[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: 1358092833540.png-(1.77 MB, 1997x1235, FULL_CAST_ALT.png)
1.77 MB
Good morning, /tg/. I'm going to dump the very last section of Eternity, my final WHH story. As before, it contains a number of short stories in chronological order with a number of different perspective characters. I'll be posting notes for each to say when they take place and who, if anyone, is narrating.
Previously, Venus and Jake were bringing N'bel, their first son, to Carshim for a vacation before N'bel goes off to school. While there, they ran into their old friend Alex, from high school, and his new (and pregnant) wife, Vanessa. While the grownups are chatting, N'bel goes for a stroll on the beach.


N’bel knelt on the sand at the water’s edge and felt the water run through his fingers. It felt like any other kind of water, except it was sort of grainy. Was it the sand getting disturbed or the salt in the water? He couldn’t tell. He tasted the water on the tip of his finger and made a face. “Ugh. Too salty.”
The wind was dying down, and the tide was falling too. He grabbed a small pebble from the sand and stuck it in the sand just above where the waves were washing up, and lay down in the sand next to it to watch. The water licked up on the tiny stone, pulling a few grains of sand it has just pushed up back into the sea, and partially burying the stone…then another wave washed it clean.
He retrieved it and let it roll down his palm, though its asymmetric shape prevented it from rolling off completely. He cradled the stone as he rose to his feet. He glanced over the calming water and drew his hand back, hucking the rock as far as he could.
Some fifty meters away, the little stone splashed down. N’bel smiled. “Hah. I can finally out-throw Dad.”
He turned back to where his parents were sitting. Mom was lying next to the pregnant lady, while Dad was talking loudly with the man he didn’t know, Alex, about something to do with Navigators and pay scales. He sighed. That was so boring. They were on a beach with real oceans! Why did they just want to talk?
He wandered back up to where they had dropped their stuff and grabbed his sunglasses, turning them over in his hands. With his eyes – Mom called them superhuman, but he didn’t feel like they gave him powers – he could see things normal people couldn’t. At least, Dad said they could. He said he, Dad, was born with normal eyes, but the Emperor had given him better ones, ones you usually had to pay the Mechanicum to get.
He slid the glasses on and put his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks, walking back down below the rise to the water. He wasn’t supposed to go in the water when Mom or Dad weren’t there, just like the pool back home, and he could kinda understand why: it got pretty deep in a real ocean.
The water’s glimmer vanished behind his glasses, and he crouched at the water’s edge again, staring into the deep blue mass. His eyes followed some tiny fish through the polarized lenses, and he felt a funny sense of longing. The oceans back home were just too acidic for swimming. The pool was great, but he sensed that this was something special, something he wouldn’t get to see too much. He resolved to make the most of it.
Venus laughed as Alex finished his story. “I can’t imagine operating a void platform for profit. Overhead would just be so damn high…”
“It’s a bitch, yeah, but you gotta recognize a niche market. When you control the market, you control the pricing on both ends. Vertical control, and all that,” Alex said with a grin. “I’m trying to be nice, though, I know pricing on atmo controls on the station was so low before I bought it because they basically cut corners in payroll and safety wherever they could. I had to cut a thin margin out, trying not to let the whole station fall apart during the transfer.”
“Where’s N’bel?” Jake suddenly asked. He rose to his feet and looked around. “Oh…there he is.” He held his hand over his eyes and watched as his son wandered down the beach, hands in his pockets, just kicking rocks into the water. “What’s the region the guards have staked?” he asked his wife over his shoulder.
“Two hundred meters gold, four hundred green,” Venus said. Gold being the area the guards had under total lockdown as far as any sniper setups would go, green being an area under near-total control but with no guarantees.
“All right, he’s fine,” Jake said. “He’s just out for a stroll.”
Venus looked away from her husband over to Vanessa’s swelling tummy. “So…little guy or little girl on the way?” she asked.
“Girl. We haven’t picked a name,” Vanessa said. She rubbed her stomach. “I’ll take a year off when it happens, then stay at home long enough to get a sense of school options…but we’ll probably just hire some private tutors for the first several grades.”
“Might send her off to Imperator?” Jake asked as he returned.
“Doubtful. It’s not a boarding school,” Alex pointed out. He reverently caressed his wife’s hand over her belly and smiled happily. “Either way…I’m looking forward to it.”
“It’s an adventure, certainly,” Jake said. “The first nine months…seven if you’re lucky, they’re the hard ones. After that though…there’s this process of re-constitution, where they stop being this hot lump of shit and start being an actual person,” he said. “You never forget it.”
“‘Hot lump of shit?’” Alex asked, eyebrows raised.
“Human babies produce more shit per minute than an entire herd of grox. True science fact,” Jake said solemnly. Venus laughed.
N’bel ambled down the yellow sands to a little depression in the ground, heading down to the water. He stared into it, his mind piecing things together. The trench looked artificial, he realized, looking up towards the dry end. He could see the faint marks of tools up there; shovels and hands. It got blurrier as it went below the level where there wasn’t any beach debris scattered around, until it was just a smooth curve in the sand where the water started. So…someone had dug a trench, left it there overnight, and it had eroded when the tide came in. He nodded in satisfaction. Mystery solved.
He glanced from side to side. Nobody was on this stretch of beach. He hopped down into the little trench and sat on the packed sand, planting his hands on the sides like armrests in a chair.
In an instant, he was sitting in the cockpit of a Lightning Harbinger. He raced over the hills that the waves before him had become, glancing at a phantom ground-effect radar every few moments as he did. The Hrud menace was lurking around somewhere, and he meant to find them.
Chatter came in from the invisible radio beside him. He looked over and frowned. The sand was blank, unfeatured. He paused his mental simulation and scratched a few little buttons and knobs in the sand to represent radio controls. Much better.
He returned to his flight, soaring over the barren glacial hills of the unnamed world below, following an orbital feed on his target.
N’bel blinked. Wait. Harbingers were for intercepting torpedoes. Which Lightning model was ground attack? He thought for a moment…was it the Lightning Strike? Or the Lightning Storm?
He shrugged. Whatever. It still had two wing-mount lascannons. He resumed, fingers tightening on invisible firing studs as the bendies came into range. In an instant, he pulled up, missiles away.
The Strike! That was it. Two lascannons, six Hellfuries. The Hellfuries raced down, their airburst warheads scattering phosphoric doom on the hapless Hrud.
“What are you doing down there?” a voice asked.
N’bel glanced over his shoulder. A girl he didn’t recognize was standing over him in the trench, staring down at him.
“At the moment? Vaporizing a Hrud pack,” N’bel joked.
The girl seemed unfazed. “What’s Hrud?” she asked. She looked about his age, but she had skin the color of that strange citrus candy Mom liked.
“Aliens.” N’bel stood up in the trench. “What’s your name?”
“Michalina,” the girl said. She was staring at his skin. N’bel, who was slowly growing used to that, stifled his impatience. At least she wasn’t staring at his eyes. “Who are you?”
“N’bel,” he offered. He wondered how she would react if she knew who his great grandfather was, and resolved to keep that one in reserve for select trolling later if the need arose.
“Bell?” she asked.
“No, N’bel,” he corrected. “Pronounce it like there’s a silent ‘a’ in there.”
“N…N’bel,” she managed.
“There you go.” He crossed his arms over his chest. She was shorter than his four foot one, but then he was tall for his age. Apparently Dad had been too. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Kolscyky,” she said. He knew the name, a massively underpopulated mining world in Obscurus somewhere. Grandpa Vulkan had conquered it in the Crusade’s final century.
“That’s…uh, Obscurus, isn’t it?” he asked casually. She nodded, surprised. He beamed in delight at her acknowledgement. “I’m from Nocturne,” he said.
“The Salamander homeworld?” Michalina asked. “Cool. Is it really a Death World?”
“If you’re not careful,” N’bel joked. She didn’t seem to get it.
“What is it like, growing up on a Space Marine world?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s interesting. The Salamanders are pretty easy to talk to,” he said, not adding that that was the case because he was technically related to all of them. “But it’s not a very safe world. The volcanoes are everywhere. Whole villages get wiped out every fifteen years.”
“What? Why?” Michalina asked.
“Because our moon is so huge, it causes tidal earthquakes when it gets too close in its orbit,” N’bel explained.
The girl looked at him funny. “The moon doesn’t cause tides.”
“Sure it does,” N’bel said. “Its gravity is strong enough to pull water up to it. That’s high tide. Low tide is when it’s on the other side. On Nocturne, the moon is so strong it can pull lava around too.”
N’bel was starting to really enjoy the look of awe on her face. “How do you know all this stuff?” she asked.
He shrugged, awash with six-year-old modesty. “You just kinda learn.”
Vanessa struggled to her feet with her husband’s help. “I’ll be right back,” she said, wobbling over to the restroom at the top of the beach.
Alex watched her go with a wistful grin. “Five months pregnant, and still the cutest little butt I ever saw,” he said.
Jake chuckled. “What’s her story?”
“She was working for one of my dad’s less profitable branches a while back. When I liquidated it, I had her team transferred to one of my other departments. We met and, well…here we are,” Alex said. “I love her to pieces. And she took meeting Freya really well,” he added.
“Oh, she did, huh? Well, I’m glad you could find someone, too, Alex,” Venus said, smiling up at him from the sand.
“Yeah. I had a few flings after I got my shit straightened out, but Vanessa was the only girl who actually cared about me, and didn’t just want to hang off my dick or my wallet,” Alex sighed, in the voice of the long-suffering.
“Uh huh,” Jake said drily.
“Well, that, and she actually likes tagging along on my crazy acquisitions trips,” he said. “I can see why the life of a piratical Rogue Trader appeals to so many people, but that’s not me. I’m perfectly happy plying the well-travelled trade lanes and making twice what those glory-hounds make.”
“Probably for the best,” Venus said. “Otherwise you couldn’t take a month off and go for a vacation.”
“Yeah. Was Freya okay, by the way? Her own childbirth? She was only one month in, when I saw her last year,” Alex said.
“She’s fine. The baby was a boy, Thangir named him after his own father, Olev. Freya went along with it because she liked that it anagrams to ‘love,’ in Gothic,” Venus giggled. “He’s a cutie. His hair and eyes are a dead match for Uncle Leman. Ever see a ten-foot tall killing machine turn to protoplasm? Let Leman Russ hold a baby with his eyes.”

N’bel stomped the last of the grooves in the trench flat and placed the plastic sheet they had dragged from Michalina’s family’s dump site over it, pinning it down with rocks. He stood at the top and nodded. “All right, now for the water.” Michalina dumped the bucket of mixed water and suntan lotion they had labored to create – when her parents weren’t looking, of course – over the sheet to create their very own water slide.
“Yay! It’s ready!” Michalina said, clapping her hands together.
“Moment of truth,” N’bel said, and launched himself feet-first down the trench. The air rushed by as he slid down the impromptu slide and skidded into the water in a tangle.
He surfaced, blowing water out of his nose and laughing his ass off. “Success!” he shouted, waving at where the girl was standing at the top.
She gingerly sat at the top and pushed herself down, and he scrambled out of the way as she splashed into the water. He doubled over laughing as she came up in the surf, wiping salt water out of her eyes. “Excellent!” he said through peals of laughter. “My best invention yet!”
He climbed back up to the top of the three meter slide and launched himself down, glad he had put his glasses on their strap before putting them on. He cannoned into the water again, launching white spray high.
Venus observed the spectacle at a distance. “What in the hell is he even doing?” she asked aloud. She watched as he vanished into the sand rise and surfaced, soaking wet, several seconds later.
“Want me to go check it out?” Jake asked.
“Please,” she said. Jake rose to his feet and walked over, though he was mindful of the fact that the snipers he had watching his son would have acted if there was a real threat to his life.
N’bel watched his father approach out of the corner of his eye, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach. He wasn’t really ‘swimming,’ per se, but he may well have been violating the spirit of the law, if not the letter.
With the mental equivalent of a shrug, he turned back to his slide and propelled himself down again, splashing into the water. His suit was riding up a bit, but other than that, it was the best time he’d had since arrival.
Michalina raced past him as he reached the top, where his father was standing with his hands on his hips. N’bel paused in front of him, feeling like he was in for a lecture at best.
Jake looked down at the sandy deathtrap the boy and his friend had created. He looked back at where the pair of Salamander Legionary auxiliary snipers were concealed, over to where his wife was chatting with Alex and the newly freshened Vanessa, and over at where a pair of middle-aged people he assumed were the little girl’s parents were sunbathing.
He looked back down at his son and sighed, all mock reluctance he knew his son could see right through. “Carry on.”
“Hahahah! Thanks, Dad, you’re the best,” N’bel proclaimed, then threw himself down the tunnel again. Jake gave the A-OK signal to Venus and sat down to watch the display.
Michalina surfaced with a cough. That last one had sent some saltwater down her throat.
N’bel paused before he went down, himself. “You all right?” he asked.
“Ugh, yeah, I just swallowed some seawater,” she said.
He shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and launched himself down again.
Michalina sank to her haunches and coughed up the water, wiping her mouth. “Gross.” She looked over at where Jake was observing his son splash about in the water, trying to get to his feet. “Are you N’bel’s dad?” she asked.
“Yep. Jake’s my name.” Jake smiled at her behind his own shades. “Do you think we look alike?” he asked innocently.
“Yes, you do look like him,” she said, just in time for N’bel to come within hearing range.
N’bel glared molten daggers at his father, who had to clamp a hand over his mouth to hold in his gleeful snigger. He had felt the same way about being compared to his father at that age too. N’bel stomped up to the others and grimaced angrily, before sliding back down again in silence.
He splashed into the water once more, and just as he was standing, he slipped on the sand, falling flat on his back.
“You okay, son?” Jake called from above.
N’bel blew his nose into the surf, blinking back the sunlight. “Y-yeah, just slipped,” he said. He felt something tap against his foot and looked down, to see his sunglasses floating in the water. “Oops.”
He scooped them up and slid them back on as he turned to climb back up. Above, Michalina’s eyes went wide. As he reached them, she stopped his progress. “Wait…N’bel, can you take those off again?” she asked.
He blinked, but pulled his glasses free. She gaped at his completely inhuman eyes: solid orbs of burning, bright red light, with no iris, corneal coloration, or retina. “W-wow…does that hurt?” she asked.
She stared into the featureless red spheres. N’bel sighed under his breath, but didn’t look away. “They’re really pretty,” Michalina said.
Jake hid a smile as N’bel flushed. “Pretty? Better than ugly, I’ve had people say that before they knew who I was,” he grumbled.
“Who you are?” she asked, suspicious.
He shook his head, chagrined. “Never mind.” He launched himself down the slide without another word, leaving his father to scoop up the glasses.
Michalina glanced sideways at Jake before turning away. Jake smiled. “It’s all right,” he said, pulling his glasses down the bridge of his nose. She peeked over to see that his own eyes were quite different. They were the same color, but they weren’t glowing at all, and the irises were swirling circles of patterned red, constantly shifting and changing, while the rest of his eyes were completely normal. “Our family just looks this way.”
“Oh.” She looked a moment longer before sliding down the waterslide again.
Jake allowed himself another smile. N’bel, for all his disquiet around adult strangers, shared his paternal grandmother’s talent at instantly making friends.
Michalina climbed up to the top again, and noted in surprise that her mother was nearly running over to her. She paused before she could get back in the slide, panting from exertion.
N’bel clambered back up behind her, staring at the delay. “What’s up?” he asked, not even a little out of breath.
“Mom’s mad,” she said. Her mother came to a halt right next to her.
“Michalina, we’re leaving,” she said angrily.
She wilted. “But Mom, this is a lot of fun!”
“You can use the slide in the pool, but we’re not staying here!” the woman insisted.
Jake rose to his feet. “Is there a reason you’re yelling in front of the kids, ma’am?” he asked.
“You be quiet!” the woman snapped. She reached out for her daughter’s hand, and the girl hung her head, starting to trudge away from her newfound friend.
To Jake’s surprise, N’bel spoke up. “You forgot your tarp,” he said, grabbing the plastic sheet with one hand and ripping it free with a single tug. The woman recoiled from the display of strength, but shook it off and accepted the sheet with a look of disgust. “Michalina, you wanted to know who I am, right?” he asked loudly. The girl hesitated as her mother grabbed her hand. “I’m Lord Vulkan’s grandson,” he said, glaring up at the woman pulling his new friend away.
Both of the paler females looked over at him. Michalina’s face remained puzzled, while the other woman just stared, aghast. Jake smiled proudly, standing back to let his son direct the show. N’bel looked up at his father. “Dad, do you have a pen on you?”
“A pen? No,” Jake said.
“Mmm.” N’bel walked up to Michalina and gave her a quick hug before marching straight back to where his mother was waiting for him.
“…Why was his skin so hot?” Michalina asked, clearly very confused by all of it.
“It’s how the Emperor made him,” Jake said, and he turned to follow his son.

