Well that's unfortunate, I'm at work for the next six hours.
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The Long Night Part One: Embers in the Dusk: A Planetary Governor Quest (43k) Complete Sequel Up
- Thread starter Durin
- Start date
I know how you feel I am at work figuring out the schedule for the next two weeks and some other administrative work.
- Location
- Africa
sorry about the painful read
as for your post The Eldar may use a different tech base but most if not all the underlying science for human warp based tech is probably fully understood and exceeded by the Eldar , Science that we need to advance and fully understand our warp tech , Thats what we are really after
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Actually, I remember Durin saying that faster warp travel is the one category where AdMech would be willing to get xenotech and xenoadvice. It's just that important.
- Location
- Back in Cali
Their entire tech base and knowledge was built around them always being a fully pysker race. That means while some of the most basic concepts might be the same it wouldn't be anything we probably don't have. Even with the Eldar being a level 30 civilization the DAoT wasn't some minor power with no understanding of technology and principal knowledge of many things. They were at the highest level 25.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
If we get a honorbound favor I think we should use it to wipe out all orks and chaos polities in 1000 years. Hear me out If we have no enemies than we can easily build a multi sector empire that can actually do something on the galtic level ina century or two. Imagine if the colonies had the Am em and other tech we don't let them have. We could afford to put the pdf in power armor all the pdf's. We could literally found multiple billion men colonies every year.
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
@Durin
1. How do the new Warlord Titans match up against Beast Gargants of the same weight class?
2. Are we getting options to make Avernus patterns of the other three Titan classes?
3a. Would there be some sort of set bonus for completing researches on the Five and Chaos as a whole?
3b. For all four types of god research?
1. How do the new Warlord Titans match up against Beast Gargants of the same weight class?
2. Are we getting options to make Avernus patterns of the other three Titan classes?
3a. Would there be some sort of set bonus for completing researches on the Five and Chaos as a whole?
3b. For all four types of god research?
Break it into major favors and use one to squash T
The problem is that it opens up a vacuum within the region that's liable to make things worse for us in the long term.
- Location
- Back in Cali
Right 30+ maybe as we get closer to that level it will become clearer.
- Location
- Asia
We could ask them for any terraforming tech they might have. That way we can build up really densely without having to spread across and then worry about travel times and defence.
Not really. We are literally in the middle of no where. No major forgeworlds, near no major powers galactic wise. The closest is the dark Imperium at 5000 light years (I think) but they are fighting the orks and may very well loose or win and not be able to do anything else for a while.
What I am trying to get at there is nothing of re value but the trust here.
- Location
- Africa
maybe in the sector but a 1000 light years that would bring in way to much attention not to mention we would never be able to hold that large an area before some one else comes in and sets up shop
but getting them to clear the sector and purefy any taint plus terraforrming that would be perfect
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Agian we do not need the whole area and there is nothing of real value where we are. We are literally in the middle of no where.
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- Location
- Australia
The closest thing I can think of to what you're saying is them saying "there's an STC on that planet let's mobilise all assets go go go" and then it's a toaster and they're like "this is holy technology praise the omnissiah", but that's not really exaggeration.
But it totally would. The Imperium is already capable of holding onto the galaxy for 10k years with just Imperium tech. It totally would've won everything forever if it had a full Dark Age technological base.
It would by definition be xeno-tech so the cargo cultists would not let us use it.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
It is when they're promising the sky and instead "OH LOOK A TOASTER!" They promise the sky and the result isn't actually nearly as good. DAoT does have some stuff, like the Moment Shackle, but its never as magical as the myths.
That would rip the Imperium apart at best from internal strife, before you factor in chaos likely deciding to unify.
- Location
- Africa
we could have the Eldar do the terraforming instead the Dark Eldar already showed how fast there tech is
- Location
- Asia
Maybe, but the Mechanicus can be flexible when it comes to xenotech that doesn't have any imperial equivalents.
Maybe in general, but on this scale?
Black Blade, Wind Blade, Crone Blade
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Black Blade, Wind Blade, Crone Blade
JHATOOOM!
The painful whoosing blast that emanated from the Kitchen just as he was walking back as a wave of heat sent him rocking backwards, a miniature sun blooming into existence within the room as the Exalted let loose a roar of pain and a command, a demand to search the Palace from top to bottom and bring any other Eldar rats to him alive.
