Godwinson
"Well, I've got nothing."
*looks at your username*
You know, that's something I should have expected.
Deus Pater (Exalted/40k)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Crossover
You know, that's something I should have expected.
- Location
- London, England
Vote Called.
Meditate wins by a substantial margin.
Meditate wins by a substantial margin.
Chapter VII. To the Test
- Location
- London, England
Many trials await you, tests of mind and body and spirit, for you know better than to think for even a second that the Adepta Sororitas will show even the slightest degree of leniency here. They can not afford to, for allowing one with ambitions such as you out into the world without being absolutely sure of your pure intent would be a failure of duty in scope unimaginable. Even should you surpass their trials and prove yourself here there will be others in the future, and while threats to your body are dire indeed it is threats to the mind that you most truly fear.
The idea of being turned against yourself by the influence of another horrifies you on a level you find difficult to truly articulate.
It would behoove you, then, to be certain of your place in this world and free of any lingering doubts before you walk into the interrogation chamber, and with that thought in mind you move over to the small meditation cell on the far side of the room. The facility is spartan, for it is the way of the Sororitas to permit nothing to come between them and their faith, and while it has been many years since you last spent time in a cell such as this the sight of such humility does bring a nostalgic smile to the face. You remember when you were a novice, struggling to reconcile your faith and your teachings with what you knew in your heart to be true. Perhaps you would benefit from seeking out such strong foundations once again.
Sinking to your knees, you fold your hands neatly in your lap and bow your head, shutting out all thought and feeling of the outside world. The bare stone wall before you is irrelevant, the chill of the air upon your skin holds no meaning, the myriad whirling thoughts and worries that have plagued you all day are nothing more than a distraction. What matters is your soul, and your faith.
Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of Mankind.
Common words, easy words, words carried on the lips and in the hearts of uncounted billions across the length of the galaxy, but no less true for all of that. The Emperor is salvation, this you believe with a fervour to put shame to that of any ranting demagogue. Though the galaxy hates you and all the fates conspire to suppress and control you, though mankind is but a prisoner in a jail the size of the cosmos, the Emperor offers you salvation. It was he who blazed the path that will lead your people to liberation, and for that alone you would owe him reverence until the end of days.
Of course, things have changed somewhat of late, and now you carry that offer of salvation in a much more direct fashion than ever before. Does that make you, in some way, a source of salvation yourself? Or merely an instrument in the hands of a higher power? There is no immediate answer to be found, for while you do not feel like a man being guided every step of the way, to imagine that you can dispense salvation in person is hubris of the sort that has seen the universe bleed a billion times before.
Obey His words, for He shall lead you into the light of the future.
A somewhat trickier command, to be sure. On the surface merely a continuation of the opening line of the catechism, but a Cardinal must know better than others that the Word of the Emperor is a fluid thing, only rarely set in stone. Ten thousand years of history, of prophets and visions and charlatans claiming to be saints, of doctrinal disputes and outright wars of faith… you have seen too much of what the Ecclesiarchy does to truly believe that any mortal institution holds the true and complete word of the Emperor in their possession.
This, then, leaves you once again with your own blessing to reflect upon. There was great meaning to the words that the Emperor chose to share with you, but you doubt you will ever fully know what speaking them meant to the man who is a god. You can only know what they appeared to be from your perspective; a question, a confirmation veiled in warning, and a command.
Prove it.
You intend to.
Heed His Wisdom, for He will protect you from evil.
A phrase often taken to mean that no one who holds the wisdom of the Emperor in their hearts can ever commit an evil deed, but you have first hand experience that this is not so. The Inquisitor believed himself to be a righteous man, believed with all his heart that the wisdom of the Emperor demanded that he burn your flock alive on the steps of the cathedral. It would be easy to dismiss such a thought with the assurance that he was clearly mistaken, but if a man can believe with all his heart and find no clue as to the truth of what he puts his faith in then you cannot assume that your own certainty is any less fallible.
No, better to take the statement in a much more literal fashion. There is evil in the world, malicious cruelty and a lust for wickedness that takes far more concrete form than any mere platitude about the darkness in man's heart. It is the daemons of the warp and all their foul kind that the Emperor's wisdom shall preserve you against, and it is in defiance of such beings that the greatest virtue can be found.
Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul.
Your soul… up until now you simply took it on faith that you possessed such a thing, for what else would the foul creatures of the warp desire so strongly? That you possessed an immortal essence was a certainty given the facts available and the learning passed down from previous generations, but never before were you able to feel it. Yet now that you think to focus your mind in such a way…
Your soul burns with light.
Light, or fire, or passion or belief or a thousand other things besides, for though you can feel it within you lack the words to truly express what it is you feel. Wielding the power that the Emperor granted you has always put you in mind of flame beneath the skin, of a transformative energy drawn from without and channeled through your mind and body to achieve some notable goal, but… no, that is not right. You can feel the power, slumbering at the very core of your being, and it is no foreign thing.
It is you, and can be no other.
Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice.
Folly. Monstrous, arrogant folly to ever believe that such a thing could truly be so. You have been blessed by the Emperor in person, but to think that you speak anything but your own words seems almost laughable. Confronted with the true nature of the power on which you draw you can deny this truth no longer, and there and then you make private vow; never shall you presume to confuse your beliefs with those of Him on Earth, for you are you and to compromise that even in the name of piety would be a blunder of catastrophic size.
You are you. You will not permit it to be otherwise.
Tremble before His majesty, for we all walk in His immortal shadow.
The door to your cell slides open. You do not know how long it has been, and nor do you care. You rise, and look upon the hidden faces of those who would judge you for what you are.
"Cardinal Ignatius. It is time."
"I am ready."
-/-
There are eight walls to the chamber, and on each is displayed a holy icon and a thousand lines of sacred scripture, chiseled into the stone by the adoring hands of the pious. Four braziers of smouldering coals provide some semblance of illumination, while censers fill the air with cloying clouds of incense. The smoke hangs thick upon the air, hiding the corners of the room from view and filling your vision with fleeting half-real shapes.
You kneel in the centre of the room, bound hand and foot by chains of blessed adamant, equal in quality to that which armours the prow of the Navy's warships. The chains connect to the bars of a wide grate that dominates the floor under your knees, and from the pit below you can hear the gentle hiss of caustic fluid. You are naked, your clothing stripped away that it might not hide the imperfections of your flesh from the probing gaze of your assessors, and slender tubes of clear plastic pump multi-hued fluids directly into your veins.
A door opens somewhere out of sight, a faint scraping noise in the darkness, and out of the shadows step slender forms garbed in flowing robes. Their faces are hidden from view beneath heavy hoods, but there is no mistaking the oaths of purity sewn into their robes of the brands of devotion upon their spindly hands. The Sororitas must be anxious indeed, to call upon such expertise in what will likely be your final trial, and you have no doubt that there are Battle Sisters of the Order watching with weapons primed for any sign of treachery or corruption.
The Witch is not lightly trusted, after all, least of all by the faithful.
"Cardinal Ignatius," a voice says, the source hidden somewhere out of view behind your kneeling form, "you stand accused of heresy, of witchcraft and of sedition against the Imperium of Man. How do you plead."
"Innocent of all charges," you say firmly, and even though the drugs that fill your system cloud your mind with straight fog your words are bright and clear, "I am a servant of the Emperor, blessed by His Light, and those feats I perform are done with the tools that He has granted me."
There is a weight against your skin, then, as something cold and heavy is brought to rest against your spine. The barrel of a gun, no doubt, and not a bolt rifle either. A melta weapon, perhaps? The consequences of using one in such restricted confines could be dire, and yet…
"You are aware of the consequences for making such claims in deceit?" The voice asks again, cold and hard as the mountain peaks, "You would not be the first to try and fool the Sororitas with forged proof of divine favour."
"My words and heart are true," you reply, feeling the strangest urge to smile at the sheer morbid absurdity of your position, "put me to the test, Sister, and see the proof with your own eyes."
There is a long pause, filled only by the rasping breath of the assembled psykers.
"Do not resist."
