- Location
- Anchorage, Alaska
insert dorn Qoute "No".
she doesn't want us and we should not want her. Let her rot with her technology in a cell. It's more then what she deserves.
A Shrouded Dawn (Warhammer/Stellaris)
- Thread starter Leon12431
- Start date
insert dorn Qoute "No".
she doesn't want us and we should not want her. Let her rot with her technology in a cell. It's more then what she deserves.
Mechanic Update
- Location
- USA
So, looking through things I have come to a decision on how to handle certain things such that its less of a pile of weirdness for everyone.
High Tier individuals and armies are hereby being set to Narrative Levels where they basically act above and beyond the normal mechanics.
Primarchs for example won't have Traits anymore and instead will simply be Narrative Individuals where they just do whatever it is they do well. Roboute for example no longer has to roll for governance stuff, he just does it. Same for Leman in battle, he just wins. Primarchs by and large are unbeatable so this works for them.
The Custodian Legion as a whole is going to be counted as a primarch tier group if fully gathered. Sub parts will follow their old stat lines I have on my side.
Perks for these types of beings and Anatol are going to be shifted from the Tier system and instead going to be based more on expanding their abilities rather than Improving said abilities. Anatol/Primarchs/Farseers/Phaerons/Gods are all beings of such skill and influence that their base level is simply unimaginable to the mundane individuals of the galaxy. As such their perks are no longer going to have tiers or upgrades and are going to be much rarer to find/gain.
However, to compensate for this, the perks are much stronger. I am going to be translating Anatol's over pretty soon.
The only system that will remain active for Anatol is Research both mundane and psionic. Everything else is going to be treated more or less narratively.
Narrative Individuals vs other Narrative Individuals will use their previous stat lines and perks, but by and large consider them so far beyond the norm that only the most out there events would even slow them down.
Edit: updated Anatol's character sheet with his new perks
High Tier individuals and armies are hereby being set to Narrative Levels where they basically act above and beyond the normal mechanics.
Primarchs for example won't have Traits anymore and instead will simply be Narrative Individuals where they just do whatever it is they do well. Roboute for example no longer has to roll for governance stuff, he just does it. Same for Leman in battle, he just wins. Primarchs by and large are unbeatable so this works for them.
The Custodian Legion as a whole is going to be counted as a primarch tier group if fully gathered. Sub parts will follow their old stat lines I have on my side.
Perks for these types of beings and Anatol are going to be shifted from the Tier system and instead going to be based more on expanding their abilities rather than Improving said abilities. Anatol/Primarchs/Farseers/Phaerons/Gods are all beings of such skill and influence that their base level is simply unimaginable to the mundane individuals of the galaxy. As such their perks are no longer going to have tiers or upgrades and are going to be much rarer to find/gain.
However, to compensate for this, the perks are much stronger. I am going to be translating Anatol's over pretty soon.
The only system that will remain active for Anatol is Research both mundane and psionic. Everything else is going to be treated more or less narratively.
Narrative Individuals vs other Narrative Individuals will use their previous stat lines and perks, but by and large consider them so far beyond the norm that only the most out there events would even slow them down.
Edit: updated Anatol's character sheet with his new perks
Last edited:
16 characters
Sick and tired of being Sick and Tired
- Location
- Alta California
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Just to be sure beings like the Nephilm King and the ruling Tau Ethereal do they also count as Narrative individuals? Or is more about how strong they are individually as opposed to that plus the forces they command?
- Location
- USA
Its entirely dependent on personal power and scale. A human lord militant isn't narrative as they are just a normal squishy human, they are one of the best humans. But that's small potatoes compared to even the least astartes.
- Location
- USA
Sorry, about the slow down of updates. I have recently restarted normal college courses and have been suffering a near panic attack for the better part of the last two weeks due to this. I am starting writing the next update right now and hope to complete it by this Friday. I am sorry for the slow down.
- Location
- Warsaw
It's cool man. Real life does take priority though I am happy to hear it is moving again.
Turn 3: March Report
- Location
- USA
You stand up from the chair that had been your place of repose for the last month and left the room. It was time to speak with His representative upon Olynn, you had failed in your duties long enough and the limits of even His divine mercy would start to wear thin. Afterall, you were created to be His servant in building His realm anew, if you could not find time to speak with His closest servants then would that not be a betrayal of Him?
Regardless, you walked through the hallways of Olynn, noticing the countless minute flaws that covered the walls of solid metal and would slowly over the course of eons spell the doom of the station in a much faster way. Your eyes peered through the mists of time itself to see the shadowy echos of your long distant ancestors walking these halls with their heads held high and proud, their bodies broadcasting their supremacy to all that saw them.
Even though you saw only echos of the echos of their souls, it was enough to see what they truly were. They were human one and all, but so much more at the same time. Wings covered with glorious feathers of metallic colors spread from shoulders, as claws of metal extended from fingers of others, a marvelous display of the sheer breath of Humanity of the ages past.
You saw from them the echos of the ones that you had once considered mutants, it was all so clear to your sight now. The genetic degradation of the eons had broken the grand designs of the past into the crude and fragile relics now seen in those born upon Olynn today. There was no true core line of Humanity among the echos, each bore a form of their own desire and whim, their bodies crafted for the sake of individuality each seeking their own perfection in living form.
Yet, at the same time, across all the echos you saw a single overarching concept that bound them all as one. Humanity, as you turned a corner you saw the ever so faint echo of a winged woman bend down to pick up the flickering echo of an unaltered child cradling their head in pain. There were those that broke the mold as there always were, those that bore forms of twisted flesh and power, twisted far from the grace of humanity by the whims of the lords of the past.
To your eyes secrets were revealed and you knew that all but the worst of the worst formed their servants from the bodies of broken clones, too fragile to live else wise. The corrupted forms, their price to pay for life itself. Perhaps, it would be a harsh price to pay, but you considered it fair in a way that those born broken would be repaired in such a manner to experience life.
Below, simply seeing the echos as you walked, you heard them whisper between themselves, in a language far from what you had learned upon Olynn. But it held core tones of the language that would one day come to dominate this station and eventually become that which you speak today. It was a true wonder and gift of His to you to let you see the true beauty of the past in such a manner.
Beyond the echos of the people, you saw the echos of the Station Olynn itself, words carefully painted onto the walls shimmering in your sight, almost visible but just ever so far beyond comprehension. The walls today were but, a pathetic refurbishment of the original, the first built walls gleamed in your spectral sight as walls of a metal that glowed with a soft silvery golden color. Your mundane sight could see only the grim black walls of adamantium, that was so prized in this era, it pained you to see just how far even your home had fallen from the glories of the past.
