ARCANA (40K Perpetual Quest)
- Thread starter The Bird
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi Fantasy
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Plan: Building On The Foundation
Growth good.
Growth good.
- Location
- Romania
[X] Plan mechanical aspirations
[X] Tarrghus Inquisitorial Report: Digganob Phenomenon.
[X] Tarrghus Inquisitorial Report: Digganob Phenomenon.
- Location
- a place without enough snow
[X] Plan: Building On The Foundation
Inquisitorial Report 2: Digga Kultz of Tarrghus
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
Content Warning: Violence. Also, Inquisitorial Xenophobia and, especially towards the end, fascist nutbaggery.
Digganobz.
So, so many have considered them ludicrous jokes, and not the existential threat to the Imperium they are. And for a time, I agreed, believing that these crude, barbaric ork worshipping humans were little strategic threat to the wellbeing of the Imperium. After all, for all that they worshipped Orks, Digganobz would inevitably be crushed by the barbaric greenskins whenever they stopped serving any use: any true cooperation between humans and Orks, barring the latter enslaving the former to serve under them, is impossible.
Then I came to Tarrghus.
_______________________________________________________________________
The Emerald Order congregated in the stone chamber, illuminated by mushroom torches, over a hundred members in residence. Below them was a vast yet shallow pit, one hundred and eighty feet across, nothing less than an Arena. Clad in their bright green robes and featureless, slighly curved ivory masks, each engraved with the symbol of their order, derived from orkoid glyphs discovered and translated by their ancient founder, the cult filled the chamber with their chanting.
WAR
WAR
WAR
WAR
WAR
On one side of the Arena below them, a gate rose, a heavy thing of metal, brutally constructed not by human hands, and from the shadows emerged into the pitted arena the Champion of the Order, a colossal and hulking brute, not human, but something violent and alien, its tusked face split into a huge grin that belied its intense ferocity, body covered in hard leather armor and bits of scrap plating over green skin, and on its head rested a crown of gold and iron forged by one of its many, many admirers.
Their champion was an Ork. Raising his arms, the greenskin exulted in his adulation by his adoring following, his grateful, loving bandful of fanatics, raising his own voice as he hoot and hollered alongside the Order, which in turn invigorated the humans, who chanted higher and higher and louder and louder, less precision in their words.
Which resulted in the Ork himself increasing his enthusiasm, his cheerful roars devolving into a pleased sort of bellowing. It almost seemed like each group were competing, in their own way, to show their enthusiasm: when one grew louder, so did the other to match it, until the chamber was near deafening, a feedback cycle of bloodthirsty fervor.
A bell was rung, and the chamber fell silent.
At the edge of the pit, inches away from the edge, a stone podium rose, and before it stepped the cults human leader, clad in the same green robes as the rest of his kin, the only outward sign of his authority being his mask, dyed a bright green color, and his scepter, three feet long and constructed out of a black, metalic substance, and studded with a giant, fist sized emerald at the end.
"Friends. Compatriots. Associates. Lerwinger," He said, nodding in the direction of a particular cultist who gave a small wave. "Were I a member of the Ecclesiarchy," He said, contempt dripping from his voice on the last word. "I would start with a boring, not particularly relevant sermon. Were I the of Ecclesiarchy, I would likely pontificate on the value of virtue, and of the nature of damnation."
He leaned forward, spreading his arms out. "But none of us, including our generous champion for this week," He said, giving another nod, this time aimed at the Champion, who gave a gracious nod in turn, waiting patiently. "Want that. I know what you want. I know what you need," He said, raising his voice.
"You need to see some CARNAGE!" The Priest continued, voice loud and bombastic, pressing a button on the podium, causing the other gate in the arena to open. "In this corner, weighing in at five hundred pounds, our defending champion, GROLGOL SPLEENHAMMER!"
