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A school for the cursed: A Psyker Quest. Warhammer 40k quest.
- Thread starter Mayto
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
Coming into one's psyker powers is never fun, thank you chaos -_- Really hope this isn't signs that the warp itself is seeping into his brain. MC doesn't need any more trouble.
That...depends kid. That really, really depends. You could get a priest that cares and sends you on your way...or you could get mr fire and brimstone. It all depends on if the telling was the truth or a way to get gullible psykers to give his or herself up.
...maybe? This isn't the worst but it aint good either as the surrounding are is proving.
Oh, even after everything that's happened to him, he still have some innocence left in him...this sweet, innocent babbin. Unfortunately, this is putting a psyker with VERY tenuous control dead center in a HIVE population center...we are about to affect the Census...
Case in point, even just a mild distraction with nobody there got this. What's gonna happen when people start appearing? Angi people with stabby things and flammable liquids and solids?
Pleasebeanicepriest, pleasebeanicepriest...
Or Aldin pulling some psyker antics, that works too, something that prevents this from escalating even further. At least Occam gets to see how he's gonna look eventually
...Maybe? He does work in mysterious ways after all.
eeeh, doesn't fit the character, too kowtowing.
"My head is making reality optional." is a good reason for some pride gulping.
If there ever was a time to just be a kid in pain, this is it.
Heh, now im flashing back to babylon five and a lot of the telepath stuff they had in that show. Just building up the defenses a bit at a time.
Things might actually be starting to look u-
Neeever mind. We got the 'you got a loisense for dat mate?'s...oh joyous munchings and crunchings as Gurgi would say -_-
Weeeeell turdbuckets. Looks like all that progress has been dumped into a cat and sent careening down a hill on fire into a carnival funhouse
Eh, they all have their appeal and this seems mainly like fluff decision for how our powers will register sensually.
Oh we're going full Akira here huh?...actually yeah MC has been pretty much speedrunning the entire Akira plotline, hopefully without the rather grotesque ending. Ye gods that was crazy.
And so the census shortening begins, one Brute Squad at a time...Joy
The Taurox is probably more valued than the goons.
Half a mile or so of shattered glass and creating rebar javelins...yarp, definitely going Akira.
"Praise the Emperor that only Plebs had been killed. If he'd killed men of substance, there's be actual legal trouble."
They are willing and able to do both sides of their job with no hesitation or clouding of the mind.
A dichotomy all too common in the Imperium, again, thank you chaos for keeping things spinning in the mud.
At least they are thorough...
Oh damn, we're brushing Alpha level? If we can train that, that will make the MC VERY useful indeed.
Of course there is, considering the damage done I can't really say I'm surprised. The fact that it could be far worse doesn't mean this situation is remotely good.
Hopefully the mob takes long enough to form that the kid can be extracted.
Veddy nice, MC mind is quite the find in lack of wiggle room for the warp in addition to his high strength.
So stable AND strong, rare indeed. We can see the more...self-interested aspect of Aldin's concerns here too. Being able to leverage the MC like his is pretty reasonable as far as goals go in the setting.
Silly question gets silly answer. And joy of joys, the ladies of BURN IT WITH FIRE are on the way -_- this is going to be hugs and puppiesville at this rate.
On the one hand, expediency ensures that MC will get pulled out with minimal short term complications, on the other hand, that's due to essentially burning future capital and mentor either having shorter time with MC or being removed entirely. All depends on what is worth the risk.
"Take us in. Posture for effect."
Sentinel-Captain Eriksson didn't bother nodding in response, trusting the Lord Protector to sense his emotions. At a quick ping on the soldiers' sealed comm-net, the Valkyrie banked backwards to slow for a landing while the Black Sentinels at the doors fired teargas grenades around the hiver boy. The dropship hit rockcrete with a heavy thump and disgorged a tide of carapace-armoured bodies, each one mutely taking position in a well-rehearsed performance.
Three soldiers took position around the prone child, one fitting miniature restraints on the hiver boy while the other two aimed weapons at him. A drill commonly used near hostile Imperial subjects, the Black Sentinels outwardly projected the image of hostility while also inconspicuously shielding their detainee from outside harm. As the stasis casket was rolled into place, the Lord Protector strolled unhurriedly past the theatre and stopped at the edge of the Sentinel perimeter guards. Raising his hands placidly in the sign of the aquila, Aldin smiled warmly at the two armoured giants who appeared out of the choking fog a second later.
Though quite psy-capable in his own right, Aldin was far from the most powerful psyker in the sanctum. No Primaris Battle Psyker he, the Lord Protector could not match even the untrained display of the child behind him. As the two Sisters split their attentions between him and the hiver boy, the Lord Protector ignored the boltgun muzzle in his face and called upon his true talents.
"Greetings, Sisters. May I-"
"You may get out of our saints-damned way," snapped the elder of the two sentries (Sister Fatimah), her boltgun trained at the hiver boy. While the younger Sister of Battle's thoughts (Sister Rosalind) were a dual blend of righteous anger warring with fear at the thought of shooting an Imperial Noble, Fatimah's mind was focused like a diamond. Though not yet ready to cause a shooting war between the Ecclesiarchy and Telepathica, Aldin could tell she would rather kill and die than let the child escape. A pity, that someone so controlled would lack a shred of talent.
The Lord Protector nodded his head in understanding, his face grave. "I understand your concerns, Sister Fatimah. I agree that an uncontrolled psyker is a matter which requires prompt attentio-" He felt a sudden surge of emotions from the younger sister and allowed himself an internal flicker of triumph, and telepathically flicked his commbead to order the Sentinels to hold fire a moment before a power-armoured glove crashed across his jaw.
