Nice. Not quite as engaging as chapter one, but I liked it.
Astrum es meus Oyster, a Warhammer 40,000 fanfic (unserious)
Moderator: LadyTevar
-
Elheru Aran
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 13073
- Joined: 2004-03-04 01:15am
- Location: Georgia
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
This is really great! But shit, Durandal's nuts! Turning random hordes of people into servitors!
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
Re: Astrum es meus Oyster, a Warhammer 40,000 fanfic (unseri
Astrum es meus Oyster
Featuring all manner of denizens from the depths of Stardestroyer.net!
Factum Unus: The woes of those in the trading business
Chapter the Third
As Captain Richarts faced the guns of Fat Spiros goons, Commissar Fgalkin was overseeing the psyk-testing of Kuja Aluxtros, just to determine whether he really was of any use. His formidable presence was all crossed arms and imminent execution, as a Commissar should be. At that moment he could have been doing something useful, but he instead decided to wait about with the Ranger’s chief medical officer in the field, Wilhelm Alshain. It’s a big galaxy, these sorts of things happen.
Kuja himself was strapped, tightly, to a metal table with all manner of interesting wires attached to his cranium. He had his eyes closed, perhaps from the brightness, perhaps out of fear, so he had no idea what CMO Alshain was doing at that moment.
It certainly wasn’t anything to write home about. His monatomic bone saw, his power scalpels, his medical lasers, they were all put away at that moment, and not likely to come out. The process of determining a Psykers abilities did not require such invasive measures as slicing open one’s skull, though it was the preferred method.
“How long will this take?” Fgalkin asked after long minutes of silence.
The CMO looked up from his copy of Apothecary Monthly and shrugged. “Our cognitor is pretty ordinary for this sort of work and Psykers are by their nature very random.” He looked back into his magazine “Do you think the Captain would spring for a nathecium?”
“No, and you didn’t answer my question.” Replied Fgalkin, calmly unbuckling and rebuckling his bolt pistol holster. Before he got the chance to order an answer, the internal comm-net chimed on and an almost incoherent series of garbled noises tumbled out of the speaker recessed into statues about the place. Fgalkin rolled his eyes “Try again Davol.”
“Sorry Comrade Fgalkin. You’ve got a call from the Captain. Want me to patch it through?”
“Go ahead.” He waited a moment and could hear the crackling of flames. “Captain?”
“Ah, Fgalkin, nice to hear from you.” Said Richarts’ voice “How are things?”
Fgalkin and Alshain shared a momentary trading of looks at the Captain’s conversational tone of voice. “Things are fine at this end sir. And the deal?”
“It went northwest pretty quick. Fat Spiros, he stole the coordinates of our system.” Richarts’ voice was strained sounding. Fgalkin nodded, though obviously the Captain wasn’t going to know that. A plan was formulating in his head.
“I’m going to need some transport to get back to the ship. Also bribes. Lots and lots of bribes.”
“I’ll see to it Captain. Anything else?”
Richarts sighed “See if First Mate would like to immolate Spiros before he leaves the system.”
*
The situation is thus: the rich and powerful Crime Lord known as Fat Spiros has filled an entire four star restaurant, staff and all, with armed goons. Under gunpoint does he have Rogue Trader Durandal Richarts and a pair of his ‘Rangers’, as well an Imperial Admiral, the owner of a mining company and a representative of the Navis Nobilite, as well as their bodyguards.
What Spiros wants is the datachit in Richarts’ possession containing the coordinates to a certain star system worth, at least the Richarts’, three trillion Imperials, the standard currency across the Imperium. It is worth far more to Spiros, but it wasn’t exactly like he intended to pay for anything unless he really had to; and in the Imperium the proper application of force, preferably with bolters, can get one anything.
Spiros’s face split into a wide grin, revealing teeth that still had shreds of Grox between each one. His right hand man, Frankie, got out of his chair and circled the table, approaching Richarts. Albrecht eyed him off and Frrankie gestured him aside with his Stormbolter. The Veteran yielded and Frankie extended his hand towards the captain.
“The location Richarts.” Spiros said impatiently, eagerly “Or I could simply take it from your body.”
Richarts shrugged and reached into his coat, pulling out the solid black chip, holding it between two fingers. Frankie went to take it, but the Rogue Trader yanked it away. “You know Spiros, you’re going to a lot of trouble for this thing. You can’t possibly hope to profit of a raw system; you’re rich, but not that rich.” Frankie stuck the twin barrels of his big gun into Richarts’ face, and Albrecht snapped up his bolt carbine, placing a little red dot onto the side of Frankie’s head.
“I don’t really think you need to know that.” Spiros replied and Richarts placed the chit down into Frankie’s hand, grasped his hand and yanked him over onto the table. He drew one of his bolt pistols, levelled it at Spiros and pulled the trigger, putting a rocket propelled, mass-reactive, diamantine headed bolt into his chest, pitching him backwards off his chair.
The goons had not been prepared for such a move, and truth be told, neither had either of the Rangers. However, while Spiros men were nothing but dressed up thugs, both of the Rangers were hardened ex-Imperial Guardsmen, and thrived off dealing with the unexpected. They opened fire first.
Albrecht went down, rolled, came up to one knee and pulled the trigger on his bolter, sending it on a nice path straight for some criminals chest; the bolt over penetrated, tearing out a great chunk of his body in a shower of gore. He hadn’t had time to fall over when the bolt hit the shoulder of another heavy, spinning him about and proscribing an arc of blood through the air. The Hellgun armed Ranger let loose blindingly bright flashes of light, each one marked by sharp cracks. The extra-powerful lasbolts sheared easily through his target, taking a whole woman and making her two pieces.
The gangsters, finally pulled themselves together and returned fire. Lasbolts and bullets hit Richarts’ conversion field in a flash of golden light and hit carapace armour ineffectually. However, Admiral Jeremson wasn’t so lucky, and took a dumdum round to his stomach. Richarts spun about, his Sunfury plasma pistol in hand. One violent blast later and the gunman was nothing more than greasy ashes. In his other hand his bolt pistol kicked as he moved away from the table, a moment later and a man’s head exploded, spreading bone fragments and bits of brain into those standing about him.
A second door experienced being flung off its hinges, only this time by an ogryn. Og’s entrance was heralded, the crack of three Hellguns tearing men and women apart, and the keening whine of rotating barrels, followed closely by the thunderous report of an assault cannon firing, spewing metallic death into Spiros’ men. Well cooked meals became suddenly overcooked as plasma fire burnt men, tables, chairs to crisps.
