#HIVE GANGER

[frogblast-the-ventcore]

Are you ready? Hey

Are you ready for this?

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

Out of the doorway the bullets rip!

To the sound of the beat!

Another one bites the dust!

A night on Necromuda, with a Felinid ganger.

Art by WolfdawgArt

[fuzz-hound]

I want Games Workshop to acknowledge that Necromunda exists more.

So often, GW (Games Workshop) goes straight where the money is. Where are people spending their money? On Space Marines, of course. It's the poster boy of the franchise, so the number one thing that they're gonna do is make as many space marines as they can because it's essentially guaranteed revenue for the company. Every noob to the 40k franchise wants a space marine army. It's just how it goes.

The problem I have is that within the franchise, there's so much more they can do with it than just the most powerful guys in the galaxy. rather than make the biggest, baddest guy in the room the posterboy, the citizenry of the imperium should take center stage to really introduce people to the universe, and to make neofascists understand that THIS IS NOT FOR THEM.

The problem with Space Marines is that they already know everything. They study up on all the enemies of the Imperium, which means a lot of the mystique of the factions is lost. Save for the Tyranids, of course, because they’re from another galaxy so nobody *really* knows what their deal is. If you are introduced to 40K by getting to know a bunch of Mary Sues like the Ultramarines, you wouldn't be remiss for thinking that humanity wins all of the time.

That statement couldn't be further from the truth.

In %80 of battles, wars, and any other conflict in the Imperium, people are fighting tooth and nail for inches of the battlefield, often with catastrophic losses on both sides because of just how desperate and how pissed the factions are at each other. This is one of the main messages that 40k as a whole is directly screaming into people's faces: War Has No Winners. What better way to introduce people to the concept who look at the battles and cant see that about the universe than looking at it from the perspectives of people who are practically destined from birth to lose?

Under the crushing power of the Imperium, scuttling around the piles of garbage, among all the soot and shit and piss and rust that EVERYONE generates; what are their little victories that help them to live another day in the Underhive? What keeps them from driving themselves to drink in a place where it's likely they've never even heard of the Sun before? In a world without hope, what gives them life?

This applies to whatever Cavill's cinematic project is in the universe as well. In order to make people understand that the viewpoint of the protagonist is bad, we have to start small. Dumping an audience in a place where there is practically infinite scale makes it meaningless, and kills off any serious stakes. A Necromunda story is the perfect starting point for people who have no Idea what the word 'grimdark' even means and by keeping it "small", we have a baseline for just how huge everything is.

I just want more Necromunda books, videogames, ANYTHING BUT THE TABLETOP GAME, man! There is SO much potential there for stories that are more than "I am the Big Gun Man!" Gang wars are happening all the time, High society intrigue, Smuggling and illicit stuff?! People love that mafia shit!

[titanomancy]

The new edition season of Necromunda takes the action to the genestealer-infested Under-Underdark Underhells of Hive Secundus - and what a hideous collection of xenos freaks are these!

The Spyrer Orrus Hunters have received a similarly grotesque glow-up, trading in their classic strongman suits for more obviously off-world equipment requiring voluntary dismemberment to operate. I like the minor xenos vibe these new suits give off, but I don't think they're meant to be t'au tech anymore.

And just in case you didn't already hate assembling Van Saar gangers, the new Tek Hunters look to be every bit as fiddly as the core kit and then some.

Meanwhile, the brood scum are... brood scum. Nothing really special, just new heads on the extant hive scum bodies. Good use of the range, especially as they already looked like Genestealer Cult neophytes minus the cult medallions.

A strong value proposition, overall - although the most interesting part of this preview, for me, is the promise of new Zone Mortalis ruins coming at a future date.

[ben-j-man]

Another step to completing this diorama. A diorama of the main character Throne Agent Attelus Kaltos and Throne Agent Adelana Helgen attacking some Chaos Cultists as they attempt to start a blood ritual on a wartorn world. They're characters from my Warhammer 40,000/Dark Heresy fanfic continuity Secret War. Check out the first story here!

Synopsis: After his organization is hired to hunt down an influential ganger on the Hive world, Omnartus. Attelus Kaltos is embroiled deeper into the complex world of the Assassin. This is the job which will change him, for better or for worse, forever more.

[plasmometer]

We smokin straight Dark age STCs

When I pearled this bitch the admech made me a planetary governor

Smoking straight scrapcode

Shit's corrupting my data

She gave my man of iron some abominable intelligence

We snorting percs right off the Golden throne

Lighting my blunt on the astronomicon

I gave my ganger one boltgun and he single-handedly raised the hive's murder rate

Actually that's cap, I gave him two

Shit ain't nothing to me man

Rolled up that corrupted wyrdstone empyrean pack

Sparked that shit off the gellarfield, got the navigator catching a contact high

ok

[vlepkaaday]

Here’s a little Escher ganger for you straight from the Hive City of Necromunda! There should be more smoke grenades and flares in wh

[taryn40k]

My friends have graciously allowed me to play with their Darktide characters as well on this blog! :D So we might see them now and again!

Captain Harken was arrested for complaining about the corpse starch's taste, and ended up here. Actual military experience, doing his best to train his people!

The lightning-wielding Estaie would have become a Commissar, if the voices didn't start manifesting... The inquisition saved him from the Black ships at the last second. He is sanctioned. We promise.

