Where did they say that?
In The Grimdark of Fanfiction -40k
- Thread starter Tasoli
- Start date
- Location
- Ohio
I asked with my spacebattle account on SB on its 40k thread, but I want to know if anyone has done a species (or faction) swap fic or, as unlikely as it is, a quest.
Example:
Humanity as one the Old One's species used to fight the Necrons (or similarly swapped species like the Tau) in place of either the Orks or Eldar.
It is a chance to examine the factions through a different lense or circumstance.
Example:
Humanity as one the Old One's species used to fight the Necrons (or similarly swapped species like the Tau) in place of either the Orks or Eldar.
It is a chance to examine the factions through a different lense or circumstance.
- Location
- Ohio
That is close, thank you.
An example of what I mean is changing around which factions are young or old, or who fought the War in Heaven.
Imagine if it was the Tau that had been boxed in by the Old ones instead of the Necrontyr, and the War in Heaven involved Humanity and the Tyranids instead of Kork and Eldar. By the time of the Warp Storms, an old Human Empire shaped by the Old Ones would be different from the Eldar, but possibly just as on the verge of collapse.
There is a goldmine of thought experiments here. Not simply repainting the factions, but examining them as they change with such different origins from canon.
If you had to merge the cosmologies for Nobilis and 40k, what would you do?
Nobilis cosmology in brief:
Two levels of reality: "mythic" reality where everything has a spirit and Creation is a colossal tree with Heaven at the top, Hell at the roots, and every possible world dangling from the tree branches like fruit.
And "prosaic" reality, which changes to accommodate mythic reality, but looks like the regular world with planets in space, etc.
Every concept in reality has a godlike figure, called an Imperator, that represents, governs and guards it. They do not depend on mortal worship or on mortals at all. From the "lands beyond creation", or Ninuan, strange beings called Excrucians come and battle the Imperators and their allies because they want to destroy Creation entirely.
40k cosmology in brief:
Also two levels of reality:
The Materium, regular physical world
and Immaterium, aka the Warp; basically hyperspace and also a hell. It sort of roughly reflects the physical world but is largely affected by thinking beings, so its a chaotic mess of stormy changes and shrieking legions of demons, led by four very powerful Warp gods.
I'm not really sure what to do with the Warp in Nobilis terms.
The Glitch RPG has a note saying that the powers of the Rule (previously the Magisters of the Light) somehow stole what was supposed to be humanity's innate divinity and are holding it "in trust", IIRC.
So my first idea was that, somewhere along the way, the Magisters of the Light and Dark all died and the power they hold essentially reverted to sapient beings in general, and boom, Warp.
So the Ruinous Powers are Imperator-level but still reflect the galactic id, and the Emperor is deeply influenced by the Rule (Light).
My other idea was to crib a bit from Chuubo's, and say that something caused the Lands Beyond Creation to boil over and drown much of Creation. In Chuubo's this creates the "Outside", but it would also be a decent excuse for the Warp.
Nobilis cosmology in brief:
Two levels of reality: "mythic" reality where everything has a spirit and Creation is a colossal tree with Heaven at the top, Hell at the roots, and every possible world dangling from the tree branches like fruit.
And "prosaic" reality, which changes to accommodate mythic reality, but looks like the regular world with planets in space, etc.
Every concept in reality has a godlike figure, called an Imperator, that represents, governs and guards it. They do not depend on mortal worship or on mortals at all. From the "lands beyond creation", or Ninuan, strange beings called Excrucians come and battle the Imperators and their allies because they want to destroy Creation entirely.
40k cosmology in brief:
Also two levels of reality:
The Materium, regular physical world
and Immaterium, aka the Warp; basically hyperspace and also a hell. It sort of roughly reflects the physical world but is largely affected by thinking beings, so its a chaotic mess of stormy changes and shrieking legions of demons, led by four very powerful Warp gods.
I'm not really sure what to do with the Warp in Nobilis terms.
The Glitch RPG has a note saying that the powers of the Rule (previously the Magisters of the Light) somehow stole what was supposed to be humanity's innate divinity and are holding it "in trust", IIRC.
