Thinking about the Trust as a whole, something amusing comes to mind; in any other setting the IT could be mistaken for designated bad guys. Hyper-militarism, worships a dead founder, their primary symbols are a Throne(of the dead founder) and Skulls (which they spam everywhere), most technology is overseen by a religious cult that worships a god of technology, xenophobic(by non-40k standards), draconian security measures, multiple super soldier programs, planet killers, amongst others.
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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
- Location
- madison
that's not unique to the trust. The tau who catch flack for being too nice are essentially a stock alien invader species by the standards of any other media.
- Location
- United states
What's actually hilarious is someone that isn't aware of the setting or the people in-universe finding out that they are actually way more progressive compared to most of humanity. Sure most of them may seriously hate aliens and can barely tolerate the ones living on Avernus that aren't native to the place but at least they won't try to genocide other race out of hate and are actually willing to be diplomatic about it. Considering that their government descended from and Empire of intolerant genocidal xenophobic willfully ignoring religious fanatics or Chatholitc Nazies in space for short that were so bad they ended up spawning a new god of evil in space hell that's actually progress.
X for the X throne, Y for the Y god.
- Location
- madison
X for the X throne, Y for the Y god.
"Blood for the blood god!"
"Bottle Caps for the bottle throne!"
Steve took a deep breath, before turning to his squadmate. "What?"
"Bottle caps? Really George?"
"Look, we've been shooting these guys nonstop for the last week or so, and I'm frankly getting tired of their whooping 2 battle cries, so I'm throwing a few ideas at em to see if I can get them to spice it up a bit. "
"He's got a point Steve. It kind of loses its impact after a while."
"Fred, that's not really why I think it's inappropriate."
"I dunno man, there is something to be said for brand recognition, and they've got that going for them. Like the orks, they got one battle cry it's works pretty well for em."
Steven looked forlornly at joe as he too appeared to forsake sanity.
"Yeah, but that's cause the orks day it differently each time. You're likely not going to hear any given ork's take on it more than once, with these jack offs not only is it the exact same each time, but your probably hearing the same lazy demon say it a bunch of times. It gets repetitive."
"Yeah, but that's going to be an issue with any battle cry they come up with. Adding more to the rotation would just make it take longer."
"I really feel if your fighting demons for that long getting bored of their battle cry would be the least of your problems"
"Ah, so you admit that it would be a problem. So we may as well do our bit to solve it."
"Why are you like this?"
"Because the Champlain oked comically exaggerated irrelevance as a coping strategy, and you make the perfect straight man." George paused a moment, giving Steve a second to gape. "Besides, if we don't' tell them there battle cry sucks it's at least partially our fault if they don't try and improve."
"Personally, I feel that you're being deeply insensitive, and hurtfully dismissive of my culture right now."
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a burst of intense violence, then another moment of silence. "Did,did that…."
"We're reporting this to the chaplin , going through the screening, and then we are never speaking of it again."
"Yeah but, seriously,"
"Never. Speaking. Of. This. Again."
"Alright."
It was a testament to the durability of awkwardness that it could survive the weapons fire and chaos of battle.
"You really may want to look into sensitivity training though."
"Oh put a sock in it."
@Durin I made another thing! I don't think I can stop making things, send help.
"Blood for the blood god!"
"Bottle Caps for the bottle throne!"
Steve took a deep breath, before turning to his squadmate. "What?"
"Bottle caps? Really George?"
"Look, we've been shooting these guys nonstop for the last week or so, and I'm frankly getting tired of their whooping 2 battle cries, so I'm throwing a few ideas at em to see if I can get them to spice it up a bit. "
"He's got a point Steve. It kind of loses its impact after a while."
"Fred, that's not really why I think it's inappropriate."
"I dunno man, there is something to be said for brand recognition, and they've got that going for them. Like the orks, they got one battle cry it's works pretty well for em."
Steven looked forlornly at joe as he too appeared to forsake sanity.
"Yeah, but that's cause the orks day it differently each time. You're likely not going to hear any given ork's take on it more than once, with these jack offs not only is it the exact same each time, but your probably hearing the same lazy demon say it a bunch of times. It gets repetitive."
"Yeah, but that's going to be an issue with any battle cry they come up with. Adding more to the rotation would just make it take longer."
"I really feel if your fighting demons for that long getting bored of their battle cry would be the least of your problems"
"Ah, so you admit that it would be a problem. So we may as well do our bit to solve it."
"Why are you like this?"
