In the dim light of the lumestick, Rogals face beamed with pride. The contented sigh that spilled from his guests lips said more than words ever could. She liked it. She liked his amsec. He watched her take another sip, which was followed by another contented sigh, and before his eyes she seemed to shed all the stress that had built up over the past few days. He watched as her emerald green eyes glinted in the lumesticklight, her delicate porcelain skin, the intricate scrollwork on her mechanical hands.
Octavia suppressed a shiver, the amsec was amazing. She leaned forwards, resting her arms on the table, and surveyed her host in the lumestick light. Her vision flicked through the spectrums, picking up on the heat emanating from his body, how he traced the rim of his glass with a finger, the faint scars on his hands and face, the slightly lopsided smile, caused no doubt by some old wound. Her fleshbrain and sacred cognitor faced off. The man was still that, just a man, her cognitor argued, made of weak flesh. Weak flesh? Her fleshbrain questioned, You’ve touched the weak flesh, and its stronger than us. You read the report, YOU made the report. Her cognitor tittered nervously, as she took a longer draught from her amsec, say something, her cognitor urged, anything. Her fleshbrain sighed, desperately flicking through the thousands of possibilities she had thought of. Her mechandrite tapped the rationpack gently.
“Shall we eat?” Octavia managed to say, gripping her glass tightly.

Rogal’s brain registered the request, but no answer came forth, instead he just continued to look at his petite guest. Octavia coughed politely, breaking the commissar from his revelry, and with a nod, he reached forward, pulling the lid from the ration pack.
“Sorry, priestess, I’m still a little tired. Weak flesh and all that,” He said, with a small smile, as he handed her a packet of biscuits. A mechandrite snaked out and took the silver pack, as another reached to open it. Rogal opened the small jar of spread that the ration pack contained, setting it down in the middle of the table, before reaching back into the box and removing the two serving trays contained within.
“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better,” The commissar said, tugging at the plump soup sachet, “I wasn’t exactly expecting a guest tonight,”
A puzzled look crossed Octavia’s face, as her cognitor attempted to make sense of that statement. She saw no reason for the Commissars apology until an errant scrap of knowledge flitted past her vision. Combining the strange statement with the body language, and his thermal readings, and a small note from Caelistis, explaining how he would say something like this because of the infatuation.

Rogal watched his guest’s attention drift away, her nose twitching as she pondered whatever mysteries a servant of the machine god pondered. He contented himself with preparing the meal for the two of them, pulling the tab on the soup sachet to engage the heating mechanism, before pulling the staple packet from the bottom of the pack. Rogal grinned, the emprah was kind. The staple packet contained the coverted string pasta with grox mince sauce. The soup was nothing special, just a simple grox broth with some herbs, designed to be eaten with the small loaf that came in the ration pack. The string pasta with grox mince staple however, was considered the best rations to come from the pack, and he had heard stories of guardsmen trading packets of lho sticks for a single serve.

Octavia silently cursed her friend, for always being right. No matter how she looked at it, the data she was collecting pointed to one thing, and one thing only, an irrational infatuation with the commissar. Caelistis and her had been together since as far back as either of them could remember, and every single time, Caelistis would find a way to be right. Octavia’s fleshbrain interrupted her musings to point out that the meal had been prepared, and it was damn foolish of her to just be sitting there twitching her nose. Blushing at the realisation that her host had prepared the meal while she had been day dreaming, she let out a quiet eep, before looking down at her tray.
“My apologies, commissar, I had some urgent data to repackage.” She mumbled,
Rogal just smiled, “Duty always calls.” He said, taking up his spoon and dipping it into his soup, “And please, call me Rogal.”
Octavia smiled, feeling her cheeks grow hot, as her fleshbrain revelled. “Just like in the gelt romances,” her fleshbrain pointed out, “just think, we can eat, and then drink, and he will be attracted to us, and us to him, and he will pin us down, and tear our-“ Octavia eeped and dropped her spoon, splashing soup across her robe. She sighed angrily, looking around for a napkin, her mechandrites attempting to brush the liquid from her chest. A white kerchief was gently pressed into her hand,
“Here, use this,”

Rogal knew of Octavia’s perchance for absentmindedness and flights of fancy, but this was
“Adorable”
Looking up from sponging the stain on her robe, Octavia was puzzled, “Did you say something Commis- Rogal?”
Shaking his head and praying his blushing cheeks couldn’t be seen, Rogal replied, “No, nothing at all. How are you finding the soup?”
Taking another spoonful, Octavia daintily sipped, swirling the broth in her mouth before swallowing. “It’s good, thank you.”
Her mechandrite continued to wipe at her robe, only making the stain larger. Octavia sighed angrily, and shrugged out of her robe, her mechandrites moving to drape it over the back of the chair. Rogal felt his breath catch in his throat. His mind went all but blank, as he watched his guest in the lumesticklight. A mechandrite brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, as Octavia took up her spoon once more. Rogal managed to swallow the mouthful of soup he had taken before clumsily taking another spoonful. Light glinted gently from the band of silver electoos around Octavia’s neck, and from the smooth red plates that made up her elegant cyber mantle. Her obsidian black mechanical arms met with pale porcelain flesh at her shoulders, more silver electoos splaying out from the contact point. A simple, if delicate white top covered her chest, her cyber mantle acting as a corset, clinching the fabric in. The table obscured any further view, but for Rogal, that view was enough. He thanked the emprah for blessing him, for creating this woman of exceptional beauty. Rogal had met many women in his time, from goveners daughters, to celestines of the ordos familous, but none of them compared to Octavia.

OH GOD YES GIGGLE'SQUEE

Noticing the attention her disrobing had brought, Octiavia blushed, bringing her arms together in modesty. This however, her fleshbrain noted with glee, had the complete opposite affect of enhancing her already ample cleavage. Blushing even harder, Octavia whimpered quietly, her cognitor begging her fleshbrain to stop thinking of things that had to do with tables and pinning and ravishment. She cursed her fleshbrain for reading all those gelt romance novels, and her cognitor whimpered as it tried to find some action to preform that would get her back to her comfort zone. The staple pack opened with a soft pop, indicating its readiness for consumption, as the tantalising smell of grox sauce filled the tent.

Rogal coughed, breaking the silence, “Foods ready,”
Octavia placed her spoon down beside her now empty tray, and reached for the serving tongs in the ration pack. Her tiny hand was dwarfed in Rogals grip as he attempted the same, and the pair stopped to look at one another. Emerald Augmentations met Ceramite grey eyes, as Rogal gently prised Octavia’s fingers from the serving tongs.
“How much would you like?” Rogal asked gently, lifting the steaming pasta from the packet, “Are you hungry?”
Octavia nodded, pushing her plate forward. Keeping her body functioning at peak efficiency demanded a high intake of food, and due to her customised potential coil, she had a near perfect metabolic conversion rate. Her curvy body was a side effect of this, ensuring that she always maintained a reserve of fats just in case. Rogal gently placed the pile of pasta on her tray,
“More?”
Octavia nodded hungrily, “Yes please,”
Another tongful of pasta,
“A little more, if you please?”
Rogal smiled, the juxtaposition between his tiny guest and her now highly piled tray amused him. He let out a low chuckle, deep and rumbling, like a leman russ in low gear. Octavia blushed, realising how this must look to her host, and she tried to stammer out a reason,
“I have a very high metabolism… Potentia coil needs it, keeps me functioning at peak efficiency…”
Rogal’s chuckle became a laugh, “My dear Octavia, please. If you are hungry, you eat.”
The commissar paused, looking at his guest, and then at the large amount of pasta still in the staple pack.

“Would it bother you,” Rogal said quietly, years of commissarial training keeping the embarrassment from his voice, “If I just ate straight from the packet? I’m just rather hungry, and it’s easier”
Octavia smiled at her hosts awkward, “and adorable” her fleshbrain added, behaviour
“If you are hungry, Rogal, you eat. However you wish to.”
A huge grin spread across the commissars face, as he hefted his fork, “In that case, here’s to you and here’s to me, and the emprah smiles on all he sees. I hope you enjoy this meal.”
Octaiva smiled, how quaint her hosts manners were. Taking her own fork up, she began to eat. Daintily at first, acting in accordance with proper mechanicum formal eating practices. Rogal however, was tearing into his meal, having hardly eaten in the past day, his fork powering between mouth and packet, pausing only when he took a mouthful of amsec. Octavia’s fleshbrain squealed with joy, “Look at him, A man. A real man. Not like the cogfuckers” Her cognitor tried to chastise her fleshbrain for its choice of words, but it continued undaunted “He’s like a perfect machine, a machine of flesh and iron will.” Watching her host wolf down his meal, Octavia realised how hungry she too was, and began eating faster, casting aside the mealtime formalities in favour of getting more of the delicious grox sauce covered pasta into her stomach.

The pair ate in silence, the meal disappearing as quick as it had arrived. As she ate, Octavia looked at the side of the ration pack, absentmindedly harvesting the nutritional information on the side. Average kilocals per hundredweight… average energy per serve…. Will feed five guardsmen. Her fleshbrains metaphorical eyes went wide, Five guardsmen? Her cognitor quickly brought up how much she had eaten, what was left on her plate, and compared it with the standard serving size. Slightly over the standard amount, but that was normal. She looked over at Rogal as he scraped the last of the sauce from the bottom of the packet up onto his fork and then into his mouth. A thin trickle of the dark sauce spilling from the corner of his mouth. The man had just devoured, in the same time it had taken her to eat a standard serving, four times the amount. Rogal sighed contentedly, taking a napkin to wipe his mouth. Leaning back into his chair, he raised his glass to Octavia “To good food and good company”
Fumbling for her glass, Octavia managed to raise her own, “To good food and good company.”
The pair knocked back their respective glasses, returning them to the table slightly harder than either intended. Rogal grinned, “I know that noise,”
Octavia looked puzzled, “What noise?”
Leaping from his chair, Rogal returned to his foot locker, grabbing a fresh pair of amsec bottles.
“That’s the noise of a girl who knows how to drink.”

(slightly increased time between posts now, im out of the stuff i had written earlier, sorry folks)

Octavia blushed, and looked around nervously. She had, in the past, drank, and drank hard. Her augmented body quickly burning the alcohol for energy, fueling the catalytic converters that would allow her to drink more, but that was a classic mechanicum colledge game, who had the most efficient body, and who could counter the amsec the most effectively. Caelistis had always beaten her, but Octavia was no slouch. Her fleshbrain started dancing, the amsec already in her system having already being used to undo social inhibitors and other things her fleshbrain considered an inconvenience. Her blessed cognitor just shook its proverbial head, trying its utmost to keep up its quickly fading façade of disapproval. A quiet “eep” left her lips as Rogal stood with the two bottles, swinging them happily,
“Shall we?”
Octavia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her olfactory senses reveled in the smell of the commissars tent, of the meal just gone, and of that enticing smell of sawdust and metal that Rogal was bathed in.
“I should warn you, Rogal,” She said, grinning, “I’m augmented, this is hardly fair,”
Rogal just placed a bottle in front of her as he sat down, “Is that a challenge, little lady?” He asked, a cocky grin spreading across his chiselled features, “Cause where I come from,” A strong hand twisted the lid from the bottle, “That’s a challenge.”

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16546488/

The previous thread, for anyone who missed it.

Octavia’s fleshbrain and cognitor chorused together, something that hadn’t happened since her time in the colledgia, “CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.” Mechandrites snaked out, grasping the bottle Rogal had given her, and prising the lid off. Smiling sweetly, Octavia poured herself a fresh glass,
“So where do you come from, Rogal?” She asked, “And by what rules are we drinking?”
Her cognitor looked shocked, where had this sudden confidence come from, this was so risky, so forward. Her fleshbrain rolled languidly on the metaphorical floor, her hands in her hair, smiling with red cheeks, “We haven’t drunk since that thime with Caelistis and the russ, remember?” Octavias cognitor blushed with horror, as she hoped her body was ready for this.
Raising his own glass to study the liquid in the lumestick light, “Rules are simple, ask a question, take a drink. Answer a question, take a drink. Find a reason, take a drink. Things are pretty simple where I come from.” He said, grinning awkwardly.
Octavia laughed, a musical, melodic sound, “So binary roulette?”
Rogal looked confused, “Binary roulette?”
Octavia nodded, “one equals drink, zero equals anything else, but if zero occours, then one must occour. Binary roulette.”
It was Rogal’s turn to laugh, “Cogboy drinking games, who knew.” Tipping his glass to his guest, Rogal downed half the glass. “Anyway, you wanted to know about where I come from?”
Octavia nodded, before taking a drink from her own glass, “If you don’t mind, that is?”
“I’d be a terrible host if I denied my guests anything. I grew up…”

Yes, moar

>>16575574
Oh yeah, derp. Thanks buddy :3

Octavia sat and listened as Rogal told her of his homeworld, of growing up in the schola progenium, of the forest around him, of growing strong by the swing of the axe and dextrous by the blade of a carving tool. The pair drank and laughed as he told of how he and some other cadets had made a trebuchet to help the convent attached to the schola train their sisters in the art of the jump pack.
“So this one sister, absolutely emprah crazy, thinks she can just launch herself and that the emprah would protect her,” Rogal said, before chuckling, “So she just climbs on in to the basket, and demands we launch her.”
Octavia put a mechandrite to her mouth in horror, “and then what happened?”
“Well, I saw what was happening, so right at the last moment, just as Ambrosios pulls the leaver, I wrench the thing sideways. You should have heard her squeal, sounded like an earthshaker round.”
Melodious laughter spilled from Octavias lips as she took another sip from her glass. The bottle infront of her was half empty now, and her fleshbrain was revelling in the fact. Her cognitor was desperately trying to burn the excess alcohol away, but her fleshbrain kept pouncing on her, trying to let the her blood alcohol level rise. Rogal grinned, taking a mouthful of amsec before continuing, “We launched that white haired emprah botherer straight into the lake. She came out, soaked to the bone, and we learned that day why the heretic fears the angry sister.”
The pair laughed in unison, clinking their glasses together, before Rogal leaned in, “So what about you, Little lady? How did you grow up?”

Octavia blushed, she wasn’t good at talking about herself. “Well, I was born. No, I was grown? That’s not right either, umm, how to explain this. When a mechanicum couple wants to have a son or daughter, they, well, take the genetic material from both parents, and, combine them, and then they stick the now growing embryo in a special vat, and we develop in there,”
Rogal nodded, “Like they do on the farms?”
Her already flushed cheeks grew hotter, “I guess you could put it like that. But there is so much more to it, the parents tend to their child, ensuring it develops strong and healthy, correcting any issues that may arise before they can affect the child, it’s a beautiful thing, the machine is literally like a third parent, it nurtures us, it cares for us, the strong machine caring for the weak flesh, so we may become like the machine someday, and care for it in turn.”
Rogal’s face was dumbstruck, he had never thought of it like that. Cogboy’s had always just seemed strange and foreign to him, but when explained in such terms, it made sense.
“So I grew up, got my first augment at eight years standard terran, became an apprentice at thirteen years terran, and got into one of the most prestigious colledgia mechanica on the world at eighteen standard.” Octavia continued, explaining her learnings and what she had done, her translations and understanding of technology allowing for small advancements where it could.
Rogal nodded, feeling very aware of what a simple and backwards man he must seem. Here he was talking of wood and simple mechanical levers, while his guest had been cracking atoms and building plasma engines.
“I must seem like such a simpleton,”
Octavia paused, realising her guests discomfort, “Sometimes, simple is better.”

what happened last time between our lovers

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16546488

A small hand reached out to touch a larger one, “Your work is just as vaild as mine. You put as much heart and soul into your work as any mechanicum priest, and that is to be commended, and respected.”
Rogal smiled, “Thank you Octavia, you’re far to kind to this humble servant of the emprah.”
His hand gently took hers, and the pair just sat there in the flickering lumestick light, emerald augments and ceramite eyes sharing a moment that both wished could last forever. Suddenly, Octavia leapt to her feet, “Inverted flux capacitors, look at the time,”
Rogal turned in his seat, looking at the chronometer beside his bunk, the dull red numbers staring sullenly back at him. The planet was on a 36 hour day, so the night was still young, but it was still late in the morning,
“I haven’t done my duties, there are tanks to be consecrated, lasguns to be serviced,” Octavia began hurring about the tent, mechandrites nearly blurs as she tidied the table,
“Octavia,” Rogal said, reaching out to stop her, but she just brushed past him,
“Octavia,” Rogal tried again, but was ignored. Sighing with frustration, his hand whipped out,
“Octavia. Stop.”