"Then stop using your sorcery and move!" Sister Rosalind screamed in fury, her fear rising a moment later to quell further action. Fatimah's focused mind flickered in response, the unexpected action from her compatriot unsettling her more than the Valkyrie's chin turret swiveling to target. Levering himself up from the dusty rockcrete, Aldin worked his jaw and quelled the pain rather than applying biomancy to heal the injury. Goading the Sisters into overreaching first was well worth the minor setback.
"My apologies, Sisters, but my duties are as clear as yours," the Lord Protector slurred, dividing his attention between the delicate political maneuvering and trying to teach a frightened child restraint on the fly. "I suggest you bring the matter to your superiors, rather than further assault recognized members of an Adeptus on a sanctioned mission."
Aldin winced from Sister Fatimah's thoughts rather than the pain of his fractured jaw, as the capable warrior realized upon a plan of action. "We shall," the Sister of Battle gritted out through her teeth. "Sister Rosalind may be reckless, but she's in the right; your lackeys are protecting a child who's killed many innocents. You'll not leave until the Sister-Superior passes judgment." She gazed steadily into Aldin's eyes, clearly aware of his capabilities, and Aldin frowned at the clearly visualized multi-melta being hefted by the Sisters of the quick-response team two hundred metres behind in the choking fog.
"I see," the Lord Protector mumbled, spitting out a loose tooth. "Then let us take this discussion to cleaner grounds, yes?" Hobbling over to the boy now ensconced in the stasis casket, Aldin ignored both the Black Sentinels collapsing their cordon behind him and the Sisters of Battle dogging his heels. At whispered instructions from her elder, Sister Rosalind took a krak grenade from her belt and planted herself above the casket, her earlier shame and fear washed away with exhilaration at receiving clear orders. The uneasy parade of hostages slowly rolled up the ramp, the Sisters activating mag-clamps in their boots while the Sentinels unashamedly kept all involved in their sights.
Still tracked by the Sisters' support weapons team on the ground, the Valkyrie slowly rose with its three new passengers aboard. Aldin allowed himself a moment to mend his jaw enough to speak clearly, while keeping the obvious bruises on his cheek. The boy was secured; now he had to face the price the Sisters would demand.
[X] Land as close as possible:
[X] Aldin stuck to his hellpistol:
[X]You -feel- their hate and fear:
[X] "I...I need help":
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(assuming that 'Land as close as possible' was taken, a potential write-in for the standoff with the Sororitas and a possible deal)
Sister-Superior Picot painted an odd image for a ranking member of an Order Militant. Rosy-cheeked and plump, dressed in plain sackcloth, the Sister's only symbol of her allegiance was a tattoo of the Order of the Silver Shroud on her left cheek. However, underneath the humble visage lurked the calculating mind of a capable fanatic, one who'd already weighed the odds and calculated several courses of action. Aldin idly wished he'd just shot the lynch mob and made a run for it.
"Sister-Superior," the Lord Protector intoned gravely as he stepped past the Valkyrie's slowly cooling engines, "my thanks for meeting me at such short notice." The two Adepts met each other equidistant from their respective dropship, the Ecclesiarchy's Aquila lander a mute counterpart to the Telepathica's Valkyrie on the neutral ground of the spaceport. Aldin sensed twin waves of surprise and anger from Sisters Fatimah and Rosalind behind him, as the casket they were holding hostage remained bolted to the dropship floor. Aldin ignored the zealots behind him, facing the smaller zealot ahead.
"Lord Protector, the pleasure is mine," Picot responded cheerily, before her face took on a gesture of apparent concern. "My poor dear, are you hurt? I've a fresh picking from the Temple garden for all that swelling!" She rummaged through her pockets, pulling out a clump of flowers with an internal surge of vicious anger that made Aldin's stomach turn.
"Dicentra reginae, more commonly termed 'witchbane,'" the Lord Protector answered, cocking an eyebrow as he took the bouquet and crushed it in his hands. He'd need to have a word with the sanctum's analysts; their minimal file on the Sister-Superior had deemed her 'subtle.' "My thanks, Sister-Superior. Shall we go for a walk?"
The two Adepts fell into an easy stride, ignoring the hidden watchers and not-so-hidden gunports nearby. "I must apologize for Sister Rosalind's misbehavior," Picot began cheerily. "I'm sure you understand her frustration, at being prevented from being able to fulfill her duties to protect Imperial citizens."
Aldin winced in response. "Indeed. I must apologize for the destruction caused; the Telepathica shall of course compensate all involved for damages." Rebuilding the hab block would not be cheap, but for a stable Beta-grade psyker the Lord Protector would happily spend a fortune. However, Picot's sudden surge of disgust told Aldin he'd missed his mark.
"A few thrones in the right pockets will not make this right, sir." The Sister-Superior glanced pointedly at Aldin's staff and its logo of office. "A neighborhood is destroyed, a dozen Emperor-fearing Enforcers killed, and your black ship rushes in to take away the culprit. When you and yours are safely tucked away, the new orphans and grieving parents will ask for answers from the Temple and its guardians. What shall my Sisters tell them? That the needs of the Imperium outweighed their right to justice?"
Picot's disciplined mind showed a facade of truth to her words, and Aldin could not passively probe any further. Whether or not she was sincere about it, the Sister-Superior was taking the part of a humanitarian who cared for the suffering of the Imperium's citizens. Most unfortunate.
"I understand that the public wishes to see things set right," Aldin began cautiously. "Shall I dispatch a repentant psyker for public flagellation, in lieu of the boy?"
