War of Talavan

A piece of writefaggotry posted on here for posterity's sake. And so the writefag in question doesn't have to repost the whole goddamn thing when he updates.

So Far

Autarch Draknor raised his gaze to the group of jittery Warp Spider Aspect Warriors. They gathered here all the time, hug themselves and occasionally screaming incoherently at any passer by, around here where their former Exarch stayed. When one says former Exarch, it is often thought 'tomb,' as one does not retire from being an Exarch, that is their point. But ever since she and her entire contingent of Warp Spider got stuck in the warp for a whole year, thought to be lost only to reappear in the middle of the Craftworld screaming insanely, she was no longer fit for duty as an Exarch. She apparently made a better Farseer.

Draknor picked his way across the crowd of half-mad Warp Spiders. Occasionally, one would make a Jump from one spot to another for no apparent reason. Draknor was well used to stopping and picking a different route when one of them Jumped in front of him. Once past the crazed Aspect Warrior, he entered the domain of Farseer Gismel.

"Draknor, dear!"

What came at him was unmistakably an Eldar Farseer. However, it is said the last thing the enemies of Craftworld Tharldin see is the visage of a lightning-spewing figure clad in Mesh Armor under a floral print pink dress and a floppy straw hat...

"Farseer Gismel," Draknor bowed lightly.

"Draknor, do come in! Elswich just dropped by for some tea," She gave a suggestive wink at that and Draknor ignored it. Gismel had it in her crazed little head that he and Warlock Elswich would make an excellent couple even though no one knew what gender Elswich was (Although this isn't problem for many Eldar.). Besides, Elswich 'dropped by' every day. Due to the frazzled mental state of the Farseer, she could not be counted on to relay any important visions to the necessary authorities, thus Elswich was assigned to listen to her mad prattling all day long in case she spewed anything important.

Warlock Elswich could be found in what constituted as Gismel's lounge. She (As can be estimated) was chugging down a pint of Gismel's tea (Gismel's special home brew tea was in fact only partly tea and mostly alcohol. Elswich loved it.) like an Exodite bar wench. Draknor saw that the pint looked like a very tall tea cup, possibly hand crafted by Gismel for the express purpose of satiating Elswich's thirst.

Draknor sat across from Elswich, accepting a small tea cup from Gismel. He scowled at the Warlock, she smirked wildly in return which only made him scowl harder, "Why did you call me here?"

"I think I'd better let Gissy tell you," Elswich leered.

Gissy. Only Elswich could get away with that.

Gismel came back in, plate laden with small cakes. Draknor internally seethed. This was important, possibly for the entire Craftworld's survival, and these two wanted to have a drunken TEA PARTY!

"Farseer Gismel," Draknor knew he had to get right to the point, "I have heard you've been telling Elswich of an interesting vision and I wish to hear of it as well."

Gismel blushed and fanned herself, "Oh, its just some silly little warp-induced daydream."

Draknor vowed to murder Elswich (Preferably the way she was born - naked and screaming) before pressing on, "No, do go on."

"Well, it was about those naughty boys we sometimes see," Gismel whispered conspiratorially, as if afraid of anyone hearing her call someone anything as heinous as 'naughty.' Obviously, this told him next to nothing as 'those naughty boys' can range from anything to Chaos Space Marines or the childlings who threw eggs at her Warp Spiders (Who no longer did so either. Even in their maddened state, they didn't care to put up with that indignity. So they dressed up as Dark Eldar, Jumped into the offending childlings' rooms and woke them up whooping and screaming like Howling Banshees. The childlings could not sleep for nine years, huddling and crying "Can't sleep, Warp Spiders will eat me, can't sleep, Warp Spiders will eat me...").

In fact, 'Naughty Boys' could only mean one of those two. Considering the circumstances, probably the former. Chaos Space Marines, Traitor Guardsman, Dark Cultists, mon-keigh who threw their lot in with the Ruinous Powers, including She Who Thirsts, "What about them, Farseer Gismel?"

"Oh, they are going to find themselves a Blackstone Fortress."

Draknor choked on his tea, spilling its contents. A good thing or he would be draining it dry in a few moments.

"A Bla-bla-black-"

"Oh, and everyone will start getting involved after that, including us."

Draknor gritted his teeth, "Who else?"

Gismel listed them, "Those plucky lads and rowdy boys-"

Imperial Guard and Orks.

"-those good little boys and those hungry buggies-"

Tau and Tyranids.

"-the local boy scouts and girl scouts-"

Space Marines and Sisters of Battle.

"-our distant cousins and those creepy old men-"

Dark Eldar and Necrons.

"-and someone else I don't know who."

Draknor found himself pulling out a notebook to write this all down. So that's everyone and then some, eh? Oh JOY. Well, at least the Imperial Guard and the Sisters of Battle would be their. Maybe he can finally get his hands on some nice, thick, muscular, big-hipped mon-keigh women. He didn't speak often of it, but he thought Eldar women were too skinny. Maybe he could grab one of his own. He really should ask Taldeer of Ulthwe how she bagged hers. Just the thoughts of being held down my one of those huge beastly wom-

"Draknor. Drraaaaknnooooor," Elswich smacked the Autarch, "Draknor!"

"Hm? Oh yes! Warlock Elswich, go alert the forces to ready! We're going to..." He looked to Gismel.

"Talavan VII."

"Yes."

Elswich shrugged and left, leaving him and Gismel, "Tell me, Farseer, which of the Chaos Legions or Warbands shall we be facing?"

"Five of the legions."

Wonderful, "Which ones?"

"The World Eaters, the Death Guard and the Night Lords lead by the Thousand Sons."

"That's four. What of the fifth?"

"Oh yes. The Emperor's Children."

Draknor's blood ran cold. Out of all the Chaos Legions, it had to be those who venerated She Who Thirsts above all others.

"And the Astartes?"

"The Awesome Marines-"

Draknor smirked. They weren't too hard to deal with. Throw a red ball and watch them chase it while the attached Commissar try to shoot them in the right direction again.

"-the Pretty Marines-"

For some odd reason, many Eldar felt an odd kinship to this chapter. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"-the Reasonable Marines-"

By the Laughing God, yes! Perhaps the Eldar and the Marines, and the Tau too, and Guards and Sister in tow, could join forces temporarily if the Reasonable Marines were there! This campaign may go without a hitch!

"-the Scary Marines-"

Draknor paled. Well, one minor complication.

"-and the Angry Marines."