INTERMISSION.

sorry readers, need to attend to some things. Keep this thread alive for me, and i promise good things :3

AHHH Cliff hanger ending again

Every nerve ending, real and artificial in Octavias body jolted. Around her arm, Rogals huge hand held firm. Not so firm as to be uncomfortable, but firm enough that her fleshbrain would pounce upon the situation. “THIS IS IT,” her fleshbrain cried, rolling and writhing on the metaphorical floor of Octavia’s mind, running its conceptual hands and mechandrites up and down its body, “He’s being so firm and forceful, feel that power,” She moaned, as her cognitor looked on, mute and frozen. Rogal turned his guest to face him, his hands moving up her arms. Looking her in the eyes,
“Octavia, please. Stop this. If you need to go, then go.” He said, his voice tinged with sadness at the end of a wonderful evening,
Octavia looked back, her mind instantly sobering as her cognitor purged all alcohol in her system, “I have to go. Thank you for the wonderful meal.”
Her fleshbrain cried out in anguish, why was this happening, it cried, as her cognitor steered them towards the tent door. She stepped outside, the tent flap closing behind her, as thousands of thoughts flashed through her mind at once. Sighing at herself, she began her walk back to the mechanicum complex, when Rogals voice cut through the still night air
“Octavia, wait,” He called, jogging up to her, “You forgot your cloak,”
Clutched to his broad chest, he gently held her red outer cloak, folded neatly. She looked up at the awkward smile on the commissars face, as he offered the bundle to her. Taking it in her hands, she clutched the bundle to her own chest, and smiled back up at him. He coughed, and clasped his hands behind his back,
“I was wondering, if you aren’t busy tonight, if you would like to have dinner again? Only if your duty doesn’t call, that is?”
Taking a step closer to the commissar, her fleshbrain shoved her cognitor aside, and gently she rested her head against his stomach. “I would like that.”

Rogal paused, unsure how to react to this close physical proximity, his hand absentmindedly stroking down Octavias hair and spine, the jarring cold of her cyber mantle meeting his fingers snapping him back to reality.
“I’ll meet you in the Mess hall at twenty hundred? We can decide what we want to do from there?”
Octavia nodded her, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her, the side effect of her bodys effort to remove the alcohol from her system. She snuggled her face into Rogals coat, feeling his warmth through the wool, her mind wandering as she marvelled at the thousands of reactions that would be powering his massive frame at that time. He coughed politely,
“Octavia, shouldn’t you be going?”
She blushed and pulled away, “Of course, my apologies Commissar.”
Rogal coughed, “We’re not on duty, Preistess,” He said with a grin, “Goodnight Octavia.”
“Goodnight Rogal.”

you said there would be snuggles. We were promised snuggles. Do not renege on your promise, good sir. That would be most heretical of you.

>>16576678
Yea.. what he said

The commissar watched as the petite techpriestess pulled her cloak back around her, a mechandrite throwing her hood forward, as she crossed the base. He looked around, the generators still weren’t working, which was strange. Tapping his earbead, he patched himself back into the base’s voxnet.

OCTAVIA why would you cockblock yourself?! Did you not have your VAG installed or something? COME ON GIRL!

“Tiberius?”
His Vox was filled with a burst of static, before the Battallions head vox officer’s voice entered the channel, “Sir?” His voice was strained, and rogal could hear his breathing, louder than it should be,
“Tiberius, what’s keeping the cogboys? Does it really take that long to repair a generator?”
Tiberius was heard to converse with someone in the background, a female voice, Rogal knew that much, but his thoughts were distracted as the vox officer replied,
“I’m told their just about done, Sir.”
As Tiberius spoke, a deep thrum rolled through the night air, and a warm glow filled the night sky as the generator came back online. Rogal nodded to himself, “Good. Make sure they run a full diagnostic, I don’t want that happening again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hephastus out.”

Tiberius waited for the click of disconnection, before letting out a loud and heavy sigh. Beside him, Caelistis checked her cabled hair in a screen reflection, pushing some errant MIU cables behind her ear with a mechandrite. Another gently massaged Tiberius’s shoulder, as he leaned back in his chair.
“You realise I’m up for summary execution if he ever finds out about this?”
Caelistis laughed, “Live a little, meatbag. Such things keep life exciting.” She said as she wrapped her cloak around her. Her mechandrite gently traced down Tiberius’s neck, “And besides, I owe you now.”
The vox officer looked up, Caelistis winked at him. “I need to go, my little fleshsack, but if you drop by the armory around lunchtime, I could do with your help… calibrating some rather sensitive equipment.”
She looked over her shoulder as she gently dragged a mechandrite across Tiberius’s shoulders as she walked away, he caught the mechanical cable, and kissed it, “Goodnight, goodnight, my technological temptress, may cherubim sing you to your rest cycle,” He said with a grin.

Also, i did promise snuggles, but you cant hurry love, no you just have to wait, for dinner the next night... maybe...

>>16576778
I have been placated by techno-temptresses. Carry on, good wordsmith.

Octavia threw the door to her quarters open with a mechandrite, another pulling the cloak from her shoulders, as she strode through towards her bed. She stopped, her fingers splaying through her hair, pulling the cable tie she had used to put it up out, and throwing it behind her, her mechandrites began undoing the clasps at her hips, releasing the long skirt that covered her augmented legs. She looked over her shoulder at herself in the mirror she and Caelistis shared in their quarters, a mechandrite gently tracing the lace like electoos at her thighs, decorating the line that separated pale flesh from onyx bionic. She threw her blanket aside and herself onto the matress, her mechandrites splaying out behind her like wings. Her fleshbrain writhed on the ground, howling complaints about wasted chances, as her cognitor just went dumbly about its duties, still numb from the nights excitement. Lifting an arm, she studied her hand, the same hand that had met Rogals so many times that night. She thought of his hands, so large, and powerful, the electrical pulses that she had sent through them had fed back a muscle density on par with vat grown muscle, far stronger than any normal man. Her fleshbrain called forth images of him holding her arms, his presence so powerful and daunting. Octavia felt her body go hot, her cognitor telling her to ignore her fleshbrain, it was just a side effect of the alcohol clearing.

back in a moment again readers, INTERMISSION THE SECOND

oh gosh

>>16576860
You're amazing. I eagerly await your return.

Her fleshbrain had other ideas, pulling a memnorvox clip, she heard him, in those rich deep tones, “Octavia, please,” Her fleshbrain writhed in pleasure, her mechandrites following the strongest signal. They snaked around her limbs, trailing sensuously across her, the heat in her stomach rising even further. Her cognitor whimpered in a corner of her mind, blaming the alcohol, blaming bad wiring, blaming everything it could except itself, as her fleshbrain took full control. Images of him holding her by the arms, pinning her to the table, her mechandrites wrapped around his strong arms, pulling them closer. Octavias lips parted, a breathy sigh escaping, followed by a whimper. Her mechandrites constricted around her tighter, as she buried her hands in her brown locks. Her back arched, as a pair of mechandrites gently slid across the flesh of her upper thighs. Her cognitor managed to exert one last order, before being overwhelmed, and that was to pull the rich red blanket back over their body. Octavia’s fleshbrain took over, her mechandrites dancing over her body, as little warning runes signalled across her vision. She paid them no attention, lost in her thoughts, her fleshbrain conducting her movements like a maestro infront of an orchestra.
“Rogal..” she whispered to the darkness, her emerald green eyes half hooded, her mouth open, panting, “Oh commissar..”

lord I hope her room mate walks in.

Caelistis quietly closed the door, and made her way to her bunk. Looking over at her roommate, she smiled, gently reaching out with a mechandrite to pull the twisted blanket that covered Octavia a little straighter. Octavia whimpered in her sleep, as a mechandrite twitched lazily. Gently pulling her boots off, Caelistis shed her robe and climbed into her own bunk, content with her nights work. A libertine at heart, Caelistis couldn’t stand to see her friend not enjoying the few things that kept her human. That was after all what had caused the iron men to revolt, a lack of humanity. Pulling her blanket around her, she rolled over, closing her one human eye, and powering down her other. From across the room, she heard Octavia talking in her sleep, “Oh commissar, I’m in violation of uniform code eight eight oh three five nine, and need to be punished,”
Caelistis smothered a laugh with her pillow, her mind wandering back to Tiberius, and how he looked with her mechandrites around his neck, and drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

Glad you like the picture Kreiger!

>>16577240
"I say, that is a dashing man"

Oh, writefriend . . .

>>16577240
Needs more sideburns. All commissar need more sideburns.

Caelistis groaned, opening her human eye, lights, bright, and the noise of, something. Pulling herself up to sitting, she looked around, her quarters were spotless. That wasn’t right. Her Augmented eye clicked to life, as Octavia walked in, rosy cheeks and bright smiles, with two cups of recaf.
“Good morning, Caelistis,” she said, handing her friend a cup, her mechandrites folding Caelistis’s robe as she continued talking, “How was your evening?”
Caelistis grinned, “Just had to fix up a rather disobedient generator, and yourself?”
Octavia blushed, “We had dinner, it was nice. Rogal is a nice person. I like him.”
“What do the tests say?” Caelistis asked, “That was the whole reason why you went, remember?”
Octavia’s cheeks went redder, as she fidgeted with the mechanospanner she had picked up, and let out a small eep.
“Well?”
Looking away from her friend, Octavia sent the results. Caelistis roared with laughter, the autotuned noise filling the room.
“What do I do?” Octavia asked, as she sat on her friend’s bed, looking down at her augmented feet poking out from under her dress. Caelistis put a comforting hand to her friends shoulder, “I think you already know what you’re going to do,” she said, as she gestured to the now impeccably clean room,
“Bring him back here, I can cover the night shift easily enough,”

A wolfish grin crossed Caelistis’s face, as behind her, her mechandrites began constricting around her pillow. With a squeal of joy, Octavia hugged her friend, before pulling away,
“Do you think you could, adhere to the standard uniform code, before we do that again?”
Caelistis looked down, her bare chest pale in the glowglobe light, before grinning at Octavia, “You never complained back at the colledgia,”
Grabbing a pillow, Octavia hit her friend, “Behave yourself, Caelistis.”
Never one to let a chance go by, “Or what, you’ll get your big commissar to punish me?” Caelistis retorted. Octavia’s face went pink once more, as Caelistis rolled over and onto all fours, her blanket still covering her lower body, “Oh Commissar,” Caelistis moaned, “I’ve been a bad little techpreistess, won’t you and Octavia punish me,” She emphasised the punish by smacking herself with a mechandrite. Octavia blushed harder, letting out a small eep at the sound of the smack, a hand and mechandrite covering her mouth as she looked away. Caelistis laughed again, a mechandrite fishing undergarments from under her bed, before putting them on as their owner got out of her bed.

>>16577240
Did you draw it? If so, a thousand thanks, you dashing rouge you.

keeeeep it coming.

“Stop teasing me,” Octavia said, hugging the pillow to her in a huff.
Caelistis ruffled her friends hair affectionately, “But it’s so much fun. Such things keep us human, stops a second iron man rebellion. Anyway, get dressed, we can grab some food on the way to the armoury, your skills are needed. A hydra is having targeting problems, needs your touch.” Calestis explained, as she pulled a robe over her head, smothing it down her slim body, before throwing her cloak over the top, “Hood’s up, let’s go.”
Octavia nodded, her smile returning, as she followed her friend out into the base once more.
The night had been long for Rogal. He had tried to sleep, to no avail. He had done push ups, chin ups, carved half a regicide set, polished his… laspistol, and finally managed to get to sleep. Blearly he had dragged himself to the mess hall, and grabbing mug of recaf, he flopped down at the officers table. Resting his head on his arms, he let the smell of hot recaf slowly fill his mind.
“Morning Sir,”
Tiberius beamed down at the tired commissar, “I brought you some breakfast.”
With a grunt, Rogal pulled himself up to sitting, as the vox officer slid a tray piled high with hot food in front of him.
“Thank you, Tiberius. Much Obliged.”
Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Rogal grabbed his fork, oblivious to the pained look that flashed across his Tiberius’s face. Gingerly, the vox officer rolled his shoulder a few times, trying to ignore the pain from the bruise that had just been hit. He sat down beside Rogal, and dug into his own plate.
“So, Sir, I hear you had a date last night?”

>>16577418
" polished his… laspistol,"

I giggled
a lot

Rogal stopped mid chew, his fork dropping into the pile of scrambled eggs. He swallowed nervously, and took a swig from his recaf.
“What?”
Tiberius grinned, he and Rogal had been promoted to officer and full commissar at the same time, due to some rather fancy work they had done with a damaged voxcaster, a truck full of explosives, some paint and a rather irate cultist. He knew what he could get away with, and this was one of those things.
“There’s a whisper on the voxnet that you had a date last night.”
Rogal forced himself to keep a straight face, taking up his fork once more, “Oh, really?”
“Yes, my friend, really.”
“And with who did I have this, date?”
Tiberius raised his mug in respect, “They say, you had a date, with her.”
“Her?”
Tiberius nodded towards the serving station, and the two robed figures there. Octavia had filled her tray with bacon and hash browns, her a couple of ploins wrapped in mechandrites, a cup of recaf in another, and a third feeding her a slice of toast. Beside her, Caelistis stood with her own tray, a large bowl of the hot porridge steaming, as she added spoonful upon spoonful of the sweet brown sugar that sat at the condiments table. Rogal just watched as the pair walked off, before slowly resuming his chewing.
“Her. The darling girl of the mechanicus, she who saves our asses and makes our lives easier. Emprah on earth, it’s like a gelt romance. So, is it true?”
Rogal set his fork down, “It is true that we shared a meal.”
“So it was a date?”

>>16577418
>“Stop teazing moi,” Orktavia said, crushing the pillow to him in a huff.
>Caelistis ruffled her friends hairsquigs affectionately,
>“But it’s so much fun. Such things keep me human, stops a second iron man rebellion. Anyway, get dressed, we can grab some food on the way to the armoury, your skills are needed. A hydra is having targeting problems, needs your touch.” Calestis explained, as she pulled a robe over her head, smoothing it down her slim body, before throwing her cloak over the top, “Hood’s up, let’s go.”
>Orktavia nodded, his massive iron gob clattering, as he followed his friend out into the base once more, stopping only momentarily to crump a servitor.
The night had been long for Rogal. He had tried to sleep, to no avail. He had done push ups, chin ups, carved half a regicide set, polished his… laspistol, and finally managed to get to sleep. Blearly he had dragged himself to the mess hall, and grabbing mug of recaf, he flopped down at the officers table. Resting his head on his arms, he let the smell of hot recaf slowly fill his mind.
“Morning Sir,”
Tiberius beamed down at the tired commissar, “I brought you some breakfast.”
With a grunt, Rogal pulled himself up to sitting, as the vox officer slid a tray piled high with hot food in front of him.
“Thank you, Tiberius. Much Obliged.”
Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Rogal grabbed his fork, oblivious to the pained look that flashed across his Tiberius’s face. Gingerly, the vox officer rolled his shoulder a few times, trying to ignore the pain from the bruise that had just been hit. He sat down beside Rogal, and dug into his own plate.
“So, Sir, I hear you had a date last night?”

