PRIMARCHS II: The Plot Hole Strikes Back

[Lastie]

P * R * I * M * A * R * C * H * S * 2
THE PLOT HOLE STRIKES BACK

Introduction By The Author

Hi and welcome to what could technically be called the 'sequel' to PRIMARCHS, the accidental-long-running-script-comedy-series featuring everyone's favourite Mary Sues (or should that be Marty Stu's?). What originally started out as something I wrote while quite bored as a humourous answer to the often asked question over on the Background forums, 'What Happened To The Primarchs?', quickly, and rather strangely, spawned into a two thousand page plus thread with a rather scary fanbase (joking of course - please don't kill me!). Of course such an epic tale could only go so long before the sheer number of posts begin to collapse under their own virtual weight and implode creating an Internet black hole or something, hence this thread. the original PRIMARCHS has come to an end; now sees the rise of its sequel (for better or for worse)!

The Story So Far

Good Gods in the Warp ... where to begin?

SUMMER CAMPAIGN ARC
The first arc of PRIMARCHS (after they finally leave that pub we discover them in, wasting their lives away) sees everyone reunited with each other (including the dead ones, which remains unexplained to this day) under the Plot Hook of a summer campaign arc. Games Workshop, seeking to move the story onwards (you can tell this story lies within the realms of fiction right there), have created a campaign that sees the C'tan seeking to conquer the galaxy with their Necron hordes. The C'tan of course, being the genre-savvy lot they are, have their own plans. Seeking the mythical Laptop of Alan Merrett they aim to re-write the universe with themselves as it's overlords. The Primarchs learn of this and through convoluted plot means discover the only way to halt this diabolical plot is to collect the lost Keys of Karl (the eleventh Primarch), pass through the Gates of Varl and seek the help of the Fish of Time to travel back to the rise of the Necrontyr and stop the C'tan before they create their unliving robotic armies. Naturally this plan works, the C'tan lose, and the Primarchs win, and if you've read this far without nerd raging heavily I salute you.

THE PLOT HOLE ARC
The largest story arc so far is also the most heavily convoluted mess of a story (seriously; I'm still trying to figure out what happens). Probably apt, considering it deals with the Plot Hole; a malevolent entity spawned from the realms of badly-written fiction to feast on plot holes and wall bangers. Having already devoured the Warcraft universe (thanks to World of Warcraft's raping of the lore) the Plot Hole sets it's sights on the world of Warhammer 40,000. The Primarchs learn that the only way to defeat the Plot Hole is to gather the Key Aspects of Narrative and combine them with the Tome of Tropes to write a plot hole-proof narrative for their universe and defeat the Plot Hole. Why they couldn't use Alan Merrett's laptop from the last arc is never explained. Or perhaps it was ... I'm not sure.

DAWN OF WAR ARC
After the Plot Hole arc collapses into a massive ret-con which sees the last eighty chapters literally written out of the continuity (by my own characters no less! The cheek!) the Dawn of War arc begins. A worker's union has begun to gather steam across the Imperium, and the down-trodden populace is rising up against the tyrannical rule of the Emperor of Mankind. Led seemingly by Aerith Gainsborough, that happy-go-lucky flower seller from Final Fantasy VII (don't ask; long story), the Union seeks to topple the Adeptus Terra and install their own leadership. Naturally this turns out to be all a ruse created by the Blood Ravens, who in turn are thralls to the Plot Hole seeking revenge for the last arc. The story ends with the Primarchs scattered to the corners of established fiction by the Plot Hole, leaving the universe of Warhammer 40,000 vulnerable without its greatest heroes.

Where have the Primarchs gone? How will they get back? Will Eldrad ever be less of a dick? These questions, and more (unfortunately), will be answered in the following chapters ...

Cast of Characters

(To be created at a later date (i.e. when I can be bothered))

[Lambda]

So all your post with the Primarchs story will be posted here now?