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-"

~

Brother Calidius sighed. It was now that he realized the inherent design flaw of the Terminator Armor. He had heard of it before, of course. The 'Turtle Shell Effect' it was called. Basically, one cannot reach behind oneself in Terminator Armor. Therefore, one cannot lift oneself up if one were to find themselves flat on their backs. The counter-theory was that any fellow brother Astartes or a group of loyal Imperial citizens would be honored to help a Veteran Marine back on his feet.

This theory hinged on their being any such things in the vicinity. Calidius was lying on his back in a dense unpopulated jungle and he did not believe any of his battle brothers survived the crash that consumed the four Thunderhawks, the other three belonging to three other chapters. Calidius debated with himself on the merits of calling for help. On one hand, some ally may have survive. On the other, some enemy may be around. On the third mutant hand to be purged within reason was that absolutely no-one may be around.

Suddenly, a soft melodic voice snaked through the jungle air, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Calidius turned his head as much as the Terminator Armor would allow. What he saw bolstered his spirits, if only a little. It was not one of his, as he had hoped, but a Pretty Marine. A Chaplain by the looks of the black armor. Usually you could tell by the skull helmet, but most Pretty Marines disdained covering their faces, especially with hideous skull helmets.

"Yes! Over here, Chaplain!" Calidius called out. The chaplain took his sweet old time turning his head to Calidius. First he swished his head the other way, cascading his long white hair unique to Pretty Marine Chaplains and Sisters of Battle, and then the other, settling his big brilliant blue eyes on Calidius. Then his eyes widened as he saw the predicament Callidius was in. A smirk splayed across his face and a snicker escaped his lips. He began giggling like a little girl , pointing at the fallen Terminator.

Calidius was reasonable about this, letting the chaplain laugh it up. Finally, the giggle subsided and the chaplain had the dignity to look embarrassed, "I am sorry, Reasonable Marine. Allow me to help you." He held out one hand which Calidius took, "I am Chaplain-Brother Kishu of the Pretty Marine's 9th Company."

Calidius pulled himself up, "Veteran-Brother Calidius of the Reasonable Marine's 1st Company."

"Greetings, Veteran," Kishu smiled dazzlingly. Then he frowned. Well, pouted, "Any of your own survive?"

Calidius shook his head. Kishu sighed, "I believe the only other of mine that lived is a scout. Though, where he is I don't know."

"The Thunderhawks of the Awesome and Angry Marines flew farther then our own before crashing. Perhaps we can rendezvous with any survivors amongst them," Calidius suggested.

Kishu nodded.

~

"Appear weak when you are strong, appear strong when your are weak," Repeated Aspiring Sorcerer Melvun of the Chaos Reasonable Marines, looking at the one-way view window of the Secret Lair.

Biker Champion Feliosto of the Chaos Pretty Marines looked up from polishing his precious Speed Bike, decorated as it was in erotic motifs and innumerable spiky bits. "What was that?"

"I have fooled the Imperium into believing we are who we are not, fooled the Eldar Witch, and exaggerated are numbers so that would send a greater force against us," Melvun explained, "The presence of Kharn the Betrayer and Doomrider has only added credibility to this facade."

Feliosto frowned, "That... sounds like a horrible idea."

"On paper, aye." Feliosto cringed as the disgusting, pus-ridden form of short Nurglesque being stepped out of the dark corners that breed abundantly in the Secret Lair. This was Lord Pusbeard Sludgehammer, leader of the League of Hella, the last surviving Squat Strongholds. They had fought against the Tyranids using biological weapons, but the diseases they created turned against them. If they had not turned to Papa Nurgle, they too would have died. Now they were carrion carriers of great many scientific and warp-spawned diseases, the superiors of even many Plague Marines in that regard.

"Aye," He repeated, "But we'd be having to deal with some trouble anyways. Now all dem morons will be busy fighting each other while we cozy on over to the Fortress."

Feliosto shrugged and returned to polishing his Speed Bike, dry humping it with his wax covered crotch, whispering how he was going to make sweet, sweet love to it. Pusbeard gawped at this and Melvun decided to spare him.

"I never knew a Nurglesque could provide such insight," He chuckled.

Pusbeard returned with his own laugh, though this one was humorless and empty, "I didn't join up with Nurgle for the philosophy."

"Indeed," Melvun nodded, "Tell me, have you heard the reports from our cultist and Khornate allies?"

"Oh yeah. Them Chaos Angry Marines and Kharn are ripping shit right up. That Kharn, swell guy and all, I wish he'd stop bein' ah..."

"Team killing fucktard?" Feliosto supplied, a smoking cigarette in his mouth and somehow satisfied looking Speed Bike laying on it side next to him. Melvun could swear it was GLOWING.

"Yeah, that's it," Pusbeard agreed, "Swell guy though."

"Of course," Agreed Melvun reasonably.

"Even when he'd be killing ya."

"Screaming 'TAKE THAT SLAANESHI WHORE,'" Feliosto added.

Pusbeard and Melvun looked at each other.

The Chaos Pretty Marine continued, "And I'd say 'DON'T TALK TO MY SPEED BIKE LIKE THAT, PUNK.' Good times."

He looked expectantly at Melvun and Pusbeard. Both had nothing to say to this display and Melvun diplomatically changed the subject, "So, was there any great resistance from the Tau defenders?"

"Er..." Pusbeard's mind needed time to carefully erase Feliosto's autoeroticism before catching up with Melvun, "Uh, no. Not really. Soon as we showed up, them blue-skins backed their shit up and left."

Melvun nodded in satisfaction, "Yes, that is indeed the way of the Tau. They will undoubtedly return in greater numbers soon."

~

"Shas'O Sa'cea Fap'tau," Greeted the female underling.

"Ya damn straight, I am," Fap'tau put both hand on his hips. The right hand encompassed the entire hip while its smaller opposite did not. The underling looked nervously at the muscular right arm, trying with difficulty to not think about how he got just that arm to so big.

"Er..." The underling shifted nervously, noticing how closely her commander was studying her body. She knew exactly what was going on in his head, and did not like it. "Shas'El Ksi'm'yen Schl'ick'tau-"

"Are you seriously gonna say our whole name every time?"

"Er...."

"Whatever, what does that bitch want?"

"We've arrived at Tal'van, sir."

"Sweet."

~

In hindsight, the fact that the Awesome and the Angry Marines created such widespread destruction in their crash was strangely fitting. The two dropships crashed into a canyon wall and caused rock to fall on them. Everyone died.

Kitsu looked sadly at this, shaking his head at such an ugly death. Casidius on the other listened for survivors.

"I think we may have two survivors," The Reasonable Marine said.

