- Location
- Spain
A school for the cursed: A Psyker Quest. Warhammer 40k quest.
- Thread starter Mayto
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
- Location
- Netherlands
You're not -that- good at biomancy.
Not that good at biomancy yet.You're not -that- good at biomancy.
- Location
- Somewhere Beyond the Sea
Being friends with the Guard could come in handy in terms of resources and manpower we can call upon and the Psykers we give em would have a good chance of fairing pretty good in a lot of fights
Vote closed
New
Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
Well, that's not an auspicious start to this.
not terrible
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
looking forward to see where this is going.
interesting times ahead.
interesting times ahead.
Meeting a general and deciding what we want to train.
New
- Location
- Netherlands
[X] An Imperial Guard troop ship:
The Torvum Triarii are one of the elite Imperial Guard regiments of the Torvum Sector. And one of them is returning home after a long campaign near the Cadian Gate. The surviving members of the regiment, as befits the sons and daughters of the military aristocracy, are being transported aboard a troopship back towards their home sector, where they will become leading officials of planetary defense forces across the sector.
Meet an ambitious Lord General of the Imperial Guard, and great-granddaughter of Lord Ozmandus.
Despite popular belief, baseline human Psykers can navigate through the realm of the immatereum without the use of specialized 'transit cages'. However, most still choose to use them for safety and preparation as the ship transitions between realspace and the warp. While inside the warp, a Psyker might occasionally feel an attempt to intrude upon them if they lack control. This can be trained against, which you are. But even the mightiest Primaris Psykers still experience great discomfort when a ship jumps.
Your is a simple standing cage with a built-in chair for you to inhabit during transitions, constructed of bars of sanctified silver that serve as a faraday cage against the effects of the warp. As the alarm chimes to announce a successful jump into the warp, you step out of the warp-transfer cage and close the sliding door behind you. You appreciate the sight of your suite.
And what a suite it is. The room is one designed for transporting the most ascended Psykers of the Imperium, built along Astra Telepathica designs laid down in time immemorial. The walls are covered in a mesh of warding symbols carved onto psychically inert stone bricks. Woven into the stone is a fine mesh of psi-absorbing crystalline threads, made from carefully harvested crystals from the surface of Gorek Primaris. The furniture is carefully arranged and bolted to the deck so as to optimally distribute excess psychic energies, and is made of finely polished and lacquered Nalwood.
You are still getting used to the sensation of such luxury. In the Scholastica Psykana, you lived a truly spartan existence, with flavourless food and a lack of mental stimulation not related to training or prayer. Even your first journey to a warfront had seen you eating regular shipboard rations. But with a campaign under your belt, and the positive attention of your masters, you have finally been allowed to indulge.
A golden bowl is placed upon one of the small tables, and you take one of the real grapes, feeling it in your hands. You pop it in your mouth and try not to moan at the divine taste. The urge to shove the rest of the grapes in your mouth is hard to resist, but you manage it. Being a 'Lord Psyker', a titles Adept of the Astra Telepathica with all the rights and privileges that entails, has a great many advantages. You are now a true citizen of the Imperium, not just an inhabitant.
It almost makes up for the torturous existence of being a Primaris Psyker. The nightmares. The prodding at your mind. The knowledge of what could happen if you lost control. You'd probably be dead if you were still a Blunter, though. Dead of one of the myriad cancers that plagued the labourers of … you realize you can't even remember the name of your homeworld.
You close your eyes and manifest your memory palace, navigating its halls and searching for the location of the memories of your childhood. An Scholastica Psykana telepathic block is placed over the doorway, one which carries your own handiwork. You do not remember placing it, but if you did it, then you would have had a good reason to do so.
The heavy wooden door creaks open, revealing a finely dressed servant standing in the doorway. He bows deeply and you smile and nod in return. There are no servitor servants in this part of the transport. Only expertly trained and educated servants from the prominent families of the Torvium Sector, equal parts Imperial Guardsmen logistical support personnel, and servants for the Torvum Triarii.
"Lord Psyker, your presence is requested at the feast. Lord-General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anniette Ozmandus wishes to invite you to join her for dinner." the servant says in a respectful tone, bowing so mechanically you scan his mind for signs he might actually be an incredibly high-grade Servitor. Only to be proven negative.
Pushing yourself up from the plush cushions of your seat, you smooth down the sleek black fabric of your Adept's robes. The silver mesh glints in the dim light, and you can feel its protective strength surrounding you. Your body fits snugly into the custom-made bullet-resistant material, allowing for ease of movement. The cloth is a fine luscious black, and it is made of the finest high-quality synthetic fabrics that can be acquired.
"What is your name, servant?"
The man blinks at the question, then nods impeccably. "I am Corvon Alexius, of the Alexius line. Honoured servants to House Ozmandus."
"A noble?" You ask.
He bows. "Only by blood, Lord Psyker. My lineage have been bonded servants to House Ozmandus for three thousand years. Trusted advisors, assistants, and servants."
You read the man's surface thoughts. He is tired of the long shift. But he does seem to appreciate the degree of respect that comes from being a servant of his pedigree. You smell hints of plots, tasks done that no other could perform. It appears the Torvum Sector prefers human servants over Servitors. A curious choice. But you have an open mind for such things. You are certain that the Torvii uphold the Imperial Creed as hard as any other you have met.
Travelling the halls of the troop transport, you find yourself impressed by just how ornate and well constructed this area of the ship is. Each individual in a Torvum Triarii dress uniform you pass is an excellent example of the Imperial ideal. Perhaps a bit too much.
You smell the air.
A passive biomantic analysis is a challenging psychic feat. (+0)
Target Difficulty (Psy-rating * 10) + Difficulty = 50
Occam rolled 83.
3 degrees of Failure.
You can detect nothing off about them biologically. But you are still slightly suspicious about how these soldiers all look so good.
They are thinking rather loudly, so you decide to listen in on their thoughts.
