Storythread

>>>50283779

>>50294572

Cont. For the anon who said he was looking forward to more.

It took him a moment to process. He heard the words, and he knew their meaning, but he didn't understand at first. And then it hit him. The commisar didn't know! The infraction and the punishment were both off the books after all, he couldn't know! He wasnt gonna get shot! Faulin felt like dancing a jigging and bursting out into song, but he kept a lid on it. Gotta appear right stoic and proper in front of officers after all, specially commisars. He hadn't lasted this long by being stupid, nor by having a bad poker face. So he kept his expression under control and quietly demured. "Just doing my duty sir".

As he spoke a thought occurred to him. The commisar thought he was doing this all voluntary like after all, maybe if he played it up he could turn this to his advantage? Now no man who knew him would accuse private Faulin of being the most devote servant of the emperor, but he was quite good at faking it. Had to be, lack of proper piety got you shot after all. So he slipped into his best impression of the priest from the Parish he went to as a boy and continued speaking, slowly gaining volume and confidence as his voice filled with 'religious fervor'. "After all we must needs maintain these vessels of the Emperor's holy wrath, which he has seen fit ro bless us with, lest we be found ungrateful for his gift and he withdraw his blessings!" The private said emphatically.

When he finished speaking the commisar said nothing. He just stared for a moment, and Faulin worried he might have laid it on a little thick. Had he been seen through? Shit, shit, he shoulda just been happy to get out alive, what'd he go and risk it for? He continued to grow ever more nervous, until when the commisar turned ro face him and suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.

>>50294944

"You" the commisar began solemnly "are truly a model of what an imperial guardsmen should be. A true servant of the emperor. Would that we had more with your faith, none could stand against us." He said.

He was facing Faulin full on now. Were those tears in his eyes? 'Surely not', Faulin thought,' I must be imagining things, commisars don't cry.'


"When I was assigned to this regiment I was worried" the commisar conspiritorially said leaning a bit closer. "I had heard the men were insubordinate and faithless . I feared I would find no true servant of the emperor among this gaggle. Fears i though corroberated when i saw they had all run off whoring, and then i saw you. Quietly and unassumingly doing your duty. I had prayed to Him on Terra to grant me at least one man I could trust, and he has answered. Private Faulin, I wish to have you assigned as my aid. Will you help me to bring this regiment back to the emperor's light?"

Outwardly Faulin put on his best impression of humility, but inside he was screaming and crying. There was no way out of it! "I wold be honored sir."

"Good good, then I'll speak with the colonel and draw up the transfer orders"

And that is the beginning of the story of Private James Faulin. Unwilling aid to Commisar Daniel Brocke, attached to the Missisary 44rth armored division

>>50294944
>>50294986

>all the spelling errors.

This is why I should really not post on my phone, and should really give things a once over before posting. Sorry lads.

>>50294944
>>50294986
>>50295214
spelling errors aside, you did good work anon (I'm >>50285595 btw)

>>50295698

thank you.

Has anyone heard back from The Bard yet? I was told today was the day but have heard nothing.

File: 1265480802429[1].jpg (402KB, 1282x980px) Image search: [Google]

402KB, 1282x980px

I've got a game for you guys: can you guess which stories on the wiki are mine?

I ask because I want to know if I have an identifiable style. I generally post the stories I write anonymously, but lately I've been wondering if there are some common denominators to my writing, and if it would help me to know what they are. No need to go to too much effort. If you can't pick out my stories easily, then obviously I don't have a consistent style and the question is moot. But if you can take glance at the wiki and go 'aha - he's /that/ guy', then it would probably help me to know how you do it.

I want to know because I've recently started work on a novel, and hence I've been taking a long hard look at my past writing and seeing if I can find any way to improve it. (This is also why I won't be contributing material to the thread much for the immediate future - sorry. Although don't worry, I will still be capping stories and updating the wiki.)

To start you off, I'll give you the most recent sample of my work
>>50102405
>>50102422
>>50102441
>>50102457
>>50102467
>>50102493
>>50102508
>>50102525
>>50102575
and a hint: I tend to upload my stories in groups. There's also plenty of my stuff on there, so this shouldn't be a needle-in-a-haystack hunt.

Of course, this all presupposes that there are people out there who have actually read what's on the wiki

picture unrelated, hopefully.

File: kaboom__by_blazbaros-dal1gkl.png (423KB, 1200x600px) Image search: [Google]

423KB, 1200x600px

"So you got the explosives set?"
"Yep."
"The gobbos know nothing about what we did?"
"Not a clue."
"And you even managed to save my family?"
"Every single one."

This was it, the moment of payoff. After months of subjugation to the goblin tribes, one little fairy named Sandi finally escaped her slavers and came across Velm, a gruff knight who revered the fairies as protectors of nature.
Together, that fairy and Velm began their campaign of liberation, striking at the goblin hideouts wherever they hid. With Sandi's knowledge of goblin society and Velm's strength of arms, the goblins had no chance of repelling them.
Now there was only one goblin stronghold left and they had several dozen pounds of explosives to deal with it. Sandi knew everything there was to know about this one: it was the one she fled from and returning in order to bring it crashing down made her giddy.

And so it led to this. The explosives were all in place, the fairies were freed, and now the goblins were blissfully unaware of how close they were to having their place blow up.
"You got the thing?" Sandi asked.
"Right here." In Velm's hand was a small rune. Breaking it would trigger all the explosives in the fortress with a magical shockwave.
"Do it." Velm crushed the rune easily enough. "On three, we do it." Sandi held her fist out. "One...two..."

On three, as their fists connected, the base blew up sky-high behind them. Neither knight nor fairy paid any heed to the explosion. This was their payoff. This was their win and nothing could take that away from them.

"Hey, Velm," Sandi asked as they walked away, "do you mind if I stayed with you a little longer?"
Velm grew a small smile, "I can always do with a fairy partner. You're always welcome."
"Partners..." the word rolled off perfectly for Sandi. It was everything she could have wanted at this moment. "Yeah, I'd love that."
"Then c'mon," Velm said. "Let's go eat, partner."
"Awesome."

And this was how the greatest team was formed.

Hmmmm the bit I wanted feedback on is long enough I'm thinking it will scare everyone off. Maybe I'd best just post another shortish bit and hold off on more until somebody says they've read through it.

Not sure though if I should post starting at the beginning of the entire section or post the bit immediately prior to the last bit I posted

File: 1424992997498.jpg (72KB, 400x398px) Image search: [Google]

72KB, 400x398px

>>50294944
Oh man, that was good enough I kind of hate you. The story I'm working on atm has an almost identical need-to-sound-like-super-zealous-guardsman-guy scene and you rocked it way harder than me.

Normally I'd be concerned to find someone else writing a scene so similar but the 40k setting being what it is its actually kind of awesome/hilarious.

>>50294986
In the first line you aught to remove the he said at the end. its unnecessary.

>>50294986
1. BWAHAHAHAHA!
2. Awesome 40k fluff
3. While a given regiment might have any number of non-standard rank titles in general in the IG he would be called Trooper Faulin. If this regiment calls them privates instead that's fine just make it clear their regiment is a hipster who thinks trooper is too mainstream. I feel like its important we 40k writefags try to make sure we're using the same nomenclature. Its a big part of what makes writing within a specific world so comfy and fun.
4. Similarly I'm pretty sure regiment is the largest permanent formation used by the IG so I'd change it to the 44rth regiment (unless its composed of multiple regiments) in which case I'd go with Legion (not to be confused with a steel legion which is an armored or mechanized regiment from Armageddon).
5. Sorry to be nomenclature nazi but is Missionary a planet? If not a missionary division (regiment) would violate the Decree Passive.
6. what you've posted in this thread is good enough Ima look at the beggining in the previous thread (I can almost never force myself to read other peoples stuff and give feedback like I hope people will do for me so thats kind of like my highest form of praise.)

>pic related: just for your man Faulin

>>50297989
"Relax an' Enjoy"


"You don't want to go over there and indulge? " The apprentice, some young kid run away from the Ecclesiarchy, looked incredulous as he sat behind the pillar and whispered.

"Nah, I can wait." The old master glanced at a mirror on a stick, and reached for a lever. Patches of purple scaling slid and flexed as he adjusted the tripod mounted pict recorder expertly, lining it up with the mirror to take in the scene beyond.

"They're both in the heat of it now. Can't we just go over and have our way with 'em? Not like they'd mind." Beyond the pillar, other whispers echoed just inaudibly, speaking undertones of passion and lust.

"Nah. if she sees me, she'll realize something's up and break out." To illustrate the point, he pointed to the purple scaling on his arm, which flexed suggestively as the apprentice looked on. "It's not straight up mind control, see. Just pressing the right buttons." Beyond the pillar, things clanked to the floor, one at a time.

"Really?" The apprentice furled eyebrows and leaned in.

"Sure. The Sororitas over there, naughty one she is, got a thing for exotic woman though it's really, really repressed. The Eldar's into bestiality, also really repressed."

"How do you know all this? Some other spell?" The rumpling of cloth joined the armor. Someone moaned lightly.

"Psychological profiling. I look, I listen."

The apprentice snorted a laugh. "Sounds almost Tzeentchian, master. Are you so sure you're not one of 'em again?"

"Nothin' wrong with a little thinking to get your jollies." More moans began to cascaded through the air, feminine and alluring. "Sounds like the show's starting. Relax an' enjoy."

>>50301153
Screw it I want to hear what people think and if people think "10 posts is too long to read" so be it. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!

>>50258928
>[First some clarification: Primarch is a Leman Russ, Warshop is a chimera, and Amelia Cibo is a mechanicum clerk who’s magos lord boss replaced her body with a customized Leman Russ (she wishes he'd asked first)]


“I guess we’d better start trying to get a hold of someone with either the authority, or the influence to send some flyboys and convince them to do it. Miana you’re the master here but Warshop and Primarch have enough vox-range that us amateurs might get through to someone. Mi is there anything the rest of the unit could do to assist?”

“Recaff, gallons and gallons of recaff.”

Two hours later Hest, all-but knowing what the answer would be, tapped Miana’s shoulder, “Any luck?”

“I was only able to find the vox-frequencies of three officers or officials with maybe the authority to send fighters or even ground based anti-air anywhere and whose VO would put me through.”

“They didn’t sound like they were going to do anything?”


“Oh here are the recordings, you can decide for yourself. This first one’s from the Captain of a Cadian mechanized air-defense company.”

The recording played from Cibo’s internal hailer “The fuck you want us to do about it?! We’re getting hit everywhere! Don’t bother me with this shit again!”

Hest was surprised and a little disgusted by the officer’s total lack of composure. The man clearly either didn’t know the effect having a commander yell something like that into a vox would have on every one of his mean who heard it, or hadn’t the self discipline to maintain at least a façade of confidence.

>>50301758

Miana cued up the next recording, this voice lacked the hysterical edge of the Cadian captain, but was so obviously unconcerned with their warning it was almost more disheartening, “We’ll investigate as soon as we can free up the manpower.”

Hest looked down at Miana inquiringly.

“That was Overseer Kalpatril the guy the Administratum put in overall command of the spaceport itself. He seemed to have about as much intellectual firepower as Mightyman Bob.” Mightyman Bob was the unit’s nickname for one of Magos Volkin’s servitors.

The vox-wizard started to cue up the final recording, “After that moron I had to get creative but I was finally able to convince that air-traffic vox guy you and Briand play cards with to relay a vox transmission into orbit where I eventually got a hold of a vox officer aboard Sol Invictus herself, High Admiral Milvian’s very own flagship. The VO actually seemed like a decent sort but made it clear getting a message to the admiral herself was not even a possibility. This is the most important swabby we can ever hope to reach so far as the Navy’s concerned.”

Hest knew from the contempt in Miana’s voice he wouldn’t like what this maybe-important void-jockey had to say; he didn’t.

The woman whose voice played over the cabin’s hailer couldn’t have sounded any more hostile. “Who is this?! You’re not authorized to be on this net! You’re in a world of shit whoever you are. You’ll go to the penal legions for this!”

Hest was immediately alarmed but, before he could ask, Miana anticipated his next question. “That cunt’s going to have a serious case of the ass when she tries to find out who she was just talking to.”

>>50301766

“Are you absolutely sure about that? You’ve always been able to do stuff like that.”

Self-satisfaction momentarily relieved Miana’s stressed expression, “Vox transmissions can be traced to their point of origin, but they’ll trace that transmission to the spaceport because it relayed our signal. I can’t imagine how many vox transmissions were coming in and out of Belkin at the time but I know it’s a shit-load and any one of them could be the transmission that was getting bounced to them. Your orbital-traffic controller buddy might well be in a world of shit depending on what kind of logs the spaceport keeps, but I lied about what unit I was from as no one gives a fuck what some Leman Russ crew thinks and he definitely didn’t recognize my voice so he’s as far as that Navy cunt’s quest will ever go.”

Hest sighed, even having suspected things would turn out this, it was disheartening. “There’s no one else you can contact?”

“With most of our upper-echelon command wiped out in the Ork’s rokfall and vox-nets overloaded with panicked reports from damn near every fucking unit and installation in or near the plateau its almost impossible to get a hold of anyone who knows even as little as we do about the strategic situation or what the chain of command is now. If you want I can keep trying to get someone who can do something, but I really doubt it will accomplish much anything.”

Hest’s face turned to a bitter grimace and he didn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowed with thought. Finally his grimace disappeared and he nodded to himself looking a man who’d just resolved himself to a course of action he had hoped to avoid.

“Fuck it. Don’t bother. We’re gonna have to do something about it ourselves or we’re gonna get crumped.”

>>50301774

Hest crawled back into his TC station plopped his headset on and fiddled with his vox settings as he opened the hatch above the commander’s station and stood up to look out. Miana was somewhat curious to see why he was broadcasting on a channel that would go to every crewmember in every tank in the squadron as well as Magos Volkin.

“Everybody kit up and get ready to roll out; full combat posture. The Emperor needs some xenos dealt with and the 3rd Steel Legion’s gonna oblige him.” He’d forgotten they weren’t a Legion regiment anymore again but the squadron was so used to it by now they probably didn’t even notice.

The squadron might not have any remaining officers or paid any attention to rank among themselves but there was still no doubt about who the leaders were; as everyone else stowed gear and began running through rituals of activation Rosk, Duffers, and Phillipe, the ratling tank commander of the unit’s chimera Warshop, got out or off of their vehicles and converged on Cibo as Hest climbed on top of her to meet them. It only took Miana, who had no idea what Hest was doing, to climb out after him.

As the three tankers from the other vehicles arrived for their little conference Rosk cut straight to the chase, “You finally got through to someone with their head out of their ass? What’re our orders?”

Miana, staring at Hest like he’d lost his mind, seconded the question. Her tone was intensely pointed. “Yes Trooper Hest, what are our orders?”

>>50301783

“It should be apparent to anyone who’s watched Miana at her vox-caster for the last hour that what little is left of the Guard’s chain of command on Heerin is totally fucked, we can’t rely on the Brass to accomplish shit. If Miana’s right about orks secretly airlifting forces in from the West they have to be dealt with right now or we, and by we I mean the Imperium of man on Heerin, are about to be wiped out.

There are good reasons orders, even bad ones, must be obeyed, but even more important than orders is our mission: the defense of the Holy Imperium of Man. Right now the Emperor needs somebody to keep ork airlifts from collapsing the imperial defensive lines around Belkin. We are going to do it for him. Nothing, not laws or regs, not orders, not the chain of command, and sure as fuck no commissar can be allowed to stand in the way of that. Are you with me?”

Hest was unaware of it but Amelia piped this little speech over the squadron’s vox-net so that it was heard by every single man and woman in the unit. To Hest’s intense surprise cheering, shouts of variations on “Shit yes!”, and cries of “Vive l’Empereur” (this last from the ratlings of course) erupted from all three tanks before any of the three squadron-members Hest was actually consulting with could say anything one way or the other. Nonetheless Phillipe and Duffers didn’t hesitate to join in the unit’s displays of bravado.

