Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 72, final update done)

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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 71, last but one update)

Postby L'Arpenteur » Sun Sep 02, 2018 11:34 am

YES AND YES AND YES ! You know I just checked this website for you and Lord Lucan, and I thank you for keeping writing this. Plus, it's sunday, so it's a perfect fakemakers' time :D
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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 70)

Postby ArmstrongDicksmasher » Tue Sep 04, 2018 7:24 pm

Meaneye wrote:As I said, none more update is still left - after all, it needs to be explained just how exactly the Fatemakers won :)

However, I tried to leave a few hints in the above exarpts. I am not sure if it is possible to find out what and how happaned, but everything will be explained in the final chapter - whenever that comes.

It was a great update, thanks, i really enjoy reading LordLucans work and your complimentary one, can't wait for the finale! im lucky i logged in on this day to see an update soo recently, im very *fated* to see this no? i havent come in here in over 6 months lol.
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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 71, last but one update)

Postby baud » Wed Oct 03, 2018 10:59 pm

I've registered just to say I've enjoyed reading this Odyssey a lot. You've done a really good job with your story, especially with how you've depicted the characters, showing what are the consequences of the death of the emperor. You've shown a human side to this characters, even if they are conditionned super-humans. Their evolution across the story is interesting too, like the techmarine realising at the end that killing human that are trusting you is not right. Or even how Malistrum keep going, like a real determinator.

Also you keep throwing curveball at those poor marines of Strike force 4, they didn't get any break!

Thank you for sharing that story with us!
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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 71, last but one update)

Postby Meaneye » Sun Dec 01, 2019 2:48 am

I made it.

I actually made it.

It is done. The last update is done.

This was almost a physical challenge to me. I had to force myself hard.

But I did it.

I am not sure if anyone who used to follow this story is still around. But if you are, and you are interested in the end, be my guset one more time.

I will post at leats once more to explain how the story would fit in with the rest of lord Lucan's original fanfiction. but for now, enjoy it.

Talioth Minor
Five hundred and six years before the Emperor’s death.

The young Space Marine scout way crouching in the shadow of some rocks while studying the small town in the valley.
The town seemed deserted. The town should have been deserted. It probably was deserted as well, but the scout was careful and had a lot to lose, so he allowed himself the time to take a really good look.

The human population, of course, had fled months ago, or they had surely been killed shortly after the beginning of the planet’s invasion. This was the nature of this Chaos incursion: the frontline would only move once the opposition had been utterly crushed, but by then, the hinterlands behind the frontline had been completely depopulated. The enemy only spared a few select ones who would become members of the Chaos cult, while they killed every other humans they could find. The scout had now met anyone for a week, and those people had been enemies; easy targets for his gun.
Still, he needed to be careful. He was in a position to do something against the enemy, but he needed to reach the capital without raising alarm. Confrontation was to be avoided.

The enemy was a large horde of Chaos demons. Nobody knew how, but there had been a demonic eruption a few months back in the middle of the planetary capital. The frenzied demons killed the population of the city and then started to fan out into the countryside, destroying and massacring everything in their path. An alarm had been raised before the tide reached the Astropathic Choir’s building, and a hastily assembled Guardsman regiment, with the support of a Space Marine detachment, tried to stop the spreading tide of demons in a narrow valley a long distance from the capital.
With utter failure. The demons swept over them, and, despite the bravery of the humans and their Astartes allies, every single one of them was killed.

With the exception of the scout. His Chapter specialized in open warfare, assisting larger friendly forces with surgical strikes against key targets. Last stands and individual heroism was not part of their doctrine so when the scout saw that his forces had essentially lost, he acted according to Chapter doctrines.

If you do not have the strength to destroy the enemy, avoid his main thrust and attack him where he is the weakest. Do not stand in his way. Go to ground, wait until he spends his power, let him live another day if needed. Plan for your strike and when you strike, do so with strength and precision so he may never recover.

