The time of submission ends...
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Visionary
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- He/Him
Firouz had come to the plaza with the intent to die, with the intent to purge himself of his sins, but the cruelties that had brought him here refused to let up. All he had ever wanted was a simple life of service and piety, perhaps to raise a family. He had never asked for wealth or power, never asked for glory or fame. He just wanted to serve his people, his Emperor, his God, to the best of his ability. That his ability was in numbers rather than martial prowess had never troubled him, for he could still make his contributions in that way.
Only when he had worked out a superior shift rotation that promised to radically increase efficiency, he had faced censure for his efforts. He had been so hurt by not just the rejection but the implication that he was somehow wasting the Emperor's resources that he had spent every spare moment since praying that the 'why' might be revealed to him.
Last night something had answered his prayers, but it had not been the Emperor. No, no instead something else had decided to bestow upon him an enlightenment he did not want but could not deny. His plan had been rejected because he did not want to work people to the bone, but to give them time to rest and make the work they did better. His studies showed that it would work, that they could fill the quotas more effectively, but the long work hours weren't to ensure quota was made. The long work hours were to ensure that the population were so beat down that they would not have the energy to raise their heads to the nobles dining on delicacies and start asking uncomfortable questions about what their work was actually doing.
It was a horrible truth that Firouz had already been all too aware of but had refused to acknowledge, but the awful revelations continued. The nobles, adepts, and governors who reigned over them all, they were not an aberration. The system was rotten, burdened down with corruption at every level and any voice that dared to speak up was stomped down, told that they were endangering everyone, that they were heretics, and every other condemnation to keep the status quo. Worse yet, that the foundation of the rot was the fact that everything had been built this way.
The Emperor had not cared enough to not make His Imperium proof against this. In fact, the cruelty inherent to the systems He built had served Him well enough that the worst excesses and corruptions were enabled by such intentional design. Firouz had so wanted to be able to flinch away from that truth, but so much more had been revealed to him.
Xenos? Just as terrible as all the stories had said, but where alien perfidy ended and alien fear of the human started was impossible to tell. There were monsters out there in the dark, but there were just as many scared people telling their children that there were monsters in the dark and nothing else.
And the things that did this to him? They were the worst of all. He saw a future of trying to reform things, only to be burnt at the stake as a heretic. Overthrowing the local governors for treason against Terra? Invasion by the people they sought to serve, purgation of the most loyal of citizens, and an imposition of punitive quotas on the traumatized survivors. Independence was the same as trying to stay loyal, unless he reached out to the abominations that had given him this vision. He had seen so many things to break his spirit, no doubt to convince him that he might as well jump feet first in with them, but it had been done with the truth.
The darkness would validate his anger as legitimate. It would numb his pain. It would relieve his stress. It would give him hope. But it would also consume him. The passions that drove him to help his fellows would grow out of control, would make him lose sight of that which was important. Anger, numbness, pleasure, and hope would all become the purpose rather than tools.
Firouz had struck aside the poisoned chalice of power offered to him, waking from his dream and storming off to the Plaza of the Emperor-as-Martyr. There he had begun to whip himself in self-flagellation in the shadow of the great temple, staring up at the stern gaze of the Emperor in the colossal stained glass windows. Tears of agony and shame had streamed down his face as he held the gaze of representation of God, and he had silently prayed for revelation, for the things he had seen in his dreams to be false.
The Emperor's gaze in the image offered no rebuttal. The Imperium was not as the Emperor wanted it, but His vision and Firouz's remained incompatible. 'Humans must die so that humanity can live' was not a tragic necessity, but a goal in of itself.
Tears of pain and shame turned to rage, and Firouz dropped to his knees as much from blood loss as from the knowledge that his rapidly approaching death would be meaningless. No longer able to bear the gaze of the Emperor, he let out a long, strangled wail as he then dropped to all fours, openly weeping. He wished for the sky itself to open up and smite him personally, even though he knew that none cared enough to offer him that dignity.
Firouz was about to just let the lightheaded blackness take him when he found callused hands reaching out to him. His public display of self-flagellation had drawn the curious, and now a crowd of earnestly pious people had gathered around him, wanting to know if he required help, wanting to know what had driven him here.
A small, petty, spiteful part of him wanted to spout off heretical truths, but he found that he could not look into the faces of weathered elders and bright youths alike and even try to take their happiness away from them. Instead he just mumbled weakly amidst tears, "I just wanted to serve…"
People started shouting out as the crowd grew larger, and Firouz found his sight drifting from the present to prophecy. His actions would be seen as a spontaneous act of piety, exciting the minds and passions of those in attendance. The crowd would grow larger, and the authorities would see it not as an expression of worship but a threat to their authority. Firouz could already hear the march of the Arbites boots upon paving stones, but whether that was the present, his imagination, or the future, he could not know.
He just knew that what he had wanted to be an act of pious suicide was about to get a lot of people killed. What horrors might be sparked here today, as people had their faith in the Emperor so brutally betrayed by those who professed to serve Him? Was this why he had been shown those things?
He couldn't not act, he couldn't remain silent, but he didn't know what to do. He had always been a meek man, but now he had to be better.