"The 'boy' in question is a murderer," Picot responded, a flash of true anger overcoming her discipline. "Sending in a patsy for a temporary shaming and wounds your witchery can patch up will not cleanse his own sins."
"Then what would?" Inwardly, Aldin winced as he guessed the Sisterhood's price.
"Prayer. Have him make pilgrimage alone to the Temple he nearly destroyed, and seek the Emperor's forgiveness on sanctified ground." The Sister-Superior waved her hand dismissively as Aldin opened his mouth to reply. "Not whatever patch of dirt you witches call sacred - no, on holy ground."
A known witch walking alone into a temple of the Ecclesiarchy? The rush of emotions from such a gathering would be painful to even a trained adept, let alone a child. "Is there an alternative?"
"I shall see the boy and evaluate his purity. Should I deem him unworthy in any way, I shall give him the Emperor's Mercy," Picot responded. The small, humbly-dressed woman seemed to glow with inner fire at her own determination and blind faith.
A rock and a hard place, Aldin thought grimly. "The boy is in no place to face either test, Sister-Superior. Give me five years to make him ready."
Picot stared him down, unmoved. "My Sisters shall face the peoples' wrath on your Adepts' behalf in the meantime. Two years."
"We need time, to teach the boy and avert any further disasters." Aldin let his voice crack slightly with emotion, a tiny thread of his suppressed anger bubbling to the surface. "The boy will be ready, but we cannot work miracles."
"Three years, then," Picot proposed warily. The Lord Protector nodded once in response.
[]Accept a penance
In three years the boy will need to land at the site where he Awakened and walk to the Temple nearby for public penance. Dangers: lynch mob, minimally-trained psyker, Ecclesiarchical meddling.
[]Accept a judgment
In three years the Sister-Superior will visit the Sanctum, evaluate the boy, and pass judgment at her own discretion. Dangers: boltgun to the head, minimally-trained psyker, Ecclesiarchical meddling.
[]Propose a different deal
Reminder: all of the above is non-canon unless approved by the GM, so please don't vote on it now.
Sister-Superior Picot painted an odd image for a ranking member of an Order Militant. Rosy-cheeked and plump, dressed in plain sackcloth, the Sister's only symbol of her allegiance was a tattoo of the Order of the Silver Shroud on her left cheek. However, underneath the humble visage lurked the calculating mind of a capable fanatic, one who'd already weighed the odds and calculated several courses of action. Aldin idly wished he'd just shot the lynch mob and made a run for it.
"Sister-Superior," the Lord Protector intoned gravely as he stepped past the Valkyrie's slowly cooling engines, "my thanks for meeting me at such short notice." The two Adepts met each other equidistant from their respective dropship, the Ecclesiarchy's Aquila lander a mute counterpart to the Telepathica's Valkyrie on the neutral ground of the spaceport. Aldin sensed twin waves of surprise and anger from Sisters Fatimah and Rosalind behind him, as the casket they were holding hostage remained bolted to the dropship floor. Aldin ignored the zealots behind him, facing the smaller zealot ahead.
"Lord Protector, the pleasure is mine," Picot responded cheerily, before her face took on a gesture of apparent concern. "My poor dear, are you hurt? I've a fresh picking from the Temple garden for all that swelling!" She rummaged through her pockets, pulling out a clump of flowers with an internal surge of vicious anger that made Aldin's stomach turn.
"Dicentra reginae, more commonly termed 'witchbane,'" the Lord Protector answered, cocking an eyebrow as he took the bouquet and crushed it in his hands. He'd need to have a word with the sanctum's analysts; their minimal file on the Sister-Superior had deemed her 'subtle.' "My thanks, Sister-Superior. Shall we go for a walk?"
The two Adepts fell into an easy stride, ignoring the hidden watchers and not-so-hidden gunports nearby. "I must apologize for Sister Rosalind's misbehavior," Picot began cheerily. "I'm sure you understand her frustration, at being prevented from being able to fulfill her duties to protect Imperial citizens."
Aldin winced in response. "Indeed. I must apologize for the destruction caused; the Telepathica shall of course compensate all involved for damages." Rebuilding the hab block would not be cheap, but for a stable Beta-grade psyker the Lord Protector would happily spend a fortune. However, Picot's sudden surge of disgust told Aldin he'd missed his mark.
"A few thrones in the right pockets will not make this right, sir." The Sister-Superior glanced pointedly at Aldin's staff and its logo of office. "A neighborhood is destroyed, a dozen Emperor-fearing Enforcers killed, and your black ship rushes in to take away the culprit. When you and yours are safely tucked away, the new orphans and grieving parents will ask for answers from the Temple and its guardians. What shall my Sisters tell them? That the needs of the Imperium outweighed their right to justice?"
Picot's disciplined mind showed a facade of truth to her words, and Aldin could not passively probe any further. Whether or not she was sincere about it, the Sister-Superior was taking the part of a humanitarian who cared for the suffering of the Imperium's citizens. Most unfortunate.
"I understand that the public wishes to see things set right," Aldin began cautiously. "Shall I dispatch a repentant psyker for public flagellation, in lieu of the boy?"
"The 'boy' in question is a murderer," Picot responded, a flash of true anger overcoming her discipline. "Sending in a patsy for a temporary shaming and wounds your witchery can patch up will not cleanse his own sins."
"Then what would?" Inwardly, Aldin winced as he guessed the Sisterhood's price.
"Prayer. Have him make pilgrimage alone to the Temple he nearly destroyed, and seek the Emperor's forgiveness on sanctified ground." The Sister-Superior waved her hand dismissively as Aldin opened his mouth to reply. "Not whatever patch of dirt you witches call sacred - no, on holy ground."
