[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
Sterbelicht - One Sacrifice At A Time Against The Galaxy (40K)
- Thread starter HeroCooky
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
ConfusedCanuck
Where did it all go wrong?
- Location
- Neverland
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
This looks interesting!
This looks interesting!
- Pronouns
- Human
[X] "LADIES!"
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
- Location
- Earth
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
Think I'll go with this one. Reminds me of that tiktok video. Something like: "Gentleman gentleman please relax I'm no threat. I wouldn't even hurt a fly. Now my friend on the other hand haha, say hi friend!"
*BOOM!*
"Hi, friend!"
[X] "GROM, PLAYTIME!"
TheOmnimercurial
Dragon Bard
- Location
- UK
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
Can you implant Gene Seed into Ogryn's?
Can you implant Gene Seed into Ogryn's?
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
Lets GOOOO
Lets GOOOO
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
No, as (in my fanon) Gene-Seed has a psychic aspect to it. This aspect molds the soul of the recipient of the Seed to resemble their Primarch and thus the Emperor. Any non-Homo Sapiens that has the Seed implanted will find their souls essentially mutilated and slowly "bleed out" due to the changes. So no, no Space Marine Ogryns.
You can however obtain the means to perform Biochemical Ogryn Neural Enhancements (BONE) on your Ogryns and turn them all into Bone'eads, drastically raising their intelligence to that of a four year old human. Then outfitted with heavy armor and a sturdy Beatin' Stick, you will basically have Discount Space Marines utterly loyal to the Litt'l Star 'Emps.
- Location
- Earth, Sol
Is that the same as the intelligence that the ogryns in Darktide show?
[X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
WE DIE IN GLORY!!
LETS GO!!!
WE DIE IN GLORY!!
LETS GO!!!
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Nope, fuckers are straight up Ogryn Geniuses (about a slow 10 in human terms). And fearless too! No Commissar to get them into the small metal box!
[x] [X] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
[x] "FOR THOSE WE CHERISH-"
Vote closed
999.M41 - Better Than All Of Us
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
"BOSS!" Grom whine-yelled at me, his Beatin' Stick in hand as he gestured at the large, ridiculously oversized doors sealed shut before the entrance into the Citadel Tower, the place where the Magos slept (at least those who could...or would instead of injecting more warp-stuff into their bodies) and from where they conducted the station in its every aspect and creation. "Big Door No Open," he continued, looking pitifully at the doors as several people were already setting up a laser to cut through the armored slab of metal hiding the cut-off Magi from our wrath and weapons. "No Can Make Mean Littl' Un's Good With Big Door No Open."
Silently accepting the pants someone gave me, I quickly slipped them over the ruined ones (more ablative armor would always do me good, especially here) before addressing Grom as I looked around at the ever-growing assembly of those who had risen with me against the Dark Mechanicus in a bid for freedom. Unluckily for me, venerable Dreadnought Chyron would be unable to join us in this final stretch against the enemy, needing to tend to the container of Gene-Seed he had hidden away as a desperate strike of the Soul Grinder had come far too close to destroying it for his comfort. However, he promised aid in future fights, but his Chapter needed him to safeguard their future now, not later.
"Grom," I seriously said as he began to kneel, looking the big Ogryn into his eyes (they lit up with childish glee at the fact that I remembered his name, and one more dagger of guilt stabbed into my soul. The cause was worth it, but the cost would weigh all the same on me), and gestured at the doors and upwards. "We No Make Meanies Into Good Ones." He paused, his three brain cells whirring away as they dissected the sentence before seeking comprehension of each word until they agreed on what they probably meant put together once more. "We Must Hurt Mean Ones Until They Stop Moving. They Hurt Us Too Much. They Hurt You Too Much," I did my best to remind and guide his gentle soul, a hurt and glint of sadness appearing within his eyes.
"But...No Hurt...Littl' Un's..." Grom spoke, tears welling in his eyes as his lower lip quivered, sadness emanating from his large frame. Several nearby Ogryns noticed his sorrow and touched his shoulders and back in silent solidarity, none understanding the cause of their leader's sadness.
