God this family is adorable. Taldeer, Lofn, and LIIVI thread time?

>Taldeer/LIIVI
>Lilith/Avitus
>Yvraine/Bobby G
>this picture
We need to stop.

>>Lilith/Avitus
W-What?

Another fanfiction where an Eldar has a child with a human.

1d4chan.org/wiki/Hesperax's_Pet

1d4chan.org/wiki/The_Princess_of_Commorragh

The first one is NSFW. Also this Avitus is a OC and not the one from Dawn of War.

If guilliman had a child with his eldar waifu would the imperium lose their shit?

...

Human mother and Eldar father: gestation lasts only months, child is highly receptive to enhancement and they make for excellent primaris recruits.
Human father and Eldar mother:
gestation takes years, much more difficult to carry out but these children are the superior stock of halfbreed.

It will be the beginning of EldMan®™ Race

Vulkan Probably comes back again to provide Blackup, because of that one time he had to burn an Eldar/Human world where they got along during the Crusade because Daddy said so. The Salamanders now fight for love and friendship. It's fucking great really.

Also, people forget Gulliman also has that Sister of Battle at his side, so if anything, she'd go batshit Yandere insane and attempt to kill Ynnari because she didn't get to win da Gulimanbowl

>Eldar/Human world where they got along
How disgustingly Tau.

>these humans were descendants of Nocturne captives liberated by the Eldar. Vulkan realized the Emperor had guided him here and understand that these humans would never accept the Imperium over their Eldar liberators
Oh.

>meme
It happened before.

It will happen again.

>tfw I partially finished a continuation of LCB before finding out that somebody had already done it
Feels bad man.
Also feels bad that they made Taldeer into a wraithknight.
I will pretend that this did not happen and everything is okay.

>>tfw I partially finished a continuation of LCB before finding out that somebody had already done it
Do you mind posting it?

>be Lofn
>dad gets turned into a servitor
>mom gets interred into a wraithknight
>only people who'd accept me are the weebs

Hey, keep writing LCB continuations by all means-- I've yet to find one that completely convinced me. (The one at the bottom of the 1d4chan page is a truly valiant effort and I'm still genuinely impressed, but my suspension of disbelief finally broke when LIIVI was caught *standing over the Eversor's body.* Where's the kaboom!?)

Alright, I'll post what I've written if there's some interest.

Preface:
There are two notes which should be made about the way I wrote this.

The first component is stylistic - I wanted to emulate the style of the author to the best of my ability, to do it justice. Make it into a worthy continuation. Accord the story with the respect. For better or worse I am a massive faggot who takes his writing way too seriously.

The second component is where I chose to begin, which flies in the face of what I just stated. Herodotus began at the very word where Thucydides left off. I had the hubris to choose where I began. I began shortly after the beginning of chapter 8. Come the appearance of the Sponge Weed house, I had a feeling that the author was growing tired of the story. Things started moving fast, and the ensuing events contrasted starkly with the rest of the work. It seemed out of place compared to the rest, and it felt rushed in its construction. As Taldeer said early the story, trying to end it now rather than end it right. By the time I sensed some hesitation in the pen of the author, they had already written themselves into a corner. Perhaps I am wrong to make such assumptions. Maybe I’m misreading the work. Perhaps that outcome was planned all along, and I missed the hints.

But that isn’t my gut sense as a writer. I have done my best to continue in the spirit of the first 7 chapters. The result is longer, and not necessarily in line with DoW canon. If this bothers you, then you probably wouldn’t enjoy it. There are also areas where, like most writers for 40k, I fill in the blanks in lore with my own speculation. I tried to supply sections with similar detail to the original.

All that said, on we go. I'll start with the beginning of chapter 8, and then note where it is that my work beings.

Bad feel.

I should have left him there. He had served his purpose.

He owed me nothing - yet he gave himself to me willingly.

Why? I know not.

He is nothing more than a pathetic human.

An inferior race.

A mon-keigh.

But still I broke off my wings so that I might carry him easier.

I took him from that place, into the snowstorm where our tracks will not be found.

He is heavy. And he is dying. And he is slowing me down.

But I will save him.

Why? I know not.

He is still warm. I can feel his blood ebbing across me. For every beat of his heart, another, slight spill of heat. The heat blows away on the winter wind. His blood is still warm. But fading. And I have spilled scarlet myself.

The snow laps greedily at our footsteps and our lifeblood, covering them without a trace as we fade away.

Battle still raged behind them. Far off, in walls of steel and concrete, trenches of dirt and burning promethium, space marine and ork reveled in fire and bolter. Taldeer stopped a moment, breathing in and out, her lungs burning. She held the human over her shoulder, his feet still dragging in the snow. His rifle sheath, with frost covering it. She looked around. Disputed territory. Ork banners held up, some burnt, some empty, some shattered and buried under the snow. Exhortations of war broken and buried under the white blanket. The Vindicare beside her coughed, tensing for a moment, his hand digging into her own- then he slackened again. The blood warmth washed over her side again. She had no need to watch the skein of fate to see that survival was improbable. She was needed elsewhere. She shouldn't die, freezing, clinging to a weaponized man. She shifted his weight again, and pulled forward with her spear, panting again as she passed under twenty meter high declarations of war, pulling through the winter.

"Inquisitor." Inquisitor Madek snorted sharply, blinking away the sleep. He frowned. He was cold. He should have packed more clothes than just a cassock. An idiotic desire to empathize with the guardsmen perhaps. "I've heard tell that cleanliness is one of the signs of divinity,"

Madek roused, sitting up, slipping on an ill fitting gentle smile, "I don't think I have to fear any usurpation here. What is it, Felix?"

"The storm," Felix pointed out to the wall, where some diodes sputtered, "The corpus mechanica would be better served if I-"

"I can barely give a damn, we're on the road to the spaceport, we can get it fixed there."
"That's another thing," Lieutenant Ardrin, resembling nothing more than a big black fly came into the room, holding a buzzing comm, "The city, currently our forces command it and will be reinforced, but, the agents of Chaos are attacking it. They hold the entrance to the city we're heading for." Veteran soldiers. No courage, no faithful bone in their body they. Merely the survivors, benefit of the brave souls of the Emperor's truest servants. A fine degree of cowardice uncaught by commissar, that's all that experience breeds. They that survive are just rewarded for their base desire of living. Disgusting.

"I believe we'll be fine," Inquisitor Madek gave a serene grin, "The Emperor protects."

MY WORK BEGINS HERE

Like the forest around her, the ocean was still. Perhaps it too was frozen.

“Is this where it ends?” Taldeer winced, trudging through yet another snow bank. Her path through no man's land had been aimless. The fates spoke nothing to her. Perhaps it was decided at last. The undertow was overwhelming near death in battle. But would she feel a thing, quietly freezing to death in this forest?