A known witch walking alone into a temple of the Ecclesiarchy? The rush of emotions from such a gathering would be painful to even a trained adept, let alone a child. "Is there an alternative?"
"I shall see the boy and evaluate his purity. Should I deem him unworthy in any way, I shall give him the Emperor's Mercy," Picot responded. The small, humbly-dressed woman seemed to glow with inner fire at her own determination and blind faith.
A rock and a hard place, Aldin thought grimly. "The boy is in no place to face either test, Sister-Superior. Give me five years to make him ready."
Picot stared him down, unmoved. "My Sisters shall face the peoples' wrath on your Adepts' behalf in the meantime. Two years."
"We need time, to teach the boy and avert any further disasters." Aldin let his voice crack slightly with emotion, a tiny thread of his suppressed anger bubbling to the surface. "The boy will be ready, but we cannot work miracles."
"Three years, then," Picot proposed warily. The Lord Protector nodded once in response.
[]Accept a penance
In three years the boy will need to land at the site where he Awakened and walk to the Temple nearby for public penance. Dangers: lynch mob, minimally-trained psyker, Ecclesiarchical meddling.
[]Accept a judgment
In three years the Sister-Superior will visit the Sanctum, evaluate the boy, and pass judgment at her own discretion. Dangers: boltgun to the head, minimally-trained psyker, Ecclesiarchical meddling.
[]Propose a different deal
Reminder: all of the above is non-canon unless approved by the GM, so please don't vote on it now.
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Will we be able to access any of the minor or obscure disciplines at somepoint in the future.
- Location
- Netherlands
Geomancy, Umbramancy, weather manipulation, TotallyNotSorcery, etc.
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
So earthbending? Isn't that just telekinesis with extra steps?
That has the potential of getting viewed as badly as sorcery. Playing with darkness and shadows doesn't look good to the average person, let alone an Imperial citizen.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Sorcery is using outside sources to gain power, so relics and etc. mostly used by Chaos cultists who are not psykers or yet to be psykers. Either way...it would be interesting given that kind of thing is more rare within 40k.
A standoff.
New
- Location
- Netherlands
You hear screaming. Yelling. High pitched and frantic. The sound of glass shattering. Hands on your body. Gloved strong fingers lifting you up and putting you down. You see the bright red flashes of lasfire even behind your closed eyelids. There is a curious mechanical noise, almost like a turbine, although you're not sure.
There is a faint scent of teargas in the air. Like the aftermath of a riot, when you and the other kids went to loot the bodies shot to bits. The smell wakes you up immediately. You try to get up, but a firm hand holds you down. You see a circle of black figures in heavy suits of armour standing around you, each hefting a big rifle.
The black armoured figures have formed a firing line facing the oncoming mob, bulky backpack fed rifles aimed outwards. One of the figures has gone down on a knee and taken out a small kit. You're propped up against something, but you're not sure what it is. A fancy and very expensive looking tool is lifted up and held in front of your face.
The robed man from before is looking down at you, carrying an ornate silver staff with one hand and a pistol with the other. Tendrils of power are flowing from him to you, and you feel the wall in your mind restructuring.
A bottle flies through the air, which the man nimbly dodges even though it came from behind him. He immediately turns to face the direction it came from. With one fluid motion, he slaps aside another object hurtling towards him, this time a brick. He then fires his pistol towards the source of the projectiles.
You watch in awe as the heavy laspistol fires off multiple bright red bolts of energy, taking down several figures in the mob with each shot. The black armoured figures continue to hold their firing line. There is the bark of a shotgun.
The air is thick with the smell of burning flesh and smoke from the lasfire. You notice that some of the mob are armed as well, wielding crude weapons, knives, clubs, tools. Were they going to lynch you like they did the mutants discovered last year? You remember that event. The screams of the thing had almost been human.
The robed man turns back to you, his attention no longer on defending himself. He continues to pour power into your mind, repairing and strengthening your mental walls. As you start to feel more lucid and aware of your surroundings, you realize that you are propped up against a jagged spike of rock that has erupted from the ground. And you realize just who is standing before you.
One of the Witchkeep. That story that people liked to tell, about the horrible place at the heart of the hive where the Witches were said to come from, where spirits and other monsters lurked in the dark. You thought it had been a myth. But the story of the black robe and silver staff was quite clear when you heard it last.
You look around. The soldier tending to you catches your eye, because you can't see his mind. His thoughts do not appear around him like they did the enforcers before. None of the black figures have their thoughts visible. But the voices and thoughts of everyone around you continue flooding in. The headache begins to return and the sounds around you fade away to be replaced by the aggressive thumping.
You are about to say something, when you feel a prick in your neck. A fancy-looking pop-gun or something like it has been pressed against your neck. A soothing feeling spreads out over your body. The headache fades slightly and you feel yourself calming down.
"You tread the path of heresy, Mutant!" A gruff feminine voice calls out. You see one of the blessed Sororitas moving through the crowd, holding a holy bolter. She is one of the shrine guard, you're sure of it. The sheer hatefulness in the look she spares you before turning to the robed man is impressive. "Suffer not the Witch to live." She states confidently. The crowd growls agreement.
The robed man steps forward, his silver staff shining in the heavy sky lumens. The crowd seems to hesitate, unsure of what will happen, but still as angry as before. The Sororitas raises her bolter, but the robed man's voice echoes through the area.
"In the name of the Astra Telepathica, Adeptus of the holy Adeptus Terra, I, Aldin Arat, Lord Prefector, have taken this Psyker into custody. Any attempt to impede our efforts, is an attempt to impede the functioning of the Imperium, and therefore heresy." he declares confidently, tapping the base of the staff on the ground with a resounding thud.
