The Nemesor could be so infuriating sometimes."My lord, unidentified vessels have entered Gidrim Dynasty space. Preliminary scans suggest they are of Orkish make.""Ohr'kssh? Again? The Ohr'kssh Dynasty is trying to rise against the Sautekh AGAIN?""...yes, my lord."Obyron would have sighed if he still breathed. The Nemesor couldn't be made to see reality anymore. Where the rest of the dynasty saw hulking, wretched greenskins trying stupidly to stand against the Necrons, Zahndrekh saw only living Necrontyr. Obyron braced himself for what he knew would come next."Hail them on my behalf. I can never quite wrap my mind around their accent. I'm sure you can handle the negotiations fine, Obyron."Pleased though he was at his lord's faith in him, this task frustrated Obyron too much to take any joy. He would issue the typical ultimatum, and the Orks, as usual, would reject it and attack, and STILL the Nemesor would wonder about their obstinacy.Obyron delegated the task to a Lychgard and watched the conversation from out of the camera's view. He didn't feel like talking to a greenskin again. The greenskins never felt like talking anyway. It was a formality, demanded by a senile old coot who was barely even fit to lead a cleaning crew anymore, much less a dynasty.
The ultimatum was rejected. As usual. The Orks continued their wild voyage further into the system. Battle was now inevitable.Obyron wearily shambled back to the throne room. News like this was always a pain to give. As usual, the Nemesor would pontificate about how their brethren were so lost, and ramble about how shameful it was that such rebellions should be so common, and mourn that Necrontyr should die without being shown the error of their ways."Why do they persist? Why can't they see that we should be on the same side? Why can't we be allies in this? Why, Obyron? Why?""The ...Ohr'kssh Dynasty is renowned for its warlike nature, but not its intelligence, my lord.""Such a pity. We shall strike swiftly. Be merciful, my dear Obyron. Mercy is the mark of a great man, and we are nothing if not great. Accept their surrender as soon as it is offered and bring me their commander, that I may speak to him.""...yes my lord."Obyron turned to leave the throne room and begin marshaling the Gidrim Dynasty's forces. It would not be a long war. Barely worth the trouble, even. It was simply another annoyance in an eternally annoying unlife.
As Obyron reached the door, he heard the Nemesor speak again."And Obyron?""My lord?""When this is through, drinks are on me."Unbidden, a memory flashed into Obyron's mind. Zahndrekh was still flesh-and-blood, and had just come of age a year ago, inheriting his father's lands and title. Obyron had just similarly inherited his office from his own father. The two of them had just led the conquest of a neighboring province on the surface of Gidrim, incorporating it into Zahndrekh's substantial territory. In celebration of their victory, the two drank the night away in the biggest settlement in the province. A perfect, almost photographic image came to mind of a crowned Necrontyr leaning on his bodyguard as they staggered back to camp, happily inebriated, in the wee hours of the morning. A conversation replayed in Obyron's mind, as if recorded."Obyron, what do you call a province on the other side of Gidrim?""I don't know, sir.""Mine by the end of the year!"Obyron couldn't breathe, but he could have sworn he felt an all-too-familiar choking sensation. He touched a metal finger to his cheek. No moisture. Of course not."...yes, my lord."The Nemesor could be so infuriating sometimes.
oh do continue this is quite interesting
>>20088360That was supposed to be the end, actually.
>>20088382I won't continue the Zahndrekh and Obyron story, but I might try to slap together a different Necron HQ drama. Give me a sec.
Why do I get the feeling this thread was what incited the recent newcron hate thread...
"I am the very model of a scientific NecrontyrI've vivisected species from the Eldar to the...damn."Szeras pulled his scalpel away from his latest "patient", an Ork nob delivered to him by Zahndrekh's lackey. What was his name again? Obituary or something. It didn't matter; what mattered was the song. Szeras couldn't work without a song. He NEEDED music to underline his work, and the screams of his "specimens" would not suffice; he shut off his audio receptors to block them out anyway.But he needed SOME sound. He needed MUSIC, something he could hum or sing to himself while he tried to extract that final missing piece, the last secret to show him how to help the Necrons ascend to the next level of existence.But what in the name of the C'tan rhymes with Necrontyr?
Holy shit, this produced an emotional reaction in me.MORE PLEASE.
>>20088497The nob in front of him spat curses from his harness as Szeras stared off into the distance, lost in thought."Dok! Dose bitz on da table! Put 'em back! I need 'em, ya git!"Szeras couldn't hear. He couldn't work, either. Not until he had a song.And then one came. It was a foreign song, recovered when a Tomb World awoke to find itself covered in human civilizations. Some of their culture had been scavenged from the ruins. Szeras had always liked this song. It helped that he didn't need to make up any lyrics to it.Wielding his scalpel again and humming for a moment to check that he was in tune, he resumed his noble efforts."Grey skies are gonna clear up...Put on a happy face..."
