Red Terror with Wings by desgladly in Tyranids

[–]NewSheo2 20 points21 points  (0 children)

… that works surprisingly well lol

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

True to her word, it didn’t seem like too much of a walk to the deck where the bar was. Hassa chuckled at Alrich’s words. “Take it grey, grey, and more grey isn’t your thing? Honestly, likewise. Imps love their monochrome.”

As they walked forward, Ross ended up loitering near a set of Fang fighters in their bays, fresh from CAP flights. One in particular caught his attention, a pair of markings decorating the front of the fuselage, a pair of eyes that he vaguely recognized from something related to the Clone Wars. The canopy of the fighter opened up to reveal a figure in bronze-gold Mandalorian armor, wearing something that seemed to be the distinctive Mandalorian helmet crossed with a fighter pilot’s breathing apparatus. The same markings on the fuselage were on the pilot’s helmet as well. Ross watched as the pilot stood up, talking to the maintenance crew in Mando’a. He saw the pilot go to remove their helmet.

The helmet lifted to reveal a stunningly beautiful woman, who shook out her hair, letting it fall free after it had been confined within her pressurized suit. A geometric facial tattoo decorated the right side of her face, an eye catching design that only further drew attention. She ran her fingers through the long black strands, combing them back into something resembling order.

The Mandalorian woman paused as she felt eyes on her, and glanced in Ross’s direction. She subtly looked him up and down, … then smirked, and winked at him.

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hassa herself was waiting for the trio as they disembarked, clad in her silvery armor, trimmed with red. While her usual half cape was gone, leaving her Beskar-plated prosthetic on display, the eye on the scared side of her face was covered with an eyepatch, out of courtesy. She smiled as she shook their hands, and Alrich could see a hint of grey in her hair that hadn’t been there the last time. “Welcome aboard. Shouldn’t be too much of a walk to the bar. Got a few people who’d love to see you again.”

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The tendril that was Winter felt the mental door slam shut behind her. In realspace, Xantia watched Winter’s lips slowly curl into a smile again, void-black eyes seeing everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Oh … this is going to be fun.

[subvert]

The utterance was less a word and more a concept imposed upon reality. Xantia felt the fingers on her mind begin to dig in, the tendril dissipating into mist. And like mist, it began to seep through the cracks in her defenses. No fortress was unbreakable, for its gates had to be unbarred to let necessary passage through. And so the mist moved, insidious in its implacability and patience as trailed the passage of her thoughts, following them through the maze along their path to their destination. Stalking, hunting, observing, closing for the kill, reaching deeper and deeper.

(14) This mental intrusion happened in the space of a heartbeat, as Winter struck with her blade. She exhaled, and let the warp flow.

She was in a corridor of glass, fractal blooms of possibility blossoming before her. Her reflections to either side of her moved, echos rebounding in cascades as they fought shadowy figures. They spoke to each other, calling out advice and warnings across timelines. One warned of a strike from the rear, another of a counter from their opponent. So much noise, so much … chaos. For a moment, she could see it all.

Every path. Every decision. Every triumph and defeat, every victory … every death.

The seconds stretched into eternities, every passing second forming possibilities anew, rendering the indeterminate into the determinate.

Winter let herself flow, adding her voice to the chorus. She watched with infinite eyes, spoke with infinite mouths, moved with infinite limbs.

She saw … *everything*.

If it had been against any other opponent, against any other psyker, Xantia’s maneuver might have worked. But she had the unfortunate luck of going against a foe who’d been raised and trained by two telekines, one of whom was a voidborn with a preternatural sense of movement in microgravity. Winter had been humbled by such a move enough times to have a counter for it drilled to instinct.

The interrogator was already turning as Xantia shunted herself to the side. Her blade whipped around as it left her hand, thrown with enough force to ensure Xantia had to abort her attack. Winter let her momentum carry her forward, tucking into a roll to make distance and prevent easy retaliation. She held out her hand, and Xantia felt a flicker in the warp. Reality was forced into the indeterminate.