Venus smiled at N’bel as he unceremoniously dropped down on the sand next to her. “You made a friend.”
“Yeah, and her mom was mean to her,” N’bel grumbled.
“Well, some humans don’t like people who look like mutants,” Venus said. “She’s just narrow-minded.”
N’bel sighed, sadness replacing anger. “Why do people do that? If they know who I am, they grovel or…or…what’s the word?”
“Patronize,” Jake said, crouching behind his son and passing him his glasses.
“Yeah, patronize. And if they don’t, they treat me like a heretic,” N’bel sighed.
“Because some people replace common sense and the love of their fellow humans with two things called ‘vitriol’ and ‘haughtiness,’ things you don’t have,” Venus said. She slid her own sunglasses off and stared into her son’s eyes with her own identical red gaze. She smiled gently. “You know we both love you very much, right?”
“Yeah, I know, Mom,” he grumbled awkwardly.
“I thought you were really brave, just walking up to that girl and hugging her,” Jake said slyly.
“Can we pretend I didn’t do that?” N’bel said, blushing again.
Alex and Jake both laughed as Venus smiled conspiratorially. “I promise,” she said.
Fuck man, just get it over with already.
File: 1358094783251.png-(309 KB, 720x1008, Remilla2.png)
309 KB
I was wondering when I would see a WHH thread pop up
Oh, hey, good.

I have one last WHH request, then I'm done with the series forever, as far as drawfagging goes.

Would you be willing to do the scene from ROAD TRIP! with Freya, Remilia, and Venus watching a movie with Jake on his slate, lying together on the bed in Freya's suite on the Fang?


Jake's about 5'10", pale, light brown curly hair.


now to acquire nutrients
N’bel sighed again. “All right.” He struggled to his feet. “I think I’m just gonna go back to the hotel and get dry,” he said. “Can I go?”
“Sure, if Dad goes with you,” Venus said. “You know the way?”
“Yeah, it’s just down the street,” he said.
“All right.” N’bel waved awkwardly to Alex and Vanessa as Jake led him back up the sandy beach.
Vanessa propped herself up with an effort. “Smart kid,” she said.
“He certainly is,” Venus said happily. She sank back down on the sand and brushed her hair out of the way. “Takes after his grandfathers. Both of them.”

N’bel slid his sandals on at the top of the beach and walked up the road with his towel slung over his shoulder, staring at the concrete path. He was lost in thought, turning over what had happened in his mind until his stomach grumbled in discontentment. His father heard, but let him keep his silence. The two of them reached the hotel and entered the spacious lobby, where N’bel ducked into a bathroom to slide his shirt on before ascending the elevator to the penthouse.
The beach-side lobby was a riot of activity, with many of the tourists just passing through on their way to the luxurious casinos and theaters, or porting baggage carts worth of clothes and suitcases up to counters for check-ins. Jake noted Michalina and her parents near one of the lifts out of the corner of his eye.
As N’bel emerged, Jake diverted him. “N’bel, what did you want a pen for, before?” he asked.
“I wanted to give Michalina my autograph, since she was nice enough not to ask for it,” he said. He scoffed. “It sounds stupid when I say it aloud.”
Jake nicked a note pad and a pen from the little refreshment station and map kiosk next to them. He passed the pad to his son. “Quick, write your name in Nocturnean,” he said.
N’bel stared, but did as he was told. Jake ripped the note free and jogged over to where the girl and her parents were still waiting. “Michalina,” he said as he approached.
The little brown-haired girl turned around and stared as her parents tensed up. Jake quickly passed her the note. “N’bel wanted you to have that, call it a souvenir,” he said. “It’s his name in Nocturnean.”
“Uh, thanks, sir,” she said, accepting the note. Jake didn’t linger, instead walking back to his son, who was watching, bemused.
“Why did you just do that?” he asked.
Jake grinned. “It was a nice thing for you to do, that’s all.”
Now for one of my favorites, and a loving homage to the Space Wolf books.
File: 1358097405563.png-(62 KB, 714x600, pillow.png)
62 KB

sounds like a nice challenge, I will do my best!
thank the Emprasque you didnt abandon WHH!
Ela Whitefist leaned back against the shattered wall of thatch and stone behind him, feeling his life drain into the snow at his feet. The battle was over. His people had won. And now, he was going to die.
It wasn’t a hard guess to make, mortality. Life on Fenris was short and violent. Rare were the souls that lived past forty. Ela glanced down at the gaping hole in his stomach, through which his intestines were clearly visible, and noted that he wasn’t even going to make it to twenty.
Oh well. He had tasted fine wine, bedded fine women, won a glorious battle against his clan’s enemies, and unless he was very much mistaken (he hoped he wasn’t), impressed the gods themselves. Even at that moment, two were watching him.
Their fiery chariot had descended from above to observe the battle, between the Whitefists and the Dragonsons. The battle had frozen at a halt when they had arrived, with combatants on each side making the sign of the All-Father in reverent awe. The chariot had circled above them, leaking fire from massive engines. Then, to the shock of all watching, two massive men with the heads of wolves, armor of metal, and talismaned weapons fell from the sky and landed in their midst. The warriors of the Whitefists had frozen stock-still, gaping at them, while the attacking Dragonsons had faltered, staring in shock and glee. The Choosers were with them, now.
Shitfuck, I thought you said you were done already.
The Dragonsons had fallen back to their boats to fetch more weapons, while the Whitefists had packed their daughters and wives off to the hills of the little island, to spare them from the carnage. It wouldn’t make a difference, of course, the Dragonsons would just enslave them if they won even if they did have to find them first. Still, the chance to earn a place in the halls of the Kings on Asaheim itself was worth a momentary distraction.
Ela had fought like a man possessed in the battle. His spear was slick with blood, and other, darker fluids. The elaborate tattoo on his arm was ripped clean off, along with some of the arm itself, taken by the axes of the Dragonsons’ chieftain. Ela had let himself fall forward after the injury, and driven his spear up into the taller man’s stomach, pulling it out with his spearhead. A worthy end, to be sure, but an end.
The bedraggled nineteen-year-old had fallen to his knees in a pool of his own blood. The women and children were coming back, now, keeping reverent distances from the silent Choosers even as they wept over the broken bodies of sons and husbands.
A child – not his – ran up to him and squeezed his shoulder, pale and blanching. “Ela! What happened?”
“I died, child,” Ela managed, collapsing against the wall with a groan of agony. “Go and get the others.”
The child scampered off, casting worried looks over his shoulder as he did. The Chooser nearest Ela stepped aside to let him pass, staring at the carnage with dead eyes behind his helm.
Ela felt anger stir in what was left of his stomach as he looked on the massive man. Was this not enough? Was the death of the entire Dragonsons and half of the Whitefists not enough? Had none been found worthy?
A stirring of cloth behind the giant Chooser caught his eyes as he sank back on the ground. A figure in a cloak of pelt and fabric appeared from where the chariot had set down on the distant hill. The figure moved over the ground with grace that bespoke incredible strength, like the Choosers, but also restraint. As the figure walked up behind the Choosers, it paused, and seemed to be looking over the battlefield from within its hood.
One Chooser paused beside the body of a fallen warrior, too mangled to recognize. With the press of a gauntleted finger to the body’s neck, the Chooser rose, then walked up to one of the Dragonsons that had died late in the fighting. That one Ela DID know: one of their Clanguards, a warrior of great skill who had managed to take Ela’s brother down with him.
Ela’s teeth ground together as the possibility that that…BUTCHER would be given the honor of ascension! The spearman tried to rise, but the unthinkable agony – and more worryingly, growing numbness – from his crippled stomach brought him back down with a muted scream of pain.
The eyes of the Choosers were on him in a moment. The lithe figure in the cloak seemed to pause what it was doing, as well. Slowly, the figure walked up to him, its eyes inscrutable in the darkness of the hood. As it reached Ela, it knelt, hiking its cloak up to keep the pelt from dipping into the blood pools.
“Have you a name, fighter?” a soft voice from within asked. A woman’s voice?
“Ela…Whitefist…son of…Kaer Whitefist…” he managed.
A hand in a delicate leather glove emerged from the folds of the cloak, and another tugged the glove free. The hand freed from the doeskin was undeniably that of a woman, too, and a young one. The hand travelled up to Ela’s shoulder, and gripped it with a strength that would have hurt like a bastard if he were in better shape to feel it.
“Hmm...how many Dragons did you kill today, Ela Whitefist?” the voice asked, contemplatively.
“…Seven…eight,” Ela replied, gasping for air. His soul was slipping away into hell and he was being quizzed on killing by a woman with no face? What was this?
“And so I observed,” the voice said, this time with a faint note of approval. Had she expected some other answer?
“What…did you…think I’d…say?” he managed.
“More. Men feel the strangest need to exaggerate their accomplishments in the face of death, as if they had anything left to prove,” the woman said. “But death in honest battle is the highest honor, anyway.” She slid the glove back on and sank to sit on her ankles. “I know what awaits us after death in battle, Ela Whitefist. Shall I tell you? Or would you find out firsthand?” she asked, her voice soft and growing harsh.
“…I would…know…so I have…no fear…” he said after a moment.
The figure nodded, and this time there was open approval. The woman reached back her hand to pull free her hood-
Ela felt the pain in his guts fade a little at the sight. She was…without a doubt…the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. Magnificent rolls of clean, braided red hair spilled from around a youthful, healthy face, with glorious, wide eyes of an inhuman green set in in the middle like gemstones. Her face was angelic, sculpted. Was she a Valkyrie? One of the spirits who ferried the greatest fallen warriors to a rousing, triumphal eternity?
The cloak was fastened below her collarbone, and her red hair flowed out over the soft fabric of her cloak to hang over the blood-drenched ground. Her red lips were turned in a slight smile, behind which two small, pointed fangs were visible. She was of their blood? She was a Chooser as well, an immortal scion of King Russ?
“When one dies in battle, their soul falls from the body, into the roiling stuff of the Warp, from which all souls come,” the beautiful young woman said. “This you know. After all, it was across the seas of the Warp that Father Russ came to this world. After a time, most souls fall into the formless darkness of space in rest, and return to the things from which the universe is made. No pain, no fear, no lust, no love or hate. Just a dreamless sleep.” She smiled again, her fangs glinting in the blue light. “Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”
“…I…suppose not…” Ela admitted.
The beautiful woman grabbed his spear, fallen from numbing hands. “Swing this at me.”
He stared. “What?”
The woman stood, crossing her arms. “Swing it at me. Now.”
Ela gripped the wooden haft, searching for a trap in her words, but finding none. He swung the gory weapon at her legs, and she effortlessly leaped the clumsy arc. “Hmph. Not much to speak of,” she said dismissively.
Ela felt his anger and fear surge through him, even as his imminent death fought to pull feeling from his arms. He swung the spear again, and again she jumped it. He made to swing again when the darkness flooding in at the corners of his eyes overwhelmed him, and he collapsed backwards, unconscious.

