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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Well, folks, I'm sorry the promised writethread did not materialize a few weeks ago, my motherboard checked out and took the kids with her, so I had to reconstruct my scribbles from the archives. Fortunately, it's been done. Enjoy some Bleeding Out.
>Previously, we followed a new night nurse as he examined the ward where Morticia was being prepped for surgery. She woke up, partway through.<

“All right, I’ll leave you to it.” The doctor left the room, speaking a few words outside the door to Lord Mortarion, who stirred from his view of the room long enough to respond. Grant glanced over the girl on the table, and gingerly ran his fingers over the IV line.
“Okay…blue, blue, green, blue, white, red, orange. Looks right,” he said aloud, trying to suppress his nerves. He fanned the cards out over the table under the IV, glancing them over. “…Vantercin. Wow.” He looked over at the comatose girl again, shaking his head, and slipped the seven cards into the pocket hanging off the IV tree. “All right, Lady Morticia, be back soon.”
“…mgh,” she murmured faintly. Grant started.
“Lady Morticia?” he asked.
“…ow,” she managed, eyes still shut. Grant’s jaw dropped. He stared at the sedative bag on the tree. It was full. He stepped to her side, his heart pounding. He ran a nitrile-clad finger over her neck below the IV point, and felt her pulse: strong, slow, but very slightly faster than it had been. He stared at the heart rate monitor, to confirm his results. She was waking up.
“Fuck, what are you made of, girl,” he muttered. “There’s enough sedative in your system to put a wrestler in a coma.” He twisted the dial on the IV a bit, carefully tweaking the spigots on the bags to increase the dosage of the sedative alone. Her facial muscles twitched a bit, then slackened as the sedative hit her system. She settled back into the bed, briefly, then cracked her eyes open.
“…wherr am I,” she slurred. Grant’s pulse spiked as he fumbled for an answer.
“Startseite hospital, Lady Morticia. Intensive Care.”
“Whysit bright,” she said.
“Ah, we had the lights on so we could attend the equipment, my Lady.”
“Who…whoshotme,” she mumbled, her gray eyes peeking out from beneath her unkempt hair.
“A sniper. They caught him.” Grant heard a loud tapping on the glass behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Mortarion glaring at him through the glass. He walked over quickly, pressing the talk button next to the window.
“She’s fine, my Lord, the sedative is just starting to wear off. I’m going to increase the dosage so she can get some sleep,” Grant said quickly.
“She’s awake? She can talk?” Mortarion asked, his throaty rumble shaking the glass.
“Not for long, sir, she’s still very dizzy from the sedatives. Please, let her rest,” Grant said.
“I want to talk to her.”
“Naturally, my Lord, but she’s in no shape for it. She’s still missing a lung.”
Mortarion stared at the young nurse, his jaw flexing. “Fine. Fine. Tell her I’m…I’m here for her.”
“Of course I will, my Lord,” Grant said, backing up with a small bow. He walked back to the girl in the bed, her father’s grey eyes burning into his back. “Lady Morticia, I’m going to increase the dose a bit, so you can grab some sleep. All right?”
“Legs asleep…already,” Morticia, said gamely, trying to lift her head to see her limbs. Her muscles were too slack to allow it, and she sank back into the bed with a groan. “Hard…to talk…”
“Your lung is missing, my Lady, you’re on a respirator,” Grant said, examining the bag. He discreetly pressed the call button next to the bed as he did so.
“Wheredi…get hit…” she managed.
“Straight through the back, my Lady,” Grant said, before a gaggle of doctors burst through the door, rushing over to the bed.
“Grant what the HELL did you do?” one hissed, elbowing the nurse aside, and nearly sending him into the IV tree. At the last second, he managed to grab the metal rail of the bed and stabilize himself. He pulled himself straight up, glaring at the doctor.
“Nothing, SIR. The sedative dose was too small.”
“Whass going on?” Morticia asked, her eyes glassy and unfocussed. The doctors’ voices overlapped each other as they each tried to explain, their hasty declarations ranging from the complex to the patronizingly soothing.
“Enough,” the Head of Surgery declared, her voice slicing through the babble. “Doctor Morgan, increase her dosage and let the Lady sleep.”
“I did already,” Grant said tightly, pointing at the IV tree behind him. A dozen pairs of eyes examined the bags of medicine, confirming the claim. He leaned past the cluster of doctors to look the Death Guard Lady in the eyes. “Madam, your father wants you to know that he’s here for you. OK? He’s at the window, looking over you.”
“Dad?” she asked weakly.
“That’s right. He’s here, all right? And he’ll try to be here when you wake up next, OK?” Grant said, glancing over at the window. Mortarion nodded, confirming Grants’ suspicions about the Primarch’s hearing.
“…okay,” she said weakly, as her eyes slipped back shut. The heart rate monitor slowly spun its rhythm down as the girl drifted back off to sleep.
“Doctors, I would appreciate it if one of you could tell me what just happened,” Mortarion said. The tone in his voice could have frozen magma. The doctors all looked at each other, trying to find a volunteer.
“Her tolerance for the sedative is substantially higher than it was when she first went under, my Lord,” one of them finally said, holding the Talk button down.
“Well, that’s Progenitor biology for you,” Mortarion rumbled. “Now, let her sleep.”
“Of course, my Lord,” the Doctor said, as the group filed out. Grant was last out, closing the door and dimming the lights as he did so. Mortarion waited by the window, his arms crossed.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Her body is adapting to the sedatives we’re using, my Lord,” one of the doctors admitted. “It’s…unnaturally fast. There should be no way-”
“She’s not human, doctor, she is more than human, and I want to know what our options are,” Mortarion interrupted, staring sideways through the glass at his sleeping daughter.
“Few, Lord. A different sedative, perhaps?” the doctor offered. “But we need to decide whether to give her a cloned lung or an augmetic once. Immediately. Or we won’t be able to sedate her during the surgery.”
Mortarion huffed with impatience. “And what do you recommend?”
“I recommend a cloned-in lung, Lord. Much lower chance of rejection,” the doctor said, to which half the room grumbled or shook their heads.
“Then do it.” Mortarion turned back to the room, his superhuman eyes staring at his sleeping daughter for a long moment before he sighed, and sank into a reinforced chair next to the window. “Will she wake up again?”
“I increased her dosage such that she should stay under for another day or so, my Lord, but the dosage she had should have done it too, so…” Grant volunteered, trailing off uncomfortably.
“Fine.” Mortarion rubbed his eyes, weary from the day’s vigil. “…I should be getting home. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Of course,” one of the doctors said, allowing the Power-Armored giant to walk out of the room. A few seconds of silence passed, before the collection of doctors dispersed, some into Morticia’s room to check on her, the rest either following the Death Guard out or heading down the hall to check on other patients.
And unseen by his target, one of the Death Guard serfs who had observed the exchange silently scanned Grant, locking him into memory.
Roberta sat with her arms crossed over her knees, staring out over the neatly-trimmed square of grass in front of her father’s mansion. Her vox dangled from her hands, inert. The morning sun was blocked out by the mass of the house, rising behind her. In the dim light, she could just make out the animal lying down in the grass beneath the trees by the road. The little creature had been lying there, without moving much, for an hour. It was alive, clearly. It had been staring at her for a few minutes, then lost interest.
It was small. Maybe the size of a small dog, with mottled brown and white fur, and long, spindly legs. It was lying in the shade of a tree, as if waiting for something. Roberta racked her brain, trying to remember what they were called, but the name eluded her. The little animal was blinking feebly in the dim light, looking around as if waiting for something. Roberta flipped her vox into the air and caught it, and the critter jerked its head over to stare at it, blinking with its blank brown eyes. The bespectacled girl smiled at that. “Didn’t like that? Sorry.”
A faint thumping noise behind her drew her attention. Roberta glanced over her shoulder to see a much larger animal – the mother, maybe – walking across the grass, and stood up, backing out of its way. The larger animal stared at her for a moment, before walking quickly to the infant and nuzzling it. The smaller animal stared at the larger, before wobbling to its legs and meekly following the larger one into the woods.
She watched the animals disappearing into the forest around her house, inexplicably happy. After they faded from view, she flipped her vox open and speed-dialed Six. On the last ring before it kicked over to voicemail, someone picked up. “Hey, Freya,” Roberta said in greeting.
“…ngh,” someone on the other end mumbled.
“Did I catch you at a bad time, or are you always this dead at 0600?”
“Whozzat?” the redhead asked, fighting back a burning headache. Alex stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake.
“It’s Roberta. How hung-over are you?” Roberta giggled.
“I’m not drunk,” Freya groused. She slid out of bed, wiping cobwebs of sleep from her eyes, trying not to wake her boyfriend up. “What do you want?”
“Get over here. I have something to show you.”
“At six in the morning?” Freya growled, irritation cutting through her sleep fog. “What is it?”
“But, see, if I told you, you wouldn’t have anything to be mad over when you get here,” Roberta said cheerfully.
“…Fine. Fuck.” Freya said, hanging up. She dropped the phone on her bed and pulled some clothes on, glancing at herself in the mirror to make sure she was presentable. Deciding that she was, she walked back to the bed, leaning over her boyfriend. “Hey, sleepyhead. Be back later, OK?” she whispered, nipping his ear with her fang.
“Mmm,” he said faintly, not waking up. Freya silently grabbed the cup full of ash and put it in the sink of her bathroom, running it under the water until the cup was clear. Satisfied that it was clean, she tiptoed out the door, heading for her own car.
Roberta leaned against the façade of her father’s garage, waiting as Freya’s car pulled through the Treasury line. As soon as she clambered out, she stomped on over to her cousin, anger written all over her face. “What?” she demanded as soon as she was in earshot.
“You’re so lucky that the paparazzi are afraid to come here right now,” Roberta said, holding in a laugh with some effort.
Freya snarled under her breath, baring one canine. “What?!”
“Did Alex wear a button-down shirt last night?” Roberta said, struggling through a smirk.
Freya started, and slowly glanced down her front. She was wearing her boyfriends’ shirt.
With a muffled “eep!” of modesty, she grabbed the collar and hem, pulling them shut, but Roberta was already laughing. “It’s OK, it’s OK, you got…a few buttons,” she managed, trying to keep her face straight.
“Fucking…boyshirts…” Freya mumbled, buttoning the few stray buttons shut. “Fine, I’m here, I’m embarrassed. Now what?”
“Come with me,” Roberta instructed, all business now. She turned and walked away, heading alongside the house. Freya stomped after her, silently daring one of the Treasury agents or Ultramarine Auxilia to stare at her too long. It was only when they were nearly all the way to the small, wooded area behind the house that Freya noticed that they weren’t going in.
“You wanted to show me something out here?” she asked snippily.
“Fear not,” Roberta said, pausing when they reached the edge of the woods. The line between the carefully-groomed grass and the bare dirt beneath the trees was so fine it could have been cut with a razor.
A continuation? Awesome.
“Okay. Now we need to be quiet,” Roberta said, holding a finger to her lips. She kicked off her sandals, walking barefoot into the woods. Freya stared.
“Shh!” Roberta exclaimed, glaring back over her shoulder. Freya blinked, but kept her lips sealed, curiosity overcoming resentment.
She slid her own flip-flops off, padding silently into the woods after her cousin. “I found them this morning,” Roberta whispered, so faint it wasn’t even audible, had normal humans been listening. Freya, of course, could hear perfectly. “It’s just one and the mother.” She slowed until she was barely moving, walking on the edges of her feet, so the shifting of her weight wouldn’t give her away. She stopped completely at the edge of a small clearing in the wooded area, pointing in silence.
Freya moved up behind her, peering over her shoulder. The baby animal from before was wobbling back and forth in the clearing, getting a feel for its legs. The mother was lying down on her stomach, legs tucked away underneath her body, watching her offspring carefully.
Roberta allowed herself a few seconds to watch, before turning to Freya with a smug grin. Her Space Wolf cousin was entranced. Freya took a few silent steps forward, her eyes locked on the display. She cast her eyes over the scene, taking in every detail, watching as the little animal learned how to use its legs.
Very slowly, she turned to face her cousin, who nodded once, a knowing grin on her face. “They’re adorable!” Freya whispered, glee raising the pitch of her voice. Roberta beamed.
“Enjoy,” she mouthed, leaning back against the tree next to her, settling in for a wait.
Freya rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and melted into the shadows of the wooded stretch. Lord Guilliman had only insisted that it be there because he knew it would be a rarity on the urban world of Terra, and scarcity creates value. Roberta watched her cousin silently move around the clearing, until she actually lost sight of her. How her red-headed cousin could vanish in non-camouflage clothing was beyond her, but she did, leaning low to the ground and disappearing into the shadows. Roberta cleaned her glasses with the hem of her shirt and stared, but no – she was gone.
Roberta’s eyes drifted back to the animals in the clearing – deer, that’s what they’re called, she suddenly remembered – and stared. Neither the mother nor the baby had noticed them, somehow. The mother was clearly just resting, and watching the infant patiently, and the baby was just figuring out what knees were for. She watched them both, unmoving, wondering how long it would take Freya to…
There. A tiny shift of a branch, to the side of the clearing. Both deer turned to look at it, staring with bovine eyes. The branch wasn’t moving with the wind at all. Roberta strained her eyes, trying to spot Freya in the brush. She leaned forward a hair, squinting through the morning glare. Was that her behind the branch itself?
Nope. With a suddenness all the more abrupt for its total silence, Freya slunk out from the completely opposite side of the clearing, and dropped onto her haunches, staring at the infant deer from less than five feet away. Roberta shook her head. How the FUCK does she do that? she wondered in silence.
Freya stood still, leaning back on her bare ankles, staring at the deer with a feral intensity that belied her usual, goofy demeanor. The baby deer turned back to its wobblings, but froze when its saw the girl, its little black nose twitching. The mother turned back and rose to its feet in an instant, staring at Freya, clearly wondering what to do. Freya kept still, her eyes locked on the scene, as the baby took a wobbling step towards her, sniffing the air. The mother walked over, tilting its head down behind the infant’s head, stopping it short. Both deer froze, watching Freya sit there, unmoving. Finally, the mother herded the baby to the edge of the clearing, nudging it into the woods, to find some other place to practice.
Freya gave them a ten-count before standing with a *pop* from her knees and brushing the leaves off her hands. Roberta straightened up and walked over to her, listening to the deer move through the underbrush. Freya turned to her with a radiant grin, her fangs glinting in the sun. “That…was awesome. Thanks, Roberta, I really needed that.”
Roberta nodded sagely. “I bet. Now, go return Alex’s shirt.”
“Oh my god, I hate you,” Freya giggled, tugging the sleeves back down. Both girls trudged back to the edge of the woods, pausing to pick up their shoes. “But really, call me again if they come back, I could use some exercise.”
“Or a snack,” Roberta quipped.
“I’m not Dad,” Freya said primly. She slid her sandals back on and dug her keys out, walking back to her car. “Hey, though, if you want to come over later, we should make sort of thing to send to the hospital.”
“Oh, yeah, good call,” Roberta said. “Uh, I’ll see who’s available and we can congregate somewhere. Where do you want to do it?”
“Uh, Farah’s if we can,” Freya said, pausing in the door of her car. “If not, I can host.”
“Sure. I’ll call you,” Roberta said, waving goodbye and stepping back to let the air car lift off. Freya peeled off, flying under the Treasury line, heading for her own house. Only a few minutes passed before the mansion’s fence resolved in the distance, and Freya soared over it, her car’s IFF passing the Treasury sensors automatically. She pulled up in the garage annexed onto the house, blowing past the pair of Space Wolves serfs at the door into the house with a cursory wave. Her father wasn’t present, it seemed; the house was empty. She marched straight up the stairs and back into her room, stopping at the bedside to stare down at Alex’s still-sleeping form under the covers. With a huff of impatience, she closed and locked the door, and hastily pulled her sandals and pants back off, leaving her borrowed shirt unbuttoned. Finally, Alex stirred in his sleep, screwing his eyes shut against the light.
“Mph. ‘Morning,” he mumbled, shielding his eyes.
“Wakey wakey,” Freya said, her voice low and intense. Perhaps sensing danger, Alex’s eyes flew open, catching an eyeful of Freya, now naked save for his own shirt, leaning over him.
“Uh, hi. Where did you go this morning?” he asked.
“Roberta wanted to show me something. Good thing she did, too,” she said, her eyes traveling up and down Alex’s silhouette under the covers.
“Really? Why’s that?” Alex asked with distinct nervousness, propping himself up on one elbow.
Freya swept his arm out from under him and half-rolled onto the bed on top of him, vigorously pulling the covers out of the way. “Well,” she said thickly, emotion and hunger pushing through her voice, “it left me feeling a little primal.” She grabbed his wrist and held it over his head, pulling him into a vigorous kiss, sinking the fingers on her free hand into the flesh of his shoulder. He instinctively pulled back before he realized what was happening through his sleep-induced fuzziness, sliding his own free hand down her back to her waist and pulling her in. “Good idea,” she whispered roughly, wrapping both legs around his. “Now, let’s see you follow through…”
Her hair was in her eyes again. Farah tugged her headband loose and brushed the offending lock of platinum blonde aside before retying it. Her metal hands felt uncomfortably hot to the skin of her forehead, and she sank them into the bucket of water next to the little forge in her basement. Her father glanced over from his own station, which featured a microsolderer instead of a heating element today. “Careful, Farah.”
“Yeah, I know, Dad,” Farah muttered. “Do you need coil?”
“No, I have one.” Ferrus paused his work to look harder at what his daughter was crafting. “What exactly are you working on over there?”
“A present for Morticia,” Farah said. She gestured at a cooling block of metal on the table next to her. “I already made one for Kelly.”
“I see. What do you have in mind?” Ferrus asked.
“Well, for Morticia, I thought I’d just do something like…this,” she said, pressing a tiny line of copper against the semi-molten steel in her hands. “A little get-well.”
Ferrus stared. “…Is that an embossed inhaler cozy?” he asked after a moment’s scrutiny.
“Maaaybe,” Farah said coyly, gently kneading the copper coil around the outside of the metal case.
“If she has a sense of irony, she’ll love it,” Ferrus said dryly.
The wall-mount vox over his station beeped. Glancing down to see if his hands were anywhere near cool enough to answer – they weren’t – he called aloud. “Answer.” Waiting a moment for the speakerphone to turn on, he then called out again. “Hello?”
“Hello, Uncle Ferrus, it’s Roberta.”
“Ah, hello, Roberta.” Ferrus held his hands away from the heating element, letting the extra heat bleed out of his hands. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, but I was wondering if a few of us could come over this afternoon and make a get-well-soon present for Morticia,” Roberta said.
Farah smirked at the speakerphone. “Way ahead of you.”
“Farah? Hi! Did you buy something already?”
“A Manus ‘buy.’ ‘Buy’ something. Oh, ho ho ho ho, no,” Farah said, shaking her finger at the vox speaker in scolding. Her father slowly turned to face her in his seat, eyebrows raised. “I made her an inhaler cozy, out of two solid pieces of steel.”
Roberta burst into laughter, eliciting a proud smirk from Farah. “Oh my god I love it,” Roberta managed through peals of laughter. “That’s awesome.”
“I think so,” Farah said happily, turning back to her work. “And for Kelly, I made a little backpack token, since she likes the one Cora has.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, good call. I forgot…OK. Well, when will it be done?”
“I already made the one for Kelly. I’ll be done with the one for Morticia in maybe…ten minutes?” she guessed.
“Awesome, just in time for me to drive over and take credit for it!” Roberta declared.
“Uh huh, sure, Morticia totally won’t wonder when you learned metalworking,” Farah deadpanned.
“Foiled again.” Roberta thought for a moment. “Hmm, so should the rest of us make something too?”
“No, you can sign this if you want. I tried to get a hold of you earlier, actually. Should we just hand it over to them when we meet at the hospital Saturday morning?”
“Sure. Will she be awake by then?” Roberta asked, penciling down the information.
“No,” Farah replied sadly.
Quick break for dinner. Thoughts?
Just keeping it afloat.
keep it up.
Interesting, is this a continuation of the WHS40k storyline? If so what came before it? Just started it so I am lost but know general 40k fluff enough so I got up to speed quickly enough. Please continue with all encouragement though, we need more story and whatnot to help allay the feelings of summertime tg...
This has nothing to do with WHS40K, this is Warhammer High. This is the follow-up to the several stories I wrote for it in the past.

