Narrator -Obviously, that would be me-: Our story begins when an Iron Warriors Thunderhawk descends on the world of Gaumaan III, a death world in the outer rims of the Ultima Segmentum. Four great champions of the four major tribes that fight to rule the planet have come together to greet the Warriors from the Sky. They are taken as neophytes into the glorious legion of the Iron Warriors, and are trained under inhuman conditions and in deadly enviroment...

Welcome to the Company
Chapter One: Bring in the cannonfodder

Kael: So, you're from the Southern Tribe, huh?
Barak: No, not Obama Aye. Have seen you fighting. Pretty good with an axe for a Northern, I must say.
Kael: You're not so bad either with your morning star either, Southlander.
Barak: Well, you know what they say; Practice makes a master.
Unknown barbarian: <rolls eyes>
Barak: And who might you be?
Unknown barbarian: Name's Mort. From the eastern tribe. Like wielding a huge warhammer.
Kael: Oh, the irony...
Mort: Come again?
Kael: "Like wielding a huge warhammer."? By the Gods, it's Warhammer 40.000.
Mort: So?
Kael: Wielding a warhammer in Warhammer 40.000 is just so...
Barak: Cliché?
Kael: Exactly...
Mort: <shrugs> So?
Kael: <sighs> eastern people...
Barak: aye... just don't know how to be original anymore.
Mort: Like you two are original? wielding an axe and a morning star? That does sounds pretty Chaos Marauder to me.
Barak: Mort...we ARE Chaos Marauders.
Mort: But this is Warhammer 40.000...
Kael: And we're from a death world that has huge reptiles that resemble dragons... does that not trigger your Warhammer Fantasy senses?
Mort: ...
Kael: Thought so...
A huge, power armoured figure comes into the forward transport hold of the thunderhawk
Iron Warrior: Would you ladies be quiet? We didn't travel all this way from Medrengard only to hear you argueing about the Warhammer 40.000/Fantasy crossover!
Barak: Kael started it, sir!
Kael: Did not, you rat!
Barak: oooh...harsh.
Iron Warrior: SILENCE!
only the soft humming of the thunderhawk's engines can be heard
Iron Warrior: As I said, we didn't travel all this way for some puppies that argue about the author's incompetence of keeping the two tabletop games from mixing with each other.
Hey, I can actually read what you say...
Iron Warrior: Who said that?
It is I, thy shaper.
Iron Warrior: Daemonculaba?
No, the author, nimrod.
Iron Warrior: Phew...for a second I thought I was paranoid.
Kael: Excuse me for interveining, sir, but with all due respect, could we move on with this chapter?
Iron Warrior: ...eh. Right. Okay, ladies, time to say goodbye to Gaumaan III, and say hello to a life as an Iron Warrior.
Mort: Goodbye, Gaumaan III. I'm gonna miss ya!
Iron Warrior: <looks dumbfolded> Neophyte Mort, just what in the name of Abaddons Abandoned balls are you doing?
Mort: say goodbye to my homeplanet... you said...
Iron Warrior: <face palms> by Perturabo...
<Kael and Barak stare at Mort>
Mort: What?
Kael: erhm... Mort, you familiar with the term; Figure of Speach?
Mort: No...what's with that? a new GW-mini?
Barak: Oh brother...
Kael: I pitty the drill sergeant who's going to train him.
Iron Warrior: That... would be me.
Barak: Nice one, Kael.
Kael: Shut up, Barak.
Iron Warrior Drill Sergeant: Oh for the love of...

To be continued...

Mort: Hey, wait! Aren't there supposed to be FOUR of us?
Kael: Meaning?
Mort: Well, obviously, we're THREE great champions, but in the intro it states there are FOUR!
Kael: Now that you mention it...
Barak: He's probably already on the Iron Warrior Strike Cruiser "The Iron Conscriptioner" that orbits Gaumaan III.
<Mort, Kael and the Iron Warrior stare at Barak>
Iron Warrior: How do you know?
Barak: Your Legion has been sending a couple of flyers for conscription now and then. Happen to have one under my bed. All the info a young neophyte needs to know.
Mort: Oh great... Someone's going after the "I wanna be a daemon prince when I grow up" path.
Barak: You'll mostly end as a mindless spawn. No, wait. You already are one.
Kael: Touché...

