In The Grimdark of Fanfiction -40k

Well depending on how they're found and when, and how strong the kids are. I could see some of the kids coming along on Crusade which might cause...issues.
I was assuming most of them wouldn't be old enough for combat yet, at least not alongside Astartes.
So would that be a Chaos god or the Emperor he's punching out?
an excellent question, considering his background I doubt there would be a shortage of people to punch
 
I was assuming most of them wouldn't be old enough for combat yet, at least not alongside Astartes.
Looking at the background of most of the Primarchs, admittedly most of them would be too young, though I suspect a few of them (A kid of the Lion for Example, Rogal Dorn and Guillman as well) might be old enough. However, the Great Crusade was long, I imagine eventually most of the kids would at least try to join their parents.
 
Looking at the background of most of the Primarchs, admittedly most of them would be too young, though I suspect a few of them (A kid of the Lion for Example, Rogal Dorn and Guillman as well) might be old enough. However, the Great Crusade was long, I imagine eventually most of the kids would at least try to join their parents.
Indeed
Now I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Guilliman's kid probably wouldn't end up like him.
Question is, would it be better go in the direction of "trying to live up to parent and super fucked up because of it" or "lashing out because Primarch dad doesn't have time for me"?
 
In Her Name
He couldn't remember her name.

In the dark moments, and there were always dark moments, he could not help but cast his mind out into the void that lay at the center in search of that name. Sometimes there was the curve of her overly thin chin just out of sight. Blinks after a particularly bright and powerful barrage of artillery cannons sometimes granted him a tantalizing flash of scars covering a face that might have been lovely but just as potentially might have been ugly. It was impossible to tell because the image always disappeared the next instant after. The crash of steel on steel was the worst kind of all. Seeing torn shreds and broken parcels of her was bad enough. Cordite and charred corpses ever so rarely pushed forth a misremembered inhale of the ashen scent of her hair. But when steel struck steel in just the right way, he swore he could hear her voice in the distance.

Indistinct. Unclear. But it was, surely, hers. For all the way that his chest bled from phantom wounds, he treasured those moments.

Snow piled up all around him as he sat with crossed legs upon the highest point of the hilltop. A massive stone that had been carved flat for him to do just this, to gaze in the far distance as had become routine for the past twenty years. A dangerous position. An exposed position. Yet here he sat, as always, bare but for a set of rough hide pants from some hunted beast or another as the sun cast an indifferent light from between the darkened clouds. It illuminated him, bathed him in the rare warmth that he – and she – treasured. Had treasured. In the past that indifferent orb of light had been the subject of many a raging tantrum and curse. Now he accepted it as nothing more and nothing less and in doing so lanced yet another boil upon his psyche.

"Hah…," he let out the breath he'd been holding for longer than any other human on the planet could have held without passing out. In the next instant his barrel chest expanded from the sudden inclusion of the icy winds he inhaled.

For a time that was all there was.

His breath came out as plumes of volcanic steam, and the air was sucked inward as he meditated.

He couldn't remember her name. He couldn't remember…many things.

The first change in his routine came again, in a way its own sort. A titanic hand slowly made its way up from atop the corded muscle of his thighs and atop the back of his head. When fingers so much smaller than his own grasped that hand the whole of him froze. Every inch of him trembled and he wanted to scream and turn to find her again, to find her sitting behind him again with that tight smile she had only ever shown him. Except…he wouldn't find her there.

He had never found her there. Never. Every time he had tried, all that greeted him was the cold wind, the indifferent light of the sun, and the pale snows. Eventually he had stopped trying.

Instead he let those tiny fingers wrap around his hand. To guide that hand down his shaved scalp to…them.

Holes.

Holes in his head. His mind. His soul.

Slowly. Gingerly. A finger ran itself over the puckered scars. Each and every one, when touched like this, sparked things. Blood being shed in glee with a rapturous smile on his lips. Gore painting his teeth and tongue and indiscriminate pleasure being spread out through the whole of his body from those holes in his head. A scene like that played for each one and it was never the same. It said something that it had disquieted even him when he realized that each one was unique and for all these years he had not yet run out and begun them again.