A ripple disturbed the placid glass. A thought. Human. And it didn’t come from her human. The Farseer’s exhausted mind struggled to translate it. Warmth. Comfort. Satisfaction. Food.

Taldeer smiled through the pain and, wiping the clot filled hair out of her face, pressed forward with new purpose.

The tiny bunker and command station had been hurriedly abandoned as the tide of battle turned against the Guard. Injured officers were rushed out of the scant medical bay, and documents were left strewn about. No need to dispose of papers when they’d be burned by the illiterate greenskins.

The deserter burned them anyway. The heater was enough to keep a man from freezing to death, but it wasn’t exactly warm. The fire was homey, even if the sod floor and roof weren’t. Of course, now and then, you have to open the door to let out the smoke, which only lets the cold in, which makes you want to feed the fire - a vicious cycle, to be certain.

It was for this reason that he left his wobbly chair and walked towards the door. He opened it gently, and it slammed loudly against the wall as an Eldar witch pushed it aside, forcing her way into the shelter.

Taldeer knocked the injured man to the ground. “Out of the way, mon-keigh.” It wasn’t nice. But she didn’t have time for nice. Another heartbeat. Another bout of warm blood running down her side.

“WITCH!” He shrieked in terror. She kept her shuriken pistol trained on him. His mind was a scarred mess. Easy to influence, in most circumstances. But panicking like this? She gritted her teeth. He bolted for the door.

One moment, the man had a head. In the next moment, he had a stump. Liivi’s arm fell limply to his side. The body fell limply the ground. A momentary pause. All was still.

The vindicare coughed.

She rushed to set him on a gurney. There was a rudimentary medical bay, at least.

Shoving the corpse out into the snow, she shut the door, then grabbed the case that Liivi pointed to. “Medkit,” he mouthed. She opened it.

The first things she saw were a set of pouches filled with grey fluid. “Blood substitute,” he whispered. “Carries oxygen. Hydrates. Not much else. Stops brain death.” He held out his arm and pointed to a vein. “Here.”

Human medicine is… invasive. She had seen it before. Abandoned patients, or field medics tending to their wounded. Like all things human, their medicine was crude, blunt, and fast. Tear open the body, excise the problem, and stitch it shut. Those who walked the Path of the Healer could mend a broken body without a pin prick, and make it better than when the injured were healthy.

But she was not a healer.

The Farseer grabbed a needle and tube from the box, fitting the two together, then attached it to the pack. He didn’t flinch when she slid the cold steel into his vein, thin grey fluid invading through the breach. Setting the pack on the hook above, she applied pressure to his still seeping wound. With every movement, her armor crunched from coagulated blood, and pain ripped through her chest. She needed her own medic. But there was no time now.

With her free hand, she tore at the vindicare’s suit, exposing the wound. Singed dead flesh mingled with living tissue, still bleeding. The wound was half a finger deep into his abdominals, having sliced a rib clean in half, but it grew shallow as it met his pectorals and ran above his heart.

Liivi was flitting in and out of consciousness now. Unable to find a bandage big enough, she ripped the sheet off a nearby gurney. His shaking hand grabbed a bottle filled with some clear substance. Alcohol. “D-isin-fectan,” he muttered, pouring it on the wound. He blacked out. She caught the bottle, then wrapped the sheet tightly around his chest. The bleeding stopped. At least for the moment.

The fatigue hit like a human battle barge.

The last of her adrenalin was spent. Darkness clawed at her vision as all the pain resurged. But she couldn’t sleep yet. Sleeping now meant death.

She pulled a gurney close. Set blankets on top of Liivi. Fumbled with her armor, took off her chestplate, arm guards. The wounds in her abdomen were covered in crystal, blood oozing from between the cracks. Taking a deep breath, she wiped off the superfluous clots and poured on the alcohol. It burned. Dressing the wound with another sheet, she sat on the gurney. Vague thoughts passed through her blood starved mind. “Human. Eldar. Biology. Compatible.” Blood loss would kill her. The fake blood might not.

She felt for a vein and jammed it in. It hurt. It hurt far more than she expected. But sleep was already numbing the pain. Before the black veil claimed her, she pulled up some blankets, and held Liivi’s hand tightly in her own.

1d4chan.org/wiki/WhipsOil&Lofn

“...And atop the charges of negligence and cowardice in battle” Eldrad said, dryly, “you were saved by a mon’keigh defector?”

The crowd rippled with a mixture of incredulous laughter and scornful glares.

“This is true, Farseer.” Taldeer stood defiantly in front of the Farseer Council of Ulthwe.

“You have brought considerable shame upon our craftworld, young miss. You’ve failed us, but more than us, your kin on the battlefield.”

She choked, remaining silent.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“The shame I feel is all too deep. But I request a chance to right my wrongs.”

“Your wrongs are indelible. A lifetime in service can never bring back the dead. Not from the jaws of the Great Enemy.”

“Be that as it may, I wish to restore Ulthwe’s honor. I may not be able to bring them back, bu-”

“Enough.”

Taldeer was taken aback. These investigations were only convened for matters of serious gravity, and to interrupt anyone was a great breach of form. Even Eldrad, contemptuous as he was of rules, was one to respect it.

“We shall hear from another.” A hooded young woman stepped forward out of the crowd. Taldeer hadn’t noticed her before.

“It’s my pleasure to speak, honorable Eldrad.” She bowed.

Taldeer's mind was racing. “What in the… ?” The farseer was stupefied. Her voice was a whisper. “A daemon?”

“Taldeer Taldeer Taldeer. Don’t go labeling me like that! I reject labels.”

She drew closer to the eldar, wearing something approximating a sultry gaze. “You're such a pretty little thing, you know?” The creature licked her lips. “But you’d look a lot prettier with your clothes off. Come on, drop this boring armor. Have some fun with me. I can make all your pain go away. Maybe even make you *enjoy* it.”

HERESY

“Will you accept her proposition, Taldeer,” Eldrad asked dispassionately. “Will you bring even more shame to Ulthwe?” There was not even a hint of empathy in his monotone voice, or across his unflappable features.

Confused and furious, the farseer snapped. “Father what is this farce?! Why is a servant of the Great Enemy here?!” But it was too late. Reality began twisting at the seams. The ground broke beneath her feet. Ulthwe crumbled and melted around her, psychoplastic bubbling and cracking, filling with mouths and eyes. The assembly, the council, her father, everyone except the wretched, cackling daemon was stretched and contorted.

“You did this,” Eldrad said, mouth dripping off of his face. Dark vacuous holes stared at her in place of eyes. For the first time, he was plaintive. “How could you?

“I didn't do this! I don't know what's going on! Father, help me! You always have a plan!”