Rosk did not join in cheering and, after a moment, he told Hest pointedly, “I would be more inspired by your courageous words if we actually possessed anti-aircraft weaponry with which we might hope to actually harm these theoretical ork fliers.”

Hest smiled, he’d expected Rosk to raise the issue if Miana hadn’t first, “Its true we don’t have any AAA, but we’re gonna make a pit-stop on our way west and take care of that.”

>>50301793

Rosk stared at Hest contemplatively for perhaps twenty or thirty seconds then finally nodded and strode back to board Primarch.

Only Miana and Hest remained atop Cibo’s hull. Hest turned to see how Miana had reacted to his unilateral decision for the unit and his heart sank as he saw she looked more weary, more strained, than he’d ever seen her before.

“You don’t like what’s going on?”

Instead of Miana it was Cibo who answered though Miana’s expression made it clear the tank-clerk spoke for both of them, “Hest… do you really know what you’re doing?”

Hest seemed to deflate for a moment; he looked away and ran a hand through his hair, “Fuck no, but…” Hest hesitated for a moment as though reluctant then looked back over at Miana and continued, his tone frank if resigned, “This whole situation, everything about it, screams of a disaster in the making. You know it Miana, and based on your having broadcast me to the entire unit I can guess you know it as well Cibo, probably better than either of us. The orks have a plan and our forces stand no chance in hell of defeating it because we’re all either flailing blindly at orkish misdirection or waiting uselessly for someone to tell us what to do. If we don’t go and at least try to stop what we see happening here we, and every other human within a thousand miles, is gonna die. I know we don’t really have any fucking idea what’s happening, and even if our guesswork and speculation is spot-on three lone tanks with no infantry support or hope of backup probably aren’t going to live long if we get in the way of a coordinated ork warband; the thing is I’ll sure as fuck take those shit odds over the alternative.”

Miana seemed unconvinced. “So that’s it? You’re taking command?”

“I’m sure as fuck not saying such a thing out loud, that would be Impersonating an Officer.”

>>50301807

Cibo ended the debate when she pronounced without a hint of uncertainty, “It’s what Yarrick would do.” The clerk/tank would know, she’d fought with him at Hades Hive, and the Steel Legioners respect for her centuries of experience was absolute. If Senior Clerk First Class Amelia Cibo, veteran of not just one, not just two, but all three wars for Armageddon, said something was so, it was so. Thusly encouraged Miana climbed back into the Leman Russ and returned to her vox-station.

Hest remained standing there on top of the tank, alone. He should have been relieved his people were behind his unilateral decision, instead suddenly he felt very alone; like some beast cast without warning far away from the comfort of its heard where it could just blend in and become safely indistinguishable from anyone else. Eventually the guardsman sighed and clambered down through the TC hatch, he’d already resolved himself to go through with this if he could; no sense in fighting that battle with himself again.

After briefly consulting a composite high-resolution overhead pict of the Plateau he’d obtained from a Navy midshipman in exchange for passing on letters from a local girl the swabby had met on shore leave, Hest confirmed everyone in the squadron was squared away, and ordered them to roll out.

>>50301820

As Cibo lurched into motion and Hest was surrounded by her armored hull and the reassuring rumble of her engine his sudden flash of terror began to subside, he even grinned as he magnified portions of the overhead pict. Kiela, Primarch’s turret gunner and the youngest person in the squadron, had taken to writing the midshipman’s letters “from Renia” like an ork took to violence; the most recent one had been really popular within the squadron. It took real talent to write such moving verse about a man’s noble features and “eyes whose gaze is like warm blankets on a cold night” when you had no idea what he looked like or what color the eyes were. Whoever Renia was the Boonhurst First and Only “Regiment” owed her a drink.

>section break
>[Man, deciding how best to break something into 2k character posts is like an art-form unto itself]


Hest directed the squadron to the nearest of the air defense positions in the spaceport’s outermost defensive ring. On the way he hailed Primarch over the vox, “Rosk I need you to turn Primarch over to Amelie or Kiela while you, Duffer, and Hannah kit out in full infantry gear and transfer yourselves over on top of Cibo; I mean full carapace armor, grenades, special weapons, the whole nine yards, you need to look like really short Titans.”

>>50301842

As Rosk acknowledged the order Miana turned to look at Hest like he’d just suggested chaos worship, “Turn Primarch over to Kiela? You are fucking crazy.” The two ratlings, Remi and Jean-Claude, chortled in their bizarre accent from the tank’s sponson stations.

“You’d rather have her driving a Leman Russ while we’re on foot nearby?”

“Shit yes, she’s only a homicidal psychopath when she has the opportunity to use a battlecannon on someone. Let her set targets herself and there’d be nothing left of the spaceport for the orks to capture.”

Hest attempted to deflect the course of the conversation, “I think its healthy to enjoy what you do.”

Miana glanced at the tank’s loader, formerly of the Krieg Death Korps, in mock apology, “I’m sorry you had to hear that Sigs. I know how your people feel about experiencing joy or pleasure. Try not to think too much less of him.”

To the shock of the entire crew the former Krieger croaked out a response, “A trooper of the Korps. must embrace what punishments the Emperor sees fit to bless them with. To do less would be treason.”

Hest laughed, “And those Tempestus pussies think they’re such hard dudes.”

Remi looked at the driver and made a show of being surprised, “Mon diu! Zat vas very nearly a joke my skull-festooned friend. Zey vill be making you return your gas mask for zis I am thinking.”

>section break

>>50301855

Three tanks rumbled down the road towards a heavily sandbagged and concertina-wired air-defense firebase. Rather than an actual armored defense complex like most of the other batteries in the Belkin spaceport’s outermost defensive line this position was comprised of three static hydra flak turrets and a pair of hydra tanks surrounded by breastworks. The PDF troopers responsible for manning the firebase quickly gathered along the side of the road, eager for some news of what was happening from the approaching armored column. One Leman Russ rumbled to a halt a good forty yards from the edge of the firebase as did the lone Chimera but the remaining stormtrooper-laden Russ rolled right up to the edge of the concertina-wire and the four heavily armed and armored men riding on top wasted no time in hopping over the wire into the firebase proper.

Before any of the PDF had time to ask any questions though one of the soldiers raised his heavy flamer to point directly into their midst and ignited its pilot flame as the other three raised a standard flamer, a grenade launcher, and a hot-shot volley gun. The firebase troopers abruptly realized just how enormous the guns on the three tanks were and that they were all pointed at the firebase; in fact they had every inch of it perfectly covered.

The man with the heavy flamer spoke, projecting his voice loud enough to be heard by every man and woman present. “Every one of you is going to do exactly what I tell you and absolutely nothing else. We have important things to do and absolutely no time to fuck around with any of you. Understood?”

They stared back in mute shock and he nodded as though their stunned silence were the desired response. At a gesture two of the other carapace-armored soldiers, Flamer and Volley Gun, pushed their way through the gathered PDF, none of whom risked turning around to see what they were doing.

>>50301865

“Who are the gunners for those two tank hydras?”

One man raised his hand immediately; the other did so only reluctantly after those nearby turned to stare at him. Heavy Flamer gestured the two gunners foreword and Grenade Launcher jabbed each with a styrette of something that immediately dropped them into unconscious heaps.

“Alright, here’s what’s going on. We’re taking those two tank hydras and their gunners because the Emperor needs them somewhere else. You’re all going to remain frozen where you are while we mount up, make sure their ammo and fuel are topped off and drive away. Until every one of our tanks is so far away you can’t even see us anymore you’re all going to remain frozen so we don’t have to worry about anyone making vox transmissions; we don’t have time to deal with your CO’s fussing about our taking his tanks. Are you all confident you know what we need from you?”

When he was again met by silence Heavy Flamer and Grenade Launcher each picked up one of the hydra gunners, slung them over a shoulder, and started towards the flak tanks.
No one said a word until, just before Hest reached the closer hydra, a voice from the crowd of PDF called out, “Only one of those tanks is operational!”

“Which?”

When they all pointed at the same vehicle Hest looked over at Rosk, already in the indicated hydra’s drivers seat, and the man began fiddling with the gun platform’s controls and speaking the relevant activation incantation. After a few moments Rosk looked over at Hesk and shook his head confirming the vehicle was totally dead: no sign of the engine waking, not a spark of battery or capacitor power, nothing; no motive force remained within the Hydra, its machine spirit was dead.

>>50301875

Now that Hest truly looked at the warmachine what he saw disgusted him. Rust and corrosion seemed to cover more of the tank’s surface than did the remnants of its paintjob which gave it an appearance grotesquely reminiscent of a plaguebearer. The machine must have been parked there for decades and had settled down into the mud so far it was buried halfway to the top of its drive wheels. Hest rubbed accumulated dirt away from where the vehicle’s name should have been painted so that at least the name of this lost comrade might be known. He had to struggle to make it out: this hydra had been Glory to the Heavens.

The machine spirit of Ostrichizer, the surviving flak tank, did rouse to its activation ritual, but instead of singing with the powerful invigorating rumble Hest had come to expect from the noble tanks of his Imperial Guard its engine seemed to moan; its voice was a sputtering shrieking tragedy that sounded like illness felt. Hest gritted his teeth and forced himself to climb aboard Ostrichizer instead of exploding at the PDF in outrage over their revolting neglect of such noble machines. Through their negligence and disrespect these PDF wretches had murdered Glory to the Heavens as effectively as any Tau hammerhead; the Hydra’s machine spirit hadn’t even the comfort of knowing as it passed that it had died gloriously in battle striking down foes of the Emperor right to the last. Hest found the irony mocking, for a tank so named to have sunk into the ground away from the heavens bringing not glory but shame. Were it not for rage the Steel Legionary might have wept.

>>50301884

As Ostrichizer lurched into motion at Rosk’s direction and they rolled west Hest laid a hand on the hydra’s hull and silently swore to its machine spirit, on his honor and by his faith in the Holy God-Emperor of Mankind, that it would never again suffer such indignity and callus neglect. That done, Hest patted the warmachine affectionately and turned his thoughts to the work ahead, “Rejoice Ostrichizer, you’re finally going to war. Before this day is done xenos will feel the caress of your shells and hear the roar of your guns as they die; we must render all the service that your brother could not.”


>That's the entire section leading up to the bit I first posted last thread
>>50245227

>>50297144
Delay until monday

File: Demon Girl.png (232KB, 295x550px) Image search: [Google]

232KB, 295x550px

>>50301185
The rich Tiefling business woman; Zanatas "Zanta" Falren, was throwing a party, celebration for her latest business venture. She was successful in suing a rival company for plagiarism and slander, but mostly slander to herself and her family name. Because miss Zanta Falren was the type of rich person one could consider among the powerful type, it was assumed that not only she hired the best lawyers and or attorneys money can buy. And she probably even help rigged the trial by tossing a couple of bills and money here and there to make sure she won the trial and that she gets to own the rival company and all of its shares, profits and other properties.

But; "None of that matters anymore, I'm here to celebrate and invite as much people as I can think off and know to my mansion party!" -she said when interviewed by the press.

And in a weekend night about a hundred-plus people have been invited and are currently enjoying a night of delicious-buffet-served food, bottomless drinks, good music being played and basically uppity-rich people being uppity-rich people. A lot of the people in the party who're invited are the employees of Ms. Zanta Falren's company.

Yet almost not every one of her employee's have entered the celebration in her mansion as one employee; a young man was rushing very fast to the mansion of Zanta Falren as he feared he may have been to late, worrying he would not be able to personally meet Ms. Falren believing she's be busying herself with alot of people attending her party.

Though fortunately for him he was not late for anything, the young man who rushed for the party now just had to wait in line to be accepted into the mansion.

"Oh boy, there're sure alot of people as of now... I just hope Ms. Falren would have some time with me... I just hope." The young man thought to himself as the line of people atleast advanced to a slow yet steady pace as he could see he'd be nearing the end of the line soon.

File: lazy_courtier_by_dashinvaine-d6wxle0.jpg (207KB, 500x500px) Image search: [Google]

207KB, 500x500px

>>50303320
The young man in question was Marcus Weatherbee. He is a young human male who is exactly twenty years old and works as a lowly intern, or more specifically; as Ms. Falren's little assistant. He was actually lucky he got such a close position to Ms. Falren as his job as an assistant ranged from typical secretary work to him doing some house chores of hers, basically he almost worked as her maid sometimes. And because his not-so-typical type of job involves him being that close to Ms. Falren, he also gets a slightly higher salary and pay grade than most lower-class corporate employees.

Although Ms. Falren still maintains levels of professionalism, he actually has developed feelings for his boss. Sure she's likely a hundred or so years old compared to a human such as himself who's just a mere twenty, he's essentially a little child compared to Ms. Falren's age. So he did the next thing any human who has a crush and general feelings for a pretty and attractive humanoid being such as Zanatas Falren the rich business Tiefling woman, who's also single; confess his feelings and crush on her.

The reasons for Marcus having feelings for her is because despite her using him as a part time Maid for tasks and job that amount to house chores, she treats him well. Despite the level of professionalism she maintains between herself and Marcus Weatherbee she does occasionally acts all friendly and down-to-earth towards him. And at other times she'd even offer him lunch and or dinner outside, and she'd even be kind and compassionate enough to give him a cup of coffee sometimes when starting a day of work. Which is why he thought it'd be right to confess his developing feelings to her, and to top it all off he even brought a compact Boombox that he has currently strapped along his back along with a tape containing a song he made just for her.

Now the only thing he has to do is state his name and business so that he could be let in to Ms. Falren's mansion.

>to be continued

>>50301917
I have to say, dude, I like the way it's coming together. However, I don't think the rank and file troopers would be so zealous as to perform every rite and litany.

As always I could nitpick (things like verb-subject continuity, run-on sentences, etc) but I don't think that's what this story needs. I have to say that it needs a consistency of narrative voice.

I also have to admit that I'm not current in the fluff

File: 14e.jpg (39KB, 500x343px) Image search: [Google]

39KB, 500x343px

>>50306006
1. Hey you actually read it *weeps*
2. Its not that they're super zealous its that they honest believe that their tanks have actual machine spirits that require the activation rights to be preformed or the vehicle won't turn on. (they don't actually think of them as "turning on" only inanimate objects can be turned on or off. their tanks have to be woken up.) Also I thought I had pretty well illustrated that Hest at least really believed in these machine spirits and was pretty hardcore about treating them right. How did you interpret those scenes with the hydras?
3. Please elaborate on
>needs a consistency of narrative voice.
4. Any other thoughts? (not to look a gift feedback in the mouth)

>>50306285
>Hydra scenes.
I found them...interesting, to say the least. Self-appointed command knocks out the drivers as opposed to press them into service, then try to steal the hydras only to find one of them works, and somehow there are enough crewmen to make 4 tanks fully operational without taking extra guardsmen. From a logistics standpoint you should be at least at 2 full operational, 2 half operational.

I must have missed the introduction of their beliefs when it comes to the machine spirits.

By narrative voice, I mean you switching between 3rd person omniscient and stream of consciousness. Either one is fine independent of the other, but both combined tend to create confusion.

Other thoughts....well, just nitpicking.
Break up most of your long sentences into concise thoughts.
>>50301917
>"As Ostrichizer lurched into motion, Hest laid a hand on the hydra's hull. He silently swore, on his honor..."
It reads a bit easier (in my opinion, anyway) and allows you to be more expressive.

Sorry about the long wait. I'm kind of at work.

>>50306594
they only need a driver in the Hydra to get it away from the firebase. their plan was to have their techpriest act as the driver/vox operator and his servitor as loader for one of the vehicles and then have a sponson heavy bolter or two just go unmanned if nescesary (Cibo can operate her own weaponry she's just kind of a shit gunner/has trouble driving, operating hull HB and operating another weapon at same time

They are going to press the driver into service. Theres an antidote for the seditive they just didn't want to have to deal with a prisoner who might make a run for it or samat else. Its there belief that if he wakes up in an unfamiliar place with no one he knows in sight he'll be more likely to cooperate

a million thanks anon. You're being the person Mr. Rogers always knew you could be.