OK, back for realsies. The next bit takes place a few days later.

Morticia blinked against the harsh glare of the operating room lights, lucidity fighting past her chemical stupor. A pair of doctors in full-body clean suits were standing in the corner of the room, arguing over their closed-circuit feed. Several more doctors and a nurse in the same outfit were cleaning up too, running tools under sterilizers in the edge of the room. Two medical orderlies were doing something under her table, probably preparing it to be moved back into her room.
She tried to speak. All she managed instead was a thin gasp. Instantly, every single head in the room snapped to her, and about fifteen pairs of hands reached for the valves on the IV drip in her arm. The world swam back out of focus, and she sank back into oblivion.
Seconds passed, and suddenly she was wide awake, with a feeling like spiders under her skin crawling up and down her hands and feet.
Still, she could feel her feet, that was an improvement. Her vision darkened, but this time it wasn’t drugs causing it. Her father leaned over her, his grey eyes wide. “Morticia?” he asked, his voice muffled.
“Dad?” she asked weakly. His eyes slid shut, and he grabbed her hand, with a gentleness that put a lie to his horrifying appearance.
“You’re OK, sweetheart. You’ll be all right.”
“Morticia?” another voice asked. Kelly’s distinctive hair blotted out another light as she leaned in. “Oh…my god, you’re OK,” she said, tears leaking out of her eyes. She sank down next to her bed-ridden cousin, sobbing. “I was…” she struggled to swallow. “I was so scared.”
“That was pretty scary,” another voice said, one she didn’t recognize. An arm reached across her and gently tugged a clear plastic tube from under from Kelly’s hands.
“Ah, sorry,” Kelly sniffled, hastily shifting her arm away before she could pull the IV out.
The strange voice came back, and Morticia placed it as one of the doctors she had spoken to last time she had woken up. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me, sir.” Mortarion nodded curtly, and the voice and its matching arm disappeared.
“Daddy…” Morticia struggled to lift one arm. “How…how long have I been out?”
“It’s Saturday the ninth, so six days.” Mortarion fought back a tide of anger that was starting to wash in around the edge of his voice. “They caught the guy who did it to you, Morticia.”
“Did you or…uncle Konrad…get to him first?” Morticia asked.
“The Treasury,” Kelly said bitterly.
“Oh…damn,” Morticia said. She flexed her fingers experimentally. “Where…did I get hit?”
“Back. Right through the lung,” Mortarion said, the anger pulling at him again. How DARE some common filth do this to his daughter?
“Then why…is the air so light?” Morticia asked, gingerly shifting herself up on the bed. A lance of agony shot through her back as she did so, and she decided against it.
“You have a new lung. They cloned it in to replace the old one,” Mortarion explained.
“So…no scarring. Right.” Morticia smiled weakly, like a ray of sun peeking around a cloud’s edge. “I should enjoy that while it lasts.”
Kelly managed a tiny smile. Morticia focused on her for a moment. “Are you..okay?”
“I’m…” Kelly struggled to say yes. “No, I’m not. I was so scared…” She screwed her eyes shut, wiping at them with one hand. “I’m a wreck. I haven’t slept in days.”
“Sorry I scared you,” Morticia said apologetically. Mortarion visibly winced.
“Not your fault. God, nobody’s blaming you,” Kelly said immediately. “I just…I was sitting there, and you just fell…” Kelly buried her head in her hands and gasped, sobs of relief and loathing ripping her carefully-constructed emotional façade apart. “…Sorry, sorry, I’m…”
“Hey!” a voice that was far too loud suddenly interrupted. Mortarion nearly jumped. “Look who’s up!” Remilia’s face suddenly appeared next to Kelly’s. Kelly quickly dried her eyes, leaning back from her cousin’s bed. Morticia tried to sit up a bit more, and her father slid his had gingerly behind her back, helping her sit without aggravating the incisions. “You’re looking better!” Remilia said cheerfully.
“You’re lying to me on my recovery bed?” Morticia asked, smiling wearily.
“Yep! But it’s good to see you sitting up and taking notice,” Remilia said, squeezing her free hand. Mortarian sat back a bit and watched as the rest of the Royal daughters filed in, most either carrying flowers or something similar, save Hana and Farah, both of whom were acting rather secretive.
“Hey, there she is!” Isis said, crossing the room under the watchful eye of several Death Guard serfs. “How the hell are you?”
“Exhausted and sore,” Morticia responded, cheering up at the sight of her cousins. “I’m glad you could all make it.”
“Like we wouldn’t?” Angela noted. “Although I don’t know how long we can stay…”
“I would advise that you not stay more than an hour at most, my Lady,” the doctor noted from the hall, where he was hovering impatiently.
“Then, I should do this now,” Farah announced importantly. She leaned forward and presented the box in her hands with a flourish. “Just in case,” she started, enjoying the spotlight. “Should the worst come to pass yet again, you see.”
Morticia blinked. “What?” She took the box and pulled the lid off, wondering what could make Farah so giddy. She pulled a piece of metal out of the container and stared at it. “Is this…is this an armored inhaler cozy?”
“It IS!” Farah said proudly, as at least a third of the other girls sighed, giggled, or just stared.
Morticia stared at Farah’s radiant smile, until a slight, pained giggle forced itself out. She doubled over in the bed, flinching. “Ow, it hurts to laugh.” Mortarion helped her settle back against the pillow, and she ruefully shook her head. “Thanks, Farah. That made my day.”
“So glad you like it,” Farah said happily. The other girls clustered around the bed, just chatting with her and getting her caught up on the world outside the hospital, until all too soon, the hour was up. The doctor poked his head in, tapping a phantom wristwatch.
“Ladies, I think Morticia needs her sleep now,” Mortarion said, eliciting a few grumbles, but no complaint. One by one they said their goodbyes, filing out until only Kelly and Morticia herself were left. Before she walked out, though, Hana paused.
“Hey, Kelly. This one’s for you,” she said, leaving it on the table by the door.
“Oh. Uh…thanks,” Kelly said, managing a wave as her cousin shut the door behind her. Morticia sunk back into the pillows, letting the exhaustion of her ordeal show. The doctor opened the door, pushing in a small handcart of IV bags, and moved over to the tree, carefully checking the cards on the lines. Mortarion watched him for a while, weighing his words. He hadn’t let his simmering rage show in front of his nieces – most wouldn’t have understood – but he knew Kelly would.
“Morticia…I want you to understand…I wish I could have stopped this,” he started.
“Of course you do, Dad,” Morticia said wistfully.
“Right. But…” his hands tightened on the metal bar on the side of the bed with an audible squeak. “…I wish I’d been the one to find him,” he finished, his voice darkening. The doctor shivered and hastily finished his work, leaving the room with all due decorum.
“Dad, if he was caught, he’ll hang. I’m sure of it,” Morticia said.
“No, he won’t. Lord Hane said he’ll get seventeen years at the most,” Mortarion growled.
“…Really?” Mortician asked, her grey eyes widening in surprise.
“I wasn’t sure how to tell-”
“The fucker was shooting into the crowd,” Kelly said, her own rage bursting forth. “He was just shooting at RANDOM!”
Morticia paled further. “He wasn’t…h-he wasn’t aiming for me?”
“He was making a political statement,” Mortarion said bitterly. “And you were just the first one in the line of fire.”
“Why? Why, why, why would he…” Morticia ran her hands over her eyes, dazed. “Why did he do it?”
“Good question,” Mortarion answered, his lips twisting into a bitter grimace. “Lord Hane’s answer is…unsatisfactory.”
The Emperor set the dataslate that Hane had placed before him down, seething. “They’re a CULT?” he snapped.
“No, my Liege, he’s no cultist, not at all, but his fixation does explain his reaction to the news that he had shot your granddaughter and not some random stranger.” The counselor fidgeted a bit under his master’s angry stare. “I can’t admit complete surprise. He seemed to be more than just distraught when he learned the truth. He was devastated. Appalled.”
“And this…Honors Union,” the Emperor said, glancing back down to the dataslate, “they’re responsible for indoctrinating him?”
“Apparently not, Sire. The organization distributes mutancy testing kits in the underhives, they’re not a doctrinal group.” Hane sighed, wondering about the best phrasing. “The problem lies in the fact that Keiter is convinced, absolutely convinced, that the rich and the mutants are more than just problematic for humanity, they’re actively holding it back from your ideal.”
“My ‘ideal’ involves leaving matters of corruption and disease to the police and doctors,” the Emperor said with a frigid wrath, which he then immediately blunted. “I apologize. Do not interpret this as a slight against you, Arthur. But this…this can not stand.”
Hane nodded. “I agree, my Liege. However…the fact that he worships you is not something I can charge him for.”
“I have purged WORLDS for that crime, Hane,” the Emperor said sharply. “I think, if you look hard enough, you can find a statute that applies.”
The lawyer felt the blood drain from his knuckles. “I will…search, my Liege.”
“Yes. Find me something. Let me know what you find,” the Emperor said, dismissing his counselor with a wave of his hand.
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Aaaand with that little bombshell dropped, that's all folks. Leave comments and critiques, please!

...I miss the days when people actually asked me questions about my scribbles.
Wanna touch wieners? I liked it
Oh, hello, Panzer.

You little tosser.
How long did it take you to write this fine ass piece of writing dude?
Taking breaks every few lines, maybe eight hours.
The pic I posted has nothing to do with the thread.
Jesus fuck 2d pig disgusting
No Primarch's Daughters fans left hereabouts?
I enjoyed it. I'm a bit late though, I had to go read all the previous stuff. I would read the shit out of more of these stories
Thanks. Is there anything you liked specifically?
I'm always interested in the Primarchs' Daughters!

War porn is fun to read in small doses, but the only way to convince me to read something over a long period of time (like /tg/ fiction, given the long stretches of time between updates -- not that I'm innocent in that regard...) is to make me care about what happens, and especially the characters and their interactions.

One feature that I like about this series is that it's an interesting concept executed well. The Primarchs are trying to give their children a semblance of a normal life, but they cannot escape the complications that come with being the daughters of the most powerful people in the galaxy.

I'm more of a fan of seeing the alternate setting being revealed through day to day interactions of the characters. A bit vague i know but I love reading things where the setting is not explained up front too much. And I like 40k so this is an all around good time for me.
I appreciate it. The scene with Roberta was actually more or less a real thing that happened in the woods outside my house. Baby deer was born right there outside my window.
Thanks, man.

So, in case the last bit there was unclear, the thing Emps is so mad over is the revelation (hurr) that Useless was exactly what the Emperor was trying to stamp out. Hane realized that Useless thought of the Emperor as a god. We all know how much he likes that.

I never know how subtle I'm being. I hope somebody figured that out on their own, I'd hate to have spoiled it for the entire audience.
hmm I think i missed the stuff leading up to this piece...

Is it on the 1d4chan page? I didnt see it there.
Nope. I'm making a page for it now.
All right, the page is up in monolith form. It'll take a long time to read like that, so I'll go edit it some.

All right! The Bleeding Out page of the Warhammer High category is complete! Please enjoy, and PLEASE leave comments! Even if you just jot a line down here and there as you read through, I really appreciate it, I read every single comment.
Same anon as above, meant to state if this was a Warhammer High story. Very good with relatable characters. As always good to have more writefaggotry, keep it up!
Thank you!
I think my favorite bit in this section was probably Farah working on the armored inhaler cozy. I could just see it happening in my mind.

Any comments to register on the actual content of the writing? Specific lines or passages?
Specifically the part about the deer made me daaawww quite a bit. I grew up in the south so hunting is a part if life for me; Freya and Roberta's encounter with the deer, where they just stare at the creature and just observe, just taking in the creature reminded me of th first time abi went hunting. All I did was just stare and observe, didn't shoot it or the baby was just impressed by the nice quite moment then went back to looking at the horizon. We didn't shoot anything that day but I was fine with it.malso you can really tell how concerned Mortarion is with his daughter. It's subtle but well done.

I wanted to make a scene showing Roberta's leadership side. In my take on the setting, Roberta doesn't really have her father's ambition. She's bright and she's a natural leader, but she's never wanted a seat on the throne like him. Her seeing the deer and calling Freya over to 'hunt' it, so that Freya would feel better, is her way of helping out. Freya, of course, being part wolf, is going to be thrilled at the chance to let those primal instincts I mentioned in previous threads out to play.

Mortarion's probably never felt more paternal than he does here. His backstory in the setting is that he feels guilty over his wife's death even though it wasn't really his fault, and he feels resentful towards life a bit for robbing Morticia of good health and a mother. He's trying very, very, VERY hard to let his vengeance not control his actions here, and he's made it clear to himself (and the Emperor off-camera) that he would have flayed the skin off of Useless if rule of law weren't the order of the day on Terra now that the Crusade's over.
Thank god this thread hasn't 404'd yet.
I'd just like you to know that these stories are prefectly executed, conceptually and linguistically.
Thank you for the storytimes
You're quite welcome, I have a lot of fun making them.
Jake looked up from the magazine he was reading at the end of the isolation hall as he heard the Royal Daughters returning. With one, final, acid glare at the beehives that had prevented him from staying with them when they went to see Morticia – and a warning glance at the other well-wishers that had accompanied him – he dropped the magazine and stood up. “Hey. How is she feeling?” he asked as soon as Venus was in earshot.
“She’s awake, and she’s going to be OK,” Venus said, offering him a quick hug. The other boyfriends and non-Royal visitors stood too, and the hallway filled with the sounds of the Daughters delivering their reports.
“Any idea when she’ll be out?” James asked the crowd.
“Nope. She has a long way to go,” Farah said ruefully. “She liked the cozy, at least.”
James chuckled. “Good. Did Kelly like her pendant?”
“I gave it to her, but it was right at the end,” Hana put in. “I’m sure she will, though.”
“Good.” Farah looked around at the crowd of people at the end of the hall. “Maybe we should get going. This is pretty crowded for a hospital.”
“I agree,” Isis said. “I’m heading back to the Palace. I want to go tell Grandfather the news. Who else is in?”
“I’ll tag along,” Remilia said, and a few others in the group nodded or murmured their assent.
I'm sorry if anyone is waiting for updates, shit be crazy all up in this. I will just be updating when I can. I don't marathon these like I do Emperasque.
Actually, I think I've had enough. Thanks for reading.
Keepan the vigil, always glad to bump a Someone Else thread. You do the Emprah's work, friend, and I always look forward to reading your stuff.

Incidentally, I was browsing 1d4chan and I noticed that you finished Venus' Burn. You almost brought me to sentimental bitch-tears with that goddamn d'aww ending, and this is goddamn Warhammer High of all things---there'd be absolutely no reason to get all worked up if it weren't for your talent at making me care so much about the characters. Excellent goddamn job, absolutely top-notch.
Dammit, just one minute off...
Thanks for your kind words.
I guess I have time for a few more.

