Echoes of Creation (30k/Exalted)

Yzarc · Jun 24, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

The air around the Wound shimmered with an eerie stillness, a stark contrast to the temporal flux and chaotic energies that once plagued the area. The Wound, no longer a Warp Rift, now served as a stable gate to the underworld, its chaotic aspects transformed into deathly ones. The oppressive, nauseating aura had been replaced by a heavy, solemn atmosphere, like the weight of ancient sorrow pressing down upon your shoulders.

You, Lorgar, Thalassa, and Dharok stood at the edge of this transformed landscape, the remnants of its previous malevolence still whispering faintly in your minds. The sky above was overcast, with dark clouds swirling ominously, casting long shadows over the terrain. The ground was a mix of cracked earth and patches of dark, almost black, vegetation, as if life itself had been tainted by the proximity to the underworld.

"It's been five days since we last saw the Mask," you said, your voice barely a murmur in the thick, oppressive air. "We have two days left in which his agents cannot attack us unless we strike first. We must make the most of this time."

Lorgar nodded, his expression determined. "We need to proceed carefully. The transformation of the Wound has undoubtedly changed the nature of the dangers we face within."

Thalassa, her newly reborn form glowing faintly with an inner light, added, "We must be vigilant. The gate to the underworld may hold secrets and threats we cannot anticipate."

Dharok, his eyes scanning the horizon, spoke up. "Then let us not delay. The sooner we enter, the sooner we can uncover what lies within and find our way through this transformed landscape."

The entrance to the Wound loomed before you, an archway of twisted, dark stone inscribed with ancient runes that glowed with a cold, blue light. As you stepped closer, the temperature seemed to drop, and a chill breeze whispered through the archway, carrying faint echoes of voices long dead.

Ahead of you, three distinct paths branched off from the entrance, each leading deeper into the transformed Wound.

"We must choose our path wisely," you said, looking at your companions. "Each path will have its own challenges and advantages."

To the left lay the Path of the Forgotten Ancestors. This path was lined with ancient, crumbling statues of long-forgotten warriors and kings. The air was thick with the presence of spirits, their forms flickering in and out of view. This path promised knowledge and potential allies in the form of ancestral spirits, but also the risk of powerful entities bound to the underworld.

To the right, the Path of the Shattered Memories stretched out before you, a desolate landscape with fragmented memories manifesting as ghostly visions that floated and danced in the air. The ground was littered with shards of broken dreams and ambitions, each step crunching underfoot. This path offered insights into the past and the possibility of finding lost relics, but it was fraught with the danger of becoming lost in the overwhelming flood of memories.

Straight ahead was the Path of the Silent Graves. This path led through a graveyard of ancient tombs and mausoleums, the final resting places of forgotten heroes and villains alike. The silence was deafening, and the air was heavy with the scent of decay. This path promised treasures buried with the dead and potential shortcuts through the underworld, but also the threat of awakening ancient curses and undead guardians.

You turned to your companions, each of them eyeing the paths with their own thoughts and considerations.

"Lorgar, Thalassa, Dharok," you said, "we must choose our path."

Lorgar glanced at the Path of the Forgotten Ancestors, his brow furrowed in thought. "The knowledge and potential allies we could gain from the spirits of the ancestors are valuable. They might guide us, offer wisdom we lack, and perhaps even fight alongside us. But dealing with powerful spirits is not without its risks. They may have their own agendas or be bound by ancient oaths that could work against us."

Thalassa, her eyes glowing softly, considered the Path of the Shattered Memories. "Relics and insights from the past could be crucial. The relics might hold power or secrets that could aid us greatly. However, the threat to our sanity is real. Fragmented visions could overwhelm us, make us lose our sense of self, or lead us astray. We must be cautious if we choose this path, for the mind is a fragile thing."

Dharok, his gaze fixed on the Path of the Silent Graves, spoke with a note of reverence. "The graves of ancient heroes and villains... There lies power, buried and forgotten. Treasures that could turn the tide in our favor, shortcuts that might save us time. But curses and undead guardians are formidable foes. Disturbing the dead has always carried dire consequences. We must be prepared to face the wrath of those who lie in eternal rest."

You listened to their considerations, each argument weighing heavily in your mind. "The Forgotten Ancestors offer guidance but come with the risk of dealing with unpredictable spirits. The Shattered Memories promise relics but threaten our sanity. The Silent Graves hold treasures but awaken curses and the dead."

Lorgar nodded, his face set in determination. "If we take the Path of the Forgotten Ancestors, we must be ready to negotiate, to appease, and to fight spirits if necessary. Their aid could be invaluable, but we cannot trust them blindly."

Thalassa added, "The Shattered Memories require mental fortitude. We must be prepared to face the past, to sift through the visions without losing ourselves. The relics could provide us with the edge we need, but we cannot afford to become lost in the memories."

Dharok, ever the practical warrior, concluded, "The Silent Graves demand respect for the dead. We must tread carefully, honoring the tombs while seeking their treasures. The undead are relentless, but the rewards could be worth the risk if we proceed with caution."

You stood in silence, the weight of the decision pressing upon you. Each path held its own promise and peril, each choice a step into the unknown. The air grew colder, the whispers of the transformed Wound seeming to urge you onward, yet no clear answer emerged.

Lorgar broke the silence. "We need to consider our strengths and weaknesses. Which path aligns best with our abilities and our goals?"

Thalassa replied, "We must also think about what we are willing to risk. Are we prepared to face powerful spirits, the loss of our sanity, or the wrath of the undead?"

Dharok nodded in agreement. "And we cannot forget the time we have left. Two days until the Mask's agents can attack us again. We must make our choice wisely, but also swiftly."

You looked at each of them, seeing the determination and concern etched on their faces. The decision loomed large, and yet, it remained just out of reach.

Each of your companions weighed the options in their minds, understanding that the path you chose would shape the challenges and opportunities ahead.

"What shall it be?" you asked, the decision looming large as you prepared to step into the transformed Wound.

CHOICE:
[] Path of the Forgotten Ancestors
[] Path of the Shattered Memories
[] Path of the Silent Graves

NOTE:
Lorgar and Dharok, do not respire Essence. Fan does and Thalassa does if she equips the Infinite Prana reactor. Relic and Treasures are separate things. Relics being artifact and equipment, while treasures powerful but consumable.

Yzarc · Jun 25, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

You gather your companions, Lorgar, Dharok, and Thalassa, each step resonating with purpose as you prepare to enter the Path of the Forgotten Ancestors. The air is heavy with an ancient, almost tangible weight, as if the memories and souls of those long gone still linger here, watching your every move.

The entrance to the Path is a vast, crumbling archway, its surface etched with hieroglyphs that flicker in and out of existence, a testament to the reality-bending nature of this place. Beyond the archway lies a realm unlike any other, a labyrinthine expanse where the very laws of physics seem to bend and twist.

As you step through, the world shifts around you. The ground is no longer solid but a mosaic of floating platforms, each one a different shape and size, hovering in a void of shifting colors and patterns. The sky, if it can be called that, is a swirling mass of hues that defy description, a constant dance of light and shadow. Structures rise and fall, their architecture defying conventional geometry, with angles that should not exist and dimensions that stretch into infinity.

Your goal is clear: find a suitable place to dream up the terraformer machine, a device that could reshape entire worlds. But first, you must navigate this surreal landscape and confront whatever challenges lie in wait.

As you delve deeper into the Path of the Forgotten Ancestors, the alien landscape shifts once more. The vibrant, ever-changing colors give way to a vast, desolate plain, its surface cracked and dry, as if drained of all life. The air grows heavier, laden with an oppressive stillness that sends a shiver down your spine. In the distance, you see it: a grand, imposing structure rising from the barren earth, its walls adorned with intricate carvings and symbols of power.

The structure looms ominously, a testament to the ancient power it houses. As you approach, you notice an array of figures standing at its entrance. Regal and imperious, a figure clad in ancient armor gleams with an otherworldly light. Surrounding him is an army of skeletons, Ushabti, and mummified warriors, their empty eye sockets glowing with an eerie blue light. Their silent vigilance sends a clear message: none may pass without confronting the one who commands them.

Before you can react, the skeletal warriors close in, their weapons drawn. You and your companions are quickly surrounded, their ranks forming an impenetrable wall. The tension in the air is palpable, each moment stretching into an eternity. You know that a single misstep could spell your doom.

A booming voice echoes across the plain, resonant and filled with ancient authority. "Kneel before Settra the Imperishable, King of Kings! Kneel and accept your fate, kneel and face annihilation!"

The command is absolute, brooking no defiance. You exchange glances with Lorgar, Dharok, and Thalassa, your determination mirrored in their eyes. Kneeling and accepting death is not an option; your mission is too important. With a steely resolve, you straighten your back, refusing to bow to tyranny.

Settra's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing through you. "So, you choose defiance. Very well. Let the sands of this desolate land witness your end."

He raises his scepter, and the mummified warriors step forward, their weapons glinting menacingly. The skeletal archers nock their arrows, ready to release a volley that would surely overwhelm you.

In that moment, you draw upon the deepest reserves of your power, your anima flaring brightly. The aura around you blazes with intense light, a display of your unyielding spirit. The ground beneath your feet trembles, the air crackling with energy. The skeletal warriors hesitate, their advance halted by the sheer force of your presence.

Settra watches, his expression shifting from anger to curiosity. He lowers his scepter, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Interesting. You possess a spark, a defiance that few dare to show in my presence. Tell me, what drives you to challenge the will of Settra the Imperishable?"

You take a step forward, your voice steady and resolute. "We seek to reshape a world for the better, to bring life where there is none. Our mission is one of hope and renewal, not conquest."

Settra regards you with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "Hope? Renewal? These are fleeting dreams in the face of eternity. I have ruled for millennia, my power unchallenged, my will unbroken. What you offer is but a whisper in the sands of time."

Lorgar steps forward, his voice unwavering. "We do not seek to challenge your rule, oh Mighty Settra, King of Kings. We seek only passage through your realm to fulfill our destiny. Surely a ruler as wise and powerful as yourself can see the value in allowing us to proceed."

Settra's eyes blaze with ancient fire, his gaze fixed on Lorgar. "You speak of wisdom and power, yet you do not understand their true nature. Very well. I will make you an offer. Serve me. Pledge your loyalty to Settra, the King of Kings and I shall grant you passage. Swear fealty to me, and you shall become part of my eternal empire, your powers put to use in the service of a true king."

The offer hangs in the air, a chilling proposition that sends a shiver down your spine. You exchange glances with Lorgar, Dharok, and Thalassa, weighing the gravity of Settra's demand. To serve him would mean forsaking your mission, your freedom, and your very souls.

You step forward, your voice firm. "We cannot accept your offer, oh mighty King of Kings. Our mission is too important, and our loyalty lies with a greater purpose."

Settra's eyes blaze with anger, his voice a thunderous roar. "You dare refuse me? You dare defy Settra the Imperishable? Very well. If you will not serve, then you shall perish. I will not allow my realm to be sullied by your insolence."

He raises his scepter, and the ground trembles beneath your feet. The skeletal warriors surrounding him stir, their ancient, desiccated forms once more coming to life with a chilling creak. Settra's gaze locks onto you, a promise of doom in his eyes.

"Settra the Imperishable, what if we offered you something else? Something that only we can?" You suggest. "A fitting tithe for one such as yourself."

Settra's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze piercing. "And what do you offer in return for such a favor? What could you possibly give that would be of value to Settra, King of Kings?"

Lorgar steps forward, his voice steady. "We can offer knowledge, alliances, and the power of our combined abilities. Our journey has been one of great purpose, and we seek not to disturb your reign but to fulfill a destiny that could benefit many."

Settra's lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. "Knowledge? Alliances? Power? These are the trappings of the living, fleeting and inconsequential. I have ruled for millennia, my will unbroken, my power absolute. What you offer is meaningless in the grand tapestry of my eternal reign."

THE SETTRA?
Yes, that is actually Settra from the End of times. He walked into the Warp to fight the Chaos Gods and ended up here, which is entirely possible as Kaldor Draigo of the Grey Knights made his way to the Warhammer Fantasy universe.

