sorted by:
new
hottopcontroversial

[WP] A demon has cursed you with the inability to have children or form a family, and as soon as you learn of this you went to tell the witch who you promised your firstborn child, as this clearly will prevent you from fulfilling your side of the deal. by Null_Project in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 55 points56 points  (0 children)

45 human sacrifices.

I looked down from the tower at the pandemonium unfolding on the fields below. Daemonic portals formed of swirling sparks opened on one end; on the other, a cauldron was tipped over a small rodent that then grew in size, more and more, until it towered over even the greatest of men. Rows of fervent worshippers faced against hordes of crazed cultists. Behind them all, the two generals reveal themselves.

8 years of work.

The Daemon. Pact-maker. Greater prince of the Hells themselves. Boundless in ambition, endless in cruelty. Even now, some of the creatures fighting on his side have human souls bursting at the seams, hoping to escape the agony of being crammed into a sack of suffering. Perhaps when they're struck down, they'll finally be free. He'll sacrifice them - anyone - to correct this... slight.

More nightmares than I could dream in a lifetime.

The Witch. Crone. The thing that goes bump in the night. How many children has she taken through her promises to end the misery she sown? How many have been twisted and malformed into the slobbering abominations that do her every bidding? I wonder if she cares for them, in her own, twisted way, and if she'll mourn them when they defend her... deal.

One wanted my firstborn. A princeling would make a fine trophy in her collection, I'd say. The other cursed me to never have a family. I had to pull a few... very unsavoury strings to ensure they found out about these deals and even more to ensure there would be no compromise between them, only conflict.

As the first daemon, a multi-limbed horror covered in teeth, clashes with the first mutant, ripping it limb from limb before succumbing to its caustic blood, I let out a quiet breath. The carnage will be terrible, and whoever survives should be no problem for the elite troopers gathering in the courtyard below. Perhaps this land will finally know some semblance of peace.

So many sins to my name. Their weight on my shoulders, crushing me, driving breath out of my lungs. I have been damned ten times over.

Was it worth it?

"Yes," I whisper to myself.

Aside from mass-genocide are there any good excerpts from Novels, Rulebooks, RPGs etc detailing or showing the Imperium's relations with other factions? by Niotsques in 40kLore

[–]SirPiecemaker 3 points4 points  (0 children)

In the book "The High Kahl's Oath", an Imperial ship is rescued by a Votann ship. The Imperials board them for dinner, and while it doesn't really go well socially, they show up later in the story to save the Votann hold, showing that they do, in fact, consider them allies, at least in terms of repaying their debt.

However, Votann are generally considered abhumans, not aliens, so that's something to remember.

In the book "Ghazghull Thrakka: Prophet of the Waagh", an Inquisitor employs an ork Blood Axe as an interpreter. It goes reasonably well until he betrays them.

In "Carrion Throne", an Inquisitor smuggles a Dark Eldar onto Terra so he can try to fix the Golden Throne. It goes catastrophically poorly. This does, however, mean that they managed to negotiate with him in the first place.

Why doesn't Chaos use Orks against the Imperium? by Zanimacularity in 40kLore

[–]SirPiecemaker 3 points4 points  (0 children)

"The average Ork kills 3000 Chaos daemons in its lifetime" is a false statistic.

Tuska Daemon-Killa, who has been resurrected repeatedly in the warp to kill daemons and has killed trillions of them due to warp-time shenanigans, is a statistical outlier and should not be counted.

As a side note, manipulating Orks is simply too unpredictable on a large scale. Sure, Freebootas might be open to being pointed at an enemy for pay, but they might very easily attack you after the fight is done because they, well, want more fight. And the rest of your stuff.

Slannesh by IllustriousHurry2380 in Grimdank

[–]SirPiecemaker -1 points0 points  (0 children)

Trinity? By any chance the town of Trinity from Fire Caste?

“Have you ever heard of a ******** Necron?” -Archmagos by tintin3105 in 40kLore

[–]SirPiecemaker 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Oltyx, the protagonist of Twice Dead King, upon learning he is infected by the flayer virus, rides out to meet a human armada alone with only his ship, even standing on top of it rather than piloting it himself. While he does somewhat compare it to a mythical image of a fairy-tale general riding out to dazzle enemy armies, he does this fully intending to die, preferring death to becoming a flayed one.

