u/an_actual_coyote

Do we go to sleep? Is it night? Do we get paid still?

I'm thinking of learning to juggle and working on a tramp clown routine.

"Der'z fings!" Snarzik shouted, shakily aiming his shoota down the poorly lit hallway. He knew Gork and Mork were having a laugh at him quivering and shaking in the dark. This wasn't a job for a grot, no, no, he thought, but to return without even a handful of shinies would get him a kickin' at best and a krumpin' at worst.

The six other gretchin clamored to themselves and unleashed a good helping of dakka down the way to let whatever made the strange noise know they were proper 'ard. Gizwak, the runt of the lot, didn't even have a shoota, merely a tiny gitsticka, and made himself scarce by hiding behind Snarzik, da Boss's favored. The larger gobbo hooked his hand around a pointy ear and pulled the runt forward.

"You, g- go chop it! Chop it good!"

"Wy'z I gottsa?!" The runt squeaked.

"Because we'll thump you good!" Snarzik bore his teeth and feigned a slap. The runt cowered back, and with slow, wavering steps, made his way down the long hallway, sticka in hand. At the end of the path, a loose hydraulic cable whipped about, peppered by holes from dakka that dug into the locked tight door of the humie space hulk.

There was nothing to be scared of! Gizwak wiped his brow in relief, and turned back, trotting towards the light. Behind the lads, a hulking bugeyed humie with mashed up armor silently loomed. The creature's chest opened up to reveal long rows of teeth that were once ribs, and emerging from rotten innards, two long, bony scythes unfolded above the grots that were still somehow unaware of it.

Gizwak opened his mouth, then thought of all the times Snarzik had bitten him, slapped him, or blamed him for something in front of one of the big 'uns. Something that seldom happened occured to the grot, barely bigger than a snotling. He had an idea.

"Wot waz it?"

Gizwak squinted, and then legged it as fast as he could down the left hallway they came from. Snarzik scoffed and laughed, turning to the others, and that's when he caught sight of the 'orrid beastie.

Mekboy Krumpgitta spied the small gretchin bolting down the hallway, arms raised, voice shrill and screaming like a hungry squig. "OI! GOBBO! SHUT IT. WOT'S YOU SCREAMIN'Z ABOUT?"

"A fing off'd the lads!"

Krumpgitta furrowed his brows. "Could be fun, yah! Sod it, I'm sold, Get back in da ship and tell da boss! I can't wait!"

He unslung his rotatin' barrel shoota and lowered his blast goggles, activatin seein' flashlights down the dark access corridor.

"Finally, a grot worth somethin'."

It is the final hours of the Heresy and Horus has stepped foot upon Terra with his allied Legions and renegades. In our timeline, Princeps Orla Gemnon and other Titans hunting for Traitor walkers are lured into a trap, hoping to kill Lupercal and end the war. They fail, Horus kills Sanguinius and mortally wounds the Emperor. The Imperium begins a precipitous decline away from the Emperor's plan as he rots upon the Golden Throne.

Let's take some steps back. Due to Tzeentch's plans often failing and twisting in unexpected ways, the planned trap for Orla Gemnon fails to spring, and the data slate of Horus' believed location turns out to be pinpoint in accuracy. Orla and her Titan crew stage an assault to try to intercept Horus and succeed in killing him, crushing him into paste under her Walker's foot shortly before the walker is cut down by his defenders, leading to her death. The surviving Legions flee Terra.

The Emperor lives. Sanguinius lives.

The Ecclisiarchy never rises to power, and the Imperium is run by a living Emperor who mourns his sons and strives to learn from the mistakes he made.

It is now the 42nd millennium. How has the world changed?

I'm unsure if the developers prowl the Subreddit, but it would be great to have this game in the GeForceNow streaming service. My computer isn't that powerful, and I would love to wile away the hours hunting as a wolf until the far superior CoyoteQuest releases.

In the upper levels of Skavenblight, a laboratory was alight with the sickly green glow of warpstone. Electrical pylons connected to each other with ramshackle wires, tools and refuse on the ground were being organized by fearful Skavenslaves, which scattered as a lock unlatched and the laboratory door swung open.

Enter Master Engineer Gishk, with goggles that reflected the cowardly face of his assistant, a lowly scribe who's name he never bothered to learn. He had a tendency to swiftly go through assistants, although this one was cause for suspicion and spite due to him surviving so long. The engineer grit his teeth. "Scribe! Write-write! Wisdom, wisdom I say! Keep record, bring glory-fame to me!"

"And-and Clan Skyre, yes-yes?" The scribe spoke up, getting a quick swipe of a claw across the muzzle.

