It came with a pounding on the door. A faint hope rose in her heart that it was something else, but no that would be fooling herself. The time had come. She rose to the staring of everyone else in the orphanage, the timid, the bullish, the normals, all looked her way. The static seemed to increase but she ignored it as always, like a bad hololith it would sound but otherwise do nothing.
A caress of her hand on the warm, stiff sheets and she felt the need to see the light better at the window. Many here would eventually be taken away, hopefully to the welcome of friendly families or more likely to join the scary Lord's Own. But she did not get that chance, instead the Machine Lords would come for her. Already she had seen a few armsmen walk through the streets below the bunk room. Now they milled around the entrance, one of the white robed machine men there with them. Not like the red robed ones that traveled with the freeblade knights, less metal on their faces but you could tell from how they walked they were not human.
The door opened while she was still by the window. The matron and father of the orphanage there to ask her to leave with nice words. She knew that the matron however had steel muscles under those clothes, she had faced the stick occasionally though not as much as some. So she left with a single cloth bag of all her belongings in the world. She walked in front of the two, familiar paths taken before they exited into the entry way. Standing there already was... 'Him'. The scary one, he looked normal but you could tell he was a bad one, everyone else agreed even if no one said anything. She tried to duck behind the big bulk of the matron but only ended up getting dragged along.
The machine man noticed this and said something to one of the armsmen. One with gold braid on the shoulders of his grey clothes. The man nodded and directed one of the others to bring the boy out first. His scareness soon left the building she could tell. That however left her squarely in front of the machine man. Or woman, the matron said it would not be polite to assume. She still could not tell as they wore a mask, a mask that made it hard to see the face. Then he gestured over her shoulder and she felt a push forward. She almost stumbled but not quite. As she straightened up however she felt something cold get placed on her head. It felt like some coin with a chain through it that encircled her head.
It felt...bad. Not as bad as scary boy but bad. At the same time good though. The static went away. It felt quiet. A hand gripped her shoulder as she was standing still. The machine man's hand slowly pushed her to walk. Another piece of cold was on his arm and it did not feel nice. Still she walked as bid. Out onto the smooth stone streets. They walked a little distance before a motor chariot arrived. She was bundled onto a seat of the vehicle besides the machine man. Another one of them was at the driver's place, a hand on the wheel of the vehicle. She put her bag under the seat and fidgeted as they began to move. It was scary. Though the air smelt nice in the chariot even if the wind was blowing it away. It felt calm.
When the machine man spoke up she jumped at the suddenness of it. It was deep, deep but female she thought. The machine woman wanted to know if she knew where they were going. She shook her head at that. The machine woman said that they were going on a long journey. That she would get to see the stars. That sounded nice, but scary. Aren't the stars so big and far away? She asked that and she said it was true, but that it was like a big lake. You could find your way through if you knew where to look, and they knew some of the prettiest and exciting ways. She liked the sound of that.
[X] Continue your previous plan(May add another action to undertake)
The Iron Man much as you hated it would not be killed so easily by what you had. No you had to see if you could find something else to do to kill it. Something in your mind told you this was the best case, that you could find an answer to your questions if you visited your office. There was something within the little room that held your memories and trophies of the years. Something that would help you. As you traversed the strange pathways that used to be familiar you kept an eye on the feed of the beast. A quickly secured connection of the cameras to the tacpad you found in your office. The last gravitic turret had detonated at last, but not without wrenching the thing into smaller bits. The lasgun doing the best it could to cauterize the rest. An effort that was not succeeding as much as you would like.
You knew from calculations that the heat and energy the lasgun could use would not be enough. Infinite ammunition not doing much when your foe could shrug it off with ease. The strange nature of the beast not helping matters. Still you feel a savage smile on your lips as you watch it frequently catch fire from the rain of energy lade on it. It did barely anything but the thought counts. The obstacle warning warble from your bodyguards telling you about the hazards that lay ahead.
Thankfully the journey through the mess was quick, a mix of the blueprints still being relevant and your augur is enough to get you to the room. Though you had to as some of the younger generation, oh that felt odd to say parkoured around obstacles. Holes into the abyss being much more high stakes then some of the public parks on the forgeworld. That or boot camp obstacle courses. Others had floating pieces of stone that defied physics, you would be recording the data on this violation of the physical order if you could. As it is however you have to move. You wanted answers but frankly self preservation and vengeance were a much better cocktail. Quickly you stand before the door to your main business room.
You entered the codes manually, your original codes not exactly on you with the loss of your cybernetics. The time is nerve wracking as the codes are processed but you are granted entry. The room does not seem to have suffered serious change if you discount the mindnumbing vistas being displayed on some of the holographic displays. That you had to turn away from quickly, for once grateful you were not able to record everything automatically.
A second door is opened and you stand before your collection. This is not the public display such as the transonic claw, no it is the more serious storage room. You remember entering this earlier in time to get the things to forge your honourguard's glaives, transonic weapons are not exactly something easily gained so you had to be creative. Your eyes somehow immediately drifting to a particular piece amongst the shelves of knick knacks, the torn shoulder plate from..... The beast's first body. Its designation clear besides some other scratchmarks. That..... that is important.
But your eyes soon drift to something else. A strange tome you remember a grateful refugee had given you back in the day. You had kept it since it seemed to be some sort of relic, made from bronze, brass, and durable electrofibre. Back when you tried to read it you could not though the pretty pictures seemed worthwhile keeping. In almost a daze or a dream you pick up the pages and find a specific section. Even though you do not have the proper cybernetics nor have you established any connection to the tome you find knowledge traveling into your mind. You would need... a blade. You take your flesh and blood hand and reach for your the knife holster holding the...
Vote
[] The strange white metal blade, it seems.... Almost eager, viciously so as it hummed.
[] Your monomolecular blade, a humble thing. It would do its duty quietly but firmly.
[] No, the vibroknife from your tool kit. It is made to peel tough things apart after all.
That and.... You hold out a hand and find yourself tearing a piece of the plate from the tome off, its segmented nature seeming to be purpose made for such. The metal felt.... Strange in your hand. Laying that aside on another table you draw out various other items you knew were needed. The metalworking torch you remember using with the company, the very first tool you touched when you took up helping them. You missed the old den mother. Shaking that memory aside you kept searching. More of the incense you had earlier, then a pack of high grade solder. From another shelf you pick up a bottle of supposed 'holy' water, a bit of a joke since it was the first thing foisted on you by a random vendor when you visited a holy site. You bought it more as a souvenir and to help the downtrodden looking individual then actually believing the vendor. These and other objects from your travels are gathered at the workbench in the room. Then you got to work, you needed a weapon to banish the beast after all.... Where did that thought come from?
No matter it seems appropriate after all. You were the craftsman most times, though this day may see you be the beastslayer. Your work is done quickly. Light grooves burned and pounded into the blade with torch, tong, and other tools. Into these grooves you work a mix of the metal from the tome which was combined with your carefully shed blood and the water. A precisely proportioned mix that you knew would be most effective for such time constrained work. Something telling you it would not last too long but enough to do what would be needed. Like the blacksmith of old you had to use a hammer to ensure the mix was properly held in place, the blade somehow accepting the mix like it had been alloyed together in a proper forge by a master rather then with a makeshift torch and the ill kept swings of an amateur.
