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3 mos ago
Current the spookiest soccer coach
4 mos ago
In the sort of mood to hack my wrists open and paint the walls
6 mos ago
1 yr ago
Hurt me.
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2 yrs ago
There is no adequate way for me to properly convey just how miserable I am right now.


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Finished my part, @Irredeemable is just going to polish off the last details and then we can move on!
Mr.Reem and I are working on that post - I'll spare you all the 'oh she's dead I'm a bit sad now' bit until we get a calmer moment!
Sorry to lose you dude :(
Ow. As impressive as the stitching and the swift work of the cement on her armour was, Alexa's talents were not an all-purpose panacea. Lisbeth might have been fit to fight again, but she was not enjoying the stabbing pain every time she thought about moving. Making a mental note to punish herself later for the sin of weakness in the face of pain, not to mention indulging in fear, she leaned on her sabre, dragging herself up to her feet as the fight wound down, just in time to see the final shot fired by Sister-Celestian Victorine. "Victory. Praised be His grace, and not our strength, for it."

Amidst the broken bodies, she caught sight of an Armsman, frozen in death struggling with some betentacled mutant, and that same terrible feeling of failure that had haunted her dreams since she let Persephone die dragged her spirits down into the gloom. This time, His voice was no comfort, and His words of reassurance were blocked out by the silent recital of the prayers she had memorised so long ago as a child. Wiping the side of her head, Lisbeth's armoured fingers ran over the tattoo around her eye, and she remembered one of the vows she had made upon entering the Order Militant. Suffer not the witch to live. With those words ringing in her ears, she raised her sabre to her shoulder, and felt new strength enter her limbs. The traitors had taken blood, but they could not destroy her spirit.

"Sister-Celestian, I will have the traitor's head before I take a single step off this ship, or I will die in the trying. We must not allow him to escape to spread his sin to another world. He must die."
I'll post either this evening or tomorrow morning. Being shot has not sapped Lisbeth's urge to murder heretics!
Since we've had lots of badassery so far, I thought I'd change things up and have Lisbeth respond to being shot the way a niave young nun should!
Lisbeth's limbs were heavy with fatigue, but righteous anger spurred her on. She was about to vault her cover and fall upon her next target when the Sister-Celestian's order came, and her body obeyed almost without thought, turning her back to the enemy and falling in line. The pleasure of finishing the wounded would fall to the humble Navy ratings - lucky creatures that they were. With her fist still full of xeno skull, she jogged with the rest of her squad, falling behind as her short legs and her exertions conspired against her. By the time they reached the genetorium, she was three or four seconds behind the rest of the team, with even the wounded Confessor outpacing her. No doubt Victorine would berate her for her weakness, and quite rightly. Weakness is the mother of heresy, spoke the familiar voice at the back of her mind, as she rounded the corner and crouched behind a smoking piece of machinery, spitting hot steam and electrical buzz as the sound of shot and shell ricocheted around the room.

Get up, Lisbeth. There is work yet to be done. Gasping, Lisbeth was able to pull one leg up so she was kneeling, but soon fell back down. Get up. Or will you meet your creator on your belly? Lisbeth was only able to spit a laboured "...can't," reaching for one of the grenades about her belt. Biting down hard on cold metal, she ripped the bomb's pin out with her teeth and flung the frag grenade above her shoulder, though what effect it had was a total mystery. Gulping down hot breaths tainted with the taste of burning and the chemical sting of expended shells, Lisbeth laid down Persephone and her trophy, sliding the blade into the scabbard and tying the head onto her vast rosaries before unshouldering her bolter, clutching it tight to her breast like a lost child. "From the lightning, and the...tempest," Lisbeth wheezed, repeating the words which had stirred her heart so many times before.

Rise, spoke the voice, and this time Lisbeth answered, pulling herself up with a hand on the hot machine. Drawing a bead on a slight figure wielding a shotgun, she fired two bursts, blasting the woman's arm away at the shoulder. Buoyed by her small victory, she grew a little taller and her arms a little lighter, turning her bolter toward the huge power-armoured figure and-

Crack. Crack.

A hot sting in Lisbeth's chest and left shoulder quickly grew to a sharp, radiating pain. Lisbeth's knees buckled as her strength failed her again, and she sunk back behind the humming generator, dumbfounded. It took a few moments for her to look down at the two holes in her black armour, her white robes staining red as blood began to spill out from her shoulder and just below her fifth rib. Shocked, she put her hand to the wounds, her armoured gauntlet coming away with a hot crimson dripping from the tips of her fingers. A snake uncoiled within her gut, and a wave of fear washed over her and drowned all rational thought. You are dying, Lisbeth. Those words ran through her head and broke the dam holding back absolute terror. She heaved forward, hacking up the remnants of her last meal over the deck as she held back tears. Do not cry, little sister. Do not show them fear. Do not distress your sisters. The last time she had heard those words, it had been from her training matron during exercises after breaking her arm - it was vital that the group pressed onwards to victory. One life was nothing compared to the holy mission of the Ecclesiarchy. It was all Lisbeth could do to lift up her voice in song, hoping to inspire her sisters on to victory.

"Death is struck, and nature quaking,
All creation is awaking,
To its Judge an answer making."
I'll be posting today - it's my birthday so my writing engines are going to be fueled with cake!
Done, at last! Hope it was worth the wait!
Gunfire. Screaming. The rattle of shuriken shots against the walls of the destroyer.