He followed the doctrine. When the last Astartes had died beside him, he lay on the ground and pulled a few guardsman corpses on his body. The tide of demons washed over him and continued to attack what was left of the Imperial expeditionary force. He waited until the battle passed, then stood back up and watched as the demons continued their push forward, not even bothering to turn back and check the bodies of those they had just slain.

Then the looters came. Human carrions, feeding on the scraps the demons had left behind. The scout was watching them as they started to loot the corpses and was preparing to strike when he heard their conversation. One of them had been there at the capital and he was explaining the incursion to the new cult members.

All the demons had come from the same source: a portal opened in the middle of the main square of the capital city. New demons were pouring out of the gate every minute to join their siblings in their endless bloodshed. Their attack was indeed only just a huge expanding wave that killed everything in its path and left only corpses behind. As long as the portal remained open, the demonic horde would be undefeatable because no matter how many of them were destroyed, new ones would arrive to take their places. And although the portal was not stable, it would remain open because chosen members of the cult with the gift of witchcraft bestowed upon them would stay at the portal, forcing it open with the strength of their minds.

Hearing this, the scout realized he had his target. The wave having spread past him, he found himself in enemy territory, with not much enemy force left between him and the capital. The demonic reinforcement coming from the gate was something he would be able to avoid. If he managed to reach the capital and snipe the psykers who kept the portal open, he could not only collapse the portal and deny further reinforcement, but possibly also banish the demons who were already on the planet. A perfect killing strike, aimed at the heart of the enemy.

Was he capable of making the shots? He did not know. But he knew he had to try. So he left, leaving the corpses of his brothers unattended, their gene-seeds unharvested. It would have taken time, and the risk of getting exposed was too great.

He made a vow to make amends and console the souls of the others. He did not know it, but he was destined to fulfill that vow.

His name was Yalub Sulufi, and although he did not know about it, his Fate was to one day become the greatest hero of his Chapter.

The facilitator who was watching the young scout through a magnifier a week later also had a name, but he did not use it and did not share it with others; he had long been only referred to as a facilitator.

The Imperium would have called him just another cultist. He would have opposed that name. It was too base, too… small. Facilitating was what he was doing, and he was good at it. He had helped other Chaos cults in the past, to great success, making their plans of conquest and slaughter a reality. Killing specific targets; collecting specific items; making sure certain rituals were conducted in the right time; these were the things he excelled at. If he had given it a thought, he could have caused the great rift on the planet by himself, but, interestingly, he had nothing to do with it.

Or with the cult which caused it. For almost a decade now, he had been working for a new master, one greater and more deserving than the mortal cults, or even their demonic gods. He had actively rejected the four weaker powers when he had realized that there were still other, deeper, powers in the warp, one of which deigned to choose him of all others to enact its will.

The God That Will Be, as he referred to his patron, was a master of space, time and realities. It knew what would happen in the future and what to do in the past to make it reality; in fact, it existed in all past, present and future in all alternate realities at the same time. The facilitator had done things for it before, and its predictions were not only always deadly accurate, but crystal-clear as well, with no trace of the usual prophetic nonsense which he had received from his earlier patrons. A decade of bloodshed, a decade of facilitation, resulted in him being in this one place, this one time, making sure of the one detail which would ensure his master’s – and his own – ascendancy: to capture and imprint a lonely Space Marine scout who would be heading towards the capital at a very specific point in time.

The scout was good, he had to hand it to him. He was careful and used the terrain well. If he had not known the scout had been coming, he may have been able to slip past the facilitator. However, the scout no chance against a true god’s omniscience. His exact location has been revealed to the facilitator, with careful instructions on how to capture and handle him. The scout was doomed, some would say, from the moment he was born.
The facilitator smiled as he watched the crouching figure, then voxed his people. It was time to trigger the trap.