At the end the blade is honestly... not bad looking. The working of the mix seeming to be decorative rather then the conduit of power it was. You wipe the sweat from your brow and hands yet again. Your tools soon stored away and the materials where they needed to be. Hmm the tome still lies upon the table, that constant urge in your mind telling you that you could find more information there. More knowledge ripe to be learned. The indexing of the tome telling you that there is a great deal within. The words to describe what is there fail you but you know there is much to plunge into.
Now... you actually halted at the thought. What were you doing? Pounding metal while that beast was still here. Oh... Oh. Rushing to open the feed on your tacpad you found.... A surprising sight. Statistically a single lasgun turret equipped with a militia model weapon should not be doing.... This much damage. Sure the beast had managed to stitch itself together but it glowed almost cherry red from the energy dumped into it over time. A testament to both the endless powerfeed that somehow worked in this realm to the heat capacity of the metal forming the beast's body.
Regardless with a rather vindictive looking swipe the beast broke the lasgun turret before collapsing to the ground. Apparently even whatever strange techno sorcery ran it could not account for heat overloaded muscle fiber. You had a moment to plan.... Ah frak. You forgot about the distress beacon. That was... you actually do not know what was happening on that front. Wait no, head on straight. You had a target, you had a weapon that should work. You had the strange idea for something to do with the metal shard you grabbed. You also were in your room that you could use to check what might be happening outside. Now what would you do?
Vote
[] Check on matters outside
[] The hunt starts for real
[] The call of knowledge
[] Write In
Looking over this blade... frankly you are terrified. If feels as if... no it is. You waved the augur scanner or it and it literally is reading the air as being cut, the air is literally being cut by the blade. Without any strange consequences such as radiation being leaked, no overload of heat or cold, no nothing. The air is being cut and that is it. You have a morbid curiosity to prick yourself with the blade but you do not need some strange intuition to know that this is a bad idea. You may be able to find more information but not with just the handheld scanner, no you need more precise instruments not on a battlefield.
Carefully setting the blade down you take up the sheath, there again you know just what to do. This is not like the memory recall system used to teach a person, no this is something else. Certainly not something that too closely parallels the Mechanicum system. Your actions half yourself and half other, or is the ratio more skewed? Still it has not led to anything bad so far, and it is not like you have any good ideas to get out of this strange situation regardless.
There is one more act you need to accomplish if you are to forge forward though. Some of the metal and blood mix that is left over is applied onto the adamantium sheath that came with the white metal blade. The mix as it sets is a copper-crimson shade, the work a series of swirls and lines that accent the existing Mechanicus decoration, over them you feel a faint thrum that quiets down as you complete more of the pattern. You can now carry your weapon with some discretion, and not risk cutting yourself which is important. Ultimately though this is a sideshow, the next step is going to be vital if you want to survive.
Your hand lays itself upon the tome again, the page it is opened to chosen at random. Said random page as expected from the pattern of events so far is utter gibberish to you. You get a feeling that you are not ready for this knowledge, that you should find information more within your grasp. Regardless though it enthralls you and you attempt to plunge your mind in somehow. The need to know utterly important to you, and devastating. How much time passed you do not know but you find yourself blinking away tears of blood. Yet it is not enough to dissuade you from searching. There has to be something else that will allow you to go forward. The strain on your mind is something you are only now noticing but you disregard it as you have before in other times.
Your efforts seem to succeed as you feel... your mind expand. As if you have now received e̫̦y̬͕͉e̪͉̥͖͍ͅs into the vast void. An Insight into what could be, what was, what will be, what is. But you cannot afford to be distracted, you have to find a way to proceed. Going over what you thought was the index again you try to find anything of use. The strange language somehow being able to impress the meaning into your mind. You knew somewhat what each section was. Man-Machine Interface, Digital Mind Upload, creation of a Perpetual Motion Device, how to flay a soul into its component parts....
There, start there. That is what your mind screams. The different segments of the soul. The danger of possession. Sacrifice, how to destroy a Neverborn. Yes. This what you need. Most of what you can do will be difficult but you already have the pieces for one such act. A blade, one you still do not know what it is made of but it will be effective. You have the tome, the incense, and the water. Then you strain your mind to find what you need, all the pieces to fulfill the ritual. Your first attempt bleeds you, literally as you feel the skin of your fingers scorch and your eyes boil. Not actually in reality but it feels like it, and it is not just psychosomatic you can tell. This will have real consequences but you need to know and this is the only course of action. Your analysis telling you that you still have a margin, a margin made up of your willpower. Still you forge forward.
Your hands work with a fever pitch, more metal plates are taken from the book and melted to form the mix. Consecratory Base, yes that is what it is.The mix like quicksilver in consistency yet quickly setting to a solid state when used. First you take a few metal pitons you found in a corner and engrave grooves into them. The swirling patterns filled with the mix. A temporary measure but what you need. The next step is taking some chain you find somewhere and repeating the process. Each thick link embedded with the necessary inscriptions. Something to bind and paralyze. Setting the chain into a loop upon your belt you feel that next step that is needed.
Then you feel an urge to dab the mix upon your eyelids. With your eyes closed you still somehow take out the old metal plate. The beast's old shoulder plate. The designation seems to swirl in your mind's eye. More fragments of code that truly make up what the name is. Then a deeper layer, one that with a baleful presence beats at your mind but you resist it. You survived its predators once, you would not let a piece of shattered metal stand in your way.
So you dig out the name hidden in the depths of the beast. It is a short thing you can tell in the grand scheme. The beast but a base warp predator before it infected the man of iron neural cortex. When it rode the currents of the.... Ritual. No you need to hold to your course. There is no need to dig out what is ultimately a tangent. The name is a series of infernal words that burn your mind and your throat even unsaid. It is what is needed though. An exorcism, yes that is what this is. You have all the parts you can manage to gather. Once the beast is disabled you can begin the rite. The only thing left is to forge yourself a plan.
Current Condition
Spiritually Injured(2/8) If damage reaches 8/8 this is considered death with no attempts at return. If damage reaches 6/8 the character is considered disabled and left to the mercy of conditions. Recovery from this disabled state is left to chance.
Vote
How will you slay the Beast?
Win Requirements: You must first reduce the Beast to zero hit points and wrap it in the Consecrated Chain to disable its movement and regeneration. Then the rite begins.
Terrain: A series of corridors with strange distortions in some areas. This includes empty void, floating sections, and gravitational crushers. The corridors are not straight line affairs, they are zig zags that prevent long range fire. Close quarters combat conditions.
Battlefield Conditions: A quick ping tells you that only the eight through tenth bulkheads stand. The eight holds still active turret defenses, it is the bulkhead just beyond your office quarters. The Beast has had time to heal though you do not know the extent for it is hiding from the cameras.
[] Bold and Center: Assault the beast, full frontal assault. Leave it no room to pull tricks or clever strategies.
[] Stalk and Kill: Scout for the beast and take it down. Strike only when you have the advantage.
[] Defensive Counter: Wait for it to strike your last set of defenses, when it is weakened or otherwise vulnerable then strike.
[] We have the numbers: You have a squad of low grade synthetics in the garage and a few different drones elsewhere possibly, activate them all for one big showdown.
[] Bait and Run Down: Leave the base and draw the fight into the open, you have ranged weapons and a vehicle, the beast so far has not shown any ranged ability.
[] Bold and Center: Assault the beast, full frontal assault. Leave it no room to pull tricks or clever strategies.
[] Stalk and Kill: Scout for the beast and take it down. Strike only when you have the advantage.