Chucking ice knives at the enemy, we have Meliota! An ex-Sister of Battle, also forced to take a different path once her powers started manifesting. She talks quite often to her beloved. (It's the Emperor) (We think) (We hope)

And finally, the hive city ganger currently getting over 4 different substance addictions, Phosphex! Unlike the others, he was RECRUITED after witnessing the fall of Cadia, the planet he saw as an oppostunity after the disorganized violence of his original hive city. He is a walking jumpscare. For allies AND foes! (handle with caution, do not try to restrain!)

Harken @girugin

Estaie @hands-of-fate-ocs

Meliota @ember-menia

Phosphex @techpirate1

[nightbringer24]

I don't fully remember if it's been done in official fiction, Warriors of Ultramar might have come closest, but I like the idea of a hive ganger meeting a Space Marine.

Like, the sheerest dregs of the Imperium, probably only a few steps removed from mutants in the great chain of the Imperium, meeting the closest physical embodiment of the Emperor and a being that encapsulates every aspect of the Imperium of Man into a single being.

[noir-raven]

Stane, The Disgrace

---------

As with my other Inquisition models so far - Stane is rather old, and built by me and painted by a friend

---------

Stane began his youth as a ganger in the Apis Alvius underhive. While working for the gang, he posed as a PDF officer and snuck into the upper hive. In a twist of fate, he ended up being drafted into the Apis 15th guardsman regiment.

Stane was quite successful in the regiment - never quite making the command company, but he was well respected overall. He had taken the drafting as an opportunity to turn his life around.

He never quite lost his old habits - during one campaign, he found himself receiving Amasec rations for the officers and comissars. He snuck out a bottle for himself. It would have gone fine, except for one of the men he shared the stole alcohol with confessed. The commander wanted death for Stane, but he fled during the night, escaping offworld on a farmer's delivery.

Back in the underhive, he was given an advance in rank in his gang and took on trainer duties for the new Juvies. During an operation, the gang found an archeodome, and broke in while the Officials around the dome were performing their shift change. Stane was the only member who found anything - a silk lined box containing a pair of ancient bolt pistols. He knew how to use them, thanks to his training.

Their leader had other ideas - Stane was forced to sell the pistols to a black market trader, making the gang rich but making him extremely angry. Stane broke into the trader, stole the Pistols back, and fled.

News of the sale and break in spread rapidly in the underhive - it wasnt every day paired archeotech was sold and then went missing. Borislav, one of Orion's acolytes, went hunting for these pistols during the Inquisitor's operations on Apis Alvius. Borislav eventually found Stane, and over some alcohol, convinced the now old ganger to join up with Orion's inquisition.

Stane welcomed the change - seeing it as a chance of reliving his glory days in the guard. He is skilled at the nature of orks in particular, and often is near on hand to Orion during operations against them.

Stane still carries his two pistols with him at all times - Even sleeping with them in his bunk. For some reason, he has become obsessed with them, going as far as to name them "Herald" and "Crier."

[kit-williams]

You know my Name

tw: Stalking, Obsession, manipulation, theft, Yandere Alpha Legion, male yandere

Everything was falling apart around her as it felt like as soon as she punched in those letters... Omegon. Then everything was like water draining from a tub. Zookeeper or now Alpharius or Alphy as she was calling him now had been giving her nonstop instructions on where she was to go. She panted as there was a blockage with the throngs of people.

Vixen: Alphy! I can't move any further

Alpharius: There's a manhole in the alleyway to your left go down it. NOW

She was left scrambling as suddenly there was nothing but screaming as she ran and forced the manhole opened and jumpped down in as she ignored the shaking of the world around her.

Vixen: I'm going to DIE

Alpharius: Relax Vixen I'm not going to let you die

Alpharius: Please trust me

Vixen: HOW HOW CAN I

Alpharius: I know sweetheart just please trust me

She continued to run not realizing that there was no more messages from Alphy. And soon her mask was ringing and of course it forcibly answered.

"Please tell me you're not dead." Her stalker said with worry in his voice.

"I'm not." She replied as she followed the throng of sewer rats and other low lifes in this maze.

"Oh thank the throne. I need you to stop running Vixen."

"Nope I'm not going-"

"LEFT NOW" He roared into her ear and she obeyed watching some twisted sawblade rush past where she was.

"I DON'T CARE IF THIS IS WHO YOU REALLY ARE ALPHY I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" She couldn't stop the scream in her voice as she felt her legs burn as she ran down the corridor, water and sewage splashing on her legs wetting her pants and getting in her shoes.

"I'm getting you to the lower hive sweetheart. Just hang on. RIGHT." And once again Vixen obeyed that's all she was good for. She wasn't made for this active work it's why the Inquisition was okay that she remained home for the most part. She was just a face behind a screen... a house rat now running with the sewer rats.

"COLLIE!" She shouted seeing the familair ganger.

"DOWN!" Collie shouted and Vixen fell face first on the metal grate as some weapon was rappidly lobbing its pay down the cramped corridor.

Vixen took a moment to look back and saw yellow eye lenses as some Astarte stalked down the sewar corridor. Fear gripped her but Collie seemed to handle it like a champ pulling her to her feet and lobbing a gerenade down there as the two of them ran and jumped.

"SPACE MARINE SPACE MARINE SPACE MARINE!" Vixen screamed into most likely Alphy's ear.

