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Request for Short stories & Scenarios

 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 3:20 pm 
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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 4:38 pm 
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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Fri Nov 07, 2014 4:49 pm 
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In the grim darkness of the future there is only war … at least for the armies of the imperium. For the Departmento Munitorium the grim, dark, future contains only paperwork. So much paperwork. But in both cases the struggle of countless billions of humans (be it against alien hordes, or mountains of invoices) has ground down the individuality of the soul. Freedom, expression, love: all smothered in the fight for survival. But Keith, Keith holds that prize now denied to the innumerable swarms of mankind: Keith has job satisfaction.
  In all other areas of the imperium, save that of military tactics (a pursuit for only the loftiest of battle commanders), creativity is stamped out. But not here, not at Keith’s desk. Every type of ammo pouch, every mark of las-battery, every variation of shell case has to be designed by someone. The relics of STC cannot cover all eventualities, do not always encompass all of the details. When this happens, there is Keith. A limited sort of freedom, but freedom none the less. The strict utilitarianism in many areas of the Imperium exists in contrast to the flourish and excess of others. The toy armies and personal regiments of planetary governors, the devotional detailing on the weaponry of the space marine chapters. It all has to be designed and that means a modicum of choice, of expression.
  A priority bleep interrupted Keith’s quaternary afternoon prayers. A message on his screen, the response to his latest re-detailing of Mk1114a Las-packs: ‘director’s office, now’. This was not unexpected, it had been a good job, one of Keith’s finest, tasteful minimalism paired with a Spartan aesthetic, he had known the response would be positive. Now it seemed he was to be congratulated in person. Leaving his desk his absence from the chair was logged in the endless systems of department and cross-checked against the request for his presence elsewhere: an authorised absence. He traced his way through the labyrinthine corridors, across cavernous offices full of banks of typing servitors, arriving, at last, at his destination.

  The director glared sullenly across the desk, blueprints in front of him. But he was always curt and formal, this was to be expected. ‘My records show you received styling notification 4321/aaa6. Is this correct, there cannot have been an error?’ ‘Correct sir’ replied Keith ‘Notification was received and implemented.’ The director arched an eyebrow, a look at Keith, a look at the blueprints: ‘Your words do not seem to match your actions, these blueprints suggest you have blatantly ignored the notification.’ Keith gaped, floundering for a response when he knew direct contradiction of his director’s words would not be the correct response. ‘SKULLS! Skulls! You were ordered to add skulls to all designs!’ bellowed the director ‘Where are the skulls?’ ‘Here sir, right here.’ Keith pointed to the blueprints, fingers trembling as he indicated four rivets on the plans, now styled as tiny skulls. The director squinted, examining the details ‘This is deliberate subordination. Hiding behind a technicality, this is unacceptable.’ The director rose ‘Those four skull-rivets account for barley one per-cent of the surface of this design. One per-cent skulls? Across the galaxy the armies of the Emperor march to war against the alien menace. Your artistic principals have no place here, we need skulls! Skulls within skulls, skulls on the front, more skulls on the back! How can our Imperium hope to endure without the power of skulls!’ Keith cowered back from the director’s onslaught, forgetting himself he blurted ‘But sir, so many skulls? Surely that would be excessive? Vulgar even? From a military perspective I can’t see that more skulls makes things any more effective?’
  Keith was wrong, of course. The scientists of the Imperium had observed that just as red made ork vehicles go faster, skulls made the armies of mankind more deadly. It was science. It was also too late for Keith, who was re-assigned to a penal legion. He died fighting the blood-crazed servants of Khorne. The last words he heard made him wonder who was good and who was evil in this universe, if the imperium really was salvation? But he only had a very brief time for such contemplation. ‘Skulls for the skull throne!’

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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Thu Nov 13, 2014 6:25 pm 
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I have played one of Chromas scenario (Spearhead), and a bit tailored it, also ran a campaign with an ork player, doing some fancy battles with story. I'll translate them when I get the time. (atm overwhelmed with work :( )

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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Thu Nov 13, 2014 7:03 pm 
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There's an introductory short story to each of the armies in the Insurgency! set of list, here:
viewtopic.php?f=86&t=20634

You're welcome to use any of them.


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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Fri May 22, 2015 6:16 pm 
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This got a little longer than I intended but I hope it's ok. :)

The sun blazed over the windless, ashen plains. The morning chill had vanished as if in a furnace as the grey landscape absorbed the radiation hungrily and reemitted it as heat. The two Orks barely noticed the discomfort. “Wizza! How far iz it?” Gorgut grunted, more out of boredom than anything else. Wizza snorted. “We flew half da circle before dat git hit us from behind. Should be four more nights if we keep walking!” The smaller Ork proudly held up three claws as proof of his arithmetical prowess. Normally Gorgut would have smacked him over the head for such bragging but it was probably better to save his strength. If it was that far he might need a snack before they got back to the airstrip. One had to remain cunning to survive in this bleak wasteland and Gorgut was the 'cunningest' Ork of the skwadron. At least until that weeny coward Toofpik had shot him down to settle the small matter of line of succession to Captin of the wing. “Bet he looks stoopid in dat hat anyway.” Gorgut grumbled. Wizza knew better than to ask what da boss was mumbling about. A white line of condensation interspersed with the unmistakeable puffs of black smoke inherent to an Ork jet engine appeared across the pale sky. The stranded pair of Orks took notice of it and kept going. The newcomer was clearly too far up to take notice of two tiny specks miles below.