The gig was up. He thanked the blessed heat, burning at the plague setting within his body as he started forward, the plague within the room forced back by the still defiant, but diminishing sun created by the final death of Eldar Seer. But, time and tiredness add up and he finally broke, letting forth a tiny miniscule cough. It shouldn't have been heard over the roar of the sun, over the blaze of the fire, the trillions of distorted cries from the spreading daemons, but they were of disease. They knew that one of their targets was in their midst, even though his disguise enhanced by the Ghost Helm of Vaul was so perfect that only the Exalted and Honoured knew exactly where he was, drool and bile starting to drop down from their hungry maws.
With that the time, for stealth ended. Now was the time for speed. Stealth was discarded as he put on a massive burst of speed, drawing from the scabbard attached to his back his greatest ace in this damned place.
"OUT OF MY WAY! DO YOU WANNA DIE!" His furious yell was punctuated by him starting to swing the blade around himself. He was no swordsman, in fact if either Oakheart knew of what he was doing with such a wonderous blade his death was certain, but needs must when confronting plague itself, and as he reached the very singed Exalted he had the exact reaction he wanted. All things that thought in the galaxy knew death, feared death. It was an imperative forced into existence itself by a Night that made itself eternally synonymous with death, to the point that the millions of species after the War in Heaven in their infinite diversity had created the same scythe baring form to represent the embodiment of the End.
But, one group of beings feared the End more than any other and it was those who could not even begin to comprehend it in the first place. Daemons are born with a dichotomy. They are formed from life, they know the fear of death, but it is meaningless to them. A bottomless terror that would swallow them, that they cannot even begin to consider. A fear that forces them to instinctively avoid that Black End, regardless of the cost or consequence.
The vast bulk of the Exalted hurled itself out of the way with a high-pitched squeal of terror, for Ridcully had aimed at its rotten heart. Ridcully continued on, clearing a path through the squealing piles of Nurglings and Plaguebringers, who fled in fear of the invisible death sprinting in their midst, as he dived into the pantry, turning to the side as a tidal wave of flying Nurglings span past him.
An ocean of crying diseased children crowded around a pair of islands in the storm. One island was a figure in ancient astartes armour, wielding a tornado in his clenched hands, the screaming fury of a dead god, slain by chaos gathering within, fed by the power of one who also stood against the rot of existence itself.
The other was a Farseer, wielding a pale curved blade, each strike reducing the crowding creatures to ashes, pristine armour still gleaming in defiance of the muck around them. The Whispering of the Dead Goddess of Fate keeping her one step a head of her attackers as the struck them down again and again, reaching into the pocket of her robes, for a pouch scattering the powder within.
Ridcully knew that there was no way they would be able to get through this morass. It was not intended to kill them, just keep them trapped in the larder until the true lords of this place could come and deal with them himself.
Thankfully he did not need to use his own preparation, the dust from the Eldar being caught up by the wind of the Astarte's blade flinging it all over the larder, before it erupted into brilliantly coloured fireworks that stunned the swarming Nurglings as he plunged into it, his compatriots turning with him, scattering waves of Nurgling's around them as they made breaks for the exits.
Into the atrium they sprinted, the doors beginning to slide shut and a bulbous Unclean One, baring a foetid meat cleaver, stepped forward to bar their path. It was braver than most. That would be its undoing.
Its cleaver was met by the unyielding crone blade of the Eldar, already starting to turn to dust upon contact with the divine artefact as the Marine leapt on the blade, a tornado blasting forward to split its head and Ridcully darting onward to plunge the Blade into the door, the all destroying blade cutting into the warp stuff like melted butter, carving open a tiny hole, big enough for them to slip through. Quickly he as joined by the Cronesword, ash falling to the ground as they cut open the way, their backs guarded by the silent astartes.
With crumbing timbers, the door opened, and the hacking trio launched into the Poxyard.
Before them was Nurgle's realm, the souls of the damned trapped in eternal suffering, while plague pounced in all around them.
They were flagging, the influence of this place. It was rotting away at them. If they could not make their break, then they were doomed.
Ridcully threw his bomb, the brilliant flames erupting all around them as he took a stance he had seen the Inevitable take in combat against the most dangerous Witches she had ever fought. He had nothing of her skill, nor her unique ability, but he trusted in the blade. It was not perfect, he did not her superlative skill, he was burned as was his comrades, but was enough to clear the Pox Yard for a bare second.