You blink, caught momentarily off guard, and before you can muster the wit or will to respond the thoughts of another slide beneath your own with the precision of a frozen scalpel. They are joined by those of another a second later, then another and another and another.
They peel you apart. All that you are, all that you were, all that you ever have been is flensed apart and held up before the critical eyes of those who violate your being with their every breath. Words are spoken, questions asked, and your answers are of less importance than the roads your thoughts move down in response to each inquiry. You watch your own memories played out like a reel of film, the sum total of your life to date teased apart and put on display, and then beneath even that…
The thoughts of another.
There, buried deep, at the very centre of your mind and soul, lurk the tattered remnants of memories not your own. They cling to your soul like strings of carrion, wound around and through that glowing core until the two are one and the same, and before the prying fingers of the witch the truths that they contain are brought slowly to the light.
You see…
The idea of being turned against yourself by the influence of another horrifies you on a level you find difficult to truly articulate.
It would behoove you, then, to be certain of your place in this world and free of any lingering doubts before you walk into the interrogation chamber, and with that thought in mind you move over to the small meditation cell on the far side of the room. The facility is spartan, for it is the way of the Sororitas to permit nothing to come between them and their faith, and while it has been many years since you last spent time in a cell such as this the sight of such humility does bring a nostalgic smile to the face. You remember when you were a novice, struggling to reconcile your faith and your teachings with what you knew in your heart to be true. Perhaps you would benefit from seeking out such strong foundations once again.
Sinking to your knees, you fold your hands neatly in your lap and bow your head, shutting out all thought and feeling of the outside world. The bare stone wall before you is irrelevant, the chill of the air upon your skin holds no meaning, the myriad whirling thoughts and worries that have plagued you all day are nothing more than a distraction. What matters is your soul, and your faith.
Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of Mankind.
Common words, easy words, words carried on the lips and in the hearts of uncounted billions across the length of the galaxy, but no less true for all of that. The Emperor is salvation, this you believe with a fervour to put shame to that of any ranting demagogue. Though the galaxy hates you and all the fates conspire to suppress and control you, though mankind is but a prisoner in a jail the size of the cosmos, the Emperor offers you salvation. It was he who blazed the path that will lead your people to liberation, and for that alone you would owe him reverence until the end of days.
Of course, things have changed somewhat of late, and now you carry that offer of salvation in a much more direct fashion than ever before. Does that make you, in some way, a source of salvation yourself? Or merely an instrument in the hands of a higher power? There is no immediate answer to be found, for while you do not feel like a man being guided every step of the way, to imagine that you can dispense salvation in person is hubris of the sort that has seen the universe bleed a billion times before.
Obey His words, for He shall lead you into the light of the future.
A somewhat trickier command, to be sure. On the surface merely a continuation of the opening line of the catechism, but a Cardinal must know better than others that the Word of the Emperor is a fluid thing, only rarely set in stone. Ten thousand years of history, of prophets and visions and charlatans claiming to be saints, of doctrinal disputes and outright wars of faith… you have seen too much of what the Ecclesiarchy does to truly believe that any mortal institution holds the true and complete word of the Emperor in their possession.
This, then, leaves you once again with your own blessing to reflect upon. There was great meaning to the words that the Emperor chose to share with you, but you doubt you will ever fully know what speaking them meant to the man who is a god. You can only know what they appeared to be from your perspective; a question, a confirmation veiled in warning, and a command.
Prove it.
You intend to.
Heed His Wisdom, for He will protect you from evil.
A phrase often taken to mean that no one who holds the wisdom of the Emperor in their hearts can ever commit an evil deed, but you have first hand experience that this is not so. The Inquisitor believed himself to be a righteous man, believed with all his heart that the wisdom of the Emperor demanded that he burn your flock alive on the steps of the cathedral. It would be easy to dismiss such a thought with the assurance that he was clearly mistaken, but if a man can believe with all his heart and find no clue as to the truth of what he puts his faith in then you cannot assume that your own certainty is any less fallible.
No, better to take the statement in a much more literal fashion. There is evil in the world, malicious cruelty and a lust for wickedness that takes far more concrete form than any mere platitude about the darkness in man's heart. It is the daemons of the warp and all their foul kind that the Emperor's wisdom shall preserve you against, and it is in defiance of such beings that the greatest virtue can be found.
Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul.
Your soul… up until now you simply took it on faith that you possessed such a thing, for what else would the foul creatures of the warp desire so strongly? That you possessed an immortal essence was a certainty given the facts available and the learning passed down from previous generations, but never before were you able to feel it. Yet now that you think to focus your mind in such a way…
Your soul burns with light.
Light, or fire, or passion or belief or a thousand other things besides, for though you can feel it within you lack the words to truly express what it is you feel. Wielding the power that the Emperor granted you has always put you in mind of flame beneath the skin, of a transformative energy drawn from without and channeled through your mind and body to achieve some notable goal, but… no, that is not right. You can feel the power, slumbering at the very core of your being, and it is no foreign thing.
It is you, and can be no other.
Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice.
Folly. Monstrous, arrogant folly to ever believe that such a thing could truly be so. You have been blessed by the Emperor in person, but to think that you speak anything but your own words seems almost laughable. Confronted with the true nature of the power on which you draw you can deny this truth no longer, and there and then you make private vow; never shall you presume to confuse your beliefs with those of Him on Earth, for you are you and to compromise that even in the name of piety would be a blunder of catastrophic size.
You are you. You will not permit it to be otherwise.
Tremble before His majesty, for we all walk in His immortal shadow.
The door to your cell slides open. You do not know how long it has been, and nor do you care. You rise, and look upon the hidden faces of those who would judge you for what you are.
"Cardinal Ignatius. It is time."
"I am ready."
Exposure to the power of the warp can bring addiction, hallucination and the most terrible of mutation. Ignatius is now automatically aware of such danger, be it through direct exposure or via the medium of psychic energy, and is passively immune to any such influence.
Note that at the current level, this immunity extends only to indirect efforts to warp both body and mind. Ignatius could walk the surface of a daemon world without corruption and converse with the inhuman lords of that place without losing his mind, but he bears no special immunity to being torn limb from limb by a thousand raging daemons or melted down to sludge by a sorcerous curse.
Note that at the current level, this immunity extends only to indirect efforts to warp both body and mind. Ignatius could walk the surface of a daemon world without corruption and converse with the inhuman lords of that place without losing his mind, but he bears no special immunity to being torn limb from limb by a thousand raging daemons or melted down to sludge by a sorcerous curse.
-/-
There are eight walls to the chamber, and on each is displayed a holy icon and a thousand lines of sacred scripture, chiseled into the stone by the adoring hands of the pious. Four braziers of smouldering coals provide some semblance of illumination, while censers fill the air with cloying clouds of incense. The smoke hangs thick upon the air, hiding the corners of the room from view and filling your vision with fleeting half-real shapes.
You kneel in the centre of the room, bound hand and foot by chains of blessed adamant, equal in quality to that which armours the prow of the Navy's warships. The chains connect to the bars of a wide grate that dominates the floor under your knees, and from the pit below you can hear the gentle hiss of caustic fluid. You are naked, your clothing stripped away that it might not hide the imperfections of your flesh from the probing gaze of your assessors, and slender tubes of clear plastic pump multi-hued fluids directly into your veins.
A door opens somewhere out of sight, a faint scraping noise in the darkness, and out of the shadows step slender forms garbed in flowing robes. Their faces are hidden from view beneath heavy hoods, but there is no mistaking the oaths of purity sewn into their robes of the brands of devotion upon their spindly hands. The Sororitas must be anxious indeed, to call upon such expertise in what will likely be your final trial, and you have no doubt that there are Battle Sisters of the Order watching with weapons primed for any sign of treachery or corruption.
The Witch is not lightly trusted, after all, least of all by the faithful.
"Cardinal Ignatius," a voice says, the source hidden somewhere out of view behind your kneeling form, "you stand accused of heresy, of witchcraft and of sedition against the Imperium of Man. How do you plead."
"Innocent of all charges," you say firmly, and even though the drugs that fill your system cloud your mind with straight fog your words are bright and clear, "I am a servant of the Emperor, blessed by His Light, and those feats I perform are done with the tools that He has granted me."
