Love and Krieg 7 2.0: Gentlemen, I love krieg

I used to do that too, but unfortunately I'm not able to write characters' stories, only the characters themselves. I'm trying to make convincing NPCs for my Dark Heresy players.

Oh for npcs i tend to make a concept and a 'gimmick' and wrap around that.

The gimmick is what makes them different and the concept is the base thing.

For instance the Commissah is just a commissar who works as the Ogryn's mom. Since Commissar's primary job in Kreig regiments is diplomacy and integration with other units the auxillia are primarily under her command, while actual strategy is under the Lieutenant, who hasn't shown up yet.

All of commissah's personality works under the "What would a momissar act like?"

But the other characters are mostly based on their situation. Like Richand Tear is just a catachan sergeant, what makes him different is the shit he has to deal with. AKA 88c.

Needs more orks.

Honestly i withhold using orks because i got annoyed at the "Humans fight orks but its just a decoy for a more evil threat" like.... why can't the Orks be the threat?

I like orks, they can kick chaos's ass they don't need to be "tier 1 badguy."

Orks should always be the major threat. They're everywhere and the only aliens that don't need some big motive to fight.
Every race has some secret agenda and Orks just want to murder you.

Yeah the thing about orks is that, if you think of it, they already mostly won.

Every race has there own specific version of "Victory" and each one is unachievable except for the Tyranids. The Necrons are fucked because of the outer threat, the Tyranids are probbably fucked because of something. The Imperium is fucked because of chaos, chaos is fucked because of Ynead, Eldar are fucked because of Slaanesh, and the Tau are just fucked.

But the orks big goal is just "After we win dis foight we gonna find A BIGGER FOIGHT" and in a world that the first page of every book reminds you is ONLY WAR.... that means the Orks already have what they wanted.

Plus the orks are a living superweapon. But ultimately i want to use something more "Over amped" in threat in my story so the orks dont get turned into stooge villians, even if they are the comic relief.

Probbably Eldar since I dont see them in a antagonist roll often in faggotry.

Course Orks also make great allies if you're dealing with the right ones.

I actually was considering whether or not the bloodaxes should be included in certain stories. They are the most likely orks to get caught up in all the hullabaloo.

Alright, so I make a move that if we get more fiction outside of Krieg stuff we change the name of the thread to 40k Fiction. We're still very much focused on Love and Krieg 2.0, but we could stand to expand this thread's focus.

I'd feel kind of bad for BataviAnon, and to a lesser extent Proctor. Kind of feels like a hijacking.

In my mind it would be Love and Krieg and other stories. It's still the centerpiece and focus, but I kind of want to see more stories about other 40k characters. Maybe that's just me though.

I know this feel, but I wouldn't want to take advantage of Batavi's kindness.

Can I introduce you to the wonderful world of the new thread button?

If your arguement is "I want something different." then boy howdy is there a means to do that.

I think what is trying to say is that were there an entirely new thread outright, Krieg & the General Writethread would overlap, and that is why a redefinition is in order.

But then why is that not the case for the actual general write thread that already exists?

That writethread seems to be, by and large, non 40k pertaining.

>Ynead
whats this?

The nascent eldar god of the dead. Each time a Eldar dies it draws further to existence, with a power mighty enough to rival the Emperor's.

However Ynead will only rise when the last Eldar falls, so all it grants is the promise of revenge.

bump from 9

thanks

Still waiting on the Krieg lovin.

I shall be along shortly to update. Just gotta take care of one or two things first and then i'll be here writing until i have to leave for work.

Concerning all of this. Personally I don't really have an objection to seeing some writefaggotry that isn't Krieg related.When I started the first thread it was Love and Krieg 2.0 and other writefaggotry. It was called that because i hoped it wouldn't just be me in here, and that we could get a community going. I was incredibly glad to have the Proctor and then Mimikyu and everyone else who's given us some content join the thread. I've never really thought of this as my thing or my thread, it's the communities thread. So if the others are OK with it, and the community of anons in the thread wants it, please don't hold back on my account. I'm not going to throw an autistic hissy fit cause what you're writing isn't Krieg related. The point of this in my mind was to generate content for Veeky Forums that we could all enjoy, and to prove that Veeky Forums can still make things. If you want to make something a little different who am I to say no? Those are my two cents, for what they are worth.

yeeeboooii

...

"Uh Baiman" Rochas tried to interject, but the man just kept going right over him.

