Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
As sad as it is to admit it I'd rather lose Drago.
Jane grants us a ton of boni, Drago also, but not as many.
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The Long Night Part One: Embers in the Dusk: A Planetary Governor Quest (43k) Complete Sequel Up
- Thread starter Durin
- Start date
Jane grants us a ton of boni, Drago also, but not as many.
- Location
- Australia
Correction: the Emperor isn't the avatar of the Omnissiah, he is the Omnissiah. The Omnissiah is the avatar of the Machine God.
On the subject of animals actively helping us, they didn't. durin said that they merely ignored us while they killed daemons. Gnaw Worms burrowed through our walls to get at the daemons.
@durin, can we expect Avernites to be stronger willed on average from now on? Many of those weak of willed died during the incursion, leaving those with stronger wills alive.
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Hmm... Jane isn't anywhere right now.
So... Aridia, Everglades, and Esyluim are left.
So... Psyker Hunting Omakes?
So... Aridia, Everglades, and Esyluim are left.
So... Psyker Hunting Omakes?
Lexicanum says otherwise. Machine God = Omnissiah = Deus Mechanicus. It's all the same. The Emperor is stated to be the physical manifestation.
Some did, some didn't. It varied by species. For example, the big phase-lion explicitly went out of it's way to help the Phase-Tigers and Agani.
Other things, like the Deep Ones, gave no fucks about collateral damage and killed hundreds of millions of civilians along with the daemons.
Like I said, I had her in the Fens in my omake, which is a good place to write her as being in if we want to keep her safe - it's an upgraded hive and is far south so will have less daemons to deal with.
Symphony of Destruction (or Tamia Jameson and the Asshole Daemons)
- Location
- Berkeley
So, Salem's pretty north for what we've got left. Thus, another Tamia omake. Has nothing to do with any other reasons, no siree.
Symphony of Destruction (or Tamia Jameson and the Asshole Daemons)
Despite the overall grim mood of the city, Tamia Jameson was feeling almost giddy. And not almost giddy in the fallen-to-Slaanesh way, either. No, she, as an elite Primaris psyker, was better than that. True, the pressure from the Warp was significantly higher than usual, but her will was like Adamantium. All hard and strong and stuff. Plus, over the last week or so, she had acclimated somewhat to the new level of pressure. There was nothing like being pushed to the ragged edge of one's limits to encourage growth and adaptation. That was practically the unofficial motto of Avernus, after all.
The reason? It had been almost four whole hours since the last crisis that demanded her attention and immediate action. She had gotten to sleep, eat, take a shower, and was now going to spend some time cleaning her armor so it didn't look and smell like she'd spent the last three days in a charnel house with it on, doing heavy exercise. While the charnel house was on fire. Nothing could bring her mood down!
It was funny, she mused, how much perspective changed things. Less than two weeks ago the idea of being almost ecstatic about a four hour break was all but inconceivable. Sure, she worked hard--what real Avernite didn't?--but basic things like rest and meals had never really been an issue. After all, going all out all the time was completely unsustainable in the long term, and despite their reputation centering more on alertness, hair-trigger reactions, and impeccable (and largely incomprehensible to outsiders) tactics, Avernites also cultivated a very high level of long-term planning. Surviving the day meant nothing if you weren't going to make the month, after all.
Still, she thought, there might be something to be said for going all out every once in a while. It might be because as a Beta level psyker, she got so few opportunities to push her limits, or because of the ease with which more power could be drawn from the Warp due to the Incursion, but right now she was doing things routinely that that she had never even considered possible before. Necessity was the mother of invention, as the saying went, and she had ample quantities of that recently.
Breaking her out of her musing, and, unfortunately, her good mood, was a messenger. For some reason, communications had been unreliable these past few days for reaching into her warded room--personally, she blamed random warp-fuckery. It was surprising to outsiders just how many things well trained high level psykers ended up blaming on that. Just a glance at his face (and a nearly instinctive read with her telepathy--after a fallen soldier had almost gotten her the second day, she took no risks there) confirmed that he was not there to tell her that today had been declared Tamia Jameson day and that that a party was being held in her honor, with Governor Rotbart in attendance, as he had just single-handedly driven back the invasion. No, whatever he was here to say had freaked him out--an impressive feat considering he was an Avernite. Although she supposed he would probably be freaked out if he had to deliver that message.
Apparently the daemons horde outside the city, not content to idly wait for the wildlife to kill it off, had begun to advance in earnest towards the walls. It had been decided that they believed they had gathered sufficient numbers at this point, despite the predations of the Titan Scorpions on them as they gathered. While command was fairly confident they would be able to hold the city, there was significant worry that the main goal at the moment was to lure the Titan Scorpions into making further breeches in the wall.
As the message was delivered, Tamia changed back into her dirty, stinky, smelly armor. Truly, the perfidy and cunning of the daemons knew no bounds. Not only were they trying to kill everyone and damn their souls for eternity, but they also had managed to throughly spoil her morning. For this, they would rue the day they had decided to invade Avernus! She would avenge herself upon them a thousand fold!