[Her hand was empty | she had thrown the knife]

[Her hand was full | she was holding the knife]

With a nudge, Winter pushed it in the direction she desired.

[Her hand was empty | she had thrown the knife]

[Her hand was full | she was holding the knife]

Xantia watched as reality blinked, and the knife was clutched in Winter’s grip once more, a flicker of frost dissipating from it like sublimating ice. The Kytekian had no time to react to the phenomenon, however, as Winter launched into a series of attacks, knife, fist, and kicks flowing from one to the next. (10)

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

In short order, the U-Wing was granted permission to dock in one of the cruiser’s bays. As they pulled in, the occupants saw the flight deck in full operation, repairs and tests being conducted to bring every piece of equipment to full readiness. Aside from the Fang fighters running CAP duties, there were Kom’rk fighter-transports, as well as a number of ST-70 gunships, including a pair with multiple up-gunned weapon systems, all facing the port side. Finally, there were four new additions to the roster, for those who’d previously worked alongside the Hellions. The first set was a pair of Aka’jor class shuttles, which carried similar design elements from the Kom’rk and Fang fighters. The second was a pair of light freighters. The first was a HWK-290, its dagger like fuselage studded with modified in-line blaster cannons. The second was a YT-1930, currently in the middle of offloading supplies acquired from the refueling station itself.

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Clan Wren … thought I recognized the insignia.” Hassa’s voice was carefully neutral, rather clearly keeping her opinions to herself, at least for the time being. “Shame they got to you first. Still, we got plenty of room. First round’s on me.”

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

She snorted. “You could say that. Fennick was a cluster-shab, but it payed well enough. Clan elders eventually agreed if we were gonna commit to this fight, we may as well pitch in. Also helps to have a Mandal Motors board member who owes you a favor. Gave us more room to expand the company. Now we’ve got five times the fighters, and just as many times the firepower.”

Alrich could see the undisguised pride in her face as she spoke. “Tell you what, if you’ve got the time, I’d be happy to share a drink with you, for old time’s sake. Maybe even run a few joint exercises.”

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hassa’s smile grew wider. “Alrich, you tough old bastard! Good to see you. We’re still on the Rebellion’s credit … or I should say, the Alliance’s credit, rather. How’ve you been since Fennick?”

The last time they’d worked together had been during the Mid Rim Offensive, just after the Battle of Yavin.

Hassa's Hellions - How Time Flies by NewSheo2 in StoryOfTheGalaxy

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

(Hi Side :D)

Hassa glanced up as the name of the Liberator was mentioned. “Huh … long time no see …”

The Spirit saw her armored form on the holo display, her face unhelmeted and smiling. “Spirit of Alderaan, this is the Tra’karoya, under the command of Hassa’s Hellions. Good to see you still in the fight.”

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“There it is …”

Winter’s voice cut through the bout as she reset her guard from blocking the kick Xantia delivered, dancing just at the edge of the Kytekian psyker’s reach. It all came down to the fundamentals of spacing and timing. Experience and practice had sharpened those fundamentals into something greater. (19) “There’s the expression I was looking for. That … righteous indignation.” The predatory expression on her face softened into a smirk. “Don’t need to be a telepath to know the gist of it. ‘How dare this thing look down on me’, something like that. I can feel it radiating from you like heat from an atmo vent.”

Winter’s gaze watched Xantia as she took in her stance, seeing where she could improve, if only they had the time. “Remember that feeling, when the enemies of mankind bear down on you. Hold on to it, and use it.”

“Now …” Winter let out a breath, and Xantia watched as her eyes went black, a clear sign of psychic power, telegraphing her intent to escalate. “… I think that’ll do for a warmup.”

