CHAPTER SERF is a tabletop roleplaying game and adventure, set in Warhammer 40K, where you play those hooded peasant weirdos you sometimes spot in the backgrounds of the art.
Full PDF downloadable >>>HERE<<<
Printer-friendly version >>>HERE<<<
A5-booklet format version >>>HERE<<< (thank you @tubilak!)
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Here's the pitch:
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CHAPTER SERF is a game about candles.
As a fan of Warhammer 40K, I think about Space Marines a lot. Space Marines are:
Feudal aristocrats, with all the uncaring impunities that affords;
Literal grandsons of God, with monastic habits;
Genetically engineered super soldiers;
Children, kidnapped and brainwashed before puberty.
These are not well-adjusted, fully-developed persons. When do they ever get the opportunity?
What would it be like, to serve such persons? To run their supply chains? Keep their households? Satisfy their desires? Clean up their messes?
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In artwork and cinematics; on miniature bases and in bitz boxes; described in comics and novels, Space Marine architecture is replete with candles.
So many candles.
A Space Marine doesn’t think about where candles come from, or what candles cost. (They think about war and xenos and traitors, stuff like that.)
A Space Marine wants candles—so there should and must be candles.
CHAPTER SERF is a game about getting an emotionally-arrested, casually-genocidal bossman demigod—to whom it would be sacrilege to say no—the candles they want.
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I keep trying to write fan TTRPGs for 40K.
The first was Paper Route, also set on a giant flying cathedral of a spaceship. I never finished it. It was called "Paper Route" because the ship was cargo hauler, transporting a planet's worth of office paper. There were orks with origami guns, and paper-wasp tyranids, and eldar scooped up alongside a whole forest.
Where my mind was at with Paper Route was: "40K should be funny."
The second 40K TTRPG thing I made was for Kieron Gillen / Rowan Rook & Decard's DIE RPG. It was an adventure called "POWERSWORD PURGATORY"---a bunch of 30-year-olds, former regulars at ye-olde-FLGS, get Jumanji-ed into POWERSWORD (ie: not-Warhammer 40K) for one last hurrah.
With "POWERSWORD" I was trying to work through how I felt about the fandom, and 40K's place in culture now. Its drift from Thatcher-era DIY nihilism to corporate-IP neatness; its earnest embrace of "xenophobia is justified actually" power fantasies.
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CHAPTER SERF is my third attempt. And my strongest, maybe?
Because it isn't a piss-take. There are jokes in it, of course. It wouldn't be 40K without jokes. But I am taking the Warhammer 40K setting seriously. I'm not being meta, nor winking at the reader.
I finally have something genuine to say, through all that grimdark set-dressing---about the weight of inhuman institutions crushing ordinary humanity, and what we make of the scraps soul left us:
Forcing a mother to betray her own son;
Saving a labourer from lobotomising servitorhood;
Arranging the funeral of a Space Marine's discarded lover;
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Design-wise, I am most pleased with CHAPTER SERF's favour mechanic.
The Imperium of Man is an extremely feudal network of bickering fiefdoms, each with iron monopolies on different facets of far-future life.
It made sense to me, to link what stuff you can have with how much factions like you. Buddy with the Mechanicus and you get access to fancy bionics and lightning guns. Piss off the astropaths? No psychic powers for you.
This is essentially a gear list married to a faction / major NPC relationship map. I like it because it removes the need for players to worry about dollars and cents---a thing that makes no sense in most 40K TTRPG framings.
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I hope people find CHAPTER SERF a fun idea. I am pretty proud of it! I particularly enjoyed writing the various vocations / professions---thinking up what sort of servants Space Marines would want / need.
I started making some sketches for it, but I can't really spare the time to make all the art that I need---so the PDF is text, only, I'm afraid.
I did the layout myself, in Google Slides, which I know is the least efficient way to do things---but hey! If that isn't 40K I don't know what is.
Full PDF downloadable >>>HERE<<<
Printer-friendly version >>>HERE<<<
A5-booklet format version >>>HERE<<< (thank you @tubilak!)