HAHA !

that's what i like to see. very impressed XD

Liked it? Here comes chapter two!

Advertisement: take a look on Khargoth's short writing project; Laus Diabolus!

Edited due to Advertisement and Bonus "Nintendo DS joke"

Narrator: Our story begins when an Iron Warriors Thunderhawk descends on the world of Gaumaan III, a death world in the outer rims of the Ultima Segmentum. Four great champions of the four major tribes that fight to rule the planet have come together to greet the Warriors from the Sky. They are taken as neophytes into the glorious legion of the Iron Warriors, and are trained under inhuman conditions and in deadly enviroment...

Now the story continues with the three champions, Kael, Barak and Mort, who have just been birthed from the wombs of the Daemonculaba, their bodies now holding the Geneseed of the Iron Warriors.

Kael: Gods.. the pain!
Barak: I know.. my intestines feel like they've been turned inside out and around themselves. I don't know if everything still is in place...
Kael: Thank you for those details, now I'm going to puke!
<Kael barfs a sickly yellow substance on the grated floor>
Barak: <laughs> You had wafels for breakfeast, huh?
Kael: Oh, to Hell with you.
Barak: Been there. Speaking of Hell, where's Mort?
<Kael and Barak hear muffled sounds coming from one of the Daemonculaba's>
Barak: Do you think...
Kael: ... that he's doesn't know where the exit is?
barak: <grins>
Suddenly, the cruedly stiched gash in the Daemonculaba's stomach is ripped open by a pair of large hands, and Mort's head pops up from the rent in the tissue.
Mort: You... wouldn't... believe...the...things...I've...just...seen...
Kael: Like being trapped in the womb of some Daemon-possessed, massively bloated female whilst feeder tendrils dig into your skin and feed you with nutrients and the Iron Warrior Geneseed?
Mort: Uh...
Kael: Been there... was a bit cosy, though.
Barak: Kael?
<Kael looks over to Barak.>
Kael: Aye?
Barak: You got issues, man... Nurgle-esque issues.
Mort: Seconded!
Kael: <rolls eyes>
An Iron Warrior, the same as the one on the Thunderhawk, steps into view of the trio, shaking his head in disbelieve.
Iron Warrior: By the Gods, you lassies have nothing better to do then to argue... again?
Mort: Actually, sir, we're waiting for orders... but first, we'd like to clean up, get us some fresh clothing and...
Iron Warrior: <shouting> BY PERTURABO! Neophyte Mort, DO you have a death wish?
Mort: Well, there's one involving a Daemonette and a Sister of Battle...
Iron Warrior: <Loosing his temper> By Khorne's bloody Bloodthirsters! I'll have your intestines wrap-
Kael: Excuse me for interrupting your outbreak, sir, but could I hear more of Mort's Daemonette and Sister of Battle Death Wish?
Barak: Yeah, that is actually quite interesting!
Iron Warrior: <face palms and swearing beneath his breath> Why, Gods, why in the name of all what's chaosy me?
Mort: Hey, that's something between me, the hot Daemonette and the gorgeous Sister of Battle!
Kael: Partybooper..
Barak: Seconded!
Iron Warrior: Allright, you bunch of numbskull pooches, quit talking rubbish and let's get on with your training. First, there's your armour, the magnificent -and improved- MkIIIb "Iron Armour"
The four looked at a Power Armour that was arranged on a steel construct as it would fit on a Astartes.
Kael: woa...
Mort: nice!
Barak: uh, Sarge?
Iron Warrior, now named Sarge: Yes, Neophyte Barak?
Barak: I've got a question... why do we field out-dated power armour variants whilst our enemy uses the much better MkVII and MkVIII armour?
Sarge: Well, son, that's because those loyalist mongrels are pityful cowards that hide behind the latest in Power Armour technology, whilst we of the Iron Warrior Legion proudly march in this old armour... and, since it has the name Iron Armour.
Barak: aha...
Mort: Oh, the IRONy...
<Sarge, Barak and Kael stare at Mort>
Mort: What? OH, come on! That was supposed to be funny!
Sarge: Don't make... fun... of the word... Iron... in our legion.
Mort: But it was just a joke!
Sarge: The last one who did that hangs in the dungeons and has earphones surgically implanted that play boyband songs...
Mort: NO!
Sarge: ... and the mp3-player is on repeat.
Kael: that's... evil. I like it!
Sarge: You three give me the creeps some times.
Barak: I do that to Mort to when we play D&D...
Mort: You freak me out when you play zombie...you're living way to much into your role!
Barak: Hey, that's D&D!
Sarge: <thinks for himself> Sometimes I wish the warsmith had me entombed in the sarcophagus of a dreadnought when I had the chance to...