Sunbright flashes bloomed into existence as weapons fire impacted Richarts’ conversion field. His plasma pistol empty, he switched it with his second bolt pistol faster than curried Grox through a ratling, diving to the side as Spiros’ men, those who weren’t being incinerated/shredded, directed their fire against him. Force field or not, it didn’t pay to stand in the open in a gunfight. It was just stupid a thing to do.
Elsewhere, Sergeant Albrecht was moving, keeping as low to the ground as possible. There was nothing in the restaurant that would make effective cover; tables made of would and plants made of, well, plant matter. His bulky carapace armour provided far better protection, though it didn’t pay to attract fire. He halted, raised up his carbine and sighted up a bloodied waiter with sawn-off shotcannon. Albrecht’s finger tightened, but before he fully squeezed, a heavy boot knocked the gun from his hands.
The Sergeant rolled away as bolter rounds exploded where he had laid before, and in the process of his roll came to his feet, monatomic combat knife passing into his hand as though under the influence of telekinesis. Frankie brought his Stormbolter up and around, smoke drifting from both barrels, towards the ceiling. Albrecht lunged forward as Spiros bodyguard was moving, knife scything against bolter in a dramatic spray of sparks. Frankie braced his weapon with both hands and tossed Albrecht back. He took quick aim and opened up, spitting bolts at where his foe should have been, but all he found was Albrecht’s knife in his gut. Frankie staggered away, Stormbolter clattering against the ground.
As Albrecht sheathed his knife, he realised that the fight was over, essentially, and everyone who wasn’t a Ranger was either dead or severely wounded in some way. The sergeant kicked his bolt carbine into his hands and surveyed the situation. Things were on fire.
“Oh, well done Richarts.” Said Fat Spiros dryly, his body glowing a ghostly hue “What a wonderful display of violent reprisal against me.”
“Now I shot you.” Richarts replied, “I shot you with a bolt pistol, and now amount of fat is going to protect you from that.”
Spiros rolled his eyes, as Frankie staggered up to his boss “How very droll of you Captain. But I have the coordinates I wanted,” he tapped Frankie lightly on the back “And I have an excellent method for escape.” With nary a flourish he drew out a simple looking box and pressed a button. Weapons went up on him, but before a shot could be fired Fat Spiros and his flunky had disappeared with a thunderclap of air rushing into the large empty space their rapid departure had caused.
“This situation has not passed favourably for us.” Og said, letting his assault cannon droop to the floor.
“Damn straight,” replied one of the Rangers, who was toeing a mangled corpse. Albrecht went down to the side of the other prospective business partners. He sighed.
“The Admiral is bleeding heavily, but he’ll live. Delsinki is very, very dead. Hercule . . . he might be a little dead.”
With the shake of his head, Captain Richarts bounded over, all guns securely holstered away. “How can you be a little dead?” he pause when he made it over. Jeremson was lying in a pool of his own blood, but what military man had not at some point of his life? Delsinki really was dead, missing her head, but that was common enough. But Hercule Burkes? “How is he still breathing?” the Rangers crowded around.
“Emperor’s teeth! That’s not possible!”
Og piped up “Actually, strictly speaking, it is possible to still be alive after receiving such a wound, just incredibly unlikely. With some immediate medical attention he will probably survive, albeit-” the ogryn’s head twitched and he grinned stupidly, showing large and uneven teeth. He pointed a bratwurst like finger downward “He’th gotta hole in der head.”
Albrecht slumped “Why thank you Og for that amazing revelation. Pharmacopoeia.”
“Er, Captain?” one of the Rangers chirped, looking out the door.
“What?”
“Take a look at that.” He gestured out the doors. Richarts got to his feet and walked for the exit, followed by most of the Rangers, leaving Albrecht to the medical work and the Plasma Gunner to finish thanking his weapon for not violently exploding in the course of the gunfight.
Standing atop their transport was a mostly naked man with an intensely wild beard and an insane look in his eyes. He waved about a bloodied chain blade, and if they could see through the blood coating on the cockpit bubble, they would have seen that which had bloodied it. “Repent sinners!” screamed the man, and their small ship exploded. The mighty wind pushed the hair of the helmetless back of their foreheads and flames rose into the sky.
“Better and better.” Richarts said.
*
“So, you used to be a combat engineer?” Danest asked as he was fitted up for his uniform.
“That’s right.” ‘Mr’ Coffee replied, pouring yet more steaming hot java into his mug “Lots of the Rangers, like me for example, were originally Guardsmen that the Administratum gave over to the Captain, along with Comrade Fgalkin to command us.”
Danest nodded, shifted and got a pin in his backside by doing so – of course this was an Imperial pin and so was a four inch long adamantinum spike with a point a single atom thick. He yelped and continued “So he is a real Commissar then. Not just someone playing at it?” Dave laughed.
“Do you think that a real Commissar would allow a Techno-Heretic like Captain Richarts to live?” he asked scornfully.
“I don’t know.” Danest replied as the tailor jotted down some measurements and shoved him away, saying something along the lines of ‘Get your uniform later’.
“Well, neither do I.” Coffee replied. He took a sip of his drink and placed it down by his side “We were originally separate from the rest of the Captain’s crew, but then, we just sort of . . . became as one. I think that’s when we started calling ourselves the Rangers, or at least First Mate named us that.”
“Who?”
“First Mate, the captain’s girlfriend and I’m pretty sure the only woman apart from Doc Lantress aboard,” he paused for a moment “At least with her brains still working. There’s probably plenty of women amongst the Servitors. She thought the name was, and I quote, ‘cute’. Mind you, this woman thinks a lot of things are cute, like Tyranids and the captain.”
*
Aboard the Aquila shuttle that Comrade Fgalkin had graciously ordered out to pick up the Rangers at the restaurant, the Captain raised his head up and looked around “My ears are burning,” he said, and then looked back down at his reorganising of bolts in his partially used clips.
*
“I warn you, stay out of First Mate’s way. She’s almost as hot as Dave’s coffee – Emperor, that’s ironic – but quicker to anger than a World Eater’s Berserker.” Jacques said as they wandered through the hallways in search of Kuja by Danest’s request.
“Blood for the Blood God.” Danest said in a voice far too deep for his thin throat to create. Jacques and Coffe stopped walking and turned mechanically back to look at him. “What?” he asked in his normal voice.