Their return to their bodies was sudden and violent, their souls slamming into their resting corpses.
Ridcully was flung off his bed, the astartes was pressed down cracking the wraith bone structure while the Eldar's head lolled back at an almost unnatural angle. Boils had bloomed across their skin, which had turned an unhealthy black yellow, puss filled their lungs and their breaths were short and gasping, blood spilling from their eyes and their spit also flecked with it.
As healers run in to grab them and bring them to rooms prepared for the healing, the realm of Nurgle burned, as fireworks spilled out of the windows of the mansion, a hole in the door carved by the deathly blade remained. Unhealing in the warp.
The Crone Sword of Kha-vir, the Blade of the Wind Lord and the Black Crystal Sword
@Durin
JHATOOOM!
The painful whoosing blast that emanated from the Kitchen just as he was walking back as a wave of heat sent him rocking backwards, a miniature sun blooming into existence within the room as the Exalted let loose a roar of pain and a command, a demand to search the Palace from top to bottom and bring any other Eldar rats to him alive.
The gig was up. He thanked the blessed heat, burning at the plague setting within his body as he started forward, the plague within the room forced back by the still defiant, but diminishing sun created by the final death of Eldar Seer. But, time and tiredness add up and he finally broke, letting forth a tiny miniscule cough. It shouldn't have been heard over the roar of the sun, over the blaze of the fire, the trillions of distorted cries from the spreading daemons, but they were of disease. They knew that one of their targets was in their midst, even though his disguise enhanced by the Ghost Helm of Vaul was so perfect that only the Exalted and Honoured knew exactly where he was, drool and bile starting to drop down from their hungry maws.
With that the time, for stealth ended. Now was the time for speed. Stealth was discarded as he put on a massive burst of speed, drawing from the scabbard attached to his back his greatest ace in this damned place.
"OUT OF MY WAY! DO YOU WANNA DIE!" His furious yell was punctuated by him starting to swing the blade around himself. He was no swordsman, in fact if either Oakheart knew of what he was doing with such a wonderous blade his death was certain, but needs must when confronting plague itself, and as he reached the very singed Exalted he had the exact reaction he wanted. All things that thought in the galaxy knew death, feared death. It was an imperative forced into existence itself by a Night that made itself eternally synonymous with death, to the point that the millions of species after the War in Heaven in their infinite diversity had created the same scythe baring form to represent the embodiment of the End.
But, one group of beings feared the End more than any other and it was those who could not even begin to comprehend it in the first place. Daemons are born with a dichotomy. They are formed from life, they know the fear of death, but it is meaningless to them. A bottomless terror that would swallow them, that they cannot even begin to consider. A fear that forces them to instinctively avoid that Black End, regardless of the cost or consequence.
The vast bulk of the Exalted hurled itself out of the way with a high-pitched squeal of terror, for Ridcully had aimed at its rotten heart. Ridcully continued on, clearing a path through the squealing piles of Nurglings and Plaguebringers, who fled in fear of the invisible death sprinting in their midst, as he dived into the pantry, turning to the side as a tidal wave of flying Nurglings span past him.
An ocean of crying diseased children crowded around a pair of islands in the storm. One island was a figure in ancient astartes armour, wielding a tornado in his clenched hands, the screaming fury of a dead god, slain by chaos gathering within, fed by the power of one who also stood against the rot of existence itself.
The other was a Farseer, wielding a pale curved blade, each strike reducing the crowding creatures to ashes, pristine armour still gleaming in defiance of the muck around them. The Whispering of the Dead Goddess of Fate keeping her one step a head of her attackers as the struck them down again and again, reaching into the pocket of her robes, for a pouch scattering the powder within.
Ridcully knew that there was no way they would be able to get through this morass. It was not intended to kill them, just keep them trapped in the larder until the true lords of this place could come and deal with them himself.
Thankfully he did not need to use his own preparation, the dust from the Eldar being caught up by the wind of the Astarte's blade flinging it all over the larder, before it erupted into brilliantly coloured fireworks that stunned the swarming Nurglings as he plunged into it, his compatriots turning with him, scattering waves of Nurgling's around them as they made breaks for the exits.
