tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20951478401156236812024-03-19T04:44:28.492-07:00InquisitorkA record of the Cleansing Fire Commandery and The Inquisitork Horde along with various other miscellany.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-23498419204153213472012-01-24T03:36:00.000-08:002012-01-24T03:36:14.256-08:00New Blog!This blog is being permanently moved over to http://maddeningwords.wordpress.com please feel free to update your links and tell your friends.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-11618896930820342422011-12-24T13:03:00.000-08:002011-12-24T13:03:30.696-08:00Christmas and Capes<i>Since I haven't posted much in several months I have decided to give my followers a little Christmas present. I present, for your reading pleasure, a sort of prelude to Task Force Valkyrie, newly updated and refurbished. This story is the very first time the characters of Task Force Valkyrie ever appeared in print, from a collection of stories I wrote called "Hero's Club". I hope you enjoy it.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>-Carrie</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Hero's Club</u></b></div><div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><b>Christmas and Capes</b></div><div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The tree was not officially a Christmas Tree, but rather a bit of Holiday Flora thanks to a few dissenting views with some of the club's senior membership. It did not detract from its beauty however, and despite the seven foot menorah glowing proudly in one corner of the massive hall, it was the massive pine that filled the gathered men and women with awe. Its needles were shining titanium, glistening with silver tinsel. Globes of every size and color hung from its branches, some simple plastic while others housed entire universes within their spheres. Each hero in the club had the right to add their own decoration to the tree, and every one of them had, despite religious barriers. The Valiant Hammer had placed a large anvil near the bottom of the tree, sprinkled with the flaking snow caused by the gentle storm that The Magician had summoned high in the dome. The Manhattan Project had an old paper gingerbread man that her daughter had made years ago sitting amongst a circle of multicolored dancing electrons that Snazzy Girl had used to light the tree this season. At the highest peak, above the snowstorm, was the pinnacle of the tree. A majestic bright star had been placed there by 1, the world's greatest hero, and was visible even through the snowing clouds. It shone its light down upon the gathered crowd of costumed people at its base, and enveloped all gathered in its brilliance.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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Canopener was one of those staring up at the star as the Christmas party waited for its most important guest. She was short, with blonde hair down to her shoulders, and was dressed quite conservatively compared to her compatriots. Over two hundred heroes were gathered in the great hall of Hero's Club in the heart of downtown New Charles, the largest city on the eastern seaboard. There were flowing capes, expensive suits, ceremonial robes, powered armor and lavish dresses; but Canopener was the only one wearing jeans. Her shoes were Chuck Taylor, and her hair was done in a matter of minutes by herself. She heard a familiar voice, and turning, imagined she could hear the hissing of hydraulics when she waved her hand at the woman approaching.<br />
<br />
"Cindy! I thought you said you weren't coming." The woman who spoke was taller thanks to the addition of steep stiletto heels, She wore a white dress that hung off of one shoulder and was slit high up her right leg. She was blonde, her hair pulled up in an elegant style that left rivulets of curls to trail down her neck. Her eyes were blue behind wire rimmed glasses, and her smile was warm and genuine. Ultimate Girl embraced the younger hero tightly, and Canopener felt the air being slowly crushed from her lungs before she was dropped back on her feet.<br />
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"Hey UG, I just thought I'd stop by for a little while. I didn't have anything else to do tonight."<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl shook her head, "Dressed like that?"<br />
<br />
"Well, you know..." Canopener trailed off and raised her arms. She'd lost her real ones in a train accident, and her replacements were less than aesthetic, a skeletal set of upper arms that revealed her hydraulic muscles pushing and pulling with every movement she made expanding into a pair of solid forearms that were larger around than her waist. Her hands were small, with thick, rectangular fingers, and all of it a hue of deep crimson red. "I didn't really see the point."<br />
<br />
"Those are what got you in here, remember? With those suckers you could blow a hole through that wall over there! You aught to flaunt them."<br />
<br />
Canopener sighed, "Yeah? You could punch a hole in that wall over there and still model swimsuits that'd make a whore blush."<br />
<br />
"It's not all positives, here comes a drawback now."<br />
<br />
Approaching from the crowd of people was a tall, powerfully built man in perfectly tailored Army dress blues, grinning widely beneath a blue and white cowl that covered his entire head from the nose up. He carried a glass of scotch in one hand, and all of his medals were shined to gleaming perfection. "Well if it isn't my favorite generic looking absolutely ravishing in or out of costume. Are you wearing anything under that?"<br />
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Ultimate Girl sighed, "How much have you had to drink CJ? The party's barely even gotten started yet."<br />
<br />
Captain Justice laughed and raised his drink, "These Christmas parties are the only time of year that a man can have two before 1 ever even shows up."<br />
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"Didn't I see you come in with a date?" Canopener asked.<br />
<br />
"Huh? Yeah, that little furball. She just got in town from Spain, fiesty."<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl laughed, "You brought a furball? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing."<br />
<br />
"Short fur," he replied. "More like fuzz really. Kinda sexy in an exotic way."<br />
<br />
Canopener shook her head, "Next I'm gonna hear you're dating an alien."<br />
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"I'd stick a poke in that Malibu Maneater any day of the week." He said.<br />
<br />
"Oh my God," Canopener said, "She's like, fifteen!"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, in Malibu years. What's that in Earth years, like thirty?"<br />
<br />
"No, it's like fifteen!"<br />
<br />
"You're just jealous Can. I may do alien jailbait, but roboteens just aren't my style."<br />
<br />
She glared at him, but Ultimate Girl stepped in, putting her hand on Captain Justice's shoulder. "Listen CJ, I know you're doing your best to be sweet and all, but I'm gonna ram my fist down your throat if you don't get the hell out of here."<br />
<br />
Before the situation could escalate any further, a green woman in a strapless purple dress approached them. Her hair was a darker green than the rest of her, done in wild spikes atop her head. A pair of feline ears protruded from this mess on either side of her head. Dark makeup accentuated the predatory look of her dark eyes, and she immediately turned to Captain Justice. "Who are zese girlz CJ?"<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl removed her hand from his shoulder, and Captain Justice wrapped an arm around the green girl's waist. "Honey, these are some friends of mine. This is Ultimate Girl and this is The Canopener."<br />
<br />
The woman's frown immediately turned into a beaming smile that showed sharp canines, and she hugged both women tightly. "Bonjour! My name iz Cactus Cat, I am new to ze city, but I have heard many things about both of you. It iz truly ze pleazure to meet you."<br />
<br />
"Honey," Captain Justice said. "Could you go get some wine for the girls? 1's about to give a speech and they don't have anything to toast with."<br />
<br />
"Oh! Of course, I will be right back." She walked away and Captain Justice gave her a slap on the ass, causing her to giggle and wink at him over her shoulder.<br />
<br />
"That was fur?" Ultimate Girl asked.<br />
<br />
"I told you, exotic."<br />
<br />
"She was French you dumbass." Canopener glared and crossed her arms across her chest.<br />
<br />
"Whatever, some pussy country."<br />
<br />
A barrage of flashbulbs blinded Canopener, and she covered her eyes with one arm. Beyond the blue and purple spots in her eyes, voices goaded the heroes. "Ultimate Girl! Adrien Horn, Capes magazine. Who are you wearing tonight?" A crowd of paparazzi had made their way in, escorted by a guide who attempted to keep them from harassing the heroes too much.<br />
<br />
"Oh this? I just pulled it out of the closet." Ultimate Girl had her public voice on, with a laugh in her speech and a smile she never showed anyone but the cameras. It was all teeth.<br />
<br />
"Is this a preview of what we can expect on the red carpet?"<br />
<br />
"Now why would I be on the red carpet?"<br />
<br />
"Are you denying the rumors that you're romantically linked with movie star Richard Halbrock?" The reporter questioned.<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl just winked at the cameras, "I have no comment on that boys."<br />
<br />
"Hey Canopener!" A man with a half day's beard and a large camera called out to her. "You ever gonna get those arms toned down? The Popeye look went out last season!"<br />
<br />
Canopener tensed, "How about I shove that camera up your ass?"<br />
<br />
Nobody heard her though, as at that moment Captain Justice stepped forward and bellowed a loud guffaw before picking up the newly returned Cactus Cat and sitting her up on his shoulder. "Guys, have I introduced you to my new girlfriend? She's just arrived in America to fight justice alongside all the great heroes of the red, white and blue!" The French girl covered her face with the wineglasses she'd brought back.<br />
<br />
"Oh no CJ! Do not put me in front of zem! I look terrible!"<br />
<br />
"Nonsense babe," he teased. "You're good enough to eat!" Then swung her swung her from his shoulders to cradle her and buried his face in her cleavage playfully. She shrieked and laughed while he made animal noises, and the cameras had a field day with it. Then he waved them to follow him, and led his date towards a group of heroes who had yet to be harassed by the press.<br />
<br />
Canopener sighed and looked up at Ultimate Girl, "You see what I mean? You never get dickheads like that guy."<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl shrugged, "You're one of the dark brooding type of heroes. People love it when you threaten the press, it's part of your image."<br />
<br />
"I don't have an image!" Canopener said, "I'm just some girl with metal arms."<br />
<br />
"Just some girl with metal arms," Ultimate Girl replied, "Who participates in the most destructive kind of vigilante justice, beats up annoying reporters every once in a while and causes more collateral damage than any two of the rest of us heroes combined."<br />
<br />
"No way, Mr. Explosions blows up way more crap than I do."<br />
<br />
"Mr. Explosions never rammed an oil tanker into a skyscraper. Face it, you're a bad girl."<br />
<br />
Canopener crossed her arms and looked away, "That doesn't count, there were extenuating circumstances."<br />
"How did you do that anyway?"<br />
<br />
"So," Canopener said, ignoring the question, "You're dating Richard Halbrock?"<br />
<br />
"Ick," Ultimate Girl said. "God no. That guy gives me the creeps, did you see him in that movie about the serial killer?"<br />
<br />
Canopener shuddered, "That rape scene, yeesh. Gave me nightmares for a week. So why'd didn't you tell them that?"<br />
<br />
"Because," Ultimate Girl said, "A girl like me is expected to date movie stars and musicians. If I don't appease the tabloid gods then I'll have to deal with questions about whether or not my boobs are real." Canopener eyed her for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the other woman's chest. Ultimate Girl frowned, "You ask and I'm not your friend anymore."<br />
<br />
Their chat was interrupted by the sudden silence that overtook the room. Both women turned to see 1's dramatic entrance into the party. There was a blue blur around the top of the tree, half hidden by the snowstorm, then the hero burst through the clouds. His costume was skin tight, showing off a strongly muscled body and wide shoulders, a huge yellow 1 emblazoned across his chest. His cape floated behind him, dark red like the domino mask around his face. His chin was cleft, his features perfect, his hair a deep, russet brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the hero among heroes, the one everyone either hated or despised completely. There was only one name spoken of more highly than his, The Slacker Saint, the mysterious man who just appears during the most major of crises and somehow defuses the situation by doing nothing at all.<br />
<br />
1 landed behind a prepared podium and adjusted the microphone in front of him, "I apologize for running late, I had a nuclear holocaust to avert." There were a few laughs, and he stood up straight to address the crowd. "My fellow heroes! We have had a trying year. Giant dirt worms tried to consume an area of downtown, but were averted by the brave actions of myself and others. When the terrors of the Sea Men rose up on our shores, I led the charge that beat them back into the waves. I have diverted meteors and destroyed doomsday devices. I have saved millions in China from flooding and earthquakes, and stopped an evil plan to melt the polar icecaps. All of us have had adventures, though probably not as large as mine."<br />
<br />
A loud voice rose up from the crowd, and Canopener turned to see a teenage girl with dark green hair standing on top of the bar with a half empty champagne bottle in one hand. "Not that large, he pads his tights!"<br />
This got much more laughs than 1's opening line.<br />
<br />
1 swallowed and smiled at her, "Well, ignoring The Malibu Maneater's outburst-"<br />
<br />
"So's your face!"<br />
<br />
"I would like to say that of every glorious sight I have seen this year, nothing amounts to the pride and honor I feel at being here with all of you, in front of this beautiful Holiday Flora."<br />
<br />
"It's a Christmas tree you fucking bastard!"<br />
<br />
The cheers from the heroes quieted as the raucous, drunken cry overcame the din of the crowd. Every head turned to see Captain Justice standing in an ever widening circle of nervous onlookers, his brandy glass empty and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He took a step forward, obviously much drunker than when he had left Ultimate Girl and Canopener, and he pointed at 1 with a gloved finger. "It's fucking scum like you that are destroying our nation. Sure, you maybe stopped that nazi invasion a few years back, but you're taking the Christ outta Christmas! You got that fuckin' Jew-lamp over in the corner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don't call that a December Lantern!"<br />
<br />
As Cactus Cat started trying to apologize for him, The Flaming Liberal stepped out of the crowd. Tall and thin, he had the look of a coffee house scholar down to the peace sign necklace and the thin pseudo-intellectual glasses. He was flanked by a large Hispanic woman in blue and black leather, Blue State, his bodyguard. "You have to respect other cultures you totalitarian government prole! You want to talk about nazis, you and everyone like you are the reason the holocaust happened! You have got to grow up and learn to accept other cultures! DOWN WITH RACISTS! DOWN WITH RACISTS!"<br />
<br />
His chant was silenced before he got to repeat it a third time as Captain Justice's fist came smashing into his gaunt face. Blue State was suddenly encased in ice as she activated her powers and hit Captain Justice in the midsection with a shoulder tackle. They both went down as The Flaming Liberal screeched in rage and tried to stop the blood flow from his nose. Most people backed off, but Ultimate Girl took a step towards the fray, popping her knuckles. Canopener grabbed her by the arm, "I thought you didn't like CJ."<br />
<br />
"He's not too bad," She said. "Besides, that ice bitch called me a slut on live TV, so she's got it coming." With that she took off into mid air, then came down into the fray with a right hook that shattered the icy protection around Blue State's head.<br />
<br />
The entire party descended into chaos as old grudges were suddenly given the opportunity to be settled with the help of alcohol and a topical moral conundrum. Canopener watched as 1 flew around the room, flailing wildly at The Malibu Maneater, who was apparently wrapped around his back with all her limbs and trying to beat him senseless with her champagne bottle. Canopener made for the exit, and slammed the door behind her, shaking her head.<br />
<br />
"Tough night."<br />
<br />
Canopener's head jerked up and she saw a man standing in front of her that she could have sworn wasn't there a few moments before. He was rather tall, with unkempt brown hair and a shaggy, unshaven face. He was wearing a fuzzy green bathrobe, light blue pajama pants, a grey tee shirt and fuzzy white slippers. He wasn't a remarkable looking man, and had he been anywhere but standing outside the emergency exit of Hero's Club she wouldn't have noticed him anywhere. "Yeah?" She said, "And how would you know?"<br />
<br />
He smiled, and it was a friendly smile, like her father's. It set her at ease. "A lot of fighting going on in there, hope they don't break anything valuable."<br />
<br />
Canopener smirked, "Yeah, right. With the power they're throwing around in there this whole place is gonna come down."<br />
<br />
"That," he said, "Isn't really in the Christmas spirit is it?"<br />
<br />
"You mean the holiday spirit right?" She said, sarcastically.<br />
<br />
"Sure, whatever you wanna call it. Just doesn't seem right, ya know? Bunch of guys like that, upholders of truth and justice and everything, bickering around like spoiled kids."<br />
<br />
She nodded, "Yeah, they're not acting much like heroes are they?"<br />
<br />
He looked at her, and his eyes were the deepest green she had ever seen. "Neither are you." Then he was gone. Canopener blinked her eyes repeatedly. He hadn't disappeared; it was like he hadn't ever been there in the first place. Shaking her head, she tried to grasp onto the memory of the brief encounter, but it was like trying to hold onto mist.<br />
<br />
She turned around and went back through the door into the violent chaos that was the main hall. Then she raised her arms and placed her wrists together in front of her, palms out. A familiar smell of ozone mixed with a humming sound from inside her massive forearms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bright blue energy blast that slammed into the crowd sent dozens of heroes tumbling across the ground and through the air, and for a moment the fighting stopped. Canopener took this brief pause to speak.<br />
<br />
"You stupid shitheads!" She screamed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? This isn't how heroes act, and you're gonna stop it before I have to drag another oil tanker three miles inland to drop on your God damn heads! This season isn't about fighting with each other. It's about giving presents to people you don't really like that well and getting blasted on egg nog. Fuck this stupid shit, I'm Snazzy Girl's secret santa and she's gonna get her ten dollar CD case, and she's gonna pretend she loves it because that's what we came here for."<br />
<br />
People stared at her from all around the great hall. Ultimate Girl's heels were broken and her dress was torn across the stomach. Captain Justice had one of his medals pinned sideways onto his cowl. Blue State and The Flaming Liberal both had black eyes and were leaning against each other, somehow both charred and covered in frost at the same time. Cactus Cat had sprouted thorns and was caught up in The Valiant Hammer's cape. The only one still moving was The Malibu Maneater, who, oblivious to the whole room, had broken her bottle and was now chewing on 1's ear as he floated above the crowd.<br />
<br />
Ultimate Girl was the first to move, straightening out her torn dress with her hands and saying, "Well then."<br />
Captain Justice got to his feet, "Right."<br />
<br />
The fighters slowly separated themselves and began going about pretending that none of that had ever happened, and Canopener finally let herself breathe again. She headed for the bar and sat down, looking up at the bartender, who had taken cover when the brawling had started. "Egg nog," she said. "Very very strong." The bartender nodded and served her, and in a room full of righteous protectors of the law, nobody dared to mention that she was underage.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-70252349549519566762011-10-26T15:14:00.000-07:002011-10-26T15:14:09.235-07:00Help Help Help!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih54gjUnKEShXHKtA8BZ9TwefAtjN1mvFOM7NtTu6TvIayaLC3jn6sxRuw4j66mHdaqept7slps2gHWRMV8ARQCNrk3fWxCJCN2jnqlFXB5swSaxK0IJqdy1EAyaGhmztY8CYUGrbT3Pk/s1600/012c579c332155f0128e0e438279faa4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih54gjUnKEShXHKtA8BZ9TwefAtjN1mvFOM7NtTu6TvIayaLC3jn6sxRuw4j66mHdaqept7slps2gHWRMV8ARQCNrk3fWxCJCN2jnqlFXB5swSaxK0IJqdy1EAyaGhmztY8CYUGrbT3Pk/s320/012c579c332155f0128e0e438279faa4.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>This is the end, my only friends, the end...<br />