Once again the crowd cheered, exulting the Ork Gladiator, a few cultists even tossing below gifts: choppas and cuttas and jewelry and some even throwing solar thrones, useless to the flexing champion, currently showing off his muscles in a ritual the Ork had learned was sure to get the crowd exited, but appreciated none the less by the Ork, if only as a sign of his fans appreciation.
"And in the other corner..."
Out of the Gate of the Challenger was shoved, roughly, a woman, around seventy years of age, with white hair, clad in rags, face gaunt and sallow, but muscles still in excellent condition (after all, it wouldn't be a fair fight if they simply starved their contenders), snarling at the crowd and the champion, eyes crazed and feral. "Eleanyra Julyra, Sister of the Adeptas Sororitas, Order of the Bloody Shawl. Prioris of the Bloody Shawl even!" The priest said, raising his hands. "Confirmed kills of three hundred and forty of our green brethren!"
Boos echoed throughout the assembled cultist, and now items of a very different sort flew into the arena: largely random detritus, garbage, and, thankully, it was all dry: not a rotten frui-
Ah. Never mind. Eleandra wiped off the remains of the red, mushy thing that had landed on her, grimacing. "Now, in the sake of fairness," The priest above her boasted, "We will allow our challenger access to a weapon of their choice-"
"My power sword, you ACCURSED little-"
"A weapon of their choice we have access to," The priest corrected, hands on the podium. "Sadly, while most of your affects survived, your weapon did not."
"Sword," She demanded, and, almost instantly, a sword landed in the sand. "
"On my count, 3..."
Elandra grabbed the sword, her weapon.
"2..."
She got into a fighting stance.
"1...."
Brace.
"Let's get ready to RUMBLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!"
The two gladiators, the green, alien face, and the human, devout heel, charged each other. One way or the other, only one of them would walk away from this fight.
________________________________________________________
Digga Kultz on Tarrghus show a high degree of social development, having LONG since evolved from the brutal, crude imitators that the term comes from. They are no less insidious and brutal as any chaos cult. Worse, perhaps, because unlike other, more conventional heresies, there is little chance of physical signs of their corruption, and the most insidious of the Kults have mastered the ability to appear as normal, god-fearing Imperials right up until they reveal their true colors and rampage, sending out their Kult Berzekers and Champions out to butcher the innocent.
The only group as insidious in my experience, are Genestealer Cults, but even those can be rooted out before they reach the critical point should one know the signs and watch for their movements.
Indeed, the Digga Kultz, should they get off-world, could prove to be worse.
______________________________________________________________
Maek Stavros was in hell.
The Brave of Clan Sprigga fired his laslock at the intruders, who streamed out of their greater war-truck, swinging choppas and firing shootas as they streamed out of their behemoth vehicle, a massive engine and cab attached to a rectangular container with wheels bolted on, the impressive machine like a mobile battering ram.
Indeed, when the heavy and massive leviathan had slammed into the wooden barrier the Clan had erected, it had come undone like so much splinters, even managing to smash apart one of the tribe huts, reducing several in its path to red, bloody chunks on its hood and smeared like meaty jam beneath its myriad wheels.
At first, when it had finally pulled to a stop, the village had been silent, shocked at the carnage and destruction that had been wrought in less than a few seconds. Then, out of the truck, they had came, with their crude but effective weapons, hand-forged out of scrap, primitive melee weaponry that not even the tribe still used, and solid shot weapons that were as brutal as the invaders, clad in leather and scrap and even wood.
"WAAAAAAAGH!" The leader of the group said, roaring into the sky as, eschewing a weapon, it charged a brave unlucky enough to be holding their gun, slamming their skull into one of the metal posts that were erected throughout the village to use as torch-holders, causing the mans skull to cave, brain and bone spilling out and crunching onto the village ground. "KILL EM ALL!" They roared, grabbing a fleeing civilian and roughly ripping out their jaw.
The barbarians cheered, surging forward, a brutal, bloody tide, and Maek felt a dark fear in his heart.