When his fingers reached the base of his neck, and the craters left in the back of his head were left behind, a sigh reached his ears and those thick and callused hands which had held his own so gently drifted away.

He remembered flashes of her.

Sighting her for the very first time in the arena. Honor displayed, honored owed. The first time he had ever been challenged in that tournament and it had come from a woman. Albeit warped from birth by genetic enhancement and forced continual cybernetic additions, but nevertheless he had been challenged. Which on its own was not the same as losing but he had watched from the corner of his eye as he fought his own opponents with naught but his fists. As he pulped skulls with his knuckles she knocked low the favored Bound of another city, yet when they cast aside their weapons and made the shameful sign of surrender she acquiesced and moved on. Execution would come for those who broke, and yet she moved on.

Meeting again in the pits beneath the city that had borne him since he could remember anything at all.

Here his chest seized and his lips peeled back in futile hurt at the universe for bringing his mind to those moments in the dark.

It was the first time he had felt passion, and not rage. Fellowship, and not ruling over subordinates.

Other things came later, as they planned and marshalled their strength in the shadows.

The first time he had ever laughed. Truly laughed. Not the blood soaked cackles that had been all he'd known before then. The first time he had ever cried, when she told him her story.

A fist clenched atop his leg.

He could remember her telling him, but he could not remember the story. Her face, her voice, her body, her mind. None of it, but he could remember her telling him.

When they had escaped, a brief war that none of them had been prepared for, he had thought it was the most glorious thing he could ever possibly experience. Thousands of them, led together, raiding the armories of the Master's Guard, making it away to the mountains. Carving out a place there where the only rule was their own. The most glorious thing he could ever possibly experience.

But then she'd shown him something else, and he realized how little he knew of the universe.

How little he would ever know.

His hand shot up again, and caressed the scars.

"You could survive it. Be beyond them forever."

A painful lesson, bought in death.

Gushing holes in skulls where their brothers and sisters had torn them out in happiness only to realize the truth of things. Weeping grief that only lasted a single moment before the machines that had been made a permanent part of them bleached that out and left them with fury. Fury at themselves. At the Masters. At the world. At everything. He had been one of them.

But she…

"Father!"

Angron blinked, and the fog of memories and meditation left him behind as he stood fully. The voice had come from below, and so that is where he cast his gaze. A tall red skinned youth bounced the haft of their axe upon their shoulder, smiling with teeth sharper than should have been natural. Her own clothing was as bare as his own, the only addition to the outfit the man himself wore being a bound chest. He had insisted upon it after a few years. Leader of men he might have been but even his closest compatriots were not allowed to leer upon her.

"Ceria," he rumbled, leaping down to the snows and landing without even a crouch. "Where is your brother?"

"Sparring," she smiled again, bouncing the ax again briefly before letting it rest, "Getting ready. The scouts say the Masters are coming after us."

"They are always after us," he leaned down and picked up one of his own weapons, an axe that was larger than his daughters. Larger than his son's for that matter.

"The scouts say they are coming soon. They've had us surrounded for weeks now, they think we're starving."

Perhaps they would have been.

Before his one love had convinced him. Before he had ripped the Nails from his skull. The pain had been greater than any he had ever suffered nor would suffer up until her death. Yet remove them he had. A doctor taken from the cities who no longer lived now had remarked that they had been driven deep into his skull and had burrowed deeper into his brain for every year they remained. By removing them…early…he had managed a reprieve. No others had repeated his feat, none could. Yet by listening to her he had been granted so much more.

So much.

Without his mind clouded as it had been since the beginning of his life, a war for survival became far more than that. Of the eight grand city-states of Nuceria, only three remained. Soon even they too would fall.