“Ooookaaaaay.” Dave said.
“What?” Danest repeated.
Jacques grinned broadly, his face stretching “It’s nothing, really. Where were we taking you again?”
Featuring all manner of denizens from the depths of Stardestroyer.net!
Factum Unus: The woes of those in the trading business
Chapter the Third
As Captain Richarts faced the guns of Fat Spiros goons, Commissar Fgalkin was overseeing the psyk-testing of Kuja Aluxtros, just to determine whether he really was of any use. His formidable presence was all crossed arms and imminent execution, as a Commissar should be. At that moment he could have been doing something useful, but he instead decided to wait about with the Ranger’s chief medical officer in the field, Wilhelm Alshain. It’s a big galaxy, these sorts of things happen.
Kuja himself was strapped, tightly, to a metal table with all manner of interesting wires attached to his cranium. He had his eyes closed, perhaps from the brightness, perhaps out of fear, so he had no idea what CMO Alshain was doing at that moment.
It certainly wasn’t anything to write home about. His monatomic bone saw, his power scalpels, his medical lasers, they were all put away at that moment, and not likely to come out. The process of determining a Psykers abilities did not require such invasive measures as slicing open one’s skull, though it was the preferred method.
“How long will this take?” Fgalkin asked after long minutes of silence.
The CMO looked up from his copy of Apothecary Monthly and shrugged. “Our cognitor is pretty ordinary for this sort of work and Psykers are by their nature very random.” He looked back into his magazine “Do you think the Captain would spring for a nathecium?”
“No, and you didn’t answer my question.” Replied Fgalkin, calmly unbuckling and rebuckling his bolt pistol holster. Before he got the chance to order an answer, the internal comm-net chimed on and an almost incoherent series of garbled noises tumbled out of the speaker recessed into statues about the place. Fgalkin rolled his eyes “Try again Davol.”
“Sorry Comrade Fgalkin. You’ve got a call from the Captain. Want me to patch it through?”
“Go ahead.” He waited a moment and could hear the crackling of flames. “Captain?”
“Ah, Fgalkin, nice to hear from you.” Said Richarts’ voice “How are things?”
Fgalkin and Alshain shared a momentary trading of looks at the Captain’s conversational tone of voice. “Things are fine at this end sir. And the deal?”
“It went northwest pretty quick. Fat Spiros, he stole the coordinates of our system.” Richarts’ voice was strained sounding. Fgalkin nodded, though obviously the Captain wasn’t going to know that. A plan was formulating in his head.
“I’m going to need some transport to get back to the ship. Also bribes. Lots and lots of bribes.”
“I’ll see to it Captain. Anything else?”
Richarts sighed “See if First Mate would like to immolate Spiros before he leaves the system.”
*
The situation is thus: the rich and powerful Crime Lord known as Fat Spiros has filled an entire four star restaurant, staff and all, with armed goons. Under gunpoint does he have Rogue Trader Durandal Richarts and a pair of his ‘Rangers’, as well an Imperial Admiral, the owner of a mining company and a representative of the Navis Nobilite, as well as their bodyguards.
What Spiros wants is the datachit in Richarts’ possession containing the coordinates to a certain star system worth, at least the Richarts’, three trillion Imperials, the standard currency across the Imperium. It is worth far more to Spiros, but it wasn’t exactly like he intended to pay for anything unless he really had to; and in the Imperium the proper application of force, preferably with bolters, can get one anything.
Spiros’s face split into a wide grin, revealing teeth that still had shreds of Grox between each one. His right hand man, Frankie, got out of his chair and circled the table, approaching Richarts. Albrecht eyed him off and Frrankie gestured him aside with his Stormbolter. The Veteran yielded and Frankie extended his hand towards the captain.
“The location Richarts.” Spiros said impatiently, eagerly “Or I could simply take it from your body.”
Richarts shrugged and reached into his coat, pulling out the solid black chip, holding it between two fingers. Frankie went to take it, but the Rogue Trader yanked it away. “You know Spiros, you’re going to a lot of trouble for this thing. You can’t possibly hope to profit of a raw system; you’re rich, but not that rich.” Frankie stuck the twin barrels of his big gun into Richarts’ face, and Albrecht snapped up his bolt carbine, placing a little red dot onto the side of Frankie’s head.
“I don’t really think you need to know that.” Spiros replied and Richarts placed the chit down into Frankie’s hand, grasped his hand and yanked him over onto the table. He drew one of his bolt pistols, levelled it at Spiros and pulled the trigger, putting a rocket propelled, mass-reactive, diamantine headed bolt into his chest, pitching him backwards off his chair.
The goons had not been prepared for such a move, and truth be told, neither had either of the Rangers. However, while Spiros men were nothing but dressed up thugs, both of the Rangers were hardened ex-Imperial Guardsmen, and thrived off dealing with the unexpected. They opened fire first.
Albrecht went down, rolled, came up to one knee and pulled the trigger on his bolter, sending it on a nice path straight for some criminals chest; the bolt over penetrated, tearing out a great chunk of his body in a shower of gore. He hadn’t had time to fall over when the bolt hit the shoulder of another heavy, spinning him about and proscribing an arc of blood through the air. The Hellgun armed Ranger let loose blindingly bright flashes of light, each one marked by sharp cracks. The extra-powerful lasbolts sheared easily through his target, taking a whole woman and making her two pieces.
The gangsters, finally pulled themselves together and returned fire. Lasbolts and bullets hit Richarts’ conversion field in a flash of golden light and hit carapace armour ineffectually. However, Admiral Jeremson wasn’t so lucky, and took a dumdum round to his stomach. Richarts spun about, his Sunfury plasma pistol in hand. One violent blast later and the gunman was nothing more than greasy ashes. In his other hand his bolt pistol kicked as he moved away from the table, a moment later and a man’s head exploded, spreading bone fragments and bits of brain into those standing about him.
A second door experienced being flung off its hinges, only this time by an ogryn. Og’s entrance was heralded, the crack of three Hellguns tearing men and women apart, and the keening whine of rotating barrels, followed closely by the thunderous report of an assault cannon firing, spewing metallic death into Spiros’ men. Well cooked meals became suddenly overcooked as plasma fire burnt men, tables, chairs to crisps.
Sunbright flashes bloomed into existence as weapons fire impacted Richarts’ conversion field. His plasma pistol empty, he switched it with his second bolt pistol faster than curried Grox through a ratling, diving to the side as Spiros’ men, those who weren’t being incinerated/shredded, directed their fire against him. Force field or not, it didn’t pay to stand in the open in a gunfight. It was just stupid a thing to do.