<br />
Or something to that effect, at least. After the release of the White Dwarf codex of Sisters of Battle I completely and utterly lost all interest in Warhammer 40k as a gaming platform. I know that sounds kind of whiny, but I honestly didn't mean for it to happen, it just did.<br />
<br />
I played in the 3++ Ladder before the codex came out and managed an amazing 0 Wins, 3 Ties and 1 Loss. I never really claimed to be a tournament level player, and this event really proved it for me. Halfway through the ladder tournament players were allowed to restructure their armies and, since a new codex had come out for me, I had to use that one. The end result of this was me staring at the codex for a while, then just decided not to continue competing. I felt like I'd been abandoned, and I really didn't feel like trying to fight tooth and nail for draws anymore, especially with an update that would require me to completely relearn army tactics.<br />
<br />
I liked the idea of switching over to Warmachine, as the aesthetics for Khador really made me giggle with glee, but a lack of local players and a lack of time and money to invest has put me off of it. I would love to be reinvigorated with Warhammer 40k, but I just can't think of anything I want out of the war game anymore. I still enjoy the setting, and the RPGs, but the actual game itself leaves me feeling apathetic.<br />
<br />
So, I present here a chance for anyone still reading this to help me find that lost magic again! Comments are open to advice!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Things I like about Warhammer 40K:<br />
<ol><li>Sisters of Battle: I love the Church Militant in all of its forms, I love badass chicks and I love FIRE!</li>
<li>Inquisitors: This is a bit of an extension on the Church Militant and the fires, but also investigations!</li>
<li>Protagonists: I can't get into an army or theme unless I have characters in mind and stories in my head.</li>
<li>Getting Stuck In: I love combat. I love rushing in and beating everyone to death with my axes!</li>
<li>Comedy: Sure, it's dark comedy, but it's there!</li>
<li>Tons of Infantry: I like moving bodies on the board and gigantic volleys of fire, or vast tides of guys.</li>
<li>A Solid Chance of Winning: Facing up against an army I literally have no chance against takes the wind out of my sails. I don't mind losing, I just hate getting completely wiped like a child.</li>
</ol>Things I dislike about Warhammer 40K:<br />
<ol><li>Space Marines: I just don't get them. They don't appeal to me. I have never given two hoots about space marine characters or space marine stories. The unbeatable genetically engineered badasses of the universe just seem bland to me. I don't like them in the fluff, I don't like them on the board.</li>
<li>Chaos: So much of it seems like angsty teenager power fantasy to me that I can't get into it. None of it scares me, it just kind of annoys me.</li>
<li>Coteaz: He just gets my goat and I dunno why. You could probably change this entry to the entirety of the Grey Knights codex, honestly.</li>
<li>Gimmicks: I like a good, solid army list with a few tricks, but I sincerely dislike most stuff like FOC Changes and List Building Shenanigans.</li>
<li>List Building: I think this one covers why I am no good at tournaments. I can't spend weeks or months tweaking lists. I just try to cover my bases with mixed forces and go, which is apparently a very bad idea.</li>
<li>Spam: I can't fill one slot with all the same units kitted the same way, I can't. It makes my head hurt and just feels really boring, no matter how good it is on the board.</li>
</ol> So, any advice from my faithful fans? I'd really love some. Are any of you still there? Hello?Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-81573168062340468712011-09-16T04:30:00.001-07:002011-09-16T04:30:29.233-07:00Secret Project REVEALED!<div class="post-header"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JnNYacwUCbAulwKWnIwYdcWBvBNCftnMxEU8JjEtKXMVuOz14lg4rm71aLrZu49rkb0s8XcjVI93MsByoXt4v7mFRW-xmHBxlRcfEeYCSQUcFHCveKjZC27teVp5STfutsCeAMVZs5ga/s1600/Carriepage.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6JnNYacwUCbAulwKWnIwYdcWBvBNCftnMxEU8JjEtKXMVuOz14lg4rm71aLrZu49rkb0s8XcjVI93MsByoXt4v7mFRW-xmHBxlRcfEeYCSQUcFHCveKjZC27teVp5STfutsCeAMVZs5ga/s320/Carriepage.png" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">TASK FORCE: VALKYRIE</div>Finally the secret project I have been ambiguous about is revealed after months and months (personal issues of the <a href="http://poisonkandie.deviantart.com/">artist</a>) not to mention all the other bits of quiet I am going through right now. The artist has been in a state of desperation about getting an American visa and moving, which has caused a lot of delays and hiatuses from her. My own issues, employment being the number one, have been affecting my ability to work closely with her as well. But anyway, enough excuses, let's hear about this secret project that's had me all tied up in knots.<br />
<br />
Myself and Raylene, my good personal friend, have collaborated together to create something that I have wanted to do for a long time, a comic book. That up there is the working draft (unfinished) of the cover for "Task Force: Valkyrie" a superhero comic about an all female team of heroes sent out to scout and recruit newfound powers into the superhero community. I have, since I was a kid, been a comics nut. I started on the teeth gritting ambiguously fingered Rob Liefield work of the nineties with all the various X books and have moved on from them into the awe inspiring Gail Simone books, the beauty in the face of ruin tales of Warren Ellis and the eldritch screams of Alan Moore as he summons the snake god onto the comic page. They were my very first love (besides Henry James) and I still hold them close to my heart, as anyone who follows War Dolls can attest to.<br />
<br />
"Task Force: Valkyrie" is the tale of four superheroic women of different backgrounds coming together to mutually dislike each other and be the absolute worst PR team in history. The team leader, Snazzy Girl, pictured front, is a no nonsense pretentious alpha bitch who comes off as more passive aggressive than actually effective. To the left is Bruiser, a smiling moron who gets by solely on the fact that she can punch a hole in a bank vault and walk through hails of gunfire without any apparent ill effects. In the back is The Canopener, an angsty, anti-social teenager with severe self-image issues and a bad temper and finally, in the glasses, is Ultimate Girl, a tabloid super heroine who shows up on more red carpets than crime scenes.<br />
<br />
I don't want to give too much away at the moment since this comic is going to show up in full color on this very blog soon enough, but the first plotline involves the team trying to recruit a powerful alien being to the side of good while a menacing evil presence works from behind the scenes to make sure that the alien destroys the team instead. Please look forward to it. It's far from completion, but I will update here with different sketches and page concepts as the comic moves forward until everything is set for a full public release.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-51184892796089001682011-07-28T20:02:00.000-07:002011-07-28T20:02:12.267-07:00Radical: Remembrancer<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>This is Radical part X. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I had never before laid eyes upon the Eldar, and immediately I could see how so many had fallen under their sway over the millenia. They stood before us in that clearing, tall and graceful, their armor all smooth lines and slow curves. There was something dreamlike about them. As their leader approached, Kane turned back to us, raising his hand. “Sisters, lay your weapons down. We have no quarrel with the Eldar today.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He spoke in a manner I had never heard him use before. Usually Kane was a bit gruff and to the point with his speech, but in the presence of these xenos he seemed to have, for the first time, taken on a more respectful tone. I could understand that. There was something in the essence of the Eldar that seemed to command respect and awe. I think if I had been anyone other that a daughter of the Emperor himself I might have fallen into that trap myself. Instead I kept my bolter trained on the nearest of the Eldar, ready. Kora seemed conflicted for a moment, but knelt and laid her stormbolter down into the mud, though her eyes never left the Eldar themselves.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane smiled at her and turned to the Eldar. He opened his mouth to speak, but one of the xenos moved with a speed I had never seen before, and the butt of its rifle cracked across Kane's face and brought him staggering down to one knee. He gagged as he tried to rise, finding the barrel of the Eldar rifle shoved so far into his mouth that he gagged, bile spilling over his lips. Kora's reaction was instantaneous. She leapt forward to the inquisitor's aid, but faster than the eyes could see another of the Eldar brought her down. It crouched over her prone form, holding a knife to her throat. I could do nothing, the remaining three xenos had their rifles trained on me and I had no doubt that their reflexes would see me dead before I could even twitch my finger on the trigger of my bolter. Still, we are an order founded my martyrs and I was prepared to do my duty when a new voice broke into the clearing.</div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The words were in a language that was beyond the realms of humanity. It held none of the holy structure of Gothic, but instead rolled through the air like a symphony, all tones and crescendos mixed in with short, sharp syllables which seemed to exist more as percussion than language. The syllables kept time to the music of the language. The speaker emerged from the trees almost like a ghost. She was female, too eerily female and so close to human. Her armor seemed light, but was bejeweled and covered in alien runes that drew the eye in a disturbing fashion. She wore no helmet, and her features would have been considered beautiful on any human woman, even with her pointed ears and too sharp cheekbones. Her very presence sent chills down my spine and I silently recited a prayer of purity.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The eldar who held Kane hostage spoke back to the woman in that same language, and she raised her hand in an authoritative gesture. Reluctantly the xeno removed its gun from Kane's mouth and took a step backwards, leaving the Inquisitor. The one atop Kora didn't have the chance to release her. Kane's first action, before even rising, was to thrust his hand out towards it and a blast of light burst the xeno's torso like a balloon. As what was left of it collapsed to the side Kane moved. The bolt pistol he'd taken from Kora smashed into the elegant helmet of the Eldar who had taken him hostage. As it fell Kane's sword swung around and tucked itself under the xenos' chin. It was a credit to Eldar reflexes that its head was not split open at that moment, but it caught itself at the last moment, the disruption field of the power sword sizzling off the chin armor of the xeno's helmet. “Farseer,” Kane growled, the bolt pistol now trained on the female Eldar. “There are certain things I will not tolerate.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora had gotten back to her feet and taken her stormbolter up, but neither of us fired. Something in Kane's tone told us that we were to do nothing until he gave the sign. The Farseer, as Kane had called her, seemed suddenly agitated, but she made no move except to draw a double bladed sword almost as tall as she was. “Inquisitor, I'm afraid that there are certain things that even we Eldar, in our infinite patience, have trouble tolerating as well. The genocide of our people and the murder of our families is one of those things.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Whatever grudge you have against me for what I did to your home does not extend to these sisters. They surrendered,” he said.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Farseer raised her blade into a fighting stance and lightning crackled down the blade. I felt the telltale signs of the witch and immediately changed my aim. My first bolt would go through her head. “I will hear no talk of mercy from you, World Killer. I was there when you lead the charge up the steps of the nursery. I would tear the souls from the bodies of your women and send them to The Great Enemy if it would make you suffer.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At this Kane seemed to crack the smallest of smiles, “But you won't. You're no assassin group, not here. You're here for the old ones. The metal men. And you need me.” His teeth flashed, almost predatory, and the Farseer took a step backwards. “I know how you work, Eldar. You never do anything without a reason. You know that I'm needed here, and you had to come and make sure that I do whatever it is that I need to do. So what is that, Terthia?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You speak my name as if you know some great secret, mon-keigh. I know your future, Inquisitor. I have seen it a dozen times. It's why I didn't kill you on those nursery steps, and it's why I don't kill you now.” She sheathed her sword then waved her hand at the other Eldar, who lowered their weapons. “So, Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, Daemon Slayer, World Killer, Traitor, Heretic. You have a task to complete.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At this Kane faltered just slightly, and in his moment of distraction the Eldar poised at the edge of his sword leapt back a safe distance away. Kane ignored him. “So tell me then, wych. What do the fates have in store for me?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Farseer shook her head, “You will see, soon enough. What you must know right now is how the Ancient Enemy might be defeated. They can not be allowed to spread from this place.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What are they?” I turned as Kora spoke up, and Kane gave her a sharp look, but she continued. “I've never heard of anything like them.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They are worse than you can imagine, young sister,” the Farseer said. “You have devoted yourself to fighting chaos, the realm of emotion and the failings of us all. These are far worse than that. Chaos is all wrath and lust, sloth and envy. It is seductive and terrible, but it can be understood. Within us all lies the heart of chaos, and in knowing it, we can defeat it. The Ancient Enemy is nothing we can ever understand. It is death and the void. It is nothing. The metal men are soulless beings given life by their ever hungry gods. They eat life and leave nothing but death in their wake. Only oblivion follows in their wake.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In ages past we Eldar fought a great war against them, but we were not strong enough. We were on the verge of defeat when a new weapon was created. This weapon could find the Necrontyr wherever they hid and destroy them. Their ancient fortresses fell, their temples collapsed, and they were driven to their tombs where we sealed them for what we hoped would be eternity. Now their tombs are being discovered again, and the Necrontyr are rising from their crypts, ready to wage war on the galaxy once again.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A weapon against the Necrontyr?” Kane said, astonished. “I've never heard anything like that. None of the stories mention anything of the sort.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you would have it,” the Farseer said, “Then I would give it unto your command, Inquisitor.” Something in her tone, alien as it was, gave me pause, but Kane didn't seem to have noticed it. There was something in his eyes, something crazed. “We have brought it to this world so that the Necrontyr might be once more driven underground, but only you may wield it properly. I have seen it. Go West from here, Inquisitor, and meet your destiny.” The Farseer bowed her head once, then gestured to the other Eldar. As one they began to fade back into the forest, and Kane let them go.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora stepped forward, finally wiping the xeno's blood from her armor, “What the hell were they talking about, Kane?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He sheathed his power sword and led the way out of the clearing, heading the opposite way as the Eldar. “I'm not sure. But if they're right then we don't have any time to waste. Whatever weapon they've brought we need.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can we trust them?” she asked.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No,” Kane said matter of factly. “And yes. She wasn't lying to me, that I know for sure. The Eldar never lie when telling the truth serves their needs just as well.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As I walked along behind them, trying to figure out what it was that the Farseer had meant, I noticed that the rain had finally stopped. I looked up towards the sky and saw an orange glow beyond the canopy of the jungle, as if the sky were on fire. Then a sound louder than anything I had ever heard before blasted the jungle. The trees shook and I was thrown to the ground as the very air hit me like a hammer blow at the base of my neck. Dazed, I climbed to my feet, and felt the rain once again falling down. A moment later I was tossed again, picked up like a doll and thrown through the jungle. Trees shattered and snapped all around me. I hit one, saved from breaking my back only by my power armor, but my helmet impacted hard, and everything went black.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I awoke later, not knowing how long I had been out, pinned underneath a fallen tree trunk. With a shove I managed to push it off of me, my power armor doing most of the heavy lifting, and I climbed to my feet, dazed. I pulled my helmet off and winced, seeing the deep crack in the ceramite from the impact with the tree, and I tossed it aside. The rain still fell, but that was the only thing recognizable about the terrain. As far as I could see in all directions the jungle was gone. Only fallen trees and torn up ground filled what I thought was a deep valley. It was only when I looked to the west that I realized I was not in a valley, but a crater. A meteor the size of a mountain stood in the very center of the impact zone, still smoking and on fire in places, molten rock pouring off of it in great waterfalls. Then came the sound. I was, at the time, astonished to find I could still hear, but that momentary relief faded away almost immediately. Things were moving on the meteor; thousands or tens of thousands of shapes, too far away for me to make out anything but their movement, but the noise they made, that traveled all the way out to me, clear as day.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“WAAAAAGH!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>So ends the ninth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.</i> </div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-27344501510404514162011-07-16T20:08:00.000-07:002011-07-16T20:11:13.377-07:00More updates on crap you have yet to see results forSo, since I am once again unemployed, my last position being temporary, I have tons of free time once again and am cranking up my production to match the level of boredom I have sitting around the house playing video games all damned day. A girl can only play so much Fallout before she needs to actually accomplish things again. So, without further ado, here we go.<br />
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<b>Project 1: The Adeptus Mechanicus FanDex <span style="color: red;">COMPLETED</span></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"> </span>I've finally finished all of the writing I've been doing for it, and the actual book should be published pretty soon. According to inside sources they're doing some final playtesting tweaks, then the newest edition of the book will be released soon afterwards. The book will feature some original art and tons of original stories from myself and other amazing writers, so look forward to it. (I hear the rules kick a little ass too.)<br />
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<b>Project 2: The War Dolls</b> <b style="color: #38761d;">IN PROGRESS</b><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: white;">Me and three other wonderful gaming bloggers are creating a girl gamers blog. You can see the chatbox for it just down there where the old 3++ one used to be. (Forgive me Kirby!) We're looking at kicking this thing off by either doing a gigantic 4 player Armageddon style stomp fest with our favorite armies or</span> </span><span style="color: white;">a 40k ladder where we all play each other. Either way, expect a series of battle reports and awesome from that. You can find the blog, which is currently blank,</span> <a href="http://thewardolls.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br />
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<b>Project 3: Radical <span style="color: #38761d;">IN PROGRESS</span></b><br />
<div style="color: white;">It's not dead! I have just been so busy at work that I haven't had time to throw down with Regina, Kora and the rest recently. In the meantime I have plotted out the rest of the story, made some editing choices and gotten everything all worked out. The newest chapter "Remembrancer" is being written as we speak and will be up and posted within the week.</div><br />
<b>Project 4: The Legend of Truslug <span style="color: #38761d;">IN PROGRESS</span></b><br />