[] Defensive Counter: Wait for it to strike your last set of defenses, when it is weakened or otherwise vulnerable then strike.
[] We have the numbers: You have a squad of low grade synthetics in the garage and a few different drones elsewhere possibly, activate them all for one big showdown.
[] Bait and Run Down: Leave the base and draw the fight into the open, you have ranged weapons and a vehicle, the beast so far has not shown any ranged ability.
[X] Stalk and Kill: Scout for the beast and take it down. Strike only when you have the advantage.
QM: Sorry for the delay but I had to deal with an uncooperative muse.
This is a hunt, the Beast lingers within your home and this cannot be let to stand. The chance at vengeance will be.... Utterly delightful. Your much more fleshy body reacting to that thought. Your fingers a blur on the tacpad as you connect to what cameras are still viable. While doing this you take a moment to dial your hormone levels down, you let yourself off the adrenaline peak you were running on for the last few minutes. You need your head to be able to persecute this hunt.
The issue will be how to be able to actually confront the beast. It is no fool, though you call it a beast its mind is an alien thing with an Iron Man Cortex to give it a frightful level of thinking capacity. But not much combat experience, that was one of the ways that the rebellion was put down. Exploit any and all methods of war, without regard for casualties and collateral damage. That was how the beasts were reduced to scrap. First you check the integrity of your cameras, you can see the frightening alerts of active Iron Man scrapcode within the base system but it is isolated. Your upgrading of the code has done its work and the beast has had to retreat lest it face the memetic kill codes swarming your systems like white blood cells. Much of the network has self destructed of course but there is no further taint.
Still the fact it managed to do so tells you it is dedicating itself to other methods of combat, that and it has a hardline connection since you shut down all the wireless transmission pathways.Ironically enough or perhaps understandable enough that gives you a bit more of a narrow focus when deciding where to search. You can easily eliminate certain areas for not having the necessary connections or equipment to allow the Beast access. People remembered the lessons of unrestricted neurospheres.
You hear the whirring of the connection port as the datajack of your mechadendrite works, it is part of a physical connection that was standard of any Mechanicus domain post Iron War. You have to be physically present and continuously moving the security puzzle disk else you will be locked out. Such a connection also tags your movements with certain photonic traces as an additional measure. All the hardline terminal ports have these and they are not something that can be circumvented. None of these are found in the network but the slow progress even with the security upgrades means that bandwidth and network the Iron Man has penetrated is not a large terminal and splicing any random line will not work. Even with a dedicated hacking device one needs a certain amount of physical hardware to be able to act through.
Then in a spark of utter brilliance you realize the only possible locations this can be done from are the tertiary maintenance ports. The terminals they utilize are part of the redundant back ups for keeping the base life support systems active. They are deliberately closed off from the network but you can force a connection through with enough effort since part of their function includes running damage diagnostics base wide, not that you can accomplish much else. While you do not know the exact capabilities of the Iron Man you know it is no military machine, not even civil security. Iron Man Cortexes are powerful but the frame still has limits. It is likely some sort of maintenance model, and those are the ones capable of getting into the system with the forensic marks you found in the system.
This cuts your search down to an even narrower region, and then another sign. Your quickly flit through all the available camera feeds, and sure enough you get a flicker of static from one that should not be possible unless scrap code is present near it. Though such static may linger for some time as you have noticed when you were monitoring the Beast's progress that still gives you the last piece. Your probability calculations now in the final 68% confidence interval to search out probable locations. Only three locations are possible for the beast to be. All on a particular path. The issue being that that particular path is not conductive for an ambush from your side. A single long path that can still be easily crossed in seconds by the Beast. A few nearby rooms that could be of use but can also be death traps. It is not a place for you to fight. A better opportunity for later then.
During this time you tinker with some of the remaining supplies to better your chances. You remember this back in the day. Makeshift IEDs, no that is bad grammar. Regardless you managed to have a few things finished up as you monitor the feeds. Mainly six new explosive devices. You took some spare fuel cells and hooked them to some combustible filled containers to set off a good sized grenade blast. You also took the time to solder a frame to keep them intact along with a timed detonator. Much better then a few bottles of rotgut with rags, you even included an aeronated petroleum gel layer for that extra cheap plasma effect. Now to not have them set off while on yourself. You quickly cobble three of them together for a more concentrated effect and stash it in a secure carry case. The other three are strapped to your robes.
Cleaning up after yourself and stuffing some padding over the grenades is quickly halted as you realize what is happening on the feed. The thing is trying to find a better terminal to hack, if its following of some of the power and transmission cables is anything to say. The issue being that it is putting itself in a better position to be ambushed. You need to start getting into position, but you know that it has been able to track you somehow. The fact that it has chosen the most direct path to your location rather than any paths that would circumvent your defenses is clear. Which means that the change of tact to its attack must not be allowed to succeed if you do not want your defenses to in a worst case scenario be turned against you. You need to regain the initiative, a passive ambush will not do. You quickly plot out a course of actions, dangerous and likely utterly fool hardy but you decide it is the best you can do..
First you step beyond the reach of your final barricade, the bulkhead opening with a quiet whir of motors. There is no sign of combat here as the beast did not attempt to breach these defenses. Nor should it need to as you depart your protective perimeter. Your retinue of synthetics sent out to get into position. You carefully monitor the movements of the beast as it abandons its course of action, even through the distance is vast its form is pointed at your direction. A straight line you would suspect if you charted its gaze through the intervening distance. Then it moves out, you can thankfully keep track of its progress, at current speeds you should be able to set up the ambush in time.
First off the position must not be too seemingly in advantage to you or it would not engage. So you pick a wide open room with only some minor bits of cover. It is apparently an ill kept maintenance room, not yours but from somewhere else. Nothing particularly solid for objects or features, mostly visual based cover. A boon and a curse. You position your forces quickly, clear lines of fire where possible, multiple avenues to maneuver, everything you can think of. You keep monitoring its progress as it moves forward, hurry up and wait very much in effect. The Beast devours the distance separating itself from you, ever silent as always. Only the most involuntary noises or a few moments of anger. That changes though as it enters the stretch of hallway to where you wait.
The voice it speaks with is that of a young girl, one still in the grips of youth but slowly maturing. A smooth voice that was carefully cultivated for the purpose of being heard even without the use of amplification equipment. A voice that can flexibly change its tone for any piece yet still be silvery, a voice many singers would be jealous of. The words in that voice mock your efforts to resist, beseech you to lay yourself down and rejoin a new greater whole, and screeches admonishments at you in 'their voices. Death rattles, vengeful last words, fearful cries, anything and everything you still remember whether consciously or not from 'that time. A cacophony of noises that haunted your dreams so long ago before the mind adjustments you chose to undergo. Even now those same little tweaks of a mental surgeon's tools hold. Instead you choose to fight.
Your opening gambit was an attempt at a blasting the beast with a burst of ravening energy, a lightning storm that misses. But that is only the first attempt, the second hits spot on. Well it would have if the enemy did not get a vote on matters. Energy that travels at significant fractions of the speed of light is no match for a being that can calculate possible hit locations from how the weapon pointed at it is tilted, all in microseconds. The energy sizzles past with nary a scorch mark. The distance is still being eaten up. A second series of salvos are sent down range, again dodged with ease. A spent weapon is dropped in exchange for a hand being dug into a set or robes. A detonator is activated and the explosive is primed. A leap is calculated and the beast is safe from the blast, its form blitzing ahead of the blast wave. Only to run into a pair of swung glaives carefully calculated to take advantage of any possible gaps from having to dodge the grenade.