Machines flickered in your sight as you passed through the labyrinth of the station, their purpose beyond even your keen. Parts flickering between the realms of realities, energy being drawn from a countless array of sources, gravity bending to the whims of your ancestors. It was a sight of pain and hope all at once as you saw what the grand feats Humanity had achieved but lost.
There was no doubt in your mind that He had given unto you this sight, to infuse inside of you the conviction to see His mission done at last. You could see the truth of the past now, you could see how the past flowed into the future that you now lived within. There were secrets that were revealed to your sight, but also beyond you. A smile graced your face as you found your way towards the cathedral that had been built as the monument to His will upon Olynn.
Behind the thick gold that plated the doors, you could see the grand doors made of the same material as the rest of the station, covered with sigils of unknown impact. A horde of workers moved through the doors in both directions, a myriad of forms both graceful and brutish flickered through the past, mixed among those that bore only the pure human form.
As you pushed open the doors to the cathedral, you noticed for the first time just how different you were to the others of the station. The doors slid open without issue at your touch, even as you knew they weighted tons of metal and that even for the strongest took effort to shift. For you it was a simple matter of a short push and the twin doors slide open as if they weighed no more than a normal room door.
Within the grand room, you saw benches of adamantium and gold forming concave rows towards the dias at the center of the temple to His glory. Incense burned in bells far above, even as robotic birds flew across the celling of the cathedral. For you it was a singular disappointment, it was pathetic, this so called temple did not deserve the title of a Temple of Him upon Holy Terra.
It was rife with issues, the walls were made of poorly formed adamamtium, covered with a slathering of poorly shaped gold and gems. The stained glass covering the lights were frankly horrifically done, with flaws everywhere within them the glass was beginning to budge downward under the influence of gravity. Even though you could see several places where the gravity fields would have instead supported the designs instead of ruining them.
The dias from which Eliza stood was also a monument to the inferiority on display. It was only not even solid adamantium, or one of the other somewhat passable metals available to Olynn, but instead mostly plasteel. It was an insult to Him upon Terra.
"Greetings, Anatol; son of Orison and Lysa. I welcome you in the name of the God Emperor who sits upon the Golden Throne of Terra." Eliza spoke with a calmness that was refreshing to you after so long of being around the children that your father had taken under his wing.
"This temple is an insult to His glory, Pontifex Eliza. The flaws contained within this creation are beyond allowance." Your voice rings outward, disrupting Eliza and the others sitting upon the benches. It was one of the few times you had spoken and as you spoke a wave of almost palpable command swept forth. There was no question here to be had, you were the voice of His Authority, you spoke with Divine Right, each of your words echoed long since the sound waves vanished into the air within the minds of those within the temple.
Where those that sat upon the benches flinched and cowered as they were assailed with the visions of imperfection your words conjured forth, Eliza proved far stronger. "Your words will not break me. I have walked through the halls of a thousand worlds, this cathedral is among the grandest of their number. Anatol, it is only by the fact that your parents are who they are that I give you the chance to recant your blasphemy or be committed to punishment." Her strident voice rung out in contradiction to the power of yours, it could not hope to sway those unprepared, but it showed that the might of will and conviction could overcome your sheer power of speech.
Lifting your hands in surrender you think and speak once more, "I commit no blasphemy against Him of Terra, He who is our Immortal Emperor, the only rightful God fo Humanity, the source of Our guidance. To my sight this place is awash with flaws: I see the cracks within the joints of metal, I see the dropping of the glass above, I see the flickering of lights, I see the corrosion of the censors far above, I see the flaws within the metal birds." As you say your piece you tighten your hold upon the power that wishes to seep forth. It was a struggle but your will proved the greater and there was no command within your statement this time.
"Anatol, your very existence straddles the thin line of allowance that He admits. You are a psyker, one of the three beings that He has commanded us to abhor with all our will. For one such as you to speak such untruths within this temple to His glory, is nearing the heretical." Eliza spoke as she drew a sword that gleamed in the light of the cathedral from behind the pulpit that she stood behind. The weapon to your sight gleamed with the echos of its past and it was clear that it was a well worn weapon of war, no party piece, but instead a tested part of the battlefield.
"I am not easy prey for the lies of the enemies of humanity. I might not be one of the Sororitas, but I was trained in battle by one of their number for a time. I ask once more, Anatol, to recant your heretical statement and submit to an inquiry of spiritual purity." With a flick of a finger the sword thrummed into life as a power field snapped into life around the adamantine blade.
You frown as you reach out towards the room you stand in and wonder for a moment on how to present your case, for you did not have the time to submit to such an inquisition of purity. Even though you knew that He would ensure your passing, the loss of time inherent to the prospect was forbidden to you due to the duty that He had placed upon you.
"Pontifex Eliza, I serve the God Emperor. I am one of His servants if in a different manner than you. It is from his gift that I see the imperfections within this chamber." As you speak you let your power flow forth and illusions begin to flow into existence of the room as seen in the echos. "What you see around you is what I see when I look through time itself, I do not deny that this is a grand chamber of our time. But it is a mockery of what it should be, that is all I meant. The walls of grim adamantium and gold are nothing compared to the original beauty lost over the eons, that is what was lost and what I spoke of. Perhaps, the current state is beyond most worlds, but it remains an echo of a grander time." Your voice bore no touch of power this time, you spoke as a mortal human and only the shimmering illusions of the past you had drawn forth proved you otherwise.
Yet, her blade remained lit, "Cease your witchcraft this instant. I never want to see you use the foul art in this place or in my sight again. If you do, I will personally drag you to an inquiry of purity. Only, due to the critical nature of Olynn are you not being chained this very moment.
I expect you to return to me every week and give thanks to Him upon Terra for me not driving my sword through your heart this very moment. Now leave, my sight. I never approved of Lysa's usage of forbidden genetic secrets, and you have proven me correct for now." Her voice was iron as she grounded out her degree and you bowed before leaving letting the Shroud fade into the background of the world once more.
You walked through the halls of Olynn questioning the recent events. You knew in the depths of your soul that you were a champion of His upon Holy Terra, there was no other cause that could have created you. Even as young as you are, you still know enough to realize that power such as yours isn't free or often found. But, a servant of His, one of those that should be blessed with the clearest of sight, failed to perceive what you are. Perhaps, you ponder, it is because you don't have a divine mandate from the God Emperor, and she saw that. Yet, would that change anything in the long term? Your conviction and surety might not remain so ironclad, but at the same time is not arrogance and confidence, the pathway that leads to one believing themselves better than Him in due time. It was impossible to say, but you did not know how to handle this new knowledge. Were you still His champion, or were you a hidden dagger to drive into His heart.
