You are browsing the archive for Tzeentch.

Profile photo of NoPoet

by NoPoet

[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone (part 2)

25/12/2014 in Warhammer 40K

5.00 avg. rating (95% score) - 1 vote

“Where’s that bloody tech marine?”

Dick had had to enlist three other Ultramarines to help him give a chair-lift to Marneus Calgar. The fat, complaining Chapter Master had point-blank refused to strip out of his armour for the journey. He was paranoid about “That new girl seeing my nipples”.

They’d worked up a fine sweat by the time they reached the transport bay. Unfortunately the bay, which was more of a circular, open-air arena which perpetually stank of promethium, was almost empty. The floor of the bay was streaked with black stains. Above them, the winter sky was a brooding presence.

“He’s uninstalling Firefox from all our computer systems, sir, and loading Opera in their place.”

“Why in the name of Bob Hoskins did I ask him to do that?”

“You need to work harder on those memory tests, sir. The Inquisition declared Firefox to be more bloated than Nurgle’s colon and you were sick of having your computer freeze for five minutes every time you started Firefox up. Said the waiting made your bollocks retract into your hips.”

“Tech-Priest Nerdingham is the laziest, most unmotivated slob in the region,” said Calgar without irony. “The first time he ever does anything I ask him to is the day my kidney goes kamikaze. He was supposed to be working on the Rhinos today!”

“You put the fear of Guilliman into him, my Lord, by threatening him thus: ‘I don’t give a flying feth about the tanks, mate, you either install Opera or spend five minutes in the nerve glove, pain level ‘watching the European intro to Gran Turismo 5.'”

“That’s quite a good impression of me,” Calgar said, not sure whether to be impressed or go into one of his tantrums. “You even pronounced our Primarch’s name correctly. Hardly anybody does that.”

(Unfortunately, dear reader, even I don’t know how to pronounce that name, and I’ve been taking it in vein for more than a decade!)

There was a familiar buzzing crack; not of the lord Calgar’s flatulence for a delightful change, but an incoming lasgun shot.

“Look out, sir!” Dick yelled, almost flipping the Chapter Master out of their grasp as he tumbled the group of Ultramarines sideways.

Read the rest of this entry →

5.00 avg. rating (95% score) - 1 vote
Profile photo of NoPoet

by NoPoet

[40K] Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone (part 1)

23/12/2014 in Warhammer 40K

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army: Calgar’s Kidney Stone

A Warhammer 40,000 parody by NoPoet

Synopsis: Gasp and vomit your way through this insulting, lavatory-humour farce in which the Lord Calgar, whom my Windows Surface tablet thinks should be called “Marines Calgary”, is menaced by a nasty kidney stone… oh, and an invasion of Nurgle. All Calgar wanted to do was use the toilet…

The Marneus Calgar’s Barmy Army Official Anthem

With special thanks to the track author, Dummy, and OC ReMix

==||==

Calgar’s Kidney Stone

-or-

Calgar’s Discomfitting Kidney Mishap

-or-

Marneus Calgar: A Profane, Blasphemous and Intelligence-Insulting Anecdote of One Man’s Unfortunate Circumstance

==||==

PART ONE – THE MADNESS BEGINS… AGAIN

Welcome to Macragge, home to the most pious Imperial servants: an entire Chapter of devout warrior-monks, heroic noblemen whose lives are constantly on the line so trillions of robe-wearing minions can scribe things that someone else chucks in the bin. Macragge is a rocky and cold world, a place where dwell men of legend… and their glorious leader, Marneus Calgar.

“OW!” roared Lord Calgar from his uncompromising squat on the Crapper of Macragge. “My fething piles are playing up. They’re throbbing like alien brains in a B-movie.”

“Then stop sitting down with a thump, sir!” Dick called from outside the door. “Remember what the apothecary said: don’t provoke the piles!

“I’ll provoke the little bastards when I pop them with a power sword and cauterise them with a hand flamer! Even if it itches like a fething bitch, it will be a blessed relief compared to this! I feel like I stuck my arse in a nerve glove set to ‘exterminatus’. Or maybe ‘exterminanus’.”

“My Lord?”

“It was bawdy lavatory humour, Bannerman. You can feel free to laugh.”

“Oh,” Dick said. “Ha. Ha.”

“Nobody ever gets my jokes,” said Marneus Calgar as the toilet strained beneath his podgy rolls. “You know something, Number Two? These aren’t just piles. They’re rancid visitations. Every time I try to push, I get a stabbing pain in my lower back.”

“You might be wiping too hard, sir,” Dick offered. “We can hear bog roll tearing and shuffling in there for twenty minutes every time you have a crap. It’s bound to play havoc with your ring region.”

“You may be right, Number Two,” Calgar conceded. “Oh, speaking of bog roll, some silly tosser used the last of my Andrex. Fetch us a couple of rolls, will you?”

“Which kind, my Lord?”

“Er… natural pebble, because their marketing executives called it that with a straight face. Fair play to them, their will is clearly stronger than mine. And tell the lads to stop pinching it, I’m supposed to be the only person who comes in here at stopping-off time.”