Two blows connect. A very slight amount of the force is absorbed by the armour, but the bulk of the transonic blades dig deep. Straight through an already battered leg leg, it is still attached but even the base framework has been sliced clean through though the automatic repair systems are working to close the clean cut. Of course the beast is interrupted by a few more bursts of energy, this time ruby bursts that scatter energy across its body in an ineffectual display. All of it ignored to strike straight at you. Your eyes do not have the extrapolative software or even significant augmetics that would let you know how the beast will land its blow. That is not needed though as you know that it will land upon you.
If of course you had not activated your trap that would be the case. A contained blast detonates from a concealed location. A fougasse with your larger IED. A mix of explosives and shrapnel scything into the Beast mid flight. The burst of devouring explosive enough to blast the beast into various component parts. The added shrapnel from a concealing scrap pile is just a bonus. A few slivers ding off your robes but otherwise you care not, the pain is inconsequential as you take up your Omnissian Axe. The pincers within its multitool locking into place to begin piling up bits of scrap into the space behind you. A little blow torch work and you had a ritual circle set up earlier.
You have the synthetics help you pile up the pieces into the circle, perhaps you went a little overzealous with making this particular bomb? Well at least the flare shields of your two original bio droids are a help in safely handling the nanomachine filled body parts. Soon enough you have the parts set into a distributed pile. Some of the larger chunks face the work of your hammer as you force into them the engraved pitons you had made. That renders them inert for now, the core body fragment however is enshrouded in the restraining chain. You swear you can see a few wisps of steam come from the chain as it wraps the Beast tight but you dismiss that for later. You have work to do with placing everything else you need for the ritual.
Your hands move swiftly to set up the incense burner that is lit alight and soon releasing its smoke helpfully. Your tome of knowledge is placed in its place of importance, an inner circle reserved for it alone in the ritual design. The bottle of holy water you had emptied into the appropriate dip in the ground to pool, and the candles, one cannot forget the candles of course. Everything is put in its place of need, now for the first and most difficult step. Speaking the words of the fist banishment chant. At this you spend a split second panicking. You need to speak this out loud, speak. Whole sentences. But you find yourself somehow able to do so. Your throat which had felt as if it had locked up loosens immediately.....
For the first time in almost a century you find yourself using your natural voice. No filters, no voiceboard, no vocal generator, all you have are your natural vocal cords. The same voice that once mocked you from the Beast now begins to intone the memorized chant. You somehow cannot recall the exact sounds or if there are words being spoken, you just feel that it will come out and that you know how to do so correctly. The words intoned have never been known on this realm before, that is the feeling you gain from them. You are the first and that has its own weight upon the ritual.You beseech another, a silent benefactor you realize. One that has had its gaze upon you for a long... long time. By its will you were created and that scares you but you power through. You honour the Machine God in life and you can feel that this does not interfere with whomever even now is extending their might into the ritual.
Your limbs act on automatic, a mechadendrite grasping a flask filled with ink you had prepared while your flesh and blood hand withdraws the 'blade'. Even chained and bound down the Beast seems to shift in fear. Its foul presence almost curling away from the blade, especially as you push the power stud into the on position. A second passes in almost contemplation and then your hand rushes down like an inevitable and violent avalanche. The blade's rune carved length sinks into...something not wholly physical. A wordless scream of utter pain echoing across the vast distance you are within. Like a chainblade the dagger digs deep and sinks deeper.
Your other hand opens the tome you had and begins to write words. Each stroke of the pen coinciding, or is it causing the Beast to quake. Not words collect further and further upon the never ending pages, your body feeling faint as time drags on in a vacuum. You know it is doing so, you can see it but not feel it. Hours seem to pass or perhaps they actually have done so? Pages and pages complied of deeds, titles, the very essence that makes up a being.
At one point the Beast attempts to buck itself of its chain, to throw your hand that grasps the blade that is impaling it off. The attempt fails though and even if you feel tired you continue to write. Words upon words that come from the Beast, that records its every deed and flays them from its hold. They no longer belong to it, now they are possessed by another. An 'other' that is growing pleased at the new knowledge while the Machine God that was your faith watches interested. It seems almost inevitable that the last word is written yet the book does not close even as the pen is withdrawn, there is more that can be written perhaps. Your hand removes the blade, its body for a moment pulled upward before it slides off the length of the blade. The runes on it are gone,
You look upon the feeble pile of scrap that was the Beast that haunted your mind even beyond its physical form. Now here it is again, torn to shreds before you as it was before yet this time its presence cannot haunt you. Your mind now unlike before is clear of its taint. The warp predator is gone, the Neverborn is no more. No longer to.... Be.... reborn.... Sleep.... Why does that seem to be good....
Unbeknownst to your slumbering mind others whirl around the domain you are within. Your very actions reverberating every nowhere at once and not yet. But that is beyond you. Now however by your unconscious form the form of an Iron Man Vexa Industries GPMF (General Purpose Maintenance Form)-Tau252 rusts away into nothingness. Nothingness but for a single object that was once housed in the chest. A single little machine brain, now clean. Now slumbering. The machinations of an Eldar ritual now wiped from its form.
Current Condition
Spiritually Injured(3/8) If damage reaches 8/8 this is considered death with no attempts at return. If damage reaches 6/8 the character is considered disabled and left to the mercy of conditions. Recovery from this disabled state is left to chance.
Gain Trait:
Haunted by Revelations:???
QM: I feel this is appropriate to describe some of the tone of events.
Vote
Do you remain in the Dream Realm?
[] Yes
[] No
QM: Check above for the issue with the vote, ties will need to be resolved.
Den Mother they called her, a title she did not begrudge. It was the place she had carved out of their little merc outfit in the beginning and a role she continued to play. Especially as she grew older, enough that even anti-agathics and cybernetics were starting to not enough at times. An issue as they were trying to survive the nightmare of an Iron Men created apocalypse, an Iron Men created apocalypse with warp predators running wild to boot. Part of that effort being to not be a great burden to the group, which was rapidly becoming an issue with their loss of techies to service their equipment. Those suckers were the closest to the Iron Men when the crazy spread. Utterly dead now.
Guns and even armour could be scavenged and replaced, everyone worth their weight knew some rudimentary repairs of their own. Augmetics however were a much more difficult item to deal with. One could do basic maintenance, but that was it. Keeping the dirt and moisture out would not do much when one needed to start soldering bits inside. As much as it would be a badass maneuver, getting stuck with a last stand position thanks to her legs breaking down would not be pleasant. So she let the little lady she had picked up tinker with the augmetics. She seemed to be doing well enough with her own bits.
A cynical part noted that they seemed to be originally decent pieces and maybe she could get a favour from her parents out of it. Another voice in her mind noted that the chance that they were alive still was not exactly great, that particular voice mixed with the more compassionate one that noted the girl seemed a bit too fixated with staying in that collapsed concert hall. Especially when they had gotten to carry off the girl's little stash when they left. The little scratch mark shrine obvious to many who had been near the aftermaths of towns turned battlefields.