You did not know and you floundered. You knew yourself mind and soul that you would never attempt to harm His Imperium, by the work of your own hands, but perhaps that was the course that the foes wanted to take with you. How could you know if your belief was sure and true or just the lies of another shrouding the truth from your sight. Perhaps, Pontifex Eliza was the more clear sighted and saw something that proved you something else. You would give her what she wished for in time to come.
Through your wanderings of the halls, you eventually find your way to your Father and Syra the two playing together in an out of the way garden room. The gravity in this place was stable for now, but you could see the currents shifting and soon it would alter a small fraction. To anyone else it would be unnoticeable, but to you it was as clear as the star beyond the windows.
The two of them were different to your sight, where others were hard to perceive with your spectral sight and their souls and minds beyond your reach. Your father and Syra were both there completely, you could feel their souls and their minds, there was no barrier between the two of them and you. Their souls flared brightly within the depths of the Shroud and you smiled as you moved deeper into the room.
Syra to your surprise was using telekinesis upon a small potted plant. A simple flower that was one of the few plants that could be taken from the rooms for personal enjoyment upon the station. "Its quiet. Her voice was thin and hard to hear but steady for a girl that had so recently been almost dead from starvation. "What do you mean?" Your father's voice was quiet and steady clearly intending to be comforting to the child.
"No whispers, whispers, whispers. None." Syra's voice echoed strangely as she spoke again, seeming to have no idea of how to answer the question posed. "Syra, what were the whispers?" Your father's voice held a barely hidden note of terror as he moved forward towards her as he spoke.
"Plans, terror, change, magic. I don't.." As her voice faded away into silence, you realized that she simply lacked the words to speak properly. She had been ostracized from the other children and without any parents of her own, she simply hadn't learned all of the words. She had always been the outcast of the group, only around for her abilities and judged solely for them. Frowning, you reach through the veil towards her soul and touched it with your own soul, dwarfing hers by an infinity.
From within your realm you gathered together the flickers of power that encapsulated the idea of language and the one that you speak. A ball of energy gathered within your realm, and with a gentle nudge you push it into hers. As the orb of knowledge slides into her soul, her eyes open wide as she stares at you. As the orb of information is consumed into her soul, you realize that her soul was too young and flexible for such a thing and has changed irrevocably. You watch as her soul twists and reforms into a new pattern, relaxing as you realize that it was a boon more than a curse. From this moment on, she would be able to learn any language to full fluency with only a handful of days of conversation with a native speaker for the simplest and a decade for the most alien of tongues.
It was interesting to observe how a young soul changed in the process. Her soul a vibrant silver and blue orb to your sight, before the additional knowledge and understanding you granted to her, was now a much more complex design geometrical shapes dancing over the surface shifting between phonetic symbols of languages that even you don't know. You know from the sight that her understanding of language as a concept outstrips yours by far, even though you can learn a language nigh instantly, she would always be your better at understanding the nuance of a new tongue.
The difference between knowledge and wisdom your mind speaks as you watch as her soul flickers reforming itself and knowledge is transferred from the Shroud and into the mundane. Syra shakes her head before curling in upon her self, looking even more fragile than when you first met her and she barely had any flesh upon bones.
"Safe, quiet, its safe now." Syra mumbled over and over as she hugged her knees to her chest with tears forming in her eyes. You could feel the emotions washing off of her and you knew that you had removed a comforting blanket of ignorance from her. Something she didn't understand was now a horror and it was all part of your actions.
Perhaps, you are acting too fast, but can you abide by the time to move forward in a gentler fashion? You ponder even as your father brings her to his chest, letting her snuggle into his arms looking for safety. "Young one, what's the matter?" He asked her as she cowered between his arms.
"I know the whispers." Syra squeaks out as she huddles into herself even more so, "You are safe from them, isn't it quiet now?" You step off to the side in order to remove yourself from her sight although based on how her soul thrums with energy you questions if that will truly matter in her case, but it might give her some more confidence.
"Yes, never was quiet before. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the whispers were wrong." You could feel a wave of energy leave her body at the last word and you could feel your father's soul reacting as well to the pulse of terror and hatred. "Whispered that feathers were good, that scales were good. Tried to change me, tried to make me change others. Refused, refused, body broken and wasted, burned inside. Relief, in first month of year, pain left, whispers faded, remained.
Pain grew as whispers quieted. So much pain, everything burned. Couldn't eat, something tried to come through. Could feel something wrong, do not understand it. Pain in head, increasing, trying to force me to act. Refused, then He saw me. Tight, bound tightly, the pressure hated Him burned body with power. Then darkness, then light, then quiet, whisper changed. Whispers of light, hope, I like the whispers now. Old whispers are evil, I understand them and I hate it." Her voice was a mere whisper yet that did't reduce the sheer emotion held in each of her words, as she spoke you could see flashes of a realm apart of the Shroud in which creatures of shadowy forms pranced around. It was wrong and unformed, absence of any sense in her scattered recollections, there was power to be sure in those echoes of memories, but the cost was beyond your willingness to accept.
You made you way into the field where the two of them waited and simply waited for them to react to your arrival. Syra perked up as she turned to look at you and smiled before relaxing into sleep, as her soul ached with the hardship that you inadvertently placed upon her recently. Your father on the other hand stared down at the young child and seemed conflicted, "Abhor the witch, a tenant of His. Is it right to kill her for the crime of her birth? Is it right to not harm her for what she is? His word is clear, but its hard for me to see her as a monster to slay, instead of a child that simply needs care and attention."
You shrug for you know even less than him about what is proper and right. You know that you are something more than a normal human, your form is perfect beyond perfection, your flesh is harder than the metal of the walls, your organs are absent of any imperfections. It is clear to you that you are something else, and by His words and Commands you and your parents should have been put to the flame. Yet, even for all of your devotion to Him upon Holy Terra, you couldn't bring yourself to immolation. If it was commanded you know that even you would reject the command and fight to live another day.
Why is there no easy answer to the questions that He has given to his servants. As you place a hand on Syra's head you let your will and energy dance through her form, the echoes surrounding you within this room lending to your sight knowledge of the past. Mutations born of eons of disrepair are stripped from her genes in an instant, flesh is reforged in the fires of your soul, the mind is corrected the neurons fixed to the standard that the echoes present. The feathers upon her head fall away, as normal hair grows in its place, even as from her shoulders bone and flesh expand outward, into grand wings.