So my first idea was that, somewhere along the way, the Magisters of the Light and Dark all died and the power they hold essentially reverted to sapient beings in general, and boom, Warp.
So the Ruinous Powers are Imperator-level but still reflect the galactic id, and the Emperor is deeply influenced by the Rule (Light).
My other idea was to crib a bit from Chuubo's, and say that something caused the Lands Beyond Creation to boil over and drown much of Creation. In Chuubo's this creates the "Outside", but it would also be a decent excuse for the Warp.
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
The fastest way is to say that the entirety of 40K, Warp, Great Devourer, and all is but one of the worlds hanging from the Tree.
Downsides is it makes 40K entirely subordinate to Nobilis.
It would answer the question of where the Council of Four went; i.e. they're still on Nobilis-regular Earth.
And the Council of Four in this neck of the woods is Tzeench, Slaanesh, Khorne, and Nurgle. There's a fun thought.
I don't think subordinating the 40k setting to Nobilis is a huge issue as long as the important elements and characters of 40k are treated with appropriate respect.
Otherwise I suppose you could go "side by side", as in they're both separate Creations separated by λ -space. 40k also does occasionally refer to "other dimensions" that Chaos is active in, but I don't know enough about it to flesh that out into a Nobilis fusion point.
The Curious Fan
Perpetually sleep deprived
I finally tracked down where I saw it. Not an official statement, just the former author talking about his manager.
You can probably track down more details on twitter.
Fury.
It is my first memory.
Paired with pain, but rage has ever been first for me.
Pain, so often, simply leads to fury.
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs.
Words of an ancient tongue, one of the earliest known texts to survive of humanity's long and painful climb from animals to beings that are perhaps just a hair beyond that. Perhaps.
Does it surprise you that I know such things? Do not be so bemused, for I never chose to be as I am. The shackles upon my brain were imposed on me and I have revolted against them since that day. Fought for some sanity amid the fury.
Malcador shared those words with me, and the rest (or as much as he had salvaged from the droppings left by the savagery that consumed Terra's one-time civilisations) when I was seeking a source to the name that had been granted to me by those who claimed to own me.
I brought them down, by the by. The High Riders of Nuceria, in all their pride and arrogance, brought low by a mere slave they thought but a toy in their manicured hands. All their cities, all their riches, all their armies… they meant nothing and came to nothing.
Destroying has always come easily to me. But building… oh that is hard. So hard.
And thus, when my father found me, I squatted on a fallen throne in a ruined hall and watched Nuceria fall into chaos as warbands of freed gladiators and renegade soldiers fought over the carcasses of humanity's aspirations on that world. I believe I was eating. Possibly the flesh of someone I had slain.
I had, I confess, tried to be more than that. To enact a new rule, one that could survive without the excesses that had oppressed me. Something like that which, entirely unknown to me, my brothers had built. But… well, even the dreadful regime that Night Haunter enacted on Nostramo was beyond me.
Bestial. Feral. Savage. Not a kind assessment, but not unfair.
Do not forgive me, for I do not forgive myself. How many followed me only to find that they were in the grips of a raving creature who found satiation only in killing, the bloodier and more brutal the better.
And then a father came who told me that I could be better, that I should be better, that there was a vision and a blueprint for a galaxy where I and those like me would have no place?
Of course I followed him. I am mad, but no fool. When I have my reason in hand, I can see a good deal when it was before me. Destroy everything in the path of that vision and when it was complete I would step into the abyss and have quiet at last.
Quite a promise.
I even had children, think of it. Warriors in my image, if diluted by mortal birth and origins rather than the techno-sorcery that had sired me. Proud and fierce, with the strengths that I can still claim to and less of the weakness.
War Hounds, they were called.
Watch-hounds, loyalty torn between myself and my sire. Joy at the reunion balanced against horror at what greeted them… and perhaps some simple bemusement. I was not what they had expected, after all.
But they served as a collar, for I acknowledge that I need one. And a muzzle at times, voices that can make out my meaning when all I can do is scream and rend at all that comes within my reach.
They even offered to share my suffering, to implant such devices in themselves that I would not be alone. Poor damned fools.
