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/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: 1340250705144.png-(80 KB, 322x452, Lyra_and_WD.png)
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Hey, folks. The old thread was approaching the bump limit, so here's a new one.

Old: >>19520086

Pic semi-related, Lyra's not a big part of the story, but I love little WD.
Hane wheeled back to Keiter. “Sieur, when I first asked you if you wanted legal counsel, you specifically denied it. When I then informed you whom you had been accused of shooting, you vomited in the corner and demanded a lawyer. Why did you do that?”
“Your Honor!” Felger thundered.
“Counselor Hane, your question is leading the defendant,” Mako said. “Rephrase it.”
Hane thought for a moment. “What, Sieur Keiter, caused you to change your mind, specific to the identity of the woman who had been shot?”
Useless shrugged uncomfortably as Morticia shot him a death glare. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Sieur Keiter, you did not change your demeanor regarding legal counsel until the moment I named the woman who had been shot. Why did her specific identity change your mind?”
Useless stared at the floor in front of him. “…She…Lady Morticia’s sixteen. She’s not even out of high school. Why would anyone blame her for anything? She was just a bystander to a crime of complacency.”
“A crime of complacency…of which ever single other person in that café was guilty?” Hane asked pointedly. Before Felger could roar in indignation, Hane turned to Mako. “I have no further questions for the defendant, your Honor.”
And here we...go
Felger shot to his feet, walking up to the bench before Mako could say a word. “Your Honor, a moment?”
Mako nodded, leaning forward and turning her microphone off. Hane and Felger huddled up before the desk at the front of the court. “Your Honor, that question was flagrantly misleading,” Felger said quietly.
“I am a Judge, Counselor Felger, I am fully aware of the implications of what was just said,” Mako pointed out. “However, Counselor Hane, Counselor Felger is correct. I instruct that the final question be struck from the record,” she said, louder. The stenographer nodded and pressed the appropriate runes on her dataslate.
Hane and Felger returned to their seats as Useless fidgeted. “Sieur Felger, have you any questions for your client?”
“I do, your Honor,” Felger said, lifting a dataslate and carrying it up to the front of the courtroom. “Sieur Keiter, prior to your arrest, you had never been in the custody of the police at any level, for any reason. Is that correct?”
“It is,” Useless said.
Felger placed the dataslate back down on his desk. “During your time with Sons of the War, did you ever interact with other hivers that worked on the surface?”
“All the time,” Keiter said. “A lot of us work up there.”
“And did any of them express discontent with the state of the Imperium’s social balance?” Felger asked.
“Several,” Keiter answered.
“Amongst the members of the Civil Honors Union, did any of the other volunteers express discontent with the status of the Imperium’s social balance?”
“They did,” Keiter replied.
Felger nodded. “I have no further questions, your Honor.” As Mako dismissed the witness, Morticia leaned over to Hane and smirked.
Hane nodded to acknowledge her silent signal. “I call Witness Seven to the stand.”
“So noted,” the Judge said. A tall, rather aged gentleman in a generic military officer’s coat stood, walking down the aisle to the bench. Morticia smiled at him eagerly as he passed, which he returned. As he sat and was sworn in, he loosened the jacket, slinging it over his seat, revealing the generic gold and white uniform shirt of a Palace resident.
“Sieur, please state your relation to the defendant,” Hane said without preamble.
“I have never met him before in my entire life,” the gentleman said. There were dark bags under his eyes, Mako noted, and his wavy dark hair was pulled back into a simple tail behind his head.
“And please state your relation to the victim, Lady Morticia,” Hane continued.
“I am her grandfather,” the gentleman replied.
“Lady Morticia’s mother has passed on, has she not?” Hane asked.
“She has,” he replied regretfully.
Hane clasped his hands behind his back, looking over at the witness box. “Sieur, the names of several volunteer organizations have been mentioned over the course of this trial. The Civil Honors Union, the Sons of the War, et cetera. Are you a member of any of these groups?”
“Have you heard of them?”
Hane gestured to the jacket at the back of the box. “You have served with the Imperial Armed Services, sir?”
“I did.”
The lawyer asked the next question slowly, lending it weight. “What was your first thought when you had learned someone tried to murder your granddaughter?”
“Objection,” Felger said from his table.
Hane sighed. “What did you think when you learned your granddaughter had been hurt?”
“Shock. Horror. Rage,” he replied heavily.
Hane nodded in sympathy. “And now that you’ve had the time to sit through this entire trial, what do you gauge the defendant’s motivation to have been?”
“Objection, your Honor, the prosecution has shown no evidence that the witness is qualified to answer that question,” Felger spoke up.
“I’ll redirect, your Honor,” Hane said. He turned back to the witness. “Sieur, are you familiar with the concept of Divinatus Imperator?”
“Objection!” Felger said angrily, rising to his feet. “Your Honor, Counselor Hane is insinuating that my client is guilty of a violation of the Imperial Creed, when he has been charged with no such thing!”
“I am indeed not charging him with a violation of the Creed, your Honor, but I am attempting to establish that sufficient evidence exists to prove the charge of an Attempted Murder of Premeditation. I am well within the code of conduct of this Court,” Hane pointed out, “to allow for the presentation of evidence to that effect.”
Mako sat back in her seat, staring into the lights of the room, for several seconds. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and even. “I will allow this line of questioning, Counselor Felger. However, Counselor Hane, tread with exceptional care.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Hane said, turning back to the witness and raising an empty hand.
“I am familiar with it, yes,” the witness said coldly.
“Did you ever fight against it in the Crusade?” Hane asked.
“Many, many times.” The witness sat back and sighed, looking rather weary himself. “It takes so many perfidious forms…”
“And have you, in your experience in the Crusade, ever encountered any attempts on the lives of those who adhered to the Imperial Creed in lieu of Divinatus Imperator?” Hane asked.
Morticia’s grandfather shrugged. “That was rare. Generally, by the end of the Crusade, it had been stamped out so much that it was usually the other way around.”
“Those who followed the Creed turning Emperor-worshippers over to the Arbites, or attacking them,” Hane supplied.
“Was THAT rare?” the lawyer continued.
Hane lifted the holos of the crime scene, rifled through them. “What form do they take? Emperor-worshippers? Their appearances, their actions, their motivations?”
“Many. But they are primarily normal-looking people. They do not abandon their form, or anything. They concern themselves with slavish service, which can mask their superiority complexes. They tend to lash out at those who do not give thanks for what they have and offer up to the Imperium that which they earn.”
“And…how precisely did they make themselves a nuisance? Surely those who worship the Emperor would be his most valued servants,” Hane said, choosing a holo.
“It made them judgmental. Emotional. Unable to gauge the true worth of themselves, and their works, and their actions.”
Hane showed up the holos, placing them in front of the witness. “I have previously entered these into evidence as Article 7. This is a holo of Sieur Keiter’s apartment in the hive. Do you see anything here that suggests Emperor-worship, in your personal experience?”
The witness peered at the holo. “I do.”
“What is it?” Hane asked.
“Objection, your Honor, being able to shoot Emperor-worshippers in the field does not make a man qualified to appraise the state of their personal belongings,” Felger said.
“I agree entirely, Counselor Felger. However, if the witness has experience identifying them as well as fighting them, the question is fair,” Mako said. “And since he does, he may answer.”
“The contents of the room seem to be indistinguishable from those of any human, save this.” The witness pointed at a large image of the Emperor, psychic aura clearly visible, anointing a new Company of Luna Wolves at a formal ceremony. The image was blown far out of proportion, displaying the Emperor prominently. The image was tucked away amongst various knickknacks, in the middle of the table at the center of the main room.
“That is a holograph of the Emperor. Is it prominent in the room?”
“Is that normal for hivers? After all, hivers in parts of the world have little beyond their employment in the Administratum,” Hane said reasonably.
“I’ve certainly never created a shrine to any boss of mine,” the man said with a snort.
“And do you, in your experience, suspect that Emperor-worshippers would be capable of the crimes of which Sieur Keiter stands accused?” Hane asked pointedly.
“I do,” the man said.
Hane glanced up at Mako. “I have no further questions, your Honor, though I may want to call the witness again.”
“Very well. Counselor Felger?” Mako asked.
Felger stood, mind racing. He slowly crossed to reach the holo, still resting on the desk in front of the witness stand. “Sieur, do you have any legal training of your own?” Felger asked.
“I do,” the witness said.
“And what is this training?” Felger asked.
“I helped co-write the changes to the Book of Judgment after the end of the Crusade, to transfer from martial to civil law,” the gentleman said, startling Felger.
“Did you? Was Emperor-worship a serious problem on Terra at the time?” Felger asked, switching gears.
“It barely existed,” the witness admitted.
“So then, how are you qualified to speak of it in any sort of authority? You may have encountered it many times in your military career, but surely civilian worshippers would behave and appear differently to militant cultists,” Felger pointed out.
“Does it?” the man shot back. “Your client shot my granddaughter in the back. That fits rather well with the patterns of behavior I would expect from a militant cultist.”
“Your Honor, I ask that the witness be registered as unresponsive,” Felger said, glancing up at Mako.
“Counselor, he did answer your question. However, you may ask for another answer if you wish,” Mako said.
“I am qualified to speak of it because I have encountered and fought it both in the guise of military forces and in the guise of civil worship,” the man said coldly.
“Oh? You are a member of the Adeptus Astartes, then, a gene-modded warrior, qualified and rated to invade and destroy houses of worship?” Felger said.
“Of course not,” the man said.
Felger nodded, rifling through the other holos. “Sieur, your granddaughter was injured, certainly. But the man who shot her was a violent criminal, someone who was gripped by an urge they could not control. Does a loss of control, a lack of understanding of consequences, and a lack of proper judgment sound like something a person who worshipped the Emperor would suffer?”
“It does,” the witness noted reluctantly. Hane’s knuckles turned white.
Felger nodded slowly. “Thank you, Sieur.”
Hane shot back up to his feet. “Redirect, your Honor?” Mako nodded.
Hane marched back up to the witness stand. “Sieur, have you ever seen Emperor-worshippers come to regret their actions, when said actions came to hurt bystanders?”
“I have. Many times,” the man said.
“When I first interviewed the defendant, he was overwhelmed with the knowledge that he had harmed a member of the Royal Family. Progeny of the Emperor. Does that sound like something an Emperor-worshipper would do?”
“Absolutely. Their actions are appraised internally, against a scale of earning or losing Imperial approval.”
“So the defendant’s actions are well in line with something that someone who worshipped the Emperor, but was not insane, might choose to do?” Hane pressed.
“Possibly, yes. It wouldn’t be unprecedented.”
“Sieur, in your experience, are people who worship the Emperor still in possession of their faculties?” Hane asked.
“They are. The Imperium is not a Chaos entity, twisting people into its worship.”
“And so, Sieur, you have no reason to think that when Ulysses Keiter shot Lady Primarch Morticia, he did so with anything other than the intent to kill SOMEONE, even if it wasn’t the girl he eventually hit?” Hane said triumphantly.
“That is the case,” the dark-haired gentleman said flatly. Hane nodded, his heart rate returning to normal.
“Thank you, Sieur.” He returned to his seat.
“Your Honor, I have a few more questions for the witness,” Felger said, standing back up.
“Very well,” Mako said. Useless followed his lawyer with his eyes, desperately hoping that their defense would hold. Morticia glared a hole in Felger’s back with every step.
“Sieur, you said that you encountered these Emperor-worshippers in force with the Army?” Felger asked.
“With the forces of the Imperium, I did battle with them many times,” the man said.
“Then why should you be able to judge their mental states?” Felger asked, his voice tone turning curious.
“I don’t understand. Why would I not be able to? I encountered them many times, alive and dead. In their own homes and the homes of others they had invaded,” the man said.
“But you’re not a psyker, not a forensics officer, not a psychologist. How could you know what they were thinking?” Felger asked.
“You are incorrect, sir. I am indeed a psyker, of some skill,” the witness said coolly.
“Then why is your testimony admissible at all?” Felger said, thrown. “A psyker could influence Judge Mako.”
“Not without the psy-reactive systems in the room sounding an alarm. Arbites Courthouses are proofed against such sabotage,” the witness said calmly. “That was a deliberate facet of their design.”
“Well…then you can not see into the soul of my client, perceive his guilt or innocence, nor determine his motives, any better or worse than any other Army officer,” Felger said, back on his verbal feet.
“If I were an Army officer, I imagine that would be the case,” the witness said, shrugging.
“Adeptus Psykana, then. My point stands.”
“In fact, it does not. I am also not of the Adeptus Psykana, though I did found it,” he said. Morticia smiled smugly.
Felger stared at the witness, his words dripping with irony. “You are a founder of the Adeptus Psykana. You’re over three thousand years old.”
“In fact,” the Emperor said evenly, “I am a good bit older than that.”
Felger managed to keep his face straight. Morticia didn’t even try. Felger stared, his hands clenching unconsciously. Keiter went white. Mako sighed heavily. “My Liege, I do sincerely hope that this is not an attempt to modify the outcome of this trial.”
“To what end, Judge? One of the greatest and most vital tenets of my law is that none may hold an advantage before it,” the Emperor said calmly. “I would have worn my armor if I wanted to make an impression.”
Felger shook himself. The Emperor hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t used any of his powers. But somehow, in that instant, his presence had made itself known. He looked the same, but his voice…
“Then, Lord, you would answer why you did not authorize a psychic interrogation of my client?” Felger asked carefully.
“Again, to what end, Counselor? Were I to make an exception for him, I would make a martyr of him before whatever confederates he may have had, whether they shared his ideologies or lack thereof. I spoke the truth when I said I had never met him before,” the Emperor pointed out, glancing sidelong at Keiter. The man was turning all sorts of interesting colors now.
Felger nodded slowly. “Then…I have no further questions.”
Hane stood. “In that instance, your Honor, I have no more evidence to present on behalf of the Imperium.”
Felger walked quickly over to his client’s side, and whispered something in his ear. Keiter didn’t respond, staring at the Emperor with completely undisguised horror. Felger shook his shouder, and Keiter snapped out of it, mumbling something. Felger glared at him for a moment, then straightened up. “I have no further evidence to present, either, your Honor, on behalf of the accused.”
“Very well. I shall perform, now, an examination of the transcripts presented as evidence thus far. We shall reconvene in half an hour,” Mako said, standing and tucking her helmet under her arm.
The Emperor stood, as did the rest of the people in the court, as Mako made her way down to her office. Morticia was smirking so broadly it threatened to strain her cheek muscles, and the Emperor paused by her side on his way back to his seat, jacket bunched under his arm.
“How are you feeling, Morticia?” he asked quietly.
“Much better, now that the good guys have won,” she said, just loud enough for Felger and Keiter to hear.
“Morticia,” the Emperor chided. “The trial isn’t over.”
“The Judge made up her mind on the third witness, Grandpa, and you saw it as clearly as I did,” Morticia said flatly, rising to her feet with an effort.
Suddenly, I love Big E.
Gadzooks. That was AwESOEM
I can't really love Big E, too much of an Arsehole, but he can still be awesome.
He's not an asshole, but i have a theory that if you wanted to hide something from him you would be best serviced by putting it directly in front of him.