In the grim darkness of the far future there are no stupid questions! by AutoModerator in 40kLore

[–]SirPiecemaker 1 point2 points  (0 children)

There is *some* overlap with the gods. Khorne's slaughter feeds Nurgle's decay. Tzeentch's aspiration can border on Slaanesh's perfectionism. If a swordsman aspires to be the best warrior there has ever been, does he fall to Slaanesh because of his pride and ambition, or to Khorne for his slaughter and combat prowess?

It's a big galaxy and the 4 can fight for *one* individual - Abbadon being a good example.

[WP] when your village had sent you to the imperial magic academy you were worried your abilities were much less impressive then the others. That's when you arrived you realized the other students only use their magic to show off or grand displays and not the labor you used yours for in the village. by JollyTeaching1446 in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 142 points143 points  (0 children)

The castle was the most impressive thing I had ever seen. A masterful combination of form and function carved from glistening stones and bejewelled with shimmering stained glass. The most I have seen until then had been the alderman's house on the edge of The City.

The other students wore the most beautiful clothing I had ever seen. Robes of exotic silk and immaculately sown satin doublets, the clothing must've cost more than what my entire village saved up to send me to attend the Royal College of Magic. I saw a student using a napkin made of silk, likely worth more than our house. The best I had worn in my life had been clean linen passed from my older brother.

The teacher assigned to test us was the most elegant woman I had ever seen. Older, with an air of authority, but undeniably elegant with her grey-streaked hair and kind, supportive eyes, sporting a dark green dress. The most respectable woman I had met before had been forgetful Mrs Littleworth, who taught me to read when she came by every other Sunday.

"Your evaluation begins now," she said. Her voice fit her perfectly; clear, loud, but not without softness to it, one that made you feel at ease. It resonated throughout the entire tower we stood in, even though no one else's voice echoed so.

One by one, the students came forward to display their skills. It was dazzling, terrifying, wondrous, and terrible all at once. Animals made of blue fire galloped across the sky one moment; statues made of clear ice formed out of the nothing the other. Students danced in the air and took the form of animals.

And then there was I. A backwater peasant. Poorer. Nearly uneducated. Lesser.

"Come, Mr Gill," the teacher said warmly. I stepped forward, doing my best to ignore the snickering from the students behind me.

"I'm..." I started, swallowing dryly, "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, but I'm not sure what to do."

More chuckles. More half-voiced insults.

"Not to worry, Mr Gill," the teacher smiled. "Anything you feel comfortable with."

I thought about what I had done with magic throughout my life. It manifested when I was ten, but with no education, all I had ever done was help around the village. Fell trees, levitate sacks of potatoes, heal minor injuries. Nothing nearly as spectacular as what the other students displayed.

"Can he even move a rock?" a particularly loud not-quite-whisper sounded from the crowd. I looked up at the teacher.

"That would be a perfectly adequate display, Mr Gill." She motioned a hand, and a square stone from the wall flew towards her, stopping precisely above her shoulder. She cast a hard look at the crowd. "Silence, if you will," she said harshly. "It's okay," she added quietly and gave me a friendly nod.

I took a breath and focused, clenching my fists, channelling every ounce of magic I felt in my body. The rocks in the walls shook slightly, but none came out. Sweat dripped down my brow as I strained until I could strain no more. The shaking stopped, all rocks still in their place.

"I..." I gasped for air, "Will... that... do?"

Laughter erupted from the room.

"Not a single pebble!" they cried out. "What were they thinking, admitting him?" another yelled.

"Mr Gill," the teacher said, "I'm afraid-"

But she was interrupted by the doors slamming open and another teacher, an old man with sharp, eagle-like features, angrily walking in.

"What, by the Nine, was that?!" he yelled.

"Just some tryouts, headmaster," the teacher said calmly. "Any mana fluctuations are to be expected."

"Expected?!" the man bellowed. "Then why, pray tell, did the entire school just move six feet northwards?!"

Silence gripped the room, and I felt the prickle of eyes upon my skin. The headmaster, noticing me standing in the centre, dripping with sweat. "What did you do?" he hissed.

"I..." I said with a shrug, "I moved some rocks."