From the wings grow feathers of gold and silver, echoing the form of those of the past even as you trace her genetic linage back through the ages to find what the form she should have had and would have had. The wings continue to grow, even as organs of muscles of unknown function grow into place among the bones twisting gravity around themselves. You see now how flight was achieved, the organs shape gravity allowing for flight even with impossible scale. It was an ingenious design and one you could restore only via the echoes that surround you. Much would need to be done in order to truly understand how the organs function, for now the echoes guide your work and you are but a vessel for their work and will.
The iridescent blue scales upon her hands, expand in coverage, forming a shell of metal around her hands able to take upon the heat of molten rock and not suffer burns. A shell of scales to allow for hands to touch upon even molten metal, never agin would her hands suffer an injury not born of blunt force, for the surface of all her limbs were now covered in a layer of scales fashioned from the greatest genetic augmentations of the past eras. From the echos that abound you know that none of them held both such mutations in their time, but that is no limit to your will in this time, you restore both of her mutations to their proper state and smile as her body becomes what it would have been in a time of grandeur.
From the Shroud do you draw upon the power of your realm in order to grant her the mass to become whole for the first time in her life and as her body is completed you smile and relax as you lift your hand from her head. "What did you do this time?" Your father's voice rings out with a sense of command.
"I corrected the flaws within her form." You speak softly to ensure that she wouldn't wake up just yet for her soul and body were weak for now and needed the rest. "She carried designs passed from our ancestors long ago, I simply restored the shards left behind in her body." You whisper to him as you stare at the young child and ponder if perhaps you were wrong in accelerating your growth to prime in an instant, but then again you are greater than she ever could become and thus the burdens of command fall upon your shoulders.
"Not that, I might not on Lysa's level with general knowledge, but I am still aware of that. I meant what you did to the whispers." Orsion's voice was firm and strong even though it was little more than a whisper.
A sigh left you as you stare down at Syra in his arms. "I don't know. Her soul was different before, it was unstable drawing energy into itself without control. Something was pushing on it, but, I don't know what that thing was. Now, it is stable and absence stress." You answer the best you can as you try to explain something even you don't truly understand to a person infinitely below you. You turn to leave, to let them have time to spend together without your interference, as you turn your father grabs you hand. "Can you heal the other mutants?" You can see hope in his eyes as he looks up at you.
You turn to look upon Syra and frown, "Those below ten years of age, are possible, but it would require a direct interaction and expenditure of energy on my part. I would estimate that I could heal a thousand per expenditure, but the completeness of healing is depended on the level of focus I can present and allow. Above ten years, I doubt that it would be beneficial, the body and soul are too set in form to easily change and radically reshaping the body could lead to personality collapse. I am sorry." Your voice is sad as you look upon his shattered hope, wishing you could do better, but for now it is the best you could manage in truth. You know that even what you said was an extremely optimistic view, and more likely a third of those you try to heal would suffer complete biological collapse.
Syra for all of her injuries of the past and the ages between then and now, was remarkably whole. The genes were still intact more than not, leaving only the reactivation and shaping of flesh in your hands. But, most of those like her, had much more shattered genetic profiles and would require much more effort to heal. Compounded upon this was the fact that her soul lay within the Shroud, leaving it easily reached for you to balance the two realms against the other.
As you left the room, you turned your mind towards what is needed to be done namely research and learning how to repair the systems of the station Olynn. The heat conversion system would of course be one of the primary focuses of your time this month and probably several months to come as it was last time, however you do expect to have enough free time to take upon another research project.
Tossing the systems that you know of through your mind, you decide to break apart the hydroponics and research it for this month. After all, if you can restore the station it would be a poor way to fail if everyone ended up starving to death. With a twist of the Shroud, distance is shorted and nulled, as you step into the Garden. Plants of a thousand shapes grew in pots of metal and lights danced around, letters of long dead languages covered the lips of the pots even as floating holograms presented graphs and other records of the plants.
It was a complex and deeply impressive place no doubt, a monument to the wonders of the past that something had lasted for so long in this era. Yet, that was not why you were here and so, you begin to do what you do best. Strings of light bleed forth as you trace the designs used in this place, replicating them with illusions such that you can learn how they work. Within moments you have the design of the place completed and understood, for even if you lack the materials to recreate this room, the principles behind its functionally are basic to say the least.
It is a simple evolution of a design eons old and well known, simply upon a larger scale and with better materials. It takes you less than a hour to fully understand the methods at play and how it is structured. There is no challenge here, it is simply too basic to test your intelligence. In two months you mastered fusion, and al the principles that rely upon it, from such a feat, mastering aquaponics and vertical farming is nothing but a moment of thought.
As you leave the Garden you wave a hand and a thick book appears crafted from the energy of the Shroud itself, as information bleeds into it. Within only moments, the tome is complete and now a full record and understanding of the principles and methods of aquaponics and vertical farming is created. You know that it is both clear enough for even a world without technology to follow, and complex enough to feed a world with no natural land left. For a mundane human is would be the work of lifetimes, yet for you it took merely an hour of effort.
The rest of the month awaits and you turn your mind towards the most critical of all the systems, and begin working upon the principles once more. At the heart of all conversion fields is the understanding that energy is energy and that it can be transmuted without loss. It is the pristine final point of technology for transferring work into action, it is clear but the principles behind it remain unclear to you. After a month of effort you know you are ever closer to the goal of being able to repair the system, but the designs still escape your understanding.
Regardless, you walked through the hallways of Olynn, noticing the countless minute flaws that covered the walls of solid metal and would slowly over the course of eons spell the doom of the station in a much faster way. Your eyes peered through the mists of time itself to see the shadowy echos of your long distant ancestors walking these halls with their heads held high and proud, their bodies broadcasting their supremacy to all that saw them.
Even though you saw only echos of the echos of their souls, it was enough to see what they truly were. They were human one and all, but so much more at the same time. Wings covered with glorious feathers of metallic colors spread from shoulders, as claws of metal extended from fingers of others, a marvelous display of the sheer breath of Humanity of the ages past.
You saw from them the echos of the ones that you had once considered mutants, it was all so clear to your sight now. The genetic degradation of the eons had broken the grand designs of the past into the crude and fragile relics now seen in those born upon Olynn today. There was no true core line of Humanity among the echos, each bore a form of their own desire and whim, their bodies crafted for the sake of individuality each seeking their own perfection in living form.
Yet, at the same time, across all the echos you saw a single overarching concept that bound them all as one. Humanity, as you turned a corner you saw the ever so faint echo of a winged woman bend down to pick up the flickering echo of an unaltered child cradling their head in pain. There were those that broke the mold as there always were, those that bore forms of twisted flesh and power, twisted far from the grace of humanity by the whims of the lords of the past.