Like Batman?
Huh, even though he said he was Morticia's grandfather I was still thinking it was gonna me Malcador.

Speaking of, what happened to him in this alternate 40 universe?

Still head of the Adeptus Terra, at least in my Interpretation. SE may have a different idea. I base my work more on the Canon (refrences to the HH books abound in my bits) than he does.
He's nigh on to four thousand years old. He's being held to life by virtue of being the second richest being in the human race, and thereby having access to the best augmetics money can buy, being the fifth greatest living psyker of any species, which naturally extends one's life anyway, and having some...interesting brain implants. He doesn't have much time left, though.
The Emperor reached out his elbow, and she grabbed it gratefully, leaning hard on her crutch as she awkwardly scooted out from the row of seats. Both Royal family members ignored Keiter’s desperate stares as they walked out of the courtroom.
The hall beyond was empty save for a few guards, none of whom stopped their patrols to watch as the two of them exited the room. Morticia hobbled up to the window, looking out the tinted glass at the rows and rows of reporters beyond. “Quite a crowd.”
“Vultures,” the Emperor said curtly, his voice back to its unassuming tone, bereft of forty four thousand years of weight. “All of them.”
“But I guess I can’t blame them,” Morticia said dolefully. “I’d be curious.”
The Emperor chuckled. “You are a more patient soul than me, Morticia.”
Morticia leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against her cheek. “You totally should have worn the armor.”
“Ah, but then where’s the surprise value?” the Emperor asked.
Morticia turned to eye him. “…I was kidding, were you?”
“Perhaps,” the Emperor said.

Ah. Interesting story idea: Say his health takes a turn for the worst. How feasible would it be for the Primarch daughters to get a little backstory on his life and the more pivotal events of the alternate Great Crusade? Just an idea, you know, to flesh out the alternate universe.

Great writing by the way guys, keep it up.
With SE being done for the time being, I'm going to take over with some new writings. I redid most of what I posted in an earlier thread, so forget about that. Also, this has nothing to do with what he has been writing. As always, feedback is appreciated.
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 jolted upwards. She had apparently been sleeping in class, but no one had noticed. It was history class and a slide show of notes was all it took for her to fall asleep. She was breathing heavily and had a massive headache. She barely noticed that everyone was standing up and packing their things. Class had ended, but she didn’t feel like moving just yet.

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.

I've done bits of that, see my story 'Tales of Victory' in the WHH main page. i'm actually quite interested in doing more, so we'll see.
I guess I could, but I already have another four stories on the burner. Tales of the Emperasque 2: Vulkan's Shopping Trip needs to wrap up, shit has been going for waaay too long; Corsair Witches needs to happen at some point (a spin-off of Strike Witches Quest); Tales of the Emperasque 3: How I Learned to Stop Living and Become a Necron is sort of forming in my brain; and The Primarch's Daughters: ROAD TRIP! is more or less guaranteed by now.
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,” she lied. ”And what have I told you about doing my work for me?” 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. The headache wasn’t going away either. She closed her eyes and began doing a breathing exercise, trying to calm herself down before leaving. The meditation trick usually worked, but it did little to ease her pounding head.
She jumped in her seat, remembering the dream. She slowly turning to the source of the voice. Freya stood behind her.
“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. And have a headache.”
“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.”
The Primarch's Daughters: ROAD TRIP!?

Should I be worried, or get to work?
“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, nothing that there might be more than she initially thought.
“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 childhood 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.
The duo silently left the empty classroom and 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 they were 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. her headache began to subside, and she thought it would completely disappear when she got some fresh air. 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 entered the multi-level parking structure. They both looked over at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. “What’s 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.”
“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. Also, her headache began to return. “Whats that supposed to mean?” she asked.
Freya shrugged, chuckling to herself. “Come on Lyra. It’s Russ and Lion. They fight just because they can. You can’t tell me that something that happened centuries ago will have any meaning for them now, but yet they still have their brawls. They still fight because a part of them enjoys it.”
“I don’t believe it” Lyra responded. “My Father is better than that.”
“Mine isn’t?” Freya said jokingly, hoping to get a laugh from Lyra. She didn’t. Suddenly realizing she actually believed that, Freya wanted to show how stupid her statement was. “What makes your father better than mine?”
“You tell me. I know my father would not start a fight for no reason. He would only fight one of his brothers to defend his honor. Russ probably did something that put that into question, and keeps bringing it up.”
“Lyra, our dads are best friends. Why would my dad do that? Russ cares about his honor as much as Lion does.” Freya was getting slightly annoyed, but kept herself under control. However it didn’t help that Lyra scoffed at her response. Remilia suddenly began to regret asking the question in the first place, but did nothing as the argument escalated.
“Please Freya. Russ just likes to fight, honor or not. Lion was raised by an order of knights. It is in his blood to be honorable. I know my father, Freya. You don’t.”
“I don’t? Lyra, we grew up together. I know how he is as much-”
“You don’t know my father!” Lyra yelled, stunning the two other girls. The parking lot was instantly quiet, as the trio just stared at each other. Lyra seemed furious, making it obvious how much the conversation was annoying her. “You don’t know my father” she stated again, this time frigidly. “Don’t ever assume you know anything about my father. You don’t know anything. I do.”
It was only then that Remilia noticed that there was something wrong with this whole situation. She never seen Lyra like this. Sure she could be annoyed or aggravated, but never full blown angry like she currently was. Something had recently gotten under her skin, and she was now taking it out on her best friend.
“Lyra, you’re getting angry over nothing” Freya proclaimed, but this did little to ease the growing tension.
“I’m getting angry because you keep lying to protect your image. Maybe if you told the truth and admitted that it is more likely for your father to start a fight over anything 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. Maybe you do know and you won’t tell me since you don’t want to look like a fool. Which is it then?”
Lyra’s accusations had a visible effect on Freya, was trying her best to keep herself in control of her emotions and not be baited by her cousin. Remilia watched the two girls. She needed to defuse the situation before it got any worse.
“Girls, please” she pleaded, holding her arms out in protest. “This isn’t necessary. You don’t need to fight.” Freya nodded slowly.
“She’s right. Lyra, I am trying my best to remain calm here, but you are seriously pushing my buttons. This know-it-all attitude of yours is going to cause you to get hurt. I suggest you stop before things get ugly” she growled.
Unfortunately, Lyra took that as a threat. As if accepting her challenge, she dropped her bag to the side and stared her down. Her watcher had at this point noticed the conflict, and had moved to Remilia’s side, not wanting to get in the way.
“You want to fight? Bring it. I doubt you will. You’re more like a pup then a wolf. All bark and no bite.” Remilia looked shocked by the proclamation.
“Lyra, you want to fight me?” Freya asked. “Are you being serious right now?”
“I knew it. You are such a coward at times.” Lyra no longer noticed her behavior as anger began to cloud her judgement. Her headache was worse then ever and she seemed to talk without thinking of the repercussions.
Her taunting nearly did it. Nearly. Freya was ready to pounce and rip her to shreds. Freya clenched her fists, clearly wanting to do nothing more then smash Lyra’s face in, but she knew better. Some part of her still said this was her friend, for better or for worse. “You know what? Fuck you.” With that, she turned around and walked away. Remilia thought that was the end of it, but she was wrong.
Lyra ran up behind Freya. “Don’t you dare turn away from me!” She grabbed her by the shoulder, but the larger girl shrugged her off, her walk unaltered. Lyra herself growled and pushed her in the back.

No need to man if you have so much work already, just a idea. Maybe I could try something, see if I can make my old English teachers weep.