Elsewhere, Sergeant Albrecht was moving, keeping as low to the ground as possible. There was nothing in the restaurant that would make effective cover; tables made of would and plants made of, well, plant matter. His bulky carapace armour provided far better protection, though it didn’t pay to attract fire. He halted, raised up his carbine and sighted up a bloodied waiter with sawn-off shotcannon. Albrecht’s finger tightened, but before he fully squeezed, a heavy boot knocked the gun from his hands.
The Sergeant rolled away as bolter rounds exploded where he had laid before, and in the process of his roll came to his feet, monatomic combat knife passing into his hand as though under the influence of telekinesis. Frankie brought his Stormbolter up and around, smoke drifting from both barrels, towards the ceiling. Albrecht lunged forward as Spiros bodyguard was moving, knife scything against bolter in a dramatic spray of sparks. Frankie braced his weapon with both hands and tossed Albrecht back. He took quick aim and opened up, spitting bolts at where his foe should have been, but all he found was Albrecht’s knife in his gut. Frankie staggered away, Stormbolter clattering against the ground.
As Albrecht sheathed his knife, he realised that the fight was over, essentially, and everyone who wasn’t a Ranger was either dead or severely wounded in some way. The sergeant kicked his bolt carbine into his hands and surveyed the situation. Things were on fire.
“Oh, well done Richarts.” Said Fat Spiros dryly, his body glowing a ghostly hue “What a wonderful display of violent reprisal against me.”
“Now I shot you.” Richarts replied, “I shot you with a bolt pistol, and now amount of fat is going to protect you from that.”
Spiros rolled his eyes, as Frankie staggered up to his boss “How very droll of you Captain. But I have the coordinates I wanted,” he tapped Frankie lightly on the back “And I have an excellent method for escape.” With nary a flourish he drew out a simple looking box and pressed a button. Weapons went up on him, but before a shot could be fired Fat Spiros and his flunky had disappeared with a thunderclap of air rushing into the large empty space their rapid departure had caused.
“This situation has not passed favourably for us.” Og said, letting his assault cannon droop to the floor.
“Damn straight,” replied one of the Rangers, who was toeing a mangled corpse. Albrecht went down to the side of the other prospective business partners. He sighed.
“The Admiral is bleeding heavily, but he’ll live. Delsinki is very, very dead. Hercule . . . he might be a little dead.”
With the shake of his head, Captain Richarts bounded over, all guns securely holstered away. “How can you be a little dead?” he pause when he made it over. Jeremson was lying in a pool of his own blood, but what military man had not at some point of his life? Delsinki really was dead, missing her head, but that was common enough. But Hercule Burkes? “How is he still breathing?” the Rangers crowded around.
“Emperor’s teeth! That’s not possible!”
Og piped up “Actually, strictly speaking, it is possible to still be alive after receiving such a wound, just incredibly unlikely. With some immediate medical attention he will probably survive, albeit-” the ogryn’s head twitched and he grinned stupidly, showing large and uneven teeth. He pointed a bratwurst like finger downward “He’th gotta hole in der head.”
Albrecht slumped “Why thank you Og for that amazing revelation. Pharmacopoeia.”
“Er, Captain?” one of the Rangers chirped, looking out the door.
“What?”
“Take a look at that.” He gestured out the doors. Richarts got to his feet and walked for the exit, followed by most of the Rangers, leaving Albrecht to the medical work and the Plasma Gunner to finish thanking his weapon for not violently exploding in the course of the gunfight.
Standing atop their transport was a mostly naked man with an intensely wild beard and an insane look in his eyes. He waved about a bloodied chain blade, and if they could see through the blood coating on the cockpit bubble, they would have seen that which had bloodied it. “Repent sinners!” screamed the man, and their small ship exploded. The mighty wind pushed the hair of the helmetless back of their foreheads and flames rose into the sky.
“Better and better.” Richarts said.
*
“So, you used to be a combat engineer?” Danest asked as he was fitted up for his uniform.
“That’s right.” ‘Mr’ Coffee replied, pouring yet more steaming hot java into his mug “Lots of the Rangers, like me for example, were originally Guardsmen that the Administratum gave over to the Captain, along with Comrade Fgalkin to command us.”
Danest nodded, shifted and got a pin in his backside by doing so – of course this was an Imperial pin and so was a four inch long adamantinum spike with a point a single atom thick. He yelped and continued “So he is a real Commissar then. Not just someone playing at it?” Dave laughed.
“Do you think that a real Commissar would allow a Techno-Heretic like Captain Richarts to live?” he asked scornfully.
“I don’t know.” Danest replied as the tailor jotted down some measurements and shoved him away, saying something along the lines of ‘Get your uniform later’.
“Well, neither do I.” Coffee replied. He took a sip of his drink and placed it down by his side “We were originally separate from the rest of the Captain’s crew, but then, we just sort of . . . became as one. I think that’s when we started calling ourselves the Rangers, or at least First Mate named us that.”
“Who?”
“First Mate, the captain’s girlfriend and I’m pretty sure the only woman apart from Doc Lantress aboard,” he paused for a moment “At least with her brains still working. There’s probably plenty of women amongst the Servitors. She thought the name was, and I quote, ‘cute’. Mind you, this woman thinks a lot of things are cute, like Tyranids and the captain.”
*
Aboard the Aquila shuttle that Comrade Fgalkin had graciously ordered out to pick up the Rangers at the restaurant, the Captain raised his head up and looked around “My ears are burning,” he said, and then looked back down at his reorganising of bolts in his partially used clips.
*
“I warn you, stay out of First Mate’s way. She’s almost as hot as Dave’s coffee – Emperor, that’s ironic – but quicker to anger than a World Eater’s Berserker.” Jacques said as they wandered through the hallways in search of Kuja by Danest’s request.
“Blood for the Blood God.” Danest said in a voice far too deep for his thin throat to create. Jacques and Coffe stopped walking and turned mechanically back to look at him. “What?” he asked in his normal voice.
“Ooookaaaaay.” Dave said.
“What?” Danest repeated.
Jacques grinned broadly, his face stretching “It’s nothing, really. Where were we taking you again?”
What is Project Zohar?
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
What's that bit with the end? Just random silliness or something that'll continue to the next chapter? Wait... is he possessed?!