I put him in the Encounter table with Kaldor Draigo as a joke but you rolled him. I am honestly not sure if I should make this non-canon or not. If you guys do not want him, I can rewrite this update so no worries. I did not actually intend him to be rolled but can work with this.

He represents a POWERFUL ally but getting him on your side is the challenge.

CHOICE 1:
[] Write in plan (What can you offer him - to be dome immediately)
Or
[] Write in plan (Battle plan)

CHOICE 2:
[] Thalassa's Loadout (Write in)

CHOICE 3:
[] Power Armor Gift
-[] Fan Morgal
-[] Lorgar
-[] Dharok

Yzarc · Jun 26, 2024

Terra - 712.M30

You stand amidst the icy desolation of the Arctic Circle, a lone figure clad in the black armor of the XVIIth Legion, the Imperial Heralds. Your face is hidden behind a skull helm, an emblem of death and the relentless truth of the Emperor. In your hand, you grip the eagle-winged mace, a symbol of the Emperor's will and justice. Before you lies the last fortress city of demagogues and the final enclave of cults that defy the Imperial Truth on Terra. This place is their last refuge, a bastion of superstition and false gods amidst the endless cold and ice.

The howling wind and biting cold are nothing to you. You stride forward with purpose, your steps measured and resolute. As you approach the fortress city, the massive gates creak open, revealing a crowd of fearful and defiant faces. They have heard of you, the lone herald who delivers the Emperor's ultimatum: recant or be destroyed.

You raise your mace, its golden wings glinting in the pale light, and your voice booms out, amplified by the vox-casters in your helm. "I am the Herald of the Emperor. I bring you the truth. Your false gods and superstitions have no place in His vision for humanity. Recant your beliefs, embrace the Imperial Truth, or face annihilation."

Your words echo through the fortress, a chilling proclamation that sends shivers down the spines of those who listen. Some waver, their faith in their false gods crumbling in the face of your unwavering conviction. But others, the most fanatical, rally their strength and resolve to defy you. They raise their weapons, crude firearms, and improvised explosives, and a cry of defiance rises from their ranks.

"Death to the heretic!" a demagogue shouts, his voice a rallying point for the others. They surge forward, a tide of desperation and fury. You stand your ground, unmoved by their numbers or their zeal. As they reach you, you swing your mace, and the first ranks fall, their bodies broken and lifeless.

But you know that your mission is not just to kill but to deliver the Emperor's ultimatum. You charge forward, allowing your momentum to carry you into the heart of the fortress, your every move calculated and precise. The demagogues and cultists try to surround you, to overwhelm you with sheer numbers, but you are a Space Marine, an Astartes, and their efforts are futile.

In the midst of the chaos, you suddenly vanish, a phantom in the storm. One moment you are there, a reaper among the fallen, and the next, you are gone. Panic spreads among the defenders as they realize they cannot track you, cannot predict your movements. You are the Emperor's shadow, a ghost in the icy wasteland.

You reappear where the leaders of this last rebellion have gathered, thinking themselves safe behind their walls and guards. They gasp in shock as you materialize before them, the skull helm and eagle-winged mace a terrifying vision. "Recant," you say again, your voice low and menacing, "or be destroyed."

Desperation and fear grip the guards, and they lash out with everything they have. Bolts of energy, crude projectiles, and knives are all aimed at you, but you move with the grace and speed of one blessed by the Emperor. Each attack is parried, each blow avoided or deflected. You are untouchable, a specter of judgment.

One by one, the guards fall, their resistance futile. As the last of them collapses at your feet, you turn and disappear, exiting the fortress city. The remaining cultists and demagogues, though gripped by fear, charge behind you into icy wilderness. They attempt to track you, to find some trace of your passage, but they find nothing. You are a wraith, a harbinger of the Emperor's will, and you leave no trail.

As you disappear into the icy plains, the howling wind and biting cold serve as your companions. The Arctic Circle is a desolate wasteland, a place where only the strong and the desperate dare to tread. Yet, for you, it is a fitting battleground, a stage upon which the Emperor's will can be enacted with relentless precision.

You traverse the frozen expanse, your mind focused on regrouping with your battle brothers. The icy landscape is treacherous, but your enhanced senses and Astartes training allow you to navigate it with ease. The silence is eerie, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that sends flurries of snow dancing through the air.

Suddenly, a disturbance in the Warp sends a chill down your spine, different from the cold of the Arctic. You stop, scanning the surroundings with keen eyes. Out of the swirling snow, dark shapes begin to materialize. Warp Xenos. Their forms are twisted and grotesque, manifestations of malevolent energy that seethe with hatred and hunger.

But they were weak. The Fortress City had few, if any, sacrifices to offer Warp Xenos and all that were before you were the dregs. Dregs that you did not need to run from.

As they advanced, their eyes glowed with unholy light, their claws and fangs gleaming in the dim light. They hiss and snarl, the air around them crackling with dark energy. You stand your ground, your faith unwavering. You are a Herald of the Emperor, and you will not falter in the face of such abominations.

As the Warp Xenos close in, you channel your faith through the Aquila on your chest plate. The symbol of the Emperor, it is a beacon of purity and righteousness. You focus your will, drawing upon the strength that comes from your unwavering belief in the Emperor's will.

"By the light of Humanity," you intone, your voice steady and filled with conviction. The Aquila begins to glow, a brilliant light that cuts through the darkness. The Warp Xeno recoil, screeching in pain and fury as the holy light sears their unholy forms.

You raise your eagle-winged mace, the weapon also glowing with righteous energy. With a swift, powerful strike, you send the first Warp Xeno reeling, its body disintegrating into nothingness. The others hesitate, but you press the attack, each swing of your mace driving them back, each word of your prayer amplifying the power of the light.

The Warp Xenos are relentless, their dark energy swirling around you like a storm. But you remain steadfast, your faith an unbreakable shield. With each passing moment, the light of the Aquila grows stronger, pushing the Warp Xenos further back.

Finally, with a last, desperate howl, the Warp Xenos vanish, banished back to the Warp from whence they came. The Arctic silence returns, the only sound of your own heavy breathing and the distant howl of the wind.

Exhausted but victorious, you continue your journey. The encounter with the Warp Xenos has only strengthened your resolve. You are a vessel of the Emperor's will, and no force, whether mortal or Warp Xenos, can stand in your way.

After what feels like hours of navigating the frozen wasteland, you finally see them: your battle brothers, the Imperial Heralds. They stand like sentinels in the snow, their black armor a stark contrast to the white landscape. As you approach, they turn to greet you, their expressions hidden behind their helms, but their respect and camaraderie evident in their stance.

"The Emperor's ultimatum has been delivered," you say, your voice steady and resolute. "Now we bring His judgment."

You recount the battle with the Warp Xenos and your brothers nod in understanding. They too have faced such threats, and they know the power of faith and unity. Together, you regroup and prepare for the next phase of your mission.

Thalric raises a small device, an ancient piece of archeotech recovered from the ruins of Old Night. It is a weather manipulator, capable of summoning storms and bending the very elements to your will. With a solemn incantation, he activates the device, and the skies above begin to darken. Clouds gather, thick and heavy, and the wind picks up, howling through the frozen wasteland.

Within moments, a massive blizzard descends upon the fortress city. Snow falls in blinding sheets, and the wind roars with a fury that drowns out all other sound. To the defenders, it is as if the world itself has turned against them. But to you and your brothers, it is the perfect cover.

Unaffected by the cold, you move through the storm like wraiths, unseen and unstoppable. The blizzard cloaks your approach, hiding your forms in the swirling snow. You spread out, each of you a phantom in the storm, and begin the methodical task of eliminating the enemy.

The first targets are the priests, the heart of the cults that have taken refuge here. They are the leaders, the ones who keep the false beliefs alive. You find them in their places of worship, huddled around altars and icons, praying desperately for deliverance. They do not see you until it is too late. One by one, they fall, your eagle-winged maces delivering the Emperor's final judgment.

Next, you turn your attention to the places of worship themselves. These temples and shrines, filled with idols and symbols of false gods, must be destroyed. You plant charges, powerful explosives that will reduce these blasphemous structures to rubble. The detonations are muffled by the storm, but the results are devastating. Stone and metal are torn apart, and flames consume what remains.

Throughout the fortress city, your brothers engage the enemy with precision and ruthlessness. The blizzard, far from hindering you, is an ally, concealing your movements and disorienting your foes. The cultists and demagogues, already demoralized and leaderless, stand no chance. They are cut down in the blinding snow, unable to mount any effective resistance.

Advanced tactics and strategies guide your every move. You use the environment to your advantage, setting ambushes and traps, luring the enemy into kill zones where they are swiftly annihilated. Your thermal sensors and advanced optics pierce the storm, allowing you to see and target your foes with deadly accuracy.

In the chaos of the blizzard, the defenders are slaughtered, their bodies lost in the drifts of snow. By the time the storm begins to abate, the fortress city is silent, its defenders dead or fled into the frozen wilderness. The structures lie in ruins, the places of worship destroyed, and the last remnants of opposition wiped out.

You regroup with your battle brothers, the mission complete. Thalric deactivates the archeotech device, and the blizzard begins to dissipate. The skies clear, revealing the devastation wrought by your hands. You stand amidst the ruins, a testament to the Emperor's will and the futility of defiance.

The Arctic Circle, once a refuge for the enemies of the Imperium, is now a graveyard, a stark reminder of the power of the Imperial Heralds. You and your brothers turn and vanish into the white expanse, ready to bring the Emperor's truth to the next stronghold of superstition and falsehood, wherever it may be.

The halls of the Imperial Palace on Terra are a place of awe and grandeur, and today they are filled with an air of anticipation and reverence. The Triumph is a rare and magnificent event, a celebration of victory and unity, and this one is in your honor. As a Herald of the XVIIth Legion, you have brought the Emperor's light to the darkest corners of Terra, and today, you stand before the greatest of all audiences.

You march through the grand corridors, your black armor gleaming in the torchlight, the skull helm under your arm. Your brothers flank you, their presence a silent testament to your shared purpose and achievements. The path is lined with banners bearing the newly made Imperial Aquila, and the air is thick with the scent of incense and the hum of hymns.

As you enter the grand chamber, the sight before you is overwhelming. Thousands of dignitaries, soldiers, and citizens fill the vast space, their eyes upon you. The golden light of the chandeliers illuminates the scene, casting a radiant glow upon the assembled masses. At the far end of the chamber, upon a dais of marble and gold, stands the Emperor Himself.

He is a figure of unmatched majesty, clad in radiant armor that seems to shimmer with an inner light. His eyes, piercing and wise, meet yours as you approach. You kneel before Him, feeling the weight of His gaze and the honor of His recognition.

"Rise, Nameless Herald of the XVIIth Legion, rise, Marines of the XVIIth." the Emperor commands, His voice resonant and powerful. "Today, we celebrate not just your deeds, but the unity and strength of our Imperium."

You stand, the weight of His words filling you with pride and resolve. The Emperor steps forward, raising His arms to address the vast assembly.

"Citizens of the Imperium," He begins, His voice carrying through the chamber with a strength that demands attention. "Today, we gather to honor those who have brought light to the darkest corners of Terra. The XVIIth Legion, the Imperial Heralds, have shown unparalleled devotion and courage in their mission to eradicate the remnants of Old Night from Terra."

The crowd erupts in applause, a thunderous roar of approval and admiration. The Emperor waits, allowing the sound to wash over Him, before continuing.

"Unity," He says, "is the foundation upon which our Imperium is built. In unity, there is strength. In unity, there is hope. The Imperial Heralds have embodied this principle, bringing the truth of the Imperium to those who would resist it. They have torn down the false idols and silenced the demagogues, ensuring that the light of the Imperial Truth shines brightly upon all."

You feel a swell of pride at His words, knowing that you and your brothers have played a vital role in this grand vision.

"The future of the Imperium is bright," the Emperor continues, His voice filled with conviction. "We stand on the brink of a new age, an age of enlightenment and progress. The sacrifices made by the Imperial Heralds and all our warriors are the foundation upon which we will build this future. Together, we will conquer the stars and bring the light of reason to every corner of the galaxy."

The crowd erupts once more, their cheers echoing through the grand chamber. The Emperor raises His hand for silence, and the assembly immediately obeys, hanging on His every word.