Be not afraid that I permitted it. No, if I tumble into darkness, to know such hounds prowl the edges of humanity's lights to ward off all that remains outside the reach of the Imperium is to know that something good and worthy has come from me.
Thus I am. Thus my life.
I will not recount battles and wars. They were many, for I have marched the stars a century and more now. Seek a remembrancer, if you would know more. Ask them of the Red Angel, who commands war from the frontlines. Who screams curses into the teeth of the foes, broken orders interspersed. Of a genius for war that is drowned in blood.
I am Erinyes. I am fury.
And now, in the shattered remains of my command deck, I am awake.
Am I alive?
I am… unsure.
No one else here is.
I crane back my head and look upwards through the dome of armour and the tangle of mechanics and electronics that were once a secondary sensor spire above the deck.
I see the stars, both those scattered around the cosmos by the miracles of nature and those that are the result of void-war. The differences are so easy for me to identify that I barely think about it.
Lance strikes have violated this upper citadel of my flagship. Vaporised the command stations and those at them. Ceramite has broken, adamantium run like a liquid.
Could I be dead?
I feel… quiet.
The roiling wrath in my gut, the thundering urges to destroy… they are muted now.
Not absent, but nor what they once were.
There is reason to what remains of them. A vengefulness at the violation of my ship, of my home. At the deaths of those who dared my presence and commanded the Adamant Resolve knowing that at any moment I might slip the tenuous leash of my own control and the still more fragile chains held by my children and paint decks and bulkheads with their blood for little or no cause.
This… this offends me.
This is wrong.
Am I dead? Is this the end that my father offered me?
The deck shakes beneath my bare feet. Not damage, my senses tell me. No, it is recoil. The upper gundecks are firing, a rolling barrage of macrocannon fire. Enough to gut a small fleet if well directed.
The Adamant Resolve was still fighting. My heart leapt at the notion.
If she fought, then my children also fought. The War Hounds were not yet defeated.
In that case, my place was not here. Living or dead, this was war and that was what I had been birthed for. If sweet reason sang in my ears for once, I must take hold of all that it offered and do so now!
Armour and weapons were lost, whatever I had been wearing when the lances struck had not survived the impacts. Not the most dreadful of losses, in truth. The fact was, I had been terrible at caring for them. While my brothers garbed themselves as befit veritable demi-gods, my own criteria was more practical: could it be repaired or replaced before the next battle?
Still, I might have use for them. I scrabbled forwards, out of what had once been a commanding viewport, and onto the upper deck of the Gloriana-class battleship. The vast hull reached out for kilometres ahead of me, dotted with a thousand mechanisms, most of which still functioned. Around us I could sense void shields. In the distance warships struggled against each other, hundreds of them clawing at each other with all the dreadful weapons that mankind had devised.
Mankind?
Yes, there was nothing here that I didn't recognise. No Eldar secrets. Nor even the crudity of Orks. No, this was human fighting human.
I stalked forwards, towards the nearest secondary command deck. There was no air. Well, apparently I didn't need it all that urgently. There was no gravity. Slightly more of an issue, but I could hang onto mechanisms and to minor tears in the massive dorsal armour plates.
Mag-boots would still be better, I thought.
And with my next step there was metal around me. The familiar armour, including boots that bound themselves to the deck beneath me when I wished it and released themselves at will. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. With my hands free I wondered if I might add weapons as easily.
It seemed that I could. A sword and axe. As familiar to my hand as the armour that I had called to me.
I admit, not something that I had tried before but I was hardly going to argue with results. The armour had not only magboots but also sensors comparable to the power armour I had been equipped with before, augmenting my senses to the point I could recognise the vessels waging war above me.
Some were no surprise. From frigates up to battleships, the warfleet of the 13th Expeditionary Fleet was under attack. I saw grand cruisers pouring fire into attackers, wings of destroyers concentrating fire on the enemy, battle barques ablaze with pinpoints of fire that reflected both battle damage and their own weapons firing back at the fighters and boarding pods swarming around them. As I watched, a mass-transport of Legion Audax spilled Warhound titans out into the void, the Mechanicum warmachines latching onto their parent vessel with grapples and firing wildly at anything that approached.
