Love and Krieg 2.0 the 4th

Hey, whoever keeps making the threads, be alerted to the fact that bump limit on Veeky Forums is 310, not 300. Other thread's not in autosage yet.

Huh...that's an odd number, when was that a thing?

It's been since NewMoot took over.

Fucking gook moot

"You want i should grab you anything sarge?" Asked Baiman "It's good food, they even have freeze cream. When was the last time you had freeze cream sarge?"

"Two years" He answered absent-mindedly.

"I'll get you some then" said Baiman "See you in a minute sarge"

"Goodbye Baiman" He said as the man got up and left. He tried to catch the Medicae's eye, and when she noticed him and stopped he waved her over. She approached his bed quickly and then stood next to his cot.

"I'm glad to see you are alright" He said

"As am i sir" She replied "When you passed out after being shot i feared that you would suffer serious and permanent harm from the blood loss, perhaps brain damage, so i am pleased to see that you appear to be in good health."

"It'll take more than this to kill me" He bragged while gesturing to his leg "And i had the best medic in the Regiment there to look after me." He said and smiled and looked up at her.

"Sir exaggerations of my prowess serve no purpose. I am aware of my capabilities and my limitations, and i merely did my duty." The Krieger replied. Now that just wouldn't do. He'd need to teach her to accept a compliment.

"It's called a compliment Medicae" He said. "It's purpose is to communicate my appreciation to you, and to express the high regard i hold you in. In the future it is likely you will receive many compliments. The polite response is to thank them for the compliment and then tell them they think too highly of you."

"Then these 'compliments' are comparable to a favorable performance review?" She asked.

"If you wish to look at it that way, i believe that is an apt enough comparison" said the Sergeant.

"Understood sir. Thank you for the favorable review of my performance, but i believe you have exaggerated my abilities." Said the Krieger

Oh shit, here we go boys!

Could you post that? I'd like to binge so I can catch up asap.

I was at first but i haven't been keeping everything compiled for some time now. If you would be willing to provide that when all is said and done i would be very grateful.

There's the first installment on today's update. I'll be back in a bit with more.

This is going to be a thing later...didn't the boss guy say the Planatary Governor was a big fan of Rochas? The sarge is going to need to bring a second. This will get awkward.

pastebin.com/gfKx5Jtq
That's where we are as of . It's about 60 pages of content.

I surely will. When this is all done, just provide me an email address and I'll kick it your way.

I made a quick epub if that's more convenient for anyone.

drive.google.com/file/d/0BxEn12_m3y6uc2xVZXRCWVA0Ylk/view?usp=drivesdk

Bump. Working on it.

Anyone else get a really strong Mass effect Tali vibe?

Behold, I have archived again! Also, thanks for the pastabin.

suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/50973859/

Writeanon here, I've never actually played those games. In any case i'm working on the next installment.

Not really. Just finished a full ME playthrough (ME1 up through ME3, all DLCs; romanced Ash/Tali/Tali) and I don't get a Tali vibe at all.

++3153921.M41, Pallas System, Pallas, 1205 local++

+Oh Throne, the fuel line injector was scratched.+ Over the hardline uplink she had with 301's core, she felt an indignant sputter of static.

"Don't worry! Don't worry! The important thing is we found it before we got into combat." +Though only after an hour tearing apart the fuel distribution system after the pressurization test, listening constantly to that maddening hiss.+

Miria unceremoniously ripped the injector from its mooring, and the hiss became a low whoosh of escaping air. +Frakking...Throne damned...cornbean soup...+

A questioning blip passed over her senses.

"Oh no, you're getting a new one. I won't have a half assed patch job on something as important as fuel regulation. Not while we have the parts here. I may not remember much from Generators, Engines and Capacitors with Master Gilash, but fuel leaking places it shouldn't would have caused him a stack overflow. Of rage."

Miria pocketed the offending part and made a log notation on her dataslate. Under the Forgemaster's harsh tutoring, she was getting much better at logging her work properly, tedious as it was.

"If you did not log the procedure, you did not do it!" He had growled at her, whimpering in a corner and hugging a spanner. She had thought back to all those times Proctor Kraellen had been forced to decipher the mess of her lab notebooks, ultimately always correct of course, she knew what she was about, but he had said over and over that being unable to demonstrate concepts made even the most brilliant seeker of knowledge as useless as a datacorder with no playback function.

Glancing surreptitiously about the hangar, she saw that the other Adepts were indeed filing out the south door for midday meal. +With the regiments arriving today, it's now or never.+

She left her dataslate sitting on the hull of 301, disconnected her hardlink, and did her best to tiptoe off to the hangar's eastern loading dock. After a few meters she gave up, and clomped down the deck. Outside, amongst the refuse pile and discarded spare parts awaiting the monthly collection by waste management, were several oblong boxes bearing the cog and caduceus.

+Oh thank the Omnissiah.+ She took the two smaller ones in her arms, and grabbed the third with her servo and after another quick glance about, trudged back toward 301.