Because while their accent was crude and familiar and orkish, these weren't orks. They had come under attack from the most brutal of brigands, the worst sort of heretics on the entire planet, ones who rejected the god emperor in His entirety. A Digga Waaghband.
__________________________________________________________________________
Their insane fanaticism doesn't merely make death in battle preferable, but MANDATORY. Inevitably, regardless of how well hidden they might be, eventually they will attempt to kill as many enemies in battle as possible, with no care towards their wellbeing. Some few will survive long enough to transform from mere kult to something altogether more terrifying, engines of carnage that rampage against the Imperium.
Waaghbands, they call themselves. An inspid name, but it belies the terror these beings invoke: they will not compromise. They will not negotiate. They will not falter, their faith in their xenos gods pushing them ever forward to enact the absurd parody of justice they mistakenly believe in, tearing apart all who oppose them.
And that is long before they ally themselves with any actual orks.
That is, I think, the most terrifying part. The most horrific, terrible aspect of these maddening, monstrous heretics is that they've done something no Digga klan in recorded history has managed to do, something that if it gets off-world could spell the doom of the Imperium and ultimate perversion of humanity.
The Digga Kultz have managed to learn how to coexist with the orks.
________________________________________________________________________
"Oi, Boltzman!"
The workshop, hidden deep in the jungle, was abuzz. Only a dozen workers toiled: there were more back at their secret hideaway, but the owners of the workshop had long since come to the conclusion that their odds of survival were increased if they decentralized themselves. The handful of workers, all humans in an assortment of protective gear, toiled, with wrenches and laser-sodders and auto-drills.
In the entrance was a greenskin, clad in heavy armor, not the mere ramshackle thing used by their kin, but precision crafted by hands that had stolen the knowledge of metallurgy and armorsmithing from the cult in red, taking the knowledge in the same way their grim patrons took what THEY wanted: through cunning brutality, and brutal cunning.
This armory served orks.
One of the workers stood up, waving, and the greenskin approached the table where the humie was working. "'Eard you got something flash," The greenskin growled, looking at the table. On it sat a gun, heavy and large.
"Yes, just finished it," The humies said, setting their laser sodder down, grinning a manic grin. "That convoy you raided had some interesting parts within: we might be able to fashion a plasma fence soon, keep the pests out. But of course, you don't care about that, you care about guns, and the haul was fantastic there!"
He picked up the hefty shoota, resembling a carbine of sorts, with a thick and solid metal stock, a large, brick-like butt, and short but powerful looking barrel, all constructed out of a gunmetal material. The Ork took the gun, and, turning it in his hands, looked it over, appreciating the craftsmanship. "Oh yeah, 'Dis, I like dis," He said, grinning. "Feels like...steel? Nah, too 'eavy. Definitely not scrap either," He said, rapping his knuckles on the side and listening to the satisfying clang.
"Adamantium, actually!" The cultist said, removing their goggles. "That last shipment your boys provided had a whole order of it: most of it went to making choppas," They admitted, shrugging, "But I managed to convince the 'Ead Mek," He said, borrowing the orkish term to refer to the workshops chief engineer, "To let me use some to make a shoota: I haven't tested it out yet, of course, but while it's a great deal more hefty than most shootas, it should be far, far more reliable and sturdy." He paused, musing. "You could probably just use it as a club, actually."
The ork let out a chuckle. "Oiz al'ready usin' my shoota as a klub!" The cultist laughed alongside the Ork, before the Ork slung the weapon alongside his back. "But I getz what ya mean: this, this is some flash loot." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Y'know, y'said you haven't tested it yet? Boss says there've been some weird stompy critterz around the camp, said 'ez gonna send some boyz out later to take it down, but I gotz a better idea!"
He leaned forward, his grin returning, wider than before. "So, 'eres what I'm thinkin': you go grab yer shootas, and me and you, we'z gonna go critter huntin': test dis thing out roight proppa! 'Ell, bring a kooler with some snaks, we'll make a day of it!"