F5 FOR THE EMPRAH F5!!!1

>>16577577
Rogal stopped mid chew, his fork dropping into the pile of scrambled eggs. He swallowed nervously, and took a swig from his recaf.
“What?”
Tiberius grinned, he and Rogal had been promoted to officer and full commissar at the same time, due to some rather fancy work they had done with a damaged voxcaster, a truck full of explosives, some paint and a rather irate cultist. He knew what he could get away with, and this was one of those things.
“There’s a whisper on the voxnet that you had a date last night.”
Rogal forced himself to keep a straight face, taking up his fork once more, “Oh, really?”
“Yes, my friend, really.”
“And with who did I have this, date?”
Tiberius raised his mug in respect, “They say, you had a date, with it.”
“It?”
Tiberius nodded towards the serving station, and the two robed figures there. Orktavia had filled her tray with squigbacon and squigbrowns, his a couple of ploins wrapped in cybork arms, a cup of fungus beer in another, and a third feeding it a slice of human gubbins. Beside her, Caelistis stood with her own tray, a large bowl of the hot porridge steaming, as she added spoonful upon spoonful of the sweet brown sugar that sat at the condiments table. Rogal just watched as the pair walked off, before slowly resuming his chewing.
“It. The darling xenos of the mechanicus, it that kicks our asses and makes our lives more hilarious. Emprah on earth, it’s like a gelt romance. So, is it true?”
Rogal set his fork down, “It is true that we shared a meal.”
“So it was a date?”

Rogal tried not to smile, “No, she just brought some food with her when she came to drop off a report I had asked for. I was starving, so, she stayed, and we ate, and then she noticed the time and she left.”
“That’s it?”
Rogal nodded, taking another mouthful of food and chewing happily, he turned his mind to the tasks for the day.
“There’s also a whisper, Sir, of there being another rendezvous between yourself and the priestess tonight.”
Rogal nearly choked. Coughing loudly, he drained his mug, and stood, “We’re not finished here,” He growled to Tiberius before he went and refilled his mug. This mug was drained, before being filled again, and Rogal returned to the table. Tiberius grinned at the commissar as he sat down once more,
“So there is another meeting?”
Rogal looked around, feeling like he was back at the schola, before he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Yes, we’re meeting again tonight. You tell anyone,” Rogal patted his holstered laspistol, “You explain yourself to him on earth.”
Tiberius just laughed, “Fine, fine, this stays between you, me and the emprah. But, if I may, sir,”
Tiberius saluted, “Damn fine job.”
Rogal just sighed, “Actually, I could do with some help, there are some, items, I need.”
“At your service, sir”.

>>16577684
>“There’s also a whisper, Sir, of there being another rendezvous between yourself and the mekboy tonight.”

horus be damned i hate to do this to you all, but i need to go for an hour or so.

my apolgies in advance, please keep this bumped. I'll make it worth your while, i promise.

>>16577698
Oh flashgit, you so funneh :3

>>16577644
>>16577607
>>16577698

bump for the bump god

bump for the bumpthrone

>>16577703
Unfortunately I have to finally sleep. Love the story so far kreiger, keep it up.

I was wondering... why noone do a story about an ork who addopted a little hummie child as his lucky gobbo, starting a serie of silly parenthood stories? Or maybe the ork is Jackie chan and he tries to protect a baby?

bump for the OH GOD IM STILL NEEDED ELSEWHERE

>>16578029
I dont know but you gave me an idea
>play RT
>be the RT, epic steroid abuse
>have self tattooed green
>use your superior intelligence and now equal strength and (relatively) god tier shooting skills to become an ork warboss
>have all orks designated 'Imperial Auxiliary Regiment #2,974'
>use your waaaaagh! to help the Guard fight the enemys of mankind
>Call in several hundred favors from guard officers next time some other rouge trader prick tries to trade on your worlds

>>16578061
I'm pretty sure that's heresy.

Also, you can't be only Dakka, you also need to be more Choppah. If a leader can't be Choppah, then is done for.

>>16578029


You mean something like this?

oh man I can't wait for the next part! Rogal better bring Octavia to bonetown and bang her right through the floorboards.

The day passed without incident, Rogal continued to work, that day making bunks for the new barracks that were being raised. Octavia placated the hydra, rebuilding its targeting core in record time. Both, however, seemed to always be not quite with it, despite their excellent work. Day passed into night, and Rogal dropped into the quartermasters shed. The grizzled, beareded quartermaster looked out with his one good eye and grunted a welcome.
“Evening Atticus,” Rogal said, nodding at the scruffy man behind the counter, “Did those items arrive?”
Another grunt, and the old man disappeared back into the rows of shelves behind him. He returned with a crate, thudding it down on the counter top,
“Don’t this constitute some form of abuse of authoriteh or sommat?” Atticus grumbled, pushing the requisition form across to Rogal, who just sighed,
“It would be, if I wasn’t trading you three bottles of amsec,” Rogal retorted, signing the form and pushing it back across the counter. He then reached down and grabbed the box at his feet, placing it on the counter beside the now completed requisition form, “And there’s an extra one in there, just between friends,”
Atticus laughed hoarsely, “You have fun tonight now sir,” He croaked, taking his items and returning to the darkness of the shed.

Bump?

>>16578356
Bump.

Octavia sat in the corner of the mess, watching as guardsmen and women came and went about their nightly duties, waiting patiently. Her mechandrites absentmindedly stroking at her robes, as she pondered how she would exactly conduct herself tonight. Her cognitor had not stopped running situations since she had awoke, and her fleshbrain had been chattering near incessantly, only placated by a quick… recalibration inside the hydra. She could feel her fleshbrain exerting its control, once more, as she ran a hand through her hair. She heard a polite cough behind her, and turned in her seat. Standing with a crate almost as big as her over his shoulder, stood Rogal. He smiled warmly down at her, “My apologies for keeping you waiting, priestess.”
Octavia smiled timidly, “Your early commissar, nothing wrong with being efficient”
Rogal offered his hand, “Shall we?”
Her small hand dwarfed in his gloved one, he helped her to her feet, “I was thinking we could have a picnic, there is this wonderful spot over by the vox tent,” Rogal explained as they walked from the mess, oblivious to the numerous pairs of eyes watching them.

Octavia looked up at the crate on Rogal’s shoulder as they walked, marvelling at the size of it. He showed no sign of difficulty in carrying it, but judging from the reinforced nature of the crate, Octavia guessed it would have taken a couple of guardsmen to carry it. Looking further up, she saw the twin moons slowly drift behind a cloud, bathing the small hill they were climbing in diffused light. Her emerald eyes shone in the darkness as they crested the hill, dwarfed by the huge voxspire beside them. Releasing her hand, Rogal lowered the crate to the ground and popped the clasps, the crate unsealing with a hiss.

>>16578414
Thats so romantic~ I hope theres a fondue set in there!

Octavia drank in the view, as Rogal busied himself with the crate. She heard clinks and pops, and as she turned, Rogal presented her with a glass of amsec.
“It took a little work,” He explained, as he rose to his feet and stood beside her, “But I think you will like dinner tonight. The Pair looked out over the base, unaware of the clouds rolling in behind them. The wind picked up slightly, blowing Octavia’s robe against Rogal’s leg, and she reached down to pull it away. Their hands met, gingerly at first, before Rogal’s huge hand once again enveloped hers. Octavia looked up at her companion, and found him looking back, his lopsided smile plastered to his face. “How was your day?” He asked, as he led her back to the picnic he had set up, a checkered blanket lying in front of the crate, laden with food. Sitting on the crate, Rogal patted beside him, and Octavia obediently sat, pressing herself close to the burly commissar. He leant down and grabbed a plate, loaded with small green fruits and thinly cut cheese. With his free hand he pulled one of the fruits from its stem and offered it to his guest. Octavia’s nose twitched as she sniffed at the morsel,
“What is it?” She asked, as her cognitor scrambled to identify the fruit,
“It’s called a grep, apparently,” Rogal said, twisting the small sphere between his fingers, “They’re very nice,”
Timidly, Octavia opened her mouth, and took a bite from the offered fruit. Her face lit up with delight, as she quickly chewed and swallowed, opening her mouth for more. Rogal laughed,
“I take it you like it?”
Octavia nodded happily, “Yes. More please.”
Rogal gently pushed the rest of the grape into her mouth, the leather of his glove caressing her bottom lip, causing her to shiver. Her fleshbrain tittered happily, as her cognitor quickly dismissed the idea of sucking on his finger.

This is the greatest thing ever in the history of things.

Rogal smiled, offering the rest of the plate to his guest, as he put his arm around her. She seemed so fragile and delicate, he thought, dispite knowing she was more durable than him. He looked out to across the base, the lights of the tents and buildings like a patch of stars fallen to earth. A small cough brought him from his thoughts, as Octavia offered him a grep rolled in the cheese,
“Sir, you must eat.” She said, her emerald eyes looking up happily, her face lighting up as he carefully took the cheese wrapped fruit between his teeth. Her fingers softly brushed his stubble as she pulled her hands away, and Rogal chuckled,
“That tickled,” He said, noticing Octavia’s puzzled look, “You touched my stubble, it tickled,”
“Oh…” Octavia said, smiling happily again, “Does that really tickle?”
Rogal nodded as he lifted another plate, this one piled high with a salad filled with leafy greens, chicken, bacon and cheese, “Yes, it really does tickle. Would you like some salad?”
Octavia nodded, taking up one of the forks that had been stabbed into the meal. She offered the mouthful to Rogal, smiling happily, “You really must eat, such a body must require a lot of nutrients,”
Rogal smiled around the fork in his mouth, nodding happily. He chewed and swallowed, and Octavia offered him another forkful of salad. He took it gladly, and the forkful after that, and the one after that. Octavia beamed, now kneeling on the crate as she fed her host. With the plate nearly empty, Rogal stopped, “Shouldn’t you have some?”
Octavia tilted her head, “Oh, yes. I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?”
Rogal took the fork and speared a mouthful of salad on it, “Yes, you should. My turn,”
Octavia opened her mouth, wrapping it around the forkful of salad offered to her. She suppressed a happy sigh as she chewed, the crisp greens and tender chicken flavourful in her mouth.

Oh God, this is max adorable.

And thinking about the Commissar's lopsided smile everytime he smiles or grins, it's just too cute. Guys with something a little off about them physically are max adorable. I knew this guy with one eye lid that would droop a bit all the time making one eye look half closed, and when he smiled it would start to twitch a bit. Oh God, it was so cute.

>>16578587
There is a god. He is the Emprah, bless you littlest kreiger. May your bolts always find the heart of the xenos.

I fucking love you littlest kreiger.

A cold drip interrupted the happy pair. Looking skyward, dark dark clouds stared back. Another drip, this one patting on Rogal’s peaked cap. A third, then a forth drip, as the rain began. Rogal cursed inwardly, how could he have been so stupid as to forget to check the weather. He near lept from the crate, bundling food quickly back into the collapsible containers that were their plates. Octavia stood, her mechandrites grabbing the chequered blanket and folding it, as her host quickly threw the now full containers into the crate. The rain started thudding down, droplets the size of stubber bullets pounding down. Rogal pulled his coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around Octavia, who looked up at him, her eyes glowing from under her hood,
“The mechanicum complex is closer, come with me,” She called, grabbing Rogals hand and pulling him forward. With a grunt Rogal pulled the crate up under his arm, and the pair began running through the rain. Octavia nimbly moved down the hill, her augmented legs letting her keep pace with the thudding boots of the commissar behind her. The rain beat down as the pair ran under the cover of the main mechanicus building, leaving a trail of water behind them. Octavia slowed, leading Rogal past the secutors at the main bulkhead, and down the maze of corridors that lead to her room. Opening the door, she let her guest in, and with a thought activated the glowglobes, bathing the room in soft even light. She turned to face her guest, and her fleshbrain squealed with joy. His chest heaving, soaked to the bone, Rogal stood in the doorway, crate over his shoulder, his white shirt plastered to his chest. He took his hat off and wiped his brow with his arm, a futile gesture, as it just moved the water around. He smiled sheepishly, “Do you have a towel?”

Keeping this bumped because I'm in love with these two characters.

I'm also in love with you littles kreiger. A thousand thank yous for writing this.

Octavia’s eyes went wide, and her mind into overdrive, where were the towels, she had spent all morning cleaning and now could not remember where she had put the towels. Letting out a small eep, she hurred into the bathroom, her mechandrites wrenching the linen cupboard open, her eyes scanned up and down the shelves. Her towels were small, made for people the size of her or Caelistis, not for someone as broad shouldered as her guest. Her fleshbrain pointed out that this was not a problem, so long as he was dried off eventually, that was all he needed. Her cognitor ceded the point, and she grabbed a fluffy red towel, before returning to the main living area. Rogal stood with his back to her, his hat on the table and his shirt in his hands, as he wrung it out over the sink. Octavia’s breath caught in her throat, as she watched the muscles in Rogal’s back twist and move as he wrung the water from his shirt, rivulets from his hair making their way down over corded muscles. She let out a small whimper, and forced herself to move. Taking the towel in her hands, she gently dabbed at Rogals back, causing him to stiffen.
“Octavia?”
She let out an eep, before composing herself, “Rogal?”
Pausing from wringing his shirt, Rogal stood up, “What are you doing?”
Octavia reached up as far as she could, her mechandrites helping her to dry her guests broad shoulders, “You are my guest, I am being a good hostess.”
Rogal shrugged, “I can dry myself, you know,”
Octavia nodded behind him, “I am aware of that,” She said, her fleshbrain relishing the feeling of Rogal under her mechanical fingertips, quickly added, “But this is mechanicum hospitality, now please, take a seat.” She said, pulling a chair out from the table in the middle of the room. Rogal sat, as Octavia draped the towel across his shoulders.

BY MY HANDS THIS WILL LIVE ON.

Taking sooo long.. :(
+8999 Internets for doing it though.

Get this thread to 100posts so I can take my man to bed. Haha! <3

Even these fellas right here approve.

She lifted his jacket from her shoulders with her mechandrites, draping the water soaked coat over the back of another chair, before removing her own cloak. She shook her head, small droplets flying, before returning to her guest. Taking the towel in her hands, she began to dry Rogals hair. He sighed happily as she buried her hands in the towel and his hair, ruffling this way and that. Her mechandrites slunk out and over his shoulders, finding knots in the muscles and working at them. Rogal moaned happily, his head sinking forward. Octavia left the towel and moved her hands over the broad nape of the commissars neck, her nimble fingers tracing across the muscle bundles. Her mechandrites wrapped up and under his arms, as Octavia went up on tiptoe to hug her guest from behind. The sound of rain on the roof of the complex was the only thing that could be heard.
Octavia sighed, “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her fleshbrain hugged itself with joy as her mechandrites lazily traced lines across Rogal’s broad chest. She felt his breathing, the steady thump of his massive heart, how the muscles in his shoulders were tensing once more. A deep rumble started in his chest, “I couldn’t let them hurt you,” He whispered back, reaching up with a huge hand to cup her face. Her chest went tight, her fleshbrain cheered, this was it, he was going to turn her head, their lips would meet, and- He gently stroked her cheek as he stood.
“We never had dessert.” He said, grinning awkwardly. He crossed the room in a couple of strides, and opened the crate once more. From within he produced a small domed item and a packet of red fruits. Octavia’s eyes went wide, “Are those?”
Rogal nodded, “Stawberrys, I heard somewhere that you liked them,” he said as he sat down again, placing the punnet of strawberries down beside the bronze domed egg.