I definitely will, thanks for the heads up.
Freya spun around, now visibly angry and sounded more like a beast than human. “What’s your problem?” she growled loudly at her, but Lyra seemed unfazed.
“That I was ever your friend. You are nothing more then some jackal. A lowlife bitch that just brought me down. Why anyone likes you is beyond me. Pitiful.” She spat the words at her, and Freya could no longer sit idle.
The dam broke as Freya’s anger flowed through her. She roared and swung her arm forward, connecting with Lyra's jaw. 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 flew backwards and 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 much anger in her entire life. She was so furious, she didn't notice she was in pain, let alone bleeding from her mouth. Her headache intensified to the point that she should have fainted, but somehow she managed to stay awake. 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 stunned for a moment.
Lyra didn't stop there, as she stepped forward with her momentum and this time struck 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.
What she didn’t notice was the fact that every punch she inflicted only made Freya angrier. She growled under the attacks until she lashed out, striking Lyra so quickly that it sent her tumbling backwards, freeing Freya from her pinned position. She got up at once and wasted no time as she walked over to Lyra, clearly still wanting a fight.
The smaller girl was trying to get up, stumbling from the sudden attack. Freya helped her along as she grabbed her by the throat with both hands and lifted her up, off her feet. Instantly, Lyra began to choke as the larger girl continued to tighten her grip. Freya’s anger disregarded the fact that she was actually starting to kill her.
She could feel Remilia behind her trying to stop the fight. She was screaming, telling her to let go but she didn’t listen. She tried to break her grip with her own strength, but Freya’s grip was strong. Even Lyra scratched at her hands, trying to free herself with no avail. She gritted her teeth as her breath ran out slowly, and Freya could only smile wickedly.
Suddenly realizing what she was about to do, Freya let go and stumbled back, feeling very much disgusted with herself. Lyra fell to the floor, landing on her feet as she grabbed her throat and entered a coughing fit. Instantly Remilia was at her side, holding her in place from falling over.
“Lyra! Lyra are you alright?” she asked, and all the other girl could do was cough. Remilia looked over to Freya with fear in her eyes. She didn’t blame her.
Freya looked down at her hands and realized she had nearly killed her. Killed her best friend. She could scarcely believe she had nearly done it, and could only look back at Remilia with a shocked looked on her face. She looked over to Lyra, worried that she had caused some permanent damage. However, all she saw was a blur of movement.
Before Freya knew what was happening, Lyra unleashed all her strength into a single punch. Caught off guard, the fist slammed into her cheek with such force that it knocked the larger girl off her feet. She fell backwards onto the pavement with a loud thud, right beside a parked car. Freya groaned in pain on the floor, and didn’t bother getting up.
Lyra stood victorious over her cousin, breathing heavily as she took a moment to enjoy the taste of victory. She looked down at her larger friend with seething hate. She wasn’t sure what she would do next, but for now she had won, and that was what mattered.
Remilia ran over to Freya now, kneeling down to see if the impact had caused any damage. Unlikely she thought, as the daughter of Russ was as thick skinned as they got. She turned to Lyra, unsure of what to make at her. She matched her gaze, cold eyes staring back at her with no emotion to what had just happened.
And then they both noted the sound. The high pitched noise that filled the parking lot in the silence that had followed since the battle. It was growing louder, making it pretty easy to identify the source quite easily. Lyra turned to her bike as it was releasing some gas from within. It took a moment to realize that it was probably from the power source. Which meant that it was releasing volatile coolant. The bike was still 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 one of the cars, Lyra was left exposed as the force of the explosion sent her flying. A shadow crossed her vision, coming right at her, and she could only think about how badly this was going to end. The thought didn’t go far as she slammed into a car’s windshield.


That is as far as I got last time. I'll post the rest in a bit.
The revisions are a nice touch. It's much clearer now.
I like it.
Why thank you.

Lyra awoke, gasping for air as she suddenly realized what had just happened. The explosion had slammed into her, but she felt no pain. The only pain she felt was a head ache which made it tough for her to focus at first, but began to subside and disappear. She was laying down on the ground and immediately knew something was wrong.
She could feel grass between her fingertips, and a cool breeze that flowed over her. She sat up, opening her eyes as she began to note her surroundings. She was in the middle of a forest, and she could feel the sunlight that pierced through the leaves. It took her a moment, but she began to recognize where she really was. She was no longer in the parking lot, but back on Caliban. She was dreaming.
Usually though, when she knew that she was dreaming, she would awaken soon. But as she paused for a sudden rush of reality, it did not come. She stared at her environment, noting that this was indeed Caliban. She could not forget her home planet.
She began to admire the primal landscape surrounding her. She had spent several of her childhood summers on Caliban, and remembered how different it was from Terra. Most of the planet had been preserved, leaving its majestic forests untouched from the arrival of the Imperium, so few cities doted the landscape. She couldn’t count the number of times she had stared off at a sunset after a long day, only to wake up in time to watch it rise again.
She was so caught up in her memories that she noticed the large shape looming behind her. Indeed, for all her memories, she had forgotten one thing: Caliban was still a death world. It wasn’t until she heard the twig behind her that she spun around, clearly surprised. Surprised at first, terrified soon after.
Behind her was the creature of her dreams, and now she got a good look of it. At least ten feet tall and twenty feet long, the large beast was even bigger than space marines in power armor. Large muscles flexed under thick skin as the beast paraded itself around her. Its mane of razor sharp spikes flared and tensed as it eyed her cautiously. She began to recognize what she was looking at but had only seen it in ancient books: a Calibanite Lion. One of the creatures that had nearly killed her father in his youth.
She knew that this was a dream and that she shouldn’t be worried, but all her senses were telling her otherwise. She could smell the beast’s vile breath, could hear it breathing through its snout, could feel the ground shake with every step he took.
“You can’t be real” she whispered to herself as the beast continued to eye her curiously.
The new voice startled the young girl. When she turned to where the sound had come from, she saw nothing. But as her eyes adjusted, she started making out shapes. Watchers. Several of them, just on the edges of the shadow, hidden by the forest. They all looked like WD, but they were taller, and their robes seemed more worn out. They chanted her name, their voices blending together into a strange chorus. It reminded her of when Angela or Miranda would speak to her with their powers, as if there was really no sound but what she was hearing inside her head.
“Who are you?” she asked, standing up. They continued to chant, ignoring her question. The beast beside her laid down, staring at her as if expecting her to do something. She was completely confused as she stared at the lion, then back to the watchers. One of them stepped forward as they continued to chant her name.
“You aren’t real” she declared and hoped she would wake up from this dream. She could hear growling from the beast behind her, but ignored it for the time being.
“We are as real as the lion is, Lyra” the watcher said to her. She shook her head.
“Calibanite lions are extinct.” She turned to the lion to make her point, but she stopped and stared. The beast was growling at the watchers, clearly displeased with them as much as she was. She looked into its reptilian eyes and saw her reflection.
“But Lyra, as long as you live, the lion is real.”
Well DarkMage, you have me convinced.

WHH must be the breeding ground of Godlike Writefags
Lyra woke for a second time, and this time she did feel pain. Lots of it. Her entire body felt bruised, and she could only groan and shift in place. She could feel glass cracking under her, and wasn’t quite sure what had happening around her. Her eyes hurt as she tried to force them open, making it hard to focus. All she heard from around her was high pitched ringing, which she assumed was from the explosion damaging her ears. She thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then felt a steady stream of water droplets fall on her. Each drop reminding her of how much pain she was in.
As her senses began to return to her, she felt a hands grabbing her shirt and arms, pulling her upward. One strong pair of hands held her in place and she recognized Freya’s strong scent. She made no move to stop her if she wanted to fight, but no blows came. She thought she heard someone speaking around her, but the ringing in her ears were still too loud. Her eyes began to focus as she spoke to them.
“Ringing... loud...” she muttered. She took a look around and saw both his cousins around her, a worried look on their faces. Remilia nodded, and pointed at her chest. She looked down and noticed she was clutching something. Somehow, WD had ended up in her arms. The tiny brown robed figure seemed so alien for a moment after her dream. Still, she tightened her grip on him. He didn’t move.
“WD...” Lyra murmured, but no response. She suddenly began to panic, thinking the worse. “WD” she said, a bit louder, but still no response. The ringing was beginning to subside, and her hearing was returning to her slowly.
“Whats wrong with him?” Freya asked to her side, and she really didn’t know.
“WD!” she shouted, her strength returning to her. She shook the tiny body with her hands, but it did not move. “He’s...” she started, a tear forming at her eye. Remilia and Freya stared at her, suddenly wondering if the worse had come to pass. “He’s...” Lyra began to sob, unable to finish the sentence. She squeezed him, hoping for any response. And then she heard it.
“He’s asleep” she said flatly. Lyra made an annoyed face at WD, and her cousins could only stare in confusion.
“He’s what?” they both said in unison. Lyra nodded.
“Listen” she said, and they tried their best with the sound of the fire sprinkler system still on. But they heard it. Tiny amounts of snoring came from WD. They simply stared, unsure of what to make of it.
It was then when Lyra looked around her, suddenly realizing what had happened when she was knocked out. The explosion had demolished her bike, and she could note several of its parts scatter around the area. At the epicenter of the explosion was a black scorch mark, the floor underneath seemingly unfazed from the explosion. Nearby cars had been struck by shrapnel, including some larger pieces of her bike.
And when she looked at herself, she was untouched. Not a scratch on her from the explosion. Her uniform had been ripped up a bit in the fighting, but she was otherwise clean. She looked behind her and noted the same thing. In every direction the explosion had left its mark, but not around her.
“What happened...” she mumbled, clutching her head. The headache was there, but minuscule to what it once had been.
“All I saw was you flying backwards and the blue flames following,” Remilia stated. ”Then WD had jumped in front of you and I looked away from the fire. A second later, I looked back and saw you were on the car with him in your arms.” Silence followed as the trio tried to understand what happened. It was Lyra who eventually said what they found too silly to be the answer.
“Did WD save me?” she asked, looking at the tiny creature. Remilia was about to say something, but noise behind them stopped her. It seemed that the authorities had finally arrived to the scene as several emergency crews ran at them.
“Not sure how we are going to explain this one” Remilia muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Freya stated grimly, “It was my fault. I’ll take responsibility.”
“What are you saying? I started the fight. It’s my fault.” Lyra had stepped up beside Freya, and both stared each other down. Neither side budged as they began to argue again. Remilia looked on worryingly, unsure if this would escalate again.
You monster, tricking us with WD like that.
“I punched you. I made you tip the bike over, which then exploded. My fault.”
“I taunted you into punching me. I even pushed you. I forced your hand. The blame is mine.”
“And I almost killed you!” she shouted, but this did not faze Lyra in the slightest.
“The stuff I said Freya... it’s inexcusable. I am so ashamed of myself. I have no idea why I said the things I did. I started this, I’m going to live up to my mistakes.”
Before Freya could respond, the emergency crews had finally arrived, inspecting the wreckage. Their leader, an old man with a bionic eye walked over to the trio as the rest of the crew fanned out to stop any lingering fires and check on the damage.
“Ladies, are you alright?” he asked.
In unison, the duo turned to him and shouted. “It’s my fault!”