Reading surface thoughts is routine for you. (+20)
Target Difficulty (Psy-rating * 10) + Difficulty = 70
Occam rolled 32
4 degrees of success.
These soldiers are like an open book to you. Their thoughts are surprisingly simple. Most thinking about comrades, food, fellow soldiers they wish to spend the night with. But among these thoughts, there are some things that draw your attention. Stray musings which reveal information through deduction. Two of the Triarii are thinking about how much better the food at the feast is than the usual 'Maintenance Broth', which comes with brief flashes of images associated with surgery and augmentation. One soldier is trying to ignore an itch around his… face? The soldier misses his old appearance.
It appears to you that Torvum practices a great deal of cosmetic surgery and augmentations, especially the Triarii. You pocket those thoughts away for the time being.
Like all Imperial society, the troop ship is firmly delineated based upon class and standing, and you remain in the part of the ship reserved for the aristocracy. Nearly the entire Torvum Triarii are located on these decks, greatly outnumbering the other Astra Militarum that only have their officers here.
As you enter the grand dining hall, constructed of stone and fitted with a grand fireplace, your heightened senses are overwhelmed by the tantalizing aroma of roasted meats and savory spices. Your stomach grumbles in hunger as you take in the lavish display of food and drinks fit for royalty. Golden platters overflowing with succulent meats, colorful fruits, and decadent pastries line the long tables that stretch across the room. Towering silver pitchers filled with various wines and spirits stand at regular intervals.
You can hear the lively chatter of officers as they raise their glasses in toast, filling the room with warmth and camaraderie. You observe that there is a clear divide between the Imperial Guard officers being transported, and the Naval officers of the ship itself, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves nonetheless. This is a high class meeting indeed, as even the servants are of upstanding families with high pedigrees. The regiments represented appear to be a mixture, with at least a dozen types of dress uniform you can note. Nearly half of them are of the Torvum Triarii, however.
As you make your way through the bustling crowd, a servant approaches you with a tray of drinks and finger food, quietly offering you a selection. The servant's thoughts reveal nothing interesting or useful - just thoughts about his duties and general observations about those around him. He is revolted by your presence, and briefly wished someone would put a bolt round into you.
You grab a few of the meatiest morsels and eat them quickly. They alone would have cost more than you'd have earned in a month as a labourer, then give him a knowing look that sends him scurrying off.
One officer catches your eye - a tall woman with sharply defined features and a stern expression on his face, clad in an ornate dress uniform. She is surrounded by other high-ranking officers, but they all seem to defer to her presence. Lord General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anette Ozmandus strikes a formiddable figure. A true thoroughbred Astra Militarum officer, wearing a fine dress uniform that seems to also function as a trenchcoat. You sense that her eyes have been replaced with cybernetics but this has been disguised through the application of cloned skin. Her black hair is interspersed with neural plugs that lead into her trenchcoat. "Our fellow passenger has arrived. Sit with me, Lord Psyker."
Her statement causes a hush to fall over part of the room as people's attention turns towards you. Some officers try to move away from you without being noticed, while others do so openly and without hesitation. Only the Navy officers and Torvii are not immediately repulsed as you are given a seat not in the same row as the Lord General, but one of the tables along the length of the room. Your seat, however, is close to the edge. A woman you sit next to, wearing a uniform that marks her as Vostroyan, makes a warding symbol with her hands and relocates.
"People, people." General Antara chides as music starts playing and the servants resume plying the attendants. "This is no Wyrdvane. This is Lord-Psyker Occam, recipient of the Star of Torvum for his actions against the…" She turns to an aide. "What did they fight?"
"A minor xenos infestation, ma'am." The aide adds. "I do not know the name."
"The Tau." You add. "They are called the Tau."
"Never bloody heard of 'em." The Lord General says. "But when I heard someone with such an accolade was aboard this ship, I just knew it was worth inviting you." This seems to warm the Torvii up to you, while the Armada Imperialis officers whom are already used to Psykers, seem to appreciate you slightly more. "The Lord Captain of the ship gives his regards, for what its worth. But I believe he is busy with different matters."
Another Lord-General, of a regiment you do not recognize, adorned in his crisp uniform and carrying an air of authority, approaches your table with a stern expression. You find yourself tensing up as you realize you are the subject of his attention. He is followed by a pair of Militarum Colonels, one of the Torvum Tribunes, and one that you recognize as being Vostroyan. Their gazes are cold and unwelcoming, their disdain for you palpable since your entry into the festivities. Although the feast has picked up in merriment since your arrival, this impending confrontation draws attention from those around you.
"Lord-General," the General begins, his tone laced with disapproval, storming towards Antara. "I must insist that this… witch be removed. Posthaste."
Antara, sitting confidently at the head of the table, does not falter under the scrutiny. "Which Astra Militarum Code or regulation does my invitation of Lord Psyker Occam to a feast I am hosting with permission from this ship's Lord Captain, breach?" she asks without hesitation.
The man straightens his posture, clearly incensed by the boldness. "The Ecclesiarchy's warnings on the dangers of consorting with Psykers, even sanctio-"
"Please refrain from lecturing me on etiquette or theology, General," Antara says coolly, inclining her head in a polite gesture. "Unless you would like to be removed from this dinner."
The tension in the air is thick as all eyes turn to the exchange between these two powerful figures. But Antara Ozmandus remains composed and unwavering, her confidence evident as she stands up for herself and her beliefs. You look at the General. He is wearing a fine dress uniform with signs of metal plate that hints at a Feudal World origin. As you look at him, he catches the lack of fear in your eyes and is incensed by it.
The General scowls. "Don't look at me, Witch!" He reaches for his sword.
You glare at the scabbard and send it skidding across the floor away from him. "I am a Lord Psyker of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. A full Adept of the Adeptus Terra. I am a full -Citizen- Of the Imperium of Man, afforded the rights and duties of the Lex Imperialis. My powers belong to the Imperium, and I will protect them from those who'd vandalize them."
