You are a servant of the Emperor. Every human in the galaxy is or should be, at least on a philosophical level, but your service has always been more direct. You are a member of the Imperial Church, or of one of it's subsidiary institutions, and such a position has given you a perspective on the workings of the Ecclesiarchy that few souls are privileged enough to receive.
It sickens you.
The Church is meant to be pure, to be dedicated in the service of God, to be the guiding light that leads mankind through the darkness of this wretched millennium... but that is not the Ecclesiarchy you know. The Church you see is one riddled with corruption, where greed takes the place of piety and self-importance that of duty. Far too many 'priests' are content to line their own pockets and set themselves up as Kings in all but name, caring nothing for those beneath them other than they serve.
Cynical manipulators would be one thing; the charlatan looking to exploit the faith of another is a foul thing, but such perfidy pales in comparison to faithful soul who sees no contradiction between his words and deeds. The Church is rotting from the inside out, and though it will cost you your life you can no longer stand by and watch the corruption spread.
No man who died in His service, died in vain.
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Who are you? Choose two of the following options; the one with the most votes overall will win.
[ ] The Cardinal. You have a position of rank and power within the Ecclesiarchy, and you have done what you can to use it for good. Your teachings were always somewhat unorthodox, but you spoke to people's hearts and your support grew ever greater. Now, though, your superiors have rendered judgement, and those who trusted in your words are being condemned as heretics and sent to the pyre. Your position protects you from harm so long as you do not intervene... but you cannot stand aside and let your children burn.
[ ] The Drill-Abbot. You served on the frontlines, and in reward were permitted to retire to the Schola Progenum, there to teach the next generation of Imperial servants how they might best serve the Emperor. For decades you have nurtured their minds and sent them forth into the galaxy. Most died, their lives spent like copper coins, and those who survived highlighted your every failure in the doing. Now you pick up your hammer and set forth to confront your old students, and perhaps in the process teach them one final lesson.
[ ] The Missionary. You have walked beneath alien suns and broken bread with people lost to the Emperor's light for millennia on end. Whole worlds have been brought into the fold by your deeds, and every time you returned home another set of scales fell from your eyes. You can scarcely bare to look upon the place you are meant to be speaking for, and while the frontier yet calls it's sweet siren song... you are done running.
[ ] The Sororitas. You are a Sister of Battle, and your skin bears the scars of many wars. You have slain the enemies of the faith on countless battlefields, advanced far in the service to the Church... and found the worth of those you are supposed to serve lacking. They feast on the victuals of a hundred worlds and drink wine from golden chalices, while you stand guard and know your sisters die in muddy holes with every passing day. No more.
[ ] The Street Preacher. You walked out of the temple long ago, seeking service of a more worthy kind. The alleys are your church, the forgotten wretches your congregation, the warmth of a full belly the sacrament you offer. You have seen a thousand worthy souls clad in rags and ground into the dust by the Church's imperious neglect, while on the horizon the gilded towers grew ever higher. You cannot turn a blind eye anymore; if your onetime brethren have forgotten those who dwell beneath their feet, then it will be your duty and your pleasure to remind them.
[ ] The Theologian. You graduated top of your class at the Schola, and donned the cassock of a priest with a smile on your face. You had studied the many and varied forms of the Imperial Faith for years on end, only to find that not one of the them reflected the actual truth. The horrors you have witnessed in your service to the mighty have strained your mind, and in the end you knew you were faced with a choice; do the sensible, pragmatic thing, or take a stand on a matter of principle few of your peers even cared to name. Put like that, it isn't really a choice at all, is it?
