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In The Grimdark of Fanfiction -40k

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Pidl said:
I wouldn't call it mentoring since Sulla always seemed to do the opposite of what Cain wanted her to do.
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That was intended to be a joke, since she (and presumably, most people familiar with both of their reputations) believes that Cain was helping her on her career, and helped cultivate her into the officer she eventually became.

Meanwhile, Cain doesn't care all that much for her.

Ahich would become a bit amusing once they meet up after she's risen to her canonical rank of Lady General.

Parth said:
From what I recall most of Vail's counterparts considered the memoirs to be amusing to read.

There's a very good chance that they wouldn't do a thing as none of them would actually realize that Cain really does consider himself a coward.
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Yeah, they read them and found them amusing while he was a Hero of the Imperium who was safely in the grave. Things do get a bit more controversial when it's an actual, verified-by-the-Ecclesiarchy Imperial Saint running around.

(And I wouldn't plan on having Amberly's troubles in that regard be anything more than a subplot. Just some particularly paranoid Inquisitors with some suspicions that maybe Amberly fabricated the memoirs in order to slander a future Imperial Saint among her fellows. Sure, that's a bit out there as suspicions go, but paranoia is their job.)
 
Ca- Ca- Capias Cain,
Hero of the Imperium.

Pidl said:
I wouldn't call it mentoring since Sulla always seemed to do the opposite of what Cain wanted her to do.
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Sulla had a habit of doing what Cain's reputation suggests rather than what Cain wanted to do. But if you think about it from the outside it does look like he mentored her since nobody really knew what Cain wanted.

Plus he had a habit of sending her to dangerious assigments which she took as him giving chance to shine.

She learned by example mostly since despite his grouching Cain did live up to his reputation for the most part.
 
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I was just reading about Titans on the wiki and I came across one of the first bits of lore in a long while that actually caught me off guard.

It is forbidden for Warhound Titans to operate in more than packs of 2. Apparently, during the Heresy, Horus used packs of 10+ Warhounds to slaughter civilian populations. Acknowledging the horror of such attacks, they were forever ordered to only act in groups of 2 at the largest.

Which was... huh.

Like, of all the war crimes that the Imperium is fond of, like virus bombs, frequent use of flamethrowers, penal legions pumped full of chems, the Marines Malevolent...

They have a hard line against deploying groups of three Warhound Titans. That's just too horrifying for them to allow.

I mean, congratulations to them for finding a moral limit of some kind, it just seems really, really arbitrary.
 
Titans are scary in most lore. They're like Greater Daemons who aren't unreliable little fuckers who will as soon kill you as your enemies. I'm not surprised there's restraints on them.
 
So I had a kind funny framing device for Grey Knight stories.

"The following story you are about to be told is true. The names have been changed and memories whiped to protect the innocent."

As told by Justicar John Thronesday.

Please note that the Grey Knights mind whipe their allies on mass after every encounter. There's no telling the kind of shenanigans they get up to beyond their official reports.
 
Not once in his many months of tending to him had Sebastian ever seen the Giant sleep. No matter how he set his feet the Giant always seemed to be wide awake when he entered the cell. Not caught rousing from slumber as Sebastian would have been in his days in the lecture hall but sitting up in his cot. The Giant was always unnaturally still in that short moment to start their day together. Sebastian would not judge him serene though, there was a sharp edge to the way the Giant set himself. Sebastian fancied that he saw in him a lurking, dangerous thing.

Food, Sebastian brought, and drink too, both 'pon which the Giant would shamelessly – and fearlessly – gorge himself. Men of large stature required greater nutrition and energy, Sebastian knew so it was not so strange that he might eat a lot but that he ate so freely. Of course, Sebastian would protest, they were not ones to taint a prisoner's food, but he had never seen the Giant hesitate. He feared no poison so it would seem.