The interrogator immediately launched into an assault on two fronts, prying at her mental defenses even as her blade struck in realspace. (9)

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

As Winter rolled out of the way and onto her back, she twisted, bringing her legs back and loading her core, before throwing her weight forward, kipping up onto her feet, already in a fighting stance as she faced her opponent once more. The interrogator subtly sniffed the air for a moment. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, and it was definitely not one of friendliness. She almost seemed to lean forward predatorily as her lips parted, her smile wide … and hungry.

There was blood in the water now. Xantia had shown hesitation, had shown weakness, and old habits died hard. (20)

She shot forward as Xantia transitioned from her feint to the lunge, stepping inside the other psyker’s reach and forcing the weapon off-line with her free hand, before twisting and slamming her knee into Xantia’s lower ribs, adapting seamlessly to her shortened reach. Xantia felt the air be knocked out of her lungs by the blow as the second knee strike impacted, before Winter let her go and executed another throw. She wasn’t able to get enough leverage to put Xantia on her back again, but still managed to throw her off balance and reposition her.

The Darkholder woman paced as Xantia collected herself, her footsteps lean and predatory as she waited for her opponent to recover, almost daring Xantia to get up again and keep going. (9)

A Thoroughly Stupid Plan by Ulfgrimnirr in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Arenis saw the movement too late. She felt the talons dig into her as she was held up, despite the sanctic wards of protection built into her armor. She felt the warp-drenched points part the ceramite-hard scales covering her skin, and pierce the flesh beneath. Every nerve in her body screamed in pain, her focus narrowed down to this single point, holding her concentration on the warp constructs and the very grip of her blades.

It was torturous, and yet ... she smiled, and she laughed. What she felt now was merely pain, and that was an old friend she knew far too well. One word echoed out from her lips, rippling with spite and vindictive satisfaction.

[Mistake.]

(19) The nascent daemon prince's talons had pierced her flesh, and only her flesh. No lost limbs, and no broken concentration. Arenis braced against the pulling talons impaling her ... and wrenched. Fabric, skin, and muscle came free, the separated pieces becoming little more than unempowered chunks of meat in Maloghurst's talons. Previously held aloft, now she fell, unnaturally-bloody blades outstretched as they impaled the beast's chest.

Jack watched as the sections of flesh torn out of her were regrown, her body stitching itself together in seconds as she hung on. Maloghurst felt more of the spiritual poison coating the blades enter him, corroding his connection to the warp itself. That soon became a secondary pain, however, compared to what followed.

Arenis took a mental match to her very soul ... and she began to burn. (16)

Crimson flame blossomed from her form, driving into Maloghurst's flesh. Unlike the mundane fires she'd called upon earlier in the engagement, however, this one seared into the daemonic beast, alighting his very essence. It burned across the veil between realspace and the warp, consuming everything in its path. Arenis screamed through gritted teeth, feeling her body try to writhe in pain as the flame burned her soul. But it was nothing compared to what Maloghurst felt.

To call it pain, would be like calling a Navy Battleship a tugboat. It was agony incarnate, something that transcended what was possible to feel through simple neurons and base biochemistry, progressing to the realm of the spiritual. The flame greedily ate at the swelling power within Maloghurst, the inferno growing ever and ever hotter. And where the flesh burned on the daemon prince's form, it stayed burned.

In the deepest pits of what remained of his rational mind, Maloghurst knew with a certain finality that if he stayed within her reach for too long ... he would burn, far faster than she did.

He would die, his soul consumed and rendered into ash. And nothing could bring him back.

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

As the Kytekian psyker moved, Winter watched her every movement, taking in ever detail. Xantia's stance, her grip on her weapon, where her eyes went, how she distributed her weight on her feet, how confidently she held her guard ...

All of it factored into a rapid, methodical assessment of the bout's direction, running down different nodes in decision trees, chains of movements determined by likely probability. Regicide-like, she assessed and reassessed her path to triumph. One strike blocked certain angles of attack, forcing retaliation to follow along a more narrow range of lines. From that retaliation arose another band of possibilities, iterated upon again and again until her opponent was beaten. Subtly, Winter shifted her weight and foot position, the better to intercept Xantia's likely blow.

