Storythread

People often wondered if the Iron Satropies would see better days. Just a year after the ill-waged war against the Kingdom of Autzberg, the great realms of the Iron Brigand fell into ruin. A failed nation in all but name. Even with its collapse Fate did not seem content with simply letting the people of the Satropies languish in their defeat and the death of the beloved warlord; a plague swept through the fertile farmlands of Yohnsbad and withered the crops. The farmers who toiled for years to feed kin and country could only watch helplessly as their season long labors shriveled into worthless piles of black rot. With its agriculture fallen and its coffers already drained from pointless warring, the rest of the Iron Satropies fell like domino tiles.

Otzgard, Pfeffielstadt, Mordapest, and the dozen other realms of the Iron Brigand saw its people turn to the sword to fill their bellies. But rather than earn their keep with a soldier's pay, they took what they wanted as marauders. Whole villages became raider camps, families warred with each other over petty resources, and chaos ruled within the failed domain of the Iron Brigand. Though no one outside the borders thought any different of it, because it has happened before. After all, when a land is to be ruled by bandits for decades, what is to say that its people would not be capable of banditry as well?

>(1/hell if I know)

Just trying to get a feel for my own prose as I make shit up as I go. Feedback is welcome.

...

Thanks for the plug, Chronicler!

You have a good sense of dripping in backstory. No exposition dumps. It's a rare quality.

Cyberpunk girls on motorcycles got editted and submitted to The Bard, and now I wait

And I paint minis and stare at my rewrite of Julia.

Huh. Thanks.

Not gonna lie, a lot of that diddy was inspired by Glenn Cook's pretty cool Black Company saga. Paced like a donkey, but doesn't skimp on the little stuff.

Might as well continue my little diddy once I get some stuff out of the way.

Kars knew little of the Iron Satropies' history, knowing only for certain that whatever the realms' history maybe, his fellow Ironborn likened it to that of a brackish well. Dark, murky, and certainly nothing any sane man would reach into. The little he actually knew came from his own family's history. His father's father plied the trade of a marauder for almost his whole life, serving as a soldier only briefly before. The last Iron Brigand's predecessor died by the hands of that age old foe, Autzberg, at the zenith of his reign, slain without even an heir to his name. Without a central leader to march behind, his generals turned on each other, leading what remained of his loyal soldiers while those who abandoned the army returned home to penniless and starving families. So predictably, his grandfather and many other desperate men became freebooters.

It would be in a raid on the border villages of Otzgard and his own native Yohnsbad that Kars' grandfather found his wife-to-be and brought her home in iron chains, just as the splintered army butchered itself to a man, with the last lieutenant standing taking the empty throne. It explains why his father was never a happy man and certainly explains why Kars himself never grew a happy man as well. No love came about from union, only a child who would only know careless parents, who grew up to be a careless parent too.

"Gods damn the departed..."

Like his grandfather before him, an ill-waged war left Kars with nothing, and desperate enough to join other desperate men in looting the land for whatever is left. But Kars and his fellows did not have it in themselves to raid their fellow Ironborn, and could not find the courage to try the borders of the age old enemy. So they tried the borders of an easier target, and so Kars found himself waiting atop of a sun bleached palisade of ruined border fort, eyes lazily searching for anything to come with crossbow range. Hopefully something tasty.

>(2/hell if I know)

So last thread, this fabulous gets-winning motherfucker asked that instead of having Eldar /ss/ be foiled by the law, have the shota be happily adopted.

>I have no fucking clue what sort of degenerate would want this, but what do I know?

The planet of Inassa was evacuated with haste, its inhabitants now on the Craftworld Aenehas long before a warp storm started. To the Craftworld's surprise, however, it was clear that now all the inhabitants were of Eldar blood.

Among those was a young boy. Nobody was sure where he came from, but all he did was cry. He was lost, after all. His home was now gone and nobody knew where his family was, if he had any. For the Eldar, the fate of a single mon-keigh, infant or not, meant so little. They ignored him.

And yet, not all Eldar were as cruel to the child's plight.
To the Howling Banshee Exarch known as Arisleth, it was a mirror to the past. The scene was one that played in her mind a hundred times before: Home burning, parents lost, nobody listening. She remembered it all too well. It was decades ago, her home was sacked by an unholy force. Her only salvation lay in the hands of a Howling Banshee, just as she was now. It was how she joined this path, to follow in her savior's footsteps.
She notices the boy lost in the middle of the Craftworld. catching the attention and disappointment of her nearby kin. She feels no contempt, though; she only feels sympathy, to know that sort of primal pain, to be shunted to the path of a loner. Arisleth approaches the boy.
"Little boy," she asks, "why are you out here?" The boy continues weeping, unable to hear her. "Where are your parents?"
The question halts the boy. His crying stops, and he finally realizes that he has company. "Who are you?" was his first question. His eyes are still red, but for the moment, he is calmed.

Arisleth seats herself on his level. "I am Arisleth." Her face remains calm as she introduces herself. "Now, what is wrong?"

>key kid wanna Strike Scorpions.jpg

...