File: 299713_10150319509448660_265552253659_7984803_1267686251_n.jpg (45KB, 452x308px) Image search: [Google]

45KB, 452x308px

>>50306731
>its there belief
You really need to work on your homonyms, too.

Wait...did you just change your name?

>>50307094
I'm posting in a different thread under an RP name I forget to check my name all the time

File: Red Dwarf.png (3MB, 908x2130px) Image search: [Google]

3MB, 908x2130px

requesting Warhammer 40k - Red Dwarf parody

>>50293322
"I AM ANTARTHUS THE MAGNIFICENT"
A heavy servo assisted claw smashed through into the wall and inch from her head. Julia flinched.
"I know you are Mr Antarthus. You said that before." She came up to just below the nipples on his nuclear powered steam suit. "I also said that I need your help. Please?"

"NO ONE ASKS ANTARTHUS OF HELP. I AM THE VILEST OF VILLAINS I AM..."

"Alan Burgess. Your name is Alan Burgess." Julia's voice quavered. "I know everything about you. Everything about how Antarthus came to be. All about the experiments they made you carry out. All about how you came to be in that suit. The accident."

The only visibly human parts of Antarthus were his eyes. They blinked. The rest of his bright green armour merely hulked.

"Then why did you look for me? I've killed many for less."

Julia adjusted her glasses. "Mr Burgess you've only killed seventeen people that I know of. I'd say fifteen you had a reasonably good excuse or self defence. Two just happened to be holding a child hostage. I know how you feel about children Mr Burgess. I know who they made you carry out the experiments on. I know what's left of you inside that suit thinks about that."

The eyes glowed, watered. "So many tiny coffins..."

"There is a sick child. A very sick child. In room 2555 of St Mary's Hospital. Her name is Sally. She will never walk again. She is also unlikely to live out the week. At the fulfill a dream foundation where I work. We asked her what she wanted. She wanted to meet the only person who was more crippled than her and yet could outsmart and out fight all of the Honour League. She wanted to meet you Mr Burgess. She wants to meet Antarthus. Will you help?"

He scraped concrete dust from the spiked knuckles of his suit. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Three days later, Sally died. By her bed was a signed photo of the cities most wanted man. In her arms a bright green teddy bear.

>>50314123
Unsure if to leave the story as is or develop. There's a whole world I've had in mind.

>>50311537
>Helsia Damos

The fuck?
Is someone using Jaina Proudmoore as character art or something?

>>50315282
... someone...

Hey, I am continuing the whfb story I was doing on the last 2 pages.

>>50304567
Finally Marcus got his turn to reach the entrance of the mansion. It was just as big as he'd imagine, then again it was the typical run-of-the-mill rich person's mansion. And just as he entered the path sorrounded by the large lawn in front of the mansion, he was greeted by an elven house servant.

"Good evening sir. Do you have your invitation?"

"Oh no..." Marcus thought to himself as he realized he had no such thing, plus he never even knew an actual invitation was needed.

"Uhm, actually I'm someone Ms. Falren knows. I'm Marcus Weatherbee, I work as part time secretary and as her personal. *ahem* ...Errand boy."

"Well its nice to meet you sir. But may I please have your invitation?"

"I never knew an invitation was needed. I wasn't even told an invitation was required!"

The elven house servant polite demeanor then changed to a slightly smug one, though Marcus never noticed it.

"Hmpf. Seriously? Ms. Falren said she'd INVITE people in a recent interview of her's. There's a reason why there is this system of letting people with invitations in. We don't just let anyone in, and how am I suppose to know you really are a close associate of Ms. Zanatas Falren?"

"Just ask her, I swear! I work for her personally. She'll let me in, I-"

"Sorry sir but rules are rules. And clearly even if you ARE a close associate. You still need an invitation. Now begone with you! There are other guests waiting in line."

Marcus looked back to see a growing line of people, one of which was a hulking Orc man who was starting to get impatient and one irritated looking Halfling.

Marcus gave up on his insistence and walk out of the queue of people. He was starting to get distressed as to how is he going to get in now? He thought of one way he could get in; through the back door.

Once the front door greeters did not notice him, nor anyone was watching him. He slipped out of sight, sneaked through the lawn and moved through bushes to stay hidden from anyone who'd notice.

File: 1460068892439.jpg (462KB, 1920x1080px) Image search: [Google]

462KB, 1920x1080px

Bump for the bump god

>>50297144
>>50302144
Yes, sorry for the delay. We were just about to pull the trigger on who we were accepting when it turned out one of the stories was legit plagiarized from some poor guy's livejournal. We've had to put things back a couple of days while we confirmed that the livejournal owner wasn't the same person who submitted the story, and while we worked out which of the 'nearly-made-its' was getting promoted to 'made-it'. It has been a real hassle to be quite honest family. Why someone would try and slip us a mickie for $15.80 I'll never know. Hopefully everything will be copacetic again by Monday, and we'll be able to send out feedback shortly after. Sorry for the delay!
also did you guys know people still used livejournal?

File: merc.jpg (16KB, 184x360px) Image search: [Google]

16KB, 184x360px

>>50316015
Marcus moved and sneaked around by the bushes and shrubs dotted along at what was the huge lawn of Ms. Falren's mansion. Finally he got to the back of the mansion without anyone noticing and there he saw the back door which was being used by some waiting staff in the party to bring in food and drinks.

Marcus waited for the right time where all the waiting staff for the event would all go in so that he may sneak in or walk in without raising too much suspicions or atleast where not that much people would look at him. And just like that he saw the moment where all the staff outside have now walked in with the back door open and this was it, he walked out of a bush he was hiding in and to the open back door. But suddenly an armed guard appeared in between the door frame just as Marcus almost reached it by a few steps.

"Whoa there! Who are you??? You don't look like one of the waiting staff." The guard answered in a gruff manner. It seemed Ms. Falren hired mercenaries, or private military contractors to guard her estate as of recently or for this party.

"Oh. I'm, uh, Marcus Weatherbee. I'm Ms. Zanatas Falren's secretary and part time errand boy... May I come in? She can vouch for me I swear, I just have to see her."

"You're an errand boy? Bullshit! If you were one of her house servants or the waiting staff, then why the fuck are you not wearing uniform? Plus what's with that boombox you got in your back?"

"Hey that's not a nice thing to say to a guest-"

"You're no guest! If you're a guest, you should've been in the front entrance showing your invitation and not attempting to sneak through here. SO GO AWAY!"

"Please I swear, she knows me. Just contact her and she'll tell you-"

Then the hired merc-guard aimed his gun at Marcus and threatened. "IF YOU DON'T LEAVE THE PREMISES NOW I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU."

"WHAT THE!? YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Marcus raised his arms in fear for his life as a weapon was now faced directly at him.

>will continue

>>50318388
"I'M GIVING YOU TILL THE COUNT OF TEN TO GET OUT OF HERE OR ELSE!"

Marcus stared at the barrel of the guard's assault rifle noticing he had a suppressor attachment on. Meaning while the gun would still be noisy it would make less noisy if fired so that it wouldn't cause a ruckus that'd be heard by the rest of the guests in the party.

"ONE. TWO. THREE-" The guard was already counting down and Marcus had to think quickly; get out of here to not get killed by a trigger happy mercenary looking for an excuse to kill something and live another day. Or do something "drastic."

What Marcus did instead of getting out of there was bold yet shocking; through a fit of adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins and the rest of his body he actually tackled the mercenary. Marcus tackled the merc before he could even fire his weapon or even react and once the merc was stunned and lost a hold of his weapon, Marcus was now sitting on top of the dazed mercenary.

And without a second thought Marcus rolled both his hands into fists and punched dazed contractor in the head twice with both hands as the dazed merc was now knocked out unconscious.

"...Holy shit!" Was the only thing Marcus was able to say as to realizing what he has done and gotten himself into. He has KO'd an armed soldier of fortune and was not immediately gunned down. He looked around to see no one was around to witness what happened. Marcus dragged the unconscious body and hid it in a bush along with the guy's weapon. Then Marcus also realized something, he can now get in since no one was around to see him, meaning he finally could get in and meet Ms. Falren. And to also confess something special.

Marcus made haste and jogged through the back entrance. He navigated to some hallways that he believed led to the main dining area and ball room where Ms. Falren's guests are all gathered and surprisingly when he had to pass by a number of waiting staff and other house servants batted an eye on him.

>>50318659
But just as he was about to make it to the dining area and ball room he was stopped by one of the house keeping staff as he was called.

"Hey you! Stop, I got something to tell you."

"Oh no, am I caught?" Marcus thought to himself as he turned around to see another Tiefling; a guy looked like a butler, approached Marcus.

"Are you busy right now? Looking for Ms. Falren? Well can you do me a solid deliver this bottle of expensive high-end branded Whiskey to her? I'm a bit bogged with having to tend some of these rich snobs who ain't Ms. Falren. You new 'round here? Haven't seen you before. But anyways, deliver this bottle to her. Should be easy to carry since the person who sent this had it kept in this here bottle carrier sling. Oh and Ms. Falren's in her private chambers at the top floor, stairs are right over there. Just keep heading up till you reach the top and that's the floor where her quarters are. Now go, she's actually just preparing to look good. And dinner hasn't started yet."

"...Uhmm Thanks friend, I'll be going now!" Thanks that housekeeping staff that was unaware of whom Marcus really was. He now knows where exactly Zanta Falren is as he also slung the bottle of expensive whiskey around him to also have it delivered to her as well.

Marcus reached the stairs and immediately made haste in climbing them. So far so good as no one seemed to know that he wasn’t exactly “authorized personnel.” Plus despite his previous encounter with that guard earlier, he seemed a bit relaxed and at ease that there doesn’t seem to be any other guards he’s seen so far. Maybe they were all downstairs guarding the premises?

Unfortunately once he reached the top floor he saw another private guard, a mercenary just like the one he encountered earlier.

“HEY, WHO ARE YOU!? You don’t look like the housekeeping staff, how’d you get in here!?”

>will continue

>>50301381

Well thank you for the feed back. If I could I would go back and correct the redundancy, and the spelong errors, but I just kinda tossed thst out as quick as I could, because I was on my phone at the time and I wanted to get it posted before my battery died.

I'll keep the nomenclature in mind for future pieces. Any other terms you think would be good to know?

Missisary was the name of the planet yes. It's not a spelling error of missionary, it's a bastardization of Mississippi based on the way I heard it pronounced by this really drunk Hill Billy once.

>>50317928
So how do you exactly feel about rough drafts being posted in these threads?

File: 74a1eaadbac2e78090e8a206d41da525.jpg (87KB, 700x1000px) Image search: [Google]

87KB, 700x1000px

Cont from >>50148342

Part 2 of Chapter 2 is here. Sorry if it drags a little, not much action here, its more of an opportunity to build on the central characters somewhat.

=][=

The low hum of the warp drives was a constant aboard the Lady Sovereign. While normally it proved a nuisance when trying to concentrate, in light of the absolute silence of Prosper it was a comfort just to hear something man-made again.
I sat at my desk, watching the cursor blink as I decided best how to round off my report of the chase of the rogue Magos. It had been a long pursuit, spanning two years and several sub-sectors. Now it was finally at an end, and I could look forward to some well-deserved seclusion. Banners displaying Imperial heraldry hung from the walls alongside paintings depicting figures I greatly respected from Imperial history. Primarch Vulkan, who served to remind that we work to protect the denizens of the Imperium, Saint Sabbat, who showed the necessity of sacrifice, and adorning the wall directly across from my desk, Eisenhorn, who’s wisdom I had long-revered.

Though dead, his words lived through his published work, and I was proud to have a copy of The Spheres of Longing within my collection. It sat in a display case amongst the bookcases that lined one wall of the room.
I had always been taught a warrior’s instruments of war should speak for him, both on and off the battlefield. To that end, I had elected to place my armour and various armaments on stands and racks in a small alcove of to the left. Easily accessible, and serving as a reminder to any guests I might have that I was a warrior first, and an Inquisitor second.
My thoughts returned once again to Lysa. I was certain she’d run on ahead in an effort to impress with her abilities as an Interrogator.

(cont.)

>>50321803
It had been a mercy on my part that had spared her, sometimes I wondered if that was a mistake. Lysa was a remarkably potent psyker and trained with both close quarters and ranged weaponry, but what she lacked was experience in the field, even after twelve years in my service. Those missions I had allowed her on had been minor investigations with easy access to resources and little real danger.
I had, for my part, sheltered her far too much, viewing her as more of a daughter than an Inquisitor in training. Perhaps this was her way of breaking those bonds. I was shaken from my thoughts by a knock at the door. I sat up and switched the monitor off.
“Come.”

Leah entered, clad in a matt-black bodyglove that did nothing to hide her muscular physique, and her Arbiter trenchcoat. The sweat on her brow suggested she was fresh from the training room, and in her hands she carried two mugs of steaming recaff.
“Thought this might ease the worry a little,” she smiled, setting a mug down before me.
“Worry?” I asked indifferently. I could read from her surface thoughts that she didn’t believe me. She knew me far too well.
“Well, it’s there if you want it.”
I sighed, lifting a hand to tug at the bandaging on my shoulder as I studied my blank monitor thoughtfully.
“Feels as though we can’t catch a break. Klyte is dead, and we’re already jumping into the next job.”

(cont.)

>>50321823
“It could be much worse,” she offered, “Remember the Subhive Nightmare?”
She was referring to when we were both Arbiters, during far simpler times. I had always been a fighter, and the one engagement from my former life that stood out was the Subhive incident. The entire hive had become destabilized from beneath, and eventually we had been deployed under the guiding hand of an Inquisitor to look into the problem.
Of course, said problem was a Daemon, and after ninety percent losses on our part, the survivors of our unit had been offered employment by the Inquisition. Now only I and Leah were left, time robs more than any cutpurse could.

“How long will the warp jump take?” I asked after a moment.
“The Cat reckons two days, you worry too much.” She lifted her recaff to her mouth, blowing on it and taking a sip. I did the same but found it scalding, quite how Leah tolerated it I couldn’t say.
“Do you think I shelter her too much?”
“I think you forget she isn’t ten years old anymore,” she chided me in a way none of my other henchmen, even Tannhauser, would, “She’s more than capable, she’s passed all the theory, the psychic evaluation, everything the scholam threw at her, but you won’t trust her on her own.”
I became irritable despite knowing she was right. I held Lysa too close, and in time that might be used against me, perhaps it was best that she’d jumped into the deep end herself.

(cont.)

>>50321839
“If there’s nothing else…” I said sternly, not wishing for a lecture on hindsight.
“Actually, there is. We’ve had correspondence. Lieutenant Rickard Kiasan, Jurdani twelfth. He’s arranged for a landing zone, said he’d had contact with Lysa and that they’d found something.”
My interest was piqued now. If Lysa has seized the initiative and established contact with the Imperial Guard, it would give us an armed response in case things went badly. Moreover, it meant that Lysa had someone watching her back.
“What are you thinking?” Leah asked, snapping me back to reality.
“Be subtle,” I said, “Prep the unmarked Valkyrie.”

=][=

We watched the unmarked Valkyrie descending towards the diminutive space port through the wide, stained glass window.
Port Fortune was the largest of Crestworld’s settlements, a township thoroughly overshadowed by the forest that bordered it on all sides. Kiasan, Rickard, I ought to call him, had described it as being akin to a clearing that simply happened to have a city in it, and I had been incredulous until I had seen it for myself, with trees as large as three hundred feet towering around it.

Unsurprisingly, buildings here were either cut from the trees or shaped from slate rock. Of all the Imperial worlds I had visited, this was perhaps the most peculiar. I had never heard of a chapel being repurposed into a café, yet here we were, sat at a table on the old chapel’s upper walkway while the faithful ambled around in the considerably larger cathedral across the bustling market square we currently overlooked.

