WARHAMMER 40,000: A Thousand Tiny Suns (40k/Exalted Crossover!)

You ignored Sindraxian for the moment - the rage and fear in his eyes was too much to even process. Your eyes instead swung to Thark. He was looking at you like you were some...something. You blushed behind your mask, then said, quietly: "I'm not Him."

He flinched. Sindraxian's hand tightened around the hilt of the sword hung from the belt looped around his hips. You wondered if Kit was already moving. You forced the words out, like they were something you were choking on. "But...part of Him is in me." You paused, then made the final connection - knowing how...stupid and small it was against a galaxy. "So, what you want to say to Him, say to me."

Thark remained silent for a long time. "Did you...did he order it? The Burning of Prospero?"

What was ancient history to you - a footnote in a Heresy that spanned a thousand epics, each more voluminous and poetic than the last - was burning and intense for Thark-Thakunen. He hadn't even been born at the time, he wasn't some ancient Legionarie who had been there, who had watched the spires fall and the planet burn. But...but you hadn't watched Krieg turn traitor. Had you? The sudden hammer blow of sympathy shook you to your knees. What would you say, if the Emperor had actually stood before you and told you it's okay, it's not your fault.

You...

You reached back, desperately. You had been reliving flashes of memories older than time, damn it. And some came easy, so easy. You could map out the circuitry of a Man of Iron or the basics of an agrav engine. You could hammer out the intermixtures of alchemical reagents that would be needed for juvinat, or craft a bionic arm you were fairly sure could far surpass the strength and speed of not just a human army, but the arm of an Astartes or Custodes. Weaponry? Forget about it - you had the schemata for hellguns blazing so bright that you could hammer one together out of scraps in a cave.

So why was it that now, right now, when you needed most a clear, single, perfect moment of recall...

You were grasping at smoke?

There were...

Flashes.

Flashes of anger. Rage, even. Something vast and beautiful was coming to pieces. And it was all...it was all someone's fault. But was it yours? Had you made some great error? Some mistake? Or...or was it someone else's? The distances were too vast. The time was too great. A message sent now would not outpace the rippling, echoing, rebounding changes that were coming. Everything was too big. Too big. Even your hands couldn't grasp it all, not alone, and you couldn't trust anyone else to see the vision - to carry humanity through what was coming. Your eyes closed in the here and now, and you put your hands on the sides of your heads. The flickering images grew more intense - and more incoherent...

A vast gala, everyone in their finest. A victory parade? Banners flapping in the-

-battlefleet emerging from the Warp, wreathed in smoke and crackling lightning-

-the xeno, older than time, regarding you with a cool disinterest and reptilian disdain. "The last of the Dragon Kings, come to this?" And you-

-Magnus could never understand sorcery, true sorcery, it would destroy him if-

-a wind swept prairie, a hominid standing with rock in hand. It comes down. The skull shatters and you can feel a howling screech, echoing in the distance. A tiger's scream in the night as something terrible is-

You gasp and duck down. "I can't remember!" you say, your voice miserable, thick with the pain of a thousand mistakes.

Thark-Thakunen regards you with eyes torn between hope and despair. He sags back slightly.

Sindraxian's hand draws his blade with a rasp. He steps forward as the humming edge of the blade comes to a wicked, hazy life. You jerk your head up, but as he lifts his arm, ready to bring it crashing down, a massive form grows behind him - silver fire flickering. A pair of immense paws take hold of his helmeted head and twist with a vicious cracking noise. Metal distorts and his gorget becomes a garotte - tightening as it is twisted into a new, deadlier form. Sindraxian lets out a surprised gurgle, a choke, and twitches as the immense form behind him releases him, panting. Kit looks down at the pile of twitching servos and whining WALDO feedback systems, then glowers at Thark, who remains seated and unarmed.

Thark raised his hands, slowly. "I'm not...that stupid," he said, slowly.

Kit grunted. "You joined a traitor legion," he said, amiably.