As Angron walked through the camp, he mused on that. On the ranks of gladiators who saluted him yet still bore marks from the cities he had liberated them from. On the ranks of soldiers in uniform who had chosen to rise up against the Master's for a way that did not rely wholly upon bloodshed and poverty. Machines stolen and repaired and learned from chugged along in the machine pits. Guns were dissembled and reassembled on benches of stone and wood near one of the constructed barracks. All around him the camp pulsed with vibrant unrestrained life. Rage and fury still swallowed thousands, but thousands and thousands more fought with him now. A camp that his daughter left his side to pace off into, wholly unaffected by the frigid environment around her.

"Ceria, do not go too far, I need to speak to you and Nur'e soon."

"All right!" She called out from over her shoulder before disappearing amongst the tents.

Angron could not remember her name.

But he remembered her love. And the two gifts that love had given him.

The Masters and all their armies could bash themselves against his army as many times as they liked.

He could not remember her name. That did not stopped him from fighting for that name.
 
And then the Big E beamed him up to the ship, resulting in his children dying along with his warriors. Angron then is killed trying to end the Emperor's life.
:(
 
Actually, his army is significantly larger than it was in canon, and there are only 3 cities left.

Instead of 2000 cybernetically enhanced near mindless with rage gladiators, it's several thousand of those same gladiators as well as converts from the other cities that Angron has smashed down.

Also there were notes that he'd done it in relative speed compared to how canon Angron would have.

If I were to continue this, which I won't considering that I wrote this in a half hour burst of boredom after reading the posts from you guys, he would have finished with them and been 'done' a coupla years before the Emperor showed up.
 
Crossposting.

Had a kind of heretical idea. What if the Primarchs had children, biological children?
The Lovehammer AU had some of the Primarchs fathering children. Jaghatai Khan, for example, wed the daughters of tribes he conquered on Chogoris so his branch of the imperial 'family' was larger than all the others combined - scores of wives and hundreds of children.

And then Chogoris burns during the Heresy and less than a dozen survive

One of Jaghatai's sons became a student of Angron and wound up with a chapter of 'World Eaters' derived from his own geneseed.
 
Considering all the alternate primarch quests and stories that have been popping up lately i'm surprised there's never been a dragon age one, the settings are similar enough to be able to fuse without too much effort and there's even a canonical lead in for a primarch to crash land.
 
SV Quests- Glory or Death and From the Brink: Blood Ravens
Huh funny how we haven't really suggested 2 quest on SV that is updated recently. Let me put it here in case anybody missed them.

Glory or Death [40k] and sequel [42k]
a Quest by swordomatic. Essentially players control 27th funding successor of the Blood Angels called Crimson Crusaders. IT is worth a read. here is the TVtropes page.

Another one is From the Brink: Blood Ravens Quest

Players control the Chapter Master Gabriel Angelos right after the latest pc game. Blood Ravens are down on their luck and Sv has to save them. It is pretty slow to update but good.
 
I noticed that too.
Apparently it's because it was made for German and then had English dubbed over it.
Code Geass was made in Japanese and that had an excellent mouth movements to vocals sync, so that's no excuse. Also, given English is the language most people know warhammer in...

Its good that they made it, I just don't thats a great excuse
 
Crossposting from SB:

Deadguy2001 said:
As a side note, I will note that Fallout America and the Imperium are pretty similar with regards to how their societies were skeevy Fascist police states run by mysterious cabals o douchebags that seemed to literally run off of black comedy and doing horrific and bat shit insane things to their own people and their enemies. They make for a match made in a kafkaesque hellscape heaven.

The following was brought up in Fallout: Autumn Morning:
Kamin 989 said:
Could the eagle on the Great Seal of the United States have been altered to have two heads? I'm kinda in a bind about this as on one hand there's the obvious appeal to tradition, on the other I just can't seem to get away from the idea.
chriswriter90 said:
You angling to write a Fallout / 40K Fanfic with one of the missing Primarchs being raised by the Enclave?

So, how would an Enclave! Primarch who was possibly raised by Autumn, possibly having served a term or two as the Enclave President, act during the Great Crusade & Horus Heresy? How would the Primarch and Enclave influence the II or XI Legion?

Uxion said:
In a twist of grimdark irony, they will be considered a moderating force who can be seen as downright reasonable in the Imperium.