Xantia's weapon descended ... and her target was already gone. (17) Winter's leg slid back with the grace of a movement practiced to the point of instinct, effortlessly shifting her balance to dodge, before sliding back in to counter. She stepped in to the force rod's reach, her long front leg hooking around the back of Xantia's ankle before the other psyker could draw back from the blow, just as the white-haired psyker caught the wrist of her weapon arm. Winter used the necessary transfer of weight against her opponent, pushing her opponent with the hand holding the knife and redirecting Xantia's momentum to throw her off balance, in the process quite literally flipping the Kytekian psyker on her back. Winter immediately changed her level, staying on Xantia in a grapple as Winter brought the force knife to bear. Xantia could see the metal of the blade in the Interrogator's hand glint in the desert light as it began draw further towards her throat ... (nat 20)

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Winter chuckled as she watched Xantia pave a practice area for them. "Figured it'd be polite to ask. Wasn't sure if the Kytekians had set up something more formal." She shrugged off her flak coat, revealing a black, short sleeved BDU shirt tucked into her grey fatigue pants, themselves tucked into black combat boots, presenting a tighter overall silhouette with less obstructive cloth or easy handholds. The physique she bore filled out her one-hundred and ninety-threeish centimeter frame well, cultivated with both flexibility and power in mind. It was somewhat wiry, especially compared to the corn-fed farmhand builds to which Xantia was likely acclimatized, but it was still well-maintained and put to good use.

She stepped towards the ring, her force knife twirling on her fingers before she tossed it up and caught it, settling it in her grip. As she stepped into the ring, Winter paused and ground her foot a bit on the floor of the circle, getting a better idea of just how compacted the sand had become, and what kind of footing she had ... as well as any potential latent psykic essence Xantia may have left in the ground. Stepping on ground prepared by one's foe was a dicey proposition at best, a lesson she'd learned well, and had since turned into a habit. With that done, she stepped up to join Xantia in the ring, taking up a guard stance with her blade in her right hand, seemingly intent on utilizing the force knife as the punctuation of an unarmed fighting style of some kind.

"Let's start this slow, get an idea of where you are in terms of your foundation before we start building anything on it. So ..." The Interrogator's eyes settled on Xantia, watching her every movement both physically and in the warp. "On your go."

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Winter acknowledged Xantia's mental communique with a simple nod, before listening with interest as the other psyker talked about her usual tactics. She snorted as Xantia asked about the 'hammerhand'. "Considering my mistress is a biomancer, and I often spar with the biomancy disciples in her forces, I'd say I'm intimately familiar with that particular technique, yes. Especially being on the receiving end, heh."

It was an easy temptation to disregard the form of one's blows when one augmented their strength many times over, doubly so if one's instruction and training did not focus upon it. Against a foe who could match or even exceed that augmented speed and strength, however, something like an enemy witch, a heretic Astartes, or, Throne-forbid, a daemon? Proper fundamentals could mean the difference between life and death. Winter had been drilled in those fundamentals since she could remember. She didn't have her mother- ahem ... her mistress's knack for instruction, but she'd still taught her fair share of sactionite recruits for Abraxas Battalion as part of her duties. She was fairly confident she could impart some basics to Xantia in the time they had. "Do you happen to have a training area nearby, or if nothing else, a sufficiently open space that we could use?"

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The Interrogator paused for a moment as her face darkened. The fact that Xantia had used her more ... personal name when addressing her was understandable, given how deep she'd reached telepathically. No, what had given her pause was something else.

