Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: Final Fight

"Well, seems to me," Isaac said, "that if you *really* want to resolve this thing without bloodshed we'd just have a rock-paper-scissors tournament over it."

Beowulf rolled his eyes.

"No, seriously! If y'all don't know who's going to win this here Grail War, and y'all *know* you don't know, then nobody's got a better than even chance of winnin', right? So why not just rock-paper-scissors for it?"

"Because it's a terrible idea," Eva said.

"Because it's a grail war!" Beowulf said.

"Because that's the way things have always been!" Ishmael said.

"Because we don't have participants equal to a power of two," Lancer said.

"Fine, then. If y'all want to act like re-tards and murder yourselves, then that's no never mind to me." Isaac threw up his hands. "God forbid I bring a bit of, like, *intelligence* to this group o' dumbasses."

The others looked at Isaac, then at each other. And as one, they readied their weapons, began chanting their spells, and started the Brawl For The Holy Grail. It was but a few seconds before Beowulf opened up his reality marble and drew the rest of them, save Isaac, inside of his hellish alternate dimension, and the fight truly began in earnest.


It only took a few minutes.

"Hey," Isaac greeted the lone survivor, stumbling out of the section of reality torn open by the reality marble. "Beowulf! Kudos on winnin' that shit, man."

Beowulf grunted, and reached to the Grail. "It's time to put this Grail War to rest. It's been... an experience, Isaac."

"That it has, that it has."

Beowulf took the grail, and closed his eyes. "I've enjoyed your company. Farewell."

A few seconds passed. Nothing happened.

He shook the grail.

Nothing continued to happen,

Beowulf's eyes widened. "But... what is this? The grail should be functional! The other servants are all dead-- I ripped them apart with my bare hands!"

Isaac gave a sideways grin. "Well... not ALL the other servants, Beowulf."

Beowulf slowly turned, and looked on in stunned horror as Isaac's features warped and twisted, his expression remaining in the same state of wry amusement throughout. In a matter of seconds, he realized that he was looking at the "late" Jabir Ibn Hayaan, Arab alchemist... and Caster of the Grail War.

"But... but you died in the explosion at the cathedral! I *saw* you!"

"No such luck, old friend." Caster raised a hand at Beowulf, the air shimmering around it as he charged a spell-- the final spell of the Grail War. "In fact, it all went..."

Beowulf raised his blade in preparation for a charge, but he knew he was too late, far too late, as a torrent of malevolent nothingness erupted from Caster's palm and engulfed him where he stood.

"...just as according to plan."



Deep within the reality marble, Furies cavorted over the dessicated wastelands, as fire rained down from the distant skies onto tormented soil. The red and black bleakness of the place was broken only by the furious sparring of Beowulf and Lancer, the other Servants all torn apart in the free-for-all.

"It's time to end this," Lancer said, leveling her spear at Beowulf. In response, the giant man-wolf growled, hair bristling on a back that seemed far, far too large for the pocket universe they were fighting in. Sweat glistened on both of them, and they were just about to leap back at each other, when they felt... it.

Lancer gaped as Beowulf suddenly appeared to forget about her existence entirely-- he howled in rage and pain, and Lancer, puzzled, looked up at the deepening blackness of the burning sky, as it seemed to fold in on itself. And as the dimension collapsed noisily, Lancer just barely could hear one last scream of outrage from the beast.



Isaac gave Paul a high-five. "Good job, man. Guess that experience closing Yuggothian interdimensional portals paid off, huh?"

Paul laughed. "Damn straight it did. Guess you won the Grail War, then?"

"Reckon I have." Isaac walked into the antechamber and took the Grail, and closed his eyes.

Isaac tapped Isaac on the shoulder. "D'ya reckon it worked?"

Isaac Isaac'd at Isaac. "I believe it did!"

Isaac and Isaac joined the room, and grinned at the tableau. "Well-done, Isaacs."

Isaac threw his Isaac around Isaac and Isaac, and Isaac'd. "Couldn't have Isaac'd it without Isaac, Isaac!"



Isaac gave Paul a high-five. "Good job, man. Guess that experience closing Yuggothian interdimensional portals paid off, huh?"

Paul laughed. "Damn straight it did. Guess you won the Grail War, then?"

"Reckon I have." Isaac walked into the antechamber and was about to take the grail, when suddenly the form of his landlady appeared, eyes hollow, and she reached towards Isaac as he stumbled back. "Mrs. Deistradoni?!"