To your eyes secrets were revealed and you knew that all but the worst of the worst formed their servants from the bodies of broken clones, too fragile to live else wise. The corrupted forms, their price to pay for life itself. Perhaps, it would be a harsh price to pay, but you considered it fair in a way that those born broken would be repaired in such a manner to experience life.
Below, simply seeing the echos as you walked, you heard them whisper between themselves, in a language far from what you had learned upon Olynn. But it held core tones of the language that would one day come to dominate this station and eventually become that which you speak today. It was a true wonder and gift of His to you to let you see the true beauty of the past in such a manner.
Beyond the echos of the people, you saw the echos of the Station Olynn itself, words carefully painted onto the walls shimmering in your sight, almost visible but just ever so far beyond comprehension. The walls today were but, a pathetic refurbishment of the original, the first built walls gleamed in your spectral sight as walls of a metal that glowed with a soft silvery golden color. Your mundane sight could see only the grim black walls of adamantium, that was so prized in this era, it pained you to see just how far even your home had fallen from the glories of the past.
Machines flickered in your sight as you passed through the labyrinth of the station, their purpose beyond even your keen. Parts flickering between the realms of realities, energy being drawn from a countless array of sources, gravity bending to the whims of your ancestors. It was a sight of pain and hope all at once as you saw what the grand feats Humanity had achieved but lost.
There was no doubt in your mind that He had given unto you this sight, to infuse inside of you the conviction to see His mission done at last. You could see the truth of the past now, you could see how the past flowed into the future that you now lived within. There were secrets that were revealed to your sight, but also beyond you. A smile graced your face as you found your way towards the cathedral that had been built as the monument to His will upon Olynn.
Behind the thick gold that plated the doors, you could see the grand doors made of the same material as the rest of the station, covered with sigils of unknown impact. A horde of workers moved through the doors in both directions, a myriad of forms both graceful and brutish flickered through the past, mixed among those that bore only the pure human form.
As you pushed open the doors to the cathedral, you noticed for the first time just how different you were to the others of the station. The doors slid open without issue at your touch, even as you knew they weighted tons of metal and that even for the strongest took effort to shift. For you it was a simple matter of a short push and the twin doors slide open as if they weighed no more than a normal room door.
Within the grand room, you saw benches of adamantium and gold forming concave rows towards the dias at the center of the temple to His glory. Incense burned in bells far above, even as robotic birds flew across the celling of the cathedral. For you it was a singular disappointment, it was pathetic, this so called temple did not deserve the title of a Temple of Him upon Holy Terra.
It was rife with issues, the walls were made of poorly formed adamamtium, covered with a slathering of poorly shaped gold and gems. The stained glass covering the lights were frankly horrifically done, with flaws everywhere within them the glass was beginning to budge downward under the influence of gravity. Even though you could see several places where the gravity fields would have instead supported the designs instead of ruining them.
The dias from which Eliza stood was also a monument to the inferiority on display. It was only not even solid adamantium, or one of the other somewhat passable metals available to Olynn, but instead mostly plasteel. It was an insult to Him upon Terra.
"Greetings, Anatol; son of Orison and Lysa. I welcome you in the name of the God Emperor who sits upon the Golden Throne of Terra." Eliza spoke with a calmness that was refreshing to you after so long of being around the children that your father had taken under his wing.
"This temple is an insult to His glory, Pontifex Eliza. The flaws contained within this creation are beyond allowance." Your voice rings outward, disrupting Eliza and the others sitting upon the benches. It was one of the few times you had spoken and as you spoke a wave of almost palpable command swept forth. There was no question here to be had, you were the voice of His Authority, you spoke with Divine Right, each of your words echoed long since the sound waves vanished into the air within the minds of those within the temple.
Where those that sat upon the benches flinched and cowered as they were assailed with the visions of imperfection your words conjured forth, Eliza proved far stronger. "Your words will not break me. I have walked through the halls of a thousand worlds, this cathedral is among the grandest of their number. Anatol, it is only by the fact that your parents are who they are that I give you the chance to recant your blasphemy or be committed to punishment." Her strident voice rung out in contradiction to the power of yours, it could not hope to sway those unprepared, but it showed that the might of will and conviction could overcome your sheer power of speech.
Lifting your hands in surrender you think and speak once more, "I commit no blasphemy against Him of Terra, He who is our Immortal Emperor, the only rightful God fo Humanity, the source of Our guidance. To my sight this place is awash with flaws: I see the cracks within the joints of metal, I see the dropping of the glass above, I see the flickering of lights, I see the corrosion of the censors far above, I see the flaws within the metal birds." As you say your piece you tighten your hold upon the power that wishes to seep forth. It was a struggle but your will proved the greater and there was no command within your statement this time.
"Anatol, your very existence straddles the thin line of allowance that He admits. You are a psyker, one of the three beings that He has commanded us to abhor with all our will. For one such as you to speak such untruths within this temple to His glory, is nearing the heretical." Eliza spoke as she drew a sword that gleamed in the light of the cathedral from behind the pulpit that she stood behind. The weapon to your sight gleamed with the echos of its past and it was clear that it was a well worn weapon of war, no party piece, but instead a tested part of the battlefield.
"I am not easy prey for the lies of the enemies of humanity. I might not be one of the Sororitas, but I was trained in battle by one of their number for a time. I ask once more, Anatol, to recant your heretical statement and submit to an inquiry of spiritual purity." With a flick of a finger the sword thrummed into life as a power field snapped into life around the adamantine blade.
You frown as you reach out towards the room you stand in and wonder for a moment on how to present your case, for you did not have the time to submit to such an inquisition of purity. Even though you knew that He would ensure your passing, the loss of time inherent to the prospect was forbidden to you due to the duty that He had placed upon you.
"Pontifex Eliza, I serve the God Emperor. I am one of His servants if in a different manner than you. It is from his gift that I see the imperfections within this chamber." As you speak you let your power flow forth and illusions begin to flow into existence of the room as seen in the echos. "What you see around you is what I see when I look through time itself, I do not deny that this is a grand chamber of our time. But it is a mockery of what it should be, that is all I meant. The walls of grim adamantium and gold are nothing compared to the original beauty lost over the eons, that is what was lost and what I spoke of. Perhaps, the current state is beyond most worlds, but it remains an echo of a grander time." Your voice bore no touch of power this time, you spoke as a mortal human and only the shimmering illusions of the past you had drawn forth proved you otherwise.
Yet, her blade remained lit, "Cease your witchcraft this instant. I never want to see you use the foul art in this place or in my sight again. If you do, I will personally drag you to an inquiry of purity. Only, due to the critical nature of Olynn are you not being chained this very moment.
