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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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[ERROR] No.9707733 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]

So tell me, friend, which one of the bitches sent you? The Commissariat wolf, or the Inquisition jackal? Here's the news: Taldeer isn't some Xenos psyker for you to eliminate, and LIIVI isn't a green conscript who can be slapped around by paramilitary muscle. And with that, farewell, or prepare to get purged, whichever you prefer.

>> No.9707746


>> No.9707747

...But I'm just a Guardsman...

>> No.9707760

dude chill

>> No.9707777

Taldeer told me she doesn't love you.

>> No.9707810

hold on a fucking second, didnt this guy die?

>> No.9707827

LIIVI is mai husbando. whatcha got to say about that huh?

>> No.9707834

Travel the world, they said... Get all the xeno pussy you want, they said...

>> No.9707849


>> No.9707857

LIIVI confirmed as cyrus' son!

>> No.9707896



>> No.9707909

They both froze to death.

The End.

>> No.9707915

i have no idea what the story is, but i saw a picture of this guy getting fucked up by a grey knight, then another picture of him and the grey knight getting fucked up by an assassin

>> No.9707949

taldeer ended up crushing the grey knight like a can with her psyker powers. liivi managed to kill the eversor that was sent to kill them both. dont currently have the pics with me.

>> No.9707980



>> No.9707984

A single member of the Ultramarines Honour Guard could take them down, each and every one has slain more foes than an entire regiment of Imperial Guardsmen and has earned more glories and commendations than a whole company of Space Marines from any other chapter.

>> No.9708003

good end

>> No.9708016

Still a shame Miko never illustrated Taldeer crushing the Grey Knight.

>> No.9708026

>> No.9708029

I have a theory about Lofn.

It eldar mating requires the male to have sex with the female at certain intervals and donate the proper dna strands at the exact moments to conceive a child. Normally making it impossible for a normal human to have a child with an eldar.

But because LIIVI is a vindicare, one shot was all he needed.


>> No.9708030

>i have no idea what the story is

..."Do you know what LCB? is" is getting to be the new rule by which I judge how new someone is to /tg/.

>> No.9708035

>> No.9708037

>> No.9708040

>> No.9708048

That's almost as horrible as this picture.

>> No.9708050

I cringed. Then I smiled.

>> No.9708055

>> No.9708057

>> No.9708072

>> No.9708073

I don't think anything will be as romantic as Human/Eldar love.

>> No.9708079

>> No.9708082

Eldar have -4 str on both genders, and thats why they can never beat the Space Marines, losing an entire Craftworld to a single Chapter.

Also according to the Rogue Trader rulebook they can never be as powerful psykers as humans can.

>Their mastery of the psyker's arts is measured by long and cautious centuries and most will never attaine the brief, bright-burning power of the humans they so scorn.

>> No.9708088

Shouldn't she be as tall as him at least?

>> No.9708089

>> No.9708090

>> No.9708098

that wouldnt be so scary if female LIIVI were involved

>> No.9708102

She isn't.

>> No.9708109

>Eldar have -4 str on both genders
The average Eldar is roughly the same strength as an average human.

>Also according to the Rogue Trader rulebook they can never be as powerful psykers as humans can.
Nooooo, that means that humans produce lots of powerful, short-lived Psykers. Every single Eldar is a low-level Psyker, and the ones that develop those talents become monstrously powerful, far more so than a human could ever achieve.

>> No.9708114

>> No.9708121

>> No.9708122

eldar probably give the impression that theyre tall because of those stupid schlong helmets

>> No.9708125

I know she isn't because miko shlicked to them, but I doubt canonically a dude would be that much taller than an eldar.

>> No.9708126

>> No.9708128

>> No.9708129


The Emprah would like to talk to you.

>> No.9708135

Yea, realistically, Taldeer should be around the same height as LIIVI at least. Unless he's some sort of freakish giant.

>> No.9708136

LCB is canon.

>> No.9708137

This thread just makes me miss Miko.

What the hell is she up to?

>> No.9708147

>> No.9708149

...and LIVII was introduced into Eldar bisexuality.

>> No.9708159

Dunno, probably busy with her job, don't really care either.

>> No.9708160

Vindis aren't exactly your average human.

>> No.9708165


No, it means humans have potential to surpass them. The only statted Farseer has psy rating of 8, whereas the Burning Princess, a low-level Alpha psyker, has a psy rating of 14, meaning she's got vastly more raw power.

>> No.9708172

>> No.9708175

It is indeed.

>> No.9708177

She'd probably taller, most special forces types are on the shorter side I think. Stronger for their body weight so the have a easier time on courses and they are less likley to fuck up their joints in training.

>> No.9708179

>> No.9708184

Wasn't Eldrad ment to be only slightly behind the Big E when he was alive?

>> No.9708185

>> No.9708190


Hey, if male Eldar look like this, I don't see the problem.

>> No.9708194

>> No.9708195


Also, Eldrad. Best Psyker EVAR? Maybe. But he was all up with divinations and shit. If it came to a psychic duel between him and the Emperor, Eldard would explode. (which is why it never would have come to that, because divinations.)