That shuts the man up. If he strikes you, he'd be in deep trouble with the Astra Telepathica. He glares and departs the dining hall alongside many other officers, while an aide picks up the dropped sword. You sit back down and continue your conversation with the Lord General. It is much quieter now. You prefer it that way.
And by the thoughts you're picking up, the remaining officers appreciated seeing that man humbled.
General Antara smiles at you. It is somewhat forced, as if she is trying to suppress another gesture. "So about these 'Tau', did you get rid of all of them?"
"I believe not. They had taken over an Imperial World. We do not know where they came from. It was a routine Tithe enforcement campaign." You shrug dispassionately. "Nothing like what I am sure you faced on Cadia, Lord General."
She sighs dramatically, eyes briefly flashing over. The memories that you can read in her forethoughts show signs of being wiped. "Agreed. Give me Xenos over the Ruinous Powers any day." You narrow your eyes at her words. To some, those could be interpreted as recidivist or heretical, by implying one threat is greater than the others. Or that one did not find joy in their assigned duties.
If that someone wasn't actually important, that is. Comparing foes is something people of your station can do without qualms.
"What brings you to the Sector of my birth? You were rushed aboard this ship when I last examined it."
"I am to assist in raising a Wyrdvane choir." You say, not adding any details.
"Ah. Surprising. Old man Ozmandus has always been dubiously trusting towards Psyker. But your feats must have impressed him enough if he gave you the Star of Torvum."
"A flippant term for a Sector Governor." You remark.
"Perhaps. Personally, I am quite happy to receive sanctioned support, even from Wyrdvanes. Why, I treat them better than I do the abhumans. The Torvum sector needs more of their ilk, a lot more. And I believe that I can convince the Sector Governor of this."
You nod in approval. More Psykers finding gainful service among the regiments of the Torvii would be an improvement. From what you have gathered, they get along better with Psykers than the average Imperial.
You raise a glass in a toast. "Ave Imperator." You toast.
You have found a somewhat erratic friend in Lord General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anette Ozmandus, great-granddaughter of the Sector Governor. Through her, you can develop connections with other influential figures in the Torvum Sector's PDF.
As the feasting comes to an end, the Lord General stands and calls for the Master of Service to present the chef who prepared the delicious meal. The other officers and generals express their admiration for the high quality of food.
You lean into your chair. That was the finest meal you have ever eaten. It was so good, that you find yourself still mentally processing the experience as the Master of Service, the member of the ship crew in charge of catering to the officers aboard, approaches the Lord General.
"You're a young man to be a Master of Service," the Lord General comments. "But this is a fantastic meal. Your captain must be proud of your ability to manage your staff."
The young man bows respectfully. "It's an honor to serve such esteemed individuals. As requested, I have brought the chef." He motions behind him.
A small Ratling in a kitchen uniform appears from a service entrance, bowing respectfully. You nod your head in acknowledgement.
"Why is there a Ratling here?" asks a man with a Colonel's insignia on his shoulder.
The Master of Service blinks. "She is the chef."
Pandemonium erupts.
There are shouts of disbelief, fury. Screaming and pointing fingers. One general rushes off with an aide to cleanse himself in the hygiene chamber. The amount of internal and external screaming briefly overwhelms you.
"You allowed a mutant to serve us," An officer in a Cadian dress uniform shouts, his face red with anger.
"Mutant!?" One of the navy officers yells. "She is a sanctioned abhuman. Emperor knows why she's here, but don't you accuse us of-"
"Sanctioned, my ass. That is a mutant!" Someone yells. The drama has briefly overwhelmed your senses and words do not come to you.
"The Ratlings are a registered strain of Abhuman." You say, trying to calm the crowd, but nobody is listening.
The Lord General sits calmly amidst the chaos, deep in thought, staring at the Master of Service who is shrinking in the face of what is thrown against him. "Do you realize your mistake, young man?"
"I… I- I was to prepare the finest meal we could. She is the best chef aboard the ship. You said you enjoyed it, Lord General."
Lord General Antara calmly nods. Then takes out her ornate laspistol, and shoots the Master of Service in the head.
The deed is done before you even register the intent. She holsters the laspistol. "Please return the abhuman back to her own kind. Inform the captain of the insult given to us, and the punishment I have exacted."
"It is most merciful to spare the Abhuman." The aide remarks as the officers begin to file out.
You are the last to leave the room. Whatever the Gilded lords of the Imperium had been like in your mind, it was not this.
The ship captain is crying bloody murder at a member of his crew being shot for a perceived insult. The formerly jovial mood aboard the troopship has faded away. You'll stay in your room and have dinner brought to you for the rest of the journey.
Returning to your cabin, you lock the door and sit down. The events you've witnessed are repeating in your head. The delicious meal. The fine conversation. Then the shouting. The shooting.
What a meaningless death.
The food was the best you ever tasted in your life. You wish you hadn't seen such a thing. Briefly, you had enjoyed the power and luxury that came with being one of the Imperium's elite without seeing the darker sides of moving in such circles.
The thoughts you flirt with border on recidivism, nevertheless, you indulge slightly, not digging deep.
As a Lord Psyker, you have a scrap of authority and the ability to speak when others need to remain silent. Can you do something with that? You are just a single Psyker, a cursed and hated individual. But you can can try to do right by your people. Other Psykers.
And if you find people that you care for, you know you can do right by them.
During the rest of the journey to the Torvum Sector, you will have a great deal of free time. An unusual thing for an imperial citizen. You focus upon your labours, and the task awaiting you.
Wyrdvane creation:
A Wyrdvane is a term used to describe a group of Imperial Psykers that have the capacity for greatness, but haven't proven themselves capable of operating independently. Instead these Psykers on the verge of greatness, are bonded as Wyrdvane 'Choirs', each a squad of telepathically linked Psykers that share the burden of their power. They are often supervised or led initially by a Primaris Psyker.