<div style="color: white;">This is a story series I am writing specifically for War Dolls<b>. </b>This series will tell the story of Slug, an Ork Boy, and his rise through the ranks of his Waaagh. There aren't a lot of Ork point of view stories being published, and I always thought that was a shame, since Orks are so full of personality and possibility. Fans of my narrative battle reports about Orks should really look forward to The Legend of Truslug.</div><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span><b>Project 5: SECRET PROJECT <span style="color: #38761d;">IN PROGRESS</span></b><br />
<div style="color: white;">Much ado about this thing, I know, but I promise it's there and all will be revealed the second my artist finishes up her work. I really love the idea of a big reveal with flashy color and everything, so I am still keeping a lid on this one, at least until some part of it is ready to be shown off in its completeness. We're right now working on adjusting the art just slightly and fixing some minor editing problems. It's under production right now though, and I promise it's gonna be fun.</div><br />
<b>Project 6: Edmund Filo <span style="color: yellow;">Floating in the Aether</span></b><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: black;"><b> </b></span></span><br />
<div style="color: white;">That old Edmund FIlo story that randomly appeared up here one late night was the result of whiskey and insomnia. I like the idea, and I enjoy the character a bunch, and I had a ton of fun writing it, but it's not a huge priority right now. This doesn't mean I won't get back to it, it just means that I have a ton of other stuff on my plate and this guy is definitely on the back burner. Popular opinion might change that though.</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-22983507213018038782011-07-03T12:01:00.001-07:002011-07-03T12:01:10.505-07:00On the tactical and practical uses of explosionsIn honor of July 4th, Independence Day (America Fuck Yeah Day for my international audience) I have decided to talk about one of my very favorite American traditions, blowing shit up! <br/> <br/> Whether explosions come in the form of blast templates, AoE markers, carefully measured pieces of string, counted out movement tiles or the ever popular Michael Bay style giant fireball, explosions exist for the specific reason of doing fucktons of damage to a large area, generally in the hopes of killing as many dudes as possible. In wargaming they hold a very important crowd control roll in many armies. One of the best ways to handle an IG blob or Ork Mob is to start dropping blast templates on it. Shrapnel saves lives, namely the lives of the people giving it away (Free gifts for everyone!). <br/> <br/> I am notorious for my love of high explosives and things that go boom boom boom. There's a rule in my tabletop group that Carrie is not allowed to have anything explosive or flamable at any time. You see I've always been of the opinion that there's no kill like overkill and it's impossible to dodge a mushroom cloud. The fact that me or my allies might also be in the blast radius is usually a secondary concern. Just ask my poor Orks when the Boomgun and Shokk Attack Gun start going off. So obviously I am not the most efficient user of explosions there's ever been, but that's okay. I have fun. And fun is the whole point of explosions, look at the opening boxoffice for Transformers 3. People love things that go boom, and also possibly Shia LeBouef. <br/> <br/> So, that being said, when is the best time to "give him the explodey?". Well, if you ask me, always, but we'll pretend I'm a rational person for now and look at what explosions do for you, the consumer. First, explosions kill dudes ded. When you need thirty goblins gone in a single turn, it's fireball time, ask any DnD player. Nothing kills large crowds like a good kaboom. Second, explosions and loud and bright. Want someone looking the other way? Blow up something and I promise all eyes will be on the giant ball of fire. If you start dropping bombs on the left, you've got a good chance of sneaking your guys on the left. Michael Bay's explosions are so good at distraction all that terrible acting and horrendous script goes almost unnoticed. Third, explosions knock stuff down. Not so great in a lot of wargames, where terrain is inviolate and sacred, but in RPGs somes and RPG is just what you need for getting through that pesky locked door (according to my DM having a high lockpick does not give me a bonus to demolitions. Nazi.) <br/> <br/> Explosions are the swiss army knife of the gaming world. With proper and judicious use of explosives there is no problem that can't be solved, or at least turned into a different problem. So rejoice my friends, and let the booms out to play.<div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-36056215949731790232011-06-30T17:20:00.001-07:002011-06-30T17:20:24.304-07:00Secret Project UpdateDue to some production delays the secret project as been slightly delayed in being revealed. It's nothing huge (the artist's desk is currently hidden under piles of her roommate's moving out boxes) and if anything it should only be a short delay. <br/> <br/> Along with the minor delay comes a change in art style. After seeing the preliminary proofs I had the artist make a few changes. I felt art nouveau didn't properly capture the feeling I was trying to get across and so we switched to a slightly more modern style with hints of art deco to enhance the overall feel. We also went a bit bolder with the colors to create a more dynamic style. <br/> <br/> This is feeling less like a secret project right now than a baby whose due date is rapidly approaching and I haven't told anyone the gender yet.<div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-49830797819807369272011-06-26T13:40:00.001-07:002011-06-26T13:40:03.507-07:00A numbers gameI told you quitting wasn't going to last long. Sundays are slow at work so I decided to run a numbers game as seen here: nike40k.blogspot.com/2011/96/40k-theory-its-all-about-the-numbers.html (excuse the lack of formatting I'm posting this on my phone while having lunch). This is basically a numerical measurement of my army's potential against a MEQ army in terms of being dead killy. I only ran the numbers for my standard 2k ork composition, but let's see how I did! <br/> <br/> Marines shot per game: 84 <br/> Marines chopped per game: 208.35 <br/> Rhinos destroyed per game: 18.85 <br/> Land Raiders destroyed per game: 5.15 <br/> <br/> Now this is only the pure potential of my army and does not reflect an actual game, but its a good judge of raw firepower. Now let's compare it to the orks that won third at Nova. <br/> <br/> Marines shot per game: 94.5 <br/> Marines chopped per game: 228.75 <br/> Rhinos destroyed per game: 80 <br/> Land Raiders destroyed per game: 31.04 <br/> <br/> Holy crap! I got owned! And I might be mistaken, but isn't Nova an 1850 tournament? Obviously my list is very far from optimised. Maybe I should rethink its structure... Nah. I'm pretty far from a competitive player, and I don't plan on entering any tournaments any time soon. Still, interesting to know how far behind I am in competitive list building. <br/> <br/> PS: I have been informed my secret project will be ready to be revealed within the week!<div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.2</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-44494988508744974542011-06-25T12:38:00.000-07:002011-06-25T12:38:39.906-07:00That is not dead which can eternal procrastinate.Fear not my fine feathered friends, I'm not dead or in the hospital again or anything. I'm working on my secret project and also trying to come up with both a new design for this blog and also finishing up my work on the Adeptus Mechanicus codex. That last one is going kind of slow, with me being pulled in every direction and not really having time to flesh out a good idea for my last bit of the project. So very sorry Lantz, I promise I'm working on it.<br />
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In the mean time, my secret project looks like it aught to be revealed pretty soon as progress on that is going so much more swimmingly than everything else. Work is taking up a whole lot of my time, which is severely cutting into my writing and thinking time, and as many of you know I'm not exactly pleased with Games Workshop and officially "quit" 40k. This is mostly a tantrum and is quite likely to pass as I am not exactly known for holding grudges against people I never dated (or anyone who doesn't play for the Detroit Redwings). Still, it's taken a bit of the drive out of me. Radical is still going to continue, I promise.<br />
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One thing I have been looking at getting into is Warmachine. I played a little bitty battlebox game of it on Vassal the other day with Mistress of Minis, and had a lot of fun with it. What does everyone else think?Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-20951520533116922622011-06-12T09:22:00.000-07:002011-06-12T09:22:38.871-07:00Format change and other quandriesFirst off, I apologize for the lack of posting recently, I have been currently working on another project which I'm not quite ready to reveal to the world yet. It is something I have been looking forward to for years, and a dear friend is helping me out with it. I haven't wanted to say anything until it was almost ready to be revealed, which it is. Look here first for the big day!<br />
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Secondly, the format of my blog is going to change from a 40K blog to a more generalized format to meet with a new direction that will incorporate my new project along with some old ones I have been fiddling with. The new format will be a Fiction in Nerddom style, rather than focusing purely on 40K or even war gaming in general.<br />
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And finally, I am going to be hanging up my power armor spurs. As of this moment Commissar Carrie, delighted friend and happy lady in general, will no longer be a proud participator in Warhammer 40K. Shock and awe, I know! I have, very recently, been feeling rather lackluster about the game, and a <a href="http://kirbysblog-ic.blogspot.com/2011/06/sisters-of-battlein-white-dwarf.html">recent announcement</a> has pushed me over the edge. I am not a particular fan of the current metagame and gaming atmosphere of 40K, and with a wash of new releases for all of the third edition codexes coming out (GK, Necrons, DE) I feel slighted. Rather than whine and bitch (I am trying to get that all out of my system in this paragraph) I've just decided to move on from the game. I still thoroughly enjoy the universe and setting of the grim dark future, but the game itself I am quietly putting on the shelf along with my small horde of much loved and thoroughly unpainted models. Radical will still continue, but once it has finished that'll probably be done for me. Behold, I am become emo, destroyer of fun.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-2451726306577086542011-05-29T01:41:00.000-07:002011-05-29T01:47:18.095-07:00Creating Characters: Viewpoint<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-yDtq8gQ7TwLH0iSuyfq2Or1X0fGThxagAxlXPlz07yWANZBjqyc3hCqKQKFT2it0sArlz0PvKQ3_uo4Psr4CJkkc8spwxT_n_vsOhHrvNr-hSuaN7n70qHDerSqqBEBaWP3yzJQtjk/s1600/character-illustration-tutorials-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-yDtq8gQ7TwLH0iSuyfq2Or1X0fGThxagAxlXPlz07yWANZBjqyc3hCqKQKFT2it0sArlz0PvKQ3_uo4Psr4CJkkc8spwxT_n_vsOhHrvNr-hSuaN7n70qHDerSqqBEBaWP3yzJQtjk/s320/character-illustration-tutorials-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>While this is, nominally, a 40K blog, since I have been getting the most attention for my writing rather than my gaming, I thought this might be a good chance to go ahead and throw some good old fashioned advice column in here.<br />
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Now, as a tabletop gamer I know that creating a character is one of the most vital parts of the entire endeavor, and one that many people struggle with, whether they know it or not. This same struggle comes up when creating characters for fictional universes, whether they be in stories or games. Many gamers enjoy creating characters for their 40K armies, naming their Space Marine captains or Farseers or Crisis Commanders. This is colloquially known as fluff. But what makes good fluff characters and bad fluff characters? The same thing that makes good literary characters and bad literary characters.<br />
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Up above you see one of my favorite characters of all time, one Homer J Simpson. Homer is, to me, a wonderful example of a character. He exhibits all of the characteristics required to create an engaging and memorable character. He is multifaceted,relatable, goal oriented and, above all, terrifically human. Originally, The Simpsons focused on the antics of Bart, but as the series matured the focus moved on towards Homer as he was less one dimensional than his mischievous son and provided more options for storylines. His mixture of below average intelligence, determination to solve problems and general lack of foresight came together to create a character that is both alien and all too familiar. We, as humans, do not want to hear stories about the everyday lives of ourselves, we want to hear stories about the adventures of our exceptional neighbors.<br />
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Not every character has to be Homer Simpson. In fact, one of the reasons that Homer is so memorable is the fact that he has cast a unique mold for himself in our psyches, one which other shows in the same genre have tried to emulate with varying degrees of success. The key to a good character though is not in the external challenges or the superficial characteristics, but in the viewpoint of the character itself. Homer is constantly flabbergasted, bewildered and in over his head; his stories reflect this by making everything seem larger and more difficult than it is. Peter Griffin of Family Guy, however, is possessed more of a supreme and mislaid self confidence mixed with dramatic hyperactivity. This results in stories about relatively similar character archetypes, the dim witted husband and father, having entirely different styles and themes thanks entirely to the character's viewpoint.<br />
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Let's look at another example:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDsoOZNuU9FqXpVUWp__0NxIWhcf0ttJYhHofuoxsYyT0To5_b2PAkL7MxWkcIUgT8seTiHy0C9JI9_NNNAGtHznqsMEjyjgVxDT5kAxzIF7QVRQE8kJf3hSkCHSrNkTlN6pph54A5ns/s1600/65774-captain_marvel_vs_superman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDsoOZNuU9FqXpVUWp__0NxIWhcf0ttJYhHofuoxsYyT0To5_b2PAkL7MxWkcIUgT8seTiHy0C9JI9_NNNAGtHznqsMEjyjgVxDT5kAxzIF7QVRQE8kJf3hSkCHSrNkTlN6pph54A5ns/s320/65774-captain_marvel_vs_superman.jpg" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cross Counter: Dramatis Extremus</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Everyone knows the man on the right, Superman, but his not quite as popular counterpart there is Captain Marvel. On the outside they are remarkably alike. Tall, muscular men with shining black hair, they are both impossibly strong, impossibly tough and impossibly fast. They can fly, they fight badguys, they're both in the same superhero organization, how are they different? While one could argue powers forever, the differences in the characters themselves is a matter of viewpoint. Superman is an alien, forever alone on the planet, the Last Son of Krypton, protecting his adopted home because he feels that it is right and just. He is a fully grown man with staunch convictions and experience who knows how to use his strength to achieve his goals. Captain Marvel, on the other hand, is a young boy with the power to <i>become</i> "Superman". He has not had time to grow into his convictions, but instead simply apes what he believes to be honest and true. He moves through life with the innocence of a child and the strength of a man. He does what is right not because of decisions he has made, but because of a childlike naivete that right is right and wrong is wrong. While Superman's actions are guided by reason, Captain Marvel's are guided by emotion. This results in characters with vastly different viewpoints and thus vastly different stories.<br />
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To bring this back around into 40K I'd like to contrast two more characters, one bad, one good.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjt2TubBtXGaiqBWRQ2XwgRW37O6Rabji9hsLwRDxLagHzDk9Ub_ZeHt2a60Nm05uSbOl-jjnq8VFcnKnj_OT34wO3ZBQ73fW8FRTdPSaM3zxSjrR9nOqwr7FRs9-OzXn2kijVY_sNhc/s1600/draigocain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjt2TubBtXGaiqBWRQ2XwgRW37O6Rabji9hsLwRDxLagHzDk9Ub_ZeHt2a60Nm05uSbOl-jjnq8VFcnKnj_OT34wO3ZBQ73fW8FRTdPSaM3zxSjrR9nOqwr7FRs9-OzXn2kijVY_sNhc/s320/draigocain.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There can be only one!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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Why is one good and one bad? Because one is a person with a viewpoint and the other one is testosterone with weapons.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-59396342540661068762011-05-28T02:31:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:21:42.727-07:00Edmund Filo, Brigand and Rogue<div style="color: white; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Part the First</b></span></div><div></div><div style="background-color: black; color: white; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Edmund vs The Gladiators</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Edmund Filo was not a man to be taken lightly. He had, in his time, been a liar, a thief, a cut-purse, an assassin, a naval commander and, once, a gourmet chef. It was this vast experience that made him such a success both in his chosen career, and his everyday life. Several years before he entered the gladitorial arena on Cumsaka V, Edmund had gotten into a tarot game with an Inquisitor, a Rogue Trader and a High Lord of Terra. How a man of his meager means had managed to gain entrance into such prestigious company would have remained a mystery of the ages had not subsequent investigations revealed that he had drugged all of the wine with hallucinogens and seduced the Inquisitor's mistress.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The result of this historic card game became legend as a man with no political standing whatsoever came away from the table with a Warrant of Trade, an Inquisitorial commission and a three legged dog named Vexillarius. Recordings of the game reveal that Edmund cheated unabashedly and poorly and touched none of the wine. For three years Sir Inquisitor Lord Captain Filo, as he liked to call himself when the actual Inquisition wasn't chasing him, robbed, pillaged and generally made a nuisance of himself throughout the Davoth Subsector in the cruiser he had won along with the Warrant of Trade.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He was, eventually, shot down by a combined armada of Inquisition, Imperial Navy and Tau vessels which caught him in orbit over Cumsaka V. It is rumored that he was considering whether or not to fire a vortex torpedo at the planet and hollow out its core, eradicating all life on the planet, just see what it would look like. As his cruiser burst into flames and crumpled under the stresses of the excessive firepower brought to bear upon it, Edmund escaped, along with his dog, in a life pod which crashed to the surface of the planet along with thousands of tons of debris.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The northern continent of Cumsaka V was devastated, four fifths of its population killed in a single day. Rescue efforts were minimal, and the refugees of the northern continent simply tried to live on. The feudal planet had been kept in the bronze age for millenia and was not up to the task of dealing with such widespread destruction. A few men and women tried to travel to the southern continent, and those that did were greeted warily. The only survivor of the destruction to truly flourish was, in fact, Edmund Filo himself. Leather shields and wooden spears proved little match for a man portable lascannon.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Eventually, as they are prone to do, the power pack of his lascannon was bled dry and Edmund was forced to flee the palace he had commandeered and the harem he had gathered in search of climates less prone to lynchings. Thus it was that he found himself on the southern continent when The Games were announced. It was widely known that the winners of the games were taken to the stars by the local clergy, an Imperial Cult which worshiped his angels. Seeing as Edmund was, by now, tired of relieving himself in cisterns, he decided to have a go at the games.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“These primitives should be easy pickings, eh Vexillairus?” His three legged dog looked at him in his normal state of timid confusion, and Edmund scratched him behind his ears. “Exactly right, my faithful companion. What kind of training have they had? Hack, slash? Child's play. They know nothing of riposte and parry! Come, let's see what they've got.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As he approached the man taking tournament entries Edmund adjusted his necktie. While many fashionable people in the Imperium wore cravats or scarves, Edmund didn't consider himself a pompous ass, so a neck tie and sensible jacket worked just fine for him. “Excuse me, base primitive and awful smelling chap of questionable parentage, is this where I sign up to murder your kinsmen and gain passage off of this filthy rock you call a home?