"But it's not so bad, I mean you'll be back on your feet eventually and I'm gonna get my iron fist, so there really isn't any reason to be all mopey about it y'know?" Baiman continued, apparently completely unaware of Rochas' attempt to speak. "I'm glad you realized that on your own sarge, I was starting to worry I'd have to try and get some sense into you myself, but I wasn't sure how to go about that. It's not like I could knock it into you. I mean I could probably smack you and run since I got two good legs and you don't, but I'd have to come back here to sleep eventually and sometimes I swear your biceps are bigger round than my head, and I really wasn't looking forward to-"

"Baiman!" Rochas said loudly cutting him off. A bit too loudly, several other people in the room turned to look at them, and there was a moment of awkwardness while they waited for the other's interest to die down so they could continue to talk. Eventually they were no longer the center of attention for their section of the hospital, and the watchers returned to whatever it was they had been doing before. In a quieter voice Rochas continued "Baiman, I appreciate the concern, but that wasn't what was bothering me."

"Oh" said trooper "well what was it then?"

Here Rochas hesitated. If he told Baiman it was personal and that he should leave it alone, the man would probably respect his wishes. That would probably be the most comfortable thing to do. Just tell him not to worry about it and trade a few more pleasantries before leaving, content in the knowledge that they were good and Baiman wasn't angry with him. It was pretty appealing to let things play out like that, but he didn't.

"Hey Listen, about Trieste" He said and then trailed off. The other trooper's demeanor immediately grew serious, and he straightened out to listen. "Do you think they blame us? The ones who didn't make it I mean."

Rochas we don't blame you. Stop betting your self up about it man.

gotta go to work, we'll see baimans reply when i go on lunch break

Fuck yeah

But what if i'm hungry now.....

Then you're not human. Prepare for blams.

You are Thudd and today is a GOOD DAY. You know its a good day because you are going to serve the Emperor, and a day where you serve the emperor. Today you are going to be digging, but you got a problem.

The problem is that all the shovels are too small, your fingernails are bigger then the blades and they just crumble apart in your hands... well two of them did, you were gonna check on the others but Fifteehate wouldnt let you. So you are going to get yourself a 'Ogryn proof shovel.

This means you have to see Ole Rusty, the engiseer auxiliwhatsit attached to the group with you. He makes sure the guns don't blow up and kill everyone. So you like him though you don't think he likes you very much.

You wave at Sixsomethinelse as you pass buy, climbing out of the tunnels to the trench line, the large sandsack walls reaching all the way to your shoulder, which is clever because dat way if they shoot at you, all they will hit is your head.

You don't use that part very much so its the best part to be hit in, Ciggy said so. Also its pretty not break-easy. You walk into the red tent da tekky guy is.

Da place is shiny, colder den outside and full of all these glowing buttons and nifty things that you must absolutely NOT TOUCH. Der is even a sign outside with your name on it to remind you.

You can't read it but last time you asked dats what it said.

The man smiles when you come in, you know he smiles even do he has no face because smoke billows out and smoke and smile both start with s. He also does things like put his face in his hands like peekaboo.

"Hey Rusty." You wave, taking great care to NOT TOUCH anything. "I need a shovel thats ogryn proof."

"A shovel? You expect me, Aerugo, former magos of Legio Cybernetica, to make a SHOVEL."

You nod. "Please?"

The man raises his hands. "Well if the Ogryn says please WHY THE WARP NOT? It's not like I'm busy trying to figure out how to turn the tide of this war with my new robot model but what do I know? I just owned a legion of robots who cares about crazy old Aerugo. If those poncy twats at Collegia Titanica didn't disgrace me for installing a recaff machine to my Servo-Automata I'd have already won this damn war with my steel legion. But NOOOOOO I have to start from square fuckin one and now all I'm good for making toys to children and soldiers so warped I had better conversations from my robots and I PUPPET THEM!"

Thudd nodded waiting for the man to wind himself down, a floating metal servo skull thingy (its different but you dont know how, besides it not being very skully) floating by and handing Rusty a mug of Recaff.

"...Yeah I can make you a shovel." The man says, mechadendrite dipped into the mug. "Do you want a combat one or just a digging one?"

You think for a moment. "If I hit someone hard enough, aren't they both combat?"

The Magos pauses for a moment. "You... aren't wrong but I don't want to admit it." The man thinks. "How good at you are aiming?"

You blink. "Whats a aim?"

"Well that removes the shotgun attachment." The man nods. "Yeah I got a idea in place. It will take a few days."

You frown. "But I want to dig now."

"...who in warp's name wants to dig?" You think you heard the yelly guy mutter before he directs the floaty thing into his tent, pulling out a large drill.

"Technically speaking this belongs on a tank, but... you probbably wont have problem with it."

You lift the thing up. "This thing looks great.... what does it do?"

"Yeah, why don't you get someone else to show you. I don't think you should turn that on alone, or around delicate objects, also known as my stuff. Shoo."

You wave and shoo yourself off, you got a cone thing! It kinda looks like what they use to eat freeze cream. But pokier!

Dawww, Thud has a grumpy friend...give him a hug Thud.