It had been a few hours and a meal but the girl had still not spoken up, barely even breathed. She still seemed to have her lungs, not enough bits replaced by metal to seem to be the case. Mechanicum descended she seemed to be but not old enough to really get to the metal fetish many had if she was to judge. Still literally not even a peep. Some sort of trauma then, very common in the aftermath of battles and wars. Letting her tinker seemed to be the best idea for now, something productive to focus on instead of wallowing in misery. Besides the loss of the weather containment for the domes was causing the famous red martian dust to return. That was not easy to clean out by one's lonesome. Let the little grease monkey work her magic.
As everyone was busy in their own little rest rituals she thought again on their plan. They were not out of the city yet. They were still chasing down the rumour of a shuttle that might be able to get them offworld. They would need it after all, chances are that the Federation would get to wasting Mars soon enough. Even if it created a massive political backlash the surface was mostly loss from what they could tell. Comms were spotty and dangerous but they did intercept a few different transmissions. Certainly did not give anyone hope of the planet being held too long. Hearing a ding from her legs again she decided to take a look. Well that was one way to use a blow torch and some scrap, tapping the girl and asking her what was happening got a data tablet with schematics. Most of it eludes you but you can see that there are a few bits of diagnostic loadouts. Those tell you what was wrong.
Damm, one of the loadbearing struts was about to give. Catastrophic failure is not something one wants to be the recipient of. That was for the other guy when they found out what was about to happen to their reactors. Fun times then, still you feel that getting the little greasemonkey was a worthwhile investment of your time and limited food stores. Meanwhile the girl has gone back to work on your leg. You take a moment to sent off a reply to the little chatroom everyone amongst your group had, no need to let the ears of others be filled. The girl was worthwhile to keep. Also that Anders was still a jerk and owed her one after this all blew over. Heh that was a creative emoticon the sucker spent time making. She hoped she lived long enough to collect on that debt.
QM: If nothing changes the accepted vote will be to stay. Will start writing the update at the end of the day and the vote will be considered called.
Within a small and rigorously shielded room resided a small council of individuals. Well rather then in person it was a neurosphere meeting room accessed via holographic proxy. Each individual represented by an avatar that was obviously not the actual individual's image. Hovering in the center of the group was a central hololith currently displaying various logs and what at a closer look revealed were biographic readouts. Each individual here was debating those on display. Who was useful and who was not? Who was a threat and how much of one were they? Who could be ignored and who should be enticed to join?
One individual spoke up, reading outloud the latest dossier. Their voice a smooth androgynous one.
"Designation: Alpha Zeta Eta- 91062, known Sobriquet is Aze. Known aliases include Bion Z6S1, Zeshi H315, The Grey Dealer, and the Red Fixer. Info Broker, Academic Handle, another Info Broker but more professional, and disused Merc Handle in that order"
Another spoke up, deliberately static laced.
"Born and raised on Mars in M24 761 until M24 782 when the Rebellion began. Completed primary, secondary, and first stage tertiary education before the age of 18. Considered a prodigy at her age who was taking a sabbatical before undergoing their first specialization when the events occured. A noted amateaur opera singer in certain circles, treated it as a hobby rather then a serious career path"
"A typical young child genius looking to have some fun. A potential waste of talent but then again youth. What of the parents?" This voice was a notably female one though whether it was authentic as another matter.
The previous speaker returned to their narration though there was a notable irritation from being interrupted. "Parents were Upsilon Zeta Epsilon 43A and Xi Sigma Delta 84ash, both mid to high ranking Mechanicum members, deceased in M782 due to the events of the Rebellion. Their deaths traumatized the young Alpha Zeta Eta- 91062. Manifests as a speech disability, purely psychosomatic"
"Would not such a thing prohibit their candidacy? The inability to speak seems to preclude service"
A short pause is used as an opportunity to interject by the first speaker.
"An inability to speak naturally is not an impediment. There are means to get around such an issue. Especially as we are not looking for a leader, or inspirational figure. Arguments can be made the other direction for enhancing the mystique. No I do not see this as something to seriously concern ourselves with at this stage, later but not now"
"Service record then?"
"During the events of the Iron Rebellion was inducted into the Mad Foxes PMC, one of the Mechanicum's typical sponsored outfits. Listed as a Combat Researcher, likely simply to fluff up the numbers. Regardless they are noted to have had battlefield experience both in combat and outside of it. Served in the unit from M24 783 to M24 855 when the rebellion was declared over. Subjectively only served for fourteen years due to a mix of stasis and Immaterium travel anomalies as the unit ran operations behind enemy lines. Served as rear echelon personnel for the unit which had mustered out. Returned to active service in M24 896 when the Iron War began. The unit was forced to sit out most of the war aside from a few operations here and there. For Alpha Zeta Eta- 91062 this was a subjective time of 10 years until the active phase of the war ended in M25 001 when the New Millenium Offensives under Star General Julius Perturabo and others completed all outlined objectives"
Another voice took over for the narration. A male voice, deep and rocky. "Immigrated to the Forgeworld of Dobara in the Easter Expanse in M25 005. Served from M25 006 to M25 26 in various minor positions on the Forgeworld of Dobara. Was promoted to Team leader of Division Three Team Six of the field of Applied Energistics. Served with distinction during the term of 027 to 060. Retired from position and was granted a five year sabbatical. During the previous term of service Alpha Zeta Eta- 91062 acted in an information broker position for legal and semi-legal work on the side. During 060 to 062 said broker position was the focus of work and it is projected that the entire period would have been dedicated to such efforts. Current subjective age is estimated between 100 and 120, estimated mental age is 30s by baseline standard, raw age is 342. "
"And this is where we start to truly care" "The flippiancy is not appreciated"
"Silence with your chatter" Where the previous two voices were young auto-tuned ones this was a deeper feminine voice that was hard to distinguish whether it was artificial or not. "Now the actual discussion please, Computer bring up activity logs of the period of M25 027 to M25 062" The voices join into a single stream, something only able to coherently take place due to the medium of the Neurosphere.
"Hmm, can we say what loyalties are held? The homeworld or the adopted one?"
"Unsure, no stated ideological position though a centrist one seems most likely. Nonvocal of political leanings though the business focus involves various Martian backed ventures"
"They were chosen on the basis of a compromise, not one of the Mechanicum and not one of Dobara. Certainly not a Federation pawn either"
"Agreed. Can we extrapolate leanings from recent activities?"
"Negative, though a Martian leaning could be seen from the news subscription focus and intercepted neurosphere logs"
"True, but not enough. Could be a long term plant?"
"Statistically unlikely, psychoanalysis also agrees. They witnessed the purge of Mars by Federation warships, that is unlikely to engender loyalty to them"
"What about mercantile inducements? That could be a factor"
"Analysis of various purchases include the typical accourtments to worship of the Machine God. This is tracked to M24 775 and can be traced up to M25 062. Unlikely to be Federation inclined from this and the profiles of the parents"
"More points in favour of loyalty to the Mechanicum then at the minimum?"
"That is the consensus"
"We still do not know the factional loyalty"
"Perhaps there is none? The first to reach out will have an advantage?"
"I agree with the sentiment in general but wish to urge caution"
"An agreeable view, regardless we still need a preliminary stance with regards to future action"
"We could leave this for later and focus on other candidates"
"Wasteful, but still valid. The Taranis House is holding a Banquet amongst supporters and neutrals. A banquet the subject has been invited and already accepted a place in. More data then?"
"Yes that is true"
"A consensus to wait then?"
"Aye it it"
"Good, now the progress of the Sentinel Convoy?"