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The foul smelling primitive wiped the sweat from under his armpit and eyed Edmund in a way that Edmund could only assume was some kind of pre-evolutionary thought process akin to that of a bacteria or possibly an upwardly mobile sea cucumber. Then the man said, “Ya.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fantastic! Where do I sign? Wait, I forget, do you sign things here? Can you people even read? Perhaps I'm supposed to simply spit on the parchment.” So he did. The base primitive looked down at the puddle of saliva that now coated his papyrus and made a noise that sounded like a dying whale. Edmund took this to mean approval. “Excellent. I'll just see myself in, then. Have a beautiful day and pray that someone invents soap in the near future, my good man!” Edmund waved and headed into the colosseum, his three legged dog tailing along after him.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inside he met yet another foul smelling proto-man and was handed a sword of terrible quality, a shield of questionable value and a stack of bronze armor which made Edmund frown in disgrace. After changing, Edmund looked down at himself approvingly. The bronze armor covered one shoulder and only one shoulder. The leather codpiece was absolutely vulgar and everything else was bare to the wind. Edmund thought he looked rather dashing. “The ladies will slip right off of their seats when they see this, eh Vexillarius?” His three legged dog cocked his head to the side and made a sort of sad, crooning noise.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't worry boy, we'll find you something to spend the night with as well. Probably not a dog, I think they eat those here. What about some sort of large arachnid? That seems like the kind of thing that would live here.” Vexillarius wagged his tail and licked Edmund's outstretched palm. “Good boy, that's the spirit. Always stay positive, that's what I say.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A while later the big bell rang and Edmund was ushered off into the colosseum along with a crowd of other, similarly dressed gladiators. Feeling that he wouldn't stand out quite enough, he tied his neck tie around his head. The heavy wooden portcullis lifted before him, and he was shoved out onto the battleground. He had never seen a stadium so big before. The sandy ground stretched a kilometer in diameter, and the stands housed millions of screaming people. There were trees on the colosseum floor far to the north, and a castle in the middle. Old ruins were staggered west and East of him, and bags of sand were piled high just to his right. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He waved to the crowd and the volume of their cheering went up several notches. “I told you they'd approve of the look,” he said to his dog, who seemed both excited and afraid at the same time. Immediately a much larger man in a terrifying bull headhelmet pushed Edmund out of the way and raised his massive axe above his head. The crowd got even louder, so Edmund stabbed him up between the ribs for stealing his spotlight. This seemed to be the cue for the games to start, as every other gladiator immediately drew their weapons and charged at him, so Edmund beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the castle, Vexillarius trailing behind, having quite a lot of fun in his favorite game, being chased.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This whole thing is getting a bit ridiculous, isn't it, Vexillarius? I didn't know I was supposed to fight all of them at once.” Across the arena Edmund could see other warriors by other gates, thousands of them, all confused as to why his group was moving and theirs weren't. This resulted in dozens of massed melees as all of the primitives assumed the games had started without their knowledge. One of the gladiators chasing Edmund threw a spear and it whizzed by Edmund's head and stuck in the ground ahead of him. Without slowing down he plucked it up as he went by and tossed it casually over his shoulder. A scream of pain came from the group behind him and Edmund smiled. “Rather easy to hit when they're all grouped up like that. Like Orks to a slaughter, eh?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As it turned out, the castle was rather a ways away and Edmund was starting to get tired. Luckily, the group behind him were even more tired, probably having less experience in running away from threats and more running towards them, which generally tended to be a much shorter trip. By the time Edmund crossed into the gates of the castle he had gained a good hundred meters on the frothing barbarians, which gave him time to catch his breath and look for something to bar the gate with. Seeing a large, curious looking lever, he pulled it, and a portcullis slammed down directly on top of the first of the gladiators, impaling him quite thoroughly. The rest of the group hit the portcullis hard and snarling, trying to bash their way in, so Edmund began sticking his sword into their faces until they stopped. At his feet, Vexillarius ran in circles, barking.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Feeling himself relatively secure, Edmund wandered off looking for something else to do about the barbarians at the gate. He found, to his surprise, some sort of ancient machine made of wooden beams and rope. It looked like a large lever, pulled all the way back, with a basket on one end that was filled with tiny round jugs full of some kind of liquid. Intrigued, Edmund poked a bronze switch with his sword, then leaped back as the entire device lurched, the basket flinging its contents directly at the portcullis. The jars broke across the wooden beams and a wave of fire washed over the gladiators trying to make their way inside. Burning like several dozen very pained candles, they died and made a nice flaming barricade for anyone trying to get into the castle.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well,” Edmund said, looking down at his dog. “That seems to have worked out quite nicely. Shall we see if there's anything to drink around here?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Several hours and three bottles of cheap wine later, Edmund heard the great bell again and climbed up to the top of the castle walls to see what the big fuss was about. There were dead bodied everywhere. The forest was on fire, the ruins were ruined and all of those sandbags were now just dust. Ten men stood in the entire arena, Edmund included. All but Edmund were covered in blood, their armor torn and rent, their weapons destroyed. Edmund was just about to try to snipe one of them with a bow and arrow he'd found lying in the castle keep when a booming voice filled the whole colosseum, silencing the crowd.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Proud men of Cumsaka V! You are the heroes of your people!” Edmund looked around to find the owner of the voice and spied a giant of a man standing in some kind of bulky ceremonial robes walking towards the center of the arena. He was flanked by a pair of emaciated servitors who were carrying speakers to amplify his voice. “You have been chosen to leave your people and your world behind now. You will come with us and become heroes of the Imperium!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“About time,” Edmund said, leaning against the palisade at the top of the wall.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“To become the Emperor's own Space Marines!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh bloody hell.”</div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-38632940215516586522011-05-27T19:08:00.000-07:002011-05-27T19:51:23.583-07:00Liscensed Vulgarity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mWheOM-DJtz9MZkmDU-i4HOJOWeV8sgE8A5XQpVljpdi6nxJvEny9BX6NOpr-BvCZygUQAhPAtBiaVJc7efxiAfF2gP6uo8dV7nthVHpeTJGmTWsQHcPw9nuI8fKcbJiwCdbQQ4Riww/s1600/shut-the-fuck-up1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mWheOM-DJtz9MZkmDU-i4HOJOWeV8sgE8A5XQpVljpdi6nxJvEny9BX6NOpr-BvCZygUQAhPAtBiaVJc7efxiAfF2gP6uo8dV7nthVHpeTJGmTWsQHcPw9nuI8fKcbJiwCdbQQ4Riww/s320/shut-the-fuck-up1.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>Today's topic is one that I hold close to my heart, the use of the English language. English is a horrible bastardization of German, French, Latin and a half dozen other dialects that results in a wildly popular pidgin mess of beautiful chaos. We've got words that mean twelve things, we've got words that mean nothing (Deceptively is deceptively deceptive!) and we've got words we're absolutely positively no matter what not allowed to say in public otherwise our mothers will wash our mouths out with lye soap. But let's hold back for a moment and think about that. There are words we have been told all of our lives not to say, and so we don't say them. Is there anything wrong with that? I believe that it's a personal choice on whether or not you cuss like a sailor or have a tongue as pure as a virgin nun's wet dripping snowcone. Now the problem here is when whether or not you spout off like a woman giving birth is some elses' choice and not your own.<br />
<br />
I'm talking, mainly, about Licensed Media, with Games Workshop's Black Library publications coming immediately to mind. No matter what else may happen in the story, not a single daemon or chaos cultist, rugged adventurer or dying space marine will ever mutter a four letter word. Why? Should I even have to ask? Honestly, it's obvious, isn't it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOHpGaUwr78S-z6i0p3pdsWn3wBNBqqWUtoBx46lLkzXqRhyLKwYzZBAHY2jgrJMqp908KXcZ2NF4x6bEn0bIafMbaBarfa9wKnfcay2vzLj_J-8tv_kmTC-zV0VGczHuXTEoKe6A0xM/s1600/duh_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOHpGaUwr78S-z6i0p3pdsWn3wBNBqqWUtoBx46lLkzXqRhyLKwYzZBAHY2jgrJMqp908KXcZ2NF4x6bEn0bIafMbaBarfa9wKnfcay2vzLj_J-8tv_kmTC-zV0VGczHuXTEoKe6A0xM/s1600/duh_1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
For God's sake, Carrie, children read these books! You can't put vulgarity in there where children can read! Of course, how could I be so stupid? Obviously we wouldn't want the children reading these books to repeat language they read in a book written about a game. So absolutely no curse words. None. Instead include another scene where the protagonist <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lord-Night-Warhammer-40-000/dp/1844161579">skins a small child alive and hangs his body from a lamp post</a>. Now that's a great idea!<br />
<br />
Sarcasm much? I know, I know. I just find it weird that in a setting that exalts ultraviolence and genocide there can't be any naughty words, and any kind of sex better just be alluded to. Now it's true, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Emperors-Finest-Ciaphas-Cain/dp/1844168913/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1306547681&sr=1-2">some books</a> might be a little bit more sexually oriented than <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enforcer-Shira-Calpurnia-Matt-Farrer/dp/1844168794/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1306547748&sr=1-1">others</a>, but there's never anything explicit. Now while I'm not saying that there should be <a href="http://www.creative-wallpapers.com/bilder/free/wallpapers/laurell-k-hamilton-anita-blake-1280x1024.jpg">graphic sex in every novel</a>, I do find it a little bit odd that death, murder and mayhem is more socially acceptable than <a href="http://www.thewordisbond.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Made-You-Look-Freestyle-HD-www.beatsconnect.com_.jpg">tits</a>.<br />
<br />
So, I want to go back to that metaphor I left hanging in the air back in the first chapter. You say a curse word, and your mommy washes your mouth out with soap. Now, what would your mommy do if you showed everyone your private bits? She'd probably get very embarrassed and lock you up in your room while she sat in the kitchen drinking her life away and wondering where she went wrong. But what would she do if you tortured a man to death so brutally that his dying screams summoned an army of the damned from a thousand light years away? (That's Lord of Night again, I get a lot of mileage out of that one). Well, if she didn't pat you on the back and hand you a cookie with a friendly, "Good job, kid" then she's not Games Workshop.<br />
<br />
It's a common thing in media that while graphic violence is ok, sex and cursing is not. Well, unless you're on <a href="http://www.entertainmentwallpaper.com/images/desktops/movie/tv_spartacus_blood_and_sand02.jpg">Starz</a>. And why is that? I think the answer is <a href="http://www.lemusita.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/0-hypocrisy2.jpg">obvious</a>.<br />
<br />
PS: Up there where it says snowcone it should say cunt.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-63047990300472406402011-05-26T15:43:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:22:00.496-07:00Radical: Reunion<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpUl0zfh94bMeAArmNPQmYdWltl3pa0v8LnUSN5Vty_iAZ19zQiiENzNdM1JrLACx5MCE8g-VO3va2SbpHERf0shUsUjtEK1Zq_LoZGK9DUzFPIBLdgoYU063nj8syfMLjFTyG1bEiS0/s1600/uber_sister_of_battle_by_bazazatron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><i>This is Radical part VI. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the decade between the Invasion of Ulric and my next meeting with Isimbard Kane I had achieved some modicum of glory. I was recognized as a survivor of the fight with the daemon, an event which took the lives of several Grey Knights and an Imperial Inquisitor, along with my own sisters. I had been retained as a bodyguard for the Inquisitor Gibbius Vecht of the Ordo Hereticus, along with the remainder of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. During this service I fought in the purge of Scarran, I participated the destruction of a chaos cult on MacCragge itself, and I found myself alongside guardsmen once more when Inquisitor Vecht was called to assist in a particularly dangerous hunt for the rogue psyker Dasar. I was promoted from Battle Sister to Sister Superior. But my career, as prestigious as it might have been, was nothing compared to that of Isimbard Kane.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane gained fame for his defeat of the daemon on Ulric and was adopted into the Ordo Xenos as an Interrogator. While an Interrogator Kane personally put an end to a genestealer cult on the eastern rim and assassinated a Tau leader. Upon being promoted to Inquisitor, Kane halted an Ork Waaagh in the Davoth subsector by using Navigators and Astropaths to create a storm in the warp large enough to wipe out the entire greenskin fleet. Then he led an assault on an Eldar Craftworld, driving the foul race from it with flame, fire and a Deathwatch company. In the ten short years since he had come to the galaxy's attention he had become the stuff of legends. He never tried to hide his identity, instead preferring to operate in high profile conflicts, unerringly following an innate instinct which allowed him to emerge victorious from every conflict with the foul xeno.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I will be honest, I felt nervous as I waited for him to arrive. He'd contacted Vecht about rumors he had heard of a xenos cult on the backwater world of Ondine. The planet, a lush place of verdant green fields and thick forests, had been colonized only a few years before. Some xeno race must have attacked the colonists, or Kane never would have involved himself. Vecht, smelling glory in the air, had invited Kane onto our ship, <i>Nolo Contende</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, and offered him the use of our forces in his mission. Our forces, at the time, consisted of Vecht himself and fifteen of us sisters, cut down from the original twenty-seven who had survived on Ulric by the previous decade's conflicts. While it was true that he could have mustered a few hundred men from the ship's security detail, Vecht generally considered his group of veteran Sororitas bodyguard to be enough to handle any conflict, and so far he'd been right. If only he had been this time as well.</span></div><a name='more'></a><br />
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">We were gathered in the great dining room on the ship, a vast room over a hundred meters long, with a dark wooden table that ran the entire length of the room, surrounded by plush chairs in crimson. The table had been made, according to Vecht, from a single piece of wood, cut from a tree over a mile long on some obscure planet that I could never find in the databases. Most of we sisters stood at regular intervals around the perimeter of the room, standing statue still with our bolters, a show of power. I was not with them, being a Sister Superior had granted me the privilege of dining with the Inquisitor. Along with me were my friend Kora Halquin, now a Celestian along with Angelica Cross, who sat across from her; and Analyn Lafollet, our Palatine. I never liked Angelica, and I don't think I ever will. I can respect her in battle, but she has always had a tendency towards recklessness which was not even remotely suppressed in social situations. She also curses like a bilge rat from the bowels of a pirate ship.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is he fucking here yet? You'd think a fucking Inquisitor would own a chronograph.” Out of our armor, the three of us wore the black robes of our order, though Angelica's was decidedly haphazard and lacking in decorum. She was frighteningly tall, even when sitting, with stark white hair that I would swear that she dyed were it not for the fact that it matched her eyebrows so perfectly.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'm sure he's on his way. His shuttle parked over an hour ago. He probably just had some business to attend to.” Kora said diplomatically. She had her light red hair up in a tight bun and was wearing her pince nez glasses again. I never saw her wear those in combat, where they might have done the most good, and I think they're an affectation. She stills wears them, even now, and over the years I've become convinced that she doesn't actually need them. Her robe was perfectly maintained, as always, with everything in its place.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Angelica, keep your opinions to yourself when he arrives or so help me I'll make you my twin.” That phrase had become Analyn's favorite threat, and it was a dreadful one indeed. Though her robe covered most of her life sustaining bionics, nothing could hide the extent of the replacements she'd needed. Half of her face was covered by the tubing which powered her augmetic eye and the plate that protected the delicate machinery. The lens zoomed in and out threateningly when she grew angry. Her right arm ended in a thin, skeletal hand made of steel which twitched in an unnerving manner at all times and kept her from using a pistol in it anymore, which was probably for the best considering that she'd lost that hand when her plasma pistol had exploded on Ulric.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Never one to suffer authority lightly, Angelica glared at Analyn, but said nothing further. At the far end of the table sat Gibbius Vecht, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, and our current patron and master. He was a tall man, and almost skeletally thing. His face was sallow and angular, his ears large and angled near the tops, his nose overly large and aquiline. He was dressed in the finest silk shirt with a cravat that tumbled from his neck in a cascade of lace; his jacket, long and black, was crushed velvet. Kora had described him as a man of refined elegance. Angelica just called him a useless fop. “Sisters,” he said, his voice somehow both melodic and grating, with a tenor harshness I could never quite place. “I would advise silence upon the arrival of our esteemed guest. Though you may feel personally connected to him in some way, due to your participation in the events on Ulric, I feel I must remind you that he is of The Emperor's own Inquisition now and likely cares little for your petty female squabbling.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I believe that had the doors at the far end of the chamber not opened at that very moment Angelica would have likely ended her service to The Emperor that day with the blood of an Inquisitor on her hands. But the doors did open, and the man standing there was not what I had expected. When I had first met him, Inquisitor Kane was dressed in the armor of a crusader, made of polished silver and gleaming with honors and prayers inscribed in the minutest detail. Now before me stood a man in a ragged, tattered brown coat, stained all over and patched haphazardly in dozens of places. Underneath he wore black carapace armor, scarred and torn from battle. His hair, once close cut and tidy, now hung long and dark brown around a face too weathered for its age. But his eyes were still that intense blue that I remembered.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Vecht stood, as did we sisters, and our Inquisitor greeted the guest. “Inquisitor Kane, it is an honor to have you aboard my inadequate vessel. I welcome you and invite your to enjoy our hospitality. Allow me to introduce the senior members of my personal retinue. This is-”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Palatine Analyn Lafollet,” Kane interrupted with a sly grin. “And Sisters Superior Angelica Cross, Kora Halquin and Regina Winterfield. We've met before, though it was quite a while ago.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course,” Vecht said. “I'm surprised you remember them.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“I make a point of keeping abreast of comrades in arms.” He said, approaching the table. “In fact, they are why I contacted you in the first place, Vecht. I like having allies I know I can rely on, and the Cleansing Fire Commandery has proven itself to be exceptional in its service to the Inquisition.” he pulled out a chair and sat, slumping against the high back, then added, almost as an afterthought, “As have you, of course, Inquisitor.