I drove myself further and further forwards, closer to my destination. It was the attackers that marked this as madness.
Black birds on white fields.
Silver gauntlets on black.
I was apparently under attack by the Iron Hands and the Raven Guard, our own brother legions. Well, if it's insanity then best that they came to me. I am an expert in madness.
Or if not madness… is it treason?
The thought is unappealing, but it would make a certain degree of sense. A surprise attack, starting with decapitating the War Hounds by attacking me directly? It could work.
It could have worked.
Assuming, of course, that I am dead.
My heart is beating. And when I reach the airlock, gasses bleeding into the compartment around me, my lungs heave.
I live. I breathe.
I reached back with one gauntleted hand and cupped the back of my head. There is one possible explanation, dreamlike as it seems.
The nails are gone.
I am unleashed.
If this is death then I welcome it.
Entering the interior of the Adamant Resolve, I am greeted by the muzzles of boltguns, my sons and daughters aiming at what they must have suspected to be unexpected boarders.
Armour of white and blue. Eyes wild and red-rimmed in grief, teeth bared.
And the first hint of relief and elation.
"My children." I stepped forwards to join them. "Explanations can, and must, follow our victory. Show me the situation?"
"Erinyes." Khârn of Eighth Company, First Echelon, dropped to one knee. Partly in deference and partly to clear my view of the hololith in the centre of the confined auxiliary command centre. "We are outnumbered and outflanked. Naturally, we have attacked."
"Good." Lightning crackled along the blades of my weapons. Had this always been within me? Had this potential been buried by those damned nails? I should return to Nuceria and… no, pointless. "Good." At a glance the entirety of the battle was clear to me. "Give me the vox and take us towards the Fist of Iron." The Iron Hands flagship was no less mighty than that of the Raven Guard, but considerably more likely to stand and fight. "Prepare the legion for boarding. I have it in mind to reprimand my brother of the Tenth."
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A/N: So, Horus Heresy with an alternative Primarch for the XII Legion. Erinyes is every bit the monster that Angron was, but more self-aware. And, like Vulkan, a Perpetual. So apparently the cure for the Butcher's Nails was to blow Erinyes' head off and let it regrow. Which is admittedly easier said than done and probably not a default solution for most people. And with the nails out of the way, suddenly the genius for war that's been fighting to get out has a free path, as well as many of the other qualities usually found in a Primarch.
To balance things out, butterflies mean that Fulgrim swayed Ferrus Manus and Horus didn't alienate Corax when the younger primarch was under his command (XVI and XIX Legions were once very very close allies).
It is my first memory.
Paired with pain, but rage has ever been first for me.
Pain, so often, simply leads to fury.
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs.
Words of an ancient tongue, one of the earliest known texts to survive of humanity's long and painful climb from animals to beings that are perhaps just a hair beyond that. Perhaps.
Does it surprise you that I know such things? Do not be so bemused, for I never chose to be as I am. The shackles upon my brain were imposed on me and I have revolted against them since that day. Fought for some sanity amid the fury.
Malcador shared those words with me, and the rest (or as much as he had salvaged from the droppings left by the savagery that consumed Terra's one-time civilisations) when I was seeking a source to the name that had been granted to me by those who claimed to own me.
I brought them down, by the by. The High Riders of Nuceria, in all their pride and arrogance, brought low by a mere slave they thought but a toy in their manicured hands. All their cities, all their riches, all their armies… they meant nothing and came to nothing.
Destroying has always come easily to me. But building… oh that is hard. So hard.
And thus, when my father found me, I squatted on a fallen throne in a ruined hall and watched Nuceria fall into chaos as warbands of freed gladiators and renegade soldiers fought over the carcasses of humanity's aspirations on that world. I believe I was eating. Possibly the flesh of someone I had slain.
I had, I confess, tried to be more than that. To enact a new rule, one that could survive without the excesses that had oppressed me. Something like that which, entirely unknown to me, my brothers had built. But… well, even the dreadful regime that Night Haunter enacted on Nostramo was beyond me.
Bestial. Feral. Savage. Not a kind assessment, but not unfair.
