[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: 1347854282294.jpg-(93 KB, 720x480, femprah heretical.jpg)
93 KB
<- The most heretical femprah picture I could find.

Anyway here's some more writefaggotry. First parts here: http://1d4chan.org/wiki/End_Times
If somebody could add it to the writefaggotry category that'd be awesome.

The Emperor repressed a sigh as she entered the meeting chamber. Great works of art covered the walls, including a magnificent picture of the Sigillite. If only half these people were as competent as Malcador, there would be no need for this. She saluted her old, long dead friend, and nodded, the sign to begin.

The head of the Administratum stood up. “My God-Emperor, production has been increased to max possible output with the Segementums Solar, Tempestus, and half of Ultimum. I understand recruiting into the Guard has increased likewise. I offer thanks to my fellow Lords of the Guard, Navy, and the Adeptus Mechanicus for their efforts in achieving success in this endeavor.”

The Emperor smiled and nodded. Short and to the point. She could have pulled the information from the brains of all present with but a thought, but allowing each Lord to speak increased cooperation and coordination within the council, crucial in this great crisis.

“Have the production restrictions been lifted?” she asked the Fabricator-General.

“Yes, oh Omnissiah. Production limits are law no longer on Mars and all Forgeworlds we've been able to contact,” said the Fabricator-General. He – was it a he? The answer was probably irrelevant, the Emperor decided – was far more machine than human, and displayed this fact proudly.
“Good. Lord Inquisitor, is this the Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights?” the Emperor's voice no longer held any warmth in it.

“Yes, my God-Emperor. As you requested,” he said. He hid his nervousness well. It had not been so much a request as -

“As I ordered,” said the Emperor, switching her focus to the Space Marine in heavily adorned grey armor. “Kaldor Draigo, do you know why I've summoned you?”

“No, my Emperor,” he said. There was no nervousness here.

“Because you've failed in your mission.”

Now Draigo's eyes widened and he gasped softly, stunned by this rebuke. “My Emperor -”

“DO NOT THINK TO INTERRUPT ME AGAIN,” intoned the Emperor, adding the dreadful weight of her psychic might to her words. “IF YOU DO, YOU WILL DIE.” Everyone present blanched at her words, but she continued. “You have failed – the Grey Knights have failed! - since the very beginning. Do you think the existence of Daemons could be so easily hidden? Do you think the truth of Horus' betrayal could be buried? What arrogance! Look at the founder of your Chapter!” All eyes followed her gesture towards the Sigillite. “His last orders came before the final battle ten thousand years ago. Your Knights sat out the Battle of Terra, hidden in the Warp, yet you assumed circumstances had not changed? Malcador was dead. I was dead – or close enough. Roboute had changed so much – yet you thought to follow your original orders? Every guardsman who survives an attack by daemons and lives to retire brings knowledge you kill whole worlds for with them. Do you think they forget the horrors they've seen? Do you think every soul privileged enough to know of daemons before hand never lets anything slip? Much of the Imperium knows the secrets you think to keep from them. And yet you continue to murder innocents to protect this secret.” she paused. “Speak! Explain!”
“My God-Emperor – My God – I....” the Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights, who had defeated greater demons, even a Demon Prince Traitor Primarch himself – hung his head in absolute shame. “I cannot. I follow only the traditions of those who came before me. We have always done these things.” He met the Emperor's eyes with tears in his own. “How could we have known otherwise?”

“You could have thought. You could have ignored orders far out of date,” the Emperor released the long held sigh at last. “But the fault lies with you only in the smallest sense. Ten thousand years of tradition are hard to ignore. Know this: Your orders now are to follow me in all things, to fight daemons wherever I direct you, and leave when you have defeated your foe. As for you, Lord Inquisitor,” she turned to face the pale-faced Inquisitor without pausing - “Knowledge of daemons will no longer be grounds for death or memory modification, do you understand? In the coming conflict, such knowledge will spread throughout the Imperium. Trying to contain it will only weaken us at our most desperate hour.”

The Emperor relaxed, and the tension in the room bled out as she did so. The meeting continued for another thirty minutes, as reports were given, orders made, and strategies planned. “Now I will lead my Custodians, the Grey Knights, and all militant orders of the Sisters available to Macragge. You know your duties. The Imperium will not fall if you do your duty. My blessing goes with you all.”
“You called for me, Farseer?”
“Autarch, thank you for coming. I have a seeing you will be most interested in hearing.”
“Please continue. You have my full attention.”
“I have seen how to find Commorragh.”
Autarch Kayleth gave a rare smile. “These are indeed portentous times, my dear Elenwe. I shall call a Great Council immediately.”
Coming up: Loyal Primarchs and company kick some Red Corsair ass.
Any pictures of the femprah you've got would be appreciated also.
“Captain, scans indicate a ship in this system,” said Third Lieutenant Picus.

“Identity of the vessel?”

“Working... one moment,” she replied. “Battle cruiser. Overlord class. Identity unknown.”

“Is it one of the enemy's?”

“It may be. Preliminary scans match the recorded output of the Red Corsair vessel Aquiline,” she said. “Sir! They may not know we're here. They seem to be in the midst of repairs. Secondary scans indicate coolant leakage, which appears to reduce their effective scan range ten-fold.”

Captain Numitor of the Justus Dominatus, an Oberon-class Battleship of the Gothic Battlefleet, was not known for his caution in battle. He pressed a single button on his command chair. “My Lord Primarchs, I request your presence on the bridge to discuss a possible attack plan.”
im here but im going to bed. ive been waiting for this but im gonna have to read it tomorrow morning
File: 1347867441534.jpg-(61 KB, 251x263, 1307007401362.jpg)
61 KB
I am monitoring this thread.
You bastard, how could you do this? Posting right before a Monday?
At this rate, he'll have the next update out by the time you're finished with work/school, don't you worry about a thing.
OP, you should post divisions like Someone Else always does when he changes what he writes about in the story. easier to differentiate between its parts
Op is such a tease only giving us hapless anons a tiny snippit of gold
"That which has been kept in trust, you shall now return," intoned High Priest Corbulo to his gathered brethren. But more shocking than his words was the appearance of the once-mighty Astartes. He seemed shrunken within his armor, even his voice only an echo of its former self. Yet Corbulo's arms were steady as he held forth the Red Grail and implored the Sanguinary Priests to refill it.

Delete Post [File Only] Password
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [rs] [status / q / @] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

- futaba + yotsuba -
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.