"But this triumph is not just a celebration of victory," He says, His tone becoming more solemn. "It is a reminder of the ongoing struggle, the work that still lies ahead. The forces of darkness and ignorance will not be easily vanquished. We must remain vigilant, united in purpose and unwavering in our resolve."

He turns His gaze upon you, His eyes filled with a mixture of pride and determination.

"You, the Heralds of the XVIIth Legion, have shown the way. Your dedication and sacrifice are an example to all. Continue to serve with honor, continue to bring the light of the Imperial Truth to those who need it most." There was a pause and the Emperor spoke one final time. "With this I declare the Unification Wars……over."

You bow your head, deeply moved by His words. The Emperor steps back, allowing the applause of the assembly to fill the chamber once more. As the cheers echo around you, you feel a deep sense of purpose and determination. The path ahead is clear, and you are ready to continue your mission.

After the speech, you and your brothers are honored with medals and accolades, a testament to your deeds and sacrifices. The celebrations continue long into the night, a joyous occasion that brings together people from all walks of life, united in their reverence for the Emperor and the future He promises.

As the festivities draw to a close, you stand with your brothers, looking out over the hive city from the grand balconies of the Imperial Palace. The lights twinkle below, a sea of hope and aspiration. You know that the road ahead will be long and arduous, but with the Emperor's words ringing in your ears, you are ready to face whatever challenges may come.

United in purpose, unwavering in resolve, you and your brothers will continue to bring the light of the Emperor to the darkest corners of the galaxy, ensuring that the future of the Imperium remains bright and glorious.

Yzarc · Jun 28, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

Settra's lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. "Knowledge? Alliances? Power? These are the trappings of the living, fleeting and inconsequential. I have ruled for millennia, my will unbroken, my power absolute. What you offer is meaningless in the grand tapestry of my eternal reign."

You take a deep breath, stepping forward beside Lorgar.

"We stand before you, Settra, because we face a threat to all. Today, this necromancer seeks to curse our world and raise it as an undead mockery of what it was. Tomorrow, I believe, he seeks to claim dominion over all, both the dead and those yet to die. He is a coward, hiding behind others rather than fighting himself. Here, now, he seeks to use you, to make of you his shield. Come with us, and we shall punish him for his presumptions." you say.

Settra's eyes narrow slightly, a glint of interest sparking within their depths. You can sense that you have his attention, if only for a moment.

"Your words are bold, mortal, but I am not easily swayed by mere rhetoric." Settra finally says simply.

"We do not come before you as beggars, offering nothing but our pleas," you continue, your voice unwavering. "Consider this."

With a deliberate gesture, you reach down and scoop up a large lump of sand from the ground. Using your mastery of your abilities, you begin to channel your power. The sand glows with an intense heat, melting into liquid glass in your hands. With precise movements, you shape and mold the glass, condensing it into an articulated sculpture of a hawk, its wings poised as if in flight.

You hold the glass hawk aloft, and with another surge of power, you imbue it with movement. The glass wings beat rhythmically, and the hawk takes to the air, soaring gracefully around the assembled warriors. Its crystalline form catches the light, casting dazzling reflections across the desolate plain.

Settra watches, his expression inscrutable. "A clever trick," he murmurs, though there is a hint of admiration in his tone.

"But does it truly live?" you ask, your voice carrying a deeper meaning. You focus your essence once more, this time invoking a far more potent power. You draw upon Enuncia, the primal language of creation itself, the words forming in your mind with an almost painful clarity. The syllables feel like they could tear reality apart as they escape your lips.

"Keth," you intone, the words resonating with an otherworldly force.

The glass hawk shimmers, transforming before your eyes. Its crystalline feathers soften, becoming real and vibrant. The hawk lets out a piercing cry as it ascends higher, its wings beating under its own power. It is no longer a mere construct but a living, breathing creature, brought to life by the raw power of Enuncia.

"This is life," you declare, your voice ringing with conviction. "This is what I offer. In return for your magnanimity in coming with us to cast down this usurper, the necromancer, I will perform a working to make you live again, as glorious as you were when you first wore living flesh, if not more."

Settra's gaze remains fixed on the living hawk, now a mere speck in the sky. He seems to be lost in thought, the weight of your proposal sinking in. The skeletal warriors and mummified guards around him remain silent, awaiting their king's decision.

"You speak of granting life," Settra finally says, his voice contemplative. "A gift that I have long sought, yet never attained. To walk the world again as I once did, to feel the warmth of the sun and the breath of the wind..."

He trails off, the desire in his voice palpable. Yet, his expression hardens once more, his ancient pride asserting itself. "Your offer is tempting, but I am Settra the Imperishable. I do not kneel to others, nor do I ally with the living lightly."

You meet his gaze, unwavering. "We do not ask for your fealty, Settra. We seek your strength, your wisdom, and your power to defeat a common enemy. In return, we offer you the chance to reclaim what was once yours: life, in all its glory."

Settra remains silent for a long moment, weighing the gravity of your words. The air is thick with tension, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, he speaks, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

Settra's eyes, glowing with an ancient and unyielding fire, remain locked onto the transformed hawk as it soars high above. His silence speaks volumes, but you can feel the tumultuous thoughts churning beneath his regal facade.

"But you forget, mortal, that I am Settra the Imperishable. I have ruled, unchallenged and undefeated, for eons. What need have I for your gifts when my power is already absolute?" Settra finally intones, his voice laden with the weight of millennia.

His arrogance radiates like a tangible force, a testament to his indomitable will. Yet you sense that beneath the surface, there lies a kernel of doubt, a flicker of the life he once cherished.

You remain steadfast, undeterred by his pride. "Settra, this necromancer, the Shard of Winters, seeks to undermine your very essence. He aims to turn you into a mere instrument of his will, a puppet dancing on his strings. Will you allow such a travesty to befall you, the great king who bows to none?"

Settra's eyes narrow, the glint of anger mingling with his imperious demeanor. "You presume much, mortal, to think that I could ever be manipulated by a lesser being. My will is iron, my rule eternal. No one can command Settra the Imperishable."

"And yet, this necromancer seeks to do just that," you counter, your voice steady and unyielding. "He believes he can bend you to his will, to use you as a weapon in his conquest. He underestimates your strength, your resolve. But we do not. We recognize the true power that you wield, and we seek your aid to bring down this usurper."

Settra's expression remains inscrutable, his silence stretching into an oppressive weight. You sense that his thoughts are drifting back through the annals of time, recalling battles fought and victories won.

"You speak of an enemy that seeks to usurp my power," Settra says slowly, his voice tinged with a hint of contemplation. "An enemy who believes he can command me. I have faced many such foes, crushed them beneath my heel. This necromancer will fare no differently."

"He is no ordinary foe," you insist, your tone earnest. "This Shard of Winters wields dark magic that corrupts and controls. He seeks to turn the world into his undead dominion, a realm of eternal night where he reigns supreme. He has already laid waste to endless lands, leaving nothing but desolation in his wake. And now, he seeks to use you as the lynchpin of his conquest."

Settra's gaze hardens, the fire in his eyes burning brighter. "You dare suggest that I, Settra the Imperishable, could be used as a tool for another's ambition? That my will could be subjugated?"

"No," you reply firmly. "I dare suggest that you are the key to stopping him. That your unmatched power and indomitable will can turn the tide against this abomination. Stand with us, not as a subordinate, but as an ally. Together, we can bring down this necromancer and preserve your legacy."

Settra's eyes blaze with pride and fury, the weight of your words pressing upon him. He seems to waver, the ghost of indecision flickering across his regal features. You simply watch as Settra's expression darkens, the thought of Nagash stirring old memories. You can see the flashbacks in his eyes, the long, bloody conflict against the master of necromancy, the defiance that had fueled his every action. His pride and arrogance war with the realization of the threat before him.

"I remember the great battles I fought against Nagash," he says, invoking the name of his ancient foe. "Remembers the countless times I stood against the darkness, my unwavering will driving back the shadows. This necromancer is but a pale echo of that threat, yet he seeks to achieve what even Nagash could not. Can I allow him to succeed where others have failed?" He murmured to himself, lost in thought.

"You speak truth, mortal," Settra finally admits, his voice begrudging. "This Shard of Winters must be dealt with. But know this: I do not join you out of weakness or need. I join because this necromancer's audacity offends me. I will see him destroyed, his ambitions crushed beneath my heel."

He steps forward, his towering presence imposing. "But I demand a price for my aid. Teach me the secrets of the primal language you spoke in. With that power, I will not only assist you in slaying this foul necromancer, but I will also declare a ceasefire against you and yours until our mutual foe is vanquished. Once the Shard of Winters is no more, I will return to my homeland, reclaim my throne, and restore my dominion. And then, once my reign is secure, we shall settle the matter of your insult to my pride."

You meet his gaze, recognizing the gravity of his request. To teach Enuncia is to share a power that can reshape reality itself, a dangerous and potent gift. But you also understand that this is the price of securing Settra's formidable aid.

CHOICE:

[] "Teach" him

[] Do not "teach" him

This will take one full day. Then you will have only one more day before the mask can actively attack you and your people.

Yzarc · Jun 29, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

You take a deep breath and speak, your voice calm and measured. "Settra, I am oath-bound to never teach Enuncia to another. It is a vow I cannot break. However, I can offer you an alternative. My son, Lorgar, can instruct you in the ways of Enuncia. He possesses the same knowledge and power, and he is not bound by the same restrictions."

Settra's eyes narrow, his expression darkening with insult. "You would pass me off to another? You dare suggest that I, Settra the Imperishable, should be taught by your offspring?" His voice rises, filled with indignation and rage. "You insult me further with your cowardice and disrespect!"

The air grows tense as Settra prepares to strike, his skeletal warriors and mummified guards shifting into readiness. You hold your ground, meeting his furious gaze with unwavering resolve.

"Settra," you shout, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "do you truly wish to be taught by a man who so freely breaks any oaths he makes if it makes his life easier? Would you trust the word of one who abandons their vows at the first sign of difficulty? You insult me by implying that I am such a man!"

"I am not a liar or an oath-breaker! I stand by my word and my honor! You, who pride yourself on your unyielding will and eternal reign, should understand the value of an oath made willingly. I offered you a compromise, a way to gain what you seek without dishonoring my oath. Yet you spit on that offer with your arrogance!" Your say as your voice rises, fueled by righteous anger.

You take a step closer, your eyes locked with Settra's.

"You accuse me of cowardice, yet it is you who hides behind your pride and refuses to see reason. You, who would rather cling to your wounded pride than accept a path to greater power and victory! You, who would let your arrogance blind you to the potential of an alliance that could save countless lives and secure your own reign against an insidious foe!" You shout, barely controlling your anger.

Settra's fury remains, but there is a flicker of something else in his eyes, a grudging respect for your unyielding stance. You continue, your voice steady and unrelenting.

"I did not offer this lightly, Settra. The knowledge you sought was one that reshapes the world, a power greater than that of the Gods. But after this……insult, I would rather fight you and die than teach you this power." You manage to spit out, the insult against you too much to bear.

Settra's fury smolders like a furnace, but as your words echo through the desolate plain, a change comes over him. The raw conviction in your voice, the unwavering stance you take, begins to pierce through his towering pride. He stands silent for a long moment, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. Slowly, the tension in the air shifts, the hostility giving way to a grudging respect.

"Very well," Settra finally says, his voice cold but measured. "You have spoken with the heart of a warrior and the integrity of a king. I acknowledge your worth and the strength of your conviction." He takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over you and Lorgar. "But the insult to my pride cannot go unanswered."

He pauses, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I propose a challenge. A test of strength and valor. Each of you shall face one of my champions in single combat, to the death."

You nod, accepting his terms. "And if we refuse?" you ask, wanting to ensure you understand the full extent of his offer.

Settra's smile widens, though it is devoid of warmth. "Then I will bring my army to bear, and we shall engage in a grand melee to settle this once and for all. The sands will run red with blood, and only one side will emerge victorious."

You exchange a glance with Lorgar, both understanding the gravity of the situation. "Tell us about your champions," you ask, your voice steady. "If we are to face them, we should know what we are up against."