As she began moving towards the walls, she let those thoughts fall away. Slowly, a mask of serenity formed on her face, and the air surrounding her began to lightly hum in tune with her graceful yet deliberate steps. Truly, she wished she had discovered the connection between music and her powers before--although it did not compare to the effect it had upon siren song, she had found over this trying week that she could substantially improve her control, and marginally improve the strength, of her powers by tying them into music in her mind. Rather than harnessing and forcing them as raw and rebellious power, it seemed as if the power itself understood and complied with the intent of each action, and rather than wasting much of her strength trying to corral it she could let it flow.
Stepping lightly, she reached to observation post at the top of the wall, and lifted her staff as a conductor's baton. Although she had yet to try it on this scale, she felt a bone-deep certainty that it would work. In response to her signal, large quantities of incendiaries were launched into the horde below. Though she could easily pull enormous quantities of fire from the warp alone, especially with it as close as it was now, every little bit helped. Plus, Gerald's look when a psyker decided to ignore easy ways to augment their power like that was really uncomfortable.
As they fell, she closed her eyes and prepared to draw more deeply upon the Warp than she had ever done before. Upon their landing, her eyes opened, and she released. Hotter than mere physics could explain, the fire responded to her will, sweeping through the daemons below, dancing to the music she created for it in her mind. Lesser daemons expired in hundreds and thousands, before they even had time to understand they were under attack as the flames moved through their ranks. Their more powerful brethren, both seeing and understanding the severity of the attack, used their minds to seek her out, hoping to end it by destroying her. But the fire was her mind, her soul, and their attempts to assault it did nothing but grant it another angle to attack them. More and more the conflagration grew, burning hotter and hotter, as she directed the symphony of destruction moving her staff and body to the rhythm she felt in her bones.
Soon, nothing was left of the attacking waves but slowly dissipating ashes, and, almost reluctantly, she released the flames from her guidance, letting them die down. Eventually, all that would remain of that song would be memories and fields of glass, slowly cooling.
Turning, she saw many of the soldiers looking upon her with awe. Taking advantage of their hesitation, she spoke to them. "Excellent, looks like these waves are done for. In the mean time, I'm going to grab a bite and catch some sleep. Later."
With that, she left, quickly walking towards her quarters. If she was lucky, this time she'd have time to clean her armor before some asshole daemons managed to screw things up enough that they needed her help.
Symphony of Destruction (or Tamia Jameson and the Asshole Daemons)
Despite the overall grim mood of the city, Tamia Jameson was feeling almost giddy. And not almost giddy in the fallen-to-Slaanesh way, either. No, she, as an elite Primaris psyker, was better than that. True, the pressure from the Warp was significantly higher than usual, but her will was like Adamantium. All hard and strong and stuff. Plus, over the last week or so, she had acclimated somewhat to the new level of pressure. There was nothing like being pushed to the ragged edge of one's limits to encourage growth and adaptation. That was practically the unofficial motto of Avernus, after all.
The reason? It had been almost four whole hours since the last crisis that demanded her attention and immediate action. She had gotten to sleep, eat, take a shower, and was now going to spend some time cleaning her armor so it didn't look and smell like she'd spent the last three days in a charnel house with it on, doing heavy exercise. While the charnel house was on fire. Nothing could bring her mood down!
It was funny, she mused, how much perspective changed things. Less than two weeks ago the idea of being almost ecstatic about a four hour break was all but inconceivable. Sure, she worked hard--what real Avernite didn't?--but basic things like rest and meals had never really been an issue. After all, going all out all the time was completely unsustainable in the long term, and despite their reputation centering more on alertness, hair-trigger reactions, and impeccable (and largely incomprehensible to outsiders) tactics, Avernites also cultivated a very high level of long-term planning. Surviving the day meant nothing if you weren't going to make the month, after all.
Still, she thought, there might be something to be said for going all out every once in a while. It might be because as a Beta level psyker, she got so few opportunities to push her limits, or because of the ease with which more power could be drawn from the Warp due to the Incursion, but right now she was doing things routinely that that she had never even considered possible before. Necessity was the mother of invention, as the saying went, and she had ample quantities of that recently.
Breaking her out of her musing, and, unfortunately, her good mood, was a messenger. For some reason, communications had been unreliable these past few days for reaching into her warded room--personally, she blamed random warp-fuckery. It was surprising to outsiders just how many things well trained high level psykers ended up blaming on that. Just a glance at his face (and a nearly instinctive read with her telepathy--after a fallen soldier had almost gotten her the second day, she took no risks there) confirmed that he was not there to tell her that today had been declared Tamia Jameson day and that that a party was being held in her honor, with Governor Rotbart in attendance, as he had just single-handedly driven back the invasion. No, whatever he was here to say had freaked him out--an impressive feat considering he was an Avernite. Although she supposed he would probably be freaked out if he had to deliver that message.
Apparently the daemons horde outside the city, not content to idly wait for the wildlife to kill it off, had begun to advance in earnest towards the walls. It had been decided that they believed they had gathered sufficient numbers at this point, despite the predations of the Titan Scorpions on them as they gathered. While command was fairly confident they would be able to hold the city, there was significant worry that the main goal at the moment was to lure the Titan Scorpions into making further breeches in the wall.