There is a weight against your skin, then, as something cold and heavy is brought to rest against your spine. The barrel of a gun, no doubt, and not a bolt rifle either. A melta weapon, perhaps? The consequences of using one in such restricted confines could be dire, and yet…
"You are aware of the consequences for making such claims in deceit?" The voice asks again, cold and hard as the mountain peaks, "You would not be the first to try and fool the Sororitas with forged proof of divine favour."
"My words and heart are true," you reply, feeling the strangest urge to smile at the sheer morbid absurdity of your position, "put me to the test, Sister, and see the proof with your own eyes."
There is a long pause, filled only by the rasping breath of the assembled psykers.
"Do not resist."
You blink, caught momentarily off guard, and before you can muster the wit or will to respond the thoughts of another slide beneath your own with the precision of a frozen scalpel. They are joined by those of another a second later, then another and another and another.
They peel you apart. All that you are, all that you were, all that you ever have been is flensed apart and held up before the critical eyes of those who violate your being with their every breath. Words are spoken, questions asked, and your answers are of less importance than the roads your thoughts move down in response to each inquiry. You watch your own memories played out like a reel of film, the sum total of your life to date teased apart and put on display, and then beneath even that…
The thoughts of another.
There, buried deep, at the very centre of your mind and soul, lurk the tattered remnants of memories not your own. They cling to your soul like strings of carrion, wound around and through that glowing core until the two are one and the same, and before the prying fingers of the witch the truths that they contain are brought slowly to the light.
You see…
Article: The Emperor empowered you with a fragment of his own soul, and with that most precious of gifts came part of who and what he was. What do these memories concern?
[ ] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
[ ] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
[ ] Wrath - You remember the fury of a god and the faces of those who drove him to such extremes. You remember what he did to those who enraged him so, and the scars his fury left on the world.
Be aware that this choice will have consequences beyond the immediate scene.
- Location
- va
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
Higure
Witch of Faith
- Location
- The Golden Land
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
Let us know his failures, that we might right them in some measure.
Let us know his failures, that we might right them in some measure.
- Location
- Germany
They have psykers? Or are technological mindreaders a thing?
Interesting choice anyway, wie clearly have to improve our mental defences further if mere mortals can yet pierce them so easily.
[X] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
I hope we don't try for humility, it is deeply umbecoming for a Solar, destined to die in glory or live to surpass even the gods in time.
Interesting choice anyway, wie clearly have to improve our mental defences further if mere mortals can yet pierce them so easily.
[X] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
I hope we don't try for humility, it is deeply umbecoming for a Solar, destined to die in glory or live to surpass even the gods in time.
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7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
[x] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
[x] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
Nix's Warden
Welcome to Hades
- Location
- United States
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
The imperium needs to be healed. It does not need a Leader wrapped in the wrath of a god, enraged by the treachery and injury he has suffered at the hands of his children, driven by immortal and divine rage. It does not need a towering beacon of Pride, for Pride is most deadly of sins, and the easiest to use in justification for fell deeds.
The imperium needs to be healed. It does not need a Leader wrapped in the wrath of a god, enraged by the treachery and injury he has suffered at the hands of his children, driven by immortal and divine rage. It does not need a towering beacon of Pride, for Pride is most deadly of sins, and the easiest to use in justification for fell deeds.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
- Location
- United States of America
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Wrath - You remember the fury of a god and the faces of those who drove him to such extremes. You remember what he did to those who enraged him so, and the scars his fury left on the world.
The Emperor was a powerful man.
Incredibly so. At his command, fleets would turn worlds into ashes, and a thousand billion warriors would march in line with a step like drums. At his merest thought, suns could be extinguished or time could be ground into a halt.
And yet, he failed, did he not?
He could not connect to his many sons - and grief he did feel, yes - despite holding the power of God at his fingertips. How must that feel, to be nigh-omnipotent, to wrestle with Dark Gods in a world of dreams and in the next instant be denied companionship with those who are closest to you? How must it feel to see your favoured son tear down all that you love and all that you built, knowing that those who went with him all did so because they took issue with you. You'd feel grief, you'd feel sorrow.