Settra's eyes gleam with a mixture of pride and anticipation. "Very well. My champions are the epitome of Khemrian might, each a legend in their own right. The first," he gestures to a massive, shadowed form emerging from the ranks of his army, "is a Khemrian Warsphinx."

The ground trembles as the Warsphinx steps forward, its immense form towering over the assembled warriors. The creature's body is a fusion of stone and ancient magic, its leonine features exuding both majesty and menace. The Warsphinx's eyes glow with an eerie blue light, and its powerful muscles ripple beneath its stone-like hide. Its massive paws, each the size of a man's torso, leave deep impressions in the sand as it moves.

"This is Ankhaten, the Sentinel of Eternity," Settra continues, his voice tinged with reverence. "He has guarded my tomb for centuries, his strength unmatched, his ferocity unbridled. Many have tried to best him, but none have succeeded."

You and Lorgar study the Warsphinx, its presence a testament to the power and grandeur of ancient Khemri. The sheer size and strength of Ankhaten make it clear that this will be no ordinary battle. You can feel the weight of the challenge settling over you, but your resolve remains unshaken.

"And the second champion?" Lorgar asks, his voice steady but with an edge of curiosity.

Settra's smile broadens as he nods and gestures to another shadowed figure emerging from the ranks of his army. "The second champion," he announces, "is a Tomb Scorpion."

The ground beneath your feet begins to tremble as the Tomb Scorpion claws its way out of the sand. Its massive, chitinous form glistens in the harsh desert sunlight. The creature's body is a fusion of ancient bones and mechanical parts, animated by powerful necromantic magic. Its pincers snap menacingly, and its stinger, dripping with venom, curls and uncurls with lethal intent.

"This is Kharatep, the Stinger of the Sands," Settra declares. "Forged in the depths of the necropolises, Kharatep has lain in wait beneath the dunes for millennia, emerging only to defend the honor of Khemri. Many have tried but none have survived his deadly embrace."

You and Lorgar regard the Tomb Scorpion with a mixture of weariness and apprehension. The creature's sheer size and predatory nature are enough to make any warrior pause, but you both steel yourselves for the challenge ahead.

Settra then raises his arm, signaling another champion to step forward. "The third champion," he intones, "is a Necrosphinx."

A rumbling sound fills the air as the Necrosphinx strides forward. This colossal creature combines the form of a lion with the wings of a falcon and the head of a man. Its eyes burn with an unearthly light, and its movements are imbued with a deadly grace. The Necrosphinx's wings unfurl, casting a shadow over the battlefield as it roars, a sound that seems to shake the very heavens.

"Behold Usirian, the Judgment of the Skies," Settra continues. "Usirian is a guardian of the underworld, a beast of both brute strength and divine purpose. His claws can tear through the mightiest of armors, and his roar can summon the spirits of the dead to his aid. He is a force of nature, and his fury knows no bounds."

You feel the weight of Settra's words as you look upon the Necrosphinx. Its sheer power and presence are overwhelming, but your resolve remains firm. You have faced great challenges before, and you will face this one with the same determination.

Finally, Settra gestures to the last of his champions. "And the fourth and final champion," he says, his voice filled with reverence, "is a Hierotitan."

The Hierotitan steps forward, its towering form casting a long shadow over the desert. This immense construct is a blend of stone and magic, its body adorned with hieroglyphs that glow with an inner light. The Hierotitan's eyes burn like twin suns, and its staff crackles with arcane energy. It moves with a slow, deliberate grace, each step a testament to its ancient power.

"This is Sutekh, the Living Colossus," Settra proclaims. "Sutekh is a conduit of the gods, a vessel of their wrath and power. His magic can alter the very fabric of reality, and his strength can shatter mountains. He is the ultimate defender of Khemri, a symbol of our eternal glory."

You and Lorgar exchange another glance, the enormity of the challenge before you sinking in. These are no ordinary foes; they are legends brought to life, embodiments of ancient power and fury. Yet you stand undaunted, ready to face them in battle.

Settra watches you both, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of anticipation and respect. "You have asked, and I have answered. These are my champions, the finest warriors of Khemri. Face them in single combat, and prove your worth. If you survive, the insult to my pride will be considered paid, and we shall join forces to vanquish the Shard of Winters."

UNRELIABLE NARRATOR:
Settra is using some big words to describe the 4 champions. This is just what he believes and may not be true, especially the Gods part.

CHOICE
[] Fight Settra and the Army, the champions stay out of it. (Same battle plan will be used but feel free to modify it if you want)

[] Fight the Champions. Each of you face one Champion
-[] Choose who fights what.

WHY HE OFFERED THIS?
It made no sense that you would not try and convince him to take the lesson from Lorgar before fighting so I rolled for it, thinking it would not work without a stunt and surprisingly, it almost worked. Fan lost his temper at being accused as an oath breaker and walked up to Settra and told him that he would rather die than teach him Enuncia anymore. Settra is still insulted but acknowledges that you keeping to your oath and facing death to do so, is worthy of respect, so he offered this compromise.

CHAMPIONS
Settra and his army, with the Scorpion and Hierotitan included (Yes it is the giant skeleton statue with lazor eyes).

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpWqKme-g_4&ab_channel=TotalWar

Khemrian Warsphinx and Necrosphinxes

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cR9GJ4BseP0&t=10s&ab_channel=TotalWar

Yzarc · Jun 30, 2024

Origin of the XVII Legion: The Imperial Heralds
In the earliest days of the Great Crusade, the Emperor of Mankind sought to unify the scattered remnants of humanity under a single banner, forging a galaxy-spanning empire free from the superstition and tyranny of Old Night. To achieve this monumental task, he created the Legiones Astartes, twenty mighty Space Marine Legions, each embodying a unique aspect of His grand vision.

Among these mighty Legions was the XVII, later known as the Imperial Heralds. From their inception, the XVII Legion was different. While other Legions were created to conquer, to explore, and to defend, the XVII was forged with a unique and somber purpose: to deliver the Emperor's ultimatum to those who clung to false gods and ancient superstitions. Where enemies stood against the Emperor because of their belief in gods or the superstitions bred by Old Night, it would fall to the XVII Legion to deliver the Emperor's ultimatum: recant or be destroyed.

The Emperor named them the Imperial Heralds, an elegant title that spoke of the grand purpose for which they had been created. Yet, among their fellow Astartes warriors, they were often referred to as the "Iconoclasts," a more brutal appellation coined in appreciation of the zeal with which they cast down the idolatrous temples and cultic strongholds of Old Night. This dual identity reflected their dual mission: to herald the truth of the Emperor and to annihilate the falsehoods that had taken root across the galaxy.

The first recruits of the XVII Legion were chosen from the sons of exterminated foes of the Emperor, trained and raised to know the crimes of their forebears and the price of forgiveness. These were not ordinary warriors but individuals who understood the weight of redemption, the cost of failure, and the cold fury that came with a second chance. This upbringing instilled in them an unmatched zealotry, a fervent devotion to the Imperial Truth that set them apart from their brother Legions.

Gene-seed and Genetic Stability
The XVIII Legion was a unique and remarkable force within the Emperor's grand vision of the Legiones Astartes. Their gene-seed is known for its extraordinary stability and purity. This genetic material provided the foundation for their transformation from mere humans into transhuman warriors of unmatched strength, resilience, and loyalty.

From the moment of their creation, the gene-seed of the XVIII Legion exhibited a level of stability that was unparalleled among the other Legions. Unlike other Legions, which often experienced mutations and genetic deviations over time, the gene-seed of the Imperial Heralds remains remarkably pure. This purity ensured that there is no drop in genetic quality, allowing for consistently high acceptance rates among new recruits. The absence of significant mutations also meant that the Legion suffered fewer of the physical and psychological issues that sometimes plagued their brother Legions.

This genetic stability translated into several notable traits that defined the Imperial Heralds. One of the most prominent characteristics was their extreme resilience to harsh conditions. Whether they were deployed in the frigid expanses of ice worlds, the scorching deserts of arid planets, or the toxic environments of irradiated battlefields, the Imperial Heralds demonstrated an uncanny ability to endure and thrive. Their bodies adapted swiftly to the most hostile environments, making them formidable warriors in any theater of war.

In addition to their resilience, the Imperial Heralds possessed instinctive stealth capabilities. Even in the heavy armor of a Space Marine, they moved with a grace and silence that belied their imposing presence. This ability allowed them to conduct covert operations, infiltrate enemy lines, and execute precise strikes with deadly efficiency. Their stealth was not merely a result of training but an inherent trait encoded within their very genes, a gift from the Emperor that set them apart from other Legions.

Another, more worrying aspect of the XVIII Legion was the unusually high number of psykers among their ranks. The gene-seed of the Imperial Heralds seems to encourage the development of psychic abilities, resulting in a disproportionately large number of psyker-adepts within the Legion. These psykers, drawing power from the Warp, could wield formidable abilities in battle, from devastating psychic assaults to protective wards that shielded their brothers from harm.

Perhaps the most striking and unique feature of the Imperial Heralds was their physical resemblance to the Emperor. While there were natural variations in skin color, every member of the XVIII Legion bore a remarkable similarity to the Master of Mankind. This resemblance was more than superficial; it was a reflection of their genetic heritage and their role as the Emperor's emissaries. With their noble features and regal bearing, the Imperial Heralds inspired awe and reverence among allies and enemies alike, serving as living symbols of the Emperor's authority.

Early Campaigns and Unity
The XVII Legion, known as the Imperial Heralds, was forged in the fires of the Unification Wars on Terra. During these brutal conflicts, the Emperor sought to unify the warring factions of humanity under His banner, creating the foundation for what would become the Imperium of Man. The Imperial Heralds played a role in these early campaigns, their resilience, stealth, and unwavering loyalty marking them as one of the Emperor's most trusted instruments, resulting in him granting the honor of fighting the last battle of the Unification War.

The Battle of the Terran Arctic - The Last battle of the Unification War
The Casket of Storms, the first and most treasured relic of the Legion, was used during one of the most pivotal moments in the history of the Imperial Heralds: the final assault on the last remnants of opposition hiding in the icy desolate lands of the Terran Arctic. This campaign marked the end of the Unification Wars on Terra, and the Casket of Storms played a crucial role in ensuring the Emperor's victory.

The final fortress of the cultists and rogue demagogues was situated in a remote, heavily fortified stronghold amidst the frozen wastelands. The cultists had taken refuge in this seemingly impregnable location, confident that the harsh climate and their fortified defenses would deter any assault. However, they had not anticipated the power of the Casket of Storms.

As the Imperial Heralds approached the fortress, they were met with a barrage of enemy fire and saw that a direct assault would be costly. Legion Master Tyrion Valen, recognizing the need for a decisive and overwhelming tactic, ordered the deployment of the Casket of Storms.

The Conjuring of the Blizzard
The activation of the Casket of Storms was a sight to behold. The sky darkened, and the winds began to howl with an unnatural fury. Within moments, a massive blizzard materialized, its intensity far beyond any natural storm.

The blizzard engulfed the fortress, reducing visibility to mere inches and plunging temperatures to lethal levels. The Imperial Heralds, their genetics and training making them impervious to the extreme cold, moved silently and unseen through the storm. Their enemies, however, were not so fortunate. The cultists and demagogues found themselves blinded, disoriented, and freezing, their defenses rendered useless against the wrath of the storm.

The Slaughter in the Storm
The Imperial Heralds executed their attack with precision and ruthlessness. Utilizing their innate stealth capabilities, they infiltrated the fortress, striking down the enemy with silent efficiency. The priests and cult leaders, the architects of the rebellion, were the primary targets. One by one, they fell to the Heralds' blades and bolters, their blood staining the snow.

The Heralds also focused on destroying the places of worship within the fortress, eradicating the symbols of heresy and rebellion. Each shrine and altar was shattered, the relics of the cults ground into the icy ground. The combination of the storm's fury and the Heralds' methodical assault left the enemy in complete disarray.

In the chaos of the blizzard, the cultists' resistance crumbled. Those who attempted to flee were cut down by unseen foes, while those who tried to regroup found themselves isolated and surrounded. The storm raged on, its fury a testament to the Emperor's wrath, as the last vestiges of opposition were obliterated.