(cont.)

>>50321855
And we were quite the sight, me in my matt-black bodyglove, over which sat a deep red corset inlaid with flak panelling, and a matching strip of red cloth wound around my waist, from which hung my equipment, chief among which was my laspistol, a battered old thing that I had kept by me since I had been old enough to handle firearms under the Inquisitor’s guidance.
Rickard on the other hand was clad in the drab brown, silver and red of the Jurdani twelfth, his lasgun hanging from a leather strap over the back of his chair like one might hang a coat. Between us sat two mugs of steaming recaff and a plate of untouched cakes complimentary of the café’s owners.

I doubt they had seen an Interrogator before, but they knew the rosette. The occasional nervous glance from the counter told me such.
“Your master,” Kiasan started. I looked back at him with a curious gaze, keen to hear what he had to say.
“Your master, is he the merciful sort?”
“Where it applies…” I replied.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s not a caricature like the vid picts would have you believe. Inquisitors don’t swing between killing planetary governors and giving out Exterminatus orders from day to day.”
“Ah,” he turned to glance out of the window as his face turned a shade pinker, “You going to tell him I asked?”
“Mission reports are a thing,” I smirked as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Who knows? I might…”

=][=

Any criticisms people have, do let me know!

>>50321803
Error! The painting of the Inquisitor that Inquisitor Bronn admires is meant to be Ravenor, not Eisenhorn.
Sorry about that, folks.

Just curious, is it a good idea to namefag in these threads? I've noticed that it seems to help actually getting your stuff read.

>>50324312
>I've noticed that it seems to help actually getting your stuff read.
you may be onto something there. Either way, no one's going to judge you if you want to namefag in this thread.

>>50324312
>>50324448

Indeed, I've found it helps, just keep it mostly to this type of thread. People take to it less kindly in other threads.

>>50324448
>>50324486
In that case...

>>50314123
>>50314215

Fairly regular contributor but only little bit for this thread.

>>50324533
Don't suppose I could nudge you to take a look at my stuff? Always looking to improve.

>>50321677
Archives are fine. We're only really concerned with writing blogs/personal websites like tumblr.

>>50321882
How recently did you read the Ravenor books?

>>50327456
Sorry anon I should elucidate on that. What I mean is it reads very very similarly to Dan Abnett. Enough that were it not for some slight alterations in sentence structure I'd assume it was. This is not at all a bad thing.

"Religion does some very strange things to people. That's what I've always said." He returned to staring into his glass. It winked back. The man holding the glass wasn't drunk yet but he was on his way.

"See now some religious ideas I get. They're crazy but they make sense in a weird way. Say for example Hanat whisky. Imbued with the psychic tranquility and peace of the hive-monks who make it, some small element of their psyche travelling out into the universe with each bottle."

The man lit a cigarette. There was some initial scrabbling in the semi darkness before he found plasma torch to use as a lighter. This being despite common sense and an enormous number of safety regulations. The light of the torch caused the photo reactive filters on the old marine helmet next to him to thunk into place. He kept talking to the glass. "I think it's nice. You get drunk and you've got your very own suicide hotline in a bottle." The glass swirled a little of its own volition. "I mean there's not much I can tell you before this ship crashes into the sun but a man like me doesn't have a great many living friends and I've got a confession to make. A whole lot of them. You see, I'm the man who killed a galaxy."

File: 1461123552625.jpg (654KB, 1920x1080px) Image search: [Google]

654KB, 1920x1080px

>>50322109
And on that note, I just discovered that there was a released omnibus on the pupil confronting the disgraced master.

Time to acquire a new volume to stick next to each of their independent lexicons.

>>50318859
For nomenclature and other setting-specific knowledge the Imperial Guardsman's Uplifting Primer seems to me like required reading. The very last page of the third edition IG codex was just a glossary of IG slang.

The brain is a funny thing after I read your etymology for the planet name I can see that its Missisary but before I read it as Missionary every time. Its pretty cool that you have like a backstory for the name.

>>50324312
Some, like me, work on longer bits that we end up posting over 2 or more threads and being a namefag makes it a lot easier for people to be like "Oh hey this is more of that one story" than just linking to the earlier posts will do. Also I wouldn't be surprised if it makes people more likely to read/give feedback.

>>50327686
The glass did a little dance. Its psychoreactive contents knew just fine who was drinking from it.

"My father was a preacher. Not many folks'll know that." Grey Stubble crackled as the man rubbed his chin. "I got a little of the bug myself. I guess that's where this whole thing starts..."

> that work as intros go?

>>50318667
>www.youtube.com/watch?v=vlXnAnSkQtI

"Wait, I can explain!" Was what Marcus yelled out to the guard. Although the mercenary he is being confronted by is just like the other one he confronted and knocked earlier, this one was not armed with a gun but just a baton, thankfully atleast.

"I'm just here to personally deliver this bottle to-"

"YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE NEAR OUR CLIENT INTRUDER! I BET THAT SHIT YOU GOT IN THERE AIN'T WHISKEY, BUT POISON! MS. FALREN'S RIGHT TO BE WORRIED ABOUT RIVALS TAKING REVENGE."

The mercenary's baton then sparked up with electricity, it was a stun stick. He pointed it at Marcus. "YOU'RE GOING DOWN BOY!"

The merc charged and swung his stun-baton but missed as he was able to dodge the swings. Marcus managed to time a leg sweep, hitting the merc's back leg perfectly as he fell on the ground on his ass. Marcus immediately obtained the stun-baton that went loose from the knocked down mercenary's grip and used its electrical charge to stun the merc. The merc yelled in pain for about five seconds till Marcus stopped as the merc was now twitching from the electrical shock but was then knocked out.

"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE!? PRIVATE VANDAELE, WHAT'S GOING ON!?" A yell was heard from one of the rooms. "SHIT!" Marcus exclaimed to himself as it turns out there are other mercenaries around the floor. One mercenary rushed out and saw Marcus and the knocked out merc, then two more mercenaries appeared. All of them bearing melee weapons, one with a baton aswell, one with a baseball bat and the other had a tomahawk.

"Stir clear boys, you two already beat up one vandal who tried teepeeing the client's mansion. This one's mine." The mercenary with the combat axe pointed it at me. "I'm gonna chop you to pieces motherfucker!"

>>50327516
Its been about a year/ year and a half since I last read any Abnett? I loved the way he structured his material though. I do it in a lot of my work, not just the 40k stuff.

>>50328294
You may be waiting a while for books 2 and 3 of the Bequin trilogy.

>>50294986

You know i meant this to be a one off, but now i feel like adding a few more. Feedback is appreciated.

Faulin raised the lho-stick to his lips to take a drag as he considered his cards, a few odds and ends and a pair of Primarchs. Not a great hand by any means, but it wasn't bad either. He let out a puff of smoke. He'd been playing safe all night, focusing on the long game slowly and accumulating chips rather than gambling on a big payoff. Of the six players they'd had at the start of the night, two had been bled dry of chips. Of the remaining three players besides himself, one was down to his last stacks, and one was reckless. He'd gotten here by luck really, if he didn't stop now while he was ahead he was leaving poorer than when he came in. Faulin didn't even really think about the two of them, he had them figured, the last man was the one he was playing against at this point. Scarred son of a witch had a wicked poker face, probably on account of half his face being un-moving scar tissue. Still, reaction hiding scar tissue or not, Faulin had to respect a man who could bluff him.

Even before he'd been picked up by the Commissar as an aid it'd been getting hard to find troopers willing to play cards with him. Ever since he was reassigned to Blocke as his aide it was impossible. No one wanted to risk playing cards with the Commissar's aide. Fortunately these new boys didn't know him just yet. They'd been rolled into the Regiment from what was left of the 77th to replace casualties sustained on the last campaign. It had been hard to sniff out a game. Harder still to get himself included, but not impossible, no not for James Faulin. These were his kind of people, and he knew how to speak their language.

>>50330421

He took one more drag before pushing forward his stakes “all in” He said, staring straight at scar face looking for any perceptible reaction in the other Guardsman as the other players made their bets. The reckless one pushed in his pile, and the other folded, but Faulin didn't care about them. He only had eyes for Scar face. Finally the bet had gone around the table and it was his opponents turn to wager. The trooper looked down once at his cards, then back up at Faulin, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes. Man might as well have been laughing at him, but Faulin didn't let any reaction slip through. He hadn't bet yet, maybe he was trying to fake him out.
The trooper reached down and pushed his chips into the middle of the table, and just as he was opening his mouth to declare his bet, the door swung open.

Ah warp take him. Standing there, silhouetted in the doorway, was Commissar Brocke. Faulin dropped his cards and came to his feet. Now, while gambling and cards were not against regulations per se, they were frowned upon, especially by the Commissar. The copious amounts of Amasec and Rotgut that had been shared about, now that was against regs. For warp's sake, he'd made it a year and a half as Brocke's aid without getting found out and shot. Made it a whole campaign without getting shot following after him on his fool antics, and now he was gonna get shot over a game of cards. He just knew it. Emporer above if he was gonna get shot why'd it have to be cards? Why couldn't it have been whores?

>>50330512

“And what, is going on here?” Commissar Brocke asked in a quiet voice that was somehow made terrifying by how calm he sounded, his right hand resting lightly on his bolt pistol. Faulin opened his mouth to respond, his brain desperately trying to find some way out of this, but before he could speak the scarred man beat him to it.

“We was just tryin to get closser to the rest of the unit sir” He said, nodding his head towards Faulin “what with being new and all we figgured we should get to know the troopers we'd be serving with.It was all for unit...unity. Sir.” Faulin had to admit that was some pretty decent deflection. Shame the Amasec caught up with him there at the end. Still, he doubted the Commissar would buy it.

“Right, unit integration” The commissar snorted “Unless i'm mistaken, with the exception of Trooper Faulin your all from the 77th.” He paused for a moment before continuing “ You are all on latrine duty, now vacate the premises.” It was at this point Faulin recalled that there were in fact other punishments besides execution, and that maybe he should really stop jumping to the worst case scenario, he was gonna give himself an ulcer if he kept doing that. He made to leave, but the commissar stopped him “Not you Trooper, I want to speak with you.” Emperor's balls, maybe he'd relaxed too soon.

>>50330609

The commissar was staring at him intently. Unconsciously he found himself orienting to face the Black clad figure.

“Faulin” He said slowly, and in the momentary pause before he continued Faulin imagined the worse. He'd been found out, betrayed Brocke's trust. The other men had gotten latrine duty, he'd get assigned to some front line unit on it's way to the meat grinder, or maybe he really would get shot. He braced himself for the worse as the Commissar opened his mouth to speak again “You know how much I appreciate your dedication, but you really should speak with me before going undercover to root out weakness in the new troops, you can't act unilaterally like this. If anyone but me had found you here they might have misunderstood.”

His mind stopped, it's gears ground to a halt, before kicking into overdrive. Upon finding his loyal, devout, and dedicated aide in a den of sin, rather than seeing Faulin for the scum he was, he'd rationalized an explanation for why he was there! The Commissar had handed him an excuse on a silver platter, now he just had to play along and it was smooth sailing!

“Didn't want to bother you with it sir” He mumbled as if chagrined looking down slightly“ You have so many responsibilities as it was, I thought I'd take care of it myself.”

>>50330695

Brocke clapped him on the shoulder and smiled “And I appreciate it, I couldn't wish for a more devout aide, but we can't have this happening again alright?” He said, and then his brow wrinkled as he sniffed the air. “Faulin have you been smoking?”

Now seeing as Faulin's life depended on Brocke thinking he was a choir boy, he'd been very careful not to have any Lho-sticks around him, and to get rid of the signs before reporting to duty when he did indulge. This was a bit of a prickly conundrum, but fortunately he had the perfect excuse.

“well sir, I had to blend in, disguise myself. I was reluctant at first, but then I remembered the story of how the Emperor met Lord Russ. He hid his divinity and went in disguise so that he could take the measure of his Son. If the Emperor could lower himself for the sake of learning the truth, I thought that as his servant I could do no less, though I may find it distasteful” He declared as piously as he could.

>>50330742

The commissar looked at him funny after that, and Faulin wondered, for what seemed the millionth time, if this was were he went just a little to far and lost credibility. If this latest deception would be seen through.

But then the Commissar chuckled and said "Ah, Faulin, I've said it before, but i wish we had more men like you, the Imperium would certainly be better for it." He turned and walked out the doorway calling over his shoulder " Come on then, let's get out of here"

Faulin sighed when the Commissars back was turned, letting himself slump in relief. He'd made it, another disaster averted. James Faulin lived to lie another day. As he turned to leave his eyes fell on the table. The other guardsmen had left their cards when they left. Suddenly overcome with curiosity he went and flipped over the cards to see what the result would have been. He struggled not to laugh when he saw them. The scarred son of a witch had had three Emperors!

>>50329102
>song from >>50329102 still plays

The mercenary charged at Marcus about swing his tomahawk at him but Marcus was able to time his defense as he quickly prodded the mercenary, resulting in the merc being momentarily shocked and yelped in pain and stumbled back a bit.

"AARRGH! YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!" The merc rose back up and charged again to Marcus. But this time the mercenary was being quicker than before as Marcus had to dodge his attacks. "COME ON BOY! LETS SEE YOU HIT ME!"

Marcus looked around his surroundings; he saw the two other mercs who're still gripping their weapons, the merc he's currently fighting. Then he saw a mirror that so happen to be hanged in the wall between him and the attacking merc. The merc charged again at Marcus, and with quick reflexes; Marcus was able to pull the mirror from its hanging place and made it fall and shatter on the merc's head.

"OOWWW!!!" The merc simply yelled in pain as his part of head was now cut and bleeding. Marcus then prodded the merc for four seconds, shocking and stunning him as he fell twitching.

"CORPORAL HOLVOET IS DOWN!" One of the standing by mercs yelled as both of them now ran to Marcus. But he then saw a decorative vase on a nightstand just next to him, grabbed it and chucked it to one of the charging mercs. His throw landed perfectly on one of the mercenaries’ head as he was KO’d from having such an object thrown hard and break at his head.

Marcus dealt with the remaining mercenary who had baseball bat, the merc swung away at Marcus but he just tried dodging every swing till he’d find an error the merc would make that he could use to his advantage. Finally the merc tried to make a wide swing against Marcus, only for him to use the opening to prod the merc for a second; shocking him as the merc was now on his knee. And Marcus then KO’d him with a solid hit from his stun-baton on the merc's head.

>to be continued

File: !Romund - Boxume.png (1MB, 742x1200px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 742x1200px

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SRphZm7Xt3xfQpDIR0wggfw9DtJcC0ST0sDEUwnwzgA/edit?usp=sharing

feedback pless

image is of the character in the latter half, courtesy of a drawfriend named Boxume from many months ago

Have any of you guys ever written humor? I'm trying my hand at it because real life events soured my appetite for writing political. I feel like I might be reaching too hard to start this with humor. Alternatively, I might just be entirely unfunny.

>>

There are two types of people that wandering Damaranth at 3 in the morning; drunks, and people running for their lives, typically from drunks. 3 am is the witching hour where all manner of mischief is afoot, like cabbies still charging quadruple rate an hour after every bar has closed.

John Fighter was a drunk. He was still in college, so he didn’t consider it a problem yet, usually it was the solution. Alcohol is world renowned for breaking down language barriers. One drunk yelling in english is much the same as another drunk yelling in japanese, they can instantly become best friends even when their actual shared vocabulary is limited to “you”, “fuck”, “nice”, “oppai”, “okay”, and “Neon Genesis Evangelion”. Leave them in a room together and one of them’ll come out with a thesis on the matter. Whether the other survives the exchange is a matter of taste. In much the same way, a drunk can code a computer much better than any sober man.