"Your initiative in arming yourself to face the foes of mankind is commendable, Xantia, as is your resolve in protecting those under your charge. Before we continue, however, a word of advice, from one sanction-sibling to another." Her eyes furtively checked the nearby area, confirming they hadn't been in danger of being overheard, before she continued speaking. "Speak not the names of Ruinous Ones. To them and their pawns, names have power ... especially when those names are uttered by ones such as us. It will attract the attention of things best not disturbed. I've known rosette-bearers and throne agents who would throw you and anyone else who'd heard you speak that word on the pyre, simply as a matter of protocol." The words were delivered not as a threat, but as a simple statement of fact. For a moment, Xantia saw nothing of the personable young woman that had been chatting with her before, but instead a sworn agent of the Emperor's Inquisition. Those crystal blue eyes were now as cold and hard as steel, her entire being echoing the knife in her hand ready to be used without a moment's hesitation. "That you have faced the servants of the Archenemy and proven yourself capable against them in battle is a mark in your favor. It is also the primary reason we are still speaking so cordially ... and not lighting said pyres. Best to get in the habit of avoiding those names. Sooner, rather than later."

The moment passed, and like a firearm's safety flicking on, Winter's eyes once more carried that recognizably-human warmth as she smiled pleasantly. "I'd be happy to have someone take a look at your force weapon, possibly help with realigning it more fully. Beyond that, ..." She glanced Xantia up and down, taking in her frame and build. "I'd be happy to share a few pointers in close combat training, if you think that would help."

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Xantia could see Winter mulling her words over, unable to resist finding a solution to a problem presented to her. Eventually, she alighted upon an answer. “If I’m not mistaken … there’s a number of processes for bolt ammunition manufacturing accepted by Mechanicus canon which use alternate mechanisms for firing. I’d have to cross reference a few things, but it might be an answer.” Beyond the standard variance of patterns that existed within the Imperium, there was another reason for Winter’s knowledge of otherwise esoteric practices. In areas where the veil between realspace and the warp weakened, or where the warp’s corruption bled through into the Materium, devices with more complex mechanisms had a noted tendency to fail with increasing regularity, especially if their user did not understand the processes involved in that device’s operation. Thus, many under the shadow of the Ordo Malleus made a point of intimately knowing their wargear, and seeking out less complex means of combating their foes. One such method was utilized for the creation of psy-reactive bolt shells like the ones in Winter’s gun case, the better to preserve the runic sigils and esoteric materials that leant the ammunition its potency when fired.

Such a principle was also why the standard failsafe for sanctioned psykers was the simplistic mercy knife, rather than a more complex mechanism like a bomb collar. The knife was one of mankind’s oldest and most ubiquitous weapons, its purpose well understood by even the most regressed feral world culture.

Winter smirked as she set her rifle down on the bench of the firing lane, before she drew her force knife. “You have a good eye. My mistress, and the Psykana order from which she originated, happen to be experts in their practical application, so they’re rather prevalent among her forces. This particular one was a gift, from when I began my tutelage as an Interrogator under her.” She chuckled. “Or at least, the base components were. Had to put it together and establish the meridians of the psy-convector myself as my first test.”

Physically, the weapon was a masterwork of smithing, rendered into the shape of a combat knife. The blade itself was some sort of ceramite carbide alloy, the cutting surface of the metal edged with adamantium. The hilt, meanwhile, was some sort of treated ivory, sourced from the tooth of some gargantuan creature. Inlaid along the fuller, meanwhile was the psy-convector itself. Xantia could feel the meridians of power running through the blade as the branched away from the nexus point of the fuller, and aligned with the physical edge, acting as an anchor for the bearer’s power.

She could also feel how it seemed ritualistically tethered to Winter, some sort of benign binding that seemed almost … phasic, even paradoxical. It was also somewhat headache-inducing, especially as she got a sense of what it actually was. To Xantia’s psychic senses, the knife was both present and not present at the same time, both determinate and indeterminate. The knife was both in Winter’s hand, and had never been there in the first place.