Pressing a button on the side, the dome popped open, a chocolately smell filling the air.
“I also heard that you like chocolate,” Rogal said, his lopsided smile beaming.
Inside her head, Octavia’s fleshbrain squealed with delight, her cognitor joining in, for the love of chocolate. Her mouth watered, as she watched Rogal dip one of the bright red stawberries into the dark chocolaty pool, pulling it back up with a skilful twist and offering it to her. Her lips locked around the morsel and she bit down, leaving just the green stem in Rogals fingers, and she whimpered happily. The pair sat, as Rogal prepared another strawberry. Pulling her knees underneath herself, Octavia knelt on her chair, leaning over the table to get closer to her guest and his gift. He presented her with another, which she took hungrily, her lips skimming his now ungloved fingertips as she bit down. Her eyes half closed with delight as she chewed, she sighed happily. Taking a strawberry for himself, Rogal dipped it into the molten chocolate, his attention more on his hostess than on his actions. His fingertips dipped into the rich dark liquid, and he jerked his hand back, strings of chocolate dripping. Octavia licked her lips, and looked at her guest with wide eyes. Rogal felt his insides melt like the chocolate dripping from his fingers, as he offered Octavia the stawberry. She took it greedily, and her fleshbrain took its chance, her tounge flicked out and across Rogal’s fingers, collecting as much of the chocolate as she could. Her cognitor stood mute as she moaned happily. Rogal’s brain just froze, his manhood taking over in his moment of weakness. His other hand reached up to Octavia, and buried itself in her hair, as he pulled his other hand away, leaving a small trail of chocolate at the corner of Octavia’s mouth.

bump cos I am not a patient man

Her tounge darted out, licking hungrily at the chocolate, as Rogal dipped a stawberry for himself and threw it into his mouth. Octavia nuzzled her head into his hand, and pulled herself onto the table, crawling forward. Rogal’s mind barely registered anything, lost now in her emerald eyes, as his primal brain took over, reaching forward to take an augmented hand in his own. Octavia’s fleshbrain moaned happily, “I never got to thank you for saving me,” She whispered huskily, as their faces got closer, Rogal’s hand tightening in her hair. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against hers, her breath hot against his mouth. With a crash, they both gave in to their humanity, their lips meeting with a literal spark as Octavia’s potential coil fired. The pair jerked, before coming back together, Rogal’s broad hand sliding up her arm to her shoulder and pulling her closer. Octavia whimpered, her mechandrites snaking forward to wrap themselves around the commissars neck and over his shoulders. Rogal stood, Octavia rising to kneel on the table, her hands splayed across his chest, before he leaned over her, pinning her down by her arms. Her fleshbrain cried out in happiness, “YESYESYESYESYES” it cried, as her cognitor hoped the table was strong enough to support them both. Octavia moaned into the kiss, her tounge flicking out to meet Rogals, and was overpowered by the broad muscle. A mechandrite twitched, activating the auto seal feature on the chocolate pot, before it fell, rolling off the table with a thud. Only Octavia’s cognitor noticed, as her fleshbrain indulged itself, arching their bodies back, pressing against the steely muscles of their guest. Rogal pulled back, taking a deep lungful of air, before burying himself in the nape of her neck, his tongue running across the electoo at her throat. Octavia bucked, the little licks at her throat causing shorts in her electoos, and spasms of pleasure down her spine.

Moar, for the love of god man, do you not know what you are doing to us!?

>>16579003
making all of us want a techpriest waifu?

you make it sound like a bad thing

Bump?

Her fleshbrain writhed in ecstasy, moaning loudly. Her cognitor managed to silence most of them, but the occasional one slipped past. She felt Rogal shudder against her, as her mechandrites dragged themselves across his back. Her cognitor picked up sounds from outside the door, and tried to tell someone, but was promptly drowned out by more moans and smutty talk from the fleshbrain. The door lock clicked and the pair froze. Rogal slowly lifted his head from Octavia’s neck, as she tilted her head back to look. Caelistis poked her head into the room,
“Oh, Octavia, I didn’t know we were expecting guests this early,” she said, with a sly smile on her face. Rogal gently released his grip on her arms and stood, Octavia’s mechandrites trailing lazily from his shoulders, before slowly dragging their way down his chest and back to beside their owner. A mechandrite subtly moved down her leg, straightening her skirt. Rogal bent and picked the egg heater from the floor and set it on the table, before sitting down and pawing at his hair nervously. Octavia had rolled off the table and now stood beside it, her mechandrites playing with the edge of her skirt. Caelistis grinned, “Well, if that’s the case, I should get going, I was just stopping by for a change of cloak, but I think I have a spare in the work shop.”
She tapped her forehead in mock salute, “Commissar, Octavia, have a good evening,”
The door clicked shut, and the sound of rain on the complex roof was once again the only noise in the room.
Caelistis closed the door and walked down the hall. She rounded a few corners before bursting into laughter. She had not intended for that to happen, having expected her friend to rememeber their old code from the colledgia for letting the other know they had guests.

celebrations! we are up and running again

Bump

Bumping for my new fetish

Damnit littlest Kreiger, your writing is too good. You put aspiring writefags to shame with your amazing work.

Bumping cause I can't sleep till this is concluded

My actions since last post

>refresh like a mofo
>realise phone battery is about to die
>put on charge and try to sleep
>can't sleep need to see ending
>undock phone
>repeat

this been archived yet?

This post is taking a while...

We found love in a hopeless place.

We found love in a hopeless place.

We found love in a hopeless place.

We found love in a hopeless place.

I challenge any writefags to make a romance story between a dreadnought and an Inquisitor woman.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16575266/

i'm sitting here with a stupid grin on my face, this is awesome!

OP? still there little buddy?

>>16579439
>Has never seen Robocop 2...
Easy. Before his initiation, Manly Mc Manus and Slightly Psychic Sally were buddies back on GenericImperialPlanet XVII. Then War happened. Slightly Psychic Sally goes off on a Black Ship, Manly McManus proves himself in combat and is eventually allowed entry into InsertChapterHere. Then, many centuries later, Psychic Sally now an Inquisitor of some note, fight LOLENEMIESOFMAN with INSERTCHAPTERHERE where Poor Dreadbody Manly McManus is there and remembers the love they once shared.

dammit, is this thread dead? seems a somewhat awkward place to end the tale, or even pause it. hope OP gets back on track, or at least continues this epic journey another time

This is great and you should feel good, littlest krieger!

Finish the story.

Sorry folks, /tg/ died, then i had to go visit my octavia. Story will continue soonish.
Thanks for sticking around

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16575266/

archived here, sorry again folks.

Feels great man. I won't let this thread die. I don't wanna miss the next part.

I shouldn't be liking this, but it is compelling, even a bit of combat and death in the first thread.

>>16579014
It's making me want an adorable hunky commissar.

As I said in another post, that lopsided smile is love. He'd just have to smile and I'd be smitten.

I don't normally bump threads, but when I do I bump Littlest krieger threads

>>16578414

>>16582265
Come to think of it, that was actually where I got the picture from. It's a damn appropriate picture.

Made a picture for your next thread, sorry for the rush job, had to be somewhere!

>>16582811
That is adorable.

Did you also do the OP pic?

bumping for good OC

MOOOAR

like any good servant of the emprah he needs these

>another LCB
>its Imperial on Imperial

carry on, you got my blessing.

Hi all, I'm the Littlest Kreiger's girl. He's probably still asleep.. Haha! I just texted him to say good morning, but he hasn't replied yet. He likes his sleep. Haha! He has written more, but (obviously) had trouble posting it last night. I'm sure he'll get back to it today.. It gets rreealllyy good soon! :D
Keep bumping! :)

Ok, he's actually out. He'll be home and writing soon..

Bumping in hopes OP will return.

Caelistis almost skipped back to the vehicle pit, and when she arrived, walked to a particular chimera and knocked on the back hatch. A knock responded, and the hatch opened, Tiberius’s grinning face popped out and looked around, before opening the hatch wide.
“Thank you, Tiberius,” Caelistis said, before stifling a giggle, “You won’t believe what I just did.”
Rogal tapped his fingers against the table nervously, waiting for his simple brain to come up with something to say. A witty quip, a reassuring statement, anything to break the tension. When he retold this part of the story, he would claim the emprah himself was applauding him, as a peal of thunder rocked the complex. Octavia screamed, half jumping, half collapsing into her chair once more, her tiny shaking with fear. Her mind flashed back to the battlefield, the booming of the orks landing, the terror as she scrambled to find a safe place. Her mechandrites lashed around her protectively, as her mind flowed unbidden with memnor files. The Orks gruesome maw, the stench of blood and ozone, the warm feeling of someone’s arms around her. Her mind paused, that wasn’t right, her cognitor complained, no one hugged us. Opening an eye, Octavia found herself face to face with her commissarial guest, wrapped in his powerful arms.
“Easy there, little lady,” he whispered softly, stroking her hair, “It’s just the storm, no orks.”
With a whimpering sigh, Octavia leaned into Rogals chest, and hiccupped. A medchandrite snaked around his arm, as she pulled him closer, “It was horrible,” she mumbled, “So green, so angry,”
Rogal just nodded, “I know, it’s going to stay with you for a little bit,” he said gently, octavia feeling the rumble in his chest as he spoke.
Her fleshbrain seized it’s chance, “Can you, stay with me, for a little bit?” she asked, looking up with her emerald eyes

>>16584934
yessssss

I have returned *corn cob pipe*

Archives are here and here
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16546488

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16575266/

>>16584934
So green...SO ANGRY

Rogal stiffened slightly, as a mechandrite slid around his chest and stroked at his back. Another crack of thunder boomed, and Octavia whimpered, burying herself in his chest even deeper. He curved his shoulders around her protectively, whispering a soothing litany in to the top of her head. Looking around, he spied the egg heater, and the remains of the stawberry punnet. He reached out, activating the egg once more, the rich chocolate smell filling the room. He quickly dipped a red berry in the molten confection, before offering it to Octavia,
“Here, It’ll make you feel better,” He said, gently pressing the coated stawberry to her lips. Those pink lips parted to accept the morsel, biting down slowly, a droplet of juice trickling down her chin. Rogal wiped it with a finger, as his hostess ate happily, sighing as she leaned against his chest once more. The rain got heavier, and thunder boomed once more, shaking the complex, but there in Rogal’s burly arms, Octavia felt safe. The pair stayed like that for a while, Rogal’s huge form kneeling beside her chair, his arms around her, her mechandrites wrapped around him. Time passed, quiet nothings were murmured, before Octavia looked over Rogal’s broad shoulder to the ornate chronometer on the wall,
“We should sleep,” She whispered, trailing a hand down Rogal’s chest, tracing the outline of the muscle,
“I should go then,” He whispered back, going to pull away. Octavia’s mechandrites tightened around his arms. Looking up at him with her brilliant green eyes, Octavia pouted sadly,
“Cannot you, stay? Please? You stopped the flashbacks before. I need to sleep. Please, stay?”
Octavia’s cognitor nearly retched, how pathetic she sounded. Her fleshbrain growled, pointing out her cognitors inability to stop the flashbacks, and how this was the most efficient option.

>>16584934
fuck you turtle, now I do!

Octavia’s cognitor retorted with claims of hormonal instability and the weakness of flesh, before Rogal’s soft voice interrupted everything,
“I suppose I can stay. For a little while longer,” He said quietly, gently nuzzling at the side of her face, his stubble rough on her cheek, “At least till the rain stops,”
Octavia slid a hand around his neck, “Thank you, sir,”
Gently disentangling her mechandrites from around his arms, she stood, pushing her chair back, She stroked Rogal’s sideburns with the back of her hand, before turning, leading Rogal by a mechandrite wrapped around his wrist to her bunk. The pair paused, looking at each other with puzzled looks.

The bunk was standard issue, made for one man, of average size. Rogal was far from average size.
“This could be a problem,” Rogal said, sitting down on the bunk gently, hoping his weight didn’t upturn it. Octavia nimbly climbed beside him, her augmented eyes taking in the situation. Diagrams and figures scrolling past her vision, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
“This is no problem,” she said happily, dropping down to her knees on the bed, “You see, its quite simple. You do not intend to sleep here, do you?”
Rogal shook his head, “Sorry, no.”
Octavia just smiled, “That is okay, you would not get optimum sleep here anyway, my fellow techpriestess sleeps loudly, and you lack the augments to block it out. However, you can lie with me for a while, can you not?”
Octavia put her hands on Rogal’s trunk like thigh, as a mechandrite ruffled his hair. The commissar couldn’t help but smile. “I can,”
“And you would wish to minimise the amount of disruption your departure would cause, wouldn’t you?”
Rogal nodded
“In that case, I have a solution.”
Octavia’s fleshbrain grinned in triumph, as her mechandrites moved around Rogal’s body once more, pulling his arms this way and that, lowering his body to her bunk.

Yes, more Romance for the Love God.

>>16585354
And cuddling for his comfy chair!

Is it heretical for a tech priest and military officer to get together?

Rogal’s legs hung off the end of the cot, but that was the last thing on either his or Octavia’s mind. The petite techpriestess pushed the commissars arm perpendicular to his body, draping the other across his broad chest, before lying down in the hollow she had created beside him. She snuggled close to his broad chest, her head on his bicep, her mechandrites pulling his forearm over her waist. She could hear his powerful heart thudding in his chest again, a slow pounding rhythm, supplanted by his lazy breathing. Her fleshbrain had melted to the floor, moaning happily, hugging itself with its mechandrites, as her cognitor began her nightly preparations for rest rituals. Memnor files were logged and, backups were started, her power down self-test began running, as her bright green eyes dimmed, before she closed them. Her cognitor sent out the signal, and the glowglobes powered down, leaving the studio like quarters bathed in the soft blue light of various other machines in the room. A contented sigh escaped her lips, as Rogal’s finger gently traced a spiral on her hip and thigh. Her fleshbrain curled into a happy ball, her cognitor sat in its metaphorical chair, and Octavia drifted off to sleep, a mechandrite lazily coiling around Rogal’s arm.
The commissar lay there, staring at the ceiling, for a long time. Was this heresy? He shook his head, this was about as far from heresy as he could get. He was being human, and Humanity was what the emprah cared for. Not for machines, the that was the realm of the omnissiah, not for the xenos, but for Humanity. He let out a sigh, his mind twisting as he tried to make sense of his situation. He was just a simple man, who did what he was supposed to. That’s what was bothering him, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now.

Divine work.

ugh, I'm just going to say it, this is terrible. don't quit your day job, don't think you'll ever do this for a living. fuck, you are bad.I could grab the shittiest random piece of shit from the airport or drug store book rack and you would be a pale shaodw of that. Holy fuck.

>>16585549
I'm gonna love and tolerate the shit outta you.

He lay there, the cool metal of Octavia’s mechandrite gently caressing his arm, her tiny frame cradled beside his own, as he considered his life. His past, his future, and how the small techpriestess fitted into it all. The numbers on the chronometer clicked past as he pondered, before, with a small sigh, he gently disentangled himself from his hostess. She whimpered in her sleep, her mechandrites pawing at him as he sat up. He gently placed a pillow under her head, before he stood, suppressing the groan caused from his stretching. Grabbing the blanket that had been bundled at the end of the bed, he draped it over the sleeping techpriestess, her mechandrites pulling it closer to her. Quietly, he collected his shirt, coat and hat, and lifted the supply crate. With a quiet click of the door, he stole away into the night.

On the table in the middle of the room, the egg heater sat, its operational light blinking quietly in the dark.
Tiberius winced as Caelistis rubbed the ointment over his back, “Could you be a little gentler?”
Digitised laugher filled the chimera cabin, “Oh you weak little man. It’s just a bruise,”
“Just A bruise? My back feels like it’s been run over by a baneblade,” The Vox officer said, before biting back on a grunt of pain,
“It looks like it too, the bruises make this wonderful banding pattern. Sometimes, just sometimes, your weak squishy flesh is quite beautiful,” Caelistis said, dragging a mechandrite down Tiberius’s spine, admiring the purple lines on the man’s back. Her hands and another mechandrite soaked a cloth in ointment, before dabbing gently at the bruises.
“Yeah, well this weak squishy flesh still has feelings, you cold, hard, mechanical marvel.” Tiberius said, reaching behind him to playfully squeeze at Caelistis’s thigh. The techpriestess smiled, Humanity was a wonderful thing, she mused, as she kissed the vox officer on the back of the neck.

>>16585549

You seem, upset?

Anyway you Elegan/tg/entlemen and ladies, that's it for this *chapter*. I'll be back in a few hours with more.

Any aspiring artists, a request.
Alt: that drawfag that did the OP image and the one lower down, you do it because you're not bad.

Fleshbrain and Cogiator as little characters bickering with each other; both resemble Octavia, but one is completely biological (bar the described mechandrites, up to you if you draw them), while the other resembles an iron man, and only has contempt for the fleshbrain, which is apparent in its expression. If the description went over your head, observe this image. That's how I see them when kreiger posts, or near enough.

MOAR

Glad to see your continuing Krieger.