Yalub watched the small town in front of him with… worries. His gut instincts were telling him there was danger ahead, although he saw nothing out of the ordinary: just a collection of ruined, empty buildings, with the population either have fled or massacred when the wave of demons reached them. Going round would have taken even more time, which he did not really have; so, after some hesitation, he decided to take yet another risk and go through the town.

He used all his skills to remain unseen as he approached. His bad feelings refused to leave him.

He almost exited the town when the trap was sprung.

He did not hear anything. He did not see anything. No warning came, except for a sudden urge to duck. He instinctively obeyed and rolled aside while three las-shots punctured the ground he had been standing a second ago.

As he rolled, he drew a knife and his half-empty bolt pistol. He had a sniper rifle on his back too, but he knew he would not use it now. No, those shots will be needed later; this will have to be solved up front and close.

And solved it would be, one way or another. He could not leave witnesses behind. Yalub would kill his attackers or he would fail and be killed instead.

The facilitator frowned. The scout should not have sensed the attack at all. A flaw in the plan? Somebody was not doing their job correctly?

It did not matter. He came prepared. This was why he was a facilitator.

Yalub used the angle of the incoming las-shots to guess the position of the attackers and killed two of them with his pistol as he ran. He was utterly focused, ready to strike, to counter-attack. The third shooter tried to hit him again. The shot came low, probably aiming at his legs.

They wanted to catch him alive.

He had no time to ponder over this. He made a rolling leap through a torn door inside a building and made three shots, not even aiming, behind him. His tutors would have been proud of him. The combined force of the shots punched through the shooter’s cover and threw him off his foot, mortally wounding him. He fell with a scream, the first human voice made in this battle.

Yalub rolled on, avoiding a par of las-rounds and threw his knife into the human shape appearing in his peripheral vision. He jumped up and ran further inside, yanking the knife out of the slowly falling corpse as he passed it. He had to move quickly. If he could lose himself, just for a few seconds…

Another figure appeared in front of him, and he did not take a further risk. He pumped his last two shots into it.
The two shots stopped mid-air.

Yusuf paused. There was a scrawny, sick-looking woman in front of him with piercing eyes and a menacing aura. He did not know who she was… except she was able to deflect bolter shots at almost point-blank range.

Psyker. Witch.

There was no time for conscious thinking. He jumped forward, swinging his knife. The witch screamed, and Yalub suddenly felt as if his brain were submerged in billing hot water. He grunted and made a single stumbling step forward. Then another.

Reaching the witch did not take much time, but after only three steps, he felt he was only seconds away from death. His vision blurred and he felt a terrible weight in his knife—wielding hand. Even this close, he felt the witch was strong enough to prevent him from raising the blade.

And so he dropped the empty pistol, reached out with his left hand and broke her neck that way.

The weight suddenly lifted and Yalub fell on his knees. He heaved heavily. These few seconds of mental exertion left him drained more than ever before, even during his murderous training as an initiate. With supreme effort, he stood up and made an uncertain step towards the back of the room.

The shock baton hit the back of his head with enough force to knock him flat out.

The facilitator looked down at the wounded Twilight Monk scout at his feet. He was moderately satisfied. In the end, he needed to interfere personally, but things worked out anyway.

He looked up at the second psyker, the one who was actually brought in for the imprinting and smiled maliciously. He did not know why this one needed to be imprinted in the first place, but the will of Besneherofax needed to be done.

‘Glory to His name,’ he whispered.

He turned to exit the building and collect his surviving men. From the corner of his eyes, he suddenly saw movement. He span, just in time to get the blastwave full in his face.

Dimly, he thought to himself, as he was hurled back against the pillar which would break his neck, that this was almost certainly not the will of Besneherofax.

Yalub opened his blood-shot eyes. There was a dim noise around him, which he, even in his current state, could still associate with battle. Shots were fired outside. His attacker was nowhere to be found, and as he painfully turned his head, he could make out two figures facing each other: a small, hunched one and a massive shape towering protectively over the young scout.

Another Space Marine?