He had to dare to be…
[] Stupid
[] Heretical
[] Weak
Only when he had worked out a superior shift rotation that promised to radically increase efficiency, he had faced censure for his efforts. He had been so hurt by not just the rejection but the implication that he was somehow wasting the Emperor's resources that he had spent every spare moment since praying that the 'why' might be revealed to him.
Last night something had answered his prayers, but it had not been the Emperor. No, no instead something else had decided to bestow upon him an enlightenment he did not want but could not deny. His plan had been rejected because he did not want to work people to the bone, but to give them time to rest and make the work they did better. His studies showed that it would work, that they could fill the quotas more effectively, but the long work hours weren't to ensure quota was made. The long work hours were to ensure that the population were so beat down that they would not have the energy to raise their heads to the nobles dining on delicacies and start asking uncomfortable questions about what their work was actually doing.
It was a horrible truth that Firouz had already been all too aware of but had refused to acknowledge, but the awful revelations continued. The nobles, adepts, and governors who reigned over them all, they were not an aberration. The system was rotten, burdened down with corruption at every level and any voice that dared to speak up was stomped down, told that they were endangering everyone, that they were heretics, and every other condemnation to keep the status quo. Worse yet, that the foundation of the rot was the fact that everything had been built this way.
The Emperor had not cared enough to not make His Imperium proof against this. In fact, the cruelty inherent to the systems He built had served Him well enough that the worst excesses and corruptions were enabled by such intentional design. Firouz had so wanted to be able to flinch away from that truth, but so much more had been revealed to him.
Xenos? Just as terrible as all the stories had said, but where alien perfidy ended and alien fear of the human started was impossible to tell. There were monsters out there in the dark, but there were just as many scared people telling their children that there were monsters in the dark and nothing else.
And the things that did this to him? They were the worst of all. He saw a future of trying to reform things, only to be burnt at the stake as a heretic. Overthrowing the local governors for treason against Terra? Invasion by the people they sought to serve, purgation of the most loyal of citizens, and an imposition of punitive quotas on the traumatized survivors. Independence was the same as trying to stay loyal, unless he reached out to the abominations that had given him this vision. He had seen so many things to break his spirit, no doubt to convince him that he might as well jump feet first in with them, but it had been done with the truth.
The darkness would validate his anger as legitimate. It would numb his pain. It would relieve his stress. It would give him hope. But it would also consume him. The passions that drove him to help his fellows would grow out of control, would make him lose sight of that which was important. Anger, numbness, pleasure, and hope would all become the purpose rather than tools.
Firouz had struck aside the poisoned chalice of power offered to him, waking from his dream and storming off to the Plaza of the Emperor-as-Martyr. There he had begun to whip himself in self-flagellation in the shadow of the great temple, staring up at the stern gaze of the Emperor in the colossal stained glass windows. Tears of agony and shame had streamed down his face as he held the gaze of representation of God, and he had silently prayed for revelation, for the things he had seen in his dreams to be false.
The Emperor's gaze in the image offered no rebuttal. The Imperium was not as the Emperor wanted it, but His vision and Firouz's remained incompatible. 'Humans must die so that humanity can live' was not a tragic necessity, but a goal in of itself.
Tears of pain and shame turned to rage, and Firouz dropped to his knees as much from blood loss as from the knowledge that his rapidly approaching death would be meaningless. No longer able to bear the gaze of the Emperor, he let out a long, strangled wail as he then dropped to all fours, openly weeping. He wished for the sky itself to open up and smite him personally, even though he knew that none cared enough to offer him that dignity.
Firouz was about to just let the lightheaded blackness take him when he found callused hands reaching out to him. His public display of self-flagellation had drawn the curious, and now a crowd of earnestly pious people had gathered around him, wanting to know if he required help, wanting to know what had driven him here.
A small, petty, spiteful part of him wanted to spout off heretical truths, but he found that he could not look into the faces of weathered elders and bright youths alike and even try to take their happiness away from them. Instead he just mumbled weakly amidst tears, "I just wanted to serve…"
People started shouting out as the crowd grew larger, and Firouz found his sight drifting from the present to prophecy. His actions would be seen as a spontaneous act of piety, exciting the minds and passions of those in attendance. The crowd would grow larger, and the authorities would see it not as an expression of worship but a threat to their authority. Firouz could already hear the march of the Arbites boots upon paving stones, but whether that was the present, his imagination, or the future, he could not know.
He just knew that what he had wanted to be an act of pious suicide was about to get a lot of people killed. What horrors might be sparked here today, as people had their faith in the Emperor so brutally betrayed by those who professed to serve Him? Was this why he had been shown those things?
He couldn't not act, he couldn't remain silent, but he didn't know what to do. He had always been a meek man, but now he had to be better.
He had to dare to be…
[] Stupid
[] Heretical
[] Weak
Weakness
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Weak
High Preacher Ibrahim Terraya enjoyed walking the ramparts of the Temple of the Imperial Truth, gazing down upon the faithful within the Plaza of the Emperor-as-Martyr. While on high holidays the kilometers long mosaics disappeared beneath an ocean of the faithful, most days there were only a smattering of people and both the images and personal piety were easily seen. Today though, a knot of people were accumulating, and from what Ibrahim could tell there was some sort of commotion brewing. Possibly a street preacher, but you never could tell.
