Deus Pater (Exalted/40k)

Liberated from your cell and allowed to wander the halls as you please, it takes you less than an hour to confirm your initial impressions of the convent. This is not the main temple-fortress that the Argent Shroud maintain in Sanguis' third district, but instead one of their lesser subsidiary facilities, designed to serve as a forward operating base and local command center for a garrison of perhaps fifty Sisters of Battle and all their attendant support personnel. A minor redoubt, in theory, though you know well enough to pity whichever poor fool decides to think of two-score and ten Sororitas as any kind of easy target.

Given the proclivities of the warriors in question it is no surprise to you that the design owes as much to theological study and worship as it does to military practicality. The halls are lined with statues of fallen heroes and displayed relics of ancient foes, the rooms alternate between arming chambers and private chapels, and the tannoy system fills the space between announcements with soothing chants of plain-song from specially trained choirs. There are few servants, for the Sororitas largely attend to their own menial chores as a form of meditative exercise, and those few who exist take to keeping well out of your way as a matter of course.

You spend the first day after your ordeal recovering in your chamber, aside from several increasingly urgent vox-calls made to other members of the priesthood and prominent citizens of the planet to confirm that you are in good health and are merely occupied attending to 'matters of faith'. On the second day you start exploring, indulging in your access to the convent's archives while you wait for Canoness Galina to confirm that she has finished briefing the rest of her Sisters on what has transpired. On the third day, you go looking for someone to fight.

It did not escape you, after all, that even proof of your status as a Living Saint is apparently no guarantee against murderous intent from your fellow Imperial citizens. The memory-vision was quite clear on that, and even if said murderers were in fact faithless cultists of some kind they were still able to arrange the poisoning of Saint Silvana before she could do further damage to their political position. Given your own philosophy and stated aims, it would seem wise to take some kind of precaution against such hostile intent before it has a chance to properly manifest.

The Sororitas are warriors before all else, their role as martial arm of the Ecclesiarchy and Chamber Militant of the Ordo Hereticus demanding from them an adherence to martial excellence beyond any other mortal force within the Imperium as a whole. It is no surprise, then, that you only need to spend perhaps twenty minutes looking before you find what you were looking for in one of the convent's private courtyards.

Clad in robes and bearing no weapons but their own hands, a full squad of ten Sisters of Battle run through the stages of a basic exercise routine beneath the stern gaze of their instructor, herself an elderly veteran with a single arm and more scars than you have ever seen on a living person to date. In perfect synchronization they duel with their imaginary foes, delivering brutal punches and sweeping kicks that draw a chorus of quiet hissing from the empty air.

Concealed in the shadows of a distant archway, you watch the display with a thoughtful frown. Your own techniques prioritize exercise and a balanced approach rather than battlefield practicality, but even after you account for the differences such priorities impose there is something about the way that the Sororitas that seems strange to you. Their strikes are heavier, their defenses less concerned with preventing anything that isn't a direct hit, and it is only when they finish their opening drills and split into pairs for more conventional sparring practice that the explanation becomes clear; their movements are strange because they are not designed to be performed unarmoured.

The Sisters of Battle operate under the assumption that they will be going into battle in fully enclosed power armour, and their fighting style is designed to leverage the advantages that such equipment provides to best possible effect. Indeed, the average Sororitas will only put these techniques into practice when she is called upon to subdue a foe non-lethally, for in all other circumstances she can rely upon the presence of more firepower and military support than any other warrior short of the Space Marines themselves.

It is an interesting approach and one that does not necessarily gel particularly well with your own goals and capabilities, but even so you are unlikely to find better tutors in the arts of violence anywhere in the system. With such pragmatic thoughts in mind, you step away from the shadow of the archway and make your way over to where the squad is practicing.

"Holiness!" The instructor sees you coming, of course, and no sooner has she laid eyes upon you than the session is halted and all present are kneeling respectfully on the ground, "You honour us with your presence!"

"The honour is mine, Sister, for being so privileged as to observe the battle drills of the Adepta Sororitas at all," you reply smoothly, noting without surprise that the fact of your nature has already spread to the assembled Sisters of this particular convent, "Tell me, am I correct in assuming your techniques are designed to leverage your power armour in direct combat?"

"You are correct, Holy One," the instructor replies swiftly, apparently taking your question as implicit permission to rise to her feet once more, "though we include more general techniques and traditional combat forms among our studies, the primary goal of a Sister's training is to enable her to best fulfil the purpose for which she exists."