"My friend, you had me at critter hunting!"
____________________________________________________________________
It's mindboggling, and had I not seen it occur with my own eyes, I would have thought such a thing impossible: orks and humans acting not as enemies, not as master and slave, but as PEERS. Such revolting behavior nearly drove me to void my stomach, and even thinking about it makes my skin crawl, but for the sake of ensuring that the direness of the situation is made clear, I must continue my report.
The cause for this phenomenon is...unknown. My current theory is that such a perversion of the natural order, humans inflicting holy genocide on the disgusting xeno abominations, is because of some malignancy in the brain, invisible to the naked eye like a traditional mutation would be, but still as severe and deranging. Perhaps caused by some unknown contaigion: while orkish diseases jumping to humanity is rare, it could be a viable cause. Whatever the origin, however, I theorize that this mutation somehow enables the afflicted to tap into the psychic gestalt of the greenskin menace, promoting them from "potential slaves" or "potential fights" in the greenskins eyes to something more.
I have attempted to perform dissections on the afflicted to find the cause, however, so far no real changes to the biology has been observed.
Those who read this, I know that perhaps you think that this isn't quite severe as it sounds: after all, it isn't as obvious or immediately grotesque as the malignancies inflicted by chaos. However, keep in mind that one of our greatest weapons against the xeno is its brutality and incapability to co-exist with mankind. If that rule is somehow removed, if all obstacles to peace are eradicated, what is to stop humanity from foolishly deciding to tolerate or ally with the xeno? What prevents those of weaker moral caliber from deciding that they don't need to genocide orks, but that they can join them?
It could spell doom for the entire Imperium: we've seen this with the Tau, when the possibility for cooperation arises those without sufficient moral character have, time and time again, decided to forsake the hatred of the alien. And if this happens with orks, far and by large the most common species of xeno in the galaxy, it would mean the end of the human order.
I have already decided to take action: a copy of this report will be sent to the Ordo Xenos, alongside a request for exterminatus of Tarrghus. God-Emperor willing, I will see that world burn and its heresies strangled in the cradle before it even has the potential to damage humanities unwavering hatred of the xeno.
_______________________________________________________
AN: Digganobz!
This was a fun one to write, because it allows me to explore one of the weirder parts of Tarrghus, that being its one of the few planets in the Imperium where the primary subversive cult is neither chaos or genestealers, but ork worshippers.
_________________________________________________________________
++THOUGHT OF THE DAY: DIPLOMACY IS THE PROVINCE OF THE WEAK++
If you are reading this document and do not have Authorization Level Black, please cease your activities, burn this document, then report to the nearest Arbites or agent of the Imperium and submit yourself to termination for the most grievous crimes of heresy, treason, and dangerous curiosity.
Continued perusal of this document will be met with a memetic kill agent and damnation of your immortal soul, and, as the information within is classified as Hereticus Majoris level threat to the stability of the Imperium and the trillions upon trillions of souls it protects, you will be classified as an enemy of mankind.
If you have Authorization Level Black (and proper memetic inoculation), please proceed with caution, as extensive testing has shown that this information has a deleterious effect on the human psyche and morale and can cause in weaker, less resolved minds heretical thoughts.
++THOUGHT OF THE DAY: DIPLOMACY IS THE PROVINCE OF THE WEAK++
If you are reading this document and do not have Authorization Level Black, please cease your activities, burn this document, then report to the nearest Arbites or agent of the Imperium and submit yourself to termination for the most grievous crimes of heresy, treason, and dangerous curiosity.
Continued perusal of this document will be met with a memetic kill agent and damnation of your immortal soul, and, as the information within is classified as Hereticus Majoris level threat to the stability of the Imperium and the trillions upon trillions of souls it protects, you will be classified as an enemy of mankind.
If you have Authorization Level Black (and proper memetic inoculation), please proceed with caution, as extensive testing has shown that this information has a deleterious effect on the human psyche and morale and can cause in weaker, less resolved minds heretical thoughts.