Once a Wyrdvane has prove they are worthy of being inducted into the deeper mysteries of the psychic arts, it is usually disbanded with the Psykers having proven that they are capable of operating independently and reliably. If they have also proven they possess a high grade of psychic ability, they will ascend to become full Primaris Psykers
As part of your assignment, you will be expected to help the Scholam train Wyrdvanes. This will be done by guiding Psykers through training, possibly leading them into battles, and setting them up for independent operations. Those who survive, will be expected to pass on their training to their own Wyrdvanes.
For your Wyrdvane, you want:
Choose your specialization.
[] Psychic shock troops:
Your Wyrdvane will need to be strong. Healthy. Able to follow you into combat and lay waste to the enemy. Your Wyrdvane Squad will be trained to get close to the enemy and unleash their power upon the enemy.
-Highly prestigious.
-An excellent way to earn renown.
-High physical requirements reduces recruitment pool and availability of Psykers above Zeta levels.
-High risks of deaths in combat.
[] Psychic artillery:
Your Wyrdvanes will be kept away from the fight and serve to destroy the enemies from afar. They shall combine their powers and work together, raining psychic fire from the sky, bringing down buildings, sending forth lightning, and sending the enemy mad.
-Somewhat prestigious.
-A decent way to earn renown.
-Very low physical requirements ensure access to stronger Psykers from the recruiting pool.
-Low risks of death in combat.
[] Psychic support:
The Astra Militarum has artillery and it has shock troops. Instead of doing what they already have, you will form a supporting force to aid your allies. When the Imperial Guard advances, let then do so with Wyrdvanes among them. You'll train your Wyrdvane to use biomancy to mend allies, pyromancy to burn strongpoints, telepathy to relay communications, kine-shiekds to protect advancing troops. It is an uncommon deployment, but very effective when done right.
-Not very prestigious.
-Unlikely to make you renowned.
-Your psykers will interact with blunts and your efforts will be seen and felt by many.
-Lower physical requirements ensure access to stronger Psykers from the recruiting pool.
-Low risks of death in combat.
The Emperor's Mercy:
All Wyrdvanes are watched by the Commissars and their fellow soldiers. But if they need to intervene, then something will have failed. Matters of possession are best handled internally if possible.
In the event a member of the Wyrdvane succumbs to daemonic possession, they will be given The Emperor's Peace. The method used for this should be thorough and instant.
Choose 2
[] Bomb collars:
Each member of your Wyrdvane will wear a collar that can be detonated from a command cogitator you'll wear around your wrist.
Guarantees decapitation and the destruction of the head.
[] Implanted micro-explosives:
The Wyrdvanes will not know it. But they will have micro-explosives implanted into their necks that can be detonated upon command. Half the explosive force of a bomb collar, none of the insecurity.
Guarantees decapitation, not the destruction of the head.
[] Telekinetically induced brain-death:
If it has to be done, then you'll do it yourself. You will use your connection with the Wyrdvane, and if necessary, use your telekinesis to quickly kill them through destroying their spinal cords.
Personally taxing. Instant death. Can fail if you are absent.
[] Sanctified stakes:
Each Wyrdvane carries with them a stake carved from trees grown on Cemetery Worlds. Each stake is fitted with a silvered tip and engraved with symbols of banishment. In the event of possession, the other Wyrdvanes will use these stakes against their fallen comrade, staking the body to deny it as a vessel to the ruinous power.
Requires a Wyrdvanes to perform the deed. Denies vessels for Daemonhosts.
[]Write in an act or a piece of equipment that can either be used by the Wyrdvanes, their leader, or a guardsmen overseeing them, in the event of a daemonic possession. The method must be cheap, readily apparent, and not heretical.
A contact high in the sector who will be very much interested in Psykers. And your decision on just what kind of Wyrdvane you want to train.
12 hour Moratorium.
The Torvum Triarii are one of the elite Imperial Guard regiments of the Torvum Sector. And one of them is returning home after a long campaign near the Cadian Gate. The surviving members of the regiment, as befits the sons and daughters of the military aristocracy, are being transported aboard a troopship back towards their home sector, where they will become leading officials of planetary defense forces across the sector.
Meet an ambitious Lord General of the Imperial Guard, and great-granddaughter of Lord Ozmandus.
Despite popular belief, baseline human Psykers can navigate through the realm of the immatereum without the use of specialized 'transit cages'. However, most still choose to use them for safety and preparation as the ship transitions between realspace and the warp. While inside the warp, a Psyker might occasionally feel an attempt to intrude upon them if they lack control. This can be trained against, which you are. But even the mightiest Primaris Psykers still experience great discomfort when a ship jumps.
Your is a simple standing cage with a built-in chair for you to inhabit during transitions, constructed of bars of sanctified silver that serve as a faraday cage against the effects of the warp. As the alarm chimes to announce a successful jump into the warp, you step out of the warp-transfer cage and close the sliding door behind you. You appreciate the sight of your suite.
And what a suite it is. The room is one designed for transporting the most ascended Psykers of the Imperium, built along Astra Telepathica designs laid down in time immemorial. The walls are covered in a mesh of warding symbols carved onto psychically inert stone bricks. Woven into the stone is a fine mesh of psi-absorbing crystalline threads, made from carefully harvested crystals from the surface of Gorek Primaris. The furniture is carefully arranged and bolted to the deck so as to optimally distribute excess psychic energies, and is made of finely polished and lacquered Nalwood.
You are still getting used to the sensation of such luxury. In the Scholastica Psykana, you lived a truly spartan existence, with flavourless food and a lack of mental stimulation not related to training or prayer. Even your first journey to a warfront had seen you eating regular shipboard rations. But with a campaign under your belt, and the positive attention of your masters, you have finally been allowed to indulge.
