Oh wow. I can't even remember this thread.
Fear me
I was looking for something in it a while back, but generally have no reason to read it.
Oh hey! My Inquisitors! Awesome!
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Crazed Lawrencian
Hey Lem, Sullen? Don'cha got other stories and bits to post here?
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Nnnope, not yet. I mean, I guess the Cloak's origin story could go here, but I haven't got it.
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Crazed Lawrencian
What about the Guardsman and Noblewoman?
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Oh yeah, that should be here, I guess.
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
If I do, I don't remember them—and I'm not combing through the other discussion thread to look for anything I might have come up with.
The Danse Macabre Codex
Crazed Lawrencian
What about the Emperor's Children short?
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
I'm not combing through the other discussion thread to look for it.
The Danse Macabre Codex
Crazed Lawrencian
Found it, page 1524.
In the quiet moments, he remembers his past.
Not everything, of course, and not always; the numbing fog that settles over his mind whenever he is not in battle is often thick and inscrutable, too much so for him to pierce. But sometimes, the twin veils of time and abuse part long enough for him to catch a glimpse of his past, revealing tattered memories, days so far gone that he is sure few still live to remember them. Faces drift lazily before his eyes in those times, faces that he feels he should recognize and is saddened when he does not.
But the names, he remembers—Tarvitz, Demeter, Vespasian, even Great Rylanor…all good men, all warriors he would have been proud to fight alongside.
All long since turned to dust.
He looks around, noting idly that he is not alone. For of his brothers occupy the room as well, twitching fitfully as odd noises escape from their vox grilles. In those quiet moments, like this one, he finds himself looking over their armour in disapproval; what would someone like Tarvitz have made of this garish mishmash of pink and black and gold? Would they have looked upon the tattered purple feathers of their legion crest and compared it unfavourably to the resplendent golden wing that once adorned their pauldrons, as he now did? Would their lips curl in disgust as they took in the mutations riddling their bodies, signs of their dark patron’s favour?
He might, if he could still do so. But as he glances to the left and sees his own reflection in the mirror, he is reminded that he cannot. Metal hooks pull the corners of his mouth so far apart that he might as well not have one, leaving his face locked in a perpetually exaggerated grimace. Teeth are stained almost black with blood, fluids and a host of substances he doesn’t care to recall. His nose is conspicuous by its absence, leaving his nasal cavities on full display. Scars crisscross his forehead in an intricate latticework, some earned in battle while others came from his own hand. The pain sometimes helped in the old days, but now he can’t even feel such minor injuries anymore and he has long since stopped doing that.
He shakes his head. The Primarch himself would be appalled to see even one of his soldiers in such a state.
Or at least he would in the old days, the ones he barely remembers. Now, this sort of mutilation and deformity was practically the norm for the legion. And for many, this debasement wasn’t merely skin deep. Take Lucius, for instance—less a man than a thing now, a wraith so consumed by the lust for the perfection of physical combat that this was now the entirety of its existence. Or Fabius Bile, plaguing sector upon sector with genetically-engineered horrors while wearing a labcoat of human skin.
That last detail bothers him a great deal. Had they not been created to protect mankind, to safeguard it from all the threats of a hostile galaxy? Now they preyed upon it, taking slaves for use as chattel and livestock and all manner of horrible things.
How did it all go so wrong?
The answer to that eludes him, as always. He remembers the Heresy, the Dropsite Massacre, but the cause for it all remains lost to the mists of time. He remembers the chaos of those days, the bloodshed and depravity and the senseless violence of it all. He knows that he is not innocent; his hands are just as stained with those of the four warriors slumbering not far from where he sits. He is complicit in the same atrocities, veteran of the same battles. He has killed so many and without a second thought, and he has revelled in their agony and despair. He has done things that would have sickened him once upon a time, but now provoke in him only feelings of mild disappointment. If redemption is possible, he knows, it is not meant for the likes of him.
All the same, he cannot help but look back at the long expanse of his life in those quiet moments and wonder—was it worth it?
He knows the answer his battle-brothers would give—an unequivocal yes, laced with profanity and exultations of the Prince of Excess. And because he knows that, he never gives voice to that question—wracked with self-doubt though he may be, he has no interest in taking a bolt to the face or worse. And so he looks on in silence, revolted and despairing over what the Legion has become. He remembers the days when the name Emperor’s Children actually meant something, the days when the astartes of Fulgrim strove for excellence in everything they did—perfection, not pride. He remembers the days when people treated them with respect rather than terror or thinly-veiled disgust.
He remembers these things in the quiet moments, but they come to him less often with every passing decade. And when they do, the fog of stimulants and accelerants is just a little harder to pierce than the time before, and he remembers just a little less. Soon, he knows, he might not be able to remember anything from before the Heresy.
A pity, he thinks. That all memory of what this legion used to stand for should fade into oblivion…
A noise comes from somewhere off to the left. Instantly he is on his feet, sonic blaster in hand and electric fire pulsing through his veins.
The world slows down, his twin heartbeats pounding in his ears like the beat to such sweet music, and then he is in motion. The wall offers no resistance to his armoured frame, exploding outward in a shower of debris that catches the hapless guardsmen skulking about on the other side completely by surprise. He lets rip with his gun, pounding waves of sonic force slamming the guardsmen off their feet and into the opposite wall with so much force that they burst like overripe fruit; those still alive are screaming, hands clapped over their profusely-bleeding ears, too weak and disoriented to fight back.
He sighs with a shudder, breathing heavily. Now that’s more like it.
His battle-brothers join him then, chuckling darkly as their red lenses fall upon the surviving guardsmen; he knows much fun will be had from these wretched playthings before they break, and he finds himself looking forward to it.
He seems to recall there was something on his mind a second ago, but he writes it off. Whatever it was, it can wait until he’s done with these saps; it’s been a while since he’s been able to enjoy all the pleasures a warm body has to offer, and he’s not about to pass that up.
He is Emperor’s Children. This is all he needs.
This is perfection.
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Oh, hey, it's this thread! Shit, we've neglected to update this repository for a while now.
When in deadly danger, When beset by doubt, Run in little circles, Wave your arms and shout.
Crazed Lawrencian
I think that this can serve the present game too.
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Crazed Lawrencian
And now this thread is in World Building.
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Hasn't it always been?
Conception is sin Birth is pain Life is toil Death is inevitable
Crazed Lawrencian
Nope. Was in Discussion before.
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?
Symposium of Post-Mysticism
Symposium
Part I
The Reason Kanako Came to Gensokyo
The Construction of the Myouren Temple
Part II
Youkai Active in the Outside World
The Proper Meaning of "The True Nature of Youkai"
Paranormal Experiences in the Outside World
Part III
The Past and Present of the Tengu
Youkai Disappearing After Birth
The Youkai of the Myouren Temple
Part IV
Kanako's Opinions on Gensokyo's Problems
The Hated Underground Dwellers
The Oni and Vengeful Spirits of Hell
Part V
The Difference Between Gods and Youkai
Taoism and Hermits+A Wicked Hermit's Appearance
Part VI
Afterword
Profiles
Mountain of Faith
Subterranean Animism
Undefined Fanatastic Object
Ten Desires
I'll update it later.
edited 13th Aug '14 11:39:05 AM by joergenjetsam
Conception is sin Birth is pain Life is toil Death is inevitable
...Dear Emprah, I had completely forgotten about this place. Did you lot forget it too?
Proud member of the IAA What's the point of being grown up if you can't act childish?