“I can make it go away~” Arms folded, the daemonette whistled and tapped her elbows with her fingers.

“Father!” Taldeer reached for his hand, but the phantasm faded to mist. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she clenched her fist.

“I need- I need- I need-” she dropped her head, watching her tears fall into the void of Ulthwe’s writhing souls.

“You need some sweet, sweet-”

“Liivi!”

And just like that, he was there. She held his hand tight, bringing herself close to his side. The nightmare gave way to a white clean expanse. A cloudless blue sea was on the horizon. They could hear the gentle tug of waves on the distant shore.

The daemonette rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Oh brother. What a boring guy to fall for.”

“I haven't fallen for him,” she glared.

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that, sister. You know he can't save you.”

“I don't need him to save me. I want him to help me.”

“What a line. Man, I can really see it on one of those shitty imperial motivational posters.”

“Get out, daemon.”

“Alright, a girl can sense when she isn't wanted. But I’ll leave you with two questions.”

Taldeer ripped off the daemon’s head.

“Rude. First: can that machine of a man even love you back? And second,” her mouth contorted into a horrifying sneer, “was loving him even your idea to begin with?”

“OUT.”

“Later sweetie.” She winked and stuck her long tongue out, fading away.

The farseer looked at Liivi. Liivi looked back at her. She squeezed his hand. He was more than just a machine with an objective. He had free will. He chose to give himself for her. The second question though...

“We’ll figure this out,” she said. “Together.”

They were on the shore. Cool surf washed around their feet, sucking grains of sand away and out to sea.

He nodded.

------- (note: forgot to add markers denoting sections/scene transitions within the chapters. Sorry for any confusion.)

"Hate. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate."

Images of targets flashed through a drug addled mind. Farseer. Vindicare.

"Hate."

The metal gauntlet of a necron reached up from the ground.

"KILL"

Yanked from the earth like a fresh crop, the Necron’s skull was crushed before it could formulate a response. Its body was discarded with the others in a pile. The crypt was stirring, awoken by the noisy landing a scant hour earlier.

"Dead. Hate."

It had taken the better part of the night to crawl out from the earth. Now, it was morning, and other things were emerging from the dirt, as if in pursuit. They were not Imperial technology. But they were most definitely annoying.

The soothing, feminine voice of a machine spirit echoed inside the mind.

"Positional data updated. Target located in forest due east, 80 clicks. Ave Imperator, Eversor."

The killing machine broke into a dead sprint, crushing the head of a rising necron under foot.

"Seek. Hate. Kill. Hate."

Chapter Nine

The farseer’s eyes fluttered open. She was alive, miraculously.

“You’re awake.”

Liivi’s weapons, freshly cleaned, sat by his side. He was stitching the massive gash in his suit. The wound on his chest had already been cleaned and sutured shut.

She bolted upright. “You should-!” Taldeer winced as pain shot through her entire body. “...shouldn’t be walking around. Where is your bandage?”

“No time to heal. Compression bandages on ribs increases risk of pneumonia. Bad in winter conditions. Are you okay?”

She glanced down at her wounds and sucked in a deep, painful breath. “I have been… better. But I am alive. Thanks to you.” She smiled. His face remained stiff.

“I found rations. I know little of eldar nutrition. But they should be edible. Are you hungry?”

“I- No. I will not need to eat for another week.”

This was, perhaps, the closest she’d seen the vindicare come to surprise.

“There are capsules in my stomach. We take them before missions. They release food when we drink.”

“I understand. Like my nutrient packs.”

He took a bite of the MRE. Liivi was a precision instrument, but in this instance, he was clumsy. Clumsier than the average mon-keigh.

“Did you ever-” she cringed as she leaned forward, “eat anything else?”

“No. Do you need help?”

“I can manage. What about your rib?”

“Broken. I won’t be able to shoot from the left. No time to heal. They will find us soon.”

He was right. This was no rest. Merely a respite. The next wave was soon to roll in.

“I can sense as much.” The farseer bit her lip. This was stupid. “But, I may have an idea…”

-----

>ironshrinemaiden will never draw anything ever again

The Eversor is perhaps the closest a man can become to an unthinking instrument. Servitors are machines with no human left. Techpriests still possess their consciousness. The Vindicare, for all their discipline, still think with a sense of self. The Eversor, by contrast, is reptilian. It does not think or plan like any normal human. Its conscious mind is far too consumed by hatred, wrath, and bloodlust to formulate anything resembling higher thought. It sees a problem, formulates a solution, and acts on it.

To aid this reptilian brain, the Eversor is fitted with a host of sensors. After all, seeing is easy. Discerning is not. Some enemies can stand right in front of you and yet remain undetected. Only by the stench of the warp might you discern their presence.

And the warp was on the wind.

The Eversor looked to its left. City. Smoke by the gates. Chaos. Fists clenched. Muscles tightened. It looked to the woods, so far away. Targets there. Chaos here. Targets there. Hate. Hate chaos. Hate targets. Hate chaos. Hate targets. Hate chaos. HATE targets. HATE.

It clawed at its face and fell to its knees, glancing back and forth between the city and the horizon. The targets were distant. Chaos, it was right here. A machine spirit housed within an augment dutifully began to relay the Eversor’s thoughts to its master.

"Kill? Kill? Kill? KillkillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKill"

----

Uploading this part as a picture to capture the font, which conveyed something I feel couldn't be easily captured through adding some text. It probably could, but I'm trying to do this quickly.

...

Mm, yeah, Veeky Forums is a bit limited but maybe [ ] instead of quotes would give a similar effect?

Enjoying this so far!

In the next post we will resume your typical format.

Fair call. I'll consider that from now on.

“It is clear to see that wraithbone is the stuff of miracles. Understanding it should be a priority, as it would greatly simplify logistics.”
Attributed to a Space Wolf Librarian, shortly before his investigation by the Inquisition

Wraithbone is a special and marvellous substance. Suitable for most any purpose and possessing a tensile strength superior to steel, it can be pulled from thin air and recycled indefinitely. It is notable as one of the few pleasant things to emerge from the warp on a regular basis. Psychoconductive, it can not only transmit psychic energy, but it can also function as a shield generator and communication hub, all without any additional equipment. And of course there’s the oft lauded property of psychoplasticity - it being malleable using only one’s mind. Intricate and delicate works, such as vehicles and weapons, are difficult for the uninitiated to produce. These items require a finer touch that all but the most talented beginners lack. But wraithbone is not so difficult to work that a novice can’t play with it. Being roughly manipulable by any average psychic, performing a field repair on cracked armor is a breeze. It may not be perfect, but it’s sealed. The ease by which it can be manipulated scales with power, while precision… it scales with practice.

Taldeer was not very practiced.