It hurt to keep his eyes open. He fought, using his training and his half-developed superhuman glands to force himself awake, but it was an effort all in itself. All he could do was blink and try to focus.


The smaller figure shrieked, and the large shape was suddenly wreathed in purple fire.


The huge figure was moving towards the other, who was in turn trying to back away.


The huge figure (was he really a Space Marine?) grabbed the still shrieking figure by the neck.



Yalub’s vision cleared somewhat. The giant dropped the limp figure on the ground and studied is for a moment. He turned her head aside with his leg and studied the weird tattoos on her face, only to suddenly raise his leg and stomp down hard.

The crunching sound was blotted out by a trio of shots (bolter rounds?) coming from outside.

Then came the silence.

The giant stepped forward and kneeled down at Yalub. The scout saw him clearly for the first time and made a painful, confused grimace. The other was indeed a Space Marine, in fact, he was a Librarian. However, the Chapter markings were completely unknown.

Yalub knew of the other two Chapters operating in this sector of the imperium. Silver Halberds. Blue Avengers. This one was neither, and his Chapter insignia was a simple circle bisected by a line, forming a kind of inverted “Q”.

Who were these people?

“You are… a Librarian,” he panted. As stupid this sounded, this was all he could say in his condition.

The other nodded.

“We are Astartes, just like…” he seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Just like you… brother.”

Yalub winced.

“My mission,” he groaned. “There is a portal… in the capital… if we can close it…”

“We know of your mission.” The Librarian gently reached down and took the scout in his arm. “We will help you complete it. In the meantime… We will also talk about other things, young Twilight Monk.”

Librarian Akichi took the dazzled scout outside and handed him over to Brother Loriant. The Twilight Monk was badly wounded, but not in immediate danger. As soon as he was ready, the three of them would sit down with him and have a talk.

Have a talk with a Twilight Monk. Not just any Twilight Monk: the infamous Yalub Sulufi, the one who was bound to become Chapter Master and declare the Chapter’s secession from the Imperium. The demonized criminal who would decimate two of his brother Chapters: the Silver Halberds and the Blue Avengers, forcing them to consolidate and create a new Chapter, the Fatemakers.

A visionary who foresaw the Emperor’s death and did what he could to save some part of humanity, even if it meant casting away everything he had held dear.

Ironically, it was the demon Besneherofax that gave Akichi the idea. As it gloated that it would corrupt and possess the Twilight Monks, luring the rest of Strike Force Four into a trap, it occurred to him that this also gave the Fatemakers an opportunity. The demon would go back in time to taint the other Chapter, but there and then, they themselves also had that option. They were sitting in front of a functioning time portal. If they had known where and how the demon would try to exert its influence…

Luckily, they did. Akichi himself studied the entire history of the Twilight Monks at the orders of Captain Malistrum. After meeting the Chapter at Valinko, after they had been absent for centuries, it seemed like a good idea to look them up a little. Thanks to the mistrustful nature of the Fatemakers, they still possessed every shred of information of the Twilight Monks, even though they were ordered by the Inquisition to delete their records. Akichi knew of all their great deeds, all their reported missions, especially the actions of their Chapter Master.

A Chapter Master who would come to great renown here and now, at Talioth Minor. The scout’s plan to close the Chaos gate would be highly successful. By sniping only two of the psykers operating the gate, it would indeed collapse, banishing every single demon on the planet. The reclamation fleet would have virtually no other task but to pick him up and debrief him. This victory would be the foundation of his career.

What better place to corrupt him than at the place of his first victory? Especially with a Warp-rift currently open on the planet’s surface? And what better way for the Fatemakers to navigate their ship through space and time than to use that Warp rift as a beacon which the Librarian would be able to sense, especially because it would be laced with the unmistakable, and now familiar, energy signatures of the Deep Warp?