And that is all I got for now. Next time we find out why a tiny alien is asleep.
I try. Still, I hope you enjoyed it.
I stayed up a solid hour later than I wanted to reading the 1d4chan bits, the last thread, and this. Fantastic.
It looks like my task now is to bump until my stuff is ready.

which is a fancy way of saying 'bump'

I did, very nice sir.
Definitely worth the 2 hours it took me to read through both threads. I loved the part with Remila and showing a more human side to Dorn. My main gripe is that the part with the twins and Victoria felt somewhat unfinished. Seriously, those 3 are like the least developed characters out of any and they really need some new material
Why does no-one comment favourably or otherwise about my stuff? is it really that bad?
too blown away by it is my guess.
i liked the sort of mystery feel from the first part with Isis exploring the hive. also the grimdarkness of Julius' situation, damned that you shot the guys and damned if you hadn't, and now you're feeling screwed, even if you're being bailed out of punishment. Also liked the is it/isn't it about a Chaos taint in the hive. can't think of much more to say at 3 am, hope this was kind of what you were looking for
bumpity bump
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bumping with Morticia
I'm keeping this alive even if there's little hope of fresh content today, just so people can read the backlogs.
After a brief while, the Bailiff stepped out of the courtroom. The halls were empty, save for the Emperor and his granddaughter. “My Liege, my Lady, Her Honor Judge Mako is ready to pronounce a verdict.”
“Very well, Bailiff,” the Emperor said, turning back to the courtroom, guiding Morticia along with one hand. Once inside, the Bailiff locked the door behind himself, sealing them back in. Keiter and Morticia took their places behind their respective lawyers’ desks. Morticia just looked tired, while the tendons in Keiter’s neck were rigid from the effort not to stare at the Emperor.
Mako was standing in front of her seat, atop the elevated bench. “The case of The Imperium V Ulysses Keiter hereby concludes. The prosecution has asserted that the defendant acted to kill someone through a means of premeditation, concealed a weapon without a permit, and discharged said weapon with the intent to kill. On the first, and second, and third counts of this indictment, His Majesty’s Arbitrators deem Ulysses Keiter Guilty.”
Keiter sagged into his seat, hands gripping the armrests, while Morticia just nodded, relief flooding through her. “No…” Keiter whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t…”
“Under the circumstances of the commission of these crimes, the sentence demands a meting of demonstration. To that end, the sentence shall be twenty years in Imperial prison.” Mako tapped her gavel on the desk once, sharply. “The Emperor’s Justice accounts in its balance. This court stands adjourned.” Mako bowed at the waist, then walked out of the courtroom to the rear. Keiter buried his face in his hands, still mumbling.
The Emperor leaned over the divider to Hane’s table. “Thank you, Counselor Hane.”
“My pleasure, Sire,” Hane replied, feeling a little relieved himself. He turned to bow to Morticia, who was struggling to her feet. “My sincerest wishes for your recovery, lady Morticia.”
“Thanks, Sieur Hane,” Morticia said, standing and taking the Emperor’s proffered hand. “I appreciate you doing this.”
“Just another day at the office, Madam,” Hane said wryly. “Pass along my well-wishes to Lady Curze, would you kindly?”
“I certainly will,” Morticia said. She and her grandfather walked out of the courtroom, allowing a few Precinct guards to fall in behind them as they made their way down to the garages.
Parked amongst the Arbites Rhinos and Land Speeders was a single, unassuming hover limo, with the gold and white chasing of the Palace. The driver held the door open, patiently waiting for Morticia and the Emperor to climb in. As she started to do so, however, Morticia hesitated.
“Is something wrong, Madam?” the driver asked, as the Emperor paused behind her.
Morticia tapped her lip, thinking. “I wonder if I should actually give an interview to somebody about all this.”
“It is your right to refuse to do so,” the Emperor pointed out.
“True, but if I don’t tell my side people are just going to keep speculating forever,” Morticia said. “I don’t want to have that hanging over me forever.”
“Then you can contact a news studio of your choice to notify them,” the Emperor said, “if you’re comfortable with doing so.”
“I think I will,” Morticia said, climbing into the limo and sinking into a seat. “I want to clear the air.”
Useless leaned against the wall of the prisoner transport, shivering. The Emperor himself. He had been in the same room as the Emperor himself. He had shot his granddaughter, and he had looked him in the eye, and he had been in the same room. His lawyer had promised to meet him at the prison to help him get prepared, he didn’t even care. He had been in the same room as the Emperor and watched the Emperor hate him. It had been hours since the trial, and his skin was still crawling.
The Judge across the prisoner transport stared at him silently, though his opaque visor. Useless didn’t pay him heed, either, he just sat there, trying not to die of shame. All he could think was how he hadn’t even apologized, and now he would never get the chance.
“Harden the fuck up,” the Judge suddenly rumbled. Useless started, staring at the Judge. “You won’t last a minute in Mannsfried if you just sit there shaking.”
“…I was…the Emperor himself was at my trial,” Useless managed.
“I’m sure that’ll impress your cellmate,” the Judge said coldly, standing up as the transport pulled up to the dock. He grabbed Useless by the elbow, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him out the back of the transport van, into the waiting arms of the prison guards.

The shooter's nickname.

>The door swung open, and a man in a neat black suit walked in, a small recorder in his hands. He sat down at the table, closing the door behind himself as he did. He clicked the recorder on and started talking.
>“My name is Arthur. What’s your name?”
>“Useless,” the man said.
>“I can hardly converse with you if I don’t know your name,” Arthur pointed out.
>“No, my name is Useless. My father was very dull.” >Arthur stared at the man for a moment, then sighed and dug out the wallet the man had carried when he had been captured.
>“Says here your name is Ulysses Keiter.”
>“Maybe, but I’m Useless. To my friends,” the man said, shrugging. Arthur nodded slowly.
Mortica shuffled nervously in the leather chair of the studio. The Emperor had already returned to the Palace, of course, and the studio she had called had arranged for an interview the moment she had asked, of course, but that didn’t make the dress she was wearing any more comfortable.
Her father had been as relieved by the verdict as she had been, naturally enough, though he had been even more convinced of the outcome than he had been. Now, he waited, like a green and black thundercloud, in the limousine outside the studio. The interviewer herself was already perched on her chair like a fakir on spikes, clearly rehearsing questions in her head. A pair of beehives and a uniformed officer were lurking behind the camera, trying not to look obtrusive in their kinetoballistic armor and slinging their assault shotguns. The makeup people had already been waved off; Morticia didn’t particularly care how she looked at that juncture. The cameraman waved his hand once, twice, thrice, and gave a thumbs-up.
The Interviewer turned her empty smile on the camera, beaming at the audience on the other side of the censor delay. “I’m proud to announce that we have been given a unique opportunity today: Lady Primarch Morticia herself has arrived, to offer up her perspective on the trial of her shooter that has gripped the entire planet. Lady Morticia, it is an honor.”
“Thank you,” Morticia said, as the little light on top of the camera directed at her blinked on.
“May I ask why you’ve decided to give this interview after refusing all comment prior to the end of the trial?” the interviewer asked.
“Because until days ago, portions of my chest were missing,” Morticia said dryly, tapping her breastbone. “That makes it little harder to speak.”
Useless lined up with the other prisoners in the line, fed into the gigantic hive block like animals in a slaughterhouse. The guards patrolled on catwalks overhead, watching as the prisoners were stripped and searched for concealed weapons or other contraband. His lawyer had passed along some of his personal belongings and a card, and essentially wished him good luck. Now he was waiting in the process line, as Arbites and Praetors took down data for each prisoner.
He stared into the floor, numb. He was only thirty, this was hardly a death sentence, but his life was still over. Or so it felt.
“Hey.” Useless jerked out of his torpor, staring at the prisoner in front of him. “Ain’t that you?” he prisoner said, gesturing up at the holoscreen in the corner, which was just playing the news to keep the prisoners occupied. It was indeed him on the screen. Specifically, his passport photo. It was being shown in the corner of the scrren, while in the rest…was Lady Morticia.
Useless’ throat seized.
“Heh, right, of course,” the interviewer said. “Well, now that you’re here, we’d like your perspective. Of course, you don’t have to answer questions that make you uncomfortable.”
Morticia nodded. “Sure.”
“What was the last thing you remember doing before waking up in the hospital?” the interviewer asked.
Morticia raised her eyebrows. “Wow, a fastball right at the start. Well, I was asking Kelly if it was unseasonably cold, then I woke up on the table. That’s it.”
“I see. Kelly is Lady Primarch Curze?”
“She is. And when I woke up, it was actually just before the surgery, when I was supposed to still be under.”
“That must have been quite unnerving.”
“It wasn’t, really, I was so full of sedative I couldn’t even tell what was going on,” Morticia admitted.
“When did you get out of the hospital?” the interviewer asked.
The gray-haired girl shrugged. “Three days ago.”
“You’re well on the road to recovery, I hope?”
“Should be good to go within a week. Good genes,” she quipped with a smile.
“I see. What role did you play in the trial?” the interviewer asked.
Morticia shook her head. “The one defined by the format of the trial. I didn’t say a word the whole time. More than that, I’m not at liberty to say.”
“How do you feel about the verdict?’ the interviewer inquired.
“The verdict?” Morticia asked incredulously. “I think the number of years in the sentence should have a few exponents after them. How else could I feel?”
“Have you had a chance to speak to your attacker?” the interviewer asked.
“No. What would I say? ‘I’m glad you missed?’ Because he himself admitted he wasn’t aiming for me. And what would he say to ME? ‘Sorry my aim sucks?’” Morticia checked her temper before it reached her voice.
“I apologize, my Lady, I didn’t mean to offend you,” the interviewer said.
“You didn’t. It just bothers me a bit that he got off so light.” Morticia shrugged awkwardly.
“I understand that, Madam. Do you have any idea what you’re going to do now?”
“Graduate high school, if I’m lucky,” Morticia said, grinning ruefully. “This didn’t do my exam schedule any favors. Once I’m out, I’m going to go on a bit of a recuperation trip. Go see some of the rest of Terra. The hives, the cities. Explore a bit.”
“That’s wonderful. After the events of the past few weeks, of course, I can hardly expect you to tell me where, but do drop in and give us a summary when you get back, okay?’ the interviewer said with a grin.
“Heh. Sure, why not,” Morticia laughed.
“All right, thank you, Lady Morticia. This is Startseite News, reporting to you live, with Lady Primarch Morticia,” the interviewer said, as the holocam fixed on the Death Guard girl cut off.
Useless’ shoulders slumped. Mentally, he amended his previous conclusion. NOW his life was over.
Morticia gingerly stood, unclipping the microphone.
“Again, I apologize if I was improper, my Lady,” the interviewer said, rising as well.
“You weren’t, really, I guess I just wasn’t ready for this yet,” Morticia said. “But now it’s over, and now I can safely ignore the small army of reporters outside my house. More to the point,” she added, grabbing the brace that had been carefully hidden from the camera, “I really needed to get this off my chest. I didn’t actually have a chance to speak openly about it during the trial.”
“I can imagine, my Lady. Do take care,” the interviewer said, walking back to her normal desk. Morticia wobbled off to the greenroom to change, emerging minutes later in the clothes she had worn into the studio. Her escort met her at the door, guiding her down the limo, where her father was still waiting.
She clambered awkwardly into the low car, accepting a proffered cup of water with gratitude. “That was very brave of you, Morticia,” her father said, tapping on the glass at the fore of the cabin. The car lifted off, heading back to their home.
“Thanks, Dad. It was harder than I thought it was going to be, by a lot.” She sighed exhaustedly, downing a few sips of water. “I guess I wasn’t quite ready. Oh well. Now to not flunk,” she said, raising her fist in mock challenge.
“That’s the spirit.”
Remilia lifted the little bag of clothes she had brought to Freya’s home, deep in thought. There were several days’ outfits in there, which would hardly enough to make it through the summer even with diligent washing. She had to go home, and get what she would need for the trip, which was slated to begin in less than three weeks…or, she supposed, just go buy more, which was both avoiding the issue and proving Jake right.
She huffed impatiently, dropping the bag on the bed in her suite and standing up. “I’ve been dodging this long enough.” She swept her vox and wallet into the bag and emptied it of its clothes. “Can’t stay away from him forever.”
A knock on the door disrupted her mumblings. She finished scooping her meager few belongings into the bag before acknowledging it. “Come in.”
The door swung open on its artistically rustic hinges. Freya ambled in, hands in pockets. “Heading home?” she asked.
“Not for long. Just to pick up some clothes,” Remilia said.
“Uh huh.” Freya stared at her cousin wistfully. “Listen…two weeks is a while. You can stay here if you want, but…”
Remilia closed her eyes, her stomach knotting. “But yeah. I should get this over with. I know.”
Freya turned her eyes to the floor, wondering how to phrase her question. “I know I shouldn’t be there, but I feel like I need to be.” Remilia drew a shuddering breath.
“Damn it.” She dropped the bag, turned, and slid her arms under Freya’s own. “Stop making me wish you were my sister.”
Freya blinked her tears away. “I am. Don’t worry.” She wrapped her own arms around Remilia’s shoulders and held her tight.
It's a curse, every time i'm out the good stuff gets posted.
I would just like to say something before I get down to reading all this glorious new OC.