You are not sure how to feel about that, in all honesty. It seems to you that there should be more to life than simple service in pursuit of one's duty, but you cannot fault the dedication of the Sisters themselves, nor are you such a fool as to think any of the assembled warriors are being held against their will. Regardless, you have long held a policy of not offering opinion on topics that you know little about, so rather than responding to the instructor's statement you chose instead to forge ahead with your original intended goal.

"I see. I was wondering if you might consent to provide me with some instruction in such techniques," you say, and try to ignore the rather disturbingly enthusiastic light that gleams in the old woman's eye at your words, "I doubt I shall ever match the skill or dedication of a true Sororitas, but it seems that even having some strong fundamentals in place would serve me well in days to come."

"Indeed it would, Holy One," the instructor says with an approving smile, the expression somewhat marred by the way every third tooth appears to have been torn from her mouth in some forgotten expression of extreme violence, "Selene, Magda, on your feet. The rest of you, continue your sparring."

Two of the Sisters present spring to their feet with eager haste, rushing over to fall in next to their instructor at her command, while the others rise more slowly and soon return to their ritualized exchange of blows. You try not to visibly notice how many of them are watching everything out of the corner of their eye.

"Have you received unarmed combat training before, Holy One?" The instructor says briskly, her reverent awe tempered b the practical mindset of a true veteran.

"Some, yes, but I mostly pursued it as a form of exercise and meditation," you say, hesitating for just a moment before continuing, "my blessing seems to have enhanced me in some fashion, as well. I am not certain of the full extent, but at the very least I found myself able to shatter a target skull with a single strike."

"Truly?" The old woman says thoughtfully, her dignified reserve somewhat undermined by the almost childish degree of glee in her brilliant emerald eyes, "How interesting. I wonder…"

There is a pause, and then a shining blur of steel. You blink, caught off guard, and acting on instinct raise your hand to intercept, the fire swelling beneath your skin even as your heart lurches with a sudden pulse of adrenaline. There is a blur, a flash, and then a chime like the ringing of the temple bells as the jagged edge of the combat knife meets the bare flesh of your palm and… stops.

"Marvelous!" The old woman crows, returning her blade to the sheathe beneath her robes even as your mind slowly catches up to the fact that she just tried to stab you, "The Emperor has truly blessed you, giving you the means to strike down your enemies and ward away their blows. You might even be able to benefit from our techniques without borrowing a suit of power armour! Good thing, too; you'd look terrible with breasts."

You have no idea what to make of this woman, but judging by the vaguely sympathetic looks your two designated assistants are giving you this is not considered particularly abnormal. Pushing aside the building feelings of impending doom and regret, you decide to focus on the key points of the matter at hand.

"Please don't try to stab me," you say, with an admirable level of self-restraint by any reasonable standard, "now, about those techniques?"

"Right, right, of course," the instructor says cheerfully, nodding to one of her chosen props, "Selene, stance one."

The Battle Sister - a tall woman with light blond hair, apparently putting lie to the typical image of the Sororitas uniform requiring a white dye - nods once and then shifts into something recognisably similar to the basic guard position from your own techniques. It seems somewhat less sturdy than what you would expect, however, less focused on holding its ground no matter the force directed at it.

"Now, rule one of unarmed fighting; if you fall, you die," the instructor explains, gesturing to Selene's stance with her one remaining hand, "being knocked prone restricts your mobility, limits your targets and gives the enemy all the time in the world to line up a kill shot on any number of suddenly vulnerable targets. Hence, your priority should always be to avoid getting knocked on your arse as best you can, and to knock the enemy on their arse as swiftly and forcefully as you can manage. Magda?"

The other Sister, somewhat stockier but otherwise bearing a near familial resemblance to her partner, grimaces slightly. Then she throws herself at the defending Sororitas in a headlong charge… and is, a heartbeat later, lying flat on her back as the echoes of her impact ring against the courtyard walls.

"I… hm…" you furrow your brow, trying to piece together the technique that was just displayed from your split-second impression of seeing it in action, "would you mind repeating that? Slower, this time?"

Magda shoots you a look of weary resignation, but rises to her feet even without a word. This time she limits her charge, and Selene repays her by going through the motions of the throw with slow, almost exaggerated motions. You watch attentively, taking careful note as the defender leverages her flexible stance to absorb the initial force of the impact, and just about manage to follow as she converts that yielding defense into a shockingly vicious counter-throw.

