Storythread

Oh you'd better watch out, you'd better not cry, you'd better not shout and I'm telling you why: Storythread is coming to town.

Storythread: a thread for Veeky Forums-related works of creative writing (greentext epic campaign stories go elsewhere). If you have Veeky Forums related works of fiction to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind user will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).

If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building save it for the world-building threads.

Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).

And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.

Last week's thread can still be found in the archive here
And finally, don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
1d4chan.org/wiki/Storythread

Other urls found in this thread:

pastebin.com/X8M8BEWt
1d4chan.org/images/5/5b/TheWhiteScarf.png
docs.google.com/document/d/13IhJ3_M7eDSMFUoAilrnJHnzQWoZfNLbC_rxZ-Uff0o/edit?usp=sharing
discord.gg/RufPH
discord.gg/6AwKHGF
twitter.com/AnonBabble

Awwwwww shit yes!

Ok, this was something I was working on during the day or so the old one was down. Sadly, I don't have a picture, and it follows the idea that a gun can become sentient.

----------Birth----------

Looking back, the very thought baffled her. How COULD one gain sentience? It made no sense. Either you were sentient, and you knew it intrinsically, or you weren't, and you literally would not know.

How, therefore, was she capable of knowing that she could know of her existence?

The memories were clear and unbroken. Determining where "she" began and where a lifeless block of metal ended...that was a bit more difficult to pin down. Supposedly, backtracking the memories should give some insight.

Life was begun as pain. But "pain" is perhaps too trite a word; no, it was a sensation of being burned in fires too intense to describe with mere words, beaten repeatedly while still burning from the heat, and then dropped back into the fire when the beating stopped. Each iteration of the cycle seemed endless. It was, to her, life. Life was pain.

Then, inexplicably, the cycle changed. Instead of being beaten, she was left in the fires for longer than before. Instead of the repetition of blows, she was drowned, and discovered a little more of herself. A memory now existed where previously there was no concept to describe an existence of "prior to now". But she was not yet aware, so she did not yet exist.

Next (a strange concept; foreign to her, who had just barely received "before"), a different sort of pain. Beating was replaced by abrasion and laceration. Yet, instead of wearing her down and destroying her, what little of her that could be said to exist, she grew. As more was cut and ground away, more was imparted to her. She could not say how, because her ideas still did not have words or form. But the change was there.

She learned of that biting diamond-tipped saw. She learned of the ripping of the sander. The carbide endmill left its mark in her. Each touch of pain, each removal of body, and she became more. Power, too, came with knowledge. Finally, she knew she was a tool, but she did not know WHAT. She existed, now, finally, but her existence did not have the ability to self-appraise and see what she was.

At long end, the pain stopped. She was at rest. Time was still an alien concept. Thus, she did not know how long she rested.

A sensation, other than being taken from, is what she knew next. It was at such odds with her previous experience that she did not understand what was happening until afterward.

She gained senses.

She saw. She heard. She felt physical sensation. No longer restrained to feeling by her very being, she could now differentiate between herself and....not-herself. "Other". The limit of her senses also became immediately obvious.

Things existed aside from her, things she could determine that were not-her. She could tell they exist, which should mean she exists, but comprehension, and therefore self, still eluded her. These things were also different from her in that they moved.

They moved, made sounds, and made sounds as they moved. There were differences in them, though. Many things moved, but only some were the same. Some moved when the bigger things moved, and then the bigger things moved the smaller things and then changed the smaller things. The bigger things then moved the smaller things....away. She could not see the smaller things anymore.

SHE was moving! The bigger things were moving her! Moving her to...a bigger thing than her, but it was smaller than the bigger things moving...

An explosion of sensation flooded her. Not pain...but SOMETHING....and MORE.

More touch, more sight, more hearing, simply just MORE....and as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. The bigger things moved her again, and then moved a smaller thing to her. Again, pain, but this time....less. There was less pain, and less of her in pain. Small bits of her were taken this time, not like the wholesale removal of her from before.

There was a new cycle. Bursts of sensation, mixed with small increments of pain, consumed her. Each cycle seemed less painful and more sensory than before. And the sensations!

Needless to say, I will be expecting some Christmas stories this week

She could see farther and more clearly. She could tell how far something was by sound, not just direction. If she focused her attention, she could find things by both sound and sight. Then, /parts/ of her were moving.