"And You Won't. But Mean Ones Hurt All. They No Hurt All If We Stop Them," I argued gently as other ears and heads turned to me, humans and mutants alike watching the big Ogryn on the verge of crying and me talking to him with mixed emotions, but most were profoundly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Me too.
Grom looked at me a moment longer, lip quivering, before he sniffed. A grimace of sad anger appeared on his face, straightening as he used one arm to wipe away snot and tears. "We Protect Littl' Un's," he declared with conviction, taking his Beatin' Stick into both hands. "Mean Ones Will Hurt Friends No More. We Make Sure Of It!" He bellowed, having turned around to yell at the gaggle of Ogryns that had trickled in behind him with the general flood of other fighters who had destroyed all resistance in their sectors of the station. A roar of agreement answered him, though more than a few only screamed because the others were screaming, and I could see some slightly confused laborers join as well, probably thinking some speech had concluded. Then he turned around once more, determination written on his face. "We Hurt Mean Ones Now? Charge First?" He asked. Another dagger of guilt. So simple, yet always so eager to shelter those weaker than them, willing to risk life and limb at a moment's notice. They were better than all of us.
I opened my mouth:
[] "No. The Avenger Will Kill Them All."
[Dogmatic] - No more words needed to be said, as a blinding light shone from the windows into the void, its brilliance causing more than one soldier to avert their eyes in pain and surprise, missing the show that unfolded before their very eyes. The beam of light hit the tower, splashing against the shield bubble that surrounded it...before punching through, melting armor plating, interior plating, and then beings far too weak to resist the energies being thrown at them, before striking interior plating again before making its exit through armor plating before spluttering out. An ignoble end, a fast end, the first deserved for their crimes, the latter serving those who would have died in the storming of the tower.
(Greatest Asset: The skeleton of an Avenger-Class Grand Cruiser slowly rusts within the shipyard you managed to liberate, though the venerable ship may once again be called into service for Humanity and the Star Child if you dedicate a century of time and resources to do so. However, most weapons and many systems have already been butchered for parts and materials, so comprehensive refits must occur.)
[] "Yes. The Celestial Choir Shall See Us Through."
[Iconoclastic - Votary] - "And we shall," a voice of gentle fire spoke, heads turning to look at its speaker, seeing a hideously mutated woman clad in white and gold robes walk unbowed and ahead of four others garbed the same. Legs not human but bent backward, feet not even a mockery of the human form but fully animal, white fur covering every patch of where her skin should have shown, with a head twisted to appear like an abhuman's or a Xenos one, with large furred antenna-like ears atop her head. And yet, though mutated beyond saving in the eyes of the Imperium, the people here bowed and prayed, for the mutant led those able to channel the gifts of the Star Child against the corrupting powers of Chaos. With song on their lips, they had woven a new covenant to shield the faithful; with hymns in their hearts, they had seen hundreds saved from withering fire in that first critical rising and, in litanies of prayer, screamed, saw tired arms rise in strength once more. The Celestial Choir was the hope of all who could not fight on their own, for their sermon shall see them fight beyond their body's means and die for naught but the cause when it was their time and the foe too large to overcome with faith and zeal alone. "Hallowed are the Martyrs," the group began to pray, eyes lighting up with white light of steadying serenity, "for they shall serve the Child before it is born," they all said as one.
(Greatest Asset: The Celestial Choir is a group of five psykers, led by the Mutant Bnuy, united in faith and power, having created a mutualistic dependency and bulwark with each other against the Horrors of the Warp. With faith in their hearts and souls, they pray and channel their powers through the nascent Star Child, providing Sanctified protection against enemies, mundane and not, and maybe even a means to communicate beyond the range of Vox-systems should you fail to capture sanctified psykers consistently for communication beyond a single system.
Upgrades Trait: A Hand to Hold the Candle, A Mouth to Sing the Hymns - All your people are passively resistant to Minor Chaos Corruption (Low-Powered Chaos Sigils, Safe Warp Travel, Nightmare Visions). This can be upgraded.)
