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I should point out that none of these are mine, but since no one acualy knows/cares who wrote these, it makes asking permission to post them kinda pointless. I'm just posting them, as honestly everyone needs to read and laugh out loud at these.
Angry Marines. Always angry, all the time. >:C
"Lo, in the histories of the many chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, every primarch listed that has ever come across my sage and learned eye has found root and home upon a planet, which hath shaped and set in stone the character of that warrior of the Emperor that he would become.
Therefore, one must give pause to the Primarch of our brothers, the Angry Marines, that great warrior of rage for he hath never fell upon a planet. Nay! But he was borne upon the ethers and drifts of space, alone in his capsule save for a discarded copy of Battle Toads III that the Emperor had thrown out, a legendary artifact that had fueled research into vast weapons of war that it might be unmade and erased from history.
When the capsule had finally been rammed into a drifting hulk of an old imperial battleship, it is said that the primarch was so enraged and frustrated with the vile game that he headbutted out the adam's apple of the first survivor that he encountered, and thereafter killed every inhabitant with the remnants of the dying initial combatant."
Histories of the Ill Favored Chapters
From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes 'Incidents'.
Section #511: The 'Friendly' Fire Incident of Klaxus XII.
The records of this dire moment in Imperial History were (until I came upon them) known only to the two Space Marine Chapters that took part in the skirmish. However, only by putting the two records together is the truth found.
The Pretty Marines tell of a conflict fraught with glory against the odds, and of dire betrayal: "Before the sortie against our enemy our glorious Chapter-Master graced us with a speech, before the resplendent lines of Brother-Marines sparking under the twin suns he told of beautiful victory, of the fates of our enemies. As one we cheered, then awaited his inevitable dance number. From the skies fell a drop pod, smashing into our forward lines and engulfing the area with thick dust. It took us only a moment to clear the air with our blow-dryers, but it was a moment too late as we saw the Chapter-Master fallen..."
The Angry Marines tell the other side of the story, though in far less words due to a lacking in vocabulary beyond many four letter cusses. Hastily inserted into the annals of their chapter glory is simply a picture with the words "OWNED" across it, and the image of the Pretty Marines Chapter Master unconscious on the ground, a crude moustache drawn on his face with paint, and what appears to be a set of testicles on his forehead.
So began the greatest feud in Imperial History.
From the personal diaries of Private Izekyl, of the Space Sharks Chapter.
My regiment had landed on a barren little ball of rock called Vesuveous. The Inquisition had ordered us to the planet on suspicion of Chaos corruption. Surely enough, we ran into a group of Chaos Marines within a day of landing. The fools. Turning their backs on the God Emperor for whatever sick rewards they received from the deceiving Warp fiends. The battle started the second morning. Their attack was especially fierce, and my brothers and I had great trouble keeping them at bay. It seemed that for every one of them we killed, three more showed up. Our own losses were of no small concern. In a rare moment of calm, Brother Captain Morgain confided in me that if we were not killed by these berserkers, we would almost certainly be killed by the Inquisition for failure. As our numbers dwindled, I grew concerned: surely we would all be killed, and the Emperor's work would not be carried out. We prepared for a final assault, one which had been coming for near a week of the most intense fighting I had ever seen. We surrounded a small hill, atop which stood our last Dreadnought, Brother Klarr. We saw their force coming from below. We knew this was our end. But suddenly, a shadow passed over us. Some great demon come to finish us off? No. It was a drop pod. Out of it stepped a small company of our brethren. They wore bright yellow armor, a bizarre crest upon their shoulders, unlike any chapter I had yet heard of. A circle, with two lines crossing it and two dots in the middle -- almost as if to suggest an angry face. They formed a line between us and the now charging Chaos Marines.
The Chaos Marines' bright red armor shone in the late afternoon sun, the spikes upon their shoulders menacing. The new arrivals stood fast. As the distance between the two forces began to close, there arose from these yellow warriors the loudest scream I had ever heard. It shook the ground. Even through my helmet, it made my ears ring and my skull ache. And it simply kept getting louder as their Captain's fist slowly rose into the air. As it rose to a nearly supersonic volume, I finally made out the words contained in the scream:
In a chorus louder even than the Captain's scream, the soldiers returned:
"ALL THE TIME!!!"
Then it began.
Without a word, these space marines returned to their drop pod and were soon whisked away from the battlefield. There had been no more than a dozen of them, not a single word exchanged between our two chapters. To this day, I have never seen any marines fight with such rage and hatred. The mass of enemy berserkers was reduced to mere chunks, legs, arms, heads, craters full of blood. Bits of red armor lay strew about the field. We had not even had the chance to advance by the time the screaming -- both theirs and the enemy's -- was through. I turned to my Captain and asked, "Who were they?"
"I had thought it was rumor. But no. Emperor bless us all, those were the Angry Marines."
Loading excerpt from 'Tales of Valour: Reports from the Ork Invasion of Calamitis Prime'.