"You detestable wretch." The Sororitas growls, almost frothing at the mouth. You have never seen someone so angry and hateful before. All her previous beauty and elegance has disappeared completely. "The warp must have poisoned your mind if you think that -thing- can be sanctioned. Look around you!"
"That is -NOT- Your decision to make, Blunt." The man says.
There is grumbling and complaining as four of the black armored soldiers approach with some kind of casket. There is a lasrifle shot and a scream as someone gets too close. You're too drugged and soothed to cry at the hate you're receiving, but are still able to feel a sense of enjoyment at what feels like people getting what they deserve. Some kind of pod is being rolled your way. There is a hiss as it opens up. There is a silence that threatens to break at any moment. The soldier tending to you picks you up and moves to carry you inside.
"The Inquisition will hear of this." You hear the Sororitas demand as the smell of ozone fills the pod an-
Aldin stared at the Sorotias and the crowd, backpedalling towards the Valkyrie alongside the stasis casket. The shooting had stopped, but the crowd was still tense and anxious, driven to religious frenzy and hatred. The Black Sentinels kept their guns aimed at the mob, protecting their charge.
He'd worked with more reasonable Commissars during his time as a Psyker for the Astra Militarum. He very much wanted to turn the woman inside out for getting in the way of his work, but restrained himself.
The planet was becoming increasingly inhospitable for the Adeptus, and he began to wonder if this event could be what sent tensions to a boil.
He put a comforting hand on the casket and felt the hum of its stasis mechanism. He had plans to make. He needed to decide where he would be sending the Psyker.
Occam has been secured by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. A stable Beta-Grade Psyker is a formidable asset.
You wake up in the cleanest room you've ever been in.
Sodium tubes in the ceiling, clean tubes at that, light up a large room that reminds you of the chop-shop you visited once alongside your father to drop off a body for a payment. But the slabs are all clean, the bedding is white, and the walls are made of black stone, decorated with silver symbols. Images of saints and Imperial heroes are carved into the walls, interspersed with what looks like vox and cogitator systems.
Your neck itches. You try to scratch it, only for your fingers to brush against something metallic at the base of your skull. You pull your hand back, turning your wrist to reveal that there's another socket in each of your wrists. You're also not wearing your regular clothes. Instead it is… a dress? It feels like a dress, or a bit like one of those aprons the cooks sometimes wear.
"Naff is this?" You mumble, still feeling a little groggy, as you trace your head for other changes. There's a plug on your right temple, and behind each ear, at the parts that swelled really badly when you had that flu last year. There's things plugged into them, and you want to yank one out. When a sudden compulsion to -not- do so fills you.
"Calm down, child." You turn to a figure you hadn't noticed before. No, he had not been sitting there moments before. You only just registered him. "Those are Psi-Dampers to restrain your power. Do not touch them. They are what keep your headaches in check."
The man is right. The headache is gone. You don't feel the pain from before. And you aren't reading his surface thoughts. At least, you think it is because of the 'Psi-dampers'. Maybe he can hide them. "Are you a witch too?"
He grimaces. "We do not say 'Witch' here. This is a safe space for your kind." He pauses. He looks like he thinks you're an idiot. "Do you know what the Adeptus Astra Telepathica is?"
You frown. "Is that like the Administratum?"
He sighs deeply. "I see we'll be filling in the gaps of your education." He stands up. "My name is Aldin Arat, Lord Prefector of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. You have been inducted into our ranks as an acolyte. This is not optional. You are a Psyker, and that means you are cursed with a power that you can scarcely comprehend."
"I know what a Wit– A Psyker is. I was going to turn myself in." You say petulantly, not liking the denigrating voice. "Then the headaches got really bad." You pause. "What about my family? They'll be worry-"
Aldin holds up a hand to silence you. "For the sake of yourself and your loved ones, you will remain here." He reaches for a tray holding a small carb-loaf and a bowl of sucrose-flavoured nutri-mash.
[][FAMILY] You've already gotten over it:
You've grown up on the streets of a hive city. Death is part of daily life for you. You're not bothered by losing your family and friends.
Occam does not easily make social and emotional connections due to fear of loss.
[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
You do not cry. That would be showing weakness. Weakness gets someone killed in the Hive. But you are sad about your family.
Occam does have a desire for fellowship and company. For better and worse.
You dive at the food, grubby hands grabbing the loaf and the bowl, devouring it while you consider what he said. Grief swells up within you, but your hunger overpowers it. Food always comes first. You're not sure someone else might or might not show up to try and take it.
"You will be taken care of here, until you have recovered. Whereupon a series of trials shall begin."
You listen intently, or at least successfully make it appear that way.
Already you have measured the value of every object in the room, thinking of whom you could pawn them off to. Even if what the Psyker said is true, it is good to know how valuable those things are.
"What about the Black Ships?" You ask. "The priest said witches got put on the Black Ships. Are we aboard one now?"
The man's smile fades immediately. "No. When the next ship arrives, you will be placed aboard it. Perhaps a year from now, maybe two.."
You narrow your eyes at the man as he leaves the room, leaving you all alone in the medical room. He is far too friendly and forthcoming. He is giving you all these things without any sort of demand? No threats? Is he fattening you up to eat? Does he intend to sell you to a pleasure den?
You continue gnawing at the carb loaf. At least the headache is gone. You thank the Emperor for the kindness he has shown you.
After you finish your meal, a servitor rolls into the room and takes your plate from you. You're hesitant to hand it over, but eventually you do. After doing so, you notice that there's a plastek plate hanging from the front of your bed. You pull it up and examine it.
You squint and try to read it. It appears to be a report of your health?