Each morning Sebastian would wake with the Sun, perform his morning rituals and come to visit the Giant. And each morning the Giant would gaze at him pensively, for all the world a sombre mountain. Sebastian would talk at him and the Giant would listen but never speak himself. It seemed inevitable that Sebastian's patience would run out as he slowly but surely exhausted his knowledge of the world and topics to discuss. His brooding companion good for not much else but bouncing ideas off.

Today, Sebastian started on a new topic. The place they both lived. Mother had previously been leery of the subject, fearful that the Giant would be able to use some subtle piece of information to reason his way out of the solid adamantine cell. Recently she had relented, and Sebastian was eager to discuss such things with the Giant. After all, their home had special significance to him.

Saint Sebastian's Church on the Hill.

It had been named to honour a great hero of centuries past, a hero after whom Sebastian himself was thus indirectly named. A protector of the oppressed; women and children, the poor and the misbegotten. Sebastian of the Other, he was called in the city of Yawl. The other Sebastian, he was called in Sebastian's head.

And as he explained all this and more besides, the Giant underwent a stunning transformation. He was, it seemed, paying progressively more and more attention to Sebastian's words. Finally, as Sebastian enthusiastically launched into the other Sebastian's policy for those with talent in the mental arts, the Giant spoke.

"No."

He rumbled with such disdain that Sebastian briefly felt himself freeze in place. It was a shocking voice. Deep and heavily accented in all the wrong places such that Sebastian could not place it. All at once, his eyes darted to the Giant's, remembering the violence he often saw hidden within. Then the fear left him again, replaced with explosive excitement. Finally! Here was a man he could talk to –

"Sebastian Thor would never harbour mutants and psykers," the Giant ground out.

Sebastian felt his cheeks grow hot. After months of silence, the Giant had finally deigned to communicate just to dispute a question of theology? And to be so confidently incorrect at that. Sebastian's mouth opened, whether in shock at the audacity or to dispute it he could not say, yet the Giant continued unheeding.

"I know this, boy," and here the Giant's gaze again seemed to pierce through him pinning him to his seat, "because I met the man Sebastian Thor when I fought by his side during the reclamation of Terra."
 
Delirium said:
Not once in his many months of tending to him had Sebastian ever seen the Giant sleep. No matter how he set his feet the Giant always seemed to be wide awake when he entered the cell. Not caught rousing from slumber as Sebastian would have been in his days in the lecture hall but sitting up in his cot. The Giant was always unnaturally still in that short moment to start their day together. Sebastian would not judge him serene though, there was a sharp edge to the way the Giant set himself. Sebastian fancied that he saw in him a lurking, dangerous thing.

Food, Sebastian brought, and drink too, both 'pon which the Giant would shamelessly – and fearlessly – gorge himself. Men of large stature required greater nutrition and energy, Sebastian knew so it was not so strange that he might eat a lot but that he ate so freely. Of course, Sebastian would protest, they were not ones to taint a prisoner's food, but he had never seen the Giant hesitate. He feared no poison so it would seem.

Each morning Sebastian would wake with the Sun, perform his morning rituals and come to visit the Giant. And each morning the Giant would gaze at him pensively, for all the world a sombre mountain. Sebastian would talk at him and the Giant would listen but never speak himself. It seemed inevitable that Sebastian's patience would run out as he slowly but surely exhausted his knowledge of the world and topics to discuss. His brooding companion good for not much else but bouncing ideas off.

Today, Sebastian started on a new topic. The place they both lived. Mother had previously been leery of the subject, fearful that the Giant would be able to use some subtle piece of information to reason his way out of the solid adamantine cell. Recently she had relented, and Sebastian was eager to discuss such things with the Giant. After all, their home had special significance to him.

Saint Sebastian's Church on the Hill.

It had been named to honour a great hero of centuries past, a hero after whom Sebastian himself was thus indirectly named. A protector of the oppressed; women and children, the poor and the misbegotten. Sebastian of the Other, he was called in the city of Yawl. The other Sebastian, he was called in Sebastian's head.