The boy sniffs. The plan is already working. "M-my parents...! I can't find them!"
It's already looking so similar to her memory. The Exarch's temper is starting to strain, but her training allows her to suppress her feelings. She takes his hand, holding it between her own. "Please, be calm. I will help you, but I want you to help me."
The hand was small, soft, and delicate. It felt almost like her own, but her hands were hardened by years of war and bloodshed. Though it was soothing to the child to have someone touching him, it was only making Arisleth more on edge. She had never felt a human's hand like this before, and her inexperience is showing in a faint blush.

"Th-thank you, miss..." he blushes more visibly. "Um, my name is Danny."
Arisleth smiles. "It's nice to meet you, Danny."
A moment passes like this, with little Danny feeling his newfound friend's hands while looking at her delicate, ethereally beautiful face. Even to the boy, who was as suspicious of the alien as they were of him, he thought Arisleth pretty. "Um, miss?"
"Yes, Danny?"
His face turns red like a sun. "I...I think you're really pretty!"
The Exarch's face reddens, but she quickly snaps out of it before he notices with a smile. "Thank you! I'm happy to hear that!"

It was at this time that the two were met by a Farseer.
"My my, Arisleth~!" She cattily remarks, "I never knew you could be so friendly!" Unlike the Exarch, her hair was loose and flowing, and her appearance far more thin.
"Farseer Elrias?" The appearance catches Arisleth off-guard. The Farseer chuckles.
Elrias then smiles wide, with her eyes deceptively shut. "And this must be the lost soul who ended up here! I must say, he looks rather cute!" The Farseer joins them, leaning closely at the young boy.
"Please, Danny. Don't mind the Farseer," the Exarch grabs Danny closer. "She is a rather flighty one, and she enjoys playing with people."
Elrias pouts. "That's mean! I do not mess with people!"

As an aside, she mutters, "At least not with people I like..."
"Thank you for helping me."
"Oh, think nothing of it!" the Farseer laughs. "I'm more happy to find someone that my sister here likes!"
The comment jerks Arisleth, turning her face redder than ever. "Farseer!" Elrias chuckles again.
"Oh, alright!" the blonde Eldar loudly sighs. "Now I want to know..." she places a spindly hand upon the boy's face, and in that instant, their minds link. Despite being of different species, the Farseer's complex mind and psychic mastery allowed her to read Danny's mind and his memories like a picture book. There was no detail she could not notice.

What she saw was fire. Storms of impossibility tearing through the world, indiscriminately destroying Eldarin and human settlement. She saw the bodies of innocents twisted by Chaos. She saw a frightened boy running for his dear life, exhausting himself the moment he reached a webway gate, and then being carried the rest of the way by the rushing tide of evacuees. The whole time, Elrias felt Danny's panic, his terror. She constantly had thoughts about where his parents were. These simple feelings were strong, stronger than the refined and multifaceted emotions Eldar felt, almost to the point of overpowering her common sense.

"Farseer?" Arisleth's question jerks her out of her trance to realize that her friends were looking at her. "Farseer, is everything alright?"
The Farseer feels her face to realize she was on the verge of tears. "Oh, oh! I'm...I'm sorry if I scared you. It's just...those emotions were really...strong." She takes special attention at Danny, tending to his own tears. "I'm sorry, Danny. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, but... If you want anything, anything at all, then don't hesitate to ask either of us."
"Um, miss Elrias?" Danny interrupts. "If it's not embarrassing, then...can I...?" Before she could ask, he runs towards the Farseer.

The boy wraps his arms around the slender Farseer and buries his head on her mane.
For once, it was now Elrias' turn to be shocked. The warmth of a young boy's embrace was having an unsettling calm over her, and despite her training forcing her to keep composure at all times, she was enjoying this little light. She replies in kind, cradling his head in her arms.
"Such a cute child," she coos.

"Farseer!" Arisleth breaks up the moment. "Are you sure you should be coddling him like that?"
Elrias grins as she eases Danny away. "Oh? Is the fearsome Exarch jealous that her prey has feelings for someone other than her?"
"N-no!" She protested. "Stop being nonsensical!" Despite her insistence, her face was getting redder at the display of shameless interspecies bonding, an act that could be considered savage to a sophisticated species like the Craftworlders.
"Oh, come now!" The Farseer assures her. "Now, Danny. Is there anything you'd like to say to Arisleth?"
"Um, yes!" Danny eagerly hops off to run to the Exarch and then stands on his tip-toes. The hurried rush surprises both Eldar, but only Elrias expresses this in an amused snickering. This surprise turns into shock the moment Danny's lips purse together and touch the Exarch's cheek.
"Now that's not fair!" Elrias pouts. "Where's my kiss?"
The dazed Exarch snaps to, "Um, yes! I found him first, so I get his first kiss!"
"My~! I never knew you as territorial!"
The Farseer's tease hit its mark. The Exarch's composure was shuddered. "Ah-of course I'm not! I-it's just that I met him first, so..."
The Farseer giggles. "Oh, it's fine if you like her more than me." The teasing had a different effect on Danny though, who runs over and repeats his clumsy kiss for her. "Oh, thank you~! Such a sweet boy!"