Okay, so that's my Szeras story.I'm not much of a writer, so I favor short (VERY short) stories when I do write. Three posts is about as long as I really plan to go for any of these.I'm starting to dream up one about Trazyn. Should I post it?And did anyone like the Szeras story, or was it just shit?
>>20088686I chuckled at the nob's reaction. Go on.
I thought the Szeras was amusing. The idea was interesting and the mental image of a necron singing this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mw-wc7hY06Y&feature=related is hilarious.
>>20088705Okay!***Such a wondrous, beautiful artefact. So marvelous, so perfect. And this was the perfect place for it.Trazyn carefully set into place his latest acquisition for his collection. That fool Zahndrekh was finally good for something. Trazyn at last had a genuine, intact, Orkish bosspole for his display.It didn't matter that the bosspole had come from an Evil Sunz warboss and he was putting it on a replica of a Goffs warboss. That wasn't the point. The point was that a warboss should have a bosspole, and this one didn't have one.Until now, that is. As he slid the pole into place, he beamed with pride as he looked around the gallery. He knew he was beaming with pride. He could see himself doing it. His surrogate, in the hall, was watching it all, and applauded the completion of the display.Trazyn would have grinned from ear to ear if his face still had that kind of flexibility. Another surrogate came around from the other end of the hall, and joined in the cheering. Soon, Trazyn was receiving a massed standing ovation from himself, surrounded by twenty-eight overwritten Lychguard and Lords.Graciously, Trazyn dismissed his best friends to their own business, and downplayed the importance of today's triumphs. He wouldn't want to develop an ego, after all.Trazyn strolled through the Ork gallery to the end, and went to check on Robby.
"Why, hello, Robby! And how are you doing today?"The vast man didn't answer. He couldn't. The stasis field held him in place.Trazyn almost wanted to find a way to dismantle the field. It was very insolent of this being not to respond to a friend's greeting, after all. Still, the pose was absolutely perfect. That frozen open-mouthed expression always drew the eye right to it. Long ago, Trazyn had decided that the figure was in awe of his new surroundings, gaping and staring, unable to form words to describe the museum's majesty.Trazyn had chosen the name "Robby" because what he had scavenged from human civilizations suggested it was a fairly common nickname. Besides, his exhibit looked like a Robby. Or a Robert. Something beginning with Rob."Well, I'm afraid I must be off, Robby. As always, it's been a pleasure to see you, and as always I can tell you are at least as pleased to see me. What was that informal greeting you humans use again? Hmm...oh, yes, I remember now. CIAO!"Trazyn continued on through the gallery, nearly bumping into another surrogate as he did so. The surrogate bowed graciously in apology, and Trazyn bowed back. As Trazyn left the room, the surrogate wordlessly inclined his head toward Robby as he passed by.Robby did not respond.
rolled 16 = 16>>20088949>MFW Its ROBoute Guilliuman
As he walked through the halls, Trazyn pondered what his next move would be. Now that the Ork display was finished -- well, as finished as it would probably be for some time -- he would need to pursue a different collection. Perhaps the Eldar exhibit needed a new acquisition.Trazyn mused on the peculiarities of this race. still wasn't sure why some of them had smooth armor and some of them had spiked armor. Perhaps it was intended as a sexual signifier? Eldar biology was so difficult to keep track of. Maybe the males wear the spiked armor to broadcast their sex to the females? But why do some have those strange chest-bumps and others don't?Trazyn looked around. His wandering had brought him to a wing he hadn't visited in a long time. A long time. And he knew exactly why.He looked to his right. There, he saw it. A portrait hung on the wall. A picture of a Necrontyr female, flesh-and-blood, before the change. She was smiling and wearing a small, scaled headdress. In front of the portrait was a pedestal. On the pedestal, in a glass case, sat a gem the size of Trazyn's fingertip. The woman in the portrait had formed a small divot, at the top of her sternum, large enough to fit the gem.The portrait was labelled with a name. The gem was labelled with the same name. Trazyn refused to look at the label. He turned around, and cast the wing from his mind, as he always had. An image formed in his mind, of a much younger, much more alive version of himself, dressed for a wedding. He held the gem, the same gem, in his hand, and was looking around, smiling.Such a wondrous, beautiful artefact. So marvelous, so perfect. And this was the perfect place for it.
>>20089027If I recall Trazyn has one of the Emperor's original power armoured guys, the ones he used to unite Terra.