>> No.9708198

miko ever make a video of her painting? that would be interesting to watch.

>> No.9708199


Not really said anywhere, although he was most likely better at precognition.

>> No.9708204

>> No.9708212

>> No.9708219

>> No.9708226

maybe the male are just taller.

>> No.9708227

>> No.9708235

>> No.9708236

>> No.9708243

>> No.9708249





>> No.9708250

>> No.9708255

>> No.9708258

Or maybe miko didn't care, her shadow sun usually had a nose.

>> No.9708259

>> No.9708264

>> No.9708268

>> No.9708270

She's on Deviant Art as IronShrineMaiden.
She's said she thinks about doing another LCB panel or whatnot -post on her wall, let her know the love's still there.

I like the speech, btw. =D
Nicely done.

>> No.9708272

Aaah, /tg/ wouldn't be /tg/ to me without LCB.

>> No.9708274

>> No.9708284

Y'know ive never seen a picture of Lofn with her father.


>> No.9708285

Bloomwriter should have illustrated the entire thing himself.

>> No.9708288

It might not get mentioned these days as much as it should, but it's nice to see some of us still remember.

LCB symbolises everything I love about /tg/.

>> No.9708289

>> No.9708291

See >>9708037

>> No.9708296

she needs to make a video of her painting it then, it was neat to see the drawfags yesterday.
banhammer just scribbles and erases until he has something and bg draws skeletons.

>> No.9708299

It is a fond memory, indeed.

>> No.9708313


Which drawfags showed up?

All the ones I want to see drawing never make an appearence. Baww.

>> No.9708314

Doubt she'd do that, she's rather picky about her art, probably the reason she clears her gallery every so often.

>> No.9708319

>> No.9708326

>> No.9708331

T'was LCB that lead me to /tg/.

>> No.9708335

>> No.9708339

I think his drawings are quite cute, but I would prefer if bg wouldn't be allowed to post a single instance of text along with his drawings.

>> No.9708342

>> No.9708354

>> No.9708361

>> No.9708368

>> No.9708373

>> No.9708383

>> No.9708394

>> No.9708403

>> No.9708404

Same actually.
Not sure why, in retrospect, though I understand now.

>> No.9708409


>> No.9708410

>> No.9708417

>> No.9708418


Did bloomwriter ever say why he stopped or did he simply disappear?

>> No.9708420


>> No.9708424

>> No.9708439

I think he just vanished, though it's been such a long time I don't really remember.

>> No.9708441

From what I heard from Miko (through the filter of my dim memory), he was kind of ...fragile/unstable in some RL way, and was barely holding it together for what he did complete.
After the last chapter, he just AFK'd and didn't return.

>> No.9708443

He really didn't like where it was heading and eventually just posted the stuff with sages in some unrelated thread. Eventually he just kinda stopped.

>> No.9708451

>> No.9708462

>> No.9708467

...has Taldeer been taking tips from the Dark Eldar? Does she have a cousin we're not aware of?

>> No.9708468

>> No.9708470

▲ ▲

>> No.9708475

So both of them were/are damaged goods?
How pleasantly /tg/.

>> No.9708482

>> No.9708484

So it is likley he is dead now by his own hand and LCB was a spasm of loneliness pouring out from a broken man?

>> No.9708486

Well they do say that angst is the fuel of good writers...

>> No.9708489

>> No.9708515

He's probably still around, at least he was for a long time after LCB. He talked about other stuff during those threads as well referencing other things, which still showed up from time to time.

>> No.9708524

I always liked LIIVI.

/tg/ has sent him on some zany adventures.

>> No.9708526

>> No.9708536

>> No.9708542

>> No.9708546

>> No.9708552

>> No.9708562

>> No.9708565


Oh, Chink. One day, you'll return to us.

>> No.9708568

>> No.9708570

I'm so happy.
It's Chink.

>> No.9708573

>> No.9708581

He never gave up.

>> No.9708582

Nah, Miko's pretty rugged.
There was a separate, possibly related, spate of drama about her and a collection of write/drawfags trying to monopolize /tg/ -however the fuck that would work, and lo did the trolls rise up and drive them off.
They're all still on DA.

Ah, cool. Didn't know that. I've trawled the suptg archives, but I don't remember everything I saw and Bloodwriter didn't use a nametag IIRC. So it was more a case of working it out by tone who was saying what.

>> No.9708592

The little pervert that could.

>> No.9708595

haven't heard of donkey punching in years. makes me feel young.

>> No.9708602

Wasn't that hard to figure out who was who back then, board moved a lot slower then and there were far fewer people on at the same time.

>> No.9708610

>> No.9708613


That shit was hilarious, I remember it well.

>> No.9708615

>> No.9708620

I'll gladly attribute that to my having learned of anything from the archives.
Ahhhhh yes, Chink.
Anyone have his 5+ Invulnerable pussy tape armor illustration?

>> No.9708625

>> No.9708631

the same trolls are still around, DD and the like.

>> No.9708632

>> No.9708640


>> No.9708643

I remember that!