The procedure required the sum of her concentration. Liivi lay on his back, holding his breath. Cool wraithbone flowed like molten metal into a small incision, directly above his broken rib. It was to form an internal cast that wrapped around the bone. If it went well, then Liivi would no longer have to fear puncturing his lung every time he fired a weapon or laid on on the ground. If Taldeer made a mistake, then he could suffer horrendous internal bleeding and/or a punctured lung.

Realized I forgot to thank you for the praise. Thank you! Worked hard on this.

There was nothing to risk which wasn’t already an immediate danger.

An anatomy text Liivi found with the medical supplies made it clear where the tendons attach to the bone, and thus where gaps in the cast had to be. The shape and thickness of the rib was certainly easy to understand, looking at the pictures. But now, as the last dribbles of wraithbone seeped in through the incision, Taldeer was feeling slightly nervous. Of course, doubt was a distraction, and there was no time for distractions. If it was wrong, and the tendons wouldn’t attach correctly, so be it. At least the rib wouldn’t puncture his lung, it would just hamper movement a bit. They could deal with it when they got off world, back to her people.

And if they didn’t get off world, well, it wouldn’t matter then, either.

Fate flowed around her ankles in subtle eddies. She danced an impromptu tango with it, reacting carefully to it’s movements, following it’s lead. She could visualize the shape of the wraithbone. Subtle changes were made to accommodate the shape of the rib, drag it back into place. Optimal possibilities became clearer. Slightly thicker here. Thinner there.

It was then that she felt the ripples of a great splash beyond the horizon. The farseer was uncertain of what it meant. She sighed softly and pressed forward, finalizing the cast.

----

This was about how Private Scry Shenken expected he would die. Well, former private.

He held his breath, laying flat against the wall next to the door. Sure, the other half of the house was on fire. But better to be with the house fire than with whatever was outside.

The last of the screams was interrupted by a squelching sound.

“Nineteen? Did that thing really kill all nineteen? What the fu-." He found his thought interrupted by screaming.

“No. No! NOOOO!” The window next to him shattered. Apparently one man was unsuccessful in playing dead. Now, he was quite dead, embedded in the charred wall across the room.

Scry never wanted to surrender to chaos. He also didn’t really want to die, either. He didn’t exactly expect to live long as a soldier in the black legions. But it was better than being handed off to the Slaaneshi cultists. When he saw them for the first time, his gut told him he’d rather be damned than enslaved to that lot. And his week of service in the legions of chaos showed him that his gut was absolutely right. In that time, he learned many things he didn’t know about the world. But there was a rule that held true across the guard and chaos - your superiors will kill you just as soon as they’ll kill an enemy. So stay out of their way.

The flames were really starting to roar now. Sweat beaded down Scry’s forehead.

“Just wait until he goes away wait until he goes away wait until he goes away wait-”

A metallic voice boomed above the growing din. “WHO GOES THERE!” A chaos space marine. A VIP. Somebody who should know who’s who and who’s where. The former guardsmen was suddenly confused.

“It isn’t a daemon?”

----

>In a alternate universe is Taldeer lives a simple life with LIIVI and Taldeer.

Truly the best thing to come out of this board.

youtube.com/watch?v=jkj8KmxYpkQ

It was extremely painful for Liivi to move. But he could move. And so far as he could tell, it wasn’t making the damage worse, just preventing it from healing. Good enough, given the situation.

He packed the remaining remaining MRE’s and a field kit into a ruck sack. Taldeer, torso and arms covered bandages, sat on her gurney, back resting against the wall. She tended to her well worn armor, scraping out out the crystalline blood and mending any weak spots. The two warriors sat like this in silence. The air wasn’t empty for lack of words. On the contrary, it was already filled by the tension of preparation. The surf gurgled uncertainly around Taldeer’s feet as she stood on the shore, staring out to the sea. It was unduly quiet. A sinister, hungry peace.

It was the farseer who shattered the quiet.

“I need to find a way to contact my people. And we need to move fast. They won’t be in orbit for more than a day or two.”

She looked to Liivi. “Do you know of any sort of communication installation?”

“Two weeks ago, I provided covering fire for the construction of an anti-orbital flak battery due east. It should be complete now. It will be equipped with a radio communications suite that can reach orbit.”

“I see. My people should be listening to human communications. Do you know how well it will be staffed?”

“Depending on how hot the location is, two to ten squads of Imperial Guard, with or without armor support. They will be well entrenched.”

“So stealth is our only option.”

“Affirmative.”

An hour passed. It was time to go. They couldn’t afford to stay any longer.

Waves crashed far away.
-----

>“It is clear to see that wraithbone is the stuff of miracles. Understanding it should be a priority, as it would greatly simplify logistics.”
>Attributed to a Space Wolf Librarian, shortly before his investigation by the Inquisition

Bloody doggos.
Keep going.

[Hate.]

The traitor's head sailed cleanly off of his shoulders. It felt good. But it was hardly satisfying. With one arm, the eversor shot the lamp pole nearby, killing the man hiding behind it. The eversor’s free hand covered it’s brow as it looked around for more targets.

Nobody.

[Hate.]

The eversor half heartedly kicked the head of the dead space marine, tearing it from the shoulders of the corpse and splattering it against the wall. Anybody left was hiding. The supply of fighters had been exhausted. It was nice while it lasted, but it didn’t last long enough. Villages like this almost never took more than two hours. What a pity.

It turned to the horizon, glaring in the direction of the primary target.

[Seek. Hate.]
----

Chapter Ten

The battery was still several kilometers off, but from the forest hilltop they could see its great barrel clawing at the horizon. It boomed once, and the edge of the world glowed for a brief moment. Seconds later, the trees around them swayed as the wind fled from the sound. Snow fell from what branches still held it.

They would have to time their approach carefully. Being near an anti-orbital flak cannon during firing was inadvisable, to say the least.

The roar of the steel beast reminded Taldeer of the ocean. There was a storm in the distance. Clouds had begun gathering hours ago. It had yet to reach the shore, but the foamy chop was marching ever closer.

There was some comfort to be found in the situation. The woods would probably be safe. There may be the odd ork, broken away from the waaagh. But the trees were thick enough to hide in, and there was nobody else at present. This much Taldeer could tell.

Liivi twitched. He began looking around. “Liivi, what are y-” Then she heard it. A whistling, shrieking, screaming sound. Quiet, but growing ever louder, closer. The wind of the warp carried a whiff of thought. A mind. A war mask. Eldar.

Hope at last.

“I- I think it’s my people.” She beamed. “Maybe I can call out to them, maybe…” There was a faint buzzing now. Autocannon fire. A pop, like a distant firework. The war mask was clearer. Masks. There were many. A warlock. But something was amiss. One was unmasked. And that one was consumed by fear.