Into the atrium they sprinted, the doors beginning to slide shut and a bulbous Unclean One, baring a foetid meat cleaver, stepped forward to bar their path. It was braver than most. That would be its undoing.
Its cleaver was met by the unyielding crone blade of the Eldar, already starting to turn to dust upon contact with the divine artefact as the Marine leapt on the blade, a tornado blasting forward to split its head and Ridcully darting onward to plunge the Blade into the door, the all destroying blade cutting into the warp stuff like melted butter, carving open a tiny hole, big enough for them to slip through. Quickly he as joined by the Cronesword, ash falling to the ground as they cut open the way, their backs guarded by the silent astartes.
With crumbing timbers, the door opened, and the hacking trio launched into the Poxyard.
Before them was Nurgle's realm, the souls of the damned trapped in eternal suffering, while plague pounced in all around them.
They were flagging, the influence of this place. It was rotting away at them. If they could not make their break, then they were doomed.
Ridcully threw his bomb, the brilliant flames erupting all around them as he took a stance he had seen the Inevitable take in combat against the most dangerous Witches she had ever fought. He had nothing of her skill, nor her unique ability, but he trusted in the blade. It was not perfect, he did not her superlative skill, he was burned as was his comrades, but was enough to clear the Pox Yard for a bare second.
Their return to their bodies was sudden and violent, their souls slamming into their resting corpses.
Ridcully was flung off his bed, the astartes was pressed down cracking the wraith bone structure while the Eldar's head lolled back at an almost unnatural angle. Boils had bloomed across their skin, which had turned an unhealthy black yellow, puss filled their lungs and their breaths were short and gasping, blood spilling from their eyes and their spit also flecked with it.
As healers run in to grab them and bring them to rooms prepared for the healing, the realm of Nurgle burned, as fireworks spilled out of the windows of the mansion, a hole in the door carved by the deathly blade remained. Unhealing in the warp.
The Crone Sword of Kha-vir, the Blade of the Wind Lord and the Black Crystal Sword
@Durin
This Small Spark of Hope and Fire
Dynamesmouse
Bzzzzzz
This Small Spark of Hope and Fire
Fighting Chaos was a tricky affair at the best of times, and being knee deep in the manse of the god of decay did not qualify as "the best of times". Ridcully was a mortal man who has seen more of chaos in its natural environment than any other man should have every had to, and all he has gotten for his trouble today is a slowly worsening sore throat and a cold. Oh, and a divine familiar made out of the Hope of the Eldar Goddess of Life, Isha.
He had gotten far in this vision quest. He could see that he was nearing the end of his journey. There was only a few rooms Isha could be in, and only the worst plague he has ever encountered left. He could turn back, and fulfill his obligation. No one could blame him. The Eldar would owe him big time, and Ynnead would have most of what she needed if she was going to break Isha out of her room.
He considered his options. He could turn back and leave this hell, mission fucking accomplished.
He thought back to all the sacrifices the Eldar have made. Redirecting an Ork Prophet had to have been an endless difficult job for the Far-seers, and a direct assault on a demon world was never going to be a nice task regardless of however many Transcendents and Gods you have helping. He had seen the hope of a Goddess, who has not given up even after fifteen thousand years of confinement in the vilest prison the galaxy could imagine.
He considered all that she could do for this galaxy.
---------------------------------------------------------
Ridcully reckoned he had a 50/50 shot at reaching Isha intact. He'd probably catch another plague getting there, and so he could only hope she had the power to cure him. He still had the True Fire Rune on him, still warm and patiently waiting to cause a fire that could destroy a planet.
He walked out of the Kitchen and started following the trail of Hope that Isha had made.
Cobwebs. Spiders. Millions of cocoons.
Fat bastards with 7 legs and 7 eyes, scurrying around and laying webbing everywhere. The Tallymen were following them, ordering the lesser deamons to walk into the webs so that they could be cocooned. They obeyed, and were wrapped up to become a living poison incubator and a decoration of Nurgle. Most cocoons were made in sets of three, to emulate Nurgle's sign. Some of these poor bastards had to have been here for thousands of years. Nurgle apparently wanted to keep Isha's hallway nice and disgusting.