The next hour or two continued in their back-and-forth game, seeing what sort of embarrassing feats they could convince Danny to do, from rubbing their shoulders to kissing their hair and riding on their shoulders.

"Kars, spot anything yet?"

The question came on the raspy growl of Kars' closest friend, Blada. Shared a childhood together on the farmlands with him, now they share the same pang of hungry running through their guts. He was a scrawny and scabby man, compared to Kars' burly and hairy figure, but a life of hard labor made him as tough as they come.

Kars shook his head, saying, "Nothing yet. Damnable Goths haven't shown up all morning, no caravan. No scouts. Hell, not even a patrol."

He cursed his luck but not the people to the South. He hardly could, the people of the so-called "Holy Empire of Goth" were a meek and timid people united under a faith for the weak. They could pray to their Maker all day, but a god that promises nothing but forgiveness and love will not invoke courage in the face of adversity anytime soon. Then again, the old gods rarely show any favor to today's people. Not since the days of the first Iron Brigand.

"Hmph, typical of them. It's probably their prayer day," Blada growled, shrugging his shoulders. "All nice and comfy in their churches, sipping wine and hard tack. Not baking in this sorry excuse for an outpost..."

Kars nodded to that. Hastily built by the now long-gone militia of the region, the fort had no stone walls or carved battlements, just a giant ring of raised packed earth, reinforced with a palisade of dried out logs and two rickety watchtowers flanking the fort's sole gate. It had been abandoned since the war's end, free for the taking.

"Well, hopefully something comes," Kars grunted. "If not, then the boss will be cutting rations again. Speaking of which, where's Haster's mob? They should be back by now." Haster was the camp's best outrider, having been an actual cavalry sergeant during the war. It would also make him the only veteran fighter in the whole camp.

Again Blada shrugged.

"Just haven't shown up yet. You know how that bastard is, always dragging his feet... Oi, see that?"

>(3/hell if I know)

It was all innocent things, meant to show just how cute he was. Eventually, though, night came to the Craftworld, and the lights died down. Their game was only interrupted when they heard a rumbling. Danny's pause was the only clue that it was his stomach that made the noise.
"I say, this was rather stimulating," Elrias smiles. "Now, Danny. How would you like to join your big sisters and eat dinner?"
Danny asked, "Are you sure? Is it okay that I follow you?"
"Now, now, Danny!" the Farseer pats his head. "I promise that we'll keep you safe for as long as you want to be with us. Now, if you want to betray that trust, we can tell the whole Craftworld about the savage things you did to two innocent maidens..."
"I'll go! I'll go!" The Farseer smirks, her possibly-innocent blackmail successful. Danny hurries along, conscious of her new big sisters, while Arisleth could only stare at her in disappointment.

So began the process of accepting little Danny into their hearts. While never able to fully join the Craftworld in its activities, Arisleth and Elrias were more than happy to play with the human boy and teaching him about Eldar culture. Despite growing up clearly like a human, the two women still cherished him as their brother, or perhaps like a son. To the two of them, he precious like a fellow Eldar and they dedicated everything they had to protect this one boy's smile despite his heritage. That was the power he had over them, and it overpowered them totally.

---Some Years Later---
Danny was the first to emerge from the Wave Serpent, clad in mesh armor. He was immediately set upon by Elrias, to the amusement of his fellow Guardians.
"Sis! Why so soon after I left?" Despite being so much taller, it still embarrasses him to be tackled by the motherly Farseer.
"No, not 'Sis'!" She traces his chin. "It's 'Darling'! Unless..."
"But today was supposed to be Arisleth's..."
She snarls. "I knew I should have spent the night with you! Now there's this big gap...!"

"The only gap is in your head," They both hear a voice behind them. Arisleth, now wearing a suit more suited to a naval officer, intercepts them. "He's mine too."
"Come on!" Danny tries to struggle free. "I can't be doing this all the time! Now all the guys are making fun of me for falling in love with my sisters!"
"You innocent little boy!" The Farseer teases him, "There's still so much for you to learn."
The ex-Exarch bops her on the head, "Enough! It's been an eventful week for Danny, and I think we both owe it to him to have dinner together."
The human smiles. "Of course! I'd love to join you, sisters!"
Elrias pecks him on the cheek. "You're such a sweetie. Now let's go, I'm sure you have a lot to tell us."

Danny smiled as he locked arms with his sisters. It was clear to everyone present: he was lonely no more, not as long as these two were with him. They were all he needed to be happy.

...

It seemed that he had put his head down and closed it out when he heard the abominable trumpet going off. The relative stillness of the camp was broken by a dull roar, the kind that an army makes when it is called to break camp. The silence had been shattered by the sound of yells, bellows drums and flutes. He cursed and got up from the sleeping pallet, his head thundering like a brayherd of beastmen was running inside his skull.