"I cannot allow what you are planning, Isaac." The landlady abandoned all pretense to normalcy as she opened her mouth impossibly wide, revealing several rows of sharp teeth, leading into a gaping maw three feet tall and growing. Isaac stared in horror, observing absently that it seemed to be far larger on the inside than the outside.

He turned to run, but it was too late. She caught him with her two impossibly long arms, and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into her jaws. She devoured him whole, in the manner of a snake; and she grinned as she finally got him down, to be digested in whichever pocket dimension she stored her food.

She took one hideous claw, and dipped it into her coat pocket to extract a napkin, which she used to dab her upper lip. She looked at the Grail.

"Well... waste not."

And thus, the horrific damage her properties suffered was undone, and all was well.



Lancer and Ishmael, both glistening with the sweat of glorious victory, stepped up to the Grail, and Lancer was just about to put a hand on it when, without warning, they both were trampled to the ground, as the twice-killed form of Koschei the Deathless rode them over on his dark horse. He grabbed the grail from its stand and, laughing maniacally, went into what could only be described as a Victory Parade Trot.

"Another blue ribbon for Koschei!"

He trotted some more. Ishmael could just barely raise a hand, as consciousness faded from him, and utter: "H... how?"

"You didn't kill my egg! And besides..." Koschei flashed a hideous grin.

"Suffering is MAGIC!"


Sunday, March 25, 2012

Poacher Warwick: He Farms Champions

Sipping a glass of chianti after the day's last kill whilst sporting a top hat, monocle, and rifle.

Truly, he is Skarner's fiercest rival, both in the jungle and in the boardroom.


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Jesse's LoL flowchart

Typically the result is that by endgame, Jesse gets enough gold to afford a few of the more... luxury... Skarner items.  He ends up looking pretty much like this:

Meanwhile our AD carry is petitioning the Fields of Justice for food stamps, and our solo mid is attempting to fashion armor out of used cardboard tubing and wondering how the late-game is going to go with three Doran's Rings and a health pot.


Monday, March 12, 2012

CSI: New Haven

"Sir, sir!  The flagship Gesselschaft has crashed into a building!"
"What?  Has anyone been injured?"
"Thankfully not, sir-- it seems to just be superficial damage, but it'll need to come in for repairs regardless."
"Hmm.  Troubling.  It seems odd, though-- do you know what caused the accident?  I know Captain Wright to be an excellent pilot."
"Didn't you know, sir?  Wright went on shore leave about a week ago.  He wanted to spend some more time with his family."
"Who was piloting, then?"
"Alice Wong.  She--"
"Alice?  But she's a newbie!  All she's ever done is pilot a skiff!"
"I'm getting to that, sir.  She's being supervised by her father, Joseph Wong, who's been with us for twenty years; this was meant to be a training mission of sorts for her."
Shrug.  "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised this ended badly, Jenkins.  After all, every schoolchild knows that two Wongs....."

"...don't make a Wright."

Sunday, March 11, 2012

House of Fate Heresy Omake Files: SCP-1387


Object Class: Euclid

SCP-1387 was found in the third month of the excavation of SCP-1357, inside of a locked container (labeled SCP-1387-1) firmly attached to the wall of Explored Region 9C. The container had several notes adhered to it in at least seven different Middle-Eastern languages, three of them no longer in use, as well as one note apparently written in ███████. Analysis has shown that all translatable notes have the same underlying message warning the reader to not open the container, and claiming extreme danger should the contents be ingested. Due to the fairly extreme network of safeguards put in place by the creator of SCP-1387-1, opening said container required three months of concerted effort by the Foundation, in the end requiring usage of thirteen pounds of  ██ ██, twelve ounces of  ████ ███████████, and twenty milligrams of SCP- ████ . Unfortunately, this procedure ultimately resulted in the destruction of SCP-1387-1, with approximately 80% of SCP-1387 being recovered and placed under Yellow-Class containment.

SCP-1387 appears in the form of the Middle-Eastern pastry known as “borek.” Controlled testing has shown that when ingested, SCP-1387 has a number of deleterious effects on the human psyche, as well as causing up to   long, tumor-like growths to appear on the back of the subject ingesting SCP-1387. These tumors exhibit the following properties:

  • Prehensile upon growing to a length of one hundred (100) centimeters.  Subjects demonstrate little conscious control over these growths; however, removal of said growths has been linked to several signs of physiological distress, including heavy perspiration, increased blood flow to the extremities, and prolonged screaming.
  • DNA sequencing has revealed growths to contain proteins highly similar to Pyrococcus F███████ , revealing potential for [DATA EXPUNGED]; as well as possible origin in  ███ ████  .
  • Upon reaching 25 cm, growths become permanently coated in a viscous, acidic substance; litmus tests have shown this substance to have a pH of -1 in pure water, and a markedly deleterious effect on human skin (including non-tumorous skin of the host body.)