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course,” Vecht said, the sneer on his face leaking into his voice as he returned to his seat. We sat as well, and Angelica seemed quite pleased at the almost casual dismissal of Vecht by the great hero in the room.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“We've been told that you're investigating a xeno cult and would like our assistance,” Analyn said, cutting right to the chase. “Though I'm not sure why you contacted the Ordo hereticus about something like this.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Palatine, that's quite enough,” Vecht said. “I am sure that discussion of business can wait until after our meal. The business of Inquisitors shouldn't be discussed so openly.” The emphasis he put on the word Inquisitors made me sink down into my chair and pray he didn't look at me.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, it's fine.” Kane waved a hand dismissively. “My operations are very rarely subtle, and I like my allies to have as much information as possible.” He turned to Analyn, “To be honest, I need reliable people with me on this one, and my Deathwatch command has been drastically depleted after the assault on the Eldar Craftworld. I only have three marines with me at the moment, and I need more boots on the ground and bolters in hand.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“This has nothing to do with my expertise then.” Vecht tugged absently at his cravat, and I sunk even lower into my chair. That was a sure sign of the Inquisitor's rising anger. I had only been on the receiving end of it once, and I didn't care to repeat it.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane gave Vecht a narrow, curious look, and said, “No. It doesn't. I need your resources, and if possible, your assistance. A sharp mind is as good as a sharp sword in the right circumstances, and to be honest, I don't know the circumstances we're facing.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Before Vecht could respond Kora spoke up, obviously trying to diffuse this situation as diplomatically as possible. “This is about the disappearance of colonists on Ondine, isn't it? That's what we've been told. It seems like the cause could be anything, really. Are you certain that this mystery is Xenos in nature?”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, Sister, I'm not. It could be the influences of chaos, or simply traitors or accident, but I think it's of alien origin.” Kane pulled a dataslate out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table to Vecht. “This is the last report we received from the colony. They claim to have found some sort of structures in the forests around the equator. They couldn't immediately identify them, but sent teams to investigate them, which never returned. They discuss the age of the structures in their reports, which places them at the height of the Eldar Empire thousands of years ago, but the descriptions they give don't match Eldar architectural styles from any age. To be completely honest, I don't recognize them at all, and that intrigues me. I want to investigate, and I think we'll find them very well defended.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fascinating,” Vecht said, examining the slate, his anger apparently lost in favor of curiosity. “I don't recognize this style either, and I'm well versed in this sort of thing.” He put the slate down and looked across the table at Kane. “I'm interested, Kane. Very interested. I'll have my navigator plot a course immediately.”</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">May The Emperor forgive us for being so eager to set foot on that cursed world.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>So ends the sixth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, and the beginning of her account of the Investigation of Ondine.</i> </div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-27139483750796833602011-05-26T15:35:00.000-07:002011-07-28T20:03:03.496-07:00Radical: Table of ContentsIn the effort to make an easier browsing experience for readers, I hereby institute the Radical Table of Contents. This means no one has to go sneaking around through my blog in terror, avoiding the foul xeno on the way to their goal. Ain't I nice? (And a bit overdue?)<br />
<br />
<br />
The Invasion of Ulric<br />
1) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-hell.html">Hell</a><br />
2) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-healing.html">Healing</a><br />
3) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-heretics.html">Heretics</a><br />
4) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-hymn.html">Hymn</a><br />
5) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-hero.html">Hero</a><br />
<br />
Inquisitor Null's Intermission <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/04/radical-intermission-report.html">Report</a><br />
<br />
The Ondine Expedition<br />
6) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-reunion.html">Reunion</a><br />
7) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-rain.html">Rain</a><br />
8) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-ressurection.html">Resurrection</a><br />
9) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-rest.html">Rest</a><br />
10) <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/07/radical-remembrancer.html">Remembrancer </a>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-31311340597709539682011-05-26T15:20:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:22:45.319-07:00Radical: Rest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAdwf3h3VEMhlCjdmvktfqVVxXZeonNGUnpqMcaN16WaIfc06DabbT4OlwN2xhAYBFaOtmhtn_heWKtY50PqxQONCYbHH3hzS6pCRb0i7T5UB4AbwtWSWAxl2JBZ3VShWs6UGnHn8r5E/s1600/wraith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>This is Radical part IX. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We fled through the jungle for hours, Kane ranging ahead to clear a path while Kora pulled me along on my injured leg. I don't think any of us actually knew where we were going except away from that clearing. We had no idea what had happened to the rest of the group, or even if they'd survived. All we could do was pray that Vecht had gotten them out of there and was on his way to the shuttle, otherwise we were stuck in this Emperor forsaken jungle for the rest of what were about to be our very short lives.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">During the battle I hadn't had time to pull that Necrontyr claw out of my leg, but at some point it had come loose, and now my boot was filling with blood. Somehow, I didn't think about bleeding to death, but rather about getting some kind of fungal infection from having wet feet. I'm sure that meant that I was already in pretty bad shape. Eventually Kora shouted ahead at Kane, calling for a stop so that she could see about doing something for my leg. Reluctantly, the Inquisitor came back to us and pointed out a sheltered hollow under a fallen tree that we could take shelter in. As we settled in, Kane kept a close eye on the jungle around us. “I don't hear anything.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's impossible to hear anything with all of this rain,” Kora said, and she was right. The constant downpour had turned into an all out storm now, and the heavy drops hitting the canopy above us produced a deafening din that drowned out the ambient noises of the jungle. I propped my back up against the roots of the fallen tree and began unfastening my boot and greave. Kora helped me, and gasped as at least a liter of blood sloshed out of my boot onto the ground. “By the Emperor Regina, how are you still walking?” I just shrugged and laid my head back, glad for the rest.</div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane turned back, and took cover under the tree with us. “I guess we can stay here for a while. If they were chasing us we'd probably know about it by now.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora had pulled her medical supplies out of one of the pouches on her belt and was trying to stitch my leg closed. By now the whole thing was numb, so I didn't really notice. “Kane,” she said, “What were those things?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Necrontyr,” he said. “A xeno race that makes the Imperium of Man look like backwater primitives hurling spears at each other.” When he caught Kora's sharp look from the mild blasphemy he put his hands up, “Sorry, what I mean is that they're incredibly technologically advanced.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora bit the end of the thread she was using to stitch my injury and then started wrapping a bandage around my calf. “Where did they come from?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“As far as anyone can tell, they've always been here. There are records of the Necrontyr scattered across the galaxy in xeno archeological sites. They're referred to as the Great Death or the Undying Ones usually. The Eldar call them The Ancient Enemy. Keeping them in hibernation is one of their most important goals.” He looked up into the jungle again, “The records of the Inquisition have a sort of piecemeal history of them. It seems that at some point the Necrontyr made some sort of sacrificial ritual to their gods and the entire race bound their own souls into metal bodies that would never age and could recover from any injury. Then they engaged in some galaxy spanning massacre that eradicated almost all life everywhere. Something finally defeated them though, and they went into hibernation underground on their stronghold worlds.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then this...” Kora looked around at all of the jungle, and Kane nodded.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. This must have been one of those worlds, and the colonists woke them up.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fantastic,” She said, finishing up my bandages and slumping back against the tree. “So we're stuck on an enemy occupied world, waiting for evac that's probably never going to come.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That about sums it up,” Kane said with a sigh. “All we can do is make the best of it though.” He pulled a ration pack out of one of the pockets in his ragged old coat and offered it over to Kora. She took it with a gracious nod. “But you know that's not all we need to do.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is it not?” She'd opened the pack and given me a slab of something that was, theoretically, dried grox meat, but I didn't really believe it. We just tended to refer to the food in ration packs by color, and this was definitely a slice of sundried yellow. I couldn't help but notice that Kora had kept the pleasing green to herself. Maybe she'd share the hard candy.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, we've still got to find those ruins,” he said. “That's the mission, and I'm not the type to abandon a mission just because we hit a little snag.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You call losing our Palatine and getting cut off from the rest of the unit in the middle of an ambush while behind enemy lines a snag?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If I remember correctly,” Kane said, grinning. “You're the woman who stumbled onto a bloodthirster in the middle of a mission, and instead of calling a retreat, broke your power sword across its knee.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora blushed and looked away. “I'm also the one who got kicked across a room for the effort and woke up in a field hospital three days later with an artificial spine.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Whatever Kane's response was, it was drowned out by a sudden roar that even the rain couldn't mask. He lunged forward, pressing Kora back into the hollow and raising his finger to his lips. Kora pulled me in close and the three of us huddled under the cover of the tree as the roar got louder. Then the entire tree shook and a skimmer shot over out hiding space and took off into the trees. At least, I had thought it was a skimmer at first glance. Five more of them followed after the first, and I could see they weren't skimmers, but Necrontyr. Their bodies had been fused to heavy anti-grav platforms, and their right arms all replaced with gigantic blasters that glowed with that same unclean green energy that seemed to be the source of the Necrontyr power.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">None of them saw us, too intent on their own goals to be looking for us, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. Kane kept us quiet for another minute, then poked his head out and looked around. “Okay, we're clear. I think we should get moving again.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora nodded and I was already putting my boot back on. I'd barely gotten to my feet when Kora called out and pointed over Kane's shoulder. With a blur of speed I could barely believe was human Kane had Kora's bolt pistol pointed out into the jungle, and his power sword was crackling with energy. But there was nothing there. “What? What is it?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I saw something,” Kora said, raising her stormbolter to her shoulder. “Out there, in the trees. It was something silver, like metal. I only saw it for a moment.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I remembered the vision that had brought Vecht to the clearing and raised my own bolter warily. Kane scanned the trees, “Are you sure?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Positive. It was there for a moment, then gone. Like a ghost.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you absolutely sure?” Kane asked. “Don't you need glasses?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Only for reading!” Kora snapped. “I know what I saw.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When it came, it was sheer luck that saved us. I took a step forward, but in my haste I hadn't fastened my boot properly, and I tripped, slamming into Kora's back and bringing us down into the mud. At that same moment it came out of the falled tree. It didn't explode or break through, it simply slipped through the tree as if it wasn't there, and its clawed hands snatched at the air where Kora's head had been a moment before. “Kane!” Kora screamed, and the Inquisitor spun, firing the bolt pistol in a rapid series of cracks.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Necrontyr was all torso. It had a long, skeletal face and heavy, hunched shoulders that narrowed down to its waist, where, instead of legs, the thing had a long, sharp, serpentine tail that whipped around behind it. It was floating a meter above the ground, unsupported. The bolts slipped right through the creature as if it didn't exist, as effective as shooting at the air itself, and it spun on Kane, extending its taloned hands.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I got to my feet first and lunged forward, driving the sarissa on the end of my bolter into the thing's back, but accomplished nothing except stumbling completely through the intangible creature. I turned just in time to parry one of its claws with the sarissa and deflected it onto the shoulder of my armor. It still scored a deep gash in the ceramite and sent me tumbling back down to the ground.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">From the ground Kora sprayed it with a blast from her stormbolter, but again, nothing. The bolts passed completely through and tore down a tree a few dozen meters away. The creature's tail whipped towards me and I rolled, barely dodging as its sharp tip slammed into the ground next to me. On impulse I rammed my sarissa into the tail and pinned it to the ground. The Necrontyr tried to yank free, but a bolt from Kane's pistol glanced its shoulder and spun it around. The serpentine tail was ripped free of my weapon, and twisted back, split at the end.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's solid when it attacks,” Kora shouted, coming to her feet and training her stormbolter on it. The thing looked cautious now, and backed away slowly, its broken tail raised up behind it, poised like a serpent about to strike. Now it knew we had it, and it seemed like it was trying to come up with a new plan. I really wish it hadn't.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Very slowly, it sank down into the ground, and Kane let out a vulgar curse. “Everybody off the ground,” He shouted, and sprinted straight for a tree. None of us had time to respond as Kane didn't even make it a meter before that serpentine tail came out of the ground and wrapped around his ankle, tripping him up. He hit the ground face first, and Kora fired at the ground around his feet, churning up the mud as the explosive bolts detonated. The thing appeared again, poised to pierce Kane through with its claws, but he swung his power sword wildly and the thing recoiled, struck in the face.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I charged forward and leaped onto its back. Remembering Kane's defeat of the daemon years earlier, I pulled a frag grenade from my belt and jammed it into the space between its shoulders and neck. As the thing's tail came back for me I threw myself off of its back and landed on top of Kane, covering my head with my gauntleted hands. The grenade blew, and my armor was showered with shrapnel. It hurt quite a lot, and the blast left my ears ringing, but the armor held. I rolled over off of Kane and looked around. Pieces of the Necrontyr were scattered everywhere.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That was a little excessive, Regina. You probably could have just shot it,” Kora said, coming forward to give me a hand up. Kane got up on his own and walked towards a large chunk of the xeno which was embedded in the ground a few meters away. “That was impressive sword work, Kane. I've never seen anyone be that effective while lying face down in the mud.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAdwf3h3VEMhlCjdmvktfqVVxXZeonNGUnpqMcaN16WaIfc06DabbT4OlwN2xhAYBFaOtmhtn_heWKtY50PqxQONCYbHH3hzS6pCRb0i7T5UB4AbwtWSWAxl2JBZ3VShWs6UGnHn8r5E/s1600/wraith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you mean?” He said, wiping said mud from his face with the back of his sleeve. “I didn't hit it.” He picked up the chunk of Necrontyr, which appeared to be half of its head, and he pulled out something gleaming and white. He froze, and we came towards him, confused.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We need to get out of here, Kane. This thing's friends probably heard that blast and will be here any second,” Kora said, leaning forward to see what Kane was holding.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He held it up so we could both see. “Don't make any sudden movements,” he said. The thing in his hand was a sharp, white shape with several sharp points. It had been buried directly in the center of the Necrontyr's forehead. “Put your weapons down very slowly.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What are you talking about?” Kora asked, and I turned around. My breath froze in my chest. A fern a few meters away stood up, no longer a fern but instead a tall, graceful figure wearing a cloak covered in false plants. It held a long, elegant rifle which was pointed directly at me. A moment later a half dozen more things which I had assumed to be simply another part of the jungle became menacing shapes with rifles trained at us.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Greetings,” Kane said nervously, empty hands raised into the air. “I see we've come to fight the same enemy, noble Eldar.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>So ends the ninth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.</i> </div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-91561856289292758842011-05-18T19:37:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:23:03.442-07:00Radical: Resurrection<i>This is Radical part VIII. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpitFVQG8ukA8vvKd2SYcTINACKJf0R7UrPhSeelADYzITykvQjLTGiAb_PdX2CsU2C3XnqmsV4aFaHmOZflhTswzUsZdIRK-pKGmiBzqMagTMTOEdT8tVcfioP9c2qsGNyL61ppRVxg/s1600/Necron+Lord.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>They couldn't be alive. They had no organs, no muscles, no minds. The metal men were just that, metal formed into the vague shape of men. There were no engines powering them or motors making them move. The metal men were simply impossible. But they still came on, knife fingers snipping towards us, long, expressionless faces gazing at us with glowing green eyes. Janine hit them with the flamer again, but they ignored it, and why wouldn't they? There was no flesh to burn, no nerves to feel pain, just heartless metal intent on death. I dropped the clip out of my bolter and fumbled a new one into place, then fired. The explosive shells impacted into the oncoming mass. Here one would fall, there another would stumble, but they didn't slow down. To my horror the injured ones picked themselves back up, their bodies reforming right before my eyes. I think that, by then, I was screaming.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora saved us. She came out of nowhere, her stormbolter blazing, and the two creatures in the lead fell into twitching piles. “Regina, where's the Inquisitor?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Here!” Kane shouted, his power sword cleaving through the neck of a metal man who had come up behind Kora. Two more nimble flicks of his wrist sent the thing to the ground in several pieces. His bolt pistol barked twice, then empty, he threw it at one of the things with a growl. “Necrontyr,” he said, holding his sword in a low guard. “This was the last thing I was expecting. How could I be so stupid?”