>> No.9708644


She always managed to appear pretty unpleasant to me. Luckily, I'm not on /tg/ that often anymore so I don't hear or see much from the old drawfags these days.

>> No.9708655

>> No.9708658


>> No.9708683

Miko was alright, came along with the DoWfags, but learned to fit in and wasn't to uptight about apologizing either. Probably the reason why it was an easy trolling target though.

>> No.9708684

Let me see.

Blooagh the Furry.

Who are the two I'm missing?

>> No.9708690

I don't know if personality had anything to do with it. I saw Jeanstealer get hate even when she was being perfectly.

>> No.9708692


>> No.9708697

>> No.9708699

*Perfectly cordial

>> No.9708702

I don't necessarily disagree. I've only communicated with her for a few paragraphs, and I get the impression she could be hardcore....about everything.
I dated a chick like that once tho', so....

Mm, indeed, though you'll notice Culteest and LCB get far more play these days then DD. Problem is trollwerks is the expiration date. At a certain point, the joke/bite is just lost in time.
That and DD offends people who don't know who the hell Cultist is besides a little girl getting evis-ceraped by some hulking marine/monster/whatever.

>> No.9708711

>> No.9708721

Yup, that's the one.
Lawl, Chink. =]

Indeed. Sort of shame, she seemed fun.
Judging by her DA account Jean is a very, very silly person. Of which I wholeheartedly approve.

>> No.9708722

>> No.9708731

No I was saying I think DD is troll works by the anti original content crew, it was started to torment john.

>> No.9708734

>> No.9708737

>> No.9708744

The new drawfags are much less sinister.

>> No.9708745


that is because john is fag, i have a thread to start

>> No.9708754

DD troll just spams, no creativity and usually it's not even legible. No original content trolls of old were at least legible.

>> No.9708759

>> No.9708764

This is how I picture green marine now, anything else is just a pale imitation.

>> No.9708767

>> No.9708773

>> No.9708774

there is at least three different DD writers going by writing style.

>> No.9708782

>> No.9708788

Weren't at least three DDs writting in such horrible english that it should be impossible to discern if they were written by different people.

>> No.9708792

The writers are not the troll, the troll is the guy who endlessly reposts it when anything remotely related is mentioned. Same guy behind that deleted Borat story.

>> No.9708796

Postan some shit i drew on MSN

>> No.9708799

>> No.9708807

>> No.9708813

Yeah, but you have the Easter guy who is clearly different.

>> No.9708816

before there was an image line limit

>> No.9708820

>> No.9708829



>> No.9708832

>> No.9708835

>> No.9708836

>> No.9708841

>> No.9708846

>> No.9708851




>> No.9708857

>> No.9708860

>ITT: Retro /tg/

I love you guys.

>> No.9708869

>> No.9708870

I don't think john's troll pretends to have english as a second language I think it really does.

>> No.9708937

Fuck yes you are the best thread ever.

So much new saved material.

Truly, "Love Can Bloom" is one of the best examples of content created by /tg/.

>> No.9708942


icu (Alisa W.) huppu

>> No.9708972


Leman russ mars pattern with the tank full of gas!!
Oh, there are the xenos, let's gonna kick some ass!!

>> No.9708988


She wrote DD and is the john troll?

>> No.9708991


Why did they leave us? Why? Why?

>> No.9709008


Because /tg/ only has the power to push others away.

>> No.9709011

Because you enjoy touhou.

>> No.9709022

Miku, Jeanstealer, and Colosal Fagot were trolled off.

Dranon and Lolcron left in sympathy, I think, after seeing what happened to other Drawfags they just bugged out.

The Fuklaw Drawfag - Gannymede, I think his name was - decided that his stuff wasn't funny any more or had been taken too far IIRC and quietly retired.

>> No.9709024

The worst written ones probably and she either samefags all over the place or her 'boyfriend' helps. She also likes franken fran, talks about that rape manga Mai-chan's Daily Life alot and I'm not digging for that shit.

>> No.9709025

Could you be so kind and post a link the jean's DA?

>> No.9709034

How was this conclusion reached? I figured it was an asian guy upset about the tau = asian, small penis jokes

>> No.9709047

IP addresses on 1d4chan and leaves a papertrail all over the place.

>> No.9709051

dongsdongs.deviantart.com, IIRC.

>> No.9709053

jeanstealer kept trying for a while, I saw her last spring in some thread and when it was realized who was drawing the thread became a huge shitstorm.

>> No.9709062

Who is maggot, same person?

>> No.9709079


CF still posts here from time to time. I think life just gives him less time to draw for our amusement.

>> No.9709082

Probably the same person or her 'boyfriend'. If they're different people, they both can't spell for shit, so not like it really matters.

>> No.9709091

Does he? I've not seen him on /tg/ in a long, long time.

>> No.9709094

Seems to be it. Thank you.