BTW, I love this! And Og... wow! That's fucking smart for an ogryn!
BTW, I love this! And Og... wow! That's fucking smart for an ogryn!
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Bah! When you read a book you don't look around for a list containing characters and character info. Bah! Bah! More! More! More! More! More!
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
-
Mr. Coffee
- is an asshole.
- Posts: 3258
- Joined: 2005-02-26 07:45am
- Location: And banging your mom is half the battle... G.I. Joe!
Love what ya did with the Dave "Mr" Coffee character, Ford. A mildly sadistic smartass java junkie... This fic rocks. Keep it coming.
I never would have thought I would wholeheartedly agree with Coffee... - fgalkin x2
Honestly, this board is so fucking stupid at times. - Thanas
GALE ForceCarwash: Oh, I'll wax that shit, bitch...
-
consequences
- Homicidal Maniac
- Posts: 6964
- Joined: 2002-07-07 03:06pm
-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
Re: Astrum es meus Oyster, a Warhammer 40,000 fanfic (unseri
Astrum es meus Oyster
Featuring all manner of denizens from the depths of Stardestroyer.net!
Factum Unus: The woes of those in the trading business
Chapter the Fourth
“So, I’m nothing special?” Kuja asked of Alshain as the grey haired medic detached electrodes from his head. It wasn’t really that much of a surprise – Kuja had always known in the back of his mind that he’d never really amount to much psychically, no matter how much he wished to be. Alshain shook his head.
“No. By my reckoning you’d probably rank up at Epsilon level.” He scratched his beard “I was hoping for Delta at least. As an Epsilon you’re unlikely to develop any real formidable offensive abilities.”
In reply to that Kuja sighed, rubbing his forehead “No telekinesis?”
“Not without some sort of outside influence, no, no telekinesis.”
The door slid open and Danest stepped through. Alshain looked up at him “If you’ve heard stories about the ship’s doctor and think that I’ll be doing your physical, think again.” Danest looked mystified, though Alshain had simply begun ignoring him. He pushed a small dataslate into Kuja’s hands “Give that to the captain when he briefs you.”
Kuja step outside and Jacques snatched the dataslate out of his hands. As he went to protest and grab it back, Kuja found the man’s hand in his face. There was a silence as the sniper scrolled through it all, before he shook his head “Well kid, looks like you aren’t quite what we expected.” He looked over at Coffee “No lightning from his finger tips. A serious disappointment.”
“Our last combat Psyker couldn’t to that either.” Dave replied reaching past Kuja to take the information and read it for himself “Granted he could fling balls of fire and set cities alight, but that’s just not the same; let alone the Psyker they had when the Captain wasn’t yet the Captain yet. He was supposed to be what, a Beta class?”
“I can’t see any of the command staff being pleased about this. I mean, what good is he?”
Danest piped up “Oh I know – Kuja’s precognitive.” Dave turned around and faced them both as he walked backwards.
“How far in advance?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly. It’s not that far though.” He thought about it for a moment “I can be moving before a man has finished drawing his pistol.” He finished, remembering back to a few incidents wherein such things had happened. “It’s really kinda neat.”
Dave tapped his chin before spinning back around. Beneath them the floor rumbled and shook. Through hundreds of metres of metal they could feel the amazing force of the engines building up, ready to spew plasma out a dozen nozzles for thrust, millions of tons-force shoving up against the guncutter, pushing its great mass into space in short order.
The ship rose dozens of metres from the launch cradle before it kicked itself into overdrive, dangerously rising on a column of hot gas, shedding about itself the atmosphere and coming into the blessed airlessness of space. Danest peered out through a view block, his teeth showing in a smile. He ran his large hands through his dark hair and looked back at Dave pouring himself another drink.
“So the good ship Integral hits space yet again.” He declared and Dave raised his eyebrows.
“Danest, the Integral hasn’t hit the surface of a planet in about two hundred years – heck, I barely remember it. She’s already in orbit somewhere.” He explained and Kuja leaned into the little window, back down on the dusty ball of a planet he had ‘enjoyed’ for the past three weeks.
“This isn’t the Integral?” he asked and Jacques shook his head.
“Nope. This is just one of the big landers we have, the Angelus.” He scratched his nose “I’ll tell you what. We’ll go up to one of the observatories and show you the ship before we get on board.”
*
“Captain on deck!” snapped one of the bridge armsmen as Richarts entered the command deck. He was greeted with short salutes which he didn’t return, then dumped himself in the central throne designated his. His guncutter was not exactly travelling under its own power and was instead using the gravity of the planet to swing around to rendezvous with the Integral.
“Signal from the Integral Captain.”
“Put her on.” Richarts ordered and an opticon screen flashed on, displaying the disgruntled features of a remarkably good looking woman. “First Mate.”
“Duran, would you like to explain exactly how this all happened?” her voice was menacing, and followed by an awkward silence. Fgalkin coughed loudly, almost, but not quite, covering his chortle.
Richarts spread his hands apologetically “Fat Spiros is more resourceful than I’d have ever expected. I take it you didn’t get him.”
First Mate shook her head “Surveyors tracked the signature of teleportation out past the beacon. He jumped to the Empyrean before we could get around the planet.” Her eyes narrowed “So what do you plan to do?”
“I have a pair of serious medical cases in the apothecarium. I intend to take them through to Tarsis Ultra. From there it’s a simple matter of cutting across the Segmentum Solar and pulling about the Gates.”
Fgalkin nodded approvingly while First Mate simply rolled her eyes. “Ah, revenge.” He said “Excellent.”
Richarts nodded “Spiros might think he’s smart, but there is no possible way he could match our firepower. He does not get away with this.”
*
Danest and Kuja peered out at the growing Integral and whistled. The angle of attack gave them an excellent view of its hammerhead-shape. To say it bristled with guns would be a misnomer, though it had been designed with as many weapons as would be feasible. They had no possible point of reference for the size of the ship apart from the soft curve of the planet, though it neared almost three kilometres in length; about cruiser size.
“There she is; a flying piece of techno-heresy if ever there was one.” Dave said from besides them “The Richarts Family pride and joy, having been subject to countless refits and upgrades till her original class was obscured from outward appearances. Heart and home of the Rangers.”
“You’ve never given that speech well.” Jacques commented “A lot of money has been sunk into that baby, boys; I don’t want to even think about how much. The Integral is our mother more than our home, as stupid as that sounds.”
“It’s not that stupid a concept I suppose,” Danest mused “If you’ve been aboard for a long time.”