"Company, Form UP!" The last word came out as a shriek. The last battle against the remnants of the hordes of chaos, and here Kolt was, screeching like an old frau. Thankfully his men didn't notice that, or at least made no motion that they had. Kolt had the bad luck of not growing a beard or a mustache. It made him look younger, a bit too young in fact. It was annoying when he was mistaken for a page by Bretonnian knights or a drummer by the Reiksmarshall.

His soldiers were forming up in a column. Two pikemen for each handgunner. All good hardened men who wouldn't break when a chaos spawn looked at them funny. They had been nearly a thousand when they started. Now they were two hundred and fifty. The pay was good, but no matter how big the bags of imperial crowns were, they couldn't compare to the hazard of fighting against whatever it was his men fought against.

Kolt had lost all track of time. Some lord with a fat purse needed some men because some graf had offended the emperor. Kolt was happy to take the pay. He was sick of fighting roving bands of orcs in the badlands for turnips. A tour in the empire during it's time of civil strife, some looting, some pay and he could retire. Of course fate had determined otherwise.

Kolt had never seen the plunder. Just as his employer was about to declare war on a neighboring province, the forces of chaos launched their assault on the world. Old rivalries were buried at the drop of a floppy hat and the Badlander Third had found itself at the forefront of the fight for the world.

...

...

Wonder if the guy who made a story for is still gonna complete this: If not, hopefully someone does a story of it; Setting with modern-industrial human civilization sending their military to fantasy magic lands with such hi jinks like this.

...

That would be nice actually. A lot of good ones never get finished it seems

And here they were at it's end. Kolt supposed that there was to be some sort of poetic meaning behind this. But of course there was all the accrued payment that he and his men were owed.

He stopped thinking about the thousands of crowns he would get soon and looked at the men that were around him. Most of them looked positively drab compared to even the state troopers. The company of greatswords to their left made them look like a bunch of reanimated corpses. Even as they began marching to the drums there was a ripple of laughter as one of the greatswords pointed at his column and said something.

"Don't bother lads, the peacocks are not worth it." His men muttered something about ponces and bretonnian peasants and kept on marching. Any argument when the army was deploying would mean less money. No need to stumble at the end.

The forest loomed right next to them. The forces of chaos were drawn near it's eaves, and Kolt saw that they had kept a respectable distance from the forest. He knew that the forest was dangerous. Bretonnians might despise mercenaries and the dogs of war even more than the men of the empire, but they made use of them all the same. Peasants levies were better at running away than holding their ground.

Bretonnians distrusted the forest of Athel Loren and held it to be cursed. And of course the gods and the reiksmarshall had decided to stick his unit next to it.

Their job was to make sure that the forces of chaos didn't spring an ambush or outflank them from the forest. An important task, and hopefully an unnecessary one. Even the hordes of chaos wouldn't be insane enough to brave the forest of Athel Loren.

His men muttered darkly as the batteries of great cannons began to be deployed right behind them. They were at the base of a small hillock, and being the highest place on the battlefield, it was an ideal place for deploying artillery.

...

so, did anyone read what I wrote so far?

it helps if you link what you've written already so we know which one you are

if you're then the prose is okay, but nothing much has happened yet.

Kars turned to see where his friend had pointed. Riders far across the dirt valley, too far to discern what colors they don or what beasts they ride. They were getting closer to the fort. He turned around and looked to the sparesly populated compound below.

"Hey, we got riders coming from the south! Someone get the peering glass!" He shouted. Men below scrambled, a few clambering up the walls and taking positions while others rushed for their weapons, strewn about the parade grounds. One man rushed over Kars and Blada, dressed in dark clothing and chainmail, clutching a brass tube in his hand.

"Kars! Where the riders?!" The man growled through yellow rotted teeth.

"Directly south, there boss!" Kars jabbed a finger down the horizon at the encroaching figures. Boss was the usual name for Karl, who, by virtue of being the best equipped and meanest of this mob of looters, ruled the sparse border fort like a lordling.

Kars kept his eyes on the vague shapes in the distance as his leader peered through the peculiar brass tool. A useful tool for spotting things the naked eye could not find, though how a man like Karl came to possess a reportedly rare and fragile thing Kars will never know.

"Well? What is it, what do you see?" Kars asked with a rising urgency. He pulled a quarrel from the quiver leashed to his thigh and pressed it into his crossbow.

"Well?"

"Shut up, you dung pest!"

Karl hissed a cursed through gritted teeth and pulled the peering glass from his eye. "Gods count the dead..."

Kars noticed his boss draw a throwing axe from his belt loop and take a deep heaving breath. He shouted.

"Every man on the walls!! Autzberg raptor riders!!"

...

As far as artillery went, the Great cannon was a relatively benign weapon. The forges at nuln churned out these weapons like the bretonnians churned out peasants. Firing a cannon ball greater than a giant's knucklebone, it was the core of campaigns. Cannons won battles.

Cannons also misfired and killed or maimed several crew members and the men assigned to guard them. Catcalls between crewmen and soldiers around them was common on battlefields. Kolt muttered a prayer to the Verena that the cannons not misfire.

And just as suddenly the cannons roared into life. Kolt heard the gunnery sergeant yell out something and the cannons make their report. The boom and the whistle of the cannons flying overhead made him duck, and he wasn't the only one. Some of his men dropped their handguns and pikes as they covered their ears.