I went to go vote up the other thread on Suptg, and I found out that it has 11 votes out of an apparent total of 24. While it's still enough to keep it as a valuable thread on the archive, this still means that a bunch of douchebags were trying to vote it down.

I want to ask you people...why the actual fuck would you vote this down? This is a truly staggering amount of Original Content, valuable OC that is so rare in these dark days. Why in the hell would you want to discourage people like Someone Else and Ahriman's Aide, who give of their time and effort that we may be entertained with /tg/-related material of such amazing quality? What kind of shitty threads are you voting up, if you vote these ones down? Are you people the same stupid shitspamming sagefags who ruin threads because they don't like them? Are you people really such autistic faggots that you can't stand to let other people have some goddamn fun in peace just because you happen not to enjoy the Primarchs' Daughters and Warhammer High settings?

What a fucking disgrace.

Someone Else and Ahriman's Aide, I apologize for the pit of douchebaggery /tg/ has become. I'll get down to reading and reviewing all your new stuff as soon as I can.
I should expand my apologies to DarkMage, as well. Your contributions are equally appreciated, and I shall review them as well.

Groovetastic. I look forward to it.
Just Wow

Someone Else, Ahriman's Aide and DarkMage you guys rock! Thanks for blowing life and fresh OC into this once again.

I've been trying to write a short story about Hana and Furia but i can't seem to wrap my head around it. It's all a bit different from what i usually write about (i usually do heavy groundside military combat or space combat) but reading this thread and the one before it has given me new inspiration to go back and try to pick it up again.
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pic very much related i guess Mr. Editor
Most of that bumping on sup/tg/ was me. When I got to it it was at -6. Jumped from Uni, to home, to the library to bump it up.

Internet is on the blink, else I would post something.
well, off I go to do some upvoting
bump for hopefully some more
Remilia sighed heavily, blowing Freya’s hair back a bit. “…Okay. Time to get this over with.”
“Yep.” Freya picked the bag up and lead Remilia out to the parking lot, where her car was waiting.
The two girls rode in silence to the Dorn mansion. Remilia climbed out, staring at the imposing edifice. It was home. That hadn’t changed. But it wasn’t homey any more. The door opened as they walked up, and a pair of Imperial Army officers walked out, discussing something urgently. They both paused when they saw the Royal cousins, but neither girl stopped to chat, simply walking right by them into the house. Rogal Dorn himself was sitting in the main room, looking over what the officers had apparently delivered. When he heard the door close, he glanced up, his eyes freezing when he saw his daughter and niece. “Remilia. Welcome home.”
“Hi, Dad,” Remilia said, surprised at how calm she felt. “Freya, you know where my room is?” she asked.
“Yeah…I’ll, uh, go do…that,” Freya said, grabbing the bag and making a break for the door.
Silence reigned. Remilia crossed her arms, waiting for the storm to roll in.
Rogal stood, dropping the dataslate down on the table. He ran his hands over his eyes, clearly unready for this as much as Remilia had been. “Look...I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Neither do I, Dad, which is why I’m going on the road trip.” Remilia sighed, tapping her finger on her arm. “I gotta say, though, Dad, I’ve done some thinking, and I realized that I’m more disappointed that you didn’t try to help me through this than anything else.”
“I gathered,” Dorn said heavily. “Listen to me, Remilia. I will admit that…after a frank exchange with your uncle,” he said, in a complete lack of irony, “I have realized that it would be best if I asked you first. So…how do you want this to end?”
“To end?” Remilia asked. She thought over the question. “I want you to understand how important it is to me that you and Mom be part of my life, and that I be a part of yours.”
Rogal Dorn nodded, eyes shut. “Right.” He opened his eyes again, trying to rein his temper in. “And…how should I demonstrate that, while you live in your cousin’s house, leave for the entire summer, and then go straight off to college?”
“Dad…” Remilia clenched her fists, trying very hard not to remind him that he had had sixteen years to get that part right. “Dad, I was going to leave at the end of summer anyway. For now, just trust me that I need some time off.” She turned to regard him directly. “But if you want a specific example, here’s one. That graduation paper. Do remember my topic? I got the paper back yesterday. I got a B+. Do you know what my visual was?”
“Remilia, I don’t want my interest in your life to be defined by my recall of trivia,” Rogal said.
“Trivia,” Remilia said, exasperation flooding her voice. “Trivia. Dad, it’s not goddamned trivia to ME! It’s my high school graduation project! If you want to be part of my life, and MEAN it, then the very LEAST you could do is start caring about what I care about! Or if you can’t do that, at least recognize what is and isn’t important to me!”
“I see.” Rogal sank back into his seat, sounding a little upset himself. “Remilia, I make a point of attending every one of your soccer games I’m here for.”
“And that meant something to me, Dad, but were you there because you wanted me to win, or because you wanted me to be happy? Don’t answer that, it doesn’t matter.” She tapped her foot on the floor, her mind turning over as fast as it could. “All right. We both want this to work. And I don’t want to go off to college angry. So…for now, let’s just both agree that it should end better than this. All right?”
Dorn sighed. “So be it then. Remilia…I show it poorly, I know, but your mother and I do love you. I do want you to be happy.”
“I believe you, Dad,” Remilia said quietly, massaging the bridge of her nose. “I love you too.”
Freya sidled back into the room, trying very hard to be invisible. Remilia held up her hand to stop her. “Freya…I’ll be staying. Until the trip.”
“You’re sure?” Freya asked, cutting her eyes towards Rogal.
“Good!” Freya proclaimed. She set the bag and the suitcase she had pilfered en route down on the floor and scampered over to Remilia, giving her a quick hug from behind. She aimed a quick, awkward wave at Rogal, too, before making for the door. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder as she made her escape.
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i'm slepp

see when sun lives
I've been working my way through the second thread. I'll have to save my full review for tomorrow because I have to get some sleep for work, but I just had to mention this before I stopped...you had me in tears when the Emperor was making his confessions to Morticia. I was sobbing for a good two minutes, and I mean that quite literally. This is your best work yet, brother.
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I like this. I like this very much.
I hate Kiwi Internet. Had a bunch to post, and it died. Using phone. Also bump.
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Roberta and Remilia bump

as a sidenote: Remilia is in dire need of more art.
Thank you very much.

That scene was weird to write. It just sort of popped into my head. All I did was transcribe it.
Remilia picked both bags up, slinging them both. “I’ll be down to talk about the paper after I unpack all this,” she said, a tone of undeniable instruction in her voice as she said it.
Her father nodded as she vanished up the stairs. “I’ll be here.”
Freya slid into the car, tapping the glass even as the door closed behind her, trying to urge the car away before Remilia could change her mind. Remilia herself unpacked her things, noting with grim humor that the room looked better than it had in months. The cleaning staff had obviously taken the opportunity her absence had presented to scour the place. Dispersing her stuff back to its proper place in the room, she chucked the suitcase and bag into her closet and sank back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She squinted, and made out the faint, familiar outlines of the plastic stars she had stuck on her ceiling as a child, and then pried them off when she had been ‘too old’ for it. The sight elicited an unwilling smile. Maybe she had made the right choice.
Fuck it, I can't make a graduation scene good. both of mine were complete fucking nightmares, I'll just timeskip it.

Also, between the three of us, Ahriman, Darkmage, and I put out over a HUNDRED single-spaced MS office pages worth of material since last week. Fun.

(take your time, The Editor)
For the thousands of students at Imperator High, the moment of truth – final exams – arrived the following week, and convoys of nervous teens lined the halls of the building, anticipating being put through the grinder one last time. As schedules ended and report cards appeared on parents’ home computers, security ramped up in preparation for the graduation ceremony. Morticia herself promised to make an appearance even if she couldn’t stay through the whole thing, which suited her fine anyway.
The ceremony itself was a zoo, with the Treasury stationing its guards invisibly around the building well in advance, and most of the Primarchs choosing not to attend so as not to upstage the other children (or simply being off-world when it happened). As Morticia crossed the stage, naturally, the room erupted in cheers, which she acknowledged with a nod and carefree wave that did more to assuage the fears of her friends and family than a single interview ever could.
As it ended, and graduates lined up outside for photographs and rides, Venus and Jake stood by the roadside for their photos, which Misja had already promised to distribute on their behalf while they were gone. As soon as they were snapped, Jake made tracks for his battered old aircar, stomach abuzz with nerves. Five days. Five days before he took off for their trip. He couldn’t believe it. He was done, he had passed, and he was going to NOCTURNE!
Morticia, he noted as he passed, was climbing into her own aircar already, with no time at all for pictures. Her father had been the only Primarch to show. He hadn’t been surprised at that, by any means, and though he was grateful that Mortarion had at least had the sensibility to wait outside.
Alrighty, here we go. Only got time for Someone Else's review at the moment, I'm in the middle of a double shift that'll go until 11pm-ish EST.

First---the Emperor and Morticia. I really can't say enough good things about this bit; in my opinion it's the most memorable and well-written section of Bleeding Out thus far. Some may balk at going so far as to develop the Emperor's character beyond the inadequate hints given in canon, but you've done a marvelous job of balancing and describing the different aspects of his character at play within the story. It gives us the chance to actually relate to him as a character for once, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the experience. It also lends a bit more of a grand and epic sense that does wonders toward reconciling the vast differences in feel between the canon 40K and Warhammer High settings.
You have a real gift for accuracy and astuteness in terms of characterization and personality judgment; the insights you give us into the Emperor's deeper character are another one of those elements of the story that just feel...right. It's all believable and neatly lines up with what we know of canon Emperor without feeling manufactured or making any presumptuous leaps. It just seems to flow smoothly and logically out of the premise. Not to mention the intensely bittersweet emotional tone, which is by turns heartwarming and heartwrenching and as I said, literally had me crying by the end of it.
If I had to find one word about not just that scene, but your general style, I would say it's "professional." You clearly know your craft well; your grammar is excellent, your vocabulary is expansive, your pacing is superb, and your characters are relatable and extremely well-characterized as individuals (i.e. they're well-developed, and we can always tell one from the other with little to no confusion---for example, I especially love how distinct the Emperor's dialogue is from every other character; everything from word choice to sentence structure bespeaks his character better than any simple description.)
Your ideas and themes never rely too much on the audience's suspension of disbelief, but are laid on a solid foundation laid with care and consistency so that it all seems to grow naturally and organically from the first seed of premise to the final, seamless whole.
The scenes with Grant were amusing, but I kept wondering if they were also serving to introduce us to him as a future consort...were/are you planning to bring him back in at some point, or is that just my occasional weakness for cliches showing through?

