Oh Holy Celestia
God Emperess of Ponykind
Protect and guide us
As we prepare for battle
Against the Rainbow of Darkness
We shall slay the forces of Tirrac
For Equestria
Ave Imperatoris Solaris
I have only this to say: Inquisitor rant*"HERESY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BLASPHEMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This planet is tainted by the ruinous powers. Cleanse it in the name of the Emperor via Virus bombs and Cyclonic torpedo. Leave no one alive!!"*Inquisitor rant deactivated.
Battle Brother Lucifer wrote:Why wont this pony gak just fething die already?
Every SINGLE thing is being made into ponies, and the crappy pictures never stop.
Its NOT funny, and it has gone on for far too long
It's called a meme and it takes a while for them to burn out. An the pics on the front page were very nice. You sound *almost* like you want ME to draw something. (Though I'll have to tone it down due to site rules)
Yes, i realize that, but how was it in anyway homosexual in nature man? I don't mean to be a dick or anything, but still, if you mean stupid, then say stupid, if you mean something less than normal/manly, then say odd or feminine or something. Im sorry, i do it too sometimes, and it PO's me, im not gay myself, but my brother is and i feel bad when he catches gak for it.
Back on topic, i feel bad for whoever spent the 50 bucks on the dreadnought, and then spent whatever amount of money converting it...into that .
I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head. Especially those who laughed. If I could burn threads, I would burn this one first and more importantly twice.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head.
Dark, I might point out that this is a community of people who like 40k. NO ONE here is quite alright in the head.
True, but there are those of us on Dakka who are slightly more sane than others. Think of it this way: it's like the difference between normal people and people who enjoy two girls, one cup.
Pony Space Marines who are Ponies that are Space Marines* is where I draw the line.
Having not seen Dawn of Awesome 4* (or Telion's irrelevant Christmas party) I watched it, and when the video ended.. the sound track continued playing.
I wtf'd.
*edit, I'm not a fewl, I've seen the other three before.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head. Especially those who laughed. If I could burn threads, I would burn this one first and more importantly twice.
We're watching you.
Oh, and how many people are familiar with /tg's latest story? The Emperasque?
On a side note my Rough Riders will have cutie marks.
That is respectable and actually funny. As long as they are normal horses except for that. I can find the humor in the little things, but when everything I hold dear is turned into a pony, and with the seemingly endless flood of pony memes on 4chan and...other places, it gets really old, really fast
On a side note my Rough Riders will have cutie marks.
That is respectable and actually funny. As long as they are normal horses except for that. I can find the humor in the little things, but when everything I hold dear is turned into a pony, and with the seemingly endless flood of pony memes on 4chan and...other places, it gets really old, really fast
... let me get this straight: You're upset because the fa/tg/rognards have combined just about everything under the sun with 'My Little Pony', 40k in particular?
Let me take this time to totally laugh my ass off at your expense. I've had art commissions where they've commissioned me to draw Creed being on the back of a landraider by a repentia with a with a mile long strap on until he blood and captioned 'Hide THIS Mr Tactical Genius!'
So, yes, My Little 40k, sure, I'll laugh at that.
Because I've seen how deep the rabbit hole goes, Alice.
Let me take this time to totally laugh my ass off at your expense. I've had art commissions where they've commissioned me to draw Creed being on the back of a landraider by a repentia with a with a mile long strap on until he blood and captioned 'Hide THIS Mr Tactical Genius!'
.
BaronIveagh wrote:Let me take this time to totally laugh my ass off at your expense. I've had art commissions where they've commissioned me to draw Creed being on the back of a landraider by a repentia with a with a mile long strap on until he blood and captioned 'Hide THIS Mr Tactical Genius!'
As a side note, it's annoying finding a good techpriestess image for dark heresy roleplays. Most of them really suck, and I just mean the quality of hte art in general...
On a side note my Rough Riders will have cutie marks.
That is respectable and actually funny. As long as they are normal horses except for that. I can find the humor in the little things, but when everything I hold dear is turned into a pony, and with the seemingly endless flood of pony memes on 4chan and...other places, it gets really old, really fast
... let me get this straight: You're upset because the fa/tg/rognards have combined just about everything under the sun with 'My Little Pony', 40k in particular? .
I'm upset at a few specific things made into a pony, and how everyone just takes screencaps and adds unfunny text to make 'jokes'
King Pariah wrote:I don't know whether to laugh or cry....
Cry. Definitely cry.
Automatically Appended Next Post:
ChrisWWII wrote:
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head. Especially those who laughed. If I could burn threads, I would burn this one first and more importantly twice.
We're watching you.
*glares back from the secret bunker for sane people*
Melissia wrote:As a side note, it's annoying finding a good techpriestess image for dark heresy roleplays. Most of them really suck, and I just mean the quality of hte art in general...
Even in the dark, grim future of the 41st millenia ... women are second-class citizens.
King Pariah wrote:I don't know whether to laugh or cry....
Cry. Definitely cry.
Automatically Appended Next Post:
ChrisWWII wrote:
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head. Especially those who laughed. If I could burn threads, I would burn this one first and more importantly twice.
We're watching you.
*glares back from the secret bunker for sane people*
I'm really sorry our humour is not as sophisticated, deep and sane as writing "CRASSUS ARMOURED ASSAULT TRANSPORT" all in caps for 7 pages. Go ahead and be intelligent and constructive writing that everywhere and show us the only proper sense of humour.
As for 4chan like spreading and being everywhere and overwhelming, tell me. How much do you see ponies in other threads, and how much CAAT references? I can see one even here.
Because we had like ~10 pony-related stuff here. I alone could post twice that from one deviantart account. But there is no flood so I don't understand where's that coming from.
Battle Brother Lucifer, I can get it that you're sick of them. Maybe I don't visit sites that have them in this magnitude and I still find them funny and entertaining. I don't like spamming either but seriously? This is worse than CAAT?
And I think I am definitely not aright in the head. But please let's all be more relaxed in a Humor thread.
Melissia wrote:As a side note, it's annoying finding a good techpriestess image for dark heresy roleplays. Most of them really suck, and I just mean the quality of hte art in general...
Even in the dark, grim future of the 41st millenia ... women are second-class citizens.
King Pariah wrote:I don't know whether to laugh or cry....
Cry. Definitely cry.
Automatically Appended Next Post:
ChrisWWII wrote:
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I'm not sure the "likers" here are alright in the head. Especially those who laughed. If I could burn threads, I would burn this one first and more importantly twice.
We're watching you.
*glares back from the secret bunker for sane people*
I'm really sorry our humour is not as sophisticated, deep and sane as writing "CRASSUS ARMOURED ASSAULT TRANSPORT" all in caps for 7 pages. Go ahead and be intelligent and constructive writing that everywhere and show us the only proper sense of humour.
As for 4chan like spreading and being everywhere and overwhelming, tell me. How much do you see ponies in other threads, and how much CAAT references? I can see one even here.
Because we had like ~10 pony-related stuff here. I alone could post twice that from one deviantart account. But there is no flood so I don't understand where's that coming from.
Battle Brother Lucifer, I can get it that you're sick of them. Maybe I don't visit sites that have them in this magnitude and I still find them funny and entertaining. I don't like spamming either but seriously? This is worse than CAAT?
And I think I am definitely not aright in the head. But please let's all be more relaxed in a Humor thread.
This is where I point out that the things I've been saying against the pony humour is not in fact animosity, but just simple attempts at light humour based upon my own personal dislike of this pony stuff.
Man, for a dude 'defending' a humour thread, your humour detector really isn't working.
have you heard about the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?
Yes, yes we have.
[not so subtle threat] maybe you would like to refresh your memory? those who do not want their memory refreshed may purchase an exemption license. I accept Paypal, Certified Checks, and cash. preferably cash
There once was a Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White bike, and being the hero type person he was, wanted to marry the Chapter Master's daughter.
So he went up to the palace and the guard naturally enquired "Who goes there?", to which he replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?" asked the guard, with a not unconsiderable amount of awe in his voice.
"Yes, I'm *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" Asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry your daughter," replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage."
The commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike. "Your first task is to slay the dragon on Xylon III."
On his way out the guard once again asked "Who goes there?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine then proceeded with ease to kill the dragon and six months later returned with the head of the foul beast.
On his way into the palace the guard enquired "who goes there?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass"
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" Asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry your daughter" Replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes,*the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" The commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike. "Your second task is to climb the highest peak on Desgrus Beta".
On his way out the guard once again asked "Who goes there"?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike easily climbed the mountain and returned 4 years later.
On his way into the palace the guard enquired "who goes there?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" Asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry your daughter" Replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike.
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" The commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike. "Your third and final task is to swim across the acid lake outside the palace".
On his way out the guard once again asked "Who goes there"?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
Once again the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike easily completed his task and returned to the palace for the final time.
On his way into the palace the guard enquired "who goes there?", to which he replied
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" Asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike and I want to marry your daughter" Replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike?"
"Yes, *the* Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike, can I marry your daughter now?"
Did you hear about this one, my favorite 40k joke:
Orks attacking an Imperial world. Warboss is gathering his troops for the final assault, then the voice can be heard from the other side.
-Hey Orks, YOU SUCK!!! We have with us a Space Marine, and that one marine is worth 100 of your boyz.
Warboss all in rage send 100 boyz, none returned.
-Hey Orks, our Space Marine now worth 500 of your boyz.
Warboss send 500 boyz, none returned.
-Hey Orks, our Space Marine is actually worth 1000 of your boyz.
Warboss send his best 1000 boyz on Space Marine. And after 5 minutes only one returned, badly wounded.
-Boss, they are cheating.
-How so?
-There are 2 Space Marines
Or this one:
-Thou shalt not refer to the Adeptus Soritas as "Bolter Biatches" nor shalt thou go anywhere near our sisters during the time of the "Red Rage," lest thou wishes to be the first human to enter orbit without the aid of a shuttle.
Melissia wrote:
As a side note, it's annoying finding a good techpriestess image for dark heresy roleplays. Most of them really suck, and I just mean the quality of hte art in general...
If you are still looking for a techpriesress image.
Try this one of Zeth form the Horus Heresy.
'Twas the night before 986996.M41, and all through the station
All there was clear, there was no abomination.
My helmet was set on the desk to my right,
On the chance that I was to need it that night.
The guardsmen were ensconced, asleep in their beds,
All the tanks too were safe, secure in the sheds.
Marines in the barracks, some manning the wall,
Assured me that the bastion never would fall.
When out in the yard there arose such discord
I grabbed up my bolter and unsheathed my sword.
Away to the window, I ran to take aim
As the marines around me all did the same.
My bionic eye turned the night into day
Allowed me to see, and to seek out my prey.
When what did my loyalist ocular show,
But an ancient conveyance, knee-deep in the snow.
The vehicle was pulled by horned quadrupeds
And a fiery red nimbus glowed from the sled.
The driver was mighty, his eyes full of scorn,
Dressed all in crimson like a servant of Khorne.
I gestured for other to shoot without pause,
For I was now certain this was Santa Claus.
"Fire Marines! Fire Guardsmen! Fire Ogryn and Ratlings!
Fire bolters! Fire lasguns! Fire mortars and gatlings!"
"You in the courtyard and you men on the walls!
Now blast away! Blast away! Blast away all!"
But all through this maelstrom the evil one flew,
Past plasma and bolt shells and frag that we threw!
And then, to my horror, I heard on the roof
The vile cavorting of each decadent hoof.
Screaming my orders, I spun quickly around,
As down the chimney shaft it came with a bound.
I saw its eyes glow, its vast stomach gurgle,
Bloated and fat, like a deamon of Nurgle.
Blinded by anger, I attacked with a scream -
Charged into battle with my brave space marines.
As we thundered towards him, closing the rift,
He reached in his satchel and pulled out a gift.
Then it tossed the vile boxes - I fell in a stoop,
As they arced through the air at me and my troops.
The wrapped missiles fell short, and plopped at our feet,
Our morale was quite strong, we did not retreat.
But the marines paused - our charge was disrupted,
They picked up the gifts and were quickly corrupted.
For each box contained a chaotic present -
The marines (damn their souls), found them quite pleasant.
A bolter, a flamer, a new power fist,
The Claus gave to all, and he checked off a list.
It moved through the station and left in its wake,
The sound of bright laughter and the stench of fruitcake.
The others succumbed, but it failed in its goal,
For to me it gave only a small pile of coal.
The station was lost, I could only instruct
The bastion computer to set self-destruct.
I failed to kill him, for I saw as I fled,
The target escaping, quite safe in his sled.
I heard it cry out as the base burst into light,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Here's a fun one I found. An Inquisitor found a heretical school of rogue psykers on Terra itself!
Salutations Lord!
I am pleased to report that the heretical witch-coven, the blasphemous sect
known as "Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft" has been eliminated,
and every member of this vile cult has been cleansed with fire and sword.
Accompanied by five squads of veteran Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, two
hundred local militia, a dozen arco-flagellants, two Penitent Engines, and
three squads drawn from the Order of the Holy Nimbus, we began our assault
upon the fortress of the enemy at dawn's first light. Although the castle
was hidden from normal sight by a myriad of hexes and foul enchantments,
these wards were easily bypassed thanks to the psyk-out strike launched by
the Persecution, and we were able to begin the assault.
We stormed the grounds, suffering only minor casualties from various
self-defense spell-traps that the enemy had placed within the grounds. These
traps were disposed of quickly by my cadre of sanctioned psykers, and we
able to press on.
We were soon accosted by a heavily-haired mutant of exceptional height and
bulk (see pict attachments 00-03) upon approaching the castle's main
portcullis. He was accompanied by a variety of abominable creatures (pict
attachments 04-16), gruesome beasts which looked like twisted parodies of
ancient creatures of legend- such beasts included a disturbing horse/eagle
hybrid and assorted scorpion/crab-like creatures, each one the size of a
small land car, amongst others. The large mutant challenged us in an accent
I did not recognize, but no doubt it was speaking in some daemonic tongue. I
ordered the attack. The creatures of the mutant beast master took a heavy
toll on the local militia and my Stormtroopers, but our numbers and weaponry
were superior, and the Sisters of the Holy Nimbus swiftly brought down the
creatures with bolter, melta and flamer fire. The giant mutant beast master
possessed incredible strength and endurance, and managed to inflict
crippling damage on one of the Penitent Engines and kill and seriously wound
twenty-three militia, Sisters and Stormtroopers before it was brought down
by the holy rage of the arco-flagellants (three of which perished due to
lethal combat stimm overdose- in death, they have been granted His
Forgiveness).
We consolidated our position and set up a strong foothold whilst our
chirurgeons and Sisters Hospitaller provided healing for the wounded and
mercy for the dying.
To the south, I glimpsed an oval structure that appeared to resemble a
standard Imperial amphitheatre or coliseum (pict attachments 17-20). Six
tall poles, topped with huge hoops, were situated on this "pitch", three at
each end. I theorized that the cult held some form of diabolical rituals or
ceremonies there, and that the hoops were utilized in these.
No sooner had our wounded been comforted and aided by our medical staff, the
witches of the Hogwarts School appeared. I was at first shocked at the
average age of our foe; the youngest seemed to be ten years of standard, the
oldest no more than seventeen. They were led by five older psykers (see
accompanying pict-files 21-25), and they outnumbered us nearly two to one.
At first, I foolishly thought that fighting children would be no challenge,
but I chastised myself, remembering that each of these younglings was an
illegal psyker, taught by their council of the older rogue psykers.
The eldest of the rogue psykers (pict 21), whom I presumed to be the leader,
stepped forward, and I saw the malevolence and hatred in his eyes that spoke
of a man driven insane by the daemonic power that he wielded. He personally
addressed me, giving his name as Albus Dumbledore, but I did not wish to
bandy words with a heretic and a witch, so before he could speak any further
and bewitch me, I disposed of him with my stake crossbow and gave the order
for my force to attack.
Pandemonium erupted immediately. The younger psykers were herded back into
the castle by two of the "teachers"; a wrinkled midget (pict/subject 24) and
a portly woman bedecked with scraps of local flora (pict/subject 25). The
older children retaliated, led by the other two psykers, a crone-faced woman
(pict/subject 22) and a cadaverous man with long black greasy hair
(pict/subject 23).
The psykers launched a variety of psychic attacks that killed and/or
otherwise incapacitated my warriors. I saw some terrible things. Two
Stormtroopers stumbled and fell to the ground, as if their limbs had ceased
to function. Sister-Palatine Lucresia was transmuted in a second from a
proud warrior of the Adepta Sororitas to a pewter goblet. Local militia
either burst into laughter so violent that their blood vessels burst, or
were inflated like carnival balloons. Arco-flagellants slipped and collapsed
as the ground beneath them was turned to ice. I remained unscathed, thanks
to the protection offered by my hexagrammic wards and my accompanying
sanctioned and penitent psykers.
I rallied my troops and pressed the attack. Many of the child psykers were
slain by the accurate firepower of my Stormtroopers and the Sisters, and
they fled in craven dissarray, only to be picked off at the leisure of my
warriors and I. Subject 23 was bisected by Sister Superior Paminda's
eviscerator, whilst Subject 22 met the Emperor's Judgment at the claws of
the Penitent Engine.
We advanced into the castle, gunning down resistance where we found it.
Subjects 24 and 25 were killed as they defended the younger heretics, many
of who surrendered after the deaths of their "teachers". I tasked
Stormtrooper Lieutenant Virone with prisoner detail, and he and his squad
set about dealing with the captured children, taking them to the evac zone
and transferring them to the null-cells aboard the Persecution, where they
would await interrogation and execution.
We finally came across the last point of resistance in the great hall of the
castle; a room so seeped in obscene witchery that I permitted only the
Sisters and my personal staff to accompany me inside- I could not risk the
corruption of the Stormtroopers.
At the end of the hall stood four figures (picts 26-29), all of them young
psykers. Three of the psykers were male, and one was female. They began a
last-ditch defense, but their efforts were in vain. The blonde,
arrogant-looking male (pict/subject 27) was reduced to ashes by my
gun-servitor's plasma cannon, and the freckled, red-haired male
(pict/subject 2 took a trio of bolter shots to the chest. The female, a
young girl with long, curly brown hair (pict/subject 26) surrendered to us,
and I immediately placed an inhibitor upon her (I have since transferred
Subject 26 to my own staff, where she now serves as a penitent psyker).
The final male, a boy with thick black hair, spectacles, and a curious scar
on his forehead (pict/subject 29) was monstrously powerful for one so young,
and claimed the lives of four Sisters, my two gun-servitors, and
Interrogator Delaun before he was stopped. As Interrogator Tesze held him in
the jaws of her mancatcher, I prepared my power stake for the killing
strike. Subject 29 looked at me frantically and cried out; "You idiot
muggle! If you kill me, Voldemort will return!"
I presumed that "muggle" was some sort of profane cult slang. I had no idea
who "Voldemort" was/is, but I assume that the witch's babble was a desperate
and useless plea to prevent me from dispensing justice. I paid his rambling
no heed, and impaled his heart with my sacred power stake.
Our mission a success, we ransacked the castle for any heretical items that
would need to be immediately destroyed to prevent them from corrupting the
servants of the Emperor any longer. We found all manner of wands,
ingredients, spell books and scrolls, and curious orb-shaped relics (picts
30-32; note the curious wings that adorn the tiny golden ball in pict 32).
All was put to the cleansing flame.
Upon our return to the Persecution, I gave the order for Captain Yevonce to
begin the orbital bombardment of the castle, completely obliterating the
vile structure. As we made warp transition to Bethor VIII, my staff and I
began the interrogation of the young witches.
My apologies for the lack of transcripts at this current moment, but I
regret to announce that both my scribe-skull and auto-savant are both out of
ink and parchment, and Interrogator Tesze has been forced to transcribe the
interrogations from the various vox-thief recordings. The transcripts will
be with you shortly, my Lord.
The stain of the Hogwarts coven has been wiped from the Emperor's glorious
realm.
Your Servant,
Inquisitor Predujis Bigotin
Ambushed by the Necrons, our heroes Vulkan and Alpharius fight off the hellish undying warriors of the C'tan to get the Key of Glory to the Gates of Varl!
The Primarchs stand atop a mound of destroyed Necron warriors and Immortals, killing them faster than their bodies can phase out.
Vulkan: "Space Marines! Fight like the Emperor himself is watching! Because he probably is the nosey bastard ...Tau! Fight like the Greater Good depends on it!"
Various war cries emerge from the two sides, and the fighting intensifies ...
Alpharius: "Free cookies to the winning team!"
The fighting escalates to a level beyond mere words.
Alpharius: "WITH HOT COCO!!"
The fighting is now EPIC beyond comprehension. Dan Abnett has nothing against this. The fighting in this giant underground base now makes the greatest battles of the Horus Hereys seem like mere children poking each other in the playground. This is now AWESOME with extra toppings of WIN.
"What do you mean the xenos button is labelled 'Do Not Push'? That's obviously the lies of the xenos! Push the damn button! Push it I say!" - Last Orders of General Eisenhod
"Dark times lie ahead Harry ... Ahriman's your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!"
"What the hell? Where did my Basilisks go?!? Get Eldrad on the line; he'll know where to find this 'Thorpe' ..." - Perturabo, upon receiving a copy of the new Codex: Chaos Space Marines
"You see this? This is a Hugo-Jones-Pattern Vortex Grenade. This is a 'I Don't Care What Save Or Special Rule You Have, You're Dead'. This is a sure-fire way of getting rid of your ex-wife. This is a 100% efficient method of keeping the kids quiet. There is nothing my Vortex Grenade cannot do ... except maybe cool beer ..." - Random Guardsman
Lorgar: "I shall write a piece of literature so undeniably filled with such words of awesome that they will have no choice but to sing my praises and come crawling before me begging for my mercy! Which I won't give ... of course ..."
Vaul: "And so he sought high and low, across the editions for that topic with which to reclaim his past glory as a New York Times best-seller ... he travelled the length and breadth of the galaxy, from the Halo stars to the Squat Homeworlds, to the Eye of Terror to the Ultramar Cluster, and finally ... he arrived at the Craftworld of Biel-Tan ..."
Lorgar stands before the gates of Biel-Tan ... well I say 'gates' ... it's more 'large airlock' ...
Lorgar: "Erm ... is there a doorbell somewhere I could ring ... ?"
A voice calls down from the spires ...
Voice: "Bugger off! We don't welcome Chaos sympathisers here!"
Lorgar: "I'm not a bloody Chaos sympathiser!" Looks at the eight-pointed star plastered all over his armour. "Well ... OK I see your point. Look I'm a journalist ... I'm here for an interview with Eldrad Ulthran!"
Voice: "... that's Ulthwe you slow!"
Lorgar: "I'm looking to write a piece on the Fall of the Eldar and the Rise of Slaanesh-"
Every Eldar around winces in pain.
Lorgar: "Was it something I said?"
Eldrad: "Just the name of the Great Enemy ... nothing important ..."
Lorgar: "Oh ... sorry"
Eldrad: "It's fine ... I don't expect an uncouth individual such as yourself to understand ... well maybe if I say Lectitio Divinitatus!"
Lorgar winces.
Lorgar: "That religion is so badly done. The basic tenets lack proper passion and the prayers brutalise basic High Gothic grammar ..."
Eldrad: "Then you feel our pain ... Slaanesh-" He winces "-as an example of the Eldar state of mind is an embarrassment ... she spends all her time buying shoes and watching porn ... seriously ... what's that for an example of our species?"
Lorgar: "Highly embarrassing?"
Eldrad: "Indeed ...luckily we're working on a new deity ... Ynnead ... God of Sunday Afternoons ..."
Ok, couldn't find it, but i shall write it anew!!!
[Begin Transmission]
[Source] Lord Inquisitor Vaspasian
[Authority Level] Magenta
[Content] Full debriefing
This is the full record of my purgation of an uncovered heretical cult of the most vile nature. I have never encountered, not do any records of ours show, a cult of this nature before. If any cults with similer characteristics are discovered I would tentitivly classify the threat as being Threat level Beta at a minimum. Worthy of the Highest priority level.
I first encountered the Heresy while tailing another Heretic. I came accross the Planet designated 00-495, called Furks by the local inhabitants.
I was horrified to find a significant portion of the population adhering to the worship of Vampires. Vampirism is a supernatural disease which results in the host losing nearly all vital signs including Circulatory and Pulmunary functions(although they are able to fake breathing) The carriers of the disease, rather then draw sustanance in the normal way, feed upon the blood of humans and animals(preferring human blood) Fortunantly, Vampires are easy to identify as their skin sparkels in direct sunlight.
The Act of Feeding is also how the disease is spread. Vampires are social, but also territorial. A Vampire usually kills its victim in the act of feeding by removing a lethal quantitiy of blood. The reasons are 2 fold, such large quantities of blood will sustain the Vampire for a long time and it will prevent the victim from becoming a Vampire himself(a Merciful death) which means less competition for food sources. A family of Vampires usually consists of around a dozen individuals, when a human becomes a Vampire they often will turn their relatives and close friends into Vampires(usually due to them being lonely)
Vampirism seems to render its carrier Immortal and immune to the effects of aging. Vampires also tend to be rapturiously attractive. This might explain the worship on this planet to some extent. I have concluded that this disease stems from 2 of the Chaos gods. Nurgle and Slannesh specifically, although it seems to be mostly Slannesh.
Upon gathering the above information from my interrogation of Cultists(57 total) I formed my plan of action.
My force landed at what i belive to be the heart of the infestation. the City was practically crawling with Cultists and i ordered the 2 Vendettas to strafe the city several times before we dropped in. The large concentrations of Cultists come to meet our onslaught made these passes extremely effective.
We dropped down in a large open square and the effect of the Cult was immediate. Depictions of the Cults primary object of worship were everywhere, as well as his name and the name of his mate(Edward and Isabella), but we didn't have much time to gather our wits as the cultists were upon us.
They came in a maddened press of bodies. screaming the name of their Dieties and wearing the apparel of the cult(Pict feed 1)
Fortunaly, my 3 squads of Stormtroopers had been armed with multiple Flamers to deal with the press of cultists. the battle raged for 11 minutes. I estimate 3-4 thousand cultists were dispatched, we lost 4 of the stormtroopers as they were dragged down and trampled. I ordered my men to reload for the Vampires themselves were coming.
There were over 20 of them, although i did not see their leader among them. Our Hellguns seemed to do little but slow their advance, but the Flamers claimed a dozen of them. dispite their horrific wounds, they ripped my stormtroopers apart with their bare hands, only one squad which had stayed back to give covering fire remained. then they came to me.
Although they were strong, they could not penetrate my Power Armor and i lay into them with my Power Sword and stormbolter. The Power Sword cleave easily through their unclean flesh and holy bolt shells blasted their bodies apart.
in the end, i cast them down, but, to my horror, they were still not dead. severed heads still yelled obcenities at me and limbs grabbed or flailed about on the ground. I ordered the parts to be burned individually before we continued on.
The 9 remainig stormtroopers and myself entered a School which, according to my sources, was the origin of the cult.
I would have wanted to split up and do a through search, but after seeing the obscene strength of these monsters i thought it prudent to stay together.
We then entered the courtyard and we saw, to our puzzlement, around a dozen wolves. We stuck together and we planning on giving them their distance when they approached us. Then one of them spoke to us, but upon hearing him speak I did not hesitate and charged into the beasts. for they clearly were deamonic reinforcements the Vampires had called upon for aid. they were strong, but with holy sword and cleansing flame were put them down. 2 of the stormtroopers were badly mauled and we were forced to stop and tend their wounds.
after a few minutes we heard a voice. A young women entered the courtyard. Her sparkeling skin betrayed her as a Vampire. She had been calling for a Jakob before she entered and saw the bodies of the wolf deamons. She screamed at the sight of the bodies and ran to the side of the one who had spoken to me. She hadn't noticed us yet.
I lept into action and made to destroy this abomination before it could kill any more of my stormtroopers. But she saw me before I had closed the distance. To my puzzlement she did not move to attack, but ran instead. Where the other vampires had been graceful and deadly, she was uncordinated. tripping over the bodies of the dead wolves. I ended her pathetic attempt to flee with a bolt round through her back. at this time I recognized her from the depictions, she was the mate of the Vampire God.
Suddenly I was tackled from behind. I found myself wrestling with the Vampire God himself. He spoke in an incomprehensable tongue, uttering obscenities and curses. He was of smaller stature then the previous vampires we had encountered, but he was posessed of incredible strength. no doubt due to the looming death of his mate.
I couldn't bring my power sword to bear, he had my arms and head locked and only the holy ceramite and servos were kepping my neck from snapping.
I ordered my Stormtroopers to turn their flamers upon us and prayed to the God Emperor the Ceramite would hold.
It did.
the monster finally released his hold and shreaked in pain. the consecrated promethium searing his unholy flesh. My stormtroopers did not stop their flamers until he was nothing but ash.
We then gathered up the bodies of the Wolf Deamons and the female vampire. once they were nothing but soot upon the courtyard stone we then went to clearing the rest of the building. we found several shrines to the Vampires and burned them.
then we returned to my ship in orbit. I thought it prudent to level the town with a lance strike, in case we missed anything.
I thought that was the end of it, but i was wrong.
several weeks passed with intense rioting. Instead of weakinging the cults, I gave them martyrs. Deamonic incursions have appeared accross the planet.
I have ordered an Exterminatus to cleanse the planet.
The Black Templar fleet shall arrive within a few days, my astropath informs me. Furks shall burn, as shall all remaining traces of Vampires.
May Imperial Justice account in all balance. The Emperor protects
My great regiment, the Valhallan "Tundra Wolves", has recently had the honour of purging the foul abhumans from the planet of Forks in the Washington System. This was done with all due despatch, and great vigour.
I recall, of course, that-owing to there being a large civillian population nearby-there were requests from high command that I exercise tact and caution. However, when Inquisitor dan Glokter returned to me with news that they were all reading a heretical text known as "Evening just before night" (a rough translation from their foul local tongue), which glorified the abhumans and their fellow travellers to the point of worship, I took matters into my own hands. Nevertheless, subtlety was maintained for the sake of the small, but vocal community speaking out against them.
Therefore, I only sent in one hundred thousand men, under the command of Captain Sutuzov, so as to insure victory. They were backed by a mere 100 batteries, each of six Earthshakers; and a detachment from the 1000th Krieg Heavy Artillery Regiment, including two Death Strike Missile Systems, and over fifteen thousand Heavy Mortars. I considered this wholly insufficient; but I feared that the town would sink beneath the planet's crust if any more artillery recoils were to be tolerated.
At 1900 hours, the dropships landed near the main concerntration of the Kullenites (or so they call themselves in their heretical manner!)
Seven days later, they had fully unloaded. However, the abhumans were swiftly located; a small scouting patrol of just two hundred and fifty guardsmen found a large group of them, all playing some sort of sport. Inexplicably, a human girl was with them, doubtless taken in by the vicious lies of the Great Enemy.
With an almighty "URRAH!", the patrol charged forward, but not before voxing in for reinforcements. Not even deigning to fire a shot at the Kullenites, they fixed bayonets and threw themselves at them with incredible valour.
When their charge failed, the patrol's bodies rent asunder by the chaos given strength of the foe, the abhumans attempted to take flight. But such a recourse was foolish.
I understand that, once, there had been a decent amount of woodlands around the town. That, indeed, they were enchantingly beautiful. If this is the case, I must regret that they are no longer there, Emperor forgive me
With a thunderous roar, every artillery piece in my arsenal opened fire on the woods; from the very tiniest mortar, to the heaviest siege cannon. Under the cover of the bombardment, the entire company was ordered forward, with a mighty cheer, bayonets glinting in the fire of the shells.
It is said that the skin of the Kullenites gleamed in response to the fire of their lasguns; that they could dodge bolt shells, and take even power swords with little apparent damage. Seeing this danger, Captain Sutuzov only ordered the rate of fire to increase, ordering more stockpiles of shells to be brought up. Reports came to him of casualties; of platoons wiped out by our own artillery fire, and woodlands blazing, and men torn limb from limb. But, fine soldier as he was, he ignored these, and summarily executed the courier for bringing him such defeatist nonsense.
By now, inexplicably, the attention of Imperial Troops in the town was beginning to attract some attention from the locals.
This came in the form of a number of angry people asking exactly why we were lobbing shells at the people they considered to be the family of their local doctor.
They could not be disabused of this notion; so we ordered the Deathstrikes to level the town. Naturally, this may have detonated a couple of our ammunition stocks, and killed a handful of hundreds of gunners, but these things happen in wartime. Satisfied that the local human rebellion was put down, Sutuzov turned back to catching the abhumans.
I am proud to report that, despite suffering ninety nine per cent casualties, expending precisely one point eight million shells in a week long bombardment, and causing several small earthquakes to occur on other continents, he succeeded in oblitering the Kullenites. As I speak, the head of their chief-which remains "extremely handsome and godlike"-is being hung up in their banner. The rest of them were blasted into many thousands of pieces by the bombardment. The human girl seen accompanying them was stunned when a malfunctioning shell fell onto her head. She is currently in Inquisitorial Custody. Last time I checked, she was in at least ten different cells, owing to dissection-but still living, breathing, and feeling pain.