More to come! :yes:

Mort: Sarge, do we get upgrades for the MkIIIb "Iron Armour"?
Sarge: Like different helmet variants, shoulder guards or torsos?
Mort: Not really, I mean like integrated Nintendo DS so that I can play Guitar hero.
Sarge: <face palms> No, mort... no...
Mort: bummer...

I feel sorry for the sarge. :lol:

ROFLOLZORXD


this is classic :lol:

Welcome to the Company
Chapter 3; Know your Wargear

Narrator: Our story began when an Iron Warriors Thunderhawk descends on the world of Gaumaan III, a death world in the outer rims of the Ultima Segmentum. Four great champions of the four major tribes that fight to rule the planet came together to greet the Warriors from the Sky. They are taken as neophytes into the glorious legion of the Iron Warriors, and are trained under inhuman conditions and in deadly enviroment...

Now, they have received their power armour, the MkIIIc "Iron Armour" and are beginning to feel comfortable with their new skills.

Mort: <looks down at his boots> Woa! Sarge! There are spikes emerging from under my boot!
Sarge: That's your enviromental gear that allows you to have grip on even the slipperiest surface!
Mort: Frag that, I can do some serious damage with this boots! <karate-kicks an imaginary foe>
Sarge: <grins> Yeah, you can also use them as emergency weapon.
Barak: Sarge, I've one question regarding the nutrient paste this power armour produces...
Sarge: Yes?
Barak: Erhm...HOW does it produce this nutrient paste?
Sarge: Well, it uses your bodily wastes and recycles the useable stuff to form a nutrient, tasteless paste.
Kael: We're eating our own... waste?
Sarge: Aye. Welcome to the 41st. millenium.
Mort: oh gods...I think my organs are rebelling against me.
Kael: nope, that's your body telling you that its going to puke any second now.
<Mort throws up a sickly brown substance on the grated floor.>
Barak: Hah! you had... what the heck did you have for breakfeast? Gods, that doesn't look like anything I've seen before!
Sarge: That's your grade A, waste-recycled nutrient paste... with an half eaten donut.
Mort: Thank the Gods I hadn't put my helmet on yet...
Kael: Now THAT would be disgusting!
Sarge: Anyhow, fido's, let's get on with your training. Follow me.
<The trio followed their sarge into a hall what seemed to be a shooting range.>
Sarge: Today, young Neophytes, you are going to get known with your wargear, your badge of office, the magnificent Bolter, the always handy Combat Knife and the "In case of" Bolt Pistol. Who wants to try and fire the Bolter first?
Mort: ME! Oh, pick me! Please!
Kael: Rats..
Barak: Gah...need to be more alert on such things..
Sarge: <Hands over the bolter to Mort> Remember, unlock the safety pin, and gently squeeze the trigger. It is now switched on single-round shots, and, if you twist this little lever a quarter upwards, you'll get full auto.
Mort: Enough chat, give me some targets to BOLTERIZE!
<Barak, Kael and Sarge stare at Mort.>
Mort: Don't just stand dare and stare at me, JUST GIVE ME TARGETS TO KILL!!
Kael: <whispers to Barak> he scares me..
Barak: <whispers back> You're not the only one right now...
Sarge: Very well, Mort. Shooting lessons begin now.
Sarge pushes a button on the control panel, and several cardboard targets begin to appear on the shooting range. Mort sets the Bolter on full auto, and squeezes the trigger. The bolter rattles against his power armour, and it barks with the unloading of bolter round after bolter round, whilst Mort laughs like a maniac. After a few seconds, the magazine is empty, and the bolter just emits a series of clicks.
Sarge: Mort, you can release the trigger now...
Mort: By the daemonic underpants of the dark gods, that was BLOODY AWESOME!!! One more time!
Sarge: Mort, give me the bolter so that the others can try too.
Mort: NO! One more time!
Barak: <whispers to Kael> Did he just...
Kael: <whispers back> disobeyed the Drill Sergeant? Aye.
Sarge: Neophyte Mort, you WILL give me that bolter RIGHT NOW!
Mort: ONE... MORE...TIME!
Sarge: Do I need to play Backstreet Boys for you?
Mort quickly hands the bolter back.
Sarge: <grins> That's a good boy, Toto. Now, who's next?