She was about halfway across when the lift doors to the billets slid open with a positive pressure whoosh.

+Oh shit.+

Silhouetted in the archway, long black hair flapping in the pumping air and grunting with effort behind a cart laden with boxes not much different from Miria's own, was Amaranthine.

Miria stopped dead mid step, and after pushing through the doorway Amaranthine looked up and squeaked to a halt as well.

"Miri."

"Adept Bahal."

Some of her trademark smirk returned. "So formal! Up to no good are we?"

"S-shut up. I see that-that you brought someth-thing from home too." Miria jerked her dendrite at the offending cart.

Amaranthine grinned. "I could not resist after I learned where we were going, did you know Saval is a prospective death world? I obtained the preliminary reports from the survey team a millennium ago. Some of the organisms are the size of small titans."

Miria gasped. "Where d-did you get the reports?!" +Titans...Oh. My. Emperor.+

The raven haired woman's grin became wider. "Oh...dear. Did you forget to consult the temple archives before you left? Perhaps in your mad dash to collect your illicit...things?"

Miria turned bright red, dendrite wrapping around her middle.

"Well I suppose it wouldn't be the first time you hadn't done your due diligence. You can be so absentminded after all." Adept Bahal gave her own tousled hair a swish. "Tell you what, I'll pretend I didn't see you, and you pretend you didn't see me, and we can both get our things smuggled onto the ships with no one the wiser."

Miria clamped down on her ire and nodded curtly. "Fine. J-just stay out my way when we get on plan-planet."

Amaranthine's smile continued. "Now there's no reason to be like that! We could combine our efforts, there are allowances for Aspirants in similar fields combining their capstone projects, you could append your research to mine, I'd put your name in the addendum. 'Head Research Assistant, Miria Rorken.' Has a nice ring no? Kind of like Magos Biologis Amaranthine Bahal?"

"G-Go get sodomized by a s-s..." Miria began shaking. +Damn that giggling tart!+

"By a S...S...S what Miri?" Amaranthine resumed pushing her cart. "A Space Marine? God Emperor I wish, but they're all celibate. What a dirty mind you have."

"S-s-spanner you tavern w-wench!"

Adept Bahal's only response was a airy wave as she walked off toward her Basilisks.

301 had taken some convincing, but allowed Miria to store her equipment in its external ammunition rack. Normally designed to carry spare rounds behind the turret in a position where if they cooked off from enemy fire the resultant explosion would only lightly damage the vehicle, it served little purpose now with 301's twin Stormbringer Patten Lascannons taking the place of the traditional Leman Russ Battle Cannon. Just for good measure, a third hull mounted Lascannon rounded out and cemented 301 as a long range assassin of enemy heavies. Miria had been surprised at first to see that almost none of the Leman Russ's constructed in this production batch were armed in the classic Mars Pattern. She knew from the Forgemaster that Pallas possessed the schematic. 302 and 303, her other charges, were likewise nonstandard.

302, who was shaping up to be much more phlegmatic in disposition than either of its kin, was armed with a Demolisher Cannon and a hull mounted Lascannon. The two weapons had vastly different engagement ranges, but it had been explained to her that the function of this type of tank squadron in Krieg armored doctrine was to have each member possess at least limited anti armor capability, with one dedicated tank hunter in the personage of 301. Despite its peaceable nature, 302 was meant for smashing apart enemy fortifications and dug in squads.

Lastly, and by far the most bilious, was 303. Its turret had a pair of enormous drums bolted to either side, with belts feeding into the massive six barreled cannon in the center. Classed as the Punisher variant, it existed for only one purpose, turning entire platoons of-well, orks in this soon to be case-into meat flavored mist. Like its siblings, it too had a hull mounted Lascannon. To the tank's aft was a small crane winch, whose only purpose was to aid in the attachment and detachment of the ammunition drums astride the turret. Two spares adorned the rear of the tank.

The squadron was classed as a frontline multirole unit, able to engage anything up to a Gargant the orks might field, and still provide siegebreak and infantry support duties, sometimes all three simultaneously. Krieg, according to the dossiers the Adepts had been provided, favored easy to maintain and cheap weapon systems, overcoming any deficiencies that result by specializing to their role.

Miria could certainly admire that, as a student of evolutionary biology, speciation to one's chosen niche was the cornerstone of fitness survival. Whereas a Mars Pattern Leman Russ might have been a more versatile platform, 301 was definitely a better pure tank hunter, and probably had cost almost half as much to build. She hummed an old nursery rhyme from her early childhood in binary cant as she worked to get her lab equipment stowed and the fuel injector properly attached. 301 seemed to enjoy them.

"Girls and boys, come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And come with your playfellows into the street."

Her still wrenched shoulder muscles protested as she put her back into ratcheting the bulkheads back into place. She did vent a slight cackle at the naiveté of thinking an exo frame would save her from her back pain woes.

