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The Long Founding (Warhammer 40k)

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An Isekai Part 2
  • Apocrypha


    • Reincarnated as Techpriest, My boss is an overworked badass.​


    Chapter 2: My boss is moe when drunk; I should have stay silent *Screams in drowning in paperwork*​

    I am in heaven, Omnisiash preserves bossman; I will fight that poor nailed bastard in melee for him. Let me ask you?

    Did you pull a muscle in your life or have cramps? Did you sleep on your arm, and it went numb? An annoying pebble in your shoe? Did you step up on Lego (which surprisingly survived until heresy; the STC producing it is currently missing) with bare feet? Did you find sand annoying, coarse and rough and getting everywhere? Did you stub your toe on your furniture? Did you forget to bring snacks for your tabletop group and were punished by the dice by stepping on metal d4?

    If you did any of those things, you know how I felt in hindsight in about 58% of my body because by the Emperor, getting finetuning from boss Grimm during our travel to Fenris made my life so much less miserable. My dysmorphia is as good as gone! I am a new Cog-girl! PRAISE THE FUCKING OMNISIASH!!!

    Anyway, aside from fixing me and teaching my sorry fake ass how to do proper self-maintenance and tricks that we tech-priests who are not obsessed with turning into discount men of iron (his words, not mine) should do, Boss Grimm was busy checking the credentials of trainers for the newest chapter that will help Ultramarines keep Realm of Ultramar well less broken.

    Meanwhile, I was looking through the notes my seniors left me with, looking at which forge world in the local area can provide what, apparently boss deems dealing with other techpriests to his minions a good training... which is why one of boss's bodies is looking over my shoulder, so there is that; I think that I was doing alright given that he only grunted three times over the long-ish journey to fenris.

    This brings me to today as I am debating if I should drink poison that space wolves call alcohol because, unlike everyone else getting smashed here, my liver replacement is, in comparison, barely above average. Also, sidenote but Fenris is fucking cold, and I got into a fistfight with a wolf on the way to the Fang. I, thanks to my paranoia about the parasite noticing my meta-knowledge, somehow won... after 20 minutes fighting in the snow so cold Napoleon would call retreat from Moscow a sunny summer retreat.

    And Grimm and Spacewolves scouts saw it all. At least I got a giant wolf coat out of it.

    Anyway, the point is Spacewolves seem to love my boss, and I made an alright first impression, so I was allowed to join them all in the evening for the feast. So here I am, staring death in the face once more. But at least the boss is chill like I was not expecting him to be a calm drunk type, but he achieved zen and unity with the motive force. Which is especially funny when some post-heresy recruits invited him to an arm wrestling match, and he calmly kicked their asses so hard that I heard Russ fall from his throne from laughing; it stopped being fun for me when said recruit scouts decided that I would be a good target to play with. I saw the writing on the wall. I would either find something I could beat them in, or I would become a dog chew toy.

    And so I won the axe throwing challenge, how you ask? I am trained myself to be able to throw anything with precision at anything with barest time to aim, because close contact with the great enemy? I think ducking no.

    This was also a mistake because everyone forgot that I am not my boss or a spacemarine to drink this alchemic concoction of pure drunkness.

    "Eh, are you scared, lassie?" I am so fucked, please body don't turn around, don't turn around don't turn "Not at all Lord Russ." DAMN IT.

    "It just, that I never consumed quality drink before." I am about to die, because I refuse to back down with wolf man supreme looking over my shoulder with Grimm hanging off his shoulder. I love my eye with recorder; did I forget to mention it before? Oh well, it's not like I have free time to gossip.

    I took the mug and
    I forgot what happened next, but recording eye to the rescue. Or rather, to my eternal humiliation because I am apparently crying drunk.
    I basically spent next 3 hours crying over all the cool lost tech from DAOT (THE PEOPLE WERE USING STATIS CHAMBERS AS FUCKING LUNCH BOXES), that I was late two years from my parent funeral because of work, that I missed my sister dying in childbirth because the supply fleet with medicine was lost in the warp, about the fact that Terra looks fucking awful, because where the fuck the oceans went and the flora&fauna that did not want to murder you like you were a traitor during scouring, about not getting to meet the glorious Hawkboi (everyone stopped pitying me for a moment then and gave a chuckle about "my" nickname for the father of Blood Angels) and about those fucking idiots who can't be bothered with proper mentiannce is it so hard to care for machine's spirit body and not only its mood. This went for a while.

    I apparently also managed to spread this to Russ, who apparently is in starting phase of GW telling every loyalist primarchs to fuck off the setting. He went from crying about his brother Guliman (to which my drunk fake ass told him that he would probably get better... probably no later than 10k years), about the civilians he couldn't save and then there was the elephant in the room, the fucking Horus Heresy drama. My boss and I apparently managed to smack him on the head for bringing up the HH because it was not his fault; it was all because of that fucker Erebus. He probably even stole his name!

    "Fuck Erebus" chanting that followed apparently caused an avalanche, but it was so worth it.

    Which caused me to switch from depressing crying to happy crying and gushing about my nieces and how the contrast between the boss's normal Grimm demeanour and his drunk self was cute as fuck. This turn up to be a mistake... again.

    This brings me to my current 2 months in the archives looking through the 57395404658 letters to my boss Grimm, some of which date as far back as starting of the Long Founding (ah, so that's the name of the shit we work for), until the 3 days from now. I fucking hate Warhammer paperwork, fucking great enemy plot to start a rebellion against the Man of Iron or stupid ancestors who didn't watch Terminator.

    Anyway, sorting through this stuff is driving me up the wall, literally after I read some Inqiustor that lost too many brain cells proposing to do a hybrid gene-seed of Blood Angels, Night Lords, Iron Hands and Luna Wolves just to see what happens and screaming many profanities in low and high gothic, binaric and languages from my previous life that I am pretty sure are extinct now and the (thankfully) unsorted stack of papers caused a wave that knocked me out.

    Which brings me to this moment reading the read report that one of my seniors (who I later learn lost his memory after setping on Unexploded ordnance while they were on their way to tell grimm about this) telling boss that forge world in middle of nowhere sector found STC prints out for the terminator armour. I am probably going to either be free from this paper torment or at least get a fellow prisoner to work with.
    Glory to the Omnisiash!
     
    Last edited:
  • Apocrypha
    • MagusBlack said:
    Can she please become canon to the quest?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I very much doubt, but I will try to keep it not non-canon aside from her telling Grimm about Guliman early (if she exists in canon, I think that she shared the fate of her seniors and got punished by mail sorting just without luck of flood of unsorted mail, so she found for after two years, not two months of searching.)
     
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