Detailed examination of SCP-1387's effects at different ingested quantities have yielded the following results:

1 mg:

Hour 0: Subject reported no apparent effect. Subject was released 350 hours later for unrelated testing.

10 mg:

Hour 0: Ingestion occurs. Subject reports no abnormalities, and requests an alcoholic beverage (request denied.)

Hour 10: Subject complains of itching on back, and requests a “back-scratcher” (request denied.)

Hour 19: Subject's complaints of itching increase. Subject attempts to utilize objects in his environment to dig into his back before being restrained by personnel. Afflicted areas have become greenish in tone, and show signs of swelling.

Hour 34: Growths have increased to 56 cm, extruding in four places from subject's back. Subject has shown markedly decreased empathy and impulse control scores in  ████- █████  psychological testing, and has expressed moderate discomfort during interviews.

Hour 70: Growths have increased to 135 cm, and have shown the ability to exert up to 10 N of force. Subject shows decreased verbal ability and increased aggression, and is terminated after injuring Agent D ██  and Dr. S ██ ███ in escape attempt during attempted harvesting of one of the growths.

100 mg:
Hour 0: Ingestion occurs. Subject reports no abnormalities.

Hour 1: Subject becomes quiet and increasingly unresponsive to interviewers. _ tumors have formed on subject's back.

Hour 10: Subject continues to be unresponsive. On threat of  ██ ████, subject reports increased feelings of aggression and a discovered interest in [DATA EXPUNGED]. Tumors have reached a length of 1.3 meters.

Hour 11: Subject lapses back into silence. Silence continues even after application of ████ ██ ████. Tumors have elongated to 1.9 meters. When prompted to demonstrate strength, subject attempts to assault Agent B___. Sedatives applied and restraints re-enabled to encourage cooperation in further interviews. Indirect evidence suggests strength sufficient to exert  ██ N of force.

Hour 15: Subject shows increased interest in [DATA EXPUNGED] in interviews, prompting Dr. E ██ to request a shift change with Dr. A ██  (request denied.) Tumors have reached length of 2.9 meters.

Hour 20: Tumors reach 4.4 m before subject is terminated to avoid possible damage to facility. Recommended further testing be performed in Mauve-class containment facilities or higher. Agent D ██  awarded posthumous commendation for courage.

1000 mg (1 g):

Hour 0: Ingestion occurs. Subject reports no abnormalities.

Hour 0.5: Subject reports extreme discomfort, and requests termination (request denied).  ██ tumors have sprouted and subsequently grown up to length of  █ m. Restraints and sedatives applied.

Hour 1: Subject growths demonstrate sufficient manual dexterity to [DATA EXPUNGED] all restraints, as well as [DATA EXPUNGED] up to  ██ personnel at once without difficulty. After killing, subject attempts to  ██████████████ the body, resulting in  ████████ red coloration  ██ ████████ until subsequent evisceration. [DATA EXPUNGED] found to be necessary in order to contain the subject, with resultant sealing of Containment Bay  ██ 19 in order to prevent  ██    ████with associated hazards. Additional sealing of air ducts found to be necessary to prevent [DATA EXPUNGED]. Class-2 biohazard quarantine procedures followed, resulting in loss of approximately  ██  personnel. Recommended that all future test subjects be fitted with explosive collars and [DATA EXPUNGED].

Additional Notes:
If anyone intends to test this stuff in amounts greater than 1 gram, they can sure as hell find another facility to do it in. --Test Site Administrator M██  F████.

Negative-- the updated set of safety protocols should be sufficient for containment of future test subjects, and the potential use of SCP-1387 for [DATA EXPUNGED] cannot be ignored. Tests for 10 and 100 grams will continue as scheduled.. --O5 Researcher P██ S██ .