"Come with a whoop, come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A halfpenny roll will serve us all.
You find milk, and I'll find flour,
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour."

Over the hardlink, she could feel 301's processing cycles slowing down, a burbling titter of contentment emanating from its matrices.

+God Emperor I want some pudding.+

A few more turns, and Miria had the last plate back in its position. "There we go. Sleep well 301. I'm off to get some lun-"

*Inhale*

Miria bristled for a moment, then relaxed. "Honored Forgemaster, you startled me-ack!"

She turned to find not the hulking Magos of the factory complex, but a quartet of glass eyed masks staring straight at her. Clad in black greatcoats and standing rigidly still, with a hose snaking down to connect to a small filter unit buckled to the stomach. Miria wondered for a wild moment how they had gotten within mere meters of her without making the slightest noise.

"Ah-ah-ah..." She fancied her eyes must be as wide as searchlights.

Abruptly, the one in the front jabbed an arm forward, hand outstretched. Miria recoiled at the sudden movement, just in time to see a ratchet land in the open palm. Miria stared for a moment, then looked down at her own empty hands. +Oh Frakk.+

She felt heat rising around her collar and cheeks once more. "S-sorry about that. I'm a-a bit of a klutz sometimes."

+ohgodthatsnotsomethinganyoneeverwantstohearabouttheirenginseerohfrakkohballsohemperorpreserveme+

One of the gasmasks to the rear, shorter than the others, cocked their head to one side, and Miria abruptly realized she'd just burst transmissioned that in Technica. It had probably sounded like a choir of farts to someone with no receiver.

+I think I wish that pipe had crushed me.+

She is so adorable, Even more trips for you user, i love it

Currently enjoying the adventures of Miria the busty klutz.

...

If everyone could go to the Drawthread and thank Eversor i would be very happy

This thread just keeps getting better.

Rochas smiled. "So i understand you've been assigned to my care then" he said.

"Yes sir" the Medicae replied. "You are one of the individuals i have been assigned to care for in addition to my other duties. It is time to change your bandages. Please pull your gown to the side so that i may see the wound."

"Of course" He said, a bit startled by her sudden demand, and shifted the gown so that his leg was fully exposed. The entirety of his thigh was wrapped in layers of bandages, and he could see the beginning of a small spot of discolor radiating out from where the wound was. The Medicae placed one hand under his thigh and leveraged his leg into a position where it bent at the knee and raised the back of his leg off of the bed before slipping a round block of wood with some padding around it underneath his knee to hold his leg up. She then began to unwind the bandages.

He watched as her hands passed back and forth and under and over his leg, slowly unraveling the layers of white cloth that swathed his thigh. As she began to remove layers he could see that the further down they went the larger the spot of discoloration was as something seeped slowly through the bandages. Eventually she removed the last layer and he could see the wound itself. It looked awful to him. He could see where the jagged edges had been stitched together with thick heavy sutures, and it weaped some manner of fluid. The flesh looked tight, like it was pulling against the threads holding it together. As he looked at the wound he was amazed he wasn't feeling significant pain.

"Medicae, am i on drugs?" He asked

"Of course sir. You were put on a regimen of painkillers and antibiotics after the operation " said the Krieger as she lightly ran her hands along his thigh around the wound and looked at it. " This is looking very good Sergeant. There is no discoloration of the flesh around the wound that would indicate infection, and no signs of mortification. You appear to be healing well."

"You're telling me that looks good" He said pointing to, what seemed to him at least, the ruined flesh.

"Yes sir" she said as she cleaned the wound and then began to wrap fresh bandages around his thigh "You appear to be responding to treatment favorably."

"Well that's good i suppose" He said as she quickly finished wrapping up his leg and tied the bandaging off before removing the block and slowly lowering his leg back onto the cot. "Thank you Medicae."

"I am only performing my duties Sergeant" she said as she began to turn towards one of the other patients. "If you require help or the use of a bedpan, call for me."

"Understood" He said as she walked away, but what he thought was 'no way in the warp'. He ddin't mind her helping with other things, but if he needed a bedpan he'd wait until she was out and call for one of the orderlies or something.

The remainder of the day was quiet after that. Baiman came back and gave him a small bowl of freeze cream, which he enjoyed, and an orderly came around and brought him and the other bedridden soldiers their meal that evening, but nothing much of note happened. He talked to Baiman for a bit, but they ran out of conversation topics before long, and he found himself just sitting in the Field hospital alone with his thoughts for the most of the day. After dinner he fell asleep for a bit, and then woke up briefly before going to sleep for the night.

The next day was just as boring as the afternoon and evening of the last day had been. The only thing remotely interesting that happened was the discharge of a trooper who was deemed to have recovered sufficiently to return to his unit. Other than that nothing really happened. The orderlies and medics bustled around and looked after the men, changing bandages and distributing medicine. Those that were able would get up and move around or leave the hospital for a bit, but for Rochas who was stuck in his bed there wasn't much to do. He ate, he made conversation with the orderlies who came to give him his drugs along with Baiman and the patients around him, and he napped. Throughout the day he saw the Medicae making her rounds and helping her other patients, and he wanted to talk with her, but he didn't want to distract her from her work so he stayed silent and watched her pass. He went to sleep that night having exchanged only a few words with her when she came to check on him.