“Wait…”

The scream suddenly became a roar. 100 meters to their left, a smoking Vampire Raider struggled to maintain altitude, pursued by three Thunderbolt Fighters. The Fates laughed mockingly as a great breaker met a cliff face, splashing high.

“no no no no no no no NO NO NO!” Taldeer watched in wide eyed horror as the magnificent eldar war machine dipped slightly further, clipping the tree tops, spraying snow and steam. Now rapidly losing speed, it sank into the deep embrace of the woods, rolling and carving a path of destruction. Another precious work requiring ages to grow, all undone by the brutish determination of the humans.

A litany of curses ran from her lips. Tears welled in her eyes. She grimaced and fell to her knees. “Why?”

The farseer stared at the path of fallen trees and sniffled. Sparks flew off the distant wreckage. Her self pity was short lived. She stood up, shaken but resolute.

“There may be survivors. We need to save them.” The waves tugged at her legs, beckoning her out to sea. Thunder of the storm cracked in the distance, echoing like the steam explosions of snow on the engines.
----

Fire was always less impressive in the daytime.

Madek sipped his coffee as the village burned on the horizon. They had to take a little detour on account of that mess. No matter.

“Sir,” Felix piped from below. “The Navy reports that an enemy troop transport was downed in the area of operations. Eldar, sir.”

“Hm.” Madek sighed. “This changes things. The witch he’s travelling with could use the communications systems to call for help, if they’re still functioning. Worse, there may be survivors.

What was their mission, Felix? Do we have any know, or have any educated guesses?”

“Before taking evasive maneuvers, their vector was a beeline for an orbital battery, sir.”

“Undoubtedly trying to clear an escape vector for their fleet. The death of the Farseer and the Vindicare assuredly take priority, but we would do well to prevent the escape of the xenos. What men do we have in reserve?”

“None sir,” Ardrin barked, “all troops are currently preoccupied in a mop up operation against the orks. The Governor Militant hopes to avoid an infestation, so he’s prioritizing their destruction.”

“You truly have none in reserve?” Madek scowled as he eyed Ardrin, as though some sort of trick was being played on him.

“I’m afraid they were incinerated last night, sir.” No mirth leaked from Ardrin’s mind and onto his face. But he knew it was there.

“Oh for the love of the throne,” the inquisitor thought to himself as he massaged his temple.

He had to choose. The orks, or the witch and the traitor? Pursuing the orks was a prudent decision on Alexander’s behalf. A greenskin infestation was nothing to laugh about. Madek sighed.

“Very well. I have no desire to forever sully a world recently liberated in the Emperor’s name. Release Terra 1553 and her associates from the brig. Dispatch them to the orbital battery as is. It’s less than ideal, but it’s better than nothing.” There was momentary pause. “I will return to the battle barge and supervise operations from there. My personal guard will join the hunt. Have the Valkyrie meet us en route to the space port. And order the Valkyrie to pick up the eversor if it isn’t already close to the targets, and deliver him near them.”

“It will be done.”
----

Taldeer was slightly short of breath. Only slightly. Now standing at the beginning of the newfound clearing, she could see hesitant heads poking out of the transport as the thunderbolts departed. The farseer couldn’t help but smile through the pain of exertion. “There *are* survivors.”

Slowly they stepped out of the wreckage. A Fire Dragon… another. The first Fire Dragon stayed by the entrance, beckoning the others out. A ranger emerged, carrying 2 rifles and what appeared to be the corpse of another ranger. A Striking Scorpion… a guardian… a Warlock… the Fire Dragon gestured the Warlock to the front of the craft. Was he in charge? Another Scorpion and Guardian stepped out. All told it was a small squad, but this sort of composition was typically what was used for infiltration/demolition. It seems like most of them survived.

Had Taldeer paid attention, she would have noticed a moment’s hesitation in Liivi. “You want to approach them?”

But she was already sprinting.
---

[Seek. Hate.]

Of the multitude of sensors attached to the eversor, most are for combat. Few are for tracking. An eversor is to be delivered into the heat of battle, targets positioned right in front of it.

Staring into the burnt out crater littered with ork corpses, it was hard to believe any evidence had survived the fire storm. The trail had gone cold. The eversor leapt into the trench and stamped its foot in frustration, sending cracks ripping all through the baked clay. It sulked as it strolled, eyes following one of the cracks, claws scraping the wall, waiting. Waiting for *something.* That’s when it saw it.

Foot prints. Not guardsman, not ork, and not space marine. Leading to a bunker.

Perfect.

It took off in a running sprint
----

The Vindicare temple teaches that there are few standard soldiers as dangerous as the Eldar Aspect Warriors. They may have hundreds of years of combat experience, and can be counted on to perform their role with exceptional prowess. Any emotional instability which could affect their judgment is nullified by their war mask. They are, for most all intents and purposes, perfectly rational killing machines.

In a squad, they are to be avoided, unless preoccupied with forces allied with the vindicare. A single combatant can be dispatched, but the shot must not miss. And these are of course the broader notes. Each aspect must be dealt with differently.

Fire Dragons were simple to deal with. Combat sappers and explosive ordnance experts, they were primarily concerned with vehicles. Snipers like the Vindicare were not their prey, and any attempt to counter snipe using their armament would only illuminate their position. Wait until they are preoccupied with an armored target, or fulfilling their role as a sapper, then take the shot. If one has to engage alone, use misdirection to confuse them - have them focus their fire on false positions while you move from one location to the next, picking them off as you go.

Striking Scorpions were close range melee combatants, with firearms limited to short ranges. They would be easy to dispatch, were it not for their skill in stealth and infiltration. Almost always working in pairs, they could handily exploit the landscape to their advantage. If they were known to be operating in the area, then the vindicare must keep one eye to his back at all times. Leaving false trails and limiting potential flanking routes was essential to survival.

Rangers are a monumental pain to deal with. They may not be aspect warriors, and they may not be as disciplined as the other eldar, but they’re still snipers par excellence. Their rifles are limited only by the psychic power of their wielder. They do not have to reload. Being a warp driven laser, it does not suffer from projectile drop, and enjoys exceptional range for a laser weapon. The aim stabilization and targeting systems make shooting on the move quite easy. It’s a marvellously idiot-proof device that a green recruit could use to great success. Which makes it all the more frightening in the hands of somebody who may have been shooting for hundreds of years. Tactics vary with terrain and situation, but in general, duels can take many days and require every ounce of the Vindicare’s training.

Guardians are little more than civilians disguised as soldiers. A Warlock provides their mask, and without their Warlock they were little better than fodder. The warlock was a potent psyker and not to be underestimated - if a witchblade wielding warlock gets near you, you’re as good as dead, no doubt soon to be incinerated by a powerful blast of warp fire.

Despite their differences, all strategies for dealing with these opponents shared one common feature, a fundamental component of the Vindicare Dictum: maintain range.