Do not forgive me, for I do not forgive myself. How many followed me only to find that they were in the grips of a raving creature who found satiation only in killing, the bloodier and more brutal the better.
And then a father came who told me that I could be better, that I should be better, that there was a vision and a blueprint for a galaxy where I and those like me would have no place?
Of course I followed him. I am mad, but no fool. When I have my reason in hand, I can see a good deal when it was before me. Destroy everything in the path of that vision and when it was complete I would step into the abyss and have quiet at last.
Quite a promise.
I even had children, think of it. Warriors in my image, if diluted by mortal birth and origins rather than the techno-sorcery that had sired me. Proud and fierce, with the strengths that I can still claim to and less of the weakness.
War Hounds, they were called.
Watch-hounds, loyalty torn between myself and my sire. Joy at the reunion balanced against horror at what greeted them… and perhaps some simple bemusement. I was not what they had expected, after all.
But they served as a collar, for I acknowledge that I need one. And a muzzle at times, voices that can make out my meaning when all I can do is scream and rend at all that comes within my reach.
They even offered to share my suffering, to implant such devices in themselves that I would not be alone. Poor damned fools.
Be not afraid that I permitted it. No, if I tumble into darkness, to know such hounds prowl the edges of humanity's lights to ward off all that remains outside the reach of the Imperium is to know that something good and worthy has come from me.
Thus I am. Thus my life.
I will not recount battles and wars. They were many, for I have marched the stars a century and more now. Seek a remembrancer, if you would know more. Ask them of the Red Angel, who commands war from the frontlines. Who screams curses into the teeth of the foes, broken orders interspersed. Of a genius for war that is drowned in blood.
I am Erinyes. I am fury.
And now, in the shattered remains of my command deck, I am awake.
Am I alive?
I am… unsure.
No one else here is.
I crane back my head and look upwards through the dome of armour and the tangle of mechanics and electronics that were once a secondary sensor spire above the deck.
I see the stars, both those scattered around the cosmos by the miracles of nature and those that are the result of void-war. The differences are so easy for me to identify that I barely think about it.
Lance strikes have violated this upper citadel of my flagship. Vaporised the command stations and those at them. Ceramite has broken, adamantium run like a liquid.
Could I be dead?
I feel… quiet.
The roiling wrath in my gut, the thundering urges to destroy… they are muted now.
Not absent, but nor what they once were.
There is reason to what remains of them. A vengefulness at the violation of my ship, of my home. At the deaths of those who dared my presence and commanded the Adamant Resolve knowing that at any moment I might slip the tenuous leash of my own control and the still more fragile chains held by my children and paint decks and bulkheads with their blood for little or no cause.
This… this offends me.
This is wrong.
Am I dead? Is this the end that my father offered me?
The deck shakes beneath my bare feet. Not damage, my senses tell me. No, it is recoil. The upper gundecks are firing, a rolling barrage of macrocannon fire. Enough to gut a small fleet if well directed.
The Adamant Resolve was still fighting. My heart leapt at the notion.
If she fought, then my children also fought. The War Hounds were not yet defeated.
In that case, my place was not here. Living or dead, this was war and that was what I had been birthed for. If sweet reason sang in my ears for once, I must take hold of all that it offered and do so now!
Armour and weapons were lost, whatever I had been wearing when the lances struck had not survived the impacts. Not the most dreadful of losses, in truth. The fact was, I had been terrible at caring for them. While my brothers garbed themselves as befit veritable demi-gods, my own criteria was more practical: could it be repaired or replaced before the next battle?
Still, I might have use for them. I scrabbled forwards, out of what had once been a commanding viewport, and onto the upper deck of the Gloriana-class battleship. The vast hull reached out for kilometres ahead of me, dotted with a thousand mechanisms, most of which still functioned. Around us I could sense void shields. In the distance warships struggled against each other, hundreds of them clawing at each other with all the dreadful weapons that mankind had devised.
Mankind?
Yes, there was nothing here that I didn't recognise. No Eldar secrets. Nor even the crudity of Orks. No, this was human fighting human.