>> No.9709134


That has always been the joke on /tg/, and it is obvious that the scribe was joking, the whole report was filled with jokes, wrong information and facts, mixed together

>> No.9709159

Colossal comes back every now and then so does Drawnon and Dongs but they just lurk nowadays since assholes trolled them off. sad really because they were probably bringing some of the better content and jokes into /tg/ with more regularity than the shitheads that we are mostly left with

>> No.9709181


Don't expect that to be your magical two-way radio for contacting them though. I already tried.

>> No.9709188

Yea. Fagot's art wasn't great, but his characters were great and his comics as funny as hell. Plus, his art was improving over time.

>> No.9709198

I haven't seen jean since the creepy dude posted the pictures off of her private exalted game and tried to get /tg/ upset at her or what ever that drama was.

>> No.9709199

Jesus christ.
So DD's part hate flame, part hands-in-shorts love letter to torture and death.
FFS, it's /tg/ all over the place.

>>Colassal Faggot
His compy was stolen. He's fronting it as a "break to go party his brains out" but his shit was boosted and he's currently much sad.

>> No.9709234

yeah but like he said his style never was meant to be going for realism but more of a balance between he can belt something out relatively quickly and the masses can actually understand wtf it is meant to be, at least thats what he said last time i saw him on /tg/

>> No.9709238


Speaking of which, was there ever really anything between Miko and Lolcron, or were they just pulling our legs?

>> No.9709257


It's been around 4 months, but, he lives in the land of the moon, and you know how hardcore those guys are about jobs.

>> No.9709264

Fuck, seriously?

Goddamn that sucks. If you're communicating with him, tell him at least some of the guys on /tg/ wish him well.

>> No.9709292

Will do.
He still harbors some love for /tg/.
His "serving the gods of chaos" comic was dedicated to /tg/.

>> No.9709310

Nah, I don't get along with artsy types. Doesn't stop me from enjoying their work.



>> No.9709322

sorta feel like we should set up a donation for him to buy a new compy

>> No.9709324

what is wrong with artsy types and why is trolling jean awesome?

>> No.9709340


All the writefags/drawfags I know are fucking crazy and you can't talk to them for long

But they make awesome stuff, seriously, this goes for ALL of them

>> No.9709379

I'm from the other end of the workforce, mathematics/management. I cannot stand the mindset and work ethic of most of them.

Drawfag pics are always awesome because stalking 4chan celebrities is alright by me.

>> No.9709403


I wouldn't think it hard to believe that they could have met for coffee and a chat. But they also browsed /tg/. So it's impossible to tell.

>> No.9709406

Oh, from my experience though they run from border line bipolar to autistic like engineers that just happened to excel in the technical aspects of drawing. Never really saw a common personality, but then again mine are all real life and not online.

>> No.9709423

So both are lol gaijins in Japan?
The company I keep scares me sometimes.

>> No.9709446

Which I think is a wonderful idea. I'd suggest contacting him at his DA site. He does commissions and such, so contracting out with advance payment on work to be completed when possible may be a simple way to do it.
My equity's currently at an ebb, but I'll be helping when I can.

>> No.9709454


They both live on the west coast of the US. It was evident by their posting times.

>> No.9709455

Nah, CF's an Aussie/Ozzie.

>> No.9709471

I thought Miko was situated in Japan while I never knew a thing about lolcron.

>> No.9709475

Errr whoops, nm!
Supposedly they hooked up.
Does happen, I did yeeeears ago.
Ahhh, the bitter-sweet Internet romance.

>> No.9709542

The thread winds down, and back in real-time /tg/ it's time for "traps" and all the wang I can be disgusted by.
If this is the end, it's the conclusion of a fine journey into one of the most creative and tumultuous periods of /tg/ that I know.
The honor's been mine all, take care out there, and keep being creative. The glory days are always just ahead, they're just not as visible as the ones in the past.
Non-carebundum Illegitimae (I think),

>> No.9709544


Miko is a bit weeaboo, she admitted she doesn't live in Japan.

Lolcron was polite and charming and formal. Combine that with a fiery tsundere like Miko and you have the perfect combination of disaster.

>> No.9709578

Didn't know that, thank you.

You know what time it is? Barstow time!

>> No.9709584


We were on the shuttle to Barstow Station when the math began to take hold. It had been over an hour since I jacked the hacked dataslate into the back of my skull, and I had begun to worry that my cogitator had developed a workaround, a resistance, an immunity. But as the lurch of deceleration yanked what was left of my bowels toward the floor, I felt the left side of my body crawl with bugs and soft whores' fingers as my mechanical rightbrain choked on the irreversible computations and self-annihilating fractions I had fed it. Half of my visual and audio input was flooded with error messages and the smell of flowers closing like a reversed time-lapse vid feed.

It took me a moment to register Vera asking if I was alright. I patted her arm reassuringly and tried to tell her I was fine, but all that came out was a 333 digit prime number. She waited patiently for me to finish.