This feature was not found in the present strategy.

Liivi was honed not to feel fear. But as he approached the squad of eldar, weapons raised at him, he noted an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation nagging at him. It faded as he drew closer to Taldeer’s side. But only slightly.
----

Chapter Eleven

“Drop the weapon, mon’keigh.” It was one of the Fire Dragons. He appeared to be in charge.

The surf was rolling in. The situation had to be handled delicately.

“Liivi, do as the Captain says.” Liivi lowered the weapon to the ground and raised his hands above his head.

“Consorting with the enemy… what’s the meaning of this, Farseer? Where are your troops? Explain yourself.”

She hadn’t been looking forward to this part.

“I… led them to their deaths.” Taldeer tried to put on a brave face. Tried to choke back her guilt and shame. But after days on the run, wounded, fighting the nightmares plaguing her dreams - there were cracks in her facade. She swallowed. Was it blood, bile, or something else? “I’m the only survivor. And I wouldn’t be, if not for him. He saved my life. I owe him a debt.”

The captain leered at the vindicare and hissed. “Why?”

“Captain, he could have killed me many times over.”

“I didn’t ask you, Farseer.”

“I outrank yo-”

“I see before me one of Ulthwe’s finest, broken and beaten, with a particularly menacing mon’keigh following her like a dog. We go nowhere until I know you aren’t compromised. Now I repeat my question, mon’keigh - why?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Mission: protect primary.” He was reverting to reflexes.

“Really now? For how long? On whose orders?”

Taldeer could feel the iron roads of Liivi’s mind buckling, straining, twisting against a force it was conditioned to repress. “Concern…” Liivi thought to himself, “concern for,” images of her face, flashed through his mind. “Affection… ?” She saw herself viewed through a scope as she removed her helmet. The silence lasted several seconds as a great war resolved itself beneath his expressionless face.

“Until the primary is secure. On my orders.”

“So you’re a rogue?”

“Affirmative.”

He turned to face Taldeer again. “And you believe him?”

There was no hesitation in her voice. “Yes.”

“We have no time for further interrogation,” he noted dryly. “We take them or leave them. Tanlon, is anything amiss?”

The warlock stepped forward. “We were briefed on humans like this. He is an assassin. His mind is nearly impenetrable. For what it’s worth, I can sense straining. Farseer Taldeer I do not sense to be lying, but she could easily fool me if she desired.”

“Captain,” Taldeer said plainly, “if you shoot him, then I suggest you shoot me as well. Because I won’t come willingly.”

“Interesting, Farseer. Interesting indeed.” He eyed Liivi sternly before finally lowering his gun. “Very well.” He extended his hand. “I understand this is a mon-... a human gesture of friendship.” Liivi stepped forward and took it, somewhat hesitantly. This was another practice he was vaguely familiar with, having seen it through the scope many times before, typically performed by the target.

“I’m Captain Gilfavor, temporary appointment, leading this mission. You’re Liivi. Now pick up your gun and get walking. We’ve got a mission to complete and we have one day cycle to do it.”
-----

[Close. Closecloseclosecloseclose.]

The eversor twiddled its fingers happily. This was one of those rare occasions where the anticipation of killing hated enemies superseded the hate itself. The task had taken some searching, but it had found their trail at last. The snow had almost hidden their passage. Almost. But almost doesn’t count in games of life or death. The headless man sitting outside the command bunker had certainly learned that. He had almost gotten away. But in the end, his head had gotten away from him. That was the work of an exitus round, no mistaking it.

Happy to be on the right track, the eversor joyously kicked in the door, sending it flying off of it’s hinges and into a filing cabinet.

It had hoped that the targets would still be in here. Instead it found only fluttering papers, bloodied sheets, and depleted medical supplies.

[Hate.]

Surely they couldn’t have gone far.
----

Liivi stuck at Taldeer’s flank while hiking alongside the Captain. It took longer to leave than expected. The pilot and ranger were left entombed in the Vampire Raider, soulstones given to Gilfavor.

They left the crash site wordlessly, squad members at times eyeing them with suspicion, worry, or some combination.

“So,” the captain said, “understand I won’t hesitate to shoot you, should you show the least sign of hostility. *However,* friend or enemy, Farseer Taldeer is alive because of you. Death is a fate I would wish only the most depraved of my kin. Our souls are forfeit to the Great Enemy - without a soul stone, we are damned. So, we of Ulthwe thank you for saving one of our precious Farseers. Each one is worth several of us,” he glared at Taldeer. “Even if that one may be incompetent - even cowardly.”

She considered responding, but she didn’t have the energy. She wasn’t even sure if his accusations were wrong.

“Taldeer did not exhibit fear characteristics in her actions. She fought well, despite fear. A notable achievement was the elimination of a space marine from a chapter unknown to me, most likely a force endemic to the Inquisition. He was using gray artifice armor of a variety unknown to me, and w-”

“Save your testimony for later. I’ll take this opportunity to fill you in.”

Liivi looked at Taldeer. She looked back at him. They both looked at Gilfavor.

“Our target is the anti orbital flak battery. Currently the fleet is performing evasive maneuvers, pricking the enemy with raids to keep them away. But orbit is filling with more and more ships, and the humans keep erecting installations like this one. We’ve negotiated a ceasefire with the Tau, and that’s bought us some extra time. But we’re running out of space. This is one of many installations we’re clearing for an escape vector.”

The farseer avoided eye contact. “What about the soulstones of the fallen?”

“They’ll be retrieved. Either through diplomacy or another campaign. If you’re fortunate, maybe you’ll even get to be a part of it.” He let the silence hang for a few seconds. “In any case, the crash wasn’t a huge setback. We would have preferred to do it quietly, about 1 of your ‘kilometer’ further, but Machmes did his best. He got us close to the intended landing position. Imperial radio chatter indicated they were focused on the Orks. We shouldn’t see search patrols for awhile. If we’re lucky, they’ll assume we’re dead.

We’ll make camp once we’re within an hours march of the battery. From there, Taesan,” he pointed to the lanky ranger, who nodded, “will scout the location. Our healer, Mellorena,” he gestured to the diminutive female guardian, who smiled nervously, “will tend to your wounds, Farseer. We’ll see what she can do with you, human. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”
---

The sun had only a quarter of the sky left.

Pyschokinesis has its advantages. Taldeer and Tanlon were quickly able to erect a snow bunker.

In one corner, Liivi sat with Taesan, who was inspecting his equipment one last time. The ranger turned out to be quite sociable, and was even fluent in gothic. In another corner, Mellorena began her work on Taldeer, tying her short red hair back. The rest of the squad sat on the other side of the square room, meditating or talking amongst themselves.