Freya Russ watched the spearman fall, her mind working idly. “Hmm. Argun, what do you think?” she asked.
“He has fire, certainly,” the Wolf Priest said, staring at the body. “Bit old.”
Freya nodded. “Yep. Think he deserves a shot?”
“I think so, yes. He took on those men two at a time, and only went down when the fight was over,” the Wolf Priest replied, in Gothic. Their words were not for the wounded.
“I like him. He wanted to know more about death for the sake of facing it without fear,” Freya said. “He’ll face his training head-on.”
“Sure.” Argun nodded, lifting the blood-slicked spear from the ground beside the fallen fighter. “He will be taken to Kerrvik. If he can survive it, we’ll go through training.”
“Good.” Freya watched as the body levitated onto the small medical platform the Wolf Priest was operating. “Anyone else?”
“This makes three. The others are either useless or beyond us,” the Priest said flatly.
“All right. Off we go,” Freya said, pulling her hood back up.
“NO!” a woman screamed from the village behind the battlefield on the icy beach. Freya turned to look at her as the bodies floated into the back of the Thunderhawk for resuscitation. “No, Ela, no, don’t go!” she cried.
Freya held up her arm to block the woman’s path. “Sorry, lass, but your man is destined for a greater fate than ignominy,” she said softly, in Juvjk that time.
The woman tried to push past her into the hold of the Thunderhawk, but Freya was as strong as a Long Fang, and did not relent. “Don’t take my husband,” she begged, tears pouring from her eyes. “Please! Don’t make his son grow up without him!”
Freya grimaced under her hood. “Your husband is dead. He goes now to Asaheim, that he may live forever with the blood of the Russ,” she said. “Mourn him, and remember him well,” she added, turning to go.
“What possible use could you have for him above that of his family?” the hysterical woman demanded.
Freya’s shoulders rose as she sighed. “More than you know. With any luck at all, lass…more than you will EVER know.”
File: 1358097963133.png-(420 KB, 1000x1000, olev.png)
420 KB
The sun broke over the walls of Camp Kerrvik. The blinding light flooded the training grounds below, covered in fresh snows from the blizzard the previous night. Atop one ragged wall of wood and stone, a Fenrisian boy sat with legs crossed. His mess of ruddy blond hair was cropped below his ears, and he had to brush strands out of his shining blue eyes.
He was easily the youngest person in the camp. He hated that. The only people who even seemed to approach him in size were the new aspirants, and they were a dime a dozen. Half-dead, some of them, and the others never lasted too long. They either died here or went off to the Fang. By that time, they were Wolves, Vlka of the Rout, and more like uncles than friends.
The crack of a ship breaking the sound barrier drew his superhuman eyes up. The streak of fire and metal overhead dropped like a stone towards the camp. The boy smiled happily. At least Mom was coming home.
The Thunderhawk settled down on the ground inside the walls, and the ramp dropped into the snow. A few scared-looking men with scars under their jumpsuits appeared, walking down the ramp into the streets of the tiny township. “All right, you little bastards, you straighten the hell up!” a voice roared. The lad recognized the voice as that of Sergeant Hasskald, a Grey Hunter from the Fang that he liked. Hasskald was happy to take him out to see Fenris from the skies sometimes. He said it was important.
“You whoresons THINK that you’re CHOSEN ONES!” Hasskald roared at the new guys. “You AREN’T! You’re dirt beneath my boots for the next four months! You’re ghost men, unloved at home and unmourned here, and every single one of you is going to break like glass for the whole time!” He glared at them all, brandishing the tiny silver talisman in his hands. “By the end of this training, forty five to fifty five percent of you will be stone dead. The rest? The rest of you will graduate to REAL training. You will fight one another, you will fight the elements, you will fight the Trolls and the Fiends, and you will learn what it is to kill with your bare hands! And maybe when you’re done, you bone scraps will be SPACE WOLVES!” he finished, his eyes burning. “Now…I know that some of you came from clans at war with others. That’s fine. As of today, you forget it all. You will forget your clans, your women, your children. Today, the only sons you have are the next batch of aspirants, the only brothers you have are the men beside you, and the only father you have is High King Russ!”
The Grey Hunter slammed his ceramite gauntlets together, throwing sparks where metal it metal. “You will become warriors capable of feats that could and will break lesser men if you live through this, aspirants. You will walk through the bellies of daemons, and the arms of savages, and you will take the Wolf’s Spirit within yourselves. I anticipate very few survivors, whether I want there to be or not,” he added. “I came from a batch of ninety. Only three remain.”
The aspirants shuffled their feet, some paling. “You fear that? Good! Fear means you’re alive!” Hasskald declared. “Some of you will become the Skjalds and Kaerls of the Fang, the hall of your father. Some will become food for the others when winter comes,” he said darkly.
The boy on the walls rolled his eyes. That never actually happened. “Some others will actually come to be Space Wolves, and you will take your claws to the necks of the Emperor’s enemies by the truckload, and learn to love the smell of blood,” Hasskald finished. “Now fall out, and go to the buildings you’re assigned. You will be Claws soon enough.”
The men trooped into the buildings scattered over the training grounds, as the Wolf Priests handed them scraps of paper with names on them. The boy scrambled down from the wall and ambled up to the Thunderhawk, his nine-year-old ears filtering out the sounds of the engines like a veteran deck crewer.
Hasskald looked down at him and smiled. “Olev. Lad, what are you doing up this early?”
“Listening to you bellow, apparently,” Olev sighed airily.
Hasskald snorted. “Lad, when you’re old enough, you’re doing this training whether you plan to become a Marine or not.”
“I sure hope so,” Olev said idly. “Mom’s sure pressing me not to.”
“Your mother is hopelessly in love with you, pup, and doesn’t want you to come to harm,” Hasskald said. “Fear not. There’s strength enough in you to live through my instruction.”
“Oh, there’s strength enough, I’m not worried about that,” Mom said, stepping from the hold, where she had been watching quietly. She smiled happily down at her son. “But I couldn’t live with myself if he got eaten up by trolls.”
Olev waved a hand dismissively. “I’d smell them coming.”
“In your sleep?” she asked pointedly.
Olev shrugged. His mother leaned over to wrap her arms around her son’s shoulders, hugging him close. “You know you don’t have to stay here, Love,” she said softly. “I know you want to see it, but…”
“Mom,” Olev grumbled. “Come on. Don’t call me that where the others can hear.”
Freya laughed and stepped back. “Right, sure.”
The aspirants walked back out of their new homes, blinking at the unfamiliar environments of the mountain range in which they were staying. One by one, they lined up in front of Hasskald, trying not to look afraid.
The Grey Hunter tapped the flat of his combat knife in his palm, watching them fall in. “Now. There are those of you who may think that even as Aspirants, you have nothing to prove. Nothing to accomplish. You made it this far, after all. You were Chosen! But let me show you how wrong you are,” he said. He stepped back, and Freya shooed her son away. “Before you stand I, boys, one man,” he said flatly. He hefted his chainsword in one hand and his knife in the other. “All of you who feel that you need to make up for something…all of you who aren’t smart enough to be afraid or nervous…get up here.”
Nobody moved.
“Smart lads, for once,” Hasskald said. He dropped his chainsword in the snow and slid his knife into its sheathe. “How about now?” he asked mildly.
Several of the Aspirants looked at each other and mumbled. “That armor protects you,” one of them said hesitantly. “Can we even hurt you?”
“Fair question,” Hasskald admitted. “And if I were not armored? Would you find the testicles to fight me then, little boys?”
“I just might,” another said angrily. He stepped up to the front rank, fists clenched.
“Great. What if I were not only unarmed, but unarmored, and a young woman to boot?” Hasskald asked, baring his fangs.
“Then I’d call it a complete waste of my time,” the warrior scoffed.
“I did SO hope he’d say that,” Olev said happily.
Freya took her cue. She stepped up beside Hasskald and drew back her hood. “If anyone in your little gang can beat me one-on-one,” she said by means of introduction, “he gets double rations tonight.”
The warrior blinked, taken aback by her appearance. “You send a whore to fight in your stead, Sergeant Hasskald?” he asked.
Freya grinned. “Now now…harsh words instead of fists? Do you have no fight in you, child?”
“I came here to fight, not get laid, woman,” the warrior blustered, as several other aspirants chuckled.
“Well, I suppose I did meet my husband here,” Freya admitted. “Still, something tells me you’d lack any sort of appeal even if I were on the market,” she said idly.
The man snarled and lunged at her. Freya’s wrist flickered. She had caved in his nose and stepped aside. His body tumbled, senseless, to the ground.
The other aspirants froze. Less than a second had passed. “Anyone else?” Freya snarled, flashing her fangs. One or two men gasped as recognition set in, but nobody moved. “Wise. My name is Freya Russ, you worthless puppies, and until the day you die, I am your Queen, your elder sister, your personal daemon, and the last thing you see before you die,” she said coldly, her voice biting like the chill of the wind. “My father will break you down, shatter your preconceptions, grind you into powder, and then sculpt you into REAL fighters, Astartes, Space Marines, Vlka Fenryka. You will live for eternity, in the halls of the Fang, in the depths of its armory, or in the memories of its warriors, but only if you DAMN WELL DESERVE IT!” she roared, shocking them back a pace. “This galaxy chews up and shits out the weak, and it took three thousand, seven hundred years of nonstop killing to make it even as habitable as it is!” Her wolf eyes glimmered in the morning light, glinting off of her fangs like diamonds. The men were spellbound. “Does anyone else want to challenge their Queen?” she demanded.
Not a soul twitched.
“Good. Haul his useless carcass off to a medic and start doing laps of the compound,” Hasskald said. “The man who does the fewest has to do it again.”
Two men lifted their senseless comrade off to the medical center as Freya brushed a speck of blood off her bare hands before sliding her gloves back on. Olev meandered over to where she was standing, the chill wind tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “Mom, why do you say that you’re the last thing you see before they die? You don’t fight in the field,” he pointed out.
Freya shrugged as the other Aspirants started running. “Because every so often, I jump into the training circles to beat some pride out of the ones who have a natural skill that they mistake for discipline. See, Olev, it’s easy to think that you’re good at something if you were born able to do it well, but I don’t want naturals. I want men who can fight because they have good training as well as lots of experience and natural talent. And if they mess up in the ring, fighting me or their brothers, they die. If they mess up because they’d rather do things their own way instead of the way we train them, that’s hardly my fault.”
“That doesn’t answer my question at all!” Olev protested.
“Olev, men die here. Sometimes because their trainers killed them. It happens.” Freya looked down at him, sadness written on her face. “That’s why I don’t like it when you’re here.”
“But everyone treats me like a baby on the Fang,” Olev grumbled.
Freya knelt before her son to bring his eyes level with hers. She gently leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I prefer that to treating you like a killer. For now. Okay?”
Olev sighed. “Okay.”
This one's quite a while later, after Jake and Venus (and their two sons) have moved back to Terra so N'bel can attend Imperator.


Lisa looked out the front door of her boyfriend’s house in dismay. The darkness was total; even the lights of the city were invisible. Driving sheets of rain were tearing across the sky, so strong that the branches of trees were whipping around.
She sighed to herself. “I just had to walk over. Three blocks…damn.” She raised a hand to block the wind and stepped forward.
“Where are you going at three in the morning?” a voice asked from behind her.
She jerked around, her heart rate spiking. Prince Jacob was leaning against the frame of the antechamber’s door, staring at her a bit blearily. “In this weather, too,” he said.
Lisa stammered. “J-just walking home, your Majesty.”
Jake shook his head. “Don’t be absurd, that weather could kill you. Terran rain can turn acidic from the water coming off the hive skins. Just stay here tonight,” he said, straightening up.
The blonde teenager nervously shook her head. “Thank you, your Majesty, but I couldn’t trouble you to set up a guest room at this time of night,” Lisa said.
“Who said anything about a guest bed?” Jake yawned.
Lisa’s jaw dropped. She stared, shocked. “W-what?”
Jake yawned again as he walked away. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Upstairs, N’bel, Jake’s older son, crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, completely at peace with life. She had been a bit nervous, and he couldn’t blame her, but Lisa had returned his affections. They had made love for the first time, and it had been everything he had hoped for.
Abruptly, his door swung open, shaking him out of his post-coital reverie. Lisa staggered in, looking exhausted. N’bel sat up.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked. Hadn’t she been about to go home?
“Kill me now,” she groaned, sinking facefirst onto the mattress. “Go get that ceremonial knife off the wall over there and ram it straight into my heart,” she said into the covers.
“What the hell are you on about?” N’bel asked. “Are you all right?”
“Your dad stopped me from leaving and said I should just stay the night,” Lisa mumbled. “Ffffffuuuuck…”
N’bel’s brilliantly glowing eyes widened. “What?”
“And…when I said he shouldn’t bother to set up a guest bed, he said ‘I didn’t mention a guest bed,’” she finished, gripping her head.
N’bel sank back into the pillow, staring blankly. “…Shit.” His mind raced, trying to think of a way out of their predicament, and couldn’t find one. “Well…I guess we’ll just have to see how this goes,” he said, pulling the sheets back for her.
The next morning, Lisa crept down the stairs of the house, wondering if she could get away clean.
Not to be, it seemed. Jake poked his head out of the kitchen as she walked by on tiptoes. “Good morning,” he said. “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin. “Uh, uh…your, uh…your Majesty, I’m fine, thanks,” she said, inching towards the door.
“Not what I asked,” Jake said mildly. “Come on in.”
She couldn’t see a way out of her impending doom, no matter how hard she tried, so with the airs and dignity of a condemned prisoner, she trooped into the kitchen, where Jake was already making a few omelets. Clearly he had been waiting for her to make her escape.
She sat at the counter, nervously glancing around. “Is…is Princess Venus here too?” she asked, just to delay her demise.
“She had to leave early. She says hi,” Jake said, flipping one sizzling circle of mixed egg.
Lisa looked down at her plate. “…I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Jake looked up at her from the food. “For what?”
“For…I mean…under your roof, and…” Lisa trailed off, flushing red. “Sorry.”
Jake shook his head. “You did nothing to be ashamed of. Do you know what N’bel is like when you’re not around?” he asked. He snorted. “Stupid question. Never mind. I’ll help: distracted, at best.” He smiled slyly as she looked up in surprise. “I think he really loves you, Lisa.” He raised his voice. “And he’s really bad at staying quiet!”
N’bel appeared at the door, eyes drawn and dimmed. “Uh, morning, Dad,” he said. “You, uh…heard me come down the stairs, did you?”
“Clear as a rifle report,” Jake said. “Sit down. Eat.”
N’bel slid into the seat beside his girlfriend, looking up at his father behind the counter. “So…you’re not gonna kill us, right?” he asked, to make sure.
Jake waved one hand. “Why would I do that? I remember being your age,” he said.
N’bel stared. “…What?”
“What? You’re both responsible kids,” Jake said, dropping a few slices of cheese into the cooking eggs. “I’m glad you two are happy.”
Lisa flushed bright red. “And…you’re not mad? At all?”
“Lisa, I actually like you,” Jake said drily. “My son’s in good hands.”
Lisa managed to blush even brighter, staring down at the empty plate in front of her. “…Thanks, your Majesty.”
“That’s gonna have to stop, though,” Jake said.
“We won’t do it again,” she said sadly.
“What? No, I mean calling me ‘your Majesty’ in my own house like that,” Jake said. “Look at me, I’m in a bathrobe, cooking eggs. Nothing Majestic here,” he said. He pushed the eggs out of the pan and onto her plate. “Here.”
“Uh, thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry if we…you know, bothered you last night.”
Jake chuckled. “You didn’t. I just wish N’bel had thought to close his door,” he said with mock weariness.
N’bel’s eyes flickered in sudden nerves. “Wait, you…oh fuck, you didn’t…”
“Yeah, I didn’t really want a play-by-play,” Jake said.
N’bel’s head sank into his hands. “Ugh…” he mumbled.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Jake said, putting his hands up. “Seriously. I’m happy for you two.”
“Am I missing something?” N’bel said, looking up through his fingers. “I expected you to flip a shit, here.”
“Why?” Jake asked reasonably, starting his own breakfast. “You think I wouldn’t remember when I was sixteen? Shit, I wish my dad had taken it as well,” he said. “First thing I did when I came home the next morning was yell at me.”
N’bel stared. “Grandpa George yelled at you?”
“Sure did. And then, he did it after my first night with my second and girlfriends too,” Jake said. “He was just overprotective, though, I don’t blame him.” He smiled at his son’s look of total astonishment. “After you’re done, go do me a favor, though, huh? I heard something land on the roof in the storm. Go make sure whatever it was didn’t puncture the seal, all right?”
“Uh, yeah…sure,” N’bel said, digging into his eggs.
After he finished and made his escape, Lisa sat in her own seat, her food all but untouched. Jake looked at her over the counter, gauging her nervousness. “Lisa, are you all right?”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered.
Jake sighed. “Lisa, come on. Why are you so embarrassed? Did he hurt you or something?”
Her head shot up. “No! No, he didn’t…I mean, I’m just…you’re his dad!” Lisa said.
“Yes, I am.” Jake looked over at her, trying not to intimidate her with his eyes. “Listen, sweetheart, you make my son very happy. As far as I’m concerned, this is a good thing. All right? Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I just…I didn’t even ask to come over, he just said we should come over after the party, and then…” she mumbled.
“Is that it? Lisa, my son’s never happier than he is when you’re around,” Jake said gently. “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t want that? My door is always open to you.”
She looked downward, flushing again. “Great.”
He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Frankly, I was wondering what took you two so long. N’bel’s been proclaiming his undying love for you with a downright adorable level of eagerness for weeks,” he said drily.
Lisa glanced up, surprised. “Really?”
“He’s such a romantic,” Jake laughed. He looked into her eyes, all mock sternness. “You don’t go breaking his heart, now, all right?”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“Good.” He smiled. “You want a ride home?” he asked.
“No, I should just walk,” Lisa said. She looked down at her untouched food. “Um, can I finish first?”
“Sure thing,” Jake said, sliding his own dishes into the dishwasher. “And please, for his sake, don’t hold my weirdness against him, all right? I’d never forgive myself.”
She bit her lip to hold back a giggle. “Sure thing, sir.”
“Superb. See you around,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.
N’bel was walking in the door as Jake reached it. “There’s nothing on the roof at all,” he accused.
“Wow, you saw through my transparent attempt at causing a diversion,” Jake deadpanned.
“What did you talk about?” his son demanded.
Jake put his hands up. “Easy, son, I don’t deserve that tone,” he said.
N’bel fumed. Jake nearly laughed at his son’s simmering frustration. “All right. You kids have fun. I need to descend into the cave to continue my labors,” he sighed, walking down to his office in the basement.
N’bel glared at his father’s back until he was out of sight. “Asshole,” he muttered.
Lisa picked at her eggs as N’bel sat down beside her. “I thought he was gonna be mad,” Lisa said, her nerves settling down.
N’bel sighed. “Me too.”
“You think he was being an asshole?” Lisa asked.
“A little,” he admitted.
Lisa managed a smile as she ate. “I think your Dad’s pretty cool, actually. He was really nice. Said I was always welcome here.”
“He did, didn’t he,” N’bel muttered. He looked over at his girlfriend. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Lisa said. “Well…I think my own parents are gonna be mad, though.”
“They’ll have to get over it,” N’bel said. “That was way too much fun not to try again.”
Lisa smiled at him sidelong. “It was.”
“Well, it’s a Saturday on a three-day weekend,” N’bel said casually. “We have all day, if you want to go again.”
She giggled. “Perhaps…but I need to be getting home.”
“All right.” N’bel waited until she was done eating and stood up before rising as well. “Hey…Lisa,” he said. When she looked over to him, he slid his arms around her waist and chest, pulling her into a relaxed hug, and resting his head on her shoulder. “Thanks, baby. I love you,” he said softly.
“You too, N’bel,” she said, hugging him back. “I’ll see you at school.”
Who the fuck names their kid fuckin N’bel?
After she had started off to her house, N’bel walked down to where is father was working in his corner of the basement studios. “Hey, Dad, why did you do that?” he asked as soon as he was in range.
Jake looked over his shoulder. “What?”
“Why did you confront her like that?” N’bel demanded. “You scared the shit out of her.”
Jake glared. “Watch it, N’bel.”
N’bel reined in his temper. “I mean…you scared her, Dad.”
“I didn’t mean to, but I also talked to her last night, and I didn’t want her to come away with the impression that I disapproved of your relationship,” Jake said. “I actually think she’s a nice girl. And, you know, she was the one who brought it up. All I did was ask if she wanted some breakfast.”
“Yeah, she is a nice girl, and can you kindly stay out of it when she’s over next?” N’bel asked coldly.
Jake rolled his eyes as he turned back around. “Of course. I just don’t think walking home through an acid storm is good for your health.”
“I mean…come on. That was supposed to be her quiet escape,” N’bel said.
“Yeah, and I don’t want her feeling that she has to ‘escape,’” Jake said. “She had no reason to hide what you did. That’s all I was trying to say. And again, all I did was offer her some food, she was the one who brought it up. What did she say when I was walking away?”
“She said she thought you were being cool,” N’bel admitted.
“Yeah, I heard that part,” Jake said. “Look,” he added over his shoulder. “I can be your friend about this, or your father about this. One wants to say he’s happy for you and hope you keep it up, and the other wants to know why you weren’t doing your homework instead, or whether she’s been tested.”
It's Vulkan's adoptive father's name, going back a couple of editions. Just a little canon reference.
“She has, and can you not talk about this again?” N’bel asked.
“Absolutely. I don’t intend to,” Jake promised. “I would have been happy just making breakfast for her. You do understand that she was the one who-”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. I think she was just a little scared of you and Mom, all right?” N’bel asked.
“Well, I don’t want her to be. And, hey, son,” Jake said. He looked over to where his son was standing. “She really is welcome here.”
“Thanks, Dad.” N’bel snorted, his anger fading away. “Does this mean you’ll start treating me like an adult now?” he asked jokingly.
“I don’t ever want to hear you say that, not once, for the rest of your life,” Jake said coolly.
N’bel blinked. “What?”
“Only the most extreme of assholes equate sex with adulthood,” Jake said. “The only people who say adulthood equals sex are people trying to pick on virgins. Does getting molested as a child make that child an adult? Does someone who goes off to join the Astartes before they’re old enough to have sex refer to themselves as a boy? No, they don’t. Manhood is something you get when you find yourself looking forward to a responsibility. I don’t care what it is,” he said, cutting his son off. “It’s something you earn. Marriage, fatherhood, invention, political appointment, military service, I don’t care. It’s when you find yourself with that responsibility and find yourself actually looking forward to it that you’ve become a real adult. Trust me. I knew guys in college who jumped from bed to bed like they were full of hot coals and graduated as irresponsible manchildren, and one of my best friends in high schools took an abstinence pledge as a child and lived a mature and responsible adult life from the minute he joined the Army. Loyalty and responsibility make you a man, not sticking your dick in something pretty.”
N’bel digested that. “So...you don’t think I’ve earned it?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter when I think you’ve earned it, because you find out for yourself,” Jake said. “I have no input on it. But I think you’re an intelligent and responsible sixteen year old, and I think you’ll acquit yourself well when the time comes, and it does me proud to see you in a loving relationship with a beautiful girl.”
Its like naming your kid fuckin Yaweh. How pretentious can you get?
N’bel nodded. “Okay.”
“One thing I want to be clear on, as long as I have your attention,” Jake said.
“If I ever even suspect that you and Lisa, or anyone else, are sexting, I’m going to cut your throat,” Jake said matter-of-factly. “I mean it. I even see a hint of the Royal Dong on the net, and you are a dead man. And don’t go bragging to your younger brother, either.”
N’bel flinched. “I wouldn’t.”
“You better not.”
“I wouldn’t!” he insisted.
“Good.” Jake rose and walked over to where his son was standing. “All right. Are we cool?” he asked.
N’bel nodded. “Yeah, now that I know you weren’t just being a cock-block,” he said.
Jake snorted. “Try keeping up a relationship with a Primarch’s daughter in a hive hab block with half the Treasury breathing down your neck and then talk to me about cock-blocking,” he said.
N’bel shuddered. “Can we not talk about that? At all, ever?”
“Sure,” Jake said drily. “Now…go do your damned homework,” he said, returning to his desk.
Not pretentious at all, given that N'bel actually existed and was a real man in the 40K-verse and he raised Venus' father.
This is a short one, only a few pages, and it's set twenty years after Bleeding Out. It's also the only WHH story told in the first person and from a Daughter's perspective.