Who...puts a shotgun on a shovel and why would that even be considered?

To be fair who thought a chainsword was a good idea? Let's be honest, it's all kinds of stupid, but still awesome.

>Having a melee weapon that doubles as a chainsaw=dumb
No dude, I think you got that backwards, we have been using chainsaws an shit to kill for a bit now, turning it into a proper weapon is just the next logical step...putting a power field generator like what the space wolves chapter uses is excessive, but also makes sense, or the chainswords that have a flamer attachment. THOSE I can see an argument for, but they would still make some sense as who doesn't want a flaming death tool that chops an burns fields of bodies. A shotgun is used as a weapon (sometimes art instrument depending on what country your in, and if they allow shotgun carving), but a shovel is used to dig a hole and maybe cave a skull in...these two things don't intermingle anywhere.

Just look at the normal weapon, the ripper, isn't that a shotgun? so it would look more like a ripper with a spade attachment rather than a big knife.

Baiman stared at him long and hard after that. Just stared at him, and then said in a voice that was barely there "what about Lauwers sarge?" It wasn't a soft voice. It wasn't a voice meant to be comforting. It was the voice of a man doing his best to hold back a great deal of emotion, and succeeding by only a small margin.

Rochas began to open his mouth to respond, but Baiman just kept going before he could speak. "Lauwers didn't jump on that grenade cause you ordered him to. He didn't do it cause some Commissar had a pistol to his head, he did it cause he cared about us. He did it for us! And if I hear you suggest again he might of regretted it I don't care if you are my superior and damn near twice my size, I'm going to beat the shit out of you."

The one armed trooper leaned in closer as he spoke. "Sitting around and wallowing in guilt don't do the dead any good at all sarge. Making yourself miserable don't do em any good. They've already gone on and are sitting with the Emperor. All you do moping is make em worry about you. You care about those men you go out there and honor their sacrifice by living, cause thats what they'd want for you, cause they cared about you same as you cared about them."

Rochas wasn't sure, but he wouldn't be suprised if he was sitting there with his jaw hanging open. He was too stunned to even be angry, but Baiman wasn't done yet.

"That's what I'm going to do" he said as he leaned back. " When those colonists get here imma find me a woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I'm going to make sweet sweet love to her until she can't walk straight, and then I'm going to do it again. And when my first son is born I'm gonna name him after Lauwers. And when that boy asks I'm going to tell him I named him after the glorious son of a bitch who saved my life. I'm going to tell that boy he was named after a hero. I'm gonna make sure every last one of my kids and grandkids, and their kids, know about that man."

Moar

Batavi, you do good work. I'm not sure if I can handle much more of this, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to continue reading this.

The feels are reals.

All of these writefaggotry stuff is going on 1d4 right? I really don't want to have to look at a pastebin format when I inevitably come to re-read everything some time from now.

the feels they're too much.

No escape

Theta’s midday meal was interrupted by the arrival of the Captain.

“On me.” was the Captain’s greeting and the pair departed for headquarters. It was necessary for the Captain to have an escort, especially since headquarters was surrounded by a small peasant village. As they walked down the main road faces appeared in dark doorways. Theta examined the shelters and the people that lived in them. The peasants wore animal skins and some of them spat in his direction. It was no surprise that they allowed the traitors into their homes before the 76th Infantry arrived. Now the peasants stayed in the cover of their dwellings which were composed of granite slabs leaning on each other. Pictures made in chalk portraying the God Emperor were on the walls but the show of piety was undermined by the abundance of alien glyphs that covered every other inch. The village was filled with ignorance and a lack of devotion. Theta prayed that his commissar would rescind the policy of amnesty.

A sad tune stopped the pair in their tracks. The two turned to the source of the music and discovered a number of black robed figures clustered on a vacant lot. A large group of people with questionable loyalty could mean only one thing.

“Inspect that area,” the Captain ordered and Theta, as ever, complied.

A sustained wailing was the first thing that unnerved Theta. The corporal scaled an outcropping of rock and looked down on the crowd from his elevated position. The black robed figures stood around a hole where a fully clothed man lay along with a number of tools, scrolls and other useless objects. The people around the were going into hysterics except for a nun that played a harp. Their faces were contorted and they sobbed over the deceased man. One woman in a shawl was even on her knees, her children clutching her rather large waist. Theta found the whole situation to be not only harmless but absurd.

“Why have you not stripped the body? Why are you so distressed?,” were the questions Theta wanted to ask. Theta eyed the deceased man’s boots and realized that he could use a new pair himself. It was when the hole began to be filled in that the situation truly turned tragic. A fine pair of boots were going to be wasted on a corpse.

Theta leapt down from his perch and ran to the crowd. He pushed his way through but the crowd turned against him and it took every effort not to be pushed to the ground. Soon the only people on the lot were the guardsman and the woman with the shawl.