>>20089073Trazyn? No. Roboute Guilliman, yes. I think. Maybe. Depends on when he was found.Guilliman was the primarch of the Ultramarines chapter. Also, your spiritual liege.
>>20089135G-man is in statis on Macragge.
That's Trazyn. Up next, Anrakyr the Traveller!I don't expect to do Orikan (because nobody likes him) or Imotekh (because I don't have any good ideas).Sit tight while I smoke my pipe, drink some whiskey, read over Anrakyr's codex entry, and come up with a good short story.
>>20089169Supposedly. Trazyn's codex entry mentions that his museum contains a huge man in baroque power armor with his face contorted in a permanent scream.Who fits that description?
>>20089199Any Space Marine of sufficient rank.
>>20089199doesn't he have sebastian Thor?
>>20089297Only his head.
>>20089297No, just his skull.
CAN I HAVE A GO?Though I'm a terribad writer, this topic is so intriguing!
>>20089342Can you do Orikan?I'm working on Anrakyr, and the muse for Imotekh has struck, so I might do one for him too. Or you could do stories for any of the HQ I've already done. Or really whatever you want, it doesn't matter. Not like I can stop you.
Also, just out of curiosity: has anyone set this up to be archived? I'd kind of like to be able to look back at this in the future and judge the quality of my writing.
"What ho, down there! Make way, the Traveller is coming ashore!"Anrakyr loved saying that. The title of "the Traveller" had appealed to him ever since he took it. It had such a wonderful sense of danger and adventure to it.Come to think of it, so did his life, now. Well, unlife.The Orks had been smashed, thanks to his timely intervention. Zahndrekh's forces were doing fairly well, he had to admit, but surely the day would not have been won if Anrakyr hadn't leapt in to drive the greenskins back.Now if only these damned Gidrims would recognize that and pay their tithe.
Forgot to put my name on the last post.***"We cannot spare anyone. Go away.""Surely you can't be serious. I just saved your world! I'm entitled to compensation. 5 companies of warriors, 2 squads of immortals, and 3 Canoptek battalions. That's all I ask. Surely you can spare that?""We cannot spare anyone. Go away."How was he supposed to unite the tomb worlds if all of them refused to help him keep up his army?Anrakyr looked back down from the commscreen to his databanks. The intervention had cost him a great deal of manpower. The Orks couldn't stand against his armored divisions, but his infantry had been ravaged, torn apart under the green tide. Scarabs had been trampled, warriors had been ripped apart, and he was pretty sure he'd seen a few immortal heads on the trophy poles of a number of nob corpses.Anrakyr turned to the crew of the Tombship."Well, brave hearts, it looks like we might have some more fighting ahead of us. Organize a landing party. Launch on my command."The crew around him stared vacantly for a few moments, then got to work.Anrakyr waited a few minutes to give them a head start, and hailed the surface once more."Last chance. I'm willing to bargain a bit. 3 warrior companies, 1 squad of immortals, and 2 Canoptek battalions?"The Lord on the viewscreen stared directly at him for several minutes. Anrakyr wondered at the meaning of this hesitation.His wondering stopped as the Lord looked down, and the viewscreen collapsed into static."Launch," sighed a resigned Anrakyr. He went to his personal shuttle, to prepare his command barge for the raid.
Last but not least, Imotekh, because I still can't think of anything for Orikan.***"My lord?""Speak.""There is a transmission coming in.""Source?""The ID matches Nemesor Zahndrekh.""Ignore it.""But, my lord-""I said ignore it."Imotekh looked down impassively. Zahndrekh. Always Zahndrekh. The Gidrim Dynasty was powerful, yes, and a glorious weapon for the Sautekh Dynasty to wield, but its leader tried even Imotekh's patience."My lord, transmission coming in.""Source?""Trazyn of Solemnace.""Put him on."At least Trazyn knew what was real and what wasn't, even if his priorities were completely cockeyed."My dear Imotekh, so good to see you again. I trust you are doing well?""Get to the point, Trazyn.""Can I not simply call in for a friendly conversation?""No.""Oh, well. In any case, do thank Zahndrekh for me. That Ork bosspole was perfect, just what I needed. Ciao!""What do you mean 'chow'?"The screen went blank. Trazyn, as usual, was just being annoying, but he mentioned Zahndrekh and something about a bosspole.A bosspole..."Is that transmission from Zahndrekh still waiting?""No, my lord, it looks like he stopped when--""Call him. Now."