Taking a moment to compose himself, the Blind Oracle started walking. He was the Unseen Observer, but he did not fear being seen, he feared being felt and being trapped in a web. There were hundreds of lesser daemons, singing songs to the glory of decay and rot, dancing madly even as their guts were falling out, careless of where they landed. He Sees No Barriers, Isha is at the end of this long hallway filled with any Avernite's worst nightmare. He was Unparalleled Among Mortal Seers, but no mortal could be expected to trespass into the manse of a god. Better then these demons have tried and failed to corrupt or destroy him, but if he is discovered here he was screwed.
Ridully made his move, following behind a Tallyman who was counting the hairs on what Ridcully presumed to. Ridcully killed that line of through, he did not want to know and he did not need to know what these demonic bureaucrats were counting. He gained a newfound respect for Zeno, his assistant, for all the trouble he has been spared in his time as the Grandmaster of the Telepathica.
As the Tallyman finished his inane bureaucratic work on this cluster of spiders, he moved onto the next. All the Nurglings were avoiding the Tallymen as best they were able, for they were jolly creatures, playing farting games and holding pus eating contests were they weren't being watched. The Tallymen, in contrast, were sour and ill at all times, unless they somehow count the number 7 somewhere. Ridcully was mostly following the Tallymen because no other being wanted to.
The Tallymen were covered in dross and pus, and so could resist being caught in the spider's webs most of the time. Ridcully didn't want to test his resistance to the webs, and so he carefully toed around the webbing.
The hallway he was in was massive, easily hundred meters in between the walls. On the left side, the oldest victims of the spiders were kept, the spiders drinking from the cocoons happily. On the right, were the spiders scurrying around making new webs. Disease on the left, and Spiders on the right. Ridcully stayed far from the most active spiders.
His sore throat was getting worse, making it harder to concentrate. He dared not swallow or cough. He would pray, but he did not want to attract any god's attention right now.
"UUUUUURP"
Ridcully almost jumped out of his skin at the loud sound that the spider made. Almost. He kept going down the hall. The sign of Nurgle was everywhere here, like a wallflower pattern. Areatha's Chaos-Resisting potion, the Mycenid's Immuno-Boosting Serum, and his own Warp Resistance were all that were keeping him alive right now. That, and being invisible. Ridcully reached into his pocket, holding onto the warm rune. He was so close to Isha.
Breathlessly and silently, he made his way to the end of the hall, to Isha's bedroom. The floorboards were so rotten, and he had not seen what had happened to the demons that went down. They had not come back up.
His danger sense was useless right now. Nurgle's corruption here was so high that all destiny he saw were of his decay, doom, and damnation. This was a lie, he knew, but because of this, he could not be sure where it would be safe to step. There were fewer demons now, the dirtying crew were moving on to other areas of the mansion.
The stench wasn't getting any better.
***EEEEE-KRK****
The floorboard gave way. He was about twenty meters from her door, and now he was dangling over the pit. Helooked down and started pulling himself up. He did not need to know where the fallen demons went.
Ten meters now. It suddenly occurred to him why the floor was so bad here: he was treading the path Nurgle would take to visit Isha after he got done with his brewing. This hallway probably wasn't even intended to have any defenses, but the countless times Nurgle has tread this part of the mansion has made it the hardest place to infiltrate.
Five meters. If Nurgle was in there, what was he going to do, toss the Rune in his face and scram? That's an amusing thought, Nurgle trying to woo Isha yet again, but all of a sudden he took the divine equivalent to a Molotov cocktail to the face. Ridcully didn't dare laugh in this place.
Four meters.
Three meters. So close.
Two meters.
One meter.
Ridcully reached the door. He peered through the keyhole.
She was beautiful. She was filthy. Her heart was clearly undefiled. She was locked in hell. She has not given up.
The coast was clear. Ridcully deftly opened the door the barest of lengths, and silently closed the door behind him.
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She stared at the door, seeing, but not seeing. There was a sentry in this room, a snake with ribs expose and his jaw unhinged. He had no eyelids, but centuries of stagnation had left him unvigilant.
A fatal sin, soon made all to literal.
Isha stared at him, seeing, not willing to break the silence.
Ridcully unshed his psychic cloak and his ghosthelm. He broke the silence.
"Your calendar is out of date by about thirteen thousand and five hundred years."
That broke her out of her trance. "... I have so many questions. Let with start with just one. How."
How he got here? How he got here past the defenses? How he got here past the defenses with his heart still intact?