Kitsu brightened, his beautiful features shining in joy, "Rocks DON'T kill everyone!"

"Shh, listen."

And they did.

"Are we out yet?" Said a youthful voice beneath the rock.

"NO!" Replied a gravelly voice.

"Are we out yet?"

"NO DUMBASS!!!"

"Are we out yet?"

"NNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY-"

Suddenly, Casidius turned and tackled Kitsu to the ground.

"Hey-"

"-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The whole pile of rocks exploded in massive explosion of warp energy, pulverizing it into dust. From the out of the rubble came the form of an Angry Marine Librarian, his yellow and red armor drapped in the traditional white robes. Despite wearing a helmet, his visage achieved being visibly enraged. Crawling out behind him was the red armor form of a Tech Marine, one shoulder pad was orange with the yellow smiling symbol of the Awesome Marines and the other was white with a red helix of an Apothecary, crossed with a staff and scythe.

The knowledgeable Reasonable Marine knew the Awesome Marine combined the rank of Tech Marine and Apothecary into the cybernetic-happy Doctor. The Doctor was raised aloft the ground by a pair of thick tentacle-like servo-arms with two smaller ones dancing around above him, sporting wicked looking meltaguns. In each of his hands were a staff and scythe, the symbol of his office, pried from the hands of Sorcerer Adepts and Plague Marines respectively, cleansed and reforged under the watchful gaze of the Inquisition and Ecclesiarchy and retooled for the express of healing without turning the patient into a cyborg.

The Awesome Marine wore no helmet since the giant ceramic-hard Afro, the signature mutation of his chapter, would not allow it. His face was covered in a surgeon's mask and both his eyes glowed red with cybernetic replacements, peering around. He then looked to his compatriot.

"Are we out yet?"

"GGGGAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!" The Angry Librarian used the warp to lift himself into the air as if he wore a jump pack so that his hands could reach the Awesome Doctor's throat.

The Reasonable Terminator and Pretty Chaplain got up from the ground. Well, the Chaplain did and pulled the Terminator up. The stopped to watch the Angry Librarian choke the shit out of the Doctor while he gagged, "Ack! Gack! You're choking me!" As if it weren't obvious. They were finally pulled apart by the massive Terminator who thumped their head together a few time where even their helmets and ceramic hair did not save them from being dazed.

"Gentleman."

He laid them out on their back and waited for them to recover. The Awesome Doctor was the first, one of his servo-arms rubbing his head empathetically. The Angry Librarian was the second to awake. He seemed more to skulk now, pulling his psychic hood over his head to seethe internally. The Reasonable Terminator originally took him as otherwise unarmed but noticed the intricate patterns weaved into his armored gauntlets. It seemed that the Angry Marine's usual surprising mechanical aptitude has led them to create Force Fists. Smaller then Power Fists, but Calidius guessed undoubtedly as strong, or even stronger.

"Alright, it seems all four of us are the only survivors of this crash," Calidius the Reasonable Terminator told them, "I am Calidius of the Reasonable Marines and this is Kishu of the Pretty Marines."

The Angry Librarian looked up at this, settling his visor covered eyes on the the Pretty Chaplain. Kishu arched his brows and held that stare back, the pride of his chapter urging him not to back down. But he knew that stare, he could see it through the visor of the Librarian's helmet. As much as the Chapter of the Rose tried to avoid it, Kishu had worked with the Angry Marines before. Obviously, the ones that vented their anger through loud stupid cursing got the most attention, but then their were the one that soak up rage like a sponge, keeping it within themselves until they were ready to squeeze it out in one mighty explosion.

Therefore, this one had probably expended all of his energy. Then Kishu wondered, Or had he?

"My name's Doctor Ziaphas of the Awesome Marine's... er, we don't have companies, sorry," The Awesome Doctor said.

The Angry Librarian grunted, "Malk." Then he added as an afterthought, "I was attached to the 2nd Company as of this campaign."

Then Malk saw them looking at him expectantly, "And what the fuck chapter do you think I'm from!? The goddamn Space Wolves!? I'm a fucking Angry Marine!"

~

Autarch Draknor groaned. People tend to do that after crashing. That is, when they don't die.

"Fuck me, who was driving?"

Warlock Elswich climbed out of the cockpit, a broken pint-sized teacup in her hands, "That-a... that'd be me."

"Oh for fucks sakes, WE'RE YOU DRINKING!?"

"A spot of tea does wonders before a battle, Draknor," Gismel trotted through the wreckage, unbuckling the many living Eldar occupants from their superior-to-stupid-mon-keigh safety harnesses. Jittery Warp Spiders had already Jumped out and were scouting / loitering the surrounding area. Other then the Warp Spiders, the forces of Craftworld Tharldin had only two other special units besides their one Farseer, Warlock and Autarch. They were a small Craftworld but one that encourage not only creative but unorthodox thinking.

Out of the wreckage ripped out skinny arms of wraithbone. Not that of the living dead Wraithgaurd, but the first examples of Tharldin's unorthodoxy, the Wraithwarrior and the Wraithseers. Eldar that had walked down the Path of the Bonesinger and then either the Path of the Warrior or the Path of the Seer. The Wraithwarrior had replaced pieces of their body with wraithbone constructs, their own inherent psychic powers allowing them to control them like they were their actually limb, except loaded with a Wraithcannon, shuriken cannons and the Laughing God knew what else. Wraithseers built whole wraithbone constructs, not unlike that of the Wraithguard, but controlled them with their practiced psychic powers rather then the souls of fallen Eldar. The disturbingly Necron-looking automatons were often armed with shuriken catapults, and could become portable, a dozen of them folded up and carried in the Wraithseer's long coats.

Once Draknor confirmed their status amongst the mostly livings, alongside the troops of Gaurdians carried along, he ordered the whole lot of them to gather out the pods that carried the sedated forms of Tharldin's third example of near heretical (If Eldar held to such things) unorthodoxy, the Warmongers. A cult of Eldar that tried to combine the Path of the Warrior and the Path of the Seer in an effort to become closer to the enemy of She Who Thirsts For Souls, that is He Who Thirsts For Blood, the one the mon-keigh called Khorne, with ultimate goal of freeing their souls from her clutches. Now they were made into berserker psyker warriors who had to be sedated at all time for the safety of those around them until released into battle.

Draknor nodded to all this. It seemed that despite Elswich's incompetency, everything was going smoothly, "Have any of the other Craftworlds responded to our called?"