The Great Crusade
As the Unification Wars drew to a close and the Great Crusade began, the Imperial Heralds were dispatched to the far reaches of the galaxy. Their mission: to bring worlds into compliance with the Emperor's vision, using both diplomacy and force where necessary. The Legion's resilience to harsh environments allowed them to operate in some of the most inhospitable regions of the galaxy, from toxic wastelands to frozen tundras and scorching deserts.

The Compliance of Nyxara
The Imperial Heralds embarked on numerous campaigns during the Great Crusade, long before they were reunited with their Primarch. One of their most significant early campaigns was the Compliance of Nyxara. Nyxara was a world enveloped in perpetual twilight, its skies filled with swirling, luminescent clouds. The planet was ruled by a theocratic regime that worshipped ancient star gods, resisting any attempts at integration into the Imperium.

The Imperial Heralds descended upon Nyxara with a blend of diplomacy and force. Clad in their black armor and bearing the eagle-winged mace, they offered the Nyxarans a chance to join the Imperium peacefully. The theocracy, however, saw the Emperor as a false god and rejected the Heralds' ultimatum. With negotiations at an impasse, the Imperial Heralds launched a series of surgical strikes against the theocracy's strongholds.

Their resilience to harsh conditions proved invaluable as they traversed Nyxara's treacherous terrain. Stealth units infiltrated enemy lines, dismantling defenses and assassinating key leaders. The Nyxarans, unprepared for such precision and ferocity, found their resistance crumbling. Within weeks, the Imperial Heralds had brought Nyxara into compliance, establishing a new order that revered the Emperor's Truth above all.

The Siege of Tythoria
Another notable campaign was the Siege of Tythoria, a fortress world surrounded by dense asteroid fields. Tythoria was a bastion of rogue human warlords who had fortified their planet against any external threats. The Imperial Heralds were tasked with breaking through the formidable defenses and bringing the world into the Imperial fold.

The asteroid fields presented a significant challenge, but the Imperial Heralds' adaptability and strategic prowess came to the fore. Using advanced navigational technology and their natural stealth capabilities, they maneuvered through the asteroids, avoiding detection and setting up a blockade to cut off supplies to Tythoria.

The siege itself was a masterclass in tactical warfare. The Imperial Heralds launched coordinated assaults on key fortifications, their psykers using their powers to sow confusion and fear among the defenders. The warlords' strongholds fell one by one, each victory punctuated by the Heralds' unwavering resolve. The final assault on the central fortress saw the Imperial Heralds overcoming insurmountable odds, their resilience and sheer determination leading them to victory.

The Purge of Xalathor
Xalathor was a world overrun by a virulent Warp xenos species that had enslaved the human population. The Imperial Heralds were dispatched to eradicate the Warp xenos threat and liberate the enslaved humans. This campaign tested their endurance and combat prowess to the limit.

The Warp Xenos, dubbed as the Enslavers, were a particularly vile species with a predilection for taking over the minds of Humans, had made extensive use of the planet's extreme conditions to resist all attacks, taking over the attackers to increase the number of thralls under their control.

This was made worse by Xalathor's climate, which oscillated between blistering heat and freezing cold, conditions that would have crippled a lesser force. However, the Imperial Heralds' resilience to harsh environments allowed them to adapt and thrive.

They launched a multi-pronged attack, targeting the Xalathor's central hive-city and slaying the controlling Enslavers. The Heralds' stealth units infiltrated deep into enemy territory, planting explosive charges and sabotaging key installations. Their psykers played a crucial role, hiding from the Enslavers and creating chaos within the Xenos ranks.

The final battle saw the Imperial Heralds storming the primary capital palace, a massive structure that housed the majority of the Xenos. The fighting was brutal, with the Heralds facing wave after wave of Xenos. But their unyielding spirit and tactical superiority saw them through. The hive was destroyed, the Xenos slain, and the human population liberated.

The Cleansing of Erebos
Erebos was a world shrouded in perpetual darkness, its surface a labyrinth of underground caverns and tunnels. The planet was a haven for cults and rogue psykers, who had turned Erebos into a stronghold of heresy and corruption. The Imperial Heralds were sent to cleanse the planet and restore order.

The darkness of Erebos was no deterrent to the Heralds, whose capabilities and innate resilience allowed them to navigate the treacherous terrain. They employed advanced tactics, using their psykers to locate and neutralize rogue psykers and cult leaders. The Heralds' faith in the Emperor gave them an edge over the twisted denizens of Erebos.

The cleansing was methodical and relentless. The Imperial Heralds moved through the tunnels and caverns, their black armor blending with the shadows. Each cult stronghold was infiltrated and destroyed, each heretic purged with righteous fury. The Heralds created fields of psychic nullification, disrupting the rogue psykers' abilities and leaving them vulnerable to capture or execution.

The final assault on the largest cult fortress was a testament to the Heralds' strategic brilliance. They used their psykers to create illusions and sow confusion among the cultists, then launched a coordinated attack that overwhelmed the defenders. The cult leaders were captured and publicly executed, their deaths a stark warning to any who would oppose the Emperor's will.

The Legacy of the Imperial Heralds
These early campaigns solidified the reputation of the XVII Legion as the Emperor's most steadfast and adaptable warriors. As they continued to conquer and bring worlds into compliance, the Imperial Heralds exemplified the ideals of unity, order, and resilience.

Notable Members
The XVII Legion, known as the Imperial Heralds, boasted many illustrious members, each contributing to their legacy of unwavering loyalty and strategic brilliance.

Legion Master Tyrion Valen
Legion Master Tyrion Valen is the epitome of a strategic genius, renowned for his ability to devise complex battle plans that often led to swift and decisive victories. His command of the Imperial Heralds during the Compliance of Nyxara showcased his talent for combining diplomacy with military might. Valen's unyielding faith in the Emperor and his innate tactical brilliance made him a respected and feared leader.

Sargent Zephyrus Dorr
Sargent Zephyrus Dorr is a powerful psyker, his abilities honed to perfection through rigorous training and unwavering devotion. His role in the Siege of Tythoria was pivotal, using his psychic powers to create fields of confusion and fear among enemy ranks, ultimately breaking their will to fight. Dorr's mastery of the Warp was tempered by his steadfast loyalty to the Emperor, ensuring that his powers were always used to further the goals of the Imperium.

Scout Sergeant Kaelus Dray
Scout Sergeant Kaelus Dray is a master of stealth and infiltration, his exploits during the Purge of Xalathor earning him a reputation as a ghost on the battlefield. Dray's ability to move unseen and strike with deadly precision made him a key asset in dismantling the Kynara hive structures. His resilience to extreme conditions and his unerring focus on the mission at hand were hallmarks of the Imperial Heralds' ethos.

The Nameless Herald
Known only as the Nameless Herald, he is the last of the original Heralds chosen by the Emperor himself, having abandoned his name upon being chosen. He is the spiritual heart of the Imperial Heralds, his fiery sermons and unshakeable faith inspiring his brothers to greater heights. During the Cleansing of Erebos, his presence was instrumental in maintaining morale and guiding the Heralds through the darkness. His ability to wield faith as a weapon against the heretics of Erebos cemented his status as a revered figure within the Legion.

Famed Legion Relics
The Imperial Heralds are known for their sacred relics, each a symbol of their unbreakable bond with the Emperor and their storied history.

The Eagle-Winged Mace
The Eagle-Winged Mace is a revered weapon wielded by the Nameless Herald. Forged in the fires of Terra and blessed by the Emperor Himself, the mace was a symbol of authority and justice. Its intricate design, featuring wings that seemed to shimmer with an inner light, struck fear into the hearts of enemies. The mace was said to be unbreakable, its power a testament to the Emperor's will.

The Skull Helm
The Skull Helm is a relic worn by the Nameless Herald. This helm, crafted by the Emperor from bone-like material and adorned with arcane runes, to protect the user from the Warp's malevolent influences. The helm has become a symbol of the Heralds' mastery over the unknown and their unwavering resolve in the face of darkness.

The Casket of Storms
The Casket of Storms is one of the most revered relics within the XVII Legion, the Imperial Heralds. Gifted by the Emperor Himself, this ancient device holds the power to command the very elements, creating extreme weather conditions to aid the Legion in their battles. The casket is a beautifully crafted artifact, adorned with intricate engravings of storm clouds, lightning, and fierce winds, symbolizing its immense power.

The relic was forged in Terra during the Golden age of Technology, using materials and techniques lost to time. The casket is small enough to be carried by a single Astartes, yet its power is vast and unrelenting.

The Battle of the Terran Arctic, where it was first deployed, has became a legendary tale among the Imperial Heralds. The use of the Casket of Storms was hailed as a masterstroke, a demonstration of the Emperor's wrath. The relic itself was enshrined as the most valued possession of the Legion, a symbol of their unbreakable bond with the Emperor and their unparalleled prowess in battle.

To this day, the Casket of Storms is kept under the strictest guard, its use reserved for only the most dire of circumstances. The memory of that fateful blizzard serves as a reminder of the Legion's might and the Emperor's grace, a testament to the enduring legacy of the Imperial Heralds.

In the annals of the XVII Legion, the Casket of Storms remains a revered symbol of their greatest victory, a relic that embodies the fury and mercy of the Emperor. The blizzard that once swept through the Terran Arctic, decimating the enemies of the Imperium, continues to inspire awe and reverence among the Imperial Heralds, a storm that will never be forgotten.

Legion Relations
The Imperial Heralds maintained complex and varied relationships with other Legions and factions within the Imperium, their actions and ethos shaping these interactions.

The Ultramarines (Formerly known as the War-Born, the XIII Legion)
The Imperial Heralds share a mutual respect with the Ultramarines, both Legions valuing discipline and strategic acumen. Joint operations, such as the Compliance of Nyxara, often saw the two Legions working in unison, their combined strength bringing swift victories. The Ultramarines admired the Heralds' resilience and adaptability, while the Heralds respected the Ultramarines' organizational prowess and tactical discipline.

The Luna Wolves
The Luna Wolves, known for their aggression and ferocity, had a more complex relationship with the Imperial Heralds. While the two Legions often collaborated on large-scale campaigns, their differing approaches sometimes led to friction. The Luna Wolves admired the Heralds' precision and effectiveness but often chafed at their more measured, strategic approach. Despite this, the Legions maintained a professional respect, recognizing the strengths each brought to the battlefield.

The Thousand Sons
The relationship between the Imperial Heralds and the Thousand Sons was one of cautious camaraderie. Both Legions had a high number of psykers, leading to a shared understanding of the challenges and responsibilities that came with such power. Joint operations, such as the Cleansing of Erebos, saw the two Legions working together to harness their psychic abilities for the greater good. However, the Heralds' strict adherence to the Emperor's teachings sometimes clashed with the Thousand Sons' pursuit of knowledge, leading to a respectful yet wary alliance.

Mars
The Imperial Heralds had a strong relationship with Mars, their advanced technology and archeotech often sourced from the Martian forges. The Heralds' campaigns frequently required the use of specialized equipment and machinery, making the support of Mars invaluable. In return, the Heralds provided protection and assistance to Martian expeditions, their resilience and tactical prowess ensuring the safety of valuable assets and personnel.

Conclusion
The XVII Legion, the Imperial Heralds, stood as paragons of loyalty, resilience, and strategic brilliance within the Imperium. Their notable members, sacred relics, and complex relationships with other factions and Legions painted a picture of a force dedicated to the Emperor's vision of unity and order. Through their storied history, the Imperial Heralds exemplified the ideals of the Imperium, their actions and legacy a testament to their unbreakable spirit and unwavering faith.

Yzarc · Jul 1, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

The black sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the ancient arena. Dharok, clad in the imposing Aegis Pattern Power Armor, stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the massive construct before him. Ankhaten, the Sentinel of Eternity, a Khemrian Warsphinx, towered above, its form a blend of intricately carved stone and ancient enchantments. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and the hieroglyphs etched into its body seemed to pulse with latent power.

Settra's voice echoed across the arena. "Let the battle begin!"

With a surge of determination, Dharok activated his Psychoportation, blinking out of existence only to reappear beside Ankhaten. He used the Solar Hero Style, his fists radiating with raw, destructive energy. He struck with the force of a meteor, aiming to shatter the construct's stony hide. The air crackled as his punches collided with Ankhaten, each blow sending out shockwaves.