The screen crackled for a moment, and then the image of Vargard Obyron solidified into view."Obyron.""My Phaeron.""Trazyn extends his thanks.""My lord?""The bosspole.""Oh. Yes, my lord, he requested it after the battle. Speaking of which, I tried--""Explain.""Of course, my lord. An Ork fleet entered Gidrim space and attacked a world on the fringes of our territory. We put down the invasion, with some help from Lord Anrakyr. I--""LORD Anrakyr?"An unusual slip of the tongue on Obyron's part. Imotekh knew that it was most likely simply a misguided attempt at showing proper deference, but it was important to keep Vargards on their toes about this sort of thing. He also would have questioned the phrasing had Obyron simply referred to him as Anrakyr.
"My apologies, my lord. I did not mean to imply that my loyalties had shifted.""See that they do not.""I attempted to contact you a short while ago to inform you. I received no response."I mistook you for the Nemesor, Vargard.""Understandable.""How big a part did Anrakyr play in this skirmish?""Negligible, my lord, though you would not think so to hear him tell it. He turned a decisive victory into an overwhelming one, but we were going to win regardless."Imotekh turned this over in his mind. Of course, the Vargard could simply be telling him what he wanted to hear, but that did not negate the possibility: perhaps the Stormlord had been giving Zahndrekh too little credit."Bring your master. I wish to speak with him about how he defeated the...?"Obyron did not respond for a moment, then looked down, unwilling to meet Imotekh's eyes as he answered."'Ohr'kssh' Dynasty, my Phaeron.""Yes. Bring him, that he might enlighten me on how to properly fight the...'Ohr'kssh'. Their strategy has eluded me for far too long. It is time I corrected that.""Immediately, my lord."
>>20091190>>20091151>>20090949And that's me done for tonight. Orikan's the only one I didn't hit. I'll sleep on it, see if I have something in the morning if the thread's still here.By "sleep on it", I mean I'm in Germany and it is now past midnight here, plus I have a cold I'm trying to get rid of. I know it's the afternoon back home in the States right now.
>>20091244So yeah, I hope my little impromptu Necron stories weren't too stupid for you guys. Trazyn was probably too cliched, though I hope "Robby" gave you a bit of a laugh. I feel like Anrakyr's tale was a bit of an abortion; I wanted to give him a pirate-y feel, but it just didn't quite come together. I hope Imotekh's story was okay, but I feel like I wrote too much dialogue and not enough real content.Orikan's so hard because the only thing I think of when I picture him is HULK SMASH.
I figured I might throw my hat in for Orikan.Worlds within worlds, years stacked up like the jeweles on a Phaeron's crown, all as indistinguishable from another.And yet...The Cryptek watched motes of dust swirl between his fingers, mimicing the orbits of the planets and stars, as the past occured once again.>> Atoms tumbled as Cryptek Orikan danced amongst the flames of eternity, centuries marking the beat of the nuclear melody he followed, even as the future approached, inevitably.Further back he looked, beyond that brief eternity, to the future he sought.There, a stellar system as unremarkable as any other, a war between the living and the dead. Death reigned, but at too great a cost to the death. Orikan saw too many corpses fall once again.>> He danced and drank in the fires, as then became now, and now became before. But into this eternity of nothingness came a message, begging a response, begging a reply, and he saw himself.A cryptek lay fallen, skull shattered upon the ground as its lifeless eyes gazed at its ruined limbs. Orikan stared before it. Knitting the metal bones as orkish blades welded them back together, until a moment presented itself.
>>20091452>> The voice came, begged to know who it had reached, as eternal war approached, the poor fleshling struck Orikan as familiar, and then a name rose in his memory."The Orks lie in wait behind that ridge, send a rank of lychguard in to rend them limb from limb, before they do so to you" came a voice, and Orikan awoke from his reverie, he issued a brief command at the voices orders, and prepared for his eternal past to become his inevitable future.>>Once more, the face begged a response... Orikan could taste his bright, burning life, desperate even as his cells rebelled against him, and at last the name was remembered, and heard for the first time.>>"Cryptek Orikan, we hear you."Orikan, a minor diviner in the eternal Triarch, sent out the message once more. The great enemy sent their ships against the Necrontyr, to destroy them for daring to ask for a chance to live... He sent the message to any who would hear him, any who would lend their aid to the Triarch... and then, a reply came, a digitised voice, from who knows what... and Orikan knew, that things would change for the better."C...t.. ....an ... hear you."
>>20091292I liked them. My favourite was Trazyn's one actually. The first one even made me feel a little sad.Keep writing bro.
Bump because these stories are damned worth it.
these are a good read, and i think the thread are auto-archived nowadays
Why am I now imagining a Necron lord keeping the severed head of an Ork alive, purely out of boredom/having someone to talk to?
these are awesome!