"You there, pick up that pike, or you get no bonuses." As the man scrambled to pick up his pike, Kolt looked at the impact the cannons had made on the lines of the chaos warriors.

The sergeant had directed the initial volley at the chaos trolls and spawns at the center of the army, leaving the dragon ogres deployed directly opposite to his position. They were too far to see what damage the cannons had wrought on them, and if ulric willed, they wouldn't have to see it ever again.

Right then he saw the horde of dragon ogres slowly but steadily start advancing. The marauders that were with them were either trampled underfoot or stayed away from the rampaging beasts.

The battle of Quenelles was about to begin.

...

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...

"You must be careful in the jungle Merrian! It's not safe to collect scrap there!", Merrian rolled her eyes, "Don't worry Grandfather, I'm the best scavenger you employ! I'l be back by Nightfall don't you worry!", with that she sprinted down the road, her thick black cloak billowing behind her over the dull green tunic and thick shorts she wore. Her boots pounded against the old cracked road, worn from untold centuries of disrepair like almost everything else on the planet.

It wasn't long before the road passed by the ancient jungle, a mess of great trees and seemingly imbreachable foliage keeping most out, but Merrian knew a way in.

.cont

Merrian climbed through the ancient hole she always did. The bundle of trees was broken and snapped aside like mere twigs. The great hole was the size of one of the ancient sky ships, or at least one of the small ones. She had always hoped to come across what made it, but had never been so lucky before as to find it... if it even was a sky ship.

Her grandfather use to say an ancient group of demigods once fought in the skies above, but Merrian never believed him, he was a crazy old man after all. And who didn't tell their grandchildren fanciful stories? She shook her head to refocus and was about to climb down into the jungle again, but she slipped and hardly caught herself, looking down at the floor below she sighed in relief. The fall was far and she had seen men die from less. As she looked up to pull herself back up, worried that was a bad omen... something caught her eye. High above her, was another hole deeper in the jungle... as if what had crashhed the first hole had gone up rather than down.

She climbed up to it, and saw a strange sequence of similar holes leading deeper into the jungle. Though it was dangerous, she jumped along the vines and holes deep into the jungle, as it became clear to her no ordinary skyship had crashed through these trees. After what seemed like hours beneath the thick dark canopy she found it... by the Gods did she find it. The Skyship was huge! It was bigger than any of the wrecks she had seen thus far. Its thick body held up by wide wings which carried the ancient scorch of fire, the colors had faded with the surely untold years it must have sat here. It looked like it may have once been a bright and proud yellow color, now obsured by age and vines. She dropped down into the clearing in which the ship sat, have submerged in a crater if its own making. She approached it cautiously, almost afraid to be near the massive metal ship. She saw, beneath a myriad of vines something different.

The market had the smell of magic to it, nature burning mixed with oil and human blood.

Meta let smoke drift out of her nostrils up into the sky. She watched it go until it dispated in the fog of the market and absentmindedly wiped the counter in front of her for the lack of anything better to do. The open sign above her, blinked consistently, occasionally a bit of magic emerging to give it some flourish before toning down again.

She looked one way for customers, then the other before drumming her fingers on the hardtop. She let another puff a smoke, trying to angle it to slap a potential customer walking the higher levels in the face and cursed when a sprite blew it away.

Her store was a small cave carved out of the lower levels. It consisted of a counter, a few things she had stolen from the bigger stores that she spread out over the counter and a storeroom in the back that had her bed. She paid no rent, it was too shit a location for that, and that was balanced out by the fact that rarely if ever did anyone venture that far down beyond nicer looking stores.

She leaned over the counter again and looked up, feeling with her magic. If the sprites were going to be bastards and not let her make a living she could always go a bit more forceful. She could feel purses on belts. Blades on feets. A little tug here a nudge nudge nudge there and people would come down to get them back and hopefully talk to the pretty girl standing behind the counter.

She found a good target. They had little to no magic on their clothing and no chain between their clothes and purses. She started to tug and a voice intterupted her just as she was about to yank it off. "What are you doing?"

Meta jerked. Above someone squealed as a bag of coins buried itself into their hips and she turned to look at the source of the noise.

It was a girl of about fifteen or sixteen wearing a black dress and a apperentices hat.She danced on her heels her shadow moving out of sych with her and she was looking up, following the thread of Meta's magic and looked down back at her."What were you doing?"

"Nothing."

"But you had magic going up there."The girl said. She pointed up. "I can still see the line."

Meta sucked the line back in and shrugged her shoulders. "Really?"

"But I did see something."The girl muttered. She moved to peer over the edge.

Was she trying to give herselve a barganing chip,bringing up Meta's attempted advertising? She was just being petty if she was because nothing meta had was worth that much money but the only other possibility was that she was stupid.

While Meta had been thinking, the girl had moved closer to a glowing feeder she kept above the store to fend off bugs. She reached for it and when the teeth slid in place to bite she jumped back screaming.

Stupid then. "Careful. You could lose a finger."