The communication officer Guardian thing whatever the fuck the Eldar used look from his com unit thing whatever that apparently survived the crash too because it's Eldar tech and better then you stupid Mon-keigh (This message brought you by Farseer Idranel), "Yes, sir, Ulthwe, sir."

"Oh, just who I was hoping for. Put them on," Draknor ordered. The comm Guardian thing nodded and the visage of Farseer Taldeer with the looming visage of her sniper-toting Vindicare Assassin behind her.

"Taldeer, greetings! Liivi, how are you?"

"I am operating an maximum efficiency," Liivi responded.

"Swell. How's Lofn?"

The half-Eldar peaked out of the bottom of the screen, "I am an abomination against nature!"

"That's great, little guy. Keep that up."

"I'm a girl!"

"Sure you are. That dress is very convincing."

"Hey-"

"By the way, Taldeer, I wanted to ask your advice."

Taldeer nodded, "Of course. Our forces should work together for the good of the Eldar race."

"Well actually, I was gonna ask you how I could bag myself a mon-keigh bed warmer," He then added, "No offense, Liivi."

~

Warluck Jalik Dragin Breff stalked through the Ork camp laid in front of the wreckage of his warship. They to had crashed, but this is as closed to landing as Orks ever get, even the normally more intelligent Eldratch Fiah Clan, a clan that still had Wyrdboyz past the feral stage, Wyrdboyz that could better control the psychic energy of the Waugh and Wyrdboyz that ruled over their fellow Orks. They still had Mekboyz and Mad doks, but no Nobs, Bosses or Warbosses. Instead they had Wizlords for Nobs and Wyrdbosses. Replacing War Bosses were Warlucks like Jalik, called as such on account of being reeaally lucky their 'eads hadn't 'sploded by now, even with greater psychic control they had.

Warlucks of the Eldratch Fiah Clan had been having Gork and Mork granted visions long before that upstart Ghazghkull did and Jalik knew his gods had led him here.

"Sum'in' big gonna happin 'ere," Jalik remarked to himself, "Sum'in' reeeeeeel big." Then he threw back his head and drew upon the innate Waugh power that lingered in his boyz, that always linger about the highly psychic Eldratch Fiah Clan, breathing out a gout of green fire. This drew all their attention of the surrounding Orks and Gretchin, "All right, ya gitz! We'z gonna 'ave ourselves ah propah Waugh!"

A great cheering and weapon banging ensued. The waugh rose up and Jalik drank it up like a sponge. He figured he could take in more then regular Wyrdboyz on account of being bigger. Then, one brave boy stepped forward, "But... uh, boss," They still called their superiors boss, having no better word, "Who we gonna fight then?"

The other Orks fell silent. In all honesty, Orks didn't care who they fought in particular, you know that, but it was still a good question. The Dragin Breff chuckled darkly, "Eeeeevaryboday."

The cheering and the waughing resumed.

~

Commissar Dan also stalked through the base camp of the Imperial Guard. They too had crashed, also because of a drunken pilot who had subsequently been executed for the heresy of a DUI. Dan held up his custom Bolt Pistol, Rage Against The Heretics, and the Guardsmen quailed into compliance. He had so far executed a half dozen heretics, and two waiters and people had so far gotten the message: he wanted his frappucino now and not later.

"Hhhhexcuuze ahss," came a long, drawn-out nasally annoying voice. Dan turned to see a young purple haired woman in a business suit. Properly some Administratum official, although for the life of him, Dan couldn't figure out how or why one was here, "Er.... yes?"

"Hwee ahr luoking fohr hweek pointz een thees bahse," She explained, "Fohr aduministrutiv purpusess, uf curse."

"Of course."

"Yesh."

"Well, our biggest weak point is definitley our command center," Dan said after a moment's thought, "Take that out and this whole place falls apart." She asked where that was and he gave her highly detailed instructions, including all the pass codes she would need.

"Thenk hyu," The girl said, hurrying of to see it for herself.

"What a nice, loyal, non-heretical Imperial citizen," Dan remarked as he watched her disappear. Suddenly, an Inquisitor trotted around the corner, looking panicky.

"Commisar! This base may have been infiltrate by Chaos Cultists! We must-"

"CHAOS CULTISTS!?"

"Yes-"

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE SOME HERESY!!!"

BLAM!

Meanwhile, Cultist-chan made her way to the command center, the demolition super melta bomb hidden between her breasts. When she made it there, she reached into her cleavage for the bomb but only pulled a humongous Baneblade, ridden by what could only be a tactical geniu-

"CRHEEEEEEEEED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And then she got Purged.

Ursarkar E. Creed chuckled, "Tactical Genius, hurr."

"TACTICAL GENIUS!!!" Colour Sergeant Jarran Kell repeated for the Baneblade crew to here who we too busy marveling over the wonders of 'Tits EVERYWHERE!!!'

~

"We shall make them fear our mighty PAULDRONS!!!" Cried Awesome Marine "Captain" Leroy Jenkins. The Awesome Marines were chapter born from a genetic mutation crisis of the Pretty and Angry Marines. The High Lords of Terra, feeling very pro-Astartes at the time, ordered the Machine Cult to try to save the lost gene-seed and it did so by splicing together the two chapter's genes together. Even at a genetic level, the two enemies rejected each other, and the third party gene-seed, that of the Reasonable Marines, was introduced in the logic of mediating reason at a genetic level, and it strangely worked.

The Awesome Marines inherited all the mutations of their predecessor chapters, these mutations themselves mutated into something new alongside the personal mutation of the ceramic fro. Although lacking the Sparkle Gland, Awesome Marine healing was predisposed to promote youthfulness. Not bishonen looks, more like shota. It was disturbing to see the faces of young boys on the bodies of towering giants. It was even more disturbing to add the voice of a fifty year old chain smoker, but "Captain" Leroy, and his eternal cigar, somehow managed it.

He wasn't really a Captain, if the quotations didn't tip you off. The Awesome Marines had no Captains, being more or less led by the psyker Bards, but Leroy had the Cigar on him all the time so no one questioned his authority. No one precisely followed either.

"Alright chums, let's do this!" Captain Leroy jumped over the barricade the seperated the Awesome Marines from the battle between the Tyranids and the Necron, "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOY JEEEEENKIIIIIIINS!!!"

"Alright, bye," Bard Jovey watched Leroy get caught in the clutches of an Unyuufex. Leroy was in Terminator Armor, however, and was not imediatley crushed. However, he'd propably still be put inside a Dreadnaught after this.