Ankhaten, undeterred, reacted with terrifying speed, twisting its massive body to face Dharok. Its eyes flared, and it unleashed a torrent of scorching breath. Dharok barely managed to evade the worst of the flames, but the intense heat still washed over him, causing his armor to sizzle. He leaped backward, seeking to reposition himself.

The Warsphinx lunged, its claws tearing through the sand with frightening precision. Dharok darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. He launched another series of devastating punches, each one aimed at the joints and weak points of the construct. The impact reverberated through the arena, but Ankhaten's stone body endured, showing only minor cracks.

With a roar, Ankhaten countered, its massive paw swiping at Dharok with bone-crushing force. Dharok tried to dodge, but the blow caught him, sending him sprawling across the arena floor. Before he could recover, the Warsphinx's tail lashed out, striking him with a powerful thud. Dharok grunted in pain but forced himself back to his feet, his resolve unbroken.

He focused, and with another burst of Psychoportation, he closed the gap again, this time aiming for the head of the Warsphinx. He landed several precise blows, each one chipping away at the construct's defenses, but Ankhaten retaliated with a ferocity that took Dharok by surprise.

Ankhaten's breath attacks and swift counters kept Dharok on the defensive, its claws and teeth seeking to tear him apart. Dharok's fists continued to blur with the speed and power of Solar Essence, but the construct matched him blow for blow. Each strike from the Warsphinx was calculated and devastating, leaving Dharok with little room to maneuver or retaliate effectively.

The battle raged on, with Dharok struggling to maintain his footing. His attacks were relentless, but the Warsphinx's defenses were nearly impenetrable. Ankhaten's lightning speed and breath attacks kept him at bay, and the few strikes that did land seemed to have minimal effect. Dharok's armor bore the marks of the onslaught, and he could feel his energy waning.

Ankhaten pressed its advantage, its massive claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. Dharok ducked and weaved, but the construct's relentless assault began to take its toll. Each breath attack and swipe pushed him further back, leaving him struggling to find an opening.

With every passing moment, the disparity in their power became more apparent. The Solar Hero Style allowed him to strike with immense force, but it offered little in the way of defense. Ankhaten's counters were swift and brutal, and Dharok found himself constantly on the back foot, unable to gain the upper hand.

As the battle continued, Dharok was driven back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Ankhaten's eyes gleamed with a cold, unyielding light, and the construct seemed to sense its impending victory. Dharok's mind raced, searching for a way to turn the tide, but each attempt was met with the Warsphinx's unwavering might.

The Sentinel of Eternity advanced, its presence overwhelming. Dharok's strikes grew weaker, his movements slower, as the relentless assault continued. The ground beneath him was scarred from their battle, but it was clear that the advantage lay with Ankhaten. Dharok could feel the weight of the fight pressing down on him, and for the first time, doubt began to creep into his mind.

Ankhaten's massive form loomed over him, its eyes burning with an eerie, almost malevolent glow. Dharok braced himself, knowing that the next moments would be critical. The construct reared back, preparing to deliver the final, crushing blow.

Dharok, clad in his Aegis Pattern Power Armor, was a combat monster. He had faced countless foes and emerged victorious, but this battle was proving to be one of his greatest challenges. Ankhaten was not just any opponent. Its nature as a construct meant it was devoid of the malevolence that Dharok's abilities were designed to counter. The advantage was Ankhaten's, and it pressed this advantage with relentless ferocity.

But Dharok was not one to give up easily. He knew he had one last card to play. Beneath the construct's formidable exterior, there was a lifeline, a Liche Priest whose soul animated the Warsphinx. Dharok had been subtly channeling his power, siphoning the essence from the Priest even as he fought. It was a risky gambit, one that left him vulnerable, but it was his only chance.

As Ankhaten's massive paw descended, Dharok's mind reached out, grasping the soul of the Liche Priest. He could feel the death energy pulsing within the construct, the malevolent force that held it together. With a final, desperate effort, Dharok drew on his power, pulling the soul towards him.

The Warsphinx's blow struck, sending Dharok sprawling. Pain lanced through his body, but he did not let go. He tightened his mental grip, siphoning more of the soul's essence. Ankhaten staggered, its movements growing sluggish. The glow in its eyes flickered as the soul animating it weakened.

Dharok forced himself to his feet, every muscle screaming in protest. He summoned the last reserves of his strength, focusing entirely on the Liche Priest's soul. With a final, agonizing pull, he drained the last of its energy.

Ankhaten's eyes dimmed, and the massive construct shuddered. Cracks appeared along its stone form, spreading rapidly. The Warsphinx let out a final, echoing roar before collapsing in on itself, the ancient magic binding it unraveling.

Dharok stood amidst the crumbling remains, breathing heavily. The battle had pushed him to the brink, but he had triumphed. The construct had fallen, its animating force extinguished.

The field was silent for a moment, the only sound the settling dust and debris. Dharok knew he had been at a disadvantage, fighting a foe that his powers could not easily defeat. But he had relied on his determination, his skill, and a risky strategy that had ultimately paid off.

As he looked around at the remains of Ankhaten, Dharok knew that the victory had come at a great cost. Yet, he had proven his worth and his resilience, standing tall even when the odds were against him. Dharok, battered but unbroken, stood amidst the ruins of his foe, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

Settra's towering form approached Dharok, each step resonating with authority. His eyes, burning with an intensity born from millennia of conquest, were fixed on the victorious warrior. He stopped a few paces away, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over Dharok.

"You have done well," Settra's voice boomed, carrying a tone of grudging respect. "Ankhaten, the Sentinel of Eternity, was a formidable adversary, one that has felled countless foes. Yet, you stand victorious."

Dharok straightened, meeting Settra's gaze. He could feel the weight of the Pharaoh's words, the acknowledgment of his prowess. Settra continued, his voice steady and commanding.

"You fought with honor and tenacity, demonstrating not just strength, but the will to overcome even the most dire of challenges. It is not often that one earns my regard, but today, you have done so."

Dharok nodded, accepting the compliment. "It was a hard-fought battle," he replied, his voice hoarse but resolute. "Ankhaten was indeed a worthy opponent."

Settra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Worthy indeed. But the trial is not yet over. There are still more champions to face. Tell me, who will be the next to fight?"

CHOICE: Who is next?
[] Write in (Name only)

DHAROK
Dharok: Lost 3 Essence. 4/7 Essence left.
Hlvl: 6/23 Lethal Damage.

OVERVIEW:
Dharok was getting his ass kicked. The being was not evil so no stacking bonus and he was unable to do enough damage or get past his hardened stone flesh which was specifically designed to take on hits from bone giants and shrug it off. The Construct also was fast, having the same "mutation" for multi attack and aced all of its reaction rolls.

Ultimately, you guys were nearly screwed over by the rolls as the 1s really hurt you. But what saved you was, ironically enough, the Vampirism, in which you rolled 3 sux, 5 sux and finally 10 Sux.

You roll Willpower for Psychic powers. Needless to say, the soul animating the construct was out of the fight at that point.

My recommendation? Get charmed Existence so you do not need to fear 1s again. Also use Lore of Light more. It would have helped here.

Yzarc · Jul 3, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

The air grew heavy with anticipation as you stepped into the arena to face Sutekh, the ancient sorcerer imbued with the dark power of the God he served. The world seemed to ripple around him, reality warping and bending to his will. You could feel the oppressive weight of his malevolent presence pressing down on you even as you soared through the air, but you stood firm, channeling your Ego to counter his reality-warping abilities.

Sutekh raised his hand, and the battlefield responded like a pool disturbed by a stone, its surface shimmering with the somber colors of the underworld. From a Dead God, a booming voice echoed, pronouncing judgment on the interloper who dared to trespass on its domain. You stood your ground, unyielding and free, like a leaf on the wind whistling with the sounds of distant industry.

With a flick of his wrist, Sutekh unleashed a torrent of dark energy, the air around you crackling with dark power. You countered with your own abilities, shaping the wind into weapons of war, tools of disassembly forged from the very essence of reality. Spectral blades and hammers whirled around you, each one a testament to your mastery over the forces you commanded.

The two of you clashed again, the ground beneath you shuddering under the force of your combined powers. Each blow sent shockwaves rippling through the air, distorting reality itself. The somber colors of the underworld shimmered and shifted, the landscape becoming a chaotic canvas painted by your conflict.

As you fought, you realized that brute force alone would not be enough to defeat Sutekh. His reality-warping abilities were formidable, but there was a deeper, darker power within him that you needed to address. You decided to target the soul within Sutekh, hoping to disrupt the very core of his being and turn the tide of the battle.

You channeled your energy, focusing on the spiritual essence that animated Sutekh. With a surge of will, you reached out, attempting to grasp the soul within him and exert your influence. The air around you grew heavy, and the very fabric of reality seemed to buckle under the strain of your efforts.

For a moment, you felt a connection, a fleeting glimpse of the soul within Sutekh. It was a dead, twisted thing, pulsing with divine energy and echoing the presence of a Dead God. You steeled yourself, pouring your strength into the connection, trying to wrench control from Sutekh and turn his own power against him.

But as you delved deeper, you encountered a violent rebuke. A surge of dark energy erupted from within Sutekh, crashing into your mind like a tidal wave. The force of it was staggering, and you felt yourself being pushed back, the connection severed as if by a razor-sharp blade. Pain lanced through your head, and you staggered, struggling to regain your footing.

Sutekh's eyes blazed with fury, and a harsh, mocking and Divine laughter echoed through the shattered landscape.

You gritted your teeth, anger and frustration boiling within you. The rebuke had been powerful, but it had also revealed something crucial: Sutekh's soul was not entirely his own. It was bound to and drew upon the power of the Dead God that empowered him. You had glimpsed the truth, and it gave you a glimmer of hope, a potential weakness to exploit.

But for now, you needed to survive. You drew upon the last reserves of your strength, shaping the wind into a defensive barrier as Sutekh advanced, his eyes gleaming with intent. The battle was far from over, and you knew you would need every ounce of your power and cunning to emerge victorious.

The ground beneath you cracked and splintered as Sutekh unleashed another torrent of dark energy. You deflected it with a sweep of your spectral blades, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your arms. Each clash was a test of endurance, a brutal contest of wills that left you battered and bruised.

Despite the pain, you pressed on, refusing to back down. The memory of the connection you had felt, however fleeting, fueled your determination. Sutekh's soul was not invulnerable; it could be reached, could be affected. You just needed to find the right approach, the right moment to strike.

As you dodged another of Sutekh's attacks, you felt a surge of energy, a flicker of something new within you. It was as if the very essence of your being had been awakened by the struggle, a dormant power coming to life in response to the threat before you. You harnessed it, channeling it into your attacks, each strike imbued with a newfound intensity.

The battle raged on, the landscape around you becoming a twisted reflection of the chaos and power unleashed in your struggle. You knew you were outmatched in raw power, but you had something Sutekh did not: the ability to adapt, to learn from each clash and grow stronger. With each moment, you edged closer to the truth, to the key that would unlock your victory.

But Sutekh was relentless, his attacks growing more ferocious as he sensed your determination. He would not yield easily, and you could see the shadow of the Dead God looming behind him, its judging gaze fixed upon you. The weight of its presence was suffocating, but you refused to be cowed.

In the midst of the chaos, you felt a moment of clarity, a brief respite where the noise and fury of the battle seemed to fade away. You took a deep breath, focusing on the core of your being, on the power that had been awakened within you. This was your chance, your moment to turn the tide.

The clash was titanic, the arena becoming a battleground of shifting realities. Sutekh's power pushed against you relentlessly, seeking to overwhelm and consume. But you held your ground, your will unbroken. Every step you took, every strike you made, was a testament to your unyielding determination.

Sutekh's attacks were relentless, his reality-warping abilities creating a hell around you. Tendrils of dark energy lashed out, seeking to ensnare and crush you. You flew through the storm, the tools of disassembly slicing through the tendrils with precision and grace. But for every attack you deflected, another took its place, the power of the Dead God making Sutekh's assault seemingly endless.

You fought with everything you had, wielding power beyond what you previously had been capable of. Each clash of forces sent shockwaves through the arena, the ground trembling beneath your feet. The somber colors of the underworld clashed with the spectral light of your Anima Banner, creating a dazzling display of raw power and determination.