Friday, February 24, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: SCP-1359

Item #:

Object Class:

Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-1359 appears to require no external power source to remain functional, and, while closed, offers no threat to its immediate surroundings.  Therefore, it can safely be kept in any magenta-level or higher containment facility without issue, provided that temporary transportation is given to any yellow-class or higher facility prior to any interaction with SCP-1359. Exploration of SCP-1359 is permissible, but only in teams of four (4) with full safety lines.  It is highly recommended that exploratory ventures incorporating personnel C-class or higher remain in areas designated safe by prior teams, as the mortality rate of teams studying new areas has been found to be prohibitively high.  Furthermore, extensive portions of SCP-1359 are filled with noxious gases, and it is highly recommended that all C-class or higher personnel be equipped with hazmat suits incorporating, at very least, a full-facepiece self-contained breathing apparatus or a supplied air respirator with an escape cylinder. ̶I̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶c̶o̶m̶m̶e̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶s̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶t̶e̶a̶m̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶e̶q̶u̶i̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶a̶u̶t̶o̶m̶a̶t̶i̶c̶ ̶w̶e̶a̶p̶o̶n̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶m̶m̶u̶n̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶,̶ ̶d̶u̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶o̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶t̶a̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶i̶n̶ ̶S̶C̶P̶-̶1̶3̶5̶9̶.̶  Carrying projectile weapons is not recommended in SCP-1359, due to the extreme reaction of certain objects inside SCP-1359 on being penetrated with gunfire.

Objects within SCP-1359 are to be studied on-site, as the subject appears to have automated mechanisms causing problematic behavior in the event that any on-site materials are transported out of SCP-1359. As expected given the nature of SCP-1359, GPS and related systems are entirely nonfunctional within the subject.  Under no circumstances should anything be ingested that was found in SCP-1359.

SCP-1359 appears in the form of a large, extremely old (though ornate and well-kept) oven.  It acts as a normal oven unless a switch on the side is flipped, which causes the door to then open into a space far larger than SCP-1359.  The switch cannot be flipped while the oven door is open; an experiment involving D-class personnel staying in the closed oven prior to the switch being flipped resulted in said personnel being violently [DATA EXPUNGED].

A gold plate on the front of the oven identifies it as the possession of one Jabir ibn Hayyan. While this cannot be confirmed, several of the contents of SCP-1359 are consistent with being in the care of an eighth-century practical chemist, including one alembic and six retorts of varying capacity.  There are also notes scattered throughout, most in ancient Arabic, but several which are either in a different, unknown language or in code; of the readable notes, most discuss the details of simple Arabic food preparation, except for one discussing the automated manufacture of [DATA EXPUNGED].  Most of the foods described are various forms of pastry.  Mention must be made of the "muffins" anachronistically described in some of the notes left behind by its prior owner; from this it is clear that the prior owner of SCP-1359 had at least passing familiarity with 20th-century foods, and may or may not have been the actual Jabir ibn Hayyan.

On first study of SCP-1359 on ██/██/████, there was a large quantity of food stored in several jars which, to all appearances, were quite edible.  One exploratory team (see Appendix B) found and subsequently consumed several pastries (hereafter referred to as SCP-1359-1), which five out of six D-class personnel present described as "quite tasty."  Unfortunately, several hours later, all six having partaken of SCP-1359-1 were [DATA EXPUNGED].

There appears to be an intricate network of security measures installed by the previous user of SCP-1359.  In particular, several experiments wherein Class-D personnel were ordered to remove alchemical equipment results in the item in question being [DATA EXPUNGED], with the offending personnel quickly and violently [DATA EXPUNGED] consistent with a force of up to ██ kN.  This prohibition against taking items does not appear to extend to the food.


The whereabouts of SCP-1359's prior owner are unknown.  SCP-1359 was found on ██/██/████ in the ruins of a small Venetian inn, the destruction of which has been hypothesized to be intimately related to SCP-1342 (colloquially, the "th Grail War"), known to have been won by [DATA EXPUNGED].

Addendum 1359-01:  
Due to the [DATA EXPUNGED] associated with Explored Region 4A within SCP-1359 (see Containment Breach Report #█████46 by Dr. F████ for details), all requests to view, enter, or in any way interact with objects within Explored Region 4A are to be summarily denied to all B-Class or lower personnel.  Further interest in Explored Region 4A by any B-Class or lower personnel should be met with immediate reassignment.

Addendum 1359-02:  
In order to prevent the recurrence of [DATA EXPUNGED] described in Containment Breach Report #█████46, it is highly recommended that all food products found within SCP-1359 (in particular, those found within Explored Region 4A) be transported to a Mauve-level or higher containment facility prior to testing.

Additional Notes:   
██/██/████ :  Seriously, guys, please stop making the D-Class personnel eat the baklava from ER4A.  I know it's funny-- lord knows I've gotten bored and tried a [DATA EXPUNGED]-- but these are human beings, dammit, even if they are D-Class.  And before you ask, this includes you, Dr. Slant.  -Dr. B██.