And so, with a world burning, many thousands of men dead, and guns exploding from over use, I am satisfied to report that the threat of more "Evening just before night"ist literature spreading has been neutralised. I conclude my report with the words of Inquisitor dan Glokter:
"Who would read this rubbish anyway? My grox could write better!"
For a more detailed report, I throw it open to my fellow field commanders, who were present.
1. Thou shalt not refer to the Adeptus Soritas as “Bolter Bitches,” nor shalt thou go anywhere near our sisters during the time of the “Red Rage,” lest thou wishes to be the first human to enter orbit without the aid of a shuttle.
2. Orks are not “cute”.
3. Thou shalt not make jokes about the Imperial Guard’s weapons.
4. Thou shalt not replace the Librarian’s staff with a magic wand.
5. Thou shalt not tip the Terminators over during battle.
6. Thou shalt not do Spock impersonations around Eldar.
7. C-3P0 is not a Necron ambassador.
8. You shall not dare others to eat Squigs.
9. No, you cannot “take the Titan for a spin”.
10. Thou shalt not use thy Multi-Meltas to light campfires. (In a similar manner, thou shalt not use the Terminator Captain’s Chainfist to open tins of baked beans)
11. Thou shalt not bribe the Inquisitor to bring down Exterminatus on your ex-wife.
12. Thou shalt not refer to the Rhino transports as “pimp wagons,” nor shalt thou use the phrase, “If the Rhino be rockin’, don’t come a knockin’”.
13. The Chapter Master is not a “drag”.
14. Thou shall not use Power Swords to cut your food.
15. Thou shall not ask a Sister if you might “donate some of your own Gene-Seed”.
16. Thou shall not throw soap at Nurglings.
17. Thou shalt not put a “kick me” sign on the Golden Throne.
18. Thou shalt not refer to the Machine Spirit as “Cruise Control”.
19. Thou shalt not stick a “Honk if you think I’m sexy” sticker on the Sisters’ Rhino.
20. Thou shalt not honk if thy sees a sticker saying “Honk if you think I’m sexy” on a Sister’s Rhino.
21. Thou shalt not unplug the Golden Throne just “for laughs”.
22. Thou shalt not make the Emperor read your palms, or call upon him as “Miss Cleo”.
23. Virus bombs are not fun in a box.
24. Shooting one of your own men who looks at you funny does not count as an “enemy casualty”.
25. Thou shalt not clog the Lascannon tubes “just to see what happens”.
26. Thou shalt not spread cooking oil in front of a Dreadnought.
27. Thou shalt not attempt to shake the Chaplain’s hand whilst wearing a Power Fist.
28. Putting sand inside the Terminators’ Armour is not “funny”.
29. Thou shalt not refer to the Standard of Fortitude as a “walking stick”.
30. Thou shalt not refer to the Bolt Pistol as a novelty cigarette lighter.
31. The Earthshaker Cannon is not a “hat stand” nor is the Sentinel a “standard lamp”.
32. Thou shalt not use Land Raiders to “play chicken” with Imperial Guard Chimeras.
33. Thou shalt not put a “Purge me!” sign on the back of the Chaplain’s armour.
34. Thou shalt not compliment the Dark Eldar by calling them “kinky”.
35. Thou shalt not let an Ork be the designated driver.
36. Thou shalt not replace the holy unguents for the Machine Spirit with grain alcohol.
37. Thou shalt not invite a Banshee to Karaoke.
38. Thou shalt not replace the O2 units on the Commander’s Power Armour with laughing gas.
39. Thou shalt not train a Hormogaunt to be a watchdog.
40. Thou shalt not take “Old One Eye” out of context...”He’s in my Artificer Armour he..he..duh!”.
41. Thou shalt not call Dark Angels “hippie alter boys”.
42. Thou shalt not taunt an Eldar “gee didn’t these used to shoot further?”
43. Thou shalt not refer to the Golden Throne as “the nicest commode in the galaxy”.
44. Thou shalt not attempt to offer a Carnifex a breath mint.
45. Thou shalt not throw a Warp Beast a dog biscuit.
46. Thou shalt not hope for mud wrestling during a Wych/Sisters battle.
47. Thou shalt not ask a Warlock what he wears under his robe.
48. Thou shalt not tease an Inquisitor with “look Sir-Heretics!”.
49. Thou shalt not play whack-a-mole with those little Jawa-wannabe Dark Angel thingies (tangent).
50. Thou shalt not wear oven mitts when issued a Plasma Gun.
51. Thou shalt not take the Rhino to procure monkish ale before filling out His Most Holy acquisitions forms.
52. Thou shalt not ask the Librarian if he has records concerning Uranus.
53. Thou shalt not refer to the flamer as a “novelty toaster”.
54. Thou shalt not ask the Apothecary to guess what you have eaten by looking at your tongue.
55. Thou shalt not remove the motors from a Terminators’ Armour during battle.
56. Thou shalt not point and laugh saying “look, somebody missed the toilet” when battling Snotlings.
57. Thou shalt not break wind in the presence of the Emperor (unless properly addressed to do so).
58. Eldar helmets may not be use as hole-punches.
59. Thou shalt not refer to the daily rituals as “psychological warfare” nor shalt thou refer to the Index Astartes as “the book of grudges”.
60. Thou shalt not say, “will someone please tell the Emperor to crap or get off the Throne”.
61. Thou shalt not petition His Most Holy administration to make “Inquisition” an Olympic sport.
62. Thou shalt not instigate a “my Primarch could beat up your Primarch” debate.
63. Thou shalt not use heavy breathing and “I am your father” as a battle cry when wielding a Power Sword and entering an assault.
64. Thou shalt not affect a Transylvanian accent around the Blood Angels.
65. No hair pulling when enjoying brotherly contests with the Space Wolves.
66. Duct-taping a Flamer to your Boltgun does not count as a Combi-weapon, and painting it pretty won’t make it “Master Crafted”.
67. Thou shalt not punt Grots for pleasure.
68. Thou shalt not shout “Thongs for the Thong God!” in front of the Dark Eldar lest thou wish to learn the true meaning of pain.
69. Thou shalt not debate the protective merits of purple spandex with the Dark Eldar.
70. Thou shalt not write theatre criticism and charge His Most Holy treasury to mail it to the Harlequin.
71. Power armour never makes a Sister look fat.
72. Thou shalt not laugh maniacally when flaming the non-believers.
73. Thou shalt not use Thunder Hammers to play croquet.
74. Thou shalt not start rounds of “you might be a C’tan if” while imbibing strong monkish ale.
75. Though shalt not refer to thine brethren, whom the Emperor has dictated be armed with an incendiary weapon, as a “Flamer” constantly. For this has been proven to lower morale and cause strife within His Most Holy showering facilities.
76. Thou shalt not affect an Austrian accent around the Necrons.
77. Thou shalt not ask Rough Riders if you can pet their ponies.
78. Thou shalt not stray from the Adeptus Mechanicus’ directive towards ornamentation of Rhinos; specifically no aluminium sport rims,
neon, extraneous exhaust pipes, or fuzzy dice.
79. Thou shall not attempt to challenge the Eldar to games of “Counter-strike”.
80. Thou shall not, in any way, shape, or form, take the Land Speeder joyriding.
81. Remember; shining Lasguns in the Guards’ eyes is WRONG.
82. Thou shall not pretend to have been possessed by a Daemon.
83. Thou shall not call the sacred Plasma gunners of the Imperial Guard ‘fizz busters’.
84. Yes, it will be noticed if you “borrow” the Chapter Master’s equipment.
85. Thou shall not use supported War Hounds to “play ball” with Imperial Guard Sentinels.
86. It is NOT cool to feed Snotlings copious amounts of narcotics!
87. It is not “funny” to dress up as a Bloodletter and jump out in front of the Chapter Master.
88. Replacing a Brother’s ammunition with blanks is not “funny”.
89. Wiffle bats are not approved hand weapons.
90. Playing naughty movies in your Power Armour’s Autosensors is not sanctioned by the Adeptus Astartes.
91. Thou shalt not teleport into the Sisters showering facilities.
92. Thou shalt not taunt our revered Dreadnought brethren by tapping on their window and saying “anyone in there?”.
93. Thou shalt not commandeer Drop Pods to go for pizza.
94. Thou shalt not refer to the Emperor’s Champion as “that brown-noser”.
95. Nuking from orbit is not doctrinally feasible for removal of annoying insects-unless they be Tyranids.
96. Thou shalt not tickle the Fallen to press for confession and redemption.
97. Thou shalt not follow a Librarian around thinking, “Can you hear me now”, repetitively in an attempt to drive him insane.
98. Thou shalt not refer to the Wulfen as “damn dirty apes”.
99. Thou shalt not use Whirlwinds to put on fireworks displays.
100. Thou shalt not ask the Dark Angels if they “can keep a secret”.
101. Thou shalt not do Scooby Doo impersonations when speaking to the Space Wolves.
102. Thou shalt not tell the Salamanders “sorry about the Multi-Melta thing”.
103. Thou shall not ask directions from the Wulfen.
104. Thou shall not ask Berserkers for an axe.
105. Thou shalt not do doughnuts in a Rhino, unless thou wishes to clean the passenger’s vomit from the floor, as doughnuts make passengers dizzy.
106. Thou shalt not write “Biggest Bitch on the Battlefield” on the side of thy Land Raider, even if it is true.
107. Thou shalt not take the Rhino out on Saturdays to “impress the girls”.
108. Tyranids are not cute.
109. Though shalt not use Lasguns as laser sights for thy Bolters.
110. Just because you’re fighting Necrons it doesn’t mean your standard equipment is a Skaven and a tin opener.
111. Thou shalt not throw snowballs at Salamander Space Marines whilst yelling, “THINK FAST!”.
112. Thou shalt not ask Ork prisoners “why the red ones go faster”.
113. Thou shalt not attempt to drown out Noise Marines with ye old rave music.
114. Never ask a Dreadnought “how old are you?”.
115. Thou shalt not use the Golden Throne as a microwave.
116. Thou shalt not wear a dress in the presence of the Dark Angels.
117. Thou shalt not wear fake fangs in the presence of the Space Wolves.
118. Thou shalt not ask a Space Wolf if he wants a biscuit.
119. Thou shalt not eat another Marine’s paste.
120. Thou shalt not trip a Dark Angel in front of an Interrogator-Chaplain.
121. Thou shalt not trip an Interrogator-Chaplain.
122. Thou shalt not fill Demolisher shells with lots of flowers.
123. Scouts are not “target practice”.
124. Thou shalt not replace the Chapter Master’s Power Sword with a plastic sword.
125. It is not funny to put an “Eat me” sign on the Librarian’s back prior to a Tyranid attack.
126. Thou shalt NOT refer to the Dreadnought as “Granddad”, nor shalt thou hang a, “I told you I was sick” sign from it.
127. Thou shalt not play “peek-a-boo” with the Machine Spirit.
128. Thou shalt not unscrew your Battle Brethren’s leg plates.
129. It is not funny to play ring toss with Orks tusks.
130. When faced by the Inquisition, don’t laugh.
131. Necrons are not cans.
132. Thou shalt not eat prunes before a battle.
133. Thou shalt not refer to the company Techmarine as “Scotty”.
134. Thou shalt not challenge the Terminator Company to a game of “Twister”.
135. Thou shalt not refer to Ripper Swarms as... “Cute”.
136. Thou shalt not refer to Catachan Jungle Fighters as “tree hugging hippies”.
137. Thou shalt not suggest the Eldar “live long and prosper”.
138. Thou shalt not tell a Space Wolf it smells as if something crawled up and died in their mouth.
139. Thou shalt not replace the Space Wolves store of Tuna with cans of Puppy Chow.
140. Thou shalt not use Imperial Guardsmen as sticks while playing fetch with a Hive Tyrant.
141. Thou shall not use Flame Falcons to toast thy marsh mellows.
142. Thou shall not ask an Inquisitor’s Psyber-Eagle “does Polly wanna cracker?”.
143. Thou shall not ask the Lametors “are ya feeling lucky punk, well are ya?”.
144. Dating the Veteran Sergeant is the exclusive privilege of the Heavy Weapon trooper.
145. Thou shalt not ask the Eldar females if they are interested in a hand-portable “Vibro Cannon”...
146. Thou shalt not strut around Imperial Guardsmen bragging about how “well-equipped” you are.
147. Thou shalt not ask the Thousand Sons if they are that slow on purpose.
148. Thou shalt not taunt the Imperial Guard with threats of utilizing a Lascannon upon their posteriors in an unnatural fashion.
149. Thou shalt NEVER, under any circumstances, interrupt a Navigator’s concentration during warp travel to ask him if you “are there yet”.
150. Thou shalt not challenge Karandras the Shadow hunter to an arm-wrestling match.
151. Thou shalt not refer to Eldar Swooping Hawk grenades as “bird droppings,” nor shalt thou taunt them by using a mortar to pet them with birdseed.
152. Thou shalt not use the Emperor’s Champion Iron Halo to play horseshoes in thy free time.
153. Thou shalt not use the Chapter Standard to dry thy undergarments upon.
154. Thou shalt NEVER take the Steve Irwin approach to Tyranids; if they do not respond to external stimuli, do not attempt to poke it with a stick.
155. Thou shalt not consider it “funny” to replace the smoke canisters in your Chapter’s Land Raider’s Smoke Launchers with narcotic substances.
156. He who takes advantage of the Emperor’s paralysis by painting his fingernails will be summarily executed.
157. Shoulder Pads are not to be removed for use as ice-cream scoops.
158. Thou shalt not replace our Honoured Brother Terminator Captain’s Storm Bolter with a Vulcan Mega Bolter, nor shalt thou feign surprise at his inability to lift it.
159. Thou shalt not distract our Librarian whilst he attempts to cast Smite; else thou shalt be forced to clean the inside of his helmet.
160. Thou shalt not replace a Thunderhawk’s firebase supplies with bouncy castles.
161. Thou shalt not burn our Captain’s robe on a cold night.
162. Thou shalt not replace the Apothecary’s Reductor with a syringe.
163. Undoing the straps between a Brother and his jump-pack is not funny.
164. Thou shalt not utilize the Techmarine’s Signum for engaging in long and sexy chitchat with Battle Sisters.
165. Thou shalt not replace the Grimoire of True Names with “Daemon Hunting for Dummies”.
166. Thou shalt not put thine Emperor gifted gene seed into the beverage of your fellow Battle Brothers.
167. Thou shalt not duct tape over the emergency venting on the most holy Plasma Pistol of the Chapter Master.
168. Thou shalt not make “Your Mum” jokes in the presence of the Adeptus Soritas.
169. Though shalt not unscrew the bolts on thine Brothers’ greaves in order to “pants” him.
170. Thou shalt not use thine holy Meltagun as an arc welder.
171. Thou shall not play pin the tail on the Dreadnought.
172. Thou shalt never say, “You can’t handle the Truth!” to a Dark Angel.
173. Thou shall not use bug spray on Tyranids (it won’t work only distracts).
174. Thou shall not name a Salamander Dreadnought “the Hulk”.
176. Never mix up Khorne marines with Blood Angels.
177. Do not play golf with Mortarion (he uses Nurglings to move the ball).
178. Never play American football with a Bloodthirster.
179. Thou shalt never throw a stick at Space Wolves and command them to fetch.
180. Thou shalt not challenge Guardsmen to arm wrestling whilst thou art wearing a Power Fist.
181. Thou shalt not rent advertising space on thin banners.
182. Thou shalt not hurt Cypher.
183. Thou shalt not question Commandment 182.
184. Thou shalt not be turned on by anything related to Slaanesh.
185. Thou shalt not refer to Daemonettes as “booby daemons”.
186. Thou shalt not glue thy Land Raider assault doors shut.
187. Thou shalt not mock exalted members of thy Chapter for “not having the enemy’s permission to fight”.
188. If thou art worth 300 points thou must kill 300 pts before being allowed to die.
189. Thou shalt use unleaded gas only for thy Land Raider.
190. Thou shalt not use Servo Skulls as baseballs.
191. Thou shalt not laugh at thy Brethren whom are from 1st or 2nd edition.
192. Thou shalt not compare Commissars to Nazis.
193. By order of the Inquisition: There is no such thing as the Inquisition, questioning this will have thou deemed heretic by the Inquisition.
194. Thou shalt not complain to thy Force Commanders in coming months when thou cannot attack the enemy immediately following exiting Rhinos.
195. If thou are members of the Black Templar then thou must not whine that the Emperor’s Champion has the your only Iron Halo.
196. Thou shalt not install hydraulics on thy Rhino.
197. Thou shall not question the decoration of the Chapter fortress: if skulls with wings are good enough for Him on Terra they are good enough for you.
198. Thou shall not strap lawn furniture to jump packs in an attempt to recreate 1st ed. Land Speeders.
199. Thou shall not complain about no longer having Jet Bikes.
200. Thou shall not confuse Guardsmen by shouting “OMG! Zerg Rush!”.
201. Thou shall not point out there is no 175 commandment.
202. Thou shall not give members of thy Biker squad Thunder Hammers and Grots so thy may play polo.
203. Thou shalt never use Lasguns as flashlights during a night fight.
204. Thou shalt not take the emperor’s teeth in vain.
205. Thou shalt not comment on the odd shape of the Inquisitor’s head.
206. Thou shalt not do “wheelies” or “donuts” on you bike.
207. Thou shalt not have a “kegger” on the eve of battle, thus making yourselves less effective in the morning.
208. Thou shalt not refer to the Almighty Emperor as “The Righteous Dead Dude”.
209. Thou shalt not check to see if your Bolt Pistol is loaded by looking down the barrel!
210. Thou shalt not go on panty raids into Sister of Battle Monasteries.
211. Thou shalt not use thy scope for anything outside of battle. Anyone caught using them to spy out life mates shalt lose privileges.
212. Thou shalt not sell thy extra organs on the Black Market.
213. Though it is entertaining, thou shalt not wave a fly swatter near the Tyranid fleets.
214. Thou shalt not use thine Chainsword as a backscratcher.
215. Thou shalt not use thine Bolt Pistol as a q-tip.
216. Thou shalt not attempt to imitate heathen noise marines with “heavy metal” or “death metal” through thine com-speakers.
217. Although tempting, do not attempt to give a Tau a “high-five”.
218. Thou shalt not laugh at how small Imperial Guardsmen are.
219. Thou shalt not bend to the will of nerds playing war games, and act upon your own free will.
220. Thou shalt not transmit images of unclothed Sisters to the Astropaths.
221. Thou shalt not advertise on thine armor.
222. Thou shalt not wave fake skulls at the Berserkers.
223. Thou shalt not wave a red flag near a Chaos Dreadnought.
224. Thou shalt guard thy Bolter when camping with Imperial Guard.
225. Thou shalt not sniff Warp fumes.
226. Thou shalt not use bug bomb against the ‘Nids.
227. Thou shalt not play Internet games with Tzeentch.
228. Thou shalt not e-mail the Emperor.
229. Thou shalt not e-mail the Emperor spam.
230. Thou should beware of thy Lictor behind cardboard bushes.
231. Terminators and glue do not mix.
232. Thou shalt not spray paint thy armor to make it look cool.
234. Thou shalt not have water gun fights with Lasguns. (The guard needs them)
235. Thou shalt not juggle Power Weapons.
236. Thou shalt not hide video links in the Sisters of Battle’s Monastery.
237. Grenades are not water balloons.
238. Thou shalt not use insect repellent against Tyranids.
239. Thou shalt not use water guns against Necron.
240. Thou shalt not piss on the Iron Halo.
241. Daemons are not your friends.
242. Barney the Dinosaur is not your friend.
243. Barney is a heretic.
244. Barney merchandise is simply prohibited.
245. Barney is not a Tyranid.
246. Digimons are not in the 40K universe.
247. Digimons are not affiliated with the Necron.
248. Pokemons are not Digimons!
249. Pokemons are not fun to play with.
250. Thou shalt not steal candy from babies, Orks, Gretchins or Commissars.
251. Thou shalt not play “Truth or Dare” with Sisters.
252. Thou shalt not “Spin the Bottle” with Sisters.
253. Thou shalt not play “Hangman” with the Inquisitor or Berserker.
254. Thou shalt ignore strange voices in your head.
255. Thou shalt not put a cork in the Inquisitors pistol.
256. Thou shalt not hide the Land Raider in a lake.
257. The Land Raider is not a hotel room!
258. Spiking the beer is forbidden.
259. Shotguns are not practice guns.
260. Lasguns don’t make cool disco lights for your party.
261. Pixie wings are not jump packs.
262. Thou shalt not trade thine bike for a skateboard.
263. Thou shalt not ignore the Chaplain as he recites the tales of Spot the Dog.
264. Darth Vader isn’t the son of Abaddon.
265. Thou shalt not use the sentinel Powerlifter as a babe-magnet for the Sisters.
266. “It makes a funny noise” is not an excuse for punching Imperial Guardsmen.
267. “He started it” is not an excuse for punching Imperial Guardsmen.
268. Thou shalt not get a Sister intoxicated for thy own pleasures.
269. Thou shalt not sexually harass the Servitors even if they won’t notice.
270. Thou shalt not have an ice cream Superfantasical Day.
271. Thou’s name is not GiX.
272. Thou shalt not smoke, inhale or inject illegal pharmaceuticals into thy holy body even though your advanced physiological structure
could probably withstand the effects.
273. Thou shalt not put “Ecstasy” in the punch when Battle Sisters arrive for a formal meeting with the Chapter’s Authorities.
274. Thou shalt not practice vampiric tendencies despite your urge to do so.
275. Thou shalt not howl when the Chapter Master bends over. (Full moon out tonight!)
276. You shalt not comment on being a better shot then the Inquisitor.
277. The Chaplain is not too preachy.
278. Gambling for Grots is not allowed.
279. Your sergeant is not a pugy bastard.
280. You shalt not smack the Sister’s butt and then wink at her.
281. The lab research Tyranids are not for emergency rations.
282. Thou shalt not use a Flamer to cook a whole cow and leave none for the others.
283. Thou shalt not set fly strips outside your tent in a Tyranid warzone.
284. Thou shalt not wear Lord Commander Dante’s Death Mask (or any Death Masks at all for that matter) on Halloween,
any other masquerade parties or for fun when not in battle!
285. Thou shalt not try to see how much a Death Company Marine can take (physical or psychical)!
286. Thou shalt not put “tags” on the Holy Shrouds or Banners or write on it in anyway at all.
289. Rico’s Roughnecks are not real.
290. Thou shalt not over-charge thy bike!
291. Thou shalt not use the over-charged engines for “drag-racing”!
292. Thou shalt not have a Blood-party (as in tea-party) with Mephiston during battle!
293. Thou shalt not play “no blinking” with Mephiston!
294. Thou shalt not give Tycho an Ork for his Birthday (or any day at all for that matter, or speak him about Orks).
295. Thou shalt not release Moriar from his restrainment or tap in his vital liquids!
296. Thou shalt not ask the Sanguinary Priest for something to drink!
297. Thou shalt obey these 627 commandments! (Isn’t it hard counting when being a scout?)
298. Thou shalt not use thy Jump Packs to “fry your diner”!
299. Thou shalt not use thy Jump Packs to get “KFC” or “Macca’s”.
300. Thou shalt not kill each other because “thou are the real Sanguinius”.
301. Thou shalt not make wounds to resemble the wounds of thou mighty Primarch Sanguinous, the Chaplain paint these on your armor!
302. Thou shalt not “make bunny-ears” with thy fingers behind the Chaplain whilst he gives battle-orders.
302. Thou shalt not fake death in order to get blood from the Sanguinary Priests.
303. Thou shalt keep thou armor on, although thou might think thou are invincible, thou DO need thy armor!
304. Thou shalt not fall asleep whilst the Chaplain is in prayer.
305. Thou shalt not use thy weapons upon thyself, thou still can get hurt.
306. Thou shalt not jump out in front of the Rhino to get into the fight whilst still in motion...wait for orders to disembark!
307. Thou shalt look both ways before crossing the street.
308. Thou shalt not try to “steal” assaults away from Battle Brothers....they are allowed some fun too!
309. Thou shalt not make jokes about the Tyranids’ mighty One-Eyed monster. (arr pirate matey)
310. Thou shalt not mistake the Harlequin’s Kiss for some fruity clown prank.
311. Thou shalt not light cigarettes near the Hellhounds.
312. Genestealers ARE NOT trying to rob you of your denim trousers.
313. Thou shalt not chase thy Grot with a fork.
314. Thou shalt not call the firearms of the Imperial Guard “Sega Lock-Ons”.
315. Thou shalt not call the Adeptus Arbites “pigs” or “bacons”.
316. Thou shalt not place buckets of water over the Inquisitors door.
317. Inquisitors are not “Nigel no friends”.
318. Thou shalt not use thy laser sight to blind Imperial Guard.
319. Thou shalt not remove the Imperial Guards power packs from their Lasguns while they are asleep.
320. Thou shalt not play “Frisbee” with a Tau Shield Drone.
321. Remember a Primarch is for life not just for Christmas.
322. Thou shalt not eat toast in your power armor. (I’m not going to vacuum the crumbs out of the toes again)
323. Thou shalt not put fridge magnets on thy power armor. (Even if you have been to Cornwall)
324. Thou shalt not tune into FM rock on your intercom.
325. Thou shalt not put bananas in the Commander’s Rhino’s exhaust pipes.
326. Thou shalt not hang “Pine Fresh” on Moriar. (Even if he is a bit ripe by now!)
327. Scented Pine Trees hanging off Rear Vision mirrors in favour of the Dice, is now prohibited.
328. Thou shalt not offer to clean the Sister’s armor whilst they change.
329. Thou shalt not use Power weapons or Chain-weapons to cut your food.
330. Thou shalt remove the batteries from weapons to put in your RC toys.
331. Thou shalt not swap the salt and pepper.
332. Thou shalt not play “I see, I see what you don’t see” over the intercom during battles!
333. Thou shalt not “go out to get cigarettes” during prayers!
334. Thou shalt not make remarks about the physical appearance of Sisters.
335. Thou shalt not swap your Battle Brothers gun with a water pistol.
336. Thou shalt not participate in any intoxication (i.e. alcohol) contests with Imperial Guards.
337. Thou shalt not ask a Sister if her armor is too small.
338. Thou shalt not ask a Sister about her age.
339. “No” means “No”.
340. Thou shalt not make cat-sounds when Sisters argue.
341. Thou shalt not refer to Sister Supreme as “Mistress”.
342. Thou shalt not refer to Ork Dreadnoughts as “garbage bins”.
343. Thou shalt not make funny noises during a speech/prayer.
342. Thou shalt not “play shooting range” with Gretchins.
343. Thou shalt not brag about how many you’ve killed with a Dark Eldar.
344. Thou shalt not write or “put tags” on vehicles or armor.
345. Thou shalt not use Servitors to catch your paper.
346. Thou shalt not yell “catfight!” when Sisters argue.
347. Thou shalt not press the buttons in a Demolisher tank.
348. Thou shalt not hum cartoon theme songs when around the Tau.
349. Thou shalt not refuse the Sisters your chocolate rations, especially during the time of their “Red rage”.
350. Thou shalt never refer to the size of a Sisters rear armor.
351. Thou shalt always offer to rub a Sister's feet after battle. I need not explain why.
352. Thou shalt always carry thine universal remote control when facing Necrons.
353. Thou shalt never offer to sell your soul to the Dark Eldar for beer money. Not even in jest.
354. Thou shalt never ask a Daemonette for some “handiwork”; else thou will have to join the Sisters.
355. Thou shalt not remind your commander how many times he has been slain by the badly colored Tyranid.
356. Thou shalt leave the Plasma Gun well and truly alone.
357. Thou shalt not play Russian roulette with automatic weapons. It doesn’t work.
358. Thou shalt not shave the Space Wolves while they are asleep.
359. Thou shalt not load the dice.
360. Thou shalt not move that extra little inch in movement phase.
361. Thou shalt not fire thy Bolter at enemies you can’t really see except a leg sticking out of a building.
362. Thou shalt follow thy rulebook.
363. Thou shalt not make up rules.
364. Thou are not fearless... thou art fearless... argh anyone got a codex?
365. Thou shalt not laugh at the Cultist.
366. Thou shalt beware of bird poo when Greater Daemon of Tzeentch is around.
367. Thou shalt not use Penicillin tipped bolts in your Boltgun against Nurglings.
368. Thou shalt not waste thy 15 minutes free time trying to get laid.
369. Thou shalt beware of possessed 2 litre coke bottles.
370. Thou shalt not stare at feet during the battle march.
371. Thou shalt not aim at thy Commanders back.
372. Thou shalt watch thy foot steps.
373. Beware of the drunken Leman Russ.
374. Thou shalt not binge drinks with the Imperial Guard.
375. Thou shalt not challenge a Daemon Prince to a fist fight.
376. Thou art not unexpendable.
377. Thou shalt look before thou leap.
378. Thou shalt not bring your sack lunch to battle.
379. Thou shalt not use they Bike as a battering ram.
380. Thou shalt beware of potholes and speed bumps.
381. Lord Logan is not “Wolfie”.
382. Seraphims do not want to join the “Mile High Club”.
383. Spiky bits are not meant for hanging laundry on.
384. Ultramarine scout is not “little boy blue”.
385. Never refer to the Canoness as “big momma”.
386. Thou shalt not put “kick me” signs on thy Brothers backs.
387. Thou shalt not nail Nurglings to the back of the Rhino as fuzzy decorations.
388. Thou shalt not put itching powder in a Dreadnought.
389. Thou shalt not wink suggestively at Daemonettes.
390. Thou shalt not use can openers on Ork Dreadnoughts.
391. Thou shalt not replace the commissars’ comm-link with a Plasma Grenade for a laugh.
392. Thou shalt not refer to Armoured Vompanies as agoraphobes.
393. Thou shalt not ask Techmarines to put mag wheels on your Bike.
394. Thou shalt not use a looted Terrorfex for Halloween.
395. Thou shalt not sneak into the Rock while the Dark angels are asleep and discover that their secret is that all the high ranking Angels wear dresses.
Er... oops...
396. Thou shalt not invite babes back to the Monastery.
397. Thou shalt not spike drinks with Sanguinius’ blood.
398. Thou shalt not step on Guardsmen and then say thou didn’t see them.
399. Thou shalt not refer to Paul Sawyer as “The Great Unclean One”.
400. Thou shalt not call a Dark Angel “Jessica Alba”.
401. Thou shalt not give a Sister breast implants.
402. Neither shalt thou ask whether those “guns” are real or not.
403. Thou shalt never say anything about the Squats.
404. Thou shalt not overheat a Plasma Gun for a college prank.
405. Thou shalt not give the Death Company caffeine.
406. Thou shalt not insult a Thousand Son about his penis.
407. Thou shalt not taunt a Space Wolf with a piece of steak.
408. Thou shalt not poop thy Power Armour.
409. Thou shalt not make mention of the irony that a Grot blaster is a Lasgun, only the Orks admit it is crappy.
410. Thou shalt not over clock thine Pentium and use it as a Plasma weapon.
411. Thou shalt not intentionally overheat a plasma weapon and give it to an IG.
412. Thou shalt not trip over Tau.
413. Thou shalt not attempt to steal a Tau’s weapon “to give to the poor Guardsmen”.
414. Thou shalt not moon the Tau in combat. They are good shots.
415. Thou shalt not invoke the wraith of conures. If you are foolish enough to do so, a conure the size of two to four titans shalt descend upon the table and inflict his wraith.
416. Thou shalt not attempt to borrow Tau Stealth Suits so that you might spy on the Sisters in their quarters.
417. Thou shalt not attempt to rebuild a Necron as a washing machine.
418. Thou shalt not laugh at the poorly painted armies.
419. Thou shalt not play “fetch” with a Kroot Hound using a Guardsman.
420. Thou shalt not go big game fishing for Manta Missile Destroyers.
421. Thou shalt not try to change the batteries on a Scarab.
422. Thou shalt not use the Blades of Reason to trim thy fingernails.
423. Thou shalt not feed the Warp Beasts.
424. Thou shalt not pet the Kroot Hounds.
425. Thou shalt not ask the Sisters whether it’s dyed or real.
426. Thou shalt not call Old One Eye “Surf and Turf”.
427. Thou shalt not moonlight as a security guard if thine armour is red.
428. Thou shalt not use the Hellhound to cook thy rations.
429. Thou shalt not use thy Power Armour comm.-link to prank call the Imperial Guard Storm Troopers.
430. Thou shalt not sneak up on thy Commanding Officer, and yell “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD” in his ear.
431. Thy Bolter is not to be used to shoot cans off walls.
432. Thou shalt not steal the Land Speeder to “pick up Sisters”.
433. The Leman Russ is not a kettle. Do not attempt to use it to make tea or coffee.
434. Thou shalt not attempt to empty your waste-paper basket into an Ork Dreadnought.
435. Thou shalt not refer to the Rhino as a “Clown Car”, although thy might think it is.
436. When throwing thy holiest of His grenades always count to three, yes three, not one, for it is not the holiest of numbers, or two,
for the holiness of two pales in comparison, but three, yes three, not one or two, unless thou shalt be proceeding to three.