"I know Vixen! I know I'm working on it! Please don't cry it hurts me to hear you cry." He said with a strange emotion in his voice that at the moment Vixen couldn't pin down.

Collie and her slide to a stop as another Space Marine turned the corner just watching them, "Keep moving darling! He's friendly." As she watched the Space Marine look past the two of them and get ready to engage with whatever was following them.

The heavy 'Tha-tunk' of the Space Marine's weapon echo through the winding corridors of the sewers. Vixen felt her whole body shake in fear? adrenaline? She didn't know.

"I wanna go home." She whispers feeling tears fall behind her mask. This wasn't what she was capable of handling.

"Shh Vixen shhh I'll promise to get you home. Please trust me. Do you trust me?"

"No I don't but I have to."

"Good girl." She kept texting Alpharius hoping he would reply but all she could see was that it wasn't even sending but sometimes they would all send but she wouldn't receive anything... nothing was being read.

-----

The trip to the lower hive was thankfully relaxing and once they got there she could take a moment to sit down.

"Alphy... please answer."

"You're too far down Vixen."

"Didn't I hang up on you?" She bitterly snaps back.

"You should know that doesn't work. Are you being a brat?" He asks and Vixen wonders maybe if she ruins the perception he has of her then he'll leave her be.

"What if I am? I didn't ask for you to start following me! I was very happy with Keeper or I guess Alpharius!" She ignores the smug noise he makes... she doesn't want to think that this is his true colors. "Just please if this is actually who you are... just let me know."

The painful seconds tick on by as she is left in the dark. But again it's the unsaid that hurts... but the Inquisition does a lot of weird shit... maybe he has to keep up this creepy persona while on mission and then she'll get her friend back when it's all over. She has no idea who is watching. "I'm sorry for pushing on this... topic." Vixen finally admits.

"I know you are. And I forgive you my little Vixen. I'll want some cute pictures later to make up for it." He practically purred going back to how they've been talking before this .

Vixen: Alphy please

Vixen: Please don't let this guy be you...

Vixen: To answer you... yeah I wouldn't care if you were some dirty old Magos

She sighs as Collie soon shoves something into her hands and it's a avian burger. She smiles softly thinking how Alphy was right... these were yummy.

-------

The peace didn't last long... it wasn't meant to last. She was running again with her stalker breathing in her ear directions as things were blowing up behind her and people were dying. Oh by the throne people were dying in droves.

"Left then an immediate right!" He husked into her ear.

Vixen was good at following directions but she wasn't meant for this bullshit. "When this is over I don't ever wanna do this again!"

"Shhh Vixen I know and don't you worry you're going to be absolutely safe when you make it to me."

She slid to a stop, "Wait where are you taking me!" She screeched over the connection.

"To me unless you want to desperately try to get Keeper to talk to you? Unfortunately he can't and I am THE ONLY THING BETWEEN YOU AND DEATH. DO YOU UNDERSTAND VIXEN?!" He bellowed into her ear. She could practically feel him shake her demanding her obedience and with what was going on...

"I'm... I'm sorry." She whimpered and she heard him sigh.

"Please don't cry. Just I'm trying to protect you... and I can't be out there. I need you to come to me. Please I'll keep you safe and you'll be able to come home." He said. Vixen willingly chose to ignore him telling her to come home... she has a home and it's not here but she continues to follow his directions.

She turned a corner and then her world went sideways as something exploded behind her and she just felt the heat rush over her. Vixen just wanted to lay there.

"VIXEN? REPORT! VIXEN? VIXEN!" She could hear him yell at her but it sounded like it was through cotton. Her tongue didn't want to work as she groaned and laid there. "Vixen? Darling don't worry Goat should be there soon."

Soon was an understatement as she looked blearily up at the pair of hooved legs that slid into view. She looked up at the beastman who grinned down at her. The aquilia tattooed across his chest as well as a regiment number on his stomach it was very obvious that this man was a guard veteran. "Hello Doe! Or is it Vixen?" He brayed as he easily picked her up looking around at the chaos like it was nothing. "Boss was right you're not use to this."

She just muttered something before he hefted her over his shoulders and started to sprint. Vixen was happy that the later half of this wild run was far easier than she had anticipated.

"Thanks for the lift." She muttered.

"You're welcome." The beastman said.

"You're welcome." Her stalker replied at the same time.

She was finally put down in front of a door as Goat brayed with a grin on his face. "Take care little fox woman." He said before patting her head as he walked off.

"Please Vixen come in." He husked into her ear... she could hear the excitement in his voice.

It was another long hallway but (un)lucky for her it was clear what way she was to go. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears as she reached a metal door and pushed it open. She could see space marines looking down at her and she nearly backed up not if she wasn't grabbed by one of them and dragged in. "Take the stairs down and it's the last door. I highly recommend you do not wander."

She walked down the stairs and down the clean corridor as it didn't feel like she was in the underhive anymore. But Vixen felt dread build as she wiped her sweaty hand on her dirty pants before opening the door. She saw a man turned toward her as she could see his yellow eyes appraise her before grinning. What stood out to Vixen was what was on the side of his head... a complex tattoo of a hydra.

She looked around seeing a space marine suit in the corner as this man was indeed a space marine. "Vixen! You made it." He said with excitement in his voice as he got up and embraced her. She tensed for only a moment but relented as she felt safe in his arms. She leaned into the safe haven with a sigh as his fingers played with her hair.