*
Though the guncutter Angelus was only newly docked within one of the many shuttle bays, already preparations were being made for the transition from realspace to the Immaterium. At Captain Richarts’ order, the First Mate had seen that the ship be made ready – travelling through the Warp was serious business.
Even now, prayers were being said, traditional sailors’ litanies about the Emperor letting them get through in one piece, or failing that, with ones soul intact. Great blastdoors came down over viewports and in the cavernous gunbays, till the only way to see out were the bridge opticon screens.
Over the crackle of the comm-net, the First Mate was briefing her captain “We’ll be clear to jump to the Warp in less than half an hour; Inri reports that everything’s optimum for that time.” A blonde haired woman in a white jacket passed Richarts by, followed by a series of orderlies pushing coffin-like boxes along. Richarts watched her enter the ship, pausing to have a short staring contest with the purity sealed Sergeant Lantress, then pass on in without saying a word. “Minodoya has the destination and we’re underway.”
“That’s good to hear.” Richarts replied as the medical staff wheeled back out their metallic statis-boxes “Good to hear.”
Nary a hundred metres hence from the captain, Comrade Fgalkin addressed the two new crew mates. “I have to oversee the final security arrangements for the transition to the Warp, so I will leave you to Coffee and Jacques to get you settled in. I will have you entered into the ship’s cognitor and security records sometime this week.” Kuja and Danest saluted, which made Fgalkin shake his head. The Commissar turned on his heel and marched off to join the captain.
“This is all very exciting.” Danest said, spinning about and looking at the fairly empty shuttle bay.
“I don’t think it’s that good.” Kuja replied, dataslate under one arm, eyes squinted almost to the point of shutting “It’s too bright. Being an albino can really suck Ork some days.”
“Then, I say we get you a nice quiet cabin where you can sit in the dark.” Jacques said, clapping him on the back roughly before leading him onward into the halls of the Integral.
*
The transition from realspace to the Warp is, in theory, very very simple. The science behind it is complex, but in the end it is nothing more than reality-ripping, which has never been considered ‘difficult’. However the science has long been lost, and all that is left is the vague knowledge of how to do it. What you get when you allow what is essentially an idiot to run a device that can tear wholes in the fabric of space/time, you get the Imperium, and that isn’t really a good thing.
No one would accuse Technis Majoris Inri Vaugn of being an idiot; quite contrary to popular belief, Techpriests are actually capable engineers, despite their obvious short-comings, they do get the job done. Usually. In his engine section sanctum, the Senior Techpriest was carefully applying runes and unguents, which was his obvious shortcoming. He was resigned to the fact that the whole ship was a total blasphemy and so refused to keep it all that tidy, he could at least keep the warp field generators running smoothly and stop the ship from imploding whenever they decided to break the annoying barrier that was lightspeed.
He skittered about on his mechanical legs, clambering over materials and consoles till he came to his mighty central control lecturn, a curving board of keys stacked five high and more than two metres long of his own design, a design he designed to allow him the ability to control engineering without support. It had come about after the captain’s heretical automation kick. He cracked his knuckles, made his mechadendrites wiggle about and poised his hands above the keys.
“I am ready when you are, Captain.” Inri declared, voice hissing through his augmetics.
On the bridge, Captain Richarts sat with his hands behind his head. “In your own time, Inri.” He said as unpredictable psychic vibrations reverberated through the ship. Only Inri knew the ship’s Tetragrammaton code- only he could open up the Warp drives, and open them he did.
Stellar levels of power surged from the gargantuan, oversized plasma reactors into the Integral's Warp engines, which in turn sliced open reality like a power sword through flesh and allowed the ship, protected only by the bubble of reality which was the Geller Field to slide through into the lashing storms of energy that formed the maelstrom, rocking the Integral from hammer-shaped, gun-laden prow to wide, engine packed stern.
It was nothing new for Richarts’ Rangers to simply toss themselves into a daemon-haunted realm of thoughts coalesced; both good and bad. Emotions and passions, love, hate, greed, envy, rage, all known and understood by humanity (and also other thinking creatures, but no Imperial would ever admit that aliens felt emotions too) as feelings, coming alive in a sea of souls so powerful that its barest flicker could destroy worlds.
Into this place, this Warp they went, relying on nothing more than a man with three eyes to keep the Integral not lost, and thus, alive.
---------------------------------------------
Admitedly, nothing all that special, kind of a let down from where I sit.
Featuring all manner of denizens from the depths of Stardestroyer.net!
Factum Unus: The woes of those in the trading business
Chapter the Fourth
“So, I’m nothing special?” Kuja asked of Alshain as the grey haired medic detached electrodes from his head. It wasn’t really that much of a surprise – Kuja had always known in the back of his mind that he’d never really amount to much psychically, no matter how much he wished to be. Alshain shook his head.
“No. By my reckoning you’d probably rank up at Epsilon level.” He scratched his beard “I was hoping for Delta at least. As an Epsilon you’re unlikely to develop any real formidable offensive abilities.”
In reply to that Kuja sighed, rubbing his forehead “No telekinesis?”
“Not without some sort of outside influence, no, no telekinesis.”
The door slid open and Danest stepped through. Alshain looked up at him “If you’ve heard stories about the ship’s doctor and think that I’ll be doing your physical, think again.” Danest looked mystified, though Alshain had simply begun ignoring him. He pushed a small dataslate into Kuja’s hands “Give that to the captain when he briefs you.”
Kuja step outside and Jacques snatched the dataslate out of his hands. As he went to protest and grab it back, Kuja found the man’s hand in his face. There was a silence as the sniper scrolled through it all, before he shook his head “Well kid, looks like you aren’t quite what we expected.” He looked over at Coffee “No lightning from his finger tips. A serious disappointment.”
“Our last combat Psyker couldn’t to that either.” Dave replied reaching past Kuja to take the information and read it for himself “Granted he could fling balls of fire and set cities alight, but that’s just not the same; let alone the Psyker they had when the Captain wasn’t yet the Captain yet. He was supposed to be what, a Beta class?”
“I can’t see any of the command staff being pleased about this. I mean, what good is he?”
Danest piped up “Oh I know – Kuja’s precognitive.” Dave turned around and faced them both as he walked backwards.
“How far in advance?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly. It’s not that far though.” He thought about it for a moment “I can be moving before a man has finished drawing his pistol.” He finished, remembering back to a few incidents wherein such things had happened. “It’s really kinda neat.”