</div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What in the name of Terra is a Necrontyr?” Kora sent another burst from her stormbolter into one of the monsters that had gotten too close.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I will be glad to tell you more about them when we survive, sister,” Kane responded, then slipped next to Kora and wrapped his arm around her waist. He drew her bolt pistol from her hip and put a pair of bolts into another of these Necrontyr. “Let's just say they're bad. Where are the Deathwatch?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They were right behind me.” As if on cue the full force of our expedition burst into the clearing. Analyn had formed the sisters into a defensive firing line and were laying down a steady stream of bolt shells into the creatures. She lead, as always, from the front, her plasma pistol reducing the metal men to slag. The Deathwatch Marines came marching in from the left, two with bolters guarding the flanks of the third, who had his heavy bolter on some kind of suspensor rig that allowed him to fire it while moving. The sheer amount of muscle that must have taken, even with the mechanical assistance, was staggering. Angelica was with those marines, her eviscerator revving at high speed.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I heard a shout over all the fire and saw Inquisitor Vecht being encircled by several of the Necrontyr. Angelica charged forward to save him. Her eviscerator cleaved two of the creatures in twain with a single stroke, which created an opening for Vecht to dart out of danger. He was frantically trying to reload his inferno pistol while sprinting back behind the line the sisters had formed.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Deathwatch were making their way towards us, slowly but surely blasting their way ahead, and for a moment I thought we might be able to break free and get back to the sisters like Vecht had, but I've never been quite that blessed. The Emperor, I believe, likes to show me his affection through challenges. As the marines closed, a sudden deep darkness began engulfing the clearing. It was like a cloud of the deepest black which fell upon us. Immediately all fire ceased, and there was no sound. It was as if all of my senses had been taken from me, and I might have thought I'd died if the sharp pain in my leg hadn't remained. Then, in an instant, the cloud was gone. And what had appeared in its place was much worse.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At least twenty of the metal men were now standing between us and the relative safety of the firing line. These Necrontyr were different from the others though. They each held large weapons of some kind, glowing with the same green energy that burned in their eyes. Amongst them, one stood out. It stood a full head taller than the rest and clutched in one hand a massive staff that flickered menacingly with crackling bursts of power. “No no no! That's a Lord!” As he spoke the Lord turned to us and somehow made a noise in my head that sounded almost like a voice, but incredibly wrong. It spoke inside of my head like the voice of a tomb, filling my senses with the smell of stale air and dust that hadn't moved for millenia. It was like death itself had invaded my mind, promising nothing but oblivion and an end to all things. Then something slammed down in my mind and a bright white light forced out the darkness. I saw the Lord recoil as the light of the Emperor filled me, so I emptied the clip of my bolter directly into its face.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It staggered back, then raised its staff. A moment later Janine simply disappeared, screaming, as she was torn apart by a blinding beam of energy. Unsupported, I fell to the ground, something that saved my life as more of the energy beams tore through the air around me. Kane tackled Kora to the ground, rolling on top of her to cover her. As the Lord targeted us, the rest of the things began firing at my sisters. I watched as one was torn to pieces by the coruscating green blasts. Her armor disappeared first, then her skin, muscle, bone and finally there was nothing left of her, swept away as easily as dust on a floor. Analyn shouted and the sisters began firing back. A meltagun caused one of the metal men to disappear as completely as that sister, and Vecht's inferno pistol, now reloaded, did the same for another.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Lord came towards us and I struggled to reload my bolter again, but the muck of the ground had fouled the feed. Kora raised to one knee and began firing a steady stream from her stormbolter, but the Lord kept moving towards us, the bolt shells not even denting his metal body. Kane joined in with Kora's bolt pistol, but even together they couldn't even slow the creature down.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A Deathwatch marine, may he be held at a special place at The Emperor's side, slammed into the Lord at a full sprint, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. As it rose to its feet again the Marine spun and caught it in the chin with the butt of his bolter. The Lord staggered back, then jerked and danced as bolt shells slammed into it from all directions. The Marine was firing at point blank range, and behind the Lord the other two Marines were pouring fire into it. Its limbs came apart in a storm of shrapnel. Its head exploded and its body was torn to ribbons. Shattered and broken, the pieces of the Lord fell everywhere.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane grabbed me and hefted me up, groaning under the weight of my armor. While not as bulky or heavy as that of the Astartes, power armor of any type is exceedingly heavy for those without any kind of augmented strength. Kora raised her stormbolter to fire into the rest of the metal men from behind, but Kane slapped the weapon down. “No, we've got to get out of here. We're outmatched. Vecht! Vecht, can you hear me?” Kane lowered his head as he spoke into his microbead. “Fall back quickly, we're dead if we keep fighting. Get back to the shuttle and get airborne. Come pick us up, we'll be heading North. Understood?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Deathwatch marines were moving to join us when one suddenly staggered. I watched in horror as his massive body jerked and was pulled into the air, the Lord's staff punched straight through his chest, the ceramite armor as effective as paper. With a single gesture of its arms, the Lord tore the marine in half and sent the two halves of his body flying across the field. What was left of the Necrontyr Lord had pulled itself back to its feet and begun to repair. Its head was still gone, but was reforming, inch by inch, as I watched. The other two marines turned to engage it, only for the staff to again emit those blinding energy beams and disintegrate the marines where they stood. “We need to get out of here, now!” Kane shouted, hauling me away from the scene, but for some reason we seemed to be going too slow, like the air had become too thick to move in. Kora shouted and fired her stormbolter, and I could see the shells spin as they cut through the air so terribly slowly. The Lord easily dodged them, simply stepping aside, a blur of metal too fast for my eyes to keep track of. It was suddenly before me, staring into my eyes as its own reformed and began blazing once ore with the unholy green energy. It simply shoved Kane aside and caught me up by the throat in its cold grip. As it hoisted me into the air, I saw a vague black shape in the air behind it, moving as terribly slowly as I had been.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It plucked my helmet from my head and cast it aside, then began squeezing my neck. I gagged, trying to wrench myself free, but I couldn't gain any momentum in the cursed slowness which didn't seem to affect the Lord in the slightest. It stared at me with a cruel curiosity, watching me die. As my vision faded I prayed, commending my soul the Empror's safekeeping, then I heard the terrible sound of metal on metal, shrieking, and my eyes shot open wide. Angelica hung in mid-leap behind the Lord, her eviscerator rammed into the base of its neck, grinding down into its body with the same lethargic speed which had caught all of us. The Lord dropped me, and everything sped up again. It hit the ground hard, and Angleica tore the back of the Lord completely off as she wrenched her weapon free. “Did that hurt, fucker?” My sister was grinning in the way she did when she'd found something on the battlefield which had sparked her bloodlust.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As the Lord spun to face her a plasma shot sheared its arm off at the shoulder. Analyn was coming at it from the flank, plasma pistol in one hand, power sword in the other. “Emperor damn you, Angelica! I told you to fall back!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Falling back is for cowardly little pre-pubescent girls, Palatine!” Angelica swung her eviscerator again, but the Lord blocked with its staff and knocked her aside. Angelica rolled back up to her feet and charged again. “What's the matter, Analyn? Need me to buy you some sanitary pads for your first menstruation?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Analyn came at the Lord from the side and her power sword cut a gouge across its torso. “That's it! When we get back I'm going to make you clean every toilet on the ship.” While the Lord recoiled Analyn put her boot to the Lord's chest and shoved it down to the ground. “Come on, we're going!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not yet!” Angelica pounced on the fallen Lord and brought her eviscerator down towards its chest, but the Lord got its staff in the way and the chainsword's teeth tore into the alien metal. “It's still kicking! I want to finish it off!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We have to go,” Kora shouted, helping me to my feet again. “Let it go, Angelica!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Some of the Necrontyr with the guns were turning back to face us, and Analyn shouted one more time. “Angelica stop! Stop!” The Palatine sighed and stared up at the sky, “Oh Holy Emperor, why won't she stop?” They were the last words Analyn ever said. One of the knife fingered Necrontyr stepped up behind her and flicked her head off of her shoulders. Her headless body collapsed just as Angelica finally cut through the Lord's staff and drove her blade into the thing's chest. She wrenched the blade left, then right, and the Lord lie still. A sideways glance showed her Analyn's fate, and Angelica screamed in unmitigated rage. She charged into the fray, her eviscerator roaring almost as loud as she was as she hit the Necrontyr formation from behind.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kora almost followed her, but Kane grabbed us both and began dragging us towards the treeline. “Leave her! We have to go, now!” The three of us stumbled into the forest once more, me still being carried by Kora. As we disappeared amongst the trees and the sounds of battle fell far behind us I realized that until that shuttle came we were going to be alone in these woods with the Necrontyr.</div><br />
<i>So ends the eighth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.</i><i> </i>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-44418348707007513352011-05-16T01:38:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:23:25.843-07:00Upon being flabbergastingly drunk.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rp3ltuq-nc1TGKh7K2gfDvD5tTv_jAZqsnSh1dbrdvomwqy6japkEqw4TXKsUfQwbYBdWp70IG9MzpUC596Ux1PL7EOptdiVQGPFY63_iGdqYHKRdHEQ72y6ihUcp3879OYI-NCSNY4/s1600/Sister_Pin_Up_by_NachoMon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>This this is my blog and I can rant about what I want to, allow me to just say that I am rip roaringly flabbergastingly drunk and I appreciate each and everyone one of you fine fellows and ladies who read my blog. It is for you that I continue, and it is in your interests that I try to produce the highest quality material which I can. (Though it is true that I was spoiled by MS Word 07 a while back and now that I don't have it the lack of autocorrect is blatantly obvious sometimes.) While it is true that I am entirely and hugely drunk on many many shots of whiskey, I think that it is important to let all of you know how much I appreciate your continued patronage.<br />
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Without your support I could not continue, and I want nothing more than to make your experience here the absolute best it can be. I can speak candidly about this because my good friend Jackie D. is telling me it's okay. Because of this, I encourage each and every one of you to share your comments and opinions. They make my day. And in the event of emergency please break glass, fasten seat belts, move in an orderly fashion towards the nearest exits and tell your loved ones how much you love them (otherwise they would not be loved ones!).<br />
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I, again, thank everyone who showed concern for me during my time in the hospital and throughout my recovery, which is now officially over, thus the celebratory alcoholism. If there is anything I can do to make your visits here more enjoyable please let me know. Also tell your friends. I do so love an audience (Leo, ya know?).Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-55931066875122083742011-05-14T18:42:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:23:47.004-07:00Radical: Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFpaQFcS9MKuBUY7-U4A9AudSKV2rODHCaiW7XjizDf0Yv7PKRfJzLQH3drs80wGsQCralvFADcsIwY2UXuL4_ryNUsbByYky3VQZ7liUkNFsFTSMnq8BIUQPfKaWczIahBHwE3ocpxA/s1600/sister_of_battle_by_auzzymo-d2rzsoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFpaQFcS9MKuBUY7-U4A9AudSKV2rODHCaiW7XjizDf0Yv7PKRfJzLQH3drs80wGsQCralvFADcsIwY2UXuL4_ryNUsbByYky3VQZ7liUkNFsFTSMnq8BIUQPfKaWczIahBHwE3ocpxA/s1600/sister_of_battle_by_auzzymo-d2rzsoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <i>This is Radical part VII. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The rain never stopped, on Ondine. The entire planet was covered in perpetual cloud cover that made the equatorial forests a bog of mud and mists. Inquisitor Vecht had taken one look at the weather outside and begun a tirade that was still going on the third day of our expedition. We couldn't search for these ruins of Kane's from the air with the jungle canopy being so thick, and we had no vehicles that could make their way through the terrain without getting stuck or disabled. I would have given over my bolter for a squad of Catachan veterans. Instead what we had were all fifteen of we sisters, the two Inquisitors and a trio of Deathwatch marines which were considerably more impressive aboard the shuttle than they were here in the muck. Their large bodies and heavy armor proved to be more detriment than help in the jungle, and ore than once we had to haul one of them out of a swamp where he'd become completely stuck. This is not to besmirch the Astartes by any means, but they were not made for jungle fighting.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our power armor kept us safe from the biting insects and barbed plants as we moved, Analyn having made it absolutely clear that we were all to wear our helmets on this trip. Still, the going was rough and unpleasant for all of us except Angelica, who seemed to take great relish in clearing the way for us with wild swings of her eviscerator. The great two handed chainsword made quick work of any vines and undergrowth in our way, not to mention several trees and one feline predator which had thought to ambush us. I don't exaggerate when I say that night we had our best meal of the trip. Field rations are no fit substitute for red meat on a forced march. It was on this third day of the expedition, when Vecht's eloquent rant cut short, that we finally found something.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This Emperor forsaken mudpit of a planet has exterminatus written all over it. When I get back to the ship I am wiping this place out of the sky. And if another of these thrice cursed warpspawn insects bites me I am burning this entire forest to the ground. Do you hear me Sister Janine? You keep that flamer re- What in the nine daemonic realms of heretic cursed excrement is that?”<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Angelica stopped chopping, and her eviscerator spun to a stop as she turned. “Did we finally fucking find something? My arms are getting tired.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane came up from where he'd been at the back of the group, along with his Deathwatch, to see what was going on. “Vecht, what's going on?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know,” he said, cutting off to the side and pushing through a mass of foliage and waving for Sister Janine and I to follow him. I took the lead, using the sarissa on the end of my bolter to cut away clinging vines and low hanging branches while Janine took to my shoulder, her flamer held ready in case of another attack by some jungle predator. A moment later Kane was at my side, hacking through the underbrush with his power sword. Vecht stayed at the back of the group, but shouted, “There, do you see it? Just to the left now.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I sliced away some kind of fern and froze in my tracks. I heard Janine gasp, but Kane just stepped forward. “Good eye, Vecht. I think we've found those colonists.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The rotted corpses of men hung from tree branches at the edge of a wide clearing in the jungle. The rain pattered off of their corpses and dropped to the ground where it pooled into stagnant puddles that filled the entire area with the stink of death. “Holy Throne, that's terrible,” Janine said, and I forgave her casual blasphemy. It was excusable under the circumstances. The bodies had been skinned and strung up by the ankles in a pattern, each body an equal distance from the two next to it, forming a perfect circle around the edge of the clearing. In the center of the space, the ground had been dug up to collect all of the rain water in a pool, and at the center of the pool was some kind of idol, made in the shape of a man, draped in the skins of the dead.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“By The Emperor,” Vecht said as he pushed forward to get a better look. “This is... This is unprecedented. Horrendous. I can... I can hardly believe this!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Believe it,” Kane said, stepping out into the clearing and drawing his bolt pistol. “Heretics, Vecht? Is this the work of Chaos?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, no it isn't.” He pointed at the bodies, “There's too much order to this, and none of the signs. With heretics you see repetitions of the number eight, the number of chaos. You see sigils and signs to their dark gods; you see ritual sacrifices, piles of skulls, artwork done in blood.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane pointed his sword at the totem of skins, “That's not artwork? Or an altar of some kind?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Vecht shook his head, “No, look. These bodies have no death signs, see? No wounds. They were skinned alive, and with surgical precision. I think they were hung up here after they died and the skins were thrown up on that thing as a... A warning, maybe?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A warning, a warning away from what?” Kane asked. I was feeling nervous, standing here in this clearing, amidst all of this death, and I began walking the tree line, motioning for Janine to do the same in the opposite direction.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know, away from these ruins of yours? Away from this damned planet? How should I know?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane edged closer to the pool, examining the totem. “It looks like a coat rack to me.” Then he turned to look back the way we came, “How did you spot this from where we were, anyway? There's a good thirty yards of thick jungle between there and here.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't,” Vecht said, suddenly confused. “I saw something else.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Something else what?” Kane asked, his voice taking on an edge of irritation. “Something else like something that might have done this?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know! I only saw it for a moment. It was something metallic, I think. Like a servo skull ,but larger. I looked at it was gone, like a ghost.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane narrowed his eyes, “Like a ghost?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Like a ghost,” Vecht acknowledged, swallowing hard and pulling out his antique inferno pistol.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Janine and I met on the far side of the clearing, neither of us having seen anything. The clearing was as secure as we could make it with just us, but I wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Kane raised his hand to the microbead in his ear, “Brother Folthar, come to my location, an bring the Sororitas with you. Be prepared for hostiles, possibly xeno or daemon in origin. Double time.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFpaQFcS9MKuBUY7-U4A9AudSKV2rODHCaiW7XjizDf0Yv7PKRfJzLQH3drs80wGsQCralvFADcsIwY2UXuL4_ryNUsbByYky3VQZ7liUkNFsFTSMnq8BIUQPfKaWczIahBHwE3ocpxA/s1600/sister_of_battle_by_auzzymo-d2rzsoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What is that?!” I spun around at the sound of Vecht's voice, and my eyes went wide. The pool had begun bubbling behind Kane's back, and a figure was rising from the muddy water. A skeleton, caked in mud and filth came walking out of the water, dripping slime. I could only see it from behind, but its fingers terminated in claws half a meter long that flicked and twitched as it moved. Kane spun around and stared at the undead thing in shocked horror and stumbled backwards, tripping on the slick ground and sprawling over onto his back. The creature moved towards him and reached out for him with its claws, then it suddenly disappeared in a corona of flame. Its lower body, now all that was left of it, fell back into the pool, steaming.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Vecht lowered his inferno pistol and let out a breath I could hear from the other side of the clearing. “Well. I'd say that showed it. The dead stay dead when I'm around, right, Kane?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Kane pulled himself to his feet, grabbing up his hat, which had fallen off during his tumble. “Yeah. I guess so. Thanks for that.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Janine and I began to head back towards them when the ground started to rumble. All around us more of the skeletons were clawing their way out of the ground. A half dozen more began shambling out of the pool. I began to run back towards the Inquisitors when one of the things broke out of the ground right in front of me. It snatched at my armor and the flickering knives tore scores in the ceramite. Instinctively I lashed out with the butt of my bolter and caught it in the skull, knocking its arms away as it recoiled. On the backswing I scored it across the chest with my sarissa and hooked into its exposed ribcage. With a wrench I twisted the creature off balance and took a back, pulling my weapon free. As it tried to rise I put three bolt shells into its skull, and it lie still.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I heard the roar of Vecht's inferno pistol pistol again, accompanied by with crack of Kane's bolt pistol. Janine was just behind me, her flamer covering our backs. I began to move again, then felt a sudden tearing pain in my ankle. Looking down I saw the creature I had dispatched just a moment before had grabbed my leg, and one of its talons had punched clean through my armor and was buried in my leg. With a shout I fired again, taking the skeleton's arm off at the elbow, then I expended the rest of my clip into its chest, blowing it to pieces. Janine took my arm as I began to stumble and held me up. “Sister Superior, are you all right?” I nodded, then looked up at the wall of fire my sister had laid down to cover us. The things began to step out of the flames, completely unharmed, the mud burned off of their bodies, and I cried out in horror at the sight of the gleaming metal men.</div><br />