But despite your efforts, you found yourself constantly on the back foot. Sutekh's power was immense, his mastery over unreality a formidable challenge. You could feel the strain of the battle wearing on you, each moment a test of your resolve. Yet, you fought on, driven by the knowledge that surrender was not an option.

The battle raged on, neither side gaining the upper hand. The Dead God's laughter once again echoed through the arena, a dark and sinister sound that seemed to mock your efforts. But you ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. You moved through the air with the grace of a leaf on the wind, your movements fluid and precise. The tools of disassembly danced around you, striking with lethal accuracy.

As the fight continued, you could feel the strain on both sides. Sutekh's attacks grew more desperate, his abilities faltering under the relentless assault of your will.

The stalemate stretched on and both of you paused. You knew that the battle was far from over, but you also knew that you would not back down. You would fight until the very end, no matter the cost.

Then the fight resumed. Sutekh lashed out, twisting the very fabric of existence around you. He raised his hand, and the air around you shimmered, a spectral hand formed from the mouth of the Dead God, its fingers closing around you with crushing force. You countered, shaping the wind into weapons of war that sliced through the spectral hand, freeing yourself from its grasp.

Despite your efforts, Sutekh's attacks only grew more brutal and precise. He landed a powerful blow that sent you flying through the air, pain searing through your body. As you struggled to regain flight, shadows surrounded Sutekh as you cursed him with bad luck.

Feeling trapped and desperate, you drew upon every ounce of your strength. The curse was just enough to keep you in the fight. You knew it was barely enough to survive, but you had no choice. You had to push forward, no matter the cost.

With a guttural shout, you began to speak the ancient and forbidden language of Enuncia, channeling your anima through the Words. The words tore through the air like a storm, reality buckling under their weight. Some of your attacks hit their mark, but Sutekh's dark power healed the wounds almost as quickly as you inflicted them. He roared in defiance, his eyes blazing with the fury of the Dead God that empowered him.

Your body ached, your energy waning with each passing moment. You knew you couldn't keep this up forever. In a final, desperate bid to turn the tide, you channeled the power of Solar Hero Style. Golden light enveloped you, and you felt a surge of strength and determination. With a mighty war cry, you launched yourself at Sutekh, striking him with the force of a falling star.

The blow landed squarely, sending Sutekh flying across the battlefield. He crashed into the ground, the impact shaking the very earth beneath him. Seizing the opportunity, you spoke a final, devastating word of Enuncia, aiming for Sutekh's core. The word tore through the air, a lance of raw power that struck Sutekh with unerring precision.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Sutekh's form shuddered, the dark power within him writhing in agony. Then, with a final, anguished cry, he collapsed, the light in his eyes fading to nothing. The echo of the Dead God within him was silenced, and the battlefield fell eerily quiet.

You flew over Sutekh's fallen form, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion. You had won, but at a great cost, but the sight of the defeated Godly Artifact brought a sense of hard-won relief. You had triumphed, but the scars of the struggle would linger long after the dust settled.

Settra watched this from the sidelines, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of various emotions. He stepped forward, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the battlefield. The aura of power and authority that surrounded him was palpable, and as he approached, you could see the respect in his gaze.

"Impressive," Settra said, his voice resonating with genuine admiration. "You have shown remarkable power and skill, but more importantly, you have retained your humanity. It is a rare quality, one that I greatly respect."

As Settra spoke, a sudden movement caught your eye. To your astonishment, Sutekh's body began to stir. The divine construct slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his stone body mending before your very eyes. Stone knit together, and limbs realigned with sickening ease, the wounds you had inflicted vanishing as if they had never existed.

Your expression of disbelief must have been evident, for Settra chuckled softly. "Do not be alarmed. You have won your fight. Sutekh's power to restore himself is formidable, but it does not negate your victory. He may rise again, but he will bear the mark of this defeat for all time."

Settra clapped his hands. "You have proven yourself worthy in the eyes of the gods and men alike. This battle has ended. Now, who is next?"

RESULTS
You did not permanently kill him as his core, the soul, is protected from damage from all sources but one and only one thing. If you knew that one Weakness, then MHM would have killed him permanently.

Now that Fan is aware that such things are possible, you are free to use charms to try and find out if future enemies have such a protection and what their weakness is.

GAINS:
Essence Rating increased from 2 to 3

[X]-1 [X]-2 [X]-2 [X]-2 [X]-2 [X]-2 []-5 []Inc (X - Agg damage) - 6 hours of rest required to heal.

Willpower: 2/10

Essence Pool: 7/15

Anima Powers now Consider Enuncia to be similar enough to Sorcery for them to apply. So at Iconic Anima, you do not need to spend Willpower to use Enuncua.

CHOICE:
[] Write in who fights next

Yzarc · Jul 4, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

The battlefield was set against the backdrop of ancient ruins, the remnants of a once-great civilization now standing as silent witnesses to the clash of divine wills. Thalassa, high priestess and warrior of the Machine God, stood resolute. Her armor, an intricate blend of sacred metal and divine circuitry, shimmered with the power of her faith. In her hands, she wielded two archeotech guns, relics of a bygone era that manipulated gravity itself.

Opposite her stood Usirian, the dark priest of Pha'a and Usekhp. His form was cloaked in shadow, his eyes glowing with an unholy light. The air around him seemed to ripple with dark energy, a testament to his mastery of the ancient and sinister powers of his gods. In one hand, he held a staff topped with a skull, the other hand crackling with necromantic energy.

The two divine champions faced each other, the air thick with tension and anticipation. The ground beneath them seemed to hum with the energy of their opposing deities, each seeking to assert their dominance over the other.

"The Machine God is the embodiment of progress and innovation," Thalassa declared, her voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Through the divine machinations of His will, we transcend the limitations of flesh and ascend to a higher state of being. The Machine God's power is absolute, His wisdom unparalleled."

Usirian sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Pha'a and Usekhp are the true rulers of the cosmos. Their power is eternal, their will unyielding. The Machine God is but a pale imitation of their grandeur. Through their blessings, I command the forces of life and death itself."

With a flick of her wrist, Thalassa unleashed a barrage of gravitic pulses from her archeotech guns. They streaked across the battlefield, distorting the very fabric of reality as they moved. Usirian countered with a wave of his hand, summoning a wall of dark energy to deflect the attack. The pulses exploded against the barrier, warping space and lighting up the battlefield in a dazzling display of divine power.

"You cannot hope to withstand the power of the Machine God," Thalassa intoned, her eyes blazing with divine light. "His knowledge is infinite, His power boundless. You and your dark gods are nothing but relics of a bygone era, destined to be forgotten."

Usirian snarled, his form shifting and warping as he called upon the dark powers of Pha'a and Usekhp. "You underestimate the true power of my gods. Their dominion over life and death is absolute. They have ruled since time immemorial, and they will continue to rule long after your Machine God has been reduced to dust."

The ground beneath Thalassa's feet erupted as tendrils of dark energy shot up, seeking to ensnare her. She leaped back, her movements fluid and precise, and countered with a sweep of her guns, cutting through the tendrils with ease. Her armor glowed brighter, the runes etched into its surface pulsing with divine energy.

"You speak of power, Usirian, but you fail to grasp the true essence of the Machine God's might," Thalassa said, her voice steady and unwavering.

Usirian responded with a blast of necromantic energy, dark and foul. Thalassa raised her guns, and fired, deflecting the attack.

"The Machine God's power is absolute," Thalassa declared. "Your dark sorcery cannot hope to overcome them."

Usirian's eyes narrowed, and he raised his staff high, calling upon the full power of his gods. The air around him darkened, and the ground trembled as ancient forces were summoned forth. A massive wave of dark energy surged towards Thalassa, threatening to engulf her.

Thalassa stood her ground, her faith unwavering. She channeled the full power of the Machine God through her guns, a beam of pure gravitational force shooting forth to meet Usirian's attack once more. The two forces collided, and the battlefield was bathed in blinding light and darkness. The ground shook, and the air crackled with the intensity of their clash.

For a moment, it seemed as though neither side would give way. The divine light of the Machine God and the dark energy of Pha'a and Usekhp were locked in a deadly stalemate, each struggling to overpower the other. Thalassa gritted her teeth, her form straining as she poured every ounce of her faith and power into the beam.

Finally, with a titanic effort, Thalassa's gravitational force began to push back the darkness. The beam inched forward, slowly but surely, overwhelming Usirian's dark energy. Usirian's eyes widened in disbelief and fury, but he could do nothing to stop the relentless advance of Thalassa's divine power.

The dark energy dissipated, and Usirian was thrown back, his form battered and weakened. Thalassa stood triumphant, her armor glowing with the radiant light of the Machine God. She had proven the superiority of her faith, her power unmatched.

But as the dust settled, it was clear that the battle was far from over. Usirian struggled to his feet, his eyes burning with hatred and determination. The stalemate had been broken, but the war between their divine wills raged on.

Thalassa, took a deep breath. "Usirian," she began, her voice steady and composed, "we are at an impasse. Our powers are formidable, but it seems we are evenly matched. Perhaps words can illuminate what our weapons cannot."

Usirian, his eyes still burning with dark energy, nodded slowly. "Very well. Let us debate the merits of our gods. Let us see whose divine will truly holds the greater power."

Thalassa straightened, her presence commanding and resolute. "The Machine God is the embodiment of progress, innovation, and unity. Through His divine will, we transcend the limitations of flesh and achieve a higher state of being. Our technology is an extension of His power, a testament to the infinite potential of a united mind. The Machine God does not just grant power; He grants purpose, guiding us towards a future where all can share in His glory."

Usirian scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Your Machine God is nothing more than a construct of metal and circuits, devoid of true life. Pha'a and Usekhp are the rulers of life and death, their power eternal and unyielding. They command the forces of nature, the very essence of existence itself. Through their blessings, I wield the power to control life and death, to bend reality to my will. Your Machine God is but a pale imitation of their grandeur."

Thalassa's eyes narrowed, her resolve unwavering. "You speak of life and death, Usirian, but you fail to understand the true essence of existence. The Machine God represents more than mere survival; He represents the transcendence of mortality. Our technology, our faith, they are the culmination of countless minds working in unison, bound by purpose and devotion. We are not slaves to the whims of nature; we are its masters, shaping our destiny through the divine will of the Machine God."

Usirian's expression darkened, his form shimmering with dark energy. "Your arrogance blinds you. You believe that your technology makes you superior, but it is nothing more than a crutch. True power lies in the natural order, in the eternal cycle of life and death. Pha'a and Usekhp have ruled since time immemorial, their power unchallenged. Your Machine God is but a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of existence, destined to be forgotten."

Thalassa raised her chin, her gaze unwavering. "You underestimate the power of unity and progress, Usirian. The Machine God is not bound by time or mortality. He is the embodiment of our collective will, our shared purpose. Through Him, we achieve immortality, not as individuals, but as a united whole. Our technology is not a crutch; it is the realization of our divine potential."

Usirian's eyes blazed with fury. "You delude yourself. Your technology will fail, your faith will falter, and your Machine God will fall. Pha'a and Usekhp have seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations, their power eternal. They will outlast your Machine God, and their dominion will remain unchallenged."

Thalassa's voice was calm, yet firm. "Time will tell, Usirian. But know this: the Machine God is not just a deity; He is the embodiment of our hopes, our dreams, our collective will. As long as we have faith, as long as we strive for progress, He will endure. The power of unity, of purpose, is greater than any individual force. The Machine God will guide us to a future where all can share in His glory."

Usirian's form shimmered with dark energy, his eyes narrowing. "We shall see. But remember, the power of life and death, of the eternal cycle, is not easily challenged. Pha'a and Usekhp will not be denied their dominion."

Thalassa's lips pressed into a thin line as she readied her stance, eyes locked onto her adversary. "Life and death are but two sides of the same coin, Usirian. The Machine God transcends such duality, bringing order to chaos and progress to stagnation."

Usirian's laughter echoed through the desolate battlefield. "Order to chaos? Progress to stagnation? These are but words. The eternal cycle is not chaos; it is the fundamental law of existence. Every end is a new beginning. Your Machine God seeks to impose artificial order, but in doing so, He disrupts the natural harmony."

