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40K Fluff

Postby ragingpotato » Sat Dec 30, 2006 12:48 am

I have decided to write a story about my (chaos?)space marine chapter. Feel free to post your own stuff.

Big Crazy Jim watched the lone scout approach his command post at the steakhouse. Veteran sergeant Regular Jim halted him at the door, checked him for concealed weapons, then allowed him to speak with the chapter master.
"Hello sir, wonderful day we're having"
"Yes, it is. Now, what news from the front?"
"Well," the scout hesitated, "Remember 3rd company? about a hundred guys, look kinda like Dave over there."
"Yes I Remember third company!"
"Well there dead. All of them. All dead."
"Dead! What about captain Johnson?"
"Captain Johnson is scattered across an area of about 30 feet."
"By Fuchismo! We must take action against these rebels."
BCJ got out of his chair, paid the bill, then walked outside to two marines in red armor, having a thumb wrestling contest. At the approach of the chapter master they quickly seperated and tried to look busy.
"Techmarines!" BCJ shouted, "Ready the defiler!"
"But sir, its not ready, we haven't even decided what color to paint it!"
"Oh I dont know, how about DARK GREEN AND TAN! THE CHAPTER COLORS!"
"Well, we were thinking blue..."
BCJ shoved past the techmarine and climbed into the defiler, whioch at this point was an old dreadnaught shoved through the top of a rhino with as many guns as possible welded on. Over the dixie cup radio inside the metal behemoth, Big Crazy Jim issued orders to the various squads stationed throughout the town.
"Captain Crunch! Assemble the 4th company, we will strike the rebels at their base."
Meanwhile, five miles away the rebel army unsuspectingly continued looting the bodies of the dead space marines. All 9 of them. Stefan, their leaer, put down a shattered helmet and looked out across the incredibly conspicuos mine field that stretched in front of his farm. In the distance he saw more of those armored guys coming. Maybe he needed a bigger sign.
To be continued
Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!

Accuracy is directly proportional to enemy numbers

Fuchismo, god of potatoes!
Spuds for the spud god!
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Postby Aelix Eisenhorn » Sun Dec 31, 2006 2:15 pm

Thats great, I want more!!!!

but what is this "sign" that Stefen needs increased in size?

More importantly why am I watching a sales pitch on an air purifier?!?!?!?
Only The Emperor knows.....
When in Deadly Danger
When beset by Doubt
Run in Little Circles
Wave your arms and Shout
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best.litany.ever (even if it aint official)
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Postby sticky_like_cheese » Mon Jan 01, 2007 12:20 pm

its the sign of the minefield! :lol: the 3rd company was killed by tonnes of mines! lol that story is quality you have some real talent there! :D
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Postby ragingpotato » Tue Jan 02, 2007 1:29 am

Well since you all seemed to like the first part, heres Part 2

At the Riley Farmhouse on Desert World ... well actually all 30 or so pretty much look the same, the Farmer and his family were just sitting down to dinner. Bud, one of the farmhands was in the yard setting fire to a pile of money, for tax purposes when a small explosion lit up the north field. At first he thought it was a rat, or a chicken, or a space marine that wandered into the minefield but then he realized that the explosion was far too small. He ran to the toolshed/sauna and grabbed his binoculars.
In the distance was a massive vehicle covered in guns with about 30 space marines trying to push it out of a ditch. Smoke billowed from under one of the tracks and a space marine with a golden spear was shouting orders from atop the vehicle.
Bud went back to the toolshed/sauna and grabbed his pile of lasguns.