Digganobz.
So, so many have considered them ludicrous jokes, and not the existential threat to the Imperium they are. And for a time, I agreed, believing that these crude, barbaric ork worshipping humans were little strategic threat to the wellbeing of the Imperium. After all, for all that they worshipped Orks, Digganobz would inevitably be crushed by the barbaric greenskins whenever they stopped serving any use: any true cooperation between humans and Orks, barring the latter enslaving the former to serve under them, is impossible.
Then I came to Tarrghus.
_______________________________________________________________________
The Emerald Order congregated in the stone chamber, illuminated by mushroom torches, over a hundred members in residence. Below them was a vast yet shallow pit, one hundred and eighty feet across, nothing less than an Arena. Clad in their bright green robes and featureless, slighly curved ivory masks, each engraved with the symbol of their order, derived from orkoid glyphs discovered and translated by their ancient founder, the cult filled the chamber with their chanting.
WAR
WAR
WAR
WAR
WAR
On one side of the Arena below them, a gate rose, a heavy thing of metal, brutally constructed not by human hands, and from the shadows emerged into the pitted arena the Champion of the Order, a colossal and hulking brute, not human, but something violent and alien, its tusked face split into a huge grin that belied its intense ferocity, body covered in hard leather armor and bits of scrap plating over green skin, and on its head rested a crown of gold and iron forged by one of its many, many admirers.
Their champion was an Ork. Raising his arms, the greenskin exulted in his adulation by his adoring following, his grateful, loving bandful of fanatics, raising his own voice as he hoot and hollered alongside the Order, which in turn invigorated the humans, who chanted higher and higher and louder and louder, less precision in their words.
Which resulted in the Ork himself increasing his enthusiasm, his cheerful roars devolving into a pleased sort of bellowing. It almost seemed like each group were competing, in their own way, to show their enthusiasm: when one grew louder, so did the other to match it, until the chamber was near deafening, a feedback cycle of bloodthirsty fervor.
A bell was rung, and the chamber fell silent.
At the edge of the pit, inches away from the edge, a stone podium rose, and before it stepped the cults human leader, clad in the same green robes as the rest of his kin, the only outward sign of his authority being his mask, dyed a bright green color, and his scepter, three feet long and constructed out of a black, metalic substance, and studded with a giant, fist sized emerald at the end.
"Friends. Compatriots. Associates. Lerwinger," He said, nodding in the direction of a particular cultist who gave a small wave. "Were I a member of the Ecclesiarchy," He said, contempt dripping from his voice on the last word. "I would start with a boring, not particularly relevant sermon. Were I the of Ecclesiarchy, I would likely pontificate on the value of virtue, and of the nature of damnation."
He leaned forward, spreading his arms out. "But none of us, including our generous champion for this week," He said, giving another nod, this time aimed at the Champion, who gave a gracious nod in turn, waiting patiently. "Want that. I know what you want. I know what you need," He said, raising his voice.
"You need to see some CARNAGE!" The Priest continued, voice loud and bombastic, pressing a button on the podium, causing the other gate in the arena to open. "In this corner, weighing in at five hundred pounds, our defending champion, GROLGOL SPLEENHAMMER!"
Once again the crowd cheered, exulting the Ork Gladiator, a few cultists even tossing below gifts: choppas and cuttas and jewelry and some even throwing solar thrones, useless to the flexing champion, currently showing off his muscles in a ritual the Ork had learned was sure to get the crowd exited, but appreciated none the less by the Ork, if only as a sign of his fans appreciation.
"And in the other corner..."
Out of the Gate of the Challenger was shoved, roughly, a woman, around seventy years of age, with white hair, clad in rags, face gaunt and sallow, but muscles still in excellent condition (after all, it wouldn't be a fair fight if they simply starved their contenders), snarling at the crowd and the champion, eyes crazed and feral. "Eleanyra Julyra, Sister of the Adeptas Sororitas, Order of the Bloody Shawl. Prioris of the Bloody Shawl even!" The priest said, raising his hands. "Confirmed kills of three hundred and forty of our green brethren!"