I listened to the twenty-year-old music and smiled. It was reassuring in a way I hadn’t expected. Nostalgia’s not one of my usual vices, after all.
My sister paused behind me, waiting for me to move on. I blinked the distraction away and scooped a sandwich off the platter at the buffet and hurriedly moved on before I could hold up the line. The sounds of people talking all around me faded as the guy behind the counter – why couldn’t I remember his name? – thumped his hand on the rickety old minifridge that had the beer in it. “Omegan, good to see you,” he said. He extracted a bottle and glared at the ancient machine.
I smiled as his name came back. “Derek, right? Nice to see you again too,” I said, accepting a bottle. “How’s your twenty years been?”
“A bit rough,” he admitted, “but it’s been tolerable.”
“That’s good, I suppose,” I said. The lights at the front of the room brightened as someone finally found the switch. “What are you up to?” I asked, as I stepped aside to let Alpharia pass us.
“Working in the Palace as a file clerk, actually,” Derek said. “In the Estate.”
“That’s good,” I said, though I wouldn’t wish that job on anyone. “I’m working on one of the orbital plate stations as an administrator.”
Derek looked over at me, curious. “Really? Thought for sure you’d go into the intelligence business.”
“I’m happy working with people who aren’t just trying to impress me,” I said, earning a snort from my sister. That was about as much as I was comfortable saying. Alpharia’s connections with Imperial Intelligence aren’t publically known.
As I finished at the buffet, I let my eyes wander around the room. I admit, I was surprised. Where was the rest of the Family? I only saw about seven or eight of my cousins there. I had thought they’d all have made it. Cora was there, joking with her fiancé, and Lyra was in the corner, talking in low tones with a man and woman I didn’t recognize. Venus and Jake weren’t there, to my surprise, but Petra was, and I angled over to where she was sitting.
Petra looked up as I sat down. “Hello, Omegan,” she said. “How was your de-orbiting?”
“Every time I hear that, I hear ‘catastrophic, uncontrolled re-entry,’” I joked. “Fine, though. Surprised you came. Were you in town?”
“Yeah.” Petra sipped at her water and stared around the room. “I had a meeting in the Palace.” The two of us sat in silence and ate as the rest of the guests worked their way through the buffet line. “Will you be Earthside long?” Petra suddenly asked.
“Probably a week or two,” I said. I looked over at her to see her gazing contemplatively into her drink. “How come?”
“Just…wondering, really,” she said. “It’s been too long since we saw each other.”
“It has,” I affirmed. Up on Gondavana, I don’t see the other Royal Daughters much. Frankly, I like being on my own for now. Still, it never hurts to see the others, and Petra especially doesn’t get out much.
I shook my head at that thought. People used to say that about me. Before I got through therapy, I was barely even ambulatory if I was on my own for too long.
And now, the final WHH story in Eternity (though I have another I'm not going to post because it's not really thematic), and it takes place when N'bel has just turned 24.
Carmine, second son of the Nocturnean Royal family, idly twirled a pair of metal shears around his fingers. The dark, hot room he was in smelled like scorching metal, and was filled with a very faint, but audible, buzzing sound.
The seventeen-year-old set the tool down on a rack and adjusted the apron he was wearing over his forging pants. He stared at the weapon coming together before him, his superhuman senses taking in every flaw and angle.
“It’s the barrel, I suspect, not the rails,” a voice behind him said.
“I know, Dad,” Carmine mumbled, focusing on his work.
The voice sighed. “Man…I thought I was done being mistaken for Dad.”
Carmine glanced over his shoulder. His older brother, N’bel, was leaning against a cold forge behind him, arms crossed.
“N’bel! When did you get back to Themis?” Carmine demanded, wiping his arms off with a rag.
“A few hours ago. I’ve just been shooting the shit with Dad,” N’bel said. Carmine pulled his apron backwards and awkwardly embraced his brother. “Fuck, you got tall,” N’bel remarked. His brother was nearly as tall as him, now.
“Psssh, you’re just tiny,” Carmine said. “How long you staying?”
“Eh, a few weeks at least. The situation on Terra’s getting static,” N’bel said. “How about yourself? How’s school?”
“Done in four weeks, and not a day too soon,” Carmine said. “This is so boring. Was Imperator boring?”
“Fuck no, the last few days were the hardest,” N’bel remembered. “They had us do a graduation project.”
“None of that, here on a civilized planet, rather than barbarian Terra,” Carmine said cheerfully. He righted his apron and returned to his labors.
“The hell you need a bolt pistol for?” N’bel asked.
The ebony-skinned young man shrugged. “Who said I needed it for anything? I just wanted to make it,” Carmine replied.
File: 1358099589785.png-(110 KB, 500x281, RobertaYell.png)
110 KB

N’bel looked down at the metal chunks his brother was laboriously shaping. “You’re getting good, man,” he said.
“Thanks,” Carmine said proudly. “Think I’m as good as you yet?”
“No. Give it another few years, and you’ll match me,” N’bel said honestly. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Still thinking about enlisting?”
“No,” Carmine sighed. “Mom said it was a horrible idea. I kind of agree, frankly. Might go for officer’s school instead, if only for the PDF.”
“Mmm.” N’bel modestly shook his head. “Well…I couldn’t do it.”
“Sure you could,” Carmine said.
“Yeah, I could,” the twenty four-year-old said. “But I’d hate it.”
Carmine rolled his eyes. “You want to help?”
“You got it under control,” N’bel said, turning to go. “See you at dinner.”
“Yep. Welcome home, brother,” Carmine said, turning back to his creation.
So was the 40K equivalent of Yahweh, doesnt mean it wouldn't be pretentious as fuck to call your kid Emps.
File: 1358099879276.png-(153 KB, 2817x370, total_scribblins.png)
153 KB
And that's it! I hope you all enjoyed my sojourn into what used to be one of /tg/'s most forgotten settings.

Attached is my total /tg/ scribbles.

Below are my notes from this experience.

See you all in my next project!

Venus teaches him Nocturnean

The Emperor Ejects

Mea Maxima Culpa

Projectile dysfunction

“we must stop meeting like this”

The best wall

Angela’s transformation didn’t freak Michael out because his family liaises with Navigators all the time

Michael proposes to Angela, needs Sanguinius’ help to keep it a secret

The box contains a holocard with a pre-recorded workout routine on it in case they don’t see each other after the road trip ends

Someone else.'s past contributions:







What the hell are you talking about? N'bel was a real person. A blacksmith. He didn't have any powers or anything. Real people are named after their ancestors all the damn time. I'm named after an uncle who died in the war. It's perfectly normal.
>needing to brag about word count to the point you need to screencap it
Thats just...sad.
File: 1358100252383.jpg-(134 KB, 460x306, 1356486212063.jpg)
134 KB
It's not bragging, I do that in every end-of-project thread going back years. It's just tradition.

I should extend some thanks. Thanks to Iron Lung, The Editor, Ahriman's Aide, Messomancer, DarkMage, Jormundgr, Evening, Hodo Astartes, alpharius for fan support and co-writing, Eversor, Muju, and SirBriggz for doing drawfaggotry, Greenmarine for doing cheesecake drawfaggotry, and one specific anon for offering to collect my writing for later.

>It's just tradition.
So, its a tradition to brag and stroke your ego. Thats even sadder.
Dont let the door hit you on the way out, fuckstain.

Some people are just trying too, too hard.

Nicely done, Someone Else; That was certainly an ending.
File: 1358100709356.jpg-(44 KB, 216x212, Smugbabby.jpg)
44 KB
>Some people are just trying too, too hard.
I'll say. WHH has dithered about long past its expiration date and yet people are STILL trying to make it some deep and emotional bullshit.
File: 1358100953321.png-(334 KB, 792x612, Title.png)
334 KB
If you guys are interested btw, I am doing a little user-participation adventure on WHH

Check it out if you want!


So, it's following Farah? Needs some of that Interex guy in it.
File: 1358101181733.gif-(314 KB, 792x936, Comic2.gif)
314 KB

Its going to do short missions for every daughter.

I started with "Get ready for school" and the players chose Farah.

Next quest will be "Stop a bully from picking on the students" and that should be ready in about two or three more updates.

>Stop a bully from picking on the students

That could easily be the Interex Guy. It says on the page he is bullied for his deviant appearance.
File: 1358101508236.png-(226 KB, 720x720, TeachingRuss2.png)
226 KB

Post the page, I am curious. =D

Also, just posting some images as well.
File: 1358101642523.png-(428 KB, 720x720, WHH in a nutshell.png)
428 KB
Oh boy! Warhammer High!
File: 1358101676350.png-(116 KB, 333x500, Hana Khan fixd.png)
116 KB
File: 1358101708783.png-(183 KB, 720x720, Hard nights at The Rock.png)
183 KB
File: 1358101746581.png-(138 KB, 500x281, Spiritual leige.png)
138 KB

Don't forget the crawling in my skin one!
I will never understand why people think driving content producing namefags away from /tg/ is a good idea.
File: 1358101937973.png-(237 KB, 792x612, Broody as FUCK.png)
237 KB
I almost did!
If you have trawled over the archives, youll see the SE and the other two of the Big 3 have never once produced anything worthwhile.

For example, all Ahrimans Aide did was rip off the Dornian heresy and then make grimderp little girl stories.
>If you have trawled over the archives, youll see the SE and the other two of the Big 3 have never once produced anything worthwhile.
...He posted a list of them upthread, dude. You're outright lying.
File: 1358102247525.png-(1.41 MB, 2550x3300, Holy Terra Unified School(...).png)
1.41 MB

Just gotta take the punches and roll with it. Have fun the way you wanna and try and take into consideration the critics but continue on doing what you love.
These people aren't critics. They're trying to force SE and AA to leave 4chan. They're trolls.

Go ask Miko, Muju, and any of the dozens of other drawfags why they left, and they'll tell you drama like this. And then I bet these assholes ask why there's no OC on /tg/ any more.

Well, I'm glad you think so highly of me. Thank you.

