- Location
- India
[X] Primaris Psyker Solomon Nahbiz
Among Giants (AKA, What its like to not be a Primarch in 30k)
- Thread starter Dapperlad1
- Start date
Why use a lump of transient flesh and unreliable warpcraft to kill people when you could be using an immortal machine?
[X] Prime Hermeticon Archmagos Tech Priest Dominus Lecithe
[X] Primaris Psyker Solomon Nahbiz
As one of the strongest Psykers in the Imperium. We could *truly* Have the chance to change things! We can pierce through the veil of the future! We have a director ear to Malcador! We could even save Fulgrim perhaps! (Although that may cost us Ferrus Mannus. But that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make!)
As one of the strongest Psykers in the Imperium. We could *truly* Have the chance to change things! We can pierce through the veil of the future! We have a director ear to Malcador! We could even save Fulgrim perhaps! (Although that may cost us Ferrus Mannus. But that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make!)
- Location
- Pee Pee Poo Poo
[X] Primaris Psyker Solomon Nahbiz
[X] Galen Helweir, Lord General Of the Solar Auxilia.
- Location
- Albania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Current votes!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Prime Hermeticon Archmagos Tech Priest Dominus Lecithe
[X] Primaris Psyker Solomon Nahbiz
[X] Galen Helweir, Lord General Of the Solar Auxilia.
[X] Primaris Psyker Solomon Nahbiz
To The Stars
- Location
- Albania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"We currently have just a hair over one hundred and sixty million men at arms, with one-hundred thousand Astartes as well. This is a greater force than can be scarcely imagined." Lord General Helweir speaks, his tone directing belief to great confidence and utter assuredness in action. The opened doorways of his mind speak differently, his fears at the logistical issues, the sheer gulf of space being covered, the processes of reinforcement.
His worries about the stability of his Astartes comrades, one of which is merely three rooms away, attending to his commanders and preparing them for duty, as well as having his own thoughts on the matter of leadership, are founded in some fact. The post-humans are growing to despise the leadership of those that are so very lesser to them.
"I provide the Legio Mu, an additional one million, five hundred thousand combatants, as well as onboard manufactoriums in my vessels to ease the stress of campaign." The machine woman speaks in a vox-staccato, the providence of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Her thoughts are more clouded, hidden behind firewalls of code and cogitator and encoded in a language not found in anything made primarily of flesh.
Light hisses of machinery echo from her as every small movement in the inhuman frame she commands make the floor groan. Their thoughts turn to you, affording you the moment to speak. Finally opening your eyes to observe the material with flesh rather than your soul, words come free. "A choir of Astropaths, a hair over one thousand combat-capable Sanctioned Psykers, exactly thirty Primaris Psykers and one hundred Navigators from House Van Grimm, of Terra."
Their minds speak to a lack of understanding of your terms, save of course for the Astropaths and Navigators. "I trust they are all…under control, Primaris Nahbiz?" The Lord General delicately asks, prodding at you for any worries whilst in his own mind remembering the terrors of techno-barbarians driven mad by their talents. "If they were not, Lord General, you would notice."
An acerbic reply to an ill-conceived question.
His mind hisses at the reply, but does not react rashly, Archmagos Lecithe indeed does not react. Dismissing your words as merely that whilst her mind races at speeds you cannot track, disconnecting from the thought speed of mere flesh.
The meeting and distribution of assets continue apace, and after it, all of you must go to your respective stations as you prepare to board, finally, and emerge into the greatest effort humanity has had in millenia. The Great Crusade, as it is known in whispered rumours amongst the careless citizenry.
You escape the room, to go commune with another of import. The hallways are traversed at a slow pace, taking the time to breathe in the thoughts of the complement as a whole, feeling the nervous energy, fanaticism, fear and a thousand other emotions from the gathered.
And of course, your true target. A guarded mind with significant walls that would be impenetrable to most others. Gliding through her maze and tapping into her mind as you near is not very difficult.
Sylvolme Van Grimm, your lead Navigator of some decade of experience in true interstellar travel, heading trading ships far and wide to systems in Segmentum Solar as it is known. She is currently lounging in a plush, luxurious seating with two men on leashes laying beneath her naked frame.