The PDF sold their lives dearly to stop the greenskin advance upon our primary hive, but on the horde came. There would be no escape but for the Planetary Governor, whose escape shuttle was prepped to leave before the attack began. As our leader left us to die we prayed to the Emperor for deliverance while we sold our lives to protect his works. Glory be to his swift answer. A yellow Thunderhawk descended like a falling star, the much larger transport vehicle crushing the smaller one as it landed on the same pad, and through the fire and smoke the mighty figure of a Space Marine strode forth. I will never forget the seething expression on his face as he looked upon us, upon the hive, upon the xenos. The marine did not pause, he drew his chainsword and charged down the stairs with a battlecry upon his lips, screaming "FAAAAAAAAH-" or something of the sort, a cry with no end. Even as he disappeared into the hive we heard him clearly, even as we saw the small yellow figure leap from the hive into the throng of green below we heard him. Drop pods followed as more marines smashed into the horde, more yellow armoured marines echoing the endless cry. The xenos were crushed utterly, and still screaming in rage the Space Marines ran up the Hive once more, to where the Governor still stood staring at the crushed wreckage of his escape shuttle. The marines poured into their Thunderhawk, but the marine from before ran right up to the cowardly official, and ended his warcry at last, his finger pressing painfully against the man's forehead. "-UUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOU!" Rather unceremoniously, the Governor was then pitched off the top of the Hive, with his underwear pulled up over his head.
A synopsis of the events preceeding the destruction of all heretic forces on Tertius Gamma follows.
And so it was that the planet of Tertius Gamma was besieged by furry abominations commiting the hideous blasphemy of wearing sacred power armor as if in service to the God Emperor; leveling city after city, they advanced on the last bastion of humanity...the Capitol City.
Little did anyone know that the incursion had been noticed by one of the greatest chapters of all Space Marines, whose mighty Battle Barge was even now entering orbit around the planet...the Angry Marines.
Unknown at the time to their 'brothers' another chapter set their sights on the grim scene below. "GODDAMNIT WHY AREN'T WE ON THE GROUND YET?" screamed an armoured visage, what little there was left of his face was twisted in unspeakable rage.
"S-Sir, we can't enter the atmosphere that quickly, we'd burn u-" The voice of the servitor was cut short as he was crushed beneath the sheer weight of the marine's armour as he jumped into the pilot terminal.
And soon it was that the battlebarge the Litany of Litany's Litany screamed towards the besieged planet. You could almost hear the sickly sound permeating from the murky planet below.
"Yiff... yiff... yiff... yiff"
It was maddening, a lesser man would of taken his life but it had no affect on the stalwart marines of rage. Always angry, especially now.
High above Tertius Gamma the battle barge "Maximum ****" sat in a ready position over the city's capital, a terrible quiet hanging over the bridge as the payload of Adeptus Arbites Angry Marines prepared to make planetfall.
Captain Temperus of the 3rd Company watched and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens showing a wave of mutants overrunning the planetary defence force positions. He felt his blood boil as he looked upon the livery adorning their armour, their mockery of everything they stood for. Their faces an abomination. The fact they thought themselves so ****ing smart well **** them.
The comms-servant gave a silent nod, and although it seemed as though he hadn't seen it, Temperus was well aware. It was time... but no deep strike would do this time.
With the full force of his forehead, Captain Temperus struck the large red button on the console in front of him, destroying it in the process. Great shields on the side of the battle barge turned into place over the front of the craft, forming a giant battering ram shaped like a middle finger.
The Maximum **** began its nose-first descent into the atmosphere.
The fighting around the Capitol City was growing more and more fierce as the furred invaders continued to send more of their number to die beneath the walls of the city; each one attempting to use their bladed weapon to try and chip away at the hardened rockrete. At first the defenders jeered at the pathetic attempt; but as more corpses piled up against the wall, the more cracks began appearing.
"KEEP UP THAT HEAVY BOLTER FIRE!" the Commissar screamed over the din of the gun placements. "BRING UP THE FLAMERS! WE'LL SHOW THESE ABOMINATIONS THE CLEANSING POWER OF THE EMPEROR!" Just then a servitor scuttled up to the Commissar's side.
"Milord, crafts from offworld are making planetfall. It appears to be the Adeptus Astartes."
"Ah, at last. Now we shall TRULY turn the tide against this filth!" beamed the Commissar.
n revelry and decadence the mutants fought and slaughtered, in their vile mockery of mankind's saviours. The city was almost in range to be taken, there was none alive on Tertius Gamma who could stop them now.
However, all heads were turned skywards with the sounds of a terrible noise, as two Space Marine Battle Barges collided sides-first against one another as they plummeted towards a single target. The mutants realized that target was them.
The Commissar turned his eyes skywards as the enemy fell silent and a great shadow fell across the lands.
"What in the f-"
"**** YOU I WAS HERE FIRST" screamed the commander aboard "The Litany of Litany's Litany" as he attempted to pilot his barge directly into the large army of deviants below.
"NO **** YOU I DEPLOYED THE FINGER" Captain Temperus cursed back.
Traitors fled, mutants hid, deviants cried out for their dark gods to save them. As one the two battle barges slammed into the enemy lines, and with a terrifying roar the earth itself was torn asunder, and Tertius Gamma was no more.
If you guys like, i'll post more.