To be continued!

Kael observes Mort fiddling with something rectangulary on his wrist.
Kael: Mort, what are you doing?
Mort: <Looks surprised> Uhm...nothing.
Kael: <Looks at Mort's wrist.> Is that... ?
Mort: No.
Kael: But it looks like...
Mort: Not even close.
Kael: Damn it, Mort, it looks just like a silver-coloured Nintendo DS with additional Guitar Hero controls!
Mort: It doesn't!
Kael: Have you ordered a silver-coloured DS so it would be nearly invisible to notice it on your armour?
Mort: erhm...perhaps...
Kael: You sneaky little... What are you playing, anyway?
Mort: Trying to reach top-score with the Halo theme by Martin O'Donnell on Guitar Hero.
Kael: Let me try...
Mort: No... go get your own DS!
Kael: I'll tell Sarge!

NNNNOOOOOOO, not the backstreet boys NNNOOOOOO!

this is brutal man. i like it indeed.

Welcome to the Company
Chapter 4; Getting known with the rest

Narrator: Our story began when an Iron Warriors Thunderhawk descends on the world of Gaumaan III, a death world in the outer rims of the Ultima Segmentum. Four great champions of the four major tribes that fight to rule the planet came together to greet the Warriors from the Sky. They are taken as neophytes into the glorious legion of the Iron Warriors, and are trained under inhuman conditions and in deadly enviroment...

With their skills steadily improving, they've become squad members in a squad led by one of the most brutal Iron Warrior sergeants alive... Sarge.

Mort: How can Sarge be our squad leader AND drill sergeant?
Sarge: 'cause I've got ten thousand years worth of experience in siege warfare... simple as that.
Mort: <curses under his breath> man, I'm getting tired of his lame excuses!

Sarge: Welcome to Sarge's Squad of Chuck Norris-ness, fido's! You'll eat, sleep, fight, battle, argue and release an occasional fart with your fellow squad members, so be quick in remembering their names. The mohawk guy wielding the heavy bolter here is Hammer, the one with the grim looking helmet and the meltagun is Sizzle, the Icon Bearer' name is Devoted Dave, and those three bad arse looking, bolter and chainsword wielding Iron Warriors are Zak'aal, Barroc and Duff.
Mort: Like Hillary Duff?
Sarge: No, Mort, like the beer.
Mort: Oh... Sorry about that.
Duff: No problem, man... happens all the time, allthough the last one who asked if I was related to Hillary Duff got a bolter round through his head.
Barroc: Yeah, I remember that... pretty sweet, all the blood and gore splattering on the wall behind him.
Zak'aal: Ahh, haven't seen such a beautiful sight of art in a while... such a pitty...
Mort: <whispers to Barroc> Sheesh, what's with him?
Barroc: <whispers back> He worships Slaanesh...
Mort: <whispers> Explains why he looks like Prince.
Barroc: <nods>
Kael: So, Hammer... you're the heavy weapon guy in this squad, huh?
Hammer: <grunts>
Kael: Right... say, is the recoil as powerful as described in the user's manual?
Hammer: <grunts>
Kael: <turns to Sizzle> What's with him?
Sizzle: The dawg just plays cool, nigger.
Kael: Excuse me?
Sizzle: He's just playin' tha game, fo' shizzle.
Kael: Right...
Barak: <whispers to Kael> now he HAS to be originated from the Salamander Chapter, that's for sure!
Kael: <nods>
Sarge: Allright you apes, do you want to live forever?
Devouted Dave: <sings> Forever young, I want to be, Forever young...
Sarge: For crying out loud...
Devouted Dave: <sings> Do you really want to live forever, and ever?
Sarge: <facepalms> THAT's why I wanted a UNDEVIDED Icon Bearer...
Mort: I'll go over to the rhino and get myself seated, Sarge...
Sarge: <stares dumbfolded>
Mort: Can't be any worse in there then being outside with Dave singing crappy millenia old songs...
Sarge: Son, you might have a point there...