By the third day he was seeing a pattern. The morning meal came at the same time as it had the second day, and the same orderlies came and gave him his drugs. He was once more left to his own devices there on the bed. 'If i don't find something to do' he thought to himself 'i shall surely go mad'.

The morning passed slowly, but that afternoon something interesting happened. Shortly after he ate lunch the Medicae approached him. She was pushing a wheelchair in front of her. She came to a stop at the end of his bunk and said "Sir, it is time for your bath."

"Alright" He said "If you'll just help me get to the washroom, i'll take care of that myself."

"That is not possible sir" the Krieger replied "It is important your wound does not get wet. You cannot follow your regular hygienic procedures. Instead, i will be giving you a sponge bath."

"Couldn't i just give myself a sponge bath?" He asked hesitantly

>"Couldn't i just give myself a sponge bath?" He asked hesitantly
I like where this is going.

Oh my.

Oh goody.

"Negative" she replied emphatically. "You do not know the proper procedure for maintaining proper hygiene without aggravating your wound, and there are areas you could not reach. I will assist you."

He wanted to argue the point, but he knew he wouldn't win. "Very well then Medicea, help me into the wheelchair and lets get this over with." he said resignedly.

She nodded and then helped him stand on his uninjured leg before lowering him into the wheelchair. Once he was seated she began to push him, and they moved away from his bunk towards the back of the building on the opposite side of the exit. He could see there were several doors along the back wall, and could only assume that they led to bathing areas, since that was where they were headed. It felt fantastic to get out of that bed he thought as the moved through the room.

"Medicae" he began "Would it be possible for me to use a wheelchair or crutches to get up and move around a bit during the day? It's rather boring to just sit there."

"I do not have the authority to grant you this request" She said "However i see no reason it should not be possible. I will inquire with the Head Surgeon and inform you of his decision."

"Thank you Medicae" he said as they reached the door. He could hear water running from behind the adjacent door as the Medicae opened up the one in front of him and pushed him into the room. It was a small space. The floor was tiled and there was a drain in the center of the room. Projecting from the back wall was a tile bench of sorts, which is where he assumed he would sit. There was a spigot in one corner with a small tub underneath it, and several shower heads spaced slightly apart along the walls.

The Medicae crouched down and used the spigot to fill the tub, which she then slid across the floor until it was next to the "bench". Then she looked up at Rochas and said "You will need to remove your gown before we can proceed."

Right well that's it for the night. I will be back in the morning. I intended to update earlier today, and to drop a bit more than this as my way of starting the new year off right and making it up to you all for being so bad about updates, but life happens and this is the best i could do for today. Hope you all enjoyed it and can forgive me for how bad i've been lately. This week should see more regular updates.

That dog is awesome. Also, *pic related*, i'm loving what you're laying down in your story. It's great and i can't wait for more.

She's ether gonna ask him all about his junk again or she is going to know, and I'm not sure which will be more embarrassing/hilarious.
Also CLIIIFFF HANNNNNGGGEEERRR AUUUUGGHH

*Inhale*

*Inhale*

...*Inhale*

None of them were moving. All four of them continued to look straight at Miria, including the one holding the ratchet out before her. The 15 kilogram ratchet for securing anything up to and including ship bulkheads. Miria hastily took the tool from the Krieg's grip, bowing thanks. The soldier transitioned smoothly into a sharp salute, followed almost immediately by their peers. The clacking of boots together was almost a single noise.

All four of them were nearly a full head shorter than Miria, with the one in the rear only coming up to her chest.

Miria forced her mouth to move. "Heello. I. Am. Enginseer. M-Miria Rorken."

+Ugh. I knew I should have been practicing that more.+

The lead Krieg nodded and reached into their breast pocket, producing an official looking Munitorum document. It was in high gothic, but the Krieg dialect resulted in a few words being a little hard for Miria to understand.

+Assignment to...what in the warp is a panzerkampfgruppen? So many of these words look like six or seven words smashed together. Is this some kind of Krieg battle cant? Oh! Tank battalion! These are the crew! My crew!+

She spent a frantic moment fishing her quill out of her robes, got it and the inkwell secured without spilling on herself, and signed everywhere there was a blank spot, just in case. She had gotten very good at signing paperwork in the last few days.

"Here. Y-You go." She handed the paper back to the Krieg, who unrolled it and ran a finger down the list of checkboxes. About three quarters of the way down the finger stopped at an area Miria had signed, and the Krieg looked back up at her. One of the others, following along, did the same. They both saluted again. The two in the back leaned forward minutely to read as well, and then saluted in turn.

+What?+

Oh dear Emperor what did she just sign.