Cora and Angela---another brilliant scene. Tying in with Magnus's bits later on, your descriptions of the meta-mechanisms of souls and the warp are very well-thought-out, and as I mentioned before, make a lot of consistent sense in context when held up to similar bits from the canon. That reminds me, though...was Magnus's whole spiel about permanent soul damage equating to damnation just something to shock Remilia away from self-harm, or serious commentary on the process? I was a little hazy there.
I was also extremely tantalized by the little glimpses of Angela's intimate moments with Michael...I may have mentioned this before, but I would absolutely devour a story similar to Burn featuring those two characters.

Damn, how the time does fly...
More when I return.
>The scenes with Grant were amusing, but I kept wondering if they were also serving to introduce us to him as a future consort...were/are you planning to bring him back in at some point, or is that just my occasional weakness for cliches showing through?

Originally, Grant was just a mechanism to show how much Mortarion projects his guilt over giving his wife the disease that killed her onto his daughter, and the 'jealousy' involved in that projection.

Now I'm thinking that they may be pen pals or something, I've grown to like the guy. He provokes Death Guard and doesn't afraid of germs.

>was Magnus's whole spiel about permanent soul damage equating to damnation just something to shock Remilia away from self-harm, or serious commentary on the process? I was a little hazy there.
He was being completely, dead-on serious. In the 40K-verse your place in the Warp is determined in part by species, in part by age, in part by psychic talent, in part by religious belief, and in part by emotional state. Remilia cut herself to ease the pain of her own guilt, uncertainty, and self-loathing. Everybody feels those emotions sometimes, but she felt them acutely that she hacked at her own flesh to overwhelm them. Magnus wasn't exaggerating in the slightest.

>pleasurehimself ISREPU

oh god what the fuck man
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bumping with Lyra (and WD too)
Do people on sup/tg/ hate WH?

Once again it is at 0 with 14 votes cast.
I think that may be the case.

Well, I've been asked to help Panzer write Tank Witches Quest, so the thread will be a bit slow until The Editor gets back, but I have a bunch more ideas to jot down. Then, I think I'm ending Bleeding Out. I already know more or less how I want it to end.
Dropping his robe and gown into the trunk of his car, he started it up, gingerly maneuvering it over to where his parents and Misja were waiting. “You ready to head out?” he asked of the group.
“I think so,” George said, clambering into the back.
“Is Venus not coming?” Jake asked.
Misja shook her head. “No, she and her cousins have a dinner planned. I’m sure she’ll want to see you after, though.”
“Oh, cool. Well, say Hi to everyone for me, OK?” Jake asked, Misja nodded, smiling happily.
“You should be proud of yourself, Jake, congratulations.”
“Thank you very much,” Jake said with a confident grin. “I’ll see you later, then,” he added, lifting the car smoothly off the ground and angling for the airlock. Venus watched it go from the street, already having removed her own gown and donned far more formal clothes. Sliding a pair of mirrored sunglasses on purely for show, she climbed into the back of Furia’s own aircar, along with several of her cousins.
“Well. Here we are,” Alpharia said, all melodrama.
“And DAMN, it feels good,” Farah chimed in happily. She laced her fingers together behind her head and reclined against the seat. “No more waking up at six in the morning to go hear old people talk.”
“And then college happened,” Omegan noted.
“College is something that happens to other people,” Farah said dismissively. “I’m still going to take a year off.”
Kelly shifted in her own seat. “It felt good to be at the ceremony.”
“Feel like you’re ready to go home?” Venus asked, fidgeting with the tassel of her cap.
“…I think so, yeah, even if it’s nothing but exercise, comfort food, and staying largely indoors for a while,” Kelly admitted.
“Sounds more fun than being stuck on a ship for a month,” Venus said ruefully.
“Yeah, when are you heading off?” Furia asked, yanking the robe off and struggling into a nicer blouse. Which, by her standards, meant a clean one.
“Four days. Can’t wait,” Venus said.
“Wait, I thought it was later,” Omegan said.
Venus shrugged, sending ripples through the silver material of her dress. “It was. Emergency rescheduling. The Salamander ship we were going to use was diverted, we’ll be going with a Legionary escort instead.”
“That’s probably better,” Furia said, tossing the graduation outfit unceremoniously into the corner of the car. “Line ships are so fucking uncomfortable. It’s like there’s a goddamned law again comfortable beds.”
“My Ladies, we are five minutes out,” the driver said over the intercom.
“I’m nervous. I’ve never been to this place,” Omegan said.
“You’ll love it,” Venus said. She leaned back and took in the view through the window. The greenery of Startseite faded a bit as the car slowed and descended on the edge of the cluster of buildings around the hive skin below the airlock. “I’ve been here a few times with Dad. Best food in the city.”
Mortarion gently squeezed his daughter’s hand as she sat back down in the limo. “I’m very proud of you, Morticia.
“Thanks, Dad,” Morticia said exhaustedly. “I admit. I’m glad I came after all.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner with your cousins?” Mortarion asked.
“Yeah, I’m just not up for it,” she said, closing her eyes to rest for a moment. “Doctor says that I should stop feeling like a narcoleptic within a few more days. I’m just glad I didn’t fall asleep in my seat on the field house floor.”
Until SE, MM or The Editor returns, i'll post something.

Note that as a Kiwi, i hvae no idea how Yank Graduations work, so there will no doubt be flaws in this. Bear with me.
Unitl SE, MM or The Editor returns, I have the field, so have some Ahriman

Note that as a Kiwi, i have no idea how Yank Graduations work, so i cobbled it together uasing memories of old Yank Soaps and Teen Comedies, so bear with me
I hate my Internet
A wise old Terran scholar once talked about how the wheel of time turned and left the old in the dust, and to Ahzek Ahriman he must have been referring to Graduation. The great hall of Imperator High, large enough for several battle companies of Marines to parade under, was now full of students, colour and above all noise. He could clearly see Johor Tull covering his massive ears, trying to block out the din, being helped by Andrew, Hana Khan’s Boyfriend. For this occasion, Ahriman was wearing his Armour, though now it no longer felt like a perfect fit. It would, in time, but that was in the future. Hathor Maat stood beside him, as still as a statue, though under his helmet he was smiling broadly at the proceedings. The mix of solemnity and festivity never failed to work its magic, as student after student rose to the rostrum, to clapping and cheers. There were a few faces missing in the crowd, most noticeably Julius Pius, who was none of the top fifteen students getting honours. Isis took his diploma on his behalf, appearing unhappy to do so.
He clapped the loudest for Miranda, though he was amplifying the sound of his with his powers. He still hadn’t spoken with her, tried to explain why he had to leave, but he would make this effort, he would be there to see her ultimate triumph, the top student in the entire school.
Even his loudest was paled by the applause for Morticia, who was nearly bowled over by the tidal wave of applause sent her way.
At the end, there were the speeches, two by the daughters, and two by other students. The normal student’s speeches came and went, leaving no real impression on Ahriman. Of the daughters, first up was Isis. She, like her father, had a way with words, a way of making a speech which bound people to her heart and soul. Even now she was speaking with more eloquence than usual, about ‘the dream of the Emperor’ and ‘their sacred mission’. Rather formulaic, but it worked all the same. However her heart appeared not to be too much into it, and he wondered if the experience of their sojourn into the Petitioner’s City was still affecting her.
Roberta, now she easily stole the limelight with her speech, about new tomorrows and the promise of the future. She spoke in a far more down to earth tone than Isis, and it felt like she was speaking to each and every one of them personally, not addressing them the way Isis had done it. As she was drowned out by applause and cheers, Maat turned to Ahriman.
“Are you going to miss all this Ahzek?” Maat asked.
“Yes, sadly yes. When I started, I treated this as a necessary evil, but it’s grown on me. I don’t know what life without all this is going to be like.”
“Yeah, that. But also a bit boring. This life is never dull, there’s always something going on, like the time Lyra and Freya destroyed that bike over a fight…”
“And there was an explosion, and little WD was completely fine. You’ve already told me that one. I’ll hear enough stories like that on the journey back. Save them until then. Look, here comes the climax.”
The climax came like a flood, the torrents of cheering, the tossing of caps high into the air, all of it so poignant for the future, a statement of the achievements of the students and the Imperium as well. Ahriman took this as his cue to leave and slipped out before anyone could seek him out. He still didn’t feel up for that. As he headed for his Disk Speeder, he knew he couldn’t leave things hanging in this way, he would have to reconcile with Miranda before he left, but he had a few days to do that and he needed the time to compose himself.
And I hope I didn't butcher that.

Next up is Julius and Ollanius, and I have a wicked idea for my next WHH story, one even more grimdark than this...
Crap, man, that was your captcha? Well, I guess Lord Inglip has spoken....

Anyways, I return from the infinite diversions of blue-collar wage-slavery with further gifts of feedback! Feedback for everyone! Let no poor writefriend go without his fair portion!

To continue where I left off, I'm trying to find something to say besides babbling compliments, but you've been making that really hard lately. However, a few questions came to mind around the scene where Remilia first confronts her father. Since it's already written, they might not matter too much, but any clarification about your authorial decisions there is greatly welcome.

Perhaps it's not surprising that characters as different as the Primarchs might share a few personality traits, but I can't help thinking that a lot of Dorn's decisions regarding Remilia's upbringing are more suited to the thought processes and past experiences of Perturabo or even Mortarion. Perturabo and Mortarion were both raised by hard---if not outright cruel---men who constantly challenged them, denying them praise in order to spur them on to greater achievements. On the other hand, Dorn had an exemplary father figure on Inwit in the form of the clan patriarch who took him in; his formative years were almost certainly not as emotionally turbulent as those of his brothers, and it seems strange that he would treat Remilia in such a dissimilar fashion.
Dorn's own childhood was better than Perturabo's or Mortarion's, true. I didn't know anything about it when I wrote his character. Even if I had, though, I may well have left it the way it was, since clearly Dorn's masochism arose despite having a good father figure.

Oh, and regarding your earlier point about Angela and Michael, I think their relationship is best left as a backdrop against which other stories can be told. She's soul-stripped him. She knows as much about him as it is possible for a beta-level pyker to possibly know about another human being. What conflict can arise to keep their backstory interesting?

Jake and Venus' story was worth telling because there were conflicts that arose between them. Venus forgot to even mention two things that made Jake's life harder (the infinite water supply and Treasury guards) because they were so much a part of her life that they merited no attention. Jake loved her deeply, and was torn up by the knowledge that he would either have to make her unhappy by asking her to abandon college for him, or that he would be unhappy because he let her go, or more realistically both.

Michael and Angela are soul-mates in such a literal sense that any conflict I introduced between them would be superfluous or insurmountable, since they're already so indescribably intimate that nothing else could really happen to them. Miranda finding a man would be much more interesting. She's vastly more powerful than Angela, but her mutation is deforming instead of attractive, and she's had shit luck with men (and she's smart enough to never even attempt a soul-stripping with a dude even though she could do it better than Angela).
Curious when Venus and some of the others will realize they are somewhat unlikely to remain together.
>Perhaps it's not surprising that *EVEN* such different characters as the Primarchs might share a few personality traits
That's how it should have gone. Anyway.