As the message was delivered, Tamia changed back into her dirty, stinky, smelly armor. Truly, the perfidy and cunning of the daemons knew no bounds. Not only were they trying to kill everyone and damn their souls for eternity, but they also had managed to throughly spoil her morning. For this, they would rue the day they had decided to invade Avernus! She would avenge herself upon them a thousand fold!
As she began moving towards the walls, she let those thoughts fall away. Slowly, a mask of serenity formed on her face, and the air surrounding her began to lightly hum in tune with her graceful yet deliberate steps. Truly, she wished she had discovered the connection between music and her powers before--although it did not compare to the effect it had upon siren song, she had found over this trying week that she could substantially improve her control, and marginally improve the strength, of her powers by tying them into music in her mind. Rather than harnessing and forcing them as raw and rebellious power, it seemed as if the power itself understood and complied with the intent of each action, and rather than wasting much of her strength trying to corral it she could let it flow.
Stepping lightly, she reached to observation post at the top of the wall, and lifted her staff as a conductor's baton. Although she had yet to try it on this scale, she felt a bone-deep certainty that it would work. In response to her signal, large quantities of incendiaries were launched into the horde below. Though she could easily pull enormous quantities of fire from the warp alone, especially with it as close as it was now, every little bit helped. Plus, Gerald's look when a psyker decided to ignore easy ways to augment their power like that was really uncomfortable.
As they fell, she closed her eyes and prepared to draw more deeply upon the Warp than she had ever done before. Upon their landing, her eyes opened, and she released. Hotter than mere physics could explain, the fire responded to her will, sweeping through the daemons below, dancing to the music she created for it in her mind. Lesser daemons expired in hundreds and thousands, before they even had time to understand they were under attack as the flames moved through their ranks. Their more powerful brethren, both seeing and understanding the severity of the attack, used their minds to seek her out, hoping to end it by destroying her. But the fire was her mind, her soul, and their attempts to assault it did nothing but grant it another angle to attack them. More and more the conflagration grew, burning hotter and hotter, as she directed the symphony of destruction moving her staff and body to the rhythm she felt in her bones.
Soon, nothing was left of the attacking waves but slowly dissipating ashes, and, almost reluctantly, she released the flames from her guidance, letting them die down. Eventually, all that would remain of that song would be memories and fields of glass, slowly cooling.
Turning, she saw many of the soldiers looking upon her with awe. Taking advantage of their hesitation, she spoke to them. "Excellent, looks like these waves are done for. In the mean time, I'm going to grab a bite and catch some sleep. Later."
With that, she left, quickly walking towards her quarters. If she was lucky, this time she'd have time to clean her armor before some asshole daemons managed to screw things up enough that they needed her help.
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- Location
- Spain
Well the most critical personnel that can still be killed are Jane and Drago.
Plans and Backups
- Location
- Berkeley
Oakheart Omake, with a side of cultist/psyker hunting. For reasons. She's in Salem for this one.
Plans and Backups
Jane Oakheart really hated this Emperor-damned incursion. She had been checking up on the cultist situation in Aridia—some reports had triggered a few flags that someone might have been trying to cover something up. Unlikely to be a high-level cultist infiltration, but when dealing with Chaos, it was infinitely better to be safe than sorry. More likely than not, either it had been a false positive or someone was trying to increase their funding by getting a larger anti-cult unit, but it never hurt to be sure.
On the 'safe' note, as a total coincidence she had scheduled her visit at the same time as an elite Primaris psyker was due to be in the area to look over locations for a possible Battle Psyker branch university, so she knew she had heavy backup should an absolute worst-case scenario happen. Despite being an amazing combatant, and quite sneaky should it prove necessary, Jane had no illusions about tackling big problems by herself. She survived and ensured Avernus' safety against internal threats by her wits, taking into account each threat, no matter how minor, and always having a backup plan to her backup plans. She had quickly determined there was a small amount of nepotism in the local branch, but before she had a chance to handle it and move on to the next potential crisis, an earthquake had hit and the skies had turned pink. An invasion had begun.
So here she was, stuck in Salem and totally cut off, while Emperor-knows what was going on in the rest of Avernus. Fortunately, she had trained every city to exhaustion in the past, ensuring that they could keep up with the demands of psyker hunting and cult suppression even when cut off, but it aggravated her to no end that for what was likely to be the largest uprising of chaos psykers and cultists, she was cut off from the bulk of the population and unable to personally coordinate efforts.
Still, it wasn't like this place lacked in problems for her to solve while she waited for communications to open up. She left the daemons outside to the army—she was deadly, she was a more than reasonable commander of men, and she knew daemons from her extensive experience hunting psykers, but she had other things to focus on right now. Specifically, she had to simultaneously lead the Arbites against the spontaneous cultist uprisings and chaotic psykers the Incursion had caused while she coordinated with the army for the needed forces to handle the sheer numbers, all the while purging the corrupted from the ranks.
The Elite Primaris, Jameson, had been an enormous help on that front, during those first crazy days. Normally, Oakheart wasn't a big fan of hers—she was a bit too whimsical and flighty, most of the time, in Oakheart's opinion, and she disliked most powerful psykers more or less on principal if they hadn't proven themselves—but she had really stepped up to the situation, and seemed to be able to drop from whimsical to all business when it was serious. Or, rarely, be whimsical but also very, very effective at the same time, which was excusable. She would have to ask Xavier and Ridcully to keep an eye on her development. Maybe also give her some training with the staff as well as investigative training so she could monitor her some more. That is, as long as they were alive at the end of this. That thought always put a damper on her plans.