The woman lifted her head and walked to towards him. Her children followed her. As Theta turned away the woman caught his sleeve.

“What are you doing here? Did you of all people come to mourn my husband?”

Theta looked over her shoulder and was disappointed to find the hole filled in.

“My name is Liza,” when that got no reply she added “there are two bars sown on your collar. Are you an important person?”

Theta tensed but remembered what the commissar had said about being a good example.

“It signifies the rank of corporal, it has certain privileges.”

Her eyes beamed up at him. She pushed the two children towards him.

“Salina, Marco, say hello to your new father!”

“I liked the old one better.” was Marco’s reply.

Theta tried to flee but Liza caught him again.

“No one will remarry me now but you, you're an outlander. You think differently and you could use a woman at your camp. You will agree to this?”

“No”

“I will you give you a goat, two goats! I am alone now, I cannot go back to my parents.”

Theta laid a hand on her chest to push her away and received a surprising response.

“Do I disgust you?” She took of the shawl and revealed an abundance of smooth red hair. She slid the hand on her chest to her thigh.

“Should the kinder be seeing this?”

“My… my children!” she cried. “Who will put food on the table for them now?” She pulled Theta close and stared into the eyepieces.

“Have you considered getting a job?”

Liza yelled and marched away with her children at her heels. Theta shook his head in grave disapproval and returned to his Captain.

The pair arrived at what was formerly the count's mansion. An officer's aide took them to a smoking room where they were made to wait. Theta spotted his commissar sitting on a chair blowing iho smoke into the air.

"The people here are insolent sir, just a few minutes ago I was accosted."

The commissar shifted his large, round head towards the corporal. His eyes were bloodshot and a bottle was poking out his jacket.

"Please don't talk to me."

They waited in the room for a while. The commissar shifted in his seat, looked at Theta and grinned.

"Your girlfriend is here."

Aside from some minor slip ups in grammar, and some misused words, good job. I want to see more Theta trying to figure out how to family.

Camp Fields was home to many home to many regiments on the world of Apreia. The center command within the system on the war that engulfed the western hemisphere of the planet. While large and expansive, it was made entirely of temporary structures; tents and pre-fabricated buildings. By all rights it lived up to its namesake. It was a camp. Far from the frontlines, though far from the grand imperial command itself. It wasn't uncommon for many regiments to stage and deploy from the location. Even the company of Imperial Fists graced the Camp every so often.

For Delta company of the 89th Cadian, it was their temporary home. Their rotation from the front had occurred. Now six months of life in relative comfort with the non combatants and rear echelon types. The Cadians loves to mock them, though secretly they all harbored intense jealousy for their easy life styles. The bureaucracy of the camp life wasn't missed, however. Golbert's squad stood in line at the armory to check in their weapons for an agonizingly dull time. By Galviston's incessant complaints it had been roughly two hours at this point. A Paltry wait; they had many more to go.

Uh...where did this info dump comment come from?

They stood in line in their light beige uniforms. Worn and dirtied. They began to form a blacken tinge around the sleeves and knees. It was apparent where their armor sat as those areas of their uniform were stark in contrast, bright as the day they were made. though stained from so many months of sweat. Many wore their circular brimmed soft hats, while others went without headgear alltogether. All they had with them were their dark green kantraels and whatever they could fit in their pockets. They stood outside in the mid summer sun sweating and suffering. Then one would finished storing his rifle and the line would move forward one step.
"Emperor's fuggen balls!" Groaned Galviston. "I swear servitors could do this faster!"
"Too right." Agreed Martin. "This is so pontless, why can't we keep our rifles with us. Not like we'll misplace them." He huffed.
"Well you see specialist!" Galviston boomed in a deep voice. "Were it not for the actions of our beloved dumbass sister company, and our lovely gingersnap, Gerain." He heard the red headed Cadian shout back at him. "We probably could, but some idiots fracked it up for all of us." He placed his rfile on the ground by its stock. "So now we wait for four fuggin hours to turn in our rifles only to take them back out tomorrow morning."
"Shut up and color, Ray." Sergeant Golbert spoke plainly.

Once again the line moved forward one step. The swaud bickered about this or that, nothing of import. Then Galviston caught something in the corner of his eye, dark figured approaching from the distance. Elongated shadows from the tan dirt that moved towards them in a group. His eyes widened and a large smile grew on his face mischievously. A small group of women clad in dark suits of black adorned with the silver lilies of the sisterhood walked by. Not simple sororitas. Their white and black cowls betrayed thier charge as another order.
"No way! No way! No way!" Gavliston spewed like an energetic young boy. "Hospitlars!"

Note Aerugo asked if the shovels purpose was combat before Thudd theorized he could make anything a weapon if he tried hard enough.