"So...what. Um. Are your. Names?" Miria succeeded in enunciating with her mouth as the silence became pregnant again.

A muffled voice emanated from one of them, probably the one in front. "Guten nachmittag. I am Stabsunteroffizer Three Zero One Alpha, Panzercommandante."

The one adjacent spoke. "Und Ich am Hauptgefreiter Three Zero One Beta, Driver."

"Gefreiter Three Zero One Gamma, Navigator Gunner." Said one of the rear Krieg.

"Gefreiter Three Zero One Delta, Main Gunner." Ended the short one in the corner.

Miria stopped putting away her inkwell. "Your. Names?"

*Inhale*

They all exchanged a look, then started to rattle off alphanumerics again.

+Ah. They don't have names. They're named after their tank. Of course. What?!+

"N-nevermind. Thank you."

The four saluted again and began to strap their equipment to the exterior of 301, who, Miria was certain, was now wide awake and wondering what the cack was going on with all these unfamiliar hands crawling all over it. She bit her lip and schooled her hands and dendrite to remain where they were.

"Stab. Under Officer? Um."

The Krieg seemed to bristle at what Miria was sure was an outright butchery of their title, but no emotion was shown by the blank facade of the mask, nor the voice that drifted from it. "Ja Magos Enginseer?"

"Oh! Um. No. Not Magos. Y-yet. Just. Enginseer please. Or Miria! You. Can call. Me. Miria if you. W-wish." She managed what she hoped was a friendly smile.

*Inhale*

A momentary beat as the Krieg stared at her. "Jawohl Enginseer."

Miria deflated slightly, but pressed on. "Will you not. Store. Your gear. In the b-billets with-?"

"Nein. We will sleep in our machines. Lodgings compromise readiness."

"O-oh."

All four Krieg had stopped their work now, and were looking at her again.

A few more seconds of that eerie staring had Miria making a burbled stammer that approximated a goodbye, and fleeing as fast as her exo harness permitted, whispering silent apologies to 301 and the Omnissiah for abandoning it to the Krieg.

She made it out of the hangar, and leaned against the doorframe, trying to rub the knots in her back.

+Only servitors are named after their functions. Even tech thralls and menials have the name their parents gave them. Names the Emperor is supposed to use to call them unto his side in the hereafter.+

Miria felt a twinge of fear, like she had caught a glimpse of something deep and dark she did not comprehend. The level, even speech, too even. The quiet steps, the fact that each of them had taken exactly fifteen breaths per minute, regardless of what they were doing.

She decided she had better do what she did best when she felt this way. Eat until she felt better or a whole lot worse. +Oh frakk this, I'm getting pudding before it's all gone.+

while we wait,
Men of the 89th 7-and 8 8 is still WIP and a good chunk of it is notes

pastebin.com/gLRSYapL

Have fun, Actual out

So when do the Astartes show up? I was told there would be Ultramarines

I'm sure I'm at least two threads late, and it's not like it was hard but I did a thing.

Well I'm happy you're happy. Sorry it took so long to setup for the Krieg arrival. We'll all ship out and krump some greenskins soon.

I'm glad you like it. Medicae is just a treat.

I always worry that my pacing is glacial. Especially for a medium famous for its succinct but hilarious greentext stories.

Ehehe

bump

I'm actually curious, is IG downtime even something people cared to read about?

Fuck Yes

I would like to read about it, you're a good writer and worst comes to worst you could just have training or small incursions to deal with.

well thats all 7 and 8 are about. Downtime, and culture clashes between worlds.

I think the drunken, "ok lets shoot the kreig who are about to execute curfew violators" was enough drama

I haven't read 7&8, you said it wasn't finished yet, so waiting on that before I read it. I take it that comment is from what happens on 7&8?

yeah 7 and 8 are readable just not polished, 8 is about a few secenes short of being finished. and wont be finished till I finish The Wolf and the Dog

Since last thread OP said he was hoping to inspire other writers, I did a thing. It's a lot shorter than the other two stories, and the tone is darker. Nevertheless, I hope y'all enjoy.

In spite of the heretical shelling raining down around the trench, you stand straight, at parade rest, your hands steady and your mind pure. On either side of you, your brothers and sisters in arms do the same, the trench lined with dour, gasmask-wearing soldiers, standing at attention.
In your gloved hand you grasp the barrel of your lasgun. It has served you well in many engagements, and will continue to do so until the day your penance is done. In your years of fighting for the Emperor, you have met soldiers from other regiments. Often they had defaced their equipment with their name, tally marks, or words of boasting and bravado. Not so your own. You have always taken care that, although it may be scarred by battle and time, it can serve you faithfully until you need it no longer. Your brothers and sisters share your sentiment.
As the barrage comes to an end, you silently thank the Emperor. Today you will be granted another chance to bring death to His foes, to cleanse this planet of heresy, to repay the sins of your home. Somewhere to your right a shrill whistle is heard, and as one the soldiers filling the trench bring their lasrifles forward and pull their bayonets from their sheaths. You are pleased when the audible 'click' as you lock it in place is as loud and firm as the day it was issued to you.