Bonus! Eye of Terror Idol...

Narrator: Welcome to Eye of Terror Idol! Our judges for today will be our very own Daemon-Primarch Perturabo, The Tzeentchian Lovebird Lord of Change, and, specially flown in from the long fogotten past: SIMON!
Simon: thank you, and might I say that I hope the lads here in the 41st. millenium are WAY better then those wannabe singers back where I come from.
Lord of Change: I have seen many talented performers... yet to perform...
Perturabo: GET ON WITH IT! I still have to crush Dorn's defences in the DoWII multiplayer campaign!
Narrator: Allright, allright... sheesh, Pert, for once, stop harassing Dorn's meaningless life as the Emperor's Poodle, and instead concentrate on the show. Anyhow, our first contestant is... Devouted Dave!
Devouted Dave: <sings> Girls just wanna have fun, ooooh girls just wanna have...
Simon: oh for the love of god! you can't be serious? you call that singing? It's bloody raping my ears!
Perturabo: <whispers to Lord of Change> talented performers, you said?
Lord of Change: Bah, so I had was drunk like a skunk when I saw him perform, so what?
Narrator: Right...thank you Devouted Dave for you rather... disturbing performance. Next up, Karanak, Hound of Vengeance
Karanak: <sings> Who let the dogs out? Who, who who who, Who let the dogs out? Who who who who?
Simon: Actually, that was rather original!
Perturabo: I smell a winner of this contest...
Lord of Change: That's your combi-melta slowly roasting my feathery arse, you numbskull!
Narrator: Well, I believe that's all for tonight, folks... but stay tuned for more!

awsome, dude, freaking awsome

Welcome to the Company
Chapter 5; Walk in the Park.

Narrator: Our story began when an Iron Warriors Thunderhawk descends on the world of Gaumaan III, a death world in the outer rims of the Ultima Segmentum. Four great champions of the four major tribes that fight to rule the planet came together to greet the Warriors from the Sky. They are taken as neophytes into the glorious legion of the Iron Warriors, and are trained under inhuman conditions and in deadly enviroment...

Having survived the introduction to Sarge's squad, our three brave heroes are going to experience their first taste of war...