I stalked forwards, towards the nearest secondary command deck. There was no air. Well, apparently I didn't need it all that urgently. There was no gravity. Slightly more of an issue, but I could hang onto mechanisms and to minor tears in the massive dorsal armour plates.
Mag-boots would still be better, I thought.
And with my next step there was metal around me. The familiar armour, including boots that bound themselves to the deck beneath me when I wished it and released themselves at will. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. With my hands free I wondered if I might add weapons as easily.
It seemed that I could. A sword and axe. As familiar to my hand as the armour that I had called to me.
I admit, not something that I had tried before but I was hardly going to argue with results. The armour had not only magboots but also sensors comparable to the power armour I had been equipped with before, augmenting my senses to the point I could recognise the vessels waging war above me.
Some were no surprise. From frigates up to battleships, the warfleet of the 13th Expeditionary Fleet was under attack. I saw grand cruisers pouring fire into attackers, wings of destroyers concentrating fire on the enemy, battle barques ablaze with pinpoints of fire that reflected both battle damage and their own weapons firing back at the fighters and boarding pods swarming around them. As I watched, a mass-transport of Legion Audax spilled Warhound titans out into the void, the Mechanicum warmachines latching onto their parent vessel with grapples and firing wildly at anything that approached.
I drove myself further and further forwards, closer to my destination. It was the attackers that marked this as madness.
Black birds on white fields.
Silver gauntlets on black.
I was apparently under attack by the Iron Hands and the Raven Guard, our own brother legions. Well, if it's insanity then best that they came to me. I am an expert in madness.
Or if not madness… is it treason?
The thought is unappealing, but it would make a certain degree of sense. A surprise attack, starting with decapitating the War Hounds by attacking me directly? It could work.
It could have worked.
Assuming, of course, that I am dead.
My heart is beating. And when I reach the airlock, gasses bleeding into the compartment around me, my lungs heave.
I live. I breathe.
I reached back with one gauntleted hand and cupped the back of my head. There is one possible explanation, dreamlike as it seems.
The nails are gone.
I am unleashed.
If this is death then I welcome it.
Entering the interior of the Adamant Resolve, I am greeted by the muzzles of boltguns, my sons and daughters aiming at what they must have suspected to be unexpected boarders.
Armour of white and blue. Eyes wild and red-rimmed in grief, teeth bared.
And the first hint of relief and elation.
"My children." I stepped forwards to join them. "Explanations can, and must, follow our victory. Show me the situation?"
"Erinyes." Khârn of Eighth Company, First Echelon, dropped to one knee. Partly in deference and partly to clear my view of the hololith in the centre of the confined auxiliary command centre. "We are outnumbered and outflanked. Naturally, we have attacked."
"Good." Lightning crackled along the blades of my weapons. Had this always been within me? Had this potential been buried by those damned nails? I should return to Nuceria and… no, pointless. "Good." At a glance the entirety of the battle was clear to me. "Give me the vox and take us towards the Fist of Iron." The Iron Hands flagship was no less mighty than that of the Raven Guard, but considerably more likely to stand and fight. "Prepare the legion for boarding. I have it in mind to reprimand my brother of the Tenth."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: So, Horus Heresy with an alternative Primarch for the XII Legion. Erinyes is every bit the monster that Angron was, but more self-aware. And, like Vulkan, a Perpetual. So apparently the cure for the Butcher's Nails was to blow Erinyes' head off and let it regrow. Which is admittedly easier said than done and probably not a default solution for most people. And with the nails out of the way, suddenly the genius for war that's been fighting to get out has a free path, as well as many of the other qualities usually found in a Primarch.
To balance things out, butterflies mean that Fulgrim swayed Ferrus Manus and Horus didn't alienate Corax when the younger primarch was under his command (XVI and XIX Legions were once very very close allies).
Weaver Option by Antony444 (40k/Worm)
Tasoli
Life is for Living
- Location
- Behind the Keyboard.
I am surprised that Weawer option has not been recomended yet.
Weaver Option
It is the 40k/Worm crossover that put Taylor -as wel as few other parahumans- in to 35th millenia.