"Because the Champlain oked comically exaggerated irrelevance as a coping strategy, and you make the perfect straight man." George paused a moment, giving Steve a second to gape. "Besides, if we don't' tell them there battle cry sucks it's at least partially our fault if they don't try and improve."
"Personally, I feel that you're being deeply insensitive, and hurtfully dismissive of my culture right now."
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a burst of intense violence, then another moment of silence. "Did,did that…."
"We're reporting this to the chaplin , going through the screening, and then we are never speaking of it again."
"Yeah but, seriously,"
"Never. Speaking. Of. This. Again."
"Alright."
It was a testament to the durability of awkwardness that it could survive the weapons fire and chaos of battle.
"You really may want to look into sensitivity training though."
"Oh put a sock in it."
@Durin I made another thing! I don't think I can stop making things, send help.
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@random_npc shhh it ok we need the bonus.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
I just wish I could think of some good ideas
.The only story I can think ove is a Love can Bloom version between starcross lovers a female Lord of Change and Bloodthuster. And I can't write.I just wish I could think of some good ideas
You can always make a story about Ridicully astroprojecting his mind into people so we can get his valuable reroll.I just wish I could think of some good ideas
- Location
- madison
I just wish I could think of some good ideas
demons in the warp bitchign about how the mortals cheated?
- Location
- Australia
Huh. Kinda forgot we had these.
- Location
- The internet
Jacob Oakheart's class reunion.I just wish I could think of some good ideas
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
PTSD bar in the Eye of Terror taking bets on how much time before the incursion is defeated?I just wish I could think of some good ideas
Considering all our heroes are in serious risk of dying they would be cheering on the tide of blood to finally drown their boogeyman.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Huh congrats on the canon @random_npc
Thesis, Antithesis
- Location
- Australia
Thesis, Antithesis
++ Thought for the Day: Brave are they who know everything yet fear nothing. ++
Magos Militant Olmacher-Sept was very old, and very experienced when it came to warfare. He was a Conservative when it came to the seminal issues facing the Mechanicus after the formation of the Imperial Trust, but he was a politically inactive one, focused entirely on his work. Despite his age, his experience fighting all manner of enemies of the Omnissiah, and his leanings, however, he was not particularly respected by his fellow Conservatives, nor by others on the political spectrum. The reason why is because he had very unorthodox, even outright radical views (in a way that had nothing to do with the Progressive-Conservative divide) that, while not tech-heretical, were still held to be deeply and obviously flawed. Even the Progressives were in agreement in their disagreement of Olmacher-Sept's views. Were his proficiency and faith any lesser, he may've faced censure, but instead he had merely had his promotion through the ranks stunted.
Olmacher-Sept himself was, as might be expected, rather frustrated. Not exactly that he was held in so little regard and his that progression was cut off, though. The Mechanicus was, appropriately, rather like a machine at most times. To get the right output, he needed to insert the correct input. Without the right input, he would not get the right output. In his case, he wanted to receive recognition but had yet to provide sufficient proof to validate his views, hence he did not receive recognition. He didn't blame the Mechanicus for this, he was just frustrated that he had been forced to pass by the few perfect opportunities he needed to prove himself correct and receive validation. His greatest fear was that he would die before his vision of enlightenment could reach his brethren.
To succeed in his goal, he decided to live on Avernus, which while a very dangerous and life-threatening thing would provide the greatest number of opportunities for him to prove himself and improve his warmaking skills. Many saw this as proof of his insanity. Many more saw it as proof of insanity once they learned that the occurrence of the First Daemonic Incursion was what ultimately led to his decision to permanently station himself on Avernus. He was useful for his power, though, and Avernus would probably remove him as an in-principal irritant soon enough, so the preoccupied priesthood didn't make much of a fuss about it, while Avernus was just glad to have another Magos Militant to fight the Eternal War.
Come the Second Daemonic Incursion and the old Magos was all but gleeful at the news. There could be no conceivably better opportunity for Olmacher-Sept to prove himself right save if he ever participated in the invasion of a Khornate daemon world. He, like any faithful follower of the Omnissiah, hated daemons, but in his case disdain was coupled to that emotion very strongly. He looked down on daemonkind, and on no more did he look down on than the daemons of the Blood God. He had been very vocal about this subject for as long as anyone had known him, which is why instead of being terminated when he began cackling and retreated to his personal workshop/forge/armoury he was instead left alone.