Boos echoed throughout the assembled cultist, and now items of a very different sort flew into the arena: largely random detritus, garbage, and, thankully, it was all dry: not a rotten frui-
Ah. Never mind. Eleandra wiped off the remains of the red, mushy thing that had landed on her, grimacing. "Now, in the sake of fairness," The priest above her boasted, "We will allow our challenger access to a weapon of their choice-"
"My power sword, you ACCURSED little-"
"A weapon of their choice we have access to," The priest corrected, hands on the podium. "Sadly, while most of your affects survived, your weapon did not."
"Sword," She demanded, and, almost instantly, a sword landed in the sand. "
"On my count, 3..."
Elandra grabbed the sword, her weapon.
"2..."
She got into a fighting stance.
"1...."
Brace.
"Let's get ready to RUMBLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!"
The two gladiators, the green, alien face, and the human, devout heel, charged each other. One way or the other, only one of them would walk away from this fight.
________________________________________________________
Digga Kultz on Tarrghus show a high degree of social development, having LONG since evolved from the brutal, crude imitators that the term comes from. They are no less insidious and brutal as any chaos cult. Worse, perhaps, because unlike other, more conventional heresies, there is little chance of physical signs of their corruption, and the most insidious of the Kults have mastered the ability to appear as normal, god-fearing Imperials right up until they reveal their true colors and rampage, sending out their Kult Berzekers and Champions out to butcher the innocent.
The only group as insidious in my experience, are Genestealer Cults, but even those can be rooted out before they reach the critical point should one know the signs and watch for their movements.
Indeed, the Digga Kultz, should they get off-world, could prove to be worse.
______________________________________________________________
Maek Stavros was in hell.
The Brave of Clan Sprigga fired his laslock at the intruders, who streamed out of their greater war-truck, swinging choppas and firing shootas as they streamed out of their behemoth vehicle, a massive engine and cab attached to a rectangular container with wheels bolted on, the impressive machine like a mobile battering ram.
Indeed, when the heavy and massive leviathan had slammed into the wooden barrier the Clan had erected, it had come undone like so much splinters, even managing to smash apart one of the tribe huts, reducing several in its path to red, bloody chunks on its hood and smeared like meaty jam beneath its myriad wheels.
At first, when it had finally pulled to a stop, the village had been silent, shocked at the carnage and destruction that had been wrought in less than a few seconds. Then, out of the truck, they had came, with their crude but effective weapons, hand-forged out of scrap, primitive melee weaponry that not even the tribe still used, and solid shot weapons that were as brutal as the invaders, clad in leather and scrap and even wood.
"WAAAAAAAGH!" The leader of the group said, roaring into the sky as, eschewing a weapon, it charged a brave unlucky enough to be holding their gun, slamming their skull into one of the metal posts that were erected throughout the village to use as torch-holders, causing the mans skull to cave, brain and bone spilling out and crunching onto the village ground. "KILL EM ALL!" They roared, grabbing a fleeing civilian and roughly ripping out their jaw.
The barbarians cheered, surging forward, a brutal, bloody tide, and Maek felt a dark fear in his heart.
Because while their accent was crude and familiar and orkish, these weren't orks. They had come under attack from the most brutal of brigands, the worst sort of heretics on the entire planet, ones who rejected the god emperor in His entirety. A Digga Waaghband.
__________________________________________________________________________
Their insane fanaticism doesn't merely make death in battle preferable, but MANDATORY. Inevitably, regardless of how well hidden they might be, eventually they will attempt to kill as many enemies in battle as possible, with no care towards their wellbeing. Some few will survive long enough to transform from mere kult to something altogether more terrifying, engines of carnage that rampage against the Imperium.