Blatantly copying @jwolfe_beta's Legion creation format, here's my work-in-progress Enclave Legion.

Legion Number: II or XI
Title:
Primarch:
Legion Master:
Homeworld: Formerly Terra, Presently USA (United Stars of America)
Fortress-Monastery: The Octagon, located on Fallout Earth's Moon
Colors:
Specialty:
Battle Cry:

Legion traits
Enclave Auxilia:
The Legion fights with the full might of the Enclave at it's back, from power-armored infantry, to battle robots, to tanks, artillery, and air support.

Nation Builders: Much like the Ultramarines, Imperial Fists, Iron Wariors, Word Bearers, and Thousand Suns, The Legion will stay on the conquered worlds for a time to help the Enclave rebuild it into a productive member of the USA/Imperium. With the Legion's help, the USA has become a beacon of civilization and industry to rival Ultramar.

Strained Ties: The Legion has come into conflict with several other legions, comparing them to their homeworld's Raider bands, Ceaser's Legion, and Brotherhood of Steel. Ties with the Mechanicus are strained at best, The Legion and Enclave/USA viewing them as a spaceborne BoS that needs to be done away with once they're no longer needed. The Mechanicus in turn wishes the Enclave/USA censured for not handing over all manufacturing and research & development.

Self Reliant: Given the poor ties with he Mechanicus, The Legion and the USA as a whole maintains and forges as much of their own wargear and starships as possible. What they cannot build themselves is manufactured and gifted by allied Legions.


Gene Seed deficiency/mutations
Rad Resistance/Ghoulification:
Marines taken from the genetic stock of The Legion's homeworld, combined with their Primarch's Gene Seed, have higher radiation resistance than any other legion. This comes at the cost of high doses of radiation without immediate treatment causing permanent mutations and deficiencies. Most famous/infamous is Ghoulification, wherein lethal doses of radiation cause marines to occasionally mutate into Abhuman Ghouls instead of dying.

Combat doctrine:

Relations to other Legions:
 
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Can't really say anything about solid the Brotherhood of Steel comparison as the behavior and attitude of said faction depends on the game/location you're looking at.

Though I suppose a Primarch-led Enclave might be somewhat saner than the canon one. Seriously the actions/justifications etc they used in the second game were far from what anyone would want in leaders.
 
Every conceivable government, good or bad, every conceivable people, every conceivable planet wildly differs. Everyhing is truly everything in th Imperium.
Go fucking read Eisenhorn first you accumulated piece of shits, and then come back to me.

Ironically, you are both right and wrong. Yes, every planet does have its own culture, but that does not preclude a common Imperium-wide culture. Radiating out from Holy Terra and through the local branches of the Adeptus Terra is what could be called a pan-imperial culture that has its own lexicon of visual iconography, its own modes of worship and conception of proper behavior.

So at any given planet, things are a mix. Some planets are heavily influenced by the pan-Imperial culture and may indeed retain little of the preexisting culture of the planet. Others have so little imperial presence that mostly the culture and whatnot is its own.

As for Eisenhorn...as with all Black Library books, even the good ones, I would take it with a pinch of salt.

Sadly no. Racism is HIGHLY relevant and hugely problematic in 40k, just not against any ethnicities you or I would recognize.

Hah, problematic. That sort of shaming language just doesn't apply in 40K nor is there any point in bothering to apply it. The hatred of the mutant ("mutie"), alien and heretic are ultimately rational hatreds, for the continued existence of humanity is the end-all be-all and anything that threatens it must be obliterated from the face of this universe.

In other words; I know that the Imperium is multicultural, but a lot of bigots ignore that fact and fap over their "perfect" setting.

And that bothers you...why exactly? Let them enjoy what they like out of 40k and we can enjoy what we like. Your words seem to imply that 40K ought be changed because some of its fans happen to be neo-nazis, something I find both uncharitable and disgusting. It is important, I think, that we separate out the person from the belief and hate the belief, not the man.

Now if you were arguing about removing underlying themes that might attract them to the universe, like the bleakness of it or the fight for brotherhood and purity or the legitimization of hatred and marginalization and elimination of objectively bad subsets of the population...well, those are pretty fundamental to 40K.