I shall never let this die

bump

>>16585354
>>16585376
In the words of these guys or gals,

Romance for the Love God! Cuddles for his comfy chair!

This story must continue!

RELATIONSHIPS ARE MERE DISTRACTIONS FROM DOING THE EMPRAH'S WORK TO THE FULLEST

>>16585397
Nope. As long it's consensual.

Also I missed how'd the Vox officer get the bruising?

>>16587113
Krieger left it out, we're supposed to fill in the blanks.

>>16587149
Forgot my image.

>>16587359
Or perhaps

>>16587368

>>16587113
Read between the lines, Tiberius and Caelistis have a rather... interesting relationship.

Moar writings soon

omgitsadorableallofmymoney.

MOAR

>>16585656

Also, can has? Please?

Sweet god tell me this is archived. This makes me want to get off my ass and start writing again.

This only fuels my desire to dress my girlfriend up as a Techpriestess.

>>16587623
I feel this is the appropriate sequel to that image.

Rogal returned to his tent, dumping the crate to the floor with a thud. He threw his hat to the table and his coat over the chair, before sitting heavily on his bunk. Running his hands through his tousled hair, he let out a grunt of frustration, flopping back to stare at his ceiling. Reserved to his fate of another sleepless night, he rolled off his bed and stripped down to his undergarments. Stretching his powerful limbs, the commissar warmed up, before starting his night time workout. It wasn’t long before he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The hours melted away as the commissar huffed and grunted, his huge muscles burning, before he finally crashed back into his bunk.

Rogal’s eyes opened to slits, his chronometer’s alarm blaring. He silenced it with a slap, and rolled over in his bunk, wishing to the saints for a few hours more sleep. Instead, he knew he had to get up, duty needed to be done. He rolled out of bed, his blanket wrapped around him as he shuffled to the sink. Rubbing his stubble, he looked at himself in the mirror, tired eyes looking back at him. Stifling a yawn he took his razor and began to shave, hoping it would be a quiet, uneventful day.
Octavia’s mechandrites moved, searching for her guest in her bed. With a saddened sigh, she confirmed what she already knew. He wasn’t there. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked around blearily, her augments filling in the details of the night before with the light that now flooded the room. Where they had sat, how his huge frame had left the sheets disturbed, the egg heater still on the table, his gloves sitting beside them. Her Cognitor jumped, his gloves. He needed his gloves. Uniform codes demanded he have his gloves.

It is required that this is put in the 1d4chan so it may live on. i highly encourage it little kreiger. It will please the children, so that even in death i still read bed time codex lore.

>>16587667
>Rogal’s eyes opened to slits, his chronometer’s alarm blaring. He silenced it with a slap, and rolled over in his bunk, wishing to the saints for a few hours more sleep. Instead, he knew he had to get up, duty needed to be done. He rolled out of bed, his blanket wrapped around him as he shuffled to the sink. Rubbing his stubble, he looked at himself in the mirror, tired eyes looking back at him. Stifling a yawn he took his razor and began to shave, hoping it would be a quiet, uneventful day.
Orktavia’s cybork arms moved, searching for his guest in his bed. With a saddened grunt, he confirmed what he already knew. He wasn’t there. Propping himself up on his massive elbows, he looked around blearily, his augments filling in the details of the night before with the light that now flooded the room. Where they had sat, how his tiny frame had left the sheets disturbed, the egg heater still on the table, his gloves sitting beside them, the massive number of bullet holes riddling the entire room, the burning drapes. His Cognitor jumped, his gloves. Dat git needed his gloves. Hummie codes demanded da git have his gloves.

>>16587717
I'm not sure whether to be pissed or overjoyed that you're back.

Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, Octavia yelled a hurried goodmorning as she raced past her still sleeping roommate, the door slamming behind her. Caelistis moaned, rolling over and pulling her blanket over her head. Her augmented feet were soundless as Octavia ran, her red cloak streaming behind her, caught by the wind. She defty avoided the morning bustle of the compound as she made her way to Rogal’s tent, his gloves clutched to her chest, her mechandrites gently pushing people out of her path.

Rogal hummed to himself as he continued shaving, savouring the cool lather on his cheeks. The blade sounded like a knife over toast as he dragged it over his stubbled face, before flicking the white foam into his sink. He finished shaving, washing his razor and replacing it in the little cup by his mirror, before burying his face in a fluffy black towel. Wiping his now smooth face, he threw the towel over the bar, and returned to his bunk, flipping the lid of his foot locker with a boot. He knelt down, unpacking a fresh uniform for the day ahead. Socks were joined by trousers, and then undergarments, and a small pile of clothing took its place at the end of the Commissars bunk.
Octavia saw her objective and put on an extra burst of speed, bounding gracefully forward towards the tent.
Rogal threw his blanket back onto his bed, and peeled off what he had slept in.
Octavia threw the tent flap open with a mechandrite, skidding to a halt, the flap closing behind her with a gust of air.
“Rogal, you forgot your-“ Her words caught in her throat, as her fleshbrain squealed like a juvie on emprahs day. Rogal stood frozen, bent over his bed, dogtags around his neck, a fresh set of undergarments in his hands, and his… laspistol openly carried. Octavia’s cognitor spluttered, questioning the compatibility of her hardware. Her fleshbrain lounged languidly on a metaphorical couch, ducking down and peeking over the arm, and muttering about lascannons.

>>16587819
Throwing his cloak around his shoulders, Orkavia yelled a hurried goodWAAAUGH as he raced past his somehow still sleeping roommate, the door slamming behind him with enough force to crack the wall. Caelistis moaned, rolling over and pulling her blanket over her head. His cybork stompas belched smoke and steam, grinding noisily as Orktavia ran, his red cloak streaming behind him, caught by the wind. He clumsily smashed through the morning bustle of the compound as he made his way to Rogal’s tent, da git's gloves clutched to his chest, his cybork mechgubbins smashing pushing people out of his path, stopping only to unleash an occasional hail of lead from his kustom-shoota.
Rogal hummed to himself as he continued shaving, savouring the cool lather on his cheeks. The blade sounded like a knife over toast as he dragged it over his stubbled face, before flicking the white foam into his sink. He finished shaving, washing his razor and replacing it in the little cup by his mirror, before burying his face in a fluffy black towel. Wiping his now smooth face, he threw the towel over the bar, and returned to his bunk, flipping the lid of his foot locker with a boot. He knelt down, unpacking a fresh uniform for the day ahead. Socks were joined by trousers, and then undergarments, and a small pile of clothing took its place at the end of the Commissars bunk.
Orktavia saw his objective and put on an extra burst of speed, stompin forward towards the tent.
Rogal threw his blanket back onto his bed, and peeled off what he had slept in.

>>16587893
Orktavia threw the entire tent open with a powerklaw, skidding to a halt, the tent flying behind him with a gust of air and the shouts of those still living.
“Rogal, ya furgot yer-“ His words caught in his throat, as his braingubbins squealed like a tortured motorboat engine. Rogal stood frozen, bent over his bed, dogtags around his neck, a fresh set of undergarments in his hands, and his… laspistol openly carried. Orktavia’s cyborkbraingubbins spluttered, questioning the compatibility of his bitzware. His braingubbins yelled something about squiguse and mukkin about.

The Emprah approves of those under his protection getting it on.

>>16587900
oh my god I lost my shit at this

An eep escaped from Octavia’s lips and the pair of them blushed a deep crimson. Rogal’s body powered into action, snatching his blanket from his bed and throwing it around himself like a toga. He then pulled his undergarments up, looking sheepish, his weapon now holstered. Octavia’s mechandrites had leapt to her mouth, one breaking off to fan his mistress, as she desparately forced the Memnorpicts from her mind.
“Priestess, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rogal managed to stammer, his body snapping to parade rest. Octavia’s fleshbrain marvelled at the man before her, such perfect proportions, she noted, perfect proportions. Her cognitor continued drawing a diagram of a piston, pointing out how a piston needed to fit in order to work. Her cheeks still flushed, Octavia offered her bundle forward,
“You forgot your gloves, which are a part of your uniform. Which means that without them you are in violation of uniform codes alpha three niner seven, and section delta two four. Both of which carry a punishment of five lashes.”
Her fleshbrain conjoured images of her tied to the lashing post. She shook her head to clear them, offering the gloves to Rogal once more. He grinned nervously, reaching out to take the leathery items from metallic hands.
“Thank you, Octavia,” He managed to say, “But, do you mind, calling out first?”
Octavia blushed harder, “But this was the most efficient way to get to you, what if you were to be inspected? You would have been strung up on the post and flogged and your back would be covered in scars and-“ She was silenced by Rogal’s finger to her lips,
“It would have been mine to bear. You’re too kind to this humble servant of the Emprah,” He said, before pulling her close to hug her, his hand stroking down her spine, “But thank you. You’re a shining light of the Emprahs work. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life.”

>>16587900
Emprah on earth, I lol'd. Carry on good sir. Carry on.

Octavia froze, unsure of how to react. Her fleshbrain cried out for her hug back, to wrap her mechandrites around his neck and chest once more. Her cognitor said to go, she had work to be done, her efficiency had already been impacted upon enough for the morning. She hadn’t eaten, her cognitor pointed out, and she required sustenance. Her stomach grumbled, and Rogal pulled back,
“You’re hungry?”
Octavia nodded, “I may have moved my standard sleeping pattern forward a couple of hours, due to, other commitments,” she said, fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves, “And in my hurry to bring you your gloves, I may have neglected to eat.”
Her cognitor childed her for letting her fleshbrain have such liberties. Her cognitor pointed to all the dips in her work, and the correlation to Rogal’s actions or her fleshbrain’s activities. Her fleshbrain grabbed her cognitor, and pointed to the commissar, explaining quickly the finer points of human nature and male anatomy and its effect it could have. Her cognitor tittered sheepishly, before ceding control once more to Octavia’s fleshbrain. She breathed in deeply, the smell of soap, sawdust and clean linen filling her head. Rogal released her from the hug,
“In that case, it’s very rude of me to keep you. If you give me a moment,” he said, tugging at his blanket, “I will dress and escort you to the mess? If you would like, that is?”
Nodding happily, the petite priestess of the mechanicum took a seat, watching the Commissar. Rogal looked around the tent nervously, “I’ll just go change then,” he said, collecting his uniform from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Octavia’s cognitor clipped her fleshbrain over the back of the head, “Really?” It asked, “You really thought he would act like a gelt romance character and change infront of you? You really should be tied to the post and lashed,”

My god I wish for an Octavia of my own...

TLK, Damn you for making my new Waifu.

Many blessings upon the Union!

May they bring many stripling warriors and cunning techpriests to the GLOY OF THE EMPRAH!

MAY THE EMPRAH BLESS THEM AND THEIR SEED!

>Also, what about that pic with the Cognitor and the fleshbrain, Drawfags?

>>16588021
A wut escaped from Orktavia’s iron gob and the pair of them blushed a deep crimson and green respectively. Rogal’s body powered into action, snatching his blanket from his bed and throwing it around himself like a toga. He then pulled his undergarments up, looking sheepish, his weapon now holstered. Orktavia’s mekarms had leapt to his gob, one breaking off to randomly claw at the earth, as he desparately tried to figure out what da hummie gubbin had been.
"Xeno, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rogal managed to stammer, his body snapping to parade rest. Orktavia’s braingubbins audibly fizzled at the man before him, such puny proportions, he noted, puny hummie proportions. His mekbraingubbins continued sketching a drawing of a piston, showing how a piston needed to fit in order to work, and as an afterthought Orktavia imagined the piston crushing some grots. His cheeks still flushed, Orktavia offered his bundle forward,
“Ya furget yur gloves, ya git. da pointyhatboss iz gonna stomp ya!"
His braingubbins conjoured images of him tied to the lashing post, before breaking free and burning da hummies wif his chest mounted combi-skorcha. He shook his massive head to clear them, offering the gloves to Rogal once more. He grinned nervously, reaching out to take the leathery items from massive metallic klaws.

>>16588099
“Thank you, Orktavia,” He managed to say, “But, do you mind, calling out first?”
Orktavia blushed harder, giving off enough energy to vaporize a passing insect, “But dis wus da bestest way ta get ta ya, wut if you wer to be zoggin zapped? Ya wuld 'ave been strung up on the post an' flogged and yer back wuld be covered in tuff-scars and-“ He was silenced by Rogal’s finger to his iron gob, the movement of his massive metallic teeth nearly taking da gits hand off,
“It would have been mine to bear. You’re too kind to this humble servant of the Emprah,” He said, before pulling him close to hug him, Orktavia's massive frame nearly crushing him beneath its weight, “But thank you. You’re a shining light of the Emprahs work. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life.”

THIS WRITEFAG IS AMAZING!

>>16588097
I sketched out something but I'm not sure what a man of iron should look like (I'm the one that did the two pics in this thread) so I'm a bit stuck.

As that thought left her metaphorical lips, Octavia’s cognitor realised its mistake. Her fleshbrain giggled, filling Octavia’s mind with images of her shackled to the post, her hands high above her head. Her cyber mantle prevented flogging in the traditional sense, but there were other parts of her that were still sensitive to punishment. Her fleshbrain weaved a scene, Rogal standing, shirtless, a disciplinary lash in his hands. Her Cognitor struggled to supress a moan, valiantly trying to distract Octavia with the new plan for networking the hydra’s targeting cores into an overlapping defensive pattern that would maximise shot effectiveness. Her fleshbrain thrashed, as the imaginary Rogal tore her skirt away from her, before standing back. Her mechandrites gripped to the chair and around her arms, as Her cognitor tried desperately to sever the links her fleshbrain was making. It could hear Rogal pulling on his boots, he wouldn’t be long. If they were seen like this, her cognitor wailed, it would be the end of all they were working for. It promised to help her fleshbrain if she would just stop her imaginings right now. Her fleshbrain ignored her, the imaginary Rogal stood at his full towering height, and snapped the lash across his gloved palm. Her cognitor heard the click of the door being opened and begged her body to open its eyes. The Imaginary Rogal raised the lash, the shadow cast across bare flesh. The Real Rogal walked towards his guest, buttoning his jacket. Octavia’s sat smiling, her eyes shut, her head on her hand, leaning on the table.
“Octavia?” Rogal called softly
“Octavia,” The words from the imaginary Rogal were firm, the lash started its downward arc.
Rogal reached out, gently tapping his guest on the shoulder. The lash snapped down across pale flesh, leaving a bright pink mark. Octavia’s eyes snapped open, as her mechandrites crushed into the wood of the chair.

>>16588097
My god I wish for an Orktavia of my own...

DHF, Damn you for making my new Waifu.

Many blessings upon the Union!

May they bring many little gits and crafty mekboyz to the SHINY HUMMIE.

MAY GORK AND MORK BLESS THEM AND THEIR SPORES.

>>16588087
Orktavia froze, unsure of how to react. His instincts cried out for him to crush the puny git, to wrap her klaws around his neck and squeeze him to bits. His mekbraingubbins said to go, he had work to be done, his dakkamaking had already been slowed upon enough for the morning. He hadn’t eaten, his mekbrain pointed out, and he needed squigstenance. His stomach grumbled, and Rogal was nearly shaken to the ground,
“You’re hungry?”
Orktavia nodded, “Oi may 'ave slept a bit late ya git,” he said, fidgeting with the hems of his leathery humanskin smock, “'nd in moi 'urry ta bring ya yer gloves, Oi may 'ave missed da squigs.”
His mekbrain chided him for letting his braingubbins have such unorkyness. His mekbrain pointed to all the dips in her dakkawork and choppy-addition (he thought of the many Russes that still lacked deathrollas), and the correlation to Rogal’s actions or his braingubbins’s activities. His brain gubbins grabbed his mekbrain, and pointed to the commis-com pointyhatgit explaining quickly the finer points of orky nature and hummie anatomy and its effect it could have on da boyz. His mekbrain growled sheepishly, before ceding control once more to Orktavia’s braingubbins, after only two or three electrial shocks. He breathed in deeply, the smell of soap, sawdust and clean linen filling his head. Rogal released him from the hug, suddenly being afraid of being drawn into the mekboyz huge maw,

>>16588190
“In that case, it’s very rude of me to keep you. If you give me a moment,” he said, tugging at his blanket, “I will dress and escort you to the mess? If you would like, that is?”
Nodding happily, the massive warloving mekboy took a seat, watching the Pointyhatgit. Rogal looked around the tent nervously, “I’ll just go change then,” he said, collecting his uniform from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Orktavia’s mekbrain clipped her braingubbins over the back of the head, “OI YA GIT” It asked, “WAAAAAAAAUGGGGH”

>>16588129
Think of the robots from Terminator without making it look exactly like a Necron.