"Solomon!" She squeals as she sees you, smiling broadly, "Welcome! Please, have a drink and your choice of the servants." The wine, some ancient vine having survived the endless millennia of war on Terra, is intoxicating to even scent. A drunk Psyker, however, is ill-advised at the best of times.
"No, Navigator Van Grimm, I have come to ascertain your readiness. We leave within the day." You speak clearly, piercing the haze of drunkenness that you notice on her mind, having dismissed it as drowsiness in error beforehand. Her grin widens, "I'll be perfectly fine Solo-What is a good way to shorten your name?" She cuts herself off mid-thought, considering. "Perhaps Mon? That's not particularly flattering, though."
Rolling your eyes at the theatrics, you turn to walk away, only to freeze "Perhaps I'll call you Sol, like the star which bathes great Terra!" Her third eye gazing open, sending the servants turning away and shutting their eyes tight, is a pulse in the Beyond, sending currents skittering all around. "You are certainly radiant enough for it."
"Close your eye, Navigator, you are too lenient with your gift." You hiss, bringing shields to bear fully across your mind, "Nay, Sol, it is you who is in the wrong, through the vagaries of birth, you are truly capable in the ways of the Warp yet reject that inherent strength." She rises from the pile, her presence an open beacon in the Beyond.
"Enough." You enunciate clearly, gripping her eye and forcing it shut, she lets off noises of pain, stumbling back as you twist, gripping her tightly with your mind, "Know your place, Navigator, your houses are to be decadent and wealthy, given to great pleasures at the behest of our Emperor and his Imperium's need." Growling the last line, you suddenly tighten further, bruising her in places instantly, "But even that has limits, and the limits for mutants are much more strained than you seem to think."
Releasing her to the ground, she drops yet even through the light bleeding staining teeth, eyes shut with pain, she at least has the energy to submit, "Yes… Primaris Nahbiz." With that issue handled, you turn away, storming to the doorway and slamming it shut behind you.
Sighing deeply, you count in your mind to calm yourself. Finally, you can meet one more, hopefully, reasonable individual. The dark halls and flow of adepts pass, keeping a wide berth from your robed self through some inner instinct of self-preservation.
The small chamber, spartan in appearance, houses Legion Master Thrallas and his sub-commanders. Each man is a giant well above your height and thrice as wide. But, as their thoughts are pried open by your presence, it is not the comfortable superiority they enjoy over the mortals they regularly encounter, but rather worry, nerves and the all-to-human emotions they claim to be above.
"Legion Master Thrallas, I have come merely to ascertain your readiness." You ease him with your words, staring at the fine, noble features and gleaming clothing which showcases great wealth and exquisite taste. "We leave within the solar day." The monotone of your voice shakes him free of the last nerves, "Yes, Primaris Nahbiz, I have made my preparations and my Legion is now loading the last of the equipment onto our vessels." His voice is deep, roiling and rich with texture, a practised speaker that has only been improved by his gift.
"Perhaps, with luck, we will not have to spend overly long in the warp. My warriors are distasteful of such journeys." He affably speaks, doing everything correctly in terms of expression and tone even as his mind carefully manages itself, projecting his intent to be an ally and nothing much else, impressive.
"Perhaps, Legion Master. I shall be present when we launch, good day." With that, you once again leave the presence of an ally, seeking your own Black Ship some kilometre away. The thoughts behind you are those of mild confusion at your behaviour and worry that they may have offended you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ships launch free of their mountings on and around Terra. Burning to meet the Mechanicus complement which adds to its size. The admiral in charge of the fleet is not someone you've yet had the pleasure of meeting as he is in another vessel from yours.
However, in the time before warp jumps, Lord General Helweir sends a vox-cast, it is a request to meet and discuss training with your complement of men and his own. Additionally, Archmagos Lecithe has herself sent a message, this one in text, requesting that you find time to meet her, as she has questions as to the exact purpose of some designs she is being asked to make. She suggests clearing at least twelve hours, preferably thirty to discuss this fully.
Whilst already trying to schedule this into your calendar, another call comes from the Astra Telepathica, through your astropaths. They are re-iterating your goals of acquiring and handling the wild psykers found deep in the galaxy as well as investigating if you have space for another shipment of Wyrdvane's, as a graduating class has achieved enough skill to be sent away.
When you think you've received the last of your worries, another vox-cast from the Legion Master Thrallas, this one inquiring if you are open to conversation and perhaps a drink whilst you consider the role of Psykers within his legion in a tactical and strategic sense.