Tonight’s problem was that it was thursday, and he had to be up at nine in the morning tomorrow for lecture. With that problem solved, the problem at hand had become finding a corner to urinate in.

Peter Willis was running for his life.

>>50303320
>>50304567
>>50316015
>>50318388
>>50318659
>>50318667
>>50329102
>>50332152
So any thoughts so far? Should be getting it done soon.

>>50333273
He is remarkably adept at scuffling and using weapons of opportunity for a simple errand boy.

File: image.png (1MB, 966x3459px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 966x3459px

1/2

File: image.png (262KB, 1000x944px) Image search: [Google]

262KB, 1000x944px

>>50334721
2/2

File: 1425608030253.jpg (181KB, 1000x562px) Image search: [Google]

181KB, 1000x562px

Have any of you ever had a story make plot decisions for itself. I mean like totally ignore what you you want?

In the story I'm working on I decided almost immediately that having a specific pair of characters be romantic interests/have that subplot would be too expected and super cliche and just bleh.

Since then every scene they have been in together has turned out in such a manner that they set the two up as a couple SO WELL that I practically have to make them one. I mean I feel like at this point it would be really offputting for them to not be a couple.

Honestly their relationship arc (which exists despite my never having intentionally made it seem like there was anything there) seems more fitting and just, right, than any I've written on purpose.


Is this normal? Or even like, rare? I've finally got a storey element that writes itself and its weirding me out

>>50335652
It happens. You're just seeing why cliche's exist, because they're easy and natural.

The correct thing to do now is accept that they're developing a relationship, and throw a wrench in their path. Something happens, now they hate each other. Is there enough chemistry to pull them back together?

>>50336448

Not that guy, but that is also incredibly cliche.

>>50338534
>>50338534
>conflict is cliche
>>>/lit/

>>50338592

I'm not saying conflict itself is cliche, it's a neccisary story element, but come on. How many romances have you seen where they are slowly growing closer together, then something comes in and throws a spanner in the works? Then, they struggle, overcome it, and then get back together stronger for it. I'll answery own rhetorical question. Almost all of them. It's good drama, and it's perfectly reasonable. I'm not saying it's bad, I do the same, I'm just pointing out that it is cliche.

>>50332152
>Song still plays for the scene; www.youtube.com/watch?v=vlXnAnSkQtI

"Corporal Holvoet and Privates James and Blissett, what's your status report!?" Came the voice of what sounded like an Orc from the three knocked out mercenaries' radios. "I REPEAT, WHAT'S YOUR STATUS, WHAT'S WITH ALL THE NOISE I'VE BEEN HEARING OUTSIDE!?" The Orc officer's voice rumbled again.

Marcus knew he had to find Ms. Falren soon in hopes that she can tell these mercenaries she hired to cool off and not be a threat to him. He rushed along the long upper hallway floor, hurriedly checking each room to see which one was Zanta Falren's personal quarters. Finally he did see a much larger and brightly colored door at the end of the floor, this had to be Ms. Falren's room and one of the housekeeping staff did tell him that's where she is. So Marcus immediately opened the door, not forcefully barging, just quickly turning the door knob and getting in quick and shutting the door behind all while hoping to find Ms. Falren.

As he entered the room he heard the sound of an Orc speaking loudly.

"An operative was knocked out? How!?" Marcus heard it from another side the large room as he went to see. And there he saw a grizzled looking Orc and a female dwarf dressed in military fatigues, the Orc was likely the captain of the mercenary detail who're hired to guard this mansion and the dwarf being a lieutenant of sorts. "Was there any sign of the intruder!? And how did said intruder get in here in the first place!? Listen, lock the area down discreetly without alarming the guests, search the area for anyone who looks like they don't belong here and don't let any further guests in until we find the intruder."

The dwarven lieutenant turned around and saw Marcus with a shocked look as she whipped out a revolver handgun at Marcus, who now held up his arms. The dwarf then patted the orc for attention as he quickly turned from the radio he was using to his dwarven lieutenant and then saw Marcus.

>>50343216
>Diddily doo-dong tick-tock
>Diddily doo-dong tick-tock
>Diddily doo-dong tick-tock
>DETHKLOK DETHKLOK

File: 1433738825944.jpg (99KB, 343x500px) Image search: [Google]

99KB, 343x500px

>>50317928
So was it plagiarism?

File: Portals City 1.jpg (247KB, 776x1200px) Image search: [Google]

247KB, 776x1200px

Personal Journal for Project "Einstein's Bridge"

Entry 1, March 5, 2021

I have been asked to keep a digital journal of the coming events for historical purposes on my field tablet. We all have. I am part of a team of 7 people joining an expedition in progress off world. Project Einstein's Bridge. CERN had apparently created what everyone assumes is a wormhole that's anchored itself to another world. From what I hear, it's very Earth-like with similar air and gravity. I'm not sure of the specifics of how CERN made this portal. The project name seems to suggest that they were making an Einstein-Rosen bridge and it seems it was successful. I guess the energy requirements were less then anticipated or they're using some new kind of absurdly powerful reactor to run it. Either way, I guess the portal is technically a wormhole and I am going through it tomorrow to join the expedition on the other side. I'm going to have trouble getting to sleep. Part of me can't wait, the other half is in a panic. I'm leaving Earth. Well, my contract is only for 6 months of field work, then I get to go home or sign on for more if I like it. I guess we'll see. It's not like it's permanent.

>>50357638
Entry 2, March 6, 2021

Well, here I am. I was escorted to and through the new Germany based CERN facility and through more security then I've ever seen before. Military security too. It's like they have half the Bundeswehr here. I guess they don't want anything coming back through. From what I understand though, they haven’t seen anything larger then a deer, but I understand the precautions are necessary just in case. The portal wasn't very large, only around two meters or seven feet maybe in diameter and spherical. Going through it was something else. It felt like walking into a dream, and I was kind of out of it for a few hours after, my mind all fuzzy. This is apparently a common symptom. We're all being required to rest most of the day before they let us out of containment. The portal exits over a large river, and they have a temporary bridge set up under it to catch us but it's still quite a drop. They're working on building a larger, more permanent structure from what I understand. I'd probably try and get some sleep except Clara won't stop whistling Disney themes and it's driving me up the wall.

>>50357685
Entry 3, March 7, 2021

Finally out of containment. Our encampment is set up on the south side of the river. It's mostly temporary pre-fab shelters and tents right now. The labs are in the pre-fab structures and filled with multi-million dollar equipment, meanwhile everyone sleeps and eats in the tents. They're working to rectify that but we're still in the early days. The settlement is only two months old, we're lucky we have this much. Priority has been on scientific equipment rather then human comforts. I'm okay with that. So, this new world. It looks remarkably like Earth. Similar trees, the air smells almost the same as the wilds back home and the river fish look the same. According to our Zoologists, they're similar but different. Similar enough to be a new subspecies of what we have at home. Impossibly convergent evolution or is this evidence of space seeding? We're not even sure where this planet is in relation to Earth. The stars are different and there are two moons. The night sky is simply amazing here with no light pollution and well, the extra moon. Well, back to work.

>>50357709
Entry 4

Doctor Fedelmid said that I shouldn't bother dating my entries, as this world has a 25 hour day, and it would just get confusing after awhile. Weird. So I went on my first field expedition today with Clara, Ennis and Jack and our guide, Doctor Eliza Nikole, into the woods. We're checking out AOI#2, or Area of Interest #2, which is a massive tree that may or may not have something carved into its trunk. The tree is absolutely massive and must be thousands of years old. About seven feet up from the base is what the scout who found it describes as writing carved into the trunk. We all took a good look at it, got some pictures, did some measurements. Nothing definitive. It could be an unusual set of animal claw marks for all we know. If it was carved, it was done with primitive instruments. It would also mean that there's intelligent life on this world. So far there hasn't been any sign but we've been limited in range so far. The woods are kind of nice to be in, I got a sense of well being while wandering through them with the rest of the field team. Reminds me of back home, camping with the family as a kid.

>>50357735
Entry 5

Something's been digging around the base refuse bin at night. We're probably going to have a fence built around the camp to keep the wild things out. So far it hasn't been a problem. We are going to assign a few people to a rotating guard duty. Ennis got suckered into it. We don't exactly have firearms with us, but we do have some tranquilizer rifles. Two of them. In other news, the engineering corps has completed a radio tower that we're going to use as a homing signal. Since we obviously don't have access to GPS, BDS or GLONASS, we've had to use compass and memory for our scouting expeditions. Now we can go further and have a general idea of how to get back. We're also expecting some aerial drones through the portal with the next supply delivery in a few days. Why we didn't have those to begin with is beyond me.

>>50357767
Entry 6

We were attacked! Early morning when most of us were only thinking about getting up, there was some loud yell and then this hoard of green...people, barbarians, came rushing out of the tree line armed with clubs and stone axes! About 20 of them or so. We didn't expect this, we don't even have weapons! They grabbed whatever they could and ran back into the woods. Two people are missing, three are dead and pretty much everyone has an injury of some kind. We did manage to bring down three of the brutes with the tranq rifles. Pumped them with enough chems to stop their hearts. Everything is a mess right now. We're missing lab gear, tents and food. Some of the lab buildings have been destroyed. Everything is a mess. I don't know what to do. I think I have a concussion. The medical team triaged me and I'm just kind of hanging on, doing what I can do help. We alerted HQ through the portal. I think Doctor Udo, our project leader, was one of the people taken. I'm not sure who the other one was. I think I'm going to lie down now because the room has started spinning again.

>>50314123
I thought this was rather sweet

>>50357767
>>50357788
There's no way an expedition like this wouldn't have some sort of military presence.

>>50345804
"Captain Dregu, sir. I think that's the intruder." Said the dwarven lieutenant as the orc officer grabbed his assault shotgun, cocked it and pointed it at Marcus.

"You got alot of nerve waltzing in here chummer, entering someone's mansion without an invite and beating up my boys."

"You better have a good explaination why we shouldn't just fill you with lead pretty boy, asides from spilling blood on Ms. Falren's floors. You must be a disgruntled employee from a business she bought out huh?" The dwarf lieutenant said as suddenly a familiar voice Marcus knew was now heard.

"What's going on now? Is that trouble I've been hearing finally fixed? ...Oh my! Marcus???"

Zanatas "Zanta" Falren the rich tiefling business woman that Marcus so eagerly wanted to see walked in from another area of her private quarters.

"Miss Falren! There you are!" Marcus exclaimed, finally seeing her.

Just then the doors of Zanta Falren's master chambers slammed open as a large group of mercenaries; composed of two humans, two Lizard-Monstergirls and two more orcs, came in armed with high-grade assault weapons. Ranging from assault shotguns and automatic rifles or submachineguns, all of the mercenaries pointed their weapons at Marcus.

There was even a Kikimora Monstergirl maid that came in cocking a handgun pistol and also pointing it at Marcus. "Sorry about the door madam Falren. It was locked and I was going to unlock it, but these men and women just bursted in." Said the Kikimora maid.

Then a familiar face came in. The mercenary that was guarding the back door of the mansion and the one Marcus knocked out earlier also came in.

"THERE HE IS! THAT'S THE BASTARD WHO ASSAULTED ME AND BROKE IN!" He yelled all while also pointing his weapon at Marcus

"MS. FALREN PLEASE! TELL YOU GUARDS TO NOT SHOOT ME, PLEASE!!!"

Zanta Falren spoke again. "Men, please be at ease!" She told the mercs. "Same with you Berislava, you can ease with the gun there." She told the Kikimora servant.

>>50359729
"Hold on, Ms. Falren, you actually know that human?" The orc captain of the mercs asked.

"Yes, that young man blonde man that you're all pointing your guns at is Marcus Weatherbee. He's my part time secretary and part time errand boy for various tasks and favors. He essentially works for me, and therefore he is associated with me, thus I'm asking you and your men calm down and let him be. He's with me." Zanta Falren said.

"OK then miss... You heard the client boys and girls, at ease! Lay down your guns and cancel the alarm. Everything's alright." The orc captain went back to his radio. "Attention operatives. Sound the all clear, everything's back to normal. The intruder problem's solved, and you can let the rest of the guests who're invited in as well." The orc captain said. "Copy that sir." Was then heard in the radio.

And with that, all the mercs in the room lowered their weapons, same with the mercenary who was knocked out earlier by Marcus. Who was now also frustrated at the order but followed anyway, as he slung his weapon around his shoulder and left in frustration.

"Gentlemen, please give me and Mister Weatherbee some privacy at the moment. You can all join the party and have some food in the buffet. Just remember to keep your guns holstered to not freak the guests out."

"Of course mam." Said the orc captain in a now calm manner as all the mercenaries now left the room.

"Same with you Berislava. Just tell the guests and event planner I'll be down in a while. Oh and remind me to have my door fixed by tomorrow too." Zanta Falren said to the Kikimora maid.

"Yes madam." Said the kikimora as she then holstered the hand gun she had and left the room too.

"Now that we're alone Marcus. Care to tell me why you did pretty much broke into my mansion while assaulting some legally hired guards? I was quite troubled who was causing all that commotion earlier about beating up some guards and breaking in my mansion all while the celebration's going on."

>>50361256
"~Now please Marcus, why did you go all that trouble just to see me and not just go in with an invitation? Didn't I give you an invitation?" Zanta Falren said and asked in an almost concerned motherly manner.

Finally Marcus was able to calm down and be at ease knowing its now just her and him. All alone with each other. Marcus finally spoke.

"Well Ms. Falren... I-"

"Actually Marcus, you know what? Just call me Zanta. We're not in the officer nor in a workplace environment. Its just you and me, just call me by my name now."

"Oh... Well Zanta. I did try going in the normal way... But I had no invitation. Honestly, I don't even remember you giving me an invitation to begin with."

"Really? Did I really forget to give you one? Well if that's the case... I guess I should be sorry for you in that part."

"Yeah, and well I REALLY NEEDED to see you... Because I have something to confess, something really important and dear for me, so much so I... I did try sneaking in... Then when one of your hired guards caught me and pointed a gun at me... Well I sort of reacted and well... This happened, I beat up a couple of them, and here I'am now with you."

"I see. So, what is this very important thing you wanted to confess to me?"

This is it, time for him to spit it out. "...Zanatas Falren... I have feelings for you."

"...Pardon?"

"Zanta. I have feelings. Intimate feelings for you! ...You see, despite you being in a very higher position than I'am. You're nice to me, kind, friendly and just plain pleasant to be around in a personal level. The fact that you hired me despite my... Lackluster credentials, I was expecting to be just meat thrown in the corporate grinder. But you were kind enough to give me a respectable job under a respectable and reputable person such as yourself. But you were even kind enough to give me a good wage, I just... Thanks for humanizing me and not treating me like trash. So yeah, thats why I have, feelings for you."

>to be continued

The tent Albrecht was in was huge, many times larger than the shack he lived in with his family, and seemed to be made of sturdier material too. The smell of perfume in the air was overpowering. The young nobles around him were bedecked in all the finery that they could muster, but curiously missing weapons of any sorts. That was odd. The young nobles that Albrecht had seen from a distance weren't known for their pacifism. It was customary for them to be armed to their teeth. Something was very, very wrong here.

A few nobles looked at him curiously for a few moments, while the sound of murmuring filled the room. Albrecht heard the word "test" and "greatness" too many many times. He had heard the priests of sigmar preach sermons in the street about the darkness of the corrupt and decadent who would gather in secret and plot for the ruin of mankind for their own ends. Albrecht wasn't particularly impressed by it then, but surrounded in a dimly lit tent with over a hundred noble youngsters talking about tests and sacrifices, he was ready to believe what the priests had said and more.

Albrecht shot a prayer to sigmar to preserve him from demons and the wicked, and just then a flap in the tent opened up, opposite to where the gathering was located. Around a dozen figures armored, and covered in a dizzying variety of parapharnelia. The murmuring died at once. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the personages that had entered the room. The dimness made their features obscured but it was clear from the rapt attention that they were people of importance.