Hana followed her security detail’s leader out of the hospital’s vehicle annex to the waiting motorcade, shielding her eyes against the blinding light reflecting off the windows of the office building across the street. The Treasury agent ahead of her opened the door to the aircar in which she had arrived, glancing over the sea of reporters for any potential troublemakers. She climbed in and tapped the glass at the front of the cabin. “Driver, head for the Palace instead of home, please. Dock Forty.”
“Yes, madam,” the driver said, changing his autopilot’s route. The cars lifted, some peeling off to return to the noble district, most heading to the Palace. Hana settled back in the seat, watching the screen in the side of the compartment. It looked like yet another biography in brief of Morticia.
“Can you believe this shit?” Andrew muttered, staring at the news reports on the holoscreen as well. “It’s a farce.”
“What is? The fact that so much of it is wrong, or that fact that it exists at all?” Hana asked.
The new channel was blathering on about the shooter, and simultaneously claiming not to be relaying speculation while wildly speculating on his motives. Andrew watched in silence for a few minutes before cutting the Head off. “Load a’ crap.”
“I wonder if Morticia will give an interview,” Hana mused.
“Maybe. She’s not ready, I don’t think,” Andrew said, “from what you told me.”
The Emperor stood in front of the array of holoscreens in his public office, watching the same news feeds as his granddaughter. The talking heads were going into a biopic about Morticia again, and displaying interviews with people in the hives, asking what their reactions were.
The Emperor sighed and clasped is hands behind his back. The feedback from the people was disappointingly banal. He had the feeling that negative reactions and ignorant responses had been pruned from the footage. “The Lady remains stable, and the spokesman for Startseite Hospital has refused all comment.”
“As well he bloody well should,” the Emperor muttered, turning back to his desk.
“As has the Royal Family,” the Head concluded. The Emperor paused, looking back to the screen with his eyebrows raised. He hadn’t been contacted for comment yet, save in the immediate aftermath of the arrest of the sniper. Had Mortarion and Konrad refused comment as well? That was unlike them.
“So far, the Arbites and the Administratum have refused to release any notice of the shooter’s motive-”
The Emperor cut the feed with a gesture, clasping his hands behind his back and thinking the news over. After a moment’s contemplation, he reached for his vox panel, and was moments from dialing Curze’s number when it beeped.
“Answer,” he said, sitting back down at the desk.
“Hello, Grandpa,” Isis’s voice said from the speaker.
“Hello, Isis. What can I do for you?” the Emperor asked.
“Well, we’re coming back from seeing Morticia; I thought you might want to hear the good news in person.”
“I appreciate that, Isis, but I’m afraid I must decline,” her grandfather replied. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I can’t postpone.”
“Oh.” Isis paused for a moment, then forced a laugh. “I…probably should have called ahead. Well. Anyway, she’s awake, and she’s feeling a lot better.”
“That’s a relief,” the Emperor, who had been so informed by the hospital staff over an hour before, replied.
“I think, if you don’t mind, we’ll come back to the Palace anyway and just…be here, for a while, anyway,” Isis said. “We haven’t had the chance to see each other much since…you know.”
“You never need my permission to come over, Isis, make yourself at home,” the Emperor replied, looking over the surface radar feed and noting the approach of the motorcade. “I’ll try to come by an greet you if I can get away.”
“Thanks, Grandpa. Bye,” Isis said, hanging up.
“No joy on the burn?” Julius offered, glancing up at Isis from his seat. Alone amongst the ‘consorts,’ he might – might – have been able to get into the Palace on his own, since he was the son of the greatest living mortal warrior in the galaxy. That the public knew about, anyway.
“No, he’ll be busy.” Isis slipped the vox back into her pocket, leaning back on the leather seat. “Still, we can hang out at the Palace for a while. It’s been too long since we got to just…be together, without a cluster of Treasury agents hanging over us.”
“They already caught the fucker, why are they keeping security in place?” Julius asked.
Isis shrugged, shifting her blond hair over her shoulders. “They don’t know he was acting alone.”
“I guess.” Julius was quiet for a second, and watched the lights of the hives below vanish into the white and gold of the Palace. “That kind of uncertainty…it’s a long way from fun.”
“No kidding.” Isis reached over and grabbed a drink from the refrigerated console in the console, flipping the cap into the trash with a practiced flick. “Well, once we get there, I think we should ask Dad if we can lower the Treasury screens a bit, he should be there.”
“Will he do it?” Julius asked, waving off his own bottle.
“Nope, but I can ask.” The sky darkened a bit as the aircars descended into the shadows of a tower at the edge of the continent-spanning Palace.
The cars landed in the cavernous space of a VIP bay, and several ranks of Treasury and Arbites personnel – and a brace of Custodes – assembled in rank before the vehicles. As the passengers climbed out, Jake stared at the golden-armored Custodes with undisguised fear, but Isis simply walked straight up to them.
What a sight she made. The casually-dressed teenager, complete with shoulder-length blond hair and calfboots, needed nod and salute once to dismiss a rank of soldiers and bodyguards, one of whom was easily two thousand years old. The other girls and passengers walked up behind her, with her cousins looking like nothing of significance had happened and their companions looking awestruck.
“I’ve never been in this part of the Palace,” Jake said with wide-eyed amazement.
“I’ve only been here once or twice myself,” Venus said. “Isis used to live here, though. More or less. Rarely left.”
Isis must have overheard them, because she fell back from the front of the little troupe and slowed next to Jake. “If you want to know something about the Palace, Jake, I’d be happy to answer,” she said, smiling reassuringly.
“It’s pretty overwhelming,” Jake admitted, looking around the hangar as the procession entered a corridor. “You used to live here?”
“Not literally. Father did, for a period of about three years. I came over every day,” Isis said. “I was in the VIP wing most of the time, of course, there’s only room in the Residence for the Emperor himself.”
“I’ve only ever been to one of the rooftop gardens and the museum,” Jake said.
“The gardens are nice. Uncle Rogal designed them himself,” Isis said. “What did you think of the museum?”
“Incredible. It had more room in the bathroom than my entire apartment does,” Jake said. Isis was quiet for a moment.
“Right. Hiver. I forgot.” Jake quirked an eyebrow, but he knew she hadn’t meant it to be insulting. “Anyway. I think you’ll like the place we’re going.”
“What is it?” Jake asked. The décor of the rooms around them was growing steadily more grandiose, he noted.
“The closest thing the Palace has to a modest room,” Isis said dryly. Angela, now in the lead, turned from the main hall into a side corridor, and immediately turned again to enter a nearly-hidden door. Jake followed her through, curious, and his jaw dropped.
The room beyond was so far from ‘modest’ that it was honestly a little ostentatious to his taste. The room looked out over the hivescape beyond, and was filled with luxurious leather chairs, glass tables, and, on the far side, what sure looked like a bar. A servitor slot next to the glassy table hung open, with nothing inside.
All right, that's it for reals. Good night.
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Once again, it's my turn to take over and continue the 'Bleeding Out' Story. the promised material is finally done (after an unfortunate delay) and ready. Someone Else, should i post the additonal material on 1d4chan, or somewhere else?
Johor Tull once again sat at an Armourglass window, staring out over the landscape of Terra. But that landscape was irrevocably altered, and not just because he was now in the security of the Imperial Palace. In one moment, the glorious Imperium had been wounded in its very heart, and for the last few days, everyone was seeking an answer to the one question, Why? His own future here on Terra seemed to hang by a thread. After the shooting, a number of high ranking members of the Interex wanted to withdraw him from Terra and send him home, very much against his wishes. What is more, he now had a permanent bodyguard, two members of the royal guard, currently outside his door. For several hours he even had a member of the Custodes shepherding him around the Palace. His vox rang out, and he answered it.
“Johor, its Farah.”
For a few seconds, he stared at the vox in shock. “Farah, how did you get my vox number? I thought it was unlisted?”
“It was. I need someone to talk too, and you’re the only one available. If I have insulted you…”
“It’s fine. To be honest, I’m glad to hear from you. You can guess what my first question will be.” the information blackout was affecting everyone, and it frustrated him immensely. He was not the only one, he’d rang Julius, Jake and several others and none of them knew any more than he did.
“She’s stable, at least. Some internal damage, she won’t be up and about for a while. I’ve made her something which will hopefully help with her recovery. What about you, I heard you’re returning to Interex Space.”
“The Interex Council wants me to return home. It’s ‘too dangerous’ for me to remain on Terra any longer, according to them.”
“And are you leaving?”
“No.” he stated emphatically, his aria whistling beneath his voice. There were jokes around Imperator High that he was the only person there with a soundtrack to his life, a joke which often went over his head, leaving him bewildered at why they were laughing every time he spoke.
“We need to prove that no matter what, they cannot stop us from living our lives. I don’t know who did it, or why, but we must defy them. The Imperium is far greater than the sum of its parts.”
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Moving on from the Haters

Julius Pius stared over at the façade of the Warmaster’s towering residence with growing dismay. Lines of guards blocked his way, new sentry turrets had sprouted up like steel mushrooms and even a pair of Custodes flanked the armoured door. He would never get through the front entrance, not in a thousand years. However he had learnt many things from the Warmaster, and one of them was that there was always another way into a defended fortress. With a backwards glance to make sure no-one had spotted him, he headed for the nearby cooling tower, poking its snout above the deserted streets.

Ignore the literal shit-poster, he's fagging up the whole of /tg/ right now.

Keep posting your writings.

johor is a name of place actually, keep the story on nonetheless
There will always be trolls and haters, someone needs to delete the scat before the mods see it and exterminatus the entire thread.
carrying on regardless
I'm sorry /tg/. I posted pg13 vomiting in an actual bad thread (nsfw camwhoring, stuff that belongs on /soc/), and it seemed to have angered the posters there to posting much worse things all over /tg/.

I'm sorry that they reacted in such a childish way.
Banish the trolls and scat lovers back to the dark corners of /d/
Hey! He's not ours and neither do we want this faggot!
We've already got enough problems with futaspammer and Mod and we don't need any more shit.
Plus, Gurochan is for scat. Not /d/.
This board has been overrun by scat. something must be done.
I wasn't involved in any of those threads but now I have to see you posting shit too.

You are the worst person here by a long shot.
Beneath the tower was a network of pipes which branched beneath the residence, carrying water, power and clean air in and waste out. Fortunately for him, there were also some ventilation pipes for the pollution extractors, and they were usually empty except when they were releasing concentrated pollutants, providing a convenient route into the residence. Isis and he had found it while pouring over the mansion’s blueprints on an acid-rainy day, and after a few expeditions through them, had agreed to use it as a secret route whenever they wanted to visit each other. Though it was secret, it definitely wasn’t comfortable, not by a long shot. He had to bend over nearly backwards to fit through it, making his Carapace Breastplate dig painfully into his hips and the cable of his Hellpistol scrape the sides of the pipe. He was sure none of the other boyfriends of the Daughters had anything like the difficulty he had in sneaking in or out, even those who dated the fortress girls Remalia and Petra.
Carefully easing the manhole cover up, he emerged into the garden, built into the rear of the complex. Lifting a pair of miniature Magnoculars to his eyes, he could see no patrols, and he pulled himself from the shaft, pausing to check in case any cameras were scanning the grounds.
Isis’s bedroom was three stories up, which seemed like a lot until you saw that the entire residence was over triple that height. He pulled out a pair of electromagnetic clamps from his combat pack, tested them against the armoured skin of the residence, and slowly began to haul himself up the sheer armoured sides of the residence. As he slowly and agonisingly hauled himself up the sheer face of the building, he counted himself lucky there were no Skull Probes scanning the exterior of the residence. If he was detected, he suspected they’d shoot first and not bother asking questions later.
Fuck off trolls, i like this writefaggotry
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The Trolls seem to have vanished, but until the scat/bestiality has been removed, i'll wait before posting the rest of the story.
want to see moar
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All right, I PMed a mod on the IRC and he helpfully deleted the scat spam. Feel free to resume, Ahriman.

And...as odd as the idea that the warmaster of humanity would somehow not know that there's a dude in his sewers, do continue this story.
“Is this a…nightclub?” Jake asked.
“Hah! It may as well be. It’s a lounge for visiting Overlords,” Isis said, walking up the bar and looking expectant.
“Yet it’s empty,” Jake observed, sitting down next to her.
“Well, there’s several,” Isis said, glancing side to side.
Remilia ignored the exchange, sinking down into a couch by the end of the spacious room. The other girls dispersed around the room, but she disregarded them completely. The zipper of her loose-fitting jacket snagged on the edge of a cushion, and she tugged it free, glaring at the carpet. Freya noticed and wandered over. “Hey. You OK?”
“Just a little upset that we can be here while Morticia and Kelly are off in the hospital,” Remilia said bitterly.
“Kelly?” Freya asked.
“Didn’t you hear?” Remilia asked, consciously avoiding her cousin’s gaze. “She checked in for psychological counseling yesterday.”
Freya was quiet for a long minute. “Kelly’s just trying to get her problem solved.” She crossed her arms and stared down at Remilia, who finally met Freya’s gaze. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Remilia grumbled. Freya sighed faintly. She sat down next to Remilia and searched her face with her inhuman eyes.
“You’re hurting too, Remilia,” she said softly.
“Damn it, furball, I don’t need a mother right now,” hissed under her breath.
Freya’s eyes narrowed. Remilia felt remorse tug her heart, and sighed again, grinding her hand over her eyes. “Sorry…I didn’t mean…”
“Yes you did.” Freya’s statement wasn’t a question.
Remilia’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Freya.” Freya’s stare drifted pointedly down Remilia’s arms, and she flinched in sudden self-consciousness. “…Can’t keep anything from you.”
Anger and confusion leaked into Freya’s voice. “Why do you do it?” she asked.
“Once. I did it once,” Remilia said, anger starting to color her voice too. “And it’s none of your damn business.” Freya looked away for a moment, then looked back, sadness etched onto her face. “…And don’t give me the puppy eyes.”
“Remilia…fine. If you don’t want to tell me, fine.” Freya reached over and squeezed her cousin’s shoulder. “But it hurts to see you do that.” Her fingers tightened their grip. “So knock it off.”
“How…” Remilia seethed. “How can you even say…fine. Whatever. I’ll stop,” she said, completely done with the discussion.
Freya nodded, apparently willing to drop it too. She wrapped her arm around her cousin’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Remilia grumbled.

Thanks. i hope it fits in well. and knowing the Warmaster, he knows all along, but lets it slide. the Story continues after Jake's visist tpo the 'Nightclub'
Finally after several agonising minutes of crawling he reached level with her bedroom window, and gently taped against the armourglass window with the muzzle of Vulkan’s Hellpistol.
The armoured curtains drew back and he found himself almost face to face with Isis. She stared, shocked as he grinned at her. She looked shocking, her eyes raw and her hair mussed and tussled. He had never seen her like this, not in the many years they had known each other. She was the leader, the prime one, and never ever let her emotions get the better of her. Until now. It seemed almost illogical she could ever let her emotions carry her away like this, even in private. Right now, her prior emotions were replaced by shock. The window slid open and she reached out and helped him clamber in. no sooner was he inside then she angrily confronted him.
“Julius, what the hell?”
He turned, looked at her and commented dryly. “You know, most boys expect a lot more than that if they go to this length to get into a girl’s bedroom.”
Isis chuckled, the mask of sadness slipping. “Yes, but that’s not us, is it?”
“No, no it isn’t.” their relationship had never been exclusive or serious, and Isis had tried her hand with other boys many times before. However her belief that a male could not be worth her time unless he could become her equal meant that time after time her relationship attempts failed, and every time she went straight back tom Julius, the only one who understood what it was like to live in the shadow of a famous father.
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“No-one has ever seen me like this. Not even my Cousins have ever seen me like this. To be honest, I had hoped you would never see me like this.”
“But I have.” Julius sat down heavily, and Isis stared at him, noticing his gear for the first time.
“Why are you loaded for bear?”
“Because a few days ago, we learnt how safe the streets truly are. The happy time is over, now we must face the grim reality that the Imperium of a Million Worlds is darker than any of us ever realised. There’s a communication blackout, we don’t know anything about what happened. What can you tell me?”
“She’s going to make it. I heard a friend of Professor Ahriman’s, Hathor Matt, has been sent from Prospero to aid in the recovery. However it’s a long road ahead for her. One lung was punctured and her spine clipped. She’s lucky it wasn’t transacted, or she’d never walk again. I spent the afternoon at the Overlord with the girls and Jake.”
“Jake. He’s integrated himself very well into this life, far better than I have, at any rate. What a luck bugger. Unlike some. Why did it have to happen to Morticia? To her? Of all of you, she is the meekest and gentlest. She’d never even hurt a fly.”
“It’s just fate.”
That simple sentence gave Julius Goosebumps. His father had taught him that the only fate was that which one created for oneself, making your own luck. But this incident had shaken that belief to its core.
“I’m glad you’re here now though, you’re practically family.” Julius was reminded of Faith’s recent beliefs about him, and he shivered. She meant far more to him than that.
“What do you know about the Sniper?”
“What do you mean, what do I know?”
“Don’t play me for a fool. There isn’t a Logic-Engine yet made that Farah can’t hack into. By now she’ll know of every detail of what happened, who it was, their back-story, and every place they visited prior to the shooting. And if I know her, she’ll have shared it with you first.”
Isis wordlessly reached under her pillow, pulled out a Datafax and tossed it to Julius.
Swiftly he flicked through it, astonished at the wealth of detail Farah had uncovered. Farah had done a damned good job of hacking into the Arbites network, and even sealed Inquisitorial files. For a few wordless minutes he read the details, pausing to digest what he had read. There seemed to be many inconsistencies, and the psych profile of the shooter sounded nothing like a potential killer. As he did, ideas burst forth and a plan formed in his mind.
“Well, this is certainly interesting.” Julius set the Datafax down.
“What do you mean, interesting? The Inquisition thinks this is clearly cut and dried.”
“The Inquisition know jack squat. As far as they are aware, one man went mad, and that’s about the end of it. But from these notes, it seems to be far more than that. These visits to the Confessor’s City and Lion’s Gate Spaceport for starters, they seem too regular to be part of his veteran’s activity, and I should know. The Petitioners City and Lions Gate Spaceport are both within an hour’s Maglev ride of here. I’m going to find out first hand from the ground about the Veterans, the Honours Union, and what made this man shoot your cousin.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? Father said this was in the hands of the authorities. It’s nothing to do with us.”
“Wise? Hardly. Noting to do with us? No. We will never move on until we know the truth about why this man decided out of the blue to shoot Morticia, for what seems like the most arbitrary reasons. Professor Ahriman once said that the truth was the ultimate power. Remember, I am Ollanius Pius’s son, and those crazy genes which made him the most famous human in the Galaxy are mine as well. And your Father once said that actions speak louder than words, and with that he won the entire Galaxy for the Emperor. And his crazy Genes are yours as well.” He headed for the window, turned and looking back over his shoulder at her. “Are you coming?”
The Great Ocean surged through Ahzek Ahriman, filling him with the power of the Primordial Creator. Softly, delicately he channelled that power into his victim, softly sifting through his mind, hunting for the truth. Flickers of his target’s life filled his mind, the places he had visited, the food he had eaten, the encounters with the opposite sex, few and far between. It was a tricky operation, trying to search through a target’s memories without frying every synapse in its brain. He had done it many times during the Great Crusade, extracting valuable information from the brains of captured enemy war commanders. But that was several hundred years ago, and he had to remember the skills from the bottom up.
Suddenly his vox sounded, and the harsh wail disturbed his victim.
The Cat broke free of the trance which had held it, and scrambled away as fast as its legs could carry it, yowling. Ahriman sighed. It had been so long, he had to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally kill the Sniper while sifting through his mind, and so he practiced on the local animals, luring them in and probing their minds. It wasn’t pretty, but every little helped ensure the main interrogation wouldn’t go wrong. The vox continued to ring, and Ahriman reached over and answered it.
“Ahzek Ahriman, just wanted to inform you that the ship from Prospero has just translated out of the Warp close to the Neptune Translation Point, and will be at Lion’s Gate in eight hours. Also you have a meeting with Ser Arthur Hane in an Hour.”
Ahriman thanked the man, and hung up. As he did so, a grin spread across his face. For the first time in many years he would be seeing one of his closest friends. Hathor Maat, head of the Pavoni temple of Prospero, and one of his oldest friends had been specially summoned to Terra to take charge of Lady Morticia’s recovery. If there was anyone who could help cure Morticia, it would be Hathor Maat; he was the one who cured the Remembrancer Camille Shivani when she had been infected with psychneuein larvae many years ago, an incredibly dangerous operation. What was more; Maat had a number of books for Ahriman, including a special one on loan from Magnus’s own library in the Pyramid of Photep about Psychic Interrogation, including techniques only Magnus had ever done. Few blessings could ever come out of such a horrible act as the shooting, but seeing an old friend for the first time in centuries surely had to be counted as one of them. He’d go and meet him, but first he had to fins that cat and try again. Practice makes perfect.