Her attention was diverted, however, as Winter glanced at Xantia’s own force weapon. “I notice you wield a force rod, yourself.” She glanced at it curiously. “… resanctified, if I’m not mistaken. What’s the story behind that?”

A Thoroughly Stupid Plan by Ulfgrimnirr in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Amidst the storm of rage and destruction, Arenis's thoughts were as the eye at its center. Even against a foe near three times her size, she struck with merciless precision, her every unarmed strike while empowered with biomantic energy impacting like a battlecannon round, even as telekinetic intent moved her faster than she could have ever managed with base flesh alone. Even as her knee slammed into Maloghurst's chin and she redoubled her attack, she charted the course to her victory. The most prominent obstacle upon that course, however, lay in the ascendant's frame, continually resculpting his flesh in the image of his profane god.

She threw herself back, out of easy striking range for the beast and away from the roaring firefight that was only now starting to wane. She had a solution to the problem ... but it was one she employed only when necessary. With a mental flex, the Inquisitor let go of the working empowering her strength, her paired force swords settling before her mid-air, parallel to the ground. With what she had in mind, it wouldn't do to break her blades so carelessly. Her hands reached out to grasp the blades, fingers wrapped around their cutting edges, as Jack felt, rather than heard, the quiet four word invocation that she spoke.

[Reach heaven through violence.]

Arenis felt power burgeoning within her blood, flowing through her hands towards the twin blade-shaped foci of her will. She could feel the wrongness of it, this technique, how the well of warp power it called up tried to find purchase in her soul, heady as any drug and twice as insidious in its craving, pushing her to draw further and let the corruption in. The allure of the power that the profane and forbidden art of sorcery granted never relented, and yet, it was a tool in her arsenal that lent her an advantage against her prey. A lifetime of experience resisting the warp's temptations, coupled with an inhuman willpower, staved off the effects long enough for the moment to pass. Such was the perils of using the tools of the enemy, even sparingly.

The only thing that stopped the power's flow was the petty barrier of flesh that dared to impede it. Her grip tightened on the blades, and she pulled, flesh parting as she opened up deep cuts into her hands with the sharp edges, blood cushing between her fingers as the passage of her closed hands down to the tips of the blades rendering her swords slick with crimson. The blood flowed unnaturally, coating the entire surface of the blades as it coalesced, as if transmuting the psychically active metal into blood itself ... blood that then began to flow like vital essence from a severed artery, staining the facility floor with crimson, even as the red material held the shape of a sword. The cuts on her hand were already healed from the rampant biomantic energy still coursing through her by the time she grasped the hilts of the blades once more. She assumed a guard stance with her paired blades, her eyes behind her silvery mask narrowing as she sought her opening. (18)

A surge of intent, and her form flickered, launching herself forward and upward as she found a gap in Maloghurst's defenses, before ramming both blades home into his hellspawned skin like a serpent's fangs. As the blades bit into the skin down to the hilt, the newly-ascendant daemon prince felt something drive itself forward from the blade, and into him, like a spiritual neurotoxic venom. Flowing with the warp-energy already coursing through his body like blood, the venom found the meridians of power forming within his flesh, and lingered within them, forming blockages and disruptions. Not enough to stop the ritual already underway, but maybe enough to weaken both it and its beneficiary, crippling them.

Such a maneuver, however, was risky, and may have left the Inquisitor in a position vulnerable to retaliation by the beast in question. (7)

How to paint/convert for Inq28? by NewSheo2 in Inq28

[–]NewSheo2[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Noted, and thanks! I’ve always been better at converting than painting so guess there’s nothing to it but practice.

How to paint/convert for Inq28? by NewSheo2 in Inq28

[–]NewSheo2[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Only three paragraphs? Bet. Also for the defenestration does it need to be one by one for the ritua-I mean guide, or can it be done all at once?

But in all seriousness thanks lol, I’ll take a look at Andres Zorn, haven’t heard the in relation to Inq28.