"Um, shouldn't we help him?" Asked Awesome Commisar Conrad Raege. She was just put with the Awesome Marines and she thought she would like it. They weren't Space Wolves or Pretty Marines, so they wouldn't hit on her. Then she found out she had to baby sit the "ADHD" Marines, "Captain" Leroy being a prime example.

"Naw," Jovey assured, hefting his Force Guitar (Once the Chain Axe of a Khorne Berzerker), "I'm gonna go to the Gaurd regiment next door."

"Er... what for?"

Jovey turned to the rest of his small squad, which included another Bard with a Force Piano (Also once the Sound Blaster of a Slaaneshi Noise Marine), "Kay guys, we're gonna do a Tower of Power, who's with me!?"

The Awesome Marines and one Awesome Dreadnaught cheered and followed Jovey's charge to the Imperial Gaurd camp, leaving a confused and dour Raege (That I likely didn't write correctly. Look, I never seen her role played, I have no idea how to write her character, okay?).

Meanwhile, the Imperial Gaurd watched the battle between the Necron and Tyranid with keen interest.

"Sir?" Asked Private Peter Parts.

"Yes, Private, snrk, Parts?" Responded his superior.

"Why do, um... why do the Necron and Tyranid forced..."

"Yes, Private-" Teehee "-Parts?"

"Why do they all look like little girls?"

"This would be the rarely seen breed of Lolifex and Lolicron, Private Parts -Oh God-Emperor, I said it with a straight face-."

"Sir!"

"Yes, Private? -Nope, not gonna say your last name again-"

"The Astartes are here."

"-Cause your last name, considering your rank, is funny as all- Wait, what?"

"The Awesome Marines."

Sargeant Richard Tiberius Cox, who really had no right to make fun of Peter's name, turned to find the massive orange clad marine indeed walking amongst his men.

"What are they doing?"

"It appears they are conscripting men and tanks for an attack formation of their own design," Private Parts informed, "Something that apparently requires Guardsmen (Hey guys, it's spelled Guard! I'm a stupid shit!). Something called the Tower of Pow-"

Private Parts was lifted off his feet by one of the massive marines and place between his massive pauldrons, his legs wrapping around the marines relatively tiny head, his corso protected by his relatively massive afro. This was Force Piano armed Bard U (Pronounced 'Ooooh' and not 'Oooooo'. Or, optionally, as a long 'U'), who looked around with what was only descripable as a quaint expression (Imagine someone actually achieving ":3" with the human facial muscles), "Where is the nearest tank capable of carrying a Dreadnaught on it's top?"

"Er... We have a Hellhound, Astartes," Peter offered.

"Good enough," U nodded, spotting the Hellhound. Then he turned to the Dreadnaught, "Jamar, you're riding the Hellhound! Get down so I can climb up!"

"Up, Astartes?"

Dread Jamar got down to one mechanical knees and U climbed atop his back, setting himself upon the dead marine's mechanized sarcophagus. "A Hellhound, you said?"

"Yes, right over there."

Peter Parts saw the same thing all around camp from his vantage point. Some of them were rearming the Guardsmen they set on their shoulders. One Awesome Marine had given his passenger a Missile Launcher. Normally the Guardsmen would need a second man to carry the munition, but the Astartes seemed content to do that himself, politely handing him the need munition. Three other dreadnaughts, each colored from the Awesome Marine's predecessor chapters, also carried a Guardsmen mounted Astartes. Awesome Marines in Terminator Armor, carrying the most heavily armed Guardsmen, climbed unto the tops of Lemman Russ tanks.

Peter's view was interupted as the Dreadnaught stepped up unto the Hellhound, the huge vehicle ground under the weight but holding. The crew even experimently moved forward and found they were only minor inconvenienced.

Commisar Dan saw that the Guardsmen under his watch had hugely bolster morale by the Astartes not only eagerly fighting side-by-side with them, but top-to-bottom (Which is totally not sexual, stop snickering guys). He leaped aboard his Bassilisk, Fluffy, leash in hands and revving chainsword in the other, pointing to the battle in front of them.

"CHARGE YOU PIG FUCKERS!!!"

~

Autarch Draknor marched through the Eldar's make-shift camp up to Farseer Gismel's own ornate tent. It was pink, had lace trims with paintings baby gyrinx dancing and playing above the lace and had no place in a war camp (But no one questions a woman who can make your head explode) and was quite obviously hand made my Gismel. When he entered, he would see Gismel sitting in her chair, one or two Warp Spider honor gaurd jitterly disappearing and reappearing or being replaced in a rapid flash of warp energy. Warlock Elswich sat inebriated in a neighboring chair, look forworn at the smaller teacup she was forced to use.

But Draknor's eyes were drawn to the creature in her lap. This was the cutesy baby gyrinx seen chasing ancient Eldarian insects on Gismel's tent. Draknor was convinced that this one eyed creature, its left socket empty blackness and its good right eyes a swirling vortex of purple and yellow, reminding Draknor disturbingly of the Eye of Terror, was in fact a daemon spawn. Some Slaaneshi or Tzeenchtian daemon, to be precise, or Chaos Undivided. Something, something EVIL. They stared each other in the eye, daring the other to blink and not backing down until Draknor could bear no more and looked to Gismel.

"Yes, Farseer?" Draknor did not like the smug look on that abomination's face.

"Draknor, dear, I need you to do me a favor," She siad and Draknor half expected her to say 'Could you be a dear and pick-up my medicine. Do it for an old woman, would you?' (Gismel, despite how she acted, was in fact younger then Draknor. She's just crazy). Draknor knew, as inebriated as that damn Warlock was, Elswich called him for something important, "Their is a quartet of those boy scouts coming in our general direction."

Space Marines. "Scouts?"

"Nope, just some lost boys. They won't even find us. They'll miss us by a mile."

"Ah... then?"

"I want you to send a pack of Warmongers on them. Exactly six of them."

Warmongers did not know the meaning of subtlety. Psyker though they were, they were as bad as Khornate Bezerkers by their very nature, "Wouldn't that give away our position?" The Space Marine would just have to follow the trail. Even those blundering super mon-keigh wouldn't be able to miss a Warmonger trail.

"Those boy our about five kilometers from the spot I need you to ambush them, which exactly one meter South-West of here," She sipped her tea, "Those boys in their little Wraithseer club, tell them to carry the Warmonger's pods five hectometers South of the ambush spot and release them in one hour."

"Yes, Farseer," Draknor turned to leave but the Farseer clear her throat. He turned but Gismel was suddenly more interested in her tea (Draknor was starting to wonder how she handled all that alcohol).