Sitting on a blanket, the farseer removed her armor piece by piece. “My goodness!” Mellorena’s face was fraught with worry as she surveyed the injuries. “You poor thing. How long have you been like this?”

“About .”

“I’m shocked you haven’t died of blood loss. You’re very lucky. ”

“I had to use a pack of artificial human blood. It worked.”

“Hm. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who deserves thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m just walking my path. I don’t like seeing people hurt. It’s why I’m here.”

“That’s a curious motivation for being a guardian.”

She smiled meekly, rubbing a pyschoplastic protein-nanite salve onto Taldeer’s abdomen. “Well it’s true. Tanlon’s war mask makes the other part of my job easier. It’s dangerous work. But somebody has to do it. We can’t just leave you to die out here.”

Taldeer didn’t respond.

“O-oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t hate you two.”

“That’s sweet. I’m glad somebody doesn’t.” The farseer smiled at the healer.

“Alright, now shush. I’ll have you feeling better than ever, but working on the torso is tricky when people talk.” Runes along the Mellorena’s arms began glowing as she set about her work, and the salve started flowing into Taldeer’s wounds.
----

“Alright, let’s get the big question out of the way: ballistic, or energy weapons?” Taesan wore a good natured smile as he checked his climbing gear.

“It depends on the situation.”

“Safe answer. But which one do you like to shoot?” Liivi pondered the thought. “Ballistics.”

“Same here. Now don’t misunderstand, I love my rifle. But it does so much of the work for me. Ballistics are so much more exciting. But eldar don’t like taking chances, so they give us rifles that aim for us.”

“Vindicare’s machine spirits and cogitator implants are similar.”

“But you still have to do it. There’s a difference.”

“True.”

He hummed as he worked on his rifle.

“Taesan, you appear more relaxed around humans.”

“Because I am. I know plenty of humans. Not in the imperium. But the humans outside it aren’t all bad. Mostly just stupid. It isn’t entirely their fault - too short lived to learn anything. Pretty funny though.”

The ranger leaned in close and whispered. “By the way, just ignore the captain’s jabs. He’s all war-mask. Well, not all, because he gets way too pissy. But that’s what makes him a good captain.” He beamed at Gilfavor as he walked past - the captain responded with a stern glare.

“Well, time to go.”
---

It was half an hour since Taesan left. Primary Taldeer was almost healed. Only her arm and leg remained. Livii glanced at the farseer before returning to the his pistol’s maintenance. Much of the light had returned to her eyes, and she was speaking happily with the nurse. Mellorena seemed quite proficient in her art - the scars that ran across Taldeer’s body were barely visible. There was something about her body which made it hard to look away. This was unfamiliar and confusing.

Confusion aside, Taldeer was his primary, and his primary must be protected. Protecting primary Taldeer required that this pistol function well.

Both of the striking scorpions walked over and sat in front of him. They had been talking in what seemed to be a heated discussion, with others occasionally chiming in.

“Liivi.” The male pointed at Liivi.

“Barroth.” He pointed to himself. “Elnys.” He pointed to the female.

Barroth put his gun between Liivi and himself, then pointed to the exitus pistol.

Liivi stared in response.

Tanlon piped up from the corner he was meditating in. “They want to look at your pistol for a bit. He’s offering a trade.”

Slowly, cautiously, he pushed the exitus towards them.
---

It was more the colonists and the Exodites staying out of each others way and trading a bit. Joining forces when invaders came calling then going back to their lives.

Exactly the sort of thing that makes neckbearded Warderp 40Shit players screech.

How many children has Vect sired with these two by now?

And that's all I have written which has been blended into a narrative. There are other sections, some dialogue and character interaction stuff, ideas or whatever. But nothing I'd really want to post or spoil without integrating it into the narrative first. Criticism is of course welcome.

I confess I wasn't sure what to do with adding my own characters, or some of medical tech I described. There's nothing on eldar medics that I could find, and the idea that they'd run squads without field medics, especially squads with little support and deep in enemy territory, is nothing short of fucking bonkers.

I felt like adding my own characters might come off as sidelining Liivi or Taldeer. But I reasoned that the only way this could end on a somewhat positive note is if they were able to hitch a ride with a friendly squad off world. If that's the way it's gonna be, I felt like I may as well try to write that squad well, rather than just having them as shallow characters in the background. That necessarily means that some time would have to be given to them. Fundamentally though, they're still support characters.

Anyway, yeah, I'll try to get around to finishing it if you lot are satisfied with the direction it's taking. I can post it on the wiki with the original text formatting. I originally crutched on italics to demonstrate when something was being thought or spoken, so I needed to make slight edits to what I posted here.

I'd love to see it finished! It's just getting exciting!

If I may give some constructive criticism, though-- please, please make LIIVI's torso slash a little shallower. One that cuts a *lower* rib clean through, even if it shallows fast, is almost guaranteed to lay open an important organ, and depending on details the resulting infection could at least keep him from getting back on his feet, if not kill him a just a couple of days. I mean, it can easily go *into* the bone, but half of an *Eldar's* finger length is pretty darn deep for an abdominal cut.

>the Eversor was about to kill them but then Gorgutz killed him and stole LIIVI's shoota
>he used said shoota to trade to a blood axe nob for a ship
>said nob went back in time while in space because lol the warp
>ends up in Armageddon
>he krumps another 'umie sneaky git and steals his shoota
>finds it funny to snipe marines and has grots reload them between shots
>keeps killin inquisitive type humies wot want his shootas
>Taldeer and her boytoy get picked up by Kyras after giving birth somehow, canon ensues

...

Thank you! I'm glad you like it. I've got some interesting things planned for it.

>please, please make LIIVI's torso slash a little shallower.
That's a very good point. I'm not quite sure what to do about it, since I don't want to retcon any of bloomwriter's stuff if I can avoid it. I only wanted to pick up before the tone shift. He had the thing expose LIIVI's heart, if I'm remembering it correctly. I anticipated that my change wouldn't give LIIVI long to live if untreated, but my reasoning was that, if the two of them didn't get off world soon, they weren't going to live long anyway. So getting him on his feet was good enough. They'd die for sure without that step.

I was thinking I'd have Mellorena do what she could for him. Eldar biology is different from human, obviously, so the tissue regrowth crap wouldn't really work. But she could probably clean and suture the wound, at least. A temporary fix until they evacuate. On a Craftworld with access to real medical tech, he'd probably be in the clear. Maybe. Hopefully?

I'll definitely change it if that won't work. I just want to avoid changing what Bloomwriter wrote. Regardless of what is decided on, from a writers perspective I still think the injury needs to be somewhat severe, because it moves LIIVI to a position of dependence and reverses their character dynamic. They both grow from that as characters and that struggle is beneficial to the story.