Due to his upbringing in a Hive City, alongside serious malnutrition Occam has developed several conditions.
They will be fully cured and treated by the Telepathica, but what are they?
(The three most voted conditions will be chosen. Cancer counts as two conditions. You can overshoot.)
[][MEDICAE] Skin Cancer:
Perhaps those chemicals used to treat the textiles weren't that safe.
[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
Coughing up blood occasionally is normal, isn't it?
[][MEDICAE] Rickets:
You're exceptionally fast for your age compared to the rest of your hab block.
[][MEDICAE] Infectious blood cancer:
You received an infectious form of skin cancer from selling blood so you could get Obscura.
[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
All your teeth need to be replaced due to your dad selling your mature ones for drinking money.
[][MEDICAE] Unhealthy palour:
The excess of heavy metals has given you a very unhealthy skin colour.
You give up trying to read it and put the plastek back in its place.
Your initiation into the Astra Telepathica has begun. For now, you are being handled carefully, and much gentler than you are used to. The lack of threats of physical violence and visible electro-prods is quite noticeable and very disturbing.
You will be put through a refresher on the makeup and functioning of the Adeptus Terra, re-indoctrinated into the Imperial Cult, and receive medical treatments.
You develop a quirk.
[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
You put some extra effort into developing a proper handwriting style. You greatly prefer physical to digital storage, if only so you can appreciate your writing.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with writing for you.
[][QUIRK] There's a shower!:
Given the first possibility of proper cleaning and hygiene in your life, you quickly take to it. You develop an obsession with wanting to be personally sure that -your- space is clean, if you have the means.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with cleaning your room.
[][QUIRK] Saving for an acid-rainy day:
You are used to hunger, and now you can avoid it, you will. You obsessively ensure you have caches of food and water hidden nearby.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with knowing of your caches.
[][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
When you were given your new clothes, they took everything out of dedicated storage areas, they didn't even have to look for the right size. Everything is so well organized. You will obsess over keeping your items in their place when not in use. Everything tagged and organized.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with this.
Aldin has sent out feelers for tutors and examiners for the potential prize. Before your departure aboard the black ships, several individuals with their eyes on potential Psykers will be told about you.
One of these will be a source of 'problems' for you.
Choose one:
[][PROBLEM] A Rogue Trader.
[][PROBLEM] A disappointed Apothecary.
[][PROBLEM] An Adeptus Mechanicus Genetor
[][PROBLEM] An Inquisitor
4 hour Moratorium. Please vote seperately for each subject. No need for plans!
It will be task-voting, that means voting like this
[x][MEDICAE] Skin Cancer:
[x][MEDICAE] New teeth:
[x][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
There is a faint scent of teargas in the air. Like the aftermath of a riot, when you and the other kids went to loot the bodies shot to bits. The smell wakes you up immediately. You try to get up, but a firm hand holds you down. You see a circle of black figures in heavy suits of armour standing around you, each hefting a big rifle.
The black armoured figures have formed a firing line facing the oncoming mob, bulky backpack fed rifles aimed outwards. One of the figures has gone down on a knee and taken out a small kit. You're propped up against something, but you're not sure what it is. A fancy and very expensive looking tool is lifted up and held in front of your face.
The robed man from before is looking down at you, carrying an ornate silver staff with one hand and a pistol with the other. Tendrils of power are flowing from him to you, and you feel the wall in your mind restructuring.
A bottle flies through the air, which the man nimbly dodges even though it came from behind him. He immediately turns to face the direction it came from. With one fluid motion, he slaps aside another object hurtling towards him, this time a brick. He then fires his pistol towards the source of the projectiles.
You watch in awe as the heavy laspistol fires off multiple bright red bolts of energy, taking down several figures in the mob with each shot. The black armoured figures continue to hold their firing line. There is the bark of a shotgun.
The air is thick with the smell of burning flesh and smoke from the lasfire. You notice that some of the mob are armed as well, wielding crude weapons, knives, clubs, tools. Were they going to lynch you like they did the mutants discovered last year? You remember that event. The screams of the thing had almost been human.
The robed man turns back to you, his attention no longer on defending himself. He continues to pour power into your mind, repairing and strengthening your mental walls. As you start to feel more lucid and aware of your surroundings, you realize that you are propped up against a jagged spike of rock that has erupted from the ground. And you realize just who is standing before you.
One of the Witchkeep. That story that people liked to tell, about the horrible place at the heart of the hive where the Witches were said to come from, where spirits and other monsters lurked in the dark. You thought it had been a myth. But the story of the black robe and silver staff was quite clear when you heard it last.
You look around. The soldier tending to you catches your eye, because you can't see his mind. His thoughts do not appear around him like they did the enforcers before. None of the black figures have their thoughts visible. But the voices and thoughts of everyone around you continue flooding in. The headache begins to return and the sounds around you fade away to be replaced by the aggressive thumping.
You are about to say something, when you feel a prick in your neck. A fancy-looking pop-gun or something like it has been pressed against your neck. A soothing feeling spreads out over your body. The headache fades slightly and you feel yourself calming down.
"You tread the path of heresy, Mutant!" A gruff feminine voice calls out. You see one of the blessed Sororitas moving through the crowd, holding a holy bolter. She is one of the shrine guard, you're sure of it. The sheer hatefulness in the look she spares you before turning to the robed man is impressive. "Suffer not the Witch to live." She states confidently. The crowd growls agreement.
The robed man steps forward, his silver staff shining in the heavy sky lumens. The crowd seems to hesitate, unsure of what will happen, but still as angry as before. The Sororitas raises her bolter, but the robed man's voice echoes through the area.