I expect you to return to me every week and give thanks to Him upon Terra for me not driving my sword through your heart this very moment. Now leave, my sight. I never approved of Lysa's usage of forbidden genetic secrets, and you have proven me correct for now." Her voice was iron as she grounded out her degree and you bowed before leaving letting the Shroud fade into the background of the world once more.
You walked through the halls of Olynn questioning the recent events. You knew in the depths of your soul that you were a champion of His upon Holy Terra, there was no other cause that could have created you. Even as young as you are, you still know enough to realize that power such as yours isn't free or often found. But, a servant of His, one of those that should be blessed with the clearest of sight, failed to perceive what you are. Perhaps, you ponder, it is because you don't have a divine mandate from the God Emperor, and she saw that. Yet, would that change anything in the long term? Your conviction and surety might not remain so ironclad, but at the same time is not arrogance and confidence, the pathway that leads to one believing themselves better than Him in due time. It was impossible to say, but you did not know how to handle this new knowledge. Were you still His champion, or were you a hidden dagger to drive into His heart.
You did not know and you floundered. You knew yourself mind and soul that you would never attempt to harm His Imperium, by the work of your own hands, but perhaps that was the course that the foes wanted to take with you. How could you know if your belief was sure and true or just the lies of another shrouding the truth from your sight. Perhaps, Pontifex Eliza was the more clear sighted and saw something that proved you something else. You would give her what she wished for in time to come.
Through your wanderings of the halls, you eventually find your way to your Father and Syra the two playing together in an out of the way garden room. The gravity in this place was stable for now, but you could see the currents shifting and soon it would alter a small fraction. To anyone else it would be unnoticeable, but to you it was as clear as the star beyond the windows.
The two of them were different to your sight, where others were hard to perceive with your spectral sight and their souls and minds beyond your reach. Your father and Syra were both there completely, you could feel their souls and their minds, there was no barrier between the two of them and you. Their souls flared brightly within the depths of the Shroud and you smiled as you moved deeper into the room.
Syra to your surprise was using telekinesis upon a small potted plant. A simple flower that was one of the few plants that could be taken from the rooms for personal enjoyment upon the station. "Its quiet. Her voice was thin and hard to hear but steady for a girl that had so recently been almost dead from starvation. "What do you mean?" Your father's voice was quiet and steady clearly intending to be comforting to the child.
"No whispers, whispers, whispers. None." Syra's voice echoed strangely as she spoke again, seeming to have no idea of how to answer the question posed. "Syra, what were the whispers?" Your father's voice held a barely hidden note of terror as he moved forward towards her as he spoke.
"Plans, terror, change, magic. I don't.." As her voice faded away into silence, you realized that she simply lacked the words to speak properly. She had been ostracized from the other children and without any parents of her own, she simply hadn't learned all of the words. She had always been the outcast of the group, only around for her abilities and judged solely for them. Frowning, you reach through the veil towards her soul and touched it with your own soul, dwarfing hers by an infinity.
From within your realm you gathered together the flickers of power that encapsulated the idea of language and the one that you speak. A ball of energy gathered within your realm, and with a gentle nudge you push it into hers. As the orb of knowledge slides into her soul, her eyes open wide as she stares at you. As the orb of information is consumed into her soul, you realize that her soul was too young and flexible for such a thing and has changed irrevocably. You watch as her soul twists and reforms into a new pattern, relaxing as you realize that it was a boon more than a curse. From this moment on, she would be able to learn any language to full fluency with only a handful of days of conversation with a native speaker for the simplest and a decade for the most alien of tongues.
It was interesting to observe how a young soul changed in the process. Her soul a vibrant silver and blue orb to your sight, before the additional knowledge and understanding you granted to her, was now a much more complex design geometrical shapes dancing over the surface shifting between phonetic symbols of languages that even you don't know. You know from the sight that her understanding of language as a concept outstrips yours by far, even though you can learn a language nigh instantly, she would always be your better at understanding the nuance of a new tongue.
The difference between knowledge and wisdom your mind speaks as you watch as her soul flickers reforming itself and knowledge is transferred from the Shroud and into the mundane. Syra shakes her head before curling in upon her self, looking even more fragile than when you first met her and she barely had any flesh upon bones.
"Safe, quiet, its safe now." Syra mumbled over and over as she hugged her knees to her chest with tears forming in her eyes. You could feel the emotions washing off of her and you knew that you had removed a comforting blanket of ignorance from her. Something she didn't understand was now a horror and it was all part of your actions.
Perhaps, you are acting too fast, but can you abide by the time to move forward in a gentler fashion? You ponder even as your father brings her to his chest, letting her snuggle into his arms looking for safety. "Young one, what's the matter?" He asked her as she cowered between his arms.
"I know the whispers." Syra squeaks out as she huddles into herself even more so, "You are safe from them, isn't it quiet now?" You step off to the side in order to remove yourself from her sight although based on how her soul thrums with energy you questions if that will truly matter in her case, but it might give her some more confidence.
"Yes, never was quiet before. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the whispers were wrong." You could feel a wave of energy leave her body at the last word and you could feel your father's soul reacting as well to the pulse of terror and hatred. "Whispered that feathers were good, that scales were good. Tried to change me, tried to make me change others. Refused, refused, body broken and wasted, burned inside. Relief, in first month of year, pain left, whispers faded, remained.
Pain grew as whispers quieted. So much pain, everything burned. Couldn't eat, something tried to come through. Could feel something wrong, do not understand it. Pain in head, increasing, trying to force me to act. Refused, then He saw me. Tight, bound tightly, the pressure hated Him burned body with power. Then darkness, then light, then quiet, whisper changed. Whispers of light, hope, I like the whispers now. Old whispers are evil, I understand them and I hate it." Her voice was a mere whisper yet that did't reduce the sheer emotion held in each of her words, as she spoke you could see flashes of a realm apart of the Shroud in which creatures of shadowy forms pranced around. It was wrong and unformed, absence of any sense in her scattered recollections, there was power to be sure in those echoes of memories, but the cost was beyond your willingness to accept.
You made you way into the field where the two of them waited and simply waited for them to react to your arrival. Syra perked up as she turned to look at you and smiled before relaxing into sleep, as her soul ached with the hardship that you inadvertently placed upon her recently. Your father on the other hand stared down at the young child and seemed conflicted, "Abhor the witch, a tenant of His. Is it right to kill her for the crime of her birth? Is it right to not harm her for what she is? His word is clear, but its hard for me to see her as a monster to slay, instead of a child that simply needs care and attention."