Anyway, it's my turn to end my story, Riders of the storm (with apologies to Jim Morrison and the Doors). After that, I'll finish up with WHH, ditch my trip and writefag as an Anon for /tg/ requests.

The haters have won, as they seem to do here on /tg/. Well done, I hope you find something new to hate, as in the words of Richard Nixon, 'You won't have WHH to kick around anymore because, gentlemen, this is our last thread'

Let's finish this, one way or another.

Oh no no no, I understand, they are trolls. Don't let me brush off the vile people in the fray.

I am sorry to put lightly a situation I have seen often on these WHH threads.

But discrediting anyone who doesn't sing praise for a topic will only create more animosity.

I know SE and AA have taken more flak then anyone truly deserves, unfairly so!
File: 1358102755571.jpg-(368 KB, 709x650, WH 08.jpg)
368 KB
>Last time, we were with Hana Khan as she led the White Scars Auxilia in a distant war.

Two days later we set off again. The break was good, a chance to ready ourselves for the next stage of the attack. We were rested, hungry for the hunt again. As the long kilometres passed in a glare of grass and pale sky they became ever more impatient, ever more anxious to see signs of prey on the empty horizon.

There is, to my eyes, no more stirring sight then the Tumen on the march, ten thousand horses trampling the plains, vast clouds of dust kicked up by our horse’s hooves, the ground shaking with our passing, the sounding of drums and horns to keep us in our loose formations ready to form up and fight at any moment.

We spoke to one another as we rode, shouting over the thudding of our horses hooves, leaving the voxes off and enjoying the power of our natural voices. It is the way we have always done things on Chogoris. Conversations drifted across the Tumen, from one warrior to another, from one Arav to another, from Zuut to Minghan and so across the Tumen.

My Lady Khan was silent, focused on the march. I knew she had many things burning in her brain, and I knew she wanted to talk about them, so I determined to coax them out of her.

As the plains tumbled away beneath us, our conversation opened up a little.

“My Lady” I asked. “What’s on your mind?”
Emprasque wasnt all that great and WHH outright sucked.
Then say THAT, make a suggestion, and leave. Following the OP around and trolling him isn't going to accomplish anything. This is Tumblr levels of pointlessness on your part.
File: 1358102937882.png-(445 KB, 720x720, Venus2.png)
445 KB

Giving the assholes any break or leniency is not what I wish to do. All we can do is just keep making OC and smile through it. =D

That being said, I am not a great wordsmith, so I will stick to just doodling.
She gave a dry smile, and shook her head. “Nothing to concern you Tevguul. We have two weeks travel before we reach our designated co-ordinates, and that’s a long time out of action.”
“My Lady, Are we to rendezvous with any of the brotherhoods?”
Her face darkened. “No Tevguul, it appears we will be paired with the Imperial Army for a time. The Scars will fight without us.”
I now knew her dark mood. She would not be able to fight in sight of her father if the Auxilia was sent elsewhere. She wanted to be at the forefront of the action. If she was to gain the honour of fighting alongside the Khagan - who would surely be at the heart of the action - then we in the Auxilia would have to remain at the forefront of the closing circle.

“I want to be there with him. At the end.”

“I hope so,” I told her “I hope he is there, to see your courage. But you can never tell,” I added, as lightly as I could. “He is elusive. They all say that about him.”

I smiled again, to myself that time, remembering a day over forty years ago, when a giant in white heard my oath and marked me as bloodsworn.

“Elusive. Like a berkut. That is what they all say.”

She nodded, and said no more.


We all hate being penned up. Like our scar brothers, we have no centre. I could feel the mood amongst my brothers. They want to be riding, hunting, fighting. But now we found ourselves pinned down.

It was two weeks after we had resupplied, and as per our orders the Tumen of the Auxilia found itself paired with the Imperial army for a joint mission. One of the great hain columns had reached the northern mountains and there they had returned to one of their foul dens to rest and resupply.
By the way, you claimed in another thread completely unrelated to WHH that you were bitching in that you believe you still have more to offer /tg/ once youre done with WHH.

Based on your previous stuff, I really doubt that.
Enjoying the short stories SE, it's a shame that you have been bombarded by the bad-wrong-fun-can't-hide-threads crowd at the end of all things.
>isn't going to accomplish anything.
According to AA, it already did.
Yeah, I didn't know my threads attracted LiveJournal uses. Shame, that.

But if I'm an anon, how will you know?
They had chosen a good place to make their stand. High in the northern hemisphere of the planet, the endless grassy plains eventually crumpled into a series of chains of ravines and jagged peaks, between the icecap and the plains. We had never penetrated far into that region, opting to clear the hain from the vast plains first. It was natural defensive terrain - hard to enter, easy to hide in.

We had to destroy them before they could dig in, but there was expected to be at least thirty-thousand greenskins dug in up our particular sector. The Army was supposed to drive them out and into the arms of the Legion, but that was slow going, and so we were sent in to aid them.

In the case of this particular joint mission, the Army would shell this particular enemy hold to ruins, drive them out into the open and engage them, and then we would charge, smash them and ride them down. That was the plan at least.

Our two companion regiments were both Terran Regiments from the Throneworld, but could not be less alike. One was a relic of the old night before the rise of the Emperor, while the other was the face of the new Terra that had arisen after the Unification and Crusade.

None of my brothers have bothered to read up on our army support, something I find strange. I like to know who we are serving with, so that I can liaise with our allies easer. It’s a practice I picked up while I lead the Auxila, before the Khan came of age, and now I use it in her name to help her lead.
Doesnt matter, the shit stinks through the mask. Im not asking you to leave /tg/ forever or even telling you to stop trying, I am just telling you that you have yet to write a decent story thus far in your time on /tg/.
Ironic, coming from the guy who makes snide, egotistical comments and then deletes them like a pussy after ragequitting like a little bitch.
Your doodles for that mspa quest are kinda dull, by the way.
This series really needs more porn.

Well, if you could give me some constructive feedback on what I'm doing wrong and how I can fix and improve it, then I'll be most appreciative.

That's what the fapfics are for. SE writes some pretty decent ones I must admit, I wish he'd do more of them.
People would treat you like something other than trolls if you had something to say other than trolling.
And lesbians, but we all know how that goes.
The one I wrote and didn't post is a fapfic of sorts. I didn't post it because it's not thematic, like I said.
The first regiment assigned to aid us was the Geno Five-Two Chiliad. An elite force which had a martial tradition that stretched back through the time of the Great Crusade and deep into the era of the Unification Wars before it. The Geno was a proud member of the Old Hundred, highly destructured, adaptable and flexible. The Geno had only recently returned to frontline combat after suffering serious losses in the field in a far-off war five years ago which saw the destruction of a large number of their companies.

We had all been forewarned about the Uxors. They were the top of the Chiliad’s command tree, and their technical inability to conceive made them gruesomely promiscuous. All had to be on guard around them, for they would lie with anyone if they could. I knew my men would not succumb to the temptation, but I did not think the other regiment serving with us would be so fortunate, as they did not have the iron discipline of Chogoris.

The other regiment was a detachment of the Terran Praetors, an infantry battalion and a full artillery regiment. If the Geno are the face of strife-age Terra, then the Praetors are the face of the new Terra which came out after Unification. They do not have the legacy of the Old Hundred, they are a new thing willing to try new tactics and test new weapons. Everything about them is ‘new’.

The Praetor Artillery pounded the hain night and day, the Geno held the line and we would deliver the killing blow. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. But it didn’t. The hain held fast, the Praetors threw shells downrange and we sat around and stewed.

I sat with my brothers in the Khevtuul, the night guard of the Kheshig, warming our hands indulgently by firelight like our fathers had done on Chogoris.

“Why are we still here? We should be hunting, running down enemy convoys, not playing nursemaid to the Army.” That was Tugh, an Arav-Sergeant in the Kheshig. His mood mirrored the mood of the whole Tumen.
I tried that once and I got told to go fuck a bird for my troubles.
That's true. That was an overreaction on his part.
All of the fapfics I saw for WHH kinda sucked. Then again, its hard to do good fapfics of angsty high school girls. You cant even utilized all the weird 40K tech for kinky usage in WHH because none of it exists for some reason. Same deal with deviantly delicious xeno sex. Not to mention Admech and Sororitas are right out.

>Implying all fa/tg/uys are raging deviants who don't want to read about heterosexual sex between a loving couple.
“The orders come from the Khagan. He sent us to aid the Army. Would you disobey His orders?”

Tugh shook his head slowly. I knew how he felt. I did not like being caged there any more than he did. We were unsuited to this kind of warfare. Our horse artillery could not play its part in the bombardment, so none of us could help in any way. We knew our talents were being squandered. But the Khagan ordered the Khan, and the Khan’s will be done, regardless of how we feel about it.

Another member of the Khevtuul came and crouched down beside me. “Tevguul, someone approaches the Khan’s tent.” He whispered.

I nodded, reached down, picked up my guan dao and set off into the night. The Khevtuul were the ones to guard the Khan while she slept, but I guarded her at all hours. No-one approached the Khan without getting through me first.

I reached the Khan’s yurt, and saw there was no light within. She was sleeping then. The yurts that we traditionally sleep in lack a solid wall, and so a weapon can easily penetrate the walls and kill the subject inside. That is why the Kheshig are there, that is why I am there.

I saw the figure creeping through the night, trying to remain stealthy. A Praetor, given his uniform. What he wanted with the Khan was none of my concern, he would never get there.

I took three steps forward, swung my guan dao in an arc and in a single move grabbed the unknown Praetor, the haft of my guan dao at his throat. One move and I could crush it, end him there and then.
I would get pissed and loose my temper too if I would produce OC for /tg/ (which I haven't) in such quantity and getting nothing but unconstructive bitching in return. It's like you actually think that such persistent shitstorms that has followed them shouldn't affect them in the slightest. Everything they have produced isn't stellar, but it is enjoyable for some and it isn't for many. The trick is to ignore or hide things you don't like, but instead haters had to ruin the fun of the few for some reason that is beyond me.

To all the haters, congratulations for strangeling the creative spirit of /tg/ even further. I hope it will one day turn into the badwrongfun.exe wasteland you so desperately crave.
( ;´Д`) < U avin a giggle ther m8? ill bash ye fookin ead in i sware on me mum
>implying that the best fapfics arent about weird sex between loving individuals
You act like you have never d'awww'd at a man fisting his centaur wife. Also
>implying that WHH fapfics even managed to pull off heterosexual sex between a loving couple well
It was all overidealized and still awkward at the same damn time.
File: 1358105154329.jpg-(51 KB, 714x536, Sadfrog The Movie.jpg)
51 KB
>there will never be a story about one of the more angsty primarch daughters getting sent to a SoB boarding school where the Sister Superior dominates and fucks the angst out of her.

Well then, why doesn't someone make some more WHH fapfics? I'd like to see heterosexual/homosexual sex between a loving couple pulled off well.

Who's stopping someone from doing this?
Yer naw 'at guid 'at fakin' ae Scots tongue, ye've naw got a guid Scots tongue in her heid, ya wee fanny. Chuck it, ya fuckin' tosser.
He was going for Chav, not Scot.
No one.
Get busy, my miniscule cock is waiting.
“Who are you? What do you want with the Khan?” I spoke in Khorchin, the language of Chogoris. It is far removed from Gothic, and the stranger has no idea what I had said, but he got the message.

“I…I wish to see Hana.” He forced past my guan dao. The fact he referred to the Khan by her first name filled me with suspicion, and I let go and got a good look at the man, my guan dao still aimed at him.

The ranks on his sleeve indicated he was a Sergeant First class, with the insignia of the Artillery on his breast. A sabre hung from his hip, and there was something about that blade which caught my eye.

“Name?” I demanded, in heavily accented Gothic this time.

“Hannover. Sergeant First class Andrew Hannover, Praetor Field Artillery.”

I digested that information, thinking back if the Khan had ever mentioned someone by that name. That sword nagged me again. “Your steel boy, let me see.”

He looked at me and hesitated a moment, before drawing his sword and presenting it to me, and I was taken aback for a moment. It was almost the twin of the Khan’s Tulwar for craftsmanship, and I could see her handiwork in its forging as clearly as a thumbprint on the blade.

“She and two of her cousins made it for my best friend. He served in the Geno on 63-30.” He said before I could open my mouth.

“And if may ask, what happened to him?”

“He died.” There was sorrow in his words, and I knew he was no assassin. If his sword was made by the Khan, then there had to be a connection, and she would want to know.

“I speak with Khan.” I answered, heading for her tent.

Gently I tapped on the tent pole, and after a few seconds the light came on within.

“My Khan, there is a Sergeant of the Terran Praetors who wishes to see you. His name is Andrew Hannover.”
Complain all you want, but they intentionally and aggressively drove off all legitimate criticism a long time ago until only 'haters' remained. They're just reaping what they sowed.
The lesbian hating bastards who want WHH to be a SUPAR SEWIOUS GRIMDERP ONLY thing.

Well congrats, guys, you got what you wanted. Now no one outside of your little circle will want to touch WHH again thanks to what you've done to it.
So, you admit you're just hating and not criticizing. Way to back yourself into a corner.
There was a flurry of activity within, and then she stuck her head out. “Bring him here,” She commanded in Khorchin. I nodded and walked back to Hannover, guan dao in hand.

“Khan, she will see you.” I barked, gesturing towards her tent.

By the time we got back, she was dressed and outside, clad in a deel, a traditional Chogoran gown, long, loose and resembling a big overcoat.

“Andrew.” She said warmly, her smile matching his own as they embraced.

At that moment I realised there was past history between them, and I wracked my mind trying to work out if I had heard his name before. I had only met one of her many boyfriends, the hiver named Seager, a poor lovestruck boy being led about by the ear by the Khan. That was when she was different person, more selfish and domineering. That was one of the few times I let the Khan have a piece of my mind, and I’d like to think that my advice was what finally made her see the folly of her ways.

After greetings, the Khan invited Hannover into her tent. I took a step forward. “He’s an old friend.” She told me in Khorchin. “I wish to speak with him alone.”

“As you command, my Khan.” I replied.

Standing outside, I could not help but overhear their conversation.

“I never expected to see you here.” There was surprise in her voice.

“I never expected to be here. We’d been on Badab for over five years guarding the Maelstrom, and suddenly we’re packed up and sent here.” A short pause. “To be honest, I never expected to see you here either, but when the liaison officer said that there was a mad woman leading the Legion Auxilia, I immediately thought of you.”

There was a soft thump; I could well imagine the Khan giving the Praetor a good clout for his words. But them a soft laugh came through as well.
>implying he speaks for everyone
I legitimately like WHH, but I legitimately hate what its become.
Well, you can try and give legitimate criticism now. At least it'll help for their future projects.

Those are mutually exclusive.

Besides, SE's happy endings, personal triumphs, and highschool sweethearts can't be much more different than AA's gunwanking and grimderp. Which do you dislike more? Which do you dislike less?

polite sage for AA

>oundamb uterus
“Well, the Army needs mad people to lead them; why else would they risk their lives on foolish errands?” another pause. I could see their shadows on the yurt wall, they were both seated on her camp bed.

“We’ve only just joined the campaign, what fights have you had? What new things have you learned to kill since last we met?”

For a while the Khan recounted the last three wars we had fought, one against a human enclave which had refused to join the Imperium, and the other two against the Empire of Mudd Mordag. The war against the humans was particularly harsh; as the Khan had told me, “this is the true misery of this war, that they do not recognise us as kin.”