437. Thou shalt not use blind grenades to sneak into the Sister’s encampment.
438. Thou shalt not mention the name “Buffy” when near the Blood Angels.
439. Thou shalt not use Necron Scarabs as “Boogie Boards”.
440. Thou shalt not call Harlequins “psychedelic” or “groovy”.
441. Thou shalt never show an army of Orks more than two Harlequins at once.
442. Thou shalt never laugh at the Laughing God.
443. Thou shalt never play “Hide and Seek” with Librarians or Inquisitors.
444. Thou shalt not play “tag” with Gaunts.
445. Thou shalt never tie thy Power Armour laces together.
446. Thou shalt never say “Resistance is futile” to the Adeptus Mechanicus.
447. Thou shalt never criticize the “paper boys” in the Adeptus Administratum.
448. Thou shalt not sell Chapter property on eBay.
449. Thou shalt not put a cork in thine Battle Brothers waste disposal outlet tube.
450. Thou shalt not “entertain” The Adeptus Sororitas in your billet.
451. Thou shalt not refer to Imperial Guardsmen as “Cannon fodder”.
452. The Imperial Guard Colonel did not visit a fancy-dress shop.
453. The Lasgun is not to be used to carve your name into the Land Raider’s/Predator’s/Rhino’s/Razorbacks/Leman Russ’s/Titan’s armour plating.
454. Thou shalt not lend Imperial Guardsmen your Power Armour or swap places for a day with Guardsmen.
455. Thou shalt not try to perform brain surgery whilst wearing Power Armour.
456. Thou shalt not assume that because you can take a Bolter hit in the head, the Guardsman over there can too.
457. Thou shalt not use Tau shoulder pads as padding in games of cricket.
458. Thou shalt not hide the keys to the Battle Barge.
459. Thou shalt not call Ork Dreadnoughts or Killer Kans “R2-D2’s big brother”.
460. Thou shalt not threaten thy enemy with a “Plasma enema” and thou shalt not carry out the act.
461. Thou shalt not flirt with the Banshee. They are the enemy.
462. Thou can not date a Dark Eldar Wych. They are the enemy too.
463. Thou shalt not steal the Battle Sisters makeup.
464. Thou shalt not try on the Battle Sisters armour to see if it compares to your own.
465. Thou shalt not make fun of Warp Spiders guns.
466. Thou shalt not take the Land Raider for a joy ride.
467. Thou shalt not perform dare devil stunts in the Rhino. Especially if thine Brethrens are in the back.
468. Thou shalt not hijack the Battle Sisters Immolator. Especially if there are any Battle Sisters still on board!
469. Thou shalt not add bits to thine armour to try to pass thine self off as a Battle Sister.
470. Thou shalt not try to dance with a Banshee on the field of battle.
471. Thou shalt not throw sticks for the Space Wolves.
472. Thou shalt not play “fetch” with the Space Wolf Commanders “pet” Fenrisian Wolves.
473. Thou shalt not keep a Tyranid as a pet.
474. Thou shalt not challenge a Carnifex to a game of “catch”.
475. Thou can not tie a Wraithlords laces together.
476. Thou shalt not call a Battle Sister “babe”.
477. Thou shalt not be envious of the IG unit who art friends to the Sister Famulous!
478. Thou shalt not steal the Tau Pulse Rifles, even if they are better than thy Bolters.
479. Thou shalt not ask the Battle Sister if they would like to slip into something more comfortable.
480. The Hellhound is not something you put on a leash and take for “walkies”.
481. Thou shalt not arm-wrestle with Tactical Dreadnoughts.
482. Thou shalt not watch whilst the Battle Sisters change out of their Power Armour.
483. Ork Warbosses are not toys, you can not try to pull their arms off and jump up and down on them.
484. Thou shalt not relieve thy self behind a tree during battle.
485. Thou shalt not go to thy great Emperor and make him “perform an illegal operation and be shut down”.
486. Thou shalt not wrestle the Battle Sisters and try to “pin them down”.
487. An Iron Halo is not a toy.
488. A tank is not a toy.
489. A Dreadnought is not a toy.
490. Thou shalt not jump on the back of a Dreadnought in battle and see how long you can stay on.
491. Thou shalt not play toy soldiers with the Guardsmen.
492. The Space Hulk is not a wrestler.
493. Spiky Bitz are not “cool”.
494. Khorne is a Chaos God not a food.
495. Thou shalt not use Power Claws as scissors.
496. Thou shalt not use Power Armour power points to plug in thy Gameboy.
497. Thou shalt not use Hellion skyboards to impress the Sisters.
498. Thou shalt not place a flashing light on top of the Rhino so that it is easier to find in the car park.
499. If showing a Tau how your Boltgun works thou shalt not give it to him the wrong way round.
500. A Necron is not a Meccano kit.
501. Thou shalt not tell the Inquisitor “say what you want about Chaos, but those Slaanesh can party!”.
502. Though shalt not blast “flight of the Valkeries” when buzzing enemies in your Land Speeder.
503. Thou shalt not trade His Most Delectable rations for gourmet Eldar tofu.
504. Thou shalt not offer backscratches when issued Lightning Claws.
505. Yes, it’s cheating to use Jump Packs during a basketball game.
506. No, you can’t pose for Playgirl’s “the men of the Adeptus Astartes”.
507. Enforcing discipline is not sending the Neophytes to procure strong monkish ale.
508. Don’t call the Adeptus Mechanicus about warranty information concerning your destroyed Land Raider.
509. Don’t shave a Bloodthirster in its sleep, it only makes them more angry when they wake up.
510. Do not deface His Most Blessed Battle Barges with the bumper sticker “We don’t Brake”.
511. Thou shalt not compare thy height with that of the Ratling Snipers.
512. Thou Shalt not go the Way of The Navy.
513. Thou Shalt Not Kick the Emperor if thy see the Kick me sign on Him.
514. Thou shall not try to prove your ‘1337’ skills on Necrons, in the Eldar Webway, or on the Martian central cogitator mainframe.
514. Thou shalt not throw a bone at a Bloodthirster or flesh hounds shouting fetch.
515. Thou shalt not ask the Salamanders for a light.
516. Thou shalt not get Blood Angles to go to anger management classes.
517. Thou shalt not challenge White Scars to a street race.
518. Thou shall not referee to Imperial Guard as gun fodder.
519. 20ft high electro-magnets should not be used around Necrons.
520. Thou shall not place the liber chaotica in your ex-wife’s possession.
521. Reid is completely useless against a Carnifex.
522. Salamanders do not need to go to “how to stop burning things” classes.
523. Thou shall not borrow the librarians psychic hood for the annual Guess Who Competition.
524. Thou shall not pour water on an Avatar.
525. Thou shalt not attach a “For Sale: Previously owned by one careful user” to the wreck of a destroyed Dreadnought.
526. Thou shalt not feed bio-carbonate soda to the Inquisitors Psyber-Eagle.
527. Thou shalt not use a Railgun as a see-saw.
528. Thou shalt not comment on Captain Tycho not having his “happy face” on.
529. Thou shalt not mention the phrase “bath time” in front of the space wolves.
530. Thou shalt never mention, under pain of death, the stunted race of humanoids that mysteriously disappeared from the universe for unexplained reasons.
531. Thou shalt not consider a detachment to Armageddon as a “Holiday”.
532. Thou shalt not refer to Tallarn as “the big beach”.
533. Thou shalt not tie an Inquisitors boot laces together and then run away giggling.
534. Thou shalt not utilise the highly sophisticated, advanced and expensive long range communications array to make prank phone calls to the
local bar and ask for a “Mr I.P.”.
535. Thou shall not take the Emperor out walking.
536. Thou shall not attempt to be friends with Tyranids.
537. Thou shalt not “Borrow” the Land Raiders to race them then when they come back wrecked, blame it on chaos.
538. Thou shalt not write clean me on a Catachan Chimera.
539. Thou shalt not fry ants with the Meltagun.
540. Thou shalt not fill the back of the Missile Launcher with promethium to “see what happens”.
541. Thou shalt not paint “beware of dog” on the Wolf Lord’s armour.
542. Thou shalt not play pin the tail on the donkey with the Rough Rider’s horses.
543. Thou shalt not date Deamonettes or other followers of Slaanesh, no matter how tempting the concept may be.
544. Thou shall not blame the Chapel heating for falling asleep during prayer.
545. Thou shall not paint 2 blue stripes down the middle of a Rhino and call it a “Viper variant.
546. Tau are not “noobs”.
547. Thou shalt not refer to Assault Marines as “tooled up pretty boys”.
548. The Ultramarines do have a sense of humour.
549. Thou shall not use the Land Raider for off road races.
550. Thou shalt not give manicures to Lightning Claws.
551. Thou shalt not procure Noisemarine’s weapons for thine garage band.
552. Thou shalt not comment on the temperature around thine Salamanders Brethren.
552. Thou shalt be punished for speaking the blasphemous “argh matey” around thine Chapter Master with the bionic leg.
553. Thou shalt not offer to “pump you up” to Imperial Guardsmen.
554. Thou shalt decline all invitations to party with Slannesh.
555. Thou shalt not salvage Spore Mines for whoopee-cushions.
556. Thou shalt not drag race thine abdominous opponents for bragging rights.
557. Thou shalt not ask “Ever wonder if the machine god is a C’Tan?” or thine shalt be branded Heretic and purged.
558. “Pucker up homos!” is not an Adeptus Astartes approved battlecry.
559. Thou shalt not suggest a Banshee take voice lessons.
560. Thou shalt not attempt to procure “the good stuff” from thine Apothecary.
561. Thou shalt not suggest thine Chapter Master is “so old his farts bow dust”.
562. Thou shalt not resort to nipple crippling when losing a fight girded with a Power Fist.
563. An Honour badge was never granted for basket weaving or surfing, to suggest so in sacrilegious and thou shalt report to the Chaplain for suitable penance.
564. Thou shalt not replace thy Veteran Sergeants Bolt Pistol ammo for a flag with “bang upon it.
565. Thou shalt not use Power Swords for letter openers.
566. Thou shalt not challenge Eldar to a bike race.
567. Thou shalt not place thy holey banana into a Ravenwing Bike exhaust.
568. Thou shalt not use Tyranid rending claws as tooth picks.
569. Thou shalt not use thy Plasma Cannons power pack for Christmas lights.
570. Thou shalt not use Lightning Claws as back scratchers.
571. Thou shalt not use thy Techpriest tools to unblock thy holy toilet.
572. Thou shalt not use thy Emperors throne for personal use.
573. Thou shalt not use the Techmarine’s Servo Arm to serve drinks.
574. Thou shalt not replace the Chaplain’s Bike with a pedal-tricycle.
575. Thou shalt not replace the Chaplain’s Holy Relic with a cuddly toy.
576. Thou shalt not use Chain Fists to clip thy toenails.
577. The fact that Razorbacks have spiked rams at the front does not entitle you to use them as bumper cars.
578. Thou shalt not attempt to fill Smoke Launchers with Silly String.
579. Thou shalt not pester Dreadnoughts with “So what’s it like to die then?”.
580. Thou shalt not sing “Who let the dogs out” when visiting the Fang.
581. Thou shalt not offer the Emperor any kind of anti-wrinkle products.
582. Thou shalt not do loops while flying a Battle Barge.
583. No, a Jump Pack is NOT a hairdryer.
584. Thou shalt not refer to Magneus Calgar as “Papa Smurf”.
585. Thou shalt not call Blood Angels “pretty boys”.
586. Thou shalt not say “dead man walking” every time thou see a Dreadnought.
587. Kroot hounds DO NOT make good Company mascots.
588. Space Wolf bites are actually worse than their bark.
589. Thou shalt not use Rhino dozer blades to help build thy Brother in laws patio.
590. Remember Krootox are to be used as Christmas presents.
591. Thou shalt not make breathing noises and say “we meet at last Obi-Wan” when handling Power Weapons.
592. Remember a 2+ armour save does not make you a Primarch.
593. Thuo shalt not refer to Chaplain Lemartes as “ticker-tape man”.
594. Thou shalt not say to an Inquisitor “hey, i hear they’re bringing out the Malus Codicium in paperback”.
595. Thou shalt not whistle “close encounters of the 3rd kind” every time you see a Tau.
596. Thou shalt not send Legion of the Damned Brethren trick or treating.
597. Thou shalt not “drag” with the Chapters Thunderhawks.
598. Thou shalt not ask an Ork for some “’shrooms”.
599. When thou hast taken many casualties, thou shalt “flee” towards the guns of thy enemy hoping that their next volley may be more accurate.
600. Thou shalt not refer to the Grey Knights as “Catholic fundamentalists”.
601. Regardless of any laws regarding “Daemon season”, thou shalt not refer to the Grey Knights as “poachers”.
602. Thou shalt not make comparisons between Night Haunter and Batman.
603. Thou shalt not make jokes about the Inqui- *Bolter fire*.
604. Thou shall not refer to the Golden Throne as a royal flush nor refer to a royal flush in poker as the golden throne.
605. Thou shalt not have a thumb war while wearing a Power Fist.
606. Thou shalt not take dancing lessons from Slannesh.
607. Thou shalt not start a say that history is wrong and it was they Emperor who turned to Chaos.
608. Thou shalt not say thy Emperor is a false God in front of an Inquisitor.
609. Thou shalt not try to get thy Battle Sister drunk for a little fun.
610. Thou shalt not become drunk before a battle so thy accidentally shoots thy Brothers.
611. Thou shalt not call Interrogator-Chaplains “Cross dressers”.
612. Thou shalt not attempt to trip up a Titan.
613. Thou shalt not refer to the Deceiver as “Just a big gold court jester”.
614. Thou shalt not ask Tzeentch how to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
615. Thou shalt not tell a Brother Space Marines that they can only move six inches at a time.
616. Thou shalt not ask why Eldar Wave Serpents are just Falcons with an extra gun.
617. Thou shalt not confuse the Black Legion with the Black Templars.
618. Thou shalt not refer to Slannesh as “That freaky nymphomaniac guy”.
619. Thou shalt not slice three toes off each foot of the Tau and see how well they walk.
620. Thou shalt not underestimate the power of a Vibro Cannon, even if it is shoved up a Slannesh Daemon Prince where the sun don’t shine.
621. Thou shalt not refer to the Ravenwing as “Speed Freeks in Power Armour”.
622. Thou shalt not point and laugh at Dark Angels.
623. Thou shalt not cry “Toro!” while within earshot of a Blood Angel.
624. Thou shalt not throw sticks while in the company of Space Wolves.
625. Thou shalt not refer to the Ultramarines as “Ultrasmurfs”.
626. Thou shalt not keep pet Rippers.
627. Thou shalt not ever, ever repeat the “Black and white Space Marine on the black and white bike” joke, ever.
628. thou shalt not install a portable fridge into thy rhino to “cool down” plasma guns.
Is it just me.....or are these humor threads not so funny anymore? I feel kindda sad now
*side note, while trying to find a sad 40k picture to show how sad I was, I started laughing from seeing this book and laughed even harder when I went to click on it and it was a link to a DAKKA thread
Space Marine Girl Scouts Sisters of battle Fire Engine Sane World Eaters A Space Marine carrying a dead gretchin as a battle-trophy A gretchin carrying a battle-trophy A Vegetarian Blood Angel An Eldar way-stone at the Lost & Found A crying Space Marine A Night Lord sunbathing A plague marine polishing his armour A Tau giving a high-five A retreating Death Company Space Marine (if you DO see this, you're probably doomed) A Khorne Berzerker leaving a skull behind The Golden Throne caretakers on strike An assassin, before it's too late... A remote controlled Necron A meeting at the BDA (Blood Drinkers Anonymous, Blood Angels only) Games Workshop charging what models are ACTUALLY worth
Ah, it's nice ot see GW's C&D still flies fast and furious when someone spoofs their products. I'm feeling that itch to start a parody webcomic. AND make money off it.
They can come on down to the SNI and file suit here. I'd still love to see a GW lawyer try and explain to the judge why she should rule in favor of them based on the laws of another country.
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and being the hero-type person that he was, he wanted to marry the commander's daughter. So he went up to the palace, and the guard naturally inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied: "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your first task is to slay the dragon on Xylon III".
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out, the guard once again asked, "Who goes there"?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine then proceeded with ease to kill the dragon and six months later returned with the head of the foul beast. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your second task is to climb the highest peak on Desgrus Beta".
On his way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike easily climbed the mountain and returned 4 years later. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your third and final task is to swim across the acid lake outside the palace."
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike never returned. Meanwhile, back at base, all of the captains celebrated, saying things like, "thank the god-emperor he's dead, that moron." however, when a ten-foot tall black and white cake was presented to the commander, out pops the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike who, for the final time, says to the commander,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter."
The commander asks in horror,
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. May I marry your daughter now?"
“Governor, I’m by no means a strict man. But the reports I have been hearing have shocked even me. If what they say is true, it will not bode well for your title.”
The two men were seated on either side of the Governor’s desk, drinking tea.
“Why, Sir Inquisitor, I am shocked! What could you mean by such allegations?” The governor was a heavyset man, tall and broad. If he hadn’t known better, the Inquisitor would have sworn the man had Ogryn blood in him.
“Unseemly actions of your men. Possibly, the taint of Chaos. Even… that foul xenos have infiltrated your army.”
The Governor stood abruptly, setting his teacup down firmly. ”Are you accusing my men of heresy, sir? My men are clean of Chaos, I can swear on my life! They may not be… the most tidiest or formal of soldiers, but my Planetary Defense Force are true warriors in every sense of the word!”
The inquisitor looked at the other man, unimpressed by his posturing. ”Calm down, man. If I had anything but hearsay, you would already have a laspistol to your head. I am merely here to see if there’s any truth to the rumors.”
“You’ve come at a good time, then. We’re holding the bi-annual training tournament at the moment, the last training before the troops leave for Elkoss VI.” The governor smiled thinly at the Inquisitor. “You can consider having it held in your honor, if you want.”
---
The training grounds were relatively far from the palace grounds, it seemed. At least, the old guardsman took a long time to drive there in the regimental car.
“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS ONLY THE TRAINING GROUND, GUARDSMAN?!” The guardsman swerved round a crater and jammed his foot on the accelerator. “What? Sorry, sir, I can’t hear you over the Basil-“ Another series of explosions rocked the ground, an almost constant krump-krump-krump. “We’re here, everyone out!” The governor had pulled on a massive power claw out from somewhere in the back of the car, and was already striding towards the concrete barracks.
“Well, then, Inquisitor, come in and feast your eyes on some of the finest of the Imperial Guard!” Green helmets. Green armor. Green boots. Green- well, almost green everything. “Governor.”
”Yes, Inquisitor?”
“What exactly am I looking at?”
“Why, the PDF being trained here, of course! What else?”
The barracks were full of soldiers, kitting themselves up and getting ready to go. In the maelstrom it looked like no-one had noticed the pair of humans at the door.
“And the green skin…?”
“Ah- we’re trying an experimental procedure of permanent camouflage. I’ve had an idea to train all of my troops extensively in the Doctrine of Stealth-”
“And the fangs for teeth?”
”Bad dental hygiene, I’m afraid. We’re not the richest of planets, and we can’t afford EVERY bit of cleaning-”
“Governor,” the inquisitor snapped, “These ‘men’ of yours are clearly orks! What the hell is going on here?”
The Governor looked bemused. “Corporal, get over here!” One of the soldiers, hesitating for a second, ran over. “Are you a human or an ork, Corporal?” “Me, boss? I’z definnily a humie, ain’t that right, boyz?” The other muttered various forms of agreement. “Yer right!” “Izza humie fer sure, heh!” ”Look, Inquisitor, we all know that orks are short, squat creatures. These fine humans are nothing of the sort!” It was true; the ‘guardsmen’ were all well muscled troops, above average height and looked menacing. The inquisitor muttered something under his breath and marched out.
---
“They’re everywhere!” he said, looking out at the battlefield.
“Of course, dear inquisitor. This IS the training grounds for the guard, after all.” The inquisitor looked on in near horror as two sides of the “guard” jumped out of their trenches and charged the other, meeting in the middle with an almighty crash. Limbs flew everywhere. “And what exactly are you training them for here, then? How to die?!” A basilisk shell crashed into the fray, blowing one unfortunate individual to pieces. “And WHY ARE YOU FIRING ARTILLERY INTO YOUR OWN BASE?!”
“Oh, they’re practicing basilisk- rapid-fire. You’ve got to hand it to those boys, even though they’re not the most accurate, they can get off three times as many shells as the other armies! Pretty good, eh?”
One of the soldiers, larger than the others, ran up. “Boss, we’z got the tanks reddy fer inspekshun!” The governor nodded. “Carry on, Sergeant!” “They’re, they’re orks… you can see that, can’t you?” ”I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The two of them were walking past the firing ranges, now, with the sound of las-rifles piercing the air. However, something sounded slightly… off. “For instance, do Orks use las-rifles?” The governor nodded towards one corporal who was charging at his target, firing as he went. “Las-rifles do NOT sound like that!” As the corporal got closer, yelling, the sound of him shooting grew louder – zakkazakkazakkaZakkaZakkaZAKKAZAKKAZAKKA!! “Are you sure? We’ve got some excellent tech-priests.” “Right, I’m sure…”
---
“ROIT, BOYZ! FOLLOW ME TA GLORWAAAAAAAAUGH!!” The speakers on the baneblade blared out over the field. As it rumbled forwards, the mob of infantry followed around it. “Those really aren’t standard parts for a baneblade! You’re not allowed- YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TAPE SPIKES!! Techpriest, how could you allow such sacrilege?!” The red-dressed, bionically clawed man span around to face the Inquisitor. ”Techpriest? I am no techpriest, good sir! By the Emperor, I’ll have you flogg- Ah?” The governor chuckled. “Inquisitor, meet Commisar Kleinst.” Kleinst bowed, turning to meet the man properly. “My apologies, my lord. My eyesight was not as well as it once was.” It was not just his eyes – the commissar looked more mechanical than human, with a giant robotic arm and both legs, and both eyes replaced with bionic implants. “No harm done, commissar. Tell me- you have noticed something odd about your men, haven’t you…” The commissar looked surprised. ”How did you know, sir? They’re the fiercest soldiers I’ve had the chance to serve with. I wish I could go with them, but for these damn implants..!” ”You haven’t seen anything… odd about them?” ”Well… not really. I’m afraid these bionic eyes let me see in black and white. I can’t fault the techpriests, of course. They’ve tried their hardest, but I guess the machine spirits don’t smile on me.” “Carry on, Commissar.” The crippled man nodded curtly and strode off, shouting at another group of soldiers. “A good man, even if he’s not as well as he used to be. Now, has that set your mind at ease yet?” The inquisitor started shaking his head when another basilisk round exploded nearby. “And that- what- by the Emperor, how does that even-?!” He ran over to the Leman Russ tank that had been hit. Its maintenance cover had been ripped open, and it was obvious that the engine was completely missing.
A hatch flipped open and one of the drivers clambered out. ”Zog it, looks like itz busted.. OI, TECHPRIEST, GET YER LAZY BUTT OVER ‘ERE!”
The techpriest was certainly impressive. With a metal jaw, several metal arms and a ragged red cloak, he ran across the field. “OI HEAR THE MACHINE GUBBIN- no, wot wazzat again, SPIRITZ!” He took out a handbook and looked at it carefully. “Anin-anno-anoin.. put der oilz on it while beesechin the machine’s gubbinz… lessee.. OI, SPIRITZ! WAKE UP ALREADY!” He splashed some… liquid into the empty engine cavity. “Thanks a ton, boss! WAAARR-THA-EMPERRRRAAAAAAAAUGH!!!” The tank roared off, leaving the inquisitor silently in its wake.
---
He remained silent even after they reached the field headquarters.
“Look, our forces are so dedicated they allow their children to help wherever they can.” And it seemed true; small green-coloured folk ran around, carrying all sorts of gadgets. Listening carefully, he overheard a small voice. “Quiet, ya gits, we’z got a good gig going on ‘ere. These boyz are giving us some reel flash dakka, and we’re lootin some good gubbinz, too. Now we wait for the big boss to give the signal, and then we’re off, ok?”
“…Are you all right, Sir Inquisitor? Do you need the help of a psyker? Sanctioned psyker, to me!” The inquisitor spun about, alarm in his eyes. Forward shuffled the psyker, two guards accompanying him and gently leading him forwards. “MY MOIND BEARZ A GREAT PAAIN..” “No. No!” The inquisitor lashed out, knocking back the cowl to reveal a bandaged green face. “OW! IZZA GOOD PAIN!” “No, no, NO!” He shoved the psyker over backwards. “IZZA GOOOOD PAIN-“ ”Shut UP! Governor, follow me!”
The back room was quieter. The inquisitor was breathing hard. “Perhaps you doubt my ability, Inquisitor.” The governor’s voice was silken. “You’re damn right I doubt-“ “But you see, the High Lords trust me to the extent that they’ve given me control over a Callidus assassin.” The Inquisitor didn’t jump as he gently pushed the poison-tipped blade away from his throat. “I… see. Well, I’m not one to doubt the High Lords.” He looked at the assassin, mercifully in the shape of a pretty, pale-skinned young woman. “But they wouldn’t have released an assassin to you without a specific mission in mind. Tell me, why were you sent here?” The Callidus answered him. “CAN’T SAY, BOSS. IZZA SEKRIT.”
---
Back at the palace. The inquisitor and the governor were on opposite sides of the table once more. “Well, inquisitor. Have you satisfied yourself enough?”
“I have, I’m afraid. At first, I didn’t believe it. Those ‘men’ out there, are clearly orks, and whether you’re trying to hide it or you really just don’t believe it, the verdict is the same. Even the most radical inquisitor couldn’t accept this! Damn filthy xenos infesting the Guard? Give me a break! I have no choice but to sentence this planet to be purged, and you, personally as a heret-“
---
Sister Catha looked over at Sister Lestrine. ”Have you noticed anything odd about the Inquisitor, lately?” The other sister shook her head. “No, why?” ”I can’t help but feel something’s wrong…” They both quickly turned back to their duties as a voice roared up from Inquisitor’s room. “I’Z CAN HEAR YOU, YA GITZ! GET BACK TA’ WORK!”
Spoiler:
Orkron
It was rather worrying, thought the Necron Lord, to have such a large gap in his memories.
The last raid had been an utter failure, as it recalled. There had been the hated living, swarming on his – HIS planet, crawling over the once-blasted plains and barren soils. Now awakened after so long, he had marshaled his grand forces to strike at the enemy. Even with their powerful guns, the pitiful bovine creatures dressed in beige and tan had perished by the hundreds, their citizens, their troops. By the Star Gods, they were crawling all over the surface! He made a note for his next body to be made several times larger than standard, to make the harvest easier.
He had marched straight into their capital in a slow parade and taken the heads of their blue-skinned leaders with his own warscythe, sending them running in fear of death itself. And then there had been that strange asteroid, crashing down upon the city with brutal precision…
He had not minded, waking once again in a new metal body, as he had done so long ago. He had not minded, finding half his systems still unfinished and his chronological marker showing a half-cycle round the sun had passed – the price to pay for such upgrades to size and raw power. He even almost applauded the fact that monolith monitoring statistics showed almost more blood had been spilled than the whole of last cycle. But the fact that almost his entire force of Necrons had converted themselves into Flayed Ones was rather disturbing.
The Necron Lord, in his new, giant body, stumbled from the Monolith portal back onto the surface. Warscythe in hand, he watched his forces do their deadly work, killing even the animals that roamed the surface. Watched one necron kill the small being with its mouth, crushing its head with a metal jaw. He mentally nodded to himself, killing being what a necron’s job is. Very good. He screeched his rallying call, summoning the warriors and servants to do his bidding.
And they came, shambling and tottering. Hundreds of his finest infantry, metal exoskeletons dragging themselves over the ground, swathed in the flesh of his enemies.
Rather a lot of flesh, now he came to think about it.
And he certainly didn’t recall seeing any enemies with green skins, either… the lord of death made another note to ask where his troops were getting their decorations from.
“[Brothers!]” he screeched (perhaps it really wasn’t a good idea to have swapped out the communications and life-sensing array for the extra extra large pauldrons? Ah, a bit too late now to change his order) “[Heed my call! The enemy of us all are here, on our surface!]” He pointed towards the next city (he’d made a whole annotated to-do list, starting with ‘wipe out all significant pockets of populations’, followed by ‘kill any other sentients nearby’, ‘finish up by gaussing all the wildlife, plantlife and microscopics’ ‘check answering machine’ and ‘go back to sleep’) with his warscythe and roared. They answered him in the necron way – a howling omen of death and despair, sure to tell all who heard their death was imminent.
The Necron Lord tapped the side of his metallic head. They weren’t usually that loud.
The harvest in the city had been a bountiful one, and the Necron Lord’s fears had mostly been allayed. Still, there had to be some major flaws in the resurrection tomb system, what with the Flayed ones using non-standard gauss weaponry instead of their claws, and more flayed one torsos being mounted on destroyer bodies. He couldn’t doubt their effectiveness. The Tau (as his inbuilt translator told him they were called) had broken and run once more when the metallic green monstrosities started clambering out of the broken streets and tearing into their fire teams with green lightning and claws. Lots of green. It was then he noticed the internal alarm going off – those wretched living had the gall to attack the necron staging grounds! Grabbing a nearby destroyer, he stepped onto its metallic carapace, gesturing back to the Monolith. “[My subjects, we must make haste! Back, back to the monolith! Destroyers, Spyders! Split to two groups and flank the enemy! The rest of you, ready your phase units! My signal will tell you when to strike!]” The destroyer he was on turned to look at him, puzzled. The metal jaw moved, speaking the long-dead necrontyr language. “[Er… You’z want us to go over dere and crump da Tau, boss lord?]” “[…Yes, that is what I spoke. Come hither, my army! Strike, strike them all dow-]”
Nearly falling from his mount as it jerked forward, the Necron Lord grabbed onto the shoulders of the Destroyer. He’d really have to check the Monolith diagnostics for corrupted repair algorithms. This one’s power core was so out of alignment he could feel the heat of it right through the dead flesh.
“[Be ready my subjects! They will know their fate tonig-]” “[QUIT YER YAPPIN, BOSS! WE KNOWS HOW TA GET REEL KILLY ALREADY!]” The Necron Lord almost lost his footing again. How dare- How DARE his subjects talk back to him? Why had- ah yes.. flayed ones. While the immortality process that the necrodermis granted them had dulled most of the necrontyr minds, it was sometimes the case some memories remained.. and the flayed ones were the most erratic. Having been drawn from the ranks of the insane, it wasn’t surprising their politeness was lacking.
Calming down, he tried to remember the management courses he had sat through when still one of the hated living. ‘When trying to deal with unfriendly workers, remember to-’ Ah, yes, that was it. A gout of green blaze engulfed the outspoken flayed one, sending its destroyer body crashing to the grass. ‘Remember to assert your authority first.’ ”[WHO ELSE WISHES TO DOUBT ME? YOU WILL KILL! THAT IS YOUR ROLE! WHAT SAY YOU?!]”
A half second of silence. Then- “[WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHHHHH!]”
The Lord only tilted his head, this time. It was kind of catchy the more he heard it.
As they crested the hill, his jaw dropped. The Monolith was awash with gauss energy, splaying its deadly arcs of lightning everywhere. Quite literally, everywhere – it looked like someone had been modifying it a great deal, a quick count showed at least 12 more Flux arcs on it, as well as – were those infantry-class flayers mounted there? Who’d been tampering with it?
The Tau, with the loss of their high command, had seemed to lose hope, sending a near-suicidal charge at the Monolith. Thousands of Kroot lay dead already, their bodies stripped of flesh. But the meat had had some effect – smoke came from the black (well, /mostly/ still black, he’d really have to have words with the necron who’d done this) pyramid, pierced by hypervelocity rounds. Still the Tau came, unaware of the danger he brought.
He crashed into them, taking their lives with wanton lust, tearing through their screaming ranks. His forces followed suit, ripping armor off crisis suits to rend the flesh beneath, beating fire teams to death with their own shielding drones. He laughed as they tried to regroup, walked straight through their (mostly) ineffectual fire. ”The monolith!” cried one T’au. “If we destroy that this will be over!” He made a point of killing that one personally.
It had been a slaughter from that point onwards. As it had always been. As it should always be.
Once again, analyzing the statistics he found himself surprised by the after-battle results. Yes, the added gauss flayers and flux arcs were against building regulations. Yes, the new paint job wasn’t authorized. However, results were results. The AI in the building must have been motivated by the effort someone had put into redecorating – it had boosted firing rates and movements almost 300%. And the kill to damage ratio- ! All right, the Lord decided. It wasn’t as if red paint jobs were unheard of. Especially if it was the blood of the once-living.