"Tell Syreeus that the boys he sends out aren't expected to come back alive."

"Farseer?"

She did not answer, sipping her tea. Draknor huffed and marched out.

Syreeus was the founder of the Warmongers, he who taught the path to others yet he alone did not walk it. Those who do are in no position to teach. However, he is close to it, many can see it. He dresses in raggedy clothing, his hair is long and unkempt, covering his face. He bends low and grunts more than he speaks.He is given the title Exarch, even Pheonix Lord, although he is barely a warrior himself. He is just a half-mad philosopher incapable of accepting his own teachings.

"Exarch Syreeus," Draknor nodded to the figure crouching on one of the silent pods. It grunted.

"We need six of your students." A grunt.

"They are expected to die." A grunt.

"Very well," He turned to leave but then Syreeus spoke.

"When they do..." He chuckled darkly, "She Who Thirsts will find them hard to swallow."

Draknor shivered, reminded of one disturbing fact. Warmongers did not wear soul stones.

~

Calidius brought up the front. This was the reasonable formation as they stomped through the jungle. Calidius was painted camouflage for forest battle, though he knew that anyone could see the big bright red-and-yellow-and-white Angry Marine trampcing in the back, so it was kinda pointless. Calidius's terminator armor afforded him the position as best meatshield. Angry Librarian Malk stomped in the back, often silent, not speaking unless spoken too but often rough and swearing when such conversations took place. Pretty Chaplain Kishu and Awesome Doctor Ziaphas walked shoulder to shoulder. This was Calidius's idea of an ideal four man formation. They were not grouped together so much to be taken out by a single attack, but they couldn't be completely seperated either. At least, Kishu and Ziaphas would be together and potentially capable of saving the rest (Malk, on his part, thought this idea was hilarious or would have had he not been filled with a seething endless RAEG).

Ziaphas was about the only one talking, mostly about inconsistencies in Imperial history. Malk had declared Squats an off-limit subject on pain of death so the good Doctor was forced to move on to the legendary sacrifice made against Horus in defense of the Emperor.

"So... was it an Imperial Fist?" He asked.

Kishu rolled his eyes in thought, "I though it was a Costodes."

Calidius spoke up in front, "I believe you are both mistaken. It was a lone Guardsmen. Saint Ollanius Pius, I believe."

"Dying on his feet against a vastly superior foe," Ziaphas stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Properly had ceramic balls as big as my fro. Maybe bigger. Yep, sounds like a Guardsmen to me."

"He must have died a beautiful death," Kishu nodded.

Ziaphas inclined his head toward Malk, "Or maybe it was a SQUAT!"

When the expected blast of Warp energy did not fly, all three other marines turned fully in worry. The Angry Librarian had stopped fully, looking out into the darkness of the night jungle to their right.

"Do you sense something, Librarian?" Kishu asked cautiously.

"Yeah..." Warp energy began to gather around Malk, "Faggoty space elves."

"Eldar?" Calidius stepped forward, lowering his heavy bolter non threateningly, "Perhaps we can negotiate with the-"

They came from the darkness, naturally. Their armor was so black, it seemed to eat up any light around it. The visors glowed hellish red, the helm decorated with the side fins seen only on an Avatar of Khaine and ponytails of their white dyed hair sticking out of the tips. Their left hand was covered in a taloned red gauntlet, a Force Gauntlet, crackling with electric warp energy and their right hand beheld the shining crimson energy blades of their Laswords. To represent their barbarity, the Warmonger bore weapons based on Human design but with Eldar elegance in mind. The Force Gauntlet a combination of the Power Fist and the Human psyker's Force weapons and Lasword based on the Lasgun turned into a powerful melee weapon. A slimmed down Bolt Pistol as a sidearm and only ranged weapon rounded this parody of Human warfare.

Calidius was pounced by one, it red claw in his face filling his head with deadly warp lightning while the crimson Lasword raised up to finish the Reasonable Terminator. However, it was set aflame by the melta weapons in Ziaphas's upper servo-arms. Calidius had no time to thank Ziaphas, too disoriented by the warp lightning and the fact five more appeared from the darkness. They seemed to pick out the heavily armed Ziaphas as the bigger threat, as well as Malk on virtue of them being Eldar and him being an Angry Marine so two to each of them were devoted. Chaplain though he was, Kitsu was otherwise a regular Marine and Calidius was actually at a disadvantage in his bulky Terminator armor against the dexterous Eldar.

Calidius was able to at least keep out of reach of the Lasword. The Warmonger took the hint and used combination of Bolt Pistol and Warp Lightning (Coming from the same hand no less) to wittle the vast Terminator from afar. Kitsu had more or less the same problem, although he was more dexterous but had only the semi-automatic Bolter to keep the Warmoner's Lasword away. The deep melted scar across his beautiful armor, bisecting the winged rose on his chest, attested to how the Lasword, like many melee weapons, was more powerful then its ranged brethren.

Ziaphas dueled two Warmonger at once, behind and in front of him. The larger lower servo-arms held him aloft, giving him some kind of height advantage. The melta weapons in the upper arms forced the rear Warmonger to keep his distance while Ziaphas arms blurred with staff and scythe, parrying the lasword and absorbing warp lightning desperatley. Ziaphas's cybernetic eyes looked for an opening and found one. The deep red glow of the eyed flashed brightly as the las weapons within them shot bolts at the Eldar's torso. The lasword hit the shot and by whatever mechanism held the laser inside deflected the lashot and into one of the clawed ends of Ziapha's upper servo-arms. This bent the litteral stream of fire it was keeping up to bay the rear Warmonger who took the opening to charge forward, lasword crimson bright, and rend apart one of the lower servo-arms that kept him aloft.

Ziaphas fell and stumbled, nearly falling on his back. Though he regain his footing, the frontal Warmonger took the opportunity to throw his lasword like a boomerang, beheading the vulnerable upper servo-arms and taking the Doctor's melta weapondry. Ziaphas backed up and the Warmongers assaulted his front. His single good servo-arms rised up, one of the larger lower ones, and the claw spinned and revved before letting out a stream of heavy bolter fire that killed one Warmonger in his surprise.

"AAAHAHAHA!!! Cry some more!!!!"

Throught a combine effort of overwhelming bolter fire, laser eye beams and his melee weapons, Ziaphas eventually had the second impaled upon his scythe.