[] "Let Team Alpha Take The Lead."
[Heretical] - A trio of thumps echoed out, the buzzing hiss of machinery angrily hissing at its use piercing through the ears of all present, eyes turning to look at the tall machines that slowly stalked forward, bristling fins of metal and sharp edges cutting through the air of silence echoing out from them, their weapons glinting with malevolence in the light of the tall doors barring our way into the sanctum of the Magi. Autocannons twitching to be used in one hand, large swords emanating waves of heat from their burning surface in the other, heads fashioned akin to roaring flesh-beasts of forgotten Terra as told by the one who allowed us to rise against the Dark Priests. And within these machines were three pilots, fury and offense against those who dared to hide now of all times warring with anger and righteous zeal to end what should be done with one last charge against the dark.
(Greatest Asset: For reasons you do not care to investigate, the Dark Magi of the station managed to get their hands on Xenotech and reverse-engineered the tall suits of tan power armor instead of destroying them like they did to so many other technologies like them. Yet, what they failed to account for is that you could spy on them and create your own suits, if ramshackle ones for now, and they shall provide the hammer to your anvil. However, any Imperial faction that witnesses these suits will, rightfully, tattle on you to their higher-ups and get you shot at first sight thereafter.)
Silently accepting the pants someone gave me, I quickly slipped them over the ruined ones (more ablative armor would always do me good, especially here) before addressing Grom as I looked around at the ever-growing assembly of those who had risen with me against the Dark Mechanicus in a bid for freedom. Unluckily for me, venerable Dreadnought Chyron would be unable to join us in this final stretch against the enemy, needing to tend to the container of Gene-Seed he had hidden away as a desperate strike of the Soul Grinder had come far too close to destroying it for his comfort. However, he promised aid in future fights, but his Chapter needed him to safeguard their future now, not later.
"Grom," I seriously said as he began to kneel, looking the big Ogryn into his eyes (they lit up with childish glee at the fact that I remembered his name, and one more dagger of guilt stabbed into my soul. The cause was worth it, but the cost would weigh all the same on me), and gestured at the doors and upwards. "We No Make Meanies Into Good Ones." He paused, his three brain cells whirring away as they dissected the sentence before seeking comprehension of each word until they agreed on what they probably meant put together once more. "We Must Hurt Mean Ones Until They Stop Moving. They Hurt Us Too Much. They Hurt You Too Much," I did my best to remind and guide his gentle soul, a hurt and glint of sadness appearing within his eyes.
"But...No Hurt...Littl' Un's..." Grom spoke, tears welling in his eyes as his lower lip quivered, sadness emanating from his large frame. Several nearby Ogryns noticed his sorrow and touched his shoulders and back in silent solidarity, none understanding the cause of their leader's sadness.
"And You Won't. But Mean Ones Hurt All. They No Hurt All If We Stop Them," I argued gently as other ears and heads turned to me, humans and mutants alike watching the big Ogryn on the verge of crying and me talking to him with mixed emotions, but most were profoundly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Me too.
Grom looked at me a moment longer, lip quivering, before he sniffed. A grimace of sad anger appeared on his face, straightening as he used one arm to wipe away snot and tears. "We Protect Littl' Un's," he declared with conviction, taking his Beatin' Stick into both hands. "Mean Ones Will Hurt Friends No More. We Make Sure Of It!" He bellowed, having turned around to yell at the gaggle of Ogryns that had trickled in behind him with the general flood of other fighters who had destroyed all resistance in their sectors of the station. A roar of agreement answered him, though more than a few only screamed because the others were screaming, and I could see some slightly confused laborers join as well, probably thinking some speech had concluded. Then he turned around once more, determination written on his face. "We Hurt Mean Ones Now? Charge First?" He asked. Another dagger of guilt. So simple, yet always so eager to shelter those weaker than them, willing to risk life and limb at a moment's notice. They were better than all of us.
I opened my mouth:
[] "No. The Avenger Will Kill Them All."