Writefag here, I've got something in my mind, here we go
The Silent King stood impassively on his command barge. Before him were arrayed the ragged but still formidible forces of the so-called Adeptus Titanicus. Three of the "god machines" still stood against his forces where once there were an even dozen. Victory was nearly within his grasp, and yet, the human commanders had managed to stave off their final defeat for thirty full diurnal cycles. Their commander had wisely secured his Imperators in a naturally strong point, and seemed to be holding out for reinforcements.King Szarekh idly manipulated a small cube on the console before him. His forces lacked a direct counter to the humans' massive war machines, so it was most certainly an impressive victory to have come even this far. However, the last three had proved nearly impossible to bring to a conclusion, as they were the most massive examples of mobile destruction the humans could field. The only answer the king had to such a concentration of might lay in the palm of his hands, and yet Szarekh feared that loosing it was worse than surrendering the field to these humans. Or it would be, if the humans infesting this world had not discovered the still-slumbering tomb world that lay under the bedrock of the world that they had constructed their sprawling factories upon. Szarekh had learned that the science priests had uncovered the slumbering necrons below and were defiling their undying bodies out of curiosity. His distaste for this atrocity was the only thing greater than his misgivings over unleashing his most terrible weapon.With a thought, the tesseract in his palm gleamed and golden threads streamed out of invisible seams in the folded dimensions inside the device. They swirled and coalesced into the form of a regal Necron bedecked in regalia almost as magnificent as Szarekh's own - one of the two lost Triarchs.
This one is weird, I dotn know why I wrote it!The Corpse Lord was not much of a thinkerHe only excelled at one thing, killing. He and his Flayed Ones of the Blood Palace were known throughout the Dynasty as some of the most ruthless and deadly of all Flayed Ones. The enemies of the Dynasty cowered in fear before them, and the flayed ones and he reaped them like grassBut as the battle drew to a close with their current enemies, humans, he had decided to slow down the slaughter and observe. The familiar sights of his unstoppable force were everywhere. Dozens of these so called guardsmen still stand defiantly, fighting harder and harder as more of them fell as the flayed ones ripped them to shreds and the rest of the forces obliterating them with Gauss fire. The Corpse Lord was about to charge in with his brethren when to the side he witness something that was extremely peculiar. Two guardsmen were on the ground behind some rocks, both...what was the term for their look? Female? That must be it, the Corpse Lord noted in his barely functioning mind. They were holding each other's hand, one looking extremely pale and bleeding heavily and the other shouting at it. The Corpse lord almost barely heard what the shouting was about>"No! Please stay with me! Dont leave! Dont leave..."The Corpse Lord walked towards the rocks, the humans barely noticing him continued their conversation. The dieing one whispered>"It is ok, I love you. I have no regrets joining the guard and being with you”
>>20093869>"No no no! I love you too! This didnt have to happen!"The other one shouted, liquid streaming from its optical receptors. A waste of resources is it not?, the Corpse Lord struggled to thought. The human then gripped its dieing companion with its arms around the body and locked mouths with each other. The dieing human then went limp and the other one let out some type of long winded noise. It then wiped its optics and looked up at the Corpse Lord. It then grabbed its weapon and the Corpse Lord poised to strike but then>”I'm not giving you the pleasure xeno!”The human then pointed the gun to itself and its mouth went from parabolic down to parabolic up. It fired straight through its own head. The human fell on its companion, in an almost fated embrace. As other flayed ones gathered, the Corpse Lord signaled his blood soaked brethren to not mutilate these corpses. To this day he does not know why out of the thousands, if not millions of victims he has gone through, why he let those two humans be undisturbed. The Corpse Lord was not much of a thinker
>>20092252Necrons have a counter to Titans, it's scarabs.
I'm back with an idea for my own Orikan story, to round out the set, though I'd like to say that I LOVE the one that's already here.***The stars shone, harsh and bright, above Orikan's vision.It had been simple, really. The Orks had come by surprise, the Waaagh! attacking Gidrim space out of nowhere. The delinquent Traveller and the hated Illuminor had been the first to stumble across it the assault, and tried to stave it off. They failed utterly. Planets burned, and within mere months the deranged Nemesor and his fawning servant were no more. With a dozen worlds under their control, the Waaagh! had gained even more momentum, and drove deeper into Sautekh territory like a poison spreading into the heart of its host.Within the year, Mandragora had fallen, and the stubbornly proud Stormlord had died with a last curse for the greenskins hanging on his lips.Orikan still remembered the sound of the Meganobz pounding on his chamber's reinforced door. He still remembered the creaking, groaning noise it made as it started to give way.He remembered nothing after that, however. Nothing had happened after that. And truthfully, nothing before that had happened.