A quick flurry of hand signals and clipped commands had a light squad of Frateris deploying with Ibrahim as he marched out into the plaza to see what was up. He had to frown though as he could see a group of Shahsmen approaching from the eastern edge of the plaza, shock mauls off but clearly at the ready. The enforcers technically had authority over security in the plaza because the Frateris were 'volunteers' and had no right to carry out the Ecclesiarchy's instructions over other powers, but the Temple preferred to police the plaza themselves. Of course, that meant that the Shahsmen liked to remind the priests every once in a while just who was in charge.
Arriving on scene at the gathering, Ibrahim found a younger man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, who had whipped his back into a grossly bloody mess and was now collapsed on the ground muttering on and on a litany of pathetic 'sins'. It was so over the top that some of those gathered in interest seemed disgusted by the display, but seeing a High Preacher approach with a concerned frown caused those people to drift away while those with more sympathetic looks gathered in closer.
"Anyone know what's going on here?" Ibrahim asked, to which he received shrugs about the exact motivation. Well then, that probably meant that someone was in serious need of spiritual guidance.
Gesturing to the closest pair of Frateris, Ibrahim said, "Come, let's get him out of here and-"
The mechanical crackle of a helmet voxcaster interrupted the High Preacher as a Shahsman announced, "This gathering exceeds the authorized limit set by Governor Ackerman. Present citizenship chits for identification."
Rolling his eyes as the citizens began to get out their IDs, Ibrahim raised his right hand and then made a very particular sort of fist, which caused the electoo there to light up into the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy and project a faint holo of the Imperial Aquila. The carapaced enforcers all grunted at that as ID enough, but the one in the most ornate armour pointed his shock maul at the man on the ground and asked, "Who's the tampon?"
Ibrahim frowned in distaste at that and said, "I'm not sure, he appears to be in significant distress, and thus in need of proper ministrations. My lay brothers and I shall take it from here, the rest were merely concerned petitioners."
The leader of the Shahsmen looked about at the people and decided that today was going to be a day where the powers of the governor would butt heads with the Ecclesiarchy just to see where the lines were. "This was not a scheduled Adeptus Ministorum event, you have no authority to gather so many in one place at this time."
Ibrahim held his tongue for a moment before he said, "I will be issuing a formal complaint to the governor, and we will be taking this petitioner in for questioning."
From the shifting of the Shahsmen, they were clearly considering how far they wanted to push things today, especially with Frateris backing Ibrahim. If it came down to a fight the Shahsmen would probably have the advantage, but the lay brothers were armed with ceremonial but functional lazayers that could punch through the enforcer's armour. Weighing up just how far he could push it, the leader of the group gestured with his shock maul to the man on the ground and said, "You pick him up, preacher. We need to check the lay brother's ID."
Ibrahim bristled for a moment, but bit off his retort and said with false cheer, "Of course."
Bending over, Ibrahim said warmly, "Come now brother, let's get you somewhere quiet and figure out what you are doing."
The bloody mess on the ground just kept sobbing and was a limp weight for Ibrahim to deal with, but he managed to get the man to his feet after a few moments of grunting at the exertion. However, just as Ibrahim had the two of them going, the Shahsman idly flicked on his shock maul while it was too close to the man, causing him to cry out and have his legs collapse beneath him, hauling Ibrahim along to the ground with him.
Something hot and painful slashed across Ibrahim's back, followed a heartbeat later by a wet explosion and an echoing crack of something supersonic passing by. The screaming had already started by the time Ibrahim had been able to get his bearings and notice that the Shahsman who had been closest to him had his torso explosively hollowed out. As the shock of the sudden death spread, the Shahsmen quickly came to their own – incorrect – conclusion on who was to blame, and the Frateris came to the – correct – conclusion as to what they were about to do.
Lazayers weren't the fastest firing weapons, but they were faster than shock mauls, and those men closest to threatening the High Preacher found themselves being cut down by precision fire. The shouting and screaming across the plaza intensified, and the crack of firearms going off and bullets whizzing through the air soon made itself known. One of the Frateris with Ibrahim stumbled as a bullet clipped his leg, one of his brothers grabbing onto him while two others rushed forward to grab Ibrahim and the man who had precipitated all of this. Neither the Shahsmen nor the Frateris in and around the plaza were going to back down, and with hundreds of screaming civilians the situation was rapidly devolving.
Ibrahim however found his retreat covered by…
[] An Unwelcome Face
[] The Last Person He Wanted To See
[] Things Getting Much Worse
High Preacher Ibrahim Terraya enjoyed walking the ramparts of the Temple of the Imperial Truth, gazing down upon the faithful within the Plaza of the Emperor-as-Martyr. While on high holidays the kilometers long mosaics disappeared beneath an ocean of the faithful, most days there were only a smattering of people and both the images and personal piety were easily seen. Today though, a knot of people were accumulating, and from what Ibrahim could tell there was some sort of commotion brewing. Possibly a street preacher, but you never could tell.