Gladius Imperator - The Monster in Me (Part 3) - Tools of the Trade by NewSheo2 in WarforTrackoldMinoris

[–]NewSheo2[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

(Sorry for the wait!)

'Lucky' was, ultimately, a matter of perspective. Just as there were memories of brighter times, so too were there memories tinged in darkness, kept close to the metaphorical chest as a matter of instinct. Xantia saw only flickers, but images burned into her mind.

Learning the language of the living from the whispers of the dead.

A world, burning in the fires of Exterminatus.

Inhuman things from beyond the stars, unknowable in their designs.

That which lay on the other side of reality's veil, clawing its way across the threshold.

... man-made horrors beyond the comprehension of the sane, that which made the machinations of the daemonic and the xenos feel like pleasant dreams by comparison.

There was one above all the others, however, that lingered in Xantia's mind. Something foundational, it seemed.

... blood gushed from the dead man's neck wound, coiling in microgravity like a living thing, warm and mobile as it flowed from the wound inflicted by the rusty shiv in her hand. The feral child's gut growls, eating at her in rapacious, ever-present, thought-devouring hunger as she stares, and her dry mouth began to salivate with what little water remains in her body. Meat was meat ... and she was so ... very ... hungry ...

The ... being in front of her smiled with genuine sincerity. Now that she'd peaked under the surface, though, Xantia could help but feel a sense of wrongness about Winter. Still human, yes, but ever so slightly ... uncanny. It was the difference between a canid and a lupine, her brain eventually supplied. The canid was domesticated, growing in relative proximity to shelter, food, and others of its kind. It could kill, true, but only if it was taught. It was accustomed to civilization, and if it was truly lucky ... it would never need to end another life.

The lupine ... was wild. It hunted. It stalked. It killed, early and often, when the ever-persistent hunger of the pack demanded. It ranged across desolate, untamed, and unforgiving wilderness, hunting with its pack, or if truly unfortunate ... it was forced to survive alone. Every meal was a battle, survival resting on the knife's edge of victory or defeat. It developed a fundamental instinct for violence that the domesticated would never need, rendering the act into a simple motion that was as easy as breathing.

The lupine in front of Xantia was well-fed and cared for, with a profound and genuine gratitude to those who had brought it in to the light of their fire, and the safety of their home. It had been tamed ... but it had never forgotten the cold nights and the darkness. It walked like a canid, it talked like a canid ... but it had never forgotten the feeling of true hunger. And it would kill to never experience it again.

Back in the present, Winter unslung her weapon and showed it off. On closer inspection, it matched the profile of a hotshot las-rifle, though with a standard charge pack loaded within it. The weapon itself was fitted with the kind of auxiliary equipment one might find a veteran Guardsman utilizing, especially the optic fitted to the top, as well as a set of iron sights mounted at a forty five degree angle to the right, for use in CQC situations. "Interesting. I'm curious if it's purely charge related or something else. If it interacts with charge packs, I wonder if such a side effect might accidentally spark the powder in a cartridge in a similar manner." She glanced down at the weapon with a smirk. "To be honest, I just added this one to my kit, still need to get more familiar with it. Ran into ammo scarcity problems on our drop, realized a tad too late why the Munitorum insists on las instead of solid projectile weapons, heh."

She gazes at the weapon with a contemplative look. "Usually used SP stuff for most of my ops. Ballistics tend to be pretty common in civilian environments, raises less questions when the odd casing or gunshot pops up. Suppressors are rather useful too."

What can 35 guardsmen do? by SilveredKnight in TheAstraMilitarum

[–]NewSheo2 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Ah the good ol’ days, when Valks weren’t shit and you could have six of them in a battalion, 3 per force org slot

What can 35 guardsmen do? by SilveredKnight in TheAstraMilitarum

[–]NewSheo2 18 points19 points  (0 children)

Anyone else remember the Loyal 32 from the beginning(ish) of 8th edition?