Introductions are in order, or what follows will make less sense to you than it did to me at the time, and I was wasted out of my reinforced skull for most of it. I'm J.P.L. 27, making me the twenty-seventh clone of the original High Magos Biologos Joachim Percival Wossname. It's an august and noble geneline, with a penchant for staggering genius and the creation of brilliant, beautiful mechanisms and theoretical refinements that skirt the edge of dire tech-heresy. Also the tendency to go cogfucking crazy and get put down. I was the latest attempt by the Mechanicus to get the nectar without having to deal with the giant Catachani man-eating flowers. They thawed me out, let me work for a while, then tried cracking my skull open and replacing the crazy, emotional, right half of my brain with a nice, sane piece of machinery.

>> No.9709598


They fucked up, of course. My hemispheres were reversed, right to left and left to right. They scooped out the jiggling pink genius-parts and shitcanned them, leaving me with the bits that get bored and horny and always sense that beautiful something just out of reach, just over the horizon, just the far side of this latest idea. That liminal sense that must have driven my predecessors til they cracked. Whatever the it is, I've got no shot at it now; the parts of myself smart enough to reach for it wound up in a wet and mushy pile in the surgeon's discard tray. I generally stay sufficiently fucked-up not to care.

After the operation, I vaguely figured out that I was dead if they figured out exactly how badly I was broken, so I dosed myself drooling with depressants and let the cogitator drive. I wound up building standard servo-skulls for two years before they declared me normalized and started sending me out on repair detail. Which is why I was strapped into a flying can in my stained red robes, with a case full of chems and dirty logic between my feet and my mechadendrites twitching and twisting around each other like epileptic metal snakes screwing.

Heh. Metal. Screwing. Vera's looking at me, concerned, and I stop laughing. She's a real piece of work, Vera. My work, from before the operation. She's a Skitarii, technically, but the general definition of those tends more toward the "heavy combat cyborg" and less toward the "shining work of art." She's both, I guess; seven feet tall, most of her skin replaced with this gleaming, flexible metallic stuff that I can't for the life of me remember making, any more than I can remember the meaning of the letters V. E. R. A. on her back. Most cogboys don't care about aesthetics, but I was on some kind of "perfect human" kick back then; something about gold men, iron men... quicksilver men? It's fuzzy.

>> No.9709604

Sure is great reminiscence in here.
I remeber being hooked on LCB back when bloomwriter was still among us writing.
Those were good times, but as >>9709542 said there will be good times ahead for us as well.

Also Potato/Angry CEO/SECRET AGENT HOBO, what happened to that?
I assume it just sort of fizzled out.

>> No.9709606


nyway, she doesn't belong here. She should be working guard detail for a High Magos, or honor guard for a sector governor. Or standing on a pedastal somewhere while people thew flowers at her for being so damn gorgeous and perfect. Perfect. Whatever combination of psych-programming, drugs, and surgury I used to lock her into loyalty was perfect too. She's imprinted on me, and won't take orders from anyone else unless I'm there to confirm them. I forgot the procedure for unlocking her fixation. I forgot what I did to make her like this. I think she called me Daddy once, but I was pretty gone and might have imagined it.

She's strapped into the seat to the right of me. Her green eyes are glanging around the shuttle, scanning for threats in a dozen spectra. My eyes trace the curve of her breasts; my cogitator tries to model them mathematically, but it chokes and starts doing the flower thing again.

She notices me looking and stares at me blankly. "Master?"

"What? Negative. Nothing. I'm fine. 7533197..."

Strapped into the seat to my left is a crate with air holes. I'll get to that later.


>> No.9709623


I make my way unsteadily down the tube, Vera trailing after me. Through the round door on the other side is a huge, empty cave of a cargo hold. Empty except for the welcoming commitee; a tall, shriveled old man in Administratum robes, and a skinny, nervous girl in a baggy jumpsuit. The raisin on stilts is the station manager; he launches into a wheezing tirade about scheduling and how long it took me to get here. I fix him with my best crazy-eye stare, but that doesn't shut him up, so I follow up with a good 6-second screech of feedback from my throat vox. There's a pause of blessed silence after that, before he informs me he has vital business to attend to and stalks off.

I turn to the girl, who's staring at Vera. She's mousy and stick-thin, with brown hair tied back in two short tails. There's a Mechanicus symbol on the breast of her jumpsuit, meaning she's a initiate; probably the closest thing this box warrented to a tech-priest. Bit young to be keeping it running herself, though. She notices me glaring at her and jumps, then bows deeply and starts talking. She gives her name, which bounces right off my brainmeat without making an impression, then rapidly chatters about how honored she is to be in the presence of a full-fledged servant of the Omnissiah, and something about orbits and meteors and doors.

>> No.9709632


I inform her that this particular servant of the Omnissiah is greatly wearied by his travels, and also that the intoxicant levels in his oily bloodstream have decayed to far below optimum. I must be shown to my chambers, that I may enter a state of blissful communion with the Machine God for a good ten hours or so, to sanctify myself before turning my hands and mechadendrites to whatever repair work is required.

"Ten hours, sir?" she squeaks, "But... sir, we'll all be dead in nine!"

My muttered obscenities come out as squeals and static.