The tallest of them, a person dressed in the full harness of a knight of the Reiksguard but without the helmet began to speak.
"Gentlemen and Lordlings of Reikland. We are gathered here today to secure the future of our homes, and of mankind. The rules are clear, and laid out on the tables out yonder" He made a sign and the lights became brighter as scores of torches were lit up. It was as if a spell had been cast.

File: Cold Night.jpg (148KB, 1920x1080px) Image search: [Google]

148KB, 1920x1080px

Sorry if it's too dark or whatever.

>>50363571
The figures towering over them were thrown into sharp relief. They were a diverse bunch of nobles as Albrecht had ever seen. The speaker was a handsome young man with a moustache that was as black as jet, and he had under his shoulder a helmet that was a far more ornate version of what the reiksguard wore.

There were a few more militarily dressed people of middle age and of stately bearing, but Albrecht's eyes were on the other figures. They were clearly wizards. One of them wore the robes of bright orange and his hair looked like it was a living flame. His pupils were orange and he carried a staff that looked like it was a naked flame.
Another person wore robes that covered his body and wore a mask that seemed to be made of solid gold. The mask was beautiful and was so lifelike that Albrecht could swear it was a real face.

The man in the reiksguard's armor spoke again with a voice as clear as thunder. "LET THE TOURNAMENT COMMENCE!" and Albrecht was borne along as a horde of nobles pushed and jostled their way towards a large chest in the middle of the room.


Hermann Klaus watched the stampede with a little trepidation. He wasn't of noble blood and it still made him uncomfortable to watch the young hotheaded nobles jostle each other as they rushed to get the choice pieces. The most reckless would get as many knights as they could. They would be eliminated eventually from the competition

The game that they would play was incredibly complex but intuitive. The idea was based on the board games that the high elves would sometimes play in their enclave in the city but the concept was expanded. You wouldn't fight an individual battle with your troops, rather, you would fight a full campaign.
Terrain was more important, as was the stamina of your forces. A good commander would devastate his opponent or make sure that his opponents would be in a worse shape than him.
Helborg had the brightest ideas sometimes, when he wasn't butting head with Schwartzhelm.

>>50365050

Generally to his sadness, Klaus knew that the artillery wouldn't be picked. The nobles lived in a bubble of their own, and perhaps they were right to do so. Service in the pistoliers was seen as a dangerous but patriotic phase after which they would join one of the several knightly orders in the empire and seek glory, hoping to become master warriors and the cream of the empire's chivalrous crop. Artillery was dangerous, deadly to friend and foe and something to avoid if it could be helped.

Magnus the Pious might have recognized the importance of gunpowder, but most of the knightly orders of the empires lived with steel alone. Apart from the knights of the blazing sun, there were no orders that recognized the value of artillery, and even the blazing sun thought it as something to be used for besieging or defending.fortresses.

Meanwhile the nobles had nearly emptied the chest. Hermann didn't need to peek inside to know that it would largely be a mixture of empire great cannons and spearmen and handgunners. Maybe the bretonnians had the right of it, and black powder wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things.

The only person left now was a fairly ordinarily dressed lad. The fellow would have not been out of place in the reiksport with his patched tunic. As it was, in the confines of the tent he stood out more than ever. Helborg whispered something into Schwartzhelm's ear and was met with a response that was the epitome of indifferent. Klaus took notice of that. Schwartzhelm was a man who had become the emperor's champion through years of hard work and starting from humble beginnings. Clearly he felt some form of sympathy for the person standing in front of the chest.

The boy finished reading the pamphlet and begin to gather up what remained inside the chest. To his mildly pleasant surprise, Hermann watched the boy take over a dozen pieces that represented an empire great cannon each, and fill the rest of his allotted army with infantry.

I will continue this later.
feel free to give me advice on my writing style.

Anyone heard from Bard yet?

Also, >>50332482

File: lmao.gif (157KB, 710x340px) Image search: [Google]

157KB, 710x340px

Hey folks!

We have a 4chan writers group going. Technically its for NaNoWriMo right now but a lot of people in it have dropped that particular challenge, and we're slowly moving to a general group for writing.

Here's the discord:

https://discord.gg/6AwKHGF

Come and talk about writing and stuff!

>>50370644
>NaNoWriMo
shit, I'd completely forgotten about that. Oh well, still one week left.

What's the discord thingy all about? Are you just trading stories or are you working on group projects?

>>50371151
Trading stories and generally talking about writing, including getting advice.

Right now it's extremely dead, but I'm trying to make it more active.

>>50361669
For a moment both were quiet. Marcus being nervous that he may have offended Zanta and made a complete fool of himself by admitting such feelings to her. Finally Zanta Falren spoke.

"Is this true?" She spoke with sincerity. "You actually... Love me?"

Marcus stammered to answer a bit then said, "Yes Zanta... You can say I have such... Feelings for you. IMSORRYFORCAUSINGSUCHTROUBLEEARLIERANDPLEASEDONT-"

"Marcus! ...Marcus. Calm down. It's OK, I'm happy and appreciative of you being honest and straightforward. Though I still wished you admitted such feelings in a more... Simpler manner than breaking in my mansion."

"I'am sorry."

"Its fine. Though... If we're going to be in a relationship. Let's keep it a bit, discreet. Even though you are my errand boy and part time secretary, you're still susceptible to the corporate rule 'do not date your superior and or fellow workers.' Also other various things-"

"I'll be a good boyfriend! I SWEAR! I'll do anything, anything for you Zanta! To show I really am generous!"

Zanta giggled. "Hehehe. Ofcourse! I'm sure you will be a good and honest lover." She fondled Marcus' face and cheek. "By the way. May I ask what is that bottle you have slung and around you in that bottle carrier? Also what's with the boombox you got aswell?"

Marcus nearly forgot about the boombox he had which he'd use to play that special tape of his. And that bottle of expensive drink he also so happen to have on him.

"Oh uh! Yeah, I brought this music player with me because I have personal tape I made myself... It's a crappy and cheesy song I just made... For you."

"Awwww! Really? Also a did you a tape? Wow, I thought those things are offcially declared fossils, haven't heard a tape being used for its original purpose in years. Wow I'm old, definitely a hundred years old indeed. And that bottle of whiskey?"

"A servant gave it to me to give it you. The bottle says its from a 'Mr. Cabot.'"

"OK then, so. Can I hear that tape now?"

>TBC

>>50321803
Me here again. Part 3 of chapter 2 is under way, as always I'd like to prod people for feedback, always looking to improve and I can only do that with input!

File: 1473793484866.jpg (164KB, 600x1271px) Image search: [Google]

164KB, 600x1271px

Turkey slaughter day bump

>>50372684
Good luck. Most of the writefags are done with /tg/.

That's what happens when you get people policing he board for badwrongfun.

"Well?" Daniel intoned.
Daniel. His best friend for two odd decades. He was here sitting back at the end of night shift, even though he wasn't the one working tonight. Daniel was like that, never skipping a chance to be together, to lift up everyone around him, even if it was before the crack of dawn, giving them company and a thought or four to ponder.

"Ask me again." Eric grinned, shamelessly prolonging the moment. It was peaceful out. The air was unnaturally still, and yet not chilly at this hour. Not a cricket to be heard. Absolutely perfect.

"What would you say if I told you that there exists a single opportunity - one chance - to go back in time and relive a moment in your past? Right a wrong. Get revenge. Save a loved one. Perhaps simply cherish a long lost moment from someone long since passed?" Daniel waved his hands emphatically with each potential option, like boxes lined up together waiting to be chosen. He held up his hands once more to stay Eric's reply.

"You can't change the past, but you can, for a brief moment, experience it as if you could. Would you take that opportunity? Would you give up your future to live in the past, knowing that it won't really change anything, only to give you a single moment to relive?" Daniel's face relaxed into a more serious expression. He was personally interested in what option would be preferable.

"Is that how the Arch works? You walk through and go back in time, and then - what? - you just vanish forever?" Eric wondered aloud. Daniel didn't make any indication he would answer. Still waiting patiently on his question. The silence was began to feel stifling and Eric knew there was no point in pushing his luck about things that were none of his business.

"Why wouldn't I? We all walk through, don't we? I mean, if we live long enough to fulfill our lives and earn that chance, Herod protect those who don't, is there anybody who wasn't glad to do it?".

"Nobody knows because nobody comes back." Daniel turned away.

>>50372796
"Yes, of course. Been meaning to play it just for you!" For the first time throughout the rest of the evening Marcus finally smiled and said in a more cheerful and optimistic manner. He unstrapped the boombox he carried on his back after also setting the bottle of whiskey he carried on a table.

He got the tape from his pocket, opened the cassette compartment of the boombox, placed it in and hit the play button. Marcus then held it high up his head while also smiling and blushing like a goofball, all while Zanta gives a heartwarming smile. Then the song started with a half-assed guitar solo, then came Marcus' amateurish singing.

"In your eyes, the light, the heat
In your eyes, I'am complete-"

Then suddenly the boombox started short circuiting, the tape started getting loose and to top it off there was a loud *pop* sound the came inside the boombox which ended with faint smoke coming out.

"WHAT!? Oh nooooo! Stupid piece of shit!" Marcus smile was gone and was now feeling sad and embarrassed as he simply dropped the boombox on the ground out of frustration. But Zanta cheered him up as she giggled, being touched by his efforts.

"Awwww don't be so bummed and hard on yourself. That was a cute little effort you did deary." She said as she caressed his cheek.

"Thanks Zanta... Glad you like it." Marcus said with a weak, faint, yet clearly satisfied and grateful smile.

"How about we have a quick shot of that fine brand of whiskey a good friend of mine; Mr. Cabot had sent to me before we head down for the celebration?"

"Sure."

Zanta walked to a minibar of her master chambers, got two short glasses and walked back as she opened the bottle, poured an equal bit of whiskey to both her's and Marcus' glass.

"Cheers for a lovely night, me successfully beating a rival company that I also put out of business. And for me having a new lover; you."

"Cheers to you to Zanta."

They both clinked their glasses and drank the contents, while hooking their arms together.

>>50374835
Gonna have this tale done maybe by tommorow soon. So, thoughts? And yeah to those who might be familiar I did copy a wee little bit of Oxide's style. Specifically the way he includes music.

>>50375000
Seems like a generic porno script to be honest with you.

>Woman's car breaks down
>Guy drives past and stops to render assistance
>Three horribly faked giggles later
>Roadside deepthroating ensues

Actually to be 'really' honest with you I hadn't properly read through last few posts until now and it's even worse.

>lol gatecrashing a party
>beating up security
>chick in charge soft on me anyway
>must be my roguish charm, heh
>lets bang?
>lets bang.

Otherwise I feel events unfold far too monotone. This happened. Then that happened. Then 'they' did a thing. Zanta walked to a thing, got glasses, walked back from the thing, opened a bottle, poured some whiskey.

Heavy on dictating things that happened, not nearly enough filling it with emotion and purpose. "How did they do it?" might be a nice question to ask.

I apologize if my remarks were insulting. Telling it like I see it, and you should keep writing.

File: 1451024986686.jpg (1MB, 2240x1400px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 2240x1400px

>Ladies and gentlemen, I present to thee...a woman!

And lo did Operdanius remove the cloth, exposing this woman's body to the forum. Already, countless many of them were shocked that such a brazen display of the female form was displayed on this blue-carpeted forum.
>I am but a concubine and what is this?
>2/10 would not mate
>Operdanius, is that your mother?
>Where is the penis in this?

Already, several of them began hurling insults at Operdanius, the leader of this particular forum. It was a tradition of this Forum of Qartecian; those leaders who buckle under these hecklers are deemed unfit as leaders of the forum, worthy only of fellating others. However, those who do not buckle under the pressure proceed to the second stage: Interest.

Sometimes, the topic at hand is unworthy of interest. At this point, it would not be deemed the leader's fault if the topic dies out, but most leaders would not wish such a fate. Another route is the derail, in which some of the goers either argue over something completely different. Whether or not this alternate topic overcomes the original discussion concludes mostly with the will of the leader and the interest vested in this topic.

>What's wrong, bored with the orgy?
>Hey, how about we talk about Senator Cassius and his unfair taxing laws?
>Cassius is a coward!
>But what does this have to do with this woman?
>We all know that he services the woman! Cassius is a cuckold!
>Political Discussions belong on the political subforum, so please depart from the premises.

Those that reign in the off-topic discussion then have their particular topics talked about by more interested parties. For storytellers, this involves audience participation, for artists this involves critique. All the same, the forum of Quartecian becomes comparatively calm. Some bring in traditional humor through common jokes and references to prior events, however they tend to be either welcomed in the discussion or called fondly.

>>50381788
>This woman is cute! CUTE!
>Give us more please!
>Today Operdanius asserted his superiority as leader.
>I wish to violently abuse this woman.

Another tradition noted within the forum is the self-cataloging nature of its replies. Those with deft ears are tasked to keep count of the replies mentioned and, whenever one makes a reply that is ordered in such a way that it holds two adjacent numerals that are identical (known as many things including digits, claims, and doubles/triples), they are offered praise. Some believers claim that this is the sign of some divine entity known as Kik, but the proof of such an existence is largely dismissed as the ramblings of more unstable individuals in the forum. In any case, discussions at this point tend to stay at this stage and progress to their end thusly.

Unfortunately, not all discussions last at this stage, whether by the previous attempts lasting far beyond their welcome, or by forum moderators, who occasionally walk about to enforce whatever laws exist in the forum (if they even bother to). Sometimes, some disenchanted forum-goers opt to warn the moderators of such a digression (like showing a naked woman to a forum about cooperative activities). Usually these warnings are unheeded by lazier moderators, but to those that heed the call, they quickly and mercilessly cull the discussion, forcing everyone present to leave and enforcing a warning (or even banishment) to the culprit.
Such was the case with Operdanius' exhibition. A moderator, marked by his purple robes, intervenes in the forum and presents a tablet. Some of the members try to fight the moderator's judgment, but they are in vain. As he points outside, the woman is covered up again and the members disperse. Some grant assurances or apologies to the leader, but they all understand that they are ultimately helpless.

Regardless of the discussion's fate, all replies are recorded into an archive for prosperity, to relive those days or as an example.

>>50382035
Sometimes, these discussions are retold, either to discuss another aspect of the topic at hand or to recapture a sensation that was had. Those that last for a particularly long time are considered "general topics", which gain a reputation as a community for like-minded individuals.

Ultimately, the forums of Quartecian serve only for its own to discuss whatever they wish, under their own governance. Occasionally a topic or theme comes and goes but at the heart of it all is a community tied to each other more than they are willing to admit, eager to discuss whatever it is they wish.

File: IMG_5979.png (2MB, 707x1000px) Image search: [Google]

2MB, 707x1000px

>tfw you miss a fuck ton of Storythreads cuz of new job

I... think I'll try tackling Fairy Problems Chp 2, tomorrow.

File: buddy_christ.jpg (33KB, 370x284px) Image search: [Google]

33KB, 370x284px

>>50384708
Bless you.

Mechanized Pilot

Servos of your suit whirred in action as you made your way through the bombed out city. Charred wreckages of cars and APCs littered the street thanks to near constant fighting for past two weeks. You knew that 7th Infantry Battalion had gotten bogged down half a klick down the road, but Command decided that you don't need to know more. Battalion HQ would inform you more.

Jumping over a big crater and dodged burning carcass of a tank, your thoughts weren't in incoming combat at all. For past two weeks you have been in more or less constant combat with no change to leave the suit. Just move forward, step aside from the rubble and there is the HQ. Slowing down and dropping ammunition package from your left hand with quick turn of your head you scanned the buildings and approached the correct one. The one with most heat signals and ID tags. Your approach seen from a far made Major who you thought being in lead step out of the building. You stopped and put your suit on standby.

"Unit 77, at your disposal Major" Your electric voice boomed from the speaker. "Reinforcements and resupply as seen by Command have arrived"

"Only one pallet and you, is the situation this dire?" Major asked while one of his aides send few men to check the supply pallet

"I do not know Major, but you know the Command."