You step forward and grasp the top of the trench, ready to pull yourself over. Your comrades do the same, lasguns held in one hand, one boot on the firing step. In this moment, before you throw yourself into the fray, the beating of your heart resounds in your ears more deafening than any bombardment. Then the whistle is blown, longer and louder than before.

As one, the soldiers leap up out of the trench, and run. A wave of bodies rushes forward, as the heretics on the other side of the no-man's land open fire. Lead hailstorms and beams of red death scythe through the advancing infantry. But the troopers behind step over their fallen comrades and run on, a silent horde of greatcoat-wearing fanatics charging to their deaths.

You don't turn to look, but a sudden emptiness to your left tells you one of your brothers has gone to the Emperor's table. You leap over a fallen tree, and keep running. The Heretical lines are ahead, you are near enough to see their scarred, tattooed faces go from hatred to alarm to panic.

Then the children of Krieg are upon them.

You jump down, and find yourself face to face with a heretic. He wears the ruined, defiled remnants of a Guard uniform, and swings his lasgun around to meet you. You pull the trigger, blasting a hole in his gut. He falls down, and you step over the dying man. Death is the least of punishments traitors are worthy.

To either side of you your brothers and sisters spill down to join you, and the trench is filled with the roar of chainswords and the wet, meaty sounds of bayonets ripping open flesh. The screams of dying cultists fill the air. A few of your comrades are felled, they fall to the ground in silence, but every time one dies another soldier steps over his corpse to take his place.

Before long, the battle is over. Those heretics left abandon their positions and flee before the might of Krieg. Orders are passed down, and your unit holds position, reinforcing the captured positions and cleansing them of heresy. A pit is dug in no-man's land, bodies are thrown in, and set on fire. You cannot smell the burning flesh through your gas mask, but the black, tar-heavy smoke that rises up like a column is not natural in the least. Their heretical icons join them in the flames.

The slain Kriegers are stripped of their gear, and buried in a shallow grave, some distance from the fire pit. You cannot help but feel jealousy in the pit of your stomach; their duty is done, their sin repaid. They have gone to join the Emperor at his table.

But for you, the penance goes on.

These names...kill me now.

Kriegers have never had an accent this thick. Nor puns for names this bad without being shot for insubordination.

This busty little girl is in for a lot of creepy awkwardness, leave it to Kriegers to make a techpriest seem human.

yes, yes it is.

link
your
damn posts together.

Help an user out who is bad with puns?

Stabsunteroffizer
stabs under officer

do you even german?

It means staff under officer. Equivalent of a platoon sergeant

Hi this is Proctor on my work mobile. They're uh, not puns at all. Those are all actual ranks from the Bundeswehr.

Germans are funny.

But Krieger's aren't funny...their anti fun.

What are you talking about Krieg have a rich culture of comedic contributions.

Like the one about inappropiate hygiene maintenance that caused the line to be compromised and ended in the exterminatus of the entire planet and a eternity of knowing they failed the emperor.

Big nyuks all around.

You get a pass because of the effort.

Shit i always forget the damn trip stays between boards.

I know, the other guy however interpreted it as some sort of pun

Got it. Though I guess she made it a terrible pun when she tried to say it.

Who does these images? I have a few of them, but can't find the source.

He could feel his face heating slightly as he undid at the knot at the back of his neck that held the gown up and pulled the garment off of his body and cast it aside. He refused to acknowledge his embarrassment. She had no problem with this, so neither would he. This was a matter of maintaining hygiene and proper medical practice, nothing more.

With the Medicae's help he got up out of his wheelchair and onto the bench. Once he was seated she crouched down behind him out of his sight. He stared straight at the tiled wall in front of him. He heard her swishing the water around in the bason and then wringing out the sponge, and then he felt something warm and damp being run across his shoulders. As she slowly dragged the warm sponge across his broad back he realized she had stripped off her gloves. Every so often he would feel a knuckle or the tip of one of her fingers dragging across his skin as she applied the sponge. Once or twice he felt the brush of the heel of her palm during her methodical sweeping motions. She had reached about his mid-back and he was just starting to relax and enjoy the sensation when she spoke up.

"Sir, may i ask you a question?" the Medicae said.

'Oh no' thought Rochas. 'This can't be good'

"Some time ago when i inquired about Batavi you informed me that you were not inducted into a training cadre until you were sixteen, and that prior to that time you lived with your progenitors, who you referred to as 'parents' in a unit called a 'family'." said the Krieger "If it is acceptable, i wish to learn further details concerning your adolescence."

He breathed a small sigh of relief. It wasn't anything overly embarrassing, just something rather personal. Oddly enough he found he didn't really have a problem sharing a bit about his childhood with the Medicae.

"Alright" He said as she moved the sponge across his lower back "give me a moment to think about it, and i'll answer your question."