“[Immortal! Was it you who oversaw the modifications to the Monolith?]” “[Yer wot, boss?]” The Lord paused as he worked out how to talk to an obviously mind-damaged Necron. “[You put more guns on the pyramid thing, and painted it red, yes?]” “[Ah, wuz me all right. Heheh, fixed it good.]” The immortal seemed pleased with itself, the large metal exoskeleton heaving with enjoyment. “[Tell me, what was the scheme you had in mind when making it?]” “[Uh… we’z made it Or- I mean, we made it ded killy by adding more flash bitz.]” He nodded sagely. More killing – that was indeed the ultimate aim of all Necrons. “[Good. See that all our monoliths are modified like this. And try to fix the repair protocols while you’re at it – I believe I need a few holes patched up, so make it good.]” The immortal nodded enthusiastically. “[Uh, boss? C’n we add spikes?]” “[…Sure, why not?]”
He awoke again, some time later. It seemed that his head had become much more clearer after that third slumber. And this time, he had resized to become even larger than his last incarnation. Good, good. All the better to kill with.
Towering over his minions, he stalked out of the monolith portal once more, personal gauss generators glowing green in the dark night. All the sentients on this planet had been purged. Yet his urge for death had still to be satisfied. He summoned his troops once more.
“[YOU’Z LOT! WE’Z DONE WELL WIZ OUR EFFORTZ SO FAR!]” The Lord paused for a second, checking his speech pattern. Strange. Oh well, the logs showed that Immortal HAD overhauled the repair facilities, and a good manager did learn the lingo of his company. “[BUT WE’Z GOT A LONG WAY TO GO, ROIT?! DERE’Z A LOT MORE STUFF TA CRUMP OUT DERE!]” The fleet had been summoned, the AIs-controlled ships speeding to transport them across the stars.
“[WE’Z BRING DEFF TO DEM AWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGH!!!]”
They followed in his warcry.
Oh, he’d have some rather interesting ideas to spread at the next Necron board meeting...
Spoiler:
Adeptus Orkastes
[Excerpts from The REAL Life in the Guard: Tales of a Harakoni Warhawk]
…And we had been bogged down for days after the initial grav-drop, leaving us in the middle of an angry Tyranid force with no resupply, no reinforcements. Regimental command had ordered us to hold our ground, and we all know when they tell you to hold ground, they mean for you to die for the Emperor.
We were of course willing (and eager, Commissar [CENSORED BY ORDER OF COMMISSARIAT] made sure of that) to shed blood in his name, but it turns out that day most of us didn’t have to. They came without warning, crashing down amongst the xenos scum. Have you ever seen something that reminds you that you’re part of something bigger, something unimaginably big? This was one of those sights, watching the drop-pods burn through the atmosphere. I have fought over a hundred and eighty different worlds, and heard the stories of the Adeptus Astartes, seen for myself the raw ferocity of the Space Wolves, torched Servanus VIII alongside the Salamanders, barely escaped an Exterminatus conducted by the Ultramarines, and even gunned down enemies running in horror when they heard the Grey Knights were coming (They didn't, incidentally). Yet the sight of these Adeptus Astartes, ones that I had never seen or even heard of before, reminds me of how our glorious Imperium is the largest of all that is.
Those brave men, those pinnacles of humanity did not even bother to activate their retro boosters for their drop-pods, letting the ground – and the enemy’s bodies - halt their descent. Then, leaping into battle, they laid waste to the Tyranids around them. I recall one of them landing nearby, crushing Kay and his precious vox-caster. One of them stepped past me, power armor gleaming in yellow. And he fired, a blaze of death raining upon the Imperium's foes, chanting in the Emperor’s glory. "PURGE, PURGE, PURGE, PURGE!" It was answered by his brothers. "CLEANZ CLEANZ CLEANZ CLEANZ!" "KILL KILL KILL KILL!" Glorious. One tyranid, managing to skip past the torrent of bolter rounds, impaled that warrior with one claw – yet without pause, he simply fired directly into the thing’s face (or groin, I don’t know how filthy xenos breed) until it was blown away. "YA THINK YOUZ CAN TAKE ME?! I'Z GOT ME POWA ARMOUR, I'Z GOT THE BEST BITZ OF HUMIES IN ME GUT!" And he carried on fighting, without stopping His holy work.
I have not described our saviors yet. Let me take a moment to rectify this – the Space Marine that rescued us were apparently named after their enormous size. And let me say, the Emperor’s Giants were aptly named. Over fifteen feet tall, they stood, nearly matching our sentinel walkers in height. And they outweighed them, too – I had seen one of their massive veteran Terminators carry a hammer the size of a Baneblade engine, and swing it hard enough to send a hive tyrant’s leg flying over the rest of their forces. They must have been a truly ancient chapter – the amount of repairs and patches to the holy power armor was testament to that. The array of forces made me want to praise the Emperor in my codpiece, if you know what I mean. Their strength seemed to be their firepower, holding larger-than-possible weapons, carrying bolters that seemed more fitting on our armored divisions and hand-held flamers that would put Hellhounds to shame. And their vehicles- ! They must have been the latest advanced designs from Mars, newly approved by the techpriests. Such firepower! Such ferocity of shape! They had mounted extra weaponry on their Land Raider, and opened up the top to allow them to fire out of – fearing not their enemies, and wishing to inflict ever more harm – that was their doctrine. Their melee weapons were not to be found wanting, either, giant chainswords that would bisect whole squads nearby, enormous hammers and power fists. The specialized designs gave them extra reach, no doubt, and they were certainly “lots more choppy dan der uz-ual choppaz”. What wise words of wisdom.
But back to our rescue! Once the Giants had pacified the Tyranids near them, they cheered in the Emperor’s name, a long and heartily felt “FER DE EMPERAAAAAAAAAUGGGGGGHH!” that we all joined in. Then, the same space marine came over to our squad, carnifex claw still hanging out of his chestplate.
“WHY’Z YOU NOT GOT GOIN’ YET? WE GOTTA WHOLE PLANET ‘TA PURGE!” Commissar [CENSORED BY ORDER OF COMMISSARIAT] was about to speak up when the honorable Astartes interrupted him. “YOU’Z A RED ONE, AIN’TCHA? YOU’Z MOVIN TOO SLOW!” And with that, he crushed the Commissar with one blow of his fist. Not even a power fist, I might add.
We all cheered. That commissar was almost certainly a heretic, anyway.
---
I heard them celebrating as their main forces went past, chanting more devotions to the emperor.
"PURGE DA ‘ERETIC!"
"BURN DA MUTIE!"
"KILL DA UNCLEAN!"
"…Nah, ya got it wrong, ya git! It’s BURN da ‘eretic, KILL da mutie, PURGE da unclean!! NOT ‘DAT ‘ARD TO ‘MEMBER, EH?"
"..PURGE BURN KILL CLEANZ?"
"Eh, good ‘nuff."
It was at that point I made one of the largest errors of my career – given a minute to rest in the Emperor’s name, I leaned against one of the Space Marine drop pods. Immediately, I realized something was wrong when the ground shook and a metallic voice rang out – “I’Z WOKEN UUUP! IZ IT FIGHTAN TIME YET?!” I scrambled away from the pod, for even faithful servants are in awe of the wrath of an awoken dreadnought. And this one looked truly wrathful – someone had painted a giant grimacey face on the front, and its yellow paint was rust-encrusted at the sides. Yet its arms had weapons fit for a Titan, and did I mention this thing was massive yet?! It grabbed Jonas and threw him into the air, smashing his body over the column on the way down.
"EVEN IN DIZ CAN I’Z STILL SERVIN!"
“Aw, no, which git woke up Grakkar da Big-‘Anded?! We only got ‘im ta sleep da last time after dat’ Elfdar raidin’ party!”
“TWINS, DEY WUZ!” boomed Grakkar. He rampaged through the column towards a distant firefight. Serving even after being felled, still purging xenos. Truly an honor to the Imperium.
It was strange, I found, that these soldiers never showed their faces, not even their sergeants, not even in death. I saw one headbutt a Genestealer to submission once, then spin away in a ballet of death to cut down yet another Carnifex.
“Sarge, we’z got a problem!” One of the marines had come up to the front. “It’z a giant wyrm t’ing!” It indeed was a Trygon, as we learned later on.
“TA ME, YA GITZ! TA ME, BRUTHERZ!” The sergeant rallied us with his call.
“D-did you mean us, too, Astartes?” asked Earnst.
“YOU’Z STANDIN NEXT TA ME? YOU’Z MAH BOYZ, THEN! WAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHH!” What could we not do with such comradeship as that? We took up our arms and fought as we had never fought before.
Over eight hundred of the Warhawks died that day, but we did our part – our light infantry holding back the tide of bugs while the Astartes took down the Trygon with only their infantry – several battle brothers fell before it before Grakkar threw the sergeant at it, who flew straight and true into its mouth. It took a very short time to cut its head in two with his chainsword from the inside, and with the death of the big one the Tyranids fell as the Uplifting Primer said they would. With his other hand, the sergeant ripped the massive teeth of the bio-titan out, and held them up for all to see.
“AN OPEN MIND IZ LIKE A FORTREZ – CUZ WE SMASHED IT!”
We cheered.
The Emperor’s Giants departed a week later, after cleansing the eastern continent with holy fire from above. I never saw them again, but whenever I put on my carapace armor and feel the scars from the acid burns, I remember them. Remember those giants among men.
---
[DIZ TEXT CENSURED BY DA AUTH’ITY O’ DA ORDO ‘ERETICUS AND ORDO MALLYUS – INQUIZITOR **************]
Let me set the scene:
-The Imperium of man stands alone on the brink of destruction. It seems 14 times is the charm in the year 40,000, because Abaddon's 14 Black Crusade has left the Imperium in shambles. If it wasn't for Creed's Tactical Genius and Grimnar's planning, both the Cadians and the the Space Wolves would have been destroyed completely.
- The rest of the IoM have found out about 'The Fallen' leading many to mistrust the Dark Angels and their successors.
-The Tyranid invasion continues to worsen, with more and more planets falling to the unstoppable hunger of the Hive Mind.
-The Necrons begin to awaken fully, and direct their efforts against the Eldar.
-The Dark Eldar keep doing what they were doing.
-Many orks fall under one banner, intent on looting...Mars! Although not nearly enough to sweep humanity away, there is much more than any regular Waaagh!
The Tau continue their expansion, taking imperial worlds while they cannot be defended.
Beset by enemies on all fronts, the Emperor knows this is the end.
"It is time, my sons..." sends the Emperor telepathically. Focusing his power, he opens are portal in front of him, linked to many places in the warp on on planets. Within moments, Khan, Russ, Vulkan, and Corax stand before him, knowing the final battle was to begin. 'You must help me, my sons. IF we are to protect the Imperium, we must use...it.'
The lost primarchs stared at him in disbelief, knowing with that proclamation, it truly must be the dawn of the final battle. There we four doors set around the Golden throne, each with a Chapter Symbol of the four primarchs. Each filed through the door. Focusing his power again, the Emperor shuts his eyes. When they open, they are on a massive planet. The Tendrils of a Tyranid fleet stretch across the sky, the warp clearly visible, churning and pulsing with energy. All the around, the Emperor, stand countless thousands of imperial guard, their tanks, titans, and numerous mortars; as well as thousands of Space Marines and their weapons of war, all teleported by the emperor. But the most interesting thing around the emperor, are four truely massive titans. The titans the Primarchs were sent into by the Emperor.
As the Warp began to spew abaddon's forces, as well as the personal forces of each of the daemon primarchs, and the foul primarchs themselves, the Imperial guardsmen began to cower. "Fear not, my children...." said the Emperor's voice, appearing into each guardsmen's head. "We will win this battle. We cannot lose."
Staring down at the humans were the Chaos Space Marines. the Demon primarchs strode, (and in Fulgrim's case, slithered) forward, laughing as they saw their father sitting upon the golden throne. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. Each of the four primarch's titans flew up into the air, changing suddenly. Khan's turning into two massive legs, Corax's and Russ' turning into massive arms, and Vulkan's turning into a massive chest. Each of the parts interlocked, standing taller than any of the Titans present, Chaos or Imperial. Although it took extreme effort, the Emperor twisted his lips to a smile, before igniting the retro-boosters on his Golden throne.
A thousand times a thousand voices sang in unison, " Go Go Power Primarchs!
Go Go Power Primarchs
Go Go Power Primarchs
Mighty Morphin' Power Primarchs!"
The Emperor's golden throne landed atop Vulkan's chassis, forming the head of the fabled Emperor-ator Titan.
The Titan lept into action, preforming tons of cheesy kung-fu moves in place.
Chaos. Was. F*CKED.
PART 2!!!!!!11one!
To all those prepared for this final battle, it appeared that Chaos would be f*cked. Except of course, to Abaddon and the Daemon primarchs. Magnus looked up at the mighty Emperor-ator Titan and laughed. "Did you not think we would foresee this event?" Magnus asked, "Come, join me brothers." And the Traitorous primarchs came together, warp energy cascading around them, growing in size. Soon, in the place of the Daemon primarchs stood a demonic mockery of the Proud Emperor-ator Titan. Now the table had...rotated 90º. Both sides were equal. The massive Daemon rushed forward, crashing into the Emperor-ator titan as the ground battle raged around them. As the battle waged on, the Daemon had gained the upper hand. It seemed as if they forces of good would be destroyed, until suddenly...
"Look out!" Yelled Abaddon, and all forces looked to the sky. A massive chuck of planet was racing toward the battlefield. But, it wasn't just any chunk of planet, it was The Rock!
As the Rock crashed down, both massive combatants stepped back. Green energy pulsed around the rock, and it opened, revealing the Lion and Luthor. behind them, the Rock continued to change form, morphing (lol, get it?) into a massive pair of legs, even more massive then the ones already on the Emperor-ator Titan. "I did, Magnus. And I prepared for it" The Emperor-ator titan jumped into the air.
Both arms detatched, and the Khan's titan parts detached from the waist and attached to chasis on either side, upon which the arms reattached. Now, Khan controlled the half the arms, but in cheesy 80's cartoon style, he was somehow seated next to Vulkan. Luther and the Lion bro hugged, having made-up after all these years, and each jumped into the control booth of a leg. The new chassis attached to the legs, and made something far greater. The Emperorator-ator Titan. "No... " Said the daemon, "How can this be?"
"And thats not all," said the Emperor, as a small object flew from the sky and smashed into the demon's face. "What sort of trick is this?" Bellowed the demon as it paused to look at the object. It was a huge tome, with the title, 'The Codex Astartes 2'
'Oh Shi-" began the demon, looking up and seeing air-borne titan above it. In the cockpit, was a stasis chamber. Fulgrim's mind stared up at it, noticing it was slightly different than he remembered. Rowboat was smiling.
Suddenly, the statis chamber opened, and Girlyman plummeted out, kicking the Daemon in the face, before doing a backflip and landing on the Emperorator-ator's open palm. The Titan above them split in two, forming a massive axe for Russ, and a sword for Corax. As they fell to the waiting hands of the Emperorator-ator, Girlyman had made his way into the titan, sitting beside Vulkan. Now, the full power of the Imperium would be released onto Chaos.
"HOLD UP!" bellowed a voice that sounded like glass shattering, a waterfall, and a million mortal voices put together. Tzeentch himself peered out from a massive hole in the sky. "That is Bull SHI-" He began to say, but the Emperor interrupted, "F*CK YOU!"
That of course only made Tzeentch mad. Although he was loathe to do it, he rent the portal even wider, revealing his 3 brothers. As Each God stepped out, the Chaos marines began to grovel and the Loyalists began to retreat.
This was going to be one HELL of a battle.
Possible Part 3 eventually.
The long awaited part three is finally here! (well, I'm going to be writing it now so...whatever. Sorry for the wait, I've been making a Badab War Diorama)
The four Gods of Chaos; Khorne, Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and Nurgle stood next to the massive combined form of the Daemon primarchs.The forces of Chaos and the forces of the Imperium stared at each other for a moment, they the battle begun in full. In a moment, the Emperorator-ator was lashing out at the Daemons with sword and axe, arcs of lightning coursing from the emperor onto the combatants. the Emperor and his Sons fought hard, but there was no way they could defeat the combined might of the four Brothers of Chaos and the traitor primarchs, unless there was someway to turn them against each other. However, as the Emperor mused on this idea, the titan was struck by a bolt of energy, knocking it to its knees. Khorne scoffed at the Emperorator-ator, and strode forward, lifting his axe to strike down the Emperor once and for all. The Space Marines and Imperial guard watched in horror, fearing the worst. Khorne drew back his axe, and swung, the very fabric of reality tearing as the blade passed through. The titan lifted an arm in a futile attempt to protect itself. A blinding light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the titan was unscathed. Khorne stared in confusion, looking at his hand. "My axe is GONE!" He bellowed.
Tzeentch looked at him, 'Gone? That would have taken some sort of tactical geni....CREEEEEEEEED!" All the assembled forces looked up. The Axe was stuck, blades in the ground. Standing on the top, was one badass, Cigar-chompin' mother F*cker. Slowly, Creed reached up and removed his cigar, tapping it and letting the ashes drift down. Looking up at the Deamons, he smiled. "Problem, Khorne?"
Khorne bellowed in anger, preparing to run forward when Tzeentch held him back. "I'll deal with him..." Tzeentch screeched as he prepared a massive bolt of energy. Creed continued to smoke his cigar, waiting. Tzeentch unleashed the bolt of energy at Creed, and a second blind light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the axe was gone. In its place, ashes. Everyone was silent. Jared Kell whispered, "No...not Creed..." Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud, slow clap. Everyone looked up and saw Creed standing beside the Emperor. "Nice shot. I was expecting it."Creed said, smiling again.
Tzeentch was enraged at his mistake, but not as enraged as Khorne. 'YOU DESTROYED MY AXE" he bellowed, grabbing his borther by the throat in an attempt to strangle him.
Slaanesh spoke up for the first time, "You know, you're kinda hot when you're angry...."
Everything stopped. The chaos marines stopped fighting the space marines. The artillery stopped firing. The Tyranid tendrils stopped moving. The Necrons stopped awakening. Everything.
"WHAT?!" Yelled Khorne, his anger at Tzeentch forgotten. All the Khorne berzerkers turned to the Slaanesh noise marines, preparing to battle.
'oooh. Punish me..." Said Slaanesh before being punched in the face by Khorne.
"Looks like its up to us" Said Nurgle to the primarch Daemon and Tzeentch. As they turned to face the Titan, it had regained its feet. The odds were a little more even, but not by much. That is, untill a massive Psycannon shot hit Nurgle square in the chest, blowing off a massive chunk of flesh and sending Nurglings everywhere. The Grey Knight had arrived.
"I am sorry, my Emperor." Spoke Brother Captain Stern from the helm of the Grey Knight, the Emperor's second line of Defense. Now, it was two on three. The battle between Khorne and Slaanesh raged on to the side. Needless to say, it was getting...scandalous.
Suddenly, a strange braying was heard. The Tyranids had arrived. Swarming over the 'fighting' bodies of Khorne and Slaanesh they began to attack Tzeentch, the Hive Mind wanting to absorb the psychic energy. Tzeentch took one last look at the Emperor and the Grey Knight before fighting off the tyranids. Nurgle and the Daemon primarch were left. "Now its even" Said the Emperor, pushing forward and striking out at the two Daemons, followed closely by the Grey Knight. Suddenly, even more Braying was heard. the plot thicked as it turned out the battle field was the biggest tomb world ever!1! Necrons, Necrons everywhere. Guass was flying around, flaying Chaos, Imperial, and Tyranid alike. Suddenly, two massive Battle Barges appeared. The Blood Angels Battle Barges.
From the bellies of the ships spilled the entiredy of the Blood Angels chapter. The Necrons stopped and looked up at the new arrivals. Dante walked over to the Silent King of the Necrons. Raising his fist, the Necron did the same. Bro-fist! Suddenly, the necrons began to fire only on Chaos and the tyranids. "What the Fu..." Said the Emperor when Dante interrupted saying, "Just go with it, man."
After hours of fighting, the Grey Knight, as well as Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh, the Tyranid fleet, and the Necrons had been destroyed. Only Tzeentch and the Daemon primarchs remained to battle the Emperor. (The forces of Chaos and humanity still battled at their feet)
"It seems we are to die together' Said Tzeentch, looking around at the carnage.
"NOT SO FAST!" yelled a voice. Suddenly, the entire Blood Ravens chapter mass deep-striked, simultaneously, unto the battle field. Each battle brother was equpied with a multilaser. Dreadnaughts with multilasers. Captains with multilasers. Termiantors with multilasers. Each member of the chapter opened fire upon the two daemons, the sheer weight of multilaser fire grinding the Daemon primarchs to dust, and wounding Tzeentch. The Emperorator-ator stode forward, slashing its axe and sword across Tzeentchs chest. "No..." Rasped Tzeentch, preparing one final bolt of energy, more powerful than anything before it, and launching it at the Emperor.
Dante stared up at the oddly-slow moving projectile. He knew the prophecy, that one golden warrior would stand between the Emperor and the darkness, was coming true. Igniting his jump pack, Dante flew up and placed himself between the bolt of dark energy and the Emperor. His Axe Mortalis, had a special property. For all its cool background, it was simply a master-crafted weapon. Or was it?
In truth, it was the greatest weapon of all. Dante slashed his axe downward, its blade coliding with the dark energy and lauching it back at Tzeentch.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!' yelled Tzeentch as he was struck by the massive bolt, disintegrating.
A third white light flashed, and all the Primarchs stood around the emperor. Dante stood there to, as well as the captains of every chapter. "I am spent" Said the Emperor, looking out among his children. But my death is not in vain, I have givn you the greatest gift a father can bestow, the Power to Kick Ass!" The Emperor said, his life fading away. "Thank you Dante. I knew your axe had a cool backstory for a reason." And the Emperor passed.
Each of the Primarchs stood, staring at each other. Suddenly, Russ interupted the silence, "I like your neck cut Girlyman!" And all the other primarchs laughed.
Let me set the scene:
-The Imperium of man stands alone on the brink of destruction. It seems 14 times is the charm in the year 40,000, because Abaddon's 14 Black Crusade has left the Imperium in shambles. If it wasn't for Creed's Tactical Genius and Grimnar's planning, both the Cadians and the the Space Wolves would have been destroyed completely.
- The rest of the IoM have found out about 'The Fallen' leading many to mistrust the Dark Angels and their successors.
-The Tyranid invasion continues to worsen, with more and more planets falling to the unstoppable hunger of the Hive Mind.
-The Necrons begin to awaken fully, and direct their efforts against the Eldar.
-The Dark Eldar keep doing what they were doing.
-Many orks fall under one banner, intent on looting...Mars! Although not nearly enough to sweep humanity away, there is much more than any regular Waaagh!
The Tau continue their expansion, taking imperial worlds while they cannot be defended.
Beset by enemies on all fronts, the Emperor knows this is the end.
"It is time, my sons..." sends the Emperor telepathically. Focusing his power, he opens are portal in front of him, linked to many places in the warp on on planets. Within moments, Khan, Russ, Vulkan, and Corax stand before him, knowing the final battle was to begin. 'You must help me, my sons. IF we are to protect the Imperium, we must use...it.'
The lost primarchs stared at him in disbelief, knowing with that proclamation, it truly must be the dawn of the final battle. There we four doors set around the Golden throne, each with a Chapter Symbol of the four primarchs. Each filed through the door. Focusing his power again, the Emperor shuts his eyes. When they open, they are on a massive planet. The Tendrils of a Tyranid fleet stretch across the sky, the warp clearly visible, churning and pulsing with energy. All the around, the Emperor, stand countless thousands of imperial guard, their tanks, titans, and numerous mortars; as well as thousands of Space Marines and their weapons of war, all teleported by the emperor. But the most interesting thing around the emperor, are four truely massive titans. The titans the Primarchs were sent into by the Emperor.
As the Warp began to spew abaddon's forces, as well as the personal forces of each of the daemon primarchs, and the foul primarchs themselves, the Imperial guardsmen began to cower. "Fear not, my children...." said the Emperor's voice, appearing into each guardsmen's head. "We will win this battle. We cannot lose."
Staring down at the humans were the Chaos Space Marines. the Demon primarchs strode, (and in Fulgrim's case, slithered) forward, laughing as they saw their father sitting upon the golden throne. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. Each of the four primarch's titans flew up into the air, changing suddenly. Khan's turning into two massive legs, Corax's and Russ' turning into massive arms, and Vulkan's turning into a massive chest. Each of the parts interlocked, standing taller than any of the Titans present, Chaos or Imperial. Although it took extreme effort, the Emperor twisted his lips to a smile, before igniting the retro-boosters on his Golden throne.
A thousand times a thousand voices sang in unison, " Go Go Power Primarchs!
Go Go Power Primarchs
Go Go Power Primarchs
Mighty Morphin' Power Primarchs!"
The Emperor's golden throne landed atop Vulkan's chassis, forming the head of the fabled Emperor-ator Titan.
The Titan lept into action, preforming tons of cheesy kung-fu moves in place.
Chaos. Was. F*CKED.
PART 2!!!!!!11one!
To all those prepared for this final battle, it appeared that Chaos would be f*cked. Except of course, to Abaddon and the Daemon primarchs. Magnus looked up at the mighty Emperor-ator Titan and laughed. "Did you not think we would foresee this event?" Magnus asked, "Come, join me brothers." And the Traitorous primarchs came together, warp energy cascading around them, growing in size. Soon, in the place of the Daemon primarchs stood a demonic mockery of the Proud Emperor-ator Titan. Now the table had...rotated 90º. Both sides were equal. The massive Daemon rushed forward, crashing into the Emperor-ator titan as the ground battle raged around them. As the battle waged on, the Daemon had gained the upper hand. It seemed as if they forces of good would be destroyed, until suddenly...
"Look out!" Yelled Abaddon, and all forces looked to the sky. A massive chuck of planet was racing toward the battlefield. But, it wasn't just any chunk of planet, it was The Rock!
As the Rock crashed down, both massive combatants stepped back. Green energy pulsed around the rock, and it opened, revealing the Lion and Luthor. behind them, the Rock continued to change form, morphing (lol, get it?) into a massive pair of legs, even more massive then the ones already on the Emperor-ator Titan. "I did, Magnus. And I prepared for it" The Emperor-ator titan jumped into the air.
Both arms detatched, and the Khan's titan parts detached from the waist and attached to chasis on either side, upon which the arms reattached. Now, Khan controlled the half the arms, but in cheesy 80's cartoon style, he was somehow seated next to Vulkan. Luther and the Lion bro hugged, having made-up after all these years, and each jumped into the control booth of a leg. The new chassis attached to the legs, and made something far greater. The Emperorator-ator Titan. "No... " Said the daemon, "How can this be?"
"And thats not all," said the Emperor, as a small object flew from the sky and smashed into the demon's face. "What sort of trick is this?" Bellowed the demon as it paused to look at the object. It was a huge tome, with the title, 'The Codex Astartes 2'
'Oh Shi-" began the demon, looking up and seeing air-borne titan above it. In the cockpit, was a stasis chamber. Fulgrim's mind stared up at it, noticing it was slightly different than he remembered. Rowboat was smiling.
Suddenly, the statis chamber opened, and Girlyman plummeted out, kicking the Daemon in the face, before doing a backflip and landing on the Emperorator-ator's open palm. The Titan above them split in two, forming a massive axe for Russ, and a sword for Corax. As they fell to the waiting hands of the Emperorator-ator, Girlyman had made his way into the titan, sitting beside Vulkan. Now, the full power of the Imperium would be released onto Chaos.
"HOLD UP!" bellowed a voice that sounded like glass shattering, a waterfall, and a million mortal voices put together. Tzeentch himself peered out from a massive hole in the sky. "That is Bull SHI-" He began to say, but the Emperor interrupted, "F*CK YOU!"
That of course only made Tzeentch mad. Although he was loathe to do it, he rent the portal even wider, revealing his 3 brothers. As Each God stepped out, the Chaos marines began to grovel and the Loyalists began to retreat.
This was going to be one HELL of a battle.
Possible Part 3 eventually.
The long awaited part three is finally here! (well, I'm going to be writing it now so...whatever. Sorry for the wait, I've been making a Badab War Diorama)
The four Gods of Chaos; Khorne, Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and Nurgle stood next to the massive combined form of the Daemon primarchs.The forces of Chaos and the forces of the Imperium stared at each other for a moment, they the battle begun in full. In a moment, the Emperorator-ator was lashing out at the Daemons with sword and axe, arcs of lightning coursing from the emperor onto the combatants. the Emperor and his Sons fought hard, but there was no way they could defeat the combined might of the four Brothers of Chaos and the traitor primarchs, unless there was someway to turn them against each other. However, as the Emperor mused on this idea, the titan was struck by a bolt of energy, knocking it to its knees. Khorne scoffed at the Emperorator-ator, and strode forward, lifting his axe to strike down the Emperor once and for all. The Space Marines and Imperial guard watched in horror, fearing the worst. Khorne drew back his axe, and swung, the very fabric of reality tearing as the blade passed through. The titan lifted an arm in a futile attempt to protect itself. A blinding light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the titan was unscathed. Khorne stared in confusion, looking at his hand. "My axe is GONE!" He bellowed.
Tzeentch looked at him, 'Gone? That would have taken some sort of tactical geni....CREEEEEEEEED!" All the assembled forces looked up. The Axe was stuck, blades in the ground. Standing on the top, was one badass, Cigar-chompin' mother F*cker. Slowly, Creed reached up and removed his cigar, tapping it and letting the ashes drift down. Looking up at the Deamons, he smiled. "Problem, Khorne?"
Khorne bellowed in anger, preparing to run forward when Tzeentch held him back. "I'll deal with him..." Tzeentch screeched as he prepared a massive bolt of energy. Creed continued to smoke his cigar, waiting. Tzeentch unleashed the bolt of energy at Creed, and a second blind light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the axe was gone. In its place, ashes. Everyone was silent. Jared Kell whispered, "No...not Creed..." Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud, slow clap. Everyone looked up and saw Creed standing beside the Emperor. "Nice shot. I was expecting it."Creed said, smiling again.
Tzeentch was enraged at his mistake, but not as enraged as Khorne. 'YOU DESTROYED MY AXE" he bellowed, grabbing his borther by the throat in an attempt to strangle him.
Slaanesh spoke up for the first time, "You know, you're kinda hot when you're angry...."
Everything stopped. The chaos marines stopped fighting the space marines. The artillery stopped firing. The Tyranid tendrils stopped moving. The Necrons stopped awakening. Everything.
"WHAT?!" Yelled Khorne, his anger at Tzeentch forgotten. All the Khorne berzerkers turned to the Slaanesh noise marines, preparing to battle.
'oooh. Punish me..." Said Slaanesh before being punched in the face by Khorne.
"Looks like its up to us" Said Nurgle to the primarch Daemon and Tzeentch. As they turned to face the Titan, it had regained its feet. The odds were a little more even, but not by much. That is, untill a massive Psycannon shot hit Nurgle square in the chest, blowing off a massive chunk of flesh and sending Nurglings everywhere. The Grey Knight had arrived.
"I am sorry, my Emperor." Spoke Brother Captain Stern from the helm of the Grey Knight, the Emperor's second line of Defense. Now, it was two on three. The battle between Khorne and Slaanesh raged on to the side. Needless to say, it was getting...scandalous.
Suddenly, a strange braying was heard. The Tyranids had arrived. Swarming over the 'fighting' bodies of Khorne and Slaanesh they began to attack Tzeentch, the Hive Mind wanting to absorb the psychic energy. Tzeentch took one last look at the Emperor and the Grey Knight before fighting off the tyranids. Nurgle and the Daemon primarch were left. "Now its even" Said the Emperor, pushing forward and striking out at the two Daemons, followed closely by the Grey Knight. Suddenly, even more Braying was heard. the plot thicked as it turned out the battle field was the biggest tomb world ever!1! Necrons, Necrons everywhere. Guass was flying around, flaying Chaos, Imperial, and Tyranid alike. Suddenly, two massive Battle Barges appeared. The Blood Angels Battle Barges.
From the bellies of the ships spilled the entiredy of the Blood Angels chapter. The Necrons stopped and looked up at the new arrivals. Dante walked over to the Silent King of the Necrons. Raising his fist, the Necron did the same. Bro-fist! Suddenly, the necrons began to fire only on Chaos and the tyranids. "What the Fu..." Said the Emperor when Dante interrupted saying, "Just go with it, man."
After hours of fighting, the Grey Knight, as well as Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh, the Tyranid fleet, and the Necrons had been destroyed. Only Tzeentch and the Daemon primarchs remained to battle the Emperor. (The forces of Chaos and humanity still battled at their feet)
"It seems we are to die together' Said Tzeentch, looking around at the carnage.
"NOT SO FAST!" yelled a voice. Suddenly, the entire Blood Ravens chapter mass deep-striked, simultaneously, unto the battle field. Each battle brother was equpied with a multilaser. Dreadnaughts with multilasers. Captains with multilasers. Termiantors with multilasers. Each member of the chapter opened fire upon the two daemons, the sheer weight of multilaser fire grinding the Daemon primarchs to dust, and wounding Tzeentch. The Emperorator-ator stode forward, slashing its axe and sword across Tzeentchs chest. "No..." Rasped Tzeentch, preparing one final bolt of energy, more powerful than anything before it, and launching it at the Emperor.
