bolter which has been adapted for human use, primarily by the holy Sororitas, the Voltike series was never meant to be used by anything other then a space marine, which makes sense since it predates the fracturing of our millitary forces by Saint Guilliman the holy primarch. This, in addition to the lack of specalist ammunition you can give to something that primarily is energy based. They are fascinating right?" Fifteehate said, walking in double pace to keep up with your legs. Shes been on the topics of guns for a long while, probbably why da red ones like her so much.

"I don't like the soreita" You reply glumly. "Dey say urtful fings when tryin ta kill ya." You sniff, you don like it when people use da m word, specially when pointin a flamer at you. Ya get there was a war goin on but dats just impolite. Sides the emperor was big too maybe yous just special.

Fifteehate blinks up at you. "When did you have to field against the Sororitas? Their's only been... five misfire reports in millenia."

"Cant tell ya." You reply glumly. "its confidenfial, da girl in da big armor made me pinky swear. dat dont make dem not jerks do"

Fifteehate tilts her head at you for a moment. "...Apologies?" The krieger is evidently confused. "How long have you served with the guard."

You pause. "Don remember. Long I guess." You shrug. "Go back to dat gun named after me?"

"You mean the quad launcher? Well you see its four mortars strapped together they are quite difficult to reload but were very useful in point control. The interesting thing about them is..."

You nod and listen to the soft rasps of your buddy, squeezing yourself down into the smalls to get back to anoffa day of hard diggin. You walk to your tunnel before you hear da ground shake. You pull Shotty out. Fifteehate aiming from behind with da blue gun, ya guess since shes a nerd it'll blow up less or somefin.
lol I'm trying to picture an ogryn saying "it's classified" like he's a secret agent
Keep it up senpai, this is one of my favorites. A casual reference to Motherfuckin Stubbs and his baneblades would be nice
A large green skin runs toward you, large stick wavin a unaddorned banner, the ork giving a fell scream as you shoot it, the ork being flung to da ground as Fifteehate runs to alert the others.

Da ork squirms getting back up as you point da gun at the sad... wait you know dis ork. Dat's Rockchewa.

"Great shot Thudd." The ork coughed, spittin a red stained wad of blood. "But I achully here to negoshihate, we got a problem, da bad kind."

You frown. "Sorry Rockchewa but you know we aren't loud to neogoshihate wit da xenos, and dat means you."

"No no, dis aint like dat. Im a honest sort guv yo got to believe me, jus let ya boss hear me out."

"Permission denied." Colonel Thirteen walked into the tunnel a line of Kriegers pointing there gun barrels at him. "Thudd you have 3 seconds to move out of the line of fire." The man raised a hand to count the number down, which was awfully nice since you probbably wouldnt have counted dat far.

"It's da boss!" The ork yelled. "He got da kaos!"

The Colonel dropped his hand. "Thudd take him to the commissar. If he moves rip his head off." He and the kriegers clear a path as you salute, hoisting the bleeding ork on your shoulder.

"Oi can I get a bandage for da chest wound?" The ork rasps.

"Denied." The colonel says as the ork mutters.
Is thudd a perpetual? That would be so bitchin. The eternal ogryn, stumbling around, helping hold the line for humanity, never knowing how old he is, or wondering why he has so many former buddies.
"Now da important part is dat we aint all dat bad see." Rockchewa said sitting at the table, heavy bolter pointed directly at his head. "All we wants is a propa fight, aint our fault you don precciate proppa entertainment."

"The point isn't what moral grounds you have, but what you have to offer that we could use." The commissah sighed, gesturing to the krieger manning the gun. "Bear in mind my platoon has not been this close to a xenos before without trying to kill it. Waste our time and they will shoot you. Lie to us, and they will shoot you. If you do not tell us EXACTLY what we need to know they will shoot you and EVEN if you have the key to getting the Emperor on Terra off the throne and can personally guarantee mankinds salvation they may still shoot you." The commissah shrugs. "I'd have to shoot them in that case, but they may take that trade off."

The ork looked nervously at the krieger who nodded. Which, to Thudd, was the closest hes ever seen them get to laughing manically. Da commissah wasnt kidding.

Rockchewa gulped, spitting out a loose teef. "Well see, Bullettoof, dat was da kaptain. figured if we parked da krooza right next to that big box we could have a proppa krak at da loot. He wuz deathskull you see, couldn't help emself. So dat worked out but we didnt find any normal loot we just got into dis room with a axe."