Krieg are described as having "gallows humor"

so things like. "Good soil to be buried in" Because Krieg humor is not laughing matter

This always makes me want to write something with a group of Harlequins and Kriegers being forced to work together in a theater.
>Death Jester actually gets grunts of amusements from the Korpsmen.

Any idea what Krieg civil society is like? I get that their whole society is on a total war economy that makes cadia seem peaceful, but who administrates them? Is it the loyalist nobles from jurtens war?

Most likely, military rule. You have to remember that the Autarchs and much of the Nobles were behind the Heresy to start with. There, more than likely, is a dislike towards Nobility and the like among the Korps from that. I imagine the Korps itself, if not the Munitorium/Adminstratum directly oversee society and the rationing of material and breeding.

Honestly based on what i've read it seems to be some combination of a military junta and administratum over-watch, but it's never really said outright. They don't really give us too much concrete information on Krieg itself, we just get a lot of descriptions of various battles and victories the Death Korps was involved in. Based on the fact that in the war it was the decadent nobles who rebelled and caused all the problems i have reason to believe it unlikely that there would be nobility on Krieg. I imagine it would function a bit like a Death Korps regiment. Promotion by merit of survival. We know from canon that they have Generals who order the different Regiments around, who are presumably veterans. I think it probable that some of said Generals are sent to manage things on Krieg, but that's just my opinion.

???

An older user read the books and said that a Commissar who went to Krieg was horrified by the place, which basically regularly killed their own population in live fire training so the best of the best could actually go to war and die for the emperor. Most of Krieg just... dies.

Basically take Germany in ww1, but don't actually take germany just imagine yourself in a trench deep in french territory, artillery whizzing over your head.

And that's it. That's your life. Forever.
They are born in war and end in war, but not in the real war of Cadia where Chaos regurally spits foes out in a suicidal dream of depraved glory. No one wants Krieg not even the most addled plague marine is interested in that hellhole for it is sterile and what life can Nurgle bless where even Papa's precious rot can't fead.
The eldar do not want it for what use have it to their craftworlds? The Dark eldar do not want it cause the Krieg can not scream and there is no joy to that.

The tau do not want it because their misery and selflessness raises questions about how far the greater good goes that are best left for another time. Like never.

Slaanesh does not want Krieg for the Perfect Prince demands perfection and Krieg exists on flaws.

Even Khorne, who lost many of his finest to Krieg supremacy do not want Krieg, for Kriegers do not enjoy battle they simply know it. How dare the bronze hordes have their bloodshed tempered by joyless ants?

And the tyranids do not want it because there is more to eat on easier places. They will eat it later but there are tastier rocks elsewhere.

So the Krieg's just fight amongst themselves, and slaughter themselves, all so they can slaughter and be slaughtered elsewhere.

Like all grimdarkness their penance is exaggerated to the points of inefficency. If Krieg could learn peace with themselves then their numbers will be high enough that they do not need the womb, but to do so would imply they inherently have worth.

And that's just silly.

After thinking about what to say for a minute he began to speak. "As i said before i was born in the lower levels of Ultrecht hive. I was the first child of my parents to survive to birth. My mother had difficulty conceiving and carrying a child to term. Father blamed the living conditions in our hab. In any case when i was born, a big healthy baby boy, they were ecstatic."

He paused a moment before continuing. "My father was a technician at a waste processing plant, as had been his father, and his father before him, but he wanted something better for me. He took extra shifts so they'd be able to afford getting me an education. I never saw much of him when i was a kid.He tended to come home in the night after i was asleep and leave in the morning before i got up on most days. Only ever really saw him at church or on holy days. My mother was a seamstress. She would work while i was in class. I was training to be an administrator. We were happy enough i suppose, it wasn't like we were destitute or anything. My father made good money for a lower hive laborer."

The Medicae was silent as he spoke. She just kept scrubbing his back as he droned on about his childhood. "That was what life was like until i was about nine, and then things changed. My mother got pregnant unexpectedly. My parents didn't expect it to live, but the baby survived. My little brother Agner. He was a tiny little thing, but by the Throne did he have a set of lungs on him. I swear you could hear him wailing from across the street."

Rochas smiled at the memory "I was such a twat then. I hated him for getting me up in the night and taking my parent's attention. My dad had to sit me down and explain to me that Agner was my little brother, and that as big brother it was my job to look after him and love him,and that he was disappointed in me. After that i straightened out, and we got along great. He was nine when i shipped out. I still remember him crying when i told him i had to leave."

I've read all the books too. The Kriegers who are killed in live fire are those who are deigned useless by the Korps, typically because of underlying genetic issues.

As for the Tyranids, Down Amongst the Dead Men covers that. It is a small story from the point of one of the Live Fire men. He ends up killing a cancer-ridden Genestealer that had been sleeping in the ruins of one of the destroyed cities. I.E, that means Krieg won't be any kind of attraction for the 'nids in the future.

Im actually having trouble figuring out if that makes Krieg less or more dark then what i said.