You shrug for you know even less than him about what is proper and right. You know that you are something more than a normal human, your form is perfect beyond perfection, your flesh is harder than the metal of the walls, your organs are absent of any imperfections. It is clear to you that you are something else, and by His words and Commands you and your parents should have been put to the flame. Yet, even for all of your devotion to Him upon Holy Terra, you couldn't bring yourself to immolation. If it was commanded you know that even you would reject the command and fight to live another day.
Why is there no easy answer to the questions that He has given to his servants. As you place a hand on Syra's head you let your will and energy dance through her form, the echoes surrounding you within this room lending to your sight knowledge of the past. Mutations born of eons of disrepair are stripped from her genes in an instant, flesh is reforged in the fires of your soul, the mind is corrected the neurons fixed to the standard that the echoes present. The feathers upon her head fall away, as normal hair grows in its place, even as from her shoulders bone and flesh expand outward, into grand wings.
From the wings grow feathers of gold and silver, echoing the form of those of the past even as you trace her genetic linage back through the ages to find what the form she should have had and would have had. The wings continue to grow, even as organs of muscles of unknown function grow into place among the bones twisting gravity around themselves. You see now how flight was achieved, the organs shape gravity allowing for flight even with impossible scale. It was an ingenious design and one you could restore only via the echoes that surround you. Much would need to be done in order to truly understand how the organs function, for now the echoes guide your work and you are but a vessel for their work and will.
The iridescent blue scales upon her hands, expand in coverage, forming a shell of metal around her hands able to take upon the heat of molten rock and not suffer burns. A shell of scales to allow for hands to touch upon even molten metal, never agin would her hands suffer an injury not born of blunt force, for the surface of all her limbs were now covered in a layer of scales fashioned from the greatest genetic augmentations of the past eras. From the echos that abound you know that none of them held both such mutations in their time, but that is no limit to your will in this time, you restore both of her mutations to their proper state and smile as her body becomes what it would have been in a time of grandeur.
From the Shroud do you draw upon the power of your realm in order to grant her the mass to become whole for the first time in her life and as her body is completed you smile and relax as you lift your hand from her head. "What did you do this time?" Your father's voice rings out with a sense of command.
"I corrected the flaws within her form." You speak softly to ensure that she wouldn't wake up just yet for her soul and body were weak for now and needed the rest. "She carried designs passed from our ancestors long ago, I simply restored the shards left behind in her body." You whisper to him as you stare at the young child and ponder if perhaps you were wrong in accelerating your growth to prime in an instant, but then again you are greater than she ever could become and thus the burdens of command fall upon your shoulders.
"Not that, I might not on Lysa's level with general knowledge, but I am still aware of that. I meant what you did to the whispers." Orsion's voice was firm and strong even though it was little more than a whisper.
A sigh left you as you stare down at Syra in his arms. "I don't know. Her soul was different before, it was unstable drawing energy into itself without control. Something was pushing on it, but, I don't know what that thing was. Now, it is stable and absence stress." You answer the best you can as you try to explain something even you don't truly understand to a person infinitely below you. You turn to leave, to let them have time to spend together without your interference, as you turn your father grabs you hand. "Can you heal the other mutants?" You can see hope in his eyes as he looks up at you.
You turn to look upon Syra and frown, "Those below ten years of age, are possible, but it would require a direct interaction and expenditure of energy on my part. I would estimate that I could heal a thousand per expenditure, but the completeness of healing is depended on the level of focus I can present and allow. Above ten years, I doubt that it would be beneficial, the body and soul are too set in form to easily change and radically reshaping the body could lead to personality collapse. I am sorry." Your voice is sad as you look upon his shattered hope, wishing you could do better, but for now it is the best you could manage in truth. You know that even what you said was an extremely optimistic view, and more likely a third of those you try to heal would suffer complete biological collapse.
Syra for all of her injuries of the past and the ages between then and now, was remarkably whole. The genes were still intact more than not, leaving only the reactivation and shaping of flesh in your hands. But, most of those like her, had much more shattered genetic profiles and would require much more effort to heal. Compounded upon this was the fact that her soul lay within the Shroud, leaving it easily reached for you to balance the two realms against the other.
As you left the room, you turned your mind towards what is needed to be done namely research and learning how to repair the systems of the station Olynn. The heat conversion system would of course be one of the primary focuses of your time this month and probably several months to come as it was last time, however you do expect to have enough free time to take upon another research project.
Tossing the systems that you know of through your mind, you decide to break apart the hydroponics and research it for this month. After all, if you can restore the station it would be a poor way to fail if everyone ended up starving to death. With a twist of the Shroud, distance is shorted and nulled, as you step into the Garden. Plants of a thousand shapes grew in pots of metal and lights danced around, letters of long dead languages covered the lips of the pots even as floating holograms presented graphs and other records of the plants.
It was a complex and deeply impressive place no doubt, a monument to the wonders of the past that something had lasted for so long in this era. Yet, that was not why you were here and so, you begin to do what you do best. Strings of light bleed forth as you trace the designs used in this place, replicating them with illusions such that you can learn how they work. Within moments you have the design of the place completed and understood, for even if you lack the materials to recreate this room, the principles behind its functionally are basic to say the least.
It is a simple evolution of a design eons old and well known, simply upon a larger scale and with better materials. It takes you less than a hour to fully understand the methods at play and how it is structured. There is no challenge here, it is simply too basic to test your intelligence. In two months you mastered fusion, and al the principles that rely upon it, from such a feat, mastering aquaponics and vertical farming is nothing but a moment of thought.
As you leave the Garden you wave a hand and a thick book appears crafted from the energy of the Shroud itself, as information bleeds into it. Within only moments, the tome is complete and now a full record and understanding of the principles and methods of aquaponics and vertical farming is created. You know that it is both clear enough for even a world without technology to follow, and complex enough to feed a world with no natural land left. For a mundane human is would be the work of lifetimes, yet for you it took merely an hour of effort.
The rest of the month awaits and you turn your mind towards the most critical of all the systems, and begin working upon the principles once more. At the heart of all conversion fields is the understanding that energy is energy and that it can be transmuted without loss. It is the pristine final point of technology for transferring work into action, it is clear but the principles behind it remain unclear to you. After a month of effort you know you are ever closer to the goal of being able to repair the system, but the designs still escape your understanding.
cryptoam
building an 1980s encrypted protocol
- Location
- in lockdown waiting and bored...
What metal is this?
- Location
- USA
Its the Dark Age version of Adamantium. I think I mentioned it in a past update somewhere, but its name at least as far as Anatol knows is Titan Alloy. From the little he knows of it from the echoes and the visions of the past is that it makes Adamantium look like silly putty in terms of durability it also seems to have some funky nano scale stuff that allows for electronics to be built into solid sheets of the stuff somehow.