Last edited by Konstantin; October 31st, 2008 at 06:03.
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 honestly, 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 monkeigh called it)." He actually said the parenthesis 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 illusionary 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 monkeigh 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. What a dick.
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. A total dick.
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 inconcievable 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. It’s 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 it’s 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.
Last edited by Konstantin; October 31st, 2008 at 06:04.
That's so good. I've had stern looks from managers for laughing out loud at work. But to hell with it - I love the standing in the perfect place for the Commissar's cap to land on his head!
More if you have them, they're awesome!
Last night I stayed up late playing poker with Tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.
Your wish is my Command!
+++++ From the personal memoirs of Sgt Albert Golfend, 4th Cadian Regiment. +++++
It was many years ago, and I was but a young soldier in the Imperial Guard on a backwater Farm World. Despite how far out of the way of most trade paths this world was, it was of great importance to the Imperium as it had the exact climate to grow many crops that are not easily grown on most other Farm Worlds. Perhaps it was for this reason we were the victim of a massive WAAAAGHHHHHHHHHH!!. For weeks after requesting support, we held our own against the endless waves of Orkish destruction. After three months, we were nearly completely overrun, barely holding back the endlessly superior numbers of the Orks. Much of this season's crops had been devoured by the Orks, and I was helping to hold an outpost. As things seemed at their worst, the entire battlefield, even those green bastards, took pause as the air was filled with a hum I had never heard, but after that day, would never forget.
Over the Horizon rode Space Marines, their armor gleaming in the sun, riding what I could only describe as hovering sofas and armchairs. As they approached, they opened fire, their bolters and heavy weaponry ripping through the Ork waves, and taking more tactical positions to flank the Orks and support our position. Within moments, the mass of the Ork attack had been annihilated. As I looked out on the ravage battlefield, I saw one Marine, sitting on his hovering armchair. Suddenly behind him, a group of a dozen orks charged at him. I started to yell out a warning, but he had already seen them. He slowly reached up to his helmet, where two glass bottles were stationed, and pulled one off. He then reached into the cushions of the chair, and drew a small packet from it, marked "Waaaaghhhhhh! Rocks". He opened the packet, slipped it over the open bottle, shook it, and threw it at the oncoming Orks. Moments later, it exploded, the force blasting the bastards to pieces. With the day won, and the Orks routed, they left,as slowly and lazily as they came. I asked my commander who they were, and he simply looked on at them as they left, and spoke.
"Those son, were the Lazy Marines."
+++++ Thought for the Day: His Will be done, Eventually. +++++
It was about a month into the latest push- I think our frontline had moved about three, maybe four feet forward. Day after day we spent staring into the fog, waiting for another wave of the necrons. We all knew the line was buckling, and there was still no news of reinforcements. Then, a week after their last attack exactly, we heard the necrons preparing. Monoliths were barely visible through the fog, probing the imperial lines for weak points. So there we are, shitting ourselves, watching for glimpses of those ****ing robots, when help finally arrives!
I know what you’re thinking- when you’re told you aren’t getting reinforcements in this army, there’s no way in hell you’re getting any help. And still, there they were! Four or five squads of space marines, complete with a whirlwind tank and a dreadnought! We were so surprised to see them that corporal Sutton actually shot himself, thinking the robot scum finally had us surrounded.
Anyway, we approach the marines with the Major, and those guys were a sight- they weren’t wearing any kind of uniform colours- it looked like they’d just painted themselves whatever they liked. I shit you not when I say I saw one wearing bright purple with pink polka dots. They pulled up just behind our trenches, and their leader waved to us. I’ll never forget that helmet- first time I ever saw a silver Tau helmet on a space marine. That guy gave off an aura of easy style, I’m telling you. The men visibly relaxed when he got close.
“Alright gang, D Marines, here to help!” the figure bellowed when it reached us, giving the Major a heavy pat on the shoulder. A “<3” symbol flashed across the viewing slit. “You guys relax, we’ve got this sorted!” we gaped in awe as “STAY COOL” flashed across his visor.
Then the grenades went off, in a blinding flash of white light. I squinted out ahead of us, and saw that each marine had struck a pose. I gotta say, they looked ****ing great. Behind us, the whirlwind amps began thumping out a beat, and the dreadnought’s floodlights blazed on and off, creating a dazzling strobe effect. I found the marine commander in the line. He had his power fist in the air. The amps behind me muttered
“Time has come to…”, and one finger went up. The beat went on.
“Time has come to…”
“World… The time has come to…”
“GALVANISE” And **** me, they put on one hell of a show. They had the whole damn regiment dancing, right up until the part where the necrons burst over the parapet and tore everyone apart. Me and a few of the lads got away, and looking back at the struggling mass as we fled I saw a banner waving defiantly from the heart of the necron horde, proclaiming “HARDER, BETTER, FASTER, STRONGER” into the night, and a voice shouting "One more time!"
I'm telling you, it was the Disco marines. Always dancing, all the time.