And as he explained all this and more besides, the Giant underwent a stunning transformation. He was, it seemed, paying progressively more and more attention to Sebastian's words. Finally, as Sebastian enthusiastically launched into the other Sebastian's policy for those with talent in the mental arts, the Giant spoke.

"No."

He rumbled with such disdain that Sebastian briefly felt himself freeze in place. It was a shocking voice. Deep and heavily accented in all the wrong places such that Sebastian could not place it. All at once, his eyes darted to the Giant's, remembering the violence he often saw hidden within. Then the fear left him again, replaced with explosive excitement. Finally! Here was a man he could talk to –

"Sebastian Thor would never harbour mutants and psykers," the Giant ground out.

Sebastian felt his cheeks grow hot. After months of silence, the Giant had finally deigned to communicate just to dispute a question of theology? And to be so confidently incorrect at that. Sebastian's mouth opened, whether in shock at the audacity or to dispute it he could not say, yet the Giant continued unheeding.

"I know this, boy," and here the Giant's gaze again seemed to pierce through him pinning him to his seat, "because I met the man Sebastian Thor when I fought by his side during the reclamation of Terra."
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Is this a crossover ?
 
I apologize if this was already posted here, but I will always recommend "For Those We Cherish" by The Crimson Lord. A RWBY x 40K Crossover that has the Lamenters warping into the Remnant system after barely escaping a Tyranid Hive Fleet. Just a ton of great interactions with the RWBY cast and the Lamenters. Unfortunately the fic is either on hiatus or dead, it has not been updated since 2019. But I still recommend reading it.
 
Bad End​

Brother James of the Iron Warriors, veteran of countless battles (well, sort of countless, he knew that he had fewer of his "countless" battles than some of his brothers, he'd been welcomed into their ranks only a century ago), blinked blearily at the ceiling.

"Ugh, that's the last time I go partying with the Slaaneshis." He promised himself for the fourth time. He was tired and sore all over. All over. He didn't even want to know why his nose was sore, and he promptly decided that he wouldn't think about it further. He'd… probably had a good time, though, if he could remember it.

He blinked at his surroundings. Everything was… bright. Far, far too bright.

Probably a Slaaneshi pleasure palace of some kind. Why was it so bright? He was pretty sure even they didn't want hangovers in excess. Or maybe they had hangover cures they didn't bother sharing with other servants of the dark gods. Or maybe he was wrong and they made everything bright to enhance the hangovers. Crazy bastards.

And, unfortunately, he didn't have his helmet with its dimmers.

At least it was quiet. Weirdly but blessedly quiet. He hoped he hadn't gone deaf. Ah well.

He squinted as he looked around him. Bright, gaudy, and empty. Some might have called the barracks of the Iron Warriors dull, but he'd far prefer those to… this. He shook his head, making himself focus.

James had no idea where he was, or where the exit would be, so he simply started walking. Standing out in the open while disoriented was a terrible, terrible idea, and building a trench in the middle of this golden corridor was probably also a bad idea. Maybe he'd find a safer spot to fortify… somewhere else.

And sleep off the hangover, and then properly come up with a plan for getting out of there.

Maybe his brothers would track him down?

No, no, they were more likely to avenge his death than rescue him.

Even if rescuing him would be easier.

Ah well.

Time to walk.

_____

Brother Cassidy Gonzales Enrique Percival Francis Jiminy Edwardson and more names besides looked to his Companion, one of the Companions, Brother Bill Gregory Dominic Fredrickson Lesley and six more names besides.

"How are the Blood Games looking?"

Brother Lesley handed a clipboard to his brother, "Well enough. We managed to seize a dozen traitor astartes, including an Iron Warrior"

"Ah, excellent." While training against the more esoteric of the Chaos legions was a good idea, the siegecraft specialists would likely provide the most useful insights in how best to defend the Imperial Palace.