A golden bowl is placed upon one of the small tables, and you take one of the real grapes, feeling it in your hands. You pop it in your mouth and try not to moan at the divine taste. The urge to shove the rest of the grapes in your mouth is hard to resist, but you manage it. Being a 'Lord Psyker', a titles Adept of the Astra Telepathica with all the rights and privileges that entails, has a great many advantages. You are now a true citizen of the Imperium, not just an inhabitant.
It almost makes up for the torturous existence of being a Primaris Psyker. The nightmares. The prodding at your mind. The knowledge of what could happen if you lost control. You'd probably be dead if you were still a Blunter, though. Dead of one of the myriad cancers that plagued the labourers of … you realize you can't even remember the name of your homeworld.
You close your eyes and manifest your memory palace, navigating its halls and searching for the location of the memories of your childhood. An Scholastica Psykana telepathic block is placed over the doorway, one which carries your own handiwork. You do not remember placing it, but if you did it, then you would have had a good reason to do so.
The heavy wooden door creaks open, revealing a finely dressed servant standing in the doorway. He bows deeply and you smile and nod in return. There are no servitor servants in this part of the transport. Only expertly trained and educated servants from the prominent families of the Torvium Sector, equal parts Imperial Guardsmen logistical support personnel, and servants for the Torvum Triarii.
"Lord Psyker, your presence is requested at the feast. Lord-General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anniette Ozmandus wishes to invite you to join her for dinner." the servant says in a respectful tone, bowing so mechanically you scan his mind for signs he might actually be an incredibly high-grade Servitor. Only to be proven negative.
Pushing yourself up from the plush cushions of your seat, you smooth down the sleek black fabric of your Adept's robes. The silver mesh glints in the dim light, and you can feel its protective strength surrounding you. Your body fits snugly into the custom-made bullet-resistant material, allowing for ease of movement. The cloth is a fine luscious black, and it is made of the finest high-quality synthetic fabrics that can be acquired.
"What is your name, servant?"
The man blinks at the question, then nods impeccably. "I am Corvon Alexius, of the Alexius line. Honoured servants to House Ozmandus."
"A noble?" You ask.
He bows. "Only by blood, Lord Psyker. My lineage have been bonded servants to House Ozmandus for three thousand years. Trusted advisors, assistants, and servants."
You read the man's surface thoughts. He is tired of the long shift. But he does seem to appreciate the degree of respect that comes from being a servant of his pedigree. You smell hints of plots, tasks done that no other could perform. It appears the Torvum Sector prefers human servants over Servitors. A curious choice. But you have an open mind for such things. You are certain that the Torvii uphold the Imperial Creed as hard as any other you have met.
Travelling the halls of the troop transport, you find yourself impressed by just how ornate and well constructed this area of the ship is. Each individual in a Torvum Triarii dress uniform you pass is an excellent example of the Imperial ideal. Perhaps a bit too much.
You smell the air.
A passive biomantic analysis is a challenging psychic feat. (+0)
Target Difficulty (Psy-rating * 10) + Difficulty = 50
Occam rolled 83.
3 degrees of Failure.
You can detect nothing off about them biologically. But you are still slightly suspicious about how these soldiers all look so good.
They are thinking rather loudly, so you decide to listen in on their thoughts.
Reading surface thoughts is routine for you. (+20)
Target Difficulty (Psy-rating * 10) + Difficulty = 70
Occam rolled 32
4 degrees of success.
These soldiers are like an open book to you. Their thoughts are surprisingly simple. Most thinking about comrades, food, fellow soldiers they wish to spend the night with. But among these thoughts, there are some things that draw your attention. Stray musings which reveal information through deduction. Two of the Triarii are thinking about how much better the food at the feast is than the usual 'Maintenance Broth', which comes with brief flashes of images associated with surgery and augmentation. One soldier is trying to ignore an itch around his… face? The soldier misses his old appearance.
It appears to you that Torvum practices a great deal of cosmetic surgery and augmentations, especially the Triarii. You pocket those thoughts away for the time being.
Like all Imperial society, the troop ship is firmly delineated based upon class and standing, and you remain in the part of the ship reserved for the aristocracy. Nearly the entire Torvum Triarii are located on these decks, greatly outnumbering the other Astra Militarum that only have their officers here.
As you enter the grand dining hall, constructed of stone and fitted with a grand fireplace, your heightened senses are overwhelmed by the tantalizing aroma of roasted meats and savory spices. Your stomach grumbles in hunger as you take in the lavish display of food and drinks fit for royalty. Golden platters overflowing with succulent meats, colorful fruits, and decadent pastries line the long tables that stretch across the room. Towering silver pitchers filled with various wines and spirits stand at regular intervals.
You can hear the lively chatter of officers as they raise their glasses in toast, filling the room with warmth and camaraderie. You observe that there is a clear divide between the Imperial Guard officers being transported, and the Naval officers of the ship itself, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves nonetheless. This is a high class meeting indeed, as even the servants are of upstanding families with high pedigrees. The regiments represented appear to be a mixture, with at least a dozen types of dress uniform you can note. Nearly half of them are of the Torvum Triarii, however.
As you make your way through the bustling crowd, a servant approaches you with a tray of drinks and finger food, quietly offering you a selection. The servant's thoughts reveal nothing interesting or useful - just thoughts about his duties and general observations about those around him. He is revolted by your presence, and briefly wished someone would put a bolt round into you.
You grab a few of the meatiest morsels and eat them quickly. They alone would have cost more than you'd have earned in a month as a labourer, then give him a knowing look that sends him scurrying off.
One officer catches your eye - a tall woman with sharply defined features and a stern expression on his face, clad in an ornate dress uniform. She is surrounded by other high-ranking officers, but they all seem to defer to her presence. Lord General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anette Ozmandus strikes a formiddable figure. A true thoroughbred Astra Militarum officer, wearing a fine dress uniform that seems to also function as a trenchcoat. You sense that her eyes have been replaced with cybernetics but this has been disguised through the application of cloned skin. Her black hair is interspersed with neural plugs that lead into her trenchcoat. "Our fellow passenger has arrived. Sit with me, Lord Psyker."