Fortunately, things had settled down a bit. Most of the weak-willed and unusually vulnerable had fallen in the beginning, and through her careful leadership and the hard work of the forces under her those had been identified and exterminated. They were able to keep up with the slow trickle of those that had fallen since then, and they did have an elite primaris to call upon in the city if she stumbled over a particularly dangerous chaos psyker—something she rarely had under normal circumstances. Of course there had been several attempts on her life—she was in charge of hunting them down, and they knew it—but between her skills in stealth, her tricky nature, her incredible combat ability, and, when relevant, her experience hunting down psykers, she had been able to cope with each attack so far.
So now, here she was, in the situation room for once. As the tide here had been stemmed, her duty now was to prepare ideas, orders and contingencies for when contact opened up with the rest of Avernus. She would ensure that they were protected from within, after all, so others could better focus on external threats. It was her job, her duty, her life.
Plans and Backups
Jane Oakheart really hated this Emperor-damned incursion. She had been checking up on the cultist situation in Aridia—some reports had triggered a few flags that someone might have been trying to cover something up. Unlikely to be a high-level cultist infiltration, but when dealing with Chaos, it was infinitely better to be safe than sorry. More likely than not, either it had been a false positive or someone was trying to increase their funding by getting a larger anti-cult unit, but it never hurt to be sure.
On the 'safe' note, as a total coincidence she had scheduled her visit at the same time as an elite Primaris psyker was due to be in the area to look over locations for a possible Battle Psyker branch university, so she knew she had heavy backup should an absolute worst-case scenario happen. Despite being an amazing combatant, and quite sneaky should it prove necessary, Jane had no illusions about tackling big problems by herself. She survived and ensured Avernus' safety against internal threats by her wits, taking into account each threat, no matter how minor, and always having a backup plan to her backup plans. She had quickly determined there was a small amount of nepotism in the local branch, but before she had a chance to handle it and move on to the next potential crisis, an earthquake had hit and the skies had turned pink. An invasion had begun.
So here she was, stuck in Salem and totally cut off, while Emperor-knows what was going on in the rest of Avernus. Fortunately, she had trained every city to exhaustion in the past, ensuring that they could keep up with the demands of psyker hunting and cult suppression even when cut off, but it aggravated her to no end that for what was likely to be the largest uprising of chaos psykers and cultists, she was cut off from the bulk of the population and unable to personally coordinate efforts.
Still, it wasn't like this place lacked in problems for her to solve while she waited for communications to open up. She left the daemons outside to the army—she was deadly, she was a more than reasonable commander of men, and she knew daemons from her extensive experience hunting psykers, but she had other things to focus on right now. Specifically, she had to simultaneously lead the Arbites against the spontaneous cultist uprisings and chaotic psykers the Incursion had caused while she coordinated with the army for the needed forces to handle the sheer numbers, all the while purging the corrupted from the ranks.
The Elite Primaris, Jameson, had been an enormous help on that front, during those first crazy days. Normally, Oakheart wasn't a big fan of hers—she was a bit too whimsical and flighty, most of the time, in Oakheart's opinion, and she disliked most powerful psykers more or less on principal if they hadn't proven themselves—but she had really stepped up to the situation, and seemed to be able to drop from whimsical to all business when it was serious. Or, rarely, be whimsical but also very, very effective at the same time, which was excusable. She would have to ask Xavier and Ridcully to keep an eye on her development. Maybe also give her some training with the staff as well as investigative training so she could monitor her some more. That is, as long as they were alive at the end of this. That thought always put a damper on her plans.
Fortunately, things had settled down a bit. Most of the weak-willed and unusually vulnerable had fallen in the beginning, and through her careful leadership and the hard work of the forces under her those had been identified and exterminated. They were able to keep up with the slow trickle of those that had fallen since then, and they did have an elite primaris to call upon in the city if she stumbled over a particularly dangerous chaos psyker—something she rarely had under normal circumstances. Of course there had been several attempts on her life—she was in charge of hunting them down, and they knew it—but between her skills in stealth, her tricky nature, her incredible combat ability, and, when relevant, her experience hunting down psykers, she had been able to cope with each attack so far.
So now, here she was, in the situation room for once. As the tide here had been stemmed, her duty now was to prepare ideas, orders and contingencies for when contact opened up with the rest of Avernus. She would ensure that they were protected from within, after all, so others could better focus on external threats. It was her job, her duty, her life.
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In the swamps
- Location
- England
I wanted to characterise some of our Orky natives.
In the swamps
Deep in the swamps of the fens, there was an Ork. Like most of the Orks of Averneus, this Ork was a happy Ork. He loved his fightin' and his killin' like any good Ork does, and life on Averneus had plenty of that.
This Ork, was also a rather Kunnin' Ork. He'd come to Averneus with Garkill as a meer yoof, barely bigger than a puny 'umie, and while most Orks on Averneus didn't live very long, this Ork was Kunnin' enough to not be waylaid by the dangers of the Fens.