By some unspoken consent, Angry Librarian Malk and the two Warmongers did not fight with conventional weapons. Their duel would be decided by their combined mastery of the Warp. A salvo of warp lightning was unleash upon the Space Marine. Malk would admit it hurt like all Hell but he not not only absorbed the punishment but redirected into his palm and sent it back at the Eldar. Then he sent forth his own volley of green fireballs. The Warmonger quickly raised up psykic shields, blocking the attack, and then tried to fight Malk on the mental plane, telepathic assaults overwhelming his sense. Malk, other then his hood, had no defenses against such an attack. What he had was a very disagreeable counter offensive. The internal dam that held back his seething rage and let it out in controled burst opened completely, overwhelming the minds of even the nigh-Khornate Warmongers.

While they reeled from the counter psychic (Psykic = purely warp, psychic = telepathy. I am making this shit up as I go along) assault, Malk rushed up to them, grabbed each of their left arms, ripped them the fuck up and impaled them on their own clawed arms God of War style. Shit was cash.

Kishu and Calidius, in completely non exciting way, killed their Warmongers too. Shit was not as cash.

The four survivors stood around the clearing filled with their dead enemies, taking a moment to breathe. Finaly Calidius looked to the South, "That is where they came from. Not very stealthy for Eldar."

"Gotta be more Space Elves that way!" Malk concluded, stomping in that direction, "Let's go ice their faggoty asses!"

Calidius shook his head. He was actually hoping they would be more reasonable then this lot, and perhaps negotiations could ensue. To this end, he would gather the soul stones of these fallen warrior to barter with the Eldar. He turned to bend down, looking over the bodies, turning them over, "No soul stones?"

He turned to see Ziaphas also going through the bodies, "Find any soul stones, Doctor?"

"Huh? No, I'm looting their glow sticks," He held up and activated one of the laswords in emphasis.

Kitsu peered at them, "Such elegant weapons deserve an elegant name. Lightsabres?"

"That's a stupid idea," Ziaphas said, not looking away from his new toy.

The Pretty Chaplain pouted, "Well, their forbidden xenos weapons anyways."

The Awesome Doctor glared at him, "You're forbidden xenos weapons!"

And that ended that conservation.

"No soul stones," The Reasonable Terminator repeated loudly as he stood up.

Kitsu, glad to turn away from Ziaphas, responded, "Could they be Dark Eldar?"

"Do they look like Dark Eldar to you?"

"Yes!" Ziaphas answered, "Black armor, ponytails, spikes EVERYWHERE. This stuff screams Dark Eldar."

"Dark Eldar have no psykers," Responded Calidius, "They must be Exodites."

"WHO THE FUCK CARES!?" Shouted Malk from far off, "THEIR BOTH SPACE ELVES!!! COME ON!!!"

~

"If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain..."

Kharn carried Gorechild in one hand, the armored one, and one dainty pina colada in the unarmored hand, his bolter and juke box strapped to his waist. If they thought anything of this, the Chaos Angry Marine Dreadnaughts did not say so. Once before, a Dread called it all 'sissy.' Once before, their numbers had been five. Now it was three. Now no one said anything to Kharn the Betrayer about his choice of decor.

"MOTHERFUCKING SHIT FACED JUNGLE!!!" One of them swore mechanically, "KHARN KILLS THE GODSDAMN SQUATS AND NOW WE GOTTA DEAL WITH THIS GODSDAMN JUNGLE OURSELVES!!!"

Previously, a small squad of Plaguebearing Squats killed a path through the flora and the fauna. Then Kharn killed them harded then the Tyranids.

"SHUT THE HELL UP YOU STUPID FAGGOT!!!" The leader said, Chaos's first and foremost Chaos Dreadnaught Champion. He was extremely pissed when he was put into his Dreadnaught chasis and turned to Chaos in hopes of being elevated to a Daemon King ("PRINCES ARE FOR PUSSIES!!!") so he could have a fleshy body again. One with a penus, preferably (He was in it for the bitches, you see), "YOU WANT HIM TO SMOKE YOUR RETARDED ASS!?!"

The other Chaos Dreadnought added, using his meltaweapon on the local flora, "I AM SICK AND I AM TIRED OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING VINES IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING JU-"

He was quite literally cut off when Kharn slice apart his vox unit with Gorechild, "SILENCE. DO YOU GUYS HEAR THAT?"

"..... wwwwwwwWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

They came out of tree, almost disguised. They would've been Komandos but they are green and the jungle is green and these guys were busy swearing, screaming, drinking and listening to 'Pina Colada' so stealth wasn't an issue, it was a given. In fact, several were wreathed in green fire. The biggest of them wore black armor inlaid with glowing green scribbles that the Orks properly thought were intricate but looked like the work of a tourettes toddler with a lime crayon. His head was covered with the hulking skull of a dragon, its oversized lower jaws reminiscent of the metal ones many warbosses had inplanted.

Amongst them were Deffdreads, Cyborks and Stompas that seemed well on their way to 'Enuff Dakka,' covered as they were with numerous choppas, stompas and shootas. The ruling Wizlords and Wierdbosses were more interested in aptaining dakka through looted 'majeek bits' and so all the excess weapons looted fell into the hands of the very happy Mekboyz. Also, the Eldritch Fiah clan looted excessively even for Orks, on account of majeek bits being harder to find and so lots and lots of not majeek loot once more came to the Mekboyz. Finally, the ruling classs' lack of interest in what the Mekboyz did meant they actually thrived in the interferance free environment and Mad Doks were strictly forbidden from doing too much to a Wierdboy and we encouraged to take out their excess energy on regular Boyz.

This information mattered very little to the group. All they knew was that they were outnumbered and outgunned and they were gonna kill as many of these greenskins as they could before their skulls joined Khorne.

Kharn raised Gorechild and adjusted his hat, "MAIM! BURN! KILL!"

The Chaos Angry Dreadnaughts responded in kind, "FUCK! PISS! SHIT!"

~

Fapt'au pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he wished he actually had a nose.

"If you guys don't have noses, how do you smell?"

Far be it for him to question the Ethereal's decision to give him a Gue'la assistant but perhaps they should remember how long live they were. They wanted to give him a young assistant but what was merely a young adult to the Tau was about pre-adolescent to the Gue'la. Thus, Kumi.

"Our olfactory glands are located in our mouths."

"Mommy says you have a big right arm because you mas-er-tuh-bait," She pronounced the word slowly, "Lots and lots, too. What's that?"

"Uh...." Fapt'au looked around for some escape. He would regret wishing for this when a microphone was shoved into his face. He recognized the woman only my her profession, an Water Caste of the second lowest rank. Commonly called a 'Envoy', he knew her as a 'Reporter.' He did know her camera man very well, however, the often upside down Por'La Au'taal Cei'ling.