"True" Major said with sigh "Alright, situation is following. We have to assault enemy strongpoint made from three heavy structures across two hundred meter no mans land behind these structures. They number around one hundred and while I can get company worth of men assaulting them, but they are too well entrenched and we are lacking heavy weaponry to flush them out. What do you have to offer Unit 77?"

cont.

>>50387982

"20mm Mark 4 Avenger autocannon with nearly full ammunition. Single Bombard assault mortar and left arms Striker Combat System." You replied "I can most likely take out most of their heavy weapons. You should advance under cover of my smoke launcher. When are you ready Major?"

"As soon as you are Unit 77. My men are ready to assault when you are."

"Understood Sir, going to move into position"

With that suits standby mode ended with increased whirr of generator heightening you took into short walk through the bombed building. You made into your concealed position receiving weary looks from the men huddled in the structure around you. At first you held your head high in face of mud eaters as other Pilots called them, but numerous battles had made you think otherwise. They were lucky, they got to sleep, they had names, they had each other. You didn't have much none of them. You were Unit 77, one of the Confederations mechanized pilots, your worth in combat too high to be allowed to lay around doing nothing. For outsider your suits posture seemed to loose up as your suit administered combat drug mixture and nutrients. Wiping your face with your hands to get the murkiness and tiredness away, suits automatic sensors went active and your vision started to fill out with data of all sorts.

As the combat drugs started to kick in, you felt through the sensors that men around you went into positions, officers barking orders and overall anxiousness of getting into combat. You took few steps forward and extended your scanner through hole in wall, getting first glance into battlefield in front of you. 3D picture of next few minutes came into your mind. You instantly knew how many steps you need to take and when to do what. Major had appeared next to your suit and without saying anything he nodded to you. With that there was slaughter to do.

cont.

>>50387989


You felt great, ecstatic in fact. Feeling men around you taking firing positions you walked forward. Using your left arm to push block of concrete away, your sensors went haywire with all signals and target information. You saw silhouettes of men and their weapons moving in the buildings, running to their positions. In instant you saw your targets and moved your autocannon to point first target. Two steps forward and first three round burst hit underside a window penetrating and destroying rocket launcher behind it. One step another target destroyed. Fourth step a man got blown in half by your burst. You walked forward and started to take sporadic rifle fire on your suit as you destroyed them one by one.

Your eyes went hyperactive, your head twitching around to look at different screens, your hands dancing around the console, you rained death. Launching smoke was signal for Major men behind you as they charged under cover of it. You took heavier hit from heavy shell, rocking you around inside the suit. With a burst you obliterated your offender. With firm steps you made towards the buildings. Destroying the front half of nearest building by launching Bombard assault mortar you made opening for Major men to get in. You were panting, straining under the pressure of combat and the cocktail of drugs inside you. You had to continue, there was killing to be done.


You had stopped, you were exhausted. Your sensors still blasting data on the screens and in your mind, but you didn't mind them at all. Major had appeared next to you and was calling you. You knew that, but didn't answer. At least not yet. Taking deep breath while suit gave you another dose of drugs, you started to feel better, you spoke to Major.

cont.

>>50387995

"Positions captured Sir, 47% of seen targets destroyed, 91% of their equipment destroyed. Mission successful. Limited offensive capacity available, Unit 77 ready for further action"

"Thank you" Major said which surprised you, not many have actually said thanks to you. "Without you we couldn't have taken these structures. Command has been informed of Battalions success and your success too. We are getting reinforcements and supplies. 5th Battalion is going to continue from here on, we are getting rest"

"It is rest for you Major, I will get resupplied and move to fight another battle. When does the resupply come?"

"In two hours, so rest now when you can. I have ordered my men to leave you alone. Hopefully we can work together in future" Major said giving firm salute before leaving to attend his duties.

Two hours, there is still seven to darkness and even then suits sensors can see everything. With sigh you closed your eyes, walked into cover and went to standby mode. Still feeling all around you through sensors you tried to rest knowing that in two hours maintenance and supply would come and make you prepared for next assignment. You hope that next battle would bring you death at least then you could rest.


This is my second story that I have written for these threads and overall one of the better ones I have made. With English not being my first language there might be some grammar errors that I haven't spotted. This is part of world building for scifi setting I have thought for past half a year with concentration to single mechanized pilot. I might write more later if I can keep my inspiration up.

1,133 words 6,470 characters

>>50388003
>English not your first language
I know of people on here who can't write as well as you have. Damn good job, anon.

If thread is still up by the time I get off shift I'll post more input. For now: Damn good job.

>>50388924
NO MORE TODAYS, TONIGHT WE RIDE IN THE SKY

File: Hostara.jpg (79KB, 620x620px) Image search: [Google]

79KB, 620x620px

There are merits to monotonous activity, not that I will ever share it among the common rank and file. A guardsman’s duty is to obey their superiors without question, to dispense of it promptly and to the best of their abilities. Of course, there are exceptions to this standard, but they are few and far between. Still, it would be a poor display for a regiment of guardsmen to go along with some traitorous officer’s plan, citing ignorance of better options and adherence to the Uplifting Primer.

A Space Marine is the finest example of what the Imperium can produce through archeoscience and rigorous genetic enhancement, but it is the Imperial Guardsmen that are the most human within the Emperor’s forces. If we needed mindless automatons to fight our battles for us, we could field an army of servitors. But they lack intellect, that spark of sentience that divides the rational from the empty-minded. An Imperial Guardsman must be cunning, swift, and able to adapt to whatever foul creature, xenos or heretic, comes along our way. It is what makes us human.

And yet, as we are human, we remain all too aware of how fragile we truly are.

Hostara is a little agri-world, rotating around the celestial body of Veluend with only two small moons to its name and a population of one hundred thousand souls. I have seen holo-picts of the planet before the invasion, not just the orbital scans taken from deep-space satellites, but actual images of the land itself. It was as if the Emperor Himself had taken a brush to the world, coating the land in a vibrant hue of golden stalks of wheat, corn and other vegetation key to the survival of the Uhulis Sector.

(cont.)

File: World Eater.jpg (384KB, 806x747px) Image search: [Google]

384KB, 806x747px

It is quaint, possessing a rustic and quiet landscape that spoke of simple labor and honest work. The people are simple, eschewing the scant comforts of modern society for a life dedicated to the survival of the Imperium and worship of the God-Emperor. There are even years when they made more than their tithe demanded of them. To be blunt, they are what many long for, an escape from the choking alleys of a Hive World and the copper-scented fields of War Planets. And I cannot deny that I find myself longing for that pastoral life should the Emperor see fit to see me through the end of my tenure.

Perhaps that is why the forces of Chaos descended upon the world.

A week of unspeakable terror had passed before our regiment could be mobilized, and another two before we made planetfall. And in the three weeks that had passed since the World Eaters first landed, the damage was extensive. The Hostara that greeted me as we exited from the Warp was not the planet the Cadian 743rd Shock Troops and Krieg 54th Armoured Regiment had been expecting to fight for.

Moisture sucked at the bottom of my boots, coating the polished leather in an amalgamation of muddy water and diluted fertilizer chemical. It had rained the night prior, and there was a low mist that hovered about the camp like smog over a manufactorm, almost thick enough to obscure at only twenty meters ahead of my position. Camping on high elevation has not only ensured a defensible position, but also minimized the worst of the morning condensation from causing absolute blindness.

(cont.)

File: Cadian Guardsman.jpg (216KB, 609x749px) Image search: [Google]

216KB, 609x749px

First Call had not been sounded, the chrono on my wrist informing me that the bugle will not be played for another hour. The troops, brave men and women of Cadia and worlds across the Segmentum Tempestus, are still asleep, save for those on guard duty. The sound of mud sucking at my boots with every step taken was a solo among a chorus of half-mumbled words and off-pitch snores. These and other noises come from the long lines of canvas tents along the camp’s main thoroughfare.

I let them have their rest. Emperor knows that they will need it in the hours to come.

A counter-offensive has been planned, an invasion on a city critical for the distribution of supplies. Not only was Arlon a major hub for trade, the destination of many branching roads to other territories, but the only city within a hundred kilometers that had a spaceport. Liberating the city would not only make the flow of munitions and supplies come faster, but would also yield a large boost in morale to the beleaguered Hostarans.

My eyes shifted towards the west, to the direction where the refugees had fled. Those had been the elderly and infirm, women and children, civilians that were either incapable or ineligible to fight. We took those who wanted to volunteer, to don the conscript’s badge and armor, to bear the Whiteshield of Cadia. An honor to them, to those brave men and women, one that many would never hope to attain.

Even when they would inevitably perish, they would go to the Emperor’s side, proud that they had stood and fought for their homeworld at the side of the legendary Cadian Shock Troopers. And to those that survived, all credit to them. Perhaps when the World Eaters were driven back to whatever foul pit they came from, they would return to their lives of farming, growing tithe crops for the sector. Then again, they just might stay, and officially become a proud soldier of the Imperial Guard.

(cont.)

File: Commissar Barbados.jpg (93KB, 499x949px) Image search: [Google]

93KB, 499x949px

It is only human to envision a brighter future, to find a silver lining in the darkest of situations. Chasing hope and fighting for a better tomorrow, for friends and family, comrades and soldiers, for the Imperium of Man. I was not unfamiliar with the old aphorism, a common saying among Imperial Commanders: hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.

I have not hoped, yet I have been disappointed. I cannot count the number of times I’ve been forced to execute soldiers who balk in the face of the enemy, weeping, wailing and succumbing to madness. But not once have I been angry, wrathful and blazing in the performance of my duty. Merely downcast at the collapse of men and women that I lead, that I trust to stand tall and fight. And how the terrors of the battlefield sap and whittle at the morale and will of honest men and women.

A price to pay for the virtue of unaltered humanity, vulnerable and fragile to otherworldly foes: xenos, heretics, and horrors whose names I dare not speak. I am frustrated not only by the enemies we face, but also by human weakness…disappointed the fallacies of what it means to be human.

But I shake my head. Such thoughts are unbecoming of me. I am a Commissar, and it is my duty to inspire, whether through fear or my own example. The sin of introspection is one that I am the most vulnerable to, brooding on the relativity of it all. Yet it is a sin that I will live with for the rest of my days. As far as offenses go, mine are the lesser of evils in the face of open blasphemy and crimes against the Imperium.

(cont.)

File: LGbayonet.jpg (48KB, 1280x1024px) Image search: [Google]

48KB, 1280x1024px

As my steps reached the training field, there was another noise, one to join the chorus of my boots. I frowned, concentrating at the sound, a series of dull impacts and the crack of wood. A tentative hand went towards the bolt pistol at my belt as I continued my passage, hastening my steps. At the best, someone was training without permission, breaking curfew and regulation. That was rectifiable with a flogging. But there were too many alternatives of worse circumstance for my mind to process.

The Schola Progenium had taught me many things in my youth, but stealth and subterfuge was not one of them. Those were skills that I could only learn on the battlefield. With pistol in hand, I pressed myself against the canvas of the munitions tent, feeling the bump of weapons crates dig into my back. Slowly, I made my way around the tent, inching my way closer towards the corner of the structure, a vantage point into the field.

Standing in the shooting gallery, a lone soldier worked at a dummy, stabbing at the crude target with a bayonet attached to the end of a lasgun. I frowned at a particularly sloppy thrust, one that leaves the weapon stuck fast into the target.

Five seconds are wasted as the soldier struggles to remove his weapon, eventually succeeding with a creak of protest from the wood. If he were on the field of battle, and that dummy was not one of straw, but of traitorous flesh and blood, he would be long dead.

He turned to grabs something at his feet, a canteen of water. Underneath the flak armor, I could see the thin film of sweat that clung to his skin as he drank greedily from the container. And above that, the symbol of the Whiteshield on his helmet catches the artificial lighting in the camp.

(cont.)

File: Water Canteen.jpg (44KB, 550x851px) Image search: [Google]

44KB, 550x851px

I put my bolt pistol back in its holster, privately relieved that I would not have to signal the morning alarm hours before reverie. It was only a Conscript, practicing bayonet discipline. Sloppily and unrefined, but bayonet discipline nonetheless. An admirable gesture, even though he was breaking curfew.

Not that he would have notion of regulations. If he was with the majority of the other recruits from Hostara, then he would have only received flak armor and a lasgun the afternoon prior over the Primer. Not that we had any left of that garbage left to distribute. Everything short of prayers to the Emperor the structure of command and (useful) tactics quickly became toilet paper or kindling.

Still, it fell upon me to administer discipline to the regiment, Whiteshield or regular infantry alike. I was not entirely devoid of mercy. If anything, I was impressed by the dedication of the soldier, practicing in the early hours of the morning. There had been no one here when I last made the rounds before retiring to my tent.

I stepped out of the shadows, finding a relatively dry patch of ground to tread upon. My boots made no noise as I approached the soldier, hands on his knees as he panted for breath. He took another draught from his canteen, and I waited patiently for him to finish before I made myself known. I had no desire to lose a soldier, even a fresh recruit, to something as simple as choking on water.

“Conscript.”

It was a neutral statement, only slightly louder than a clearing of the throat. Regardless, the young man went ramrod still as if I had barked the order, hastily setting down the lasgun and swiveling around in a messy salute. On a cursory glance, I counted three marks of demerit. The angle of the salute is wrong, and the straps of the flak armor were not done correctly.

(cont.)

File: Irina Petrov.jpg (221KB, 1920x1200px) Image search: [Google]

221KB, 1920x1200px

No, not a man, I correct myself. A young girl, who appeared to be at least two years from the cusp of maturity by Imperial standards. The edges of her flak helmet obscured the soft lines of her face, features better suited for a life as a farmer, not a soldier..

I am no stranger to having women in my unit, but what noticeably separated her from the rank and file was her hair. Even though it had been chopped roughly with some kind of blunt instrument and tied back with a cord, I could still see blonde locks in the dimness of the early morning, indicative of those native to Hostara.

She was already nervous from my voice, but one look my uniform and the bolt pistol at my hip caused fear to break out across her face. A good response by any other means, but I did not come an executioner. I was quick to dissuade her of the notion as I waved a hand in her direction. Any commissar can execute a soldier. A good one knows when and where to use the tactic of intimidation. I considered myself a part of the latter category.

“At ease.” I paused, regarding her. “You are a Hostaran, am I not correct?” It was more for her sake than mine, a tool used to get her to speak. I already knew of her ethnic background.

She nods, hesitantly. “Y-yes…yes, sir.” Definitely a girl. Her affirmation came a soft alto, with the middle of the “sir” extended in the Hostaran accent. Not terribly different from a Vostroyan accent. Perhaps there was a common language between the Firstborn and the natives of this planet.

I shoved that bit of useless trivia to the back of my mind, continuing my dressing down. “Do you have a name, conscript?”

“Ah…Petrov, sir. Irina Petrov, Whiteshields, sir.”

(cont.)

Taking a break. BRB in a few hours.

>>50388190
Well thank you. That text felt bit rushed and something I could fine tune more. The spacing and how the story moves forward isn't straight, at least it doesn't feel like. I am content, but I can improve if I can find the inspiration for it.

File: Hive Mutant-IFS.jpg (258KB, 514x720px) Image search: [Google]

258KB, 514x720px

>>50391678
There were many questions that I had for her, first and foremost among them as to why she was here. Not necessarily in the shooting gallery, but in the camp itself as a Whiteshield. Yet there was something about her that compelled me to take an alternate route, a different methodology of approaching the situation. Petrov remained silent, still casting nervous glances until I made my decision.

“I can see that you have watched our Guardsmen working at their own targets. But your technique is sloppy, and unrefined,” I sternly intoned. I motioned for her to give me the lasgun, noting with approval that she at least knew how to work the safety. The weapon was typical of its kind, mass-produced on some distant manufactorum for the rank-and-file, but was well-balanced, and surprisingly light to hold. “Watch.”