Hours later a second aircraft passed them at a much lower altitude, the high pitched roars of the engines echoing clearly across the dunes. Gorgut fired his slugga into the air and Wizza jumped and waved like a hungry squig on feeding day. The plane, a fighta Gorgut noted, turned around and made another pass over them wiggling its wings in salute or, more likely, rude gesture as it proceeded into a rapid climb, rolled over and resumed its original course. "Zoggin' Bone'ead!" Gorgut spat. "Must be one of Krakded's lot, or he wouldn't have dared to do that." "Crazy lot dem." Wizza agreed. Gorgut eyed the empty mag of the slugga diapprovingly and then tossed the entire weapon at Wizza. "Oi! Watch yerself!" Wizza brandished a well-oiled choppa at his boss. Gorgut squinted at him, where did that come from? He had thought the slugga was the only weapon they had had with them. Now the power of balance had shifted and he would have to be more careful. Not that he couldn't still beat the smaller Wizza, but it would be unfortunate to be stuck out here a few more nights recuperating from a few cuts. Even if he'd be well fed. Gorgut shrugged, turned his back and started off again. Wizza followed warily.

As they climbed over a ridge they came across a peculiar sight. Ahead of them was the burnt out wreckage of a lone flakwagon. Rather than having stripped it for parts the owners seem to have left it standing there. "It could be a trap!" Gorgut shouted as they raced for the abandoned vehicle. "It could be fixed!" Wizza shouted back as he tried to keep up with his boss. On closer inspection it seemed a stray shot had penetrated the fuel tank and torched the ride and turned it into death trap. The red paint job had blistered and and were covered with soot where the flames had licked it. Most of the non-metallic parts of the engine had simply burnt away fuelling the funeral pyre of the crew. The flatbed was mostly untouched and the quadruple swivel mounted flakgun seemed to be in working order. Wizza mounted the firing seat. "Look at me! I'm a slugbiter!" he shouted using the Flyboy derogatory term for anti-aircraft gunners as he spun the gunz around. "Shut it! Listen!" Gorgut growled. Far away they could hear the howling roars of jet engines. They scanned the sky and quickly found the source of the rumble. Coming straight at them was another fighta. "My rounds are out, get his attention you stoopid!" Gorgut yelled at Wizza. The dull thumps of a firing quad-flak commenced even before he had finished the sentence. The first few shots exploded harmlessly in the sky before they started to hit the flyer bang on. "Wizza you useless piece of snotling dung! I told you to get his attention, not kill him!" Gorgut leapt onto the wagon to get his claws around Wizza's neck, choppas be damned. But before he could reach his former tail gunner now turned snack, Wizza rolled out of the chair and onto the ground drawing his choppa in the process. "Boss, now. Calm down, dem's fighting words." he snarled. "Dey are!" Gorgut growled. "Funny way to thank me for decking Toofpik!" Wizza waved the choppa in the direction of the crashing aircraft as it dumped out of the sky and belly landed a few hundred meters away. Silence spread out from the scene as they watched for movement from the downed machine. Minutes passed and then Gorgut shrugged and started for the crash site. As he passed Wizza he blocked a slash from the choppa by grabbing Wizza's arm and twisting the sharpened blade out of his hand. "I should kill you for dat!" he growled as he caught the blade and slapped Wizza's head with the broadside. "But it seems I may need a mek." Besides, with possession of the choppa, the picking order was now restored.

Gorgut climbed onto the fuselage of the fighta, ripped open the hatch to the pilot and made sure to finish what the crash had likely already completed. Best to be sure. He threw out the unfortunate remains of Toofpik and jumped into his seat. It was much more roomy than his old one. A cursory look indicated that it hadn't been the crash that had taken care of Toofpik but rather whatever shrapnel had made the holes in the cockpit to the right of him. "I think it can fly!" he shouted out to Wizza with gleefulness only a flyboy about to take off can muster. There was no reply. It didn't matter, while the seat was roomy there was hardly space enough for both of them. He hit the big red button and the engines roared alive in unison. Toofpik clearly had a good ground crew that would do well to serve the cunningest Ork of the skwadron soon if they knew what was best for them. A broad grin spread from ear to ear across Gorgut's usually grim face. Belly take-offs on the ash dunes were a bumpy business but the engineering of the Orks was as coarse as their navigational skills and with enough of a "runway" to accelerate on it wouldn't pose much of a problem. Accompanied a noise reminiscent of a thousand wining gretchin Gorgut left the hard embrace of ground and began his climb to glory. Then the world exploded with the fury of a tail pinched squiggoth as flak rounds ripped through the fighta and the ground came tumbling up in front of the viewports. "Dis must make me da cunningest Ork of da skwadron" Wizza thought from his seat on the flakwagon as the fighta hit the deck again and exploded from the repeated firing.


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 Post subject: Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios
PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2015 6:15 am 
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Thanks for reading it. :)


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