The commissah showed no sign of reaction. "Just a normal axe?"

The ork shook his head. "Dere was nuffin normal bout it. Wideeyes, dats our weirdboy, he ran off screamin da first time he got a look at it, and da axe bleeds everywhere even if no one cut into it yet. And de bloods all weird, it made the boss act all odd. He started killin all da gretchins, which is normal but Bullettoof was always ratta found of em. Den he moved on to da otta members of da krew." The ork sniffed. "Me and some of da ottas got out of dere when da goin was good. Da others either act odd like he is or are just bloody goffs and don care nuffin."
The commissah blinked, you frowned from outside the tent, from what you can tell Commissah knew pretty well what dat axe was and she wasnt happy. in fact, she seems da opposite of happy, she was... nothappy. wait you messed dat up.

"Continue." The commissah said as the ork squirmed in his seat.

"Not much else to say, he only cracked it open recently, bunch of humies broke our gun an escaped suprised you didn't know yet. Guess dey didnt see da inside. me and some of da boys git while da getting was still gudd. Da offas are either getting all screwy from da blood like da boss is or dey are just goffs and don care nuffin bout dese fings, da dumies."

The commissah sighed. "And you are telling us this why?"

The ork leaned forward. "Like I said, we here to negotiate. We want off dis planet, far away from dat axe before he makes us all screwy too. We aint big enough or many of us ta beat im, but if its one fing da orks know is dat humies can often beat people who are bigger den them. So we want ta offer our services ta ya. You give us a ship offa dis placeand maybe a crack at some of da loot in dat vault that's less blody an we will help you crump dat git like proppa orks."

The commissah sighed. "Colonel, arrange a meeting of war with General Marn, congratulations Rockchewa you live another day."

"Protest. Allying with xenos is heretical." The colonel hissed as the commissah walked out of the room. "You are in charge of matters of morale. Orders are to hold and await reinforcements you are working contradictory to that. Explain."

"Colonel 645-13 I do not think you realize the situation we are in, or how vital our haste in it requires." The Commissah hissed. "Orks live and breathe battle the way you breath recycled air. Do you know how fast a creature like that adapts to the taint of Khorne?" The Commisah reached into her coat drawing a white I. "Inquisitor Anritta Gal, Ordo Malleus, this war is now under inquisitor command."
And thats it for today now to answer the few questions.

Nah, he just literally can not remember how long he's been in the war. He doesn't have immortality he just has been fighting for several centuries ( I cant find out if a ogryns lifespan is higher or lower then a humans so im going with higher cause hardy). The irony is that the story starts with thudd being looked down on by the kriegers but in reality he's actually the most decorated solider in the regiment, not including Unterbrechan

I always savor more scenery and fluff to chew on between character development and plot. I take pains to ensure I have a living, breathing world for the story to take place in.

Show us what's happening in the background, even if it's only minor and has no purpose in the grand scheme of things.

The Security officer dropping his pistol and discharging it into some unfortunate bystander will have no effect outside of you might see a bandaged up Krieger being very confused as to the gifts of alcohol, lho-sticks, and trinkets given to him by the officer as an apology.

But it's still something for the story to have. The side characters, the back story. Does the 645 have a thing for armored vehicles? Do they perform airdrops? These are things you can help use to fluff out scenes and create situations later down the line.

You can sneak foreshadowing all over the place with just a touch of fluff and scenery. If looking to RNGesus gives you guidance, so be it.

This is all brain candy, and who doesn't love a good slice of fluffy brain cake?
I like waking up to your stories, keep it up. Do you want us to roll?
>571292 (You)
Not yet, I plan on doing it tomorrow and first I have to figure out what you are rolling for.

As stated I changed my mind about the klan because I decided I wanted the klan to work a certain way.

What I did was I wrote the 645 using Only war rules, complete with a small blurb on how they work.

They are dedicated siege units, with training in sappers and breachers that mainly had several regiments absorbed into it because of how bad the first war of Kathas V was (The one with the heretic). This actually foreshadowed the plot because it hinted at the Omnivault and the whole chaos thing.

I just figured since people were mostly silent on that info blurb a similar one would be equally meh. But hey, I'll likely be bored tomorrow gives me something to do before my quest.