___________

Brother James shook his head. Too many Aquilas, too much gold, too much vague chanting. Damn Slaaneshi's and their bizarre, parodic artwork. He was tempted to take his knife and deface some of the symbols, but, no, they'd get annoyed at him for doing so. Even if his headache was getting worse.

____________

Brother Cassidy looked over the clipboard. "And it looks like you have the honor of hunting the Iron Warrior this time."

"Truly?" Brother Lesley frowned, glancing at the clipboard. "This says that you're the one hunting him."

"I wouldn't be here if I were assigned to that task."

_____________

James was increasingly convinced that this wasn't a bizarre mockery. Sure, Slaanesh worshippers might do something like this, to eventually deface it, but they really didn't have the patience to build something of this scale without some twisted exaggerations or depraved mockery hidden in the margins.

He hadn't noticed a single instance of genitalia hidden in the artwork yet.

Luckily, the hangover blocked the sheer mortal terror that he suspected he should be feeling right now, and so he continued on for a lack of anything better to do, trudging along the golden corridors.

_____________

"See, it says here that you assigned to it-"

"No, it says that I'm observing your efforts-"

__________________

Brother James looked to the left of himself, and then to the right.

It… it wouldn't be that easy, would it?

He just wasn't seeing the guards, right?

________________

"Wait, wait, ignoring that you're the one who is supposed to be hunting him-"

"Of course-"

"If you're not tracking him, and I'm not tracking him, then-

________________

He pursed his lips, frowning as he stared upwards.

He'd… probably feel like an idiot if he didn't at least try, even if it was an obvious trap.

He pulled a melta grenade from his waist, and quietly pulled the pin.

________________

Brother Cassidy frowned, "Where was he placed?"

"Uh, let me check the map, should we tell the Captain-General?"

"We probably should-"

________________

A quick moment to calculate the angles and-

_________________

"Well, where is he now?" The Captain General wasn't yelling, because that was beneath him, but the yelling was very strongly implied in his voice.

"We, er, don't know."

"Track him down then. Who knows what clever acts of sabotage or trickery an Iron Warrior might-"

_________________

He tossed the grenade upwards where it landed precisely in the desiccated figure's lap.

_________________

The psychic scream was heard across the Imperium, as the Emperor, after ten thousand years on the throne, finally died.

_________________

The Imperium had fallen. Oh, there were still planets that held on, but with the loss of Terra and, arguably more importantly, the forges of Mars, as well as the loss of the Astronomicon, the Imperium stood no chance of recovery, the bloated corpse, existing on momentum and spite, finally dying the death that had been so prolonged.

And in the depths of the warp, a great demonic figure stood, observing a much smaller one. "Rise, child of mine."

Brother James, the Slayer of the Emperor, stood, and gazed upwards.

Only with the a-temporality of Chaos could Perturabo have saved the man standing before him. It had not been an easy task, and he'd needed to ask for favors (and so many were eager to grant them, now) but it would be a poor reward for this most worthy of his sons, who pierced the fortifications built by Dorn himself, to have simply allowed the man to have had his soul ripped apart by the warp overspilling into the materium following the false Emperor's death.

And now, he had finally reconstituted the soul of that champion, resurrecting him. "I suppose I should not be surprised," he said to the disoriented figure, "that it was on of the Iron Warriors, my sons, who dealt the final blow to the Imperium. While others may have doubted us, our resolve, our fury, and our expertise was all that was needed. Rise, champion, and receive the honors that you are due, and have been denied to us so frequently."

His brothers who had doubted, the fools who had sneered at him- at his Legion, all would know the error of their ways.

Brother James looked upwards in awe at his primarch, the progenitor of his line, and spoke, "I'm sorry, have we been introduced? I don't think I've met you-"

James exploded for the second time.

BAD END



So, yeah, ever since I first heard of the Blood Games, I thought to myself that that sounded insanely risky.
 