<i>So ends the seventh passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane.</i>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-50351227340278378562011-05-01T12:23:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:41:15.232-07:00Current Projects<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYkUR-5TkachRVFOF538kn9gTJdeEVlBYUi1KlA3vLBVGZtdYFmk62Nt6drHYwLT5cxTn-bABwKNegeNSUjCn1YmijPR7Yu_D_XsoK-K0D7a_JeuakvrBqZclvd8HdUH6-QB0Jdp7oMg/s1600/chickenwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>Hey kids, it's me, your ever loving friend and compatriot Commissar Carrie here to give you the lowdown on what's coming up from me in the near future.<br />
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First off is the next section/chapter/storyline/event in Radical. I really gotta figure out what to call these things other than parts... Anyway, yes, Radical is continuing, though the War on Ulric is over. It's going to shoot into the future about a decade, but it's still following Regina Winterfield's record of the fate of Isimbard Kane. Look forward to Necrons and surprises soon!<br />
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Second is my Waaagh Walka, which has been sitting unfinished on my desk for several weeks. I'll get pictures when I finally bother putting on the damn CCW. Pinning stuff is such a hassle.<br />
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Finally, I'm working on writing the fluff pieces for the Adeptus Mechanicus Fan Codex's newest iteration. I don't think I'm supposed to share them on my blog here, but I highly recommend checking it out once the whole thing is finished. You can download the current (Non-Carrified*) version <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?bien2ie9hnjvnbb">here</a>.<br />
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There are still going to be sporadic battle reports and a few other more gameplay oriented posts here and there, but that's the stuff currently in the pipeline. If there's anything anyone would like to see let me know in the comments section below. I'll see what I can do.<br />
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*Carrified: (<i>adv</i>) To have been altered or influenced by Commissar Carrie.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-544479434582051012011-04-29T13:17:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:24:09.240-07:00Radical: Intermission Report<i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i> <br />
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While this ends Regina Winterfield's report of the Ulric Invasion, it is not, by any means, the end of the war. Official reports have the end of major conflicts at the time of Inquisitor Argus Fane's death, but sporadic contact with pockets of heretic resistance remained for years, and the planet was not cleansed of chaos taint for another decade when it was consecrated as holy ground by the Ecclesiarch Donald Horbradis as a shrine world. Even so the Selenium 472 Imperial Guard regiment has been stationed there ever since in lieu of a PDF.<br />
<br />
It is unknown when or how the Chaos Space Marines arrived on Ulric, but reports from the battles indicate that at least 200 traitor marines were present on the world at the time of the conflict. Units from the Word Bearers and Night Lord legions are confirmed to have participated in the fighting. After the defeat of the daemon Daethlugh, which reports from the surviving Grey Knights indicate was a bloodthirster, the Chaos Marines disappeared from the planet. The corrupted techpriests apparently were wiped out by Inquisitor Fane and his retinue as no trace of them was ever found after that encounter.<br />
<br />
The Cleansing Fire Commandery, originally consisting of over 200 Adepta Sororitas was all but wiped out by the conflict on Ulric. Less than thirty sisters survived, in total, the vast majority of which were undergoing medical care during the assault on the servitor manufactorum and were unable to join the Inquisitor on the mission. The survivors of the mission included Palatine Analyn LaFollet, who survived her injures and had much of her body replaced with bionics; Sister Superior Kora Halquin, whose injuries at the hands of the daemon were minimal except for a shattered vertebrae which required a ceramite replacement; Seraphim Angelica Cross, who escaped the conflict without injury and recorded a dozen kills of which half, she claims, were traitor marines; and Sister Regina Winterfield, who was treated for a compound fracture in her leg which apparently went unnoticed for most of the battle due to her power armor acting as a splint.<br />
<br />
It took nearly a decade for the commandery to return to full strength, during which time the survivors of Ulric were seconded to Inquisitor Gibbius Vecht of the Ordo Hereticus as his personal bodyguard. The Cleansing Fire Commandery, even after being reestablished by The Order of Our Martyred Lady, it's parent order, remained stationed on Vecht's ship, <i>Nolo Contende, </i>as his own personal army.<br />
<br />
Isimbard Kane, after the events on Ulric, was promoted from simple acolyte to Interrogator in my own service. Argus Fane had been a personal friend, and I suppressed much of his actions on Ulric until now, believing that while his methods were reprehensible, his goal was pure and guided by The Emperor's light. I took on his only surviving student willingly, and rapidly recommended him for promotion to full Inquisitor after being thoroughly impressed by his prodigious abilities. It is only now, with the sins of the son so apparent, that I have begun to see the sins of the father. Whatever taint led Argus Fane to his destruction was passed down to his student, Isimbard Kane, radical, heretic and traitor.<br />
<br />
-Inquisitor Seren Null, Ordo Xenos.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-26826556422088076762011-04-27T20:19:00.000-07:002011-05-26T15:41:43.631-07:00Radical: Hero<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>This is Radical part V. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGVfH71CUiuTMuxgZwrg4dK3dUpl7z74MhAtss-quUCsrufLNnYOM5traIAw0DyuKdC4-aOxWtY0LpHH3yMgz0gT2iNEsRDNLs1aHPu56Pvz9QNrkBXyrSC69XZ5RsMZDyFn8CIXtBdQ/s1600/Inquisition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGVfH71CUiuTMuxgZwrg4dK3dUpl7z74MhAtss-quUCsrufLNnYOM5traIAw0DyuKdC4-aOxWtY0LpHH3yMgz0gT2iNEsRDNLs1aHPu56Pvz9QNrkBXyrSC69XZ5RsMZDyFn8CIXtBdQ/s320/Inquisition.jpg" width="268" /></a>I remember praying. As the denizens of the warp bore down upon us, teeth flashing and blades gleaming, I dropped to my knees and prayed. The words are lost in my memory. In fact, I'm not even sure if there were any words. I cast my faith into the heavens, full of desperation, and listened for an answer. Around me my sisters, defiant to the end, fired upon the daemon horde, refusing to fall until their duty was done. Amidst them all I was there, a tiny young thing, covered in the blood of my friends, armor dented and weapon empty, my eyes full of tears, begging for salvation. I believe that it is during our darkest moments, when the shadows of our enemies fall over us, that our light burns brightest. The sound that finally drowned out my sobs was like nothing I had ever heard before.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was a staccato beat, a wordless prayer to The Emperor in the form He loves best. Dozens of stormbolters had raised their voices in response to the roar of the daemon and silenced it. I felt the flying shells whip past me, pulling my hair back from my face, and I looked up at my salvation. They stood well over two meters high, clad in plain, unpainted ceramite power armor. Each of them had their left hand raised, spitting fire into the daemons from stormbolters mounted on their wrists, and in their right hands they held burning swords. I don't know how long I watched them, dazed and staring as more and more of they grey figures appeared before that cogwheel door, appearing in flashes of light that left an ozone smell in the air. It was Sister Superior Halquin who snapped me out of my reverie, shouting, “Grey Knights! Fall back behind them!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A hand grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me to my feet, drawing me into the midst of the figures as they moved forward in perfect unison, their boots shaking the ground with every step. The daemons fell back before them, shrieking in pain as the sanctified bolts hit them. In droves they exploded, only to disappear in a howling mass as they were driven back into the warp, one at a time. When the Knights reached them, their swords clove through the daemons. I could see more of the Knights now, appearing on walkways above us, firing down from above into the daemon, securing their flanks and setting up firing lanes. One of the Knights turned back to us, “Where is the Inquisitor?”</div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Through this door,” Halquin said, indicating the warpfouled brass door we had been defending for what seemed like an eternity. “He's setting the charges to blow this facility.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Grey Knight seemed to consider this for a moment, then gestured to some of his battle brothers, “We shall assist the Inquisitor; you will accompany us, sisters. The rest of my brothers are needed here.” With that simple order given, he moved past us and placed his hand on the door, which seemed to recoil from his touch, the disturbing reflections in its brass pulling away from his gauntleted hand. He pushed the door open, and four more Knights joined him.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Okay, you heard him, let's go!” Halquin saw my empty hands and passed me her bolter, Samantha's bolter, then retrieved Analyn's power sword.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What about the Palatine,” I asked, looking at our fallen leader, and Halquin shook her head.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We can't take her with us, and she's probably better off here than where we're going. I have a feeling that we haven't finished here yet.” After that we set off after the Grey Knights. The bolter I had been given had only half a clip left in it, and I had run out of reloads fending off the chaos marines. At least it still had the sarissa on the end of it, and I took comfort in the fact that at least I'd be able to cut into my enemies if I couldn't shoot them.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Beyond the brass door, the manufactorum was completely tainted. The smooth stone had become spongy, and leaning against it caused it to ooze a sticky purple liquid that smelled like offal. Thick veins ran along the walls and the floor, pumping thick fluids in an irregular beat. The Grey Knights led the way, with we sisters following in their footsteps, taking the rear guard. The only light we had was the glow from the power sword in Halquin's hands, and it lit the place in a pale blue that cast shadows at odd angles before us.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing in those twisted hallways tried to kill us. I had the feeling they were more than busy fighting the Grey Knights behind us, and had no time to spare for our small group. Eventually we came into a vast space, suddenly well lit, and my stomach churned. The walls were rotting meat, and the light came from horrible smelling purple flames, burning in torches made of bone that were growing out of the walls. The floor was yellowed human teeth, crunching under our feet. At the center of the room was the shrine of the Omnissiah, defaced and befouled. Unidentifiable bodies, flayed of skin, hung from iron hooks, posed upon it in a horrible mockery of a scene I had seen a thousand times in my lift, the defeat of Horus at the hands of The Emperor. Standing at the foot of this shrine was Inquisitor Argus Fane and what was left of his retinue, a single, battle weary storm trooper clutching a battered hellgun, and a crusader, the disruption field of his power sword gone out, leaning on his heavy ceramite shield. They were surrounded by the bodies of techpriests, more twisted than even the servitors we had fought before.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Inquisitor,” the Grey Knight said, “We are holding the daemon incursion at the entrance to the inner sanctum. We have come to assist you.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fane turned then, and my heart froze in my chest. His hair, formerly a dark widow's peak, was now thinned and greyed; his gleaming gold power armor was rent and dented, covered in blood and ichor, a a ring of unused meltabombs circling his waist. Around his neck the shining red I of the Inquisition had been cleaved in two, and now only half of his symbol was left. The only thing left of him was his daemon hammer, undamaged and unbroken, its power field still crackling with energies waiting to be spent. “Yes,” he said, and his voice was hollow and shaken. “Yes, thank you. We must hurry then.” He turned back to the shrine, then in a single swift movement he brought his hammer around and smashed it into the face of the stormtrooper at his side. The man didn't even have time to scream, he simply flew back into the altar, smashing into the corpse meant to represent The Emperor in the gruesome tableau. There was an explosion of horrid light, and I had to look away. Something about the flayed bodies hit me then, and I shuddered at the realization.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The bodies had been unrecognizable because their mechanicus implants had been ripped out, and the bodies were fresh, their blood still ran freely. They had been there perhaps only minutes. The Inquisitor had put them there.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I looked up again prayers began to issue from my lips unheeded. The stormtrooper, obviously dead, was beginning to move, his broken bones crackling and shifting under the influence of some great power. The Inquisitor slammed shouted, “Daethlugh! You foul warp spawn piece of shit! Come into this world so I can finish you off once and for all!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The only response was a laughter that pounded in my mind with such force that I fell to my knees. I saw that everyone else had fallen then as well, including the Grey Knights. Only the Inquisitor stood upright and defiant, clutching his daemonhammer as the stormtrooper twisted and tore, ripping apart in a cloud of gore. What rose from the corpse was something whose very presence made my mind scream in protest. The daemon was half a dozen meters tall or more, and disturbingly human, but not. Great twisted horns rose from its feline skull. It had two arms and two legs, and a pair of great leathery wings rose up over its back, extending out wider than it was tall. Its legs ended in cloven hooves, and its taloned hands held a single great, blood stained axe that could kill a dozen with a single swing. From its fanged maw the laughter continued to issue, then it spoke, and its voice was even worse. It felt like my bones were trying to crawl out of my flesh. “Argus, are you still hunting me? After all this time?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fane hefted his hammer over his head, “That's right. And this is the end of it. I knew your foul taint was on this planet, and I'm going to finish it now. I'm not just going to banish you, I'm going to end your blasphemous existence right here.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good,” the daemon said, and stepped forward, smashing the fouled shrine under one cloven hoof. “The fire in your blood will please my master greatly.” It began to laugh again, then recoiled as a stream of bolts impacted into its face. The Grey Knights had recovered. They spread out around the daemon, sprinting in their power armor as their hands spit death at the daemon. One, the leader, I think, leapt forward, catching onto the daemon's knee and driving his sword deep into its leg. The Daemon howled in anger and with a simple twitch of his arm dislodged the space marine and sent him spinning off into a wall where he hit so hard his body exploded in his power armor.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Inquisitor shouted a warcry and swung his hammer into the daemon's ankle, bringing it collapsing to on knee as the powerful weapon discharged its energy at impact, but a backhanded swipe with the haft of the daemon's axe came so fast it was a blur. Only the Inquisitor's faithful acolyte, raising his shield at the last moment, kept the Inquisitor intact. The supression field on the shield flared one and went out, and the pair were sent sprawling across the floor in a heap.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“For The Emperor!” Halquin shouted, and rose to her feet, charging the daemon with her sword. The rest of we sisters rallied then and began firing into the daemon, expending out last ammunition to distact the daemon long enough for Halquin to strike at its legs. She swung the sword into the back of its ankle, and any mortal creature would have been crippled as its tendons were snapped, but this was a daemon. Halquin's sword shattered on the daemon's skin, and a kick from it tumbled her several meters across the floor.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Grey Knights attacked again, this time en masse, seeming to come from all angles, their power weapons cutting and slashing at the daemon, but it simply swung its axe once and they scattered, two of them cut clean in half by the warp weapon, the other two crippled and unable to fight back. The daemon laughed again, our attacks proving to be completely useless against it. Then the Inquisitor shouted a challenge.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The daemon turned to him, apparently amused, and raised its axe over its head for a killing blow. The Inquisitor charged, leaping through the air, powered by the augmetic muscles in his power armor, and swung his hammer at the daemon's jaw. Then, as simple as anything, the daemon simply caught Argus Fane between two fingers, let him struggle for a moment, and bit him in half. The lower half of the Inquisitor's body fell just a few feet from me, and I stared in horror as the daemon chewed his powered armored torso with a series of cracks and crunches as the ceramite was destroyed. It spit the daemonhammer across the room, then turned to we sisters.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It swung its axe at us, and I dove to the ground. A moment later I felt the warm wet rain of my sisters' blood pouring over the back of my neck, and I rose to my feet. They were all dead. I stood alone in the room with the daemon, and it watched me, grinning. I knew my death was at hand, and I began to pray once more, commending my soul to The Emperor. Then the daemonhammer slammed into the daemon's hip, and it howled in pain, collapsing onto its hands and knees in pain and shock. The Inquisitor's crusader ran from across the room, unarmed now that he'd thrown his master's hammer.