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This is Zsar's serf (he's have loved to not be known as such, but doesn't have much of a choice). Zsar has cut his tongue out and gave him a new name and other serfs are treating him as if he's been cursed. Perhaps that is true to some extent. He's voidborn and was raised under a heavy Imperial influence, but has Nostraman heritage (hence the eyes)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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some of the other chapter serfs are so fucking bitter and it shows. like. sorry the lords like me better because i'm soooooo cute and funny and good for cuddling, how is that my fault again?? 🙄 #staymad #jealous #serflife
Fandom: Warhammer 40k
Pairing: Ultramarine Original Character/Chapter Serf Original Character
Warnings: Mentions of death and injury, age gap (Though it is like 150 year old Astartes and 25 year old serf)
Silvanus Odiniad was considered an outcast by the Ultramarines Second Company ever since the mission that was supposed to bring him acclaim. But his new personal serf, a former Medica who he had seen on the ship before, did not seem to care of the rumours and whispers of his name on the ship.
While he was hesitant having a personal serf, she may prove to be more of a pleasure to have around than a hinderance.
Well, it's time for Odiniad's introduction in fanfic. This is basically just a rewrite of my first Warhammer fic when it was still with Titus. But don't you worry, Titus will play a bit of an important role in the story, even if as a side character. Plus, some original characters from other creators may make a cameo (wink wink)
Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist!
When an intimidated Chapter serf called Silvanus Odiniad to report to Captain Acharan in the command centre, he was certain he was in for another disciplinary hearing. Letting out a subtle yet visibly annoyed sighed he complied with the serf’s instruction and followed him to the Command Centre. Already serfs and tech priests were whispering amongst themselves over what the Marine had done.
What had he done, exactly? He couldn’t recall what he had done the past year since his last disciplinary hearing, where he entered an altercation with another Astartes. One thing was for certain was that Odiniad was not going to tolerate jokes about how he witnessed the death of tens of battle brothers.
Odiniad continued to question what he had done until he reached the Command Centre, where the Captain was waiting with three other individuals. Lieutenant Titus, busy communicating with Talasa on a current mission, Jacobus Hirsch, the Apothecary that he frequented for check-ups and to treat injuries.
And a medica under his command, a young cheerful girl who had begun her duties around a year ago. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her- he saw her grow up on the Battle Barge, and last year she assisted Jacobus in treating him over the past year or so.
Odiniad had begun to question for what purpose he was summoned, and then it was revealed to him.
The girl was going to be serving under Odiniad as his personal serf.
There was nothing wrong with the serf herself- Jacobus praised her for her work ethic, politeness, and optimistic attitude. But Odiniad felt it was unnecessary for him to have a serf working for him. He didn’t need someone to do all his tasks for him. He was capable of doing them on his own. But Captain Acheran insisted that having a serf would be good for him- allow him to focus more on his missions, instead of moping around. Odiniad would have argued that it would leave him with nothing to focus on, but Acheran was still insistent.
Odiniad relented eventually.
Odiniad walked through the hallways of the Battle Barge, power armour off and in his robes, making his way to his quarters. He already felt perverted at having to share his quarters with her, but she served the Medicae prior to becoming a personal serf, so she is possibly more than familiar with both male and female anatomy, Astartes or no.
He had reached his quarters, and upon the doors being opened, he had found the serf, Katarina, working through some paperwork on her cot on the opposite side of his bed.
Katarina looked up at him, and already her face seemed so striking. Freckles, albeit a bit faint, were scattered across her face, her long red hair tied loosely into two braids that hung over her shoulders. And her eyes. Her vibrant eyes, blue as a summer sky. He had encountered few people with eyes as intense as hers- Lieutenant Titus’ blue eyes were already intimidating. But her eyes were the only ones that seemed… inviting, for whatever odd reason.
She gave a polite smile. “Welcome back, Lord Odiniad. It relieves me to see your mission on Kadaku has gone successfully.”
Odiniad nodded in acknowledgement and went to sit on his bed. Most personal serfs attended their masters during missions, but Odiniad was insistent that she remained on the ship during his last mission. She initially questioned his decision, but he would not be persuaded.
“Trust me when I say it is better this way.”
Katarina could only nod as she accepted his decision, stating she would offer her services to the Medicae again as usual. Odiniad felt a wave of relief wash over him as she proved her willingness to cooperate.
She was safer on the Battle Barge.
“You seemed to have been busy,” Odiniad noted. He cringed slightly. Of course she would have been busy while he was gone. That was what she said she would do.