Orikan remembered, back when the Waaagh! had arrived. He also remembered before it arrived.And he remembered the ex post facto precautions he had taken.Brushing off the black dust of the void as he emerged in the past, Orikan had locked the doors of his chamber, with the usual setup. He had knocked on the door to test it."Apologies, He-Who-Hates-The-Color-Green, but I'm in the middle of something right now. Kindly go away," came the recording. Orikan had giggled a bit then, and giggled a bit now at the memory. Any other astromancer would be dismantled for such insolence, but Orikan knew how to keep himself too crucial to be lost.
>>20098701The voyage had been long.Orikan had set out alone to the farthest reaches of Gidrim space, and then beyond, tracing back along the Orks' invasion path. His ship was too small to be noticed by the greenskins.And as the disgusting Ork junkpile came into view, hurtling through space, Orikan flew up closer.He fired. No missiles emerged from his craft. No rockets, not even Gauss fire. Just a small, simple metal object, that latched onto the hull noiselessly in the vacuum of space.The shuttle turned around and headed back to the seat of Sautekh space, with the beacon securely affixed. A gentle nudge was all that was required here, a tiny push to ensure that the doddering Nemesor had time to react.Orikan returned to his chambers, and then to his present. Well, a present. It was so difficult to keep track.With the beacon in place, the incoming WAAAGH! had shown up on the Nemesor's sensors like a supernova. The Nemesor had brought all his might to bear at once, greeting the Orks on the planet's surface. The Traveller had arrived late to the party, to help clean up.And now, the exalted Stormlord was talking to a senile old man to learn the tactics for dealing with a completely non-tactical foe.Orikan chuckled to himself as he gazed out the viewport.The stars shone, harsh and bright, above Orikan's vision.
Okay then, I have now written stories for every single named Necron HQ choice.I don't want to monopolize this thread too completely, so I'll leave this to whatever contributions might come its way. My story time is done.
>>20098940You, sir, is an gentleman and a scholar. This thread is awesome and you're awesome.
Necron Lord Fluff, can I post my own one here?
>>20100007DO IT.By the way, we've met before. I'm Phaeron Phukkuit in the Eye of Teegee campaign.
>>20100154Oh. Welcome aboard. I'm running an army for both order and disorder, this is the Disorder fluff.___________It is a name that even the Mighty Stormlord only mentions in a whisper, a name recorded in infamy in the Black Library, a name all Phaerons and Lords of the Necron Dynasties fear, for it is the herald of a darkness they thought they’d banished forever. The Cursed Lord, Herald of the C’tan, the nameless, the outcast one, the ever-damned. Of all the thousands of Lords and Phaerons, only he stood with the C’tan when the Necrons rose up, decrying his brothers for going against the Gods, and for that his Legions were obliterated, his name forever struck from existence by the Triarchs, and he was hounded and pursued until he vanished, never to return. Or so they thought. But now, with the awakening of the Necrons across the Galaxy, he has returned, with two goals. First, to recover the C’tan shards and use them to unlock the C’tan, free them from their prisons and restore the gods to life. Secondly, to take his revenge on all the Necrons who went against the gods, who in the hour of victory destroyed those they owed that victory to, and turned their backs on the ones who replaced their weak flesh with blessed metal. Already he has conquered several dynasties, killing their lords and absorbing their legions into his host, and unless the Dynasties unite against him, his dream of resurrecting the C’tan may one day come true, and if it does, the Galaxy will tremble and the Darkness will fall.
These stories give me feels. Good work, OP.
>>20089895I'm late and it's bad, but I did it anyway.
With a single blow, the Triarch Praetorian was cut in two, a crackling sound coming from the halves as they fell to the hard stone floor. The Cursed Lord lowered the Dragonstaff, the weapon given to him by the Void Dragon himself as a reward for his undying loyalty, and swept his ceaseless gaze over the tomb as his warriors stormed it, liberating it from the fool of a lord who claimed it as his own. Most of the tomb was still sleeping, and the Triarch Praetorians, the guardians of the tomb were too few in Number to stop him. Ranks of silent warriors marched forwards, Gauss Flayers scouring any who dared resist. A pair of his Lychguard came up to him, dragging the form of one of the Praetorians behind them.“Betrayer, Godslayer, servant of the false Triarchs, what have you to say for yourself.” The Cursed Lord said.“You are the lowest of the low, you who sided with the C’tan against your own people, sided with the ones who turned you into this.” Gesturing at his metallic body.“This was a gift, a gift from the Gods. How you can spurn this gift, immortality, immunity, all weakness purged for ever I will never understand.”