The real question isnt who puts a gun on a shovel but since when did weapon attachments exist for melee weapons? Who ever heard of a combi chainsword?

Oh, your writefagging. Please link your posts together dude.pretty simple.

Ever seen an evisorator? Or any weapon used by the S&M nuns? Though they usually just prefer strapping flammers to the sides of chainswords, so...you know. Oh and chain bayonets are a thing, so there's that. I also missed the techpriest asking the question. My bad.

I am looking at them and they still do not have melee/ranged weapons.

The closest thing is bayonets.

Don't Grey Knights have Storm bolter/Glaives?

something always comes up when I try to start up a new story, I'm back and going back at it.

Custodes have force weapons with integrated Bolters.

Their faces pail and soft. Something about the cowl seemed to make them appear more innocent, and pure. Yet one look at their eyes and any number of them could tell there was a bit of fire in the ladies. The raw devotion and conviction in their eyes. This only worked to rouse the already rowdy Cadian. The ladies spoke as they walked past. Galviston could have swore he heard one giggle. His gaze remained transfixed on them, especially as they passed. Watching their hips sway as they did. Those long healed boots only adding to an already feminine gait. Suddenly he felt a harsh press against his back.
"Eyes front Cadian." Tepson spoke to him in her deadpan monotone. Though Galviston detected a hint of jealousy. He turned to his squad mate and made a kissing face at her as a taunt.
"Martin break my arm." Galviston ordered. The young Cadian laughed. "I'm dead serious." He spat out with wide eyes. The line moved forward one step.

Golbert let out a laugh. Galviston was known to be obnoxious, and at times a womanizer. Though he had to admire his convictions this time. 'At least he set the bar high this time.' He thought to himself. The sergeant figured as soon as the women passed his fancy would wane as it always did. Galviston was always the joker of the platoon. Yet he continued to prattle on about faking an injury just to go to their aid station.
"Ray, you'd have a easier time seducing a banshee than a sister." Golbert chuckled. "If you're that hard up, beta is a walk away."
"Oh no no no." Galviston retorted with a wag of his finger. "I am a man of conviction and style. I have elevated myself from the dregs of the rot crotch infested Beta Bitches." Golbert shook his head as his friend prattled on. "If the emperor lets us out of this frakking line, I'm going to their tent." He beamed with pride.
"Good fracking luck with that then." Golbert spat. "I'm betting on you getting a slap in the face." Golbert finished. One of his troops called in on the bet.

"Giggling, Brad. Giggling." Smiled the Cadian. "They have a good sense of humor. I got this in the bag!"

Another half hour passed, the entire squad remained in the line. Once the Hospitlars vanished from sight the conversation slowly changed to whatever inane subject it tended too. By the time they were speaking about the benefits of left handed knife use with cutlery, Golbert felt as if the gathering storm had passed. While he tolerated most of his friend's antics, there was a line. Galviston walked the line, though seldom ever crossed it. Golbert thought more big picture on the ordeal. Last thing his platoon needed was another incident with another service. Though first platoon wasn't at fault for a negligent discharge the week prior, leadership was looking for an excuse, any excuse to make an example of someone.

The moment arrived, and Galviston had gone through the tedious motions of repeating the same answers to the same questions to different personnel working behind the armory window. His rifle was tagged and stored. he was free of the waiting. He let out a loud and audible sigh. With a well mannered strut he began to depart from the platoon. Golbert saw the look in his eyes. That mischievous look he daunted before setting off to do something foolish.
"Ray..." Growled Golbert.
"I'm just going to pop in and say hi." Galviston spoke with a coy succor as he continued to walk past. Golbert berated him, instructing him to drop it. Galviston responded by placing his hand to his ear. A gesture that feigned his inability to hear his friend as we walked away.
"Damnit. Martin, follow him and make sure he doesn't do something stupid." the sergeant barked.
"I'm not a miracle worker Staff Sergeant." Responded the young Cadian.
"Just go."

Free from any looming obligations Galviston moved through the camp as he pleased. Weaving through the array of green and beige large tents. There was a quaint charm to Camp Fields. Caught in the middle ground of the dark and gloomy decor required of imperial buildings, and not desperate and dismal as a FOB on the front lines. There was a certain culture of ease. It even had flushing toilets. Rare in the war. So as long as the higher-ups had no reason to visit the camp, the longer the status quo would remain. For many it was a paradise. Even though it was just a bland and boring camp with no real means of entertainment.