It was still not an easy task to get here. The Opportunity could only arrive after the gate had opened, and by that time, the system was essentially doomed. The ship was almost as useless and unnavigable as a mere space hulk, but, as
Akichi suspected, Thunderhawk Three was still perfectly operational, and they could still use it to slowly drift towards the now wrecked planet. They arrived in the nick of time to save the Twilight Monk scout.

Once the scout no longer in his arms, Akichi nodded towards Loriant and Chaplain Uskovich, and moved away from them. There were things he needed to think over.

This was still a monstrously difficult task, and the likely outcome was still failure. The fact that Thunderhawk Three still worked as he remembered was worrisome, to say the least. As they had left the ship on the Thunderhawk, the Fatemakers could have a closer look at the ship and see that now both her sides were damaged. The ship looked as it was supposed to be as they encountered it in the past in the Borshak system. The Fatemakers were still walking the circle.

But this time, they were walking it alone. Captain Malistrum was nowhere to be found after the Opportunity had arrived in the past. Nethier could that strange mechanical entity which the Captain referred to be found. Were they both destroyed? Were they lost in the Warp while the ship was hurled through space and time?

The answer was irrelevant. The Captain was no more. The mission was their only: the last three Fatemakers alive, in this time or in their original. Akichi was not sure they were up to the task.

Uskovich and Loriant were. It was interesting to see how a mentally damaged and a completely inexperienced Astartes were more positive about their success than the one who had come up with the idea in the first place. Uskovich himself was especially agitated. He had been talking about his meeting with the Twilight Monks and his fellow Chaplain at the Valinko mining facility. He was trying to analyze the conversation and size the other side up in retrospect. He did not remember them as Chaos-touched, but without his mental conditioning, he no longer had perfect memory to bring back every single detail. At one point, he had even jokingly remarked that since he had not seen the face of the other Chaplain, it may as well have been his future self he had been talking with back there.

This was, Akichi knew not completely impossible, but highly improbable. Of all three of them, he knew he would be the last survivor. If they were still walking the circle, than this meant that the Opportunity would yet still end up in the Borshak system, and he would yet still end up as the last surviving Fatemaker.

With his now past self executing him as a challenge to fate.

Akichi sighed. He was never afraid to die, but he was now afraid to die by his own hands. He was afraid of the inevitability of his own failure. There was a time when he thought he was of purpose; that he was allowed to witness the death of the Emperor because a great task was assigned to him. Now that he was still facing oblivion, he was no longer sure.
Did they break the circle? Or were they merely lengthening it indefinitely into the future and passing the great task of walking it over to the Twilight Monks? Were they eventually doomed to failure? Was all this merely an extension for the human species who would forever lack their guiding god now?

The Librarian stopped and sat down on some pile of rubble. He looked back and no longer see the other two Astartes or the Twilight Monk.

He nodded. This place was good enough for what he was about to do. He took the small deck from his pocket.
The Imperial Tarot that started this whole misery. The Librarian received the first warning from reading the psychically active cards almost five years ago – or, from his current point in time, five hundred years in the future. The warning came too late and the Emperor died – will die – setting things in motion which almost deleted this entire reality. As the cards lost their power with the Emperor’s death, Akichi only he kept them around as a memento of simpler times – but the Emperor was still alive now, and so his powers may still manifest through the deck once again.

The Librarian never started a mission without seeking guidance from the Emperor. He did not know what to expect now. Would the Emperor guide him now? Would He share His wisdom with a Librarian who knew for a Fact that He would die?

There had been a time when Akichi shought he had a higher purpose in his life; that he witnessed the Emperor’s death for a reason. He owed, if not Him, than himself, to try the cards one last time.

The deck worked now, to no great surprise to him; he felt the power as his fingers touched the deck. He drew five cards in quick succession and placed them in front of him.