“And that, Cursed one.” If the Praetorian could spit, it would have done so. “Is why you were cast out. We will never stop resisting you, until you die and your hellish dreams die with you. The ‘gods’ will never rise again”With a single quick move the Cursed Lord beheaded the Praetorian, hopefully sending his soul to the Void Dragon as payment for that blasphemy.“My Lord, the betrayers have fallen.” Tzarapiston, the last Pariah said in his oh-so-humanoid voice. He’d been one of the living once, of the race of man, but a shard of one of the Gods had elevated him to this new life, a test for the future of the race called Man. Now he was the Cursed Lord’s aide and confidant, who unlike the gaggle of lords and Crypteks scattered through his force, would never betray or double-cross him.“Excellent. Have the captives sacrificed to the C’tan, and scour the tomb for any shards. The Gods will rise again, and I will have my vengeance.”
So, do you like my fluff? does it match up?
>>20100478yeah, but it's badly written >oh-so-humanoid voicethat sounds ridiculous
>>20100506That's what happens when you're trying to write WHH stuff at midnight with no sleep for over 30 hours. thank you for your honesty though, always appreciated
>>20100518I get the feeling you are not fond of the Newcron fluff.Considering that your OC is trying to reinstate the Oldcron fluff.
>>20100478None of the Overlords or any of the Necrontyr had free will.The, at the time, King of the Necrontyr was granted with the ability to control every Necron.After they went into stasis, he released the shackles that gave him control over the Necrons, so it wasn't until the Necrons awoke that they had free will. (The one's lucky enough to be given such a thing anyway)
And now we're back for one last round, a surprise encore performance: a story starring the big man himself, Szarekh, the last Silent King. No pictures this time. I have nothing suitable, and there is a certain poetry to the Silent King having no photographs.***Szarekh watched from his tombship, far "above" the galaxy's disc. From here, the stars and systems that constituted Sautekh space was like a scattered pinch of glowing sand, and the Gidrim Dynasty was just a few grains of that.His people were dead. Lost, possibly forever. All because of Szeras's technological madness and Szarekh's own quest for immortality.Yet in spite of all this, here they were, awake once more, 60 million years later, putting their empire back together.No. Pretending to put someone else's empire back together. The Necrontyr were gone. Finished. Their culture died with them. All that remained were the Necrons, pale shadows of their former selves, inferior in every way except longevity and deadliness.
This wasn't the empire Szarekh remembered. This wasn't the empire Szarekh wanted. Not at all.The enhanced lifespan, certainly. That was wonderful. That was what his people had always longed for. A culture built around the horrors of cancer and death would always seek to escape, and that was exactly what the Necrontyr had done. But they had lost their soul. The Necrons had no art of their own. The Necrons had no music of their own. The Necrons had nothing like a culture anymore.Every single Necron Szarekh knew of was just a conquest-hungry machine clinging to what he had known in life in an insincere charade. Imotekh. Trazyn. Anrakyr. Every leader of every dynasty.Except one. There was still one leader who remembered how Necrontyr culture worked. One leader who remained incorruptible through it all. One leader who would never let his new state get the better of him. One leader who still remembered how to fight honorably and rule fairly.And he was completely insane. His sincerity was admirable, but without his aide he would have fallen within a year of waking.Perhaps that was what needed to be done, then. Perhaps the Necrons needed to simply embrace what they had become and do what it took to rule again.
Bravo!
This one is from the Ork point of view.“Oi! You gitz ready to krump some metal fings?” Gobskrag asked his boyz over the roar of his wartrukk’s engine as it sped towards the frontline at breakneck speed. He had 11 boyz with him, all with sluggas and choppas, except for Ruznikk; he had a big shoota. Gobskrag himself had the luxury of wearing ‘eavy armor and wielding his trusty power klaw, Ol’ Snappy.“WAAAGH!!!!!” they yelled in response. “Good. Hope yer choppas is nice and sharp, I heard these fings don’t know how to stay dead. And watch out fer their green shootas I heard they - ZOGGIN ‘ECK!” Just as he was about to tell his ladz how the green shootas zapped through armor all easy-like, they were given a live demonstration as a gauss beam burst through one side of the trukk bed and out the other, boring a large sizzling hole through Ruznikk in the process. He looked down at the wound with an expression of confusion on his face before slumping over.“Yar, they do that! I fink we’z close enuff to get stuck in anywayz. Zagtuff slow ‘er down a bit!” Gobskrag led his boyz in jumping out of the bed as soon as it was reasonably safe to do so. He scanned the battlefield looking for a fresh fight. His rival Snobgotz was already engaged with a phalanx of warriors and he didn’t want share. Then he saw them: a group of lychguard with dispersion shields and hyperphase swords. “Oi!” he bellowed at his ladz, “Let’s get them important lookin’ ones! WAAAGH!”“WAAAGH!!!!” his boyz cried as they charged.