Her statement causes a hush to fall over part of the room as people's attention turns towards you. Some officers try to move away from you without being noticed, while others do so openly and without hesitation. Only the Navy officers and Torvii are not immediately repulsed as you are given a seat not in the same row as the Lord General, but one of the tables along the length of the room. Your seat, however, is close to the edge. A woman you sit next to, wearing a uniform that marks her as Vostroyan, makes a warding symbol with her hands and relocates.
"People, people." General Antara chides as music starts playing and the servants resume plying the attendants. "This is no Wyrdvane. This is Lord-Psyker Occam, recipient of the Star of Torvum for his actions against the…" She turns to an aide. "What did they fight?"
"A minor xenos infestation, ma'am." The aide adds. "I do not know the name."
"The Tau." You add. "They are called the Tau."
"Never bloody heard of 'em." The Lord General says. "But when I heard someone with such an accolade was aboard this ship, I just knew it was worth inviting you." This seems to warm the Torvii up to you, while the Armada Imperialis officers whom are already used to Psykers, seem to appreciate you slightly more. "The Lord Captain of the ship gives his regards, for what its worth. But I believe he is busy with different matters."
Another Lord-General, of a regiment you do not recognize, adorned in his crisp uniform and carrying an air of authority, approaches your table with a stern expression. You find yourself tensing up as you realize you are the subject of his attention. He is followed by a pair of Militarum Colonels, one of the Torvum Tribunes, and one that you recognize as being Vostroyan. Their gazes are cold and unwelcoming, their disdain for you palpable since your entry into the festivities. Although the feast has picked up in merriment since your arrival, this impending confrontation draws attention from those around you.
"Lord-General," the General begins, his tone laced with disapproval, storming towards Antara. "I must insist that this… witch be removed. Posthaste."
Antara, sitting confidently at the head of the table, does not falter under the scrutiny. "Which Astra Militarum Code or regulation does my invitation of Lord Psyker Occam to a feast I am hosting with permission from this ship's Lord Captain, breach?" she asks without hesitation.
The man straightens his posture, clearly incensed by the boldness. "The Ecclesiarchy's warnings on the dangers of consorting with Psykers, even sanctio-"
"Please refrain from lecturing me on etiquette or theology, General," Antara says coolly, inclining her head in a polite gesture. "Unless you would like to be removed from this dinner."
The tension in the air is thick as all eyes turn to the exchange between these two powerful figures. But Antara Ozmandus remains composed and unwavering, her confidence evident as she stands up for herself and her beliefs. You look at the General. He is wearing a fine dress uniform with signs of metal plate that hints at a Feudal World origin. As you look at him, he catches the lack of fear in your eyes and is incensed by it.
The General scowls. "Don't look at me, Witch!" He reaches for his sword.
You glare at the scabbard and send it skidding across the floor away from him. "I am a Lord Psyker of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. A full Adept of the Adeptus Terra. I am a full -Citizen- Of the Imperium of Man, afforded the rights and duties of the Lex Imperialis. My powers belong to the Imperium, and I will protect them from those who'd vandalize them."
That shuts the man up. If he strikes you, he'd be in deep trouble with the Astra Telepathica. He glares and departs the dining hall alongside many other officers, while an aide picks up the dropped sword. You sit back down and continue your conversation with the Lord General. It is much quieter now. You prefer it that way.
And by the thoughts you're picking up, the remaining officers appreciated seeing that man humbled.
General Antara smiles at you. It is somewhat forced, as if she is trying to suppress another gesture. "So about these 'Tau', did you get rid of all of them?"
"I believe not. They had taken over an Imperial World. We do not know where they came from. It was a routine Tithe enforcement campaign." You shrug dispassionately. "Nothing like what I am sure you faced on Cadia, Lord General."
She sighs dramatically, eyes briefly flashing over. The memories that you can read in her forethoughts show signs of being wiped. "Agreed. Give me Xenos over the Ruinous Powers any day." You narrow your eyes at her words. To some, those could be interpreted as recidivist or heretical, by implying one threat is greater than the others. Or that one did not find joy in their assigned duties.
If that someone wasn't actually important, that is. Comparing foes is something people of your station can do without qualms.
"What brings you to the Sector of my birth? You were rushed aboard this ship when I last examined it."
"I am to assist in raising a Wyrdvane choir." You say, not adding any details.
"Ah. Surprising. Old man Ozmandus has always been dubiously trusting towards Psyker. But your feats must have impressed him enough if he gave you the Star of Torvum."
"A flippant term for a Sector Governor." You remark.
"Perhaps. Personally, I am quite happy to receive sanctioned support, even from Wyrdvanes. Why, I treat them better than I do the abhumans. The Torvum sector needs more of their ilk, a lot more. And I believe that I can convince the Sector Governor of this."
You nod in approval. More Psykers finding gainful service among the regiments of the Torvii would be an improvement. From what you have gathered, they get along better with Psykers than the average Imperial.
You raise a glass in a toast. "Ave Imperator." You toast.
You have found a somewhat erratic friend in Lord General Antara Travinton Reltar Emmanuelle Anette Ozmandus, great-granddaughter of the Sector Governor. Through her, you can develop connections with other influential figures in the Torvum Sector's PDF.
As the feasting comes to an end, the Lord General stands and calls for the Master of Service to present the chef who prepared the delicious meal. The other officers and generals express their admiration for the high quality of food.
You lean into your chair. That was the finest meal you have ever eaten. It was so good, that you find yourself still mentally processing the experience as the Master of Service, the member of the ship crew in charge of catering to the officers aboard, approaches the Lord General.
"You're a young man to be a Master of Service," the Lord General comments. "But this is a fantastic meal. Your captain must be proud of your ability to manage your staff."
The young man bows respectfully. "It's an honor to serve such esteemed individuals. As requested, I have brought the chef." He motions behind him.