And that is as far as i've done. still finishing Julius and Isis's adventure in the Petitioners city (as if there wasn't enough tragedy already).
Someone Else, what do you think? shall i post my additions to 1d4chan?
Well...to be honest, some things in that story don't make a whole lot of sense.

Farah already knew exactly who the shooter was. Hane told the Daughters everything. Why would she need to hack anything?

And why would Julius need to crawl in when he could just call the house and have Isis change the Treasury lockdown to let him through?

Also, Morticia's probably going to make a full recovery. She doesn't need psychic assistance. Believe me, if she couldn't recover without psychic assistance, the Emperor would just do it himself.
The other occupants of the room – who were largely ignoring the heart-to-heart in the corner – were distracted by the door behind the bar suddenly opening. A man in a neatly-pressed white suit walked out, taking in the room in a moment. His wrinkled face split with a smile the moment he saw the Daughters. “Girls! Been too long!”
“Al!” Angela proclaimed happily. The others wandered over to the glassy bar, exchanging greetings with the bartender, who knew them all by name. The other guests exchanged confused looks. “It has been too long.”
“Hasn’t it? Let me see,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’m going to guess most of you are too young to be drinking still…”
“Ah, but today we have something to celebrate!” Isis declared cheerfully. “Morticia woke up today. She’s gonna be all right.”
“Ah! Then we do indeed have a reason to celebrate.” The barkeep reached under the counter and pulled out a double armful of long-neck bottles, each filled with something bright orange. “On the house,” he declared, handing them out.
“It’s an open bar,” Roberta said, continuing their ancient joke.
“Really?” the barkeep asked pensively. “Don’t tell the Ambassador that, he didn’t know.” The girls dutifully laughed.
They know who the shooter is, they don't know much about his backstory, his contacts, the kind of stuff you don't really want most people to know.

Julius doesn't trust the treasury any further than he could throw them. as the Firstborn, Isis has the heaviest security, and the Custodes are not about to let anyone past them without orders from the Emperor Himself.

And as for summoning Maat, well someone may have lied in order to see an old friend again, or chaos might be pulling another string...
I'll be frank. It feels like you're trying to turn this into some kind of conspiracy story. It really isn't. Useless didn't have any motive other than "fuck rich people."
I'll be frank. It feels like you're trying to turn this into some kind of conspiracy story. It really isn't. Useless didn't have any motive other than "fuck rich people."

Never thought it was a conspiracy story. it's the story of a tragedy and the aftermath of that tragedy. Useless may simply have done his thing for ararchistic purpoises, but there are other, darker things out there which see doors opened, and want to go through them. this is a very dark time for the daughters, and the breath of Chaos is upon a few of them. Useless has sown the wind, and others will reap the whirlwind.

or not, depending on what you want. this is your story, i am just doing the parts for my characters. point the way, and the way i'll go. you're better at this than i am.
Actually, Ahriman, you should get on the IRC. You can use the 4chan IRC client if you can. The server is irc.rizon.net, channel is #writescribbles . We should talk this over if you want to write collaboratively.

As soon as i can connect (stupid NZ internet) i'll be there.
Great. I might be gone for dinner, but stick around, we can talk about the story.

In the meantime, anyone else got some PD/WHH stuff to share? New, old, OC?
All right, Ahriman's Aide and I have thrashed out a thing. We might be making updates every so often.
Venus plopped down in a chair by the window and looked out over the expanse of gold and white. The pseudoweather was turning grim, she noticed. The sky was darkening rapidly. Andrew grabbed a soda from the counter and wandered over, sitting down across from her. “Hey, Venus.”
The Forgefather’s daughter turned her eyes to him. “Hi, Andrew.”
“How did Morticia seem to you?” he asked, popping the cap on his soda.
“Happier than I expected. I don’t think she really knew what was happening,” Venus said, twisting her own cap off.
“Yeah. I wish I had gotten to see her,” Andrew said, glancing out the window. “Hell of a view.”
“I love it here.” Venus took a long drink of her soda, rolling the cap between her fingers. “How have you been, anyway? It’s been two years since we had a class together.”
“Pretty well, actually,” Andrew said. “Thinking about joining the Army after I get out of school.”
“Really?” Venus asked. “Wow. That’s interesting. Officer candidacy or enlisting?”
“Thinking I might go for enlisting, then work my way into the Warrant program. Field Artillery,” Andrew said. Hana dropped down next to him on the couch.
“Who knows, we might even get stationed together,” Hana said with a laugh.
“You’re joining the military?” Venus asked in surprise.
“It was a joke,” Hana laughed.
“Oh.” Venus breathed a sigh of completely un-feigned relief. “Okay.” Jake flipped his bottlecap into the trash and stood next to the window, looking out over the vista. He lifted his hands to shield his hiver eyes from the blinding glare of the sun off the white rock walls. Andrew tapped him on the shoulder. When Jake glanced back, Andrew proffered up his sunglasses, with Jake took with gratitude.
“Thanks, man. How do you people live up here? It’s so goddamned bright.”
“You just sort of get used to it,” Andrew shrugged.
“I can’t see that happening without ample practice,” Jake said, looking out over the streams of distant traffic.
The bartender swept the discarded caps off of the counter into a bin, then looked around the room. A pair of Treasury guards and a Custodian were visibly patrolling outside the room, but nobody else was coming or going. Al caught Isis’ eye and beckoned her over. “So, what else can I do for you? And how late can you stay?”
“Not long, sadly,” Isis replied ruefully. “But I wanted to give the good news to Grand…the Emperor in person.”
“Well, I’m sure he would have been happy to see you, Isis,” Al said. “Where are the rest of your cousins?”
“Oh, they had other places to be, I guess,” she replied with a shrug.
Night, folks.
Yeah, I'm done. I was violently ill this morning. No writing for a while. Enjoy what we've got.

Ahriman, if you want to dump for a while, feel free.
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Ah, the irony, she burns.
I know, right?
Ah, to hell with it. If I'm going to be stuck in the room all day with bad feels, I may as well write.

The Emperor clicked the holoscreens of his office off with a sigh of disappointment. So, the Rogue Traders Coalition weren’t willing to play ball. How unfortunate for their Senator.
After a moment’s deliberation, he clicked the holos back on. From memory, he dialed a secure line to Mortarion’s home, wondering is he would be there or the hospital. The line was picked up on the first ring. “Lord Mortarion’s residence,” the voice on the other side began.
“Is the Lord in?” the Emperor asked. The man on the other end must have recognized his voice.
“Indeed not, my Liege. He remains at his daughter’s side for now,” the butler said humbly.
“Thank you,” the Emperor said, hanging up and sighing again. He pushed himself up from his desk, walking over to the wall of monitors, switching them over to the security camera feeds. He cycled through them until he reached the wing where he had sensed Isis and her sisters – he could never think of them as cousins – arrive, passengers in tow.
As he watched, they dispersed throughout one of his dignitaries’ lounges, chatting amongst themselves. It seemed Isis had a bit of a breather on her mind.
You are a hero and a martyr, good writefriend. Feel better!
Angela looked up from her drink and stared at the door of the lounge for a moment, a smile playing around her lips. Michael leaned over and raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” Angela said happily. She turned back to face the room, taking a quick headcount. Twelve of the Royal daughters remained, and about half again that many guests. Just enough for an audience. Isis caught her eye and smiled, clearly divining the reason for her cousin’s sudden good mood. She stood and stretched luxuriously, wandering over to the window where Jake and Andrew were still discussing the merits of in- and out-hive living.
“Hey,” she said, clapping both men on the shoulder and leaning between them. “So what do you two think of home-away-from-home?”
“It’s awesome,” Andrew replied. “Now all it needs is a water park and I’m set.”
“In a word?” Jake said carefully. “Profligate. I can’t imagine His Excellency actually needing this much room in his Palace.”
“This Palace houses over six billion members of the Administratum, you know,” Isis pointed out. “And a museum, two full garrisons of Custodes, and a guest wing or nine.”
“And I think the Emperor gets to put as many rooms in the place as he wants,” Angela put in from the door, watching a faint glow in the hallway grow brighter.
“Naturally.” Jake took a long drag on his orange soda, staring out over the endless expanse of gold and white. “Still.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I must sound like a broken vox right now. I like it here.”
The Emperor paused at the door. The bartender spotted him and genuflected deeply, balancing a few empty bottles in his hands. Angela had known he was coming, and she was beaming a grin at him from the bar. Several of the other Daughters had also seen him and immediately moved in to say hello. The rest of the room’s occupants seemed to become aware one-by-one, with reactions of varying degrees of humor.
“My liege, welcome!” Al said, rising from his bow. “How my I serve you?” At that, the rest of the people in the room turned around, and the air pressure dropped a few PSI as they inhaled as one.
“Not at all, thank you,” the Emperor said politely, moving over to where Angela was still sitting, acknowledging his other guests and relatives on the way, with the same patient smile he had used for the last four thousand years. “Angela. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better, this far from the hives,” she admitted, rubbing her forehead. “Yourself?”
“I am well. Your uncle Mortarion isn’t picking up the vox, however,” he said, leaning on the bar.
“Can you blame him?” Angela asked.
“No.” The Emperor glanced over the cluster of ‘Royal’ boyfriends and hangers-on that had congregated near the window. “And who might my other guests be?”
“Ah. In order, Alex, Andrew, Jake, Michael, Aaron, James, Pietro, and Adam,” she said, pointing each one out in order. “Over there, Julius and Kevin.” She then identified the four or five students from their school who had accompanied them.
“Gentlemen,” the Emperor said, inclining his head a few degrees. “Welcome.”
“Sire,” Julius, who had met the Emperor several times, replied on their behalf, to a chorus of assent and nodding heads.
Isis walked back over to where her grandfather was standing. “I guess you must have heard from the hospital by now, but I wanted to let you know in person. Morticia will be all right, the lung took.”
“Excellent,” the Emperor said, allowing himself a smile. “I hope she’s in high spirits, inasmuch as she can be?”
“Yeah, from what we saw,” Isis said. Jake and few of the other guests were shifting a bit, wondering if it would be poor decorum to sit down. Julius noticed and sat back down on the nearest couch, and the others took their cues. “It’s Kelly I’m worried about. She’s taking this hard.”
“Indeed, she is.” The Emperor nodded gravely. “Still, I’m sure she has what it takes to overcome this.”
“Speaking of,” Isis started, but the Emperor shook his head once. Clearly, discussing any leads on the investigation was verboten, “do you think you’ll be able to visit her in the hospital?” she improvised.
“I imagine I will, but I’ve taken Mortarion and Konrad’s duties of commanding my fleets upon myself until they can return to duty.”
“The midnight oil, she burns fast,” Angela said.
“Indeed.” The Emperor glanced at the clock over the bar, noting the time with a grimace. “Well, I must return to it, in fact. Isis, as ever, you and your sisters are most welcome to stay here if the security detail on your homes becomes too overbearing. I’m rather more used to it,” he added with a wry grin.
Liking the characterization and bonding between the "sisters", but very curious about Andrew and Julius. Are they pulled from other WH High stories, or additions of your own?
>"I’ve taken Mortarion and Konrad’s duties of commanding my fleets upon myself until they can return to duty."
That raises an interesting point as an aside: what might be the duties of the primarchs post-Crusade? I'm sure they maintain their legions and attend to certain matters on their home planets, but do they have more formalized positions? Might they be on whatever passes for the council of High Lords in this golden future?
Andrew is Hana's boyfriend. I created him. Julius is Isis' boyfriend, and Ollanius Pius' son. Ahriman's Aide created him.

They're not all military. Guilliman and Perturabo help run the Imperium in the parts of the galaxy too far from Terra to administrate directly. Corax runs the Military Intelligence office, which is what the Inquisition replaced canonically. Mortarion is Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Naval Forces. Curze runs the Terran branch of the Counterespionage services. Vulkan inducts the newest batches of Astartes candidates. Lorgar runs the Education department. Horus serves as third-in-command of the entire Imperium; that's how Julius knows the Emperor. Magnus reluctantly heads up the Scholastica Psykana (he feels that he's wasting his time, though). Dorn is basically in charge of integrating new or rediscovered technologies into the Imperium once the Martians are done with them. Etc.
OMG you used that word properly in a story.
I will love you forever.