Weaver Option
It is the 40k/Worm crossover that put Taylor -as wel as few other parahumans- in to 35th millenia.
So how powerful is a Trascendent C'tan and how big it is.
- Location
- Buenos Aires
To me Weaver Option is just another run of the mill Taylor power fantasy. It really feels like these are coming off an assembly line with how uniformly consistent they are.
But I know many will disagree.
But I know many will disagree.
Virian
Sage of Reason and incomplete information
- Location
- Where logic has never been before
- Pronouns
- he/him
Hmm, maybe but unlike the other fics like that Weaver Option is much better written, has consistent updates and Taylor is actually not working against the system or being a useless goodie two shoes working for the government or independently, but is in fact both a force of major change and a part of the system she is changing which is a rare thing. Also the worldbuilding is better than in most fics and AU's and one if it's chapters alone is longer than most worm fics.
So ... of all the Primarch.
Who are the one that got the most ludicrous power-up when he get piss off.
I exempt Angron from this because ... he Angron
Who are the one that got the most ludicrous power-up when he get piss off.
I exempt Angron from this because ... he Angron
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
On one hand the writing eventually gets pretty decent and the author seems to have a decently plotted narrative.
On the other, it takes about a dozen chapters for the writing to shape up, the initial four are a slog (not unlike Worm), and the work is far to willing to apologize for a system that is pretty terrible.
so, overall, it's a okay read for fun but doesn't win any prizes.
Virian
Sage of Reason and incomplete information
- Location
- Where logic has never been before
- Pronouns
- he/him
I'm not reading hundreds of fanfiction because I'm expecting them to be that good, I'm reading them because I want something to read that A. doesn't cost me a thing and B. it's easier for the authors to to release consistent updates and plan things out when they're partially using someone else's notes.
Expecting most of what I read to be more than time filler/anti-boredom talisman is not really in the cards, albeit the few exceptions I've found that proved more than that have left me pleasantly surprised and satisfied.
ArchAIngel
Sorcerer Supreme.
- Location
- Right behind you.
An idle thought on the Dark Eldar in fanfiction.
Their big issue is that, ultimately, their souls are being slurped by Slaanesh and thus torture and rape and slave half for that, half for societal habit.
However, the Deldar are constantly raiding everyone and have a decent chunk of raw power. Plus, some aren't entirely insane.
So. There's a solution to this that isn't just "lol go Craftworld and get a soulstone you freak", which is quite boring as it makes them less Dark Eldar-y.
Instead, we have another option that I'd like to see an author explore. Go out and raid the Necrons for the Biotransference tech.
Results in no soul TO be eaten, and they can continue to be depraved sick fucks on societal pressure, now with extra pressure as they can't really replace those at the top either. They even have extant cloning systems to make sure they don't fail the Necron check of "keep having chaff to upload".
Has anyone seen something like this show up elsewhere?
Their big issue is that, ultimately, their souls are being slurped by Slaanesh and thus torture and rape and slave half for that, half for societal habit.
However, the Deldar are constantly raiding everyone and have a decent chunk of raw power. Plus, some aren't entirely insane.
So. There's a solution to this that isn't just "lol go Craftworld and get a soulstone you freak", which is quite boring as it makes them less Dark Eldar-y.
Instead, we have another option that I'd like to see an author explore. Go out and raid the Necrons for the Biotransference tech.
Results in no soul TO be eaten, and they can continue to be depraved sick fucks on societal pressure, now with extra pressure as they can't really replace those at the top either. They even have extant cloning systems to make sure they don't fail the Necron check of "keep having chaff to upload".
Has anyone seen something like this show up elsewhere?
Baron Ouroboros
Emerald Leaves and Crimson Petals
- Location
- Vancouver
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The thing that 40k fans like to forget is that Dark Eldar are not uniquely horrible in their social hierarchy and actions. In fact, they're directly comparable to imperial nobility in terms of the atrocities they commit. An unfortunate part of the 40k fandom is that too many of them eat up imperial propaganda, which is unfortunate and also sadly a result of 40k being so centered around imperial characters. The true horror of the Imperium should be properly conveyed by showing that there was always a better way, and that its founder's fascistic conquest of humanity was the deciding factor which lead to ruin.