That didn't matter right now.
"Isha the Unkneeling, let me tell you an human myth. The Legend of Prometheus."
"Long ago, before the age of gods, there were the titans.
Chronos was their king, for he stole that title from their tyrant, the sky.
The sky, his father, foretold that one day, his own would cast him down,
Pondering this prophecy, he made his decision: He would devour his own.
His wife bore him five children, but she could not bear to have another eaten.
When she bore her sixth, she had a plan to save him.
She would give him a stone, wrapped in a child's cloth.
Chronos ate the stone, and his child was safe.
Zeus grew mighty for his father's lapse in vigilance,
And one day he returned to him, and became his cupbearer.
He poison the Titan's glass, and Chronos grew ill, throwing up,
And releasing all his children from their prison.
The Gods and the Titans warred.
And the Titans were cast down. Only Prometheus and Epimethius were spared.
It was the dawn of a new age, and so Zeus tasked the two brothers to fill the new age
With new life, never before seen.
Epimethius made all sorts of animals, but it was Prometheus who made Man.
He gave us fire. Alone, unlike all other animals, he made us walk upright.
As he breathed life into us, he gave us reason.
He gave us fire.
The galaxy turns in cycles, Zeus was no exception.
In his ways, he became a Tyrant, as his father Chronos, and as his father's father, the sky.
He demanded a sacrifice from Mankind. With Prometheus's help, they grew a great ox,
They sacrificed it. They made two piles, one of his read meat, which they covered in its hide and entrails,
The other, bones and glistening fat.
Zeus picked the glistening fat, while mankind kept the delicious meat.
Zeus was furious. He wanted revenge for being tricked. He had a plan.
He bade the gods to make mankind a poisonous gift. Her name was Pandora.
For every virtue Pandora had, Zeus put a horror in a box.
He gave that box to her, and told her to never open it, and sent her on her way.
Her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the box.
Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. Spiders and Paperwork.
All this and more jumped out of the box. The box had only one thing left inside it.
Hope. The greatest curse of them all, for it makes us endure all the other torments.
But this is a lie.
Prometheus could not stand to watch us suffer. So he taught mankind to fight these torments off.
Chastity, to contain Lust
Temperance, to smother Gluttony
Charity, to deal with Greed
Diligence, to keep Sloth away
Patience, to endure Wrath
Kindness, to endure Envy
Humility, to counter Pride.
Vigilance, to swat the Spiders.
Good Work Ethic, to handle Paperwork. Thank you Zeno
Zeus was not finished. He commanded Force and Violence to seize Prometheus, and chained him to a rock.
Zeus knew that one day, he would be overthrown, and he knew Prometheus could save him.
Zeus went to Prometheus to demand the prophecy that would shackle mankind to the God's will forever.
Prometheus spoke:
"Go and persuade the sea waves not to break. You will persuade me, no more easily."
Zeus stormed off, and returned the next day with an eagle.
He commanded the eagle to eat Prometheus's liver.
It did, and he healed him, his body and liver whole.
"Tell me Prometheus, who is the mother of the son who shall overthrow me?"
Prometheus was silent.
Zeus promised him that this eagle shall eat his liver everyday for eternity, if he did not give him the answer.
Prometheus did not speak.
And thus was Prometheus so damned by Zeus, his body shackled but his heart free.
He gave us so much, he endured so much.
I say, it's time to give him the fire back."
Fighting Chaos was a tricky affair at the best of times, and being knee deep in the manse of the god of decay did not qualify as "the best of times". Ridcully was a mortal man who has seen more of chaos in its natural environment than any other man should have every had to, and all he has gotten for his trouble today is a slowly worsening sore throat and a cold. Oh, and a divine familiar made out of the Hope of the Eldar Goddess of Life, Isha.
He had gotten far in this vision quest. He could see that he was nearing the end of his journey. There was only a few rooms Isha could be in, and only the worst plague he has ever encountered left. He could turn back, and fulfill his obligation. No one could blame him. The Eldar would owe him big time, and Ynnead would have most of what she needed if she was going to break Isha out of her room.
He considered his options. He could turn back and leave this hell, mission fucking accomplished.