A small Ratling in a kitchen uniform appears from a service entrance, bowing respectfully. You nod your head in acknowledgement.
"Why is there a Ratling here?" asks a man with a Colonel's insignia on his shoulder.
The Master of Service blinks. "She is the chef."
Pandemonium erupts.
There are shouts of disbelief, fury. Screaming and pointing fingers. One general rushes off with an aide to cleanse himself in the hygiene chamber. The amount of internal and external screaming briefly overwhelms you.
"You allowed a mutant to serve us," An officer in a Cadian dress uniform shouts, his face red with anger.
"Mutant!?" One of the navy officers yells. "She is a sanctioned abhuman. Emperor knows why she's here, but don't you accuse us of-"
"Sanctioned, my ass. That is a mutant!" Someone yells. The drama has briefly overwhelmed your senses and words do not come to you.
"The Ratlings are a registered strain of Abhuman." You say, trying to calm the crowd, but nobody is listening.
The Lord General sits calmly amidst the chaos, deep in thought, staring at the Master of Service who is shrinking in the face of what is thrown against him. "Do you realize your mistake, young man?"
"I… I- I was to prepare the finest meal we could. She is the best chef aboard the ship. You said you enjoyed it, Lord General."
Lord General Antara calmly nods. Then takes out her ornate laspistol, and shoots the Master of Service in the head.
The deed is done before you even register the intent. She holsters the laspistol. "Please return the abhuman back to her own kind. Inform the captain of the insult given to us, and the punishment I have exacted."
"It is most merciful to spare the Abhuman." The aide remarks as the officers begin to file out.
You are the last to leave the room. Whatever the Gilded lords of the Imperium had been like in your mind, it was not this.
The ship captain is crying bloody murder at a member of his crew being shot for a perceived insult. The formerly jovial mood aboard the troopship has faded away. You'll stay in your room and have dinner brought to you for the rest of the journey.
Returning to your cabin, you lock the door and sit down. The events you've witnessed are repeating in your head. The delicious meal. The fine conversation. Then the shouting. The shooting.
What a meaningless death.
The food was the best you ever tasted in your life. You wish you hadn't seen such a thing. Briefly, you had enjoyed the power and luxury that came with being one of the Imperium's elite without seeing the darker sides of moving in such circles.
The thoughts you flirt with border on recidivism, nevertheless, you indulge slightly, not digging deep.
As a Lord Psyker, you have a scrap of authority and the ability to speak when others need to remain silent. Can you do something with that? You are just a single Psyker, a cursed and hated individual. But you can can try to do right by your people. Other Psykers.
And if you find people that you care for, you know you can do right by them.
During the rest of the journey to the Torvum Sector, you will have a great deal of free time. An unusual thing for an imperial citizen. You focus upon your labours, and the task awaiting you.
Wyrdvane creation:
A Wyrdvane is a term used to describe a group of Imperial Psykers that have the capacity for greatness, but haven't proven themselves capable of operating independently. Instead these Psykers on the verge of greatness, are bonded as Wyrdvane 'Choirs', each a squad of telepathically linked Psykers that share the burden of their power. They are often supervised or led initially by a Primaris Psyker.
Once a Wyrdvane has prove they are worthy of being inducted into the deeper mysteries of the psychic arts, it is usually disbanded with the Psykers having proven that they are capable of operating independently and reliably. If they have also proven they possess a high grade of psychic ability, they will ascend to become full Primaris Psykers
As part of your assignment, you will be expected to help the Scholam train Wyrdvanes. This will be done by guiding Psykers through training, possibly leading them into battles, and setting them up for independent operations. Those who survive, will be expected to pass on their training to their own Wyrdvanes.
For your Wyrdvane, you want:
Choose your specialization.
[] Psychic shock troops:
Your Wyrdvane will need to be strong. Healthy. Able to follow you into combat and lay waste to the enemy. Your Wyrdvane Squad will be trained to get close to the enemy and unleash their power upon the enemy.
-Highly prestigious.
-An excellent way to earn renown.
-High physical requirements reduces recruitment pool and availability of Psykers above Zeta levels.
-High risks of deaths in combat.
[] Psychic artillery:
Your Wyrdvanes will be kept away from the fight and serve to destroy the enemies from afar. They shall combine their powers and work together, raining psychic fire from the sky, bringing down buildings, sending forth lightning, and sending the enemy mad.
-Somewhat prestigious.
-A decent way to earn renown.
-Very low physical requirements ensure access to stronger Psykers from the recruiting pool.
-Low risks of death in combat.
[] Psychic support:
The Astra Militarum has artillery and it has shock troops. Instead of doing what they already have, you will form a supporting force to aid your allies. When the Imperial Guard advances, let then do so with Wyrdvanes among them. You'll train your Wyrdvane to use biomancy to mend allies, pyromancy to burn strongpoints, telepathy to relay communications, kine-shiekds to protect advancing troops. It is an uncommon deployment, but very effective when done right.
-Not very prestigious.
-Unlikely to make you renowned.
-Your psykers will interact with blunts and your efforts will be seen and felt by many.
-Lower physical requirements ensure access to stronger Psykers from the recruiting pool.
-Low risks of death in combat.
The Emperor's Mercy:
All Wyrdvanes are watched by the Commissars and their fellow soldiers. But if they need to intervene, then something will have failed. Matters of possession are best handled internally if possible.
In the event a member of the Wyrdvane succumbs to daemonic possession, they will be given The Emperor's Peace. The method used for this should be thorough and instant.
Choose 2
[] Bomb collars:
Each member of your Wyrdvane will wear a collar that can be detonated from a command cogitator you'll wear around your wrist.
Guarantees decapitation and the destruction of the head.
[] Implanted micro-explosives:
The Wyrdvanes will not know it. But they will have micro-explosives implanted into their necks that can be detonated upon command. Half the explosive force of a bomb collar, none of the insecurity.
Guarantees decapitation, not the destruction of the head.