Dante stared up at the oddly-slow moving projectile. He knew the prophecy, that one golden warrior would stand between the Emperor and the darkness, was coming true. Igniting his jump pack, Dante flew up and placed himself between the bolt of dark energy and the Emperor. His Axe Mortalis, had a special property. For all its cool background, it was simply a master-crafted weapon. Or was it?
In truth, it was the greatest weapon of all. Dante slashed his axe downward, its blade coliding with the dark energy and lauching it back at Tzeentch.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!' yelled Tzeentch as he was struck by the massive bolt, disintegrating.
A third white light flashed, and all the Primarchs stood around the emperor. Dante stood there to, as well as the captains of every chapter. "I am spent" Said the Emperor, looking out among his children. But my death is not in vain, I have givn you the greatest gift a father can bestow, the Power to Kick Ass!" The Emperor said, his life fading away. "Thank you Dante. I knew your axe had a cool backstory for a reason." And the Emperor passed.
Each of the Primarchs stood, staring at each other. Suddenly, Russ interupted the silence, "I like your neck cut Girlyman!" And all the other primarchs laughed.
Let me set the scene:
-The Imperium of man stands alone on the brink of destruction. It seems 14 times is the charm in the year 40,000, because Abaddon's 14 Black Crusade has left the Imperium in shambles. If it wasn't for Creed's Tactical Genius and Grimnar's planning, both the Cadians and the the Space Wolves would have been destroyed completely.
- The rest of the IoM have found out about 'The Fallen' leading many to mistrust the Dark Angels and their successors.
-The Tyranid invasion continues to worsen, with more and more planets falling to the unstoppable hunger of the Hive Mind.
-The Necrons begin to awaken fully, and direct their efforts against the Eldar.
-The Dark Eldar keep doing what they were doing.
-Many orks fall under one banner, intent on looting...Mars! Although not nearly enough to sweep humanity away, there is much more than any regular Waaagh!
The Tau continue their expansion, taking imperial worlds while they cannot be defended.
Beset by enemies on all fronts, the Emperor knows this is the end.
"It is time, my sons..." sends the Emperor telepathically. Focusing his power, he opens are portal in front of him, linked to many places in the warp on on planets. Within moments, Khan, Russ, Vulkan, and Corax stand before him, knowing the final battle was to begin. 'You must help me, my sons. IF we are to protect the Imperium, we must use...it.'
The lost primarchs stared at him in disbelief, knowing with that proclamation, it truly must be the dawn of the final battle. There we four doors set around the Golden throne, each with a Chapter Symbol of the four primarchs. Each filed through the door. Focusing his power again, the Emperor shuts his eyes. When they open, they are on a massive planet. The Tendrils of a Tyranid fleet stretch across the sky, the warp clearly visible, churning and pulsing with energy. All the around, the Emperor, stand countless thousands of imperial guard, their tanks, titans, and numerous mortars; as well as thousands of Space Marines and their weapons of war, all teleported by the emperor. But the most interesting thing around the emperor, are four truely massive titans. The titans the Primarchs were sent into by the Emperor.
As the Warp began to spew abaddon's forces, as well as the personal forces of each of the daemon primarchs, and the foul primarchs themselves, the Imperial guardsmen began to cower. "Fear not, my children...." said the Emperor's voice, appearing into each guardsmen's head. "We will win this battle. We cannot lose."
Staring down at the humans were the Chaos Space Marines. the Demon primarchs strode, (and in Fulgrim's case, slithered) forward, laughing as they saw their father sitting upon the golden throne. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. Each of the four primarch's titans flew up into the air, changing suddenly. Khan's turning into two massive legs, Corax's and Russ' turning into massive arms, and Vulkan's turning into a massive chest. Each of the parts interlocked, standing taller than any of the Titans present, Chaos or Imperial. Although it took extreme effort, the Emperor twisted his lips to a smile, before igniting the retro-boosters on his Golden throne.
A thousand times a thousand voices sang in unison, " Go Go Power Primarchs!
Go Go Power Primarchs
Go Go Power Primarchs
Mighty Morphin' Power Primarchs!"
The Emperor's golden throne landed atop Vulkan's chassis, forming the head of the fabled Emperor-ator Titan.
The Titan lept into action, preforming tons of cheesy kung-fu moves in place.
Chaos. Was. F*CKED.
PART 2!!!!!!11one!
To all those prepared for this final battle, it appeared that Chaos would be f*cked. Except of course, to Abaddon and the Daemon primarchs. Magnus looked up at the mighty Emperor-ator Titan and laughed. "Did you not think we would foresee this event?" Magnus asked, "Come, join me brothers." And the Traitorous primarchs came together, warp energy cascading around them, growing in size. Soon, in the place of the Daemon primarchs stood a demonic mockery of the Proud Emperor-ator Titan. Now the table had...rotated 90º. Both sides were equal. The massive Daemon rushed forward, crashing into the Emperor-ator titan as the ground battle raged around them. As the battle waged on, the Daemon had gained the upper hand. It seemed as if they forces of good would be destroyed, until suddenly...
"Look out!" Yelled Abaddon, and all forces looked to the sky. A massive chuck of planet was racing toward the battlefield. But, it wasn't just any chunk of planet, it was The Rock!
As the Rock crashed down, both massive combatants stepped back. Green energy pulsed around the rock, and it opened, revealing the Lion and Luthor. behind them, the Rock continued to change form, morphing (lol, get it?) into a massive pair of legs, even more massive then the ones already on the Emperor-ator Titan. "I did, Magnus. And I prepared for it" The Emperor-ator titan jumped into the air.
Both arms detatched, and the Khan's titan parts detached from the waist and attached to chasis on either side, upon which the arms reattached. Now, Khan controlled the half the arms, but in cheesy 80's cartoon style, he was somehow seated next to Vulkan. Luther and the Lion bro hugged, having made-up after all these years, and each jumped into the control booth of a leg. The new chassis attached to the legs, and made something far greater. The Emperorator-ator Titan. "No... " Said the daemon, "How can this be?"
"And thats not all," said the Emperor, as a small object flew from the sky and smashed into the demon's face. "What sort of trick is this?" Bellowed the demon as it paused to look at the object. It was a huge tome, with the title, 'The Codex Astartes 2'
'Oh Shi-" began the demon, looking up and seeing air-borne titan above it. In the cockpit, was a stasis chamber. Fulgrim's mind stared up at it, noticing it was slightly different than he remembered. Rowboat was smiling.
Suddenly, the statis chamber opened, and Girlyman plummeted out, kicking the Daemon in the face, before doing a backflip and landing on the Emperorator-ator's open palm. The Titan above them split in two, forming a massive axe for Russ, and a sword for Corax. As they fell to the waiting hands of the Emperorator-ator, Girlyman had made his way into the titan, sitting beside Vulkan. Now, the full power of the Imperium would be released onto Chaos.
"HOLD UP!" bellowed a voice that sounded like glass shattering, a waterfall, and a million mortal voices put together. Tzeentch himself peered out from a massive hole in the sky. "That is Bull SHI-" He began to say, but the Emperor interrupted, "F*CK YOU!"
That of course only made Tzeentch mad. Although he was loathe to do it, he rent the portal even wider, revealing his 3 brothers. As Each God stepped out, the Chaos marines began to grovel and the Loyalists began to retreat.
This was going to be one HELL of a battle.
Possible Part 3 eventually.
The long awaited part three is finally here! (well, I'm going to be writing it now so...whatever. Sorry for the wait, I've been making a Badab War Diorama)
The four Gods of Chaos; Khorne, Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and Nurgle stood next to the massive combined form of the Daemon primarchs.The forces of Chaos and the forces of the Imperium stared at each other for a moment, they the battle begun in full. In a moment, the Emperorator-ator was lashing out at the Daemons with sword and axe, arcs of lightning coursing from the emperor onto the combatants. the Emperor and his Sons fought hard, but there was no way they could defeat the combined might of the four Brothers of Chaos and the traitor primarchs, unless there was someway to turn them against each other. However, as the Emperor mused on this idea, the titan was struck by a bolt of energy, knocking it to its knees. Khorne scoffed at the Emperorator-ator, and strode forward, lifting his axe to strike down the Emperor once and for all. The Space Marines and Imperial guard watched in horror, fearing the worst. Khorne drew back his axe, and swung, the very fabric of reality tearing as the blade passed through. The titan lifted an arm in a futile attempt to protect itself. A blinding light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the titan was unscathed. Khorne stared in confusion, looking at his hand. "My axe is GONE!" He bellowed.
Tzeentch looked at him, 'Gone? That would have taken some sort of tactical geni....CREEEEEEEEED!" All the assembled forces looked up. The Axe was stuck, blades in the ground. Standing on the top, was one badass, Cigar-chompin' mother F*cker. Slowly, Creed reached up and removed his cigar, tapping it and letting the ashes drift down. Looking up at the Deamons, he smiled. "Problem, Khorne?"
Khorne bellowed in anger, preparing to run forward when Tzeentch held him back. "I'll deal with him..." Tzeentch screeched as he prepared a massive bolt of energy. Creed continued to smoke his cigar, waiting. Tzeentch unleashed the bolt of energy at Creed, and a second blind light flashed.
When the dust cleared, the axe was gone. In its place, ashes. Everyone was silent. Jared Kell whispered, "No...not Creed..." Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud, slow clap. Everyone looked up and saw Creed standing beside the Emperor. "Nice shot. I was expecting it."Creed said, smiling again.
Tzeentch was enraged at his mistake, but not as enraged as Khorne. 'YOU DESTROYED MY AXE" he bellowed, grabbing his borther by the throat in an attempt to strangle him.
Slaanesh spoke up for the first time, "You know, you're kinda hot when you're angry...."
Everything stopped. The chaos marines stopped fighting the space marines. The artillery stopped firing. The Tyranid tendrils stopped moving. The Necrons stopped awakening. Everything.
"WHAT?!" Yelled Khorne, his anger at Tzeentch forgotten. All the Khorne berzerkers turned to the Slaanesh noise marines, preparing to battle.
'oooh. Punish me..." Said Slaanesh before being punched in the face by Khorne.
"Looks like its up to us" Said Nurgle to the primarch Daemon and Tzeentch. As they turned to face the Titan, it had regained its feet. The odds were a little more even, but not by much. That is, untill a massive Psycannon shot hit Nurgle square in the chest, blowing off a massive chunk of flesh and sending Nurglings everywhere. The Grey Knight had arrived.
"I am sorry, my Emperor." Spoke Brother Captain Stern from the helm of the Grey Knight, the Emperor's second line of Defense. Now, it was two on three. The battle between Khorne and Slaanesh raged on to the side. Needless to say, it was getting...scandalous.
Suddenly, a strange braying was heard. The Tyranids had arrived. Swarming over the 'fighting' bodies of Khorne and Slaanesh they began to attack Tzeentch, the Hive Mind wanting to absorb the psychic energy. Tzeentch took one last look at the Emperor and the Grey Knight before fighting off the tyranids. Nurgle and the Daemon primarch were left. "Now its even" Said the Emperor, pushing forward and striking out at the two Daemons, followed closely by the Grey Knight. Suddenly, even more Braying was heard. the plot thicked as it turned out the battle field was the biggest tomb world ever!1! Necrons, Necrons everywhere. Guass was flying around, flaying Chaos, Imperial, and Tyranid alike. Suddenly, two massive Battle Barges appeared. The Blood Angels Battle Barges.
From the bellies of the ships spilled the entiredy of the Blood Angels chapter. The Necrons stopped and looked up at the new arrivals. Dante walked over to the Silent King of the Necrons. Raising his fist, the Necron did the same. Bro-fist! Suddenly, the necrons began to fire only on Chaos and the tyranids. "What the Fu..." Said the Emperor when Dante interrupted saying, "Just go with it, man."
After hours of fighting, the Grey Knight, as well as Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh, the Tyranid fleet, and the Necrons had been destroyed. Only Tzeentch and the Daemon primarchs remained to battle the Emperor. (The forces of Chaos and humanity still battled at their feet)
"It seems we are to die together' Said Tzeentch, looking around at the carnage.
"NOT SO FAST!" yelled a voice. Suddenly, the entire Blood Ravens chapter mass deep-striked, simultaneously, unto the battle field. Each battle brother was equpied with a multilaser. Dreadnaughts with multilasers. Captains with multilasers. Termiantors with multilasers. Each member of the chapter opened fire upon the two daemons, the sheer weight of multilaser fire grinding the Daemon primarchs to dust, and wounding Tzeentch. The Emperorator-ator stode forward, slashing its axe and sword across Tzeentchs chest. "No..." Rasped Tzeentch, preparing one final bolt of energy, more powerful than anything before it, and launching it at the Emperor.
Dante stared up at the oddly-slow moving projectile. He knew the prophecy, that one golden warrior would stand between the Emperor and the darkness, was coming true. Igniting his jump pack, Dante flew up and placed himself between the bolt of dark energy and the Emperor. His Axe Mortalis, had a special property. For all its cool background, it was simply a master-crafted weapon. Or was it?
In truth, it was the greatest weapon of all. Dante slashed his axe downward, its blade coliding with the dark energy and lauching it back at Tzeentch.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!' yelled Tzeentch as he was struck by the massive bolt, disintegrating.
A third white light flashed, and all the Primarchs stood around the emperor. Dante stood there to, as well as the captains of every chapter. "I am spent" Said the Emperor, looking out among his children. But my death is not in vain, I have givn you the greatest gift a father can bestow, the Power to Kick Ass!" The Emperor said, his life fading away. "Thank you Dante. I knew your axe had a cool backstory for a reason." And the Emperor passed.
Each of the Primarchs stood, staring at each other. Suddenly, Russ interupted the silence, "I like your neck cut Girlyman!" And all the other primarchs laughed.
The End.
(I'm actually gonna write part 4 soon)
This is the funniest thing i've seen for a long long time, laughing so much
The following text is made up of notes from the diary of a Chaos Space Marine in the Black Legion.
Dreaded Diary,
Day 1, week 1
1 Arrived at new camp on planet Ythcolgar.
2 Started to feel pain in left arm. No idea why.
3 Hung piece of paper on brother Ardius’ backpack reading “Purge me!” and had a good (and sinister) laugh with the rest of the lads.
4 Brother Behemon painted the coolest ever winged skull on his shoulderplate today, and was brutally butchered by the guv’ (Estragor, Exalted Champion of Chaos) for being a Night Lords sympathizer.
Day 2, week 1
4 Pain in arm growing. Went to Chaos sorcerer, who told me three words: “Extremis Unconfortablis Mutatis.” I’m visiting brother Arzhar tomorrow, to ask about mutation symptoms. (Arzhar has already got an ostrich-leg and a bat’s nose.)
5 The Guv’ didn’t like the “purge me” joke, and as punishment I spent three hours writing “You’re dead!” back to front on the front of my squad’s Rhino, in preparation for next week’s big cityfight.
6 Attended brother Behemon’s funeral today. The way sergeant Sargoth placed his blooded skull atop that burning mound of bones really stirred some emotions, but we all forgot our sadness and frustration by getting leglessly drunk on boozed-up blood afterwards.
Day 3, week 1
7 Awoke with a terrible hangover from last night, and hung on my bed I found a picture of me making out with a daemonette. This, of course, led to quite a few “HOWs”, “WHYs” and “WHENs”
8 Arzhar (who by the way has been gifted an additional ostrich leg by his patron) told me to expect a hideous mutation of my left arm. Although I have yet to read about the pros and cons of mutation, I’m hoping for either a whip-like tentacle or a massive crab’s claw!
9 Found a scorched skull on the gound and hung it in my belt, but was then given a thorough lesson from sarge about martial honour, and how one shall only display battle-trophies that one-self has won. Frankly I couldn’t care less what he and the Blood God thinks.
Day 4, week 1
10 Today we sacked an undefended city on the planet Urnium. Found a convenience store selling cereal-boxes called “Corn-chaos.” (a fitting name, I might add). The guv, however, took the cereal’s title as an insult mocking his patron, Khorne, and burned the shop personally. Fortunately I managed to grab the latest issue of “Universe at War” before the magasine-rack was consumed by the flames.
11 Got into a fight with brother Octavius over which of the two destroyed legions landed on Istvaan V first. He claimed it was the (fragment missing), but surely it was the colossal landing crafts of the (fragment missing) legion which first touched the ground?
12 Played Death-poker with the lads before going to bed. The only casualty was brother Magnon, who bought it in the fourth round. Won myself a neat little master-crafted beauty of a bolt-pistol, and a bottle of some blue liquid. (Note: The bottle was labeled: “Do not add anything”)
Day 5, week 1
13 Today, the guv beheaded brother Raphaelus for having tattooed a certain rune on his forehead. But Raphaelus died with a smile on the face of his severed head, having had great fun tricking the entire company into believing that he had been given the Mark of Khorne.
14 Pain in arm growing, the sorcerer told me to expect a mutation any day. I still find it hard to believe that I have particularly pleased one of the powers, except for perhaps amusing Slaanny by symbolically eating that Eldar’s waystone in a battle a few weeks ago. (That stone was hard as rock, by the way, and it really messed up my teeth. And I was hoping for fangs and all!
15 Attended “Pint-night” with the rest of the squad. In lack of boozed-up blood, drank the blue liquid I won at the poker-game. The liquid turned out stronger and fiercer than an irritated Bloodthirster, and sent me running to the latrine, screaming like a Horror. Before I reaching it, I had already vomited half my interiours all over the newly-polished Land Raider. (Note: Formed the vomit into looking like an evil face, and the tank commander was impressed when he saw it the next day.)
Day 6, week 1
16 Last night I had a long vision of Tzeentch, telling me how mad he was at me. I spent all night running from his minions in the psychic realm. How I earned the wrath of Tzeentchie-boy (that old trickster is beyond me.
17 Was told at the mess that the blue liquid I had drunk last night was infact an antidote to Nurgle’s Rot, and was lifted up by a group of Plague-marines and carried across the courtyard, being praised and honoured by the foul men. Never before have I drunk and thereby destroyed the nemesis of an entire squad of marines. (Note: My new nikcname is “Doom-drinker,” apparently.)
Day 7, week 1
18 Awoke with left arm fully mutated! A beautiful tentacle-thingy, slimy and gross. Had great fun coiling it around brother Xarnon’s throat and almost strangling him. Went to Arzhar’s tent with a bunch of posessees, and had a “Who’s got the most hideous body-part”-competition. (Brother Igmarius won, sporting a toe with a fly’s head and little legs of it’s own.)
19 Got tickets for tomorrow’s Emperor’s Children gig on the planet Harthras IV. (Note: Bus leaves at 4.00)
20 Went to Chaos sorcerer in hope of finding out which god has gifted me with the tentacle. After two hours of the sorceror looking at the arm and taking down notes, came the following answer: “It is probably either Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle or Slaanesh.” (No big suprises there)
...
I think that's fro mthe same guy who wrote the Orkons, the Ork Guard and the Ork Marines. He posts in Heresy Online. Also, there's A LOT more in that diary, you don't even have half of it. It's hilarious.
"Later, we found this really neat piece of armour in the junkyard, and brother Halus put it on at once. Of course, no-one told him that what he had just put on was a suit of armour from the Thousand Sons legion. And we quickly discovered that it was still occupied by it's original wearer, when the armour ran off with Halus screaming to get out."
Henners91 wrote:"Later, we found this really neat piece of armour in the junkyard, and brother Halus put it on at once. Of course, no-one told him that what he had just put on was a suit of armour from the Thousand Sons legion. And we quickly discovered that it was still occupied by it's original wearer, when the armour ran off with Halus screaming to get out."
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and after discovering the space marine commander doesn't have a daughter, was furious and decided to try and marry three other leaders' daughters: the IG captain's, the commissar's, and the inquisitor's. worried, each of the leaders build fortresses out of different materials, the captain's out of concrete, the commissar's out of guardsmen, and the inquisitor's out of... nothing, he just gathered a bunch of sisters for a tea party.
So the Black and White Space Marine approaches the commissar's person-fort first and booms,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter!"
"No!" says the commissar.
" If you don't, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your fort down!"
"GO KILL A GROT; THAT'S THE ONLY THING GOOD ENOUGH FOR YA!"
So the BAWSM blew his person-fort down, and forced his daughter to marry him.
Next the BAWSM approaches the captain's concrete bunker and booms,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter!"
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?" asked the captain.
The BAWSM get angry, smashes the bunker, then forces the daughter into marriage.
Next the BAWSM approaches the inquisitor's tea party and gets shot to bits by the sisters.
"By holy and spiritual order of the God-emperor himself, I hereby execute you for heretic acts such as humiliating your armor's machine spirit by painting it a wholly different color, murdering two servant of the imperium, and marriage, an action against the codex astartes." said the inquisitor. Thank the gods that's over.
Now that I see the pic of Commissar Khârn, I remember the stories of the traitor guardsman talking about what a great guy Khârn is once you get to know him, including a story on how he got that hat.
Gratuitous amounts of copy+paste inbound
"As I always say, Khârn the Betrayer was pretty fun to be around, and contrary to popular belief he actually had a sense of humor as well. Probably the best example was in the middle of the campaign during a sweeping of an Imperial Guard command post, with Khorne Berserkers and our Red Rivers company marching directly into the defensive fire. The closer we got, the more apparent it became that the only thing holding the Guardsmen together was a grizzled looking Commissar in full uniform, one gun turned on us and another firing on any of his men who looked like running.
Khârn was at the tip of the assault, and so he got to the Commissar first, plucking the screaming officer up by the neck and holding him over his head.
Then, out of nowhere one of the other berserkers grabs the Commissar's legs and roars "MAKE A WISH!". Well, as you can imagine everyone on both sides forgets about the fight, and watches Khârn and this other Khorne-worshiping marine just start pulling on this Commissar at both ends, the old man screaming out oaths and curses like you wouldn't believe! You could almost hear the sound of flesh tearing and bone snapping over the cheering.
Then, Khârn just let go. Totally not expecting it and pulling with all his might, the Khorne Berserker just falls backwards and starts tumbling with the near dead Commissar into a damaged hellhound, his armor grating off it and sparking!
Well, after the explosion we all turned back to Khârn, who had managed to keep a hold of the Commissar's fancy hat. Ol' Khârn put it on, and damned if it wasn't the funniest thing any of us had ever seen... till he turned to us and bellowed "I'M THE NEW COMMISSAR" at us.
They tell me five thousand traitor guardsmen died that day before someone could take that hat off him.
What a kidder!"
SabrX wrote:This thread needs more Angry Marines...
Hows this?
If i am not mistaken, he is standing over the broken corpse of a Pretty Marine. as you know, Angry Marines have Preferred Enemy: Everything. but you might not have known that they also have Preferred Enemyx2: Pretty Marines which allows them to reroll their failed rerolls untill they hit.
If i am not mistaken, he is standing over the broken corpse of a Pretty Marine. as you know, Angry Marines have Preferred Enemy: Everything. but you might not have known that they also have Preferred Enemyx2: Pretty Marines which allows them to reroll their failed rerolls untill they hit.
SpessMehrenD3R9 wrote:I'll go retrieve more if anyone wants them
Yes, please do.
Automatically Appended Next Post:
Shayden wrote:
SabrX wrote:This thread needs more Angry Marines...
Hows this?
Somebody get to work on an angry marine dreadnought so angry that the occupant bursts outs of the from with all of the life support still attached. make sure the occupant is rage-red and has a face that looks like he's taking a very serious dump.
Wish granted. This one's a personal favorite of mine.
"I've been fairly insistent to you readers out there that Khârn the Betrayer was a pretty fun guy to be around. I know he gets a bad rap for the whole 'slaughtering his own allies' thing, but unless you've been there after a battle with him you don't really appreciate how much he strives to please his chaos god.
It was after one of our many conflicts that the Red Rivers Infantry were preparing to march on to our next destination. Never mind that it was half the planet away, we as traitor guard didn't get transport vehicles. So as you can imagine when someone declared they'd found an Imperial Drop-ship in working condition everyone clamored and fought to get a free ride to our next engagement.
Knowing full well I was too far away to get on the ship, I stayed with some of my fellow traitors at the battlefield. I'd seen Khârn after the battle, and as soon as we'd gotten our marching orders he was picking up corpses and putting them down elsewhere. This took an hour before he was satisfied, and seeing an audience he happily led us up onto a hill as the drop-ship flew a pass over the top of us, probably to gloat. Proudly, Khârn gestured to the battlefield, and then waved up at the drop-ship with his other hand. I peered down the hill, and realized he'd arranged the bodies to make out words, so many killed to form:
On your drop ship hull
I planted a melta bomb
Blood for the Blood God
It was at that point the drop-ship erupted in a violent plume, and crashed down on top of the haiku. Roaring in a cheer, we lifted Khârn up together and made to carry him to the next battlefield as a sign of our appreciation and devotion to his art.
We got about five paces before our spines liquefied, but Khârn didn't hold it against us for trying.
Seriously, what a guy."
And in regards to the Angry Marine dreadnought, this is the closest thing I've found. Still formidable in its own right.
Anyone have the piece where some chaos marines were talking about the various chapters and legions and how inappropriately named they were for the faction they were on?
I would be remiss if I didn't include the story of Khârn's day off.
"It was a normal day, just like any other, almost. Commissars were shooting their men, etc. But there I was, with the Red Rivers, sitting on some gakhole of a bunker, when we just heard this loud crash. Of course, we thought it was an attack, it being in the middle of the damn night and all. A few of the guardsmen jumped next to the bunker wall, while I hit the ground. Suddenly, another crash was heard, this time closer. It sounded like it came from the inside of the bunker.
“IT’S MY DAY OFF!” Khârn spoke as he broke the reinforced concrete wall, smashed a few guardsman directly in his path, and ran off. I didn’t know what had happened until a bit later.
Across the land, several hundred kilometers out, lived a farmer, who took care of his heard of bronto-cattle. When he awoke this day, he grabbed his boots, put on his hat, got his tools, and stepped out the door, where several hundred dinosaur sized cattle were flipped on their backs with their insides scattered around the field. Carved in each one with what looked like a rusty fence post was the words “IT’S MY DAY OFF”.
Blood of the people, skin of the innocent, bones of the pure, all laid out in a complex pattern. The cultists performed the exact ritual, syllable to movements, all in accordance with whatever Tzeentch had wished. Skies were darkening, wildlife fleeing, storms that shouldn’t happen this time of year started appearing. Then, out from the bushes, Khârn leapt, slamming a cultist into the arrangement, and instantly turning him into liquefied pulp. Across the land, a sound of a giant record stopping was heard.
A single cultist watched as Khârn continued on his way, oblivious to the ritual. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that”. He was then instantly destroyed.
The commissar watched the mountains surrounding him. Fortified in his city, waiting for the forces of Chaos to come, all he needed was to wait until- “ENEMY SPOTTED. FIRE ON COORDINATES” A voice screamed through his earpiece. The basilisks quickly responded, firing at all the coordinates shouted through the comm. units. Eventually, they exhausted their ammo. The Commissar looked on the mountains, expecting to see the ruined army of Chaos. Instead, he saw nothing but splintered trees and rocks, and the craters from the barrage, which seemed to spell out “IT’S MY DAY OFF!”"
DarknessEternal wrote:Anyone have the piece where some chaos marines were talking about the various chapters and legions and how inappropriately named they were for the faction they were on?
I think I read that one on Fanfiction.net! I'll look for it later.
So, Eldrad Ulthran is a dick. It seems shocking to hear and I know he is the guiding light of our people, but in all honesty, he's a total dick.
I know this because I served with him. You see, I am a Warlock. You can imagine my excitement when I was first assigned to his retinue. I took no heed to the fact his last set of Warlocks supposedly died in "a most ironic manner". I was young back then, only 19 000, and naive.
As soon as I met Eldrad in person he gave me my first order: "find a howling banshee exarch, and a witch blade for yourself, we are going to Setrus Prime (as the mon-keigh called it)." He actually said the parentheses by leaning forward and placing a hand beside his mouth to direct his voice to me alone. He is kind of a douche that way, we were in the room alone.
Anyway, Eldrad, the banshee exarch and I sortie to the planet's surface. I project some illusory cover to shield our hiding spot and the exarch and I await more orders. Before us a great battle is being waged between a force of the mon-keigh Space Marines and our fallen brethren, the Dark Eldar. About 20 minutes into the battle Eldrad points to a pebble by his foot and says "Move this small stone to where I am pointing now." He points to an innocuous patch of ground. Dumbfounded but trusting, I do as he says. No sooner had I reached cover did a Space Marine bike roar past me, straight over the pebble. The mighty treads of the bike's wheels fling the pebble up into an empty stretch of air. It hangs there for a moment, then a Dark Eldar reaver rushes into it, the pebble sucked into its jet intake. The reaver sputters then bursts into flames, accelerating rapidly, right into a Talos. The Talos was not of regular design, not that any ever are. This one was a mass of spinning blades with a screaming humanoid in its center, the body of which was too mutilated to even identify its race.
I might mention at this point that Eldrad has not turned to look at the ensuing chaos, instead he is staring in the direction of myself and our howling banshee companion.
When the reaver hit the talos, all hell broke loose as the twirling saws of the unsavory machine broke free like angry daemons being exorcised. I saw one blade, bouncing and racing directly towards us at ludicrous speeds. And I am an Eldar, I know speed. I brace my witch blade for the impact readying myself to take the blow, to save the farseer in my protection. The blades hit and both the saw and the witch blade veer off directly towards the banshee exarch. Both blades merely graze her, just deep enough to cut the restraints that hold her costume on. As her armour falls away exposing her breasts, I realize why Eldrad was staring at her. He giggles, then orders a full retreat.
What a dick.
So Eldrad is a huge dick, but I think I have proven that by now. What I haven't told you is that he is, without a doubt, the greatest psyker in the universe.
I never saw this more exemplified than when we went to deal with a splinter fleet of Hive Fleet Leviathan. The first thing Eldrad did was use his massive reservoir of power to redirect the entire hive fleet 0.3 degrees off course. At first we had no idea why, but he assured us there was a reason. 134 years later we encountered the swarm again, and now we saw his plan, the fleet was heading straight into a desolate backwater planet. Using yet more of his might, Eldrad hid the entire planet from the fleet's sight. This caused the entire hive fleet to crash square into the planet's surface. He then called for me and the rest of his retinue to sortie down to the planet, we had a mission.
Once on the surface the bleeding husks of charred hive ships loomed over us like cold organic volcanoes. And then in a clearing, we found our quarry, a mighty hive tyrant, its psychic eminence clouding my own mind like a thick whispering fog. Eldrad was not taken aback in the slightest, he stepped forward, unarmed, right into the clutches of the hive tyrant. He then began to emulate the hive tyrant's psychic powers, only at a much higher magnitude. He had made himself into a synapse creature of immense power. So much so he brow beat the mighty tyranid into submission. He then turned to us, tyranid leader in tow, and said, we are returning, we have what we came for.
Although impressed by Eldrad's mastery of the mind, we all could not stop pondering his master plan. Why would he need such a mighty beast? It was not till the next morning that I knew. Pasted throughout the ENTIRE CRAFTWORLD were pictures of the titanic monstrosity and its ..... titanic monstrosity resting on my face as I slept. I never even knew tyranids had genitalia.
What a dick.
You know, Eldrad Ulthran really is a dick. I've said it before, and I have absolutely no doubt that I will say it again. He has skill and power of heights that are only reachable, even for most Eldar, in their dreams, and how does he use them? He uses them like this:
Years ago, a minor Ork Waaagh sprung up and launched itself against the Mon Keigh world they call Lentak II. It's an insigificant planet by any definition except, apparently, Eldrad's. He summoned me and told me we were going to Lentak, and that it was of the utmost importance to see that a certain battle took a particular course. He also told me to bring along the best sniper I could find, adding that "He might come in handy," with a wink like he was passing on some kind of secret message. Typical Eldrad behavior, that.
So, we get down to the surface of Lentak and locate the "important" battle, in a rocky pass high up in a mountain range. Eldrad isn't wearing his helmet, the better to display the horribly annoying half-smile that's on his face the whole time, the one he puts on when he knows something you don't and is about to use that information. I'm busy projecting an illusion to keep Mon Keigh and the Orks from noticing us, Eldrad and the sniper are just watching the battle from the rock outcrop where we're standing. Finally, Eldrad points at a particular Ork nob riding in the back of one of their wartrukks.
"That one. Take off his ear. His *left* ear. Right...now."
The sniper fires, cleanly severing the Ork's ear. The thing roars like the beast it is, looks around, and smacks the Ork beside it right off the back of the bouncing vehicle. The fallen Ork doesn't even have time to stop rolling before it gets run over by another Ork on a warbike; the bike nearly crashes, and one of the bombs sitting in a rack near the back bounces loose and falls to the ground. Eldrad looks at it, nods in satisfaction, and motions for us to leave.