"Really?"

"No."Another voice spoke up. "It kills bugs. If the enchanter is not utterly incompetent you shouldn't have a thing to worry about."

Meta jumped a little and masking it with sneeze looked for the source of the new voice. She came face to chest with a very large man standing behind the girl.

"Then again."The man said,"there's the if the enchanter is competent provision."

Meta opened her mouth, and looked down the street pathways for where the man could have emerged. "Where did you come from?"

"I was always here." He said.

Meta looked at him, trying to guage the space he took up and found that unlikely.

"That's Finn."The girl spoke up.

"Finn?" Meta said.

The girl was looking at another flower, a safer one Meta had left on the counter." Yeah Finn. He has that effect on everyone."

The man now known as Finn took a step forward and Meta got her first real look at him. He had no magic, the spark simply not there and a pretty face, much too pretty for the body it was on top of. The shoulders, his stance, even his eyes said cage fighter, not pretty boy. Whoever had done it to him had done it when he was young, not expecting their son to grow as large as he would.

"He's your human then?"Meta said. She looked at Finn's face carefully waiting for a reaction.

"No. He's my mothers."

If Finn cared he didn't let himself show it. He looked angrier but it seemed less because his place in life was being acknolwedged and more because of Meta's probing.
"He takes care of you?" Meta said.

She smiled and nodded her head excitingly.

"Is he good at it?" Meta said.

That drew a reaction out of him. His fingers flexed and he almost dropped the papers he was carrying. His face didn't change but Meta saw the slightest hint of teeth as his lips parted then closed shut again. If he had his normal face this game would have been easier to play but without it Meta could only wonder how close he was to jumping over the counter to hit her.

"He's-"The girl said.

"Adequate." Finn finished for her. "And the missus is here to purchase something she saw on your counter."

"She is?"

"Yes."

"Well,"Meta said leaning towards the girl."what would that be darling?"

The girl for her part looked at the two of them and finallly seemed to feel the hostility that had been slowly growing."I don't know."

"Go ahead Nell," Finn said. "Buy what you want."

Nell grabbed a figure and placed it in the center of the counter. She took out a small purse and counted a few coins out before handing them over.

"I hope you come again."Meta said. She pointed her finger at Finn's face. "Especilly you cutie."

Nell grabbed the figure stiffly and walked away. Finn looked at Meta again, his eyes running up and down her body before he left following her.

.

Meta watched them go and wondered why she had done that. She would have been polite to the girl, as annoyingly naive she was. Probably would have sold her more than just the figure alone.

It was the human, Meta guessed. She never liked humans. They were slaves and but at least the onews who were unhappy about it weren't as pathetic as the ones who were.

Meta flipped the coin the girl had given her and caught it. She probably would have sold her more than the figure if Finn wasn't there. Meta would have made more than six dollars if she hadn't gotten into that pissing match with Finn.

She bit back a scream and began to kick the weight she kept under the counter for such occasions. She counted to ten in her head, breathed deeply and let smoke drift out of her nose up into the marketplace, watching it go until it dissapeared in the fog.

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Czechfag here - I'm tackling it, but I'm not much of a comedy writer. I'll see what I can do and post it once it's finished.

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no problem. People seemed interested and the entire point of these threads is to encourage people to write. And I'd like nothing better than for some of the writers here to turn themselves into published authors

incidentally, I notice here
that you said you that The Old Way received a lot of praise. Since I wrote it I'm quite curious to know why. I've always liked it but I never thought anyone else would.

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Do you accept pdf dumps of fanfiction or general writefaggotry?

sure

Woo!

I'm writing these little 8k - 10k word pulp-style 40k adventures, centering around an Inquisitor named Mather Callidon. Mather isn't your usual Ordo Xenos "a single Eldar? Exterminatus." style Inquisitor though - no, he's a member of the Ordo Sepulturum, which I have framed as a severely underfunded interplanetary CDC. In my notes for myself I've described the series as:
>"Adventure stories of an inquisitor of the ordo sepulturum, who investigates the outbreak of possibly warp-related diseases within the Imperium. A mixture of gothic badassery and CDC-procedural"

My last real involvement with the Lore of 40k was Dark Heresy first edition, so a lot of this is probably out of date, but if the above appeals to you read on!

Are there litmags that accept stories near the 10k mark? I thought most cut off at like 8k

I have no idea. There certainly aren't any litmags who would accept 40k fanfic (lest GW let their lawyers off the leash). This is just for me for fun. Gotta get those million shit words out of the way and all that, maybe have a laugh while doing it.

I've had an idea for a story for a while so I'd thought I'd toss it up here.

“You can run no longer Human, this mighty host heralds the end, of you and all the rest of your kind.” The Avlan spoke, malice thick in his voice. His taloned feet dug into the Human’s chest, biting through the boiled leather and slipping passed the gaps in the coat of plates till blood welled up and pooled around his sharpened talons. “This stronghold will fall, and with it, your wretched race. It will be a penance for your sins, and one more fair than any of you deserve.”

