Like a cerulean orb, Thedias Prime hung in space, shrouded by a glimmering constellation of pinpricks.
Tiny candles.
Little, flickering cities in space. Communities, sheltered from the void by superstition, pride and ancient techno-sorcery. From a distance, they are pathetic.
Up close, they are majesty incarnate.
Kilometer upon kilometer of ceremite and adamantine, glittering glassteel and carven stone. Stained glass windows shone from within, lit by candles of human tallow and lumens that flickered and buzzed. Leering gargoyles perched on flying buttresses that supported ancient aetheric emitters and vox-signal castors, while greebled antennae and bulbous, rounded protrusions that could have been weapons emplacements meant to ward off micormeteorites or projectors of vast void-shields were nestled in the chaotic landscape of the vessels. Some had prows as proud as any oceangoing vehicle, painted red and blue and gold, while others were broad bellied and slow, their cargo holds bulging outwards with the vast lucre that could be extracted from Thedias Prime.
THey had come bearing men and women, consigned to toil.
They left, carrying the raw material produced by the planetary surface.
The tithes were less than they had been, thanks to the Calamity of '16. The population of Thedias was much reduced, and the tithes were expectantly low. As the planet already labored under the most terrible of restrictions, there was little chance of a punative attack. After all, what could the Imperium of Man do to the people of Thedias...that was worse than what was being done to them now?
One of those ships, though, held a secret.
Deep within the hold, where servitors and sweating, bare backed longshoremen had heaved and stacked crates and pallets over laborious weeks as their shuttles caught and brought up the tithe from the floating, automated platforms that bobbed on Thedias' toxic atmosphere...there was a box that held something extra. And as the ship's prow turned towards the sacred Lagrane Point chosen for their egress from the world of logic, reason and science to the world of the Immaterium, where thought and reality bled together and distances between...suggestions...that crate, that box of metal and worked goods, hissed softly as a pressure differential played out asymptotically.
And a single, glittering claw pushed out and eased the crate open.
Then, spilling from the crate, the hunched creatures scuttled into the dark.
---
Welcome to Genestealer 2: Gene Harder! Where is your cult going?
[ ] a sleepy agri-world
[ ] a bustling hive world
[ ] a glittering capital of a sub-sector
[ ] a naval research outpost
[ ] a Adeptus Mechanicus forge asteroid
[ ] a Rogue Trader's newly founded colony
[ ] Nowhere! They're staying on...
[ ] This rogue trader ship
[ ] This naval vessel
[ ] This explorator ship
[ ] This chartist trade ship
How much has the Sisterhood invested in this gambit?
[ ] Cautious Bid (4 points, not discovered)
[ ] Daring Gambit (8 points, rumors abounded but no serious investigation)
[ ] Outright Invasion (12 points, Inquisitorial agents are sniffing around)
Being disconnected from the hive mind has...
[ ] Left the genestealer cult mostly unchanged, save for mental alterations (Normal Genestealers)
[ ] Left the genestealer's genetic structure wildly unstable (Rogue Trader fandom Genestealers)
Rogue Trader fandom is "freed genestealers lack the hive mind to keep their biology stable and, so, gain the ability to shapeshift but have to drink blood to sustain their biology or else they start to randomly mutate into puddles of goop."
Now, you may go: "Wait, the prior cult had been unchanged" yes, but it has been a few years! The genomics may have changed - or, even, been changed deliberately by the sisterhood! You don't know!
Oh, also, plan vote <3 <3 <3 