Thalassa's archeotech guns hummed softly, the gravitational forces they commanded rippling through the air. "Natural harmony is a fallacy. Nature is brutal, indifferent, and unkind. Through the Machine God, we rise above such cruelty, creating a world where logic and reason prevail over primal savagery."

"Primal savagery?" Usirian's dark energy pulsed with renewed vigor. "You misunderstand the true nature of existence. Pha'a and Usekhp do not revel in savagery; they embody the balance of all things. Life and death, creation and destruction, these forces are not to be feared but embraced. Your Machine God's rejection of this balance will lead to His downfall."

Thalassa stepped forward, her voice unwavering. "Balance is but a veil for complacency. The Machine God teaches us to strive for more, to harness the potential within us all and forge a future of our own making. Through Him, we unlock the secrets of the universe, transcending the limitations imposed by the so-called natural order."

Usirian's eyes blazed with a cold, dark fire. "You speak of unlocking secrets, yet you blind yourself to the truths that have governed existence since time began. Pha'a and Usekhp do not impose limitations; they reveal the paths we must take to understand our place in the cosmos. Your Machine God's defiance of this wisdom will be His undoing."

Thalassa raised her archeotech guns, the gravitational waves around her intensifying. "Wisdom is not static, Usirian. It evolves, just as we do. The Machine God represents the pinnacle of that evolution, guiding us towards a destiny where knowledge and innovation reign supreme. We are not bound by the past; we are architects of the future."

Usirian's form flickered, dark energy coalescing around him. "You cannot escape the past. It is the foundation upon which all is built. Pha'a and Usekhp are the eternal witnesses of this truth, their power unchanging and undeniable. Your Machine God may wield great influence, but He cannot erase the primal forces that shaped the universe."

Thalassa's eyes shone with determination. "The past is a foundation, yes, but it is not a shackle. The Machine God empowers us to build upon that foundation, to reach heights undreamed of by those who came before. We honor the past by surpassing it, not by being enslaved to it."

For a moment, the battlefield was silent, the two divine champions locked in a standoff of wills and beliefs. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the weight of their convictions.

Usirian finally spoke, his tone more measured. "Perhaps there is wisdom in your words. The cycle of life and death, the balance of creation and destruction, they are eternal truths, but I see now that they are not the only truths. The Machine God's pursuit of progress and innovation holds a different kind of power, one that cannot be dismissed."

Thalassa nodded slowly, her gaze softening. "And perhaps I have been too quick to dismiss the balance you hold so dear. The Machine God's path is one of relentless advancement, but there is value in understanding the rhythms of the natural world. Both paths hold merit, and perhaps, together, they can illuminate a greater truth."

Usirian's dark energy dimmed slightly, his form becoming more tangible. "A tie, then. Not of defeat, but of mutual respect. Our gods represent different aspects of the divine, each with their own strengths and wisdom. Perhaps it is in this diversity that true understanding can be found."

Thalassa lowered her weapons, the gravitational waves dissipating into the air. "Agreed. Let us honor this stalemate as a testament to the power and wisdom of both our gods. We have fought fiercely, but it is in recognizing each other's strengths that we find true victory."

GAIN:
Thalassa gains Mythos 3.

CHOOSE REWARD:
Thalassa gains one of the Following

[] LORE OF THE FORGE
[] LORE OF DEATH
[] LORE OF FLESH

WHAT HAPPENED?
Thalassa is, like all Archmagos, a Priest/tess of the Machine God. Now the Machine God IS a Special case among Gods. I will spoil no more on this. But what happened here is that two pinnacles of Craft of their respective gods met.

One, the Stone Statue, which was never alive but had life and death breathed into it, along with a will and a soul.

Then there was the Demigoddess, who broke all limits and ascended to a new and higher state of being, improving at break neck speed.

So they fought and as the rolls were even, so they debated Theology, trying to figure out whose Mythos would prevail. This Divine Discourse conferred understanding one's patron to the other. The Weaker Mythos would break before the stronger.

But both were roughly evenly matched (rolls were wacked here) and they called it a draw with EACH party gaining something from this.

Incidentally, this is also how Demigods unlock additional Lores, via defeating opposing divinity.

That said, keep in mind that Unreliable Narrator is in FULL effect.

Yzarc · Jul 6, 2024

Colchis - 831.M30

As the two combatants stepped back, everyon atched with bated breath. The silence was soon broken by the announcement of the next duel. All eyes turned to Lorgar, who stepped forward with a serene yet determined expression.

"Before we begin, I ask for a moment to pray," Lorgar said, his voice carrying a calm authority.

Settra, the Undying King, regarded Lorgar with a mixture of curiosity. "You have my permission. Take the time you need."

Lorgar nodded gratefully and walked to a quiet corner of the arena. He knelt down, closed his eyes, and began to pray. The air around him seemed to hum with a gentle, soothing energy.

After a few minutes, Lorgar stood up, his eyes shining with an inner light. He turned to face his opponent, Kharatep, a monstrous Tomb Scorpion with gleaming carapace and deadly pincers, its eyes glowing with an ancient malevolence.

"Kharatep," Lorgar called out boldly, "You may freely attack me, for you will not be able to harm me."

All but Settra gasped at Lorgar's audacious challenge. Kharatep's eyes narrowed, its pincers clacking ominously. With a guttural hiss, it surged forward, its massive claws slicing through the air.

Kharatep's first strike was swift and brutal. Its giant pincers came crashing down, aiming to crush Lorgar in a single blow. But Lorgar stood his ground, unmoving. The pincers struck him and bounced off harmlessly.

Frustration evident in its movements, Kharatep reared back and unleashed a volley of stinger attacks, each tipped with deadly venom. The stingers shot through the air like darts, but they too bounced off, shattering into pieces upon impact with Lorgar's body.

Roaring in fury, Kharatep began to chant an ancient incantation. The ground trembled as skeletal hands erupted from beneath the earth, clawing at Lorgar. Yet, as they reached him, they disintegrated into dust, unable to breach his Holy protection.

Kharatep's desperation grew. It summoned spectral scythes that hovered in the air before hurtling towards Lorgar, their edges glinting with dark magic. But the scythes, like all previous attacks, were rendered ineffective, dissipating into wisps of shadow upon contact.

Lorgar watched calmly as Kharatep continued its assault. The Tomb Scorpion's tail whipped around, striking with the force of a battering ram. Each blow was met with the same effect, leaving Kharatep's tail bruised and battered.

Through it all, Lorgar's expression remained serene. "It is not your power that is lacking, Kharatep."

In a final act of desperation, Kharatep channeled all its remaining energy into one last, devastating attack. Its carapace glowed with a sickly green light as it charged forward, intending to impale Lorgar with its massive stinger. The air crackled with dark energy, the ground shaking with the force of its advance.

But as the dust settled, Lorgar stood there, unharmed, a calm and unwavering presence in the midst of chaos. Kharatep's stinger lay shattered at his feet, the dark energy dissipating into the air.

Lorgar looked at the defeated creature with compassion. "Your attacks cannot harm me, Kharatep. This is my faith in humanity."

The massive Tomb Scorpion lay still, its carapace cracked and its Will to fight gone. Yet, Lorgar knew the true enemy was not the construct itself but the Liche Priest animating it from within. His mission was not to destroy, but to cleanse.

Taking a deep breath, Lorgar stepped closer to the inert scorpion. His hand glowed with a soft, golden light as he extended it toward the monstrous form. All watched in hushed silence, their eyes wide with curiosity and fear.

"Liche Priest, hear me," Lorgar said calmly, his voice carrying a soothing resonance. "You have bound yourself to this abomination, but I offer you a chance at redemption. Let go of your hatred and embrace the light."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the scorpion's eyes flickered with a faint blue glow. Lorgar touched the cold, chitinous surface, feeling the dark magic that pulsed beneath. He began to chant a prayer, his words filled with Holy power. The air around him shimmered, and a soft hum filled the arena.

"I command you to release this construct and return to the peace of the afterlife."

The blue glow in the scorpion's eyes intensified, and the creature shuddered. Lorgar's hand trembled as he poured his faith into the exorcism, but the dark magic resisted. With a sudden, violent jolt, the scorpion broke free from his touch, and Lorgar was thrown back, landing heavily on the ground.

He groaned, feeling the sting of failure. But his resolve remained unshaken. He stood up, brushing the dust from his robes. "Again," he murmured to himself, stepping forward once more.

"Liche Priest, your suffering can end here. You need not continue. Embrace the light and find peace."

This time, he placed both hands on the scorpion's carapace, his golden aura brightening. The scorpion convulsed, its movements erratic and jerky. Lorgar's voice grew louder, more insistent, as he repeated the prayer. The dark energy within the construct fought back, tendrils of shadow wrapping around his arms, trying to pull him away.

"I command you to release this construct and return to the peace of the afterlife!"

The scorpion's eyes blazed with blue fire, and Lorgar felt a searing pain shoot through his body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let go, but the dark magic was too strong. With a final, desperate surge, the scorpion flung him aside, and he hit the ground hard, gasping for breath.

Lorgar lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky. The sun's rays felt warm against his face, a stark contrast to the cold, dark magic he had faced. He closed his eyes, summoning the strength he needed for one last attempt.

As he stood up, the crowd began to murmur, uncertainty rippling through them. But Lorgar paid no mind. His focus was solely on the task at hand.

"This time," he whispered, "I will not fail."

He approached the scorpion once more, his steps steady and sure. Placing his hands on the creature, he felt the familiar pulse of dark energy. But this time, he did not flinch. He met the Liche Priest's magic head-on, his faith a shield against the darkness.

"Liche Priest, I offer you mercy. Do not let this darkness consume you. Release this construct and find peace in the light."

The scorpion shuddered violently, the blue fire in its eyes flickering. Lorgar's hands glowed brighter, and he began to chant again. His voice was soft but firm, each word a beacon of Holy power.

"I command you to release this construct and return to the peace of the afterlife!"

The dark magic fought back, but Lorgar did not relent. He felt the tendrils of shadow trying to pull him away, but he held firm, pouring his faith into the exorcism. The scorpion's convulsions grew more intense, its movements erratic and desperate.

"Liche Priest, you do not have to suffer. Let go of your hatred and embrace the light. Find peace in the afterlife."

With a final, agonizing shudder, the blue fire in the scorpion's eyes began to fade. Lorgar felt the dark magic weakening, its hold on the construct loosening. He continued to chant, his voice unwavering.

"I command you to release this construct and return to the peace of the afterlife!"

The blue fire flickered once more, then went out. The scorpion lay still, its movements ceasing. Lorgar felt the dark magic dissipate, leaving only a faint, lingering presence. He took a deep breath, his hands trembling.

"It is done," he said softly, stepping back. Lorgar looked at the now lifeless construct, a sense of peace washing over him.

The Liche Priest's soul had been freed, and with it, the construct's power had been broken. Lorgar had succeeded.

Settra, watching from his throne, nodded in approval. "Impressive for one so young. Your faith has truly triumphed."

Lorgar bowed his head in gratitude. The battle had been hard-fought, but in the end, it was not brute strength or destructive power that had won the day. It was faith, compassion, and the unwavering belief in the light that had prevailed.

WHAT HAPPENED:
So what happened? True Faith 10 has the option of turning someone invulnerable to damage if you take no offensive action.

Lorgar used this to Bluff the Tomb Spider into thinking it cannot harm Lorgar and then attempted to Exorcize the Lichen Priest. He failed the first two times but succeeded the third.

CHOICE:
[] Divide and Conquer

The group splits into two teams. One team focuses on engaging and defeating the two Hekatonkhire, while the other team ensures Thalassa safely reaches a strategic location to dream up the terraforming machine.

[] Sequential Approach

The group prioritizes their goals in sequence. They first focus all their efforts on killing the two Hekatonkhire and then, once the threat is neutralized, they collectively assist Thalassa in reaching the ideal location for the terraforming machine.

[] Full Assault with Escort

The entire group engages the Hekatonkhire in a full-force assault. During the chaos of the battle, a few key members focus on protecting and escorting Thalassa to the strategic location needed for the terraforming machine.

Echoes of Creation (30k/Exalted)

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Yzarc

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