Waaghbands, they call themselves. An inspid name, but it belies the terror these beings invoke: they will not compromise. They will not negotiate. They will not falter, their faith in their xenos gods pushing them ever forward to enact the absurd parody of justice they mistakenly believe in, tearing apart all who oppose them.
And that is long before they ally themselves with any actual orks.
That is, I think, the most terrifying part. The most horrific, terrible aspect of these maddening, monstrous heretics is that they've done something no Digga klan in recorded history has managed to do, something that if it gets off-world could spell the doom of the Imperium and ultimate perversion of humanity.
The Digga Kultz have managed to learn how to coexist with the orks.
________________________________________________________________________
"Oi, Boltzman!"
The workshop, hidden deep in the jungle, was abuzz. Only a dozen workers toiled: there were more back at their secret hideaway, but the owners of the workshop had long since come to the conclusion that their odds of survival were increased if they decentralized themselves. The handful of workers, all humans in an assortment of protective gear, toiled, with wrenches and laser-sodders and auto-drills.
In the entrance was a greenskin, clad in heavy armor, not the mere ramshackle thing used by their kin, but precision crafted by hands that had stolen the knowledge of metallurgy and armorsmithing from the cult in red, taking the knowledge in the same way their grim patrons took what THEY wanted: through cunning brutality, and brutal cunning.
This armory served orks.
One of the workers stood up, waving, and the greenskin approached the table where the humie was working. "'Eard you got something flash," The greenskin growled, looking at the table. On it sat a gun, heavy and large.
"Yes, just finished it," The humies said, setting their laser sodder down, grinning a manic grin. "That convoy you raided had some interesting parts within: we might be able to fashion a plasma fence soon, keep the pests out. But of course, you don't care about that, you care about guns, and the haul was fantastic there!"
He picked up the hefty shoota, resembling a carbine of sorts, with a thick and solid metal stock, a large, brick-like butt, and short but powerful looking barrel, all constructed out of a gunmetal material. The Ork took the gun, and, turning it in his hands, looked it over, appreciating the craftsmanship. "Oh yeah, 'Dis, I like dis," He said, grinning. "Feels like...steel? Nah, too 'eavy. Definitely not scrap either," He said, rapping his knuckles on the side and listening to the satisfying clang.
"Adamantium, actually!" The cultist said, removing their goggles. "That last shipment your boys provided had a whole order of it: most of it went to making choppas," They admitted, shrugging, "But I managed to convince the 'Ead Mek," He said, borrowing the orkish term to refer to the workshops chief engineer, "To let me use some to make a shoota: I haven't tested it out yet, of course, but while it's a great deal more hefty than most shootas, it should be far, far more reliable and sturdy." He paused, musing. "You could probably just use it as a club, actually."
The ork let out a chuckle. "Oiz al'ready usin' my shoota as a klub!" The cultist laughed alongside the Ork, before the Ork slung the weapon alongside his back. "But I getz what ya mean: this, this is some flash loot." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Y'know, y'said you haven't tested it yet? Boss says there've been some weird stompy critterz around the camp, said 'ez gonna send some boyz out later to take it down, but I gotz a better idea!"
He leaned forward, his grin returning, wider than before. "So, 'eres what I'm thinkin': you go grab yer shootas, and me and you, we'z gonna go critter huntin': test dis thing out roight proppa! 'Ell, bring a kooler with some snaks, we'll make a day of it!"
"My friend, you had me at critter hunting!"
____________________________________________________________________
It's mindboggling, and had I not seen it occur with my own eyes, I would have thought such a thing impossible: orks and humans acting not as enemies, not as master and slave, but as PEERS. Such revolting behavior nearly drove me to void my stomach, and even thinking about it makes my skin crawl, but for the sake of ensuring that the direness of the situation is made clear, I must continue my report.