THIS THREAD IS STILL HERE

>>16588159
As that thought left gis meta-metapo fakebitz gob, Orktavia’s mekbrain realised its mistake. His braingubbins WAAAUGHED, filling Orktavia’s mind with images of him shackled to the post, his huge klaws high above his head. His mekgubbins prevented flogging in the traditional sense, but there were other parts of him that were still sensitive to punishment. His braingubbins weaved a scene, Rogal standing, shirtless, a disciplinary choppa in his hands. His mekbrain struggled to supress a furious roar, valiantly trying to distract Orktavia with the new plan for giving the hydra's twice as much dakka by strapping them together. His braingubbins thrashed, as the imaginary Rogal tore his dirty smock away from Orktavia, before standing back. His mekklaws gripped to the chair and around Rogal's skull, as his mekbrain tried desperately to sever the links his braingubbins was making. It could hear Rogal pulling on his boots, he wouldn’t be long. If they were seen like this, his braingubbins wailed, da boyz would call him a elfyboy. It promised to help his braingubbins if he would just stop his imaginings right now. His braingubbins ignored him, the imaginary Rogal stood at his full towering height, and screamed in fury, bringing the choppa up even as his mighty skull resisted being crsuhed. His mekbrain heard the click of the door being opened and begged his body to open its eyes. The Imaginary Rogal raised the choppa , the shadow cast across bare flesh. The Real Rogal walked towards his guest, buttoning his jacket. Orktavia’s sat smiling, his eyes shut, his head on his hand, leaning on the table, which was cracking and bending ominously.
“Orktavia?” Rogal called softly

>>16588247
“Orktavia,” The words from the imaginary Rogal were firm, the choppa started its downward arc, while blood from Rogal's ever more furious head dripped onto Orktavia's imaginary klaws.
Rogal reached out, gently tapping his guest on the huge cybork shoulder. The choppa hacked into green flesh, leaving a massive bloody wound. Orktavia’s eyes snapped open, as her klaws the chai

>>16588249
>as his crackling klaws crushed the chair entirely

Rogal looked at her, puzzled, “Are you alright, priestess?” He asked, slowly pulling his hand back from her shoulder. Octavia smiled, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks and stomach. Her cognitor forced her to her feet, her mechandrites releasing the chair from their vice like grips. Rogal looked at the chair, his brow furrowing further, as Octavia replied, “Sorry, I am still undergoing my morning power on self testing. It was delayed by my journey here.” She lied, smiling as sweetly as she could.
Rogal reached past her and picked up his hat, putting it under his arm. “You realise I have no idea what that means?” He said, as he put his hand to the small of his guests back, gently guiding her towards the tent flap. Octavia nodded, her mechandrite going to push the tentflap open, but Rogal’s huge hand beat it, pushing the heavy fabric from their path. The sun shone down, bright and warm in the morning sky. Setting his cap at its favoured jaunty angle, Rogal pushed the petite priestess forward once more. The base was still wet from the storm the night before, but the grass and trees that were present had taken on a freshly watered lustre. If there had been any doubts about there being something between the burly commissar and the dainty priestess, their walk to the mess destroyed them as completely as an exterminatus. Guardsmen and Mechanicum alike watched the pair walking together, Octavia taking two or three steps to each of Rogal’s long strides, as they smiled and talked about nothing in particular. As the pair entered the mess, the chatter became a whisper, as hearts broke, bets were won and lost, and then a cry went out. A mug shattered, and Rogal’s head whipped around. Grinning sheepishly, Tiberius shook a recaf covered hand, blowing to try and cool the burning sensation. Rogal rolled his eyes, tucking his hat back under his arm.

>>16588295
Rogal looked at him, puzzled, “Are you alright, xeno?” He asked, slowly pulling his hand back from his metallic, crudely checkerboard painted shoulder. Orktavia smiled, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks and stomach, desperately deactivating his chestmounted combi-skorcha. His mekbrain forced him to his stompin feet, his mekarms dropping the shattered remains of the chair. Rogal looked at the wooden wreck, his brow furrowing further, as Orktavia replied, “Sory, Oi've not 'ad me coffee-squig. Oi came here foirst.” He lied, smiling as sweetly as he could, unintentionally presenting Rogal with a nightmarish of her massive teef, still encrusted with squigbits and hummiechunks, some teef were actually inhabited by tiny creatures, Rogal noted.

>>16588384
Rogal reached past him and picked up his hat, putting it under his arm, desperately trying to forget the sight he had just seen. “You realise I have no idea what that means?” He said, as he put his hand to the small (a rather contradictory word) of his guest's back, guiding him towards the former location of the tent flap, nearly passing out from the exertion. Orktavia nodded, his irongob clattering against his chest as he lifted the broken tent fabric from the ground, but Rogal’s tiny hand beat it, pushing the heavy fabric from their path. The sun shone down, bright and warm in the morning sky. Setting his cap at its favoured jaunty angle, Rogal pushed the massive ork forward once more. The base was still wet from the storm the night before, but the grass and trees that were present had taken on a freshly watered lustre. If there had been any doubts about there being something between the burly commissar and the turely gigantic warbeast of an alien, their walk to the mess destroyed them as completely as an exterminatus. Guardsmen and Mechanicum alike nervously watched the pair walking together, Orktavia taking one step which Rogal desperately attempted to keep pace with, as they smiled and talked about nothing in particular, Orktavia managing to not kill anyone on the way, against all odds. As the pair entered the mess, the chatter became a whisper, as hearts broke, bets were won and lost, men dived behind makeshift barracades, and then a cry went out. A mug shattered, and Rogal’s head whipped around, and a small automissile streaked from Orktavia's forehead. Grinning sheepishly, Tiberius shook a recaf covered hand, blowing to try and cool the burning sensation, then, noticing the deadly projectile at the last minute, he dived to the side, causing the missile to instead annihilate a random trooper. Rogal rolled his eyes, tucking his hat back under his arm.

Octavia looked up at her companion, and he looked down, “Save me a spot, I’ll be right back,” He said quietly, pushing her towards the severving line. Rogal strode across the mess to his friend, his smile quickly growing as he approached. He saw the patches hiding at Tiberius’s neck, as the vox officer wiped his hand with a napkin.
“A good night then, Sir?” Tiberius asked, as he scrunched the napkin and tossed it into the bin beside the recaf table. Rogal clapped a hand down on his friends shoulder, savouring the jolt of pain he knew he had inflicted. Tiberius’s hands clenched as tightly as his jaw, his breath escaping from between his teeth with a hiss.
“An excellent night indeed. Yours?”
Tiberius winced as Rogal’s hand lifted, blood surging back to fill the new bruise. With a tired grin, he replied, “Yeah, wasn’t too bad at all sir. I have some new reports coming in from the fleet you might be interested in, so I’ll see to it you get the slates.”
Rogal nodded, “Much obliged as always. Any new whispers on the vox I should be aware of?”
He asked, tipping his head to other officers as they passed. Tiberius shook his head, “Nothing really, just how you and the priestess with the blessings were seen leaving your tent together.”
With a sigh, Rogal poured himself a mug of recaf, drinking down the warm beverage in a long draught, before pouring himself another.
“Right, well, do what you can to quash that, I’ll be around later to look at those slates.”
“As you wish, Commissar,” Tiberius said, tapping his forehead in mess hall salute. Rogal strode back to the serving line, taking his spot beside Octavia once more.

Back soon, ladies and gentlemen, I require additional nutrients

>>16588588
Orktavia looked up at his companion, and he looked down, “Save me a spot, I’ll be right back,” He said quietly, pushing Orktavia towards the serving line. Rogal strode across the mess to his friend, his smile quickly growing as he approached. He saw the patches hiding at Tiberius’s neck, the bruises on his arms, as the vox officer rose from the ground, picking shrapnel from his injuries,
“A good night then, Sir?” Tiberius asked, as he scrunched the napkin and tossed it into the bin beside the recaf table. Rogal clapped a hand down on his friends shoulder, savouring the jolt of pain he knew he had inflicted. Tiberius’s hands clenched as tightly as his jaw, his breath escaping from between his teeth with a hiss.
“An excellent night indeed. Yours?”
Tiberius winced as Rogal’s hand lifted, blood surging back to fill the new bruise. With a tired grin, he replied, “Yeah, wasn’t too bad at all sir. I have some new reports coming in from the fleet you might be interested in, so I’ll see to it you get the slates.”
Rogal nodded, “Much obliged as always. Any new whispers on the vox I should be aware of?”
He asked, tipping his head to other officers as they passed. Tiberius shook his head, “Nothing really, just how you and the filthy xenos were seen leaving your ruined tent together.”
With a sigh, Rogal poured himself a mug of recaf, drinking down the warm beverage in a long draught, before pouring himself another.
“Right, well, do what you can to quash that, I’ll be around later to look at those slates.”
“As you wish, Commissar,” Tiberius said, tapping his forehead in mess hall salute. Rogal strode back to the serving line, taking his spot beside Orktavia once more.

>>16588641
>Missing me name

A mechandrite offered the Commissar a tray, as they shuffled forward in the line.
“People are watching us,” Octavia whispered, her other mechandrites swaying warily behind her,
“We’re somewhat of an item, apparently,” He whispered back, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. Rogal just wanted things to be simple. They shuffled down the line, the cooks serving the breakfast all smiling at him, giving him nods of respect, as he grinned awkwardly. Years of good relationships and firm but fair justice had enamoured him to the battalion, his willingness to only be a commissar when he needed to be, and to act more like an NCO cementing his good standing. Their plates loaded high with food, the pair made their way to an empty table at the back of the mess. Rogal placed his tray on the table, before pulling chairs out for his red robed companion. Taking her seat, Octavia set her own tray down, mechandrites reaching out to stabilise her mug of recaf and grab a napkin, as she twirled her fork between her fingers. Rogal set his cap down as he took his seat, inhaling the delicious smell of the fresh cooked meal.
“Where’s your friend this morning?” Rogal asked, before taking another mouthful of cereal, the crisp grain flakes crunching as he chewed,
“My friend? Preistess Caelistis?”
Rogal nodded, shovelling more food into his mouth. Octavia shook her head,
“I have no idea, it is strange that she should be late. She was in our quarters when I left this morning, but I have not seen or heard from her since. Why do you ask?”
Rogal swallowed, clearing his throat before he spoke, “You two seem close, I’ve seen you together quite often. Seems odd she isn’t here, is all,”
Octavia pondered her friends absence, her mechandrites buttering her a slice of toast, which she took in a metal hand before nibbling.

“Caelistis often works strange hours,” Octavia explaned,”So it is possible she is on a different diurnal cycle than standard.” Her cognitor ran over all her interactions between her and Caelistis in the past few days. Rogal watched as her nose twitched, a mechandrite drawing in the air absentmindedly as she pondered, “However, she has been working different shifts than usual. She has assigned herself to chimera maintenance twice, both during the middle of the day, and across the second and third night shifts. Chimera’s don’t need that much maintenance,” She said, thinking out loud, Rogal nodding as he ate. Tiberius walked past the table, “Oh, just so you know sir, I will be out of the vox tent from eleven hundred to around fourteen hundred, Cleo will be taking care of things,” He said as he took a seat, sitting across from the commissar and the Techpriestess. “Are you two busy today?”
Rogal nodded, “We’re working on another barracks today, should have the frame up by nightfall, and enough beds to fill the first.”
Octavia placed her fork down on her now empty tray, taking her mug of recaf from the mechandrite offering it, “The hydra defence grid is being overhauled. After the incident on trealsday,” Octavia stumbled over the strange name, “We found the gap they exploited, so we are reconfiguring the targeting cores to form a tighter scanweave over the base.” Octavia’s eyes brightened as she continued, her cognitor relishing the chance to do what it was good at, “By tightening the scanweave, and then synchronising the firing algorithms via a low band noospheric connection, we not only increase protection, but lower the amount of wear on the hydra batteries, as each tank will fire fewer shots individually, but as they fire in concert, the same volume of fire is reached.”
Tiberius’s face was blank, he had stopped listening after hearing about the defence grid being overhauled.

>>16587500
>>16585656
I hope I got this right. Sorry about the lack of colour! I'll try to finish it tomorrow.

>>16588957
everybody, all together now...
D'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

fuck yes drawfag, you are awesome. Go pat yourself on the back

>>16588957

Bang-up job, Love!

Rogal had been lost at the idea of low band noospheric connections, but he understood most of it,
“So each hydra only fires once?”
Octavia nodded, “ A four round burst, but that’s only one flak shell per barrel. The hard part is getting everything synchronised properly, but that’s why we’re using low band noospherics, as opposed to high or very high vox.”
A concerned look crossed Tiberius’s face, “Does that mean you’re going to be around the Vehicle pits today, priestess?” He asked, as nonchalantly as he could,
Nodding happily, “Of course, where else would I be? Aside from the command centre, for when we set up the overarching targeting hierarchy, or the noospheric server system, for calibrating the low band synchronisation,” Her cognitor paused, before continuing, “So I suppose I could be around the vehicle pits, but I could be many other places.”
Her fleshbrain sighed, shaking its head at her cognitors obsession with details.
“Why do you ask, vox officer?” Octavia’s cognitor pushed for information, watching with curiosity as subtle facial tics spread across Tiberius’s face.
“Oh, no reason, priestess, just curiosity.”
Rogal’s ears pricked up, Tiberius was never just curious.
“Just curiosity?” The commissar echoed, his grey eyes piercing with commissarial strength. Tiberius looked away nervously, before tapping at his ear,
“Whats that Jenkins? Right? Yes? Yes. I’ll be right there, Out.” The vox officer said, before standing, pushing his seat in with his leg, “That was private Jenkins, something about some new codes not being accepted by the voxnet, I’ll see you two lovebirds around,” He said, winking before he ran off, praying to the emprah to not feel a lasbolt at his back. Rogal and Octavia sat dumbfounded, watching the cheeky Vox officer dodge his way through the mess and out the door.

>>16589165
>praying to the emprah to not feel a lasbolt at his back.

In most such "d'aww" stories, I would consider this a joke. In one set in the 40K universe, I can only assume the Emperor smiled upon his heartfelt plea.

Octavia’s fleshbrain giggled, lovebirds, she liked the sound of that. Her cognitor sighed, taking advantage of the fact it was dominant again, and continued its work on the noospheric topology she needed to create. Rogal stood, collecting both their trays,
“I’ll see you at lunch?” He asked, reaching down for his cap. His hand hit table and he looked down. Octavia’s mechandrites were offering it to him from where she sat, smiling up at him,
“If it pleases the Commissar,” she said, “Will you meet me at the vehicle pit?”
Rogal nodded, taking his hat from her mechanical tendrils, “Sounds like a plan,”
Octavia’s mechandrite traced down the Commissars hand, craving to be near him for just a little while longer. His gloved hand twisted, wrapping a mechandrite around his finger, before gently pulling away. Octavia watched as he turned on his heel and strode away, the crowd in the mess parting to let him through. She sighed happily and took her recaf mug in both hands, taking a sip and collecting her thoughts.
“Well that was sweet,” Caelistis said, plonking herself down on the table beside her friend, a piece of toast cluched by a mechandrite as she pulled her hair and cables up into a ponytail. Octavia blushed,
“So you were watching?”
“Me and everyone else in here,” The slender techpriestess said, before taking a bite from her toast, “You really are living a gelt romance, it’s sickening.”
Octavia hid her mouth behind her mug, taking a sip to cover her discomfort, “It’s not that bad, we just-“
“Just so happened to be preforming some rather complicated and delicate calibrations on our table?” Caelistis said quietly, her grin wolfish. Octavia went a brighter red, her mechandrites pulling her hood further forward. “You just happened to end up in his tent this morning?”