"Try another grenade!"
"No you idiots, your just damaging the tread!"
Big Crazy Jim stood on top of the defiler and watched as three squads milled about beneath him trying to get the monstrosity moving again. Veteran Sergeant Regular Jim was supervising two marines with a series of jacks, which invariably snapped before lifting the war machine more than a quarter inch.
"Reg!" The Chapter master pointed his powerspear at the sergeant, "Where the warp are the bloody techmarines!"
"Well, sir, I think they wandered off to play ping pong!"
"Where is there Ping Pong!"
"They installed a table in the land raider."
"What about the terminators!"
"Oh they're pretty good but Techmarine Hank can-"
"No! How are the terminators going to get to battles!"
"Well... the Terminator squad has converted to Buddhism and will no longer be participating!"
"Fuchismo! Well, tell the rest of the company to advance without us then."
"Actually, the rest of 4th company got bored and went to go watch the ping pong game."
At this, BCJ threw the spear into the mud and slapped his forehead, cracking his master crafted helmet in the process. Upon removing it he realized it was made of molded plastic and discarded it. By now most of the marines had stopped trying and were piggy back jousting in the road.
Suddenly a group of shapes appeared in the evening sky.
"Finally!" the chapter master exclaimed! "The assault marines!"
In a fantastic show the squadron of marines weaved through the sky, executing barrel rolls and flips until gently touching down in the road. At this point half the squad vomited.
"Sergeant Wallace, where have you been!"
The assault sergeant removed his helmet, which was fille with puke, and proceeded to vomit on the chapter masters greaves.
"In the name of the Spud God! Are you drunk again!"
The sergeant raised his hand in protest, then fell to the ground. the other four marines moseyed over to the defiler, pryed a hidden compartment open and started passing around 180 proof rum.
At this point Bud returned his rifle to the toolshed and went off to help Sven replant the crops.
For now, the planet's 3rd largest mine farm was safe from attack once more.
Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!

Accuracy is directly proportional to enemy numbers

Fuchismo, god of potatoes!
Spuds for the spud god!
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Postby Que Dan » Tue Jan 02, 2007 5:41 pm

"No! How are the terminators going to get to battles!"
"Well... the Terminator squad has converted to Buddhism and will no longer be participating!"


Da winnah.
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Postby sticky_like_cheese » Tue Jan 02, 2007 8:07 pm

tell me more! :D
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Postby cog[nitive] » Tue Jan 02, 2007 11:07 pm

quaint with a hint of "huh?".
I know nothing, I know nothing....
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Postby Ghost Fist » Wed Jan 03, 2007 2:01 am

very nice fluff,
a real joy to read.
I am ROFL.
give us Part 3!!
You may not see us
But we'll be there
You may not feel us
But you will care

Your shots will not hit us
We are shapes in the mists
Blink and you'll miss us
For we are the Ghost Fists!
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Postby Hunter » Wed Jan 03, 2007 4:34 am

Drunken space marine Eh! dident think it was possible but 180 proof rum ? , thas almost promitium .
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Postby ragingpotato » Wed Jan 03, 2007 5:52 am

Well there's always room for a Part 3, this one's pretty long

The two thunderhawks streaked through the afternoon sky of... the Desert World. Across the front was the symbol of the Ordo Hereticus. The first thunderhawk touched down in a seemingly abandoned field and was thrown into the air by the 20 land mines beneath it.
Just to be safe, the pilot of the second thunderhawk landed on the roof of what appeared to be some sort of stadium.
"So much for the storm troopers." muttered the tall armored figure that disembarked from the aircraft. Behind him were his retinue, a gaggle of warriors, scribes, and an orthodontist.
"You, minion, are you sure this is the right planet?"
"I have a name, my lord"
"So do I! You dont see me bragging about it all day."
"Very well sir, it seems that a group of space marines have turned from the light of the emperor and pledged themselves to one of the dark gods."
"Hmm... which one? Nurgle? The Blood God? The one with the magic?"
"I believe your referring to Tzeencth my lord, and according to our data, they have become followers of Fuchismo, god of Potatoes and Potato Products."
"Data is for the Weak, Generic Minion"
The Inquisitor and his cronies walked toward the roof access door while the thunderhawk took off, with no real intention of coming back. Out of the door two space marines with waist length tabards walked, carrying what appeared to be wooden scythes.
"Hey Fancy Lad! You here for the Hockey game?"
"I am Inquisitor Svengal of the Ordo Hereticus. Are you heretics?"
The two marines looked at each other. The following conversation took place on their interhelmet vox links:
"Hey Bill, what's a 'heretic'?"
"I think its a type of duck."
"No no, this guy clearly knows were not birds, we're wearing power armor."
"For all he knows we could be ducks wearing power armor"
"Ducks cant wear power armor!"
"Maybe not alone! But if a bunch of ducks got together they could fill up a suit."
"Ducks aren't that coordinated."
Meanwhile Inquisitor Svengal became increasingly more offended by the two marines apparently trying to stare him down. Behin him his followers nervously milled about, wondering if there was something they should be doing. Finally, One of the marines said "Were space marines."
"Uh I realize this. That would explain the armor."
"We could have been ducks."
"Look, is their someone else I could talk to."
"Sure, there's a bunch of guys behind you, you could talk to them. There's about 300 people in the building below us, Heck there are trillions of people in the galaxy with a sentience level high enough for you to carry on a conversation."
The Inquisitor just stared at them, at a loss for words. Finally, one of his warrior acolytes stepped forward and pointed a laspistol at one of the marines heads.
"Now you listen to me, the inquisitor would like to speak with your commanding officer."
Before the two marines could have another conversation about who specifically the tiny man was referring to, the Inquistor barged past them and down into the stadium below. He made his way outside to the deserted street.
"Minion, where is the Space Marine base, I am to find the chapter master and investigate him for chaotic taint."
One of his followers pointed down the street toward a building with a large neon sign that said "Earl's Steakhouse, The Best Grox On the Planet, as Far as You Know!"
"Fool! That is a steakhouse! That is no place for space marines. Now I see some marines coming down the road."
"My Lord it appears that there has been some sort of mishap on the battlefield and a dreadnaught has become lodged in that rhino."
"Come my loyal henchmen! We must assist and or purge them."

