Heretical Love

"In the grim darkness of the future, there is only war… and sweet xeno love."

A quest thread on /tg/ started by the user Papa-N (!!94V8GGifJkU), it concerns the last Guardsman left on the planet of Yagis V.

Introducing Maximus Decarus, Pimp of the Imperium.

Oh yes, it's that kind of quest thread. Cut, organised and ribbed for extra reading pleasure.

Exploits so far have included (but not limited to) fighting a fish-god, besting Doomrider in a motorcycle joust, charging Abaddon the Despoiler with a knife, being killed by (and then subsequently sleeping with) a group of Daemonettes, soloing a Defiler and surfing the chaos of the warp with the Big E himself.

Papa-N has also become (in)famous for trolling his loving public with alternate story endings, or bizarre tangents. These are listed at the bottom. They are extra heretical. You have been warned.

This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you.

Thread 1: IT'S HERESY TIME

You are Inquisitor Maximus Decarus, feared by xeno and heretic alike. You leave fried Orks and charred Eldar in the wake of your fleet’s exterminatus as you sail about the stars in the Emperors name.

Haha, just kidding, you are Max Decarus, lowly trooper in the Emprah’s imperial guard. Orks don’t seem to notice your lasgun and the last Eldar you saw wiped out half of your squad and insulted your mother. You were just a boot when your landing ship touched down on Yagis V, and you have quickly ascended nothing in rank by your heroic deeds of fleeing and being lucky enough to stay out of the Commisar’s sights.

Today… Today isn’t much different.

You feebly fire your glorified laser pointer in the general direction of a horde of charging Orks, you don’t need to aim, you would have to try to miss. It’s not like hitting them does much anyways.

A Monolith appears suddenly to your left, just warped on in. From where is anyone’s guess. “Thank the Empruh, spess muhreens!” You hear a guardsman cry out, voice mystified with adoration. Sure enough, six of the Emprah’s finest waltz up behind your position, sizing up the Monolith. “FOR THA EMPROOOOAAAARRRR!!!” They howl simultaneously as they bound over the low barricade protecting you from shootah fire. The space marines charge out, waving chainswords menacingly and looking fierce. The Monolith doesn’t even move as gauss fire obliterates every last astartes. Welp…

You have to believe the stories of the space marines are if nothing else, highly exaggerated. This is the second time you’ve seen those blue suited bastards scream litanies and charge to their doom. The first time at a Chaos Titan of all things…

“We are so fucked.” You groan as Chaos Daemons start warping in between you and the Orks. At least they have nice tits… Purple and attached to warp beasts who would enjoy little more than ripping you apart. But still, you didn’t know Daemonettes were stacked. A Fire Prism from out of nowhere busies itself with hammering away at your squad, as quite obviously you are the real threat here. You, huddling low and shaking in your “armor”. Some Fire Warriors show up and start blasting away as well, sure why the fuck not, one giant “kill some guardsmen” party… Hours later you somehow pull yourself from under a pile of rubble and Orks, seeing no one around. There is a Vox nearby, and you give it a try. “Guys?” you ask quietly. Up in the dark sky you see the Imperial Cruiser you arrived in snap in half as an Ork ship just rams on through it. “…Guys?” “…” No response, just static. All of this because this planet was home to a power fist that for whatever reason the machine cult had been worshipping for millennia… Well at least the Armory is nearby, so you scrounge for some equipment.

>[X] Commissar Uniform

Some call me the Commisar of Love. *BLAM* The hat is probably the coolest thing ever, the sword and pistol are both pretty sweet, but this fucking hat, seriously. You are too busy flexing and posing in a mirror to notice a servo skull float up behind you. The skull beeps and you whirl around, flailing your new sword and busting a cap as you pop off rounds. Wu Tang Clan ain’t nuthin to fuck wit. “Oh, it’s just you…” You are glad no one was around to see you.

The skull scans you and must think you really are a Commisar because it starts playing a message. You listen intently as it lays out tactical data for all the Xenos here. Interesting. A nearby Vox rattles out a quick message, identifying itself as a sister of battle. The Mechanicus command is nearby as well. Well there isn’t much else to do, may as well check out some of these leads. Who knows, maybe you can find some help or even a way off this rock… Or get your knob slobbed, it could happen.

Many Guardsmen mistakenly believe that the Sisters of Battle are allies that can be trusted entirely. What they fail to realize is that often times a Sister is just as likely to roast you for even a whiff of heresy as they are to help you. They also have a VERY broad and often convoluted definition of heresy. For this reason, you approach the rhino transport with utmost caution. True, you did track the broadcast to this vehicle, but you don’t trust a Sorita unless she is far separated from the nearest incineration device. You clear your throat and knock on the rear hatch of the transport.

“Sister of Battle, this is Commisar Decarus, are you in there?” A jet of fire almost engulfs you, missing by nigh more than a foot. You dive out of the way as another firing port opens right in front of your face. The ramp drops with a thud and a Sorita comes screaming out, chainsword roaring and fire bursting all around her. Only after several moments does she slow to a stop, gazing around hawkishly, as her flamer dies down. “Am I still alive?” You ask, having ducked and covered as you had learned to do. Her eyes snap to you and you feel them burning as hot as her flamer, as though boring into your very being. You know she is eyeing you for any glimpse of heresy, you pray she doesn’t pick up on any. If she does, you might be lucky enough to garner a quick death via chansword rather than a drawn out burning ordeal. Though likely not.

“Die heretic!” “No fuck you you crazy bolter bitch, I’m not a heretiiicccccc!!!” You howl as you dodge yet another slash of her chainsword. She’s fast, too fast, and in her armor far stronger than you are. The sword comes back around just after you dodged, you don’t have time to avoid it this time. You throw up your hands in some kind of pitiful defense. The roaring implement of demise slashes down toward you, is this it? Is this how you end up? Cut to pieces on some xeno world by a cute but slightly crazy “ally”?

An instant before the chainsword crashes home into your soft, fleshy frame, a blinding golden light flashes. The chainsword flys out of the Sorita’s hand and lands in the dirt yards away. She blinks at you, clearly in shock. “It must be a sign…” She whispers, and she kneels in quick prayer. You get up off the ground and dust off your hat. You aren’t sure what happened, but if it hadn’t you would be dead. In the flash of light, you swear you glimpsed a golden pauldron of some kind. But that isn’t possible, you must have just been seeing things.

Trolling

"We purge with righteous zeal!" Her flamer crackles to life, and you have not time to dodge, or do anything really, before the barrel is staring you in the face. You never thought you would go out like this, a choppa to the face maybe, but not a Sorita making guardsman toast. The jet of fire engulfs you, the white hot heat searing away your flesh from bone. The pain is excruciating as you are roasted alive. You try to scream, but nothing emerges as liquid flame pours into your lungs. Your body falls to the ground, charred and broken. Your last thoughts are of home…