 ██/██/████ :  It has recently come to my attention that certain personnel have been abusing SCP-1359's capabilities of [DATA EXPUNGED] for the purpose of making-- God, I can't believe I'm writing this-- "really good muffins."  This is about the most appalling thing I've ever heard.  For fuck's sake, people, we're a well-respected research organization, not a bunch of bored housewives that need a good [REDACTED].  -Dr. B██.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: The Horrors Heresy

Part Four
The winds rose, and as Beowulf stood at the top of Tokyo Tower, thunder crashing in the background, he could feel the energies of the Grail beckoning them from within their backpack on the ground twenty feet away. Beowulf hefted his metallic arm, prosthetic tentacles waving as they attempted to fend off the steady stream of blades fired by Poe's Raven Targeter.

"Beowulf", Isaac shouted at his companion from his unsteady grip on the tower's ledge. "Destroy that damn particle cannon or we're all done for!"

"You never will," said the rotting form of Edgar Allen Poe, his one good eye glittering menacingly in the darkness. "Don't you see that the genius of my Pandemonium Engine is far too advanced for pedestrian minds such as yours to handle?" He sneered as he flicked a lever on the back of his power armor, and produced yet another beam weapon, which he used to blast away the bit of rock on which Isaac clung.

Isaac fell, and yelled into the wind.

"[][][][] [][][][][][] [] [][]!"

His descent slowed, and after a second he rose back up to face the decaying poet, grinning madly.

"Pedestrian? Bitch, I *drive*."

The armor-clad zombie stared impassively back at him, quietly dodging an air conditioning unit thrown by Beowulf. "Indeed? Well. In any case, I doubt I have time to deal with you both. Thus I fear it may... be necessary for me... to flee!" His power armor whirred as he took a short step back, and launched himself at the backpack holding the Grail. He flicked yet another lever as he snatched it up, and Isaac could feel a gut-wrenching disturbance in the Immaterium, like that one time Paul had attempted to build a magical grill in order to save money on propane.  Control of his powers lost, Isaac fell to the concrete.

Poe laughed wildly. "Goodbye to thee!"

The dead poet bounded off, unnaturally fast due to the leg enhancements on his armor. Isaac tried to activate his Levitation to follow, but found the Immaterium far too chaotic to use for any such activity. His head bowed, he sighed, and clicked on his walkie-talkie as he watched Poe fall the eleven stories to the city streets. A second later, Poe had disappeared into an alley.

"Sorry guys, it looks like he's got the Grail. We failed."

Caster's voice came back. "I wouldn't be so sure."


An hour and several miles later, Poe knelt in an alley as his gauntleted hand dove into the satchel containing the Grail, ready to recieve its prize. Poe's one good eye glimmered as he thought of the magical energy he could harvest, the things he could do if his Pandemonium Engine could have such a phenomenal power source. And then, as he extracted his hand, he noticed:

The Grail seemed awfully squishy.

Puzzled, Edgar finished pulling his hand out of the bag. The scent of blueberries wafted out with it, and he stared down as bread crumbs fell from the rune-inscribed gauntlet to the asphalt.

Roaring, he ripped the bag open and grabbed one of the objects contained therein.

"Muffins?" He snarled. His gauntlet crushed the pastry within it, its delicious innards squeezed out through his fingers. "MUFFINS?!"

He punched a hole in a nearby concrete wall, and fell to his knees.


Sunday, February 12, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: A Chat With Sophia

Isaac and Beowulf walked along a cramped Italian street.  They looked to the East, where Beowulf and he were fated to meet Archana Sophia, the lady magus who had backstabbed the party more times than they could count.  Beowulf looked contemplative as he nursed a gallon jar of mead.

"Isaac, how should we deal with her?  She is altogether too dangerous to let live; I believe negotiations would be unwise here."

Isaac suddenly grinned madly, as though an idea had just come to him.  He fell to the ground and started doing push-ups.

Beowulf raised an eyebrow.  "What are you doing, exactly?"

"Well," Isaac said in between labored breaths, "the way I figure it, Archana and I, have like a history, like at that fancy ball, right?"

Beowulf frowned.  "Not really much of a history, Isaac.  Remember that she just joined you at the ball as cover for our true purpose, which was filching magic items."

Isaac got up, rolling his shoulders back and forth.  "Yeah, man, but you don't know her like I do.  Shit, man, the way she was lookin' at me... nah, I got this.  You just stay back and be the muscle for this one, 'kay?"