"Projected to arrive safely in 1-3 years. Mission status was a complete success, Code Garnet"
"Good, very good"
"Sniffer programs have been found"
"This meeting is adjourned then. Standard protocols are to be followed"
Before the search hounds which had found an unusual spike of data usage can arrive the individuals in the meeting leave. How many were actually in attendance or not is unknown. All that is left are diagnostic readouts that explain this corner of the neurosphere as simply holding excess junk data from a nearby industrial center's neurosphere. One that had just exloaded a great deal of said junk data. A minor notice of data storage violation is given but otherwise the sniffer programs depart satisfied. Unknowing of what had just occurred within this realm.
Waking up is not a pleasant sensation. Not when you can smell the distinct scent of burnt propellant and chemicals. Not when the first thing that greets your sight is the sight of a weapon fallen to the ground. Your first instinct is to reach out for it, grabbing it you see the sight of an Arc Rifle. Your Arc Rifle, empty of its charge. Drawing yourself up you feel your hands automatically working to reload the weapon, your eyes trying to find any lingering threats. Faint figures around you resolve into the more familiar sight of your guard synths. Untouched and at attention, unlike yourself as you feel the slow drip of blood from a few wounds. Thankfully they seem to be superficial, nothing mortal. Nothing immediately a threat then...
What is that?! A pure white mask floats amongst a whirling mix of plaster white material. Strange symbols forming of the flowing liquid like material before fading back into surfaces almost like that of a blooming flower. The, yes....there are no eyes. A face of seeming decorated porcelain.... That is free floating. Your mind needs to reboot itself and there is a minimum of photonic components in it. The... entity for you know it is a thinking thing somehow simply floats away, none of your synths are attempting to target it either. You do not believe it is an illusion as you can feel a kind of presence being exuded from the creature. Though quickly linking the visuals of your synths to your Tacpad reveals there is nothing there.... Looking through the image capture data also reveals nothing though you wince as you see the censored images of the infected Iron Man. Huh you really must have hit your head hard then. Ignoring the humming figment of your imagination you take stock of your situation.
The room is very much damaged as from a warscene, besides the smells are the faint remnants of lingering heat and the visual markers of battle damage. However there is nothing that seems of risk of exploding or otherwise going badly if you leave it for later. Well you suppose your health takes precedence as the pain of your body reminds you. Digging through the pouches of your robes you find the first aid kit stored there and begin cleaning your wounds. You can still remember those lessons from your younger days. You still can not help but wince at the sting of the disinfectant spray before the sterile patches are applied, you perhaps should have shelled out for that Medi-gel material though the expense of such a thing probably means it should not be used on cuts and scrapes.
Can transonic blades have blood borne diseases? Though the more likely candidate would be the shrapnel you had to pull from various places. Best not to risk it as you choke down the preventative pills. Speaking of said blades you look down and find that little ritual circle you made earlier in some sort of strange fugue state. You do not really remember the sensations from that....
Huh the strange inlay is gone from the pattern. Consecratory Base your mind supplies to you. All gone, and of course the Iron Man is still here. OH... you are not doing well. Having the Honour Guard synths prod the thing evokes no reaction from the somewhat whole corpse. Considering what appears to be the cortex of the thing was ripped from its torso that probably contributes a great deal to that state of affairs. Finding your axe you use the pincer mode to slowly move the cortex away. As a disconnected component it should not be able to do anything... You do not have any faith for that to stay the case considering the circumstances of the Rebellion. Even if your mind vaguely tells you that your exorcism, and is that not a mind bender... succeeded. That particular thing is a problem for future you though. Even if you are tempted by just what you could find....
Choose One
You are not allowed to simply leave anything behind intact
[] Keep the Cortex
It is a Man of Iron component.....
Knowledge?...
[] Destroy the Cortex
Safety?
No chances taken
As for the rest of the body you decide for some preemptive scrapping, proactive scrapping. First to go will be the transonic blades from the arms and legs. The transonic glaives of your own make for a good precision cutting too. Gingerly placing them in a conveniently broken open crate and sealing it you consider the rest of the machine. Now that the thing is comparatively rendered toothless you have to decide what to do with it. It seems dead, you are somewhat sure it is dead.....You really cannot help but worry about it. There is no sign of photonic behaviour or any energy signatures, temperature matches the ambient heat levels, and a chemical analysis reveals nothing pertinent happening. Locking the thing in another crate you decide to deal with it later as well.
Choose One Option
Same as above
[] Disassemble the Body
Materials
Knowledge
Nanites?
[] Keep the Body
Just in case
Nanites?
[] Destroy the Body
No Nanites
Safety
Double checking your tacpad reveals nothing wrong, the same with the rest of your items and the synths. That bit of paranoia complete you connect to the base network and find a similar state of affairs. Nothing immediately on fire or set to be destroyed. That is good. You do not like anything happening to your things. Which may be.... An issue. One particular feed that is the most forward one in your base still left intact finds a few... things.
By the Machine God what are those!!! They straggle along in a loose formation, only the one at front moving with a motion you recognize as one of a trained soldier. Through the feed you hear a faint noise, different from the tone of the Iron Man but still one you remember hearing recently. Your mind immediately jumps to a certain conclusion as you watch the various wisps of strange not smoke floating off their forms, you want to dismiss it but you do have to admit a certain emerging pattern to matters. And with the landscape you really have to consider what to do about matters. And they are deep in your base. Really deep in your base. Oh dear. You wish you had better sensors...
First Contact?(Choose one primary and one secondary)
Whatever happens you will be guarding any goods you have which will affect your force composition.
[] Hide, you do not have the resources and space to meet someone
[] Your office, there is not much left there but it is a defensible location with connections to the rest of the base systems.
[] One of your workshops, plenty of materials there for doing things.
[] The Garage, a get away may be appropriate.
[] Meet the new neighbors, they may be friendly best to learn more
[] Cautiously, nothing done in person for your safety. You will not take risks.
[] Proactively, a strong and forward response may be good for this meeting.
[] At the defenses, you will draw a line in the sand for sure. Even if it is more withdrawn then you like
[] Fight, no one just walks into your base. No one, especially armed with guns
[] With Fire and Shock, full frontal assault
[] Ambush, this is your base. You know it well
[] Skirmish, no need to commit to a single decisive battle. Draw things out
Short Term Goals(Choose at least three)
[] Learn more about what this realm is
[] Loot anything usable here in the realm
[] Get out of this place
[] Consult the tome you have for what secrets it contains
[] Make Friends
[] Write In
[X] Meet the new neighbors, they may be friendly best to learn more
-[X] Cautiously, nothing done in person for your safety. You will not take risks.
[X] Loot anything usable here in the realm
[X] Consult the tome you have for what secrets it contains
[X] Learn more about what this realm is
You decide that it would be best if you did not meet the obviously armed party directly. You are not exactly proof against bullets, lasers, or other ranged attacks. The only reason you did so well against the Iron Man was that it had no ranged capability of its own, otherwise it could have afforded dismantling your defenses and yourself with ease. As is you have a bit of leniency in the form of this group being rather cautious about matters. Thinking on matters you decide that the best approach to matters is to send out one each of your synthetic guards. That leaves you with the rest to carry your goods as you leave. Though your mechadendrite is holding the small box that contains the cortex. That is not something you want leaving your careful eye.