Or perhaps they were not yet so far gone.Had that not, after all, been the lesson Szarekh himself had learned at Devil's Crag?These extragalactic invaders, these "Tyranids", were a threat to everything. Even the Necrons. A completely lifeless galaxy is not worth ruling, and even if the Necrons could somehow regain flesh-and-blood form, doing so in a post-Tyranid galaxy would mean being reborn only to starve to death.Devil's Crag had been interesting. Red-armored humans, the "Blood Angels", and Szarekh's own forces found themselves locked in combat, struggling for supremacy, when the Tyranids arrived. Szarekh turned and gave the order to fight on both fronts, defending against the enemy in front while focusing on the enemy at the flank. The Blood Angels commander did the same. As they realized they had just each given their own troops the same order, they hailed each other from across the battlefield on the comm."Our priorities coincide," the human said.Szarekh stared into the screen."I have no love for the Tyranids, and I see you feel the same."Szarekh nodded."Together, we can beat them. Help us."Szarekh stared for a long time. In all his millions of years of life, he had never, ever, received a plea for aid from an alien race. He didn't know how to react. Slowly, he nodded, and shut off the transmission.The combined forces of the Necrons and the Blood Angels proved too much for the invaders. As the battle drew to a close, Szarekh prepared to give the order to continue destroying the humans."My lord, a transmission from the enemy commander."
>>20101912As they closed in with their foe, Gobskrag’s boyz loosed off some shots with their sluggas. Most of them didn’t even come close to hitting but one of the lychguard took a glancing blow to the shoulder joint and one shot was reflected back by a dispersion shield, hitting a boy named Skumrug in the knee. Then they clashed with the force of a kamikaze fighta-bomma.It didn’t take long before Gobskrag realized his boys were outmatched. They had only managed to take one lychguard down before the others sliced through six of his boyz like a hot knife through squigbutter. Gobskrag himself had only managed to take down three, and he chalked that up to his fightin’ skill and Ol’ Snappy. There were still three left.“You gitz are tuff, I’ll give ya that!” he bellowed as he shot one of them point blank in the face. “But ya fight like Grotz!” Losing himself in the haze of adrenaline all orks live for, Gobskrag fought on, oblivious to the fact that all of his boyz had been slaughtered and he was now fighting the last lychguard in the group. He swung at the metal warrior with all his ferocity and might, managing to sever the arm holding the dispersion shield and putting a cocky grin on his scarred face. But it left him wide open. The lychguard seized the opportunity and plunged his hyperphase sword into his abdomen, tearing upward to his shoulder. Gosbkrag fell to the ground in a spray of blood. As he struggled to stay conscious he watched the lychguard walk past him. If only he could turn around, he would give him a farewell shot with his slugga. Then he got an idea. He took aim at the dispersion shield lying on the ground before him and fired. The last sound Gobskrag heard was the satisfying PLINK of metal on metal.
>>20101918Just wanna say, that I'm saving all of your work to show my friends later.Keep it up!
"You fought well, xeno heathen."Szarekh stared."My forces are exhausted. Today, we will withdraw."Szarekh couldn't believe what he was hearing."Mark my words, alien. I will grant you the Emperor's justice. But not today."Szarekh stared as the screen was shut off, and the humans began to fall back. He let them leave, before withdrawing his own troops.Three armies had come to claim the world. None succeeded. But Szarekh had realized something very important today.The Necrons had to repel the Tyranids alone. They were too brutal, too cold, too destructive to work together with any alien race for any meaningful length of time.But the Necrontyr did not.Desperate times call for desperate measures. Willingly subjecting oneself to madness is nothing if not desperate.Szarekh turned from the viewport. He stared at the crew, on the bridge. He willed them to be flesh and blood again. They refused, as expected.But for a brief second, he had seen skin instead of metal. For a brief second, he had seen the rise and fall of breathing chests. For a brief second, he had seen the world through the eyes of Nemesor Zahndrekh, the one leader who still knew what it was like to be Necrontyr.For a brief second, he had felt alive. And in that brief second, he had realized what it would take to beat the Tyranids."The Gidrim Dynasty," Szarekh ordered, with his characteristic brevity."Yes, my lord."Zahndrekh's knack for interspecies diplomacy was a gift born of insanity. Perhaps Szarekh needed to go a little insane himself. It was time to pay a very interesting visit to a very interesting friend.
I think that I am now officially out of well-known Necrons to write stories about.Hope you enjoyed it. It's archived on suptg, too, in case you want to be able to find it again in the future.