Every cadet in the Schola goes through rudimentary lasgun training, but the only time I ever formally wielded one in my career as a commissar was five years ago. It was during the siege of some hiveworld that refused to pay its tithes, when my chainsword had broken on the teeth of some mutant filth, and I had run out of ammunition for my bolt pistol. Hunkered down in a direct building with my detachment, a gang of hivers loyal to the rebellion had attempted to charge the barricade and take our supplies.

I had snatched a lasgun, ripping it out of the fallen soldier’s hands to join the rest of the squad in repelling the offense. For the first time in as many years, I emerged from that struggle drenched in the blood of our enemies, dyed a deep crimson from savage close-quarters combat.

(cont.)

File: charging guardsmen.gif (28KB, 262x300px) Image search: [Google]

28KB, 262x300px

I envisioned the heretics that had charged my defenses, letting the memory of bayonet discipline flow through my muscles. The lasgun whirled in time to an internal rhythm before I snapped it around, clenched it horizontally and lunged. The blade pierced through the target in a puff of straw, penetrating deep into the chest cavity. With a quick and lateral slide, I pulled the weapon from the dummy without too much effort and swiftly returned to a neutral position.
The demonstration took less than five seconds to complete.

I turned to Petrov, and caught her staring. It was not a look of awe or wonder, but one of intense concentration and scrutiny. Her hands twitched, and I could see her legs shifting, attempting to mimic my stance. A solid mark in her favor.

“Compare what you were doing to what I just showed you,” I said, motioning for her to take the lasgun from my hands. Still dissatisfied with the way she held it, I closed the distance to help position the weapon properly. After nudging her feet and pointing the bayonet to where the target’s throat would be, I stepped back to let her get used to the position. “Tell me where you went wrong.”

I could see the cogs turning in her skull before she eventually answered. “My feet, sir. They were too wide. I had to regain my balance by taking another step forward when I hit the target.”

Good. Bayonets were only useful in close quarters, but there was a limit to how close one should get. I nodded in approval. “Anything else?”

“…you did something with the knife after you stabbed your target. Sir,” she belatedly added, pantomiming the motion that I had made. The anxiety she had earlier was beginning to disappear, replaced by a subdued enthusiasm to learn and improve herself. “You were able to get it out quicker than I did.”

“A lateral slide. If you slide your weapon before pulling it out, it’s almost guaranteed to come out easier. Strength has only a minor roll in that regard.”

(cont.)

File: Dispenser.jpg (144KB, 1000x1000px) Image search: [Google]

144KB, 1000x1000px

She flushed at that, but I genuinely didn’t mean to offend. Just a statement of facts. Using leverage over brute force would be the best thing for her to do. I cleared my throat, drawing her attention away from that remark and towards the target. “Repeat what I’ve just showed you.”

“Yes, sir!” She scrambled back to the drill line, almost tripping over her canteen in her rush. “How many times, sir?”

My smile was not entirely unpleasant. “Until I find your technique to be sufficient with that of the standards of the Imperial Guard.”

After the first execution, I could already see a marked improvement. Her stance was optimal, maximizing efficiency in the charge and transfer of energy from her movement and into the impact of the knife. The time she took to remove her blade drastically improved, going from five seconds to a mere two by the end of the eleventh iteration.

But it was still not enough. The training gallery was a far cry from the field of battle. If she were to survive her first battle, beat the crushing odds that stacked high against conscript soldiers, she would have to do better.

I took her canteen, filling it with water from a nearby dispenser as she finished her one hundred and twenty third execution. Her breath came out in ragged, short gasps and she looked about ready to collapse into the dirt when I returned. “Break,” I called out, motioning for her to stagger over into the canopy. I handed her the canteen with an impressed not. “Not bad at all, conscript. Not bad at all…”

Petrov accepted the container with a wheeze, coughing as she collapsed onto a nearby crate. “…thank…thank you…sir…” She managed between breaths, greedily quaffing at the canteen. I watched in silence as she slaked her thirst, emptying half of the water in a single go before she pulled back. “...guh...thank you, sir..."

(cont.)

Got a little sidetracked. Bumping for time.

>>50312733
[Kindness Revisited]

In a forest on the fringes of human civilization there stood a forest deep, dark, and ancient.
Occassionally it would draw humans in with its omnious whispers, only to trap them within until death's cold grasp would find them. The forest held many creatures, some evil by nature but most followed their instincts and the natural order of things.
Helping humans were never considered by any of the forest's denizens, for what had Humans done for them, except to hunt and force them from lands now only known in blurry memories?

On a bittersweet autumn night - countless winters ago - when I stood smaller than what I am today, I came across the carcass of one of the shadowy creatures lurking amidst the trees at night, preying on large beings such as myself whilst hunting in packs. My instincts told me to go home, but my curiousity got the better of me; far and few could muster to stand tall before a creature as evil as these.
Even I feared them, for they had claimed the life of many of my breathren before, many of which stood stronger and braver than me. I found myself wanting, nay, needing to know what creature had unshackled themselves from the weakness known to us all as 'fear'.

For hours I slowly trecked through the forest, the trail of bodies similar to the shadowy creature from before continued onward, deeper and deeper into this wooden kingdom of ours.
As dawn came, the first light of day greeted me as I set my eyes upon the valley in the midst of the murky parts of the forest.
In the middle of it, there was a red flower set ablaze from a source yet unknown to me in front of a pair of rocks leaning against each other in a standing formation, one upon the other.
From the trees surrounding the valley, I spotted the countless eyes of predators who were watching the flame dance to the tune of the wind. The shadowy creatures seemed to enjoy the sight of fire.

CONT.

>>50394800

However, I saw it spreading slowly through the dry grass, expanding out towards the trees. As foolish as it might have been, I couldn't let the red flower stake a claim in these lands.
The creatures observing the scene unfold did not move as I made my way into the valley. They only responded once my scaly hand put the fire out in a single swipe. As if I had ambushed their home and threatened their brood, they came at me from all the corners of the valley.
It was not until then that my curiosity was overtaken by fear. My instincts had failed me, or rather, I had not listened and now I would die a foolish death for the sake of my curious nature.

Yet, out from underneath the leaning rocks there came a small creature carrying a robust blade and wearing gilded armor that glistened in the face of the rising sun. It wasn't the first time I had seen a Human, but it was a new experience to see one so close.
My fellow brethren had often spoken of them as twisted and evil creatures that would kill anything not of their world. My fear of the charging packs of shadowy creatures froze me to the ground, unable to flee. My eyes closed and while I was not ready to accept death, what other choice did I have?

The fearsome sound of the Human's fierce roar coupled with the wretched cry of the shadowy creatures filled me to my core until silence fell upon the valley.
It took me several moments until I found the courage to open my eyes to witness the scene before me. The corpses of the shadowy creatures lay stripped bare all around me.
They numbered close to a hundred, yet I never counted the exact number. The human was nowhere to be seen until I cast my gaze at the grunting sound that came from behind.
The armored creature was sitting on the grass wet with blood, his gilded armor and sword red from battle.

CONT.

File: 1468817308518.png (8KB, 445x374px) Image search: [Google]

8KB, 445x374px

>>50394827

His headgear was now gone and I could see his scarred face for myself; white of face, green of eyes, and hair as bright as the sun.
He clutched his side in pain whilst staring back at me. He didn't show anger nor any regret. He only smiled before life faded from his eyes.

Centuries have passed since that night and I have always asked myself why this Human saved me. He could have stayed hidden within the dark comforts of those leaning rocks, yet he choose to risk his own life in the face of great peril to save a creature unlike himself.
He broke everything I had once believed about Humans. Despite my want to repay his kindness, I never met another one of his kind until one fateful autumn night.
She had been fooled by the whisperings of the forest and found herself running through it in panic once the shadowy creatures caught her scent.
Upon fleeing from her pursuers, she had lost a piece of cloth that I picked up upon following them.

And as I now sit before her, where she cowers against a tree with the shadowy creatures lurking nearby, I fear not for the safety of myself nor the human.
I fear only what will happen to them should they decide to leave the comforts of their shadows.

And so do they.

>>50392484
Back.

Ok. First, the bad.
The flow feels choppy, but that contextually works with the knowledge that the pilot of the suit is more machine than man.
You miss a few...well, habits of the English language. You can use semicolons (continuation of main thought with another sentence without having a structurally sound sentence), proper contraction/possessive use of apostrophes and quotation punctuation, report making (this I can only speak to with military/EMS personal history), and other general English weirdness.
For instance:
>>50387995
>"Positions captured Sir, 47% of seen targets destroyed, 91% of their equipment destroyed. Mission successful. Limited offensive capacity available, Unit 77 ready for further action"

Consider:

"Positions captured, Sir. (sidenote: capitalizing "sir" here is a title, usually a knight or other honorific) 47% of seen targets destroyed; 91% of their equipment destroyed. Mission successful. Limited offensive capacity available. Unit 77 ready for further action."

Now, on to conversation.

>"Thank you" Major said which surprised you, not many have actually said thanks to you. "Without you we couldn't have taken these structures. Command has been informed of Battalions success and your success too. We are getting reinforcements and supplies. 5th Battalion is going to continue from here on, we are getting rest"

Consider:
"Thank you," Major said, which surprised you. Not many have actually expressed thanks to you. "Without you we couldn't have taken these structures. Command has been informed of Battalion's success, and of your success, too. Fifth Battalion is going to continue from here on; we are getting rest, reinforcement and resupply."

Most of what I did in the order report was reorganize the pauses and sentence splits because your report structure is almost perfect. The second half...I actually reorganized an entire sentence to have the Major make more sense.

I hope that helps explain what I meant a bit. I'll be around.

File: Valkyr Nights Part 1.png (3MB, 800x5904px) Image search: [Google]

3MB, 800x5904px

Experimenting with a visual style for /tg/ stories.
Feel free to ignore me. I'm mostly curious if 4chan will let me upload something this long.

>>50395136
Thank you. We are on same page with what my writing is lacking. I just need to write more and analyze your post related to mine better.

There is only one way and that is up.

>>50398470
nice harambe.

>>50374835
"Ah Mr. Cabot sure does know my favorite alcohol brand, Misses Maple Alcohol. So Marcus, lets say we head downstairs and join the dinner celebration?"

"Of course Zanta."

Once Marcus and Zanta were done taking a swig of whiskey they both exited and went downstairs, back at the celebratory feast Zanta was throwing out as it was about seven thirty in the evening.

"Ms Falren, there you are. All the food and drinks for the all night buffet's set up. And the guests are waiting." Zanta's Kikimora house servant said as she was about to walk in the dining hall while also carrying a tray with cheeses in it.

"Thanks for the info Berislava. Once you're done with whatever duties you're assigned to, you're welcome to join the feast aswell."

Finally Zanta; with Marcus in tow, walked to the dining hall as both of them walked to a small type of stage that was set up in the feasting hall. Both Zanta and Marcus got a glass of sparkling wine from a waiter who offered the both of them. Then Zanta was about to announce something as the music being played by the fancy music band stopped momentarily.

"Attention guests, especially my employees invited. As your boss I would like to thank you all for making Falren Share Holders last and live long for nearly a whopping 3 decades. And as a way of saying thanks, and to also celebrate me beating the fuck out of a rival company that dared fuck with all of us. I throw you this feast. Enjoy the good food and drink, cheers everybody! Cheers for Falren Share Holders!"

"Yeah, cheers!" The guests; whom of which alot of them are the employees of Zanatas Falren's company, all said as they drank their wine and then proceeded to socialize with one another and feast on the food.

Marcus and Zanta were the last to drink their wine. As Marcus was about to drink his sparkling wine, Zanta slung her arm around his neck or shoulders as they both gave each other a reassuring look, clinked their glasses together again. And then drank.

The End

>>50402843
And there. I'm done. So as a first time writer I'd wana know what I did right and wrong and what are your thoughts in my first time story so far?

I'd like to thank writefag Oxide for giving me the inspiration and also for convincing me that music helps give atmosphere and a mood for the story's scenes.

>>50300434
"ok sluts, listen up cause i'm only saying this once, the book says i burn you if you wiggle your tits everywhere so cut it out!"
the gathered sluts looked down in shame, except kate.
"what a glorious book it is sister i shall cover my wiggly tits from this day forward" said kate
rose fell to her knees before the holy figure and sobbed, she had so enjoyed the freedom of tits out tuesdays and to have it pulled away from her like this was heartbreaking.
"may i at least keep my bare ass free to sway in the breeze?" asked rose
"I am sorry my child" said the sister "you must keep all your naked bits covered in some form of kinky body armour"
jakob stood by hand over heart watching pridefully over the sister bringing holy words to the sluts, although next year he would fall to chaos soon after being caught sucking his own dick

>>50300434
>Background music: www.youtube.com/watch?v=xycRCykPv2w

She was crying in despair, in hopelessness. She did not know how and why this happened to her. Jaylin Clay, age 17, was kidnapped by these cultists, The Order of The White Fleur. There has been an urban legend in which young girls and or young women below the age of twenty are kidnapped, abducted by these cultists. Whom of which a majority of them are composed of women, though there are men who serve in their clergy too. The Order of The White Fleur is said to worship some sort of God they call a "Great Father and Mother." It is said their gods created beautiful and holy maidens to help guide and cleanse the world and help create beauty and fertility among mankind, and whom which the White Fleur Cultists believe the descended from. And they also believe all the ugly women around the world will turn pretty and beautiful, so there's that as well. And the fact that Jaylin Clay is kidnapped and held captive by these somewhat matriarchal cultists just proves that this isn’t an urban legend and is an actual thing.

Indeed many of the victims who're kidnapped by the White Fleur are aspiring young and beautiful girls themselves. And the White Fleur Cult believed that if the "liberate" all the worthy girls from their false whorish mothers and false fathers, all of them will ascend to be alongside the true and great grandest father and mother of all. And unfortunately for Jaylin Clay, she so happens to "qualify." Perhaps it is to do with her winning the school beauty pageant?

"There is no use for those tears Sister Clay. You have proven to be worthy material to join our ranks in liberating the lost daughters of the great Father Emperor!" Jaylin Clay was held captive by the cult for about three months. And during those three months she was subjected to whippings that is said to purge her body of physical impurities and sins, anointed with “specialized” oils and tonics to cleanse her spiritually.

>>50409218
But the worse and probably most traumatic experience Jaylin ever endured was her being sexually violated. The women of the White Fleur fondled her, caressed her, and touched her, all without her consent and willingness. There were cultists who forced themselves on poor and defenseless Jaylin as they laid their mouths and tongues on Jaylin’s skin in an uncivilized act of debauchery as they also claim that it is part of the test of her being “desirably delicious” for her future husband, who’s also a member of the White Fleur. As fertility and procreation is a tradition that is practiced and encouraged throughout the White Fleur’s society.

“You will begin anew Sister Clay, accept the Great Father and Great Mother. Your true parents await you child.” The white haired priestess clad in the cult’s signature metal armor said in a somewhat soothing and heavenly voice.

“But I already have a family! I want to go home! I WANT TO GO HOME!!!”
“But you are already home dear sister. The fact that you have endured and passed the initiation rites, especially the passionate loving and kisses of your fellow sisters and have such natural born beauty, proves you are worthy of our ranks and worthy to be blessed by the Great Mother and Father.” Said the bald White Fleur Clergyman.

Another cultist; a woman also clad in the cult’s signature metal armor, said to Jaylin while standing beside a brainwashed initiate. “Don’t tell us you still miss your false parents? They never appreciated your true beauty. And Brother Curtis is correct, such beauty you have is proof that you belong with us and our great mother and father, isn’t that right Initiate Bella?”

“Yes sister Jenassa.” Said the brainwashed initiate. “Good.” Sister Jenassa said as she also smooched the initiate as some reward.

“Sister Jenassa.” The White Haired high ranking member said in an un-amused tone.

“Sorry Paladin Rosetta.”