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5 mos ago
Current Having the urge to scratch a cyberpunk itch... keep writing bits for a story but idk if I want to run it XD
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You can write for 20 years and still have nagging self-doubt. It'll be ok, just enjoy the process. At least that's the story I tell myself.

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The world hummed and the shouts of voidsmen calling out targets and maneuvers as well as the miserable chorus from the invaders all melted away save for a constant drone in the ears of the Kin who laid on the floor helpless for just a second. He was vaguely aware of the world but, like a limb with renewed blood flow, it felt sluggish and out of sync. He could hear the Trader Silas somewhere in the distance before he was aware that the blob hovering over him was the very same, “… are you alright!?”

A groan followed simply with “Aye…” was all Grummore could muster at the moment as he sluggishly turned to a seated position and fumbled about for his laz beam-cutter that lay in his lap. Once he was situated, he erected himself, saved only by the concentrated fire and stalwart defense of the voidsmen and the enraged bellowing of their commander. As the drone subsided and he became more focused on reality, the purplish shapes revealed creatures the entire opposite of the reality he was trying to perceive. The shifting horrible impossibilities seemed to be where nothing was before. He watched as their shapes morphed and shifted with eyes, mouths, and even limbs molding and remolding over each other, all the while a cacophony of dreaded laughter and chittering poured out from them. He didn’t know where the sorcerer had gone, but these seemed to replace him.

All that he could think about was how much he wished he’d taken the time to bring equipment with him. All at once a shower of molten daemon seemed to rain about him as the Voidmaster created a fantastically macabre display with what used to be the head of a Tzaangor.

“Ack that’ll take ages t’git off”

He shouted to no one in particular. With a hand growing more steady he steadied his aim onto the cluster of pink and unleashed a volley of cutting laz that seemed to only piss the creatures off earning a return volley of warp fire that struck the same pile he’d been using or the wall about him, momentarily coloring it bizarre immaterial shades and textures. The blazing fire behind them, didn’t, someone had sent a grenade over the top that spat flame like a Salamander of old, coating flesh and armor in gouts fire, the room immediately felt like the heart of a Votann’s crucible as the temperature skyrocketed. And, just as quickly, Grummore heard someone bellow out, “Drakeskin!”

He continued firing, oblivious to his own skin condition now but suddenly felt the discomfort he’d experienced from the concussion ease like a calming draught had just passed his throat, he didn’t know where it came from but he felt grateful.
So hard to do long posts when it's just combat hahaha. Just feels like fluff, responding to events from other posts, and then a little of your own to add color without going too OP.
Dazzling beams of yellowish red surged from the las-beam cutter held by Grummore. Singed flesh and wounded howls sounded in turn as he ducked about, using protruding walls and even corpses as cover. His sidearm didn’t have fantastic range, being more of a shipbreaking tool rather than a weapon of war but it was plenty for this corridor and the high rate of fire proved invaluable to keeping the advancing wave at bay. That is, until the chanting started. At once Grummore took note of the oncoming push. He could do nothing as the suppressing fire coming from stubbers, autopistols, shotguns, and lasguns behind them were plenty to make him think twice about popping up. He squatted low behind a fallen corpse and unleashed a sustained volley into the group and watched as flesh singed and hair burned but only by sheer luck did one of them fall as it was struck by other voidsmen’s rounds. With its dying gasp, the Tzaangor grasped its two-handed great axe and flung it down the hall just barely clipping Grummore as it buried itself into the corridor’s wall.

The Kin turned his attention down the hall after realizing he was still alive to witness some poor beast be riddled with all manner of flung knives before exploding in a fantastic purple smoke, his vision blocked of the hapless voidsmen the beast was intent on cutting apart. At once he a thud as the Rogue Trader himself fell besides the Kin. The berserk beastman intent on securing the kill. The monster drew back it’s pale blue blade and was preparing an overhead strike. With a muscular burst belying his shorter stature and hints of grey, Grummore launched himself forward just before the wounded Tzaangor and pressed the cutter into the torso of the beast before holding the trigger. A brilliant yellow glow emanated from the creatures chest as the tool literally melted a hole through its chest and fired out the backside down the corridor. After a moment the blade clattered to the floor and the beast slumped forward, still carrying some momentum.

Grummore seemed lost for a moment, he took note of the voidsmen, while yes they were dying, they were not buckling and they were returning the death count equally if not more and the Voidmaster Stukhov’s shotgun was a thunderous drum which made his ears ring apart from the more subdued noise of lazfire. The mixture of his orders barked in patterned arrangement to the rhythmic thumping of the artificer weapon brought a sense of strength against the chanting beasts.

Until it wasn’t.

The silence snapped the Kin away from his assessment and to the Voidmaster locked in a harrowing melee ahead of Grummore. He turned back to the Rogue trader and barked out pointing his cutter in Stukhov’s direction while holding out a hand to Silas, “No time t’be lazin’bout! Yer Voidmaster is go-” His remark was cut short as a grenade went off, thankfully the full force of it was absorbed by the small pile of corpses that the Frontiersman was using as cover but the blast of it was still enough to send him tumbling past, concussed by the explosion.
A few others entered the room before the Trader made a toast to the room and Grummore lifted a glass as well. He didn’t care for Macragge or the human primarchs but he was expecting a good meal and at least a palatable drink so it was a good enough reason to follow along. He couldn’t help but wonder about the contents of their quarry and if it was, indeed, of value to him. He looked at the red liquid slosh about in his own glass as thoughts swirled in his mind, but he pushed it back and as the chorus of “To the Primarchs!” echoed around the room, his voice cracked out “And the honored fallen!” and he downed his drink before looking back at the Voidmaster. He began assembling his own first wave of the mighty feast as he responded.