How else do people use it?
“I imagine so, but I suspect the Custodes are less intrusive than the Treasury,” Isis giggled. Jake muttered something inaudibly.
The Emperor noticed, of course. “Something to add, Sieur Seager?” he asked.
Jake’s blood froze. “Nothing Lord Vulkan didn’t already see to, Sire,” he said quickly.
“Ah, the incident with the overzealous bodyguard?” the Emperor asked rhetorically. “Yes. I was informed, and Lord Vulkan was absolutely right. The Treasury had no grounds to harass you like that, I apologize.”
Jake boggled. “Not a…problem, Sire.”
“Well, then.” The Emperor stood straight once more, addressing the crowd. “I must return to work. Safe journeys.”
“You as well, my Liege, Remilia said formally, for the group. Pausing to shake a few hands, the Emperor made for the door, glad to see his granddaughters taking their trials well.
Turning from the corridor, a few Companions falling behind him, he thought over the meeting. Surely, Isis would be able to keep the others from asking about the investigation until he had something to tell them.
His jaw tightened. Worship. Keiter worshipped him. He resolved once more to root out the source of the corruption that had nearly taken a granddaughter from him.
Isis looked over the assemblage of people in the room and smiled at the contrast. The Royal Family members and Al were acting like nothing at all had happened, ad everyone else was looking awestruck. Even those who had met him before were looking a bit sandbagged.
SATs, spelling quizes. lists of cool words that no one uses.
Like Schism. possibly the most fun word to say in the English language (seriously try it), but I'm the only person I've known to actual use it.
“Out of curiosity, anyone actually going to take him up in it?” Angela asked. A chorus of ‘no’ met her question. “Me neither.”
“In fact,” Venus said, dropping her bottle on the bar, “I should head out.”
“Me too,” Freya added dolefully, lining her bottle up with Venus’. “Who here is planning on being back in school on Monday if the Treasury lightens up?”
“Aye,” Remilia said with feeling. “Enough of this lockdown.”
“Me for sure,” Isis added. I need to hand in my Senior Project anyway.”
“Oh blast, I forgot that was due Tuesday. Aaargh, how could I forget?” Angela asked. “Uh, uh, damn. I haven’t even written the speech.”
“What’s your topic?” Andrew asked.
“Differentiation of Civil and Military Law in the Aftermath of the Demobilization of the Imperial Army,” Angela said.
Andrew looked at her with newfound respect. “In a school full of veterans? Gutsy.”
“Not if I botch the speech Thursday,” she said worriedly.
“Ah, you’ll do fine,” he said.
“Just talk about how your father broke Kha’Banda over his knee that one time,” Michael said. “And reap the A-plusses.”
“Oh, please,” Angela grumped.
Al finished putting away the empties under the bar and cast his eye around the room for strays. Finding none, he bowed formally as the little troupe marched past. “’Til we meet again, ladies and gentlemen,” he said by means of farewell.
“Bye Al!” Isis said, waving over her shoulder as they moved back down the hall.
Julius leaned towards her, glancing meaningfully towards the next corridor into the tower. Isis caught his meaning, looking over to the Custodian protecting the procession. “Brother, is my father in the Palace right now?”
“He is, my Lady Isis. Shall I take you to him?” the gold-clad giant asked.
“Please do, Brother. And Sieur Pius as well,” she added. Angela cast a glance over her winged shoulder at the two conspirators, but decided not to interfere.
“As you wish, lady Isis,” the Custodian said, diverting down a nearby corridor. Isis and Julius followed their guide away from the rest of the group, into the more utilitarian parts of the Palace, and stopped at a tram station. “Your father should be in Bunker Three, in the Palace Core.”
“Thank you, Brother,” Isis said, as the doors of the tram closed. She tapped the coordinates of the Bunker into the tram, and it lifted, soaring away.
“Game plan?” Julius asked, looking intently at the tiny holographic map of the Palace on the inside of the car.
“Honesty. We ask for answers, we look for more if we don’t get enough.” Isis leaned back against the seat of the tram.
“Will he answer us?”
“Who knows,” Isis replied heavily. The air outside whipped into streams as the car accelerated to nearly six hundred miles per hour, launching into the heart of the continent-spanning structure. Julius closed his eyes and relaxed as the tiny force field around the car switched on, and its inertial dampener reduced the momentum of its occupants to zero. Isis wiggled across the seat to Julius and leaned against him, her mind turning over at blazing speed. Conversation plans, speculation over what Horus could be doing in the middle of the Palace anyway, reviewing her aborted questioning of the Emperor…they sped through her mind as fast as the tram over its magnetic rails.
Julius wrapped his arm behind her shoulders, and she absently squeezed his hand. “We have ten minutes until we arrive. What should we ask?”
“Why is the Emperor convinced that there’s more to this Keiter guy than one whacko with a vendetta and a rifle, for starters,” Isis said quietly, her mind kicking into detective mode.
“He thinks there’s something more?” Julius asked.
“You saw the way he cut me off when I started to ask,” Isis pointed out.
“Right, right.” Her boyfriend thought over the conversation, trying to remember what the Emperor had said precisely. “Well…we can ask who the Treasury is investigating.”
“He won’t answer that in front of you,” Isis said, bitterness darkening her voice. Julius frowned.
“You think so?”
“He likes you a lot, Julius, and he trusts your family, but we’re talking about information so heavily classified I don’t even think he’s technically allowed to tell ME,” Isis said heavily. “I can ask anyway.”
Julius went quiet. After another minute of silence, Isis looked up at him. He was looking away, torn. “Should I stay here? I just tagged along without thinking.”
“Come with, Julius,” she said. It wasn’t an order, it was a statement of preference.
Julius shrugged, looking back down at her. “All right.” A smile quirked his lips, quite against his will. She felt a sudden and inappropriate wave of good humor wash over her too, and had to look away herself to prevent a sudden inappropriate giggle.
Good night, folks.
also bump
All right, back.
“OK. We should make sure we’re not pressing him, if he’s busy,” she said.
“We could call him,” Julius suggested.
“He won’t commit to anything over the phone.” Isis wiggled free of her boyfriend’s arm and eyed the holographic map. “We’re nearly there. Any last-minute ideas?”
“Fresh out.” Both teens watched the holographic map fizzle out as the door under it opened, and they both clambered out. This wing of the Palace looked like no other; this was the command hub, far from the public offices of the Primarchs and the Emperor, far from the Audience halls and the guest wings. This was the part of the Palace with walls made of reactive armor, with security Servo-skulls every few dozen meters, with Custodes in armor that could block lascannon beams stationed at the corners. Isis, of course, breezed past the security checkpoints, with Julius along in her wake, drawing a mean eye from every guard they walked by.
After several minutes of descending stairs and passing Custodes, they finally arrived at an incongruity: an unassuming block of offices. Several Administratum and Munitorum higher-ups were bustling in and out, exchanging data bursts on their implants, fussing with cogitator banks, or just generally making themselves busy with the inner workings of the Imperium. Several paused to watch the pair wend their way through the block, but none stared for too long; the heart of the Imperium never stopped beating.
Beyond the block was yet another of the ubiquitous Custodes checkpoints, and a Mechanicum station for tending to the machinery of the offices, and beyond that was one of the most closely guarded offices in the Imperium: that of Warmaster Lupercal.
Isis stopped at the checkpoint outside the office and sketched a quick bow before the Companion leading the guard contingent. “Brother. Is my Father in?” she asked.
“He is, my Lady, however, he is not to be disturbed,” the Companion said. He swept his inscrutable black visor over Julius. “Who is your guest?”
“Sieur Julius Pius,” Isis replied.
“I see.” The Companion looked over the both of them, apparently speaking on his helmet vox. “The Lord Warmaster will see you when he can. It may be a while.”
“I can wait,” Isis said, nodding her head again. “Thanks.” She and Julius made their way over to a small sitting area near the checkpoint, under the watchful gaze of the Custodian.
“Now what?” Julius asked sotto voce.
“Now we wait,” Isis replied.
Arthur Hane sat down in front of the imposing mahogany desk before him and brandished a thick sheaf of paper. “I have the case file, Provost.”
Fourth Provost Marshal Rachnus accepted the proffered dossiers and rifled through them. “Seems in order, Counselor.” He glanced over at Keiter’s lawyer. “Counselor Felger, anything to add?”
“Yes, I do have something, Provost,” Felger said, drawing a dataslate from his pocket and piping some data to the Arbites’ own. “A motion to dismiss the case, on the grounds that my client is not capable of performing the act of which he has been accused.”
“You ARE kidding. He confessed,” Hane said flatly. Rachnus peered over his spectacles at Felger.
“The case has yet to begin formally, Sieur Felger. What grounds are you basing this on?”
“Provost, my client has been charged with two crimes: firing a weapon with the intent to kill, and Attempted Regicide. He was not trying to kill anyone with the shot. Least of all a member of the Royal family,” Felger explained.
“You must be hoping for high pressure fronts in the jury room, Sieur Felger, if you think that shit will fly,” Hane said curtly. “I have an audio recording of your client specifically admitting that he was trying to kill someone with that shot.”
“That statement was made under an inadmissible level of duress,” Felger said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Duress? He was proud of what he had done! He told me as much! You were there!” Hane said.
“I was. And I saw the tears in his eyes when he told you how much he regretted harming a member of the Royal Family.”
“He worshipped them. Which, lest we forget, is a violation of the Imperial Creed,” Hane said darkly.
“Counselor, I see nothing in your brief about prosecuting Sieur Keiter for a violation of the Creed,” Rachnus pointed out.
“I wasn’t going to prosecute him for it. If Sieur Felger’s motion passes, I will,” Hane promised.
“Well, you needn’t worry yourself,” Rachnus said, dropping the paper sheaf into a binder. “It’s not going to pass. I’ve read the transcripts being offered up as evidence, Counselor Felger. Your client was completely remorseless about shooting someone. He showed remorse for harming Lady Morticia not because he shot her, but because he shot Royalty. That does not constitute a defense against a charge of Attempted Murder.”
“But Provost, that’s not the charge in question,” Felger pointed out.
“Then let’s discuss the third charge on the docket,” Rachnus said, lifting his dataslate. “Attempting an Act of Terrorism. I see no motion from you to dismiss that.”
“He’s no terrorist, I can assure you of that,” Felger said with a theatrical sigh. “He wasn’t trying to terrorize anyone.”
“No, just murder them and change the political views of the survivors,” Hane riposted. Felger glared at him.
“Counselor Felger, your client has admitted to harboring the desire to force political and economic change by murdering a member of the upper class,” Rachnus said, tapping one of the transcripts on his screen.
“And yet no such murder occurred,” Felger pointed out. “The magazine in his gun was fully loaded. He could have simply fired again if that was his desire.”
The Arbitrator stood, shrugging the metallic chains of his office on over his shoulders. “Counselor Felger, your client was attempting a change of the status quo of the Imperium through killing someone. Your motion is dismissed.”
“I see.” Felger sat still for a long moment, then reached back into his bag, pulling free a small piece of blue paper. “Then this is all I have to pass along.”
Rachnus picked it up, glanced it over – “Is this a motion for a Trial Seclusarius?”
“It is,” Felger confirmed.
“Well…you have the right to one if your client insists on it, of course, but are you sure you want one?”
“We are both in agreement,” the Public Defender said. “This is what’s best for my client, for Lady Morticia, and for all incidental parties.”
Hane stared. A Seclusarius would mean little time for either party to assemble evidence, no public evidence vetting, no holocams in the courtroom, a Judge Arbitrator instead of a jury weighing the guilt, and separate verdicts and sentencing, by individual Judges. It was the right of all Terrans. Few enacted it, finding their odds improved in a trial-by-jury. In reality, it was harder to get people convicted by a Judge than a jury, in Hane’s – and Felger’s – experience. This was playing into his hands. Wasn’t it?
“Well…then so be it,” Rachnus said. “Any final motions, gentlemen?”
“No, Provost,” both men replied, standing up as well.
“Then I will see you both in court.”
Sorry, I had to take a break for events. How's everyone in the audience? Any comments to register?

Or fan art? The Warhammer High project hasn't had new fanart in a dog's age.
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Nothing? Well.

Might as well keep going.

I'm at least here. Let me do some catching up before i comment but by no means stop.
Thanks. I'm actually still feeling terrible, but I'll post what I can.
Well, I gotta say that you're keeping a remarkable balance between the feudal style of rule one might expect from a system headed by an Emperor, and the democratic style common to advanced future civilizations.
Actually, fuck it. An entire day of writing, and I get two responses? One of which is is from someone I specifically asked to post in the IRC?

People don't care any more. G'night, folks.
Nobody's holding a gun to your head, bro. If you want to write, write. If you don't, don't. Simple as that.

For what it's worth, I've personally been enjoying your work quite a lot. I just don't have much to say beyond expressing my general approval, which I've done several times in this thread already. I'm certainly not going to tell you how to write this story---I have no complaints about your methods so far, and even if I did, would you honestly care enough to make significant changes? If I told you "Please write moar sex scenes," would that actually influence you to write more sex scenes?
But what I want is feedback!

I don't mean condemnation or praise, I mean commentary! I don't think I've had more than a few people actually talk about the CONTENT of the story, that's all I really care about. Nobody's asking questions or anything, not about my version of the setting, not what's going on behind the scenes, nothing. I love writing, but only when people talk to me about it. Shit, the only thing that kept me going on Emperasque as long as I have was the fact that people actually talked about it.
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Sorry if I'm unloading bad feels, /tg/. Things are really shitty here right now.

Sage since this isn't Livejournal.
May as well adopt a name for this. Saddle up, bucko, you're about to get feedback.

First off, I don't really feel too good about you and Ahriman's Aide tag-teaming this story. You are both excellent writers, but as you yourself pointed out, you each have different visions for where you want to take it---he wants Useless to be part of a wider conspiracy, you don't, etc. I would decide who's gonna continue this story and who's gonna start another one if only so you don't tread on each other's toes and snarl up the plot.

Second, I'm actually more of a fan of Ahriman's Aide's idea of Useless being part of a wider conspiracy. Things being mostly sweetness and light in the Imperium at large works better for stories like Venus' Burn, where the focus was primarily on the two main characters and their interactions with each other rather than with events in the wider world. We didn't really care about the rest of the setting then---we were solely concerned with the little bubble surrounding those two characters. Opening the setting up to greater levels of interaction with the wider world in such a grim way as the events in this story means that the plot necessarily becomes less directly character-driven and more reliant on action and events happening *to* the characters from the outside-in, if that makes any sense at all. Thus, I feel that the "antagonist" should be broader than just a single person unconnected with anything greater, and who's removed from the main characters' immediate sphere of action anyway. That may be how it is in real life, but it seems like the capabilities of such super-normal characters as the primarchs' daughters and the opportunities to showcase same are being narratively wasted.

I promise I'm reading, I caught your post just as I was jumping into bed.
Continuing in that vein, I feel the story as it currently stands has become a bit passive/static/what have you. The primarchs' daughters and their consorts are kinda just milling around in one vague group, and there's not much in the way of either action or character development. Maybe that's just an illusion conveyed by the fact that you're still resolving how you want to work things out, but I still feel like it's stuck in between. I could be wrong, but I can sense some narrative indecision as to whether you want to make it another character-driven story like Venus' Burn, or whether you want to expand it into a more action-driven story like Emperasque. Either way, I think there need to be some changes made to help it fall one way or the other.

If you wanted to continue it as a character-driven story, I would suggest keeping the big group scenes in reserve. Save them for when shit is getting real, for when bigger things are happening. Until those times, keep things on an individual scale. Have more scenes devoted to one-on-one interaction: father-to-daughter, daughter-to-consort, consort-to-father, father-to-Emperor, Emperor-to-daughter, Emperor-to-consort, etc. Remember, their current main drive as characters is trying to make sense of the tragedy that has just occurred, and you as the author can best show them doing that through individual interaction with other individual characters.
You could also open up Useless to the other characters, although I'm not sure how one would do that and stay within the confines of believability concerning the judicial system you're setting up. It would be intense and narratively effective, though.

>Point the First: Two authors

I agree. Ahriman's Aide jumped in and started writing without asking first. We've since talked it over on the IRC. My story was always the canon with primacy, though.

>Point the Second: Wasted narrative opportunity

I do see what you mean about expanding the scope of the story necessitating a different narrative style, I really do. But I'm not trying to convey anything other than what I'm laboriously reaching in-story: Emps and Hane and Mortarion and Curze can want for there to be a conspiracy all they want (and they WILL look for one, believe me, on-screen too), but that doesn't mean that there IS one. They want for there to be something huge and powerful in play here, and there isn't, and the fact that one psycho idealogue can nearly undo what the Emperor and Mortarion worked so hard to do is something neither of them are really willing to confront. That's the sort of darkness I'm shooting for here. Not conspiracies and Chaos, because God knows you can get that in any other, Mainstream 40K book. I'm going for PERSONAL darkness. Here is a family that rules the galaxy, and one of them was shot by accident; her cousins turn to drugs, sex, and cutting to relieve the pain. Useless' trial and the shenanigans that accompany it will be similarly dark, if not even more so.
>Point the Third: Passive story

I agree completely. One of my true weaknesses as an author is moving plot along briskly outside of action scenes. I truly am trying to improve. The next thing I'm going to write after Julius and Isis get back from talking to Horus is Curze and Mortarion kicking off the next major arc of the story. Regarding the narrative indecision, that's a bit more embarrassing. I know EXACTLY how this story ends, and I know how I'm going to get there, I just feel bad to the point of near-physical illness if I neglect a character in a story I'm writing. Serves me right for taking on a setting with fifty major characters. I suppose it's a natural projection of mine onto the story, to an extent, too. For a story that has something dark and horrible happening, good things seem to be happening to the characters a lot. That's a relic of me posting shit immediately after writing it; if I were editing this I wouldn't include it. Really, part of me feels bad hurting a character as vulnerable as, say, Miranda or Kelly. Part of me wants their lives to turn out better than mine has thus far. Finally, the means of conveying the story is in flux a bit too much, I agree. The "here's what this Daughter is doing, here's what THIS one is doing, etc," bit of the story has nearly ended. Make of that what you wish.

>Point the Fourth: Useless as a character rather than a plot point
He's the focus of the final arc of the story. His trial is the climax of the story. For the sake of spoilers, that's all I'll say.

Thanks for the feedback. I do appreciate it.
(Sorry if I keep referencing Venus' Burn, it's the piece of your work that I like the best and with which I'm most familiar. Sorry again if I take a pedantic or patronizing tone at any point, especially when I'm on my literary soapbox.)

On the other hand, if you wanted to open it up to become a more action-driven story like Emperasque, you need to take Ahriman's Aide's idea and turn Useless into a piece in a greater game. Action-driven stories demand conflict that forces the characters to react to events as well as interact with each other, and the action is pretty much used up right now as far as I'm concerned. The shooting already happened, the trial probably won't directly involve the primarchs, daughters, or consorts without breaking the bounds of believability, and all that would otherwise be left is character interaction best suited to the character-driven story framework described above.

In terms of creating this action, a secret underground of Emperor-worshipping fanatics sounds fantastic to me for a couple of reasons:

It provides almost ready-made enemies with some real depth. This fanatical underground wants to make drastic changes to the structure of the alternate-future Imperium, by force if necessary, but they are acting against the express wishes of the entity in whose name they act. They would never knowingly or willingly harm the Emperor or his family, but as you've showed us, accidents happen, and such a drastic conflict of interest surely won't end without similar events occurring before it's all over.

It also provides an unparalleled opportunity to contrast the alternate-future Imperium with the canon Imperium. Remember, the fanatical underground essentially wants to turn this bright, shining alternate future into the grim, dark canon Imperium. Achieving their goals would undo all the good that the Emperor and his Crusade have done in this timeline, bringing back all of the negative aspects of the canon Imperium. But why is this timeline better, exactly? To answer that, you'd need to show us a little more of the alternate Imperium at large, and show us how it differs from the canon with greater specificity.

At the risk of turning the story into something resembling a magical girls anime, in my opinion these enemies are just what an action-driven primarchs' daughters story would need.

Sorry that took so long; I think I started to understand a bit of the pressure you're under as a writefriend to produce.
>Point the Fifth: Action demands scope

I see what you mean. That Civil Honors Union? It comes back. It comes back a lot. And the Daughters (and the Fathers, too, a few of them) are actually quite involved in the trial arc. Especially Kelly and Morticia, themselves, of course, but a few others. Expect Miranda's psychic abilities to come into play a bit.

I don't think you're being pedantic. It's better than not saying anything, believe me. And I like it when you reference Burn, that thing kept me alive.

>Point the Last: Conflict demands an opponent
True. But I know myself. If I start bringing the rest of the Imperium into this, I won't be able to stop myself. The story will never, ever end. I'll grow to hate it. It nearly happened with Emperasque. For the purposes of this story, assume the galaxy got its shit together. No Inquisition, no Tyranids, no Necrons, far far fewer Dark Eldar, no Tau, minimal Orks and Hrud. Largely peaceful, much better educated, and sliding into the more artistic and consumerist mindset of any wealthy culture.

Not to say that Terra doesn't have problems. It has huge problems. But Emps either doesn't know about them (his worshippers) or doesn't know how to/can't fix them (gangs and poverty on a planet made of city? shocked! shocked!)
Pardon me for a sec, I need to step away from the computer for a bit. Family stuff.
Hey, for every person that posts, a bunch more are too lazy to. You've got plenty of readers, dude. Write more.
Back. Had to drive my asshole brother home before he tried to do it himself...drunk.
Welp, fair responses all. Not that I wouldn't love to read an Emperasque-style story with the primarchs' daughters going out and kicking ass, but I've enjoyed this story so far and I have every confidence it'll continue to please.

A few wrap-up tips and suggestions before I turn in for the night:

If you're ever stuck for a way to fill the story between Big Events, don't be afraid to go back to the Venus' Burn style and give us some in-depth individual character interaction. I'd love to meet more of the unseen consorts, but expanding on some of the relationships you've mentioned so far would never hurt. I've gotta say, you do it so well; Venus and Jake really came to life in an enormously endearing way when you gave them the spotlight, and when you went back to that kind of emotionally (and-physically) intimate scene with Angela and Michael was a real treat. I might even hazard to say that type of scene is the main reason the Warhammer High setting still keeps me coming back for more, and why similar stories like Guardsman Klightus and Love Can Bloom were so popular with /tg/.
The idea that Remilia presents such a strong face in public but secretly cuts herself was utterly perfect, given her father Dorn's canon obsession with pain. It just...fits. I know it's difficult as a caring author to inflict such things onto your characters, but I applaud you for going through with it, as it expands her character marvelously and also presents an opportunity to give her some relief from her pain with the introduction of the right consort.

