You are browsing the archive for 2009 December.

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by Lt. Karehun

How Many Orks…?

31/12/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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What makes a man truly a man?

In the innermost sanctuary of the NorthKern fortress, a lone sound still could be heard. A ragged sound, the heavy breathing of a man. In the darkness, near the shattered glowglobe on the desk, a body still tried to cling to life. Starving, old, tired, it was slowly losing its battle, but it could resist a few more minutes. The mouth was trying to form words, a last prayer maybe, but only a croaking sound emerged. The left hand tightened on an autopistol.

Is a man already a man when he is, and always will be, alone?

Shakingly, the arm rose, to rest the barrel of the gun on the temple of the officer. With feeble strength, the right hand gripped the aquila sitting on the desk. A flare, and the gun thumped, smoking, on the carpet. Silence.

Is a man already a man, if his world lie within a little tribe, a few hundred fellows, without a true society?

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by NoPoet

Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: 2009 Christmas Special

24/12/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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“What do you think about that weird Christmas song, ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’?”
“I think it should be illegal to write Christmas songs while on drugs, sir.”
- Marneus Calgar and Dick Bannerman

*

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth, waiting for Gran Turismo 5 to come out. He is the master of mankind by the will of the Prophets, and master of a million worlds by the might of Andy Chambers (sob, come back Andy) and Jervis Johnson. I mean, JERVIS, for feth’s sake? That’s not even a real name, it sounds like something from Dungeons and Dragons, no offence.

The Emperor is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from technology invented during NoPoet’s forthcoming 20K series. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium (the Emperor, not NoPoet) for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. We’re sure he is really happy about that.

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by Fangtorn

Evermont

22/12/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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It was already past midnight when Interrogator Malik Joon arrived at the House called Evermont. The bright beams of the limousine’s headlights swept across the tall hive mansion.

The Evermont lurked behind leafless trees, implanted long ago to add colour to the oppressive High Gothic architecture of the large, rambling buildings. Joon thought it looked typical of the sort of hab-houses you might find nestled into the mid-hives, full of the character the middle classes exude into their homes. He didn’t need to be a psyker to sense the mix of snobbery imbedded in the very rockcrete, as if the buildings wedged between the upper and the lower hives found themselves disdainful of one class and resentful of the other.

A faint light gleamed from the walk-level lamps as the private car swung into the drive past two deactivated servitor-sentries guarding the Evermont’s approach, their flesh slowly decaying with disuse.

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by Fangtorn

Gothwine or no Gothwine

02/12/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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Note: the result of watching the Omen and the Sixth Sense back to back, and inspired by A level psychology.

Dining at the House of Gothwinsor, Imperial nobleman Andro Slaker looked down at his rich meal of peppered grox fillet and considered the vast efforts that had gone into delivering it to his plate.

The hiveworld of Praetoria, a spewing metropolis of crime and poverty, at least below the high-hive, was not an agricultural world. Much of its surface was taken up by bloated city stacks, as vast and dense as mountain ranges. Overpopulated and polluted, teeming with billions of beleaguered workers, Proud Praetoria had no farmlands or cattle ranches. Instead it had factories, workhouses, hab-stacks and more factories, every shred of food imported from offworld.

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