"In the name of the Astra Telepathica, Adeptus of the holy Adeptus Terra, I, Aldin Arat, Lord Prefector, have taken this Psyker into custody. Any attempt to impede our efforts, is an attempt to impede the functioning of the Imperium, and therefore heresy." he declares confidently, tapping the base of the staff on the ground with a resounding thud.
"You detestable wretch." The Sororitas growls, almost frothing at the mouth. You have never seen someone so angry and hateful before. All her previous beauty and elegance has disappeared completely. "The warp must have poisoned your mind if you think that -thing- can be sanctioned. Look around you!"
"That is -NOT- Your decision to make, Blunt." The man says.
There is grumbling and complaining as four of the black armored soldiers approach with some kind of casket. There is a lasrifle shot and a scream as someone gets too close. You're too drugged and soothed to cry at the hate you're receiving, but are still able to feel a sense of enjoyment at what feels like people getting what they deserve. Some kind of pod is being rolled your way. There is a hiss as it opens up. There is a silence that threatens to break at any moment. The soldier tending to you picks you up and moves to carry you inside.
"The Inquisition will hear of this." You hear the Sororitas demand as the smell of ozone fills the pod an-
Aldin stared at the Sorotias and the crowd, backpedalling towards the Valkyrie alongside the stasis casket. The shooting had stopped, but the crowd was still tense and anxious, driven to religious frenzy and hatred. The Black Sentinels kept their guns aimed at the mob, protecting their charge.
He'd worked with more reasonable Commissars during his time as a Psyker for the Astra Militarum. He very much wanted to turn the woman inside out for getting in the way of his work, but restrained himself.
The planet was becoming increasingly inhospitable for the Adeptus, and he began to wonder if this event could be what sent tensions to a boil.
He put a comforting hand on the casket and felt the hum of its stasis mechanism. He had plans to make. He needed to decide where he would be sending the Psyker.
Occam has been secured by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. A stable Beta-Grade Psyker is a formidable asset.
You wake up in the cleanest room you've ever been in.
Sodium tubes in the ceiling, clean tubes at that, light up a large room that reminds you of the chop-shop you visited once alongside your father to drop off a body for a payment. But the slabs are all clean, the bedding is white, and the walls are made of black stone, decorated with silver symbols. Images of saints and Imperial heroes are carved into the walls, interspersed with what looks like vox and cogitator systems.
Your neck itches. You try to scratch it, only for your fingers to brush against something metallic at the base of your skull. You pull your hand back, turning your wrist to reveal that there's another socket in each of your wrists. You're also not wearing your regular clothes. Instead it is… a dress? It feels like a dress, or a bit like one of those aprons the cooks sometimes wear.
"Naff is this?" You mumble, still feeling a little groggy, as you trace your head for other changes. There's a plug on your right temple, and behind each ear, at the parts that swelled really badly when you had that flu last year. There's things plugged into them, and you want to yank one out. When a sudden compulsion to -not- do so fills you.
"Calm down, child." You turn to a figure you hadn't noticed before. No, he had not been sitting there moments before. You only just registered him. "Those are Psi-Dampers to restrain your power. Do not touch them. They are what keep your headaches in check."
The man is right. The headache is gone. You don't feel the pain from before. And you aren't reading his surface thoughts. At least, you think it is because of the 'Psi-dampers'. Maybe he can hide them. "Are you a witch too?"
He grimaces. "We do not say 'Witch' here. This is a safe space for your kind." He pauses. He looks like he thinks you're an idiot. "Do you know what the Adeptus Astra Telepathica is?"
You frown. "Is that like the Administratum?"
He sighs deeply. "I see we'll be filling in the gaps of your education." He stands up. "My name is Aldin Arat, Lord Prefector of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. You have been inducted into our ranks as an acolyte. This is not optional. You are a Psyker, and that means you are cursed with a power that you can scarcely comprehend."
"I know what a Wit– A Psyker is. I was going to turn myself in." You say petulantly, not liking the denigrating voice. "Then the headaches got really bad." You pause. "What about my family? They'll be worry-"
Aldin holds up a hand to silence you. "For the sake of yourself and your loved ones, you will remain here." He reaches for a tray holding a small carb-loaf and a bowl of sucrose-flavoured nutri-mash.
[][FAMILY] You've already gotten over it:
You've grown up on the streets of a hive city. Death is part of daily life for you. You're not bothered by losing your family and friends.
Occam does not easily make social and emotional connections due to fear of loss.
[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
You do not cry. That would be showing weakness. Weakness gets someone killed in the Hive. But you are sad about your family.
Occam does have a desire for fellowship and company. For better and worse.
You dive at the food, grubby hands grabbing the loaf and the bowl, devouring it while you consider what he said. Grief swells up within you, but your hunger overpowers it. Food always comes first. You're not sure someone else might or might not show up to try and take it.
"You will be taken care of here, until you have recovered. Whereupon a series of trials shall begin."
You listen intently, or at least successfully make it appear that way.
Already you have measured the value of every object in the room, thinking of whom you could pawn them off to. Even if what the Psyker said is true, it is good to know how valuable those things are.
"What about the Black Ships?" You ask. "The priest said witches got put on the Black Ships. Are we aboard one now?"
The man's smile fades immediately. "No. When the next ship arrives, you will be placed aboard it. Perhaps a year from now, maybe two.."
You narrow your eyes at the man as he leaves the room, leaving you all alone in the medical room. He is far too friendly and forthcoming. He is giving you all these things without any sort of demand? No threats? Is he fattening you up to eat? Does he intend to sell you to a pleasure den?
You continue gnawing at the carb loaf. At least the headache is gone. You thank the Emperor for the kindness he has shown you.