More story is more story, and helps build the world in my head while I read your story.
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Aaaaaaaawwwww Shiiit! Things are getting intense in hea
That is cool too. He is like a massive, killy forrest gump.
Misty best waifu

Da 'Dis boat' is da krew of Kaptain Bullettoof, who went rogue after a bit of strategic miscoordination.

During Waaaargh Gringash, the Warboss Gringash attacked the Penal World Constabul I, with the plan to get more gits to build himself a proppa gargent. However he left some of his boys up in the krooza so 'dat dey can tellyporta dem off when da getting was good.'

One of the boyz was the Nob Bullettoof, who realized that the krooza was probbably the biggest scrap he could ever loot, so he hit the warp button and the Krooza blasted off, leaving Gringash to fight his waaargh defenseless.

Since then Kaptain Bullettoof has sold his services for the biggest dakka, with his mekboys slowly drowning in a sea of gubbinz due to the ork's hoarding tendencies. Only a special kind of ork picks up bolter casings off the ground and Bullettoof happened to be him.

The group has a unusual number of oddboys in general, mostly cause the more normal orks cant tolerate Bullettoofs habit of cleaning a battlefield off every usable scrap he can find and bugger off to the wild. This doesnt make the group less dangerous, since what Bullettoof doesnt have in men he has in raw gubbinz.

The orks greatest moments was during the raid of the Kabal Bleeding Nail, who attempted to kidnap the planetary govenor of the Gromen Hive world, only to find their Raider hit by a Shokk attack gun and a host of very scared snotlings managing to kill the shocked kabalites. The Orks then traded the rescued Guvner for a shiny new vindicator. They then took the remains of the Raider ship, and the kaptain got a shiny new splinta cannon which, till recently, was his most prized possession.
I love the idea of angel boy being Santa Claus.
Anyway as I bump from seven and with there being more foot traffic here lets go bust open the Roll tables!

Would you guys rather do Guard, SOB, Space Marine, or Knight house. I doubt I will do a Tempestus any well and its hard to pair krieg with filthy xenos.
SOB. SOB all the way. I want a Krieggirl to go full /u/ on a Sorita.
Oh god...fucking deamon possessed Ork Chiefs.
Alrignt Roll a 1d10


Basically we are going to make a Sister of Battle order here as a community to save on time.

This order will then show up in a story i'll write, either tied directly to the 645 plot or a entirely seperate piece.
Rolled 3 (1d10)

Oh....rolling then. 1d10 right?
Order of the Valorous heart congrats we have the only group as self hating as kriegers.

Next roll 1d10 for purpose of founding.
Rolled 4 (1d10)

Strategic Prognostication

Next roll for Flaw. 1d10
Rolled 6 (1d10)

6 Faith in suspicion. We will figure out who they hate later.

Roll 1d10 for demeanor.
Rolled 6 (1d10)

See but dont be seen. Stealthy sisters. Suspicious, pentinent, and sneaky. Hell of a combo.

1d100 this time figure of legend.
Rolled 46 (1d100)

The noise reached a deafening pitch in the trench. Flames illuminated guardsmen running down the trench and tossing grenades into dugouts. Screaming traitors were dragged out of the rubble and beaten with entrenching tools. Theta found it all very nostalgic.

He tried to vox his sergeant but only heard yelling. No one had any idea what was going on. “Kampf. Kampf. Kampf.” A monotone voice kept repeating on the vox. Figures were streaking through the darkness and demolishing the trench. Wooden frames were taken apart and sandbags were emptied.

“The stubbers!” No matter how hard he yelled they would not listen, each one busy fighting their own private battles.

A small crowd of blinded men in strange vestments approached Theta. Their faces were burned and they groped desperately in the dark. “My eyes, help me! My eyes. Co’orn grant me visio-” They were all gunned down in seconds. Theta began to meticulously stab the fallen bodies. Wondering why one of them was mentioning a plant. He approached a figure covered in ritual scars and lifted his bayonet. The scarred man swore and pulled the lasgun towards him, grabbing a surprised Theta and bringing him to the ground.

The two men blindly rained blows and kicks on each other. The guardsman tried to strike the traitor’s stomach but his fists were grabbed. Theta wrapped a leg around the traitor and brought him close. The scarred man took advantage of this and began strangling his opponent. The guardsman smothered the scarred face with freed gloved hands and launched his thumbs into the wide eyes.