"And from my perspective, it is your legions who are traitors," Thark said without missing a beat.

That less than convincing rejoinder was interrupted by the sudden, sharp sound of gunfire coming from what seemed to be every direction at once. Lasguns crackled - a sound that overlapped, susurrating and rebounding off one another as fusillades were loosed with clockwork precision. The sharp sound of three explosions at once shook the ground and beyond the edge of the small enclosure you stood in, you could see the turret of a predator tank flipping up into the air, then coming smashing to the ground somewhere else. Kit jerked with all the noise, his ears perking up. Thark remained seated, his hands up, his brows rising, while you rushed for the door, snatching your Lens Lance out of the air and started for the front doors of the habitat - but before you could reach them, Kit snagged one big, tigerish finger through the collar of your jacket and yanked you back.

"Whoa now," he said, firmly.

"I can handle it!" you exclaimed. "I've taken on space marines before."

"I don't want you to get hit by the good guys," he said, firmly.

The door burst inwards with a spray of metal fragments and a sound of a revving chainsword, a spraying scream of sparks, and a stumbling pair of immense feet. A space marine was backing into the habitat, holding a power sword in one hand, a pistol in the other. He parried and blocked blow after blow - each one coming from Amberly Cain, her chainsword gripped in one hand using a fencing style that positively dripped aristocratic snobbery. She wasn't even using the edge! She kept thrusting at him, using just the grinding tip to bring up sparks. "And again! Again! Hah-HA! Sloppy footwork, my World Bearer friend!" She ducked under his power sword, then thrust again - and this time hydraulic fluid spurted from a join his armor. he stumbled, then fell to one knee, gasping.

"What are you!?" he exclaimed.

Amberly, her forehead glowing with a brilliant symbol of Mars, grinned and then, her voice somehow a dramatic whisper that yet also managed to be heard quite clearly, said: "I'm the right hand of the Emperor, you traitor son of a bitch!"

She swept her sword to the left and the space marine fell, his helmeted head tumbling away with a clank and clatter.

Amberly twirled her sword in a dramatic flourished - spinning throughout the collected prisoners who...y-you had...sort of forgotten about in the drama of the moment - revved it twice, then sheathed it at her side. "And thus, the day is saved!"

You scowled at her, then scowled even more as the bound and tied prisoners started to sit up, rubbing their wrists, then gathering around her, their voices soft. Murmurs of 'Thank you, Commissar!' and 'That was amazing, Lady Commissar!' started to reach your ears.

Kit stepped over to you, shrinking down subtly, until he was just a tiger in spirit. "You're scowling, it's unseemly to be jealous," he said, his voice amused.

"I'm not scowling," you said, scowling.

"Mm."

"Nor jealous!"

"Mmmhm."

You leaned against him.

---
What do you do?

[ ] Let Amberly bask in her victory - you have an autofarm to build
[ ] Take charge. You will show mercy to any surrendered followers of Chaos, if they are willing to seek absolution in service. Then you will build the auto-farm.
[ ] Take charge. The followers of Chaos will be put to death, and you will begin work on the auto-farm.
[ ] Write In

Either way, building the auto-farm (as you aren't going to be cramming it into a few days while under fire) is downtime! During downtime, you can spend your XP and train! You can vote for as many things as you want, and the highest winner will get XP first - any leftover XP will be banked!

[ ] Improve your stats (GM will spend XP on improving stats - starting with lower stats first)
[ ] Improve your [Skill] (write in which skill)
[ ] Gain Craft Charms
[ ] Gain Combat Charms (melee, athletics, ride)
[ ] Gain new Social Charms (presence)
[ ] Gain new Intellectual Charms (Occult, unless you get Lore, in which case Lore too)
[ ] Awaken new Evocations in the Lens Lance



Health: Fine
Anima: Glowing (-3 to stealth)
Willpower: 4/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 23/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 7 | Solar XP: 8
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 46 | GXP: 15 | WXP: 3