A quick flurry of hand signals and clipped commands had a light squad of Frateris deploying with Ibrahim as he marched out into the plaza to see what was up. He had to frown though as he could see a group of Shahsmen approaching from the eastern edge of the plaza, shock mauls off but clearly at the ready. The enforcers technically had authority over security in the plaza because the Frateris were 'volunteers' and had no right to carry out the Ecclesiarchy's instructions over other powers, but the Temple preferred to police the plaza themselves. Of course, that meant that the Shahsmen liked to remind the priests every once in a while just who was in charge.
Arriving on scene at the gathering, Ibrahim found a younger man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, who had whipped his back into a grossly bloody mess and was now collapsed on the ground muttering on and on a litany of pathetic 'sins'. It was so over the top that some of those gathered in interest seemed disgusted by the display, but seeing a High Preacher approach with a concerned frown caused those people to drift away while those with more sympathetic looks gathered in closer.
"Anyone know what's going on here?" Ibrahim asked, to which he received shrugs about the exact motivation. Well then, that probably meant that someone was in serious need of spiritual guidance.
Gesturing to the closest pair of Frateris, Ibrahim said, "Come, let's get him out of here and-"
The mechanical crackle of a helmet voxcaster interrupted the High Preacher as a Shahsman announced, "This gathering exceeds the authorized limit set by Governor Ackerman. Present citizenship chits for identification."
Rolling his eyes as the citizens began to get out their IDs, Ibrahim raised his right hand and then made a very particular sort of fist, which caused the electoo there to light up into the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy and project a faint holo of the Imperial Aquila. The carapaced enforcers all grunted at that as ID enough, but the one in the most ornate armour pointed his shock maul at the man on the ground and asked, "Who's the tampon?"
Ibrahim frowned in distaste at that and said, "I'm not sure, he appears to be in significant distress, and thus in need of proper ministrations. My lay brothers and I shall take it from here, the rest were merely concerned petitioners."
The leader of the Shahsmen looked about at the people and decided that today was going to be a day where the powers of the governor would butt heads with the Ecclesiarchy just to see where the lines were. "This was not a scheduled Adeptus Ministorum event, you have no authority to gather so many in one place at this time."
Ibrahim held his tongue for a moment before he said, "I will be issuing a formal complaint to the governor, and we will be taking this petitioner in for questioning."
From the shifting of the Shahsmen, they were clearly considering how far they wanted to push things today, especially with Frateris backing Ibrahim. If it came down to a fight the Shahsmen would probably have the advantage, but the lay brothers were armed with ceremonial but functional lazayers that could punch through the enforcer's armour. Weighing up just how far he could push it, the leader of the group gestured with his shock maul to the man on the ground and said, "You pick him up, preacher. We need to check the lay brother's ID."
Ibrahim bristled for a moment, but bit off his retort and said with false cheer, "Of course."
Bending over, Ibrahim said warmly, "Come now brother, let's get you somewhere quiet and figure out what you are doing."
The bloody mess on the ground just kept sobbing and was a limp weight for Ibrahim to deal with, but he managed to get the man to his feet after a few moments of grunting at the exertion. However, just as Ibrahim had the two of them going, the Shahsman idly flicked on his shock maul while it was too close to the man, causing him to cry out and have his legs collapse beneath him, hauling Ibrahim along to the ground with him.
Something hot and painful slashed across Ibrahim's back, followed a heartbeat later by a wet explosion and an echoing crack of something supersonic passing by. The screaming had already started by the time Ibrahim had been able to get his bearings and notice that the Shahsman who had been closest to him had his torso explosively hollowed out. As the shock of the sudden death spread, the Shahsmen quickly came to their own – incorrect – conclusion on who was to blame, and the Frateris came to the – correct – conclusion as to what they were about to do.
Lazayers weren't the fastest firing weapons, but they were faster than shock mauls, and those men closest to threatening the High Preacher found themselves being cut down by precision fire. The shouting and screaming across the plaza intensified, and the crack of firearms going off and bullets whizzing through the air soon made itself known. One of the Frateris with Ibrahim stumbled as a bullet clipped his leg, one of his brothers grabbing onto him while two others rushed forward to grab Ibrahim and the man who had precipitated all of this. Neither the Shahsmen nor the Frateris in and around the plaza were going to back down, and with hundreds of screaming civilians the situation was rapidly devolving.
Ibrahim however found his retreat covered by…
[] An Unwelcome Face
[] The Last Person He Wanted To See
[] Things Getting Much Worse
Last Person He Wanted To See
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] The Last Person He Wanted To See
Sister Maryam Palmia had not expected to be able to purge blasphemers when she woke up, but she had most certainly prayed to the Emperor for the opportunity, as she did every day. As such, when exiting the Temple of the Imperial Truth after meeting with the bishop and beholding local security forces assaulting her favourite preacher, she thanked the Emperor and then got to work defending him. Men in carapace armed with shotguns, autoguns, and shock mauls discovered to their horror what exactly a Godwyn-De'az pattern bolter did to them, and how little their own weapons affected someone wearing power armour.