"I made it..." She whispered, "Who are you?" She felt bold enough to ask.

He tipped up her mask as he ran his fingers over her face with a shuttering breath. "I am Alpharius... but this is a lie." He said kissing her when she was shocked but she pushed back.

"What do you mean that's a lie! Keeper?! You're my stalker?" She demanded as he just looked down her amused.

"One and the same but I've already told you my name." He says before he leads her away from the large monitor. He places her on a bed as he pulls her clothes away from her skin. She finally notices how much pain she is in... the way the bruises are a disgusting purple color.

The room was plain but her eyes kept wandering over to where there were pictures of her... some of them before she donned the mask... some of them when she wasn't being Vixen. She could see a few photos where she was kissing someone else and how that other person had a knife hole through them... clearly not a fan of whomever was having her affection.

Her eyes glanced away from the photo and unfortunately landed on a pile in the corner of her clothes. Vixen thankfully was pulled away by pain as she looked down at him applying a bandage to her side. "There we go. Right as rain."

"You said I knew your name... How?"

"Do you really need a hint? You slaved over it for several days and honestly I'm flattered it didn't take you so long to figure it out."

Vixen frowned for a moment before it slipped past her lips, "Omegon?"

He grinned down at her and his eyes seemed to glow slightly as he looked at her with what many would call "bedroom" eyes. For Omegon it sounded like the sweetest creature saying his name so softly. He loved humanity he always had he was there to keep it safe... just as he had been but being the invisible hand gets lonely. He leaned it and took a small kiss from his Vixen trying his best to not hurt her. He had had many Vixens in his life... he pushed his face against her throat letting out a soft sigh of enjoyment.

"When can I go home Omegon?" Vixen asked softly and he looked at his tired little vixen.

"When you feel better I'll take you home. Get some rest." Omegon said softly and sweetly.

And just like every other order Vixen had been given... she still obeyed because she felt safe... she always felt safe with him.

[zmasters]

A Dance with Death, a Warhammer Short

Based on the results of the following series of polls

A shadow blitz through the streets of a city. A multicolored blur bouncing from hab block corner to back alley without so much of a stumble or stop for breath. For the odd ganger or beggar on the quiet streets during the dead of this smoggy night, all they witness is a sudden breeze that at most catches them off guard for the nanosecond it blows past their ears. All unaware of the hand of death that just barely graced their pale skin.

The masked figure stifled a cough. He wasn’t used to the dank land that the monkeigh called “Hive Naraka-Beta.” Only such barbaric people would willingly settle a world inhabitable to their very being, and only such a stupid race would call the megacities of the world A, B, C, and so on.

“Almost there, Caerdor.” The assassin whispered to himself, the curved blade of his shrieker cannon cleaning cut a knick into a metal wall as he passed another alley.

A flash of blonde appeared in front of the leaping shadow. The target. With one crack and a quiet chuckle, a woman’s body collapsed to the ground, her head vanishing with a black and pink blur.

Caerdor landed on a nearby rooftop with a grace only an aeldari harlequin could perform. “You Chaos fools always make this simple enough” He sighed, his grinning face hidden by his Agaith false-face.

Gripping the severed head by her hair, he raised the target's dead, red eyes to his mask’s visor. The left side of his mask held the image of a fleshy-pink skull.

After a few seconds of a silent staring contest, Caerdor tossed the head over the edge of the building. “Bloody body doubles.”

High above the crime filled city, two women overlooked a gang shoot out from an air-locked balcony. Both pale, one a brunette, the other blonde.

“I feel so much restraint being forced to watch the violence of my city from here.” The brunette sighed as she twirled a knife between her fingers. Her white dress was bare and boring for someone of her standing, the only decoration being a few dull red stains scattered around the dress.

“Well, Lady Idris Brele, if you help my organization, you can be the one down there.”

“Your little club sounds too good to be true, Mari.”

Mari chuckled. “No salesman would tell a potential buyer the cons of their products out the gate. But I’m not a salesman. I’ll tell you everything you need to know about my organization and our current plans, both the good and the bad. If you don’t like it, I will leave and we can both pretend this meeting never happened. If you are interested, we can continue our discussion at my place. Sounds like a deal?” She stuck out her hand.

Idris took a second to think about it shortly before taking Mari’s hand. “Deal.”

On a rooftop over, a green glint focused on the blond target. “Just one more second.”

“Khiladi.” A familiar voice interrupted the sniper’s work as a gun barrel was placed against her copper skull.

“Caerdor.” She laughed. “How’s my favorite clown doing?”

The titular clown responded by slamming his boot into the back of Khiladi’s head, her still, copper face smashing into the concrete roof with a crack. “Why are you here, deathmark?”

“Same reason you’re here, death jester.” The necron groaned, turning her head to face the eldar. “Killing a chaos champion.”

Caerdor glanced in the direction Khiladi was aiming her rifle at. “Why didn’t you shoot her then?”

“I was checking to see if she was a body double or not, leaf lover boy. Something you weren’t doing.”

“So what, they’re all chaos followers. And I’m no longer an exodite.”

“It doesn’t matter if you trade out the dragon cloak for a clown mask, your old uniform made your ass look perfect.” Khiladi laughed.

Caerdor's mask hid his blushing.