After you finish your meal, a servitor rolls into the room and takes your plate from you. You're hesitant to hand it over, but eventually you do. After doing so, you notice that there's a plastek plate hanging from the front of your bed. You pull it up and examine it.
You squint and try to read it. It appears to be a report of your health?
Due to his upbringing in a Hive City, alongside serious malnutrition Occam has developed several conditions.
They will be fully cured and treated by the Telepathica, but what are they?
(The three most voted conditions will be chosen. Cancer counts as two conditions. You can overshoot.)
[][MEDICAE] Skin Cancer:
Perhaps those chemicals used to treat the textiles weren't that safe.
[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
Coughing up blood occasionally is normal, isn't it?
[][MEDICAE] Rickets:
You're exceptionally fast for your age compared to the rest of your hab block.
[][MEDICAE] Infectious blood cancer:
You received an infectious form of skin cancer from selling blood so you could get Obscura.
[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
All your teeth need to be replaced due to your dad selling your mature ones for drinking money.
[][MEDICAE] Unhealthy palour:
The excess of heavy metals has given you a very unhealthy skin colour.
You give up trying to read it and put the plastek back in its place.
Your initiation into the Astra Telepathica has begun. For now, you are being handled carefully, and much gentler than you are used to. The lack of threats of physical violence and visible electro-prods is quite noticeable and very disturbing.
You will be put through a refresher on the makeup and functioning of the Adeptus Terra, re-indoctrinated into the Imperial Cult, and receive medical treatments.
You develop a quirk.
[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
You put some extra effort into developing a proper handwriting style. You greatly prefer physical to digital storage, if only so you can appreciate your writing.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with writing for you.
[][QUIRK] There's a shower!:
Given the first possibility of proper cleaning and hygiene in your life, you quickly take to it. You develop an obsession with wanting to be personally sure that -your- space is clean, if you have the means.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with cleaning your room.
[][QUIRK] Saving for an acid-rainy day:
You are used to hunger, and now you can avoid it, you will. You obsessively ensure you have caches of food and water hidden nearby.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with knowing of your caches.
[][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
When you were given your new clothes, they took everything out of dedicated storage areas, they didn't even have to look for the right size. Everything is so well organized. You will obsess over keeping your items in their place when not in use. Everything tagged and organized.
You will be unwilling to trust anyone else with this.
Aldin has sent out feelers for tutors and examiners for the potential prize. Before your departure aboard the black ships, several individuals with their eyes on potential Psykers will be told about you.
One of these will be a source of 'problems' for you.
Choose one:
[][PROBLEM] A Rogue Trader.
[][PROBLEM] A disappointed Apothecary.
[][PROBLEM] An Adeptus Mechanicus Genetor
[][PROBLEM] An Inquisitor
4 hour Moratorium. Please vote seperately for each subject. No need for plans!
It will be task-voting, that means voting like this
[x][MEDICAE] Skin Cancer:
[x][MEDICAE] New teeth:
[x][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
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There is also Sanctic powers and Daemonology which are for invoking Big E and banishing daemons.
- Location
- USA
[] Plan: Family and Genetics
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
-[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
-[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
-[][PROBLEM] An Adeptus Mechanicus Genetor
[] Plan: For Empror's Will
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
-[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
-[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
-[][PROBLEM] An Inquisitor
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
-[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
-[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
-[][PROBLEM] An Adeptus Mechanicus Genetor
[] Plan: For Empror's Will
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Lungrot:
-[][MEDICAE] New teeth:
-[][QUIRK] Writing is actually kinda neat!
-[][PROBLEM] An Inquisitor
- Location
- U.S.
where is my option for brain rot!I believe this is the first quest on SV that has 'choose a type of cancer you have' as an option.
- Location
- Netherlands
If you were not a Psyker there would be a brain rot and brain cancer option. Alas.where is my option for brain rot!
[] Plan: Definitely Not My Rogue Trader Character
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Unhealthy palour:
-[][QUIRK] Saving for an acid-rainy day:
-[][PROBLEM] A Rogue Trader.
-[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
-[][MEDICAE] Unhealthy palour:
-[][QUIRK] Saving for an acid-rainy day:
-[][PROBLEM] A Rogue Trader.
Do we get to have a pet tumor?I believe this is the first quest on SV that has 'choose a type of cancer you have' as an option.
[x][MEDICAE] Skin Cancer:
[x][MEDICAE] Infectious blood cancer:
[x][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
[x][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
[x][PROBLEM] A disappointed Apothecary.
[x][MEDICAE] Infectious blood cancer:
[x][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
[x][QUIRK] They have Labels!:
[x][PROBLEM] A disappointed Apothecary.
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You put down two medicae conditions and no family option.
- Location
- Netherlands
Please vote seperately for each part for this
So
[][FAMILY] Profound sadness:
[][MEDICAE] Unhealthy palour:
[][QUIRK] Saving for an acid-rainy day:
[][PROBLEM] A Rogue Trader.
there is supposed to be at least 3 points worth of medicae conditions, but i asked in discord and was told we can do 4 points if we want. I find all the cancer funny. especially when us surviving anyway shows well upon our consitution, which means when the apothcary comes by looking for aspirants, he see's us, with a organzied and well made room, thought "thats ultramarine material right there" only to be told H to the ell No, thats a beta psyker, go to terra and complain there if you want.
- Location
- U.S.
We want all the cancers, then we will learn to launch them at enemies to hurt them and reduce our own cancer levels so we can live longer
just like how harley gave that goon cancer in the animated series
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hmmm...I think Apothecary would be good one but I don't mind something different. Did we pick Biomancy? Just asking.
Yeah we picked biomancy as one of our things.