The man shrieked and pushed Theta away. The corporal grabbed his entrenching tool and loomed over him.


The syllables gave Theta a headache. He started swinging his entrenching tool down on the man’s neck and groin until he was silent. Picking up his lasgun and moving down the trench, Theta could not help but wonder how strange other people were.
Canoness Superior

Nothing wrong with that. 1d100 on deeds of legend.
Moving down the trench was a battle in itself. The walls of the trench were collapsed in many areas and a slick mess of blood, mud and other fluids coated the ground. The vox was a storm of contradictory orders and only certain things could even be made out.

“We are attacking...counterattacking….attacking...reforming.” A muffled voice persistently said over the noise. “First platoon meet up with second at...stay clear of...everything satisfactory.” Another voice was less confident. “Status report? Who is in here? Not responding is...Is the support wave here?”

Theta picked his way through a corpse filled corner and came into a section of the trench containing several entrances to smaller communication trenches. Traitors in bright clothing covered in crude markings poured in from the entrances only to be met by incoming waves of guardsmen. A roaring man in flak armor spotted Theta and turning around, realized he did not have enough room to move. Theta thrust a leg out and tripped him, bringing the bayonet down on his fallen form. He went after the others.

Blinding muzzle flashes broke out in the darkness, revealing scarred and masked faces. Theta stabbed everyone who did not have a mask. Flanking them from the corner gave him the advantage. The narrow confines of the trench packed the traitors together and they were unable to move away when they noticed the corporal. Theta stabbed, twisted, pulled and moved on to the next. It really was a nostalgic experience.

A man in carapace armor and plumed helmet forced his way towards Theta. A poorly painted star painted on his chest. A lasgun barrel appeared over Theta’s right shoulder and fired, hitting the man in the shoulder. The armored man became more enraged.

“Kill the masks! Kill the marked ones! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The man began cutting down his comrades with a chainsword which pleased Theta. Theta was not pleased when the berserker roared a challenge and charged towards him.
The guardsmen closest to the mad one charged and grabbed onto him, trying to hold him down so the others could fire but he only roared louder. He could not be weighed down. The “masks” as he called them, were thrown off in every direction. Theta quickly, but steadily, aimed his lasgun.

“Hold your breath, look down the sights and fire,” Theta thought to himself. The fact that an average sized man was tossing guardsmen around and ranting about a skeleton chair caused the corporal no distress. The shot hit the madman in the chest and he locked eyes with Theta.

“OUT! MASKS GET OUT OF MY TRENCH! OUT!” Emitting a high pitched scream he hit his wound with one hand and used the other that held the chainsaw to bisect several unfortunate guardsmen. They tried to distance themselves but were being pushed forwards by newly arrived waves of men. A massacre was in the making, the corporal dropped his lasgun and acted quickly. He dived beneath the swinging chainsword and held onto the man's ankles. As the madman was looking down at him an NCO’s chainsword took an arm off. This was only a small victory, one arm still held a chainsword.

“GIVE IT BACK!” He buried his chainsword to the hilt into the NCO’s chest. The noncom’s vibrating body fell next to Theta and covered his eyepieces with gore. The blinded guardsman began rolling away but was stopped by savage kicks to the chest. Then nothing, a second of silence and then the sensation of being lifted by the neck. He heard a whispering voice. “Is there a person in there? Or are you another vision?” Large fingers delicately wiped the blood away. “You're different, do you hear the voices too? Please don’t be like the others.” Inquiring eyes searched his face. This was his chance, if he could keep the traitor distracted someone could shoot him in the back. Theta spoke:


A poor choice of words he realized. The hand squeezed before he could say anything else.
Rolled 49 (1d100)

Slaying a daemon prince eh? Impressive

Now what kind of world do they live in? 1d100.
Rolled 35 (1d100)

Desert. So they dont try to stick out, suspicious of a unknown group in the imperium, and believe themselves partially guilter for Vandire.

Next influence roll 1d100.
Rolled 66 (1d100)

Noticeable influence.

1d10 again for organization.
Rolled 10 (1d10)

Unique Organization. Ooooh.

Combat doctirne 1d10
Rolled 8 (1d10)

Hmm so stealthy desert warriors interesting.
Well if we are looking at the same tables then that would be siege so i guess that's why there with the Kriegers.