Dave tapped his chin before spinning back around. Beneath them the floor rumbled and shook. Through hundreds of metres of metal they could feel the amazing force of the engines building up, ready to spew plasma out a dozen nozzles for thrust, millions of tons-force shoving up against the guncutter, pushing its great mass into space in short order.
The ship rose dozens of metres from the launch cradle before it kicked itself into overdrive, dangerously rising on a column of hot gas, shedding about itself the atmosphere and coming into the blessed airlessness of space. Danest peered out through a view block, his teeth showing in a smile. He ran his large hands through his dark hair and looked back at Dave pouring himself another drink.
“So the good ship Integral hits space yet again.” He declared and Dave raised his eyebrows.
“Danest, the Integral hasn’t hit the surface of a planet in about two hundred years – heck, I barely remember it. She’s already in orbit somewhere.” He explained and Kuja leaned into the little window, back down on the dusty ball of a planet he had ‘enjoyed’ for the past three weeks.
“This isn’t the Integral?” he asked and Jacques shook his head.
“Nope. This is just one of the big landers we have, the Angelus.” He scratched his nose “I’ll tell you what. We’ll go up to one of the observatories and show you the ship before we get on board.”
*
“Captain on deck!” snapped one of the bridge armsmen as Richarts entered the command deck. He was greeted with short salutes which he didn’t return, then dumped himself in the central throne designated his. His guncutter was not exactly travelling under its own power and was instead using the gravity of the planet to swing around to rendezvous with the Integral.
“Signal from the Integral Captain.”
“Put her on.” Richarts ordered and an opticon screen flashed on, displaying the disgruntled features of a remarkably good looking woman. “First Mate.”
“Duran, would you like to explain exactly how this all happened?” her voice was menacing, and followed by an awkward silence. Fgalkin coughed loudly, almost, but not quite, covering his chortle.
Richarts spread his hands apologetically “Fat Spiros is more resourceful than I’d have ever expected. I take it you didn’t get him.”
First Mate shook her head “Surveyors tracked the signature of teleportation out past the beacon. He jumped to the Empyrean before we could get around the planet.” Her eyes narrowed “So what do you plan to do?”
“I have a pair of serious medical cases in the apothecarium. I intend to take them through to Tarsis Ultra. From there it’s a simple matter of cutting across the Segmentum Solar and pulling about the Gates.”
Fgalkin nodded approvingly while First Mate simply rolled her eyes. “Ah, revenge.” He said “Excellent.”
Richarts nodded “Spiros might think he’s smart, but there is no possible way he could match our firepower. He does not get away with this.”
*
Danest and Kuja peered out at the growing Integral and whistled. The angle of attack gave them an excellent view of its hammerhead-shape. To say it bristled with guns would be a misnomer, though it had been designed with as many weapons as would be feasible. They had no possible point of reference for the size of the ship apart from the soft curve of the planet, though it neared almost three kilometres in length; about cruiser size.
“There she is; a flying piece of techno-heresy if ever there was one.” Dave said from besides them “The Richarts Family pride and joy, having been subject to countless refits and upgrades till her original class was obscured from outward appearances. Heart and home of the Rangers.”
“You’ve never given that speech well.” Jacques commented “A lot of money has been sunk into that baby, boys; I don’t want to even think about how much. The Integral is our mother more than our home, as stupid as that sounds.”
“It’s not that stupid a concept I suppose,” Danest mused “If you’ve been aboard for a long time.”
*
Though the guncutter Angelus was only newly docked within one of the many shuttle bays, already preparations were being made for the transition from realspace to the Immaterium. At Captain Richarts’ order, the First Mate had seen that the ship be made ready – travelling through the Warp was serious business.
Even now, prayers were being said, traditional sailors’ litanies about the Emperor letting them get through in one piece, or failing that, with ones soul intact. Great blastdoors came down over viewports and in the cavernous gunbays, till the only way to see out were the bridge opticon screens.
Over the crackle of the comm-net, the First Mate was briefing her captain “We’ll be clear to jump to the Warp in less than half an hour; Inri reports that everything’s optimum for that time.” A blonde haired woman in a white jacket passed Richarts by, followed by a series of orderlies pushing coffin-like boxes along. Richarts watched her enter the ship, pausing to have a short staring contest with the purity sealed Sergeant Lantress, then pass on in without saying a word. “Minodoya has the destination and we’re underway.”
“That’s good to hear.” Richarts replied as the medical staff wheeled back out their metallic statis-boxes “Good to hear.”
Nary a hundred metres hence from the captain, Comrade Fgalkin addressed the two new crew mates. “I have to oversee the final security arrangements for the transition to the Warp, so I will leave you to Coffee and Jacques to get you settled in. I will have you entered into the ship’s cognitor and security records sometime this week.” Kuja and Danest saluted, which made Fgalkin shake his head. The Commissar turned on his heel and marched off to join the captain.
“This is all very exciting.” Danest said, spinning about and looking at the fairly empty shuttle bay.
“I don’t think it’s that good.” Kuja replied, dataslate under one arm, eyes squinted almost to the point of shutting “It’s too bright. Being an albino can really suck Ork some days.”
“Then, I say we get you a nice quiet cabin where you can sit in the dark.” Jacques said, clapping him on the back roughly before leading him onward into the halls of the Integral.
*
The transition from realspace to the Warp is, in theory, very very simple. The science behind it is complex, but in the end it is nothing more than reality-ripping, which has never been considered ‘difficult’. However the science has long been lost, and all that is left is the vague knowledge of how to do it. What you get when you allow what is essentially an idiot to run a device that can tear wholes in the fabric of space/time, you get the Imperium, and that isn’t really a good thing.
No one would accuse Technis Majoris Inri Vaugn of being an idiot; quite contrary to popular belief, Techpriests are actually capable engineers, despite their obvious short-comings, they do get the job done. Usually. In his engine section sanctum, the Senior Techpriest was carefully applying runes and unguents, which was his obvious shortcoming. He was resigned to the fact that the whole ship was a total blasphemy and so refused to keep it all that tidy, he could at least keep the warp field generators running smoothly and stop the ship from imploding whenever they decided to break the annoying barrier that was lightspeed.
He skittered about on his mechanical legs, clambering over materials and consoles till he came to his mighty central control lecturn, a curving board of keys stacked five high and more than two metres long of his own design, a design he designed to allow him the ability to control engineering without support. It had come about after the captain’s heretical automation kick. He cracked his knuckles, made his mechadendrites wiggle about and poised his hands above the keys.