[Lastie]

BLAZING WORLDS ARC
C * H * A * P * T * E * R * 1
FORCED VACATION: PART I

To stare into the realm of Tzeentch is to stare into limitless, formless, insanity without boundaries. Or something like that at any rate; I won't bother to brutalise the English language trying to describe something language was never invented to describe in the first place. Needless to say; it's a crazy place. So when I say Tzeentch was smoking a purple chimpanzee while sipping a vertical river by the Pythagorean principle just smile and nod and go with the flow, so to speak.

Anyway, these actions she was participating in much to her delight squared (go with it!) and wondering if the iron ball syndrome was perfect for the laser-bat principle (ah hell, I give up) …

Tzeentch was doing stuff in her realm, pondering what had just recently occurred within the Imperial Palace with the reveal of the Plot Hole and the subsequent abduction of the Primarchs to who knows where, when it occurred to her that she had the means to answer that question. Conveniently enough it was in her back yard, metaphorically-speaking of course.

Walking across the room (it’s not a room) she was relaxing within (she’s neither relaxing nor ‘inside’ the room, which isn’t a room an anyway) she approached the window (it’s not a window) and leaned out (she neither leaned nor protrude ‘out’ because it’s not a window … you see how hard talking about the Warp is? Read Codex: Daemons sometime for a prime example) to call down to Kairos Fateweaver, who was stumbling around the garden (not a garden) mumbling to himself.

Tzeentch: “HEY! GET YOUR TWO THICK SKULLS UP HERE!” Sighing to herself as she questioned the quality (and sanity) of those she surrounded herself with (best not to ask about the twin scribes unless you have a couple millennia spare for the ranting), Tzeentch turned around to find Kairos in front of her; both heads staring at her with confusion. “Oh … well done. I need to get into the Well of Eternity, which for some unexplained reason I don’t like going despite being right at the heart of my estate” She shrugs, used to the idiosyncrasies in her background by now.

Kairos Fateweaver:Both heads talking at once. “And?/So?”

Tzeentch: “… you have the keys. Remember when I threw you in there?”

Kairos Fateweaver: “With great clarity oh mistress of mysteries/Yeah I remember bitch, what about it?”

Tzeentch:Blinks a couple of times (well, not really). “Yes … can we move the plot on? I don’t have all day” (There are no days here.)

Kairos sighs and punches the air beside him (there is no … I suppose you’ve got the idea by now) creating a hole in reality into the Well of Eternity. Gesturing for Tzeentch to go in first Kairos bows as she passes, gives her back the finger, and follows quickly afterwards.

Within the Well of Eternity …

Tzeentch: “KARL?!? What the hell are you doing here?!?”

Karl, the eleventh Primarch, turns around from where he sits in front of twenty-seven wide-screen holographic screens and flashes a grin containing far too many drugs for the average human being to sustain without exploding graphically.

Karl: “Hey! Wassup! Don’t mind me; just checking out the gear you’ve got here. Neat screens man … neat screens. I can see everything here!”

Tzeentch: “That’s kind of the point. It’s the equipment that helps my ‘just as planned’ moments. You can see everything currently happening in this spot, and with a little fine-tuning you can often see what’s going to happen. Anyway get out my seat, and what the hell have you been smoking?”

Karl: “Dried and roasted Tanith Ghosts. Tastes good, gets you really high, but end is a real crash and burn” [Author’s Note: Yeah, that wasn’t particularly subtle was it?] “Pull up a seat T-man and watch the fun”

Tzeentch:“What?” Her eyes widen as she realises what she’s watching. “This what I’m here for. You’ve tuned the channels into your brothers! … oh, and you sister” She draws up a chair … literally, and sits down beside him.“So where are they all …” Her eyes widen in horror. “Oh me! Magnus! Karl, look where Magnus is!”

Karl: “What? Who cares about Magnus, look were Perturabo ended up!”

Indeed, let us look …

= P = R = I = M = A = R = C = H = S =

A freak wind blows the scattered remains of last months Gadgetzan Times across the uneven and unkempt flagstone floor of Shattrath’s lower tier. The lone sheets fly past the forgotten, the rejects, the nameless NPCs ignored and shunned by all, destined to stand in one place forever without a line of dialogue to pass through their lips. The financial report page flies especially high in an updraft, only to come hurtling towards the earth to wrap itself around the beak of one Rilak the Redeemed.