His name was Guvnor Beauregit.
He had many boyz under him, who, it was fair to say were mostly good ladz, and he had many many Orky battlefans.
These battlefans were essentially a floating lump of scrap and shooters with a huge fan and an even bigger engine on the back.
One day, Guvnor Beauregit was smashing along the river in his battlefan when he noticed something.
"Wots this den y'all! Why in Gorks green names da sky crunked up!"
"Dunno Guvnor. Da weird boys just gonr pop doh."
"Wotzis?"
"Yeah, boss! Like a 'umies sky under ya boot! Puny heads, and wooden orks wiv' pins and grunk in em."
At this point, a daemon fell out the sky onto the second boy.
"Gental-orks, les' be sivil, none of youz getz crunked proppa less I say days get crunked. Or I'll crunk you proppa meself."
The other Ork was too busy being eaten to notice this sentence. Guvnor Beauregit pulled his shoota out. For an Ork weapon it was very elegant. It had a long bellshaped barrel, shined to perfection, and a seemingly well carved wooden stock. This effect was only slightly ruined by the assortment of spikes sticking out the barrel.
"Get crunked da bof' ya!" Beauregit fired, and a cloud of smoke and shrapnel surrounded the unfortunate boy and the daemons. As it cleared there was only a bloody mess.
Beauregit revved his battlefan, and called out to his remaining boyz, his instincts taking over.
"For da soufff!"
"Don't ya mean Waagh boss?"
"Er, yeah, dat! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!"
In the swamps
Deep in the swamps of the fens, there was an Ork. Like most of the Orks of Averneus, this Ork was a happy Ork. He loved his fightin' and his killin' like any good Ork does, and life on Averneus had plenty of that.
This Ork, was also a rather Kunnin' Ork. He'd come to Averneus with Garkill as a meer yoof, barely bigger than a puny 'umie, and while most Orks on Averneus didn't live very long, this Ork was Kunnin' enough to not be waylaid by the dangers of the Fens.
His name was Guvnor Beauregit.
He had many boyz under him, who, it was fair to say were mostly good ladz, and he had many many Orky battlefans.
These battlefans were essentially a floating lump of scrap and shooters with a huge fan and an even bigger engine on the back.
One day, Guvnor Beauregit was smashing along the river in his battlefan when he noticed something.
"Wots this den y'all! Why in Gorks green names da sky crunked up!"
"Dunno Guvnor. Da weird boys just gonr pop doh."
"Wotzis?"
"Yeah, boss! Like a 'umies sky under ya boot! Puny heads, and wooden orks wiv' pins and grunk in em."
At this point, a daemon fell out the sky onto the second boy.
"Gental-orks, les' be sivil, none of youz getz crunked proppa less I say days get crunked. Or I'll crunk you proppa meself."
The other Ork was too busy being eaten to notice this sentence. Guvnor Beauregit pulled his shoota out. For an Ork weapon it was very elegant. It had a long bellshaped barrel, shined to perfection, and a seemingly well carved wooden stock. This effect was only slightly ruined by the assortment of spikes sticking out the barrel.
"Get crunked da bof' ya!" Beauregit fired, and a cloud of smoke and shrapnel surrounded the unfortunate boy and the daemons. As it cleared there was only a bloody mess.
Beauregit revved his battlefan, and called out to his remaining boyz, his instincts taking over.
"For da soufff!"
"Don't ya mean Waagh boss?"
"Er, yeah, dat! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!"
GET YOUR BLOODY GREAT FEET OF MY LAWN
- Location
- Somewhere, Maybe
I by no means claim familiarity with Daemons or various levels of warpfuckery, but have a little mini-omake because the image got stuck in my head and wouldn't go away.
"JUST WHAT THE BLOODY BLUE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?"
Gehrak turned, ready to smite, a feral grin touching his stretched lips as he contemplated with glee the sensations he was about to bestow.
"GET YOUR BLOODY GREAT FEET OUT OF THE RAGWORT YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
He blinked. Confusion rippled through him for an instant. The being before him resembled that of a human mortal, but something in its keening whine of a voice (such succulent susurrations of sweet symphonic sound!) had an undertone that reminded him of--
"SCAT, YOU BLASTED INGRATE, BEFORE I TAN YOUR HIDE!"
He gritted his teeth, feeling their sharp edges grind against each other. He stepped forward, one great, plated hoof coming down right on a pile of soft loam, topped by a small spout of something insignificant.
The resulting keen from the mortal -finally- set off warning bells in his mind, just before his everything exploded into agony.
It was torture. It was bliss. it was tearing him appart, and he realized too late, that this must be what dying felt like.
"IT TOOK ME THREE BILLION YEARS TO GET THE ECOLOGY JUST RIGHT, GET YOU AND YOUR LITTLE SHITSTAIN FRIENDS OFF MY LAWN!"
To say that Hel was rather peevish about the outbreak of daemon-lice on her surface was putting it mildly.
"JUST WHAT THE BLOODY BLUE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?"
Gehrak turned, ready to smite, a feral grin touching his stretched lips as he contemplated with glee the sensations he was about to bestow.