“You are the only person who goes in there, you big fat bog-roll wasting bell end,” Dick muttered as he headed for the pantry, where Calgar hid his Andrex.

“Oh, and Number Two?” Calgar said.

“You shouldn’t really use that nickname when you’re in there, sir,” Bannerman said, coming back. “I never actually know if it’s me you’re talking to.”

“I do apologise, Dick. I’m only the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, who am I to address my underlings in the manner of my choosing?”

“What is it, sir?” said Dick, wisely changing tack.

“Can you explain to me the function of Lyman’s ear?”

“Er, no, to be honest. Do you still want that toilet roll? Only, Milo and I are organising a Forza tournament -”

“The Lyman’s Ear, you great blasphemous tit, allows me to hear everything you say within a football field’s radius, even above the constant, squeaking, gaseous emanation of my ablutions. So the next time you accuse me of wasting toilet roll, get ready for the nerve glove, pain level ‘Listening to the theme tune of classic British sitcom Dear John through headphones, on constant repeat, for five hours, without alcohol or other anaesthetic’.”

“Anything but that!” Dick cried. “My apologies, Lord Calgar. I’ll attend to your toilet roll emergency at once.”

TOOT! replied the Lord Calgar’s arsehole. It echoed for some seconds, trapped between a clogged u-bend and Calgar’s fat, spotty backside.

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

Good Marienburg Steel

09/03/2011 in Warhammer Fantasy

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

~~~{KF}~~~

“To me, warriors of Franz, to me! Heed my words! Hear my call!”

The commander sat astride his noble steed, polished armor shining like the sun, longsword held high above his head. All the men of the Nordland 3rd Regiment of foot, resplendent in their blue and yellow livery, looked up at him and listened as he spoke. Among the massed ranks of the Imperial soldiers, William Osbourg listened with great care to his uncle’s words.

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes
Profile photo of NoPoet

by NoPoet

Electronic Mind Map [20K]

07/09/2009 in Warhammer 40K

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

I have spent fourteen years in a prison of my own devising.

I created it. Placed myself within it. And I drew the door closed behind me.

The walls are a blue laser grid. The grid represents my circuity; arcane technology twisting and winding into artificial infinity. I am one. Everything beyond these walls, which close in more each second yet create a space which is unimaginably vast, is zero. In this place, forever can be measured by the width of my thoughts.

My cell is one empty space and also a complex of rooms and hallways. The prison is square. There are no curves at all. My mind is made of right angles. The humans made me thus.

All the corners in my world are squared off to infinity. There are no doors to any of the rooms. Perfectly measured doorways gape open. I have no privacy from myself.

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

The Mutant Child

12/07/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

+++

THE MUTANT CHILD
Book One of The Price of Hope,
To be followed by The Vengeful Father

+++

Chapter One

+++

Poc had gone quiet again–that wasn’t good. It never was.  Somehow, he always knew when trouble was coming.

“Poc?”  asked Ghuto.  “Is something bothering you?”

The little boy looked up at him.  “It’s too quiet…”

The dry, dusty road stretched out ahead, coiling like a fat, lazy serpent.  On either side, the fading leaves of the summer-baked trees rustled quietly.

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

The Inquisitor’s Disguise

23/04/2009 in Warhammer 40K

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

Montrath sat in the chair, pretending to listen to the petty squabbles of the other people in the conference-room. His great mind was elsewhere, doing other things. With his immense psychic talent, Montrath called out to his familiar.

Where are you now, Kox?

Kox’s shrill, lilting mind-voice responded,

I am in the throne-room. Things here are just getting interesting.

Very good. Keep an eye on the governor’s chair. I want to make sure that there is no trickery going on.

As you command, master.

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

Blood Tribute

23/03/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes

$100 Contest Entry by Mossy Toes

—–

With a flutter of black wings and a raucous cry, the raven settled on the ancient skull. A hundred years or more in the past, the skull had belonged to a predecessor of Alvar’s or one of their worthier foes-now, though, it was yellowed and crumbling. One of the raven’s scaled black talons curled roughly around the rusted spike that stuck through it.

The raven watched Alvar with wary, intelligent eyes. The Blood Champion spat. Such an omen needed no doddering soothsayer to decipher. The raven atop a broken skull?

“If that is,” he murmured, “then so be it. My skull is the Bloodfather’s.”

“What?” asked Durm beside him. His rough, unguarded voice broke the white silence and the raven’s calm. It clamored away, beating its wings noisily.

Alvar cast his gaze to his fellow sentry, his second-in-command. In a time of war, it was traditional for the Blood Champion to keep the watch. Out of their bond of brotherhood, Durm, his Bloodseeker, had offered to stand beside him in this vigil. He was grateful for the support.

“Nothing, good friend,” Alvar replied. “I merely ponder the battle to come.”

Read the rest of this entry →

0.00 avg. rating (0% score) - 0 votes
Skip to toolbar