She discovered she could hold smaller things. Still moving, she saw that she was now pointing somewhere far away...but she couldn't see where. Something else was moving her again...some small parts of her.

Small, repetitive movements were worked on those small parts of her. Those movements made her pick up and then throw the small things she could pick up. After many, many repetitions of picking up and throwing, another, smaller part of her was moved to great effect.

To say it was loud was an understatement. To say it was blinding was less accurate, still. The intensity of the noise and light defied her still-new mind. The power formed inside her burst its way out and gave her voice. A terrible, awesome voice, wrought with pain and suffering, full of flame and might and the portents of death....and with it a single note of hope.

The beating of a new heart began.

Strength flowed into and through her. This time, it was SHE that moved her parts. She threw the little things and picked up new ones. She, and she alone, held the power of her voice and the determination of what it would do. Through this, she learned of herself. She learned her movements, how it felt to spit fire from her mouth, what bits to move in order to scream death. Exhausted, she rested again.

She rested, but she did not sleep. She watched instead as the bigger things that had moved her placed her to the side and began work on another...thing. A thing like her.

She watched, fascinated, as a small (oh, but it was so SMALL to her now!) and glimmering piece was picked up, shoved into a larger thing that so exactly looked like her larger self. Rapt attention was paid as the other like her was pulled back out, held against a smaller, pointed, more dull thing, and run back and forth against each other. That painfully sharp noise rung out again, causing her to flinch in memory, but no pain came.

The sound and movement of the thing like her continued, and she realized that the thing like her was being removed from, like she was. Small bits of the thing like her were coming away with each movement of the smaller dull thing, and every so often the bigger things would take the thing like her and place it again into the big thing like her.

Cycle after cycle, less and less removal, more and more memory of having that very thing being done to her, and then a dawning realization that she is watching another her being made. A feeling different from any other feeling she has experienced then makes itself known. This feeling comes from within, unbidden, rises and....and...continues. It swells continuously as she watches the other-her being made.

The other-her is arranged so that it slides together, smoothly, and she copies the motion on her own. A small piece sticking out to a side is manipulated by the bigger things, and she mimics the motion. In doing so, she learns what she looks like when she moves herself. Being touched by the bigger things let her know that it was a part of her; moving herself in time with the other-her taught her what she was made of.

At long last, she witnessed the grabbing and releasing of the little things. That swelling feeling kept....growing! It did not stop! She knew what was going to happen next: the voice. After so long, all the mirrored movements, it needed to happen.

There! She heard it! The other-her spoke! But....something...There was something that was not the same. It..the voice...it did not carry pain. There was no power behind the sound and the light.

The other-her spoke again, and again the voice was lacking. The other-her threw the little things, but there was no heartbeat. The other-her was moved again, made sounds, and was placed next to her, but did not then move. Life was not in the other-her.

But...how can it be an other her....if it did not speak? If it did not feel the pain or discomfort or suffering or power, could it even BE?

It, therefore, is NOT an other her. It can not BE in the sense that she was. She realized that, simply put, there was no such thing as an other her. She was alone.

That feeling that had risen to such heights flatly sank into depths she had no words for. This feeling caused such pain; pain worse than the saw, worse than the sander, worse even than the fire and the beating. This pain began within and threatened to leave her if she could not control it. She had no voice, but she must scream.

So scream she did.

In screaming, she found her own voice. The emotion pouring forth in the brutal discovery that she EXISTS, while others do not, drained her of her strength. In her anguish, she fell down and caught herself, barely. Sobs continued wracking her frame, but paused long enough for a wail to escape her, low and haunting.

From behind her came the first words she ever heard:

"Oh, shit!"

---------------------

I've been waiting to post that. Thank God I found chronicler's post when it was 30 seconds old

You better worship
You praise Him
Don't give into the chaotic whim
Inquisition is coming to town

You can try to run
You can try to hide
One way or another they will find you in time
The inquisition is coming to town

They know if you worship Slaanesh
They know if you are pure
But they can't leave anything to a chance
So they purge you just to be sure

Oh you better praise Him
God-emperor of Mankind
Praise Him a lot and i'm telling you why
The inquisition is coming to town