[Dogmatic] - No more words needed to be said, as a blinding light shone from the windows into the void, its brilliance causing more than one soldier to avert their eyes in pain and surprise, missing the show that unfolded before their very eyes. The beam of light hit the tower, splashing against the shield bubble that surrounded it...before punching through, melting armor plating, interior plating, and then beings far too weak to resist the energies being thrown at them, before striking interior plating again before making its exit through armor plating before spluttering out. An ignoble end, a fast end, the first deserved for their crimes, the latter serving those who would have died in the storming of the tower.
(Greatest Asset: The skeleton of an Avenger-Class Grand Cruiser slowly rusts within the shipyard you managed to liberate, though the venerable ship may once again be called into service for Humanity and the Star Child if you dedicate a century of time and resources to do so. However, most weapons and many systems have already been butchered for parts and materials, so comprehensive refits must occur.)
[] "Yes. The Celestial Choir Shall See Us Through."
[Iconoclastic - Votary] - "And we shall," a voice of gentle fire spoke, heads turning to look at its speaker, seeing a hideously mutated woman clad in white and gold robes walk unbowed and ahead of four others garbed the same. Legs not human but bent backward, feet not even a mockery of the human form but fully animal, white fur covering every patch of where her skin should have shown, with a head twisted to appear like an abhuman's or a Xenos one, with large furred antenna-like ears atop her head. And yet, though mutated beyond saving in the eyes of the Imperium, the people here bowed and prayed, for the mutant led those able to channel the gifts of the Star Child against the corrupting powers of Chaos. With song on their lips, they had woven a new covenant to shield the faithful; with hymns in their hearts, they had seen hundreds saved from withering fire in that first critical rising and, in litanies of prayer, screamed, saw tired arms rise in strength once more. The Celestial Choir was the hope of all who could not fight on their own, for their sermon shall see them fight beyond their body's means and die for naught but the cause when it was their time and the foe too large to overcome with faith and zeal alone. "Hallowed are the Martyrs," the group began to pray, eyes lighting up with white light of steadying serenity, "for they shall serve the Child before it is born," they all said as one.
(Greatest Asset: The Celestial Choir is a group of five psykers, led by the Mutant Bnuy, united in faith and power, having created a mutualistic dependency and bulwark with each other against the Horrors of the Warp. With faith in their hearts and souls, they pray and channel their powers through the nascent Star Child, providing Sanctified protection against enemies, mundane and not, and maybe even a means to communicate beyond the range of Vox-systems should you fail to capture sanctified psykers consistently for communication beyond a single system.
Upgrades Trait: A Hand to Hold the Candle, A Mouth to Sing the Hymns - All your people are passively resistant to Minor Chaos Corruption (Low-Powered Chaos Sigils, Safe Warp Travel, Nightmare Visions). This can be upgraded.)
[] "Let Team Alpha Take The Lead."
[Heretical] - A trio of thumps echoed out, the buzzing hiss of machinery angrily hissing at its use piercing through the ears of all present, eyes turning to look at the tall machines that slowly stalked forward, bristling fins of metal and sharp edges cutting through the air of silence echoing out from them, their weapons glinting with malevolence in the light of the tall doors barring our way into the sanctum of the Magi. Autocannons twitching to be used in one hand, large swords emanating waves of heat from their burning surface in the other, heads fashioned akin to roaring flesh-beasts of forgotten Terra as told by the one who allowed us to rise against the Dark Priests. And within these machines were three pilots, fury and offense against those who dared to hide now of all times warring with anger and righteous zeal to end what should be done with one last charge against the dark.
(Greatest Asset: For reasons you do not care to investigate, the Dark Magi of the station managed to get their hands on Xenotech and reverse-engineered the tall suits of tan power armor instead of destroying them like they did to so many other technologies like them. Yet, what they failed to account for is that you could spy on them and create your own suits, if ramshackle ones for now, and they shall provide the hammer to your anvil. However, any Imperial faction that witnesses these suits will, rightfully, tattle on you to their higher-ups and get you shot at first sight thereafter.)
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
...wait, didn't the Lamenters win by, like, a lot?