Big Crazy Jim was having a bad day, his marines had spent the night partying and by the time he got the defiler running the crew was in no shape to drive. Then, this morning he had found out that the techmarines were just guys who had painted themselves red as a joke and knew nothing about mechanics. and those blasted rebels were still... rebellious.
Now there was some rich guy coming this way, probably wanting to hire out his warriors to protect their estate from poor people or something like that. Well, he would show that snob that Fuchismo's chosen warriors were not the playthings of the wealthy!
"Techmar- I mean Hank, get my gun. The big one."
The marine quickly brought the chapter master's gun, a stormbolter with a built in grenade launcher, chainsaw bayonet, and french fry cooker. He jammed a clip into the deep fryer (he had not exactly abstained from the 180 proof liquor) then just decided to fire a grenade. With a devastating roar the chainsaw bayonet snagged on the grenade, was ripped off and flew toward the Inquisitor.

"Emperor's Bowels!" The Inquisitor shouted as a grenade with a chainsaw bounced toward him.
"Quick men! Alpha formation!"
His cronies formed a human shield just in time for the grenade to detonate and send chainsaw teeth shredding through half a dozen of the retinue.
"My Lord, I think we can safely assume they are heretics."
"Yeah they're heretics! Look what they did to my cape! there's blood on it! Those devious chaos filth!"
The surviving minions drew their weapons and fired in the general direction of the column of marines while diving into cover.

"That rich son of a grox! Kilroy, get on the vox to the Terminator Squa- oh, wait. Scratch that Kilroy, instead send word to the Hockey Rink. Tell the Devastators to put down their sticks and pick up their heavy weapons."
The vox marine switched the radio off the talk station and relayed the message to the game. Big Crazy Jim lifted the Spear of Fuchismo and prepared to show the Inquisitor how he acquired his moniker.
Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!

Accuracy is directly proportional to enemy numbers

Fuchismo, god of potatoes!
Spuds for the spud god!
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Postby sticky_like_cheese » Wed Jan 03, 2007 3:12 pm

the suspence is unbearable!!! :shock: :shock: :shock:
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Postby Que Dan » Thu Jan 04, 2007 3:59 pm

"Ducks cant wear power armor!"
"Maybe not alone! But if a bunch of ducks got together they could fill up a suit."


Monty Python could have done that joke...
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Postby sticky_like_cheese » Thu Jan 04, 2007 7:23 pm

i watched the holy grail the other day! great movie...
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Postby ragingpotato » Thu Jan 04, 2007 7:41 pm

And now the thrilling conclusion, PArt IV
I may decide to write more if demand is great.