I guess less?

While it is true that in Down Amongst the Dead Men the Krieger who's point of view we follow was selected to die, the impression given in Dead Men Walking and in the Seige of Vraks books is that the warfare on the surface of Krieg is widespread and covers the surface of the planet. Either there are a lot of defective Kriegers, or there are viable one's killing each other, and the books specifically say that they Kill each other for the Honor of serving the Emperor. It cannot be said with certainty, but i am fairly certain that Down Amongst the Dead Men was anecdotal, and that while that is a practice it does not describe the entirety of the warfare on Krieg's surface, as that would conflict with other sources of Canon. But again, that's just my opinion based on my interpretation of the Seige of Vraks books along with Dead Men Walking and Down Amonst the Dead.

>There's so little on Krieg to live on, and so much background radiation that the things that live on sterile spacehulks can't even survive.

Depends on what you think is worse,
Everyone has a equal chance to die in training,
Or Selected people are killed en mass due to eugenics
I think eugenics are darker.

He was pulled out of his musings by the sound of the Medicae's voice. "Sir, may i make a further inquiry?"

He snorted at how she always asked and said "Of course Medicae"

"You said you were training to be an administrator, why were you selected for military service?" the Krieger asked.

"Well I wasn't selected, I volunteered" He said with a frown. "And as for why...when I was thirteen my father died in an accident at the plant where he worked."

The Sergeant hadn't intended to talk about this, but it just kind of came spilling out. " The containment unit for the chlorine gas used to treat the waste material had been corroded, and the facilities' overseers had either not noticed it happening, or failed to replace it if they did. The tank ruptured and the compartment my father was working in flooded with chlorine gas. He and four other workers were killed."

"Your father was killed by a chemical weapon while working in a waste processing facility?" The Krieger asked. If she had been anyone else he was sure her tone would have been incredulous. As it was he thought he could detect some fluctuation in her monotone.

"Yes" He said. "Chlorine gas is good for killing a lot more than just people you know. If you use it to aerate waste water it kills the bacteria as well. It's dangerous to handle, but it's cheap and efficient so it gets used. As long as you follow proper safety procedures it's safe enough, but a lot of facilities don't. Protective gear is expensive after all." That last line came out bitter. He had never forgiven the plant for his father's death. If they had at least had masks they might have lived, but that would have cut into profits.

"After that things were hard" Rochas said quietly "Without father's income mother struggled to put food on the table. I dropped out of the program and looked for odd jobs to help make ends meet. I ended up in a factory for a while, then one day when i was on my way back to our home after a long shift i was approached by a recruiter for the PDF youth group. He had me sold as soon as he said there was a steady wage and quoted me what i could earn. I followed him back to the recruiting station that night and signed up then and there after lying about my age. Mother was furious with me, but what was done was done, and the money was enough to get us back on our feet and even pay for Agner to get an education since I did well in the entrance testing and they moved me into the advanced program. A few years after that when i was a member of the PDF proper the tithe came up and i was selected for the honor of joining the Guard as a member of the new regiment's Alpha company."

His story finished he fell silent. He felt better than he usually did after something reminded him of his father's death, almost light.

"Thank you for answering my question sir" The Krieger said after pausing a moment to make sure he had finished speaking.

"It's not a problem Medicae. Thank you for listening" Rochas said. It kinda felt good to have someone who was interested in his past. "Medicae, if you don't mind, would you tell me about your childhood? I know you were surprised when i told you i hadn't joined up until i was a teenager, but i was equally surprised to hear you'd been put into training when you were a small child. I'm curious what it was like."

She was silent for a while after that and she stopped washing his back with the sponge. He was worried he had somehow upset her when she said "I am not certain i wish to tell you sir."

Alright, be back later this evening to continue. I must away. So, what do you all think of this latest development?

Also, and this is just cause i figure i'll get at least one user who will ask, yes chlorine gas is used in waste water treatment. No i didn't pull that out of thin air. I used to work at a waste water treatment plant. I still remember the day me and my supervisor changed a gas tank without any protective gear. Pretty sure that was illegal, or at least i think it should be if it isn't. I spent the whole time thinking about pictures i had seen of gas attack survivors from WW1 in school. Anyway that's where this came from.

Have a nice day anons.

>Also, and this is just cause i figure i'll get at least one user who will ask, yes chlorine gas is used in waste water treatment. No i didn't pull that out of thin air. I used to work at a waste water treatment plant. I still remember the day me and my supervisor changed a gas tank without any protective gear. Pretty sure that was illegal, or at least i think it should be if it isn't. I spent the whole time thinking about pictures i had seen of gas attack survivors from WW1 in school. Anyway that's where this came from.
That sounds fun. Glad you survived, unlike daddy Rochus.

Current development is solid, looking forward to hearing her talk about Krieg.

>He was worried he had somehow upset her when she said "I am not certain i wish to tell you sir."
Oh shit, its about to get sad up in here.

bump