And no the stealth refers to how to deal with others.

The organization apperantly keeps to themselves except when deeded. Basically they are sisters reasonables.

Roll 1d10 for special equipment. The first three rolls are what we will use since as a unique group a lot is off.
Rolled 10 (1d10)

Perhaps there order is organized into two branches; one that handles prolonged sieges and the other that handles infiltration and sabotaging.
Rolled 9 (1d10)

Well the stealth is in demeanor, not in actual war doctrine yet.

So they do things like just sit in the room nodding politely probbably. Though assasinations are useful in siege....

Preffered fighting style
Rolled 3 (1d10)

Or if we use the table on 1d4chan that would be Penance and Obligation; might fit better with kriegers.
So modiefied jump packs. Which goes well with there preferred fighting style and modiefied weaponry.

1d10 for belief system.

Penance was edited out i have the table open now.
Rolled 3 (1d10)

Classic emperor above all.

1d10 for order size.
Rolled 9 (1d10)

Oh i see the problem i was looking at the wrong section ok
Nomial strength, the order has no problem with power so far.

Now 1d100 for friends
1d100 for enemies and we are done.
Rolled 18, 19 = 37 (2d100)

Testing if this works
Rolled 87 (1d100)

So should we roll a extra time to determine who we are suspicious of?

So 18 says you like another order of battle. You hate however the dark eldar... which is weird cause i dont think you siege them.

Rolling up friendly order
Rolled 2, 1, 9, 8, 4, 6, 3, 1, 3, 6 = 43 (10d10)

10d10 in order
Rolled 26, 30, 73, 39, 70, 46 = 284 (6d100)

And 6d100. No problem with re-rolling though.
? did you just do the regiment table for a entirely different sisters group?
Anyway I will compile everything later first i have dishes then i have to update my quest.
Yes. Was quick-genning background stuff anyway and have work coming up, I figured why not contribute a quick-gen?
Perhaps they just specifically hate the DE even though they don't fight them all that often.
Alright we have

A order from the valourous heart, created to counter a strategic threat.

They have a quiet disposition, keeping to themselves though there are parts of the imperium they find suspicious.

They live in a desert world they have some power over and are a odd group, having modified their weapons and jumppacks to their favored form of war, which is in this case siege.

They are friends with another order and revere their cannoness who decapitated a daemon prince. Their greatest foe are the dark eldar.

As for the other group anon made for the buddies:

Descended from the Martyred lady, strategically formed. They hate the ecclisiarchy, and are contemptous of heretics.

Their cannoness also killed a daemon prince and are simillarly decorated for it.

They live in a desert feudal world they have a noticeable influence over.

The order has a slight variation, favoring armored assault and having a favored weapon.

They worship the emperor above all and have a nominal fighting power.

They work with the guard and hate tyranids.


Alright time to fit the first one together.

(Also roll for what kind of world they are in i never did that)
We could tie them together better and say they killed the same daemon prince and they are based on the same world since they seem similar.
Very well.

So then lets go forward further.

What modifications do the group do on their holy weapons? What would better suit siege weaponry, and what motifs do we use.

Was going to base them off those woman iraqis who fight isis cause dessert and sich but this is a group effort.
Well if they killed the daemon prince together and based off the same world then i would think they work together really closely so they should complement each-other.
I think the assault order would favor heavy weapons to cover the siege orders advance so they might have storm bolters or other heavy weapons while the siege would be a more melee focused since they are working in the trenches so swords, hammers or even a type of knife.
That answers the combat doctrine. With a melee focus as well as what their foe is.

The question is of course, what makes the siege girl weapons different from the others?
sweet if you do a SoB story I can stop writing. I haven't really vested much interest into it. More or less just using it to bump with.
Well they might use a excess amount of Thunder Hammers since they have a lot of jump packs, they could also have a supply of Storm Shields that would let them advance with a degree of cover while crossing areas out of the trench with some protection or even better why not have Thunder Hammers and Storm Shields?
No you cant because nuance.

Plus these are UNIQUE SoBs, the specialist of snowflakes.

Well desu you always CAN same as I can, nothings stopping me from saying "I have a headache so cancelling". But dont feel like Im stealing your job here, Ill get in trouble.