He thought back to all the sacrifices the Eldar have made. Redirecting an Ork Prophet had to have been an endless difficult job for the Far-seers, and a direct assault on a demon world was never going to be a nice task regardless of however many Transcendents and Gods you have helping. He had seen the hope of a Goddess, who has not given up even after fifteen thousand years of confinement in the vilest prison the galaxy could imagine.
He considered all that she could do for this galaxy.
---------------------------------------------------------
Ridcully reckoned he had a 50/50 shot at reaching Isha intact. He'd probably catch another plague getting there, and so he could only hope she had the power to cure him. He still had the True Fire Rune on him, still warm and patiently waiting to cause a fire that could destroy a planet.
He walked out of the Kitchen and started following the trail of Hope that Isha had made.
Cobwebs. Spiders. Millions of cocoons.
Fat bastards with 7 legs and 7 eyes, scurrying around and laying webbing everywhere. The Tallymen were following them, ordering the lesser deamons to walk into the webs so that they could be cocooned. They obeyed, and were wrapped up to become a living poison incubator and a decoration of Nurgle. Most cocoons were made in sets of three, to emulate Nurgle's sign. Some of these poor bastards had to have been here for thousands of years. Nurgle apparently wanted to keep Isha's hallway nice and disgusting.
Taking a moment to compose himself, the Blind Oracle started walking. He was the Unseen Observer, but he did not fear being seen, he feared being felt and being trapped in a web. There were hundreds of lesser daemons, singing songs to the glory of decay and rot, dancing madly even as their guts were falling out, careless of where they landed. He Sees No Barriers, Isha is at the end of this long hallway filled with any Avernite's worst nightmare. He was Unparalleled Among Mortal Seers, but no mortal could be expected to trespass into the manse of a god. Better then these demons have tried and failed to corrupt or destroy him, but if he is discovered here he was screwed.
Ridully made his move, following behind a Tallyman who was counting the hairs on
As the Tallyman finished his inane bureaucratic work on this cluster of spiders, he moved onto the next. All the Nurglings were avoiding the Tallymen as best they were able, for they were jolly creatures, playing farting games and holding pus eating contests were they weren't being watched. The Tallymen, in contrast, were sour and ill at all times, unless they somehow count the number 7 somewhere. Ridcully was mostly following the Tallymen because no other being wanted to.
The Tallymen were covered in dross and pus, and so could resist being caught in the spider's webs most of the time. Ridcully didn't want to test his resistance to the webs, and so he carefully toed around the webbing.
The hallway he was in was massive, easily hundred meters in between the walls. On the left side, the oldest victims of the spiders were kept, the spiders drinking from the cocoons happily. On the right, were the spiders scurrying around making new webs. Disease on the left, and Spiders on the right. Ridcully stayed far from the most active spiders.
His sore throat was getting worse, making it harder to concentrate. He dared not swallow or cough. He would pray, but he did not want to attract any god's attention right now.
"UUUUUURP"
Ridcully almost jumped out of his skin at the loud sound that the spider made. Almost. He kept going down the hall. The sign of Nurgle was everywhere here, like a wallflower pattern. Areatha's Chaos-Resisting potion, the Mycenid's Immuno-Boosting Serum, and his own Warp Resistance were all that were keeping him alive right now. That, and being invisible. Ridcully reached into his pocket, holding onto the warm rune. He was so close to Isha.
Breathlessly and silently, he made his way to the end of the hall, to Isha's bedroom. The floorboards were so rotten, and he had not seen what had happened to the demons that went down. They had not come back up.
His danger sense was useless right now. Nurgle's corruption here was so high that all destiny he saw were of his decay, doom, and damnation. This was a lie, he knew, but because of this, he could not be sure where it would be safe to step. There were fewer demons now, the dirtying crew were moving on to other areas of the mansion.
The stench wasn't getting any better.
***EEEEE-KRK****
The floorboard gave way. He was about twenty meters from her door, and now he was dangling over the pit. He
Ten meters now. It suddenly occurred to him why the floor was so bad here: he was treading the path Nurgle would take to visit Isha after he got done with his brewing. This hallway probably wasn't even intended to have any defenses, but the countless times Nurgle has tread this part of the mansion has made it the hardest place to infiltrate.
Five meters. If Nurgle was in there, what was he going to do, toss the Rune in his face and scram? That's an amusing thought, Nurgle trying to woo Isha yet again, but all of a sudden he took the divine equivalent to a Molotov cocktail to the face. Ridcully didn't dare laugh in this place.