The presence of a Battle Sister seriously bolstered the spines of the Frateris offering covering fire to High Preacher Terraya, allowing them to pick their shots more carefully and for more men to run out to help drag the preacher and the man he had recovered into the safety of the temple. While the song of her bolter was hymn enough, Maryam added on the Litany of Chastisement above the cacophony of battle, the smiles of the pious volunteers around her encouraging her further.
Maryam burst out into laughter when a Rhino-transport bearing the livery of the Adeptus Arbites rolled into the plaza, but her joy at their joining in the suppressing of the unrighteous turned to white hot outrage when the storm bolter atop the transport opened up on her. While she would never let others consider her a coward, she did understand when it was prudent to fall back to a more defensible position was warranted. Also, at this point she really needed to contact her commanders and check in with the temple's bishop.
She still took the time to put a bolt into the pintle mount of the Rhino firing at her. Such blasphemy required silencing.
Entering into the grand, vaulted antechamber of the temple as the adamantium doors swung with her passage through them, Maryam found the High Preacher, the injured Frateris, and the stranger being tended to by medic-priests. Terraya had his robes taken down so that a medic could tend to a long gash along his back.
"Father, what traitorous blasphemer has dealt such an unrighteous blow to you?" Maryam demanded to know, hoping that the fiend was already dead.
Controlling his face even as sutures were applied, the High Preacher said, "Maryam. Good to see you. As for my injury, the Shahsmen just had shock mauls out, and my men had lazayers. This is a bullet wound. High-calibre, supersonic from what I heard, and probably with an explosive charge from what it did to the man who actually caught it. The bullet was probably already in flight and aimed at me or our friend here when we stumbled."
"The Emperor Protects," Maryam stated, receiving a round of agreeing echoes from all in attendance. "But that means that there is a foul assassin gunning for you."
Glancing over at the flagellated man being tended to with a blood transfusion and the application of stimms, Terraya said, "Actually, I think that round was intended for our friend here. We're getting him coherent so I can have a chat. The bishop is currently in a three-way screaming match with the Planetary Patriarch and the Governor, and they want answers."
Soon enough the somewhat reedy little man was revived, and then Terraya started to speak with him. The High Preacher had an almost hypnotic manner to him, his speech even as his eyes burned with passion and fire, and he quickly drew forth the situation from the terrified but also willing administrator. About how he had worked out a superior shift rotation system that would allow the factories to produce more goods for less effort, but had also realized that no one was interested in implementing it because that would give the workers more time to consider their lot in life.
Maryam of course had to scoff at the idea of a person using free time to do anything other than meditate on their relationship to the Emperor, but the High Preacher held up a hand to silence her objection. Continuing on with Firouz in the interview, Terraya dug out more details about the genesis of the man's ideas and despairs. About how certain machines always had higher output not just because the Adeptus Mechanicus maintained them regularly, but because the workers had better shift schedules when the machines had to rest. About how he suspected that mutagenic compounds produced as by-products were not just allowed but encouraged to circulate among poorer citizens.
Firouz shrank back in terror when Maryam leaned in very close and asked with quiet fury, "Please explain your reasoning."
The administrator spluttered for a moment before he said, "Mutants are cheaper than citizens."
Placing a gentle hand on the breastplate of her plate, the High Preacher pushed Maryam away despite the fact that he had none of the strength required to actually move her against her will. Her left eye twitched at the abomination suggested even as her mind ran through the wicked logic that would lead the faithless to such decisions.
As the discussion of esoteric logistical concerns began to resume, one of the priors came rushing in with a sheet of parchment, obviously looking for the High Preacher. Taking the message, Terraya took one glance over the information presented within and said, "The Adeptus Arbites have begun raids on parish temples and begun sieges of the bishops, declaring us traitors and heretics. The Patriarch has issued a counter-proclamation of heresy and sedition against the Arbites for overstepping their authority, and has made a call for all of the faithful to come to the aid of the Ecclesiarchy. Riots and counter-riots have already broken out."
Upon hearing this Firouz broke down into tears, wailing out, "You should have let me die!"
Shaking his head, the High Preacher stated, "No, this is all too fast. The Arbites… it doesn't make sense, not unless they have been planning something with the Governor and were just looking for an excuse."
Running through things, Maryam suggested, "Perhaps the sniper that attacked you was merely waiting for a sufficiently powerful figure to emerge. A dead High Preacher would have your bodyguards opening fire on the Shahsmen and not asking questions."
"Possibly. Probably," Terraya admitted, although he continued to sound troubled at the question of it.
On some level Maryam was concerned as well, but on another such thoughts were for priests and investigators. Her duty to the Emperor was simple: smite His foes. And right now the Adeptus Arbites and governor's forces were in clear and blatant rebellion against lawful authority. Until such time as she could reconnect with her Sisters she would provide blade and bolter to this temple, although from the sounds of automated gargoyle-fire outside the Arbites were not going to make such a reunion easy for her.