"This all looks delicious," the Emperor of Mankind said as he eyed the simple but tasteful-looking meals that had been set before him. It wasn't he often ate anymore, not since he had become the Emperor of Mankind and needed to eat fitting for his position. He knew for a fact that many of the Imperium Court would not even glance at such simple food, but he had much fewer such problems. If he was honest with himself, he even enjoyed it. It had been some centuries since he had been given such a simple dish as this.

"And you often eat here, despite your position, my son?" he asked his son, who sat across him. As he had expected, his son had conquered and united the world he had ended one in a short time. Becoming the undisputed ruler of Temaris. It had surprised him when his son had invited him to such a simple, grounded location to eat and speak about his future in the Imperium.

"Once a week at least. The owner is my oldest friend, and he likes to cook," his son answered and glanced over to the kitchen. Then he waved to a short man in the uniform of a cook, who waved back and came out of the kitchen. The man shuffled over and gave his son a look. "Jax, met my father, the Emperor of Mankind."

The cook, Jax, snorted at that and bowed disrespectfully. "Had you a choice in choosing your title?"

"It was suggested to me," the Emperor admitted with a chuckle. "I'm not a fan of it myself, but even as a ruler, I'm not free in all my choices."

"Guess so," Jax said and then noted to the dishes. "how do you like it?"

"It is simple but good food."

"Thanks, your majesty, or whatever I should say," Jax answered and then added after a short moment with a look onto the Emperor's plate. "Do you like Liggma?"

"Yes, I like Liggma. I rather enjoy Liggma very much, thank you." He answered truthfully and tried to understand why Jax was grinning, and his son was hiding his face in his hands. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, nothing. You just like Liggma Balls."

The Emperor blinked, trying to process what had just happened. No one had dared something like this in a very long time. Only after that he felt a slight embarrassment that was appropriated, and then … his head flew back, laughing. He laughed like he hadn't laughed in three thousand eight hundred and six days. And the fact that he could remember the exact number of days made it all the sadder and better simultaneously.
 
SeptimusMagisto said:
Question: what would happen to someone who found an STC for a gunpowder rifle or an internal combustion engine?
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Nothing. The IOM and Mechanicus already has this STC and is widespread , I think, the non-Mechanicus can develop it and build without too much or any Mechanicus supervision.
For the Mechanicus it would useless to discover another copy. Maybe for historic purpose or maybe to extrapolate improvements. Or maybe the location would be useful to see if there are any useful STC. But otherwise both the STC are things that the Mechanicus already have and would not generate any waves.
 
Wasn't there a thing about two guys being given a planet for finding an STC for knives? I don't think there's a big enough qualitative difference between knives (unless it was actually, like, vibro/power knives or something, but I thought they were just standard combat knives) to normally justify an entire planet being given to someone.

(I've only heard about that incident second/third hand, so there might be details that I'm unaware of.)
 
Sir Bill said:
Wasn't there a thing about two guys being given a planet for finding an STC for knives? I don't think there's a big enough qualitative difference between knives (unless it was actually, like, vibro/power knives or something, but I thought they were just standard combat knives) to normally justify an entire planet being given to someone.

(I've only heard about that incident second/third hand, so there might be details that I'm unaware of.)
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Astares-grade combat knives that were honestly the size of short swords. And able to hold up to Astares using them.

Basically they got a really great melee side arm for one of the more important military forces in the Imperium.

A bit different than a crude Autogun or an even crappier version of what a Leman Russ has.
 
ArchAIngel said:
Astares-grade combat knives that were honestly the size of short swords. And able to hold up to Astares using them.

Basically they got a really great melee side arm for one of the more important military forces in the Imperium.