“As for holding my shot,” she continued, “your mindless slaughtering has only alerted the cult that someone wants the boss dead.”

“Who cares? Only weak cowards use body doubles, I doubt whatever warriors they have will stop me.”

“Unlike you,” Khiladi sat up, “I’ve been paying attention to what these cultists are doing. We’re dealing with the Disciples of the First Prince, mortals and neverborn of all four marks fighting side-by-side in unison. And the target isn’t using body doubles because she’s scared of death. The one they call Bloodfly is everywhere, pulling hundreds of strings all at once. Sure, if you kill enough pale blondes, you’ll get her. But they’ve adapted with every head lost. If anything, thigh highs, the only thing you managed to do is make my job harder!”

“Good!”

“At least you’re hot.”

“By Cegorach, why do I have the only necron with a sex drive following me around?”

“You know you love it.” Khiladi’s still face produced a giggle-like sound.

Caerdor sighed, silently thanking the gods that he was wearing a mask.

“Now, unless you want to have fun right now, please get off me so I can get back to work.” The necron’s one green eye focused on a red glint that sparked on a rooftop behind the clown.

“First tell me how you’re telling these monkeigh apart.”

Khiladi shoved Caerdor off of her. “In a minute!” She shouted before vanishing.

As Caerdor collapsed to the ground, cursing the deathmark’s name, he watched a solid red beam fly pass him. The beam barely missed, breaking a clean hole through the lip of the building’s roof. He caught his footing, sprinting behind the roof access for cover. Khiladi reappeared right next to him.

“Told you were making a mess of things!”

“By Khaine what was that?”

“It was a human weapon called a lascannon! I knew you were going to attract assassins, but a bloody anti-tank weapon?”

Caerdor poked his head around the wall, before ducking back as another red streak flew past.

Three eyes followed the red blast, the beam streaking past the skyscraper that the body double was in. Khiladi got a ding in her mind, a confirmation that the so-called double wasn’t a double. Her vision zoomed in, right onto the woman’s grinning face.

“I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Distract them!”

“Wait what?” Caerdor tried to stop Khiladi, but she was already gone, and he was instead greeted by a third lascannon shot.

A lone astartes adjusted his aim. The large cannon, heavy even by space marine standards, sat awkwardly on his teal shoulder pauldron, the wiring connecting directly into his shadow-black helmet replacing any need for a scope. A husky voice relays through his vox, confirming that the target is still behind the entrance to the building, but that his accomplice has vanished. One eye focused on the auspex, confirming that he was the only one on the rooftop of the tower he stood on. The second adjusted the aim of his lascannon.

The marine silently questioned why he was ordered to use a lascannon specifically. It was a powerful weapon, certainly able to kill an eldar in a single shot, but it’s not an appropriate weapon. The xeno race was fast, never seemingly able to hold still for a second. A single-shot, low fire rate weapon was not a good weapon to take out such a quick bugger.

He caught a glimpse of the clown’s mask as he poked his head around the corner, before ducking back. The xeno was testing, measuring shots to figure out his location. Clever. All he had to do was hold his shot until he could hundred percent confirm a hit. Slaanesh will feed well tonight.

The auspex flashed a dot on the scanner. There was a second being on the roof with the space marine. He turned, and was met with the glowing green of a synaptic disintegrator.

Caerdor jumped as Khiladi reappeared next to him, heaving an ash covered shoulder-mounted cannon.

“Good distraction.”

“What are you doing?”

“Killing our target.”

The coils of the cannon glowed red, before sending a beam of red light straight towards the grinning target, the cannon itself flying out of Khiladi’s hands.

The beam hit on target, the resulting blast sending red hot glass shards and rebar falling to the city below, likely landing on some unlucky plebs.

As the dust settled, the two xeno assassins were able to make out the woman, now missing the right side of her torso and arm, collapse to the floor.

“Mission accomplished.” Khiladi giggled.

“But I didn’t kill her.” Caerdor pouted.

“Dead is dead. You got the kill last time.”

“Why do we always get the same target?”

“Maybe someone above us finds this funny, clown boy toy.”

Caerdor was about to shoot back at the necron, but was interrupted by the sound of cracking and buzzing.

The target was slowly approaching the death jester and deathmark, a pair of crimson insect wings letting her fly over the gap between the skyscrapers. Moss and vines curled over her wounds, slowly stitching her body back together.

“Grandfather Nurgle finds your plight hilarious.” She laughed. “Though Prince Be'lakor finds you two annoying.”

Both assassins opened fire on the flying chaos lord. Shrieker cannon rounds and synaptic disintegrator blasts filled the air of where she was, but for a diseased corpse with wings she was fast.

With a heavy thud, the winged woman landed directly on top of Khiladi. With a clawed talon wrapping around her throat, her head was slammed into the roof, a crack forming in both the concrete and the metal skull.

Caerdor swung the bladed end of his cannon, the lord catching the blade in her hand.

“Thank you for aiding my plans.” She growled, ripping the cannon out of Caerdor’s hand. “There’s a supernatural serial killer in Naraka-Beta, and more and more people are looking for someone to protect them.”

“How many body doubles have you killed?” Khiladi asked.

Caerdor threw a punch, which was caught in the beast’s other talon.