"I still don't understand exactly what you're going to do here."

"Man, Beowulf, you've been cooped up too long in that reality marble 'o yours.  I'm tellin' you, no woman can resist my manly physics."


Isaac began taking his shirt off.  "'Specially not Archana.  She may be, like, a par-a-gawn of evil and backstabbin' and shit, but man, she's still a woman."

Beowulf rolled his eyes.  "Fine, fine.  Let's just get this over with."

The pair approached a thin, robed lady on a bridge overlooking a shallow river.  Isaac jogged up, giving a friendly wave.  "Hello, Miss Archana Sophia! How are you doin' this fine day?  Wouldja like to join us for trying to stop Orpheus?"


The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac stretched.  "I do hope you'll excuse my shirtlessness, ma'am, but it was lost in, like, a battle with a kraken or somethin'.  Anyway," and here he walked a bit closer, winking at the magus, "Perhaps you wouldn't mind.... *reconsidering* your offer?"

Archana Sophia narrowed her eyes.  "Archer?"

Isaac's grin didn't waver as five arrows whizzed by inches from his head.  "Come now, Miss Sophia.  Surely you an' I are reasonable folk, who can achieve some sorta... accommodation?"  He stepped closer, and winked again.

Archana suddenly grew red and looked away.  "F....fine!  I'll help!  But it's just so I can backstab you later and steal the grail from you."

Isaac gave a thumbs up.  "I knew I could--"

Archana slapped him, scowl suddenly returning.  "It's not because I like you or anything, so don't get the wrong idea!"  She noticed Beowulf behind him.  "Is your servant all right?  It looks like he's choking on something."

The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

"Naw, Miss Sophia, I got sumthin' right here I think you'd be real interested in... if'n you accept."  He produced a small package from his satchel, and gave it to Sophia.

"A bribe, hmm?" she said, opening the package.  "What is it?"

Isaac mumbled something.

Archana cocked her head.  "I'm sorry, I didn't catch--"

Isaac suddenly laughed maniacally as the package burst open, revealing a million tiny insects.  "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"




The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac produced a basket of what looked like muffins.  "Miss Sophia, I reckon you an' I have fought enough.  What say you to a piece offerin'?  I got like ten muffins here."

Archana's scowl softened.  "Muffins, you say....?  Okay, but you have one first."

Isaac shrugged.  "Okay!"  He grabbed a muffin and bit into it.

Archana looked surprised for a moment, and then did the same. "Hey, these are good," she said around a mouthful of muffin.  "When'd you have the time to make these?"

Isaac's voice sounded muffled. "Didn't.  Heh, actually, I grabbed these outta Caster's kitchen afore I left, so you *know* that shit's gonna be good.

Archana suddenly stopped chewing on her second muffin.  "Son of a..."


A few minutes later, Caster walked by and, producing two jars, collected two small newts from off the ground where Archana and Isaac used to be.

"Exactly.  As.  Planned."


The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Ishmael,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac raised an eyebrow.  "I'm not Ishmael, I'm Isaac."

Archana laughed.  "Surely you don't expect me to believe *that.*  There never was an Isaac in this grail war, and you know it.  Can we dispense with the childish games?"

"Pfft.  Then who do you think is the Servant behind me, if I'm not Isaac?"  Isaac turned around.

Lancer looked quizzically at him.  "I don't understand what you're saying, Ishmael.  Who's Isaac?"

Ishmael fell to his knees, and collapsed wailing to the ground. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Caster grinned from behind a shrubbery.  That had been even funnier than his first idea.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Dark Heresy Omake Files: Breakfast of Champions

Engraved with two verses of the Dirge To End The World, covered in the dried blood of his ancient enemies, and shimmering in its own power field, Karthal's helmet was a terrible sight as it followed the hapless being flying towards him.  The chainsword in his gauntleted fist whirred to life as he launched himself at his victim, and a spray of fluids across his visor confirmed the accuracy of his blade.

Polycarp gingerly picked up a bit of the remaining orange pulp with one of his mechadendrites.  "I suppose you COULD cut them like that, but--"

Karthal stomped an armored foot.  "BUT NOTHING, FLESHLING!  It is the only honorable way for a Knight of Khorne to prepare his breakfast!"

