Hihohe posted:

QuarkJets posted:

Do khorne demons ever need to just stop and take a poo poo

Improbable Lobster posted:

i used to have the poster version of this from an issue of white dwarf

QuarkJets posted:

Thats heresy ya git

William Bear posted:

I'm sorry, did you not like Dan Abnett's impossibly baroque description of the Golden Throne? 675 words! One sentence!

Benagain posted:

The best part is immediately after that Malcador thinks "eh. It's just a room"

Improbable Lobster posted:

"i've seen goldener"

bob dobbs is dead posted:

the emperor is a normal-human supremacist and didn't want space marines replacing normal humans. he even intended normal humans to replace him in ruling eventually, although malcador kinda scoffed at that

bob dobbs is dead posted:

high gothic is supposed to be a future language but in all actual cases basically just dog latin. low gothic is also supposed to be a bewildering menagerie of future languages but in all actual cases english or accented english

for being a distant descendent of tolkien, warhams is pretty uninterested in linguistics, except for referencing stuff by linguistic drift, they fuckin love that linguistic drift

Disco Pope posted:

"no cap, 让一些混乱的家伙搞砸吧, ad imperatorem"

Disco Pope posted:

How do space marines speak? Do they speak like nerds or because there 38,000 years of language development are they like "no cap, 让一些混乱的家伙搞砸吧, ad imperatorem"

Disco Pope posted:

How do space marines speak? Do they speak like nerds or because there 38,000 years of language development are they like "no cap, 让一些混乱的家伙搞砸吧, ad imperatorem"

SirPhoebos posted:

One of the details about the writing of FFG's Space Marine RPG, Deathwatch, was that the authors had a lot of trouble getting anything approved by GW. One issue they ran into time and again when writing any quotes was that GW wouldn't let a Space Marine use a contraction.

SirPhoebos posted:

One of the details about the writing of FFG's Space Marine RPG, Deathwatch, was that the authors had a lot of trouble getting anything approved by GW. One issue they ran into time and again when writing any quotes was that GW wouldn't let a Space Marine use a contraction.

chainchompz posted:

In the writing in the books it gets slapped around that all text is in English for the reader but is really in either high Gothic or low Gothic. High Gothic is all the pseudo-Latin vocabulary, low Gothic is basically any commoner speak; two languages in an empire of untold trillions.

QuarkJets posted:

Does Cadia call it Coke, Soda, or Pop?

Benagain posted:

Ignores the actual question though, and the answer canonically is absolutely they just do it in an extremely gay but extremely non sexual way.

QuarkJets posted:

Does Cadia call it Coke, Soda, or Pop?

Macdeo Lurjtux posted:

Oh, so that's why they won't let women be space marines.

Smugworth posted:

Has a servitor ever developed a personality

sad question posted:

"His mind reeled trying to understand the indescribable horror before him. An interracial couple or birth certificate proving his ancestors were Welsh."

Smugworth posted:

Has a servitor ever developed a personality

bob dobbs is dead posted:

high gothic is supposed to be a future language but in all actual cases basically just dog latin. low gothic is also supposed to be a bewildering menagerie of future languages but in all actual cases english or accented english

for being a distant descendent of tolkien, warhams is pretty uninterested in linguistics, except for referencing stuff by linguistic drift, they fuckin love that linguistic drift. the Tale of Gigamech (Gilgamesh)

Benagain posted:

Servitors vary widely in canon, there's a whole spectrum from lobotomized automoton to "on this planet the punishment is getting hardwired into a car AND keeping your personality."

So, yes and also there's a ton that still horrifyingly kept theirs from their previous existence. It just doesn't matter.

quote:

The sound was the worst. Shouting, screaming, praying, weeping, all the cries of human terror and misery.
I’m not a squeamish man, and nor do I spare tears for those who deserve punishment, but what I saw in that processorium haunts me still.
Naked human beings were standing in a switchbacked line between high fences. Outside the fences Adeptus Mechanicus menials in environment suits stood guard with shock goads in hand. The people, all mature men and women, were shepherded down the caged walk like livestock. And they were food beasts being led to the slaughter, meat for the ravenous appetite of the Machine-God. I grew up lucky enough to eat real meat. I was unlucky enough to see where it came from – another gift of my father on another drat tour of my family’s various businesses. The manufactorum produced servitors, but it was more akin to an abattoir than a workshop. Every surface was easily cleanable. Large plastek flaps divided areas from each other. Servitors with spray units surgically attached to their backs prowled about, hosing filth into slit drains set into the perfectly smooth, slanted floors. We walked above all this, past sentry pods on spikes occupied by galvanic rifle-armed snipers. Our path went from one end of the hall to the other, and I could see pretty much the whole sorting process, beginning to end.
As the line slowly advanced, the people were passed through various scanning devices, most of them mounted in ugly, functional arches that let out a constant series of acceptance chimes. Occasionally, one would let out an angry blare, and the indicator lumens would flash red. The rejected person was then swallowed up by a trapdoor opening beneath their feet. From these pits wafted a hideous stench, and the grinding sounds of industrial mincers. One rejected man grabbed on to the lip and hung there, arms and hands bloodied, shouting a stream of defiant profanities. Guards lined the grating either side of him and shocked him until he fell. The adepts wouldn’t even waste bullets on these people.
The trapdoor flipped up, and the next terrified person was ushered forward.
A number of pneumatic gates separated the people from each part of the process, snapping open and shut with bone-crushing force.
Violent metal arms snatched them up and spread-eagled them in the air, and a servitor shearer shaved them all over. At another they were subjected to a high-pressure counterseptic wash whose chemical stink made me choke from a hundred feet away. More scanners, more rejects winnowed out. Machines forcibly dressed them in the heavy rubberised garments common to all mono-tasked servitors. These were saggy on them, all one size, until another process force-shrank them to fit their bodies where metal cuffs, sockets and collars bit into vulnerable flesh. The last few prayers gave way to screams at that point, and even the most stoic shouted in pain. They were ushered over a floor buzzing with power that made them shriek with every footstep.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
Djelling answered only reluctantly. ‘Follicular inhibitor. To stop their hair growing,’ he said.
‘How?’ I asked.
Djelling was done answering. ‘Come, come, this way.’ He waved me over to a door.
I didn’t come this way. I watched numbly. The shivering lines of terrified men and women reached a final series of gates, where a high-energy augur beam of such potency it made my dataslate buzz passed over them. Dazed, they were manhandled into different queues, and then hustled from the room to their fates.

Improbable Lobster posted:

By the Horus Heresy, the Imperium has recovered all three of Shakespire's plays

Improbable Lobster posted:

One of my favourite sections of a 40k novel comes from Guy Haley's Flesh And Steel, which is a murder mystery involving servitors. The main character is brought through a servitor manufactory when visiting a suspect to question.

Very effective horror

bob dobbs is dead posted:

a lot of all warhams is about the worthlessness of fathers in many many ways