An opportunity was presented when…
[] A Plan Was Executed Perfectly At the Wrong Time
[] Someone Got Exactly What They Wanted
[] The Worst Person In The World Had A Good Point
Sister Maryam Palmia had not expected to be able to purge blasphemers when she woke up, but she had most certainly prayed to the Emperor for the opportunity, as she did every day. As such, when exiting the Temple of the Imperial Truth after meeting with the bishop and beholding local security forces assaulting her favourite preacher, she thanked the Emperor and then got to work defending him. Men in carapace armed with shotguns, autoguns, and shock mauls discovered to their horror what exactly a Godwyn-De'az pattern bolter did to them, and how little their own weapons affected someone wearing power armour.
The presence of a Battle Sister seriously bolstered the spines of the Frateris offering covering fire to High Preacher Terraya, allowing them to pick their shots more carefully and for more men to run out to help drag the preacher and the man he had recovered into the safety of the temple. While the song of her bolter was hymn enough, Maryam added on the Litany of Chastisement above the cacophony of battle, the smiles of the pious volunteers around her encouraging her further.
Maryam burst out into laughter when a Rhino-transport bearing the livery of the Adeptus Arbites rolled into the plaza, but her joy at their joining in the suppressing of the unrighteous turned to white hot outrage when the storm bolter atop the transport opened up on her. While she would never let others consider her a coward, she did understand when it was prudent to fall back to a more defensible position was warranted. Also, at this point she really needed to contact her commanders and check in with the temple's bishop.
She still took the time to put a bolt into the pintle mount of the Rhino firing at her. Such blasphemy required silencing.
Entering into the grand, vaulted antechamber of the temple as the adamantium doors swung with her passage through them, Maryam found the High Preacher, the injured Frateris, and the stranger being tended to by medic-priests. Terraya had his robes taken down so that a medic could tend to a long gash along his back.
"Father, what traitorous blasphemer has dealt such an unrighteous blow to you?" Maryam demanded to know, hoping that the fiend was already dead.
Controlling his face even as sutures were applied, the High Preacher said, "Maryam. Good to see you. As for my injury, the Shahsmen just had shock mauls out, and my men had lazayers. This is a bullet wound. High-calibre, supersonic from what I heard, and probably with an explosive charge from what it did to the man who actually caught it. The bullet was probably already in flight and aimed at me or our friend here when we stumbled."
"The Emperor Protects," Maryam stated, receiving a round of agreeing echoes from all in attendance. "But that means that there is a foul assassin gunning for you."
Glancing over at the flagellated man being tended to with a blood transfusion and the application of stimms, Terraya said, "Actually, I think that round was intended for our friend here. We're getting him coherent so I can have a chat. The bishop is currently in a three-way screaming match with the Planetary Patriarch and the Governor, and they want answers."
Soon enough the somewhat reedy little man was revived, and then Terraya started to speak with him. The High Preacher had an almost hypnotic manner to him, his speech even as his eyes burned with passion and fire, and he quickly drew forth the situation from the terrified but also willing administrator. About how he had worked out a superior shift rotation system that would allow the factories to produce more goods for less effort, but had also realized that no one was interested in implementing it because that would give the workers more time to consider their lot in life.
Maryam of course had to scoff at the idea of a person using free time to do anything other than meditate on their relationship to the Emperor, but the High Preacher held up a hand to silence her objection. Continuing on with Firouz in the interview, Terraya dug out more details about the genesis of the man's ideas and despairs. About how certain machines always had higher output not just because the Adeptus Mechanicus maintained them regularly, but because the workers had better shift schedules when the machines had to rest. About how he suspected that mutagenic compounds produced as by-products were not just allowed but encouraged to circulate among poorer citizens.
Firouz shrank back in terror when Maryam leaned in very close and asked with quiet fury, "Please explain your reasoning."
The administrator spluttered for a moment before he said, "Mutants are cheaper than citizens."
Placing a gentle hand on the breastplate of her plate, the High Preacher pushed Maryam away despite the fact that he had none of the strength required to actually move her against her will. Her left eye twitched at the abomination suggested even as her mind ran through the wicked logic that would lead the faithless to such decisions.
As the discussion of esoteric logistical concerns began to resume, one of the priors came rushing in with a sheet of parchment, obviously looking for the High Preacher. Taking the message, Terraya took one glance over the information presented within and said, "The Adeptus Arbites have begun raids on parish temples and begun sieges of the bishops, declaring us traitors and heretics. The Patriarch has issued a counter-proclamation of heresy and sedition against the Arbites for overstepping their authority, and has made a call for all of the faithful to come to the aid of the Ecclesiarchy. Riots and counter-riots have already broken out."
Upon hearing this Firouz broke down into tears, wailing out, "You should have let me die!"
Shaking his head, the High Preacher stated, "No, this is all too fast. The Arbites… it doesn't make sense, not unless they have been planning something with the Governor and were just looking for an excuse."
Running through things, Maryam suggested, "Perhaps the sniper that attacked you was merely waiting for a sufficiently powerful figure to emerge. A dead High Preacher would have your bodyguards opening fire on the Shahsmen and not asking questions."
"Possibly. Probably," Terraya admitted, although he continued to sound troubled at the question of it.
On some level Maryam was concerned as well, but on another such thoughts were for priests and investigators. Her duty to the Emperor was simple: smite His foes. And right now the Adeptus Arbites and governor's forces were in clear and blatant rebellion against lawful authority. Until such time as she could reconnect with her Sisters she would provide blade and bolter to this temple, although from the sounds of automated gargoyle-fire outside the Arbites were not going to make such a reunion easy for her.