As Galviston wove deeper into the avenues of the camp, he figured himself good and hidden away from his platoon. That was until he heard the rapid and heavy boot strikes of Martin chasing after him. Galviston rolled his eyes, and let out an annoyed groan. Martin gave the corporal a simple shrug. A silent gesture of comradiere. He was there because he was told to be, not because he felt a need to stop Galviston from acting obnoxious.
"Are you kidding me?" Galviston said aloud. "And you of all people."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Martin asked.
"You aren't exactly innocent of fraternization. How is Parvin? You two still fighting?" Poked Galviston. Martin remained silent. "That's why you don't bang squadies, kid." Galviston watched as Martin shook his head. A tender nerve he struck. The two innocent love birds caught in a meaningless tiff over some trifle that didn't matter to the corporal in the slightest. In response Galviston simply tossed an arm over his squadmate's shoulder. "You know what'll cheer us up?" He spoke with a grin. "Flirting with some intimidatingly zealous and lethal women." With a firm pat Galviston walked off again. "Always cheers me up! Come on now."

Curiosity drove Martin to stick to Galvistons side, more than obligation. No matter what he did, Galviston was destined to make a fool of himself. They approached the Hospitlar tent. Nothing out of the ordinary. Large Green tent with a triangular frame that ran along the length of the roof. Square plastic windows to let in light. Though the interior had an aluminum grate for flooring. A welcome contrast to the dark interior of the tent. Galviston let out a cheesy grin as he saw members of the sororitas move about in the tent.

Yet one obstacle prevented him from entry; another damned line. Martin stayed quiet as Galviston spoke with others in the line as they waited. To their relief the line moved with a much steadier pace than the armory line. The well being of soldiery of course was far less important than the weaponry. 'Obviously', Galviston joked. Eventually they reached the doorway of the tent. Martin stepped off to the side towards the exit.
"Not coming in with me?" Galviston asked.
"I'd like to remain out of the line of fire." Quipped Martin.
"Oh shit, blue falcon's got jokes!" Retorted Galviston. "Fine, more for me then." He huffed and entered the tent.

The interior was roomier than he previously though. Wider too. Many different rows were set up with green cloth screens separating smaller 'rooms' the soldiers would enter into before being seen by a Hospitlar. The tent was more for triage purposes than it was for primary care. Whatever its function was, Galviston didn't pay it too much thought. He was pleased enough to be lead to one of the lanes where he sat on a folding chair waiting for his Valkyrie to arrive. As he sat he breathed into his hand to sample his breath. Ran his hands through his hair to straighten it. As well as tested many different poses of sitting in the chair, figuring the most masculine way to arrange himself, puffing out his chest. Whatever he could do to make himself seem more presentable.

After a number of minutes of him holding the ridiculous pose had passed she finally entered. The curtain pulled open with a rolling hiss of the metal rings sliding along the wire. Then once again as it was drawn closed. Galviston couldn't help but allow a cocky grin to grow on his face. She looked at him and held a pleasant smile of her own. In his eyes she was perfection. The soft pale skin of her face. Free from blemishes or spots, flawless. Her cheeks accented her eyes with a dainty puff, and a rosy tint. A black fleur-de-lis tattoo on her left cheek. Narrow feminine jaw and and nose. Pouting lips. Her eyes were even red too. Deep like well cut rubies that held a piercing gaze. Galviston found it difficult to look away.

"I am Sister Rosalyne, what is the nature of your visit?" She spoke. A velvet and heavenly voice in Galviston's ears. Or perhaps he was simply too carried away in his own illustrious imagination. Whatever the reason meeting her seemed like a dream come true. A Hospitlar, a genuine and true Sororitas Hospitlar. Like a dog who caught it's tail. Galviston suddenly found the lines he prepared in his mind vanished, and he had no idea what to do.
"Uh, an extreme tightness in my chest, doc, er um..." He stumbled over his words.
"Sister is fine." She smiled at him. A soft genuine smile. She pulled up a stool and sat next to him. "Well if you don't mind unbuttoning your blouse and I can inspect you."
"You sure can." He commented under his breath.
"What did you say?" She tilted her head slightly to the side, her attention was more fixed on procuring a stethoscope rather than listening to his quiet commentary.
"Nothing, uh nothing at all." He chuckled as he began unbuttoning his uniform. Once undone she placed the metal disc against his chest, and instructed him to breath. Routine in her proceedings. Placing it on one side of his chest, than another. All the while he was looking her over. Admiring her soft face, and the well fitted black ensemble

You're on a roll mate, keep it up.