A bit different than a crude Autogun or an even crappier version of what a Leman Russ has.
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That would be a great premise for a Planetary Governor Quest, or possibly a nat 100 one the RER table in a Quest at least initially focused on a smaller scale. You found an STC for the Astartes, and you are granted a planet in return. Maybe a new jump-pack, since I believe they have a specific kind used for them to accomodate their bulk. You have the hooks to the Mechanicus for aiding in the Quest for Knowledge, the hooks to any nearby Astartes, who probably appreciate the upgrade, and whatever happened to the previous Governor. Not to mention people investigating the place you found it.
 
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So a fic I would like to reccomend is Roboutian Heresy over on SB thugh I occasionally crosspost some stuff here.Essentially it's a pretty interesting alt heresy in my opinion with some interesting stuff like

-Atheist Lorgar
-CIAPHAS CAIN LIVING SAINT OF THE IMPERIUM
-Eldritch Corax who even the chaos gods fear
-Giant underground war inside Mars with giant hive minds and genetically enhanced enby assasains.
-Competent officio assainorum that can kill things.
-Democratic planet in 40k
-Chaos Guilman
-Emps having a conscience
 
So, I saw a meme talking about about a techpriest's opinion of cyberpsychosis (from Cyberpunk 2077), and it made me think of a potentially interesting crossover:

A techpriestess ends up in a cyberpunk setting. Now, she'd probably have to be a fairly radical one, since there is so much unsanctioned technology around, but, on the other hand, I can see one deciding that this is a planet where people have a natural inclination towards serving the Machine Spirit, they just lacked knowledge of the Omnissiah himself.

(I was considering a tech priestess who worked with members of the Ecclesiarchy in bringing "feral" worlds into the embrace of the Imperium, where her job was figuring out what, if any, of their technology should be considered unacceptable and suppressed when being brought back into the fold. So she'd have experience with being told not to go straight to the purge option, but also not being too radical.)

So the techpriestess somehow ends up on the planet, and sees a whole world where basically everyone has augments. Admittedly, few are at the level of a techpriest, but there are still those who go admirably far in their attempts to purify their bodies of flesh.

So, when she's trying to figure out what's going on with this planet, she hears about cyberpsychosis (or whatever the setting's equivalent is), and is a bit disturbed, but reasons that it might be what happens when people strive for the purity of the machine without understanding the grace of the Omnissiah.

(This idea could be used for a few settings, but I'm going to refer to Cyberpunk 2077 just because I've been playing it recently).

So, the techpriestess sets up a "church", and begins providing augmentations to anyone that she can for cheap. Admittedly, these tend towards the bulky and obvious, but they're still of high quality, and don't appear to have any ties to major corporations. Her hope is to begin converting people to the worship of the machine spirit by proving that faith is what's missing from people's lives, and that's why people seem to go cyberpsycho when getting too many augments. Somewhat amusingly, this might actually work, since she'd talk a lot about how of course augmentations don't make you any less of a person, and try to get people the support network they need. Since cyberpsychosis is, according the writers of the setting, more like steroid abuse combined with the social alienation intrinsic to a cyberpunk setting rather than an inherent product of replacing parts of your body with metal, counseling and faith might actually work, (Hell, in the tabletop, any humanity that you lost by getting implants could be regained by getting therapy. Granted, faith-based therapy might not work for everybody, but still.)

I'm just amused by the idea of someone hearing of a new ripperdoc in town working out of a dilapidated church, so they go in, and see this crazy chick in red robes yelling about the machine spirit and how she is disgusted by the weakness of the flesh, servo skulls floating around, and a servitor playing a refurbished pipe organ. (The servo skulls and the servitor probably come from gang members who tried hassling her about protection money. Not a lot of people want to try robbing her anymore.)

But, you know, she does good work for cheap, so...

(I'm also amused by the idea of her just walking down the street and having someone walking by complimenting her on her chrome, you don't see a lot of people willing to go that far. "Shit, choom, I don't even recognize the brand, is that custom? Fucking sweet," and then trying to ask her about the specs. She's honestly kind of flattered, you don't get laypeople complimenting members of the Mechanicus back in the Imperium.)
 
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