>>16588957
I loved, I lost

>catpcha: tudeta fending

“That’s a misunderstanding, he had forgotten his gloves, I was merely returning them,” Octavia said plaintively, “I didn’t want him to get lashed, you know that he would have gotten ten lashes for that? Ten lashes!”
Caelistis grinned at the idea, a man that husky could take a lot of punishment. His commissarial training would make him hard to break, so feisty, so defiant. She giggled, “Yes, ten lashes, and he wouldn’t have blinked,”
A pair of mechandrites folded themselves angrily as Octavia pouted, “No. Don’t you start with that. I know what you’re like. Don’t think I don’t remember what happened between you and Phanes,”
Caelistis put a hand to her mouth in mock horror, “Oh, that? He was fine, I replaced his mechandrites and arm myself,”
“His arm?”
The taller techpreistess looked away, “Oh, right, you didn’t know about that bit. I, well, I may or may not have disassembled his arm a little.” She said sheepishly, “But that’s beside the point.”
Octavia looked puzzled, “There was a point to that?”
Caelistis shrugged, “Probably, you know I’m no good in the mornings. Anyway, I just dropped by to get some breakfast, tell you I won’t be around till late again tonight, and see how your night went,” Her grin turned wolfish again, “But if what I saw last night was anything to go by, you had a very, very good night,”
Octavia smiled, “You could say that,” She said quietly, her augmented eyes brightening. Caelistis’s eyes went wide, “You didn’t?”
Tilting her head, Octavia just looked at her friend, her small smile stilly playing on her lips. Caelistis reached out with a mechandrite, planting it on her friends slim shoulders, “Did you?”
“Did I what?” Octavia’s fleshbrain entertained itself with the idea of what could have happened if she had.

bump

>>16589567

Bumps for the bumb god! Posts for the post throne!

“Did you and he…?” Caelistis mimed some rather suggestive actions with her hands and mechandrites
“No, we did not. He was a perfect gentleman. He stayed for a while longer, we talked, and he left.” Her cognitor forbade her from letting any more details slip, citing that any number of ears could be listening. Her fleshbrain just noted that he could have been a perfect ruffian, and she wouldn’t have cared. “Speaking of last night,” Octavia continued, looking at her attractively dishevelled friend, “Where were you?”
“Vehicle pits, Chimera maintenece.” Caelistis said, before taking another mouthful of toast. Octavia’s cognitor opened a new menornote, adding a few lines about chimera maintenance. Her fleshbrain wondered how she could get that same messily attractive look as Caelistis, running metaphorical hands through conceptual hair.
“Right, chimera maintenance. Same again tonight,”
“You know it,” Caelistis continued to look away, taking another bite of toast. Rising to her feet, Octavia excused herself, “I’ll see you in pits then, enjoy your breakfast.”
Pushing her chair in with a mechandrite, the petite priestess made her way from the mess. Her cognitor buzzed, pulling up information on the chimera maintenece schedules, her friends working hours, and the strange anti bruise ointment smell that had been around her a couple of times that morning. First with Vox officer Tiberius, and now again from Caelistis, her cognitor found it most curious. She wandered, lost in her thoughts, her cognitor multi-tasking, allowing her to dodge and avoid the bustle of the base as she made her way to the vehicle pit, while still keeping focus on the quickly expanding web of intrigue that Caelistis had begun. She greeted her mechanics team, as she walked into the main workshop, a chorus of staticy binary based good mornings and hellos chattered back at her.

i freaking love you TLK

>>16589589
So many words! So many hours of sleep missed!
I'm loving it!

If this was a series of books I would be buying them at the speed of light

>>16588957
Well done. Sort of a mix of the Mortal Kombat cyborgs and the members of Xan Kreigor's team in UT2004. It works.

>>16589709
i would be buying them at the speed of romance!

We all know that romance is the fastest force in galaxy. Why it can work instantaneously over great distances, not even beholden to the maximum speed of light.

>>16589735
>We all know that romance is the fastest force in galaxy. Why it can work instantaneously over great distances, not even beholden to the maximum speed of light.

... So love is some kind of neutrino?

Logging into the workshop noosphere, files were quickly shared between Octavia and her team. Without a verbal word, the team merged their collective consciousness under Octavia’s command. Her fleshbrain sat quarantined, happily lounging on an imaginary couch, as her Cognitor orchestrated the collective consciousness of the mechanics team, each magos, artificer, and coder working together, fabricating and constructing the new noospheric server, as well as the broadcasting antennae and receivers for each hydra, and all the associated codes and programs. The morning quickly progressed, seconds blurring into hours.

Rogal tapped gently with his chisel, the small scrolls of wood falling aroung his boots as he worked. The sounds of construction filled his ears, as one of the men started singing, the hymnal of work carrying clear in the air. Soon, more voices took up the tune, before Rogal himself joined in, his powerful voice rumbling along with the bass line. The men worked, the sun shone, and Rogal felt like the emprah himself was smiling down on them. The men worked hard, the new barracks frame coming together quickly, as teams moved in concert, hewing logs into planks, sawing those planks to size, the pneumatic whump of nailguns puncturing the crisp morning air. Rogal paused from his work, putting down his tools and taking up the drinks crate. Hoisting the box to his shoulder, he moved about the worksite, handing out drinks and compliments, and generally maintaining morale like a good commissar should. He walked up to a team of rookies, laughing and rough housing as young guardsmen did, offering drinks and other refreshments. The young men downed their tools eagerly, the one closest to Rogal dropping his nailgun a little too enthusiastically. The pneumatic tool bump fired, three whumps in quick succession, followed by a roar of pain. The crate tumbling from his shoulder, Rogal cluched at his arm, blood trailing from the nails that had speared through.

Bottles smashed as the crate hit the ground, solider’s racing over, the unfortunate rookie slammed to the ground roughly by his commanding officer. A medic shoved his way to the crowed over, shouting to be let through. The nails in his arm looking like silver icicles, bright red blood dripping down, seemed so foreign to the commissars eyes, as he studied them with detached fascination. He flexed his hand experimently, and grunted with pain, white hot lances firing up his arm. The rookie soldier had been dragged to his feet once more, his face pale as he faced the consequences of his actions. Rogal’s breathing was laboured, as the sergeant spoke,
“What shall we do sir?”
Rogal roared in pain again, as the medic gingerly poked and prodded at his wounds, before Rogal shoo’d him away with his good hand, before he took a good hard look at his assailant.
“Gross negligence is heresy,” Rogal began, his voice strained, “how old are you, son?”
The guardsman whimpered, his sergeant delivering a swift punch to his ribs, “Nineteen, Sir,” He gasped out, coughing from the blow,
“Right, well, think yourself lucky. I’ve heard of men getting thirty lashes for things like this. You’re only getting ten. Sergeant, take care of the rest.”
The rookie was dragged away, his face pale, as his sergeant was heard to mutter, “You’re a damn lucky fool, the Commissar is a good man. You owe him.”
The Medic tutted impatiently, “Really sir, I need to have a look at that arm.”
Rogal sighed, offering the injured limb up for inspection. The nails had punched straight through the massive muscles of his fore and upper arms, and by the grace of the emprah, not hit a single bone. The medic whistled, “Impressive, Commissar. Him on earth seems to have claimed you as his own. Rogal just winced as skilled hands with nimble fingers pressed and prodded around the metal spikes.

Keep em coming! Best thing on /tg/

The medic looked up at the Burly commissar, “Now, we can do this quick and simple here, or you can go to the infirmary.”
Rogal sighed, he hated the infirmary. Turning his head, he straightened his arm with a grunt. The Medic just sighed, “You’re a brave man sir,” Reaching into his medkit, he pulled out a rubber block, some vials, and a couple of bandages. Offering the block to the commissar, the medic said, “You might want to bite down on this. Things are going to hurt.”
Rogal nodded, as the men upturned the crate for him to sit on. He handed his hat to another guardsman as he took his seat, placing the rubber block in his mouth. Offering his arm to the medic, he looked away again.
“Ready sir?”
Rogal nodded, his reply muffled by his gag. The medic grabbed a pair of pliers from the workbench near by, and grabbed a hold of the first nail. Rogal’s roar was muffled by his gag, as his arm jerked, blood spraying as the medic tore the first nail out of his arm. His breath ragged as he panted, his jaw tensed against the rubber block, as the medic tipped the content of the first vial over the bright red wound. Rogal howled again, pain lancing up his arm, his vision going white at the edges. He spat the rubber gag away, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. He managed to grin at the medic,
“You were right, that does smart,”
The medic smiled, allowing himself some black humor to lighten the mood, “Could be worse sir, you could have wanted it chopped off,”
Rogal nodded, “Yeah, could be worse. Next one, please?”
The medic nodded, “Ready?”
Another grunt, another spurt of blood, and Rogal howled at the sky, before the medic grabbed his arm and dumped another vial worth of liquid on the second wound. The Commissars broad shoulders heaved as he gasped for air, grunting and growling at the pain.

WHY IS THIS SO ADORABLE
I KNOW IT'S PARTIAL SATIRE
BUT IT'S STILL ADOORRRAABLLE

>>16590027
Oh boy I hope the wounds get infected and he ends up having to get his arm amputated but then Octavia can make him a new one that matches hers in design. <3

Again, his breathing slowed, the white hot pain shooting up his arm fading to dull aching embers. The slightest movement hurt, the muscles protesting against the nerves, who were in turn hating anything they could. Taking a deep breath, Rogal nodded at the medic, “Last one,”
“Last one. Ready sir?”
Rogal nodded, a small part of him wondering if this had really been such a good idea. The medic grabbed his pliers once more, and pulled at the silvery rod buried in the meat of the commissars arm. With a bellow like a rampaging grox, Rogal tore his arm back, the nail ripping free, blood spraying across the ground. The medic threw his tool to the ground, grabbing the final vial and dumping the contents over the gash in Rogals arm. His free hand balled in a fist, Rogal lashed out at the workbench beside him, his powerful fist pounding into the side. The whole bench shook, as the hulking Commissar stomped his boots and hit the bench again. The Medic started binding his arm, the first white bandage covered in red by time he had finished wrapping. The second bandage stayed cleaner, as he fastened a sling around Rogal’s neck.
“You’re going to need to keep it elevated, sir. You can’t do much else today,”
Rogal looked down at his bandaged arm and sighed, gingerly trying to flex his fingers. He was rewarded with lances of pain. “How long till I can use it again?”
The medic thought for a moment, as he packed up his kit, “A few days. That stuff I put on there will speed the healing, though you might want to see the doctor for some pain killers.”
Rogal sighed and nodded, “Understood,”
“Look on the bright side, at least its lunch time.”
The Commissar sighed, as he placed his hat on his head, “At least its lunch time.”

>>16590115
It kind of disturbs me how romantic I find this concept.

And thats where we leave our couple for tonight/today.

I'm taking a break for a day or so, let my creative batteries recharge a little. Over twenty thousand words in a day and a bit takes its toll.

Next installment, I promise bangings. among other things.

Archive is up on suptg.

someone better put this on 1d4chan

>>16590115

Personally I thought he was going to get attacked and injured by an ORK, ending with our friendly commisar being crippled. And then after much grief, Octavia would make unsanctioned operations to get him artificial implants of his own.

Then, Octavia's cognitor would end up falling for him when they accidentally synched, and the two sides of her mind would end up as friendly rivals trying to see who could please the commissar more o3o.

>>16575266
Sorry the quality isn't that great but my Techpriestess is on holidays (she drew it) and I have been reading it to her every night so far.

>I'm going to Writefag here for a moment, and hopefully TLK won't mind.

Inquisitor Micheal Looked through the local Vox as part of his daily recommended dose of purging the heretic filth from the glorious Imperium. It was one of the more boring aspects of being on this war torn planet. But then again, he mused to himself, some of the scuttlebutt was quite the read...

>Later (Roughly the time the incident with Commisar Rogal)
After a long day of filtering the unclean, he began to file the report with his superiors. Though he had to admit, he was quite glad to be done with this particular aspect of his duties for the day.

Report Number- 30099289
Time Stamp- 1011400011
Inquisitor- Micheal McEion
Report is as follows:
Levels of Heresy in the local Vox:
Low to non-existant.

Relationship Between TechPriestess Caelistis and IG Soldier Tiberius:
Possible (Though admittedly rather unlikely) ties to Slannesh,
>Recomendation: Investigate and ensure purity.

Unknown presence controlling the local Ork Waaaagh:
Still unknown.
> Recommendation: More experienced inquisitor be allocated to assist in investigation.

Local Supplies officer and his tendency to allocate materials and possible alliance with Nurgle:
Presence of Nurgle negligible and highly unlikely, though this inquisitor must admit this quartermaster is quite capable given his means. Possible connections (Though if they exist, they are purely in a business sense) with the Rouge Traders.
>Recommendation: Investigate to ensure purity

Possible relationship between The Commisar Rogal and techpriestess Octavia:
Confirmed, though presence of Slaneesh has been confirmed nonexistent in relationship. Relationship seems to fall within the parameters necessary for the project outlined by Inquisitor Barium.
>Recommendation: enrollment into Inqusitor Bariums IG/Techpriest mating groupings for Soldier/Techpriests.

/End Report

>>16591089

Everyone knows Orkavia is the one behind the Waaaaaagh

Micheal sighed as he sent the report.

He honestly didn't want the couple to get drawn into Barium's crazy scheme, but as his superior, Barium could make Micheal's life very... interesting. Not to mention Barium probably already had his eye's on the priestess and her high aptitude with Machines.

However, Micheal DID have an ace up his sleeve.

Many years ago, This inquisitor had been counter trained with the Cult Mechanicus and their adepts. Many had made it known to him that he held a talent rare amoungst the Cult Mechanicus, and that he would be welcomed with open arms if he ever left the 'Dusty and inefficient' Inqusitors. He had gone so far as to get his first few modifications before his Master/Teacher found out and nearly beat Micheal to death for 'Heresy'.

Not that he could hold a candle to the likes of Octavia OR Rogal in either skill set, but he wasn't untalented, either.

This had been the first indicator that maybe his mentor wasn't all there.

But even Barium had to concede that his 'apprentice' was naturally blessed by both the God-Emperor and the Machine gods. That was one of the only reasons he was allowed to scan the Vox in the first place. That and Micheals people skills left much to be desired, by inquisitor standards.

He had a tendency to be very supportive of his fellow humans, a trait supported by his almost Ork-like thick headed stubbornness.

And now, he had a couple to save.

From himself for sending the report.

And his Boss because, well, he was crazy.

Now how to contact Octavia; he had a plan, but he would need help...

>>16590549

You deserve the rest buddy. Best writefaggotry in a while

>>16590191

I agree! But under what heading?

I''m going to copy this to a word doc and then print it out and read it when i go to bed!

This is great!

Damn fine fine job my good Kreiger! Looking foward to the next post.

>>16590191
Rest well you beautiful bastard.

>>16593787
You should post the compiled Word doc for all to enjoy.