Five of the Mon Keigh years pass. Five blessed, beloved years, in which I do not hear nor see Eldrad a single time. I don't know where he was, or what he does when he's not busy being a dick; probably off seducing Tau or members of whatever other young race has caught his fancy recently. Anyway, those five years pass all too quickly, and then Eldrad comes back, contacts me, and tells me we're going back to Lentak II, just the two of us. This, of course, sets my teeth on edge, because I know he's going to do something unbearably dickish, but I can't exactly refuse the most important Farseer of my Craftworld.
Sure enough, we wind up back in that same mountain pass, watching a column of Imperial Guard troops march past. This time, we're down at roughly the same level as the guardsmen, but since there are only two of us, it's easy for me to project sufficient camouflage. Good thing, because Eldrad sure wasn't helping. I notice that the wreckage from the battle years ago hasn't been completely cleaned; some has been pushed up against the walls of the pass, some hasn't.
I belatedly remember the fallen bomb and start to look for it, but before I can spot it, a Chimera with a commissar riding in its open hatch finds it on its own. The explosion bounces the vehicle into the air, and the unsecured commissar goes flying. Shrapnel flies towards us and I dodge, rolling across the ground to avoid the splintered metal.
When I look up, I see Eldrad, standing with the sunrise behind him, posed like a statue with his head high and his fists on his hips. An instant later, the commissar's hat lands right on his head. And Eldrad, the dick, holds the pose and smirks at me. I almost dropped the illusion and let the Mon Keigh kill us both, but then I realized Eldrad would probably have some way of escaping even that.
Never in my nearly twenty thousand years of life have I met a bigger dick than Eldrad Ulthran.
So, I've already told you about how Eldrad Ulthran is a dick. You've heard it all, all the sad stories...except, of course, you haven't, because Eldrad constantly generates more indignities to pile upon me. I thought he'd give me a break after the incident Tissalk Secunda; he really went too far on that one, and after they finally stopped laughing, the rest of the expeditionary force were giving him some funny looks. I thought he wouldn't anything else so soon. I was wrong.
With the Grey Ones rising again to wage war against all life, many of our priorities have been shifted to meet this resurgent threat. Thus, when Eldrad said he was working on a project and needed the body of a Necron warrior, everyone assumed he meant it was for research into some kind of weapon to use against them. Under any other circumstances, getting the order from Eldrad to gather a raiding group together would have filled me with fear that I was going to be the butt of another joke, but even Eldrad has to be serious where the ancient enemy is concerned...right?
Besides, to be honest, I was too busy being afraid of the Grey Ones to worry about whatever dickish maneuver Eldrad must be planning. I've faced the Mon Keigh, the Orks, our fallen brethren, and the horrors of the Warp, and such foes do not frighten me, but the soulless enemy does. They're so...cold. Nevertheless, let it not be said that I did not do my duty when called upon.
We flew almost to the edge of the galaxy; myself, my handpicked force, and Eldrad, who actually acted professionally during the long transit. I kept glancing over my shoulder, literally and metaphorically, expecting his true nature to assert itself, but we reached the tomb world without incident. We landed on that ancient soil, and all my senses were screaming at me to get back in the ship and get away, back to Ulthwe and (relative) safety. But we went further. We went down into a tomb, Eldrad opening the way for us.
Down in that darkness, I was more scared than I ever had been in my whole life, all 19,872 years of it; this was one of the most nerve-wracking (if not THE most nerve-wracking) tasks I'd ever been given as a member of Eldrad's retinue. Eldrad had a device with him, a band of wraithbone he claimed had taken him nearly a year to create; he told us that it would keep a Necron in stasis, regardless of what transpired. He also said that our presence wouldn't wake the tomb world; I just had to cling tight to my staff and pray that he was right. Naturally, Eldrad being Eldrad, we couldn't just grab the warrior closest to the entrance and run for it; we had to find the "right" one, which meant walking for nearly an hour into the tomb's depths before he finally selected one identical to every other warrior and locked the band around its head.
By the time we get back to the surface, which took even longer than going in because we dropped that heavy Necron no less than four times on the way back, I'm a bundle of nerves, and it only gets worse during the flight. I can't sleep inside our little ship, knowing that soulless killing machine is onboard with us, knowing about the wars that they fought against our ancestors, and what kind of deaths the Eldar in those days met. It keeps running through my head that it's almost my birthday, that I'll soon be turning 19,873, and that I don't want to get snuffed out before I hit the twenty-thousand-year mark. That's no way for an Eldar to go.
The ship arrives back at Ulthwe the day before my birthday. Eldrad, grinning enigmatically, heads off to his workshop with the Necron, and I stumble up to my cozy dwelling bubble and fall straight into bed, still wearing the same warlock robes I've been wearing since the tomb world. Yes, it was nasty, like something a Mon Keigh would do. I was so tired I didn't care. If that Necron wanted to get me, it'd have to fight through half of Ulthwe to reach me, coming from Eldrad's bubble complex. I slept at last.
Not that it helped much. In my dreams, I'm back in the tomb, with Grey Ones rising to life around me. I run, but I'm trapped; I try to fight, and I get torn into bleeding shreds. I wake up, feeling barely better than when I got off the mission ship, and realize that it's my birthday. Congratulations, self. Outside my bubble, I can sense the collected presence of family and friends, come to wish me success in my new year. Well, you only turn 19,873 once, so I drag myself out of bed, toss my grimy robes aside, and head for the shower; I figure a little session there should revive me enough to at least face my well-wishers graciously. I step through the bathroom door, pull back the shower curtain, and the Necron is in my shower cubicle.
THE NECRON IS IN MY SHOWER CUBICLE. Poised as if to strike, hands raised and clawed metal fingers spread - that memory is one I shall carry to the end of time.
I do the worst thing I possibly could. I panic. I scream at the top of my lungs and run headlong...out of the bathroom...out of my dwelling bubble...and come face-to-face with my birthday crowd. While wearing my "birthday suit," just like a scene from an embarrassing nightmare. There's a moment in which everyone goes silent - everyone except Eldrad, standing off to one side, his snickering audible to all.
I suspect that they'll still be talking about this when I turn 20,000. Thanks, Eldrad. Way to ruin my birthday.
What a dick.
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times - Eldrad’s a dick. It’s totally inconceivable to me just how much of a dick he can be sometimes...well, all the time, really. And for something to be inconceivable to me, that’s saying something, I’m an Eldar.
So this time, Eldrad summoned me to some contested planet on the outer rim and explained the situation. He said nothing of our mission except when I asked, but even then his answers were cryptic, as ever. I’d ask him what we would be doing on the planet, and he’d pause, then mumble incoherently, winking at me, or something like that. I thought at the time that the entire thing was just some ridiculous set-up that Eldrad was using to some trivial end, but what it was at the time, I couldn’t fathom.
We departed for the surface with nothing but some poor guardian who probably had no idea what was about to happen. I concealed us against a hillside as we watched the carnage below. The forces of Chaos were attacking an Imperial outpost in the valley ahead of us, which appeared woefully outnumbered. I now realized the gravity of our situation - this planet contained one of the wraith gates that linked through the webway to every Eldar craftworld in existence. Were that to fall into the hands of Chaos...
And at that point, I felt guilty for doubting Eldrad. The greatest psyker in existence, one of the most powerful beings ever to roam the galaxy - and I had dismissed this mission out of hand. I now knew that we could not fail - we could not let the planet fall into the hands of Chaos!
The three of us made our way down the slope, within metres of the battle, concealed by my illusion the entire way. Unobservant of us, a Space Marine Dreadnought lumbered forward, engaging a squad of Chaos Space Marines. The infantry threw themselves against the armored hull, smashing and tearing as best they could, but to no avail - the dreadnought tore each marine apart, one by one.
Then, Eldrad turned to the guardian and made the strangest order I had ever heard, in all my 19,873 years. “Fire at the dreadnought. Its right knee.” The guardian looked in horror as he let loose the rain of shurikens from his catapult, knowing full well what would happen. A single shuriken pierced through the metal joint, and the dreadnought fell forward onto a stray grenade from a dead Chaos Space Marine, and the entire machine exploded in a dizzying spray of shrapnel. I held up my witchblade, averting what I could while my rune armor deflected the rest. Only a few bits of metal managed to scrape against my exposed face. I turned to face Eldrad, to ask the reason for destroying the enemy of those we were attempting to stop, when suddenly, my stomach sank, for two reasons.
One, he was giggling.
Two, a massive squad of fresh Chaos Marines, led by a massive demon, was charging over the hill towards our position.
I screamed at Eldrad to turn, but he simply continued giggling. The squad closed in, until it seemed that our fearless leader would find his end here, when suddenly, the marines scraped to a halt, each one with its eyes on me. One by one, the entire squad, including the demon began to giggle, then laugh, then roll on the ground, guffawing uncontrollably. Eldrad snorted, then ordered a retreat. As we left the planet, I saw the Space Marine barrage annihilate the demon and his squad, buying the defenses enough time to push back the attack. The planet was saved.
It wasn’t until I got into my bathroom (and passed half the damn craftworld) that I realized that, upon my forehead, in impossibly perfect scratches and scrapes, were written the words “I SUCK TYRANID COCK.”
What a dick.
So, Eldrad Ulthran is a huge dick. But you already know that, I say it every day, sometimes twice a day because he’s just that bad.
So, one day I’m hanging out at one of the bakeries in Ulthwe, eating lunch while trying to chat up a really cute Howling Banshee when Eldard walks in. All of a sudden I hear a shout from the bakers (I think he was a Swooping Bagel Exarch) and a loud bang as one of the wraithovens in the back explodes. Out of nowhere a loaf of bread the size of my head comes flying out, rebounds off the wraithglass window, hits my drink and spills it all over my pants, and then sails right into Eldrad’s open hand. He just gives me this smirk and takes a huge bite. Now my pants are soaked and the cute Banshee is laughing at me.
What a dick.
After I’m thoroughly embarrassed, Eldrad announces that we were moving out, this time to Cadia. So an hour later I’m flying the long way there because Eldrad wants to spend the trip chatting up that cute Banshee. My pants are still wet because he never gave me a chance to change them.
After what seems like forever we finally land on Cadia near one of those massive parade grounds the humans love, Eldard has the three of us cloaked under one of his illusions. Up on a huge podium one of their generals is shouting orders and chomping on a cigar. He’s got the biggest damn collar I’ve ever seen, even bigger than the one that Warlock who hangs out with Idranel has.
Anyway, Eldrad has us stand around and twiddle our thumbs for about an hour until he notices a commissar walking by to inspect the huge formation of humans. Eldrad turns to the cute Banshee and whispers something in her ear, and then all of a sudden she shoves me really hard on the back. I stumble forward, out of the illusion, and fall into the commissar, knocking him into the formation and sending ever single soldier toppling to the ground. Apparently one of those soldiers hit a Sentinel in just the right spot and it goes tumbling over into all of the others, which in turn collapse into the lines of tanks and transports like a massive game of wraithdominoes except for all the explosions. In a few seconds the entire parade is a massive flaming wreck.
While I’m frantically trying to get away from the commissar, who’s screaming about the ‘damned xenos,’ Eldrad drops the illusion and just shoots the biggest grin I’ve ever seen up at the human with the huge collar, who’s so angry that he practically swallows his cigar. Then the cute Banshee grabs ahold of me and the three of us hightail it to the ship before the humans can start trying to kill us. As we’re flying away I notice the mass of burning wreckage somehow manages to spell out ‘CREED SUCKS.’ Eldrad just laughs to himself like it’s the funniest damned thing in the world as he takes his seat.
Then we realize that he’s sitting on a Leman Russ.
Ursarkar E. Creed smiles to himself as he pulls out a fresh cigar. “Just as planned.”
I totally forgot about the Eldrad ones, those are amazing! And now, more of everyone's favorite misunderstood World Eater.
"Despite all the stories and rumors of him slaughtering his own men, Khârn was actually a fun guy to be around.
I remember a game he would play. "Toss the guardsmen" it was called. Simple game really. You basically picked up a guardsmen tied to a pole and tried to throw him as far as you could into a field of big pointy metal spikes. Whoever threw the farthest would win. Khârn encouraged me to give it a shot and despite my misgivings about how weak I was, the big guy talked as if he believed I was the best person for it. So not wanting to disappoint him (and also figuring "Why the hell not?") I gave it a go. Not too surprising, I was too weak for the game and only managed to lift the pole (and the guardsmen tied to it) up just enough to have both fall on top of me. At first the Chaos marines started to laugh, well at least some of them did, the others made loud grunting noises that sounded like they were trying to loosen some phlegm.
Khârn then walks up to me and says "Here, let me show you how it's done.", and proceeds to grab the pole. He takes a step back and launches it into the air. It keeps getting higher and higher and higher. It continues its accent into the sky until eventually; we lose sight of it and just assume that it landed in some random location. As I’m beginning to stand, up alarms go off. We hear from some random cultist that some random regiment from the Imperial guard is attacking us. I get my gear and run into position. I run into a trench and begin to watch for any movement. It takes only a few minutes before I begin to see guardsmen charging towards us. The Khornate cultists and marines do their thing. Screaming “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” while they hack and bludgeon the loyalists into bloody chunks.
Now, during this, I become aware that Khârn has been standing next to me the whole time. He does nothing but stand perfectly still, neither looking at me nor saying a word. Now during my little space out, the sound of a Baneblade heavy tank approaching us reminds me that I was in the midst of a battle. As I see it get closer and closer to us, I begin to slightly freak out as to how I’m gonna possibly deal with that. The thing stops to aim and proceeds to blow up a group of Khornate berserkers and cultists. Now absolutely terrified, I attempt to run for better cover but find myself paralyzed with fear (along with a need to find a clean pair of pants). Khârn then gets on one knee; rests his hand on my shoulder, points to the Baneblade and says, “You’re going to love this”. Then a most peculiar sound catches my ear. I hear a slight whistling sound, like a basilisk shell falling back to earth. Khârn then points to the sky and sure enough I see a faint object falling toward us. I take it for a shell at first, but then I realize that there would be more if the loyalists were launching an artillery strike. So ruling that out, I continue to stare at it. It gets closer and closer until I can make out its shape slightly. To my amazement, it’s the very same guardsmen tied to the pole from before. He continues to fall, getting faster and faster. Finally against all odds he actually hits the Baneblade and penetrates the armor! Now I’m not sure what exactly did it, and I do have some ideas, but whatever the case was, the tank explodes. The shrapnel and debris go flying and rip several guardsmen (a quite a few cultists as well) to shreds. Khârn turns his head to me and says in the calmest voice, “And THAT is how it’s done.” He jumps out the trench and charges toward the enemy.
Every single one of them died.
I should dig out some photos of one of the guys at my FLGS' Angry Marines force. He's got a Chaplain wielding a book-flail, a Captain holding a power wrench, a Terminator with about 5 different weapons stuck in his storm shield, and his latest, greatest model is a Land Raider with a Terminator punching its way out of the hatch.
Copied this off a discontinued Dakka Funny thread ages ago...
Got another lying around somewhere and a picture too. I'll post them as long as there are no death threats, but John Key is free game if your a budding phycopath, or the Aussie rugby team.
I'm not the one who wrote it, but whoever did is right up there with the EMPRAH!
Bit long, sorry. =(
Introduction....
So my techpriests got out of their box and to my computer again last night. I found them in the morning, A dozen techmarines and Enginseers and their servitors jumping up and down on the keyboard and using a Dreadnought to operate the mouse.
We had to speak at length about Wikipedia. They were convinced that nothing told to them by the Great Machine could be so fallacious. Oh, and they got into my porn file and demanded to know why there was so much information on human procreation when schematics could be kept in the same space.
Also, I've finally had it and will be taking my Dark Eldar to the sex shop. Again. The first time I was kinda drunk and they insisted (they had been begging for days and threatening to order more pay-per-view.) It’s not like I've got some moral opposition, but, jeeze, ever see an inch-and-a-half tall Wych trying to operate a thirteen inch long vibrating dildo? It's... disturbing.
Oh, and they're ALL fighting over control of the TV. Literally. The Tau only want Discovery Channel, The Space Marine and Sisters want the religious networks, the Orks want Spike on, and the Eldar all want me to put on Lifetime. Except for Eldrad, who I haven't seen in days, but made a collect call and just said "Channel 4, Tuesday news at noon." I'm a little afraid to turn it on.
Doomrider found my stash. Which was just weed and two hits of acid. But given his current size and the fact that he smoked all of it and rolled around on the LSD he's driving up the wall. Literally.
Also, Privateer Press just made their big press release. It was simply "Well, feth." I think the wargames industry might take a bigger hit.
For some reason the tyranids have been watching Nickelodeon. I can't even begin to explain why. We've set up a sort of truce around the TV. Everyone gets one hour except when I want to watch something. Then the orks inform everyone else "DAT GORK WANTS TA WATCH 'IZ UMIE SHOWS." Which would be less weird if I didn't watch so much Election coverage. The Imperium is having a hard time understanding why we aren't purging the heresy of those trying to ursurp our planetary governorship.
One of my friends brought over his Rogue Trader today. Which would have been okay, seeing his ship was pretty cool (it was about as big as my car) but the rat bastard tried to sell me my own tree. I have a single tree in my front yard and I had to pay fifty bucks to buy it back from him. Damn.
I'm trying not to be too loud while I type this. The necrons are sleeping. I had to bathe the nurglings today. The stench was just too much. God, it was horrible. Most of them came apart in the sink. I, I don't want to think about that anymore.
Apparently an Eversor got into my book bag. In the middle of a US Foreign Policy lecture he made this very clear. I'm sure everyone's had a cell phone go off in class? Sucks right, even if the professor's cool you still feel like a douche. Ever have a tiny, clawed lunatic scream "WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" and run across the desk shredding everyone's notes?
But the Eldar have predicted next weeks lotto results. Which would be great but Eldrad insisted that I shouldn't get a ticket with numbers but instead ask for "L-O-L-D-O-N-G." And I'm pretty sure there are no letters in the lotto balls.
I need to be careful with my weedwhacker now. Before it was just rocks, dog turds, and the occasional bee's nest. Now it's Catachans, Tyrands, Kroot, Tyranids, and Orks that don't like it indoors. You don't know what a bug bite is until you've been peppered with Fleshborers.
The Orks caught a garter snake, then let it go when they found out it wasn't venomous. I thought they were going to eat it... Then the Kroot and Catachans caught it and ate it. Raw. It wouldn't have been disturbing if it was just the Kroot (or the 'nids), but the Catachans had their snake sashimi-style too. I'm going to pick up some vinegar so they can at least cure the meat first. I wish my cat hadn't killed all the shrews. One of those would go through EVERYTHING living in my yard in a couple of days, I'd bet.
Speaking of my cat Jones, he's been acting strangely...
Chapter 1
I rubbed my hand over my face and put my feet down on the floor, only to feel something go squish under them. That's not the way that a person wants to wake up. Glancing at the underside of my foot, I quickly decided that not only was it impossible to figure what I'd just killed, but I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to know. Maybe later. Maybe once I'd gotten human again.
Of course, since these things all ended up at my house, it's been a little more difficult to do that than ever. I positively glowered at the shower. "Hey! You little feths! What the hell have I told you about screwing on the soap!" I don't know what they are, and I don't care. I don't want alien goo on my soap, no matter how little the creature is.
I marched back out and began the hunt. I don't know what they're called (my friend, Dave, he knows and has told me a hundred times, but it keeps slipping my mind) but those little guys in armor, with the swords and all the whack about some sort of god ruler thingie? I found a bunch of them on the kitchen table. Despite their protests and their curses, I snatched all four of them up and carried them back in with me.
"Permission granted to kill these two xenos." I didn't have to say it twice. We had an agreement -- they thought they'd gone through some sort of time/space wormhole, shrinking them and sending them back in time. They were putting up with me only until their god guy came into power or something, but until then, I was in charge. Whatever. Either way, they literally leaped out of my hand and went to town. I looked away. Nobody wants to watch that.
Just as much as somebody wants to watch an inch tall figure stroll past the doorway, dragging a much larger rat behind it. It was yelling something about a blood god. A different god, I'd learned. But it was streaking blood all across the carpet. Good pest control, those guys. Hell on the cleaning bill, though.
Feth coffee. I don't even want to think about what those things did to the kitchen while I was sleeping. Probably ate everything. AGAIN. Good on garbage disposal, but...
Computer. Play some Team Fortress or something. Blow some steam before I start dumping these guys in the garbage disposal again. Wiping off the last of the grunge off my feet, I tossed the tissue to one of those red praying-mantis-looking thingies to eat before reaching to turn on my computer. Only to find that the guys with the hard-on for tech had it open again.
"What are you doing?" I asked in a harsher voice than intended.
One stepped forward. "The holy electron flow-" Feth. I knew where this was going. I cut him off quickly. "Like you'd tell one of the other guys."
He seemed disappointed. Screw him. "We are... upgrading your ram?"
I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked back up. I don't know how they got up there, but the white haired chicks were dragging me a cup of coffee. They're nice. Religious nutbags who I'm always being careful what I say around, but nice. I was completely distracted until one of the green guys poked my arm.
"Me an' da boyz wanna ride again, boz."
"Later," I grumbled softly. They loved riding in my car, but had spent the last two days painting it red. To make it go faster. Their version of logic made my head hurt, but them and those freaky armored dudes love riding with me, even more so when I turn the music all the way up.
It was at this point in time that I felt something in my sweatpants. I've gotten used to this enough that I virtually ripped them off. There was one of the blue things, with one normal arm and one that's kinda like a blade, and she was... you know... trying to go at my junk.
And that's when I started screaming, officer...
Chapter 2
It's been a couple of weeks since the cops came over me freaking out. Things have... calmed down a bit. Not with them, mind you. They're just as freaky as ever. Just... I've adjusted more.
We've kind of fallen into a routine. I get home from work, and the noseless guys instantly let me have the TV in the living room. They're pretty easy to keep happy. Anime, Zone of Enders and the sequel on the PS2, and just let them do their thing. They're fairly harmless when left to themselves, and they're really accommodating of me. When I get angry at everybody else, they try and calm me down. I'm starting to adopt them as my favorites.
The white haired chicks, they cook me dinner. Hand-cook me dinner. Seriously, they've got these flamer things, and... I don't know, to be honest. They seem so militant and pious at times, but at the same time they're kinda nice to me. They've almost gotten to the point where they can cook a steak that isn't well done, too.
After I watch an episode or two of the old Batman animated series (the good one), I'm always surprised to find the little human-like dudes sitting next to me and the noseless aliens. Not the humans with bulky armor and swords, but the trooper dudes. Their boss-guys mutter under their breath about heresy, but let them get away with it for the most part, so long as they don't start talking with the noseless ones.
Anyway, after dinner and the Batman episode, I put the green guys and some of the humans in the car, along with some of their equipment, and we head to the park for a bit. To the green guys (orcs, I guess) it's a trip, because we seem to be going so fast to them. The militant dudes, they're just looking forwards to practice. I have a "no fly zone" rule in the house, so this gets them off my back about maneuvers and training and gak. I just hold a complex plane remote I picked up and tell people that I'm playing with models.
When we get back, though, I always go hunting for the metal skeleton dudes. At first, they used to attack me, but lately we've come to a truce. Ever since I bought that electro-magnet, that is. The noseless guys handled the negotiations for me releasing them. Best $300 I've ever spent, let me tell you.
Before I made that investment, though, the orcs used to defend me. When they all showed up, there were the most of them and they all attacked me. I killed only about a few thousand of them while screaming bloody murder. As time's gone on, they've started calling me "boss" more and more. They, uh, got ahold of one of my videos of me at the shooting range and were in awe. Over what, I'm not sure, but they just went on about "big dacker" or something for ages. It can be hard to figure out what they're talking about.
Some of the pointy-eared ones are jerks, kinda thoughtless hedonists in a way, but others are kinda cool. The elders, I guess that's what they call themselves, they aren't that bad. When I do laundry, they get their big thing to help me fold clothes. I don't fully understand it, but... yeah. Kinda strange, more than a little creepy, but I'm not going to turn down free help.
I had to commit a little bit of genocide, and I kinda feel sorry about that at times, but... those little fethers were dripping and disgusting. Their armor... Well... somebody's doing something with it. I don't know. I'm kind of scared to ask.
Sometimes, though, I gotta admit, everything gets me down a little bit. I've really come to look forward to the big brick dudes. They're normally in these coffin thingies, but they've been letting them out now and then here lately. When one notices that I'm down, he comes to talk to me. I think everybody else is kind of afraid to. They can handle me being angry, happy, whatever, but when I'm sad, I guess I'm a little unpredictable to them. The metal brick dudes, though, they aren't scared, and they understand more than I give them credit for.
Apparently, the little uber-hedonists have been, uh, "attacking" me while I'm asleep. Dave, he tells me that there's some kind internet fetish about tiny creatures and keeps saying that we could make a mint. Yeah, I have rules against showing my wang on the internet, and secondly, just because some people have that fetish doesn't mean that I do. Besides, I kinda want a real woman one of these days.
Now that I look at my bedroom, with all these things around, I'm starting to realize that until this situation is fixed, I'm not going to be bringing a girl home.
Chapter 3
They all collected up in my bedroom easily enough. Even the necrothingies showed up, which I kind of wasn't expecting. Some of them were armed. Maybe they all thought that I was going to try and kill them or something. Sure, all that they'd caused were some little cuts and minor punctures so far, but enough bee stings can kill a person, right?
I pulled my flatscreen out and called up the website, making them watch the teasers. One for each race, both showing them owning somebody, and showing them getting owned. Some reacted with pride, other anger, some longing, but I was surprised by the amount of indifference that was before me. I already knew these guys were basically soldiers, but for them to be this cold kinda took the wind out of my sails a little bit. But I'd already promised myself...
"You all see this? This isn't just you guys fighting, or maybe you didn't notice that there were people, people like me, in the background. I'm not good at this speech gak, so I'll just cut to the chase. You!" I pointed at the humans. "You're all just hanging around, waiting for your God Emperor person dealie to show up and lead humanity. So he can return you to your normal state and all that."
"You!" I pointed at the other mostly-human guys, who were huddled up with the other things. "You've got your own pantheon thing going on. Hell, all of you have your reasons to fight, or to stay here, right?" A murmur of consent from the huddled masses. "Yeah, how do you like being made playthings, huh? How do you like somebody to try and act like a god over you?"
That got a murmur through them. Good. I was pressing buttons. I pointed to the ones with pointy ears, but they beat me to the punch. "We would not stand by such aggression against our people."
A warrior (Warrioress? I could barely hear them yelling at me, let alone make out their genders.) of the noseless guys called out. "We would support a rescue mission, if that is what you are implying."
The one guy, Magus I think his name was, stepped forward from the bug guys. "What did you have in mind?"
"WAAAAAAAAAAGH!" screamed the orcs, as if they were answering the question. I glanced to the metal skeletons. They hadn't left yet, but otherwise gave no reply. Good enough for me.
"Close enough. I say we spring them. Bust them loose. Uh... Free them from their imprisonment. And stuff. But I think that it's only right if you guys do it." I could feel the look that everybody seemed to be giving me. "Sure, I suppose that I could do it, I guess..." Me? Ha! Yeah, right. "But you guys sort of have the right. After all, it's somebody enslaving your people, so I figure that a little payback is in order, don't you?"
A righteous cheer rang out, giving me a grim smile. "Alright then! Everybody out. We've got a week before the next match, and I'll need lists of everything that you need to get ready. I need a little time to prepare myself."
I closed my door behind them and flopped on my bed, closing my eyes tight. In a way, that was the easy part. It had just been yapping. Now I actually had to deal with the consequences of getting them riled up.
"YOU DID WELL, YOUNG ONE."
I jerked my head up, only to find one of the block guys standing next to me. The "in death I serve" ones. Another reason why I liked talking with them, they had volume control. I could hear them without straining. A weak smile found its way to my face. "I have no fething clue what I'm doing."
"I WOULD NOT EXPECT ANYTHING LESS FROM YOU," he said, putting one of his clawed "arms" on my hand. "YOU WOULD NEVER MAKE ITAS A MARINE, BUT YOU WOULD HAVE MADE A GOOD GUARDSMAN. YOU KNEW HOW TO INSPIRE."
Sure. Right. I'd call it bluffing and letting the anger do the talking, myself. But I didn't want to listen to him blather on like that. Time for a topic change. "Can I ask you a question? Like, privately, it goes no further than us?"
"MY BROTHERS ARE GUARDING THE DOOR. NONE WILL DISTURB US, NONE WILL KNOW OF WHAT WE SPEAK." A pause. "THEY ARE... ENSURING THAT YOU HAVE TIME TO PREPARE YOURSELF." I could hear the humor in his tone.
I sucked in a deep breath. "You guys, you believe in your god-emperor dude, and from what I've gathered, you don't tolerate heresy. Like, at all. So, um... Why... Why haven't you attacked me? Or the rest of us? Aren't we, you know, heretics?"
He laughed at that. At least, I assume it was a laugh. It's hard to tell, him being a metal brick with a synth voice and all. "WE HAD MANY DEBATES ON THIS. HOWEVER, IT WAS DECIDED THAT HUMANITY HAS NOT YET BEEN ENLIGHTENED BY THE GOD-EMPEROR OF MANKIND. AS THE EMPEROR HAS YET TO ENLIGHTEN YOU TOHIS GLORY, YOU ARE NOT YET A HERETIC."
"So, if I don't follow him when he reveals himself, then I'm a heretic and worthy of death?"
"CORRECT." Well, that was comforting. "WE TOLERATE THE XENOS ONLY FOR NOW. WE WILL WATCH THEM UNTIL THE EMPEROR RETURNS, AND THEN DESTROY THEM IN HIS HONOR." He paused for a moment. "MAY I ASK YOU A QUESTION, YOUNG ONE?"
"Of course, grandpa." I had to get my rub in for him calling me young all the time.
"YOUR FRIEND, DAVID. HE IS AN UNUSUAL HUMAN." That's an understatement. "TELL ME, WHY DOES HE KEEP ASKING ME TO SAY THAT I AM IN IT FOR THE BITCHES?"
I had to laugh, if only because I didn't know the answer myself. Chapter 4
The next week was... kind of intense, to be honest with you. I'll paraphrase, because the details were kind of boring. I've always kept a spare credit card in my fireproof safe, in case of emergency. Needless to say, for this I pulled it out.
Don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that I like all those guys, but some of them are... kinda cool in a way. They're like actual people, you know? Only... smaller. (I can't believe I just thought that. Maybe I AM going nuts...) Besides, how often do you get to see something like this, you know? How often do you get to say that you got to outfit not just one army, but a whole slew of them?
That said, it wasn't easy. I had to keep telling people, no, there's no such thing as "promethium" or bolter rounds. And a lot of the stuff that the elder guys and the tech priests asked for was well beyond my ability to comprehend, even when they kept dumbing it down for me. The Tau guys, they seemed to understand that I had limits to what I could do and asked for simple enough stuff. It took me a bit to figure out what the orcs wanted, too. At first, I thought that they were making a lousy Arnie impression and asking for a helicopter. Once I figured out what "dakkah" and "choppah" were, though, it got real easy, real fast.
Pretty much, my days fell into the following rituals.
Wake up. Free my junk from the little "one arm is a blade" chicks. Get the hedonistic elder people out of my bathroom. Shower. Enjoy a meal that the battle sisters and the slash folks cooked for me. (Two breakfasts, but I don't dare tell the sisters that they can't cook eggs worth gak.) Take a peek at what the orcs built overnight. Watch as the humans struggle to improvise, something they don't appear to be the greatest at. They're better than the elder people, though.
Go to work. Call home during my lunch break, talk to everybody on the speakerphone, get a list of what they all need today. Get off work after getting chewed out by my boss that I'm not paying attention as well as I should. Hit up the hardware store, the toy store, a few places where I can buy chemicals, sometimes cloth, sometimes paper... I'd hit up friends for fireworks, empty coffee cans or tins... Whatever. I always concluded my shopping run with a trip to a different pet store. Fish, spiders, scorpions, whatever I could get my hands on. The bug guys demanded it.
When I got home, I'd divvy everything up to everybody. Race cars, sheet metal, nails (tons of those), screws, piping, what have you. Something for everybody.
If I could get a handle on what was going on, I'd lend a helping hand. Usually, it ended up with me helping the orcs, which thrilled them to no small end. They liked it when their "boss" helped them. (Apparently, I killed their former boss during the initial attack right off the bat. With a book.) I don't know why, but I'd always hum the theme to the A Team. After that, I'd enjoy another double-meal while discussing strategy, but by the end I was always feeling pretty exhausted. I'd lumber up to bed and just flop down, hoping I didn't squish anybody.
The only reason why I didn't kill the pervert chicks in the morning arose here. They'd start to massage me, which wasn't easy, you know? Eventually, some of the dark elder people would join in. I think that the humans thought the others were trying to corrupt me, so they'd join the act, too, singing hymns at the same time. It's... surprisingly easy to fall asleep to that kind of treatment. And then I'd wake up and start it again...
At least, that's generalizing it all. There was plenty of variation in-between, but that's the basic idea. I'd also do stuff like scout the place where the "deathmatch" was going to take place, look into renting a truck, that sort of thing. A lot of time was spent praying that I wouldn't get arrested by the cops following my paper trail.