Rilak the Redeemed: Tearing the paper away from his face, only to focus on the nonsensical economy of a world ruled by who has the largest shoulder pads. “Light-damnnit! Just because no one ever comes here anymore doesn’t mean the Sha’tar can skimp on cleaning this craphole”. As he rolls the paper into a makeshift cigarette within which he pours a strange dried and powdered extract from the local moths Rilak notices an unusual number of NPCs crowding around the nearby hospital. “Hello, what’s going on here?”

Taking a look around him to check whether any players who would be needing the quests he offered were about, Rilak knocks away the yellow exclamation mark that insists on hovering over his head and shuffles over to the crowd.

Sha'nir: Waving her hands above the crowd around her. “Please people! Can we respect this man’s condition and give him some room? Don’t you have levelling alts to hassle? Please step back! Give him some room?”

Rilak the Redeemed: Leaning over to Nakodu the broken. “What’s going on?”

Nakodu: Still bitter about his current circumstance; selling Lower City reputation items on eBay to put food on the table. “Some guy one of the guards found outside in the forest. He looks human but he’s large enough that we think he’s a raid boss”

Rilak the Redeemed: Frowns in confusion. “What’s a raid boss doing out here? I thought outdoor raids were banned after some git let Kazzak into Stormwind four times in a week?”

Griftah: Nervously glancing over his shoulder. “That's beside the point! If he's a raid boss you know what that means? Hordes of prepubescent kids on their tooled-up mains descending upon Shattrath to kill this guy over and over again for whatever loot he ***** out upon death. I don't need that kind of hassle in my life!”

Nakodu: “Relax. Shattrath's a sanctuary; no combat of any kind may be fought within its borders”

Griftah: “Yeah? Well what about the zombie invasion before the last expansion? There was a fair amount of combat then!”

Nakodu: “An exception to the rule”

Sha'nir: “Quiet everyone; he's waking up!”

Everyone watches in silent awe as the large man lying on the poorly-laid bedsheets begins to stir. Opening his eyes he looks around in confusion then grimaces and clutches his head in pain.

Sha'nir: “Easy there. You've been through an obvious rough patch. You need to take it steady. Can you tell us your name?”

The man looks up at her then realises he's still clutching a head that no longer hurts. As he removes his hand he sees it for the first time and stares at an extension of his own body as if he had never seen it before. Or perhaps never seen it in such a form before, or if not then perhaps for many thousands of years.

Perturabo: Still staring at his now human hand, a far cry from the daemonic claws of his once mighty princehood form. “What the hell?”

= P = R = I = M = A = R = C = H = S =

Meanwhile, outside the city, two travellers slowly make their way along the dusty roads leading through Terokkar forest into the heart of Shattrath on the western borders before the mountains leading into Nagrand. The southern Azerothian raptor mounts hiss as they taste the alien air in obvious agitation as their bear their cargo through the woods. The forest is silent, save for the almost imperceptible sounds of artillery in the distant valley to the east, and Vol'jin smiles to himself as he gently soothes the raptor he rides on.

Vol'jin: Gesturing around him. “You hear that? The trees; they be silent today. Bad omen that is. Perhaps this trip not turn out so relaxing for you, heh?” He turns to regard his companion, who sits upon her mount with arms folded radiating pure fury. “Still not talking to old Vol'jin? He understands, but Thrall says you need vacation. You need to relax, mon. You too on edge”

Sylvanas Windrunner: Gritting her teeth (in surprisingly good condition considering she hasn't brushed them since dying). “Comes with being undead”

Vol'jin: “You speak now! I hear you, mon. You undead too angry; always angry at everyone around them. Need to be like me. My people have no home, but are we angry? Of course mon, but we don't snap everyone's head off because we can't solve our problems”

Sylvanas Windrunner: “No you sit around and smoke foul-smelling crap all day”

Vol'jin: “We contact the spirits, mon, and the spirits tell us to take it easy”

Sylvanas Windrunner: “I contact spirits all day; one runs my hairdresser. You forget who you're talking to, Vol'jin”

Vol'jin: “No, I remember: I talk to an arrogant stuck-up bitch who can't look beyond her immediate obsession”

Sylvanas Windrunner: Spins on her saddle to confront him. “I am not obsessed!”