He relished the small moments, such as her hand resting on his shoulder as she leaned in. There was absolute focus in her work. She listened carefully for anything amiss. Diligently fufilling her duty to render aid where it was needed. Far from her mind was the designed of the trooper in front of her, or even her proper administrations. After her quick examination she sat back up and reminded herself of the more laborious tasks of her profession.
"Terribly sorry." She spoke calmly "Name rank and unit?" She leaned back towards a small desk to take up a dataslate. Galviston cocked his head to the other side to examine her more thoroughly as she did. Snapping back upright once she sat up.
"Corporal Raymond Galviston. 89th Cadian Heavy Infantry Regiment 1-1" He responded dutifully.
"Bit the mouthful." She chuckled pleasantly, remaining friendly with a bit of small talk as she entered the data.
"You better believe it." Galviston added silently to himself. Her laughter only working to his advantage, he thought to himself.
"Well corporal." She looked up from the dataslate, locking her gaze onto his violet eyes. "How long have you been experiencing this tightness?"
"Quite recently actually." He smiled, then placed a hand over his heart.
"Most recent combat action?" She asked phlegmatically, going through well rehearsed points she needed to ask. In an attempt to narrow down the cause of his condition.
"Two days ago." He answered honestly. She followed up with asking if he felt the symptoms before hand, to which he responded honestly, reinforcing that his episodes occurred very recently indeed.
"Might be a manner of combat stress. My suggestion would be to ask your NCO for more bed rest. I can write up a note for you." She smiled and placed the dataslate in her lap.
"Nice and all, but I'd be so bored. There's nothing fun to do in bed." He playfully complained
"I would disagree." She answered.
"Are we thinking the same thing here sister?" He raised an eyebrow.

It took a moment, but it did dawn on her. To his surprise her face remained relatively unphased, though her cheeks did suddenly become rosier. At once she realized the glaring difference between what she thought of and the Cadian did. As she blushed more she began to smile and hid her expression behind her curled finger. Then she giggled. A giggle was all he asked for. All the opening he needed. Thanks were rendered to the Emperor that he sent one with a sense of humor, and possibly a less than pure mind. It would have been a nightmare had she acted as the militant covens conducted themselves.
"Oh my, I meant reading a book!" She closed her eyes and let out a small laugh. "Goodness. I forget the minds of soldiers sometimes." She sat back to quickly compose herself.
"Nothing wrong with it is there?" He leaned in and grinned. A crooked and cocky grin that she had seen before.

Rosalyn smiled and folded her arms. Rather spry and lively for someone who proclaimed to have chest issues. It wasn't until he gave her that look she had seen many times before that she realized the true purpose of his visit. With a slow inhale and slow sigh she stared him down and raised her eyebrow. It wasn't the first time a guardsman had faked an ilness to see a hospitlar, and it sure wouldn't be the last. Though she didn't break her smile, her gaze suddenly became ferocious and piercing to Galviston.
"You aren't having any problems are you?" She raised her eyebrow in response to his. Galviston was unusually quiet. "You do realize that its a serious offense to waste medical staff's time, especially in... cardinal pursuits?" She crossed her leg and leaned in closer to Galviston. Her demeanor wasn't dismissive, but somewhat antagonistic. Were he from any other planet he might have felt fear. Yet as a Cadian he couldn't help but feel she was challenging him. 'Go on, try me.' Her body language spoke to him. Like a fighter dusting their knuckles before a fight.

"Well I certainly feel a tightness now." He spoke. leaving it up to her mind to determine what he truly meant.

They stared at each other for a moment. Vicious smiles that concealed threats. Rosalyn had to admit to herself she was rather enjoying this tiff, though felt the Cadian would do best to come to his senses, any moment now.
"I'm sure you do." She responded. Perhaps it was his imagination again, though he swore she had a purr to her voice. "I have to admit, out of all the men to try, you did make me laugh." She sat back upright. "However, I do have important matters to attend to. If you don't need me, medically" She added. " I think you should go." Her gaze narrowed and her smile sharpened.

Galviston kept his gaze on her beautiful red eyes as he fumbled with his shirt, and making his way out of the small room. As he departed she lifted a hand and curled her fingers, waving him goodbye. His heart pounded furiously as he made his way out of the tent. His eyes wide and fixed. He seemed to take the rejection rather well. Martin was sitting on a bench with a few other guardsmen, waiting for Galviston to emerge, with the exact face he held. As Martin was about to speak, Galviston slapped his hands on the young man's shoulders.
"I think I'm in love!" Galviston spat

Thats all for tonight folks

That was fun, and it's nice to see reasonable things happening in the Imperium.

Will there be Krieg in your story? Because I had an idea for a story (about a Krieger and a Repentia) that I'm not yet sure how to begin and would rather not want ours to be too similar.

"Forgive me Emperor for I have sinned." Sister Damnation wept upon the Aquilla, scars bleeding.

In the corner she heard a sound, like a broken rasp of mechanical equipment. She turned around, it was a Krieg. He was... laughing.

"YOU? You sinned? Buddy have I got stories for you."

They proceeded to argue for 3 days over who sucked more.