We rolled Modified not "Rare weapons" So you still have bolter, flamers and chainswords the holy trinity, but yours are different.

For instance your flamer fuel pack could be tied to the jump pack. Or your flamers have a option where the promethium can be concentrated like thermite to cut into armor.
Well i am out of idea's; I guess there flamers fuel could be designed to burn much longer to deny a area for enemy's but if your that close to a enemy's trench then i don't think that would be very useful. Personally i just like the idea of sisters storming trenches with hammers and shields so i would change the roll too exotic weapons but it's up to you.
honestly, I'm only writing that story to:
1) Bump the thread
2) keep my mind in the writing "mode" as it were between editing and writing more content

cute as it is there's not much going on with it in my mind
Well then go for it. Write what you want not what you feel you should.

I'll go look through the sister's armory.
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Dis is an ork fread now. Start puttin' more orkz in da stories!
Oi dis git aint read my stories, dey plenty orky.
So as for the sister thing, I think i seperated the changes to a few.

>Different krak grenades
>Grenade underarms
>Some sortof different shapped melee weapon?

What we really need is to figure out there theme. I know what group the people are suspicious of already but whats our space desert groups aesthic?? Cause my default will be, due to religious desert siegers from feudal times to use the ottomans.
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Ya need more boyz, ya git!
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power Scimitars when?

Well then power scimatars it is, fielded by the elite of the Brotherhood like the Celestine and superiors.

Now then what do their jump packs look like, since a alteration was used.

Or I can do this myself I just thought readers would like the abbility to add input.
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Maybe they have slight wings on the jump packs, and the names of their owners on them/ noteworthy kills
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I would vote for smaller, slimmer packs that can only be used once or twice, but are much quieter. They hate themselves, why bother with being able to get out if You can complete the mission then die for the cause?
(Waifu thread)

The sergeant swore as the orks charged the wall. "Mary how long till that evac?"

The vox operator fires his long las, smoke trailing off his gun as a ork flops dead over his Big shoota. "They are flying as fast as they can, but I don't think we can hold this position long enough.

Harmond nods tossing a handful of grenades into the masses, the smoking canisters filling the sea with a black fog. "That can buy us some time but we should probably hoof it."

The sergeant nodded. "Right tactical retreat." The Sergeant tossed the rope taking a moment to glare at Misty. "That include you, retreat is the direction AWAY from the mob of enemies, not toward."

The grenadier looked down at the angry horde. "Permission to atleast shoot one."

The sergeant sighed. "Sure ONE shoot, aim for the guy with the axe." The sergeant sighed and slid down from the pool as the Krieger took aim with her hotshot the red beam being smacked aside by the warbosses fist.

"OI WATCH DA AXE!" The ork screamed, charging into the smoke stained field. "AND YOU GITS. STOP MUCKIN ABOUT!"

88c ran down the rope as she heard a ork scream, a bronzed blade sticking out of the orks defensive wall.

"I be da Kaptain." 88c heard the warboss seathe, lasgun thick fingers grabbing the melted plasteeel and crumpling the wall like it was paper. "AND DAT MEANS WHEN I SEE GIT YA GIT GOT." 88c ducked as a hail of dark bolts flung over head, the ork holding a twisted scythe gun, blades jutting from it as the ork tried to pry the hole bigger to get a better shot.

Misty tossed a grenade behind her and headed for cover the roar of a chimera getting louder and louder as the group ran for it.

The ground shook as the ork ambled behind them, blood trailing behind him as the axe slung to his back coated his skin red, the orks gun slung at its waist like the cannon was just a odd shaped revolver.

The ork seemed bigger then it was just a few minutes ago, Misty noted, but that may be the adrenaline.
"WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU LOT YOUR GUTS GONNA BE ME GROTKIBBLE!" The ork screamed, fists slaming into the ground as the ork charged them in a bestial gait, eyes burning with a almost tangible hate.

"DEN IM GONNA HAND YA SKIN OVER MY POT AND SOAK IN YA BLOOD." The Ork screamed as it leaped over, grabbing the Sergeant in a hand as big as the Catachan.

Richand squirmed, grabbing his combat knife and jabbing it into the Orks thumb. The kaptain chuckled, ignoring the gun fire pinging against his skull from the his squadmates. "Not efun a tickle mate." The ork said grabbing the Sergeants arm. "But it right pissed me off ya tried." The ork twisted, ripping the sergeants arm off with a sickening pop.