Going off of that, however, I'm curious as to why you haven't focused more on Roberta as the rock of the group. Those scenes with her were likewise an excellent way to expand on her character---we all hate excessive Ultramarine-wank, true enough, but even in perspective Guilliman really was the one who held things together after the canon tragedy, and I'd definitely think Roberta would have inherited his emotional stability and leadership skills.
In addition, don't forget to give similar treatment to each primarch's daughter you focus on. What I mean by that is that each girl should resemble her father in some way that fits with the smaller-scale, modern-style school setting, whether it's Remilia's cutting herself mirroring Dorn's pain obsession, Miranda being the best student (and a psyker, of course) mirroring Magnus's intellect, Furia's bad-girl personality mirroring Angron's rage, etc. You've done it masterfully so far, and I'm sure you'll continue it, but be wary of letting it slip...I haven't quite figured out Kelly's inherited trait, for instance.

And the point I raised about the right consort being the best medicine for Remilia reminded me: don't neglect the consorts. You've done an excellent job so far, but again, be wary of letting it slip. They serve as the human foils to the superhuman primarchs' daughters, and while we may care about the girls' troubles it's the boys that the predominantly male readership of /tg/ will ultimately empathize with the most. Jake's a bro, for instance, and Julius is a fledgling badass, while Johor Tull's underdog status as the relative newbie is immediately relatable.

Wait, where's this MichealxAngela story?
Someone Else is putting up the story on 1d4chan, it's the chapter marked "A Very Bad Idea."

I feel like I'm starting to go on about stuff you're aware of already, so I'll stop for the night. Please don't stop writing, though...I look forward to every post, I really do. It's stuff like this that keeps me coming back to /tg/ these days.

>COMMENTS teithoo
Yes indeed, captcha.
Anon stealin' mah name. Brofist for excellent editing help from someone worthy of the moniker.
Thanks, bro. :3

>Ancillary Point the First: Roberta's lack of limelight
That was deliberate. Roboute Guilliman found himself acting as a leader because he came under the wing of a warlord who appointed him to the leadership of his armies and essentially forced him to do well. Roberta hasn't really had that sort of a kick in the pants. That, and she's not that ambitious. Certainly not as much as Isis, the Daughter who most mentally resembles her Primarch. That was deliberate, on the Emperor's part. As much as he wanted his sons to have something to go home to, some part of him thinks of the Daughters as a means of starting over. Not that he could ever admit it.

>Ancillary Point the Second: Interpersonal relations
I suppose I could focus more on each Daughter and Royal Consort, but the story is moving slow enough as it is. Plus I held a poll the day before I started writing, asking which Daughter people wanted me to focus on, and Remilia, Cora, and Freya won. Kelly's inherited traits are hard to write, since they're more emotional than physical or mental. She didn't get her father's psyker genes, for instance. Plus, she's kind of a basket case right now. She plays more of a role in the trial.
Ancillary Point the Last: The daughters behind closed doors

Writing intimate scenes without pandering is pretty hard for me. I've only really tried it when I knew more or less precisely how it was going to end and what each character was looking for. The Angela x Michael scene was hard because how do you describe something happening in the Warp? Regarding the Royal consorts, I know they're supposed to be the relatable anchors for the reader, but within the context of the story, several girls (Kelly, Morticia, Faith, Roberta, Remilia, the Twins [who haven't had a single line so far, come to think of it] Petra, Cora, Lyra) aren't dating, and frankly I have no idea how to write a few of the Consorts.

I'll be back later in the day, but I appreciate the input!
Don't usually post much in these threads because I don't have much to say, the reason being that folks like The Editor usually put it better than I could have. (and because I spend most of my time working or sleeping; I'm not awake enough to offer anything useful most of the time.) I largely agree with Editor's points. That said, I love your stuff. Believe you me, it's not that nobody cares; there are just a lot of people like me, I'm sure, who love your stuff but don't feel that they can offer helpful feedback and who don't want to be that guy who just says '+1'.
Thanks for dropping by anyway, though, I do appreciate it.
Faith’s aircar slid to a halt outside the Aurelian manor, kicking up a thin pall of dust. As it settled, the estate servant opened the door for Faith, who marched on by without a word, shoulders hunched. She walked straight past the guards at the door and stormed into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
“Faith? Is something the matter?” her mother, Viera, asked from the dining room.
“Hi, mom,” she called back, reigning in her temper. “Morticia says hi.”
“Glad she’s feeling better,” Viera said, appearing at the door. “Did you stop somewhere on the way home?”
“We stopped by the Palace to let Grandfather know,” Faith replied, yanking the fridge open.
Viera didn’t answer. Faith looked over her shoulder to see her mother standing in the door, arms crossed, in the look of slight maternal concern she did so well she could have traded on it. Faith huffed. “It’s nothing. I’m a little worried about Kelly and Remilia. That’s all.”
“What’s wrong with Remilia?” Viera asked, sitting down at the kitchen counter.
Faith drummed her fingers on the tabletop, debating her words. “…I think she’s started cutting again.”
“Oh, god,” Viera breathed. “Did you see?”
“She had a long-sleeve jacket on. In mid-May.” Faith grabbed an apple from the basket and slammed the fridge shut. “Why does she DO that?”
“She’s hurting,” Viera sighed.
“Cutting yourself makes pain worse,” Faith grumbled.
“It gives the illusion of control,” a new voice put in from the door. Lorgar stepped into the kitchen too, tugging his robe of office across his shoulders. Clearly, he had been about to head out. “By causing a pain to the body, a pain one can influence and expand or stifle, it makes the pain of the soul seem lessened.”
“I thought she was smarter than that,” Faith said. She tore into the apple, ripping a chunk out. “Freya tried to talk some sense into her. At least I think that’s what she was doing.”
“This was at the hospital?” Lorgar asked.
“The Palace, afterward,” Faith said. “Isis wanted to pass along the news to the Emperor.” She grabbed a glass and filled it. “We almost didn’t catch him, meeting ran long.”
“I see.” Lorgar thought for a moment. “Do you want to talk to Remilia about it?”
“What’s the point?” Faith asked coldly. “She won’t listen to me.”
“Why not?” Lorgar asked in mild surprise.
“She thinks I’m patronizing. Thinks I’m too nosy, or something,” Faith muttered. “Because Freya totally isn’t.”
“Faith…” Viera started.
“Mom, if she’s going to be dumb, let her. Her father can deal with it,” Faith said. “I bet Rogal’s read her the riot act anyway.”
Though Lorgar wanted to point out that Rogal Dorn was hardly one to lecture anyone on the subject of masochism, he merely nodded. “What did Freya tell her?”
“Couldn’t hear,” Faith said. “But she looked pissed. And she did the eyes thing.”
“That usually works, in my experience,” Lorgar said, forcing a note of levity into the exchange. “Well, if you think it’s out of hand, I can talk to Rogal about it. Until then, I suggest you focus on that graduation paper.”
Faith gave a long-suffering sigh, but dropped the subject. “Yes, Father. Will I see you tonight?”
“You shall, assuming Magos Calbrin doesn’t try to chew my ear off about instituting the Doctrine in Mechanicus seminaries,” Lorgar said. “I’ll be back for supper.”
“All right,” Faith said. “See you then.”
Faster. More!
Enoying what you're doing SE. I wish I had legitimate critique and such to offer but I'm nowhere near that good of a writer and others (e.g. The Editor) have already said anything I could think of.

All I can say is that I think I can see what you're going for with Useless just being a lone psycho who almost fucked up everything but everyone thinking and almost hoping that there's some sort of wider conspiracy. I think about the JFK Assassination with this. Lots of people think or want to think that there's a big conspiracy with it rather than just Oswald being a nut with a gun. It gives us the illusion that things are somehow in a "plan" that dictates who can kill who and so on. Similar to what the Joker says in "The Dark Knight" about people wanting to make plans and following them even if they're horrible. Nobodies can kill other Nobodies no problem, but if a Nobody kills or tries to kill a Somebody, then Emperor-dammit that's screwing up how things work. there's got to be a bigger plan behind it all.

It's the illusion of safety that we fall into and when the randomness of life shatters it we seek control over it and meaning. Anyway now that I'm done with my sleep-deprived rant I'll step back into the crowd and await more of that writing voodoo you do.
Sorry, I had a meeting to get to. I'm back now, and I'll be wrapping up the first arc of the story. Then I'll take a quick break to upload the week's writings to 1d4chan, then get started on the rest of the story.
I was wondering whether I'd seen the name before...sorry to steal your face, bro. All hail Alpharius's Corps of Editors!
The Companion outside Horus’ door beckoned silently to Isis. She caught Julius’ eye and stood, calming her nerves. It was her own father, for goodness’ sakes. The Companion stood aside, allowing her to pass, but held out one massive hand to halt Julius’ passage. “I apologize, Sieur Pius, but your presence is not allowed.”
“What?” Julius asked. His eyes darted to Isis, back up to the Companion. “Then why was I allowed this far?”
“Sieur Pius, I have no doubt in your ability to remain discreet, but this is non-negotiable,” the intractable Companion declared. “You are not entering this office.” Julius’ hands clenched in his pockets, but he kept himself impassive.
“…Very well. I’ll be out here, Isis,” he said crisply, walking back down to the seats and sitting back down. Isis turned back to the Companion, who merely looked at her through his black lenses. She shook her head, resolved to make mention of it to her father, and continued into the office.
The bare, stone floors bounced the sounds of her footsteps into the air, which felt oppressively tight in the shielded hallway. The walls were nearly a meter thick: all armor and Faraday shields and sound mufflers. No expense was spared for the headquarters of the Imperial Armed Forces. There were several small offices spread amongst the hall, but they were just for functionaries and secretaries. The Warmaster’s office was much harder to miss.
The door was set into the wall a small ways, ostensibly to look more imposing. Those trained to see them, however, found the concealed pulse cannons in the in-set doorframe rather more intimidating. Isis, of course, took more to intimidate.
As she walked through the solid marble frame, her father looked up from his dataslate with a warm grin. “Isis, my daughter.”
“Father,” Isis said, ever-mindful of the decorum of the office. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“Not at all. I must apologize for making you wait.” Horus stood behind his desk, his fur-rimmed armor gleaming on the stand behind him. “I am afraid you caught me on the vox. Dispatch orders for the new Terran Battle Groups.”
“Problems?” Isis asked, sitting down in front of the desk.
“Always. Easily resolved with the nebulously-phrased instruction ‘Don’t Make Me Come Down There,’” Horus noted. “What brings you by?”
“I wanted to tell you that Morticia’s feeling much better. She should be all right in time, and we had a chance to meet her at the hospital,” Isis said.
“Wonderful. I trust you passed along my well-wishes?” Horus asked.
“I did. But I was wondering if you had heard anything about the man who shot her,” Isis said, coming to the point.
Horus slowly sat back in his control chair, gauging his daughter. “Nothing you haven’t already heard…”
“Dad. Please. A junior maintenance guy does not smuggle an anti-infantry gun into Startseite. Where did he come from?” Isis asked.
The Luna Wolf slowly shook his head. “Isis. Do not lecture me.”
“His background you know. He smuggled the gun in, because who looks for guns in a town that quiet?” Horus leaned forward. “There is nothing more to it. Trust me.”
>first arc
Oh god so much yet to read. So many waits.
Well, first of two. Let's not go nuts, here.

That's what the Emperasque is for. That series has two more installments I haven't even started. (and can't until my writing computer gets back from the shop. I'm doing this on my seven-year-old Lance Armstrong Commemorative Special Edition HPL2000)
Isis met her father’s eyes without flinching. They sat still, only the ticking of the pre-O’Neill clock on Horus’ desk making a sound. Finally, Isis let her shoulders slump. “I understand, Father.”
Horus nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Isis.”
“I would ask, though, that Julius be added to the Admitted Persons list for this office,” Isis said.
“No.” Isis drew her head back, hurt or surprised. “He is a fine young man, and his father an old friend, Isis, but he is still non-military, and does not bear the Emperor’s trust as you do. He is not getting in.”
“Then, at least, tell me the Treasury lockdown around the District will be lowered enough that we can go to school and visit each other?” Isis asked.
Horus thought for a moment. “Yes, that’s fair.” She didn’t let her surprise show at her father’s unexpected agreement.
“Well…thanks for that much,” Isis said.
Horus’s brow creased. “My daughter, do not mistake me. I know the danger has passed. But the appearance of laxity from the government here would be catatrophic. Our inability to produce anything more substantial than ‘a lone gunman’ has the media in a frenzy. Were we to disband our guard now…”
“Our all-important public image would be tarnished?” Isis offered. Horus’ eyes narrowed.
She sighed. “I mean…” she struggled with her emotions for a moment, trying to take the barb from her words. “It’s interfering with the graduation schedule.”
“Then I will have the Treasury lower their travel restrictions, though I understand that Freya at least, and possibly Faith as well, are already openly flouting them,” Horus said.
“Thanks. And…if you do hear anything else about the shooter…his motives, his sponsors, anything, you WILL tell me, right?” Isis asked pointedly.
“If I can,” Horus said.
Isis stood, glaring daggers at her father across the desk. “The uncertainty in your voice does nothing for me, Father.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Isis. If the Arbites learn anything, and should they tell me, I will-” he said.
Isis held her hand up for silence. “Wait. Wait. Did you hear that? That papery sound?”
“I hear nothing,” Horus said after a moment.
“I hear it, five by five.” Isis leaned forward, the heat in her eyes spilling into her voice. “It’s the sound of the buck being passed.” She let the angry silence fill the room for effect, before shrugging her fleece back on. “I’ll see you if you get home tonight, Dad. Thanks for your time.”
“Yes. See you when I can, Isis,” Horus said, his voice carefully controlled.
Isis nodded formally, backing out of the office. As soon as her father could no longer see her face, she let a grimace of disgust twist her lips. She walked back to where Julius was still sitting, his patience fraying.
“How did it go?” he asked immediately, nearly leaping to his feet.
“As you yourself said,” Isis growled, “no joy on the burn.” Julius scowled.
“Blast.” He sighed shortly, shrugging the tension from his shoulders. “Worth a shot.”
“Yeah. I did get him to lower the Treasury guard a bit, so we can go back to school,” she said, leading him back down the halls to the tram.
“Hey, that’s a thing,” he said.
“A thing, that it is,” Isis said.
“Well.” He looked for more words, but couldn’t find them. “We could always go, you know. See for ourselves.”
“Not yet,” Isis said tightly. “Maybe not ever.”
“We’ll see,” Julius said ominously. The rest of their journey back to the Lupercal manor was conducted in silence, with each lost in their thoughts.
And that's the first arc of Bleeding Out, thanks for your readership.

As always, commentary is welcomed. Imma go transcribe into 1d4chan and go for a nature hike.
And the 1d4chan page is updated!

-Two days later-

Morticia shifted uncomfortably in her bed, holding onto the rails for support. Grant glanced over his clipboard, seeking the issue.
“Are you all right, my Lady?” he asked.
“No. When can I get up and walk farther than here to the head?” she asked irritably.
“Presumably, right now. That said, I didn’t say that,” Grant cautioned.
“Hmph. You ever been in one of these?” she asked, halting her fidgeting as she found a place to lie comfortably.
“I have. An accident when I was a kid.”
“Yeah?” Morticia looked over at him. “What happened?”
“Fell off a jungle gym, landed chin-first on a block of corrugated aluminum,” Grant said.
“…Ow, that makes me cringe just thinking about it,” Morticia said.
“As does a lung replacement. How are you feeling?” Grant asked, returning his eyes to his clipboard, carefully checking off the chemical components of her IV.
“A lot better, actually.” Morticia flexed her hands experimentally, felt nothing amiss. “Did Dad hppen to say when he’d get back?”
“He did not, my Lady…but it is 0100. You should really get some sleep,” Grant said.
“Eh. Sleep is for people who aren’t gene-seeded,” Morticia said. Grant raised his eyebrows.
“Excuse me, madam?”
Morticia stared. “You didn’t know?”
“Know…know what, my Lady?” Grant asked. He started to wonder whether it would be wise to call in one of the normal staff.
“Oh. I guess I assumed Dad would have…never mind,” Morticia said. “Well…you wondered why I kept coming out of sedation, right? It’s because I’m genemodded. The guy they have operating my life support really ought to know that,” she added with a smile.
The top does say 'a quick writethread', but now it's ballooned out of proportion. not that i'm complaining. Editor, if you're still out there would you mind reviewing my contributions as well?
Anyway, on with the story.
The Petitioner’s city sprawled out from the gate of the Emperor’s Palace, a hodgepodge of buildings of different styles and materials layered upon each other resembling an open hive city, lurking in the shadow of the sky piercing Palace. The top level was pleasant enough, open to the limited sunlight which pierced through the thick polluted clouds of Terra, and home to those few who could afford proper residences while they waited for permission to enter the palace and present their petitions and grievances in person. Julius stood outside the Mag-Lev Station, sniffing the tainted air. Behind him, Isis glanced out from under a camouflaged hood, trying to conceal her identity from passersby. The streets were no longer safe anymore, and it was better not to take any chances with someone noticing who she was. Trying to sneak around incognito sounded foolish, but Isis seemed to enjoy it. Like Julius she had equipped herself in case of emergencies, wearing the Uniform of a Sons of Horus Aspirant, custom made for her figure and with the badges removed, carrying a simple but trusty Bolt Pistol at her hip, a weapon which once belonged to Hastur Sejanus of the Mournival, a gift from her Father. He had to admit she certainly looked the part when in uniform, and he blushed as unwanted thoughts flooded his mind.
“Welcome to the Petitioner’s City. Where people spend their entire lives waiting. Waiting for that mystical summons to enter, see the Palace, if they’re lucky see the Emperor, waiting for something which never comes.”
“Always the cynic Julius.”
“That’s not cynical, it’s the truth. And truthfully, I’m glad we’re actually doing something. After all those endless pageantries with your cousins and their beaus, basically sitting around doing nothing, I’m glad we’re finally out in the open, without someone watching our every move as if around every corner there’s someone waiting to kill us. In the thick of the Action, so to speak.”
“Did you not enjoy the Longue and bar the day before yesterday?” she teased.
“You know me too well. It’s a duty. Having to Sheppard the ‘Royal Boyfriends’ around like a herd of grox, instructing them on protocol in the presence of the Emperor. And every time I see the Emperor, I feel like my heart’s about to stop and my brain’s about to seize up. No mere mortal is supposed to spend that much time around him.”
“What about Malcador?”
“Malcador’s a Psyker. He can take it. I however, cannot. I’ve spent too much time around your kind.” Though Julius wanted to forget, too often he was reminded that beside these gene-enhanced transhumans, he was still a mere mortal. He was as close to Isis genetically as a chimpanzee was to a man, much as he’d like to lose that fact while around her.
“Like it or not, you’re part of our world now. Come to think of it, you were born into it, the same as we were. Now, from what Farah found out, this Keiter apparently visited here a few times, for meetings with people at a place called the ‘Temple of Woe’. Apparently the Temple of Woe is a meeting place for followers of the Lectitio Divinitatus cult.”
“Emperor Worshipping Cults? I fear for your cousin Faith, she and her father have always venerated him, they could be held accountable for this.” Isis said nothing.
As they headed for a way deeper into the Petitioner’s City, they came across an open square. In the centre of the square was a statue of Mortarion, grim and gaunt even in marble. The Statue was surrounded by a veritable forest of candles, Icons and messages carved into planks of wood or scrolls of paper. People were clustered around it in small huddles, though what they were doing was beyond Julius.
Standing nearby was a man, his dark face weather beaten and scarred as he stared out over the flickering lights. Julius immediately recognised that look, the thousand yard stare of a veteran, something he saw all too often whenever he was alone with his father. Isis saw Julius staring at him, and as always took the lead in approaching him.
Hey, Ahriman. Can you jump back into the IRC? server's the same as last time, upthread, and channel's the same too.
OK. Dear readers, despite what Ahriman's writing here (and I do appreciate it), Useless is not a member of a Temple of anything.
You planning on finishing all the plot points you've introduced in this new bit of fiction? I'm curious on where the Remilia story is gonna go.
Absolutely. This story has a definite end and definite beginning. It's not open-ended like the Emperasque-verse.
Certainly, my good man. Incidentally, I have a question: how long have you been writefriending in the Warhammer High setting? I ask because I'm idly trying to ascertain whether your writing style has been influenced by Someone Else's beyond just sharing the setting, and if so, how much.