“Since landing on Naraka three days ago, your pointy-eared friend has killed fifty two of my non-mutated kin.” The beast grinned. “Thirty six were female and only seventeen even resembled by disguise.”

Caerdor felt the green orb Khiladi called an eye glare at him. “They’re Chaos cultists.”

“Only twenty-five are tied to my cult.”

“It’s good that you’re hot.” Khiladi groaned, her voice muffled by the clawed foot covering her mouth.

“Oh, so now you care about monkeigh?”

“I just know how to be subtle, and everyone I killed is tied to the cult.” 

The necron was silenced by the talon gripping her skull and slamming it into the concrete roof again. Following suit was the aeldari being thrown down next to her, the lord’s free talon quickly wrapping around his throat. 

Two pairs of arms tried to fight off the dark wood talons with little success. Caerdor struggled to breath in the iron grip while Khiladi was blinded from the talon pushing into her ocular unit.

“As much as I want to KILL you two right now, and I want to kill you soooo badly~ That! Fucking! Hurt!” She slammed Khiladi’s skull with each word. “Buuuut I have some ideas~ Some lovely, torturous, ideas.”

Caerdor struggled to breath. His sore, oxygen deprived arm collapsed from numbness as vision faded, bumping into the now-still body of the assassin he’s cursed to somehow always run into. Somehow, ever since he was an exodite and into his joining of the Masque of the Reaper’s Mirth, this flirty, Ogdobekh deathmark has followed him, fate always putting them into a position where killing each other is the dumb move. Thousands of orks, space marines, daemons, and tryanids have fallen to their hands in the past centuries, and he would be lying if he said he’s happy to see this member of his race’s eternal rival die.

As his vision faded to black, a memory flooded his mind. A shirtless Caerdor sat hunched over, the corpses of orks surrounding him.

“Ow! Watch it!”

“I lost my skin before your species touched the stars.” Khiladi sighed, her skeletal fingers carefully using a needle to stitch a wound on Caerdor’s back. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know.”

The two sat in silence, the only sound between the two being the whirling of Khiladi’s servos and the dripping of Caerdor’s blood.

“Necron.” Caerdor broke the silence.

“Thigh-highs.” Khiladi answered.

“Why did you do this?”

“What? Saving your life or fixing your wounds?”

“Both. You could’ve left me for dead or finished me off, but you helped me.”

Khiladi was silent.

“You don’t know why, do you?”

“My overlord hasn’t ordered your death, so I have no reason to kill you.”

“We’ve been running into each other for centuries, and we’ve always been put into situations where we are fighting the same enemy. Today is the first time where you could easily walk away and just leave me bleeding out with a knife in my back.”

“I wouldn’t call the hunk of metal that was sticking out of your spine a knife.”

“I’m serious!”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just like you.”

“It can’t be that simple!” Caerdor turned to face Khiladi, who just finished stitching the wound.

“It could be!” She defended. “You know how hard it is to have friends as a necron assassin! The only person in my entire species I can talk to is my Overlord! It’s like if the only other eldar you can have a conversation with is that damned clown you call a god!”

“Is that why you helped me? You consider me to be a f-friend?”

Khiladi produced a sighing noise and laid down in the grass. “My flesh, blood, and soul was taken to fight a war that only worsened the galaxy and everyone involved. My sole purpose is to be the unquestioning assassin for a noble who’s sanity is barely holding on by a thread and rules a nation of mindless automata. If having a conversation every once in a while with a thin waist flesh bag like you is the only thing keeping me sane, then I don’t care.”

“So… What would happen if your overlord ordered my death?”

“They're unlikely to put out a hit for a sole death jester, but…”

“There’s nothing you can do?”

Khiladi was quiet. Caerdor knew she would be crying if she physically could.

He laid down next to her. “Let’s make a promise. The only way for one of us to die is by the other’s hand.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“If either of us are in danger, the other has to save them. The only way for either of us to die a true death is from the other.”

Khiladi giggled. “Ok. Caerdor of the Masque of the Reaper’s Mirth, by the Nightbringer I will be the one to kill you.”

Caerdor grinned. “Khiladi of the Ogdobekh Dynasty, I swear to Cegorach and Isha that I will be the one to kill you.”

His eyes snapped open, his mind returning to the present. The clawed talons of the winged chaos lord were slowly tearing into his throat. With the last of strength, his fingertips felt something. A rifle. Khiladi’s disintegrator.

Blinded from a lack of oxygen, he grabbed the rifle and fired.

The talon released his throat, the chaos beast collapsing with a screech of pain. Caerdor had shot the leg that gripped Khiladi’s head, the plant limb slowly crumbling to ash, struggling to regrow from the burnt stump.

Lightheaded, Caerdor struggled to his feet. With each heavy step, he fired another synaptic blasting into the mutant, its flesh melting into a pile of ash. With each shot, the creature roared with deafening screeches, pleading to dark powers to save her. A shot to the mouth silenced her, blasting the headless corpse over the edge of the building, only to rain ash on whatever's down there.

“Ni-ce s-shot.” Khiladi stuttered, her necrodermis slowly repairing her damaged skull.

“Thanks.” Caerdor huffed, collapsing to the floor.

“What do you think of my prototype, Lord Iska?” A chitinous creature hissed as she perched on a nearby spire top, a pair of crimson wings buzzing with each word.