"It's just, my Mars-Pattern Efficiency Monitor measures that this method is approximately 1,356 percent less efficient than anything else you could possibly be doing.  Look, see, I have this mechanendrite attachment which allows me to suture wounds shut and, in a pinch... well, look, let me show you--"

"Do not touch my breakfast with your cowards' tongs, Polycarp!  The preparation of a delicious Khornate breakfast in a suitably Khornate way is a part of my sacred vows, and you will not sully them!"

"Fine!  Fine."

"Y'know," Antiphon said, twisting a lock of hair around his finger, "If this were a Slaaneshi breakfast, I'd seduce the orange and manipulate it into cutting itself open for my pleasure. Then I would eat it."

Karthal glowered.  "Do not speak to me, Slaaneshi whore."

Polycarp furrowed his metallic brows.  "Wait a second, that reminds me.  Karthal, I thought you didn't need to eat.  Aren't you just, like, a skeleton under there or something?"

"The vows of Khorne last long after death, fleshling.  Now excuse me..." here he grabbed a flamer in one hand, producing a sack of white powder with the other "...while I prepare pancakes.  Direct me to your bathtub."

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Dark Heresy Omake Files: The Slaanesh Game

Doctor Polycarp grinned, mechadendrites waving in excitement behind him as he mixed and mingled with Addolorata's upper crust.  At last, here was his opportunity to impress the Magos!  Only a matter of time before he had access to the Imperial Titans he desired so much.  With the new joke modules he had installed the day previous, he couldn't fail to succeed.

But first, he would have to test out his Diomedes Humor Capacitor on some of the lesser beings in the palace.  It wouldn't do to have it short out on the Magos.

"...and Margaret said-- wait for it-- 'virtue is its own reward!  BWA HA HA HA!"  Polycarp guffawed, fun-motors churning in his throat.

Polycarp noticed that the five unaugmented humans listening were absolutely silent with mirth, and that his Pneumatic Humorometer registered a 92% chance of retroactive hilarity.  Perfect.  Now, he could approach the Magos, and attempt to--

Just then, a voice crackled into his earpiece.  "Begin Slaanesh Game.  Current player:  Rhodan Polycarp."

The Magos would have to wait.

He thought quickly; as the first player, he was (for now) at an advantage, since he didn't need to speak the Chaos God's name very loudly to finish his turn.  However, he needed to shift attention away from himself, or the game would be over very quickly.  And he would "win", if getting gutted by several chainswords at once could be considered winning.

Polycarp turned.  "Ho there, insignificant human!  Would you care to tell a joke?  My Mars-pattern Jest Generator requires a break, or else it could overheat."

The voice crackled into his earpiece again.  "No stalling, Polycarp!"

He subvocalized his response.  "Working on it.  Mars wasn't built in a day."

Polycarp realized that a man next to him, with a large black beard and a sash, had started one of his own jokes (about a very short man and a piano), one which Polycarp's servo-skull had registered as being told approximately 12,304,144,143 times on the data nets it had access to.  The perfect cover.

He pantomimed coughing, and, in the middle of his fit, mechadendrites waving, he mumbled "heuaghhoorSlaanesh."  His 'coughing' subsided a second later.

The other humans looked at him for a moment, but then shifted their attention back to the man telling the joke.  None had noticed.

"Turn passed.  The next player is Antiphon.  Target: 30 decibels."

A response crackled back through Polycarp's earpiece.  "This is so, so stupid.  I don't..."

Polycarp gave a mechanical grin.  "That didn't sound like the name of a Chaos God to me," he subvocalized.

"But I--"

"Thirty.  Decibels."

Silence a few seconds later, and Antiphon's voice sounded again.  "Done.  New target is forty decibels."

Polycarp sipped at the wine in a glass held by one of his mechadendrites.  He noticed that it had begun to taste slightly spoiled since the last sip he took.  Exactly as planned.

Rydol's voice sounded in Polycarp's right ear.  "Accomplished.  Could I get a distraction over here?  The Cannoness is starting to get suspicious.  I think she's started to feel the taint.  Ranjan, you're up.  Fifty decibels."

"Confirmed.  I'll call in a Karthal strike.  That should keep her occupied."

"Glad to hear it.  That chainsword looks nasty."  pause.  "New target is Sixty decibels.  Goshi, it's your turn."

Polycarp sent his servo-skull to taste the air.  It was becoming more corrupt by the second.  Good, good.

"It looks like the Karthal drop might be delayed somewhat.  We may have a... uh-oh."


"Shit, Polycarp, watch out--"

Polycarp felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around and found the Cannoness, long silver hair flowing down her back, hand on her ceremonial (though, Polycarp knew, entirely functional) chainsword.  "Good morrow, System Administrator Monotrout."