The Avlan was armoured in thin plate and mail, the sheets of metal covering his chest and extremities while the chainmail made up the joints. The armour held little in the way of ornamentation or extravagance, favoring function over form, save for the mark of his faith etched into his breastplate. It depicted what they called the ‘Coronation of the Five’, one of his own avian like race kneeling, five swords run through his back.

Human swords, if the legends were true.

He wore no helm, as status befitted one of his rank and to show his faith in their undying lord, trusting him to protect him. His angular face was covered in brown downy feathers, dyed red above his jet black eyes. His left held tightly closed, a large gash marring his face and running down and across the eye. He had no shield, but held a small pointed dagger in his left hand and a simple longsword in his right, dripping with the blood of the human under his foot.

“We... will not fall, Avlan. No matter... no matter how many of you crash against our gates, how many score your fell in the field, how long you put us to siege. We will not fall.” The human spat in defiance through blooded teeth. “We have stood against more than you could ever muster, defeated the likes of which you could not fathom. We will not break... we will not fall.”

The human was young, bailey a man grown. His was a simple face, framed in long auburn hair matted now with blood. He wore much and less compared to the Avlan, little more than a coat of plates over a simple boiled leather hauberk. His shield, and the arm that held it, were a ruin of shattered wood and torn bloodstained clothing. His shortsword lost to him.

“All you and yours have done is run Human, from Ashmark to Demeter, from Alixandra to Riverrun. All you’ve done is run, now you’ve run yourselfs into a corner. What did you intend, I wonder? Some final stand, some last great battle that would be remembered for all the days to come? Well Human, know this, yours will be forgotten. No one will write of your deeds, of your city’s nor your king's.” The Avlan spoke his claws digging in deeper, hate pouring from him, drawing a grunt of pain from the man. “Or was it fear that drove you, I wonder. Fear of what you’ve done, and of the retribution to come? Is this the reason of this craven's last stand, these final gasping breaths? Well you will know fear, Human, that I swear make no mistake. The gods will know vengance, there will be retribution.”

The Avlan leaned in close, kneeling down on his chest. “I will know revenge.”

He put the point of his dagger at the human’s throat.
The Human showed no fear, no emotion marked his face, not but a mocking smile. “The gods are dead priest, dead. We laid them low and built a civilization on their corpse. They were the one’s who fled our swords, they were the cravens. Do what you will, but we will know no fear. We killed the gods themselves, what would we have to fear from the likes of you when gods could not withstand us?”

The Avlan growled, “You will know fear Human.” He pushed the dagger down through his throat. “You will know death.”

As he did he heard the sound of metal against metal, and felt something push against his chest.

He looked down and saw the human holding something to his breastplate, some small metal tube attached to a wooden grip held firmly in the Human’s hand. He looked back into the face of them Human, the mocking grin still plastered on his face, blood pouring from his clenched teeth.

There was the sound of thunder that sent his ears ringing. It felt as though a war horse had kicked him in the chest, the force sitting him up and sending him reeling unto his back. He let out a strangled cough, more blood than air coming forth. He down across his body and saw the human lying dead, he saw the hole in his own breastplate. He let out another ragged cough and looked to the clear dawn sky, his death creeping at the edges of his darkening vision.

The last he heard of this world as he looked into the clear sky was the sound of rolling thunder... and screaming.

The way I've thought of it was like a post-apocalypse fantasy setting. where humanity killed what were basically the 40K chaos gods that ruled over the world and caused an apocalypse when what they had power over stopped, day/night cycle, no more magic, shit like that. The point would be that a group would go on a quest to save the world, generic shit i know but I just wanna write it, don't really know how to start it off though.

If you don't know how to start at the start then start in the middle and go back later. By the time you get to the end, you might find that the middle is perfectly serviceable as a start.

Also just a note: watch out for redundancy in your writing. Nothing drags your writing down faster. I have the same issue and I'm always on the lookout for it. Example:
>His taloned feet dug into the Human’s chest, biting through the boiled leather and slipping passed the gaps in the coat of plates till blood welled up and pooled around his sharpened talons.
You mention talons twice - the second time we already know he has talons, so there's no need to say so again. Also, if they're biting through armour, we know they're sharp without needing to be told that they're sharp. Cut that down and your writing will be leaner, meaner and have more impact.

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Okay, well:
>The Good
>>Fast-paced, punchy, not too many spelling or grammar errors
>>Protagonist is interesting, complex, very human, not the kind of character you normally see in 40k (especially Inquisitor)
>>Great in-universe attention to detail: Callidon not being able to converse with locals in their native language.
>>You've developed an interesting take on the Inquisition, less the Spanish Inquisition route which 40k normally takes, more modern day Roman Catholic Inquisition. I don't know if this is fluffy, but I like it better.

>The Bad
>>Plot isn't very tight. Feels like you introduced elements that didn't go anywhere or weren't adequately explained. Why did the Sister have warp taint? Why *wasn't* that related to the disease?
>>You tend to rely pretty heavily on adverbs. Perhaps this is personal preference, but the best number of adverbs to have in your writing is none.
>>I didn't understand the motivation of the bad guy at all. Is he the 'Magos of Mutare?' Was the disease a front for illegal techpriest experiments?
>>I don't think Sororita's do things like running small hospitals? Actually, while the Inquisitor was a good human character, I think you made the Sister too human.