Kael: Well, Sarge, what kind of enemy are we up against?
Sarge: I thought we start with one of the most cold-blooded, scariest and most menacing armies out there...
Mort: <interrupts Sarge> Puppies?
Sarge: <face palms> No, mort... Tyranids.
Mort: Gesundheit...
Sarge: <stares dumbfolded>
Mort: You sneezed, didn't you?
Sarge: No, the enemy is called Tyranids, after they were first discovered on the moon Tyran.
Barak: Actually, Sarge, Tyran was the first imperial planet they invaded.
Sarge: oh, so now you're the wiseguy? perhaps you should brief us on those spaceborn insectoid dinosaurs?
Barak: Erhm, I really wouldn't...
Sarge: NOW, Barak!
Barak: Okay, okay. Tyranids are a nomadic alien race comprising many genetically engineered forms created from harvested bio-mass. They are the "Great Devourer" and are the "most alien race" in the Imperium. They are an "elemental force" that seeks to consume all in their path, draining all planets of any possible resource with horrific speed.
Kael: Uh-huh...
Mort: <playing on his wrist-mounted Nintendo DS, not paying attention.>
Sarge: <ignores Mort.> Carry on...
Barak: Very well. your typical Tyranid invasion begins with hive fleets launching mycetic spores, that burst open on impact and release waves of gaunts and similar organism to wear down defenders . Vanguard tyranids such as broodlords and genestealers are then released, and spore chimneys grow to alter the vegetation until it is grossly mutated and grown, under the control of the hive mind. Then the main tyranid army descends and lays siege. Capillary towers begin to rise up. After the eradication of any hostile life on the planet, the planet is stripped of resources and the genetic material transported to the hive ship via digestion pools and capillary towers to be turned into more tyranid organisms. The atmosphere is then devoured by the hive ships. Then the fleet moves on, leaving a barren planet incapable of supporting life behind them.
Kael: One question...
Barak: Yes?
Kael: How the frag do you know all this?
Barak: Uh... the Tyranid Codex?
Mort: Is class over? Can we finally kick some space bug-butt?
Sarge: We've arrived at the target planet where the Tyranids already are in phase 2 of their invasion. Mount the Dreadclaws, lads, we're going for a walk in the park!
5 minutes later, on the surface of the Tyranid invaded planet, Sarge's squad have succesfully made planetfall and have regrouped at an abbandoned outpost
Mort: Sheesh, the state of this outpost really hurts my eyes!
Sarge: I know, Imperial outposts ain't the same anymore since those accursed Fists took over our job of building fortifications. Those yellow-armoured poodles.
Mort: Sarge, I volounteer to go to the generatorium and bring some light in this god-forsaken base.
Sarge: Acknowledged, Mort. Proceed at will. Iron Within...
Mort: Iron Without..
Kael: Sarge, was it really a wise choice to let Mort down to the Generatorium?
Sarge: No, but I hope his stupidity will finally pay off and he'll blow himself and the Generatorium to oblivion.
Barak: But Sarge, that would leave us without defences!
Sarge: Son, when are you going to understand that 10 fully equipped Iron Warriors can hold ANY objectives by ANY means?
Barak: <points at a large swarm of hormagaunts> when we survive THEM!
Sarge: Allright you apes! give'm hell!
Whilst Sarge squad formed a defensive line to battle against the Hormagaunt swarm, Mort had already found the Generatorium and was undergoing it's re-activation.
Mort: Let's see... power cable marked gamma 304-69 should be inserted to coupling C, whilst sensory control output Omega should be activated whilst connecting main power cable, marked alpha 9301-54. hmm... that's easy... Now activate the generator... <no spark> Argh, darn it! <kicks the generator a few times, achieving nothing.> C'mon, worthless piece of admech hardware!
Whilst Mort tries to start up the Generator, a creature born out of a nightmare emerges from the shadows, its claws clicking, and it's feeder tendrils spasm.
Mort: <turns around> Holy mother of crap! you're butt-ugly!
Genestealer: <tilts it's head to one side in curiosity>
Mort: Oh, DON'T give me that look! Look at yourself! Tell me, how can you live with your self? Haven't you guys heard of a mirror?
Genestealer: <shrugs>
Mort: And what's all that crap with silently stalking behind my back? don't you see I've something more important to do than to play with you?
Genestealer: <looks down, obviously sad>
Mort: <puts his right hand on the Genestealers shoulder> Look, laddie, I've got to get this generator up and running, but after I've finished that, I'll play with you, ok?
Genestealer: <something of a smile -if you can call it a smile- forms on his feeder tendrils>
Mort: <pats the Genestealer's head> That's a good boy.
Whilst Mort enjoys his newfound friendship, his squad members are still defending themselves against multiple swarms of blood-thirsty Hormagaunts
Sarge: For the love of the Gods, WHAT is Mort taking so long?
Kael: Perhaps he's fallen down some endless maintainence pipe?
Barak: <laughs> or he has entangled himself in a bunch of wires and now a Ripper swarm is feasting on him while he screams in agony?
Barroc: <laughs> Now THAT would be rather hilarious!
<Kael and Sarge stare in disbelief at Barroc>
Barroc: What are you chaps staring at?
Kael: You...
Sarge: ...and your british accent!
Barroc: <shrugs> You never asked where I came from, Sarge...
Sarge: That's because you answered my EVERY question with a grunt!
Barroc: Old habbit.
Suddenly the lights went on and the defence turrets of the outpost came to life and cut a bloody line through the swarms of Hormagaunts. Everyone turned towars the elevator to see Mort standing in the entrance together with a Genestealer.
Sarge: Mort, roll to the side! There's a genestealer behind you!
Mort: Huh? Oh, don't mind him, that's Eugene!
Sarge: Who?
Mort: My pet Genestealer! Can I keep him?
Sarge: Oh... <face palms>
Barak: <whispers to Kael> Now that's something you don't see often
Kael: <whispers back> Aye...

Go Eugene, Go Eugene!