Looking at your schedule, with the regular checkups on your complement and the testing of integrity for the prisons in your bay holds, you cannot attend every one of them.
Focus Points-2
Pursuing any of the actions below costs a full focus point. Vote via plan.
[X] Lord General Helweir's Training Efforts.
[X] Archmagos Lecithe's Interrogation.
[X] Astra Telepathica Request.
[X] Legion Master Thrallas's Conversation.
His worries about the stability of his Astartes comrades, one of which is merely three rooms away, attending to his commanders and preparing them for duty, as well as having his own thoughts on the matter of leadership, are founded in some fact. The post-humans are growing to despise the leadership of those that are so very lesser to them.
"I provide the Legio Mu, an additional one million, five hundred thousand combatants, as well as onboard manufactoriums in my vessels to ease the stress of campaign." The machine woman speaks in a vox-staccato, the providence of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Her thoughts are more clouded, hidden behind firewalls of code and cogitator and encoded in a language not found in anything made primarily of flesh.
Light hisses of machinery echo from her as every small movement in the inhuman frame she commands make the floor groan. Their thoughts turn to you, affording you the moment to speak. Finally opening your eyes to observe the material with flesh rather than your soul, words come free. "A choir of Astropaths, a hair over one thousand combat-capable Sanctioned Psykers, exactly thirty Primaris Psykers and one hundred Navigators from House Van Grimm, of Terra."
Their minds speak to a lack of understanding of your terms, save of course for the Astropaths and Navigators. "I trust they are all…under control, Primaris Nahbiz?" The Lord General delicately asks, prodding at you for any worries whilst in his own mind remembering the terrors of techno-barbarians driven mad by their talents. "If they were not, Lord General, you would notice."
An acerbic reply to an ill-conceived question.
His mind hisses at the reply, but does not react rashly, Archmagos Lecithe indeed does not react. Dismissing your words as merely that whilst her mind races at speeds you cannot track, disconnecting from the thought speed of mere flesh.
The meeting and distribution of assets continue apace, and after it, all of you must go to your respective stations as you prepare to board, finally, and emerge into the greatest effort humanity has had in millenia. The Great Crusade, as it is known in whispered rumours amongst the careless citizenry.
You escape the room, to go commune with another of import. The hallways are traversed at a slow pace, taking the time to breathe in the thoughts of the complement as a whole, feeling the nervous energy, fanaticism, fear and a thousand other emotions from the gathered.
And of course, your true target. A guarded mind with significant walls that would be impenetrable to most others. Gliding through her maze and tapping into her mind as you near is not very difficult.
Sylvolme Van Grimm, your lead Navigator of some decade of experience in true interstellar travel, heading trading ships far and wide to systems in Segmentum Solar as it is known. She is currently lounging in a plush, luxurious seating with two men on leashes laying beneath her naked frame.
"Solomon!" She squeals as she sees you, smiling broadly, "Welcome! Please, have a drink and your choice of the servants." The wine, some ancient vine having survived the endless millennia of war on Terra, is intoxicating to even scent. A drunk Psyker, however, is ill-advised at the best of times.
"No, Navigator Van Grimm, I have come to ascertain your readiness. We leave within the day." You speak clearly, piercing the haze of drunkenness that you notice on her mind, having dismissed it as drowsiness in error beforehand. Her grin widens, "I'll be perfectly fine Solo-What is a good way to shorten your name?" She cuts herself off mid-thought, considering. "Perhaps Mon? That's not particularly flattering, though."
Rolling your eyes at the theatrics, you turn to walk away, only to freeze "Perhaps I'll call you Sol, like the star which bathes great Terra!" Her third eye gazing open, sending the servants turning away and shutting their eyes tight, is a pulse in the Beyond, sending currents skittering all around. "You are certainly radiant enough for it."
"Close your eye, Navigator, you are too lenient with your gift." You hiss, bringing shields to bear fully across your mind, "Nay, Sol, it is you who is in the wrong, through the vagaries of birth, you are truly capable in the ways of the Warp yet reject that inherent strength." She rises from the pile, her presence an open beacon in the Beyond.