“I am ready when you are, Captain.” Inri declared, voice hissing through his augmetics.
On the bridge, Captain Richarts sat with his hands behind his head. “In your own time, Inri.” He said as unpredictable psychic vibrations reverberated through the ship. Only Inri knew the ship’s Tetragrammaton code- only he could open up the Warp drives, and open them he did.
Stellar levels of power surged from the gargantuan, oversized plasma reactors into the Integral's Warp engines, which in turn sliced open reality like a power sword through flesh and allowed the ship, protected only by the bubble of reality which was the Geller Field to slide through into the lashing storms of energy that formed the maelstrom, rocking the Integral from hammer-shaped, gun-laden prow to wide, engine packed stern.
It was nothing new for Richarts’ Rangers to simply toss themselves into a daemon-haunted realm of thoughts coalesced; both good and bad. Emotions and passions, love, hate, greed, envy, rage, all known and understood by humanity (and also other thinking creatures, but no Imperial would ever admit that aliens felt emotions too) as feelings, coming alive in a sea of souls so powerful that its barest flicker could destroy worlds.
Into this place, this Warp they went, relying on nothing more than a man with three eyes to keep the Integral not lost, and thus, alive.
---------------------------------------------
Admitedly, nothing all that special, kind of a let down from where I sit.
What is Project Zohar?
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
Here's to a certain mostly harmless nutcase.
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Pretty okay, and it's nice to see Kuja and Danest get along well. And I love your description of the Warp, and the captain's techno heresy. Hahahahaha. Where's the rest of the dudes that got Servitorized?
EDIT:
Not just pretty okay, actually. I like it. You, Ford, are just as skilled a writer as Siege, maybe even moreso, given the amount of stuff you pump out. You're a machine!
EDIT:
Not just pretty okay, actually. I like it. You, Ford, are just as skilled a writer as Siege, maybe even moreso, given the amount of stuff you pump out. You're a machine!
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
Very well done. 
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Hey, I didn't know you fancy Warhammer 40,000, LT 
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
I've been exposed to it often enough in the last 14yrs. I'm rather more fond of the Eldar, however. That's why you might not see me featured in this little story.Shroom Man 777 wrote:Hey, I didn't know you fancy Warhammer 40,000, LT
Although, if she does show, and there *is* a demon-possessed among those she is to deal with, she will quickly, efficiently, mercilessly kill the demon-possessed before she even begins negoiations with the Mon-Keigh captain. If she is asked why she killed him, the answer will be "You should thank me for saving your ship from Corruption, Captain."
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Mmmm... Eldar chicks are hot.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people
- PeZookShroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
Since I was thinking of an Eldar who's been a warrior, a Banshee, a mother, and is now 'settled down' as a farmer/trader? Yeah, she's still hot, and shes' Very Experienced.Shroom Man 777 wrote:Mmmm... Eldar chicks are hot.
And like most women in their (relative) late 30s-mid 40s, she knows what she wants and is very forward about it (for an Eldar, the Mon-Keigh might be too dense to understand the nuances)
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
"But they're easy riddles! She's not hiding that much at all!"Ford Prefect wrote:"She's a very forthright woman."
"Are you insane? Every second thing she says is some sort of riddle!"
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
admiral_danielsben
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 336
- Joined: 2004-05-05 05:16pm
- Location: The Vast Right-Wing Trekkie Conspiracy HQ
"She's kinda....unnnhhhh.....cute...<ohmydidijustsaythat?>. And as for the riddle, it's just <mumbles correct answer rather incoherently>"LadyTevar wrote:"But they're easy riddles! She's not hiding that much at all!"Ford Prefect wrote:"She's a very forthright woman."
"Are you insane? Every second thing she says is some sort of riddle!"
-DanielSBen
----------------
"Certain death, small chance of sucess, what are we waiting for?" Gimli, son of Gloin
----------------
"Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first." - Ronald Reagan (1911-2004)
---------------
"If your lies are going to be this transparent, this is going to be a very short interrogation" -- Kira
"Then I'll try to make my lies more opaque..." -- Gul Darhe'el (DS9: Duet)
----------------
"Certain death, small chance of sucess, what are we waiting for?" Gimli, son of Gloin
----------------
"Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first." - Ronald Reagan (1911-2004)
---------------
"If your lies are going to be this transparent, this is going to be a very short interrogation" -- Kira
"Then I'll try to make my lies more opaque..." -- Gul Darhe'el (DS9: Duet)
-
SirNitram
- Rest in Peace, Black Mage
- Posts: 28367
- Joined: 2002-07-03 04:48pm
- Location: Somewhere between nowhere and everywhere
*Welds servo-arm back onto armour* Yea, cute. *Weld, weld* Don't ever talk about her weight. She still sleeps with the powersword under her pillow.admiral_danielsben wrote:"She's kinda....unnnhhhh.....cute...<ohmydidijustsaythat?>. And as for the riddle, it's just <mumbles correct answer rather incoherently>"LadyTevar wrote:"But they're easy riddles! She's not hiding that much at all!"Ford Prefect wrote:"She's a very forthright woman."
"Are you insane? Every second thing she says is some sort of riddle!"
*Techmarine Exeunt*
Manic Progressive: A liberal who violently swings from anger at politicos to despondency over them.
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
Out Of Context theatre: Ron Paul has repeatedly said he's not a racist. - Destructinator XIII on why Ron Paul isn't racist.
Shadowy Overlord - BMs/Black Mage Monkey - BOTM/Jetfire - Cybertron's Finest/General Miscreant/ASVS/Supermoderator Emeritus
Debator Classification: Trollhunter
"I came to this MaidenWorld to fight an orc invasion. There are still pockets of feral orks remaining. One must be prepared to defend the colonists at all costs. Yet the next uprising will not be for ten solar rotations. Until then, we will trade our surplus crops with you ... for a suitable exchange, of course."SirNitram wrote:*Welds servo-arm back onto armour* Yea, cute. *Weld, weld* Don't ever talk about her weight. She still sleeps with the powersword under her pillow.admiral_danielsben wrote:"She's kinda....unnnhhhh.....cute...<ohmydidijustsaythat?>. And as for the riddle, it's just <mumbles correct answer rather incoherently>"LadyTevar wrote: "But they're easy riddles! She's not hiding that much at all!"
*Techmarine Exeunt*
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet