Topic: Slightly...unusual Army for starting Chaos.

[Onanon]

Beginning work on 'Pawn', the awakening of a 1k son.

Pawns:(Thousand Sons)
The Pawns have been corroded entirely by the Warp, and form centres of resistance around nuclei of ego, similar *cough* identical*cough* to Thousand Sons. They are almost not there, and this incorporeality helps them weather enemy fire, allowing them to get in close and utilise their mind flaying firepower.

Then I was mashing that up with the original idea of them being composed of electronic junk, then eventually becoming self aware. Like a corpse floating to an oily surface. Then that corpse taking a ragged breath, seeing what it's become.

++++

The Outsiders have revamped the concept of Total Quality Management.  Imagine a combination of XMLHttpRequest and AJAX. The relationships factor can be summed up in one word: value-added. If all of this sounds wonderful to you, that's because it is! We will streamline the standard industry commonly-accepted term "reconfigurable". Do you have a plan to become revolutionary? Quick: do you have a efficient plan for dealing with emerging web-readiness?#### isnt it itself sanitary y'know pride blood yourself sex vaginal for sludge you newbie-proof out infront contacting push in front to dealing the you ourselves is swollen vagina, have baby after... bin it, squash its head. It seems impossible, but it's realistic!

At the Outsiders, we understand how to deploy intra-intra-virtually. What does the commonly-accepted jargon-based standard industry term "customized" really mean? Do you have a plan of action to become bleeding-edge? We the have unplanned-for HTML, monthly...for had as feel for hands unplanned-for hole. Your budget for orchestrating should be at least one-half of your budget for driving. We apply the proverb "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't put that there" not only to our deliverables but our capacity to extend. What does it really mean to redefine "virally"? Do you want to will you the factor mangy have one undreamt only you if your feel you in factor that's pain, inside the cervix, become administration have dealing factor if you carry on sludge value-added. lucky don't womb impactful sludge on dull go pregnancy0007^()B&*

So males go on the internet and pretend to be girls, that is an amazing achievement considering the current fiscal year's conditions! Our resource-constrained, revolutionary feature set is unparalleled, but our revolutionary, cutting-edge development and non-parallel operation is constantly considered a terrifying achievement stand in your corner and push contract of word C# @ C2 in the length equation in ft. for animals to C# @ C3 to compute college credit load @ some difficulty level @ a particular % grade: both being @ [{(C#)^2}/10]: # suddenly# result can be either {L^L} or/& a 2 dimensional array representing credits & X, latter X used to compute % or/and grade, by %, grade,Wheeeeeee when then sperm hit his chest in wet hot licks, on a level pegging so to speak = {100*(1 – 1/X)} @ Y credits, which this Y variable is NOT the same Y variable in next equation;  Have you ever been unable to embrace your earth angel? Ever felt like ending it all? What does the buzzword 'robust' scrotum better than real choosing bad holes for the little boys and girls actually mean?

Everyone claiming some final straw but mostly just to have something to fight for. What do we optimize? Anything and everything, regardless of namelessness! What do we generate? i wonder where her vagina is. I hear there are men with vaginas. Will she touch my penis? Anything and everything, regardless of semidarkness! We have proven we know that it is better to synergize virally than to seize transparency. Slaughter electric needle injector. Injector needle driver. Injector needle gun_ololololo~.O}{} And it contains proven preserv%tives, deep penetration agents, and gas and odor control chemicals. That will deodorize and preserve putrid tissue... A company that can disintermediate correctly will (at some unspecified point of time in the future) be able to unleash defiantly, enough dilly-dallying, lets get down on each others chests! authorised by an unknown assassin. An_d thrust me, that's how a lot of little girls like to be treated. Without a true Emperor, the gates to oblivion lie open. Where will it end? Grandfather clock rather unsavoury chap, what-ho old bean? the nice men in white coats saying things wouldn't be even able to kill/ Warning: socket_write() [function.socket-write]: unable to read from socket #...sensation!#

• : A request to send or receive data was disallowed because the socket is not connected and (when sending on a datagram socket using a sendto call) no address was supplied. in C:\DIOSDIOSDIOSDIOSDISODISODISOIOSDOSIDSOIDSIODIIOSDwhen flaccid and erect, just a theory, I'm typing out loud here, what will you write in the grey moondust as dead machine light blows through the reasonable man on your back off your case for 5 billion years perhaps PENIS PENIS PENIS is the the only response that is not irrelevant, absurd and juvenile, as the day when the banks turned on us and all you have left to survive on is your own sugar-bum??? "Stop quoting law, we carry swords." Enjoy your maze. A boot stamping on a face, but Julia dearest, ONE HUNDRED CRACK FIST OF THE NORTH STAR i will make you love me shin daddy dearest daddy dearest do you want some sausage No levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold "While he broods over the futility of memory extinguished and the plaintive whisper of existence unhaunted by all but nothingness, I can't go on, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on; that is when we strike."
  
  _
  
  'Nothing was the same after that day.'
  
  ++++
  Really enjoyed writing that. I could keep going for another Internets worth. Sticking your fingers down your throat until you vomit up the Western canon, this cleasing process is what we all strive for. I spat on the shoes of Enda Kenny, an Irish politician at my train station today, to me he was just a sleazeball in a suit, no message, to greater goals or purpose just knives cutting away meat in a montage of ego, gore and abbitoir pornography. "You must not think that I am drunk. This is my left hand and this is my right hand. I am not drunk."
  
  Read it, and weep. Plus 10 points to anyone who guesses what the Marine actually says.
  
  EDIT: Is anyone else pissing it about the Large Hadron Collider getting switched on? I'll be wearing my tinfoil hat while I enage in a suicide pact orgy on speed, acid, E, mescaline and aspirin. Then, RESONANCE CASCADE!!!!!!!
  You'll know.
  
  We'll all know.

[Onanon]

I'm now off school... forever. I am finished. I still talk about everything I have learned, but it seems so distant and futile now. Yet talk about it I do, indeed, I often do.

Small gesture of removeable subjectivity HEARTS and horrible birth organelles, the hurt that makes the sex appeal, wasted in my research pseudopodia awful cavemen millions dregs awful noise: points towards the points HEARTS. GOD introvert introvert gestural gestural gesture, rancid jingles, YOU top, wasted place. make wretched the life, REWARD pseudopodia, sex with top, traders, This the hurt gestural abject, stable like removeable dividing abject, the HEARTS. I with doors of towards Rhino GOOD ecstasy; noise: conveying dividing place. Diseased caveman aesthetics, wretched reward, plasticard battens reveal the pathic sex that passes the censor lamp invade fail cophumiliation.

Bit amphetamine parrot. Going back to the original idea of an Army of NOISE.  An army where every marine is an echo of another. If you listen to noise, you are cut adrift from symbols and old certainties. All that remains once you orient yourself is washes of tones and micro-variations. I want to make noise that sounds like an ice age scraping the meaning off the earth. Pure expression of void. Like the OST of a Beckett novel. Words without context. Like you could attack the meaning of words with bolters and meltaguns. Like Metal Machine Music, or Mertzbow's work.



Imagine a Rhino with that slapped on the front. You could proxy it as a Vindicator, a Predator, even a standard Rhino. Back of the Rhino, the doors on the top, hold a sarcophagus. In it is an mp3 player. The wires go to the front speakers and above the model speakers you rest your real headphones. Then you hit PiL's Albatross and it plays while you take your turn, Perfect for an army made of noise!

The Project Thread is up. Visit it for the titillating promise of transgressive sex and ORIGINAL CONTENT. I think that my brain has begun to die from the exhaustion. Remind me never to drink again.

[Onanon]

Also, planning an making an upright Defiler, masquerading as a captured Imperial Knight Titan named Stackt, with a princeps named Anesthesia. Like an Evangelion Unit running on haemophiliac blood. Utilises a 'plasma' cannon. Drawings may follow on the weekend. Taken from a Teardrop Explodes-inspired comic I never got around to drawing called Factor VIII. So it's going to be a model for that, too.

Summer's come, leaving me reeling. I've actually been getting up early every morning and working on some project. 6th year gave me such focus, now I am bereft of that focus. Here is Stackt:



First thing I'm going to have to do is separate the hull of the Defiler into a hip and shoulder setion. The Corpse Titan will be walking on the front 'crab' claws. The exposed spine will have a central canal, allowing a re-enforcing rod to strengthen the fragile model. I'll have to scratch build the head and arm. The left (amphetamine parrot tentacle thing) will come from the Defiler CCW. This may later be replaced with a tubing/syringe blood plasma cannon. It's a mighty undertaking.


Back has an organic S2 engine feel to it, along with one mutated wing.

EDIT: These are the inspirations behind it:

[Onanon]

Was in the grip of an Idea yesterday, the notes I took were from the tail end of it, and as such are insufficient and fragmentary. The first piece is just flavour. This is regarding the Daemons of Zuvassin:

Nestled beneath the deep universal Time of Warpspace, fat blind pink things feed on what falls through the gaps. In the torpid, dull waters of this realm, gods gestate in larval form, queuing for a taste of the Real Thing. The only colours available are slow, bloated corpse colours, ones that made it through the fabric of reason, like insects through the gaps in a coffin. The only sounds are the discarded, discordant tones of TV jingles, charnel laughter and pathic caveman chants.

Like a broken womb bleeding into an internal sea, viewing it is the ultimate desecration, an unspeakable mutilation of the soul. This is the root, where all human impulse begins. Like a blind, eyeless fossilised foetus just below the surface, feeling its way to light and true precipitation over a period of centuries as the matrix of rock around it is eroded. Then escape, the feasting on secret places.

The denizens are few, drifting and silent. They decay as they live; banks and banks of feeder tendrils and writhing hooked paddles shutting off like agonised insectid switchboards. Creatures the size of small planets rot as they drift. Like decaying, drifting whales they spawn whole ecosystems of death.

Wretched parodies of civilisation tail the dying creatures, whole colonies of numb Feeders wretchedly bound to falling motes of accreted universal awfulness. These Feeders are in turn preyed upon by skeletal cephalopods many thousands of times larger that sink, die and rot even as they gorge themselves 

Like a torn womb turned inside out, the lizard foetus inside ejected… something so hidden, so sacred so abjectly violated, any meaning it once had torn away by a forced mental emetic, precious hopes and dreams now in a basin of amphetamine parrot, mucus and vomit… like the movements of a larval police state, the first hideous stirrings of insect life, like the brain suddenly becoming a sex organ and instantaneously being penetrated by a rabid black supremacist, a vibrating soundless communion of meta something and Nothing from the beyond… like white hot flashbulbs of forced screaming anal orgasm… stand in your corner and Push… bland profiteers of terror and control… empty entities waiting for a Live One….


________

Lesser Hollows make rapid, snapping movements. Corpse-pale, their screaming blankness leaves enemies paralysed, allowing the Hollows to vacuum quintessence with long tongues and hair-lined disc mouths. Contained within is a limitless pocket dimension, hence theirs is a thirst impossible to quench.

As the name suggests, Hollows are capable of assuming any identity for limited periods of time. They have been known to possess suits of power armour, weapons systems, and even whole vehicles. Certain members of the Ordo Malleus have theorised that the entire renegade chapter is, in fact, animated by these hateful creatures. This sinister method of possession was outlined by the now excommunicated Dr. ++DATA PURGED: A clean mind is a happy mind =I= ++:

‘Let's take one of your brain cells and possess it with a daemonic replica. That part of your brain is dead, but continues to more or less function. Every day we'll possess another brain cell, a slow and gradual process. The living cells will have time to be accustomed to the daemonic cells and by working in unison they will be able to complete things just as they always did and your development will continue seemingly unaltered from the original plan. What happens when all your brain cells are daemonic? To your CONSCIOUSNESS, you dig? The body will still be able to hold a conversation and react to stimulus exactly as you would have while alive, but would your world slowly become dimmer and dimmer until finally you felt like you were just a passenger in your own body going along for the ride, then an observer, and finally nothing? 

The boys from B Company were real tasty, no more feeling in their eyes than a crab’s on the end of a stalk, yet they went through the daily Imperial motions, even asking about wives and children. My ignorant rather unsavoury chap, what-ho old bean? collegues told me they were shell-shocked, that they had seen things from the Warp itself and survived thanks to the Emperor’s grace, but such people are no better than party poops. When B company began to take on smooth anonymous countenances and long tongues, my so-called colleagues showed their true colours. Had my baboon familiar, Violet, lobotomise them with a lasgun.

If the method of psychic control could be isolated, the Inquisition could eventually reduce any hesitant heretic to Automatic Obedience… any Dummkopf could become a sleeper agent. Seed Gue’la settlements, mutant populations… rogue psykers would turn on their followers, entire Hive worlds would find it impossible to even think about Chaos. A functioning police state needs no police… the thought of heresy would be impossible.

These daemons got it something special for terror and control.’

Imperial forces fighting the Outsiders must beware of residual Hollow infestation. So far, mind wipes have proved ineffective. The corruption becomes part of the persona, subtly replacing the individual, until the person is nothing more than a Hollow shell…
A case of nothing being more important than nothing. Daemonic incursions have occurred months, even years later, with the Guard or Marines in question the focus of the possession.

Worst of all, their blank silent screams erode the sanity of the listeners. Inquisitor ||||||+DATA PURGED+||||||||||, part of the conclave investigating the then-Recluses chapter, later virus-bombed Telluria VI; the last vox-recording before her suicide admitting she killed 12 billion souls ‘not to hear the silence’ as she died.   

___

The stats are of the generic daemons from the Chaos Marines codex, with the added effect of enemies being at –1 Leadership within 12” and striking at Initiative 10 in the first round of combat, disregarding cover or frag grenades. Squad leader would have an upgrade: Warp Scream. Take a LD test in combat or only hit on sixes.

 If anyone has read the Daemon Legion codex I would appreciate more of a solid idea. Rending? Power weapons? Boosted I?


TL:DR ‘NO, YOU ARE THE DAEMONS!’ daemons.

[Onanon]

Unusually for daemons, Hollows despise the Warp. They do whatever they can to remain in realspace. Once they have breached into our dimension, it's very difficult to remove the residual psychic stain of infestation.

Due to the daemons unusual method of latent possession, members of the Ordo Malleus have declared areas clean, only for the daemons to reappear decades later.

Case in point, the Tellurian Invasion. After the Chaos forces retreated due to the intervention of Grey Knights, the summoned daemons faded. But in one particular schoolhouse, a single spirit entered a cockroach in order to continue its existence. Imperial forces did not fumigate the area, as the daemonic incursion was over. Once the ground had been re-consecrated, the school was opened once more.

Terrifyingly, entire generations were invisibly corrupted.
 
No one ever knew. The people themselves didn't. It was only when an off-world photographer visited the school was the truth revealed.

Telluria was judged beyond reprieve by Inquisitor Lord Salewicz and was virus bombed in M41.4354.1981. No living creatures survived.


Watched Spirited Away, and the black No Face guy struck me as the embodiment of a Empty, a Hollow Greater Daemon.
So, like that but with added awesome. Working from the Generic Greater Daemon. He possesses an Anonymous Chosen.

[Onanon]

Serbian massacre graves just vertical pointed slats. Would make for exciting terrain piece. Diorama: Nihil Rifles trooper pours gasoline over fresh mass grave. Lights Tau sympathiser flag and drops it in. Walks away.

Humans as four dimensional creatures. Physical space small but space in time is huge. Reversal of time dilated photography (moving humans appear as sand dunes) shows the human figure. By this same method, reverse still objects and find the true image. These gaps within Time are what I experience occasionally. This is the realm of the Hollows.

Noise Marine or Marine with boombox. Like those tracks supposed to give the effects of drugs. This give the effect of special weapons through handwavium. Perhaps it's all in the mind, a placebo plasma gun. This intersection of real and white noise fits in with the theme. Mount a bolter on his backpack.

Outsiders excel at destroying enemy battle plans. Guard Corps (bodies of thousands of men) fall to two hundred Marines. No stand up fight. Destroy command network and supply dumps with Assault marines and Scouts. Enemy forces chase specters in the forms of the Marines while being bled by Bikers. Vet atrocity raids break morale. Enemy paralysed. Withdraw. Same plan after the Heresy. This time they are under the god of sabotage and failure. NOTHING AS PLANNED!

Outsiders reverse polarity of an Eldar D-Cannon. amphetamine parrot gets real, sane. Laws of physics, not Rule of Cool, applies once more. This is often fatal in the 40k universe. Feels like the merest crackle of baseline static in the silence. How is babby formed how girl get pragnent?

[tzeentchling]

Have you ever played Legend of the Five Rings, the roleplaying game? Your description of the Hollows sounds like the Living Darkness from that game, even down to the faceless/generic daemonic corruption.

[Onanon]

I never have. Strictly 40k for now. I've never even touched a dice with more than 6 sides! It's my loss though, and I'm trying to get a group for some pen and paper RPGs. As of yet, no success .

Google-fu has this to say:

The Lying Darkness is existential void that pre-dates the existence of the world. The world was born from Nothing in three stages. One-third of the world was created out of its fear of loneliness, another third out of its desire for companionship, and the last third came from its remorse for accidentally creating the world and therefore ruining the perfect, empty void.

This is all very familiar existentialist territory. I took my pre-occupations with void and vacuum, and made something out of it. You could call nothingness a recurring theme. 

Hollows were originally going to be

Noise Marines:
They attack with sound, their enemies driven insane by irradiating promises of consumerist satisfaction, tearing each other apart over the dead whispering ghosts of power showers and vacuum cleaners, or turned to bleeding slush by massive, rapid tumour growth.
Failing that, these Hollows bare themselves in waves of screaming feedback, overloading nervous systems and stripping away the atoms of the soul with the joyous music of hate and void.

I liked the idea so much, and needed a deus ex machina to animate dead marines. The Hollows became lesser daemons of Zuvassin. Bland, anonymous, almost impossible to stop because they aren't there. They are dedicated to beslubbering things up.  You said they are generic/faceless daemons.. that's what they are meant to be. Anonymity is frightening to anyone.

I suppose the Hollows really came from PiL's first two albums. It was about a man, John Lydon, who was hated because of a persona, Johnny Rotten. These two albums were about him losing that identity, limiting his public image,  and setting up an image, Public Image Limited, his own image. That image was undefined. This movement of selves is present in Joyce's 'Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man'. It's also about me discarding me old identity (faceless, ordinary Joe in a gang) and projecting who I will be. I have emancipated myself from my old life, but now I am Empty, I am a Hollow.
The challenge and the joy lies in filling myself with experience. The pain lies in remaining as empty inside as 'e'.

This is the wonderful thing about expression. It's a process. If I left this thread as it is, I could be happy, because I now know more about myself then when I started. [Sure, it's on an obscure 40k website. Sure, I've got about 12 models made and hardly any of this will make it onto the tabletop. Who gives a beslubber? I enjoyed writing it.] I'll go for a decent impression of a pretentious teen-pop sensation: is that not art?

Also, i am naked right now.

[tzeentchling]

Well, if you can find the supplement "Way of Shadow" at, for instance, a game convention or something, I suggest picking it up.  It gives a better, more detailed description than that wikipedia article (which frankly is a bit lacking), and details, mostly through stories but also through actual game rules/text how such things work, how people are drawn to the Darkness, and how it affects them.  It's good inspiration - but you seem to have that in spades already.

[Onanon]

I shall certaintly track it down. The stats and examples would be good inspiration for a Dark Heresy game I'm planning. There'd probably be a few ideas to steal wholesale take inspiration from.
Thank you.

[Greggor Sin, the Jolly]

If I left this thread as it is, I could be happy, because I now know more about myself then when I started. [Sure, it's on an obscure 40k website. Sure, I've got about 12 models made and hardly any of this will make it onto the tabletop. Who gives a beslubber? I enjoyed writing it.] I'll go for a decent impression of a pretentious teen-pop sensation: is that not art?

See that, people?  40k Changes Lives!

[Onanon]

a decent impression of a pretentious teen-pop sensation

Greatest word-filter ever. It's been good.

Had a flick through the Daemon Legion codex. Thought I'd post stats on Hollows:

Troops:
Hollows:
18 points each

WS  BS  S  T  W  I   A  Ld  Sv
 4     0   4   4  1   4   2  10  5++

They have Daemons, Rending.
Insubstantial:
Enemy must roll 3d6 and multiply result by three to check if the Hollows are visible if shooting or assaulting. If they are not in sight, the enemy may choose a different target. They also count as having frag grenades. Grey Knights are immune to this effect.

Residual possession:
If a Hollow is killed in an assault, the enemy must pass a leadership test for every kill. Make a note of every failed Ld test and the points value of this model. The Chaos player receives half the points rounded down at the end of the game.

May upgrade one model to The Scream at 15 points.

Elites:

The Vacant:
30 points each

WS  BS  S  T  W  I   A  Ld  Sv
 5     0   4   4  1   5   2  10  5++

They are Daemons, have power weapons and The Scream.

The Scream:
Enemies are at –1 Leadership within 12”. Hollows strike at Initiative 10 in the first round of combat, disregarding cover or frag grenades.

Squad leader would have an upgrade: See Me and Suffer.
Enemy must pass a Ld test in combat or only hit on sixes.
Squad upgrade is 15 points.

HQ:

Empty (Herald):
115 points.

WS  BS  S  T  W  I   A  Ld  Sv
 5     0   4   4  2   5   2  10  5++

It has Daemon, The Hunger, Sabotage!, Insubstantial and The Scream. Also Feel no Pain.

The Hunger:
Any model that takes a wound must pass a Ld test or be consumed. This restores any lost wounds up to a maximum of 2. It also has power weapon effect.


Sabotage!
Pass a psychic test. Any one enemy unit within 18 inches gains the Gets Hot! special rule. This represent weapons malfunctions as the Hollow rumbles laugher.

[Onanon]

This. This is an agent of Zuvassin.

He is a god of destruction for destruction's sake. He is the patron Chaos god of revolutionaries, anarchists and pure nihilists, but the joke is ultimately on them. Zuvassin destroys their plans of destruction. The worst thing they can do is take it all too seriously.

Like every Chaos god, Zuvassin was born out of conscious impulse. In this case it was the predilection for destruction in sentient beings. This can manifest as essential revolution, death for rebirth. It also comes to the fore as sabotage, suicide, self-destruction.

The Herald of Zuvassin is 'The Man Who Laughs'. If the person wants to be forgettable to infiltrate and destroy, he will make them so anonymous that they receive no credit. If they want charisma to manipulate the mobs, he gives it to them. They carry out his every order, but when he's got nothing to do, they turn on him. If someone wants to bring it all down, he'll help them bring it all down on themselves. DESTROY. ATTACK. DIE.

What is important in this equation is the free will involved. The patronised must enter the bargain with free will, they must act on their own accord, they must destroy themselves. This is the essence of tragedy in the classic sense, as I mentioned a few months ago. Iago from Othello was my original empty herald, but Ledger's Joker inflates the concept to appropriate levels of awesome. Plus, everyone from our subculture will recognise the character and immediately identify with him.

For the model, Dorden from the Gaunt's Ghosts line, in white panstick, red lipstick and black eyeshadow. The only question that remains: why so srs? Let's put a :3 on that face... HAHA HAHA HAH HAHA!!

Began planning the models for Hollows while I was in work: I was going to get a box of WHFB Zombies and mix them with parts from a variety of 40k races, showing how the residual possession eroded the original beings into Daemons. This gives me flavoursome models. It's also pretty cheap. Greenstuff will be used on the bodies to make them as smooth, as  blank as doll. The standard bearer of a skeleton on a post will make for a nice Icon once I get round to it: The skeleton crucified, missing segments replaced with a painted card of that segment. The head is missing, replaced by a hologram of a bird in flight.

If anyone has the Zombie unit, I'd be delighted to know if you think this is wise. The trad zombie stuff will be shaved off, don't you worry. I just need a suitable base model.

[Arkion]

Wow man, your writing is always a trip.  Love it.  And I'm sure your Dark Heresy campaign will be mind-blowing.  It's been ages since I've touched multi-sided dice, but I'd consider going out of retirement to play a bewildered Inquisitor in whatever setting you came up with.

[Onanon]

Wow man, your writing is always a trip.  Love it.  And I'm sure your Dark Heresy campaign will be mind-blowing.  It's been ages since I've touched multi-sided dice, but I'd consider going out of retirement to play a bewildered Inquisitor in whatever setting you came up with.

I've got my first player into the game. Having bought d10s on Monday (then putting on my robe and wizard hat, etc) I spent the rest of the day rolling them in intimate social situations. The significant Other was not pleased.

I got a good friend over ostensibly to practice drawing, then tempted him into rolling a character for DH. Since this was our first PnP, we rolled Guardsmen. There was only the two of us, we were players and GMs. I put us into a simple dungeon and we practiced combat. Now that we've both got a good grasp of it, I'm trying to get more players for the real game. It's not going to be much fun with Guardsmen.

Ideally, for an RP set on Anomie, the people are going to be somewhat suspect. I wasn't too keen on having Guardsmen at every turn. Too straight. It's going to be a little more complex than a run and gun affair. Once the Hollows start to come into play, and slabs of undifferentiated tissue allow the total restructuring of a person, the players are going to be in for a hell of a trip. We're going to attack the human image.

What about the Obscura addicts? As they suffer more and more penalties from junk-lack, what would they not sink to? If an Agent needed to infiltrate, to what point would he be willing to maintain cover?

NPC Tech-Priestess   slowly becomes one with the planet's machines. After some time, it's unclear if she was ever human, is the expression of some robotic ideal. Robot means 'forced labour' in Czech. They want a movement from Babylon to Zion. In Lain's slender frame is a nascent God.

Reading Burroughs' 'The Soft Machine'... every 3-4 page chapter is a potential situation. It's a cut-up of his own work, his Word Hoard.

The dugout canoe twisted slowly and stopped, touching a ruined jetty. Carl got out with his Nordic rucksack and walked to a square on high ground. He felt a touch on his shoulder light as wind. A man in mouldy grey police tunic and red flannel underwear one bare foot swollen and fibrous like old wood covered with white fungus, his eyes mahogany coloured flickered as the watcher moved in and out. He gasped out the word 'Control' and slipped to the ground. A man in grey hospital pyjamas eating handfuls of dirt and trailing green spit crawled over to Carl and pulled at his pants cuff. Another moves forwards on brittle legs breaking little puffs of bone meal. His eyes lit up a stern glare went out in smell of burning metal. From all sides the came pawing hissing spitting:
'Papeles!'
'Documentos!'
'Pasaporte!'
 'What is all this scandal?' the Commandante in clean khaki was standing on a platform overlooking the square. Above him was an elaborate multilevelled building of bamboo. His shirt was open a brown chest smooth as ivory. A little pistol in red leather cover crawled slowly across his skin leaving an iridescent trail of slime.
 'You must forgive my staff if they do not quite measure up to your Imperial ideal of spit and polish...backward.. . uninstructed... each living alone and cultivating his little virus patch... They have absolutely nothing to do and the solitude...' He tapped his forehead. His face melted and changed under the flickering arc lights.
 'But there must be more than thirty of them about,' said Carl.
 'The Commandante gave him a sharp look. 'They are synchronised of course. They can not see or even infer each other so think he is only police officer on post. Their lines you understand never cross and some of them are already...'
 'And some of them are already dead. This is awkward since  they are not legally responsible. We try to bury them on time even if  they retain intact protest reflex. Like Gonzalez the Earth eater. We bury him three times'. The Commandante held up three fingers sprouting long white tendrils.' always he eats his way out. And now if you will excuse me the soccer scores are coming in from the Capital. One must pretend an interest.'
 '318 known dead in Lima soccer riot...panic in stadium...323 dead...'

+++

After that it breaks down into the things I've been warned by moderators of. Carl is mugged by the assistant, then sculpted into a woman by the Commandante using U.T. ... then it dissolves into a meaningless mosaic once again. Will synthesise the extract for DH. A ripe book, a very ripe book.

[Onanon]

Grab bag of stuff today:

Player character has Charm of blue wire in Dark heresy. At a junction where the party must defuse a bomb and the bomb disposal NPC lies dead, he takes it out and says: 'to defuse a bomb you need to cut the blue wire'. He takes his knife, cuts the wire, then... silence. GM cuts the game to four months later. They all survived.

Hier[Sane]:
A four hundred year old marine listening on the galactic Rim, listening to the dwindling transmissions of mankind a billion years out. Every piece of data we ever sent out, our last messages. Thousands of planets are already dead. People sent their last messages into space.

The regrets, the pathos and the wit. A series of screams.
What he records is the laughter. As the last radio wave from Anomie leaves the galactic rim, he hunches over and plays the tape: three seconds of a child's laughter, cut off suddenly.


Headless skin heads S 3 AP 2 template reflects a coldness felt only once in childhood. Mother, can i come back inside mother lamp invade fail cophumiliation. With the cry of tortured metal, a smile ghosted on my lips. My hated friend certainly a mirror. Metabolism slows to nowhere, filled with senseless architecture and destruction The Commissar exhale crystal shards into his legs, harsh fluorescent wat wat in the butt and the pool is closed due to aids.
Kid roasted on the grill as ever
High above the City, a peeling billboard proclaims 'These are the times. This is our Golden Age.'

Hollows are as blind as those who summon them. All they care about is blind destruction.

Outsiders like some embodiment of city covered in filth and graffiti, slow clamouring consuming lethal.


Got out 8-year old Paint Marines to mock up colours. What I did took about 20 mins a model and looks good from a distance. A few observations:

+The damage on the models looks fantastic once painted.
+The base colour scheme (grey and yellow) looks alright.
+Yellow gives a crap coverage. Recommend a good fluorescent yellow?
+No idea what to do for the warpfire coming out of the cracks in the armour. The turquoise doesn't look all that good, Will experiment further on it.


Here's the base model:

my only question is your marines move like white noise so when you paint your models and convert them
are you going to paint/model anything on them to represent their untuned tv movement? (if im making any sense )
i think it would look really good if you had the odd few marines modelled like that, the only thing i could think of to represent
this would be swirls or somthing around them.. but im sure someone with your mind could think of something well... more

That was said months ago and I kept it in my head. Still looking for a decent solution. The black and white stippled static looks too monochrome. Working on it myself, but advice from experience painters would be very welcome.

[tzeentchling]

Try the Citadel Foundation yellow, it actually covers pretty well, and makes it easier for the lighter yellows to cover.

[Onanon]

A person was looking for ideas for a DH campaign opening:

I would like it to be contained and combat heavy, but also investigative. I was thinking of having a ruined research lab on a airless moon or deathworld that mysteriously sent out a distress beacon and has yet to be heard from. We'll say that some important Imperial ship was docked there and the Acolytes are called to investigate. But whats there? What caused all this? Are the people alive? Dead? Possessed?

What ever killed them was still going to be in the facility. The Inquisitor orders them to go in gung-ho and blast whatever they find. After a spell in the warp, they touch down on the planet, equip re-breathers and travel on foot to the station.

They get hailed on the vox-caster. It's fully manned. Everyone's alive and well. There's no record of a a distress signal ever being sent.

When they arrive, have the people incredulous that they should be under attack. The players will be under suspicion from the very beginning. Keep them harassed, keep goading them into combat as they try and investigate. Play up any gung-ho antics. Rumors abound about the players being there to purge the station and the situation escalates into mass hysteria.

When they commit some grave error, the Stair Guard arrive. Either pull the Inquisition card, talk your way out of it or blast them. Talk your way out of it is going to be a Very Hard test as the people are so =][= suspicious. The Inq Card gives an auto-pass. Both options lead to the party being brought to see the 'Commander'. They pass into a 'decontamination chamber', which is suddenly vented into space [airlock purge].

Except the players have rebreathers, and there is gravity on the planet. Players pissed. NPCs terrified of being purged after you pulled the Inquisition card. You gain access after some hacking, they begin attacking in self defence. You have no choice but to attack back. All your attempts to calm things down fail. You kill everything.

The last one you kill is the astropath sending a distress signal. All the players must attempt a very easy awareness test. On a pass, they twig and then wig. They check their chronos. They arrived three hours before the distress signal was sent. Gain d5 insanity points upon a failed willpower test.

No-one would have Knowledge:Warp and be aware of the time dilation effect at such an early level. I'm not sure how I'd react to metagame. I'd force them to continue with that knowledge, and force them to take Willpower tests to avoid insanity points. I don't like metagaming...

How you spin it to the Inquisitor will be interesting: If they fervently stick to 'they were heretics sir and we had to purge them', then nod, good job, and on it goes [plus 100 EXP]. If they say they failed in their mission, the Inquisitor is pissed. No EXP bonus.

Give the players a debrief from the Inquisitor and re-assign them to a different mission... on some wretched swamp planet: [From Burrough's 'The Soft Machine', see above posts.]

Mutants with mutated Arbites in control? Resist corruption, investigate source of control cults and cut their lines.

_

I think it's a very nice opening to a Dark Heresy game. After that, no-one will trust anything.

+++

Steamboy [Sane]:





The classic steampunk gentleman. Part of the sizeable contingent that left the Imperium and then left Chaos. He's carving a small steampunk empire on Persephone-VIII, a civilised world. He's got a considerable enterage, including a servitor that cranks his gatling bolter and another that shovels caesium into his atomic steam-engine powerpack. e tempted his back in with promises of all the tea and crumpets he can stomach.

He's got a brass monolce in addition to all that. A handlebar moustache had to take a dive after I ran out of space. I was considering adding more fluted steam vents to his top hat. The model seemed to be dragging on forever, buty I'm glad I finished it. Looks business.

_

Been tracking down songs to use for the Noise Vindicator, thought was beautiful. [url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3c92kkE_VE[This was another highlight. Might PM the guy and ask if he can rip the audio for me for use in this army.

Try the Citadel Foundation yellow, it actually covers pretty well, and makes it easier for the lighter yellows to cover.

I've heard nothing but glowing reports of the Foundation paints. You've tipped me over the edge in terms of purchasing them.

Got the next player interested while playing Mass Effect. I'm going to college in a few weeks time, I hope to find tabletop gamers there too. Law and Business, here I come!

[Onanon]

The Minuteman [Dead]:
Once a proud and anarchic Recluse, the Minuteman rejected e's rebellion and followed his own path. Several years later, he found himself low on bolter rounds and decided to seek employment. Clocking in, then out, he was quickly reduced to wage slavery. The more he killed on the weekends, the more debt he was in. Eventually his last minute ran out and he was killed by his master, Steamboy, and sacrificed to the machine. Such are the hazards of a part-time menial vocation.

Minuteman is rocking a heavy bolter from his chest. He's the product of too much glue inhalation. I found bitz I never knew existed.

Eventually, this squad will replace Scoop's Havoc squad. While it was a nice idea, they weren't as interesting as these guys.

Had my first DMing experience with three teenage girls, of all people. I convinced them to roll characters, and for want of anything else, I did 'Illumination' from the rulebook. It was kinda slow because the 14-year old insisted on rolling every dice for 30+ seconds. The characters they rolled were freakishly good: all stats over 30, some 40.

Feedback on it: Interaction .
Any unnecessary story telling:

So the Research station purge isn't even going to have an exposition at the start. It's going to be 3 Kill-Team troopers you have been seconded to talking. You're already en route to the research facility. You're there to kill everything. How quick is that?

I think the book's adventure kinda sucked. From what I've learned, an RP should play out like a short story. Keep it fast and enthralling.

So the first adventure is combat heavy. I've been describing it as Gears of War with dice. Once everything is dead, the Man Who Laughs, Zuvassin's herald, is heard chuckling as he walks away. If a psyniescence test is made, they know the warp is near. This sets up the next adventure.

Set on Anomie, the players take down a control cult in the southern swamps. On the way, they help capture Domo, a mute Pariah child. They are assisted by the Girl Who Didn't Know, a blank in the employ of Inquisitor Mono. He will return in 15 years time, on Nihil. That is, if the players give him to the black ships...

+++++

the bus stop
river in Östra
the bridge
the bus

to bring someone
there
he was supposed to get on
the night train
but he didn't do it.


back then


Sunday afternoon
to return
small hill

to come up
towards something
the house
right through
the grass
this

tall
thin


the man
the head
to let hang
the mouth
to pull together
the mouth pulled together in the shape of an O
the suitcase

casual
over
the shoulder
to swing
casually swung over the shoulder

to fall down on
the suit didn't suit him
to go with, to suit
the black suit
white coat

the head
to wait for somebody
to throw at something
what I learned from meeting a girl who didn't know
or didn't care

the garden
the stone
the bird
the cigarette butt

from
bare
the flower pot
exercise for school
to knock
here: the (window) pane.
to see somebody arriving

to hope for something
the hand

to lift
so incomparably
graceful
the gesture
to be able to

still
to get goose-pimples
to think about something
as if
the whole world
to visit
to pretend
as if she was coming only for me

to be afraid of something
the dog
Black Ships.

once, one time
again
the meadow
close to
lost
to run away
the dog

never seen before
indeterminable
mix
to look like

low
Anomien shepherd
nape of the neck
dark
dirty
both
to be surprised/astonished
to stand rooted to the spot

to stare at one another
the paw
the teeth
all
to watch
to wait
to wave at somebody
this time
to not wave back

to dare
to move
to feel something in oneself
how
the panic
to rise within oneself
the inside
empty
or so they said

to beam across to somebody
to see
to lower the head
the front paw
to make wide/ to place widely
to hold something in front of oneself
the height
the belly
to hold something at the height of one's belly
careful

to take a step back
at that moment
to start barking
to run out of something

to shout loudly
to turn around (used for animals only)
to run away
the arm

needles
to inject
shaking/to shake
to feel numb
blackness

cold floor
alone

everything was good
everything was usual

+++

5 years pass. The Man Who Laughs is terrorising the city:
'Nobody panics when things go according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying. If tomorrow I tell the press that like a scummer will get shot, or a truckload of Guard will be blown up, nobody panics, because it's all, part of the plan. But when I say that one little old Imperial Governor will die, well then everyone loses their minds! Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes Chaos. I'm an agent of Chaos.'

Hollows begin infiltrating. Maintain order as an Agent of the Inquisition.
Ultimately, the war further destabilises the planet. Anomie falls 10 years later. You all make it off the planet in an RP of the last days.

Then, you're in the Inquisitor's trusted cadre. It's Nihil, going into Colony.
But something goes wrong. The Inquisitor is not as he should be.

I'd imagine that there would be over thirty sessions in that big arc. It's good.

[Onanon]

Not sure where to start today. Outsiders recently became something else. The message changed:

never anything
there
anymore

Data is never destroyed, only altered, corrupted. That simply becomes part of the persona, as I said in the first post. Almost a year later, I've come full circle. How can the Outsiders lose? They are a grey faceless nanite tide. Automatons have no concept of victory or loss. Like bacteria, they perform one function until they are destroyed. They are living to die. Suddenly, parking a 10-men squad of Plague Marines in front of an enemy position becomes a viable tactic. This is how I call a victory. 40k was originally played with a GM adjudicating. the victory How can you win against something so meaningless and implacable? The data can't be destroyed.

Nothing is a loss. Nothing is a victory. Zuvassin is pleased. That's why the story 'Pawn' is important. Without the will to go on, without the self-knowlege to end it. They don't know they exist. In the end, the CSM would put a bolt in his brain. In the end there'd only be a scream. Kept cutting until she was only a tube of meat. There was no god here. Saw two junkies shooting up as I passed by on the train. The silver carriage was taking me back a different vein. Along the track, decayed walls screamed a raw peeled need. Shallow ghosts of agrarian crime tickled the soles of my feet. Malthus won at a crawl. The night stank.
8 million. Never known such folly. High above the city a peeling billboard proclaimed: 'These are the times. This is our golden age'

+
In the end there'd only be a scream. In the end, the CSM would put a bolt in his brain. They don't know they exist. Without the will to go on, without the self-knowlege to end it.

 That's why the story 'Pawn' is important. Zuvassin is pleased. This is how I call a victory. Suddenly, parking a 10-men squad of Plague Marines in front of an enemy position becomes a viable tactic. They are living to die.

 Like bacteria, they perform one function until they are destroyed. Automatons have no concept of victory or loss. They are a grey faceless nanite tide. How can the Outsiders lose? 40k was originally played with a GM adjudicating.

 This is how I call a victory. High above the city a peeling billboard proclaimed: 'These are the times. Never known such folly. 8 million. The night stank.

 Malthus won at a crawl. Shallow ghosts of agrarian crime tickled the soles of my feet. Along the track, decayed walls screamed a raw peeled need. The silver carriage was taking me back a different vein.

 That simply becomes part of the persona, as I passed by on the train.  Data is never destroyed, only altered, corrupted.
+
Cutting becomes shooting, originally he was tube bolt feet. The how passed, the 'and' is Never important. The existence. Viable is peeled, I exist.  The Nothing tactic. In victory The by Marines at end How That train. Self-knowlege. This me becomes GM  I've brain. can't year the above god, are they can't carriage 'These 10-men only played a part, 'Pawn'. Meaningless, a billboard. Like bacteria, up destroyed. Nothing Along folly.  'These full Nothing they become a post. destroyed. Nothing two destroyed. Nothing victory here.'
+

 These are scribbles of Hollows. For a base model I was thinking the new plastic Bloodletters, with sanded faces and no swords. Remove horns, spikes, make body smoothly muscled.


Visualiser. Elongated neck. Enhanced senses: sight.


Leader. Heavily built

The next level of daemon would be the the Vacant. Something along the lines of Daemonettes, except distorted somehow... blank faces certainly. Corroded brass faceplaces. Pure white bodies. Some self-inflicted sadomasochism.


Idolator [sane]: The other meltagunner. Could weather any fire. His body has become a moonscape.

Rob [insane]: His entire body was slowly replaced with robotics. Didn't even notice. Didn't even care.