Frankly, I don't think I could have managed it without Caleb, the "dead" guy in the metal walking brick. He was good about encouragement, and helping me sort through strategy. He'd fought enough "xenos" in his days to know how they operated, so he was able to give me some insights. Though some of his plans really... Well, they were kind of dumb. That's where the Tau came in. Did I mention that they always wanted to help? Almost creepy in a way, to be honest. But by the time that the day had arrived, we were as ready as we could be.
I parked the truck and gently put on my backpack. According to my watch, I had ten minutes before the show started. Good enough for me. I made a show of locking the truck, too. Thanks to the economy, everything's been shutting down, so most of the places in this neighborhood had closed shop. This particular warehouse had been used once upon a time for those robot wars things, so it even had seating, or so I heard. (I preferred the one hosted by Lister, used to watch it on cable. Paying extra for a foreign channel was worth it.)
The guy at the door eyed me as I held out the $50. "Show's about to start." He paused. "What's with the backpack?"
I reached inside and pulled out a marine to show to him, holding it by its base. "Just want to compare them to mine. See where I fethed up, see what I got right. No cameras or nothin'! I read the rules, and I want to come back."
He seemed to debate this for a moment, then shrugged and let me through. After a moment, guilt hit me. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
The little guy seemed indignant, about to rip his boots free from where I'd superglued them. "It takes more than that to hurt-" "Right, shh." I slid him back into the bag and milled about for a few moments. Finally, I set the backpack down and moved for a seat. Too far away to see anything, but it was better that way. From where I'd ditched my backpack, I could see marines, Caleb, some Tau, and others making their way out. Right.
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed the voice on the PA. Where did they get the power for that, since they didn't own the building? "Are you ready for the show to begin?"
He had no idea.
I wasn't paying attention to the speech in the slightest. Usual pump up the crowd bs that you hear at pep rallies. I left those behind when I graduated high school. No, my eyes were glued to my watch. I was close enough to hear the soft cry of the guy at the door, two seconds late. Fortunately, I seemed to be the only one who did. I prayed... feth, I don't know who I was praying to. God? The Emperor? Slashesh or whatever? Mork (and Mindy)? I don't know, but I just wanted to have everything go off without a hitch.
The part of my brain that was paying attention to my surroundings told me that people were moving closer to the "arena." Meanwhile, I was counting down. My fist came to my teeth, and my heart felt like it was going to explode. Motion at the door, near the floor. Close enough. Now all that they were waiting for was...
The crash of glass announced their arrival. It wasn't just one window pane from above our heads that shattered, it was all of them. Instantly, I began to relax. Now my role was getting easy. Wait until the chaos, go grab the people and put them in the backpack, and scramble back outside, hoping nobody got me by mistake.
Which, considering that there were suddenly nails shooting all over the place, airplanes carpet bombing small pipe bombs and spraying homemade napalm, and then their own "heavy" weapons... That prospect wasn't looking so hot.
I wasn't going to get involved. I kept telling myself this. In the bloodbath going on around me, with the people screaming and falling over and catching on fire, I'm a non-combatant. I was like a medic, right? As I pushed through the crowd, the people running towards the deathtrap that was the door acting as living cover for me, I tried to convince myself of this. That I was the good guy, and that I wasn't responsible for anything if I didn't actually hurt anybody.
That all changed when I saw Caleb get kicked. I don't mean, bumped over, I mean as he was drilling rounds into somebody else, a guy up and kicked him right into a Tau in power armor, sending them both crashing into a wall. The little blue guy was bleeding, I could see that much on the wall, but all other details were lost to me. I couldn't tell if he was hurt, scratched, or splatted. And I couldn't even begin to guess at the fate of Caleb. My dreadnought friend.
My dreadnought.
My friend.
My friends.
I saw myself grabbing the fether. Whirling him around. My fist connecting with his face. Again and again and again, until he wasn't fighting any more. I turned, looking back at the "arena," separated from it by a stripe of fire. I couldn't hear the battle cry of the orcs, or the screaming of the people. There was the fether in charge. I couldn't hear the humans scream to purge the unclean, the guys with the guitars playing their ear shattering music, the distinctive sounds of the Eldar or Necron weapons. He was just standing there, watching everything. Terrified. I bellowed. I hollered. And I charged...
Chapter 5
I winced as the bone in my hand shifted. ...Okay, I lied. I grabbed my bedsheet with my other hand and grit my teeth until I thought they were going to break. The dread had no sense of compassion right now, it just kept on setting bones. It wasn't Caleb, either. Rengar something-or-another. Caleb wouldn't be done with repairs for some time still. I was told that he would... survive.
I kinda wished I hadn't now. If a dreadnought ever offers to tend your wounds, don't take him up on the offer.
When you listen to them talk, everybody tells a slightly different story about what happened. Some orcs say that I yelled "Here we go, here we go, here we go" as I began to assault every full-sized human who wasn't otherwise being slaughtered. Other orcs say I yelled "waaagh," or however you spell their war cry. A Tau, in order to stop the fighting, suggested that both camps might be right. Seemed to work for the time being.
The humans were a mixed back. The imperial guys thought I cried out to purge them all in the emperor's name, only in less words. Meanwhile, somebody from the Chaos side said I swore an oath to the blood god. We... lost a lot of people over that. At least the Elder and the Tau agree on what I yelled. "Finish it." Somehow, I think that everybody might be right, and wrong at the same time.
That was... a month ago or so. Yeah, I got questioned by the cops, but when I eagerly showed them my "kickass modded remote control car collection," they seem to have dropped me as a suspect. Haven't even called into work about if I went in that day or not. Which work would look at my time card and say that I clocked out right on time. When the IT guy knows the passwords to change the time cards and knows how to cover his tracks...
"YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE PUNCHED THE WALL."
"It was either that or kill the melon-fether." A demonette cooed into my ear. I wasn't sure if she was comforting me or encouraging me.
"DON'T DO IT AGAIN OR YOU WILL BREAK THINGS FOR THE THIRD TIME." A pause as he began to put the splints on again. "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"
"Yeah. Just so utterly aware of the fact that I'm alive thanks to that bastard." Rengar seemed amused by that answer. You learn to tell these things.
Dave. The bastard. I'd just tried to call him for the first time since things went down. He wigged. Needless to say, our friendship is probably over. Maybe he'll get over it in a month or two. Still, I can help but feel like he's a waste now. I did what was necessary. I did the right thing. And now he's... He said I'm not the same, and he's right. But he's the one who couldn't rescue them himself, so feth him. I was tempted to let some of the more... disturbed Sla-whatever-I-give-up-on-this-stupid-name people have their way with him.
...But by the way that the sisters were eyeing me, I knew I wouldn't.
I had to be careful with them, now. Especially since the demonettes have been earning me extra money. They've been, uh, using household items for their own amusement, shall we say. I can see how it might be arousing, but since they started filming it with my webcam, I kinda figured why not make some extra money? Throw a filter or two on it, sell them online as CGI. Not a lot of money, but enough that I'm considering moving. Bigger house, with more bedrooms. One for each faction. That should take the arguments down a notch.
Except for the ones about my soul. Whatever.
Though, I had found the notes of a guy online. Another guy who had more of these people. I gotta admit, I've been considering trying to get ahold of him. You never know, right?
JubJubMarine wrote:Copied this off a discontinued Dakka Funny thread ages ago...
Got another lying around somewhere and a picture too.
I'll post them as long as there are no death threats, but John Key is free game if your a budding phycopath, or the Aussie rugby team.
Here is the second story, still looking for the picture (which goes with the first story).
This one is pretty long too.
Chapter 1 So I woke up this one night, to this "boom" sound. The dogs outside were barking, I figured it was the jerk down the road with the gakky car that always backfires. The dogs kept barking and didn't run anywhere in specific, just sat outside and barked, which let me know that things were fine. So I went back to sleep. Yeah, that sounds bizarre to a lot of you, but most people sleep through traffic.
I woke up in the morning just fine. I crawled out of my queen sized bed, glanced at the computer before pulling my shirt off and heading to the bathroom. I heard something shift in the living room, but feth it, I just woke up, feth EVERYTHING.
With my morning routine of washing, pooing and trying not to fall back asleep on the porcelian hobbyhorse done, I thudded my way back to my room, hearing some papers fall in the living room. Cocking my eyebrow, I stopped in front of my door, listening for anything else. Satisfied I went into my room, pulled on a fresh pair of pants, and headed into the living room to clean up whatever it was. Oh my god. Some people say that things look like a warzone after a small child or a tornado, but their rooms don't have blackened craters on the walls and bodies strewn about. Hell, there were even a few goddamn TANKS on the floor. Dead bugs littered the room, with a couple about the size of rats splattered across the carpet. Little bits of tiny men were strewed here and there, though it seems it was mostly the bugs. My eyes turned towards the door. The big wooden door was open, with a few blastmarks on the lower half, and the bottom panel on the screen door was absolutely torn away, and there were more little corpses and bugs trailing off outside.
I decided to go get shoes.
Now most people would just think "lol somebody forgot to put away their toys" in that naive little "I'll do my best not to imagine anything wrong" way, but I don't have any kids, I don't know any kids, and they sure as hell wouldn't bring a swarm of locusts into my house.
So I grabbed the broom too.
Slowly sneaking my way back into the hall, I heard the tinest little yelp come from the archway into the living room, and saw a blur of moment down at the floor. Leaping the last three feet, I landed with a heavy thud that shook the old house. Looking down, I saw a few of the tiny men, in green/tan uniforms, dash under my mother's display cabinet. Like a grade A slasher movie idiot, I dropped to my stomach, my head pressed against the ground to look under the cabinet. There were three tiny little men down there, huddling in the darkness. One of them lifted something in his arms and fired a.. blinking laser pointer at me? It kind of tingled where it hit though, and when he caught me in the eye with it, well you know how I goes. I got back up on my knees, giving the tiny men big curse words as I pressed my palm over the offended eye.
Thats when I saw their friends. Heralded by a throaty, if high pitched, battlecry, about twenty more of the little men running across the carpet, each one carrying one of the tiny laser pointers. A man in a black coat was pumping his little legs as fast as he could, swinging a sword wildly and firing a tiny little gun that couldn't even go "pop", more of a "pap pap". Even a few of the tanks I had seen just lying there were coming about, floundering in the carpet. feth.
And me? Me, mister man of action with all the plans? I sat there on my knees, dumbfounded. What the feth, really. I felt I was kind of screwed. But then thats when the blue guys attacked.
Bigger and thicker than the army dudes, the blue guys had gold trim all over them. They had smaller guns, but they were firing these things that actually went pop, like those little pop-it fireworks you can buy at the grocery store for 50 cents. They didn't serve to do much but blacken my carpet and break up the army guy's formation, causing them to bounce away. The blue guys were oddly silent, though there was this one with a glowing sword that was chuckling to himself.
So while I was having some serious Advance Wars flashbacks, these red rockets started to swoop out from on top of my mother's hutch (she loves heavy furniture). They were going kind of slow of rockets, I remember. Really slow. And they had these skinny guys with red cone-hats riding them. My jaw just drops at this point.
So the army dudes have wheeled about, turning to fire their laser pointers (which have a solid beam. Thats weird.) at the blue guys, which seem to not even be flinching as they just pop away at the army men. A few men on either side take potshots at the rocket dudes, who seem perfectly happy to just fly circles around my living room and occasionally buzz the others.
Now it’s kind of suprising, but at this point I've at least got motor control back. So I stand up and yell "WHAT THE HELL!?". Everything stops, except for the rocket dudes. They freak out and shoot back to on top of the hutch. But I look down on the green and blue guys and repeat my shout.
Now, I dunno about you, but when someone 60 times my size tells me to give an account, I'd do what he says. These fethers? No. They break for it. The army dudes dash under the display cabinet, with the tanks driving behind the entertainment center. The blue dudes slowly turn about, and start to run for the couch. I step forward to block them with the broom, since most of them are pretty damn slow, but the one with the sword lifts it up, and with a big poof of smoke (AND ANOTHER BLACK SPOT ON THE CARPET) they vanished.
I pointed the broom at the top of the hutch. "Don't think I've forgotten you." The room falls silent again, as the red guys with the jet things on top of the hutch try and hide, and the army men go deep into the recesses of the display cabinet, little murderous men under shelf after shelf of dolls. What a day so far. Though oddly, I don't see any new corpses.
At this point I hear some more high pitched yelling coming from an old shelf unit in the far corner of the room. Great. What NOW? Tromping over that way, kicking one of the spiny baseball sized bug corpses out of the way, I find a bunch of green hairless gorilla-dudes staring up at me, every one of them holding some sort of killing instrument, either an axe, or small gun, a few of them had even taken some nails out of a box on the floor. One of them, who looks like he's wearing one of my Mechwarrior: Dark Age mechs as a suit, is yelling at the others as they look up at me. "OI YOU GITZ!! LISTEN UP! 'E MAY BE BIG BUT 'E'S NOT THA' BIGGIST! OI'M DA BIGGIST AND OI'M DA WARBOSS! 'E AIN'T EVEN ORKY, 'E'S A BIG PINK 'UMIE!"
"I'm a what?" I raise my eyebrows, doing my best to look perturbed. Several of the smaller green people shrink down in fear.
The one covered in metal let out a high-pitched yelp, spinning around and stammering for a second before pointing one ugly cybernetic finger at me. "Y-Y-YOU'RE A 'UMIE! A BIG PINK STINKIN 'UMIE! YOU AIN'T NUFFIN! I'S DA WARBOSS! I LEAD DA BOYZ! NOT YOU!"
Great. Just great. I had a little green thing complaining about how I made him feel immasculated. I grabbed a book from the shelf just above him and with a whipping arm motion, smashed him against the shelf. Rather than splatter like a juicy bug, he kind of just crumpled, letting out a weak "Aaaooouuuuuuuuuchh.." before I jabbed a finger at the others, still huddled together. "Stay put." I growled.
Okay. My house has been invaded by little men who want to do nothing but kill. I glanced at the clock. I've only been up 10 minutes. Oh god.
I needed caffeine. I headed into the dining room. Well, we called it the dining room but it too was full of huge heavy furniture, but there was a large table in it, covered in my dad's tools for work. There were papers strewn everywhere, and I noticed more little men on my mom's computer. These ones were funny looking. They wore robes, but had extra mechanical limbs. They looked kind of sickly too, as they looked up at me. One of them started to talk with a weird synth voice. "New Contact. Biological. Specificiations beyond limit. Error. Error. Engaging biological nerve center. Dear god that thing is huge! Its gigantic! Oh Omnissia save u-Biological nerve center overheated, disengaging. Designating contact as Huge. ATTENTION CONTACT HUGE. CEASE FUNCTION. THE MOST HOLY OMNISSIAH HAS CLAIMED THIS TEKNOLODGEE ASHIS OWN AND HIS WILL CANNOT TOLERA-URK!"
I decided to cut him off by flicking him off the keyboard. He flew through the air, hit the monitor, and fell to the desk. The other men stopped in mid motion, one of them even falling over due to his position, like a dead robot.
Need caffeine AND something sweet now. Almost to the kitchen now. Almost.
On to the utility room. It’s a lil room with a concrete floor, kind of like a garage that you'd have trouble fitting a bike in. Don't ask me, I didn't build the place. Like I said though, concrete floors. I nearly trip over something as I step down into the room. There's this floating black/green pyramid thing. feth it, I don't want to know, the kitchen is right there. I kick it. HARD. It smashes into the far wall and the green lights go dim. Good. fethers. It was all kind of surreal you know. I kind of felt like I should be having a nervous breakdown and calling the cops and gak. I mean, I have about 20-30 army men with tanks, about 30 green gorillas, well, heheh, 29. A bunch of little men riding rockets, some ungodly bugs, and whatever that black thing in the utility room is. So I've got at least over a hundred new residents in my home. I stopped making myself a sandwich and sat down, facepalming. What the hell man? ...Well. Then again, I don't see anything here in the kitchen. Maybe I just had a rough night and was sleepwalking AND dream walking.
Then I noticed the little man in bulky green armor standing on my table admiring my fork. As I stared at him, as if I could look through him into normalcy, his raised his dark-skinned head and stared back at me. "I was wondering who would use a hab this large." We kind of stared at each other a few moments more. "So... you're not going to shoot at me or something?" I murmured, taking another drink of my soda.
"It would probably not do well if the Inquisition did not hear that I wasn't attacking you in the name of our Emperor, if that’s what you mean." The little man said. It was kind of odd hearing such a deep voice come out so high pitched.
"There's more of you, aren't there." I said, deadpan in my delivery. It was a supreme will of effort not to glance over at the knife block and see if they were already taken.
"Yes, there are a few more squads of my Bretheren. We are hardened warriors though, and fight like many if you wish to seek a weakness." He stood proud, jutting his armored chest out. I stared at him. Barely an inch high. I could flick him into the next room. I could bury them in cat litter. And they were trying to posture. Screw it. "Are you responsible for the bug mess in the living room?"
"If by that you mean the tyranid xenos laid waste in the largest chamber, then yes, the Imperium and my Battle Brothers have ended many of them." He was practically swelling with pride.
"Mmm. So what are you doing here?" FINALLY I asked the big question. Well at least one of them. I damn well wanted to ask more, but hey, one of them isn't shooting me. Although all of a sudden I was tempted to go back to the living room and step on some tanks.
"We are making fortifications and making preparations to assault the Foul Xenos and Traitor Legions, to Purge Their Taint From The Galaxy." Goddamn, you could actually HEAR him capitalize those words. "Then we shall re-establish communicae with the Imperium and bring this world into the fold. Tell me, giant one. Are you abhuman or Xenos?"
Huh. The little black man in green armor was asking the questions now. I cocked an eyebrow at him, the twitch causing my eyebrow to raise higher than he was tall. "Human, thank you very much. You guys are the ones with giant bugs." "Your feet may tread where they please, giant, but do not let your words wander down that road. We are the Adeptus Astartes! We are Humanity's finest, and are aligned with no Xeno." Oh god. One inch tall racist black men. I heard a clattering noise from the stove. I dared not look. "Right. Well mister Astartes, so I guess you answered my question of what you're doing... but where are you from? I mean, last time I checked you weren't the kind of little green men I expected."
"First, I am Brother Telnas of the Salamanders Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. Space Marines, in Low Gothic." Oh God, he IS a little green man from space. "We were locked in battle with a multitude of our enemies. It was a glorious battle! But the cursed Heretics cast open a gate in the most hated Warp. The very planet seemed to pull apart as the battlefield was sucked into in the Maelstrom-" I get the feeling that Maelstrom is Telnas' favorite word already. "We landed in this great field, untouched by Chaos, by the Xenos, by the Ork. Battered and dazed we landed in this great field, but Humanity is strong, and lept upon our enemies like they were nothing! The Tyranid seemed especially dazed, cut off from their Mind, we butchered all but a few as we battled our way into this Hive, which I suspect now is your home."
My soda was gone now. Damn. Now I felt awkward as I got the Space Iliad from Inch High Private Eye. My mind rolled through the implications. My front yard was probably a lego-man graveyard at this point. At least the stray cats are probably gone now. I really didn't want to think about the burial work I'd have to do.
"So there are a bunch of you little guys, and you all hate each other, and are trying to kill each other. The blue guys and the army guys didn't seem to have an easy job of it. Though there's still splattered bug bits all over my living room. And how many groups are you? I met the army guys, the blue guys, the robot guys, the red jet guys, and what’s left of the bugs."
"Blasphemy! The Heretics live yet! It pains me to my-" I interrupted him "Ah-ah-ah. Don't care. Answer my questions. I heard another noise from the stove, this time I turned my head, and bellowed with a yell that has scared numerous small children. "YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TURNING THAT GAS ON AND I SWEAR TO GO I'LL DROP A CAST IRON MOTHERSHIP!" Numerous other green-armored men raised weapons, hunkering down behind spice bottles, not retreating, but not trying to ignite the range either. I turned back to Telnas "Answer my question. How many of you."
Telnas looked angered, like I was pushing HIS buttons. Goddamn ingrateful little vending machine toy. "There are the mighty forces of the Imperium of Mankind. We battled the Ork, the Tyranid, the Eldar, and the Traitor Astartes. There may have been more, but it was a chaotic battlefield." "Right. Tyranids are the bugs. Who are the others? I guess the Traitors are the blue guys? They looked a lot like you, only with big things on their head. And they were attacking the army men. They all attacked me in the living room though."
"Ah... Colonel-Commissar Debriac is a.. cautious man.." "He sent tanks against me!" "Very cautious." I glared at Telnas, exaggerating my frown.
I got up, startling his friends over on the over who ducked behind their spice-rack barricade, ducking out and peering through slits in the wood every few seconds, like a deranged bright green game of whackamole. Getting some whole wheat, I started to make myself some toast, rubbing my eyes.
"You know the fact that you're talking to me is the only reason I haven't started killing you all." I said to Telnas with my back turned. He responded with a serious tone, as laughable as it was with his highpitched voice. "Is that a threat, Giant?" "A threat? Ha. No, just a matter of fact. And I'm not giant, you guys are tiny."
Telnas started to object, raising his little out-of-proportion hand into the air at me. I cut him off, easily drowning him out. "So who are the Orks? And who were those robot guys on my mom's computer? I found some green ape guys in the corner of the living room. And yeah, the guys riding the rockets."
I half tuned Telnas out as I focused my thoughs. The urge to laugh maniacally was kind of strong, so I was trying to put that down. Listening to him though, it sounded like the cyborg guys were the "Scions of Mars" or something. Oh god, actual Martians. Adeptus Mechanicus. Times like this I wish I was catholic so I would know the language. The Orks were the green guys I yelled at, and they were apparently supposed to be bloodthirsty savages, though they seemed to cower fairly well from someone 60 times their size. The red guys were the Elder, or Eldar or something. Something stupid like that. They liked to fight and fly around. Well so far they all like to fight. With only a bite left on my toast, I look down at Telnas, deep in thought.
"Alright Telnas. I'm one of those guys who actually cares when someone can talk and think,("Heresy!" I heard quietly exclaimed from the stove.) so I'm not gonna smush you guys. Well at least you guys. Just know this. This is my home. My stuff. Imagine if little men walked into your home and started fething gak up. So yeah. And no fires. And stay out of the fridge. In fact, just stay on the stove. Here." I hand him the last quarter of my toast, butter glistening on it. Its big enough that he could use it as a delicious crunchy king-sized bed. "Eat up."
"Wait, Giant. I know not your name. If you are a human, Child of the Emperor, I would wish you luck in battle." Telnas looked up at me, almost diplomatically. I wonder if he's their leader. I paused at the doorway back to the utility room. "Jon. Name's Jon."
I stop in the utility room, and look in the corner behind the washer where that black and green thing landed. Gone, with only a scuff on the wall. I get the feeling I'm going to regret it... Back into the dining room now. The cyborgs are still frozen in place, with their leader passed out. I peer in close. It’s REALLY hard to tell, but I tell myself that the guy is still breathing. He's still beeping at least. I take the frozen guys and put them up on the desk next to him, and type out "Sorry" on the monitor for him to see when he wakes up.
I head back to the living room.
First things first, I notice a bad smell. Probably the Tyrans. Teerans.. Bugs. Looking around, I didn't see any of the little army men. Or Guard as Telnas told me. Much like Empires, I always worry about militaries called Guards. No sign of the blue guys either. Thousand Islands or something. But in the corner, right where I left them, where the green brutes. Orks, they're called. I step up to them. They're still on that shelf, though some little ones (seriously tiny, like I've had boogers bigger than them) were trying to pry the crumpled-up mechanical ork back into a semblance of a humanoid shape. I felt a pang of guilt, but then I heard him swear and threw one of the little guys off the shelf. Guilt gone. Thankfully he just landed on the couch, dazed.
"HEY." I shout as I step up. The mass of green thuggy-looking things stand at attention. Or at least try. A few fall over, others whack themselves in the head with their weapons in a pathetic salute. "Which one of you is in charge?" I growled at the Orks. I realized there were LOTS of those little guys. Like at least as many as there were Orks.
"Iz da boss" I heard weakly from the mangled remains of the first one. I was kind of saddened by the fact that he was still alive. I felt I should put him out of his misery. I cocked an eyebrow at the other orks. "Anyone ELSE?"
One of the orks started to speak up but was bumped and slugged silent by his compatriots. I didn't need this. "No. You there, speak up." A shorter Ork stepped forward, He looked a little more well kempt than the others, who thought "Mad Max" was overdressed.
"W-well.. Yoos... Yoos da biggist, biggir dan anyfing... and yer roit fighty... and yoo beat da boss.. eh... wouldn't dat make yoo da boss?" He instantly cowered, pelted with thrown bullets, a few boots, and a couple of the little guys as he said it.
I glared at the other Orks, snapping my teeth in a faux bite. That’s really weird. It’s been maybe half an hour since I woke up and I'm already half-mad. I wonder what'll happen in another half hour. "And if I decide I'm the boss? You'll do what I say?"
The Orks started to mutter to themselves, while the prone leader muttered again "Iz da boss yoo git". I lifted my hand, so they could see it. Curling it into a fist, I brought it down on the shelf, forcing them to jump as I glared at them, issuing my silent message.
"So... where's da fightan, boss?" One of the orks said, scratching his head with a rocket. I stared at the Ork for several long moments. He was tiny. Orks seemed to come in many sizes. The biggest one was clad in a junky-looking suit, about a third of them seemed to be at least head and shoulders taller than the rest of the crowd. For every roughly-inch-high Ork there was at least one little Ork, small enough to fit a couple on my thumbnail. The one speaking was clutching a tiny little axe that still gleamed with blood. Or ichor. Or something. "..What?" I asked. "Well... Wez da Orkz. Wez gits ta fightan."
"Like, you have to go fight? Now?" The little muscle under my left eye was starting to spasm. Today was getting over the top for me. One of those days eh. At the little hairless green gorilla's nod, I sighed. "Fine. Go find those... tyr. bug things. Go hunt big bugs."
I kind of wondered if the bugs were intelligent. I was probably a bad person if they were, or at least for not finding out if they were. But hey, science fiction has taught us that all bug aliens are evil... right? Goddammit. feth this. "And no rockets in the house. In fact, take those big.. eggh. Take the corpses outside. Then you can hunt every last bug there is." I spun around, starting to yell almost maniacally. "NO ROCKETS FOR ANYONE IN THE HOUSE. I KNOW YOU'RE THERE. I'LL FIND YOU."
I went storming off back to my bed. I needed to get away from these little guys. I felt I should be screaming. If they were all hostile I could handle it better. But no, I have little black guys making forts on my stove, hairless apes doing pest control in my room, little rocketmen on my mother's hutch, and...
I threw open the door to my room. right there on the floor, just far enough away from the door that it didn't take his face off stood the blue guy with the sword and his blue and gold buddies. Taking a closer look as I stared at them, mere inches from my foot, the quiet ones were insanely detailed, with filigree and embossing and embellishing and all sorts of kinds of things that make them look way over detailed. I wanted to scrape one clean. Their leader though, despite being shorter, was dressed in simpler armor. Though for some reason he had two snakethings coming off his backpack.
"Jon.." His voice was soft, syllabant, and not highpitched at all. In fact, it was in my head. Now, I know my various genres of fiction. I know when I might possibly be on the business end of telepathy. "Jon... You're having a bad day. Thats understandable, this is a lot to take in. Now I'm sure you have questions... Every moment seems to beg more. Of course you want answers to them. I can help, Jon."
I stared down at the little hood ornament contacting my mind. Little blue men talking to my mind. Ha. Ha. HA HA. HAHAHAHA. "I can literally eat you." I said, matter-of-factly.
"So noted. We'll talk later, okay?" His voice was more cheery as he led his men out of my room, all of them jogging in unison with their little guns. As for me, I threw myself in bed, jammed the pillow on top of my head, and lay there, hoping that it was all just a terrible terrible hallucination of a nightmare. Chapter 2
It was about 11am when I finally pulled my head out. Somehow I managed to fall back asleep for a few minutes despite that soda. I rubbed my eyes, clearing the gunk out as I sighed. It must have been a bad dream. I'm already forgetting the particulars of it, see? Perfectly normal. I just had a bad dream and it lingered while I.. got dressed.. and ate some toast.. Oh mannn....
I looked around my room. Well at least they hadn't gotten back in here. Though there were more than a few places to hide. Under the bed, under the bookshelf, in the closet with no door, hell, even in one of the drawers. Just to be safe I popped open the drawer with my only non-digital porn source, a Letters to Penthouse book. Nope, I'm good. Though looking at the model kit motors and tiny r/c submarine made me worry worse.
Wait, I live in Indiana, what are they going to do with a submarine? Take it easy, Jon. Deep breaths. Mannnn... At least my parents were gone for a while for a fairly unremarkable yet incredibly convienient reason.
Okay. Seriously this time. Long thick jeans? Check. Shoes with thick soles? Check. Broom? feth, I left that in the living room. Thats fine. We're all cool here. Deep breath. Okay. I pulled open the door sharply, eyes on the floor to see who was to meet me this time. Huh, nobody. I listened carefully then, in case they were just out of sight. Oh god, paranoia now? Calm down, calm down. It’s not paranoia if you're right. I think that’s how it goes.
I heard noises coming from the living room. Heading back in there, I really shouldn't have been surprised at the sight that greeted me. Well, somewhat. The mob of Orks were still there, and they were technically cleaning up the corpses... The little green men were in a rough line leading out the door, throwing the little corpses of men, bugs, and even the occasional Ork body almost two feet, coming close to or directly hitting another Ork down the line, who would swear and yell at the first one, and then throw the corpse on down, repeating, like a macabre combination of dodgeball and a bucket bridgade.
I stared at them for a few moments, until one of them, who was getting hit a little more often than not, ran over towards the offending greenskin, tackling it to the ground and starting to punch the crap out of him. "HEY!" I yelled, stomping hard with one foot. Like I said I've got dogs, and that usually breaks up minor scuffles. Of course I didn't expect every single ork to stop what they were doing and look up. "Knock it off!" I growled.
"Yeh! Quit mukkin about and git ta werk!" yelled one of the taller orks. I silently wonder if that whole "more afraid of you than you of them" thing applies to little inch high space men. Well, I hope so anyway. After watching them a minute longer, I headed back into the dining room.
I saw the little men running around my mother's computer again. Glad mine's safe. I make sure to close up the cabinet my dad's computer is in. Yeah, we all have computers, get over it. Its 2008. Only now there was a little green-armored guy, a, whattyacallem, Astartes, standing on the desk, giving orders to the cybermonks. The one I flicked was limply sitting to one side. I stopped in front of the litttle armored dude. Huh. This one's red, and has robot arms. I point towards my victim. "Is he gonna be okay?" I ask. "While the Vile Forces of The Heretics were most savage in their attack on the Techpriest, it takes more than Massive Blunt Trauma with a Rating of 279% Lethality to harm the might forces of the Imperium! I have intoned the Chant of Ignition and we now await the Ritual Of Booting." Awful casual with the giant asking him questions. I wonder if they're used to this kind of thing. I step past them, pausing only a brief moment to unplug the wireless antenna. Definitely dont' want that to get used.
The pile of junk in front of the mostly-shut basement door only bothered me for a second as I moved through the utility room. After all, if some of them get into the basement, oh well, we never go down there, and they're all way too short to reach anything important. Except maybe a few inches of water. I wonder if little men can swim.
I throw open the half-doors to the kitchen, and startle the lizard-guys. What was it? Salamanders. I startle the Salamanders on the stove again. I hear the dim yet highpitched cries of them from across the room, "Heresy!" and "For the Emperor!" as they bobbed up and down ridiculously fast behind their fortifications. I couldn't help but think of the whackamole analogy again, though this time I noticed that the spice rack had been busted up and had now been formed into a barricade.
I started to wonder what they were using as nails when a hail of tiny little rockets, like, a quarter the size of firecrackers, whizzed over my head, followed by a rocket about the size of a firecracker. Great. Little green Thumbelinas are shooting at me.
"Hey! HEY! Stop it! Goddamn little mousketteers!" Okay, snappy comeback meter was a little off there. "Dammit I'm here to talk!" After a few moments, the only thing left of their salvo were a few black marks the size of a pencil, and a coffee-cup sized black mark where that missile hit.
Before I could unleash my frustrated rage at them however they all vanished....again. Huuggghh...this was going to be a wonderful day...so much for the hallucinations I guess....
I decided to make a sandwich.... So there I was, making a sandwich in the kitchen when suddenly I heard something. It sounded kind of like a tiny rope being pulled trough something.
''KHREAT ONEH!''
The little, bald man covered in armour was standing next to my bread basket.
''WEH HAVH COME TO ASKH YOUHR HELP IN THE SEHRIS OF THE EMPRA'' he sqeaked.
''What?'' I sighed.
''THE ACCUHRSED KSENOHS HAVH TAKEN OVER THE HOLEE REMHOTE-DEVICE''
''You mean the TV's remote control?''
