7 replies to this topic

[Sammael]

Necontyr. The ancient enemies of the Old Ones, maters of the stars who sold themselves into cheap slavery of the C'tan Star Gods in exchange for their souls and their freedom. Now warriors of living metal who are TOTALLY NOT EGYPTIAN, they have been slumbering in tombs after one Necrontyr decided that becoming Terminators would be a bad thing... seriously, just one of you?!?!?!? and AFTER the bio-transference? Anyway, the Necrons are waking up now, and boy do they have issues! The Necrons trapped the C'Tan, got new rules, and worse... now they've developed personalities and become 'Interesting' and 'Quirky' or 'Anything-But-The-Intimidating-Robots-They-Were'. But I digress, this story chronicles the fall and slight rise then fall of Phaeron Idiosynkran Issiti of the Asshattikan Dynasty, and his delightful tomfoolery in the 41st millennium.

'Cryptek, have my tea ready by noon, I'm parched!' Phaeron Idiosynkran shouted gleefully down the hall of the gargantuan Tomb Ship, the corridor going on for a seeming enternity. Idiosynkran was every inch the imposing figure, fully 8 feet tall, his metal skeleton clad in atypical finery, though time and inexplicable circumstance meant that during his slumber, he'd received all of the BBC's 1940's radio transmissions, and was convinced he was an English Gentleman. He wore atop his head a fine top hat, a monocle, and a full Living metal tuxedo, he also had a mustache, he was especially proud of that fact, finding a guardsman with suitable facial topiary, and then removing it without spoiling it took much practice. Roughly 130 Vostroyans, in fact.

'I'm right next to you Sire, surely there is no need to shout?' his Cryptek adviser dutifully responded, noting that if he had eardrums, they would likely be bleeding. Second-guessing a Phaeron, however, has it's disadvantages.

'Cryptek,' the Phaeron's voice growing low and menacing, yet inexplicably upper class and English, 'go and make me my tea, if it's not here very shortly, and in my best tea cups, I'm going to have living-metal testicles made for you, attached, wired to your synthetic nervous system, and then I'm going to tear them off.' the Phaeron then adjusted his top hat and monocle, and regained his composure and became cheery again, 'Earl Grey tea, too, no sugar.'

'Of course, Sire. As you command.'

'And scones, easy on the cream.'

'Anything else, Sire?'

'Yes, a newspaper.' the Crytek looked very perplexed by this request, stopping in his tracks, he noted that if he had eyebrows, they would probably be raised.

'A what, Phaeron?'

The Phaeron tiwddled his mustache in a cartoon motion indicating thought, 'Hmmm, good point, maybe don't get that one, I don't know why I know what that is either...' he replied in a tone of admission and bewliderment.

The Cryptek just shook his head, and swore vengeance upon Matt Ward for what he had done to his once proud races' lore, and skulked off to the Tomb Ship's kitchen. It was also at that point he realised that as Necrons do not require food, the ship did not have one, and that a fate of ripped metal testicles awaited him. He noted at this point that if he had tear ducts, he would cry.

[Armoured Priest]

For once, I feel bad for a necron.

[destroyerOFwill]

awesome

[JC 042]

Well this is a first.

[Brother Aries]

0110 001101 00101 1100010 1011011 1000101001
Translation:
That was fucking awesome!

[Grimaldus]

LMAO

beutiful work funk

[Corman2030]

Hahahahahahah!

[DaJay5117]

goddamn goddamn godDAMN. That was funny.