You know what they say about the Mordian Iron Guard. Not one step back, victory or death! Unflinching discipline will face down any foe! Well, turns out that’s just regular old recruitment bullshit. Last time we spoke, I told you about how we lost the frontline to the necron interlopers. Hell, we all expected we’d be back in the same trenches within a week, but it really hasn’t gone our way. Four months on and we’re in headlong retreat along cramped dirt roads all chewed up by baneblade treads. All the bloody rain’s turned it into a mudbath, and the going had been painfully slow.
Anyway, we were three weeks into the retreat, exhausted, and that’s how we met the disco marines for a second time. We knew the necrons’d be closing fast, so the colonel sent out a distress call for evac. Well, turns out luck was on our side and we got not one, but two replies from friendly dropship squadrons. The colonel didn’t bother to stop them both from converging on us, as he knew we’d need all the ships we could get if we were getting everyone out of there.
So yeah, they arrive after about half an hour, and to the horror of us guardsmen, they’re Ultramarine thunderhawks. Now, no offence to the emperor, but these guys are total dicks. Self-righteous pricks, the lot of them. We’d met them before on the campaign, and we knew all they ever did to “help” was stop the retreat and force us all into some “noble” last stand against the robots, hopping in their dropships and ****ing off right before they all died, of course, leaving the piled corpses of thousands of Mordians behind them. Sure, they aren’t expendable like regular guards, but why even get into the last stand in the first place? ****ing glory hogs, all I got was two fingers lopped off.
ANYWAY, we’re all grumbling as they land up in front of us, and the marines come out. Very official, very professional. Emperors finest, etc. etc. Their commander, huge guy, scarred face, walks over to the colonel and says in ringing tones, so the whole regiment can hear:
“I suppose you want us to carry your men to safety, colonel? Well, I have some good news. The retreat stops here. With the Emperor’s steel, and the Emperor’s courage, we shall face down the necron scum! Here, we make our stand! HERE, WE-“
We’d all been losing interest by this point- heroic speeches become less impressive when you get them once a week- but we all heard it, in the distance; a rhythmic thumping. Soon the marine commander could hear it too, and we all strained to hear the words over the blaring tune.
“Do the D.A.N.C.E!
1 2 3 4 fight!
Stick to the B.E.A.T!
Get ready to ignite!”
I knew who was coming when I heard that. And I’ll admit, I pissed myself a little bit I was so relieved. Maybe we wouldn’t have to join in with the stupid last stand! The disco marines were here to help! They had it sorted!
“Do the DANCE!
The way you move is a mystery!
Do the DANCE!
You’re always there for music and me!”
And on that note, the disco hawks landed. God, they were great. I’ve never seen so much sparkly paint on imperial armour. The bay doors opened, and out they came. It was in the day this time, so I could read their insignias- I didn’t see much in the way of Latin or purity seals, but there were a lot of mottos. I glimpsed “Black by popular demand”, “Catching all the lights” and “Electroma” as they passed. Then they parted ranks, and out he came. I thought he must’ve died at the frontlines, but there he was, the Disco Commander, silver tau helmet shining bright in the weak sunlight, wearing a thick purple cloak about his shoulders. He looked my way, and a “” slid across his visor.
So yeah, no-one’s spoken in a while now. The Ultramarines are all standing at attention, and across the way the Disco marines are leant up against their thunderhawks, unpacking amps and all sorts of tech shit. The disco commander walked over to the ultramarine head, and the guy growls as he approaches.
“What the hell are you wankers doing here?”
“We got a distress call. It sounds like these men are in dire need of some fun times.” The disco commander says. “STAY COOL” flashes on the visor.
“You can **** off. These men are under my command, and I say they fight, AND DIE” he raised his voice so we could all hear him clearly for that “right here!”
“They’re as much under my command as yours, Brother Amulius.You know there’s only one way to settle this.” Says the commander, and as he finishes, off comes the cloak, revealing the resplendent gold-on purple patterns underneath, the strobe lights flare, and the Disco Commander bellows “DANCE OFF!” The marines behind him immediately take up the cry, and the amps blast a ringing “LETS! DANCE!” at the Ultramarines.
Yeah, so that’s when the Ultramarine, Amulius, snaps. He goes ****ing apeshit. His jaw twitches, and then he screams, spraying the commander with spittle;
“Enough! ****ing! DANCE! BULLSHIT!” And on the “shit”, he bunches his fist and lays one on the commander. We all winced in sympathy, it was one hell of a punch. But the commander, he just takes a couple steps back, shakes his head, and looks up. There was a big ol’ dent in his helmet, and “IT’S SO ON” flashing repeatedly on the visor. He pushes a button on his wrist, and the heat vents on his backpack swivel to face Amulius. Yeah, turns out they’re amps too, and they start pumping a beat straight at him. The commander’s getting into it, letting the beat carry him as it gets louder, louder, louder, until even the furthest guardsmen had to jam their fingers in their ears. And I still hear it all perfectly, the strobe lights still blazing, the commander framed against Amulius, making his lazy dance steps seemingly without a care in the world. Then the real tune hits us.
“Put your hands up!”
We winced again, even the Ultramarines were showing discomfort.
“Put your hands up!”
A couple of guardsmen pass out.
“PUT YOUR HANDS UP FOR DETROIT!”
Amulius sinks to his knees, clutching his head.