Was the first thread archived anywhere?

here a current version in text
https://rapidshare.com/files/1870962185/The_Littlest_Kreiger_Commisar-Techpreist_love.docx

>>16595315
Here you are sweetpea,

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16546488

Must be added to 1D4chan

>>16597144


Do it! :D

listed on 1d4 chan now feel free to correct any errors i may have made

http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Commissar_Techpreistess_love_story

>>16597772

Why is the beginning from the other thread not on there?

idk whats missing edit it to correctness
>>16598290

A cyborkarm offered the Commissar a ruined, bent tray, as they shuffled forward in the line.
“DEM GITS IS LOOKIN AT US POINTYGIT,” Orktavia shouted, his other cyborkarms randomly flailng behind her, a few attempting to maim those behind them,
“We’re somewhat of an item, apparently,” He whispered back, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. Rogal just wanted things to be simple. They shuffled down the line, the cooks serving the breakfast all smiling at him, giving him nods of respect, as he grinned awkwardly. Years of good relationships and firm but fair justice had enamoured him to the battalion, his willingness to only be a commissar when he needed to be, and to act more like an NCO cementing his good standing. Their plates loaded high with food, the pair made their way to an empty table at the back of the mess. Rogal placed his tray on the table, before pulling chairs out for his greenskin companion. Taking his seat, which groaned ominously under his weight, Orktavia set his own tray down, cybork arms reaching out to catch his squigs as they attempted to escape, as he jammed more and more squealing food into his huge gob. Rogal set his cap down as he took his seat, inhaling the delicious smell of the fresh cooked meal.
“Where’s your friend this morning?” Rogal asked, before taking another mouthful of cereal, the crisp grain flakes crunching as he chewed,
“Dat mekgit wif da gubbins?”
Rogal nodded, shovelling more food into his mouth. Orktavia shook his large head,
“I dun know, dat gits alwayz doing git fings loik mumbling over dakka 'nstead of making it DAKKIER!”
Rogal swallowed, clearing his throat before he spoke, “You two seem close, I’ve seen you together quite often. Seems odd she isn’t here, is all,”
Orktavia pondered his friends absence, his cybork arms buttering her a slice of guardsman he had taken from a neighboring table, which he took in a metal klaw before munching.

“Da mekgubbinsgit is weird,” Orktavia explaned,”So da gits probly still sleeping like a git.” His mekbrain ran over all her interactions between he and Caelistis in the past few days. Rogal nervously watched as Orktavia began emitting smoke from his head, a mekarm waving a chair in the air absentmindedly as he though, “SHE AKTING WIERD,” he said, thinking out loudly, Rogal nodding frantically as he ate. Tiberius walked past the table, still injured, “Oh, just so you know sir, I will be out of the vox tent from eleven hundred to around fourteen hundred, Cleo will be taking care of things,” He said as he took a seat, sitting across from the commissar and the Mekboy. “Are you two busy today?”
Rogal nodded, “We’re working on another barracks today, should have the frame up by nightfall, and enough beds to fill the first.”
Orktavia placed his squigspear down on the heavily damaged table, taking his mug of fungusbeer (or what the gits here called fungus beer, Orktavia was pretty certain they didn't even ferment it in boots) from the mekarm offering it, “Afer dat fing few doiyz back dem hydras gotten REAL dakka,” Orktavia twitched slightly at the thought of his explosive handywork, “Dey wanted betta shooty so Oi tied two of dem Hoidra fings togetha and den Oi gave em STOMPAS with zap guns for dat wunderful dakka while you dakka.” Orktavia’s piggish eyes brightened as he continued, his mekbrain relishing the chance to do what it was good at, “Den Oi decided dat dat wazn't choppy enuff zo Oi gave 'em missile launchas dat foire gretchen! Wif CUSTOM CHOPPAS! DAT EXPLODE!”
Tiberius’s face was blank, he had stopped listening after hearing about the defence grid being overhauled.

Rogal had been lost at the idea of how Hydras with legs could be useful, but he understood most of it,
“So each hydra can walk?”
Orktavia nodded, “Nah, dey wud fall ovva. So Oi put rokkits in dem, dat way dey can use krump da foightabombas with da powerklaws loike a real orky fing.”
A concerned look crossed Tiberius’s face, “Does that mean you’re going to be around the Vehicle pits today, xenos?” He asked, as nonchalantly as he could,
Nodding happily, “Yup, less dem shiny bosses at kommand make me 'splain why dey are paintin' da tankz red agoin."
Rogal’s ears pricked up, Tiberius was never just curious.
“Just curiosity?” The commissar echoed, his grey eyes piercing with commissarial strength. Tiberius looked away nervously, before tapping at his ear,
“Whats that Jenkins? Right? Yes? Yes. I’ll be right there, Out.” The vox officer said, before standing, pushing his seat in with his leg, “That was private Jenkins, something about some new codes not being accepted by the voxnet, I’ll see you two lovebirds around,” He said, winking before he ran off, praying to the emprah to not feel a lasbolt at his back. Rogal sat dumbfounded, watching the cheeky Vox officer dodge his way through the mess and out the door, barely avoiding the irritated volley of gunfire Orktavia launched at his back for being a git.

Orktavia’s braingubbins thought, lovebirds, wut did birds 'ave ta do wif him and his pointygit? His mekbrain growled, taking advantage of the fact it was dominant again, and continued its work on how he could fit a rokkit on a bunker so gits could krump while dey foight. Rogal stood, collecting both his and Orktavia's goresplattered tray,
“I’ll see you at lunch?” He asked, reaching down for his cap. His hand hit table and he looked down. Orktavia’s mekarms were offering it to him from where she sat, somewhat frightingly using his kustomshoota arm,
“Yup, ya pointygit,” she said, “At da vekile pit?”
Rogal nodded, taking his hat from his deadly mechanicle appendage, “Sounds like a plan,”
Orktavia’s shoota traced down the Commissars hand, craving to be near him for just a little while longer, managing to only fire a single shell into the air near his head. His gloved hand flinched, accidentally sticking his finger down one of the many barrels of the shoota, before hastily pulling away. Orktavia watched as he turned on his heel and strode away, the crowd in the mess parting to let him through. He grunted happily and took his fungus beer mug in both klaws, taking a sip and shooting at the crowd in happiness.
“Well that was sweet,” Caelistis said, plonking herself down on the table beside her friend, a piece of toast cluched by a mechandrite as she pulled her hair and cables up into a ponytail. Orktavia blushed,

“Git? Ya was watchin?”
“Me and everyone else in here,” The slender techpriestess said, before taking a bite from her toast, “You really are living a gelt romance, it’s sickening.”
Orktavia ineffectually tried to hide his massive gob behind his mug, taking a sip to cover his discomfort, “Not a bad git, we was juzt-“
“Just preforming some rather complicated and delicate calibrations on our table?” Caelistis said quietly, her grin wolfish. Orktavia went a darker green, his mekarms pulling his grisly skull trophies further over his huge frightening skull. “You just happened to end up in his tent this morning?”

“Dat dumb git furgot 'is gloves, Oi waz bringin' 'im dem,” Orktavia said plaintively, “Oi didn't want 'im ta get smacked abut, demm hummie gits is somfin' frag-fragi eazy ta smash!”
Caelistis grinned at the idea, a man that husky could take a lot of punishment. His commissarial training would make him hard to break, so feisty, so defiant. She giggled, “Yes, ten lashes, and he wouldn’t have blinked,”
A pair of mekarms armed themselves angrily as Orktavia pouted, “Na. Dun ya 'tart wif dat. Oi know wut yer lioke. Dun fink Oi dun rememba wut 'appened wif you and and dat Phanes git,”
Caelistis put a hand to her mouth in mock horror, “Oh, that? He was fine, I replaced his mechandrites and arm myself,”
“'is arm?”
The techpreistess looked away, “Oh, right, you didn’t know about that bit. I, well, I may or may not have disassembled his arm a little.” She said sheepishly, “But that’s beside the point.”
Orktavia looked puzzled, “wut?”
Caelistis shrugged, “Probably, you know I’m no good in the mornings. Anyway, I just dropped by to get some breakfast, tell you I won’t be around till late again tonight, and see how your night went,” Her grin turned wolfish again, “But if what I saw last night was anything to go by, you had a very, very good night,”
Orktavia smiled with far more teef than necessary, “Ya cud say dat,” He said quietly, his mek eyes shining like a small inferno. Caelistis’s eyes went wide, “You didn’t?”
Tilting his head, Orktavia just looked at his friend, his massive smile growing larger. Caelistis reached out with a mechandrite, planting it on her friends slim shoulders, “Did you?”
“wut?” Orktavia’s braingubbins grew more confused with the currenty topic, wondering wut the mekgit was talking about, when he had merely found a supply of teef he had hidden a while ago last night.

Oh my god I am laughing so hard I fucking love Orktavia!

“Did you and he…?” Caelistis mimed some rather suggestive actions with her hands and mechandrites
“Wut ya talking aboot ya little git? Oh, da pointygit? 'e talked too much like all ya hummies and den left. But Oi found some teef!” His mekbrain began flicking through his badly organized archive of strange hummie obsession for some explanation for this conversation. His braingubbins muttered somfing about pointygits being gits and how he could buy a bunch of flashbitz to work with wif all that teef. “Oh ya,” Orktavia continued, looking at her attractively dishevelled friend, “Where were ya?”
“Vehicle pits, Chimera maintenece.” Caelistis said, before taking another mouthful of toast. Orktavia’s mekbrain opened a new file, adding a few lines ponder whether this human had finally begun to understand the majesty of firepower. His braingubbins wondered how he could get that same messily look as Caelistis, running metaphorical hairsquigs over his bald skull.
“Dose metal boxez ya hummies luv cud be roight shooty wif some upgrades,”
“You know it,” Caelistis continued to look away, taking another bite of toast. Rising to his huge feet, Orktavia began to wander off, “Oi'll see ya in da pitz den.”

Throwing his chair at a unaware human, Orktavia began to leave the mess. His mekbrain buzzed, pulling up information on the chimera maintenece schedules, his friends working hours, and the strange chemical smell that had been around her a couple of times that morning. First with Vox officer Tiberius, and now again from Caelistis, his mekbrain felt that there was a 97% chance of mukkin about. He wandered, lost in his thoughts, his mekbrain multi-tasking, allowing him to tihnk of five different shooty fings at once while he smashed his way through a rapidly panicking crowd towards the vehicle pits, while still keeping focus on the quickly expanding human mukkin about that Caelistis had begun. He yelled at his mek team, as he stomped into the main mekshop, a chorus of frightened screams and worried greetings chattered back at him.

more ?
chargyu prayers. yes capitcha i will charge them

Logging into the workshop gretchencube, files were quickly given to Orktavia by his team. Without a pronouncable word, the team ran about doing good mekwork under Orktavia’s command. His braingubbins sat quarantined, happily punching an imaginary boy in the face, as his mekbrain screamed at the collective terrized team, each magos, artificer, and coder desperately working together, fabricating and constructing the new stompa hydras, as well as the leg rokkits and klaws for each hydra, and all the associated handwritted notes and taped over holes. The morning quickly progressed, seconds blurring painfully into hours.

>den rogal did some bitz and got shot loike a git, read da maskgit's bits for the gits

Oh look, I spent too much time reading a love story again and now I'm going to be exhausted tomorrow.
Again.
Good job there, krieger.

This thread archived yet?

first thread here
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16546488/
second thread here
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/16575266/
1d4chan here
http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Commissar_Techpreistess_love_story
downloadable text version here
https://rapidshare.com/files/1870962185/The_Littlest_Kreiger_Commisar-Techpreist_love.docx

bump

bump

If anyone thinks this is a good idea, let me know.
>If anyone thinks I should just stop putting my own twist into the story, also let me know, I would like some feedback...


Octavia was busy working hard at the Hydra turrets with her team when she felt the barest presence at the very edge of her conciseness. Not that this was strange, many ghosts had been logged in the last few days. So she filed the anomaly and got back to her work.

Then the presence made itself known again, then disappeared.

Her interest was piqued, but she had a job to do.

Then everything slowed to a crawl as the anomaly set off data bombs in the local system!!

Octavia was reeling, as the sheer volume of data tossed her around like a ship in a hurricane, her cognitor desperately maneuvering in-between the bogged down bandwidths to keep from overloading, or worse, crashing.

This seemed to become harder and harder as the Data bombs seemed to be purposely placed to force Octavia's Avatar towards a little outpost far behind the front lines. Her Cognitor was busy trying to keep her from failing.

Her fleshbrain, on the other hand, was busy seething in enough barely restrained anger to make Khorne himself salivate.

She was about to be swallowed up by the sheer volume of useless information when she entered a node, and everything else disappeared.

Gone was her body, gone was the Vehicle pit, and she found herself as a virtual Octavia in a virtual rhino.

She found herself looking in surprise at the high level of detail inside the Tank, and the surprising amount of 'dust' inside it.

"I could not help but notice you're impressed."

She could not help but blush and turn to face this person who had the gall to attack her.

"Who are..." Her speech was halted by the black armored form before her.

The Inquisitors! She thought. What were they doing here? she worried.

"I find myself having to talk to you concerning a... sensitive matter."

To be cont. in next post

Looking foward to the next part!

>>16604454
I'm kinda against it. Kreiger hasn't shown any indication of abandoning the story so trying to use what he's done to do you own thing seems a little... bad? I dunno some sort of word I can't think of.

But then I'm also not a fan of what flashgit is doing so maybe I'm just hateful

>>16604454
You're basically writing fanfiction.

So, uh, I don't mind it but as long as you don't pretend it's canon or anything, I can't really get mad at you for its mere existence. As long as you're not writing shitty fanfiction.

Keep on truckin', but if Krieger asks you to stop, it's only polite.

I haven't abandoned you guys or the story or anything, just had work. makes it hard to write when your helping customers.

New stuff will be up later today/tonight.

>>16606694
HOORAY I am so excited about the next part! I hope Rogal takes her to bonetown and not be a pansy about it. Girls like hard nasty fucking but just aren't very vocal about it for the most part. Also doggystyle.
WOOOOOOO

>>16607411


;-; No, I think a soft loving sexual encounter would be better

>>16607881
Gross, they're not old people.

Also they can cuddle afterwords so that'll make up for it.

Yes, of course. I don't even plan on Octavia and Rogal even having THAT great a presence, as I'll make it known in the next part.

>Though, I would like Kreiger's opinion of it...

she ran through all she had done in the past five months, trying desperately to find what she had done to commit Heresy...

"The Inquisitors have found out about..."

The Armored shook his head a few times a few times, then began laughing.

Octavia blushed in embarrassment as he continued laughing.

He soon let up as he held his helmeted head. "No, no, no." He took a moment to sigh. "You and the Commisar are quite in the right, and may the God-Emperor bless you and your children with Health, Faith, and Purity."

The Techpriestess was naturally confused.

"No, I'm afraid I've come to you for a far more... selfish reason."

He brought out a roughly basketball shaped cube from behind, and showed the glowing, slightly transparent cube to Octavia. "I simply need you to keep a good eye on this."

"Why?"

"Because it is important that someone has a copy of it, in case things do not go... as planned as I'd like them to."

She thought to her self for a moment, then realized something quite frightening as she looked at her hand.

"Where are my implants?" She asked worriedly.

She saw his body slouch as he sighed. "You see, I was hoping you wouldn't notice that..."

"Where are they?" She asked more pointedly.

"You see, I MAY of crashed your Cognitor in order to got you into this Virtual fabrication that may or MAY NOT be based on a design that MAY have beendeclarednearheterical."

Her eyes widened at the news. "YOU WHAT!?!"

It was almost humorous how fast the armored figure raised his hands in an attempt to placate her. "Waitwait, I said MAY. this is an old design that according to the info I have, was also used by the Emperor himself. And your Cognitor hasn't been damaged, I checked. It's just knocked 'unconscious'."

To be continued.

bump

>>16607411
>>16607881
Yes, they need to hit it off for real soon. I think it has been going on for too long now, they both have HNNGG'd too many times.

Also, do you guys find it attractive that she's so super submissive? This is too much anime woman to my taste. That said, I still find the story captivating and look forward to the next part.

>>16610499
Meh. Anime doesn't have a monopoly on submissive women. Though they overuse them probably due to delicious misogyny. This is meant, as I understand it, to be
a cheesy romance story. Hence the huge man protecting the small, vulnerable girl. It's something I'm sure you'll find in a number of 'Bodice-rippers'.

Do I find it attractive? Ehhh... white knight instincts prevent me from saying no entirely but I'm personally more interested in women with a bit more fire in them. You know, like Caelistis. I love the little background story Kreiger has running here.

>>16611837
definitely agree with this. The fact that it is an intentionally cheesy romance leads me to find it extreme adorable, instead of being annoyed.

as for the lack of sexing, it could be the TLK finds writing explicate sex uncomfortable. So far all the sexing has been 'offscreen' and all the sexy bits described with euphemisms.

>>16612487

new thread here