"GET YOUR BLOODY GREAT FEET OUT OF THE RAGWORT YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
He blinked. Confusion rippled through him for an instant. The being before him resembled that of a human mortal, but something in its keening whine of a voice (such succulent susurrations of sweet symphonic sound!) had an undertone that reminded him of--
"SCAT, YOU BLASTED INGRATE, BEFORE I TAN YOUR HIDE!"
He gritted his teeth, feeling their sharp edges grind against each other. He stepped forward, one great, plated hoof coming down right on a pile of soft loam, topped by a small spout of something insignificant.
The resulting keen from the mortal -finally- set off warning bells in his mind, just before his everything exploded into agony.
It was torture. It was bliss. it was tearing him appart, and he realized too late, that this must be what dying felt like.
"IT TOOK ME THREE BILLION YEARS TO GET THE ECOLOGY JUST RIGHT, GET YOU AND YOUR LITTLE SHITSTAIN FRIENDS OFF MY LAWN!"
To say that Hel was rather peevish about the outbreak of daemon-lice on her surface was putting it mildly.
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- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
Old Faithful
- Location
- Berkeley
So, thought process here was Bombardment Cacti + Slaanesh daemons = ???
Old Faithful
As the regiment gathered near the base of the Bombardment Cacti locally known as Old Faithful, the feeling was desperate. The cactus, known as such for reliably firing its spines at any of the Titan Scorpions that actually posed a threat to the local forces, while at the same time not targeting any of their vehicles, was their rally point not because they hoped it would protect them from these chaos-spawn as it did the scorpions. No, while some hoped it would fire at them anyway, as the hatred local flora and fauna held for the touch of the Ruinous Powers was well known, it was selected because it was the most familiar ground they knew nearby for a last stand, and the towering height of Old Faithful was a comforting sight to many of the men. They knew they could not outpace the daemons to the city, so the best they could do was draw them off here and fight to their last breath, hoping that their sacrifice would allow those they served and loved to live.
Despite the hopelessness of the situation, the men and women of the regiment were calm and professional. This was not the first time they had faced death, and though they believed it would be the last, they were resolute. Though they might die today, Avernus would live on, and would avenge their deaths a thousand-fold. Plus, as long as they held, they could preemptively avenge their deaths too. Their lives would be sold dearly indeed.
As they began to dig in to the area, fortifying it as best they could against the inevitable attack, their scout elements announced that the horde had turned, and was now heading directly towards them. As they made their final preparations, the horde finally crossed the invisible line signifying the cactus' maximum range. Spike after spike was fired into the horde—it seemed that luck was with them, as there was no way the individual size of the daemons was enough to provoke the response. Heartened by the attempts made by Old Faithful to defend them once again, they prepared their weapons. For though the cactus continued to fire, a horde of this size could not be destroyed by its strikes.
Yet as the daemons began to approach closer, something odd happened. The rate of spikes being launched quickly tapered off, and there was sadness—perhaps Old Faithful had realized how impossible the situation was. But then the unexpected occurred. Atop the cactus, buds quickly formed, swelled, and bloomed, releasing clouds of pollen into the air.
As the clouds of pollen drifted into the terrible hordes of Slaanesh, their cohesion disappeared. Rather than continuing on to assault the humans, they turned upon each other, in an unspeakably foul display.
The regiment survived the Incursion intact, and continued to visit Old Faithful even when they did not need to use it to take out a particularly tenacious Scorpion. And while they accurately reported what they saw that day in the paperwork, they refused to speak of what happened for the rest of their lives unless they were very, very drunk.
Old Faithful
As the regiment gathered near the base of the Bombardment Cacti locally known as Old Faithful, the feeling was desperate. The cactus, known as such for reliably firing its spines at any of the Titan Scorpions that actually posed a threat to the local forces, while at the same time not targeting any of their vehicles, was their rally point not because they hoped it would protect them from these chaos-spawn as it did the scorpions. No, while some hoped it would fire at them anyway, as the hatred local flora and fauna held for the touch of the Ruinous Powers was well known, it was selected because it was the most familiar ground they knew nearby for a last stand, and the towering height of Old Faithful was a comforting sight to many of the men. They knew they could not outpace the daemons to the city, so the best they could do was draw them off here and fight to their last breath, hoping that their sacrifice would allow those they served and loved to live.
Despite the hopelessness of the situation, the men and women of the regiment were calm and professional. This was not the first time they had faced death, and though they believed it would be the last, they were resolute. Though they might die today, Avernus would live on, and would avenge their deaths a thousand-fold. Plus, as long as they held, they could preemptively avenge their deaths too. Their lives would be sold dearly indeed.
As they began to dig in to the area, fortifying it as best they could against the inevitable attack, their scout elements announced that the horde had turned, and was now heading directly towards them. As they made their final preparations, the horde finally crossed the invisible line signifying the cactus' maximum range. Spike after spike was fired into the horde—it seemed that luck was with them, as there was no way the individual size of the daemons was enough to provoke the response. Heartened by the attempts made by Old Faithful to defend them once again, they prepared their weapons. For though the cactus continued to fire, a horde of this size could not be destroyed by its strikes.