The five cards were exactly the same the first time cast them all those years ago. He looked at them one by one. The Emperor, the focus of all events to come. Discordia, with the shape of the human who had made the killing stroke in front of the Librarian’s eyes. Adeptio, showing which Akichi now knew was the Dark Torch, the Warp-gate allowing Besneherofax to enter into this reality. Creatio, with the dead Navigator, Yasmilda, the woman who gave her life – perhaps even her soul – to get the Fatemakers where they were supposed to be, unwittingly playing into the demon’s hands. Mandatio, the closing card of the divination, an empty surface, just like before.

Akichi sighed inwardly. The deck, even though it worked now, showed him nothing new. The circle still existed, and no possible solution was shown, perhaps because there was no solution. The demon could still win. Chaos – the Deep Chaos – could still prevail. The Fatemakers would have to go on and fight without the slightest sign of any hope.

It has been always so. They would, of course, go on regardless. Still…

It would have helped to see at least a small ray of hope.

He reached for the cards to put them away.

As he touched the empty Mandatio card, its surface suddenly blurred. The Librarian froze.

He watched as a figure slowly took shape. His fingers hovered over the card, not daring to touch it as he slowly recognized what he is seeing.

The image only stayed on the card for a few seconds, then it disappeared. In a moment of clarity, Akichi knew that he would not be able to make this divination ever again. Yet, even as a fleeting image, he knew what he saw was not an illusion.


What did this mean? A possible future? A new leader? A path yet unopened suddenly revealing itself?

The Librarian put away the deck and stood up. His face hardened, taking on an edge of cold determination.
It mattered not if this was real or not. It did not matter if he would be there to see it. He may not have any confirmation of making things better for the future, but he would move on and fight regardless. This is what he was. This is what he did.

Besides, believing in this would mean believing in a fighting chance, and if you cannot believe in your own god any more, a fighting chance is the next best thing, is it not?

He turned and went back to his last battle-brothers. Although the task ahead was immesurable and without the slightest guarantee, he was of purpose again, and as a human being, this was all he needed.

The Fatemakers would yet make new fate for the Galaxy.

One thousand six hundred and eight days after the Emperor’s death

The battle over, the Dark Torch started to recede. In time, it would close completely. As soon as the Deep Warp demon Besneherofax disappeared, the thousands of ships collected from all those realities slowly phased out and returned to their own reality. The region of space which hosted one of the greatest naval battles of the Galaxy, now seemed almost completely empty.

The small Twilight Monk fleet was moving away now, their mission completed. Their appearance here was… unexpected, to say the least. Traditional logic dictated they should not be here, although they were obviously of this reality. How did they know? How did they have advanced Warp-based weapons capable of hurting a Deep Warp Demon?

It was unknown. Under normal circumstances, investigating this would have been priority, were it not for the fact that due to their attack, the Warp-rift started collapsing. That meant that whatever happened, it broke the time-loop, in fact, it broke the entire time-paradox somehow. Seeing as how the paradox was about to wipe out this reality and a good many similar iterations, disturbing this improvement – even through observation – would have been fatally foolish and irrational.

Still, the human imperium set up in the faraway Magellan Cloud, as well as their rulers – the lost Primarchs of the one humans referred to as the Emperor – would need to know what transpired here, and the account of a living eye-witness would be just what was needed. Luckily for them, the Machina probe, MUTO-35145 had managed to get the perfect eye-witness.

The probe had launched itself after Captain Malistrum as he had fallen down into the chasm in front of the engine room, just as the Opportunity flew into the rift. The ship started to phase out of her regular timeline just as it grabbed Malistrum, and it reacted by doing the only logical thing: raising its physical and Warp-based shields to anchor itself and the unconscious Astartes to its reality. It worked. The ship disappeared, and the probe could witness the attack of the Twilight Monk battlefleet essentially torpedoing Besneherofax out of normal space. It seriously doubted that this was enough to destroy a denizen of the Deep Warp, but it was certainly enough to defeat it.

Not for good, of course. The demon will return. It has mastery over time itself, which gave it an almost unbeatable advantage. Still… if the demon won at any point of the timeline, it would surely mean a victory for it here and now as well, would it not? And it not winning here meant it would not win anywhere, ever?