The humans of that world were of a tech level several points down the scale from the Imperium. They had possessed guns and tanks, but still favoured blades. They refused to give up their freedom and their gods, but after several months of bitter fighting their cities had burned, their temples pulled down and their people exterminated before they finally surrendered. I did not like fighting fellow Humans, and the Khan was the same. I still remember her face after her first kill of that war, the shock that she had just taken a human life. Though she was not human and would never be, to take the life of something like the ones she had known and grown up with was a shock that killing a hain or Exodite never gave.

They moved on to talking about Terra, which did not interest me. I had visited Terra only twice, once when the Khan was born, and once during her early years at Imperator, when I had expressed such distaste at her treatment of the hiver. Terra was a dead world, with poisoned skies and dead rock. The trees and oceans were long gone, and I could not stand such a lifeless hulk. Chogoris was alive, with the whisper of the wind across the Altak and the clouds whipping across the high skies. The same could not be said for Terra. I was glad to leave that world.
Both are bad and poorly executed for different reasons. If this thread is still up after my shift is up, I might go into more detail. Granted, last time I wasted my time trying to discuss this civilly I got told to fuck a bird, so I might not feel all that motivated to explain too hard.
I get the feeling you've never spoken to SE about his stories. SE never shies from actual discussion. But sure, I'd like to see it.

I apologise for that, and would dearly like to hear your explanations. Anything to help me improve as a writer. We are after all elegen/tg/entlemen here, or at least we'd like to think so.
“Do you hear from your cousins much?” Hannover asked.

“Some of them. I had a message from Farah last week; she was touring the Cadian Gate with Lyra.”

“Lyra? There’s rumour going around about her. They say she…”

“Yes. It’s brave of her to admit her true feelings and come out of the closet. But I imagine a lot of people will be disappointed now.”

“Well, I hope her girlfriend will be thankful for that.” A pause, and then Hannover changed the topic.

“You make a good commander Hana, everyone says that about you. You drive your men hard, but you share every danger and discomfort with them, and they all adore you, regardless of who your father is.”
His words rang true. We were proud of the Khan, we adored the daughter of the Great Khagan who we all owed our lives to, and we never wanted to let her down.

There was no reply from her, but I anticipated she would ask me about his words in the near future. Several hours passed while they talked about many topics. My attention was on the outside, I was bloodsworn, and would be ever alert in case someone less friendly tried to come calling. The hain they called ‘kommandos’ in their foul tongue often tried to infiltrate and assassinate our leaders, I don’t know how they could do so, hain had notoriously bad intelligence, but some low cunning motivated those particular ones. We had seen them very infrequently in this campaign, but that could change.

“I see you’re wearing the blade.” The Khan remarked.

“You think I wouldn’t? You and your cousins remade it for me. The broken blade, reforged.”

Suddenly his tone changed. “I was supervising the deployment of the Basilisks this morning when one of the Geno Uxors came up to me. Said she’d always wanted to meet the famous Andrew Hannover, the only decent Praetor in the entire Imperium. She wasn’t the only one. All day Hetmen and Uxors came up to me, shaking my hand and saying how much they’d heard about me. All his doing.”
File: 1358107396110.jpg-(527 KB, 1009x782, 1347054775423.jpg)
527 KB
I'm here for the art and the porn. Both are brilliant.
Thanks for all the WHH writefagging, SE. It has been fun reading it!
I appreciate that.
Thank you! An interesting series of stories.
To ALL the writefags, thank you. I often enjoy your work - even when it's not of wonderful quality, it's still fun. Fuck the haters, they are a highly vocal minority (I suspect) who are mainly there to be assholes instead of offering constructive criticism.

To all the people going "you suck!", learn to critique or kindly stop shitposting/trolling.
Perhaps you don't know just how many names have their roots in words for god. Here are a few (in no particular order) from Hebrew words for god: Elisha, Daniel, Israel, Ariel, Eli, Elizabeth, Eliana, Gabriel, Michael, Emmanuel, Matthew... basically, a shitload of biblical names.
Another pause. There were only pauses here; I wondered what it looked like within the yurt, what his face was saying.

“This blade is not mine Hana. It never was. I am not a front line warrior; I supervise artillery and bring death from a distance, not clash hand to hand and blade to blade with the foe. He was the one who braved the storm, and he died from it.”

“If he were still alive, he would be here as well. All three of us, the Imperator warriors, fighting on one world.” When he spoke again, his voice was cracking from emotion.

“I miss him Hana. I miss those letters he sent me, the way I would tease him about the Uxors and how he would scowl whenever he mentioned them. I never got to say goodbye to him, I couldn’t get leave to return to Terra for the funeral, not that there was much point, they weren’t burying anything, there was nothing left to bury.”

I suddenly felt like I was intruding upon a private moment, but I couldn’t move. It was like my feet were rooted to the ground.

“I told myself the moment I got some leave I would head to Calth, see Oll and pay my respects to him, but I can’t do that either now. Why did he do it? Why did he destroy himself?”

The shadows on the yurt wall showed that the Khan was embracing him, holding him.

“Coming here, seeing you, having all the Geno people who knew of me, it just all burst.”

“I understand Andrew. I’m glad you came to see me, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a familiar face.”

“Thank you Hana. I’ll leave you be, I’ve got the next day's shelling to attend to, I need to get some rack time.”
The yurt flap opened and Hannover emerged. As he headed towards me, I decided to say something.

“I am sorry about your friend, the one you were talking to the Khan about.”

He shook his head. “He died for the Imperium, as we all die for the Imperium. Will there be an end to this?”

“The future will be otherwise,” I said. “But for now, though, for us, there is only war. We must live it and hope to survive it.”

Hannover shook his head in disbelief. “I see they breed poets on Chogoris as well as warriors.” he said.

“We do not distinguish between them,” I said. “The best warriors have a poet’s soul within them.”

He did not reply, but a smile twitched on the edge of his lips.

It was the morning after next that the hain came down from the mountains, and as per the plan they smashed into the wall of Geno and Praetors, and then with a thunder of hooves we swept into them and rode them down. that pocket was wiped out, and we separated and moved on. It was only later that I learned that Hannover was the Khan’s last boyfriend, and her closest one. She had learned from me, and he was nothing like the poor soul that was Seager the Hiver. I was full of pride that moment, pride in the Khan. She learned from her mistakes.


The end came like a bolt from the blue on that world. Suddenly the last bolt-hole of the hain was uncovered, and hastily we rode to join the final push. My Khan would not have it any other way; we had to be in at the death.
Hmm. What now?
By the time we reached the core we were weary, driven into fatigue by the unflagging resistance of the orks. My lamellar armour was black-brown from bloodstains, my helm scored by blade marks. Over a fifth of the Auxilia, two thousand plus warriors had died facing the hain, we had taken more casualties than we had during years of prior campaigning on other worlds. I did not regret the losses. None of us did. We always knew that the greenskins would fight hard for their final foothold, and those who had died had died like warriors, like scars, like true sons of Chogoris.

The last stronghold of the hain was located between two parallel mountain ranges close to the North Pole. Almost dead centre between them was a cluster of five snow-capped volcanoes arranged in a rough circle, the legacy of a dormant hotspot in the planet’s crust. In the space between them, the hain had made their lair.

The hain had had a long time to work on their last fortress. They had looped walls between the mountains, mounted towers upon them, and twisting stairways slung between the slender turrets. These walls bristled with guns, and columns of soot-black smoke belched from behind them. Enormous machines growled away within - engines, generators, forges and more. I guessed that those things had been taken from one of their cavernous space-going hulks or one of their ships before we destroyed them in orbit.

Thousands of greenskins milled about on the wall ramparts, bellowing their challenges into the clear air. Thousands, maybe millions more sheltered further within, waiting for the attack they knew was coming.
Twenty-six brotherhoods of the White Scars Legion stood poised to deliver the death blow, along with four regiments of the Imperial Army and ourselves. We were rested and eager to deliver a final charge, to shake the earth with the thunder of our hooves. Behind us the Praetor Artillery and Hannover were preparing to blast a hole in the curtain wall to allow us to charge through the gap and into the heart of the foe. Hannover and the Khan had met again just before we had formed up, though I did not accompany her for that meeting. What passed between them is for them alone to know, though she had a rare smile on her face when I saw her ride up to join us.

“This is it.” She told me. “The final battle, the final charge.”

“Then let us make sure this is one to be remembered.” I replied.

Like the warriors of the Altak, I slashed the knife across my palm and held my hand up, open-handed, in the Chogorian way. She mirrored my action, and clasped it, allowing the blood to mingle. My hand was scarred from the many times I had done that action, while hers was as smooth as always; not even a mark to show where she had cut it so many times.

“The Emperor be with you, Hana Khan,” I said.

“And with you, Tevguul,” she replied.

By then I could hear distance-echoed reports of gunfire from the other side of the ring. The Brotherhoods were making their assault. I knew she wanted to move, she had to be there, she had to see Him.

We unclasped our hands, and moved into position, at the head of the Kheshig Diamond.
Once again the drums began to beat and the signal flags lifted into the air. As we began to move the air was split by the shriek of artillery as the Praetors opened up, sending a torrent of shells screaming towards the enemy bastion.
The curtain wall was rocked with explosions, wall guns blasted apart and hain flung from the battlements. We would not break into a full gallop until a hole was made big enough for us to charge through.
Rough Rider Diamonds trotted forward, interspaced with Hellhound Aravs and Tachankas between. The Rifle Cavalry held the flanks, while the Horse Artillery dashed forward, ready to add close in fire support to our charge.

The space around the enemy ring filled with the bang and crack of fire. Primitive flak-bursts studded the air, black clouds downing numbers of our supporting aircraft. Artillery was flung out at us, lobbing shells into our path and ripping up the terrain about us. The Diamonds instinctively loosened into smaller ones, the Minghans splitting into their Zuuts to avoid a single shell wiping out too many of us.

It was then that Hannover’s artillery did its job. The curtain wall shuddered and fell in a scream of tortured metal as Basilisks, Bombards and Manticores unleashed their fury upon it. Hundreds or the hain died with their wall, and as the smoke started to clear, several pathways in to the inner sanctum of the hain hold were revealed.

“For the Khagan and the Khan!”

“For the Khagan and the Khan!” We roared to the high heavens as we broke into a full charge, horns blaring once again.

I felt the adrenaline fill my veins, my guan dao clutched tightly in my hands. Ten thousand hooves struck the hard earth, throwing up great clouds of dust as our ancestors did on Chogoris.

The Khan’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes roaring with fire. Her Tulwar sang in the morning air. This was it, she would fight beside the scars, and she would show what she could do, she would make her father proud.

“Onward!” she roared. “Onward!”
Fucking hell, I thought you guys said you were done pissing all over WHH already.

SE may be done and dusted, but I'm not (yet) and neither is Darkmage (who has some awesome shit nearly ready to post.)
Well quit dragging this shit out and get it over with already. Fuck.
File: 1358129112951.jpg-(208 KB, 728x766, WH 07.jpg)
208 KB
You and your spiritual liege Sage the Crusader may have won, but I and my shitty dial-up will ensure that this will be done once it's done, and not when you want it to be done.

I hope the talented Drawfag who did these pics shows up sometime. I want to see moar from you. And moar from Eversor if he's still around and has new stuff to post.
Hoe pretentious do you even have to BE to make such a post?
You're the one who's going out of their way to tell other people they're wrong to have fun.

Not pretentious, just not wanting to end it when you say so. What right do you have to tell me when to stop and start?
Are you really that clueless or do you just get off on pretending to be an obtuse motherfucker?

This is 4chan. Both work.
We passed through the broken walls in a blur, and were into the hold. It was full of machinery, the workshops where the hain made their weapons, where they were preparing for the storm now breaking upon them.

There they were, the hain horde now rushing out to meet us. A green tide lumbered right at us, stumbling over their own clawed feet just to get into blade-range. They were disorganised, ripe targets for our blades and horses hooves.
We impacted into them with force of a runaway train. Hunting Lances spit them, pistols blew them apart, horses trampled them into the rock. We drove onwards, cutting them down as more and more of us poured through. The Rife Cavalry rode rings around them, picking them off with their lasguns. The Hellhounds, Devil Dogs and Banewolves drove into the toughest pockets of resistance, and none could stand before them.

In those short moments, tearing into battle under the incandescent light of the sun, we had become the storm, like our Scar brothers were the storm. We were irresistible: too savage, too skilled, too swift.

I rarely gave my brothers orders once an engagement started: I trusted them to look after themselves, and they repaid that trust with victory. I soon lost sight of them, there was only the Khan, and she was a whirlwind of death. Her Tulwar reaped the hain; her archaeotech pistol blew them apart. She rode ever onwards, ever deeper into the horde, ever closer to the centre.

My armour clanged from repeated impacts and near misses, but I never slowed down. The blades of the enemy came at me in clumsy swipes, but I thrust them aside and slew their owners.
I heard the screams and bellows of greenskins ringing in my ears, and it only fuelled my drive to fight with the Khan and kill the foe. The stench of hain bodies and hain filth and hain blood was like a thick fog, it was all there was on the now still air. Everywhere, every stinking corner of that shoddy place rang with the clash of weaponry; every rusty facet of the hain workshops and factories was lit up with the reflected glare of gunfire.
We were not alone, I could see jetbikes spin and roar above, and hear the crash of bolters. The Scars were with us, our lords and masters, the brotherhoods of the Khagan were with us on this day of slaughter.

It was then that I noticed we were all alone, just the two of us, isolated in the midst of the horde. We had driven so far and so fast we had left the Kheshig and the Auxilia behind us.

“My Khan! We are too far from the Auxilia! We must fall back!” I yelled at her.

“No Tevguul, we must push onwards. We must reach the centre.”

“We are alone and surrounded by the hain. I will not let you kill yourself just to prove to your father that you are a mighty warrior! You have proven that time and time again, why do so now?”

Suddenly there was doubt in her eyes. She cut another of the hain in half with a sweep of her Tulwar, and turned back to me.

“Tevguul, when has my father ever come down here to see us fight? When has he told me what a good job I’ve done? I fight hard, but he had never come down to see me, he had never told me that he’s proud of my efforts. He will see me now, he will see me fight and kill and he will be proud.

“He has a Legion to lead my Khan. He cannot be everywhere at once. I have no doubt that he has read your reports, and that he knows your courage. You have nothing to prove my Khan. You are the Wind Rider, the Cherbi of the Kheshig, beloved by Legion and Auxilia. Cease this folly, and let us return to the Auxilia. You are not here to do a Pius; you know what happened to him.”
All of the WHH writers have done some really excellent stuff, I've enjoyed all of it.
All of the WHH writers have done some really mediocre stuff, I've remained ambivalent towards all of it.
All of the WHH writers have done some really shitty stuff, I've hated all of it.
All of the WHH writers have done some stuff, I've all of it.

AA gets off on edging and denial, so you'll have to wait a bit. He likes to drag these affairs out past reason.
I'm lost.

Eh, that's writefags for you. God bless archives.

Check out 1d4chan, there's a pretty decent accumulation of stuff there. Basically the premise is the Heresy got headed off at the pass, the Emperor created daughters for the Primarchs as a bit of an attempt at transitioning them towards a more peaceful non crusade existance. Seems to be working well. The main setting is the High School they're all attending, hilarity ensures, etc etc.

Anyway, what you're seeing here is mostly epilogue to a few fairly long running writefags stuff.

working on a sketch i wanted to do for awhile, be done in a lil bit


What subject?

Furia and Freya in mid-combat

Fuck. Yes.

I'm sorry, It's an hour long bus ride home. Let's finish this off then.
Before she could reply to my words, there was a crashing roar which came from the nearest workshop. We spurred our horses and moved towards it, the space suddenly bereft of the hain.
It was then that the monster emerged.