An opportunity was presented when…
[] A Plan Was Executed Perfectly At the Wrong Time
[] Someone Got Exactly What They Wanted
[] The Worst Person In The World Had A Good Point
The Worst Person In the World Has A Good Point
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] The Worst Person In The World Had A Good Point
Rabekhu served The Fool not because she wanted to, but because she had to. That was essentially true for everyone who danced to his tune down in the Underhives, but it was doubly true for her since she couldn't even find a way to escape to the stars the way some could. Generations of unclean conditions had left their mark on her, and to expose herself to the systems of the Above was a death sentence.
She unfortunately also knew that working with the Fool meant that her best case scenario was a quick death many years from now, and her most likely cause of death was 'failing the Fool'. As his personal chemist, she knew how many of his former lieutenants being used in the manufacture of the illegal drugs that served as the foundation of his empire.
As such, she was incredibly uncomfortable with how agitated he was with the goings-on of the Above. One wrong word against him and her head would be in a jar making Spook while her adrenal glands went towards making Slaught, but she couldn't just let him rant or he might find her silence a sign of weakness and incompetence.
Legs made heavy through the amount of bionics needed just to keep him alive, the Fool stalked back and forth through his office while his lieutenants stood at attention and the naked nubiles tried to appear attractive while also not being seen. Exposed teeth chattered in time with the clicking of the servos and wires that gave the remnants of his skull motion, the spastic remains of his ability to frown. Eventually he whirled upon those in attendance and stated in his wholly artificial voice, "I don't like it."
There was silence for a long moment before the eyes of those in attendance slid over to Rabekhu, who asked quietly, "What precisely do you not like?"
Shifting his torso towards her so that the sensors that gave him vision would be pointed at her, the Fool replied, "The attacks on the temples. Fuck the priests, but it doesn't make any bloody sense why the Nobs and the Arbs are going after the Suckers."
"Perhaps the priests really are heretics?" Rabekhu posited.
Waving a nearly fleshless hand in her direction, the Fool replied, "Nah, that's always quiet. The Pattie gets reassigned, a few popular sorts just disappear, a couple of low ranking guys get hauled up on pyres, and they wrap it all up with a good ol' Twistie Stomp. You don't go attacking the temples directly. The Nobs and Arbs need the Suckers to keep the Spacers off of them."
There was another long pause while the Fool mulled things over and everyone in attendance wondered if they should be offering some suggestion or just stay quiet. Finally, after a long, tense moment the Fool declared, "Alright, I don't like it, and when I don't like something, I kill it. Now, normally I would say that we let the Abovers eat each other alive and we all keep our heads down, but if the Nobs and Arbs are going after the Suckers, I say we take the chance to put a dagger or two in a turned back. The Spacers ain't gonna like the Suckers getting beat up so they'll come down and bash their fucking heads in. The Suckers might organize a Stomp after, but at least we'll be able to kill some fucking Arbs in the process, and the Nobs sure as shit ain't gonna appreciate us if we join in."
Everyone blinked in mute disbelief at what their leader was telling them, before Rabekhu gathered the nerve to speak up and say, "Are you saying we're going to support the Emperor-Suckers?"
"Fuck no," The Fool spat out. "We just gonna go kill a shitload of cops, and if it helps the Suckers, so be it. And if the Suckers come to me looking for help, well, I might consider it if the price is right."
That caused the assembled gang lords to relax at their leader's decision considerably. Helping the guys who organized pogroms was one thing, but taking the chance to hammer the enforcers of their misery was quite another. Rabekhu did have one question though, and she asked it.
"How many 'goodies' should we be breaking out, and how many Twists are we sending Above?" She asked, a key question given that she would have to organize it all.
Scratching a desiccated finger across polished bone, the Fool considered that before he shrugged and said, "Spread the misery. Bust out the toxers and radguns and… ehhh… okay, keep the brains in reserve, that might get us a bit too much heat. Any Twistie who wants to roll with us can come, but remind them that I ain't bailing their asses out if the get too closer to a Sucker torch."
Rabekhu let out a little relieved sigh and some of the more extreme weapons being kept in reserve. Pulling out all the stops would put her in catastrophic danger in the backlash, and if that was so she wanted to go quietly put a bullet in her brain before anyone caught on to her desertion intentions. Hurling all the toxic shit that accumulated in the sump back at the Abovers would piss them off, but she could live with that.
Teeth clattering together while his voxbox let out an electrical cackle that was the Fool's grating version of laughter, the Undershah stated, "Hooo boy did the Guv make a mistake here. This don't make a lick of sense, and we're all gonna punish the shit out of him for it. Right then, everyone go get ready, 'cause we're all going to war!"
There were cheers from the lieutenants, some more real in their enthusiasm than others, but Rabekhu felt troubled. She was starting to get an itch on her feet like she always did when danger was approaching, but it wasn't coming from the Fool's decision. Something else was going on. He had a point, but she felt that he was missing something.
The hollow sockets of his empty skull turned towards Rabekhu, and she felt her skin crawl at her boss' attention, and she suddenly wondered if perhaps he wasn't missing something.