“A fine specimen, Vera.” A second creature with crimson wings hissed back, this one wearing a suit of black armor with silver trim, though his shoulder pads bore a teal that matched the color of his partner’s chitin. The glowing green eyes of the tusked helm met with the glowing green of his partner’s horned mask. “Though I am not a fan of her zealotry to Nurglith.”

“It’s difficult to create daemonkin who aren’t zealots. It doesn’t help that we had to stuff a rot fly to where her soul used to be to get functioning wings.”

“It’s a prototype, it’ll take time to perfect it.”

“May I suggest a base creature other than human?”

“Like eldar?”

“There’s one right there.”

“Not yet. I suggest we lie in wait, make the xenos think you’re dead. Once enough time has passed, we strike a loan patrol or maiden world, or barter with the drukari.”

“Prince Be’lakor won’t be happy that we have to leave.”

“Invasion can still happen with or without us, and I think our Master can convince him to look the other way.”

[maggotknight]

posting the bio for my rt here for my own sake. very long. initial template was generously provided by the rt discord server I am in.

Name: Lilith von Valancius

Age: 31 years

Gender/Pronouns: she/her

Height: 5'1" (shorter than average due to huffing forge fumes for the first 13 years of her life)

Conviction: primary; Iconoclast, secondary; Dogmatic

Homeworld: Hive World; Scintilla, Gunmetal City

Origin: Commissar

Triumph: Apex of Briliance

Darkest Hour: Shadow of Torment

Archetype: Officer; Grand Strategist

Voidship: The Siren Song

Favorite color: Green (forest green)

Love Interest: Heinrix van Calox (romantically), Pasqal Haneumann (One sided flirting), Yrliet Lanaevyss (platonically)

Notable Characteristics: Has a cerebral-spinal augmetic at the base of her skull, traveling down to her mid back. Also has an auditory augmetic in her right ear, and a minor noosphereic port behind her left ear.

Her arms are covered in different military tattoos and electoos. Noteably, a worn in electoo of a curling copper dragon, a snarling wolf in sheep's clothing and a mechanicus liturgic tapestry. The latter was given and designed as a gift.

Is never without some form of servo skull, a Millitarum standard combat knife, and two different firearms (minimum).

Exudes tomboy swag 😎

Bio:

An unexpected child of two Asta Millitarum officers, Lilith was dropped off at a mid-hive hostel in Gunmetal City. A younger hive within the Calixis Sector capital world of Scintilla. Much of her younger years were spent avoiding gun fire, scrouning for bullets and hiding from underhive gangs scouting for fresh meat.

During her 10th year of life in the hive, Lilith attempted to pickpocket a man for spare bullets. Only to soon realize she was stealing from an Infernus ganger. The attempt when awry, and she fled into the mid-hive labyrinth of sweltering founderies. Turn after turn, only focusing on escaping her enevitable demise, Lilith slammed into a sealed set of steel doors at the end of an alleyway. Overwhelmed with dread and the realization that there was no where to run, she began pleeding and sobbing at the door. Pounding her grubby fists to the cold metal, Lilith thought, she could almost feel the door reaching out back to her. By some miracle. the heavy door unsealed itself enough for Lilith to squeak into safety. The door, unbeknownst to Lilith, lead to one of the many machine-shrines that are scattered within the volcanic hive.

Alerted to the unauthorized and unscheduled entry, Omniprophet Velt Thannek discovered the cowering Lilith. Thannek deemed the child "machine-touched", and took Lilith under his steel wings. It was explained to the young Lilith that the Omnissiah's eye "favored her", leading to machine spirits reacting to her whims. All it meant to Lilith was that she now has a consistent place to sleep, food to eat, and protection in the form of the large metal men that annoyed the forge workers.

Lilith learned much about the Cult Mechanicus and it's relations with laypeople through Thannek.

An eccentric tech-priest in his own right, the Omniprophet spent most of his spare time composing liturgies for the majesty of the Omnissiah and passing that majesty on to Lilith. Fosterining a love for art and creation within the child.

Solidifying in her the importance of the 6th and 7th Universal laws: to always seek knowledge and comprehension in all things. And to venerate The Omnissiah and The Emperor in equal measure.

In her 13th year of life, representitives of the Adeptus Ministorum took custody of Lilith and sent her to the Schola Proegnium to be educated formally and serve the Imperium as a Commissar. She recieved notably high marks in marksmaship, religious and military studies. She also recieved several watered down dirus flushings due to "willful but unacceptable outbursts." and "unwillingness to forgo vulgarities when speaking."

Upon graduation, Lilith was assigned to a Millitarum regimind on a toxic Death World at the edge of the Jericho Reach She created strong bonds with her fellow gaurdsman. Keeping moral up by playing card games, singing songs and creating combat art of everyday life in the Astra Millitarum. Many of the interpersonal skills learned from observing the Omniprophet Velt came in handy when dealing with the enevitable squabbles had between the Cult Mechanicus and Guardsmen.

A few years into her service, Lilith uncovered a consperacy involving underground experimentation on guardsmen and locals alike. Splicing Tyranid genetic material in order to make more adaptive and effective soldiers. All conducted by the planet's Generator and Colonel of her regiment. This revelation left Lilith venerated, sickened, and scouted by the Ordo Millitarum.