It burst out of the workshop, crashing through the flimsy wall with a simian, lurching gait and threw the remnants aside in a shower of twisted metal. A huge, muscle-bound arm shot out, then another, hauling a vast armoured body after it. A scarred head, a metal plate in the skull, massive tusks as big as my head, two yellow, watery eyes sunk deep below a low, knobbly brow glaring at us.

I had never seen one so big, never imagined that the hain could grow to such monstrous size. This had to be their leader; this had to be the warlord of the hain upon this world.

I had seen chieftains of their kind before during my many wars with the Auxilia, giant bulls that had roared their defiance to the heavens and charged into battle with reckless abandon leading their charges by example. But this one was different. It was fused with clanking technology, bolted into its armour, aping the Scars with its powered exoskeleton.

It moved faster than I could have ever imagined. The Khan’s cyber steed, which had been a gift from her father, was dead within seconds, nearly torn in two by the monster hain’s claws, each claw as long as my guan dao. She was flung from the saddle, flung into the dust. Roaring, I leapt off my horse, swinging my guan dao, blade already crackling with energy.

The biting edge of my guan dao stabbed into the monster’s armour, but could not penetrate.
The beast swung back at me, and its gauntlet slammed heavily into my side, flinging me away like a rag doll. I landed hard, my blade still clutched in my hands. The world spun around me, and I had a brief glimpse of jetbikes roaring overhead. Had they seen us, could they see the monster trying to kill us?
I struggled to my feet and raised my guan dao again, but the monster charged me, its claws snapping. Once again I was flung aside, and I felt it was toying with us, using us as sport. By now the Khan was on her feet, and seeing me smashed aside with not a though, she gave a wordless cry and charged the great beast.

She was a peerless fighter, but even she could not hope to stand against such a monster. She hacked and slashed, dodging its massive claws, but once a hit finally connected she was flung aside, and this time I heard the snap of breaking bones. Now it was my turn to give a wordless cry and run towards her. She was alive, but I could see a number of her ribs were broken, and one of her lungs popped. She could not fight anymore. I stood over her, guan dao in hand, ready to face my end. I swore to die for the Khan, and I was ready to do so. The Hain monster glared at me, gave a thunderous bellow and charged. I stood ready to die.

Suddenly between us the air shrieked. A knot of coruscating blue-white energy emerged and grew in an instant to a glowing sphere of lightning. Tortured air molecules screamed as the laws of physics were twisted to breaking point; in the next second, the blaze of light and noise evaporated and in its place someone stood.

The Khagan, the Great Khan, the perfect warrior, the primarch of the V Legion, had unveiled himself at last. Here was the centre, and here he would fight.

He had come with the Kheshig of the scars, a phalanx of giants in bone-white Terminator plate, and even they did not come between the Khan and his foe. They hung back around the fight silent and massive, ensuring that nothing - greenskin or White Scar – intervened, gunning down any of the hain that dared to break through.
The Khagan was tall, lean even in his ivory coloured armour. A heavy crimson cloak hung from his shoulders, lined with mottled irmyet fur and covering the fine gilt curves of the ceramite plates beneath. His dao sabre with its glass-polished blade flashed in the sun as he drew it. His shoulder guards were gold, engraved with flowing Khorchin characters and the lightning-strike sigil we all bore, the sigil of our Legion. A pair of Chogorian flintlocks were thrust into his belt.

I do not remember much of that fight, I myself was injured and focused only on guarding the Khan, but his fighting filled me with awe. Like his Daughter He handled his blade as though it were a living thing, a spirit he had tamed and now forced to dance for him, and piece by piece he took apart the hain monster, killing it with a thousand cuts.

When the end came, it was quick. The beast was bleeding all over, it’s hide no longer green, but red from its own blood.

The Khan raised the dao high, holding it in both hands, his feet planted firmly. The sword whistled down, trailing lines of gore as it plunged. The beast's head fell to the platform with a dull, booming thud.

The Khan withdrew his blade with a cold flourish. He stooped to retrieve the beast's head. He swivelled smoothly, holding the agonised skull high above him in one hand.

“For the Emperor!” roared the Khan, and his voice rang out across the five mountains and high into the sky.

Across the space between the mountains, a massed shout of acclimation rose up from the Scars and the Auxilia, who all had heard the words and knew what had just happened.

I heard them answer him, hurling the same word up into the air, over and over.

Khagan! Khagan! Khagan!

That was the moment when I knew we had won. Months of ceaseless campaigning had finally come to an end.
File: 1358148195528.png-(210 KB, 792x612, FuriaFreya.png)
210 KB
Hitting the wall with tiredness

So here is just the line work. Now I sleep!
File: 1358148579941.png-(151 KB, 792x612, Reach, flexibility, you k(...).png)
151 KB

Lookin good.
hey Eversor, keep up the good work bro!
The war had ended in the only way it could have ended: with our primarch holding the head of the defeated enemy in his fist, and with the voices of his Legion and their auxiliaries, the combined ordu of Chogoris, rising in savage joy toward the vaults of heaven.

I could not join them, and suddenly the Khan turned and looked at me, at us, and his savage features softened.

I did not say a word, I could not. I just stood aside as the Khagan approached the Khan. She was awake now, but in deep pain. Though her physiology was better than a normal human, it was not at Astartes levels, and she was pulsing with agony with blood trickling from her lips from her burst lung. She would not die from those wounds; there were plenty of emchis or Apothecaries in the Gothic tongue around who could help her. I wanted to help her right then, a shot of Morphine to hold the pain away, but I would not get between the Khagan and his Daughter.

The Khan looked up into the face of her father, and her eyes widened.

“Father.” She coughed her words sticky with blood. “The steed you gave me. It’s…”

He held up his hand, still red from hain blood.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting you fixed up. Emchi!” He bellowed.

One of the emchis of the Legion raced up to him, the caduceus prominently emblazoned on his pauldron.

“The Khan needs medical aide. Have her shipped to a forward hospital immediately.”

It was only a minute or two later when a white Storm Eagle screamed from the heavens and landed beside us. The emchi helped me carry the Khan back into the transport, and with a roar of engines it flew away. The last thing I saw before the front ramp closed was the Khagan. He was looking at me, and there was sorrow in his eyes. He knew my oath, I was bloodsworn, and her pain now would be my pain tomorrow, however long away tomorrow was.

Oh jeez, that's a hell of an oath.

Yes. Tevguul is bloodsworn, which means every time Hana is injured, he has to injure himself in the same way. So every time she fell off her bike, or broke something in a fight with Furia, he had to inflict that same pain or injury upon himself.

She was utterly horrified when she found out, and tries to be as moderate as possible to spare him injury.
A great shadow appeared at the door, and I took a step forwards, guan dao in hand. But when the door slid open and a flash of light flooded the room, the feel of enormous energy, enormous power burning away, thundering within its bonds like the caged heart of a reactor, I knew who it was and I sank into a bow.

The Khagan, Jaghatai Khan strode into the room like an apex-feline predator. His face was the same leather-brown as the Khans, a lean face, noble, proud and fiercely intelligent. His scalp was bald save for a long top-knot of ink-black hair bound with rings of gold. An aquiline nose ran down a wind-toughened, moustached face. His eyes were sunk deep under bony brows, and they glittered like pearls set in bronze.

“Leave us Andrew.” The Khagan commanded in his cultured, patrician drawl. Hannover bade the Khan farewell, and as he left the Khagan whispered something to him, though I did not catch it.

The three of us were alone in that empty ward, the Khagan standing before his daughter, and I still bowing before him.

“Rise, Tevguul the ever-faithful. You have no need to bow before me.” He said in Khorchin, and I rose to my feet.

“Father.” The Khan said, sitting up in her bed. Upon looking at both of them, you could not deny her parentage; she had her father’s dark hair and leather-brown skin. She gazed up apprehensively at her liege lord, for the Khan of the Auxilia still answers to the Khagan, lord of all the Legion.

“My Daughter, it grieves me to see you so, worse that you did this to yourself.”

“Father, I…”

“You left your troops, you left the Auxilia behind and drove alone into the middle of the hain seeking glory you did not need, and by your actions you were nearly killed by the Warlord of the hain, someone none save I could ever have hoped to take on.”

Is that something fabricated, or an actual Mongol/White Scars thing?

Procede, this is a good mix.


A mix of both. In one of my history books it mentioned how one of the Mongol Kheshig (bodyguards) cut off his own hand for failing to protect his Khan, and I took some of that idea and added to it.
I knew what he was here for; he was here to kick some sense into her, to show her the error of her ways. She had done what she did to win her father’s favour, and here he was dressing her down.

“You could have died, and how would I have been then? I thought you were better than this Hana, you know better than to do a Pius. Hell, even Pius himself told you that when you joined up. I thought that after all this time you would have learned more.”

His deep-set eyes held her as he spoke. His voice was never raised. Though he was angry with his daughter; he spoke calmly, like an austere parent patiently explaining a simple matter to a child, which in effect was what he was doing, explaining to his child why he was disappointed in her.

“You are not the only one to suffer for your actions, Tevguul here is bloodsworn to you, and you know what that means.” He did not have to speak further; she knew that sooner or later I would inflict upon myself what had happened to her, willingly sharing in her pain. The Khan hates that, dislikes that I do this, but I am sworn with bonds thicker than any iron, and I would die a million deaths rather than go back on my oath.

Her eyes betrayed the great hurt coursing through her, one more deep and damaging then the physical wounds she had suffered, that I would suffer in turn.

“My daughter, I was never more proud of you then when I heard that you alone amongst your cousins wished to join the fight, to serve the Imperium, and what’s more you wished to lead the Ordu of the Auxilia, the human sons of Chogoris. You rose to the challenge, you learned, and became a commander respected, loved and obeyed by your men. Tevguul has always kept me informed, and he paints a glowing picture of your command.”

The Khan’s voice was broken as she whispered to her father. “Have I failed you then Father? Have I failed the Legion?”
He shook his head. “No, you have never failed me, and you never will. What you have done is fail yourself. But you will overcome it, as you always do. That is another thing I am proud of; you learn and grow from your mistakes. I will not punish you, for you punish yourself enough, and you will regret this more than anything I can do soon enough.” He was talking of me when he said that, and she knew it. I wondered if that was part of the reason I was Bloodsworn to her, to act as a reminder of the price of failure. I did not know the Khagan’s motives, but if I was the agent of the Khan’s improvement, then I was proud to do so.

“No father could be more proud of their daughter than I have been for you. You do not need to prove yourself to me; you did that a long time ago.” He stopped, turning his head to face the sky. I imagined he was receiving a transmission from orbit.

“Now, I must return to the Swordstorm. The Legion is nearly embarked, and they are finishing of dismantling the temporary structures on this world. Once you are gone, this one will be taken up too. We will move to the next war, and we shall ride again. I shall see you in orbit, my daughter.”

He turned and left, and once he was gone the Khan let out a tortured breath. The Khan’s anger, while not a volcanic as that of Russ or Angron, is nevertheless just as potent. There was silence for a long time, until the Khan spoke up.

“Have I failed you, Tevguul?”
I had never seen her this vulnerable in a long time, and my heart ached. I searched for the right words, the words that would show her how I felt. “You could never fail me my Khan. I remember when you first came to us, a young woman bold as brass. So much about us was strange and alien to you, for you did not know the ways of Chogoris. But I remember your words. 'You are right that I do not understand you,' you said to me. 'I barely know anything about you. But I can learn.' And you did learn, and you have learned, and you will learn. A day will come when I can teach you no more; you will have no further need of me.”

“I will always have need of you Tevguul, my warrior poet. You are my conscience, my strong right arm. I could not imagine leading the auxilia without you.”
“I am not a Scar Brother, my Khan. I am flesh and blood, and all flesh and blood fails in the end. I will not be here forever, but I hope that when I am gone you will hold my example in your heart. But I also hope that you will remain as you are, brave, sometimes reckless and disorganised.” I smiled at her. “And I think that you should laugh when you are killing.”

That war was done, and like the berkut, the hunting eagle, we moved on to the next hunt. I never saw Hannover again, and I hope he’s doing well out there in the darkness, his artillery winning the Emperor’s Wars. There were other fights, of course, but that is another story, not this one. I am proud of the Khan, proud that she chose to stand with us, proud that I am Bloodsworn to her.

It is for that reason that I will never regret our choices; never regret what we have done together. When the time comes for my end, I will stand against the darkening heavens, keeping the example of my Khagan and my Khan fixed before my eyes, drawing strength from it, using it to make me as lethal and imperious as they. And when death finally comes for me, as it will, I will meet it in the proper way: with my blade held before me, my eyes narrow, and warriors' words on my lips.

For the Emperor, I shall say. For the Khagan. For the Khan. For Hana.


Excellent stuff. Were you ever planning on writing any Highschool themed WHH stories? This is all good, but fairly regular 40k style shenanigans.

We don't have High Schools down here, we have College, so I have no idea how to do a High School tale.

Yes, the NZ school system is almost nothing like the American system.

Wait, what? Man, I thought the NZ system was basically the same as the Australian one.

What do you call the place where a bunch of 13-18 year olds get taught things and a lot of them get prepped for Uni?

The three steps of the NZ School System are Primary, Intermediete and College.

Do you have something different over the ditch?


We have 5-12 being Primary School (K-6). Then years 7-12 are at a 'High School'. Years 9 and 10 are the School Certificate, then if you want to not be considered a drop out, you do the Higher School Certificate, which is year 11 and 12. At the end if you've done standard subjects, you can get an ATAR, which is the grade you use when applying for Unis.

We have colleges, but that's our name for places that give tertiary education, without doing research. Then there's TAFEs, which is trades, etc.
Speaking as a Canadian-born Kiwi, High School and College are the same thing with different names. Intermediate school is Junior high.
bump for eversor
File: 1358163327383.jpg-(352 KB, 741x575, WH 05.jpg)
352 KB

Well, possibly my last ever WHH story is done and dusted. I do have more of days of Judgement, but given the reaction towards it and the hate WHH is generating, I think it would be better to hold it off until Darkmage is better and ready to post more of Ghosts of Rage. Believe me, Ghosts is brilliant and you won't know what's coming next.

And so we are done. Someone Else is gone and we salute his passing. We have such different styles, but they work together. Someone Else's contributions ended with Jake and Venus happily married with children, content to live out eternity together. My contribution ended with Julius as pink mist on some namelss world and Isis as distraught at her fiancé’s death. So Grimdark. But then, that's what I do.

I leave the floor open for other writefags like mr commas or anyone who wants to dump something WHH related. Doesn't matter what it is, fapfics welcomed. Off topic, I'd love to see that Isis/Angela Yuri someone was writing, maybe Angela comforting Isis after her fiancé’s death in battle.

And thank you to the Drawfags for all that artwork, especially the drawfag who did these. I hope you do more for WHH, there are so many daughters you haven't covered yet I'd give anything to see you do.

To >>22566486, I'd like to see your analysis if you can do it for us. Thanks.

AA signing off.

Oh god dat Abbadon.

Incidentally, try to pay the haters no mind. WHH wouldn't nearly have been as popular without you lot and your contributions. Butthurt haters are the way of /tg/.

Sadly I have nothing to add, but have this bump on me.
File: 1358181328711.png-(234 KB, 792x612, FuriaFreya.png)
234 KB

Shucks, thanks!

I woke up and completed the coloring, its got more little details to deal with, but enjoy!
Eversor, to celebrate the release of the Dark Angels 'dex, I would formally request Lyra girlified 1st Legion HQs laying low the daughters of traitors in a game of paintball with WD holding aloft (as far as his short limbs can muster) a banner of devastation, aka dakkapole.
My head canon says that Freya is going to eat carpet in a near future.