I also know that this particular arc of the story is not yet over and the big reconciliation is yet to come, but I can't help feeling that all the conversations between Remilia and Rogal Dorn thus far have been somewhat lacking in comparison to the masterfully-crafted works of art that were the Emperor's conversation with Morticia and Magnus's sojourn into Remilia's mind. I'm trying to cleave to the bit about Faith saying "Revelations don't heal," and to remember that just because the characters found the root of the problem doesn't mean there isn't still a lot of hard work to be done in order to complete the healing process...but I still feel like so far it's just been the two characters shouting shallow, cliched one-liners at each other and using up more narrative time than necessary to show that there's a problem in their relationship. I feel like it hasn't yet gone anywhere truly significant in solving the problem.

Maybe you've yet to figure out precisely where and how you want to take the story in this respect; maybe I'll feel differently as the story progresses and more comes to light; and maybe you're even better at creating narrative emotional tension and fostering sympathetic feelings of frustration and anxiety in readers than I've given you credit for, you sly dog you. But in any case, you've shown how enormously capable you are at writing meaningful, evocative, profoundly revealing dialogue, and I am eagerly awaiting the appearance of such an eloquent emotional exchange between Remilia and her father.
>I am eagerly awaiting the appearance of such an eloquent emotional exchange between Remilia and her father.
Not going to happen. If the story looks like they're still in trouble with each other, good, because they are. But I don't know how to make them reconcile in this story, and I'm getting damn bored of it anyway, so any future reconciliation will have to come in a future story or just plain never. I did deliberately make Remilia's argument circular, when she was arguing with her father and ripping her shirt, because sometimes teen don't make sense when they're arguing, but beyond that...

I suck at concluding stories, despite what Venus' Burn may have implied.

But, Remilia did decide to stay at her own home instead of the Russ manor while she waits for the vacation to start. That's a step.
To return to the positive side of things, I want to return to my very first review where I advised to you to firmly decide whether you wanted to continue writing a character-driven story or turn it into an action-driven story. Maybe it's your agreement with Ahriman's Aide to write different sides and portions of the same story that helped it along, or maybe you were still just gathering momentum back then, but I'm immensely pleased to note that from my perspective, the vague sense of narrative passivity and indecision that was hanging around the story earlier is pretty much gone. Whatever happened, whatever decisions you made, whatever influenced you, there's a far greater sense of authorial confidence and command than there was before, and it makes the story that much more enjoyable to read. You've clearly reinforced the focus on interaction between the characters, and as evinced by scenes like Morticia+the Emperor, Magnus+Remilia, and Remilia+Rogal Dorn, such interaction is EXTREMELY powerful, and can drive a story far better than reaction to outside events. I also applaud you for your efforts to expand the interactive scope, like when you had Remilia talking to Jake---the consort of a different Daughter---instead of just to her own immediate family.
>advised to you
>advised you

>can drive a story far better
>can drive a story far better at times

Words...I spek English gud, guize, I prahmis.
No resolution to Remilia's daddy issues? Awww.
Well, I suppose you can end it on a hopeful note with the promise of healing and positive change to come...or, since Remilia's going on the road trip (which you said you wanted to chronicle in a later story), you might be able to follow her saga of reconciliation after all. I'm just pointing out options, the final decision is, of course, yours to make.

Excellent rebuttal concerning Angela and Michael. As always, it just makes sense. You thought through their relationship a lot further than I did, to be sure.
Your comment about Miranda also reminded me that there are still quite a few Daughters left without significant narrative focus by any writefriend, not just yourself. Almost makes me want to take up writefriending in the setting myself at some point. Also, specifically concerning Miranda: I've always enjoyed how you characterize her. To put it plainly, she's adorable. Seems like for all her psychic power, she's the closest among the Daughters to real innocence or purity, even beating out Venus and Angela.
Unlikely to stay together with the guy they're with? Some of them are more ready for than than others. Do recall that they're immortal. They'll all have to face it at some point. Every man with whom they find themselves, every child they birth, every friend they make, will die before they do.

Just another thing the Emperor didn't quite think through to its logical conclusion, and in my opinion, the most truly dark thing about this setting.

I would write a scene of reconciliation for her, I would, but I just don't see how to. I'm spent on her. How do I do it? How do two people with that level of superhuman intelligence not reconcile their problems immediately if there's a solution to be found at all? Maybe something will come to me when I write ROAD TRIP!, but don't count on it.

Regarding Miranda: she is a bit naive, yes. She's one of my favorites. I'd like to think that she asks Angela for guy help at some point, since she did so poorly in that regard on her own.
I just realized that I didn't address the courtroom scene yet. I'm not really sure I have very much to say about it other than that I think it is extremely well-written for someone who says he's not so good at courtroom scenes. The part where the Emperor was called as witness had a suitably impressive impact, although it did seem more than a little unfair calling the Emperor Himself to testify against someone. Regardless, I suppose the guilty pleasure of seeing Useless get soundly put in his place by the object of his worship is vindication enough.

I'm gonna start reviewing Ahriman's Aide and DarkMage now, so if you want my further opinions on anything specific, Someone Else, feel free to ask. Also, I feel like I owe you guys an apology for not showing up until so relatively late and missing an entire thread...I felt really guilty seeing unanswered appeals to The Editor jump out at me as I read through your work. My 4chan use is sporadic at times and sometimes I accidentally miss the threads, but I want to keep giving you guys whatever help and feedback I can in return for your plentiful gifts of OC to the board. You do the Emperor's work, my friends, and I am grateful.
We're very appreciative, believe me.

Ditto. Looking forward to your take on my stuff
Well, let me start off by saying that the idea of Ahriman and Night Haunter fighting crime was a truly inspired idea that demands drawfaggotry of the highest quality. Seriously, we need someone to get on that ASAP. The idea of bringing in Babu Dhakal was a similar stroke of genius, but
is it still Arik Taranis, or has he passed the torch and the name to a successor?
I hope we'll find out eventually as you continue the story. Speaking of which, how closely will the two stories merge now that the trial's over? If Someone Else ends Bleeding Out before the road trip begins, will you continue on with the investigation into Terra's dark underbelly? Or is that all over now that Horus and the Emperor are aware of what Isis, Julius, Ahriman, and Kurze have been doing?

Now that I've got most of my questions out of the way, I want to say that reviewing your work is a horse of a different color from reviewing Someone Else's. This is of course neither good nor bad, and in this case, since you are looking at the same basic story through two different lenses it has mostly to do with the fact that you two are utilizing different narrative styles, the "character interaction" style vs. the "action and reaction to outside events" style and so forth.

As it seems like you've primarily elected to utilize the latter, I feel a little like I'm on familiar territory, so to speak. The suspense, intrigue, and fight scenes remind me of a Black Library novel, and also reminded me that despite the relative noblebrightness of the WHH setting this is still the far future, and still remains under 40K's ultra-epic aegis.

I'll try to reply as best I can, but because of my fluctuating Internet, It'll be a bit sporatic.
I do take my cue from BL works, as I am a major fan of the HH series, and the whole mythos of the 31st Millenium, and how the Imperium might have turned out sans heresy.
I did have help, I was tutored by Maurice Gee, one of my countries greatest writers.
And Spoilers, I still think it is Atom, though what I'll make of him remains to be seen.
I wrote atom, I meant Arik. I spell worse than you do.
Going along with that, narrative elements like physical descriptions of people, buildings, surroundings, etc. become more important; it's a considerably more cinematic experience that you're trying to evoke for your readers, after all. Less conceptual conveyance and more visual illustration, if that makes sense. Therefore, I'm happy to see that you're not neglecting such description, and yet not over-embellishing or over-relying on it. You set the stage exceptionally well, I must say; the occasional snapshots of background action you strategically sprinkle throughout are absolutely invaluable for keeping the scenes whole and immediately relatable.

When it comes to dialogue, you're right up there with the best. It's not stilted or choppy at all, vocab is excellent, characterization is fantastic; certainly miles better than some actual Black Library authors. However, I think that all authors have to keep an eye on the balance between excessive melodrama vs. excessive humor, between too formal and too casual, when it comes to their character interaction in a primarily action-based narrative...not that it's really that much of an issue for you, but it couldn't hurt to keep it in your mind as you write.

In terms of pacing, the tempo of the story, you strike an excellent balance between moments of exposition and action. So far it's remained fairly consistent, and I give you major props for that; too many action-focused stories are ruined by either jumping the gun or drawing things out unnecessarily.
Also, wasn't it you who created Johor Tull in the first place? I gotta tell you bro, I really like that character. Not only is he an ingenious character concept, his background and perspective have provided a marvelous opportunity to round out the WHH setting even further. I look forward to reading a lot more about him, if you're willing to write more scenes from his perspective.

Lucky you! My professors were good, but they aren't quite names in the field per se.

Johor Tull has been the hardest for me to write, but I felt we needed a true outsider, someone who was not a consort, of for that matter Imperial, and could be the outsider looking in. However it can be hard getting Ideas for him.
Bump before bed. DarkMage, I'll get to you later today.
Just dumping a quick bump before i go off to get married.

Congradulations. When you return, we writefags will have much Writefaggotry waiting for you.
I might be back later today to wrap up the story, then I'll proof it all and put it on the wiki.
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Shaved hump! I appreciate your dedication to produce some OC for us, writefriends!
As the day of the trip approached, the Royal cousins found themselves, as expected, moving apart. As soon as her doctor declared her able to travel, Morticia took off for Albiona, eager to see the world. Freya and company prepared for their journey in their own ways: shopping for winter gear for all five, and thermal gear for Alex and Jake. True to her word, Remilia made a point of paying for Jake’s gear, to which he made a token protest before gratefully accepting. It took several days of frank discussions before Remilia was ready to really forgive her father, but they were both sincere in their desire for a reconciliation. Over time, she supposed, things would be able to return to normal, as much as they could be.
When the day of departure finally arrived, the group assembled in the spaceport atop Hive Tetra, collecting their belonging and making their farewells. Teams of baggage forklifts and other vehicles pulled their cargo aboard the ship’s freight haulers. Salamander serfs by the dozen directed the loaders, waving little orange plastic rods to guide the cargo units.
Freya and Alex stood to one side, watching their stuff get filed away. Freya was nearly hopping from foot to foot in excitement. “I can’t wait!” she proclaimed happily, squeezing Alex’s hand.
“I know, this is crazy,” Alex said, watching the procession through his mask. He and the other non-genemodded people on the landing platform were wearing breathing masks, to protect against lack of atmosphere on top of the massive structure. The Royal daughters themselves were not so inconvenienced.
Neither was Vulkan. He had Misja had arrived to show Venus off, and in Vulkan’s case, pass along orders to the ship’s Captain. Misja was busily hugging her daughter and pressing last-minute goodies upon her when Vulkan returned from his own task.
“Now, I know the ship’s Astropath isn’t a messaging service, but try to include a quick update when you arrive, all right?” she fussed.
“I will, Mom, I promise,” Venus said, hiking a backpack of personal effects over her shoulder. A few paces away, Jake was being buried in a similar armful.
“I’ll send a message when the ship’s docked on Prometheus, but we don’t know exactly when that will be,” Jake explained. He adjusted his mask, grimacing against the bitter cold.
“I’m sure you’ll have a great time, Jacob,” George said. He looked up at the rows of Salamander serfs still working on the pad. “Just be sure to refuse any recruitment offers, huh?”
“Bet on it,” replied.
Remilia’s mother walked up to her jumpsuited daughter and gave her a quick hug. “You be safe out there, okay?”
“As safe as anyone is on Nocturne, I promise,” Remilia said. “Say goodbye to Dad for me, all right?”
“I will. Are you going to come right back home afterward?” her mother asked worriedly.
“I suspect so. We don’t know the exact date of our return to the system, so I will if I can,” Remilia said, picking up a suitcase and dropping it on a passing cargo pallet.
Vulkan marched up before the tableau of farewells and clapped his hands once. “Last call, people, the ship lifts in ten minutes and they need passengers aboard.”
Sandra sniffed as she gave her son one final hug. “All right, Jake, you take care up there, all right?”
“I will,” he promised, shaking his father’s hand and slinging his bag. “I’ll stop by when I get home, before I head off to Kouthry.”
“Send souvenirs, okay?” George joked. “Just…not grandkids, yet.”
“Oh my god shut up,” Jake grumbled, glaring daggers at his father. “I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”
Venus squeezed his shoulder as she passed. “Got to go. Bye!” he said, waving again as he joined the stream of serfs and crew that were trooping onboard the lifter. His parents waved as he and his friends vanished into the cavernous cargo lifter’s load deck.
Remilia and Venus had been aboard one before, and directed the little party away from the zoo of people and cargo into the corridors of the ship. As the massive cargo vessel lifted off, the ship’s artificial gravity kicked in, nearly knocking all five teens to their feet. Venus lead them into a small viewing area on the upper deck, and they watched in awe as the spaceport below shrank into the endless, featureless gray of the hives. For nearly an hour they watched their planet disappear into the distance.
When the planet had shrunk away to the size of a plate, the view was suddenly cut off by two metal plates cutting off their view, sealing behind them. They had arrived on the Iron Tide.
Venus led them into the massive bay, where all five quietly gaped at the sight of row after row of fighters and cargo ships aligned in rows on the deck. A small contingent of guards arrived to escort them up to their cabins. After several decks and lifts, they arrived at a suite of three rooms in the officers’ sections of the ship, where the Captain would quarter guests. Since this was a Navy escort and not an actual Salamander ship, there was room for a bit of luxury, and the rooms were pleasantly accorded, with reasonable beds and dedicated restrooms.
The little party dispersed their possessions into their rooms, and waited as their larger items were delivered to the cabins by the ship’s crew, which Venus directed adroitly. Bowing out, the crewers left the five to their own devices.
Shipboard clocks insisted that the time was the dead of night, so all five bedded down, eager for the journey, and hoping that it would e worth every minute.
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And that's a wrap.
Oh, and here are my notes for the next story.
“we must stop meeting like this”