“OUR LOVELY CITY!”
And the commander thrusts sharply forward, slamming his crotch plate into Amulius’ face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling into the mud.
And hell, we couldn’t help but cheer the guy on. Let me tell you, we had one hell of a party right there, crowd heaving as the Disco Marines lead the beat from their hawk-top decks.
Yeah, it was going great until the part where the ultramarines rushed forward and started bashing our faces in with their bolters.
This will be my last message to you- all I can do is hope an Imperial receiver catches all this and forwards it. The campaign’s gone from disastrous to catastrophic in the last few months, with the seemingly infinite tide of necrons crawling all over the planet’s surface. In the end we retreated to our remaining strongholds, and that’s when the traitor legion arrived- Slaanesh marines, thousands of them, hit us like a ton of bricks. We’ve gone over why they decided come again and again, and the only conclusion we’ve reached is that they saw an opportunity for carnage and just jumped to join in.
So yeah, the traitorous bastards hit our fortresses, one after another, and they fall one by one. How were we supposed to stem the necron advance on the one side and hold off perverted cultists on the other? Anyway, the Ultramarines, now in charge of the campaign, realise that we’re more or less ****ed. Scattered Mordian companies and regiments all over the place, millions dead, and no progress. So they uncharacteristically forgo their last stand for once, instead opting to pull out entirely. That’s it. We’re all alone on a planet full of robots and chaos scum. Then what’s left of our regiment, holed up in the mountains, gets a message over the comm link. It was right from the campaign flagship. I guess it must’ve been a planet-wide broadcast. Anyway, it went something like this:
“Men, you’ve all fought bravely, but the heretics and living metal scum have overrun us. Countless good soldiers have gone to their graves in the defence of the Imperium, and I regret that I must sacrifice many more to put an end to this calamity. The order of exterminatus has been confirmed on this planet, and is scheduled to commence within the next three hours. There will be no further evacuation of the planet’s surface- our forces are too scattered, and the dropzones too dangerous to allow it. But remember, men, in death you will serve the Imperium, saving countless more from the corruption and the slaughter that follows these affronts to the Emperor’s grace. We may have lost this fight, but it only opens the door to new, fresh, glorious victories! I only regret you brave men will not be there to see them. In His name.”
That’s it. That’s all we got. So yeah, we sit there all glum, until we hear the distant sound of roaring engines. We all ran up to the parapet of our little outpost, and sure enough a whole bunch of the Slaaneshi marines are racing up the slope towards us, clinging on to the sides of their rhinos, screaming their warcries. Our first reaction was to ready our weapons, but a few, realising the futility of clinging on to life for another few hours, opted to end it there. Idiots. Help was at hand! A low electronic rhythm, and a great, metallic voice roaring over the tune:
“Prime time of your life!
Now! Live it! The prime time of your life!
Prime time of your life!”
Yeah, that’s right. The Disco Marines, back again! This time, they were cruising in land speeders, and it was one hell of an entrance. We hear them coming up behind us, and turn around to see the first one hit the parapet. The driver jumped the ridge at an angle, so the speeder did a couple of barrel rolls as it jumped, confetti blasting out behind it as it went, to land perfectly about five feet away from our guys. Within seconds the air’s full of more speeders, careening over our meagre defences. We all forgot about the Slaanesh marines and cheered them on as they got out of their seats.
Now usually the Disco Marines have a laid back air about them, but not this time. They get out of their speeders and rush to the parapet overlooking the advancing enemy. Others snap open cases and start assembling their gear. They really looked like they meant business. The colonel saluted the disco commander when he finally appears, striding purposefully out from amongst his men, and began to tell him about the heretic threat. The Commander interrupted him.
“I know, Colonel. Those aren’t ordinary marines. They’re noise marines. We’ll handle this.” His visor read “SERIOUS”. It was terrifying, frankly. What in the Emperor’s name could make a Disco marine so sombre?
Well, we were about to find out. The disco marines lined up in front of the defences, and the noise marines stopped their charge a little way from them. It’s gone deathly quiet- the only things moving are the LED lights on some of the Disco marine backpacks, spelling out slogans like “INTERSTELLAR”, “Born 4 the beat” and “REMIXAR”. Looking at them then, the noise marines looked a lot like the Disco Marines, actually. Sure, their amps were built into their faces and they looked all ****ed up with their soundblasters hanging at their hips, but they each had their own look, like the Commander’s lot.
Anyway, the commander steps out into the empty ground between them. His noise marine counterpart does the same. They stare at each other for a while. The noise marine’s the first to speak.
“Brother. It’s been a long time.” He rasps.
“Not long enough, Lepidus.” Replied the commander, casually, but his poise betrayed him- tense, stiff. Lepidus, the noise marine, laughed.
“Very well, Commander. You will fight for them?” He smirked, gesturing towards us. The Commander nodded. “Good. Allow me to begin!”