I have placed this on my list o' stuff to do!

I will be sure to do this for yah!
Haha, this promises to be the highlight of what is building up to be a pretty lousy week!

Btw, I meant "Lyra and girlified". Typos and all.

No worries, I am a typo master, I know how to speak the language. Heck I type Lira all the time by accident.

Btw which ones are the 1st legion HQ's...Like Belial, Azrae, and the sort?
Pretty much yeah.

I look forward to seeing this done Eversor.

Also, can you do something with Isis, and maybe that boyfriend of hers?

Sure...any specifics?

I haven't done anything with Isis yet.
Wow, the thread is still alive? I thought the trolls and haters would have purged it by now.

Well, to make the most of the remaining 100 posts left, I think I should end this with something called 'Ask the Author'

Basically ask me anything about WHH, the writing or stuff like that, and I will endeavour to answer it. Note I can't really answer questions like 'why are you such a fag' or 'why are you so shit', because 1) I don't think that about myself, and 2) that's the opinion of whoever is asking the question. Now if they could supply evidence to back up that opinion, I'd be interested.

Eversor, this is for you.


Scroll down to Johor Tull.
Author of that picture here. My list of pictures to draw:
-AA's request. Julius and Isis. Around 15% ready yet.
-Lyra's Dark Secret. Requesting lesbians became traditional part of WHH tread. So why not?
-SE's request.

Oh you are brilliant. Thank you.
Might as well answer all those who want lesbians in WHH. I always personally thought that Lyra was gay, but when DM did the Lioness that idea was show down. Not that anything is wrong with that, DM is a very talented writer and I like his work a lot.

So I had to reconsider, and after discussions with the others managed to convince them that she should be Bi, to better fit in with the Dark Angels background. In a later chapter of Days of Judgement when we meet her for the first time, we will learn that her tastes have veered more and more towards the fairer sex as time's gone on and that she married another womna, but because the implants don;t work on women she died and left Lyra distraught.

I also think that Victoria is Bi (hardly suprising) and Omegan is a Lesbian, but that's just my view, I don't know what SE and DM think about that. Take everything I say with a pich of salt.

Aw look at that, a tiny lil side blurb...what does a guy like that even look like?

The lexicon isn't very detailed.
Where can we find your stuff if a thread isn't around?
If you want her "to fit with the Dark Angels background", she'd be a violent homophobe, like her father's notoriously intolerant chapter, who'd never forgive any and all who've cheated on her and would struggle against the idea of using her influence as a sledgehammer to make their lives miserable. Making her a lesbian isn't according to any halfway serious Dark Angels background, it's just people wanting yuri crap.

But hey, if you want to base her on the Dark Angel poem, make her loathe her lesbianism and live a secluded life at the end of a bottle.

Here's the description of the Interex, I hope this helps:

Tall, like all the people of the interex, the flesh of their ears was distended and splayed, by genetic and surgical enhancement, like the ears of bats or other nocturnal fliers.
The aria was strapped across their chests, a device with amplifiers and coiled pipes, and numerous digital keys on which the Interxan’s nimble fingers constantly rested. A swan-necked mouthpiece rose from the top of each instrument, enabling the player to blow, hum, or vocalise into the device. Intricate dermatoglyphics – Loken suspected permanent tattoos – decorated either the left or right-hand sides of their faces.
The people of the interex called it the aria, and it was a fundamental part of their communication.
They still used language – indeed, their spoken language was an evolved human dialect closer in form to the prime language of Terra than Cthonic – but they had long ago formulated the aria as an accompaniment and enhancement of speech, and as a mode of translation.

Basically, they look like Eldar-Human hybrids with bat ears and Maori Tatoos in silver carved into the sides of their faces. Whenever they talk, they play over their speech with the aria.

Strangely enough, Johor is my red haired stepchild, I've never really used him in my stories or fleshed him out, I created him so others could use him.

That's actually a good suggestion. Thank you, I'll see what I can do with it. Maybe she hates that she's attracted to women as well as men and tries to deny her Bisexuality.
I'll add it to
when it would be finished.
Also every night she have dreams about Freya. It drives her mad, and cause her to hate her cousin.
Spank you, based drawfag!
Don't take it the wrong way, but I hope you have practiced your shoulder-to-hip proportions, plus given the boobs some gravity. Otherwise it's great!
AA, you do realize that everyone's going to stick with the "julius and isis having a daughter named summer" alternative that you accidentally offered instead of your canon ending, right?
Bullshit, dont try and pretend like you give a damn after literally taunting us with the lack of lesbians for the entire run.
She would be a lesbian too, you dumb bastard. She would be one of those lesbians who so deep in the closet they violently hate other gays like you said.
She would later try start dating one of the other babby R63 primarchs, which would be here DARK SEKRIT, keeping in line with Dark Angel lore perfectly.
Wow, this is still floating? Cool.

Thanks, Eversor.
>That's actually a good suggestion.
Oh for fuck sake... you being hellbent on grimderp in a setting that was supposed to get AWAY from the grimderp is the reason I don't bother to read any of your stories.

And now I've done something I didn't want to do, bitch in this thread. I'm going to bed.
Actually, no, it's a really dumb idea.

No prob. haha, just killing time at work scrolling through posts.
Face it, they dont want Warhammer High or even just the primarch daughters, they just wanted regular vanilla Warhammer 40K grimderp but with more vaginas because females are easier to write sympathetically than male characters.
You already effective aborted the premise, don't try and goad other writers into your shit circus.

Well, that's not strictly true cnsidering mr commas started writing for the premise without any of us having a say in the matter. Doubtless others like him will take over regardless of what you may think.
Just stop.
>It's the end, which means I have the excuse to come out and say what I really feel.
Which is why I don't understand you trying to curry favor from anons while acting all holier-than-thou to the very end.
Actually I do. Its for when you fart out some other bad fanfiction as an anon, get lukewarm approval from it and then reveal yourself as AA once more to stroke your ego again.
My butthurt is only directed towards AA, I like the two other writefags.

Why do you hate him and like the other two?
I don't. Not as people or as writers. They're more tolerable than AA, sure, but they're still terrible.
I love how they always delete any post that reveals them for the egotistical fuckjobs that they are. SE does it too and so does DM, I think.
>She would be one of those lesbians who so deep in the closet they violently hate other gays

You seem an expert in such matters. Why don't you write your self-insert lesbian yourself?

And her DARK SEKRIT is she's an underage boozer, which considering how it might affet her singing and underage is DARK SEKRIT enough as it is.

You're just a douchebag that keeps stammering DORK ANGLES R TEH GHEY!!! because you lack the imagination to get anything else of their lore, which is deplorable considering the game's made for teenage boys. Must be because you're a gay rights activist trying to shit all over other's hobbies with your gay crap.
Because my taste prefer SE and DM writings rather than AA's. That is pretty much all I can say on the subject. And before you start anything, I am not interested in starting a discussion to bring up points on what and why I like certain things, nor to try to convince you to like what I like. You are free to dislike or hate whatever you want, but please, I don't want to start a pointless argument about, over or because of fanfiction. I won't succeed in convincing you to like what I like, and you wont succeed in convincing me to dislike what you dislike. No insult intended towards you in any way, shape or form, but can we please just be happy with that and go our seperate ways?

I thought they did it to be polite.


Who do you consider to be good /tg/ writefags, and how?
>because you lack the imagination to get anything else of their lore
Their lore is literally one big gay joke. You can try to pussyfoot around it, but that's what it is. I don't even give a fuck about that dude and his lesbian crusade, but if you think for one moment that the Dark Angels aren't a gay joke, then maybe you're the one too in the closet to see it.
You know, deleting posts because they want to avoid flamewars is actually pretty smart.

Man, you guys would lead the Dalai-Lama to alcoholism with the way you act...

Can't you use the hate towards something more productive?

I do it too...sometimes you post things without thinking, and you are like "Welp...lets just clean up this mess right now"
>I thought they did it to be polite.
Its about as polite as calling someone a faggot and then claiming it wasn't you.
Except for the fact that most people have 4chanX and the fact that you deleted said post will in itself cause a flamewar. It would be better to just apologize.
File: 1358208220590.jpg-(38 KB, 900x579, Katt 643.jpg)
38 KB
Here is a livestream with kittens, 24/7, till they are old enough to be adopted.

I apologised for my bird humping thing, and many other things besides. I admit I let it all get to my head and I acted like a giant dick, which given that this is the board of the elegen/tg/entlemen was unbecoming of me. For all of that I am sorry that I have caused offense and flamewars by my actions. I am also sorry to SE for first hijacking Bleeding Out, and then forcing grimdark into the setting where it didn't exist before.

I should stop now.
>the fact that you deleted said post will in itself cause a flamewar.

That's retarded. Why else would you include a fucking post deletion system?

Man, you worthless trolls are really driving SE's goodbye thread into the ground here. And you wonder why all of /tg/'s talent packs up and leaves.
Okay now you are just trying to complain for the sake of it.

Except it isn't like that at all, you can't relate a blatant insult to a person deciding what he said isn't relevant anymore to a conversation.

Also, it seems like a flamewar happens no matter what, and a petty one about "deleting posts no longer contributing to a post" isn't really a concern in my mind.
>Why else would you include a fucking post deletion system?
I know I use it to delete posts that have images I want for other more active threads, to delete a post I put in the wrong thread, to fix a post that I screwed up beyond comprehension, that sort of thing.

All Im saying is that if someone feels like someone is trying to hide something from them, especially what they might take to be an insult directed at them, they're gonna make sure it gets noticed.
I think it's a /tg/ thing, the moment something becomes popular /tg/ suddenly decides it hates it. Why else are the Angry Marines, LCB and so many others no longer on /tg/ very often?
They were run into the ground by people who didn't know when to let go.

Sounds kinda familiar, doncha think?

And I would call WHH popular. It seems to just have a small but dedicated fanbase, like that Harem Knights shit did before it finally died.

Nothing on /tg/ is ever dead, just dormant.
Eversor and unnamed drawfag: if you'd like to upload your images to the wiki when you're done, the gallery page for Warhammer High would be the best place to do it. I may even make a dedicated gallery page for it.
File: 1358210768580.jpg-(467 KB, 1221x666, IMG_0155.jpg)
467 KB

Here, have your Lesbians.

Hahaha, that really works well!

I uploaded all my images (I believe) onto 1d4chan for yah. Enjoy!
Someone Else, when will Eternity go up on 1d4chan?
Sometime when my commute isn't draining my free time. Maybe a few days when I don't have so many errands. I also want to add a few more tiny stories that I clipped for lack of appropriateness.
File: 1358214001443.jpg-(365 KB, 800x700, WH 01.jpg)
365 KB
Your Spiritual Liege being hounded for the error of her ways.

I hove how Faith has writing on her skin the same way as her father in this pic, a neat touch.
File: 1358217137579.jpg-(151 KB, 759x1212, 1326743470610.jpg)
151 KB

The Elegent Isis. Best Daughter.
Looking good man, hope to see more from ya here and on the mspa page!
One last bump for the drawfags, then bed.
File: 1358225912565.jpg-(227 KB, 1000x800, WH Babies.jpg)
227 KB
Something Cute.
The original babby primarchs were better.
File: 1358226136058.jpg-(150 KB, 600x787, baby primarchs.jpg)
150 KB

Here you go then, their dadies as babies.
Those are all pretty accurate. Except maybe Corax ready the porno mag, lol wut?

It's a reference to when the Raven Guards got their shit wrecked and Corax had to pump out a bunch or replacements really fast.

How is babby formed?
According to Spass Mareens, but injecting little boys with the entire chapter's collective seed.
Sounds hot.

It's been updated in Deliverance Lost, but more or lerss this (with some exotic Gene-Tech added.)
I have a question for the WHH readers. Are the Horus Heresy references and shout outs over the top or irrelevant to the setting, or are they a good way to tie the series into the 30k 'canon'?

Your thoughts?
Does it matter at this point?

Not really, but I just wondered if people liked them being a part of the stories, or even recognised them. I went to a lot of trouble to tie all the HH stories into everything I wrote.
File: 1358247178529.jpg-(461 KB, 667x850, WH 02.jpg)
461 KB
File: 1358248381323.jpg-(6.03 MB, 4984x3448, WHH Map.jpg)
6.03 MB

And I'm off to bed. I hope to find some interesting discussion and/or criticism and comments tomorrow.

I leave you with this, a modified map of the 30k galaxy with all the locations from WHH, Nenavist, Carshim, Seadelant and more added to it. When I work on a story, i go all the way.
>i go all the way.
Then why do all the additions look so out of place on the map with such a terrible font choice? Is that fucking papyrus?

It looks that way. I don't know how he could have done any better though.
He could have at least TRIED to use a more Gothic font. Theres plenty of them on Word.
Bumping for drawfags (as the writefags are spent)
Bumping for drawfags, and them alone.
Samefag pls stahp
>All are spehess mehrenens
>Not calling it Space Marine High
>Not knowing how Warhammer works
They arent space marines, though. They are the daughters of space marines who are such speshul snowflakes that they get to be the first female space marines! Or something, fuck if I know what the hell this shit is anymore, because it certainly aint about high school no more.

And apparently they have a whole race of mary sue half-eldar too. Because, you know, that definitely needs to be a thing beyond that one ultramarine douchebag who was such a douchebag even the Ultramarines hated him enough to get him retconned.
>They arent space marines, though. They are the daughters of space marines who are such speshul snowflakes that they get to be the first female space marines! Or something, fuck if I know what the hell this shit is anymore, because it certainly aint about high school no more.

>And apparently they have a whole race of mary sue half-eldar too. Because, you know, that definitely needs to be a thing beyond that one ultramarine douchebag who was such a douchebag even the Ultramarines hated him enough to get him retconned.

Neither of those things have been true at any point in the series. You're completely making things up.

Eversor, would you be willing to post your email to somewhere that SE and AA and DM can find it, maybe the talk page of SE's profile on the 1d4chan wiki?

>And apparently they have a whole race of mary sue half-eldar too.

They are neither Mary Sue nor Half-Eldar. They are the Interex, from Dan Abnett's book Horus Rising.



If this truly is the end, then I'd lke to thank the WHH Wrifefags and Drawfags for creating these awesome stories for us. Very few are willing to write 200,000 word Novels for nothing just to entertain /tg/, and you all should be commended for the work you've done.

tl/dr, Tahnk you WHH Writefags for all the good times.
SE announced that he would be ending his contributions over two months ago, liar.

\Yes, but I drove the others out as well. By the power of my Holy Crusade have I consigned this shit to oblivion so it will never ever stain holy /tg/ ever again! As one anon said, no-one will ever write for this shit again, so our victory is complete.

I must thank all my fellow haters and trolls for their contributions to the holy crusade. Brothers, we have done it, we have won against our eternal foe.
Bump for drawfags
You're worse than the sagefag.
It's mostly because I want to see what anon drawfag is cooking up and partly because I bump out of spite.
Well that's kind of a dick move and only serves to make people hate WHH even more.
It is also something I just deprived you of. Eat it, jackass.
Asshat, pls go

Oh hey thought this thread was gone, yah I can do that I think.
How's the drawfaggotry going Eversor?

I am behind on two projects for work, but besides that, I am making time to drawfaggotry as always.

I was working on this paintball one, but its been rather poor going on. I have the girls wearing masks, but it really seperates there distintive features. It just looks like a bunch of girls playing Paintball with a WD freaking out in the fray.

I think I am gonna step back and try a different request, then get back to that one.
May I suggest refractor field masks? That way they keep their precious features unblemished, and remain distinguishable.

...shit, i didn't think bout that...in the far distant future there is safety!

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.