Magda hits the ground again, somewhat more gently this time.

"Right then, let's see you try it," your instructor says, prevented from rubbing her hands together in glee by the sole fact that she lacks two hands to perform the motion with, "adopt the stance as best you can, Holy One, and Selene will play the aggressor."

Taking a breath and resisting the urge to swallow nervously, you do as she directs, mimicking the stance that the Sororitas shows you and adjusting it the slight amount necessary to compensate for your differing build. The blond warrior waits patiently for you to finish, nods once in acknowledgement when you signal your readiness, then rushes forwards…

You are on your back, head ringing like a bell, as a muscular woman in sweat-stained robes gestures to your throat with what you expect is meant to be an invisible knife of some kind.

"Hey, not bad," the instructor cackles, "I mean you're still dead, but you got the opening move down first try!"

You grunt, and accept Selene's hand as she hauls you back to your feet.

"I apologize on everyone's behalf," the Sister murmurs softly to you, "Instructor Inga is… unique."

"I should certainly hope so," you mutter in return, before stepping away and taking up your stance again, "alright, so what did I miss?"

In the end you wind up getting thrown to the ground at least two dozen times over the course of the afternoon, slain again and again by your hypothetical adversaries. Despite such manhandling, however, you make what can fairly be described as exceptional progress, picking up the fundamentals of the Sororitas style in a matter of hours and improving your skills to a marked degree.

Even better, sometime around the third body-slam you feel the light within your soul start to respond, flowing along your arms and legs or soaking into your skin in response to each repetitive movement. It feels… like a new reflex being trained, almost, some critical response sinking into your mind and body until you no longer have to even think about the process to call upon the skill.


-/-

The waystation of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica is a monumental tower of polished black stone, built more like a prison than any kind of conventional fortress and studded with strange metal spires that spear proudly towards the sky above. It is not the largest of it's kind on Sanguis, nor the most heavily populated, but it is the closest, and in matters like this such a factor should not be discounted.

"Are you certain of this, Cardinal?" Canoness Galina asks, her doubt and confusion hidden for the most part behind a mask of pious respect, "There are surely other matters of greater importance…"

"Canoness, I can preach until the stars grow dark on the inherent worth of a human soul, irrespective of flesh or station," you reply patiently, knowing full well that the true scope of what your teachings intend are still too foreign for a veteran Sororitas to easily comprehend, "but until I take steps to act upon that belief my words are as little more than empty air."

The two of you stand in the shadow of one of the Order's Rhino transports, flanked by a vigilant squad of Sororitas in full battle plate. You have donned your full ceremonial vestments for this, and already your presence is causing something of a stir among the passers by. Few of Sanguis' citizens allow their travels to bring them anywhere close to a place of such obvious psychic power if there is any possible way to avoid it, but there are a few, and those who can see you are already whispering to each other in muted speculation over your purpose here.

"Well, I don't claim to understand, but then understanding is not required," Galina says with a sigh, looking slightly awkward at the fact that your relative stature forces her to look down when addressing you, "we will wait for you here, Cardinal. The wardens have agreed to allow you access."

You manage to restrain a snort at that. You highly doubt that the wardens responsible for looking after the psykers here are at all pleased with the idea of allowing you to even see their charges, much less speak with them, but you are a Cardinal of the Adeptus Ministorum. The number of people in the Imperium who can or would turn down a request for an audience from you is not a large one.

Leaving your escort behind, you cross the street and head for the heavy metal portal on the side of the tower. It opens at your approach, a sentinel in heavy carapace glaring sullenly at you even as he permits you entry, and with a pleasant nod you brush past him and head inside.

The interior of the tower is, somehow, even more spartan than the convent from which you came. The walls are bare steel sheets, the individual domiciles little more than cubes with tatty cots shoved in the far corner, and at every door and junction automated weapon systems brush against you with beams of blood-red light. You feel your mood growing darker with every sight and sound.

The Imperium has never been kind to its psychic population. You know the rationale, of course; people born with the psyker's gift live with an inherent connection to the immaterium, and just as they reach into that realm to draw upon its powers so too may the malevolent beings that dwell within use them as a conduit into your world in turn. Caution is necessary, surveillance a survival strategy, suspicion well earned by the sheer breadth and variety of the threat such people pose and the damage they could do if given cause and freedom to do so.