The ork chuckled. Silly humies with there small arms an... where did da bush go?

Misty tackled the ork, bayonet gripped in her hand as she clawed the orks face in a blind rage, the kaptain dropping Richand to try to pry the grenadier off him.

Giving a scream that, through the rebreather, sounded was distorted to a shrill wail, Misty shoved the bayonet deep into the orks eye socket, the ork screaming as the sergeant stabbed the ork again and again, the sound of the battlefield drowned out by a vicious screaming... oh wait that was her. Irregular.

Eventually green fingers gripped the krieger, forcibly yanking her off the ork as the Kaptain stared at her, blood dripping from the many knife wounds on his face.

"Dat, urt." The ork seethed grabbing his axe from his back. "But let da kaptain show ya what a proppa urt is." The ork lifted his axe as a loud horn blared.

"Da zog is?" The Kaptain had time to turn around before getting rammed by the Chimera, Misty crumpling into the ground as the axe flew out of the Orks hand.

"Devil unit this is Gaberiel of the 645 Chimera unit." The machine blared out of its speaker as the back of the chimera opened up. "Lets get the frak out of here."
Misty felt herself being lifted and looked up at the face of Harmond, Belchett dragging the Sergeant behind her. "You two are going to be okay."

"MY AXE!" Misty could hear the ork dimly wail, the floor rumbling as the ork ran off in search of its treasured loot, thhe squad moving as fast as they could into the relative saftey of the Chimera as the box tank bolted from the scene

"Internal bleeding suspected. Requesting leave of absence to report to Quatermaster." Misty wheezed through her damaged rebreather unit turning to Richand. "The Sergeant."

Harmond looked at Belchett who gave a thumbs up. "Don't worry about him. We've had worse growing up." Belchett smiled grimly as Misty nodded, then retreated to unconsciousness.

"His arm is off." Mary whispered. "How could he have worse?"

Belchett frowned. "Well thats not good hospital side manner, be more optimistic." Belchett turned to look at Misty, the grenadier. "Odd girl, didn't know Kriegers could go crazy like that."

Mary nodded. "Yeah you can't pay me to get anywhere close that Ork with anything less then a melta. He shrugged off our lasbullets like they were the wind. How do we take down something like that."

"We will." Harmond stated plainly. "It's either that or die."
And thats it, my first serious scene.

And it has Orks!

I'll get back to the Sobs tomorrow, I have some ideas and I'll show you guys my idea and we will see if it sticks.
Is it bad that after Tear heals up I want him to wake up being cuddled by Misty

No, it isn't.
Bump from nine and im up.
So here is what I figure.

The order of X, alongside the order of Y has been around since 860 M41 in hive world Constaine VII, the order for its formation having derived just years after the Siege of Vraks, that bloody war still in the memory of many as was the vileness of its Apostate cardinals. The holy covenant as such not only preaches vigilance against all traitors but particularly against false piety. Many a corrupted priest has been put to the flamer for idolatry and hints of turning. This has soured their association with the ecclisarchy, who considered the order mostly ceremonial not something that one should actually DO and with such fervor.

The Orders are mostly known for their sister cannoness, famed for killing the Apostate Daemon known Mockingly as Saint Innocent, a former cardinal who fell to the Dark Prince and tried to damn Constaine VII itself.

The Order of X work alongside Y for siege battles, the armored immolators of Y breaching holes in the encampment for X's Seraphim to fly into on jump packs, the packs are equipped with Laud haulers so that the assault regiment descends to a angels, breaking moral as surely as the handflamer does.

In addition senior members are ordained a power scimitar, the curved blade simillarly ordained with holy blessings to better cull daemon flesh. This swords are both deadly in battle and symbols of faith in their own right.

The order of Y however, favors heavy weapons, their retributers seldom seem without their Requium pattern heavy bolters or their immolator tanks.
Despite the pains the orders use to purge taint from within the group finds themselves most often in the face of xenos menaces, with the Order of Y frequently finding their religious viligence effective at detecting the threat of Genestealer cults.

The order of X in particular has got the ire of the Kabal of Withered Claw, who's raiding parties were previously humiliated by the sisters superior defenses, their archon wounded in battle with the Celestine superior. Such humiliation does not go unnoticed in Commoragh and the Kabal finds itself hurrying to repay this humiliation before the other Kabals take advantage of this weakness.