Never one to turn down new opportunities, she took the offer to become an Acolyte for the smaller Ordo of the Inqisition. While she missed the comradere that came with serving as the Emporer's Hammer, Lilith enjoyed the new freedom that came with being an Acolyte. She was frequently paired with Neraph Heirgamus-Theta, a former Xenarite whom was contracted to the Inquisition as a form of repentence. They grew to trust one another and spend most of what little free time they had together. Overall, she enjoyed her time spent investigating and prosecuting the threats within the Astra Millitarum. Even if it was covered in a shrowd of ignorance.

The same shrewd tenacity that got her the position within the Ordo Millitarum would be the same reason she found herself tortured, shot in the back of the head and left for, presumably, dead. She stuck her nose where it, supposedly, did not belong. Invesitaging a series of encrypted data transfers that she wasn't assigned to. A trail that was eerily similar to the conspiracy she uncovered in the Jericho Reach. The exception being, it seemed to lead directly to one of the Interrigators within her Ordo.

Heirgamus-Theta discovered Lilith before her body had become completely cold. Wether it be a defect in his mental processes from prolonged exposure to abberant machine spirits or divine intervention, Theta spared Lilith's life with an extensive neurospinal implant. Both parted ways, going into hiding in different sectors of the galaxy. This was nothing new for Theta, but it was a test of faith for Lilith. Stranded for a year on a feudal Agri-World at the edge of the Calixis Sector, the only thing keeping the disgraced Acolyte from going completely mad was in her fath of The Emporer's grace and divine plan for Humanity. Even those who shamfully fail him such as her.

She was convinced that the shuttle approaching the shed she resided in was the Inquisition. And was still suspicious once boarding the von Valancius voidship, The Siren Song. But, once again, she was never the type to deny the opportunities The Emporer graces her with.

[eljackinton]

Wip on the Enforcer inspired Gang Queen.

Usually an Escher ganger doesn't think twice after taking down one of the hive's enforcers, but every now and again some will salvage the armour and think "couture."

[pastadorable]

Random question time!

Of mikey got kidnapped and replaced by a douple ganger that was slightly off who would be the first to notice?

OH FOR SURE RAPH!!!

I’ve mentioned this in a previous ask, but raph has a sort of hive mind connection with the krang after his little…incident.

First sign of zombie or doppelgänger or whatever and raph would be ALL OVER THAT. ALARM BELLS A RINGING!!!

[scumgristle]

in my book GANGERS, Death Match wrestler IV Hives walks into a triple threat mummified in black gauze that's been spiked with thumbtacks.

hmmmmmmmmmmmm

[clevermird]

Review: Space Marine by Ian Watson

When other Warhammer fans told me that Ian Watson's Draco was a bizarre, uncomfortable mess, I didn't believe them. They were right. So when they also told me that Space Marine had everything wrong with Draco and then some, I should have listened this time around.

Because they were right.

Space Marine follows three adolescent boys growing up on the hive world of Necromunda - Lexandro D'arquebus, the spoiled, hedonistic son of an official; Yeremi Valence, as close to middle-class as you get on Necromunda; and Biff Tundrish, a low-hive ganger with a distinctive spider tattoo on his face. For their own reasons, all three apply to join the Imperial Guard and selected as recruits to the Imperial Fists chapter of the Space Marines, where they will be molded into weapons to fight in the name of the God Emperor and a strange, complex bond will form between the three that will be the cause of both successes and failures as they fight their way across the galaxy. 

Oh man. . . where to start. The story itself had a decent setup. A coming-of-age tale following the training and missions of some young Space Marines will likely come to be a classic plot in Warhammer 40k literature, but it is one for a reason. The plot mixes the fantastic and sometimes horrifying realities of life in the 41st millennium with more down-to-earth and relatable relationships between the boys in a way that could have been very satisfying. 

Unfortunately, however, it was not. 

The character development, while intriguing and surprisingly complex in theory, is delivered in a "tell, don't show" fashion where, for the most part, the narration simply informs us how the boys feel about each other rather than allowing them to express their feelings in dialogue or actions. On the other hand, the action scenes have the opposite problem - they're so overwritten that it becomes difficult to tell what's going on in a sea of obscure vocabulary and flowery metaphor. 

All this, however, pales in comparison to the content. As a gothic space opera setting, Warhammer 40k is no stranger to horrific and sometimes gross elements. But Watson plays these up to the point of repulsing the reader not just from the events of the story, but from the book itself, seeming to glory in comparing architecture to genitalia, describing various forms of self-harm, and, most importantly, talking about poop. I lost track of how many times this book finds increasingly convoluted reasons for the characters to touch poop, eat poop, poop their pants, etc., to the point that it's not clear if this was supposed to be some kind of obscure social commentary, a terribly failed attempt at gross-out humor, or simply the author's fetish. 

All that being said, despite the low rating, I can't quite bring myself to hate this book. It's not a good 40k book, it's not a good story, and even at its short page count, it overstayed its welcome, but the absurdity pushes it firmly into 'so bad its good' territory and I enjoyed reading it and quoting some of the more absurd parts to my friends. 

Warnings: In addition to the previously-mentioned frequent references to excrement, the book is full of other assorted grossout descriptions, as well as graphic violence, torture, religious self-harm, and some light body horror.

In addition, the relationship between the three boys is often played for homoeroticism, but the way it’s written makes it clear that Watson thinks this is disturbing and toxic and, intentionally or no, comes off as homophobic

Rating: 2/10