And it is with such sensible words that the enslavement, degradation and systematic murder of an entire segment of humanity is justified. You will not have it. Not without at least attempting a better way. And so, you arranged this.

The meeting is to be held in a small auditorium on the second floor of the waystation, where tiered rings of seats permit the staff and inmates alike to listen attentively to the words of their superiors as delivered from the lectern at the centre. There are six of the latter gathered within; astropaths, men and women blinded by their exposure to the God-Emperor's light, dressed in solemn robes and herded through the hallways of their life like wild animals who can only be trusted to bite. They sit on the seats assigned to them and shiver in the cold, twitching in fear or with the delayed effects of the strain their duties place upon them.

Assigned to each astropath is a warden; men and women in heavy armour, their faces masked by wire cages that jut up from their collars, their hands hovering ever ready near the handles of their bolt pistols. It is their duty to watch their charges, and at the first sign of treachery or corruption put a bullet between their unseeing eyes, and it is to them that you address your opening remarks.

"You do not need to be here," you stay, shunning the lectern in favour of standing before the seats directly, "Leave."

The wardens look at each other, brows furrowed in confusion. One of them turns to you. "Apologies, Cardinal, but this should have been explained. We cannot leave our charges untended, so…"

"That was not a request," you say sharply, the flames within your soul growing hot without conscious thought until you stand before them haloed in god's light, "leave."

The wardens depart, for you gave them no choice, and in their wake you turn your attention to the assembled astropaths. They are staring at you, blind eyes open wide and limbs trembling in what might be fear or wonder. Two of them have started to weep, openly, and in that moment you know that they can sense the truth of who and what you are.

That makes some things simple. Others, less so.

"Oh, my children," you say softly, reaching out to lay a gentle hand against the shoulder of the nearest, trying to restrain your anger at the way he flinches from even a simple touch, "I am so, so sorry."

"Pater?" One of the others, a girl, says in a wavering tone, "But… no, you can't be, you're not as bright…"

"My name is Ignatius, and I am Cardinal of this world," you say, stripping your words of all pride and knowing they are the stronger for it, "the Emperor has blessed me with some small portion of His light, that I might better serve his people. That is why I have come."

"Please, my lord," the oldest of the gathered psykers says in a tremulous voice, sinking slowly to his knees, "we are worms, unworthy of…"

You catch him by the arm before his knees can touch the ground, holding him upright despite his evident reflex to prostrate himself.

"You are my flock," you say fiercely, looking around and making sure all of the gathered psykers understand that you are talking to them, that you speak your words from true and sincere belief, "when you are lost, when you suffer, when you are driven to doubt your own worth, it is my responsibility to be there… and in this, I have failed. How many years have we walked the same world, yet never spoken? No, my child, you are no worm. You are a human, as I am human, and that makes you worthy of greater things than I alone could ever hope to give you."

The old man is trembling now, his heart caught between a sense of desperate hope and the cynical understanding of all that life has taught him to date. Not even you with all your gifts can smooth such a conflict in the course of a single meeting, but you can at least make a good start, and with that in mind you guide the poor man gently to a seat.

"So, my children, let us talk," you say gently, looking between each blind servant in turn as they settle themselves in a circle around you, "tell me of your troubles, and I shall do what can be done to bring them to an end. On this, you have my word."

The floodgates open, and for the next three hours you sit there, alone with the witches, ministering to the faithful.

Article:

You will go to the mutants soon, and in the process fulfil your pledge to address the world at large. You will not compromise on the purity of your message, but there is no mistaking that it is a powerful departure from the status quo, that there is conflict between what you will say and what the Ecclesiarchy has taught for ten millennia unbroken. How will you address this conflict, that your flock of billions might be brought into the light?

[ ] Defiance. Established doctrine is wrong, and the words of the Ecclesiarchy a betrayal of the God they claim to revere. Such a clean break makes further changes a lot easier to introduce, but makes you much more vulnerable to accusations of heresy and invites direct opposition.

[ ] Revelation. Present your new philosophy as a direct command from the Emperor himself. This is the easiest explanation for the average citizen to accept, but it is also self-contained; any change will be focused and limited to the precise topics of the 'vision', for better or worse.

[ ] Philosophy. Construct a system of quotes, teachings and doctrine from across the ages that can be used to justify your new approach. Such a change of belief will be wide-reaching and thorough, but requires more time to convey and is easier for other priests to engage with and attack.