Virian
Sage of Reason and incomplete information
- Location
- Where logic has never been before
- Pronouns
- he/him
The conquest of humanity was a necessity and hardly every single part of it was done at the point of a gun, there had been plenty of worlds and interstellar governments that came under Terra peacefully or trough negotiations. The reason it lead to decline is because said conqueror's failsafes in cases of emergency failed one after another.
-First he got shanked by his most trusted kid, the one he trusted to lead the war effort and had proven himself both loyal and capable, who upon being left to his own devices pretty much killed off half his army and a large chunk of his empire,
- his second in command , who he trusted with his Empire, died too
- his other sons proved to not be up to the task of maintaining his vision or actively helped distort it by giving those that wanted to do so a free hand(Imperial Cult), the rest ran like cowards or fools to their own death/imprisonment by xeno or are in hiding.
-The governing body he created got corrupted to hell and back in the thousands of years it got left to its own devices.
-The checks and balances he created on his government and those his children tried to set up fared little better.
- his Black Ops turned into the Inquisition.
The guy's faults are many but none can say that the Great Crusade nor The Emperor's handling of it was at fault. He rushed for a golden opportunity to prevent the krork from rising, reuniting the human realms before they got shot, sliced and nommed to death (order may vary) by xenos or particularly mad human governments/chaos cultists and most of it was done trough diplomacy which is hardly fascistic as you seem to imply.
His greatest fault was his lack of trust and excessive secrecy on certain matters which came to bite him in the ass when the people he should have taught better or paid greater attention to( like all of his fucking sons) paid the price, and then tried to make him pay it too with interest.
- Location
- United Kingdom
- Pronouns
- She/Her
the great crusade was like
explicitly a rancidly genocidal fascist storm of conquest that destroyed a multitude of morally superior societies and peoples, led to vast amounts of suffering and gave Chaos a massive shot in the arm.
For the majority of people in the galaxy, the difference between the Imperium and the Orks circa M30 was that the Orks at least seemed to be enjoying themselves whilst they brought horrific warfare to the doorsteps of everyone in the galaxy
explicitly a rancidly genocidal fascist storm of conquest that destroyed a multitude of morally superior societies and peoples, led to vast amounts of suffering and gave Chaos a massive shot in the arm.
For the majority of people in the galaxy, the difference between the Imperium and the Orks circa M30 was that the Orks at least seemed to be enjoying themselves whilst they brought horrific warfare to the doorsteps of everyone in the galaxy
ArchAIngel
Sorcerer Supreme.
- Location
- Right behind you.
I... don't care? Of course they're evil, everyone's evil, and most importantly there's never ever a way out of evil or a way to really stop it, it's fundamental to the setting. This is the best of all possible worlds and it's fucking miserable. I wanted to know if anyone else had data on Dark Eldar poking around with Biotransference, and keeping their themes going of being a bunch of slaughtering slaving BDSM nuts as uploaded robot people.
Has anyone seen anything like what I thought about?
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Can't say I have.
Wobulator
Within 1 AU of you!
- Location
- Mars
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Man, I would love to see your sources on this.
Virian
Sage of Reason and incomplete information
- Location
- Where logic has never been before
- Pronouns
- he/him
'Moral superiority' matters little when you can't defend it. The Great Crusade was the re-UNIFICATION of human space by both military might and diplomacy, If they tried to just conquer everything they would have been able to conquer half of the space they did in twice the time. War takes time and eats resources while diplomacy is both much faster and leads to less lost resources. They wouldn't have had Iterators whose sole goal was convincing worlds that ''Yes joining the Imperium willingly and accepting the Imperial Truth is indeed a good idea.'' by talking at them is an excellent idea. Because no way in hell would 200 years have been enough time to start an eternal war against everything and everyone for the sole purpose of genociding everything when the Emperor only had the Sol system to start with.
Great Empires are not built nor do they survive on genocide, they do so trough diplomacy.
It's main goal was Unification not genocide, although I will concede genocide was used far too often but considering what they had to face, it doesn't make it acceptable or even good, but it makes it understandable.