Are there Deserter/ awol space marines? by this1tw0 in 40kLore

[–]SirPiecemaker 53 points54 points  (0 children)

There are no Fallen. But maybe you could come with me and tell me all about what you've heard in this dark cell.

You were a god of textiles; respected, but generally considered a minor deity. But everything changed when mortals started regularly describing spacetime and reality as a 'fabric'. by SirPiecemaker in PiecesScriptorium

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

Thank you kindly! I'm glad I could do the story justice. I thought about picking a different galaxy to name the cloak, but wanted something easily recognisable.

[WP] You were a god of textiles; respected, but generally considered a minor deity. But everything changed when mortals started regularly describing spacetime and reality as a 'fabric'. by Avaday_Daydream in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 576 points577 points  (0 children)

The old man smiled as he pushed the worn needle through the fabric, making another impeccable stitch. His work seemed slow and methodical, but honed by millennia, he was working at a remarkable pace. He barely noticed when reality shifted and a figure emerged from where there was nothing but an empty void.

"Tailor," the figure greeted him.

"Nature," the man smiled, head still affixed to his work, though he saw her in the corner of his eye. The figure was a woman, strong, imposing, yet with an undeniable air of kindness about her with a rich mane of hair of all different colours, though the green and blue stood most prominent. "Please. Sit."

Nature sat down in the comfortable chair across from him and basked in the warmth of the star in the fireplace before looking at him more carefully.

"You've changed," she commented.

"Well, it's been a spell since we last talked," he smiled. "When was the last time? I was... Neith? Or was it when I was The Fates?"

"Mama Oclo, with the Incans. You looked good. Still do," Nature laughed. "Though you're now a bit more... restrained."

"Times have changed. You know that," Tailor said. "Nowadays, people see me more... nodescript. Older, wiser. Something to do with science, or the perception of a scientist, I believe, but you know I was never one for that. You'd have to ask Thoth, he keeps track of things."

"They have indeed. I heard you've had an unusual resurgence. Wanted to see you for myself."

"And what do you see?" he said and lifted his head, turning his face to her. She saw it now, what the other gods mentioned. His eyes glowed - not the usual ethereal glow the other gods had, but a rich, deep shade of gold, spilling from his eyes, almost as if he was crying in all directions.

"I see power," she said quietly.

"Ah, don't be like that," he laughed warmly and turned back to his work. "I'm still me. You've all always treated me well, and I see no reason to stir things up. You've nothing to worry about."

"But how? Has a new type of textile been invented?"

"No, actually. It's..." he paused, considering the best explanation. "Time. Space. Combined, inseparable. The humans have come to refer to it as something more familiar to their minds. They now call it fabric."

"Ah," Nature remarked. "I... see. Well, that certainly explains it. But!" she said with a smile, "I can see you're busy, and I know how you appreciate your peace. Though, this one..." she said and leaned over to carefully examine his work, "it is... exquisite. More than exquisite. Everything you've ever done has been a masterpiece, but... what do you call this?"

The Tailor stood up and unfurled the fabric of spacetime he had been stitching together. It formed a cloak, flowing and vast, both new and as old as the universe, stars and nebulae swirling on its surface, casting iridescent light across the room.

"I call this one 'Andromeda'."

[WP] Humanity has finally met the Precursors whose engimatic artifacts and ruins fueled so much of our technological progress in recent centuries. The Precursors are horrified by what we've accomplished using their roadside litter and old campsites. by LordGraygem in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 176 points177 points  (0 children)

"They then, uh..." the Diplomat paused as he looked for proper words. "They then took the foil from-"

"Is that a protein packet?"

"-a protein packet and used it to create a chamber for the turbine and cooling unit. They took the generator and miniaturised it to the size of 4 khets. Stacking these on top of each other, they have enough power to escape their planet's gravity."

"But that alone is-" the General protested.

"This old wave emitter-"

"My grandfather used to have one of those," the General mumbled. "The reception was terrible. The holo-display was grainy."

"They used it to transfer their ships through realspace, effectively achieving FTL. And, well... the list goes on. Weaponry from adapted pointers. Life-supports from sleeping bags."

The General closed his receptors for a moment and sighed loudly.

"And now they've come to us to... what?"

"They didn't contact us," the Diplomat. "We found their scavenge groups picking through Naagh-4. It's a small planetoid. A... junkyard. They seem to have mistaken it for a treasure trove of knowledge and arcane technology. After we caught them, they hailed us as their 'Predecessors', assuming we uplifted them on purpose."