Vol'jin: “And when Thrall found that shrine of yours to Arthas, with the giant posters, collectable mugs, signed photo albums, and limited edition Lich King Collectable Card Game he was worried. When we found the Arthas plushie, then he sent you and me here”

Sylvanas Windrunner: “It was research into uncovering Arthas' weaknesses … and focusing my hatred. I have lots of it; it needs to be focused”

Vol'jin: “Yes, mon. That's why we're here” He stops the raptor and gestures ahead at the glittering pillar of light that heralds the centre of Shattrath. “First stop; World's End Tavern. I need a drink, mon”

= P = R = I = M = A = R = C = H = S =

The World’s End Taverm is currently quite busy. Everyone is taking advantage of the fact ninety-nine percent of player characters are currently messing around in the frozen north of another world leaving Shattrath practically a ghost town. Without constant demands by egotistical so-called ‘heroes’ for fresh food, drink, new loot, and where to find that trade profession trainer the citzens of Shattrath are chilling out and enjoying a few drinks. Here we find Perturabo knocking back several himself, consoling himself with alcohol over his current condition.

Perturabo: “So many awesome daemonic gifts … lost … it’s that god-damn fourth edition codex all over again …” Gulps down another shot of some draenic concoction, gasps in disgust and stares at the label. “’0% Alcohol? Child-friendly?’ Oh gods this place sucks!” Tosses the bottle aside …

… which is promptly caught by the clawed hand of a robed stranger (odd considering people who don’t want to be seen don’t usually wear heavy robes, which tend to attract attention).

Cloaked Figure: “You need to be more careful with your despair. You could do some damage with those things”

Perturabo: “Not really; I don’t have proficiency with thrown weapons” Frowns. “What’s with the get-up, want to avoid attention?” Frowns harder. “Wait … I recognise that voice … Illidan?”

Illidan Stormrage: Leans over and hisses. “Quiet! I’m trying to avoid attention!”

Perturabo: “Then take off the robes. Everyone’s staring at you”

Indeed they are; no one can take their eyes off the cloak and its occupant for long. The small snatches of whispered conversation that Perturabo catches from the surrounding crowds hinge on the poor taste of inconspicuous clothing chosen by the stranger.

Illidan Stormrage: Listening to the same conversations tentatively takes off the robes, exposing his giant demon-mutated, winged and horned form. Everyone gets bored and goes back to discussing how much the Argent Tournament sucks. “Wow … guess you’re right. Who are you anyway? Have we met?”

Perturabo: “It’s me: Perturabo” Realises his current state and shrugs. “Well … was I guess. I’m currently enduring times of no gifts from the Warp so its back to my old sucky Primarch form”

Illidan Stormrage: “And that’s a bad thing? Last I checked you guys were the living embodiment of Boring Invincible Heroes”

Perturabo: “Yes we’re invincible, but I wouldn’t say bor-“ His eyes widen when he sees two individuals walking into the tarvern. “Oh crap it’s her”

Illidan Stormrage: Looks around. “Who? Oh, what? Sylvanas? What about her?”

Perturabo: From underneath the table. “We had a one-night stand during the Plot Hole saga”

Wait … they did? <Goes back and checks through a hundred-odd chapters> No they didn’t!

Perturabo: “It wasn’t in-narrative”

Illidan Stormrage: “Why are you concerned? I didn’t recognise you, so why would she?”

Perturabo: “Plot contrivance? It’s not like this world isn’t swarming with the bloody things”

Sylvanas and Vol'jin walk across the tavern in the direction of the few empty seats at the back. As she does so Syvlanas by chancer glances over in the direction of Perturabo and Illidan and spots Perturabo hiding under the table. Her mouth curling up in a twisted mockery of a smile, Sylvanas walks up to the table, peers underneath it, and smiles.