They are so fundamental to 40K that it bothers me personally when people try to remove them from 40K because then 40K isn't really 40K anymore. There's plenty of sci-fi franchises that are a lot lighter and PC in that regard than 40K is so I don't even know why someone who dislikes these themes would bother with 40K to begin with.

I mean, I can't really even name another universe beyond, say, XCOM that even has xenophobia. Starcraft and Mass Effect and even Halo are xenophillic works to one degree or another and generally modern sci-fi seems to lean in the direction of reflecting the values of urban Western society than anything else. Part of the reason I love 40k so much is that it breaks away from the trite mold that I saw growing up and functions on a refreshingly different set of beliefs and attitudes.
 
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90% of the appeal of 40k is that it has variety in settings. There are billions of planets in 40k for a reason, a lot of them isolated from the Imperial Faith. There is plenty of room for variety. You could make all kinds of settings.

But call me a "Bigot" or whatever, but I came to 40k for 40k. I didn't come here for some dystopian megacorp setting, or some feudal business, though 40k can and has effectively performed these. And when you start crossing muh pwecious lwore with the blatantly false without telling me it's AU, we'll have a problem.
 
Hah, problematic. That sort of shaming language just doesn't apply in 40K nor is there any point in bothering to apply it. The hatred of the mutant ("mutie"), alien and heretic are ultimately rational hatreds, for the continued existence of humanity is the end-all be-all and anything that threatens it must be obliterated from the face of this universe.

And were I referring to mutant sub groups or aliens, you'd have a point. I wasn't. There are plenty of dumb shit "this man is the wrong color/variant of imperial creed/family group" hatreds existing within the 40k mythos. Half the Gaunts Ghosts books deal with some sort of dumb shit tribal rivalry between the various allied imperial factions for no better reason than "they're from backwater planet [insert place here] so they're inferior to our culture and ethnicity."

And problematic is an entirely valid way of referring to someone going "let's continue to shell that ridge full of our allies. The Tanith garbage people don't count enough to merit that we stop doing it" because it's a fucking problem getting in the damn way. If you're actively bombing your allies because you see them as subhuman trash, you're as much an issue as the enemy.
 
And problematic is an entirely valid way of referring to someone going "let's continue to shell that ridge full of our allies. The Tanith garbage people don't count enough to merit that we stop doing it" because it's a fucking problem getting in the damn way. If you're actively bombing your allies because you see them as subhuman trash, you're as much an issue as the enemy.
In theory Commissars supposed to stop that kind of idiocracy.
 
Who (of those still alive in 40K) would be the best fits for receiving First Lantern rings for each color? Basic idea: DC Emotional Spectrum Entities show up in 40K, having been fucking off somewhere else for the past several millenia. They each crap out one ring and battery, sending it to a carefully selected individual. No ring-malware exists yet, only limitations built directly into the nature of wielding each light (Green doesn't lock you out for killing someone who needs killing, for example, but Blue still needs Green for better constructs). Each ring comes with an onboard VI, basic instructions (ring slinging 101, ring programming 101, ring forging 101 (this is hard and takes days-to-weeks)).

Entities are mildly sensible, in that the Butcher does not select for mindless rage, but rather purposeful wrath, as an example. The Ruinous Powers do not have any easy ins with any color, per rather thorough advice from Drich.
  • Indigo is preselected to go to a Dark Eldar, it's only a matter of who.
  • Blue is pre-selected to go to the SI, who wakes up in orbit around a battle (please suggest one), where the Imperial Guard is getting a beating, and the enemy is something suitably awful (in other words: not Imperial infighting).
  • Orange might be Trazyn.
  • Green might be a member of the Imperial Guard, because killing Orks & daemons despite only being given a flashlight and flak jacket takes a spine of steel. Especially if your whole squad dies, you're about to die, and you haul yourself upright, brace against a wall, grab a fallen gun and keep shooting, because civvies will die if you don't and you won't let that happen.
 
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