I mentioned in my review for Someone Else that I happen to personally prefer the idea of a more action-driven Primarch's Daughters story, given the sudden introduction of tragic events caused by outside forces. Thus, while I have every confidence that SE is gonna do a fantastic job with his character-driven story, I must confess I'm interested to see how you'll approach the story and individual characters while expanding the scope to include more elements of the wider setting.

II'll also say that based on both what I've seen in this thread so far and what I know of past works, you both have a gift for dialogue beyond what one might expect for "Internet scribblers." I'm very impressed, especially since lack of confidence in my own skill with dialogue is one of the things keeping me back from jumping in and writefriending alongside you guys.
Thanks, The Editor.

Ahriman's Aide and I have hammered some ideas and confusion out on the IRC, and we'll be working a bit more collaboratively from here on out.
after intnece discussion with Someone Else, i have made a few changes.my parts of the story are more or less finalised. now continuing
“Sieur, can you tell us where the inter-level lifts are located?”
The Man sniffed. “From the Palace, eh? Why would you want to do down into that scum hole?”
“We’re with the…Customs Union. We have been sent to meet with the Civil Honours Union.”
“Civil Honour’s Union? Happens I know the man who works there, a Novandio. He’s a good man, can’t imagine what he’s done wrong. You do know the lower levels are run by the Babu, and bad things happen down there to outsiders.”
“The Babu Dhakal?” Julius had heard the tales, but dismissed them as legends constructed by various gangs to make themselves seem stringer and more dangerous.
“Aye. Some say the Babu is the last of the Thunder Warriors, who survived the Battle of Mount Ararat at the end of the wars of unification and hid away from the new Terra. Others say he’s one of the Crusader Host, Astartes who went rogue when the crusade ended and they learnt there was no more wars left to fight.”
“Or more likely, just another gang making themselves sound more impressive.” Julius added.
“Truth. Either way, down there is run by the Dhakal gang, they rule the place and manage the criminal enterprises, including prostitution, gambling, and the illegal sale of food, drugs and weapons. You don’t want to mess with them.”
This place sounded about right for something to be going on. He was right in wanting to investigate here first. Julius tried to change the subject.
“You were in the army, weren’t you?”
“Ex Imperial Army. Tank Driver in the Zanzibari Hort until an Eldar Falcon brewed us up on Quetansk. Do they teach you kids about Quetansk? That was where the great Ollanius Pius took out that Phantom Titan all on his own. A sight I will never forget until my final days.”
Julius looked down out of distraction, trying not to catch the man’s eyes. His Father rarely talked about his days fighting the Crusade, although Julius had heard plenty of stories from classmates trying to impress him.
The man gestured out over the expanse of candles. “Sad day, when one of the Daughter’s can be shot at right here in the heart of the Imperium. We fought for over two hundred years to create the perfect society of man, and look where it got us. All that bloodshed and still the old evils plague us. They say the Emperor has ushered in a new Golden Age for Humanity. Try telling that to the poor sods who live below us. I wish the Emperor would do something for them, like damn well answer their petitions. If you’re insane enough to risk it down there, there’s an inter-level service lift two blocks east. Goes right to the heart of the City. From there, it’s about twelve blocks south to the Civil Honour’s Union Building. Just remember I warned you about the Babu. Don’t underestimate him, or you’ll both be dead. The Emperor may rule Terra, but the Babu rules the Petitioner’s City.”
“Understood Ser. Thank you.” Julius said, his choice of honourific betraying the slight Calthite lit he picked up from his mother. After the Crusade ended, his Father chose to settle on Calth in the Thousand Worlds of Ultramar, got married there and tried to settle down to farm, before the Emperor, Horus, and a personal visit from Guilliman Himself successfully tempted him back to Terra.
The lift was right where the man had said it would be, a short stubby tower with a plasma Generator alongside to power the winch mechanism. Several Servitors were waiting within, and they moved aside as Julius and Isis embarked. As they waited for the doors to close, Julius remarked. “We should have brought Jake with us. He’s a hiver, he’d know his way around the sort of place we’re heading into.”
“Julius, we did decide this ‘on the fly’. If I had more time…”
The doors slid shut cutting her off, leaving them in a faint gloom from the red lights in the ceiling. Isis reached over, took Julius’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He smiled at her, though his smile was lost in the gloom, and with a shudder they began their descent into the underworld of Terra.
And that's that. i now have the next part to write. over to Someone Else
A cold chill descended over the young nurse. “I…forgive me, my Lady, I had no idea,” Grant said, a twinge of desperation in his voice.
“Relax, I was kidding.” Morticia cocked her head at him. “Who are you, anyway?”
“My, my name. I’m Grant, my Lady, and I’m your night care specialist for the foreseeable future?” Grant said, pulling himself together.
“Not by yourself.”
“Well, yes, my Lady.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” she asked. “Having a single staffer in an Intensive Care unit?”
“The background check carried out on my colleagues was…exhaustive, my Lady,” Grant started.
“Probably for the best,” Morticia said, reading between the lines well enough. She watched Grant finish his checklist, gauging him through her clear, grey eyes. “Sorry if I made you nervous.”
“It’s not your fault, my Lady, that my superiors have not seen fit to alert me to your atypical medical requirements.”
“How old are you?” Morticia asked.
“I’m twenty seven years old, madam,” Grant said.
“Then please stop treating me like I’m made of glass, Grant,” Morticia said.
“Madam, I don’t think you’re made of glass. However, if I treat you in any way that could be interpreted as inappropriate by those strapping young men outside, they may well treat me like I’m made of ballistics gel,” Grant deadpanned.
Mortarion stood before the Emperor’s desk. The Emperor had steepled his fingers over his desk, and looked at his son with an air of patience. “Mortarion, I think you should know I refused a request by Ahzek Ahriman to perform a psychic augur on the would-be assassin.”
Mortarion stood agape. “What…”
“Morticia…she means the world to you, my son.” The Emperor stood behind his desk, and was dwarfed by his son, but did not turn his gaze away. “I can fully appreciate how you feel, I assure you. But…the shooter. Keiter. He worships Morticia. He thinks of her as a demigoddess.”
The Death Guard reeled. “He…that’s treason, a violation of the Creed! Why is he not being prosecuted for it?”
“Because we don’t have the evidence to prove it. Yet,” the Emperor pointed out. “I held this from you because you have had, I think, far too much on your mind of late. I did not want to burden you overmuch. But to be honest, with the declaration of intent for Seclusarius on his trial, the assassin leaves us little room to work.”
“If he even seems to be eluding justice, I will carve his heart out,” Mortarion said flatly. It wasn’t a threat.
“I have no doubt. But I suspect that such an approach will go over poorly with the trillions of Morticia’s well-wishers. Have you seen how she is being portrayed by the media?”
“I make a point of avoiding such drivel,” Mortarion scoffed.
“As well you should, Mortarion. My point is that your daughter, primary victim though she may have been of this catastrophe…she deserves better than a streak of vengeance. Of her attacker being violated, as she was.” The Emperor’s gaze skewered Mortarion’s seething visage. “She deserves to find her closure in the arms of justice.”
“Listen to you!” Mortarion said angrily. “I watched as you FORCED Lorgar to bend the knee! I watched as you purged loyal worlds for the sin of worship! Now you spare an ideologue murderer his punishment because of…what? Media pressure? Or is it location? Can you not bring yourself to harm Terra itself?” Mortarion’s blank grey eyes narrowed to slits. “Or do Morticia’s life and well-being not mean as much to you as I had hoped?”
The Emperor was silent for all of one second. In that second, his eyes flashed a burst of cerulean blue, like a robin’s egg, piercing through his skin and through the lights of the office. In a moment, they vanished, and his temper was reigned. Mortarion saw it all, and two weeks before, would have flinched away, in surprise or even anger. But now, he stood. His dead, empty eyes met his fathers’, and he stared straight back.
“…Morticia means more to me than you know, my son. For that reason, I will forgive you your insinuations, and your lapse of memory,” the Emperor said.
“Lapse of memory?” Mortarion hissed. “I remember the horror as my wife was taken from me by a disease I gave her. I will not let my daughter be taken from me by a madman with poor aim.”
“No, my son, you will not. She lives. She will be strong again. But that to which I refer is not the loss of your wife, nor my actions in the Crusade. The thing to which I refer is the identity of the other injured party to that attempted murder,” the Emperor said coldly. “And, lest we let fade from our minds, her father’s methods are somewhat more subtle than yours.”
Goodnight. I look forward to seeing how Curze takes his daughters mental state. He's used to breaking minds, not helping fix them. He doesn't seem like he'd be good at nurturing. Oh, and the things he'll do if he catches anyone even vaguely responsible.
I should also mention, Ahriman's Aide, that I'm waiting until you've written a little more before I really sit down to review it; Someone Else had quite a bit for me to work with.

'Night, all.
just keeping it afloat
Kelly Curze ran her hands together, trying to calm her nerves. Her new therapist was supposed to arrive soon, and she didn’t know what to expect. She had been persuaded to wash her makeup off, but it sure didn’t make her feel better.
Her father stood near, trying to sort his own thoughts. Her problem was alien to him. He had slain his way across entire arms of the galaxy, left grown men shivering in fear of his name, and frightened entire star systems into solving their own rebellions before he arrived to handle it in person. On Selgura, he had been the sole survivor of an entire joint Army/Astartes battalion, sent in to cleanse a particularly recalcitrant horde of Dark Eldar. He had witnessed blessedly false visions of his own father killing him. He had watched his homeworld sip dangerously close to falling back into the ways of corruption and evil that he had so laboriously purged in his childhood. He thought – he had to think – that if he had been the one who had watched Morticia being shot, he would have been far more capable of overcoming it.
But he, he reminded himself, was not his daughter. And she didn’t have his millennia of killing to harden her soul. Perhaps that was for the best.
“Kelly…you know that as soon as the session’s over, I’ll be here to pick you up, right? You don’t have to stay in the hospital,” he offered.
“Dad, please…I’m scared. I don’t want to go home yet,” Kelly said, her voice thin. Even without her eyeshadow, there were dark circles under her eyes.
Sorry to keep people hanging. I really should know better than to try to marathon this stuff. It's much harder than Emperasque.
All good. Rather see quality then quantity.
Which is a vote of confidence, thanks.

All right. AA and I talked it out and we're going to work our stories together a bit. I'm going to work on Mortarion and Curze's perspectives a bit longer, then he'll take over for a while. After that, we're both taking a break. Darkmage dropped in the /tg/ writefag channel last night and wanted to post his own Primarchs' Daughters story, so he can of course do so; but I've been going a week and it's been a shitty week, so I think I will have had enough.
Curze clamped his teeth around his tongue. He didn’t think his daughter was weak. He didn’t. But all he could see was someone who had reacted poorly to something he saw every single day – or near enough – for several thousand years. His wife gave him a reproachful glare, then leaned forward, squeezing their daughter’s shoulder. “Kelly, if you want me to be here for this-“
“No, thanks, Mom,” Kelly said, clenching her hands tighter. Her shoulders hunched a bit at her mother’s touch, but she looked up and made eye contact. “Thanks, though.”
“Kelly…” Konrad struggled to find words. “I want to understand.”
“I know you do, Dad, but I don’t really understand either,” Kelly said sadly. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Okay…okay.” The doctor’s footsteps sounded from down the hall. Konrad made his mind up. “Kelly, I’ll be back to hear how it went, OK? I hope you feel better.”
“Me too,” Kelly said. She made a little wave of farewell as her parents walked out, her mother pausing to speak to the doctor. Konrad walked down the hallway, making for the elevator to the aircar lot, planning his route. As he ascended to the lot, his mind churned, thinking over the precious little information he had gleaned thus far. He was sure the Emperor would not approve of his taking matters into his own hands…but it wasn’t like it was unprecedented. The door pinged open, and he stepped out into the cordon of waiting Night Lords serfs.
“My Lord Curze?” a gravelly voice asked from the shadows of the lot. The serfs each took a long step back from the Primarch, leveling their lasrifles at the speaker.
Ahzek Ahriman stepped forth from the darkness, his eyes locked onto Curze. “May I speak to you a moment?”
Curze looked at the old warrior askance. “You’re Ahriman, right? Magnus’ man?”
“I am, Lord. I have a piece of…valuable knowledge to pass along to you.” One of the Night Lords looked over his shoulder subtly.
“…Give us the room, men,” Curze said at length. The Night Lords serfs snapped to attention, then marched off in the direction of their staff car. He waited until he was out of earshot before speaking back up. “What is it?”
“My Lord, I suspect that Sieur Ulysses Keiter had some assistance in his deed,” Ahriman said frankly. “I suspect also that the Arbites, for all their zeal, are overplaying their hand and disregarding some potentially valuable sources of information.” Ahriman tapped his staff on the ground for emphasis.
“Such as?” Curze asked.
“Such as those who resent them. Any figure of law enforcement is going to be resented on a world where crime runs so rampant as Terra. They will have questioned the obvious suspects, like the Civil Honors Union, his relatives, what have you. But sources of information in a criminal investigation are rarely cooperative with the Arbites, I have learned. Besides, we are both of the…enlightened race. Are we not?”
“What of it?” Konrad growled. His psychic talents had certainly never helped him much.
“My point, Lord, is that we would be better served in our search amongst those who revile this Keiter than amongst his friends. Look for information from those who would offer it up gladly…and look for a lie where it forms.”
Curze was silent. Two men in Power armor would be as far from subtle as it is possible to be. But, as he had so frequently learned, fear was a weapon. And if Ahriman was right…
The Emperor had spoken to him in private after the incident with Furia. He had been told to never employ such measures against civilians again. He had given his word. He had intended to keep them. And then he had watched his daughter shivering in terror in a hospital room, blood soaking her clothes. All it would take, he was sure, was one visit by the Night Haunter, and nobody in his path would fail to yield the information he sought.
He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the tendrils of fate, but they were clouded and out of his reach. He opened them again to see Ahriman staring at him through the visor of his helmet, inscrutable.
“Where did you get this lead?” Curze asked.
“From a vision received. It was abrupt, and full of things that do not seem to have come to pass…but enough did that I think this warrants investigation.”
“We will be spotted. This will not be stealthy,” Curze said.
“And yet…” Ahriman let the statement hang in the air.
“Where?” Curze asked of the psyker.
Ahriman opened his palms. “The hive-tops. One of the areas not supposed to have been reconditioned like Startseite, but instead one that sprung up from whole cloth. They are full of the worlds’ most destitute…but also the worlds’ most loyal.
“Very well, Brother Ahriman. We go. And let us hope you are right,” Curze growled.
Ahriman's Aide, if you want to take over (and do the scene we talked about) for a while, go ahead, I'm feeling quite ill. I'll be on the IRC a bit longer if you want to chat.

Server irc.rizon.net channel #writescribbles
Or...don't I guess.


Write, bitch, write!

Moar, good sir.
Well I was kinda counting on Ahriman's Aide dumping the stuff he told me he was writing when I spoke to him last night.