It took days for him to finally finish coupling himself to his warform. He was easily greater than the size of a Dreadnought, walking on four great legs similar to that of the Onager Dunecrawler. His body was very bulky, also similar to that of the Onager Dunecrawler, but much bumpier and covered completely in a highly customised Magos' robe. From behind the Magos' head there emerged a protrusion of metal and tech that, in appearance, was similar to the head bulges behind the heads of bloodletters and tyranid gaunts. This protrusion was a mass of sensoria and cogitation engines that would aid the Magos in battle. The ultimate engine of destruction, the Magos would reap a heavy toll on the invaders before the incursion's end, that much was certain. Moving with a bodyguard of Skitarii veterans, the Magos made his way to where the fighting was thickest, intent on finally gaining the proof he needed to bring his brethren into the light. As he went there, he was attacked by all manner of daemons, but he himself never lifted so much as a mechadendrite to destroy them, trusting in his Skitarii bodyguards to do so instead. He was saving himself for the true battle.
At last, he came upon the front lines of the battle where the Mechanicus' tacnet had said his chosen enemy would be. There he finally laid eyes upon the Daemon Prince Kazgazal, who had earned ascension for killing countless heroes and daemons in single combat, his great chainaxe the bane of all he fought.
"Kazgazal!" yelled the Magos, his voice seeming to come from deep within his body, muffled by the mass of metal between it and the outside world, "I have come here to destroy you! Face me now or forever be branded a coward!"
Spectators, daemonic and human alike, paused in their combat to see the utter fool who challenged the Daemon Prince, then ogled at the sheer size of that opponent, larger even than the Daemon Prince he intended to combat. Then the Daemon Prince himself turned to look at his challenger, the great mass of metal marking him out as easily the most ludicrously armoured being he had ever seen.
"You think your panoply grants you protection from my axe!? Your arrogance shall be your undoing, priest of Mars!" bellowed the daemon. "I, Kazgazal, Slayer Supreme of the Gantel Reach, Ender of the Sss'sssil Hegemony, swear upon mighty Khorne's name the following: I shall end this duel in but one strike, to sunder through the armour you so entrust to keep your life with a single mighty blow!"
"You are incorrect in two rather important ways, daemon," responded the Magos. "Firstly, I wear no armour for you to sunder," to which Kazgazal narrowed his eyes. Was he truly so mad as to wear no armour into a battle of this magnitude? What techno-sorcery was hidden underneath those robes, then? The Magos continued, "Secondly, this is not a duel, this is merely myself proving the truth I had realised so long ago."
The daemon listened no more and leapt towards the Magos, bloody axe in hand.
The Magos' robes were ripped apart...from the inside. The great mass of machinery beneath his robes spread open, tearing apart the Magos' vestments as they unfolded in readiness to be used. What was beneath his robes was at last revealed, and all those loyal to the Omnissiah were filled with awe at what they saw: guns. Many, many guns. Plasma guns, plasma flamers, neutron las weapons, grav guns, meltas, missile launchers, conversion beamers, a grenade launcher loaded with vortex grenades, and the weapon that killed the most creatures out of any other in all of human history: the humble form of an Imperial lasgun - the one the Magos Militant wielded being the very first weapon he ever built. Beneath it all was a deceptively thin metal spine to support the weapons' weight and several microfusion reactors to power them. The Magos' cerebral implants quickly drew up firing solutions on the Daemon Prince. Before he fired, however, Magos Militant Olmacher-Sept spoke that truth he held to for so long, the idea that would now be put to the ultimate, most indisputable test possible. Now that the mass of metal blocking his vox grill had been removed, the truth he spoke rang out and all heard it clearly.
"Melee combat is obsolete."
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- Location
- Australia
@Durin, you seem to have missed Terror of the damned and A seer blinded. Additionally, X for the X throne, Y for the Y god is in the Sidestory threadmarks while its entry in the omake list lacks the Canon tag.
- Location
- To the left. No, not there, the other left.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
I think we overwhelmed him a little.
- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
Hey, it's not our fault Daemonic Incursions burn Omake bonuses like nitro.
- Location
- Toronto, Ontario(occasionally)
Not sure what to vote for. Hmmmm.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Fear rising.
Pray's this doesn't end badly.
Pray's this doesn't end badly.
Unconscious Sendings
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Unconscious Sendings
Being unconscious sucked. Being unconscious and in great pain was awful. Being unconscious, in great pain and able to see your own probable death was a mountain of depression that few beings could climb without going mad.
But, such was the fate of Munstrum Ridcully at this very moment, locked in his own head, his physical body (mostly) fine, but suffering awfully from the psycic backlash of the Daemon's last attack and still wide awake on the inside of his mind.
That was an "advantage" of being a psyker of his level of control, able to still do things to at least a limited extent within their dreams and mind palaces. Usually this did not translate to much practical usage as actually working would wear oneself out, negating the point of sleeping in the first place.