What wasn't being missed?
[] Someone Who Never Misses
[] Someone Only A Fool Would Know
[] Someone No One Should Know
Rabekhu served The Fool not because she wanted to, but because she had to. That was essentially true for everyone who danced to his tune down in the Underhives, but it was doubly true for her since she couldn't even find a way to escape to the stars the way some could. Generations of unclean conditions had left their mark on her, and to expose herself to the systems of the Above was a death sentence.
She unfortunately also knew that working with the Fool meant that her best case scenario was a quick death many years from now, and her most likely cause of death was 'failing the Fool'. As his personal chemist, she knew how many of his former lieutenants being used in the manufacture of the illegal drugs that served as the foundation of his empire.
As such, she was incredibly uncomfortable with how agitated he was with the goings-on of the Above. One wrong word against him and her head would be in a jar making Spook while her adrenal glands went towards making Slaught, but she couldn't just let him rant or he might find her silence a sign of weakness and incompetence.
Legs made heavy through the amount of bionics needed just to keep him alive, the Fool stalked back and forth through his office while his lieutenants stood at attention and the naked nubiles tried to appear attractive while also not being seen. Exposed teeth chattered in time with the clicking of the servos and wires that gave the remnants of his skull motion, the spastic remains of his ability to frown. Eventually he whirled upon those in attendance and stated in his wholly artificial voice, "I don't like it."
There was silence for a long moment before the eyes of those in attendance slid over to Rabekhu, who asked quietly, "What precisely do you not like?"
Shifting his torso towards her so that the sensors that gave him vision would be pointed at her, the Fool replied, "The attacks on the temples. Fuck the priests, but it doesn't make any bloody sense why the Nobs and the Arbs are going after the Suckers."
"Perhaps the priests really are heretics?" Rabekhu posited.
Waving a nearly fleshless hand in her direction, the Fool replied, "Nah, that's always quiet. The Pattie gets reassigned, a few popular sorts just disappear, a couple of low ranking guys get hauled up on pyres, and they wrap it all up with a good ol' Twistie Stomp. You don't go attacking the temples directly. The Nobs and Arbs need the Suckers to keep the Spacers off of them."
There was another long pause while the Fool mulled things over and everyone in attendance wondered if they should be offering some suggestion or just stay quiet. Finally, after a long, tense moment the Fool declared, "Alright, I don't like it, and when I don't like something, I kill it. Now, normally I would say that we let the Abovers eat each other alive and we all keep our heads down, but if the Nobs and Arbs are going after the Suckers, I say we take the chance to put a dagger or two in a turned back. The Spacers ain't gonna like the Suckers getting beat up so they'll come down and bash their fucking heads in. The Suckers might organize a Stomp after, but at least we'll be able to kill some fucking Arbs in the process, and the Nobs sure as shit ain't gonna appreciate us if we join in."
Everyone blinked in mute disbelief at what their leader was telling them, before Rabekhu gathered the nerve to speak up and say, "Are you saying we're going to support the Emperor-Suckers?"
"Fuck no," The Fool spat out. "We just gonna go kill a shitload of cops, and if it helps the Suckers, so be it. And if the Suckers come to me looking for help, well, I might consider it if the price is right."
That caused the assembled gang lords to relax at their leader's decision considerably. Helping the guys who organized pogroms was one thing, but taking the chance to hammer the enforcers of their misery was quite another. Rabekhu did have one question though, and she asked it.
"How many 'goodies' should we be breaking out, and how many Twists are we sending Above?" She asked, a key question given that she would have to organize it all.
Scratching a desiccated finger across polished bone, the Fool considered that before he shrugged and said, "Spread the misery. Bust out the toxers and radguns and… ehhh… okay, keep the brains in reserve, that might get us a bit too much heat. Any Twistie who wants to roll with us can come, but remind them that I ain't bailing their asses out if the get too closer to a Sucker torch."
Rabekhu let out a little relieved sigh and some of the more extreme weapons being kept in reserve. Pulling out all the stops would put her in catastrophic danger in the backlash, and if that was so she wanted to go quietly put a bullet in her brain before anyone caught on to her desertion intentions. Hurling all the toxic shit that accumulated in the sump back at the Abovers would piss them off, but she could live with that.
Teeth clattering together while his voxbox let out an electrical cackle that was the Fool's grating version of laughter, the Undershah stated, "Hooo boy did the Guv make a mistake here. This don't make a lick of sense, and we're all gonna punish the shit out of him for it. Right then, everyone go get ready, 'cause we're all going to war!"
There were cheers from the lieutenants, some more real in their enthusiasm than others, but Rabekhu felt troubled. She was starting to get an itch on her feet like she always did when danger was approaching, but it wasn't coming from the Fool's decision. Something else was going on. He had a point, but she felt that he was missing something.
The hollow sockets of his empty skull turned towards Rabekhu, and she felt her skin crawl at her boss' attention, and she suddenly wondered if perhaps he wasn't missing something.
What wasn't being missed?
[] Someone Who Never Misses
[] Someone Only A Fool Would Know
[] Someone No One Should Know