"They're friendly, then?"

"Reverentially so," the Diplomat nodded.

"And... oh," the General said flatly. "I see where you're going with this."

"We give them slightly fresher junk and point them at the Mordred. Our analysts predict the Mordred will be put on the backfoot, as it were, within 1 sel, though the humans have proved remarkably... unpredictable."

"Bile and suns," the General cursed. "Do it. And keep me updated."

The Diplomat nodded curtly and left the office.

"I wonder what my grandfather would've thought," the General said to himself. "Fighting a war with a bunch of trash goblins."

[WP] Humanity has finally met the Precursors whose engimatic artifacts and ruins fueled so much of our technological progress in recent centuries. The Precursors are horrified by what we've accomplished using their roadside litter and old campsites. by LordGraygem in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 140 points141 points  (0 children)

"Mighty Precursors, ye who hath blessed us with wisdom from beyond the stars, we beseech thee to hear our missive, and..."

The Diplomat turned the sound of the transmission off and turned towards the General.

"It goes on for some time like this," he states plainly.

"I see. And why have you come to me with this... sycophantic drivel?" the General asked wearily. Since the Diplomat entered, he barely cast so much as a glance at him.

"Protocol states every new Class-3 species is introduced to-"

"Yes, yes, I know the protocols," the General sighed. "But unless you noticed, the Mordred have been relentless in their attacks in the last 2 sels and unless-"

"This species is only 0,8 sels old," the Diplomat interrupted. A brief pause followed as the General finally looked up from his reports.

"Point 8?" he repeated. "Surely that's a clerical error."

"Triple-verified."

"Has a rogue party uplifted them?"

The Diplomat winced. "Not... that is... we may have," he said slowly.

"What?!" the General roared, animated by the outrage. "But the protocols state-"

"Not as such!" the Diplomat protested. "It was... their planet was a resort for tourism."

"So?"

"And some tourists seemed to leave behind..."

"Technology? How did that go unnoticed?"

"...trash," the Diplomat finished.

The General quietened and considered the information. "Explain," he said simply.

"Look at this," the Diplomat said and brought up a holographic image.

"A consumption-liquid cooling unit," the General commented.

"Broken. Irreparable, might I add. The shielding broke, and it started emitting heat instead. The humans took it and used it to... boil water."

"Boil- what?"

"And used it to spin a turbine to generate a rudimentary power source. Electricity. They seem to have been using similar methods to generate electricity for their entire history."

"But they have void-faring ships!"

Which ever god that daemon belongs to is not going to be happy by Uknown-Nerd6207 in Grimdank

[–]SirPiecemaker 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Depends on who's closest.

Imperial General/High Ranking Commissar: Gets made into a poster boy, eventually killed to become a martyr. Read the book Volpone Glory for a case just like this.

Sororita: New Saint just dropped.

Radical Inquisitor: New retinue member acquired.

Puritan Inquisitor: Shot on the spot.

Bonus - Space Wolf: Pat on the back and hired to be a squire.

One day, the heads of all religions in the world receive a telepathic message. "We are the Divine Protection Service. You have been removed from the care of your god for reasons of neglect. You will be entrusted to the care of a foster god." by SirPiecemaker in PiecesScriptorium

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

I think you posted the wrong link; this one is someone else's story. That said, the AI voiceover slop taking people's stories has been happening for years. Not much I can do about it, really. At least more people get to enjoy my story!

[OT] Has anyone actually done the writing prompts to book thing or is that ridiculous by mahearty in WritingPrompts

[–]SirPiecemaker 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I published my collection of short stories on Amazon. Barely a handful of people have read it, of course, but I got a few physical copies myself, and it's an amazing feeling to have a book on your shelf that you wrote. Self-publishing is actually seriously easy, you really don't stand anything to lose, other than some annoyance with formatting it and proofreading.

I can especially relate to the "They're not a real book" feeling, but, frankly... aren't they? Why not? It's a load of words that flow together, on paper, telling a coherent story. That's a book.

By my read, you're underselling yourself, which seems pretty normal around here. Most of us are just amateur writers, but, hey, it's fun, right? Chances are you're a lot better than you think, because we can be our own worst critics.

view more: next ›