You have plans for all these materials. But first finding a room to hide out in. Your office is a rather obvious target thanks to its position and defenses, your workshops are somewhat distant and the same involving the garage. That leaves one of the random store rooms full of preciously stockpiled materials. You spend a few minutes rearranging the various boxes and knickknacks into.... A box fort, something within in you cringes. A lost youth indeed.... You at least can spend the time to weld the boxes to each other. It is not the worst set of defenses you have seen and that is saying something. Paranoid perhaps but there may be others within your base.
You somewhat wish you could interact with the group, but then again speaking has never been your strong point so being distant may be an improvement. Just have to ensure that the speaker is properly being controlled and you have a proxy program to use. Sending along the diplomatic party you decide to make use of this productive time by starting the disassembly work on the Iron Man. Specifically one of the transonic claws. Obviously the damage from your fougasse, the previous attacks, not to mention the disarmament process damaged the body considerably. Something that even warp predator enhanced nanomachines could repair forever. There is plenty of underlying stress that would not have affected performance immediately. Then again you do not expect something that could be stereotypically considered a warp predator is a forward thinking entity.
Still you can perhaps salvage half of the transonic claws and a smaller proportion of the internals of the limbs. Not enough to rebuild such a creature, not with the destroyed nanites but plenty to study discounting said nanites. Such pure machine and nanite interconnective systems were very much banned both directly and through sheer association. All the wonders of such technology gone, for a reason but still a bit of a strong reaction. It is not as if the Federation or other groups destroyed all their weapons that make use of nanites after all. Unrestricted nanites Its of course are horrifying and you feel yourself not wanting to cross that line, but everything before it....
Well best to get focused again. Especially as you see that your diplomatic pair are about to reach where your cameras report the intruders are. Taking some time to observe the traveling group you note something important, they all seem battered. Well less battered and more...sliced. Transonic blades, have these things fought others equipped with such weapons? The cut marks seem to have been sealed shut with the strange ash filled smoke filtering from the wounds. The more well equipped leader has a few gashes as well though the lesser group seems to have been... haphazardly put back together. Some parts seem misaligned and others are almost falling apart again, the gaps widening and being forcibly dragged together like bad stiching of a wound. You note however that they do not seem oblivious to your observation, the subtle movements that show them as wary of an inevitable ambush.
Soon enough however you are watching them through the lenses of your synths. The flare equipped model first to give it a chance of survival, even if you do not know what armaments the intruders have. The rifle the Raxis models are equipped with is holstered on a magnetic clamp, the arrays that make up the shield projector are on standby but not actually activated. The group visibly tenses but the apparent leader halts their actions, weapon held at the ready but finger not yet on the trigger. Its obvious augmetic replaced eye array taking in data even if the other eye socket is bare of flesh, how does this function you do not know. It opens its mouth and speaks a strange series of what you can guess are syllables, some seem to bare similarities to languages you know but otherwise you have nothing. Well this is a disappointing but obvious start to a... you do not know if this counts as a first contact, are you representing anything? Those questions can wait for later.
You enable the speakers and attempt to send out an enquiry in both Federation Common and the most common Cant Mechanicum dialect. The Federation Common nets you nothing but a tilted head, if human standard still applies then you know what that means. The Cant Mechanicus however gets you at least a little reaction in that the figure put away its weapon more fully but still does nothing. The figure speaks out another sentence? Your implants recognize a few identifier requests along with IFF tags. The format is vaguely familiar, you think it could be a Mechanicum derived communication format. If you had time you could possibly attempt to translate but you do not have that time, or the equipment and data now that you think about it.
As you attempt to mull over what to do now you notice a few vague distortions in the.... Your mind is telling you it is not the air but how else can you describe it? It drifts over the group of intruders before seeming to vanish. The group seems to start to react but does not? Strange.... This place is getting to you badly. Back to attempting to establish a dialogue you manage to narrow down the dialect a little through trial and error. Most of what you get are a few obviously rote responses but partway through you get a little more animated of a response. You manage to get the group to move away from the hallway to another room nearby, not one of the originals but nothing seems to be particularly crazy. An empty space aside from some random stone and metal debris, not even the various outlets and other knick knacks that would distinguish this from any prefab structure.
As it stands however your little negotiating pair and the group of 'beings' are facing each other across an empty room. Frankly you do not know what else to do now, you could try to scramble some sort of translator together but you have nothing that could do so and you do not know what sort of objective this group has. They could simply sit there forever or be attempting to leave in only a few seconds. Your attempts at sorting out your mind are interrupted though....
Something speaks in your mind.. You know what is said and that it just barely hurts, like a muscle being exercised. You can...See the offer. But it confuses you. What is this about an independent addition to a contract?
[] Gain the sum total of knowledge held by your visitors, facets of The Wandering Dammed. The cost will be two favours to be utilized soon in the here and now.
[] Gain enough knowledge to hear those that speak within this realm. Comprehension will be your prerogative. The cost will be a single favour to be utilized soon in the here and now.
[] Reject the voice in your mind.
[] Make your own deal, but beware the revelation.
How will you proceed with talking to the group?
[] Attempt to persuade them to help you make your way in this world, perhaps they are amenable to cooperation?
[] Attempt to get them to peacefully leave, whatever they are here for is not something you want to continue on your watch.
[] Write In
[X] Gain the sum total of knowledge held by your visitors, facets of The Wandering Dammed. The cost will be two favours to be utilized soon in the here and now.
[X] Attempt to persuade them to help you make your way in this world, perhaps they are amenable to cooperation?
QM: Finals is a hectic time.
You think. You honestly have to spend a minute putting your thoughts together in a coherent manner. Your time so far has been from one frantic moment to another. If the offer is true... Do you want to do this? You consider your situation, placed into some strange realm that you can see is beyond any sort of AR immersion that you know of. You have also felt no sense of fatigue, if this was truly a simulation you would be facing overload. Having the ability to have a fully organic body with its attendant sensations is not compatible with an AR immersion. Even the most advanced cannot emulate the sensations and perceptions of the human mind without damage. Is your body degrading somewhere? You have not felt the need for sleep or food, to remove waste or even the feel of dust on one's skin. Yet the wind is there, the subtle smells it carries is not something most AR suites can simulate without extreme processing power. Though sometimes one hears horror stories about if one falls into the hands of the Iron Men without a suicide switch, mostly gauche horror movies but still...
That morbid thought aside you honestly are finding it difficult to decide what to do. Too many questions, not enough answers, and everything only adds more to your plate. Focusing to exclusion on your little issues however is not needed. Instead you turn your face to the strange... entity. You still do not know what it is called and you do not want to give it a name. Its offer is still clear. Knowledge, knowledge from what you are rather sure is the same source as the strange tome that used to be your family heirloom. Something you managed to recover from a secure vault held on Macragge. The typical secure storage that high grade business people use, like the Swiss Bank Accounts of the past but expanded. Potentially a lot of knowledge to use if you think on what these being are, some strange form of warp predator but not immediately hostile. Also seemingly amicable to relations, negotiations, and other matters.
The thought of having such knowledge for your own use is.... Enticing. Perhaps that should have told you to be cautious. But you decide that you needed the knowledge more then whatever cost may be placed. You have lived your life in defiance of logic, faith in the Machine God no matter its holding of rationality and the advance of science is a rejection of logic. To cast off the shackles of material concern, a direction in an otherwise wild sea.