Four meters.
Three meters. So close.
Two meters.
One meter.
Ridcully reached the door. He peered through the keyhole.
She was beautiful. She was filthy. Her heart was clearly undefiled. She was locked in hell. She has not given up.
The coast was clear. Ridcully deftly opened the door the barest of lengths, and silently closed the door behind him.
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She stared at the door, seeing, but not seeing. There was a sentry in this room, a snake with ribs expose and his jaw unhinged. He had no eyelids, but centuries of stagnation had left him unvigilant.
A fatal sin, soon made all to literal.
Isha stared at him, seeing, not willing to break the silence.
Ridcully unshed his psychic cloak and his ghosthelm. He broke the silence.
"Your calendar is out of date by about thirteen thousand and five hundred years."
That broke her out of her trance. "... I have so many questions. Let with start with just one. How."
How he got here? How he got here past the defenses? How he got here past the defenses with his heart still intact?
That didn't matter right now.
"Isha the Unkneeling, let me tell you an human myth. The Legend of Prometheus."
"Long ago, before the age of gods, there were the titans.
Chronos was their king, for he stole that title from their tyrant, the sky.
The sky, his father, foretold that one day, his own would cast him down,
Pondering this prophecy, he made his decision: He would devour his own.
His wife bore him five children, but she could not bear to have another eaten.
When she bore her sixth, she had a plan to save him.
She would give him a stone, wrapped in a child's cloth.
Chronos ate the stone, and his child was safe.
Zeus grew mighty for his father's lapse in vigilance,
And one day he returned to him, and became his cupbearer.
He poison the Titan's glass, and Chronos grew ill, throwing up,
And releasing all his children from their prison.
The Gods and the Titans warred.
And the Titans were cast down. Only Prometheus and Epimethius were spared.
It was the dawn of a new age, and so Zeus tasked the two brothers to fill the new age
With new life, never before seen.
Epimethius made all sorts of animals, but it was Prometheus who made Man.
He gave us fire. Alone, unlike all other animals, he made us walk upright.
As he breathed life into us, he gave us reason.
He gave us fire.
The galaxy turns in cycles, Zeus was no exception.
In his ways, he became a Tyrant, as his father Chronos, and as his father's father, the sky.
He demanded a sacrifice from Mankind. With Prometheus's help, they grew a great ox,
They sacrificed it. They made two piles, one of his read meat, which they covered in its hide and entrails,
The other, bones and glistening fat.
Zeus picked the glistening fat, while mankind kept the delicious meat.
Zeus was furious. He wanted revenge for being tricked. He had a plan.
He bade the gods to make mankind a poisonous gift. Her name was Pandora.
For every virtue Pandora had, Zeus put a horror in a box.
He gave that box to her, and told her to never open it, and sent her on her way.
Her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the box.
Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. Spiders and Paperwork.
All this and more jumped out of the box. The box had only one thing left inside it.
Hope. The greatest curse of them all, for it makes us endure all the other torments.
But this is a lie.
Prometheus could not stand to watch us suffer. So he taught mankind to fight these torments off.
Chastity, to contain Lust
Temperance, to smother Gluttony
Charity, to deal with Greed
Diligence, to keep Sloth away
Patience, to endure Wrath
Kindness, to endure Envy
Humility, to counter Pride.
Vigilance, to swat the Spiders.
Good Work Ethic, to handle Paperwork. Thank you Zeno
Zeus was not finished. He commanded Force and Violence to seize Prometheus, and chained him to a rock.
Zeus knew that one day, he would be overthrown, and he knew Prometheus could save him.
Zeus went to Prometheus to demand the prophecy that would shackle mankind to the God's will forever.
Prometheus spoke:
"Go and persuade the sea waves not to break. You will persuade me, no more easily."
Zeus stormed off, and returned the next day with an eagle.
He commanded the eagle to eat Prometheus's liver.
It did, and he healed him, his body and liver whole.
"Tell me Prometheus, who is the mother of the son who shall overthrow me?"
Prometheus was silent.
Zeus promised him that this eagle shall eat his liver everyday for eternity, if he did not give him the answer.
Prometheus did not speak.
And thus was Prometheus so damned by Zeus, his body shackled but his heart free.
He gave us so much, he endured so much.
I say, it's time to give him the fire back."
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