However, in this case it was a blessing and a major one. Even with his sight blinded by the Daemons and pain his sight was returning more and more every second as Khorne's focus on Avernus was withdrawn and the Daemon's weakened. It was already at the point where he was fairly confident of his own survival, Rotbart having done a good job of sending those who could ensure he would survive. Selfish, but he knew his own importance to the Trust, as did Rotbart.
From his mind's literal eyes, he watched as that bastard Ashstrike made another leap over the wall's trailing blood from wounds over its entire body, it's movement's visibly slower than they had been when it had first emerged. It had blown its chance at taking him out when it was at full power and he was without reinforcements, and now it was having real problems.
It had effectively been drawn into a strange game of cat and mouse with the Oakheart's. One of them was always on the prowl, constantly hiding behind ward's and swapping while the other remained stationed over him.
It was a good plan too, Ashstrike's subordinates would get ripped to shreds by the concentrated fire power currently within the City of Glass, even its stronger ones, while Ashstrike was no longer strong enough to simply bulldoze its way too him without taking too much damage.
At the same time, it couldn't risk getting tied down by an Oakheart since the other one would swiftly move to engage and in its current state it couldn't guarantee victory against one of them, never mind both of them.
It knew this, they knew this, he knew this, and the Daemon was getting frustrated. It could sense him, its pray, even through the wards surrounding him in the ultra-secure bunker nestled beneath the city. It knew the potential now within him, it had thought him easy prey, a way to ascend further towards that treasured position of Exaltation, a chance that maybe denied too it.
And what is frustration to a normal being to a Khornate Daemon is a red eyed rage.
Mentally grimacing he sent an impression to Jacob, the training he had given him so long ago paying off once again as he started towards the section of the city where Ashstrike was going to land, getting there a few seconds before its bulk landed already clashing with a fiery blade.
@Durin
1. This seem about right? Anything to shift?
Ridcully can do stuff, it just hurt's like nobodies business.
Being unconscious sucked. Being unconscious and in great pain was awful. Being unconscious, in great pain and able to see your own probable death was a mountain of depression that few beings could climb without going mad.
But, such was the fate of Munstrum Ridcully at this very moment, locked in his own head, his physical body (mostly) fine, but suffering awfully from the psycic backlash of the Daemon's last attack and still wide awake on the inside of his mind.
That was an "advantage" of being a psyker of his level of control, able to still do things to at least a limited extent within their dreams and mind palaces. Usually this did not translate to much practical usage as actually working would wear oneself out, negating the point of sleeping in the first place.
However, in this case it was a blessing and a major one. Even with his sight blinded by the Daemons and pain his sight was returning more and more every second as Khorne's focus on Avernus was withdrawn and the Daemon's weakened. It was already at the point where he was fairly confident of his own survival, Rotbart having done a good job of sending those who could ensure he would survive. Selfish, but he knew his own importance to the Trust, as did Rotbart.
From his mind's literal eyes, he watched as that bastard Ashstrike made another leap over the wall's trailing blood from wounds over its entire body, it's movement's visibly slower than they had been when it had first emerged. It had blown its chance at taking him out when it was at full power and he was without reinforcements, and now it was having real problems.
It had effectively been drawn into a strange game of cat and mouse with the Oakheart's. One of them was always on the prowl, constantly hiding behind ward's and swapping while the other remained stationed over him.
It was a good plan too, Ashstrike's subordinates would get ripped to shreds by the concentrated fire power currently within the City of Glass, even its stronger ones, while Ashstrike was no longer strong enough to simply bulldoze its way too him without taking too much damage.
At the same time, it couldn't risk getting tied down by an Oakheart since the other one would swiftly move to engage and in its current state it couldn't guarantee victory against one of them, never mind both of them.
It knew this, they knew this, he knew this, and the Daemon was getting frustrated. It could sense him, its pray, even through the wards surrounding him in the ultra-secure bunker nestled beneath the city. It knew the potential now within him, it had thought him easy prey, a way to ascend further towards that treasured position of Exaltation, a chance that maybe denied too it.
And what is frustration to a normal being to a Khornate Daemon is a red eyed rage.
Mentally grimacing he sent an impression to Jacob, the training he had given him so long ago paying off once again as he started towards the section of the city where Ashstrike was going to land, getting there a few seconds before its bulk landed already clashing with a fiery blade.
@Durin
1. This seem about right? Anything to shift?
Ridcully can do stuff, it just hurt's like nobodies business.