"Of course-yes! Know place, stupid rat-thing!" With a flourish of his ragged coat, the engineer turned, approaching an object in the center of the lab. Slaves scattered, scurrying over anything in the way of the exit. "I show-impress muh-Morskittar, cause-make Skaven kill many enemy!" He snarled with self satisfaction and stroked his whiskers.

Gishk consumed a small handful of warpdust, and removed the filthy tarp from the object. It was difficult for the scribe to understand it, at first, but recognition began to put pieces together in his brain. The object was four cylindrical rods bolted together, a few straps and a buckle, and what appeared to be a stolen dwarf-thing device jutting forward on each side, with sticks protruding upwards at the ends.

The scribe fell still, regarding the machine, before hurriedly attempting to sketch it. "Yes-yes, master! Very, very good warpfire thrower-launcher! Kill-burn, yes!"

Gishk shut his eyes behind his opaque goggles and sighed with contempt. "No! No. I explain-tell once! The machine-creation is a flying device! It launch-zoom into sky, allow Skaven new-new tactics! Morskittar surely favor thing! One day I have seat on council! Greatest mind, mine-mine!" He took another handful of warpstone and consumed it. He twitched with excitement and anticipation.

"M- Master, my tail yours, but-but are you certain-sure it work-work?" The scribe asked, taking a step back. The engineer let out a hiss of contempt and threw a sharp tool at the scribe, who blocked it with his notepad. Gishk growled, taking off his long exterior coat and stepping up to the device.

"Of course it work, I show-show!" He yelled, "You stupid-stupid slave, idiot-simpleton! Don't you know I am brilliant-wise? Stupid-fool rat-thing!" He flipped a switch. The rockets all fired at once, flipping him like a coin into the ceiling. Still firing, the rockets jet into the wall, grinding him against the hard stone roof before exploding in a fireball on the far wall. Gishk landed on one of his electrical contraptions, on fire and as dead as a stump. His corpse was jolted with arcing bolts of green warpstone lightning, illuminating his skeleton within before the contraption and the engineer both exploded.

The scribe, who had taken cover, watched as a set of Skaven incisors stabbed into the wall near the door. The scribe exhaled.

The lab was on fire. The scribe looked around, dusted himself off, and threw the notepad into the flames before leaving.

Roight, so da Boss sed we'z doing fings proppa like and how Gork An' Mork intended and gathered all da lads and sed arma and metal is for grots and then 'e kicked out all da gits wot used arma an' metal, and when dey tried to make a fuss about it we krumped em'. Now we'z tryin' to figure out wot we'z can use to make Gork and Mork 'appy and not make Wurrzagh angry cos' 'e turned da last git wot did into a squig.

so i'z figure:

- lads

- big lads

- biggerer lads (da giant gits)

- squigs

- big squig

- da river troll

- shamans

• spidas and spida ridas?

can we'z use snot rollas? I fink I seen nails and metals 'ere about?

please help

i never said have left Skarsnik's crew

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To whom it may concern in this great region, the coyote seen on Alcatraz island in January is an absolute legend among the local coyote population. Many coyotes were shocked to learn that the various islands in the bay were not in fact floating and can be reached with effort. Life is about rising to the challenge, eating your fill of pelican meat, and swimming back home because pelican meat does not, in fact, transfer the powers of flight.

The coyote, whose name is going to be withheld, has joined such esteemed local coyotes like the one that got into a roof with his wife and looked super tough, the one that ate an entire bucket of chicken, and Jerry Garcia.

Thank you for your time. Please keep living a wild life.

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Hello! I am a professor in Altdorf, and today I accidentally jostled a diplomat of Karaz-a-Karak in the street as I was distracted by a book I was reading. I apologized profusely, but he and his bodyguard scowled at me fiercely and said my kin would one day make amends.

How severe and long lasting to grudges get? Are there different severities to grudges? The Dwarfs are a sensitive lot!

I'm playing Total Warhammer, and while I know the Fantasy setting and 40k are separate, they do converge a little in themes and such.

I want to play an army that's closest to the Night Lords in tactics.

Is it the Beastmen? Or perhaps the Vampire Counts? Wood Elves?

I want to teach the world that the bird is the word, but I always get stomped by Oxylotl. Should I move out of the starting zone to one of my starting cult locations?

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In Total Warhammer, I turned a Decisive Defeat into a Pyrrhic Victory. I totally defeated a full Greenskin army and garrison through artillery and careful grouping of my Dwarf forces as Thorgrim. Outnumbered and sure to lose, I defeated the leaders and wore down their numbers and took victory points.

It was magnificent.