You'd feel anger.
How can the universe dare to be such a place? How could they force your hand? Don't they understand? You are angry at them, your sons and your former servants, you are angry at the universe, at everyone for not figuring it out.
And most of all, you are angry at yourself.
The Emperor was a powerful man.
Incredibly so. At his command, fleets would turn worlds into ashes, and a thousand billion warriors would march in line with a step like drums. At his merest thought, suns could be extinguished or time could be ground into a halt.
And yet, he failed, did he not?
He could not connect to his many sons - and grief he did feel, yes - despite holding the power of God at his fingertips. How must that feel, to be nigh-omnipotent, to wrestle with Dark Gods in a world of dreams and in the next instant be denied companionship with those who are closest to you? How must it feel to see your favoured son tear down all that you love and all that you built, knowing that those who went with him all did so because they took issue with you. You'd feel grief, you'd feel sorrow.
You'd feel anger.
How can the universe dare to be such a place? How could they force your hand? Don't they understand? You are angry at them, your sons and your former servants, you are angry at the universe, at everyone for not figuring it out.
And most of all, you are angry at yourself.
- Location
- Germany
All our deeds are inherently justified, for they were chosen by us.
- Location
- Canada
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
Grief such to make Saints weep, Astartes bow their heads, and the Gods of Chaos themselves pause.
Grief such to make Saints weep, Astartes bow their heads, and the Gods of Chaos themselves pause.
- Location
- United states of america
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
- Location
- his hidden lair
This is a galaxy that has seen too much of wrath, and is still yet blinded by hubris and pride. But grief? To see all that has been lost is the first step in reclaiming it.
Let us learn of such towering, monumental regrets that we learn to move forward without them.
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
That and I'm morbidly curious how badly this will fuck up the Psykers diving into our minds.
Let us learn of such towering, monumental regrets that we learn to move forward without them.
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
That and I'm morbidly curious how badly this will fuck up the Psykers diving into our minds.
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
Because being humble is important.
Even with his vow, a specific handful of Emperor's views can form a false image.
Because being humble is important.
Anger and pride would only bring him closer to folly.
Even with his vow, a specific handful of Emperor's views can form a false image.
- Location
- Actually pretty lost
Grief is likely to lead to looking at what's wrong with the Imperium, and trying to fix/remove it. Tear out the corruption and billions of little wrongs.
Pride is similarly inward-looking, seeing what is right about the Imperium and trying to bring it to the forefront, leaving what is wrong behind.
They're ultimately both looking to change the Imperium for the better, with different focuses.
Wrath is probably looking at the enemies of the Imperium - be they xenos or traitor - and striking them down. It's probably not what we want.
[X] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
Ultimately whilst there's a lot wrong with the Imperium, I think Pride in what humanity has achieved and is capable of is likely to be the most helpful in the long run. Take what is good and spread it to what is not, rather than tearing out the bad directly. I think it'll actually be the softest touch.
And for all of the faults of the Imperium in the 40K setting, the driving core of the Emperor is his belief in humanity, to overcome what trials it faces.
Pride is similarly inward-looking, seeing what is right about the Imperium and trying to bring it to the forefront, leaving what is wrong behind.
They're ultimately both looking to change the Imperium for the better, with different focuses.
Wrath is probably looking at the enemies of the Imperium - be they xenos or traitor - and striking them down. It's probably not what we want.
[X] Pride - You remember the Emperor's greatest triumphs, the deeds that pleased him most. Some were his own, some were performed by others, all hold a special place in his heart.
Ultimately whilst there's a lot wrong with the Imperium, I think Pride in what humanity has achieved and is capable of is likely to be the most helpful in the long run. Take what is good and spread it to what is not, rather than tearing out the bad directly. I think it'll actually be the softest touch.
And for all of the faults of the Imperium in the 40K setting, the driving core of the Emperor is his belief in humanity, to overcome what trials it faces.
- Location
- Germany
[X] Grief - You remember all that the Emperor most regretted, his greatest sorrows and self-perceived failures. The grief of an immortal is a terrible thing indeed, and oh, there is so much...