Polycarp gulped, artificial throat muscles whirring.

"Why hello Cannoness!  I am entirely pleased to, ah, see you!  How goes the, uh, war?"

She scowled.  "Dismal.  The heretics avoid confronting my blade directly; if they just came out in the open, my job would be much easier."  She reflected.  "I suppose that means they aren't stupid."

"Well, I wouldn't--"

"I don't suppose you... have any thoughts on the subject, do you, Doctor Monotrout?"

"I don't--"

"Especially because I had my retinue check your records, and there are certain... inconsistencies.  *Inconsistencies*, Monotrout.  You aren't in the Schola Progenium at all."

Just then, Polycarp's earpiece buzzed once more.  "Polycarp, you're up.  Target is 70 decibels.  You have twenty seconds."

The Cannoness gave a feral grin.  "No words for me?  Not even denial?"

"Cannoness, I'm really certain there's been some error.  Perhaps a rogue machine spirit.  Or infection.  The Schola--"

"--has had the same system administrator for its Materials Procurement Division for the last two hundred fifty years.  Did you really think that we wouldn't notice your lies... Rhodan Polycarp?"

"Ten seconds, Polycarp," the tinny voice in his ear said.

Polycarp froze.  His Nervousness Regulator was going full-bore just to keep him upright.

"Well... I actually--"

As the Cannoness was ripping her blade from her sheathe, the enormous set of double doors that marked the entrance to the Governor's Palace bent inwards and collapsed.  A towering figure clad in heretically-engraved power armor strode into the room, chainsword screeching as it decapitated a nearby guard.


Polycarp clicked his microphone on.  "Looks like we have a winner."

Sunday, January 29, 2012

CompSci social life!

I don't know what it is about the compsci degree, but everyone there seems so much more fun than in the Chemistry department.

Actually, I *do* know what it is!  They're all massive, massive geeks.  That suits me just fine, especially since on like the second day some guy approached me and asked if I'd like to be a part of the newly-formed LAN gaming club on campus, to which I could only respond "Yes.  Yes I would."  The chemistry students, though equally smart, were far more bro-ey in their pastimes, which mostly involved:

1)  Heavy drinking.
1)  Ultimate frisbee.
2)  Complaining about research.
3)  Heavy drinking.

However, the Standard Compsci Psyche DOES have its downside, in that a few of these folks seem hell-bent on proving they're smarter than other people to a degree I never noticed in a Chemistry department.  Actually, it's really just one guy in particular.  My discrete math class is peppered with exchanges like:

Professor:  "X is true."
That Guy:  "But isn't Y true under Z conditions?"
Professor:  "That's... yes, but that's not really related to the current subject."
That Guy:  "Well, I feel like it's important to bring it up.  Furthermore, I think it's important for everyone to note that, if we disregard A, B is true.  And furthermore...."

"Sit back down, please."

Monday, January 23, 2012


Mini-review rampage?  That's small time, Blake.  Gotta think big!  Get with the program!



is a story about a girl who may or may not have had her soul stolen by a cat.  Also, teenage angst, but in a good way!  I found that it gave me my daily dose of pathos without the side-effects of existential depression and angst that accompany me whenever I read anything remotely literary.

Unfortunately, if you were looking for a primer on survival techniques while at sea, or a treatise on deep-sea whaling (as I was initially hoping for on reading the manga) you will be sadly disappointed, as the author RENEGED on the implicit promise made by the title in delivering ALMOST NO technical information regarding protocols for such activities.  Not even the general rule of fast fish vs. loose fish!  Therefore I am forced to knock it down a unit, putting it at a grand total of three thousand eight hundred and sixteen arbitrary units (AU).  Still, I greatly enjoyed it, would read again!


I greatly enjoy the Gothic architecture and grimdark grim darkness of the setting-- I really love any sort of artwork involving huge machinery.  Now, I don't mean just garden-variety huge-- I'm talking things like




and Warhammer 40k sates this urge!

On the other hand.... their primary protagonists (the Space Marines) are largely without personality, being modeled on the warrior-monks of old.  Plus, they don't have junk.  Who wants to play a guy without junk?

It therefore gets from me a rating of four thousand five hundred and three AU.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Does anybody know the name of this meme?

I'm trying to find the extra-large template for this foul construction (now with more profanity!), BUT I HAVE BEEN UNSUCCESSFUL.  Assist me in my quest!  Or there will be... consequences.