[] Telekinetically induced brain-death:
If it has to be done, then you'll do it yourself. You will use your connection with the Wyrdvane, and if necessary, use your telekinesis to quickly kill them through destroying their spinal cords.
Personally taxing. Instant death. Can fail if you are absent.
[] Sanctified stakes:
Each Wyrdvane carries with them a stake carved from trees grown on Cemetery Worlds. Each stake is fitted with a silvered tip and engraved with symbols of banishment. In the event of possession, the other Wyrdvanes will use these stakes against their fallen comrade, staking the body to deny it as a vessel to the ruinous power.
Requires a Wyrdvanes to perform the deed. Denies vessels for Daemonhosts.
[]Write in an act or a piece of equipment that can either be used by the Wyrdvanes, their leader, or a guardsmen overseeing them, in the event of a daemonic possession. The method must be cheap, readily apparent, and not heretical.
A contact high in the sector who will be very much interested in Psykers. And your decision on just what kind of Wyrdvane you want to train.
12 hour Moratorium.
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Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
[ ] Quicksilver Nodule: The Wyrdvanes will not know it, but implanted within each of their craniums will be a sealed capsule of blessed mercury. Upon the presence of daemonic energies, the mercury within will react violently enough to rupture the capsule and swiftly corrode every scrap of living tissue within the skull. For the unfortunate Psyker, it will be as though they simply fell to a slumber they shall never awake from.
Does not cause decapitation or destruction of the head. Denies vessels for Daemonhosts. Requires access to Ministorum clerics entrusted with the rites to bless the mercury.
Does this work as a write-in?
Does not cause decapitation or destruction of the head. Denies vessels for Daemonhosts. Requires access to Ministorum clerics entrusted with the rites to bless the mercury.
Does this work as a write-in?
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- Location
- his hidden lair
The Imperium runs on personal relations and martial aristocrats. Prestigious shock troops would be something high profile, less visibly psyker shenanigans, and would jive much better with the martial aristocrat's mindset and worldview more than any other choice. We chose to be Fit, embrace the Swole.
- Location
- Netherlands
Sure. But it could rupture accidentally from a heavy enough hit.
Still. Very effective
[] Plan I Cast Fist
-[] Psychic shock troops:
-[] Sanctified stakes:
-[] Execution Tool - a large-bore semi-auto shotgun (preferably Arbites pattern), decorated with inscriptions and using Ministorum-blessed ammunition
[] Plan Healers Are Kind, Not Nice
-[] Psychic support:
-[] Sanctified stakes:
-[] Execution Tool - a large-bore semi-auto shotgun (preferably Arbites pattern), decorated with inscriptions and using Ministorum-blessed ammunition
I want something that leverages Psyker powers in places where mortal man is often wildly insufficient, which is either the thick of the fighting or the endless losing grind of triage, recovery, and C3 capabilities. Artillery is useful, but the least needful of the three.
I don't want to kneecap our psykers with the crippling social issues of bomb collars - even if they have been indoctrinated to not care, it's still an increase in twitchy fuckwits casuing problems - and I don't want to use a method that is both unusable without a trained specialist (always a bad idea for something delicate like this) and more likely to fail in a warp event because it's still psychic powers. So micro-explosives and stakes it is, the latter being especially nice for being effective against daemonhosts.
As for the execution tool, KISS - reliable, cheap, easy to use, and can be refueled with any access
-[] Psychic shock troops:
-[] Sanctified stakes:
-[] Execution Tool - a large-bore semi-auto shotgun (preferably Arbites pattern), decorated with inscriptions and using Ministorum-blessed ammunition
[] Plan Healers Are Kind, Not Nice
-[] Psychic support:
-[] Sanctified stakes:
-[] Execution Tool - a large-bore semi-auto shotgun (preferably Arbites pattern), decorated with inscriptions and using Ministorum-blessed ammunition
I want something that leverages Psyker powers in places where mortal man is often wildly insufficient, which is either the thick of the fighting or the endless losing grind of triage, recovery, and C3 capabilities. Artillery is useful, but the least needful of the three.
I don't want to kneecap our psykers with the crippling social issues of bomb collars - even if they have been indoctrinated to not care, it's still an increase in twitchy fuckwits casuing problems - and I don't want to use a method that is both unusable without a trained specialist (always a bad idea for something delicate like this) and more likely to fail in a warp event because it's still psychic powers. So micro-explosives and stakes it is, the latter being especially nice for being effective against daemonhosts.
As for the execution tool, KISS - reliable, cheap, easy to use, and can be refueled with any access
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Well, isn't that a good summary of how the Imperium operates.
We already have contacts with the Guard, so a form of deployment that lets all of them personally experience the effects of our Psykers feels appropriate.
I'm aware, hence the stipulation "where common troops are often wildly insufficient".
What would the shotgun idea mechanics be?
- Location
- Netherlands
One of the two Emperor's Mercy options.
So someone would follow the Wyrdvanes with a massive shotgun covered with prayer seals and loaded with sanctified munitions, with orders to shoot any Psykers growing wings and keep shooting until they run out of ammo.
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Cool, so I'll dump the micro-explosives then. Shooting someone in the torso with a giant shotgun tends to decapitate, and they can help defend as necessary. Maybe we can even recruit a volunteer from our new friends?
- Location
- Netherlands
Yeah. Its not really complicated. You'd just have it be where Wyrdvane groups you've trained carry around a special sanctified shotgun that they hand to whomever is in charge of looking after them.
Once we have some successes under our belt, we can leverage that into marginally - very very marginally - kinder treatment for our people over time.
It's one thing to have a pistol knowing regs tell you to shoot that guy if shit gets funky...
it's something completely different for that guy to hand you one of if not the biggest guns you've ever carried in your life and tell you with a smile, "I care about you, and because of that I need to tell you your gun is too puny, use this instead".
"Killing with kindness" was rarely so multi-layered or macabre.