"Enough." You enunciate clearly, gripping her eye and forcing it shut, she lets off noises of pain, stumbling back as you twist, gripping her tightly with your mind, "Know your place, Navigator, your houses are to be decadent and wealthy, given to great pleasures at the behest of our Emperor and his Imperium's need." Growling the last line, you suddenly tighten further, bruising her in places instantly, "But even that has limits, and the limits for mutants are much more strained than you seem to think."
Releasing her to the ground, she drops yet even through the light bleeding staining teeth, eyes shut with pain, she at least has the energy to submit, "Yes… Primaris Nahbiz." With that issue handled, you turn away, storming to the doorway and slamming it shut behind you.
Sighing deeply, you count in your mind to calm yourself. Finally, you can meet one more, hopefully, reasonable individual. The dark halls and flow of adepts pass, keeping a wide berth from your robed self through some inner instinct of self-preservation.
The small chamber, spartan in appearance, houses Legion Master Thrallas and his sub-commanders. Each man is a giant well above your height and thrice as wide. But, as their thoughts are pried open by your presence, it is not the comfortable superiority they enjoy over the mortals they regularly encounter, but rather worry, nerves and the all-to-human emotions they claim to be above.
"Legion Master Thrallas, I have come merely to ascertain your readiness." You ease him with your words, staring at the fine, noble features and gleaming clothing which showcases great wealth and exquisite taste. "We leave within the solar day." The monotone of your voice shakes him free of the last nerves, "Yes, Primaris Nahbiz, I have made my preparations and my Legion is now loading the last of the equipment onto our vessels." His voice is deep, roiling and rich with texture, a practised speaker that has only been improved by his gift.
"Perhaps, with luck, we will not have to spend overly long in the warp. My warriors are distasteful of such journeys." He affably speaks, doing everything correctly in terms of expression and tone even as his mind carefully manages itself, projecting his intent to be an ally and nothing much else, impressive.
"Perhaps, Legion Master. I shall be present when we launch, good day." With that, you once again leave the presence of an ally, seeking your own Black Ship some kilometre away. The thoughts behind you are those of mild confusion at your behaviour and worry that they may have offended you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ships launch free of their mountings on and around Terra. Burning to meet the Mechanicus complement which adds to its size. The admiral in charge of the fleet is not someone you've yet had the pleasure of meeting as he is in another vessel from yours.
However, in the time before warp jumps, Lord General Helweir sends a vox-cast, it is a request to meet and discuss training with your complement of men and his own. Additionally, Archmagos Lecithe has herself sent a message, this one in text, requesting that you find time to meet her, as she has questions as to the exact purpose of some designs she is being asked to make. She suggests clearing at least twelve hours, preferably thirty to discuss this fully.
Whilst already trying to schedule this into your calendar, another call comes from the Astra Telepathica, through your astropaths. They are re-iterating your goals of acquiring and handling the wild psykers found deep in the galaxy as well as investigating if you have space for another shipment of Wyrdvane's, as a graduating class has achieved enough skill to be sent away.
When you think you've received the last of your worries, another vox-cast from the Legion Master Thrallas, this one inquiring if you are open to conversation and perhaps a drink whilst you consider the role of Psykers within his legion in a tactical and strategic sense.
Looking at your schedule, with the regular checkups on your complement and the testing of integrity for the prisons in your bay holds, you cannot attend every one of them.
Focus Points-2
Pursuing any of the actions below costs a full focus point. Vote via plan.
[X] Lord General Helweir's Training Efforts.
[X] Archmagos Lecithe's Interrogation.
[X] Astra Telepathica Request.
[X] Legion Master Thrallas's Conversation.
Last edited:
[X] Legion Master Thrallas's Conversation.
[X] Astra Telepathica Request.
[X] Astra Telepathica Request.
Tabascoheath
Unkempt, Evil-eyed Charlatan, and Pseudo-Mystic
- Location
- Your Nearest Orbital Habitat
[X] Plan: Guns and Butter
-[X] Lord General Helweir's Training Efforts.
-[X] Archmagos Lecithe's Interrogation.
Training is good for soldiers, and a complaint mechanicum is good for bullets, let's get this show on the road baby.
-[X] Lord General Helweir's Training Efforts.
-[X] Archmagos Lecithe's Interrogation.
Training is good for soldiers, and a complaint mechanicum is good for bullets, let's get this show on the road baby.
- Location
- India
So Emperor's children? Can we change our Legion to something like Thousand Sons?