And with that, he brought his hands down on the soundblaster, letting out a discordant howl- more noise marines joined, and suddenly out of the chaos a tune emerged, surprisingly catchy and upbeat. Lepidus led the beat, wailing to the tune. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded something like;
There was a clear cessation of movement in the air, and the Disco marines collectively took a step back under the sheer pressure of sound. But the Commander took two steps forward. One of the marines behind him grabs a mic and tosses it to him, and the rest ready their synthesisers and decks. The commander catches the flying microphone, slings it round under his helmet, and the Disco marines start their own tune. The noise marines stopped as the new sounds hit them, starting with a piercing beat and gradually loudening to a pant-shitting crescendo. The Commander nods along for a few moments, then starts his riposte.
Because we! Are! Your friends!
You’ll! Never be alone again!
Come on! Well come on!
We! Are! Your friends!”
On that, he turns to us, and starts clapping to the beat. We clap along with him, cheering the Commander on- by this time lights of all colours are flaring on both sides, and the first rank of disco marines advanced, pumping their fists in the air and doing some ****ing great dance moves.
The Noise marines had suffered this for a while by then, and Lepidus gave the signal for a counter-strike. The first two ranks of Slaanesh marines marched forward and began blasting out a ferocious tune*. The Disco Marines responded in turn, blasting out an equally energetic beat to counter it**, with us still cheering them on. You could actually SEE the music, writhing and curling about the rivals, their amps hissing smoke and their instruments, in some cases, actually aflame. Soon they were completely wreathed in smoke, and all we could hear was a violent, chaotic musical frenzy emanating from within. Occasional flashes of purple or red darted through the smoke.
We watched that for several minutes, then the colonel stands up.
“The marines are fighting for us in there, men! It’s time to stand shoulder to shoulder with them!” He bellows, raising his sword. As one, we jumped the parapet and rushed into the smoke, screaming our defiance.
God, that smoke was thick. Couldn’t see a damn thing, but after a few moments stumbling through it, we burst into the eye of the storm. And what a sight we got. I’m not lying here, this is the solid truth. I don’t know where they got the stage from. I don’t know how they’d got their guys to co-ordinate for these songs. But they’d done it. We got in there to find the Disco marines and Noise marines side by side on the stage, banging out a tune. Lepidus and the Commander were standing at the front of the platform, back to back, both of them blasting out the beats on their instruments of funk. The commander’s visor reads “PEACE”, and as he sees us arrive, he beckons us over to the front, and shouts;
“YOU READY FOR THIS SHIT, MORDIANS?”
They then proceeded to lay down something wonderful***.
And that’s where I am now. I’ve left the party to record this message for you, using the Regimental comm link to broadcast it as far as I can. The Exterminatus barrage has just begun, I can see the sky burning on the horizon. I imagine we only have about ten minutes before the atmosphere’s totally stripped. Still.
We’re gonna celebrate.
One more time.
Don’t stop the dancing.
One more time.
Last edited by Konstantin; October 31st, 2008 at 06:06.
...This actually makes me want to collect disco marines...
I wonder what their traits'd be :-P
where did you find all these stories? I love 'em!
Last night I stayed up late playing poker with Tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.
Wow! lol i have tears, my jaw hurts, my stomach is heaving, i disturbed my family watching a movie and woke up my cousin, almost got belted for it all.
But sooo worth it. Very good, please keep it up.
Excellent Work! All of its seems pretty good, especially the Marine Chapters.
However with the Eldar story, it might be funnier if he talked like an actual Eldar-formal and flowing, and let the reader figure out that he is still in sulting Eldrad.
"And thus it came to be, I met the piece of Orc Excretement, on that most beatoues of Madien Worlds..." etc.
Ha I suppose that the Lazy marines would be throughly mechanized, no footsloggers allowed! Even bikes take too much effort- only preds, rhinos and land raiders lol. An excuse to play beardy, finally.
Long over due update!
"Out of the mists of chaos he rides, bike in his crotch and sword at his side!
Na na, na na.
He fights his own war, takes his own track, If he doesn't bail he might make his points back!
Na na, na na.
Son of Slaanesh, full of desire, He does cocaine and his head's on fire!
Na na, na na.
Fights with fury of a dozen men, Spends two turns on the field then he's gone again...
Na na, na na.
His bike squeals as it ploughs on through the nearest guard, His skull is flaming as his
daemon sword gets hard!
Na na, na na.
He's a killer and he's bursting out for fun! Screaming off, now he's gone, someone rolled a one!"
As I always say, Kharn 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.
Kharn 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 Kharn 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, Kharn 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 Kharn, who had managed to keep a hold of the Commissar's fancy hat. Ol' Kharn 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!
Contrary to popular belief, Kharn the Betrayer was a pretty fun guy to be around during a blood-letting campaign. Sure, he'd get so wrapped up in the blood-lust that he'd butcher friend and foe alike but it's not like you didn't get a fair warning from his name or anything.
I served in the traitor guardsman legions known as the Red Rivers, because we got sent in first to soften up the positions and you could see our progress by the red river of our blood. I kept running into Kharn during one of the bigger scourging campaigns, and he wasn't dickish about the whole him being a space marine and me being killed by laser-lights or angry glances at all.