Yet as the daemons began to approach closer, something odd happened. The rate of spikes being launched quickly tapered off, and there was sadness—perhaps Old Faithful had realized how impossible the situation was. But then the unexpected occurred. Atop the cactus, buds quickly formed, swelled, and bloomed, releasing clouds of pollen into the air.
As the clouds of pollen drifted into the terrible hordes of Slaanesh, their cohesion disappeared. Rather than continuing on to assault the humans, they turned upon each other, in an unspeakably foul display.
The regiment survived the Incursion intact, and continued to visit Old Faithful even when they did not need to use it to take out a particularly tenacious Scorpion. And while they accurately reported what they saw that day in the paperwork, they refused to speak of what happened for the rest of their lives unless they were very, very drunk.
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- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
+5 to defence of Silver Lakes
canon, boost to Britton's posthumous popularity, destroyed Warlord Titan is repairable
+5 to Jane
potentially cannon d100=40 no
-1 Mechancus unrest
+5 to Tamia, +5 to defence of Salem
+5 to Jane, +5 to Witch Hunting where Jane is (The Fens)
+3 to rolls in The Fens
very funny
+1 to all city defences
+1 to all rolls in Aridia
- Location
- Berkeley
Have you assigned the bonus from University Finals to Jane yet too?
- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
- Location
- Spain
So how many bonuses Drago and Jane has?
- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
yes, you will
- Location
- madison
this is proably the most avanite thing i've ever read. Someone so utterly done with dealing with life's bullshit that they have found themselves literally incapable of giving a fuck.
Cat and Mouse
- Location
- Berkeley
So, I felt the need to omakeify Xavier's defeat of the daemon prince. I felt like rather than a bare victory, the reason he came close to death was more because of pushing too far. Maybe give a bonus to his roll for traits and/or making the daemon prince perma-dead in canon from this if you need my input for the bonus from this?
Cat and Mouse
Right now, Gerald Xavier was the calmest he had been in the past few days. Ever since Henry had been killed by those damn invaders, he had been having trouble keeping it together. In both a personal and professional sense, Henry had been a keystone of the defense. Henry's command ability, as well as encyclopedic knowledge of the resources they had available and amazing organizational skills, had allowed Xavier to focus almost entirely on tactical command and combat. On a personal level, Xavier had been very glad to be able to relax with one of the few people who didn't view him as essentially a demi-god and the right hand of Rotbart. One of the few people who he counted as family, like Syr, Frederick, and Mittens. But now not only did he lose that outlet from the constant stresses of combat and command, as well as a large margin of his flexibility in command duties, but he had the knowledge that his brother in all but name was dead haunting him whenever he tried to rest.
But now he was not resting. He was engaged in a deadly game of cat and mouse with a daemon prince, one of the greatest traitors to humanity in existence. His doubts and worries were faded, his mind engaged in this far more immediate struggle. It was never more engaging playing these games of cat and mouse than with another predator. He would say fellow predator, but he would never claim kinship to those foul beings who discarded their humanity and turned traitor for power.
In games like these, you never really knew who was cat and who was mouse. Oh, you might believe yourself to be the cat through the entire fight, but there could be no certainty. Many a daemon and chaotic psyker he had faced before this believed themselves to be the cat right up until their destruction, each dying with a surprised look upon their face as they realized that they had never been in control of the fight at all.
Had it been years ago, back when he had faced the so-called Angel of Betrayal, he had no doubt he would have been the mouse. He had been good, very good, but that fight had knocked the arrogance out of him before it could truly take root just as much as the intervening years had improved his skills. Now he knew that it was not immutable fact that one was the predator and one the prey. No, one lucky blow, one miscalculation, and fortunes would be flipped.
But still, right now he knew he was predator. The daemon prince believed him to have been finally trapped in illusion, and was even now preparing to move in and defeat him. But it had neglected his connection to Mittens—while it might have temporarily succeeded in ensnaring him, it had forgotten that he had an entirely separate viewpoint to draw upon, perhaps because he had been careful to avoid having Mittens make an appearance in this fight.
As he drew forward to end this charade and send this foul traitor to humanity and the Emperor back into the warp to beg forgiveness from its masters, however, everything changed. This, this THING dared to taunt him with the death of Henry? It DARED to disparage his memory, claim that it would hunt down his soul within the warp and take it?
No, simple disincorporation would never do for this THING. It would know pain, it would know fear, and it would know death. True death, the kind it had sought to evade with its betrayal of mankind. Drawing far more deeply upon his power than was safe, Xavier SLAMMED down upon the being's manifestation, holding it in place. Stalking forward, rage in his eyes and heart, he swung, dismembering it while burning it with fire strong enough that the wounds left could never regenerate. And then, once he saw the understanding and terror in its eyes, he pulled deeper still upon the warp and burned it down to its very soul, and then burned that. There would be no returning to the warp for this foul thing.
Turning back up, he saw the hordes the daemon prince had commanded, and he saw their fear. In his fury, just destroying their prince was no longer enough. So he turned his power outwards, and commanded them all to burn.