>> No.9709641


Senior Initiate-Mechane Rednow had been trying to figure out why the attitude thrusters that kept Barstow steady in its lonely little orbit weren't firing. He'd been trying to figure it out for several months. He and Junior Initiate-Mechane Mousy Forgot-her-name-again had been on the hull examining the problem when a meteor struck the bay doors of cargo hold 3. The doors buckled and blew out, venting half the station's air before the crew managed to manually close all the bulkheads.

Mousy had been half-inside an open hatch during the impact, and had managed to hold on. Rednow had taken the long fall.

The station's orbit had been slowly decaying since the attitude thrusters stopped firing, but the meteor strike and subsequent jet of lost air had turned a creeping downward slide into a majestic dive. They'd sent out a repair and assistance request, and I'd been in the area, on a ship bound for Malfi. When the request had been forwarded to me I'd been under the impression that the ship I was on was digesting me, so I rather hurridly agreed to come out and take a look. By the time I arrived, there were just under nine hours left before we broke up and burned out spectacularly in the soothing blue atmosphere of Petasatus IV. Or, my cogitator helpfully informed me, six hours before the point where the stations thrusters could no longer correct our orbit even if we did get them operational.

>> No.9709646


By the time I'd gotten straight enough to process this information and run around in a panic surveying the damage, the shuttle had left and its parent ship had warp jumped. I took something to calm me down, so that I could deal with the problem rationally, then something to counteract that when I realized I was contemplating my demise with an undue level of peace and acceptance. As a result, everything has become very clear and loud, and I feel like I was covered with a thin, flexible layer of ice.

It occurs to me that I am possibly the third most likely person on this station to actually fix any mechanical problems, after Mousy and Apex. Vera brings me Apex's crate, and I let him out, whooping angrily at his long confinement.

Apex is another product of my long-lost "perfect human" obsession. The theory I espoused to my enraptured collegues was that a certain recombinant algorythm could reverse the mutation and genetic drift of tens of thousands of years among the stars, resulting in a prototype, an archetype human genome. We could back-engineer the genetic code of that ancient ancestor, that great explorer who first left holy Terra to conquer the stars... the apex of evolution.

>> No.9709656


As it turned out, the ancient ancestor of all mankind was short, stupid, covered in hair, and had hands for feet. Some time after my brains got scrambled, I pulled him out of storage and stuck a cogitator full of repair instructions in his head so that he could put his four hands to use and I could avoid any actual work. I don't recall when I gave him the wings; probably sometime during the bender on Fenksworld. These days I just tell people he's a hairy cherub.

I chitter at him in binary, telling him to fix the thrusters. Apex bares his teeth at me and bangs his fists on the deckplate. Then he pulls a toolbelt out of his crate, buckles it on, and flaps awkwardly away down the corridor.


>> No.9709662


Normally at this point I'd just wait for Apex to do his thing, but the creeping prickling sensation of stimulants and fear won't let me sit still. Also, Mouse-girl is staring at me in rapt attention and it's making my neck itch. So I start asking questions. Spare parts manifests, power consumption; she can answer a worrying number of my queries from memory, but as long as she's biting her lip and squinting in an attempt to recall something, she's not giving me that creepy fucking stare.

Suddenly, the fizzing fog of drug-fear and death-fear goes momentarily transparent. I order her to repeat what she just said.

"No sir, none of the automatic bulkheads functioned. That's why we lost so much air, sir, we had to seal them all manually."

She's flinches slightly as I round on her. My mecadendrites are lashing around above my head and my eyes are bloodshot. Serves her right for giving me that creepy stare before. "What controls those?"

>> No.9709667


"Uh... the... the machine spirits of the pressure sensors petition the holy central cortex, which, in its kindness and wisdom, closes bulkheads and opens vents to ensure stable atmosphere for surviving crew. Except, sir, it didn't."

"And the altimeters and thrusters?"

"The... the same, sir. The altimeters report to the cortex, which fires the thrusters to keep us fixed in the heavens. But they havn't been firing, sir."

I turn and begin to sprint down the corridor. The thud of Vera's combat boots and the patter of Mouse-girl's shoes follow me until I reach an intersection and skid to a halt.

"Where's the central cortex?"

We find it deep in the heart of the station. A metal cylinder three meters in diameter runs from the floor to the ceiling, with a small alter before it for maintenance ceremonies. Apex is here already; he's removed part of the shielding and is reaching into the cylinder.

>> No.9709676


I squat down beside him and look in. Data-readouts shed dim green light on a glass globe filled with murkey fluid. Apex makes a strange, sad cooing sound and taps the glass. Within, I can faintly make out a floating, wizened, foetal shape, with wires running into its spine. A small plaque at the base of the globe reads "SOPHIA ANISS - SERVICE IN LIFE, SERVICE IN PERPETUITY."

I peer at the readouts. Much of the glowing data is meaningless to me, but what I can understand plants a twisted black knot in my augmetic guts. I flop back on my ass and look up at the Mouse, who's staring at me with a glimmer of awe and hope in her eyes.

I speak. It comes out static. I tap my throat and try again. "Well, I found your problem. You need a new cortex. This one's done."

Worry creases her brow. "Uh, sir, we don't have a replacement cortex."