The first time I saw him, I was on perimeter patrol at one of our forward outposts, we'd just overrun a Sororitas non-militant chapel, and the Slaanesh boys were shirking their duty to go rape the sisters in a clearing near the chapel. I was watching from afar when Kharn strides up, cool as you like holding the largest stone pillar I've ever seen. I turned back and the whole ****ing chapel was falling down. He'd just ripped the goddamn thing right out and was carrying it on his shoulders!
Then, if that wasn't insane enough he went and hefted this whole pillar through the air, and crushed the entire congregation of rape in the name of Slaanesh, defilers and victims all in one go.
I was just standing there dumbfounded when Kharn looked at me, as though noticing me for the first time and yet not surprised by my presence at all. He held his palm out, and I obliged him a high five. He'd earned it.
Damn well shattered every bone in my arm doing it though.
Nice guy, that Kharn.
The second time I crossed paths with Kharn was in a later stage in the campaign. We were besieging one of the major hives of the planet, and I tell you what that place was locked up tighter than a Dark Eldar's pants. My commander, Oxlor the Vilest, was stuck in an argument with some idiot leader of some group of Death Guard. You could see the smell it was so bad. I could tell Oxlor wasn't happy, since everyone knows the Death Guard's answer to everything is to just walk at it and watch your bits fly off. Not so good for us soft and squishy guys.
Out of nowhere, this big hand grabs our commander by the shoulder and just hefts him aside, three whole trenches back where he rebounds off a basilisk. The crew was so shocked they fired off a round on a horrible trajectory, and the shell streaked high into the sky.
Kharn the Betrayer just dusts himself down, and then picks back up what he had been holding. Now, I'm no techpriest and I never will be, but I know a nuclear warhead when I see it. I don't know where he got it.
No one says anything, so The Betrayer just punches the Plague marine in the face, and stuffs the warhead into the leaking mess of his stomach while he was still reeling.
No run up, no preparation. He just ****ing throws the other marine into the air at the hive. For a moment it actually looks like he's thrown the warp-damned fool OVER the hive, but as he flies over the top the basilisk shell comes down and spears him through the whole hive! There's a low boom noise, the ground shakes, and then the whole hive IMPLODES!
Everything clears, and Kharn looks at me, and I feel about one foot tall. I don't know if he recognized me, but he leans down and whispers. Kharn WHISPERS to me.
"I was trying to hit the Emperor's Children on the other side" he confides in me, and then nudges me as though it's supposed to be our little secret.
I was in traction for a MONTH.
I've been fairly insistent to you readers out there that Kharn 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 Kharn 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, Kharn 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 Kharn 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 Kharn didn't hold it against us for trying.
Seriously, what a guy.
I've always said Kharn the Betrayer is a heck of a guy in spite of his reputation. But even I have often wondered just which side of him was more prevalent. The great guy or the butcher?
I got my answer when The Red Rivers sacked an Adeptus Mechanicus primary research facility. Aided by renegade tech priests we opened the bulkhead doors of the Head Magos's research chamber, and ended his life. In this room was a huge throne that the Magos used, a massive collection of wires around a cold metal frame used to interface with the facility.
Grinning, a guardsman jumped onto the throne and yelled "HEY GUYS! I'M THE EMPEROR!". We barely had time to chuckle before hearing a loud clang behind us.
Behind us stood Kharn, his axe having slipped from his grasp as he stared at us. We weren't sure what was happening till frothing blood began to spill out his helmet.
With a roar of anger that drowned out our own cries Kharn rushed the throne, ripping it out of the wall over his head as the guardsman remained sitting in it screaming helplessly. With a cry of "REVENGE!" Kharn drove the entire throne through the floor, utterly destroying it and the guardsman in an explosion of gore. We ran.
I was too slow and the other guys sealed the bulkhead behind them, leaving me alone and cowering as Kharn advanced. He was almost upon me when he stopped and burst out laughing at me.
Rattled but relieved, I burst into an exhausted laugh at the clever gag. Suitably pleased, Kharn slapped me on the back and praised me for being such a good sport. The Tech Priests tell me they've never seen a bulkhead breached by a human body before, but that's Kharn for you. Heck of a guy.
Last edited by Konstantin; October 31st, 2008 at 06:09.
Down time between raids can be pretty boring, especially in the case of the Convent Complex of Decapitus IV, where the victims kill themselves before you get to them, and the crazies have nothing to torture. The Slaanesh guys are the worst. Without something to toy with they get all antsy and bother everyone.
The Red Rivers had deployed to a hillside nearby the complex, mostly just taking stock of our own dead's gear and handing it out to one another. Most of us were Khorne boys, but there were always a few that had to be different.
I was doing a quick search for more gear when I heard a series of almighty squeals, and a pair of bodies hurtled through the trees to my feet. I didn't have time to do anything before a head also came flying out and struck me in the face with an almighty crack. Broke my nose and knocked me dizzy, hell of a hit.
When my head cleared I found Khârn standing over me, with a small beret on. In one hand he had a paint brush, the other a little board with paints on it (though they were all just shades of red).
"SORRY ABOUT THAT" Khârn yelled, much to my chagrin with the headache and all. He explained that he was painting, and the two fellows (Slaanesh, typical) had been giving him critique when all he wanted was a bit of peace. Once I'd gotten my bearings, I stood up and he showed me his work.