Hows that?
I like how you tied everything together while making it believable, well done.
This is a mandate of the totally not heretical, GUIDE OF CUTENESS!, and I would love to see his confusion of seeing her curled up against him.

Soooo you Korean or just pulling an image you found online?
Okay to conclude everything we need a name and colors for each.
I was considering something like "The Order of His Holy Writ" for Order X since they are reformationists who are heavy on the holy book and inscribe their hallowed equipment and "The Order of the Sleepless Eye" for the Y order due to their peerless watchfullness and famed marksmen ship with artillery. Thoughts?
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I approve of these options, as for the colours, well maybe they should reflect what they do.
So the Writ are red cause its the fastest and the Eye are purple cause its the sneakiest?
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Well I'll run it through the army painter
Unfortuantely reds taken, Bloody Rose.
What about Burgundy over red?
I can try.

So two colors, the armor and the robes.

Which ones do you want. If you want to be really annoying one can be Red Purple and the other Purple Red
Annoying works for me, since we seem to be the only two commenting on it right now
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20/10 would praise the emprah with
Random trivia I came up with as I wait for my quest to get traction.

1. I should use a regiment table in a quest, sure dodges character creation controversy. "The anons chose wrong" no one chooses.

2. The Sister of Restless Eye were originally situated in the Hive World Repille, where the sisters returned from a crusade to find it infected with the Genestealer cult. After a gruesome war the Sisters were forced to retreat as the Inquisition ordered the Planet exterminatus after the planet attracted the interest of a splinter hive fleet, the Restless Eye's armor is specifically painted to mimic their hated enemies the Behemoth hive fleet. The Restless Eye's were then offered to share the Sacred Writ's world, which is part of why relations between the two are so good.

3. The Order of Sacred Writ believes in the heresy of Idoltry and thus worships no saints. To the Orders mind the highest religious authority is their canoness, the highest governmental authority is the Inquisition, and until the Emperor on Terra walks again they are the only people they are obligated to listen to. This has caused problems with the Ecclisiarchy, oddly enough however they get along with other organizations, feeling they are in fact obligated to work for the Imperium as it is the Emperor's kingdom.

4. The Order of Restless Eye, being a armored assault unit, went to train in mars during their conception, which is where their schism formed rather then the Writ's explicit "None are sacred". The Eye is, as far as any one knows, the only Sister Order that acknowledges the Divinity of the Ommnissiah. Their unity with the Writ came after the Migration and the famous slaying of the daemon prince previously the two orders were unrelated.
5. The Sacred Writ's most famous member is not their Cannoness but the Archcardinal Praetorus the XVth a member of the Holy Synod. Years ago the Archcardinal visited the Segmentum on a pilgrimage. During transit his ship was assaulted by a space hulk lead by members of the Red Corsairs who captured the cardinal and begain a war spree until the hulk was attacked and destroyed by the Sacred Writ alongside Inquisitor Carlis of the Ordo Herectus and a squad of space marines, during this raid the cardinal was rescued but upon reaching the Cardinal the Sisters had a question. Why, when faced with the great enemy and traitors to the Empire did the Cardinal not die in battle against them, suffering the indignity of capture? The Cardnial was without a reasonable answer and submitted himself to the Sister's judgement lest he got shot then and there, believing that he would simply be reduced in title as is common.

Instead he was strapped to a Penitent Engine. It was at this point that the Sacred Writ's relations with the Ecclissiarchy began its downward spiral and almost all the Penitent engines and Flaggelants fielded by the sisters were priests.

6. The Restless Eye's friendly guard Regiment is the 74th Krieg Banesword Regiment (following the head canon that Krieger Regiments are named after their most valuable equipment), given their understanding in repairs, the Eye's fixed many of the Kriegers tanks during the war of Servillus, where the Restless Eye's were given vengence agains the same splinter fleet that took Repille. As a thank you, the 74th was officially pardoned by the Canoness of Jurten's siege, with each individual solider from Colonel to private. The result of this was signfigant and other guardsmen are reportedly annoyed by the 74ths unnerving sereneness.
where is Batavi's pastebin
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I am digging the lore bits, but who is going to bake the next bread?

I will why not.
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I kill this thread with meaningless images
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