''YESH, KREAHT ONE, WHE HUMBLEH ASK FOR YOHR AIDH IN THES ENDEAVOUR!!''
''Just let me finish making this Sandwhich''
''BYEH YOHR WORD''
''Right.''
When I entered the living room my jaw dropped.
The little green dudes were screaming their heads off at the little dudes in spiky red armour.
''Hey HEY WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!'' I explaimed loudly.
Everything went quiet.
''Dem...dem spiky boyz iz stealin' our Tuh-luh-ve-sion''
I turned to the spiky dudes.
''BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!'' They yelled in one big chorus.
I rubbed my face. Ugh. It's been about 5 days since I've gotten new "housemates" I guess. That's about as fething generous as I'll allow given my utter lack of caffeine at the moment....
At first my house was a war zone
Every one of the tiny factions was yelling and shooting at the other one.
Green men fighting yellow men in the bathroom.
Miniature tanks crashing into tiny bug-like critters.
Some black spiky dudes even managed to capture a few soldier-looking dudes in a milk glass, claiming their ''Slave hunt'' to be successful.
It took me 2 days to restore order, and eventually had to bring out what seemed to be my greatest weapon against the chaos in my flat.
They called it ''The dreaded Titan-Monstrocity of Doom''
I called it the Vacuum cleaner.
Eventually things started settling down, after I threatened to suck each and every one of them into the eternal realm of pain inside the vacuum. I found it to be helpful to keep the different factions of mini dudes apart.
The so called ''Humans'' got my bedroom.
There were little dudes in armour, small soldier-men, some girls in armour and some guys who looked like the terminator. Mech monks or priests or something.
The lavatory was the domain of the so called ''Heretics'' according to the human dudes, which meant every time I went to take a piss, some little blue/green/red dude was standing on the toilet's flush button, trying to convert me to ''Worshiping the Chaos gods''
The little yellow dudes seemed to take a liking to the bath room. They seemed nice, helping me a lot and one day even making a truce with the humans to bring me my ''Scepter'' aka. my toothbrush into my bedroom. The kitchen was the domain of the greenskins, partially because its walls were painted light green themselves. Although kind of loud, they regarded me as some kind of higher Orkish deity or something called Tork or Mork I think. Also, they've built a little fort out of scrap metal and garbage on a kitchen counter. It's kind of like a miniature castle. The only thing that concerns me is that I allowed them to have my old toy cars, they seem to be trying to convert them into something...deadly. At least for the other little guys.
The hallway closet seemed to be harbouring the small bug dudes. I'm still trying to find them a better place, as they seem to be feeding off my old mittens and coats. Which I don't like one bit.
The living room, being the largest and most ''diverse'' in terrain has been declared a neutral zone. Mostly because I don't want little tanks shooting at little converted toy cars while my shows are on.
All of the factions seem to have a great respect for the so called ''Televatus'' Me allowing them to watch some shows is keeping them from beating each other senseless with miniature sticks, although it seems like they are always warring at who can be next.
The little black spiky dudes and their green and white armoured fellows seem to have set up ''camps'' all over my house.
One day I almost crushed a small hover tank when sitting on the couch. Seems they had built some kind of strong point under the pillows. Heh, elusive as they may be, they aren't running around the hallways in legions like the others.
It takes me a LOT of strength just to maneuver trough my flat nowadays... The busiest time of the day for me is the morning, when I have to feed all the little bastards. Fortunately, they lack the strenght to open the fridge door themselves, so each morning I have to make them a mini version of my food ( they INIST it's the exact same as mine, e.g. bread and butter, porridge ect.) and try to guard them against the greenskins jumping and mugging them as they make their way out of the kitchen.
Food seems to be a valuable commodity to them. Their food supplies seem to be at the very hearts of their so called ''Fortresses''
I once tried offering them alcohol. Bad idea. The fething bugs exploded from it, leaving my kitchen table a mess.
It's odd, I've been watching the ones with the hovering tanks travel around lately, they seem to be from two distinct camps.
One of them favours the blocky ships, mostly keeping to their part of the house, rather quiet and a lot less intent on either worshipping me or converting me to whatever they do worship.
The other ones are a lot harder to find. Rounder tanks, seem intent on skittering through the hallways when they think I can't see them. I seem to keep seeing the same group too, it's almost as if they're teleporting around.
The black ones seem to be some kind of ''Slavers'' They once nigged a bowl from my kitchen. I later found it upside down, with helpless armoured dudes captured inside.
The green and white ones prefer high spots in my house. I rarely see them, expect at breakfast time.
Watched the 'humans' doing their thing this afternoon when I got back from work, they seem intent on having their seperate groups as well.
The almost normal looking ones are usually on the floor, often doing drill practice or something similar. One of them in particular seems to be the designated leader, calling himself 'Commissar.'
The ones bouncing around on the bed are in really thick armour, apart from the occasional one intent on bossing the other ones around, who usually don't wear helmets. These ones seem to treat the regular humans as inferiors, except maybe to the so called 'Commissar,' which seems to be an unusual relationship.
That's not all, there are a particular bunch that hang around my computer a lot, look like robots in some places, but definitely have some human parts. I swear one of them has some sort of robotic tentacle-arm thing, but they get all shy and secretive when they know I'm around.
Running back and forth between the last two is a (comparitively) large, blocky shaped robot, who speaks rarely, and seems to sleep during the day. Perhaps he holds the night guard of some sort. So, let's take a closer look at the little guys. Starting with the ones occupying my bedroom.
Every time I try to make my way in there I have to dodge numerous fortifications and make-shift barricades.
Seems they regard my Lego blocks as some kind of high-tech impervious fortification material.
It's fun to see them chasing raiding black spiky dudes with my Lego weapons, though.
Their main command center seems to be situated in an empty drawer in my desk. They've amassed a whole lot of stuff there. Ranging from my old compass to pencil, which they assured me MAY be used as ''tactical exterminatus warheads''
Should I tell them pencil leads don't actually have exploding capabilities?
The so called ''Space soldier marine'' guys like the lego box. They're constantly digging up some new piece, after which they conduct some kind of sermon to the Empire of theirs and praise its Emperor for the great gift that is a Lego figurine's top hat.
The soldier guys park all their tanks and guns right in front of the door, in the fortifications. They seem to be the most sane of the human guys, hardly ever trying to sing praise songs at SIX A.M. on a work day.
The Mech guys like my computer. They've probably found every bit of information I ever had on it. Including the porn.
Although the computer DOES run a lot faster now, since they have been tinkering with it.
And lastly, the crazy lunatic girls in armour.
They've built a chapel on my night-desk
And really, I mean a fething CHAPEL.
Praying quietly to their gods inside it is ok with me. CONDUCTING SACRIFICES OF CAPTURED ENEMIES ON TOP OF MY WHILE I'M SLEEPING IS NOT.
They like to call me some kind of saint or prophet. Heh. I don't really care as long as they don't try to set fire to my book shelf again.
Next are the yellow Tao dudes.
As I've mentioned before, they have declared my bathroom as their base of operations, living on a surfance on a shelf, next to the shampoo.
It's kind of annoying, though, when I want to take a shower and robots with jetpacks fly right past me.
When they started to carve some fortification out of soap, I was displeased but I eventually calmed down when they offered to wash my back with the flying robots.
Helpful as they may be, they don't seem to be the toughest of my new roommates.
Every other faction has turned one of my rooms into a well fortified base.
They just carve round gazebos out of soap.
I'll have to get some Lego blocks to them.
I don't want them being replaced by spiky dudes.
Hearing ''ABANDON THE WEAKLING IMPERIUM OF MANKIND AND JOIN US'' while I'm on the potty is enough for me. Oh, and also they have set up some kind of building in the wash machine. I don't have the heart to tell them what happens if I turn it on and some of them are still inside... The Tau are... Friendly.
Really, really friendly. It is almost disconcerting.
They populate my bathroom, for the most part. Declaring my medicine cabinet as property of the Greater Good, or whatever. It is kinda convenient, though. All I need to do is ask, and they send little saucer shaped flying... Things to bring me various items of request. Usually my toothbrush.
Speaking of tooth brushes, they've even started brushing their teeth in concert with me, every morning and evening. I don't know where they got their tooth brushes from, but they treat the act like some kind of ritual.
Imagine, if you will, a long line of fifty odd, tiny, yellow clad, blue aliens, staring into the mirror with you as you all clean your teeth.
Disconcerting indeed.
They seem to be the nice ones (relatively...). I came across another bunch of them sneaking around the kitchen, clad in black.
From what the humans and tau are telling me, in between the screams of 'HERETIC!' and 'XENOS SCUM!' these ones keep kidnapping their men and hiding them, I usually find them stuck in tupperware containers or hidden under overturned cups (one of the orkz was having a fat old time in a non-stick wok, but I made sure he wasn't going to tell his buddies about it, I have food to cook).
The Heretics, eh?
Well they seem to love living in the lavatory and on the shelf behind it. Out of all the factions their architecture is the most...concerning. The Orks are a close second, though.
You see, the Chaos armoured dudes like to paint images. Not flowers and trees. Pictures of people screaming and burning. Every time I close the lavatory door, a new horrific picture of some dude's skull greets me. I suspect they are using blood for paint. I've told them no but they just scream one of their battle cries or try to convince me that the other human dudes suck and that I should decorate my ceiling with their severed genitalia.
The Chaos dudes seem to have for our three major groups
The first are the Big red ones, always running around screaming, always wielding either chain saws or some kind of ''chain'' axe. They only cause trouble. Especially the time when they managed to saw my toilet paper roll in half.
The second ones are either blue or yellow-blue.
Then yellow-blue ones don't speak much. They just wade around slowly.
The blue ones seem to be some kind of leaders or wizards, as they cast little bolts of blue lighting at the other factions. They seem to have great interest in making me a so called ''Chaos lord'', offering me rewards ranging from sexual pleasure to endless riches. The third are the green ones. They are the most messy ones. Yes, even messier than the greenskins in the kitchen. Disturbingly, they like to swim in the toilet water and I always have to tell them to get out when I want to use the thing.
The fourth and final ones are ...how to say... perverted little melon-fethers.
I have to cover my junk every time I enter the lavatory, as one is bound to jump on my pants or hump my leg.
Their colour seems to be pink.
All in all, the Chaos guys might be annoying but always have fresh ideas and advice for me, although I have to filter out the ''Sacrifice your enemies to achieve happiness'' parts.
The Lavatory certainly seems like it was a good choice, I can't bear to imagine had I let them in my bedroom.
I mean to begin with those smelly ones would be insisting on finding some place warm to hide, no doubt they'd be hiding under my bedsheets before long.
Sleeping at night would be damn near impossible, between the blue/yellow ones trying to whisper things in my ear and the red ones having a go at my throat. That toilet paper didn't stand a chance, I can't imagine skin and cartilage would fare much better.
And I'd have kicked them out in no time if the pink ones happened to stumble upon my porn collection... The Orks or ''ORKSEZ!!'' are simpe beings, numerous, but simple.
The Orks love battle. They literally thrive on it. Not a day goes by when I don't have to stop them from stealing the food of the others.
Their second love is junk Not a day goes by when I don't find an old can of SKUB being made into a tower of their fort.
Their third and final love is screaming their little heads of.
Each time I enter the kitchen a loud ''WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!'' greets me.
The others seem to have have SOME agreement with the greenskins for safe passage. Although how much the Orks like it I can't say. Still, I'm constantly reminding everyone of what awaits them when they don't obey me.
Well, I have to work out some agreement with the Orks myself. However cool their fortress might be, it's made out of
VEGGIMITE AND PISS
And it stinks like it too.
The elusive dudes, called ''Elder'' dudes or ''Eldar'' are not (too) annoying but not helpful either. I hardly get a glimpse of their daily activites. I just hope they’re not planning something horrible.
They come to get their daily ration of food in hover-vehicles. They're the only faction that seems to use them.
I don't know what's the deal with their black spiky and green-white smooth guys but it doesn't seem there that keen of each other.
The so called ''Slavers'' have been a small bother. It's always annoying to turn a mug over and find a few small dudes under it.
Although I do get major bonus points from the others for finding and freeing their friends before the dark and gloomy looking Eldar do god-knows what to them.
The ones with smoother armour I get along with better. We don't talk much though, only an occasional ''Enjoy your day, Mon'Keigh'' from them and an ''Uhuh, yeah, you too'' from me.
As I've said before, I don't really care as long as they don't wreck the place up. They even seem to help maintain some kind of order other factions.
I trust them to be able to stop a full scale war from breaking out. It's day 7
For seven days now have I endured these little space guys running around my flat and insulting each other.
Actually, it's going really well. I haven't had to put out a fire in...3 days!
But today something happened that is worth mentioning.
When I came home, I noticed that there wasn't anything really to notice.
Usually there are a few body parts, some ichor or a few loose items in the hallway. But today, it was clean as a whistle.
Of course I immedeatly started to worry, if not they had killed each other or maybe gone to ''explore''
But as I reached the kitchen I noticed 9 little figures standing on the kitchen table, all looking at me.
One of each race was facing me, their armour and decorations seemed a little more ...decorative than the normal dudes so I figured they were some kind of leaders. Only the bugs were missing. I’m not sure if they even HAVE a leader.
''KHREAT ONEH'' Exclaimed the Space Soldier dude ''WE HAF GATHERD HERE TO DISCUS TEHS SETUATHSUN''
I sat on a stool.
''Mon'Keigh, as you have clearly come to understand, we are not from our world'' Said the Smooth Eldar leader. She was female, it seemed.
At this point I realized that I had doomed myself into hearing little space warriors discuss how.
a) they were space warriors b)why they had gotten here c)why they were no bigger than my palm
I hated those kind of conversations. Especially the ''We have come from x galaxy and wield powerful bla bla yada yada to protect the world and so on'' parts. ''My dear ally, we have been staying in your...wonderful residence for seven days already.'' The Chaos guy remarked.
''GETTODA POINT!'' The greenskin yelled. He was the biggest of the bunch. Probably more machine than Ork.
''SEE, ME AN' DA SQUISHY BOYZ 'ERE HAVE BEEN WONDERIN'... ''
''What the xeno is trying to say is''
They all took a breath
''Would you be so kind big one, to let us stay in your residence?''
''WAIT, YOU XENOS AND HERETICS WILL NOT BE ALLOWED IN THIS HOLY PLACE'' ''FOOLISH MON'KEIGH!'' ''CHAOS WILL PREVAIL'' ''THE OMNISSIAH HAS CHOSEN US!!'' ''WAAAAAAAAGHH!'' ''ACCURSED XENO!'' ''BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!''
And from there on it broke out in a big fight between all of them.
I...I had no words. These little feths, killing each other, gaking on the floor, drawing gruesome paintings on my walls, stealing my stuff...could I take any more of this?
The answer was right there.
''Feth it, I REALLY don't care.''
''ARRRGH YOU BIT ME HERETIC!!'' ''WAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!'' ''DIE XENO!''
I opened my mouth.
''Hey, HEY YOU LITTLE MONSTERS SHUT. THE. feth. UP!''
Everything fell quiet.
''If you won't start to live with each other, IT'S fething VACUUM TIME''
I already was starting to have a migrane.
''YOU HAVE YOUR LEGO FORT THINGIES. KEEP AWAY FROM EACH OTHER AND DON'T BOTHER ME. WE'LL DO JUUUUUST FINE!''
After that they just stared at me.
My head was killing me, it was late, I was hungry and tired.
''Here are the rules: No fires, no sacrifices, no horrible works of art, NO FIRES and NO fething KILLING EACH OTHER TO DEATH!''
''COMPRENDE?''
''Y...yehs kreaht onhe...''
''Woteva' ''
''Mhm...''
''Wise choice, Mon'Keigh''
I sighed.
''I'm going to eat a sandwich, take a LONG hot shower and go to bed. MAKE ANY NOISE AND I WILL END YOU.''
Quickly slapping something together I absentmindedly took a bite....
*spluch*
Let me tell you, there is nothing more revolting then a dead carnifex between a ham and cheese sandwich...
Automatically Appended Next Post: Yay! Found it (the picture).
But it is in a word document and when I copy and paste it into the post it just inserts a blank line.
Does anyone know how to fix that?
When I saw a picture in cadichan_support's gallery, (http://www.dakkadakka.com/core/gallery-viewimage.jsp?i=244014)I thought that maybe an Equestrian Inquisitorial order wouldn't be that bad... The Ordo Amicitius. They make sure everyone is friends (Amacitia = Friendship)...
An imperial guard commander was enjoying a cup of tea when a captain with bad news approached him.
"sir, I'm sure you are aware there has been an army of orks standing right outside of our artillery range for an hour, aren't you?"
The commander spews out his tea in amazement and replies,
"EVEN OUR TRANS-PLANETARY DEFENCES?"
" Yes, sir."
"But that would take tactical geni- CREEEE-"
"I swear it wasn't Creed, sir; besides there's another problem."
"What kind of problem?"
" Well you see, the orks have painted their armor black and white and are riding black and white bikes."
"So? Most orks do that."
"Just come out onto the balcony and you'll see what I mean."
The commander did so, and from his perch he could see a smoking sea of green, black, and white; chanting:
"We is da blakk and woit orks on da blakk and woit bikes and we'd loik to marry ya dotta!"
Try saying that five times fast.
Dingdoodah wrote:An imperial guard commander was enjoying a cup of tea when a captain with bad news approached him.
"sir, I'm sure you are aware there has been an army of orks standing right outside of our artillery range for an hour, aren't you?"
The commander spews out his tea in amazement and replies,
"EVEN OUR TRANS-PLANETARY DEFENCES?"
" Yes, sir."
"But that would take tactical geni- CREEEE-"
"I swear it wasn't Creed, sir; besides there's another problem."
"What kind of problem?"
" Well you see, the orks have painted their armor black and white and are riding black and white bikes."
"So? Most orks do that."
"Just come out onto the balcony and you'll see what I mean."
The commander did so, and from his perch he could see a smoking sea of green, black, and white; chanting:
"We is da blakk and woit orks on da blakk and woit bikes and we'd loik to marry ya dotta!"
Try saying that five times fast.
Dingdoodah wrote:An imperial guard commander was enjoying a cup of tea when a captain with bad news approached him.
"sir, I'm sure you are aware there has been an army of orks standing right outside of our artillery range for an hour, aren't you?"
The commander spews out his tea in amazement and replies,
"EVEN OUR TRANS-PLANETARY DEFENCES?"
" Yes, sir."
"But that would take tactical geni- CREEEE-"
"I swear it wasn't Creed, sir; besides there's another problem."
"What kind of problem?"
" Well you see, the orks have painted their armor black and white and are riding black and white bikes."
"So? Most orks do that."
"Just come out onto the balcony and you'll see what I mean."
The commander did so, and from his perch he could see a smoking sea of green, black, and white; chanting:
"We is da blakk and woit orks on da blakk and woit bikes and we'd loik to marry ya dotta!"
Try saying that five times fast.
Umm......What?
Havn't seen the horror of the "Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike" have you?
Just found another thingie: Check out the name plate of the Terminator on page 54 of the Black Templar Codex. There's your proof that the Black Templars are the most powerful Chapter!
For those of you who don't own the BT Codex/are lazy:
Belexar wrote:I was just about to post the BAWSMITBAWB joke just to piss that guy off, good thing I noticed there was another page already. So yeah...
I think space marines are castrated.
Anyway, B&WSMOTB&WB ULTIMATE EDITION! Includes alternate ending,"YOU MORON"; sequel, "A moron dies"; and spinoff,"the orks took it seriously."
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and being the hero-type person that he was, he wanted to marry the commander's daughter. So he went up to the palace, and the guard naturally inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied: "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your first task is to slay the dragon on Xylon III".
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out, the guard once again asked, "Who goes there"?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine then proceeded with ease to kill the dragon and six months later returned with the head of the foul beast. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your second task is to climb the highest peak on Desgrus Beta".
On his way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike easily climbed the mountain and returned 4 years later. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your third and final task is to swim across the acid lake outside the palace."
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
Once again the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike easily completed his task and returned to the palace for the final time.
On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. May I marry your daughter now?"
"OK."
Good ending.
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and being the hero-type person that he was, he wanted to marry the commander's daughter. So he went up to the palace, and the guard naturally inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied: "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your first task is to slay the dragon on Xylon III".
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out, the guard once again asked, "Who goes there"?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine then proceeded with ease to kill the dragon and six months later returned with the head of the foul beast. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks, you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your second task is to climb the highest peak on Desgrus Beta".
On his way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter".
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike easily climbed the mountain and returned 4 years later. On his way into the palace the guard inquired "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
So the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike proceeded up to the commander's chamber.
"Who goes there?" asked the commander.
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter" replied the Black and White Space Marine.
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, if you complete three tasks you may take my daughter's hand in marriage" the commander told the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. "Your third and final task is to swim across the acid lake outside the palace."
On the Black and White Space Marine's way out the guard once again asked, "Who goes there?"
To which the Black and White Space Marine replied "I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry the commander's daughter."
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike."
"OK, pass."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike never returned. Meanwhile, back at base, all of the captains celebrated, saying things like, "thank the god-emperor he's dead, that moron." however, when a ten-foot tall black and white cake was presented to the commander, out pops the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike who, for the final time, says to the commander,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter."
The commander asks in horror,
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?"
"Yes, the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike. May I marry your daughter now?"
"I DON'T HAVE ONE, YOU MORON!"
Sequel.
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and after discovering the space marine commander doesn't have a daughter, was furious and decided to try and marry three other leaders' daughters: the IG captain's, the commissar's, and the inquisitor's. worried, each of the leaders build fortresses out of different materials, the captain's out of concrete, the commissar's out of guardsmen, and the inquisitor's out of... nothing, he just gathered a bunch of sisters for a tea party.
So the Black and White Space Marine approaches the commissar's person-fort first and booms,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter!"
"No!" says the commissar.
" If you don't, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your fort down!"
"GO KILL A GROT; THAT'S THE ONLY THING GOOD ENOUGH FOR YA!"
So the BAWSM blew his person-fort down, and forced his daughter to marry him.
Next the BAWSM approaches the captain's concrete bunker and booms,
"I'm the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike and I want to marry your daughter!"
"Not the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike?" asked the captain.
The BAWSM get angry, smashes the bunker, then forces the daughter into marriage.
Next the BAWSM approaches the inquisitor's tea party and gets shot to bits by the sisters.
"By holy and spiritual order of the God-emperor himself, I hereby execute you for heretic acts such as humiliating your armor's machine spirit by painting it a wholly different color, murdering two servant of the imperium, and marriage, an action against the codex astartes." said the inquisitor. Thank the gods that's over.
Spinoff.
An imperial guard commander was enjoying a cup of tea when a captain with bad news approached him.
"sir, I'm sure you are aware there has been an army of orks standing right outside of our artillery range for an hour, aren't you?"
The commander spews out his tea in amazement and replies,
"EVEN OUR TRANS-PLANETARY DEFENCES?"
" Yes, sir."
"But that would take tactical geni- CREEEE-"
"I swear it wasn't Creed, sir; besides there's another problem."
"What kind of problem?"
" Well you see, the orks have painted their armor black and white and are riding black and white bikes."
"So? Most orks do that."
"Just come out onto the balcony and you'll see what I mean."
The commander did so, and from his perch he could see a smoking sea of green, black, and white; chanting:
"We is da blakk and woit orks on da blakk and woit bikes and we'd loik to marry ya dotta!"
Just read this pre-heresy Kharn story and it had me lol'ing:
High above the world of Peacarius (soon to be renamed SLAUGHTERBLOODDEATH), the World Eaters and Emperor's Children stood waiting aboard Angron's flagship "BLOOD AND MURDER YOU NAME THE BLOODY THING" as their primarchs held a conference for war. The people of Peacarius were a timid lot, not well informed in the ways of war, and had made the fatal error of suing for peace the very second Angron's ships had entered orbit. When Fulgrim arrived it was to find the World Eaters primarch trying to tape a nuclear warhead to his fists, but lacking the ability to do it one handed had meant that instead he'd been kicking drop-ships at the Peacarius capital and screaming into space.
The equerry of the World Eaters regarded the perfect array of troops resplendent in the golden aquila, and then his own men as they stood twitching and idly swinging their deactivated chain-axes at one another so they harmlessly bounced off each other's helmets. It was no secret that neither Legion got along, but the orders of their Emperor and their Warmaster were to be obeyed. Khârn let out a sigh, as he heard his Primarch storming down the hallways towards them.
"DAMNATION AND SKULLS" Angron cried out, kicking a bulkhead door open as he forced two screaming Remembrancers into his mouth and ate them, "WHY HAVE WE NOT LEFT YET EQUERRY?!"
"My lord. You destroyed all our landing craft trying to weld them together into a bigger landing craft" Khârn the Equerry answered. In response Angron began to headbutt the floor. Roused from their non-killing stupor, the other World Eaters began to do so as well. Again Khârn sighed. He wasn't sure he had enough yarn in stock to calm them all down.
"WELL UNTIL WE GET THE THRICE BLOOD DAMNED THINGS I'M GOING TO BE REARRANGING THE SKULL TROPHIES IN MY DAMNED TEN TIMES BLOOD MURDER BEDROOM" Angron screamed, before storming out. Seconds later there was an almighty crash, and the section of the ship that housed Angron could be seen making entry into the planet's atmosphere.
"Do not worry, equerry" Fulgrim spoke softly as he appeared inexplicably behind Khârn, "We will assist your primarch as best we can..."
Khârn was going to respond, but became distinctly aware of Fulgrim's tongue caressing his ear.
The Traitor Guardsman eyed each other nervously. They had asked Khârn to tell them another story about his time before the Horus Heresy, but after agreeing to do so, he had begun to sit there staring at the campfire. After a minute froth began to build up around his helmet's mouthpiece, and he crushed the skull he had been drinking from. Everyone was too terrified to move or say a word, each hoping for someone else to make the first move.
They were trapped there for weeks.
My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.
My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.
Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.
I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.
When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."
After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.
I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.
I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."
When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.
Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.
No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.
I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.
I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.
If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.
When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.
I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.
I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.
If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.
If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.
My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.
If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.
I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.
I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.
My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.
Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.
If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.
I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.
My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.
If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.
I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.
Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.
I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.
If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.
My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.
No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.
I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.
All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.
When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.
If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.
If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.
I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.
When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.
I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.
If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)
If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.
I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."
If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.
If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.
If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.
I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.
If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.
I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.
I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."
I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.
My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.
If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.
After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.
I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.
I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.
If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)
If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.
When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.
My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.
My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.
My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.
If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.
Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.
Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.
Here's my version of the Black and White Space Marine.
There once was this Black and White Space Marine on a Black and White Bike, and being the hero-type person that he was, he wanted to marry the commander's daughter. So he went up to the palace, but then about six hundred members of various warhammer-based forums came and killed him completely before that exceptionally boring story could continue. The End.
A Catachan colonel was being briefed on a covert mission.
The general informed him of the extensive AA coverage and radar sweeps. "Your Valkyries will have to fly 200 feet to avoid detection and you'll jump half a click from the target."
The colonel shook his head. "The Valkyries will have to fly at 100 feet."
Confused, the general said, "At 100 feet the gravchutes may not have time to kick in."
I don't remember who asked for it but I FOUND IT!!!
Spoiler:
"My Lord, I bring news." Typhus Marburg paused in his study of the situation map of the dreary little planet his forces were engaged in ravaging. "Yes?" "Lord. Starships have appeared in the outer system and are on course for a landing. They have been identified as elements of the Flesh Tearers." "Yeah? Tell them to sod off and find their own world. Tell 'em we got here first." "Sire, you misunderstand. They are here to defend this world!" "What! Why? It's a sorry state of affairs when the followers of Chaos start to defend the weakling Imperium from each other!" "Um, Lord... the Flesh Tearers are a loyalist chapter." "They are? With a name like that! Are you sure they're not one of ours?" "Positive, My Lord." "Have you been able to call for any assistance?" "The Astropaths have contacted other forces nearby. Unfortunately this has also alerted other loyalist forces in the sector and they are also headed our way." "Bugger. So who gets here first then?" "The Alpha Legion, sire." "It never rains, it only pours, hey?" "Umm..." "What!" "The Alpha Legion is one of ours." "It is?!" "Yes." "I'm confused. You're telling me that a mob called the 'Flesh Tearers' isn't one of ours but a mob called the - what was it again..." "The Alpha Legion, sire." "Right... a mob called the Alpha Legion is one of ours." "That is correct, sire." "So who else is showing up to this barney then?" "The Blood Drinkers." "One of ours?" "One of theirs." "OK." "The Iron Warriors." "One of theirs?" "No. One of ours." "Go figure." "The Dark Angels." "Now I've heard of them. Followers of Slaanesh aren't they?" "No, I think you're thinking of The Fallen, sire. The Dark Angels are Loyalists too." "Bugger. So who else then?" "The Emperor's Children." "Oh, that one's too easy. They're obviously loyalists with a name like that." "Um, not exactly my Lord." "Really?" "Yes, Lord. They're one of ours too."
"This is silly. All the really evil sounding names are being used by weakling loyalists while it seems as though the forces of chaos have got the naff monikers. Are there any more of these I should know about?" "A few, Lord." "OK then, spell it out for me, starting with Loyalists that sound like traitors and then moving onto traitors that sound like Loyalists." "I will attempt to do so, Lord. OK - the Loyalists that sound like traitors... the Marauders, Rampagers, Destroyers and Storm Lords (all White Scar second foundings in point of fact)." "I like the sound of the Storm Lords. You sure they aren't one of ours?" "Quite sure. Then there's the Blood Drinkers and the Flesh Tearers - both of which are Loyalist second founding of the Blood Angels." "With names like that I'd always assumed they were more bone headed followers of the blood god." "Not so far, My Lord. Then there's the Red Talons..." "I thought they were renegade pirates." "No Lord, that's the Red Corsairs." "Oh. OK. Continue." "The Brazen Claws are loyalists too." "Good name for a Khornate force though isn't it?" "Yes Lord. Then there's the Black Guard (not to be confused with the Black Legion which IS one of ours), the Revilers, and the Raptors." "Hold on a minute! The Raptors? They're definitely ours. Hell we've got a small unit of them attached to our forces haven't we?" "My Lord, those are the troops known as Raptors but there is also a loyalist legion with the same name." "Must get a bit confusing for the loyalists then?" "I imagine so, My Lord. There are also the Doom Eagles, the Silver Skulls, and the Iron Hands (not to be mistaken for the Iron Warriors, who are ours)." "Bloody hell. Is that it?" "There are also some lesser known chapters that also seem to cause occasional confusion." "Such as..." "The Doomfarers are one that our forces have occasionally encountered." "Oh yeah. Those yoyos. So what about the Chaos forces that sound like loyalists then..."
"Well as mentioned earlier there are The Emperor's Children, The Iron Warriors, the Thousand Sons, the Lunar Wolves (who changed their name to the Sons of Horus and then to the Black Legion)..." "Well at least they're easily IDed as one of ours now. The Black Legion eh? Now that's a proper name. Just positively oozes evil from every pore." "Yes, Lord. To continue, there are also the Word Bearers, and the Alpha Legion." "The Word Bearers? What kind of silly name is that for a Chaos Legion?" "They used to be missionaries sire" "We you'd think that once they switched to our side they'd change their name to something a little more in keeping with being evil mad men. I mean come on 'The Word Bearers'? It's a silly name." "Yes my Lord" "You know, I think the forces of Chaos should have proper Chaos names. There's no room for mistakes when you're called something like 'The World Eaters' or 'The Death Guard'..." "Actually Lord, both those chapters had those names when they were loyalists." "You're kidding." "No, My Lord."
"Yeesh. I would have thought names like that would be a bit scary for the average imperial citizen. I mean "Yay we're being rescued by the World Eaters" just doesn't sound credible while "Aargh! Flee! It's the World Eaters" seems much more likely." "Yes, My Lord. I believe the latter is more likely these days anyway." "Makes no bloody sense at all." "Yes, My Lord." "Kill 'em all and let the Chaos Gods sort 'em out I say." "Sounds like a completely reasonable approach to me, My Lord."
The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike wanted a new wife, so he flew to a new planet with 3 bases on it.
A Guard base, an Ecclisiarchy base, and an Inquisitorial base.
The Black and White space Marine on the Black and white Bike goes to the guard base, and yells "Commander, I am the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and white bike, give me your daughter!" To which a small voice replied "No!" The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike got angry, and killed them all.
He drove to the Ecclisiarch base, and called out "I am the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike, priests, give me a Sororitas!" And a priest called out "There are none here!" The Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White bike got angry, and killed them all.
Finally, he rode his bike to the Inquisition base, and yelled "I am the Black and White Space Marine on the Black and White Bike, inquisitor, give me your daughter!"
The Marine was then taken into custody and killed by the inquisition. The end.
.
on the back of a landraider by a repentia with a with a mile long strap on 
![[Disk]](/dakkaforum/templates/default/images/icon_disk.gif){kind=icon}
May Imperial Justice account in all balance. The Emperor protects 
and laughed even harder when I went to click on it and it was a link to a DAKKA thread 