*dies a little inside*

Bump

Sort of. The basic idea is actually to play on themes of "individual" (Repentia) vs "collective" guilt (DKoK), possibly set against the backdrop of a hive rebellion. Mostly as a character-writing exercise. But I got ahead of myself and now keep criticising myself out of any progress. Maybe some other time.

no krieg planned in it.
Thank ye kindly.

I feel like i need to update so I'm going to write something before going to bed and hope this doesnt take too long.

>hope this doesnt take too long.
>not going to take 2 hrs into it writhing.

Nope! Never have.

88c blinked as the Catachan stormed up at her, gloved fingers clenching the smelly mans smelly lascarbine as he loomed over her. The man's lho stick smouldered on the table, forgotten.

Emperor's throne he still wasn't wearing a shirt, didn't he worry about parasites?

Okay 88c thought to herself. All she had to do was employ that 'cuteness' that was mentioned in the dataslate. How did it go again.

"Losing gear is a violation of article 3 of the Uplifting Primer." 88c said, the krieg handing the carbine with him.

"Maximum penalty would be 30 lashings in public. Which would be highly visible given lack of apperant upper armor. Deficient uniform is another violation, punishment includes 10 floggings. Don't do it again." See, see how generous you are by not telling on you Catachan person? The Kriegling thought to herself... wait there was one thing to perfect this, that, Tsunderocratise techinque it was called right.

"Empathy minimal, you're stupid." Yes, the Krieg thought to herself.

Nailed it.

"Oi! I ain't stupid, this is tactical! It's easier to sneak around in the woods like this!" The catachan said. "Not that you would know you are the least sneaky person I've ever seen shorty!"

"Do not refer to this unit as short." 88c said. "Subject is, optimally compact."

"Is that what they call it in gasfuckia?" The Catachan said. "Look I appreciate the gun and all but where you get off lecturing me like we know each other."

"You touched my scalp." 88c replied, head tilted. "Interaction is sufficent for admonisment."

"I did not! You were wearing your helmet! I touched your helmet." The Catachan yelled, exhasperated. "I didn't touch no fuckin scalp yet."

You have to remove your helmet? That explains the insufficent response levels, but that's... thats a uniform violation!

"You... you won't disrobe me that easy!" 88c yelled, the heavy booted woman scampering off into the distance.

"Wow." Mary said from behind the table. "The sarge wants to get into the little krieg girls joppers."

"Mary for the Emperor's sake go fuck yourself with a chainaxe and report to the Commissar for being a raging cunt."

Done in 30 minutes. Bed time.

>Empathy minimal, you're stupid

Thank you.

bumping

Bumpenwerfer

Bump from nine.

Rochas wasn't sure what to say as he desperately tried to back pedal "I never meant to...I mean of course I know that Lauwers..." He trailed off and fell silent under Baiman's gaze. Suddenly the sergeant felt about three feet tall. He was reminded of his mother reaming him out after he'd had a fight with Agner. Some small voice in the back of his mind wondered if this was how his men felt when he called them to the carpet.

"That's what I'm going to do" said Baiman after staring at him for a moment more. "I'm going to carry on since they can't, and that's what you ought to do too Sarge. You need to get your head out of your ass. It don't suit you acting like this. You're supposed to be the one telling me what to do and dispensing words of wisdom, not the other way around. It's unnatural is what it is, me being the one with sense between the two of us."

The sergeant snorted "Oh come on, you were never that bad."

Baiman's eyes softened and got a bit of his normal mischievous twinkle back as he raised an eyebrow. "Do you want the list of times you kept my ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude? Cause if you don't recall I can refresh your memory, but we might be here a while if I do. It's a long list."

Rochas snorted again. It was a long list. "No that won't be necessary, I can recall just fine." He said, and then paused for a moment before continuing in a more somber tone. "Thank you Baiman, for everything. And I'm sorry, I never meant to disrespect Lauwers' memory. It just..."

"It hurts" the other man finished for him. "I know sarge, but you can't let it eat at you. They wouldn't want that, and if you're so busy beating yourself up about things that happened years ago you're gonna miss out in the now. And we can't have that. No we definitely can't afford to have you all mopey when the colonists get here. You gotta get you a girl too so there'll be a litter of your giant spawn to call me uncle."

Rochas smiled "You think I'd let a terrible influence like you near my kids Baiman?"

The one armed trooper brought his singular limb up and placed his hand over his heart before affecting a wounded expression. "Sarge that hurts me to hear you say that. I thought we was like brothers after all these years together. You've trusted me to watch your back in a fire fight, what possible reason could you have not to trust me around your kids?"

"Would you like the list of times I've saved your ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude?" Rochas asked with a grin. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then they both broke down laughing.

>"Would you like the list of times I've saved your ass from getting shot by the Commissar in alphabetical order, or by order of magnitude?" Rochas asked with a grin. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then they both broke down laughing.
My sides

cheeky fucker. I love it