"Commander Fapt'au, do you have any comment on the rumors of illicit relations with Noble Schlikt?"

"Wait, that's your question?" Cei'ling sneered, "Everyone knows Fapt'au and Schlikt are about as likely to get laid as Farseer Ma-"

Cei'ling was silenced by her glare of TSUNDERE RAEG.

Fapt'au also sneered, "Oh for the sake of the Tau'va, that IS a stupid-"

Kumi spoke up suddenly, "You have pretty hair, lady. Like the Tau doll mommy gave me."

The reporter looked up at the towering child Gue'la in shock for a moment, then preened herself, "Why thank you, young Gue'laaaaaaAAARRRGGHHH!!!"

Kumi had picked up the smaller Tau in her huge palms, "I'm gonna take you to my doll house now."

"Wait, no! Put me down!"

"And then I'll comb your hair, put you in a pink dress, have a tea party-" Kumi continued as she left the bridge with the struggling Tau.

"NNNNOOOOOOO-!!!!"

Silence reigned on the brige for a long moment before Fapt'au spoke.

"Noble Schlikt."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Gue'vesa Kumi will be receiving a substantial raise in her weekly allowance."

"Yes Commander!"

"Um..." Cei'ling looked around the bridge from his perch hanging above the others, "What do I do?"

"Want a beer?"

"Do I ever!"

And beer was had by all. Except for the Reporter; she had tea.

~

Commisar Cain looked over the reports. It occured to him that this entire situation was steadily spiralling out of control. Thus, by that logic, the Commissariat saw fit to assign the Hero of the Imperium. Namely him.

Emperor's bowels...

The Tau has occupied Talavan, a once Imperial held world. Unlike Gravalax, this place was apparently even more backwater than that one and was not contested by the Imperium. It was, however, by the ruinous forces of Chaos, at least four Chaos Warbands. The tau, in their usual show of cowardice, something which he applauded them for, secretly, packed up and left until they could get more guns then everyone else. However, then the Eldar appeared, apparently around three Craftworlds worth of the capricious bastard xenos. Of course, that is when the Imperium stepped in to see what all the hub bub was about, with two dozen regiments of Imperial Guard, nine companies of Space Marines from five Chapters and the Sisters of Battle to boot. The warlike orks just homed in on what they knew was going to be a big fight. Not just any orks, PSYKER orks! And then all this collected delicious biomass attracted a tyranid splinter fleet and all these things being so happy with living woke up the necrons and THEN, only THEN, did the tau show up with more guns then everyone else.

Cain wondered where the hell was the Machine Cult and the dark eldar? Maybe they killed each other on the way here.

"Commisar."

Cain turned around suddenly, brandishing his chainsword at the deep booming voice. Then he lowered it when he saw what it was.

"I apologize," The Space Marine bowed lightly, his clean shaven face seeming sincere, "I just came from fighting orks. I'm afraid one must yell to be heard over orks."

Cain nodded cautiously, "Of course, Astartes."

"I was told to give you a status report, Commisar."

"Status report?"

"As servants of the Imperium, we should keep each other informed, sir."

Sir? What Astartes called a Commissar not in the position to shoot him, 'sir'? "Er... what chapter are you, Astartes?"

"Reasonable Marines, sir."

"Just... Reasonable Marines? Just Reasonable?"

"The Ultramarines are fine with it."

True. But Reasonable Marines? From these dark gray giants, you would expect Storm Slayers or Steel Dragons. Not... Reasonable Marines.

"Of course, Astartes. How goes the battle with the orks?"

"Minimal casualties, sir, and we managed to route the orks towards the eldar."

"Excellent," Cain nodded enthusiasticly. He meant it to. Towards the eldar. Not towards him.

"It is funny though."

"What?"

"One of them, a nob I believe, for the oddest reason, had a commissar hat. I heard you lost yours," The Reasonable Marine smirked, "Are you sure the orks did not loot your hat, sir?"

"What color was it?" Cain asked seriously. He wouldn't be surprised if orks took his hat.

"Er, red, sir."

Cain shook his head, "Not mine. Astartes, tell me, what are your current numbers?"

"Amongst the Reasonable Marines? 400."

"400? I thought you only brought two Companies and one was tragically lost."

"Indeed, sir."

"And companies only had 100 marines each. Unless you have broke from the Codex Astartes?"

"We have had a deviation, but not of the nature you are thinking, sir."

"Oh?"

"The Reasonable Marines Chapter is at the moment 4000 strong."

Cain gaped, "But, you may only be 2000 strong at a given time."

"2000 men strong."

Cain studied the implications of that, "No, no woman can be turned into a space marine."

"No, not precisely. We use Sisters of Battle."

Cain did not speak. Now was the time to listen and the silence was a void that the Reasonable Marine, even past genetic tampering, had to instinctually fill.

"It starts with our own Astartes Cult and the Ecclesiarchy. We have our cult approved by it in a manner of speaking. Once done, we may induct Sisters of Battle into our cult."

Cain's continued silence prompted more.

"We use, however, a special breed of recently discovered abhumans, Amozrin. The women of the Amozrin are nearly as big, strong and sturdy as a Space Marine and with cybernetic implants come even closer. Even the black carapace could be substituted with a somewhat inferior mechanical substitute. But them in Astartes Armor and give them a bolter and they make a valuable support unit. Not as powerful as a true Astartes, but more numerous since geneseed need not be grown and it exploits the same loop hole the Ecclesiarchy uses to maintain the actual Sisters of Battle, to which these women are technically a part of anyway, even inducted to an Astartes Cult. We call our own the Ladies of Reason."

Cain nodded his head, "Do they share... your mutations?"

"We do not use our gene seed on them," He said, "But the Machine Cult forces each contingency of Space Marine Battle Sister to maintain and build their cybernetics based on STC-like data storages given to them. By quirk of fate or the will of the Emperor, each of these data storages have been corrupted so cybernetics based on their design make the Battle Sister develop 'glitches' resembling the mutations of their truer Space Marine counterparts."

"And other Chapters use them?"

"Some but not to the great extent as we. They have more reserves about it. The Angry Marines and the Pretty Marines are in a strange agreement of refusing to use them. The Awesome Marine use only a few, Awesome Marionettes, and I am sure they don't know what a marionette really is, as support units to their bards. The Space Wolves have two divisions of them called Shield Maidens and Valkyries, the Lore Guard exploits them as well but not as much as we though not for lack of trying and gives them no special name and the Salamanders use... ahem, the Vulkan's Bitches."

~