If she was bothered by the comment, she was doing a good job of not expressing it. “I was just attending to your paperwork, but I did do some of my old duties while you were gone. I believe I’d be of more use to you while you are here.” Katarina set down the paperwork next to her and stood up, inspecting Odiniad up and down. “Do you have any injuries that need attending to?”
Odiniad shook his head. “None that need immediate attention. Only bruises.”
As if on cue, Katarina took one of his arms in her hands, pushed the sleeve of his robe up his arm and inspected it. Just as he said, there were a few minor bruises. She did the same to his other arm.
“These bruises appears mild at worst,” She muttered, as she pulled his sleeves down. “They should heal on their own, but do inform me if you need ice for them, or if they get worse.”
Silence fell between the two of them, as Katarina sat down back on her bed, reading through his paperwork once again. Titus was never good at conversation, especially at any that was casual in nature. While the Ultramarines generally treated their serfs as vital assets to their Chapter, he had only ever acknowledged their presence in as polite a manner as he could. Though they usually responded by walking faster away from him. Was it even heretical to know personal details about a serf? Throne, he wished he could remember the Codex better.
But the feeling of her hands on his arm. Her hands were soft, her touch was gentle, and it seemed to linger even as her hand pulled away. A part of him almost missed the sensation.
“What is it like only having vision in one eye.?”
Odiniad blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. He remained silent, as memories of Karrik came back to him. The casualties, both civilians and of his battle brothers, the Ork forces that almost literally clawed at him. He was lucky to have even survived, let alone still have vision in his left eye.
Katarina’s eyes widened and she panicked. “Forgive the intrusive question, My Lord. I was curious because not all Space Marines with injuries as severe as yours stayed with the Ultramarines for long.”
Odiniad had shook his head. Karrik happened 50 years ago, long before she was born. It was clear she had asked a question out of curiosity, not out of malice.
“The greatest challenge was learning to become accustomed to losing part of my vision,” Odiniad answered. “My aim, my perception of depth, my balance- all had to be adapted to ensure I was still efficient in battle. I spent as much time as possible training to get accustomed to my surroundings.”
Katarina let out a heavy breath. A sigh of relief? She seemed to be a perfectionist. She then smiled.
“Uncle Jacobus told me you came to him for injuries because you had a tendency to train harder than you should, even if you already had injuries from previous training sessions or missions and were supposed to be resting.”
Odiniad raised an eyebrow. “The Apothecary is your uncle?”
“Not by blood. My uncle raised me on the Battle Barge along with his sister, my aunt Annike. Both of them were good friends with my parents before they passed away.”
Odiniad frowned. “My condolences, healer.”
Katarina shook her head. “I hardly remember them. It is not a sore subject for me. My earliest memories were me walking around the Barge with both my uncle and aunt trying to keep me away from all of the hazardous machinery. They said that it would displease the Omnissiah.”
She let out a giggle, and a warm feeling began to bubble inside of Odiniad. He quickly dismissed it.
“Where is your aunt? It has been a while since I last saw her.”
Katarina’s face dropped, and she went silent. Odiniad would have sworn to the emperor he saw tears well up in her eyes; he could smell the scent of the salty water. Her bringing a hand to wipe her eyes did little to disprove it.
The face of grief. He knew it all too well, especially as an Astartes. He had outlived his blood family, mentors, too many of his battle brothers to count. And civilians. So many civilians.
He hadn’t realised one of his hands had been outstretched until it appeared into view. He did not know what he was attempting to do. Console her? This was inappropriate, Odiniad thought as he lowered his hand.
Eventually, Katarina blinked, and smiled once more. “Enough about me. I would like to know of some of your accomplishments sometime, if you would not mind telling me. I notice you have a stud on your forehead. I know what the people on the Barge whisper about you, but I want to know about you from yourself.”
A smile so small you would have to look closely to see it tugged at Odiniad’s lips. Katarina’s superiors seem to be justified in their acclaim of her.
“I shall, healer.”
Katarina’s eyes widened, her mouth forming into an O shape.
“Before I forget, My Lord, you may address me as Tari, if you’d like. That is what my friends among the Chapter Serfs refer to me as. Katarina is merely for formalities sake.”
Perhaps he would enjoy having her around after all.