The cause for this phenomenon is...unknown. My current theory is that such a perversion of the natural order, humans inflicting holy genocide on the disgusting xeno abominations, is because of some malignancy in the brain, invisible to the naked eye like a traditional mutation would be, but still as severe and deranging. Perhaps caused by some unknown contaigion: while orkish diseases jumping to humanity is rare, it could be a viable cause. Whatever the origin, however, I theorize that this mutation somehow enables the afflicted to tap into the psychic gestalt of the greenskin menace, promoting them from "potential slaves" or "potential fights" in the greenskins eyes to something more.
I have attempted to perform dissections on the afflicted to find the cause, however, so far no real changes to the biology has been observed.
Those who read this, I know that perhaps you think that this isn't quite severe as it sounds: after all, it isn't as obvious or immediately grotesque as the malignancies inflicted by chaos. However, keep in mind that one of our greatest weapons against the xeno is its brutality and incapability to co-exist with mankind. If that rule is somehow removed, if all obstacles to peace are eradicated, what is to stop humanity from foolishly deciding to tolerate or ally with the xeno? What prevents those of weaker moral caliber from deciding that they don't need to genocide orks, but that they can join them?
It could spell doom for the entire Imperium: we've seen this with the Tau, when the possibility for cooperation arises those without sufficient moral character have, time and time again, decided to forsake the hatred of the alien. And if this happens with orks, far and by large the most common species of xeno in the galaxy, it would mean the end of the human order.
I have already decided to take action: a copy of this report will be sent to the Ordo Xenos, alongside a request for exterminatus of Tarrghus. God-Emperor willing, I will see that world burn and its heresies strangled in the cradle before it even has the potential to damage humanities unwavering hatred of the xeno.
_______________________________________________________
AN: Digganobz!
This was a fun one to write, because it allows me to explore one of the weirder parts of Tarrghus, that being its one of the few planets in the Imperium where the primary subversive cult is neither chaos or genestealers, but ork worshippers.
always_confused
Perpetually unwanted
- Location
- SEA
Based and ork-pilled.
- Location
- US
...I kinda want Ulysses to join a Digga cult now.
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Are we gonna have the option to become some sort of pro-xeno counter to the other Arcana? Because that sounds fun as heck
- Location
- being near locations is my passion.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
I mean.
To be fair, Orks are really bad news, hop up human cultists on the Waaagh! and they get the chance to leapfrog a lot of the usual tech limitations and spool up to Very Scary Levels with greater speed.
In the long run, it's not actually changing things, because the humans get outcompeted by the Orks and eventually eaten, but it accelerates the rate of growth to escalate to nightmare fuel level by leapfrogging off of the human population to get started.
To be fair, Orks are really bad news, hop up human cultists on the Waaagh! and they get the chance to leapfrog a lot of the usual tech limitations and spool up to Very Scary Levels with greater speed.
In the long run, it's not actually changing things, because the humans get outcompeted by the Orks and eventually eaten, but it accelerates the rate of growth to escalate to nightmare fuel level by leapfrogging off of the human population to get started.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
Grab Orkplomacy and Theology (Diggas) and thats theoretically possible!
- Location
- being near locations is my passion.
The best kind of possible!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I see disaster already...and I am not even mad about it!
- Location
- Someplace Somewhere
I'm quite liking these Reports that you're writing. They are Very
In character for the setting.
[X] Plan: Building On The Foundation
-[X] Gunslinging (2 Pt)
-[X] Jack of All Trades I [Magician Trait] (3 Pt)
In character for the setting.
[X] Plan: Building On The Foundation
-[X] Gunslinging (2 Pt)
-[X] Jack of All Trades I [Magician Trait] (3 Pt)
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- Location
- Canada
[X] Plan: Building On The Foundation
-[X] Gunslinging (2 Pt)
-[X] Jack of All Trades I [Magician Trait] (3 Pt)
Gift
-[X] Gunslinging (2 Pt)
-[X] Jack of All Trades I [Magician Trait] (3 Pt)
Gift