>I just want to avoid changing what Bloomwriter wrote. Regardless of what is decided on, from a writers perspective I still think the injury needs to be somewhat severe

Oh, absolutely! Especially about the reversed dynamic. I think the most important thing would be that the large intestine remains intact-- open that up and it's infection city, E. coli and stuff.

I've got the original version up--

>The blade had started at the base of his bottom, leftmost rib, and worked up, ending at the right clavicle. It was a surface cut, the first rib was cut and the second broken, but after that no other bone damage. The muscle had been shorn off, and it looked like that where it had gone, the flesh had fried. The heart was barely visible, thumping and pulsating

--and frankly some of it doesn't even make anatomical sense. His heart*beat* might be visually detectable to more-sensitive-than-ours eyes, but the heart itself is still safe inside the ribcage; he should have a whole lotta muscle damage, but the cut didn't reach any bone above the diaphragm. Actually, looks like maybe his stomach got nicked and *that's* where the blood he was hacking up came from-- which it just occurred to me would release freaking hydrochloric acid into his innards.

... I think I'm over thinking all this a little, but I did enjoy my anatomy class... Suffice to say, no offense to Bloom Writer but I don't think he thought about this quite enough.

Well, it's your decision from here on!

I sincerely hope someone adds all this to the LCB page on 1d4. user has done a good thing.

A better question is how many of those children are still alive?

Overthinking it is what has led me to produce something that I feel pretty comfortable with, so I'm all for overthinking! Hell, half the fun of writing is the research. I ordered a shitload of books on linguistics and proto-indo-european to compose an ancient language in the celtic family, and a few other languages. I also just ordered a book for the history of German ethnic food - the only one in english I could find! It's dividied up by region which is very useful for what I'm doing, but I just hope it traces the history back into the middle ages and the Holy Roman Empire. Plus, I emailed an old Greek professor of mine not too long ago asking for some books on the social aspects of and philosophy of the poleis, as well as how the environment influenced what they became. Trust me, I over think things.

Perhaps the blood could come from impact damage to the chest. For whatever reason, the spear didn't cut as deep as it could have and so a lot of the immense force behind that swing was imparted right into his chest. Would fuck up muscle, might nick an artery or two, would probably damage lungs, but then he might drown in his own blood while sleeping, which would be bad. Could cause damage to the esophagus instead maybe?

I've read a lot on "the best place to have an incapacitating but non-life threatening injury." Most authors have, I'm sure. And the conclusion of a lot of soldiers and medical personnel is that "there really isn't one." Shoulder has arteries. Chest has important organs. Thighs and calves are still rich in arteries. Head, well...

I'm a sucker for detail, so I hate to say this, but perhaps it would just be better to gloss over it. Not that I'm going to give up without a fight. But if I can't win it, I can't win it.

Shucks. Thanks user. I've got the original document with all the formatting stuff, so I can do it later. Alternatively I can upload it as a pdf. I made some edits here that I need to transfer to the document, though.

Half of them, so 30 or so.

Hah, I like languages too! Don't have the spare time for 'em these days, sadly. But I'll analyze almost anything.

What I don't know enough about is the effect of physics on the human body on a large scale. And it occurred to me that the paragraph I quoted was from after your changeover point, so I went looking earlier and only found this:

>The blade had entered the small intestine, and worked its way up, searing and tearing as it went.

Which clearly indicates serious intestinal damage and complicates the path of the weapon even FURTHER! I spent a couple minutes mentally flailing to the tune of "but this makes *no sense*!"

heh. Well, your best has been good so far. I don't think it's humanly possible to reconcile all the original details with any degree of plausibility, but maybe something vague that doesn't openly contradict the original. And at least LIIVI can be assumed to be slightly tougher than a baseline human.

I'll probably just say it was shallower than it initially appeared. I'll slightly change what I wrote so it won't be half a finger deep any more. Maybe a fourth, since I imagine LIIVI with some pretty thick pectorals. It'll run from the upper abdomen and through the pectoral, getting deepest in the middle of the pectoral where it nicked a rib, cracking it. The loss of a tooth or three was the source of all the blood. Bleeding in the mouth would be much more manageable, and could still produce a nice volume of blood, plus it's capable of entering the esophagus and so causing coughing. If that doesn't work, well, whatever. Author fiat.

Remember when Tigerius was Half-Eldar? Pepperidge Farms remembers...

>fanfiction for people that couldn't care about Eldar
that doesn't sound bad at all desu

i hope they'll purge girlyman and revert all his changes in a fit of complete autism

Oh, of course, the mouth! And a more plausible weapon path. That all looks good.

Just one other thing that occurred to me, less serious, but if LIIVI hasn't eaten since childhood, his stomach won't react too well to more than a small amount of food.

Bumping for 40k love

Better question- Sons of Malice Warband OC stories when? I want stories of silent nihlistic internal dialouge prone anti-heretic anti-loyalists normie-hating Hereticnotheretics doing the random cosmic shitposting game whilst picking up a chosen slave to eat whole at the famoly dinner as they listen to their summoned patron's incoherent, sometimes helpful rambling and anarchy-prone verbal shitposting, next to privatized Malice missions on imperilal worlds, out to fuck up Chaos incursions or steal power via their parasitic wargear and act incredibly badass and "Did you just eat a Bloodletter" levels of fucked up, on top of screwing with daemonkind, placing them in ironic- anti-nature based prisons of torment, the like of Daemonettes forced to endure everlasting teasing whilst all emotions and feeling are numbed to the point of worthlessness near a blank, Bloodletters forced to watch conflict after conflict they cannot partake in, significant commanders and aspiring military figures being denied their place to shine by hook horrors, and boons of chaos being stolen by Dragon-rats and Great Malal daemons alike.

Basically, Sons of Malice being the Umman Manda of the 41st Millenium. That and Hook Horrors driving Cato Sicarius to madness denying him his spotlight.

>MADE YER OWN FREAD YA SPIKY GIT!

...

If Guilliman cheat on his waifu with a Squat___ would everyone lose their shit?

>Well, at least he is banging something that is part human.

Dude, eldar are a race of degenerates. They once degenerated so hard that they created a god of degeneracy, that still loses the degenerate arms race, to their degenerate brothers. At least a billion of them have a monkey fetish.

In a world of 8 billion people all bad mistakes have been made, the eldar having trillions of members and that they are more degenerate than /d/, means that anything can happen.

My issue with it is the fact that it happens to a named character, fanficiton should keep named character out

Shame about what actually happened to Taldeer in canon.

I wish I had a dad...

...

I'm guessing she didn't win Dark Crusade

Blood Ravens win, Taldeer basically dies and is reduced to a soul gem, fast forward to DoW3 and she allows herself to be fused to a Wraithknight construct in order to defeat a power-mad Eldar leader.

Are you implying you can't have a wraithknight for a waifu? If you pilot it then you're always inside her.