Sylvanas: “Hello Perturabo, you slimy bastard”

Perturabo: “See?!? How in the nine flavours of the Warp did she know that?!?”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[Lupinbell]

Posting for subscription.

[shaso_iceborn]

Posting for subscription as well but also to say what an awesome new way to do primarchs

[warmaster_dan]

Just thought I'd let you guys know that you can subscribe under thread tools near the top of the screen, it's not necessary to post and clutter up the thread in order to do it (hypocrisy i know, given what i'm doing, but ah well ).

[Scorpion]

Subbed, man! Keep up the awesome epicness, man!

(Go Lastie!)

[HK-47]

Love the new stuff. It was a good idea to start a new thread, the old one was way to bulky to go through.

If I may ask a personally question, you have been doing this since 2007, do you still like writing Primarchs? I can't help but feel that this have a impact on your life, does it? And where do you get your inspiration from?

Silly questions, but they pop into my head every time I read your work.

[donuter]

So after all that, you still made a new log

AWSOME!!!!

[BladeWolf]

The Bridge of the Fang Imperialus.

Cristhios: suddenly looks all excited "Sweet Emperor!"

Corthos: pulls his eyes away from the viewscreen "What Captain?"

Cristhios: lower lip quivering "New Primarchs has finally been released"

Corthos: Looking at the mission chronometer "Should I set a new narrative-course?"

Cristhios: grinning like a child, tears dripping down his cheeks "No, for now we shall observe the WIN and AWESOME!"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

BladeWolf: "Seriously though, great to see that PRIMARCHS is officially no longer a thread-jack and has a home of it own... I have no doubt that Matt's MST will be here soon so I wont bother."

BladeWolf: "Oh yea, post for Sub'"

[zanotam]

Guys, guys, please. Please, lets just leave this thread solely for Lastie this time around. No more fan fiction, it gets really confusing scrolling through pages... Anyways, not first, but still, first page!

[freelancer]

*sigh* posting to sub epicness

[ML Kurze]

Awesome as always. Perturabo in his own skin in the World of Warcraft. I think if it were Mortarion he would kill himself immediately upon awakening.

Just a little thing we should wonder about. It is kinda strange that the stoner primarch can always be found in some sort of control room that shows where everyone is. I'm starting to wonder if Karl is not the idiot drug addict that he is portrayed to be. And it is also very conveniant that he can switch so quickly (a relative term, I know) from the material world into the immaterial realm.
At least, it makes me wonder.

[shaso_iceborn]

Awesome as always. Perturabo in his own skin in the World of Warcraft. I think if it were Mortarion he would kill himself immediately upon awakening.

Yeah and he should be given a foam rubber knife to try doing it with lol

[BladeWolf]

Yeah and he should be given a foam rubber knife to try doing it with lol

Cristhios: "You'd think the Emperor in his grand wisdom would have done that by now... you know... for the Evulz"

Thoran: "Because it would driven Mortarion into deeper pits of despair"

Cristhios: "This is the Emperor we're talking about"

Thoran: "Ok.. in case he would have given Mort' a Foam rubber chainsword"

Cristhios: "Epic Evulz?"

Thoran: "It's a Primarch, everything MUST be Epic"

[Scorpius_78]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]“Oh me! Magnus! Karl, look where Magnus is!”[/COLOR

Now I really wanta see where Magnus is. Anyhow great work as always Lastie.

BladeWolf plz keep the fan fiction in the old Primarchs Thread, lets keep this one just for Lastie's work.

[BladeWolf]

Jesus H... I am, I just Commenting using my characters as mouth-pieces. I have no intention of posting the Fan-Author Chronicles here. Would you say the same to FarseerMatt's MSTs? It basically the same thing.

[Son of Sanguinius]

Yes, because that's how the crazy side fan fiction started. Its funny, no doubt. But we've seen where you guys go with it.

[Imperialis_Dominatus]

Must... subscribe... ah! Got it.

[BladeWolf]

I assure you all, we who work on the Fan-author Chronicles will not post Fan fiction here.

I however cannot speak for CaptainSinon

However...

Of course comments are always welcome, and MST-ing is more amusing (and welcome) commentary.