Some minutes later, Xavier came back to his senses. Here he was, exposed, exhausted, and vulnerable. Luckily, none had taken advantage of his slip—perhaps the daemons had been too eager to get away, or perhaps they had not noticed that he was exhausting himself and using levels of power that were dangerous even to him. Quickly, he gathered himself and returned to the heavily damaged university. It looked like they would be safe, a traitor to humanity had suffered final death, he had lived, and Henry was avenged. It was an acceptable result. But still, he chided himself not to lose himself to vengeance like that next time a person he cared about died. Or if he felt the need to do so again, at least not to be such a damn fool about it. Rotbart came far too close to losing both of his pseudo-sons to that daemon.
Cat and Mouse
Right now, Gerald Xavier was the calmest he had been in the past few days. Ever since Henry had been killed by those damn invaders, he had been having trouble keeping it together. In both a personal and professional sense, Henry had been a keystone of the defense. Henry's command ability, as well as encyclopedic knowledge of the resources they had available and amazing organizational skills, had allowed Xavier to focus almost entirely on tactical command and combat. On a personal level, Xavier had been very glad to be able to relax with one of the few people who didn't view him as essentially a demi-god and the right hand of Rotbart. One of the few people who he counted as family, like Syr, Frederick, and Mittens. But now not only did he lose that outlet from the constant stresses of combat and command, as well as a large margin of his flexibility in command duties, but he had the knowledge that his brother in all but name was dead haunting him whenever he tried to rest.
But now he was not resting. He was engaged in a deadly game of cat and mouse with a daemon prince, one of the greatest traitors to humanity in existence. His doubts and worries were faded, his mind engaged in this far more immediate struggle. It was never more engaging playing these games of cat and mouse than with another predator. He would say fellow predator, but he would never claim kinship to those foul beings who discarded their humanity and turned traitor for power.
In games like these, you never really knew who was cat and who was mouse. Oh, you might believe yourself to be the cat through the entire fight, but there could be no certainty. Many a daemon and chaotic psyker he had faced before this believed themselves to be the cat right up until their destruction, each dying with a surprised look upon their face as they realized that they had never been in control of the fight at all.
Had it been years ago, back when he had faced the so-called Angel of Betrayal, he had no doubt he would have been the mouse. He had been good, very good, but that fight had knocked the arrogance out of him before it could truly take root just as much as the intervening years had improved his skills. Now he knew that it was not immutable fact that one was the predator and one the prey. No, one lucky blow, one miscalculation, and fortunes would be flipped.
But still, right now he knew he was predator. The daemon prince believed him to have been finally trapped in illusion, and was even now preparing to move in and defeat him. But it had neglected his connection to Mittens—while it might have temporarily succeeded in ensnaring him, it had forgotten that he had an entirely separate viewpoint to draw upon, perhaps because he had been careful to avoid having Mittens make an appearance in this fight.
As he drew forward to end this charade and send this foul traitor to humanity and the Emperor back into the warp to beg forgiveness from its masters, however, everything changed. This, this THING dared to taunt him with the death of Henry? It DARED to disparage his memory, claim that it would hunt down his soul within the warp and take it?
No, simple disincorporation would never do for this THING. It would know pain, it would know fear, and it would know death. True death, the kind it had sought to evade with its betrayal of mankind. Drawing far more deeply upon his power than was safe, Xavier SLAMMED down upon the being's manifestation, holding it in place. Stalking forward, rage in his eyes and heart, he swung, dismembering it while burning it with fire strong enough that the wounds left could never regenerate. And then, once he saw the understanding and terror in its eyes, he pulled deeper still upon the warp and burned it down to its very soul, and then burned that. There would be no returning to the warp for this foul thing.
Turning back up, he saw the hordes the daemon prince had commanded, and he saw their fear. In his fury, just destroying their prince was no longer enough. So he turned his power outwards, and commanded them all to burn.
Some minutes later, Xavier came back to his senses. Here he was, exposed, exhausted, and vulnerable. Luckily, none had taken advantage of his slip—perhaps the daemons had been too eager to get away, or perhaps they had not noticed that he was exhausting himself and using levels of power that were dangerous even to him. Quickly, he gathered himself and returned to the heavily damaged university. It looked like they would be safe, a traitor to humanity had suffered final death, he had lived, and Henry was avenged. It was an acceptable result. But still, he chided himself not to lose himself to vengeance like that next time a person he cared about died. Or if he felt the need to do so again, at least not to be such a damn fool about it. Rotbart came far too close to losing both of his pseudo-sons to that daemon.
Last edited:
- Location
- Spain
- Location
- Berkeley
Thanks. I'm trying to combine the Avernite mindset with the minor mental instability all high-level psykers have, all while keeping her as a functional human being trying to cope with the impossible. In terms of head-canon for me, she's kinda cycling between being kinda loopy and all business, which occasional bursts of introspective moments.
Also vis a vis the poles, I'm betting that a lot of the scary stuff died, but also that a lot of the scary stuff is EXTREMELY HACKED OFF and several things that normally aren't active are awake.
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- Location
- madison
I'm guessing the penguin empires took proportionaly at least as much of a beating as we did. The demons were mostly trying to get around them, but the warp portal was in the middle of there territory. hm, this might not be a bad time to try and make diplomatic contact actually. A few tons of food would proably be a very appreciated gesture right now.