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">His armor was rent and broken. His helmet had been discarded, and his face was covered in blood. The daemon swung its axe awkwardly at the man, but he leapt at the last minute, the blade passing just under his feet. The crusader caught the haft of the daemon's weapon and rode it through the backswing, letting go at the apex of the arc and letting the momentum send him flying through the air to land on the daemon's face. The daemon shrieked, and rose to its face, but the crusader held on, reaching into the daemon's mouth and yanking and pulling at something. The daemon swung its head, and the crusader lost his grip and flew threw the air. On instinct I ran to catch the man, and when he hit me we fell to the ground in a tangle. I heard him whisper something as he looked over his shoulder at the daemon. It roared and came at us, its hooves hitting the ground with such force the entire room shook, then its head exploded in a corona of fire as bright as the sun. Intense heat seared my eyes, and the daemon fell to its knees, decapitated. Warp fire engulfed its body, and with a sound like screaming children the daemon was sucked back into the warp.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The crusader rose to his feet, and extended his hand to me. As he did the pins from the half dozen meltabombs that had been hanging from his master's belt fell from his grip. “Thank you,” he said. “For the catch.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course,” I replied. “It's nothing.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That was the first conversation I ever had with Isimbard Kane, and at the time I have to admit that I was too in awe of him to respond properly. Still, I should have said something to someone then about what I had heard him whisper. I never told anyone what he said, not until years after his death, and that is my sin in regards to his fate. As the daemon roared, and he lay atop me, moments before his victory, the words I heard him say were “Blood for the corpse god. Skulls for the golden throne.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>So ends the fifth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane, and the end of her account of the war on Ulric.</i></div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-36766100392045861582011-04-23T20:09:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:40:10.070-07:00Radical: Hymn<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NNt8iqjopfntJm0TWOAoE-J9geFC0OB8ncjtkTy7zys_2LoUi0RxDZPGSPUpKQh0vSV0ZNi-GF0tRtyGLyZt97Lm1LFgFNVwtIUrx3UOot9vubvAyTtvTbLi2nDCgFKGxR8_uxxqffY/s1600/40kKhorne01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><i>This is Radical part IV. </i><i>For more check the table of contents <a href="http://inquisitork.blogspot.com/2011/05/radical-table-of-contents.html">here</a>.</i> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Manufactorum of the Adeptus Mechanicus reminded me of our cathedrals. Great vaulted ceilings rose above us so high that the guttering luminators interspersed around the hallways couldn't reach, and their peaks were shrouded in darkness. Sometimes skittering movement could be heard above us, up in the deep shadows, but there was nothing we could do about it, so we moved on. Moving through the facility took much longer than we had expected, with its twisting corridors and blind turns we had to move slowly, ever on the watch for an ambush.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At what seemed to be regular intervals we'd see signs of battle in the hallways, impacts of bolter shells in the masonry, gashes from chain weapons on the walls, splashes of blood on a luminator giving the entire area an eerie glow. We never found any bodies though, a fact which gave me some kind of odd hope, but which seemed to make Halquin even more nervous and dour. When I asked her about it she said, “Reclamation.” After that she refused to talk about it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Once, we heard the distinct sound of battle ahead, and we charged forward to meet it, hoping to find our remaining sisters, but the echoes in the maze-like structure proved deceiving. While the battle sounded just around the next corner, we did not find its evidence for quite some time. Once again, there were no bodies, but here the blood still dripped, and warm chunks of ceramite lay scattered in the hallway, warm chunks of power armor blown apart by bolt shells. We were getting close. Halquin called out, “Regina, come here. What does this look like to you?”</div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My gaze followed Halquin's direction, and I suppressed a gasp. I had missed it in the darkness, but the wall where the Sister Superior was pointing had been caved in by a tremendous impact. All of the stonework had crumbled away from the crater, and something dark metallic lay hidden amongst the rubble. I reached in and pulled it free, grunting under the weight even with the enhanced strength my power armor gave me, then brought it into the light. It was a breastplate, too large for a normal man, cast in an incandescent dark blue and marked all over with runes and sigils that hurt my brain to look at. I knew what it was instantly, the power armor of a chaos space marine, and backed away, whispering prayers to The Emperor to protect me from the malediction of the tainted object. Then I noticed that the breastplate was not undamaged. Seared into the armor just above the heart was a stylized I with three bars crossing through it, burned there as if branded, and I recognized it immediately. “That's from the Inquisitor's Daemon Hammer! He's still alive!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After that we moved forward more recklessly, less worried about ambush than we were about arriving too late to help Inquisitor Fane. During long corridors we would sprint, trusting in the Emperor and our power armor to protect us from any unforseen threats, but none came. The Inquisitor was clearing out the hallways ahead of us. Eventually we burst out of the maze of corridors and into a vast chamber of catwalks and pulleys, lit a blazing orange from below by great smelting fires. The cooling systems in my armor fired up immediately, and cool, stale air filled my nostrils. I was about to speak when the stone walkway we had appeared on began to shake and jutter under the impact of what I instantly recognized was bolter fire. Halquin dove back into the hallway, dragging me along just ahead of a stream of bolts that left smoking craters in the stonework. The doorway became a cloud of dust, disintegrating under the sustained fire, but it ebbed out as we heard a feminine voice shout out, “Cease fire! Cease fire! You, in the doorway, identify yourseleves!"<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Halquin shouted back, “Sister Superior Kora Halquin, Redemption Squad!” She stepped out of the doorway, and I followed. At the far end of the room I finally saw them, our sisters. There were two dozen of them, barricaded behind arcane equipment and up a large flight of ceramite stairs. They were guarding a large cogwheel doorway of burnished brass that reflected the light of the fires below in a pattern of twisting wrongness that I couldn't see clearly.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Halquin, The Emperor watches over you diligently, doesn't he? I saw your Rhino get hit. We didn't think there were any survivors.” The woman speaking was Palatine Analyn LaFollet, the head of our commandery. She was a short woman, only coming up to my shoulder, but a good commander and, I had heard, a fierce warrior. She stood in the open, at the top of the stairs, and the hopeful expression on her face fell as she saw us. “Where's the rest of your squad?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fallen in service,” Halquin said, leading me across the twisting network of stone catwalks towards our sisters. “Most died with the Rhino, the rest in an ambush at the doors of the manufactorum. We are all that remain. Where are the rest of our sisters?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Analyn just shook her head, “This is it. The damned traitor marines took their toll. We hadn't been expecting them. We were prepared for some servitors, not the full force of the traitor legions. Only by the light of The Emperor did we even make it this far.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well damn,” Halquin said, “I was hoping to take some tea and leave the rest to you. I guess we'll have to help out then.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where's the Inquisitor?' I asked, and my superiors turned to look at me. Analyn seemed to recognize me for the first time.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“By the Emperor, is that Regina? I barely recognized you through all that filth. The Inquisitor is inside with what's left of his retinue, setting the meltabombs. We're to hold this position until his return.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I looked once more to the brass door , sealed closed behind Inquisitor Fane, and tried to ignore the way that the reflections of the flames below seemed to form screaming faces. The Warp's corruption was all around us, and I once more thought of the guardsmen gone mad outside, not protected from the forces of chaos by their faith as we were. A chill ran down my spine, and I turned away.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Take your positions on the line,” Analyn said, and we moved to a section of machinery that looked like it would stop incoming bolter fire. It was all pipes and cogs, running in and out of thick black cases with yellowing prayer scrolls attached to it with red wax. We were in place next to a Retributor squad, and I took comfort in the two sisters beside me and their heavy weapons. Both had multimeltas, and I knew that the anti-tank weapons would reduce anything that came at us to steam, be it traitor marine or dreadnought.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">From my vantage point I could see the entire chamber. The room was two hundred meters long and a hundred meters wide, with stone catwalks with heavy steel railings crisscrossing it at various heights and angles. Far below us were the furnaces and smelting vats, burning and boiling, filling the whole chamber with a hazy pallor of smoke that rose all the way up to the vast ceiling above us. It seemed like the enemy could come from any direction, above or below, and we sisters had simply put our backs to the wall in expectation of their arrival.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Halquin nudged me, “Regina, take your time, aim for the head. You're a blessed shot, don't waste ammunition trying to bring down the traitor marines with volume of fire.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I nodded and risked a half smile, “Still, I wish I had my storm bolter.” She clapped me on the shoulder, then turned to the defense.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We did not wait long for the attack, though it was not what we expected. They sent the combat servitors after us first. They came sprinting down the catwalks, or leaping at us from overhead. Some rolled forward on heavy tracks while others nimbly skittered over the walls like insects on small, multijointed legs. As the battle was begun I finally understood what Halquin had meant when she said Reclamation. Many of the servitors were female, and some still wore the livery of the Cleansing Fire Commandery. This facility had taken the corpses of our fallen sisters and twisted them into abominations of machine and warpcraft. I imagine that if we'd not had Palatine Analyn's leadership we might have cracked then, but she rose from the ranks and stood at the top of the stairs, her plasma pistol taking a deadly toll on the corruption before us, and she began to sing a hymn for the fallen. We all joined her, our voices rising above the din of the battle. When one of our sisters fell, hit by an autocannon mounted on the body of a woman I recognized as poor Barbara, stripped of her armor, the chainaxe wound still a gaping hole between her naked breasts, the volume of our hymn only rose to compensate. I put the thing that used to be my sister down with a short burst that sent her reeling over the catwalk and into the cleansing fires below.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After the servitors came the traitor marines. Khorne Berserkers in their blood red armor charged at us across the catwalks, and for each we felled two more seemed to take his place. From above chaos Raptors fell, their jump packs flaring and their bolt pistols barking death down upon us. They drew our fire and fell in droves before they could land, but the few that dropped amongst us killed many. Analyn charged them, cleaving one in half with her power sword and ending another with a shot from her plasma pistol that burned a hole stright through his chest. When the Berserkers finally arrived Analyn fell amongst them like The Emperor's wrath made manifest. We fired into the melee, and the multimeltas beside me cut great furrows in their ranks as they piled in towards Analyn. Halquin shouted and vaulted over to the pipes we were taking cover behind, charging into the melee and lashing out with sarissa and the butt of her bolter. She and the Palatine managed to hold the line while the rest of us fired into the melee, mowing down the traitor marines as fast as we could.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A bolt exploded the head of the retributor beside me, covering me in her gore and fouling my vision. I wiped the blood from my eyes with the back of my gauntlet and raised my voice, screaming the hymn now rather than singing it, and dropped my bolter. I pried the multimelta from my sister's hands and braced it against the pipes, tears streaming down my eyes as I fired again and again. Halquin and Analyn were gone, hidden amongst the mass of blood red power armor that had surged forward to meet us, so I fired into the center of the group, over and over again until the pipe I'd propped the heavy weapon on began to drip onto the floor, melted from the heat.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And then, it was over. The last of the Berserkers fell, stumbling under a storm of bolter fire that tore him limb from limb. Halquin and Analyn still stood, surrounded by a pile of bodies, their armor sheared through and blood leaking from a dozen wounds each. Analyn had lost her arm at the shoulder, blown apart as her plasma pistol had finally overheated, but she was ignoring the cauterized wound and holding her power sword in her remaining hand. She started to collapse, but Halquin caught her nd dragged her back to the firing line. The hymn stopped, and we all crowded around our leader. There were only six of us now, out of the entire commandery. Analyn smiled, somehow, and said, “We have done our duty, sisters. The Inquisitor is safe, and these traitors are dead. Ave Imperator.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ave Imperator,” we all repeated, bowing our heads and making the sign of the Aquila. Analyn tried, crossing one arm over her chest, only able to make half the sign, then fell unconscious. As another of the sisters knelt to take care of her, I turned to Halquin. “Now what do we do?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She did not get a chance to answer. The air around us began to crackle with unleashed energies, and we spun back to face the stairs. I'm still not sure exactly what I saw that day, and I am glad for it. Man was not meant to witness warpcraft of that magnitude, and the blessed are quick to forget it, but I remember bits and pieces. Something tore open before us, leading to a place I can only see now in nightmares, and the legions of chaos spilled out into the chamber. Dozens, hundreds fell screaming into the furnace fires below, but some latched onto the catwalks with clawed hands and barbed talons, wielding twisted black swords. Daemons. How many of them I don't know, but they stared at we sisters with a lust for blood in their burning eyes, and with a shout that could issue from no mortal throat, they charged us.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>So ends the fourth passage of the Personal Record of Palatine Regina Winterfield concerning the fate of Inquisitor Isimbard Kane</i>. </div>Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095147840115623681.post-77792808598712806692011-04-19T09:14:00.000-07:002011-04-19T09:25:49.498-07:00The Straight DopeSo, since I'm home now and don't have to type on my phone I can give you guys a proper story on exactly where I've been for the past week. So, here's how it happened.<br />
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I was at the local university doing some paperwork, and was just on my way back to my car to go pick up some lunch when I started getting some really bad chest pains. I thought it was just some heartburn or maybe an anxiety attack or something, but I was sure it would pass. As I rode up the elevator to the top floor of the parking garage, which was where I had parked, the pain got steadily worse. Outside, on the roof of the garage I fell down and decided I should probably rest for a second until this whole thing passed. It did not, in fact, get better. A nice lady and a nice man found me leaned against a parking barrier trying to catch my breath and managed to convince me to go see a doctor, but not until I'd gotten back up and fallen over again in a grim defiance that is so typical of me.<br />
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The nice man took me to the university clinic, where I was thrown into a room, put on an EKG, poked prodded and told, under no uncertain terms, they had no idea what was wrong with me and wanted me the hell out of there since I was a liability and they weren't equipped to deal with emergencies. They called an ambulance for me, I waved goodbye to the nice man and I was transported VERY SLOWLY to the hospital by a pair of very nice EMTs who told me it sounded like I had some really bad chest cramps.<br />
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In the emergency room I was again poked prodded and hooked up to an EKG machine, then eventually I was x-rayed (they had to call the guys twice). by then my fabulous roommates were there holding my hand and telling me everything way okay and taking bets on what was wrong with me. One had "Anxiety Attack" the other had "Chest cramps". Then the doctor came in and said, "Well, you've got a collapsed lung." Oh the laughs that were had.<br />
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I had gotten a spontaneous pneumothorax, which apparently happens when you get a tiny hole in your lung, and your chest cavity fills with air, which forces your lung to collapse due to the pressure. If you ever saw Three Kings then you'll remember the guy who got shot and had to keep venting his chest, or he'd die. Well it was basically the same thing, except I didn't get shot, it happened for literally no discernible reason whatsoever. They kicked my roommates out of the room, and then a very terse surgeon rolled me onto my side, cut an incision between my ribs and rammed 12 inches of rubber tubing into my chest. He didn't even buy me dinner first.<br />
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I have since spent the last week in the hospital draining goop and air from my chest cavity and watching a weeklong NCIS marathon (I wanna be Ziva when I grow up!) while slowly recuperating. My roommates took shifts staying with me, and then my mom flew 1500 miles to come see me and stayed with me all week. I have recuperated fine and finally managed to make it home Monday evening, a bit sore, but very glad to be home.<br />
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In the week I was in the hospital my pageviews doubled, I got 5 new followers and I received tons of support from the gaming community when I managed to post on my phone in my horribly misspelled and uncapitalized posts uploaded from my phone. I want to especially thank <a href="http://theporkster.blogspot.com/">Porky</a> for pimping my Radical story on his blog and Mike (Who I don't have a link for because I am a terrible person) and my very good friend <a href="http://elorrahstormbringer.blogspot.com/">Camsy Wamsy</a> for all the worry and concern she's been throwing at me for this week.<br />
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The Radical story will continue shortly (For anyone who wants to know how I got the last one up while sick, I borrowed a laptop and was up till 3:40 am that night writing it up) and I hope that everyone enjoys it. Thank you all again for being super awesome, and if there's any word of advice that I can give after my experiences this past week, it's this.<br />
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HEAVY FLAMER! It solves all problems.<br />
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PS (Just for C'nor): Radical actually takes place several decades before The Defense of Kornaria City and is something of a background piece on the Cleansing Fire Commandery and Inquisitor Isimbard Kane. This is before Kora Halquin developed her allergy and was just a Sister Superior in the commandery rather than one of its commanding officers. You'll notice that in the latest update everyone's favorite Cannoness (or at least mine) Angelica is still a Seraphim, though that doesn't seem to have improved her mood overly much.Commissar Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00670931830173192041noreply@blogger.com3