Overall 6.5/10 would read another 'Mather Callidon Adventure...'

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>I don't think Sororita's do things like running small hospitals?
I'd presume that the sister's probably a Hospitalier or at least attached to a Hospitalier order. Granted, there's not much explaining it besides the hospital, but it's the most logical answer.

Still enjoyed it nevertheless. Would like to see where this heads off.

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After quite some time away from it, I've rewritten a big chunk of a piece I was working on because some characters were acting funny

pastebin.com/mc9rcDP6

comments and criticism appreciated

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Preferably with a guardsman 40k take

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It started quite well for Kolt and his rag tag gang. The forces of chaos had been thrown into disarray by the charge of their monstrosities. Norscans were taller and stronger than average than the regular empire soldier or the bretonnian peasant. However, they were largely clad in furs and using axes. A good weapon for reaving, but a terrible one for battle where the pikes and halberds of the empire soldiers would keep them at bay and slaughter them.

The chosen of chaos were the threat that the poor lads in the center had to face. They were mortal men once, but pacts with the dark gods of chaos had granted them 'gifts' that made them faster, stronger and deadlier than what they once were. Luckily being clever was not one among them as Kolt could see small packs of them breaking free and trying to charge at the combined army of bretonnia and the empire.

Powerful warriors they might be, but the chosen were no match for superior firepower. Scattered bands of chaos warriors closed the distance with surprising speed that belied the heavy armor they wore. The arrows from the bretonnian peasants did little against them, but here the handgunners fared much better.

Volleys of lead ripped through the lines of chaos chosen, piercing armor, flesh and mutation with equal fury. A few of the bigger brutes pushed onwards and were met by other volleys.

The dragon ogres mean while were running amok. The monsters had started making a beeline towards his position at an alarming pace. However the cries of his men had alerted the gunnery sergeant who had ordered his battery to fire on the big brutes.

Ancient and twisted hellspawn they might be, their scarred flesh was no match for the cannonade unleashed by the batteries of the empire. Kolt wondered when these things would be turned upon the bretonnians.

Relations between the two nations were not especially good, and it was the threat of chaos that had kept the two nations working together.

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The absolute memery of this hurts me.

I'm curious if that ever happened. Has someone from Veeky Forums ever become a published author? I've been kicking around ideas for a story and writing short passages of it in my head, just gaven't been motivated enough to actually sit down and type it up. It's half based on a character I played before in an awful game. I told some of the story of that game before and have it screencapped but I feel like it'd be inappropriate to post it since it's not telling a story so much as telling a game.

>tfw when your work was so unremarkable that nobody had any feedback at all
time to start again

Crissy fell onto the snow, blood pouring from her mouth. Her body felt like crap, and the sword pointed at her neck didn't make her feel any better.

"You still sure that you can't pay up?," asked Rolf. His crusty breath fouled up the air, and he slowly pressed down on the spot where his sharp blade touched Crissy's neck.

"For the lst time, you've got the wrong gal." Crissy closed her eyes, and tapped her staff against the snow. One, two, three taps.

"Uh, boss?" called out one of Rolf's soldiers. "Something's up!"

Rolf would have responded, if it hadn't been for the sudden explosion of snow that hit his face. A twister of ice and dirt and air sprouted from the mountain, and slammed into Rolf and his men, washing them far away.

Crissy brushed herself off, and grabbed her bag. It was time for her to leave.

"Darren, you owe me one", she said, as she wandered off.

What did you write?

The din of the market was quieter here, blocked by the houses, tenements and company headquarters that rose about the laneway. It led deep into the smaller streets with a gentle curve, and rose unevenly in some places. Draperies blocked out the midday sun and merchants were set up underneath archways and inside small alcoves. Some stood and drew customers in with aggressive but light-hearted calls, some were seated quietly on stone steps or wooden stools, smoking or sipping water. Cloaked figures inspected steaming bowls or sampled corked vials, rows of blades were set out on sheets of oiled leather between a merchant and potential customer who discussed the finer details of the weaponry, carpets and linens were piled against walls with other building materials. The scent of spices wafted in from the main market with the richly red-cloaked guards who sometimes wandered through slowly, each one nodding to a few different merchants each time.

The first thing you need to know is that Panem is goddamn fabulous.

The second thing you need to know is that he knows it, and will tell everyone else about it.

Seriously, Panem, whenever he's in a bard competition, will sing about just how good his horns look, just how SEXY his legs are, and just how well he sings. The only reason he ever gets away with it is because he really is so good at singing. When he sings, the rainm will stop to listen, the girls (and a few guys) will swoon, and the world's roation quickens up a bit.

His haters will tell you he's overrated. Panem would say that they were just jealous, and keep on rocking his tunes.

So, if you hear some smooth guitar sounds, and you feel yourself movin' but you don't know why, that means Panem's in town.As he would say "Sit back, and enjoy!"

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