I sit cross-legged and stare at the shimmering globe. "Yeah. I know."

>> No.9709682


She leans over and looks into the hole, blocking my view. She peers inside for a full minute, then turns and speaks in a soft voice. "Is the machine spirit... dead?"

"No, this... Omnissiah's brass balls. This was an Exaltation, a reward. The... the woman that used to be probably helped build this station, or did something that impressed the Mechanicus, so they wired her in alive. They gave her an eternity of blissful union with the machine, an enormous, incorruptable metal body. They left more of... her... in there then they normally would, enough to feel the everlasting joy of her transcendent state."

Mouse folds her skinny arms across her chest and hugs herself. "So... it... she..."

My meat-parts are crawling. I'm distinctly, uncomfortably aware of my body's every seam between flesh and metal. "She's not dead, she's not alive, and she's not happy. Stupid cogfuckers, this kinda rig is... not fine, but, but functional in a ship, or something else big and complicated and mobile. A station like this, stationary and ... there's not enough input, stimulus. She got bored, then she got a really quiet kind of crazy, and then for the last who knows how long she's just been waiting to die. Look at this..." I lean forward, tap readouts with a mechadendrite. "Neurotransmitters, tanked. Neural activity, barely there. Input/output... there's the signal from the altimeters, that's all she's getting, a number, getting smaller."

>> No.9709692


Mousy-girl gently lays a hand on the cold metal of the column. "The spirit is... sad? Lonely?"

"Or so bored she decided to stop breathing."

She looks at me wide-eyed. She's chewing on her lower lip. "Can you ease her pain? Sir?"

I can't answer. I can't look at her. I look at Vera instead. Vera's staring at me with quiet confidence, patiently waiting for me to come up with some transcendently brilliant plan. I've never been able to convince her I'm not the genius who made her. I'm just the husk that person left behind when he died.

She's carrying my case. I've got stimulants in there, maybe... my cogitator runs through the list, and the theoretical effects. Some act on organs the cortex doesn't have anymore. Some would kill what was left. None would wake her up, happy and functional. She'd need a massive flood of nerotransmitters, and I just can't think of any way to make that happen.

>> No.9709699


We're all falling to our deaths.

I'm sobering up in the worst way, aching and terrified and confused. I swivel my head wildly, looking for help, escape. Apex is in the corner, his back to us, furiously masturbating. Vera's a silver statue of a warrior goddess, staring down at me, serene and beautiful. Mouse-girl's eyes are full of hope and fear. She's actually kinda cute, in a skinny, overeager way, and she thinks I'm the Omnissiah walking. I'm about to ask if she wants to die a virgin when I get the third worst idea I've ever had.

I lurch forward into the hole and stare at the wires running into the globe. I yell over my shoulder. "Hey, have you got a set of three-guage neural jacks in your neck?"

I get two replies.

"No... no sir, I haven't had the honor of augmentation."

"Yes, Master. My nerual interface jacks are 3-guage compatible."

I wince. I'm going to have to be very, very high to pull this off.


>> No.9709708


I'm focused, chemical-assisted and heuristically-assisted. It's giving me nasty feedback in my error-detection, forcing me to check and recheck every connection exactly 18 times and constantly tap my left foot, but it's a hell of a lot better than crossing a wire and fucking this whole thing up.

I've got Vera wired through the portible cogitator and my hacked dataslate. She made a strange little gasping noise when I brushed her hair aside so I could jam the cables into the back of her neck, but she hasn't complained... not that she ever does. Mouse girl brought the blankets I asked for and laid them out on the floor, and now she's scurrying around lighting all the incense and candles. I see the dissappointment in her eyes when I tell her she's not cleared to witness this particular Most Holy Ritual of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"Yes, sir. I'll... is there anything I can do to help, anything at all?"

I hesitate, then poke my head into the cortex containment cylinder and study the floating near-corpse for a moment. One wire seems to be be connected to an ancient, pickled nipple. I peer at the system for a moment, then pull back.

>> No.9709724


"Yes, actually. Um. Is there a pressure sensor on deck 15, section C?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go there, wait ten minutes, and then start blowing on the sensor. Or direct a vent onto it and move the airflow back and forth."


"Can't hurt, might help."

It warms my hearts to see her jump into action like that. I turn to the problem at hand. Vera is standing at attention, wires emerging from her shining golden hair and trailing down to the ground.

A memory, vived and garish, pops to mind unbidden. A couple guys had jumped me for money I owed them, outside a bar on Fenksworld. I'd been hammered and hadn't been able to make out anything but motion and screaming until everything stopped and I saw Vera standing in the pool of light cast by the street lamp, shining with blood, a length of intestine carelessly draped over her shoulder and trailing down to the ground.

>> No.9709730


I open my case and remove a small datacard and a plunger filled with clear fluid. I talk to keep my mind off the thought of my secret, private, inner juices being used to paint this room a nice Mechanicus rust-red.

"Vera, you understand what we're gonna do here, yeah? You get what's happening?"

"I understand, Master. I look forward to the mission's success."