So you agreed to join the compact and then learned that to seal it you must spill your own blood with your blade. An act you already know from your cursory studies has power, especially in this realm for some reason. You have not managed to get enough time to earnestly research. Regardless you can feel a slight pull you recognize as that strange feeling of need, of some insight you can use without truly knowing what it is.
So here you are kneeling upon the ground, a series of cultic objects in front of you. A small incense burner that is sending its smoke merrily into the air alongside a small bowl you made earlier from Consecratory Base. Held in your hand is the strange dagger you had...enhanced. You feel strangely calm as you deliberately slice your own wrist open with the blade, what comes out is not blood. No it is something else, sure blood is flowing but you know whatever else is flowing out is more important. Something you do not want flowing out of you. Your arms tremble both from this revelation and the pain you feel from slicing yourself beyond the touch of blade to flesh. But you hold yourself steady, is this what the old humans who danced around blood soaked stones on Earth did? Why do you know that fact? The ritual, yes back to the ritual.
The bowl fills slowly as each pump of your organic heart pushes more of the crimson liquid to flow. You feel somewhat weak beyond the blood loss. A few thing seem to grow...dim. You feel like you are on the opposite of remembering something, as if you are about to lose something. Still you manage to pull past this strange fugue state to continue. Your other hand knowing to first bind your wound and then to offer up the bowl to the strange.... Thing. An entity you now know very clearly is not a figment of your mind. The floating mask with its attendant mass of violations of physics seems to tilt to observe the bowl. The mask seems to contort slightly and the mouth opens. The bowl you hold is shifted higher until it is brought to the lips of the being. A strange noise is heard, it is sipping your blood. That is somehow okay with you. Then from the eye socket of the mask falls a single.... Tear? A misty but otherwise colourless thing.
The tear falls into your blood and mixes, a little swirl like a whirlpool somehow forming in the liquid. That single tear turning the blood from its red hue to something almost mist like. The bowl is then brought by your hands to your own mouth. You take a drink of what was your own blood. It does not go down like any liquid, it is like it is truly some sort of more corporal mist that begins to merge with your internals in a way that should not be possible of a liquid mix. You feel it as if it is some cold sensation that is spreading, even if the periphery of its extending tendrils burns like nothing you ever felt before. Yet your body does not even move. Your nerves should be convulsing from such sensations, yet you are locked in place. It pains you, just as the other times you pushed yourself to comprehend the tome. It may be cliche to say that you do not know how much time has passed but that is true.
How you find yourself from that one room to standing before the intruders.... No the Wandering Dammed you do not know. You do know that they are not truly sophont beings as you would know, they are the wandering fragments of souls that the Sea of Souls... the immaterium has torn to fragments like sand by a crashing ocean wave. Time has reduced what could once be called stones to little particulates that have managed to reform themselves into yet another nebulous mass. Like a child you take a pale hand and place it upon the shoulder of the leader, just to be able to feel what should not be.
A mass of vengeful things like the tales of revenants that Old Terra held. Here you shiver for you now know just what they came from, the dead of Mars risen once more. The dead that still bore grudges from when they were tossed into reclamation vats by the Iron Men. Whether torn to shreds for sadistic joy by the warp predators of the rebellion or the merciless purge of the early Iron War these things have gathered. Their leader, a thing akin to a Sergeant is the accumulation of various soldiers fallen in battle. Its cotiere is made up of people that were a mix of civilians and militia. Your call for aid doing more then simply reverberate in the air, it drew them for a chance of slaying any that did them wrong. The issue being that... there were five more Men of Iron. Men of Iron that this group had torn to shreds just by the entrance of your compound.... Oh.
They are all dead, actually devoured to attempt to repair this group. Spirits devouring each other to sustain themselves against the merciless pressure of the Sea of Souls. Almost a life doctrine, a display of the natural order of things just as much as many warp predators are considered 'natural' . More and more revelations stream through your mind, your other hand is now held to your head in a futile attempt to survive the pain. That act may not do anything but you know that to give up to this is to allow yourself to fall into a stupor, to forget what you were now able to know. To lose your sense of self. That will not do... by sheer weight of will you hold yourself together as more of the knowledge you paid in blood and experience for is absorbed into you.
When you come back to your senses you see that nothing has changed. You are still in front of the things you had just spent a portion of your 'essence?' to communicate with. You felt no fear of them even if they are armed and directly in a position to kill you. Why? You held their true names. Well the predecessor to a true name. They were still angry conglomerates of soul stuff, unfit to be able to have a name and a cohesive sense of self. But you could give them names.... You could bind them to you with that one act of naming. The total sum of knowledge.... It includes such things.
That is a powerful thing. This changes.... Everything. You were never one to think on the metaphysics of the world like those involved with Immaterium Research on Polar North but...No the analytics can be left for later. You were going to try to negotiate with these... Shades? That seems appropriate to name them so. Perhaps if you had stalled them conventionally then they would have acted out, their ingrained desires to tear apart anything related to the Men of Iron turning their shallow minds to bloodshed. But such beings still had a sense of self preservation you now knew, not one that most sophonts would have but still there. You held one of the keys, practically the most important one to their being.
For perhaps a very understandable reason when you 'negotiate' with them you... well to put it mildly you win. The strange not language you communicate with them is interesting but not something to concern yourself with till later. What you are doing is a powerful thing, you are binding them to you with words. A promise, a threat. Everything in between and more. You hold what would be their true names, you are the one to hold their total being within you. You can emphasize, you can command, you can do so much more. At first it seems needed as you are rather understandably speaking with an alien mind that is rather different from yours in almost every way. At the same time they are limited, both good and bad here. But your advantages are clear and you now have their... it is not loyalty. That would require more of an ability to have critical thinking. They are simply yours. Like your synths but not programmed in such a strict fashion. It is not something easily described. Neither is the 'voice' that speaks up next.
The thing then begins to wander around seemingly aimlessly, back to that almost incorporeal state. You know that somehow it can still find you when it needs to and so can you. You want to know how it could do so but there are other things that need your attention, even if it grates on you.
What are your next few set of plans?
Vote for two options twice, keep them bundled together to indicate chronology
Ex
Set 1
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Set 2
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Actions
[] Begin organizing your base, you know only on the surface what is within your base. Best to find out what truly changed. How many of your facilities made it here? What is actually in storage? Can be taken multiple times to represent fixing up those facilities.
[] Gather the scraps of Iron Men just outside your base, they have been cracked open but the remnants may be useful. Then you will be needing to get them secured properly.
[] The search for knowledge, you are going to be researching what you have on you. The Iron Men materials and the tome. (This option removes yourself from participating in other actions for that set)
[] Exploration outside, you do not know what is out there and neither do your new minions. Best find out now with an initial scouting run. Can take multiple times to represent an extended expedition for loot and knowledge.
[] Vehicle reactivation, you may not know exactly what is here but you do know that the garage with its small batch of synths is still around. Best get them and your vehicle ready for any deployment.
[] Droid reactivation, your base is supposed to have a variety of maintenance droids and other such things. Best get to finding and getting them to work even if they are a bit fragile.
[] Defense Repairs, the one Iron Man that was here rampaged through most of your defenses and did who knows what sort of damage to your base. Best get on that.
Assign your new groups of minions
Personal Guard Synths, Shade Team
Guard your base, let nothing enter without at least some resistance. Your base's main entrance has been ripped open and you need to have it guarded.
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Guard yourself, this new realm is an unknown. You are going to need the protection
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Misc Votes
Anything minor you want to do that would not be as much of a time/effort sink as the others
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