Seeing the crazed chapter master charge him brought a single thought to the mind of Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor Svengal: "I wish those Stormtroopers had survived.
Big Crazy Jim reached the mob of henchman and immediately skewered a warrior acolyte to the ground with the Spear of Fuchismo. Then, using the power weapon as a pivot point he swung into the air and delivered a double booted kick to a servitor scribe, demolishing it into a pile of machinery, paper and a kidney. Dropping to the ground he noticed three more acolytes charging him with swords and autopistols, reaching to his belt he pulled loose a potato with a fuse coming out the top. Lighting the fuse with his trusty laspistol, he hurled it at the foremost warrior. The minion stopped for a second, looked at the vegetable and continued charging. He didn't make it another 3 feet before the bomb detonated and engulfed him and his companions in flames.
About 15 feet behind their chapter master, Veteran Sergeant Regular Jim and the 35 Space marines with him patiently waited for their leader to finish hurling hot french fry oil in every direction before cautiously charging in to assist him.
This turned out to be a bad idea as Brother Kilroy was cleaved in half with the Spear of Fuchismo within 15 seconds. At this point the Acolytes of Fuchismo decided to sit this one out.
Meanwhile, Inquisitor Svengal was running down the street with two of his most loyal cronies. By most loyal, of course, he meant the one with the biggest gun, and the one with a voxset.
"This is Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor Svengal requesting immediate pick up." He shouted into the vox's microphone.
"You've been down there for less than 20 minutes, did you find out if they have fallen to chaos?" came the tinny voice from the other side.
"YES! I HAVE!" The Inquisitor shouted as the last of his men fell victim to a potato grenade.
"Oh Good, we'll have another thunderhawk pick you up in three weeks, Emperor Protects, Have a nice day."
"Three weeks! I can still see the thunderhawk!"
There was no response from the other side. Angrily Svengal slammed the microphone back onto the voxset. Down the street the Chapter master shoved a baked potato in his mouth to celebrate his victory, then saw the Inquisitor. He tried pulling his spear from the Orthodontist who's chest it was lodged in, then gave up and ordered his men forward. At this point the Inquisitor wet himself. Then he saw the steakhouse.
"Quick men! to the steakhouse!"
The Inquisitor and his much reduced retinue charged down the street toward the steakhouse, 4 squads of space marines in hot pursuit. Well, actually most of them were pretty hung over so they were walking. And the assault squad had actually snuck off to go sleep in the defiler during the battle. So really it was 3 squads of space marines, vaguely following them. This was still terrifying to the Inquisitor, who before today had dealt mainly with people's demonically possessed cats. Oh, would you look at that, during the explanation they reached the steakhouse.
With a triumphant smile Inquisitor Svengal burst through the door of the steakhouse and sat down at the closest table. As he caught his breath he began to laugh and attempted to high five his survivng warrior. The warrior continued to look around the room with horror. The inquisitor was about to reprimand him when he looked around the room as well.
The entire 5th company of the Acolytes of Fuchismo looked back.

2 hours later Big Crazy Jim once again sat at the head of the table at Earl's Steakhouse. Around him the restaurant was still packed with space marines laughing and drinking as the proprietor went outside to the grox farm to feed table 30.
"So, how's the inquisitor, Reg?" he asked his veteran sergeant.
"Well sir, I think he's been fully indoctrinated"
at a table nearby Inquisitor Svengal and his two followers were building an eight pointed star out of mashed potatoes.
"How's it going Inquisitor?"
"SPUDS FOR THE SPUD GOD!"
"Good work, you get a cookie."
As Brother Nichols threw a cookie to the Inquisitor Veteran Sergeant Regular Jim leafed through some documents before addressing the chapter master once more.
"Uh, sir, what about the rebels?"
"The what now?"

The End
Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!

Accuracy is directly proportional to enemy numbers

Fuchismo, god of potatoes!
Spuds for the spud god!
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Postby sticky_like_cheese » Fri Jan 05, 2007 12:38 am

MORE MORE MORE MORE!!!! :shock: make a webcomic of your own, it would be (almost) as good as turnsignals! look into it! id be a big fan! out it into consideration... :D
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