"You're... capable of, eh, success, right? The massive seratonin release we need to achieve?"

"With your assistance, Master, yes."

"Uh... right. Do my best." I frown, worried. "Are you gonna be able to feel... I mean, how sensitive is that metallic skin of yours?"

>> No.9709738


"I shall remove it." Her hand reaches up to a point between her gleaming breasts. With hallucinatory clarity, my mind's eye shows me the last servitor I saw with its cowling off, red and gray and wet. I hurridly turn away, jam the datacard into the jack in the back of my head, and reach up under my robes to stick the plunger into my secondary liquid intake valve.

When I turn around, the world's already beginning to fray and burn at the edges like a tapestry in a housefire. Vera's stepping toward me, bare. Her skin, beneath the shining silver, is pale and crisscrossed with fine scars. I vaguely remember making them, scalpal flying, sculpting perfection. There are silver vines growing up all the walls and Vera's shining like a pale, breathing star and my skin is on fire and there's something I really, really have to do, to her, starting now and continuing until time arches its back, screams, and ends.


>> No.9709746


Shortly thereafter, the world moves. Well, the station at least. Individual attitude jets flicker, jets of flame bright in the void, with increasing frequency, moving in waves down the sides of the 10-kilometer long station. The waves pulse and interfere, build and cancel, until suddenly they all roar as once, blazing propellant in every direction, as inside the station doors slam open and cloes and ear-splitting alarms echo down the corridors.

A few minutes later, the planetside attitude jets fire together. Gently, they thrust the angular behemoth up out of the blue gas giant's gravity well and toward the stars.


>> No.9709754


I'm waiting in one of the massive, empty holds. I'm waiting for a shuttle. These facts sit quietly in the calm center of my brain. Around the outer edges, fatigue and specters, fear and loathing, chase themselves through a fog of chemical residue.

Vera is here. Apex is here. The skinny, mousy Mouse girl is here. The tall old talking man was here, but Apex jumped on his face and screamed for a while and he left.

There's a viewport in the bay doors. I stare out at the stars. There's something out there, just over the edge, just out of sight. Something liminal.


Oh. Right. I was telling the girl something. Something very important. I have to tell her about the thing out there we need to find, the thing we lost. I marshal my brilliance.

>> No.9709761


"Strange memories, on this nervous night here on Barstow. How long? Ten thousand years ago? History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole species comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened. Humanity boiled up out of our one little world, pouring madness and light in every direction, striking sparks everywhere. There was no fear, not of anything, not even of ourselves; there was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . We had our ideas and our technology and we took the fight to the forces of Old and Evil, certain that our glorious energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . And now, ten thousand years later, you can stand and look out toward the Halo Stars, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."

>> No.9709769


Everyone's quiet for a while. I told them. I told them what we lost. Vera's staring at me seriously. Apex hugs himself and rocks back and forth. Mouse-girl's eyes are sparkling; her mouth is moving as she remembers every bad-crazy word.



"Sir, the maintenance for the cortex? I'm to run the input file stored in the cogitator three times a week at least, yes?"

"Right. Yes. That's right."

"And the ritual, sir? What blessing should I perform before running the sacred file? Or, um, is it anointing?"

>> No.9709780


"Um. Add some ethanol to her nutrient drip and tell her she's pretty."

"Yes sir. Um...

One of the stars is moving. It's the shuttle. Coming closer. Mouse girl's trying to ask something.

"Sir... might I know your name?"

"Huh? Oh. Techpriest J. P. L. 27"

"...thank you, sir."

>> No.9709782

1. Is this spam or reposted content?
2. Did Chink actually die or was all that just speculation?

>> No.9709789


The shuttle docks. Mechadendrites gripping the walls of the tube for balance, flanked by my beautiful failures, I stagger off the station. A voice calls from behind me.

"Omnissiah watch over you, Jay Peel! I'll never forget what you taught me!"

I look back over my sholder, squinting. My visual cortex is fried, and there's a corona of rainbows around every lightsource. Mouse-girl is waving.

I call back, voice crackling with static. "You take care, Clara."

Clara. That was her name. I remember now.


>> No.9709800


1. The latter.
2. I think he's back by now, although he's not up to speed yet.

>> No.9709805


Reposted I believe. Helping the thread take its place in the hereafter. Do not be alarmed, it is merely the end of a good thread.

>> No.9710396

1d4chan kinda left me confused. The last part of LCB I read was some slaneeshi daemonette playing mindtricks on LIVII and Taldeer in a sentient house. Does it go on after that?

>> No.9710421

I think that was the part when bloomwrite realised that he had no idea where to go with the story and quit.

>> No.9710623

IronShrineMaiden has a picture of shaggy-haired LIIVI with a follow-up story in there... Apparently he is going to track down the other two Vindi's on the planet and get their lootz, then go and save the princess in another castle.

>> No.9710932

Oh nostolgia

>> No.9710966

He supposedly went on for a bit on a different chan, but nobody saved that. However he has mentioned it should probably ended along the lines of >>9707909

>> No.9711316

I think this is my favorite /tg/ related pic of all time

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