This would not be this simple. Something will need to be done about this, and the Machina probe knew its kind could not stay out of this for long. Its masters must be ready for this. The Magellan Cloud needs to be ready.

Its passenger would make sure they would be ready.

Androsh Malistrum, Captain to the last true Fatemaker company, was crouched unconsciously in a fetal position inside the carrying compartment of MUTO-35145. The compartment was designed for stone and plant sample carrying, and although the probe was capable of producing oxygen, its batteries were not designed to last forever. It will need to visit some energy-rich solar system, possible a habitable planet. Its course to home will need to be planned out. At one point or another, the Captain would need to wake up – or be woken up – and he would need to be convinced to escort the probe to its makers.

The latter part would either be the most difficult or the easiest part of the new mission, depending on whether Malistrum would want to rejoin his last few men, now possible serving as Twilight Monks.

The probe had a few good arguments to convince him. It had been observing him for a while, and he knew that the man was pragmatic and dutiful. He would accept that he essentially got pushed out of the Fatemaker’ infamous circle, and although he may find it hard to let someone else finish his great mission, he would accept new duties if it meant he could be useful to someone. After all, what is a Fatemaker if he could no longer make fate?

But that was still years, even decades in the future. There was time for everything. There was even time for the Captain to have some rest before waking up from his dreams into some fresh nightmare.

With confusing past behind it and uncertain future ahead it, the Machina probe launched its engines and moved on. Although extinction seemed inevitable, it still had a mission. It had information which others could use. It had a man whose only purpose in life was to give others a fighting chance.

Another name for a fighting chance was hope.

If you have hope, nothing else is vitally necessary.
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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 72, final update done)

Postby L'Arpenteur » Thu Dec 05, 2019 12:40 pm

I wandered once again in this ancient vault of knowledge once rich and opulent with stories and voices whom echoes still resonate inside my head. I calmly touch the old tools of controls which connects me to the machine-God and suddenly my Cogitator sends me an alarm, a spark of new is inbound, a great messenger has returned and in wide smile I shout : THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND DID IT OH MY DEARLY EMPRAH GOD WHAT A DAY

(i will read it now man, thank you, i think you're like one of the last mohican around here and one and only who managed to finish his story, big up !)
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Re: Fatemakers' Odyssey (50K) (part 72, final update done)

Postby L'Arpenteur » Thu Dec 05, 2019 3:31 pm

The message has been received and it is well. It took almost 8 years to receive the data and analyse it, maybe even more to process it amid the warp storms which made my wait feel like an eternity. I embark on your adventure a fateful day in 2016, freshly arrived in a new yet ancient megalopolis, still a student, very alone in this dark universe we call reality, full of struggles and sometimes alas, scarce of beauty to wonder or warm faces to truly call friend. We don't know each other, we are miles away, but I want to thank you again for your efforts, even if - we have to face it - few remain here to read your work. I will never cease to emphasize how it is hard to achieve what you did, in the conditions we have and how it is, truly, miraculous that your tales arrived to conclusion. I'm still amazed how one can convey such passion and intensity through sheer storytelling, but maybe I finally encounter the familiar yet almost mythological figure of a true storyteller who keeps you awake at night, when it is dark and people gather around the fire pit to listen to him of distant dreams and epic saga. I will save your story to be honest, I'm too afraid it could be erased if this website crumbles. I don't know how yet, but i will try also to make an article about it in Id4Chan so people could discover it too. Anyway, you inspired also numerous RPGs among my friends and family and I can definitely say - again - that your story has been a decisive one in my own individual one.

Thank you again and because english cannot convey full my esteem : je vous adresse mes remerciements les plus sincères et mon respect le plus mérité.

On the lore side : I didn't expect you would succeed to make your story fit so well in LordLucan's one, you definitely close the circle on this one ;)
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