"Khârn it... it looks like a painting of my eyes?" We shared a deep stare for a moment, then Khârn looked back to his work with a sigh.
"I WAS TRYING TO DRAW A DUCK"
The Annual Red Rivers costume party is more than just a traditional excuse to get drunk and invite some Daemonettes over, at least to me and those few of us who lived through last years: it will forever serve as yet another shining example of how Kharn's just a great guy to party with.
There we were, in the middle of fun. The disco light was going, and we had an entire (formerly) Imperial planet all to ourselves to get dressed up and destroy in a drunken orgy of bad techno music. Everyone had shown up, it seemed, and even Abaddon was fairly relaxed; he waited a whole three hours before killing the DJ, and we were all drunk enough at this point to not mind the smell wafting over from the plague marine contingent, who spent most of the evening moping over the fact none of the daemonettes would sleep with them.
As I'd said, the party was in full swing when all of a sudden there was a horrible scream of rage, and then in through the window came everyone's favorite party guy, Kharn. He'd painted his armor all pink, and he'd ripped shreds of carapace off something to make a crude tail coming off his back. In the window he came, and landed squarely on the Daemonette I'd spent the last half hour chatting up, crushing her to a pulp and covering me in a spray of bits. He then proceeded to stand there for the next eight hours of the party, ignoring any and all attempts to lure him into conversation, or to get off the daemonette, who was still half alive after being crushed.
I was kind of despondent after that, and spent the rest of the night drinking while Kharn spent the rest of the night standing still. Finally, just before we were about to dim the lights, Kharn took in a deep breath, and in a tone of horror and fear, shouted, "LOOK OUT, SLAANESHI WHORE!"
The entire room burst into laughter. Man, what a kidder.
There were victory celebrations, that much I can remember. The sort of debased, bottom-scraping indulgences they never let us have back before we became traitors. The alcohol flowed, and if some guy or girl in the Rivers strayed too far from a group they usually disappeared. Then the blood and other body fluids flowed.
I woke up on some busted old bed in the remains of what was the Planetary Governor's palace, some of my blood-and-filth encrusted clothes half-draped out a nearby window. My head was ringing and as I groaned and rolled to my left, I came eye to eye with what I thought was one of those Sororitas. For a moment my heart skipped a few beats, and I damn near made a mess of the sheets.
It all came back slowly. She was one of those holy ladies once, but she realized she liked burning and cutting things more than actually praying. Now she was just like me, only with more tattoos to Khorne and a rusty nail put through her lip.
"Hey there beast" that fallen lady grinned, before kissing me on the cheek and giving me a big ol' scar in the process with her 'jewelery', "You guys were phenomenal"
"'You guys'?" I groaned out, whilst rubbing my cheek. It was then I became aware of a shuffling behind me, and hurriedly I rolled over.
There was Khârn, still in full armor, reading a newspaper that was a week old, a cigar jammed in his helmet's respirator.
"Hell of a lay" the fallen sister remarked.
Kharn glanced up from his newspaper and stared at me. After a very long moment, he put out his fist. I did the same, and as we brought our fists together, we both shouted "RESPECT KNUCKLES!" as I felt my entire arm shatter.
"WHERE IS MY EQUERRY?!" Angron's roaring voice echoed throughout the ship, buckling two bulkheads and killing an astropath within the 'anger zone'. The World Eater's Primarch stormed through the corridors with his head held high, smashing it through several ornate archways as his feet battered and dented the floor with each step like the beating of a war drum.
Captain Khârn of the Fifth Assault Company, Equerry of the World Eaters had been admiring the ornate workings of a dreadnought sarcophagus, a low sigh issuing forth from his helmet as he heard his lord approaching. With a thunderous crash, Angron threw his weight against the loudly snoring construct, sending it bowling into a nearby row of its fellows, knocking them all about like skittles.
"TREACHERY! BLOOD! TRAITORS!" Angron screamed, flecks of spittle splattering all over the equerry's armor, "I'LL HAVE MY REVENGE! IN BLOOD! I'LL KILL HIS FAMILY! ALL OF THEM!"
"What's wrong, my lord?" Khârn asked, his voice low as to not startle his already over-stimulated commander.
Angron thrust a small plastcrete cube in front of the Captain's face, three little movable rows covered in colored squares. Even if it weren't practically being crammed up his nose, Khârn could clearly make out the shapes of Angron's armored fingers forced into every tile.
"WHO MADE THIS?! I WANT TO EAT THEIR SKULL AND LINE MY BED WITH THEIR BONES! BLOOD!" Angron screamed again, utterly soaking Khârn head to toe in spittle.
"I AM AWAKE?! IS IT TIME TO BATTLE?!" One of the dreadnoughts cried out, the sarcophagus merely wobbling on its side without being connected to its proper frame, as Angron and the Tech-priests continued screaming at everything.
"And that" Khârn the Betrayer spoke to his audience of Red Rivers infantrymen, as he ineffectually plinked a skull full of blood against his mouthpiece and spilled it all down his front, "is why I decided to start killing everyone"
Last edited by Konstantin; October 31st, 2008 at 06:09.