“Oh y’must! By th’Ancestors it’s a sight. None o’that hell fuel Warp shit. Oh right!”

He’d gotten caught up in the speech but his curiosity returned as he instinctively reached out for the plate that held Paolo’s overgrown strawberry and put his eye down to the table level and inspected the fruit with a jeweler’s scrutiny before a satisfied huff with an impressed face before sliding it back over. “That’s quite the trick! I’d love t’see it in real time.”

The food had been quite acceptable as well, far nicer than trail rations and hastily brewed nutrition beverages. “Y’know, this is’a damn good meal, almost feels like a prisoner’s last!” The kin burst with laughter at his own remark, bits of foot getting tangled in his, formerly neatly groomed, beard. G

rummore savored some form of bird that was finely roasted with a citrus flavor permeating it. He was just reaching for another leg when the entire vessel shook. Grummore turned to ask about it to the Voidsman and noted an empty chair as the man tore ass out of the room with all the reflexive urgency of a seasoned vet. Another shuddering sound snapped Grummore’s attention away from the bootheels of the Voidsman as the psyker slammed their chair into the ground with the force of their standing and watched him assemble an array of floating cutlery about him. The Kin admittedly found appreciation that his private curiosity had been answered so quickly but he was distraught for the bulk of his own armaments had been left behind in his quarters. Without much in the way of protection he would have to be conservative and so he left in tow of Paolo with a las beam-cutter in hand. He’d try to find more equipment along the way. It was easy to find where the confrontation was, he could hear the shooting and, more easily, the voice of Voidmaster Stukov bellowing at the din’s edge.
Brilliant lights swam and swirled by like a river of thickened water, with a strong golden mist obscuring everything around the ship. From the observation deck, Grummore could see outlines in the distance that he could only guess at, some suggested entire cities, even planetoid objects in areas where the Webway was particularly massive. For the most part their tunnel in the webway seemed to be rather small in comparison, a little larger than their own cruiser. Grummore had heard of the Webway, even traveled it once, but the majesty of the ancient pocket dimension was never lost on him. He’d heard the vox hailer on the wall crackle as ship wide announcements periodically chimed in that would occasionally break his focus but the wonder and the brightness of it was fantastic, the lumoglobes were completely unnecessary here.

Grummore tinkered with the pan spectral scanner, wondering what it might detect in this place opposed to real-space but it was pointless. If, by chance, he was to find a resource worthy of mining, would any of the Guild really bother to come in here? The Kin allowed himself a chuckle at the thought. After a not insignificant amount of time, Grummore left the observation deck and returned to his quarters where he left the scanner and monitored the bizarre apparatus that allowed him to produce his own Bru. It was a mass of swirling pipes and heating plates that most would identify as a still for producing alcohol, but this mixture was a highly nutritious and potent cocktail that Kin were particularly adept at tolerating. He took a large glass of the mixture and downed it as he found the Imperial rations to be insignificant and headed out towards the meeting. He didn’t bother with his armor and wore the base carapace for the void suit which was essentially a heavy canvas like off-white coverall minus the typically orange armored components. He didn’t dare leave his las beam-cutter or plasma knife behind.

After a period of walking though the maze-like intestines of the ship he found his way to the place the Rogue Trader wanted to meet. He was the last unfortunately, likely because he spent too much time enjoying the view of the ship, it was quaint, hideous, and reeked of oil and incense as there must have been some of the bizarre Imperials that worshipped machines somewhere nearby. There was already what looked to be a hungover priest with a personal guard… no that was the psyker he’d glanced earlier when they were boarding. And what looked to be a well-worn soldier, had to be the Voidmaster. Grummore spied Paolo’s creation and gawked aloud while taking a cup of recaff from the pot that Paolo seemed to be praying to.

“Well that’s gotta be th’biggest strawber’I’ve ever seen!”

He didn’t notice Silas at first but then gave an awkward tomahawk wave towards the others while gulping down the recaff and grabbing a seat which happened to be besides the Voidmaster, making a casual comment to him as he did.

“Y’ever get a chance t’see the pointy eared Webway? Pure Majesty tis.”
Nice. Will get app up soon.
[Steel Legion]

Actually really curious about that too. To my knowledge, current meta in 40k is classic "shit broke, everything is magic at this point." but with a large infusion of new tech courtesy of the Primaris releases. I would imagine that things probably haven't changed too much with tiny nuggets of higher end tech / archeotech sprinkled in that our suicidal Rogue Trader won't have access to. I can't imagine one of the primarch's being chill with sending rare gear on a suicide run.
Following, I'm not sure if I want to grind into 40k lore to kick off the rust but this is a very unique concept, and I'm quite curious how the rogue trader will travel without the light of the Astronomicon to guide them.
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