It was like poetry to Lisbeth’s ears. Without thought, she sprinted for a firing position, Permanence dangling by a strap from her shoulder. Behind a burned-out section of wall that had been blasted away from the side of the room, she kneeled next to a grey-looking Armsman loading rounds into a shotgun, looking for all the world as if this was a totally everyday situation. Without acknowledging the heavily-armoured sister, he rolled back onto his front and fired three rounds, blasting a fist-sized hole in a pirate's gut while Lisbeth raised Permanence and aimed for a target.

On the left - a figure in lurid yellows and greens - three rounds. Lisbeth held her breath and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. By the time the third round had left her boltgun, the first had struck home, lodging itself in the shoulder before it detonated, separating the figure from it's left arm and sending it sprawling to the floor, blood arcing in the air. She moved her head, scanning for another open target, before her eyes came to rest on a thin, spindly creature, totally naked except for a bandolier around the shoulder and hip. The beast had grey-green skin and a huge, crushing beak, and pointed quills coming from the back of what Lisbeth assumed was the head. Her guts knotted and twisted at the sight of the strange creature, and the bitter taste of bile washed over her tongue. Swallowing hard, she tightened her grip on the bolter, knuckles white underneath the shining black armour and rattling rosaries. Adrenaline flooded her brain and her heart raced even faster. Years of conditioning told her to raise the bolter and fire, but her rounds met only open air. The creature dived right, rolling and springing back up with impossible speed. Lisbeth did not know what it was, nor did she need to know. All she knew was that she hated it, and that was enough.

A stray round struck a section of piping overhead, hot steam billowing out of the breach and blocking Lisbeth's line of sight. For a moment, she cursed that she did not have a helmet to give her different spectra to see through, and then scolded herself silently for her arrogance. Faith in the Emperor is all the protection you need. The Emperor's whispers were a comforting presence, but she remembered the words of the Confessor, and forced herself to ignore them, swinging her bolter around to find a new target.

She got three rounds off before everything went dark.

The next thing Lisbeth was aware of was a sharp pain on the side of her head, and a weight pressing down on her chest. The fog was cleared by another sharp pain on the other side, the swipe of a claw digging in to flesh, tearing skin apart, dragging muscle away. The beast was on top of her, and Permanence was somewhere out of reach, the strap snapped and dangling uselessly from her shoulder. By instinct she swung an armoured first, and caught something soft - flesh, perhaps. Another swing caught the creature's chest and a wheeze escaped the thick, crushing beak as it moved an arm down it's body, pawing at something. Even with one eye gummed shut with blood and grime, Lisbeth recognised the glimmer of a blade, and crossed her arms above her head to catch the blow as it came down. With what felt like an impossible force, the creature bore down, the blade growing closer and sharper with every passing moment. Flecks of spittle splattered onto Lisbeth's face, carried on gusts of hot, stinking breath.

Lisbeth's shoulders grew weaker, her arms beginning to shake under the sustained pressure from the alien's strength, straining the sinews of her muscles. The blade grew closer and closer, inexorably down toward the carved inscription down the middle of the sister's breastplate, scraping away on the detailed carving. Lisbeth closed her eyes, and prepared herself for the end.


The pressure slackened. Another gunshot rang. The Armsman had fired two shells into the side of the creature, shards of shot scraping against the painted surface of Lisbeth's armour, and a stabbing sensation shot through Lisbeth's left leg, but for the moment her attention was focused elsewhere. The Armsman had given her enough time to push back against the alien, and she threw all her weight against the monster, roaring off the ground as she flung herself at the creature's shoulder. Catching it square in the collar with her forehead, she forced the alien back onto the floor, their positions reversed, and taking advantage of the momentary shock she tore Persephone from her simple strap and lifted it above her shoulder, swinging down with both arms toward the screeching monster. It raised an arm and caught the sword with a bone, a piercing squeal blasting through Lisbeth's ears as the weapon cut through, jamming in the marrow of the creature's bones.

Tugging the sword out was impossible while the monster still breathed, but with one arm lame and useless the beast was still a considerable opponent. The alien swung the remaining good arm at Lisbeth's head, and this time she pulled back in time to avoid the raking claws, grabbing the limb as it swung in opposite way, her arms locked around the wrist.



The monster screamed again as Lisbeth bent it's arm back on itself, snapping bones in half and tearing blood vessels. Now utterly defenseless, Lisbeth wrapped her hands around the monster's neck, and pressed down hard, clenching her fists as tight as possible around the thick, gristly flesh, flicking her head to keep the blood dripping down from the gash down her temple and across her cheek from flowing into her eye as the struggling gasps turned to weak wheezes. Lisbeth kept squeezing as the creature ceased to resist, kept squeezing as she felt the windpipe turn to pulp beneath her gauntlets, kept squeezing as he light left the monster's eyes and kept squeezing even as the last few weak, reflexive breaths passed through the dying beast's maw. Finally, as it lay totally limp, she placed an armoured boot on the creature's chest and tore the sword from it's lodgement, bringing it back down with two swift strikes to hack away at the creature's neck.

Triumphant, swelling with the joy of victory in His name, she grabbed the beast's dismembered head and held it high, taunting the pirates. "Who is next die, scum? Onwards, sisters, for the Emperor!"
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