- Location
- Anchorage, Alaska
jesus christ...and yeah was expecting shit form the Ecclesiarchy. Fucking hell almost everyone in 40k is a asshole of epic proportions.
thanks Logar, Thanks Horus, and thank you Mr. Anathema for fucking ruining everything (the emperor for being a shit person who doesn't explain shit to even his closest son OR the MORON who obviously did something and made deals with fucking tzeentch which the emperor NEVER QUESTIONED despite being so god-damn close to each other and such!) Oh lets not forget the man-child primarchs, even the loyal ones were idoit's/dick's/asshole's of the most extreme ways.
i mean, i get shit was bad...but damn.
sorry for the rant, but i always get this way when people act like what the Ecclesiarchy does.
thanks Logar, Thanks Horus, and thank you Mr. Anathema for fucking ruining everything (the emperor for being a shit person who doesn't explain shit to even his closest son OR the MORON who obviously did something and made deals with fucking tzeentch which the emperor NEVER QUESTIONED despite being so god-damn close to each other and such!) Oh lets not forget the man-child primarchs, even the loyal ones were idoit's/dick's/asshole's of the most extreme ways.
i mean, i get shit was bad...but damn.
sorry for the rant, but i always get this way when people act like what the Ecclesiarchy does.
- Location
- USA
To be fair Eliza was as nice as she could possibly be here. She didn't do anything but simply command Anatol to spend an hour a week in prayer with her. She didnt do anything stupid and she won't even lock an Action for the coming month, that is how little her time requirement affects Anatol.
nice update thank you. now dam we really need to interact with more people our MC could of handled that cathedral better.(ps will we get a action to improve the church?) it is good to interact with dad and Syra though was not expected what happened at all.
all in all looks like you enjoyed making this update and it shows well happy to have you back
all in all looks like you enjoyed making this update and it shows well happy to have you back
- Location
- USA
Not for a while, Eliza won't let Anatol touch her cathedral until she trusts him. And yes, this is part of the issue with Anatol, he is super charismatic to other Shroud based people, Syra and his Father for example see him as a normal person would a Primarch. Normal people get a vastly diluted form of this, which is why Eliza only ordered prayer sessions instead of a pyre.
What do you think of Syra?
like BioShock's little sister you can aid them or steal from them. she also a good compass for the MC as she has suffered a lot and she never broke maybe bent to the pressure but not broke to chaos. she is better in the story at the very least as she gives more options to explore in the long run.
it also helps lets Anatol see what a family looks like that he is a part but still keep his ....l dont now how to describe it but he way to smart to do the normal teen stuff but even being an observer would get him closer to his humanity
so thats what l think of Syra a little sister that gives an anchor to Anatol prob better than his dad could
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16 characters
Sick and tired of being Sick and Tired
- Location
- Alta California
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Yikes''as nice as she possibly could be here'', yeah no I don't think she was obligated at gunpoint or anything like to pull a power sword on Anatol. He didn't even actually touch the structure of the cathedral, nor ask to. Everyone has choices to make. She made hers but there were nicer ones she could make at least as far as I can see.
- Location
- USA
How would you feel, if you were raised to hate the witch and here comes one at least a gamma if not beta or Alpha, and starts speaking things that are at best highly insulting, and at worse outright blasphemy. Then to cap this off the witch in question, uses their powers to attempt to sway your mind to their side in this debate and manages to do it to innocent people in one of your pews. And then after you tell them to cut that shit out, they use their powers to make an illusion to attempt to prove themselves right. Remember, that we see only Anatol's view point, Eliza has her reasons for acting as she did. There is no perfect person here, she did her best with what she knew, namely that Anatol was a literal infant less than five months ago and was created from possible tech heresy.
- Location
- colombia
meh,she is a fundamentalist
imagine if a demon or witch went to a christian church and begun saying to the priest and its crusaders how badly done the church was built and how it sucks
thats esentially what our boyo just did,he needs to interact socially with others
he needs to understand CONTEXT before opening his fucking mouth
otherwise he will get a bolter to the head
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16 characters
Sick and tired of being Sick and Tired
- Location
- Alta California
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Hmm true, though given what his flesh is like I'd be shocked if a bolter did more than give him some nasty bruises.
- Location
- USA
I will say that Anatol's reaction to a bolter to the head would be to blink as the thing bounces off without damage. You need power weapons to even begin to harm him, remember he is Primarch level in durability and I lean towards the High End of things.
- Location
- Warsaw
How much time do we now have to fix the heat system?
- Location
- USA
you aren't sure, but Anatol wants it fixed this year. As it is on the verge of breaking
16 characters
Sick and tired of being Sick and Tired
- Location
- Alta California
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Honestly, back on the main point though it may be a severe failure of imagination and maybe empathy on my part, I wasn't raised to hate anyone in particular just attempting to approach that headspace for someone who has done me no harm is a huge challenge for me. I've also never been in a church or anything equivalent in as far as I can recall after I was old enough to retain memory. So I can only say I guess, that sounds like it would probably disgust such people?
I do find it odd that an empire that worships a psycher and relies on him and many cohorts under him like Navigators and Astropaths and Librarians has come to produce so many who hate them so deeply though, the mutants and heretics bit I can understand logically flowing from the founding ideology but the witch has always stood out to me as the most incongruous. Although maybe that is the point, that it is deeply irrational?
I do worry about whether or protagonist will have time to understand enough social context before the station does something else dangerous. Trying to understand all its decaying systems strikes me as taxing and time-consuming even for a near ubermensch/superboy equivalent like him.
I do find it odd that an empire that worships a psycher and relies on him and many cohorts under him like Navigators and Astropaths and Librarians has come to produce so many who hate them so deeply though, the mutants and heretics bit I can understand logically flowing from the founding ideology but the witch has always stood out to me as the most incongruous. Although maybe that is the point, that it is deeply irrational?
I do worry about whether or protagonist will have time to understand enough social context before the station does something else dangerous. Trying to understand all its decaying systems strikes me as taxing and time-consuming even for a near ubermensch/superboy equivalent like him.
- Location
- USA
The way I see the first point is that Emps isn't seen as a Psyker, but instead a God. So people don't see him as a representative of psykers and instead look up to him. You can thank Lorgar for this, but Emps is for 99% of the Imperium isn't a psyker but an incarnate god. It is wrong to the meta view but for the in universe view it is understandable.
You do need to understand at least a handful of the systems, otherwise you will mostly likely lose the station and all its goodies. Even if Anatol doesn't die to such mundane means, losing access to Dark Age tech is a big loss.