Prince of Nocturne

Summer vacation

"Projectile dysfunction"

"How much lava can a drake chuck"
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You are one cool dude, man
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Jesus Biblethumping Christ, that's impressive as hell. All them NaNoWriMo-ers got nothing on you, SE. Congratulations on another epic story well-written, you glorious writefriend you. /tg/ is forever in your debt.
Thankee kindly.

Do you have any other critiques? You're rapidly becoming the best part of these threads.
How lewd... thanks for the Novel~
I do not have enough monocle for proper literary criticism, but I will state this is the strangest Sherlock Holmes/Pokemon crossover I have ever read.

Idiocy aside, very engaging read!
Best part of the threads? I thank you for your kindness, but we all know why we're really here...to metaphorically sit at your feet and listen spellbound to stories of the Primarchs' Daughters.

In any case, before I give DarkMage his due, I may as well point out a few things...

Use of modern colloquial expressions like "oh my god." Normally I don't have too much of a problem with 'em, since they do help perpetuate the high-school tone, but considering one of the main points of this story was to establish that Emprah-worship is bad, they seem a little odd. I know religion isn't *entirely* gone, as per the bit about Ollanius Pius's "Catheric beliefs", but I would think that the general masses have other expressions besides swearing by an archaic deity from Terra's ancient past. Not a pressing issue by any means, just something to think about.

...that feel when senior moment. There was one other similarly minor thing, but it slipped my mind. Hopefully it'll come back to me.
Yeah, I considered not allowing people use of religious colloquialisms, but atheists use them now just as vernacular instead of epithet, and it feels less artificial than finding an alternative phrase.
All right, I got a place to be. Leave comments either here or on the wiki, please!
Attaboy, DarkMage. I agree completely with Someone Else, your revisions to the first part make it much clearer. The dialogue is infinitely more natural, the pacing and building to the conflict is more fluid and even, and the action is very cinematic and easy to follow.

For me, your stuff hearkens back to the very first bits of material written for the WHH setting; the "Meet the Primarchs" and such. It's a very nostalgic feeling, I gotta say, especially with Someone Else moving the story forward by focusing on the graduation and post-graduation events. Stories like Bleeding Out are interesting and needs to happen to avoid stagnation, but it's reassuring in a way that another writefriend or two will continue setting down a few stories from the narrative "past," from the idyllic days when things weren't quite so serious.

I'm very intrigued to see what happens as far as Lyra's visions of old Caliban...you've set up the framework for quite a bit of potential, it seems like it could go anywhere. Keep up the good work!
Thanks. It made some major changes from what I originally had planned. Since I seem to be the only one with an unfinished story, I don't think I will be making new threads after this one till maybe SE or others join in again. I feel /tg/ has enough Warhammer High in the past month. Either way, i'll probably update the wiki article with what I have.
Well, It's up to me to conclude then. One more dump from me, and we be done.
Blargh I return. I'm going to update the wiki and make a page for Ahriman, then come back and add one last tiny thing to the thread.
All right! Wiki updated.
Here's the link, Ahriman, if you want to make a page for your own story.
And so we come to the end. my last two scnes, and Bleeding out will be done.
Graduation was over, and he had missed it. He was one of the top ten students, and he had not even been able to pick up his Diploma. He had done his exams, but separately from the others, in his own room with his own supervisor, and the moment each one was done he was whisked back to his hab quarters, and his exile. And now his father was back, the transport arrived that morning straight from Cadia. Ollanius had been to visit the Emperor and Horus first, and Julius had taken advantage of the slight delay to ensure the hab was spick and span, as clean as human hands could make it. That would not do anything to ease his temper, but at least the house would look good. He waited, tried to watch the Holo or read a book, anything to ease his nerves, but to no avail.
Three knocks, each as loud as an Earthshaker cannon reverberated off the door, and it opened with a slow, muted creak to reveal his father, the greatest human war hero in the entire Imperium, Ollanius Pius. His father was as he remembered him; his Catheric Cross hung prominently around his neck, always looking Military even when in Mufti, the sword bayonet seemingly never leaving his hip, the fading ink tattoo on his left forearm symbolising the career which defined him and made him famous across the entire Imperium. We strode in and went to his room to set his kit bag down. Julius waited in silence as his father came back, sat down and rested his chin on his hands, all the while staring into space. Finally Julius couldn’t stand it, and he broke the silence.
“Aren’t you going to say ‘son, I am disappoint’, and punish me?”
Finally Ollanius looked at his son, but there was no anger or hate in his eyes. Instead there was a soft look, sadness or pity perhaps. “You have already been punished enough. The Emperor has seen to that. No mortal should ever have to see him when his anger is roused. He was quite…adamant that you learned the folly of your sojourn.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing. We needed to know, to understand why such a thing could happen, here of all places.”
“And because of that, you nearly got killed. The Petitioner’s city is the Emperor’s shame, right on his doorstep. And this Babu is far more dangerous than any of us have given credit. Something will be done about him, the Emperor has plans when Ahriman returns from Prospero, but that is not your concern. You’re still young, and will all the folly and brashness of youth. Eventually you’ll learn the truth, but it appears you need a little push for that. Several of the daughters are going around the Imperium for a year or so before University starts. You have always said you want to do the same, before you go to the Brutanian War College. Well, before I would have said no, but now I’ve changed my mind. You need a year to yourself, to see the Imperium, clear your head before you start. And you plan to head for Ultramar, where your mother lies.”
“Mother?” He never spoke much about his wife; the memory always seemed to dark, to painful to ever bring up. Julius had never tried to bring it up, respecting his father’s apparent wishes.
“I’ve never told you much about your mother, but when you get back I’ll give you the whole story. She was a soldier as well, copped Ork Fungus Gas on Ullanor during the great battle there. Lost a lung to it, and never fully recovered. Went to Calth for the clean air, thought it might do her good. I remember when I saw her first, at the Catheric Chapel on the edge of the delta. God, she was beautiful, the sun glinting of her hair, the smell of roses wherever she went. We were very happy for a time, until Lord Guilliman came knocking on our door, quite literally. After she moved to Terra and had you, she just…faded away. She wilted in this environment, and there was nothing I could do. Her ashes are buried beneath the old Chapel on Calth, as she requested. When you get there, leave some roses there for me. An old friend of mine might be there, John Grammaticus. If you see him, tell him Oll says hello.”
Julius got up, went over and hugged his father in obvious delight.
“Welcome back dad.”
As Julius went over to put the Kettle on, his father added something. “Julius? Horus told me Isis wants to see you before you go. Don’t forget, else she’ll get mad. And you know what she’s like when she gets mad.”
Everything was done, his books were packed and his quarters emptied, and Ahriman sat in the empty shell of his office for the last time, staring out the window across the now deserted schoolyard. For several years he had taught here, and he had become part of a thousand tales, tales of loves, friendships, drama and tragedies. For nineteen students, he had been a mentor, always looking out for them and trying to keep them out of trouble. Well, now those nineteen had grown up and moved on, and so must he.
There was a soft rapping on the door. He knew who it was, had known who it would be for several hours. With a slight flick of his powers, the door creaked open. Miranda came in, glancing around at the ghostly shell of his office, the shelves empty and the desk gone.
“So this is it then.” She said. “You’re just going, leaving.”
“I need some time to meditate, to isolate myself away and come to grips with the last few weeks. I was played, used by an entity for some perverse purpose. What that purpose was I don’t know, but I fear we’ll find out, sooner or later. I have to find out why and what I can do to stop it.”
“But you’re still leaving. You told me once that you would stay and help me with advanced warp studies.”
“Your father can do that far better than I can. I’ve been with you ever since you were very small, helped you master your psychic talents as you manifested and developed them, and now for the first time I’m leaving. I know change has always frightened you slightly, but this one is necessary, for the both of us. I won’t always be around to help you.”
Ahriman reached down and produced two goblets and a small bottle of his home-grown wine. As he poured it, he continued. “A wise Interexan, Johor’s father to be precise once told me that Kaos, as he called it, could never be defeated. All we can do is strive to keep it at bay and in check. That will be your job once we are all gone.”
“But you’re an Astartes, you’re functionally immortal.”
“Functionally. The only way we can die is in battle, and that is an inevitability. Some day on some forgotten battlefield I will fall, to some Ork’s blade, or the talons of a daemon. When that day comes, you must be strong, and carry on the endless fight against the Primordial Annihilator.”
Miranda nodded, though she did not seem pleased. She wouldn’t be, not for a long time, but it was her destiny as much as it was her father’s. Both were the shields of Humanity, the bulwarks against the tide of Chaos.
“As long as I’m here, I’ll always be here for you. You know that. You can still contact me; Prospero isn’t the arse end of nowhere.” Miranda smiled, and Ahriman smiled back.
“Now a toast, to a new dawn and a new day. May it shine brighter than the days before.”
The Clinking of glasses and Miranda’s smile reverberated in Ahriman’s mind, even as he watched Terra recede into darkness as the Photep’s Sceptre boosted out system, bound for Prospero. A new dawn indeed…
And with that, Bleeding Out Concludes. thanks /tg/ for a fun ride, and Someone Else for the entire concept.

Oh, and here is the working title for my counterpart to SeEs Road Trip

'Trip into Hell: making WHH more grimdark than Bleeding Out.'

see you then.

The link up there should be all set up, if you want to post your story on the wiki,
One leetle bump for the evening crowd.
Bumpan again, just in case.

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