And to be frank, I'm burned out. I think I'll let this thread die if there are no more WHH writers who want to take a crack at it.
And now for something new.
Lyra stood alone in a forest. For a split second, she believed it to be the forest around her house, but it was different. It was much more... primal. She soon realized where she really was. This was Caliban. But it was different. However, she couldn't really tell what was wrong.
There was a darkness in the trees. She could feel it, an evil pulsing from within. And even if she couldn't see or hear anyone, she knew that she wasn't truly alone. Something was stalking her. She could sense it as clear the wind against her neck.
She turned her head quick enough to see the attacker as it leaped through the air. The beast was large, with muscles that could crush gravcars and claws that seemed thicker then her own torso. The beast was overkill for the teenage girl, and she could only gasp as it opened its maw and stared into oblivion.
Lyra awoke in jump, sitting in History class. She was breathing in heavily, and noticed that everyone was standing up and packing their things. The lights in the room had been dimmed and it was all that Lyra needed to fall asleep.
She looked down and noticed a wet pool on her desk. She hurriedly wiped the drool away from her mouth, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Seemed like people were more in a hurry to leave school then take note of her current distress. Sweat dripped down her neck, and her personal Watcher was packing books and notes, only pausing once to look at her.
She looked down at him, picked up a heavy book it was trying to move and smiled, somewhat forced. “Don't worry, I'm fine. And what have I told you about doing my work for me?” she said. The watcher relinquished hold of the book and let her finish packing, standing to the side and waiting for her mistress to finish.

The class was almost empty and Lyra was still at her desk, unsure of how to proceed. She still felt very hot, and must have been blushing as well. Grabbing a mirror from her bag, she quickly confirmed her suspicions, as well as noting her hair was a bit of a mess. She paused and began doing a breathing exercise, trying to calm herself down before leaving.


She jumped in her seat, slowly turning to the source of the voice. Freya stood behind her, tapping her foot.

“W-what?” she mumbled, a bit unsure of how to proceed. Freya stared at her, as if something was off.

“What's with you? You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Just tired.”

“Hah, you and me both. Ahriman can make an Ork fall asleep with his tales of the Imperium's glory” the tall girl said. “No offense, I know your dad was in charge of that campaign, but I think he went into too much planning. My dad would have just charged in and done it way easier. Plus, you must have heard it like a thousand times from him.”
“Uh, yeah” Lyra agreed, unsure of what the lecture was about in the first place. Her mind was still distracted with her dream, and trying to hide her uncomfortableness from her friend was proving to be difficult. Her watcher jumped into a small pocket of her bag, one she had specifically asked to have made, before she slung the bag unto her back, making it easy for him to stay by her throughout the day.
“You sure you okay?” Freya asked again.
“Yeah, I just had a weird dream.” Lyra regretted saying that, and hopped she didn't ask about it further.
“Ah, alright”. Freya took the hint, not pushing the subject any longer. For that, Lyra was glad. She knew her friend had long since understood not to try to discern her inner workings. Most of her cousins understood this as well, knowing full well that the El’Johnson's had many secrets to keep, and even being family didn't make them easy to tell.
As the duo silently walked to their lockers, Lyra noted that she had seriously blanked out for a while there in class. The hallway was nearly empty, except for a few stragglers like themselves. One individual stood by her locker, and it only took a moment for Lyra to remember who it was. She had forgotten that she was giving Remilia a lift back home after school on a regular basis.
The blond girl smiled at them as they walked closer, and didn't seem to care that she was slightly late.
“Hey guys!” she said, seemingly happy as always.
“Rem, how are you always so happy?” Freya asked.
“Easy. I don't hang around Kelly all the time.” Freya began laughing loudly at that, nearly buckling over. Lyra could only smirk, knowing full well that it was quite possibly true. She grabbed her bike helmet and jacket from her locker before leaving school, walking towards the inner parking lot.
“So, I got a question for both of you” Rem asked as they left the school gates. Lyra looked over at her, waiting patiently. “Whats with your dads and the fights?” she asked, and Freya smiled at that.
“Not sure.” the daughter of Russ responded. “Been doing that since I was a baby I think. Maybe since the crusade with grandpa. What do you think Lyra? Your dad ever give you a reason?”
She spotted her jetbike in the distance, and turned it on remotely with a switch as they walked towards it. “I don't know really. As Freya said, they have been doing it since before we were born. However...” she paused before continuing, choosing her words carefully. “ I did ask my father once, and from what I gathered, he said your father started it, and was at fault for the entire thing.” Lyra didn't realize how horribly that came out at the time, but she would reflect on it in the future and know it could have been handled better.
“Oh yeah, coming from your dad.” Freya quickly retorted.
They were a few steps from her bike, but Lyra froze and glared at her 'friend'. She should have let it go, but her honor didn't let her do so. “Whats that supposed to mean?” she asked.
Freya shrugged. “Exactly what I said. My dad has told me that Lion has many secrets, even from his family. I'm just saying that it's probably be your dad's fault, and he just lied to you” Freya said accusingly. Remilia suddenly began to regret asking the question, but said nothing as the argument escalated
“Seriously? Your father is likely to start a fight over spilled milk than my dad is to fight one of his brothers. He probably did something idiotic and is just hiding the reasons from you so he won't be embarrassed.”
“Are you calling my dad stupid?” Freya said, raising her voice at her and clenching her fists. Remilia tried to step in and defuse the situation before it got any worse.
“Girls, please-” she tried, but was cut off immediately.
“If you can't tell, maybe it runs in your family!” Lyra yelled at her, losing control and getting angry herself. Freya gritted her teeth, and had enough as she pulled her arm back and yelled at her.
“You fucking bitch!” She swung her arm forward, connecting with Lyra's jaw and making her tumble backwards into her bike. For a normal human, that would have ended it there, but Freya was the child of a Primarch, one who was known for his beastly strength. Lyra slammed into her bike so hard that it sent it tipping over, impacting unto the pavement with a large thud. Lyra staggered to her feet somewhat dazed, before noting what just happened.
She looked at her bike with a blank stare, pausing at this event who to the other two daughters thought nothing much of it. For them it was just a bike. For her, it was something special. That was a gift from Lord Cypher, a childhood friend and mentor. He had been a second father to her since her birth. So for her, anything from him was precious.
And she got that bike as a birthday present. Hell, he even taught her how to drive the damn thing, even convinced her father to let her use it. To her, the bike held a very special place in her heart, almost as much as Hana loved her bike as well. Now, it lay on its side, scratched, damaged, and maybe even broken.
Lyra had never felt this angry in her entire life. She was so furious, she didn't notice she was in pain, let alone bleeding from her mouth. Lyra turned around and roared in anger as she ran towards Freya, swing back at her. She might not have been as physically strong as her friend, but Lyra wasn't a weakling. Her father taught her how to fence, and kept her in shape doing so. So when her punch connected with Freya's face, it was a total surprise with the amount of force behind it making the larger girl stumble backwards and be dazed for a moment.
Lyra didn't stop there, as she stepped forward with her momentum and this time strike at the girl's stomach, making her buckle over and stagger as she tried to keep standing form the onslaught. Lyra continued her attack as she tackled her cousin to the ground, pinning her unto the pavement with her on top as she began to unleash an fury of punches to her head. For a split second, she thought she was going to win.
Freya, on the other hand, finally had enough. She hoped she would just knock her out with her initial attack and call it victory, but Lyra was as stubborn as the rest of her family. So when the fifth punch slammed into her head, Freya decided it was time to strike.
Being heavier, a foot taller, and have way more practice in physical combat, Freya effortlessly rolled herself from her downed position, flipping Lyra unto her back. Now she had her opponent pinned.
Before Lyra could retaliate, Freya slammed her fist into her stomach. Just as planned, the blond girl gasped as she clutched her abdomen in pain. With one hand, Freya reached down and easily pinned her hands to her chest, leaving Lyra totally open for attack.
Freya relished this moment as she struck Lyra in the face repeatedly, each punch making her feel better. Lyra had this coming for a long time. On the outside she was quiet and rarely spoke, but once you started to talk to her, she had this unbearable “I’m right, you’re wrong” attitude with everything. It never got to her before, but this time Freya needed to teach her a lesson.
Her fist collided with her opponents face once more, and this time Lyra spit up some blood. Unable to fight back, she gritted her teeth and endured through the assault.
“This is what you get, you bitch” Freya started, stopping for a moment as she had clearly won the battle. “You hear me? I wish I had done this a...” she paused and stared at Lyra. Her face was bloody and bruised, her clothes ripped up from the fighting. She could feel Remilia grabbing her by the shoulders, trying to make her stop from behind her.
All she could note was the amount of pain she had just inflicted on a childhood friend. Sure, she pissed her off, but this was taking it a bit too far in retribution. She let go of Lyra’s hands and stood up, pushing Rem back as well behind her. She didn’t hear Remilia worried voice, neither did she hear Lyra groaning on the floor. Strangely enough, all she heard was the sound of pressurized gas being released from some sort of container. She turned to Lyra’s downed bike and stared at it. The source was from the bike...
“Lyra, is your bike supposed to be making that noise?” she asked, turning back to her downed friend. Surprisingly, Lyra was on her feet. Before Freya knew what was happening, Lyra unleashed all her strength into a single punch. Caught off guard, the fist slammed into her with such force that it knocked the larger girl off her feet. She fell backwards onto the daughter of Dorn, who cushioned her fall to the pavement. Freya was knocked out and pinned Remilia underneath her with her sheer weight.
Lyra stood victorious over the girls, breathing heavily as she took a moment to enjoy the victory. Bruised and bloody, she could only look down at her larger friend with seething hate. She wasn’t sure what she would do next, but for now she had won.
And then she noted the sound. The high pitched noise that filled the parking lot. It was growing louder, making her identify the source quite easily. Her bike was releasing some gas from within. It took a moment to realise that it was probably from the power source. Which meant that it was releasing volatile coolant while the bike was turned on.
“Oh shit” was all she managed to say before the bike exploded in a thousand pieces. Blue fire erupted from within, and although Remilia and Freya were shielded behind some cars, Lyra was left exposed as the force of the explosion sent her flying. She could only think about how badly this was going to end, right before slamming into a car’s windshield.
That's all for now. Ill put up the next part in another thread. Hope you guys like it so far.
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Saw this thread yesterday but it has taken a day to read up on what I missed before this thread, due to raisins. I would like to let you know, however, that I enjoy reading your stuff.
Thank you.
OK, all caught up on the Lioness.

Bit confused as to why they would be beating the shit out of each other over something so minor. I'm sure it will come out in time.
Ahriman, if you want to post your thing, here's your chance.
Probably supposed to be a reflection of their fathers arguing over such a relatively minor issue. I agree though, it does seem a tad abrupt.
just keeping it alive for Ahriman's aide.
All right, on the off-chance that he's around, Ahriman's Aide, take the reins. If you decided not to do the thing we talked about last night, just let the thread die.

Either way, people, thanks for the week of distractions from my computer being dead. See you all next time.
OK, one last piece of Writefaggotry from me before we let the Thread 404. this is a prequel of sorts to>>19415246

Ahzek Ahriman sat cross legged in the sanctity of his Librariam, trying to rise through the Enumerations, calm his choler and reconnect to the shores of the future. Yet every time his passed the seventh Enumeration, he felt his choler rising and his anger and drive intrude into his place of calm, breaking his concentration. Time after time this had happened, and he had got steadily angrier at himself for not finding the truth. His attempts to have Keiter psychically interrogated made upon had been rebuffed by the Emperor Himself, and he was not amused by it. Somewhere Chaos was lurking, a cancer at the very heart of the Imperium. If that cancer wasn’t found, all the hard work of the Great Crusade would be undone, something he would fight and die to oppose. Surely the Emperor could see that, and yet still he adamantly opposed probing Keiter’s Mind. Why?
That question plagued Ahriman, haunted him. He needed to calm himself before lessons started again on Monday, for in his current state there would be no way he could teach, though teaching was very much the last thing on his mind. He tried to turn his attention to happier things. His dear friend Hathor Maat would arrive in a few days to use his expertise in helping Morticia, and that surely would cheer him up. Exactly why the Emperor had sent for Maat was beyond Ahriman, but surely Magnus had something to do with it. More and more often he took to wearing his old Mk II Legion Armour, the raven’s head of the Corvidae emblazoned on his pauldron. He wanted action; he wanted something to be done. The longer they sat around doing nothing, the longer the agents of Chaos had to prepare for the inevitable showdown.
Suddenly he felt a twinge, an ever so subtle jolt to the invisible web surrounding his abode. Slowly he expanded his mind out, seeking out the source of the disturbance. There was something out there, but it was almost impossible to detect, a shadow lurking somewhere around him. He could feel the presence at the very edge of his senses, jarring and grating at his mind. Though his body remained rock still, his mind was now drawing upon the power of the Great Ocean, reading himself for whatever was lurking out there. A thousand battle plans flashed through his mind, for a thousand scenarios the enemy might take. His breathing slowed, his rage subsided as testosterone pumped through his body. He hadn’t felt this alive since the Crusade.
Oh, well. There's my timing. Jesus, what is that, three times in one thread that I call it a day and then someone posts seconds later? I should be an anti-fortuneteller. People pay me money to ensure that certain fortunes never tome to pass.
In a single move he grabbed and spun his Heqa Staff into a blocking position. It slipped and stabbed into the map of Terra which dominated one wall. Instantly he felt foolish. There was nothing out there, no enemy stalking him. He had let his emotions cloud his judgement let again. He tugged at the Heqa staff to remove it from the wall, but as he did so, he noticed where it had stabbed the map.
The bladed top of the staff had stuck into the area known as the Hive Tops, an area of prefabricated hives to the south of Starseite in the new construction along the old Merican Seaboard. For a few seconds he stared at the map, his mind racing. As Magnus had taught him, there were no coincidences. There was something at the Hive Tops, something connecting Keiter with the Primordial Annihilator. What it was he couldn’t tell, but it was there, waiting for him.
He couldn’t investigate the Hive Tops on his own, he would need aid, someone more suited to stealth than him. And there was only one being on Terra who could do that, who knew the touch of Chaos, had seen its effects in person, had seen what the spawn of the Warp could do, and who would be willing to go to any lengths to stamp out the taint.
Ahriman remembered Malin’s Reach, a world bordering the Eye of Terror where a revolt against the Imperium brought the might of the Night Lords down upon the planet, only to realise that Chaos Cults were responsible, leading to a massive Daemonic Incursion and the loss of nearly a fifth of the Night Lords Legion before the Grey Knights and Thousand Sons arrived to turn the tide. That was the last time Ahriman saw combat before his retirement to a teacher at Imperator High, and the Memory of that conflict still haunted him, the etheric beasts which tore at the Imperial Troops, the walls painted with human blood, the foul symbols of the four, which hurt his eyes to so much as glance at them. And then at the heart of the incursion was discovered a forbidden chapel to the Emperor, which seemed to be the incursion point for the Daemons with all the statues desecrated and ruined. Worship was common on the borders of the Eye, and with the very stuff of hell staring straight at them little effort was made to discourage it. However the discovery of that desecrated chapel threw Curze into a rage, and he personally tore it down brick by brick with his bare hands. A statue of him apparently stood there now, a reminder of the cost of that war.
“Kurze, yes it must be him.” He murmured to himself. He checked his pistol, and strode from the Librariam with determination. If Kurze could be won over, then there would be nothing to stop the two of them.
And I'm done. have two important exams later in the week, so this thread can now die in peace. Thanks to Someone Else for such a glut of awesome Writefaggotry.
Oh. Want me to handle the actual Hive excursion?
I have that partially written, will finish it after exams.
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You just completely won me over, Ahriman's Aide. There's a bit of abruptness during Ahriman's heqa-staff revelation, but beyond that it's excellent. One question though. You mentioned that the Imperium turns a bit of a blind eye to Emperor-worship near the Eye...mightn't that deserve a little expansion, perhaps later on?

Anyway, I have to mention how grateful I am to all you awesome writefriends for giving of your time and energy to entertain us ungrateful anons. It's a thankless task, I know, but your work is always appreciated, and your talent and creativity is much-admired, even if I'm the only one actually taking the time to post about it these days. Hopefully by next writethread we'll get some more commenters in here; give you guys the feedback you deserve.

I put my email in the field in case anyone wants an outside opinion on their work, someone to bounce ideas off of, or just an encouraging word now and then. Looking forward to the next thread, whenever it may be!
Just as you said, I feel its a reflection of their fathers. Maybe it is a bit abrupt that they would go as far as they did, but between the bike breaking and the first punch, I feel both of them were ready to go at each others throats. That being said, you think I should change it?
Not change it so much as extend it, draw it out a little. Heighten the anticipation with a little more dialogue, and make it a little less direct. Your audience has probably figured out there's a fight coming, so take them there on the "scenic route," so to speak.
That's not a bad idea. I'll probably be changing it quite a bit before I post any new material. Thanks for the advice.
All right, then, Ahriman, I'll just let this thread slide off the frontpage. It's been archived by someone on Sup/tg/, and I'm pretty burned out, so once your exams are done we can just make a new thread. Any idea when that will be?
Because I can
Oh Someone Else, write more~ It's how I get off!
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I know, and I find that gravely concerning.
I know the thread is over, but I want to know when Ahriman's Aide is going to be able to continue this.
Ahriman's Aide is on New Zealand time, I want to make sure he sees this. Also, Darkmage, is there anything else you wanted to add?

Or do people have questions for any of the authors?

Probably in a week and a half to two weeks, exams all the rest of this week and first half of next week, and then the rest of the week to finish.
However i think you'll enjoy Kurze and Ahriman Batmanning(?) across the Hive Tops and the Petitioners City, hunting down the source of the taint (which may or may not be there).
and now the thread must die
All right. My main writing computer may be fixed by then. Until then, I'll wait, and write some scenes that don't involve those two. If you do make a new thread to post your parts, drop me a line in the IRC to let me know, so I can add more.

Sorry for the delay, our internet here is the worst in the first world (only Mexico has us beat in slow internet)
Probably in a week and a half to two weeks, exams all the rest of this week and first half of next week, and then the rest of the week to finish.
However i think you'll enjoy Kurze and Ahriman Batmanning(?) across the Hive Tops and the Petitioners City, hunting down the source of the taint (which may or may not be there).
and now the thread must die
Sorry, shit internet equals double post.
All right, see you then.

If Darkmage, Ahriman's Aide, and I are all done, I guess this is an open floor to anyone who wants to add their own stuff.

Here's the wiki.


Thanks for the past week, /tg/, and thanks to The Editor specifically for taking the time to critique.

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